Cultural Idenity by Jiffy Lesica '25

Cultural Identity

Words & Photos by Jiffy Lesica '25

The Old Man and the Sea, Venice, 2021

Set up on Venice’s Grand Canal, the Rialto fish market is where restaurateurs, chefs, and nonnas duke it out for the best deals on the daily catch. The early morning rush to bargain with Pescheria vendors is where meals are made, or hearts are broken.

The Spins Pt. 1

Trongsa, Bhutan 2020

This dizzying display of colors is not just an art, but an exercise in devotion. In dressing up as Bodhisattvas – enlightened beings who have delayed their entrance to paradise to assist others on the path to enlightenment – these Bhutanese monks believe they can return to the enlightenment within them, and approach awakening themselves.

Lake Dunmore

Dinner Time

Panauti, Nepal 2020

Whether through the warm aromas of toasted spice, the soothing sizzle of frying oil, or the rolling boil of Chiya, it was in the time spent in this kitchen that I felt most secure. Alongside my homestay mother, I realized home is more than just the ground or walls or roof around you, but the shared experiences you work to create with those around you.

Boudha Stupa

Kathmandu, Nepal 2020

Originally constructed sometime after 600 AD, the Boudha Stupa stands as one of the largest Buddhist shrines in the world at 118 ft in height. It is believed that whoever prostrates while at or circumambulates the stupa with a pure heart creates good karma, and in turn will fulfill all wishes they make before the shrine.

Starched

Ravenna, Italy 2021

In gazing at the masterful movements of these ‘macaroni maestros’, I couldn’t help but be reminded of my voracious appetite. For hours on end, the two sisters behind the counter cranked out every imaginable shape of starchy goodness for the public to enjoy. And yes, I know Italy’s identity is not exclusively gastronomical, but let’s just say you better go there with an empty stomach.

Snow Bowl

No Name, El Mojón, Nicaragua 2017

Sliding around the muddied bed of a 4x4, I smiled at the giddy screams of my village-given nickname, Pollo Loco, coming from the schoolyard; I knew that my year-long separation from El Mojón would soon come to an end. This is one of the faces of that community; one that I so long to return to, but know that I cannot.