Chances Are...

After I graduated from high school in 2008, I found myself packed into three suitcases, a cardboard box, and one heavy carry-on. At Midway International Airport, it felt like a dream as Mom and I walked to the gate departing to San Diego, California. At eighteen, I picked up my life and moved halfway across the country to begin my college career at San Diego State University. I was one of two students from my graduating class to go all the way to California; everyone else stayed local or remained in the Midwest. Soon after arriving, it seemed my predictable, comfortable life was just part of a past I was longing to run from.


Although it is true that my time in San Diego was limited, it was nothing short of amazing. I met the best friends of my entire life, witnessed a change in myself I never thought possible, and learned a newfound appreciation for my home, my past, and my future. As I left San Diego in route to my new home at Purdue, I convinced myself that someday, somehow, something would lead me where I needed to be.


When I arrived here at CIMBA, I met a young man named Lars. Lars always looked familiar to me — I knew that I must have met him somewhere, I just had a hard time placing his face. The first morning in Intercultural Communication, we went around the room introducing one another. Soon, Lars introduced himself and revealed that he attends San Diego State University; he is a junior there, just as I would be. Of course, I was ecstatic to talk to someone who shared a unique year of my life on the West coast. I caught up with Lars after class, excited to hear about his time at SDSU. After some small talk, it turns out that he lived on the same floor as one of my best friends, Courtney, during our freshman year. And now here we are, both studying abroad halfway across the world. Goosebumps? You bet.


Looking back on my life, I realize that I have always been a bit of a traveler. Picking up my life at eighteen years old and moving halfway across the country knowing not a soul was my first clue. Although it was hard in the beginning, eventually I made a life for myself there. I experienced the West coast for exactly what it is; a place to admire, explore, and grow. My friends from SDSU are some of the best I have ever made, many of which I still talk to on a daily basis. All of the things important to me before I left Chicago the first time are still as important to me as they are now — even though now I am living halfway across the world.


During my stay here in Paderno del Grappa, I have made the same adjustments. The beginning was not easy, nor did I expect it to be. But, as I did in San Diego, eventually I made myself a life here. To date, I have traveled to five European countries, learned a new language, made some amazing friends, tried every vegetarian option available in Europe, and seen some of the most famous historical sights in all of Italy. Do I still consider myself a traveler? Not really. I like to think of myself as a world traveler, yes, but moreover as a student of this amazing universe. Like San Diego, each place has taught me something different from the one before it.


During the end of my run yesterday, I came across a realization. Perhaps SDSU was not the place for me to be at this point in my life. Purdue is a much better fit for me; I am convinced that it is exactly where I am supposed to be. What overwhelms me the most, however, is realizing that regardless of whether or not I had stayed at SDSU or Purdue, I would have ended up at CIMBA and in Paderno del Grappa either way. SDSU and Purdue only offer CIMBA as a Business and Communication study abroad program without a two-year language requirement. Knowing this as I do now, I realize the irony in my own story. I took two completely different paths and ended up at the same destination.


There is a song by Five for Fighting entitled “Chances Are.” The first time I heard it, the lyrics struck me as rather off; I didn’t quite grasp what the song writer was actually talking about. Looking back to that song now, however, I realize exactly what they meant.


Chances are we´ll find two destinations
Chances roll away from me
Still chances are more than expectations
The possibilities
Over me


Possibilities are endless, especially when you’re living halfway across the world, knowing that exactly where you are is exactly where you are supposed to be.


My bags are packed. It's off to the airport in an an hour or two, Venice for the day, and on a plane to Chicago tomorrow morning. How did the time pass so quickly? I cannot believe I am leaving Paderno already. What an amazing, wonderful, a million other adjectives, of an experience this has been.


Ciao, Ciao, Paderno. I will miss you and all that you have given me.

A Weekend in Paradise

Ciao, everyone!

