Add a Seat to the Table

Last Wednesday, an Italian family welcomed me into their home for a home cooked meal.  I have been invited to plenty of houses for dinner in prior years.  The difference with prior invites, however, is that I knew the people asking me into their home.  I could somewhat anticipate the event.  I always knew, for instance, that my good friend, Ashley, would have her mother make us soft-shell tacos, because they are our favorite dish.  I always know that I will talk about school when I eat with grandmother, and that I will discuss music and politics with my brother.  But I had little expectation with my Italian dinner-date.  I had never met the family, nor had any idea if they spoke a word of the English language.

Luckily, the language wasn't much of a barrier.  Carolina, the 17-year-old daughter of the d'Aloja family, introduced me to herself and her father on campus last Wednesday.  Turns out, Carolina is a reversed verion of me.  She is an Italian student at Instituto Phillipine, but had studied abroad last semester in Rhode Island.  She speaks English fabulously.  Actually, her whole family is rather fluent, maybe from traveling between Europe and the US regularly.  Carolina has a 15-year-old sister, Angelica, who is absolutely beautiful and also attends school at Instituto Phillipine.  Their father has a career in the medical field; their mother owns her own pest control business.  The family lives happily in a nice neighborhood, under a roof with white walls, 1 dog, 3 cats, and a whole lot of artwork.

I can appreciate their love for art and animals.  In fact, their home actually reminded me a lot of my own home.  Not only does my mother adore animals, but she is also very fond of artwork.  Walking into my house in Iowa is like walking into a museum of random statues, paintings, and other home-made decor.  This home, too, felt a little like that.  Although the walls were white (much different from my mom's multi-colored painted walls), there were personal touches that gave it warmth and color.  Abstract paintings, which were created and given by a close friend, are planted around the entire home.  Their black-and-white family photos were unique, with them laying in the grass and their dog running in the background.  The lamp and lighting fixtures were modern and hung directly over the dining table.

I loved this candid family picture.

Angelica and her mother preparing our plates.

As one could imagine, dinner was another delight within itself.  To begin, we drank sparkling white wine (a fine wine that I haven't been able to afford abroad) and ate a variety of bruschetta.  The primi, or first course, was a dish of fresh linguini with raw salmon.  Probably - no, definitely, my favorite plate I've had in Italy.  Our secondi - the second course - consisted of two types of cooked potatoes and mixed pork/beef meat balls.  Definitely not something I was used to; nevertheless, I'm never shy in the name of food.  It was delicious.  And for dessert, we enjoyed lemon pound cake and apricot biscottis, the Italian cookie.

But it wasn't just the home-cooked meal, or the floral linen towels in the bathroom, that made me feel at home.  The family had an exceptional bond - a bond that I haven't noticed in many American families.  The parents held their cats, petting them in between bites of food at the table.  The girls were spoke openly, about school, relationships, experiences, interests, and so much more.  Conversation was not pre-planned like I've so many times witnessed at dinner events.  We shared our thoughts, our ideas, our lives in Italy.  They also pulled out some photo albums, showing me visuals and telling me stories of their adventures in the United States.

Carolina and her father took me back to my dorm around 10:30 that night.  They got out of their car to hug me goodbye and told me I was welcome to come back anytime.  I left them with a smile, thinking to myself, this is the first time I've felt home since living in Italy.  I've been overseas for three months, and just as things start to get warm and cozy, I know I must leave to go back to America in less than two weeks.  I hope to come back again someday.  And if I do, I hope to take the d'Aloja family's invitation for dinner.

Money: What's it Worth?

Before leaving America, I was told several times by people that traveling abroad would forever change me as an individual.  That I would have a new view on life; a different perspective on what it means to be human in the world we live in.  I always nodded my head, agreeing like I understood what they said.  But I never really comprehended the meaning.

Now I get it.  Or I sort of do, at least.  It is not something that I can describe in words.  I also know that this indescribable feeling will only be epitomized when I am adjusted back into my home country.  But this feeling, or this perspective, feels more relevant every day as I travel across the world.

