Coda (For Now)

The flight from Rome to Philly is one of the easiest I have ever encountered. I usually take a strong sleeping pill or drink a vodka tonic or two in order to deal with the fact that I am 40,000 feet in the air, pushed along only by these two engines on either side of me. But this time, this time is different. I decide early on in the flight that I'm not going to drink. I'm not going to take those pills. I can handle a flight, ten hours worth, without that stuff. I also surprise myself by how happy and grateful I was to be on the plane. To have made my journey safely, to know I was coming home to my parents and a huge hug from my mom at the airport, for the experiences I had and the friends I had made aboard. I wanted to write all of this down and because we were still were not allowed to get out of our seats, the only paper I had was the last page of Eat, Pray, Love, which I had at my feet to finish up reading. So I jotted down all the goodness I was feeling, all the joy, and I noticed that by using the last page to write this down, I had made a sandwich, so to speak. The first page of the book is signed by Liz Gilbert, saying may all my travels be blessed. The middle is highlighted and noted by my mother, who's copy of the book I now owned. And the last page contained my thoughts on the trip now complete. It's funny how things sometimes just come together.
I have to say, I was a bit nervous about going through immigration and customs. I had 13 bottles of wine, a lot of gifts, and while I had not been on a full out working farm, there could be questions about what exactly I had been doing or exposed to. All of that worry was, as it usually is, for not. We arrived at the gate 45 minutes early, I flew through immigration with two questions from the officer, grabbed my two pieces of checked luggage in less than twenty minutes and wasn't stopped by customs. I was outside, curbside, waiting for my mother to pick me up at the same time I was scheduled to be arriving at the gate. Smooth as silk that journey was.
Beginning in Philadelphia to wade myself back into the water of my life was a good choice. The people here have known me for decades and the connection that we have will never fade, never extinguish - it may morph into different shapes as we go through various periods in our lives, but we will always be connected. These people are the ones that keep me grounded, that make home, home. And it's a valued aspect of being back in the States because otherwise I think I'd be in a constant state of culture shock. Food is an especially big disappointment. No one knows where their food comes from, or even worse, they don't even care. It's something I'm going to struggle with a lot being back and it's going to take a lot of energy to make sure that the food I eat is something that is actually good for me and well raised.
Being here is also a way to test out my old skin and the identity I left behind when I flew over the Atlantic. Overseas I could invent myself in which ever way I wanted to. Not to say that I did, but there were no expectations as to how I should act. Everyone was meeting me for the first time and had no idea who I was. Back here, everyone knows who I am or was. Something has changed about me, but I'm not sure what. I think that will take several weeks to decipher as I get over the jet lag, see through the culture shock and settle back into a routine (which will be fairly difficult with the holidays). The best way to put it, as a friend succinctly summed up after hearing about my experience and purpose of going abroad, was that I basically defibrillated my life. Everything was out of rhythm, nothing felt right, and something needed to happen to get back on course. For me, this trip was it. This was the solid and sometimes not so gentle shock to the heart I needed.
And with that, I gather up my things, stuff them in ziplock bags and fill my pack up for the last time. It's time for my final flight back to Austin, Texas. I don't expect this to be easy. I can already feel the post-vacation depression sinking in, and that's just something I get every time I leave home for a week - imagine what it'll be like after ten. But I know that as soon as I step off that plane and grab my luggage, people will be waiting for me to whisk me away to our favorite restaurant, Polvo's, for our favorite frozen drink, the elusive (in Italy) margarita. And really, there's nothing in life that can't be solved with good friends and a Polvo's margarita.

Andiamo.

The Facts

Here's a summary of my trip:
Total miles travelled: 12,015 (By Plane: 10,575, Train: 802, Bus 298, Automobile: 134, Ferry: 206 (nautical miles) - miles travelled only includes trips where I changed where I was staying or day trips like CinqueTerra not going to the grocery store 30 minutes away
The route: Philly -> Rome -> Pompeii -> Amalfi -> Ravello -> Naples -> Cosenza -> Rogliano -> Falerno -> Bologna -> Imola -> Dozza -> Florence -> Arezzo -> Monterchi -> Florence -> CinqueTerra region -> Florence -> Arezzo -> Monterchi -> Sansepulcro -> Anghiari -> Monterchi -> Arezzo -> Rome -> Athens -> Naxos ->Athens -> Rome -> Philly
2 Countries - Italy, Greece
70 Days

Chores Completed
Walls/Fences painted: 14
Walnuts shelled: ~300
Weeds pulled: ~400x400 sq ft worth
Rooms cleaned: 10
Wireless routers installed: 2
Cars cleaned: 1
Dishes done: Thousands
Rabbits fed: 2
Sheep fed: 5
Goats fed: 7
Dogs fed: 7
Pigs fed: 2
Horses fed: 3
Chickens fed: 17
Cats fed: 19

Meals made:
Funny cake, Cauliflower fritters, French fries, Fish tacos, Chicken fajitas, Apple pie, Bolognese sauce, Coffee cake, Pasta with Pesto sauce, Tagillini with Tomato Sauce, Spinach/Kale quiche, Phrogaritas, Mimosas, Wheat bread, Raisin bread, Nutella brownies, Lentil soup, Tomato soup, Kale chips

Miscellaneous:
Oceans swum in: 2 - Mediterranean Sea, Aegean Sea
Books read: The Alchemist, Jonathan Livingston Seagull, Naked, ROOM, A Scattered Life, Eat/Pray/Love, 5 Romantic Comedies I will never admit to reading
Favorite Italian Word: Andiamo - "Let's Go"