I cannot believe that this weekend was the last weekend I will spend in Italy. Where has all the time gone? It seems like only yesterday I was lugging two huge suitcases through the airport to my new home. Now it is April and the Italian spring is in full swing; the weather has been 70's and 80's for the past two weeks. As much as I have been trying to focus on school, it has been mighty hard with such great weather!

This past weekend, two of my best friends from Italy and I went on an extended weekend vacation to Cinque Terre. Cinque Terre is located on the southwest coast of Italy in the Ligurian region. This is the same region of Genoa and San Remo, some other famous vacation spots. Jodi, Allison, and I stayed in the beach town of Monterosso al Mare -- a beautiful, picturesque town where the water was as blue and clear as the sky. We had our own private beach. Needless to say, we started off the weekend right!

We arrived Friday afternoon around 1:30pm and checked into our hotel. Our hotel was a small, artsy building located about 400 meters from the beach. Mosaic tiles covered the walls and headboards, adding a bit of sparkle to an already amazing place. We dropped off our luggage, changed into our bathing suits, and headed down to the beach. Along the way, we tried Ligurian foccacia (what they are famous for) and gelato (of course) before we found a spot in the sand. We spent the afternoon sunbathing in the beautiful Monterosso atmosphere. The water was crystal clear -- I literally could see for a good 200 yards into the water from the shoreline. It was, however, incredibly cold. Jodi and I dipped our feet a few times to cool off. I was worried to go in any further! It wouldn't take much to get hypothermia in that water!

Later that afternoon, the sun was shining so bright and the warm weather became almost unbearable (even on the beach), so Jodi and I decided to brave it up and jump into the ocean. What were we thinking? I'm pretty convinced we weren't, but we grabbed hands and sprinted into the frigid water anyways. Needless to say, after that ice bath, we didn't need another dip in the water for the remainder of the afternoon.

Saturday morning, Jodi and I woke up early to go for a hike in the Monterosso hills. Currently, Cinque Terre is finishing up maintenance on most of their trails that lead to the other four towns. Since we were only really able to stick around Monterosso, Jodi and I decided to hike up Monterosso to Levanto, another beach town about a 2 1/2 hour hike away. With our Powerades and hiking gear ready, we set out on our little adventure.

It was already 70 degrees by 10am and more humid than a Chicago summer. The trails weren't as clearly marked as we would have liked. We decided to trust our instincts and go with our guts rather than asking for directions. We soon learned that asking for directions, regardless of how butchered our Italian is, can save a person some grief. I say this because we found ourselves amidst our "let's just go with it" attitude, Jodi and I found ourselves lost on a nudist beach. After nearly dying of laughter and embarrassment, we sprinted back to the main road and finally found the right way to our morning hike.

The hike was great; nothing too strenuous, just something to really enjoy doing together and being with nature. On our way down, we were exposed to some of the most beautiful views in all of Monterosso (and I would argue Cinque Terre as a whole) that we couldn't help but stop and soak in. Eventually, we made it back to the hotel and met up with Allison. We showered, gathered our beach gear once again, and headed out for another day on the beach.

Along with foccacia, the Liguarian region is world-known for the invention of pesto. A huge fan of pesto, I was eager to try it. I enjoyed it on handmade linguine pasta, homemade bruschetta, and foccacia. Delicious. I even brought a jar to bring back home! Now the fun part will be getting back to the States without breaking and spilling all over my clothes in my suitcase. :/

We made it back to Paderno safely Sunday evening with enough beach memories and great times to last us a lifetime. A beautiful, fun way to end this amazing experience.

Some pictures of our trip:

Monterosso, Cinque Terre.

My homemade linguine with pesto. Yum!

The Monterosso harbor; even foggy, it was still beautiful.

What our hike looked like.

More of the beach in Monterosso.

Jodi and I on the beach in Monterosso on our last day.

Allison and I on the beach.

I cannot believe that I will be landing in Chicago this Saturday afternoon. It came so soon! But I hope you all have enjoyed the photos and stories. Of course, this is only a fraction of the pictures and stories I have from this wonderful journey, but there is lots more time for that in the future. :) Look for a final blog post or two sometime later this week!

