Porquai pas?

That is French for ¿por qué no? I don’t think it is used as much or in the same way as in Spain, but I figured it would be a good title for the biggest por qué no weekend of my life, that took place in Spain. Aunt Peggy: there may be parts of this entry that will upset you, my mom and I decided, so proceed with caution.
Since there wasn’t going to be anyone around in Toledo for the weekend (okay, that’s not entirely true) and since I was planning on going to Lourdes at some point anyway, I picked the first weekend of May. I bought my expensive train tickets because I was tired of buses (and I would have to take the train once I got to France anyway). I booked Hotel Saint Cristophe (they are all named after saints and things there) and kind of looked up things to do in Lourdes. I’m actually not all that well informed about Bernadette and Lourdes and stuff, but I know the basics. And, I wanted to see the original Grotto (to my mom’s TTK friends and others not directly affiliated with ND: there is a replica of the Grotto at Lourdes on Notre Dame’s campus). So, even though there was no one to go with me (sorry Aunt Peggy) I went anyway. Clarification: the semester at the Fund is long over and everyone is either gone or doing their whirlwind final trips across Europe, so there was no one left for Lourdes.
So, I woke up at the butt-crack of dawn to take the 6:00am bus to Madrid and then board the Metro and get across town in time for my 8:00 train to the French border. I had enough time to buy my ticket to Sarria, where I will start the Camino de Santiago. There was some slight confusion when the guy thought I was asking for tickets to Soria, which is very close to Madrid and not the kind of thing you buy tickets for almost a week in advance. So, all the ticket people laughed at me, but I didn’t really care. They put an accent where there wasn’t one and thus their syllabification was all wrong. I boarded my train, which was a high-speed train to Hendaye, where Franco screwed with Hitler’s mind. Look it up, I did an internal assessment on it junior year of high school. And now I’m bummed because I realize that I did not take a picture of it. I only had five minutes to change trains, due to some confusions I had while booking the trains, so I did not have time to convert my receipt into a ticket. No matter, I was getting off in Bayonne and that was only forty-five minutes away and by that point, they still hadn’t gone around to check tickets. It did confuse the ticket man in Bayonne however, because it’s kind of weird that I made it to Bayonne without a ticket.
I went to go to the bathroom in the train station and the lady was just finishing cleaning it. She left the door open and I started to go in, but saw the floor was soaking wet and decided to just go in whatever restaurant I ate lunch in. This is important in a few minutes. Now, Bayonne is in the French Basque Country. According to wikipedia, it is the birthplace of mayonnaise, so I am sure that it is some sort of culinary mecca, but I chose the Doner Kebap across from the train station, figuring I would actually be able to order something. Turns out, it has no bathroom. So, I eat quickly and head back to the train station. Well, the train station bathroom charges you twenty euro-cents. I had gotten in before because the cleaning lady had sneakily left the door open for me. The guy that went in the interim (who probably got in for free) was not that nice. It wasn’t the kind of bathroom door that would give you change, and so it didn’t take my euro coins. So, I was stuck roaming the streets of Bayonne, looking for a bathroom. After reaching the brink of tears and encountering a mean concierge at the Grand Hotel, I finally found a free bathroom on the street, that cleans itself after each use. It has a twenty minute time limit, though, so I guess that’s why it’s free (I don’t want to think about why there is actually a time limit and why they chose twenty minutes). So, that was one problem solved. However, in my trek to find a bathroom, I was not paying attention to where I was going and now I was lost on the streets of Bayonne. Fortunately, it is a pretty small town. I ask a woman for directions when my train was going to leave in twenty minutes and then ran. I got on the train five minutes before it was schedule to leave and felt very foolish for working up a sweat and running down the streets of Bayonne while my backpack pulled my shirt up and my pants down. Oh well, when am I going to be in Bayonne and see those people again?
I arrived in Lourdes and went to my hotel. No one answered. Oh dear, not a Milan repeat. Did I mention that it was pouring rain and I had left my umbrella and raincoat in Toledo? Oops. I bought a Lourdes umbrella in the train station, which ended up being really cheap, but at least it lasted me through the weekend and only turned inside out about 10 times. So, I sat under the awning and waited. Just as I was giving up and going to call them (the numbers didn’t work, so I didn’t get charged more than a few cents) two people walked out of the hostel. They didn’t hear me or something. When I asked the one in the cowboy hat, he just shrugged his shoulders. Oh well, I had a room. I changed out of my soaked clothes and ventured out with my pants rolled up (I don’t care). I went straight for the Grotto.
Now, Notre Dame tour guides say that the grotto on campus is a 1/7th or 1/8th scale model of the original. This is false. The original is definitely not seven or eight times bigger than the ND version, but it is definitely a different shape, it’s got a bunch of little caves and the stream running through. They are the same general concept, however, and it was definitely recognizable. If you want an idea, google image them, the statues of Mary are about the same size. At Notre Dame we say that there is always someone praying at the Grotto, which I have found to not be true. It is true, however for the Grotto in Lourdes but the cool thing is, there is usually a line to get into it (You can always sit outside it but to walk around and touch the walls, so usually have to wait your turn unless it is after 1:30 am and before 5:00am). I went through and then went to dinner. I found an Italian restaurant that gave me free water, which doesn’t happen in Europe. Unfortunately when I left, I realized that they probably had expected a tip, so I didn’t go back. I went to the Marian Procession, which is a candlelit rosary in at least five languages. It was nice, but it was rainy and wet, so I didn’t feel up to staying for Mass at 11, especially since I was tired.
I woke up Friday to more rain. Great. I rolled up my pants and got out my trusty umbrella and headed out. I went to the two basilicas on top of the grotto. There is almost always a Mass going on there! I walked into a Spanish Mass, where the highlight was them singing the “Our Father” to the tune of “The Sound of Silence”. I have to admit, I was unable to control myself at that one. I went down to the other basilica and there was a Mass in French, so I came back when it ended to take pictures. This basilica, the Basilica of the Rosary, has a beautiful mosaic for each mystery of the rosary, so I took a picture of each. I went up the hill and found the stations of the cross up there. They are a series of gold-painted, life-size statues that are probably made out of plaster. There was this one couple that took a picture of the woman with each station. I don’t understand that, I mean, it’s not a picture you would smile in (and she wasn’t) but whatever floats your boat I guess. I did take some pictures of the stations I though were especially well-done. For example, when they lay Jesus in the tomb, they used a real cave on the side of the hill.

