Day 1: Tuesday, May 22-Boston to Paris to Naples to Rome
When we left Smith campus at noonish on Monday, May 21 (all times are local), Jonathan announced two conflicting pieces of news. The good news: our 5:30 PM flight from Logan to Charles de Gaulle was on time. The bad news: an air traffic controller strike in Italy had cancelled our connecting flight from Paris to Rome. After a very quick flight to Paris, some Speller-praised airline food and a dreadful in-flight movie, we wound up with an eight-hour layover in Paris (our lives are so pitiful). From here the groups split up; some checked out Durufle's church, some explored the Sorbonne, some even made the trek to the Eiffel Tower. We met back at Notre Dame and spent a lovely hour or so sitting within the darkened cathedral, singing Palestrina sotto voce and eventually meeting up with our beloved, globe-trotting Sarah Muffly. Some adventures, though, were not so pleasant:

How Anna Almost Killed-And Then Saved!-Maggie

as reported by Anna Speller '08
After a lovely day in Saint-Michel, the Chamber Singers were headed back to Charles De Gaulle. Everyone was hurrying through the gates to get to the Metro. Everything was going fine, until Anna managed to lodge her bag in the gate. Caroline F. attempted to come to her rescue, but the gate apparently will not close or open if people's bags are wedged in it. Anna and Caroline F. worked at the bag and were able to free it from the clutches of the gates. Caroline F. just escaped to the other side but Anna's bag had to be left behind. Then Maggie tried to go through, also attempting to amend the situation. Somehow she ended up with the bag tangling up her feet and her backpack stuck in the gate in such a fashion that she became pinned in place. Things seemed hopeless, and also quite embarrassing. Thinking that Maggie's Nalgene was what was adding to the blockage, Anna removed it and Maggie was able to struggle through to the other side. Now Anna's bag was still caught in the gate and everyone was through. Brute force allowed her to finally retrieve the bag and everyone was saved.

Day 2: Wednesday, May 23-Rome
In an ideal world, we wouldn't have to write about our experience in Rome. We could just post the picture that Mo drew tonight when she was a little tipsy: a colored sketch of the Coliseum being invaded by stray cats.

That said, in an ideal world, more of us would have worn a hat today.

Much of this morning was spent outside, going first to the Coliseum and then to the Roman Forum and surrounding structures. A Roman native, Ilaria, was our very informative guide; she was very nice and extremely knowledgeable, but focused a bit too much on the specifics of names and dates for some tastes. I think we were still too jet-lagged to focus properly, but the crowded monuments and glaring sun didn't help. Ilaria, obviously sympathetic, sought shady spots and gave us plenty of chances to sit down as we trawled past the rubble of pagan temples, destroyed so as to re-use their building material, and the remaining structures, which survived simply because of their associations to Christianity. An ancient water fountain proved a delight: the original Roman aqueducts, though fortified and renovated, are still in use, and continually running spigot carries fresh water from the Alps. We filled up our then-lukewarm Nalgenes, and after Ilaria demonstrated the proper technique, a few of us were brave enough to stop up the spigot manually and cause the water to spurt like a drinking fountain.

A break for lunch was invigorating: though Rome was exorbitantly priced, it was nice to sit down out of the sun and really dig in. Caroline W. continued her efforts to be less of a wussy vegetarian and tasted Victoria's chicken and Alex's prosciutto.

After lunch (and our first round of gelato!), we reconvened and headed for the Vatican Museum. Much to Ilaria's delight, there was virtually no line, and so we scurried in quickly. Once inside, we had a minor delay as people trooped off to the never-free restrooms, Ilaria collected headphones, and Kate and Ari went off in search of a wheelchair for Ari, whose leg was bothering her after walking all morning. We dutifully trooped through the museum, admiring the statues (many of them brutally castrated in some long-ago penis scourge) and the frescoed ceilings. The Sistine Chapel was our ultimate destination at the other end of the building, and before going in Ilaria gave an extensive explanation of the decoration process and the interpretation of Michaelangelo's famous paintings.

