Where in the World...?

The Robinsons

2008-08-12T14:09:00.009-05:00

Hellllllooooo!

It's been a while. But the reasons are legit. Had I been able to either halt time or add a few hours on to each day, blogging might have fit into the schedule, but even with those kind of super powers it would have still been a struggle.

Since I returned from Italy things have been insanely, nightmarishly busy. I am working Mon, Wed, Fri at my old ad agency, Tues and Thurs at the clinic, and I had 3 tough classes that I only had time to study for after a 9 or 10 hour workday. By the beginning of August I was running on fumes. Everything was suffering--my advertising work, my therapy sessions with clients, and classwork. But 3 finals later I've finished the semester from hell, while still managing to keep a 3.95 GPA. Hell yeah. I mention this not to brag or toot my own horn, but because I'm pretty freakin' proud of myself. I got divorced, travelled around the world, lived in Italy...and still got straight A's. Genius, anyone?? ;)

No, really, it is pretty astounding because had you known me in undergrad...a straight A student I was not. I majored in having fun and minored in procrastination, both of which I was summa cum laude. I still managed to get decent grades, but it certainly wasn't because of the enormous amount of time I spent studying. So this is a big deal for me, so much so that I've hung my transcripts on my parents refrigerator, proudly displaying my A's like a first grader.

To treat myself after 3.5 months of non-stop brain functioning, I spent the last 10 days in Italy visiting Paolo. I have a break between semesters, so I jumped on my only chance until Christmas to make the trip across the pond and relax in beautiful Salento.

Getting there was an ordeal (I'll write my anti-Alitalia blog next...those living in Italy can comiserate without even knowing the story yet). But once I finally arrived, things were wonderful. Again, more details and photos to come, because we went to some really cool places. But this blog is dedicated to yet another conversation with Paolo that is definitely worth documenting.

So, this conversation took place as we were laying in bed one night. We were so happy to see each other again...it had been two months. We were snuggled up, basically forehead to forehead, having a groggy, just before you drift off conversation, when he said:

"One day, can we have a family like the Robinsons?"

The Robinsons? Huh? What is he talking about? So I said:

"The Robinsons? Huh? What are you talking about?"

And the rest of the conversation proceeded like this:

Paolo: "Yeah, you know from the TV show?"
Me (racking my brain for TV Robinsons): "You mean Swiss Family Robinson?"
Paolo: "Noooo...it was a black family..."
Me: You mean the Jeffersons!?!"
Paolo: "No, remember, it was the family where the dad was a doctor and the mom was a lawyer, and they had a lot of kids...Rudy..."
Me: (lightbulb) "YOU MEAN THE COSBY SHOW??"
Paolo: "Yes, with Bill Cosby!"
Me: "Why do you call it the Robinsons?"
Paolo: "Because that is their surname."
Me: "Robinson?"
Paolo: "Yes. And the show was called 'I Robinson' "(which means 'The Robinsons' in Italian)
Me: (a bit confused) "But their last name was Huxtable..."
Paolo: "Hugsable? Huctable? Wait, what did you say?"
Me: "Ahhhh...now I see why they were the Robinsons in Italy..."

So our beloved Huxtables were the Robinsons in Italy because the Italians have a very difficult time pronouncing Huxtable. Plus,to them Robinson is about as American as Smith or Jones. And apparently the Robinsons in Italy were equally as popular as their aliases in the States. Paolo said it was one of his all time favorite shows growing up. I can just imagine Bill Cosby's voice dubbed by an Italian actor...

As for having a family like the Huxtable/Robinson clan...the thought was sweet. But 5 kids? Ha! Uh, no thank you. We might have to subtract from that number by about 3 or 4. (He did clarify later that he wasn't not insinuating that he wanted 5 children...he just wants a "happy life like they had" ...WHEW.)

You know, a happy life Robinson-style doesn't sound too bad. Sign me up.

365 days later...

2008-06-22T19:50:00.007-05:00

One year ago today I was in an airport in Qatar, by myself, looking for sunglasses in the duty-free shop. I did not find the sunglasses...but what I found instead was almost enough to make up for the fruitless search... ;)

What I found instead was something I certainly was not looking for, nor even knew if I wanted it at the time. What I found was destined by something much bigger than me; and no matter what happens, it's something that was, still is, and hopefully always will be, a bright shining light in my life. What I found instead has shown me that I can trust again when I had just about written it off as a lost cause...

What I found instead goes by the name of Paolo (or Paldo J. Fox). And today I'd like to thank him for joining me on this journey. When Paolo and I met, I was in a place where I couldn't talk about my past without breaking down. We'd be sitting in a romantic outdoor cafe in Rome or walking through the streets of Casablanca and if the topic of my marriage came up, it was still so raw that I had a hard time keeping the tears back. For most men, I would imagine this would be a major red flag, like, "call me when you've lost the baggage". But not for Paolo. He would listen, ask questions, and allow me to show myself--my real self--open wounds and all. I never felt judged because I was getting a divorce and he always told me how amazing he thought I was for deciding to handle this intensely difficult period the way I did. At that point in time, it was exactly what I needed to hear. It had been a long time since I had a man tell me that he admired me for just being me. I had spent a lot of time by myself on that trip and personally I felt good about what I was doing. I felt stronger each day. But no one can argue with some positive reinforcement--especially when it's coming with a cute Italian accent!

