Jack the Ripper

What a day! I started it out with a math test at 10 am. It was the last math test I will ever take! I do have tons of regular old engineering tests to take, but the actual tests devoted to math are now over. I think I did pretty well, but I didn’t know how to do one problem, which was frustrating.

Matthew and I left after my test to go exploring. First, we went to Regents Park, hoping to visit the London Zoo and a Beatles store. We found the Beatles store after a short search, and Matthew bought some presents. We continued into the park, which is gorgeous. I can hardly imagine a better living situation than to be on the edge of this gigantic park, in the middle of this great city. Unless of course, you lived in one of the unused underground tubes. Now that would be awesome.

We found the London Zoo, but decided not to pay the 20 pound admission fee. Instead, we looked at the zoo animals through chinks in the fence. We saw a giraffe, and a ferret, and some flamingos, and then we found a waterfowl section in the park, so we saw as many ducks and geese as we could want. I think it is mating season, because they were restless. We walked around in the beautiful park a while more, then headed off to Harrods, my dad’s favorite place in London. And it didn’t disappoint Matthew. The quarter-million pound wristwatches really tickled the accountant in him, I think.

Tonight, we went on a Jack the Ripper tour. The murders were surprisingly close to Mile End. They were in Whitechapel, between Queen Mary and the main city. It seems there were five official murders, with one other which could have been the same man. They were gruesome things. He did not stop at murder, but he really butchered the bodies. We saw some pictures of his murder victims, and they were pretty awful. It was a very interesting tour, though, and I think we’re both happy we went on it. Afterwards, we went on a mini pub crawl, looking for a couple of famous London pubs. The first we found, called The Anchor, was on the south bank. It was all right, but we were both a little more impressed by Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, on Fleet Street. We sat and had a drink, and, after looking for the famous barber of Fleet Street, came back to Queen Mary.

I’ve asked Matthew to do a guest blog, but I don’t think he’s interested. So, as penalty, I suppose I have to spin the story to my advantage. So here’s what actually happened today. Matthew was almost struck in the face with a speeding double-decker bus, but I scooped him out of harm’s way just in time, and rattled off some interesting facts about the bus as it hurtled past. What a tour guide.

Italians

Dave, Antoine and I were cooking together in the kitchen today and two salespeople walked in. To our kitchen! They said the housing people let them in, but that must be a lie. They pitched the wonders of paintballing to us for about five minutes while we all stood dumbfounded. I just stirred my pasta. Finally we told them no enough times that they left. I can’t believe they just came into our living area and tried to sell us something! It’s mind-boggling!

I have a test on Wednesday which I studied for today, but Matthew went to Westminster and walked around and it sounds like he had a good day. Tonight we went out to eat and drink with Dave, the Italian girls we met before, and another Italian friend of theirs. It was fun, the Italians are all very outgoing. It’s fun to hear them speak in Italian because all the Latin-based languages are very similar, and I know a little Spanish and a little Italian so sometimes I can understand what they say. We had a couple drinks at Witherspoons and bought a pizza at a nice pizza place nearby. Tomorrow I think I will study again, but Wednesday afternoon I will be free!

Portobel-No Market

Since I’ve returned to Queen Mary, it has become more difficult to write blogs, because it’s feels like I have returned home after being on vacation. But I’m not home, I’m still overseas and having fun, so I have to keep writing blogs. Oh how I wish my life would stop being so fun!

Anyways, I feel compelled to write because a topic of familial importance, namely the visit of my elder brother, has come to hand. He arrived last night around eleven, and was not too tired to walk down to Brick Lane from my flat and get some midnight treats from the all-night bagel shop. My mom called me as we were falling asleep because I forgot to call her and confirm that Matthew made it to my apartment. Whoops. Sorry, Mom.

We went with Antoine and our friend Giulia, along with her four friends visiting from Rome, to the famous Portobello Market today. We were less than impressed though. I don’t know if we found the heart of the market, but we only saw a few shops set up on the street in the Portobello area. There were many people around, but I think the main attraction was the assortment of established shops. It was not a very strong street market atmosphere. We had lunch at a Thai restaurant in the area, and Antoine, Matthew and I parted ways with the Italian girls because we wanted to visit Brick Lane today and they wanted to see Hyde Park.

Brick Lane was very cool, as usual. On Sundays it comes alive with street performers and shops set up on the street and in empty warehouses along the thin lane. Specially reserved for the Sunday markets, they are empty for the rest of the week. Today though, the two warehouses were full of delicious food, clothes and jewelry salesmen, and the place was packed with a young, trendy British crowd. It’s very fun to hang out in an area not frequented by tourists, but by a genuine London clientele.

Tonight I took Matthew (well technically he took me because he paid) to New Tayyabs, the restaurant to which I took my little brother and my parents. The food was just as good this time around, especially because I halfway knew what I was doing. It’s so busy! I made a reservation four days in advance, so we had to wait only five minutes for a table, but there was a long line of people without reservations waiting patiently for a table in this cheap, extremely popular restaurant. I’m sure I talked about it when my parents came, but it was introduced to me as the only restaurant on the list of Top 10 Restaurants in London where a meal will cost 15 pounds instead of 150 pounds. The food was great, and I’m very glad I had a chance to go back there again.

It’s very nice to have Matthew visit. We have no shortage of things to talk about, and I think he is enjoying London so far. I have a test on Wednesday, so tomorrow I will study, and Tuesday, if need be, I will study, but after that we will have a full four days or so to do whatever we like. This is good though, because this way he can do the things I’ve already done in London for the next two days, and we can do things together for the rest of the time.

No pictures today, I’m afraid. Matthew took some, but he’s sleeping on my floor right now. He’s so peaceful when he’s asleep.

Globe

I went to Romeo and Juliet today at the Shakespeare Globe with Antoine. It was well-performed, but, as the Globe is meant to be an exact replica of the theater in Shakespeare’s time, they sell many tickets for standing-room only. So we stood for three hours during the performance. We were very close to the stage and the action, so that was nice, but my legs were hurting by the end of the performance.

Links to Pictures

Last night, I went to the library to print a USC form I found the urge to fill out. I printed some study materials first, and then the form, and everything was groovy. I came back to my computer and began to fill out the form, and realized too late that I filled in the ‘Date’ location with the British version of the date, 22-4-09, instead of the American version, 4-22-09. I crumpled up the paper. I pressed the button to print another copy, and was met with a message which told me my print credit, which I had paid no attention to all year, had run out. I couldn’t believe it. So I asked a nearby person if I could print it on their computer, and they said yes.

…What? That’s the story. What did you expect? I was in a library, it’s not like I’m going to write about a high-speed car chase or something.

Tonight, a soccer ball was rolling past me and some kid asked me to grab it for him. I reached down towards it and remembered that’s not what you’re supposed to do with those things, so I kicked it promptly about fifteen degrees to the right of my target. The kid had to run after it. Whoops!

Here is the link to my pictures on Facebook. Let me know if there is anyone out there who can’t access these and I’ll try to think of a better way to do it. Also let me know if the link works. There are three different albums for all the different pictures.

http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#/photos.php?id=1452780044

Italy Recap

Back in London, I’m elated to be among people and places I know. The vacation was great, but I’m also very pleased to be home; at least, in the place I temporarily call home in this stage of my life.

I would like to talk about Italy as objectively as possible. There are certain things which I am expected to say (It was so amazing, I’ll remember it for the rest of my life, etc.) which, if they are true, I will say; but not otherwise. I have always tried to keep these blog-thingys as honest as possible. This is not Europe the way you or I want me to experience it. This is how I actually experience it; or, at least, I try to capture my experiences accurately. So, this is in an attempt to flesh out what I actually think about the trip through Italy, as opposed to thoughts I was expected to, or would have liked to, have had regarding my time spent there.

