Thoughts from the train

Ciao, everyone! For this post, I've decided to go a different route. I just got back from fall break in Paris and Barcelona--both of which were absolutely phenomenal--but instead of doing the usual "here's what I did this weekend" post, I wanted to mix things up a bit. So if you're looking for a detailed day-by-day itinerary of the past 6 days, this is not the post for you. But if you want to hear some of my random thoughts from the train ride today (which I've found is really good place to think), read on! 

The woman sitting next to me on the train cannot sit still. Caroline and I are en route to the Girona airport (the only airport remotely close to Barcelona where Ryanair flies). I find myself getting annoyed by my train companion (the woman next to me, not Caroline...just wanted to specify), but at the same time I can relate to her restlessness.

One of my biggest struggles over the past few years has been contentment. Right before beginning my freshman year at Wake, I anticipated jumping right in and finding my best friends on day 1. Looking back now, I realize how absurd that is, but at the time it made complete sense in my head. Every adult I talked to before heading off to college had ingrained in me that college is where you meet your lifelong friends, and I was determined to make sure that happened for me. Looking back on my freshman year--when I did in fact meet a lot of the people who are my best friends today--I joke about the time I called my mom 2 weeks into school, crying because I hadn't yet found the all-important Lifelong Friend Group. Now I see how ridiculous and impatient I was, but at the time I put so much pressure on myself to establish solid friendships right off the bat that I was only setting myself up for disappointment. My desperate search for contentment had the opposite effect, resulting in the aforementioned tearful phone call home.

Sophomore year, I returned to Wake, so excited to be back after summer. This was my second year of college--I was comfortable. I had friends. I knew the ropes. But for some reason, fall of sophomore year was my hardest semester yet. Even now, I can't exactly put my finger on what it was that made it such a difficult season for me, but I think that was the key component to my frustration: I couldn't explain what was wrong, something was just off. I found myself longing for home and feeling a deep sense of loneliness despite being surrounded by people--and some of my favorite people, at that. I struggled with feeling purposeless--yes, I was at college to learn and grow and become a real person and all that stuff, but to what end? I found myself constantly asking God why I didn't feel a strong sense of purpose in my work--I thought that I wanted to be an English major and that I was interested in pursuing a career in counseling, but I questioned if I truly wanted both of those things or if I had just convinced myself that that was going to be my path and the only reason I didn't do something else was because I was too afraid to try. At times I asked why my interests didn't correlate with more of a set career path, like medicine or law or business. Not that any of those things are easy in any way--I have met people on all of those tracks who also struggle with finding a sense of purpose--but I convinced myself that life would somehow be easier if I had more of a concrete sense of my future. The grass is always greener, right?

Sophomore spring was significantly better than sophomore fall--again, I'm really not sure why--but there was a pattern developing--during my freshman year I told myself, "Just wait til you're a sophomore. Things will be easier." Sophomore year, when it was hard, I said, "Just wait til you go abroad. Things will be easier." And here I am abroad, having the experience of a lifetime, and while this semester looks completely different than any period of my life thus far, I wouldn't necessarily describe it as "easier." Don't get me wrong, I absolutely love being abroad. It has been so incredible, and I am truly thankful for each experience I've had--I wouldn't trade any of it. But what I'm realizing is that I have a tendency to idealize things, to paint this fantastical picture in my head of "The Next Thing." When I'm at school, I miss home, and when I'm back in Birmingham, I miss Wake. I know it sounds like I'm never happy where I am, and that's certainly not true--so I hope it doesn't come across that way. These feelings--of missing the places where I'm not and the people I'm not with--come in waves. There have been times this semester when I'm having a great day, living the "abroad life dream," and all it takes is Facetiming with my mom for me to dissolve into a puddle of tears. Out of nowhere, the wave of homesickness knocks me off my feet. 

And then sometimes I catch myself thinking about returning to Wake next semester and how great it will be to be reunited with the place I have come to love so dearly and the people who make it so wonderful. I think about all the good things and ignore the inevitable challenges that will come with returning to school after having been gone for an entire semester. While I don't think it's bad at all to focus on the positive things--I like to think I'm generally a glass-half-full kind of girl--I don't think it's good to set unrealistic expectations. One of my favorite C.S. Lewis quotes is, "If I find in myself desires which nothing in this world can satisfy, the only logical explanation is that I was made for another world." I love this quote because it serves as a reminder that my time on earth is fleeting--my eternal home is elsewhere. I am a firm believer in choosing joy--using a lack of contentment as an excuse for a lack of joy leads to a vicious cycle of unhappiness, which makes for a pretty miserable existence. However, I find an odd sense of comfort in knowing that my struggle for contentment is justified (or at least it makes me feel like I'm not totally crazy), because I wasn't made to feel completely at home on this earth.

I'm not sure exactly what compelled me to share these thoughts; it's just something that's been on my heart lately (and by "lately" I mean the past two years), and I'm finally getting around to connecting the dots that create this pattern which has been forming in my life since I started college. So where does that leave me now? How do I break away from the pattern, get out of this rut? My hope is that acknowledging the rut in the first place is a good starting point. And after that...I'm not sure. But what I am sure of is that regardless of my circumstances (and whether or not I'm content in the midst of those circumstances), I have a hope that makes every moment of frustration, loneliness, and doubt more than worth it.

So maybe I should show my new friend on the train some grace. I'm tempted to tap her on the shoulder and tell her that I get it--that frustrating, inescapable restlessness that takes hold of you and just won't let you be still. But then I realize that I have absolutely no idea how to say that in Spanish (which is probably a good thing, because that's kind of a bizarre thing to say to a total stranger). So instead, I've subjected all of you reading this to my ramblings in the hopes that they will make some sort of sense. Thanks for bearing with me--I'll leave you with one of my favorites from 2 Corinthians: 

Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.

Ciao for now!

I'm still here!

