Cinque Terre

Okay, so I was wrong.  Yesterday topped it.

We got to the train station at 7 a.m. for a bus ride to Cinque Terre.  I knew nothing of the place except that it was 5 (cinque) small local seaside towns and that one, "the road of love" was (ironically) closed.  So we were planning on going to four towns, beginning in Manarola.  After two hours we reached the mountain that we would drive up to get to Manarola.  The bus started driving up narrow winding roads that opened occasionally to a view of high mountains full of lush green trees and vegetables as well as the light blue sea on our left.  I was in awe.  It was breathtakingly beautiful and so vast and natural - it was only occasionally that I saw any houses or villages or forms of manmade structures.  Curving along the narrow road around the mountain was exactly what I expected Italy to look like when I pictured it.  When we reached the top, we arrived at a small town filled with brightly painted buildings, all yellows and pinks and whites.  This reminded me of Bermuda, where I'd been a few years ago. They were all the same size and cluttered along the side of the Mountain, stacked in a way that made it look like the houses grew from the sides of the Mountain in the same way the trees did.  Some small shops were open and selling t-shirts, postcards etc.  We walked down a small hill and reached the water.  A small area of the ocean had rocks on three sides, and people were sunbathing on the rocks.  From there, the ocean opened up.  It was so blue.  In Massachusetts, I am used to a darker, murkier blue.  This was a clear, brilliant blue.  Immediately my friends and I changed and jumped off the rocks to swim. It was warmer than New England, for sure, but also refreshing.  After swimming we walked a narrow rock path up to a higher perch, where you could look out and see infinite blue.  We climbed on the rocks and took many, many pictures.  Then we walked down a tunnel in the town to the train station, where we took the train to our next town, Corniglia.  This town, though not much different from the first, was busier and packed with more shops and buildings.  It had a greater selection of places to eat, and this is where we stopped for lunch.  Our tour guide recommended one place, a small cafe with outside eating.  It was pricier, but it looked delicious and had great seafood dishes, so we sat here for lunch.  I got salad and spaghetti.  Our lunch took an hour and a half, but we spent it talking with the girls next to us, students from Kent.  After lunch we ran to catch up with the group to start our hike.  The beginning of the hike looked like we were climbing into a rainforest.  It was a narrow rock path, all uphill, with trees lining either side.  I'll admit, about two minutes into the hike I thought, bad idea.  I was out of breath, it was 3 p.m. and about 90 degrees, and I was dripping.  We reached a few peaks that opened up though, and that made it entirely worth it.  About halfway through, the hike switched to being all downhill.  The hike took about an hour in total.  Finally, we reached the fourth place.  It was more like the first, smaller and less crowded.  We waited on the rocks looking out into the water for a ferry, which took us to our final destination, Monterosso.  This was definitely my favourite part of the trip.  The first thing I did was bargain (unintentionally!) for a sunhat by saying out loud, "oh shoot, I thought someone said it was only 5 euros." The guy immediately jumped to say, "OK! 5 euro!" rather than 10.  I'm definitely going to do that from now on.  Probably should have tried saying, "oh shoot, only heard 1 euro," but maybe that would have been pushing it? After, my friends and I went to the beach.  It was different from any beach I've been to before- the entire beach was covered with reclining beach chairs and umbrellas, courtesy of the beach, which meant you really didn't need to bring anything.  We picked a spot and Morgan and I swam while Catherine and Rachel went to get drinks, and then we switched. As we swam, Morgan and I floated and looked up at the Mountain.  A part of the grass on the side was carved into, like it had been shaved, and I was told that was where they grew grapes.  It was an amazing sensation, floating in the ocean and looking up at this magnificent mountain in front of me.

I walked barefoot and in only a bathing suit to a small cafe where they made strawberry daiquiris with fresh strawberries.  The only unfortunate part about Italy so far is that they charge you to use the bathroom- 50 cents! So after that we reclined on chairs.  I sat back with the hot rays beating down on me, the clear blue ocean to my left, the drink in my right hand, and listened to "Good Life" by One Republic.  I looked up at the mountain in front of me, watched some seagulls soar, and felt - as ridiculous as this will sound - euphoric. I was wonderfully, intoxicatingly happy, the kind of happy where you smile for no reason and can't stop.