So, to recap, in Italian names: Venezia, Bolzano, Firenze, Roma, Napoli and Palermo. Quite a trip. I found that three weeks was not nearly enough time to see a decent amount of Italy, and so stand in profound wonder at those individuals who endeavor to see all of Europe in the same amount of time. If I had spent three weeks in one of the cities I passed through, it would not have been enough time to soak up the culture and the atmosphere of the surroundings and really feel as if I belonged in Italy. But I suppose I shouldn’t have expected to belong; I was touring the country, trying to see what it could show me. And I saw many beautiful things, but as I’ve said before, these lent no more perspective to my life than you would expect of a three-thousand year-old arch. It’s the people I met who affected me, and it is, chiefly, a better appreciation for, and understanding of, humanity as a whole which I have taken away with me.

I find that humans, the world over, are very similar creatures. Whether this is a good or bad thing is to be disputed. We all have similar desires and emotions, whether American, or Italian, or Pakistani, or Chinese. I think considering this perspective can yield some interesting conclusions about those around us who we seek to better understand. I’ve begun to make some preliminary assumptions about humanity: people want to be happy, and this desire leads them down different paths. Some acquire happiness through love, some through achievement, some through inclusion in a group. Sadly, some do it by putting others down. And this is not a reference to some repressed grade-school memory. It’s very much a part of the world, and there is nothing I despise more than arrogance. Some try to find it in money. I’m sad to say I can’t yet attest to whether or not money brings happiness, having none at the moment, but I hope to lend my unique perspective to this pressing issue as soon as I find myself in the appropriate research conditions.

I find, throughout my life, certain words, which I’ve known forever, suddenly assume meaning after some defining experience. These are the words on cheeky posters, like “Responsibility,” or “Courage.” I always thought they were ridiculous. But, during this trip, I came closer to understanding a few more of those words as I found the characteristics in people I met. These people, total strangers, were the complete embodiment of these attributes (generosity, affability, apathy) because I knew nothing about them which could complicate my perception of their character. Their whole persona was defined to me in one instant, and in this way, different words became applicable to each of them. Now, of course my perception of them isn’t true; the woman who helped me in the kebab shop in Palermo doesn’t wear a cape emblazoned with a silver K for kindness and fly around at night lifting dogs out of rock piles. People always reside in the gray areas, as our good and our bad attributes tend to offset, and all of us can be considered pretty good people. But this isn’t entirely fair, because it overlooks the peaks and the valleys. We are not the average of our kind deeds and our evil deeds: we are each of those deeds, kind and evil at once. None of them may be forgotten, because they are what define us. And this is how absolutes are created: if I know nothing more about the kind, generous woman who helped me for one instant, she, forever more, resides upon a pinnacle of integrity in my eyes, a guidepost, a role model. I am thoroughly convinced that nobody is perfect; but maybe each of us has his or her moments of perfection.

.…Let that one hang in the air for a second there….Little moment of silence….

Well then, on to some lighter issues. Here are some ideas which were genuinely spawned from my time in Italy, and they’ve already been patented, so don’t even think about stealing them.

I wonder if they make pizza with wheat bread. It opens up a whole new door towards producing healthy pizza; or, otherwise, pizza which people think is healthy, which is the real triumph.

I’ve discovered a way to stop time. No, not really.

After visiting a countless number of museums and churches and art pieces and sights over the past three weeks, I’d like to assume the role of art critic for a brief period of three sentences or so (You’re going to count, aren’t you? I would count, if I were you. Otherwise I could pass off, like, nine sentences as three. Don’t allow me that injustice.). In Florence, I came across a bronze sculpture of a boar. Many intricate places on its surface had been worn away, polished to a bright gold hue by the countless hands which ran over it. Obviously, you aren’t supposed to touch the boar, but people do it anyway, because they want to feel important, they want to feel close to the art. So, here’s the disconnect. Most art is best admired when left free from human intervention. It doesn’t like to be touched. I argue that the most influential artistic statement would be made with a piece that communicates with its audience, a piece which is enhanced, and not destroyed, by the human interaction it attracts. I haven’t done my research, but I’m sure there are things out there like this. Oh! For example, in Harrods, while my parents visited, there was a simple screen on the floor which followed your feet with bubbles as you walked across it. Simple, interactive, and fun.

So there you have it! My travels through Italy. I have too many pictures to share. I will put them on Facebook tomorrow, where most everyone who reads my blog, I think, should have access to them.

I’ve uploaded pictures to a few of my previous posts and may have made some slight changes, if you’re interested.

Agrigento

The umbrella salesmen are cleaning up lately. Its raining cats and dogs right now outside, but mercifully it waited until I completed my day of excitement to begin. Every other person I passed on my way back to my hostel today was a smug umbrella salesman, offering me an umbrella with a small smirk on their face. Yesterday I did buy one, because the salesman helped me out and lowered the price from five to three euros as I walked away. And it was pretty handy, because I was still pretty lost, and in the middle of a downpour. But its not much use to me now, warm and cozy in the hostel.

Today, I had it in mind to visit Agrigento, where I was told there were very cool Greek ruins. I headed to the bus stop and talked to a gruff man in an information booth, who muttered a couple of words through the tiny hole in his bullet-proof cover. Another man put his change in the window, looking to buy a ticket, as I stammered. Italians, as Hannah also attests to, dont understand the concept of a queue. I left, because obviously the guy didnt want to help me, and walked around. Eventually I made my way to another information booth, this one occupied by two helpful looking older ladies. Older ladies are my social forte. They are just so friendly! And these two were no exception, helping me find the bus station to the ruins, which I promptly ran off and caught.

It was a two-hour ride, followed by a forty-five minute local bus ride, which should have taken five minutes but neither I nor the bus driver did his job, but lo and behold, I arrived at the scene of the Greek ruins, which were wholly worth the trip. Two of the buildings in Il Valle dei Templi, the Valley of the Temples, were almost completely intact, and there were remnants of many others. These temples, in the lush green Sicilian landscape, were gorgeous. Ill put pictures up as soon as I can.

As my grandma pointed out, Im one quarter Sicilian, so I have every right to consider this trip a dramatic return to my homeland. Actually, I would be thrilled to spend a considerable amount of time on this island sometime in the future. Everything here is green, growing like mad, and the landscape rolls with hills and rocky promontories.

My times almost up and now I face the prospect of heading back into the rain for a pizza. I think Im going to the beach tomorrow, so hopefully it clears up. I noticed its 91 in Los Angeles right now. Damn.

Palermo

Whats up guys. I wrote a blog on the train to Palermo which I cant post right now because I wrote it on my laptop and Im in an internet cafe right now, unable to get the blog off of my laptop and put it on the computer Im currently using. And I cant figure out how to make apostrophes. Im pretty upset by that. Anyway, there will be a blog before this one about my train ride and such.

But I have a bunch of time on this computer, so I might as well write a new blog right here. Arent you excited(question mark) As far as recent blogs go, I dont like the lack of pictures. I really only write these stupid things so I can put up sweet pictures, and without them I think my blog loses a lot of its...picturesqueness. But enough dillydallying, on to todays blog.

I went to the catacombs here in Palermo today and saw tons of dead bodies. It was a strange place. As one of my current roommates pointed out, it is not necessarily spooky inside the catacombs, just eerie. Which is counterintuitive. I expected to be really upset, looking at a bunch of skeletons, but I couldnt muster up any genuine horror. After the catacombs, I took a nap on a park bench, cementing my status as a European bum. I woke up after a half hour and walked up the main Palermo street, Via Maqueda, to see the main sights. I first came to Teatro Massimo, a big theatre. Of course I figured I should see a show in the theatre, so I enquired about the cheapest tickets and was told they were 10 euros, which I deemed to be a sound investment of my financial backerss money (backerss: the money of the backers. no apostrophes, remember). I gave the guy 20 euros and received 15 back. I havent been out of school long enough to miss this mathematical error, but whether the mistake was made in sympathy or in earnest, I didnt find out because I was already headed out the door.