Until Next Time --- Ciao!

Mount Grappa

Ciao, everyone!

This past weekend, I decided to spend my time in home sweet home, Paderno del Grappa. The weather here is absolutely beautiful -- ranging from the mid 70's to low 80's for the past week and a half. The skies have been clear and a hint of the Italian Spring is definitely in the air! Although I have so much going on with projects, papers, and upcoming finals, I managed to make the best out of my last weekend in my Italian home.

Saturday, my friends Jodi, Liz, and I sat outside on the CIMBA park benches in the sun and did homework. No one was there to distract us or bother us. There was only the sound of nature, a sound so relaxing that words could not do it justice. Later that afternoon, the three of us took a nice long walk throughout Paderno, saying a short "see you later" to all of the places we won't be able to revisit before our departure. It was sad, but soaking up the beautiful sunset with great friends kept the spirit alive.

Sunday was also quite a productive day, but in a much more physical sense. The beautiful mountain range I have looked at every day from my window for the past three months was finally graced with my presence. An American professor here at CIMBA offered to drive myself, Liz, and two of my hall-mates, Ashely and Keith, up to the base of the mountain for a Sunday hike! Thrilled, we jumped on the offer. Without a ride, the walk to the base alone would take two hours! So, bright and early Sunday morning, we all showed up, eager to face the challenge.

We arrived at the base of Mount Grappa around 10 a.m. that morning. Already captivated by the beauty of the sight, it was hard to pick just one trail we wanted to do. They all looked so beautiful; however, because it only recently turned warm, many of the advanced trails were still shin-deep in snow fall from the weeks before. Our professor suggested route 155, a route he and his wife take often and recommended as a good, intermediate trail. We, too, decided that it seemed like the best option. So we exchanged cell phone numbers with our professor, waved our goodbyes, and headed up the trail. Look on and follow our hike, too!

Our trail markers. Hidden in bushes, painted on rocks, buried beneath fallen rock don't make for the best trail markers...but it's the thought that counts.

The beginning steps...

A view from about mid-way.

Almost to the to! Well, kind of. It looks close here, but it took another 45 minutes after this picture was taken to get there!

The rocky trail. No such thing as woodchips in Italy! The rocks clinked together like the sound glass. I wouldn't want to fall on those babies!

The view from midway, looking back.

A view of the other brother and sister mountains from the top. You can see the snow!

I made it! Somehow, this was the only pose I could do to show off how proud I was.

A tunnel from World War I when the Italians retreated. There is a monument on the top of a brother mountain of Mount Grappa in remembrance of a great battle that took place on Mount Grappa during the war. The monument stands for all those that fought and died; these war tunnels are preserved for the same reasons.

All of us after the hike in the beautiful Bassano del Grappa where we were treated to gelato and cold water.
From left to right: Liz, Me, Ashely, Keith.

The view from the top of Mount Grappa was unlike anything I have ever seen before. The pictures surely don't do it any justice, but the feeling of reaching the top after changing altitudes multiple times and being thousands of meters high...there was no greater feeling. My butt and calves were sore for three days afterward, but it was worth every single step. If I had more time in Paderno, I would definitely make hiking Mount Grappa a weekend activity. Sounds crazy, but it was that rewarding.

Only one week left in Italy. I cannot believe how fast the time has flown by. It seems like only yesterday I was lugging two huge suitcases through train stations to find my new home. Tonight, I am spending my last Friday night in LaSalle 134. A bit bittersweet it is. I will miss you Mount Grappa. But I can assure you -- we will meet again.

Until Next Time --- Ciao!

