A Fairytale Ending

My final stop in Europe was Prague, the beautiful capital of the Czech Republic.  Walking around this happy city felt like walking through the pages of a coloring book.  Somehow Prague seemed like an imaginary place from a fairytale story, too perfect to be real. 

Let me paint you a picture.  High on a hill sits the Prague castle, keeping watch over the bustling city below and the red-roofed homes dotting the rolling green hills to the west.  Colorful Baroque-style buildings line the streets and the Vltava River runs peacefully through the center of town.  Content Czech people sit in parks and squares at outdoor cafés and beer gardens listening to live music while enjoying a coffee or a Bohemian beer.  Welcome to Prague, the fairytale city. 

Our first day my friends and I visited the Prague farmer’s market and took a picnic up to Petrin Hill.  Another day we visited the John Lennon wall, a public graffiti wall devoted to spray-painted representations of freedom, peace, and love.  We found some paint and contributed!  On one particularly gorgeous afternoon, we rented paddleboats for a leisurely ride in the Vltava River.  We also spent some time exploring Prague’s historic café scene.  During the Communist era, these cafés were popular social gathering spots.  One that we visited, called Café Louvre, was frequented by Albert Einstein in his day.  Who knows, perhaps Einstein was at Café Louvre when it occurred to him that E = MC2…

We had a few great meals in Prague, but dinner on our last evening was certainly the most memorable.  Three friends and I entered a random dining establishment with no idea that we were stepping into an authentic Czech beer hall.  The place was rowdy and seriously fun.  We were seated at the end of a long wooden table in a big room filled with Czechs eating goulash and drinking dark beer out of frosty classes dripping foam.  Waiters walked around with trays of beer and cinnamon-flavored shots, making sure customers were always satisfied.  For my last dinner in Europe, I ordered the roast duck with cabbage and dumplings.  Scrumptious. 

I’m writing this final blog post from the airport in London, waiting for my flight to Chicago and realizing with mixed emotions that my semester abroad is actually over.  Soon I’ll be back to the familiar, enjoying the foods I’ve missed, like juicy cheeseburgers, guacamole, barbeque sauce, homemade brownies, cold skim milk, and salads that actually contain lettuce.  And while I’m excited to get home to my family, I’m going to miss living this “postcard life.”  As I look back over these past four months, I feel overwhelmingly thankful.  I’ve gotten to see places and experience things that many people spend their lives dreaming about.  The memories I’ve made are simply priceless.  And Prague was just the cherry on top of it all, a fairytale ending to a fairytale semester.  

Going Greek

After taking my finals and saying a tearful goodbye to my fair Florence, I began my ten-day post-semester travels, which began in Greece.  First stop was Athens, where the long-awaited Boston College reunion took place.  Five of us BC friends met up after a semester spent studying in different corners of the world, from Italy to Spain to Ghana, Africa.  But here we were, together at last, visiting sights like the Acropolis and the Agora while catching up on each other’s lives.  In Athens, we had baklava that must be the best in the world because it managed to leave a group of chatty girls totally speechless.  Not an easy task.  We also enjoyed gyros off the street and began to cultivate an unhealthy obsession with tzatziki sauce.  Of all the places I visited this semester, the food in Greece surprised me most in terms of both deliciousness and affordability.  Double victory!   

The best Greek cuisine we came across, however, was on the island of Santorini.  We had lunch one day at a seafood restaurant situated in a bay whose tables were mere feet away from the crystal blue water.  We tried swordfish, mussels, shrimp, and grilled calamari.  Every dish was flavorful  and meaty and absolutely delicious, making it easily one of my best meals of the semester.  Other Greek specialties we enjoyed in Santorini included spanakopita, saganaki, mousaka, fava, Greek salad, tomato fritters, stuffed vegetables, lamb in lemon sauce, and lots of Greek yogurt. 

Renting an ATV on Santorini was probably the best 15 euros I spent all semester.  Our day was filled with exploring the island’s delightful towns and cruising to exotic volcanic beaches featuring black, white, and even red sand.  As I sat on a rugged cliff with some of my best friends watching the sun set that evening, I realized that I had just lived one of the happiest days of my life.  

