26.2

I have a couple weird hobbies, things that other people probably wouldn't count as hobbies, but I do.  At the top of the list is going out to dinner.  Second is people-watching.  And, as of today, I'm adding "cheering for people at marathons" to the list.  I guess that it could just be "cheering" or "encouraging" or "affirming" in general, but there is something that I love particularly about marathons.

One thing is that, for the most part, the people that run in marathons are not professional athletes.  It does take a lot of training and dedication, but I think that most people who run marathons are just normal people who have worked really hard.  They have jobs and families and many competing priorities, but they also take their running seriously.  I don't think I would ever choose to put in the work it takes to run 26 miles at one time, but I respect the people that do.  

And there are about 10,000 people in Florence today that did just that.  I volunteered at the marathon for a few hours today and then stayed to watch the first finishers (which, incidentally, was way cool.  Florence even had a race for differently-abled people who used hand-bikes!  Awesome!) but as I was walking home, I stopped to cheer on some of the runners....and ended up standing there for about an hour, cheering non-stop until I was starting to lose my voice!  And it was the best!

The podium for athletes who participated on hand-bikes!  Too cool!

Some people might say that the reason I got so much enjoyment out of this is because I'm weird and while there is some truth there, I have to wonder if there is some greater force at work.  When I'm watching people run a marathon, I can't help but think that, in some ways, we're all running this race, all the time.  Sometimes there is triumph, sometimes there is pain, but at the end of the day, you have to just push through everything and get to the next day, regardless of how much it hurts or how tired you are.  Our lives are kind of like a marathon.  But we don't wear numbers or get fun sweatshirts or have people standing at the sidelines cheering us on and handing us water.  

But maybe we all have a time when we need someone, even a stranger, to tell us bravo!, forza!, dai!  Sometimes we just need someone to say I see you, I acknowledge your struggle, but it's okay, you're going to make it.  

Looking back, I recognize that I would be lost, save for my own cheering section, helping me through every step and mis-step.  And I hope that at least some of you remember hearing my voice during your own races.  

Friends, I hope that whatever this week may bring you, you realize that you have at least one fan cheering you on. And I hope you'll make some time and effort to acknowledge someone else's struggle and accomplishments.

Braviiiii! Braaaviiiii!!! Bravissimiiiiiiiii!!!

As far as cheering sections go, I'm obsessed with Florence's sbandieratori, the Renaissance flag guys....

The winner of the day: Stikovsky Oleksandr (he's Ukrainian!)
And notice the flags in action!

Finding the Right Words

By the way, I wrote this while sitting in
an enchanted garden.

There is a very particular frustration in trying to find the right words in a language that is not your native tongue.  The feeling is so specific and unlike any frustration I've ever experienced before that I think it merits it's own descriptive word.  I can't help but think that some language, somewhere, must have such a word!

The only analogy I can draw, is to the feeling I have had many times during a recurring dream (I'm sure someone reading this will find some hidden interpretation here) where I am using all my force, exerting every ounce of power I can draw out of my muscles, yet only moving in slow motion, as if running through a pool of water.  Because when I'm searching for words, sometimes it feel like I might stop breathing or my heart might stop beating because every last neuron is firing trying to connect whatever abstract idea is in my mind to some particular word.  And a lot of times, not matter how hard I try, I feel like I can't find the right word, either because I have never learned it, or else I once learned it and have since forgotten it, or else it doesn't even exist.  The biggest problem is that I don't even know which of the three problems I'm up against at any given moment.  It's like putting together a puzzle that is missing some of the essential pieces but at the same time, has all these extra pieces that don't actually fit, without any sort of guide to tell you which is which.

At times, experiences and explanations and opinions and understandings exist in your mind in such a specific way, that it's hard to frame them with a language that you are still learning to own.  Or maybe you've never practiced putting that particular body of thought into words outside of your own language, or maybe it's hard to express a certain level of complexity, even in your native tongue.  But when you're trying to communicate, you can't always pause to have these philosophical discussions with yourself--you have to find a way to get your point across, even if your words feel inadequate.  Sometimes this is as simple as choosing a different word, but sometimes it's as complex as turning your thoughts upside-down, moving to the other side of the room, turning your head and squinting a little bit, to frame everything from a new perspective.  And that's just one sentence.

In some ways, speaking a new language requires you to do the same thing that an artist does, or an innovative businessman or a diplomat negotiating a treaty.  That is, to make one thing out of something else while working in the confines of your own knowledge and understanding, looking from a different perspective and balancing the relative importance of each word.  It's truly a creative process.

In some ways, learning Italian has taught me not just how to speak better, but how to live better.  I've learned diligence, patience with myself and my own abilities, fearlessness and the ability to stand exposed, weaknesses and imperfections laid bare, as that is the only way to learn.  I've learned that I can't always grow as much as I'd like to grow in a single day, but that over the course of a year, those incremental, barely-noticeable changes tend to multiply and even grow exponentially.

