Sunsets. Friends. And Chanting Monks.

Roommates
A Tuscan Sunset

Four of the roomies

We hiked the steep slope on the other side of the Arno for an evening to watch the sunset. On our way over we shopped at the German Christmas Market that was set up in the Piazza Santa Croce, got some gelato, then headed up the hill. The view was gorgeous, one to remember. We hung around the flat steps laughing together, taking candid shots, and marveling at the colors in the sky and the greenery of the countryside right outside of the city. After the sun set, we hiked even higher up to San Miniato to hear the monks chant their daily prayers. Inside was dark with small flickers of candlelight in the corners. Under the main alter were stairs leading down to a smaller chapel, there they began to chant while churchgoers chanted in response. It was beautiful. We must have sat there for at least an hour, absorbed in our own private thoughts. The experience with nature, then God, is one I will always refer back to when I'm "homesick" for my Italian home. Nothing can compare to the extravagance of God outside, but also the quiet contemplation of a cathedral that has been there for centuries and will continue to be there even after I'm gone from this world.

Buon Natale con Firenze (Merry Christmas with Florence)

My favorite sculpture on the Loggia near Piazza Signoria.



Christmastime is here!

The streets at night

I am enjoying my last weeks here, going to my favorite museums and restaurants, walking down my favorite streets and piazzas, trying to soak it all in while dodging puddles and icy raindrops. Florence in December is wet and empty; it kind of reflects how we're all feeling as we get ready to leave a place that has warmed up to us and treated us like we're family. Florence will always be a home to me, a place that I grew in, where I was stretched.

All of us in the apartment are in a frenzy as we study for finals, finish up projects, and pack our stuff that seems to grow every hour due to last minute souvenir shopping. All reason as left us. We are like tourists, here for a week, as we scramble around trying to see everything just "one last time."

Today: shopping

Tomorrow: museum crawl

Sunday: gelato crawl

Monday: the finals start!

Next Friday: I leave :( / :)

To Florence Con Amore

Artemisia Gentileschi's Judith Slaying Holofernes, Uffizi Gallery (the only well-known female artist of the 17th c.)

Artemisia Gentileschi's David and Bathsheba, recently restored with the help of Jane Fortune's committee.

The beautiful book, To Florence Con Amore by Jane Fortune

Last night I had the priviledge of going to a book signing of an American author, Jane Fortune. She came here in the 60s as a study abroad student, fell in love with Florence the moment she stepped off the train, and has returned every year since. Her book, To Florence Con Amore: 77 Ways to Love the City, is filled with hidden treasures, cultural gems, and places that soothe the soul. One of my roommates and I walked into the packed little bookshop, Paperback Exchange, not knowing what to expect from the author. We were about 20 years junior to even the youngest person in the room. But I was determined to hear her speak about Florence and the ways that she loves on the city. We stood in the back, pushed up against the travel section of paperbacks, listening to the many accomplishments she has given to the city and her long love affair with all things Florentine.

I stood in awe as I soon learned that she is an advocate for women in the arts and has founded a committee dedicated to restoring and uncovering over 500 Renaissance paintings by women stored away in the deposits of Florentine museums. Her dream for Florence is to open a museum dedicated to these women lost over centuries of no credit.

When she spoke of her first moment in Florence, when she stepped off the train and felt like she had come home, I started tearing up. In that moment, I too, felt Florence as my home. It will always be my home. A place I feel at ease in. The intricate web of streets that are like the veins in my hand. The bells that I hear from my apartment window every 15 minutes are the only reminder of time that I need in this city that is more like a step in the past than it is a functioning, modern city. Florence. Firenze. Ti Amo.

After her short speech and Q&A time I approached her, along with other eager guests holding their copies of her book. Only I did not have a copy. I was more interested in hearing about her committee and what they are doing in the city. Maddie and I told her we were also study abroad students; she warmed right up to us. I asked her about internship possibilities and the future she sees for the committee. We chatted for a while, exchanged emails, she gave us warm wishes for our last month here, then we left her with her line of fans.

