Swiss Getaway

My parents had some business at the University of Lausanne in Switzerland and I jumped at the chance to meet up with them for the weekend. It also worked quite well that I had an interview in Paris two days before (Paris? Mais Oui!), so I was able to get a cheap flight to Paris and take the train straight to Lausanne (there are no flights from here to Geneva). 

  

Meeting them at the large train station was surprisingly easy, as they were right outside the door with a fellow Swiss colleague of my step-father's that I hadn’t seen since I was thirteen years old! That was a great surprise and he escorted me up the steep (incredibly steep) hill to our hotel to drop off my bag and then he took us on a mini-tour of Lausanne.

Oggi al Mare!

Today the sun was shining and there wasn’t a hint of rain in the sky. There was only one thing to do—hit the beach! I text messaged my sister-in-law to get ready because today we were finally going to get some sun. Unfortunately, living in a port city means that there are no actual beaches to lay out on. But no worries, this is the Riviera and there are plenty of beaches to be had. 

La Polentata!

Before leaving for a trip back to the US, I was invited to join my cousin and his family and friends for la polentata, or polenta party. They live just outside of Rome and I was going to pass a few days with them before my flight out. I was very excited at the prospect of joining a real polenta party! I had never been to one before, and even though my in-laws questioned why I was going to Rome for a polenta party, I couldn’t wait! Italians are very particular about traditional dishes and some think that polenta just can't be made outside of Lombardia (the region that is known for polenta). But seriously, it’s cornmeal in a box…something that can be made anywhere—even as FAR AWAY as Rome.

Polar Bear Pride

Norwegians have a thing for Polar bears--especially northern Norwegians. I was recently going through some picture albums and came across a few pics I snapped of some of the MANY stuffed polar bears that are scattered all around the small city of Tromsø. (If you've never heard of Tromsø, check out my mini-video: Live From Tromsø, Norway!) Polar bears are not only a part of their history, but also part of their identity and pride.

Tromsø is known for many things, including the land of the midnight sun, having the northern-most university in Europe, called "the Paris of the north" (I completely disagree with that one), the most joked about by locals is being a city where polar bears roam the streets. While this was true a very long time ago, it has of course become old lore. It is still true for some of the northern-most islands of Norway, and I have actually met a few people from islands where polar bear sightings are common (and they're very proud of this). But the only polar bears you'll see in Tromsø are stuffed.

Norway Is Big Sky Country

Before coming to Norway, when I thought of the most beautiful sunsets I have seen, I would think of three or four that stuck in memory. But now, being amazed by breathtaking sunsets and generally amazing skies (even at night) is so common to me that I have lost count.

During a recent conversation with a Tromsø local, I was discussing how incredible it was to have such amazing sunsets as a normal, common occurrence. To my amazement, it was explained to me that these are not just common, but predictable by season. Apparently, during the late summer months, when the sunsets start happening again, they paint the sky with bright pinks and magenta. Fall brings warm, golden sunsets like fire and the winter brings pale pastel pinks as a soft backdrop to the bright white snow. And it is true! I have been in Norway from August to the end of November and I certainly have seen the sunsets change with the season. When I first arrived, the sun was not setting until around 3am--which was really more of a twilight than a full on sunset.

Chestnuts Everywhere!

As my last post showed, autumn brings with it some of my favorite foods. In Italy, October starts the season of one my fall favorites—le castagne (chestnuts). So, after another Sunday lunch, bellies full and nothing to do…my husband suggested we go up into the hills above La Spezia and pick some fresh chestnuts. Now, if you have learned from my earlier stories, nothing entices me more than the combination of food and adventure! Plus, I had never seen chestnut trees before--it was a very exciting proposition.

Amazing Norway!

Nothing makes traveling more fun than exploring the area and the adventures it brings. This day’s exploration was a drive south of Tromsø, on mainland Norway (Tromsø is an island).  The adventure was where we were going to find food. We didn’t pack anything to eat, assured that we would come across some small restaurant or local diner for some traditional Norwegian food. Not the brightest of ideas, but I digress...

Anyway, we left Krokelvdalen, where my parents are living and headed south. Oh, we also didn’t have a map, so that adds to the adventure quotient, right? After fifteen minutes along the coast, we take a turn up a small street to explore a neighborhood.  It turned out to be a dead end, but we see the first of many little springs that shoot out from the rocks along the road. Waterfalls were everywhere, from full on waterfalls cascading down from snow-topped peaks to little springs trickling all over the place.

