Ciao Ciao Italia! Mi mancherai :)

It is 4:47am and I am lying in my bed back home in Washington. I have been trying to fall back asleep for the last hour or so...I thought that jetlag would make me want to sleep all the time, but I've hardly slept since I left Italy. I woke up at 6am Monday morning, got ready and headed to the airport in Rome with Diego. My first plane ride was 10 hours (in which time I watched 4 1/2 movies) and second was 6 hours. My total travel time with layovers, car rides, and whatnot was 26 hours. I slept 2 of them. While I wish I could sleep more than the 3 hours I slept tonight, I figure, since I'm up that I might as well get caught up on the blog. 

My last week in Italy was wonderful—not because it was a crazy week of traveling or anything, but more so because it was normal. And I guess normal is a relative term, one that should probably never be used to describe Italy...so I suppose relaxed is a better descriptor. I got to spend time relaxing with friends and enjoying the place I've called home for the last three months. It's wonderful to get to the point where you really do start thinking of the place you live as home, but it does make it that much harder to leave...I think back to my first day in Rome; I arrived on my birthday and was amazed by the city, beyond excited to eat gelato, and completely unsure of what the next three months of my life would hold. I'd gone to Italy alone, had no friends, and accidently ordered my first pizza by saying, 'Posso andare quello pizza?' which means 'Can I go to that pizza?" I couldn't figure out the train/metro/bus system or how to get the sink to turn on so I could wash my hands in public restrooms (you press a lever with your foot, tricky little buggar). Italians knew I was American from a mile away and I blushed half the time when someone would kiss me on the cheeks for a greeting. I can't say I don't still make my fair share of mistakes when I speak Italian (like when I was telling a story, and accidently started talking about saliva...oh mamma mia), but after three months, so much has changed. I am still amazed by the city and I am always excited to eat gelato, but now I know my way around—I know the best places to get gelato (right near the Spanish steps), I can order pizza correctly and carry on a conversation with just about anyone. I know the metro system like the back of my hand and can talk a street vendor down to a cheap price like no one's business. People don't initially assume I'm American, and I am proud to say that, of all the people on my plane ride home, I looked least American (In typical Italian fashion, I was dressed up and in heels; I wasn't thinking about the fact that I would be flying back to the States with a bunch of Americans wearing running shorts and flip flops...). Most importantly though, I made friends in Italy—great friends who have impacted me more than they will ever know know and whom I truly love (Te voglio bene!).

That week I finished up my interviews for my research—it seems so strange to be done. I remember when I first got to Italy and started talking with people and researching premarital relationships and courting. I constantly told myself, 'Nothing is better or worse [in Italy or the States] just different.' But I didn't believe it, not really—everything was a comparison in my mind. Now, I often find myself thinking more like an Italian; I feel like I not only love the culture, but I understand it. My mind has really been opened and I'm excited to see how my cultures will merge being back in the States.

I spent two of my last days just enjoying Rome; I love how I've been there for such a long time and how it hasn't lost one ounce of its magic. I've been to the Colosseum a dozen times, but its massiveness never seems any less impressive. I felt like I could take the time actually enjoy the city, not being like a tourist in a rush to get pictures of all the amazing monuments. I actually didn't really take pictures. I just went to my favorite places and enjoyed being in the moment. I ate my favorite gelato (coco, biscotta, & panna cotta from Marriotti) on the Spanish Steps and watched people experience Rome for the first time. I said goodbye to Piazza Venezia (where the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier is) and made my last wish (for now) in the Trevi Fountain (Don't fret, it was a good one!).

Colosseum. Rome, Italy

Inside the Colosseum with Malia!