Under the Tuscan Sun

             Mom and I woke up Tuesday, the twenty-second of March with a blaring alarm at 6:30 in the morning. As I rolled over to shut it up, I realized that today was the day we would be seeing the “Best of Tuscany” with fifty other strangers visiting Italy at the same time. With a surge of excitement, I leap out of bed to start my day. Mom yawned, perfectly perched in bed like a primped peacock. “I need some coffee first,” she stated. I rolled my eyes as I shut the bathroom door, snickering at the obvious American in my very Italian mother. “But we’re going to Tuscany today,” I commented. “You should be hyped up on that reason alone!”

                The charter bus was long and narrow, but comfortable enough for the two of us in a row of our own. I snagged the window seat, convinced I would not miss a single sight that we passed along our route to Tuscany. As we departed from Florence, the scenery of colorful buildings and houses faded and the greens of the hills slowly emerged. The sun glistened through the window and onto my face. The heat was refreshing, almost calming. As my Mom and I looked at our new surroundings, the sun did us yet another favor. Although it was only March, the sun sparkling atop the green hills and skyscraping trees gave them a sparkle I never knew nature was capable of having. “This is absolutely beautiful,” was the only thing Mom or I could say, repeating ourselves with every new angle of the picturesque scenery.

                About an hour and a half later, the bus took an unexpected turn. Exiting the Italian highway, we found ourselves speeding down the twists and turns of old Tuscan roads. The roads were made of dirt and stone. Beneath us, the earth crunched with the weight of our bus. As we weaved in and out of the hills, we passed farms with more acres than I can count and views that I only thought existed in fairytales. The hills were all different sizes, some large and others small. The sky radiated a fierce blue backdrop; the hills seemed to touch it with the tips of their green peaks. Olive trees and grape vines created parallel lines, the only way to distinguish the properties from one another. Trees popped in and out of our view, some areas smothered in the beauty of them while others were bare with only hills in sight. “This is exactly how I always imagined Italy to be,” Mom whispered. I smiled, silently thanking her for putting what I was struggling to admit into words.

               As we pulled up next to a brown stone house, the bus came to a halt. Sandra, our tour guide leader, came over the loudspeaker and announced that we had arrived at our lunchtime destination. Hopping off the bus, Mom and I found ourselves in the middle of the natural beauty of Tuscany. Sarah, the owner of the farm, greeted us and led us down a flight of cobblestone stairs to begin a tour of the property. First, she pointed out the olive trees and grape vines blooming for summer harvest. Up close, I realized how unique the olive trees are. From afar, they look like tiny trees with bush like leaves – almost like something I would consider planting in front of my house back in Chicago. Up close, however, I noticed the intricate and delicate aspects of this piece of nature. Like the grape vines, the olive tree branches weaved in all directions, twisting and turning with the hills of its home. The olive tree leaves were even more interesting; a washed out olive green, they were the perfect elongated almond shape. I could not help myself and instinctively reached out to touch them. They were smooth yet had a hint of roughness, a texture I had never quite experienced before. As I made this realization, I smiled to myself. Like everything else I have experienced in Italy, this always seemed to be the general theme.

                After a short linger in front of the olives and grapes, Sarah led us to the farmhouse. As we entered, the foul smell of manure greeted us with a strong statement. Once inside, however, we found ourselves in the midst of a mini cow village. Giant while cows, a first for my eyes, surrounded us. Unaffected by our presence, they embraced the true essence of the Italian culture as they stared at us blankly and continuing chewing their hay. A few brave ones came up the gate, sticking their heads through for a meet and greet. Naturally, I found myself reaching out my hand. The white cow was soft and welcoming, especially as she gazed up at me with the biggest brown eyes I had ever seen. She remained calm as I pet her, still as a picture, only flinging her tail from side to side when I scratched her ears. Never in my life would I ever think a cow to be cute! Perhaps it was the picturesque Tuscan background that was starting to grow on me. Whatever it was, it was working.

