I Climbed a Tree to See the World

The warm whispers of home call to me from far across the ocean. But I know I am here for a reason. I climbed a tree, swaying in the wind. This is my tree, imperfect and like no one else's. It feels so unstable at times, it's foggy, and I cannot see out far in front of my own nose...but man, when that fog clears, I know I will be able to see for miles and miles. I have changed branches a few times, higher, lower, crawling further in and away. I may not be able to see it all at once, but the clarity that it will bring will be well worth my while. For now, I cling snugly and securely to this trunk. Branches and twigs break off from time to time, but they never hinder my effort or existence.

What a risk to take, climbing a tree in the wind, storm, and weather. I will probably fall down and there is the risk that it may collapse completely, snapping in two. Even harder to imagine is if I had I never embarked, I would never have been able to know the height of the tree, see the green of the leaves, or the feel breath of the wind. 

Building Home

The Haus-Meister at Cara's school in Bommersheim said hello to me today. I think we are finally making progress.

The daily routine as an au pair is anything but boring, and it is at times uncomfortable. I suppose that I had not really thought much about writing my experience because it is mundane, task-ridden, and non-glamorous. Yet there really is something that keeps me thinking that I will desperately miss this thirty years from now.

In the beginning, I felt like a stranger in a strange town, strange country, strange continent...you get the picture. My first day in town, my host mom insisted that I start working immediately. Jet lagged and hungry, I hopped on a bike that was entirely too tall for me and nearly fell over every time I came to a stop. I was riding to pick up the youngest child I care for based off of the small scribbled map I held in my hand.  I arrived late, but it was a miracle that I even arrived at all. The numerous autos buzzed past me at a close proximity as I rode down narrow German streets. Audi, ZOOM....BMW, ZOOM...Volkwagen, putt, putt, putttttt...

No one smiled, waved, or acknowledged another person's presence on the ride to the school. I figured at first that it was just a German thing, but I came to find out from other locals that it was just the area of town I lived in. They didn't take kindly to strangers, and trust me, I was a stranger in every sense of the word.

At her school, no one spoke English and this was the first time I was meeting her in person, so I wandered around this strange place with the strange language and felt utterly out of place. Calmness overcame me when a small blond child ran up and jumped into my arms. "Maegan, Meggie, Meggie, Meggie" she shouted. I had never even met her before, yet she already knew exactly who I was.  She must have known that I also needed that running jump hug for sure.

Time passed slowly at first...my first month seemed like enough time and energy to fill an entire year. There were days that I wanted to get back on a plane and come home because I felt wrong for the job. Three girls so close in age with a mom who works from home and a dad who travels 5 days a week for work makes for a challenging house-dynamic. But I realized that if anyone could do it, it was me. It was me who needed the attitude adjustment, not the grumpy residents of Bommersheim.

My mundane became a daily event to look forward to. At 3:00 every day, I hop happily onto my bike to pick Cara up from school. As I now ZOOM around the narrow streets, pass the castle remains, and the three tempting bakeries, I feel a sense of calm and acceptance. The locals started to recognize my face. At first it was nods, then they turned into "Guten Tag" greetings. I nearly fell off my bike (not unusual for me) when I saw the apple farmer smile and wave at me as though I was a friend.

This job has so many costs, but at the end of the day, the rewards completely outweigh them. Weekend trips to Paris and Rome are nice, but that is not what makes it feel so right. A family from a different part of the world has taken me in and made me one of their own so that I can fulfill my dreams of exploring Europe. I have made friends for life in so many wonderful people. I feel completely overwhelmed with love and friendship. My cup truly runneth over.

Colors

God knows how much I love the autumn. I laid down in the back yard today in a pile of beautiful leaves on top of still green grass. Sometimes I feel like this year's in Germany was made just for me. The landscape is much like home with the rolling hills and mountains in the backdrop. But the leaves are a colors that I have never seen before. The once vermillion reds have come up to a distinct crimson, almost chestnut in hue now. The brave reds are the first to fall this year onto the earth. The orange appears be next, its once saffron color is now wheaten. Last hanging on for the season in this chilly November is yellow. It is still bright as a dandelion, showing no signs of hindrance for its beloved losses of red and orange friends. The amazing thing about these leaves is that even on the ground, brown, and forgotten, they still show glimmers of life with green peeking out on the stems or edges. They have a life and a mind of their own, I am playfully convinced.

