Spring Break.

Even abroad, we need a break. And this spring break was so special. It happened that my program's break lined up with my home university's. A few of my housemates were able to make it across the ocean to join the other half of the Oak la Homies in Europe, where we made our way from Florence to Rome, caught a plane to Paris, and ended up in London. 

After three days in Florence, mostly rest for me, mostly museums and food for the visitors, we headed to Rome. Rome was just a pit stop before our flight to Paris, but we made the most of every single minute. 

I had been to Rome previously this semester, but this time was a completely different experience. Our cab dropped us at the Trevi Fountain at 6:30 in the morning, something that I highly recommend. At this time, no one in Italy is awake, cafes aren't open, and the streets haven't been cleaned from the night before. You'll find you have the fountain to yourself, something that few people will ever get to experience. I can honestly say that I was more impressed the second time around, so much quiet, so much space, and so much white, marble catching the morning sun. Our biggest lesson from our morning in Rome: pack lightly. After the Trevi Fountain, we grabbed coffee, made our way through the ruins, and headed to tour the Colosseum. The Colosseum isn't quite as fun with a week's worth of life's necessities on your back, but we made it work. 

We then took a plane to Paris that afternoon. Our time in Paris was three times as much as we had in Rome, but still very limited. We touched down with a plan, stopped by our Airbnb, which included a rooftop patio and a cat, (finally) dropped our bags, and headed to the Eiffel Tour. Tip: Use the metro! Even if you speak zero French, like me, navigation is not too difficult, and you'll save yourself a lot of time.

The next day, we woke early and tackled the city. A big thank you to Madeline, my beautifully type-A friend, and the incredibly efficient map she made for our time in Paris. We started at the Arc de Triumph, wandered down Champs Elysees, and then stopped for macarons at Lauduree, which definitely lived up to the hype in my opinion. I highly recommend the coffee macaron, no surprise, and black licorice. We fit in the the Louvre (heads up, it's closed on Tuesdays), Colonnes de Buren, the Lock Bridge, Notre Dame, and we concluded our day at Shakespeare and Company, a stunning little bookstore with the most interesting history. Here I recovered from the day, grabbed a book for the next leg of our travels, and scribbled a poem that's now tucked away in the shop. 

Fueled by coffee, croissants, and croque madam, we did Paris in a 24 hours. There are very few cities that I would recommend doing in a day, and Paris and Rome certainly are not on the list. However, we had London waiting for us. And I would recommend spending forever in London. 

We arrived that night, navigated our way to the city, and met up with dear Hailey, my roommate. After living with someone, everyday, in a small space, you grow attached to them. Let me tell you, I couldn't stop smiling from the minute we touched down in London. 

Our first full day was spent in Camden, where we prioritized Cereal Killer Cafe and then made our way through the maze of markets. We got a walking tour from our lovely camp bud, Kaley, and saw the Tower Bridge, the Globe Theater, and St. Paul's, with a pit stop at the Borough Market, eventually making our way down Fleet Street settling in at Ye Olde Chesire Cheese, a historic pub where Mark Twain and Charles Dickens wrote. For me, this was heaven. But even if you don't enjoy literary history, please go enjoy the cider on tap. Incredible. I could have stayed at that basement table forever. I was in London, my roommate's new city, with my housemates from home, and a dear, dear camp friend. Kaley said one of her favorite things about London is the pub culture. It's common to grab a beer after work, in the middle of the afternoon, and sit for hours to just talk. And I would have to agree. There are few combinations that sound better than cider, friends, and slow conversation. 

The next day, Kayla and I took a day trip to the cliffs. After seeing a semester of other people's pictures, I was ready to trade city for some fresh air. And oh my goodness, the day was so special. We took a train south from London to Eastbourne and then bused out of the town to hike Seven Sisters along the coastline. An hour in, it felt like we were the only people on the planet, which ended just steps from our feet greeted by plunging white walls and dark crashing waters. The rain held out, so we made a distant town we could see a ways down the shore our end goal. With every hill, I think we got happier and felt a little closer to heaven. We walked on, breathed fresh air, attempted to befriend some sheep, and couldn't not talk about God. If you ever have a significant amount of time in London, take a day to see the coast. It'll do something to you. 

We spent Friday spent neighborhood hopping around London. We started with a walk through Hyde Park and then headed to Notting Hill, where we strolled the street market, found a vintage clothing shop clearing out their stock, and had fresh crepes for lunch. No, I did not run into Will, but we did stop by the bookstore. The area is just as charming as the movie makes it out to be. 

We continued on to attempt an Abbey Road picture with the four of us. Heads up, it will make for the most challenging photo op of your life. Next, the tube took us to see Big Ben, the Palace, and Westminster Abbey. Unfortunately, Westminster was closed to the public, so I took a stroll through St. James's Park before we made our way through the crowds and across the river to see the Graffiti Tunnels, where we found artists in action working on their free underground canvas. That afternoon, I was able to tour the Globe Theatre, the theatre heavily tied to Shakespeare. The re-creation of the original has been done so precisely that I felt like had I stayed longer, I could've ran into the playwright himself. I recommend this for all the Shakespeare and theater geeks out there. 

