Well, the explanation of what has happened since I got back from Rome has been long overdue. I'm now back in the United States after one hell of a ride the past month and a half. Here's a brief story of my experience since leaving Rome.
It was a Monday morning and I had a flight booked to leave at 8 AM back to Geneva. I took the train to Roma Fiumicino Aeroporto and checked myself in, went through security, and got in trouble for having a rope and a hammock. They were taking away my $100 hammock and my exhaustion and starvation just got to me. I had a complete breakdown and just started bawling in security. I cried for about 20 minutes straight until other people got angry at the security guards for "making a poor girl cry" and demanded that they let me through with all my stuff. Security finally allowed me through with my hammock and I started to run to catch my flight. When I arrived at the gate, a feeling of absolute dread came over me. I stood there for a few minutes, debating whether I should miss my flight and just leave everything behind and just stay in Rome. I would have rather slept on the streets and stole food than to go back to Geneva and back to that horrible family. But after quite a debate, I finally stepped on the plane. The flight went by fast, and I arrived in Geneva in less than an hour and fifteen minutes.
When I arrived to my apartment, I decided to send an email to my parents to let them know I was safely "home." When I opened my Gmail account, I noticed an email from my boss and proceeded to open it. This is what I read:
"When you return from Italy we would like you to occupy your time with making arrangements to return to the States as Antoine and I have made arrangements to take care of Amelie ourselves. Please call the airlines and find the next flight home. Please make sure your room is in the same condition as you got it. Clean!"
There were other things said, but I don't want to dwell on it. Basically I was being kicked out with no money to buy a flight back to the states or any knowledge on how to change my flight that I already had for December 23rd. I called my parents at 3 AM (USA time) and just bawled my eyes out because I had nowhere to go. I packed up quickly, and as I was about to leave, the husband came home. He was a bit more "reasonable" and offered to allow me to stay until Thursday to find a place to stay. My friends caught wind of what was going on and this is where I discovered how many amazing people I had met. Friends that I had met only once and members in my church immediately offered me a place to stay until I found another job. I ended up staying with my good friend Elisabeth, who was an aupair for a family in my church. The wonderful family and Elisabeth allowed me to stay with them for two weeks. My friend Caitlin, was an aupair for an Irish family in France. She had to go home because of Visa reasons and offered that I take her place once she leaves. I ended up accepting the job in Pressevin-Moens, France. This is where I worked for the last month and a half of my time in Europe. The family was nicer than my last one in Switzerland, but the boys were wild and out of control. I didn't particularly enjoy caring for them and I was just ready to go home. It was such a relief when I finally got on my flight back to the States. Everything went smooth, all my flights were on time and there were no complications. Except when I arrived in the States, I got in trouble for having a pocket knife that I had thrown in a bag and forgotten about... it was a Christmas present for my dad. I ended up having to check in an extra bag with the knife in it. Other than that, the flights went quickly and before I knew it, I was home. It really was a relief to be back with my family for Christmas and to not be in a place where I was uncomfortable constantly.
Being back home has been amazing, but I find myself wanting to travel again. Perhaps not as long as six months. I was planning on going to Peru and Argentina this summer, but decided to put it off to next Christmas break so I can have more time to save up at least four or five grand. I'd leave right after Christmas and be there until the day before school started. So, this summer I'm planning on taking road trips and sleeping on the beaches in Southern California, lots of backpacking (Havasupai Falls especially!), rock climbing, kayaking, and running a few half marathons, 10K's, and 5K's. I might skip Fall semester to work in Arizona with the Anasazi Indians as a wilderness guide/counselor. But we shall see where the wind blows me....
2011 has been quite an adventure for me. I've modeled, acted, been used, had my heart broken, been back stabbed by someone I had trusted and loved dearly, gotten fired three times this year because of my deafness "being a problem", kicked out of two homes, had a wild streak, up and left to Switzerland, been to the most beautiful places Switzerland and Italy has to offer, backpacked Italy alone for 16 days, experienced being homeless, stranded in a strange country with not even 25 cents in my pocket, been robbed, starved, begged, borrowed, and cried more than I had ever cried in years. I was hated, despised, rejected, and outcast. Yet at moments when I needed it most, I was loved, served, and watched over by saints and angels.
I walked through heaven and hell, saw angels and demons, and discovered the good and bad in myself. Through all this madness, I never regret any decisions I made or hold any grudges to the pain others have caused me. I have learned to forgive. I have learned how to rise above and overcome. My eyes have been opened to things about where I was definitely in the wrong. I've come to accept the negative characteristics in myself that I need to change in order to help make the world a better place. I've learned things the hard way, but it's made me realize how strong I truly am. The friendship and the goodness of people around me has lessened my "me versus the world" attitude and has inspired me to serve others as others have served me.
My story is all about adventure. Adventure isn't all wild fun and euphoria. I have said it over and over; adventure is blood, sweat and tears. Adventure makes you see the beauty in the world. In adventure, you are forced to see your true colors. You have no choice but to accept the obstacles that are thrown at you. It's rise above or die.
As the horizon of a new year appears, I stand prepared for the obstacles that will be thrown my way. There's no use in wishing life would be easier. There's no use in hiding from the world. There's no use in running away. Life is hard. Life is ugly. But the beauty behind the ugly is what makes life worth it. You aren't living if you cant see the beauty in the ugly things. Open your eyes and be not afraid of adventure. Hold two middle fingers up to those who tell you that you can't, or that you're not strong enough, or that you're not good enough and then go out and freaking prove them wrong.
Don't be afraid of madness. Life is madness. If you're not up to embracing the madness, then you'll live your life in hiding and afraid, instead of experiencing what it's like to kick down the walls suffocating you and to feel the victory and freedom of being a champion.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Friday, December 2, 2011
The Impossible Dream- Amalfi
It was a clear, warm morning, with the sun rising through the palm trees when I boarded the train to Sorrento. I planned my day to work my way to the Amalfi Coast. I was so excited, since the Amalfi was one of the top places on my list to visit in Italy. I had stumbled across it in one of National Geographic's Travel magazines. I looked at the photograph of whitewashed stone houses built upon cliffs with an azure ocean below and green mountains above, covered with olive tree orchards and vineyards. I instantly fell in love and decided I had to visit that place.
The train was extremely crowded, hot, and smelly. There were hundreds of people crammed in, heading to visit Mount Vesivus or Pompei. I stood there for about forty-five minutes before we reached Pompei, where 90 percent of the sweaty tourists finally left the train.
I was exhausted and sore. My backpack was still full of the apples and oranges I bought for 99 cents in Firenze. It was just getting too heavy and becoming such a hassle to pack and unpack. I was so tired of living off of apples and oranges. A gypsy woman came by with a baby on her hip, begging for money. I told her that I had no money (which was entirely the truth), but I had some apples and oranges if she wanted them. I handed her the rest of my fruit and a clementine to the baby. After, I realized my burden was somewhat lighter, both physically and spiritually. A man that was sitting across from me began to talk to me. I motioned that I was deaf and that I spoke very little Italian. He spoke no English, but apparently knew some Italian sign language. We were able to communicate a bit, by simplifying our sign language and playing a small game of charades. Italian sign language is so different to American and French, so it is not so easy to communicate in those two languages. I was a little uncomfortable talking to a complete stranger who was an older man, but he was really kind and seemed so excited to try to communicate with me. We sat on the train and looked outside and pointed out our delight at the changing scenery. The sheer-dropped cliffs and the ocean began to appear, along with clementine and lemon orchards, scenic mountains with smoke rising from the vineyards, and the whitewashed homes protruded from the cliff sides.
We arrived in Sorrento and I headed to the tabacchi (a small convenience store) to buy a ticket to Amalfi. I was yelled at by a cranky old lady that there were "NO TICKETS TO AMALFI! NONE!" I brushed off the old lady's rudeness and went over to the information center to see where I could get a ticket. I ran into the man I met on the train, and he helped me communicate with the lady at the desk. I found out that the buses to Amalfi were cancelled until 6:30 PM. It was only 11:00 AM and I was really frustrated. I was so tired. I didn't care if I was in Sorrento. I just wanted to get to my hostel in Furore and just relax while enjoying the scenery. Disappointed, I lugged myself off to find the pier. It was really warm and I was wearing a sweatshirt, jeans, and boots. I wandered around until I found a public restroom (that was FREE! and clean! and had toilet paper!), where I changed my clothes to just a shirt, shorts, and tennis shoes. Then, I dragged myself off to try to find a place to relax. There was a narrow steel staircase zig-zagging down a cliff face to the road that led to the ocean. I climbed down those steps and cautiously hugged the cliff with my back while walking down the road, watching for cars and buses. There were several close calls to being hit, since the roads are so narrow and the drivers are just insane. I arrived at the harbor, with full view of the ocean. The ocean was so vast and endless. The blueness of the waters nearly matched the sky, making it seem like the world went on forever.
I hung out at the harbor for a while and laid beside the garbage littered rocks. The sun was warm and the day was still early. All I could feel was complete physical exhaustion. But, I just couldn't lay there for long. I got bored, so I began to walk. I braved the roads again, ascended the cliff side stairs, and walked the streets of Sorrento, passing overpriced shops and fancy hotels. Finally, I arrived to the mountain roads. They were narrow and winding, but I continued to walk. I passed olive trees, campgrounds, small farms, rustic cabin hotels, waterfalls, and Virgin Mary monuments built upon the rocks. I walked and walked and walked. Italian drivers passed by me and the males took no shame in slowing down and gawking, turning their heads nearly into a complete 180, most likely wondering what a young girl was doing walking up a mountain in shabby clothes and an overstuffed backpack with a hammock hanging from it. I walked until I couldn't walk anymore. Finally, after a short rest, I turned back and decided I wanted to find an Internet point. Unfortunately, all the Internet points and shops were closed. I guess in the southern parts of Italy, there are some sort of "siestas," or a break. Meaning, all the shops closed from 2 PM to 5 PM. I was upset and ended up sitting in a small cafe, eating the cheapest thing on the menu, which was fried vegetables. It was only 3 PM, and I still had three hours until my bus left. I was so tired. It was all I could think about. I forced myself to leave the cafe and walk around some more. Finally, I could not stand it anymore and sat at the bus stop for nearly an hour and a half. It increasingly became cold, but I was too exhausted to change my clothes. Finally, my bus arrived. I collapsed on a comfortable seat, but wouldn't let myself sleep. I had to be awake to get off my stop. The bus began to leave and suddenly I didn't have to worry about falling asleep anymore. The driver was crazy! I sat on the edge of my seat and gripped the handlebars in front of me until my knuckles turned white. He sped through narrow streets, barely big enough for two regular cars to pass. So, imagine how it was with a gargantuan bus crashing its way through. The traffic was heavy, and we came close to rear ending several cars. As we ascended the mountains, the roads just became even more treacherous, narrow, and winding. I was holding on for dear life and searching for a sign to Furore, praying that I'd be able to find my hostel.
After about an hour, I asked the driver where the heck Furore was. He said it was just ahead, and that was when I spotted La Vela Bed and Breakfast. I got off the bus and headed down the staircase to the family home, where I was greeted warmly by a sweet, sweet old Italian man, who was probably about five feet tall, and his son, who fortunately spoke English. The son took me to my room, where I about fainted from shock. I had my own room. And the beds had TWO FULL PILLOWS and a HUGE, SOFT COMFORTER. And no bedbugs. I checked. I had my own bathroom too, which was clean. There was even a TV in the room. It was amazing. I had never slept better.
The following morning, I woke up to sweet, warm sunrise. Looking out my window, the view held white stoned houses and the ocean in all its vastness, sparkling with the reflection of the sunrise. Upstairs, I walked into the dining room to find my breakfast laid out for me. It was just a simple meal; toast with jam, pear juice, and an espresso. The old man had seated me on the balcony, facing the ocean. He served up my espresso and chatted with me in Italian. I understood quite a bit of what he said, but couldn't really answer him because my spoken Italian is terrible. After I ate, I snuck on the bus heading to Amalfi. On the way there, the bus rear ended a parked car and went on its way. Then a few minutes later, we got stuck passing another bus. We ended up scraping sides with a terrible noise, but eventually squeezed out of the mess. After about thirty minutes of praying for my life, I hopped off the bus and onto the streets of the Amalfi Coast.
My tired feet walked up the pier and I gazed at the coast. Twelve days of backpacking and I actually made it to a place that was off the beaten path. There were few tourists. It was a calm, warm, and sunny day. I wandered around the coast for a while, and ended up hiking up the treacherous roads. The scenery was amazing. I just kept walking alongside the cliffs. I walked until I got blisters and I didn't want to turn back to Amalfi. So I stuck my thumb out and started hitchhiking. A while later, someone pulled over and I hopped in the car. I told him to just drop me off at the next town. He didn't speak any English, so I just motioned to him when I was ready to get out. We had arrived in a small town called Maori. My goal for the day was to do some snorkeling. I did not find a snorkeling shop anywhere and was really disappointed about that. So, I ended up walking around, learning about this small town. Here, rarely anyone spoke English. Most people were locals. I also found out that the coast was famous for its ceramic artwork. I ended up buying a ceramic fish as a souvenir. When it became siesta time and all the shops closed down, I headed to the beach and stripped to my swimsuit and basked in the sun. It was a moment of heaven that I would not get back for the remainder of my trip at the Amalfi.
