Dublin Day #2

The next day, which would have been Tuesday, was another jammed-packed one.  First, we went on a free three hour walking tour.  We walked (once again) the entire city, and saw everything from Trinity College to the Haypenny bridge.  It was a great tour and I highly suggest it to anyone who visits Dublin.  It's with a group called NewEurope and the tour guides are awesome and ridiculously well-informed.  They work only for much deserved tips. 

Peter, the guide, sitting in front of the door behind which the amazing Jonathan Swift was born.

On the tip we met a some kids and all decided to get some pub grub for lunch.  Once again we found ourselves at O'Neills (where we had dinner the first night), and once again it was amazing.  I branched way out of my comfort zone and got Irish Beef and Guinnes stew with cooked carrots, potatoes and cabbage.  Just thinking of it right now is making my mouth water in reverie.  I don't know how the obesity rates in Ireland are not higher.  They're food is so rich, but you can't stop eating it.  It reminded me of the pot roast and cabbage dinners we have out at the cabin, except ... better (sorry to any family reading this...)  Which brings me to the conclusion:  I need to learn how to make Irish food.  

Irish Beef and Guinness Stew

After lunch, we headed back to the National Archeology museum where we learned a lot about the Vikings in Irish history.  Then we crossed over to the National Library where they had a Yeats exhibit.  We went up to the reading room.  It was beautiful.  I found a book that just listed all the names of people who died in the Northern Ireland conflict throughout the years.  It was basically a book of obituaries.  Some light reading for vacation, right?  The Yeats exhibit was really cool, though.  I was surprised.  It was very well put together.  I'm not really a Yeats expert.  I'm not really a poetry expert for that matter.  But this definitely got me interested in him.  His life would make a great film... hmm, idea perhaps?

We returned to our hostel where we met our roommates Lauren and Chantel.  Lauren's from Belfast and Chantel is from Australia.  They all wanted a bite to eat, so I accompanied them to McDonald's.  I didn't indulge though.   I refuse to.  (But fun fact, Irish McDonald's has "twisty fries", and another fun fact, they're delicious).  We were there for quite some time discussing the cultural difference between the three countries.  Did you know toilets in Australia flush the opposite direction? The more you know...

We realized how late it was and made a bee-line for Temple Bar.  We had agreed to meet up with some people from the tour there.  This trip to the bar gave me some revelations:

1.  Swedish people are awesome in nearly every way and their English sounds very Americanized. 
2.  Bars in Ireland are way cooler than any bars I've seen in America and/or Italy.
3.  I know every word to "Whiskey in the Jar" which every Irish band and their mother cover.
4.  Getting drunk in Ireland; way more fun than getting drunk anywhere else, until..
5.  I start to think way too much when I'm drunk.  Seriously after I've had two Jack and Cokes (yes, I'm that much of a lightweight), I am a goddamn philosopher/expert on gender relations. 

So we walked home, well Kassie walked, I sort of stumbled home, and crawled into bed. 

Dublin Day 1

Wow, this last week has been crazy.

After my midterms, I was ready for a break.  My roommate and I decided to go to Dublin for fall break shortly after we arrived here.  So Sunday we boarded a train to Pisa where we would catch our flight to Ireland.  It is seriously a day of travel between the hour and half train ride, the waiting in the airport for two hours, the two and a half hour plan ride and the ride into Dublin itself.  We left at 12:30 and got in around 8:00 that night.

After checking into the Hostel, my hunger crept up on me and attacked my stomach.  I asked the check-in girl (very pretty with rockin hair and glasses) where the best place to get pub grub was.  She directed me to O'Neills.  It was delicious.  I originally wanted shepard's pie but a nice toasted cheese and onion sandwich sounded far more appealing at that point. 

We kind of called it an early night after that. But the next day was jam-packed.

We woke up early to grab some continental breakfast.  This was my first experience with peanut butter in two months.  This may seem unimpressive to you, but I literally eat peanut butter in some form, ( peanut butter toast or peanut butter banana smoothie or Organic Peanut Butter Panda Puffs from Trader Joe's for example). on a daily basis back in the states.  So my peanut butter toast on this day is definitely worth mention.

We ventured out of the Hostel with no particular destination in mind.  We were told it was "bank holiday" several times, but I have yet to figure out what holiday we were exactly celebrating.  Luckily, there is at least one company that doesn't shut down on holidays.  The Guinness factory.

Classy, right?

