Crashed on the floor when I moved in, this little bungalow with some strange new friends.

It's the five of us.

I admit that I'm bummed that Megan and Jen both beat me to the inevitable Home entry, but after this past weekend, this weekend where our biggest stress was climbing the side of Positano to make it to our bus on time, wearing swimsuits and skirts and holding juicy, dripping kumquats in our hands, I should have nothing to wish for, nothing to wait for. But maybe that's why it is happening after this weekend. Walking down the hillside of Capri, to find our rocky beach, to lay out for four hours, Ingrid said "this is honestly the best day of my life." And there's nowhere to go but down from there.

And what I've discovered about home came most intensely from this weekend. The first night there were two girls in our dorm who could not stop bitching about staying in a dorm in a hostel, about how they were like, totally, in an orphanage. And I noticed the glazed over look that I used to receive in Boston, when we told them we were from Wisconsin/Minnesota/Indiana. The Unimportant Places. The "what do you dooo there?" Places. And I am so thankful for that. I am so unbelievably grateful that I am from a culture that celebrates humility, graciousness, kindness. That I was raised not to believe that I am better than anyone because I am from one of the two places that Italians seem to think comprise all of America - California and New York. I love the coast. Both of them. I want to live in Boston again, I want to live in New York, I want to live in San Francisco, but I am a midwestern girl at heart. 

I'm surprised to find myself, like Jen, proud to be American. But more than that, I am proud to be from the midwest. I am proud to say that's where I'm from, even if the only ones who understand this are also from the midwest. I could wish nothing more for my children than they grow up understanding these midwestern values. They are by no means confined to the midwest, but you find them in abundance here. And I miss that.

God I miss that. I miss polite people, I miss my group of friends, where there's no conflict of status, where we're all on the same level, our connection running through us like roots. I need them again in my life. But it makes me appreciative all the same of the roots I have here as well, the people I have here. The Midwest goes to Italy. Represented by Wisconsin, Indiana, Ohio and Minnesota.

I'm amazed now, a week and a half before our program ends, to realize the friendships that I've made here have become monumentally important to me. I love our home. It feels like home, and I love that. I love that Ingrid, Stef, Jen and I have been welded together in this experience, each of us unable to describe studying abroad without mentioning each other. I'm so happy that Mandy is part of our group. Our group that has somehow separated itself for the most part from the rest of our program, but we all click so perfectly. Perfect in our imperfections, picking up each other's slack, finishing each other's sentences, picking up each other's messes, taking care of each other. 

That's what I'll miss I suppose. But I shouldn't miss it now. I need to focus on the next week and a half I have here, with them.

I'm glad we have each other.

Though all these things will change the memories will remain

There's something about quiet Sundays, Ray Lamontagne, and coffee that makes me want to sit down and write. I realize how specific that is, but I find myself here on sundays listening to a lot of Ray and Bon Iver. It's beautiful out today. More than that, it's gorgeous. It seems appropriate for me to spend a religious holiday in my flat with a cup of coffee, listening to music, writing, and later drawing. My only forms of spirituality all crammed into Palm Sunday.

This morning Ingrid and her friends that are visiting - Katie and Jake, and I went to an American brunch at The Diner. We talked about what we missed. We miss coffee culture, and we miss big breakfasts. We laughed at how absurd Americans must look, getting pancakes and eggs and hashbrowns and coffee all for breakfast, when Europeans pretty much just have bread and coffee/espresso. One of the waitresses was american, and it's striking how different customer service is between Italy and America. She came over twice during our meal and asked if we wanted refills (unheard of), and then asked how everything tasted (unimaginable) and was right back when we needed the check. She was nice, polite, smiled at us. I didn't even realize I had missed those things until they occurred. 

I think that's what it's going to be like going back home. It will be difficult to adjust to not translating what I want to say in my head before I even open my mouth, but I think it will be most strange when I come upon things that I wasn't consciously missing. Things that were so ingrained into my daily routine that I didn't miss them until they're present again.

I find myself more and more thinking about going home. It's bad, and I will regret it as soon as I am home again, but it feels about time. I haven't even been gone that long (relatively speaking) but my heart (and my bank account) could really use a dose of home. I'm glad that 6 days after I come home, Megan will be home again. I'm glad the boys are staying in Minneapolis this summer, and I am excited to plan a trip to Boston to see my Mario with Micah. I'm excited to work again, despite my currently volatile feelings towards the Local. Last night I had a server dream. Which I haven't had since I was home. Those panicky dreams where I get in the weeds, and I just can't get out again. 

This is a sporadic entry, with no real purpose. I'm sorry for that. And I feel like since I'm here, I should only write about my experiences here, instead of what I'm missing from home. 

Ah so what I can I say? Florence is blossoming. People are sprouting from nowhere, flowers are in bloom, you can spell spring in the air, and thus my allergies are kicking in again. It's nice right now. I don't like how many people are constantly clogging the streets and buses, but I like that it feels more alive than when we arrived. I like that spring makes people smile (yes, even Italians), and I like this combination of feeling totally comfortable here, while also being content with how soon I will be home. 

