Category: Europe

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Fast French Food

Never have I ever… wanted to go to France.

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That’s not entirely true. Once, I met a lovely French girl in a hostel kitchen in Costa Rica. Her name was Sonia, and she just spoke to me, deeply and direct, as we sat across from one another; equally ignored by and ignoring the others around us. It was the only time when I have ever wanted to go to France; to watch the sun play in the ringlets of her hair on the breeze.

Now, after more than 6 years, I am finally on my way. I won’t have Sonia or her angelic hair to accompany me, though I probably have her to thank for it as much as anything, so… Merci beaucoup, Sonia!

Now for the informative part of our post. You can take the TGV to Paris in less than two hours from Brussels. The international information office is just to the left of the main ticket counter in Brussels Central station behind a pink door. They can sort you out quickly. All international high speed trains leave from the Brussels Midi station, just a few minutes train ride from Brussels Central. Allow 20 minutes for the transfer. Your international ticket should get you passage on the local train to and from Brussels Midi, so no need to spend the extra few euro for a local connection ticket.

As I had limited time for the trip, I opted to go to Lille; just across the French border from Belgium. The TGV high speed train could be in the city in 30 minutes, leaving me ample time to explore and still get back to Belgium in time for work.

Yes, I am working almost every day of this Eurotrip, aside from Travel days. It’s not optimal, but it’s keeping me employed and out of trouble… mostly out of trouble.

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Prior to this trip, I’ve only met one French person in my life, Sonia, who spoke to me willingly. Most ignore me or treat me with open disdain. I know I’m a hard pill to swallow, but really? I met two Frenchmen in a hotel in Bogotá, and addressed them both in English and in Spanish asking a simple question. They stared at me blankly, then shook their heads “no” until I walked off to ask someone else. A while later that day, I head them speaking Spanish with the hotel owner, and English with another guest. It was mildly infuriating.

Recently, a Belgian posed a theory of his to me. He believes that the French education system is so weak on foreign languages, that French people simply don’t have the confidence to speak to others in their own tongue. This particular theory doesn’t really address why Parisians in particular are reported to have refused to acknowledge foreigners speaking French…

I know next to nothing of the French language. Merci. Fromage. Escargot. That about sums it up. Though, being clueless hasn’t stopped me from doing a great many things in my life. France was going to be tricky, I knew, but it would not be the first time this month that I’ve been a stranger in a strange land. Leaving the train station in Lille, grab a map from the information counter, or at the hotel immediately on the left as you go down the main road. If you are in need of WiFi, there is a Burger King with free internet immediately within the first entrance to the Mall left as you leave the train station.

I had looked up some places for breakfast the day before and planned to go to Tamper; an espresso specific breakfast place deep in the old quarter. The city was supremely calm and enjoyable at the relatively early hour of 8 am. I took many wrong turns walking through the city, but I was in no rush, and the lostness of it fit well with my morning. The old city was just waking, not quite asleep, but still refusing to get up and start the day. Accompanied by this half-waking entity as I arrived at Tamper I almost kept walking just to prolong our sleepy morning together.

Inside the tiny but never cramped shop at Tamper, I was impressed by everything. The decor, the cakes, the menu, the English skills of the proprietor, the tiny plaque on the door proclaiming that Yelp! had rated Tamper the #1 place to eat in France in 2016. A pretty laudable achievement.

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When the owner told me they had fish pancakes as an option for breakfast I knew there was no way that I could order anything
else. How many times do you get to say, “Bring me your finest Fish Pancakes, good sir!” and have someone comply?!

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The food was nonpareil. The coffee was top notch. Everything was seamless and lovely. I bought some slices of cake for the road, and took off to meander through the old town, just taking in the sights for another hour until I had to catch the train back across the border.

Nothing wild, nothing fancy, I just went to France for breakfast. Strange thing for an American to say. America has such a
shared history with France. Our independence, the Statue of Liberty; even awful things like D-Day and Bastogne. There are few
foreign countries that we are more closely intertwined with than France, and yet we’ve drifted from that in recent decades, I
feel. This was a short trip by design; like dipping a toe in the water before you decide whether or not to jump in. This little jaunt made me think about these things, and want to return to explore more of the country… and more of the Food!

