"Keeps things on your trip in perspective, and you'll be amazed at the perspective you gain on things back home while you're away…One's little world is put into perspective by the bigger world out there" ~Gail Rubin Bereny

Another month passed. Like the blink of an eye. Italy has become real in every sense. Time does have a weird way of becoming distorted in a place where time is not of the essence to the culture. When time is slowed, and thus the body is slowed, we tend to notice the previously insignificant, and these moments become woven into memories, days, thoughts, wanderings, months. Days are long, weeks sometimes too, but the months go fast. Too fast. The time continues to tick by, closer and closer to the end of this experience and the start of the next. There is still so much that I would like to learn about this culture, the language, not to mention I still have a lot of pizza, pasta, and gelato to eat!

"We are all visitors to this time, this place- We are just passing through. Our purpose here is to observe, learn, grow and love. And then, we return home"

I am almost at the half way mark, in fact I only have 5 full months left for me at this point. When I reflect on my time here, it does seem like a long time, though in the perspective of my life, it is just one small piece to the it all. It's hard to even remember boarding that plane and setting off on this journey. What a long trip it's been. It still does amaze me how easily one can transverse the globe with a bit of imagination (and finances to consider) and wake up in any city on the planet and set out on an adventure. For me, the road with all of it's splendor, possibilities, exoticness, and diversity continues to call me, and I must answer to see what's out there, what experience awaits me…

"The world belongs to anyone who stops for a moment, gazes, and goes on his way" ~Colette

I wish I had more to report from here in Firenze, but I have been lazy with writing, recording, remembering details. The romance and newness of living in Italy has long worn off, and life here is much more regular, routine, and normal, waking up like everyone else, going to class, coming home to take an afternoon nap while the shops are all closed (I'm assuming they aren't doing this back in the states yet). Typically I stop by my favorite gelato shop or by the market to get some goods. I also have a favorite wine place that sells vino sfuso. I just bring in my bottles to be refilled and the little old couple chats away as they fill them from the tap and attach the little hand-made label. That is one of my favorite things about living in this city, going to the same little shops for my specific items (like wine and gelato). I have certainly been relaxing quite a bit here as well. There is no schedule, no deadlines, no places to be. I rarely look at a clock and even less at a calendar. There is no rush to anything, which is great when I'm enjoying a cup of coffee, not so great when I'm squeezing past people on the narrow little streets to get out of the cold. Life here seems to me so relaxed in that no one is thinking about anything except for the present moment. Italians are passionate. They are passionate towards each other, towards their beliefs, towards life. They do what makes them happy, they are sincere and honest. Quality is of the highest importance, quality of the food, wine, of relationships, of life. It is the substance of genuinely caring about how time is spent and appreciating every moment. In my opinion, they really have their priorities right.

These months have given me a new appreciation for the life that I have, the life that I have experienced, and also for my future. I'm also more aware of my appreciation for California's coast and the sun! I am not here to change my life or to find the "wisdom" that most travelers think will come from a change of scenery from the comfortable to the unseen. I am only here to learn about another culture and to get a taste for the surrounding ones. In being here, though, for such an extended time, it is difficult to not experience some changes in myself and my perspective of life. Without anticipating it, I have learned more than just the world around me, but also about myself. I'm not quite sure if I am a changed person in just a short while, but I do feel like I am beginning to understand myself better within these opportunities I have had.

"The only constant in life is change.....lets all keep that in mind. Sometimes, we all just need to allow it to happen. So, lets see what does…."

Some things are easy to write about. Others remain more elusive, sensory items that look simple when you sit and take the time, but when asked to give a concrete description, become a blur of sensations. These things, woven together, create the delicate patchwork that is life. Life, as such, is not easy to recount, and I will not attempt to sum up the last few months of my own here in Italy as days, people I meet, and the growing familiarity with the city all blend into one magical adventure. Each time I step out my front door, then dodge the vespas zipping through the streets sprinkled with pedestrians or hop to the sidewalk as cyclists ring their bells, I feel the energy of the city as I make the trek to school. When it's my morning class, I usually just put my headphones in and B-line it to school as fast as I can to get back inside since it's just a bit chilly. But if the weather is nice or it's the afternoon, it's one of my favorite times of the day to take the time to just stroll to class and listen to everyone around me and take it all in. One of the things I will definitely miss is hearing Italian everyday. My favorite is when someone is on the phone and they throw in all the hand motions in there too.

In a couple of days a few friends and I are flying over to Poland where we hope we won't loose any limbs to the cold. Next we're heading to Hungary to peek behind the iron curtain, then to Ljubljana, Slovenia and Zagreb, Croatia to see a bit of the less traversed cities in Europe. We'll see what adventures the new year brings in...

"A traveller. I love his title. A traveller is to be reverenced as such. His profession is the best symbol of our life. Going from- toward; it is the history of every one of us" ~Henry David Thoreau

Buon Natale!

The Italian Turkey

Candy galore at the Christmas market..and mulled wine





Taking a tree home


Parade through the city




Rollerblading santas? Perchè no?

"We live in time-it holds us and moulds us- but I've never felt I understood it very well. And I'm not referring to theories about how it bends and doubles back, or may exist elsewhere in parallel versions. No, I mean ordinary, everyday time, which clocks and watches assure us passes regularly: tick-tock, click-clock. Is there anything more plausible than a second hand? And yet it takes only the smallest pleasure or pain to teach us time's malleability. Some emotions speed it up, others slow it down; occasionally, it seems to go missing- until the eventual point when it really does go missing, never to return"

~Julian Barnes The Sense of an Ending

“Arriving at each new city, the traveler finds again a past of his that he did now know he had: the foreignness of what you no longer are or no longer possess lies in wait for you in foreign, unpossessed places.” – Italo Calvino

My adventure to Portugal, Spain, and Morocco
21 October- 1 November
Travel Buddy: Janelle (the roomie)

4 planes, 2 trains, 1 bus, 1 really long car ride, and plenty of metro rides
Miles Travelled: ~6,700 km (~4,200 miles)



21-22 Oct 2011 Off to Portugal! Bags are packed, passports in our pockets, and we're itching to go! We've already overcome our first obstacle at the beginning of our 11 day break from "school", the typical Italian train strikes. Instead of the quick ride to the airport, we hopped on a bus to get to Pisa. Nothing is gonna stop us from hitting the road! Goodbye pasta and wine. Hello wine and...well who knows what's in store for us, we'll find out!
So I'll start off by saying that it's true when they say Italians don't know what lines are. As we patiently waited to board our plane, we lined up pretty early to get a good seat. Ryan Air is like the Southwest of Europe, great for budget travelers, and you have your choice of seats. The line started out just a few people, those of us who were confident to get the best spot and ready to start our travels. Then it happened. The line grew, not longer, but wider instead… like an ameboa, slowly expanding and becoming more and more dense. Everyone just casually inched closer and closer to the gate in hopes to be the first on. Eventually everyone pushed their way on the plane and we were on our way.

