Reflections

I’ve been home for a week now, and for a while I refused to finish this blog. Maybe Michelangelo’s “non finito” affected me more than I realized. Then again, I didn’t have the smoothest transition.

I left my hostel in Paris at 5:30 am, got on the Chunnel to London at 7am and arrived in London by 8:30am London time (jumping ahead an hour). Then I killed about three hours in a Costa coffee house before I bought my last tube ticket. I rode the Picadilly Line train for over an hour until I made it to Heathrow. I waited there for two hours until I finally had all of my luggage with me. I got on my British Airways plane at 4pm London time and my 9-hour flight arrived in Denver at 7:15pm Mountain Time (which to me felt like 3am). My grandparents picked me up around 8:30pm and after 24 hours of traveling, I finally saw the sun set behind the Rockies.

Somehow between the jet lag, crowded planes and trains, and lack of sleep, I managed to catch a bad cold as well. So my first four days in the States were spent sleeping in bed. But I’m all better now and have no more excuses to put my blog off. I finally forced myself to finish it today.

Being home is wonderful. It’s strange because while I was abroad, I felt like those four months were so long! Not in a bad way; I just had so many experiences and met so many new people that it felt like more than just four months went by. But now that I’m home, that time feels as quick and distant as a dream—like it came and went like a burst of summer wind on a hot, still day in Colorado.

But I’m reminded of my life in Europe everyday in the little things. For example, over the last few days I’ve found myself:

Asking where I can find the nearest “Hole in the Wall” in my search for an ATM.

Ordering a glass of wine at lunch.

Refusing to sit down for fear of paying more money.

Automatically dodging to the right at the sound of a Vespa motor.

I can’t open the door to my house because the doorknob is on the right instead of in the center.

Looking for bus stops.

Remembering to check that the label says natural water at the grocery store.

Thinking that a 20 minute walk to the 7/11 is short.

Carrying a few extra coins in my pocket in case I need find a public restroom.

Trying to pay with quarters, mistaking them for pound/euro coins thinking they are worth a dollar.

Ordering a coffee and expecting espresso.

Confused when I’m asked to show I.D. when I order a drink. For which I automatically look for my passport.

Looking down on the ground before crossing the street, hoping the direction of where to look is written in white.

Excited to check out a library book without having to fill out a four page document of identification.

Being pleasantly surprised when a tall glass of ice water is brought to me right away in a restaurant.

Wondering where the all of pigeons went.

Getting really disoriented when after only one flight of stairs I find myself on the 2nd floor.

Coming up short when I pay for things because of sales tax.

But I definitely knew I was home when I went out with friends last night to a BBQ place with live Bluegrass music. I’ve also already seen about a dozen cowboy hats—man, I missed those!  I’m home and it feels strange, but it’s oh so good.

Thank you to everyone who read along and shared in both the hills and valleys of my 130 Days of living as a foreigner. But now the title of this blog seems unfitting because in a way, I developed another home and family over the last four months. If I ever go back (and I hope to!) I will not feel as if I am an outsider looking in; I’ll feel like I’m revisiting a place where, for a season, I became a part of a community I grew to love. When I return, I don’t think I will feel so far from home.

Day 130: More Than Just a View

My last day in Europe. Well, technically I have 24 hours of traveling ahead of me, but as I’ll be half awake, on trains, planes and tubes for most of it, I’m not really counting that day. So, Day 130 is here. Where did those four months go?

I couldn’t have asked for a better last day in Paris (or Europe for that matter). In the morning, we met our Canadian pair and headed to the metro station where we happened to meet up with two other people from the hostel, Ashley and Jordan from Missouri. After three weeks in Africa, they were ending their trip with a week in Paris (talk about culture shock!) And of course, being the tourists we are, we ran into them by the metro map. It turned out that they were headed to the catacombs as well, so we upgraded our group of four to a premium party of six.

