The end.

I wrote this entry yesterday while I was on the plane, so keep all the timing in mind...

Ciao all,

It’s hard to believe how fast the time has gone by. Nine months seems like nothing now, especially because I can relive my first days in Florence down to the hour. Our last week consisted of countless hours of studying (which we resented considering the fact that our days were severely numbered), rushed shopping sprees for the last-minute things, wild nights out, and insane binge-eating of anything Italian we could find. Since my last update that brought a few tears to my eyes, I’ve both studied for and taken my Italian Literature exam, encompassing the works of the Sicilian writer, Giovanni Verga. Exam day was full of pressure, as expected, seeing that I always stress the poor organization of the Italian education system. Claudio (our tutor, if I haven’t mentioned him before) had signed us up for the exam and we had been scheduled to take ours in positions 1 and 2. We were very excited and anxious to get it over with, so we had been thankful to be the highest on the list.

Naturally though, things never seem to go according to plan with the Italian university. We arrived at 8:30 am on exam day to find out that there had been two other “hidden” lists, for different students. So right there, we moved from numbers 1 and 2 to numbers 6 and 7. The worst part about the whole Italian-style exam is the actual waiting experience. Each person’s one-on-one session with the teacher was scheduled to take 30 minutes, so that put me, the first of Kevin and I, scheduled to take the exam around noon. I was tired of studying, so we sat there for 4 hours chatting with Italians who were completely freaking out, and playing games on Kevin’s iPhone. According to us, what we didn’t know at that point we weren’t going to learn under stress, the last few hours leading up to the exam. So, we threw in the towel.

Because Italians are so wild about their mid-morning coffee breaks, good ol’ Professor Bruscagli decided to take his right before giving me my exam. Watching student number five exit his office with a smile on her face was a good sign, and it caused me to jump out of my seat, ready for my fate. However, I suffered from the false alarm when Bruscagli followed behind the student, announcing that he was going for a coffee. “Great,” I thought, “another half-hour stuck in this window-less building on such a beautiful day.”

When Bruscagli returned, I finally got my chance at showing him what I had sweated over since February. I was very nervous and shaky, but tried my best to look calm. However, when you’re speaking in a foreign language, one can hear the uneasiness immediately. My excellent grammar skills had pretty much flown out the window as soon as I asked him permission to close his office door. (Italian exams are a public event; anyone can sit in and listen if they want to). He sighed and said something like, “Yeah, if you want. I guess you Americans aren’t used to taking oral exams, let alone public ones.” So right then and there, we started the exam. The first few questions I knew very well. I know I sounded like a complete fool because I just blurted out everything I had studied in no specific order. The final question however, was one that I hoped he wouldn’t ask me. I knew exactly what he was referring to when he said the “Sciascia article,” but I conveniently attempted to compare it to the article that it was positioned next to in my book, as I knew more about that one and Sciascia had completely escaped me. To be honest though, I actually didn’t study any of Verga’s critics too closely because I had been so focused on the novellas, his short stories that were the basis for the exam. Claudio had told us that the critics would be supplementary material, information to add to a conversation about one of the novellas. When I completely bombed that question, I assumed that it had brought me from a 30 to a 26 or something, considering that fact that I literally knew NOTHING of Sciascia and that Bruscagli was known to be a tough grader.

With that last question, he digressed and said “Well, I know that you (meaning collectively, Americans) have studied. I’ve seen you in my lessons, and you’ve taken the class seriously. So, I’m going to give you a 29/30.” I was blown away, and soooo relieved. I escaped as fast as possible. Kevin followed after me and received a 28, and Claudio, who was present and anxiously waiting the results, was very proud. When it was time for us to get out of there, Claudio popped his head in and thanked Professor Bruscagli. Apparently he said to Claudio, “Well, they knew the material, but their Italian…” and while saying that, he made some sort of negative, Italian person’s gesture. Guess he wasn’t interested in considering that fact that we were very nervous and probably speaking in stream of consciousness. And, above all, we were taking his class to practice and use our Italian in an intelligent way, not because we had an insane interest in reading Verga, an author I had never even heard of before second semester.

With that, we had finished with the Italian education system and nerve-wracking pressure that we could never have become completely comfortable with. We were out by 1 pm, just in time to meet everyone else with Maria and Piero for a farewell cappuccino. Right after all the exhilaration, it was pretty painful to say goodbye to Maria and Piero, easily the most genuine, fabulous and wise Italian couple that I have ever been privileged to know. After saying goodbye, I spent the rest of the day running errands and enjoying the sunshine, knowing that I had no studying waiting for me. We went out that night to an outdoor techno concert that was a bit of a flop, as I think we arrived a little later than we probably should have. We also witnessed the results of a fatal moped accident, sheeted body and all. Needless to say, that put the icing on the cake for an unpleasant night that we would have rather avoided.

That day and night passed in a blur and now we arrive at yesterday. It was a disgustingly rainy day, but I woke up early to meet Elia (our cultural adviser) for a goodbye breakfast. The only others to make it so early on that gloomy day were Maggie Rossi and Maggie Wright. Elia had 95 euro remaining that he had to spend on us, so we just went crazy at a café, picking out every sweet, croissant and quiche that looked appetizing. It was really enjoyable, even though not many of us were there.

