If Catrina ever feels the need to explain in greater detail (or even if I do at some point) then, dear readers, you might get a more accurate description of our Italian adventures. As it is, I feel it is better to just get down as much as I can.
To start, we raced from work to class to flat to shower to pack and out the door. After a lost Underground card and ticket problems, we made it to Stansted Airport around 10 pm, Wed. We attempted to work on our 5000 word papers, but apparently in Europe, outlets are nowhere to be found. After staying up all night long, we went to go through security when I realized I did not have my passport because it was sitting on my desk. The others went to get on the plane as I, of course, cried in the airport. There was another plane at 1040, leaving me not enough time to take the train again. One 150 pound taxi ride and graffiti artist Banksy spotting later, I returned to the airport to find that my plane actually didn't leave until 1230 and I definitely could have taken the train. I chose to spend my extra time sleeping on the airport floor. When getting on the plane, turns out we were not allowed to have one bag plus purse and I consequently had to shove everything into my already stuffed backpack. When I finally made it to Naples, I only had about 15 min to make it to the train station. The bus moved as slow as molasses and I then got to sprint across the piazza with all my baggage. Somehow my hat fell out of my bag and since the nice Italian man pointed it out to me, the rapidly sprinting American, I was forced to briefly retreat to retrieve the 2 dollar hat. I don't know how but I made it onto the train.
Of course, turns out we were on the wrong train, but we didn't find that out for another hour. In the meantime, I rapidly consumed most of a bottle of wine that a random Italian man opened using a screwdriver. Once our incorrect train returned us to Naples, we then jumped on a different train that we were pretty sure was going south. Four and a half hours later, hungry, tired, confused and somewhat lost, all six of us could be seen, faces pressed to the windows, staring out into the dark Italian countryside. With a little luck and a lot of phone shouting between Amanda and her mother, we finally made it to Lamezia. Waiting for us were a group of Italians, including Amanda's Nonna. Quickly placed in little cars, we were zipped over to Maida where we were soon stuffed with pasta, what was soon to become a common occurrence. After a brief breakdown and comforting by Nonna, I was finally able to close my eyes and go to sleep. It was around 1 am Friday morning.
The rest of the trip consisted of tiny espressos, fetching water from springs, gelato, pasta and delicious crystal light lemonade, showing the italian guys how to do shots, late night pastries, language barriers, trips to the beach with sandwiches made for us by the italian boys (we of course got sun burnt), more pasta, driving very quickly through the italian countryside with italian boys (you notice they crop up a lot), Nonna's cousins, mamma mia! (yes, they actually say that), more gelato, more beach and sunburns and old men in speedos, more pasta, more driving with italian boys, more pastries, pasta, lemonade, gelato, hilarious music from the 90s, olive groves, eating in the dark, Nonna doing our laundry, fingers smashed in car doors, fingers stung by bees, pasta, beautiful settings and wonderful people. It might seem like the bad things outweigh the good, but I'd still do it all over again if I had the choice (maybe that time I'd remember my passport).
Luckily, our trip back was reasonably successful, lacking the catastrophes of the first journey.
My first trip to Italy is one I don't think I will ever forget.
Wednesday, 8 July 2009
Annie et Lisa
Annie and Lisa's guest blog is supposed to go here only they are incommunicado at the moment and on a tiny farm in France. If they ever choose to post their London adventures here, so be it. If not, well, they came, they saw, they left. The end.
Monday, 29 June 2009
bueller....bueller....
so upon waking this morning, i was confronted with a choice.
1. go to the sweltering office where i would sit and endlessly google afghanistan issues. work on my article on security issues and play around of facebook all day, missing the most beautiful day we've had in london since we've been here.
