Andiamo!

Buon Anno

2012-01-01T18:35:00.001+01:00

Auguri!

I spent another holiday with Enrichetta, my landlady, and her family today as we rang in the new year together. Apparently, it's tradition in Italy to feast on seafood at the first of the year. When Loretta, Enrichetta's daughter, asked me if I liked fish, I squared my shoulders, answered, "Si!" and prepared myself for suction cups and tentacles. There were a lot of both but… everything was SO delicious! Not only eating but actually enjoying seafood. Who would have thought?!

Our menu:

Antipasti

Sliced tuscan bread with raw salmon/lemon and tuna/olives

Octopus and potatoes

Prawns and lentils

Primi

Spaghetti with mixed seafood (lobster, clams, shrimp, squid and octopus)

Secondi

White, lake fish with carrots, zucchini and fennel

Jumbo prawns

Dolci

Pineapple, orange (fresh off their tree outside) and grapes

Dried figs, dates and nuts

Panettone with dark chocolate and grappa

Ricotta torte

Almond cookies

All of this (oh, that's right, we're not done yet) was followed by a spumante toast and cafe.

After stuffing ourselves, I was introduced to an Italian card game that, despite playing for over 2 hours, I still don't understand. Loretta's husband, Giuseppe, helped me through though, and I didn't loose too terribly.

If today's afternoon, surrounded by my surrogate Italian family (no hot grandsons today, unfortunately, but you can't win them all) was any indication, I'd certainly say I'm in for a wonderful 2012!

Brrr

2011-11-03T18:08:00.002+01:00

Prague in one word? COLD. So, so cold.

Arriving from 60-degree, sunny Pisa, the minute we stepped outside of the Prague airport, I gasped. An actual, oh-my-gosh, I just stubbed my toe or bashed my funny bone and no it's not funny, audible gasp. The 40-degree, humid air in Prague hit me, like, well, a wall of ice. Good thing I packed that winter coat and gloves and scarf...

The day we arrived, we ventured out in the cold to explore the area and find a Black Light Theatre. The city is beautiful. Full of art-nouveau architecture and wide, cobble-stone streets. Unfortunately, I can't say such nice things about the black light performance. We saw Aspects of Alice at TaFantastika. I only have one thing to say to Rick about this one... like Cirque du Soleil my BUTT.

The show was, at best, a middle-school quality production full of bad music, bad props, bad acting and bad costumes. (When there were even costumes to be found. I'm not going to get in to the bit of "artistic nudity.") Perhaps if it was still 1960 and perhaps if we were all high, it might be enjoyable. But, I live in 2011, was not high and most certainly not impressed. Give this one a miss if you're ever in Prague and looking to get out of the cold, dear readers. Our last night in the city, we saw a beautiful classical concert in Smetana Hall at the Municipal House. That almost made up for the black light debacle. Almost.

On our way back to the hotel, we stopped for dinner and heat at a typical Czech restaurant. We all enjoyed our piping hot soup (I had Grandma's Potato) and Czech beer.

The next morning, another cold, grey day greeted us. (Did I accidentally get off the plane in Russia? ) We bundled up and left the warmth of our hotel. For 4 hours, we traipsed around Prague with Kate, our guide on the Sandeman Free Tour. (Guides expect a tip at the end of the tour, so much like everything in life, it isn't really free.) We walked from Old Town Square to New and the Charles Bridge to the Jewish Quarter. At every stop, before sharing the history of the sight, Kate would lead us all in aerobics to warm everyone up, or at the least, fend off the hypothermia.

On the tour, we learned that Prague is the capital city of a relatively young country. In 1989, after almost 40 years of Communist rule, Czechoslovakia declared their independence in the Velvet Revolution and the Communist regime crumbled. Then, in 1993, the country again changed course and split into 2 new countries -- the Czech Republic and Slovakia. Meaning the Prague that is the capital of the Czech Republic is just 18 years old. And, cold. Don't forget cold.

Monday, our last full day in Prague, it wasn't quite so cold. The sun showed its face a few times! We caught lucky glimpses of the astronomical clock and Prague Castle bathed in sunlight and a beautiful sunset over the Charles Bridge. I even managed to shrug off my winter coat for about 30 seconds to pose for a picture in front of Lennon Wall!

(Photos coming tomorrow!)

Lisboa

2011-10-26T21:24:00.009+02:00

Ok, ok... I take back (most of) the bad things I said about Lisbon. In the past 5 or 6 visits to the city, I've faced short layovers on my way to and from the Azores, required to spend the night and half a day or so due to genius flight scheduling. As a result, I came to label the city as dirty, crowded, ugly, noisy, so on and so forth. This time around, I intentionally scheduled a whopping 3-nights in Lisbon. I started a little Brownie troop at one of the international schools last year. So, the extra time was warranted. I'm not going to lie though, I also was sure to leave myself a full day for sightseeing.

Sunday morning, I awoke to a knock on my door at 10am. Room service! One of the many hotel tricks I've discovered in my travels is that room service breakfast is often cheaper than the breakfast served in the on-site restaurant. I paid 11-euro for the room service while they charged 17-euro for the restaurant buffet. Plus, I got to stay in my PJs a little longer. Win, win!

So, after breakfast in bed, I drug myself out of the hotel (one of the downfalls of traveling alone is that its way too easy to talk yourself into staying in the room all day) and went in search of a big, red tourist bus. Within 10 minutes of planting myself at what I thought was the bus stop, I spotted one, stopped about a block up the road from where I was waiting. I made a run for it and reached the bus right as it was pulling off. I decided to wait at this new found stop. 10 minutes later, a big, yellow tourist bus stops a block back down the road, right where I was waiting earlier. Another run for it. Another miss. I walk dejectedly back up the road. Another 10 minutes pass and a 3rd bus stops ACROSS THE BUSY STREET. Not my day. I decided to stay put and wait it out. (Wo)man versus big, red/yellow tourist buses. About an hour and a half after first leaving the hotel, I finally climb aboard a bus!

Because my hotel was a bit off the beaten path, I had a long ride to the center. The bus took me through the part of town that hosted the World Expo in 1998, looped back around to the Alfama neighborhood (which I'd get to know better Monday evening) and up to the Marques de Pombal. I changed buses here and headed towards my ultimate destination (finally!), Torre de Belem. I'd been advised to try out the tasty Pasteis de Belem too but I swear, I was going mostly for the Torre.

When I hopped off the bus, I was greeted with a face full of salty air (being near the water and all) and this view:

After checking out the mini-castle, I promenaded down the sidewalk, following the water. Along the way, I spotted a few women on the beach, frantically picking up something and throwing it in a plastic shopping bag. Curious, I kicked off my shoes and wandered down to see what was up. They were collecting perfectly shaped, tiny seashells. One of the women told me she uses the shells in jewlery. I spotted a nice one and pocketed it as a free little souvenir of my time in Lisbon.

Moving further down the water, I spotted a market across a giant, 6-lane road. How to cross, how to cross... Not wanting to risk my life for a few hand-made goods, I went off in search of a pedestrian over or under pass. I found one what seemed like miles away, crossed over and traipsed all the way back to my market. It turned out to be a great find! Markets can be hit or miss in Europe and luckily this one was a hit with original jewlery, art work and unique antiques. After browsing every stall, I headed off towards Pasteis de Belem (PDM), recent purchases in tow.

As I approached PDM, I was greeted by a mob of people milling around outside in what was their attempt at a queue. (Not surprisingly, about every 60 seconds, a yelling match would ensue when an Italian tried to waltz directly to the front, leaving a lot of angry and vocal people in his/her wake.) I stood and laughed at the scene for a few minutes before taking advantage of the insider scoop I'd learned the night before. From the outside, it seems like the shop is tiny with almost no seating. So, most tourists queue up outside, resigned to take away. However, wander a few steps in and you realize the place is actually massive. Room after room presents itself, filled with the smell of their world famous pastel.

I quickly got a table and ordered a pastel and port. When the pastel arrived, I topped it with powdered sugar and cinnamon. (It took spying on a near-by table to realize the shakers weren't salt and pepper.) A sip of port and a melt-in-your-mouth, warm, creamy goodness bite of pastel and I was in heaven. The pastel was so good, I asked the waitress to bring me one more, por favor.

Happy with my pastel experience, I settled the bill (just 6-euro, quite the bargain!) and headed out. As it turns out, I lingered just a little bit too long in Belem; the buses (or, the tourist ones at least) had all stopped running. Being a brave, independent traveller, I gathered my courage and what little sense of direction I posses and headed below ground.

Traveling alone almost never bothers me anymore UNTIL moments like this, when you find yourself in a metro station, deciphering a tri-color, dot-laden map. What I wouldn't give to have someone I could confirm with, "Hey. We take the blue line to the red line and then continue on 2 more stops to our hotel, right?" But, when you travel alone, there's none of that. You just study the map extra hard, hold your breath and hop on a train. I'm not going to confess here how many times I've had to stop dead in my tracks, make a complete 180 and head back the way I came. Luckily, the Lisbon metro is pretty simple and easy to understand. I found my stop on the first try, spotted my tall hotel about 3 blocks away as soon as I got above ground and called it a day.

Monday, I went to the International School for a quick meeting with the Headmaster. More importantly -- in my world anyhow -- I met 5 little Girl Scout Brownies to sing songs. I taught them the Bean Song (my dog green likes to roam!), the Button Factory Song (Hi, my name is Joe!), the Milk Song (Just give me that milk, moo moo moo moo!) and the girls' favorite, the Blackbird Song. You know, the one where the blackbird flies in the country store and Pfttts on everything. Ahh, I impart such important life lessons on today's girls. After the fun song session, we headed back in to Lisbon. (The school sits above Lisbon in a beautiful town called Sintra.)

That evening, I met Sara, a friend of a friend for dinner. Some days, I swear, I've never met a stranger. Knowing I had a 7am flight (meaning a 5am taxi ride to the airport) and having been particularly extroverted for the last 7 days of business travel, it was actually more like I was forced to have dinner with a friend of a friend... at first. Almost immediately, I warmed up to Sara though and realized I was in for a fun night.

We hopped on the metro and headed to the Alfama neighborhood. Sara described this part of town as, "soulful, back alleys full of locals..." and she was right! Seemingly worlds away from the hustle and bustle of Lisbon, the Alfama area is an eclectic, funky part of town with small, hole-in-the-wall restaurants. Many of these restaurants were advertising live Fado that evening. I dropped hints for a few minutes before Sara asked, "Do you want to see Fado?" Um, yes! Fado is traditional, Portuguese folk music, full of longing for lost love. When I told Sara the music sounded eerie and melancholy, she explained to me that Portugal was a country of explorers for a very long time. Many people lost their lovers to new lands and expeditions and this love lost and longing lead to Fado. Well, that explains it.

We ordered a typical dish of cod fish stew (not my favorite, I'll admit, but edible) and listened to the 12-string guitar for hours. With my taxi ride to the airport just hours away, we eventually pulled ourselves away from the music so that I could get a couple hours of sleep.

I left Lisbon the next morning (if you can even call 5am morning) with the Fado still ringing in my ears and waved goodbye (for now) to this city.

Welcome Back

2011-10-03T19:03:00.003+02:00

In honor of my dad, I'm going to attempt a return to this blogging business. I've been all over the place since I last wrote -- from Lake Como to Berlin (both for pleasure) and New York to London (both for work). So, I'm not going to try to fill in the blanks of everything you've missed but rather pick up from yesterday morning...

On Sunday, my dad and I said our 'goodbyes' in front of the Rome airport's Hilton Garden Inn after a whirlwind 2-week vacation/tour of Italy from top to bottom. I hopped on the bus to the airport and held on tight as the driver flew through one stop sign after another. An unknowing American tourist sitting in the seat to my left remarked in earnest to his wife, "Those stop signs must be for someone else..." Uh-huh. Right.

As we approached the airport, our fearless driver spotted a traffic jam in his parking spot. We were still 50-feet away when the horn honking started. In case his morning wasn't already ruined by the Land Rover parked diagonally across 2 lanes of traffic, a ballsy taxi driver then decided to try his luck. Disregarding his stop sign, as traffic started moving again, the taxi wormed its way in front of our bus. I could see our driver weighing the pros and cons of a side-swipe to the taxi with the bus but luckily for all involved, he refrained. Instead, he threw open his window, started yelling and took both hands off the wheel to start in on the "Vaffanculo" hand gestures. I swear, the man actually screamed, "Che parte di stop non capite?" Or, in English, "What part of stop don't you understand, asshole?" The guilty taxi driver stopped in front of us to plead his case with an unsympathetic police officer before moving on. Our bus driver pulled in to his hard earned parking spot but not before stopping to bid "Buongiorno" to the police officer. The doors opened and we all piled off.

This exciting ride was a fitting ending to an equally exciting 2-weeks with my dad. He landed in Rome on September 17 and we didn't stop going until we parted for our separate flights yesterday. Highlights included:

- Matera! A pre-historic town of recently restored cave dwellings. This place was unlike anywhere I'd ever been. Our hotel was literally in a cave -- humidity and all -- and we discovered the world's best pizza at Oi' Mari, a hole in the wall (Get it? Town of caves? Hole in the wall? Ha, ha, ha...) spot at the bottom of Matera.

- The beautiful Amalfi Coast and the less than beautiful driving. I haven't decided if the spectacular scenery and doting hospitality of our Mafia-run hotel makes up for the insane driving here. We stayed in Praiano, right in the middle, between Amalfi and Positano. Every day we faced driving like this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tsv7rMEJx3M.

- Dinner with my friends Sandra and Ale. We ate, we drank and my Dad and Ale talked photography while Sandra and I gossiped about work (it's what we do) all night.

- A return to the Isola di Capraia, possibly my favorite spot in Italy. After an early morning ferry ride from Livorno on Saturday we blew off treking for beers and a nap by the pool. We made up for our lazy day on Sunday though with a 3-hour trek along the coast and a private boat ride around the island, complete with a stop for swimming in the crystal-clear, cool Mediterranean Ocean.

- Lake Garda, with a day trip to the Dolomiti Mountains (i.e. my favorite place on earth). I breathed in the mountain air, wore a sweater and long pants most days and just generally enjoyed being in the north of Italy (where things are cleaner, quieter, calmer...) for a few days. Garda is a beautiful, serene spot, glowing blue in the day time, pink at dusk and twinkling with lights after dark. On our 3rd day there, we took a sail boat across the lake and back. It seemed as if the lake was just made for sailing. We stayed in a so-so hotel in Malcesine -- while the hotel was nothing special, we did discover an amazing restaurant thanks to TripAdvisor. If you're ever in the area, be sure to plan for a meal (or two or three) at Al Gondoliere (www.algondoliere.com). I'm still dreaming about their ravioli in pistachio sauce.

Dad arrived back in Charlotte yesterday afternoon and I went back to work today but life doesn't go back to "normal" for me anytime soon. So, there's hope yet for more of these stories. I'll spend a week and a half in Portugal (mostly work, some play) soon. A quick 4-day trip to Prague at the end of October. Prague is on my bucket list! I love crossing places off the list... (Ok, ok... and adding a magnet to my collection.) Then, a week in Houston, Texas for the big Girl Scout National Convention (Happy 100th Birthday to us!), followed by 2-weeks at home in Charlotte in November. Somewhere between then and the end of the year, I hope to squeeze in trips to London, Amsterdam and Germany. Whew. 2012 is going to be here before I know it!

Buon appetito

2011-01-22T19:01:00.005+01:00

I cooked up a storm today at Chef Paolo Monti's class in Lucca. Italian food, Tuscan food in particular, is just so much fun to make. The ingredients are all so fresh, colorful, fragrant and easy to find and most importantly... delicious! The class was fairly interactive, but with 12 people plus the chef around the table, we didn't all get our hands in every dish. Buuuut, we did enjoy eating every dish! Menu is below:

Antipasti
Panzanella - Tuscan bread salad
Crostini alle melanzane - Toasty bread with eggplant
Crostini ai fegatini - Toasty bread with chicken liver and capers (I usually HATE pate, but this was actually edible)

Primi
Tordelli alla Lucchese - Ravioli with vegetarian filling (swiss chard, pine nuts, parmesan cheese, stale bread and raisins)
Ragu di carne alla Lucchese - Meat sauce from Lucca (my favorite thing of the day!)

Secondi
Arista di maiale alla Toscana - Roast pork with pancetta, rosemary and sage
Patate arrosto - Roasted potatoes

Dolci
Cantucci di Prato - Almond biscotti cookies

I think I could easily recreate the cantucci (if only I had more counter space), bread salad and pork roast. I'm going to try out the pasta sauce next weekend. I've been meaning to learn a home-made spaghetti sauce for a while so that I can ditch the bottled stuff.