The Spanish Steps; Aka: the best place to enjoy gelato :)

My Favorite Gelataria in Rome

I got to enjoy some delicious Italian pizza and spend a night on the La Dispole beach with friends—the things I will miss the most about Rome, and Italy in general. Yes, the monuments are amazing and seeing the world is a wonderful thing, but what's the point of doing wonderful things if you don't have anyone to share it with? I absolutely hated saying goodbye to everyone. I had this random urge to just run out without having to deal with any of it, but fought that urge and the building lump in my throat, and was able to get stocked up on kisses (cheek kisses:) before heading to the States. I was glad that I'd written everyone notes because it was almost too hard to say what I wanted to say to them out-loud. It's funny—I feel like a couple days before I left I was dreading it, but then I felt ready...it wasn't until Sunday that the sad feeling hit me. It's strange to leave a place and people and not know when you will ever see them again... I feel like I already miss the little things the most. I miss eating dinner with my host family, Mara and Diego (host mom and brother). I miss Diego judging every recipe I made with a number value from 1 to 10 (and never giving me higher than an 8.5!). I miss going to institute, I miss making last minute decisions and hopping on a train to the city of my choice, I miss not understanding all of the Italian humor, and not having anyone understand that there is a state, and not just a city, named Washington. And obviously, I miss the people the most. I feel so blessed to have had the opportunity to spend three months of my life racking up such wonderful memories and having such a life changing experience. I feel like I will tell stories about this summer until the day I die. Words fail to adequately describe the amazing experiences I have had living in Italy. I left a piece of my heart there and I truly believe that going there—uncertainties and all—was one of the best decisions I have ever made, and one that has already changed my life for the better. Mi mancherai!

And some random pictures :)

Bracciano Castle and Square

I will miss everyone hanging their laundry

Psychology Department at the University in Rome

Who needs frozen yogurt, when you can get laundry detergent the same way?

Italian Train Station at Night = SKETCHY

England was amazing and went pretty smoothly! The voyage home, on the other hand, came with a few extra hiccups. Tom had class in the morning, so I headed to the train station to catch a train to the airport pretty early—I walked there with a nice English bloke I met on the way and ran into an old woman, who looked at me—utterly confused—and asked if I was going to the beach. I think I forgot to mention in the last post that I actually thought I was going to Spain that weekend and had packed accordingly. Hence, my skirts and sandals didn’t quite fit the rainy England dress code. I got to the airport in PLENTY of time, and caught up on some homework. I tried to text Gaia to coordinate, but my phone didn’t have service in England and the internet wasn’t working. Ay ay ay.

The train left at 4:50, took about 2 hours and 10 minutes, and arrived—with the time change—in Bari, Italy at 8pm.  Emma, who is my constant wing man—whether we’re together or if it’s over phone—was looking up train times for me. I caught a shuttle to the nearest bus/train station (which wasn’t all that close), and got there only to find that the next train wasn’t leaving until 11pm, which would put me in Taranto (where Gaia lives) at 1am. I thought, “It could be worse.” Then it got worse (what you think about you bring about?) when I called Gaia and found out that she couldn’t pick me up until the next morning.  I tried to weigh my options, but one way or the other it looked like I would be spending the night at a train station—which, by the way, are pretty sketchy places in Italy, especially southern Italy. I found a longer bus ride from Bari to Taranto from 12:40-2:20 and then saw that there were more in the morning—bright and early. I sat inside, near some construction workers and figured it might be a better option to stay in Bari because there were at least some workers there. At train stations, there are usually men, fairly low down on the mafia totem pole, who help people purchase tickets and  get on the right train or bus. It seems like a nice gesture, except they expect you to pay them for their “service.” One such man came to help me, which I didn’t completely mind, except for the fact that I was already was low on Euros. And he was less creepy than the forty-something year old man who had previously invited me to come stay with him at his house for the week…

The helpful mafia guy ended up being quite pushy, and another guy who had been standing nearby stepped towards us and asked if he could help—he offered to translate, but the mafia man pointed out that I spoke Italian and dismissed him. Honestly, I think the other guy was just trying to help diffuse the tension and calm the mafia man down. Once the helpful guy left, I was standing, waiting for a bus and decided to ask the guy, who spoke English, for his advice. Although he was dressed in huge baggy jeans shorts, with a ripped sleeve tank top and a shaved head, I had a good feeling about him—and really—what other option did I have? I tried to explain my situation to him and ask him his opinion on which train station would be safer for me to stay the night at. It took awhile for me to get my point across to him (we were speaking half English/half Italian), but once I did, he seemed absolutely appalled! He told me that I could NOT stay the night at a train station; that he was a man and felt unsafe there! He told me a little about the crime history and gypsies in the Bari train station and about the similar scene in Taranto, which was outside and in the middle of nowhere. I shrugged, not like I had options here... He told me to wait a minute while he talked to his driver, and that it might be my lucky day.