Ciao, Bella

This is my last post from Italy as I am at the airport about to board.
Laying in my hostel bed for what will be final night abroad brings mixed feelings. Yes, I am totally excited to come home and I wouldn't delay it for anything. But going home means going back to reality. Getting back into a groove of life that I'm not entirely sure I want to get back into. There is a part of me that could have stayed in Rogliano and never left. There is a part of me that could have stayed in Monterchi and never left. But my home has always been Philadelphia. And now Austin as well. My main hope is that I keep my perspective. I have a new found respect for a bunch of things we take for granted everyday: heat, water pressure, friends, loved ones, a good nights sleep, a feline companion, waking around and feeling safe. I'm so thankful for all of these things. This Thursday is Thanksgiving and I can't imagine the long litany I will able to recite when asked what I am thankful for.
70 days has been the perfect amount of time to be away. Any more and I think I would have started to lose it a little bit. Any less and I would have been cursing having to come home so early. And as cliche as it sounds, I think this trip happened for a reason. Doors opened for me before and during in a way I couldn't have imagined. I mean think about it, I found a replacement for my job at work with a vetern who was just coming off of his own leave and needed a job, a friend of a friend happened to be moving down to Austin from Chicago and was looking to lease an condo, I was over my three years at my company and was eligibile for this unpaid time off, my friends offered to look after my cat and they all actually got along, I applied to ten farms in Italy and three wrote back - the three I am stayed with, I got a new job I have been wanting for months while being abroad, and my company did well enough this year that my bonus can actually cover this trip I have taken. I don't know what you call that, but that isn't just luck. This stuff doesn't just fall into your lap. Believe what you want, but I feel well nudged in the right direction. 
The thing is, all of this may have fallen into place for me, but I also think it can fall in place for anyone. It all depends on your risk and tolerence level. Anyone can do what I did, it's just a matter of manuevering in a way that sets you up to succeed. While I do feel a lot of doors opened for me, I also did a fair amount of prep work and organzing before I went. I think if you want it bad enough, almost anything is possible. And in the end, you find you can do things you were never pushed to do before. You can handle situations you never knew you could. You get introduced to a side of yourself that had been a complete stranger up until now. And between the two sides, you realize you can do amazing things.
Ciao, Italia.  

Soundtrack

This is a quick and dirty list of the songs that I noticed or were played at certain locations (not played by me). My Italian soundtrack: 
Creep by Radiohead but covered by an Italian - Suggested to me by the hotel clerk as a way to start to understand Italian. 
Love the Way You Lie by Eminem - Plays at dinner in Pompeii (I also heard it Rogliano, Florence and Sansepulcro. It was by far the most played American song I heard)
All I Want is You by U2 - Pogerno
Don't Stop Till You Get Enough by Michael Jackson - Drinking wine, 'reading' Italian paper in Amalfi
At Last by Etta James - Eating lunch looking over Amalfi coast in Ravello
Maria and Keith's - Sitting by the Dock of the Bay; anything Tarentella
Graduation party Maria took me to - The Macarena
Dozza - Phantom of the Opera. Sally whistling it all the time.  
Daytime Friends by Kenny Rogers - Stuck in my head from Keith and Maria's 
The Scientist by Coldplay - Dinner in Florence that was three hours. They played this song repeatedly.
You've Got a Friend by James Taylor - Peter plays it. 
Drive by REM (Automatic For the People) - My favorite CD in Peter's collection. 
Massive Attack's Protection album - Also at Lucie and Peters.  

Standard staples that I listened to pretty much the entire time I was travelling on my own iPod:
Sweet Disposition by Temper Trap
Cosmic Love by Florence and the Machine (also Dog Days are Over)
Let the Drummer Kick by Citizan Cope
Anything on the 34th and 8th album by OAR but especially Black Rock and I Feel Home
Skinny Love by Bon Iver
One Red Thread by Blind Pilot
She's My Drive Home by Blue October
Watermark album by Enya - always blared it when trying to block out noise in a hostel
Viva la Vida by Coldplay

All in all, the music was much more mellow than I usually listen to on a consistent basis. The songs and artists I usually listened to back home to get myself in a better mood or to go along with my high energy just didn't seem appropriate at all. I would look at those songs and playlists on the iPod and scrunch my nose up at them. I don't know what I'm going to listen to when I get back home - whether this slight change in taste is another permanent result of my trip abroad.       

