Adventures Abroad

I’ve spent my entire life surrounded by water. The grand lady of them all, the Chesapeake Bay is the first body of water I’ve ever loved. She’s capture legendary explorers that have written far more eloquently that I about her beauty, wealth, and substance. To treasure the Chesapeake is a birth right of sorts that travels through the veins of the children of the fair state of Maryland. And for those like me, scattered throughout the world, the Chesapeake remains the measure of maritime beauty. Ask any Marylander and I am confident they can wax poetically about the bay, summer days of their childhood shuffling through the mucky water, waiting impatiently on a dock for a sign of life in the crab trap. I am certain that one of the reasons I love my home in northeast Florida is because of the two great bodies of water, the Atlantic Ocean and the St. Johns River, that encircle my everyday. Yet, it is the Chesapeake that will forever hold a special place in my heart. But now, I must confess, I have a new love.

He is unlike anything I have ever seen before. With a rocky coastline and a white washed façade, this Greek is an epically stunning beauty. In all fairness, I have experienced bodies of water that have brought me great joy. A childhood summer in the fierce surf of the Atlantic Ocean and the swift current of Rehoboth Beach, the pale turquoise Gulf of Mexico as an overly confident bikini clad co-ed, the powerful and daunting Pacific Ocean while traveling on a motorcycle through the hills of Santa Barbara. And while it has happened in the past, I wasn’t prepared this.

He is different. And I did not expect to fall so suddenly for this diminutive little Greek. Just the sound of his name, Mykonos makes me smile. And I am defenseless against his beauty. His body of water is the bluest blue I have every seen. Somewhere between midnight, cobalt, sapphire, and navy blue. Yet he remains completely transparent, refracting sunlight like a stained glass window. This hue, Mykonos Blue as I’ve come to call it, is hypnotic and impossible to turn away from. I know I am not the first to fall for this charmer. The entire city seems to be designed to enhance his beauty. The white washed buildings standing in simple contrast to his regal blue elegance. The turquoise trim on the shutters and railings throughout the town emphasize the brilliantly deep dark shade of this Greek. And while Ulysses had his Sirens beckoning him back, I suspect it will be Mykonos that calls my name to return yet again and again. I am powerless against his charm.

It’s no secret that in Ancient Rome, the men held all the power. Senators, great orators, and of course the rulers all boasted exclusive membership to this powerful club. From my experience, not much has changed. Today’s Rome remains decidedly and unapologetically male.

I love fashion and clothes. Maybe a bit too much, but in my defense, I did have to wear plaid Catholic school uniforms for twelve years of my life. Today, I have great affinity and appreciation for a well dressed man. There is something refined, confident, and striking about a man that knows how to wear a beautiful suit. I notice the details, the fabric, the structure of the cut, and the lines of the fashion. And in this town, every suit seems to be custom made fitting perfectly.

But this is where my admiration begins and ends. I’ve lived south of the Mason-Dixon line my entire life. Marylanders do not really consider themselves southern. But you will find warm friendly people ready to help. I suspect I’ve been spoiled living and working in a southern city like Jacksonville. A glance in one direction, and the door is held open. I never have to ask for help when a southern gentleman is around. Truth be told, I like it that way.

But while in Rome expect no such chivalry. With perfect posture, expensive tailored wool suites, silk ties, and fine leather shoes, today’s Romans take long unapologetic stares at women, resting their eyes unabashedly in the most delicate of places. And while the Italian men are beautifully dressed making a dashing and elegant stride down the street, they are dare I say, rude.

I came so close to making it out of the Eternal City, and then it happened. After I had held open my own door, lugged my suitcase and bags of digital video equipment down two blocks of cobblestone streets, up a marble curb, been ogled by the Romans yet again (while successfully avoiding eye contact or anything that could possibly be miss interpreted as interest) I felt something. Carole my colleague saw it happen and called out to me a little to late. And as I turned to see the culprit walk by, it was indeed an elegantly dressed man standing tall with perfect posture, head held high, as his blazer swung over his shoulder who had grabbed my ass early this Friday morning. It is indeed a man’s world here is Rome.

It’s finally here departure day and on the same day as Father’s Day. So it feels fitting to take a moment and share a bit about my Italian father. Now, in the interest of full disclosure, Frank Overton, is only part Italian by design and as his name reveals White, Anglo, Saxton, Protestant (WASP). But when it comes to the father department, I hit the jackpot. To make this trip possible for me to lead (with my fabulous colleague Dr. Carole Barnett), my Dad caught a flight from Maryland only to turn back around and take both his granddaughters, the dog, and the mini van nearly one thousand miles to Maryland. Here he had custom made T-shirts emblazoned with Poppy’s Boot Camp waiting for his less than enthusiastic granddaughters, who think the boot camp is like some kind of prison. Granny’s in on the action too, making the girls keep travel journals (much like my students) during the Baltimore soiree.

I joke with my friends that I have the Italian loyalty gene in spades. You see, I’ve had an excellent example. My dad has been there sharing in the joyful moments of my life, championing my talents, and sheltering me through the storm of unexpected tragedy. Fatherhood done right is an extraordinarily powerful gift. The faith of a father can empower a daughter to do more than what should be possible.

As I travel across the Atlantic to fulfill a dream that was delayed, I want to take a moment and let you know that this on site International Journalism program takes flight in large part because of my Italian father (and of course my mom) and his lifelong commitment to his daughter.

Grazie Papa.

It never fails, right before I take on a new adventure, I am filled with equal parts anticipation and dire panic. I'm excited about traveling to Italy, Greece, and Turkey with my students. I am nervous about getting them there, along with our necessary digital video equipment . And while the adventure will begin in little over a week...I am not yet ready.

Over the course of our journey, my students will be working on a variety of International Journalism projects. To do this, I'll incorporate video, still photography, reporting, blogging, and encourage my students to use social media as a professional communications tool. The students will take turns and be responsible for covering different destinations along the journey.

The goal of this course is to produce a body of work that compliments our companion course Humanities 389: Golden Ages of Italy and Greece. (Most of the students are taking both classes.) At the end of the project there will be online video segments, travel blogs, online photos, and a new webpage added to JU's tv.ju.edu website featuring the student reporters and their work.

But for now, it's time for me to get moving and get ready to say Ciao! Ya'll.