2. don't
i chose 2. i spent the morning with claire, annie and lisa finding our way across london bridge and looking at the (expensive) tower of london from afar. after our endeavors on the other side of the river, the racine ladies had a lunch date with claire's boss, and i decided i should probably go home to get some pre-italy work done. after all, it was only 12:30, and i could still get a lot accomplished.
i got on the tube with every intention of going home to get my work done. but then, that little voice came over the loudspeaker "this is mansion house, alight here for tate modern and millennium bridge" so i alighted.
i walked down a winding path that took me to the banks of the thames and crossed millennium bridge toward tate modern. i had lunch in the tate cafe and spent a few hours getting too close to art that makes me think about perceptions of the world. literally, i got too close, i almost got kicked out for being so close to the art. i sprawled out in a circle of birch trees on the lawn outside the museum and basked in the sun. sitting on the steps at bankside, eating my raspberry sorbet, i remembered why i came here and just how wonderful and amazing it is that i am actually in london. my days have been dictated by work and visitors and it was nice to take a day and remember just why i worked so hard to come here. it was a day for myself on a trip i've taken so i can figure out where i fit in this great big world and how it feels to get along without my safety net.
after my adventure, i met kevin at the princess louise for drinks. we easily fell back into our rhythm of joking and teasing balanced with the more serious sides of life, politics, religion and our more genuine thoughts. it was good company in a beautiful samuel smith owned pub, the one place in london i've found with freshly brewed beer on draft that is served in the right glass. we went on a hunt for dinner and finished up with cookies in covent garden. all kevin's treat i might add, i knew i kept him around for more than his rugged good looks.
it was a lovely day. the kind of day that made my whole trip worthwhile. it was simple and full of beautiful things and time for me to reflect on them and enjoy it.
Thursday, 25 June 2009
Who doesn't want to party at a megalithic, ancient ruin?
Alright. So Saturday night, I went to Stonehenge with the guys from the flat below us, J, JT, and Steve. Now, I really hadn’t hung out with them before but I figured hey I’m in England, it’s the summer solstice, really how many chances like that does one person get?
Now the last train leaving for Stonehenge left at 10:28. We showed up at the train station, sans tickets, at 10:15. After attempting to buy said tickets, we remembered the stupid machines don’t take US credit cards and none of us had enough cash. Since there was literally only one minute left before the train headed out, we sprinted towards the platform. Ticketless, we jumped aboard seconds before the train pulled out. We got split up in our scramble to get seats and JT and I were quietly freaking out about the situation, while J calmly went and found the guy collecting tickets, bought our tickets and crisis averted.
After we got off the train, we had to take a bus, which of course required more tickets. While J was once again being responsible, JT and I made friends with Caty, the girl with a cat nose and whiskers drawn on in sparkly paint. I soon was sporting a sparkly star and JT, a butterfly. Steve joined us at this point and was rewarded with a giant S for Stonehenge.
Once we got off the bus we saw.. Stonehenge! Actually, not yet, it was really dark so we couldn’t see much of anything and then we had to hike about a mile to get to the actual stones. All totally worth it though, because once we made it to the rocks, we were so close we could touch them. In fact, we did more than tough them; we stood on one of the fallen ones. T’was sweet!
After we made it up on that rock, Steve and I refused to leave for anything. As a bonus, I also got to make friends with Mark the Wizard. He had a long gray beard, a cloak, and a giant magic stick. Pretty sure he was a druid. He was there with the woman he is hand fasted to. He grew up close to Stonehenge and had been to these festivals like 42 times (it was in the 40s, but don’t quite remember what number). After explaining which way the sun came up and at the winter solstice, where it set, he let me try his home brewed honey mead since it was my first time to Stonehenge. Wizards are so cool. Also, he only lives 5 tube stops away from me.
As the night went on, we made other random friends. Close to 36,000 people showed up. The only thing not to show up was the sun the next morning. Stupid British weather. Oh well.
On the way back to get the bus, Steve and I got separated from the other two. This was mainly because we really, really, really had to pee. Unfortunately, after that we ended up walking the wrong direction through a giant field of cars. For some reason we walked all the way through before admitting it was wrong, backtracking, and then still having to walk all the way to the bus. Miserable, especially since we had definitely gone from drunk straight to hung over. Then we had to buy more bus tickets since J had ours and of course we just missed the train, so we had to wait 50 min for the next one (we napped in the evil metal chairs on the platform). Sleep deprived, we climbed on the train, where we realized I no longer had my ticket. Turns out that wasn’t even our problem. Instead we got yelled at by the ticket man because there was only two people in our party of four and apparently you’re not allowed to split up. However, he gave up and let us nap. After the train, another bus ride, and we were finally home, 12 hours after our initial venture out of the house.
