In 36 hours, I will be embarking for Lourdes, France. I will be doing this trip by myself (first time travelling completely by myself! AAHH!) and will probably be lonely. Therefore, I was wondering if any of you guys have prayer requests. Our Lady of Lourdes is supposed to work miracles, especially of the healing kind (and yes, I plan on bringing back some of the water). I figure, if I have the prayers of other people with me, I won't be alone, right?
In other news:
Today the Fund officially ended and I moved out of my host family's house. I will live in the Fund until UCLM ends. My last interaction with my family was when my host dad came to the Fund to pick up the keys to the house (because he's psycho and me locking the big door that doesn't even have a doorknob on the outside anyway just won't suffice) and then presents me with a bill for 80 euro to fix the blinds I broke (see previous entry). The last thing he ever said to me was "Sorry it had to be like this". I went on a walk to cool off and ran into a drunk Spaniard that told me that if I lived with a host family, my Spanish would be better. Oh, the irony. Thanks God for skype-calling my Mom, Celine Dion and the "I love Jesus but I drink a little" video. Seriously, look that one up.
Anyway, thanks for letting me vent, and please send me your prayer requests!
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
"Last Weekend in Toledo"
Even though I am here for 26 more days (on Sunday), I have just spent my last weekend in Toledo, as I will be traveling each of the next three weekends. This is odd, because I was in Madrid basically the whole time and saw little of my host family, not that I ever see much of them anyway.
THURSDAY
Last day of Finals at the Fund! It feels weird because I know I still have one more class that will go on for a few weeks at UCLM. However, it is hard not to get swept up in the happy atmosphere. As I was going back into Toledo for our celebrations, there were only four people on my bus, so it seemed perfectly appropriate to the bus driver to get out and get a coke from a vending machine on the street, even though there was a car waiting behind him. Oh, Spain. It is also Meghan’s birthday, so on top of celebrating the end of classes and the last night we would all be together, we had a birthday to celebrate. Needless to say, it was a long night that ended with a Spanish dance instructor named Raul, who had a motorcycle. Unfortunately, Rebecca hogged him to herself.
FRIDAY
Rebecca and I had made plans to catch the 2:30 bus to Consuegra to see the Don Quijote windmills (after spending a semester in La Mancha, and, since we a re Spanish majors, it felt necessary). However, our phones were not connecting to each other and I began to grow worried that we would not make it to the bus station (I wasn’t planning on going alone. A little before 2:00, movistar (our telephone company) texted me telling me that her line was now available (if the phone you call is off, out of service or busy, you get a message on the line and then the company texts you when that person turns on their phone, enters a service area or hangs up on the other person, which is as useful as it is creepy). We were both still in our houses at 2:00 and it takes a while to get to the bus station but we figured “por que no?” and that we would try to make it. A few minutes later, as I boarded my bus, I got a call from Emily asking about Consuegra because her parents had just arrived in Toledo and she wanted an activity for them. They were excited by the prospect of a one-hour bus ride since they were jet-lagged.
So, there were three teams of people trying to get to the bus station on time, racing against the clock. I made it to the bus station with a few minutes to spare before 2:30, but I could not figure out where to buy the tickets for this specific train, because it is not the company we normally use. When I finally figure out the company, their ticket booth has just closed. So, we will have to buy tickets on the bus. Now, I must find the bus. I ran frantically from platform to platform, asking bus drivers if they know where the bus to Consuegra is. Emily calls me telling me that she and her parents have arrived in the bus station and asks me where to go and while we are on the phone, I find the bus. It is 2:29.30. The bus driver is really anxious to go, but I beg and plead for him to wait just a second, because I have friends in the bus station that want to take the bus. They arrived just as I was about to be thrown out of the bus. As we are figuring out payments for the bus driver, Rebecca calls me and for a fleeting second we think she won’t make it, but then I tell her to run. The stalling that naturally came from Emily’s jet-lagged parents figuring out payment for the bus driver was just the amount of time we needed for her to catch up. We walked to the back of the bus, fully aware that everyone on that bus now hated us.
Los Molinos
We arrived in about an hour, giving Emily’s parents a chance to nap and the three of us time to discuss the previous night. It turns out the bus is not direct and Consuegra is not the only stop. When we got there, we were looking around, trying to figure out if we were supposed to get off or not, when the bus driver stood up and yelled “Consuegra!” at us. They don’t usually do that. We got off the bus and saw all of the dirty stares as it pulled away. After some wandering through the cute town that was completely deserted due to siesta, we found the staircase up the hill to the molinos or the windmills. In the first windmill, we met “Peter” (we assume his real name is Pedro). We were able to climb to the top of his windmill (this may be the only one where you can do this, at least for free. The bottom of the windmill is a snack stand (with waters and a few cans of pop, as well as postcards). We had a nice long chat with Peter, who had some hilarious sound effects. He wanted to find Spanish boyfriends for us girls, and offered his son to Emily. I’m not sure why she did not take him up on the offer, his son is 26, an engineer and lives in Madrid. Peter offered to let Emily stay in his house that night and Saturday he would take her into Madrid to meet his son. He then would look for boyfriends for me and Rebecca. Peter also showed us a postcard he had of Obama’s face and said “My friend, Obama”.
We finally tore ourselves away from Peter’s windmill and went to the next one, which was also the tourist office (these are the only two windmills you can enter, as far as we know) where they told us about the castle down the road, which had bathrooms. We had to walk past Peter again and he said “Hasta you come back!” which was hilarious. We went to the castle but they charged 13 euro to get past the entrance and hence, to the bathrooms. It did not seem like there would be much inside the castle, since it was mostly ruins, so we took pictures and went down the hill. The 5:45 bus is the last one back to Toledo, we did not want to even chance it. We had to go by Peter again, since he was at the top of the hill. He asked Emily “So, are you staying?” and for some reason I still don’t understand, she said no.
For some reason, Emily did not want to move in with Peter...
We went down the hill and realized we had plenty of time to catch the bus, as we went to Consuegra’s Irish pub (all Spanish towns have at least one Irish pub) for cerveza con limon (which turns out is much more limon than cerveza, but it is the perfect afternoon drink) and to use the bathroom. The bathrooms did not have signs saying ‘men’ or ‘women’ or some such thing, but one had an old-fashioned key attached to the door and the other had a keyhole. Oh, Spain. We made the bus without nearly as many events as the way to Consuegra and them went home to our families.
SATURDAY
I woke up early to catch the 9:00 bus to Madrid because Laura and Pat were in town from London. I met them in Puerta del Sol with pastry all over my face (it was big and awkward to eat and that is my defense). We walked over to see the Palace and Cathedral, not going into either but enjoying the scenery. I listed off the things we can do in Madrid, and Laura was oddly excited about the Temple de Debod. It is an Egyptian temple that was given as thanks when Franco helped protect things from a flood. We walked there, past the Royal gardens and parks and the first thing we were able to see was an overly dramatic movie about the temple. It was discovered by Napoleon’s troops (and yet somehow, we have it) and they had ritual sacrifices. We saw some carvings from 200 BC and Pat and I both learned that Laura is really into mythology (for example, Isis is the fertility goddess).
We were on our way to Puerta del Sol when we ran into a tuna band, like the guys from the University of Salamanca that were in a bar in Toledo one weekend. These guys wre actually from Madrid, but it was the same concept. They were also going to Puerta del Sol, so we followed them and listened as they occasionally stopped to sing. I told Pat and Laura about how, after seeing them in Toledo, Mary Kate had called them a mariachi band and I had been quite offended. Who do you think we ran into when we arrived in Puerta del Sol with the tuna players? A mariachi band, of course! They even had a battle of the bands, it was hilarious.
A mariachi band in Spain? Por que no?
It was a lovely day, so we walked over to the Parque de Buen Retiro (I hadn’t mad it there yet, so I was excited) and had a leisurely lunch of bocadillos at an outdoor café in the Park. We really enjoyed walking through it, and eventually walked out very close to the Reina Sofia. We went in to see Guernica and a few other things, mostly associated with the Civil War and had a lovely conversation about modern warfare and also comparing Germany and Spain and their relationships with their past.
After Reina Sofia, I walked them down the block to the Prado, where I left them so I could catch the bus back to Toledo.
I had to make it back in time to the Fund for our graduation ceremony. It was a little dorky (as we all expected). The guy who is technically in charge of the Fund, who we have only seen at our opening orientation meeting, made a big speech and announced our names. Teachers were lined up on either side of him and when a name was announced, on of the professors that student had had would ask for the diploma before they got up there and then they would get it from that professor, which typically involved “dos besos”. I got my diploma from my Service-Learning teacher, Eva, who is adorable but also dos-besoed my theatre professor. After the diplomas, we watched a slide show of pictures from the semester stolen from Facebook that was absolutely delightful, I even teared up a little bit. My favorite picture was one I took in February that was one of the first pictures in the show, of Javier pole-dancing on the Madrid Metro before we went to Morocco. After the ceremony we had tapas for dinner and then some of us went out for a few drinks at Enebro, the bar around the corner from school. I was tired, so I did not stay out very long.
SUNDAY
I again took the 9:00 bus to Madrid, this time with Melissa Dondalski. We wanted to go to the Rastro to get some last minute gifts for others and for ourselves. I met Pat and Laura again there and we wandered around for half an hour until they had to leave to catch their plane. Melissa is quite the bargain shopper and we had a good time until we got to cold. I had looked up Mass times in the Cathedral and there was supposed to be Mass at noon and 1:30. The weekend in January that we all spent in Madrid, we tried to go to Mass in the Cathedral, but went to the crypt instead, so I wanted to do it for real this time. We were just getting going with our shopping at noon, but close to one, we were ready to go, so we headed to the Cathedral. When we got there (a few minutes after 1:30), there was a huge crowd outside. The crowd inside was even bigger. It had been some sort of special Mass (we saw a bishop process out) and there were all these 7-8-year-old kids wearing robes that made them look like little monks (where were tied ropes, too). It was fun to watch them while we waited for Mass to start. At 1:45, we asked someone if there was going to be another Mass and they said no. Oh well, we tried. I guess I am just destined to never make it to Mass in the Madrid Cathedral.
We met up with Arman from the Fund and a friend of his for lunch in an all-you-can-eat buffet which was amazing. They went to a bus station to get tickets for an overnight bus station and we went to the Parque del Buen Retiro since Melissa had not been yet. It was then that I realized the statues filling the entrance that looked just like the ones I’d seen in Sevilla outside the Cathedral were actually the same statues – it was a temporary exhibit. We found the Crystal Palace (sorry Laura and Pat for not finding that with you guys) and saw some little girls taking their first communion pictures. It soon became time to head over to the bullfight, which had been the real reason we came to Madrid. We received a call from Arman, who was already there and we asked him to pick up some tickets for us. We also received a call from Rebecca, who had gone to completely the wrong stop on the opposite side of the city. Fortunately she made it in time.
So a bullfight:
1. The bull enters the ring, quite confused. The true amateurs wave their banners at him and run behind some protective walls (one of which a bull tore up at one point). The bull runs around and gets tired.
2. Some guys on horses with protective armor (the horses more so than they guys, each horse we saw would have been gored to death but left with maybe just a bruise) enter the ring. After circling around a little bit, they spear the bull in the back, he receives his first injury and starts to bleed.
3. Slightly more advanced matadors come out and wave around their banners. Others bring out hand-held spear things and drive them into the bull. If they are good, the spears will stay in the bull’s back.
4. The matador comes out. Since it is early in the season, we saw a novillada bullfight, which is novice. This mean the bullfighters are more or less my age. The matador has a red cape thing (the others all had pink) and a sword. He and the bull dance around for a little bit and the bull gets even more tired. After a while and a lot of showmanship, the matador goes off to the side to get a different (I assume, less special) sword, which he will then try to stab the bull with. It usually takes a couple of minutes to accomplish this task without getting gored, but then they drive the sword all the way in. it takes the bull about a minute to die after this, at the most. The last bull fight we saw, he didn’t get it in all the way and had to take it out and try again. The bull then died instantly.
5. The matador parades proudly and his lackeys come and one jabs a dagger in the bulls neck, to make sure he’s really dead. I assume this also serves to put him out of his misery if he isn’t. The first fight we saw, the bull died right in from of us and this part was hard to watch, so I turned away at this part for the others.
6. Three donkeys covered in flowers come out and are hooked up to the bull and drag it away. The man on the right of the donkeys has a whip, which he loudly cracks. This is Rebecca’s favorite part. They then clean the ring for the next fight.
In the bullring...
This whole thing takes about twenty minutes and there are a total of six bullfights in a show that lasts around two hours. Sunday was freakishly cold and we were not dressed for the weather, so we left after four fights, figuring we had seen enough anyway. We were not in anyway the only people to leave at that point. In doing this, we were also able catch the 8:30 bus, which was direct. We saw a beautiful sunset as we drove back to Toledo, the last time for Melissa and Rebecca, who leave Tuesday So, this weekend was bittersweet. Sweet because we were able to all celebrate together and have a great time, but bitter because we knew it was all coming to an end. Fortunately, we have recently sent out emails with our American cell phone numbers and have many plans to reunite next year when we are all back at school together.