I watched the sunset at 5:05 PM today.  Usually my melancholy kicks in and I distract myself with happy music or fix myself a cup of tea, but tonight, I watched the sun go all the way down. Of course the sky itself was a beautiful mix of violet and orange, but the landscape itself always transforms into what I think are the most magnificent colors. The trees and remaining leaves glimmered with a copper-like radiance as the departing sun illuminated from behind. Just when I did not think it could look any more stunning, the sun disappeared and the dusk's sapphire overtook the copper. Finally the darkness from the sky surrounded me with a chill in the air and the first few stars began to appear in the sky. "I wonder what tomorrow's leaves will look like," I said to myself. After I got up and brushed myself off with a couple of remaining leaves in my hair, I noticed that no melancholy had even attempted to approach me. I accepted the sunset and the leaves falling, so why is it any different with my own life?

Change is a part of nature, accepted with grace. If I stand still, everything else continues to move, shift, change, fall, die, and become new once again. If I change with it, exploring, respecting, loving passionately, I can appreciate so much more about myself and others in this short, beautiful life. Ah, what a wonderful world...

Be Careful Where You Step, This is Venice...

Ah, Venice. You strange city with your odd smells and entrancing portals and streets to nowhere. Be careful where you step, or you may end up in water. In my case, the flooding (also called aqua alta) started the day I left, so stepping in water was inevitable.

But the views are extraordinary. It is like nothing you have ever seen and everything you have ever imagined. People call it a fairy tale, but even that is not completely accurate. You know when you wake up from a dream and it takes you a few minutes to figure out whether or not you are dreaming? It definitely feels like a real place, but I am still spinning now from my three short days there trying to grasp exactly how I feel about mysterious Venezia. 

I arrived fresh off the train from Bologna into maybe one of the most stunning views. When you arrive in Venice by train, there is no walking through an ugly part of town to get to the good part...you are just there! I had drawn myself a good map to guide my way to my hotel with the recognition that I would very probably, most likely, get lost. I also had an official city map which is not of great comfort to anyone who has ever been there. The maps of Venice have no straight lines or grids like Americans value so much in an ideal city. Instead, it has big streets cut off in the middle by water, then making way to smaller streets, and covered portals. In Venice, there are not really roads or streets, they instead have "calles," "piscinas," "rio teras," and "fondamentas." All are unique to Venice because of the presence of water. I basically had to re-wire my brain to understand the city structure, and there also appeared to be no house numbers on any buildings.  Lovely bridges would start on one side of the canal and end into the side of a wall.

Surprisingly enough, I did not get lost finding my hotel. It was located near the Ponte Rialto bridge, a very historically significant and important bridge, but also boasts the Rialto market today which has been running for almost a thousands years (older than the current bridge itself).  It is a fantastic place to see locals in action, bargaining over beautiful fresh seafood and fruits. My hotel room was small, but with an awesome added bonus. I was at the top of the building (five flights of stairs), but I had the rooftop view where I could see the San Marco Square with no crowds (only pigeons). 

San Marco Square is beautiful by all means, but it is flooded (no pun intended) with tourists, and more noticeably so than other Italian cities, although I am not sure why. That is why I opted to tour the Jewish Ghetto located in the Cannaregio neighborhood and enjoy the restaurants of the quieter and more enjoyable San Polo. 

Seven hundred Jews were forced to move to an abandoned foundry that formerly produced cannons in the 1500s in Venice to make up the world's first ghetto. The Venetian dialect of the word "geto" means foundry. At the time of the forced move, the city decreed that Jews be confined from dusk to dawn and were only permitted to have defined, particular occupations approved by the government. The community grew to over 5,000 inhabitants, causing for them to start building upwards on their buildings (today, the ghetto has the tallest homes in the city). Two and a half centuries later, Napoleon took the gates to the ghetto down and Jews were able to disperse throughout the city and the world freely.  During the Holocaust, 247 Venetian Jews were shipped away to camps and only eight returned. 

I was able to tour the Jewish museum and two of the five synagogues. I could not fathom how 5,000 Jews successfully lived, worked, played, and worshiped in such a small area. It took a mere five minutes to walk from edge to edge of the ghetto. The synagogues were beautifully ornate and wonderfully intact and the kosher bakeries boasted the best pastries in town (and I believed them, they tasted incredible). 

My favorite meal was located in San Polo across the Ponte Rialto at a place that Anthony Bourdain visited when in Venice. It looked like a local joint from the minute I walked through the door, so I knew I was at the right place. It had a different feel though. I felt like I was sitting in a family's kitchen chatting about life and every day events with my waitress and the locals at the bar. The vino della casa is always a safe bet in Italy. Think about it...our best wines in the world come from these delicate regions of Italy that are experts on making wine.