After breakfast, I spent some time walking around alone and soaking in whatever I could of my last day in Florence. My window-shopping on the Ponte Vecchio turned into real shopping when I bought a gold-plated, Florentine style filament ring. I had been looking for a gold-colored ring that wouldn’t turn my finger green and there was no way that I could afford gold, so I was delighted when I found this ring for 22 euro. It was much more in my price range. I met Andrea, Grace, Jeff and Carla for our final lunch at Borgo Antico at 1:30 and I ate a great veggie pizza. Then, we walked over to Gelateria Carraia, one that I had really wanted to try because everyone else had already had the chance to do so. I got the flavors “After Eight,” “Yogurt and Nutella,” and “Cookies.” It was fabulous, but still doesn’t compare to my all-time favorite gelateria- Vestri. I can taste my favorite flavors so perfectly when I think about it.

Yesterday afternoon, we had crisis in the Maria Pia- Andrea- Elsa household while we packed.  As far as space goes, I had guessed really well in my packing, but I was having some too-close-for-comfort weight issues. I had no idea how accurate or inaccurate Maria Pia’s scale was, so I did my best to be as close to 23 kg per bag, without going over. One was over by .8 and I was kind of banking on the airlines giving me a break. Poor Andrea’s flight was leaving from Milan (not Florence, like mine), so she had to drag her luggage on the train by herself to Milan central station, and then take a bus from the station to the airport. She had a HUGE problem with the weight and I’m pretty sure she decided just to accept the inevitable fees that came along with overweight baggage.

Maria Pia’s final dinner with us was delicious, as expected. She made my favorite pasta, spaghetti, olive oil, garlic and pepperoncino for our primo piatto. For our secondo, she made chicken cordon bleu, salad, and stuffed tomatoes. We LOVED the stuffed tomatoes. Earlier in the day while we packed, Maria Pia had given us her gift, a Toscana calendar and little Florentine mementoes, which were all very cute. So after dinner, we gave her our gifts. Together, Andrea and I had bought a beautiful hand-engraved silver frame from the metal artisan that Elisa had taken us too early on in the year. We inserted a cute picture of the three of us from our joint birthday celebration that Maria Pia had thrown for us in January. I alone gave her a set of beautiful stationary from a really famous store, called Pineider. In her letter, I told her that the purpose of the stationary was to keep in contact with me. She was very moved. Andrea gave her a gift certificate to a bookstore in the city center. All in all, Maria Pia was very excited with her gifts and I was so pleased to present them to her.

Last night, Maggie Rossi, Carla, Andrea, Kevin, Grace, Jeff and I met up on Piazzale Michelangelo for some champagne and quality time during our last few hours. It was a picture perfect night looking down on Florence, but my camera was unable to capture the beauty that we were fortunate enough to admire. We sat on the cement stairs where a bunch of different groups were seated, and Maggie began a toast by pouring us all champagne. Each of said something, every speech equally moving. Following our reflection session on a perfect year, we were rudely interrupted by 4 wasted Welsh boys, who were singing incredibly loudly and chugging bottle after bottle of wine. When Grace said something to us that I suppose these boys thought amusing, they found an opening and came over to talk to us all. In the beginning, they were all very presumptuous and rude, insulting Americans through their slurred vocabularies. I spent a good 15 minutes ignoring all of them well Carla requested tunes for them to sing. With time though, we all started talking a little bit more. Some were cooler than others, but there was one kid who was a complete fool. He and Grace seemed to have a bit of a personality clash, as they spent a good while insulting each other back and forth. This kid was way out of line and too egotistical for me, so I told him that he was definitely the most annoying person that I had ever met and that he’d have been better off staying quiet. (Yes, that was the best I could come up with. I’m not really good at dishing it out.)

After our lengthy fights, conversations and jokes, we walked Maggie home because she had an exam early the next day and it was already 1 am. The rest of us made an attempt to go dancing but the club (Twice) reeked of European B.O. so we got out of there as quickly as possible. We then gave some drunk kids directions to their hostel and walked to Piazza della Repubblica and said our goodbyes. We all took turns hugging and talking to each other one by one. We were exhausted and emotional and really feeling the reality of the end of our amazing experience together. We all got in our respective cabs and went home.

For the past two weeks or so, I had been bothered by the fact that I hadn’t shed a single tear between all the goodbyes and gifts. Even at Piazza della Repubblica, I was shockingly one of the kids with the dry eyes. Typically, I’m one of the emotional ones, so I really beat myself up about the fact that I couldn’t seem to cry. I didn’t even feel a build-up or desire to and it made me feel uncomfortable, as if I had been ungrateful and unable to recognize the amazing year that I’d had. I did my best to let it go and imagined that I would have had an explosion of tears at some point. I guessed that my chances of that happening were most likely at the airport.

I went to bed around 3:30 am and woke up at 5:45 am to give myself ample time for the physical and mental preparation for my departure from the country that I had inhabited for the past 9 months. I weighed my suitcases a final time and tucked away my teddy bears. I took pictures of all the rooms in the house and then had my final, Maria Pia breakfast. She had made my favorite cake- apple, and also served me a yogurt and a cup of tea, as usual. I ate slower than I normally do, as the reality of my departure was finally starting to hit me hard and I was stricken with nausea. Maria Pia got herself ready, and we were out the door by 7:30 with 3 enormous suitcases, one backpack, one purse, and two heavy hearts.

At the airport, I grabbed one of those carts and thought about how lucky I was to have Maria Pia, willing to take me to the airport. I knew that most of the other kids would be taking taxis and, expenses aside, I was incredibly grateful for her presence. Once the suitcases were out of the car, I had told her to go home. However, she insisted on coming inside with me, which I ended up being incredibly thankful for, during the disaster that we faced.

