John Denver Sure Knows How to Sing

so something strange happened to me today.  while going on my usual run around the river, crossing the bridges and weaving in and out of people walking home from mass in the noon sun, i think i tricked myself into believing i was back at home.  Beneath the cloudless sky my breath evened out in time to Country Roads, and my feet composed a rhythm, naturally leading me down my familiar tree lined path.  Maybe it was the mix of the sixty degree weather or the long-memorized country songs singing through my speakers, but i swear for that half hour I was in Schoolcraft Michigan.  I was taking a run around the track in the early summer afternoons.  Watching my feet lead me forward, feeling the breeze ruffle my sweatshirt, I was back home. And then I stopped.

It was weird, but it was like I realized all over again that I was in Rome.  Sometimes I just have to repeat the sentences in my head and standing on the side of the bridge, out of breath from my run, that's what I did.

I am not at home. I am not at school. I am in Italy. I am standing on the sidewalk. I am breathing. It's hard to breath. My heart is racing. I'm sweating. This Notre Dame sweatshirt was too warm for today. It is March 3rd. Why is it so warm? It's snowing at home. It's cold there. This is not home. I'm in Rome.

Rome. Rome. Rome.

It's like I forget sometimes, and I need to remind myself, and when I do I'm overwhelmed with a sense of ..."I can't believe I'm here," all over again.  Being here on a regular basis, you get caught in a sense of routine and become desensitized to everything.  The Pantheon becomes this thing you walk by when you're on your way to the store, the food becomes something you eat in a hurry when you're late for class, and the whole country becomes just the place you're living between traveling weekends.  In a way it's good. Every time I'm away, on those long weekends after touring around a new city, I get an urge to return to my routine and my bed. My little home back in the Tiziano. It's always there waiting for me, with it's easy familiarity and peace.  Rome is peace to me now, its no longer new but comfortable... and that's nice. But still, I have so little time left here that I never, not for a moment, want to forget where I am.  I need to constantly remind myself to take it all in. No one likes to hear the story of an abroad student who forgets she's abroad...

So after my run I went back, threw on a sundress, and went out by myself and let the day take over.  I shopped down the streets by the Spanish Steps and wandered around the stores crowded with Sunday shoppers. I let my mind wander over things.  Things that are trivial and don't deserve to be typed for all to see, things that just float in and out of my head like a whisper, and things that are important and you have no business knowing, I had time for all things today.  After hours lost amongst the clothes, strangers, and thoughts that made up my afternoon, I headed back to the hotel.  About a block away, I stopped.

Well here I am.

I am standing in front of the Pantheon. The sun is directly above it. The shadow falls across the square but standing on the fountain is warm. There was no need for a sweater today. The sky is faultless. I'm glad I brought my sunglasses out. There is a violin playing.  He's good, very good. The melody sounds familiar, but I don't know why. This building is so tall. If I could climb up and sit on the top I would be invincible. I bet I could catch a breeze up there. I'd put it in my bag and zip it in. It'd be a good souvenir, an Italian Sunday.  I'm smiling...I probably look ridiculous. I'm happy. Today was good. I'm standing in front of the Pantheon in the piazza, surrounded by people. Everyone's talking. The words are there but strange, and yet I recognize some. Lilting Italian. I'm in Italy. This is Italy. Not South Bend. Not Schoolcraft. Rome.

I probably sound crazy, but maybe people who've been away for a long time will understand. Lines between homes get blurry and confusing, but in the end it's not about which one is which.  It's about a feeling you get, a feeling of rightness when you are where you should be.

Today was a nothing sort of Sunday. If you skip this post in the blog, I wouldn't blame you at all.

 I still have Country Roads stuck in my head. I'll let it stay there for a while. Maybe it'll remind me of home, but then again maybe it won't anymore.

The Conflicted Clock

COUNTDOWN CLOCKS

is this real life?

σας ευχαριστώ? eff harry sto? what is this...

 So as you may know, here in Rome I have been completely surrounded by girls 24/7.  I live with all girls, go to school with all girls, and have thus far traveled like a small sorority around the world without seeing any familiar male figures.  So finally, after a month without seeing any of our guy friends, we traveled to Athens to spend a weekend drinking cheap beer and eating gyros with Mattimore and Angus…welcome to frat life. 

 After settling in to (aka taking over) Mattimore’s apartment in Athens we walked around the city, taking in the different neighborhoods and districts, from the neat balcony gardens and markets of the working class families to the young vibrant quarters electric with social protest and graffiti. Everything about Greece was new to me, from the illegible language to the weather that boasted of a southern Michigan spring.  All of us, following Mattimore around like a train of little ducks, were quite the sight as we wound our way through Athens and, looking back now, I’m pretty sure the Greek people were as confused about us as we were when trying to pronounce the word “gyro.”