The show was very interesting. It was an opera. In German. With an Italian translation projected on a screen above. This translation was very helpful to me, as you can imagine. I fell asleep again during it for a couple minutes, but I did enjoy the experience (the theatre, I mean, not the sleep, though it was also nice). The theatre (Ill put pictures up later) had seven different layers: the floor and six balconies which stacked vertically straight upwards. It was built in the late 1800s and I felt like I was going to see Lincoln sitting across from me. I was in the very top balcony, so it was a little hard to see, especially because the seats were set a little ways back from the edge of the balcony, so I had to lean forward the whole time. I got the gist of the plot: it was a love story. I cant tell you much more than that, but Im glad I went all the same. I got to see some genuine opera singing. This wasnt exactly a life goal of mine, to see some good opera, but it was pretty cool. There was a very good orchestra playing too, so I got to listen to them.

Im going to bed early tonight! Goodnight everyone.

Train

Nice people are everywhere, and friends are easy to make. This is a lesson I can’t help but bring away from this vacation because it has been demonstrated and iterated everywhere I go. Maybe it’s only true of Italy; that would be a shame.

Right now I’m on an overnight train to Palermo, my last stop. I will be spending three nights there before flying back to London, where I will begin to study for my tests! My last two days have been pretty quiet, but I will go over them to humor you.

Two days ago, on Friday (?), my new friends John, Brianna and Stacy and I were planning on heading into Naples for the day to see what could be seen. But, after exploring a park in our area and walking down to the water, the tone was set for a lazy day and we could do little to overcome our stagnant mindsets. We mostly hung out in the hostel, relaxing, enjoying pizza, watching movies. It was nice. When you travel, you are compelled to go and have adventures in a new place, but they had been traveling for about as long as I and both parties were more than happy to take a break.

That night I registered for my USC Fall 2009 classes. I got all the classes I wanted, which is a very good thing. I have 17 units right now. I’m considering overloading my schedule because I’m a little bit behind on credits, but I have all summer to decide what to do about that.

In the morning, Saturday morning, John, Brianna and Stacy left for Rome. They left at around eleven in the morning, and my overnight train didn’t leave until ten that night, so I had a whole day ahead of me. I considered going to Capri, a small, very touristy island off the coast of Naples/Sorrento, because I wanted to see a place called the Blue Grotto, but I don’t think the trip would have been worth the money and time to get there. So I had another lazy day! I wrote a little bit (not in my blog, obviously), I watched some Superman in Italian, I ate some Neapolitan pizza. Around four, some girls moved into the hostel. I talked to them and they, Brianna (not the same Brianna from above) and Jenny, were students from UC – Santa Barbara. I told them I was from USC and they just looked at each other. They said they had met about five people from USC while they’d been traveling. I guess this is a good thing. Anyway, we hung out for a while, watched a movie, went for a walk, got some pizza before I left for my train. They were pretty cool.

I hope none of these people I blog about mind me putting them on the internet. Maybe some of them are really paranoid about internet stalkers and the like. Hmmm.

I’m watching the sun come up on Sicily out of my train window right now. Earlier in my cabin, there was a retired couple heading from Rome back to their home, Barcellona, on Sicily. We must have talked for over an hour. I only speak ten words of Italian, and they only spoke ten words of English, but it was amazing how well we communicated, with hand gestures and drawings and charades. They were fun to talk to. Both of them were retired teachers. The man was a professor of mathematics, and I didn’t catch what the woman did. We talked about our families, and our homes, and the surrounding area of Sicily. They had two children, a pediatrician and a geologist. I learned from the man, before it happened, that the train from mainland Italy to Sicily takes a huge ferry between the two. And I saw it happen! We got to the water’s edge, and we boarded a ship, and then we got off on the other side. It was amazing! They gave me a copious amount of candy. The lady held the bag out to me and I took one piece, and she held it out again, so I took a couple more, and she held it out again. I think I went back into the bag, at her behest, about five times. Damn Italians and their insistent hospitality….

I was very happy to sit next to such a kind couple of Italians. I’m still amazed at the number of great people I’ve met in Italy. There are so many cool people out there! But you know who’s the coolest? That’s right. Me. Hehe, I couldn’t decide whether to put ‘me’ or ‘you.’ I went with ‘me.’ Ciao!

Napoli Rocks

It’s hard to turn every day into an afterschool special. Because sometimes there is no moral to my travel, there is just normal life. Just a normal day with a few thousand-year old monuments; which are notable, but not affecting, not likely to be something you remember vividly. But today there is a story, and it’s because of the people involved that it is important, that it is affecting, and that I will remember it. I have discovered that people, not monuments, make impressions on my life.

That said, of course I went to see the monuments! This morning I set off, after a brief breakfast adventure which resulted in some chocolate pastries and fruit, with my new friends John, Briana and Stacy to see Pompeii, an ancient Roman city which was buried under tons of burning pumice from the explosion of Mt. Vesuvius in 79 AD. That is a very long time ago. We paid their excessive entry fee and also partook in audio guides so we could tell what we were looking at, and we began to explore the ancient city, which accommodated 25,000 Romans back in the day. It is a huge complex, so I’m sure we didn’t see everything, but we did see some remarkable things. It amazes me to see evidence of the rationality of the Roman people. Judging from their court system, their artwork, and their sporting events, among other things, it is clear that the residents of ancient Rome were possessed of intelligence at least equal to our own. It’s also amazing to consider the fact that they were the first real civilization, which is significant because it means they had no foundation for the way they did things; every problem was new. Everything we’ve done afterward has sprung from their original method of thought, building upon their groundwork. It was a fascinating place to explore, especially the amphitheater. Its form was mostly covered in grass, with a few rows of seats still clinging to the green slope. It made me want to have a picnic.

When we returned, we couldn’t eat our planned dinner of rotisserie chicken just yet, because it wasn’t yet late enough for dinner, so John and I walked down to this park area, which was neat, and continued on to the water. Naples is on the western coast of Italy, and the water is within easy walking distance to the hostel. We explored this pier I found yesterday, and on the way back we encountered two children, probably seven or eight years old, calling into the jumble of boulders which, along with the dock, formed the barrier between the open sea and the calm bay on the other side. Their calls were met with frantic yelps from within the rocks. John and I were interested, so we went over to see what the fuss was about. With their tiny amount of English (dog, cat), and our tiny amount of Italian (No thank you, Where is the train station?), we were able to piece together that their dog was inside the rocks and they couldn’t get her to come back out. (Actually this doesn’t seem like it would take much communication; seems pretty obvious, now that I think about it.) Anyway, the kids wanted John and I to move these huge boulders. There was no way. We didn’t even try because the rocks were huge. But there did seem to be a formidable passage into the rocks, at the end of which, the dog’s tail could be seen. The kids didn’t want to go in there, though they were small and would have fit nicely, but I was curious, so I decided to climb down in the rocks and see if I could help the dog (yes, it’s that kind of story). I was able to gymnastic myself down to where I could touch the dog, which I was hesitant to do. It was frantic; barking, yelping, crying, making every sound of which a dog’s limited vocal box is capable, and I was afraid if I startled it, I would be mauled by this small rat-like excuse for a dog. I had just taken off my chamois shirt to see if I could wrap the dog up and carry it, hysterical, out of the rocks when a black cat crossed my face. This is not a figure of speech. The dog was chasing a cat through the rocks and seemed to be free to move as it pleased, as reported by the above-ground support crew a few seconds later when they saw the dog appear on the top of the rocks for half a second before diving back in after the cat. I, feeling foolish, as usual, climbed back out of the rock wall. Our hypothesis is this: the cat was in the rock wall investigating a dead cat, which I found along my path to the dog. The dog followed after the cat, and until the cat left, the dog would stay in the wall, at the behest of her owners. I told the Italian boys I was sorry, in Italian, and tried to explain, with wild gesticulation and rampant hand gestures, some of the complexities of inter-species domestic animal relations. They were happy we had stopped to help and one of the boys showed off his English, saying “Thank you very much!” before we continued on our way. We had made it about fifty yards before one of them called out to us. We turned around and he was running toward us to deliver a gift to me for climbing in the rocks for them. It was a small starfish they had found that day. I accepted most graciously. It stinks of rotting seafood and will surely break as I continue my travels, but I can’t imagine a more perfect souvenir.