The timing feels right. This experience has been so many things. It's renewed my friendship with Jen on a level that I didn't expect, and I am so eternally grateful for that. It's opened my eyes to so many different cultures, to so many new perspectives. I've always considered myself to be a pretty unbiased viewer of events - things that happen to people I love, I still tend to see from both sides of the equation, I can always see the opposing view. But this is the bigger picture. How other people see Americans. The stereotypes, and the unexpected generalizations that make me angry, and sad, even when they're true. 

Anyway. I have a final project for Drawing to start and finish today, and I want it to be good. Which means there is a lot of coffee and one late night ahead of me. 

Happy Palm Sunday. 

I love you.

Born like sisters to this world

I'm missing home today. It's a mixture of making a life decision (on my own!) last night, reading claire and megan's wall-to-wall, and the once a month hormonal roller coaster my body continues to bless me with. 

So I listen to "Better" by Regina Spektor. and I love that line. "Born like sisters to this world." I know that feeling. I wrote it almost verbatim in a poem my freshman year, before I'd heard the song. I know what it's like to be in a new city, a city to make your own, a city to explore, discover, hate, love. A city to change you. 

I have such a dichotomous relationship with cities. I love the quiet of the country, and when I was younger I wanted to live in a big old farm house in the middle of nowhere and wrap myself in fields and forests. That changed, and I still can't tell if it's the actually city that I love, or the idea of wrapping myself in a different world. A world that I would reinvent, shift to fit me. Or at least that's what it always seemed like I would do. 

I realized after Boston that it was the other way around. I was recreated, I was shifted, and I was fitting the place I chose. In many ways it was a negative change, I was unambitious, and too in love with the city to remember who I was, what I wanted out of my life. But in most ways, I was changed for the better (Mario you can start singing the Wicked song now). 

What I remember best was those first few weeks. I was in a city. a CITY. after too long in a small town, I had a whole city to myself. I held on to Sally and she held on to me, and we stumbled and fumbled our way around, laughing too hard and drinking too much. Things changed, but I still love that feeling. It felt like we were born for that time, we were born to walk down Comm Ave. at 4 in the morning, laughing til we were silent and had to stop to catch our breath. 

The funny thing was, as much as I changed, as much as I grew and regressed, I was still the same. I know that because Mario is still my best friend. I know that because he could see me when I was there, after bad grades and long nights and tears, he knew who I was before and after any changes, and he still knows me. That's home. 

Then came Minneapolis, and my volatile relationship with that city has come to mostly a halt since I've been here, since I've been given a chance to miss it. Not as much as Boston (my first great love), but I miss certain streets, every coffee shop, and I miss being on my own in that city. With my own job, and my own bills to pay, and my own bed to go home to at night. 

What I miss the most right now, is Claire, Megan and I. I didn't expect to have that Boston feeling again (Born like sisters to this world), and I got it again. Last summer was like waking up for me. I had just been sleeping, and woke up to home. Good friendships, true friendships, happen so easily. Effortless as breathing. The same thrill as first love. Claire and I obviously go back to the age of 4 inch thick bangs, secret clubhouses and digging in the dirt for worms, but it felt like Megan had been there the whole time too.  

I think that's why I keep on coming back to cities, even after I feel like I've been let down, broken up with by them so many times. Because I have this conditioned feeling that when I move to a city, I rediscover that feeling. Born like sisters to this world. Meant to walk together or not at all. 

And when I'm here, so far from Minneapolis, from Boston, from any sort of home in the traditional sense, I find myself being reaffirmed of my superstitious belief in cities. Inrid, Stef, Jen and I have done the same thing in Florence. In an enormously different sense, but nonetheless, we've grabbed on to each other and haven't let go. "It's like you've been living together for years" is what Mandy says. We're so vastly different, even Jen and I, despite our 8 year friendship, but we work. We mesh. We get each other, and we get annoyed, frustrated, but in the end, these are the only roommates I would want here. These are the only roommates, friends, I could have here.

Born like sisters to this world.

I had no choice but to hear you

I've been sitting at this computer, waiting for the songs on my playlist to sing me lyrics I could use as a title. They haven't been cooperating, and my time is running short (class in 20 minutes) so I settled for some classic Alanis. I'm sorry for the lack of creativity, and possibly the lack of relevance to this entry, but I feel like I need to use song lyrics as titles to journal entries (I had no choice).



Ah, it's been too long. I hate when I'm this behind on pictures, on journaling...I don't want to do a brief overview of all the things that have happened in the last month. That would include the weekend in Germany, Micah's visit, my ensuing strep throat, our trip to Lake Como (Land of George Clooney - no sightings, sadly), Jen's birthday, my trip to Dublin. I feel like the only thing I can do at this point, being so horribly off course, is to write what I'm thinking about, or variations of such, and hope that includes some of my travels and a lot of my adventures.



Well I'm back from Dublin now. We got back at about 2am on Monday morning. At the beginning of my time here, it seemed such a hassle to travel for 12 hours a day, switching between trains, buses, planes and back again. Now it seems nothing short of second nature. Take the tram to the bus stop, take the bus to the Dublin airport, fly back (surrounded by giddy 14 year old Italian kids who were just as annoying as giddy 14 year old American students as luck would have it), find a ticket for the last bus back to Florence from Pisa, take a taxi from the Florence train station back home.



I don't mind the travel. It gives me time to unwind, to think. To sit and people watch, to read (White Teeth by Zadie Smith), to listen to music. I can't imagine traveling without the comfort of my music. It's like a security blanket.