THURSDAY
Last day of Finals at the Fund! It feels weird because I know I still have one more class that will go on for a few weeks at UCLM. However, it is hard not to get swept up in the happy atmosphere. As I was going back into Toledo for our celebrations, there were only four people on my bus, so it seemed perfectly appropriate to the bus driver to get out and get a coke from a vending machine on the street, even though there was a car waiting behind him. Oh, Spain. It is also Meghan’s birthday, so on top of celebrating the end of classes and the last night we would all be together, we had a birthday to celebrate. Needless to say, it was a long night that ended with a Spanish dance instructor named Raul, who had a motorcycle. Unfortunately, Rebecca hogged him to herself.
FRIDAY
Rebecca and I had made plans to catch the 2:30 bus to Consuegra to see the Don Quijote windmills (after spending a semester in La Mancha, and, since we a re Spanish majors, it felt necessary). However, our phones were not connecting to each other and I began to grow worried that we would not make it to the bus station (I wasn’t planning on going alone. A little before 2:00, movistar (our telephone company) texted me telling me that her line was now available (if the phone you call is off, out of service or busy, you get a message on the line and then the company texts you when that person turns on their phone, enters a service area or hangs up on the other person, which is as useful as it is creepy). We were both still in our houses at 2:00 and it takes a while to get to the bus station but we figured “por que no?” and that we would try to make it. A few minutes later, as I boarded my bus, I got a call from Emily asking about Consuegra because her parents had just arrived in Toledo and she wanted an activity for them. They were excited by the prospect of a one-hour bus ride since they were jet-lagged.
So, there were three teams of people trying to get to the bus station on time, racing against the clock. I made it to the bus station with a few minutes to spare before 2:30, but I could not figure out where to buy the tickets for this specific train, because it is not the company we normally use. When I finally figure out the company, their ticket booth has just closed. So, we will have to buy tickets on the bus. Now, I must find the bus. I ran frantically from platform to platform, asking bus drivers if they know where the bus to Consuegra is. Emily calls me telling me that she and her parents have arrived in the bus station and asks me where to go and while we are on the phone, I find the bus. It is 2:29.30. The bus driver is really anxious to go, but I beg and plead for him to wait just a second, because I have friends in the bus station that want to take the bus. They arrived just as I was about to be thrown out of the bus. As we are figuring out payments for the bus driver, Rebecca calls me and for a fleeting second we think she won’t make it, but then I tell her to run. The stalling that naturally came from Emily’s jet-lagged parents figuring out payment for the bus driver was just the amount of time we needed for her to catch up. We walked to the back of the bus, fully aware that everyone on that bus now hated us.
Los MolinosWe arrived in about an hour, giving Emily’s parents a chance to nap and the three of us time to discuss the previous night. It turns out the bus is not direct and Consuegra is not the only stop. When we got there, we were looking around, trying to figure out if we were supposed to get off or not, when the bus driver stood up and yelled “Consuegra!” at us. They don’t usually do that. We got off the bus and saw all of the dirty stares as it pulled away. After some wandering through the cute town that was completely deserted due to siesta, we found the staircase up the hill to the molinos or the windmills. In the first windmill, we met “Peter” (we assume his real name is Pedro). We were able to climb to the top of his windmill (this may be the only one where you can do this, at least for free. The bottom of the windmill is a snack stand (with waters and a few cans of pop, as well as postcards). We had a nice long chat with Peter, who had some hilarious sound effects. He wanted to find Spanish boyfriends for us girls, and offered his son to Emily. I’m not sure why she did not take him up on the offer, his son is 26, an engineer and lives in Madrid. Peter offered to let Emily stay in his house that night and Saturday he would take her into Madrid to meet his son. He then would look for boyfriends for me and Rebecca. Peter also showed us a postcard he had of Obama’s face and said “My friend, Obama”.
We finally tore ourselves away from Peter’s windmill and went to the next one, which was also the tourist office (these are the only two windmills you can enter, as far as we know) where they told us about the castle down the road, which had bathrooms. We had to walk past Peter again and he said “Hasta you come back!” which was hilarious. We went to the castle but they charged 13 euro to get past the entrance and hence, to the bathrooms. It did not seem like there would be much inside the castle, since it was mostly ruins, so we took pictures and went down the hill. The 5:45 bus is the last one back to Toledo, we did not want to even chance it. We had to go by Peter again, since he was at the top of the hill. He asked Emily “So, are you staying?” and for some reason I still don’t understand, she said no.
For some reason, Emily did not want to move in with Peter...We went down the hill and realized we had plenty of time to catch the bus, as we went to Consuegra’s Irish pub (all Spanish towns have at least one Irish pub) for cerveza con limon (which turns out is much more limon than cerveza, but it is the perfect afternoon drink) and to use the bathroom. The bathrooms did not have signs saying ‘men’ or ‘women’ or some such thing, but one had an old-fashioned key attached to the door and the other had a keyhole. Oh, Spain. We made the bus without nearly as many events as the way to Consuegra and them went home to our families.
SATURDAY
I woke up early to catch the 9:00 bus to Madrid because Laura and Pat were in town from London. I met them in Puerta del Sol with pastry all over my face (it was big and awkward to eat and that is my defense). We walked over to see the Palace and Cathedral, not going into either but enjoying the scenery. I listed off the things we can do in Madrid, and Laura was oddly excited about the Temple de Debod. It is an Egyptian temple that was given as thanks when Franco helped protect things from a flood. We walked there, past the Royal gardens and parks and the first thing we were able to see was an overly dramatic movie about the temple. It was discovered by Napoleon’s troops (and yet somehow, we have it) and they had ritual sacrifices. We saw some carvings from 200 BC and Pat and I both learned that Laura is really into mythology (for example, Isis is the fertility goddess).
We were on our way to Puerta del Sol when we ran into a tuna band, like the guys from the University of Salamanca that were in a bar in Toledo one weekend. These guys wre actually from Madrid, but it was the same concept. They were also going to Puerta del Sol, so we followed them and listened as they occasionally stopped to sing. I told Pat and Laura about how, after seeing them in Toledo, Mary Kate had called them a mariachi band and I had been quite offended. Who do you think we ran into when we arrived in Puerta del Sol with the tuna players? A mariachi band, of course! They even had a battle of the bands, it was hilarious.
A mariachi band in Spain? Por que no?After Reina Sofia, I walked them down the block to the Prado, where I left them so I could catch the bus back to Toledo.
I had to make it back in time to the Fund for our graduation ceremony. It was a little dorky (as we all expected). The guy who is technically in charge of the Fund, who we have only seen at our opening orientation meeting, made a big speech and announced our names. Teachers were lined up on either side of him and when a name was announced, on of the professors that student had had would ask for the diploma before they got up there and then they would get it from that professor, which typically involved “dos besos”. I got my diploma from my Service-Learning teacher, Eva, who is adorable but also dos-besoed my theatre professor. After the diplomas, we watched a slide show of pictures from the semester stolen from Facebook that was absolutely delightful, I even teared up a little bit. My favorite picture was one I took in February that was one of the first pictures in the show, of Javier pole-dancing on the Madrid Metro before we went to Morocco. After the ceremony we had tapas for dinner and then some of us went out for a few drinks at Enebro, the bar around the corner from school. I was tired, so I did not stay out very long.
SUNDAY
I again took the 9:00 bus to Madrid, this time with Melissa Dondalski. We wanted to go to the Rastro to get some last minute gifts for others and for ourselves. I met Pat and Laura again there and we wandered around for half an hour until they had to leave to catch their plane. Melissa is quite the bargain shopper and we had a good time until we got to cold. I had looked up Mass times in the Cathedral and there was supposed to be Mass at noon and 1:30. The weekend in January that we all spent in Madrid, we tried to go to Mass in the Cathedral, but went to the crypt instead, so I wanted to do it for real this time. We were just getting going with our shopping at noon, but close to one, we were ready to go, so we headed to the Cathedral. When we got there (a few minutes after 1:30), there was a huge crowd outside. The crowd inside was even bigger. It had been some sort of special Mass (we saw a bishop process out) and there were all these 7-8-year-old kids wearing robes that made them look like little monks (where were tied ropes, too). It was fun to watch them while we waited for Mass to start. At 1:45, we asked someone if there was going to be another Mass and they said no. Oh well, we tried. I guess I am just destined to never make it to Mass in the Madrid Cathedral.
We met up with Arman from the Fund and a friend of his for lunch in an all-you-can-eat buffet which was amazing. They went to a bus station to get tickets for an overnight bus station and we went to the Parque del Buen Retiro since Melissa had not been yet. It was then that I realized the statues filling the entrance that looked just like the ones I’d seen in Sevilla outside the Cathedral were actually the same statues – it was a temporary exhibit. We found the Crystal Palace (sorry Laura and Pat for not finding that with you guys) and saw some little girls taking their first communion pictures. It soon became time to head over to the bullfight, which had been the real reason we came to Madrid. We received a call from Arman, who was already there and we asked him to pick up some tickets for us. We also received a call from Rebecca, who had gone to completely the wrong stop on the opposite side of the city. Fortunately she made it in time.
So a bullfight:
1. The bull enters the ring, quite confused. The true amateurs wave their banners at him and run behind some protective walls (one of which a bull tore up at one point). The bull runs around and gets tired.
2. Some guys on horses with protective armor (the horses more so than they guys, each horse we saw would have been gored to death but left with maybe just a bruise) enter the ring. After circling around a little bit, they spear the bull in the back, he receives his first injury and starts to bleed.
3. Slightly more advanced matadors come out and wave around their banners. Others bring out hand-held spear things and drive them into the bull. If they are good, the spears will stay in the bull’s back.
4. The matador comes out. Since it is early in the season, we saw a novillada bullfight, which is novice. This mean the bullfighters are more or less my age. The matador has a red cape thing (the others all had pink) and a sword. He and the bull dance around for a little bit and the bull gets even more tired. After a while and a lot of showmanship, the matador goes off to the side to get a different (I assume, less special) sword, which he will then try to stab the bull with. It usually takes a couple of minutes to accomplish this task without getting gored, but then they drive the sword all the way in. it takes the bull about a minute to die after this, at the most. The last bull fight we saw, he didn’t get it in all the way and had to take it out and try again. The bull then died instantly.
5. The matador parades proudly and his lackeys come and one jabs a dagger in the bulls neck, to make sure he’s really dead. I assume this also serves to put him out of his misery if he isn’t. The first fight we saw, the bull died right in from of us and this part was hard to watch, so I turned away at this part for the others.
6. Three donkeys covered in flowers come out and are hooked up to the bull and drag it away. The man on the right of the donkeys has a whip, which he loudly cracks. This is Rebecca’s favorite part. They then clean the ring for the next fight.
In the bullring...This whole thing takes about twenty minutes and there are a total of six bullfights in a show that lasts around two hours. Sunday was freakishly cold and we were not dressed for the weather, so we left after four fights, figuring we had seen enough anyway. We were not in anyway the only people to leave at that point. In doing this, we were also able catch the 8:30 bus, which was direct. We saw a beautiful sunset as we drove back to Toledo, the last time for Melissa and Rebecca, who leave Tuesday So, this weekend was bittersweet. Sweet because we were able to all celebrate together and have a great time, but bitter because we knew it was all coming to an end. Fortunately, we have recently sent out emails with our American cell phone numbers and have many plans to reunite next year when we are all back at school together.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
The Beast's Castle
It’s a little late to be writing about the weekend, and I’ve probably already bothered you guys enough with all of these blog entries this week, but remember that this blog is as much for me as it is for my mom and my aunts and whoever else claims to read this.
Apparently, the Alcazar in Segovia is what they used for the Beast’s castle in “Beauty and the Beast”. When I went there, I did not see this, but Ángel, my history professor who lives in Segovia and doubled as our tour guide said they used the view from the other side, which we didn’t see. He also said the castle was “his home” (he said it in English, too) so I don’t know what to believe. We went on a tour of the castle, which was important in the time of Los Reyes Católicos (Ferdinand and Isabella, in English) and pretty interesting. We climbed the tower, which was hard for some people for some reason. It was a little obnoxious that there was only one staircase and it was a little narrow, but we dealt.
The Beast's Castle, I guess...
On top of the tower, there was a scavenger hunt wearing leopard print hats and giant pacifiers. There were more of them in Toledo when we got back, but they were not as creatively dressed or as plentiful as the ones in Granada. The tower had a decent view, but it was a pretty cloudy day. When we descended from the tower, it began to rain. Oh, joy. It was perfect timing for our walking tour, too. Segovia is not that big, so our walking tour took us to the Plaza Mayor to see the outside of the Cathedral and then to the Aqueduct.