The morning after going out to a rock and roll bar (yea that happened) and reuniting with Fisher Hall in the form of “nice Rob” (still confused by this and will always be confused by this), we woke around noon and ventured to the Acropolis. It was one of those days that hinted at summer and as we walked around in bare shoulders and sundresses it felt like a late April day that I would have normally spent eating ice cream on my back porch and reading in the sun to wash away the staleness of winter from my skin.  If I could live in the moments spent sitting on the smooth stones above the city, drinking in the sun in silent company with my friends, I probably would, because in those seconds everything seemed simple, and still, and unfalteringly perfect.

On the hills by the Parthenon, amongst one of the most striking views of the city, we met a man from California who had just graduated from grad school and was spending the day playing the ukulele in the sunshine.  Wondering why he was in Greece, we struck up conversation and when asked he simply answered, “I’m here on an adventure,” explaining to us that he has been touring across Europe for about a month and will continue until April, ending in Dublin.  Just listening to him speak of his adventure, completely unplanned and on a whim, he was inspiring and probably one of the most genuinely good-hearted people I have ever encountered.  He told us that his girlfriend was about to study in Ireland over the summer and he plans to arrive right before her, taking a day to bury treasure from all the places he’s been in the world across the plains of Ireland where they will stay and wait for her.  We then somehow discovered that he was flying in to Chicago on April 18^th from Dublin….on the same flight that Morgan was taking home.  So ukulele man, you are an amazing individual, and we’ll hear from you soon. Even whilst across the world, small instances like this make me realize how connected we all are and for some reason it makes me feel at home and…I don’t know, that just seems nice.

 After the Acropolis, we walked around the market and found a small restaurant for lunch.  Can I just say for a moment that Greek food is a completely new experience for me.  We ate a spread under the sun, savoring the tastes of Moussaka rich in potato and eggplant, fresh greek salads, hearty white bread spread with cucumber Tzatziki, Saganaki, the rich fried cheese, gyros and chicken souvlaki.  Greek food is amazing. I don’t think I can emphasize this enough…GREEK. FOOD. IS. AMAZING. Even now sitting here writing this I’m craving a gyro and some moussaka. while i'm sitting on my bed eating rice krispies...cool.  

Overall, I loved Greece. I adored seeing my friends, the food was incredible and the whole atmosphere made me think of summer. It felt as if we fast-forwarded time to June, where I didn’t have to worry about things like missing a flight or losing my passport or trying to study for a midterm on a plane.  So thanks Greece for bringing me a summer weekend in the middle of a Roman winter, it was just what I needed when I’m about to be traveling up to the cloudy winds of Northern Italy this week…..fun.

"She Like the Schnitzel"

I would just like to start off with three main points based on my weekend in Munich.

1. Train Stations are amazing.
2. any German beer tops any Italian wine.
3. I belong in Germany and yes, I will live there one day.

A brief introduction: We landed in Germany, filled with Lufthansa's complimentary wine and Valentines chocolate, to snow on the ground and German signs leading us into the heart of Munchen.  Upon arrival we dutifully dubbed our hotel Hagrid's bachelor pad (due to the rustic duct taped chandelier, broken lights, leaking shower handle, huge giant beds, and trickster ghost Hagrid who haunted us throughout the weekend) and spent our Valentines day eating our first (of many) train station hot dogs and drinking True Loves at a Spanish bar that really enjoyed playing Shakira classics.  Typical night for the orphans actually...

The next day we woke up early and headed to the train station for our first tour.  When planning Munich, one of the first things we decided on was a concentration camp tour, thinking that even though it wasn't on the typical "fun abroad student" agenda, it was something we were all interested in experiencing so in the frozen air of morning we headed to Dachau, the first concentration camp of World War Two.  After walking through the camp in the biting cold and falling snow, and witnessing the emptiness of the compound and the silence of the rooms, I'm so thankful that we took the time to visit Dachau. I can't really begin to explain what it was like to see the shadows of horror that mask one of the darkest times of humanity, and honestly I'm not even going to try.  I could never do any of it justice and, even now, so much of it is still so unfathomable that I wouldn't even know where to begin.  So I'm going to leave this part of the trip as something I can never talk about, and an experience I couldn't trade for anything. Just know this, I have never felt such a heaviness, down to the very tips of my fingers and nails of my toes, and I will never forget the stale fear and desolation that still linger in the air as a memory of a past most of us would like to turn away from.

So back to the brighter side of our weekend: we'll start with the train station.  If you would please refer to point #1 on my list: the train station was the best thing that has ever happened to us.  If you think I'm lying you are sorely mistaken.  This train station had every type of food imaginable. It had my future husband who worked at the hotdog stand. It had free wifi. We ate more than half of our meals at the train station, and within a day we knew our way around it better than most who live in Munich.  The train station is our home. I love the train station, the orphans love the train station, and even you, you should love the train station.