At 6 p.m. we piled onto a train to get back to the first town, where our bus waited for us.  We spoke with the girls beside us on the train and got some great tips of places to go.  When we reached the bus we were all exhausted but excited about what we'd seen.  I felt a little mystified, actually, like I couldn't quite believe it was real.  On the ride home I kept my eyes glued to the window.  This was what I imagined when I imagined Italy- small, beautiful towns, plenty of wide fields, some old architecture sitting deserted in a meadow.


Today, the only thing exciting (so far) was a bike ride we took with a kid who works for Accademia di Firenze.  He took us to some local spots where most tourists don't know to go, such as a small park on the other side of the river and a small beach where you can go to sunbath and get drinks but you can't swim.  It was a fascinating experience to bike around Italy- there aren't many cars, so we biked in the middle of the street often, simply curving to the left when we saw a car ahead of us.  We rang our bells when we wanted to move around people, and we covered a lot of area in a short amount of time.  It was wonderful and made me feel like someone who lived in the city, biking around with statues on my left and churches on my right, small cafes behind us, buildings thousands of years old in front.

Tonight I have a dinner and then we are going to a club, so I will post about that tomorrow. For now, ciao :).

 ^Up the mountain

 ^A view of the towns from the top

 ^the first town... so cute!

^not a bad way to spend a Friday out of class

72 Hours

***I will add more photos ASAP!

 ^eating gelato with the best roommates

 ^the amazing Church

^and again

 ^again

 ^same Church

^So... there's Florence.

 ^Market RIGHT below our window!

 ^Iced cappuchino and my morning muffin... gone by the time my drink comes.

 ^Their version of a crossing guard

^CEMETERY at St. Minius



So, a lot has happened in the last three days.

I am here. Thank god. The traveling was hectic (they woke us up at midnight... midnight!... saying, "good morning," and offering us croissants for breakfast.  It was very depressing realizing how much sleep I was supposed to be fine with losing. But worth it).  When we landed in Switzerland though, I felt this sudden and desperate "I want to see everything and everywhere" feeling, which I assume is something to be expected in a place as amazing as Europe. After much more travelling and buying odd Switzerland coffee with random coins, we were finally in flight to Italy.  When we were landing in Italy I looked out my window and it was like I immediately knew my life was about to change. I honestly (probably partially from exhaustion) wanted to start crying, it was all just so green and lush and beautiful.  It was exactly as I'd hoped and imagined from a bird's eye view, and I was just so desperate to get started.

The first thing we did was unpack at our apartment.  Our apartment is absolutely perfect.  It feels like some old grandparent's home or something... old paintings on the wall, cozy red tiles above the gas stove, a bookcase with Italian books.  The windows are the best part, I think.  They're huge and we keep them open when we're home to hear Florence from above.  Even the sounds are fantastic: sometimes we have an accordion player on the corner, the Church bells ring each hour, and the calm hum of the city is better than the most top-notch white noise machine.

Of course, we get woken up early to the sounds of construction, which isn't quiet a calm hum, but it's all amazing anyway.

After we unpacked we went to dinner overlooking the Ponte Veccio.  The waiters served us new foods every few minutes, everything I could have imagined and things I didn't know existed: bruschetta with fresh tomatoes and basil, crunchy warm bread with mushrooms on it, thick al dante pasta with meat sauce, and gelato for dessert.  I sat with my three roommates, Catherine, Morgan, and Rachel.  We had a blast looking out at the view and experiencing our first meal.  Then we walked around a bit before coming home for sleep.