It was huge.  Massive.  Actually, I would swear the Guinness factory and the surrounding area forms its own town.  For eleven euros and hours of entertainment, it was defintely worth the very long walk.  (We walked the entire river Liffy to get there, I swear). Although it was very entertaining and surprisingly educational, I have one confession.  I don't like beer.  I know.  Shocker, right?  I should be predisposed to it, as I am largely Irish.  But I don't like beer and as good as Guinness claims to be, I don't like it either.  Blasphemy, I know, but I am just being honest.

By the time we got out of the storehouse, we were starving.  We ducked into a very elegant eating establishment for some fried goods, Burger King.  Don't judge.  After dinner we headed to our first movie (in a real cinema) since the summer.  We saw The Social Network.  Amazing.  Everyone reading this should go see it.  Aaron Sorkin, my homie, did a fantastic job, as usual.

We returned to the hostel and I made a quick call to Matthew.  Somehow it turned into a rather heated discussion about male-female relationships.  I can't quite recall what...but I know it ended with me running out for a box of Cadbury chocolate chip cookies and plowing through nearly the entire box.

The weather was very nice that day.

Questa Settimana

This week was one of those that just eats away at you until you become nothing more than a sniveling little shallow puddle of a person.  AKA this week was midterms.  I've now gone through five semesters worth of midterms, and I can safely say these were the worst.  Rather, I've never been so glad to be done with midterms in my life.  Ever.  I have never studied so hard for tests ever.  It's not that these classes are even particularly hard.  There's just so much busy work.  It's like they know if we don't have homework we'll start drinking at 9 a.m. just to kill the time here. So they pile that shit on.  What they don't understand is that meaningless work makes us want to drink.  Nay, need to drink.  It's absurd how much reading I've had to do.  But I'm not complaining.  To put into perspective, I remind myself that the room I'm doing this reading from has a view of the Duomo.

I should stop right here to inform you all that I do not always have this sunny of an outlook.  Oh no.  This week I've been more than a sniveling little shallow puddle of a person.  I've been a catty, negative and moody stench walking this earth.  When time gets tough I tend to shut myself down.  All the progress I made in my journey of self-discovery, and dear I say "self-love",  completely shattered this week.  I feel myself slipping into my old ways and grasping for anyone or anything to grab my hand and pull me to safety.  The fact is, there won't always be someone there to grab my hand.  I need to be able to pull myself out of the quicksand.  This is what I've been attempting to do this entire trip.

I came here in a fairly low state as a human being and while I have good days, recently it was pretty bad.  I was constantly deflating myself, always berating my work, dogging on myself for every imperfection I saw, etc. etc.  Usually this never reaches beyond the realms of my own self-worth, but this last week got really rough.  I started to internally berate everyone else I know.  Everything everyone did was wrong, annoying and stupid.  It takes a lot for me to lash out at a person, so thankfully there were never any blow-ups, but that doesn't mean the internal dialogue isn't just as frustrating.  In fact it may even be more so.  I have this tendency to keep things inside of me.  Things that I find annoying or rude or even disrespectful.  Then finally when I can't take the inner voices anymore, I started bitching about them constantly.  Mainly to my incredibly patient boyfriend.  I always think this will make it better.  I'll just vomit it out to him, and it'll go away.  The exact opposite happens.  Talking about it all just makes me more and more furious with the situation.  But will I ever confront what I'm upset about?  No.

This goes across the board with all people.  For reasons from my past, (which I will spare you from hearing), I cannot bring myself to confront people.  This allows people to take advantage of me, use me, and keep me in a very submissive position in the relationship.  And this needs to change, now.  I can no longer be the meak girl I was in high school.  Hollywood is vicious.  And while my skin is thick, my tongue isn't.  If I continue my life this way, I will always be in a state of anger.  A state of "what-ifs" and "I-should-haves".  But worst of all I will be in a state of harsh judgment and thus a state of loneliness.  I don't want to be in this state anymore. 

The French Riviera

Now before Alli anyone jumps down my throat let me say I recognize I haven't updated in a while.  I'm not a particularly lazy person, but this week has been kind of hellish between homework, studying for midterms, and a heinous cold.  I don't have much to report on the week since I spent most of it sleeping/in my bright green slippers.  But last weekend is another story.

When I signed up to study abroad ("signed" being the most simplistic way I can put it) I was able to choose two from eight different weekend trips throughout the semester.  The first I chose was a trip through Montecarlo and the French Riviera.

As most trips begin, this too commenced at what I could call the "ass-crack of dawn".  And I'm more of a morning person, so the 4:45 a.m. call time was ridiculous even for me.  We got on the bus to be proceeded by the most uncomfortable attempted four hours of sleep of my life. We arrived in Monaco around 11.  It was beautiful.  I can't imagine why Grace Kelly uprooted her life to live there.  But seriously, gorgeous.  It was gorgeous.  In fact they maintain such a perfection in aesthetics that even the guards of the palace are considered to be the most beautiful of the French soldiers.  After seeing them, I think that's an actual requirement.  Unfortunately we only had time for a quick lunch (omelette for me.  Delicious) and a quick walking tour around the city of Monte Carlo.  Then back on the bus.

