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.
Friday, April 15, 2011
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
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.
Allison and I on the beach.
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.
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!
Thursday, April 7, 2011
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.
Until Next Time --- Ciao!
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!
Monday, April 4, 2011
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!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)