Even though the wait for the catacombs was over an hour long, it seemed to fly by as we all got to know each other in the line. One of the best parts about traveling is sharing the stories with those around you. And even better than that is hearing the stories of other travelers’ adventures! Jordan and Ashley had so many unique experiences in Africa. I loved hearing every detail.

The catacombs were well worth the wait. It was so spooky walking in the dark, damp tunnels knowing thousands of corpses had been transported along the paths we were following. I have never seen so many bones in my entire life. They literally formed the walls of the tunnel.

When we finally exited back into the light above ground, we were surprisingly ready for lunch—no weak stomachs in our group! So we did the French thing and got crepes and cafe au lait at a little cafe. Fortunately we found one that was covered because it started pouring rain just as we were about to sit down and eat. Talk about perfect timing.

After very satisfying crepes and very fancy water served to us in green glass bottles, we waited for the rain to die down and headed toward the Musee d’Orsay. Again—another line, but again—it was worth it. Although I’ve seen so many incredible works of art this semester, my favorite pieces are the Impressionist works of Monet. Seeing his paintings face to face was incredible. It’s one thing to see Water Lilies or Woman with a Parasol in textbooks or online, but as I gazed on them face to face with only inches between me and the frame, it was like seeing them for the first time. Vincent van Gogh and Salvador Dali were among the many famous artists showcased in the Musee d’Orsay. The museum allows no photography whatsoever, but photography can’t fully capture the beauty of these paintings.

The final event of the night is one I will remember for the rest of my life. A determined search through the streets of Paris finally lead us to a grocery store and bakery where we bought wine, chocolate, fruit, cheese, eclairs and fresh just-out-of -the-oven baguettes. Then we took the metro to the base of Montmartre – a small district on a hill in the middle of Paris. The first thing we saw when we got out of the metro was the Moulin Rouge. It looked just like it does in pictures and movies. Then it was time for our uphill hike through the quaint little shops and cafes leading up to the Basilica Sacre Coeur—the destination of  our Parisian Picnic.

Half-way up, we realized that we bought corked wine without a cork screw! I was not going to let this ruin our feast. At the first bar I saw, I grabbed a bottle and convinced Jess to come with the other bottle (I was not about to walk into a French wine bar double-fisted). We mustered up a sentence in broken French asking the bar tender to help us open our wine. We smiled big and giggled like innocent tourists. It worked. Within five minutes we had two open bottles of wine and then resumed our journey with the group.

After a long day in-and-out of the rain, hungry and tired from being on our feet all day, it felt like it took forever to get to the summit. But finally, we made it. We found a cozy hill where we settled into the soft grass looking out over an incredible view of the city of lights. And then we ate.

We shared everything from our dessert to our wine. We made cheese and baguette sandwiches and crunched into crisp apples. To top it off, Micheal passed his eclairs down the line for each of us to savor as we watched the sun slowly darken the sky. Even after only two days, I felt so close with my new friends in that moment. It is  a night I will always remember and has already become one of the highlights of my semester in Europe. We shared more than just a view that night, we shared a memory that will forever be uniquely and only ours.

Day 129: Common Foreigners

What’s been really great about these last five days is the experience of staying in hostels. They’re not always glamorous, but hostels are full of outgoing, fun and adventurous people. They bring together travelers from all over the world. I’ve met people from Argentina, Brazil, Spain, Singapore, England and parts of Africa, as well as from all over the U.S.  A special bond is made automatically with the guests of a hostel because everyone is new to the city and wants to make the most of their experience. Complete strangers go out in search of restaurants together, meet at museums, and share stories from countries they’ve already traveled to. Some are backpackers, others are vacationing, and some are just passing through.

When I joined Tess after breakfast the next morning, she told me that she met two Canadians who were really nice. They were also planning on going to the Louvre and the Catacombs for the day so she invited them to join us. Sounded good to me—the more the merrier. Michael and Jess were friends from their University in Vancouver and were at the end of the first week of their  three-month trip abroad. Like us, they had just arrived the night before, so we all left the hostel together and began our second day in Paris.