He understood that initially part of me was closed off and that even if I wanted to open myself to this relationship fully, I couldn't, because subconsciously I was still protecting myself. Anyone that has been through a traumatic break-up knows how terrifying it can be to allow yourself to feel again. The pain is so vivid that sometimes it's easier to just avoid altogether. Instead of pressuring me he just held space for me in his heart--wide open--for the day that I was ready to crawl inside.

He was with me the day I got divorced and the day I found out Leslie was having a baby. Both days I could barely look at him, I could barely move. But he never allowed me to feel guilty for not being able to give to him or our relationship at that time. Again, he just waited, heart wide open, waiting for me to crawl back in. He has shown me what it means to be completely accepting and his patience is unmatched by anyone I know. He just has an innate understading of human nature and is able to be completely unselfish because of it. When he knew that I was going to need time he never took it personally and he never pushed me for more. It takes a strong man to be able to do that. It takes someone who knows himself and his own worth to be able to trust that I will indeed comeback and no coersion is needed.

His stability, consistancy and eternal optimism kept me going when I didn't know if I could. Sometimes it's easier to do things for other people than it is to do for yourself, but he would never allow that. No decision I made could be for him. They could take him into consideration and ultimately benefit him, but they always had to be for me.

I have never met a man like Paolo before. The personal qualities that so many of us strive to achieve, he's been blessed with from the beginning. And somehow, in the Middle East, in a duty-free sunglass shop I was also blessed.

So amore mio, this one is for you. Thank you for making me smile every single one of the past 365 days. You've been my rock. I love you. Happy Anniversary.

Who decides?

2008-06-10T21:49:00.009-05:00

I've been at my clinic for a few weeks now and am just starting to work with my own clients. For the first few weeks I was observing my supervisor and other therapists while they worked so I could see different techniques and become more comfortable with the process. It has been an intense month of learning, not only about the clients but what I am feeling myself. And there is one thing in particular that has been keeping me awake at night...

Who decides?

Who decides which one of us is sitting on either side of the desk? Who decides which one of us needs the help and who gives it? Who decides which one of us had the blessings in life to have an education, a family that cares, and opportunites galore? Who decides which one is sexually abused by a family member? Who decides which one of us has no running water because her father is a crack addict? Who decides which one will cut her arm so deeply just to numb the pain that is life?

How was I born with all of this privilidge? What did I do to deserve it? What did she do to deserve the life she has?

And... how in the hell can I possibly help?

We study in school how to process what we see and hear, we talk about self-care and avoiding "compassion fatigue" and burnout. But until I began to see these things on a regular basis I didn't realize how important taking care of myself really is. There is no way for me to be effective if I can't work through these things.

So, how did I answer these questions? What did I do to work them out? Honestly, for the first time in my life, I've taken true solace in my faith. And although that is still somewhat undetermined (raised Catholic, but by no means practicing) I HAVE to believe that there is something bigger than me out there that knows how this will all play out. Because I can't do this job if I believe that this is the only shot these people get. I've discovered that my belief in a higher power has helped me to hold on to the idea that this isn't it for them. This thing they are calling life--living in horrific circumstances, being told constantly that they are nothing and having that reaffirmed day after day--this is not it--this is not their only chance. I believe that their struggles will be rewarded, either in a beautiful afterlife or another go-round here on Earth where they keep improving on the previous life, until they too reach the beautiful afterlife. Either way, it's totally cool with me...as long as this is not it.

Talk about gaining perspective. This month has been a crash course in perspective. Everyone's struggles are real, we all have a certain capacity for pain. But what some of these people have endured in lifetimes shorter than mine has been mindblowing.

So sure, I've learned all the skills in school to be able to do this. I know all the theories, strategies and processes proven to help. But, really... who's helping who?

Times are a changin'

2008-05-14T13:49:00.002-05:00

Guess who's back...back again...

Ok, 'slim shady' lyrics...this might be a sign of early onset severe seperation anxiety. I'm back in Ohio, and this time it's for more than 4 months.

Whoa.

And, not only that. Things in blogland have to change a bit. I start my internship at a mental health clinic tomorrow. Given the confidential nature of what I will be doing and the client population I will be working with, it's probably best to remove all personal pictures and references to my name on my blog. So, take one last look at my ugly mug, cause I'll be re-doing the photos to only be travel shots without people included. I googled myself and since I have changed my name back to my maiden name the blog doesn't come up. Anyone who meets me will be meeting me with my maiden name. Now, and forever.