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wrap up:

  • TGV train from Brussels midi to Lille or Paris is fast and comparably cheap. 60-100 euro round trip depending.
    International ticket office is the pink door to the left of the main ticket counter in Brussels Central. Take a number and wait.
  • There may be free WiFi on the train, but do your homework ahead of time and know where you are going. Download offline areas in google maps.
  • For Lille, grab a map and have fun. Free wifi is available at the mall in Burger King or at McDonald’s in the main square.
  • As we’ve established in a previous discussion, French Fries aren’t actually French… they are Belgian, so try something weird and you will likely be rewarded!
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Ring my Belgium: Partie Un

Hungry for the heat and friction of the ground, at odds with every other flight oriented piece of the plane, the wheels bounced with delight in the dark waking the other passengers. I hadn’t slept as the last flight from Frankfurt slipped in to Brussels Airport. The spots of light in the dark did nothing to let me understand what was out there waiting.

From the moment I touched down in Belgium to this moment, waiting for my plane to take me away, NOTHING has gone according to plan. And it’s all turned out just fine. This has been a practice of just letting go and rolling with it. Some things get figured out… and some just remain a mystery and you move on with life. Like why are the vowels missing in all the airport signs? And what IS Nutroma, and is 0% REALLY premium quality?!

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I was to meet a friend, Tim, at the central train station, but Tim had lost his passport and sent another guy, Matthias, to come meet me. Unfortunately, Matthias and I had never seen each other and I had no way of contacting him after I left the airport. A bit like a microcosm of slingshotting a probe to where you think Mars will be at some future point.

Oddly, my innate American-ness saved the day. As I stepped out of the train station, I said “sup” to a guy riding by on his bicycle who turned out to be Matthias. As Brussels natives would never speak to a stranger, given the choice, he figured I must be the lost American he was looking for, and we walked across town to Tim’s apartment. Tim’s apartment that was 20 meters from the start of the neighborhood in Belgium where some of the nastiness in Europe recently is purported to have originated: Molenbeek. If you don’t know about this, read up on it.

Tim’s place was awesomely Belgian and reminded me of something from the opening scene of Moulin Rouge. The door didn’t meet the doorframe. Toilet and shower were separated by the kitchen. Three tenants and three visitors staying there, and not a level surface in the whole place. I was in love with it immediately. The first floor of the building was a typical Belgian bar, so we wandered down and sat on the street drinking as Tim and Matthias explained what Belgian life was like. Once we had closed the bar down, it was finally time to sleep. Tim gave me a sleeping bag and pointed me at the futon in the haphazard living room.

I slept like a king.

The problem that would ultimately separate me from my beautiful new abode arose with me the next morning. Tim’s wifi wouldn’t work and he had already left town at 6 a.m. for Germany to see his girlfriend. I decided to wait and see if the other roomie, Pieter, could do something about it and I took wandered off through the city to hit the train station and see about tickets to France, Holland, and Luxembourg.

Returning home from my mostly successful sortie, I hoped that Pieter would be available and we could see about the wireless and my laptops. Having walked across the city and back without disaster, I was feeling chuffed. This was short lived, I’m afraid. After some unsuccessful troubleshooting, I was forced to concede that I would be unable to work from Tim’s place. I booked an apartment nearby on AirBnB and got settled into my less authentic, but serviceable digs and get some work done.

Along with my lovely new apartment came new neighbors. A young, very dark guy from Senegal 20-ish, accompanied by a 50-ish distinctively white lady. I remember them as they were bringing in groceries while I was leaving, and they were quite pleasant, if in a hurry.

I also remember him because he was sleeping on my doormat in the hallway the following morning as I left. More on that later.