The Louvre was incredible! We spent three hours in the museum and still didn’t see half of what was on display. However, among the most famous pieces we saw the Mona Lisa, Venus de Milo, and Cupid and Psyche. I also saw many of the Italian Renaissance portraits and sculptures we learned about in Florence. It didn’t take long to realize that if a work of art that my professor referenced was not in Florence or Rome, it was in Paris.  The building itself, originally a palace, was an incredible work of art to behold. Tess and I estimated that we probably walked at least three miles throughout the museum that day.

Exhausted from the gigantic gallery, we all agreed it was time for a break. We walked to Luxembourg Gardens and found a cluster of lawn chairs to sit in as we ate our lunch among perfectly cut, green grass, rows of flower beds and beautiful ponds decorated with ancient statuary. This is the park where in the summer you can find toy sail boat races, chess tournaments and tennis matches.

Unfortunately the Catacombs are closed on Mondays, so instead we visited the Cathedral of Notre Dame after lunch—not a bad alternative if you ask me. There were just as many gargoyles as I imagined there to be! And the blue and rose stained glass windows were incredible, especially as they were lit by the chandeliers inside the nave. When we entered the cathedral, there was a beautiful hymn being sung. With the music echoing through the dark, towering vaults of the Gothic structure, I truly felt like I had gone back into time.

Our final stop of the day was a bakery famous for its macaroons. We each bought two of the gourmet, colorful, mouth-watering cookies. I got one lemon and one coconut. Let’s just say if I had unlimited funds, I would have bought one of each kind, plus a dozen for each of my family members!

After our cookies, we parted with our new Canadian friends for the night. We got along so well that we decided to meet up again in the morning to see the catacombs. Then Tess and I ended our night with a long dinner at a Kabab place just a block from our hostel. Kabab restaurants are like the diners of Europe—they’re cheap, have deliciously greasy food, and are open all night long. We actually had table-side service from an older French man who was so sweet to us. He kept calling us “belle” and “Mademoiselle” and brought us endless supplies of ketchup for our fries. He told us all about the mural of Istanbul on the wall. Even though we couldn’t understand everything he was saying, his hospitality as endearing. We were at the kebab place till about midnight catching up and enjoying our girl talk. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect for Tess to meet me in Paris. In just two days we had already built memories that will last a lifetime.

Day 128: From Bongiorno to Bonjour

After barely making my 6:40am train out of Milano Centrale  (it’s a long story involving drunk hostel management and wrong turns), I made it onto the train with a seven-hour journey ahead of me. I tried my best to sleep but between the fifty chatty Italians who got on around 8am and the four sets of Police officers asking to see passports, I was awake for most of the journey. Even when I did fall asleep, the French man next to me sneezed so loud it not only made me jump into my seat and let out an audible shock, but I thought the train had derailed for a moment. I guess it was equally awkward for him when my backpack pretty much exploded in his lap when I tried to get my computer out. He just smiled as he handed me my purple flip-flop and camera cord. Even though he refused my Altoid, I think we were pretty good seat buddies.

I finally made it to Paris where my friend Tess was expecting me! She decided to make a spontaneous journey to Paris (her mom works for the airlines so they can fly standby for free). Even though visiting these cities on my own has been an amazing experience, it’s even better when you have someone to share it with. When I pulled into Garde De Lyon station in Paris, I had my eyes peeled for her. I had this image in my head of us seeing each other from across the platform and in our excitement running toward each other with huge smiles ending in a warm embrace. Instead, this train station is huge and I we both wandered around for an hour without finding one another. She had more patience than I did as she waited for three hours and left after the fifty minutes. I seriously thought my shoulders were going to rip in two if I didn’t take my backpack off soon, along with all of the other luggage I was dying to release. So I bought some metro tickets and maneuvered my way through the Paris subway and came back above ground in search for my hostel.