Thanksgiving Turkey

2010-12-17T19:27:00.002+01:00

Istanbul is a city of experiences. Sure, there are plenty of sights to hold your attention -- beautiful mosques, gorgeous coastlines and colorful markets -- but a trip to Istanbul just wouldn't be complete without really experiencing Turkey.

On our first evening in the city, after a long day of travel (no matter how much I'm looking forward to the final destination, nothing makes that 6:40am flight from Pisa to Munich OK) we settled in for dinner at a typical Turkish restaurant just across the street from our hotel. The old woman sitting at a hot stone surface, cooking bread outside of the restaurant told me that this whole trip was going to be delicious. We ordered what seemed like the entire menu and dug in to fresh pita, dolmas, lamb stew, boric, feta cheese, crepes, kebab, baklava… Experience #1, Turkish food! Completely stuffed, we did a little window shopping (i.e. marveled at the colorful lamps, bowls and carpets in every store) and retired to our rooms for a good night's sleep.

Thankfully, my travel-mates are tolerant and understanding of my love of sleep and agreed to meet in the lobby at 10:30am on our second day. Rested, we set off mid-morning for the Grand Bazar. I was dazzled by the beautiful colors of every stall and started snapping photos before we even made it through the arching entryway. 10 minutes in to our day of shopping, I'd already haggled with a salesman for a beautiful, hand-painted plate which is going to be a Christmas gift for one lucky friend in Charlotte. Every salesman had a pitch as we walked by his store. "Where are you from? America!? I have a cousin that lives in America!" or "Hola, guapa!" (from those shopkeepers that thought we were Spanish) or "Would you like a leather coat. - No, thank you. - Is that your final answer?" If we were interested in an item and dared to show it, salesmen swooped in, eager to help us spend our lira and always offering tea or coffee. We never paid the initial asking price for an item -- I scored the 140-lira plate for 90-lira. Rachel bought a 120-lira backgammon board for 85-lira. Experience #2, Negotiating in the Grand Bazar. Other "finds" include 2 lamps, a print of the Mevlana, pillow case covers and small bowls.

Between haggling, we stopped in at Adnan & Hasan's, a beautiful shop in the Bazar, specializing in Turkish carpets. For hours, we sat and listened to Erol lecture on the different types of Turkish carpets from the affordable yet durable wool on wool kilim to the astronomically expensive, I-would-never-put-it-on-the-floor, pure silk carpet. I walked away with a beautiful, (but also one of those more affordable, wool) colorful kilim that I'm going to hang on the wall above my bed. That is if I ever get a ladder, get a drill, get cement screws, find a guy to help orchestrate the whole project… Experience #3, Finding the perfect Turkish carpet.

While visiting Adnan & Hasan's, I had a few more experiences, including my first Turkish coffee and cay tea. That's right, we were there long enough to have coffee AND tea. First, shopkeepers ask if you'd like something to drink. "Tea? Apple tea? Coffee?" If you accept, they send a faceless worker off to some unknown location to fetch the order. The drinks were placed on a small, wooden, folding table in front of us. Turkish coffee was first. I read the night before about how "sludge" like the Turkish delicacy is and was prepared for the worst. Surprisingly, I liked it! Different from what I was used to, yes, but not bad. The consistency reminded me of the thick-style European hot chocolate and the taste was just strong, sweet coffee. The trick is, don't drink all the way to the bottom of the cup. That's where the coffee grounds settle. Hence, the "sludge" reputation. Experience #4, Turkish Coffee. About an hour after the coffee, came the second offer for something to drink. Not wanting to over-caffinate, I choose tea this time. I had a choice of apple tea or cay tea. I choose cay thinking it was going to be similar to what I know as chai. It wasn't but it was still good. Served in a delicate glass cup on a decorative saucer with 1 or 2 sugar cubes on the plate… All in all, a pleasant experience except for your burning finger tips as you attempt to hold the glass full of scorching hot tea. Experience # 5, Turkish (cay) tea. The Turks like to linger over their beverages, so I suppose the intention is to get the tea hot enough to dissolve the sugar and then let it sit and cool off while chatting. Being the typical, impatient American that I am, I burnt my fingers every time.

After a long, dusty day of shopping at the Bazar, I decided to clean off and relax the Turkish way -- in a traditional hamam. For those of you unfamiliar with the Turkish bath experience, I have 3 words to sum it up -- hot, naked, bath. I read up on what to expect before going but it still took a while to calm down and really get comfortable with the experience. First, you strip down and enter a hot, marble room. While lounging around, you douse yourself with hot, thermal water. Then, after you're thoroughly sweaty and wet, an old man enters, covered only with a small, pestemal. Not speaking a word of English, with various pushes and grunts, he indicates that I'm supposed to lie down flat on the marble. For the next 10 minutes, I am bathed in the most literal sense. Soap bubbles are lathered on and dead skin scrubbed off with a kese. More splashes with water, this time cool, to get all the soap off and the bath is complete. Experience #6, Hamam.

In case the Grand Bazar and Turkish bath weren't enough excitement, I had one more experience in store before calling it a day. Rachel and I, in search of something to eat annnnnnd a water pipe, wandered down a brightly lit street. We were quickly approached by a gentleman that assured us his was the best restaurant in all of Istanbul. We followed him down the street and in to the restaurant. We climbed 3 flights of stairs, passing various levels of the restaurant before arriving on the roof top terrace, complete with plush pillow seating on the floor. We kicked off our shoes and settled in for the evening. Thanks to a few not-so-secret waiter admirers, (one actually told me, "My name is David but you can all me Antonio… Antonio Banderas!") we were given plates of food and endless cups of tea, all "on the house." Much to my surprise, the water pipe was actually the least exciting part of the night. It looked cool and all, but really just tasted like we were smoking dried apple potpourri. Experience #7, water pipe and Turkish "hospitality."

Early Saturday morning, we set out to see palaces, mosques and cisterns…. oh my! First up was Topkapi Palace. And, I'm sure this is going to make me sound ridiculous, but I just wasn't impressed after seeing the Alhambra in Spain a few weeks before. Thankfully, the mosques and underground cistern didn't disappoint! First was Hagia Sophia. Originally a cathedral, it was converted in to a mosque in 1453 and then a museum in 1935. Then, on to Yerebatan Sarnici, more commonly known as the underground cisterns. (For all you James Bond fans, I also read that parts of From Russia With Love were filmed here.) This slightly creepy place was actually forgotten about for many years until people began reporting that they were catching fish through the floor boards, under their houses. Last stop of the afternoon was the most impressive, Sultan Ahmed Mosque (popularly known as the Blue Mosque) where before entering we listened to the call to worship, broadcast throughout the city over a loud speaker, bouncing off the ancient buildings and echoing in the alleys. Men rushed to the mosques to wash their heads and feet before entering for prayer. We wandered through the courtyard and marveled at the outside structure before removing our shoes and stepping inside where we marveled some more at the beautiful interior. Experiences #8-10, palaces, mosques and cisterns… oh my!

Never one to pass up a nap, I crawled in to bed for a bit after our busy day exploring the nooks and crannies of ancient Istanbul. Waking up well rested, we set out again for the Spice Bazar. Smaller than the Grand Bazar but no less impressive, the market is made up of stall after stall of spices, herbs and teas from around the world. Some are piled high in burlap sacks on the floor, others in smaller piles on wooden counters. The smells and the colors were unlike anything I'd ever seen and I stocked up on spices in hopes of inspiring some exotic cooking back at home. Experience #11, Sights and smells in the Spice Bazar.

Rounding out the day, we ventured below the Galata Bridge for a seafood dinner by the water. Considering that from our seat on the pier we could see fishermen casting lines in to the water and pulling up fish to the bridge above our heads, I knew we were in store for a delicious meal. And boy, was it tasty! It's funny to think that just a couple of years ago, I wouldn't touch seafood and now, I find myself on the Marmara Sea, selecting dinner from a cart full of the day's fresh caches. Experience #12, fresh fish under the Galata Bridge. Makes my mouth water just thinking about it.

On Sunday, our last full day in Istanbul, Rachel and I set out for Taksim Square, the most modern section of the city. It was here that just a few months earlier, a man killed himself and injured several others when he detonated a small bomb hidden under his clothing. The heavy police presence was a reminder that no matter how modern and progressive Istanbul may seem, Turkey is still very much a country stuck between the influences of the Middle East on one side and Western Europe on the other. Experience #13, Understanding Turkey's unique position in the world. We spent the morning ambling down Istiklal Street (and, admittedly, stopping in at Starbucks for a latte), a pedestrian shopping zone that branches off from Taksim Square, before heading to the modern art museum where we spent the rest of our daylight hours. The art in Istanbul's own MOMA showed a country in transition (excuse me while I get amateur art critic on you for a minute) desperately trying to find an identity of their own. Many of the pieces dealt with change, gender identities, religion, politics and progress. Every piece seemed very close and personal to the artists -- no urinals on a pedestal or paintings of Campbell Soup cans here! (No offense to the Warhols and Duchamps of this world intended.) Experience #14, Seeing Istanbul through the eyes of its artists.

Monday morning, we packed our bags and had one last breakfast of fresh yogurt, dried figs and fried cheese before we set off for the airport. One last interesting observation in case anyone is still actually reading at this point… Before boarding our flight, we passed through 3 security screenings. The first at the entrance to the airport. Everyone entering the building puts everything (in our instance, all of our luggage, handbags, coats, etc.) through a scanner and passes through a metal detector. Once inside, we checked in for our flight before hitting the second security point -- another metal detector and bag screening. At this point, we'd already checked our big suitcases so it was just carry-ons going through. The last one was just outside of our gate. The flight attendants took our tickets and ushered us through a third and final metal detector/bag screening, into a small waiting area. Experience #15, uber security at the Istanbul airport. Feeling completely safe at this point, we all boarded the flight and enjoyed smooth sailing to Germany. The story about all the German beer we enjoyed during our 5 hour layover in Munich is one for some other time.

Back by popular demand

2010-10-20T21:37:00.000+02:00

It was one of those days, today. A betcha-didn't-think-you'd-ever-do-that-in-your-lifetime kind of moments. I drove in the UK! On the left side of the road! In a British car!

All of this might not mean much to you now, but just picture this… You're driving down the road, seated behind the wheel on the right side of the car, shifting with your left hand and entering roundabouts in a clockwise direction. There's no other cars around and when you glance up (admittedly, between singing rounds of 'Kukoboro' out loud just to make some noise since you can't drive with the radio on because it is "distracting") and get this overwhelming feeling that something just isn't right.

It took a minute but I quickly remembered I was supposed to keep my butt to the center line when I saw an oncoming car in my lane. Er, I mean their lane. I quickly moved back to the left lane and tried not to make eye contact as I passed. That was the only mistake I made all afternoon though, and I managed to get myself to Peterborough (where there is a mall, which has a Lush, which got 60-pounds of my money as I partook in a little retail therapy to calm my nerves) and back.

Before setting off on my little adventure, I was most worried about the roundabouts. See, in civilized society, we enter the roundabouts from the right and proceed in a counter-clockwise direction. Not so across the pond. Here, we enter from the left and drive in a clockwise fashion. As it turns out, that was really the least of my worries. Italy has given me plenty of practice with roundabouts and despite the change in direction, the same general rules apply. What did throw me for a loop though, were those darn turns. I found myself at intersections, not really knowing which way to look. Turning left. Signal on. OK, I thought, I can do this. Look right? No. Surely I need to look left. Except everything is opposite here. And once I'm sure there's no oncoming vehicles, which lane do I pick? Oh, geez. I'll just sit here and wait until another car drives by and I can get a frame of reference. Shifting with my left hand was also quite interesting.

The real question now, is which side of the road will I land on when I'm back in Italy? Here's hoping I don't confuse myself and goof up in a Tuscan roundabout! I don't think the Italians will be nearly as forgiving of my mistake as the Brits.

La Ville-Lumière, Deuxième Partie

2010-05-31T20:36:00.005+02:00

After my trip in February with Alison, I swore that I would never fly through Paris Beauvais again. However, I just couldn't pass up a chance to visit the city of lights again with Amber and Vince before they left for Hawaii, their next duty station. So, we boarded the flight one Saturday morning in April, landed in Paris a few hours later and even caught the bus to the city center without too much trouble. Perhaps the airport isn't quite as bad as I remembered. The bus from the airport dropped us off at Porte Maillot. We wandered around for a while before agreeing our best option was to forgo the metro and just catch a cab straight to the hotel on Rue Cler.

Within minutes of checking in to our rooms and throwing down our (heavy) backpacks, Vince realized his cell phone had fallen out of his pocket in the taxi. We called his number from my phone and the driver actually answered. Vince rushed my cell phone downstairs to the front desk where the receptionist asked the driver in French to please return the phone. The driver agreed, for the low, low price of just 15-euro for the return fare! (When we returned to Camp Darby on Monday, the MP at the gate told Vince he'd tried calling and got some "French guy" that kept saying, "Oui! Oui?") While we were waiting for the cell phone to be delivered, Vince then realized his passport was missing. He searched the cab when it arrived but to all of our disappointment it wasn't there. I suggested we head for the American Consulate but then remembered it was a Saturday. We tried calling the coach company that runs the buses from the airport but could find no one that spoke English. Utterly defeated and with bike tour reservations fast approaching, we gave up for the night and headed to Fat Tire headquarters, just around the corner from the Eiffel Tower.

Seeing as how it had been no less than 10 years since I'd really been on a bike (the 2 times around the Cotswolds on Walker before my tire went flat does not count) I was a bit nervous about biking through Paris. After hearing me express my concern, our tour guide told me there were helmets available. Since NO ONE else in the group was wearing one, I threw caution to the wind, put my life on the line and set off sans helmet. I'm happy to report that I did not fall off my bike. (The only major incident to report was my camera falling out of my pocket. Luck was on my side and the guy riding behind me happened to notice it dropped and stopped to pick it up. Phew!) In fact, I rather fell in love with biking again and am contemplating buying a cheap one from the Shoppette so I can ride from my house to Ponsacco's city center on market days when parking is virtually nonexistent.

Our tour ended with a boat ride down the River Seine. Freezing cold, Lexie (oh yeah, I forgot to mention my friend/Alison's cousin met us for the tour) and I moved inside for the last little bit and day dreamed about opening an import shop in the US. Most of the store will be French things, but Lexie promised to reserve a small corner for my Spanish and Italian finds. After disembarking the boat, I was cold, sore and sleepy from the glass of wine I toasted with onboard. Not thinking it possible, I peddled the few minutes back to the Fat Tire building and parked my trusty bike. The 4 of us found somewhere to eat, tried not to fall asleep and then parted ways. I slept soundly that night for a full 4.5 hours before it was time to wake up for our next adventure!

The morning train from Paris delivered us first to Bayeaux where we had over an hour to explore the small town before meeting our guide who would take us to the key sites of Normandy and D-Day. We stopped in for a below-average lunch and waited out the rain. Once we joined the group, we set out, first for Pointe de Hoc followed by Omaha Beach, Utah Beach, the American Cemetery and the Longes-Sur-Mer Battery. Much like Dachau, I found these sites sobering and heart wrenching. The biggest difference between the Concentration Camp and the coat line however, is their current use of the space. Dachau is a pure memorial and I doubt the land will ever fully "heal" and be usable or developed. At Normandy, while there are plenty of placards, museums and monuments in memory of the thousands that died on the beaches, there's also vacation homes and families picnicking on Utah Beach while their children build sand castles nearby. The beaches and shoreline are beautiful and the locals' enjoyment of the land didn't strike me as disrespectful, per say… just bizarre. Less than 70 years ago, not quite even one generation removed, those beaches were stained red and now they're used for holidays. I just can't connect the two and only hope that those using the land for enjoyment and relaxation also remember and respect the immense sacrifice and loss that made it possible to enjoy the beaches they lounge on now.

After our somber day in Normandy, we boarded the train back to Paris for a complete change of pace. Unfortunately, we over booked ourselves and showed up 30 minutes late for our reservation to ascend the Eiffel Tower. Despite our tardiness, they let us up anyways, where we had just enough time to ride to the first platform, snap a few pictures, wait in line to ride a 2nd elevator to the top platform, snap a few more pictures and then wait in line again to ride the elevators back down. From there, we hailed another cab (Vince kept a hold of his cell phone this time) and rushed off to the Lido for our cabaret show. Once inside and seated, we shared a champagne toast and I blew out the candles on my belated birthday cake. It might have been almost a month late, but I can't think of a better way to celebrate my Birthday than at a cabaret show in Paris. (Except perhaps with a Chip 'N Dales show in Paris… Hmm. Something to aim for in 2011?)

