A City on the Water; Venezia, Veneto

My first view of the city

Just last Thursday, I found myself unexpectedly wandering one of the most magical cities I’d had yet visited.  Sitting on an island in the Adriatic, with a total of 170, canals, over 400 bridges, and 118 islands, Venezia, Veneto landed itself at the top of my favorites list for European cities.

My first crossing over the bridge from the bus stop into Venezia I was immediately seduced by the surroundings that looked they could have almost been taken from a fairy tale.  The crystal blue waters meandered up and around old apartment and hotel buildings, accentuating their already bold and coral tones.  Boats were cruising up and down the water, and little ports were scattered everywhere, perfectly snugged up against the cobblestone walkways.  Seagulls flew up and about, with the occasional one taking a rest and scanning its surroundings from the safety of an old wooden post jutting out of the water.  It was a gloomy day by conventional standards, but it seemed to almost enliven the city ever the more. 

View from Piazza San Marco

I had three days to wonder the lovely city, though most everybody you talk to will tell you that you can easily see the city in the comfort of only one day.  With the city being fairly small, the labyrinth of roads certainly becomes easy to follow when you realize they all lead to either one of the major destinations: Piazza San Marco, or The Rialto, Venice’s old commercial heart.  So definitely, with a small amount of area to cover, and little to do besides cruising around he town and taking in all the atmosphere and Venetian city life we could, three days definitely did us well, and left us plenty of time to wander and relax at the local cafes.

One of the dozens of shops displaying hundreds of masks.

Venice is most stereotypically known for both its masks and it gondolas, both which very much so earn their place amongst Venice’s best and set this small Italian city apart from the rest.  The masks originally came about to grant its wearers anonymity when they ventured the city to eat drink and be merry.  They then became popular in 16^th century theater, especially in the Venetian’ version of improve theater, “comedy of humors.”  Today, Venice remains famous for their masks as they reemerged in the celebration of The Venice Carnival, which is a celebration that lasts two weeks before Shrove Tuesday, or what American’s know better as “Fat Tuesday”.  Shrove Tuesday is a holiday within the Catholic Church when people are granted time to take advantage of a little excess before the coming of Lent.  This one last opportunity of over-indulgence before the 40-day period before Easter when Catholics are encouraged to fast and give up a few things that they love is extended into two weeks in Venetian time, when you can see people dressed up in elegant attire, wearing every kind of mask that you could possibly imagine.

A Gondolier rows through the quiet alleyway

Gondolas so too earn their name in Venice, as obviously this is their place of fruition, and thus, has very much become the icon of the city itself.  You can quickly learn why though, as just a five-minute stroll around the city, you can catch the sight of several gondoliers, gently rowing up and along the small canals, as the passengers eagerly take photos of their picturesque surroundings.  In the 16^th and 17^th centuries, gondolas were actually a main means of transportation, and it was estimated that around eight to ten thousand gondolas wandered the waterways of Venice.  Today there are only about 400 in use, mostly all dedicated to the transportation of tourists around the city.  Though I didn’t have the opportunity to ride one, as the fixed rates were far more than I can afford, I definitely took enjoyment in watching them wander the city waterways.  It was almost like I was peering in on a painting, watching the gondoliers with their small straw hats with a ribbon dangling delicately from the side, guiding their boat along with their muscular outstretched arms.  For several moments I had almost felt transported into the dusk of the past, when this was what defined this island city, quiet evening gondolas rides and sparkling city waters; it seemed almost all too good to be true.

A store window in Venice displaying glass from Murano

Outside of the wooden gondolas wandering up and down the Grand Canal and small alleyways and the mysterious masks that dazzle themselves from almost every one of 450 souvenir shops, Venice still remains spectacularly close with it’s history as the first city to begin glass-making.  The craft dates back all the way to Roman times, and just walking around Venice, the fact becomes clear when you notice the intricate and amazing glass sculptures lining the shop windows, in every color of the rainbow. From shades of midnight blue to bright and cheery pinks, you can find everything from a small pair of earrings to a chandelier the size of a small Christmas tree.  You couldn’t help but to be entaken by the craft itself, and become mesmerized in the talent it took to create each and one of the unique pieces of art.

