Roma, Roma-ma!

Veronica: Well, when in Rome
Ron: Yes? Go on.
Veronica: Uh… Do as the Romans do?
Ron: I don’t get it.

- Anchorman

April 1-5

I know this will surprise you, but I stayed up all night before Rome. I was on the first flight to Rome on Thursday morning (classes were cancelled) at 6:15 am with my friends Jerry, Isaac and Tess. So I caught a 2 am coach (not bus) from Victoria to Stansted.

In case you didn’t know, a bus is red, has two levels and you ride it around the city. A coach is what us silly Americans would call a charter bus. You can book a seat on one for longer journeys. We rode one to Manchester.

Anyways, I was worried there would be sketchy people around that late (early?), but everyone waiting for the coach seemed surprisingly normal, for Europe anyways. The airport was another story. A lot more people than I thought were spending the night in the airport. And there didn’t seem to be anyone in charge anywhere. No employees of the airport as far as I could see. It was a little sketch, but don’t worry, Mom, I know better than to talk to strangers.

We waited around for the RyanIHateThoseGuysAir desk to open and then waited around in the line and then waited around for them to announce our gate. I’m sure you’re excited to be reading about all the waiting involved in travel. You know how it works – hurry up and wait.

So we’ll skip to me arriving at my hostel. Because the directions were written by an Italian woman, I’m sure, it was nearly impossible to find the place. And I’m not even being sexist here, it was a women-only hostel! But I got there eventually. I had planned on going to mass at 5, but (this will surprise you, Mom) I fell asleep. And slept for like 5 hours.

Since this was a clear sign from God that He didn’t want me to go to mass, I decided to do some exploring. I wandered around, bought some food, avoided eye contact with boys (get ready for the rant later), etc. Finally, I wandered into a cute little piazza, bought my first gelato of the trip and sat on a fountain to eat it and watch the people. Little did I know I was in Il Campo dei Fiori, but whatever.

The next day I was up crazy early to go see the Vatican Museum with Coleen. Apparently, there was a limited number of spaces for the group tour. No one had bothered to inform anyone, I guess, because several people (myself and Coleen included) found out about a week before the trip that they tour after all. I’m totally not annoyed by the complete lack of organization, can you tell?

Well, I feel like Coleen and I got the last laugh because I’ve always been of the opinion that it’s much more fun to wander museums at your own pace than to be part of a tour. I didn’t care too much for the weather, it was a little chilly and damp, but I met Coleen bright, early and slightly late in St. Peter’s Square. We wandered around for a bit, and then finally figured out that to get to the museum you needed to go outside the city walls.

First Moral Victory of the Morning: Walking past everyone in line because Coleen had been smart enough to book our tickets in advance on the Internets.

Second Moral Victory of the Morning: Only paying for one audio guide and sharing it.

The museum was pretty much overwhelming. They had EVERYTHING EVER. Seriously. I can’t begin to describe it here and won’t try. Only regret? Spending too much time in the Egyptian exhibits at the beginning so we didn’t have time to see everything at the end. I think we spent about 4 hours in there, which is a lot of time to spend in a museum, but I felt rushed the whole time and STILL didn’t get to see everything. The Sistine Chapel was amazing, beautiful, breathtaking, etc etc, but I was most impressed by the distinct lack of respect for authority displayed by almost everyone there.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the Italian people. You have to admit, they’ve got style. And the fact that half the population is willing to shamelessly hit on me doesn’t hurt my opinion of them either, but it was kinda a shock to go from London, where waiting in queues is a beloved national pastime and the atmosphere in the tube makes the library basement during finals week sound like a kegger, to Rome, where there was no semblance of order. I had nuns cut me in line. NUNS! Does the holiness of being a nun cancel out the grave mortal sin of cutting in line?? I’m not sure yet, but I think I’m taking a theology course on it for my minor. I’ll let you know.

Anyways, the museum rocked. After that we hopped on a city bus to get over to the Basilica of St. John Lateran. On the bus, I totally painted my nails. That’s me, doing my part to help America overcome stereotypes by behaving on city transport. Actually speaking of city transport… No, nevermind, I’m getting ahead of myself.

So we make it over to St. John Lateran in record time (for a people with a complete disregard for order, the busses are surprisingly easy). We got there so speedy quick, in fact, that we had time to go get lunch. This was probably the first incident in Rome that left a bad taste in my mouth. The guy we bought our sandwiches from wouldn’t let me practice my Italian. I mean, I took two semesters (due semester, BOOM, roasted.), but as soon as I started speaking he just cut me off in English. He actually did it to Coleen first, which made me sad because I think she was excited to use the phrases she’d picked up on spring break/taught herself. Stupid jerks in Rome.

Anyways, I forgot it was Friday and got a sandwich with meat. Okay, it was Good Friday, I was in Rome and about to go see relics of the crucifixion and I still forgot. Whoops. Anyways, for the first time in a while I was reunited with all my London friends. Thank goodness, you know us London Programme kids can’t handle being in a foreign country without 130 other ND kids. Naturally, I got separated from the group, but Coleen managed to give me directions over the phone and I found everyone again. We stood in line at Santa Croce en Gerusalemme to see the Passion Relics (according to Wikipedia these are “a part of the Elogium or Titulus Crucis, i.e. the panel which was hung on Christ's Cross; two thorns of the crown; an incomplete nail; and three small wooden pieces of the True Cross itself.”), but right before we were getting to the chapel, they told us that they needed to take the relics for… something to do with Holy Week. I was under the impression they were needed for the stations of the cross, but I never saw them there.

Don’t worry though; this is Italy. Rather than kicking all of us out, they let us all file through very quickly. Jog might be a better word than file. After we all collected back out in front of the church, we walked back the direction we’d come from to the Holy Steps, or Scala Santa. These are supposedly the stairs that Jesus took to be condemned at trail. The original steps are covered, but there are windows where there is supposed to be blood on the stairs.

We waited in the queue out in the sun for some time and a priest came out to warn us about pickpockets. Climbing the steps was actually awesome. Everyone crawls up them on their knees. Maybe it was because it was Holy Friday, but the place was packed. It took quite some time to make it up the stairs, but it was great. I mean, don’t get me wrong; it hurt. I actually had bruises on my knees for a few days. But it’s pretty hard to be concerned about sore knees when you think about the Passion. We actually climbed the stairs at about the same time Jesus would have, which is awesome if you think about it.

Anyways, I made it to the top, and it was such a good feeling I immediately wanted to do it again, but the line was crazy. I tried to find a priest who spoke English to make a confession, but didn’t have any luck. So I went to an early dinner (gelato) with some friends and then bussed back over to my side of town. I wanted to find a converter because my phone was quickly dying. So after some shopping and a change of wardrobe, I hopped right back on the bus and went over the Coliseum. There were a LOT of people there and I was a little concerned I wouldn’t be able to find the ND group, but I spotted them right away.

We pushed our way close the spot where the Il Papa would be and waited. And waited. I was so happy I’d thought to bring a snack and some water with me. My bag started to get heavy after a while, so my friend Joey, being a gentleman and knowing that the pattern matched his shirt, offered to hold it for a while. Until I made fun of him too much and he gave it back. Anyways, eventually they got around to the stations of the cross, which was in Latin, naturally. After, everyone chanted “Viva Il Papa” and “Benedetto” for a while then we peaced out. I was excited to see the pope, but he was so far away and up on a hill so I couldn’t really see anything.