Waving the White Flag

AfteSfter two and a half days in Naxos, I am ready to leave. Not because i haven't enjoyed my time there, but more because all I have done is relax and be lazy. At Keith and Marias or Lucie and Peters, I would relax for awhile during the day and then be productive in some way by either doing dishes or sweeping the floor. I simply can not stand to do nothing - not activate - for long periods of time. It's actually impressive Naxos got me to sit idle for as long as it did, but now it's time to go.
At 6pm, under a full moon, the ferry pulls into the harbor of the island and cars, trucks and people swarm onto it. I can't imagine the absolute chaos this process must be during high tourist season, but they do this day in and day out, so they must have everything down pat by now. After I board, I grab a beer from the roof deck bar and watch as they pull the massive gate up while the "caution" music plays it's flutter of nursery rhyme chimes. I toast Naxos as it fades away and thank it for being what I needed it to be. Then I settle into a seat and delve into the latest girlie rom-com book I have downloaded.
Arriving in Athens close to midnight after the six hour trip, I notice that half of the people disembarking are young and dressed to go out - black pants, halter top and all. While I am exhausted and just want a bed, these people are about to go out for a night on the town, which, if they live on the islands, I can understand. Everyone knows everyone on the island and your ability to be anonymous and do things slightly out of character are nil. I can see how Athens would appeal to these people in that way and I envy their energy. After catching the metro from the port to the station nearest my hotel, I walk out from the subway and into the square where everyone appears to be partying and having a grand time. And again, all I want is my hotel and a bed. Man, I'm getting old.
In the morning, I wake not having had much sleep because the hotel walls are so thin you could have a conversation with the person in the next room without leaving your own. I heard someone sneeze somewhere and I said "bless you" out loud in reply - I'm pretty sure they heard me. I check out and head to the metro, again, to go to the airport. The Athens metro itself is incredibly clean. Compared to DC or Rome, the thing is downright spotless. So is the airport. Both are incredibly well kept and contrast so completely with the rest of the city that they seem like two different worlds.
Another confusing aspect of my travels, is Athens (and Italian for that matter) airport security. While they check your boarding pass to make sure you actually have one to let you into the initial area of the airport, they at no time check your identification until after you are through security and boarding the plane. The security screening process is more thorough that any other so far. They make me take my camera out and detach the lens. They check that my iPad is actually an iPad. But my identify? Nah, not interested.
The flight itself is completely without incident and because this is an EU flight, we exit the airport without passing through customs or additional security. There will be no Greece stamp in my passport, I realize now. But I'm going back someday - and next time WITH someone. There are so only so many sunsets you can watch by yourself before you want to stab yourself repeatedly in the eye with a dull spoon. There were three splendid ones in Naxos and I although it was somewhat lonely, loneliness and I seem to have called a truce for now. 67 days into my trip and I'm finally coming to grips with being alone. Great timing. But being at the Temple of Apollo on Naxos, one of the oldest remnants left standing on the island, I couldn't help but notice it's romantic pull. Because it is low season, I had the entire area to myself, the entire sunset, to myself. I thought about all of the engagements that had probably taken place where I was sitting. How many anxiety ridden men had put their heart on the line and how many ecstatic women had their hearts leap out of their chest with the question. But like I said, loneliness and I have waived the white flag, so I think about all of these imaginary couples and am happy for them. Bitterness and I have also apparently buried the hatchet. For now.
Back in Rome, I find myself in familiar territory. I'm staying at the same hostel as last week, so I know exactly where I am going and what I am doing. There's a first time for everything. In the week that I have been gone, the Christmas decorations have been put up and the air seems to have gotten a bit crisper. With the thought of the holidays creeping up all I can think of is my friends and family and how much I can not wait to be landing in Philadelphia. It's time to come home.  

My Kind of Paradise

As soon as I walk down the first street of Naxos, I know I am not leaving tomorrow. No way, no how. I have found the Greece, and the relaxation, I was looking for. I wander around for a good thirty minutes trying to find my hotel and as soon as I locate the beautiful resort my first order of business to get in touch with my travel agent and transfer my hotel and ferry reservations from Santorini to Naxos. As soon as that is settled, I don a huge giddy grin on my face and walk around one of my new favorite places in the world.
Being low season the island is deserted, by their standards. A few people roam the streets, but mostly I have a lot of the city to myself. I wander around the small side streets, wanting to take pictures of everything I see. Naxos is not postcard beautiful, meaning it isn't combed beaches with manecured palm trees and umbrella drinks. It is still very much Greece, but it is calm, relaxed, friendly and tropical - everything I was looking for. This is my kind of paradise. My kind of wonderful. It is the permanent home of 15,000 people and is the largest island in the Cyclades group. It has a rich history dating back to before 500 BC and is featured in many Greek myths. Now, their main form of income is tourism which means everyone speaks English and all signs are made so I can actually understand them (as well as in Greek).
By now it is probably very obvious that I am not going to Crete despite my earlier conviction that no matter what I was. While it would have incredibly time consuming to make the trip, I found that even beyond that, it was going to be incredibly expensive. To take the ferry to Crete, then fly to Rhodes and then fly back to Athens was going to cost me 355 euros ($500 USD) and that wasn't including hotels or meals. In contrast, to go to Santorini and Naxos, plus stay at hotels was going to cost me a total of 175 euros. The choice was obvious. And now that I am on Naxos, I am glad I made the choice I did. I was having a really hard time coming to grips with spending a lot of money this last week of my trip. While this has been one big timeout from my life, it has not, as we would think of it, been a vacation. I would say this has been more of an experiment and exploration than anything else, but I have given myself permission, rather stubornly, to pamper myself for the time in Greece. This is why going to Athens was such a disappointment. I was hoping to have that pure "I'm on vacation" feeling you get but instead I was given just the opposite - a good dose of anxiety and depression. On Naxos though, this is all erased and I find myself strolling. Or reading. Having a mimosa at 11:30 in the morning. I have fallen in love with this place not only because it is breathtaking to me, but also because of the lulling effect its atmosphere has had.
I don't know how it's possible, but Saturday brings an even more beautiful day than Friday. There is not a cloud in the sky and the temperature would make most people wear shorts. But not the Greeks. The locals remind me of Austinites in that sense. As soon as the temperature drops below 70 degrees in Austin, people break out the winter clothing desperate to push the season out of the sweltering summer and into the cooler fall and winter. It appears to be the same here.
Since it is such a lovely day, I wander down to St. George's beach being as it is so close to the hotel and I haven't gotten a chance to see it yet. The view is simply amazing. The Aegean stretches out before you with the horizon dotted with islands and their mountain peaks. The water itself is brisk, but absolutely crystal clear. Rolling up my jeans, I wade in and looking down the beach to the only two women swimming, an idea comes to mind. Wouldn't a swim be nice?
My main problem is that I have no bathing suit. The weather forecast did not predict the tempertaures to be this high, so the closest thing I have to an acceptable swimming outfit is my Under Armour dry wick t-shirt and a pair of running shorts. But I'm a tourist who no one will ever see again, so this will do just fine. Armed with my hotel towel, I set back to the beach and with less than a week before Thanksgiving, I slip into the ocean.

Photos - Latest Batch

From Monterchi to Greece:

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I'm On a Boat!