Greek hospitality is something I will always remember about my time in Greece, particularly in Santorini.  The kind man who ran our little hotel, Stavros, treated us like his daughters throughout the duration of our stay.  When we first arrived, Stavros insisted on making us coffee.  Then he sat down with us so he could get to know us a bit.  Each day when we’d arrive back at the hotel in the afternoon, Stavros would pull up a chair and ask us to tell him all about our day, whether we went to the beach or to town, what we bought, and where we ate.  When we left Santorini after four days with Stavros, he gave us each a big hug and said, “May you have restful days.”  What a unique and wonderful blessing to bestow.  May we all have days as restful as mine were in Santorini.  

Granitas with the Girls

The Amalfi Coast consists of a string of towns along the Mediterranean in southwestern Italy.  For our last weekend in Italy before the end of our program, eight girlfriends and I took a trip there to soak in the sun, marvel at the stunning views of sharp cliffs meeting the ocean, and enjoy a few days of uninterrupted girl time. 

We stayed in the town of Sorrento, but spent time in several other towns along the Amalfi Coast as well as a day on the island of Capri.  Capri is one of those destinations that sounds terribly glamorous, and indeed it was.  All taxis on the island are convertibles, and I must admit I felt like a movie star riding in one with my sunglasses on and hair blowing in the salty sea breeze.  I also had my very best gelato experience in Capri, at a little stand that served my pistachio and straticcella (vanilla with chocolate shavings) gelato combo in a fresh waffle cone that was made right before my eyes.  Another unforgettable part of my day at Capri was going inside the famous Blue Grotto where I experienced a color that was truly dazzling.  Pictures cannot do it justice. 

We also spent a day in the beach town called Positano.  It was there that we all became addicted to granitas, a lemon-ice drink that is perfect for hot days at the beach.  Positano was probably my favorite place along the Amalfi Coast; I loved the beach and the darling shops and the gorgeous cliffs with the colorful houses facing that never-ending, viciously blue ocean. 

Our last day was less tranquil, as we visited the nearby site of Pompeii and hiked Mount Vesuvius.  It was incredibly interesting to walk around the ghost city whose structures are perfectly in tact whereas its people had been wiped out in a volcanic eruption 79 years before Christ.  It is a city truly frozen in time, remarkable but also somewhat eerie.      

All in all, the weekend was a perfect last weekend in Italy with just the right mix of relaxation and activity, plus a dash of history and lots of granitas.  Any Italian would approve of such a balance.  

Tapas for Two

Imagine having the opportunity to travel to Barcelona, Spain.  Now imagine getting to explore the city with one of your favorite people in the world.  Two weekends ago, that is precisely what I got to do. 

Chritty Schuele and I met on our first day of classes at BC.  A friendly chat on the Newton Bus turned into a fast friendship, which only grew stronger with time.  We are two peas in a pod – Midwestern kids at an east coast school, die-hard fans of the Badgers and country music, social justice nerds with uncommon names. 

Fast-forward two and a half years to our epic reunion on a street corner outside our hostel in Barcelona, Spain.  After weeks of trip-planning and anticipation, I couldn’t have been more excited to see him.  The weekend was no disappointment; we did a heck of a lot in and around Barcelona.  Highlights include a saucy flamenco show, a stroll up and down La Rambla, a relaxing afternoon at the beach, an epic roadtrip (we rented a car!) through Spain’s mountainous Catalonia region to the baby-sized nation of Andorra which we thoroughly explored in less than one hour, and a visit to Gaudi’s breathtaking and incomplete church, the Sagrada Familia.  If you are unfamiliar with the Sagrada Familia, wikipedia and google-image it asap because it is the most unique church I’ve ever set foot in.  It is also hands-down my favorite of all the churches I’ve seen this semester; it features imaginative architecture for a cathedral and evokes a welcoming vibe that I absolutely love. 

