Against my will, I have become a mac user overnight. This is because the moniter on my not even three year old Dell latop decided to die. It looks like a cross between a kaliascope and an cubist painting everytime I try to turn it on now, so needless to say I'm no longer using it.
Instead, because my roommate Kara is the most beautiful/awesome/fantastic person ever, I use her mac so I can actually finish the four final papers I still have to finish. I guess it's good this didn't happen in Febuary, but couldn't it have waited to kick the bucket until after my papers were done?
Anyway, I'll try to update this as often as possible still, but don't expect to find me on skype/facebook very often. If anyone wants or needs to contact me, use my email as that'll be the only thing I can really access reguarly.
And for the record, macs are better than pcs. Huh.
So last week when my family was in town, I dragged them to Cinque Terre, a day trip I had not-so-secretly been planning for weeks. And not only did I drag them there, but I made them wake up at six in the morning to catch the train to go. For those of you who find it hard to believe that I, of all people, would willingly wake up at six, all I have to say is that you would to for the Italian riviera. Cinque Terre may be one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen.
The train ride was long and tedious and filled with over-zealous hikers with too much energy. But then, we burs out from the tunnel over a cliff face adjacent to the Mediterranean, and the collective gasp from everyone, including myself, proved to me then that everything would be worth it.
And it was.
The names of the little towns escape me now, but there are five of them (cinque terre literally means 'five lands'), with hiking trails of varying lengths leading through the hills and along the shore from town to town. Fishermen lived in Cinque Terre before the tourist industry found it (and oh god, did the tourists come in droves) but surprisingly, I felt that much of the towns' characters had been preserved. They kind of reminded me of Ireland in this way, endlessly beautiful.
It helped that the day we went on was gorgeous too. Perfectly sunny, 70 degree weather. My kind of weather. And there was great pesto and sea food and lemoncello. But anyway, on with the pictures!
The first part of the hike from the first and second village was called the Lover's Walk, hence the hearts.
This place had the strangest vegetation. I've never in my life seen wild cacti before! My parents were especially excited to see them, having lived in Arizona for a year.
Me, being a giant creeper.
Last fall, my family and I went to my cousin's wedding in Tullamore Ireland. My parents wanted to leave, but my brother and I were having a smashingly good time. So my dad drew us a map to the hotel that looked something like this. My mother took one look at it, then at us (I think we were trying to river dance at that point) and said "they're not making it home with that. We have to stay". This map kind of looks like the map that would've had Kyle and I wandering around the Irish countryside in our wedding finery.
My brother, carrying my Hello Kitty backpack.
The parentals being parent-like.
LIZARD! They were everywhere. And now if I going running in the park in Firenze, I see them everywhere too. If I had gone to Cinque Terre as a kid, I would've just spent the whole time trying to catch them. I still kind of wanted to do it actually...
Vineyards on the terrace farming system.
What these rocks fail to mention is that the beach is down a nearly sheer cliff face and you have to lower yourself to the shore on a rope.
Olive trees.
There was a bucket of cat food behind the table near this cat with a label that just didn't translate well in English. It asked us to "feel free to feed these homeless and unloved cats". Homeless? This cat was more than amply well fed from the looks of it and none worse for the wear. And unloved? Is any cat ever unloved when I am nearby? It did help a lot that she resembles my Molly. This is Molly below in her Christmas best.
I miss my animals D:
I called this post 4.5 Terre because my parents only made it to the forth town, but me and brother bravely ventured onward to the fifth. So it averages to 4.5. But let me tell you, nothing was quite so satisfying as sticking my feet in the water after finishing that last leg of the trail.
The shot of lemoncello helped too.
Like usual, I forgot to take pictures of my dinner until I got to dessert. Oh well! It was still delicous. I missed seafood. It's surprisingly hard to find in Firenze.