The Parthenon is a marvel. There is no other way to put it. Despite undergoimg constant renovations of patch work that involves cranes and other construction equipment, the site is amazing. 400 BC. Now THAT is old. And actually, very quickly created - it took them a measly 15 years to build this icon but still has a design to it that baffles mathmeticians. The perfect temple, as the Greeks found out and demostrated, is built by taking the number of columns on the short side, doubling it, and adding one more for the long side. No one knows why they devised this equation but it works brilliantly. Additionally, none of the columns of the Pantheon are straight, it's all one big optical illusion. Everything actually arches in, even the horizontal pieces. The result is a concave temple, but to the naked eye, it stands perfectly erect.
The organized tour ends with the Parthenon and I head east to stop by the travel agency that has booked the next three days of my Greece trip. They hand over to me three ferry tickets, two hotel vouchers and a partridge in a pear tree. The next morning is going to be an early one, earlier than today. I have a 7:25am ferry which is 30 minutes away by train and I need to be there by 7am so they don't leave without me. Thursday I leave for Naxos, then Friday to Santorini then back to Athens Saturday night before I fly back to Rome on Sunday. Going to be a busy couple of days.
This is what I miss about Lucie and Peter's. Things were so slow there and everything deliberate. You worked when you needed to work, you relaxed when you needed to relax. This whole itinerary of moving about so much and feeling unsafe in Athens has me wanting to pack it all in and head back to the states. But, just as I thought about packing it all in four days into getting to Italy over two months ago, I remind myself that something new, seeing the islands, is just around the corner. I also remember Plaka, the old city of Athens, which I had lunch in my second day. Now that was what I expected Greece to be. Full of quaint roads and shops, people sitting outside enjoying the weather, a generally jolly atmosphere. If I were ever to go back to Athens, I would only stay in Plaka. It has a safe feeling, has lots of options for food and shopping and the merchants there are used to and welcoming to tourists, unlike the area imediately surrounding my hotel.
In preperation for my ferry rides, I make sure to download two new girlie books and one new movie to my iPad. The trip to and from Athens and the islands is easily five or six hours. There are cafès on board, but you are on your own for entertainment.
At 5:45am, well before my alarm is set to go off, I awake (mostly due to going to bed at 9pm again) and set off for the port. It is still pitch black outside and city movement is few and far between. Arriving at the port is completely different though. There are over twenty docks all with commercial ferries going one place or another. My dock is E7 and as I walk up to it, I can't help but feeling like I'm walking up to the Titanic. Now in the "we're all going to die" sense but in the "holy cow" sense. The thing is massive. Again, I don't know what I expected, but this is pretty cool. On board, there are two cafeterias and deck upon deck of cabins and comfy chairs. This is, of course, for first class only, but I'm more than fine sitting out in the open air, huddling into my jacket against the wind. I seem to be growing some of my old Pbiladelphia skin back. As the ferry, which seems like a most inappropriate word to use given it's size, pulls away from the dock, the sun rises over downtown Athens. Today is going to be a good day, I can just feel it. 

Just Click Your Heels Three Times...

As soon as I walk out of the metro I realize I'm not in Kansas anymore. Athens is nothing like I expected. While it is decernably Greek, the Turkish influence is greater than I imagined. So is the graffiti. Apparently in the past five years or so, several areas of Athens have taken a nose dive. Drugs and crime are now prevalent in places you could once walk around without thinking twice. As I head to my hotel, which is thankfully close to the metro station, I clutch my bag and wish I had stayed in Italy. 
I've been up since 4:30 am in order to catch the early flight out of Rome and and as soon as I get into my hotel room, I want to go to sleep. But it's only 1:30, so that would be counterproductive. I inquire at the front desk about a place to eat after unsuccessfully walking around on my own for awhile (the area in which I found later was a considerably sketchy and unsafe place to be) and they point me in the other direction to the square. As soon as I find the tavern the hotel suggested, I know that this is nothing like Italy. Everything is moving and moving fast. The waiters, the orders, the food. Everything is coming and going at a pace that would make any American restaurant pale in comparison The reason? Well the cuisine (and the attitude). Much of Greek food is heavy on the meat. Meaning, large racks of lamb or chicken or beef are cooked and then hung from a chain to easily cut off the meat with an electic saw. The result? Within ninety seconds of ordering, my food has arrived. And holy hell, it's a lot of food. I'm still working on the whole non-vegetarian thing (I just started eating all types of meat in February) so I know my body isn't going to take kindly to the mass amount of slaughtered animal I am about to consume. That's why, for the two days I am in Athens, I end up only eating one meal a day. One freaking huge meal and that's it. This is also a fact of timing. To get a grip on my growing panic about being in some place as I feel - irrationally or not - is really unsafe, I have booked an early tour of the city tomorrow and then leave for two of the islands on Thursday. The city tour leaves at 7:30am and having had little sleep the night before, all I want to do is hunker down in my hotel room, not go out for another meal. I rent a movie on my iPad and curl up in bed, asleep by 9pm, for tomorrow brings the Parthenon, a place I have heard about since I was in 8th grade, but have never gotten to see.  