Completely exhausted from the last 48 hours of non-stop fun, I decided to sleep in Monday morning while Amber and Vince went to the Consulate. (After such busy days, we'd almost forgotten about the whole Vince-can't-leave-the-country thing, until reality came crashing down around us the day of our return flight.) I enjoyed a leisurely morning… Woke up without an alarm clock, showered and then set out to a) explore the area around our hotel and b) find Amber and Vince. The first few times I called them and didn't get an answer, I didn't think anything of it. After 3 hours of not reaching them, I started to worry and my overactive imagination kicked in. They were mugged and cell phones stolen. They were deported for loosing a passport. Lost on the mean streets of Paris. I settled in to a Starbucks to weight the pros and cons of flying back to Pisa without them that night when they called. I tried to direct them to the Starbucks but my keen sense of direction failed me again. Eventually, we met in front of the hotel where I learned the Consulate issued Vince an emergency passport. He could return to Italy with us! Hooray!

Vince came with a restaurant recommendation from a friend, so we set off to find it. I believe the exact review was, "The best restaurant in the whole world." Uh, I beg to differ. While not bad by any stretch, I've had better meals in Charlotte. Underwhelmed and pretty worn out at that point, we set out for the hotel to collect our bags and start the long journey back to the despised Paris Beauvais airport.

As per usual, the airport was crowded with crabby (myself included), travel-weary passengers. Once checked in and through security (not before being forced to cram my purse in to my backpack -- "strictly only 1 piece of carry on luggage is allowed") we settled in to the tiny terminal with 5 other plane loads of people all waiting to board.

The rest of the story is rather dull… We landed back in Pisa just before midnight. Rachel picked us up and took us back to our cars at Darby. I made the long (only 30 minutes but after a weekend like that in Paris, it seemed to last a lifetime) drive home, fell in to bed and didn't move again until my alarm woke me up for work the next morning. Back to the grind.

Easter in Italy

2010-04-29T10:47:00.001+02:00

It was cold and rainy when Julian showed up on my doorstep Easter morning. Well, actually, more like Easter afternoon. Julian, my landlady's Grandson, was scheduled to pick up me and Bimbi at 11:30am. When noon rolled around, I actually checked my calendar to make sure it really was Easter. At 12:30pm, Julian showed up and whisked us an entire block up the road to his parents' house. If I had known it was so close, I would have walked.

Earlier that week, Bimbi's daughter knocked on my door and handed me a letter written in English. It read, "You will join our family for Easter dinner, yes?" Surprised and honored, I accepted the invitation immediately. A few days later, she turned up again to tell me that Julian would pick me up for Easter dinner at 11:30am. Turns out dinner was in fact lunch.

Once inside, Julian, who speaks a little bit (and I do mean just a little bit) of English did the best he could to introduce me to generations of women. I think Bimbi's grandmother was there, which is particularly impressive when you consider that Bimbi is 72 years old.

I sat in the living room with the women for half an hour. The TV was blasting an Italian game show while everyone was speaking to me very slowly and very loudly in Italian. I'm not deaf, I just don't speak your language, ladies. Luckily, I've mastered the art of nodding and smiling politely despite being completely clueless as to what's going on around me.

Somehow, I managed to communicate to the ladies that I speak Spanish. (I think I must have mumbled out something like, "Capisco un poco Italiano perque parla Espanol.") Much to my delight, they introduced me to Sergio, another of Bimbi's cute grandsons, who just happens to have studied Spanish in Madrid.

After an hour of chitchat, everyone was ready to start lunch. We were ushered in to the dining room, and I was seated between Julian and Sergio, the only 2 in the lunch party of 20+ with whom I could communicate. The wine came first (and kept coming and coming until Bimbi yelled at Sergio from across the table to stop refilling my glass) followed by antipasti -- eggplant, cured meats, pickled vegetables, cheeses and bread. Then, the soup. Then, a pasta. And then, plates and plates full of meat grilled just outside of the front door in the makeshift fire pit. After a few minutes of trying to eat my meat with a fork and knife, Sergio elbowed me, held up his ribs with his hands, sunk his teeth in and smiled at me. Getting the point, I put my silverware down and joined in, picking up my ribs and digging in. When in Rome... By the time contorni (salad and spinach) came out, everyone was too full to make much of a dent. As the vegetables were being cleared, I glanced at the clock and realized we'd already been at the table for 3 hours. Over these hours, dinner conversation consisted of the group asking Sergio questions in Italian, Sergio turning to me to ask in Spanish, my answering back in Spanish and Sergio then translating back to everyone in Italian.

After a lovely fruit salad to "cleanse our palates," it was time for dessert. Excited to introduce my contribution to the meal, I pulled the tinfoil off a plate of homemade cupcakes. To be completely honest with you, my dessert didn't hold a candle to the Napoli-style flourless chocolate cake that was also served, but everyone claimed to be impressed. Sergio even ate two and his sister told me she had seen cupcakes once before, "on the Simpsons."

Basking in the rave reviews of my cupcakes, I completely lost track of time. I happened to ask Sergio, "¿Que hora es?" When he replied, "Seis menos cinco," I panicked and quickly explained that I was picking up friends from the train station at six. He assured me it was OK to take leave of the lunch after almost 5 hours at the table. I cheek kissed Italians all the way to the door, apologizing ("Permisso, me scuzzi") and thanking them profusely for having me ("Grazie mile!") I finally big everyone farewell ("Ciao, ciao, ciao. Buona Pasqua. Auguri!") and ran home.

Later that evening, as I was recounting all of the stories from my first Italian Easter lunch to my visitors, I realized just how lucky I was. Forget an authentic meal at a local agritourismo. I was welcomed in to an Italian family's most sacred holidays... This is la dolce vita.

LISBON, BOLGHERI, CERTALDO… OH, MY!

2010-04-13T20:53:00.000+02:00

I've been spoiled with great weekends lately.

First, was an overnight layover in Lisbon on my way back to Italy from the Azores. I had the afternoon and evening to myself. After grabbing a taxi from the airport to the hotel (all while making friends with my cab driver and arraigning for him to pick me up again the next morning for my trip back out to the airport) I threw my bags in the room and took off for Castelo de Sao Jorge.

I wandered around for a few minutes until I found the correct bus line to get up to the castle. Taking buses in foreign cities terrifies me. I'm not sure why, exactly, but I always convince myself that I'm on the wrong bus. So, as I boarded bus #37 -- the one with 'Castleo' emblazoned on the front -- I asked the driver, "Vas al Castelo?" Too bad that was Spanish. And I was in Portugal. Where they speak Portuguese. All I got was a dirty look and an extended hand for the fare. I handed over 1.40-euro and crossed my fingers that I was headed in the right direction.

After a 10 minute ride, I climbed off the bus, right in front of the 11th century castle. The views were amazing. I'll let the photo do the rest of the talking...

After spending hours at the Castle, I decided to walk back down to the hotel. I stumbled across a beautiful church on the way as well as tons of shops, restaurants and the like. While marveling at all the interesting people (Lisbon is FULL of interesting people) I almost got hit by a cable car.

At 6pm, after hours of exploring, I decided to head back to the hotel room for a little rest. It was too early for dinner (the Portuguese eat even later than the Italians) but too late to tackle any other major sights. Eventually, I ventured out again to find something to eat and ended up in an Indian restaurant. That's right. Indian food in Portugal. Don't judge. As I enjoyed my curry in Portugal, that was the last thing I felt foolish about. I sat in silence and ate quickly, trying to convince myself that, 'No, people are not staring at you, Taryn.' No matter how much solo traveling I do, I'm convinced that eating alone is never going to get easier.

The next weekend of greatness found me on several adventures to new Italian cities. First stop -- the Livorno cliffs. I've heard great things about this spot for the last year but just never made it. Now that I've been, I'm sure to go back again and again. It was quiet and calm on the rocks, not to mention breathtakingly beautiful. The water was clear and blue and the sky was bright. It was a windy day and the waves were crazy as a result. I hear in the summer time that the water is a lot calmer and this is a popular swimming spot.

After marveling at the water, the group loaded up and set out for Bolgheri. Not wanting to waste any time, we parked, took a few photos and then headed straight for the Enoteca. We spent the next 2 hours sampling the famous (and delicious) Bolgheri wine and gorging ourselves on prosciutto, cheeses, bruschetta, pasta… It was all great. In particular, the bruschetta was amazing -- the tomatoes seem to be in season again. And to think, I used to hate tomatoes.

Full from lunch, we decided to walk it off in the Bolgheri country side where we stumbled across a peaceful cemetery, glowing vineyard, old rotunda and what looked like grave sites of 19th century princesses.

A little bit of shopping and then we were on our way again! Third and final stop -- Volterra. I've been to Volterra many times (see blog from summer-time last year for a funny story about my driving adventures in the walled city). Consequently, the drive was the most exciting part of this leg of the adventure. I'll never tire of gluing my nose to the car window and marveling at the beautiful, rolling Tuscan hills. On a rainy day, they're unlike anything you've ever seen… Our afternoon drive was sunny and clear. I think I've described Tuscany as 'glowing' before, so pardon the repetition, but the country side was a-glow!

The last in my trinity of wonderful weekends was spent in Certaldo with Sandra and Ale, two of my most favorite people in Italy. We went in search of a tartufo festival but instead found a sagra. I didn't know what a sagra was until Ale explained it to me and we decided to venture inside to check it out. For those of you that are curious, a sagra is a big meal, themed around a specific food. Towns will set up a temporary restaurant of sorts and set a menu around asparagus, wild board, etc. etc. In this instance, every dish included tartufo (truffle) and long tables were set up in a community room. (Ale says sagras are usually outside.) Think a big family reunion in a church fellowship hall. Needless to say, we were a little disappointed to be faced with a sagra when we were expecting a full-blown festival.

Not easily discouraged (OK, we were actually discouraged, but we decided to suck it up and press on in search of more fun) we left the sagra, full of tartufo and set out to find 'old' Certaldo. Thanks to Ale's wonderful Wikipedia research, I can tell you that Certaldo is divided into two sections -- new Certaldo, at the foot of a small mountain and old Certaldo at the top of the small mountain, reached by a funicular train.

We boarded the funicular and found ourselves in a charming Renaissance s town once at the top. Ale followed Sandra and I around -- a photographer, he kept stopping us to pose for photos and even staged a few artistic photo shoots. "Sandra, you stand on this side of the wall, and Taryn, you walk away from her on the other side and the juxtaposition…" We stumbled in to several beautiful nooks and crannies in the old city and planned our Birthday parties, wedding ceremonies, farewell dinners, wedding receptions. It was all so story-book beautiful! And we all lived happily, ever-after...

The Inevitable

2010-03-20T18:15:00.001+01:00

With all the travelling I do, I suppose I should have seen this coming. I left Pisa Friday morning. Connected in Rome, then again in Lisbon and finally on to Terceira. My bag never made it out of Rome.

This is the first time I’ve had a bag delayed (I’m avoiding the word ‘lost’ so as not to jinx myself) and so far, I’m surviving. If all goes as planned, my things should arrive Sunday morning. In the meantime, the airline gave me an overnight kit with essential supplies like toothbrush/paste, deodorant, sleep shirt, shampoo, etc. Since I have to go a whole day without my things, they also told me to buy what I need to get by, not to exceed $100. So, this morning I went on a BX shopping spree! I scored new jeans, hair products, underwear and socks out of this ordeal. It’s nice to see the silver lining...

Oddly, I feel slightly more seasoned. Like, I can call myself a real frequent flier now that I've had a bag delayed.

Ah, Pari!

2010-03-01T22:21:00.002+01:00

Alison was introduced to the joys of Ryanair from the onset of our journey to Paris. The first test was rearranging everything we packed so that our bags would fit in the metal container before being allowed to pass through security. I threw on a few additional layers of clothing and crammed things in my coat pocket. And, wah lah! Just like that, the bag fit. As soon as I was out of eye-sight of the security guard in charge of checking bags, I put everything back in. Sadly, I lost several hair products to the X-Ray machine. (Silly no liquids rule.) We landed in Paris a little late, a calling card of Ryanair flights despite their claim of being the ‘on time’ airline and hopped on the bus that would take us in to the city.

Lexie, Alison’s cousin, was waiting for us when we arrived and she kindly hailed a taxi to whisk her travel weary guests to her apartment. While Alison and Lexie caught up I promptly passed out. I can sleep anywhere, anytime. Friday morning, we woke up (in Paris!) and enjoyed a lesiurely morning over coffee and the most amazing croissants. Well rested, showered and fed, the trio set off for sight seeing. Our first stop was Luxembourg Gardens. I’d been there a few years earlier in the summer time. While the gardens are prettier in bloom, it was still a beautiful spot and a great way to start the day.

From Luxembourg Gardens, we set out for Notre Dame. Rather than hopping on the metro, we ambled through the streets of Paris. Lexie expertly navigating us to the Cathedral, Alison and I gawking at all the Parisian people walking Parisian dogs down Parisian sidewalks lined with Parisian shops… Notre Dame was less crowded than I remembered from my first visit. We stumbled across what I think was a full scale mass – first, a long line of Priests and other official-looking guys processed by us, leaving behind a trail of incense. Then, we watched a young boy sing and several priests speak for a few minutes. The interior of the church is impressive and beautiful. It was a sunny day – all the stained glass was alight and sunbeams filtered through the tall arches making the Cathedral glow.

After marveling at Notre Dame and a few more renditions of that song from Les Miserables (thanks, Alison) we were ready for a French lunch. Lexie led the way to a creperie where we feasted on buckwheat crepes stuffed with cheese, mushrooms, chicken and sweet crepes for dessert stuffed with honey, cinnamon, chocolate, sugar. Is your mouth watering yet? Needless to say, we all left pleasantly stuffed, headed for the Arc de Triumph. It was a long climb to the top, but the views of Paris, branching off at precise angles from the Arc were totally worth the stairs!

Friday night, our hosts picked out L’Ebauchoi for dinner, a great local restaurant. One of my favorite things about travelling is discovering ‘off the beaten’ path places and this restaurant certainly fit that bill! Seemingly a local haunt, everything about the restaurant oozed French charm. The theme of eating our way through France continued Saturday morning. After another leisurely morning, we made our way to Angelina’s for brunch. Feeling the need to give it a try (it was a when in France moment), I ordered the French onion soup. I don’t even like French onion soup but this was quite possibly the most amazing soup I’ve ever put in my mouth. Seriously. Amazing. The best-soup-ever was followed by the most decadent, rich, thick, creamy hot chocolate in the world. While I enjoyed it in the moment, I immediately felt sick with a sugar rush and chocolate overload when I put the cup back down on the saucer. Maybe it was the French onion soup/hot chocolate combo. I suppose in hindsight that wasn’t the greatest combination…

Facing a rainy day, we decided to tackle the Louvre Saturday afternoon. I’d already spent 2 full days in the museum on my last visit, so I didn’t feel like I HAD to see anything in particular. As it turns out, my favorite part of the museum (the indoor sculpture garden) was closed for renovations anyway. Alison and Lexie set our course. We saw the Mona Lisa, several Michelangelo sculptures, Venus de Milo, royal jewels, the infamous pyramid and paintings of Baby Jesus. There are always paintings of Baby Jesus.

From the Louvre, we hustled over to the Eiffel Tower for our sunset reservation. Fortunately, it stopped raining long enough for us to enjoy the experience without getting soaked. Unfortunately, it was still cloudy and overcast so we didn’t have any really spectacular views nor the beautiful sunset we were hoping for. But, I was on top of the Eiffel Tower with good friends. Things could certainly have been worse.

Exhausted from our days of sightseeing, we decided to eat in that night. Somehow, I managed to convince Lexie and Alison to call in for sushi. There’s no (edible) sushi to be found in Italy, so it was quite the treat to find myself face to face with this spread:

On Sunday, our last day in Paris, we woke up early for a real American breakfast at the restaurant named – appropriately enough – Breakfast in America. Bottomless cups of Joe, French toast (not actually French), eggs, bacon, toast… It was like a little piece of home away from home. I wish there were places like this in Italy. Actually, there is a place called the Dinner in Florence, but that’s a bit of a trek from Ponsacco.