             Up on the terrace, lunch was served. Bruschetta greeted us, seasoned with organic olive oil, garlic, and a pinch of sea salt.  Toasted and delicious, it was accompanied by our first taste of the organic farm’s white wine. Although it was quite dry, it went perfectly with the bruschetta. Next, a fresh bowl of homemade organic linguine pasta landed in front of us. Being vegetarian, my pasta was coated with a thin marinara; Mom’s was coated with a light Bolognese meat sauce. As we swirled the pasta around our forks, the smell alone was enough to make our stomachs rumble in anticipation.  The sauce was sweet, but light. It reminded me of the same sauce my Nona makes back home, sending a small chill (the good kind) down my spine. A glass of red Chianti wine was poured for each of us, yet another one of the farm’s homemade products. “Salute,” our new friend Jen toasted. As we all clinked glasses, we all smiled, grateful for this opportunity to dine together while overlooking what may be the most beautiful sight in all of Italy.

            Living in Italy for three months seems like a relatively short time in comparison with most other study abroad programs. I have traveled to four other countries, tasted all types of vegetarian-friendly European cuisine, experienced the essence of Rome and Venice, and yet still have never found myself so breathlessly awed as I was by the sights of Tuscany. Looking back, my Mom said it best; when I thought of Italy as a kid, and even before I came to live here, I always imagined Italy to be this way. Rome, Florence, and Venice are essentially like the cities I live in back in the States. Tuscany, however, was an entirely different experience. Atop the terrace at the organic farm, I made a realization that has stuck with me ever since our time spent there. The best places in Italy are the ones not found on a map; moreover, the best places are those with no predetermined expectations, no map, and no itinerary. Like the cows I met on the organic farm, time here does not simply pass, but rather is to be enjoyed for exactly what is. Regardless of what Italians are doing, simply taking in the essence of a place, experiencing it for just what it is, is the greatest gift time could give.

The Organic Farm in San Gimignano, Italy.

Mom and I on the farm.

Grape vines for the wine!

My cow friend at the farm. :)

The rolling Tuscan hills (our view from the terrace).

Under the Tuscan sun (literally) in San Gimignano.

More of the Tuscan hills!

Hope you enjoyed a little glimpse of me and Mom's trip through Tuscany! I cannot believe I have less than two weeks before I am back in Chicago. It's amazing how fast time flies. Things are busier than ever here, but I promise to update as often as I can before my return home!

Until Next Time -- Ciao!

Interview With Melania

Ciao, everyone!

During my stay here in Italy, I have had the chance to meet a million wonderful people. For my Travel Writing class, we were given an assignment to interview someone of our choice. The only stipulation was that they could not be from the States or have lived there. After mentally going through all the people I have met and the friends I have made while abroad, the one person who stuck out the most to me is my friend, Melania. Melania is a native of Italy and goes to the Italian boarding school where I currently study. We met when she came to sit in on a few of my classes and have been friends ever since. She's only seventeen, but like me, she has an old soul. We connected instantly and I knew from there on out that we would be friends forever. I could think of no one better to interview and write about.

For this piece, I tried to find a common theme between the youth in Italy and the youth in America. Although there are some similarities, youth in Italy is quite different than the youth we find in America. I found a lot of similarities with Melania because of my Italian roots, but I think you may find some interesting connections to her life as well. Below is a copy of my piece written about Melania and our journey through a two hour interview. Enjoy!

Finding Heart in the Home of Melania Zen

              Growing up, the world always seemed a bit too small. I went to school with the same people I lived next door to since I was born; it always felt like I was trapped inside a bubble I could not pop. When it came time to go away to college, my parents always reminded me that “home is where the heart is.” Truth be told, I never really took the time to discover what that phrase meant. I took what I had for granted. It was not until I met Melania Zen, my first Italian friend in Italy, that I realized the true meaning behind that very statement. Through her eyes, her words, and her experiences, she has taught me the beauty behind the youth in Italy – a youth that starts and matures at home.

                At only seventeen years old, Melania glows. Her deep brown eyes sparkle with youth and her bouncy chestnut hair glitters beneath the sunlight. She has a youthful laugh, one natural and untainted with fear or sadness. Her down-to-earth attitude and warm presence naturally draws me to befriend her. Although she is much younger than I, age seems to be nothing but a number. Talking with Melania is comfortable, enjoyable, and inspiring. Above all, her youthfulness is what fascinates me the most. As we sit and chat for a while, I begin to realize that the secret ingredient to her glow is not hard to discover.