It didn’t take me long to find the cross streets of the hostel, but when I got to the intersection, I looked around and saw no signs of the building. Among a café, grocery store, kebab restaurant and McDonalds, there didn’t seem to be a hostel in sight. So there I was, standing in the middle of three intersecting streets with all of my luggage, sweat lining by brow and a look of horrid exhaustion and confusion on my face. I looked across the street and suddenly my eyes were met with those of a Parisian. This man was standing on the opposite sidewalk just staring right at me. When he realized he had my attention, he simply raised a finger and curled it toward him a few times. My first reaction: well this is creepy. My second reaction: what is he standing in front of? Could it be?

It was. Absolute Paris Hostel turned out to be a tall building covered entirely with white plastic and scaffolding. So I responded my pointing toward the disguised building as if I were asking, “Is that the hostel?”

He just smiled and nodded his head. Well, it was a busy street and the middle of day, so I was willing to investigate a little further and began to cross the street. It was the hostel, and the man was very nice. I guess many people get confused like me so his job is to literally stand outside and flag the guests down. But I couldn’t help feel like I was in on some secret—like I was about to enter an exotic palace on the other side of the plastic.

Palace is a bit of an exaggeration, though this was definitely the nicest hostel I’ve stayed in over the last four months. It was even nicer than some of the hotels in Italy. I finally checked into my tiny but clean room on the third floor. My roommates were from Brazil. They were so sweet. Neither could speak much English and none of us knew any French—but they knew Italian! They really appreciated my excitement to communicate with them (even when I didn’t always make sense).

So after checking email, changing clothes and getting familiar with my Paris map, I decided I would kill some time exploring the neighborhood in hopes that I would hear an update from Tess when I got back. I saw a big green blob on the map and walked along the long boulevards toward it hoping it was a park or public garden.

I’m learning that places in Paris are not always as they appear . . . it was a more than just a park—this place was a huge space of cascading hills, cliffs, waterfalls, creeks and trees! Paths and bridges were scattered all throughout leading to incredible hilltop views, restaurants, and bars. There was even a small carnival with arcade games, ponies, mini-train rides, and puppet theaters. Since it was a Sunday, the space was full of people. And this was definitely a spot for local Parisians. They were picnicking, reading along the dozens of wooden benches, playing badminton, and walking there dogs. It was a wonderful escape from the heat with all of its shade and a lovely introduction to Paris.

By the time I got back to my hostel, before I even walked through the door I saw Tess sitting by the front desk! She saw me bolt toward the door in excitement and we both screamed with joy as we came together in the lobby. It was an amazing feeling. We were both so exhausted and had experienced our fair share of obstacles getting to France, but we were finally together. After catching up for a little bit, we decided that the first thing we wanted to do together was to see the Eiffel Tower.

As we were riding the metro, at one of the stops a duet of accordion players came onto the train. Live musicians are all over the Paris metro lines. They began playing their French melody just as our train came above ground, over the River Seine and revealed a perfect view of the Eiffel Tower. It was definitely one of those, “Oh-my-goodness-I’m-in-Paris’ moments. After we got off the musical train, we walked along the Seine River, where families were eating dinner on the decks of their boats, and admired the beautiful structure growing larger and larger with each step.

We picked the perfect night to see it because the clouds mixed with the golden dusk painted an orange and pink backdrop behind the tower. Even though it was already 9pm, it wasn’t dark yet so we decided to wait till ten for the lights to come on. Neither of us had eaten since breakfast so we bought dinner from the little sack counters along the river. Tess got a foot-long hot dog wrapped in a baguette and smothered in white cheese. When she gave me a bite, I decided to follow suit. We sat along the seine with out cheesy franks as we watched the sun go down in Paris. The lights of the Eiffel Tower were breathtaking. They came on in the blink of an eye. And just when I thought it couldn’t get any better—Paris surprised me once again, as the lights started twinkling! The Eiffel Tower literally sparkles for five minutes every hour.