Stuffed with great food for the millionth time that weekend (are you picking up on the trend yet?) we spent the time left before our flight on a self-guided (read: Taryn guided with the help of Rick Steve’s) tour of Père Lachaise. The famous cemetery houses the likes of Jim Morrison, Oscar Wilde, Chopin, Edith Piaf and thousands of other noted artists, scientists, writers, musicians, philosophers, etc.

Before leaving Paris, another exciting Ryanair experience awaited us. Upon arrival at Paris-Beauvais we found a line for security that wrapped around the building twice. This with just an hour before our flight was scheduled to depart. As Alison panicked, I took the opportunity to put on layers of clothing and stuff things in my pockets again, determined not to get flagged for an oversized check-on. This time, my bag fit in the required dimensions the first time! As always, the minute I was through security I put everything back in my bag. It’s as if Ryanair just likes to make their passengers angry, frustrated and completely miserable before boarding the flight. The good news is, we made our flight with time to spare. Another delayed Ryanair flight put us in Pisa around midnight. We made it back to my house in time to catch a little bit of the Superbowl. When I went to bed, the Colts were up. It was quite the surprise to find out the Saints won it all in the second half.

Sadly, our trip to Paris marked the end of Alison’s visit. We had one more day together to explore Volterra (and hold a full-fledged photo shoot) and see the notorious Leaning Tower before I had to begrudgingly put her on a plane back to New York and the looming blizzard.

Un Viaggio Molto Buona

2010-02-16T21:02:00.008+01:00

Alison’s visit started inauspiciously.

After tracking her flight from London to Pisa all morning, I left the office a little early to meet her at the airport since her plane looked to be landing ahead of schedule. The first travelers filed out the customs/baggage claim area. I pegged them quickly as passengers of the London to Pisa flight because of their heavy British accents. Then, those with checked baggage started to emerge through the automatic sliding doors. And then, 45 minutes after I arrived, a British Airways flight attendant wheeled out a little old lady in her wheel chair. But still no Alison.

Just as I was pulling out my cell phone to send a text that I was positive she wouldn’t get, Alison emerged, grateful to see me and happy to not be spit outside of the airport. Turns out, I should have told her that I couldn’t access the baggage claim area and she would need to ‘exit’ to find me. Oops! So, let this be a lesson to all you would be visitors. When you arrive in Pisa, get your baggage and follow the crowds to the exit. I’ll be waiting for you there!

Alison braved jet lag like a trooper and stayed awake until 9pm her first night in Italy. After a quick visit to Darby (I needed to finish up my day in the office) we headed to Ponsacco, where I introduced her to my favorite pizza al taglio and the infamous Roxy Bar. While both are wonderful, they’re also the only places in Ponsacco to get food before 8pm. The Italians like to eat late! Usually, I find it charming to start dinner late and leisurely spend 3 or 4 hours at the table. But, when you’re fighting jet lag and have been travelling for the last 18-hours, that’s the last thing you’re in the mood for…

The next morning, I forced Alison to wake up early and join me in the office. I’m such a bad hostess, I know. However, I had my reasons. Not only was it Tuna Friday (!!!) but we also left for the train that would take us to Rome straight from Darby. Sandra put her to work all day, prepping packets for upcoming spring trainings. If any North Atlantic volunteers out there are reading this, and you attend a training this spring, you have Alison to thank (or blame if anything is missing) for the resource packets.

We cut out a little early that afternoon to make it to the station in time to catch the train to Rome. The price difference between a train from Pontedera (near my house) and a train from Livorno (near the office) to Rome is out of control. It costs 16-euro for a 4-hour ride out of Livorno or 49-euro for a 3-hour ride out of Pontedera. Easy decision!

Our train ride to Rome was uneventful, as was finding our hotel… Unless you count that whole ‘no-street-signs-in-Rome thing.’ After wandering for a while and cursing the map for leaving out entire streets altogether, we arrived safely at Hotel Stella, our home away from home for the weekend. After reading some pretty poor online reviews, I was a little nervous about this Hotel Stella. However, I’m happy to report that our experience there was lovely! The hotel is in a super convenient location, just a couple blocks from Termini Station. Our room was spotlessly clean and actually pretty spacious by European standards. A simple but filling breakfast was included in the price. And, oh! The price! At 50-euro per night for a double occupancy room, I’d say we did pretty well for ourselves.

I’m not going to go into much detail about dinner out our first evening in Rome. I’ve been warned so many restaurants in the city are giant tourist traps – overpriced and below average food. Suffice it to say, we found that to be true. If you really want all the juicy details, Alison chronicled the evening, prosciutto stuck in the throat and all, on her blog, here: http://alisonlikespineapple.blogspot.com. Forsaking Rome’s nightlife (party animals, we are not), we both fell into bed on Friday night pretty early. Alison exhausted from non-stop travel and me, well, because I just love being in bed.

Saturday morning, we woke up when we felt like it and made a laid-back start to our day over the hotel’s breakfast. We left Stella mid-morning to find the TI counter in the Termini Station. Thanks to Alison’s fortuitous purchase of Rick Steve’s Rome guidebook, we found it without any trouble and both invested in the Roma Pass. (For 23-euro, the pass gives you unlimited public transportation for 3 days and 2 free entries to museums or historical sites of your choosing.) Roma Pass in hand, we took off for the Colosseum followed by the Roman Forum and all of the many, many ruins there with in. In case you don’t believe me when I tell you that we spent the morning marveling at very, very old things, here is a bit of photographic evidence.

We spent the whole day dodging 15-minute downpours, sandwiched by beautiful patches of brilliant blue sky. We waited out the rain in the Colosseum, below an ancient bridge at the Forum, during lunch in a little café, in a gellateria (my personal favorite place to wait out the rain) and under "Rome’s Umbrella" also known as the Pantheon. Not to be confused with the Parthenon. Everyone knows the Parthenon is in Greece. Duh.

Yes, we saw this:

No, we did not see this:

Before retiring back to the hotel to dry off and pick out a dinner spot (well, I picked out a dinner spot, Alison continued to talk out loud to the Wedding Dash game on my iPod) we made it to the Trevi Fountain and the Spanish Steps. The later of which we hit right at sunset, as the sky turned the most beautiful shade of blue I’ve ever seen. So, back to that dinner spot. After striking out Friday night, I was determined to find an authentic spot for Alison to experience her first, real Italian meal. Following another Rick Steve’s suggestion, we went to Da Giovanni’s and had an amazing meal, with amazing waiters. Buon appetito and welcome to real Italian eating, Alison!

With full, happy bellies, Alison and I made the pleasant stroll back to the hotel and promptly fell in to bed, because we are cool and sleep is even cooler. Who needs crazy nightlife in Rome? Not us!

Sunday morning, we woke up early by Taryn and Alison standards, enjoyed another Hotel Stella breakfast and then left the confines of Rome, bound for Vatican City. Apparently, the rest of Rome had the same plan. Before we even left Rome, we knew were in for an adventure. (If by adventure you mean hours upon hours of waiting in queues.) The metro headed for the Vatican was packed. As we exited the train with the hoards of tourists, we didn’t even need to break out a map. We simply followed the masses and the distant buzz of the crowd waiting in line to enter the Vatican Museum. After a two-hour wait in a line that curved around the Vatican Museum and stretched almost to St. Peter’s Square, we were finally in! There to greet us was (shocking!) more religious paintings. I’m not sure if anyone has ever counted, but I’d be willing to bet there are at least 5 million paintings of Baby Jesus just in Italian museums alone.

Set up like a maze, with twists and turns, Alison and I slowly made our way through the museum. Deftly dodging the tour groups and guides with umbrellas whom almost inevitably seemed to stop right in the doorway, blocking everyone’s exit. The highlight of the afternoon for me was the Raphael Room, where I unexpectedly stumbled across this painting:

I remember studying the School of Athens in History class. So, it was pretty exciting to see it up close and in person. Shortly after the surprise viewing of Raphael’s masterpiece, we finally made it to the Sistine Chapel. And, I hate to be a Debby Downer about it, but I just wasn’t impressed. Maybe it was the crowds. Maybe it was the fact that it took 2 hours of twists and turns through the museum to get there. Maybe it was how dark the room was, making it difficult to see any real detail. Maybe it was the curators that clapped loudly and ‘shhhh’-ed the crowds every 10 minutes. Maybe my expectations were just too high. Call me a snob, if you must, but overall, I give the Sistine Chapel a reluctant one thumb up. Take that, Michelangelo. Guess you should have stuck to sculptures.

After the big letdown, er, I mean the Sistine Chapel, Alison and I escaped out a little side door right in to St. Peter’s Square. As a result of the Papal address happening in the Square, the Basilica was quiet and empty. We had time to explore the massive cathedral (largest in the world) and marvel at the scope of excess contained therein before we wandered in to the Square to marvel again. On our way out, we stopped for lunch at a resoundingly unimpressive Chinese restaurant. I know, I know. I should have known better than to pick a Chinese restaurant right outside of the Vatican walls, but we were hungry and wet and tired and I NEVER get Chinese food.

We slowly ambled back to the hotel, gathered our bags and boarded the train that would take us back to Pisa. Alison continued on with her Italian adventure during the week while I worked. More of those adventures can be found on Alison’s blog. Thankfully, I only faced a 4-day workweek before taking off for Paris…

Between Italy and Germany is where you'll find me.

2010-01-11T18:37:00.005+01:00

I added a new country to my list of ‘Countries Visited’ this weekend! I’m not positive it should count, but I take them how I can get them. On our way to Garmisch, Germany my co-workers and I drove through Austria – home to two Winter Olympics and, uh, Bruno?

The story of the 1976 Olympic Games is interesting. Innsbruck hosted the Games for the first time in 1964. The 1976 Olympics were awarded to Denver, Colorado, but the citizens voted to prohibit public funds from being used to support the event. Canada, the second choice, turned down the opportunity to host for similar reasons. Eventually, Innsbruck stepped in to save the day, agreeing to host The Winter Olympics for the second time in only 12 years.

Bruno is a less interesting story. Not nearly as funny as Borat and even more tasteless than Ali G.

Garmisch was beautiful! Much to my dismay, we didn’t get any snow until this morning, when it was time to leave. And, all weekend, the surrounding alps (including the nearby Zugspitze, the highest mountain peak in Germany) stayed hidden behind a curtain of clouds. I’ve been to the area twice now and have yet to spot the surrounding mountains. I’ll be back in April for our Adult Learning Conference and hope to finally see the view that I've to date only spotted splashed on all the postcards.

Being in the mountains has inspired me to try out Winter sports again. For those of you that didn’t know me during my adolescence, I quickly decided skiing was not for me after an ill-fated Girl Scout trip to Sugar Mountain. I spent an hour crossing my skis and falling in ways my body was not meant to bend before I hung up my poles, called it a day and settled in front of the lodge’s fireplace. I have been snow shoeing a few times since and enjoyed that experience. As a result, I think I am now ready to try out snow boarding. I was hoping to get a lesson or two in this weekend, but we stayed too busy with our Conference. (Well, that and I opted to spend what little free time I did have in the hot tub and at the spa.) There are slopes nearby in Italy, so who knows? I may just learn to snow board this Winter. Or, maybe I’ll just renew my love for the cozy lodge fireplace…

I can’t remember all the times I tried to tell myself to hold on to these moments as they pass.

2010-01-05T18:34:00.009+01:00

Well, I’ve managed to quietly slip in to the new year since the last update. I have a few stories from New Year’s Eve to share and a resolution to make public knowledge. (I have a few resolutions that are staying private, as well.) This means that you’re all welcome to remind me of my elaborate promise to make this new year better than the last come summer time, when I’m melting away in Italy and more importantly, we’re half way to 2011.

I celebrated the last day of 2009 in the traditional sense, as the clock struck midnight on December 31st, with friends from Camp Darby. However, my friends and family in the States wouldn’t celebrate the occasion for another 6 hours. And that was if they lived on the East Coast. I remember watching other countries ring in their new years when I was younger. Australia always came first, then somewhere in Europe, usually Paris, with the Eiffel Tower lit up. I always thought the time difference and staggered countdowns were weird. This year, I was that oddity. An hour after I started my 2010, Alison was just beginning to primp for her big countdown to midnight in New York.

It was a rainy night in Italy on the 31st and I was happy to be nestled in Erica’s apartment for most of the night, with an amazing balcony over looking the Michael Jackson cover band and the rough Ligurian Sea. When midnight hit and the fireworks illuminated the waves crashing against the pier, it was almost too beautiful to bear. Then, I glanced down at the Italians, triple parked along Via Italia and shooting fire works at each other and reality kept me from floating away completely. I brought in the new decade with a champagne toast and my new friends, excited to see what 2010 holds for all of us.

Fireworks over Livorno.

Yes, that is beer pong. Yes, it was that kind of party.

So now, for the resolution… Some years I have actually sat down and made a list. Sometimes I share the list and sometimes I keep it to myself. Other years, midnight comes and goes without any attempt at resolutions on my part. It’s all very hit or miss. This year, I have only come up with one goal, but I think it’s a good one – I just want to find happiness, laughter and beauty wherever in the world I might be. And of course, chronicle all the adventures for you here.

I’ll have a lot to tell over the next few months. This weekend brings a trip to Garmisch for a Girl Scout conference and later in January, I’ll be taking off for a girls’ (plus Vince) weekend in Sicily. Alison is coming to visit!!! I need to buy bedroom furniture in Aviano and figure out how to piece together the new desk and bookshelf I bought this week at Ikea. And that’s just the big stuff! There’s still the adventures of everyday driving with (or, should I say in fear of) Italians, grocery shopping in the local markets, understanding radiators and gas water heaters, practicing the language, visits with my landlady… Maybe my resolution should instead be to figure out how I’m going to squeeze everything I want to see and do in to twelve short months. I'm sure I'll manage -- don't worry too much about me.

For now, I wish you all happiness, laughter and beauty in the new year!

Lufthansa Flight or Melting Pot?

2009-12-11T20:44:00.006+01:00

It never ceases to amaze me how different people can be from one country to the next. I’ve never been one to generalize or stereotype buuuuut, in general, every country I have visited over the last few months has a pretty distinct personality. On my flight home from the States (I went home for 2 ½ weeks at Thanksgiving) this week, I looked around and realized we had a small cross section of the Western Hemisphere on my plane…

Exhibit A, in the seat next to me – Germany

A polite but quiet young man sits down in the middle seat of a 3-seat row and immediately buckles up. The plane isn’t full, and there is an empty seat on the other end of our row. As the plane taxies and takes off, I figure he will move to the vacant seat, leaving the middle seat empty and giving us both some breathing room. Nope. He isn’t budging. So, I ask him if he would perhaps consider moving over one seat. Naturally, I explain, we can then both stretch out and be comfortable for the 9-hour flight looming ahead of us. Do you think he moves? Remember, he’s German… His response, complete with a thoroughly confused facial expression, “But, this is my assigned seat.” Of course it is! Had he not then proceeded to dump his oily, Italian salad dressing down my leg during dinner, I might have just written the whole thing off. However, now reeking of anchovies, I’m actually wishing him bodily harm. Or, at least a few good Charlie horses and awful muscle cramps as a result of sitting bunched up next to me for so long.

Exhibit B, in the aisles, loitering by the bathroom, pulling things out of the overhead bins onto other passengers’ heads … In general, everywhere but in their seats! – Italy

Ah, the Italians! God love them, just never stick me on a plane full of them. As we board the plane, I notice an older couple seated in front of me. Their daughter is standing in the aisle (blocking the passage for everyone trying to elbow their way to seats behind her) “translating” for her parents. Her words, not mine. What she is translating, I’ll never know, since there are no PA announcements at the time and not a single flight attendant in sight. The plane takes off (the German is still glued to my side, however has not yet dumped anything down my leg) and up pops the daughter again, making her way from the back row of the plane to her parents. She starts “translating” loudly again – at least this time, we’re in the middle of the safety announcement, so there is actually something to “translate.” I bury my nose in a book and practice deep breathing in an attempt to block it all out.

Exhibit C, smoking in the lavatory - France

Smoking in the lavatory. It's a federal offense in the United States, the country of origin for our flight. Not to mention, it carries heavy fines in Europe and causes cancer (FYI). When I think of the tiny, cramped, 2 foot by 2 foot box airlines call a lavatory, the last thing I have the urge to do is smoke. I can barely stand to be in there long enough to take care of business, much less enjoy an entire cigarette. But, the French woman risking being labeled a felon the rest of her life and the 800-euro fine? Apparently, she can't pass up the chance to light up.