Though Venice still remains strictly rooted in it’s glass making heritage, in the 13^th century, when the craft took off, its foundries were moved to the island just off of Venice, to the island of Murano, in order to lessen the risk of fire.  With three days on my watch, I decided to venture off to this island city via water taxi and see what the glass making is all about. 

View from the waterbus

I decided to take the water bus first through the Grand Canal, in order to get some great views and even more amazing photographs.  Though it was nothing less than frigid outside, I withstood it as I was so caught up in the beautiful surroundings.  It was only 12 Euro for an all day pass to ride the water bus, and it was an experience in itself.  The people watching itself made it all the more worth it, from the older man coddling his little Schnauzer keeping him the best he could from the cold, to the father and son playing their own little version of red-hands, I not only had the boat ride, but some interesting and pleasant folks to share it with.  There were also some moments on the bus I found myself peeking over at the local newspaper an older gentleman was reading, and it was exciting for me to see how much Italian I could understand and recognize.

Molding a glass horse

From the end of the Grand Canal, Piazza San Marco, we caught a water bus over to the Island of Murano, which only took about 20 minutes.  The small island city was a great feat, and obviously, completely surrounded by water, it had its own feel to it that set it apart from the larger island of Venice.  From the bus I went directly to a glass blowing demonstration, where I got to watch a pair of older men mold, blow, and form some glass that came right out of their 1,500°C oven.  It was truly spectacular to see how easily he could create such intricate objects, from horse complete with a main and flowing tail, to a simple vase with a perfectly curved handle.  He made it look so easy, and it undermined the nearly 20 year apprenticeship they go through in order to earn their place on the step stool, creating some of the most beautiful and unique glass masterpieces in Venice, and perhaps even the world. 

Piazza San Marco with the Basilica and Clock Tower

On the last day of my time in Venice, I decided to wander around Piazza San Marco, actually the only named Piazza in Venice.  The rest of the squares in Venice only earn the name campi, meaning field, because of their smaller size.  Piazza San Marco is the famous Piazza in Venice, and the book I had been reading about the city said to do everything to avoid seeing this on your first day because of the crowds.  Well, luckily, a cloudy and rainy November day didn’t attract too many people, so though there were tourists, there surely wasn’t as many as there would be on a nice summer’s day.  This Piazza is home to the beautiful Basilica di San Marco and the Torre dell'Orologio (clock tower), which both boast their presence through their immediate size.  I enjoyed just meandering around the square, and watching the tourists meander about excitedly taking pictures, feeding clusters of eager pigeons, and chatting with close friends. 

The Doge's Palace

My wanderings eventually led me to the Doge’s Palace, which once hosted the Doge of Venice, the once supreme authority and chief magistrate of the city.  The Doge ruled over Venice for over a thousand years, from the seventh until the eighteenth century.  The palace had a simple elegance to it, and its beautiful white façade set it apart from the surrounding buildings on the square.  Upon entrance you are led straight into the courtyard, where inside sits a large staircase, named the Giant’s Staircase.  On either side stand two colossal statues of Mars and Neptune, representing Venice’s power by land and sea.   It was here that members of the Senate would gather before meetings inside the palace. 

Upon entrance I was led directly inside where I was able to tour the Doge’s apartments and the Institutional chambers.   Both were simply decorated, as most of the furniture was gone, but the beautiful paintings and wallpapers that remained was simply gorgeous and a feat in and of itself.  My visit finished with the Armoury and Prisons, which were definitely my absolute favorite part.  I never had seen such old weapons before, and each piece, from 16^th and 17^th century firearms, to swords, crossbows, quivers, and arrows were magnificently designed and so different than the weapons used today.  Each only looked familiar from old photographs, and they looked entirely like the ones you see in movies dating back to older times.  The ancient armor especially stood out, from metal helmets to metal covers for the horse’s heads, complete with chains and small designs etched into the metal.  

Inside the prison cell, notice the carvings from the prisoners?