We finished off our Friday watching the sunset over London from The Shard and grabbed fish and chips on our way home. 

Saturday was our last full day. We ate breakfast and then split up for the morning. I stopped at Monmouth Coffee, a great little roaster and coffeehouse recommended by my sister, where I ended up sharing a table with a man who graduated from my university and is now a journalist. One of the benefits of England is that everyone speaks English, making it easy to strike up conversations and make connections, something that doesn't happen too often for me in Italy. I then spent the rest of my morning at the British Museum with Rick Steves in my ear. Tip: Rick Steves has a free audio guide app for a lot of the tourist attractions in Europe, which can be super help in a potentially overwhelming place like the British Museum. Fun fact: Rick Steves is also Kaley's uncle. 

For our last afternoon, we figured there was no better or more proper way to round off the trip than with high tea at Kensington Palace. Guys, treat yourself. I didn't peg myself as a high tea kind of girl, but this was surprisingly great. An afternoon spent feeling like royalty, with a seemingly endless pot of tea, a tower of little snacks, and my favorite people around the table makes any day a good one. I will never get over scones with jam and clotted cream. It only made sense that afterward we swung by Buckingham Palace to say hi to the Queen. 

Take advantage of London's theater options! We did our best to get Book of Mormon tickets that evening, but we just missed the lottery and five days in London will make your pockets feel pretty empty. Instead, we opted for Matthew Perry's The End of Longing. While this play was surprisingly sad for a majority of it, we loved the theater and seeing a typical TV face on the stage is always exciting. 

Our week together came to a close on Easter Sunday, so we did our best to celebrate before we all went our separate ways that afternoon. We watched a foggy sunrise from Primrose Hill, and while the view was nothing too special, having just one more morning together was enough.

Leaving London was especially hard. London offers the history of Europe but with a willingness to move forward. It has been my favorite city I've seen yet, and after a good amount of time there, I didn't feel ready to leave but rather, I felt somewhat settled in.  At the end of my time there, I felt genuinely sad to be going back to Florence, which I know sounds ridiculous, but it was real. I really love London.

So I spent my Easter Sunday alone in the airport. And while it was not my best day ever, I certainly cannot complain about having spent the previous week traveling Europe with my best friends or the fact that even the airport had really good scones and tea. Easter was strange. I missed my family, and it felt wrong to be heading to a home that was not in Wisconsin. This spring break was so unique, perfectly timed, hard some days but also refreshing. At the end of it all, I simply felt overwhelmed, with happiness and sadness and homesickness and joy, but nonetheless, I couldn't help but thank Jesus for these sweet friendships that span across oceans and the opportunity to explore our new homes together. 

 

 

 

Sara.

As I was coming home at the end of my day, I made a new friend whose words have been tumbling around in my brain this evening.

Sara was sitting on the stoop in front of the door to my apartment, drinking a beer and smoking a cigarette with some of her friends. It’s what all the cool kids do. I muttered a, “Scusa,” and she replied cheerily with a, “Caio!” But then she stopped me from entering, asking me something in a speedy language I can’t yet speak. After I apologized for my English, she asked me why so many people in my apartment “run away with their iPods in.”

Our apartment building is mostly local residents, with two apartments of American students. Running is such a normal thing for us, but for many Italians, it is a strange routine.

Yes, I go on runs in Italy. Running has shown me secrets of the city that I would never have stumbled upon otherwise. 

But I don’t want to be living in Italy constantly running and distracted. In fact, I don’t ever want to be living on the run with muddled senses.

These past two weeks have been a little hard. I’ve been overwhelmed by things I can’t control going on in the States. I’ve felt lonely being back in Florence without my family and friends. I have missed other cities and felt out of place in this one. I have been beating myself up for being homesick while also being sad about my time in Italy wrapping up so surprisingly fast.

With just over a month left in Florence, I don’t want routine to limit the positive interruptions. I don’t want my expectations to overshadow the surprises of reality. I want to pause and remember where I am. I want to sit more and see more and write and paint and do what I can to soak now so my memories can pour out for years to come.

Today that meant eating a most perfect lunch at a new restaurant and putting a pause on productivity. Tonight that meant asking Sara her name, and finding out she lives in my building and works at my favorite sandwich shop.

I plan to say “yes” a little more and try to worry a lot less, to drink more wine and watch the sunset from the top of Florence, to have conversations even when my Italian is lacking, to be willing to be here while I still can, to live more like Sara, and to say thank you at the end of it all.

And when I get home, this will look completely different. But I hope I remember Sara and our brief chat about why Americans are always running when they live in a place like Italy.

Thank you, Sara. I will gladly sit on the stoop and have a beer with you. 

