Always Look On the Bright Side of Life (do doo, do doo do doo de doo)

The final day of my great adventure was spent frolicking around the Borghese Gardens in Rome, Italy. Sarah, Morgan, Brad, Mel, Nate-aniel Spiderman, Maureen, Gustavo, and I spent the morning going from different outdoor markets to the grocery store, where we gathered appropriate picnic materials. Somehow, after more than an hour of this, we still ended up with mostly wine and only a bit of bread, cheese, fruit, and chocolate. This combination led to a very silly rowboat race in the Borghese pond, which Sarah and I would have won (we Bookers are serious about winning, and even had "code" words for the race), had Nate-aniel Spiderman and Morgan not sabatoged us. We still managed a respectable second behind Brad and Mel, an unlikely team who quietly took the lead by making the rather mature decision not to partake in the splashing fight at the beginning of the race.

The afternoon was concluded with a peek into the Borghese museum, where we gazed in wonder at Bernini's depiction of Apollo and Daphne and then spent an hour trying to find a painting that, in fact, was not in that particular museum. After a long walk back to the apartment by way of the Spanish Steps and Rome's most expensive and glamorous street of shops, we ate at a pizza restaurant known for its ambiance and had a quiet night of packing and farewells.

Traveling home today I feel I am at a happy medium of having loved my adventure but being ready to return HOME. My life is still up in the air, of course, and I haven't solved even one of my problems, much less gotten a job, but I do steadfastly believe that I've gotten some perspective and that this has been a perfect and necessary journey. My only real regret has been staying awake to watch the crappy in-flight movies rather than catching a few desperately needed moments of sleep every once in a while.

So this ends my Great Escape blog, as all of you reading it will now be able to communicate with me in the normal (and marginably more desireable) fashion. I hope I have balanced out the faux-philosophy and romantic bullshitting with lively play-by-plays of my adventures and that I have kept you interested enough to want to see the hundreds of pictures I strained my camera's memory card with. For now, thanks and au revoir, goodbye, and ciao!

TOGA TOGA TOGA

Tonight I wore a toga through the streets of Rome. I was on my way to a party themed "Famous Romans" and Sarah and I were Romulus and Remus. All the real Romans I passed on the street stared and pointed and laughed. Overall, it felt pretty awesome. The party wasn't bad, either.

The Vatican Rag

After a long night of aperitivos* (Americans love free food), Sarah and I decided against going to Florence today.  Instead, we slept in a bit and headed back to Vatican City to climb to the top of the Basilica of St. Peter's with Mel.  We endured a surprisingly long line under a surprisingly hot sun to get into the cathedral, so by the time we'd bought our tickets we were already sweating, and since you aren't allowed in if you're showing any skin at all (read: pants and shirts up to your neck, down over your belt, and covering every inch of shoulder are required), the climb proved a bit less enjoyable than we'd hoped.  The experience at the top was worth it, though.  Mel and I scampered around, climbing up on little columns on the side of the dome's top and taking pictures of each other striking model poses with Rome as an ant-sized backdrop, while Sarah clung white-faced to the bannisters and begged us to be more careful.  We eventually convinced her to get up on one of the columns, which she hugged for dear life (to the point of refusing to turn around and actually see the city spread out beneath her).  Of course, the shot we snapped of Sarah glued to a column was by far the most model-esque of any of ours.  I guess short people just don't have a chance.

On that note, I have to say that one of my favorite things about having Mel around is that she's actually shorter than I am.  I haven't been the brunt of any short jokes since she's arrived.  It's a bit unnerving, but also kind of nice to feel mildly normal-sized.

Brad (of the Wilson variety) met us up at the top and proceeded to take much better pictures with a much more sophisticated camera than our little digital Best Buys, and the three girls just smiled and posed for him as he made us look like beautiful angels flying above Rome.  At least, that's what he said we looked like.  I was a little skeptical about the angel part, as I'd been looking over my shoulder for lightening or locusts or something since Wednesday afternoon.  I guess two days of taking my birth control while inside Vatican City gave me the willies a bit.  In the face of all that Christian glamor, I was reminded of what great lengths those Catholics sometimes go to in order to enforce their god's will.  I'm pretty sure the bottle openers with the pope's face on them that I bought doesn't help me in their eyes, either.