Though I was happy with my Palace tour, it wasn’t until I visited the Prisons underground that I got really excited about my visit.  There was literally nobody else there, and I was all alone, wandering around ancient prisons that literally looked like they came out of a movie.  As I meandered, I imagined old prison guards walking around, with gigantic keys clanking against their thighs, and starving prisoners hanging their arms outside of the thick rod iron bars, begging for small scraps of food.  I imagined the sickening stench of urine and dirt, and wondered how in the world people could live in those small concrete cells… consisting of nothing else but, well… concrete.  I could almost hear the moaning of the prisoners echoing off the walls, as I felt the contours of the old rusted over iron latches that gated off sections of the prison.  For a moment I almost thought I could hear a guard come from around the corner, when I quickly snapped back into reality as a camera flashed, and I could hear small chuckles of some fellow tourists.  Though I was happy I wasn’t met with a gigantic prison guard dripping with metal armor and an unhappy grin, I wasn’t exactly thrilled with the idea of returning back to the limitations of my 21^st century reality.

Enjoying one of the most beautiful cities :-)

But with no choice in the matter, I simply continued on my tour, which promptly ended after a small souvenir shop.  After exiting the Palace, I spent my last afternoon in Venice simply walking around the town, window shopping and taking in the magnificent views of the water, gondolas, and one of a kind atmosphere of the island city.  I truly hadn’t expected to fall in love with Venice the way I did, but then again, I don’t think it would be possible to ever not to.  Definitely on the top of my list, if you’d ever ask, I’d definitely recommend Venezia, Veneto, the “floating city” well deserving its name by the New York Times as “one of the most beautiful cities built by man.” 

My Adventures in the Enchanting Emerald Isle

Dublin lit up for Christmas

Well, now that I’ve left everybody waiting, I musn’t prolong the delay.  My ventures to the Emerald Isle were not much of what I expected, though I must say, I hadn’t exactly had anything precisely in mind.  My best friend had attached herself so to this country, much to the fact she had grown up there for the best of her elementary years, and had several suggestions of places to go and things to see.  I had appreciated the advice, for obviously, she was a lot more familiar with the country than I, but given the fact I was traveling with two other companions, our travels were unfortunately bound to only what we agreed on.  And aside the fact we booked the hostel solely for Dublin for the four short days we sojourned in the country, we were quite limited in the options before us.  So, I left our travels basically up to chance, and I came to the conclusion that without any plans, adventure would fall upon us, and the lack of an itinerary would have no such inhibition on this grand adventure in this beautiful country.

We arrived in Ireland late on the 29^th of November, and after arriving in the city of Dublin, quite exhausted of our travels, we hoped to find such a venue to relax and discuss possible plans.  But no such place existed, for it was almost 2 in the morning on the following day before we had wandered the streets, looking for such a place.  I cannot say Dublin struck me as a lovely city right away, for the only catching sites I admired were the Christmas lights and the lonely tree that stood aside the bridge crossing the River Liffey.  Aside from the decoration, the city felt cramped, and garbage littered every corner.  There were scavenging birds picking through the piles of trash, and the overall atmosphere felt dry, daunting, and uninviting.  But, as I knew I had arrived at such an awkward time, I knew I musn’t judge the city at first glance beneath such cover of dark.  Tomorrow, in the light of day, I’d have a fresh set of eyes, and a new opinion of the city could be formed with a much more amiable foundation.

View from across River Liffey

Though I’d love to say my opinion had changed over the course of the three days we wandered the city, it simply hadn’t occurred as I’d formerly hoped.  Dublin simply wasn’t attractive to me in the simplest terms, and I didn’t prefer the city atmosphere.  Even with no such expectations, it most likely wouldn’t have conquered the lowest of them if they so existed.  But, I really musn’t be so negative, because apart from the city atmosphere, I grew a liking to other aspects of Dublin (let this in no way be a judgment of Ireland itself), and found aspects of it to be quite enjoyable and honest to the Irish tradition and way of life.

But before I skip to my most favorite part of my stay in Dublin, I must first relate the fact that when Ireland first came to mind before my trip to the country, the only thoughts that came to fruition within me where the most simple and stereotypical things that I had been introduced to in elementary school.  From Leprechauns, rainbows, ever-elusive pots of gold hidden at their base, to scores of smiling and cheerful red heads skipping and dancing through fields of clovers, I probably hadn’t the best preliminary perception of the country.  On more realistic terms, I did admire the country through the accomplishments of Saint Patrick, the patron saint of the country who is believed to have brought Christianity to the people of Ireland. 