And I realize, even when I am leaving a trail of discord everywhere I go, even when I'm faced with a mound of accumulated, unnecessary and abandoned prepositions, even when my nouns are absolutely confused about their true gender and even when my subjects and verbs are left arguing so much because they just don't agree, that tomorrow is a new day to make fresh mistakes and (hopefully!) leave behind some of the old ones.

And I salute Dante and Manzoni and all the others, for the work that they've done to build up and solidify this beautiful language, even as I am doing everything in my power to rip it down, tear it up and try to re-build some semblance of something that is somewhat understandable as a human language.  Because I realize that a language is not like a picture hanging in a museum, something meant to be left, lonely and pristine, for centuries without any real human contact, but rather a piece of clay that is at it's very best when it is being changed, molded, rolled around and constantly reshaped.

And on the bad days, when I feel tongue-tied and confused, I remind myself that the most beautiful things in life, after all, are those that can't quite be captured in words.

I love these statues from the Bardini Gardens because I feel like they're having a conversation.
Or maybe he was like "Hey, girl, hey." and she was like "Nope, not gonna happen."

Paparazzi

I was having a conversation last night with a friend of mine who also works with students in Florence.  And we were talking about what it is like to travel with students on academic field trips organized by the school.

We agreed that one thing that makes us crazy is the absolute obsession with taking photos of every single thing and how photographing takes precedence over everything, including listening to the guide or trying to understand what the things in all the photographs actually are.  It's like a frenzy and I'm not exaggerating at all when I say that.  I have watched students run a little bit ahead, stop at every corner we passed and hurriedly snap four pictures, one in each direction.  And then run ahead to the next corner and do the same thing.  And with such urgency, you would not believe it, as if their very lives depended totally and completely on getting a picture of each and every street in Siena or Assisi or Rome or whatever city we were in.  It's comical, really, and a little sad.

The sad thing is that anyone in the world can view the events of our lives through our posts on Twitter and Facebook and Instagram—but I have to ask if we are missing out on something of the moment in our frenzy to share every last moment of our lives.  People always say things like "oh, it was so beautiful, a picture doesn't even capture it,"--so what are we missing out on when we see our own travels (or even our everyday lives!) primarily through the lens of a camera or an iphone?  Were we actually there?  Or are we seeing our own lives from the outside?

One of my favorite "fun facts" to share with people is the etymology of the word "paparazzi."  The word comes from Federico Fellini's masterpiece, La dolce vita, which, incidentally, is one of my favorite Italian films ever and a film that everyone should see at least twice.  At any rate, in this film, Paparazzo is the last name of a photographer who is friends with Marcello Mastroianni's character and has a habit for being in the right place at the right time, particularly at sensitive moments in people's lives as the story unfolds.

Without going into a full analysis of the film, suffice it to say that a recurring motif is depicting the way that our constant obsession with media, photography and documenting things  disrupts sensitive and important moments in our lives and even in our society.  Although Fellini claimed that he was not aiming for satire, but rather just depicting reality, there is surely a satirical underpinning at work here.  Keep in mind that this film came out in the year 1960.

Flash forward to the year 2013, over half a century later, and I would love to know what Fellini would have to say about the current state of things. It would look a little bit different, I think because it is not longer just the media with bulky cameras and elaborate set ups, it's each of us, looking at the events of our own lives through a screen.

To an extent, we have all become the paparazzi in our own lives.

And I'm not trying to sound preach-y here.  I recognize my own culpability in all this and that I am not somehow immune from the addiction to over-sharing.  Although I made fun of Instagram for a long time, I have recently become obsessed with it myself, a self-professed hypocrite as sure as I stand!

In fact, I'm almost certain that, if such studies don't exist already (and if they do, please send them my way!), in the next few years, we will see research about how all this snapping and sharing is changing our brains.  I'm not a psychologist by any means, but I'm certain that sharing prompts some kind of chemical release in our brains that makes it addicting.

Am I advocating that we tear ourselves away from all technology, photography and social media?  Well, no, not exactly.  Technology is a tool which, like a knife that could be used to kill a man or to help us share our bread (not my words, but a metaphor that I love!).  We can choose to use it to destroy ourselves or to create a better world.  Pictures can be powerful and the potential for the good that can come from sharing could be exponential. When we share photos from our travels, the world becomes that much smaller, which is a powerful thing and one that could be a tremendous force for good. To give an example, I follow a handful of photo-journalists on Instagram and have been seeing images from Egypt and Afghanistan that help me to put human faces to places I've never been and struggles I can't truly fathom.