Let's find some beautiful place to get lost
Sitting at the "Majestic" Caffè in Porto, enjoying tea and people watching on the main street. Old men are strolling by arm-in-arm in their golf hats, each of them mesmerized by the antique photos in the shop next door of their beloved city and reminiscing about the past.



Porto-dise
Oh, Porto, where the utterly confusing maze of narrow, cobblestone roads connect, somehow to make up this characteristic city that seems to be frozen in time.
The streets are like this: The buildings in Porto are covered in Azulejos, hand-painted tiles decorating the outsides of nearly everywhere.



Buildings are ornate, gothic, and charmingly dilapidated. This city is rough around the edges, not worried about being polished for the visitors there to taste the wine. This city reflects the life. The city seems to have such a strong connection to the past; a city frozen in time with an old world feel.

Raw.

Genuine.

Authentic.

Embracing.

Distinctive.

Women lean out their windows, hanging their clothes on the line. Boys kick a soccer ball through the alleys. Cats peering around the corners. Venders sell roasted chestnuts on the sidewalk. It was very easy to get a feel for the city, wandering the tangle of intertwined streets. From the charming Lello Bookstore (One of the oldest in Portugal) down to the river we were hypnotized by this place. Tiles covering the city. Janelle probably has about 800 photos of every individual tile that decorated the buildings.

On the waterfront the little tiled houses, with intricate railings and old rusted doors, seem to be piled on top of each other and ready to tumble down to the riverbank. The old gothic churches poke up behind them. The bridge connecting the colorful and raw side of town to the wine tasting side. (Better to be on this side, to admire the city with glasses full of Port). Everywhere you look tiles cover the surfaces in every kind of pattern and color, from the buildings to the streets, giving the city a character of its own.

Just one more taste...
One of the main reasons we have come to Porto is to taste the wine of course. Portugal is best known as the only true producer of Port, which is wine that has been fortified with brandy. How did Port come to be? So glad you asked. When England was unable to obtain wine from France, the Portuguese said they could supply it. They tried to bring the wine over on boats, but it spoiled during the long trip. Someone found that if the wine was covered with a layer of the fortification spirit known as aguardente it would stop the fermentation process, keeping it from spoiling. However, as one would imagine, the wine and layer of the other spirit got mixed during the trip across the sea, which left residual sugar in the wine. But no worries, now it was a great desert wine and the alcohol content was boosted too (around 25%). To be called "Port" the grapes and entire process must take place in Portugal's Duoro valley. Established in 1756, the port wine producing Douro region is the third oldest protected wine region in the world after one established in Hungary in 1730, and our very own Chianti, in 1716. (This is all according to wikipedia, so don't quote me on this stuff).
On our search for wine, a combination of the distraction of tiles and our thirst for Port clouded our navigational skills (if you can call them that) and we ended up a little out of the way. Somehow we found the wineries and we were welcomed by a lady that, not surprisingly, spoke multiple languages. Throughout our travels we haven't really had any language barrier problems either. It seems that most people speak English. In Italy, this is one of the most frustrating things since I'm trying to only speak Italian. But everywhere else I have been very grateful for the education of others.

We finally sat down and happily sipped away. After our wine, cheese, and chocolate smorgasburg we made our way to the riverside. While Janelle sketched, I took in the city one last time before we moved on to our next.

Lisbon, Portugal
After hopping off the train from Porto, we grabbed our bags and headed to catch the metro to find our hostel. Apparently we looked like we had no idea what we were doing because a nice guy helped us figure out how to use the self service ticket machine. It turns out he was headed in the same direction as us. After some chit-chat he asked Janelle and me to grab some food. We hadn't had much food that evening besides our granola bars and crackers, so we dropped off our stuff after he helped us find our hostel and hit the streets. Now I know you are probably thinking, "Uhhh, isn't that a little foolish?!" Two girls. Traveling alone. At night. Meeting some strange guy. But stop worrying. We asked him if he was going to take us. Really, we did. After he got a call and started talking in Portuguese, maybe telling his buddy where to come with the van, we told him we were on to him. Turns out he was a really nice guy who just wanted to show us his town and practice his english. He even showed us the "best" gelato in the world. Now, I'm not too sure about that, being in Italy has spoiled me and I am definitely biased to Jon Paul's gelato, which really is the best. This place did have avocado gelato though. (Chels you would of course love it!) It tasted just like avocados in gelato form.



23 Oct 2011 North is whichever way I'm facing
On our way to the Guggenheim Museum, which is filled with over 5,00 years of history. Paintings, sculptures, furniture, textile, a little of everything from everywhere. It was all donated by a wealthy Armenian oil tycoon who was granted refuge by Portugal during World War II. He really must have been pretty wealthy to have a collection of over 6,000 pieces, which included paintings by Monet, Rembrandt, Renoir, and Dégas. Before seeing all this, though, we had to find the place. Janelle and I realized by now that when we decide to go one direction, we should probably just turn around and go the other way to get where we want to go. Wandering is better than trying to figure out the "right" way, it both eliminates the need for a map and as long as we're faced the general direction, we'll get there eventually.
After our morning of art-awe, we explored the hilly neighborhood of Baixa-Chaido. Lisbon is quite different than Porto, more polished and modernized. There was an earthquake followed by an even more devastating tsunami and fires in 1755 that completely destroyed the city. The city, by now, has been rebuilt. It was a bit deceiving, not knowing if the building we were looking at was an original, or recently rebuilt.



What I did love was the yellow street trolleys that connect the different parts of Lisbon together, winding through criss-crossed streets and up the hills. That, and the roasted chestnuts! We saw them everywhere, in Porto too. I finally had to stop and get some after seeing them on every corner. Venders sell a bag full of steaming, charred chestnuts from a cart on the street. Peel away the ashy skins, which split in the heat, to reveal the big ol' nut, who's texture is soft, warmed by the coals, and the flavor is sweet, nutty and smokey, with the occasional hit of raw salt sprinkled on. The overall street atmosphere of Lisbon in autumn is enhanced by the constant wafting of charcoaly chestnutty yumminess.