Brussels is full of lots of good food. Just make sure you go eat it before 8 p.m. Everything begins closing down shortly after this, and your options narrow rapidly. This is always something of a learning curve when entering into a new society… how and when do they eat? Years ago when Joe and I went to Argentina, we would go out for dinner at 8 p.m. only to have the restaurant manager laugh in our faces, telling us that they weren’t open obviously and to come back later, at a more reasonable hour. I made this mistake a couple times in Brussels; trying to get dinner shortly after 9. I have a sneaking suspicion that Argentines don’t come to Belgium, or Austria for that matter. They would all be emaciated and starving in the streets in a few days. One night, I went to bed hungry. Another, I managed to slip into Le Pré Salé for moules, which are a huge thing for Belgians and they were right in season for my visit.

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Did you know Belgians invented “French” fries?

The practice in Belgium when going to a restaurant is to walk in and sit down wherever the hell you want. This is similar to Austria. Once there, you wait until the server notices you and comes over to see what the hell you are doing there. I am not accustomed to this, and often find myself standing around looking obtuse when I first enter a restaurant and stand around until someone asks me what my problem is because I’m behaving like a crazy person.

OK, so, back to the dude sleeping in the hallway… I was on my way out to Lille on my second morning in Brussels, this would be my first visit to France, and opening my door I saw the dude had taken my doormat and slid it away from the door and tried to curl his almost 6 foot frame onto it; rather unsuccessfully. He looked around in a very confused manner and started stammering in French. I just told him to get his act together, and messaged the property manager informing him of the situation. Once I got all the run down from the property manager and the Senegalese himself, I decided he was having the most fucked weekend I’d heard of in a while.

Apparently Senegal isn’t exactly overflowing with lucrative business ventures, even for the most enterprising of young men. In a time honored tradition, perhaps the oldest profession, some of these guys had turned to tricking; selling their bodies.

In my lovely North American life, I am not exposed to this sort of thing.I don’t know any prostitutes, and sex tourism really takes a different feel in the USA becoming more of a green card marriage than a cash transaction. This was something of a surprise to see.

The Senegalese was away for a weekend as a boy toy to an older woman who wanted to scratch that itch, and he had apparently lost his luggage after they arrived. This included his passport and basically everything other than the clothing he had on. He and his matron had a falling out the night prior and she had kicked him out of the apartment, but he hadn’t left the building; leaving him awkwardly perched on my door mat. The best part of it all, for me at least as I’m sure the humor was likely wasted on him, was the phrase slapped across the doormat in black bold lettering…

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I can’t imagine that he agrees.

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Österreich: Schnitzel, Wurst, and Fairy Tales

Austria is a land of fairy tales. From the moment I left Graz, the train took me into every bed time story I had ever heard. Mountains, villages, castles… all I could see was Sleeping Beauty, Rose Red, Hansel and Gretel; it was otherworldly.

Austria is also a land of meat. Everything… everything is either weiner, schnitzel, or wurst!

The things we, as Americans, know about Austria are all derived from pop imagery. Arnold Schwarzenegger, The Sound of Music, and the fact that they make food named after genitals… not really, but, yeah, really.

Leaving Germany, where nary a smile was returned, Austrians were a lovely change. They have mostly been warm and engaging, and while not everyone smiles back, sometimes I’ll get one!

I’ve never been to Austria before this weekend, and when I found out the MotoGP was here this year after a 20 year absence, I thought it was a great change to kill two birds with one awesome stone! Here’s a quick peek at Turn 4!

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Graz is the second largest city in Austria with a population of around 300,000. It’s a nice place with good food, but one can find good food almost anywhere. Austria really came alive for me once the train pulled out of the station leaving towards the GP. That first train ride alone made the trip to Austria worth it.

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I dropped my bags off at the apartment I rented for an exorbitant sum and went straight to the track to watch qualifying. The first night back in Leoben, I went out to dinner; initially having a troublesome time of finding a place that I wanted to go that was close and open. I went to the main square, which is just where you must go for food, it appears, and went to
Weinlaube Schwarzer Hund on a whim and a TripAdvisor review.  I was astounded by the knowledgeable, helpful, English speaking Birgit; my server. I simply asked for a glass of her favorite red wine, and whatever menu items would go well with it; which was of course, Meat. Everything was perfect.

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Then I was introduced to Birgit’s brother and friends and they immediately adopted me. We spent the next 6 hours drinking beer and spritzers and talking about life in Austria and America and dancing in a Bodega. It was more than I could ask for to feel so at home while so far afield. If you ever feel lonely, friends are just a beer away.