                Melania comes from a small family of four. She has one younger sister, Emily, and lives with her parents in a small village of San Zenone, Italy. “We’ve always been a close family,” Melania explains, “and we are always doing a lot of traveling together” (Zen). With her dad in business, Melania and her family have traveled to numerous countries, such as: Switzerland, Austria, China, Australia, Poland, Greece, America, and Norway. Picking up my jaw from the floor, Melania giggles. For her, traveling is a way of life; she was on a plane when she was only four days old. “I guess it’s just something we do,” she shrugs (Zen). Intrigued, I ask her to tell me more about family traditions.

                “Every Sunday, we go to my grandma’s house for dinner,” Melania explains (Zen). All of the family comes together for this special meal every Sunday, a tradition created long before Melania was born. Her grandmother prepares authentic Italian dishes that could keep armies full for days afterward. “She makes all kinds of things: pasta, meat, risotto, sometimes French fries, or my favorite…apples over the fire,” she says (Zen). Her grandmother typically does not make much dessert, but the one thing Melania cannot resist is strudel. “My aunt owns a pastry shop,” Melania explains, “So sometimes she brings extra pastries to the house for dessert. If she has strudel, I just love it” (Zen). As she explains to me more about her traditional Sunday dinner, I am reminded of all the Sunday family dinners I enjoyed growing up and the same tradition I had with my Italian family. We exchange stories, giggling as we tell tales of our grandmothers force feeding us extra food when our stomachs are about to burst. As we reminisce together, I realize that the Sunday dinner tradition is about more than just food; rather, it is a place to bond with those that brought us to life and to grow in the rich tradition with those we love and cherish the most.

                I ask Melania to tell me about the other things that define her. Naturally, she begins talking about her friends. From the beginning of her childhood, Melania met a number of young girls like herself around her neighborhood. “We have lived next to each other for seventeen years,” Melania says, “and it’s just now that we can consider ourselves best friends” (Zen). There are many reasons why friendships in Italy last so long; it is because they take time to develop. Melania goes to Instituto Filippin, whereas the rest of her best friends go to other schools. She has made a life of new friends here at Instituto Filippin, but she assures me that her best friends from home are the ones that will last a lifetime. On the weekends, Melania spends at least one night with her best friends from home. “A lot of times we will go to Bassano or go hang out at a couple of pubs,” Melania describes, “But some nights we just stay at one of our houses and hang out” (Zen). As I inquire about the youth night life in Italy, Melania describes that her and her friends love hanging out at pubs because “you can meet the world…no one is the same there” (Zen). Whenever she has the choice, Melania always prefers to be spending time with her friends from her hometown. Without hesitation, Melania can trust these people. “In a friend, I need honesty and loyalty; I need to know someone will say what they actually think,” Melania tells me (Zen). For her, her best friends do exactly that; in fact, they do it for each other. Since birth, these girls seem to have been linked together by some beautiful force. They began their lives together and have continued to grow ever since. Once again, I notice a theme with this beautiful youth. What we find at home can lead us to the heart of beautiful relationships.

                On any given weekend in an open field in San Zenone, Italy, you will find Melania with her two dogs. “It was originally supposed to be an office for my Dad…but eventually, it just became a weekend house,” Melania explains (Zen). This place is where she spends her weekends, her holidays, and her summers. Her two dogs, a female golden retriever and a male mut, are her loyal sidekicks. She goes up to the house every weekend to take care of them, but the house also serves an entirely different purpose; a purpose more carefree than any other experience Melania has described yet. When I ask her about how she spends her time, a smile glows from her face. “Sometimes, I just take my dogs and we go walking and playing through the woods,” she explains (Zen). There is no set agenda – the days and night simply pass, each day bringing a new sunrise and sunset.