I was confused—this baggy jeaned, gangster looking guy had a driver?? Was he offering me a ride? Well, he was trying to, but it turned out that he wouldn’t be passing through Taranto like he’d originally thought. Honestly, I wasn’t too disappointed, I mean, who gets into a car with a stranger? Right…? Then, he offered that I stay with him and his friends for the night. He said that they lived near a train station and that I could bus into Taranto the next morning, because then, at least, “you will be safe.” He mentioned that they would have to wait for his girlfriend first, which made me feel slightly better about the possibility (it felt less sketch than going with only guys), but I still turned him down, saying that I appreciated it, but that I didn’t know him and didn’t feel comfortable.

Then, the helpful guy came over and started pushing me to get on the bus that had just arrived. At that moment, I just went with my gut (which means I was trying to follow the Spirit) and made a quick decision. I felt like I was choosing between two potentially dangerous options, but—honestly—felt at peace. While I understood the seriousness of my situation, I was never scared—not even for a moment. I told the guy I had been talking to, whose name I eventually found out was Mike, that I’d like to stay with him and his girlfriend that night. He called his boss, told him that he’d met the most beautiful American girl and his boss offered to take me to the train station in Taranto the next morning. Mike told me that I should go over and wait for him at a nearby McDonalds because the mafia man would be angry if I didn’t get board the bus, which I still don’t understand…He told me to walk behind the bus so the mafia man couldn’t see me and that he would follow in five minutes. Mafia man saw us talking and didn’t look happy about it, so Mike ended up walking to McDonalds with me. We sat there and talked for thirty or forty minutes before we left. That conversation made me feel a million times better about my decision! While I felt good about it, the logical part of me was still rerunning some of the scenes from Taken in my mind. Apparently Mike had been a runner on Italy’s national team until he got hurt a couple years ago. Now he runs some sort of sports association with camps for Rome’s soccer team and has traveled all over the world doing it! I must have thanked him three dozen times for his willingness to help me, and he told me it was Italian heart; he said, ‘I’m Christian, but I like Buddhist teachings about Karma. If you give love, you’ll receive love.”

Mike’s girlfriend arrived and his driver came to pick us up in this huge, really nice, 9 passenger business shuttle (which seemed legitimate). His girlfriend was nice, but after asking me my name and a couple basic questions about myself, her tone and question-type changed. It threw me off. “Do you want to sleep with us?” She asked. I let out what was probably an uncomfortable laugh and told her, “No thanks.” “Do you like my boyfriend? On a scale of one to ten, what would he be?” Our conversation was about half English/half Italian and I basically just tried to avoid answering. I would laugh and say something like, “he’s your boyfriend, so it doesn’t matter.” I wasn’t sure if she would be more offended if I liked or didn’t like him. A no win situation. She asked me, ‘Do you want to kiss my boyfriend? He wants a kiss from you.’ I laughed and told her, ‘Just on the cheek’ (which you do with everyone in Italy).  After that, I think I passed the test I didn’t even realize I was taking. She told me that all men were bulls and had me assure her that I wouldn’t kiss Mike. Then, she got me a drink, shared her food with me and chatted about random things.

We arrived at their place around 3am. I didn’t realize that ‘their place’ would be a resort! They were overseeing some sports camps, so I got to stay in a nice room and take a good, long, and much needed shower.  Seven other employees had stayed up to welcome us and made me a big sign! It said “Benvenuto Americana!” Aka: Welcome American Girl!  I stayed up and talked with them for quite awhile. I seriously don’t know how I lucked out. I’m sure anyone reading this is thinking that I’m crazy and lucky to be alive and safe after agreeing to go stay the night with a total stranger that I met in a sketchy Italian train station at midnight. It sounds pretty bad when I say it like that, huh…? Either way, Mike and the rest of the crew ended up being some of the nicest and most generous people that I have had the opportunity to cross paths with since I’ve been in Italy. In the morning, they got me breakfast, and Francesco (the boss of bosses) drove me to the train station. He actually apologized for not being able to drive me all the way to Taranto, as if he should have—I have never experienced such generosity and kindness! We all exchanged names and numbers; they told m to give them a call if I ever needed anything, and that I was more than welcome to stay longer or come back before I headed home.