We couldn’t end up taking th elevator to the top because the beautiful weather turned into a violent thunderstorm with pouring rain and lightning, Tess and I escaped into the metro, hoping it would stop by the time we had to get off. But it didn’t stop so we rain through the cobblestone streets in the pouring rain! It was kind of fun. After less than a day in Paris, I already knew it would take long for this city to steal my heart. Paris,  je t’aime!

Day 127: Cheers Pub

Surprised?  I was too when I stumbled into this little pub in the middle of Milan. The first thing I saw was a chalkboard advertising “Strongbow.” The bar tender must have seen some sort of light twinkle in my eye as I read the familiar word, and he called out in a very thick Italian accent, “Strrrrrongbow?” I laughed and nodded my head as I pulled a stool up to the bar

This place will do, I thought as I took in the homey, local tones of this English pub in the north of Italy. It definitely beat the only other place that looked open in my hostel’s neighborhood, which was a pizzeria run by an Asian family—the place was empty and every table and chair were lined in bright white linen. Let’s just say that cloth napkins at a pizzeria are never a good sign.

With Bob Marley’s “Every Little Thing’s Gonna Be Alright” playing through the speakers, I sipped my Strongbow, snacked on some of the happy hour foods (which ranged from potatoes and sausage to pasta and tomatoes), ordered a panino (the Dickens panino to be exact) and realized that this was my last night in Italy.

Ponies in the park

I had spent a very successful and full day in Milan. Getting some much-needed sleep, I left the hostel around noon and walked toward the main shopping district, Via Buenos Aires. On the way, I stopped for breakfast (my last cappuccino and chocolate croissant in Italy!) at a café where the barista complimented me on my Italian—of course it gets good just when I’m leaving the country. It was an overcast day with little blurts of rain now and again, but it definitely beat the scalding heat from the previous week. The Umbrella Men began to come out (foreigners selling umbrellas on the streets). I seriously don’t know where these guys come from but they seem to pop up just as the first rain drop falls. They are relentless, but I refuse to buy an umbrella with only four days left in Europe. Luckily Milan is a city built for escaping the rain. When there is not a convenient castle nearby, there is always a designer shop around the corner. So I’d pop in and out of the boutiques, browse the racks and even try on a dress or two to keep dry.

As the rain subsided, I cut through the public gardens and approached the first museum of the day: Pinoteca Ambrosiana. This museum has a lovely collection of Italian art, but I was particularly interested in the Sala Leonardo—a room dedicated to DaVinci’s works. Since I was not able to see the Last Supper, I remembered that my professor from Florence recommended I visit this museum. It was well worth the ticket. I saw Raphael’s cartoon (which is like a giant practice sketch) of his School of Athens and a giant frescoed copy detailing DaVinci’s Last Supper by Andrea Bianchi.

The ticket for this museum also got me a discounted ticket for the Castello Museo, which held Michelangelo’s Rondanini Pieta. So I went back to yesterday’s thunderstorm fortress and saw this “non finito” work. Seeing these three masters, Raphael, DaVinci and Michelangelo, each one more time was a wonderful way to end my recent course in Renaissance art. It was the epilogue to my Italian education.

It just so happened that my ticket for the Castello Sforzesco also allowed me entry to their Saturday concert. So I went upstairs where the concert was planned to take place, not exactly sure what type of music it would be. I assumed it would be some sort of classical group, seeing as I was in a museum. It definitely was classical—more like antique! There was a group of eight musicians, four female and four male, with instruments I could hardly name. I recognized a variety of different harps, wooden recorders of different sizes, a mandolin, and something that looked like a baby pipe organ with buttons that was played by hand. The music was beautiful. Most songs were accompanied by singing and others were different combinations of the instruments. It was very calming music, as the Italian man snoring behind me confirmed.

Rondanini Pieta

After the concert, my final stop was the Biblioteca d’Academia. My host mom told me that I should visit this beautiful library. When I found it, the building looked beautiful already just form the outside. But when I went in, it looked like an average public library. So I asked a man if this was the Biblioteca d’Academia, and he assured me it was. He directed me past the main desk and described some of the building to me. When he left me to go about his business, I let myself explore a little bit. Like I said, it just looked like an everyday library to me. Maybe I didn’t look long enough or go through the right hall, but I’m not sure what my host mom was talking about.