It was about 3 PM when I decided to move on from Maori. I hiked along the mountain roads, until my feet became too sore to continue. I saw signs to Salerno, and decided I wanted to go there. So once again, my thumb went out on the side of the road and I was picked up by a rich man that owned a 200 year old vineyard, handed down from generation to generation. He drove me out to about two miles away from Salerno, where he dropped me off and continued on his business in the unknown town I was in. I walked down the mountain, wandering aimlessly. Once again, I found myself to be completely lost, hiking down a highway side. I stumbled across a shipping harbor, with gigantic cargo ships holding Italian sports cars and continued on until I found myself in the center of the city. Exhaustion was absolutely hammering me down. There was no way I could go on anymore. I didn't give a cigarette's butt that I was in Salerno, "off the beaten path." I just wanted to go back to Amalfi, have some pizza and ice cream, then go back to my room and sleep in my cozy down feathered comforter with my head resting upon double pillows. I dragged my worn out body around the city, looking for the bus stop back to the Amalfi. I happened to pass an old lady on the street while I was searching for my stop. She had white hair pulled back into a bun, stooped over with age, tiny as a doll, and took baby steps while leaning on a cane. I paid her no attention as I simply passed her by. Suddenly, she grabbed my hand and asked me where I was going. Surprised, I told her I was looking for the SITA bus stop heading to Amalfi. She gasped and informed me that the last bus for the day was leaving very soon and that she would show me where the stop is, but we had to hurry. She grabbed my hand and walked as fast as she could. After a few feet, she turned to me and said, "Run to the Tabbacchi and get your ticket. Run fast! I will meet you there!" I turned out into a sprint and entered the Tabbacchi, paid for a ticket to Amalfi, and turned around to find the old lady standing there asking me if I had gotten my ticket yet. I was shocked. Last I had seen the old lady, she was at least a block behind me, attempting a run by taking rapid baby steps topping no more than three miles an hour. It hadn't been one minute, and she was already by my side, not even the slightest out of breath. The sweet old lady grabbed my hand again and led me out the door to the bus stop across the street. She said, "See, now here is the bus." Sure enough, the bus was heading our way. She waved the bus down and then turned to me, kissed me on both cheeks, smiled and said, "Be safe. Ciao!" She walked across the street and then she was gone. With no doubt in my mind, I knew she was my guardian angel.
I seated myself on the bus and got prepared for the crazy, hair raising bus ride to Amalfi. It was dark now and the driver was talking on his cell phone, had a coffee in the cup holder, and judging on his driving, probably was holding each in his hands and steering the wheel with his knee. We whipped around the wild curves and probably dented a few cars on the way. I noticed an elderly woman holding on the seat in front of her for dear life, mumbling to herself the Lord's Prayer in Italian and doing three crosses every turn we took.
Finally, I arrived in Amalfi, all in one piece. It was chilly out, and I was stuck with my swimsuit and shorts. I was kicking myself for not bringing a change of clothes. Wandering the cobblestone streets of Amalfi, I found a small pizzeria and tried out the pizza... eating alone in a swimsuit while everyone else was with their family and friends. It was a bit lonely. I paid, and headed over to grab an ice cream, just for the heck of it. Licking on my ice cream cone and shivering in the bitterly cold wind, I headed off to the ticket office to check the times for the next bus to Furore. In the office, there was an old woman closing down. I sweetly and ever so politely asked her when the next bus to Furore came. Impatiently, she threw her hands up the air and screamed, "The buses are ALL DONE! THERE ARE NO BUSES! GET OUT! WE ARE CLOSED!", while waving her hands and shooing me out back into the dark and cold outdoors.
I stood there shivering in my shorts, holding an ice cream cone, all hope and happiness had been sucked out of me in an instant. I felt like I wanted to burst into tears. But I refused to allow myself to cry. I told myself, "How pathetic would you look, standing here shivering like a wet dog in the winter, holding an ice cream cone, and bawling your eyes out? Don't you even dare. Suck it up!" So, I did. I shoved the rest of the cone in my mouth, without even tasting it, then angrily marched to the side of the road and stuck my thumb out. I was no longer afraid of being a solo young girl hitchhiking the seedy side of Italy. My fear and frustration quickly turned to fire and anger. I was ready to unleash hell if anything was to go wrong and not shy of it.
After two or three cars ignored my thumb, a shiny, black car finally pulled over. It was an old man who spoke no English. I plopped in the passenger seat and said, "Furore." The man tried to converse with me but I was in no mood to try to communicate in Italian. As we neared Furore, he tapped my leg and gave me a seedy grin and asked if I'd give him a kiss when he dropped me off. I saw my hostel right up ahead and told him to pull over. I opened the car door, shook his hand, said my "Grazie Mille," and hopped out quickly. And no, he did not get a kiss.
As I entered my hostel room, I just broke down. I had no money (my debit card had been put on hold by the bank and so I had no way of accessing cash), and no Internet connection to contact my dad. The toll of living a broke-ass adventurous lifestyle was overwhelming. I was absolutely exhausted in every single way possible. This kind of exhaustion was different than any other I had ever experienced... physically, I was worn to the bone. I had not slept in two weeks. I spent every single day on my feet for at least twelve hours; walking and walking and walking. I had not eaten a proper meal since I left Venice. Mentally and emotionally, I swear I had just gone insane. After all, there are not very many 20 year old college girls that just pick up and run away to Italy with no plan whatsoever and end up wandering the streets, living off of apples and oranges (and actually considering stealing the uneaten leftover foods abandoned on outdoor cafe tables), and hitchhiking rides south of Napoli. Amid all the craziness, I never once regretted it. I never once thought about going home or going back to the security of living in Geneva.
People ask me why I do this to myself.
I do this because it's my passion. Because this is exactly how I dreamed my life would be. I dreamt of adventure. I knew that there would be a heavy price to pay, but the rewards reaped from the experiences are endless. To me, adventure is a learning experience and a way of improving myself. It is simply a way for me to take a thousand steps outside of my comfort zone to remind myself that I am always stronger than I think. When I end up alone, sitting on the edge of a stone wall with citrus trees below my feet, and the brilliant waves tipped with white foam crashing underneath razor straight cliffs, I can't help but be amazed how my impossible dream came true. It was not perfect in any way, yet, standing upon glittering white shores underneath the warm blanket of the sun, it became perfect in every way.
I believe that my journey to the south of Italy is unfinished. It's quite funny, actually. I thought that traveling to the other side of the world would quench my desire of adventure. Instead, I've found myself in love with it. The fire is still burning brighter, and my dream continues. Just making it to the Amalfi has proved to me (and to all those around me that told me I would never make it), that there is no such thing as an impossible dream. I know I will return and finish my visit to south Italy. This is just the beginning of a new life, a life full of success and failures, of heaven and hell, of friendships and betrayals. But as long as I have a dream, a goal, I have a reason to live. I have a reason to never give up, and I never will, regardless of what others may say. In the words of Douglas H. Everett:
"There are some people who live in a dream world, and there are some who face reality; and then there are those who turn one into the other."
The train was extremely crowded, hot, and smelly. There were hundreds of people crammed in, heading to visit Mount Vesivus or Pompei. I stood there for about forty-five minutes before we reached Pompei, where 90 percent of the sweaty tourists finally left the train.
I was exhausted and sore. My backpack was still full of the apples and oranges I bought for 99 cents in Firenze. It was just getting too heavy and becoming such a hassle to pack and unpack. I was so tired of living off of apples and oranges. A gypsy woman came by with a baby on her hip, begging for money. I told her that I had no money (which was entirely the truth), but I had some apples and oranges if she wanted them. I handed her the rest of my fruit and a clementine to the baby. After, I realized my burden was somewhat lighter, both physically and spiritually. A man that was sitting across from me began to talk to me. I motioned that I was deaf and that I spoke very little Italian. He spoke no English, but apparently knew some Italian sign language. We were able to communicate a bit, by simplifying our sign language and playing a small game of charades. Italian sign language is so different to American and French, so it is not so easy to communicate in those two languages. I was a little uncomfortable talking to a complete stranger who was an older man, but he was really kind and seemed so excited to try to communicate with me. We sat on the train and looked outside and pointed out our delight at the changing scenery. The sheer-dropped cliffs and the ocean began to appear, along with clementine and lemon orchards, scenic mountains with smoke rising from the vineyards, and the whitewashed homes protruded from the cliff sides.
We arrived in Sorrento and I headed to the tabacchi (a small convenience store) to buy a ticket to Amalfi. I was yelled at by a cranky old lady that there were "NO TICKETS TO AMALFI! NONE!" I brushed off the old lady's rudeness and went over to the information center to see where I could get a ticket. I ran into the man I met on the train, and he helped me communicate with the lady at the desk. I found out that the buses to Amalfi were cancelled until 6:30 PM. It was only 11:00 AM and I was really frustrated. I was so tired. I didn't care if I was in Sorrento. I just wanted to get to my hostel in Furore and just relax while enjoying the scenery. Disappointed, I lugged myself off to find the pier. It was really warm and I was wearing a sweatshirt, jeans, and boots. I wandered around until I found a public restroom (that was FREE! and clean! and had toilet paper!), where I changed my clothes to just a shirt, shorts, and tennis shoes. Then, I dragged myself off to try to find a place to relax. There was a narrow steel staircase zig-zagging down a cliff face to the road that led to the ocean. I climbed down those steps and cautiously hugged the cliff with my back while walking down the road, watching for cars and buses. There were several close calls to being hit, since the roads are so narrow and the drivers are just insane. I arrived at the harbor, with full view of the ocean. The ocean was so vast and endless. The blueness of the waters nearly matched the sky, making it seem like the world went on forever.
I hung out at the harbor for a while and laid beside the garbage littered rocks. The sun was warm and the day was still early. All I could feel was complete physical exhaustion. But, I just couldn't lay there for long. I got bored, so I began to walk. I braved the roads again, ascended the cliff side stairs, and walked the streets of Sorrento, passing overpriced shops and fancy hotels. Finally, I arrived to the mountain roads. They were narrow and winding, but I continued to walk. I passed olive trees, campgrounds, small farms, rustic cabin hotels, waterfalls, and Virgin Mary monuments built upon the rocks. I walked and walked and walked. Italian drivers passed by me and the males took no shame in slowing down and gawking, turning their heads nearly into a complete 180, most likely wondering what a young girl was doing walking up a mountain in shabby clothes and an overstuffed backpack with a hammock hanging from it. I walked until I couldn't walk anymore. Finally, after a short rest, I turned back and decided I wanted to find an Internet point. Unfortunately, all the Internet points and shops were closed. I guess in the southern parts of Italy, there are some sort of "siestas," or a break. Meaning, all the shops closed from 2 PM to 5 PM. I was upset and ended up sitting in a small cafe, eating the cheapest thing on the menu, which was fried vegetables. It was only 3 PM, and I still had three hours until my bus left. I was so tired. It was all I could think about. I forced myself to leave the cafe and walk around some more. Finally, I could not stand it anymore and sat at the bus stop for nearly an hour and a half. It increasingly became cold, but I was too exhausted to change my clothes. Finally, my bus arrived. I collapsed on a comfortable seat, but wouldn't let myself sleep. I had to be awake to get off my stop. The bus began to leave and suddenly I didn't have to worry about falling asleep anymore. The driver was crazy! I sat on the edge of my seat and gripped the handlebars in front of me until my knuckles turned white. He sped through narrow streets, barely big enough for two regular cars to pass. So, imagine how it was with a gargantuan bus crashing its way through. The traffic was heavy, and we came close to rear ending several cars. As we ascended the mountains, the roads just became even more treacherous, narrow, and winding. I was holding on for dear life and searching for a sign to Furore, praying that I'd be able to find my hostel.
After about an hour, I asked the driver where the heck Furore was. He said it was just ahead, and that was when I spotted La Vela Bed and Breakfast. I got off the bus and headed down the staircase to the family home, where I was greeted warmly by a sweet, sweet old Italian man, who was probably about five feet tall, and his son, who fortunately spoke English. The son took me to my room, where I about fainted from shock. I had my own room. And the beds had TWO FULL PILLOWS and a HUGE, SOFT COMFORTER. And no bedbugs. I checked. I had my own bathroom too, which was clean. There was even a TV in the room. It was amazing. I had never slept better.
The following morning, I woke up to sweet, warm sunrise. Looking out my window, the view held white stoned houses and the ocean in all its vastness, sparkling with the reflection of the sunrise. Upstairs, I walked into the dining room to find my breakfast laid out for me. It was just a simple meal; toast with jam, pear juice, and an espresso. The old man had seated me on the balcony, facing the ocean. He served up my espresso and chatted with me in Italian. I understood quite a bit of what he said, but couldn't really answer him because my spoken Italian is terrible. After I ate, I snuck on the bus heading to Amalfi. On the way there, the bus rear ended a parked car and went on its way. Then a few minutes later, we got stuck passing another bus. We ended up scraping sides with a terrible noise, but eventually squeezed out of the mess. After about thirty minutes of praying for my life, I hopped off the bus and onto the streets of the Amalfi Coast.
My tired feet walked up the pier and I gazed at the coast. Twelve days of backpacking and I actually made it to a place that was off the beaten path. There were few tourists. It was a calm, warm, and sunny day. I wandered around the coast for a while, and ended up hiking up the treacherous roads. The scenery was amazing. I just kept walking alongside the cliffs. I walked until I got blisters and I didn't want to turn back to Amalfi. So I stuck my thumb out and started hitchhiking. A while later, someone pulled over and I hopped in the car. I told him to just drop me off at the next town. He didn't speak any English, so I just motioned to him when I was ready to get out. We had arrived in a small town called Maori. My goal for the day was to do some snorkeling. I did not find a snorkeling shop anywhere and was really disappointed about that. So, I ended up walking around, learning about this small town. Here, rarely anyone spoke English. Most people were locals. I also found out that the coast was famous for its ceramic artwork. I ended up buying a ceramic fish as a souvenir. When it became siesta time and all the shops closed down, I headed to the beach and stripped to my swimsuit and basked in the sun. It was a moment of heaven that I would not get back for the remainder of my trip at the Amalfi.