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The Österreich ring is a 30 ish minute train ride from Leoben to Knittelfeld, and the Red bull ring has shuttle buses running all day that pick you up for free and take you to the track. If you give the bus driver 2 euro, he will hand you a beer for the ride. Remember, this is Austria, where beer is legal for 16 year olds.

The track was extremely well managed, no grief from security for my backpack, even police all over the place, but everything flowed quite well.  Aside from the occasional person on holiday who passed out drunk in the middle of the afternoon.

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All in all it was a fantastic weekend. Sunday, after the race, life was quiet in Leoben, and nothing much to do but sit in the Hauptplatz and watch the locals down beer and ice cream. My new friends were no where to be seen, and it allowed me some quiet time for reflection before retiring in order to get up early for a train ride back in time for breakfast at Granola in Gratz.

There is something romantic about church bells in a small town. the echo of old metal through the cobbled streets. Calling men from their homes, and sending them back again when a day’s labor was finished. reminding children when to scatter home after mischief end.  In Islamic countries, there is the call to prayer 5x a day. While the bells toll much more frequently, they are less insistent; more cadence. They aren’t commanding you to do something, just patiently marking the passage of our time here… perhaps a reminder that this is all we have… so do something with it. These are the thoughts in my head as the bells toll me into consciousness as the sun rises on my last day in Austria. So I decide to climb to a mountain castle.

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And now, I’m off. Leaving the magic of the mountains and the Sound of their Music and off to Belgium, to visit my friend Tim from our wild trek across Salar de Uyuni.

 

Here’s a quick wrap up to get you started on the right foot:

  • Learn some basics in German: directions, what, how, something, numbers, i need/want
  • Learn how to say you don’t speak German! Ich kann kein Deutsch sprechen.
  • Austria closes down earlier than a lot of places, be prepared, your options will get limited after 8 p.m.
  • Trains are awesome, and you should take your time and ride one rather than fly if you can.
  •  Most towns in Austria are easily walkable, no matter where you want to go. Enjoy it.
  • Always keep a few 50 cent pieces in your pocket. Most toilets in train stations are pay to enter.
  • Water is free, as opposed to Germany, and it is some of the best you can get; straight from the tap!

 

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I think my pig is whistling!

Frankfurt has been fun, and my stay here far too short. I’m packing up after 4 days to head to Austria for the first MotoGP race there in about 20 years. I’m marginally excited. 🙂

I have spent my time here either head down in work, or wandering the streets, or Straßen, repeating German phrases over and over to myself. I must have seemed like a crazy person. They have a phrase for that.

Nicht alle Tassen im Schrank haben. Or, “Not having all the cups in the cupboard.”

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German has lots of awesome phrases, I am learning.

Ich glaub mein Schwein pfeift. Jetzt haben mir den salat! 

My German is not the yellow from the egg… but it goes!

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I’ve loved my little apartment with the tiny solarium and Colombian neighbors, but it’s time to run away.  A few impressions from Frankfurt, since I showed up knowing almost nothing aside from the University name!

  1. Westend is quiet and lovely and expensive. Shoot for North or East end for something hipper and cheaper.
  2. Bergerstraße is an awesome street to just wander for food, drink, and fun times.
  3. Public transportation will get you just about anywhere, or you can walk the breadth of the city in less than an hour.
  4. People rarely smile back, but they will stare at you quizzically if you smile at them.
  5. Get your phone unlocked BEFORE you come to Germany if you plan on using a local simcard.
  6. Buy a Tageskarte for public transportation. If you get off the bus/train more than twice, it’s worth it.
  7. Local apfelwein is pretty decent. Actually, anything with apples here is good!

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There’s not much more I know. I only understand train station. 🙂

Time is short, and I’m off to Austria. Time to mach die fliege!

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An Exit

Another grand adventure unfolds under my feet…

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Arriving at the airport today, I felt the hum of excitement building in me. The familiar return to a building that sees every permutation of human emotion every day. My experiences in airports have often been so emotionally charged that I can’t be near one without feeling that part of my guts that is tied to them twisting and dancing like a fish on a line. Today was no different.