So...I am going to be living with my parents for the next 4 months (I'm still trying to hold on to the 4 month thing) and then I will be taking over a friend's lease when she moves away (which I am terribly sad about...but at the same time excited to watch her kick ass and take names all over LA). It will be the first time ever that I've lived alone (unless you count the months on end that Leslie would be gone for soccer). I am really looking forward to it.

Paolo and I are trying to figure out our long distance schedule right now, and I'm hoping he can come for a quick visit at the beginning of June. I am going back to Italy for a week at the beginning of August for a friend's wedding, and hopefully he (Paolo) can return with me for an extended period of time. Leaving him was really hard this time around. Last September when I left the first time I was really ready to get home. I had a lot to process from the trip around the world and from meeting him. Plus, there was still a lot of messy stuff to deal with in regards to my marriage. But this time was different. After almost 6 months together non stop, I feel like I've lost an apendage. We talk numerous times a day and at least once on the computer so we can see each other. I love technology.

It will be interesting to kind of "put down roots" again. My life has literally been in constant transition since 2004, that I don't know what it feels like to NOT be in an 'adjustment period.' I am going to keep writing, but since I'm not going to be doing much traveling, it's just going to be more about the thoughts swirling in my brain and what's going on with life. My new job will give me much to think about but not much I can write about. I'm so excited to start, but terrified at the same time. How in the hell am I really going to help someone? I have no idea if I am prepared for it. I know all the strategies, theories, research methods--the book stuff. But when it comes down to someone sitting in front of me asking for my help. Eek. Scary shit.

I am also going to be freelancing for my old advertising agency that I worked for before we made the first soccer move. I gotta pay the bills somehow, and the internship is unpaid. For a year. Ugh. Two jobs and three classes should keep me occupied this summer...

I'm missing Italy a bit. When I left it was absolutely perfect. I spent my last week at the beach almost everyday. But it's really nice to be back to a place where I can have normal conversations without sounding like a slow 2-yr old.

So that's it for now. I have a 4 o'clock meeting on the computer to see Mr. P before he goes to bed.

Anyone up for weekend road trips?????

Italy: That Guy

2008-05-03T09:49:00.017-05:00

Ladies, we all know that guy. The one you are supposed to avoid at all costs but cannot seem to keep yourself away from? The one your dad prays you will never date. The one that stirs up emotions you never knew you have, that causes you to do things you'd never thought you do, that makes you obsessive, neurotic, all around pazzo (crazy). The one that you can hate with your whole being one minute and cannot live without the next...

Well, for me, that man is Italy.

Now let me be clear that I am not talking about Italian men, in fact most of the Italian men I know are not much like their reputations portray. I think Italian men have earned a lot of their reputations simply because they live in Italy. Because it's Italy, not the men, that can leave your heart racing, dumbfounded, on the verge of tears and completely elated all at the same time.

Italy is untamed, spontaneous, and romantic. He's everything you look for in romance-novel man. He's also often unreliable, unfair, and relentless. He can be brash and dirty, yet for some reason you keep coming back for more. Just as you would with that guy. You can't figure him out and it becomes an addiction. Are you trying to change him, fix him, better him, like we females so often do? Are you obsessed with the unexpected? If that's the case, you're in trouble because Italy is the master of the unexpected for stranieri (foreigners), and you'll never be able to really figure him out. Each time you think you're close, he'll catch you completely off guard and send your head spinning all over again. Everything you do in Italy, even the mundane, becomes an adventure. An average trip to the grocery store will likely evoke immensely strong emotions and make you wonder why you continue this torrid affair...

You drive to the store with 4 things on your list. You are prepared, you have a purpose and you are determined to get in and out of the store as quickly as possible. (In my experience, this is how an American mind generally works). You pull up to find that the 7 parking spots around the store are taken up by 17 cars, who have not only managed to somehow squeeze into unimaginably tight spaces, but many of whom are parked perpendicularly (the Smart cars length is about the same as an average car's width), and a few are half on the sidewalk. So you proceed to drive around for 10 minutes and squeeze into a spot that is closer to home than the store, all the while wishing you had just walked. And it never fails, when you approach the store the parking area has magically cleared and you think to yourself for the first time that day "I hate Italy."

You are on the verge of spewing all of the Italian obscenities you know as you walk into the store when you are greeted at the cheese counter with a familiar, friendly smile and an offer to sample the fresh mozzarella, the olives that they just got that day, and a couple hunks of salumi piccante (pepperoni). In an instant, you demeanor changes as you are comforted by the warmth of the commessa (shop worker) and you think to yourself "I love Italy."

You proceed to look for the four things on your list to discover they only have one of the four. It's close to one o'clock, which means the stores will be closing for the next 3 hours and you will not be able to go to another shop to find what you wanted for lunch that day. You quickly concoct something new to prepare with what the tiny mercado (market) has to offer and you sulk up to the counter to pay, all the while thinking "This country drives me crazy." And, because you had to change your menu on the fly you come up two euro short. This is when the checkout lady tells you "No ti preoccupare" (don't worry) and waves you away with a smile and a "ci vediamo domani!" (see you tomorrow). And you think to yourself, "I love this country."