From Plaza Mayor, we could see Limon and Menta, the best pastry shop in Segovia and the only thing besides the Aqueduct that I remembered from my day trip in high school (I remembered going to the Alcazar, but it seemed totally different). Courtney, Amber, Hank and I snuck in while the group was moving and got two ponche segovianos (yema surrounded by mazapan) to share between the four of us. I swear my hand slipped, but when Hank and I each took our first scoops, I took a lot. He decided that I didn’t really want to share with him and gave me more than half to eat by myself. I tried to give him more so it would be equal (several times, in fact) but it was of no avail. I had to finish it, so it would not go to waste.
In this process, we missed Ángel talking about some statue, but I’m sure it was not as important as getting pastries. We went to the Aqueduct, which was pretty cool. It’s just so amazing that they could do all that without using any mortar between the stones. But then again, they were able to build Rome in a day, so building an aqueduct in Segovia with no mortar would be easy. We had lunch which was okay but there was entirely too much fat on the meat (that is one thing I will definitely not miss). After lunch, we walked along the aqueduct, Saida gave Gabi some “urban lessons”. When Gabi later took a picture of a cat, Hank narrated her future life as a cat lady. We got back on the bus and headed for Toledo.
Look Mom! No Mortar!
That night, Molly and Jake arrived in Toledo and were able to meet up with us for sangria. The next day, I went with them to Santo Tomé to see the “Entierro del Conde de Orgaz” and to Mariano Zamorano’s workshop. Still can’t seem to catch him while he’s making swords. We had lunch together and I went to do work while they did more sightseeing. I met up with them for Mass (so they could have a Catholic with them) and showed them around the Fund (the tower was there favorite part, for some reason). That night, I went to O’Brien’s with some of the girls, but is was a pretty chill night.
Sunday I pretended to study for my exams but this was difficult because I spent 2 hours trying to connect to the internet in the Fund. I succeeded…for fifteen minutes. I then went out to dinner with a bunch of Notre Dame people because OIS was visiting. This meant that they paid for a nice meal. When we got there, there were two glasses at each place setting, one for water one for wine. The waiter brought out water…and then bottles of red wine. I poured it really fast because I figured they wouldn’t be able to take back what was already in my glass. They never tried. Meaning, Notre Dame bought me alcohol. Gabi, who is 21 anyway, refused to drink it because she was convinced it was a trick. I have yet to get punished, and neither have the people that are not yet 21, so I guess we are golden.
Now back to studying…
Apparently, the Alcazar in Segovia is what they used for the Beast’s castle in “Beauty and the Beast”. When I went there, I did not see this, but Ángel, my history professor who lives in Segovia and doubled as our tour guide said they used the view from the other side, which we didn’t see. He also said the castle was “his home” (he said it in English, too) so I don’t know what to believe. We went on a tour of the castle, which was important in the time of Los Reyes Católicos (Ferdinand and Isabella, in English) and pretty interesting. We climbed the tower, which was hard for some people for some reason. It was a little obnoxious that there was only one staircase and it was a little narrow, but we dealt.
The Beast's Castle, I guess...On top of the tower, there was a scavenger hunt wearing leopard print hats and giant pacifiers. There were more of them in Toledo when we got back, but they were not as creatively dressed or as plentiful as the ones in Granada. The tower had a decent view, but it was a pretty cloudy day. When we descended from the tower, it began to rain. Oh, joy. It was perfect timing for our walking tour, too. Segovia is not that big, so our walking tour took us to the Plaza Mayor to see the outside of the Cathedral and then to the Aqueduct.
From Plaza Mayor, we could see Limon and Menta, the best pastry shop in Segovia and the only thing besides the Aqueduct that I remembered from my day trip in high school (I remembered going to the Alcazar, but it seemed totally different). Courtney, Amber, Hank and I snuck in while the group was moving and got two ponche segovianos (yema surrounded by mazapan) to share between the four of us. I swear my hand slipped, but when Hank and I each took our first scoops, I took a lot. He decided that I didn’t really want to share with him and gave me more than half to eat by myself. I tried to give him more so it would be equal (several times, in fact) but it was of no avail. I had to finish it, so it would not go to waste.
In this process, we missed Ángel talking about some statue, but I’m sure it was not as important as getting pastries. We went to the Aqueduct, which was pretty cool. It’s just so amazing that they could do all that without using any mortar between the stones. But then again, they were able to build Rome in a day, so building an aqueduct in Segovia with no mortar would be easy. We had lunch which was okay but there was entirely too much fat on the meat (that is one thing I will definitely not miss). After lunch, we walked along the aqueduct, Saida gave Gabi some “urban lessons”. When Gabi later took a picture of a cat, Hank narrated her future life as a cat lady. We got back on the bus and headed for Toledo.
Look Mom! No Mortar!That night, Molly and Jake arrived in Toledo and were able to meet up with us for sangria. The next day, I went with them to Santo Tomé to see the “Entierro del Conde de Orgaz” and to Mariano Zamorano’s workshop. Still can’t seem to catch him while he’s making swords. We had lunch together and I went to do work while they did more sightseeing. I met up with them for Mass (so they could have a Catholic with them) and showed them around the Fund (the tower was there favorite part, for some reason). That night, I went to O’Brien’s with some of the girls, but is was a pretty chill night.
Sunday I pretended to study for my exams but this was difficult because I spent 2 hours trying to connect to the internet in the Fund. I succeeded…for fifteen minutes. I then went out to dinner with a bunch of Notre Dame people because OIS was visiting. This meant that they paid for a nice meal. When we got there, there were two glasses at each place setting, one for water one for wine. The waiter brought out water…and then bottles of red wine. I poured it really fast because I figured they wouldn’t be able to take back what was already in my glass. They never tried. Meaning, Notre Dame bought me alcohol. Gabi, who is 21 anyway, refused to drink it because she was convinced it was a trick. I have yet to get punished, and neither have the people that are not yet 21, so I guess we are golden.
Now back to studying…
"When in Rome..."
I have often adapted this phrase to various situations (“When in Spain…it is totally okay to go out for drinks in the middle of the afternoon”) but was finally able to use it in its original form. My only regret about my time in Rome is that I left before the Easter Mass with the Pope in Saint Peter’s Square, but I had to get back for class the following morning and the boatload of work that awaited me before finals that were quickly approaching. It all works out in the end, I suppose.
We arrived in Rome Thursday evening. We did not feel like doing much besides showering and checking the internet (I still had some loose ends with my registration and had 50 emails, most of which were junk). We did get a decent amount of sleep, however. I awoke Friday morning to find that my sneakers were still soaked from Assisi, meaning I would be wearing flats. I may as well have gone barefoot, but they did give me slight protection from the broken glass that abounded in Rome. A few of us went to the Spanish Steps and Trevi Fountain in the morning. We grabbed slices of pizza for lunch and then saw some cool monument. It involved the Italian Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, or at least something with the military, it had two eternal flames. We then wanted to find the Metro so we could get to John Lateran for a Notre Dame Campus Ministry-sponsored activity. We saw the Coliseum in a distance and, knowing that it had its own Metro stop; we walked toward it, going past ancient ruins in the process. We got to our meeting spot fifteen minutes after we were supposed to, but, in true Notre Dame fashion, it was really just on time. It was cool walking up to the group (which we could identify by the large ND flag) because there were people from abroad programs all over Europe and we could reunite with our friends that we have not seen in a while. We first met at a statue of St Francis and Andrew Hoyt, the campus minister for European abroad programs, talked about him. Turns out, the 800th anniversary of the Franciscan order is coming up (which explains all the Italian Scouts in Assisi). It was pretty cool to listen to this the day after going to Assisi.
St. Francis outside St. John Lateran
We walked over to Santa Croce. St. Helen (Constantine’s mom) brought over wagonloads of soil from Jerusalem that were spread before this Basilica was built, so that it is technically in Jerusalem. Another thing she brought over is the one true cross. It is in a side chapel of this Basilica. Unfortunately, this side chapel was closed. Andrew got some people to get in, but I was not one of those people. I tried to go in, but the monk/friar (I couldn’t get a close look, not that I can identify different orders very well anyway) grabbed my arm and threw me out. All I wanted to do was peek; there were people already in there that I would have beaten out. Oh well. I felt like I was Mary and Joseph being denied shelter on Christmas. It was like a Good Friday sacrifice, which made up for the fact that I was eating more or less like normal. After this, we went to John Lateran, which is technically the Cathedral of Rome (not the Vatican). It had the heads of Peter and Paul above the altar (covered in bronze—the original gold was melted down to pay a debt to Napoleon) and small palm trees, which belong in every church, I feel. It was very nice. I went to the bathroom and, as always there was a line. I have become resourceful in my bathroom usage in Europe. There were men in the men’s bathroom, but no one in the handicapped bathroom. Since there were no handicapped people around, I used it. No, I did not deny any handicapped person the opportunity to use the bathroom as no one came, but the bathroom cleaner yelled at me because the floor had been wet (I guess she had just cleaned it or something). I pretended that I didn’t understand her at first, but then she started speaking English. I just told her that I had not realized it, which was the truth. Second Italian to yell at me in 24 hours (first was the ticket guy in Assisi). We exited and made our way to the Holy Steps.
The Holy Steps, also brought over from Jerusalem, are the steps Jesus walked up on the original Good Friday. Since we were going up them on Good Friday, there was quite a line (about an hour and a half). At 3pm (the hour Jesus died), Meg, Anne and I said a rosary while we waited in line. Somehow in this process, we got to the front of the line of Notre Dame students, which was an interesting realization when we finished the rosary. The annoying this was that street vendors (who are much more aggressive in Italy) kept trying to sell us junk while we were praying. As we reached the base of the steps, a lady running the show started clapping and telling people to hurry up. Third Italian to yell at me in twenty-four hours. Why does it take so long to go up these stairs? You must go up on your knees and say a prayer on each step. This gets you a plenary indulgence if you do it on a Friday during Lent. The marble steps are covered in wood to preserve them, but have some patches cut out where traces of blood have been found, like on the top step. There were grooves on each step from years of knees. I felt no need to hurry because this woman was yelling at me, although I may have moved faster at the end because my knees were yelling at me. They actually came out all right, at the end.
I went to dinner with some London kids (we still ate about the same as we would have normally on Good Friday, because we were traveling and walking everywhere. I did refrain from meat and gelato until midnight). At the end of paying the bill, we had four euros that no one claimed, each saying that they had gotten their appropriate change. Since Europeans don’t really tip, we didn’t feel like leaving them there, so we decided to give them to the poor. I was entrusted with giving a euro to each of the first four beggars I came across, not discriminating between them. It took until the next day to do that, since I didn’t see any that night.
We were close to the Coliseum, which was our next destination. We got there at around seven and found the Notre Dame group. We waited outside, talking about life and how excited we were to be there until around 9:15 when were heard cries of “Papa! Papa!”. Pope Benedict XVI had arrived. He is such a rockstar. By that, I mean that we looked at each other and mouthed “OH MY GOSH!!!!” just like I would if he were the Backstreet Boys. People refrained from throwing their bras up to his platform, however. He said an opening blessing and kneeled. The Via Cruxis mostly consisted of two Italians (who must be an actor and actress, because they had very good voices, but I could not see them) alternating between reading the gospel, saying a meditation, and saying a prayer. Except for the announcement at the beginning of every station in several languages and a few refrains in Latin (including a Gregorian chant type performance of the Sabat Mater), it was all in Italian. I tried to make out what was being said, but mostly I was taken by the whole experience. Here we were, with thousands of Catholics, gathered outside the Coliseum, and there I could see the Pope. We were next to the aisle so we could see the cross being carried. This meant that we were somewhat squished, but it was cool because we got a good view of the Pope and could see the cross being carried by a man in a wheelchair. At the end, the Pope blessed us.
Papa! Papa!
I met back up with the Spain kids who I knew were eventually going back to my hostel. We first went back to the Spanish Steps and the Trevi Fountain to see them at night. In between, we stopped for gelato, since it was after midnight and thus no longer Good Friday. The place we went wouldn’t tell Emily ahead of time how much the special cone dipped in chocolate cost and then the lady gave it to her covered in extras like mini cones, a piece of chocolate and a British flag. Then they tried to charge her ten euro. She gave the cone back. The Metro closed before we left the fountain, so our choices were to walk or spend five euro each on a cab, or look for a bus. We were close to the center of Rome and neither our hostel’s metro stop, nor the one before it, were on the map. Our feet hurt from walking all day (remember that I was wearing flimsy flats). It was past one in the morning, and we had to meet at the Vatican at 7:45 the next morning to tour the museum – it is on the opposite side of Rome. We were pretty sure that the one day travel-cards we had bought would work on the bus. The logical solution? Wander the streets of Rome for an hour and a half, with me on the verge of a physical breakdown. Two days later, my feet still hurt, and that is all I will say on the subject. Okay, so I may have exaggerated this, but the 1.5 hour thing and my feet really hurting is totally true.