It's tough to be a sinner, but some gelato took my mind off of my transgressions and I spent the afternoon lounging in the Art Cafe and reading a book that Morgan's roommate Pat lent me for the week.  I'm still jumping a little at loud noises, and I've begun to wonder if last night's hail was some sort of sign, but Mel says that's all bullcrap and Morgan has assured me that tomorrow's agenda of wine and Jimmy Buffett at the Borguese gardens will deliver me back unto my own personal spirituality.

Tonight we're making pesto and garlic bread (when asked by Morgan whether we wanted garlic bread for supper, Nate responded, "Um, are leather jackets cool?"  I was pretty sure that meant yes) before heading to the most awesome themed party possible: Famous Romans.  I'm Remus, Sarah is Romulus, and Morgan is the she-wolf.  I think we'll be the best-costumed kids there.

*At an aperitivo bar, you buy a drink and then make your way to a huge buffet of appetizers, which you scarf down from a tiny plastic plate while trying to maintain the image that you are in fact at the bar for the drinks and will be headed to supper afterwards.  At least, that's the way we did it.  It was like a 7 Euro supper, except that the aperitivos weren't all that substantive and the drinks were.

The Pope's Crib

Today is Vatican day, and let me tell you: the Pope has sweet digs.  In addition to being able to check out St. Peter's Basilica, which is pretty much a Catholic's Mecca, we feasted our eyes on the Rafael Rooms (think School of Athens) and the Sistine Chapel (think the Sistine Chapel) as well as about a bajillion other awesome pieces of art.  Vatican City and I may not agree on international relations or politics, but we sure are on the same page when it comes to art.

Sarah and I had the good fortune of touring these lovely areas with two of Cornell's most adorable art students, Morgan and Brad Wilson (okay, technically he already graduated), and Morgan's ex-roommate Mel came along for the ride (she made Sarah and me feel much less stupid by being a non-artie like us).  As we entered the Vatican museums, Brad spurred us on by crying, "Let's go to the museums and see some [male genitalia]*!" 

Hopefully there will be more time for writing later tonight, but if not: tomorrow we go to Florence to see David.  Eek!

*actual phraseology was bleeped out as it was considered too delicate for the internet

Adventures in Wonderland

It's currently hailing in Rome. Sarah and I are sitting on the floor of Morgan's apartment with three other girls looking through tour books and generally having girl time - something I definitely didn't realize it was possible to miss. The apartment is made for four people to live closely in, and over this week there are eight of us sleeping here. It's definitely cozy.

The flea market on Sunday proved to be a lot of fun and actually rather fruitful. I picked up an adorable hoody dress and Sarah got a scarf, and we had a good time trying to avoid all the merchants screaming "Speak English?" We'd planned to see the Colluseum, Arco di Constantino, and Roman Forum afterwards, but there turned out to be a marathon that wrapped around those particular tourist attractions, so we viewed them from afar and headed up a hill to look through a keyhole that showed three countries - Malta, Italy, and the Vatican. It was a wonderful day, so we strolled through an orange garden trying to avoid little kids picnicking nearby before heading back for an early supper and a re-watching of Gladiator.

Monday we slept in before wandering through the Campo di Fiori and spending the afternoon shopping with Morgan. It was a day of rest that was sorely needed at least by me, and it contributed heavily to my being able to get over a pesky cold that followed me from Scotland. Compared to Italy, it's a somewhat chilly, dusky, foggy country, and while the cold was appropriate there, it was a bit out of place here. I'm so ready to shed it that I've even been drinking some vile natural-remedy tea that Morgan claims fixes anything. I guess she's right, because it seems to be working.

Today was a bit more productive in the sight-seeing department. We actually went in to the Colluseum and hiked around the Palatino and the Roman Forum, which were beautiful in the late spring - little dandelines were poking up from carpets of short green grass that covered the floors of the ancient ruins. I could not help but think it would have been a beautiful place to live, but both Sarah and I wondered what the vegetation would have been like 2000 years ago. Would there have been the dandelines that made the whole place look so peaceful and pretty? I'm sure it was beautiful.