This is the emotional rollercoaster that I call Italian living. Each day offers something new that send your emotions reeling from one end of the spectrum to the other instantaniously. You can be walking the coast, completely in love with your surroundings--breathing in each step--the flowers, the sea, the rocks...the trash, the graffiti. And the love quickly turns to disdain for a country that has more natural beauty than one can imagine but it never seems like much is done to enforce the preservation of it. As an American you think "why don't they have higher fines for littering...and why aren't they enforced??" And you want to march straight to the municipal building and tell them what they need to do, and how to do it. How we do it.

As an American you might never be satisfied with Italy and how it works. But, also like with that guy, Italy is not asking for your approval. He is who he is; and that's a major part of his appeal. He marches to the beat of his own drum and he makes no aplogies. He's been doing it for so long that there is no changing him now despite the most valiant of efforts.

All you can do is learn to love him for him. It's the only way to truly receive all that he has to offer.

The Magical Olive Trees of Salento

2008-05-01T04:25:00.011-05:00

Otranto is located in Salento (or Salentu, if you want to speak like the locals), which truly is the heel of the boot. It is the south eastern part of Puglia, which is one of the 20 regions of Italy. For those of you, who like me a year ago, are clueless as to Italy's make-up, here's a quick rundown:

Italy is subdivided into 20 regions (regioni=plural, regione=singular). It is further divided into 109 provinces (province) and 8,101 municipalities (comuni). So I've been living in the region of Puglia (or Apuglia for us foreigners), the province of Salento, and the municipality of Otranto.

Puglia, like many of the southern regions of Italy (Calabria, Basilicata, Campagnia and Sicily) is know for it's production of olive oil. It seems as though each family owns their own batch of olive trees and produces their own oil. And if they aren't direct producers then they have a cousin of an uncle, or a sister of a godmother's nephew that is a producer, so of course, it's still considered family. And it's hands down the best olive oil I've ever tasted. Which is a good thing, considering they put it on their cereal in the morning (sto scherzando- I'm joking- but really, they do use it to cook virtually everything).

Paolo's uncle produces THE BEST (yes, I am biased, but it's won awards in both Italy and the US) olive oil in the world. His secrets: he does not use olives that have fallen off the tree and hit the ground. Apparently, if the olive skin breaks, it loses some of it's natural properties and becomes "less pure." He also uses a process in which he does not heat the olives to extract the oil. His process is more time consuming and retracts less oil from the olives, but again it keeps the oil in its purest form. Seriously, I could drink it straight from the bottle it's that good. Oh, and it's almost florescent green in color.

But as fascinating as the olive oil making process is, the place where it all begins--the olive tree--is far more fascinating.

I could use so many metaphors to describe these trees: knobby old men, bent and weathered from a long life of hard work; graceful dancers intertwined as though they are one (and in the case of the trees, they are one); or ghostly characters from Disney's Fantasia waiting for nightfall to uproot and prey on unsuspecting visitors. Each tree has it's own story, it's own character, and the one's I've taken photos of, have had a long, long life (usually between 100-400 years).

Let's have a look:

This old guy with his calloused trunk and arthritic branches reminds me of the old men sitting on the benches throughout Paolo's town. If you sat with him for a while, I bet he'd have some stories to tell...

This is one tree, but like many of them it's split at the base and comes together in the middle. Much like two dancers whose feet cannot touch but whose bodies never seperate. It's rare to see an olive tree grow completely vertically, and like this "couple" many appear to be midway through a sweeping dip in a ballroom dance series.

This younger guy is giving the old folks a run for their money. The twists of his trunk at such a young age (he's probably under 100) shows that he is on his way to trunk greatness. But watch out, because if you are a child playing hide and seek in the dark olive groves, his youthfulness might get the best of him and he'll untwist, rise up to his full greatness, pull his giant roots from the ground and try to play along. Spooooky.

And then there are some that are just plain welcoming. Like their human counterparts here in the south, they are always ready with their arms wide open, waiting for you to crawl in, pose, and smile.

Wildflowers

2008-04-30T06:39:00.006-05:00

This blog is dedicated to the wildflowers that I see each day, unlike any I've ever seen before. I don't think we have these kinds of wildflowers in Ohio...

Italy is truly one of the most beautiful countries I've ever seen. And one of the best things about it is that the Italians appreciate its beauty. Actually, Italians appreciate beauty in general. Beautiful people, beautiful scenery, beautiful clothes, even beautiful food. You could consider it a culture that is too easily stimulated by aesthetics, but it's understandable since they are surrounded by it.