Buongiorno, faithful readers! (That's "good day" in Italian...as you can see, I'm putting it to good use!) I have been meaning to get this post up for awhile now (as in 3 weeks), but time is a tricky little thing that just keeps slipping away from me. Some days I find myself getting frustrated because I'll look back on what I did, and many times it consists of going on a run/walk, going to class, and cooking dinner (and if it's Monday, going to the grocery store...can you tell that I like structure?). And while each of those things is important, I find myself asking, "But what did you actually accomplish?" (Yes, I also talk to myself.) I'm a list maker, and I tend to find fulfillment in feeling productive-- and I'm realizing that this semester is going to (and already does) look different in that regard. While I most certainly don't feel that I'm wasting my time, I'm having to learn that there are chapters of life in which I will feel more productive or accomplished than others, and that's okay. I'm learning that my one of my purposes this semester is exactly that: to learn, but in a different sense than what I'm accustomed to. Here, I'm learning about independence, other people, and new cultures in ways that I never have before (I know...classic study abroad cliché right there). But enough rambling...now for the update:

Cinque Terre

Three weeks ago, Caroline's parents came and it was wonderful. (Not the same as having my own parents come, but still pretty great.) Since this is the first time I've been abroad without any grown ups, I realized when the Dodds came that there's just something magical about the arrival of parents--even as a 20 (almost 21) year old, it's so nice to be able to relax and allow yourself to be taken care of every now and then.

Cinque Terre was one of the most beautiful places I've ever been--the views are absolutely unlike anything I've ever seen before. We went hiking through four of the five towns, and it felt like we went on at least three different hikes because of the diversity of the scenery. We went from trekking through vineyards (from which we may or may not have snuck a few grapes), to passing cacti and giant rocks, to becoming enveloped by the lush forest--all while staying in sight of the Ligurian Sea. And speaking of the Ligurian Sea...I highly recommend a post-hike swim there. And also a jump (or two or three) from the rocks into the water. 

Some other highlights:

How do you say "War Eagle" in Italian? 

After our hike on Saturday we came back to Monterosso (the town where we were staying) for lunch, and I spotted an Auburn flag outside one of the bars on the main street. I did a double take because as big as the Auburn family is, I really wasn't expecting to see any of its members in Italy (or in Europe at all, for that matter). I went inside to ask the bartender about it, and I had scarcely gotten the word "Auburn" out of my mouth when he gave a hearty "War Eagle!" in a thick Italian accent. Now those are two words I certainly didn't expect to hear this semester. "War Eagle!!" I responded--and he proceeded to explain that the owner of the bar had an ex-girlfriend who was from Auburn, and while they were dating he became a big fan. I was at first intrigued by the fact that he remained a fan despite breaking up with his girlfriend, but I decided that his passion is just a testament to the Auburn spirit. 

The Piano Man

On our first night, we were walking to dinner through a tunnel carved out of rock--it truly amazes me how it's possible to even create such a thing--and we heard piano music coming from the other side. I was convinced that it was a recording until we reached the end, where a jovial older man was playing "River Flows in You" by Yiruma (one of my go-to study playlist tunes). I'm realizing as I'm typing this that it doesn't make for a very exciting story, but it was one of those moments when I felt like I was in a dream. And then to top it all off he played "Beauty and the Beast" (so naturally Helen, Caroline and I started singing), and I felt like we were living in a musical. Dream. Come. True.

All You Need is Love and Wifi

This was on a t-shirt that we saw in one of the towns, and as you may recall from our wifi antics of previous posts, we got a huge kick out of it. 

As hard as it was to leave Cinque Terre, I went back to Siena feeling so rejuvenated--by the scenery, the people, and of course the drip coffee at the hotel. (I must confess: traditional Italian coffee is still too strong for me, but I'm working on it!)

Vienna

Two weeks ago, we went to Vienna, Austria, where we stayed with some of Caroline's relatives, who were absolutely delightful. On our first night there, they made us a traditional Viennese dinner which included three different kinds of sausage, roasted potatoes, grilled vegetables, and carrot bread (a new favorite of mine). No matter where in the world you are, there really is nothing like a home cooked meal. After dinner, we went into the city center for ice cream and walked along a canal by the Danube. It was so much fun getting to see a little bit of Vienna at night, and it made me that much more excited for the next day's adventure. And oh boy was it an adventure...

What's the Haps(burgs)?

Something I learned in Vienna: the Hapsburgs basically owned everything. Also, why can't we agree on how to spell their name? Hapsburg or Habsburg...someone please settle this once and for all! We went to the Kunsthistoriches Museum (translation: Museum of Art History), which houses the Hapsburgs' art collection (and by "collection" I mean literally thousands of artifacts and works of art). It reminded me a lot of the British Museum, but what I just couldn't get over was that everything in it belonged to a single family. And we didn't even come close to seeing the whole thing! After almost two hours we had to move on--since being abroad I'm gaining a new appreciation for the saying "so much to do, so little time."

We then made our way to the Imperial Treasury, where the Crown Jewels are on display. The jewels were pretty neat, but my favorite part of the exhibit was the narwhal tusk. I have no idea what it was doing there amidst all the crowns, robes, scepters, and chalices, but it was awesome.

Later that afternoon we went to Schönbrunn Palace, the summer home of (guess who) the Hapsburgs with (get ready for it) over 1,000 rooms. We didn't actually go inside, because multiple people had suggested that we explore the gardens instead, and after the grandeur of both the Kunsthistoriches Museum and the Treasury, I'm not sure if I could have handled any more Hapsburg paraphernalia. Plus, the gardens themselves were pretty spectacular. We spent almost two hours just walking around and exploring--a perfect end to the afternoon before what the will go down in history as The Great Opera Adventure (more on that in a bit). 

Not your average iced coffee

A fun fact: "ice coffee" in Vienna means a scoop of vanilla ice cream with espresso poured over it and whipped cream on top. And let me tell you, it is heaven sent (feel free to jump on the bandwagon any time, America). I stirred mine up until it basically became a delicious coffee milkshake--I'm not sure if that's what you're supposed to do, but with no Cookout to be found in Europe, I had to improvise. 