Morgan and Nate (another Cornellian) had to leave us while we were wandering around the Forum, so Sarah and I had to find our way back to Morgan's apartment. We climbed on the Victor Emanuel monument, which is affectionately known as the wedding cake, and somehow eventually ended up back at the Via Saint-Guiliano and climbed up the stairs to Morgan's apartment. Project Runway and gelato were on the agenda during the hailstorm, and now it's time to head to the grocery store and buy whatever mess we're cooking for supper tonight. Thankfully the hail has stopped, and I think the rain is mostly over. After supper we're planning the next few days...more later!

Wome (Welease Bwian)

Friday was a travel day.  I was up at 6:30am UK time and took a rapid succession of cabs, buses, trains, and planes (as the last post's title suggests) until I arrived with Morgan in Italy.  It was dark as we rode through Rome to her apartment, and I squinted tiredly out the taxi window to try to catch a glimpse of whatever had been deemed important enough to be lit up (there wasn't much).  We sat outside at a little restaurant down her street and sipped Chianti Classico while eating risotto and ravioli, and I was reminded again of how easy it is to romanticize European cities.

At 4:30 the next morning, a few hours after a halfhearted attempt to go to sleep early, Morgan and I stumbled out of bed and made our way back to the airport to retrieve Sarah, who had made the ungodly decision to arrive in Rome at 7am.  We were picking her up under strict instructions from Judge Booker, who was extremely concerned about Sarah's ability to make her way from the airport to Morgan's apartment.  Judge Booker was also worried about Sarah's lack of working cell phone and how we would find each other in the airport.  Luckily, we made a foolproof plan to meet at baggage claim.  I promised Sarah that I would be there, even if I was a little late, and she promised not to wander off.  We were very confident that no problems could possibly arise from such a scenario.

Not surprisingly, we were wrong.  Baggage claim, as it turned out, was actually inside security, and from 6:52 until 8:oo Morgan and I stood just out of sight of Sarah, trying everything we could to get word to her that we were there (including asking people coming out of security to go back in and tell a girl who looked a little like me that her sister was there, and imploring the police to please just go find her).  As I was planning a mad dash past security (I had decided that it would be easier to explain to my parents that I had been arrested and detained in the Rome airport than that I had lost my little sister), the girl in question stepped cautiously into view and looked around carefully.  Morgan and I were somewhat ecstatic and found ourselves jumping up and down and screaming Sarah's name.  I should say that some of that excitement may have come from the two cappucinos each of us had already downed.

Despite a total of about five hours of sleep in two nights, Sarah, Morgan, and I rallied and took a walking tour of Rome.  After successfully buying towels (more difficult than anticipated, since we had to first find a shop that sold cloth and then figure out how to buy the things), we hit the Piazza Navona, the Parthenon, the Fountain di Trevi, and Santa Maria della Concezione; we ate pizza Rome-style for lunch and had an early supper (more pasta, of course) before crashing back at the apartment.

All in all, I'd have to say that my first day in Rome was a whirlwind of success.  Today we plan on a flea market (really), the Piazza del Popolo, Colluseum, Arco di Constantino, and Roman Forum.  Sarah and Morgan have been asleep for 12 hours, so I'll probably be attempting to wake them soon to start our adventure.

Regarding this post's title: if you haven't seen Life of Brian, watch it ASAP.

Cabs, Buses, Trains, and Planes

Why did I ever think these things were so cool and pretty in their miniature versions? I've been wondering if parents make sure to fill their childrens' rooms with shiny transportation toys in order to try to make the experience or actually transporting oneself more paletable. I've been wondering if it worked on me, and how much worse traveling would be if it hadn't.

These are the thoughts so much time crammed between bleary-eyed sneezing grumblers in cabs, buses, trains, and planes (as well as their terminals and platforms and stations) generate in me. I spent an hour on a train ride to Edinburgh feeling generally sorry for my lack of a private jet, then, in an attempt to focus on something more productive (if not more enjoyable), I began debating over whether to check my bag on my flight to Rome. I still haven't decided.