Montecarlo

After a few more hours of driving, which I spent focusing on not throwing up, we arrived in Nice France.  It was an adorable little medieval city with narrow streets.  They all have narrow streets in Europe.  That night we were catered a delicious french meal of tuna salad, roasted chicken with potatoes, and pistachio ice cream.  My mouth is watering right now just reminiscing about it.  After dinner we, Kassie, Bree, Erica, Nicole and myself, wanted to head out to the bars to celebrate Kassie's 21st.  It's unfortunate that the first bar we stopped at did nothing to help the snooty french stereotype.  Not only were we forced to wait as a crowd of people were let in before us, they told us we had to check our coats for three euros (a requirement of no one else) and they had the audacity to card us.  So we blew that popsicle joint and headed to the King's Pub.  Now this was more of my style.  There was a live classic rock band playing and despite paying 9 euros for a jack and coke, I was feeling pretty good by the time we left. 

Nice men,

The next morning was another early one and this time we headed to Saint Paul de Vence.  It was nice, but a little too small and nothing was open.  But because Kassie and I overslept and didn't have time to grab the continental breakfast, this forced us to get a croissant and some coffee.  I have never had such flakey goodness pass through my lips.  It was delicious and oh-so-French I was tempted to pull out my beret then and there. 

Saint Paul de Vence

Our next stop was by far my favorite.  Cannes.  It was basically like any other overpriced beach city which you get used to living in Caifornia.  I was on cloud nine though.  Right as the bus stopped, I made a mad dash to the Claude Debussy Theatre where they hold the film festival.  One girl said it was very anti-climactic considering what it's used for.  But I protest.  Galleries are not meant to be gawdy and extravagant because the art itself is kept inside.  This is my feeling about the theatre. And also, you put a giant red carpet on ascending stairs it's always going to be a little bit classier.  Not to mention add flashing cameras, screaming fans and of course the stars, the theatre would ineherently transform.  After ogling the theatre for a while we decided to meander through the city a bit.  You know so I can get acclimated for the next few years when I return.  We stopped on the very windy beach for a photo op and bought ourselves some postcards.  I decided to get one of the opening night of the festival.  I'll hang it above my desk so I can always know what my goal is.  Or maybe on my fridge because then it will be a constant reminder considering my eating habits.  Speaking of which, we ended our trip to Cannes with what was easily the best sandwich I ever had in my entire life.  French bread toasted with prosciutto, guyere cheese and mustard.  I died and went to heaven on the first bite.  (I think I have a slight obsession with food...)

I feel like this pose would be inappropriate the next time I'm there i.e. at the festival.

We have the same size hands.  Life's good.

Our final stop was at the small town of Eze.  There's a very old and famous perfume factory there named Fragonard.  We spent what little time we had there taking a tour and I even splurged on myself.  As part of me finding my identity, I've decided I need a smell.  So I chose one that was fresh and feminine but not overpowering.  Just a kiss you could say, which is ironic because that's the name of the scent I bought.  I fell in love with it.  Or perhaps all the fumes had gone to my head.  I don't care. 

So that was last weekend.  Sorry it was late, Alli.  But better late than never. 

Uno di Quei Giorni.

Today has just been "one of those days".  One of those glorious yet simplistic days where nothing particularly special happens, but life seems perfect none the less.  I haven't had one of these days in a long time.

As usual, getting out of bed was difficult.  My body desperately wants to conform with the Italian tradition of sleeping late, but my school schedule forbids it.  I scampered to my Italian class in dread.  I'm finding that I can speak Italian perfectly fine, I have a harder time trying to understand it.  Which in regards to my class means that, I would answer the question beautifully if I knew what she was asking.  Today was the exception though.  The words just seemed to flow over me and before I realized it, I was walking out of the class with my head held high and ready to conquer the Italian world. 

After Italian, I had my third yoga class.  My body wasn't screaming at me (as loud) this time around.  I was focusing solely on my movements.  I can feel my body already strengthening and toning itself.  For the first time during a yoga session, I felt graceful.  I felt the energy in my body really pulsing through my veins.  And even though the last five minutes are meant to calm the mind, I couldn't help racing through all the things I wanted to accomplish.  Not only today.  Not only in Florence,  but in my life.  I left feeling invigorated and inspired. 