Another staple of Lisbon we had to try was Ginja: a sour cherry infused liquor, like a cherry brandy. It was very sweet! They take sour cherries and fill a bottle with them, then they pour in brandy and let it soak. The drink was first formulated by a Friar and it was advertised to drink 6 a day for good health.



24 Oct 2011 I LOVE TRAVELING
After letting the rain dry, we explored The Alfama neighborhood with our roommate who's from Brazil and with no difficulty at all convinced us we had to visit her there. She scuba dives too and gave some great advice of where to go. So fun to share scuba stories! I'm pretty sure I dreamt about swimming with the fishies all night.
We strolled through the streets, up and down on the narrow little sidewalks, stopping to admire the views. I did find myself comparing Lisbon to Porto, and found it lacked the charm of the other. Rick (as in Rick Steve) said that this part of town is one of the most photogenic neighborhoods of Europe. I'm not sure what camera he was looking through, but this is the one time I'd have to disagree with his travel suggestions.
The rain forced us back to our hostel where we took some time to actually stop moving for a bit and relax.



A good motto while traveling is "Even though you will be a foreigner, eat like a local". This might seem kinda obvious, but it's a good reminder to stray away from what is comfortable and to not miss out on the local food delights. We walked to the nearest supermarket to see what kind of things we could throw together in the kitchen at our hostel. The choices were slim. It was either slabs of salted cod piled in the middle of the aisle or hotdogs in a can. We decided this was the one time we could settle for some sandwiches. After emerging from picnicking in our hostel (hey, we're on a budget here) we got to know some of the other backpackers in the hostel.


Yummy little pastry snacks


"Where there's a will, there's a way" ~Janelle
Janelle and I both have this really bad bug… or maybe its the best kind of bug there is. The travel bug. Its pretty much all we talk about. How great it is, what a thrill it is, where we'll go next, remember the places we went, how we hope this bug is contagious because we want everyone to travel. If there is an obstacle, then its not the end of the idea, but only the beginning of a new challenge that could potentially open up new possibilities of growth within a person. There may not always be a way to do something, but if there isn't yet a way, then make one of your own.
It really is great to be able to meet people from all over, and the hostel is the perfect place for that. During our trip I kept myself entertained and wrote down where people were from after we met them. At the end of our travels my list was made up of people from 6 continents and 23 countries (plus 7 states). The most common were Aussies, Kiwis (from New Zealand), and British. Its lovely that the passion for exploring new places brings people, who never would have met otherwise, together. It is also a time to inspire others to travel where you have been and to be inspired to continue exploring the world. We found that with every place we went, though one place was crossed off the list, 10 more were added after hearing about the possibilities for the next adventure.
"And, when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it."
— Paulo Coelho (The Alchemist)

"They did not know it was impossible...so they did it"


“He who would travel happily must travel light.” – Antoine de Saint Exupéry
25-27 Oct 2011 Madrid is the capital and the largest city in Spain. It is a city filled with culture, history, business, gastronomy and nightlife....on every street you can find a fabulous tapas restaurant. Upon our arrival, we were super tired. After mastering the metro system in Portugal, we figured we'd take it easy and treat ourselves to a cab ride from the airport. The Madrid metro map seemed a bit intimidating. But man, do we wish we would have sucked it up! Our cab driver was really nice, giving what I assume was really great information about Madrid. He was speaking fast and I'm sorry to all my past Spanish teachers, but I would've disappointed you for sure. After saying adios and him speeding away, we look around for the hostel, ready to drop our stuff off and get some grub, Janelle more so than me with her big ol' bag. Turns out, though, we were somehow on the wrong side of the metropolis. We were able to get a map from a hotel nearby. After a nice unexpected walking tour to the other side of the city (good thing I packed lightly, sorry Janelle!), it was time for a siesta! I'd also like to mention that we were getting pretty good at navigating new cities. Either that, or it was helpful to have an actual map and not one scribbled by Rick Steve.



Feeling refreshed, we're ready to hit the streets and get a taste of Spain, and the tapas too! So far, Janelle and I both agree that we'd prefer the smaller cities. Not only is it more enjoyable to walk around on the narrow little streets rather than bustling boulevards, but its easier to get the feel for the city on a short schedule. Madrid had lots to see! We started out with the Prado museum, once again overwhelmed and amazed at the things artists are able to create.
Next we strolled over to Retiro Park. Lots of windy little paths, lined with fall trees, leading to a lake in the middle with paddle boaters. The path surrounding the water was a mosaic of runners, strollers, couples, musicians, all enjoying the afternoon.



After cruising around the city, we grabbed some lunch at the central market, Mercado San Miguel. There they had all sorts of little tastes of snacks. After scoping out the place, I settled on some seafood!


On the food topic, the Spanish tapas where yummy too! Our hostel was cool enough to have a "tapas crawl" where they took us to a few different tapas bars. It would've been hard to choose which ones to go to without them. Lots of little snacks with cheese, meats, and breads. My favorite were little roasted jalapenos. At the restaurants it was a little strange to see a leg of an animal, still with its hoof, with the ankle clamped down for the butcher to shave meat off. Though it did taste great! We also had sangria, cinder and something called Clara con lìmon, which was beer with lots of lemon. It was refreshing!

On the tapas crawl we got to know some girls from Finland. It is then that we learned about the absolute necessity to know how to understand celsius! Apparently it gets to be -15 to -25 degrees celsius. I thought, wow that sounds cold, not really knowing what that even meant in fahrenheit. Until now, celsius meant nearly nothing to me. And this isn't the first time someone has said the temperature and we weren't sure whether that means to wear an eskimo suit or a sunhat and sandles. We've recently gotten frustrated with being out of the loop and not knowing this thing that the rest of the world understands. Someone would say, "Oh, that day it was 30 degrees…but wait, that means nothing to you". But now it does. Here's a formula for figuring it out: multiply the degree in celsius (when its above zero) by 1.8 (or 2 is easier to just estimate), then add 32. Now that we got that settled, next up is figuring out the whole meter thing!
And speaking of ridiculous weather, our Aussie roomie in the hostel went to Morocco this summer and said the temperature was 52 degrees. Celsius! That is 125 degrees fahrenheit! Her hands and feet weren't covered and they were literally boiling, like a roast in the oven! Good thing we're not planning on going into the desert in the middle of summer...

Also organized by our hostel was a flamenco show! For me, one of the highlights of our time in Madrid. We were led to this little bar, and down to the basement, where there was a little stage and just a handful of seats, an intimate show.
Ending our time in Madrid, which was lovely, with churros and hot chocolate, Janelle and I felt an itch, an anxiousness, to move to a more exotic atmosphere. Be careful what you wish for! Morocco will guarantee it!