So after all of that, I decided to get some dinner close to my hostel. That’s when I found Cheers Pub. It only seemed fitting that I finished my London and Florence study-abroad program in a British Pub in Italy sipping Strongbow and eating a panino.

Musician on the Metro

Day 126: Castles and Rainstorms

Departing Florence . . .

Arriving in Milan

My first day in Milan! I said goodbye to Anna just in time for the bus to pull up in front of her house—so there I was again, chasing after another bus in Europe. But this time I had my suitcase, back pack, purse and bagged lunch. But I made it on the bus, to the station, and onto the train. As we pulled out of Santa Maria Novella, I watched the Duomo slowly fade away as I said goodbye to Florence.

Three hours later I arrived in Milan. To be honest, the main reason I decided to visit Milan is because there was a great train offer for tickets from Milan to Paris. But it’s definitely one of the cities I wanted to visit while in Italy. It is arguably the fashion capitol of Europe (though it’s in tight competition with Paris) and it is famous for it’s incredible Opera. Also, Milan has a special connection to Leonardo DaVinci as it is the home of his famous Last Supper.

I took a taxi from the train station to my hostel and then settled into a room with six other girls. The guy at the front desk with a head full of thick Carribean dreads was really nice (in fact he just invited me out with him and his friends . . . it’s 11pm and they are just now going out! I don’t know how Europeans do it), and he gave me a map and directions to the nearest metro station.

The metro in Milan is incredibly cheap – 1 euro for a single trip! I bought a two-day card for 5 euro and headed to the city center. Of course there was another Duomo waiting there for me when I got there. In fact, as I emmerged from underground, the cathedral was the first thing I saw. It was definitely one of those take-your-breath-away moments. After exploring the Duomo area for a while and peaking into the Teatro della Scala gift shop, I decided to find the museum with DaVinci’s Last Supper, as the gentleman at the front desk had circled it on the map for me.

Duomo di Milano

Galleria Vittorio Emanuele

Well, after twenty minutes of walking, window-shopping and looking at my map, I arrived to the piazza where I was supposed to find the museum. Except I ran into a little problem: I couldn’t remember the name of the museum! And the map didn’t have it specifically marked. I circle the piazza and saw no sign of it either. I guess I probably could have asked someone, but as it was already 4pm, I was hungry, tired and hot—three big motivation killers. Even if I had found the museum, I was not guaranteed to get a tour anyway. So let go of my plans (not that I was holding onto them tightly to begin with) and opted for Option B: food.

I ended up finding a little cafe that had a huge crepe menu displaying dozens of both savory and sweet crepes. It was all in Italian, but some had pictures. I pointed to one with what looked like apples and walnuts. When it came out fresh and hot, it definitely had apples and walnuts, but also raisins, rum and powdered sugar. Add a strong cafe Americano to that and you’ll get the perfect afternoon wake-up.

When I came back out into the street, I put my map away, and just walked. I had no idea where I was going, but then again, I didn’t when I had my map out either. I eventually wandered into the old Sforza Castle. Behind it was a beautiful park full of small  creeks, ponds, hills, flowers and tons of people laying n the grass, playing volleyball, riding bikes and walking dogs. I found a little tree and climbed up to read my book surrounded my the beautiful nature.

But about twenty minutes later, dark rain clouds moved in and I heard thunder in the distance. Within minutes I was under a downpour and racing back to the castle along with dozens of other people without umbrellas. By the time we made it to the first gate, the rain tripled its intensity. For the next fifteen minutes, I and about fifty other people watched the rain pour down from underneath an old castle portal in Italy. I loved it.