La Rambla

Roadtrip to Andorra

Gaudi's Park Guell

Barcelona Beach

Sagrada Familia

The majority of my traveling as of late has been within Italy, so this trip to Spain was an exhilarating four-day immersion into a new culture, and of course, cuisine.  When it comes to dining, Spaniards and I are on the same page (minus the part about eating dinner at 11pm).  Tapas restaurants abound in Barcelona, where hungry customers stand drinking sangria while picking and choosing from a wide selection of traditional Spanish foods spread out along the bar before them.  Portions are small, so sampling multiple dishes is encouraged!  For an indecisive person like myself who wants to try a bit of everything, tapas is like an answered prayer.  Over the course of the weekend, Chritty and I tried it all – croquettes, chorizo, grilled shrimp, Spanish ham, pickled vegetables, paella, even pig ear…Chritty’s idea, not mine.  We also took a stab at cavas, the Spanish champagne. 

All in all, my weekend in Barcelona was the ideal mix of known and unknown; the place, language, traditions, and food were foreign to me while the company was wonderfully familiar.  Our "tapas for two" weekend is one we'll be reminiscing about for years to come.  

Unforgettable Easter

My Easter in Florence was unlike any other holiday I’ve ever celebrated.  Instead of spending the day with my family, as I normally would have, I spent it with a group of nuns at a convent twenty minutes walk from my apartment.  That’s right, nuns.  Settle in, it’s a great story. 

Upon first meeting Cecilia, I brought her a bag of chocolates to express my gratitude for her hospitality.  I had never been to a convent before, but the 28-year-old Guatemalan nun was most welcoming.  A mutual friend had put us in touch with one another via email, but this was our first time meeting in person.  She served me a cup of coffee as we chatted and got to know each other.  Cecilia speaks almost no English, so in very broken Italian, I fumbled through a conversation about my life and hers.  I managed to tell her the story about my embarrassing mistake during communion mass at the Duomo, which triggered Cecilia's hearty laugh.  She introduced me to a few of the other nuns, and gave me a grand tour of the convent including the beautiful rooftop terrace with views of the distant Florentine landmarks as well as the green hills that surround the city.  I even got to visit the garden where Cecilia keeps her pet turtles, six of them.  When I departed that first day, she sent me off with a piping hot plate of food from the nuns’ small kitchen. 

By my second visit, it felt like Cecilia and I were old friends.  We watched the Palm Sunday mass on television, broadcast live from the Vatican.  As the old TV flashed faded shots of the Pope and solemn hymns buzzed from the speakers, I felt my body relax into the suede chair.  I sipped slowly from my tiny espresso cup, thinking about Cecilia.  Being the youngest nun in the convent on Via Berchet, I can tell she appreciates having someone my age around, even if our conversations have their limits due to the language barrier. 

I only know a little about Cecilia.  She was born in Guatemala, studied for three years in Rome, and now lives in Florence with the nuns on Via Bechet.  She goes to mass every morning at 7 and spends the rest of the day carrying out her chores and duties.  She loves to sing hymns and play piano.  On Sundays, she is allowed to relax.  That is why I visit on Sundays.  She wants to improve her English, so sometimes we sit and read through language booklets and I correct her pronunciation.  We laugh together over the absurd sentences like: “The more you eat, the fatter you get.” 

I want so badly to ask her a million different questions, but I can’t form the sentences properly.  I want to know, what really brought her to Italy?  Why did she decide to become a nun?  What about her family?  Does she ever get lonely?  I think she does.  These are things I may never know about Cecilia.  Even still, we are friends, a strange pair though we may be. 

I was surprised and flattered when the nuns invited me to their Easter feast at the convent.  Although I was excited to go, I was also a little nervous.  For one thing, none of the nuns speak English.  And though they are welcoming, I can feel their skepticism towards me.  Upon hearing that I am Protestant, one of them asked me if I believe in God.  I struggle to defend myself (in Italian) before these devout women.  I want them to know that I believe many of the same things they do, but I just remind myself that I have nothing to prove.  Unlike the older nuns, Cecilia seems to understand that my faith is not all that different from hers.   