Growing up in the Midwest there was plenty of nature all around. Flat nature, but pretty nature nonetheless. When I was young my mom would always point out different flowers, trees, farmlands, etc. and explain what they were. It pretty much went in one ear and out the other. I had more important things to think about, like Scooby Doo, My Little Pony and Rainbow Brite. I mean really, who cared about Oak trees or tulips? Certainly not me. Well, Italian children must have listened to their moms, because they all seem to know every type of fauna growing along road, in their gardens, and around the coast. Paolo probably even more than most because of his biology degree. Taking a walk with Paolo is like going to a class--a very interactive class in which the teacher says, as he's taking a bite of a leaf he just picked from the tree, "And Maggie, you can eat this one, try it." Yes, we eat berries, fruits and leaves straight off the trees. Most are actually pretty good, but some I think he just has us try simply because we can, not necessarily because they are tasty...

As an adult, I'm totally digging learning about the trees, flowers and plants that surround me. And in Italy I find myself paying so much more attention to it. I wondered if it was just because I've become so accustomed to what nature looks like at home so I don't see it as much? Or if it's because the culture as a whole places so much emphasis on nature that I can't help but notice. Other Americans living here have said the same thing, so I guess it's not just me.

Anyway, to give you an idea of what I am talking about when I say wildflowers here are a few photos I've taken in the last couple of weeks. They really are everywhere.

A mix of poppies and yellow wildflowers

Some purple flowers along the coast (this is in Otranto, where we walk a lot)

A poppy field and a traditional stone wall near Paolo's town, Sternatia (this photo does not do justice to the reds of the poppies, it is such a deep, deep brilliant red, like really ripe strawberries)

Close-up of a purple flower with poppies and grasses blowing in the wind

Beautiful isn't it? Can you see why I'm more enthralled by them? They are everywhere you turn. I could not imagine a more beautiful primavera (spring) if I tried.

Alberobello

2008-04-28T03:05:00.012-05:00

Hello! It's been a while since I've written a 'realtime' post. I do have some legitimate excuses. My parents came to visit from March 30-April 14. Before their arrival I had to finish two huge papers and was still in school every morning from 9 till 1 for Italian. While my parents were here we packed everyday so full of Italian wonders that there was very little time to write. We had such a good time. We also had some nasty colds. Mine persisted after they left (this thing lasted about 3 weeks) until I finally caved and went to the doctor. I decided I needed some drugs to help me through my finals. They worked, and I finished my finals on April 23rd. Whoo-hoo! That night two of my friends from home arrived. They stayed until Saturday evening. Again, so much fun! I love being able to show other people all of the beautiful things I've been seeing everyday. So, these are my reasons for the writing drought. But have no fear. I'm back with a vengence.

I've decided since I no longer have Italian school or regular school and I don't have a job, for this last week I will write a blog each day to pay hommage to this country I've called home for the last 4 months. There are so many things that I've seen and done over the past month that are worth writing about, and since the only other things I plan on doing are laying in the sun on the roof studying Italian, hanging with Mr. Paolo as much as I possibly can, walking the coast everyday, and eating at all of my favorite places one last time, I figured that I can fit a blog in each day. I'm even going to attempt to post pictures directly into the blog so you can see what I am talking about.

So the first of my Italian series is about a town called Alberobello (which means "pretty tree"). I have never seen anything like this town before in my life. It was like you step straight into a fantasy novel as you begin to travel toward the town.

We drove down a narrow, narrow road and on both sides there were fields of wildflowers, olive trees, fruit trees, old stone walls and trulli. Now what is a trullo you ask? (trullo=singular, trulli=plural)

These are trulli.

In the middle of the fields there would be these little houses, that couldn't possibly be real...but they were. It was like leprechaun land or something. The were so cute, set in the most picturesque background and it made you feel like little men were about to pop out singing "we represent the lollipop guild..."

When driving the trulli were few and far between and we got excited when there would be a "spotting" but when we reached the actual town of Alberobello, the entire city was trulli-land. Some factoids about trulli themselves:

The trulli are limestone dwellings found only in the southern region of Puglia, and are examples of drywall (mortarless) construction, which is a prehistoric building technique still used in this region today. (Can you imagine prehistoric techniques still being used in the US? We are lucky to see techniques from the 70's...or, maybe not so lucky. The 70's were a bit strange architecturally). The trulli are made of roughly worked limestone boulders collected from neighboring fields. Characteristically, they feature pyramidal, domed or conical roofs built up of corbelled limestone slabs. The slabs in the roof are not held together by any type of adhesive, instead the way they are stacked allows the rain to flow right down the sides.

Rooftops

Italian cavemen knew what they were doing...

Women outside a shop

On the roofs of the trulli there were often magical, religious or primitive symbols, and in each symbol you can discover origins tied to pre-Christian, solar, Jewish or pagan cults.

Alberobello is part of the World Heritage List, which was created by UNESCO (United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization). And, not suprising, Italy has the most sights of any country on the list.

Even the church is a trullo.

Alberobello is becoming more of a tourist area, but unlike the big cities, it's still rather unknown to foreign travellers. Puglia in general has remained a treasure to foreign travellers because it's still relatively cheap, it's beyond beautiful, the people are more friendly than you can imagine. It's only slightly more difficult to move around this region because you have to rent a car. But if you are adventurous enough to drive with the Italians, then taking a trip to Puglia should be a major consideration if you are planning a trip to Italy. And if you need a travel guide, you know who to call...

