Ciao, mi chiamo Graycie! (Thank you, Duolingo.)
I am a fourth-year Architecture Studies student at the University of Washington, and I just returned from my Autumn Quarter abroad on the Architecture in Rome (AIR) Program. The theme of our program was “Palimpsest,” and—for those scratching their heads, wondering what on earth that means—the literal definition of the word “palimpsest” refers to a document that has been erased and rewritten over, blurring but not completely effacing the original content; architecture has co-opted the term to indicate an element, structure, building, or site that has been reused and adapted throughout the years, displaying vestiges of eras past. In other words, when we talk about palimpsest, we are talking about layers—physical and historical. An ancient column in a medieval wall. A Renaissance palazzo outfitted with HVAC. A Roman brick structure adapted for a nineteenth-century apartment building.
Throughout my time in Rome, I realized I can apply this logic of layers to much more than architectonics, but also to my own experience abroad, as I consider the layers of self: what I brought to the program, what I discovered in Rome, and the lessons I took home.
Exploring the City
I was born and raised in Seattle, so my choice to go to UW meant I passed up the opportunity to navigate a new city. Traveling abroad, I find, scratches that itch to explore, adapt to, and orient myself within a new environment.
Getting to know the city wasn’t just a personal pursuit, but an assignment. We were each assigned one of Rome’s rioni, or neighborhoods, which we visited (many, many times), researched, sketched, and ultimately produced a booklet on. We spent the next six days walking everyone’s rione as they played tour guide. Twenty-two rioni, 43 churches, and 60 miles later, we walked the entire city of Rome!
Admittedly, my hips ached from the uneven sampietrini cobblestone streets, but I still think it was one of my favorite parts of my time in Rome. I’d snap photos and jot down a quick note about things I wanted to return to. Soon, I had a mental picture of the city, and I was able to turn off Google Maps, walk in a specific direction, and trust my internal compass to guide me to where I needed to go.
Rioni Walks are a tradition in AIR. Our professors, who were AIR students in the ‘80s, fondly recalled their Rioni Walks—even when they were pummelled by golf ball-sized hail. Knowing I’m part of this legacy is special. Every year, students look at the same city and find different moments to highlight on their tours. We each read the city based on our past experiences—like one of my peers, whose personal interest in street art inspired them to document graffiti and stickers throughout their rione—and added our own layers of interpretation to a 55-year-old tradition in a 2,779-year-old city. Now that is palimpsest.
Sketching the City
Before my program, I was scared. Not of the language barrier, pickpockets, missing trains, or even homesickness, but of… sketching. You mean to tell me I’m supposed to freehand a drawing of this piazza from just sitting here looking at it? Can’t I trace a picture? Can I at least use a ruler?
The challenge for me was knowing my drawing wouldn’t be perfect—an overly foreshortened tree, a wobbly line, window panes going every which way as I attempt to resolve the perspective. At first, I’d just stare at the page, too scared to put pen to paper. Here was something I wasn’t good at… and I’d be graded on it.
I’d love to say that something just clicked for me—that I always knew where the vanishing point was supposed to go, that my scale figures were actually to scale, that my shadows fell in the right direction—but that’s not entirely true. Instead, I learned to be comfortable with the uncomfortable, and that’s exactly what study abroad is all about.
Sketching on site forced me to be present. I’d sit there in the sun, armed with just my Micron pens, and lose track of time. It became relaxing, meditative, (dare I say) enjoyable. And, oh yeah, maybe I did improve a bit. That presence is so different from what I’m used to with classes on campus. There’s no jumping between lecture slides, my notebook, and the 40 other tabs I have open. My classroom is the site—a teeny hill town, a Renaissance villa, a medieval castle—, my assignment to observe. I hope to take back to Seattle this practice of slowing down and really looking.
A Few Words of Advice
If it’s optional, opt in. Your program might have “optional” trips on Fridays or other outings throughout the week; it is important that you go. Chances are, they will be fun, low-stakes experiences, and a chance to see a part of the country or site you wouldn’t otherwise visit. On Halloween, we joined the Landscape Architecture students on their trip to Sacro Bosco in Bomarzo, a.k.a. The Park of Monsters. It was incredibly cool, and something I couldn’t have done on my own without a car.
Your program ends. Your relationships shouldn’t. You will undoubtedly make friends easily on your program, but make sure you keep in touch when you come home. These people are valuable connections in your network, and so are your professors. The skills you develop abroad are marketable to employers, and your professors know you on a deeper level—they’d be more than happy to write you letters of recommendation. Plus, these are the people who can totally relate to your experience abroad (and reverse culture shock).
You will only regret the trips you didn’t take. Sometimes it was difficult for me to remember that I wasn’t just studying, I was studying abroad. Book the weekend trip. Take the 3:00 am bus. Stay in the 12-bed hostel. It’s part of studying abroad. I always found that I was able to complete my school work just fine (long train rides are great for completing readings!).
Pay the bus fare. Self-explanatory.
Do it again. Remember, studying abroad isn’t a “once-in-a-lifetime” thing unless you let it be. If you’re anything like me (I’ve studied abroad four times… so far), you’ll be hooked. Between summer programs, Spring Break trips, Early Fall options, exchanges, partner programs, and internships, you can make something work—and, trust me, you’ll want to. This is only the beginning.
Ciao,
Graycie Viscon