As we were leaving a bit later (we stopped to get a glass of wine and a few snacks) she came up to us from behind and said, "I'd like to give you both copies of my book." We were shocked. Of course, my first response was, "Oh no!" But she insisted. She signed them and told the also shocked lady at the counter not to worry. We had to get out of there, fast, both of us started to tear up, a second time for me that night. As we were walking down the deserted street we couldn't believe her generosity. As much as I wanted her book, I wasn't about to shell out 20 euro for it, and she gave us each our own copy! It was a gift I will cherish forever. A memory that I will never forget.

There was something about that evening. That moment we shared with a fellow study abroad student from 40 years ago. We had something in common. A love for a city that in unchanging, yet always changing. To Florence. Con Amore.

Italy is taking up space in my Heart

I have so much emotion pinned up inside me. I keep thinking about my last month here in Italy and all that is still on my list of things to see and do.



I have dreamed about this year for so long--planning and re-planning--and now it is on the verge of being over. My time with YWAM. My time in Italy. I have achieved them. I have experienced them. They have changed me, and hopefully, I have done something to change them as well.



Life moves too fast for me. I am now twenty-one and I keep thinking about my short month I spent in the south of France with Sandra and her family two years ago. Could it really have been that long ago? I was eighteen and I hadn't started college yet. I hadn't applied for YWAM or Italy; they were still just dreams. I hadn't known Kat or Leah yet. I hadn't dated anyone yet. My grandfather was still alive and proud of me. Death was not a reality yet. My brother hadn't hit his growth spurt yet. He was still my 'little' brother. So much has happened in just two years. What will happen in just two more? Italy will be a memory, a fond one, but only a memory still. My five roommates will be spread out around the country. Time and distance will have their effects on us. How could that be possible? The girls I traveled around Europe with, the ones that will be spread throughout my scrapbook?



I'm not ready to give it all up yet. I am carefully balancing on the edge of a sword. If I am not careful, I could stay here forever. I can only romanticize about Italy for so long. The real thing is much better than my dreams. It is passionate. My experiences with Italy are never dull. One day I slip in a puddle of mud and get yelled at in Italian at the Post Office. The next I'm sipping a cappuccino with Francesco and listening to him talk about art. A week later I'm in the Uffizi at dusk watching as smoke rises from the villas across the Arno. The next day I am cursing Italy because her wireless connection is keeping me from talking with my family.



I love Italy. But I also hate her. I adore the sound of her language, but I hate that I'm not picking it up easily. On the train I marvel at her scenery--her diversity and lush greenery even in autumn. But I abhor that all trains to Venice are usually sold out making it difficult to get there and shortening my stay altogether. I love two of my classes--Hidden Meaning in Renaissance Art and The Italian Grand Tour--but the other two are a bit dry--Archaeology Workshop and The World of Museums. I am so thankful for our apartment and I love the family who owns it and works at the front desk. But it makes me sad that they keep up their formal fronts, even with us. They have made us pies, given us jelly and almonds, and licorice. I am going to miss them, but even more, I am going to wish that our relationship went deeper than them giving us our keys every time we come home. I will most definitely miss the pizza boy who waves every time we pass--coming and going to our apartment. But again, I will wish it was more than just a wave and the occasional, "Ciao Bella!" or "Dove andata?".



My heart is always happy when I'm in the little nook between the Uffizi and Piazza Signora when the guitarist is playing my favorite song. It is somber and sad, but beautiful. When it is cloudy above and puddles sit between the stones, and the Piazza is deserted except for a few locals and the occasional tourist; a couple sits on the loggia kissing while whispering secrets behind the music. The sculptures on the loggia glow in the setting sun, the Roman soldiers' passion and the women's pain are amplified in shadow. They have been here for centuries, they have seen every kind of tourist, they know so much, yet, here, in the Piazza when no one is around to witness it, they come alive and relive their experiences for us who watch closely.