It was about 3 PM when I decided to move on from Maori. I hiked along the mountain roads, until my feet became too sore to continue. I saw signs to Salerno, and decided I wanted to go there. So once again, my thumb went out on the side of the road and I was picked up by a rich man that owned a 200 year old vineyard, handed down from generation to generation. He drove me out to about two miles away from Salerno, where he dropped me off and continued on his business in the unknown town I was in. I walked down the mountain, wandering aimlessly. Once again, I found myself to be completely lost, hiking down a highway side. I stumbled across a shipping harbor, with gigantic cargo ships holding Italian sports cars and continued on until I found myself in the center of the city. Exhaustion was absolutely hammering me down. There was no way I could go on anymore. I didn't give a cigarette's butt that I was in Salerno, "off the beaten path." I just wanted to go back to Amalfi, have some pizza and ice cream, then go back to my room and sleep in my cozy down feathered comforter with my head resting upon double pillows. I dragged my worn out body around the city, looking for the bus stop back to the Amalfi. I happened to pass an old lady on the street while I was searching for my stop. She had white hair pulled back into a bun, stooped over with age, tiny as a doll, and took baby steps while leaning on a cane. I paid her no attention as I simply passed her by. Suddenly, she grabbed my hand and asked me where I was going. Surprised, I told her I was looking for the SITA bus stop heading to Amalfi. She gasped and informed me that the last bus for the day was leaving very soon and that she would show me where the stop is, but we had to hurry. She grabbed my hand and walked as fast as she could. After a few feet, she turned to me and said, "Run to the Tabbacchi and get your ticket. Run fast! I will meet you there!" I turned out into a sprint and entered the Tabbacchi, paid for a ticket to Amalfi, and turned around to find the old lady standing there asking me if I had gotten my ticket yet. I was shocked. Last I had seen the old lady, she was at least a block behind me, attempting a run by taking rapid baby steps topping no more than three miles an hour. It hadn't been one minute, and she was already by my side, not even the slightest out of breath. The sweet old lady grabbed my hand again and led me out the door to the bus stop across the street. She said, "See, now here is the bus." Sure enough, the bus was heading our way. She waved the bus down and then turned to me, kissed me on both cheeks, smiled and said, "Be safe. Ciao!" She walked across the street and then she was gone. With no doubt in my mind, I knew she was my guardian angel.
I seated myself on the bus and got prepared for the crazy, hair raising bus ride to Amalfi. It was dark now and the driver was talking on his cell phone, had a coffee in the cup holder, and judging on his driving, probably was holding each in his hands and steering the wheel with his knee. We whipped around the wild curves and probably dented a few cars on the way. I noticed an elderly woman holding on the seat in front of her for dear life, mumbling to herself the Lord's Prayer in Italian and doing three crosses every turn we took.
Finally, I arrived in Amalfi, all in one piece. It was chilly out, and I was stuck with my swimsuit and shorts. I was kicking myself for not bringing a change of clothes. Wandering the cobblestone streets of Amalfi, I found a small pizzeria and tried out the pizza... eating alone in a swimsuit while everyone else was with their family and friends. It was a bit lonely. I paid, and headed over to grab an ice cream, just for the heck of it. Licking on my ice cream cone and shivering in the bitterly cold wind, I headed off to the ticket office to check the times for the next bus to Furore. In the office, there was an old woman closing down. I sweetly and ever so politely asked her when the next bus to Furore came. Impatiently, she threw her hands up the air and screamed, "The buses are ALL DONE! THERE ARE NO BUSES! GET OUT! WE ARE CLOSED!", while waving her hands and shooing me out back into the dark and cold outdoors.
I stood there shivering in my shorts, holding an ice cream cone, all hope and happiness had been sucked out of me in an instant. I felt like I wanted to burst into tears. But I refused to allow myself to cry. I told myself, "How pathetic would you look, standing here shivering like a wet dog in the winter, holding an ice cream cone, and bawling your eyes out? Don't you even dare. Suck it up!" So, I did. I shoved the rest of the cone in my mouth, without even tasting it, then angrily marched to the side of the road and stuck my thumb out. I was no longer afraid of being a solo young girl hitchhiking the seedy side of Italy. My fear and frustration quickly turned to fire and anger. I was ready to unleash hell if anything was to go wrong and not shy of it.
After two or three cars ignored my thumb, a shiny, black car finally pulled over. It was an old man who spoke no English. I plopped in the passenger seat and said, "Furore." The man tried to converse with me but I was in no mood to try to communicate in Italian. As we neared Furore, he tapped my leg and gave me a seedy grin and asked if I'd give him a kiss when he dropped me off. I saw my hostel right up ahead and told him to pull over. I opened the car door, shook his hand, said my "Grazie Mille," and hopped out quickly. And no, he did not get a kiss.
As I entered my hostel room, I just broke down. I had no money (my debit card had been put on hold by the bank and so I had no way of accessing cash), and no Internet connection to contact my dad. The toll of living a broke-ass adventurous lifestyle was overwhelming. I was absolutely exhausted in every single way possible. This kind of exhaustion was different than any other I had ever experienced... physically, I was worn to the bone. I had not slept in two weeks. I spent every single day on my feet for at least twelve hours; walking and walking and walking. I had not eaten a proper meal since I left Venice. Mentally and emotionally, I swear I had just gone insane. After all, there are not very many 20 year old college girls that just pick up and run away to Italy with no plan whatsoever and end up wandering the streets, living off of apples and oranges (and actually considering stealing the uneaten leftover foods abandoned on outdoor cafe tables), and hitchhiking rides south of Napoli. Amid all the craziness, I never once regretted it. I never once thought about going home or going back to the security of living in Geneva.
People ask me why I do this to myself.
I do this because it's my passion. Because this is exactly how I dreamed my life would be. I dreamt of adventure. I knew that there would be a heavy price to pay, but the rewards reaped from the experiences are endless. To me, adventure is a learning experience and a way of improving myself. It is simply a way for me to take a thousand steps outside of my comfort zone to remind myself that I am always stronger than I think. When I end up alone, sitting on the edge of a stone wall with citrus trees below my feet, and the brilliant waves tipped with white foam crashing underneath razor straight cliffs, I can't help but be amazed how my impossible dream came true. It was not perfect in any way, yet, standing upon glittering white shores underneath the warm blanket of the sun, it became perfect in every way.
I believe that my journey to the south of Italy is unfinished. It's quite funny, actually. I thought that traveling to the other side of the world would quench my desire of adventure. Instead, I've found myself in love with it. The fire is still burning brighter, and my dream continues. Just making it to the Amalfi has proved to me (and to all those around me that told me I would never make it), that there is no such thing as an impossible dream. I know I will return and finish my visit to south Italy. This is just the beginning of a new life, a life full of success and failures, of heaven and hell, of friendships and betrayals. But as long as I have a dream, a goal, I have a reason to live. I have a reason to never give up, and I never will, regardless of what others may say. In the words of Douglas H. Everett:
"There are some people who live in a dream world, and there are some who face reality; and then there are those who turn one into the other."
Friday, November 18, 2011
A Story of a Frightened Heart, An Angel, and a Dream Accomplished.
Saul walked me to the train station the on the night of Halloween. I was nervous, sweating and slightly shaking. I didn't know why, but I was dreading going to Napoli. I heard so many stories about how dangerous Naples was, especially for someone traveling alone. Saul was really concerned about me arriving in Napoli after dark, and told me, seriously, to waste no time and run from the metro to my hostel. I don't usually get nervous about things. But this time, I was. The feeling was dreading... but being impulsive and stubborn by nature, I ignored it. I boarded the train and Saul waited outside to see me off. But, there was a problem with the train. Someone had broken a window so the train was delayed by 40 minutes. My nervousness was increasing, and I began to consider staying one more night in Rome. But before I could finalize on my decision, the train was ready to leave. So, I walked on the train, found a seat, and looked out the window to Saul until I could not see him anymore.
When I arrived in Napoli, I walked off the train, trying to be one hundred percent aware of everything around me. I had a slip of paper that had directions to my hostel, and it made me nervous because the directions included taking an underground metro, changing to a different line, then heading aboveground to a piazza and wandering some cobblestone alleys in order to get there. When I arrived to the metro, instantly men were hooting and calling after me. I was absolutely frightened, but determined not to show it. I held my head up high and walked boldly and briskly past them, ignoring their calls. When I got on the metro, another man came up to me. He had dreadlocks and a bandanna, dressed in grunge clothes. I made the so called mistake of making eye contact with him, and he immediately started talking. He didn't ask much about me, just said he just got back from a music convention in Rome. He gave me his business card and said that he was a musician. I took the card, and he noticed my directions. He grabbed the paper and read that I was switching metro stops and offered to take me to the second metro stop, since he was doing the same. I reluctantly agreed. He was really nice though, but extremely difficult to understand. My hearing aids were completely dead by then, and so I had given up on wearing them... meaning I was relying completely on reading lips. We got on the second metro, and he showed me which stop to get off, and kept on going to his destination. I was relieved that he was just a kind stranger and not a trafficker or a mugger!
I ascended the steps from the underground to aboveground. When I arrived to the top, I was standing on a sidewalk with a single lampost glowing a soft orange above me. There was a roundabout in front of me and a bunch of shops surrounding me. I had no idea where I was. I searched for a street name, but there were no signs in sight. I started to feel frightened, until I spotted an old lady who was probably in her seventies, walking down the street. It was almost midnight and the streets were bare. I wondered what an old lady was doing there all alone at this time of the night. Shyly, I walked up to her and pointed to my paper and asked if she knew where the San Rosa piazza was. She grinned broadly and exclaimed an, "AH!" She started to speak to me in rapid Italian, then switched to very broken English while pointing to the paper, "Yes, yes. I live. Come." She grabbed my hand and led me down the street. We crossed the street and came across a crumbling church, with red paint peeling off the walls. There was an alleyway that we turned into, and took another turn, and another, where we finally arrived at an iron gate. Through the gate, you could see a faint sign that had "San Rosa Youth Hostel" painted on it. The old lady said, "Now I go home." I thanked her, "Grazie mille!" She smiled and disappeared around the corner. I stood at the gate in the chilly night and realized without this old lady, I would have never found this hostel. How could I? There were no street names anywhere and the directions were only vague. I couldn't imagine being stuck in Napoli with no place to go, all alone. That old lady, to me, was an angel sent from God... to help me find my way to safety.
When I arrived in my hostel room, I discovered I was sharing the room with 9 other youths. I fell upon my assigned bunk and crashed. The next morning, I awoke early and boarded the train to Pompei. I was so exhausted. My whole body felt like a brick of lead. It was about the 10th day I had been traveling, with very little sleep, hardly any food, and walking around cities for hours. But I was determined to see Pompei. The ancient ruins have always fascinated me when I read them in books and magazines. I wanted to see how the people lived, the well preserved paintings, and to see the grisly remains of those who were killed in the famous Mount Vesivus eruption.
At the ticket desk outside of Pompei, I prepared to pay the 11 euro fee to enter. I didn't have hearing aids in, so I wrote on a piece of paper asking for one ticket, and motioned that I was deaf. The woman at the counter told me I could go in for free. I was really excited cause it meant I could probably get some Napoli pizza, which was supposed to be delicious.
After entering the ruins and looking around for a while, I was completely fascinated with the architecture of the columns and the grid pattern of the streets. Wandering for a few hours, I had stumbled across a stadium, an completely intact monument, and many rooms with amazingly well preserved paintings. The paintings were impressive and fascinating. In my mind, I could recreate the pre-eruption Pompei; her streets bustling with vendors and people dressed in long, white robes and sandals. I could imagine the rooms painted a bold red and black, laced with gold borders, and many walls with frescos decorated upon them. I looked at the remains of those rooms. It was unbelievable that those paintings had survived the disastrous volcanic eruption. The peeling paint was still a vivid red and gold, and the frescos of people living their daily lives were still amazingly detailed.
I stopped by a small restaurant in the center of the city, where I rested my exhausted body and enjoyed a pizza margherita and a bowl full of coffee gelato. After, I walked towards the other side of the city where the bodies were located. The remains were even more grisly in person than in the pictures. The hollowed out shapes of bodies buried under the ashes were filled with cement to make a statue of what the person looked like. It was so interesting. You could see how they died. Some people were laid peacefully and unexpressionless. Others, however, seemed to die torturous and painful deaths. There were statues of men with their mouths open in a silent scream. Their bones stuck out of the cement. Some were laid in the fetal position. There were the remains of a man who was sitting in a corner with his palms pressed together, as if he was praying in his final moments, begging to God that he would not perish.
After I saw the bodies, I continued to wander the city. I came across arches and columns, more painted rooms, and archelogical sites. I was so exhausted and the sun was beginning to go down. There was a path leading to the exit, but as I was heading down that path, I noticed there was a faint path up a hill. It was covered with grass growing over cobblestones. A very faint path, but a path nonetheless. I decided to explore, despite my exhaustion. I climbed the hill and followed the path, passing farms, water fountains, and friendly stray dogs. Finally, I reached the top and realized I could see the entire city of ancient Pompei. Behind the ruins, modern Pompei stood. The view was breathtaking. Behind me was the ocean, with the sunset reflecting off the shimmering waters. Mount Vesivus was towering faintly through the blue-grey haze. I realized that I loved my curiosity and my passion to explore. If I had been blinded by simply focusing on seeing the main points of Pompei and then going home (as many tourists do), I would have never found this path. But, following my natural urge to explore, I was rewarded with a view of Pompei that most of the visitors passing through do not get to see.
I stood there in the sunset, looking over the ghostly shadows of Pompei before turning around to witness the chilling grandeur of the volcano that devastated the once thriving metropolis thousands of years ago. I was aching to my bones, my entire body felt like lead, and my eyes were swollen from sleep deprivation.
Yet, on top of that hill, I had never felt so alive...