At night during the winter months, Melania’s favorite thing to pass the time is building a fire outside and making hot tea. Simply relaxing and enjoying the moment for what it is gives her a peace of mind. “Ever since I was little I always wanted a dog, but my parents never let me have one,” Melania explains (Zen). It was not until she passed her secondary school exam that her parents decided to give in. “My dad told me we were just going to look at photographs of dogs, but that I couldn’t get one,” Melania explains (Zen). With her eyes filling up with tears, she continues, “But when we got to the place, there were no pictures of dogs. There were just these two dogs sitting there waiting for me to take them home. It was beautiful” (Zen). With her two new companions, Melania’s life at her weekend house began. This new home is where she spends her time, bonding with her pets as well as nature. Her young heart and youthful spirit explore here, unknowingly growing with each night the fire burns.

                When I was growing up, the future always seemed to be a distant memory I never felt I had to worry about. As I asked Melania about her dreams of the future, her eyes weld up with tears. She is silent in this moment, but her eyes speak for her. “I think about it, yes,” is all she is able to get out before the tears begin streaming down her face (Zen). I reach for her hand and she takes it. I asked her what she pictures when she thinks about the future. She smiles, tears still trickling down her face, and she replies, “My family is here. I cannot leave. I see myself married. But all I want is just to be happy” (Zen). As she says this, a flush of emotions come over me. Growing up in America, the future is all about job security, making money, and being able to start a family. With Melania, however, I discovered something entirely new – a life that begins, matures, loves, and dies at home. To Melania, it does not matter that she will most likely be in the same town as she is now in twenty years; for her, home is where the heart is.

                Meeting someone you can instantly see the potential in is quite possibly one of the most amazing feelings to ever experience. With Melania, I was instantly drawn to her for her potential; with some people, you can feel it, see it, believe it -- all before they even have the chance to prove it to you. Perhaps it is a bit of myself that I found in her that drew me so naturally to befriend her. Even before knowing a single detail of her youth, I knew Melania had a good heart. After interviewing her on a deeper, more personal level, I have realized that the beauty of that heart comes from the same beauty found in her home. When I look back at the simple phrase “home is where the heart is” that my parents have parroted to me each time I set out on a new adventure, I realize that it is entirely true. For both Melania and myself, home is the one place where you can learn, grow, love, and mature without ever having to question who is along for the ride. With our big Italian families behind us, our great hometown friends, and our free, youthful spirits, home is never very far. Home is indeed the key ingredient to a forever youthful, happy future.

Interview citation (APA):
M. Zen, personal communication, 8 March 2011.

A picture of Melania :)

Mangiare!

Ciao, everyone!

This past Thursday, my fellow CIMBA students and I went out for our second gourmet dinner. Everyone got dressed up for the occasion and we shared in on an amazing, authentic Italian meal in Bassano del Grappa, a town about thirty minutes from my school. This is a cool thing to share with all of you because not only does it give you a sense of true Italian cuisine, but it also allows for you to virtually meet my best friends here at CIMBA. So, sit back, relax, and enjoy the photos!

Before our food babies: Brittany from South Carolina, myself, and Jodi from Iowa.

Pre-food babies: Jodi, Liz, myself, and Allison.

Antipasti (aka appetizer): Treviso red chicory pie in an Asiago cheese sauce.

It was perfection at its finest!

Primi: Hand-made pasta with vegetable ragout.

This was by far my favorite dish thus far in Europe. Yum!

Case in point: Italians do not know how to embrace vegetarianism. 

Can you guess what you see?

If you guessed two blocks of fried cheese with potatoes, you guessed right.

It's okay to laugh. I did, too...along with the rest of my table.

Orange bavarian with chocolate sauce. 

Let me tell you, it made up for the fried cheese.

Myself and Jodi posing between courses.

Liz and I during dinner.

Myself and Jodi at dinner.