I do love Scotland. I adore afternoon tea and am hatching a plan to continue it in the US, and everyone is extremely kind and helpful. When I arrived at the airport this morning, sniffling from some vile infection no doubt spread to me by one of the sneezing masses, I quickly bought the first pack of Sudafed I found from a little stand. The cashier, instead of just ringing me up, began to question me abou my symptoms and recommended a different decongestant - and threw in a free bottle of Vitamin C. She should work in every transportation station.

I have to say that a few days of relaxation and fun with Bradshaw were just what I needed. We spent yesterday running around St. Andrew's making his campaign video (he's running for president of his student union), which was hilarious - I'll find a way to post it for those of you who"d like to watch. Now I'm headed ot for SPRING BREAK: ROME with Sarah and Morgan -

Scotland!

I spent all day yesterday in London, seeing Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, Trafalgar Square, and Soho - I even went to the original Patisserie Valerie.  I was of course impressed by London, but more than happy when I arrived exhausted at the airport in Edinburgh to find Bradshaw waiting for me.  After waking up at about 3:30am UK time, 9pm felt like the middle of the night!

We got to St. Andrew's when it was dark, of course, so I didn't see much, but we had a good supper at an Indian restaurant before I called it a night.  I spent today walking all around the little town, absolutely amazed at how BEAUTIFUL it is here.  We visited some ruins - a castle and a cathedral - and luckily Bradshaw is into history and was able to tell me all about them (I've discovered that the thing about Europe is that they have many, many, many more centuries of history than the US seems to).  We even walked around the Old Course, which apparently is arguably the first golf course EVER where the first game of golf was played.  I was skeptical, but still took a picture there.

I maintained my habit of trying to eat local cuisine by having a meat pie and "mash" (it's really just mashed potatoes) for lunch, and then a fried Mars bar for dessert - and was wonderfully surprised to learn that afternoon tea is a MUST here.  Afternoon tea is really a great invention, and the only reason I can think of that we don't practice it in the US is that it takes up quite a bit of time that could be spent much, much more productively.  Of course, that makes it essential for my vacation.

Tonight we have a dinner party - they keep busy having fun at St. Andrews! - and someday we're hoping to try to go shooting (awesome!).  Being back in an academic community is making me miss my computer sorely, but I'm sure I'll survive.

So far, my favorite thing about the UK is that when I'm out and about, people ask me for directions.  I guess I no longer look so lost!

P.S. I also really like that all the menus and signs and speaking are in English.

Lille

I have taken my first European train ride successfully! I am currently in Lille, France, waiting for a train to London, where I will spend the day. The couple beside me in the waiting area are drinking beers already - at 9:30! It seems like coffee would be a better choice...

I have to say I don't understand the two train stations I've been in in France so far. Both were technically inside, but exposed to the outside enough that it's just as cold "inside" as "outside". How strange!

They're calling my train, and so I'm off...

She Went to Paris...

I told a lot of people that I was going to Paris looking for answers to questions that bothered me so. That philosophical reasoning stems mostly from my love of Jimmy Buffett, but as I reflect during my last evening in Paris I'm realizing that there are quite a few questions that bother me so - and I've been looking for answers that I won't find in Paris.

So tomorrow I spend the day in London and the night in Scotland. Okay, I'm kidding - I know I won't find answers to life there, either, and if my limited past experience has taught me anything, I won't be "finding" them at all. I am going to London and Scotland tomorrow, though, and am extremely excited to spend a few nights with the illustrious and ever-entertaining R. G. Bradshaw Hawkins. Actually, I think that if anyone could convince me that I've found the answers, it's Bradshaw.

Maybe a little confident convincing that we comprehend even mildly the events taking place around us is good every once in a while. Even though I know the truth - that I'm completely lost and trying to remain calm about the fact that everyone else seems to be, too - I think that a bit of reassurance will help me stop hyperventillating out for long enough to get a bit of clarity about how to go about life. (An interesting sidenote here: I am terrifically afraid of heights, and today I climbed up to the top of the Notre Dame towers. To put the size of those staircases into perspective, the claustrophobia I felt overpowered my fear of heights. To put the level of my calmness or lack thereof into perspective, when I considered my job prospects for next year, I no longer worried about how high I was or the fact that I was crunched into a tiny staircase with every other tourist in Paris.)