Saturday we groggily made it to the Vatican. We waited in line for a little bit, out biggest wait was that our audioboxes did not work properly right away. Once we sorted that out, we split into a few groups and got guided tours. Our guides had microphones that fed right into our headphones, which was nice because that way we could hear without him yelling or clamoring to be right next to him. Our tour guide was…amusing. He kept making nerdy Vatican jokes and went off onto an obscene amount of tangents. He amused me, however. I was very surprised by the Sistine Chapel. I thought it was one continuous fresco, but it is divided into a bunch of different scenes. It was still cool, though. St. Peter’s was cool, if a little over the top, but our tour guide rushed through it. It was crowded and we kept losing him and so we were running to try to find him. Towards the end, we caught up and he slowed down. We think he was rushing to get us to the meeting spot on time. At we were walking toward the obelisk in St. Peter’s Square, he went off on a tangent about how the bathroom on one side of the square is the worst bathroom in Rome and that the other one was much better. I later used this advice and found it very much the truth.
We then walked to lunch. Emily, Flan, Pat Kirkland (from London) and I were talking at the end of the group and got separated. We were lost on the way to lunch! Pat called Andrew Hoyt and he got us there just fine, this also gave us the opportunity to sit at Andrew’s table. After lunch (on Campus Ministry, which was nice) we joined Andrew for the “In the Footsteps of the Saints” tour, which began at the Old Bridge Gelateria and continued to a few churches that were made important by various saints, like St. Agnes in Agony and the Gesu, the seat of Jesuits which has the tomb of Ignatius and the Francis Xavier’s hand which baptized a million people and a few more churches. In the process we walked by the Pantheon. After this, Meg, Pat and I walked toward the Vatican. We got sandwiches at a stand just outside St. Peter’s Square and then sat people watching. Nun/priest watching is probably a better name, since we saw the line for the vigil Mass in St. Peter’s. We saw the doors open at 7:30, and the people were loaded into the church shortly before 9:00 in time for the Mass to start. This is probably the most intense Mass in the world. It is six hours long (9pm to 3am, approximately) and you have to be in line by three if you want any kind of seat. That is 12 hours for one Mass, in a language I do not understand. The homily is an hour long, which is the length of a normal Mass (the Easter Vigil is always long anyway, since it has seven readings as opposed to three). I, instead, went to a Notre Dame Mass at the New American College, around the corner from St. Peters. It was a beautiful service. It felt like a dorm Mass, but it started with a bonfire (the priests went a little overboard in their use of lighter fluid in the bowl fire they used to light the Pascal Candle). It was my first Mass in English since January, and the next one isn’t likely to happen until I get home Memorial Day weekend. I was proud of myself that I did not forget the words. After Mass, our priest (who was ordained last year and excitedly celebrated his first Easter Vigil Mass with us) invited us to the NAC lounge/bar, where the seminarians and priests drink beer from all over the world. I had another Fanta, which I now drink obsessively, and a Kit-Kat bar.
The only person there that was staying in my hostel was Rosary, who is studying in Cambridge now. We both wanted to catch the Metro before it closed, which meant leaving earlier than I wanted to, but I did NOT want a repeat of the night before. As we walked through St. Peter’s Square, we saw the Pope projected on the big screens. Between her map and my asking directions, we made it to the Metro before it closed. She informed me of the budding technology of self-healing rubber. I’m not sure what inspired this conversation, but the concept sounds fascinating. I guess you can make a purse that completely seals and then rip it open to get stuff out of it and then it will heal itself back closed. This could potentially help against pick pockets, because how will they find the zipper?
Part of the line for Easter Vigil with the Pope
I was worried about getting to the airport on Easter morning because, of all mornings a bus would not be in service, a bus taking you out of Rome on Easter Sunday morning was one and the guy working at the hostel desk had no idea how to check the holiday schedule. Also, no one else was on my flight. In typical Raphelson fashion, I allowed a lot of extra time and got there no problem.
When I got back to Toledo, Doner Kebap was crowded and inefficient so I went to McDonald’s. I ordered a Fanta but they gave me a coke. When I returned home for dinner, my family was not there, so I made it myself. And so goes my Easter Sunday
We arrived in Rome Thursday evening. We did not feel like doing much besides showering and checking the internet (I still had some loose ends with my registration and had 50 emails, most of which were junk). We did get a decent amount of sleep, however. I awoke Friday morning to find that my sneakers were still soaked from Assisi, meaning I would be wearing flats. I may as well have gone barefoot, but they did give me slight protection from the broken glass that abounded in Rome. A few of us went to the Spanish Steps and Trevi Fountain in the morning. We grabbed slices of pizza for lunch and then saw some cool monument. It involved the Italian Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, or at least something with the military, it had two eternal flames. We then wanted to find the Metro so we could get to John Lateran for a Notre Dame Campus Ministry-sponsored activity. We saw the Coliseum in a distance and, knowing that it had its own Metro stop; we walked toward it, going past ancient ruins in the process. We got to our meeting spot fifteen minutes after we were supposed to, but, in true Notre Dame fashion, it was really just on time. It was cool walking up to the group (which we could identify by the large ND flag) because there were people from abroad programs all over Europe and we could reunite with our friends that we have not seen in a while. We first met at a statue of St Francis and Andrew Hoyt, the campus minister for European abroad programs, talked about him. Turns out, the 800th anniversary of the Franciscan order is coming up (which explains all the Italian Scouts in Assisi). It was pretty cool to listen to this the day after going to Assisi.
St. Francis outside St. John LateranWe walked over to Santa Croce. St. Helen (Constantine’s mom) brought over wagonloads of soil from Jerusalem that were spread before this Basilica was built, so that it is technically in Jerusalem. Another thing she brought over is the one true cross. It is in a side chapel of this Basilica. Unfortunately, this side chapel was closed. Andrew got some people to get in, but I was not one of those people. I tried to go in, but the monk/friar (I couldn’t get a close look, not that I can identify different orders very well anyway) grabbed my arm and threw me out. All I wanted to do was peek; there were people already in there that I would have beaten out. Oh well. I felt like I was Mary and Joseph being denied shelter on Christmas. It was like a Good Friday sacrifice, which made up for the fact that I was eating more or less like normal. After this, we went to John Lateran, which is technically the Cathedral of Rome (not the Vatican). It had the heads of Peter and Paul above the altar (covered in bronze—the original gold was melted down to pay a debt to Napoleon) and small palm trees, which belong in every church, I feel. It was very nice. I went to the bathroom and, as always there was a line. I have become resourceful in my bathroom usage in Europe. There were men in the men’s bathroom, but no one in the handicapped bathroom. Since there were no handicapped people around, I used it. No, I did not deny any handicapped person the opportunity to use the bathroom as no one came, but the bathroom cleaner yelled at me because the floor had been wet (I guess she had just cleaned it or something). I pretended that I didn’t understand her at first, but then she started speaking English. I just told her that I had not realized it, which was the truth. Second Italian to yell at me in 24 hours (first was the ticket guy in Assisi). We exited and made our way to the Holy Steps.
The Holy Steps, also brought over from Jerusalem, are the steps Jesus walked up on the original Good Friday. Since we were going up them on Good Friday, there was quite a line (about an hour and a half). At 3pm (the hour Jesus died), Meg, Anne and I said a rosary while we waited in line. Somehow in this process, we got to the front of the line of Notre Dame students, which was an interesting realization when we finished the rosary. The annoying this was that street vendors (who are much more aggressive in Italy) kept trying to sell us junk while we were praying. As we reached the base of the steps, a lady running the show started clapping and telling people to hurry up. Third Italian to yell at me in twenty-four hours. Why does it take so long to go up these stairs? You must go up on your knees and say a prayer on each step. This gets you a plenary indulgence if you do it on a Friday during Lent. The marble steps are covered in wood to preserve them, but have some patches cut out where traces of blood have been found, like on the top step. There were grooves on each step from years of knees. I felt no need to hurry because this woman was yelling at me, although I may have moved faster at the end because my knees were yelling at me. They actually came out all right, at the end.
I went to dinner with some London kids (we still ate about the same as we would have normally on Good Friday, because we were traveling and walking everywhere. I did refrain from meat and gelato until midnight). At the end of paying the bill, we had four euros that no one claimed, each saying that they had gotten their appropriate change. Since Europeans don’t really tip, we didn’t feel like leaving them there, so we decided to give them to the poor. I was entrusted with giving a euro to each of the first four beggars I came across, not discriminating between them. It took until the next day to do that, since I didn’t see any that night.
We were close to the Coliseum, which was our next destination. We got there at around seven and found the Notre Dame group. We waited outside, talking about life and how excited we were to be there until around 9:15 when were heard cries of “Papa! Papa!”. Pope Benedict XVI had arrived. He is such a rockstar. By that, I mean that we looked at each other and mouthed “OH MY GOSH!!!!” just like I would if he were the Backstreet Boys. People refrained from throwing their bras up to his platform, however. He said an opening blessing and kneeled. The Via Cruxis mostly consisted of two Italians (who must be an actor and actress, because they had very good voices, but I could not see them) alternating between reading the gospel, saying a meditation, and saying a prayer. Except for the announcement at the beginning of every station in several languages and a few refrains in Latin (including a Gregorian chant type performance of the Sabat Mater), it was all in Italian. I tried to make out what was being said, but mostly I was taken by the whole experience. Here we were, with thousands of Catholics, gathered outside the Coliseum, and there I could see the Pope. We were next to the aisle so we could see the cross being carried. This meant that we were somewhat squished, but it was cool because we got a good view of the Pope and could see the cross being carried by a man in a wheelchair. At the end, the Pope blessed us.
Papa! Papa!I met back up with the Spain kids who I knew were eventually going back to my hostel. We first went back to the Spanish Steps and the Trevi Fountain to see them at night. In between, we stopped for gelato, since it was after midnight and thus no longer Good Friday. The place we went wouldn’t tell Emily ahead of time how much the special cone dipped in chocolate cost and then the lady gave it to her covered in extras like mini cones, a piece of chocolate and a British flag. Then they tried to charge her ten euro. She gave the cone back. The Metro closed before we left the fountain, so our choices were to walk or spend five euro each on a cab, or look for a bus. We were close to the center of Rome and neither our hostel’s metro stop, nor the one before it, were on the map. Our feet hurt from walking all day (remember that I was wearing flimsy flats). It was past one in the morning, and we had to meet at the Vatican at 7:45 the next morning to tour the museum – it is on the opposite side of Rome. We were pretty sure that the one day travel-cards we had bought would work on the bus. The logical solution? Wander the streets of Rome for an hour and a half, with me on the verge of a physical breakdown. Two days later, my feet still hurt, and that is all I will say on the subject. Okay, so I may have exaggerated this, but the 1.5 hour thing and my feet really hurting is totally true.
Saturday we groggily made it to the Vatican. We waited in line for a little bit, out biggest wait was that our audioboxes did not work properly right away. Once we sorted that out, we split into a few groups and got guided tours. Our guides had microphones that fed right into our headphones, which was nice because that way we could hear without him yelling or clamoring to be right next to him. Our tour guide was…amusing. He kept making nerdy Vatican jokes and went off onto an obscene amount of tangents. He amused me, however. I was very surprised by the Sistine Chapel. I thought it was one continuous fresco, but it is divided into a bunch of different scenes. It was still cool, though. St. Peter’s was cool, if a little over the top, but our tour guide rushed through it. It was crowded and we kept losing him and so we were running to try to find him. Towards the end, we caught up and he slowed down. We think he was rushing to get us to the meeting spot on time. At we were walking toward the obelisk in St. Peter’s Square, he went off on a tangent about how the bathroom on one side of the square is the worst bathroom in Rome and that the other one was much better. I later used this advice and found it very much the truth.
We then walked to lunch. Emily, Flan, Pat Kirkland (from London) and I were talking at the end of the group and got separated. We were lost on the way to lunch! Pat called Andrew Hoyt and he got us there just fine, this also gave us the opportunity to sit at Andrew’s table. After lunch (on Campus Ministry, which was nice) we joined Andrew for the “In the Footsteps of the Saints” tour, which began at the Old Bridge Gelateria and continued to a few churches that were made important by various saints, like St. Agnes in Agony and the Gesu, the seat of Jesuits which has the tomb of Ignatius and the Francis Xavier’s hand which baptized a million people and a few more churches. In the process we walked by the Pantheon. After this, Meg, Pat and I walked toward the Vatican. We got sandwiches at a stand just outside St. Peter’s Square and then sat people watching. Nun/priest watching is probably a better name, since we saw the line for the vigil Mass in St. Peter’s. We saw the doors open at 7:30, and the people were loaded into the church shortly before 9:00 in time for the Mass to start. This is probably the most intense Mass in the world. It is six hours long (9pm to 3am, approximately) and you have to be in line by three if you want any kind of seat. That is 12 hours for one Mass, in a language I do not understand. The homily is an hour long, which is the length of a normal Mass (the Easter Vigil is always long anyway, since it has seven readings as opposed to three). I, instead, went to a Notre Dame Mass at the New American College, around the corner from St. Peters. It was a beautiful service. It felt like a dorm Mass, but it started with a bonfire (the priests went a little overboard in their use of lighter fluid in the bowl fire they used to light the Pascal Candle). It was my first Mass in English since January, and the next one isn’t likely to happen until I get home Memorial Day weekend. I was proud of myself that I did not forget the words. After Mass, our priest (who was ordained last year and excitedly celebrated his first Easter Vigil Mass with us) invited us to the NAC lounge/bar, where the seminarians and priests drink beer from all over the world. I had another Fanta, which I now drink obsessively, and a Kit-Kat bar.