When I arrived in Napoli, I walked off the train, trying to be one hundred percent aware of everything around me. I had a slip of paper that had directions to my hostel, and it made me nervous because the directions included taking an underground metro, changing to a different line, then heading aboveground to a piazza and wandering some cobblestone alleys in order to get there. When I arrived to the metro, instantly men were hooting and calling after me. I was absolutely frightened, but determined not to show it. I held my head up high and walked boldly and briskly past them, ignoring their calls. When I got on the metro, another man came up to me. He had dreadlocks and a bandanna, dressed in grunge clothes. I made the so called mistake of making eye contact with him, and he immediately started talking. He didn't ask much about me, just said he just got back from a music convention in Rome. He gave me his business card and said that he was a musician. I took the card, and he noticed my directions. He grabbed the paper and read that I was switching metro stops and offered to take me to the second metro stop, since he was doing the same. I reluctantly agreed. He was really nice though, but extremely difficult to understand. My hearing aids were completely dead by then, and so I had given up on wearing them... meaning I was relying completely on reading lips. We got on the second metro, and he showed me which stop to get off, and kept on going to his destination. I was relieved that he was just a kind stranger and not a trafficker or a mugger!
I ascended the steps from the underground to aboveground. When I arrived to the top, I was standing on a sidewalk with a single lampost glowing a soft orange above me. There was a roundabout in front of me and a bunch of shops surrounding me. I had no idea where I was. I searched for a street name, but there were no signs in sight. I started to feel frightened, until I spotted an old lady who was probably in her seventies, walking down the street. It was almost midnight and the streets were bare. I wondered what an old lady was doing there all alone at this time of the night. Shyly, I walked up to her and pointed to my paper and asked if she knew where the San Rosa piazza was. She grinned broadly and exclaimed an, "AH!" She started to speak to me in rapid Italian, then switched to very broken English while pointing to the paper, "Yes, yes. I live. Come." She grabbed my hand and led me down the street. We crossed the street and came across a crumbling church, with red paint peeling off the walls. There was an alleyway that we turned into, and took another turn, and another, where we finally arrived at an iron gate. Through the gate, you could see a faint sign that had "San Rosa Youth Hostel" painted on it. The old lady said, "Now I go home." I thanked her, "Grazie mille!" She smiled and disappeared around the corner. I stood at the gate in the chilly night and realized without this old lady, I would have never found this hostel. How could I? There were no street names anywhere and the directions were only vague. I couldn't imagine being stuck in Napoli with no place to go, all alone. That old lady, to me, was an angel sent from God... to help me find my way to safety.
When I arrived in my hostel room, I discovered I was sharing the room with 9 other youths. I fell upon my assigned bunk and crashed. The next morning, I awoke early and boarded the train to Pompei. I was so exhausted. My whole body felt like a brick of lead. It was about the 10th day I had been traveling, with very little sleep, hardly any food, and walking around cities for hours. But I was determined to see Pompei. The ancient ruins have always fascinated me when I read them in books and magazines. I wanted to see how the people lived, the well preserved paintings, and to see the grisly remains of those who were killed in the famous Mount Vesivus eruption.
At the ticket desk outside of Pompei, I prepared to pay the 11 euro fee to enter. I didn't have hearing aids in, so I wrote on a piece of paper asking for one ticket, and motioned that I was deaf. The woman at the counter told me I could go in for free. I was really excited cause it meant I could probably get some Napoli pizza, which was supposed to be delicious.
After entering the ruins and looking around for a while, I was completely fascinated with the architecture of the columns and the grid pattern of the streets. Wandering for a few hours, I had stumbled across a stadium, an completely intact monument, and many rooms with amazingly well preserved paintings. The paintings were impressive and fascinating. In my mind, I could recreate the pre-eruption Pompei; her streets bustling with vendors and people dressed in long, white robes and sandals. I could imagine the rooms painted a bold red and black, laced with gold borders, and many walls with frescos decorated upon them. I looked at the remains of those rooms. It was unbelievable that those paintings had survived the disastrous volcanic eruption. The peeling paint was still a vivid red and gold, and the frescos of people living their daily lives were still amazingly detailed.
I stopped by a small restaurant in the center of the city, where I rested my exhausted body and enjoyed a pizza margherita and a bowl full of coffee gelato. After, I walked towards the other side of the city where the bodies were located. The remains were even more grisly in person than in the pictures. The hollowed out shapes of bodies buried under the ashes were filled with cement to make a statue of what the person looked like. It was so interesting. You could see how they died. Some people were laid peacefully and unexpressionless. Others, however, seemed to die torturous and painful deaths. There were statues of men with their mouths open in a silent scream. Their bones stuck out of the cement. Some were laid in the fetal position. There were the remains of a man who was sitting in a corner with his palms pressed together, as if he was praying in his final moments, begging to God that he would not perish.
After I saw the bodies, I continued to wander the city. I came across arches and columns, more painted rooms, and archelogical sites. I was so exhausted and the sun was beginning to go down. There was a path leading to the exit, but as I was heading down that path, I noticed there was a faint path up a hill. It was covered with grass growing over cobblestones. A very faint path, but a path nonetheless. I decided to explore, despite my exhaustion. I climbed the hill and followed the path, passing farms, water fountains, and friendly stray dogs. Finally, I reached the top and realized I could see the entire city of ancient Pompei. Behind the ruins, modern Pompei stood. The view was breathtaking. Behind me was the ocean, with the sunset reflecting off the shimmering waters. Mount Vesivus was towering faintly through the blue-grey haze. I realized that I loved my curiosity and my passion to explore. If I had been blinded by simply focusing on seeing the main points of Pompei and then going home (as many tourists do), I would have never found this path. But, following my natural urge to explore, I was rewarded with a view of Pompei that most of the visitors passing through do not get to see.
I stood there in the sunset, looking over the ghostly shadows of Pompei before turning around to witness the chilling grandeur of the volcano that devastated the once thriving metropolis thousands of years ago. I was aching to my bones, my entire body felt like lead, and my eyes were swollen from sleep deprivation.
Yet, on top of that hill, I had never felt so alive...
Monday, November 14, 2011
Those Who Don't Believe In Magic, Will Never Find It
Walking out of the train station into the city of Rome was kind of a surreal experience for me. It was bustling with people from all over the world. My clothes felt so dirty and grimy that I immediately searched for a laundromat to clean up. When I found one, I walked in and changed into my underarmour and shorts and threw my only pair of jeans, four shirts, and a few pairs of socks in the wash. After washing my clothes and smelling nice and clean, I found my hostel. It was in a huge office building on the second floor. Right by the stairs, there was a door that I had to go through that barely fit the width of me. While approaching the front desk, I was greeted with a "WHO YOU ARE? WHO YOU ARE?" by a troll-like Italian man. I introduced myself and paid for three nights, then was led to my room by his daughter. When I opened the door, I discovered two bunk beds on both sides of the room, with three of those beds occupied by college boys chilling out with their computers, stripped to nothing but their tightie whities. They looked up and their mouths gaped, as well as did mine. Silence befell the room. I realized that I had somehow been booked in the men's dorms and was going to be stuck with those guys for the next three nights.
I had a right to be nervous. The three guys didn't care if they were in their underwear. One of them hopped off the top bunk, gave me a kiss, and introduced himself from Argentina. The guy below was from Argentina as well, and the guy that had the bottom bunk on my side of the room was from Brazil. They all spoke Spanish and very broken English. I placed my stuff on the top bunk and conversed with the naked men before taking a nap. When I woke, the naked guys were still naked. They were picking out clothes to go "party" and asked if I would go with them. I declined and said that I was meeting up with a couple of my friends who live in Rome.
A couple years back, I had a boyfriend who was on a mission in Rome and introduced me to his friends, via Facebook. I had only conversed with them over facebook but never met them in person, until that night. Meeting them was so cool! We met at the Termini and from there, got on the metro and headed to the Colosseo. I knew we were seeing the Colosseum, but when I saw it... I was just in shock. I had just emerged from the underground metro and was expecting to be walking a bit before seeing the famous ancient stadium. Instead, I walked up the steps and nearly fainted. The Colosseum was towering right before my eyes, in all its glory. Being nighttime, the giant glowed with the golden hues of the lights. Just across from the Colosseum, there laid the ruins of Fallen Rome. Broken stones and ancient columns were illuminated by the moonlight, casting ghostly shadows across the ground.
Nicolas and Saul walked around nonchalantly, guiding me to the World War II memorial building and many piazzas, while I stumbled around in amazement at every turn. We stopped for delicious gelatos and enjoyed getting to know each other in person. Sadly, halfway into the night, the last of my hearing aid batteries died. I was left with no sound and no way to communicate, except to read lips. It being dark and the two boys having accents, reading lips did not have much effect at all. However, Nicolas and Saul were both so kind and kept patience with me asking them to repeat everything they said more than several times. After a while, the two boys dropped me off at the hostel and I headed up to my room to find it empty. Relieved that I didn't have to deal with the South American boys, I crashed in bed. Around 2 AM, the boys arrived to the hostel, completely drunk. They woke me up by flipping on the lights, jumping on the beds, and stripping down to their underwear while shouting drunkenly in Spanish. Fortunately, they all passed out after a few minutes.
The next morning, I met up with Nicolas. He took me to the Vatican City. It was pretty grand, with two huge fountains located in the center and surrounded by statues of Saints on top of the columns. We entered the church and saw the statue of Mary holding Jesus after he was taken down from the cross. It was so beautiful and detailed, with her expression that of a mother who had just lost a child. Mary was huge in proportion to Jesus. It gave the feeling that Mary was a mother holding her little child that has just passed away, even when that little child was the Son of God. I am constantly amazed by how detailed and accurate Michelangelo's work is! Unfortunately, I never got to see the Sistine Chapel. It was about 35 euro to enter, and I was totally broke. I believe I will get a chance to see it when I study abroad in Spring 2013, so I am not too disappointed. After the Vatican, Nicolas and I headed to the Pantheon. The well preserved ancient building was so impressive, loaded with emotion and history, it instantly became one of my top favorite places in Italy. I could have stared at it for hours. The architecture of the Pantheon was simple, yet powerful, and completely knocked me off my feet. I saw it about four more times during my stay in Rome, and it never ceased to amaze me every time.
That night, I headed to bed early and ignored my South American roommates' begging to join them with their partying. At 3 AM, they all stumbled in the room, irrevocably drunk, again. They undressed, blundered around the room, throwing beer cans, and shaking the bunks just to annoy me. I rolled over to see what the heck they were doing, and saw one of the Argentian guys hugging the other and patting his back, while saying, "I love you, man." I rolled my eyes and turned over and slept, very poorly, through the night. In the morning, they were completely passed out. I looked around the hostel room and it was just completely trashed. Crushed beer cans lay everywhere, empty vodka bottles set on the tables, ripped up paper and garbage were strewn across the room, and the boys were disgustingly drooling all over themselves. I tip toed outside to meet Saul. I had asked Saul if he would take me to the Latter Day Saints church in Rome. I've always wanted to go to church in Italy. There's just something really feel-good about going to church where a language other than English is spoken. While we were on the bus, Saul impressed me by diligently learning the ABC's in American Sign Language. I always love it when someone learns sign language so they can help me understand better!
Church in Italian was awesome. The people were so kind and cheerful. I loved everything about it! After church, me and Saul were absolutely starving. We walked around Rome for over an hour before finding a place to eat since it was Sunday and practically everything was closed. After eating, we headed out and Saul guided me to several piazzas and landmarks. After it became dark, we headed to the Pantheon again, and to Piazza Navona. The piazza was full of talented artists selling their work. Several of the artists were working on paintings and drawings as they were selling, and it was so amazing seeing their work in progress. As an artist seeing so many talented artists in one place, I felt so tiny and untalented. I couldn't help it... there was just so much beautiful art everywhere by so many different people! After resting at Piazza Navona, we headed to Fontana Trevi. I was thinking that this fontana would be just a... fountain. Nothing too special really. But when I turned around the corner, my breath was literally taken away. It was nighttime, and the fontana was illuminated by the lights. The statues of the gods seemed to practically come alive with the reflection of the water moving across them. A thundering waterfall in the center with a series of smaller waterfalls on the sides, crashed into a shimmering pool of clear water. Thousands of glittering coins with hopeful wishes wished upon them laid at the mosaic base of the pool. Rome was amazing me at every single turn. This was another place that I could have just stood and started at for hours, if it wasn't for the crowd. Perhaps, one day, I will go back and wait until the early hours of the morning while it's still dark and just sit by the edge of Fontana Trevi. I'll throw my wishes into the mystical waters. Some say that wishes don't come true. Even so, those who don't believe in magic, will never find it. Standing there under the moon in Rome with the waters of Fontana Trevi reflecting across my skin, I made a wish upon a brass coin and tossed it into the magical abyss with a childlike spirit, secretly believing in magic.
I had a right to be nervous. The three guys didn't care if they were in their underwear. One of them hopped off the top bunk, gave me a kiss, and introduced himself from Argentina. The guy below was from Argentina as well, and the guy that had the bottom bunk on my side of the room was from Brazil. They all spoke Spanish and very broken English. I placed my stuff on the top bunk and conversed with the naked men before taking a nap. When I woke, the naked guys were still naked. They were picking out clothes to go "party" and asked if I would go with them. I declined and said that I was meeting up with a couple of my friends who live in Rome.
A couple years back, I had a boyfriend who was on a mission in Rome and introduced me to his friends, via Facebook. I had only conversed with them over facebook but never met them in person, until that night. Meeting them was so cool! We met at the Termini and from there, got on the metro and headed to the Colosseo. I knew we were seeing the Colosseum, but when I saw it... I was just in shock. I had just emerged from the underground metro and was expecting to be walking a bit before seeing the famous ancient stadium. Instead, I walked up the steps and nearly fainted. The Colosseum was towering right before my eyes, in all its glory. Being nighttime, the giant glowed with the golden hues of the lights. Just across from the Colosseum, there laid the ruins of Fallen Rome. Broken stones and ancient columns were illuminated by the moonlight, casting ghostly shadows across the ground.