Opera(tion) Complete

Flashback to Saturday morning, on our way to the Kunsthistoriches Museum. We were slightly bummed because Helen had tried the night before to get standby tickets to the Viennese Opera (which we heard was amazing) for Saturday night, but they were sold out. We were disappointed but determined to find something else music related to do (when in Vienna, right?) As we were en route to the museum, we were stopped in the city center by a man selling tickets to a "philharmonic orchestra concert." And get this--he even offered to give us a discount!!! I know what you're thinking: Sarah, this is obviously a tourist trap!!! What were you thinking?? Answer: I wasn't. It wasn't until we had each forked over €29 that I thought to myself, There's a good chance that this is a total scam. But by then it was too late. Scam or not, we had tickets to some sort of concert at 8:00 that night. Clearly, we were desperate. So with tickets in hand and the with whole day ahead of us, we tried to convince ourselves that this was a good idea and "even if it wasn't the opera it was still a musical performance in Vienna, so it had to be good, right?" 

Ok, now flashforward to 7:30 that same night. We found ourselves outside the Palffy "Palace." (Whoever was responsible for deeming that place a palace was seriously misinformed about the definition of the word.) We walked up a flight of stairs to a lobby area with peeling paint, fluorescent lighting, faded carpet, and a mandatory coat check, where I was required to leave my jacket and pay a fee. It felt like the Gatlinburg of Vienna. We were shown to our seats (meaning that we were pointed in the general direction of a cluster of chairs), and we sat down in humiliation. After staring at each other in disbelief, we made a pact then and there to tell no one of this major faux pas. Now (once again) I bet I can guess what you're thinking: But Sarah, you totally broke the pact by revealing your secret to the world via your blog!!! And to that I will say: keep reading because this story is far from over!!! (I'm sorry if you were hoping that this would be a short post...I'm sure you've learned by now that that is rarely, if ever, the case when it comes to this blog.) So there we were, sitting in not-quite-folding-chairs-but-maybe-one-step-up, waiting for the performance to begin. Just as we were wondering if there were actually any performers, the "orchestra" came onto the "stage" (yes, I realize that I've been using quotation marks quite frequently in this story...but trust me, they are justified), which consisted of 4 violinists, a flautist (flutist? flute player? You get the idea), a cellist, and a pianist. Oh and the stage? Try "slightly raised platform." I know this probably sounds like a major exaggeration, but you have to take my word for it when I say it isn't. The musicians were actually pretty good--except half of them looked so miserable about being there, and the cellist kept scanning the crowd trying to make eye contact with anyone who glanced in his general direction. And then the dancers. Oh, the dancers. I am certainly no ballerina myself (or any kind of dancer for that matter), but from my limited knowledge I could tell that this was a little less dancing and a little more hopping around. You get the gist: we had indeed been scammed. At intermission, we all looked each other, thinking the same thing: it was time to bid the Palffy Palace so long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, good night. But don't worry--the fun didn't stop there, because at that very moment Helen was struck by a brilliant beyond brilliant idea (Parent Trap anyone?): we try to get into the opera.  

After rescuing my jacket from the dreaded coat check (and assuring the dismayed attendant that yes, we were in fact leaving), we high-tailed it out of there faster than you can say "Mozart." Luckily, we weren't far from the opera house. Unluckily, we were two hours late and sneaking in proved to be more difficult than we had anticipated. Contrary to what you may have believed, they don't just let you waltz on into the Viennese opera house to see if there are any open seats. We were stopped by not one, not two, but three different ushers, who informed us that the opera was indeed sold out that night. Helen, being the actress in the group, pretended that we were sisters and our mom was inside waiting for us. The ushers didn't buy it, I certainly didn't help matters given that I am terrible at improv. 

At that point, I was ready to admit defeat and call it a night. My pride was still wounded from what I will now refer to as Incident That Shall Not Be Named, and I was not about to risk getting arrested for sneaking into the Viennese opera (I'm not even sure if you can get arrested for that, but you just never know). But Helen could not be deterred. As a singer, she had dreamed about getting to see the opera in Vienna, and she was not about to give up. So naturally we made our way to the stage door on the side of the building. After we had been standing there for about 30 seconds, a woman with two small children came out. While Caroline and I waited by the door, Helen stopped the woman and asked her if there was any way we could have her tickets. She told Helen that her husband was performing in the opera, and she would have taken us backstage but her kids were tired and she was taking them home. But she also said that we should wait for the break that would be happening at any minute and try to ask people for tickets then. So we developed a plan: Helen would stay by the stage door, while Caroline and I would man the front entrance, waiting to pounce on unsuspecting opera aficionados. 

As people started coming outside, Caroline and I scanned the crowd for anyone who looked like they had had enough opera for one night. Caroline spotted a trendy 60-something couple who appeared to be leaving and asked them if there was any way we could have their tickets. They were as nice as they could be and said absolutely we could! I asked if we could pay for them and they refused (and thank goodness they did, as you will see momentarily), telling us to enjoy ourselves. After they had walked away, I looked down at the tickets in my hand: €175 each for 11th row orchestra seats. Caroline and I looked at each other in disbelief. We just scored orchestra tickets to the Viennese opera for free. But the hunt wasn't over yet-- we needed one more ticket. It was at that moment that I decided to muster up the courage to ask someone for a ticket. I had been the least assertive person in the group thus far on this little adventure, and I was ready to change that. I saw a couple who looked like they were leaving. This is it, I told myself. This was my moment, my time to shine. I approached them and politely asked if they were by chance leaving. They both gave me perplexed looks, and the man scoffed at me: "No...?" As in, "How could you even ask such a thing?" Shot. down. I shook it off and searched the crowd again. Much like Charlie Bucket in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, I was going to get that last ticket. I saw yet another couple who looked like they were leaving and decided to go for it. Second time was the charm! They were indeed leaving and gave us both tickets, telling us that we might not want them because they were in the nosebleed section. I was so overjoyed to have gotten any tickets at all that I didn't care where the seats were. All that mattered was that the three of us were going to get into the opera (and with a ticket to spare, at that)! 