I decided to be daring on my last night in Venice and go for the "cuttlefish spaghetti in black sauce." Look it up. Warning though, you may be slightly disturbed. Out came the dish from the kitchen and the restaurant just stared at me as I took my first bite. It was salty, fresh, and obviously smelled like sea food. I smiled after my first bite, black on my teeth, and everyone laughed and cheered with me, celebrating in my meal. Although I may never order the dish again, I was glad I tried it. 

A tour group walked into the restaurant to order some cheap wine (hey, that was my idea!) and I found out they were on a pub crawl.  The tour guide asked me why on earth I had ordered my dish and I told him that Anthony Bourdain had eaten here and had the cuttlefish as well. He said that they were on a Rick Steves tour, and my excitement grew. I told him that Rick Steves videos had taught me how to properly pack a bag and take the train.  Moments later, the tour guide introduced me to Rick Steves' son who he had met in transit with the group, and I went on with them to their next pub crawl. 

After that, I made my way back to my hotel, but as it was still early in the night, I stopped into an Irish pub nearby. I met people from all over, and was shocked to meet people from close to my home town (Smyrna, Georgia).  After drinking plenty of Strongbows and having conversations about politics like real Georgians, I headed to my hotel to enjoy my gorgeous views from my own personal terrace.  Sure, traveling is lonely, but with friends on the road and a view from a train window, I can make it work.  Solitude is something I've always feared, but it turns out it is peaceful, profound, and often revealing. It has become my friend, and I am learning to not only deal with it, but invite it in and make it welcome as a part of my life.

First sight of the city--fresh off the train

When in Venice, you will hear this a lot, "Gondola, gondola, I sing for you!"

It looks like it's floating...

The Old Jewish Ghetto

Bridges to nowhere 

Friends from all over (Italy, U.K., U.S.A.)

Bologna la Rossa

I endured the worst service in the world to have the best food in my life. Bologna is an awesome city to be in if you are a traveler like me. I am always looking for the cheap, local hangouts far away from the tourist areas. Bologna has a plethora of places like this. That is how I found myself in an off-the-main-strip trattoria where I nervously sat in fear of my life (ok, maybe not my life, but definitely my tortellini).

I walked in the door around 9pm on a Monday night with a table for "uno, solo." The frown on the host's face was priceless. It was like a scene from a movie. "Solo? Uno? Solo?" His voice increased every time he said a new word. I kept saying "si, si, uno." Then he switched to English, "No reservation? Sorry, I do not think we have room for you." Shocked, I said, "Gratzie" and turned on my heel to leave. All of a sudden, the host said, "Wait, wait, we might be able to make room for you." A small table toward the back of the restaurant was cleared away for me and the super gracious host (don't worry folks, the sarcasm is free) led me to my table where he proceeded to throw my utensils onto the table making a loud crashing noise on my plate. 

I ordered the vino della casa complete with a roll of the eyes from the waiter. The couple at the table next to me was from Chicago and they eagerly made culinary suggestions, encouraging me that this was the best food in town. I found out that they were both lawyers with children my age, so naturally we bonded. Thank goodness I had them to keep me sane. Another half hour passed before my waiter decided to grace me with his presence again. "What are you eating?" he asked. In the middle of my order, he left my table and started speaking with customers at another table.  My new friends from Chicago chimed in, "you have to be firm with them or you will never get to order anything." Ok, firm. I can totally do this and be rude. I put my best game face on and said in my best Italian that I would please like service and to order food. So I ordered spaghetti bolognese. The waiter had one more great suggestion to make, "So you want spaghetti with meat and no sauce? Or do you want sauce? Because you're not being very clear." I quickly corrected myself and with the biggest smile I could muster, I responded, "Ah, si, spaghetti alla bolognese con ragu, per favore. Grazie mille."

Needless to say the night did not end well for the restaurant. At the end of their meal, the couple from Chicago stormed out after paying for their meal shouting in half Italian and half English. She said, "I am telling my hotel that this place is pessimo!"  The owner ran out after them shouting, "No per favore, signora." When I went to pay, just moments later, I thanked the host and the owner for the meal saying how good the food was. This did not crack a smile on anyone's face. As I was just about to hand the waiter his tip, he looked me straight in my face and said, "You Americans, always so strange." I decided to keep my four euros and bought myself a drink at a bar near the university just down the street. I laughed all the way down the street at the hilarious scene that was made in the restaurant. Only in Italy would anything like that ever happen.

Besides the food, the city has a lot to boast about. The university is the oldest in Europe making the city's culture very unique, it has two beautifully intact medieval towers, and its piazzas are among Italy's most impressive. 

