Easter in Italy

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!

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

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!

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

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!