"You can kiss your family and friends good-bye and put miles between you, but at the same time you carry them with you in your heart, your mind, your stomach, because you do not just live in a world but a world lives in you." -Frederick Buechner

Barcelona, City of Mosaics

Red, white, and blue on the Mediterranean

Casa Mila

Parc Guell

Steps at sunset

Overlooking the city at Parc Guell

Standing under an arch on top of Casa Mila

Yes, I went to Spain last weekend. I know what you're thinking and my last 'out-of-the-country' trip will be in two weeks to Prague, then I'm done! Traveling is really exhausting, especially traveling with RyanAir. Our flight to Barcelona was delayed an hour because the previous flight was hit by lightning mid-flight. Lovely. So they checked the plane out while all of the boarding passengers watched, terrified, from the gate. And I was one of them.

I must put a disclaimer out there. Spain is beautiful, but when one has spent a large amount of time in Italy, truly no other Mediterranean country compares (except France ;). Barcelona is situated right on the water. It has a huge population of Moroccans (which I love). And it is bright with so many mosaics, all credited to Gaudi, the architect.

Marci and I spent an entire day out in the city, from 8am-1:30am. We walked through the old Gothic Quarter, went to the cathedral that was built in the 1100s, walked north of the city to Casa Mila and the Sagrada Familia-both Gaudi masterpieces-where I was approached by a man asking, "Aren't you that girl from the bus last night?" I was totally unaware of any event happening on a bus the night before, so I answered, "No, I'm not that girl." Afterwards we went up to Parc Guell, a park situated above the city overlooking the sea. The city of Barcelona isn't a pretty one when you look at it from above. It is dusty and dirty and hazy. But, down on the streets, that's where the city's beauty lies.

We continued our day of endless walking. Above us workers strung Christmas decorations and in shop windows little Christmas trains moved around on the ground.

Later in the day we met up with our two other roommates who came on a different RyanAir flight. The four of us went on a 'Tapas Tour' with our hostel. We visited four locations-first we ate Tapas and had a glass of Sangria, second we watched a Flamenco show, third we enjoyed the ambiance of another Spanish-style tavern, and fourth we danced the night away at a Discoteca (well, until 1am). Then we crashed for the night only to wake up again at 7:30am to see more sights!

The Flamenco show is one of my highlights of the entire weekend. The passion and intensity they put into it is absolutely mind blowing. The band consists of a guitarist, a drummer on a tiny drum, two clappers, a singer, and the dancer. The claps are so precise that it takes years of training on how to get the claps just right. The singer bounces his voice as if he is doing the 'call to prayer' for Muslims. It was beautiful. And the dancer, well, I have no idea how to describe how fast she moved or with what precision she kept with the drummer. We all watched with our mouths open. When I come home I am going to search for a restaurant with Flamenco dancing-there has to be one somewhere in St. Augustine. :)

Before we left we visited the Picasso Museum, the beach, the location of the former Olympics stadium, many more shops (I bought a pair of shoes handmade in Morocco). I know, I am a bit obsessed with all things Moroccan. I think that is why I liked Spain; it has a vast amount of Moorish influence.

A lot has happened in Florence since my last 'Florentine' post, so I will catch you all up next time. I am falling more and more in love with this city. My roommate, Katie, is always telling me that I have such a passionate love/hate relationship with Florence. haha. It's only because when something happens to me here it is either really good or really bad.....

CIAO!

'FREEDOM' is SCOTTISH Honor

Edinburgh, Scotland

We arrived just as the sun was setting for the day. The grey clouds parted to let the light filter upon the city, but the sun was setting fast. It was breathtaking. It was hard to distinguish what everything was and how the city was laid out. Darkness has that affect. But it made Edinburgh even more mysterious. We walked along the streets, dragging our suitcases behind. I don't ever remember seeing any photographs of the city beforehand, so I was in awe at the many layers of the city (it's built on hills, like Rome) and the many spires that stabbed the night sky. The cityscape was dramatic.