We got ourselves into what we thought was the line, and were called forward by one of the attendants, who freshly told us that we were in the wrong line and needed to wait in the “Economy” line, “just like everybody else.” We were immediately rubbed the wrong way. When we arrived at the same woman about 5 minutes later, she started to weigh my bags. I was well aware that I would be paying for a third bag, so her rudely telling me that I would be shelling out 160 euro for that didn’t bother me. What bothered me is the fact that she spoke ENGLISH to Maria Pia, who was visibly lost by it and really only trying to help me. In weighing my bags, each was overweight by a kilogram or less, and she told me that I would have to pay 120 euro for each overweight bag. Then, she weighed my purse and carry-on together (which I’ve never seen done) and they totaled 14 kilograms, while they “should have” collectively weighed only 8. The fees that she rattled off to me caused my immediate waterworks, and this stupid woman didn’t even flinch. She said “get out of line and come back when you have figured it out.” At the end of that awful encounter, I had to tearfully explain the whole thing over again to Maria Pia, who was rudely ignored by this woman. She was so calm but felt horrible for me, as I was desperate. She did point out the fact that she was pretty sure our oh-so-friendly attendant wasn’t Italian.

I tore open my bags and did what I could to re-arrange and throw things out. The toss-able things that I found were minimal, and only totaled a kilogram between all 5 of my different bags. Maria Pia collected me and rushed me back over to the lines, as she saw that the rude attendant was busy harassing another customer. The second a nicer-looking attendant became available, she shuffled me and my stuff over to the respective counter as quickly as possible, with me hyperventilating at her side. I was still as pleasant as possible because even in situations of panic, anger doesn’t solve anything. Our new attendant couldn’t find my permission slip to check two bags without charge (when I left in August, the rules still included two free checked bags. As of January, it’s been changed to one. I had called the company and  been told that I would be permitted two.). Fortunately, I had printed out the flight change confirmation that blatantly stated my allowance for two checked pieces. Saved there, thank goodness. Maria Pia hustled my 3 overweight bags onto the belt, and the check-in process continued onward without our friendlier attendant saying a word about the slightly overweight situation. Maria Pia did a great job chatting her up, talking about the fact that I faced a grand challenge packing for 3 seasons, etc. The lady sent me off to pay for the one extra piece, and that all went fairly smoothly.

When I returned to the desk, my three enormous bags were gone, my boarding passes were ready, and the attendant had given my carry-on/purse combo a quick glance, an “OK” and a smile. We breathed a huge sigh of relief, narrowly escaping about 400 euro in fines. Maria Pia and I walked to the exit and she explained that when she had been conversing with the attendant, she had been able to confirm that our original attendant was not Italian, and was actually driving the other two check-in attendants crazy. All I have to say is God bless those who can see our sides of the story and know what it’s like to be a passenger dealing with the complicated airline industry.

Maria Pia gave me a brief speech on staying well, saying hi to people, and returning soon. I started crying in her arms and she started to cry too, which I was touched to see because she hasn’t found the reason to cry very much following her 2 painful divorces. We separated and I made it through security senza problemi and full of tears. See, I knew the tears were waiting to burst out at some point. The first leg from Florence to Frankfurt was uneventful. We arrived a half hour late and I got an immediate flashback of my Christmas horror story, so I booked it through the terminal, knocking through anyone in my way. It’s not like I’m going to see them again, right? I was unsure as to the size and distances within the airport, so I wasn’t risking a thing. I arrived at my gate, 10 minutes before boarding. Then, I finally stopped sweating.

So here I am on the plane, sitting in my chosen aisle seat and enjoying the concentration I am putting towards my final blog entry. We just breaked for what I guess would be lunch, even though the time has me all confused. I received a rude awakening by the spaghetti we ate and had the sad “I’m not in Italy anymore” realization. I would probably compare this spaghetti to a high-end play dough. Very appetizing. Maybe this diet I’m putting myself on will be easier than I thought, considering the fact that I’m pretty sure no food will be as good as Italy’s food and therefore, not worth eating.

For those of you who have made it to this point in my epic entry, bravi, because I am on page 6 in Microsoft Word and I’ve still got a ways to go! Allow me to digress with the list I have been compiling, the highs and lows of my nine-month, Italian experience.

What I will miss:

Pizza the Italian way- while I have always loved American pizza, the freshness of the ingredients and lack of soupy oil on the Italian pizzas have really made them winners in my book.

Piazzas- most likely the best architectural concept, certain to automatically relax a person

The Italian pace of life- while I had difficulty adjusting to what I thought was laziness in the beginning, I now appreciate the time that Italians devote daily to food, family and rest. That’s why everyone looks so much younger and lives so much longer.

Italian children- There’s nothing funnier than talking to a 5-year old who speaks better Italian than I do.

Public drinking- Yes, I’m guilty of the regular wine-drinking session on the Ponte Vecchio. The view is too breathtaking to miss for a drink, so why not do them both at the same time!?

The “pausa”- an Italian phenomenon that happens around 10:30-11:00 am when everyone heads to the “bars” for a cappuccino.

The cappuccino- I actually hate coffee, but there is a special place in my heart for Italian cappuccino. They have really mastered the art of coffee-making, from the dainty cup to the heart form that they create in the milk foam.

Outdoor discotecas- there is nothing better than breaking it down and sweating half as much as you would dancing inside.

