Suzy Guese

Full Disclosure: I received these products free of charge, but my thoughts and opinions are my own.

Not everyone can travel indefinitely. If you are like me, you travel throughout the year, but you also have a home base. When I am at home, I like to soak up the comforts of home, but I also like to be constantly reminded of travel. I have old suitcases functioning as side tables. Guidebooks fill my bookshelves. If I don’t have that constant reminder of travel in my home, it would be difficult for me to pass time in between the next great adventure.

Rosann Evans asked me to take a look at her originally photography and custom cards business, A Moment in Italy. Being that I love Italy and seeing images of the country on a constant basis, I was more than happy to check out her cards. Like me, Rosann only has eyes for Italy and so does her camera.

What is A Moment in Italy?

Rosann started making prints for family and friends after frequent trips to Italy. After such praise, she decided to make her moments in Italy a business.

Evans explains of her photography, “Being a photographer in Italy is like cheating a little—she is a perfect model. I don’t think she can take a bad picture.  Perhaps it’s because I am so enamored by this country that I find each little facet of the landscape and architecture inspiring.”

What I Liked

Rosann sent me six of her custom prints to review, 4×6 photographs framed in 5×7 natural cards. From classic shots of Venice’s Grand Canal to more subtle observations of Italy such as laundry flapping in the wind, Rosann captures the spirit of Italy. I appreciated the diversity of her images, from the famous to not so famous yet iconic Italy.

Her goal is to allow the viewer to have moments in Italy, even if you are far from it. I have placed her prints around my apartment, just as reminders of how beautiful and exciting travel and travel to Italy, can be. I also like how accessible her prints are. At $3.95 apiece, anyone can afford to have a moment of Italy or send one to a friend.

I also could admire how passionate Rosann comes across in her work. On some of her cards, I received her words about the image on a tiny piece of paper within the card. It is nice to have the personal touch to an item as it made me feel a connection to her travels in Italy.

What Could Be Improved

As Rosann’s prints are in framed cards, they are intended to be cards you can send to others. Rosann sends you an envelope and in some cases, little blurb about the print. However, if you want to keep the prints and not use them as cards, it would be nice to have some sort of stand so that they could easily be placed on side tables and on counters, like a picture frame. At the same time, it seems like you could easily place the prints in picture frames if you want or just stand the cards upright on tables.

Conclusion

If you are looking for an affordable way to bring Italy to your home while you wait for the trip funds to grow, Rosann’s A Moment in Italy is an affordable way to do so. Her cards also make great greetings to others looking for a hint of travel in their mailbox. With the personal touches of a travel, her prints aren’t like buying those off of a major website, but rather like gaining a piece of someone’s private nomadic journeys.

For more on Rosann’s work, visit A Moment in Italy-Original Photography and Custom Cards.

With Easter Sunday just days away, I am reminded of all of the houses of worship I have seen. In Europe, one church after another starts to blend together, especially if you are on some whirlwind tour. Regardless, these spaces evoke a silence and calm away from the rest of the world. Even if you aren’t a religious person, you can appreciate the architecture, history and peace that comes while sitting in a pew.

St. Kevin’s Church, Glendalough, Ireland

St. Kevin’s Church in Glendalough Ireland has that rugged appeal. The saint set up a monastic site here around 570 A.D. In the heart of the Wicklow Mountains, a mist hangs over the air, as the simple stone structure stands somewhat altered from its deep origins.

Jelling Church, Jelling, Denmark

The burial mounds and runic stones at Jelling are considered to be Denmark’s birth certificates. Housing the story of Denmark’s beginnings is the Jelling churchyard. I couldn’t enter the church for it was locked. However, I could imagine the last pagan king of Denmark converging with the first Christian king of the country on these grounds.

Capela Dos Ossos, Évora, Portugal

Perhaps the most chilling church I have entered is the Capela Dos Ossos, literally translating to the Chapel of Bones, in Évora, Portugal. Around 5,000 people make up the walls of this chapel. From one skull to the next, you can tell the differences in person. At the chapels entrance a sign reads, “our bones await yours”, spine tingling to say the least.

Fulda Cathedral, Fulda, Germany

A distant grandmother was baptized here; perhaps that is why I felt pulled in the cathedral’s direction. Then again, it could be its size. Fulda’s Cathedral dominates the town. On Sunday mornings, little old ladies scramble to get inside before the bells cease their chimes. The tomb of Saint Boniface also lies within the Cathedral.