I ended up catching a bus instead of a train, and was the only person on the entire bus for the first hour. A man got on at a later stop and chose to sit in the seat where I had set my bag. He asked if it was mine, I nodded. He then picked it up and handed it to me. Really? Because there weren’t 50 other seats he could have sat in... We did ended up having a fun conversation though. He legitimately started clapping when he found out I was American; since I wasn’t in a touristy area, he was surprised, and apparently excited. I tried to explain to him that I was from Washington State, and not Washington DC; I have this whole explanation memorized because it comes up a lot, but I usually give up after five or ten minutes and just let people think I live next to Obama… I truly love Italian culture, and especially the people. I really can't get over how much kindness I have been shown in the last three months. It will be sad to say goodbye...

Oh. And I went to England!

Because traveling around Italy isn’t amazing enough (hope you’re picking up on my sarcasm), I figured I should probably go see another country while I was in Europe. Tom, the BYU student who was randomly staying at my house in Bracciano with his friend Flor when I arrived home from Cinque Terre, is conveniently studying at Cambridge this summer. We had talked about travelling somewhere the first day we met, and decided to spend the weekend in England. Not too shabby, eh?

We spent the first day touring around Cambridge, which is a town most known for—obviously—its top notch university. Three London-style cheers to Tom for getting into their summer program where only a few students from Harvard, Princeton, Berkley, Hong Kong, and BYU can be accepted to! The college campus, which is basically a town in itself, is absolutely beautiful. It was founded in 1209 and made to last with some of the most impressive architecture and intricate detail. We walked up the 123 steps to the top of the tower of Great St. Mary's—which felt like nothing compared to the 320 steps to get to the top of St. Peter’s Basilica. It would have been worth the extra energy expenditure though, to see the view of Cambridge from that spot.

Going punting was definitely one of my favorite parts of the weekend. I don’t know if I was alone in this, but I definitely had no idea what punting was beforehand. Tom, however, seemed so excited about it that before he even explained it, I was getting anxious to do it as well!  Basically, when you think “Venice Gondola”, you think punting. But—rather than paying some random guy to punt (?? Not sure what adjective to use right now, you don’t row) us around, we decided to do the work ourselves. I guess a more correct statement would be that Tom did all the work—at least all the hard work. We decided to go upstream so that we could get to this beautiful spot in the park. It was a nice place to relax and rest, which was necessary because Tom was quite tired after spending 45 minutes constantly flexing his big biceps in attempt to impress me (haha, just kidding. Kind of. They are actually quite impressive). After eating some fresh fruit and discovering the tree of all trees, I punted us back—downstream—which was a lot easier, I felt okay about it though, I don’t have the biceps to show off anyway.  It was easy enough until I had to park. One thing I am really coming to terms with, after almost seven years of driving, is that I can’t park, regardless of the vehicle/mode of transportation—seriously, I must have looked ridiculous trying to get that water craft in its designated spot...

Punting Upstream

Punting Downstream :)

We met up with Tom’s new French friend—Pierre—for dinner, stopped to drop some food off to one of his sick friends and then hit the clubs—yes please! Granted, the DJ started off a little lame, playing songs like ‘Call Me Maybe’—a song I don’t pretend not to like, but one that should not ever be played in a club...the music, however, picked up quickly enough. I’m pretty sure I was by far the most modestly dressed girl in the club which, of course, did not stop me from having a blast. Everyone I met was great—incredibly nice and a lot of fun. I am beyond impressed by all of the students I have met that are going to Cambridge, and from everything I have heard from Tom about it, it is an amazing school that really challenges its’ students, and there is no doubt in my mind that those students are going places in life. It’s always nice to meet people who can give you a little bit of a different perspective on life and even challenge you, it’s motivating. I may not have been quite as impressed by the weather—it rained a good portion of the time.  But while walking home in the freezing rain late at night may numb your hands, it’s one of those memories that can warm your heart. 