We'd be happy to help!

The Me's

2008-04-17T04:10:00.011-05:00

Authors Note: I wrote this post over almost 2 months and published it, to find out later that day that it really wasn't yet public knowledge. Although the news had a major effect on me, I did not feel like it was my news to share. So I removed the post and waited for a more appropriate time to post it. I've since talked to Leslie and he told me that he was planning on telling me the news himself, but did not want to do it through email. So I've made some additional edits, and looking back now, I think this news has helped me to continue closing the door of my past and opening more and more to the life that is in front of me. Which certainly isn't half bad! I am also posting this because I truly do not have time to write about my parent's visit, my mugging, and the beautiful town of Alberobello that I am planning because I have two finals due by April 24th. So I thought in the meantime, I could use this post which was one of my hardest to write, and meant so much to me...

Last Thursday I got some shocking news. My ex-husband is going to be a father. Upon hearing this, my hands started shaking and I kept thinking "what do I do? what do I do??" Lucky for me Jenn was online and I told her what I had just found out. Her calmer head prevailed and she said "Don't react right now Maggie, just sit with it for a bit." And really, what could I do anyway? She knows me well enough to know that my mind had already reacted in a thousand different ways in a matter of a few seconds and she was warning me about acting on any of those initial reactions. She was right of course. Nothing good would come of acting on any of my feelings. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get a hold of them. Here's a breakdown of my mental functioning at that time and over the course of that week:

Shocked Me was thinking: "What? This can't be right. Did I understand him correctly? (And by him, I do not mean Leslie). I found out by accident from a friend of a friend over instant messenger. This friend assumed I already knew. I didn't.

Sad Me was thinking: "Why her? Why now? We were together for almost 6 year. Married for 4. Why not me?"

Angry Me was thinking: "Jesus man, couldn't you at least let the f*cking ink dry on the divorce papers?"

Indifferent Me was thinking: "Not my problem anymore."

Ex-wife Me was thinking: "How is he going to support a child? Is he going to marry her? What about soccer?"

Mature Me was thinking: "I wish him all the best. He's great with kids."

And for the following few days the different "Me's" fought with each other about which feeling was the "right" one--the justified one. Sad Me would replay our times together and think about how we had our favorite name picked out for a girl. We did for a boy too, but our friends had a baby first and got to it before us. So we were still thinking about a boy. At the beginning of our marriage he used to joke that we had to start soon because he wanted 11 kids so he could have his very own soccer team. I'd remind him that it might not be the greatest team seeing that there would be a pretty big age disparity between the oldest and youngest. He said he could work around it. Sad Me would then envision him with a new family, new little soccer players, and a life where I am nothing but a distant memory.

Then out of the blue Angry Me would come in, slap Sad Me silly and start thinking "He couldn't even tell you himself? You had to hear it from someone twice removed? Has nothing changed?? (this was before Leslie and I spoke. He has since told me that he wanted to tell me over the phone or in person...which would be difficult, considering we haven't seen each other in a year and a half). But, I know the thought of telling me was really hard for him. Angry Me was also ranting: "The baby is due in June. Our divorce was final in December. I can do the math..." (this shouldn't have bothered me seeing that I had clearly moved on too, but it did). Leslie and I have not talked about "us" or what happened between us for a long time. He's told me that he doesn't think about the breakdown of our marriage much because it's too hard. Sometimes I wish could do that more; have the ability to compartmentalize. But I guess at some point you have to deal with it. Otherwise I suspect it will keep coming back in one form or another until you do, as though your life is on 'repeat.' When Angry Me would get fired up she would start to drudge up all of the unpleasant memories of the past, namely the last 2 years of our marriage and get pissed about history all over again. Angry Me can be pretty vocal. But I've been careful not to air anything but the laundry "blowing-in-the-Italian-wind-on-a-clothespin" on this blog. I've done my best to keep it about me and what I am experiencing. But, for the record, Angry Me could be a super-mega bitch. I needed that from her, or else Sad Me would have been a soppy mess all too often.

When Angry Me was about to explode was usually when Indifferent Me would come strolling in. "Hey Angry Me, relax. That is your past. None of this is your concern anymore. It's no longer something you have to worry about. Focus on today instead. No point in killing yourself over something you have absolutely no control. Plus, are you being fair? You've certainly moved on too..."

And over Indifferent Me's shoulder Ex-Wife Me would be chirping "How is this possible? Where are they going to live? What if he makes a team in the US? Is he still going to keep trying with soccer? Doesn't she have another child? Is he going to be a dad to TWO kids? Maybe I know someone who could help him to....I hope he's ready for this.... "

Indifferent Me would look at Ex-Wife me with a mixture of sympathy and annoyance and say "Can't you hear me? This is no longer your problem. He is not your husband, and it's not your responsibility to make sure he is ok. In fact, back when you were Wife Me, instead of Ex-Wife Me maybe that was part of your problem. You can't fix everything. Other people have to figure things out for themselves. Just like you have."