"Music first" as Michael said every time we got into his car in Germany. He said it every time we got into the car. He wouldn't even turn on the engine, put on his seat belt before choosing our theme music for the night. (Incubus, Peter Tosh, Ace of Base...that boy likes everything)



It was wonderful. Being with him. It's like nothing ever changed, like we haven't been separated by continents and oceans and 3 years. To call him my brother would hardly be an exaggeration, it may be the only word that sums up our relationship. I can't even quite say 'like a brother'. I don't love him like a brother, I love him the same as I love Eric. We went out, we made him take us out, he introduced us to his friends, to his town, to his family. It was necessary. It's shocking it never happened earlier (if you disregard the cost, obviously). How could I not have known his family? His mom, who we woke up at 6am when we called my dad, still made us a wonderful German lunch the next day. Who is learning english, but like me, prefers to listen than to speak. She was wonderful. His dad spoke absolutely no english whatsoever, but it felt right to meet him as well. Astrid was home, who I've already met, and is still just as nice as I remember her.

I find relationships so fascinating. Especially watching relationships, their similarities and differences, in a different country, with totally different standards, expectations, and social codes. I love seeing emotion transcend culture. I see it everywhere. When a dad talks about his little girl, when siblings fight, when a boy is falling for a girl. I'm continually reminded every day that you don't need language to understand each other. I sit on the bus, headphones in, blocking out the noise, and I see a guy, about my age, listening to a girl speak, and he's nervous, he likes her, and everything she says is the most important, relevant, funny, interesting thing he's ever heard, his eyes are riveted, and he doesn't talk, he's afraid to embarass himself, but completely enamoured of her. I love that.

Sometimes its hard to watch love here, and it's everywhere (it's Florence in the spring for God's sake), when Micah is so far away. I feel like the 11 days he was here flew by so quickly that I didn't have time to tie them down, to stop everything so I could breathe, finally take a deep breath, with him next to me. I feel like that now, of course. When he first got here, I was so exhilarated (despite the strep throat), that every moment was precious, every second was my last with him, and I held on to them so tightly it hurt. The second night we stayed up talking so late it was early again, letting ourselves fall in love again and again. It was just like it was in the beginning, when I didn't know what to expect, except that I would never be the same again, that it was all or nothing. I hate to think that towards the end I got used to him being here. I know I did. It just felt so natural, it always does, and it always has, to have him next to me. It was the same when we were only friends.

I'm sorry. I could go on for hours and hours and pages and pages about Micah, about his trip here, about how much I miss him every moment, every millimoment of the day, but I know how fun that is to read, and unlike my livejournal, I think people actually read this, and I should take that into (some) consideration.

I guess I spend most of my time here analyzing relationships. My own, my friendships, the interactions of other groups from my program, Italian families, friends on the street. My only reference base for any of these outside groups are my own experiences of course, and that means I spend a large part of my time here thinking about how I interact with my family, with my friends. Things I want to change, things I miss. Especially with the health of my grandfather rapidly deteriorating, I spend a lot of energy thinking about my immediate and extended family. I love them so much, and I haven't been old enough to truly experience the loss of a family member. It hurts already, even though it hasn't happened yet. So the words of my grandpa have been ringing in my ear, since we talked 2 weeks ago. I have to live it up. His attitude, ever-positive, ever-hopeful, and so contagious, has reached it's loving arms across countries and an ocean and has tagged me. I'm It, it's my turn right now, and there is no choice, I have to do everything I can here, while I'm here. We don't know what will happen tomorrow, we can't know where we'll end up, but I do know that right now I'm here, and I only have a month left (sweet jesus that scares me).

Ahh, I love when that happens. Now the title of this entry makes sense.

-Sara

The Golden Girls Go to Ibiza

This week has been/is our spring break. Ibiza, Spain was the plan, get some sun, party til the break of dawn every night, sleep all day. Basically the MTV spring break, done Europe style.

We didn't do enough research. At all. Maybe I should say we just didn't do any research, since that would seem to be more appropriate. After arriving, Jen's estimate was that 90% of the bars, restaurants and clubs were closed. That may be an overestimate. The first night we were determined to have a spring break, so we drank, and we went out to a very cheap and American dinner. I had a burger and fries and loved every bite of it. We got to Pacha - a world renowned club, with world renowned DJs...in the summer. In the summer it also costs 40 euro to get in...so there were some benefits. We got in for free.

Unfortunately, as it was Ingrid's 21st birthday, there was one 'merican spring break tradition we upheld, or she upheld, to the nth degree. and so we were kicked out.

The rest of our spring break was spent in a very different fashion. As Stef said 'we no longer get culture shock, we adapt.' So we adapted to the situation. We went grocery shopping, we made chicken tacos, we made cheesy pasta and potatoes in every form you CAN make them. We ate chocolate and chips and guacamole and queso. We ate and we made coffee every twenty minutes. We laid out for a total of 2.5 hours, and sat on our balcony that overlooked the ocean and Ibiza Town.

I daydreamt about living in a hut on the ocean, doing nothing all day but cooking, laying out, and reading and writing.