Wine and Religion

Staying at a hostel for me is a true nightmare, but is a necessity since I can stay three nights there for the cost of one night at a hotel. The set up isn't really all that bad because I always make sure to get a room that has the bathroom ensuite rather than communal where you have to walk down the hall in the middle of the night should the need arise. The rooms themselves are fairly small in this particular hostel, Rome's The Yellow, about 20' by 10' with two sets of bunk beds and two sliding storage racks underneath each set to keep your belongings. I am also in a mixed dorm room which means that of the four of us, you can have any mix of guys and girls. But all of this doesn't really bother me. I don't spend a lot of time in the room, the bathroom is sufficient and the area is generally quite clean. But, the time I do spend in the room is for sleeping and I am a very light sleeper. That means if someone even walks down the hall outside of the room, I wake up. Having someone snoring in the bunk below you with no rights to hit them and tell them to roll over (like say, a significant other) keeps me up all night despite my best efforts of blaring Enya in my earphones and pulling a sleep mask over my eyes. The result is a version of myself running on about five hours of sleep and in desperate need of a café (espresso). Today is going to be a good day though - I am off in search of two things. One, an airplane approved wine box so I can actually get these bottles of wine over the Atlantic (after of course paying the ridiculous bag fee to do so) and two, viewing the Sistine Chapel in the Vatican Museum. 
The first task proves to push my patience to the brink of a full out spoiled American tantrum that would sound something like "Good God people, could you spread these stores out a bit further and make this as complicated as possible? Have you Romans never heard of Target?!?!?" But, after a trip to Mailboxes Etc with no luck, a trip to a large wine store with some luck and then back to Mailboxes etc to package everything up, I have gerryrigged two six pack airplane approved boxes (they don't sell full twelve bottle boxes) from the wine store into one larger Mailboxes Etc box which will allow me to check only one additional bag. Two hours and 23 Euros later (for BOXES) I have a successful solution to my wine problem. Now, it's off to the Metro to visit the Pope. 
Tour guides of Rome know that there is a specific street that most people walk down to get to St Peter's Square and to the Vatican Museums, so there are always throngs of people scattered along the way trying to thrust some flyer into your hand or hard sell you into taking one of their tours, because, as they exault, their tours are so special. I had one guy start talking to me about how long the line was to get into the museums (which I knew wasn't true, I had checked availability online the night before) and I was annoyed at how adamant they were about the notion that I was being the stupid tourist not knowing what I was doing and they therefore could save me. Trust me, I have this covered, now get away from me you lying sack of {insert appropriate expletive here}. Inside the museums though (after no line to get in, of course), it is a completely different atmosphere then the chaos outside. Last year I was in St Peter's Square but missed out on the museums because we were there on a Sunday. Not this time - I haven't seen the Sistine Chapel since I was in ninth grade and my opinion of said world renowned site could use some updating (rather than my current memory of it which is, "Wow. Tall ceiling. Neat colors. Cool.") 
There are many amazing parts to the museum and it is with great awe that I walked through each, marveling at the sheer antiquity of the pieces still preserved as well as the skill required to create such everlasting artwork. The best is saved for last though and going into the Chapel, armed with my audio guide, is truly a breathtaking experience. Piece by piece, the black box I hold up to my ear breaks down the sections of the ceiling and the paintings along the sides. And with each explanation, I begin to feel smaller and smaller, dwarfed by the presence of greatness in both the artwork and its subject. Many of the religious scenes depicted can be interpreted in several ways, depending on your faith.  It could be the hard line of the Bible, a looser view of a Quaker or just marvel at amazingly skilled craftsmanship. I think everyone that walks into this hall is affected in different ways and while I am only one person with fairly loose religious beliefs, I can say that the number one thing on my mind was the mortalityy of man and the immortality of his artwork or legacy. This chapel may not live on forever, but it's stood in this place for 500 years, much longer than its creator, Michelangelo. Many of the pieces in the museum have been recovered from thousands of years ago. Civilizations of huge sizes, like the Roman empire, have come and gone but while the individuals have passed on long ago, what they leave behind still affects us today. But these are huge masses of people - what affect can one person's legacy among millions, now billions, possibly have? With a humbled ego, that familiar question is the one I leave the Chapel with and have been chewing in it in some way ever since (and long before today). 
With my culture meter up to 11 on a scale of 1- 10 and my body completely out of caffeine and sugar, I head back to the hostel and make preparations for my impending trip. In less than 24 hours I'll be in Greece, a destination I know little to nothing about, but seemed like a good idea at the time I was booking the flight. The logistics, as I mentioned, are a nightmare, and appear to be getting worse. Costs to go in between islands are much higher than I ever anticipated and the thought of hunkering down in such a large city like Athens is not appealing, so I find myself in a quandary. With all of that in mind, be on the look out for my next post because I'm sure it'll be quite amusing considering all I am armed with for this leg of my trip is a few shirts, a pair of jeans, some basic necessities and my iPhone. First order of business after landing: buy a guide book, preferably in English, or maybe even a map. Now where would one find one of those......