Wake-up was a bit rough at 7:30 a.m. for orientation and a tour, but I was soon feeling excited and ready.  We stopped at a coffee shop on the way, one that took us a while to find but was recommended to us by our professor.  In Italy, it costs extra money to sit down, and Italians, I am told, often like to stand at the bar anyway. I am going to try to do that, although with all the walking we do, all I ever want to do is sit.  I ordered an "iced cafe Americano," feeling proud of myself for saying ciao and for knowing how to order.  In a moment I was handed a small cup filled, for all I know, with thick coffee ice-cream.  I'm not sure what part of the order I messed up, or if Italians just don't do iced coffee, but it was yummy anyway.  I'm also always surprised by portion sizes: such small cups! And small plates, plates that us Americans usually use only for our bread.  It says something, though, that I have not once felt unsatisfied or wanted a bigger portion after eating or drinking what I am given.

Anyways, so then we went on a tour of the city.  We learned how the train station worked (that place is magic! So easy and cheap... I can find flights to other countries for 30 euros... basically 40 dollars!)  We learned where to go for taxis, that you don't tip people because it's included in the sitting fee, where to go for pharmacies and supermarkets, and how to get to our school(s).  There are two Accademia di Firenze's, but we only take classes at one. We then got emergency cell phones and had a break until 5:30, when we had Academic Orientation.

My roommate Catherine has a friend in Florence who's working here, and we decided to meet up with her and her friends for lunch.  Her and her friends all work for FlorenceForFun, an organization that plans trips and fun dinners for American students studying in Florence.  Anyways, so we met up with them and they took us to what they had heard was the best pizza in Florence. It was in this adorable little cafe across the Ponte Vecchio.  I'm not sure if it was the best pizza in Florence because it's the only one I've tried so far, but it was hands down the best pizza I've ever had. So here's the thing I never understood until I tried pizza in Italy: it comes down to the quality of the ingredients.  The sauce was so sweet and rich and full of fresh tomatoes, the cheese (which was random little circles covering only part of the pizza... they don't cover the whole thing like in the U.S.) was this thick and creamy Mozzarella cheese, and the bread was... almost impossible to describe.  Soft and chewy, warm and salty and flavourful and just practically the only reason I was willing to finish the entire pizza by myself.

After the experience-that-changed-pizza-forever, we walked back across the bridge.  As we walked, I took pictures of sculptures and we stopped at small stands selling bags or bracelets.  This is another thing I've only just now understood about Italy: walking 10 minutes or an hour, it doesn't even matter, because there is so much to constantly see and experience.  Sometimes I'm incredibly happy just getting lost.  There's so much life behind the shops, so many people willing to smile and say ciao, so much culture and smells and tastes and so much incredible, ancient, indescribable beauty. Even the architecture is incredibly detailed, with small sculptures or stain-glass windows or columns, Rome-style. Sometimes as my friends and I walk we don't say a word, because we are all so busy just looking around.  Your mind so rarely wanders here.  I am so busy looking around that I don't think about anything except the man playing the accordion on the corner or the beautiful street signs or the apartments older than our country (mine is 700 years old, so that's just a little older than the United States.  And it's only an apartment.)

After we got back to our apartment we changed and went to Academic Orientation.  I could explain but it would be boring and I want to get back to Italy. So after that we went straight to this amazing outdoor bar/restaurant that Elon paid to feed us buffet-style dinner and one free drink... we all went crazy over that free drink. So many options of fun drinks! We took a while choosing a drink and then piled our (U.S. bread-sized plates) high with the buffet food.  It was incredible and rich and tasty, but I can't explain any of it because I'm not sure what it was. Our teachers pulled up a table beside us (not sure why, bit awkward), and we talked a bit with them.  One of them, an Italian professor, spoke directly to me and said: "in my opinion, studying abroad is about making Italian connections; breaking the barriers, speaking with Italians, making friends and understanding the differences between the cultures, even if there aren't many."  I asked him about the language barrier and he scoffed the idea away, saying, "most all Italian's know English."