These dinners are so much fun to go to. The food is spectacular, but it's even better when you have great friends to share it with. Jodi, Allison, Liz, and Brittany are some of the greatest people I have met. It is times like these that allow me to see how lucky I am to have such a great team of people alongside me throughout this journey. We have faced and overcome various challenges together. We all come from different walks of life; we have learned from each other and witness each other grow to new extremes. Together, we have become better, stronger, healthier, happier individuals. I will miss them when I'm gone, but we've made a pact to keep in touch -- distance doesn't matter. Dealing with the distance between Europe and Chicago has been hard enough; a few hours in a car doesn't even come close.

Until Next Time --- Ciao!

The Beautiful Lake Como

In every place, there is a story. If there is one thing I have learned during this study abroad program in Italy, it is that every place you visit (big or small) has a history, a story, and a vision to offer. For me, Lake Como, Italy not only blessed me with it’s own history, but allowed me to create a bit of my own.


The view from the lake was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Mountains floated through the fog in the backdrop; the clear lake was calm, flapping lightly against the stone steps that lay in front of me. Birds chirped as people talked. I walked along the rocky coastline with my pants dragging in the sand and rocks. I would have to wash them later. My hair blew in the breeze, waving back at the people I passed. Children laugh and the wind blows. I feel a sense of peace wash over me as the water washes over the rocks. The water touches my toes; it is cold. As my toes tingle with the sensation of the chill water, I wiggle them gently into the rock. It is cool where my toes nestle, but my mind flutters to the view in front of me. I forget all about the cold water, cool breeze, and background conversations. Soon, it is just me and the lake. No worries cloud my thoughts, no feelings cloud my judgment; it is just me, the lake, and one hell of a view.

It is in this moment that I realize how great my life is. I walked into this city as a foreigner searching for the reason everyone raves of such a place. After experiencing the views alone, this place as the power to hypnotize people with its beauty and treasure. More than once, I found myself stopping in the middle of the street just to take in the scenery. Although my touristy attire and picture taking activities were quite obvious, what’s not so obvious was the relationship I developed with Lake Como during my stay. This was more than just a visit for me; it was an awakening. Throughout all the hectic schedules, homework assignments, major papers to write, projects to complete, and classes to attend, this was the one place I was able to completely forget about it all and simply enjoy it for exactly what it is. I found myself climbing hills that my fear of heights would have never dared see me climb. I spoke to locals without any hesitation. I ordered the four scoops of gelato I wanted rather than feeling self conscious about how much I ate. I ran along the lake without my headphones and truly experienced the lake by scent, taste, and sound. I did the things I would do at home, but have been too preoccupied or scared or nervous or apprehensive to do yet abroad. Lake Como allowed me to see past those obstacles and embark on a journey throughout its beautiful landscape, one  more fulfilling than anything I have experienced yet.


I came to Lake Como as a stranger, but left a friend.

The beautiful Lake Como...

The Duomo of Lake Como.

Inside the Duomo...

Another look inside the Duomo...

Liz and I braved our fear of heights and took this train up to the top of the mountain.

Yes, it was this steep THE ENTIRE WAY.

The view from the top.

(So worth the scare...)

Proof that I did it!

The gate to the edge of the world. Literally...

Another view of the lake.

(From the ground this time...)

From the other side of the Lake.

The Lake Como water. It was literally this clear regardless if you were on shore or in the middle of the lake.

Even foggy, the beautiful town of Bellagio did not disappoint.

Cheesin' in Bellagio.

My friend Liz and I in the beautiful Bellagio.

One of my best friends here -- my Alabamian Allison (can't miss the Crimson red) and I during our last night in Como.

Lake Como is my favorite place I have visited so far. Whether it was the two great friends I had alongside me or the amazing weather and views, this place is a must-do for anyone visiting Europe. Such an amazing place with so much to offer, see, and experience. And we were only visiting in the off season!

Look for a new blog this week with pictures from my second gourmet dinner! Yum! :)

Until next time --- Ciao!