Update: I have some pictures. There's one of me and my new friends at the ampitheatre at Pompeii, one of me down among the rocks, and one of a pizza chef sharing his most prized possession with the camera.

Napoli

The transition days are the hardest. Switching from one city to the next gives me time to realize how alone I am in my travels, and allows me to become homesick. Add to that the fear of encountering a new city, where you don’t know the geography, the customs, or even the language, and it is easy to feel overwhelmed. But if there is one lesson I can take away from this Italian vacation, it is a profound appreciation of how many generous, helpful and very cool people there are in the world, and the realization that it is easier to make friends than I had thought.

I left Hannah’s apartment today around noon to travel to the train station, unknowingly leaving my water bottle in her kitchen (the saga continues). Once again, I am hugely grateful to her and her roommates for allowing me to stay there and for making my trip to Rome a very enjoyable one. They saved me, at the very least, one hundred and fifty dollars for a hostel, and their company was worth much more than that.

I slept on the train, arriving in Naples three hours after leaving Rome. (I took the slow train because it’s cheaper; the journey can be made in about an hour and a half.) Naples, I have found, can be a scary place. It is drenched in graffiti, and many of the streets I have seen are dirty and unkempt. I haven’t seen much yet, but so far my impression is not hugely positive. It took me about an hour to sort out where my hostel is, and I spent a euro on a frivolous train ticket during the process. This is what my USC economics professor would call an information cost; I spent money on something stupid because I didn’t know the right way to do things. Anyway, after talking to several patient and not-so-patient transportation employees, I found myself at the Portici – Via Liberta train stop. A short walk brought me to my hostel, built inside the remains of a textiles factory. It is a very nice place to stay, cheap and modern with free lockers in the room and wireless internet, though the latter is a bit weak.

I left the hostel at around five o’clock for something to eat. Many areas in Europe close between the lunch rush and the dinner rush, and I found myself inside this eerie service gap today, unable to find even a pizza for a good half hour before stumbling across a lonely open pizzeria, which sold me a quality, classic Neapolitan pizza for only three euro. I followed it up with some gelato (which I think I’ve consumed at least once every day since I’ve been in Italy, and several times more than once per day, the worst bordering on, say, eighteen or nineteen per day), and I was set, returning to the hostel, where I re-met a girl I met in my hostel in Venice! Crazy!

In my room, I met three new friends: John, Brianna and Stacy, who are probably trying to sleep right now, annoyed at me tapping on my keyboard. They, believe it or not, are from California, attending San Jose State, and they are studying abroad in a small town (I can’t remember the name right now, darn it) just outside of London! Crazy again! We exchanged pleasantries, shared some laughs, cried a little bit, had some emotional breakthroughs and cemented our friendship over some more gelato. Can’t go wrong with more gelato. In fact, I think I’ll get some right now. No, not really, because the shops aren’t open right now, but wouldn’t that be funny if I just left in the middle of a post and got gelato? Man, that would be something. Anyways, they are really cool. They are going to Pompeii tomorrow and invited me to go along with them, which I deem a pretty good idea. Tonight we watched Pulp Fiction together, which I had never seen.

And now I’m typing in pitch dark with a pillow resting on my hands and my keyboard to dull the sharp clicking of the keys. There is a Romanian man sleeping a few feet away.

Unfortunately I can’t upload pictures right now because the internet is weak. This might weed out some of my illiterate blog followers who only do it for the cool pics, but that’s a risk I’m just going to have to take. Hopefully tomorrow I’ll have figured out this internet business and I’ll upload some of my more fantastic photos from the past couple of days. Until then, good night, I miss all of you, even the random strangers who stumble onto my blog after searching for something weird on Google, like ‘tortuously detailed account of a mildly interesting vacation’ or ‘something to read instead of watching paint dry.’ You too hold a special place in my heart; a place with padded walls, reserved especially for ‘special’ people’ strangely interested in the banal details of a stranger’s vacation. But I digress. As usual. Nighty night.

Update: Today is tomorrow, and here's a picture.

Roma Coliseum

The Pope must have suffered quite a fall on the steps of the Vatican Museum in the past, because I think my new friend Ali and I saw more ‘Watch your step’ signs today than exhibits. Which is not to say there weren’t about a million things to see in the Vatican Museum, because there was quite a copious amount. We think we may have missed a thing or two, but we saw gorgeous tapestries, beautiful sculptures, ancient maps, and the king of them all, the Sistine Chapel with its world-famous wall-paintings. I think I saw more depictions of Jesus today than I have in my entire life. It was an illustrious museum, for its exhibits, and its unceasing stair cautions.

We left the Vatican Museum and had lunch in a restaurant nearby, and proceeded to make our way to the Coliseum. It was a long walk, but we made it. We were immediately offered a spot in a tour group (leaving immediately!) to see the Coliseum and the Forum for 22 Euro, and, after having a brief meeting, we accepted the generous offer. We headed inside behind our tour guide, who walked us through the giant structure, built in the first century AD, and told us all about the gladiators who used to fight there. It operated within the Roman empire until 500 AD or something. Apparently, in its first one hundred days of operation, 5000 lions were killed. The whole Roman empire (northern Africa, the Mediterranean, and other places) used to be populated with lions, bears and other wild creatures, but now the populations of these animals is practically extinct in these areas because of the events at the Coliseum. And the gladiators were actually very fat. They needed excessive fat to protect their muscles, so Hollywood gladiators aren’t very true to form. The floor of the Coliseum was wood, covered with sand, which in Latin is called ‘arena,’ and that’s why we call our stadiums arenas! The Coliseum looks different than I expected because the wood floor is gone, revealing the complex tunnel system down below, but they rebuilt a portion of the floor and covered it with sand to give everyone an idea what it used to look like. The sand was good at soaking up all the blood which was spilled in the Coliseum, which held 75,000 crazy Romans. It was an awesome building to see.

The next tour was even cooler! We walked across the street to the Roman Forum. I’m not sure what exactly it was, except just an area where all the cool Romans used to live. It used to be the Beverly Hills of Rome until the emperor [blank] demolished all the houses and built his temple there instead. He had a private arena to watch footraces or fights to the death or ping-pong tournaments, and his palace took up the entire hill.

Rome was purportedly begun by a man named Romulus. He and his brother Remus decided to build a city, but they couldn’t agree on a site. Each of them preferred a different hill. So, to decide where to build the city, they sat on the top of their hills for one day and counted how many eagles flew by each. Romulus won with 12 eagles, signifying the gods wanted him to build the city. Remus didn’t like this, and to taunt Romulus, he climbed over the wall Romulus had built around his new city Rome, and Romulus killed his brother Remus. It’s a very pleasant story, and marks the recorded origins of Rome at 753 BC.

The tour guide said only 40% of the Forum had been excavated, so there is still fascinating stuff underground in this area. Once again, the history was laid thick. The on-site museum was a renovated summer home of Benito Mussolini.