What I'm really getting at is awareness.  I'm not living in a fantasy world and I'm not telling anyone to pull a Henry David Thoreau and abandon all connections to civilization to live secluded in the woods. But I am saying that when you see something beautiful or incredible, don't immediately reach for your phone, but rather take a minute to appreciate the moment you are living in.  If you absolutely must snap the picture, limit yourself and take your photos consciously, not mindlessly.  Take one or two and then put the phone or the camera away. (In my experience, I get better photos this way, anyway!)  Recognize that, in reality, in a year, you won't remember how many likes that picture got on Facebook and probably won't even be able to find it, searching through the thousands of things that you have posted. (It's true!!)

Above all, I hope that we can realize that the value of the moments in your life is not measured by how well we documented them or how many pictures we took or how many people left comments on our Facebook page.  A better metric is how we connected with other people, what we learned and how we use that knowledge to better ourselves and the world.  And those, my friends, are things really can't be captured in a photograph.


-----

PS:

For anyone interested, I'm inserting a link to one of the most memorable scenes from La dolce vita.  Unfortunately, I couldn't find one with English subtitles, but I think the images are powerful enough to speak for themselves.

Also, if you click here, you can see a short, but brilliant video that pretty much sums up everything I just wrote.  It was viral a few weeks ago, so you might have already seen it, but if you haven't watched it, you absolutely should!!

The Problem With Student Travel Companies in Florence

I will never forget waking up that first morning.  It was my Fall Break during my semester abroad and I was travelling with my roommate Jenny.  We were in a hotel outside of Barcelona and had arrived very late the night before.  For both of us, it was really the first time we had traveled on our own and we didn't know anything except that we had flights and some accommodations booked for the next ten nights: it was going to be a long trip and I would be lying if I said that I wasn't a little bit worried.

The next day, after dealing with the sudden appearance of pink eye (unpleasant, but, in the end, fine), we found a cute restaurant, on recommendation from someone at our hostel, and both ordered food, without really knowing what we were ordering.  Between us, we spoke an embarrassingly small amount of Spanish and, to admit something really embarrassing, I did not even know Catalan was a language until we landed in Barcelona...  I cringe a little bit writing that, but I remind myself that this is why we travel, to learn things that we didn't know before.

So, Jenny takes a bite of her mystery sandwich and discovered quickly that her sandwich contained walnuts.

"Erin, I have something to tell you," she said.

"Okay...."

"I'm allergic to walnuts."

My heart dropped a little, "maybe you should stop eating then...."

"I can't, it's sooooo good."

As it turned out, her allergy was not severe and we survived to eat many fantastic meals and went back to that place three times and every time ordered a mystery meal and every time we left full and satisfied. (The restaurant was called La Bascula--vegetarian, which is not common in Spain & lots of organic/natural things!)

Jenny and I, 3 years ago in Ireland--savoring some time in the English-speaking world!

Being in Barcelona is like being on top of the world!!!

The point of this long, self-involved story is that we were clueless!!!  Completely clueless!!  But we made it through those ten days and we learned so much about ourselves, each other and, above all, the world!  We both learned a little bit about reading maps, argued and got stressed out when we got lost, stumbled through two languages (how surprised was I when I found out upon my return to Florence that I had been asking for "a bedtime story" instead of "the check" at every meal we ate in Spain!  Or when I booked bus tickets out of the wrong Valencia, Spain!).  When our skills as navigators and linguists failed us (which was often), we compensated with curiosity and sincere smiles--and had some help from locals along the way!  I often tell people that I learned more in those ten days than I everything I learned combined in my life until that point and, in retrospect, I wouldn't trade all the awkwardness or stressful moments for any other experience.

Which is exactly why it makes me so sad when I see students increasingly choosing to travel through companies rather than planning their own trips.  There are at least a half dozen companies in Florence that specialize in planning trips for students, but they all provide more or less the same experience:  for what you pay them, they will bundle your accommodations, provide you with a guide, maybe include some food and (joy of joys!) put you on a bus with fifty other American students (or more!) and shuttle you all around Europe.

And students tell me:

"It's so easy!"

"It's so comfortable!"

"They did everything for us!"

"They made sure we didn't stay in a bad hotel!"

The problem I have with these companies is not that they don't fulfill their promises--based on what I've heard, they do a great job of shuttling students around Europe, making them comfortable and taking them from site to site in Europe's most beautiful, historic cities.

In fact, the problem I have with these companies is that they do exactly what they say they do--they make everything so effortless and in doing so insulate students, in a bus full of Americans, from learning about the world around them and from truly experiencing the culture of the place they are in.  They take away the uncertainty and the frustration of travelling but in doing so, I would argue, they also take away the sense of curiosity and adventure.

I've spoken with people who traveled through Europe in the age before the internet and they have told me about what it was like, arriving in a city, suitcase in hand and literally searching through a phone book to find a place to sleep at night.  The truth is, travelling on your own is not that hard anymore.  There are dozens of travel sites and booking sites on the internet that provide dozens of reviews and information on attractions and accommodations. There is a huge selection of guidebooks for any of the major European destinations available in bookstores, both at home and abroad, and even on your device of choice (Anyone who has ever traveled with me knows that I LOVE guidebooks, and on the last few trips I have taken, I took my guide books with me via the Kindle app on my ipod!  All the fun of a guide book without having to lug around a huge book!  Miraculous!!!).