The rampaging nerves peaked after I had my ticket in hand and hit the loo before I had to stand in the line for Security check. I was suddenly nervous almost to the point of panic. I had no idea what was waiting for me on the other end of this flight. I should run home and hide in the relative safety of my empty rented house and it’s lack of uncertainty.

I almost faltered; which was odd for me. This moment that was so foreign to this concept of who I am in my head, but is a real part of me and everyone and life! As much as I want to believe that I am dauntless, I have emotions and am far too often subject to the whims of adrenaline, hormones, and nerves. Recognizing the nerves as counter productive to what I had come to do, I strode into the security line and waited for them to pass. After some touch and grab with the TSA agents, I realized after I had passed through that the nerves were gone, replaced by calm confidence and anticipation for what lay ahead, rather than fear of it.

I think this happens to many of us, and it’s often hard to know what to do with it. I think without the guidance of some of my mentors and a very few close friends, I could have spent most of my life in that paralyzed state; running from uncertainty and never fully exploring myself or the world around me. Life begins at the end of your comfort zone.

Maybe that’s why so many people seem to get addicted to change, to pushing the boundaries, to the adrenaline rush… to love? We keep looking for something to make us feel alive. Point Break being a prime example.

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I had never heard of Condor airlines before I saw the billboard over the freeway as summer warmth cracked over Austin making motorcycling enjoyable again. Nonstop to Frankfurt. Condor Airlines. They aren’t new, just new to me, and they have the most attractive ticket and gate agents in Austin International by a fair margin. They’re doing something right.

The plane is not new, showing signs of work, but it is clean in the way that German things are. I am not new.  My passport is not new. The plane is certainly the cleanest of we three.

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Awakening in a different country is still a somewhat surreal occurrence. It’s as if you aren’t fully awake enough to read or understand what words are being spoken to you… but permanently so. Something like a never-ending concussion. The German populace is gracious and liberal in their application of English, and I’m a bit surprised to see police with rifles just wandering the airport as if this were commonplace; almost as if this were Ben Gurion rather than the financial capital of one of the more affluent countries in Europe, if not the world.

We’re not in Kansas.

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More later. 🙂

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A Quickie

I am off again.

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The idea of a Eurotrip this summer actually materialized last year, but my partner dropped out. After the bombings and madness in Istanbul, I really started to worry about friends and wondered what their lives were live; I wanted to go see for myself. Add in that Zsofi is having her first baby, and Eda is getting married, and this is the first year Austria has hosted the MotoGP and I had all the reasons I could want to go back and visit.

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This is how I find myself sitting in a historic room in Frankfurt; jetlagged, tired, and grinning. I don’t know where I will sleep this weekend, but I brought a hammock and optimism, so I believe it will work out. 🙂

On the docket are Germany, Budapest, and Turkey; all of which I have been to before. Along with the old favorites, this trip will mark my first time to Austria, Belgium, Netherlands, France, Luxembourg, and Portugal!

Roughly a month abroad in all, which is almost a quickie for me. I have been looking for something to help me realign my perspective around my life, and I think this time away from home will be just the thing!

Stay tuned for more stories.

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Year One

A friend told me recently that I tend to write things that no one but me will understand. I suppose it is ok if this turns out to be one of those things.

A year ago today, following several days of airports and delays ,I left the USA, not knowing at the time I would lose the thing I valued most in the world, but find so much of myself; old and new.

I’ve gone through phases on this trip. Phases where all I could think about was a girl back home. Phases where I thought I could never leave my hammock. Phases where all I wanted to do was head back to the USA and hide from the weird wide world. Phases where I wanted a job and phases where I was afraid of the prospect of ever needing to work again.

I have learned a lot about love. I have learned to simply love and not worry about whether I am loved in return. Now that I have figured it out, it seems strange when I see others who haven’t “got it” yet. It seems strange that it was ever a foreign concept.

I’ve learned to be happy with nothing more than silence. I have learned to relish the company of friends because once you know these things every stranger is just a friend waiting to happen. I have learned that new friends don’t replace the old ones.