The next day all the losers, I mean, other kids, had their Vatican tour, so I explored the city on my own. I spent some time in Piazza Navona, which was pretty sweet. The space used to be a Roman stadium and the modern piazza follows the same shape. One of the fountains there is the Fontana del Quattro Fiumi, or Fountain of Four Rivers, by Gian Lorenzo. I can remember learning about it in the art history class I took freshman year. The difference between pictures on slides in a dark room and the real thing is overwhelming. I can remember being amazed that my professor had seen so many of the works we studied and thinking I probably wouldn’t get to see them for a long time, if ever.

That afternoon we met at the Pantheon for a tour of local churches of interest. Coleen and Shannon (the girl I threw in the Parisian dirt on spring break) were there too, and we made it there a little early, so we decided gelato and some quick shopping was in order.

Coleen made the gelato run and Shannon and I started wandering looking for cheap sunglasses. It never ceases to amaze me that the sketchy guys with sunglasses are everywhere when you don’t need them, but then magically disappear when the sun is glaring and your old sunglasses that Peter irrationally hated finally fell apart. We wandered through a few tourist shops before we found one with sunglasses and I managed to find an obnoxiously large but lovely pair for the low, low price of only €5!

By the time we had both picked out occhiali da sole and made it back to where the group had been, they were gone, of course. But, as usual, Coleen saved the day by giving us directions. The first church we went to, Santa Maria sopra Minerva, had a fun statue of an elephant out front. “Sopra” means above and I was unnecessarily excited to see this church because I had learned about it in my theology class in the fall. Back in the day, when Christianity suddenly became cool, the ever resourceful Romans had been like, hey, we have all these temples for Minerva just sitting here gathering dust, let’s build churches for our awesome new female deities on top. No joke, that’s exactly what they said.

The church was pretty cool, it had the tomb of St. Catherine of Siena and Fra Angelico. Well, it had most of St. Catherine of Siena. Those damn Sienese stole her head and smuggled it out of Rome. We next went over to Chiesa del Gesù, which is the mother church for the Jesuits. The right arm of Saint Francis Xavier, sometimes called “the hand that baptized a million,” was there, which was cool, but it wasn’t incorruptible, so that was… interesting.

Then we meandered over to Sant’Andrea delle Valle (St. Andrew in the Valley), which is allegedly built on the site of the house of the woman who nursed St. Sebastian back to health after the tried to martyr him the first time. Unfortunately, the front of the church was covered in scaffolding, so that was lame, but it was still pretty cool. We also had to run across like 5 lanes of traffic to get there. Also cool.

The last church we went to was Sant'Agnese in Agone, which I had actually already seen because it’s in Piazza Navona. The church was nice, but there were strictly no photos allowed. And since this wasn’t France, I thought they probably meant it. St. Agnes in Agony concluded our tour, so I got some gelato with friends and called it a night.

The next morning was typically beautiful and sunny, like it always is in Italy. Just kidding, it was raining and cold. Since I had packed for Italy in the spring, I wasn’t really prepared. My Easter outfit ended up consisting of a black skirt, black hose, black flats, and green sweater and a pink, kinda-sorta-waterproof raincoat. It was interesting. I was up bright and early and actually got there on time (I’m shocked too, Mom). I got confused and somehow made it through security and into a folding chair without a ticket (Italians are big on security?) before I realized the rest of the Notre Dame group was still outside St. Peter’s, so I went and got my apparently useless ticket and found seats with some friends. Because there were so many people there, mass was outside in the square. And it rained. And rained. And we waited and waited. Don’t worry, there were plenty of cute Swiss Guards to keep us occupied.

Mass was good, I suppose, or would have been if I could hear anything and had any idea what was going on. And you probably think, that since there were so many people, they had a plan for communion. Nope. It was chaos. I had to elbow a lady in the face to get to a priest. Not really.

After mass I changed into some drier/warmer clothes and then met everyone for lunch (the prices were higher on the English menu) and then went to the BEST gelato place. I mean, by the end of this vacation, I was pretty much an expert on gelato and this place was everything I look for: cheap and delicious. I actually ate one triple scoop and immediately went back and got another. I think you called me in the middle of that, Mom.

After that, I went and checked out Joey and Anne’s hostel, and then...

Actually, this is the perfect time for my rant about Italian men. On the way to Joey and Anne's I took the bus by myself. By now, I was getting pretty fed up with creepy guys on the street, so I was pretty worried when I bumped into a guy on the super crowded bus. I reflexively muttered "I'm sorry" in Italian and he said something back in Italian, so I thought, "Score!" and said, "Mi dispiace, non parlo italiano," which means "I'm sorry, I don't speak Italian." Unfortunately, he answered in perfect English. Damn. He just said, "Oh, I said, 'Don't worry; it's not your fault.'" Then he went back to minding his business. A few minutes later, just when I was beginnning to think there was at least one non-creepy guy in Rome, he said "So, you're from America?" Damn, damn, damn. I was supposed to get off at Termini and walk a few blocks, but I (wisely) decided to just go in the nice, crowded station. He followed me in, asking my name and asking me to go to Bologna with him. When I turned him down, he said, "Ah, but I have fallen in love!" I just kept saying, "No." and "Mi dispiace." and he kept following me, but I finally communicated that I would not be going with him anywhere, now or ever and I had no interest in him, and escaped into a bookstore and waited for him to leave. I had to get pretty short with him before he left me alone. Ugh. Men.

I mean, there are nice, polite men in Italy, I'm sure, but I certainly didn't meet any in Rome. Walking to the supermarket, buying some gelato, riding the bus, I couldn't do anything without getting hit on. Which only bothered me sometimes.

Anyways.

...and then Joey and I went to dinner. I can’t remember the name of the place or even where it really was, but the salads and the food was all so delicious. Afterwards, Joey, Anne and I toured Rome on the city busses at night. It was so college. I recommend doing it if you're ever in Rome at night and out of spending money. They never check tickets on buses, so we hopped on and hopped off whenever we saw something good. The monuments all look so beautiful lit up at night. We bought a cheap (but good) bottle of wine, sunk the cork with a chapstick and drank it on the way to Il Campo dei Fiori (where I had been earlier in the week) and met some friends.

The next morning I woke up early and flew back to foggy London. I knew it would be last time I flew RyanAir, but I didn’t know it would be the last trip I took that semester. But that story comes later…

Mom, I didn’t talk to strangers in Rome, but the strangers talked to me!

Life After Hot Route

"I do notice that when I've been away and I come back to London. People look at you. People are ready to pick arguments."

- Colin Firth



March 15 - March 31

Looking back now I have no idea what happened the week after Spring Break. I guess going back to class after the best week and a half ever was just so traumatizing that I blocked the whole thing from my memory.

Of course, St. Patrick's Day stands out. The Tuesday after Spring Break, St. Patrick's Day Eve, if you will, I went and bought a green dress to wear because the only green I had was a sweater and the weather forecast was calling for warmth and sunshine. Normally I don't trust the weather forecast, especially ones that call for warmth and sunshine in LONDON, but we all know Jesus loves both ND kids and St. Patty's. So when I woke up at 6:45 am on Wednesday to the sun streaming in my window, I was ready.

I went over to the flat of some friends at 7:30 with my roommate, Sara. We started the day off right with some Irish hot chocolate and coffee cake. It was delicious.

From there on the day is a blur because I spent so much time praying. We all really wanted to thank God that St. Patrick drove all the snakes out of Ireland. I prayed all morning until I went to class at 10:45. All this praying made me tired, of course, so I took a nap between classes so I could be recovered enough to keep praying after class. And I looked like JV next to some of my friends. One girl, who shall remain nameless, prayed so much that she apparently stood up in the middle of class, wove her way to the door and staggered out into the hall. I guess she didn't come back for about 30 minutes.