As for me, I have several reasons to go back to Bologna someday, but among the most important is my return to that trattoria (if they will let me in).

Next on the horizon is Venice!

University street art

Neptune's shadow

Piazza Maggiore

The two remaining medieval towers

Florence

"What is the fatal charm of Italy? What do we find there that can be found nowhere else? I believe it is a certain permission to be human, which other places, other countries, lost long ago."
--Erica Jong

Forgive me father, for I have eaten gelato three times in one day. Who am I kidding? This is Italy, therefore I have no reason to feel guilt for that. After going by my hostel for a change of clothes, I stopped by my new-found best gelato in the world hangout. I ordered hazelnut and it melted so smoothly and the texture was perfect. The owner's smirk on his face showed his partial satisfaction in his heavenly product. I said to him, "This is so delicious." He shrugged and said, "It is the best in the world." After enjoying it as slowly as I could, I met with my friend Jamie down the street and our mission was to find some post cards, but instead, we gave up early and drifted casually into the same shop. This time I got hazelnut and coffee...what a divine combination. The shop assistant artfully crafted the two flavors on top of the cone for me and smirked as he handed me my second one for the day. I wondered when they would cut me off, but then I realized that this must happen all the time in this shop. This was my justification at least. "What post cards?" Jamie and I said to ourselves. Later on after meeting with more friends, they decided they wanted gelato also. Third time is a charm because hazelnut and chocolate was absolutely perfect.

This is Florence, city of art, Medici wealth, Michelangelo, and Duomo. I arrived with my head in the clouds after visiting Rome, thinking there was no way I could ever "love again."  I was wrong. Florence was a different sort of love. Whereas Rome is the best lover you've ever had, Florence is the best friend you call on a Sunday afternoon for coffee and a good movie. To compare cities in Italy is almost unfair because there is just nothing like one from the other, and the Italians that live in those cities make sure that their individual cities stay distinctly so.

The sunset from the Ponte Vecchio was marvelous. The city quiets down so much after dark that it's hard to believe that bustling crowds of tourists were there just hours before. I walked the nearly silent streets down back alleys that opened into stunning piazzas. My favorite of these was Piazza della Signora where the original "David" stood (a fake now stands in its place). It was famous in its own glory days as the political hub of the city. My favorite thing to do was sit on the stairs and take in the lights of the city and the street performers' music.

On my second day, I had breakfast in my hostel where I met a couple my age from the U.S., Sasha and Jamie. We became instant friends and they invited me to tour the city with them for the day. We first went to the street and indoor markets that are famous for their Italian leather and food. Sasha was determined to find a place his friend had recommended that was an indoor trattoria in one of the markets that had great, cheap Florentine food. This place was fantastic and no one spoke English except for us. Thank goodness for my friend Jamie, at least she knew Spanish which seemed to do the trick. After cramming ourselves into a table that we shared with three locals, we got down to business. We ordered several dishes ranging from chick peas in rosemary to lasagna and eggplant parmesan. Our "table mates" were suggesting dishes for us to try and even scooping heaps of food from their plate to ours and pouring delicious Chianti into our glasses. Needless to say we left well-nourished and ready to move onto our next adventure: climbing the 463 steps to the top of the Duomo. To all who ever decide to take on this task, it is not for the claustrophobic. The stairs you use to get up to the top are the same ones you use to come down. I got to know a lot of people VERY well. The views are completely worth the climb and the structure of the dome is fantastic to observe in the climb. Next we had a date with Michelangelo and David down the street, so we found ourselves seated in front of him, marveling for well over an hour. Eventually, Jamie and I left Sasha and David for some alone time while we sought some gelato.

After the first fantastically exhausting day in Florence, the next day was quite simple and easy. While the others went shopping for leather jackets, I wandered around the city (always dangerous for me) and I got a bit lost and somehow stumbled upon a monastery. The old doors at the entrance were beautiful to take photos of until I was shooed away by an old man in harsh Italian that I did not understand. I was chilly because I stupidly decided to wear a dress on a chilly day in Italy. I had my scarf wrapped around my shoulders and it was not helping. I was in Tuscany for goodness sake! All I packed were dresses. An old woman walked down the street quietly past me, and then suddenly turned to me, looked me straight in my eyes, and started speaking very quickly. I told her in Italian I did not understand, but she kept talking. Then she motioned for me to follow and so I cautiously approached the path she pointed to. After leading me into a cafe, she bought herself and myself an espresso. She said, "stay warm," and then took her cane and left the cafe. This fantastic moment was worth my entire two weeks in Italy.

