Waking up to say... Bon jour!

Meticulously unfurling our limbs, Clare and I managed to limp off the train and into the lap of luxery. Fairly small and perched right on the French Riviera, Nice is hands down one of the most beautiful places I`ve ever seen. Shuttled up to the hostel by provided transportation, we were escorted into the Villa Exupery. For three nights we had free towels, sheets, internet, fresh baked bread, real coffee, eight different kinds of cereal and a laundry service for 5 euro. Need I say more? Night proved that the greatest challenge of Nice would be actually leaving the hostel. Seduced by one euro beers and a filled lounge of fellow backpackers all equally fascinating and our age, it was just more fun to stay.

The next day at breakfast, we met Vicky the Australian. An incredible woman, she had put both sons through school as a single mother and had now saved up enough money to finally travel Europe for the first time. Absolutely adorable with her five foot stature and color coordinated outfit, Vicky proved to be a champ.

First we hit Eze, a blink-and-you`ll-miss-it town tucked about 15 minutes away from Nice. I would guess it housed a population of about eight - approximately. Winding up a small hill, we were blasted back through time surrounded by narrow cobblestone streets, antiquated shops and breathtaking views of the coast.

Then it was back to the bus and on to Monaco. The vibe was posh as workers set up for the big race, yachts fought with cruise liners for the best parking spaces and men in suits had clearly found a maybe-too-fabulous sale on hair products at their local salon. Following the traffic flow of Porsches and Ferraris brought us down to the Monte Carlo in all of it`s well-manicured, fountain-gushing glory. Obligated to get inside, we latched onto a senior tour group and scurried inside. How was it? Still not sure. The neon lights and crass noises of the slots had a way of clashing with the marble crystal everything that I never really got over. The casino was nearly deserted and very adorable men in tuxedos were mulling around the black jack tables. Vicky reflected that she should have hit on these men a bit more in her youth. And then we got kicked out.

Cannes and Antibes were the next day. A little rainier, but still beautiful, I don`t honestly remember much about Antibes. I do remember excellent moules frites. And that`s all that really matters, isn`t it?

Cannes, the city of the stars, was quite starless. Perhaps it was saving up for the upcoming week. Either way it was kitchy fun. Hand prints and signatures were plastered all over the ground, ranging in celebrity from Sharon Stone to Minnie Mouse.

Our last trip was to Juan les Pins (say: wan lay pawn), a great beach town which had somehow managed to avoid all the rocks most other beaches had been laden with and replace it all with toasty sand. We staked out a spot, whipped off our bikinis and had ourselves a proper French afternoon. Will this be the year of the even tan? Only time will tell... A tres relaxing day, indeed.

And now for something completely different...

Finishing up in Perugia was one of the most surreal experiences of my life. It was one of those things that you never saw coming and when it did happen it just never registered. In fact, I still don`t think it`s registered. All I know is that at 1 in the morning we all gathered in the Piazza, shot off some champagne and waved goodbye while the majority of the people we had gotten to know shipped off. Then it was just a handful of us not knowing quite what to do and the rest of the town carrying on as always.

I spent most of the night with the last of Via Graziosa, bidding them goodbye as the sun was rising and then passed out until late the next morning. At some point, I was meant to be kicked out of my apartment, but judging by their efficiency I`m sure the apartment is still waiting for a little love, and so I took full advantage of finally having the place to myself.

When the time came, I grabbed my bag, waved goodbye to my home for the past four months and hopped a train to Rome. Rome was OK. There were lots of rocks. Andrea joined Clare and I for most of the day as we bounced around - threw a euro in the Trevi Fountain (at this point I`m tempted to go back and search for that thing), marveled at the Colloseum through the big fence with a huge entrante fee slapped on it, waited in line for the Vatican for two hours only to get turned away (but waiting really is the attraction, right?) and finished it all off with an amazing Italian feast. We`re talking buschetta, caprese, pizza, pasta - the works. And it was phenomenal.

By 9pm, it was time to squeeze in to our six-person cabin on the night train which was, miraculously, filled to capacity for the first time. Not only six people, but two morbidly obese Americans who "clearly should have ridden first class" (USA represent!), a man struggling with very long limbs, a small Chinese woman huddled in the corner, and Clare and I in the middle seats gasping for air. For eleven hours.

"Io lo so che non sono solo..."

So, after the success of an incredible spring break of backpacking, I’ve taken it upon myself to see what else Europe has in store for me. Therefore, the reason that I am typing stealthily on my roommate’s computer is because my laptop, along with nearly all of my belongings have been shipped back with the parents, leaving me only with enough to fill my backpack while still looking (fairly) reasonable.

From here on out it’s just my backpack, a few novels and a sketchbook to pass the time, and a lot of (hypothetical, mind you) balls. Here’s the rundown:

April 26, I get kicked out of housing, don’t take the bus conveniently scheduled by Umbra at 1 a.m., and eventually make it to Rome for the tour I was always supposed to do but never got around to: that’d be the Coliseum and all of that Roman-ness (mm… Russell Crowe in full costume, perhaps? I say yes.). In addition, I’ll be spending a day at the Vatican to pay homage to that religion I’m supposed to be devoting all my time and money to and really just looking at all of the pretty artwork they’ve stored up over the years.