Exhibit D, Screaming at her children in an outside voice despite being on an airplane, and yanking them around hard enough to dislocate an elbow – America

Since I am equal opportunity with my stereotypes, I can’t leave out the ugly American. I hear her coming minutes before I see her round the corner. With 3 children in tow, each struggling to roll Hannah Montana and Handy Manny miniature suitcases behind them, she is loud and proud. I do a double take and realize she’s actually wearing a T-shirt that reads, “Made in America.” I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried, folks.

For the entire flight, the children squeal, the American woman yells at them to ‘cut it out’ and the Italians chatter louder to make sure they’re heard over the din. There are, however, no more smoking-in-the-lavatory incidents. But, don't forget the German, in my lap from one side of the Atlantic to the other.

Don't Bring Me Down

2009-11-01T21:56:00.001+01:00

I try not to complain. Especially here, in such a public forum. After all, “I am in Italy!” I have this super job. I travel all over Europe. In just 7 months I’ve already made so many great friends. I live virtually expense free… But, some days are just hard. Today, was one of those days. After falling ill with the flu, I postponed my last trip for the Fall – pushing my flight to Munich from Friday at 6am to this afternoon. And all for only $602! It’s no wonder the airline industry is so hated. If I was a lesser person, I would have just flown on Friday and been sure to cough my flu germs on every airline employee I came in to contact with, but I digress.

After spending Halloween, one of my favorite holidays, in my house all by myself, I took off for Munich this morning. Upon landing, I would leisurely make my way to Heidelberg, ambling through the German countryside, more than proficient with a stick shift now. I felt like I was off to a fresh start, wandering through the airport (Munich airport is pretty cool and I was impressed) when I spotted the Hertz counter. The woman behind the counter easily found my reservation and collected the necessary info from me. Passport number? Check! Driver’s license? Check! Credit card? Che - - ohshit! Declined. Accept a debit card? No? What about cash? Of course not. How about my first born? Will you at least let me use your German phone to call Wachovia long distance and figure out why in the world my credit card was declined.

Since Wells Fargo took over Wachovia it seems as though the phone call I made in April, before I moved, alerting the company that I would be travelling throughout Europe, was just forgotten in the merger. Seeing as how I’ve used my card in cities from Lajes to London over the last couple months, they flagged the card for suspicious activity and placed a “courtesy” hold. Anything but courteous as it hit me that I was completely stranded.

I discovered today that one of the worst feelings in the world is being stuck in a country where you don’t speak the language. The ending to this story is obviously a happy one since I’m here, writing this in Heidelberg, but for a few moments today, I felt so helpless and so alone. It was a crushing feeling (or maybe that’s just the chest congestion that settled in last week courtesy of the flu) I’d do anything to avoid in the future.

For those of you on the edge of your seat, wondering how your beloved heroine got herself out of this jam… I took the train. Tomorrow, I’ll attempt to rent a car on base and hopefully, life will return to its regularly scheduled programming.

“Don't compare your life to others. You have no idea what their journey is all about.”

- Regina Brett

***Editor's Note***

I feel the need to make an amendment on my previous story about the hold on my Wachovia credit card... When I was home for Thanksgiving, about half way through my visit, I tried to use my card at a restaurant in Boone. The waitress returned to my table to tell me the card was declined. I immediately blamed it on another hold on my account and gave her my debit card instead. I actually forgot to follow up on the whole thing until this afternoon when I got a letter from Wachovia.

According to the letter, "This credit card has been temporarily restricted to help you avoid the inconvenience that unauthorized use of your credit card could cause."

I called Wachovia this afternoon (Dec. 14, 2009), ready to bless them out for yet another unnecessary hold. Boy, was I surprised when they asked me if I'd spent any time in Illinois or Kansas lately. In particular, if I had attempted to make a purchase at the Wal-Mart or PayLess Shoe Store in Topeka. Nope! I kept all movement within North Carolina while home for Thanksgiving, annnnd I wouldn't be caught dead wearing PayLess shoes in Italy. (For those of you that don't know me, this is pure sarcasm at its best. I am a shoe whore, but not a shoe snob.)

Anyways, the card has been cancelled and evil doers thwarted in their effort to steal my money. Take that, Identity Thieves! And, most importantly, I've now learned the importance of credit card companies' courtesy holds. I can admit when I'm wrong and apologize with the best of them. So, I'm sorry Wachovia and Wells Fargo for yelling at you and publicly ridiculing you in my oh-so-popular blog.

Where do I start?

2009-10-25T21:26:00.010+01:00

I’ve been so negligent in updating lately that I’m now at a loss for where to pick up… In the last couple months I’ve been to the Dolomites in Italy, Brussels, Germany, Portugal and right now, I’m finishing up the last few days of a 2 week trip to the UK. How about a few highlights from each?

Let’s start in the Dolomites. Paige came to visit the first week in September and we drove (against my car’s will) to the Dolomites where the weather was cool and the views were amazing. After melting all summer in Pisa, it was a welcome change to see my breath in the morning and bundle up in fleece.

The same morning I dropped Paige off at the airport, I took off for an overnight in Brussels with Amber and Rachel. Time has not changed Belgium – it was exactly as I remembered it from my time there 6 years ago. While there, we wandered through the Gran Place, ate too many waffles and drank too much Belgian beer, explored Parc du Cinquantenaire (site of the infamous drive-in movie where I first met James) and had lunch with Rick, my old boss at the Wall Street Journal. Wandering around Brussels, I remembered why I love Europe so much. Every country has such a unique feel here, it’s like entering another world when you cross the border. Italy is nothing like Belgium which is nothing like Spain which is nothing like Germany…

After a fun weekend in Belgium, it was time to start my site visits. Germany was first, with stops in Schweinfurt, Grafenwoehr, Hohenfels, Ansbach and Illesheim. While all the visits went really well, I think the most important thing worth mentioning (again) was my trek across Germany in a manual car! For those of you that have been following the stick shift saga, this was a momentous accomplishment for me, and to say I’m very proud would be an understatement.

I only had a couple days back in Italy after my site visits in Germany. Just enough time to wash a few loads of laundry and repack my bags before taking off to Portugal. My first stop was Lisbon where we recruited 6 girls and 3 adult volunteers! An impressive accomplishment considering there were no Girl Scouts in Lisbon for the last 2 years. Between all our recruiting, Paige was kind enough to take me sightseeing in Lisbon.

After Lisbon, I took off for Lajes Air Force Base on Terceira, one of nine islands in the Azores. The two and a half hour flight took me to the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. We landed first and rather unexpectedly on Pico before continuing on to Terceira. While I enjoyed my time on the island and can’t wait to get back for another visit, I can see how an assignment on the 11-mile by 13-mile island could be tedious. It's a tiny island with only a handful of restaurants and shops, unpredictable weather and frequent cow jams.

I was excited to have an entire weekend back in Italy between trips to Portugal and the UK. Before leaving Lajes, I did all my laundry in billeting. It’s nice to take advantage of the American style dryers (as opposed to the awful European condenser unit I have at home) and to come home with almost no dirty clothes. With so much time on my hands, I cleaned my house, watched two movies at Darby, had dinner with friends and played what seems like a hundred games of Bingo. Before I knew it, my weekend was over and it was time to take off for the UK.

I started my UK site visits in London, commuting in to Hillingdon each morning. And, as a result, realized a commuting lifestyle is not for me! It was rainy and cold outside, the underground was crowded and hot and I ultimately arrived 30 minutes late because I missed my train by 1 minute. After two nights in London, I packed up and headed out to Alconbury then Harrogate then Croughton and now, here I sit in Anglia. I feel like I've been in the UK for months, largely in part because each site is so different. This visit has seen me in a hostel (Pax Lodge), billeting, a volunteer's home and a typical British Bed and Breakfast; working in a Committee with 15 girls one day and 150 girls the next; freezing cold weather in the North and mild temperatures in the South. My volunteers have been incredibly gracious and welcoming, taking me shopping and to sites like the one below (Fountains Abbey) between Commander briefings and Leader meetings. When it's all said and done, the UK is probably my favorite place to visit so far. It certainly helps that I speak the language, but I'm also a big fan of the pubs (Strongbow!), the people, the beautiful country side, the history, the trains, the tea...

On Tuesday, I’ll head back to Italy for two days before I take off on my last Fall site visit. I’ll spend 2 more weeks in Germany, visiting all the areas I didn’t make it to in September. I’m looking forward to having a car again (I rely on planes, trains and my wonderful volunteers’ automobiles in Portugal and the UK), even if it is a stick shift.

After this last site visit of the season, it will only be a matter of days before I take off again… This time, I’m headed to Charlotte for a much needed vacation/visit home/hug/Black Friday shopping/doctors’ appointments/reunion with friends/Panthers game/Thanksgiving extravaganza!

How did this happen?

2009-09-15T21:00:00.001+02:00

Have you ever stopped and asked yourself, “How did I get here?”

As I drove across Germany this afternoon I asked myself that very question over and over again. When I looked around the country side and thought about the history lurking in the hills – How did I get here? When I stalled my rental car twice trying to go up a mini-mountain thanks to my cracker jack GPS that routed me around traffic but through every tiny town in Germany – How did I get here? When I stopped at a German gas station to get something to eat, expecting to find schnitzel and beer, but instead found myself faced with a Burger King – How did I get here? When all the next stop offered was a McDonalds – How did I get here? As I paid 50-Euro cents to use the toilet and then marveled as the seat automatically rotated and sanitized itself – How did I get here?

A year ago, I was just settling in to teacher shopping at Classroom Central. All of the School Tools sorting was almost done and Educate Your Palate was right around the corner.

Two years ago, I would have told you I was never going to leave Charlotte, happy as could be with my work at Girl Scouts, Hornets’ Nest Council. Not even stressing about the infamous Thin Mint Sprint yet.

And now, here I am, sitting in a hotel room in Schweinfurt… My left leg a little wobbly from riding the clutch across Germany for the last 5 hours. Fresh off a weekend trip to Brussels with two girls I met just 6 months ago, but whom I’m convinced will be friends for life. And before that, an adventure in the awe-inspiring Dolomites with Paige, my oldest friend. I’ll chronicle those escapades in the next few days, but for now, I’m content to just marvel at my luck.

How did it happen? How did I get here?

Il Palio di Siena

2009-08-17T20:25:00.006+02:00

It all started out as an ordinary day, much like any other Sunday, but ended like this:

Let’s start from the beginning, shall we? After a fun Saturday evening, celebrating a friend’s Birthday at his orto, I seized the chance to sleep in on Sunday. When I finally got around to rolling out of bed at 11:00am, I checked the train schedule and settled on the 12:45pm train. I would leave from Pontedera and change in Empoli before heading on to my final destination –Il Palio in Siena!

Having just recently finished reading Too Much Tuscan Sun by Dario Castagno, I was vaguely familiar with the concept of Il Palio, a horse race held twice each year on July 2 and August 16 in Siena. Seventeen Contrada (neighborhoods/regions), each identified by bizarre mascots such as Bruco (caterpillar), Giraffa (giraffe) and Istrice (porcupine), all hope to earn one of ten spots in the race where they compete for Il Palio flag. While the flag is the tangible reward, from what I witnessed, bragging rights are the more coveted prize.

I made it in to Siena without any trouble. From what I read online, more than 75,000 people flock to the city for this annual event. I was expecting a crowded train ride, but I easily found a seat and read my latest pink cover, summer book the entire ride. Even after I got off the train and made my way to a bus that took me to the city center, I still found myself wondering where everyone was… It didn’t take me long to hear some commotion in the distance though. Following Rick Steve’s instructions, I headed towards the medieval drumming.

As I got closer to the Duomo, I saw more flags representing various Contrada. As I was minding my own business, admiring a small square tucked out of the way, a procession of Civetta (little owl) flag bearers and supporters paraded in. I lucked out with a prime, front row spot for the display and watched the Civetta toss their flags in to the air and listened to them chant their team song. As it turns out, the Civetta horse and jockey would go on to win the race later that evening! I was in the midst of celebrity and didn’t even realize it.

I followed the Civetta crowd the rest of the way to the Duomo where I met up with a group of friends from Camp Darby. Thank goodness for the one guy in the group who had the foresight to wear a red and white striped shirt. He stood out in the crowd of thousands and it literally became a game of Where’s Waldo?

We spent a long time in front of the Duomo watching the pageant, each team processing in to the square, banging drums and hurling their Contrada flags as high in the air as is humanly possible. After each team had their turn, the group of already sweaty Americans made our way towards Il Campo, the square where the race is held. Internet reports vary, but I’ve read anywhere from 15,000 to 75,000 people cram in to Il Campo every year to witness the 90 second race. We staked out our spots by the start/finish line around 4:30pm, and by the time the square was sealed off (the race track encircles the square – after 5:30pm, no one can come or go as you would have to traipse across the track) it certainly felt like I was surrounded by 75,000 people.

With almost 2 hours to kill before the start of the race, we each grabbed a piece of newspaper from the ground and settled in for the wait. The longer we waited, the more crowded it got. The more crowded it got, the warmer it got. The warmer it got, the smellier some of the spectators got… Ew! Our neighbors had the right idea and packed Connect Four. They entertained themselves with the game until things started to pick up around 7:00pm.

At 7:00pm on the dot (impressive for anything in Italy to start on time!) a big cart, pulled by two ox, entered the square and made its way around the track, displaying the Il Palio flag that would soon belong to the victors. Shortly thereafter, the horses and their riders entered the square and the announcer drew their positions. I’m still a little fuzzy on the details, but the way I understand the rules are this: each horse lines up in order, from first to last. The last horse hangs in the back, while the other horses all vie for a spot in the front. In order to get in these positions, the horses’ riders are not above punching, kicking, screaming and spitting at their opponents. Especially if said opponent is from an enemy Contrada. Any time a horse other than the very last horse in the back crosses the start line, it is considered a false start and everyone has to line up again. Thus, more kicking, hitting, yelling, etc. ensues. It took an hour and a half for the 90 second race to begin. Let me repeat that for those of you who might just be glazing over my story at this point…

IT TOOK AN HOUR AND A HALF. WE HAD ALREADY BEEN STANDING IN THE SQUARE FOR 3 HOURS. ALL FOR A 90 SECOND RACE.

All the while, the crowd is taunting their enemy Contrada, yelling out abuses such as, “You stupid Giraffe! You ruined the start.” Or, “Drop out now you horrible Snail. The Goose will never let you win!” During the race, two jockeys were thrown from their horses at particularly treacherous turns in the Piazza. The horses finished the race without their riders, not an uncommon occurrence. In fact, the passionate Italian gentleman (his Contrada was not even racing, he was just there to make sure his enemy, the Leocorno [unicorn] did not win) behind us, informed me that several years ago, the winning horse did so after he bucked his rider off during the first lap around the track.

Once the race began, it was over in a flash and the Civetta was victorious. Spectators rushed the track, screaming and yelling. My group, on the other hand, ran as far away from the piazza as possible, as quickly as possible, but not before getting caught up in the celebration and squished against the race track fence first.

The Civetta celebration continued in the streets for the victors as they paraded their prize, Il Palio flag down the winding roads of Siena, but even more intriguing was the reaction of the losers. Grown men sobbed and wept. For me, Il Palio was an exciting way to spend a Sunday afternoon/evening, but for the Italian locals in the audience, I realized Il Palio is an event rooted in rich traditions and deep history. The race itself dates back to the 16th Century. After experiencing the energy and electricity in the piazza, I can tell why it would be so easy to get so caught up in the results of the amazing Il Palio.

Next year, I’m rooting for Capitana dell’ Onda, not because of any real allegiance to the neighborhood, but because I think their flag is super cute!

Hot Days, Quiet Nights

2009-07-27T08:33:00.006+02:00

My life in Italy has slowed down in direct proportion to the heat recently. It's difficult to find motivation to sight see when temperatures reach 38-degrees (that's over 100-degrees for all you Westerners still using fahrenheit) and the ancient buildings in Italy don't support central air conditioning. As a result, I spend most of my time away from work sitting in front of the fan at home, reading or lying on the beach.

I did have a small, personal victory last week when I used a lawn mower for the very first time. Yes, it is an electric lawn mower. Yes, it kind of looks like a child's toy. And, yes, my lawn is so small it took me more time to figure out how to start the mower than to actually cut the grass. BUT, I mowed a lawn. For the first time in 27-years. Let me revel in that for a moment.