“Traveling is a brutality. It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends. You are constantly off balance. Nothing is yours except the essential things – air, sleep, dreams, the sea, the sky – all things tending towards the eternal or what we imagine of it.” – Cesare Pavese

Our magic carpet ride

27-28 Oct 2011 Floating above the ocean with Europe shrinking behind us and Africa growing on the horizon, Janelle and I felt the anticipation of what adventures awaited in our next destination.
Morocco: A place to feel rather than to see, to experience rather than to visit. It is distinctly African in character. With its myriad of palm trees (the one thing familiar!), and deep red walls, the city is much different than any other I've other been to. Hypnotic enchantment, buzz of crowds, the colors, smells, and sounds. The sense of being on the edge of a mystical ritual. The people live in the now. Land of contrasts and diversity. The rhythm of a city that transforms with the cycle of the sun. It conjures up colors and breaths out excitement and energy. I never had a plan of where I'd travel, but out of all the places I definitely never considered Africa. And where did I end up? Morocco of course! It is impossible to be able to describe what we felt there through our experiences to someone who didn't share the moments. I could describe individual sights (the rolling of the sand dunes) or sounds (snake charmers playing their instruments) or smells. Oh, the smells! Either spices, camels, perfumes, donkeys, animals, steaming foods...All these were only layered together, or happening simultaneously, thus creating a surreal experience that I am so fortunate to have had the chance to have (and to have Janelle by my side to share it with). Marrakech is exotic. Marrakech is Moroccan. Marrakech is African. Marrakech is a city of contrasts-extreme contrasts.

Wake up in Europe to sleep in Morocco
So there's this place called Marrakech, its in Morocco, and I'm pretty sure, no I'm positive, there is no other place like it in the world. It's like nothing I have ever seen, no where I have ever been, and no where I'd rather be. As soon as we stepped onto the streets of Marrakech, we knew we were in a foreign place. It was the first time I actually felt I was in a real foreign place. Nothing looked a bit familiar to me. Every sign was written in either French or Arabic. Though I did take Arabic for a year, by the end of our 5 days in Morocco, the only thing I remembered was the alphabet. But hey, that's pretty good!
So the driver told us to just go down one of these little streets and make a few turns to find our hostel. Okaayyy… Good thing some strange man offered to help us find our way. As he was walking in the direction we needed to go, we hesitantly we started to follow behind him pushing his cart. I know, I know, this sounds like the opening scene of a horror flick. We really tried to ditch him a few times, but good thing he stuck around or we would never have found the place! After taking us through the streets, left, right, around the corner, through this ally and down that street, we made it to the riad (hostel). But wait! This is the wrong one! Ok, back again around the corner, up this street and we made it! Its on a little street with kids kicking a ball around, vespas flying by, stray cats lurking in the corners and a man that seems to be twisting yarn every time we pass by.
When we walked into the riad we were immediately welcomed as if coming into someone's home. They took our bags and sat us down. We were expecting to do the usual paperwork and be ushered to our room, but not in Marrakech. Everyone at the riad was so friendly and welcoming. They really went out of their way to make sure we enjoyed our stay. One night we wanted a little snack, but we didn't want to venture into the "circus" (that's what we started calling the main square), so we asked if there was anything. He said, of course, let me get you something. Not much longer we look around, the kitchen light is off, but moments later he walks through the door with a sandwiches and fries for us all. So nice! They were funny little sandwiches too. We think he didn't know what we would want, so he got us the "everything" one, filled with tuna, eggs, olives, veggies, rice, all sorts of stuff. They were good!
We could feel the generosity and attentiveness as soon as we arrived. Instead of paperwork when we arrived, he brought out tea. The "Whisky Moroccan" -no booze allowed- is the Moroccan mint tea that is usually served in delicate glasses full to the the brim with fresh mint and a personal tea pot of green or black brewed tea. The tea is usually mixed with plenty of sugar and then poured dramatically from an arm's height into the little cups. It is delightful and perfect to drink at any time of day. We've even taken to drinking it back in Firenze (Kristina R, you would be so proud!) They say you cannot do business in Morocco unless it is done over a pot of mint tea, and I believe it. Every seller in the souq (markets) will shout relentlessly try to lure you into their shop for "just a cup of tea and a look around for free" - but beware, should you decide to partake you will start a bargaining game of epic proportions. But this is the fun part, and its addicting, just ask Janelle.

Marrakech Me If You Can
Potent tea coursing through our veins, we decided to tackle the labyrinth of streets in the souq (market). As we approached the Djemaa el Fna (the main square connected to the souq), we were amazed by its intense energy, people, animals and music. Impromptu tables were set up throughout the square with the most bizarre array of people and activities. All in all it was like nothing anything I have ever seen before, or will ever see. Completely different, completely exotic, completely exhilarating. The entire atmosphere exploded with vitality and excitement, with people and noises, with smells in every direction. I kinda fell in love with it.
Our first stop was at one of the juice stalls. A cheery man peeked above a towering wall of stacked oranges and grapefruits as if hiding behind a citrus fortress. For a couple of dirhams, we sipped cold and refreshing glasses of fresh squeezed jus de pamplemousse, the tart pink grapefruit juice quenching our thirst.



The high pitched wail of the snake charmers' notes sang out like whiny, mesmerizing tunes, as the charmers lulled their cobras (yes, real cobras) into trances on rugs peppering the square. A dentist, or tooth-puller maybe, had set up a card table under an umbrella and proudly displayed a heap of human teeth in various states of decay and size. Have a sore tooth? Sit down and this chap will yank it right out with a nice dirty pair of pliers, as crowds of bystanders watch. Next to that, men with eager monkeys there to play with you hair, or in some cases jump all over you. One of the days we escaped the chaos and retreated to a terrace to sip some tea and people watch. So entertaining!