Particularly with the concept of currency.  Money.  For me, I had always been familiar with green-colored-wealth, and symbolized $ signs, and George Washinginton's profile on coins.  American currency seemed prominent, because it was all I knew.   I knew people worked hard to earn it, and that others did bad things to get it.  I knew that more was better, and that I needed it to attain the things I wanted. 

Truthfully, the US dollar is not all that great.  It's a filthy, flabby piece of paper, as most world-wide currency typically is.  The difference between the US dollar, the EU euro, and the UK pound (three currencies I have used within the last couple months) is that the dollar is actually weighed much less.  It's not in high demand.  In other words, one American dollar is equal to only two thirds of one UK pound. 

My wallet is filled (well, not filled) with colorful banknotes, shiny Queen Elizabeth's, and some green Ben Franklin's.  I know each bill comes from a different region and I know that one bill may be worth more than another.  But overall, all the money in my wallet seems to just mesh together.  I know see that money is just money, and not much more than that.

It's like trading a potato for an apple.  Like currency, the volume and color changes slightly.  The potato is dense, dull, and colorless; the apple is lighter and may be green, red, or even yellow.  Likewise, the nutrition, or value of the two pieces of produce, changes because potatoes are to satisfy starches, whereas an apple is packed with Vitamin C.  Nonetheless, you're exchanging something to get something in return.  To think that one form of currency (or one food item) is superior begins to seem a bit naive.  

This only seemed more relevant when I walked into the British Museum in London.  There was a display of currencies from different time periods in different regions.  The comparison of all the riches was not shown to demonstrate wealth, but rather to show that all people have always used different forms in exchange.  We are all really very similar in that way, as people.

I realize this more and more everyday:  Everyone is similar, despite our location on the globe.  It is easy to contrast diverse cultures - in fact, it's almost an expectation to find differences when traveling abroad.  However, I have come to find that exploring our similarities, not our differences, is what makes our world beautiful.

Up, up, and away.

The town of Paderno, Italy, is calm and peaceful.  I enjoy it;  I can always count on the relaxation this place provides, particuarly in the mist of stressful school days and crazy travel weekends.  But sometimes, I crave something less composed and more spontaneous.  I want a thrill.  I want something to call home about.
So what do I do?  I jump off mountains.

Monte Grappa

Monte Grappa is part of the Veneto Prealp region and is 1,775 meters (that is nearly 6,000 feet) high.  Luckily, crazy CIMBA students like myself have easy access to this mountain, as it sits within a short distance of our campus.  This landscape provides adventure for anyone, depending on what one may be interested in.  There is hiking, horseback riding, cycling, and most importantly, paragliding.

Me launching off Monte Grappa

Paragliding.  Where do I begin to explain this air-sport?  I suppose it all begins with the wind.  This sport greatly relies and is determined by the amount of wind present.  It consists of a person sitting in a harness, which is suspended below a fabric wing, or parachute.  Once you are all set up, with all the gear in place, you run towards the side of the mountain.  It is important to run fast; this pulling force will allow the wind to inflate the parachute.  And all of a sudden, you will begin to float up, up, and away, far from any form of land.  No, this activity was not designed for those afraid of heights.

But for those okay with flying above mountain tops, take my word: It's an incredible experience.  I was in the air for fifteen minutes, and not one minute felt unsafe.  In fact, it felt liberating.  Like I was flying over... well, mountain tops and forests.  It was like those flying dreams we all experience, but put in reality.  Undoubtedly, I would do it all over again.

Lake Como: Natural Tranquility

Last Friday, I called my dad to tell him where in the world I was.

"Lake Como?  What's that?"  I had never heard of it, either.  Actually, I had heard of it, but I definitely couldn't point it out on a map, let alone tell someone which country it was in.

Lake Como is located in Lombardy, Italy.  It is the third largest lake in the entire country.  Thankfully, one of my friends on campus suggested venturing out to this location as a last resort for our travel weekend.  She explained it was only a hop, jump, and a 30 euro train ticket away.  For a random adventure with a small price to pay, I promptly nodded my head with approval. 