I learned that it’s ok to be sad and that dying from a life well lived is a better thing than living forever in the shadow of fear or inadequacy.

I have learned how to communicate with people in many languages, but I still think the best way is a smile and a hug.

I don’t know what kind of anniversary this is, and I’m not even sure it is something to be celebrated. If something does get celebrated, though, I hope it is more the feeling I left in a persons heart than any time frame I managed to keep on the move. I hope it is a small ache, or a secret smile that someone will remember; not just today, but often and without fanfare.

To everyone who has been a part of this scary and marvelous year, I say, “Thank you.”

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Return to Istanbul

Yes, it’s true!

I’m back in Istanbul for a couple weeks and will be taking some Turkish language classes and drinking my weight in Turkish coffee.

The new phone number is +90-0539-871-9069, so give me a ring if you are in the neighborhood.

I just attended a Couchsurfing.com group meeting tonight, ate gland & intestine sandwiches, and already have plans for the weekend and a snowboarding trip planned for Sunday. I truly appreciate the people of this city.

What’s not to love from a country that is famous for mustaches?!

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Italy: Exit Interview

So after over a month in Italy, I am finally leaving. I am in Rome for the third time and finally staying at Yellow; which is as good as they say.

It is a testament to the amount of activity these weeks have been filled with that I have written almost nothing even now that I have a functioning laptop again.

I just finished two weeks of intensive Italian lessons and I am now conversational, though far from fluent. I’ve been thinking about this for years and now that I am actually conversing with the locals, it is as cool as I thought it would be. 😀

I’ve been taking cooking classes, making new friends, and even helping other lost travelers quite often. Though, perhaps, not as often as they have been helping me. 🙂

I’ll have lots more detailed action coming up soon, so keep your eyes peeled, but just hated the thought of leaving such a huge chapter of the trip unsung. I am already revving up to leave, I just had my first hamburger as long as I can remember. Sadly, it’s no Mojoe’s.

In a few days I will be in Africa! I am planning to get a first impressions post up in the near future. So thanks to my wonderful friend Joanne, I have a list of questions I must answer before I can saunter off to the Dark Continent.

Q: What is your fondest memory?
Opening the apartment door in Venice to the smiling face of my friend, Joanne.
Q: What is one thing you will never forget?
Q: Of all the places you went to, which did you enjoy the most and why?
Cinque Terre. It was more beautiful than I imagined and it was easy to find peace and quiet in an amazing scene.
Q: What did you learn about yourself?
I am boring. I loved the routine of going to school everyday.
Q: What is one mistake you made in Italy?
Not planning ahead. Italy is a place that is so popular (and rightly so) that you really need to put some time into planning the visits you want to do. Case in point, the Ducati factory tours. They were trouble.
Q: What will you miss the most?
Walking down the street through the fashion parade swirling around me, listening to the people talk and actually understanding what was being said, and having the feel that I was well and truly all’estero.
Q: What frustrated you the most about Italy or your experiences?
The afternoon downtime; like siesta. I was constantly trying to accomplish something between 1 and 5 p.m. when everything was shut down. It happened to me a few times a week at least.
Q: What made you smile?
Being proposed to by a young Brazilian girl early one morning. We spent a while discussing the details like where to live, what kind of house, what kind of dog; in the end we decided she needed a little time to grow up. 😀
Q : What is your favorite smell about Italy?
All of the food! But foremost, the pastry shop at the bottom of my apartment stairs in Camerino. Every morning as I left for school I had to practically swim through the air think with the scents of fresh bread and pastries that filled the street.
Italy has been a great time for me. I truly want to return here again some day, though next time I will bring more money. This is such a rich country and though I have spent more time here than any other country in this entire trip, there are still sooo many things I did not get a chance to see and do. One day I hope to make a return trip here under a little different circumstances. 😀
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Camerino: Cold City, Warm Hearts

I am a newborn child. These words mean nothing to me. There is no form or meaning or structure in them, but the tone and cadence are the audible world and those mean everything. The wrong tone is enough to send me to war, and the correct soothing croon is enough to make me fall in love. This is how you address a baby; how one talks to the unborn and newly aware. This is how you speak to a waking woman as you brush the spiderwebs of a dreamworld from her hair. These are the lessons I didn’t know I came here for.