Since my grass was freshly cut, I decided that was as good an excuse as any to host a garden party this weekend. Friday night, I had friends from Darby over for homemade Sangria and general merriment in my backyard. I've always heard the cheaper the wine, the better the Sangria, and I proved that theory right this weekend. At 2-euro for an entire litre, I might have found the cheapest wine in all of Tuscany, but it made for the most amazing Sangria. I think I've said it before, but I'm so lucky to have found such a great network of friends at Darby. While I'm not ready to call Ponsacco home yet, I felt so comfortable hanging out in the yard, under the Italian starry night sky, surrounded by friends with Sangria in hand.

July also brought a wonderful visit from Heather and Jaidi -- my first official non-family visitors. They were all set to be my first visitors, period, but mom trumped them when she slid in the late June/early July visit. I feel like they still deserve a title though, so "First Official Non-family Visitors" it is! They were in Europe for a wedding in Amsterdam and made it down to Italy to visit me for a few days. While here, they had the chance see Florence and Cinque Terra (while I reported to work, jealous of their big adventures) and we all whiled away the evenings in Tuscany over red wine and great food in some of my favorite restaurants. Dinner the first night in Ponsacco gave us all strange dreams. Beware the raw, cured meat!

Somehow I only landed in one
photo the entire visit.

On the work front, we've stayed busy this summer with volunteer interviews and trainings (more than 30 new Overseas Committee Chairs trained!), compiling the summer mailing, a complete website overhaul and preparing for our Fall site visits. Now, it's like the calm before the storm -- I'll be in Italy until the middle of September (with a visit from Paige!) and then the non-stop travel hits. Starting September 18th, I'll be in Germany for a week and a half, Portugal for 2 weeks, the UK for 2 weeks and then back to Germany for another 2 weeks. That insane schedule will carry me through the middle of November when I'll then take off again for the States and what will most certainly be a much needed visit home.

My dad tells me that the travel will take its toll. He travelled all over the world for years with IBM so I'm pretty sure he knows what he's talking about. But for now, I'm looking forward to seeing the different bases/posts and meeting my volunteers that I've only talked to on the phone/emailed. Ask me again in October though, when I'm out of clean clothes, haven't had a home cooked meal in weeks and can't even remember what city I'm in and you might get a different answer...

Mama Mia

2009-07-04T21:17:00.000+02:00

My mom’s visit was such a whirlwind of a week, I still can’t believe she’s already come and gone. Since pictures tell a thousand stories, let’s recap with a photo montage.

Friday:
Mom arrives and we swing through Pisa on our way to Carol and Larry’s house for a cook-out.

Saturday:
I navigate the Italian train system all by myself for the first time and get us to Florence without any problems. Sadly, I didn’t check on reservations for the Uffizi or the Academia in time, so we just ride the big, red tourist bus and marvel at the city’s history from afar. We’ll catch the museums and galleries in December!

Sunday:
Facing a few choices (San Gimiginano, Lucca, Sienna, Montepulciano) mom chooses San Gimiginano. Fine by me as I have only been through the city for about 5 minutes after the wine tasting adventure in April. The city is pretty touristy, but still a sight to see, and I pick up more of my favorite wine from Tollena.

Truth be told, I think the drive alone is worth it. Some of my favorite views are here in the backroads of Tuscany.

That's San Gimiginano in the distance.

Monday:
Venice! Enough said.

Tuesday and Wednesday:
I work while mom rests up for Cinque Terra. She is kind enough to do my dishes, scrub the lime (caused by the incredibly hard water in Italy) off every surface in my house and pack me lunches while I go in to the office.

Tuesday night, we go to Il Conventino, my favorite agriturismo in Calci, and enjoy the most amazing meal of cheese and honey, polenta, barley salad, bruschetta, cured meats, ravioli with figs, gnocchi, wild boar tagliatelle...

Thursday:
Happy Birthday, mom! We start the afternoon sweating our guts out in Cinque Terra, but it is all worth it for views like this…

That night, we celebrate mom’s birthday with drinks (beer for me, Long Island Ice Tea for mom) at Fast Bar in Monterroso – town #5 in Cinque Terra. The bar is decorated with American dollar bills. Not wanting to be left out, we add to the collection.

Friday:
Spend the morning exploring Monterroso before heading back to my house. I pay rent a few days early so mom can meet Bimbi. She gives us gelato and declares “Que disastre!” after 10 minutes of us speaking to her in English with crazy hand gestures and her speaking to us in Italian. We discover a great pizzeria in downtown Ponsacco that night and stumble across a large (for Ponsacco’s standards) festival and outdoor concert.

This is also the day mom discovers a lizard hanging out on the ceiling in my kitchen and consequently, the day I vow never to sleep with my screens open again. After a serious girl moment, complete with screeching and an oh-my-gosh-there-is-a-lizard-in-my-house dance, we manage to get the little guy to safety, i.e. my back yard.

Saturday:
Sadly, I deliver mom to the airport this morning. And, as a testament to just how exciting life can be when there are no visitors around, I spend my entire day doing one load of laundry after another… And, I’m still only halfway through the pile.

La Luminara

2009-06-26T09:40:00.001+02:00

Last week, I ventured in to Pisa with ITR for my first Luminara experience. Every year on the 16th of June, buildings along the Arno River in Pisa are lit up with more than seventy thousand candles in honor of Saint Ranieri and all of Italy seems to come out to take part in the celebrations.

The event was fun, the candle-lit buildings were beautiful and the fireworks were dazzling but I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many people in one relatively small space in my entire life. (Not even when I stumbled across Pink Day in Amsterdam.) Walking across the 300-foot bridge after the firework display took an hour in the sea of people all trying to leave the city centre. I’ve never been touched, literally, by so many Italians.

Here are a few photos that capture the event. More to follow.

Work Stuff

2009-06-25T02:17:00.000+02:00

I realized the importance of the work I do about 3 days in to my site visits in Germany. After a busy training in Heidelberg, we loaded into the rental car and took off for Bamberg and Schweinfurt, worlds apart from the life I know in Italy. At Darby, although there are complaints about how small the base is and how little action anyone sees, soldiers here are generally happy go lucky and relaxed. Things are different in Germany. In Bamberg and Schweinfurt, everyone is on edge, and there is a sense of overwhelming panic and doom lingering in the air everywhere you go – from the Taco Bell (yes, there is a Taco Bell) to the barracks, everyone seems to be waiting for the inevitable bad news that is always on the way.

The communities I visited are facing the murder of 5 soldiers at the hand of another solider, severe mental illness, the suicide of an officer’s wife in her home on base, a fatal car accident involving soldiers just home from Iraq… And all of that just in the one week I was in town.

So, the bad news is, children in these areas, already pulled thousands of miles away from their home, are surrounded by death and destruction every day. The good news is, while seemingly insignificant in the grand scheme of things, Girl Scouts provides some sense of normalcy in these girls’ lives when everything (and often times, everyone) else around them is going to hell. And faith in that fact is what gets me through the hardest days over here…

I know this isn’t the update on Germany you were probably looking for, but I wanted to share a little bit about the work we’re doing over here, in between tales of my latest and greatest vacations. Don’t worry though, I’ll give a full run down of just how cool Heidelberg is, complete with photos from the castle illumination and fireworks display we caught on Saturday night in the next edition.

Between the Then and Now

2009-06-11T19:39:00.000+02:00

It has certainly been a while since my last update! So long, in fact, that I’m starting to get hate mail. The last few weeks have been very busy. I’m going to attempt to hit the highlights…

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Several weeks ago, after receiving my loaner furniture from CFMO, I invited a few friends over for dinner with the hidden agenda of talking the boys in to putting together my Ikea furniture. As I started cooking, and went to open a can of tomatoes, I realized that I did not have a can opener. Rachel convinced me to ring my landlady’s bell and ask, via hand gestures, if we could borrow one. As I had predicted, Bimbi invited us upstairs and instructed us to sit, pouring 3 tall glasses of orange juice. She dug out a very rusty can opener and tried to show us how to use it. She was holding the can still while trying to turn the opener, but we couldn’t explain to her what she was doing wrong. When she walked out with a long, sharp knife, I assume to pry open the can, Rachel snatched the tomatoes and the opener away from her and quickly showed her the correct protocol for opening cans. Bimbi sent me home with the opener.

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Memorial Day weekend, I took a spur-of-the-moment trip to the UK to see the Counting Crows. I flew Ryan Air from Pisa to London Stansted. I was all set to be able to catch a train from Stansted to Brighton (about a 3 hour ride) and arrive right on time to catch the opening act. I should have known better. My flight left Pisa a few minutes after we were initially due to be landing in London. I de-boarded the plane at 6pm and debated for a few minutes if it was worth it to try for Brighton. Not easily deterred, I made my way to the train station, where the attendant selling tickets laughed at me when I told him my plans to make it to Brighton and back the same night. I climbed aboard the first train around 6:30pm and after 2 changes and a short taxi ride, made it to the concert hall by 9pm. Although they were already playing when I arrived, the Counting Crows played until 11pm, so I don’t think I missed more than 20 or 30 minutes of the show.

After the concert, as I was walking up the main street in Brighton, I came across a real life street fight. I’m embarrassed to admit that I stopped and watched for at least 10 minutes. Eventually, I pried myself away from all the action and made my way back to London, only to find that the Victoria Underground station was closed – 1am seems like as good a time as any to figure out the London bus system! After asking a few passerbys for advice, I landed on what I hoped was the bus that would take me to the general vicinity of Pax Lodge. The ride proved uneventful until Tony, a very friendly and very drunk Brit took advantage of the empty seat next to me. After I turned down his numerous invitations to join him at the Jazz Club, he gave me his phone number with directions to, “give him a ring and stop in with some hens” the next time I find myself in London. Sorry, Tony, but I “lost” your number the minute you got off the bus.

The next morning, I woke up to a dreary and rainy London. My plans to sight see officially rained out, I arraigned to have lunch with two volunteers in Alconbury. A good decision! They introduced me to the pink pub, where I enjoyed my first Strongbow of this trip and took me on a tour of Alconbury, only the third base I’ve been on after Fort Jackson in SC and beautiful Camp Darby.

I was supposed to fly out of Stansted at 6pm, and arrive in Pisa around 9pm. Once again, my Ryan Air flight was delayed (timeliest air line, my butt) and we didn’t take off until well after 7pm. We landed sometime around midnight, and I was home and in bed by 1am.

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The last weekend in May, I escaped my house and the grasp of my homework (I’m in a 6 week course, Financial Management for Nonprofit Organizations, that is consuming my days) long enough to venture in to Lari with a group of friends for the Cherry Festival. Lari is a small, charming city, about 20 minutes from my house in the rolling hills of the Tuscany region. From what others tell me, it is usually quiet and rarely busy. During the Cherry Festival, however, hundreds of people descend on the town to partake in the wonderful, locally grown cherries, shop at the small market and watch the live entertainment. While we were there Sunday afternoon, a live production of Pinocchio was happening. It took us a minute to figure it out as the dialogue was all Italian, but eventually the giant whale prop and the small boy with the long wooden nose gave it away…

Between watching Pinocchio and shopping with the local vendors, we all bought a paper cone full of fresh cherries and munched as we wandered around. Just like some steak houses in the States where you chuck peanut shells on the floor, when finished with a cherry, we spit the seeds and threw the stem on the ground. The cobble stone streets were slippery with slimy, discarded cherry pits.

After gorging ourselves on cherries, we loaded up and caravanned to a near-by Italian restaurant where we lingered for hours over red wine, and lamented our return to work the next day.

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This week, I’ve been all over Germany. We drove from Italy, through Switzerland to Heidelberg on Thursday. The drive alone is enough to warrant a blog entry all its own (as beautiful as you might be imagining the Alpine scenery, multiply that by about 10 and you’re getting hotter), so I’m going to leave all that for another time. I just checked in to the Bradley Inn at Schweinfurt – third hotel I’ve had the pleasure of staying in over the last week, sadly, not the last one this trip – and discovered my room has a big bath tub. So, I’m going to soak.

Capraia

2009-05-24T05:49:00.000+02:00

We’re a few days removed from my last big adventure to Capraia, but it was so amazing, I don’t think I’ll have any trouble recounting the trip here…

This story picks up right where my last blog left off. I got my hair cut Friday afternoon, and went to a late dinner with friends. After a quick conversation with Josh when I got home, it was 2am before I made it to bed. Only a problem when the alarm clock is set for 6am the next morning. An auspicious start to the vacation, but well worth it in the long run.

Only 4 hours after going to bed, my cell phone alarm clock (which I’ve already come to hate) sounded and I jumped out of bed. I had a lot to do – shower, pack, get dressed, drive to Rachel’s – in a short amount of time. As an aside, packing while half asleep with only 10 minutes to spare is always a poor choice. I forgot a lot of essentials such as sun screen, deodorant and pajamas. It was a short weekend, and I was able to make due, but it certainly would have been nice to have something to sleep in.

Rachel, Joanna and I made it to the ferry that would carry us to paradise by 8am. We bought our tickets “andato e return, per favore,” parked the car (we probably should have walked) and climbed aboard. After a 2 hour ride west, away from Livorno, Capraia loomed. As we pulled up to port, this outstanding view greeted us.

Once we were off the boat, we didn’t have to walk very far to find our apartment. A co-worker recommended Sol Mar to us, and we were thrilled with the recommendation as soon as we saw the accommodations. Our home away from home for the weekend had 3 floors – an entry way on the first floor, a bedroom, the bathroom and the living/dining space on the second floor and another bedroom in the loft on the third floor. From the balcony on the second floor, we had a great view of the port and the town just up the hill. See?

After a quick lunch at port, we wandered in to town. Just in time to find everything closing down for the infamous Italian 3 hour siesta. Since nothing was open after 1300, we wandered to a handful of old buildings – churches, castles and a monastery - before finding our way down to the water. The island is very rocky and all sheer cliffs down to the water, so we felt proud for finding a place where we could actually dip our toes in the water.

That evening, after a power nap (we were all exhausted from the early morning wake up, the walking and the sun) we wandered back in to town for dinner. My favorite moment from the whole weekend was wandering back to port after dinner, full of great Italian food, under the clear night sky full of stars with the cool ocean breeze on our sun kissed skin. Towns can be so different at night, after the tourists go home, and Capraia, already a quiet place to begin with, seemed to be sleeping as we walked back to the apartment.

The next morning, we all slept in, a welcome relief and as it should be when you’re on vacation. We left the apartment in time for lunch before we started our short hike. There are amazing trails all across the island – enough to keep an avid hiker busy for weeks. In the 2 hours that we had to explore before our boat ride around the island, we hardly scratched the surface.

We were lucky to get the appointment for the taxi boat ride around Capraia. It normally takes 7 people for the driver to take a boat out, but they made an exception for our group of 6 – Joanna, Rachel and myself, plus one guy from Florence that spoke English and a couple that didn’t look up from each other long enough for me to learn anything about them… We set off in the little plastic boat and made a full loop around the island. With our periodic stops at the most amazing grottos (caves) it took us a little over 2 hours to make the full circle. From the boat, we saw amazing views of the island. It was so uninhabited and untouched, Joanna and I joked that we expected a terodactyl to come swooping over a peak any second.

Monday morning, we set our alarm to wake up in time to play in the water for a few minutes. Still a little wary of the ocean, I sat on the rocks with a book and watched Joanna and Rachel swim. It was hotter on Monday than it had been the days before, so I went in early to shower off the sweat and sunscreen. When we were all packed up and ready to leave, we went to find the manager to pay. To our surprise, his credit card machine was not working. (In hindsight, it makes perfect sense that a credit card machine on an island in the middle of nowhere might prove a bit temperamental.) We were able to scrounge up enough cash to pay the bill. Rachel had a lot of American money and Joanna and I kept handing him euro change until he said, “Enough! No more money!”

Sad to be leaving, we boarded the boat and took off for Livorno and back to real life. Tomorrow, I set out for another mini-adventure full of planes, trains and automobiles as I travel from Pisa to London to Brighton to London again and then back to Pisa all in less than 48-hours.

Baby's First (Italian) Haircut

2009-05-21T05:20:00.000+02:00

Friday afternoon, I left work to get my first real Italian haircut. I showed up at the salon with a picture of the style I liked, ready to brave the language barrier. I showed up on time for the appointment, only to find out I was in the wrong place. After a quick call to Timoty at the other salon by the same name around the corner, I was on my way. He rushed down to where I was to escort me to the correct location.