We Shall Meet Again My Friend

My last few days in Monterchi fly by.  We have decided to go out for pizza at the local ristorante on Thursday night and then on Friday Lucie is going to cook her famous whole roast chicken and then chocolate pudding with cream for dessert (they call all desserts pudding, we would call this chocolate lava cake). After a hard morning and afternoon of translation work for Lucie, a long day of chainsawing and hauling down wood for Peter and a scattered day of shelling walnuts, doing dishes and cleaning for me, we are all ready to head down to town and be waited on. I haven't written yet about Lucie's driveway - it is such a ride that they really should charge to go up and down. It is not paved in any way and is covered with large rocks and pitted with massive potholes. The first night I arrived with Lucie she told me about the drive up and how it was so hard on the car that they drive up it backwards. I assumed she was being sarcastic and laughed it off. She wasn't kidding. So this night, as with every night, we throw ourselves down the mountain in their Renult Kangaroo which no longer has an odometer, speedometer or interior lights working at all. But it's a good car and they love how it has endured all they have put it through.  
At the pizzeria, we order a pizza for each of us, sauteed spinach and chips (French fries). This is what they always order much to the dismay of the locals seated around. Wine with chips! Pizza with spinach! What's wrong with you people?!?! No sooner have we completed our order then two of Peter and Lucie's friends walk though the door -Trevor and Mary. Both in their late 70's, Trevor convinced Mary to move from England to Italy over six years ago by promising her she would never have to cook or clean again. And ever since then, she hasn't so it's no suprise to see them out tonight. We pull up a table and they put in their order, similar to ours but Trevor has ordered a bottle of wine just for himself as well as a tripe dish. Tripe in tomato sauce - I can not imagine a worse combination. The wine in itself is a sight to behold. Locally made, of course, the liter bottle is only 1.50 euro each and given to us in reused glass water bottles with a screw top. We eat and chat, ordering dessert and then...... Say it with me... Limencello. A darn good limencello too, I give it a B+ personally. As we wrap up, we need to stop by Trevor and Mary's place to pick up some things they wanted to give to Lucie and instead of a quick stop we are there for well over an hour. Mary takes us down memory lane showing us some of the many books she has illustrated over the years while Trevor hands out little glasses of grappa or limencello. I can say that the next morning contained the worst hang over I have had since being in Italy. But other than good fun and a hangover, something else has come out of the night: Lucie and I have decided I must stay for another night. The bringolie festival is Saturday and I can't miss that! I alter my hostel reservation and the matter is settled. 
Friday flies by and before you know it, it's Saturday and is my last day with them. Lucie and I hang out reading books by the fireplace or taking a walk in the woods with the cats following behind us. Little Pip even gets some exercise, hopping his little pudgy body over rocks and through the grass. And he certainly can use the walk. All we can say when we see Pip is that it looks like he has swallowed a balloon, his little midsction is plumping out so much. But he's adorable and a great snuggler, so nothing else matters. I also do Peter and Lucie a huge favor - in their eyes, I can't imagine any one else being happy about me lending this particular service - by cutting their hair. I haven't cut hair since AmeriCorps ten years ago, but hell, it can't be that hard. And, to my quiet amazement, Peter's actually looks decent and Lucie's shortened layers have given her hair a new bounce. I will, however, not be quitting my day job. 
Saturday night is the bringolie festival which I will explain since I had never heard of bringolie before that night. It is basically a fat spaghetti noodle that is made fresh in the nearby town of Angheari. The festival is geared entirely around this pasta and is virtually the same every year - pasta with with either Ragu or mushrooms as the first dish and then large slices of bread rubbed with garlic and drizzles in olive oil with grilled sliced sausage in between for the second.  Heavenly I tell you. The atmosphere, despite being outside, is so welcoming and cozy between the massive fire they are using to cook the sausage links and the local red wine being consumed out of small plastic cups. It is the perfect night to summarize and solidify my stay in Italy. 
On Sunday I am scheduled to catch the 3pm train from Arezzo to Rome. I make a fairly American style breakfast for everyone and then after a lovely lunch prepared by Lucie, she and I are off to the station at 2pm. I am not travelling lightly at this point. While I have lightened the load of my pack by leaving a few clothes with Lucie as well as a few bottles of wine and by just having used up some toilteries along the way, I have acquired twelve bottles of wine and several other gifts for people. I have reinforced a cardboard box several times with tape and wrapped each bottle individually in plastic, but nonetheless, between that, my pack and my courier bag, I am weighted down. At the station Lucie is sweet enough to park the car, come to the track with me and carry the wine onto the train. We say our sad goodbyes and I promise to come back someday - and I don't make empty promises. She gets off the train and to my amazement, my new friend stays at the train's side until it starts pulling away. She slowly walks with it for a bit, all the time us waving back and forth at each other until I can't see her anymore. With her out of sight, it is impossible for me not to slump down in my seat and cry.  
              

Lights, Camera, Action

This is my eighth trip today down to the boiler. It's been raining almost constantly for four days now and trudging down the stairs in a borrowed pair of wellingtons (boots) has become a routine for me. Even despite the rain, I don't mind tending to the fire that heats the house. I've been a pyro ever since I was a little kid, always sitting in front of my parents wood stove, poking at the fledging flame for hours until it matured to a full fire. On the way down to the small stone room, I grab a few large logs from the "wood room" that Peter works very hard to keep stocked. You can barely walk into this room, about 20' x 10', filled to about the shins with all sorts of sizes of wood, kindling, small sticks and large trunks. Despite being overflowing with fallen trees, this room will be empty in two weeks - that is how quickly the fuel is burned through, literally, out here. On the way, I see the normal suspects and greet each of them by name. Morris and Stanley are twins, but you can tell them apart my the coloring on the end of their tail. Chinqi and Charlie are also twins, black as night, but Charlie is, shall we say, a bit plumper. I know them all now, all 17: Harry, Boris, Bertie, Lily, Monkey, Fred, Ginger, Molly, Tilly, Barney, Sam, George, Pip, Chingi, Charlie, Morris and Stanley. They are all going through quite a change, actually. Lucie has read about how cats aren't meant to be eating dry food all the time and is slowly working through getting them on a raw food diet closer to what they would be eating if they were out in the wild. It makes for some very interesting conversations at the grocery store when she's asking me to find the chicken livers or chicken hearts. "Yum" is all this ex-vegetarian can say. But on this rainy day, all 17 are just happy to have a warm place to call home.     
Because of the constant rain and wet conditions, my work has been limited to the house. Lots of dusting, cleaning, dishes and cooking. Lucie took a look at the results of my cleaning and said something very similar to what Keith said the first time he saw me complete a job for them. In an even tone, she advised me, "You know, you really are wasted on this whole management thing. You would be a great housewife." To say I couldn't contain my laughter would be an understatement. Ah, Lucie, if only you knew how bad of an idea that would be.
But none the less, I have produced some fairly decent food: a spinach/kale and cheese quiche, a mish-mash tomato sauce and pasta, three tasty loaves of bread, lentil soup, salad dressing to add to the freshly picked lettuce from the garden and one horribly-gone-wrong funny cake. Tonight though, Lucie is making mushroom risotto in anticipation of the culmination of our week long cinema viewing. Harry Potter has captured her quite intently and she has been downloading and watching each movie in order every night this week. I've been joining in here and there but tonight is the latest one, and we are both eager to see what happens to the wizard next. It may seem trivial, but in this rural town, this is as exciting as it gets - and it suits me just fine. As well as a well cooked meal, other preparations have been made. The living room, which has never been used until recently, has a small TV and two sofas to watch the movie on, but neither sofa has been vacuumed or dusted since, from what I can tell, the dust bowl (or whatever the Italian equivalent is) and the 15" TV has a nice layer of film all over it. This simply will not do. So I attacked the whole room earlier today, washing everything and wiping every surface. Even the wood furniture got polished. Yes sir, this place is sparkling. Now all we need is Mr. Potter. Peter has no interest in any of the movies, so Lucie and I excuse ourselves as soon as we wolf dinner down and settle into the sectional sofa that has been moved around to create a cushy throne wide enough for both of us to fit on and long enough to straighten our legs. The cats take notice of our routine for the past few nights and as soon as we sit down, they start to assemble on the cushions around us. Lights please! It's showtime.      