Wine- Italy is wine capital. It’s cheap and delicious, so there’s not much else to say here.

Shopping- even though the supermarkets are strictly food and your shampoo must be bought only at the pharmacy, EVERYTHING can be easily found on the streets of Florence with a little extra thinking.

Italian family/friends- I now have discovered a whole other half to my life and people that I will love and appreciate forever.

Sitting down to dinner every night- As they always say “a family that eats together, stays together.”

I can guarantee that there is more, but I think that sums up most of the aspects of my life abroad.

What I can most certainly live without:

Senegalese immigrants- I think I’ll be able to breathe easier now that I won’t be followed around Florence by these horrendously smelling men, saying “Ciao bella” and trying to sell me tissues, umbrellas or light-up Duomos.

White-faced gypsy women- By saying “white face,” I am literally referring to the white paint that they cover themselves in while they chase people (and me) around, begging for money, making freaky kissing noises, and giving me the finger.

Every-day bus travel and etiquette- It’s hot, it smells like B.O., people fight for seats, people pick-pocket, there is yelling, babies cry, it’s never on time, it doesn’t come, the company goes on strike at random. It’s just a terrible combination and system.

Albanian men- They never tire of hitting on American girls that don’t speak Italian. They use the girls’ lacking knowledge of the language to convince them they are Italian themselves, and then they try to seduce the girls. They never won with our group.

Chain-smoking 14-year-old Italians- Italy definitely needs to crack down on the smoking problem

Italian drivers- They are MANIACS on the road.

Mosquitoes- Because Italian homes don’t typically have screens on their windows, the little critters enter by night and attack your body. The results are far bigger than those in America, and I don’t know why.

The University system- Everyone already knows my opinion, as I’ve ranted about it in probably ¼ of my entries.

Ridiculous superstitions- for example, Maria Pia thinks pepper (the spice) is terrible for you and clogs your arteries. Maggie Rossi’s host mom thinks ice is bad to put in your drinks. Maria Pia thinks that drenching foods in olive oil after they’ve been cooked is healthier than cooking olive oil with food. I will never understand where these ideas come from.

So in the end, this year abroad has taught me so much that I wouldn’t even know where to begin. I have made some incredible friendships with such wonderful people. In thinking about my relationships with the other Holy Cross students, I am so grateful for the design of our study abroad program. Because there were only eight of us for a full nine months, we learned the good and the bad of one another and also learned to adapt to different personalities. Had we been in social situations where we could choose our friends from different groups, we never would have learned what it means to acclimatize and create friendships with those who you wouldn’t necessarily choose as friends from the beginning. Being able to feel so comfortable around each other is what made the year so successful and fun. No one was ever ashamed to get crazy, or cry, or fall on his or her face. And, I’m only now finding the words for all that I would have loved to have said to my friends last night. On top of benefitting tremendously from my full-Italian immersion, I have learned tolerance, acceptance and self-discovery, and I couldn’t be more proud with this huge milestone that I have overcome both individually, and with my group. While I feared the intensity of Holy Cross’ program, I now completely understand their thinking and would always recommend what I did to others. Host families are a golden opportunity for immersion and cultural acceptance. Staying for two semesters provides for the perfect balance between traveling Europe and creating a life for yourself in your respective host country. While there were many low points, those were the scenarios from which I have learned the most, as they have taught me how to enjoy the good as fully as possible.

I’m now three hours from the “real world” and preparing to close the most memorable chapter, and best year of my life. Adjusting back to the life I left in August is going to be a huge challenge, and I know that a lot of my friends may not understand the things that will upset me at home, but I’m going to work through it all as best as I can, and have an amazing senior year at Holy Cross.

Well all, thanks for reading my 9-month blog, and let’s hope that when this plane lands, my 3 overweight bags have made the journey along with me.

Baci e abbracci,

Elsa

Amsterdam

Goedemiddag friends! That means "good afternoon" in Dutch, a word that I learned after a fabulous weekend in Amsterdam. I have a ton of interesting and amusing stories, so this is going to be a long, and hopefully entertaining, entry.

When we left off, I was getting ready to head into the center of Florence to wait for our 3:30 am bus to Pisa. Andrea and I took our last bus #23 at 11:45 pm, planning to go and sit in Mac Donald's for a few hours, since that was the only place open so late. We didn't get off to the best start because as soon as we boarded the bus and turned the corner, I started talking about the time Kathryn almost forgot her passport for our London trip. That quickly made Andrea realize that she had forgotten her passport. Great. She immediately called up Maria Pia, who was most likely sleeping in her comfy chair, as she does every night. She immediately responded and said that she was not able to move her car, but would come in Gianna's car with Andrea's passport. About 20 minutes after Andrea and I arrived downtown, Maria Pia and Gianna were there, with passport. Seriously, she's a gem that Maria Pia. She'd really do anything for us. So, around 12:30, the crisis had been averted and Andrea and I went to Mac Donald's to sit down. I felt obligated to buy something so that we were allowed to sit, so I got a little milkshake. Around 1am, Kevin showed up and ordered himself a full meal (chicken nuggets, fries and a soda). I really envy boys in that respect because late night Mac Donald's would very quickly turn me into a cow.