After, my roommates and I came back to our apartment and got ready for our first night out in the city.  After getting ready we began walking, looking for a bar we were told was hosting beer pong night for Americans.  Typical, Americans flocking towards more Americans. Anyways, we walked for literally 40 minutes to no avail.  No one could tell us where the bar was, and after a while I was tired of saying, "dove e ... bar?" We got back to the Duomo and ran by a guy we'd walked by before; a young man who worked for a nice restaurant who had asked us to come eat.  I asked him where the bar was, and he said, "Really? Your first night in Italy and all you want to do is go hang out with Americans? Why not go to a real Italian club?" Hm. He had a point.  A second later two American's appeared beside him.  The Italian man said, "these are my American friends! We are going out after if you want to come."  The American's, two Jersey-Shore lookalikes, said, "we're going to get a drink at this restaurant now if you want to join?" Without a second thought I said, "sure, let's do it." Because in my experience, the best things to happen to a person in life will happen without them planning it or looking for it.  Plus, a drink sounded great.

The guys recommended an Arnold Palmer, so that's what I got. Not at all like the United States... three quarters of the cup is filled with vodka.  So strong.  Anyways, so then we sat outside on this beautiful patio overlooking the Duomo (could I be luckier?), and chatted.  It was so great getting the chance to meet these new people and to have a drink so spontaneously.  The Italian restaurant worker and his friend got off work and joined us, bringing a round of shots to the table.  Then, ironically, we travelled to the same bar we were at for dinner with our teachers.  We danced to American music and I spoke outside for a while with an Italian (he's 22; wants to be a lawyer; much better at English than I am at Italian but even so speaks very broken English; loves the city and told me his favourite place).  We got home at 3 a.m, perfect because we started classes at 7 the next morning.

So the next morning was my least-favourite (stupid Italian internet keeps correcting this... oh well, guess this is how I spell favourite now) experience in Italy thus far, but I have to say, being exhausted and starting the morning with a coffee and muffin in Italy is not the same as being exhausted and starting the morning... anywhere else.  Along with being taught Italian's like standing at the bar, we learned that coffee is served at bars, so the same places are open for breakfast and for late-night cocktails.  We also learned that they don't like taking their coffee to go in to-go cups (it's not even to-go here, it's take away).

I love my classes, or know I will love them, but the first day was uneventful.  Syllabuses, etc.  My Italian class will be amazing because for the first time I have an immediate use for the things I learn in class.  For example, today we learned numbers and I said them again moments later when I hit the streets of Florence.  I have a desperate desire to learn because I want so badly to communicate with the locals in their language.  One, because I feel guilty being that arrogant American who thinks "they can speak my language for me"; two, because it is so fascinating and beautiful and fun speaking another language, even if it is the hardest thing in the world.  Anyways, my Italian Literature class will be wonderful, too. The teacher is wacky and crazy, and he went on a long rant about how kid's say books are "relatable" way too much -- which isn't a word, apparently, and he is angry kid's say things like World War II is relatable because "we all know suffering" -- but he seems to know a lot about writing.  He also ended his rant with this wise statement (I quoted him in my school notebook to remember it later): "It's good for art not to be "relatable"- otherwise art will just be a mirror for you and your experiences and it won't take you to places it needs to and change you."  He said he wants to make us better writers if we let him, meaning he will take hours and pour his heart into editing our drafts to help us improve if we want him too... why the hell wouldn't we want him too?  I can't wait.  Also the books look fascinating, but more on that later.  My third class is Art History and that looks great because almost every Thursday we take trips to different art sights.  I'm taking an anthropology class on cooking as well, but it hasn't met yet.

So in between class we went to the grocery store and I learned the hard way that they make you weigh all your fruits and vegetables before you get to the cash register.  I also learn they make you bag your groceries yourself, which is fine except I didn't realize what the man was telling me to do until I'd finished paying and all my food was just sitting there and he started ringing up someone else, staring at me the whole time like, "thanks a lot for pretending to understand me when you clearly didn't."

After classes got out, Catherine and I walked a little to the left while Morgan was buying a notebook. We just wanted to wander for a moment, and we saw a big ambiguous looking building that could have been anything (okay, I'll admit it, it looked like a Church), so I said, "Oh! That's probably the library we heard about, let's go!"