And then just for a second Mature Me would grace everyone with her presence. "Me's, listen to ME. Remember, despite all you've been through you love this man. You don't want to see him struggle, you want to see him happy. But Indifferent Me is right, if he is to struggle, his struggles are now his own. All you can do is pray that he is learning as much as you are by going through this."

Usually about this time is when Shocked Me would come rolling in loud and unexpected "WHAT? He's having a BABY???" And the cycle begins all over again.

This is all part of the beauty of divorce--you find yourself with temporary Multiple Personality Disorder. You question all you feel. You aren't sure if your feelings are justified anymore. You don't know what you are "allowed" to say. Your feelings change at such a rapid fire pace that sometimes you think "Am I happy? I know I was a second ago..."

And, to be completely honest, I'm not totally shocked by the news. I can recall a conversation that Leslie and I had about a year ago, shortly after we split. He was in the airport having just arrived back in the US after being on a tryout in China. I could tell he was in a rough place emotionally by the dullness in his voice. He said something along these lines: "I felt so alone when I was in China. It was the first time I realized that I really want a child. A child loves you no matter what. You never have to worry about them not being in your life, because they will be in your life forever. The relationship never ends, no matter what." I was shocked, and for once, had very little to say. I could have pulled out the "that would have been nice for you to decide WHEN WE WERE TOGETHER." But it wasn't the time for sarcasm. He was serious. And it was at that moment that I first thought to myself, "He's going to have a baby soon." I also had a dream a few months ago that he was pregnant (yeah, like he, himself had a baby growing in him). The feelings were so real that I asked his sister if it was true (not him being pregnant...you know what I mean). At that time it wasn't. But, I knew it was coming. (It's not the first time I've had a 'real' dream, right Amy?) But despite being a little bit prepared, it still knocked the wind out of me. It's like knowing your dog is eventually going to die, but when it happens that knowledge doesn't make it any easier.

What I've learned from this situation is: 1) Maybe I wasn't as far along as I thought. I felt like I was moving forward pretty well and... WHAM! this hit like a Mack truck. 2) I'd been holding on to Leslie. Not in a way in which I want to be with him. I don't. At all. Let me give an example to hopefully explain better. I'd been really hesitant about writing this blog out of fear it might upset him (I know, I KNOW). I had to ask myself why I cared so much if he was upset. He's no longer a part of my everyday life; I don't have to worry about coming home to him being pissed at me. It's as though this way of thinking has been so programmed in me-- trying NOT to upset him (in fear of losing him) that I still function in that way, forgetting that it's no longer possible for me to lose him. The relationship still had a hold on part of me, and by extension, part of my life. After being with someone for so long, I would imagine it is pretty normal to still feel a connection. But, for my own sake, I had to work on letting go of that because somehow, subconsciously, I've allowed that hold to continue. 3) There is no way I would want to trade places with Leslie or the mother of his child. 4) Paolo is most understanding man I've ever met. The day after I found out, I was about ready to crawl out of my skin. I needed to be alone, to sort out "The Me's." My brain was functioning on all circuits and nothing was making sense. Trying to think about the current relationship in front of me was damn near impossible. Instead of that hurting him and him taking it personally, he asks me if I needed to take a weekend away, if I needed some space from him and some time to myself. He gets it. I don't know how, but he does.

That day I went for a long walk on the beach by myself. I climbed up a large sand dune and sat down. I leaned back on my elbows and tried to force myself to think. "Ok, you are alone now, think. THINK! Figure this out. Land on a feeling. Make sense of it." But my mind was blank. All I could see was the vast turquoise sea and the never ending sky.

It was then I began to realize it was all ok. All I felt. All of it was ok, justified. My feelings were my feelings. I don't have to apologize for them, I don't have to stifle or hide them, and I don't have to act on them. I just have to accept them, and keep plugging away at my new life. It's all any of us can do. As I sat there in the setting Italian sun I realized there was really nothing left for me to figure out.

Quickie

2008-04-06T13:04:00.003-05:00

Don't have a lot of time because my parents are here. Yes, here in Italy. Hence my being MIA. Anyway a quick rundown, and I'll write a proper blog when they leave (on the 13th).

Went to Rome, Florence, Venice. Loved all of them (I've been to Rome and Florence before, but my parents have never been to Italy. And I will never tire of these cities). Got my wallet stolen out of my purse on the subway in Rome. Drivers license, credit cards, SS card (dummie, I know, I never carry it) but no cash. That escapade will get a blog all to itself.

We are now back in Otranto, all nursing colds, but are still having a great time. Had the official meeting of the parents today, and aside from them not being able to speak to each other it seemed to go very well. Any six course homemade meal would be able to win my dad over. So it was pretty easy. Going to spend the next week exploring the beautiful area I've made home for the past few months. And Tuesday is my mom's birthday, so we'll be celebrating Puglian style.