The souq (market) in Marrakech's old medina is a web of narrow alleys, shops and stalls. There are no discernible patterns, street names, or logic to the layout of meandering pathways, yet the locals are somehow able to navigate with ease. One man even gave us a business card as if he thought we would ever be able to find our way back to his shop. As we ventured in, I was initially overwhelmed - trying to simultaneously take in the sights and sounds while avoiding being run over by the devilishly quick vespas, donkeys, bikes and throngs of people pushing their way deeper and deeper into the abyss.
The stalls and shops displayed a huge assortment of every item imaginable in every color and pattern. Leather stalls boasted bags and belts in rich hues. Spice shops and "pharmacies" displayed mysterious baskets of herbs. We tried something that definitely cured my hostel cough, not to be confused with kennel cough. I produced this cough some time during our travels. I wasn't sick, but I couldn't kick this cough… until I tried black cumin. Cleared up my respiratory system right away. I could then better smell the fragrant ground spices were carefully constructed into conical masterpieces. Rugs, lamps, nicknacks, fabrics, all sorts of things. We even passed through the animal section where there were chickens (lots of chickens), tortoises, chameleons, and even hawks and squirrels.
Some sections of the souq were covered overhead with woven palm mats, allowing slivers of lemony filtered light into the crowded passages below, and to protect us from the rain. Wandering aimlessly through the souq, the shop owners cried out, "Hi! Hello! Come take look, free for looking", all in about 500 languages.
The souks area was like a giant monster. Once inside the mouth entrance, you get gobbled up in the treasure trove of stores. We almost expected to see magical flying carpets and genie-in-the-bottles being sold from every stall.
What we thought would be a short stroll through the market turned out to be a nearly 6 hour adventure. Once inside the maze, there is really now way out. At one point I honestly believed we would never find an exit. Turning one corner led to another whole set of stalls, winding around to even more. It would be very possible to spend at least a week getting lost in the endless maze, and we could have easily spent 3 more just taking it all in.

The first night we wanted to see what the place was like at night. We naturally ventured toward the excitement and into the heart of the beast where the streets pour into the center, the meeting place of a number of small alleys and streets culminating in an enormous, irregularly shaped square. Even before we edged close enough to see the square we could both hear and smell what we were heading toward. From quite some distance away, smoke wafted past our noses, and the dull roar of a crowd mingled with higher and more discernible tones of instrumental music. When we emerged into the square, we were stunned. By day, the place is a buffet of street performers- snake charmers, monkey tamers, musicians, each with their own entourage of hawkers and gawkers (soon to be hit up for donations) watching and listening. By night, it transforms into what seems to be the world's largest bbq - amidst bright lights and swirling smoke storms, dozens of makeshift restaurants, thrown up every night from mobile carts, grill up all sorts of stuff. We heard there was even sheep brains. Dad, you would love to try some of this crazy stuff. Janelle and I were a little wary since we heard lots of people getting sick on their trips to Morocco. One girl we met later had to go to the hospital during her stay. For the rest of the weeks she was there, it was just rice for dinner! We were lucky to have tough tummies. No issues for us! Instead of the brains, though, we opted for tajines and couscous. The tajines are just a mix of veggies, with meat if you want, with some really flavorful spices. And, of course, topped off with a cup of tea.
The central square that had so captivated our attention on the first night had become a bit tiresome and over the top even to just walk through. Janelle nick-named it "the circus". Nevertheless, I hope to find myself back in that mystical city at some point. And I will definitely be back to Morocco to see the rest of it. "You can feel the heart of the earth beating and its no wonder people love Africa".

We chatted with our roommates, reliving that first magical, bizarre introduction to Morocco. We were eager to go to bed, though. The next morning we were going to the Sahara!

29 Oct 2011 Off to the sand, a million miles from anywhere
Like two happy tortoises, our packs on our backs, we headed out the door, starting our trek to the desert. We had a little white mini bus filled with a "Moroccan salad", kind of like our sandwiches, a mixture of everything. In this case it was a mixture of nationalities. There were 2 Polish girls, 3 Koreans, 1 New Zealander with his Portuguese girlfriend, 2 Dutch girls, 2 Japanese girls, and 3 other girls from CA studying abroad in France. Oh and are Moroccan driver! It was a big group!
Moroccan time is quite similar to Italian time; a schedule, or rather a lack of, characterized by loose deadlines, lethargic pace, and a general disinterest in any task of seemingly urgent nature. However, as soon as a Moroccan gets into a vehicle, suddenly speed and time are of the essence! All of sudden everyone seems to be in such a rush to get somewhere. After anxiously waiting around for a while to leave, the car finally started up, the music was turned up and we were off!
(Here are some tunes to listen to while you read)



As we left the city limits of Marrakech, the Atlas mountains soon began to rise up on the dry horizon in front of us. Our little white mini bus zipped along, hugging the harrowing mountain switchbacks. The road seemed to be merely a thin spool of asphalt unraveling around the mountains and winding precariously along rocky face. The beauty of the mountains was breathtaking. We took pictures, but its one of those times where they don't do it justice.

62 days to Timbuktu
Just so you know, it takes a really long time to drive to the Sahara. We made quite a few stops the first day at Kasbah Ait Benhaddou, where we had a look at how Berber families live together. The Berbers, the indigenous people of North Africa, are so friendly and welcoming, always with a smile. They have strong connections with their families, often forming their own communities with their relatives, cooperating together in solidarity. Every Berber we met had a passion for life and for teaching visitors about their culture. Their connection to the earth and to nature was inspiring. Their hospitality is like non I have ever experienced. They told us that we are "free to come back anytime, like a bird. The doors to our homes are always open".






After going through the mountains, we went hours without seeing anything, the landscape similar to that of Arizona. Then we'd pass through a little Berber town, like a little oasis in the middle of nowhere. At one of them there was a car broken down, blocking the road, and it seemed that the whole town was on the streets trying to help them out. At another we saw a blur of kids playing in the streets, women gathering alfalfa while others led donkeys along the paths, while still others washing clothes stream. Or people were just hanging out, selling their pottery and other goods.




The first night we stayed at a little hotel in one of the towns in the gorge. We were between two mountains, next to a river running through them. When it was dark enough Janelle and I climbed to the terrace to look at the stars. So many, yet only a preview of what we would see the next night, even further from any lights and pollution at all. It was there that we looked at a map and I realized it was the first time I actually had no idea of where I was.





After being on the road for so long, I began to wonder when the sand would start! On the second day there seemed to still be mountains in every direction. The land is getting a little flatter, so maybe we'll be there soon…
It was on that afternoon that we stopped at one of the agricultural plots and we were welcomed into one of the homes. After being served tea, Fatima, one of the women, demonstrated the process of making yarn from wool or silk and created beautifully colored rugs. She said it takes about 9 months to make one, working only a couple hours a day on each of them. The way of lie here is fascinating, so different than anywhere else I have been. Religion plays a major factor in their daily life, their conduct, dress, and way of life. Even when we were driving, our driver somehow knew exactly when Adhan, the Islamic call to prayer, was. It rings out from mosques 5 times a day in Muslim communities. In Marrakech we heard it frequently from the loudspeakers of the minaret.