Dublin's famous Temple Bar

Luckily though, my friends made it clear to me that the only way I was going to ever catch site of a Leprechaun, stashes of gold, or rainbows, I was going to have to take down one too many bouts of alcohols that I was neither accustomed to or agreed with.  So, to that fact made clear to me, I settled on conversing with the cheerful gingers that I found to be such wonderful company at the several pubs we frequented over the course of our time in Dublin.  This wasn’t difficult though, as we found the pub atmosphere to be quite enjoyable, and we ended up spending every night out, sipping on Dublin’s famous Guinness beer and chatting with the locals.

Next to Dublin’s famous Temple Bar, my favorite had to have been the Old Storehouse, which was an inviting pub full of pep and cheer with bands that came and played for the anticipating crowds of locals and travelers alike.  The musicians were such a highlight for me, as they so simply brought to life the culture and tradition of Ireland that you couldn’t help but fall in love with the simple idea of it all.  I found such a pervasive joy in watching the musicians, each one playing their instrument with such zeal and zest that I couldn’t help but to sing along, tap my feet, and join in with the celebration.

Some fond memories made at The Old Storehouse

But, it was merely just another Friday evening when I was caught in the joy of this celebration, and in spite of the jolly and festive music, there must not be any such presumption of holiday… it was merely a celebration of the simplest things, of Ireland, of life, friends, family, music… of their troubled yet triumphant past that I found to be so strikingly unique and alive as opposed to the other countries I have visited.  Never had I been met with people so happy, so cheerful, so smiley and open to conversation as I had in Ireland, and in spite of the city outside, you could walk into a pub, strike up a conversation with a local, and right away feel like you live right down the block.  It was lovely meeting so many locals, and it really gave me a first hand look into the simple and joyful life each one of them seemed to lead.  It seemed that most groups came in large and strong, and most of them actually had all known eachother since they were in elementary school.  It was lovely knowing that such a proximity and affection still existed in neighborhoods such as these, and I admired the everlasting and encouraging friendships that seemed to bond each one of them together.

Of the five bars we visited, the overall highlight, as I mentioned definitely had to have been the music.  I loved watching one young man in particular dance away with his tin whistle, his cheeks blushing bright red, and beads of sweat escaping from behind his thick and dark whiskered smile. It remains a mystery to me just how he managed to play that small whistle with such luster and passion that the music literally just thickened the air with every note.  The fiddle was no less exhilarating, as it was played with such affection that it could have brought joy to even the faintest of hearts.  As they played Irish classics from Molly Malone to Whiskey in the Jar, I spent most of my nights just taking in the pub atmosphere alongside some of the friendliest Irish folk around. From their adorable Irish accents to their sentences ever so sweetened with “Loves” and charming smiles, the moments just seemed to all melt away.

During one of our days in Dublin, we decided to take part in the free walking tour that was encouraged by our hostel, Saint Isaacs.  Having had such a positive and educational experience with it in Paris, we saw to it as a perfect opportunity to expand our obviously quite limited acquisition and knowledge of the country.  So, On December 2, we followed a long a group of 40 strong around the streets of Dublin.  The group was not at all favorable in size, and thus it led oftentimes to missing out on parts of it, but luckily, I gathered enough information to get a general gist of the places we visited, enough so to share with you and a little bit of the history to each of our wanderings. 

The Dublin Castle, with the Record Tower

Our first stop was the Dublin Castle, which cast a number of roles throughout the course of history, of the most highlighted being it the seat of British rule until 1922. The site was first inhabited by Vikings and was the main military base and trading center in Ireland. It wasn’t though until 1230 under the instruction of a British King that the site became the foundation of a castle complete with walls and ditches for defense of the city from further invasion.  The last surviving tower of its original construction after a fire in 1673, The Record Tower, strikes a fair amount of history as it held the mischievous sons of two prominent families of the time, the O’Neill’s and the O’Donnell’s.  In the 1500s the two families had been at war with eachother for in-extractible reasons.   This had left the country divided and without a central authority for 200 years following Ireland’s unfinished Norman Conquest.  Though an issue arose when two sons of the families, Red Hugh O’Donnell and Henry O’Neill, became friends and united the families.  This worried Elisabeth I, as the English were currently trying extend their authority over the land.  So she concocted a plan to capture O’Donnell and O’Neill and so a ship was sent to capture them.  They were bribed with alcohol and a time later, they found themselves locked in The Record Tower until their unlikely escape through a toilet chute in 1592. 

