Emily Solley currently studies English Literature at Florida State University. This semester, she’s adventuring abroad to Florence, Italy to study Italian Reading and Conversation, a special topic art history class on the Florentine Renaissance and Comparative Politics: European Union. This column has two purposes. First, to share the opportunity of experiencing a different country with those of you are still in the U.S. (and hopefully convince you to study abroad yourself) and second, to share helpful information with those who are currently studying abroad.
To those of you who are still with me after twelve weeks of talking about my life abroad, thank you for coming along for the journey. In parting, I hope you realize that travelling or studying abroad is a rewarding experience that you should take advantage of if you can. I have done my best to share useful information about each place I spent my time. Today, as I sit in an airport terminal before the last leg of my flight home, I plan to end on a jetlagged, travel weary personal note.
After almost four months of going to sleep in Italy, I still woke up each morning feeling as exhilarated as my first day. Of course, after a while, even a different country starts to feel like home. Routines are established, streets are memorized, and what was once foreign becomes familiar. Even still, there was something about walking outside to cobblestone streets and Renaissance architecture that made it difficult to dread the thirty-minute walk to class.
Unfortunately, fifteen weeks feels shorter than it sounds, and like most things, my study abroad experience came to an end just as I was getting good at it.
My final day in Florence was by far the hardest to plan out of all of my trips and excursions, including my week in Ireland. It wasn’t that I had too many things left to see. Although there were plenty of places I wish I had time to get to know better, for the most part, by the end of the semester I had seen the entire city. The problem was my realization that I had to pick my ending.
There is a last time for everything. A last time to stroll across the Ponte Vecchio. A last time to walk under the arch in Piazza della Repubblica. A last time to stand before the Palazzo Vecchio, neck craned to look up at the imposing tower. A last time to enjoy the Duomo. A last time to wander through the twisting alleyways, to stumble upon a bustling piazza full of market stalls. A last cappuccino, a last margarita pizza, a last piping hot bombolone (donut) at 5PM.
On my last day in Florence, I did a tour of the historic city center for the last time, pausing by each landmark for a few minutes. Then, I climbed the steep path to Piazzale Michelangelo and up to San Miniato al Monte, where one can sit on a wall and stare out over the entire city of Florence, surrounded by the iconic Tuscan hills. From there, it is easy to understand Florence’s strange location. As valuable as the Arno (the river) is to the city, it sits basically entirely surrounded by hills that make its summers hot and humid. Yet for a tourist enjoying the juxtaposition of the city against the quaint Tuscan farms, it seems like the perfect location.
Courtesy: Emily A. Solley
We watched the sun set over the city. It was then that it truly hit me that I was leaving. There is something about looking at a place from above that makes you realize how everything is surprisingly small and intimidatingly large all at once; all of the city I spent four months in can be seen in the photo above, but the Palazzo Vecchio and the Duomo are as imposing as they are from ten feet away.
After the climb down, I enjoyed my last three hour Italian dinner with my friends. In true Italian style, I powered my way through four courses. Afterwards, we walked past a woman singing opera in Piazza della Signoria and turned onto Via Romana one last time. As we approached the Ponte Vecchio, I desperately wanted to stop walking. A torrent of questions ran through my mind: would I ever come back, had I done everything I wanted to do, did I study abroad the right way? I think too much. People tell me that all the time.
The only thing keeping me walking was an all too familiar chord progression from the center of the bridge. At a distance, I had no clue what song I was hearing, but as we neared the center of the bridge, I realized the guitar player was singing Bob Dylan’s “Blowin’ in the Wind.” I felt weak. I felt my knees shake. I wanted to sing along, dance through the tourists, and grab someone’s arm so I knew it was real. I knew none of my friends recognized the song, so I contained myself until I could get home and listen to the song on repeat instead of sleeping before my flight. It was exactly what I needed to hear in the moment I began to feel the impending doom of leaving.
I am aware that this reference might not immediately mean something to the average reader. But it is the first Bob Dylan song I liked. It’s the song that brought me to the musician that consistently remains my favorite to listen to. Bob Dylan is who I turn to when I don’t know what I’m feeling, or what to think. He has provided answers for me more than once.
That night, he gave me the words to describe the most important thing I learned during my semester abroad. I will end with those words, and a final plea to you, dear reader: do the thing. Let your feet hit the road. Go where you want to go. Do the thing. The answers aren’t in books, movies or other people. They’re out there in the places you will eventually find yourself.
How many roads must a man walk down
Before you call him a man?
How many seas must a white dove sail
Before she sleeps in the sand?
Yes, how many times must the cannon balls fly
Before they’re forever banned?
The answer my friend is blowin’ in the wind
The answer is blowin’ in the wind.
Yes, how many years can a mountain exist
Before it’s washed to the sea?
Yes, how many years can some people exist
Before they’re allowed to be free?
Yes, how many times can a man turn his head
Pretending he just doesn’t see?
The answer my friend is blowin’ in the wind
The answer is blowin’ in the wind.
Yes, how many times must a man look up
Before he can see the sky?
Yes, how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry?
Yes, how many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died?
The answer my friend is blowin’ in the wind
The answer is blowin’ in the wind.