Tom and I decided to spend the rest of the weekend in London—which wasn’t too shabby either.  Kind of cool that I’ve gotten to see the three most famous European cities this summer: Paris, Rome, and London! We got in a little late on Saturday, but still made our way to some of London’s most famous sites.

Harry Potter, anyone?

International train station at King's Cross

Shakespeare's Globe Theater!

St Paul's Cathedral and More!

Tower Bridge :)

Parliament and Big Ben
You can't see me b/c I'm so tan and basically just fade into the night now...

 I somehow have completely ignored the food aspect of the trip until this point, which is actually somewhat fitting considering that’s what Tom and I did the whole trip: forget to eat until pretty late in the day and then make up for it in one sitting. We ate traditional English steak and pea pie (I think I may have just made up that name, it’s like chicken pot pie, but with steak), sampled some Spanish food, had our go at an Italian restaurant in London (haha, ironic??) and ate huge American burgers on the last night (Mamma Mia, I had forgotten how good those are!).

The housing that we were hoping for fell through, so we found ourselves searching for hostels around midnight (meant with all the Love in the world, Emma, it feels slightly better/safer to be stuck in a city at night with a big guy rather than a cute girl haha;). It turns out, it’s not just the Italians that are super helpful, a guy from some random country (how do I not remember this?) told us that he had been a dip-$*%# before as well, ran to get us his computer and then left us with it while he went out to smoke a cigarette with some friends—talk about trust! We figured out a place to stay and woke up Sunday morning ready to get to church. I was actually quite excited to go to a ward that would be in English, but about five seconds after walking in the door, we found out that we had actually missed the English ward and had made it—just in time—for the Portuguese ward! I kid you not. It’s fitting, I suppose; now I can say that I attended church for three months in different languages!

We finished up our sightseeing that day and went to a not-so-cool science museum. It was more of a propaganda scheme set up by the government, if you ask me. At least I got to wear a pretty dress! Having not prepared for the English rain, I ended up covering up my pretty dress with a huge BYU jacket—courtesy of Tom. Overall, the trip was a lot of fun!  May have had to pay 4.50 pounds for one metro ticket (to put it in perspective, Rome just raised their prices to 1.50 euro. The pound is worth quite a bit more than the euro and is worth about twice as much as the American dollar). That said, can you really put a price to great memories? Five years from now, I won’t look back at the money I spent, but at the experiences I had. And, of course, the pictures I took.

Taranto with Gaia!

This is Gaia. I love her!

She is the girl I met in Sicily that invited me to come stay with her and her family about 5 minutes after I met her. So, it’s probably obvious that she is one of the sweetest, kindest, and most generous people you will ever meet. She is absolutely beautiful and hilarious, well traveled, cultured, always looks like she stepped right out of a fashion magazine, and—hence—impossible not to love. She has taken photography lessons and always has her cannon camera in hand, which was fun because we got some good photo memories. J

The biggest surprise of my stay was that I actually got some homework done this week, but only because Gaia had exams to study for as well! We would usually spend the mornings doing homework, getting things done around the house, preparing some vegan meals (her family is super healthy!), and hanging out with her three siblings. Her parents get off work pretty early and once they do, we would spend the rest of the day as a family. That’s one thing that I was really impressed by actually; everyone says that family is their top priority, but based on how they spend their days, you would never know. That definitely wasn’t the case with Gaia’s family.