Today was a really great day jam-packed with sightseeing, and I was lucky to wander around with Ali, who was really fun. From the Forum we were able to take neat pictures of us eating and licking the Coliseum, and we took turns taking cool pictures of each other, and taking pictures of each other taking pictures, or PTS. And, Mom and Dad, we might want to change the password to our garage door. (Just kidding. Sort of.)

Pictures aren't working right now. Update: Today is two days after today, and I'm trying again to upload pictures. One of the Coliseum, one of me and my pet rock, one of Hannah, my/her friends and I, and one of a cool dome.

I'm really glad I had this chance to visit Hannah and her friends in Rome, and I'm very thankful to her and her roommates/friends for allowing me to stay with them. I've had a great time, but tomorrow I'm moving on to another Italian city.

Roma Easter

This morning, we all got up early to go to St. Peter’s Square for Easter mass. We left Hannah’s place around 6:30 in the morning, and arrived at St. Peter’s Square around 7:15 for the privilege of standing in line for the next hour and a half before being allowed into the actual square. It turns out our time was well-spent though; we ended up standing about two hundred feet from the altar, probably about twenty rows back, whereas other people who came later were stuck standing in the square, far away from the action. The service was shorter than I expected; only about an hour and a half. A good portion of it was performed by Pope Benedict himself, in Italian of course. After the service had ended, the Pope went inside St. Peter’s Basilica and came back out on a balcony overlooking the square to deliver a speech (once again in Italian). At the end of the speech though, he said “Christ be with you,” in 63 different languages, including Maori, Swahili and Urdu. It was fun to listen to the different languages and hear people cheer for each one, showing how diverse the crowd at the Vatican was today.

Yesterday, we found out that the open area in between Hannah and Julie’s building and three other buildings is populated by at least two turtles! But now we can’t find them again, and I can’t figure out how to get in there.

After the Easter mass, we came back to the apartment and promptly took a nap. I love vacation. Tonight, with all the other girls in Hannah and Julie’s apartment, and her friend Ali, who is also visiting, we had a huge Easter dinner with pasta, salad, chicken and ham. We had some real trouble figuring out if our Prosciutto Crudo, literally ‘raw ham’ in Italian, was cooked or not. It looked cooked, but that seemed counterintuitive based on its name. My mom solved the problem after I called her. Apparently it is not cooked, but it is cured in such a way that it is safe to eat. So, I just heated it up in the oven with some honey on it, and we were ready to go. It was delicious.

The pictures are of St. Peter's Square and Basilica, the Pope on the balcony above, and of the turtle in the turtle garden.

Roma

Rome has the same unreal quality of Venice. The immense history surrounding this city makes it a strange place to visit. There are so many monuments and ruins it is a little bit like walking through a dream.

Hannah picked me up at the train station yesterday and we took the tram back to her apartment, where she lives with eight other girls. I bought some groceries and got situated, and Hannah and I arrived at the Coliseum around eight thirty to hear the Pope do the Stations of the Cross. We had intended to meet up with Lilly, my friend from USC also studying at Queen Mary, but the crowd was enormous and we gave up. The service was held on a crumbling platform just outside the Coliseum, well above the crowd below so everyone could see. We got to see the Pope, though we only stayed for about an hour. The service was in Italian so we didn’t understand what was going on, but it was fun to be there anyway. The Coliseum was, once again, unreal, a little difficult to grasp that it is an actual place and not just an icon.

Today has been a laidback day. Hannah, Julie and I left in the early afternoon to do some sightseeing. First we visited the Pantheon, a huge domed building constructed as a temple for all the gods. I was impressed by the amount of color involved in its construction. Many different types of stone were used in the floor and walls, creating a space much more expressive than the stereotypical cold, white marble used in most ancient Roman buildings. The dome was gigantic, with a large hole in the center.

After the Pantheon, we went to the Trevi Fountain, which was extremely crowded by the Easter tourists. The fountain is popular with wishing tourists, who throw copious amounts of change into it. Hannah said they pull over three thousand euro out of the fountain every night.

After stopping off at the shop with the purported “best gelato in Rome,” we continued on to Piazza Navona, a large public square, once again crowded to overflowing with tourists. We wandered through the street vendors and eventually sat down near the fountain in the middle of the square and people-watched for awhile. Then we came back to their apartment, stopping off again at a gelato place, which was cheaper and tastier than the first one.

These kind girls let me wash my clothes here, but they don’t have a clothes dryer (hardly anyone in Italy does, it seems), so they are air-drying right now. I’m really glad Hannah and Julie have allowed me to stay with them for a few days. Rather than turn around and tell them right now how grateful I am, I’ll just say it on here and hope they read it sometime in the near future. This is probably simpler. Thanks guys!

As Hannah pointed out, there are many things in Rome which could be historic highlights of other cities which are practically ignored because of the enormous surplus of history in this area. The things which actually are popular tourist attractions are so over-the-top that it’s almost ridiculous, such as the Coliseum, the Trevi Fountain, and Piazza Venezia. I’m really enjoying walking around the city though, there is no shortage of things to see.

Tonight we cooked some hardboiled eggs and colored on them with marker for Easter tomorrow, and packed up some plastic eggs that the Honzels sent. Hannah wants to hide them for her roommates to look for. Easter is so cool.

Firenze Friends

Well, I have to admit, I was a little bit down on Florence before today. I mean, there was the thing with the five hotels/hostels, and then there's this ghost hotel, and there's just a bunch of people everywhere.... Anyways, today, and especially tonight, has improved its reputation considerably in my eyes because I made some friends.

I had planned to see all there was to see in Florence today, and I didn’t do very well. My first stop was the Uffizi. The tickets were 10 Euro, and it looked like the wait was about three hours, so I decided it wasn’t worth it. It meant I wouldn’t get to see the original David sculpture, but everybody sees that, I don't think it will crumble in despair because I didn't grace it with my gaze. Instead I crossed the river to an interesting castle-looking thing. I ended up going into a museum about an Italian antique dealer in the late 19th century. I can’t remember his name right now, but it was a pretty good museum. It was interesting, apparently he didn’t give the most important work the most prominent space, but instead used the antiques to create spaces and moods, which I thought was a little more worthwhile than simply highlighting the most famous pieces. I left the museum and climbed a hill to Piazzale Michelangelo, where I got to see a real-life replica of the David sculpture!

I continued up the hill to the cathedral at the top. On the way, I encountered an abandoned scarf sitting on a banister. I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t want to leave it for fear of someone else taking it, but I didn’t want to take it with me because the owner might come back looking for it. I ended up sitting with it for ten minutes, then walking with it held promiscuously in my hand. When I got all the way up to the top of the hill and into the cathedral, a man ran up to me, out of breath, and requested that I kindly return his scarf, which by this time had been moved to hanging out of my back pocket. I sheepishly obliged.

For lunch I went back down the hill and found a nice pizza place. The Italian guy who served me asked me where I was from, and hearing my reply, he said, “America number one!” When I paid, he said in his best Boston accent, “Four bucks. I like bucks, not euro.” He was a character, and he gave me some free wine. Well, he gave everybody free wine, but I think my free wine was special. I went back for another pizza in about an hour. We had a brief Italian conversation: he said something about ‘economica’ in America, and I shook my head and said, “Si, molto malo.” Yes, very bad. I think that’s probably a world-record for fastest fluency in a new language, at about five days.

I called my Dad today. We talked for fifteen minutes and it cost me six pounds. Very expensive.

Tonight was really great. I returned to the hotel to take a short break, and I went back out around seven with the intention of sitting in front of Il Duomo and drawing it. Though I have no special gift for it, I find drawing relaxing. So I found a good sitting spot and got to work. I quickly realized I picked a pretty difficult landscape (see attached picture) of three different complex buildings, but I think I did a halfway decent job. The piazza was pretty busy while I drew, so there was always someone looking over my shoulder. It was unnerving at times, but its easy to lose yourself while you draw, so other times I was able to ignore them. Some people complimented me, and it was nice to talk to people.