From Rome, I take a night train to Nice where I will tan and be fabulous with crepes and croissants until May. From there I can hop on a few busses to check out Cannes and Antibes for the day. Maybe see some movie stars? I’ll let you know.

Then it’s off to Marseille for a night where I will eventually figure out how to get my booty to Barcelona (probably a night bus). Then I’m in Barcelona for three days with a possible day trip to Costa Brava to see the sights and hopefully experience the night life - and sangria B-town (B-ciudad?) has to offer me. Laundry facilities wouldn’t be so bad at this point either.

From Barcelona it’s on to Valencia and from Valencia to Madrid, where I’m banking on rendezvousing with a mix of people I’ve met throughout my life. Then I hop on another train, take a peak at Cordoba and finally make my way on down to Seville where I spend the last moments of my adventure. Then it’s a RyanAir (good lordy, help me) flight back to Pisa and from Pisa I take the night train back to Rome, arrive May 14^th and from there I hang out in the airport and smell terrible and eventually fly back to the United States of America where I will hug my parents because I love them, eat a burrito, take a hot shower and sleep for twenty days until it is time to drive down to North Carolina and hug even more people that I love and miss because they are all graduating and I am terribly devastated about it.

So that’s that. And I’m scared shitless. I guess we’ll see how it goes. In the meantime, I’ll be recuperating mi espanol. Ciao!

What a long strange trip it’s been…

Well goodness. And here we are. The past few weeks have been tough for me. Between the cold showers, unending expenses, constant language barriers and Umbra leeching us for every dime we have left, I’ll straight up confess that I haven’t been my usual cheerful self. Tack on the useless classes and their own bundle of frustrations and you have yourself a bit of a monster. But today was my Italian final. I’m done. Only one more ridiculous test and I am done with this awful school and emancipated.

But I must mention that everything outside of Umbra has been irreplaceable. If you asked me whether I regret studying abroad, I would deny it fully. I have loved the past four months… just not the “studying” part. But I mean, what else is new there really?

So, in respect for all of you not in the know, let me give you a recap of the past few months while I discreetly type this on my roommate’s computer (mine took a little pre-departure back to the States. And no Dad: you can’t use it so you can stay in bed all day. Love you!).

I probably won’t be able to pin down exactly how Perugia has changed me until I get back to the States, but I can say that the ten hour drive from Connecticut to North Carolina for graduation ain’t gonna faze be in the least (oh car - I’ll be seeing you and your new shiny bumper soon, baby!). I’ve taken advantage of as much traveling as I - and my funds- (anyone hiring for the summer?) could have.

There was Carnivale and all of it’s madness in Venice and Viareggio, daytrips to Assissi, Cortona, Siena and even smaller mountain towns along the way filled with saints’ shriveled thumbs and a decomposing decapitated heads in enormous cathedrals (them crazy Catholics). Then there was the private apartment my friends all shared for our last weekend together on the Mediterranean Coast and the freezing beaches and hiking adventures that came with it.

There was too much wine at the Cinqueterre and not enough at our wine tasting in Perugia. Then there was Florence, bursting with the Rennaissance and its Michaelangelo’s and DaVinci’s. There was the week the parents visited and we drove down to the Amalfi Coast to stay in the most luxurious hotel I have ever seen. We saw Pompeii and blue water and wore flip flops and it was incredible. Then I was in Naples on my own and wishing I was anywhere but there. There was Spring Break with all of its unspeakable stories in Austria, Germany and Amsterdam. I flew to Dublin for a weekend to visit David and explored the countryside in Hoathe and heard real Irish music and saw Scottish kilts while their respective countries battled it out in a local rugby match. We ate fish and chips and drank amazing beer and spoke English and it was great.

There was a bit more of America along the way as well, celebrating a slightly dysfunctional St. Patty’s day with Italians and managing to catch MGMT, the Mars Volta, the Niro, cover bands and some local music shows scattered throughout Europe. Then I jetted off to London to see the sights with my old roommate from Atlanta and her friend from school. There was eurotrash dancing at clubs, hilarious stories, three-second hail storms and delicious food (ironic? Yes, I know).

Then there were all of the visitors, the meter long pizzas, the lasting memories, bizarre local traditions, and all of the incredible friendships along the way. Goodness, I think I’ll miss those the most. After four months, I could have been friends with these people for ten years and not felt any differently. I guess we’ll need a few road trips when we return to The Motherland.

And now we’re here. One weekend left. What’s left to do? I guess we’ll see, won’t we…

London Calling

Between the amazingly quirky people, the fresh open markets filled to the brim with incredible food made to your liking, clothes I could only dream of buying, the beautiful beautiful men and music that made me want to dance all night at the clubs we went to... I can assuredly say I left a part of my soul in London (I suppose I'll just have to go back and fetch it later).

... I also left a very nice looking jar of crunchy peanut butter with the customs lady. That part wasn't so joyous.