But don't worry, this was St. Patty's day and we're ND students, so we kept going through the exhaustion and went out drinking after class. Uh, I mean praying. Right, praying.

Hey, don't worry Mom and Dad

a) I'm Irish (kinda); I know what I'm doing
b) I'm legal here
c) Most of the other kids really did make me look JV, not to mention the British people staggering around the streets.

So St. Patty's was a success, but no where near as crazy as it gets on campus, of course.

A lot of people traveled that weekend, but I was happy to stay in London. It took me a solid week to do laundry and unpack from Spring Break! We did make it to Portobello Road Market though. I say we - Charlie, Coleen, Lizzie and I.

Oh wait, before that...

On Friday Coleen and I made it over to Borough Market too, which was incredibly awesome. SO MUCH FOOD! You know what a food nerd/snob I am, so I was walking around with Coleen saying things like "Those fish aren't fresh, you can tell because..." and "Oh, I've totally had Ostrich before..." We wanted to make eggplant parm for the gang, but everyone was busy. So we settled for devouring free samples of EVERYTHING and buying some pecorino cheese (like we had in Italy), some strawberries to snack on while we walked (SO FRESH) and a couple of potted flowers to brighten up the flat.

After we wandered around the area for a bit and walked along the river and just happened to pass by a whiskey shop. So we went in, of course. The guy looked pretty surprised to see two young, American girls walk in (Uh, can I help you girls?) but when I asked about a specific distillery he brightened right up and let me taste before I bought. He poured a sip, started to give it to me, and then said, "Uh, do you want some water with this or something?" He looked pretty relieved when I laughed and said, "No. I don't need water."

Life goal #58: Become a whiskey connoisseur.

Back to Sunday...

Portobello Road was what I imagined a market would be like. I kept my wallet in my front pocket and lost Coleen or Charlie in the crowds 80% of the time. There was cheap junk as far as the eye could see. Favorite experience of the day? I'm split. We have two options:

a) Insert hilarious name of incident A here

Naive and wide-eyed children that we were at first, we wandered up to a stall with an eccentric looking old lady dressed up like what British people must imagine gypsies look like. She was fat. Anyways. Her stall was full of junky costume jewelry just strewn about tables and heaped into piles. I guess the strain of sitting in the shade hawking cheap crap for five quid all morning had put in her a bit of a bad mood. Us girls were quietly looking, not making a scene (for reals this time) and Charlie walked up. So I held and earring up to his ear and said, "These would look lovely on you." Really, I didn't yell, we weren't making a scene. But apparently those words are some kind of taboo around Portobello Road because she scowled in our general direction and said "Find a new playground." So we went with the always socially acceptable nervous-laugh-and-look-away maneuver. Don't like fun? That's fine; we can not have fun in front of you if it offends.

jk

She looked back up at us and said "Did you not hear me? Go away." Well then. We are perfectly capable of taking our business elsewhere. So we did. I guess if she doesn't want to make money, that's cool with me.

b)

Does this place look familiar? It should. Too bad Hugh Grant doesn't actually own this bookstore.

Have I told you about how Charles is an intern at parliament yet? Well, he is. As far as I can tell it's super awesome AND he looks quite dashing in his suit. Coleen is a lucky woman.

Anyways, after work on that next Tuesday, he met us (Lizzie, Peter, Me) at the tube station and gave us a tour of Parliament. I guess he'd been there long enough to know all the cool stories because he gave a really good tour. Or I guess he could have just been completely making it up as he went. A sample:

"And uh, this statue is cracked because someone chained themselves to it... They were... oh right! The feminists."

Fun fact: That actually happened.

Anyways, he actually gave a MUCH better tour than that; I was pretty impressed by how much he knew.

That weekend, on Saturday, there was the big Head of the River Race, so Peter, Colin, Coleen and I went down to the Hammersmith Bridge to watch all the boats go by. There was kind of a college football pregame meets little league baseball atmosphere. Everyone was climbing all over the bridge with backpacks full of beer and waiting to yell at their one boat. We spent some time watching them take the boats out of the river too, which was pretty cool to watch. They had to carry the boats up a ramp to get from the shore to the boathouses and when they went up the ramp the short guys couldn't reach the boat anymore to help carry. Pretty funny.

After we went over to the Churchill War Rooms after, which was pretty freaking awesome. During WWII, they ran the entire war basically was underground in a bunker. After the war, they just kinda shut it up and it's preserved almost exactly. Attached to it is a museum all about Churchill, which was also very interesting.

Saturday night was pretty solid too. Remember those girls we found in MontP? Two of them went to Syracuse and came to London to visit all their Syracuse friends, so Lizzie, Peter and I went to a birthday party they were having in their flats. It was like I was back in America. You know the red Solo cups that are a universal symbol for underage drinking? Apparently they aren't so universal, because they aren't available in Europe. They somehow had them at this party though. I'm actually pretty sure that someone brought them from America just so they could play beerpong with them at this party. Either way it was a lot of fun and nice to meet Americans that weren't associated with ND.

After that, we were suddenly off to Rome... but that's a whole new blog entry.

Mom, I PROMISE I won't talk to strangers. Geez.

Hot Route! Hot Route!

Jeremy: Hot Route!
John: I don't... What is Hot Route?
Jeremy: Will you just go stand on the other side please?

- Wedding Crashers


March 9-14

Somewhere between MontP. and Paris we renamed our group, "Team Hot Route." It took a while for the boys to explain the concept, but apparently when the quarterback sees that the other team is doing something that won't work with whatever play they had decided on and they have to change the plan at the last minute, it's called a hot route. Or an audible. Or something. It's when Jimmy makes earmuffs.

Whatever I'm a girl. I don't have to know.

On Tuesday morning we popped out of bed like daisies greeting the sun on a spring morning, all smiles and sunshine and cheer, ready to explore Paris. Okay, that's a huge lie and I was so slow I almost missed the free hostel breakfast. We hopped on the smelly, smelly Metro and headed over to the Musée d'Orsay.

Oh wait. Have I mentioned yet how miserable the weather was? It was like London, but worse (I know). I was so happy we climbed the Eiffel Tower the first day because every day after that was terrible - overcast, damp, windy, cold. On the way to the Metro that morning I had to stop and buy gloves (MontP. ate one of mine) and Coleen bought gloves and a hat because it was so chilly.

When we got to the d'Orsay we went with Museum Plan Delta, in which we pretend to be EU students, Coleen carries lunch, we split up and meet back at the entrance in 2 hours. There was a slight hiccup when the non English speaking ticket checker guy tried to steal Charlie's passport, but we got in, eventually.

The d'Orsay was probably one of my favorite museums in Paris. I really liked all of the impressionist collection, but I couldn't help but think of that line from Clueless, "She's a full on Monet. From far away she looks okay but up close she's a big mess." I really liked the sculptures too, especially this one bust of a woman done in two different kinds of stone. No idea how that happens.

After the museum we headed over to Claire's apartment. I can safely say that what happened next was the highlight of my entire stay in Paris. As we were strolling down the sidewalk from the Goncourt Metro stop, we passed a hobo. No big deal, right? Paris is full of hobos and they all pee in the Metro. No, he was mumbling under his breath and when I got closer I heard:

BUM BUM BEE DUM BUM BUM BEE DUM DUM...

That's right. He was singing Disturbia (that's a popular song, Mom and Dad).