The Courtyard of the Dublin Castle

Also a part of the Dublin Castle is the Chapel Royal, built in 1814, which hosts the most magnificent interior gothic infrastructures in Ireland. The courtyard of the castle was definitely gorgeous in and of itself too, which today serves as a landing pad for helicopters.  From there we visited the grounds of Jonathan Swift’s original home in Dublin, which is no longer standing.  Instead hung a plaque in his honor, naming his accomplishment as Dean of St. Patrick’s Cathedral in Dublin.  It was magnificent to learn of his roots here in Ireland, as he is one of the most remembered satirist and essayists of his time, completing such works such as Gulliver’s Travels, and A Modest Proposal. The essay, A Modest Proposal definitely wrung through my memory from my high school English studies.  The piece was written in 1729, and was a satire venting his disgust at the country’s lamentable condition.  In his writing, he offers a solution to Ireland’s poverty, suggesting that that a young healthy child, well nursed, is at a year old, a most delicious, nourishing, and wholesome food…” 

Christ Church in Dublin

From the place of Swift’s birth we made our way to Christ Church, the oldest Cathedral in Dublin, built in 1014 by the Vikings.  From there we visited the Projects Art Center, which launched the 1980s band, U2, into becoming one of the most famous internationally known bands.  The street led us right to ½ Penny Bridge, which earned its name because it once costed travelers ½ a penny to cross.  The bridge was actually built by the same company that constructed the Titanic, so I wasn’t all too sure on how much its strength should have been trusted.  O’Connell Street was our next destination, the main Street in Dublin, which was reconstructed after Ireland’s Independence in 1922.   In the center stands the O’Connell monument, dedicated to the nationalist leader, Daniel O’Connell.

Though meandering and exploring the city streets lent us quite the adventure, we knew there had to be more to Ireland than the city.  After all, the rolling green hills and fields of clovers had to come from somewhere.  So my friends and I promptly signed up for a tour traversing the Connemara National Park, well known for its mountain range, The Twelve Bens, and its unique terrain, made up of bog, grass, and woodlands.  We undertook this adventure on our last day in Ireland, and caught the bus early in the morning for our tour that would last us for the entire day. 

In the lovely hillsides of the Connemara

Unfortunately, the weather that Sunday hadn’t cleared up for us fellow travelers, and decidedly fit right into the usual weather of Ireland’s climate which consisted of some rain, some clouds, rain… and some more rain.  So, we shouldn’t have been in for a surprise, but I suppose to our luck… and not so much our luck, the tour did consist of sightseeing mostly from the cover of our bus coach.  So while we were somewhat warm inside the bus, and safe from the rain, unfortunately we were not able to see out the window for the good part of our tour.  But luckily, it didn’t stop us from enjoying the several stops we made along the way, which consisted of a Friary, a Castle, and Galway City itself. 

Our first stop, the Ross Errily Friary, was a medieval Franciscan Friary left in ruins.  A Friary is different from an Abbey in that a Friary can also be open to the public for worship as apposed to an Abbey which is place reserved solely the worship and living purposes of monks or nuns. Though obviously not kept in superb condition, provided its age, it still is the best preserved of its kind.  The friary was complete with a labyrinth of old mossy cobbled walls, fit with small peep holes, differently shaped doors and passageways, and an assortment of rooms in all different sizes.  In addition, it consisted of burial grounds dating back to medieval times, hidden staircases, an oven, and a water tank that was once used to hold live fish.  We had about a half an hour to explore the ruins, which we spent meandering along long walkways lined with perfectly symmetrical medieval windows, all pocketed with moss and shabby green growth crawling out from every corner.  The backdrop of the ruins though was most spectacular, with the rolling green hills escaping into the fogged down bog lands of the landscape.  The air was thick with moisture, and I could almost feel the mystery of the place pierce through my veins just looking out onto the horizon, trying to extrapolate the years that stood between me and the old cobblestone ruins sleeping behind me. 