After I got cleaned up, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and the person staring back wasn't the normal Elizabeth.  This woman was full of confidence and drive.  And for some reason she appeared taller than normal.  I haven't seen this woman in a long time.

After a quick lunch of a fried egg I was off to learn how to make gelato.  I had it set in my mind that this quick gelato lesson would provide me with the tools to make gelato whenever I wanted from now on.  (I live in a dreamer's world).  It would be some easy recipe and I could steal borrow my father's ice cream maker to do it.  It couldn't be that difficult, right?  Well, it's not.  It's not difficult at all actually.  You basically mix together cocoa powder, sugar, confectioner's suger, milk and bowling water.  Then you add the ice cream base (made from cream and sugar) and churn it. Here comes the discouraging part, the two machines used to churn the gelato costs approximately 50.000 euros.  Then on top of that, I would naturally have to spend 50.000 euros on an expanding wardrobe if I did have the capability to make my own gelato.  So that's on the back burner, for now.


I ran over to the library  to watch Mamma Roma with Maddie.  When it was finished ("Fine" as Pasolini put it), we stepped out of the viewing room into the library where we met another classmate.  She asked us how it was. I stand by my opinion.  I didn't like it.  And I told her this.  And I told the eavesdropping librarian this.  The eavesdropping librarian who happens to be an ex "Histroy of Italian Cinema" professor.  Yes, only I have the impeccable timing to insult Pasolini in front of an Italian Cinema expert.  Maddie, dodging the ensuing debate, made an excuse and got the hell out of there.  Now, I don't like to personify any stereotypes of the pretentious film student, but when someone looks at me like "little girl what could you possibly know about cinema?" I am so ready to thrown down.  Like that time I was working my grocery store job and a man started rambling on about how films today don't have good plots (which I agree with).  Then assuming that my only interests in life were price checks and produce codes, he leaned across the check out stand and asked, as if I was three years old, "Do you know what plot is"?  To which I responded, "You know I'm not a big fan of plot, but I love a good story."  Flim jab.  Burn.  All my film homies should appreciate that one.  Anyone?  Anyone?  Bueller?  Bueller?


Now I'm just rambling nonsense.  Basically I've had a bomb day and I'm hoping this high continues forever.  (I live in a dreamer's world). 

Cortona

Yesterday morning my roommates, Kassie and Hannah, and I woke up to rush to catch the train to Cortona.  After some confusion about which train to take (it's not marked well), we managed to find the right one and hopped on.  Seventeen stops, yes seventeen, and two hours later we arrived in Camucia.  Cortona is basically a fortress city on a hill which makes arrival by train difficult to say the least.  So one takes the train to Camucia and buses up to the city of Cortona.  The road is basically a  winding "s" for three miles.  Very glad we chose the bus.

I stepped off the bus and right away by breath caught in my chest.  The view was so spectacular neither words or my amateur photography skills can capture it properly.  Everything was so lush and vivacious.  The olive trees and vineyards speckle the hills like little tombstones in a veritable garden of Eden. 

Toscana

I can see why Frances Meyer's lives heres...

We reluctantly ventured away from the view to find some lunch.  We had read in a local newspaper article to try Trattoria la Grotta.  (What can I say?  I'm a slave to the printed word).  It was a charming little restaurant tucked away in a nook between apartment buildings.  We sat outside in the afternoon sun to enjoy our delicious meal.  Everything we ordered was fantastic from the bruschetta, to the gnocchi, to the roasted potatoes.  It was all fantastic.  I even went out on my own limb and ordered sformantina di melanzane alla parmigiana, eggplant in marinara sauce with parmigiano.  It was quite literally to die for.  Despite being surrounded by the best carbs life has to offer, namely pasta, I find I eat far more vegetables here than I do in America.  Hopefully, this will be one of the many Italian practices I take home with me. 

It was much more appealing in person, I swear.

Okay, so now I just have to digress a bit and rant about European bathrooms.  Not to sound pretentious, but I consider myself a fairly savvy traveler when it comes to Italy.  I can speak the language enough to at least communicate and I try to keep my head down and my voice low to avoid unwanted attention, but I have to admit, I cannot figure out European public bathrooms to save my life.  Not necessarily the functionality of them, I can do that.  It's more of an identification problem.  I've found that most bathrooms in Italy are unisex.  No problem.  Basically, you wander back to the bathroom to find the men and women share a sink and mirror area and the actual stalls break off into the specific genders.  No cause for alarm, right?  Wrong.  The individual stalls would be great, if they were more clearly marked.  Often times the men's stall is marked and the other is left blank.  I assume, as I hope the natives do, that this means the unmarked/unmanned stall is meant for women.  I could be coming out of left field with this logic, but I'm pretty sure I've used at least three bathrooms meant for men.  But I digress.