Day 3: Thursday, May 24-Mondello and Palermo
A narrative in gerunds and sentence fragments:
Beach. Beach beach beach beach beach. An endless hunt for sunscreen, which Italians apparently don't wear. One towel per three people. Fried rice balls with cheese and meat and delicious delicious grease. Flirting with well chiseled, well tanned, well oiled boys in Speedos. Lots of gelato. Jonathan walking like Eli and Grant eating whatever is handed to him. Singing "Under the Sea" in the Mediterranean. Carrying Arianne into the ocean. Playing musical beach chairs. Cabana men offering to help apply sunscreen. Victoria using a book as bra-cum-sunshade. Susanne's terrifyingly dark tan lines. Six people changing at once in each litle cabana. Elizabeth falling asleep with her hand on her stomach and winding up with a particularly oddly shaped tan. A few cases of sunburn. Azu as Superman. More gelato. Heading back sleepy and sated, excited at the prospect of pizza dinner and an early night's sleep. A strange late-night recital, thanks to "a crappy Yamaha," playing embellished versions of "My Heart Will Go On." Getting "I Love You, Baby," and "What Is Love?" stuck in our heads instead of Verdi.

Sand everywhere.

Day 4: Friday, May 25-Monreale and Palermo
Today, we took a bus with our tour guide, Palermo native Marilu, to Monreale, a majestic medieval town nestled high in the mountains of northern Sicily. As we drove through downtown Palermo, Marilu pointed out the fused historical, cultural and architectural influences that characterize much of Sicily, reflective of the succession of imperial forces that have conquered and ruled Sicily throughout the centuries.
Once we arrived in Monreale, Marilu led us on foot up through the streets of the town, filled with street vendors selling local icons and souvenirs. She pointed out the popular Sicilian symbol, la sikelia (from the old Greek word for "Sicilia"), which shows the face of Medusa, as a symbol of strength and power, and three triangularly folded legs that represent the three capes of Sicily. We headed to the duomo, the main attraction of this otherwise typical Italian medieval town. When one looks up off the narrow, cobblestone street, filled with reminders of the modern day, to the residential apartments, it seems that not much has changed in 800 years. We arrived at the church, which is honestly not that impressive from the outside. The stone is dark and stately. However, one is overwhelmed by the interior light and dramatic beauty upon entering the massive cathedral. This famous duomo is an extreme example of the fusion of Norman, Byzantine, Roman, and medieval influences. The overwhelming feature of this cathedral is the extraordinary tiling on the high ceilings and walls of the church. At first glance, the walls appeared to be covered in frescoes, but they are in fact enormous depicting, in the inner nave, stories from Genesis, and on the perimeter, scenes from Christ's miracles. The mosaics are made more striking by the liberal use of golden tiles, which are actually tiny tiles of glass fused on either side of gold leaf for added luster. Marilu walked us through the stories as they wrap through the sanctuary. Most of us listening to her narrative, however, were distracted: upon first walking into the church, Arianne and Caroline W. had immediately asked Jonathan if we could try to sing within the magnificent space. While Marilu recounted tales from Genesis, we watched the assembled tourists and worshippers, hoping to spot a priest from whom we could ask permission to sing.

No priest appeared, and our tour group moved past the mosaics and into the side transepts, where two ancient Italian rulers--a father and son duo nicknamed William the Bad and William the Good, respectively--were interred in enormous stone sarcophagi. Here Marilu announced that the church was special for another reason: she had been baptized there.

Still interested in singing under the lustrous curved ceilings, we had Marilu seek out a guard of the cathedral, who quickly assented. Jonathan chimed in with his own Italian skills, assuring the man that we would sing sacred music. We huddled before the altar, deciding to face the front of the church rather than the seated tourists. Ramona Luengen's "Salve Regina" was the only song that we felt would be not only appropriate but also easy; we knew we had it memorized. Ari had her tuning fork in her bag; she gave pitches quietly and we were off. I don't know who started crying first--it could have been Marilu, who was facing us with her back to the altar, and it could have been Jonathan, who kept on conducting despite the tears--but eventually we all did. To sing beautiful music is powerful enough, but to do so in a place that has seen such change and such personal history was overwhelming. (Added to which, of course, we had been right about those cavernous arches: the sound was lovely.) After the Commencement concert last week, most of us, Groovies especially, are getting pretty good at crying and singing at the same time, and so we pressed on. There was a shaky moment as we all tried to regain control of our breathing, but the song didn't drop entirely and it ended strong. At the cut-off of the last chord, we all drooped a little bit--I think we were dazed with the enormity of what we had done. After a few tiring, occasionally frustrating days of travel and culture shock, we needed to be reminded of why we were in Italy and what it was that brought us all together. The "Salve" accomplished that. Very few of our group ascribe to Christian and Catholic traditions, but the sense of history and human ambition was tangible enough to affect even the strictest atheist.