The only person there that was staying in my hostel was Rosary, who is studying in Cambridge now. We both wanted to catch the Metro before it closed, which meant leaving earlier than I wanted to, but I did NOT want a repeat of the night before. As we walked through St. Peter’s Square, we saw the Pope projected on the big screens. Between her map and my asking directions, we made it to the Metro before it closed. She informed me of the budding technology of self-healing rubber. I’m not sure what inspired this conversation, but the concept sounds fascinating. I guess you can make a purse that completely seals and then rip it open to get stuff out of it and then it will heal itself back closed. This could potentially help against pick pockets, because how will they find the zipper?
Part of the line for Easter Vigil with the PopeI was worried about getting to the airport on Easter morning because, of all mornings a bus would not be in service, a bus taking you out of Rome on Easter Sunday morning was one and the guy working at the hostel desk had no idea how to check the holiday schedule. Also, no one else was on my flight. In typical Raphelson fashion, I allowed a lot of extra time and got there no problem.
When I got back to Toledo, Doner Kebap was crowded and inefficient so I went to McDonald’s. I ordered a Fanta but they gave me a coke. When I returned home for dinner, my family was not there, so I made it myself. And so goes my Easter Sunday
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Nothing like missing trains and torrential downpours to prepare you for Easter in Rome- Assisi
Assisi was an adventure, but I think I’ll call it a pilgrimage or at least a cleansing to prepare us for Easter. It was still fun, and a great day.
We woke up early to get ready for, buy tickets for and board the 8:02 train to Assisi. Mark got impatient with us slow girls and went on ahead to the train station. Flan gave him money to pick up her ticket. We were ready, but only could find two of the keys to the hostel room. This was concerning because they were the ones with the late check in fee, so we knew there would be some missing key charge. I was of course positive that the keys were mixed in with someone’s sheets. (Turns out Mark had the keys, and he had to run back to return them, but we didn’t find this out until later). We gave up and went the train station. We had enough time to buy snacks for breakfast and made our way to the train going in the direction of Foligno, which was the only train there that would pass through Assisi. However, we did not see Mark or Flan’s ticket on the platform. We boarded the train and did not see them there either. As the train was pulling out, I received a call from Mark. We was on the platform for the train that went to Arezzo, since our tickets said “via Arezzo” – turns out that only means we would pass through Arezzo. He eventually boarded this train instead of waiting for the next train to Assisi, even though he still got into Assisi at the same time as the next train (he probably ended back up on that train). The conductor came through checking for tickets, but Flan did not have hers, since it was on its way to Arezzo. We all supported her story, so the conductor believed her.
It was a beautiful train ride, we planned our honeymoons to Slovenia (since Mark wasn’t there). When we got to Assisi, which was an intermediate stop, Flan and I got Massimo out of the train quickly, but Emily and Mary Kate did not seem to feel as much need to hurry. As such, the doors locked and the train started to move and they could not get off. I screamed at the door, but it still did not open. So, Flan and I took Massimo to the luggage check. They just had shelves and we paid by the piece, so we kept our backpacks with us. We then went to the train station café and got some delicious chocolate filled croissants and waited for Emily and Mary Kate, which was only fifteen minutes or so. As they got off the train they yelled at us to run and catch a bus that would take us up the hill into the city, but we weren’t in such a hurry at that point. So, we missed it but we had a pleasant walk toward the city. At the foot of the hill, we caught the bus since we didn’t actually want to walk up the hill.
It took us close to the Basilica of St. Francis. We walked up there and it was awesome. It has three levels, an upper Basilica, and lower Basilica, and a crypt where St. Francis and some of his companions are buried. The lower basilica is a beautiful, cavernous church with lots of frescoes. It was a beautiful crypt. Around the stone that forms St. Francis’ tomb, there is an iron grill, but plenty of people had stuck in passport-sized photos of loved ones to line the sides of the tomb. It was great, in Flan’s words, to “look into the eyes of our brothers and sisters”. We went out through a courtyard to the upper basilica. I really like the statues they had near this entrance. They were modern but not in an obnoxious way. Sometimes I think that modern sculpture can capture emotion better than something really realistic. People hide their emotions and a realistic sculpture just copies people, it might also copy their hidden emotions and not show what is really inside. We went out to another courtyard and soaked up more sun. Mary Kate left for Rome since her roommate was already there. Flan, Emily and I got slices of pizza and found a cool set of steps to eat them on.
Basilica di San Francesco
We then walked to the Basilica of St Clare. It was closed for Italian siesta (which ends at 2, when the Spanish siesta starts, although that could have just been for this church). It was only ten minutes until 2, so we decided it was a perfect time for gelato. The one next to the church had a crazy line, so we went to one a block away. The ladies there were not very nice and it was a disappointing gelato stop over all, but we soon finished and headed to the Basilica. It is pink and white striped, which I found incredibly appropriate for a church dedicated to a girl. When they build a Basilica in my honor, I want it to be pink and white and have a really cool statue of me. We sat and prayed in front of a crucifix and then went down to the crypt but Emily stayed by the crucifix a little longer. Flan and I finished looking at the church and sat outside on the steps, sun-bathing. Emily came out after a while and asked us if we had realized that the crucifix was the same one in front of which St Francis had received his famous vision (the crucifix came alive and talked to him). We had not realized this, but now that we knew, we wanted to see it again, so we went back inside. After this, was walked around the church and found a good resting spot and sunbathed some more next to an olive grove behind the church. While we were there, Mark appeared and told us about his adventure getting to Assisi. It involved several trains, a bus, a hospital and a woman in the middle of nowhere that only spoke Portuguese, if I remember correctly. We went back to St Clare’s, since he had not been inside. He also hadn’t had gelato yet that day, so we did that with him, too, choosing a different place that was much friendlier.
Basilica di Santa Chiara is in the distance...
We started to head to San Damiano (where the crucifix used to be and where the vision actually happened) but then there was a torrential downpour. Flan sang and I went to listen to her and we got wet. Mark and Emily went under an overhang that was in front of a hotel. The reception people invited them in but Mark refused since he thought they would make him pay. They also yelled at us for not also going under an overhang, so I’m not sure what the priority was, there. We went under another awning and waited out the storm a little bit. We went to a bus stop (the same one that brought us into the city). Flan and I went into a bar to get our tickets, and also picked up sandwiches (I got home-made bread with cheese mixed in. Inside was artichokes and tuna, I believe. It was heavenly). We decided that the downpour was like a second baptism, preparing us for Easter. Or, at least that’s what we said to ourselves to make up for the fact that we were soaking wet.
Two minutes before the train for Rome was supposed to leave, I realized my ticket was for the wrong day (the 14th instead of the 9th. Ironically, when I got the ticket, I thought the lady had gotten the time wrong. The time was right, but the date was not). I went to get it switch but while I was waiting, Mark yelled “Maeve, the train is here!” I freaked out and asked the ticket guy to just give me back my old ticket, I would chance it, could he please hurry? He told me to “Be Quiet!” He gave me my ticket and I rushed to the platform. I watched the train as it pulled in, I hadn’t need to hurry the man. I boarded the train for Rome with no problems.
In the gift shop of the Basilica of St. Francis, I bought a tile with his famous “Simple Prayer”. For those of you not familiar with it, here it is:
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love
Where there is injury, pardon
Where there is discord, unity
Where there is doubt, faith
Where there is error, truth
Where there is despair, hope
Where there is sadness, joy
Where there is darkness, light.
O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
To be consoled as to console
To be understood as to understand
To be loved, as to love.
For,
It is in giving that we receive.
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned.
It is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
We woke up early to get ready for, buy tickets for and board the 8:02 train to Assisi. Mark got impatient with us slow girls and went on ahead to the train station. Flan gave him money to pick up her ticket. We were ready, but only could find two of the keys to the hostel room. This was concerning because they were the ones with the late check in fee, so we knew there would be some missing key charge. I was of course positive that the keys were mixed in with someone’s sheets. (Turns out Mark had the keys, and he had to run back to return them, but we didn’t find this out until later). We gave up and went the train station. We had enough time to buy snacks for breakfast and made our way to the train going in the direction of Foligno, which was the only train there that would pass through Assisi. However, we did not see Mark or Flan’s ticket on the platform. We boarded the train and did not see them there either. As the train was pulling out, I received a call from Mark. We was on the platform for the train that went to Arezzo, since our tickets said “via Arezzo” – turns out that only means we would pass through Arezzo. He eventually boarded this train instead of waiting for the next train to Assisi, even though he still got into Assisi at the same time as the next train (he probably ended back up on that train). The conductor came through checking for tickets, but Flan did not have hers, since it was on its way to Arezzo. We all supported her story, so the conductor believed her.
It was a beautiful train ride, we planned our honeymoons to Slovenia (since Mark wasn’t there). When we got to Assisi, which was an intermediate stop, Flan and I got Massimo out of the train quickly, but Emily and Mary Kate did not seem to feel as much need to hurry. As such, the doors locked and the train started to move and they could not get off. I screamed at the door, but it still did not open. So, Flan and I took Massimo to the luggage check. They just had shelves and we paid by the piece, so we kept our backpacks with us. We then went to the train station café and got some delicious chocolate filled croissants and waited for Emily and Mary Kate, which was only fifteen minutes or so. As they got off the train they yelled at us to run and catch a bus that would take us up the hill into the city, but we weren’t in such a hurry at that point. So, we missed it but we had a pleasant walk toward the city. At the foot of the hill, we caught the bus since we didn’t actually want to walk up the hill.
It took us close to the Basilica of St. Francis. We walked up there and it was awesome. It has three levels, an upper Basilica, and lower Basilica, and a crypt where St. Francis and some of his companions are buried. The lower basilica is a beautiful, cavernous church with lots of frescoes. It was a beautiful crypt. Around the stone that forms St. Francis’ tomb, there is an iron grill, but plenty of people had stuck in passport-sized photos of loved ones to line the sides of the tomb. It was great, in Flan’s words, to “look into the eyes of our brothers and sisters”. We went out through a courtyard to the upper basilica. I really like the statues they had near this entrance. They were modern but not in an obnoxious way. Sometimes I think that modern sculpture can capture emotion better than something really realistic. People hide their emotions and a realistic sculpture just copies people, it might also copy their hidden emotions and not show what is really inside. We went out to another courtyard and soaked up more sun. Mary Kate left for Rome since her roommate was already there. Flan, Emily and I got slices of pizza and found a cool set of steps to eat them on.
Basilica di San FrancescoWe then walked to the Basilica of St Clare. It was closed for Italian siesta (which ends at 2, when the Spanish siesta starts, although that could have just been for this church). It was only ten minutes until 2, so we decided it was a perfect time for gelato. The one next to the church had a crazy line, so we went to one a block away. The ladies there were not very nice and it was a disappointing gelato stop over all, but we soon finished and headed to the Basilica. It is pink and white striped, which I found incredibly appropriate for a church dedicated to a girl. When they build a Basilica in my honor, I want it to be pink and white and have a really cool statue of me. We sat and prayed in front of a crucifix and then went down to the crypt but Emily stayed by the crucifix a little longer. Flan and I finished looking at the church and sat outside on the steps, sun-bathing. Emily came out after a while and asked us if we had realized that the crucifix was the same one in front of which St Francis had received his famous vision (the crucifix came alive and talked to him). We had not realized this, but now that we knew, we wanted to see it again, so we went back inside. After this, was walked around the church and found a good resting spot and sunbathed some more next to an olive grove behind the church. While we were there, Mark appeared and told us about his adventure getting to Assisi. It involved several trains, a bus, a hospital and a woman in the middle of nowhere that only spoke Portuguese, if I remember correctly. We went back to St Clare’s, since he had not been inside. He also hadn’t had gelato yet that day, so we did that with him, too, choosing a different place that was much friendlier.
Basilica di Santa Chiara is in the distance...Two minutes before the train for Rome was supposed to leave, I realized my ticket was for the wrong day (the 14th instead of the 9th. Ironically, when I got the ticket, I thought the lady had gotten the time wrong. The time was right, but the date was not). I went to get it switch but while I was waiting, Mark yelled “Maeve, the train is here!” I freaked out and asked the ticket guy to just give me back my old ticket, I would chance it, could he please hurry? He told me to “Be Quiet!” He gave me my ticket and I rushed to the platform. I watched the train as it pulled in, I hadn’t need to hurry the man. I boarded the train for Rome with no problems.
In the gift shop of the Basilica of St. Francis, I bought a tile with his famous “Simple Prayer”. For those of you not familiar with it, here it is:
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love
Where there is injury, pardon
Where there is discord, unity
Where there is doubt, faith
Where there is error, truth
Where there is despair, hope
Where there is sadness, joy
Where there is darkness, light.
O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
To be consoled as to console
To be understood as to understand
To be loved, as to love.