Live from Tromsø, Norway!

Fun project! Make a 2-3 minute travel show. Well, I just happened to be visiting a small island in northern Norway, so why not? One day, no script, only my Canon digital camera, a 4gb memory card and my Mac. So what do you think? Do I have what it takes to be the host of a travel show?

Mount'Erice

Can somebody say romantic? Towering above Trapani, Erice is this remote, medieval mountaintop village that overlooks most of western Sicily. 

With a new Tram to take you from the base of the mountain to the top of this steep, touristic village, it is easier than ever to visit. The tram runs all day, with the last tram around 2am after the pizzerias close.

***Traveler Beware*** Being an in-tact medieval village, all the streets are steep and made with small, slippery stones. Don't make the mistake I did--wear flat shoes, preferably with rubber soles--or you'll spend the whole time barefoot.


Wild Capers!

  

My husband and I went out for a passeggiata after lunch today. In Italy, the passeggiata, or evening stroll, is an integral part of life. If you live in the city, you do it downtown and look at the shops; if you live by the sea, you do it along the lungomare, which is a promenade that stretches along the coast. After getting a gelato and enjoying the sun reflecting off the water, we went back to the car to take a drive. We live in a small city that is pretty much surrounded by agricultural countryside, so taking a drive is more of an adventure into nature than a ride through town.

Going on a Pilgrimage

Every year, during the last week of May, the small Sicilian town of Petrosino is a buzz with pilgrims. Yes, pilgrims. There is something about the word "pilgrimage" that conjures up ideas of walking for hours, enduring some kind of pain or discomfort and waiting in line with the sick and ailing. But this Pelligrinaggio di Santo Padre had none of it. In fact, everyone seemed to be pretty comfortable--what with the huge parking lot in-front of the entrance, the numerous food carts selling snack food and the abundance of plump, well-fed Sicilians crowding the shaded benches. 

 
Like most things in Italy, this has become more of a thing to do in company than an actual act of spiritual sacrifice. But there was a full mass in the adjoining church and lots of singing of hymns and plenty of spiritual pride. Pride, of course, is never lacking in Sicily. 

So the story goes that the miners of tufo (the porous stone that most of Sicily is built with, soft to cut out of the ground, but hardens to stone as it dries in the sun.) were working in a cave when one of them came across a piece of tufo naturally shaped like a man. They were so moved and impressed by this discovery that they brought the statue to the church to be displayed. The next day, however, they returned to the mine to discover the very same statue exactly where they found it. Again, they brought it to the church, but alas, the same thing repeated again the next day. It had to be a miracle! What other explanation could there possibly be? 

Although I did not find the story terribly interesting, I was curious to see this naturally man-shaped statue that was so revered. So off I went on my very first pilgrimage! "Goin' on a pilgramage...gonna catch a big one..." Oh wait--wrong song!

We arrived by car, a fairly new means of arriving, as the tradition is to go on foot. So the 35 minute car ride was spent telling me all about how the whole town used to walk together in a three hour procession down the road. This seems like a crazy idea to me considering how fast the cars go down this barely two-lane highway, but Italians are crazy when it comes to the road. "Unfortunately", it was explained to me, people are no longer allowed to do the pilgrimage by foot because too many people had been injured by cars. Wow, I didn't see that coming! But just as well, because I really wasn't up for a three hour hike in the blazing Sicilian heat.
  

The entrance was very nice, a lovely respite in the middle of a dry town. It was packed with people dressed in their Sunday best--thankfully no line of self-flagellating devotees. We headed through the wooded courtyard to the sanctuary, where the miraculous statue is kept.

 
I was so curious to see this naturally shaped stone that spawned such devotion. And curious as to how it would it be displayed. I have seen many different religious relics and altars and strange displays in my travels. I have been to a church in Austria that claims to have a vial of Jesus' blood, a church in Germany that claims to have a splinter from THE cross, a church in France that displays a jeweled robe of Mary (which is displayed on a pint-sized doll--I don't think she was that small) and all these places have enormous churches built around these small relics, all because they brought the oldest form of tourist--pilgrims. And the more tourism, the more cash flow. So what kind of naturally man-shaped stone could compete with these biblical relics?