Five weeks in Florence.

I don’t think Florence is for everyone. And honestly, if we’re going off of first impressions, I didn’t know if it was for me either.

My initial reaction when I arrived in this city was much messier than the retrospect I have after my first month. I had an especially long winter break this year, which seemed to be packed full of conversations including the question, “Aren’t you just so excited?” Despite the excitement that had felt somewhat forced on me, I was confronted with fear prior to leaving and confusion when I finally landed in Italy. What did I just make myself do? Why did I pick a program apart from my other friends that went abroad? How am I ever going to survive when I can’t even speak the language? Is anyone going to even care when it’s my birthday? After a solid 48 hours of these questions tumbling around my mind without an outlet, I calmed down. “Change is hard. Adjusting takes time. You’ll figure it out,” I continued to reassure myself. A few days in, after unpacking my one-suitcase life, a few days of orientation, and multiple uncomfortable meals with an endless stream of new faces, I knew that three and a half months would end up going a lot faster than I had anticipated.

And surely enough, I’ve somehow already been here for five full weeks. That’s one third of my program already in the past. The one-month mark is that weird time period where I feel settled in, but I’m still definitely not a local. In these first few weeks, I did my best to not jump to conclusions about Florence, because transitions are hard. Attempting to judge a city through the fog of big change would simply be unfair.

Florence is beautiful. But it’s a distinct beauty. The city is obviously old, which means that sometimes I’m in awe of the deep roots of history, and other times, it just feels a little rundown. Take the Italy calendar hanging in your kitchen and attempt to mix those picturesque images with Chicago moods. That’s Florence. Cobblestone streets are contradicted with an over abundance of automobiles. The Duomo stands tall just around the corner from Zara and Brandy Melville. One minute I am overwhelmed by the feeling of big-city busyness, but then the next I am walking along the Arno with a view of mountains for miles. Florence fits busy city dwellers who like the convenience of cafes on every corner and a (somewhat) dependable bus system but don’t want to sacrifice the friendliness of neighborhood nooks and the option of a refreshing river run.

I was quickly confronted with the reality of studying while abroad. I somehow ended up taking sixteen credits this semester, which is an abnormally heavy load to take while abroad. I blame this on enticing course titles and the need to actually meet some requirements while in Italy. And honestly, it feels like sixteen credits. Classes are at least and hour and a half. The other day, one of my classes lasted for THREE HOURS. I tend to dread Tuesdays, which consist of one morning class followed by four hours of class in the afternoon, ending at 7 p.m. That’s hard when you tend to hit your social-functioning wall around 5. I feel perpetually behind on readings and sketches, and at any time, I have a deadline approaching and quiz just around the corner.

I will admit there is a big difference between studying distant subjects in huge lecture halls and learning about the history and culture of the city you interact with every single day. My professors take advantage of our location, integrating hands on food tastings and frequent museum visits. Yesterday I was required to spend a few hours sketching in a garden overlooking the city. On Monday class meant a few hours in a local café tasting their various espressos. And last week, I saw John the Baptist’s finger and jaw bone on a class tour in the Museo dell’Opera del Duomo (a must-go if you’re ever in town). I try to let these very good days outshine the unforgivably long lectures and ants that fill my pants when I’m inside and the sun has finally decided to show itself.

My professors here are interesting and unpredictable, as most professors are. This bunch is a true mixed bag: an American artist, a born-and-bred Florentine who also fences, a German spitfire, an Italian who teaches both at the university and at the yoga studio, and a professor who I had taken a course with previously in Madison. Having classes with twenty people rather than two hundred means that my professors know who I am, and I even know them a little. They’re kind people. They let us have coffee breaks when we so obviously need a break and a boost, and they try to accommodate our travel schedules. They go on tangents about their personal lives. They’ll rave about Florence for hours if given the opportunity. Interesting people make interesting topics even better.

A month has given me time to find my morning coffee shop just 30 seconds from my front door, and the baristas are starting to recognize me. We have our default post-class pizza and panini spots. We found a restaurant hidden deeper in the city, away from the most of the tourists, with the best truffle gnocchi you’ll ever taste. Our program coordinator takes us on runs to her favorite places in the city. I’ve already gotten a nasty cold and gotten over it. I joined our program’s soccer team, I feel at home with my flat mates, and I have a crew that faithfully cooks a mid-week meal together in one of our snug apartments. A sense of home is being fostered slowly but faithfully.

In a week and a half, my family comes to visit, and shortly after that, midterms begin. And suddenly, it’s spring break, and my semester is halfway through. Daily, I’m learning to embrace discomfort. I’m reminding myself to search for joy, even when it has been raining for days and I have yet another quiz next week. I’m trying to prioritize wandering and exploring and using my camera unashamedly, even though I’ve already settled into a weekly routine. And every now and then, I remember how truly crazy and fortunate it is that a 21-year-old from Wisconsin ended up in Florence, Italy.