Turns out, Lake Como is well... how do I say this: BEAUTIFUL?  It is no wonder why big celebs, such as George Clooney and Madonna, spend big money to have villas here.  The land is comprised of clear waters, the Alpine mountain tops, and tropical/sub-tropical plants.  Bright colored buildings and elegant homes peak out from all over the mountains.  The lake itself is shaped like a "Y" and has three small towns at each point: Bellagio, Menaggio, and Verenna.  There is a ferry service to transport you between the locations around the water.   Lake Como is wealthier area in Italy; however, is entirely reasonable when traveling during the winter off season.

This is what my friends and I did - granted, it was all we could afford as college students.  But I would not have it any other way.  We booked a perfectly suitable apartment in Menaggio (with a bathroom, bedroom, living-area, and kitchen) that was located right on the lakeshore for 20 euro a night.  It was purely serene.  In fact, I believe we were the only people staying in our apartment.  The town was quiet, with few locals walking their dogs and children on bicycles.  The land was awakening, with crisp, spring air, little bits of wild life and vibrant scenery.

If ever given the opportunity to travel around Italy, I would absolutely recommend a visit to Lake Como.  It is perfect for those who appreciate nature and tranquility.  

Booking, booking, booking.

I book all day long.  I book academically, flipping through pages assigned in class.  I also book travel-wise.  I book the locations, the hostels, the trains, and flights, and buses, and so on.

I'll say this simply:  There are starting to be too many books.  I am trying to figure out all my reservations and complete all four papers assigned to me within four days.  Four days.  Splendid.

And although I'm sleepy-eyed, barely comprehending what I'm typing at this moment, I should thank CIMBA yet again for another thing:

Thank you, CIMBA.  Thank you for teaching me some time management strategies.  Because, quite frankly, I sucked at managing my time before.  And it leaves me feeling angry.  And now I have an angry blog post. My first angry blog post.  NOOOO.

I am aware that I am perhaps being too honest and blunt.  But being honest never hurt anyone.  In fact, it might help those who are anticipating a future trip out of the country.  Further more, it may help students who are considering to study and/or travel abroad.

To keep you from feeling stressed and wanting to pull out your own hair, I have some words of advice.

Megan's 6 Scheduling Tips to Live By:

• Get an agenda book.  I've never loved mine more.
• List every location that you'd like to visit prior to all your trips.  Then, sketch a brief plan for which days you will travel to specific places.  This way, you wont leave with regrets of missing a desired spot.
• Book all reservations in advance.  Seriously.  A flight CAN go up 30 euro within one day.
• Save absolutely every copy and every receipt in regards to your flight/train/bus/hotel information.
• If taking classes, don't bother bringing your academics on trips.  For one, books and notepads take up packing room.  Secondly, are you really going to be productive when exploring a new town?   Probably not.
• However, DO YOUR HOMEWORK - preferably before you travel.  Know when assignments are due and fit them into a feasible schedule that correlates with your trips.  

I am not going to claim that my tips will create a "smooth sail" for your life abroad.  But it will make things easier for you.  Take it from someone who learned the hard way.  I'm either going to Rome, Barcelona, or Verona in three days... for not cheap.  Not sure which it will be; I'll figure it out once I get these papers figured out.

Over and out.

My Favorite Little Places

Within this last week, I have had the privilege to travel to three amazing countries: Spain, Belgium, and France.  I did what any typical world-traveler does.  I checked out the Eiffel Tower and the Mona Lisa; I visited the Sagrada Familia and walked through a Dolce and Gabanna; I went to Grand Place in Brussels and drank the notorious Belgium beer.

Don't get me wrong - I love doing the "tourist thing," I really do.  But truthfully, I often find the most joy in walking into those unfamiliar places.  Those places not included in the "Top 10 Sites to See" list.

La Boqueria market was something we happened to stumble upon in Barcelona, Spain.  Although many locals could or should be familiar of this market, it was something entirely unfamiliar to myself and friends.