Duomo di Santa Lucia, Ortigia, Sicily

The Duomo in Ortigia is by far my favorite church in Europe that I have seen. Along its sides you can see the columns to the Greek temple to Athena. The grand architecture is a symbol of changing of faith, going from the belief in several higher powers to just one with its baroque façade. It faces a blindingly white square as it tells just what religion can be throughout time. The faiths may change but the structures are still the same.

Do you have a favorite church, mosque or temple from your travels?

Would you like to have your photographs featured here? Email me at suzy@suzyguese.com.

Heading south from the Amalfi Coast, Paestum tucks away from the tourists and crowds that seem to linger solely at Pompeii. Having never heard of this ancient site, I figured it was worth the gamble to go see. The UNESCO listed temples of Paestum seem like a well-kept secret. With only a handful of tourists wandering around the site in the heat of summer, I could appreciate Paestum fully, letting my imagination run wild.

All that can be heard amidst the reverberating locust’s song are the sounds of history lingering. The Greek settlement of Paestum contains some of the best-preserved temples from Magna Graecia, the Greek settlement that covered most of Italy’s south. Built for Poseidon, god of the sea, Paestum’s origins date back to the 6th century B.C.

Paestum holds three temples, largely intact and readily accessible for the imagination. It is hard to believe they weren’t discovered until the 18th century, when road builders nearly plowed right through the ruins. Protecting Paestum, a wall surrounds the settlement, seemingly keeping out the modern souvenir stalls and restaurants right on its edge.

The largest and best preserved temple remains the Temple of Neptune. With not a soul around, I can feel the ancients offering up whatever they had to Neptune, in hopes of surviving the heat of the Italian summer. Art students sketch outside the temples, making for a scene of record, of remembrance. Paestum may not have the fame of Pompeii or the ruins in Athens and Rome, but it should. If you are looking to have 6th century B.C. ruins all to yourself, largely preserved, look no farther than Paestum. Time travel is possible here, for nothing of modernity can obstruct the imagination here.

Would you like to have your photos featured here? Email me at suzy@suzyguese.com.

You might not know about Praiano. However, the name Positano may be familiar. Praiano rests a town down from the famous Amalfi Coast city. Positano is without a doubt more popular, while Praiano is subtle, quiet and small.

I first visited Praiano with family, back when I fell in love with Italy in those incredibly awkward, there shouldn’t be any photos from that time, teen years. I remember walking down to a local restaurant on the water at night, in disbelief somewhere like Praiano existed. For my last birthday, I decided to head back down to Praiano. I knew it would be the perfect spot to wake up on a birthday.

A giant mosaic filled piazza lingers in front of the town’s church as cotton candy colored pink fills the sky and sea. You can see Positano from here. When the sun begins to set, the lights in Positano come on like orchestrated bells. Signs caution not to play kick ball in this mosaic studded space. Despite the signs, local children pass the evening hours here, training to be the next calcio stars of Italy some day. Italians have never been rule keepers.

During the day, Praiano turns up the volume, but only slightly. In summer months, you can weave past local homes and streets so small you can’t believe they are streets to reach the local beach. The walk down may have you huffing and puffing like the big bad wolf, but the peace that comes is worth the workout. If you need somewhere to ring in your birthday this year, it is impossible not to have a good one in Praiano.

Would you like to have your photos featured here? Email me at suzy@suzyguese.com.

A giant book bearing the title Italy sits on my coffee table. Truth always be told, I never really looked at the book until the other day. I had flipped through it when I received the Modern Language Award at my college, appropriately deemed “The Dante Award”. Two women, Costanza and Maria Grazia, my Italian professors who inspired much of my love for Italy, gave the book to me as a gift for winning the award.

After spending three months in Italy this summer, a country I have spent years living in, I was somewhat sick of Italy. Reading other travel blogs and articles almost convinced me I needed to step outside my Italian comfort zone and head off to Asia, Australia, South America and even my own backyard in the USA. Florence became routine and I wanted a change.

Just days before heading home, I spent some time in Rome. I fell back in love with Italy and realized I just needed to shake up my Italian cities. I have already gone through those feelings of being a travel cheater, the type that keeps going back to the same place. I guess I am still battling those feelings.

Dante knows about travel pressure and he's not happy

Italian Studies became my life in college. While I was also a Communication major, Italian Studies was my other half, the classes I would look forward to each day. I was Italy obsessed and everyone knew it. Everything about the country fascinated me, the language, the people, the food, the scenery and the history. I know Italy is not a “hardcore” destination to some. It is quite Western in the opinions of most, but for me, much of the country is heavily ignored.