Nicolas and Saul walked around nonchalantly, guiding me to the World War II memorial building and many piazzas, while I stumbled around in amazement at every turn. We stopped for delicious gelatos and enjoyed getting to know each other in person. Sadly, halfway into the night, the last of my hearing aid batteries died. I was left with no sound and no way to communicate, except to read lips. It being dark and the two boys having accents, reading lips did not have much effect at all. However, Nicolas and Saul were both so kind and kept patience with me asking them to repeat everything they said more than several times. After a while, the two boys dropped me off at the hostel and I headed up to my room to find it empty. Relieved that I didn't have to deal with the South American boys, I crashed in bed. Around 2 AM, the boys arrived to the hostel, completely drunk. They woke me up by flipping on the lights, jumping on the beds, and stripping down to their underwear while shouting drunkenly in Spanish. Fortunately, they all passed out after a few minutes.
The next morning, I met up with Nicolas. He took me to the Vatican City. It was pretty grand, with two huge fountains located in the center and surrounded by statues of Saints on top of the columns. We entered the church and saw the statue of Mary holding Jesus after he was taken down from the cross. It was so beautiful and detailed, with her expression that of a mother who had just lost a child. Mary was huge in proportion to Jesus. It gave the feeling that Mary was a mother holding her little child that has just passed away, even when that little child was the Son of God. I am constantly amazed by how detailed and accurate Michelangelo's work is! Unfortunately, I never got to see the Sistine Chapel. It was about 35 euro to enter, and I was totally broke. I believe I will get a chance to see it when I study abroad in Spring 2013, so I am not too disappointed. After the Vatican, Nicolas and I headed to the Pantheon. The well preserved ancient building was so impressive, loaded with emotion and history, it instantly became one of my top favorite places in Italy. I could have stared at it for hours. The architecture of the Pantheon was simple, yet powerful, and completely knocked me off my feet. I saw it about four more times during my stay in Rome, and it never ceased to amaze me every time.
That night, I headed to bed early and ignored my South American roommates' begging to join them with their partying. At 3 AM, they all stumbled in the room, irrevocably drunk, again. They undressed, blundered around the room, throwing beer cans, and shaking the bunks just to annoy me. I rolled over to see what the heck they were doing, and saw one of the Argentian guys hugging the other and patting his back, while saying, "I love you, man." I rolled my eyes and turned over and slept, very poorly, through the night. In the morning, they were completely passed out. I looked around the hostel room and it was just completely trashed. Crushed beer cans lay everywhere, empty vodka bottles set on the tables, ripped up paper and garbage were strewn across the room, and the boys were disgustingly drooling all over themselves. I tip toed outside to meet Saul. I had asked Saul if he would take me to the Latter Day Saints church in Rome. I've always wanted to go to church in Italy. There's just something really feel-good about going to church where a language other than English is spoken. While we were on the bus, Saul impressed me by diligently learning the ABC's in American Sign Language. I always love it when someone learns sign language so they can help me understand better!
Church in Italian was awesome. The people were so kind and cheerful. I loved everything about it! After church, me and Saul were absolutely starving. We walked around Rome for over an hour before finding a place to eat since it was Sunday and practically everything was closed. After eating, we headed out and Saul guided me to several piazzas and landmarks. After it became dark, we headed to the Pantheon again, and to Piazza Navona. The piazza was full of talented artists selling their work. Several of the artists were working on paintings and drawings as they were selling, and it was so amazing seeing their work in progress. As an artist seeing so many talented artists in one place, I felt so tiny and untalented. I couldn't help it... there was just so much beautiful art everywhere by so many different people! After resting at Piazza Navona, we headed to Fontana Trevi. I was thinking that this fontana would be just a... fountain. Nothing too special really. But when I turned around the corner, my breath was literally taken away. It was nighttime, and the fontana was illuminated by the lights. The statues of the gods seemed to practically come alive with the reflection of the water moving across them. A thundering waterfall in the center with a series of smaller waterfalls on the sides, crashed into a shimmering pool of clear water. Thousands of glittering coins with hopeful wishes wished upon them laid at the mosaic base of the pool. Rome was amazing me at every single turn. This was another place that I could have just stood and started at for hours, if it wasn't for the crowd. Perhaps, one day, I will go back and wait until the early hours of the morning while it's still dark and just sit by the edge of Fontana Trevi. I'll throw my wishes into the mystical waters. Some say that wishes don't come true. Even so, those who don't believe in magic, will never find it. Standing there under the moon in Rome with the waters of Fontana Trevi reflecting across my skin, I made a wish upon a brass coin and tossed it into the magical abyss with a childlike spirit, secretly believing in magic.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Venzia and Firenze
Stepping through the door of the train station into Venzia was unbelievable. It was overcast and kind of grey, with lots of people bustling around. The first thing I saw was the canal. It was kind of surreal to think I had actually reached Venice, the water city. It was nothing like I had expected at first sight. To me, it was kind of like a normal city with a river running through it. I wanted to explore, but I was absolutely exhausted and just wanted to head to the hostel and rest, then explore for the entire day the next morning. We hopped on a bus and after asking a few people for directions, found our hostel. It was nothing fancy, only slightly better looking than our hostel in Milan. But when we stepped into our room, it was like being in a hospital. One bunk bed was located in the corner of the room, with a white plastic covering, a single sheet, and a stratchy blanket. Then, there was another bed shoved up against the wall on the other corner. Another person had been staying there, but she was out at the moment. The bathroom was pretty tiny. I walked in and saw a toilet in the side corner, but it had a faucet and a tiny drain instead of a flusher. I stared at Erica in astonishment and said, "So, is this our toilet? What the heck happens when you have to poo? Where is it gonna go?" After further investigation of our bathroom we found a real toilet, flusher and all. I was still baffled about the other toilet. Why was it there? What was its purpose? Later, I figured out that it was actually a wash basin for laundry. Thankfully, I didn't use it as a toilet, and hopefully, no one else did.
That night, Erica and I just chilled out in the lounge, surfing the internet on her ipod touch. We met a couple other girls from South America, who befriended Erica quickly because they all could speak Spanish. I was just twiddling my thumbs watching some Australians play ping pong when an Italian walked in and sat down next to us. He waited a moment and then motioned to the ping pong table and said, "Ping pong?" We ended up playing ping pong with him and his brother and his friend. His aunt was with them. None of them spoke english. Since Italian and Spanish are similar, Erica and the two other girls could make some sort of converstation with them. I was kinda stuck since I knew neither language and ended up communicating via the Italian's iPhone using google translate, which was really not much help since the translation was terrible. It was pretty hilarious though. We all ended up going to dinner at a pizza place and had a blast, even when no one spoke the same language. The Italians were from the south, and had a different dialect than in Venice. The waitress had a hard time understanding their attempted converstations to her, but they were hilarious about it. It was a great night. One of the boys took a liking to me and bought me a rose during dinner and we talked via google translate on the iPhone all night. The next morning, the family flew out of Venice, and we only stay in touch over facebook. It was quite an interesting dinner with a mix of dialects in Italian, Spanish, Portugese, English, and google translate. One of my favorite things that I've learned about traveling is that people can still be friends with eachother without being able to communicate through a similar language. It actually brings some sort of a closeness to the friendship, knowing that there is no obstacle to separate each other as friends.
The next morning, I woke up itching with a red, blotchy rash across my jaw and forehead, as well as my arms and legs. I quickly figured out that they were bedbug bites. It came as no surprise to me, since I found a couple spiders in our shower and some cockroaches scurrying across the bathroom floor. Our room may have looked like a hospital room, but it certaintly wasn't as sterile.
Erica's kidneys had been worsening since we left Geneva. She had been such a trooper the entire four days we had been in Italy, nearly bending over in pain, yet still walking around the entire cities and being amazed at all the things we saw. I can't imagine how painful it would have been! I kept begging her to go to the doctor's or the hospital, despite her not having medical insurance. She kept turning it down, saying she would be fine. We spent half the day in our hostel so Erica could get some much needed rest. Around 10 o clock in the morning, the cleaning crew knocked on our door. When I opened the door, the guy looked really confused and asked why I was still there. I said we still had another night to go in Venice. He said I was supposed to be leaving now. Confused, I went downstairs and was greeted by a rude hostel manager demanding why I haven't left the room by now. I explained to him that I thought I had booked for two nights in Venice and that my friend was really sick and needed to rest. Apparently, I had made a mistake and only booked for one night in Venice, since it was on the record. So I had to pay for another night, and the manager added a penalty of 18 euro for a last minute booking.
After a while, Erica felt better and we set out on our journey to Venice. It was rainy and dark, but it certaintly didn't dampen our spirit. We walked around the city a bit, and that is when the true Venezia began to appear. The alleyways were narrow, crammed with many shops with elaborate glass figures and vases, art, jewelry, and souveniors. We would happen across small canals with gondolas resting on the sides and old buildings atop the water. It was so surreal because I had dreamt of seeing Venice for a long time, but only had seen it through magazines and the like. And now, I was seeing it with my own eyes!
We wandered around until we found St. Mark's Square, which was really awesome. The basilica was just as amazing as the Duomo in Milan. There was another church and then just a few feet away, the grand canal. Erica and I snapped a few photos, took a ride on the water bus (the cheaper version of the gondola,) and grabbed some gelato before heading back to our hostel. By then it had started pouring, and Erica wasn't doing too well. That night, Erica had worsened and called her brother in Mexico to ask for medical insurance. She had been trying to contact family ever since we arrived in Milan, but being so far away, they didn't hear about it until four days later. Now her family and friends were very worried and working on medical insurance. I hoped she would feel better because I felt so terrible seeing her in pain! The next morning, she had just gotten even worse and made the difficult decision to abandon the trip and head back to Geneva, where she could recieve some care. The earliest train leaving to Geneva wasn't for another five hours, so I missed my train to Florence and stayed with her in Venice. We hung out in a cafe for about four hours until Erica was able to contact her mother in Mexico. At 4PM, she headed off to Geneva. I worried about her, but was pleased to hear back from her a couple days later saying that she felt completely better.
That night, I headed to Florence to my hostel, paid for the previous night that I had "missed," (thanks to bad planning, I had booked a night in Florence while I was really staying in Venice) and for the following two nights. I was exhausted and went into my hostel room to chill out. That was the first time I had experienced an co-ed hostel. I was confused when I walked in the room and there was a bearded Canadian fiddling on his iPhone and an artist from Macedonia with a far away look in her eyes. They welcomed me as if I was an old friend and chatted with me for a few hours when I really just wanted to sleep. The beds were so comfortable, with a soft pillow, and two blankets. Much better than the ones I stayed at in Milan and Venice. Unfortunately, it had bed bugs. The bathrooms and showers were co-ed as well, which I found out when I walked in the bathroom to find a guy stripped down to nothing but his underwear, brushing his teeth.
The next day was my first day traveling solo. I decided to let myself sleep in a bit, then I went out and wandered the city. My only plan was to walk around and allow myself to stumble upon places. I headed out from my hostel, searching for a grocery store. I walked around for an hour and a half, finding myself in the suburbs and nowhere near the center of the city or near a grocery store. Frustrated and hungry, I stopped by an ATM to withdraw some money. My dad had sent me my debit card in the mail from America, and somewhere in the process, it got slightly bent. Well, the machine gave me my 50 euro, but completely swallowed my card. I was really upset and walked into the bank and told them what happened. They opened the ATM and saw that my card was slightly bent, and the man in charge told me that they will not give my card back because it is damaged. Embarassingly, I burst into tears. I sobbed that if I didn't get my card back, then I'd be stuck in Italy for the next 11 days with no money and nowhere to go. I was hungry and tired. I just wanted my card back. Not wanting to deal with a girl in tears, they handed me my card back and I escorted myself out. Every single time I used my card after that, I prayed that it would be returned to me.
After the bank, I took the bus to the center. I was extremely exhausted and my legs felt like lead. But still, I pressed on. I stumbled across a couple of impressive duomos and cathederals, an opera house, piazzas, and the Uffizi. I can't really tell you all the places I've been. All I know is I saw some impressive articheture, arches, statues, street performers, and paintings. I entered the Uffizi and saw some impressive Renassiance paintings. My favorite one was The Birth of Venus. It was amazing to think that it was right there in front of me!
On my second day in Florence, I headed to the Accademia. I had tried to go the day before, but the line was just crazy and extended all the way down the street and around the corner. I had gone to the grocery store across the street, where I found twelve apples for one euro and 36 clementines for 1 euro. It was a pretty sweet deal and I ended up living off of them until I hit Napoli. That morning at the Accademia, there was no line which I was thrilled about. I could appreciate art in peace without being smothered by smelly tourists. I went in and looked at some more paintings of Jesus, but I didn't really stick around for long. I was kind of sick of seeing paintings of Jesus. They weren't my favorite anyway cause they were all the same impression of him looking all sickly and thin, with a bored expression. I turned around the corner, not expecting to see the statue of David. It was such a shock when I did. I had imagined it to be much smaller. It was absolutely huge and meticulously detailed and amazingly proportioned. I loved it! After seeing David, I quickly left to catch my train to Rome. Firenze was great, but the exhaustion was beginning to set in and my true adventures were only about to start. I had no clue what laid before me as I headed south...
...And the stories as I head further into the heart of Italy just get more interesting and turn absolutely wild after I leave Rome and head to Napoli. The article for that will come tomorrow. As for now...farewell!
