Un Viaggio Molto Buona

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.

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.

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?

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

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?

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?

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?