We headed into the sanctuary...
 

 
It took a minute for my eyes to adjust, but was that paint I saw on the 'natural' statue? There was a glare from the door that obscured his face. And...wait a minute...there is something glowing... I slowly shuffle along with the line of people, watching the women kiss their hand and place it on the plexiglass covering the statue. Yeah, there was something glowing alright--a neon blue halo. I am confused--I think maybe this is not the statue--that maybe it is a pre-statue, because this shiny, shellacked statue could not be the real deal. This thing is carved and painted and sitting with a freaking neon blue halo. In a state of suspended belief, I continued around the bend expecting to see the real statue. But there was nothing else. I asked my mother-in-law if this was it and she affirmed that I just walked by the statue. Really? REALLY?? I swung back around for another look, hoping to feel awed and amazed.

And well, I did. I felt awed and amazed that this whole story of a naturally man-shaped statue was found looking like this. Awed and amazed that all these people believed this BS story and awed and amazed that people used to risk their lives to walk three hours to see such a kitsch display. Am I just too cynical or realistic for this kind of thing? No, I have a lot of respect for traditions and history and I have studied and seen things that are much more of a stretch to believe. But I'm sorry, this is just ridiculous. They totally lost me with the neon halo.

But my true lesson was yet to come. Shortly after exiting the 'sanctuary', we ran into a bunch of relatives. After several minutes of hellos and cheek kissing, they were all anxious to hear what the American thought of their pilgrimage. Still in a completely appalled state of mind, I momentarily forgot that I was with Sicilians. And no matter what they say about something, even if they seemed to agree with me that the statue was silly, Sicilians are geloso--they have fierce pride for anything that is theirs. So when asked what I thought, I told them that I was really disappointed that it wasn't really a natural statue and found it over the top to have a neon halo.

Oops, I just insulted the family. The funny thing I have learned about Sicilians is that when they ask you if you like their town, or their food, or their stuff, or their idea...they don't want to hear whether you really like it or not--they just want to hear that you do. It doesn't matter if they complain 24/7 about the same thing, you need to like it. So the moral of my pilgrimage story is: if you ever find yourself asked whether you like something in Sicily, just say: "yes, it's great!" and all will be right with the world.

Until next time...

A River Runs Through Me

This comes from a collection of writings I did while at University in Wisconsin.
These are "Tales From the Tundra, circa 2000:

During my last semester of college, I needed to fill two missing PE credits. So I registered for a weekend fly-fishing course that took place out in the woods of central Wisconsin, and in the Wisconsin River.

  

I was excited! Fly-fishing had appealed to me for several years. I have always known it to be one of those pastimes that requires a significant amount of devotion in both time and energy to be good.

Growing up, I went fishing with my father fairly often (by a city-girl’s standards), but always with the classic fishing pole.

Okay, so I have to admit, most of my knowledge and romance with fly-fishing came from watching Brad Pitt in “A River Runs Through It”. I still remember those scenes because they were so gorgeous--the scenery, I mean. Anyway, just the idea of being out in the middle of a river so stunningly beautiful, alone with only yourself and your thoughts is very romantic. But those majestic images of a serene river at the base of the gigantic Montana mountains were quite different than the experience I was about to have.

On the first evening, we had classroom time were we learned the mechanics of the rod and tying the different knots. I enjoyed the discussion about fly-fishing: the history of it, the tradition of it and how it can become a way of life for some people. I also learned how much scientific information fly-fishermen have in their head. These guys learn all the different larvae, invertebrates and other bugs and memorize them not only by size, shape and classification, but also by the hatching season. It blew me away. The fact that they know what time of year each insect is out, and which fish prefer which type is very impressive. I’m sure all that information makes catching fish more successful. Personally, I think it's a bit extreme, and so much technical information takes away from the visceral experience.

Yeah, well, actually standing in the middle of a frigid river with swamper overalls up to my chest wasn't really the visceral experience I was expecting.

Unfortunately, it was early March, the water had just thawed and it was raining. Did I mention I don't handle cold very well? It was utterly miserable. I really wish we had nice weather that weekend, as I might actually have enjoyed myself.