And that's exactly what we did. We finished all our books, we played sudoku until we could see it when we closed our eyes and played cards until we got blood blisters from shuffling. I loved it. It was relaxing and comfortable and completely stress free. We basked in the fact that our roommate connection was strong enough to make such a trip enjoyable, that we were becoming travellers together, and that even in the most unexpected circumstances, we were able to change our attitude to a positive one.


Until we went to the airport. It finally hit Stef, the most active of our roommates, that we'd spent four days doing nothing, after all of our grand plans, and she was pissed, understandably so. The mood change in all of us was palpable, and I started to get really depressed that after four days that I had thoroughly enjoyed, given its comradery, introspection, silence, peace, and companionship, I was now feeling like it was a waste of time. Interestingly, a little boy, no older than two and a half changed my attitude again. That's an entry for another time, since its already written in my journal, and as it was written in the moment, suits my emotions far more appropriately.


So now Jen and I are in Germany. We are sitting on Michael's couch, like nothing has changed, like we haven't been apart for the better part of 4 years. It's wonderful. We're already making plans for him to come to Camp Steve, to do his Red Cross internship in America, for us to visit Colombia if that doesn't work out, and for the three of us to visit Joe, Michael and Kelly in California. I feel completely at home here.

This may be the most active part of my spring break, in a small town in Germany, in the snow, with my FES and my best friend. And I'm absolutely, 100% alright with that.


Mm. I love you.

Why is it Tee Arr Ellay, but not Em Tee Vu?

I am sitting in my spotless living room, watching MTV and drinking coffee that Ingrid made by boiling water in a pot, adding coffee grounds, and then moving the brewing coffee back and forth between two pots until it was brewed and all the coffee grounds were in the other pot. This is an ingenius plan, born of desperation when Ingrid thought we didn't have napkins (we usually use a napkin as a filter over a handheld strainer, and pour boiling water over the coffee grounds in our 'filter' into a pot). The Jonas Brothers are on MTV right now. It upsets me, but not as much as seeing that not only does Italian MTV have The Hills, but they paid money to Italian men and women to DUB THEIR VOICES. I'm not saying they paid a lot of money, God knows that show mostly consists of them vacantly staring at each other while some horrendous pop/mock alternative song plays in the background to smother the silence of stupidity.

Let me give you a little run down of Italian MTV. We watch MTV all the time here. It's the only chance we have at seeing television in English. We rejoice when "Made" or "Room Raiders" comes on, because they don't dub the voices, they do subtitles, thus being both a learning tool as well as pure (albeit pathetic and cringe-worthy) entertainment. Stef and I found South Park (in Italian) on late at night. I think we find it frustrating to watch television here in Italian because it's alllll American shows (CSI, The Reaper, Will and Grace, Friends, the Simpsons, etc.) but in Italian. It's getting thisclose to something that reminds us of home, only to have it masked in a language we have only a beginner's grasp of. So, MTV is our saving grace. Sort of.

We spend hours dissecting their music video lineup (yes, in Italy MTV, or Music Television, plays actual music videos!) and laughing at the Italian songs and artists that make it into the mix. They have a list of about 10 songs that get played over and over and over, every hour. This includes 'Hot and Cold' by Katy Perry, 'If I Were A Boy' by Beyonce, 'Primavery Anticipo' by James Blunt and an Italian artist, whose name I am forgetting, and some Hilary Duff song that makes me want to slit the throat of whoever told her she had a future in the entertainment industry. The Italian music videos that are lucky enough to make the cut usually if not always feature the band, clad in black or white, on the roof of some building in a city that is either in northern Italy or not in Italy at all, as they sing their song, arms spread, eyes closed. They are very serious when they're singing, and the same sepia-like tone masks the video.

I never thought I would appreciate American music videos until I spent a month here watching Italian MTV. American music videos, despite the generally substance-free song lyrics, usually present well-choreographed, intricate two and a half minute stories.

The best song we've heard so far here? Is from the Adidas commercial. It's 'Beggin' by Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons, remixed by Madcon. Stef downloaded it, and we listen to it on repeat.



I feel guilty that I don't write in here more often. And that when I do, I give the lowdown on Italian MTV. This week was midterms. they went fine. Jen and I are desperately trying to find a way to Zurich that costs less than 200 euro, so we can visit Michael and his family before he goes to Hamburg, but it's not looking good right now. It's frustrating, since he was able to visit us from Colombia, and we're now on the same continent and we can't find a way to see him.

In other news, Micah visits in less than two weeks! I'm so unbelievably excited for this, it's hard to even focus on the fact that it's spring break right now, and we're going to Ibiza, Spain tomorrow.

mmm. Well, I'm mildly hungover after last night's debauchery - finally got a hold of some vodka (not wine!) and that was a bad idea. We went to a club called 21 - very American. But the dancing was fun.

Good day friends,
Sara

Or we could simply pack our bags and catch a plane to Barcelona cuz this city's a drag.

I never know how to begin these entries. Especially this one, about Barcelona. Well, I suppose first it's necessary to understand my deep love for cities. I love all cities, I love neighborhoods in cities, I love cafés in cities, I love the initial feeling of anonymity, and the ensuing grasp of identity once you have found your niche, your stores, your coffee shop, your friends. I love cities. I want to live in a city for as long as possible. Until someone pulls me away from them, kicking and screaming to a nursing home.