Now the last train leaving for Stonehenge left at 10:28. We showed up at the train station, sans tickets, at 10:15. After attempting to buy said tickets, we remembered the stupid machines don’t take US credit cards and none of us had enough cash. Since there was literally only one minute left before the train headed out, we sprinted towards the platform. Ticketless, we jumped aboard seconds before the train pulled out. We got split up in our scramble to get seats and JT and I were quietly freaking out about the situation, while J calmly went and found the guy collecting tickets, bought our tickets and crisis averted.
After we got off the train, we had to take a bus, which of course required more tickets. While J was once again being responsible, JT and I made friends with Caty, the girl with a cat nose and whiskers drawn on in sparkly paint. I soon was sporting a sparkly star and JT, a butterfly. Steve joined us at this point and was rewarded with a giant S for Stonehenge.
Once we got off the bus we saw.. Stonehenge! Actually, not yet, it was really dark so we couldn’t see much of anything and then we had to hike about a mile to get to the actual stones. All totally worth it though, because once we made it to the rocks, we were so close we could touch them. In fact, we did more than tough them; we stood on one of the fallen ones. T’was sweet!
After we made it up on that rock, Steve and I refused to leave for anything. As a bonus, I also got to make friends with Mark the Wizard. He had a long gray beard, a cloak, and a giant magic stick. Pretty sure he was a druid. He was there with the woman he is hand fasted to. He grew up close to Stonehenge and had been to these festivals like 42 times (it was in the 40s, but don’t quite remember what number). After explaining which way the sun came up and at the winter solstice, where it set, he let me try his home brewed honey mead since it was my first time to Stonehenge. Wizards are so cool. Also, he only lives 5 tube stops away from me.
As the night went on, we made other random friends. Close to 36,000 people showed up. The only thing not to show up was the sun the next morning. Stupid British weather. Oh well.
On the way back to get the bus, Steve and I got separated from the other two. This was mainly because we really, really, really had to pee. Unfortunately, after that we ended up walking the wrong direction through a giant field of cars. For some reason we walked all the way through before admitting it was wrong, backtracking, and then still having to walk all the way to the bus. Miserable, especially since we had definitely gone from drunk straight to hung over. Then we had to buy more bus tickets since J had ours and of course we just missed the train, so we had to wait 50 min for the next one (we napped in the evil metal chairs on the platform). Sleep deprived, we climbed on the train, where we realized I no longer had my ticket. Turns out that wasn’t even our problem. Instead we got yelled at by the ticket man because there was only two people in our party of four and apparently you’re not allowed to split up. However, he gave up and let us nap. After the train, another bus ride, and we were finally home, 12 hours after our initial venture out of the house.
Tuesday, 23 June 2009
live update from baldwin's gardens
i have just submitted my outline of events in afghanistan from 2000-present for the third time. if my editor asks for more edits, i am going to personally go to kabul and punch her in the nose. i have acquired un-acquire-able details, i have scavanged the furthest reaches of the internet, i have toiled, i have sweated. all over this stupid timeline that i have to get done so i can write my features.
i have rewarded myself for my efforts with a cranberry brownie. be jealous.
vanessa, who is the cutest girl in the world, runs the staff meetings at IWPR and is tony's (head leader/inventor/troublemaker of IWPR) assistant. today is our weekly staff meeting and she is very excited because we can now Skype our foreign offices. woo hoo for foreign election coverage in crazy falling apart countries. the phone call is quite static ridden and really, we can only understand about 70% of what is happening in kurdistan. IWPR is big on small victories therefore, i fit right in. they are also big on training journalists in crisis areas so they can produce their own journalism and hold their governments accountable. it's exciting to be (a small) part of.