We only had two days to fit everything in. We started with the Edinburgh Castle, the birthplace of Mary, Queen of Scotts. It sits on a hill, overlooking the entire city. Inside, there are numerous museums dedicated to Scottish Military History. In one exhibit there was a letter that was sent from a sister to her brother who was fighting in the first World War. The label read that the letter was written the day after he had already died. Tara and I just stood there trying to fathom what that must have felt like (both of us being older sisters). I started tearing up. At another display from the 1400s the label read that one man was known for his fighting techniques. In one instance he bit out the jugular of his opponent. Ugh! That is brutal! Ironically, he died at 90 in bed. Everything about that castle and the rolling hills behind reminded me of Braveheart. None of my roommates have ever seen Braveheart; I told them that they didn't deserve to be in Scotland. heehee.

We ate breakfast at the Elephant Cafe, the birthplace of Harry Potter. They hadn't seen Braveheart, but they were die hard fans of J.K. Rowling. We walked the Royal Mile, went into St. Giles Cathedral, browsed a few shops, climbed up King Arthur's Seat to catch another magnificent view of the city. King Arthur's Seat is an extinct volcano at the other end of the royal mile-opposite of Edinburgh Castle. It was a steep climb and our fingers were frozen, even inside our gloves. But I had so much energy; I wanted to get to the top before it got dark. I've realized that it takes balance to travel properly. In all of the places we've gone to we make sure we go to a museum, eat in a local restaurant, shop at boutiques found only in that particular city, see historic landmarks, and do something physical. In most cases the physical part is hiking. But I don't mind; Florida doesn't really offer too rugged terrain to climb. And to me, Scotland is the quintessential country for all things nature related. If we were there longer I would have insisted on riding horseback over the hills around Scotland. (There I go daydreaming again)

We did have a fun encounter with a Scott. He was our tour guide for the ghost tour we took late one night. We were there on the eve of Halloween and it is known as one of the most haunted places on earth, so we couldn't help ourselves. Our imaginations ran wild. His name was Jeffery (that could have been his stage name because he was supposed to be a lad from the 17th century who came back to tell us how Edinburgh really was). The four of us were scared out of our wits. Tara more than any of us. And she was singled out as a witch because she was wearing the 'witches color', red! I was accused of being her cohort because I was clutching a red item, my purse. Throughout the tour, which was under the streets of the city in ancient passageways and unused streets, mind you, we erupted into screams before we giggled, embarrassed. I think our guide was having fun with us. Kristen and I had a minor crush going and we waited after the tour for nearly an hour to talk with him. She has a thing for actors; I have a think for Scottish accents. But, to our despair he never came out. We went back to our hostel and to bed after a very long day of walking.

Me, Kristen, our guide, Maddie, and Tara (the witch!)

A lookout from the Edinburgh Castle

William Wallace and I

Carlton Hill, overlooking King Arthur's Seat. Isn't it beautiful!?

Skydiving? I wish. Just jumping at dusk over the city of Edinburgh.

IRISH Eyes Are Smilin'

Castle Ruins at Wicklow, along the Irish Sea.

A local church in the town of Wicklow, 'the garden of Ireland'
John Locke in Trinity College Library

Christ Church Cathedral
The Dublin Marathon with 12,000 runners

Dublin, Ireland

My flight from London to Dublin was earlier than my three traveling roommates, so I left our quaint hotel near Notting Hill at 3:30am. I had called a taxi service the night before to pick me up at that hour in order to catch the airport shuttle at 4:10 and my flight at 6:30. As I stood in the early morning cold a taxi dropped a man off across the street and began to drive away. It was already 3:35am and my taxi had still not shown up, so I chased that taxi yelling as loud as I could with tired eyes and a groggy voice. Fortunately, I made all of my connections on time. But I still don't know if my 'real' taxi ever showed or not.

My friends were not due to arrive in Dublin until 6pm that night. So I had all day to wander the city on my own. It was a nice change after the hectic schedule we had made for ourselves in London. First, I dropped my luggage off at our hostel. Then I found a coffee shop and had a mocha and a muffin. The shop owners were originally from somewhere in the Middle East. I have found that the UK is full of people from all over the world, as opposed to Italy who tends to keep its nationality closed to foreigners.