When we arrived in Girona, exhausted, we climbed onto a bus to the city, and something in me woke up. We drove through the countryside and eyes locked on our windows, Jen and I again marveled at the fact that at night, everything looks the same, looks like home, looks like familiar places and things. That building could be the law offices off of I-94 by Brookfield, that neighborhood could be in San Francisco. As we got closer, I ached to hear 'Holiday in Spain' by the Counting Crows, to understand the pull of the city that we were staying in for only 2 days. When we finally got to the bus station in Barcelona, everyone seemed to be cranky, hungry, and altogether done for the day.

But I wasn't. I saw wide streets (!!), I saw big buildings, new and old, I saw the hustle and bustle of a big city, a big city, the skyline that I had seen from the road from Girona was up close and literally felt personal, and I loved it. Not warm, but not as cold as Florence, it felt like the world was at my feet. It was my first European adventure by plane, and though it hadn't gone off without a hitch (ie: late plane, turbulence, an unexpected €21 for a bus ride, and then no idea where our hostal was or where we were), I was too excited to care.

Ultimately we found Hostal Central - a fantastic hostal, where Mandy, Nathan and I shared a room with bunk beds, a double bed, a shower, and an indoor sitting area that overlooked the city (pictures to come, once i figure out how to do such fancy things). Our first meal makes my mouth water just thinking about it. We got 2 pitchers of Sangria, 2 appetizers and our own meals - for about €10 each.

Friday morning we ate in our hostal - free breakfast of 3 pastries, and all-you-can drink coffee - REAL coffee, in CUPS. Needless to say, we did drink all we could throughout our stay. Walking outside into the bright Barcelona sunshine, walking down the busy streets, in a city that felt so incredibly international - everyone spoke catalana and spanish, with buildings old and new, with architecture that took my breath away, parks where old spanish men and women fed pigeons, I felt immediately at home.

It's how I felt after I visited Boston the first time. I could picture myself there. And it was, and now is again, a picture that is vivid, hopeful, and full of the limitless of potential of the life I still have to live. Park Guell was beautiful, La Sagrada Familia cathedral, began by Goya who died in 1936 (i think?) too enormous in size and intricacies to describe well, even the graffitti was amazing. The city was clean, the streets alive with markets and the Mediterranean Sea settled peacefully on the other end of Las Ramblas. All of which could be seen from the tip top of Park Guell. A view that I would not mind being able to see every day.

The food was exquisite. Sad to recall that guacamole is mexican cuisine, but happy to eat paella, fruit, and tapas. Actually, one of the best meals I had was a falafel pita. And I secretly was ecstatic to see Starbucks (yes, even in Barcelona, on almost every corner) and Subway. Jen and I, after discovering we could do Barcelona really cheap, quickly realized that it was better to spend a little bit more to eat more frequently (the food was way too good to not want to eat constantly), and thoroughly enjoy our time in a place that I could probably accurately claim is my favorite city in Europe right now, and still not be mistaken later on in this semester.

Friday night we went to Opium - Barcelona's most popular dance club in a city that is known for its clubs. We danced all night, we talked all night, we laughed all night, making it to our hostal no earlier than 6am, and staying up no later than 7am. It was the perfect ending to a trip that defied my expectations, and completely swept me off my feet.

I realize how silly it sounds to say that I fell in love with a city. To say that I found a place that could potentially be my home on the other side of the world. But that's how it felt. It felt like falling in love, like finding home.

I was sad to come back to Florence. I feel like a traitor saying that I like Barcelona more than Florence. But it's a very different love, and they are such different cities that it seems impossible to even begin to compare them. Florence, a place I love with all my heart. Florence is an old city though. It is ancient, and that is why I love it, for an entirely different reason than my love for Barcelona. But it was Valentine's Day without Micah, it was cold when we got home, there had been some drama the last few days, and I was extremely sick. An appropriate bodily response to the deep ache I felt missing Micah especially in Barcelona, and then the sadness I felt upon leaving my new favorite city.

So our spring break plans have changed. We are going to Ibiza, Spain. Back to Spain. Smaller than Barcelona, an island south of the mainland, with clubs and white sand beaches and a price thats a helluva lot lower than our Greece spring break would have been.


I have to go home now. My afternoon class was cancelled, and I want to cook a good meal and get some rest, so I'm not sick for very long.

Here's to traveling though. To experiencing an entirely new and different culture every week. To acclamating yourself to that change. To not being exhausted by it, but energized. Here's to the world as one grand culture, one grand community. Here's to finally understanding that.

Cheers
Sara

I feel Jesus in the clumsiness of young and awkward lovers

Today was Siena.
I think that's how I'm supposed to write these types of goal-oriented, themed blogs...I'm not really sure. I just know how to journal. Gah. Fuck it.

Today was Siena. Today I sat in my corner of the bus, head against the window, the busdriver's all too Italian driving jerking me up and down, and listened to my current On-The-Go playlist. I was in my own world entirely. I had muted the sound of the 20 other students on the bus, and as we got closer and closer to Siena, I realized I didn't want the bus to stop, because when the bus stopped, I had to turn off my music and re-enter the real world. And I had a flashback, to my 6th grade Europe trip, and I remembered never wanting to get off the bus because it meant I would have to stop listening to my cd player, stop reading, stop writing. It was sort of a weird memory. It had been buried really deep, and it was something I never would have thought about again, if that feeling hadn't overwhelmed me again. And then I was awed to realize that music has been my saving grace since a fairly young age.