Yes, booking things on your own can require a bit of actual thought on your part and maybe some advance planning, depending on how adventurous you are (although with Wifi beginning to appear everywhere, including on flights and trains, perhaps even less now than ever!), but it gives you the freedom to do what you want, to change your plans (or travel without any real plans!), and to experience some of those moments of frustration and stress and clueless-ness that humble us and help us grow, as travelers and as humans, as well as leading us to moments when discover something extraordinary or meet remarkable people, both locals and fellow travelers.

I know that not everyone will agree with me on this, and this post may be controversial.  But I would like to start a conversation more than anything.  Of course, I have to recognize the fact that not everyone is looking to get the same things out of their travel experiences as I am.

I often use a quote by St. Augustine, "the world is book and those who do not travel read only the first page."  The kind of travel that I am advocating for is not measured so much by the number of pages read as by the experience of reading.  Did we really understand what we were reading?  Or did we just skim to find the main idea?  Did we savor the moments of poetry and of challenge in the text?  Did we actually learn something?  Can we think critically about it all or is it just a blur of photos on our Facebook pages?

There are some risks in planning a trip for yourself, not so much risks as in putting yourself in physical peril (especially in Europe, come on!), but risks that you will have moments when you will be pushed out of your comfort zone.  Not only is this a possibility, but something that I promise and hope for.  Because when you find yourself outside of your comfort zone, you are at risk of learning and of growing and seeing things differently.  It's a bit of a leap of faith, but one that I wish more students would take.

Wanderings

Today I was walking to work and I saw some people talking excitedly, looking up and pointing.  What are they looking at? I asked myself.  They seemed so enthralled that I couldn't resist turning around to see what had captured their attention.  And I saw Florence's cathedral and Brunelleschi's dome, surrounded by tourists and caricature artists and people taking photos....but nothing was out of place.  So I looked back at the people again, to see if maybe I had misjudged where they were looking.  But I looked at their eyes and saw that they were still just as excited and pointing just as clearly.  Seriously, what are they looking at?  Their eyes were fixed directly on the cupola, but the more that I looked, the more I could not understand what they were looking at.  Is there a bird up there?  Something that I'm missing?  My eyes were searching for something, anything.

Then it hit me.

Oh.

They were not looking at something on or near the dome, they were just looking at....the dome itself. Brunelleschi's dome, one of the great miracles in the history of architecture, arguably one of the greatest achievements of the human mind...ever.  It was the biggest dome in the world when it was built in the fifteenth century.  Even when Michelangelo built a bigger dome, the dome of St. Peter's Basilica in Rome, he noted that his creation could be "as big, but never as beautiful."

And so it has happened that this amazing piece of living, breathing history, that I imagine even Michelangelo paused to admire as he walked by, has become such a part of my daily routine that I could not even see it.  I had not even realized the extent to which I was rushing through that morning until that moment.  It reminded me of how important it is to stop, and take a deep breath, especially when I feel that I do not have time to do so and appreciate what I have right in front of me...

***

Walking in the most tourist-filled streets of Florence is something like walking through the entire world condensed into a few blocks.  More than anything, I listen for all the different languages.  Maybe I hear someone speaking German and someone speaking Swedish and someone speaking Japanese and someone speaking a language I could not even recognize if your life depended on it...all at the same time.

And I'm always tickled, to hear sounds that are so thoroughly foreign.  Above all, I love languages that are so different from anything that I know that I can not even separate individual words or sentences.  And sounds pass through my head and I can't even wrap my mind around the fact that those sounds, which to me sound totally random, actually mean something, actually mean a lot, when passing through someone else's mind.

And I remember what Italian sounded like before I could understand it.  Before I even understood the rhythm.  I remember sitting in my dorm room, doing speaking exercises during my first semester  of college and feeling the soft vibration that the words left on my tongue.  And how it lingered for a moment, even when I stopped speaking.  It was delightful.  How I wished, in those moments, that the feeling never had to go away!

I wonder, when I hear these other languages, what kind of feeling they leave on your tongue or on your lips.  And if I might someday roll Hungarian or Polish or Chinese around in my mouth, what those words would feel like, what they would taste like.

I think of how my life has been enriched by learning a new language.  How I have come to better understand a culture and a people, through the language and how, like one of those beautiful, antique keys, it has opened some special doors.

And suddenly, I want to know all the languages that the people around me are speaking, all at once!  Why couldn't I know every language in the world in a single instant?  But the very thought makes me dizzy.