Caroline and I raced to find Helen and practically threw one of the orchestra tickets at her. I'm pretty sure we weren't even speaking in full sentences: "Here! Ticket! Orchestra! Go!" Helen put the pieces together and disappeared into the opera house. Caroline and I followed and started making our way up the stairs. On the next floor, there was a bar/cafe area where opera goers were drinking champagne and looking fancy in their evening gowns and tuxes. Luckily we were wearing dresses, but compared to everyone else we might as well have been wearing sack cloths. We walked up to the bar and saw that they had glass bottle Cokes. So naturally we got them, because that's what you do when you've just gotten free tickets to the Vienna opera during intermission. After relishing the experience of drinking Coke from a glass bottle in the Viennese opera house, we continued up the stairs in search of our seats. They were indeed in the nosebleed section, but the way we were acting you would have thought we were on the front row. Is this actually happening? we both wondered. Less than an hour ago we were leaving a sham of a performance, humiliated at our own naïveté, and now here we were in one of the most famous opera houses in the world. The opera itself wasn't really my cup of tea. Don't get me wrong, the singers and the orchestra were both phenomenal--but for me, the best part was the thrill of the hunt and the satisfaction of victory. Oh, and the glass bottle Coke (which I kept as a memento). 

Back to the Present

Currently I'm sitting in Morbidi, our new favorite place in Siena. It has paninis, not-too-strong coffee, tables with chairs (which is a rarity in Italian cafes) and wifi. I call it my Italian Camino (shoutout to my favorite coffee shop in Winston-Salem!) We've just finished midterms and are heading to Paris tomorrow for the first part of fall break. For the second part, Helen is going to Dijon, France, where one of our friends is studying abroad for the semester, and Caroline and I are going to Barcelona. It's hard to believe we're at the halfway point...in some ways I feel like I've been here forever and in others it seems like the time has just flown. There have been so many ups, downs, and just plain crazy adventures that haven't even made it to the blog, and I think that's one of the reasons why I have such a hard time with putting my thoughts into words: it's hard to know where to even begin! There are so many aspects of living abroad that I could (and want to) share, but I would be sitting here forever, typing the night away...and given that I'm the last person left in Morbidi right now, that might be frowned upon. So I will close with that, because 1. I think the employees are starting to wonder if I'm ever going to leave, 2. this post has gone on long enough, and 3. I just remembered that I forgot to take my laundry out. 

Thanks for bearing with me...ciao for now!

Under the Tuscan (and German) Sun

As I sit here in my kitchen trying to gather my thoughts from the past couple of weeks, I don't even know where to begin. So much has happened since my last update, and I'm afraid this post won't be any shorter than the last one...in fact, I'm almost positive that it's longer. (Oops!) So without further ado, I will try to adequately summarize the past two weeks.

Florence

When I left off last time, Caroline and I were getting ready to go to Florence for the weekend. And what an adventure we had! We took the bus from Siena late Friday afternoon and got to the Florence station around 6. We had planned to meet up with Caroline's cousin Monica at the Duomo, so as soon as we got off the bus we started asking for directions. An American couple overheard us and told us that they were headed to the Duomo too, so we could just walk with them. (Yay for new friends!) When we got to the Duomo and realized just how gigantic it was, we had no idea how long it would take us to find Monica. Luckily it took all of 10 seconds because she was on the same side that we were on. At the time, I certainly took for granted how nice it is to be in the right place at the right time (more on that later). 

Once we met up with Monica, she helped us find our hostel (and by "helped" I mean she found it for us- we would have been wandering around Florence all weekend if it hadn't been for her). The hostel was nicer than we expected--after our little adventure at the "b&b" the weekend before, we were prepared for pretty much anything. After dropping our stuff and getting the wifi password (like I said last time, the power that wifi has over us is insane), we headed out for dinner. We meandered around for a little while (one of my favorite parts about being in a new city) before happening upon a trattoria called Mamma Gina. I had ravioli with cream sauce and it was absolutely delicious--I had to restrain myself from licking the plate. After dinner, we walked around some more near the Ponte Vecchio and somehow ended up at a gelateria--funny how that happens! Although I tend to consider myself pretty indiscriminate when it comes to gelato--I don't believe that "bad gelato" even exists--I have deemed this gelateria my favorite. After all traces of our heaping cones had disappeared, we decided to call it a night. 

The next morning, we met Monica at the Accademia, home to Michangelo's David. It never ceases to amaze me how certain works of art are universally recognized and revered. The Accademia also features plenty of other paintings and sculptures, but everyone who visits is there for the same reason: to see the David. As excited as I was to see him (I also find it amusing how everyone refers to a statue as an actual person), I wasn't sure if he would live up to the hype. Well let me tell you, he certainly did. I know I'm probably the millionth person to say this, but I have never been as awestruck by a piece of art as I was by David. It's absolutely a must-see if you're in Florence (especially now that they're moving it underground soon because of his apparent "weak ankles"). 

After admiring Michelangelo's handiwork, we went to the Duomo. We explored the whole thing from bottom to top (literally--from the crypt all the way up to the dome). I've discovered that another one of my favorite things to do abroad is climb to the top of churches (or any building, really) where I can see the entire city. It was quite a hike, but oh so worth it-- the view was magnificent, and we also got to walk around the circumference of the dome from the inside (warning: not for the fearful of heights). Once we were back on the ground, we decided to start the search for Gusta Pizza, which I had been told by multiple people has the best pizza in Florence. After eating there twice now, I can honestly say that it's the best pizza I've ever eaten (and I've had some pretty good pizza). We all got pesto pizza, and it was simply divine. Something I've realized since being in Italy is that the best, most authentic Italian food doesn't require very many ingredients. Don't get me wrong--I love Italian food in America--but here they don't have to add anything to give the food more flavor because it's already so good by itself. I've already come to terms with the fact that Italy is quickly ruining me for pasta, pizza, and cheese. 