Unfortunately, we got kicked out of Mac Donald's at 2 am because they needed to close. So Kevin, Andrea and I walked over to Piazza Santa Maria Novella and sat on a bench. It was pretty freezing, especially because there wasn't much between my butt and the cold marble bench. We distracted ourselves by watching the drunk, under-dressed Americans stumble by and chatting while listening to music. Maggie Rossi showed up soon after we got to the Piazza, and we sat there shivering until about 3:00 am. At that point, we decided to walk over to where the bus was scheduled to arrive, just to ensure that we didn't miss it. There were a ton of homeless people sleeping under the station's awning, so we avoided that area and waited further away so that we could keep watch on the happenings of late-night Florence. The bus arrived on schedule at 3:30 am and we had no problems getting tickets, thank goodness. There were a lot of other kids there that had already ordered tickets, so we were a little nervous until we made it on the bus. Most of the kids were either going to Amsterdam as well, or Morocco. Pretty cool!

As soon as I sat in my seat, I passed out. I guess Kevin, Maggie and Andrea had a little more trouble sleeping because some idiotic American spent the whole 1 hour, 15 min bus ride calling people- at 3:30 in the morning! Maggie was pretty pissed about that. When we arrived at the airport in Pisa, we had to wait about a half hour before check in began. Everything went smoothly through our boarding at 6:30 am, and we slept again on the 1 hour, 30 min plane ride. We landed in Eindhoven, The Netherlands around 9 am and hopped on a shuttle from the airport to get to the train station. At the train station, we got situated on a train heading into Amsterdam, with a little help from some kind Dutch people that conveniently spoke perfect English (I suppose just about all of them are bilingual). The train ride lasted a little under 2 hours and we arrived in Amsterdam around 11--- finally. We got our hands on a map and decided to walk to our hostel because it didn't look like it was very far away. While admiring the unique scenery (canals, quaint buildings, etc), we got a little turned around and had some trouble getting to the hostel. From the beginning, Amsterdam was pretty hard to navigate because it is built around the canals, and they don't have much of a pattern. It's certainly no New York grid. To make matters worse, all of the street names were about 12+ letters long, and varying only very slightly. Here's what I mean; Our hostel was located on OUDEZIJDS ACHTERBURGWAL, while other streets were named OUDEZIJDS VOORBURGWAL and NIEUWEZIJDS VOORBURGWAL. Forget trying to pronounce them, let alone find them.

Anyway, after a few wrong turns, we found ourselves in the Red Light District, which appeared much more tame than we had expected. Yes, there was a store dedicated to selling only condoms, and sex shops and peep shows lining the streets, but it really wasn't that bad. I saw the windows where I imagined the girls would appear later in the day, and then marveled at the hundreds of white swans in the canals. Turns out we didn't lead ourselves in too wrong of a direction because we quickly found our hostel, called The Heart of Amsterdam, smack in the middle of the busiest street of the Red Light District. Oops. From the information online, we had no way of understanding its actual location. I just laughed it off, saying that it would be a great way to get a full, Amsterdam experience. Maggie was a little nervous, but I think that subsided once we got settled in.

The hostel was pretty nice. It was designed in a movie theater layout, so the front desk was the "ticket booth" and all the walls were black and red, with movie posters and paintings all over. It was pretty cool. The stairs up to the third floor (where we were staying) were treacherous, but pretty entertaining to climb at the same time. If memory serves me correctly, our room was called "Fight Club." It was an 8-bed room and at the start, we had a quiet Asian boy, two middle-Eastern boys, and a boy from Brussels to share our space with. The room was cozy and all black, perfect for good slumber. We also had a great view from our window of some lovely naked women across the street. We were intrigued watching men shadily sneak in and out of the different doors.

Once we got settled in, we found a pub and got some lunch. I had a burger, which I hadn't had since the summer. It was great. We also all ordered Heineken's in honor of being in Amsterdam. After lunch, we headed over to the Van Gogh Museum, despite being completely exhausted. We knew we had to get at least one activity in for the day if we were to finish everything that we had planned for the weekend.

I really liked the Van Gogh Museum. It was very well laid out and though kind of big, it was not overwhelming. I loved all of his paintings. It was very interesting to see how much his style changed over the years, based on different influences. Previously, I had really only known him by his style in his famous works, but there were a lot of other very interesting subjects that he painted throughout his life. I really appreciated them all. Maggie and I finished viewing last, after Andrea and Kevin had already parked it in the lounge. We found Kevin sleeping and Andrea just about to do the same. So, we headed back to the hostel for a nap (around 4:30 pm).

When we awoke, it had already gotten dark, so I think it was somewhere around 7pm. We had an intense craving for Asian food, which is very popular in Amsterdam, so we found a nice little place for dinner. After dinner, we snooped around the Red Light District for a while and did some people watching. For the record, the Red Light District did not feel at all dangerous. There were lots of people walking around and generally minding their own businesses. Not everyone hangs in the area to get prostitutes. There's just a lot of activity there at night because there are so many bars and coffeeshops (the places where weed is sold) in the area. Also, the prostitution is pretty controlled. None of them walk the streets or anything like that. Instead, they all stand behind glass doors, usually wearing a teeny tiny bra and underwear set and dancing under red neon lighting (hence the name of the area). These doors can be either ground level or one story up, sometimes both within the same building. The most desirable prostitutes get the best windows on the main drag, while the pregnant, overweight and old prostitutes get the smaller alley-ways. Those buildings that don't display the prostitutes are usually sex shops or theaters for peep and porno shows. Oh yea, and there were also hostels, like mine.