I’ve been staying with them in their flat in Taranto, Italy which is a beautiful town right near the beach. I have this nasty habit of pronouncing Taranto without an Italian accent and somehow making it sound like Toranto, Canada—which has led me to confuse a couple dozen Italians. Ay ay ayyy. Haha My first night there (and again two other times) I got to go shopping with three Italian women: Gaia, her sister and mom. Great experience! They knew all the best places to shop, love to do it, and are blessed with an unbelievably wonderful Italian fashion sense. Given that my bag and quite a bit of money were recently stolen, I didn’t buy much, but it was still fun to just walk through the town and see everything and everyone. I love how Italians just know how to enjoy life; even on a week night the town square, shops, and beaches are packed with people. It’s been so great to spend the summer here, be a part of a new culture, and have the opportunity to enjoy a different way of life.

We spent a good amount of time at the beach, which is probably my favorite thing to do—I’m getting tanner and not everyone immediately assumes that I’m American right off the bat anymore, I love it! Of course, once I speak, they can tell I’m not Italian by my accent haha my first day in Taranto, I was with Gaia and she was talking to this guy at her school, who was kind of just giving me the up-and-down; then—as I started to introduce myself in Italian, I didn’t even get through my first word before he said, ‘tourista!’ obviously basing it off my accent. Mamma Mia, but hey I’m trying…little steps. People can still understand me and I can have a conversation, but the Italian accent is still not one I’ve picked up. J

Later that day, when we were at the beach, there was a vendor walking around with this huge display of dresses. Gaia and I went to look at them and her dad, bless his heart, insisted on buying us both one. So, now along with our matching nail polish, shoes and shirts (which we both picked out separately shopping), we now have a matching dress/cover-up haha. It’s like matching outfits in first grade with my best friend all over again. ;)

We went to the beach late one night, which I have no good pictures to show for it because every time we tried to take pictures, we would get blinded by the flash, so everyone’s eyes are closed… it was still a really fun night though, we basically found a private beach and got to have it all to ourselves. Gaia’s sister is going to be an EFY counselor, so she taught us some random dances and then we just laid on the sand, watched the stars, laughed, and talked. Kind of life at its peak, eh?

In true Italian fashion, we went out to pizza two of the four nights I was here (and the first night we couldn’t because I got in so late). The last night was my favorite just because we went with a big group, and I got to meet a lot of Gaia’s extended family and friends. I love speaking with people here, and they’re always so encouraging, it makes me want to continue to take Italian classes and work on the language when I get back to BYU. Next year will be busy with grad school, but I really hope that I can.

I also got to spend some time with the other GANS (YSA/church group), which was a blast. We played what they call ‘beach volley’ which is actually more like playing soccer on a sand volleyball court haha whenever possible people will use their feet and head rather than their arms and hands. I, however, tried to refrain from any kicks given that I showed up to the activity in a skirt—not realizing we were playing—and moreso because it’s not really my natural tendency to try to do jumping-spin-kick-trick with a volleyball. Given, it was pretty impressive when some of the others did. J

My time definitely passed too quickly, I had to catch a bus to Bari so that I could catch a plane to London (my life is rough, I know:), but in Italian fashion, I tried to live on the edge and wait until last minute (that was not actually my thought process, I hate being late). Unfortunately my luck ran out because I actually missed this one! I blame it on the fact that Emma was not with me, whom I somehow always am able to catch the train or bus with no matter how late we seem to be running. Anyhow, the next bus wasn’t for two hours, which probably wouldn’t give me enough time to catch my plane. It was one of those moments where you just stand there and think, ‘Okay. What now…?’ Luckily I didn’t have to ponder too long because Gaia’s dad (who is one of the funniest people I know) had a plan. The plan: catch up with the bus! Which bus? We didn’t know...there are dozens. So he seriously sped down the freeway, cutting off buses while I tried to read the signs on the front of the bus and see if it was the one headed to Bari. When we didn’t find the bus we were looking for, he just decided to beat it to the next stop. He floored the gas; in four stops we had gotten ahead of the bus and I was able to catch it! Phew!

I honestly think it’s a miracle sometimes that I manage to get around in Italy by myself. I give most of the credit to ridiculously nice people like Gaia’s dad, a positive attitude (smiling at people helps), and starting conversations with random people, who always end up helping me out in some way. When I got off the bus in Bari, I knew that I would have to catch another one, I just missed the part where the other bus I would have to catch was at a completely different part of town. It ended up not being a problem at all though—a really nice old lady I met on the bus (random conversation) knew that I needed to catch the bus to the airport, so just decided to walk with me and have a chat all the way to the metro station—even though I never asked or hinted at it. I truly am overwhelmed by how many good people I meet here, people who I talk to by chance and who are willing to go out of their way to help me. Cheers to some of the greatest people and to the best summer ever!