In consideration to my last few entries, one thing is pretty apparent: I am an absolute foodie.  I love food.  In addition to this, I LOVE food markets  - especially in foreign countries.  Personally, I feel there is no better way to really draw yourself into a culture than walking through large shops or markets.  You get incredible interaction that is often unreachable when touring a museum or snapping photos of a famous building. 

Arriving into Brussels, Belgium, automatically gave us three cravings: chocolate, beer, and most importantly, waffles.  Our group split up for a little bit, looking for different restaurants to fulfill different cravings.  Naturally, Mike and I wanted something sweet and hardy. That's just what we got: waffles, chocolate sauce, strawberries and whipped cream.  We also ate french fries (another Belgium cuisine) and some delish tomato soup.  

But the best part about this experience (maybe the second best.. the food was unreal) was the setting.  It was woodsy, with little intricate wall paintings, hanging chandeliers, and a staircase.  We sat next to a darling, warm fire place as we indulged in our fatty-licious meals.  One of my favorite moments in Brussels.

 

In Paris, France, we left the Notre Dame Cathedral and walked down small streets and checked out some cool shops.  One of which was an antique jewelry shop.  It was completely legit - all the jewelry was in very good condition, ranging from the early 1900's to the late 1960's.  An older French woman informed us on all the material used and advised which pieces were best for certain occasions.  I love antiques, especially antique jewelry - so sentimental and beautiful.  We loved it so much that we had to go back the next day before leaving Paris.

Keepin' it Fresh.

Though I love CIMBA with all my heart and soul, I must admit:  I do not love CIMBA's cafeteria.  Mainly because it 1. gives zero food variety and  2. gives zero nutritional value.  Every day (and I mean every day) our lunch and dinner is comprised of the exact same thing:  hard white bread, cheap pasta, and undistinguishable meat.  However, I will say this:  I am not going hungry.  And that is always something to smile about.

But I'm in Italy!  I thought I was supposed to be swimming in fresh mozzerella, and fine homemade pasta, and bright firm grapes.  Nope, not so much.  Rather, I feel like one big fat tortellini noodle every day instead.  And I start to miss my hometown drives to the Farmer's Market to pick up the simple fruits, and veggies, and nuts, and dairies, and wheats, all all the things I love most.  But I can't access those things here, not in small town Paderno. And then I cry a little bit inside.

But Crespano del Grappa, Italy wiped away my inner tears last Sunday.  Crespano is another small town, which is only a mile from campus - however, this small town has one thing Paderno doesn't: an OUTDOOR MARKET.  A massive outdoor market.  I'm talking a mile or longer outdoor market.  And it is open every Sunday morning.  

Luckily, the weather last Sunday was absolutely gorgeous (around 60 degrees fahrenheit) so the walk was enjoyable.  I went with four other girls with a couple of missions to fulfill: Raw almonds and fresh produce.  And by golly, did I ever succeed.  It was a dream come true for any deprived veg-head.

But Crespano's Sunday market did not only fulfill my produce wishes.  It also had cheese, and fish, and meat stations - a girl in my group actually got a chicken kabob with onions and peppers - it was fantastic.  Also, it had the random selection of things people may or may not come for - large pieces of fabric, and shoes, and fashionable outfits, and other items you wouldn't so much expect...

I left the outdoor market with the freshness of tomatoes, bananas, apples, mandarines, coconut/fruit mix, raisins, and almonds - all for under 12 euro.  I feel like I'm getting every vietamin (not only CIMBA's carbs) for this week.  Thanks, Crespano - I'll see you next Sunday. :)

Breaking Down the Hostel

Consider an American hotel - something average, but nice, like a Hilton or Sheraton Inn.  When you book a room, you know what to expect: the number of beds, what size beds, clean towels, unlimited key-cards, precise pool hours, payperview television, working electricity, mini bottles of shampoo, etc.  The quality of which differs, depending on they money you're willing to spend.  Nonetheless, you know what to expect when you hand over your credit card.