Sand, Sky, Stars, and Silence “Travel is glamorous only in retrospect.” – Paul Theroux
The romance of riding a camel (technically they were dromedaries, with only 1 hump, but I'll just say camels) into the desert sunset quickly faded. At first I was thinking this is way better than riding any ol' horse, and not as scary! The whole time I kept thinking, Alright…I'm on a camel. In the desert. In Africa. AWESOME! As we went further into the sand, the sun disappeared below the horizon. We watched as thousands of tiny pin pricks left the dark sky glowing with starlight. I had ever seen a sky so clear and bright as that night. Miles from any source of light pollution, the stars seemed amplified and truly spectacular. The Milky Way seemed to be a tear in the sky, letting light through in the middle. We rode about 2 hours, 7km, into the desert, just 30 km from the Algerian border and only 62 days on camel to Timbuktu. Though I'm not sure how anyone could ride a camel for that long; they are really uncomfortable! (Sadly it was at this point that my camera died)




We made our way to a camp, surrounded by sand as far as you could see in every direction.
After dinner (lots of bread!) we all gathered up around the fire under the open sky. The group of Berbers, whipped out some drums and sang songs in their language as we listened, transfixed. They seemed genuinely happy, smiling, singing and clapping. After trying to teach a few songs from our cultures, we scattered to the sand. Janelle and I started our attempt to climb the tallest dune we could find. A few steps in we though maybe it would've been a good idea to let our food digest. With every 3 steps forward it was 1 more back, slipping down the sand. We were huffing and puffing, then Mohammad, one of our hosts, grabbed my hand and said, "Come on, we're going to the top!". Before I knew it we were running up the incline, or more like he was running and I was doing everything I could not to loose my dinner. But we made it! I collapsed at the peak. Soon Janelle was reunited too. We lay in the sand, staring at the sky for who knows how long. It was so quiet, peaceful. Not very dark though. The stars lit up the sand that surrounded us. We pretty much felt like we were the only people in the universe. As the temperature dropped, we made our way back down to the tents. Of all the places I have slept, the Sahara Desert will go down as the most surreal, most memorable, most impressive and the most brilliant of all places. It was fantastic.



"Le premier soir, je me suis donc endormi sur la sable, a mille milles de toute terre habitée" ~ Saint-Exupéry
(The first night I went to sleep on the sand, a thousand miles from any human habitation)

Sadly, we had to make the journey back to Marrakech the next day. As we rode our camels back through the sand, we could hear only their footsteps as the sun was rising. Back in the car, we retraced our path to "The Red City". Marrakech is love at first sight, smell, sound, and smile. I can't wait to go back someday.

Lucca by Bike

"There are no paths. Paths are made by walking"

We hopped on the train last week to go to Lucca, a fairytale sort of town just a couple hours from Firenze. The whole city is surrounded by completely intact walls, fortified from both the outside fast-paced modern world and the "flip-flop fanny-pack wearing invaders of the summer" (So true, we read that somewhere). We roamed the streets for a while, came across a calciobailla (foosball) tournament in one of the piazzas. Man do these Italians love their calcio!

Lucca was a pleasant escape from the endless tourists in Firenze. Its a charming little place, with tree lined paths, and almost no traffic besides the bike riders. After grabbing some pizza that Rick suggested (Rick Steve's that is. His books have become our travel bibles. We just tear out the towns that we need for the day so we don't have to lug around the whole book. Shout out to Janelle's dad for that handy tip!), we eventually we came across the Piazza Amifiteatro. It's a circular piazza that was built on the shell of an old Roman amphitheatre, and today is surrounded by little shops and restaurants. Then we continued our stroll around.

The walls around the city, the bike trail on top, in the trees

Next up, bike riding! The walls around the little city form ramparts that have great paths all around. It was a magical experience, feeling the breeze, the crunching of the leaves under my wheels, leaves changing colors along the sides of the path. So peaceful! And we made it around the whole city, twice! After an hour of bike riding (sorry Danielle, but no helmets were available…I begged for one but no such luck!) we ditched the bikes and caught the next train to Pisa. There was nothing too exciting about it. We got off the train, saved the tower from falling, then headed back home.

Vagare Senza Meta

"Wandering re-establishes the original harmony which once existed between man and the universe" - Anatole France

Vago means "wandering", also with the possibility of stumbling and bumbling, of being off balance. The same word means "vague", it implies vagueness and movement. It has another third meaning: a kind of pleasure and beauty that is not obvious or immediately apparent.

In Florence, in Italy, I wander. Not in the sense of a vagabond with a knapsack on my back, which is how I would have liked to wander, vaguely and without a destination. Like a vagabond. It is not this kind of wandering, but a kind of confined wandering. A wandering within the boundaries of academic study within a group of other college students. There is no knapsack for me; though an earnest and diligent wanderer, I am kept in the constrains of a class schedule. Desperately to be a "free spirit", at the same time relishing in the lectures of my professors, appreciating the opportunity to study the Renaissance at it's birthplace, I wander Italy. With each adventure I depart on, my new home is here waiting for my return. I wander to outside the city, to the nearby towns, to the sea, returning to this city which has become familiar, comfortable, welcoming.

In any new place it is great to wander, to discover the scents, absorb the colors, the people, to feel the rhythm of them. Or in a familiar place to wander as if it being the first time; to rediscover the hidden secrets of a well traveled city.

After being here for over a month, I have gotten into the routine of living here. It is a little strange living here, but its really just like any other city. I had romanticized what it would be like to live here I guess. I had never really imagined the day-to-day life; I had never gotten past the initial thought of, "awesome, I'll be living in Italy" idea. But now that I've been here, I've adjusted, as much as one can in a couple of months, to the way of life here. I go to the market for produce, to the bakery for bread, to Jon Paul for my gelato fix, and to the supermercato for all other stuff. A cool thing is that there is always someone that will go exploring with you too. Its great to know that you can call someone up and they have the same schedule, or lack of. Time here is a strange thing though. Italian clocks…I swear they're different than the ones back in California. Really. They have an extra few ticks in them… or maybe its a few less tocks. I can't be sure. Something about them is a little different. No one here is rushed either. No one worries about being late. Time isn''t measured. There are no schedules to be kept. It is a really great way to keep our blood pressure low.