After my breakfast I wandered the streets and looked at the Dublin Castle from afar (it wasn't that impressive) and the many pubs that lined the street. At Christ Church Cathedral I was allowed to go inside only because a service was about to start. It would be a half an hour before it began, so I sat down and listened to the Irish chior practice. It was beautiful. I thought about staying longer, but the bells ringing outside reminded me of the other parts of the city I had still not seen.

Dublin is a very windy city; all day the wind swirled around my head tangling my curls and drying out my contacts. A few times it rained--it was a mist, really. But the wind blew my umbrella inside out while I stood waiting in line to see the Book of Kells at Trinity College Library. The entire exhibit was layed out well. The first two rooms had panels describing the history of the book, the materials used, the monk scribes who made it, and other displays of similar books of that time. The Book of Kells consists of the four gospels written in Latin. It was written in a particular font and decorated with intricate drawings by the scribes who lived on the island of Iona (off the coast of Scotland) in memory of Saint Columba. Every day a page in the book is turned, therefore, visitors will experience different stories and pictures in the gospels. The day I was there John 7:44-8:7 and Luke 23:51-24:1 were displayed. After the Book of Kells, visitors could tour the old library. Inside the long corridor lined with books were busts of many great men over the centuries. John Locke was among them. I snuck a photo :) The library was amazing; it smelled of musky dust and leathery bindings.

Later in the day I browsed some shops and bought a few souvenirs. I ate lunch at Bewley's Oriental Cafe. It doesn't serve oriental food, rather, it has some good Irish food. I had a bowl of soup with bread and a Bulmer's Irish Cider. It warmed me right up. At lunch I began a conversation with three older Americans who were sitting near me. To my surprise, they were in Dublin for the marathon that would take place the following day. I thought of my dad in that moment and the summer we spent running and rowing (he ran, while I rowed). I suppose 'running a marathon' is making everyone's 'To Do Before I Die' list these days. This was their first International Marathon. I enjoyed talking with them, but it also made me miss home even more so.

After my late lunch I strolled through St. Stephen's Park. On my way out I asked an older gentleman to take my photo on the bridge. After a few tries, he finally got the hang of it. Then he told me that when he was a boy living in Dublin in the early 40s someone blew up the statue of King William of Orange on a horse in the middle of the park. As he walked away at his normal, but hurried pace, I saw Dublin through his eyes. What must it be like to have lived in one city his entire life? What changes in Dublin has he seen over the decades?

At dinner my friends and I met up. We ate Tapas at a Spanish restaurant, then went to an Irish pub for drinks and music, then to an Italian sweets shop for dessert. We ate around the world that night! The Irish pub was quite an experience. People crowded into the small room with music, clinging to their beers and singing along to the very Irish lyrics. It was so much fun. An Irish lad named Barry came over and talked to us for awhile. We thought he was pretty brave to come up to talk to four American girls who kind of made a semi-circle around themselves. But I suppose we had 'tourist' written all over us with our cameras out and our hesitant sips of the dense beers given to us. It was great fun. But I'm still not a fan of beer; it tastes nasty!

The next day we ventured out of the city and into the country. We had to see the Irish rolling hills. We took a bus from Dublin to a little town called Wicklow. It is also the place where the Wicklow Mountains National Park is and the filming location of the movie, P.S. I Love You. Yes, we are a tadbit obsessed with that love story :) The village is near the Irish Sea, so it was even more so windy than in Dublin. Actually, while we were climbing the edge of the cliffs along the ruins of an ancient castle, we had to be careful not to lose our balance. Otherwise the wind would lift us up and over and into the sea below. The contrast of the pale blue sky and the deep blue water with the wet green grass had all of us lost in thought. Ireland is truly breathtakingly beautiful. And its turbulent history makes it even more so interesting. We walked back into town along the river running from the sea. Fishing boats lined the canal and the stench of fish resided under the wind. It reminded me of the summer my family spent in New England. Wicklow had that 'New Englander feel' or perhaps it is New England that has an Irish feel? :)

Next stop, Edinburgh, Scotland (my personal favorite)