We settled in at Claire's and then big farewell to Peter. He went to visit Claire's family in Parpignan and although Team Hot Route went on, we always felt the loss of Peter. When he left I thought Charlie was going to cry for sure, but since he was the only man (besides Pastille, the cat), he had to be strong for us girls. I think the stress of MontP. and the climb up the Eiffel Tower caught up with us that night, so we just kinda stayed in and showered/napped all afternoon.

Now, you may think that I came up with the awesome abbrev "MontP." all by myself because I'm just awesome. And you'd be right about the awesome part, but I have to give credit where credit is due: it was all Peter. While we were all moping around the apartment, we got a text from Peter:

We stopped in Montpellier. I got out, hawked a huge loogie and got back on the train. Go team hot route, beat MontP, suck it MontP, go hot route go! Have fun in Paris, losers!

Not only did he clearly miss us, but he gifted us with an awesome abbrev.

The next morning, after a lovely night of snuggling with Pastille, we hopped on a train to Versailles. In case you were wondering when I rant about French people, here it comes.

The guy at the ticket counter for Versailles was a HUGE jerk. Lizzie used her sweet French skills to expain that we're students at a University in London so we get the EU student discount. He was just like, "No." So Lizzie explained again that at the D'Orsay and the Louvre we had been given student prices because we qualified as EU students and the guy basically said, "Madam, this is VERSAILLES. It may have worked at the D'Orsay and it may have worked at the Louvre but it will NOT work at VERSAILLES."

Well.

Versailles was totally overrated anyways. The English audioguides sometimes just like, epically failed. They would talk about some room that I definitely wasn't in. The most interesting thing was the graffiti that was scratched into the mirrors from WWII era visitors. We paid 15 euro to get in and we couldn't even go see the other buildings without paying a bunch more. So we audibled and took jumping pics instead. Huge moral victory.

On Friday we went to the Louvre, which was overwhelming and kind of overrated. Maybe I just couldn't appreciated the Louvre because we were only there for like 2.5 hours and saw maybe 45% of it. And I was rushed the whole time. I mean, don't get me wrong, there was a lot of very important art there that everyone should see at some point in their lives, but there were other museums I enjoyed a lot more. And I saw the Mona Lisa, but I couldn't really enjoy it because there were like a million people there taking pictures and pushing and shoving. The whole place was just a let down, I think.

After we met back up and ate our lunch we went up and out through the pyramid entrance (which was sweet), took the obligatory pyramid pics and then met up with Coleen's friend Shannon whose studying abroad somewhere in France that I can't remember right now.

Okay, so one of my favorite hobbies is imitating statues. It requires a certain amount of skill to get the facial expression just right, the left arm just so and balance on one foot long enough to get the picture taken. It's an art form, really.
Fine.

It requires zero talent and isn't an art. But we walked towards Les Invalides, the French war museum, and started imitating statues. So, in an effort to get to know Shannon, I proposed we imitate a statue together. I assured I could hold her up, she just need to jump a little and I'd grab her and Lizzie could take the pic. I didn't mean to lie. I also didn't mean to drop her in the Parisian dirt, which is much dirtier than dirt elsewhere. It was so embarrassing. I had literally met her 30 seconds before and then I threw her into the dirt. Oh well. She was a good sport about it, thankfully. And now we get to laugh about it forever.

We got to Les Invalides too late to really see it, so we audibled and went and took Eiffel Tower pics instead.

The Eiffel Tower = My Hat


Katezilla says "Rawrrr!"

Sorry about the lame dinosaur caption; that's the best I can do after a 10 page philo paper has melted my brain.

Anywayssssss, after that we walked to the Arc de Triomphe. We made a LOT of France jokes, which generally raised group morale, and saw a statue dedicated to American soldiers. I mean, it's like, you're welcome, France. Just don't you forget it. So as we walk up to the Arc, I see a girl carrying a Vera Bradley and a boy wearing North Face. So I almost walked up to them and ask if they go to ND, but then I realized that:

a) That would make me just like my father
b) That would be creepy
c) Just because someone has Vera Bradley and North Face doesn't mean they go to ND

Apparently the last one is false, because the girl turned around and yelled "Charlie Landis?!?!?" I guess various people in our group knew them both. I feel like this entire semester has been one long admissions ad about the giant ND alumni network. Everywhere we go there's someone in an ND hat or someone comes up to us because their sister when to SMC or something. It's ridic and it's also proof that I go to the world's greatest school.

After we hung out for a bit, we walked down Avenue des Champs-Élysées to window shop and checked out all the cool stuff we couldn't buy. We did buy some coffee (mediocre) from a guy (hot) at a cafe (chain). Then we headed back to the apartment for, you guessed it, another exciting night in!!

Since we'd missed Les Invalides the day before, we had a pretty busy schedule for our last day in Paris. Papa Landis got us up with the tried and true turn on the lights method and we actually made it out the door before noon for the first time all week. I really like Les Invalides. It was originally established by Louis XIV as a hospital for aged and wounded soldiers and it still is a hospital and retirement home for veterans, which was kind of cool. The WWII museum was awesome, because I don't think they mentioned the Americans once. It was always "the Allies" or "the British," haha. It was funny because I know that they know that we know that they owe us. Or maybe they would have preferred Hitler taking pics with the Eiffel tower as his hat to Americans taking pics with the Eiffel tower as their hat. I guess it's a pretty tough call.

After Les Invalides, we wandered back and forth along a couple blocks looking for a crêperie that Lizzie had heard about that was supposed to be delicious. Of course, it was closed (do the French ever work?) so we audibled back to Les Invalides and enjoyed a delicious, but overpriced lunched in the cafeteria there.

After, we walked down the street to Musée Rodin, which was easily one of my favorite museums of the trip. I'm a big fan of sculpture, like I said earlier, so even though it was pretty cold, I enjoyed wandering around the gardens. I think The Gates of Hell was my favorite, although The Thinker made for the best photo ops. OH MY GOODNESS. I cannot begin to describe how annoying this one group of tourists was at The Thinker. I understand that they want pictures. That's fine. We all want pictures. But if you're in a group of 20, shouldn't you spread out those pictures so other people can take pictures too or maybe even, I don't know, LOOK AT THE ART?! There was a nice couple there, sitting on a bench, trying to look at the sculpture and it was almost as bad as trying to look at the Mona Lisa. I was pretty ashamed to be even slightly associated with the other group of tourists, but I like to think Team Hot Route was much more polite.

Team Hot Route isn't just a bunch of pretty faces -
we can think too!

Anyways, after Musée Rodin we took the metro over to the Basilique du Sacré-Cœur, which is waaaay up on a hill and has fantastic views of Paris. Before we began the long trek up we finally got crepes from a little street vendor and they were pretty freaking delicious. Those silly French and their very thin pancakes.

The trek up to Sacré-Cœur took FOREVER and smelled like urine in some places (a smell that will forever remind me of Paris) but it was completely worth it. We weren't allowed to take pictures inside the church; one lady's flash went off and she pretty much got tackled by the ushers. It was pretty intense. After we hung around admiring the view for a while, we started to hike back down.

Now, fun fact about Paris, there are these guys EVERYWHERE who make those little thread bracelets, you know? I'll assume you know. Anyways, they come up to you and tie it on your wrist and then you can't get it off and have to pay them like 5 euro for it. They are REALLY REALLY aggressive though. Like scary aggressive. They pretty much literally tie you up and if you're in a big enough crowd their friends sneak up and pick pocket you. Anyways, they were blocking the stairs to get down, not letting people through, so we audibled and went a different way through the grass. Right after we got by them though, Charlie said:

You don't want to sell me a deathstick; you want to go home and rethink your life.

in the perfect voice and everything. It was hilarious. Once again, he protected us silly women with his Jedi skills.