I did love being out in nature and learning the proper techniques like keeping my wrist straight and “watching my back cast”. But by Sunday, I was so cold and wet and my silly plastic pancho was not keeping me dry.  I had finally had enough of being a good sport. It is hard to stay positive when after several hours, the only thing I caught was a head cold. But that's just as well, because I'm not interested in tricking fish into biting a sharp, metal hook only to rip it out their mouth and throw them back in. I'm sorry--I don't care how much we were told it's the humane way to fish--I don't agree. Therefore, I was not really wanting to catch anything, anyway.

All suffering aside, I do have to admit, there was one brief moment when I experienced that thing--that moment of complete Zen. There was a point when the wind died down, I was watching the movement of the water and hearing it ripple around the rocks...as I cast my line, it made that little thwip sound and it flew out so smoothly and glided down, as if in slow motion, right to the spot I was aiming for. It was as if in that very moment everyone else disappeared and I felt so present and focused on what I was doing. It was fantastic--that serene moment I had romanticized for so long (minus Brad Pitt, of course). But, shortly after it started, my serene moment was rudely interrupted by the chattering of my teeth and pieces of my wet hair slapping me in the face. So much for my moment of zen.
  

Overall, I did have a great experience. Fly-fishing didn't sweep me off my feet, but I can understand the attraction. I know that I would love it for the peace and tranquility of being enveloped by nature, hearing nothing but the sound of the water rushing past me and the birds singing in the trees...

But for that matter, I could just randomly stand in the middle of a river without the fishing pole.

Do you have any fly-fishing stories?

Italian Immigration

Even though I arrived in Italy with a Family Schengen visa, I needed to present myself to the Questura or immigration office, within 8 days of my arrival. My husband and I head over to the police station and get buzzed in by a guy sitting behind thick, bulletproof glass where he watches the surveillance monitor of the front door (and the variety show on the TV behind him). He tells us to check in with the man with the beard, but there is no one else around. The waiting room has several, dilapidated green chairs, covered with stains and small tears. The walls are decorated with faded 1970’s pictures of all the different offices of the Polizia (there are many, just to complicate things and make more bureaucracy. We walk past the Tunisian family waiting their turn and try to figure out which office we’re supposed to go to. There are multiple doors, all of which are closed with the windows literally blacked out--so no one can see them not working, as my husband says. Our attention gets pulled to the entrance door by the sound of the buzzer. An officer enters the building and Leo stops him with a quick description of my needing to present myself within 8 days of arriving and asks which office we are supposed to go to. With an air of “don’t worry, I’ll take care of you” the stylishly appointed officer take us to the room at the end of the hall, opens the door and starts telling the two officers inside that we are there because my permission has expired and--“No, no, no! Nothing has expired!” Leo interjects. One of the officers responds that if my permission has expired, then we need to wait our turn and they will help us. Leo already knows how this will go...

As we wait, we watch the people coming in and out of the station; more stylishly appointed officers, plain clothed people and several girlfriends and wives. Yet no one seems to have anything to do, as they all stand around chatting, disappearing only when one of them offers the other a caffe’. The only one who seems to be doing anything of importance is the guy who has to buzz the door open every time someone wants in. The funny part is that no one seems to know exactly how the door works, even if they work there! For each person that came in, its the same exercise: Try the door, which doesn’t open; look inside the glass to see the guy that buzzes them in--and not because they don’t know that the bell is right next to them, or that the guy can see them on the monitor, but because if they make eye contact, then the guy can see that it’s them, in which case he’ll give them special treatment by buzzing them in because they know each other--not because buzzing people in is this guy’s only job. So, if he doesn’t buzz the door instantly, then the person reaches for the bell, just as you hear Buzz, buzz, buzz of the door. But in that moment, the person standing there has moved over to the door bell on the side and doesn’t open the door in time, and when they try to open it, the door stays locked. So again, they peer inside at the guy, who then buzzes the door again, and the person outside finally gets the door open. Miracles never cease.