We poked our heads into a few weed-infested coffee shops to see what was going on and then wound up at a nice pub. We got some Heineken's and a few Coke's and watched some hilarious 90s music videos on TV. At one point, a really drunk man turned around and started talking to us, asking to buy us drinks. We refused about 5 times before he got the message, and when he complimented Kevin on his choice in women, Kevin fooled him into thinking that he and Maggie were married. It was entertaining. We left the bar, got some incredible Dutch pastries and then called it in early night.

The next day, we woke up completely refreshed and headed off to the train station to pick up a free, 3-hour tour that we had read about. Our tour guide, Mason picked up those interested and we all walked to Dam Square, the original heart of the city with the Queen's Palace, etc. From there, he divided everyone up and we began our tour. I am not kidding when I say that it was one of the best tours that I had ever taken. 3 hours was most certainly a really long time but Mason had the most interesting and hilarious stories to share about the city. He was 25 and from New Zealand. He moved to Amsterdam a year ago, when he fell in love with the city and explained that he chose to be a part of this tour company because he liked their ideals: everyone should be able to learn about the history of a city, regardless of how much they can afford. As a college student, I'm in full agreement. We covered all parts of the city, including, The Old Church, The Red Light District, The Jewish Quarter, The Royal Palace, The Anne Frank House, The Jordaan District, The Begijnhof Convent, Hidden Catholic churches, Dutch Art, Multatuli's Giant Head, The Hash, Marihuana and Hemp Museum, Widest Bridge and smallest house, leaning buildings, The Dutch East India Company, and more stuff that I probably don't remember.

I learned sooooo much. For one, Amsterdam is very liberal, if you haven't figured that one out already. Mason explained that prostitution has been around and legal since Amsterdam first came to be. With all the canals, it was predominantly a sea-trading town, with lots of sailors coming in from long journeys on the ocean. This easily explains the presence of the girls back then, when sailors, just paid, were looking to have a little fun before going back out to sea. I found it funny that the main church in town was right next to the Red Light District. Turns out it was purposely placed there, so that sailors could come to repent their sins of the nights. The church benefited from charging a fee to all confessors, so business worked out just fine. Nowadays, the girls are all self-employed and there are no pimps involved in the prostitution. They usually do pretty well in the business, as they charge 50 euro for 15 minutes, and additional costs for anything "out of the ordinary," like pretending to actually like the customer. It's a very regulated business, as Mason explained that all the men must take showers when they arrive before even being able to touch a prostitute. I also know that they are regularly checked for STDs. The oldest prostitute in Amsterdam is 73 (I'm pretty sure we found her accidentally.. ew), but doesn't get very many customers. I think she should consider retiring. Anyway, Mason sadly informed us that the prostitutes are starting to get a lot of trouble from the government and are slowly starting to disappear. He thinks that there won't be much left for the business in about 10 years. I thought that was kind of sad considering Amsterdam's unique reputation based off prostitution and decriminalized marijuana.

Mason also explained how literal the Dutch people are when it comes to naming things, hence "The Old Church," "The New Church," "The National Monument," and "The Royal Palace." I guess they didn't want mess around with names (like they did with their streets!). I also learned that there are more bikes than people in Amsterdam, and that Amsterdammer's will run you right over if you are in their bike lane. I had a few close calls. I learned that marijuana is not actually legal, but decriminalized. According to Mason, the Dutch believe that the things one does on his/her own time, are his/her personal business. So, if you run up to an Amsterdam police men claiming that a man is selling marijuana behind the counter of a coffee shop, he will look at you and tell you that they are only selling coffee, tea and lattes, and that they are very tasty. I thought this was funny.

I was also very intrigued by the extent to which Amsterdam government went to control public urination. All over the city, there are actually "pee deflectors" designed to keep men from peeing in public corners. They look like metal shields that are flat, and form a triangle with the corner of a building. They have little flaps on the surface so that if a man tries to pee, everything ends up on his pants. Way back when, they were equipped with electrical currents running through them, but that got nixed when some mischief-makers got into the circuit box and turned up the voltage. There are also standing urinals all over the city. I was pretty amused to see that the government actually spent a lot of time worrying about accommodating drunk people who felt the need to pee in the street. Like I said, very liberal.

Anyway, there was a lot more that I learned on the tour, but that stuff really stuck with me because it was so unique and Mason told the stories so well. At the end of the tour, he invited those who wanted to hang around to join him for a traditional Dutch lunch, called Stamppot. We happily accepted because being on his tour got us a free beer and unlimited servings of this dish for only 7 euro. The Stamppot was delicious and included a Dutch sausage and 3 scoops of mashed potatoes, mixed in with shredded vegetables, bacon and gravy. It was delicious. During lunch, we met this Turkish girl who had also been on the tour. Her name was something that we couldn't understand, so she told us to call her "Moon." Seriously. Anyway, she was 20 years old and taking a vacation by herself in Amsterdam. She was a little shy, but sweet and completely out of her element within this culture. We also found ourselves next to two Americans that were also studying in Florence. What a coincidence. Their names were Andrew and Dan and both go to Georgetown back in the States. Turns out one of them went to high school with Matt Harper, one of my good friends back at Holy Cross.

After lunch, we did a little souvenir shopping and then headed back to the hostel to shower and rest. When we arrived back, in place of the Asian boy on the top bunk was a girl who I thought was a boy until she stood up. She confirmed our suspicions of her sexual orientation when she invited the other newbies (that replaced the middle-Eastern boys) to a gay bar that night. Those other newbies were two girls from Canada who were a part of the circus. I couldn't believe it at first, but while talking to one of the girls, I realized that she was actually serious. She was a contortionist! When I asked her how she got involved with the circus, she said "I was born that way." I think she misunderstood my question, but I'm not sure if she meant that she's been able to bend her body for her whole life, or that she's actually been in the circus for her whole life. Either way, these girls were an interesting and very noisy addition to the room.