Naples and Pompeii :)

It was strange taking a trip without my travel buddy and partner in crime, Emma, on Thursday when I headed to Napoli (Naples). Due to my incessant texting with her, my phone was dead before I even arrived—which was a problem because Daniele, who was supposed to pick me up from the train station, had not gotten back to me that day. I wasn’t sure where we were going to meet or if he even knew when I was getting in... Luckily, before my phone died, I had given Emma the task of getting a hold of him (along with like 6 other people whom I was shooting off texts to right before my phone died haha). Given that I didn’t know my way around the train station and have heard lots of sketchy things about Napoli, I took advice from the real life CSI shows my mother has watched—and acted like I owned the place and knew exactly what I was doing. I eventually found a seat near the entrance and figured it would be an easy spot for Daniele to find me. Unfortunately, it was a spot right across from two crazies (not all there) who were yelling at each other in some sort of mumbled dialect. Then, without warning, the man took the woman’s bread and chucked it—right at me (I am assuming that his aim was random). A quick dodge and it landed at my feet. I exchanged a is-this-really-happening look with the guy beside me, hugged my bag a little tighter, and counted my blessings when the police arrived a couple minutes later. (haha) Welcome to Napoli!

Daniele showed up just a few minutes later and we took a train to his house, met up with some friends and walked all around the city. And by walk around, I guess I mean we walked from one food place to the next (haha). I swear you’d think Italians’ main goal is to make me fat…I don’t even know what everything I ate was called, but it was ALL delicious! Especially the famous Pizza Margarita! Oh, but I did eat one, not so delicious food for the first time: oysters! I was tempted to spit it out, and the family that gave it to me assured me that it would be okay if I did, but once it was in my mouth, I figured that I might as well eat it—just so I could tell my family (and I took pictures, in the off chance you chose not to believe me again—like with sushi...Mike.)

A random kitchen on the side of the road where these woman make delicious food

Just some old men gambling

The City, I loved how everyone was just out and about--even on a weekday evening

Eating an Oyster (fyi: I do not like seafood...at all)

before

during

After 

I spent that night, the next morning at the beach, and a good portion of the Friday, conducting interviews for my research with some of Daniele’s friends. I interviewed one girl who had been with her boyfriend for 6 years, had 2 children, and was only 18! Her perspective was so interesting, and so different than anything I had ever heard. She told me afterwards that she had told me things that she hadn’t even told her boyfriend or family before. She later emailed her brother, who told Daniele, that her interview with me was a wonderful experience. It made me feel great! I have this theory that everyone has a story to tell and wants to tell it, they just don’t always have someone willing to listen; so I’m glad I could be that person for her and that I could ask her some questions that most people usually wouldn’t ask (the interviews actually get quite deep).

Waiting for the metro after the beach :)

Emma arrived Friday night, along with my friends Sara Pollastri and Marcos Bendzu—we went to pick them up from the train station and got to see Napoli at night, which basically means that I saw a lot of prostitutes...(haha). I preferred to stay in the car at night and with locals the rest my time there... On another note, no one really uses air conditioning in Italy (or even has it), so we were pretty excited to hear that Daniele’s family did and that we could turn it on at night in the bedrooms. It was enjoyable for about the first couple hours, and then it was just freezing! At some point in the night, I had grabbed my little towel, curled into a ball and tried to use it to cover as much of me as possible; Sara had her sheet (the only one of us with a sheet) pulled up over her face, and Emma was attempting to use her tiny pillow as a blanket—it was a sight. We all woke up, changed locations, and made our way to the living room to get the last bit of sleep. Someone must have slipped something into Emma’s apricot juice that night because she started hallucinating and acting out her dreams. She thought that Sara had said she was hot and wanted to go put ice in her hands to cool her off. Being the helpful girl that Emma is, she apparently felt her own hands—which were quite cold—cuddled up to Sara and, in attempt to cool her off, held Sara’s hands. When I came to consciousness, I couldn’t see Sara; my worries were stifled, however, when Emma rolled—ungracefully—off the couch and onto the ground. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect as Sara—like a person raising from the ashes—stretched her arms, as if celebrating her freedom free from the oppression of Emma. While I have a sneaking suspicion that this story will never be as funny to anyone outside the three of us, it definitely is one of my favorite memories thus far. It’s always the little things. 