Despite my concerns, Easter with the nuns was wonderful and truly unforgettable.  I entered the convent to shouts of “Buona Pasqua!” (Happy Easter) followed by kisses on both cheeks.  The feast consisted of five courses, prepared in the nun’s kitchen.  We kicked off the meal with a hymn, which everyone else knew but clearly I did not.  Then we sat and began the feast.  One of the nuns brought out a bottle of red wine, screwed in the wine-opener and popped the cork like a pro, an paradoxical image that made me smile.  The food was interesting; I’m not exactly sure what I ate to be honest, but I tried everything they put in front of me.  The best parts were the lasagna and the dessert, some kind of custard and raisin filled piecrust pastry topped off with whipped cream and a delicate strawberry.  I have no idea what it is called and I’ll probably never have it again, which is how I justified eating the entire thing.  There were eight of us women eating together, five nuns and two other guests in addition to myself, both of whom were sisters of one of the nuns. 

At one point during the meal, the head nun (I can’t recall the proper term), seated at her own table in the front of the room, asked me if I wanted to become a nun myself.  Somewhat startled by the question, I managed to gain my composure and respond politely.  “No grazie” was all I could think to say. 

The nuns wouldn’t let me assist with anything, preparation nor clean up, even though I asked repeatedly if I could help.  By the time I left, I had spent nearly five hours at the convent, between the meal and then spending time with Cecilia afterwards.  At one point, she and I wandered into the prayer room and knelt together, saying our own silent prayers, in our own languages, but to the same God. 

My Easter meal with the nuns was one of the more memorable experiences of my semester, proof that both food and faith can connect people regardless of differences in age, culture, or language.  Amen to that.    

Late-Night Dining in Europe

Back at Boston College – and countless universities across the US – staple late-night snacks include pizza, chicken tenders, fries, chips, mozzarella sticks, and the like.  In Europe, however, my options are quite different.  First of all there is the kebab phenomenon.  Anyone who has studied in Europe knows what I'm talking about.  In every major European city, Turkish kebab stands remain open until 3 or 4 am, serving night-owls their meat-filled wrap topped off with a yogurt sauce.  One such kebab place is located directly next to my front door, but I try to keep my visits there to a minimum.  A kebab is hardy worth it when compared to all the amazing food one can eat in Florence.  But on special occasions, a kebab can be just what the doctor ordered. 

When I was in Scotland, I encountered one of the more creative forms of late-night dining.  At St. Andrews, there is a spot called the Toasty Bar, which is only open on Friday nights from “11pm ‘til late.”  Located ironically in the basement of a church, dozens of St. Andrews students sit in clusters of awkwardly small Sunday school chairs and wait noisily for their toasted sandwiches.  A comical sight to behold, no doubt.  The Toasty Bar offers simple sandwiches – the standard melted cheese plus the optional additions of ham, tomato, or pesto – as well as the rather daring mars bar and marshmallow toasted sandwich.  I do believe I had one of each. 

Florence has its own unique late-night food sensation, an incredibly popular choice among study abroad students like myself.  A magical place, surrounded by legend.  A place you won’t find on any map.  There is no sign out front, just a sliding glass door with frosted windows radiating a mouth-watering smell that I wish I could bottle up and bring back to America with me.  I’m talking about the Secret Bakery.  When I first heard about the Secret Bakery, the name alone was enough to convince me that I absolutely had to find it.  It took me less than a week.  Talk about ambition.  As it turns out, there are actually eight Secret Bakeries in Florence.  At this point, I have only been to two, but I’m working on finding more of them.  Here’s how it works: the Secret Bakery is open from 1-5am every night, offering fresh pastries (nutella croissants, crème-filled donuts, and the like) for one euro to eager customers who knock quietly on the unmarked door down a random sidestreet.  Supposedly, business must be conducted under-the-table due to the fact that these late-night bakeries are bound by contract with Florentine cafés to which they provide morning pastries.  When waiting for that warm pastry, keeping the noise level low is crucial because Italians who live above the Secret Bakery don’t take kindly to obnoxiously loud Americans keeping them awake in the wee hours of the morning.  I have personally witnessed a spiteful Italian dump a bucket of water out the window onto people in the street below.  Result?  A girl in tears over her now broken phone.  In my opinion, the hush-hush aspect of the Secret Bakery just makes that donut taste even sweeter.  Assuming my donut and I stay dry, that is.  