The Fourteenth Station: Jesus is laid in the tomb.

Everything closes from 12-2 for French siesta (which ends the same time the Spanish siesta starts, how cute) so I went to McDonalds for lunch. It’s weird because I refuse to eat there in the States, but I have no problem doing so in Europe. I went shopping and though I was unable to find a rosary I liked in the Palais du Rosaire, I found one across the street. It was a strange mix of comforting and disconcerting that there were so many stores with religious goods. I mean, I don’t think St. Francis of Assisi would really be selling four-foot long glow-in-the-dark rosaries, but it’s kind of nice that they are trying. By the way, some day I will probably regret not buying one of those rosaries, but that day has not yet come.
I went back to the grotto because they have a rosary at 3:30 (hence my rush to buy the souvenir). Before it started, I checked out the baths. You can’t get in unless your are involved in the bathing process, and there is of course a long line. (Of the three entrances, men, women and children, guess which line was the longest?) I was not “with it” enough before leaving to arrange anything about helping bathe and had no interest in waiting in that long line when I wasn’t actually sick, so I just walked by admiringly. I had some time before the rosary, so I went back into the Basilica de Rosaire to warm up/dry off. There was a beautiful choir singing and I got to listen for half an hour. When we prayed the rosary, it was in French, so I said it in English under my breath. The English version has way fewer syllables, which was disconcerting because I kept feeling like I was missing parts of the prayers I’ve know since birth. I don’t think I was. I tried to find the Eucharistic procession, but somehow failed. Maybe they didn’t have it due to the rain. I did go to their ending point, the Basilica of Pius X, which is underground and bears a slight resemblance to a parking garage. I think it was mostly built to fit lots of people. It does have lovely stations of the cross however. I went to get dinner (a sandwich take-out place) and brought it back to my hotel room. The plan was to take a nap before that night’s Marian procession and then stay for Mass, but I felt like I was coming down with a cold and didn’t want to go out in the cold and the rain, so I stayed in my room, which was actually very pleasant.
Saturday I woke up and went to the funiculare up Pic du Jer, since Lourdes is in the Pyrenees. The mountain was beautiful to say the least, especially since Saturday was such a beautiful day. I didn’t want to wrap my jacket around my waist, but then I realized the only people around were French teenagers wearing matching sweatshirts and eating cheese from a can. So I did it. When I went to the bathroom at the bar the funiculare company had built on top of the mountain (Laura, I know you aren’t reading this, but I broke out the toilet seat covers you gave me for my birthday) I saw a path with a sign that said Lourdes → so I took it since it was so nice out. After a while I stopped and sat on a rock and said a rosary while looking down at Lourdes in the valley, because it seemed like the right thing to do. After a while the nice rocky path ended and it became muddy and treacherous. I made it, getting pretty muddy along the way, but it was a delightful adventure. Did I mention stopping in the town market on my way to the funiculare and getting a picnic for myself? Because I ate it on the mountain. In French, Pink lady apples are dame rose, which just sounds so cool.