After we escaped, we decided to go see Moulin Rouge. We had fun taking pictures, of course and we went and a drink at Le Chat Noir. I finally managed to get a whiskey sour in Europe and it was both delicious and affordable (a rare combination, with the exception of McNuggets, of course). And the bartenders were cute, so the evening was a great success!

Where do we sign up?

On our last day in Paris, we went to mass at Notre Dame (de Paris, not du Lac). It was beautiful, but they had a huge screen stretched up behind the altar that a projector was pointed at to advertise some event. And they didn't stop the tourists or even make them be quiet. It was pretty difficult to focus on mass with flashes going off all around and people wandering around talking. Afterwards, we went to a cafe and I got the best croissant and cappucino I've ever had. Say what you will about the French, but they make a mean pastry. Our last stop in Paris was La Sainte-Chapelle, which had the most stained glass windows ever. We had to pay to get in here, but it was completely worth it.

We packed up and cleaned up and said goodbye to Pastille, the cat that everyone but me hated by the end of our stay and then headed home. To London. Check it out, I get to call London home!

After the hobo, the second best part of Paris was this little English boy that was waiting with us at our gate with his mother and sister. He kept saying things like:

Mummy, is that the aeroplane we're going to fly on?

Mummy, if we go change Lucy's nappy we'll miss our aeroplane!!

His mom looked a little annoyed, but we were all cracking up.


Mom, I couldn't talk to strangers in Frace even if I wanted to because I speak NO French.

Go to MontP. Do Not Pass GO, Spend at Least $200.

"Ryanair’s strategy is to deliver the best customer service performance in its peer group. According to reports by the Association of European Airlines and the airlines’ own published statistics, Ryanair has achieved better punctuality, fewer lost bags and fewer cancellations than all of the rest of its peer grouping in Europe."

- www.ryanair.com

March 8-9

So, before I start, I would like to cheat and include a link to Charlie's blog for these days. Charlie is a nice, generally mild-mannered man, but my anger over the events I'm about to relate doesn't even begin to compare to his overwhelming rage that burns hotter than the fire of a thousand million suns. Seriously, don't even bring it up to him. He like, turns into the Hulk. It's impressive.

Before we left, the group came up with a seven page complete itinerary for our trip that had a breakdown of activities hour by hour for every day (I know, just let it go, trust me). For the next few days, I'm going to start with what the itinerary lists for that day.

Remember: Men plan, God laughs.

MONDAY
Barcelona
1. depart for Pisa airport at 7am
2. arrive at Pisa airport at 8am, drop car off
3. depart Pisa for Barcelona at 9:55 am
4. arrive Girona at 11:15am
5. bus/train from Girona to Barcelona 25 minutes after plane lands (21 euro)
6. arrive in Barcelona
7. find hostel and check in, drop stuff if possible
8. Casa Milla and Casa Batillo (Gaudi buildings) (go in Casa Milla maybe?)
9. doze on the beach and chill if nice
10. Ramblas Street: markets/shops to look around
11. relax, hang out, walk around, eat some cheap-ass dinner, go to the Dow Jones Bar
12. If not exhausted, go out and have some fun

I was woken from my super comfortable airplane nap (the seats on RyanAir planes actually don't recline) by a flight attendant/infomercial host telling me to sit up and prepare for landing. It was announced that we would be circling Girona for a few minutes due to bad weather. So we waited. And waited.

I guess I should tell you a little bit about RyanAir. I already said the seats don't recline. They also don't have customer service. What they do have is at least 3 costume changes on every flight and the atmosphere of a 5 am Tuesday morning infomercial. The flight attendants try to sell everything from smokeless cigarettes (what?) to RyanAir brand scratch-offs. And that tasty free drink? Forgetaboutit. It’s going to cost you on RyanAir. And it’s probably going to cost a lot.

Anyways, we were circling Barcelona. And then the plane began to climb again? Another announcement was made saying we would have to stop at a nearby airport to refuel and then we would come back to Barcelona and try again. I remember not thinking too much of it. I mean, it was just a little snow. I've seen pilots land in so much worse in Chicago. But of course, those were real pilots on real airplanes with real airlines at real airports. RyanAir is fake.

Out the windows we could see the snow covered beaches of...

MONTPELLIER, FRANCE

If my blog was a movie, this is where the Shutter Island-style intense music would start.

So we hung out on the runway for a while and then, suddenly the flight crew started singing a different tune. They said we had to wait for a while because there wasn't a gate open or enough stairs for us to deplane.

Wait, what? Deplane?

This is when the PTSD flashbacks to Spring Break '08 started. Suddenly it was like I was back at LaGuardia with Tessa, Sam and Veronica, sunburned and crying, just trying to get home. Don't worry, Lizzie kept me sane by taking funny pics.

And then a new voice, one I assumed belonged to the pilot, told us that we would deplane and then get a bus to Girona. By then I was thinking, “Okay, this is lame, but it could be worse. At least you didn't have anything big planned today; you're still going to get there.”

Oh how I miss those sweet days of my childlike belief that RyanAir would fulfill its legal obligations.

I guess they finally found some stairs, so someone else announced that we would be moving soon and then deplane and they would "take care of us." No mention of a bus was made. We were instructed to go inside and speak to the RyanAir representative. So we trudged inside. We should’ve stayed on the plane.

This airport was small. SMALL. There was no customs. There was no border control. My passport was not checked or stamped. More importantly, there was NOT A RYANAIR REP. And there sure as hell wasn't a bus.

So everyone from our flight naturally swamps the information desk at the airport. We decided to be different at get some food. After all, at this point, it was about 12:45 and being herded (and lied to) like cattle makes one pretty hungry.

Drinking is the answer to most travel delays.

Once the lined calmed down, Lizzie went to inquire about our status. The answer?

RyanAir isn't here. The plane is gone. We don't know why you're here. You're on your own to get to Barcelona, good luck. Please leave our airport.

So we left. We got on a bus, then a tram to the train station. And again, thank God for Lizzie. She helped us figure it out. And on the way we picked up some strays, three American girls who were on the flight and trying to get to the train station too, but didn't speak any French.

So we get to the train station and after a few minutes of staring at arrival/departure boards and Lizzie asking the information desk we realized that there weren't going to be any more trains leaving the station that day. So we left.

We started walking down the main street through the town, taking our new friends with us and asking at all the hotels and hostels if they had any room. None did.

At this point you probably think we were all cold, wet (it was raining), tired, hungry and grumpy. And we were. But don't forget, we were a team. So we kept our spirits up. We channeled our rage at RyanAir into constructive things like finding a place to stay and making Mary and Joseph jokes (we were looking for an inn, remember?). Our group really was so great. Even when we were under such ridiculous stress, we all managed to stay reasonably happy with each other and as I write this 3 weeks later I can easily say that we are all still friends.

So we eventually found a MickeyD's with free wifi and settled in to figure some stuff out and get some comfort food. At this point I called Papa Gards (that's you, Dad) and let him know what was up. The RyanAir website said that they had landed in Reus and bussed us to Barcelona.

TELLER OF UNTRUTHS, YOUR TROUSERS HAVE COMBUSTED.

Just a blatant lie on their website. Ridiculous. This was when I started to get pretty angry. RyanAir stranded us in the WRONG country, didn't fulfill their obligation to get us to the final destination, lied to us about it and then lied on their website about it. What if there had been an emergency? What if there had been an earthquake? What if there had been a volcano? What if there had been an asteroid headed straight for Earth and they needed us to go blow it up with Bruce Willis while listening to Aerosmith? There would be no way for anyone to find us. What was the point in providing my parents with the flight number if they were just going to lie about everything?