At 8, we met at a bar to join a pub crawl that Mason had suggested. We were the first to arrive, so we got first pick of the free t-shirts, and free unlimited shots of vodka and juice. We weren't in the bar very long when we witnessed a naked, middle-aged man run through the bar, right past me who was standing in his way, up the stairs, and out into the street. I guess he lost a bet? Kevin also found a random mullet wig on the ground, so he tried that one for size while we were hanging out. Next thing we knew, Moon showed up! I'm not sure if she knew we were coming or not, but she latched right on to us. She was a little awkward and Kevin couldn't stand her, but Andrea and I enjoyed chatting with her for a little while. Those boys Andrew and Dan also showed up because they saw a crowd. What a small world. Our second stop on the pub crawl was a bar where we were given free Jager shots and beer at a discounted price. At this place, we met a British girl named Robyn, who was insanely underdressed for the cold weather and had a ridiculous amount of mascara on. She was great company though and very fun. Our third bar was at St. Christopher's Hostel, and it was packed. We also got free Jager shots there. Moon was already very drunk and made a bit of a scene with the pub crawl leaders. She tried to take more shots than she was permitted, and had a hard time understanding what the leaders were saying since English was her second language. She was pretty ridiculous, but it cracked us up. At the fourth bar, we got more free Jager shots and discounted beers. We got to chatting with one of the pub crawl leaders and found out that she was from New York, so that was pretty cool. There was supposed to be a fifth and final stop on the pub crawl, but Andrea, Maggie, Kevin and myself decided to skip out. We were tired, hungry (we hadn't had time for dinner), and were ready to get away from Moon. So, we thanked the pub crawl leaders and found this amazing "Wok to Go" restaurant and got a late dinner. We got back to the hostel around 1 am.

Yesterday, we got up early and walked for about 40 minutes, trying to find Mike's Bike Tours. Needless to say, we got a little lost, but finally found it. Mike's Bike Tours is the same company that we used to tour Munich when we went in October. We had really enjoyed it, so that's why we decided to use the same company. When we arrived, there were two other Holy Cross students already there. We had run into them on Saturday while we were on the free tour, and decided to get together for the bike tour. Since it was a little chilly yesterday, the only people on the tour were the 6 of us, so it was great. We road all the way out to the countryside of Amsterdam and saw the classic windmill. We also stopped at a farm and got a cheese-making demonstration and tasting, and also watched the owner make the traditional wooden clogs. It was really cool and we took a few pictures with some cows, too. On our ride back into the city, our tour guide took us through Vondelpark and showed us a statue made by Picasso. He also told us that the park originally used to be private and was reserved for use by rich people only. When the owner passed away, she left the park to the city of Amsterdam, provided that dogs were allowed to go unleashed. Then, he told us a funny story about the park in the summer time. During the sixties, lots of people came to the park to sunbathe naked. At a certain point, a more conservative group of people moved into the city and complained about the public nudity. So, the city forbade nude sunbathing. Soon after though, the gay population got upset that nudity wasn't allowed because they used to go to the park at night to, uh "make love," and wouldn't be able to with this law. So, the government changed the law to say that nudity was not allowed, but sex was as long as the people had clothes on. I don't get it, but again, that's the liberalism that runs rampant through Amsterdam!

After our cold and long, but very exciting bike ride through Amsterdam's countryside, we split with the other Holy Cross students and got "Wok to Walk" for lunch. It was delicious. I had wheat Asian noodles with shrimp and peanut sauce. After lunch, we walked over to the Anne Frank Museum and got inside very quickly. I was so impressed with the way the exhibit had been set up. It was incredibly informative, but very touching and real at the same time. We got to see the rooms of "The Secret Annex" as they had been left after the Frank family was taken to the concentration camps. All of Anne's personal photos and interests were affixed to the walls of her room, just as she had left them. Anyone who visits Amsterdam CANNOT miss the Anne Frank museum. I liked it so much that I'm going to read her diary as soon as I can find it for a cheap price here in Italy.

After the museum, we scooted back over to the area of the Van Gogh Museum and took some pictures in front of the I amsterdam sign. That was a must-do for tourists. After that, we realized that we were in the area in which our bike tour guide had described the location of a Taco Bell. Kevin's favorite fast food restaurant is Taco Bell, so we had to go. Turns out this "Taco Bell" wasn't a Taco Bell at all, but a "Taco Mundo." Kevin carried his disappointment back towards the direction in which we had come when we stumbled upon a Dominoes Pizza, Kevin's second favorite fast food place! So, we stopped there and he got his America fix. After that, we ran up to the train station and got our information squared away for our journey home, and then went back to rest before dinner.

We chose to eat dinner at "The Pancake Corner" because we had heard that we couldn't leave Amsterdam without having tried Dutch pancakes. So, we shared a pitcher of Heineken and each got our own pancake. They were HUGE and I could not even think about finishing mine. I included tomatoes, mushrooms, cheese and onions in mine and it was delicious. After dinner, the other Holy Cross students met us at this restaurant to watch the Superbowl together. We got bored pretty quickly because they didn't turn the sound on, so we couldn't enjoy the commercials. So, we left soon after the game had started and just hung out for a little while before going back.