Marilu was effusive in her thanks. A tourist who had been visiting with an Italian cruise ship approached to give his party's compliments as well. Still shaky and by now a little abashed, we acknowledged our music dorkiness and quickly left the cathedral--to stay would have been anticlimactic. We bough postcards at the gift shop, Mo and Ari ran off to find a public restroom, and eventually Jonathan, with a little help from the Bank of Grant, bought a huge tray of miniature cannolis for everyone to enjoy. The "Salve" can't be more than four minutes long, but the residual high lingered all day.

Day 5: Saturday, May 26-Palermo to Agrigiento to Lentini
How the Chamber Singers Got Their Groove(s) Back
as reported by Caroline Framke '10
We left Palermo today, and it was more than a little depressing. After the jet lag, exhaustion, and heat that marred our experience in Rome, the beaches of Palermo seemed to be a godsend. Our first day there was one part traveling, three parts splashing about in the Mediterranean, two and a half parts baking in the sun, and at least five parts searching for sunscreen. All of these endeavors proved successful. Life as a Chamber Singer in Italy got exponentially better after realizing that all we had to do upon getting back to the dorm was eat, shower, and sleep. Not bad.
Then again, we are here to sing. It's kind of part of the job description. I remembered this yesterday, when we went on the tour described previously (if you're not up for a repeat description of Monreale, you can probably skip the next couple of paragraphs, but I was hoping to share my view of the experience too). Marilu brought us to the singularly most interesting church I have ever been in: the Monreale Duomo. I think I can safely say that we were completely unprepared for the sheer beauty of the glittering, golden mosaics that surrounded us as we walked in, ready for a (much) smaller version of St. Peter's Basilica. We heard the history of the church and walked around, getting pictures of Biblical panels as we passed them. The real reason I'll never forget this tour, though, is the impromptu singing of Ramona Luengen's "Salve Regina," without music and without hesitation.
I say this next part as a person who rarely cries: I was tearing up only a couple pages into the song. There were actually parts in which I had to drop out because I knew that trying to make a low E sound at all appealing would be impossible if I was crying. I kept hearing voices choke on the notes as we kept going but, incredibly, it still sounded gorgeous. I basically lost it when the Alto IIs (insert shout-out to my fantastic section here) came in at the end, behind the rest of the voices but just as strong: o dulcis Virgo Maria.
It was amazing.
Even if it wasn't as unique, I felt almost just as strongly about our concert last night at the University of Palermo. Put very plainly, we were awesome. I looked out at one point during the Verdi piece (only the second in our set) and saw a man wiping tears off his face. And when we closed our folders to sing the "Salve Regina" again, I thought of our incredible rendition at Monreale and I knew that this concert was a good one.
Scratch that--it was amazing, too.
Off to Catania now. My goals for the near future include sleeping (damn jet lag), wearing all my skirts and/or dresses before the trip's end, magically making my suitcase lighter, endlessly bestowing frantic "get better" thoughts on Melina's ankle, and singing every concert like I'm standing underneath an ancient golden ceiling. So far, I think I'm on the right track.

Day 6: Sunday, May 27-Syracuse, Ortigia and Catania
How to Gain Confidence and Self-Esteem: A Self-Help Guide for Women
as reported by Caroline Winschel '09
Step 1: Go to Italy.
Step 2: Exist in the presence of Italian men.
Repeat as needed.
So far I've got Alessandro's phone number (do they really think I'm going to call them?) and email address, as well as the same from Dario. Dario is actually a Windjet flight attendant (...) in addition to being a student of comparative literature, and he apparently has plans not only to come to our concert tonight (he's that much of of a fan), but also to rearrange his Monday schedule so as to be on our flight from Catania to Pisa. Erm. Maybe it's something in the water?