It could have been us.

So Papa Gards called back and told me he found a hostel nearby that had good reviews. So we called them up and they had room (WIN!) and we walked the 2 or so blocks over there and checked in. I had no idea what was going on because I don't speak any French, but Lizzie told us the front desk guy was super nice and friendly, so that was pleasant change from our experience in France so far.

We settled in, our group in one room and the girls we found in a room on the floor above us. A couple people napped and I went to the drugstore. Peter offered to go with me, which was super nice, but I thought was strange at the time. I mean, it was 2:30 on a Monday afternoon and I was only going a street over, so I would've been fine, right?

WRONG. MontP revealed its sketchiness to me at the store. First of all, it was packed with weird looking people. Why weren't they at work? I spent most of the trip looking at my shoes, standing next to Peter, trying to not make eye contact. I didn't really notice, but he said everyone looked drunk. There definitely were a lot of people buying alcohol. I was so glad he went with me. Thanks again, Peter.

So we all nap/shower and then regroup and head over to, you guessed it, McDonald's. It was probably the place we felt safest in the entire city. I always thought McD’s with wifi were stupid. I mean, who is going to bring their computer to a McD’s? Stranded travelers, apparently. I appreciate the free McD’s wifi now.

So after a solid meal of Chicken McNuggets, we went to met up with some Italians we had met earlier that were on our flight. Because organized, multilingual outrage is much more effective than regular outrage. First, we contacted the airport to find out what was going on. The lady cursed and yelled at Lizzie (professional, right?), but calmed down once she realized we weren't with RyanAir; we hated them too. The enemy of my enemy is my friend? She told us that the airport had filed a complaint with whoever they complain to about the situation. Everyone hates RyanAir. After that we also came up with a timeline of events to use when we wrote our angry letters.

We went by McD's on the way home for more grease and then called a group meeting for the ND kids. We discussed our situation and options and agreed that if we couldn't get out tomorrow morning, we were going to cut out our Barcelona leg of the trip and just head to Paris (check out how grown up we are!). None of us felt comfortable in MontP and didn't want to stay another night. We were lucky in that our travel plans were flexible and we could just elect to go somewhere else. The other girls weren't so lucky. They had classes to get to and friends to meet and had to get there somehow.

So you must think that by NOW we were grumpy and starting to get annoyed with each other and wanting some time apart. And maybe we were. But instead, we had a giant pillow fight and then pushed all the beds together and had a big slumber party. That's what the pic from the beginning is from. Because we weren't about to let a little thing like being stuck in the hate crime capital of France get us down.

TUESDAY
Barcelona
1. sleep in
2. Park Guell
3. Plaza de Toros
4. castle/fortress thing on top of the hill: figure it out
5. night life: absinthe at Bar Marsella

We were up and waiting at the train station bright and early the next morning. Still no trains to Barcelona. So, we threw down 85€ each, wished the other girls and the Italians good luck and hopped a train to Paris. I guess protecting the women in the sketchiest part of France was really hard work because both the guys passed out almost immediately on the train.

We got to Paris and met Peter's girlfriend, Claire, at the station. She had been awesome enough to book a hostel for us while we were on the train, so we hopped on the metro and headed over there to check in.

First impression of Paris? The metro smells like urine. I wasn't impressed.

We got to Paris two days early. So we had some free time. What to do? Climb the Eiffel Tower, DUH! That thing has A LOT of stairs. Just saying.

We didn’t get to go all the way to the top because we had an EPIC ND REUNION on the first level. I guess Lizzie was walking around when, suddenly, who should wander out of the gift shop but Nicolle, one of her roommates. Screaming and jumping ensued, naturally. I was on the other side of the tower, so I just heard the screaming, but I guess it was fairly epic. All that screaming and jumping took time though, so we made it to the second level but missed the last elevator to the top. The view was still awesome though.

We watched the sunset and took a million pics and I think we even sang the fight song? It was pretty cold though. Okay, it was REALLY cold. But we stayed and watched the lights come on. It was amazing. And I even talked to Dad on the phone. It’s not every day I can answer the phone, “Hey Dad, I’m on the Eiffel Tower watching the sunset. What’s up?”

After we climbed back down the 6 billion stairs we went over to a restaurant that Peter had been to before. We all got two courses and dessert and wine, so it was a solid meal. And I mean, say what you will about France, but we had some delicious food while we were there. The waiter was really friendly, but there were like 14 of us, so maybe that’s why. We went to bed that night much happier than the previous night, because even though we weren’t having a pillow fight/slumber party, we were NOT in MontP. And that’s a win.

Mom, I didn’t even make eye contact with strangers in MontP, don’t worry.

Non Parla Italiano, Lo Canto

"No good stories start with 'We got to the airport 2 hours early and everything was fine.'"

- Coleen Halloran

March 4 - 8

Where to begin? I guess at the beginning.

Thursday was a rough day for me. I was still recovering from being sick and we had stayed up late the night before doing... something. Oh, Accountancy in the UK group project stuff and checking into flights online. See how glamorous studying in London is?

So, anyways, Thursday I was up bright and early. I didn't have class, but I needed to go buy some better walking shoes and pack the spring break bag. Because I'm me, I was naturally running late and we didn't hop on the bus to the coach station until 15 minutes-ish after we had planned. Of course, we got turned around and didn't get to the coach station until 30 minutes after we had planned, so we missed the bus to the airport we had wanted to take.

No big deal, right? Wrong. Apparently, transportation/travel companies think it's okay to blatantly lie on their websites (more about this later) and the bus to the airport takes 2 hours, not 45 minutes.

Solution? Cab.

£100 later we made it to the airport at 430. The gate closes at 430. We were completely those people in the airport. I mean, I've never seen them in real life, only in movies, but you know those people. The ones cutting lines with the girl about to cry because they're going to miss their flight. But the people of London reaffirmed my faith in the goodness of humanity and we made it from the cab to the gate in 7 MINUTES!

Yeah, that's right. 7 minutes. Credit goes to Lizzie Schwegman, the master of airport security and conqueror of check-in desk lines.

But wait, I forgot to mention a crucial detail. Contrary to everything I have ever learned from watching Scooby Doo, we split up. Fred and Daphne (Charlie and Coleen) managed to get to the coach station on time and hopped on the bus. The bus that takes 2 hours, not 45 mins.

So Lizzie, Peter and I are sitting on the plane, literally praying (hey, we go to ND) and who are the last 2 people through the door? Fred and Daphne. It was amazing. That entire first afternoon was like something out of a bad movie, but I think we made it through it just fine. If anything, it set the tone for the rest of break: bad things might happen, but we are a team.

And there was much rejoicing.

Our flight got into Pisa fine (everyone cheered when we landed?) and we hopped a bus to our hostel. Which happened to be RIGHT NEXT TO THE TOWER. Literally 100 yards from the base of the frickin' Leaning Tower of Pisa. And I know it sounds ridiculous to say it, but yeah, it really does lean. It was amazing at night. The piazza was empty except for us and some policemen and it was just beautiful. The first of many experiences that I can't begin to describe with words or pictures. So we checked into our hostel, which was really more of a B&B, and hit the town. Ten minutes later, we'd seen everything there is to see in Pisa. So we had some celebratory nothing-else-can-happen-that's-as-bad-as-today's-trip-to-the-airport (ha!) drinks with Robbie, the random Australian guy at our hostel that the boys picked up, and headed back home.