This morning, we woke up at 3:50 am and left the hostel at 4:30. Walking through the Red Light District at that time was a little weird, but not too bad. We got to the train station and hopped on the 5:00 am bus to Eindhoven. We had a very difficult time getting tickets for this bus, not because it was full, but because the driver sounded like he had a terrible speech impediment on top of his inability to speak English. I know that the tickets were supposed to be 23 euro, and I gave him 25. It sounded like he was trying to get another euro from me and I told him that I knew it was 23, so then he just shooed me away, without my change. Whatever, at 5 am, I just wanted to get moving. The entire 2 hour bus ride was absolutely freezing and since no one could communicate with this crazy bus driver, we suffered for a good while. We were so thankful to arrive at the heat of the airport. Everything went fine and I slept the entire flight. When we arrived in Pisa, it was sunny! The entire time in Amsterdam had been gloomy and foggy, with occasional mist. I think that's common for the area during this time of year, but it was really nice to get back to the sunshine. We missed the 10:30 bus back to Florence by 10 minutes, so we waited around until noon to get the next bus in. We ended up being the only 4 people on it, so that was nice. Maria Pia had lunch waiting for us when we got home. Oh man, did I miss her. And as a side note, as soon as I opened my Facebook back home, I discovered that Moon had found me—already!? She didn’t even know my last name. Oh boy.

Anyway, we had an absolutely wonderful time. Amsterdam is such a unique city and I would recommend everyone to go. It has more canals than Venice and some great little bridges. The houses are very quaint and leaning with time. It's definitely a city with lots of character. I guess I would most closely pair the style of the houses in Amsterdam to that of the houses in Old Town Alexandria, VA. Not exactly the same, but similar in their simplicity. Also, the people are just gorgeous! All tall, blonde and thin. I hope that I get to go back some day in the future. There's still more I want to see.

As a side note, Ryanair (the airline that we used) sucks. Sure, the flights are cheap; but, the schedules are almost impossible to work with and they never fly into the convenient airports. So, what you don't pay for in the flight, you pay for in transportation to and from the flight. We'll see if we can find another option next time.

I just spent 3 hours writing this entry, so I have to go and do some other things. I'll update later this week.

Ciao!

Paris... too soon

I didn't think I'd be writing mid-way through my trip home. Yep, that's right... I'm not home yet. This morning, Maria Pia dropped me off at the airport in Florence at 8 am. The place was flooded with Americans that were going home after their semester abroad. I was pleased to see that they were all waiting in a different line than I was. Little did I know, they'd get home today, and I wouldn't. I spoke with the check-in lady and she wasn't able to get anyone taken care of right away because they were waiting to see if my flight had been cancelled (it was coming from Paris to get us in Florence and bring us back to Paris). An hour later, it wasn't cancelled, but just slightly delayed. I was relieved. So, I got checked in and even had a chance to buy a special treat for my family from duty free. By the way, all of this trouble was because it snowed about 2 inches in Paris last night. So, I got on the plane around 11:30 (original time would have been 10:15 am), but we didn't take off until 12:15pm. On board, I was assured that I would not miss my connector to the States (scheduled for 1:40) because "all of the flights are delayed due to the snow."

We landed in Paris around 2pm and I rushed to the info counter. "Your flight left at 1:40, miss." Sweet. The reality didn't hit me until I reached the terminal that I was meant to take off in. (Charles de Gaulle Airport is enormous, so I had to go to another building about 15 minutes away.) Once I arrived at my terminal, I tried asking people where to go, but no one spoke English. So, I found a Customer Services desk and got in line. I was in line breaking the news to Paul via text and started to cry. Two Japanese girls turned around and actually spoke to me in English, asking if everything was ok. I looked like a fool, but I couldn't help it because it was my first time flying alone and I had no idea what I was doing. One of them helped to make sure I was in the right place. She brought me around the airport while her sister held her place in line. She brought me to another area, which ended up being wrong, so I found myself back in line with them. We waited for three hours. That line CRAWLED. Her sister bought me coffee because she felt so badly for me. She didn't speak any English, but was adorable. I don't know what I would have done if I had waited in that line all alone. It was really nice to have someone to calm me down and just talk to me about things unrelated to airport troubles.

At 5pm, I made it to the ticket counter and waited 5 minutes for the lady to finish typing all this crazy stuff for me. At that point she broke the news: "There is absolutely nothing available tonight." I started tearing up and I could tell she felt so badly. We talked about availabilities and I tried to get myself on a flight to JFK instead of Newark that was scheduled to arrive at 10:00am EST tomorrow. Unfortunately, it was completely booked and I ended up getting a flight into Newark, same time as it was supposed to be today. The lady handed me a hotel and meal voucher, told me not to talk to anyone, and go straight to the hotel and then come back in the morning. So, now I'm here, writing this unfortunate blog entry. The airline has my checked luggage with tons of money's worth of Christmas presents. They said that it will safely arrive in Newark with me tomorrow. I have my carry on, but am without a toothbrush, etc. So, I'm going to go on a search for something. I'm glad I have my computer to keep me occupied. I'm waking up at the crack of dawn tomorrow. I can't wait to get out of here. Who would have thought I'd say that about Paris? Not to worry, I'll like it when I come back on the 30th for New Years, when I'm SUPPOSED to be here.

Well, that's about it. Off to find something to eat and I'll hope for a smoother day tomorrow.