Now, you're probably thinking, "what the hell? Is that the leaning tower of Piza?I thought this post was about Cinque Terre?" and you would be right on both accounts. See, to make a long story slightly shorter, we ended up getting on the wrong train home, and in the time it took us to make it back to the Cinque Terre train station, we missed all the trains to Pisa. Except for the creepy night train going to Naples that pulled in at 2am that was letting people on under the table for a little extra cash. After laying on the floor with my head udner my father's chaur for an hour or so, we made it to Pisa. Where my brother and I promptly took off to see the tower with this group of bys from NYU who had been similarily stranded away from Florence. I saw the tower as I took off to Berlin, but hey! It was nice to see it on it's own I guess, even at three in the morning. We didn't make it back to Florence until 5:30, and I didn't make it back to my apartment until 6. Even the drunk people who scream outside my window near the Mexican bar were gone, it was so early/late. I slept for about four hours then woke up to finish a final paper for a class that was due that very day.
Inevitably, if you go abroad, there will come a time about three months into your adventure where you realise that you never want to wear a single thing you brought with you ever again. There will come a time when even the sight of these most hated garments will drag up the moments you want to forget- the grey sweater you wore the time you wandered around Paris at the ass crack of dawn desperately trying to find the airport bus station, the flannel slippers you wore every single day for six weeks as you froze your ass off in your unheated apartment, the checkered scarf that permanently smells of old croissants from the time you used it to steal from the hostel's free breakfast spread because you couldn't afford to feed yourself and go to Rome at the same time.
In case you didn't notice, I'm not exactly talking about you anymore.
In addition to the above, there is one article of mine that I had extraordinary mixed feelings about: the once-attractive steve madden boots I brought with me.
The boots. Please ignore my I'm-squinting-because-I-forgot-my-sunglasses expression.
These boots have walked in America, Canada, Ireland, Italy, France, and Germany. The miles on these things rivals those acquired on my brooks sneakers the fall I did varsity cross country. But unlike my brookes, which were made for high mileage, these boots were not. They are in a sad sorry state now. When it rains, they leak the second I put my foot down on damp cobblestone. The five hour Cinqueterre hike ruined the zippers. The cracks running through the leather these days rival the San Andreas fault line.
It is a bad, bad situation my friends. I seriously doubt these boots will be making it into the States again.
But, even though I have forty plus pairs of shoes back home waiting for me, and I've spent more than I'm willing to admit to on shoes in Europe, a part of me is insistent on not throwing the boots out. Even though Kara, after seeing me wrap my feet in plastic bags to avoid the insta-flood that now happens every time I wear them in the rain, vowed to throw them out for me if I can't bring myself to do it. These boots have never failed me, and what have I done for them in return? I walked and walked and walked all over them until they were crippled.
As the saying goes, all good things must come to an end, but I always thought this applied to more monumental things in life. Not the death of my favourite pair of shoes. Take it from me- if you plan on globetrotting, make sure you're trotting in something that'll last you, because even if the thought of putting on that stretched out and mangled black cardigan one more time makes you want to cry, you're not getting anywhere fast in those zebra-print flats that seemed like a good idea three months ago.
For those of you who aren't fans, the title of this post is a reference is a Brazilian Girls song that was stuck in my head the entire time I was in Berlin, and really kind of goes to show how little I actually knew of Germany before heading over there.
Berlin was probably the most spontaneous random thing I ever booked. One day while Kara and I were browsing cheap flights at 2 in the morning in February, we found a flight headed to Berlin that was cheap (it is impossible to get to Berlin from Florence for under 200 euro) and we booked it immediately. It was the sort of trip you booked so far in advanced that, once the Easter/Birthday hysteria was over I suddenly remembered that I had to leave to the country.
So I did.
Now, even though I said that I didn't know a lot about Germany before I left, I was referring to the personality of Germany. I had an idea of what the people and culture of Italy would be like, and the same went for France, but Germany? Not so much. I am well acquainted with the history of Germany, especially of Berlin itself, but I can't say knowing that history was really that assuring. It also didn't help that the only things I could say in German was 'do you speak English' and 'thank you'.