Then, after the city was washed and cooled I continued exploring, this time with dinner in mind. I ended up by the University center where they had a whole string of bars advertising “Ore Felice” (Happy Hour). I’ve noticed this about Italy: around 7pm they set out platters of finger food and offer it for free with the purchase of a drink. The drinks are a little pricey during Happy Hour, but the free food makes it worth it. So I sat down and ordered something off the beer menu and filled up on risotto, pasta salad, salami sandwiches and fresh fruit. The environment was really relaxing as I sat outside in the center of university students and good music.

Even though my plans weren’t completely carried out the way I had hoped, I had a great first independent day of travel. With one more day in Milan and three days in Paris, I am filled with a fresh wave of excitement. Even though my time in Europe is coming to a close, this last week feels like the beginning of a whole new adventure!

Day 125: Cara Cara

“Dear Dear”

Maria

Maria’s frequent term of endearment for Sara and I during these last two months. I cannot put into words how much I will miss those two wonderful Italian women. Anna was always so patient with our struggle to communicate and never showed any signs of frustration when we mixed up verb tenses or made silly mistakes (which usually came from me in my excitement to speak). Diners were always fresh and delicious, with food constantly being added to our plates—always seconds and often thirds. I somehow managed to keep my weight at about the same as when I left for Europe (though I may have some residual pasta and gelato hanging around my tummy), but I’ll probably drop five pounds just being home because I won’t be eating quantities meant for three people!

As I said goodbye to Maria tonight, she poured out the “Cara, cara, cara, cara, . . . .tutta belisima . . . cara, cara, cara . . .” as we parted. Teo said goodbye too—in his own way as licked almost every bit of lotion off my legs.

So after over two months of living here, this is my last night in Florence. Just like that, 130 days abroad became 5.

Cara, cara, cara . . .

Arrivederci Firenze!

Day 124: Family

I said goodbye to the ACM Florence faculty members Kate and Jodie today. While simultaneously dancing to Golden Oldies, Alex and I finished our final hours in the library where we have been sharing the office with Kate and Jodie over the last few days. They have been so wonderful over the last few months—going out of their way to make sure all 18 of us were well cared for. From health information to hiking maps, Kate was always available to answer any question with unending patience. And Jodie’s passion for Renaissance art was contagious. We all were very fortunate to be her students.

I took my last walk home from LinguaViva today and my final jog around the Firenze soccer stadiums in the afternoon. But I was excited to get back to Via Masaccio in time for Sara and her parents to join us for one last Italian dinner.

It was a whirlwind of conversation—half Italian and half English. First of all, I was very impressed with the amount of Italian Sara’s parents could understand for only being in Italy for five days, and Anna was able to understand a great deal of English as well. Still, Sara and I were designated translators. It was such a funny feeling as we could usually both understand what Anna was saying but were not always able to fully translate it to her parents, as was true the other way around. Let’s just say it was a meal full of great laughter and even greater hand gestures! At one point we could have been mistaken for playing charades. My favorite was Sara’s step-dad’s gesture for “airplane” because it prompted us all to put our hands straight out and wave them up and down like we were flying. I can only imagine what poor Maria was thinking in that moment (probably something involving “Mama Mia!”)

Anna, me, Maria, and Sara

It was wonderful to meet Sara’s family and have one last dinner together with our host family. It also reminded me that at this time a week from now I will be reuniting with my own family in Colorado—I can’t wait!

While I will miss the many new families I have adopted while abroad, it just gives me an excuse to come back to Italy

Teo

Day 123: Four

Kind of tired of blogging. I mean this is my 152nd post. That means I have been writing every day for half a year.

I didn’t do anything particularly interesting today. I worked for four hours at the ACM office labeling and shelving books in the library, then I went to a cafe with Alex to write more of my paper followed by sushi.

I didn’t think about anything particularly interesting today. I just thought about silly things like what clothes I want to set aside for Milan and Paris this weekend.

But during some exciting procrastination, I did change the wallpaper of my desktop:

Then after all that, my host mom invited me to dinner. Even though I had already eaten, I accepted her offer because I only have two more nights in Florence and I’ll miss having cena with Anna, Agatha, and Nonna.