The bus ride wasn't bad, and I love being in my own little world far too much to be upset about listening to music for an hour and a half. Siena is so much quieter than Florence. I knew more about Siena going into this experience - about the Palio, le constrade, La Piazza del Campo, il Duomo, and it was really cool to see what I'd read about up close.

But when we were in the Duomo, looking at its unbelievable interior, and the 54 handcarved marble floor pieces, our tour guide mentioned something about Peter being on one side, and Paul being on the other (yes, I know. Four hours later, my memory is already lacking), and I immediately flashed back to the song that has been playing on repeat since I got here. "Girl in the War" by Josh Ritter. (Paul said to Peter, "you've got to rock yourself a little bit harder/pretend the dove from above is a dragon/and your feet are on fire") and I had a musical realization.

I'm going to sidestep for a second and say that yes, this might be dumb and long, but you don't have to read it, and yes, I know I'm in Italy, and I'm writing about my music. But a revelation is a revelation, and maybe there's a reason I realized this in Italy.

It started with the realization that the vast majority of my favorite songs have literary, historical, and most often, biblical references (Romeo and Juliet by Dire Straits, Oedipus by Regina Spektor, Citrus by the Hold Steady). And as we toured the rest of the Duomo, and we stood in awe in front of intricate frescoes, statues of saints, and stained glass that, despite the dreary day, managed to absolutely glow, I realized that this was most likely due to the fact that music is the closest thing I have to a true religion. I didn't grow up with any diety forced down my throat, and I've always believed in God, but the closest I've felt to any sort of higher power is when I'm listening to music, especially live. When a song gets in your chest and fills your heart, your lungs, and completely intoxicates you. Hearing Coldplay at Alpine Valley made me reach a new plane of serenity, that was literally awe-some.

I feel like this is a sensible place to end this entry, but it was a long day, and I had a lot of time to just think, and so, unluckily for you, this is going to be longer.

At lunch, Mandy, Jen, Ingrid and I sat down at a little restaurant a few streets down from the Piazza and as we were eating, we were giggling at a little boy that was overjoyed with a fish in the fishtank. The dad turned around and started talking to us. It started off being about his children (both of whom speak Hebrew, French and Russian), and it's funny to me that no language barrier in the world could keep the pride out of a parent's voice when talking about their children. But the conversation quickly turned to us, and where in the U.S. we were from. The man had done his residency at University Hospital in Cincinnati, even though he was French, and lived in Israel. Mandy looked dumbstruck. She had been born in University Hospital, the same year he was there doing his residency in the maternity wing.
"Well, I'm sorry to say, I don't remember you" the man chuckled.
"Yeah, well I don't remember either" Mandy responded, also laughing.

I love small world stories, and moments like that make me appreciate that all the way across the world, in a tiny tiny restaurant, in Siena, we have something in common with the Israeli man sitting at the table next to us. There are always commonalities, it's just a matter of taking the time to learn them.

By the time we all returned to the bus to head to San Gimignano, everyone was a little bit whiny, a lot bit wet, and even more downtrodden about the fact that one of our two buses had broke down. We piled ourselves into the first bus and suggested to Danny and Valentina, our CAPA guides, that we leave a little early from San Gimignano, to which they quickly agreed.

But Italy surprised us. San Gimignano was beautiful, in the classic Tuscan way. The sun was low in the sky already at 4:00 when we arrived, but at least the sun was visible, creating a hazy glow over the Tuscan countryside. Climbing to a Scenic Point, Ingrid, Mandy, Jen, Nathan and I got two bottles of wine, some bread and some cheese, and enjoyed the view perched on a stone wall. It was a perfect moment. I breathed in deeply, and I could smell the faint scent of someone burning brush, and somewhere close by bread was being baked. I felt completely care free.

The bus ride back was peaceful. The second bus had been fixed, and everyone's spirits had been lifted by the beautiful end to the day. I watched the Tuscan countryside go by in the dark, and thought that the little lights of houses along the way didn't look any different from house lights from the highway at home at night.


I guess that's all for now.
sorry this is ridiculously long
-sara

Unfortunately, I am technologically disabled.

Mi dispiace, I have no idea how to make a fancy shmancy title...thing. I was clearly not granted the gift the rest of my family seemed to have naturally inherited - that of understanding technology/electronics/these fancy gadgets they called computers. So, unfortunamente, all you have is my writing. Unless someone knows how to do pretty things, in which case I will hand over my oh so secret password.

This weekend was laid back. It was comfortable, and it was much slower than last weekend's frantic Rome activities.

Friday night we went to Full Up, which was an actual Italian club, with actual Italians, as opposed to Space Elettronica. Space = trashy American club. It was a blast, but hardly authentic in the sense that the only Italians there were skeazy guys trying to hook up with drunk American girls. And since I heard many of my classmates say (or should I say slur?) on Monday at another club we went to (Yab), 'I just wanna make out with an Italian', it sounds like they are right in assuming its an appropriate place to be for such a venture. Therefore, staying away from trashy clubs. Since of course, I am just so very classy. (please note intense sarcasm)

Stef, Nathan, and I made it into the VIP section of the club, and VIP it was indeed. Point being: if you are sneaky enough and your inhibitions are lowered enough to not consider the risk of being thrown out of said club, you too can get into the VIP section. We danced, and danced...and danced. And at 4am, decided it was an appropriate time to head home. Arm in arm and giddy from the night.