The first high point of the night came when a girl came up to me and blurted something in Italian. I stared at her and she said, “Tu sei turistica?” or something like that, and I said yes. Then she walked away. She returned about five minutes later with a whole gaggle of Italians, and they all crowded around me. There were about eight of them, and they surrounded me, sitting on the ground in the middle, bombarding me with questions. Only one of them spoke a helpful amount of English, so there was a lot of translating and confusion, but eventually they invited me to walk around with them, which I was happy to do. We walked around for about a half hour or forty-five minutes, while they asked me questions about what I was doing in Italy and laughed at each other while we tried to speak the other’s language. We found some common interests, and one of the guys told me it was his dream to buy a Harley-Davidson and ride it around the United States. I got some homework too, to practice saying “triangolo” before I go to bed tonight, because I just can’t roll my r the right way at the beginning. There was a lot of them ignoring the fact I don’t speak Italian and giving it a try anyway, and me yelling “Non capisco!” I don’t understand! One of the girls told me I looked like Elvis (I swear I’m not making this up). It was a lot of fun, they were nice people. Sadly, we said our goodbyes when they had to go to bed (they were in high school and their parents were strict), and I returned to my warm patch of cobblestone.

I had been sitting for another ten minutes or so when a whole classful of children walked by behind their teacher. One of the students spotted my drawing and instantly the whole class was leaning over me trying to get a look at what I was doing. They were probably about seven or eight years old, and they didn’t speak a word of English and I hardly speak a word of Italian. Their teacher translated for us while they asked me what my name was, where I was from, what my job was, what my favorite sport was. The teacher was trying to usher them away the whole time but they were persistently friendly. As they were dragged away they were yelling their favorite sports to me, “Baseball!” and “Basketball!” and acting out hitting a homerun. This encounter was one of my favorite parts of Italy.

Here’s a picture of the scene I was drawing, a haircut I gave my gelato today, a couple men working on a sidewalk portrait, and the David replica.

Firenze

This ghost hotel is getting me down….I’m sitting in one of the many antique-ish living room spaces in my hotel in Florence, or Firenze, Italy. The hotel has a definitely ghoulish feel about it. It could be the ancient, broken dumb waiter, or the long, mirrored hallway, or the translucent blue desk clerk, but something about this place gives me the heebie-jeebies.

It was the fifth hotel/hostel I came to looking for a room after I got off the train from Bolzano today. The first was a nice hostel, but it was full; the second was too expensive; the third was full, and when I asked, “Well are there any other options?” wondering where I could go next, the woman responded with “No.” There were no other hotels in all of Florence, except for hers. She hurried back into her room. I consulted my Lonely Planet for the fourth, which was full, but the fifth came as a recommendation from the fourth (the Firth of Forth, hahahaha) and here I am. I was scared about the price because it is a hotel, and I have my own room, but I’m only paying 28 Euro for each of the next two nights for a sink and shower in my room (toilet down the hall), breakfast in the morning, my own room and free wireless internet. It’s actually a really good deal, almost too good to be true. Right now, I suspect this hotel is just a front for a ghost smuggling agency which kidnaps the living and takes them to their secret ghost headquarters for slave labor. See, ghosts can’t do labor because they can’t grab stuff, so they have to get the living to do that sort of thing for them. I’m pretty sure I’ll be in a chain gang in the underworld come morning time.

After I checked in, they told me, “You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave!” No, not really. After I got situated, I went for a walk around town. I think I ate four helpings of gelato today in the interest of finding the best gelato in Italy. So far…I can’t say, I need to do substantially more research. But I’ll get there, even if it takes forty years, I’ll try every gelato stand in Italy. Anyway, I went to the largest of the many large tourist attractions of Florence today, Il Duomo, the gigantic cathedral in the center of town. I didn’t go inside at first, but I found a path up to the top of the dome you could climb for 8 Euro, and I decided it was worth the money, so, fifteen minutes later, I was breathing heavy, standing at the highest point in Florence. It really is a gorgeous city, like so much of Italy. It is surrounded by rolling green hills dotted with Tuscan villas, and when your eyes fall to the rooftops below you, there is nothing to see but an endless stretch of orange roof tiles and a few churches and castles and the like. I saw a castle on a hill which I would like to visit tomorrow, but I still have to go to the Uffizi gallery and see David tomorrow, so we’ll see how much I can do before I leave on Friday for Roma. I was also able to see the inside of the dome from a couple of walkways along the inner wall. The paintings on the inner dome were magnificent, showing a progression from Hell, through Earth and into Heaven. I’m not sure who did the paintings, but they were spectacular.

I stopped into a restaurant for dinner, perhaps a mistake, for two reasons: one, I’m traveling alone, and it’s weird for a person to eat alone in a restaurant, and two, even though the menu says you can get lasagna for only six Euro, that doesn’t include the drink you have to buy and the tip you have to give and the appetizers you should by and the money which should fall out of your pocket during the meal. The waiter, though, was very nice. I asked for tap water, and he told me they didn’t have any, so I told him I wouldn’t have anything to drink, and he brought me some water anyway, for free. I ate everything they put in front of me, including every breadstick and every drop of pasta sauce, and the bill was only six Euro. I was pretty grateful to the waiter, so I gave him a three Euro tip. So it was still an expensive meal, but not because I was gouged.

Tomorrow is a big day, so I better go to sleep. If I end up in a ghost chain gang…make sure Dateline tells my story.

My pictures are: Florence from above, with the church tower in the foreground, a busy part of the Duomo exterior which I thought made a good picture, and part of the interior dome painting.

Bolzano

I’m in a hostel in Bolzano, a city in northern Italy, smack in the middle of the Dolomites. I arrived late last night and narrowly avoided a disaster, again. I really need to be a bit more prepared when I arrive in a foreign city, or at least arrive in the daytime. As it was, I got to Bolzano at 11 pm and hoped to find a hostel I read about in my travel guide. It told me the reception was open until 4 am, so I wasn’t worried. Little did I know….

I didn’t know where to go when I got off the train so I just started walking and asked the first person I came to for a hostel. They told me the hostel was miles away. I asked about the one on Via Renon, the one I was looking for, and they alternately told me it was closed or else it was full of people “without documents,” people who were “pushers of drugs.” This didn’t sound very reassuring. The woman pointed out a hotel to me and suggested I inquire within. The rooms were 60 Euro per night and the man didn’t know anything about a hostel. I went back outside and ran into the helpful lady again, who pointed out another hotel. This one was closed. I decided I would just have to see this drug-pushing hostel for myself, so I set off for Via Renon after seeing a map of the city at a bus stop. There were a few sketchy people around and after what that lady told me about avoiding poorly-lit areas because of all the bad people in Bolzano, I was a little scared. I finally found the hostel, with the help of another hotel desk clerk, and rang its doorbell, eventually coercing a man to come out to help me. He set me up with a room, and everything is peachy.

Far from being a drug-pushing refugee camp, Il Ostella della Gioventu is probably the nicest hostel I’ve stayed in. It is a new building, very modern. The beds are comfortable, the bathroom and showers are nice, and breakfast is included in the modest 19.50 Euro per night charge. I was lucky to find it.

Yesterday, I basically just walked around Venice all day. I met some girls, Nicole, Ashley and Holly, and we went to the secret gelato shop, which is cheaper and gives you a lot more gelato for your money. What a deal! It was right next to the secret pizza place, which gives you a bunch more pizza than the other places. It’s in the secret part of Venice, by invitation only. It was a pretty lazy day, then last night I got on the train to come to Bolzano, which I thought was scary at first but I’m starting to like it. It’s surrounded by gorgeous forested hills. The only problem is the language. The first language is Italian. The other first language is German. Either way I’m in bad shape. But I’ve been getting around just fine. As long as I don’t come across a situation I can’t negotiate with some combination of my ten Italian words (which, let’s be honest, is pretty unlikely), I think I’ll survive.