Everyday is a blessing and today was a good day. That’s about it. Buona Notte!

Day 122: This Paper

This last paper I’m supposed to write is probably the slowest developing essay I have ever completed. It’s only an 8-10 page assignment. You’d think that after 150 blog posts, 14 theater journal entries, 18 two-page response papers, 4 four-page essays,  and 3 ten-page final papers that I could manage to write 8-10 more pages! But here I am writing this blog instead.

To be honest, I have six full pages written and have already begun the seventh, so I’m almost there. I started this paper three days ago and I’ve had no other classwork since then. It’s been literally one paragraph at a time since Saturday.

However, I have learned something through this all. I love writing. I honestly do. I’ve always kept a journal and have gotten good grades on English essays and even had some poems published when I was younger. And I’ve always loved words. Shakespeare is one of my favorite playwrights because of the way he uses language. And, as embarrassing as it is to admit, I even had a hobby of collecting words when I was in grade school—209 homonyms to be exact. I know, I’m a dork. Okay, a BIG dork.

But there’s something about this blog that has opened my eyes to a new form of expression. I’ve found myself reading more and more articles lately, skimming through song lyrics and getting distracted as I stumble upon old poetry. I copy and paste what I like and save it to a file on my desktop—it’s kind of turning into a writer’s scrapbook. I love the ability to grasp a thought, harness it and make it tangible through language, thereby freezing it, and preserving it for others to discover later. I enjoy going back to my old journals or poems. It often surprises me to read the things I wrote, like I’m encountering the words for the first time.

A wonderful friend, fellow artist and recent Cornell graduate of mine turned her childhood journal into a performance piece. Her innocent, truthful and sometimes nonsensical entries made an incredibly entertaining and endearing comedy sketch. I began this blog in an effort to record and collect the experiences of my time abroad, but I’m excited for the day when I re-encounter these posts and discover a whole new experience I never knew I had.

Here’s a wonderful example of the beauty of words:

William Shakespeare’s “Venus and Adonis” (lines 463-510)

And at his look she flatly falleth down,
For looks kill love and love by looks reviveth;
A smile recures the wounding of a frown;
But blessed bankrupt, that by love so thriveth!
The silly boy, believing she is dead,
Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it red;

And all amazed brake off his late intent,
For sharply he did think to reprehend her,
Which cunning love did wittily prevent:
Fair fall the wit that can so well defend her!
For on the grass she lies as she were slain,
Till his breath breatheth life in her again.

He wrings her nose, he strikes her on the cheeks,
He bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard,
He chafes her lips; a thousand ways he seeks
To mend the hurt that his unkindness marr’d:
He kisses her; and she, by her good will,
Will never rise, so he will kiss her still.

The night of sorrow now is turn’d to day:
Her two blue windows faintly she up-heaveth,
Like the fair sun, when in his fresh array
He cheers the morn and all the earth relieveth;
And as the bright sun glorifies the sky,
So is her face illumined with her eye;

Whose beams upon his hairless face are fix’d,
As if from thence they borrow’d all their shine.
Were never four such lamps together mix’d,
Had not his clouded with his brow’s repine;
But hers, which through the crystal tears gave light,
Shone like the moon in water seen by night.

‘O, where am I?’ quoth she, ‘in earth or heaven,
Or in the ocean drench’d, or in the fire?
What hour is this? or morn or weary even?
Do I delight to die, or life desire?
But now I lived, and life was death’s annoy;
But now I died, and death was lively joy.

‘O, thou didst kill me: kill me once again:
Thy eyes’ shrewd tutor, that hard heart of thine,
Hath taught them scornful tricks and such disdain
That they have murder’d this poor heart of mine;
And these mine eyes, true leaders to their queen,
But for thy piteous lips no more had seen.

‘Long may they kiss each other, for this cure!
O, never let their crimson liveries wear!
And as they last, their verdure still endure,
To drive infection from the dangerous year!
That the star-gazers, having writ on death,
May say, the plague is banish’d by thy breath.