To finish out the epic three days in Florence, I decided to do a stopover in Bologna where I am now. Let's just say I am a bit in love with this new place and it's a different kind of love. This love is the sneaky kind of love. Venice did not know that I was staying over in Bologna for a day before I got there. I feel like I'm cheating on Rome and Florence by saying I like the food better here and although Bologna does not surpass either of those great cities, I just had Spaghetti Bolognese that completely blew my mind. Now if only I could find a t-shirt that says, "I <3 Bologna."

Ponte Vecchio

River at dusk

From the top of the Duomo

Street performer in the Piazza del Duomo

Roma, Italia-the Eternally Captivating City

Let me just begin this by saying that upon leaving Rome this morning, I felt like I was making a huge mistake. I did not want to leave to go to Florence because I honestly could have stayed in Rome for my remaining week in Italy. The city is a living, breathing masterpiece in ruins. It is a museum full of ancient history and people who are brash, loud, and unapologetic. Going indoors is unnecessary because most of my education on Rome came from sitting by the fountain outside the Pantheon or on the Spanish Stairs overlooking the Piazza di Spagna.

Our first day, we arrived to our flat located steps away from the Colosseum and Forum Romanum. We had a home cooked dinner (pasta of course), and went out for gelato to the oldest Italian gelato company in the world. I had hazelnut and chocolate topped with cream (and I had it for the next two nights as well). The next two days were full of things to see, but then again, in Rome, it seems as though every building, piazza, and road has some sort of story. I hit all the major sites: Colosseum, Spanish Stairs, Roman Forum, Trevi Fountain, Pantheon, St. Peter's Square and Basilica, and the Sistine Chapel. So many of the aspects of the city are beautifully preserved. My favorite moments were wrapped up on the side streets in the back alleys and in the tiny churches filled with locals and their rosaries. The every day lives of Romans is what I could sit and observe for hours or joyfully take part in for months.

The city feels timeless and ancient cooperatively and completely. It is apparent that those who built Rome built it to last for centuries and it does not feel like it has lost any of its former glory. Not only is it aesthetically well-preserved, but the people in the city itself effortlessly hold it up with their "late to everything because I was drinking my espresso and my heels are D&G" attitude. The enjoyment of life in the middle of this characteristically crowded, busy, bustling, traffic-ridden city is not telling at all of the greater story inside of the buildings and the hearts of its people.

Rome is full of unbelievable things that are often unmarked with no explanation.  On our last day in town, my host family and I were wandering around near our flat and found a park close by called Piazza Vittoria Emanuele. In the park, there were locals with their dogs and their children and we stumbled upon the ruins of something we did not recognize. There were no crowds, or people photographing this particular bit of ruins, but it definitely looked like a significant structure. The big structure was actually a sophisticated water supply built by Alessandra Severo in 226 A.D. 

Behind the fountain, tucked into a corner stood a structure that was not so ancient, but equally as interesting "Porta Magica" or "Magic Gate" which has stumped historians since it was uncovered. The villa was built in the 1600s by a marquis, but it was leveled in the 1800s to make way for the Piazza Vittoria. All that remains of the villa now is the Porta Magica. The Marquis Palombara dabbled in alchemy, and his alchemist friend was said to have found the formula to turn basic metals into gold. Upon his friend's mysterious disappearance, small gold flakes were left in his tracks and a formula which the Marquis did not understand. In hopes that someone would, he etched the formula in stone on the gate.

My favorite moment in Rome came to me when I arrived at the Colosseum, but it wasn't the ancient structure that caught my eye. Steps away from the colossal structure (no pun intended), a team of archeologists were uncovering what appeared to be bricks and flooring from some sort of Roman building. I sat there for at least an hour completely engrossed in the project. The realization that came to me as they slowly began to uncover more beautiful red bricks was that the ruins were still being discovered in this eternal city. They call it eternal because they say it will stand forever, but to me, it eternally captivates the world to really and truly marvel in the glory of antiquity and romance.  This opportunity is completely eternal to the lives it impacts.

Luckily for me, I sealed my fate to return to the city with my coin in the Trevi Fountain. See you soon, Roma.

Throwing our coins into the Trevi Fountain

Colosseum

An average Piazza with Egyptian obelisk

Our favorite gelato place--they serve it with cream on top!