That night, Erica and I just chilled out in the lounge, surfing the internet on her ipod touch. We met a couple other girls from South America, who befriended Erica quickly because they all could speak Spanish. I was just twiddling my thumbs watching some Australians play ping pong when an Italian walked in and sat down next to us. He waited a moment and then motioned to the ping pong table and said, "Ping pong?" We ended up playing ping pong with him and his brother and his friend. His aunt was with them. None of them spoke english. Since Italian and Spanish are similar, Erica and the two other girls could make some sort of converstation with them. I was kinda stuck since I knew neither language and ended up communicating via the Italian's iPhone using google translate, which was really not much help since the translation was terrible. It was pretty hilarious though. We all ended up going to dinner at a pizza place and had a blast, even when no one spoke the same language. The Italians were from the south, and had a different dialect than in Venice. The waitress had a hard time understanding their attempted converstations to her, but they were hilarious about it. It was a great night. One of the boys took a liking to me and bought me a rose during dinner and we talked via google translate on the iPhone all night. The next morning, the family flew out of Venice, and we only stay in touch over facebook. It was quite an interesting dinner with a mix of dialects in Italian, Spanish, Portugese, English, and google translate. One of my favorite things that I've learned about traveling is that people can still be friends with eachother without being able to communicate through a similar language. It actually brings some sort of a closeness to the friendship, knowing that there is no obstacle to separate each other as friends.
The next morning, I woke up itching with a red, blotchy rash across my jaw and forehead, as well as my arms and legs. I quickly figured out that they were bedbug bites. It came as no surprise to me, since I found a couple spiders in our shower and some cockroaches scurrying across the bathroom floor. Our room may have looked like a hospital room, but it certaintly wasn't as sterile.
Erica's kidneys had been worsening since we left Geneva. She had been such a trooper the entire four days we had been in Italy, nearly bending over in pain, yet still walking around the entire cities and being amazed at all the things we saw. I can't imagine how painful it would have been! I kept begging her to go to the doctor's or the hospital, despite her not having medical insurance. She kept turning it down, saying she would be fine. We spent half the day in our hostel so Erica could get some much needed rest. Around 10 o clock in the morning, the cleaning crew knocked on our door. When I opened the door, the guy looked really confused and asked why I was still there. I said we still had another night to go in Venice. He said I was supposed to be leaving now. Confused, I went downstairs and was greeted by a rude hostel manager demanding why I haven't left the room by now. I explained to him that I thought I had booked for two nights in Venice and that my friend was really sick and needed to rest. Apparently, I had made a mistake and only booked for one night in Venice, since it was on the record. So I had to pay for another night, and the manager added a penalty of 18 euro for a last minute booking.
After a while, Erica felt better and we set out on our journey to Venice. It was rainy and dark, but it certaintly didn't dampen our spirit. We walked around the city a bit, and that is when the true Venezia began to appear. The alleyways were narrow, crammed with many shops with elaborate glass figures and vases, art, jewelry, and souveniors. We would happen across small canals with gondolas resting on the sides and old buildings atop the water. It was so surreal because I had dreamt of seeing Venice for a long time, but only had seen it through magazines and the like. And now, I was seeing it with my own eyes!
We wandered around until we found St. Mark's Square, which was really awesome. The basilica was just as amazing as the Duomo in Milan. There was another church and then just a few feet away, the grand canal. Erica and I snapped a few photos, took a ride on the water bus (the cheaper version of the gondola,) and grabbed some gelato before heading back to our hostel. By then it had started pouring, and Erica wasn't doing too well. That night, Erica had worsened and called her brother in Mexico to ask for medical insurance. She had been trying to contact family ever since we arrived in Milan, but being so far away, they didn't hear about it until four days later. Now her family and friends were very worried and working on medical insurance. I hoped she would feel better because I felt so terrible seeing her in pain! The next morning, she had just gotten even worse and made the difficult decision to abandon the trip and head back to Geneva, where she could recieve some care. The earliest train leaving to Geneva wasn't for another five hours, so I missed my train to Florence and stayed with her in Venice. We hung out in a cafe for about four hours until Erica was able to contact her mother in Mexico. At 4PM, she headed off to Geneva. I worried about her, but was pleased to hear back from her a couple days later saying that she felt completely better.
That night, I headed to Florence to my hostel, paid for the previous night that I had "missed," (thanks to bad planning, I had booked a night in Florence while I was really staying in Venice) and for the following two nights. I was exhausted and went into my hostel room to chill out. That was the first time I had experienced an co-ed hostel. I was confused when I walked in the room and there was a bearded Canadian fiddling on his iPhone and an artist from Macedonia with a far away look in her eyes. They welcomed me as if I was an old friend and chatted with me for a few hours when I really just wanted to sleep. The beds were so comfortable, with a soft pillow, and two blankets. Much better than the ones I stayed at in Milan and Venice. Unfortunately, it had bed bugs. The bathrooms and showers were co-ed as well, which I found out when I walked in the bathroom to find a guy stripped down to nothing but his underwear, brushing his teeth.
The next day was my first day traveling solo. I decided to let myself sleep in a bit, then I went out and wandered the city. My only plan was to walk around and allow myself to stumble upon places. I headed out from my hostel, searching for a grocery store. I walked around for an hour and a half, finding myself in the suburbs and nowhere near the center of the city or near a grocery store. Frustrated and hungry, I stopped by an ATM to withdraw some money. My dad had sent me my debit card in the mail from America, and somewhere in the process, it got slightly bent. Well, the machine gave me my 50 euro, but completely swallowed my card. I was really upset and walked into the bank and told them what happened. They opened the ATM and saw that my card was slightly bent, and the man in charge told me that they will not give my card back because it is damaged. Embarassingly, I burst into tears. I sobbed that if I didn't get my card back, then I'd be stuck in Italy for the next 11 days with no money and nowhere to go. I was hungry and tired. I just wanted my card back. Not wanting to deal with a girl in tears, they handed me my card back and I escorted myself out. Every single time I used my card after that, I prayed that it would be returned to me.
After the bank, I took the bus to the center. I was extremely exhausted and my legs felt like lead. But still, I pressed on. I stumbled across a couple of impressive duomos and cathederals, an opera house, piazzas, and the Uffizi. I can't really tell you all the places I've been. All I know is I saw some impressive articheture, arches, statues, street performers, and paintings. I entered the Uffizi and saw some impressive Renassiance paintings. My favorite one was The Birth of Venus. It was amazing to think that it was right there in front of me!
On my second day in Florence, I headed to the Accademia. I had tried to go the day before, but the line was just crazy and extended all the way down the street and around the corner. I had gone to the grocery store across the street, where I found twelve apples for one euro and 36 clementines for 1 euro. It was a pretty sweet deal and I ended up living off of them until I hit Napoli. That morning at the Accademia, there was no line which I was thrilled about. I could appreciate art in peace without being smothered by smelly tourists. I went in and looked at some more paintings of Jesus, but I didn't really stick around for long. I was kind of sick of seeing paintings of Jesus. They weren't my favorite anyway cause they were all the same impression of him looking all sickly and thin, with a bored expression. I turned around the corner, not expecting to see the statue of David. It was such a shock when I did. I had imagined it to be much smaller. It was absolutely huge and meticulously detailed and amazingly proportioned. I loved it! After seeing David, I quickly left to catch my train to Rome. Firenze was great, but the exhaustion was beginning to set in and my true adventures were only about to start. I had no clue what laid before me as I headed south...
...And the stories as I head further into the heart of Italy just get more interesting and turn absolutely wild after I leave Rome and head to Napoli. The article for that will come tomorrow. As for now...farewell!
Friday, November 11, 2011
This Old World is a New World and a Bold World...For Me
Where the heck do I start from here? My life has been... more than an adventure. Now, my definition of adventure may differ from some of yours. Adventure is like climbing a mountain. The goal is to reach the summit; the top of the world. But, it's an ugly process to get there. It's blood, sweat, and tears. Full of hard work that practically exceeds your physical, mental, and emotional capacities. It certaintly isn't for the feeble hearted. You have to have your eyes set on that summit with your determination unbreakable and your heart set on fire. You must be prepared for pain, disappointment, anger, obstacles, and exhaustion. But admist all that, still be able to see all the wonderful things along the way. Once that summit is reached, after hours and days of toil, you may be too exhausted mentally, emotionally, and physically to even care. But after energy is restored and you look back on your adventure... you'll realize that YOU DID IT. And it'll be unbelieveable. There will be an overwhelming feeling of accomplishment, humility, and a recognition that you exceeded your original abilities. That is how my life has been like these past three weeks.
It has been my dream for the longest time to go to Europe, specifically Italy. I'm not sure why. It started when my parents went on a trip to Italy. I saw the pictures and heard the stories about the country. Over the years, as I've learned more about Italy, the more fascinated I've become with it. The culture and the language have always delighted me. But my determination to travel to this fairy tale-like country solidified as I began to thirst for adventure. I sought to leave the comforts of my home and thrust myself into a completely foreign environment. Why? I'm not sure. I think it's just hard wired into me, somehow. I like to test myself in every aspect I can, to show myself that I am stronger than I think. It gives me a desire to live and it's what makes me feel... alive.
When I got the job in Switzerland, I knew I had to go. It was the closest I could get to Italia. I had spent over two years trying to save my money to travel somewhere, anywhere. But it always got spent on paying for rent, school, my 12 year old petrol guzzling SUV, and stupidity. So getting this job was just amazing. Well a couple weeks ago, I got 16 days off of work to go travel wherever my heart desired.Of course, without hestitation, I chose la bella Italia.. And that was the start of my adventure.
Now, I have to say this trip was mainly an adventure because of stupidity, recklessness, and very, very poor planning. It started where I just didn't really THINK about planning the trip until the night before. It was kind of an "Oh, shizznuts, I'm flipping leaving tomorrow..." moment. I had already bought the train tickets to Milan, but there was no hostel booked or any other train tickets. So, I pulled an all nighter booking hostels and train tickets. Now, here comes the poor planning. My hostel stays and train departure/arrival dates didn't match up. So I ended up paying for another night at a hostel (which is more expensive than booking online.) I didn't know where the hell I was going and the only reason why I actually attempted to plan is because my friend Erica, was coming with me last minute and I'm sure we don't share the same ideals of adventuring and traveling. My original plan was to just go to Milan. Then I'd just stay as long as I want in each city, moving south until I hit Sicily. Or even if I reached there. I wouldn't even care if I ended up eating off of two euro a day and sleeping in the train stations. But out of respect to my wonderful friend Erica, I decided to book us hostels and to make some sort of an attempt at planning at least the first seven days of the trip.
Saturday morning, I was packed and ready to go to Italy. I hadn't slept in 29 hours and I was anxiously waiting for my boss to get home so she could pay me for the week. My boss wasn't answering my phone calls or texts... and it was frustrating me because she said she would pay me first thing in the morning, but after I had showered she was gone without leaving me any money. It was nearly two hours before I had to catch my train and I was about to just screw it all and leave with a lot less money than I planned when my boss walked in the door. Frustrated and in a hurry, I asked if she wouldn't mind paying me before I left. She stared at me and sighed dramatically and told me that, no, she is not paying me. Why? Because the bathroom wasn't clean enough to her standards. I had cleaned it the night before and left it nice and clean. Since it was a Saturday, the current state of the bathroom wasn't supposed to be my responsibility since I had weekends off. Amelie had messed up the bathroom that morning (under her parent's care) by fingerpainting toothpaste on the mirror, and loads of laundry were piled across the floor. It was two hours before departure, and my boss said she wouldn't pay me until I had scrubbed the bathroom clean, again. So I bit my lip and steadied my rising anger and got on my hands and knees and scrubbed the bathroom floor, again, while she stood over me and instructed me on how she wanted it done. Then I had to stick my hands in the toilet, again, and scrub it clean from its encounter with Amelie's morning bowel movents. Then, she paid me. Now, I had just a little over an hour to get to my train station, meet Erica, get my ticket, and go off to Milan.
My frustration with my boss quickly disappeared when I met Erica at the train. We were seriously going to Milan! Erica informed me that she wasn't feeling well because her kidney stones were acting up, but that it should hopefully get better. Our train took about 3 1/2 hours. We arrived in Milan around 5 PM. I was kind of disappointed with it when I was watching out the train window. It was filthy and dark and depressing. There were no impressive cathederals or beautiful scenery like the magazines showed. But I held out hope. After all, the most incredible treasures are often hidden in the most unexpected places.
We went to our hostel, where we were greeted with four other roommates. One roommate, Rocio, became good friends to us. She was from Argentina and backpacking Europe alone. The next morning, Rocio joined Erica and I on our trip to the centre of Milan. We took an underground metro to the Duomo stop. I had no idea what a Duomo was until I climbed up the stairs, exiting the underground passageway. It was breathtaking, towering right in front of me. The Milano Duomo felt like it was thousands of feet high... and I was just nothing but a mere ant at the base of the ancient church. The details of the articheture was dizzying and unbelievable. But the magic lasted only seconds, and was quickly interuppted by an African immigrant grabbing my wrist and tying a thread around my wrist and demanding two euro for it. Then I saw more African immigrants headed my way, waving those colored threads and reaching for my wrist. I paid the man out of fear, and quickly ran away to the Piazza Duomo, where I didn't even have a chance to step back and look at the church to admire it before a Romanian immigrant grabbed my hand and poured corn kernels into it and held it up high. Then, in a matter of seconds I was attacked by a mob of pigeons and the immigrant taking my camera to take pictures of me with the birds. Then more immigrants came to me and kept pouring feed into my hand and more pigeons kept coming and then dirty palms were shoved under my nose demanding 10 euro for the feed and the pictures. All I can remember about the Duomo is complete chaos amongst beauty. But it was hard to enjoy the impressive articheture with immigrants grabbing your wrists and hounding for your wallet. After the Duomo, we passed through this impressive mall that was filled with high end, expensive stores such as: Gucci, Prada, Louis Vuttion... stores I couldn't give a crap about because there is no way I am ever, in my entire life, going to pay 200 dollars for a sweatpant just because it has "Gucci" sewn on it. Hell, I could sew that on for 10 cents, if I ever cared to.