Out of the stairway comes the man with one of the biggest beards I’ve ever seen. Ah, that must be the guy we were told to talk to. From behind his glass covered desk, he informs us that we do, in fact have to wait for the office we were shown before. So we take our seat, as it’s clear we’ll be there for a while. After about an hour, three people enter, looking very much like locals and speaking the local dialect as well as anyone else here and saying hi to everyone in the station as if they were friends. But then they take a seat in the waiting room with us and start speaking in arabic. Leo looks over at one of the women with a puzzled look, as if he’s trying to place her face from somewhere. A few minutes pass, and an officer passing through stops to say hi to the guy, they shake hands and chat a few minutes. Then the officer goes into the office we’re waiting for and motions for the guy to come in. The women follows as well, all smiles and within ten minutes, they come back out, thanking everyone and leaving with big smiles. Yeah, this is the place to know people, because it will ALWAYS get you a pass to the front of the line. Just as I’m sitting there thinking how much ass kissing that guy must do around here, Leo finally realizes where he had seen that woman. He remembers her from his childhood when she lived in the square by his house, and next door to his cousin. The gossip was that she was a prostitute that serviced most of the police station! He said there was always a police car parked out front of her place. She looked much different back then, but she’s still the same, tall blond. And here I thought it was ass kissing that got all that special treatment!

Another 30 minutes pass and finally we get called into the office. Leo sits down in front of the officer behind the desk and I sit in the chair next to him, which just happens to be directly behind the large, flat panel monitor of the officer’s computer. Leo hands him my passport, open to the page with my visa and explains that the Italian consulate in Los Angeles instructed us to check-in with this office within eight days of my arrival to process my permanent residency. The officer looks down at my passport with a confused look on face.

“So, her passport is expired?”

I can see that Leo is about to scream--but he takes a deep breath and repeats what we came to do. The officer then asks for all the documents, which we don’t have because we were told just to bring in my visa. Leo explains that all the documents have already been filed, my case is already underway and all I need to do is register my local address. The officer insists that he can’t do anything until he has all the documents. This is the best part--the officer rips a skinny piece of scratch paper off of the stack of printer paper and hands it to Leo, asking if he wants to write the list of needed documents or if he wants him (the officer) to write it himself. Wide-eyed and stupefied, Leo informs the officer that it’s his job, he’s welcome to write it himself. The officer complains that we probably won't be able to read his writing (Leo wonders if the officer is literate--you never know), but he’ll go ahead and do it anyway. He then proceeds to slowly chicken scratch a list of every document we would need to bring. As he’s talking through this list, I’m trying to be part of the conversation by leaning all the way to the side to see around the computer monitor. The computer monitor. The big, flat monitor that goes with the big, fast computer sitting on his desk. The one he’s not using--or maybe doesn’t know how to use. So, after he finishes scribbling the long list, he says:

“I think that’s all you’ll need”...

As if he has never had to process a new foreign permanent resident--at the immigration office. I'm sure there are multiple files in that big computer of his with a nicely typed list of what is needed. Unfortunately, he doesn't know that. Leo regrettably looks over the list, knowing that something will of course be missing because you can never do anything in one attempt here.

“Do we need any photos?”

“AH! The photos, I forgot to write that down; you need six”.

SIX?? Gee, that seems like an important thing to ad. He grabs the scrap of paper back and adds the final bit of information. He then picks up my passport, scrutinizes my visa again, as if he’s never seen such a visa before (or maybe he was just trying to read) and throws it back across the desk. With that, we get up to leave quickly before Leo breaks out in a rage over how backwards his country is.

Buzz, buzz, buzz goes the door as the person outside is reaching for the bell. We open the door to leave before the poor guy behind the glass has to buzz the person in again. The moment we step outside, Leo starts his rant about how it could be possible that the office of immigration doesn’t have a pre-made list of the necessary documents needed for applying for permanent residency, and how could he never have seen a family visa before and why the hell we left that office with a hand scribbled piece of scratch paper that most definitely is missing some key information that we’ll need to bring.

But as angry as he is, I find the whole thing quite amusing. Because I knew what I was getting into--of course, everything I expected is bit more exaggerated here in Sicily--but I knew that nothing would get done easily and there would be lots of waiting wherever we go and there would always be someone cutting ahead of us because they know someone...
But for me, it’s all worth it, because I get to live in Italy.

Weekend in the French Alps

While studying abroad in France, I wrote of our weekend trip to Serre Chevalier:

We have to leave Aix at 5:20 am and take a bus to Serre Chevaliere, which is 4 hours away. Serre Chevalier is a unique resort in the heart of the Alps. Sixteen villages, all different, make up one of the largest resorts in Europe. We are going to Serre Chevalier 1400 which is made up of La Salle, Moulin Baron, La Chirouze, Les Pananches, le Bez , Villeneuve (we will be staying in Villeneuve). Serre Chevalier is at the foot of the Ecrins National Park with heights of over 4000 m (12 000'). I’ll probably go snowboarding on Sunday because Jenny and I want to take a horse-drawn sleigh ride through the mountains. Apparently, it takes us through the most beautiful parts of the Alps!