For,
It is in giving that we receive.
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned.
It is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
Monday, April 20, 2009
We Put the “Lot O” in Gelato
This entry could also be titled “Florence is for Lovers” or “Galileo will still be dead in the morning” but I thought I would choose the title that would bother my mom the most.
We arrived in Florence Monday night and made it to our hostel, which was a short walk from the train station. An obliging cabbie gave us directions. Upon arrival, we found out that not only did we have quiet hours at 10:00, after 11:00 there was a 10 euro check-in fee. We made it, but poor Emily did not. I guess when they charge 12 euro a night, they have to get money out of us somehow. Emily had to return the hostel keys of the other ND group in Italy since she had borrowed them to get her stuff. They were in a bar, so we all went there together. We saw the Orioles beat the Yankees for opening day and the beginnings of the National Championship game between MSU and UNC (yes, I saw Detroit on a TV in Florence) but left because it was getting late. On the way back to the hostel, we ran into a large group of an elder hostel or some such thing in a square. It was 3 am, so that people 3.5 times our age were out touring while we were going to bed slightly baffled us. We were hungry but we couldn’t find a Doner Kebap (and the cops we asked could not give us directions to an open Doner Kebap). There was a McDonalds close to our hostel, but it had just closed. Emily made a sad face at the guard and he picked up a box from the chute that goes from the kitchen to the cashiers and gestured toward a side door. He gave us 10 pieces of chicken nuggets. They were a little old, but we didn’t care. We had 10 free chicken nuggets.
Tuesday we woke up too late to make it to the Uffizi Gallery (you have to line up early in the morning to get a reservation), but we went to the Academia. The line was really long, so we decided to take turns. Flan volunteered to wait first while went to San Marco to see the Frangelico collection. When we got there, we found out that we could make reservations for the Academia, which would not involve waiting in line. We did that and went back to get Flan. We all went back to San Marco. It was a monastery with a beautiful fresco in each cell. The artist got to know each monk personally to figure out which biblical scene would suit their personality best. Probably the most common scene was the Crucifixion but each one was unique.
After taking this picture, I realized that, ironically, the man is attacking the woman in the statue
After being kicked out of there (it closes early) we wandered around and ended up in a internet café so Flan and Emily could DART (register for classes). We were there until it was time to go back to the Academia for our reservation. We saw the David and had an extensive conversation about circumcision (he is not, though he should be) and then looked at the rest of the art. I think Mark was excited to leave the David because I’m sure that conversation wasn’t fun for him, as the only boy.
Mark does not approve of Flan and Mary Kate dancing in public...
We walked around and found the restaurant where Flan’s brother said he had had the best meal of his life. It wasn’t serving food so we made a reservation and wandered some more. We found a church that was having Mass, so we joined in. We went back to the restaurant for dinner, and it really was delicious. Afterwards, we went to the Basilica de Santa Croce for a free Brahms concert, which was delightful. The cool thing about that church is that Michaelangelo, Dante and Galileo are all buried there, so we were among great masters listening to another one. When we left, Flan was cold but Mark and Mary Kate were trying to take pictures of the tombs. We were planning on coming to another free concert there the next night, so she shouted out, as if they could hear her, “Galileo will still be dead in the morning!” We went back to the hostel, no free McDonalds this time, it was still open.
Wednesday we woke up and went to a meeting spot on a bridge. Tuscany Bike Tours (tuscany-biketours.com) picked us up and loaded us in vans. We first went to a castle built in 1199 where a count and countess still live. They own and entire city and run a vineyard, so we learned about making wine and olive oil. Then, we had a tasting of each. We were in the Chianti region, so we tried their Chianti wine and it was delicious. We then left and went to get our bikes, which were in a garage nearby. They all have names, mine was named Oompa Loompa. We first went up a hill, and we all had to walk a little bit at the end of that. We then rode around Tuscany, which is a beautiful region...lots of rolling hills and vineyards. We stopped for lunch and got pasta. When Andy, our Scottish guide (who used to cycle for Scotland until he moved to Italy to study fashion) which was his favorite and he told me I was.
The castle where we had our wine tasting.
At lunch, we talked to a couple from Minnesota who were in Italy celebrating their thirtieth anniversary. We also met a Mormon girl finishing up her mission, and had spent some time doing mission work in Rome. We wanted to tell her that Catholics already had Rome taken care of, but we didn’t and just smiled and nodded as she talked. After lunch we got back on our bikes. It was a long flat stretch through Tuscany and for some reason, everyone wanted to got fast. Flan, Emily and I figured we only had so many chances in out lives to bike through Tuscany, so we took it slow to enjoy the scenery. We all met up again at the bottom of a hill. It was huge, and some people chose to take a van ride up it instead of chance the hill. We wanted to try it, figuring we could stop and walk if it was too hard, but Andy had other ideas. He thought we had been going slow because we were tired, so he said “Get in the van, girls!” and that was that. As we rode up the hill, we saw lots of people struggling and some had stopped and wanted the van to pick them up (it was full, so he had to go back and get them). Some people who did it weren’t feeling well at the end, since we had just finished a big meal, so we decided it was probably better that Andy had hade us do that. But I still say we were forced into the van. We rode through Tuscany a little more until we ended up back at the garage where we had gotten our bikes. We got back in the vans and they took us back to Florence.
We actually got out on top of a hill outside the city and took pictures, then walked into the city. We went to the Duomo to try to catch Mass, since Emily had been the only one to see inside. We did not make it for Mass but we did meet some Americans studying in Florence that were sitting on the steps. Among them was Josh, on whom Emily, Flan and Mary Kate developed a friend crush. A friend crush means that they wanted to be friends with him, not anything romantic – no, I did not realize that either. He was interested in going to that night’s concert at Santa Croce with us, so we all rushed back to our hostel and take showers. Mark did not feel the need to go to the concert with Josh, so the girls hurried over, but still got there twenty minutes late. Turns out we were wrong about the concert’s location, so neither the concert nor Josh were there. We went to a nearby bar for appertivi and then got gelato. We walked back to Piazza Santa Croce sicne we had said we would meet up with Mark there. When we walked up to him, gelato cones in hand, he said it was exactly how he imagined he would see us. We split a bottle of wine and chatted up street vendors (this was mostly Flan). We headed back to hostel, to rest up for our grand Assisi adventure.
Me bike riding through Tuscany!
We arrived in Florence Monday night and made it to our hostel, which was a short walk from the train station. An obliging cabbie gave us directions. Upon arrival, we found out that not only did we have quiet hours at 10:00, after 11:00 there was a 10 euro check-in fee. We made it, but poor Emily did not. I guess when they charge 12 euro a night, they have to get money out of us somehow. Emily had to return the hostel keys of the other ND group in Italy since she had borrowed them to get her stuff. They were in a bar, so we all went there together. We saw the Orioles beat the Yankees for opening day and the beginnings of the National Championship game between MSU and UNC (yes, I saw Detroit on a TV in Florence) but left because it was getting late. On the way back to the hostel, we ran into a large group of an elder hostel or some such thing in a square. It was 3 am, so that people 3.5 times our age were out touring while we were going to bed slightly baffled us. We were hungry but we couldn’t find a Doner Kebap (and the cops we asked could not give us directions to an open Doner Kebap). There was a McDonalds close to our hostel, but it had just closed. Emily made a sad face at the guard and he picked up a box from the chute that goes from the kitchen to the cashiers and gestured toward a side door. He gave us 10 pieces of chicken nuggets. They were a little old, but we didn’t care. We had 10 free chicken nuggets.
Tuesday we woke up too late to make it to the Uffizi Gallery (you have to line up early in the morning to get a reservation), but we went to the Academia. The line was really long, so we decided to take turns. Flan volunteered to wait first while went to San Marco to see the Frangelico collection. When we got there, we found out that we could make reservations for the Academia, which would not involve waiting in line. We did that and went back to get Flan. We all went back to San Marco. It was a monastery with a beautiful fresco in each cell. The artist got to know each monk personally to figure out which biblical scene would suit their personality best. Probably the most common scene was the Crucifixion but each one was unique.
After taking this picture, I realized that, ironically, the man is attacking the woman in the statue
Mark does not approve of Flan and Mary Kate dancing in public...We walked around and found the restaurant where Flan’s brother said he had had the best meal of his life. It wasn’t serving food so we made a reservation and wandered some more. We found a church that was having Mass, so we joined in. We went back to the restaurant for dinner, and it really was delicious. Afterwards, we went to the Basilica de Santa Croce for a free Brahms concert, which was delightful. The cool thing about that church is that Michaelangelo, Dante and Galileo are all buried there, so we were among great masters listening to another one. When we left, Flan was cold but Mark and Mary Kate were trying to take pictures of the tombs. We were planning on coming to another free concert there the next night, so she shouted out, as if they could hear her, “Galileo will still be dead in the morning!” We went back to the hostel, no free McDonalds this time, it was still open.
Wednesday we woke up and went to a meeting spot on a bridge. Tuscany Bike Tours (tuscany-biketours.com) picked us up and loaded us in vans. We first went to a castle built in 1199 where a count and countess still live. They own and entire city and run a vineyard, so we learned about making wine and olive oil. Then, we had a tasting of each. We were in the Chianti region, so we tried their Chianti wine and it was delicious. We then left and went to get our bikes, which were in a garage nearby. They all have names, mine was named Oompa Loompa. We first went up a hill, and we all had to walk a little bit at the end of that. We then rode around Tuscany, which is a beautiful region...lots of rolling hills and vineyards. We stopped for lunch and got pasta. When Andy, our Scottish guide (who used to cycle for Scotland until he moved to Italy to study fashion) which was his favorite and he told me I was.
The castle where we had our wine tasting.At lunch, we talked to a couple from Minnesota who were in Italy celebrating their thirtieth anniversary. We also met a Mormon girl finishing up her mission, and had spent some time doing mission work in Rome. We wanted to tell her that Catholics already had Rome taken care of, but we didn’t and just smiled and nodded as she talked. After lunch we got back on our bikes. It was a long flat stretch through Tuscany and for some reason, everyone wanted to got fast. Flan, Emily and I figured we only had so many chances in out lives to bike through Tuscany, so we took it slow to enjoy the scenery. We all met up again at the bottom of a hill. It was huge, and some people chose to take a van ride up it instead of chance the hill. We wanted to try it, figuring we could stop and walk if it was too hard, but Andy had other ideas. He thought we had been going slow because we were tired, so he said “Get in the van, girls!” and that was that. As we rode up the hill, we saw lots of people struggling and some had stopped and wanted the van to pick them up (it was full, so he had to go back and get them). Some people who did it weren’t feeling well at the end, since we had just finished a big meal, so we decided it was probably better that Andy had hade us do that. But I still say we were forced into the van. We rode through Tuscany a little more until we ended up back at the garage where we had gotten our bikes. We got back in the vans and they took us back to Florence.
We actually got out on top of a hill outside the city and took pictures, then walked into the city. We went to the Duomo to try to catch Mass, since Emily had been the only one to see inside. We did not make it for Mass but we did meet some Americans studying in Florence that were sitting on the steps. Among them was Josh, on whom Emily, Flan and Mary Kate developed a friend crush. A friend crush means that they wanted to be friends with him, not anything romantic – no, I did not realize that either. He was interested in going to that night’s concert at Santa Croce with us, so we all rushed back to our hostel and take showers. Mark did not feel the need to go to the concert with Josh, so the girls hurried over, but still got there twenty minutes late. Turns out we were wrong about the concert’s location, so neither the concert nor Josh were there. We went to a nearby bar for appertivi and then got gelato. We walked back to Piazza Santa Croce sicne we had said we would meet up with Mark there. When we walked up to him, gelato cones in hand, he said it was exactly how he imagined he would see us. We split a bottle of wine and chatted up street vendors (this was mostly Flan). We headed back to hostel, to rest up for our grand Assisi adventure.
Me bike riding through Tuscany!Saturday, April 18, 2009
“I think Heaven will be animated…” – Cinque Terre
Reflections such as these were heard as we hiked through the Cinque Terre. The only thing missing on this leg of the trip was that Flan did not sing enough, but I can’t blame her because the natural beauty of the place took my breath away, too. So you know what I am talking about, let me explain “Cinque Terre”. It literally means “five lands” and it is five little towns along the Mediterranean coast. Technically, it is the Liurgian Coast, but that is just the part of the Mediterranean between Corsica (Napoleon’s birthplace!) and Italy. They are built into cliffs, which did not save them from centuries of pirate raids. Fortunately, that era ended for them and they are now stable towns fed by in-the-know tourists. What do these tourists know? That Cinque Terre is the most beautiful place ever. Google image it.