Digging up more Roman ruins

The Pantheon

St. Peter's Square-Vaticano

Forum Romanum

Porta Magica in Piazza Vittoria Emanuele

Lago di Garda

What a fantastic start to an Italian vacation. I would never have picked this place from a map, but I am so glad my host parents were able to introduce me to such a great area of Italy. Their home is located in a small village called Torri del Benaco on a hill of olive trees overlooking the Lake and the Alps. We are surrounded by dusty vegetation that reminds me of nothing I've ever seen before. My host dad (Michael) says that a good rule of thumb is that if something looks old in Italy, then it is. "This is not Disneyland" he says.

On our first night, I tried Italian geleto for the first time. I've had it three times total because it is fantastically addicting. The only reason I have not had it more is because the town is an hour walk from the house down a mountain.

We took an hour hike to their favorite pizza place today in Albisano. We watched the sun set on the lake and the colors turned into fantastic hues of blue and orange, and then eventually a deep purple. On our way there, Carola pointed out a home that they had considered purchasing that she leisurely mentioned was seven hundred years old. It had a spectacular view, but they decided against buying since it sat at the top of the mountain and the drive down the mountain was ridiculous (and Italian roads are poorly constructed as it is). Needless to say, the pizza was worth all the hiking. Thin, salty crust with perfect mozzerella and sauce.

For breakfast today, we had parmiganno cheese and salami. Yes, I said breakfast. After breakfast, Sophia and I went to Torri to go shopping at the market (ok...we really went for the gelato). They sold everything from socks to furniture. The Italian market is a long standing Torri tradition, especially for the Lake Garda area. Before shopping centers and supermarkets, locals bought their cheese and socks from markets in Torri.

Lake Garda is unique because it has several components in one location. Of course there is the lake and the Alps, and there is a heavy Venetian influence.  In Torri, there is a castle that was built in 300 A.D. It is still in great condition and its main function today is to protect the lemon trees outside its walls from the harsh winter conditions. In the days of warring neighbors across the lake, the militia of Torri tried to carry a battle ship in pieces over the mountain to be sneaky. Unforunately, their plan was not so smart, and the enemies across the lake saw the battle ship and destroyed it before it ever made it to the water.

Italians are full of stories like this. They are very different people with many quirks and unique aspects of their social world that makes for a very appealing lifestyle to outsiders. Of course, I see that this Italian "la dolce vitta" cannot be achieved properly just by vacationing in Italy for two weeks, It has taken thousands of years to accomplish this distinction of what it means to be Italian. It pre-dates Romans, Etruscans, and Venetians. It goes back further than the Holy Roman Empire or Christianity. It is in the soil, the water, the air, the flowers, the mountains, the olives, and the grapes. I have no idea how to summarize Italy because it just is what it is. I have a feeling after Rome, Florence, Siena, Venice, and all the places in between, I will be even more unable to conjur the proper adjectives to convey what this place is and how much it means.

View from our house

Bardollino, Lago di Garda

Bardollino Marina

Torri del Benaco, Lago di Garda

The Castello in Torri del Benaco

Mountain views from Torri

Lago di Garda

No Music, but the Hills are ALIVE!!

The rounded tan cliffs in northern Italy are a complete contrast to the majestic sharp mountains of the Alps in Austria. The first snow of the season showcased white mountain tops and green hills dusted in snow on the already scenic drive through Austria. I must have said "WOW" a thousand times. Actually, Cara (the youngest girl) asked me to choose a different word. For the next 300 km, it will be "BELLA." Appropriate, right?

Lago di Garda is our destination. It is where my host parents second home is located (they just bought their third in London, England). To my left and right, the mountains are soft and muted dotted with villas and vineyards in the valleys. The snowcapped Alps still peek out behind the cliffs from time to time. The region of Italy that we are now driving through is giving me mixed signals. The signs are posted in German and Italian languages and the town centers have Austrian-type cathedrals. I found out from my host dad that the region continues to try and gain independence from Italy and become their own country.  We passed yet another castle, perhaps our fifteenth today. These eroded cliffs, the mountains, old churches, castles, abandoned villas, and the tall trees all have stories. If only they spoke.

I have never seen anything like the Alps beore. They are similar to the Rocky Mountains, but the shapes of the peaks are so distinct. Austria is exactly what I thought it would be, but in person, the sights are breathtaking. Lucky for us, the snow did not interfere with the road travel. It only made our experience that much more "bella" to experience for my first taste of Austria.

Winds of change

Apple crumble is in the oven and the smell of cinnamon fills the kitchen. I sit here inside sipping my hot tea watching the wind whip the leaves around in the backyard. The trees give way to the breeze, swaying and shifting as though to say hello, or probably in this season, goodbye. It is just chilly enough to need a light jacket and scarf. The sky threatens rain, but really I know its' old trick... I have watched a sky much like this back home. The rain here is non-invasive, introducing itself only in light drizzles on and off all day long. I can hear the bells from St. Ursula more clearly now from my bedroom window as the leaves are beginning to turn and fall, covering the landscape in a blanket of red, orange, and yellow.