....................................

On Saturday morning my alarm went off at 4:06 am and I was up and ready to go right away. That was the first surprising part of this trip. I was so wide-awake! My roommate, Cassie, on the other hand, is NOT a morning person. I was trying to contain myself around her because the night before she was saying that if anyone was chipper, she’d shoot them. But it was so exciting for me--I actually had energy! I think you all know that that rarely happens to me. I decided that I need to wake up at 4 am more often!!! Well, maybe not, but the thought did cross my mind.

Anyway, we walked to the bus station in the dark for a four-hour ride. When we arrived we dropped our bags off at out hostel and walked down to the ski rental place. After we all got fitted for our boards and skis, Jenny, Meryl, Kristy, Krista and I walked into town for lunch. We sat at a café right across from a snowboarding tournament. There was a huge tent for the NOKIA Snowboarding Tour. It was a big deal--and there were a lot of adorable snowboarders--it was nice. Oh--did I mention it was like 70 degrees? Yeah, we were soaking up the rays over huge, yummy salads. Sorry--on with the story.

After lunch, we walked back up to our slope and hopped onto the bright yellow ski lift. We couldn't believe how high up we were getting! Then there were jagged rocky cliffs beneath us. Of course, what question is always asked at times like this? That’s right-- "If we fell, we would die, right?" The answer was a definite yes. I think I still have some marks in my arms from my friend Jenny frantically clutching onto me when our cart would go through the guide wheels and make everything shake.

So after our ten-minute trek into the upper atmosphere, we step out into the most beautiful scene--bright white slopes and a hot, intense sun. And just like an oasis in a hot desert, we see a packed café and creperie with hundreds of tables in the sun. Jenny and I made a beeline to it and grabbed a table. Our view was amazing. The sky was bright blue, the slopes pure white, and every color you could possibly image walking around. Europeans wear some really colorful ski outfits! It’s pretty funny. A sign out front said we were 2100 meters up. The hot chocolate was amazing. Jenny and I spent the remainder of the day in this spot, sunning ourselves like lizards to stay warm. It was great.

We caught the last ride down the mountain and we were over the shock of the first ride, so the second time was really cool. It was beautiful and we could barely see the village where we were staying. It was unbelievable. We all had dinner at our hostel and then figured out our rooming situation--8 to 10 people per room. I got a top bunk! Our room was great because we had our own shower, but the heater wasn’t working. That room was sooo cold! You can’t loose heat at night in the Alps! So this typical French guy (black and white striped shirt and all) came to fix it and also brought us a space heater. Thankfully because we could have died during night without it!

Sunday was very similar to Saturday--except this time Jenny and I were all ready for a day sunbathing. We got to the café by 11:00 so we had some prime ray time. I was planning on getting a little snowboarding in that morning, because after all, I had been carrying around the damn board everywhere. I finally pried myself from our table and got my board. It was really slippery and when I lifted my right foot to click in, I fell over. I looked over at Jenny sitting in the sun with her cocoa, and then I looked at the long line of bundled up people in line for the lift--can you guess what I decided to do? I was back at that table so fast! We ate a little lunch after we were joined by some of our group, and I ordered a lemon crepe.

  

At 1:00 we had to leave to take our sleigh ride! Jenny and I were so excited. On our way down the mountain we were saying how well the weekend was going. Everything was great, the weather was beautiful and we got tan! Then, our gondola started to slowdown, and then it came to a complete stop! Might I mention that we just crested the steepest point of the ride? The part with all the jagged cliffs below--yeah, that was fun. I was fine, I just kept telling myself that it was a normal thing and we’d get going in a few seconds. But after a few minutes of dangling several thousand feet in the air, and Jenny absolutely freaking out (she is a little high strung) , I started to get a little scared. We were stuck for about five minutes, but then we started moving and getting on the ground never felt so good.