As it turned out, I didn't need to worry at all. The Germans are, next to the Irish, the friendliest Europeans I've met. Though this might have something to do with the fact that living in a country where I'm essentially illiterate for the past three months is finally getting to me.
Anyway, upon arriving in Berlin, Kara and I soon realized that we weren't in Kansas anymore. Unlike Florence, where 400+ year old buildings are the norm, few things in Berlin looked older than 20, and those that were older had the mark of the city's hardships. Like, I'm talking bullet holes in the side of museum walls. It was insane.
Kara and I were staying in east Berlin (ie, former communist Berlin) in the shadow of this communist landmark. It's the tv tower, but the locals had dubbed it the death star. Also, in the sunlight, a cross shines on the metal of the death star which the people have called 'the pope's revenge' since the communists also took down all the crosses from the churches at around the same time. Karma's a bitch, isn't it?
See how the stone below the copper dome is sort of blackened? That's smoke damage from when the original dome was bombed during WWII. They couldn't clean the smoke from the stone because it would damage the building.
A re-creation of Check Point Charlie.
The Berlin Wall, or part of it at least. There were actually two walls, with mines and barbed wire and snipers in the 'death strip' between them.
This is a parking lot, but not just any parking lot. This is the location of Hitler's Bunker, where he lived the last few months of his life and where he killed himself. There's no marker of the site except for a little board near the side of the road- the German government didn't want neo-nazis making pilgrimages to the area. But they do anyway. Creepy.
The Brandenburg Gate. It used to be a war monument, but now they saw it's a monument of peace. It's also on the back of the German minted five cent pieces!
Part of the East Side Gallery- a free standing art gallery painted on the Berlin wall. The murals started as a spontaneous art movement in 1989 and a kilometre portion of the wall has been preserved of them.
The second day we were in Berlin, we went to the zoo because Berlin is supposed to have one of the best zoos in Europe, and because those of you who know me well know I will not pass up the zoo, ever. Luckily, Kara was a good sport about it, and we both had way too much fun there!
Tiger!! My favourite.
This is an Arabian sand cat, and is the cutest kitty I have ever seen. Except for mine obviously.
Wolves, my other favourite.
I dropped at least 25 euro in this chocolate store. This is a chocolate re-creation of a bombed church in the city.
The church in non-chocolate form.
The third day, we went on a tour of the Sachsenhausen concentration camp. I have pictures of the camp uploaded to facebook, but I didn't feel like explaining them here. If you're curious, message me about them or ask me when I'm back in New York. I felt like this quote said enough on the topic.
The fourth day (coincidentally, the coldest day, meaning the day that I refused to romp around outdoors) we went to a few of the Germans musuems. We were only going to go to one, but the 5 euro entrance fee at all of them was jaw-droppingly amazing, and it kept us out of the cold. These are the gates of Babylon in the architecture museum.
Berlin's mascot is the bear, because Albert the Bear was the man who founded the city 800 years ago. For the record, you know you've been in Florence too long when someone tells you a city was founded 800 years ago and you don't think that's old at all.
Soviet War Memorial.
And that was our epic trip in Berlin! In addition to the above, there was much Kindl drinking, annoying boys snoring in our eight person hostel room, and guilty oh-so-good french fries eaten at McDonald's. Let me tell you, if you ever get a chance to get to Berlin, go for it. You won't regret it.
As usual, more pictures if you care to stalk my adventures more fully. http://www.http://www.facebook.com/#!/album.php?aid=171015&id=561287236&page=6
I'm a fabulous, almost unemployed, newly minted English grad. The "almost unemployed" and "newly minted English grad" are objective, while the "fabulous" is fairly subjective. I blog because I am underqualified for most jobs, and overqualified for the rest.