Because I know that knowledge like this comes slowly and with effort.  Learning a language is like building a relationship, it takes time and patience and is, honestly, a bit messy.  Nothing meaningful can be achieved in a single moment.  It is the months of learning, the countless mistakes and the reaching beyond your comfort zone that make learning a language a meaningful experience, that make any experience meaningful, really.  And I wouldn't have it any other way.

So, I continue to walk on, quietly delighting in fragments of other people's conversations that I will never understand.

Simply Put

It's not enough simply to travel, to physically move your body from one place to another.  You have to learn, be open and unafraid to change.  You have to think about where you are and how your actions affect the economy and the future of each place as if it were your home because, at the end of the day, as a part of the Earth, that place is your home.

It's not enough simply to take photos in front of things if you don't understand them and what they are and what they mean.  If the number of "likes" on your Facebook page is ever-growing, but your mind fails to expand, you're doing it wrong.  Because that, my friends, is called ego-boosting and the remarkable thing about travel is that it does the opposite of boosting your ego.  It forces you to reckon with a world so much greater than you are and assaults you with the realization that you are but a small piece in this incredible, dynamic jigsaw puzzle of a planet.  

It's not enough simply to stay in your comfort zone.  It's a scary thing to admit: you might end up in an uncomfortable situation or an unfamiliar place.  You might have to stop and ask directions from an actual human when your technology fails you.  Most daunting of all, you might end up changed--seeing the world in a different way and questioning all your beliefs.  You might find that while exploring parts of the world you have never seen before, you will also have to confront parts of your own mind that you have never seen before.  In fact, the thoughts and ideas that once gave you peace will become a source of friction.  And you will be forced to grow.

But if you want to be a true citizen of the world, that's a risk you're going to have to be willing to take.  Anything less is just tourism.

Lost and Found in Budapest

 I have been putting off writing about Budapest for a few weeks because, honestly, I am still trying to process it, even a month later (that and the fact that every spare second of my life has been filled with job applications--if you have any sweet connections, please let me know!!).  For me, it was a delightfully paradoxical city: ridiculously manageable for a traveler yet impossible to fully comprehend.  The streets are just breathing with a history that's as complex as that of any city I've ever visited.  You might see the remnants of a once powerful monarchy, Art Nouveau elegance and totally modern buildings all within the same block.  The food is simple, but the flavors complex (did I mention that I had sour cream on pretty much everything?  No complaints here!).  The opulent wealth of times gone by coexists with a former Soviet austerity which mingles with a forward-and-outward-looking present.  And the result is startling, eclectic, cosmopolitan and wonderful.

Somehow, this picture perfectly sums up my sense of Budapest as a city.
Beautiful architecture adorns what is now the Gucci store,
but notice the bus that it is probably older than I am.

Goulash!  It's so yummy!  Simple ingredients, but with a little kick!

And did I mention the language?  What a lovely puzzle to be solved!  According to my tour guide, it's one of the five hardest languages in the world to learn, yet the second most logical, after Latin! (although some people might argue that ranking languages based on difficulty is a worthless, subjective idea and I tend to agree).

As a lover of all things linguistic (and moreover a total nerd) I couldn't really ask for a more fascinating language than Hungarian.  There are up to eighteen different noun cases (How many of you stumbled through Latin's five?) and compound words that can go forever.  Better yet, Hungarian is related only to Estonian and Finnish and even those two languages are more like third cousins a couple times removed than close family!!  Consider that Hungarian is not an Indo-European language, which means that Hindi, Persian, Italian and English are more closely related to each other than any of them is to Hungarian!

Franz Liszt, one of many famous Hungarians.  The "sz" sounds in
Hungarian is like the "s" sound in English, thus we say his name
like "List."

So how did the Hungarians wind up with such a completely bizarre language?  They are descendants of a group of people that migrated to the area that is now Hungary from today's Mongolia, the Magyar people.  (Mistakenly thought to be the Huns by some of their neighbors, hence we have the name "Hungary" in English).  In fact, that is only the beginning of a history that would see the Hungarians mix with Slavic people from the surrounding countries and conquered by the Turks and then incorporated into the empire of the Hapsburgs. (Obviously, this is the history of an entire country and their linguistics in two paragraphs and should therefore be taken with a grain of salt, I'm not claiming to have covered everything here!)

The many cafes around Budapest make it feel like a very "European" capital.
This elegant cafe is on the top floor of the Alexandra bookstore!

Perhaps the highlight of my time there, was seeing Puccini's Madama Butterfly at the opera house.  Advised by friends who had visited Budapest before, I went to the box office an hour before the show to see if I could get some cheap tickets.  After a confused conversation with a woman at the ticket office, I paid for my ticket, having absolutely no idea what I had just purchased.  

To my surprise, I returned an hour later, ascended the stair case, and opened a door, as indicated by my ticket, to a beautiful private box that was almost in the center of the theater!!  

Hastily and much embarrassed, I closed the door...surely my 13 Euro ticket was not for one of the best seats in the house.  