The Stuff Dreams Are Made Of

"It's the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life interesting." 
- The Alchemist

Without properly preparing me, November has decided to show up at my doorstep, unannounced. This will be my last full week in Italy. Next week I will spending most of my time in Greece after a few days in Rome and then the week after I will be packing up, getting ready to fly out to Philadelphia. Now that the time is nearing, I have mixed emotions about going to Greece. Having looked at the logistics of getting to the islands, I fear that the my quick jaunt to the land of blue and white may be quite exhausting. To get to Crete, which is one of the farthest islands from the mainland, it will take six hours on the fastest ferry there is. Most ferries are actually overnight and the thought of losing two nights on a boat for the trip there and back is annoying. Nonetheless, I will go to Crete. I've been wanting to go there for so many years, I can't be this close and not go, no matter how inconvenient it is.
Staying at Lucie and Peter's has been incredibly relaxing and through chatting and running errands, Lucie and I have become friends. Yesterday we were attending the truffle festival where there were samples of every kind of truffle sauce you could imagine. Truffle mustard, truffle salsa, truffle and pecorino spread, truffle and parmesan spread, truffle and mushroom salsa. Lovely food and to top it off, there was a wine tasting for five euros, insanely cheap for what you get. Let me preface this by saying that Lucie can't drink. She can, but after one glass she feels it quite strongly and after two, you might as well put her to bed right then and there. So, attending a wine tasting with her guarantees nothing but hilarity. She seems to let her guard down a bit more and come dinner time we get to talking about all sorts of things, mostly your standard girl stuff. Love, career, balancing work and life, what makes us happy. She tells me this is her first "girls night out" in as long as she can remember and I am flattered that she confides and trusts in me the way she now does. 
Leaving here this weekend will be quite depressing. I have grown accustomed to checking on the boiler every so often, laying around with the cats, feeding the horses, chatting with everyone in the house and having time to myself to read or write. Everything gets awfully busy after I leave this house and I'm just not quite ready to let go of the stillness that comes with staying here. The noise in my head has finally stopped, and that in itself is quite an accomplishment for me. It had been slowing down considerably and although my day trip to Pienza and Montepulciano temporarily kicked it up into high gear again, being back in the farm has slowly rocked it back to sleep again.
And in the midst of my quieted mind, I almost forgot to follow up on a brief sentance I wrote in an earlier post. This one thing that has had my mind humming off and on for a week is a new job. It is still within my company, but is a complete change of responsibilities. I'll be in business development and sales, managing our company's responses to proposals up to $20 million. My main concern will be making sure the efforts get off on the right foot, that everyone understands their roles and that the end result is a quality document to return to the company or federal agency requesting our services. I'll be managing up to four at a time and in my spare time I'll advise on my old project. The position is completely remote, so as long as my work gets done and gets done well, I can work from where ever I want. Home, the Austin office, Seattle, Philadelphia or Italy. Not that I have any intentions of going anywhere outside of Austin's city limits, but it is nice to have the flexibility. So with that, I can say I am thoroughly excited about this new opportunity. I had been wallowing in the thought of going back to being a project manager and I have a more positive attitude of coming back to the real world now that this stress has been lifted. 
Someone posted on my Facebook, after hearing about the position, that all of my dreams had been handed to me on a silver platter. Not quite all of my dreams, but I certainly am on my way.