Saturday and Sunday meld together into the kind of days I dream about having on a regular basis. The kind of day where you do nothing. Sit outside and read in the Italian sun outside the city on your terrace, go inside, cook (scrambled eggs with red pepper, red onion, yellow pepper, cream cheese, other cheese...yum), sit in your sunny room and read some more, crawl out of your room to make more food (a salame panino and some pasta), mock MTV and the 20 songs they seem to have on repeat, retreat into your roommates room...watch the new episode of Lost, then resume reading, only to cap off the night by watching The Dark Knight on your roommates computer.

Sunday passed in very much the same fashion. I finished 3 or 4 books this weekend. Random ones left over from previous students - too big and unnecessary to bring home with them. I am sure it's hard to pack 3 months of exploration and experiences into 2 suitcases that already hold a lot of your past.

The glorious revelation we all made on Saturday and Sunday was that to experience the Italian way of life...we should continue doing exactly what we were doing: nothing. Il dolce far niente - the sweet doing nothing. And what a sweet revelation that was. No one was being judged for being 'unproductive', you didn't have to be anywhere, you didn't have to do anything. You could just be.

Today in between my classes I'm making the short walk over to the Uffizi to sketch some Botticelli (no big), find paninis with Jen and Ingrid, and going to my last class of the day.

I am learning the Italian way. The moving more slowly, taking my time to talk to the man at Cafe Side by Side, where we go every morning, enjoying life as it is in each moment. It's not hectic or fast paced, I don't feel like I'm getting an ulcer all the time, nor am I hyperventilating or having anxiety attacks like I was back home.

When I told my parents how badly I needed this, how badly I wanted this, I don't think even I realized how big that need was.

This is a glorious, golden opportunity. It's an escape. From the stress that I felt in Minneapolis, the pressure I was constantly under. It's my mental leave of absence from the realm of reality that I know I will be ready to re-enter in 2 and a half months.

I miss all of you. You're here with me though. When I laugh at something, I'm thinking of how you would laugh too. When I am appreciating gelato, I know how we would enjoy it together. When I'm doing nothing or a million new things at once, I'm glad that I still have all of you.

Love.

"Do something new for me today"

That's what Micah told me at the end of the last message I got from him. I can't explain what a comfort it is to come online to those messages, or any messages really. It's a little piece of home and love, and it warms me up even when my feet are soaked through, and there's a chill deep in my bones.

This weekend was Roma. Quando a Roma. When in Rome.
When in Rome...take pictures of a fountain that you think is the Trevi Fountain...but is not. (Epic Fail #1). Then find the real Trevi Fountain and resume photoshoot.
When in Rome don't go out to la discoteca, instead get drunk in your hotel room with your new friends (and old friend), and 'bond' in a very different sense of the word.
When in Rome go on the last Sunday of the month because you get in free to the Sistine Chapel. But maybe consider that since it's FREE, a lot of people may be waiting in line to go in.
When in Rome budget budget budget.
When in Rome, get giddy on the train, talk about everything, talk about new experiences, talk about old experiences, talk about how thankful you are for your roommates, talk talk talk talk. And ultimately, you will learn.
When in Rome, don't get gelato by the Trevi Fountain. It's fake gelato.
When in Rome, go to the Colosseum and act like a 7 year old again, climbing and exploring and giggling.
When in Rome, cherish the moments when the sun is on your face, on your back, when your feet are warm, and your arm is intertwined with your new friends.
When in Rome, don't eat the expensive food from the sketchy menu - they microwaved it.
When in Rome, steal food from the Continental Breakfast in your hotel to snack on during the day.
When in Rome mock MTV. xxcorexx

"Do something new for me today". I am always doing something new, as it turns out. Walking by myself is one of my favorite things, as it is a comfort back in America as well. But here, like everything else, it feels new. It calms me down, when my music is turned up and I can just watch. Watch other people interact, watch little kids wobble around, watch the market vendors squabble and laugh with their customers. Watch sleek, chic Italians enjoy espresso and una dolce.

I cook, and I love it. I love my small apartment, with it's terraces. I love my roommates with their quirks and different personalities. I love finding my way.

Tonight during my Area Studies lecture, listening to my teacher talk, as the guitarist strummed away, it felt epic. And not an Epic Fail. Just epic. I'm learning, and loving learning, and loving learning about the place I am experiencing.

So here's a lot of love, because that's all I'm feeling lately.

And better times are coming still

I think this is sort of funny move for me. To make a blog, when I was so faithful to Livejournal for so many years (including this one), but alas, I suppose I have to change with the times. Note: I will be that 70 year old woman bitching about the new gadgets all the god damn kids are using. (Assuming that of course, my coarse language never improves.)

It also seems to me that I'm going to be relaying a lot of information that no one else cares about, besides me, so you'll have to bear with me and skip over those paragraphs. I don't know how to do this non-LJ style.

Today has barely begun. Jen and I are going to get food after this, and eventually I'm going to have to figure out how to tell TCF that I'm in Italy.