So imagine my surprise when I asked the attendant, only to have her lead me back to the very same door!!!

I met a lovely student and fellow traveler from China and was delighted to enjoy the opera with him from our own private box.

This is my "ecstatic" face.

To recap, I stumbled into Puccini, a beautiful opera house, an accidental private box and a perfect glass of Hungarian red wine on the terrace at intermission.  This was one of those beautiful, magical moments (sometimes, I like to stop and hug them as they pass by) when I realized that of all the places in the universe I might have been, I was finding myself exactly where I was supposed to be.

Sometimes we forget how awkward and painful learning and living and travelling can be.  There are some moments that are less romantic than others.  Travelling alone in particular can be stressful and a bit scary, even in a big, safe, cosmopolitan city in Europe.  There are plenty of opportunities to make mistakes, get really lost, get frustrated, ask obvious questions, make yourself look like the stupidest person ever and feel lonely.  But, in retrospect, I see that these are also the moments when I was getting smarter, learning how to travel better and more gracefully and learning about myself.  And somehow, it was that stumbling around the city of Budapest (and, let's be honest, the entire continent of Europe) that led me to that seat in that opera house during that show.

And so I am issuing a challenge to myself, and to you, to make some mistakes, to get a little lost and to stumble around a bit, whether it is in a language with eighteen noun cases, a new place you've never visited or even in your own mind.

To quote my nineteenth-century soul mate, Henry David Thoreau (ten points if you saw that coming!): "Not till we are lost, in other words not till we have lost the world, do we begin to find ourselves..." 

Buon viaggio!

The Opera House at night!

The Last Minute of Intermission

The Parliament Building by night.

Rawwr!!

Stained glass in St. Matthias Church

I just really liked this painting.

#NoFilterRequired

For a long time, I have thought that Mother Nature and a solid camera could outdo the obsession with putting filters on every photograph.  Tuscany has seen a lot of rain these past few weeks and the beautiful Spring greens are more vibrant than I've ever seen.  Against the blue sky, it all just looks too good to be true, perfect!!  Filter that!! 

A Toast for Mom!

I'm proposing a toast

Chianti raised in hand

Across this great ocean

To sea and beach and sand

Where a lady I know

Is in her favorite place

Drinking margaritas 

A smile on her face

And I haven't said thank you

Not nearly enough

For loving and caring

Even when it was tough

She watched my first steps

Helped the first fall

And if I'm now crossing continents

It's to her I owe all.

With patience and love

She helped us to grow 

And the lessons in forgiveness

More than we'll ever know.

So here's to you, Mom

On this day of you

I could never say thanks 

For all the you do.

These words are my hugs

From so far away

I'm sending my love,

Happy Mother's Day!!

How can you thank the person who gave you the greatest gift of all, that is, the gift of life?  I'm so grateful to have the greatest Mom, someone who has always loved me, supported me and believed in me.  I miss you, Mom and I just wish that I could be sipping margaritas beach-side with you on this day, your day!

Cheers to all the Moms this Mother's Day!

At the Opera in Budapest

The Worst Part of my Job

Coming into this job, I knew that there would be some things that were part of my job description that would not be fun.  Living in a house with thirty-some-odd college students brings inevitable problems with alcohol and noise.  I knew that I would spend some time "herding cats" around Italy's most-visited cities.  From my first days in Florence,  I quickly learned that the internet and I would not be friends and that the perpetual struggle between man and technology was one that would come to shape the rhythm of my days.

But for every moment when I am tired and frustrated and ready to throw all the routers and modems and cables onto the floor and hit them repeatedly with a baseball bat...there are at least a hundred moments when I feel that I am right where I am supposed to be.  There are times when I get random hugs at my desk and there are times when I get to hear about my students' adventures in Italy and abroad and there are times when I get to introduce someone to the best pasta or pizza or gelato or a hidden treasure in Florence that they have never seen before.  Best of all are those rare, perfect moments when somebody comes to talk to me and tells me how their semester abroad has shaped the way they look at the world, how they feel like the world is opened up to them. In these moments, I remember what it was like to be a student abroad and how it changed the course of my life and how exhilarating it is to think that nothing is impossible because you have the whole world laid out in front of you, just waiting for you.

Which brings me to what has really been the worst part of my job: saying goodbye.  Because at the end of the semester, these people that have been my travelling companions and my friends (even MAPS), these people that I have watched learning and changing and growing for four months (some of them longer!) go to different places and I have to give them a blurry-eyed hug and choke out some words and say goodbye.  And frankly, it sucks.

Of course, there's something beautiful about it, about having new friends in different places and new people to visit and all that.  And it's important that students return to the US, hopefully having learned something and hopefully with changed perspectives, ready to make the world a better place and all that.  Isn't that why we do the things that we do??