Now, silly me, I was tired after the long day and ready for bed. But the boys? Oh no. They needed bonding time. I wasn't there so I can't really say what they did, but the story they tell involves cheap "hobo" booze that was allegedly free (if it doesn't have a price on it then its free, right? right?) and being chased by the police at the tower. I guess I'll never understand male bonding.

I think the girls made the better choice by going to bed.

The next day we went back to the airport and picked up our car, a Fiat hatchback we named Figgy. Peter was the driver and Charlie navigated (because he's a man) and the girls all sat in the back and yelled at our lovely copilot to switch the radio station every 3 or 4 minutes. Coleen, who is a saint, sat in the middle most of the time because she rocks that way. The ride out to the house was unreal. Completely and absolutely ridiculous. We got lost a few times I guess (that didn't really concern us silly women in the backseat) but the views were amazing. I can't even begin to describe it.

We finally got to the house around lunch time, so after getting keys/a tour from Enrica, the lady who watches the house for the owner, we wandered down to a little market/deli thing by the house. I definitely did not climb a tree by the house and get stuck. And the boys totally didn't need to rescue me. It just didn't happen.

Let me set this up: we aren't in a city. We aren't really even in a town. We are out in the countryside, the "real" Italy. Five Americans stroll in. If there had been music playing when we walked in, it would have screeched to a stop and everyone would have turned and stared. In reality, there was a girl who looked around our age. We all stared at each other for a solid 30 seconds of awkward silence and the she was like, "... Panini?"

We finally managed to communicate that we wanted to just look around (a foreign concept to her, I think) and wandered back into the store. I guess the girl went and found the only English speaker around, because a few minutes later an older gentleman walked in and asked us if we needed help. Apparently he lived in New York City in the 70s.

About this time, Peter got super excited about some salami, so we ended up getting some super delicious sandwiches for lunch. I suppose, in retrospect, that the coppa was worth all the excitement, but I had my doubts at first.

Remember Enrica from before? She's a super cool lady, very nice and she speaks English very well. She also is MARRIED TO A BEEKEEPER! Awesome, right? Okay, maybe that doesn't sound that exciting, but it was super cool. She took us on a tour and showed us how they make honey and pollen and then let us taste all the different honeys and pollen they make. It's all organic and delicious. We all bought some and she gave us some more, so I've been eating a lot of honey lately. Maybe it's because everything tastes better in Italy or maybe it's because they are the best producers of honey in Italy (no really, he's invented cool machines and stuff), but the honey was unlike anything I've ever tasted.

You'd think honey is honey is honey, right? Wrong. They had several different kinds with very distinct flavors. There was one that was even a little bitter. It went great in our vanilla flavored tea.

THEN we went to Lucca. But wait, you say, aren't you staying in Lucca?

Nope. Lucca was a solid 10 minute drive away (or would have been if we didn't get lost every time). And we went to see the old walled city, which was great. We definitely drove around the same traffic triangle (the Italians like to be different) at least 5 times though. And then ended up in some really narrow alleys that were NOT intended for cars. Luckily, Pietro is an excellent driver and he managed to find a parking garage without hitting any walls or taking off a mirror. The picture is him standing in a street he drove through.

Lucca was awesome. There were beautiful little piazzas everywhere and cute little shops and delicious gelaterias, and and and...

I love Italy. I'm sorry, Mommy, I'm never coming home. I'm going to go back to Italy after the London program ends. A girl by herself with a 3/4 finished accountancy degree who knows about 5 words in Italian will be able to get a job, right?

Anyways, Lucca was amazing. We walked the city walls and took ridiculous jumping pictures. Then (this is where it gets good) we went home ate fresh ravioli, drank chianti annnnd

PLAYED SCRABBLE!

Dad, I wish you had been there to dominate. You know I'm terrible at it, but it helped that we allowed ND proper nouns (like Ara) and Italian words. I still lost, but I don't think I embarrassed myself too badly.

I guess it must sound pretty lame that we stayed in and played board games, but it was a great night. I really got to know everyone really well. Charlie and Peter are both such nice guys. The way they were happy to carry bags full of our stuff and looked out for us ladies when things got sketchy really did convince me that chivalry isn't dead after all. Coleen, one of my roomies, is an amazing, sweet girl. Having said that, she has an amazing sense of humor. She always sneaks those little jokes in and it's like... wait, what did you just say?! Lizzie is awesome. I teased her, but without her planning and research my spring break wouldn't have been half as awesome as it was. I probably would have just wandered around wondering if there was anything to do in Paris. And she plays a mean game of Scrabble, but she showed mercy when I had 5 vowels and no idea what to do.

The next morning we headed up to Cinque Terre, which was fabulous and amazing and breathtaking and perfect and a bunch of other adjectives that I can't think of right now. We had to drive about an hour to get there, but it was through some of the most beautiful country I’ve ever seen.

Some things can't be captured in pictures or words and that day is one of those things. It may have been the best day of my life so far.

Favorite part of the day? We were hiking between the first two towns on La Vie d'Amore, when we found a ridiculously steep staircase (Emily, you would have hated it) down to the water. There wasn't a beach to speak of because it was cliffs and rocky so we spread out on the flattest rock we could find, took off our shoes and rolled up our jeans and ate a picnic lunch. The sun was out and we had good friends and good food and good times.

I was in the second town, Manarola, when you called me, Dad. It might have been my favorite town. It's the one in the picture and it was adorable. All pastel houses built into the sides of hills and beautiful views of the Mediterranean. We rode trains to the next two towns. We took a break in the third, Corniglia, and drank local wine and admired the views and in the fourth town, Vernazza, we continued our gelato crawl and learned the Italian word for jellyfish, meduzza.

We had to hop a train back to the first town then to rescue Figgy from the parking garage that closed at 6pm. Since we didn’t need to worry about silly things like driving and navigating, all of us ladies in the passed out in the backseat. Too much fresh air and exercise, I guess. The boys stopped at the market and bought supplies, which we slept through, and then made us dinner when we got home. The carbonara was delicious, but I guess the boys couldn’t resist snacking on the pancetta while they were cooking, so we only got a piece or two each.
After dinner, Claudia and Luca, Enrica’s daughter and her boyfriend, came over to hang out. They spoke about as much English as we did Italian, but we managed to talk and hang out for a solid few hours over some delicious local wine and honey, cheese and fruit. At one point Claudia and Luca asked everyone about their significant others (everyone but me is dating) and when they got to me I was just like… Uh, I’m single. But I have cats? So the crazy cat lady-ness begins. Sometimes, it was hard being the only single one on the trip,

but then I remember that I still get to have hot hate sex with random strangers and I feel SO much better.

Relax, Mom and Dad, that’s a quote from 27 Dresses.

Anyways, back to Spring Break:

The next day was our last in Italy, so we decided on a day trip to Florence. Papa Landis woke us up early with his patented turn-on-the-lights method. It’s an old Indian trick, passed down generation to generation for thousands of years in the Landis family. Very effective. So we stumbled out to Figgy and mad our way to the train station in Lucca. Everyone but me passed out on the train almost immediately.

Okay, this part’s important: A few minutes into the train ride, a woman wandered by and dropped pieces of paper onto our laps and bags. Apparently, if you touch the paper or make eye contact she will expect you to give her money. So when she came back by we all stared in different directions and pretended to not notice her. She muttered under her breath and we joked that she cursed us. Little did we know…

Not long after this, the ticket-checker guy came by. And of course, we had forgotten to validate our ticket. Apparently, this is supposed to be a €50 fine, but I guess the guy felt bad for us for being cursed or something because he only charged us €5. Once again, the Italians showed themselves to be a friendly people.