Ok, I'll stop torturing you with my descriptions of food. After we had all eaten our entire pizzas (there is a common theme developing here--we don't like to waste food, so we are simply left with no choice but to eat it all. It's really hard), we walked around the Ponte Vecchio area a little more and then went back to the Duomo. We went to the Baptistery of St. John, which has a magnificent ceiling, covered with depictions of various Bible stories. It was amazing! I know the Sistine Chapel probably has the most incredible ceiling, but I am still so in awe of any church with painted ceilings--they're all pretty impressive to me. After the Baptistery, we said goodbye to Monica and then met up with Erin, one of our good friends who is studying in Florence this semester. Caroline and I were pretty worn out from walking around all day, so we went to a café with tables outside where we could sit and talk. After catching up with Erin and drinking the most expensive diet cokes ever (everything around the Duomo is overpriced), Caroline and I went to the Uffizi Gallery. I was overwhelmed by how vast it was. There is room after room after room of paintings and hallway after hallway after hallway of sculptures. Two of the most popular paintings at the museum are Botticelli's Birth of Venus and Spring. They were both beautiful, and while it was so neat to see two world-famous paintings that I had only seen in textbooks before, I couldn't help but wonder why it is that certain works of art are so celebrated while others go all but unnoticed. Furthermore, I kept noticing now so many people seemed to come see these paintings for the sheer purpose of taking a picture of them. I'm certainly no art aficionado, but I think it's important to actually look at these masterpieces, to see with our own eyes what it is that makes them masterpieces. I sometimes find myself guilty of doing the same thing when I see things that I particularly want to remember. But what I've realized this semester, as I'm getting the opportunity to travel to such culturally rich places and see such amazing sights, is that so often our experiences would be all the more richer if we weren't so quick to put a lens between ourselves and the actual thing or place that we're trying to capture. (I just rambled about that for a lot longer than I had intended...I'll get off my soapbox now.) Once Caroline and I finally made it out of the Uffizi (and I say "made it out" because that place feels like it goes on forever), we met up with Erin for dinner. And after dinner we did something completely unexpected and out of character...we got gelato!!! (I like to keep my readers guessing!) As tempted as we were to hit the clubs (definitely kidding), we once again called it a night and planned to meet up with Erin the next morning so she could show us around the city some more. 

The next morning, Erin took us on a walk that ended with yet another spectacular view of Florence (pictures to come). After lunch, Caroline and I said goodbye and headed for the bus station to get the next bus back to Siena. Or so we thought. We ended up wandering around the train station for what felt like hours (in reality it was probably about 45 minutes or an hour), asking people for directions to the bus station/where to buy tickets. No one was helpful--and I'm really not just saying that. We have met some very kind and helpful Italians, but unfortunately none of them were at the Florence train station that day. We finally found the bus station, bought our tickets, and collapsed into our seats. We then proceeded to cry from exhaustion, frustration, and because it was Sunday so we knew that our families were getting ready to go to church. Mid-tears, we started laughing because of how ridiculous we must have looked. As frustrated as I was with our struggle to find the bus, I was so thankful that we had each other. It truly was a bonding experience. 

Munich

This past weekend, we hopped over to Munich for Oktoberfest (among other things). I really didn't know what to expect from Munich-- I had heard from multiple people that it's a great city, but I just had to experience it for myself. 

A little backstory: this summer, I booked an apartment in Munich through Airbnb. All of the hotels close to the Oktoberfest grounds were either already booked or ridiculously expensive, and I'd had friends use airbnb in the past so I decided to try it out (yay for adventure!) Our flight out of Florence wasn't until 8 pm so we had basically all day before we had to be at the airport. So naturally we got to Florence early so we could go back to Gusta Pizza. And once again, it didn't disappoint. Moral of the story: Gusta Pizza is always a good decision. 

We ended up getting to the airport super early because this was our first trip out of Italy, so we thought it best to air on the side of caution. If you've ever been to the Florence airport, you know that it's not necessary to get there 3 hours early because you can see pretty much everything there is to see in about 10 minutes. But something I've learned while being abroad is that it's definitely better to be safe than sorry--especially when it comes to travel.

We landed in Munich at 9:15, and as soon as we got off the plane we happened upon a grocery store in the middle of the airport. It had everything (read: Nutella and pretzels). After we were sufficiently stocked up for a late night snack and breakfast for the rest of the weekend, we started searching for the train that would take us to our airbnb. Fast forward 2 1/2 hours later-- we finally made it to the apartment. I will spare you the details, but basically I am the worst with directions, and Helen and Caroline are the best at staying positive in frustrating situations. When we got to the apartment a little after midnight, Günther, one of our gracious hosts, was waiting up for us. He was as nice as he could be and showed no sign of irritation that we were so late. Such a gem. He also didn't speak very much English, so it meant even more to me that he treated us with such kindness despite the language barrier. The next morning, we met his wife Kerstin, who was just as lovely. They told us how to get to the Oktoberfest grounds--and even wrote out the directions so we would be sure to change trains at the right stops. It also helped that Oktoberfest is the world's largest fair, so it would be difficult for us to miss the millions of people headed in the same direction. But even so--for those of you who know my sense of direction (or lack thereof)--it would not have been surprising if I had somehow still managed to get lost. Thankfully, I was with Caroline and Helen, and between the three of us we found it (hallelujah!!) 

Oktoberfest was truly like nothing I have ever experienced before. I actually had no idea that it's an actual fair with rides and everything-- which was why I was so confused on the way there when I saw so many kids headed toward the grounds. I kept thinking how irresponsible their parents must be, until I realized that the beer tents are only one part of the whole Oktoberfest experience. Which brings me to the next part of our adventure: navigating our way through the Hofbräuhaus tent. It was quite the sensory overload. There were people everywhere-- sitting at tables, standing on tables, blocking pathways, pushing their way through the pathways...you get the picture. But probably the funniest/most disconcerting part was the incessant screech of whistles, which signaled the arrival of the beer maids carrying as many beer steins as humanly possible. It was insanity. We finally made our way to the back of the tent and found the gathering of Wake people. It was so much fun to see friends who are all studying abroad all over Europe-- and also so surreal that we all were at Oktoberfest together. After spending about an hour on the Oktoberfest grounds we decided it was time to move on (call us lame, but we were ready to see more of Munich). Caroline, Helen, Leslie (one of our friends who was ready to leave too), and I bid Oktoberfest auf wiedersehen and started exploring. We happened upon a church (St. Paul's) and decided to peek inside (another one of my favorite things to do abroad: check out all of the old churches). There we ran into two other Wake girls who were also wanting to explore Munich. The six of us ended up spending the rest of the day together-- it was such a blast! I so enjoyed making new friends from Wake while in Germany...I love that traveling lends itself to such happenstances that most likely would have never occurred otherwise. 