After the mall, we wandered down the street and came across a Leonardo da Vinci monument, then Castello Sforenzco, and an arch that was a memorial thing for Napoleon Bonaparte. We mostly wandered through the city and walked through alleyways until dark. At dark, we shopped for souveniors at the market and saw the Duomo one last time. It was beautiful at night, with light shining through the stained glass windows from inside. Most of the immigrants had gone home, which was a relief.
The next morning, Erica and I headed out to catch our train to Venyia. We got lost, (of course,) and missed our train. We had to buy new tickets, which put us down at a total of 64 euro. Sucky! But, we made it to Venzia alive and well.
And the adventures on Venzia will be published tomorrow. Perhapsly. As for now, I need sleep. So buonanotte, i miei amici...
It has been my dream for the longest time to go to Europe, specifically Italy. I'm not sure why. It started when my parents went on a trip to Italy. I saw the pictures and heard the stories about the country. Over the years, as I've learned more about Italy, the more fascinated I've become with it. The culture and the language have always delighted me. But my determination to travel to this fairy tale-like country solidified as I began to thirst for adventure. I sought to leave the comforts of my home and thrust myself into a completely foreign environment. Why? I'm not sure. I think it's just hard wired into me, somehow. I like to test myself in every aspect I can, to show myself that I am stronger than I think. It gives me a desire to live and it's what makes me feel... alive.
When I got the job in Switzerland, I knew I had to go. It was the closest I could get to Italia. I had spent over two years trying to save my money to travel somewhere, anywhere. But it always got spent on paying for rent, school, my 12 year old petrol guzzling SUV, and stupidity. So getting this job was just amazing. Well a couple weeks ago, I got 16 days off of work to go travel wherever my heart desired.Of course, without hestitation, I chose la bella Italia.. And that was the start of my adventure.
Now, I have to say this trip was mainly an adventure because of stupidity, recklessness, and very, very poor planning. It started where I just didn't really THINK about planning the trip until the night before. It was kind of an "Oh, shizznuts, I'm flipping leaving tomorrow..." moment. I had already bought the train tickets to Milan, but there was no hostel booked or any other train tickets. So, I pulled an all nighter booking hostels and train tickets. Now, here comes the poor planning. My hostel stays and train departure/arrival dates didn't match up. So I ended up paying for another night at a hostel (which is more expensive than booking online.) I didn't know where the hell I was going and the only reason why I actually attempted to plan is because my friend Erica, was coming with me last minute and I'm sure we don't share the same ideals of adventuring and traveling. My original plan was to just go to Milan. Then I'd just stay as long as I want in each city, moving south until I hit Sicily. Or even if I reached there. I wouldn't even care if I ended up eating off of two euro a day and sleeping in the train stations. But out of respect to my wonderful friend Erica, I decided to book us hostels and to make some sort of an attempt at planning at least the first seven days of the trip.
Saturday morning, I was packed and ready to go to Italy. I hadn't slept in 29 hours and I was anxiously waiting for my boss to get home so she could pay me for the week. My boss wasn't answering my phone calls or texts... and it was frustrating me because she said she would pay me first thing in the morning, but after I had showered she was gone without leaving me any money. It was nearly two hours before I had to catch my train and I was about to just screw it all and leave with a lot less money than I planned when my boss walked in the door. Frustrated and in a hurry, I asked if she wouldn't mind paying me before I left. She stared at me and sighed dramatically and told me that, no, she is not paying me. Why? Because the bathroom wasn't clean enough to her standards. I had cleaned it the night before and left it nice and clean. Since it was a Saturday, the current state of the bathroom wasn't supposed to be my responsibility since I had weekends off. Amelie had messed up the bathroom that morning (under her parent's care) by fingerpainting toothpaste on the mirror, and loads of laundry were piled across the floor. It was two hours before departure, and my boss said she wouldn't pay me until I had scrubbed the bathroom clean, again. So I bit my lip and steadied my rising anger and got on my hands and knees and scrubbed the bathroom floor, again, while she stood over me and instructed me on how she wanted it done. Then I had to stick my hands in the toilet, again, and scrub it clean from its encounter with Amelie's morning bowel movents. Then, she paid me. Now, I had just a little over an hour to get to my train station, meet Erica, get my ticket, and go off to Milan.
My frustration with my boss quickly disappeared when I met Erica at the train. We were seriously going to Milan! Erica informed me that she wasn't feeling well because her kidney stones were acting up, but that it should hopefully get better. Our train took about 3 1/2 hours. We arrived in Milan around 5 PM. I was kind of disappointed with it when I was watching out the train window. It was filthy and dark and depressing. There were no impressive cathederals or beautiful scenery like the magazines showed. But I held out hope. After all, the most incredible treasures are often hidden in the most unexpected places.
We went to our hostel, where we were greeted with four other roommates. One roommate, Rocio, became good friends to us. She was from Argentina and backpacking Europe alone. The next morning, Rocio joined Erica and I on our trip to the centre of Milan. We took an underground metro to the Duomo stop. I had no idea what a Duomo was until I climbed up the stairs, exiting the underground passageway. It was breathtaking, towering right in front of me. The Milano Duomo felt like it was thousands of feet high... and I was just nothing but a mere ant at the base of the ancient church. The details of the articheture was dizzying and unbelievable. But the magic lasted only seconds, and was quickly interuppted by an African immigrant grabbing my wrist and tying a thread around my wrist and demanding two euro for it. Then I saw more African immigrants headed my way, waving those colored threads and reaching for my wrist. I paid the man out of fear, and quickly ran away to the Piazza Duomo, where I didn't even have a chance to step back and look at the church to admire it before a Romanian immigrant grabbed my hand and poured corn kernels into it and held it up high. Then, in a matter of seconds I was attacked by a mob of pigeons and the immigrant taking my camera to take pictures of me with the birds. Then more immigrants came to me and kept pouring feed into my hand and more pigeons kept coming and then dirty palms were shoved under my nose demanding 10 euro for the feed and the pictures. All I can remember about the Duomo is complete chaos amongst beauty. But it was hard to enjoy the impressive articheture with immigrants grabbing your wrists and hounding for your wallet. After the Duomo, we passed through this impressive mall that was filled with high end, expensive stores such as: Gucci, Prada, Louis Vuttion... stores I couldn't give a crap about because there is no way I am ever, in my entire life, going to pay 200 dollars for a sweatpant just because it has "Gucci" sewn on it. Hell, I could sew that on for 10 cents, if I ever cared to.
After the mall, we wandered down the street and came across a Leonardo da Vinci monument, then Castello Sforenzco, and an arch that was a memorial thing for Napoleon Bonaparte. We mostly wandered through the city and walked through alleyways until dark. At dark, we shopped for souveniors at the market and saw the Duomo one last time. It was beautiful at night, with light shining through the stained glass windows from inside. Most of the immigrants had gone home, which was a relief.
The next morning, Erica and I headed out to catch our train to Venyia. We got lost, (of course,) and missed our train. We had to buy new tickets, which put us down at a total of 64 euro. Sucky! But, we made it to Venzia alive and well.
And the adventures on Venzia will be published tomorrow. Perhapsly. As for now, I need sleep. So buonanotte, i miei amici...
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
No Person Is Completely Right or Completely Wrong
So, my best friend and I began a discussion on an extremely controversial subject: The Universe: Is There a God?
She is an atheist, and I am a Christian.
So here is her view of the subject, which I must say, is impressive. I respect it in all ways possible.
Physics is a beautifully complicated and we will never begin to understand all of it. I think it's more rational (and exciting) to think that there will always be more to learn about our universe, our planet, and ourselves. Humans fear the unknown and want to feel like they are in control of their lives.. they design their own destiny by creating religions, dogmas, theories.... they try to fill in the void of the unknown by claiming their notions are truth. We are all searching for answers, for the same thing. Whether you call it God, the Universe, Consciousness, or anything else.. we know it's bigger than us, more powerful than us.. so my question is why do christians believe that someone who is just like us (GOD) could create something so complex such as the universe, and plant his children in it? It makes no sense to me.
I claim to know little. I'm much younger than the universe, we all are very young, so I'm not going to pretend like I know what in actuality I don't, and I'm not going to pretend like other humans know what they can't possibly know. I'm not going to fear the unknown and pretend like there is a way to live forever. The world and the sky is natural, it's beautiful, and I am alive to witness it. That's enough for me.
With faith (self-persuading) you can believe almost anything... You can't let organized religion control your thoughts though! You have to be able to think for yourself and become "spiritual" in the knowledge that there IS something greater, but we can't possibly comprehend the entirety of it. To me, spirituality is in nature, physics, and truth. (they're all the same thing.)
Now this is MY point of view: (and just because it's longer doesn't mean it's the better argument. It only depends on what you believe in.)
I love the idea of physics and how things work. I believe in a God. I believe God created this universe. Yes, I belong to an organized religion. But when I look at the world and see how the universe works, it leaves me at a loss for words. The physics and mathematics behind the universe is so complex, the human mind can't even comprehend it. The way every little thing seems to have a purpose and how everyone is given a life, a choice, and a soul... I find it impossible to believe that we merely evolved through millions of years -I do believe we evolved, by water, to single cell organisms, etc. to human beings- but what I'm saying is that we evolved from, basically, "space dust," to who we are today. Our minds work in such incredible ways and our emotions are so powerful. How can we deny the existence of a higher power? How can we live a life so full of miracles and purpose and have nothing after death? I've felt the presence of those who have passed on around me. Of course, not everyone has those experiences. But I do know that souls exist, even after death. The energy of a person lasts beyond their human life and continues to grow with time.
Now I respect what others believe. Everyone has their own way of viewing the universe and the purpose of life. Some believe we just are, and what we are is gone forever after death. Some believe in a higher power, some believe our souls reincarnate and live another life on earth as another human, animal, insect, or plant. Whatever others believe, I respect and love to allow myself to look openly into what they believe in. But I've never been able to bring myself to deny that there is a God... I've had so many experiences in my life that I cannot deny what I feel about a higher power existing.
True, it could be my conscience trying to explain how things happen and why it happens. It's simply human nature, to question and to come up with an answer. Maybe I am simply finding comfort in believing there is a God... a more simple explanation of why we are and where we are going. But it's my faith... it's how I believe the universe works and about the purpose of life. I'm not going to try to make others believe it or act "holier than thou." If they're interested in my God and my faith, they are more than welcome to believe with me. But if they look at my faith and decide it's not a good match for the way they see things, then that's ok. No one should be pestered or forced to believe in something they don't want to believe in. We have the power to choose.
I believe that souls live long after we are dead. I believe that we are here for a purpose, to grow and expand our minds, and to live a mortal experience. With this experience, we become stronger with every hardship. We have free choice. We decide who we will become and how strong we will be, no matter what kind of life we were given. If we live a good life, with good intentions, then there is a reward at the end. A reward of no more sadness or loneliness, no more hate or war. It's a reward filled with love and peace to be with our family and friends forever. It doesnt matter what kind of religion they had or if they even had a religion at all. Everyone gets some sort of heaven judged on how they chose to live their life. In certain circumstances, if they had no control over how they could live their life, say, a person was born with serious mental and emotional issues that could not be helped and they ended up killing someone. After they die, that illness that took over them as a trial for their mortal life will be gone, and they will be judged on the intentions of their soul. If they had tried hard to be good and to control themselves but simply made a human mistake, and continued trying even after failing, seeking forgiveness for their misdeeds, then they wont be punished. But if they succumbed to their illness without a fight, without even trying, then they chose to give in to bad intentions and they will have to suffer the consequences for their choice. I don't know if I believe in the word, "HELL;" often stereotyped as a place full of fire and brimstone and monsters that all the "bad" souls go. But, I do believe there is a lesser place that those souls would go; where they wouldn't receive the joy that was promised them if they had endured their trials in good intention. A place where they would live in hardship and sadness; to never feel hope or peace for all eternity.
If it so happens that we just came to be, with no God, no true purpose in life... and we die with our souls, disappearing completely out of existence, then at least I'd have lived a life of hope. A life of trying to be the best person I can, to bring a little bit of good in the world we live in. A life of love, family, and knowing how to feel happiness through hard times. Choosing to work for hope of a reward after my death. Of no more suffering or sadness; to feel forever peace. To be with my God and my beloved family for all eternity.
But, I can tell you this: In such arguments, no person is completely right or completely wrong.
She is an atheist, and I am a Christian.
So here is her view of the subject, which I must say, is impressive. I respect it in all ways possible.
Physics is a beautifully complicated and we will never begin to understand all of it. I think it's more rational (and exciting) to think that there will always be more to learn about our universe, our planet, and ourselves. Humans fear the unknown and want to feel like they are in control of their lives.. they design their own destiny by creating religions, dogmas, theories.... they try to fill in the void of the unknown by claiming their notions are truth. We are all searching for answers, for the same thing. Whether you call it God, the Universe, Consciousness, or anything else.. we know it's bigger than us, more powerful than us.. so my question is why do christians believe that someone who is just like us (GOD) could create something so complex such as the universe, and plant his children in it? It makes no sense to me.
I claim to know little. I'm much younger than the universe, we all are very young, so I'm not going to pretend like I know what in actuality I don't, and I'm not going to pretend like other humans know what they can't possibly know. I'm not going to fear the unknown and pretend like there is a way to live forever. The world and the sky is natural, it's beautiful, and I am alive to witness it. That's enough for me.
With faith (self-persuading) you can believe almost anything... You can't let organized religion control your thoughts though! You have to be able to think for yourself and become "spiritual" in the knowledge that there IS something greater, but we can't possibly comprehend the entirety of it. To me, spirituality is in nature, physics, and truth. (they're all the same thing.)