Between county borders in Cong between Galway & Mayo

After loading up onto the bus once again, our next stop was the Village of Cong.  Cong was a quaint and quiet little town; nestled up in the tireless hills of Ireland, sitting on an island formed by an assortment of small streams.  It is most well known for being home to the famous Ashford Castle, one of Ireland’s finest hotels.  Our bus driver told us that if you have to ask the price, you can’t afford it.  But I looked it up, and it appears that the cheapest room for one adult is 88 Euro, unless I am mistaken.  I am including the link to their site, just to see the extensive beauty of it, http://www.ashford.ie/.  Unfortunately, it is not at all accessible to the public, and it is nearly invisible from outside of the walls.  But now that I know the price, a visit to this magnificent castle doesn’t seem too out of the realm of possibility any longer.  I think by the time I finish this blog post, I will have completely fallen in love with this country and need to return.  I’m realizing just how much of Ireland I didn’t see, and the magic that lies hidden outside the contours of city walls. 

A picturesque view of Kylemore Abbey, Connemara

After passing by the boundaries of Ashford Castle and exploring the city of Cong for awhile, we got back on board to make it to our final destination: Kylemore Abbey and Gardens.  Kylemore Abbey, or originally, Kylemore Castle, was originally built for young Margaret Vaughan, as a gift from her husband, Mitchell Henry.  They had both fallen in love with the area during their honeymoon in 1850, that it became Margaret’s dream to return to the Connemara and live there.  Though the family enjoyed a quaint and quiet lifestyle at the castle, after Margaret and her husband traveled to Egypt in 1874, Margaret fell ill with dysentery and died 16 days after at the age of 45.   The beautiful Neo-Gothic church that sits just a 5-minute walk down the road from the castle was built by Mitchell as a memorial chapel for his wife. 

The Gothic Church, Connemara

After some financial difficulty, the castle and its property changed hands twice more, with its final purchase by the Benedictine Community in 1920, with the help of public loans.  The Irish Benedictine Nuns were refugees from Ypres, Flanders and had fled from their monastery in 1914 during the World War 1 when the German army bombarded their city.  Since their stay, the nuns have made important contributions to this historical emblem, from opening an international boarding school, to renovating the Victorian Walled Garden and Gothic Church.  The boarding school has attracted the daughters of Irish nobility and some of the most famous students include American actress Angelica Huston and Indian Princesses, daughters of Maharaja Ranjit.  Because of changing times and increasing costs of running the school and its maintenance, the school was closed, and the last exams at Kylemore Abbey were given in June of 2010. 

The castle and its surroundings were so picturesque, and just walking around, you would have thought to have been gracing the pages of a childhood fairytale.  The winding paths were carved through perfectly green hillsides, dotted with trees touched by the coming of fall.  The castle stood right at the base of a beautiful lake, with ancient trees at its basin, their silhouettes shadowing the murky blue waters.  It was difficult to not fall in love with the beautiful atmosphere, so magical, and so seemingly unreal, you literally had to pause for a moment to take it all in.  I could have wandered the castle and its surrounding trails for hours, but unfortunately, the two hours cut us short, and we had to return to Dublin.

A bend in the road... where will my travels take me next?

Though my adventures in Ireland ended much sooner than I would have liked, as do most of my trips throughout Europe, I enjoyed every moment immensely, and appreciated every small joy that came upon me. Wholly unplanned, this trip was definitely met with adventure, and I couldn’t by the end of the four short days help but to fall in love with this country cradled with such a strong sense of magic and mystery.  From the bog lands of the Connemara to the pubs that came alive with melodic tunes of tin whistles and fiddles, Ireland earned a name for itself far greater than I had ever expected. 