We made it to Florence in plenty of time to get to get to 10:30 mass at Il Duomo. I was pretty excited because I could remember learning about the artwork under the dome in my art history class freshman year. I was surprised at how few people were there, but we got front row seats so that was sweet. But because we go to ND and we're amazing we ran into a group of ND girls. The dome was amazingly beautiful, of course. Not as good as THE dome, but still good. Seeing it in real life was about a million times more impressive than seeing it on a projector in a dark room in O'Shag (building abbrevs make me miss campus).

After mass we found a little touristy pizzeria for lunch. It was overpriced, but it was the first time we'd eaten out. After, we walked down to L'Academia to check out David. Because it was the "Day of Women" in Italy, us ladies got in free and the boys had to pay. Suck it, boys! Go girls, go!

David was amazing, almost overwhelming. But then most 15 ft tall naked men are, I guess. I'd give his body a 10, but he kinda has a butt chin. Seriously though, the David is a phenomenal work of art. I could have stayed for hours.

Michelangelo's unfinished sculptures were almost more impressive. Actually, I'll just admit they were more impressive. I love sculpture. It has always amazed me that someone can take a chunk of rock and turn it into something beautiful, but I have never understood how it happens. The unfinished works would be rough blocks of marble, but a shoulder and arm or part of a torso would be partially finished. You could just imagine the rest of the sculpture trapped in there. It was very impressive.

After, we walked to the Ponte Vecchio (Old Bridge). Unfortunately, Peter made the mistake of touching Coleen or something, so Charlie had to fight him. I guess you don't touch Charlie's woman. Don't worry, they hugged it out later.

Peter touched Coleen, so...

Charlie reached back like a pimp and slapped the ho.

In fact, since I'm on the topic of Peter and Charlie, I'm going to take this opportunity to comment on their friendship. Peter and Charlie are roommates and both nice boys, so they were already pretty good friends before we left. I went into this trip with the expectation of witnessing a blossoming romance, but I expected to see Coleen and Charlie being sickeningly sweet, not Peter and Charlie. Seriously, the bromance was ridic. I guess they had to stick together since the ladies outnumbered them, but from play fighting in front of the Duomo to the inside jokes to taking over the kitchen it was hilariously awesome to watch the men bond. Plus, now we get to make bromance jokes.


Anyways, on the way to Ponte Vecchio we stopped at a market. I got a sweet mask, Peter got some scarves, Charles got a silk tie and Coleen got a wallet. It was a pretty successful stop. Ponte Vecchio was cool; there were sweet views of the city.

Okay, I have to start this next part with an apology to Lizzie. I was a huge you-know-what at this point because I was tired and my feetsies hurt. And Lizzie really wanted to climb some big hill to the Piazzale di Michelangelo that had great views of the city at the top. And we went along, slowly and unhappily, but we went. And I was so glad that Lizzie pushed us to go because not only did she reward us with gelato at the top but the views were AMAZING. And we ran into a SMC girl. And we saw a guy wearing an ND jacket. It's a small world after all...

After that, we called it a day. Peter got a McItaly from McDonald's (wish I was joking) and we caught the train home.

The general feeling in the group was that since it was our last night in Italy, we needed to go get a really good dinner out. So we drove around and around and around and finally found a place that looked promising: Il Gattino Bianco. And it was AMAZING. It was a solid meal. I wasn't really sure what I wanted, so I just asked the waiter what he recommended from the seafood menu and went with that. I got a mixed seafood sampler for antipasto, I-can't-remember-what for my primo piato and stuffed calamari for my main course. Coleen got some delicious red meat for her main course, but it was done medium rare (warm and red), which was too rare for her. So I agreed to switch. I think I won, because it was delicious.

Actually, Peter got truffle oil filet, ftw (ftw stands for "for the win")

Back at the house, we had a significant amount of wine left to drink, so we got started on that and threw a load of laundry in the wash.

Now, this is when things start to get crazy. The washer was located in the bathroom. I was taking a shower. I stepped out of the shower into 2 inches of freezing water. I'm still not sure what happened, but it can't have been good. I stopped the washer and reached in to check the clothes and the washer shocked me a little. That's when I realized I was standing in water with obviously malfunctioning heavy machinery still plugged in. Oops. So I unplugged and started yelling for the boys. Everyone kinda looked at it for a while, which was fun because I was still in my towel, and then we just decided we would have to finish washing them by hand. By we, I mean, the women, of course. So the boys brought us glasses of wine and we pulled out our pioneer skills.

Unfortunately, the clothing was still damp until we got to Paris.

The next day we got up early, headed up to the airport, returned the car and hopped the plane to Barcelona. Our Italian leg of the trip drew to a close and with it went all the plans we had made. But that's a whole different story...

Mom, you'd better not be talking to strangers on that cruise.

The Place to Get Husbands

"I only hope they may have half my good luck. They must all go to Brighton. That is the place to get husbands. What a pity it is, Mamma, we did not all go."

- Lydia, Pride and Prejudice

Feb. 22 - Mar 3

Class this week was more of the same, unfortunately. Just long boring class after long boring class. Well, that's not entirely true. I am enjoying my Accountancy in the UK class. We talk about all kinds of interesting accounting things that all normal people find boring. On Thursday night we had the boys who live across the hall over for a floor dinner. It was our turn to cook, so we made breakfast for dinner. Sausage, bacon, scrambled eggs (my contribution), toast, Nutella and banana french toast and mimosas! Sara (one of the roomies) made the french toast and it was absolutely fantastic.

Tanya, Kayla, Katie, Felicia and I took a girls day trip to Brighton on Saturday. I don't usually think of the UK as an island, but we hopped on a bus for a few hours and we were at a beach town! It was very touristy, but still a lot of fun. The morning was chilly and I was glad I took my coat, but it warmed up and we played in the waves and walked along the beach all morning. I know I said earlier that the best fish and chips were at the Golden Hind, but the lunch we had in Brighton was better. While we were walking we met a lady with a very cute little white dog. She let us pet him and play with him and then recommended a restaurant for us that was right by the beach. Maybe we had just worked up a good appetite in the fresh air, but I loved it. We checked out the Royal Pavillion, but the tour was expensive so we just looked around the gardens and then went to get tea before we walked the pier. The trip was actually pretty relaxing and I liked escaping for a day.

I think my favorite part of getting out of London is the fresh air. Don't get me wrong, I love love love London, but it's kinda a Debbie Downer of a town. I don't realize how depressing it is until I escape and see the country. London just feels crowded sometimes.

On Sunday I went to Petticoat Lane, a clothing street market, to do a little pre-Spring Break shopping, but it was a huge letdown. I only saw men's suits. I mean, I love a man in a suit, of course, but that isn't really what I was looking to buy. Everyone else says they love it, so I think that maybe it just wasn't as good as usual because it was raining and cold.

I was sick AGAIN on Monday. Really really sick. I had to get my roommate to call my rector, Kris, to come take care of me. She took me in a cab to the doctor, where I'm like a regular now and I got all kinds of sweet medicine and I'm better. For now. I promise I'm taking all my vitamins, Mom; I have no idea why I keep getting sick. Missing class is starting to get super lame though, especially during midterms week.

Okay, I know this one is short, but that's because I'm spending all my time getting ready for SPRING BREAK 2010!! Look forward to a suuuper long one after that.

And don't worry Mom, I won't talk to strangers. Unless they're cute.