For the rest of the day, we explored Munich. We went to the Englischer Garten (German for English Garden...and I didn't even have to use google translate for that one!) which is kind of like Munich's version of Central Park. It was beautiful--I love finding green spaces in the midst of big cities--and quite the contrast from the Oktoberfest grounds. It was also a prime people watching location--there were runners, walkers, bikers, soccer players, picnickers, and boaters of all ages. We even saw a wedding! We then proceeded to Olympiapark, where the 1972 Olympics took place. On the way, we spotted a Starbucks and of course had to stop. I know that by now I should have developed an appreciation for Italian coffee and should have been able to resist, but that pumpkin spice latte had my name written on it. After our little detour (so worth it), we continued on to Olympiapark. From there, we had the most phenomenal view of Munich--in addition to the beauty of the park itself, you could see the fusion of the old architecture with the new-- which was absolutely spectacular. 

By the end of our self guided tour of Olympiapark, we were all pretty exhausted and decided to call it a day. After we said goodbye to the rest of the group, Caroline, Helen, and I started the hunt for dinner.  We ended up at a quaint little authentic German restaurant for dinner: the Hard Rock Cafe. Yes, you read that right. We went to the Hard Rock Cafe in Munich. I know we probably should have been a little more adventurous with food on this trip, but earlier that day I had a soft pretzel and Helen had a bratwurst...so that counts as our authentic taste of Germany, right? I had been craving a burger for the past week, so when the opportunity arose I jumped at the chance. (It was certainly no Chez Fon Fon, but it did the trick). It's funny because I don't really eat burgers very much in the US, but there's just some aspect of human nature that makes us want things exponentially more when we know we can't have them. As you can tell from my earlier descriptions of food, it's not like I've been suffering over here. I just really wanted that burger. 

The next morning, we packed our bags (which consisted of a backpack each-- needless to say, we were pretty proud of ourselves for traveling so lightly), said goodbye to Kerstin and Günther, and headed back to the Munich city center to meet up with Kelly (another girl from Wake who is doing the same program with us in Siena). The four of us went on a bus tour of Munich--it was great because we got the whole top level to ourselves! Party bus!!! (Not exactly, but it was a fun way to see some of the sights!) After the bus tour, we got lunch at a Mexican restaurant across the street. No, you don't need to rush out to get your your vision checked: I had a cheeseburger and quesadilla in Munich in the same weekend. It was maybe the most mediocre quesadilla I've ever had, but the guacamole definitely made up for it. (It's the little things.) After our little fiesta, we went to St. Peter's Church, hoping to climb to the top for another awesome view of the city. Alas, it was closed until 3, and we were kind of on a time crunch so we had to keep moving. 

We then said goodbye to Munich (at least for the next few hours) and took the train to Dachau to visit the concentration camp memorial site. What an incredible experience. I know it's cliché, but it truly is difficult for me to put into words what it was like to walk through it, a place rife with such unspeakable tragedy. Even thinking about it now--less than a week later--it feels surreal that I was there. After learning about the horrors of the concentration camps in various history classes, it's still impossible to be prepared to actually visit one. I wish I could adequately describe what it was like--it was heartbreaking, inspiring, and so powerful. While I was devastated by the evil that had taken place here less than 70 years ago, I was also struck by the resiliency of the human spirit. As I walked through the gates, into the barracks, and around the circumference of the camp, I was reminded of John 1:5, which says, "The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." Despite the darkness of Dachau, despite the heaviness that I felt while walking the grounds, I could also feel a sense of hope--a realization that while we will never forget about what happened here, we can cling to the knowledge that good will prevail over evil. I know that I will never be able to come close to understanding what it must have been like to endure the horrific brutality of a concentration camp, and I also know that I am not the first person to have this kind of experience at Dachau or come to these conclusions. So even though I know my thoughts about it are in no way revolutionary or original, I'm still continuing to process my own experience. Thank you for bearing with me. 

We left Dachau after spending about 2 1/2 hours there-- and I still didn't get to see the whole thing. I was amazed by how quickly the time passed. I really could have spent all day there. If any of you have the chance, I urge you to go. It's an experience that I will never forget, and I will forever be changed because of it.

Planes, Trains, and Unexpected Taxi Rides 

You will soon understand why I'm giving this part of the weekend its own section. It was quite the saga. Or adventure...depending on which way you want to spin it. Our flight left Munich at 9:30 pm on Sunday, and we were scheduled to land in Florence at 10:50. After doing some research before our trip, we discovered that the last bus from Florence to Siena was at 9:15. However, the last train was at 11:08. Because we all had class the next morning, we really wanted to get back to Siena that night. Our backup plan was to spend the night with some friends who are studying in Florence, but we all would have had to sleep on the floor and get up at the crack of dawn on Monday to catch the bus. Thus, we developed a plan: as soon as the plane landed we would sprint off as quickly as humanly possible (our motto: "be assertive!"), get a taxi to the train station, one of us would pay the taxi driver while another one of us bought the train tickets, and then we would all sprint as fast as humanly possible to the train. It was a seamless plan. Miraculously, we made it to the train station at 11:01 and--with the help of some understandably perplexed TrenItalia employees--got on the train with 10 seconds to spare (not an exaggeration). Now at this point (if you've stuck around long enough to read this part) I'm sure you're probably thinking, "What is this 'saga' you're talking about? You made it on the train...stop being so dramatic!" And to that I will say: you've got a point there with the dramatic thing, but this story is not over. We had to change trains in Empoli (a sketchy little town about an hour and a half from Siena), but we weren't too worried about it because we had changed trains in Empoli a couple weeks ago on our way to and from Marina di Pisa. We were pros (or so we thought). We got off the train and immediately started looking for the train to Siena. It was nowhere to be found. We frantically ran from platform to platform trying to find it, getting progressively more anxious because we only had 5 minutes in between train changes. Out of nowhere, a man started waving at us from across the station and pointing outside. We figured out he was trying to tell us that it was a bus to Siena, not a train. And it had just left. The man laughed at us and disappeared into the night (I'm really playing up this dramatic thing-- but he actually did laugh at us which was not greatly appreciated). So there we were, stuck in Empoli with nowhere to go. The next train wasn't leaving until 6 am (the current time was midnight), and we were not about to spend the night in that station. After a brief freak out session that basically consisted of us all asking each other, "What do we do?!?!?", Helen called the emergency number from our program. We all agreed that this situation definitely merited the use of the emergency number. As Helen talked to the student services coordinator, the rest of us sat waiting with bated breath (I've never really understood what that saying means, but I feel like it helps create suspense). When Helen got off the phone, she said that there was a taxi on the way to take us back to Siena. We collectively breathed a sigh of relief. We were actually going to make it out of Empoli. A few minutes later, a taxi pulled up to the train station and you would have thought we were being picked up by a stretch limo. It was such a welcome sight. I'm sure the taxi driver thought we were all crazy--especially when on the way back to Siena we started singing a medley that included "Home on the Range," "My Country Tis of Thee," and the Genovia national anthem (Princess Diaries, anyone?). I honestly have no idea where any of those came from--we were pretty delusional at that point and just ready to be back in a familiar place. At long last, we arrived in Siena. I don't think I've ever been so happy to see those medieval walls. 