While in Paris, I navigated around a foreign city without any French on my own, walked through three museums full of art so famous even I recognized it, made my way to the top of the Eiffel Tower, climbed up the towers of Notre Dame, avoided petting the puppies of the homeless, had several conversations with extraordinarily jovial policemen who joyed in making fun of me for not knowing my way around, and even eaten pate and bone marrow (and no, Michael Keller, it was not a handful. It was more like a TIBIAFUL). It seems as if I should feel indestructible and detached from normal life, but instead I feel more rooted in my life in DC than ever. With so many big decisions coming up, all I wanted to do was to make my great escape to Europe for a few weeks - and while I have enjoyed it so far and am sure I will continue to, I guess what I've figured out is that just because I'm on a different continent doesn't mean I've escaped (thanks a lot, global communications). In fact, I don't even feel like I want to escape anymore.

I hope this isn't too philosophical for a blog post. I started to write a description of my day, but that seemed boring in comparison. Tomorrow will be much more light-hearted...

I Am LE Tired

Please excuse the incorrect title of the first post. This is the way to be tired in Paris.

It was a long day of tourist activities - running around Luxembourg Gardens, then meeting at Notre Dame and walking to the Musee d'Orsay and then the Musee Rodin. We visited three different cafes, including La Fontaine Mars, which was an excellent recommendation from Michael Keller, and toured the Eiffel Tower at night. Despite my fear of heights, I felt rather comfortable strolling along the paths of the second level and snapping pictures of Paris at night.

We spent most of the evening in the company of a Frenchman who, after eight years in the United States, had decided that he wanted to speak English without any French accent - and, in fact, hoped to speak French with an American accent. I quickly reassured him that NO ONE wanted to have an American accent, but he earnestly affirmed that it was quite desirable to speak "as if one had bubblegum in the mouth". I am still not sure whether that is a compliment.

An interesting note about the homeless in Paris: they all have pets. Mostly it's puppies or rabbits. It really draws in the tourists. I even find it difficult to resist cooing at the adorable bait the Parisian homeless use. How very inventive!

Because I really am le tired, off to bed now -

The Not-So-Secret Garden (Don't worry, it still has a wall around it)

Today I discovered the difference between Luxembourg Gardens in the mid-morning, when I ran, and the early evening, when I came to drink orange juice and program the weekend's locations into my father's Garmin. Right now the gardens are flooded with people sitting or walking, smoking and eating and talking; this morning the only other faces I saw were those of children in school uniforms reluctantly plodding around. I had thought they could be a bit happier - when I had to run a mile in gym class it meant 20 times around an indoor basketball court, not a jaunt through a tourist attraction.

The cancer sticks burning up all around me are probably negating the exercise my lungs got this morning. I think I prefer the gardens at 9am, when they are a little bit more secret.

An American in Paris

Lunch was a crepe eaten standing on a bridge over the Seine. Behind me were the towers of Notre Dame and below a tourist boat passed every few minutes. I ate to the tunes of competing street musicians - a talented guitarist and a run-down man lurching through notes on a battered accordian. Though the guitarist was indisputably more enjoyable to listen to, the accordian player, who sat halfway on the street and halfway on the curb, was by far the more interesting.

As I finished my crepe and crossed to the other side of the river, thinking of the Romance of Paris, a saxaphone player entered the musical battle. He was both less talented than the guitarist and less interesting than the accordian player (who, I had concluded, was almost definitely drunk), and made the whole thing a little tedious.

In my hurry to turn away from the empty saxaphone case, I caught a glimpse of a group of Parisian teenagers skateboarding on the sidewalks next to the Seine. I wonder how it would feel to be normal - not a tourist - in a city so surrounded by history. How can you reconcile a sulky teenager in baggy jeans with a romanticized Paris? I tried to put myself in their sneakers, but I cannot imagine skateboarding with Notre Dame behind me or the Seine below me. I am almost positive this imaginative block does not stem from my inability to stay upright on a skateboard.