  

We met up for our "Romantic Sleigh ride" at 2:00, but it turned out that it wasn’t really a sleigh--it was more of a ghetto cart. The driver was about 70 and there were these little girls bouncing all over the place. I looked at this tiny cart with ripped seats and I thought: "You have got to be kidding me." Then I thought that maybe that took us to the sleigh because after all, we were in the middle of a parking lot. But no, that was our "sleigh" and it was a tight squeeze for the five of us. I made sure I sat on the outside so I could get some good pictures. Then the little girls decided that they were going to come too! So they squished themselves up against Jenny and I. So much for taking pictures! We took off on our adventure through the city streets. Yes, the city streets--where the cars drive. Keep in mind that a horse and buggy only goes about 5 miles an hour, and there was no getting around us. There were angry people--and they were honking. Jenny and I were really pissed that we got scammed into this "romantic sleigh ride through the woods". She kept saying that we should just get off and go back to the café. But there was no way I was going to turn back--we were on that thing and we were going to see some beautiful scenery!!!

Fortunately, the little girls were only getting a ride home, so they didn’t stay long. The ride got a lot better after we had room to breath. But we were still going through town with our ugly, old horses with pink bows and bells. And then, everything started to look really familiar-"Oh God! it’s the Nokia tour!" Jenny and I were trying to hide. All these adorable guys started laughing and pointing at us-it was so embarrassing! But then we got over it and the next group of guys that were laughing at us, we started laughing too, and we motioned for them to catch up and hop on! That way they would look more stupid than us because they were trying to run after us in ski boots! It was really hilarious. Just when we were getting used to trotting through town, he takes us on the highway! Yes folks, that’s right--the highway. Luckily there wasn’t anyone coming at that point, so we didn’t realize we were on the freeway. But I did recognize the road from our bus ride. Just as I asked Jenny: "are we on the freeway?" a car came up behind us and had to slam on their brakes to keep from killing us! That answered my question. If we were embarrassed before, we now had a line of cars behind us and they weren’t happy. Yeah, there was more honking. When they would get a chance to pass us, they would rev their engine and gas it around us. Jenny and I were waving to people and apologizing for causing a hold up. Car after car zoomed by and we were still there, trotting along the side of the highway.

  

Wouldn’t you know, a huge Land Rover comes up behind us and the driver looks really familiar--it was the guy who fixed our heater! Great! We were turning the other way so he wouldn’t recognize us--embarrassing. Finally we got to a little village and had some scenic views. But we knew that the inevitable was coming--we had to go back the way we came. We had to merge back into traffic and the driver started yelling at the horses "Allez, allez!" (Go!,Go!). Like a scene out of Clueless when Dion accidentally gets on the 405 and everyone freaks out because they almost die--that was us. A big tour bus was just going too fast, and our driver quickly changed to "Arretez! Arretez!" (Stop! Stop!). We had to wait until the next break. People drive really fast in this country, and on we go with a horse and buggy! That was a little scarier than dangling in the gondola for 5 minutes. So, we were repeating the same thing when, low and behold, a Land Rover pulls up behind us, and it’s the same heater guy! Go figure.

When our ride was over, Jenny and I couldn’t stop laughing. The whole trip was so hilarious! It was worth it just for our laughter. We didn’t get our "romantic sleigh ride through the most beautiful parts of the Alps," but we still had a good time. On our way back to the Hostel I stopped for some home made candy and a dark chocolate crepe. It was yummy. Then we left to go back to Aix at 5:00. We got stuck in traffic, so our bus ride was more like six hours. But we played the card came Uno, and we even taught two French guys how to play. That was pretty funny. It was a good weekend.

My First Experience with Italian Hospitality

This is an old story I sent out while studying abroad in France. And it's the first glimpse into my morph from a Francophile to an Italiana...

Last week, I had a week long break from school. My friends Jenny, Jason, Leslie and I planned to go to Italy. Jenny's friend, Kara, is studying in Florence, so we could stay at her place for free. We were very excited.

Anyway, we left for Nice on Friday night because we had an early morning flight to Florence on Saturday.  A classmate of Jenny’s recommended a hotel in Nice to stay in, as it was pretty good, cheap and in a great location. We thought, "Cool, this is working out great!" So we get to this "great" hotel and it’s a little disheartening. We still had pretty high hopes as we entered the small lobby, but things were about to change. We asked to see the room before we committed to it, of course, but that didn’t really change anything. As we walked up the rickety stairs to the first floor, we were immediately transported into a B movie with a bad script. Picture the grossest sleazy motel on Sunset Blvd., where they have hourly rates for the prostitutes. Now you have an idea of our hotel. The floor of the landing/ hallway was so repugnant; I don’t think I could quite describe it. What was left of the carpet was so stained it looked like those old big brown seventies patterns--but it wasn’t--they were stains. There was a heavily dilapidated couch that you couldn’t pay me to sit on. I can’t even imagine the things that have taken place on that thing.