Looking back on the weekend, I can't believe that all of that happened in a 72 hour period. Munich is such a cool city--and I'm so glad we got to do other sightseeing in addition to experiencing Oktoberfest. And even though the trip back was not at all what I would have chosen, I'm realizing that things like this are bound to happen while studying abroad--it's all part of the experience, right? I'm only three weeks in and it's already been such an adventure. I'm learning to be more flexible and to surrender control, because I know that no matter where in the world I am, God is going before me every step of the way, and His plans for me are so much greater than anything I could even begin to imagine. 

Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen. Ephesians 3:20-21

Here are a few pics from the past couple of weeks. If you want to see some really good pictures, check out Helen's blog: http://helenkemeny.blogspot.it/. Ciao for now!

A long overdue update

For those of you who may be thinking that I decided to study abroad in Germany instead, rest assured: I made it to Italy! (I've actually been here for 10 days now.) It feels like so much has happened in the past week and a half, and I'm overwhelmed by the thought of condensing it all into a cohesive blog post. So I'm warning you in advance: if you don't feel like scrolling and scrolling to get to the end of this post, feel free to go ahead and skip it. It's going to be a long one. To those who stuck around,

I hope that this collection of my thoughts from this last week will make some sort of sense.

PSA: transition is hard

I don't think I realized how challenging it would be to make the transition from America to Italy. There are so many things about Italy that I already love (the scenery, the history, and of course, the food, to name just a few), but there have also been factors that I didn't anticipate-- or even if I did, I thought I was capable of adjusting to them fairly easily. For example, the language barrier. (I know, I know...obvious, right?) I knew going into this that the language would be challenging for me since I came here not speaking a word of Italian, but what I didn't think about as much was how frustrating it is to feel like I'm the classic dumb American tourist wherever I go. For the most part, the people here have been so understanding and patient with me as I make lame attempts to speak Italian (which sometimes turns into a bizarre fusion of Italian, Spanish, and English), but I have realized how easily frustrated I become with being in an unfamiliar place surrounded by people who speak a different language. (Trust me, Italy: it's not you, it's me).

Additionally, as many of you may know, I am terrible with directions. I consult google maps on the reg, and even with step-by-step instructions I still manage to get lost (it's an accomplishment, really). On the first day of Italian class, Helen and I left an hour early just to make sure we had plenty of time--it's only a 20 minute walk--and not only did we get there 40 minutes late, but we also ended up outside the walls of Siena. And it was raining. Thankfully, our professor was extremely gracious and understanding, but I still felt so incredibly frustrated for most of the day. Instead of being thankful that I even made it to the center at all (and with plenty of help), all I could focus on was my inadequacy with map reading and direction following. 

What I'm learning: transitions are typically really difficult for me. I need to have patience with myself, patience with others, and the mindset that while studying abroad is going to be an amazing experience (it already has been...see section below about Marina di Pisa), it's not perfect. Before coming to Siena, I had an idyllic perception of what studying abroad would be like-- which I think is normal (or maybe I'm just saying it's normal so I can feel better about myself). But what I think contributed significantly to this perception was that I have never met anyone who studied abroad and didn't like it. The more I talk to my friends who have studied abroad, the more I realize that they had very similar challenges-- it's just that most people talk about how wonderful everything was and sometimes forget about the hard stuff.  And I know that I'm the exact same way-- when I think back to my freshman and sophomore years at Wake, I talk about the wonderful friends I have made, how much I love the campus, memories of late night Cookout runs, etc. I sometimes find myself forgetting about the time I called my mom two weeks into freshman year, crying because I hadn't met any "lifelong friends" yet. Or I forget about how hard it was for me to transition from summer after freshman year to fall of sophomore year. And while I certainly don't think it's a bad thing at all to focus on the good stuff (in fact, I would much rather only focus on the positive), I am just finding that I want to remember it all--the ups, the downs, and everything in between--because I believe that it's important to tell the whole story.

Marina di Pisa: a hidden Italian gem 

This past weekend, Helen, Caroline, and I took our first trip. We wanted to go to the beach, and after realizing that a weekend excursion to the Amalfi Coast might be a little too ambitious for our first time venturing outside of Siena, Helen somehow discovered Marina di Pisa. We booked a reservation for two nights at Il Pescatore, what sounded like a quaint B&B near the water (key phrase: what sounded like). In my mind, I was picturing a homey little cottage on the sea, where a sweet old Italian woman would greet us with fresh bread and pasta. I have no idea where any of that came from; I guess I just have a vivid imagination. Anyways, as you have probably figured out by now, my imagination was nowhere close to reality. We took a taxi from the Pisa train station to the "B&B" (note the quotation marks-- I'm using the term "B&B" very loosely here), and when the taxi driver pulled into an apartment complex, I immediately thought he had taken a wrong turn and we were turning around. Think again. He dropped us off in front of an apartment featuring a small sign in the window that said "Il Pescatore B&B." Helen knocked on the door, and we were "greeted" (I am also using the word "greeted" loosely...it was more like "stared at") by a young woman wearing a black t-shirt, camo pants, and heavy eyeliner, with no fresh bread or pasta to be seen. Not exactly the warm welcome we had anticipated. She showed us to our room, gave us the wifi password (it's absurd how excited we get about wifi), and told us that breakfast would start at 8 the next morning. As soon as she left us in our room we all looked at each other, thinking the same thing: What on earth are we doing here? We knew that we would go crazy if we stayed in the room for any extended period of time, especially given that it was 4:30 in the afternoon, but we also had no idea what there was to do in the town-- all we had seen of Marina di Pisa up to that point was the sketchy apartment complex and the feral cats lurking around it.