Another thing we loved, the "Let's Play a Game" game.  Have you ever read German writing? or looked at it?" It looks like some fake elf language. It's looks fake. It sounds fake.  I'm actually almost certain it is fake, which brings us to the "Let's Play a Game."game.  Any time we were walking around Munich or there was just a general lull in the conversation, someone would always casually say the words "so....let's play a game." from then on, we had to attempt to pronounce any and every German sign we saw, leading to the most culturally ignorant and hilarious display of the German language imaginable. We are big fans of this game...and in my mind we were also fantastic at it (and usually drunk while playing it).  So good work Munich. We salute you.  And for those we offended, I apologize, we're just the American stereotype at it's finest and dots above the letter A do not make sense.

Other highlights of our trip that I feel the duty to mention:

• Hofbrahaus beer is amazing. and I don't think I have ever tasted anything as fantastic as a pork knuckle in my life.
• Casual daytrips to Salzburg, Austria need to happen more often in my life.  Specifically so I can live my dream life (aka Julie Andrews from the Sound of Music). Plus I already have my home picked out there: the castle, for I am a princess firebender.
• Having a snowball fight down the mountain from the castle is the absolute highlight of my weekend/abroad experience/life.  Good work Morgan on nailing Catalina in the head and causing our thirteen year old selves to emerge in all of their immature glory, A+ for you.
• I belong in Germany. I look German. I am part German. I love everything about it. When I don't come home just know that I am in Munich and I am happy and just leave me there please.

So basically I love Germany more than I ever would've thought.  Mom and Dad, if you want to take me  to another country at any point of time (since I obviously haven't been abroad enough), let's go to Germany please.

So...now I'm back in the orphanage, still caught up on Munich and simultaneously preparing for Greece in 3 days.  ...my life is a joke.

Orphanage Updates #2

In case anyone forgot, even though I think it's pretty impossible to forget if you live around or in the presence of any female on Earth, but tomorrow is Valentines Day.  So I would just like to issue an early happy valentines day to all the people I love back home.  So here it is...

• To my smitches, I hope you're making me proud and getting shitty chinese and wine right now and end up cuddling on the futon all night watching horror movies. love you to the moon and back.
• Fisher hall, I miss you and can't wait to meet all the new Fisher Wives next semester. Have a quad movie night for me please, preferably How To Train Your Dragon. love you guys...and yes, I'll bring you all flank steak when I get back home.
• To The Family, you better be eating some good family dinner and watching Bob's Burgers, also tell Lobo I love him, even though he is still an asshole. Sidenote: I still call a bed in the condo when I get back, and yes Kevin I will fight you for the couch. 
• Boys of the 18088, I'm proud of you for not burning down the house, and for the fact that you now have a crockpot...and a crossbow, keep up the good work. miss you all.
• to my real family, love you guys. I'm here because of you and am grateful everyday. Eat some Qdoba in my honor please. 

so to everyone, Happy Valentines Day!  love you and miss you all so much. Now I'm going to be celebrating by drinking beer and eating sausage all day tomorrow.

I probably could've said that more delicately but whatever, us orphans are headed to Munich.

The Venetian Icebox

So, our weekend travel experience has come and gone and after our Venetian excursions I don't think we could've chosen a better destination for our first trip here in Italy.  I'll start with the train ride, because honestly that's when our adventures really began.

After commandeering the back row of the train, because at heart we want to be like the cool kids on the school bus, we immediately unloaded our food bag (yes we brought a food bag), and proceeded to drink our juice carton wine.  Now, this may sound unusual but let me just explain.  See in Italy you can find a whole liter of wine in, what appears to be, a giant amazing juice box. America really needs to catch up on this trend, because it is awesome. So obviously, we each bought a juice box and straws and continued to be typical drunken Americans drinking on the train and eating Nutella, cheese, and crackers...but mostly Nutella.  After finding, laughing at, and making enemies with the Italian police academy students in front of us (ahem, Kirsten), and having long, wine-induced heart to hearts, we continued to blast music, play "who would win in a fight" and pull out another entire bottle of wine and wine opener to prolong our drinking when are juice boxes ran out.  Needless to say, we were everyone's favorite train passengers and were in great spirits when we arrived in Venice for CARNEVALE.

Now if any of you know me, you may recognize my obsession with Disney and fairytales and realize just how in love I am with Venice and Carnevale.  First of all, Venice is one of the most magical places I have ever seen.  Between the soft pastel colored buildings, flower gilded bridges and the winding canals navigated by the rickety boats and gondolas of the Venetian people, the whole atmosphere is enchanting.  It feels like you were dropped into that scene from Tangled where Rapunzel first enters the gates of the kingdom and dances in the sunlit square beneath the streamers and lanterns of the festival, that's how Venezia feels.  Then add in Carnevale where everyone is dressed in fantastic costume and before your eyes is a land of masks and gowns, princes and princesses, fairytale characters and superheroes...I even saw Gandalf and a Harry Potter.  So yea... you can imagine how obsessed I was with this place.