I wrote this in my notebook somewhere in my first week in class at Dante Alighieri. As with so many things on this trip, I got more than I bargained for.

I spent several days throughout my time in Italy speaking with people in person and via email looking for Italian language classes either with a private tutor or in a class somewhere. After some guidance from strangers and a great many emails, I decided on Scualo Dante Alighieri in Camerino because they seemed the easiest to work with over email, and because I thought Camerino was much closer to Rome than it actually is.

After two weeks of bitter cold, often without water pressure or a heater, I still don’t regret the decision.

Some years ago, I decided I would learn to speak Italian. This decision was influenced by such marvelous guiding lights as Brak from Space Ghost. Later, I would make doomed plans to move to Italy with a girlfriend, and make some inroads with the language before losing it the tide of daily life, as happens with so many things.

Fast forward to 2010. The trip from Rome to Camerino is several hours; a train and a bus. The instructions from the school and the locals were quite helpful, otherwise I may not have made it for the 7 p.m. deadline to pick up the keys to my apartment from Luciana, the secretary and my new best friend.

I shared my magnificent new living space with a couple other guys from Brazil and Mexico who did their best to help me feel at home and get up in time to make it to class on time.

If you ever want to meet cute Brazilian girls, go study Italian in the mountains of Italy.

My school was a cocktail of roughly 50% Brazilian, 47% Argentine, and 4% everything else. Yes, that is 101%. We had class for roughly 4 hours a day with various cultural events every day that really helped bond everyone together as an odd sort of family so far from home. I met magnificent people from all over; Sergio and his permanent smile, Camila with her freckles, Saolo and his huge heart, and dozen others.

This was by far the most expensive single investment I have made on the whole trip, and it was worth it.

Camerino is very walkable. The streets are tight and winding, so driving just seems counterproductive. Most of the apartments the school uses and the social areas in town run along the same streets, so every time you leave the house, you wind up in a half dozen conversations before you ever get where you were going. This provides on with ample opportunity to practice, and be frustrated with, speaking Italian. The patience of all my classmates with my attempts at dialogue must be lauded; I truly appreciated it.

The cultural activities ranged from lectures on The Divine Comedy to karaoke (another type of comedy), from pot lucks to scenic outings. These were the times when we students really met one another; where the different classrooms could laugh and share and talk about our lives and share pieces of our dreams with one another.

Italy is a place that one can fall in love everyday without an ounce of guilt. With pasta, with chocolate, with strangers, or even someone you already know.

Mornings always come early for me. 4 a.m. comes so early it doesn’t qualify as a morning, but the bus ride to Rome was a long one, and we departing masses needed to be on the bus early. When we finally rolled out of town, every head on the bus dropped under the still hung curtain of night. Hours later, with dawnlight in the air and on my heavy eyelids, a pair of kaleidoscope eyes surrounded by freckles cracked open and peered into mine.

“I’m in love. Will you marry me?” she asked.

Everyone wants to wake up this way.

Camila and I spent the remainder of the bus ride eating chocolates and discussing the details of our impending nuptials and future life together: where our house would be, what kind of dog we would have, how many children, etc. It was like waking up to a dreamstate.

Sadly, though, even Italian Kaleidoscope dreams end, and we pulled up to the Airport to let off my newfound bride-to-be and a number of the other students returning home. While making the rounds and saying goodbye to everyone, I almost missed my bus ride to Roma Termini, near where I was to spend my last couple days in the Eternal City remembering Italy and all it had been for me  before I departed for the endless desert.

Wrap Up:

Do your homework. Investigate any schools ahead of time to make sure you get what you are looking for, then go with the one with a more amiable staff. They are the ones who will go to bat for you if something goes wrong. (Thank you, Luciana!)

Dress for the weather and look at a map. I had to buy a couple extra sweaters in Camerino because I didn’t know how cold it would be.

Take every opportunity to spend time with the other students socially. I am so fortunate to have met the people I did, and I never would have come to know how great they were if I limited myself to the classroom.