I can't speak for Italian hotels;  I've never stayed in one, so I wouldn't know.  However, I can speak for my first experience in an Italian hostel.  And it went a little something like this:

Four girls and I arrived into Florence, Italy, around 11pm last weekend.  We roamed around the town, trying to find our Youth Hostel, where we booked a private room.  

For those unfamiliar, there are two kinds of rooms in a hostel: dorms and privates, both of which are comprised of 1-4 bunk beds (up to an 8-person stay).  But, depending on how many euros you want to pay, you can be sleeping in 1. a private, where you know everyone around you or 2. a dorm, where you may or may not know that creepy, garbage-smelling man sleeping next to you.  Personally, I'd rather save my euros and sleep next to a creepy man - however, the girls I was with disagreed.

Living area outside our room.

After some serious walking took place, we finally found the old, wooden doors to our hostel.   We walked up three narrow stair cases to find a man at a front desk in an intricate living area.  It looked like an old couple's home and smelled like pachouli flowers.  Nothing like the white-washed, hotel walls in the States - it had character - I loved it. 

The desk man was friendly, but set down the "rules" right away:

1.  WiFi hours are off between the hours of 1 or 2 or 3 am to about 9 or 10 or 11 pm.  It differed every night.

2.  Customers only get one (real, not plastic) key.  So have a plan if deciding to venture into separate groups.

3.  He will call as an alarm after 7 or 7:30am, depending on when he woke up.  If you have to wake up earlier, well, tough luck.

4.  You must pay in exact euros.  If your 2-night-stay is 163 euro, you give him 163 euro.  Not 165, or 170.  The cash drawer will be absent.
And that is that.

Jolie kickin' it in our 5-person-hostel room.

Along with desk-guy's rules, I created my own personal set of rules: 

1.  To make travels slightly easier, check out hostel reviews, such as the ones on hostelworld.com.  It will help cut through the chase when searching for a decent stay. 

2.  Most hostels (including ours) don't provide towels.  So, either bring one or use the extra bedding in the closet.

3.  Bring toiletries.  No mini shampoos or conditioners in these joints. 

4.  Know where and how to use an electricity box.  Especially when you're bringing more than one hairdryer. 

5.  Pack LAYERS.  Cute, old buildings are not very well-vented most of the time.

6.  Don't have any expectations.  Bring an alarm if you have an early flight or train home (may not do wake-up calls).  Don't be upset when the internet stops working in the middle of a skype session with your boyfriend (WiFi hours may turn off/not exist).  Know the local eating areas around your hostel (some hostels serve breakfast, others do not).

7.  And lastly, enjoy your stay. :)

Creepy baby painting outside our room. 

BREAKFAST! Simple, but satisfying.

Monday's Class: Interviews.

"Start paying someone for what they love, and it becomes work."
My Psychology teacher told me this last semester.  For some, this statement makes sense - for others, not so much.  What she meant, was that sometimes an individual loses joy in what he or she likes, or even loves, when authority forces that interest upon that person.  This shines true for many:  future lawyers may cringe at taking the LSATS; future psychologists might dislike memorizing aged theories; future teachers may procrastinate their volunteer work; and so on.  But really, it's not that the person dislikes this work - they dislike that someone is saying, "This is what you have to do, by this time, with these results."

As a journalism major, I am, too, sometimes faced with the same issue, being forced to write/rewrite/edit papers I have little interest in.  But recently, there came a light at the end of an academic tunnel.  I lucked out in one of my abroad courses - a Travel Writing course - where I get to blog about my experiences of traveling and interacting with the Italian culture.  And, because I already have a blog, the coursework couldn't be more fitting (or fun, for that matter).
But the coolest thing about this course: American students are mixed with English-speaking-Italian students.  Need I say more?

Yesterday, we paired up (one American to one Italian) to discuss our impressions of the two different cultures.  My first original thought was, "Oh great - here come the 'fast-food-overweight-American' stereotypes".  Then again, I suppose they were thinking, "Oh great - here come the 'wine-loving-Italian' stereotypes".  However, my questions were slightly different.  And so were theirs.