everyone is currently debating the amount of entries for the contest for heroic journalism that IWPR puts up every year. having never produced a piece of heroic journalism in my life, i am not eligible. it's like guessing for knobel, but without the luftwaffe (bummer). i guessed 77. i feel as though this may be too high, but we have a facebook fan page, so maybe our reach has grown.
it is finally getting warm here in london. i'm not wearing tights (woohoo rebel!) and i think it is supposed to be in the upper 70's this weekend. i am going to call it 80 in my head so i feel better about it. i am going to sunbathe in hyde park and drink lots of wine. it's no ComFest, but it'll have to do.
and now, for round 2 of googling madness: security issues in afghanistan....
apparently, according to one miss ana bennett "all of der brau knows you are going to italy," so here, official announcement: i am going to italy. details will follow soon.
i have rewarded myself for my efforts with a cranberry brownie. be jealous.
vanessa, who is the cutest girl in the world, runs the staff meetings at IWPR and is tony's (head leader/inventor/troublemaker of IWPR) assistant. today is our weekly staff meeting and she is very excited because we can now Skype our foreign offices. woo hoo for foreign election coverage in crazy falling apart countries. the phone call is quite static ridden and really, we can only understand about 70% of what is happening in kurdistan. IWPR is big on small victories therefore, i fit right in. they are also big on training journalists in crisis areas so they can produce their own journalism and hold their governments accountable. it's exciting to be (a small) part of.
everyone is currently debating the amount of entries for the contest for heroic journalism that IWPR puts up every year. having never produced a piece of heroic journalism in my life, i am not eligible. it's like guessing for knobel, but without the luftwaffe (bummer). i guessed 77. i feel as though this may be too high, but we have a facebook fan page, so maybe our reach has grown.
it is finally getting warm here in london. i'm not wearing tights (woohoo rebel!) and i think it is supposed to be in the upper 70's this weekend. i am going to call it 80 in my head so i feel better about it. i am going to sunbathe in hyde park and drink lots of wine. it's no ComFest, but it'll have to do.
and now, for round 2 of googling madness: security issues in afghanistan....
apparently, according to one miss ana bennett "all of der brau knows you are going to italy," so here, official announcement: i am going to italy. details will follow soon.
Sunday, 21 June 2009
the world breaks everyone
today is father's day in the u.s and even here in g.b i can't escape it. my roommates have spent the past few days buying cards and this afternoon chatting to their fathers back home. this day is always a rough one for me, and the weeks leading up to it don't make it any easier. the tube is plastered with ads reminding me to buy my dad a tie or a set of golf clubs, two things he never would have used anyway. harrod's is full of deals on father-esque things, such as button down shirts and cuff links.
my father wasn't a cuff link kind of guy. he dressed simply on a daily basis, levi 501s and t-shirts, leather jackets and motorcycle boots. for causal events, it was dockers and italian button down shirts and boat shoes. dressing up meant a simple, classic italian suit. ties were reserved for only the most formal occasions. and no matter what was happening, he always smelled of ralph lauren and molboro cigarettes and a little bit like salami.
i miss him a lot today. perhaps it's because it's father's day, and in my father-less state i am feeling sorry for myself. maybe it's just the home-sickness getting to me. but there is something about being in the land of soccer and bread and red wine that makes me feel so close to him that it aches. i want so badly to buy him a chelsea football club hat and to watch him wear it until it wears out, and then fix it and wear it some more. i want to call him and ask him how to take the train from naples to lamezia. i want to ask him where i should go in vienna. i want him to go to vienna with me.
i ate a salami sandwich with havarti on good bread for him today. i figured it was a worthwhile tribute, although i will never master the art of making a sandwich like my dad did.
i have a lot of unanswered questions for my dad; questions about his childhood and my childhood and what is going on in iran how to change a flat tire and how to make stew. i am afraid that returning to his homeland cannot answer these questions for me. but, perhaps it can bring me a little closer to a man i didn't have for quite long enough.
Friday, 19 June 2009
ready for your close up?
http://www.flickr.com/photos/edelweissandforgetmenots/
this is where i'll be posting photos as we traverse throughout england and europa
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