A Preliminary Goodbye

Greetings to my blog followers, friends, readership, the occasional set of eyes that accidentally popped open this page by no other reason than pure accident,

I bet you would all love to see pictures of Ireland, and perhaps the stories I have to tell, and know about all the wonderful leprechauns I caught, the gold I found, and the redheads I…

Well, we can save that for later…  ;-) just kidding…

Anyways,

I’ve been coming back to my computer over and over again attempting to write about my experience in Ireland, but nothing to my satisfaction was ever scribbled upon these stubborn white pages.

So here I am, in my cold unheated bedroom, etching up not my final goodbye, but a soon to be farewell to all my fellow readers.  I guess if you are wondering why I am biding goodbye to, I must relate to you that I am to return home within the next week and a half.  I am to cross over the Atlantic Ocean by plane, on the cold and blustery evening of December 21^st.  And really, the fact of this didn’t really hit me until a few days ago.  I was staring at my calendar, and realizing I still had yet to visit a few places in Viterbo, I went in panic mode etching in little side trips in all my empty days.

But really, as much as I can say traveling has been the mere highlight of everything, there has been so much more to it than the surface level. 

Coming into this, I didn’t really know what to expect.  It was such a big change that I just kind of went with the flow of things, not really having anything in mind of what my life would be like here.  Well, I knew it would include bouts of pizza, lots of pasta, and the occasional gelato, but I didn’t really know what else my life here would entail.  I was excited yet nervous about the language aspect and I was very excited to get to know Italy on a more personal level by staying with a host family.  Also, having signed up for 15 credits, I expected lots of studying, occasional nights out, and I was crossing my fingers to perhaps travel beyond the borders of Italy.

And looking back now, these were all reasonable expectations.  They were all concrete manifestation of life: food, people, the changing of seasons, and the occasional trip outside the country.  They were things I could count, take pictures of, and remember in concrete form forever.

But… all that I’ve taken from my experience here can’t exclusively fit within the boundaries of a photo frame, within the consoles of my cuisine cookbook, or the small souvenir pennies I pocket from each country I visit.  Most of what I’ve taken is sleeping within the pages of my journal, every word, every feeling, and every moment, a pulsation of life that has changed me and altered me into the person that I am today.  It’s hard to put into words how living abroad releases yourself from a certain singularity, a certain perspective lacking so many aspects of peripheral vision.  I feel like I’ve truly come to know an entirely new way of life, new way of being, and new way of seeing the world.  Since peering through my bedroom window by night within the contours of Boise, Idaho, admiring the sauntering mountains wandering away into the distant horizon, I have grown and changed so much, and alas, taken one more step forward becoming the best version of myself, and reaching my goals and tackling challenges that I hadn’t even realized existed.

I really can’t say just how much I have fallen in love with Italy.  I truly hadn’t realized how starkly different the culture was not only from America, but from the rest of Europe, until I visited Austria, France, and Ireland.  I was almost in shock, realizing how much I’ve had to adjust and how truly different the culture is here.  From the language, to the people, to the dress… the concept of time, the way of life… everything has been so outside of my realm of experience and knowledge.  But there is no better way to get to know a people and culture than to just pack up your backs and move in right alongside them.  From meeting Italian friends to tutoring a group of chatty fourth grade girls to teaching at the local high school, I’ve definitely done a lot in order to really understand and come to know this life here beyond the confines of a normal vacation or weekend getaway.

Though I’ve learned a lot, there are probably mountains and mountains of stories, information, and experiences that I will have never yet to have experienced.  I humble myself to the four months I’ve been here, though I’ve appreciated and cherished every moment.  This culture that once seemed so distant has become so alive and now is sewn into my memories and experiences that I’ll cherish forever.  Even from the cold confines of my small bedroom in Piazza della Morte, my frozen snowballed cheeks are still etching up a smile, reminiscing of all the sweet moments that will now be a part of the person I am as I continue on in this great journey we call life.   

And as for my lovely weekend adventure to the Emerald Isle, I will get this up as soon as I can find the moment of day when all my roommates agree to turn the heater on.  For, of this moment, as of 20 minutes ago, it was turned off, and my fingers are now becoming numb as each one wanders about these keys, and no longer am I provided with such luster and inspiration of thought.  Anyhow, I hope you have enjoyed my somewhat premature goodbyes, and check back soon to read about my wonderful adventures in Ireland.