I can see now that I'm going to be writing a lot of very brief posts among the lengthy, wordy ones that I'm so fond of. Mmm worddss. But maybe that will be easier for you (my 4 friends) to read the blog without wanting to cross the ocean and stab my eyes out. So, prego.

Things that I really miss right now:
-Micah
-Being thundercloud-y with Claire and Meg
-Cream cheese/salsa and chips.
-a big bed
-calling people. any people. all the people. all the time. anytime.

Thankfully being in Italy makes you rearrange the things you miss. Yeah, I'm probably going to miss my disgusting cream cheese and salsa mixture until I get back, but instead I have bruschetta and amazing lasagna, I have fresh sandwiches, and new cooking skillz.
(Hey Megs, guess who is slowly but surely turning into a domestic goddess??)

I miss my loves, all of them, but I am here for only 3 months. Those three months I am going to experience every emotion possible, ranging from the most depressed and lonely (ie: last night at 1am when I couldn't sleep, and started to cry) to the most elated (ie: Saturday night. Into Saturday morning). And I will have all my loves again. We'll have each other. That's forever, and this is temporary. And it's occuring to me with more intensity the importance of altering my perspective to squeeze all positivity out of every moment, every situation, every opportunity.

With that in mind, I'm excited for:
-Our trip to Rome this weekend
-the ensuing train ride
-clubbing it up this weekend
-sleeping in a hostel
-finding new delicious food to devour
-drinking espresso anywhere in Rome
-free dinner with our landlord tonight.

You may have noticed a food theme here. This will not change. It may get stronger and more apparent though. I base a lot of things in my life around food, and music. Thus making Italy an appropriate place for me. But my moods, my decisions, my bank account. All depend on food.

On that note, Ima make bia Fifi go get i panini, le lasagne, o le paste with me.

Ciao!

Come on quick typing...

So after looking at Claire and Megan's well laid out blogs, I feel far far inferior. Note to self: Stop having friends who know how to work the interwebz.

I am sitting in my computer lab after a long day. I'm exhausted, and desperately wishing for sunshine and warmth. The thing about these gorgeous old Italian buildings is that, funny thing, no heating in the 19th century when they were built. Weird how that works. Then I stop for a moment and remember what it felt like when I left Minneapolis, and I warm up a little bit.

Last night we had this indescribable dinner at a little ristorante by san marco. My mouth is watering right now just thinking about it. Crostinis after crostinis, with beans, bruschetta, antipasto...Pastas galore, penne, ravioli, gnocchi...Flan, house wine. God I want that in my mouth. Now. But on the walk home, despite our desire to go out and have a few drinks (or maybe more), we were too full (yeah food baby, yeah) with deliciousness and wine to even consider going out. So we went home, Jen and I talked for awhile, and tried to pass out.

Today was a standard day of classes, a little walking around il Duomo, a little espresso at Coronas Cafe (oh, and gelato - bacio and lampone, which is chocolate with hazelnuts, and raspberry), some window shopping, and back to class.

I am going to sign up for the public library, so I can go and read, and study in the renovated convent, in the open air, with una bella vista of il Duomo, and the countryside. Purchase a panino in the cafe and enjoy it.

This is why they call it 'la dolce vita'

the sweet life indeed.

(also - Rome this weekend. Just because.)

Shockingly not on time and unprepared.

I know how surprising it is that I have managed to wait until 5 days into my semester abroad to start a blog. Not a month before, or even a few days before, but 5 days after. My procrastination has indeed travelled across the ocean with me.



Regardless, these last five days have been intense, confusing, exciting, scary, and of course beautiful.

The beginning is both hazy and jumbled together, the effect of quite a bit of jetlag I'm sure. Jen and I immediately found one of our roommates, Stef, at the airport in Lufthansa, and tried desperately to figure out where our apartment was in Florence, but with no luck.

Upon arriving in Firenze, the weather was gorgeous. Clear skies, and fifty five degree weather. A mere 85 degrees warmer than the place I left behind. Excitement quickly overcame our exhaustion, and adding to our troops our fourth roommate Ingrid, we hopped a taxi to our flat.

Our apartment turned out to be more of a condo, with 2 bedrooms, one with an armoir, one with a huge closet, both with exits to our terrace. Giddy laughter was the only response Jen and I could come up with. And, despite our determination to go out and explore, we fell on our beds and passed out. Effectively letting the jetlag win. (and win, and win, and win...as today is the first day I don't feel some sort of jetlag).

On Saturday before orientation, we got just a little bit lost, but without any sort of fear or anxiety, we happily stopped in a bar and chatted in broken Italian with the sweet female bartender and sipped our espresso. There are about 2 bars on every street and corner, even on the outskirts of Florence where we live, and only increase in frequency as you near the Duomo. A fact duly noted by all of us.

During a brief tour of the piazza around our school, we ate lasagna (best I've ever had) and laughed with our new classmates. We went to the Ponte Vecchio, and walked around the Duomo, and despite the gray sky and misty air, it was still beautiful.


Despite the fact that I want to write about Saturday night, I'll hold off. It seems like an entirely different story from these previous paragraphs, and for obvious reasons. The night ended at 5 am for us, and 'Sunday' started at 4pm. (See? Jetlag:1 Americans:0 )