Now this is MY point of view: (and just because it's longer doesn't mean it's the better argument. It only depends on what you believe in.)
I love the idea of physics and how things work. I believe in a God. I believe God created this universe. Yes, I belong to an organized religion. But when I look at the world and see how the universe works, it leaves me at a loss for words. The physics and mathematics behind the universe is so complex, the human mind can't even comprehend it. The way every little thing seems to have a purpose and how everyone is given a life, a choice, and a soul... I find it impossible to believe that we merely evolved through millions of years -I do believe we evolved, by water, to single cell organisms, etc. to human beings- but what I'm saying is that we evolved from, basically, "space dust," to who we are today. Our minds work in such incredible ways and our emotions are so powerful. How can we deny the existence of a higher power? How can we live a life so full of miracles and purpose and have nothing after death? I've felt the presence of those who have passed on around me. Of course, not everyone has those experiences. But I do know that souls exist, even after death. The energy of a person lasts beyond their human life and continues to grow with time.
Now I respect what others believe. Everyone has their own way of viewing the universe and the purpose of life. Some believe we just are, and what we are is gone forever after death. Some believe in a higher power, some believe our souls reincarnate and live another life on earth as another human, animal, insect, or plant. Whatever others believe, I respect and love to allow myself to look openly into what they believe in. But I've never been able to bring myself to deny that there is a God... I've had so many experiences in my life that I cannot deny what I feel about a higher power existing.
True, it could be my conscience trying to explain how things happen and why it happens. It's simply human nature, to question and to come up with an answer. Maybe I am simply finding comfort in believing there is a God... a more simple explanation of why we are and where we are going. But it's my faith... it's how I believe the universe works and about the purpose of life. I'm not going to try to make others believe it or act "holier than thou." If they're interested in my God and my faith, they are more than welcome to believe with me. But if they look at my faith and decide it's not a good match for the way they see things, then that's ok. No one should be pestered or forced to believe in something they don't want to believe in. We have the power to choose.
I believe that souls live long after we are dead. I believe that we are here for a purpose, to grow and expand our minds, and to live a mortal experience. With this experience, we become stronger with every hardship. We have free choice. We decide who we will become and how strong we will be, no matter what kind of life we were given. If we live a good life, with good intentions, then there is a reward at the end. A reward of no more sadness or loneliness, no more hate or war. It's a reward filled with love and peace to be with our family and friends forever. It doesnt matter what kind of religion they had or if they even had a religion at all. Everyone gets some sort of heaven judged on how they chose to live their life. In certain circumstances, if they had no control over how they could live their life, say, a person was born with serious mental and emotional issues that could not be helped and they ended up killing someone. After they die, that illness that took over them as a trial for their mortal life will be gone, and they will be judged on the intentions of their soul. If they had tried hard to be good and to control themselves but simply made a human mistake, and continued trying even after failing, seeking forgiveness for their misdeeds, then they wont be punished. But if they succumbed to their illness without a fight, without even trying, then they chose to give in to bad intentions and they will have to suffer the consequences for their choice. I don't know if I believe in the word, "HELL;" often stereotyped as a place full of fire and brimstone and monsters that all the "bad" souls go. But, I do believe there is a lesser place that those souls would go; where they wouldn't receive the joy that was promised them if they had endured their trials in good intention. A place where they would live in hardship and sadness; to never feel hope or peace for all eternity.
If it so happens that we just came to be, with no God, no true purpose in life... and we die with our souls, disappearing completely out of existence, then at least I'd have lived a life of hope. A life of trying to be the best person I can, to bring a little bit of good in the world we live in. A life of love, family, and knowing how to feel happiness through hard times. Choosing to work for hope of a reward after my death. Of no more suffering or sadness; to feel forever peace. To be with my God and my beloved family for all eternity.
But, I can tell you this: In such arguments, no person is completely right or completely wrong.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Solo
I know it's been a while since my last blog post. Well, let me tell you, it's been quite a trip since then!
Where to start... things kind of went downhill after getting back from Wengen. Not all good things can last forever! ;) I got sick with this nasty flu thing... it started out with a sinus infection, then a sore throat, then a cough, then a stomach bug, and all that played out for a week and a half.
So I'll be frank about this. I'm coming home early! Well, I'll be coming home December 23, as planned, but not going back to Switzerland in January. The thing is, the family and I just didn't get along that great. Now, don't get me wrong... it's not like we fight and all that stuff. Our personalities just don't match up and it causes some tension. I was pretty disappointed cause I tried to adapt to the parent's expectations and rules but it still ended up not being good enough.
Even when things didn't work out as planned, I'm pretty excited to come home and finish up school. Plus I'm applying to study abroad in Italy in the summer, so I'll get another chance to come back to Europe. I only have about three more semesters left then I get my Bachelor's degree. So I figure, I start school in the spring, continue in the summer, and then fall semester, I'll finish up and start working on my Master's. I actually feel pretty great about it.
Well let me tell you the last month really hasn't been easy for me. Homesickness finally hit, especially from being alone so much. I've made some pretty good friends here, but they work when I'm not working, or they're here on internships then leave before we get a chance to really become close friends. I go to the LDS Institute when I can and hang out with people every now and then which helps me get by. I kind of miss the closeness of my family and the comfort of being able to just be myself with them. Now, I knew this loneliness would be a price I would have to pay if I was going to travel the world. Friends are only fleeting, here one moment, gone the next. I have to depend on myself and work hard to not get sucked up in loneliness. Some days are good, some not so good. I'm thankful for technology like Skype to help me stay in touch with my family... I'd probably go insane without it!
Is the negative side of traveling the world solo worth it? I'd say it's hard, but it's worth it. In my mind, we all get one life to live. How can we say we lived without experiencing difficult things in order to reach parts of the world we never imagined existed? And by experiencing these things we learn more about ourselves and expand our mental capacities to achieve bigger and better things.
Well, I'm just looking forward to more exciting things. I think while Amélie is in school and on the days I don't have French classes, I'll try to go more around Geneva and maybe just across the border into France. Keep things interesting. Thanks for all of your support! I'll update when something awesome happens!
Where to start... things kind of went downhill after getting back from Wengen. Not all good things can last forever! ;) I got sick with this nasty flu thing... it started out with a sinus infection, then a sore throat, then a cough, then a stomach bug, and all that played out for a week and a half.
So I'll be frank about this. I'm coming home early! Well, I'll be coming home December 23, as planned, but not going back to Switzerland in January. The thing is, the family and I just didn't get along that great. Now, don't get me wrong... it's not like we fight and all that stuff. Our personalities just don't match up and it causes some tension. I was pretty disappointed cause I tried to adapt to the parent's expectations and rules but it still ended up not being good enough.
Even when things didn't work out as planned, I'm pretty excited to come home and finish up school. Plus I'm applying to study abroad in Italy in the summer, so I'll get another chance to come back to Europe. I only have about three more semesters left then I get my Bachelor's degree. So I figure, I start school in the spring, continue in the summer, and then fall semester, I'll finish up and start working on my Master's. I actually feel pretty great about it.
Well let me tell you the last month really hasn't been easy for me. Homesickness finally hit, especially from being alone so much. I've made some pretty good friends here, but they work when I'm not working, or they're here on internships then leave before we get a chance to really become close friends. I go to the LDS Institute when I can and hang out with people every now and then which helps me get by. I kind of miss the closeness of my family and the comfort of being able to just be myself with them. Now, I knew this loneliness would be a price I would have to pay if I was going to travel the world. Friends are only fleeting, here one moment, gone the next. I have to depend on myself and work hard to not get sucked up in loneliness. Some days are good, some not so good. I'm thankful for technology like Skype to help me stay in touch with my family... I'd probably go insane without it!
Is the negative side of traveling the world solo worth it? I'd say it's hard, but it's worth it. In my mind, we all get one life to live. How can we say we lived without experiencing difficult things in order to reach parts of the world we never imagined existed? And by experiencing these things we learn more about ourselves and expand our mental capacities to achieve bigger and better things.
Well, I'm just looking forward to more exciting things. I think while Amélie is in school and on the days I don't have French classes, I'll try to go more around Geneva and maybe just across the border into France. Keep things interesting. Thanks for all of your support! I'll update when something awesome happens!
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Heaven on Earth- The Swiss Alps
Before I get into the details of my vacation, I'll fill up on the events of the days following my last blog post. Well, Amélie has been adjusting to going to school all day. It's really long for a 3 year old, especially without breaks for naps. The day before we left for Wengen, she had a complete meltdown. I picked her up from school and she wanted me to carry her out, but the parents and nannies aren't allowed to carry the kids around the school... for some reason. So I told Amélie she had to walk like all the other kids. Well. She didn't take that too well. She completely collapsed in the middle of the road screaming hysterically and sobbing and drooling everywhere. I tried everything under the moon, stars, and the sun to get her to calm down. Picking her up, talking to her, getting her to look at me, getting mad, being sympathetic, being strict -- nothing worked. Any form of attention just made it worse, so I had to step back and stand next to her and wait for her to burn herself out. Some parents gave me the evil eye for just standing there, others just gave me a sympathetic smile, and one mother said, "I've been there before, don't worry." After 15 minutes, she burned out and finally walked to the bus. But man, it was quite an experience! It'll probably take her a few months to adjust, but I figured out a tactic to prevent meltdowns. I usually let her lay down on the bus and take a short 15 minute nap until we have to get off, then she walks home and has snack time. So far, it's worked out great!
Well, Thursday came along, and it was a holiday in Geneva. Yvonne and Antoine took work off for a few days to go on a "relaxing" vacation in the mountains. "Relaxing." Ha ha ha. Amélie woke up sick early in the morning and finally fell asleep around 8:30 AM. We were planning on leaving at like 10 AM, but her mom decided to let her sleep. While Antoine stayed with Amélie, Yvonne and I went to France and went shopping. Finally, Amélie woke up and we ended up leaving around 1:30 PM and arrived in Lautterbraunn, where we took the train up the mountains to Wengen. The view was amazing on the way up. There were tons of waterfalls and when looking down, I could see the villages and farms surrounded by the lofty Swiss Alps. The villages were so green, then the cliffs were so sharp and bright, then there was Jungfraujoch, the tallest mountain in Europe. It was covered in glaciers and snow, so it was a stark contrast to the green-ness of the villages. The farms in the mountain villages were so rustic. Spotted with centuries-old houses and green rolling hills, it had such a feel to it... like I had somehow landed on a whole different world; somewhere out in the vast galaxies of outer space. It's not something you can capture in photographs or words. It is only experienced.
The hotel we stayed in was really nice and had a great view of the mountains. Since we left later in the day, we ended up walking around the village before going to bed. A lot of the farms are located on hills that are so steep, tractors can't be driven up to the fields. All the work is done by hand in the old fashioned way. The next morning, we took a gondola up the mountain to a trail that was fairly flat and easy, since Amélie wasn't feeling her best. Our initial plan was to hike straight uphill for three hours to the train station that takes us to Jungfraujoch. It's a good thing we decided to take the easy way, because I don't see how Amélie could have made it. The entire way she whined and stopped every ten feet to throw a fit, cry, inspect a rock, stare at people, et cetera. The hike was supposed to take only an hour, but ended up being about three hours long. But it was so worth it. The view of the mountains were amazing! We got on a train that went through the mountain all the way up to Jungfraujoch, Top of Europe. I got to stand on top of some of the highest mountains in Europe. There were breathtaking glaciers that glowed a soft turquoise blue. When I looked over the horizon, it was like looking down on the earth from outer space. We were so much higher than the clouds and you could see the geography so well... all the mountains, hills, and valleys. The valleys were so green and the mountains were covered with white and blue glaciers. It was the closest I could get to imagining what heaven would look like.
The next day, we went to Grindewald. We hiked straight uphill on a hike that was supposed to take an hour, but ended up being about three hours, again. Amélie just wasn't in the mood to be hiking that day ha ha. But when we got to the destination, we could see the other side of the mountains that we hiked the previous day, plus smaller, greener mountains surrounding it. There was a small pond and lots of cows grazing in the fields on the mountain... it kind of reminded me of the Sound of Music. After eating lunch, we rode up the lifts and Antoine and I went down the zipline. Then after, we decided to try out the trottibikes, which are like scooter/mountain bikes and "trotti" down the mountain. It was awesome!
Pretty much everyone was exhausted from the vacation, but it was really such a great lifetime experience! Sunday, we drove home. Amélie was complaining that her belly hurt and I kind of realized she was probably gonna throw up cause from multiple previous nannying experience, when a kid says their belly is hurting and something smells bad to them then it means they're probably getting sick. Then after a few more minutes, she started throwing fits and crying. I knew what was coming, so I just moved my stuff away from Amélie, turned my hearing aid off, put my hoodie up, held my nose, and stared directly out of the window with my back to Amélie. Not even two minutes later, the car swerved wildly to the side of the road and the parents ran out of the car. I didn't even look back cause I knew she threw up and I did NOT want to see it. I just got out of the car and stood by the side of the road and stared away with an expressionless face but inside I was completely freaking out an having a panic attack. (For those who don't know, I have a phobia of seeing someone vomit.) She seemed to feel a lot better after throwing up and didn't throw up for the rest of the day, but we drove for six hours in a freshly vomit scented car.
Despite the vomit scene, the whole trip was seriously the bomb. Maybe someday I'll go back to Jungfraujoch and climb up the glaciers to the summit... that would be AMAZING.
Well, the past four days I've been sick with this nasty cold and I'm tired of being sick!!! But oh well... It is a little better today. But I still feel crappy so I'm going to finish my chores and go to bed. I'll probably write more later cause I always think of stuff that I could write about but my focus is on zero right now so... til next time!!!
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)