One way to pass the time is to people watch a any of the piazzas, a caffè, anywhere really. There are always people out and about, no matter what time of the day or night. One of my favorite times to walk around the city is at night, when people are taking strolls through the streets. The atmosphere is casual, music from an accordion dancing down the streets, people walking their dogs, backpackers searching for a bed for the night, vespas zipping by. Late night eaters on the patios, venders trying to make one last sale for the day before they close down their booths, groups of friends headed out to the discoteca. The evening is the melting pot of the day. The streets are overrun with pedestrians, bicycles, strollers, smiles and laughter and music. Everyone seems to be out enjoying the city, getting one last moment in before the start of the next day. And the street vendors amaze me. Somehow they always have on hand exactly what passersby might need. The sun is out today? Oh well here, buy these sunglasses. Are you feeling a little chilly? Well we have a variety of scarves to choose from. Do those clouds suddenly look a little ominous? You might want to buy one of our umbrellas that we just happen to have on hand for you. I'm sure Mary Poppins is helping them out storing all this stuff too. They just come out of the woodwork with this stuff, ready to offer up whatever you'll need, or don't need, as you pass by.

Relax, Run, Enjoy

Gita, a word that holds adventure of the unknown possibilities. A little trip. One of my favorite words...

A new day brought many new adventures for us, that's for sure. The best part about new days is that there is no knowing what it will bring. The key word for any day is flexibility. The flexibility to just go with whatever the day gives you, especially since the day is always keeping you on your toes and throwing surprises out there. Given this, there is little to do to control it or try to plan to do anything, especially when traveling here in Italy. Just let go and allow the day to show itself, drop those expectations, and enjoy the adventure. Also important to keep in mind that not everything has to be done in one day. While enjoying the ride, though, don't forget to relax, but also to be assertive, maybe even a little pushy, so as not to get lost in the shuffle or miss out on opportunities.

"The only way of catching a train I ever discovered is to miss the train before" ~G.K. Chesterton

I experienced all this on our day trip to Cinque Terre. It was here that we became intimate with the Italian trains, something that hardens you and forces you to think, and run, fast. The trains are not designed for the sluggish or tepid. In order to get where you need to go, its required to commit to it and don't slow down until the doors are closed and you're sitting down, either on the train or on a bench waiting for the next one. The energy at any of the stations we were at was a mixture of thrill, urgency, confusion, anxiety, excitement. The people in the crowds were your competition, battling for a spot on the train. Looking into the eyes of each person, everyone was thinking the same thing, you will not take my spot on that train. No way. We awoke before the sun to get to hop on a train, my first trip departing from the station. We got our tickets, which you just choose the starting point and destination and no specific time on them, and got them validated in one of the little yellow boxes. Once validated, they last for 6 hours, which I later learned is so if you miss a train you don't have to get another ticket, just use the same one. Very important.

"The traveler was active; he went strenuously in search of people, of adventure, of experience" ~Daniel J. Boorstin

The train ride to La Spezia was about two and a half hours, arriving just before 9. From there we connected to Cinque Terre. During the wait for the next train, we got our park passes which included access to all the trails and trains within the 5 towns. Then we joined the throngs of travelers on the platform to board the train. What we didn't know, as we soon learned, was that placement on the platform determines everything. When the train arrived, we realized we were in the exact wrong position, in between the doors, one being 10 feet to the left and another the same distance to the right. As the mob quickly filled the train, it became apparent that the sardine can could not fit even one more desperate passenger. People were crammed, practically hanging out the doors and windows, with us desperately looking back at them from the platform, hoping they would squeeze just a little more so we could cram in. I was caught off guard by how quickly the train filled up and sped away as we were left standing with the few other stragglers in the now deserted station. Luckily, there were many more trains leaving for our destination, so it worked out. We were prepared from then on out for the rest of the day, by the end of which we could be professional train riders.

Cinque Terre. It is difficult to describe this set of little characteristic towns hanging off the coast of the Riviera in northern Italy. And the water. Oh, the water! Rich, pure, serene, salty, refreshing, healthy, and blue blue blue. We made a B-line for the water after the short walk from the first town to the second. Sliding from the harbor into the Mediterranean I was at peace, wishing to stop time for just a little bit so I could enjoy it for a few more moments. I could have spent a lifetime floating in that water…But on to the next town! Each of the towns are connected by the train, or there are trails and paths from one to the next, varying in length and difficulty. So as to get enough time in the last two towns, we decided to take the train from the second town, to the fifth and hike from the fifth to the fourth, skipping the third. We hopped out of the water just in time to realize the train we wanted was full, no surprise, and the next was a ways away. But no worries, we hiked back to the first town and went from there to the last town. It was less than a 10 minute ride.

In the last town, the farthest north, we had lunch and swam again for a bit. On the way to town we passed an accordion player with his scruffy dead-looking dog serenading passersby. Cinque Terre is known not only for the stunning coastline and unique towns, but also their pesto, great seafood and for their "acciughe", anchovies. In honor of that, we ate pizza! I got one with anchovies, capers, and mozzarella and stole a few bites of the pesto one too. Delish! While we were chowing down, we were sitting next to a group of Italians signing and my roommate Janelle was able to practice her sign language skills too! It was so fun to watch! At first, though, she thought she was a little rusty in her fluency, but that was because they were signing in Italian, which has quite a few differences than ASL. Despite this, one of the older men was still able to communicate his fondness for Janelle, without any bashfulness, asking her to run away with him. She declined though, we had more exploring to do!

Each of the towns, unique in their own way, were full of character. The brightly colored buildings. The harbors of equally impressive expression. The tiny little streets that have become a familiar sight around Italy and continue to transport me to another world. The coastline. The deep blue water. The vineyards climbing the steep mountainside. The paths connecting the towns. All this creates an atmosphere of delight, of exploration. The magic of the area's charm reassures me that I will definitely come back here again soon!