Suddenly tired of tourists and Parisians alike, I decided to devote the afternoon to romanticism in the form of literature and writing instruments. I visited Shakespeare & Company before walking up and down the Rue du Pont Louis-Phillipe (a recommendation from Michael Keller, whom I would suggest consulting before any trip to France), where I browsed through stationary to my heart's content. The evening will find me at Michael Keller's favorite Paris restaurant, L'A.O.C. I feel quite cultured and have determined that tomorrow's running tunes will be Gershwin's An American in Paris.

Blondie gets Europe'd

I woke up to a rainy Paris this morning, and was proud to pull out the umbrella I've doggedly lugged from DC to New York to Georgia to Florida to Paris and actually USE the thing. I'm sad to say that the novelty soon wore off.

While Daddy is in meetings, I was tasked with finding a post office, making sure housekeeping replaced the soap and tissues (you really have to keep on top of housekeeping, according to my father), and creating an itinerary for the weekend. I left the room to housekeeping, relatively positive that the woman who entered with a vacuum cleaner did not understand a word out of my mouth concerning soap or tissues (and really too lazy to be bothered by pulling out my phrasebook and trying to translate), and found myself on the streets of Paris with a Vera Bradley umbrella (picture the ugliest umbrella you've ever seen, and multiply it by a Vera Bradley pattern, and you have my stupid umbrella. It was on sale in DC for about $5 on a rainy day, probably because even on a rainy day it was too ugly and ridiculous for most people to buy. I, unfortunately, am a sucker for sales).

After a good walk around the Luxembourg Gardens, I eventually found a post office (first real accomplishment of the day) and began to look around for a cafe where I could have lunch and study my guidebooks. Paradoxically, the worst time to look for a place to eat lunch is, in fact, lunchtime, and so I got a crepe from a street vendor and chose the nearest Starbucks as home base for guidebooking. My EXTRAORDINARILY SMART AND TALENTED SISTER, who can also be a bit excitable when it comes to all things European, gave me a BlackBerry Messaging lashing about my location, but just as I decided to stop being "a lame o American" and "soak up the culture", I was waylaid by a large Frenchwoman who wanted to use me to practice her English. I guess it was the guidebooks that gave me away. It took me a good fifteen minutes to edge away and think of an excuse to leave so I could dart to the next Starbucks (less than a block away, which makes me wonder if, in fact, being in Starbucks is soaking up the culture).

I worry about running into this woman at Starbucks. She kept talking about how she scouts out tourist attractions to find people who will speak with her in English, but I still haven't determined whether Starbucks counts as a tourist attraction. Her appearance there seems to speak to it being one, but perhaps she just went in for a cup of coffee and serendipitously found me there. At any rate, I have not yet found a French cafe where I can hide out, as all of them are flooded with waiters suspicious of my lack of interest in the cafe food, and I am avoiding the hotel for a while since I know that my return will result only in an afternoon of playing with Sputnik (which would also result in my accomplishing only one of my tasks today - an embarrassing statistic even for me). Since I have only a few hours left to detail the next few days for my father (who, I'm relatively positive, would still be at the airport if I hadn't been there with him yesterday morning), I have found a sequestered corner in which I can only hope the Frenchwoman will not find me.

Au revoir -
Lee Catherine

P.S. The title of this post is for Bradley Messervey, who apparently believes that my blog needs a little spicing up. I take requests lightly.

my first moblog

I just figured out how to mobile web log, and as such have created a title for said activity which will definitely become the next big internet hit: moblogging.

I Am Tired

It's like I Am Legend, only different.

Paris is cool so far, though I haven't seen much of it yet except for the area close to our hotel and of course the stuff around the RER on the way from the airport. There's a cat named Sputnik who lives at the front desk of our hotel, which is obviously a huge plus for the hotel in my eyes, even though I'm currently sitting in the lobby waiting for the room to be ready. So far, my observations have been that everyone drives SmartCars and not nearly as many people are smoking as I'd expected. It's warm and sunny - I think I'm going to love Paris!