Being a travel writer today, I guess I feel this pressure to cover other destinations outside my expertise. Will anyone stick around here if I just cover Italy and Western Europe? I’m not a RTW writer. I’m not planning on strapping on a backpack and working in a bar for a few months all over the globe. That is a great option to travel for many, but not for me. Since I graduated college, I set out to be a writer. I haven’t had some job I hated and needed a “career break” as they call it. I just began doing what I am doing from the start. With that said, I feel very lonely, quite out of the loop with the rest of the travel world. I guess I’m not as adventurous. I’m not leaving it all behind to travel.

Perhaps there are other writers or even readers out there that love a destination but feel pressured to covered them all. Don’t get me wrong. I would love to see the world, but when did seeing the world become just stopping here and there and not really living that world for a while? In the end, it seems travel interests are fleeting. You may love one destination, but as travelers we try to go where we haven’t been before. I wouldn’t mind challenging that notion, the idea that even if you have been somewhere, you haven’t seen it all.

I face a few options in the New Year with my travels. The world really is my oyster. I can go somewhere outside of Italy and Europe. I can head to places I had never dreamed. Or, I could go back to Italy or Ireland or Germany, places I feel a strong connection to and spend as much time as I can. When I sit down to recreate a moment I had in Italy or Western Europe for that matter, the words flow easily and are thus more powerful to me and hopefully to you. Perhaps my redheaded temperament is calling me to not cover the globe but bits and pieces at a time.

Do you feel pressured as a travel writer to cover the globe? As a reader, do you feel you shouldn’t go back to the same place?

I walked into my favorite lazy day café in Sicily, part bookstore, part chocolate paradise. I was nervous to enter for it had been over a year since I came here every Sunday, especially when the weather turned bitingly cold.

I thought I would glance at the Italian books, maybe get ambitious on my plane ride home and read an Italian novel. Then I heard the sweetest of sounds come from the hot chocolate bar. “Sei ritornata!” Those words translate as you might imagine, “you have returned”.

Behind those words was the woman who ran the café, a glasses on the tip of her nose, frizzy haired Sicilian. I never had a formal conversation with her. I never really knew anything about her. She just was the giver of liquid chocolate, complete with complimentary cookies. She gave me that recognition of a stranger, that confirmation I wasn’t just a ghost that used to linger around this town.

Sicilian hot chocolate complete with cake and potato chips

I quickly turned around, flustered and a bit surprise she would remember me. It probably showed on my face as I said yes, I had returned and how surprised I was that she remembered. She kept saying, “Certo! Certo!”, Certainly! Certainly! in English.

Travelers often forget that when they leave a place and come back, they may have never left. I have reflected on going back to Sicily after a year of being away before. Feelings of not fitting into to the town I once called home were apparent. My apartment wasn’t mine. My gelateria was closed. The streets just didn’t look the same.

Walking into another shop that day, a store I never entered on my time spent in Ortigia prior, I was on the hunt for a ring. I often pick up a ring wherever I go. I like to gaze down at my hand and recall where, when and who sold me that ring. It is my attempt to keep these places at my fingertips so to speak, my act of memory.

I started looking around the closet of a store as a little old woman in a blue suit looked up from her newspaper. I greeted her and went about looking and then I heard, “Sei ritornata!”. A store I never entered and a woman whose face I never noticed remembered my presence in town. I expressed my surprise yet again as the woman said she saw me pass by all the time when I lived here a year ago.

As travelers these people and places enter our lives. There are a few things that tie us to a place. It could be as simple as a ring on your finger or it could be a length of time. What I think we forget are a setting’s ties to us. We get so bogged down in remembering a place and our ties to it, loading up every finger with rings, when we forget that place is just as much trying to remember us as we are trying to remember it.

These two women with their “Sei ritornata”s gave me that sense. While life goes on in these places you leave and your life goes on, there are still those ties, those acknowledgments of remembrance. I like to think of it as we need to feel special. I once walked into a Starbucks while out of town and had the man behind the counter thank me for submitting my application. I looked at him puzzled and said, “I’m not from here”. He quickly apologized saying, “Well someone that looked just like you was here.” I told him I thought I was special. I thought I looked different. He said, “Well there are however many billion people in the world, so you’re not so special”.

I may look like a ghost, but I'm hoping the city behind me doesn't think I am.

Being a traveler can be a way of feeling more special, even if there are billions of people just like you. You don’t look like everyone else depending on where you go. You can stand out with clothing or culturally ingrained mannerisms. You, in the process are special, but not in the eating the paste sense. Locals may remember you more. Settings may seem to eerily embrace you. Rather than trying to remember a special place, we must consider that feeling of having a place remember us. It creates an overwhelming sense of connection, one you need to gain through travel. You have returned and the place is returning to you.