After lunch, we wanted to meander around the hills streets.  We started down one particular road only to be met by a car.  We split off to either side of the road.  Hannah and I to the left; Kassie to the right.  Well, somehow or another, a ceramic pot holding a plant was knocked over and shattered.  I maintain the car did it, and Kassie denies touching it.  So we just sort of fled the scene while a waiter from the respective restaurant screamed vanities at us, none of which I will repeat here.  So much for keeping our heads down... 

After that fiasco we decided to take a more calming turn and wandered into another museum.  The Museo di Disceon to be precise.  It was a church converted into a museum to house some of Cortona's local famous artists and other gems.  It was a great way to spend a few hours and five euros.  I adored every minute of it.  Like most museums in Italy, the art mainly depicts religious events.  This usually pertains directly to Mary.  I'm very interested in artistic interpretations of the Madonna.  (If you ever wanto to hear me ramble mindlessly, bring this up).  Usually, the Madonna is depicted as a fairly adrogynous, apart from her face.  However, most of these paintings showed her in full third trimester of her pregnancy.  Just something, I found interesting, you may not though.  

We wandered back up to the bus stop, not before grabbing Hannah some mediocre cheesecake gelato.  As we were waiting for the bus, there were two little boys running around.  They were brothers, and, in the Italian fashion, they were showing their strength in front of a beautiful older woman to gain her attention.  As we were getting on the bus,  the younger boy, maybe seven, said to her, "Hai bella faccia, bella faccia".   "You have a beautiful face, a beautiful face".  Which, if that doesn't melt your heart, nothing will.  

Offuscato - Blur

Literally, the last few days weeks have been a blur.  I've already been here for a little over a month and it's just flown by.  I haven't been properly updating, but I hope this will change. (Fat chance).  I should rewind past my last entry to my parents visit. 

They came on September 18th and left the 28th to give you an idea of how out of touch I am with my fan base (consisting of Matthew, Jessica and Alli).  They were here and it was wonderful.  You see, I left home at an early age, 16, to go to boarding school.  So while most people became sick of their parents their final two years of high school, I wasn't around mine.  I feel like this has been both an advantage and disadvantage to my growth as an adult.  While most people are on mediocre to temultuous grounds with their parents, I have a great relationship with both of mine.  We rarely fight and for the most part, I feel like I can be completely open with them; however, at times it feels like my sixteen year-old self stills clings to them at times.  Sometimes I feel like it hinders my growth into a fully independent woman.  I often time find myself seeking their approval and sometimes for things they really have no say over.  Most of the time this is all in my head though.  They sound surprised sometimes when I "just check if it's okay".  (This wasn't meant to be the subject of this entry, but get me on my soap box and it's hard to shut me up).

You think we're related?

It was nice having them around if not for the company but for the free meals and day trips around Italy that were not part of my shoe-string budget.  Since they were in Florence for so long, we decided to take a few trips to cities around the area.

First we went to Pisa.  And let me say, if you can at all avoid this city, do.  It's a complete and total tourist trap full of fake bags, gypsies and overpriced lunches.  Don't even get me started on that last one.  But despite the price, I can officially say I had a piece of pizza in Pisa.  And I can also officially say, it was fantastic.  I had no idea how much I liked tonno (tuna) until I came here.  I'd eat it everyday if it weren't for the pesky mercury.   

From Pisa, we took a bus to Lucca.  And on the bus ride I almost got to enjoy the pizza a second time.  But Lucca was so quaint and adorable it almost made up for Pisa's misgivings.  Almost.  No one speaks English there because they're a self-sufficient community that doesn't need to cater to American tourists to keep their economy afloat.  This is in large part thanks to the Kleenex factory just outside of the city.  (I hope you realize I don't have the time or energy to make a fact like that up).  Anyway, the whole no-english thing gave me a great excuse/forced me to use my Italian.  It went surprisingly well apart from a very rude shoe salesman.  Not to mention, I had my first harsh lesson in bra shopping in Italy in Lucca.  Apparently, Italian women don't have breasts bigger than a C cup.  (A fact I don't quite believe but the lingerie shops do). 


But all in all, Lucca was adorable, the church was quaint, the food: fantastic and the people charming (for the most part).  I wish I had more time to update or even some vast self-realization on the trip I could go into, but I don't.  So those will have to wait until tomorrow or Sunday.  Right now I'm off to sleep for a few hours before catching a train to Cortona.  Man, life in Italy is just so hard with all this travel, food and wine.  I don't know if I can keep up...