After we had gotten our wifi fix for the afternoon, we decided to venture outside of Il Pescatore and explore the town. And that's when we discovered the beauty and charm of Marina di Pisa. It really was like magic-- after walking for about a minute we found the actual marina, where there were dozens of sailboats bobbing in the water. It looked like a postcard. There was a walkway that went around the marina, and from there the view of the sea (apparently Italians think it's weird that we say "ocean") was breathtaking. We saw people swimming in the water and wanted to stick our feet in, so we walked over to a little area where the water was shallow. Just as we were about to dip our toes in the water, a British family called out to us not to go any further. They had had the same idea and had all fallen on the pathway because it was covered in algae. Grateful for the warning, we were about to turn around and continue exploring, when all of a sudden an Italian man wearing nothing but a speedo and flippers seemed to appear out of nowhere. "No, no, don't leave! I will help you!" he said. We were all skeptical, to say the least, but after assessing the situation (it was a safe area, and there were plenty of other people around us), we agreed to let him guide us, one at a time, ankle-deep into the water. Our new friend introduced himself as Crazy Henry. And crazy he was. As I've already described, his getup was absolutely insane. And on top of that, as each of us took turns getting in the water while the other two took pictures, he kept saying, "You must take picture to show boyfriend!" I decided against sharing with Crazy Henry that I, in fact, did not have a boyfriend, because that would have just opened a new can of worms, and I did not want him to get the wrong idea. After we all took our turns posing with our speedo-clad friend, we bid Crazy Henry adieu (or "ciao," to be exact), and decided to look for a place to eat dinner. We walked a little ways down the main road and happened upon Seaside Pizzeria. The waiter was moving tables outside, and he told us that every night the street closes at 7 so that people can eat and walk around. We instantly decided that this was the place. Helen and I both got pizza, and Caroline got a calzone. It was good, but what was even better was getting to watch the sunset as well as all of the people walking/running/biking on the street. 

After dinner, we wandered around town and saw a gastronomia (deli) called Manzi that looked good, so we decided to check it out for a potential meal the next day. The woman working behind the counter was so sweet, but between our (very) limited Italian and her limited English, we struggled to communicate. She suddenly disappeared to the back and returned with her grandson, Federico, who spoke English in a flawless American accent. When we asked him how his accent was so good, he told us that he learned it from watching Disney channel. We then met his dad, the owner of the deli, as well as his uncle and grandfather, who owned the gelato shop next door. We had so much fun talking to all of them (we mainly talked to Federico, who translated back and forth from Italian to English and vice versa...I envied his bilingualism). Getting a glimpse of what daily life is like for this family was one of my favorite parts of the trip. I remember standing there talking to them and thinking, This is what I wanted studying abroad to be. Sometimes (especially at school) I get so caught up in being surrounded by other people my age, and people whose daily lives are very similar to mine, that when I spend time with  people who are in different stages of life, or whose lives look very different from mine, it is so refreshing. But at the same time, it is also comforting to be able to relate to other people, to connect with them, regardless of where they are from-- even if it's something as simple as being familiar with the same Disney channel shows. 

Pisa

This is going to be the shortest section of the post. We went to the Leaning Tower of Pisa. We took the classic "I'm touching the tower" pictures. It was fun, and I'm so glad I got to see the tower, but Pisa is one of those places I never need to see again. Everything surrounding the tower and the cathedral (which was also beautiful) is so touristy. We were all glad that we just made a day trip to Pisa and were so ready to return to our little beach town oasis by the end of it.

Back to Manzi

That night, we returned to our favorite gastronomia for dinner and to see our friends again. We asked Federico's dad (whose name is also Manzi) what he recommended for dinner, and he told us about several dishes that all sounded wonderful. He taught us that in Italy, pasta is not a main dish, so I had lasagna for my first course. It was some of the most delicious lasagna I had ever had, rivaled only by my mom's recipe. Then for my second course, I had chicken and a side of tomatoes with basil and olive oil. Everything was so fresh-- it was absolutely my favorite meal in Italy thus far. And it was even more memorable because of our newly established friendship with the people who made it. 

Taking comfort in taco night

Now I'm going to fast forward to this week. On our way back from our weekend getaway to Marina di Pisa, we stopped at Pam, a grocery store in the Siena train station. You would have thought we found the holy grail. It was certainly no Publix, but it was just so oddly comforting to be in a grocery store that felt like it could have been in the US. We were already so happy to be in a place of some familiarity that when we discovered that they had El Paso brand taco kits, pandemonium ensued. There may have been tears. (Ok, that is a major exaggeration, but we were definitely excited.) We had taco night this week, and it was such a comfort to me to make something that I would have at home. Some other meals we've made this week: chicken with pasta and Caesar salad on Tuesday and salmon with potatoes and sautéed vegetables last night. Major props to Helen for that last meal...she cooked the whole thing, and it was amazing. (Shoutout to Dad: I like salmon now!) My contribution was catching the fish. And when I say "catching" I mean "picking it out at the grocery store." 

Conclusion

Well, here we are. Finally, you must be thinking to yourself at this point. That was the longest post ever. I can now go about my day. Except I just realized that by the time I actually post this it will be 3 am at home and 4 am eastern time, so hopefully you are all asleep right now. Hopefully my next post will not be the novel that this one was, but I can't make any promises. I will try not to wait 10 days in between posts, though, mainly because I'm such a slow writer that it takes me forever to recap everything. This weekend, Caroline and I are going to Florence, and Helen will meet up with us there for the day on Saturday. I'm so excited to explore Firenze and to see my friends who are studying abroad there...in the words of Caroline, it's going to be a blast! 

Everyone who made it to through this whole thing: grazie for bearing with me. (See?? I'm putting my new Italian knowledge to use!!)

Ciao for now! 

Marina di Pisa 

Yep, I caved 

The cathedral at Pisa

Sunset at Marina di Pisa 

Thanks, Coke? 

Pisa & paninis 

Beach selfie (or groupie: a selfie with multiple people)