Once there, I was offered acqua frizzante (I still think it tastes like alka seltzer) and led to the hair washing station where woman #1 washed my hair. From there, I was escorted to the stylist. Timoty, serving as my translator, asked how much I wanted off. Crap. The one thing I didn’t prepare was the metrics conversion. 2 inches? I showed them both with my fingers what 2 inches looked like. They nodded, seeming on board with the plan. I continued, ready to tell them how I wanted it styled, and was interrupted with, “No, no, no… You tell us the length, bella. The stylist chooses the style. Makes sense, no?” I left my photo hidden in my purse so as to avoid further embarrassment and crossed my fingers that the Italian stylist would deliver.

After an hour and a half of the stylist working his magic, I was taken back to the hair washing station where woman #2 shampooed and conditioned my hair for the second time. From there, woman #2 walked me to a styling area and dried my hair just enough to get the moisture out. She ushered me back to the stylist for a few final touches.

I thought I was a finished product at that point, and ready to go home. So naturally, I was surprised when woman #3 took my hand and steered me away from the cash register and back toward a chair. She dried my hair even more and ran one of those amazing salon quality straighteners through one final time. The haircut is amazing (see evidence below) and not just because it was in such bad shape before. On my walk home, I almost fell off the curb twice and walked in front of at least 3 vespas because I was so distracted by my new style in the shop windows. Sad, but true. At least I’m not embarrassed to admit it…

Like any girl with a new hair cut will tell you, I just had to go out afterwards. A few friends humored me, and we made late reservations for Chez Lugo, a trendy spot in Livorno. It came highly recommended, and while it wasn’t bad by any stretch of the imagination, it wasn’t anything special and felt slightly Americanized. Nevertheless, it was an opportunity to flip my hair around in front of an audience. At the end of dinner, Drew introduced us to Ponce, a drink created in Livorno. It’s a pretty disgusting mix of espresso, some type of very strong alcohol and lots and lots of sugar. Impressed by our knowledge of the elusive Livornese drink, the waiter brought us a free round of grappa. Rick Steve labeled grappa as Italy’s firewater, and I must agree. (Read the full write up here: http://www.ricksteves.com/plan/destinations/italy/grappa.htm) I breathed in a little sniff to gauge what I was getting myself in to, and my nose burned. A tiny sip, taken only to be polite, burned the whole way down and for minutes afterwards.

So, lessons learned on Friday:
1. In Italy, the hair stylist chooses the style. Go figure.
2. Watch where you’re walking , no matter how enticing your reflection might be.
3. Grappa, no matter what the Italians might tell you, is not your friend.

Volterra

2009-05-10T06:00:00.000+02:00

I woke up this morning, expecting to drive to Ikea in Florence with Rachel. Everyone was a little behind schedule though, so plans changed… Sitting at home, alone, I debated wasting the day in my house, maybe venturing out to the Centro di Borghi again to wander around the Iper-Coop. Instead, I broke out my Rick Steve’s Guide to Italy from way back in 2005 and started plotting.

Options included San Gimiginano, Lucca and Volterra. Rick seems to think San Gimiginano is a tourist trap – I’ve only been there once for less than an hour, but I disagree – and Lucca was a bit further than I was looking to drive this morning. So, I loaded in to the trusty Mercedes Station Wagon rental and took off for Volterra.

First, I stopped for gas at the station in my neighborhood. I find that any time I’m taking off driving to an unknown destination in a foreign country, it’s best to do so with a full tank of gas. It just starts things off with karma on your side. Last week, I made the effort to commit the word for ‘full’ to memory. During the day, gas stations are full service. The attendants always ask what type and how much gasoline you want. I have diesel down (the rental is diesel, I’ll have to figure out how to ask for regular gasoline when I get my VW) and thought I remembered the word for full. I spit out a few words that I thought sounded right. Pido? Piedo? Pino? At which point, the attendant looked at me and said, “Full?” Sigh. Yes. Full, please.

I’ve since looked up the word for full again, and it is “Pieno.” I was close.

The 45-minute drive to Volterra alone was worth the trip. I knew the area in and around Ponsacco was scenic, but I had no idea. Just a ten minute drive through my backyard, and I found myself weaving around typical, narrow, Italian streets. Fifteen minutes found me in the Italian country side. I wouldn’t say I was in the mountains exactly. Perhaps really big, rolling hills. Regardless, it was beautiful. I rolled my window down and actually said out loud to the car, “This is amazing.” And then, “I’m talking to myself, but it’s OK because I live in Italy!”

In order to get there, I set a restaurant in Rick Steve’s guide as my destination. Seemed like a good idea at the time, until I made a left turn and unexpectedly found myself driving down a street like this…

Only, imagine a sea of 100+ tourists walking down the same street, not concerned at all that a giant, Mercedes station wagon was heading right towards them. I made it about 3 streets in – once you’re in, you have to drive through the whole town to get out – and parked my car. I wasn’t positive it was a legal parking space, but there were other cars there and I didn’t see any signs indicating otherwise. I wandered in to the main square and picked up a map of the city and some postcards and asked the shop clerk what road I was on. I had visions of forgetting where I parked my car. After that, I wandered a bit further and grabbed a sandwich at a little café. I ate outside under the looming cathedral while I studied my map and made my plans for the afternoon.

It was about that time I got nervous about the car. I tried to convince myself it would be fine, but couldn’t shake the vision of me walking back to my make shift parking space only to find the car towed. I then imagined the phone call to one of my co-workers, explaining why I needed them to drive all the way to Volterra to rescue me. Needless to say, I practically ran back to the car and jumped in for round 2 of driving on Italian medieval roads never intended for cars in the first place.

At the first intersection I came to, I put on my right turn signal and glared impatiently at the two men standing in the middle of the road. Confused as to why they weren’t moving, I just eased toward them until they moved. It wasn’t until I was driving away and caught a glimpse of them in my rear view mirror, laughing and shaking their heads, that I realized I was driving the wrong way down a one way road. Luck was on my side and the road was empty (apparently, no one else is dumb enough to drive their car inside Volterra’s walls) and I was able to turn around and drive out in the right direction. I passed the two men again, and exchanged a smile with them. No one can ever accuse me of not having a sense of humor about these things…

I ended up in a real parking lot just outside of the walls near the Teatro Romano. This small site officially holds the title of first Italian ruins I’ve seen during my time here. I’m sure there are lots more to come, but it was exciting nevertheless.

After the ruins, I walked back in to town. I picked up a few souvenirs including two alabaster wine stoppers. Volterra is known for their alabaster and I needed wine stoppers since lately, I have been breaking the cork on any wine bottle I try to open. I also got the obligatory magnet. I’m going to have a full refrigerator by the time I leave!

By 5pm (or, 1700 for all you military minded people out there) I had already seen the whole town and decided to start the trip back. I was exhausted by the time I made it back to Ponsacco and ended up taking a nap that ruined my evening plans. I stayed home and watched Marley & Me. A good movie, but should be avoided at all costs if you are a) a dog lover or b) even slightly emotional. If you fit either of those categories and still feel the need to rent it, skip the last 20 minutes all together. Trust me. It’s better that way.

Forte

2009-05-05T18:35:00.000+02:00

Although I am a little tipsy from the limoncello my landlady so kindly offered up, I can already tell this is going to be wonderful relationship. Between us, we both have about four words in common. She knows, “chocolate” (it helps that the pronunciation is almost the same in both Italian and English) and I know “va benne,” “grazie” and “non capisco.” But, I don't need words to know I like her.

Thinking I would just drop off the money – she requested I pay in cash, which is fine by me – I rang her bell this afternoon. She invited me up and told me to sit (well, she pulled out a chair and motioned to it, at least) while she wandered off for her receipt book. If by receipt book, you mean small, spiral bound notepad in which she hand writes money in and out. When she got back, she pulled the lid off a ceramic jar and gestured for me to eat some of the chocolate within. I obliged. We laughed a little bit while she counted and then recounted and then counted again the money in my Community Bank envelope. She finally came up with the correct total and wrote out my receipt.

At that point, things started to get exciting. She insisted I eat more chocolate and pulled out her bottle of limoncello from the liquor cabinet. I showed her with my fingers, in that universal symbol everyone is supposed to know, I only wanted a little bit. Un poquito, por favor. Never mind that that’s Spanish, she was supposed to understand. Instead, I got a full glass of the stuff. I took a few sips and shivered a little bit as it burned going down. She kept asking, “Forte?” which I can only imagine means strong. I kept saying si, si, si…

After sitting and staring at each other for a while, and cracking ourselves up any time we tried to communicate, I got up and gave her a quick hug, complete with European cheek kisses, and headed back downstairs. I left my limoncello unfinished. I hope that isn’t some grave offense in Italy. I really want her to like me and continue to let me practice my Italian on her. It’s just, if I had partaken in any more of the “forte” alcohol on my empty stomach, I would have ended up crashing on her couch.

Stick shift, kiss it

2009-04-22T20:04:00.000+02:00

I am throwing in the towel on learning how to drive a standard. It’s just not for me. I tried twice, and just today, as I stalled trying to move from a stop sign on a hill, came to the firm conclusion that it isn’t worth it. Not that bad, you say? It’s all a part of the learning process, you say? Wait. It gets better.

As I tried to talk myself through the process – push in the clutch, let off the brake, no wait, let off the clutch, give it gas, oh, stalled again, restart the engine, crap!, push in the clutch before restarting the engine to avoid death-warmed-over screeching noise, ease off the clutch again, give it gas, should be moving now, stalled again??? – a giant 18-wheeler truck pulled up behind me. Impatient, he first honked his horn, as if that would magically reveal to me the secrets of moving a standard up hill. The horn not working, he then attempted to pass me, but graciously decided to back up when he came within inches of hitting Rachel’s car. In case that wasn’t enough for one afternoon, the lovely truck driver put his 18-wheeler in park, hopped out of his truck and proceeded to yell at me. In Italian.

Completely frazzled at that point, I told Rachel to take over. She hopped out of the car and ran quickly to the driver’s side door. Too mortified to even show my face, I just slid over the cursed stick shift and hung my head, back in the passenger seat, where I belonged, and where I very well intend to stay until I find myself an automatic. I want my Honda back.

Like a true European

2009-04-18T23:14:00.000+02:00

As much as I love to write, I can already tell that I’m going to have a hard time keeping up with this blog. Every day brings a new adventure, and it’s all I can do to remember what stories I need to tell by the time I sit down at my computer. I’m going to do the best I can to recap the last week, and maybe even start taking notes as I roam across Italy so as not to forget anything important!

Since the beginning is usually a logical place to start, I’ll jump in at last Friday, April 10, my birthday! Rachel and I took a trip to Livorno with our Benvenudi class. As is typical with these trips, we toured the Emergency Room (“just in case”), the mall and several markets. I had my first Italian gelato and was nothing less than impressed. Always up for an adventure, I ordered the ‘zuppa inglese’ flavor. Turns out, that translates to English soup. It was a yummy mixture of cherries, cake, vanilla and chocolate pieces – not sure how that translates to English soup, but I’ll take it! I’ve since tried out a few other flavors and fruti del bosco is my favorite.

Friday night, we met up with Jessica and John, friends from Benvenudi. Jessica brought her husband and his friend along – both Italian carabinieris. The boys took us to the only pizza place they’ll eat at in Livorno where we experienced our first 3-hour meal. I had heard the Italians were notorious for lingering over dinner, but I didn’t believe it until I experienced it first hand. We arrived a little after 8pm and didn’t leave until 11pm. Funny thing was, all we had was pizza, dessert (tiramisu, mmm) and coffee. The company was great and the food was even better… I’ll get used to this life style, for sure!

Despite our late dinner the night before, Rachel and I woke up early Saturday morning to head to Camp Darby, where we met the tour bus for our trip to the Tuscan wine resort. We met our tour guide, Tony, who I swear was straight out of The Sopranos and took off for the hour and half bus ride to Borgo Tollena (http://www.borgotollena.com/). As we pulled in to the vineyard, I knew we were in for the most amazing afternoon. The sun was warm, the sky was bright blue and the Italian country side, complete with the rolling hills and olive trees you’d expect to see only in the movies was in a word, breath-taking.

We spent hours eating and drinking before boarding the bus for San Gimignano to shop at Tollena’s retail shop in town. I need to get back to this place and explore more on my own. The tour group spent less than an hour there, but I could tell it was my kind of place – narrow, winding roads open only to pedestrians, quaint shops and restaurants, friendly people, beautiful mountains all around, centuries of history behind every door and all only an hour or so away from my new home in Ponsacco. Yep. I’ll definitely be back soon.

As if wine tasting and a quick trip to San Gimignano wasn’t enough fun for one day, Rachel and I met Maria and Frank, a co-worker and her boyfriend, in Livorno later Saturday evening for, get this, sushi! I’m not going to lie, I was a bit skeptical of sushi in Italy, but the restaurant and the food were both great. I was completely exhausted after dinner, so when a hunt for birthday gelato (I declared the whole weekend my birthday weekend) failed, we went home to sleep. I didn’t get out of bed until 11:00am the next day!

On Tuesday, I went house hunting again with Riccardo. Again, he only had two places to show me, this time in Tirrenia. Both places were in the same building and under going renovations until the end of May. (When the Italians tell you the end of May, what they really mean to say, is sometime by the Fall.) Neither place was great enough to warrant waiting who-knows-how-long. A little disappointed, I asked to see the house in Ponsacco again. I saw this place the first time we went looking, but worried it was too far from base (about a 30 minute drive) and not near any real town. After the second walk through, I loved the place even more, and decided to ask Riccardo to take me through the city center. As it turns out, about 1 mile away from the house, is a cute square with bars, restaurants, shops and even a market that runs every Wednesday. The commute will still be a pain, but everything else was too perfect to pass up. I signed the contract on Thursday.

My land lady lives above me, and is the cutest little old lady, ever. She reminds me a bit of Carmen Martin, my host mother in Nerja, only calmer. She told me via Riccardo (my Italian definitely isn’t good enough to communicate without a translator yet) that if I ever want to practice my Italian, just ring the bell and come up to chat. Before me, there was an Air Force family living in the place for 6 years. She says they moved to New Orleans, but that she still keeps in touch with them. The home has 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, a kitchen, living room, entry-way and office… Way more space than I need, which means I’ll need a lot of visitors to keep it full! I’m thinking about turning the office in to a make-shift walk in closet, but I’m not completely decided just yet. I’ll keep you posted as plans develop, and if I ever find my battery charger, I might even post photos!

My work week was shortened once again by more Benvenudi trips, this time to Pisa on Thursday and Florence on Friday. The weather was rainy and cold for our trip to Pisa, but I threw on my rain coat and made the most of it. It was a bit surreal to see the leaning tower in person. Again, we checked out the emergency room (again, “just in case”), the local mall and several markets. Friday was set to be the big trip to Florence, and I admittedly had very high expectations. Unfortunately, there is only so much a large group can see with only 4 hours in Florence. So, that trip didn’t quite live up to my expectations. We did get to ride the train over and took a brief walking tour with the guide pointing out things “we really should see one day” along the way. I’m all set to go back on my own –good thing I live less than an hour away!

Yesterday, after a full day in Florence, I grabbed a bar stool at the Community Club on base for a few drinks with my co-workers. While there, I met a few new faces and made a couple more friends. Since we didn’t have dinner plans, Rachel and I jumped at Maria’s invitation to get Indian food in Pisa. Since sushi proved to be such a success, I wasn’t worried at all about trying out Indian. Sure enough, it was awesome! The food was great but the company was even better. I’m constantly amazed at how welcoming everyone is here and how easy it is to make friends at Camp Darby. It’s a relief really, and I can already tell it’s going to make my adjustment to this new life so much easier.

Despite the fact that dinner wasn’t Italian, we still lingered for almost 3 hours. At least this time we had a few course. I ordered a chai, which kept me awake and alert for a while, but soon enough I started to get sleepy. When John and I started dozing off at the dinner table, we decided to get up for some fresh air. The rest of the party followed, and we headed back towards the car. On our after dinner stroll, we wandered past the leaning tower again, and John remarked, “We’re walking past the leaning tower of Pisa at midnight. We really are living in Italy, huh?” It was most certainly a magical moment that even your most seasoned tourist will never experience. The square was quiet and calm, and the tower was just barely lit up. I couldn’t decide if I felt like a true European or like I was on a movie set.

In need of some rest, I slept in again this morning until 10am. After wandering around the apartment in my PJs for a while, I got dressed and joined Rachel at the nearby café for what was the best cappuccino I’ve had yet. We picked up John after our coffee break and drove to a home store called Casarama – think Hobby Lobby meets Home Depot. Despite going armed with a page long list each, neither John nor Rachel made a single purchase. Since the weather was pretty rainy and overcast, we hunkered down at John’s house for hours and just lazed around. We ventured out only long enough to get a quick lunch between the rain drops. Later, we left John’s for Rachel’s apartment where we (actually, all I helped with was clean-up) made a spaghetti dinner in preparation for their half marathon tomorrow morning.