But at the end of it, when you've been through so much with a group of people and come to know them and love them, it's still hard to say goodbye because they've taken up a little place in your heart and when they leave, they take a part of you with them, they can't help it.  But, I believe, they also leave a little piece of themselves with you and they leave your heart a little bigger for having known them.  And this is how we grow.

I read this quote by Miriam Adeney on Facebook, posted by a student, and it really resonated with me:

"You will never be completely as home again, because part of your heart always will be elsewhere. That is the price you pay for the richness of loving and knowing people in more than one place."

I couldn't have said it better myself.  

So here, I say thank you to all of my students from the past two semesters that I have had to say goodbye to. And I wish them well and I say that I hope they are taking something real away from this experience.  That after they finish telling their family and friends about the pizza and the wine and the gelato, they will sit down for a moment and reflect on what all of this means, what an amazing opportunity they have had and how much they have grown and learned.  I hope that they will think about what it means for them moving forward.  And I hope, above all, they never feel completely at home again.  Because, just like me, they are curious and restless, dying to keep travelling and learning and meeting new people and embracing new experiences.

And I remind them, that it's really less of a goodbye and more of a ci vediamo. 

Thanks for everything, guys! 

Water to Wine

"[O]utdoors we are confronted everywhere with wonders; we see that the miraculous is not extraordinary but the common mode of existence.  It is our daily bread.  Whoever really has considered the lilies of the field or the birds of the air and pondered the improbability of their existence in this warm world within the cold and empty stellar distances will hardly balk at the turning of water into wine- which was, after all, a very small miracle.  We forget the greater and still continuing miracle by which water (with soil and sunlight) is turned into grapes."

-Wendell Berry, The Art of the Commonplace: The Agrarian Essays 

Grape vine at Montefioralle Vineyard

It's a question that I have realized that we Americans (and pretty much all people living in modern, developed countries) don't ask enough: Where does our food come from?  Up until a few years ago, I, along with many people, would have told you that food comes from the supermarket; but it's an unexamined statement, isn't it?  And one that reveals how completely ignorant and apathetic we are toward some the most beautiful processes of the Earth and some of the most horrifying aspects of our society.  

We'll save a serious discussion of the horrors of the modern food industry for another day. (Incidentally, this is a topic that I'm always interested in and if someone has some good reading or viewing suggestions on this subject, please let me know).  For now, let's stick to vino.

With my parents and Aunt CB and Uncle Dale who were visiting two weeks ago, I had the privilege of visiting two vineyards and drinking copious amounts of wine (which will surprise nobody who knows either my parents or my aunt and uncle).  We traveled for a day in Tuscany with an exceptionally wonderful tour guide, Monika Iris and she introduced us to the delightful Fernando, a vineyard owner whom I can only describe as adorable, making some fabulous  Chianti Classicos and Tuscan reds in Montefioralle, just above the more well-known town of Greve-in-Chianti. 

Us with Fernando in Montefioralle

 In our time sitting around his table, Fernando explained to us what it takes to make a true "Chianti Classico":

1.  It has to be at least 80% Sangiovese grapes.  (The rest can be a mix of other types of grapes)

2.   All the grapes must be grown within a certain geographical area that covers about 100 square miles, the Chianti region of Tuscany, between Florence and Siena.

3.  The grapes cannot be irrigated, they must grow naturally in the climate and conditions that only Mother Nature decides.

Wines meeting these three conditions can then go through the process where they are certified by the government, which controlls the standard, to be officially bottled as "Chianti Classico."

The point that was puzzling to me was the restriction on irrigation.  After all, if you have the opportunity to improve the conditions of the grapes--why wouldn't you??  (Someone can argue with me on this point, but I think it's a very American attitude somehow, trying to control nature).

"Grapes grow naturally in the place where they come from," Monika told us.  Because these grapes are native to the area, they don't need the help.  The differences in precipitation (and all the other environmental factors too!) give each vintage of wine its particular character.

She also added that she felt that Sangiovese grapes have something in common with the people of the Chianti area, including our new friend Fernando and Monika herself who was  born in Germany, but considers herself a true Tuscan.  These grapes, she told us, aren't like the "spoiled" French Cabernet and Merlot grapes, that need a lot of "pampering."  They work hard and they thrive, even when conditions are less than ideal.  It's a characteristic of the people, but it gives character to the wine too.  

Perhaps it's poetic romanticism or perhaps it's true; but I love to think that the character of the people, the character of the land and the character of the grapes all come out in the taste of the wine.  You can taste the dramatic, sweeping views enjoyed by the grapes from the top of the hill; you can taste every drop of rain that did or didn't fall; you can taste the sweet, freshness of the air and, best of all, you can savor the delicious Tuscan sunshine, which could really sustain you all on its own.

Now that is something you'll never find in a supermarket: the chance to dirty your shoes with the soil that nourished the wine and the opportunity to shake the hand that took so much care to produce it.  Now that is something that I can drink to.