On Saturday morning, we all made our way to Pompeii—a city that was destroyed in one day when Mount Vesuvius erupted, and is famous for its ancient Roman ruins. It was a really neat experience to travel there. My favorite part of traveling is not just seeing the world, but feeling connected to other people; the people who lived in Pompeii thousands of years ago, all those who have visited Pompeii since—that have stood where I have stood, seen what I have seen and maybe even felt what I felt; and also the connection with all those who will come in the future. Emma sent me a video of the history of Pompeii that I watched before visiting which made the experience so much more meaningful. There is a spot where you can see bodies that were somehow preserved that just look like stone sculptures. When you look at them, you can tell that those people knew death was coming, just by their posture...how strange it must have felt to know death was coming, but not have any control over the situation. It made me wonder what those people were thinking, and—not to be morbid—but what thoughts might be going through my mind in a similar situation.

Heading into Pompeii with some of my favorite girls

Mount Vesuvius

There were dogs EVERYWHERE in Pompeii

The theater
When you stood in that spot and spoke, your voice is amplified and it sounds like an echo to you

one of the bodies; it's kind of awkward to take a picture with--smiling just doesn't really seem appropriate..

another body

  

I love how all the statues of men look like Hercules 

I <3 Pizza! Looks like they even had pizza ovens back in the day!

Sara, Daniele, Me, Marcos, Emma

After visiting Pompeii, we spent the rest of the day and night enjoying the beach (rough life, I know). Daniele told me that a typical day in the summer for a student (between exams) was waking up, going to the beach, taking a break for a treat, and spending the rest of the day walking around the city with friends or going to the Cinema. I could spend a few more weeks here and be quite happy! 

When the dad of these kids heard us speaking some English, he came over an introduced himself (in Italian)
and wanted us to practice English with his sons.

art by Daniele and I

Nothing like a nap on the rocks..

On Sunday, we went to church in this tiny little building above a bed and breakfast. There were only 34 people in the entire congregation—2 were missionaries, 6 were visitors and 3 were children; meaning there were only 23 actual members—how I respect their faith and dedication!

We all look bad in this picture haha but this was the church building slash bed and breakfast we went to :)

After church, Emma and Daniele drove me to the train station. I got a Napoleon goodbye from a man five floors up on his balcony who came outside, started singing, “America! America!” and promptly flashed us…I am now on a bus headed toward Taranto to visit my friend Gaia (whom I love and adore!) and couldn’t be happier to be out of the Napoli train and bus station—it’s a creepy place! I trained from where Emma and Daniele dropped me off to Napoli Centrale alone because the rest of my group was going back to Rome later in the day. It took me a couple minutes to locate where the buses were; once I did, I got directed to information to buy a ticket. As I was going to buy mine, a man started following me and stood less than a foot from me, just staring, as I was purchasing my ticket (I definitely reached in my bag, and got the money without pulling out my wallet); he was just out of sight of the man selling me the tickets—which made it creepier. I completely ignored him, and was somewhat relieved when the station employee motioned me to the other side of the building, so that he could direct me to the hotel where I would have to catch a bus. Turns out he was less interested in showing me the direction I should go, than he was in pulling me towards him, calling me ‘Miss America!’ and inviting me into his office (where he was alone) to ‘wait’ for my bus with him. Eww. I shook him off, said ‘No grazie’ and made my way to the hotel, and tried to blend in among a group of senior citizens. I have never been happier to be inside a bus!  (And don't fret Mom, I'm not going back to that train station anytime soon!