"What are those things?"  Michele, a 16-year-old boy here, used hand gestures to ask me what "cut-off-pants" are.  "You mean shorts?" I asked, puzzled.  "Yes.  It's very confusing to me.  I see people wearing those, but it's cold outside!"
It's funny -  Northern Italy days in January are around 40 degrees fahrenheit.  Very chilly to Italians, yet, almost paradise to the brutal Midwest winters Iowan's are used to.  However, I am not so sure shorts can be justified when breath is still visible outside.
"It's crazy," Michele continued, "no Italians wear those."
On the clothing topic, I figured I could contribute what I know of Italian fashion: Diesel jeans, the designer jeans that originate in Italy.  I happened to get my boyfriend a pair for Christmas this year - they're a pretty solid pair of denim, if you ask me.  Michele was impressed and agreed with my purchase.

But I'm not so sure if Melania, a sweet girl I spoke to, would agree.  She explained how she did not enjoy the fashion scene here; how people often judge if someone is not always looking their best.
"I can always spot Americans at school, because they they wear different things," she explained.  We went on to talk about the lounge-wear; the sweatpants; the "role-out-of-bed" kind of look Americans rock daily. "But that's why I love Americans," she said.

And I love Italians.  Even though I've almost been hit multiple times by their soaring vehicles.  I've noticed these people are typically quite patient; however, they seem to be little speed-demons in their cars.  I truly believe pedestrian walkways are mere embellishments for their pavement.
"There are speed-limits," Stefano laughed at me, "but they are not enforced. Cops don't really care if someone is going really fast around here."

Lawfully, Italians are not allowed to drive until they reach 18 years.  Alcohol, on the other hand, is quite different than the 2l law in America - but I'm sure you were already aware of that.  Kids are legal to buy liquor at age 16 in Italy.  I've certainly taken advantage of this (shhh), getting a glass of Cabernet in nearly every restaurant I sit down in.  Interestingly enough, three of the four kids did not agree with my wine-liking.

Andrea, another 16-year-old boy, was one of the three.  Also, I was surprised how breakfast is not a huge thing with Italians; it happens to be my favorite meal of the day.  Andrea did tell me some of his favorites though:
"I love pizza.  In the summer, I will order pizza with light toppings, like vegetables," he continued, "but in the winter, I will order pizza with french fries on top."
First, I will say one thing: It's pretty cool a 16-year-old boy would even think to coordinate seasons with pizza-toppings.  Secondly, did he say french fries on top of pizza?  Apparently the combination is quite popular in Italy.  Personally, I love Italian pizza - especially with fresh mozzarella, vegetables, and the thin crust (it is always very thin).  I was curious if Andrea had tried American pizza.
"I have, I don't like it," he explained that American pizza was too thick for his liking.  I forgot to give him a high-five for that comment.


And without realizing it, my class was out of time.

Hello, Paderno.

Yes, I'm in Paderno, Italy!  Finally.

But I'll tell you what, the process of getting here was not so easy.  If giving any suggestions to a first-time international traveler, I would stress two things:

1. GET SOME SLEEP.  Nothing sucks worse than surviving a 24 hour (or longer) trip on zero rest.  It leads to delusional perceptions and possessing the devastating look of a drunken streetwalker.

2.  PACK LIGHTLY.  Carrying 100 lbs. of weight on wheels/your back/your shoulders is not only embarrassing, but also a struggle to haul around. I learned this the hard way.

After forgetting my North Face backpack on the plane to Venice (I got it back eventually, no worries) and zoning in and out of a normal mind state, Mike and I eventually made our way to a new continent.  Our first European experience was in Amsterdam.  Overall, I think Amsterdam's airport can be summed up in two categories: chocolate and perfume.  This works for me, being a huge fan of both things.  In fact, I could totally go for the fist-sized blocks of dark, white, and milk chocolate I saw in Amsterdam.  

 But chocolate and perfume can only excite me for so long - eventually, my sleepless night kicks in again, and I can only think of getting to my final destination.  The overlay in Amsterdam began to drag.