The wind is blowing through the open window in the sun room and I tuck my head down further into my scarf. This, to me at least, is my favorite type of autumn.

Paris, Je T'aime

 I daydreamed the entire way to Paris. My iPod was geared up with all my favorite French songs (Edith Pilaf and Charles Trenet). My three and a half hour train ride from Frankfurt to Paris was easy. It took me to one of six train stations in Paris (Gare du l'Est) and from there I took the Metro close to my hostel in Montmartre. I climbed off of the crowded, burning hot metro to find myself in Abbesses. The stairs to the butte Montmartre were something of a dream to me. I'd seen it in so many movies and pictures as a child and it grew into a "must see" for me later. I got lost, as a I often do, and asked a Parisian for help. They kindly pulled out their personal pocket map, pointed me in the right direction, and even recommended a restaurant to try.

I checked into my hostel and bumped into my room mate on the way out the door.  She was wearing sunglasses with palm trees on the lenses and so I was intrigued. I found out that she was a fashion designer from Russia. The room was so small that I could barely scoot my way past her. I left out of my hostel with my city map in hand and made my way up to the very top of Montmatre. I came up to the back side of the Sacré-Cœur and I was completely overwhelmed with the amount of people. There were crowds everywhere with street performers and vendors, but I could see why they were all there. The views of Paris were spectacular. 

Sacré-Cœur

 I walked down to locate the Moulin Rouge. It was quite easy, because it's in the red light district of Pigalle just down from Montmartre. I hopped on the metro from there into the center of Paris on the Seine River. I came out from the Metro at Place de Concorde and found myself just outside the Jardin des Tuileries. The 3,300 year old Luxor Obelisk stood before me and just over that stood the Eiffel Tower, gleaming where the sun had just bid adieu.

Place de Concorde overlooking the Eiffel Tower

I was entranced and I felt so cliche at how beautiful I thought it was (*Cue the French accordian music....*) I could not stop staring. Wanting to get closer, I took a relaxed stroll down right bank  of the Seine and crossed over to get a close up of the marvelous tower. I approached the tower and the crowds surrounding the bottom were enough to make me realize very quickly that I do not actually enjoying sight seeing. It is hectic and stressful and people are always hurrying which kind of defeats the purpose of a city like Paris. I bought a crepe and decided to make my way back to my hostel and as I did, the Tower began to glimmer and sparkle. I sat on a ledge on the River Seine and watched the beautiful show.

On the way back to my hostel, I got off a stop early to find a place to eat at the late hour of 10:00 pm.  I walked up the street in Abbesses down a tiny little street to find a warm little welcoming place far away from the hustle and bustle of the tourist district. The name of the restaurant rang a bell (Chez Toinette), and then I remembered that it was a recommendation from my guide book of Paris. I walked in to find that there were five tables in the entire restaurant. To me, this is always a good sign. I was greeted by the one waiter who ran the restaurant and I was seated in the intimate setting and poured a glass of Bordeaux. Veal carpaccio for appetizer, roasted duck for my entree, and chocolate parfait and champagne for dessert.

Chez Toinette--I will return!

The food was delicious and quintessential French, but it was the service and the company that made it exemplary.  The couple sitting next to me was from Boston and they were always one course ahead and they kept making recommendations on what to order. They were on their 25th Anniversary trip and neither had been to Paris before. By the end of the meal, my new friends from Boston had made their way around 2 glasses of scotch, and when it reached the bottom, the waiter came around, filling up everyone's glasses in the restaurant (all ten of us) saying, "free re-fills." I paid, thanked the chef for his job well done, and left the restaurant a happy girl. Unfortunately for me, the last metro had already taken route to my hostel, so I had to ascend all the stairs up to Montmatre to make it back to my hostel. On the way back, some locals were standing on the street at a local hangout and it was karaoke night. I introduced myself to them and someone bought me a glass of Bordeaux. After I finished it, I continued the last leg of my journey (at an 80 degree angle) where I now find myself.  

Stairway up to the butte

What does tomorrow hold? Who knows. My favorite way to travel is with no itinerary or expectations. It is not always foolproof, but it is a guaranteed adventure.