This morning at breakfast I met a couple of Austrian girls, Clara and Camilla, and we went to see Otzi together, the ancient man found mummified in the mountains near here. Carbon dating suggests he lived somewhere between the 6th and 4th centuries BC. I was impressed by the amount of sophistication his tools and clothes revealed. Apparently he knew how to smelt copper, because he had a couple tools made from copper, and all his clothes were made from animal skins which were sewn together with thin strands of leather. He had an axe, and a bow and some arrows. There were also a bunch of other mummies there from all over the world. It was pretty interesting.

This afternoon I took a cable car ride up to the top of one of the hills around Bolzano. I hiked around in the forest at the top for awhile. It was beautiful, the air smelled like Klamath Falls air.

I wanted to take a picture of all the different Euro coins and dollars, so I set aside one of each coin I had found, and the maid took it! Cagna!

I changed my underwear today.

I’m charging my laptop right now. I bought a plug converter and just crossed my fingers that all that electricity mumbo-jumbo about the correct voltage and amps would work out and not make my computer explode. So far so good.

I’m going to spend tonight in Bolzano, and maybe the next night as well. It’s about as cheap and nice a hostel you could ask for, and I’m hesitant to go tromping into another foreign place expecting to get lucky like I have in Venice and Bolzano. This is a nice, lazy town. It is good for relaxing, which is what I want to do at the moment. But who knows, I might keep moving. I’ll flip a coin tomorrow.

When I was taking pictures today I found a cylindrical piece of bark on the ground. I put my camera lens through it and it made one of those old-timey black outline things, so I took a bunch of pictures like that, two of which are on here. The other pictures are of the Dolomites and just some bark. Quick, Mom, what kind of tree is that?

Venezia

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the past twenty-four hours, it’s that coming on a long trip to a foreign country with no hostel reservations and no plans whatsoever will always work out for me for two reasons: the kindness of strangers, and my dumb luck.

Last night, I arrived at Treviso Airport from London Stansted at around 10 pm local time. I grabbed the last bus from the airport, headed to Venice. The trip took about forty-five minutes. When we arrived, I stepped out of the bus and was hit full force with the reality of my ill-preparedness. For those of you who don’t already know of my big mistake, I thought my flight was one day earlier than it was, so I went to the airport a day early. Furthermore, I had a hostel booked for a night I ultimately spent in London. As if that weren’t bad enough, when I booked the hostel, I wanted to stay for three nights, but they only had the first and last nights available. So I gallantly declared I would stay out all night the middle night and tough it out. Well the middle night turned into the first night and when I stepped off the bus at the Venice bus station, I realized I had been pretty cruel to myself.

My apprehension quickly turned to wonder as I looked at the urban landscape around me. My initial reaction was that it looked just like Disneyland, but far more real. I love this city. It is beautiful beyond belief, with its narrow streets, conglomeration of ancient architecture and emerald canals. I had no plan, so I decided I would try to find my hostel, just to give me something to do. I got on a ferry (it’s like a bus, but on the water! Amazing!) and rode down to Il Ponte di Rialto, the closest landmark to my hostel. When I got off the ferry, it had started to rain. Hard. Things were looking grim. I put on my raincoat, and put my rain jacket on my backpack, and began to explore the city. Seeking refuge from the rain, I ended up sitting inside a small café for over an hour, nursing a chocolate pastry until closing time, around 1 am. When they kicked me out, I didn’t know what to do. (I found out today that the restaurant in which I took refuge from the rain is literally ten feet from the entrance to my hostel, and I didn’t notice it until the next day.)

“Hey! You’re American!” I heard from behind me. I turned around and agreed wholeheartedly. It seemed the two girls who yelled the comment were also Americans, but unfortunately they attended Notre Dame. We spent the first fifteen minutes of our friendship discussing how awesome USC is at everything and how they wish we would let them win a football game once in awhile. I said I would look into it. It turned out they were staying in the hostel I was looking for, and, after talking to me and realizing what a nice, fine young boy I was, they were willing to let me stay in their room! Two parts dumb luck, three parts kindness of strangers, and my day was saved. We wandered around the city until around 3 am, then headed to the hostel, where I was given my very own bed in a room with a guy who thought he was sharing a room with a familiar female and not a frightening person he’d never seen before in his life. Mark, if you’re out there, I’m sorry you had to go through that. But Emily and Mary Kate, thank you so much for sharing.

Anyway, I got about four hours of sleep, getting up around 7:30 am because I figured I better be out of there before check-out time. I spent most of today with my new friend Emily. She and some other Notre Damners were planning on going to mass this morning, so I thought I would tag along. After one thing or another, it was her and I planning on going to the big mass at 10:30 am. I was hungry, and it was about 10, so we headed off to find something quick to eat before the mass. We walked down a side street, of which they are infinitely many in this town, and eventually spotted a pastry shop. I was just about to order when I smelled incense and turned to look behind me. In the narrow lane behind us stood ten clergymen swinging incense burners, followed by twenty altar boys, followed by several men singing with guitars, followed by priests dressed in red, surrounding the bishop, followed by countless Venetians and tourists wielding palm fronds, all moving slowly in the procession to the church for the important Palm Sunday mass. It was one of the coolest things I’ve seen in Europe. I ordered my food and quickly ate it as we joined the procession to the church, which processed slowly into Piazza San Marco, making a loop before heading towards the church. We ended up sitting on one of the side areas of the cross-shaped Basilica di San Marco. The mass was delivered in Italian, but the guide books were in about five different languages, so I managed all right. Emily, who is studying abroad in Spain, was able to understand much more than I because she is fluent in Spanish. When speaking to native Italians, she speaks Spanish and they understand much of what she says, interestingly.

We walked back to the hostel in order for me to check in, and once again, the kindness of strangers bails me out. Technically, I should have paid for: 1. the night I reserved and didn’t stay, 2. tonight, and 3. last night, because the proprietor caught me as we were leaving for the day and was wondering what the hell was going on. He started talking about some thousand euro fine and I was getting nauseous, but apparently he was saying he could get a hefty fine if he doesn’t record everyone who stays in the hostel. Crisis averted. He is actually a really nice guy. As it turns out, I paid a reduced rate for last night because the kind-hearted girls made space for me in their room, and I pay for tonight. All told, 35 euros, as opposed to the 75 it could have been had the man been a bit more strict with the rules.

This afternoon, Emily and I headed back out to explore, and we ended up taking a ferry across the bay in front of Piazza San Marco over to San Giorgio Maggiore, where we visited La Chiesa di San Giorgio Maggiore, a huge Renaissance cathedral built of white marble. It was breathtaking inside. We wandered around for awhile and I lit some candles for my family and friends (that’s you guys!) before heading back to the mainland.

Venice is a funny city. It can be extremely confusing to go anywhere. So far I’ve traveled from the hostel to Piazza San Marco at least six times, but I still don’t really know where they each are, in the broad scheme of things. This could be due to my utter incompetence when it comes to anything geographic, but it could also be due to the thin Venetian streets which seem to lead everywhere. Several times (at least five), I have been walking with my new friends (now old friends, because they’re all gone) and just when we think we’re lost, we spot a little piece of paper taped to a wall with the word “Rialto” written on it with an arrow. Or else it’s a hasty piece of graffiti which tells us which way to go. I’d say these ramshackle signs are at least as numerous as established street signs, and twice as helpful.