By this time, the "eeuuws" and the "Oh My Gods" were free flowing, and a number of other expletives about the conditions that I won’t mention. So, we find our room, and we all look at each other with desperate faces before opening the door in front of us, as if a surging cesspool of rot and dank lie just beyond the door. But, when we opened it, it wasn’t as bad as we were assuming it to be.  There were two queen-sized beds, the wallpaper was peeling off the walls, and the carpet was almost black. I had a sudden urge to check the room for used needles, crack pipes, and dead hookers. But none to be found--fortunately. We checked the bathroom after comments of "there’s no way I’m showering in this place", but none of us could shower because there wasn’t one! Now, you’re probably wondering whether or not we stayed in the place, right? Well, my opinion was that it was only for one night, we had really heavy bags, and the only important things were a) a clean toilet, b) a lock on the door and c) clean sheets. If the sheets appeared in the least bit to be unwashed, we were out of there. I checked the sheets and they were crisp, clean and white. Therefore, I was willing to stay for one night. We took a vote, and decided to stay.

Anyway, on with the trip to Italy…when we got on our plane, we were almost the only people there, so the flight attendant chilled with us for the whole flight, telling us everything we were flying over, giving us magazines, extra croissants, and so on. I felt like a pig after that flight because I had breakfast at the airport just before out flight, I had a plain croissant with tea in the beginning of the flight, and then, I of course couldn’t refuse the chocolate croissant that he offered me later on. But it was really good, so I didn’t feel that bad. Before we landed, he slipped Leslie a bag filled with goodies like mixed nuts, chocolate covered almonds (that’s a Provencal specialty here--they look like olives because of it’s green candy shell, but the taste amazing), and a bottle of Irish whiskey for all of us. Nice guy.

Florence was great; we had a lot of fun. Jenny and I couldn’t get over how great the shopping was. But I think the best part was how warm and friendly everyone was. And I also loved hearing the language. French is a beautiful language, but Italian sounds so fun and lively and enjoyable! Every restaurant we went to we got pictures with the waiters, and it was such a great time.  We stayed in Florence from Saturday to Tuesday. On Sunday and Tuesday nights, we made dinner at Kara’s place. The first night we went to the market, and made bruschetta and linguine with fresh garlic, olive oil and tomatoes, finished off with some Italian red wine. On Tuesday night, Kara made eggplant parmiggiano, pasta, bruschetta and I made sautéed zucchini with garlic and tomatoes. It was so delicious and easy. Yummy.

On Wednesday, we took a train to Rome, where we were visited by about 20 Italian soldiers in our car. We were kind of annoyed because we were all really tired and they wouldn’t leave. But it was pretty funny because none of them spoke any English. There is a picture of Jenny sitting with the four main guys that were talking to us. Leslie has a friend in Rome who picked us up from the train station and arranged everything for us with our hotel. We had a slight problem with our arrival in Rome because the workers at the Termini station were on strike. So we had to get off at a different stop. Poor Alessandro had to drive back and forth between the two stations about four times because he kept being told different things, plus the fact that our train was about 2 hours late. But everything worked out, and he took us right to our hotel. Alessandro is currently working in one of the best hotels in Rome and is training to become a sommalier. We had a most unbelievable experience in Rome thanks to him because we didn’t have to worry about anything and we were taken to fabulous restaurants for dinner. Plus the added excitement of seeing Rome in a car! Roman drivers are officially insane. We almost died about….um...well I lost count. But we had a great time. By day, sightseeing and touristy stuff (and shopping as Jenny and I discovered its even cheaper in Rome) and by night, fabulous restaurants with great company.

Friday afternoon we took the train back to Florence and had our last dinner out at our favorite restaurant. We had to say goodbye to Alfredo! We had a great time and they told us that the next time we come to Florence, they would be in a different restaurant, they gave us directions and told us to go there instead.  They were sweeties, and the food was great. Saturday morning we left Florence (regrettably) to return to France. Aahh, Italy--I miss it so much already.