We left Venice early Saturday morning for the Cinque Terre. This involved a couple of train changes, one of which was in Pisa. We only had ten minutes, so we couldn’t get out and see the tower but we did get to see the top of it from the train. Unfortunately, I took a picture of the wrong thing. Next time I’m in Italy, I’ll take a later train so I can get my obligatory holding-up-the-tower picture. We arrived in Riomaggiore, the first of the five towns in the afternoon. We checked into our hostel, which was a room in a house on the water. This means that we slept to the sound of waves rolling in. Talk about your Spring Break. If you get a postcard from (no, I didn’t send any) from or google image Riomaggiore and see the marina, we were in the white building on the left. We went to a grocery store and sat on the rocks of the beach (you have to go to Montorosso, the fifth town, for sand, and it’s not that nice).
We then wandered through the city and beyond. We came to a stairway up the hill outside of town that said “Private Property”. The next such staircase did not say this, however, so we climbed right up. We climbed un an infrequently used staircase and ended up on a hilltop that overlooked the city with a great view of the ocean. It was late afternoon, but unfortunately we had not brought our cameras because it had briefly rained before our climb and we did not want them to get wet. So, after we caught our breath, we climbed back down the stairs, went back to our room, got our cameras, and came back. It was cloudy but Mark pointed out that it would be “all purpley and shit”.
"All purpley and shit"
This was true, but it was not a very awe-inspiring sunset because there were just a few too many clouds. We went to the cemetery because Rick Steves recommends doing this – they have great views. We went back into town and realized that italy clese things down sooner than in Spain – the only things open at 8:30 were restaurants, and not the stands that sold cheap pizza. Mark and Mary Kate were still full from lunch, so I just had another cone of gelato, which would have been depressing were it not gelato. We called Flan, who was supposed meet up with us after spending time in Bologna, and found out she had gotten on the wrong train and would not be in until late. Mary kate was cold and tired and went to bed. Mark went exploring. Eventually, I did too. I walked through the town and then went and sat on some rocks and sang Backstreet Boys to myself. The waves were loud enough that only I could hear myself, so that was just perfect. We went to bed and Flan rolled in. We all slept in preparation for the hike in the morning.
We woke up and got breakfast (crepes with prosciutto) and headed out. The walk was beautiful. We figured that when God planned Cinque Terre, He modeled it after His own home. The walk was far, but we got to explore each adorable town on the way. When we stopped for gelato in Vernazza, we ran into some Minnesota kids from the Fund who were doing the hike in the opposite direction. We set off for Monterosso, the longest leg of the journey. As tired as we were, we loved the whole walk because we were surrounded by so much natural beauty. We reached Montorosso, the beach town (we were underwhelmed by the beach, the only time the whole day that we were underwhelmed) but we did not have time for gnocci with pesto. We boarded the train for Florence without too many mishaps and were on our way.
Vernazza...Town Four
We left Venice early Saturday morning for the Cinque Terre. This involved a couple of train changes, one of which was in Pisa. We only had ten minutes, so we couldn’t get out and see the tower but we did get to see the top of it from the train. Unfortunately, I took a picture of the wrong thing. Next time I’m in Italy, I’ll take a later train so I can get my obligatory holding-up-the-tower picture. We arrived in Riomaggiore, the first of the five towns in the afternoon. We checked into our hostel, which was a room in a house on the water. This means that we slept to the sound of waves rolling in. Talk about your Spring Break. If you get a postcard from (no, I didn’t send any) from or google image Riomaggiore and see the marina, we were in the white building on the left. We went to a grocery store and sat on the rocks of the beach (you have to go to Montorosso, the fifth town, for sand, and it’s not that nice).
We then wandered through the city and beyond. We came to a stairway up the hill outside of town that said “Private Property”. The next such staircase did not say this, however, so we climbed right up. We climbed un an infrequently used staircase and ended up on a hilltop that overlooked the city with a great view of the ocean. It was late afternoon, but unfortunately we had not brought our cameras because it had briefly rained before our climb and we did not want them to get wet. So, after we caught our breath, we climbed back down the stairs, went back to our room, got our cameras, and came back. It was cloudy but Mark pointed out that it would be “all purpley and shit”.
"All purpley and shit"This was true, but it was not a very awe-inspiring sunset because there were just a few too many clouds. We went to the cemetery because Rick Steves recommends doing this – they have great views. We went back into town and realized that italy clese things down sooner than in Spain – the only things open at 8:30 were restaurants, and not the stands that sold cheap pizza. Mark and Mary Kate were still full from lunch, so I just had another cone of gelato, which would have been depressing were it not gelato. We called Flan, who was supposed meet up with us after spending time in Bologna, and found out she had gotten on the wrong train and would not be in until late. Mary kate was cold and tired and went to bed. Mark went exploring. Eventually, I did too. I walked through the town and then went and sat on some rocks and sang Backstreet Boys to myself. The waves were loud enough that only I could hear myself, so that was just perfect. We went to bed and Flan rolled in. We all slept in preparation for the hike in the morning.
We woke up and got breakfast (crepes with prosciutto) and headed out. The walk was beautiful. We figured that when God planned Cinque Terre, He modeled it after His own home. The walk was far, but we got to explore each adorable town on the way. When we stopped for gelato in Vernazza, we ran into some Minnesota kids from the Fund who were doing the hike in the opposite direction. We set off for Monterosso, the longest leg of the journey. As tired as we were, we loved the whole walk because we were surrounded by so much natural beauty. We reached Montorosso, the beach town (we were underwhelmed by the beach, the only time the whole day that we were underwhelmed) but we did not have time for gnocci with pesto. We boarded the train for Florence without too many mishaps and were on our way.
Vernazza...Town FourThursday, April 16, 2009
Trains in Italy Only Occasionally Run on Time: Lake Como, Milan, Venice
(Written on the trains to Cinque Terre)
We spent Thursday night in the Madrid Airport which would have been more tolerable if the marble floors by the check in gate counter weren’t so cold, or if we had brought air mattress like some Spaniards had. We made it to the Milan airport just fine, which is actually quite far from Milan, So, we went to Lake Como, in search of George Clooney (at least, that’s why I went). We went to Bergamo, just outside the airport and from there to Lecco, on one of the fingers of the lake. We walked around outside to find a ferry but ended up back in the train station where we bought bus tickets to Bellagio. This walk did give us a nice preview of the lake, however. We had some time before our bus so we stopped in a café for some lunch. Our first meal in Italy was…pizza.
I should mention: We split the cost of a checked bag- for liquids and things that did not fit in our backpacks (ie my travel towel was stolen in our Paris hostel, so I had to borrow a real-life sized one from my host family). Walking around Lecco. Flan suggested that we name it because it probably deserved a name based on what we would put it through. The name must be Italian, of course, So I suggested Massimo. Those familiar with movies shown on TBS will know that that the father of Jennifer Lopez’ character in The Wedding Planner wants her to marry an Italian boy from his village named Massimo, played by that jerk intern on Grey’s Anatomy. Mark thinks that Massimo’s real name should be Peso (Spanish for weight) since he is our only boy and must carry Massimo up most stairs. For future reference, if I talk about us going anywhere with Massimo, it means we had to take our luggage with us, so we were schlepping (I think we are the only ones that say “schlep”, Mom, I keep getting weird looks). Our backpacks and taking turns with Massimo.
In the three times we were in the Lecco train station (arriving, buying bus tickets to Bellagio and then boarding the bus…three separate times because we are that cool), we neglected to look for luggage lockers, so, Flan, Emily, Mark, Mike, Massimo and I schlepped all over Bellagio. Lake Como is shaped like a “Y”. The two points are Lecco and Como and Bellagio is what we named the “nub”. It is gorgeous. We found benches to enjoy the views of the mountains. According the map in my Rick Steves’ book, Lake Como touches Switzerland. According to Mark’s Eurail map, it does not but the lake next to it does. Given past experiences with Rick Steves’ maps (and Rick Steves in general), I know who I am supposed to trust, but I still say that I have seen Switzerland. Those mountains looked Alp-ish, and it is entirely possible that I was looking at the tops of mountains whose bases were in Switzerland. So that’s what I’m going on. After we finished our photo shoot, we went into the town and had our first Italian gelato. After a while, we decided we might as well head into Milan, where we were staying that night. While trying to find a bus station to head back to Lecco, a bus headed there passed us on the street, so I flagged it down. This is something that would never happen in Toledo. I know this from multiple experiences of watching buses drive by me since I was a few feet away from the bus stop. There was only one passenger on the bus until we got on, so we think that must be why.
I still say this was Switzerland
The road between Lecco and Bellagio winds around hills and mountains and is not for the easily car-sick. Every time it approaches a curve (and there are several), the driver must honk with his special curve-honking-button that is obnoxious and has multiple honks involved. This is because the road is too narrow to have two lanes, so if there is a car coming from the other side of the curve, they must be warned. It was great when we had to back up to let a truck pass. At first I was slightly concerned that the bus would tumble down a cliff into the lake, but I figured that the guy knew what he was doing so I just enjoyed the view. My time in Europe has taught me to trust European drivers.
We caught a train to Milan. Mark, Flan, Massimo and I went to our hostel. No one was there to let us in. I spent at least 7-8 euro on a phone call to the hostel owner, who is Chinese and barely speaks Italian, let alone English or Spanish. This caused us to meet an attractive Argentine whose father is Italian and studied in the US and overheard me trying to communicate with her and offered to help. We never learned his name, but his golden retriever was named Bella. Eventually (1.5 hours later) the hostel owner showed up. Turns out the confusion was that the check in time from Hostel World.com was at 10 so no one was waiting for us at 6:30. We usually stay in places with 24-hour reception so we don’t pay much attention to check in times, but they only have four rooms so they actually stick to their times. She gave us each a cold Coke and all was forgiven.
By this point, Emily and her CL (Communion and Liberation, aka really fun people) friends had been waiting for us for quite some time so we dashed to meet them at the Duomo. The took us to “Happy Hour”. In Italy, this means you buy one cocktail and then get unlimited access to a buffet. It is the greatest idea ever. The buffet is platters of food ranging from risotto and pesto to mashed potatoes and chips and salsa. They are constantly replacing the platters and each time you go back up (don’t judge me Mom, the plates are reeeeeally small) there is something new. Emily’s friends were Maddalena (a Milanese) and Abby (from DC and studying in Milan). They are both in CL, which was founded in Milan. CL members like to sing when they get together (did I ever mention singing through the streets of Paris after dinner?) and Abby brought her CL songbook that has spiritual, popular and foreign-language songs. Flan (who actually has a voice) and I flipped through the book and sang, mostly U2 songs, if I recall correctly. We walked back to the Duomo (Mary Kate and Kate met up with us just as Happy hour ended. Don’t tell them, but after them left in search of pizza, the bar broke out foccacia stuffed with nutella instead of cheese…and it was warm) and we parted ways.
On Saturday, Mark, Mary Kate, Massimo and I went back to the Duomo to go inside this time. It was gorgeous. I think Gothic churches are my favorite, because they aren’t gaudy like Baroque churches or boring like Renaissance churches (NOTE, after Rome, I must amend my description of Renaissance churches as “boring”, but I still don’t like them). The Duomo in Milan is my second favorite Cathedral, after the Notre Dame in Paris, which is my measuring stick for all Cathedrals. The Duomo is simple, the statues are made from the same type of stone as the walls so you only have to see them if you want to. After the Duomo, we stopped by the world’s first Prada store (conveniently close to the Duomo). Then we walked to Milan’s fortress/castle, which was pretty cool. We then walked through a park, but did not find the nutella crepes Abby told us about. We then made it to the train station.
Even though we were there at 10:45, the next available train with seats was at 12:05. This meant that we had time for an early lunch (I guess we hadn’t had breakfast yet). I was craving a falafel kebap at Doner Kebap, and I got it and we got to sit outside Milan’s gorgeous train station. We arrived in Venice in the afternoon and deposited Massimo in our hostel, a B and B that, ironically, did not have breakfast. We made plans to meet at Piazza San Marco at 8:30 for dinner. Mark went off on his own on the back streets and Mary Kate and I went straight to San Marco to see Mass times because we would be spending prime Mass-going time on Palm Sunday on the train(s) to Cinque Terre. We then wandered, window-shopped and soaked up the Venetian ambience. We returned to San Marco for Mass, which was the most beautiful Mass I have been to in Europe. For one, it was packed with people of all ages – meaning Mary Kate and I were not the only ones under the age of 75. It was a gorgeous Byzantine-style church. Gold was everywhere, but it wasn’t overdone (if you haven’t figured out, I prefer simple but elegant churches). There is a three-year rotation for whose Passion Story is read on Palm Sunday and this year, it was Mark. Did I mention that Mark is behind the altar? There is just something poetic about listening to the Passion according to Mark while looking at the guy who wrote it (covered…there’s probably not much left of him after 2000 years anyway). The angelic voices (no, seriously) of the local high school choir also helped. In typical European fashion, even though it was the longest Gospel of the year and there was a choir and somewhat crowded, it was still under an hour. I don’t know how they do it. I also don’t know how I will be able to sit through Mass back in the States. We switched from St. Hugo’s, but Basilica Masses back at school will just seem so long now…although, they are in English, which helps.