The first day was spent sight-seeing.  Getting lost in the colorful crowds of Saint Mark's Square and the Rialto Bridge, staring in awed reverence of the mosaic stories of the Basilica ceiling, and trying to figure out our horoscopes from our signs on the clock tower (yea, our new orphan thing is horoscopes...)  The crowning moment of our day was our gondola ride.  After grabbing a couple bottles of Billini and flagging down our pal Dino the gondola driver, we glided down the intricate canals, waving at the masked faces from the bridge and drinking out of the yellow plastic cups in our gloved hands.  I don't think I could ever forget that gondola ride.  There wasn't anything truly extraordinary about it I guess, but I think it's just one of those moments that stuck.  Just the feeling of sailing throughout the sinking city, going back in time under the stare of masquerade masks and the crumbled homes of Venice, it was...I don't know, special.  I could've sat there for hours if time (and Dino) permitted, and when we docked I just knew that was something I would tell my kids and grandkids about.  Kids, one time I took a gondola ride with my friends, and we spent an hour floating down the Venetian canals during a crisp afternoon of Carnevale, drinking Billini and laughing at everything and nothing at all.  Yea that's probably what I'll say.  We headed back through the shops and festivities of the holiday to the hotel we lovingly dubbed the Venetian Icebox, after the revelation that 1. we do not understand Celsius temperature dials and 2. we're pretty sure our heat was broken (by Anne, the ghost in our bathroom).

We proceeded to dinner in our feathered masks and colors, got harrassed in the drunken hoards of the Carnevale after party (imagine a Mardis Gras/rave where you can't understand what anyone is saying), and ended up at an Irish Pub singing 70's songs and looking for a place to get french fries.  Carnevale...we salute you.

After another day of strolling through the Murano glass stores and costume shops, drinking coffee at the famous Hotel Danielli, and wondering how the sunny day passed by, we were both sad and a little bit relieved to return to the Tiziano.  It was the first time that I said the words "I think I'm ready to be home" and realized I was talking about Rome...and it felt good.  I feel grounded here, and it was good to be back.  So Venezia, you are a love of mine, thank you for a great first weekend, and Roma it's good to be back.

Schoolcraft School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

So in case you didn't know, I'm from a place called Schoolcraft Michigan...and no, I'm not kidding, that's it's real name.  It's not something out of Hogwarts.  No I did not learn witchcraft in high school.  And yes, the biggest news in my town in the past ten years was the introduction of the new Speedway on the main road connected to 131.  So, ok I may have grown up a little sheltered and never really had to step out of my comfort zone many times, especially when it comes to things like food or shops or entertainment or anything in life actually.  I eat meat and potatoes, I shop at the one mall in the next town over, and I go to barn parties where we drink in cornfields...that's my life.  Or it was...and then came Rome.  So I just wanted to share a list of things that have surprised me about the city and about myself in general...so brace yourselves.

1. I like pasta.  This is weird.  I never liked pasta, and never ate it...actually I refused to even try it.  Along with bread, and pizza (I know, Italy was a great choice for me). Now, however, I have pasta on a regular basis...and guess what, most of the time I even like it.  So that's a cool new thing. but don't expect me to be down to go to Olive Garden when I get home because no matter what you say that's not Italian food. 
2. I miss my washing machine.  Never again will I ever take a washer and dryer for granted. After doing all of my laundry in a bathroom sink the size of a salad bowl for three weeks, I will probably cry the first time I see a washing machine again and be totally unashamed when I get down and hug the dryer.  On the bright side, I am finally getting good at this laundry thing, even though it probably takes me a good ninety minutes to wash a weeks worth of clothes. And for those of you who may ask (ahem, everyone in Fisher), hand washing clothes is not one of my major requirements, I do not get class credit for it, and no I will not do your laundry when I get back. But thank you for appreciating this newly developed skill.
3. cobblestoned roads are a great idea if you want to have the power to instantly judge who is intoxicated and who is not, other than that they need to die.
4. Italian pop music is hilarious. and no, I am not talking about Lizzie McGuire singing This is What Dreams are Made Of (even though I can not lie and say that I haven't listened to that song on repeat while here), but real Italian music is just fantastic. A+ work Italy. A+
5. I love wine. but I feel like if you've read any part of my blog already slash know me at all, you probably could've already guessed this.

so get ready to meet MJ-Italian Edition in a couple months. but really, never take me to Olive Garden. I'm being serious.