We walked inside and instantly fell silent.  I mean, my mouth has never dropped so fast before.  It was... shockingly, no one could have seen this coming... a Church. But it was exhilaratingly beautiful. Every square inch was covered with paintings, so beautiful and intricate that you felt like it was a photograph of Heaven.  There were also statues of Jesus along the walls and a tomb-like box with (what I hope was) a replica of a dead body dressed in religious clothes (really not sure who it was supposed to be, I'll get back to this.)

I have a million pictures which I'll post, because my words can't describe this well enough.  But I will say that as I walked along the wall and looked up at the paintings, I wondered if it was really Jesus these people find their faith in or if artwork is their source of faith.

We came back to the apartment and made pasta and fresh delicious salad for dinner.  After we went out for gelato, which seems to be our nightly tradition, and then... finally... went to bed.

Today, the day I am finally finding some free time to write this, I woke up early and felt normally tired, but not oh-my-god-about-to-die tired, so I was happy.  Not that I'm ever not here.  We went to Italian (a class I just still LOVE.  We learned the months and the numbers and how to say things like how are you and everything is so convenient because I need to know this stuff right away! Also, I knew stanco meant tired, and I was the only one. That was exciting. And our teacher is so sweet. The class is big, which means it takes forever to say phrases one at a time, but I like the repitition).  After class we came back to the apartment for a break, and then we went to our new favourite lunch place, this panini place RIGHT beside our apartment that makes the freshest paninis in the world.  I went on a walk right before lunch because I needed to find an ATM, and I'll admit, it wasn't a bad feeling walking up to people and saying, "dove e (where is) the ATM?" I was such an American that they all responded in English, probably thinking this poor idiot thinks she can speak our language, but it was still nice.  I've also found that I'm so much more comfortable walking around alone here than I am back home.  It's funny, because it is so much safer walking alone at Elon, but I am so concerned at Elon with thoughts like who am I going to walk by and who is going to judge me, and here all I am concerned with is what is around me.  Also, practically everyone around here walks around alone.

We walked after lunch to book trips to the French Riviera (Monte Carlo; St. Tropez... is this real life? And if it is, why do people live any other way?) as well as a day trip to a beach TOMORROW (which means I have to go to bed soon) at Cinque Terre.  I'm sure I'll have plenty to say about that.  After we booked trips it was time to go to Art History at the St. Minius Church. Saint Minius was the first martyr in Florence and there is a legend that he was was condemned by the Emperor for his Christian beliefs.  Apparently, trials included a furnace, a lion, boiling oil poured over his body... etc., and he didn't die. He said to the emperor (I love this), "Yours through eternity, without end, the same torture you inflict in me."  Finally he was beheaded, and legend says he carried his head up the hill to this sight, where he lays down and waits to be buried.  Anyways, so the paintings were again beautiful, and we learned about the shapes of the architecture in Florence, like how buildings were built Romanesque (similar to Roman but with notable differences, like Arches engaged- built into- the buildings).  The greatest part of this trip was the view.  You could see all of Florence from where we stood, and it was the most breathtaking view I've ever seen.

Tonight Catherine and I cooked chicken and ate it with a fresh salad and sautéed vegetables.  I swear it was one of the best meals I've had.  Then we went out for gelato (we were trying to save money by eating at home, but who in the world can resist gelato?) We talked about going to a different place but I convinced her to go to my favourite, Vinchi, with the creamiest and lightest and fluffiest gelato ever... I wish I had better words to describe it but the truth is you just have to see for yourself.  Then we walked around, bought ourselves 2 euro lipstick (I've decided I'm going to wear red lipstick while in Italy... I'll be known as red-lipstick girl. Why not? It's Europe!) On our way home, after stopping to look at the random statues near the Duomo, we walked by a street act.  Some man was doing magic tricks, but it such a racy production it probably wouldn't be allowed on anything except HBO in the United States, and we'd probably have sexual harassment complaints if it happened at home.  He was sticking his hand up a woman's dress and pulling fabric out the front, for one thing. He was also asking a woman to hold her boobs, which she did. 