A Day in the Life - Monterchi

I never really grasped how massive horses are until I stood next to them as I was spreading out their hay in the field. Without bridles or saddles, they look completely free and unburdened. These horses have had some sort of physical trauma, so they can not be ridden or used for anything other than keeping the lawn neat with their grazing. To keep them from being put down, Lucie has saved all three and boards them on the property, much to Peter's dismay. It's a money drain that I think he would rather not have, but I am grateful for them because saying good morning to these three amazing creatures is the first thing I do every morning. It's a good way to start the day. 
Heading back to the house, the sights and sounds are so peaceful. The valley is usually shrouded in fog and clouds to a point where, if your feet weren't on the ground, you'd feel like you were hovering in the heavens somewhere. The wind rustling through the autumn leaves almost sounds like rain and the morning dew hangs off of the olives on the tree. It's breakfast time which means either cereal or porridge. Ugh, porridge. I can't stand that word. Makes me think of the story of the three little bears when the baby bear asks, who's been eating my porridge? It conjures up the image of gruel and slop, when in reality it is just the british term for oatmeal. Add in a bunch of brown sugar and it's actually not revolting. Sue percolates the coffee for me and her husband Rob while Lucie juices some oranges to be added to their granola. It's a quick breakfast, but it never seems rushed and I never feel tired getting up in the morning, which is remarkable considering, again, i am getting less sleep than I would on a normal night back home.
Chores here have been varied. Weeding around cabbages, turning over the front garden, cleaning out the chicken coop and assisting in setting up their home commuter network; you never know what it will be from day to day. The work day is a short one, only four hours in the morning until lunch is ready, around 1:30. From then on, the day is ours to do what we like. I've turned to reading anything I can get my hands on and also to writing. Intermittently, I make sure to check on the stove in the kitchen and the boiler, you never know when they need more wood to keep going and to keep the house cozy.
At around 6pm or so, Peter breaks out the jug of wine - it's certainly not the best wine I've ever had in Italy, but at five euro per five liters, it's hard to beat. Some chestnuts are roasted or on more lavish days, some cheese - something to tie us over till dinner which is usually around 8pm. Either Peter or I will make the music selection from his CD collection - James Taylor, REM, Massive Attack or jazz classics, whatever the mood may be. This is when the house gets to be it's best. Sue comes over to finish up making dinner, so most everyone is chatting, drinking lightly and enjoying the warmth of the fire and the cats curled up around us.
At dinner, we always sit in the same spots, me at the head of the table with Lucie and Peter on my left and Sue and Rob to my right. The dishes are varied, but the fact that this is a British household is always apparent. What we call casseroles are called bakes. Curry is something that is cooked at least once a week (I had no idea curry was such a British thing to eat, but apparently its huge back there). Everyone uses knives when they eat and the fork is always upside down when delivering food to the mouth. When someone is finished, it is indicated by the fork and the knife being placed at the six position of a clock on the plate with the points towards the center. No one drinks anything but wine with a meal, so I am quite the outsider sitting there time after time with my large glass of water as well as a glass of wine. 
The conversation talks about the latest TV programs, sometimes politics, sometimes the differences in the American and British language. Lucie is a translator and is usually turning something into English for Americans, like a TV show. Her latest pilot script to work on is a reality TV show which most likely is going to be too risqué for the US, but has been done in the Netherlands, so the producers want to try it out in other countries. It's a very sexually oriented TV concept, so Lucie asks me some of the most outrageous questions about our slang in American culture for different things. If you were to walk into the middle of our conversation of trying to help Lucie do her job better your jaw would drop and your face would flush bright red. 
After dinner we all retire to our various areas of the house. Rob and Sue over to the separate apartment on the property, Peter and Lucie to the TV room to watch the latest BBC show they have downloaded and me to my room where I can always count on Tilly sleeping on my bed and Fred curled up on the armchair. We all say goodnight and look forward to a similar routine the next day.
However, tomorrow night is Sue and Rob's last night here. They have done amazing improvements to the house but the work and the money to keep them busy has run out, so they are going onto another Helpx job just down the road. For their final send off, we are doing something quite different and special - BBQing and drinking a few beers. Beer! Who knew that stuff even existed anymore! Sunday will also be a final farewell to Buena, one of the horses. Lucie has found a suitable home for her so there will be a little less of a financial strain on the household for a bit. I'm going to miss them even though I've only been here for two weeks. Buena is the most beautiful of the three horses and she has seemed to warm to me the most of all of them. Sue and Rob, as I mentioned, are so happy and so positive - plus they have the best sense of humor and a fabulous outlook on life. There will be such a gap without them here. And that's the weird thing about this entire experience, I have met amazing people since I have arrived in Italy and 99% of them i will never see again. But I will never forget them either; each has taught me something new or made me laugh in some way I wouldn't have without them. All I can hope is that I have done the same for them.      

Memory Lane

Pienza looks just as we left it a little over a year ago. I was here, you know, in another lifetime. In 2009 it was a trip of great proportions in many ways. Travelling with a significant other is usually never easy, plus I hadn't been back to Europe since I was in 8th grade. I had done all the research in the world to make the trip perfect. And it paid off.
Sitting in the same restauruant as we visited in 2009 is like watching the same movie again except one of the lead actors is missing. Going to a place in Italy where I knew where everything was was a huge comfort. Having been pushed and shoved around this country, as anyone just visiting a place where you don't know the language would be, it's nice to see a familiar restaurant, a familiar street, a familiar face. Isabella was in charge of the agriturismo when we stayed last year and all I can think when I see her again for the first time in 16 months is that she looks considerably thinner. She is just as welcoming as she was then and I appreciate the effort she takes to meet me and talk to me about how life has been.
From there it's off to a new winery in my Fiat 500 that I rented in Arezzo. I awoke at 6:45 this morning for no reason, maybe eager to embark on my day's trip, maybe thrilled from the interview I had the previous night for a new job within my company. I'm not sure which, but by the time 8:35 rolls around, the horses are fed, breakfast has been eaten and I am ready to go. Lucie is kind enough to drop me at the bus stop where we travel for about 35 minutes before reaching Arezzo train station, a place I have gotten to know well. I grab a taxi which takes me to the car rental place and they knight me with my keys to my Fiat. The exact Fiat I marveled at last year, except in white; you would have thought I won the lottery when I saw it, silently squeeling on the inside with hysterical giddiness. The man looks at me, looks at the car, looks back at me, seeming to be unsure of the situation. "Have any questions about the car?" "Nope," I reply, "I've driven one before," and with that, I'm off.  Heading in the opposite direction from the highway I'm supposed to be on, but I won't realize that for another 5 minutes, so I'm happy.
And now back to the present. After having my cathartic, and somewhat painful trip down memory lane, I have more bottles of wine than I would care to admit in my car and a hankering to get back to the farm where I am welcome and looked after.
Just a few hairpin turns, a taxi ride, a bus ride and then another car ride to go. If only it was that easy... Until you miss your bus, break a bottle of wine and forget to leave the keys with the rental place. Other than that, piece of cake.