Have you had a similar experience where a place remembered you? Why do you think it is important for places to remember us as travelers?

BUZZZZZ! BUZZZZ! “Non lo so! Non lo so!”, my driver Giovanni kept saying as he pressed the buzzer to my new home for the next month. 18 years old and for the first time in a foreign country alone, I began to wonder what I got myself into as it appeared nobody was home.

Hand gestures and phone calls commenced as I sat on my suitcase wondering why my Italian host family wasn’t answering their bell. Did they already regret their decision? Will I have to live on the street? Questions in my mind mixed with an overzealous imagination that errs on the worried side more than the carefree.

Coming from an insignificant doorway, an older woman and a young girl walk/jogg out to unlock the gate. Once Giovanni sees someone has answered the bell, he couldn’t have climbed in to his van faster. Well, there goes my first friend in Sorrento.

The grandmother-granddaughter pairing didn’t greet me with hugs like I imagined. In fact, I didn’t know what I imagined, signing up to live with a host family for a month in Sorrento, Italy. The grandmother began grabbing my bag even to my English-Italian protest. “Faccio io! Faccio io!”, she kept saying. With jet lag and fear hanging over, all of the Italian I had picked up in one year in a classroom in California soared out into the Sorrento sky. Tongue-tied and tired, they showed me to my room, pointing to the shower. I can take a hint in any language. “Alle otto per cena, OK?” I mustered up a “Sí” and went straight for the shower.

Sorrento Harbor with Mt. Vesuvius standing guard

Buzzzz! Buzzzz! My finger pressed the doorbell to my host family’s main house, the Santostasi familia. On the other end of the wooden door, four women gathered, looking anxious and excited at the same time. I was quickly introduced to Anna Maria, her daughter, Luciangela, and her two daughters, Annabella and Aurora.

Ushered out to their terrace for dinner, I sat down awkwardly as I heard Volare playing from a nearby apartment. I seemed to have found myself on a movie set of what dinner with a southern Italian family would resemble. That awkwardness would soon fade as the days went on. Not knowing how to communicate with people you first met feels akin to having your mouth taped shut and arms tied behind your back. You would love to remove the tape, but you don’t have the arms to do so.

Luciangela warns before diving into my first plate of pasta at the Santostasi household, “You don’t leave here without gaining weight. La cucinia di Nonna!” I found Luciangela to be accurate in her statement, probably 5 pounds later.

Nightly, these conversations over too much pasta and oil turned into lessons on what it meant to be Italian, from speaking to acting. The family of women proved strong. Luciangela was a gymnastics teacher with a passion for performance. Annabella hated her name in typical teenage fashion. Aurora, 7 years old, would always speak to me as fast as she did with her mother. A child doesn’t have the patience to sit there and slow language down. Keep up or else seemed to be her motto.

“The Nonna”, Italian for grandma, as I grew to call her, didn’t speak a word of English. Well, that’s not true. Strangely she knew the word ceiling. She became family, the woman who sat with me in the morning as I sipped on espresso and munched on Italian cornflakes. She would ask me questions repeatedly. If I had no clue what she was saying, it didn’t matter. The Nonna would keep at it by finding a different way of phrasing the question or by bringing in props to lend meaning.

The Nonna and I

The Santostasi familia not only gave me my first taste of Italian in practice but also travel in essence. Up until that point in my life, every trip I had made was connected to family. Nothing was my own. Nothing was a complete self-achievement. I kept coming back to why I came here, to learn Italian. Woven into my love of the language was a desired to cover the country on my own, to travel independently devoid of familiarity to cling to.

My Italian strengthened more in one month than it did spending a year studying in California. It was the emotional attachment with this family, the nightly dinners, the morning coffees. I had to speak Italian, but I also wanted to, to better understand the Nonna and her generations of women seated around the table.

As I said goodbye in the early hours of the morning to catch my flight home, the Nonna handed me a glass jar filled with artichokes. Never seeing much emotion from her besides laughter and joy, I waved to her from the courtyard I nervously stood in a month before, dumbfounded and clueless when it came to studying Italian. I quickly realized the meaning of language learning. It was for this moment, this connection. Cariciofi, otherwise known as artichokes, is still my favorite Italian word and I suspect the Nonna has something to do with it.

This is my entry for the  Pimsleur Approach Language Learning Blog Contest.