The Pyrenees

I arrived back to the center of town around two, weh everything reopens, so I went to the house Bernadetter grew up in, which was interesting. It was tiny but informative. Did you know that Bernadette had asthma? That’s why her bed is next to the window. It’s the real bed she slept in during the time she was receiving the apparitions. I went back to the Grotto for the rosary and this time found the Eucharistic Procession (I went to the Adoration Chapel a while before hand and knew that the chapel closed when they processed out of it). We processed mostly in German, which is of course the proper way to process and then had benediction in that unfortunate looking basilica. I was still full from my picnic, so I went to find the other stations of the cross, the ones not on the hill that are more for sick people. Turns out there are two sets, so I went through both. They were along the river, across from the grotto and since it was dinnertime, it was very peaceful.
I bought candles to light in the section next to the grotto (there is not enough room in the grotto for everyone). Four people sent me prayer requests, so I bought five, one for each and one for others/my intentions. Of course, I dropped a candle into the water pool underneath, so I decided to dedicate the Marian Procession to the “Other” intentions. It was very nice, especially since it was warmer out and not raining (I didn’t buy a candle for the procession on Thursday night because I didn’t trust myself with a candle and an umbrella). After the procession, I relaxed by the grotto until it was time for Mass, which was in Italian. I could understand a lot, but it took a while for the microphones to turn on, which was unfortunate.
I hung out after Mass and prayed a rosary while the grotto emptied out a little bit, so I could pay my last respects to the grotto when it was a little less crowded. I then left and went to the train station. Aunt Peggy, you may as well stop reading now. I’ll see you in a few weeks. My train was at 4:35 am and I got to the station a little after 1:00 am, hoping to nap a little before my train in the waiting room. Turns out, the train station closes. So, I sat on a bench in the platform for a while, listening to my iPod to drown out night-time noises. I played games on my iPod and my electronic Sudoku that I got from Yankee Swap on Christmas Eve (thanks to whoever put that one in) said a rosary, this time for my own safety, but that only got me to 2:00 am. I was starting to get cold and wanted to walk around to warm up, but I didn’t want to just walk around and draw attention to myself, I felt the need to walk to somewhere. What is the only thing in Lourdes open past 1 am? Expensive hotel lobbies and the Grotto. I chose the grotto. Besides, the bathrooms at the train station were locked and I knew I would be able to use them at the Grotto. It took a while to get there since they close all but one entrance after midnight. It was a cool entrance, on top of the hill and you walk down to the candles. There were a few people there when I got there, but they soon left. I had come to the grotto to be around people, but it was okay, because I didn’t feel like I was alone. You know how people tell you “You are never alone. He is always with you”? This was the first time I actually believed them. I said a rosary and it was about time to head back to the train station. So, I said goodbye to the grotto again. Cool thing is, I was able to get a grotto at night with no one in it picture.

The Grotto. 3:00 am.

I boarded the train with no problems and made it back to Toledo at around 4:00 pm, after not having eaten since 4:00 am in the train station (yay vending machines), so I went to Doner Kebap, quite exhausted. In the metro in Madrid, there was a family (parents, daughter son). When their stop was approaching, the mom and daughter went to one door and the dad and son went to the other. The mom and daughter teased the 2-year-old boy by saying “Bye! See you Later!” and he became worried, asking his mom where she was going. She told him she was getting off the metro at the same time as him, but he wasn’t sure if he could believe her. When they did get off in the same place, he let out the most adorable squeal of joy and ran to her. Another boy, older than that was wearing a t-shirt with a picture of Jesus that said “Haced lo que os diga” (“Do what he tells you”), which is what Mary says during the miracle of the Wedding at Cana (water into wine). This was very cool, because they talked about it all the time at Lourdes and the front of the Basilica du Rosaire is a mosaic of the wedding at Cana. Kind of a cool way to end the weekend, huh?

PS Most of you probably don't know what I'm talking about but there are these wooden bracelets with pictures of saints or Mary of Jesus and stuff on them and I got one in Lourdes. I go a stone one, since it looked more legit. However, it's magnetic or something. It's some kid of metal that I am apparently allergic to because it burns when I put it on. So, let me know if you want it. I should probably figure out my allergies. Does anyone the difference between 14kt gold and 10 kt gold? Because I've never had problems with 14 kt gold, but i am mildly allergic to my class ring...don't worry, I've built up an immunity to it.

So what's on YOUR mind?

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!

"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.

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…

"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

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 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!