The old wooden stove

My host mother (Carola) had this beautiful pink hibiscus potted in the kitchen when I first arrived. I remember it because it was so bright and tall with two huge blooming flowers. About a week after, the flowers crumbled into nothing leaving no trace of life behind. Another week passed and the "dead flowers" emerged into green buds with so much life and potential. I watched Carola carefully water them until one morning, I woke up to see six tall, bright, pink flowers. They grew back more beautiful and plentiful the second time around. I noticed, however, that she had moved the flowers closer to the sun-room and placed them against the hundred year old wooden stove in the center of the home to support the long stemmed plant.

It made me wonder, is this place, this trip, this year my old wooden stove? Is it going to protect me from toppling, and encourage me in the direction of my greatest potential?

One thing is for sure. I will grow back. I will be brighter and more full of life this time around. What is life but being born, growing, changing, multiplying, and then dying? My spirit feels renewed.

Stuttgart

Wine Festival adorned with sunflowers

I started the weekend out going out with friends after a fantastic Indian feast prepared by Caitie. She is a vegetarian, but she kindly prepared entrees featuring meat also. The cashew chicken was my personal favorite, yum! After that, we headed up to our newly proclaimed stomping grounds of Cafe Brazil.  Now if you saw this place, you would laugh. It is in the tiny town in Friedrichsdorf two train stops away from my town (all the Aussie au pairs live there). About the only German I really speak yet is this: "Eine Apfelwine, bitte." It means an apple wine, please. The other au pairs showed up by the time Caitie and I had already had a couple of drinks, but somehow Ben sped ahead of us all by the end of the night. When we went to pay, the owner gave us candy and fruit.  We assumed this meant that we were by far the youngest clientele that the cafe had ever seen as most of the regulars are in their 50s watching futbol.

On Saturday morning, went left for Stuttgart. The original plan was Munich, so we were both worried that we might get bored, but Stuttgart pleasantly surprised us both. When we arrived by train on Saturday (only an hour and half from Frankfurt's central station) the town greeted us with lovely shopping streets and the fabled Black Forest peeking from over top of the city's hills.

We got checked into our hostel (my first ever, I have to admit) and roamed around the city.  Luckily for us, there was a wine festival and the weather was beautiful. We found an antique festival that was really interesting.  One stand sold vintage sunglasses organized by decade (starting in the 1890s). Another had old photographs of German families. I contemplated buying one, but they had sort of a "creepy" factor to them. Plenty of old things for all tastes and styles. Old military uniforms, books, jewelry, you get the picture...

The city center (Schlossplatz) is adorned with a beautiful palace complete with fountains and statues. We fell upon a modern art museum where we kept finding art that opposed something called "Stuttgart 21." Our curiosity led us to ask the curator about it and she gave us a brief background and we found out that there was a protest in the park that day. We would have been silly not to attend, so we found ourselves in the middle of a park at a peaceful protest. There was music on the stage and art hung from the trees.  We found out that three people had been camping out in the park for a year and that there was a man (nick named Robin Hood) who lived up in the trees until the police kicked him out.

After so much education and protest, we felt like indulgence in the form of food and wine. We walked through a city market full of local meats, cheeses, chocolates, and breads and then found our way to the wine festival. It turned out to be so incredibly busy that we had to push through crowds of people and all the tents and tables filled up completely. If you ever go to a German festival, the crowd means that you are clearly at the right place and is a very good thing. After a few glasses of wine, Caitie and I decided to buy each other roses just because we thought we deserved them. Caitie fell head over heels with some gingerbread she bought at a stand (magen brot) and our happy selves decided to see if Stuttgart had much of a night life.

In the Schlossplatz, there were street performers (flame throwers, guitar players, etc...) We never found any clubs, but it didn't really matter because people were standing around outside everywhere on the streets in club clothes just dancing and drinking, talking and flirting. A random guy tried to convince us that he drove a dune buggy that was parked nearby. When he got in to try and drive away in it, the real owner walked up and corrected him in German (which always sounds angry no matter how you speak it).  We muscled our way back through the crowds, up the hill, and to our beds in the hostel after our full and epic first day in Stuttgart.

The next day we woke up, returned briefly to the wine festival and then went to an art museum which featured Otto Dix art work. We then watched a concert in the Schlossplatz, and decided to see a movie before returning home to Frankfurt. We saw Midnight in Paris (my second time watching it). It was a beautiful film. 

At the end of the weekend on the train ride home, we laughed at how we thought we would be bored in Stuttgart.  Caitie and I concluded that we could never be bored anywhere together (even in a padded room in a straight jacket).

As for my plans next weekend? I'm dreaming big, and her name is "Paris." :-)

Schlossplatz

Modern Art Museum

Protest

Protest art

"Feminism, we buy ourselves roses" Caitie

Street Performers

Architecture on a church