Now, I’m sitting on my bed in this hostel, pretty exhausted. So far, I love Italy. The weather and the architecture would be enough to earn my eternal love, but on top of that, the people are friendly and happy. As we left the hostel this morning, there were three men outside, playing accordion, violin and guitar. They had an authentic, beautiful Italian sound, so I stopped quickly to take a picture. They saw me and they all turned towards the camera and smiled. It was awesome. A little later, we witnessed a whole patio full of Italians belting out their national anthem together, arm in arm, smiling without a care in the world. I’m having a great time.

I’m not going to tell you where I’m going next. Partly because I don’t know myself, and partly because I don’t want to ruin the surprise.

D'oh

I got a great start to my world traveling today with a dry run to the airport. I got my bags all packed and walked out of my flat around 3:30 pm. Everything went smoothly, I caught the train and got to the airport safe and sound, where a helpful Ryanair employee correctly informed me that my flight is tomorrow, so I happily came back to Queen Mary to await my departure on my flight to Italy tomorrow.

In case my sarcasm has successfully disguised my stupidity, I went to the airport today thinking I would be flying to Venice, but my flight isn’t until tomorrow. Whoops! I feel good though, the trip wouldn’t have been authentically mine if it hadn’t started off with a goofy mistake. So...guess I'll fold laundry for another seventeen hours or so until my flight....

The Isles of Skye

I’m traveling back to London right now on a train from Edinburgh after the end of the last USC-funded expedition, a tour of the Scottish Highlands and the Isles of Skye.

The Isles of Skye, purported by me to be the blindingly beautiful bringers of eternal happiness, did not disappoint. For starters, in the last two days I have meditated at the broken ruins of a seven-hundred-year-old castle, looked over the edge of a thousand-foot drop, sipped the glacial runoff of one of the UK’s tallest peaks, fallen into a mountain stream after mistakenly thinking “I can make it,” visited the birth site of dynamite and James Bond (not the same location, although that would make sense) and touched the curvy horn of a friendly Highland steer.

The whole trip has begun to blur together into a mess of gory stories about Scottish clansmen, ancient castles and beautiful views, but I’ll do my best to describe what we’ve done.

PREVIOUSLY on Kevin’s blog: When we last saw Kevin, he was staying in a hostel in Fort Augustus on the banks of the Loch Ness. Foolishly, he had let his guard down to write his blog, unwittingly placing him at the mercy of Nessie for a few short minutes. But that’s all the time Nessie needed. Well, would have needed. If, of course, she had chosen to attack, that is. Luckily Kevin escaped Fort Augustus and continued on his way, propelled through the bog-ridden fields of Scotland on a yellow Haggis Tours bus emblazoned with their motto, WILD & SEXY.

NOW on Kevin’s blog: Our current story is one of castles and bovine herpes, Scotsmen and unintelligible accents. It takes us through quiet northern Scottish towns and up to the highest mountain in the land!

I’m sorry I have to interrupt this advertisement, but I better start writing about what we actually did. Yesterday morning, we toured an ancient, restored castle. It was in a gorgeous location on a lake, placed on a small island a short distance away from shore. It had been fully restored since the early 1900s. We left there to have lunch in a small town up the road, closer to the Isles of Skye, and I bought a bandana from these two old women in a fabric shop. They gave me some free tea, so I felt pretty compelled. So for the rest of the day, I wore my new bandana like Rambo. We finally made it across the bridge onto the Isles of Skye after lunch, passing the town we would stay in that night on our way into the wilderness. The hostel we were staying in was called Saucy Mary, because apparently, three hundred years ago, there was a woman in the town who would flash any sailors who went by to appease their anger at having to pay a toll to get past a certain point at that town.

It’s always impossible to capture a view with words, so I won’t try to describe some of the incredible natural beauty we saw. Some of it still reminded me of southern Oregon, but more barren. Compared to the rest of Scotland and England, it was very exciting, hilly, mountainous country. Compared to Oregon, it was a backyard. But sheep roamed over all the hills, and we rarely saw another car. There were some great stories which went along with some of the natural landscapes we saw. For instance, there was a story about a great pillar on a mountainside of a giant and fairies, two mythical species which are common to Scottish folklore. The giant used to go up on the mountain to visit the fairies and tell them his stories. As the giant got older, he told them he wouldn’t be able to come and visit them anymore because he couldn’t climb the hill. They convinced him to come one more time, and after he had told all his stories and started to leave, the fairies were distraught and they cursed him, turning him to stone so he would stay on the mountain forever. Fairies are bad news.

There was another cool story about a cliff face with long, vertical streaks of rock. The story says a huge Irish giant came over to Scotland on a bridge he built to find himself a wife. He found the wife he wanted, but she was married to a Scottish giant, who wasn’t half the size of this Irish beast. The husband wasn’t around the first day he came, so he told the woman that he would be coming back the next day to crush her husband’s bones and make her his wife. The wife didn’t think this was such a good idea, so when her husband came home, she told him to take off all his clothes, shave his head, and construct a giant baby cradle to lay in the next day when the Irishman came back. The next day, the Irishman came back, and the woman invited him inside to wait while her husband returned from work. While he was waiting, he found the baby cradle with the husband inside, and deduced that the giant who conceived this baby must be too big for even the Irishman to handle, and he hightailed it back to his homeland. The cliff face was the husband’s kilt.

And then I had a life-changing event! The tour guide took us to a stream which once healed a young maiden who had a gnarly face. She was all scraped up, missing an eyeball, you know, the works. A fairy appeared to her and told her to put her face in the river, and when she drew it out, she was beautiful! She was no longer a minger, which is the Scottish word for an ugly person. So, all of us mingers dipped our faces in the river when we stopped. And now, I’m one of those beautiful people. My life is changed forever. People buy me drinks, I have to carry a mirror in my purse so I can powder my nose from time to time, embarrassing photos of me will soon plaster tabloids. It’s a great life.

That evening we returned to the town of Saucy Mary. We had dinner, and some great new friends and I went exploring. We had seen the ruins of a castle on our way into town and were eager to find them. There was a path which led to the ruins, and it was about a fifteen-minute walk from our hostel. Seeing an un-restored castle made the history much more tangible. We stayed there for almost an hour, saying little, just taking in the view of the bay and thinking. When we returned to the hostel, things were beginning to heat up in the so-called “biggest party town in the Scottish Highlands.” On the impresso-meter, this bold title falls just short of “Biggest-squash-at-the-county-fair” level of impressiveness, and just barely passes the bar of “my-son-or-daughter-is-an-honor-student-at-Roosevelt-Elementary” impressiveness magnitude. There was live music, and I danced a little while before playing the most abysmal game of pool ever witnessed in Scotland, which, on the carefully-calculated impressiveness scale, scores about a magnitude of 654f, the ‘f’ being a bonus modifier, signifying local fame for at least the next two months. It is a significantly more impressive title than “the biggest party town in the Scottish Highlands.”

This morning we visited some places on the way out of the Scottish Highlands. Our tour guide was a character and kept us well-entertained on our journey. We stopped off at the most beautiful area of the Highlands, an area known as Glencoe. Apparently this is where the MacDonald clan lived back in the day. There was a mountain in the distance I wanted to climb, but I figured I could only climb about 4000 of its 5000 vertical feet in the half hour we were allowed there, so it wasn’t worth the effort. We also saw the peak of Ben Nevis today, the highest peak in the UK at just over 5000 feet. We saw where Ian Fleming is from, and the tour guide pointed out the location of the oldest living organism on Earth, a yew tree estimated to be between five and nine thousand years old! We also stopped to pet a hairy Scottish cow. I guess one of the other guides used to let the cow take carrots from his mouth. He got really sick with what turned out to be bovine herpes. Aha!

And now I’m on my way back to London, just in time to leave tomorrow evening for Italy! I must be crazy.

Some pictures….One of Loch Ness, one of myself jumping in the air at the top of a huge cliff, one of a castle on a lake, one of the mountain cow, and one of my life-changing event.