Me in Piazza San Marco
After Mass, we walked around a little bit and bumped into Mark. He took us to the un-touristy part of town and we found a pizzeria. When Mary Kate was twelve, she came to Venice and ate pasta and so remembered the town for its pasta. I looked around and saw everyone in the restaurant eating pizza and so ordered my own, which was a very good choice. We wandered back after dinner and bumped into the rest of the Notre Dame group in Italy. It helps that Dan always wears the same ND jacket and New England Patriots hat. We then went back to the hostel to prepare for our early train to Cinque Terre.
We spent Thursday night in the Madrid Airport which would have been more tolerable if the marble floors by the check in gate counter weren’t so cold, or if we had brought air mattress like some Spaniards had. We made it to the Milan airport just fine, which is actually quite far from Milan, So, we went to Lake Como, in search of George Clooney (at least, that’s why I went). We went to Bergamo, just outside the airport and from there to Lecco, on one of the fingers of the lake. We walked around outside to find a ferry but ended up back in the train station where we bought bus tickets to Bellagio. This walk did give us a nice preview of the lake, however. We had some time before our bus so we stopped in a café for some lunch. Our first meal in Italy was…pizza.
I should mention: We split the cost of a checked bag- for liquids and things that did not fit in our backpacks (ie my travel towel was stolen in our Paris hostel, so I had to borrow a real-life sized one from my host family). Walking around Lecco. Flan suggested that we name it because it probably deserved a name based on what we would put it through. The name must be Italian, of course, So I suggested Massimo. Those familiar with movies shown on TBS will know that that the father of Jennifer Lopez’ character in The Wedding Planner wants her to marry an Italian boy from his village named Massimo, played by that jerk intern on Grey’s Anatomy. Mark thinks that Massimo’s real name should be Peso (Spanish for weight) since he is our only boy and must carry Massimo up most stairs. For future reference, if I talk about us going anywhere with Massimo, it means we had to take our luggage with us, so we were schlepping (I think we are the only ones that say “schlep”, Mom, I keep getting weird looks). Our backpacks and taking turns with Massimo.
In the three times we were in the Lecco train station (arriving, buying bus tickets to Bellagio and then boarding the bus…three separate times because we are that cool), we neglected to look for luggage lockers, so, Flan, Emily, Mark, Mike, Massimo and I schlepped all over Bellagio. Lake Como is shaped like a “Y”. The two points are Lecco and Como and Bellagio is what we named the “nub”. It is gorgeous. We found benches to enjoy the views of the mountains. According the map in my Rick Steves’ book, Lake Como touches Switzerland. According to Mark’s Eurail map, it does not but the lake next to it does. Given past experiences with Rick Steves’ maps (and Rick Steves in general), I know who I am supposed to trust, but I still say that I have seen Switzerland. Those mountains looked Alp-ish, and it is entirely possible that I was looking at the tops of mountains whose bases were in Switzerland. So that’s what I’m going on. After we finished our photo shoot, we went into the town and had our first Italian gelato. After a while, we decided we might as well head into Milan, where we were staying that night. While trying to find a bus station to head back to Lecco, a bus headed there passed us on the street, so I flagged it down. This is something that would never happen in Toledo. I know this from multiple experiences of watching buses drive by me since I was a few feet away from the bus stop. There was only one passenger on the bus until we got on, so we think that must be why.
I still say this was SwitzerlandThe road between Lecco and Bellagio winds around hills and mountains and is not for the easily car-sick. Every time it approaches a curve (and there are several), the driver must honk with his special curve-honking-button that is obnoxious and has multiple honks involved. This is because the road is too narrow to have two lanes, so if there is a car coming from the other side of the curve, they must be warned. It was great when we had to back up to let a truck pass. At first I was slightly concerned that the bus would tumble down a cliff into the lake, but I figured that the guy knew what he was doing so I just enjoyed the view. My time in Europe has taught me to trust European drivers.
We caught a train to Milan. Mark, Flan, Massimo and I went to our hostel. No one was there to let us in. I spent at least 7-8 euro on a phone call to the hostel owner, who is Chinese and barely speaks Italian, let alone English or Spanish. This caused us to meet an attractive Argentine whose father is Italian and studied in the US and overheard me trying to communicate with her and offered to help. We never learned his name, but his golden retriever was named Bella. Eventually (1.5 hours later) the hostel owner showed up. Turns out the confusion was that the check in time from Hostel World.com was at 10 so no one was waiting for us at 6:30. We usually stay in places with 24-hour reception so we don’t pay much attention to check in times, but they only have four rooms so they actually stick to their times. She gave us each a cold Coke and all was forgiven.
By this point, Emily and her CL (Communion and Liberation, aka really fun people) friends had been waiting for us for quite some time so we dashed to meet them at the Duomo. The took us to “Happy Hour”. In Italy, this means you buy one cocktail and then get unlimited access to a buffet. It is the greatest idea ever. The buffet is platters of food ranging from risotto and pesto to mashed potatoes and chips and salsa. They are constantly replacing the platters and each time you go back up (don’t judge me Mom, the plates are reeeeeally small) there is something new. Emily’s friends were Maddalena (a Milanese) and Abby (from DC and studying in Milan). They are both in CL, which was founded in Milan. CL members like to sing when they get together (did I ever mention singing through the streets of Paris after dinner?) and Abby brought her CL songbook that has spiritual, popular and foreign-language songs. Flan (who actually has a voice) and I flipped through the book and sang, mostly U2 songs, if I recall correctly. We walked back to the Duomo (Mary Kate and Kate met up with us just as Happy hour ended. Don’t tell them, but after them left in search of pizza, the bar broke out foccacia stuffed with nutella instead of cheese…and it was warm) and we parted ways.
On Saturday, Mark, Mary Kate, Massimo and I went back to the Duomo to go inside this time. It was gorgeous. I think Gothic churches are my favorite, because they aren’t gaudy like Baroque churches or boring like Renaissance churches (NOTE, after Rome, I must amend my description of Renaissance churches as “boring”, but I still don’t like them). The Duomo in Milan is my second favorite Cathedral, after the Notre Dame in Paris, which is my measuring stick for all Cathedrals. The Duomo is simple, the statues are made from the same type of stone as the walls so you only have to see them if you want to. After the Duomo, we stopped by the world’s first Prada store (conveniently close to the Duomo). Then we walked to Milan’s fortress/castle, which was pretty cool. We then walked through a park, but did not find the nutella crepes Abby told us about. We then made it to the train station.
Even though we were there at 10:45, the next available train with seats was at 12:05. This meant that we had time for an early lunch (I guess we hadn’t had breakfast yet). I was craving a falafel kebap at Doner Kebap, and I got it and we got to sit outside Milan’s gorgeous train station. We arrived in Venice in the afternoon and deposited Massimo in our hostel, a B and B that, ironically, did not have breakfast. We made plans to meet at Piazza San Marco at 8:30 for dinner. Mark went off on his own on the back streets and Mary Kate and I went straight to San Marco to see Mass times because we would be spending prime Mass-going time on Palm Sunday on the train(s) to Cinque Terre. We then wandered, window-shopped and soaked up the Venetian ambience. We returned to San Marco for Mass, which was the most beautiful Mass I have been to in Europe. For one, it was packed with people of all ages – meaning Mary Kate and I were not the only ones under the age of 75. It was a gorgeous Byzantine-style church. Gold was everywhere, but it wasn’t overdone (if you haven’t figured out, I prefer simple but elegant churches). There is a three-year rotation for whose Passion Story is read on Palm Sunday and this year, it was Mark. Did I mention that Mark is behind the altar? There is just something poetic about listening to the Passion according to Mark while looking at the guy who wrote it (covered…there’s probably not much left of him after 2000 years anyway). The angelic voices (no, seriously) of the local high school choir also helped. In typical European fashion, even though it was the longest Gospel of the year and there was a choir and somewhat crowded, it was still under an hour. I don’t know how they do it. I also don’t know how I will be able to sit through Mass back in the States. We switched from St. Hugo’s, but Basilica Masses back at school will just seem so long now…although, they are in English, which helps.
Me in Piazza San MarcoSunday, April 12, 2009
I'm alive!
For anyone that was concerned: I was in NORTHERN Italy when the Earthquake hit, as indicated by my itinerary. I did not feel a thing. However, due to shotty construction, there was a lot of destruction and some deaths, so please keep those people in your prayers. If there is anything I have learned from my father, it is to send out an itinerary.
Also for those of you that were concerned (meaning my aunts), the nervous-wreckishness that you all have instilled in my made me look a little foolish in Italy. That train wasn't going to leave for a few minutes anyway....
I wrote out my entries, but it will probably take a while to put them up, since it is ten days of entries. Also, this week I have two 10 page papers and next week is finals, so I will be a bit busy. I promise that they will go up, however!
Love,
Global Chica
Also for those of you that were concerned (meaning my aunts), the nervous-wreckishness that you all have instilled in my made me look a little foolish in Italy. That train wasn't going to leave for a few minutes anyway....
I wrote out my entries, but it will probably take a while to put them up, since it is ten days of entries. Also, this week I have two 10 page papers and next week is finals, so I will be a bit busy. I promise that they will go up, however!
Love,
Global Chica
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Spring Break
We're finally getting Spring Break, even though the semester is almost over. Spain gets Semana Santa (Holy Week) off, and I'm going to Italy.
Here's the plan:
Thursday:
Sleep in the airport, in preparation for 6:20 am flight. many of us are doing this, so it will be a party.
Friday:
Arrive in Milan in the morning. Catch a train for Lake Como and hunt for George Clooney. Hopefully, we will have more success than Ellen DeGeneres. Go back to Milan to hang out with Emily's CLU friends (that's where the movement started) and sleep in the hostel I booked by accident.
Saturday:
Spend time with Emily's friends in the morning, then catch a train to Venice, hopefully making it in time for the best dinner of my life.
Sunday:
Stay in Venice a little longer (maybe for Mass? that will be interesting in Italian, hopefully we'll have our Palm Sunday procession through the canals). Catch multiple trains to get to Cinque Terre, ideally in time for sunset. Sip wine.
Monday:
Hike Cinque Terre during the day, enjoy it in the afternoon, catch a train to make it to Florence in the evening.
Tuesday:
Sight-see in Florence.
Wednesday:
Bike tour from Florence through Tuscany. Involves Wine tasting, Olive Oil tasting, fancy lunch and a castle. One or more of the activities might be in the castle.
Thursday:
Get up and go to Assisi, and make it to Rome to reunite with the rest of the group.
Friday:
Stations of the Cross. With the Pope. In the Collesium. Oh yeah
Saturday:
Lunch on Notre Dame, with ND students from several abroad programs and Easter Vigil Mass. Hopefully, someone important will preside.
Sunday:
Fly home in the morning (sad to be missing Easter Mass in Saint Peter's Square with the Pope) because I have class the next day and two ten-pagers due that week, the last week before finals.
**There are more activities in Rome, but I don't remember them all.
Current task:
Looking up the names of these cities in Spanish, so I can tell my host family what I'll be doing all week.
Also, looking up key Italian phrases like: "Are you married?" and "My hovercraft is full of eels" (have I explained that yet?)
Also, plan conversation with George Clooney and any interaction I may have with Brad Pitt, who frequents his villa.
Here's the plan:
Thursday:
Sleep in the airport, in preparation for 6:20 am flight. many of us are doing this, so it will be a party.
Friday:
Arrive in Milan in the morning. Catch a train for Lake Como and hunt for George Clooney. Hopefully, we will have more success than Ellen DeGeneres. Go back to Milan to hang out with Emily's CLU friends (that's where the movement started) and sleep in the hostel I booked by accident.
Saturday:
Spend time with Emily's friends in the morning, then catch a train to Venice, hopefully making it in time for the best dinner of my life.
Sunday:
Stay in Venice a little longer (maybe for Mass? that will be interesting in Italian, hopefully we'll have our Palm Sunday procession through the canals). Catch multiple trains to get to Cinque Terre, ideally in time for sunset. Sip wine.
Monday:
Hike Cinque Terre during the day, enjoy it in the afternoon, catch a train to make it to Florence in the evening.
Tuesday:
Sight-see in Florence.
Wednesday:
Bike tour from Florence through Tuscany. Involves Wine tasting, Olive Oil tasting, fancy lunch and a castle. One or more of the activities might be in the castle.
Thursday:
Get up and go to Assisi, and make it to Rome to reunite with the rest of the group.
Friday:
Stations of the Cross. With the Pope. In the Collesium. Oh yeah
Saturday:
Lunch on Notre Dame, with ND students from several abroad programs and Easter Vigil Mass. Hopefully, someone important will preside.
Sunday:
Fly home in the morning (sad to be missing Easter Mass in Saint Peter's Square with the Pope) because I have class the next day and two ten-pagers due that week, the last week before finals.
**There are more activities in Rome, but I don't remember them all.
Current task:
Looking up the names of these cities in Spanish, so I can tell my host family what I'll be doing all week.
Also, looking up key Italian phrases like: "Are you married?" and "My hovercraft is full of eels" (have I explained that yet?)
Also, plan conversation with George Clooney and any interaction I may have with Brad Pitt, who frequents his villa.
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