Great Mistakes

Sometimes in life, everything works out just the way you imagine it will.  Take last weekend, for instance.  Seven BC girlfriends and I (some of us are studying in Florence and the rest were visiting) spent our entire Saturday on a bike and wine tour through the Chianti region of Tuscany.  Yes, wine tasting followed by biking.  No, there were no injuries, just lots of giggles and an overall great time.  Riding through the picturesque hills past vineyards, olive trees, and castles made us feel like we were on a movie set filming Under the Tuscan Sun. 

As we all know, most of the time things turn out differently from the way you expect.  The past few weeks of my semester provide three perfect examples of this:

Pienza.  My History of the Italian Renaissance class required me to attend a mandatory field trip to the Tuscan town of Pienza about a month ago.  I must admit that I was dreading the trip due to the fact that I had to get up very early to see a town I had never even heard of before and then write a paper about it.  Much to my surprise, I loved Pienza.  Originally called Corsignano, Pienza was completely rebuilt (and renamed) during the 15^th century by Pope Pius II.  His goal was to create the ideal Renaissance town, and he succeeded because the town represents Renaissance perfection in terms of architecture and layout.  Pienza’s location on a hill – like many Tuscan towns – offers stunning views of the surrounding countryside.  On one of the tiny streets I stopped for lunch and had the best Ribollita I’ve eaten all semester.  Ribollita is a traditional Tuscan vegetable soup that is bread-based and very unique tasting.  After lunch I bought pici pasta (looks like thick spaghetti) and pecorino cheese, two Pienza specialties to which I have become addicted.  I’m now convinced that Pienza is one of Tuscany’s hidden treasures. 

Lucca.  A few weeks ago, my friends and I were planning to spend a day in the nearby beach town of Viareggio, but due to some slowpokes in the group, we missed our train and found ourselves sulking at the station with no new plan.  I looked up at the Departures board and saw that a train was leaving for Lucca in 15 minutes.  “So…anyone want to go to Lucca?”  Lucca turned out to be a quiet yet adorable Tuscan town, the perfect getaway from busy Florence.  Our day in Lucca was one of the most fun (and inexpensive) day trips of my semester, complete with rental bikes and an outdoor picnic which we ate while sitting atop the city’s Renaissance wall.  A great mistake, it would seem.    

Sicily.  Last weekend two friends and I stayed in Taormina, a little town located next to a huge (and active!) volcano, Mount Edna.  Aside from gorgeous beaches and ancient Greek ruins, Sicily is known for several different foods.  I was anxious to try them all.  Highlights include calamari which we ate on the beach, seafood pasta, arancini (fried rice balls), granita (the Sicilian version of lemon ice), and the best cannoli I will ever indulge in.  While our time in Sicily was lovely, getting home was an absolute nightmare.  Our flight to Florence was cancelled, so we had to sit in the airport for 8 hours until we could catch a plane to Verona.  While my friends were frustrated by this detour, I was excited about the opportunity to spend a few hours exploring Verona before boarding a train back to Florence.  Upon landing in Verona, the travel nightmare turned into a fairytale.  I instantly adored the city.  Somehow Verona manages to be classy but not pretentious, romantic but not corny.   As an added and unexpected bonus, at dinner our attractive waiter asked for my number.  Normally I would’ve turned him down, but in the city where Juliet fell for Romeo I just couldn’t do it.  Yet I am kind of regretting that decision; the excessive number of subsequent calls and text messages grew annoying rather quickly.  I’m sure my Dad will be pleased to know that I’ve stopped answering.  Even still, the Verona detour was well worth it, in my opinion. 

So it seems that sometimes mistakes and diversions from the plan can enhance an experience.  Many of our favorite foods were invented due to an error by the chef.  Improvisations can often improve a recipe.  This I have learned: in regards to food and life in general, flexibility and optimism are vital.