Anyways, finally I came home to write this.  It's been 3 days, which in itself is a crazy thought, and already I've experienced so much.  I know there is so much more to do and see and learn, but I am so excited and ready.  I have fallen in love with this city and all it is teaching me.  I have also fallen in love with how I always leave my cell phone at home- who needs it?- and my eyes are permanently on the city, not my phone.  I will write more as quickly as I can, especially after my beach/hiking trip tomorrow.  All I can think is this: I've never walked around with my eyes to the sky more in my life, I've never walked as much down random side streets only to find the secret beauty of a place, I've never dropped my mouth in awe this many times in a day, and I've never had the experience of not thinking anything at all about worries or stresses and instead only thinking, "how can it possibly ever top this?"

The Beginning

When I was young, I thought Europe held all the answers.  I had a good friend whose father, a photographer, had grown up in England and been all over the world.  I would eat English food in her kitchen and look at the pictures of all the exquisite places her family had been: France, Greece, England, Spain.  She had camp friends from Europe and I would click through their photos on Facebook in a sort of desperate-to-be-them frenzy.  Gorgeous photos of weekend trips to Venice, anniversaries with high school boyfriends in front of the Eiffel Tower, casual hikes in Sweden and family beach trips to the Mediterranean sea. How could I compare to a life this extravagant?  I thought if I just got to Europe that I'd find that girl inside me too, the well-travelled and extensively cultured one, the one who sometimes fumbled with her words because she couldn't remember the American term for it.

Now it is my turn.  I am about to spend a semester in Florence.  I'm most excited for the chance to see all the art - and I don't just mean the framed paintings hanging in museums, although I'm sure they'll be spectacular.  I'm thinking more about the art I'll run into every time I leave my building.  The statues and gardens and buildings, the architecture that holds the history of a culture so different from the one I'm used to here.  I'm also excited for all that is unimaginable to me right now: different people, a different culture, a different language.  A different landscape, different customs, different traditions.  These are things that I can't visualize in my head.  I have spent my entire life knowing the customs of only one culture, knowing only my own traditions, seeing the beautiful but limited sights that Massachusetts, the North Shore, and North Carolina have to offer.  I can imagine it'll be slightly like the first time I visited New York City, but that isn't quite right.  New York City was different and new, of course, but it also had everything I am already familiar with: McDonalds, The Cheesecake Factory, Forever 21, and my family.

This'll be the first time I take a step on my own.  I visited Montreal, Canada with friends for a senior trip, but that isn't quite the same thing.  Sure, it wasn't the United States, but it was also only one week.  It was with kids I'd gone to school with for years. And we were all kept far away from the people who live day to day in Canada: we had access to rented-out clubs just for us Americans, we had designated bus tours.  It was a great trip and I loved every minute, but I think most of us were ultimately more caught up in Canada's 18 and over alcohol policy than in any sort of history or culture we could find there.
I think about this quote I found recently: "to travel is to take a journey into yourself." That is what I am so excited for with this trip.  I am excited for the chance to re-discover, or perhaps simply discover, myself as I am on my own when all familiarity falls away.   To prepare for this trip, I read "Eat, Pray, Love," by Elizabeth Gilbert. It was innumerably helpful.  I have lists of places to eat the best pizza and gelato, thanks to her book.  But most importantly, Elizabeth spent her three months in Italy "in the pursuit of pleasure."  She worked, and I do mean worked, every day to find ways to make her happy and fulfilled. She wrote about the beauty of sitting in a small Italian garden with a cup of coffee.  She wrote about the importance of sitting and observing- not, as American's often do, sitting and watching TV... but sitting outside and watching Italians as they embark on their own pursuits of pleasure.  And then taking tips and advice from them, the locals, who surely know what is truly good and what is only "tourist-good."  I hope to spend my three months in Italy learning what it takes to become one of those well-travelled people I once envied, and to realize that a Facebook photo of me in the Colosseum does not equate to me understanding why the Colosseum is there in the first place.
I also advise my future self one thing: to wake up each morning with the thought "how will I find pleasure today?" and to go do it.

Oh, and to also do plenty of things that scare me to death.  Because what's the opportunity to travel if not the opportunity to break down your personal fear boundaries?