From our lunch spot we made a short hike down to the water, skipping the touristy beachy spots where you have to pay for a spot on the sand and opting for the rocky cliffs to jump into the water. There we jumped off the little rocks, explored a little cave, and floated on the surface which was surprisingly easy in the salty water. You almost don't have to even tread the water to stay afloat! The water was so clear and calm and peaceful, being disrupted only by our splashes as we jumped in. It was so clear too. I would have loved to get some diving in. Hopefully on the next trip there! Not wanting to get out, we swam around for a bit. Kristina even showed off her newly found talent of opera singing. The caves had great acoustics too! After a while in the water we reluctantly had to move on to the next town so we could make it back to the station in time. Not surprisingly the regional trains were going on strike that evening, starting at 9pm through the evening the next day, limiting our chances to get back home. Though it wouldn't have been the worst thing to be stuck there a couple days…

As we started the hike from the fifth town, Monterosso, to the fourth, Vernazza, we realized it would be good to know about how long it would take. The others were all less than 20 minutes so we didn't give it much thought. At the trailhead, hikers coming from the other direction were beat red, sweaty, out of breath, and sipping their last few drops of water. I thought, hmmm, how long is this trail? Luckily we had Rick with us (as in Rick Steves' guidebook). I have his "Italy" book and Janelle got the genius idea from her dad to just separate the book from the binding into sections of interest. So we had this little booklet about Cinque Terre that informed us the rough trail takes about an hour and a half from start to finish. This wouldn't have been an issue, but we soon realized that we only had about that amount of time to catch the last train leaving the town and make the connections before the strike started. We debated for a bit whether to quickly hike the trail or walk back to town to leisurely take a train to the other town instead. I was eager to hike the trail, seeing as it is one of the highlights of many who visit there. As more hikers crawled their last few steps, we got a mixture of times of how long it took them, ranging from an hour and a half to three. Later Janelle pointed out that it would have been best to ask those with with actual watches rather than relying on those out of breath, warning us between gasps that it took all day long. Not wanting to neither miss out on the hike or the train home, Kristina and I took off up the trail, with just enough time to book it to the other side and catch the train. A few minutes in, or more like up the seemingly never-ending set of stairs, we realized we only had a few drops of water each left in our bottles of water. Janelle too had used up her water to wash off her feet before she put on her shoes, realizing only later how precious that water would soon be. Those coming down huffin' and puffin' warned us between their breaths what we were in for. But we pushed through. On the way up we sew a man selling lemonade literally out of a stand in the mountainside. As we hurried past he yelled out to us "Ciao ragazze!", hello girls! We had no time to dawdle, though, and whipped by him turning only to yell Ciao back. We had some big ol' stairs to focus on! With each giant step up we were one closer to the top, keeping in mind that it naturally meant the second half would be downhill.

(Pictures were a great excuse to take a breather on the trail)

As we scurried past those causally strolling the trails, the views became more and more impressive. Making our way up the hill, the trail swerved through lush coverings and over little bridges and streams, through vineyards, and on the cliffside. At some points there was only room enough for one person to navigate the skinny trail on the side of the mountain.

Trying to make good time, not being sure of how long the trail really was, we kept a good pace, passing all the slow-pokes to be sure to not lag behind or loose time. At one point there was on older couple moving probably at the pace as snails and taking up the width of the trail. They may have been hearing impaired as well, seeing as they had no idea we wanted to politely push them out of our way…The whole hike, or more like jog, through the vineyards and over the hills was thrilling! As the trail neared the cliffside the view of the water was breathtaking. Looking out at the water it was so peaceful and across the hillsides with vineyards and over to the towns we caught a moment of serenity. Then we continued our speed hike, leaving our footprints in the dust…As a side note, for future reference, bananas are an awful choice of snack for hiking seeing as they don't seem to do well in the bottom of backpacks…

As we rounded a corner, we finally saw the town of Vernazza, our destination. After less than 50 minutes on the trail, Kristina and I made it to town, covered in sweat, dirt, and in search of a water fountain. We then met up with Cameron and Gina at the station, later followed by Janelle, Maggie, and Elsie. Still pumped on making the train in time, we were ready another challenge. Boarding the train. As we waited the few minutes for the train to come through the tunnel, the nerves in each of us built up slowly. Where should we stand on the platform to be by the doors? Who will we have to compete with to squeeze onto the train platform? Will I get left behind again? As we strategically positioned ourselves next to a tour guide (we figured he knew best where doors would be when the train stopped) we met a couple of American women traveling together from Germany; one lived there and her friend joined her on their trip to Italy. They too were ready to charge for the doors as the train stopped. Luckily our plan worked and getting on this time was no problem, for us at least. Once in La Spezia, we had to decide whether to take the earlier train to Pisa, then connect to Florence, or to take the later train straight to Florence. The risk with the second option was the strike that would start at exactly 9pm. We were unsure if the trains would continue their planned route, or just stop wherever they were and leave the passengers to fend for themselves for the rest of their journey. Not wanting to hang out in La Spezia, a few of us debated for a bit and bought tickets for Pisa, which was leaving in the next few minutes; when I got my ticket I realized I only had 2 minutes to board. Maggie got hers right after me. Half the group planned to catch the next train straight to Florence. After I grabbed my change I took off ran across the station,

down the stairs,

through the tunnel,

up to the platform,

looking for the right train.

I saw it.

I heard Janelle lean out a door a ways down yelling out my name.

I got on and started to make my way through the cars.

The lights were off and there wasn't anyone there. I thought, hmmm…everyone must be sitting close to the front. I opened another door, and it was the end of the car!

I was on the wrong train!

I bolted out and ran to the other set, Maggie coming up the stairs to join me as we got on literally just in time, the doors closing on our ankles. We sat down and took a breath. We made it.

But wait!

We didn't validate our tickets! I've heard the fines are pretty steep for not doing so. Then someone told us if we told them as soon as we boarded that we skipped that step, we wouldn't be fined. We set off through the cars in search of someone official looking to sign us off. We couldn't find anyone...They must have started their strike a few hours early… On the train we talked with an older American woman who is living in Lucca for almost 2 months. She gave us tips about the little town between Pisa and Firenze, sharing our excitement of going to new places.

A short while later we got to the Pisa station. By this time we were comfortable knowing how to navigate the stations quickly. We got our tickets to Firenze, remembering to validate them this time, ran to the right track and got on just in time. Our skills that we learned throughout the day definitely payed off in this quick train switch. What an adrenaline rush, and challenge. I kinda felt like I was in some competition of who could figure out which was the right train and get on quickest without being left behind in the crowd. Though I can see how it can be as stressful, I thought it was fun! Exhilarating!

Getting to Firenze was the ultimate reward! We arrived safely before the strike started, home once again. As we were walking through the station, though, there was an older man asking someone for help and clearly not receiving any. After navigating all the stations throughout the day, I asked him if I could help him, feeling confident in my train station knowledge. Graciously he accepted, wanting to buy a ticket before his train left in a few minutes. I showed him the ropes of buying and validating his ticket and dropped him off at his appropriate track. I felt like it was my duty to help him since it is so confusing for newbies. (Not that I wasn't in his place that morning).

After the adventure yesterday, today has been a lazy, blog-writing, relaxing day for sure. It is overcast today, cooling off…It started to rain earlier. I can hear it pattering on the rooftops...thunder in the background...Maybe it will rain through the night…