And so did the flight to Venice (I can't say I remember any of that plane ride).  Nonetheless, we finally got to Italy - now it was just matter of getting to Paderno del Grappa.  This required walking to several bus and train stations throughout Venice.
Need I remind you again: PACK LIGHTLY.  Unlike America, Italians have little ease in transporting between ground levels.  In other words, Americans are lazy; Italians take the stairs.  And stairs + hauling 5 bags = never again.  Thanks to Mike - and some other super friendly Italian men - we got my bag business taken care of.  And eventually, after the longest rides of my life, we made it to Paderno.

For those unfamiliar, Paderno del Grappa is a small town of 2,000 people, located about 45 miles north of Venice.  However, the small population does not decline the unbeatable atmosphere.  Truly, words do not give justice to this town.  It is the most serene, beautiful place I have ever witnessed in my life:  the campus is bright and lively, but is softened by woodsy greens and high top mountains.  I could not imagine a more wonderful home base for CIMBA (a study abroad program through the University of Iowa).  230 American college students share this area with local Italian students (ranging grades K-12) as it is their private school they attend regularly throughout the year.  It is rewarding to directly interact with the Italian culture on a day-to-day basis. 

But you may wonder, "What's there to do in another small town?"  If you're anything like me, you like to try new things.  And fortunately, this town happens to have great Italian businesses conveniently located around campus - in which, a perfect accommodation for my need of exploration.  There are a couple tabacchis (typically Italian tobacco huts, but they have other goods as well), local pizzerias, clothing shops, bakeries, sandwich markets, and much more.  They also have other activities, from olive picking with the locals to hand-gliding in the mountains.

Overall, life right now... well, it's more than good.


In the mean time, I actually have some studies/readings I need to catch up on.  I am, after all, attending class!  I will leave you with a couple of pictures, but only a couple, because the internet is sort of rusty around here.  Ciao!

Deep, pure espresso.

At a local pizzeria with my roommate, Jolie.

Just a Small Town Girl

At times, I wish I lived in an exciting, ritzy area with unlimited activities to consume my time.  But I don't.  For the majority of my life, I have lived in Sioux City - a town in Iowa of 80,000 people - where going to a movie creates an eventful, fun-packed day.  Growing up, I found the constricted entertainment frustrating and my boredom consistently lingered.  I couldn't wait to move away, go off to college, and enter a new world of excitement.

That is my current standing point: college.  I am a sophomore at the University of Iowa, studying in the School of Journalism.  And, although the population of Iowa City falls behind that of Sioux City's, it still has "hip" elements to make a great college town.  It's quaint with small, trendy businesses surrounded by brick pathways.  It's mostly foot-traffic - I love the pedestrian feel.  And the food, oh my god the food.  I adore the signature sushi rolls at Takanami, and the fresh falafel at Oasis, and the organic produce at The Pioneer Food Coop.  I've been to great poetry readings and amazing concerts (Iron and Wine - go see them) in Iowa City.  I've met fabulous people - the kids in the dorms, the girls in my sorority, and my incredible boyfriend, Mike.  All of which give me great sparks of happiness.

And for holidays,  I come back home to my town.  My town of 80,000 people with a small mall, a movie theatre, and a couple of HyVee grocery stores.  And it's here where I realize why I love life so much.  Not because of Sioux City itself, but because of what it has made me.  To appreciate simplicity.  I love going through every lane at the grocery store, and driving my vehicle through the car wash, and cooking home made meals for my family and friends.  I love old buildings with the paint chipping off the walls and listening to my dad's stories about college.  I love doing my nails with my sister and eating up time with crafty tasks.  In fact, creating this blog has been a treat within itself.  My intentional purpose is to record my upcoming semester living in Europe (yay!) in just a couple short weeks - but I thought I'd give it an early start.  And what better time to start than January 1, 2011?  A new year, a new blog.  Makes sense.

In the mean time, I will continue to enjoy the small things given to me.  Because larger things - European things -  are awaiting in my path.