So please, wherever you are in the world, open a bottle of Chianti tonight...for me!  

My glass is raised to Mother Nature, to Fernando and to you!

Salute!

The vineyard

Lisboa

The Alfama

Old King in Belem Monastery

Graffiti in Florence

Speechless

I recently was blessed with the opportunity to travel in Spain, Portugal and Morocco during Spring Break.  I have been trying for the past week and a half to think of a clever way to put my experiences and my love for these places into words and found it pretty difficult.  Somehow this week of travel has rendered me speechless (not an easy thing to do, as my Dad would surely be happy to confirm).  So, I've decided that I'm going to try to keep the words as few as possible and let my photos do all the talking.

Sevilla: Southern Hospitality

Muchas gracias a Danny y Tania, mis nuevos amigos a Sevilla! :)
Fun Fact: A scene from on of the Star Wars movies was filmed in this plaza!!

 I booked a flight into Seville as a stop on the way to Lisbon and was able to stay for a few days.  With open arms, some friends of  a friend who are now my friends :), welcomed me into their home and spent the day with me.  Even when my flight was delayed by an epic snowstorm in Bologna and I didn't arrive until 2 AM, they were nothing but kind and welcoming.  I am so grateful for their warm hospitality and for the day that I spent with them and their friends.  I was also so happy to have the opportunity to practice my Spanish and that they didn't laugh at me too much since I'm just learning!  The funny thing about Seville is that the people I met everywhere, even strangers that helped me get to the bus station when the bus was re-routed by a marathon, were just as kind and welcoming, even when I was speaking more Italian than Spanish.  It's as true in Spain as in the US, people are just nicer in the South and there's nothing like Southern hospitality!

Seville is so magical, full of hidden courtyards and lovely architecture.

Piripi!  The best bocadillo I have ever put in my mouth!!  Bacon, tomato and mayonnaise.  Yum!! I would go back to Seville just to eat this sandwich!!   

The view from the top!

Another reason that I love Sevilla: orange trees everywhere!  Even though you can't eat the oranges, just the sight of so much citrus makes this Florida girl feel at home!

Seville by night. Just lovely.

Lisboa: Home.

Riding on the bus into Portugal, I had the remarkable sensation of coming home.  It's hard for me to pinpoint exactly why.  Perhaps it's the land, which is beautiful in its own way.  Less dramatic than the sweeping Tuscan hills; flatter and greener and simpler: more like Florida.  Perhaps its the perfectly lovely, unassuming people of Lisbon.  They are warm and kind and welcoming.  Perhaps its being so close to the water, feeling a history so linked with the ocean.  Perhaps its the beautiful, winding streets of Lisbon's oldest quarter, the Alfama.  Perhaps I understand the historical wandering itch of the great Portuguese explorers.  Perhaps it's sitting on a couch on an ocean-view terrace in the sunshine drinking fresh, sweet white Sangria.  Whatever it is, I could live in Lisbon forever.  

Lisbon is known for the beautiful tile-work on many of its buildings.

But really, when are you booking your ticket?

Vasco de Gama's tomb in the lovely Church of the Mosteiro dos Jeronimos.  A reminder of Portugal's past power and wealth.

Cascais, lovely beach town outside of Lisbon

Tangier: Culture Shock.

Mostly because we found a cheap flight and couldn't resist the urge to get all the travel cred associated with going to another continent, the next stop on the tour was Morocco.  Throughout all my travels, I never remember feeling truly culture shocked, so truly like an outsider.  The guy at the front desk of our hotel, a British ex-pat who had been living in Morocco for nearly a decade, described Morocco as a place that assaults all of your senses at once and he couldn't be more right.  Colors!  Sounds!  Smells!  People!  Cars!   Mint tea!  Language!  Everything is happening all at once, but there's beauty in chaos and it's good to be completely disoriented every once and a while.  The highlight of the trip was a taxi ride through the country side (Northern Morocco is lush and green, nothing like the desert that you are probably imagining) that culminated in a camel ride (in a rainstorm, under a double-rainbow, no less).  I can't wait to go back to Morocco!  Stay tuned for a whole blog post about Morocco, coming soon!

Just the most gorgeous room I've ever slept in...no big deal.

The view from the roof of our hotel

Mint tea or heaven.

Speechless.

Madrid: Art.

Our stop in Madrid was short, about 36 hours.  I spent most of the day in museums, The Prado and The Reina Sophia.  I did have the opportunity to cross a few pieces off of my Art History Bucket List, including Picasso's Guernica and Dali's Girl at the Window (not so well known, but a painting that has always enchanted me)  I also had the chance to meet up with a friend from my study abroad time who is now living in Madrid and eat some tapas.  I love tapas because you get to have a little taste of everything, something like this adventure!

Girl at the Window, one of favorite paintings ever.

The Crystal Palace

Giant wall gecko?  I just love Madrid!!!