Depending on the weather – I’ve seen reports calling for a 90% chance of rain – I’m going to set off exploring on my own in Livorno tomorrow. John and Rachel are going to Florence to run a half-marathon, and while I toyed with the idea of going along to cheer them on, I just couldn’t stomach the 5am wake up call. I’m sure I will find plenty to keep me occupied and still get to sleep in a little bit. There is a great fresh market in Livorno that we discovered with Benvenudi. I’m just hoping its open on Sunday’s and I can find it…

From one Thursday to the next

2009-04-09T22:30:00.000+02:00

Today officially marks my one-week point in Italy, and I still forget occasionally that I’m living in Europe. Let me explain… since arriving, I’ve spent most of my time at Camp Darby, where we speak English, use dollars, have Diet Dr. Pepper in the commissary and drive big pick-up trucks around base. Admittedly, I have had some “Italian” experiences, which I’ll detail below, but for the most part, I’m still in America, only with better weather and views.

All that is set to change this weekend, though! My friend and co-worker, Rachel, invited me to live with her in Livorno until I find a place of my own. I was set to check out of one on-base hotel (Casa Toscana) and in to another (Sea Pines Lodge) this weekend, so the timing was right as I was facing packing anyways. While I like Camp Darby and all the comforts of home it provides, I am so ready to BE in Italy. We have exciting plans lined up this weekend, thanks to Rachel, and I’ll even have a few chances to celebrate my 27th birthday.

On the schedule this weekend: drinks, more Italian food (finally!), wine tasting at an 11th century castle, sushi and Easter in Italy.

This week, I’ve stayed busy with settling in, which normally finds me running from one end of the base to the other and back again. I’ve managed to accomplish a few important things, including:

- Applying for my soggiorno, codice fiscal and ID card
- Taking and acing (!!) my driver’s license test
- House hunting – I think I’ve found THE place, so there should be some good stories to follow, I just want to do a little more comparison shopping next week before committing…
- Learning about each of the areas I’ll serve and my volunteers
- Setting up my new webcam (thanks, Dad!) and learning the wonderful world of Skype

I started my 2-week benvenudi class this week as well. We had a full day of briefings on Tuesday, and I comprehended about 25% of the information. I’m still having a hard time remembering military acronyms, ranks, titles, uniforms, paperwork, rules, etc. It all leaves me with a splitting headache at the end of every day. There are a handful of others, including Rachel, in the class, and it has been nice meeting other ‘new kids on the block.’ Camp Darby is such a small place, I run in to my classmates everywhere – outside of the commissary at lunch, in the mailroom when wrestling with my box’s combination, at the coffee bar picking up our morning cappuccinos…

I was supposed to attend language classes in conjunction with benvenudi, but I’ve had too many other work commitments and appointments. However, there are Italian classes on base every Monday during lunch, and I plan to start frequenting those. I need to learn some basic Italian fast! And, I’d still really like to be quasi-fluent by the time I leave. It seems like such a waste to be here for such a long time and not learn.

My benvenudi class is taking an early morning trip to Livorno tomorrow, and it’s getting late. So for now, I’m off to bed – my last night in the hotel!

~ Ciao

I walk the ground that shook

2009-04-06T19:42:00.000+02:00

Just a quick update to let you all know that I am safe and sound, far away from the earthquake’s epicenter that hit L’Aquila early this morning. Sadly, there are a lot of others who cannot say the same thing. If you find yourself with a free moment today, please send your thoughts to the families of those killed and the thousands of Italians who were left homeless in a matter of seconds.

Infine! Sono qui.

2009-04-03T22:52:00.000+02:00

Just two days in to my stay in Italy, and I’m already completely smitten.

There are so many stories to tell, I don’t know where to start. I’ve started a few anecdotes and erased what I had typed. So, instead of worrying about chronology and flow, I’m just going to tackle the last two days in bullet points. I’m assuming no one tunes in to hear things about my flight (uneventful) and such, so I’m jumping right in to the good stuff!

- On my first day in Italy, at Camp Darby, in line at the shopette, an Italian Carabiniere’s (police officer) cell phone rang. The ring tone? Sweet Home Alabama. I kid you not.

- This morning, as I tried to shower off the jet lag and airplane grime from the day before, I stood in the tub for 5 minutes pushing and twisting the shower knob. I twisted so much, the knob fell off. Worried that I was going to have to be that American and call the front desk, asking, “How do you work this here shower?” I stepped out to put my glasses on. I pulled a few more times, ready to give up when I just happened to push. And, wah-lah! Success!

- When I logged in to Google yesterday, to look up info on Brussels flower carpet (only displayed bi-annually, and I don’t want to miss it!) I realized everything was in Italian. At that moment, I realized that, oh-my-god, I’m really in Italy! And then, I realized that, oh-my-god, I really only know 3 words in Italian. I’ve been practicing with Margaret, and intend to take classes on base every Monday during my lunch, but still… I have so much to learn. As an aside, the Flower Carpet will be displayed again in August, 2010. Info is here: http://www.flowercarpet.be.

- I fell asleep watching America’s Next Top Model last night – the new season. Apparently, the Armed Forces Network (AFN) shows all sorts of new shows, just a day late. Tonight, I watched Thursday’s episode of the Daily Show. So, I can continue to stay up to date on current affairs through Jon Stewart’s snarky reporting. I have TV in my hotel room, but will also get a free box when I find an apartment.

- Carol (my boss) and her husband Larry invited me over for dinner last night. We had a mushroom soup that Larry made with bread and olive spread. All very, very good. Carol and the other staff members have all been so gracious and welcoming. There’s no way I would be able to navigate all the military “stuff” without their help, and Josh’s patient answers to the questions I’m too embarrassed to ask anyone else.

- I went to dinner tonight at a small restaurant in Tirrenia (pronounced much like the Italians pronounce my name, believe it or not) called Piropo. It was my first real Italian meal, and I’m hooked. I was expecting delicious, amazing, mouth watering, but this meal was simply beyond words. Instead of trying to describe it, I’m just going to list what I had and tell you that you must visit and eat it to believe it! I started with Gnocchi dela Sorrentina, followed by spinaci and the most amazing panna cotta con fruta bosco (with fruit of the forest, or wild strawberries and wild berries). Best of all, perhaps was the house red wine for 3.50-euro per liter. Let me repeat that – Italian red wine. An entire liter. For 3.50-euro.

- Before dinner, we stopped at the pier and I got my first view of the ocean. From where we were, we could see Elba Island, the location of Napoleon’s exile in 1814. He stayed on the island for 300 days before Veronica Portelli, his mistress, convinced him to escape. What followed in France is known as the Hundred Days, and he was subsequently captured at Waterloo, which I visited the last time I was in Belgium. Apparently, there are ferries to and from the island. I think that’s going to be one of my first weekend trips once I get settled!

The few parts of Italy I’ve seen are exactly as you would picture them – a lot of red and yellow Tuscan colors on all the buildings with bits of exposed brick, an amazing view of the ocean and Elba Island (where Napoleon was exiled) from the pier, lemon and orange trees everywhere, sunshine and clear, blue skies every day, friendly people, AMAZING food… However, whenever I start to get frustrated that I can’t speak more Italian, or worried that I’m never going to be able to navigate the roads, I go back to base where they speak English and have Diet Dr. Pepper in the commissary for 34-cents. It’s the perfect mix of living in Italy and still keeping the comforts of home. It’s hard to describe, but trust me when I say this might be the best job on earth. I can’t wait to find a home and a car and start entertaining all my visitors. I’m holding out for an apartment with a patio or some sort of backyard so I can invest in a small fire pit or chimenia type thing at the PX. Maybe even a grill, too.

Tomorrow, I’m going to a real life Italian mall with Carol. I have no idea what to expect, but will of course, let you know how it all turns out. She assures me that I can find an Italian hair straightener, lest I melt the hotel outlet with my high voltage, American appliance.

So close, I can almost touch it.

2009-04-01T03:33:00.000+02:00

Attempting to pick up where I last left off, I think this story finds me on the train once again to Philadelphia Friday morning. Having learned my lesson the last time, I just bought my ticket that morning when I arrived. I did hit the snooze button a few too many times, so I ended up catching the later train, which put me to the consulate about an hour later. Bad news for me, as this also landed me about 15 names lower on the sign-in sheet. After waiting about 20 minutes, I couldn’t take it any longer. There was a nun and a priest (I’m not kidding) at the window, attempting to get their visas for a pilgrimage to Italy in the summer. I politely yet forcefully pushed my way into the visa officer’s line of vision and asked if I needed to wait in line if I was just picking up a completed visa. Thankfully, she recognized me from my visit two days before, pulled my passport, complete with visa from a filing cabinet and sent me on my way. I made it back to the city before noon.

I stopped in at the office again that afternoon to drop off my completed paperwork, and then headed back to the hotel where I took the most powerful of power naps. When I woke up, Anne and Alison were back. We took the train out to Brooklyn where we met up with Jamie, who drove in from Syracuse just to see me. As Anne said, “Now, that’s love!”

We had dinner Friday night at Perilla, the best restaurant in the whole world. (Website is http://www.perillanyc.com/ if you’re curious.) If you’re hungry, stop reading here… we had edamame falafel, and I ordered the grilled Hudson Valley quail and passion fruit tres leches. All very, very delicious. Alison had the duck – shocking – Jamie had the bass and Annie had the steak. I think we all enjoyed our meal and went back to the hotel very full. That night, Jamie and Anne made a bed on the floor, and we all giggled and stayed up talking way too late, just like a full-fledged slumber party. No pillow fights though, sorry to disappoint.

Saturday, after a quick brunch at Connelly’s, we dropped Alison off at work while Anne, Jamie and I set off for Canal Street. Chinatown was particularly crazy, with people everywhere. We spent at least 3 or 4 hours wandering around, laughing at the Asian women whispering, “Gucci, Gucci, Gucci” in our ears. Anne found a bag and Jamie bought a wallet. I, on the other hand, added two more fake $5 pashminas to my expanding collection. We lingered a little while in Little Italy over a cappuccino and pastry. Jamie took my picture in the street and with the coffee, as an “I’m almost there” or “This is what it’s going to be like” memento.

We were exhausted by 6pm, and headed back to Times Square to see a movie. Nothing was showing at the right time, so we opted to bother Alison and then eat more food… You never go hungry in New York City! Sleepy, we all headed back to Brooklyn to crash at Alison’s house that night, around 10pm.

I woke up really anxious about leaving the girls Sunday morning. This was, after all, my last goodbye. My friends in Charlotte were tough and my parents and Josh in the airport were even tougher, but this goodbye was, I don't know... More official, more final? Once I left Alison, Anne and Jamie, I’d be on my own for who-knows-how-many months. I made it on to the train without any crying but did let a few tears escape as we pulled away.

After a brunch at Blue Finn Grille (that was just so-so) came the train that took me away to the Edith Macy Conference Center in Chappaqua. I’ve been here, at Macy, for the last few days, getting to know my co-workers that will live/work with me in Italy, and other Global Girl Scout staff members. Some live and work in Japan, others do their thing from New York. We are an incredibly diverse team, responsible for an extraordinary amount of work, considering there are only 20 of us. In the last few days, I’ve just been bombarded with info on who we as Global Girl Scouting are, what we do and how we do it. All great stuff, just overwhelming amounts of info. I’m taking lots of notes to revisit when I get settled in Italy.

So, that brings us to the now… I have some packing to do (it’s amazing how my suitcases have this inate ability to unpack themselves and strew my belongings all over the room when I’m not looking) but otherwise, I’m ready to make the big trip over the ocean. I realized today that I’ve been “getting ready to go” for the last three months. I can’t describe how incredibly surreal it is to actually be going now…

I fly out tomorrow evening. I’m going over with my co-workers, which is a relief. I won’t have to worry about picking out a familiar face at the airport or trying to get a taxi with all my bags. (Have I mentioned I’m lugging around almost 200 pounds of luggage?) Since I’m not sure what the first few days over there will be like in regards to internet access, don’t worry if you don’t hear from me immediately. As soon as I can get connected, I’ll let you all know I arrived safe and sound. In the meantime, some highlights from my upcoming training schedule in Italy are below…

Thursday: Dinner in Tierrna with staff
Saturday: Day trip to Pisa
Monday: House hunting with Carol and Ricardo
Tuesday: Afternoon off to study for my Italian driver’s license test
April 17: Trip to Florence

Until next time… Ciao!

Are we there yet?

2009-03-30T06:27:00.000+02:00

Whew.

I already feel like I've been around the world, and I haven't even left the United States yet. I'm going to try to re-cap my travels so far, as quickly as possible. I know this isn't exciting stuff from Italy, like you're all expecting, but that is coming, I promise. I just have to get there first!

Tuesday, I landed in New York and made my way to the Lexington Raddison, and a sick Alison. Because Alison was feeling under the weather and because I was exhausted from packing all my worldly possessions the day before and the sad 'see you laters' at the airport, we laid low in the hotel room all night. I had to make a quick run to Penn Station to pick up a train ticket for my journey to the Italian Consulate in Philly the next morning. In hindsight, that trip was worthless, as I could have purchased the ticket online. At least I got the lay of the station though, and knew exactly where to go the next morning. We ordered in what might have been the worst Thai food I've ever eaten. I ordered Volcano Curry Chicken (or something like that) and regretted every bite.

The next morning, I woke up bright and early to catch my 7:25am train to Philly. I got to the Italian Consulate without much incident... I signed in, number 4 in line, and waited. And waited. And waited. After an hour of watching all 3 applicants before me get sent away without a visa, I was a bit nervous. When it was my turn, the woman behind the glass knew exactly who I was, and pulled out the stack of emails I'd sent over the last few weeks, begging for help. So, instead of just answering my questions, they printed each and every email. Curious. The Italian gentleman who was visiting the Consulate to settle some inheritance issues assured me that all Italian systems worked like this, and advised that I get used to it.

Anyways, I approached the glass, saw my stack of emails and handed off every piece of identifying documentation I could scrounge up -- from copies of my passport and employment history to letters from the Department of Defense, authorizing me to live and work in Italy. After a few questions, we determined the only thing missing was a passport photo. Really? Seriously!? I went to AAA before I left, specifically to get passport photos but of course I didn't bring them with me to Philly. So, I quickly ran around the corner and took new (and better, in my opinion) photos. I decided to push my luck and beg for the visa to be completed that same day. I was told there was no way. So, I headed back to New York.

On the train, I called the dermatologist recommended by Sandy. (Long story short, I suffered a minor chemical burn at the dentist in Charlotte on Friday, and wanted to get it checked out.) She was able to see me at 12:45pm. It was 11:15am and the train was just pulling out of Philly. 'Could I make it?' they asked. Sure! Needless to say, I was a bit late. I ran in just after 1:15pm, but was seen and received all good news. The burn will not leave scaring, and the doctor prescribed a cream that already has it almost completely healed.

While I was seeing the doctor, I got a call from the Consulate – my visa was ready to be picked up. Of course! I asked if they could overnight it, to save me a trip back to Philly on Friday. No such luck.

After a power nap at the hotel, Alison and I ventured out for a little shopping. If by a little, you mean I bought one of everything at H&M. One day, that store will loose its charm… We picked up dinner at Goodburger (Yes, as in, “Welcome to Goodburger, home of the good burger. Can I take your order?) and made it back to the hotel in time to watch most of American Idol.

The next day found me at Girl Scouts’ headquarters on 5th Avenue bright at early. I wore my new, green pants and khaki coat. Alison told me that I looked like a Girl Scout. If only I hadn’t shipped my Trefoil necklace to Italy (along with all my Winter coats) the outfit would have been complete. I met with more HR staff than I can count on one hand before lunch, where I learned all about my benefits and employee policies. I have the best benefits ever.

After a quick lunch with Sandy, I met with other Global Girl Scout staff members and learned more about all the changes rolling out – pathways, journeys, so on and so forth. If you’re not in the Girl Scout world, you won’t recognize all the lingo. The important thing to know is that lots of things are changing for the first time in decades at Girl Scouts. It is truly an exciting time to be a part of this organization!

A lot more has happened between my Orientation and today, but I’m suddenly exhausted. The bed just across the room is way too inviting to ignore any longer. So, I’m going to call it a night for now, and continue the stories sometime tomorrow… Stay tuned!