So that's the scoop. More to come...

a dopo. (later).

International "Kiss an Italian" Day

2008-03-25T10:12:00.008-05:00

According to one of my most trusted sources for news (Facebook), today is International Kiss an Italian Day.

So ladies, if you happen to be with an Irishman, African, German or Canadian, today you are absolved. You have a get-out-of-jail-free card. You can place all the blame on me. It's a holiday afterall...

Go find yourself un uomo italiano and plant a big one on him. You won't regret it.

Or, if you are a good girl, you can do as they do here-- one on each cheek.

(but, trust me, as I speak from experience, the "each cheek" thing isn't half as much fun...)

Happy Kiss an Italian Day!

Toxic cheese scare hits Italy

2008-03-22T05:18:00.001-05:00

Toxic cheese scare hits Italy

Don't worry. I'm fine.

Can someone remind me what decade this is?

2008-03-18T06:50:00.011-05:00

What? It's 2008, you say? Huh, that's strange. Based on the conversation I had with my Italian teacher, I would have guessed it to be at least 50 years ago...

Much like America, the southern part of Italy moves at it's own pace. The weather is warmer, the people are friendlier, the food is better, so people tend to enjoy life and move a little slower. But not until I had the conversation with my Italian teacher did I realize just how slow they really are moving.

We were studying a southern phenomenon called "Mammismo," where men live at home until their mid-thirties and are waited on hand and foot by their mothers. In turn, when these big boys finally decide they are mature enough to be out of their mother's daily care, they find a wife they feel is as similar to their mom as possible, and fall into the exact same pattern with her. Now, obviously, this is not the case with many Italian men. But, it's prevalent enough that a term has been coined and it's been studied and documented.

So Bernard (my new classmate...another blog about him another day) and I were asking our teacher, about her husband. She is 33 and got married last year. After dating the man for fifteen years. They now live in an apartment above her mother-in-law's house. All of which is very, very normal here, in the heel of the boot.

One day last week she was yawning a lot in class so Bernard said "Sei stanca?" (Are you tired?) To which the teacher replied that yes, she was tired because she had to wake up early to start preparing lunch. Lunch is an important meal here in the south, and is often the biggest meal of the day. She then went on to explain that her husband does no cooking, cleaning, niente around the house. So she get's up early to prepare his food, then she goes to work, after which she rushes home to see that it's all ready for him on his lunch break. She said he has never done the dishes, and he doesn't even bring his dishes to the kitchen when he is finished. Instead he waits for her to bring him his coffee, and watches TV until it's time to go back to work.

Now, I've seen this same scenario with Paolo's parents, but could justify it in my mind as "well, they are of a different generation, that's how things were back then." And Paolo's mom doesn't work and she absolutely loves to cook. So when Paolo's dad would eat lunch, then leave the table without lifiting a finger and go pass out in the armchair for a bit, I did all I could to suspend my judgement. Afterall, he has worked really hard to give his family a good life, and Paolo's mom obviously doesn't have a problem with it...so why should I?

But when she told me this about her, I could feel my blood pressure rising. She's MY age! It was obvious that Stefania doesn't necessarily like this way of life, and she's tired and frustrated. But she said "I am a traditional southern woman" as if that excuses everything. I asked her if she ever says anything to him about it. She said, yes, everyday. But, she said she can ask him a hundred times help with the dishes or clean the house, but eventually the dishes pile up and the house gets dirty so she always gives in and does it herself.

Just like he knows she will.

This is one of the hardest parts about adjusting to another culture. Because with situations like this there are so many things that I find fundamentally wrong. First, are you kidding??? We are in 2008. Aside from a few of our very conservative friends (Dr. Laura) this mentality went out in the US around the same time as poodle skirts. Second, it frustrates me because who's to blame in scenarios like this? The guy because he's been a child for his entire life? My teacher because she allows this behavior to continue? Society because this is acceptable?

It's hard to remind myself that I am choosing to be in their country, and this is how things work in some cases. If I want to see a man doing the ironing, I can go back home and say hi to my dad. But seriously, living at home and having your mom cook you dinner until you are 33? It's one part of Italian culture that I'll never adjust to. But I guess what I have to learn to do, even if I don't agree with it, is accept it. This is how things are here, I am not going to change them, and there are benefits and downsides to all situations (for instance, I don't know a stronger family system than the one in Italy...)

Lucky for me, Paolo is in no way a "mammismo" (needless to say, we wouldn't be together). He cooks, he cleans, we split everything 50/50 (well, he might cook more, seeing that I can only make toast). But I'm starting to think he's an acception here in the south. His brothers (both older) still take their laundry home for mom to wash. Many of his friends have left the south for better career opportunities in the north and the vast majority of them are nothing like the "mammismo" types. The north and the south, I'm beginning to learn, are two very different places.

I've yet to tell my teacher that I'm divorced, because when she was talking to Bernard about his divorce, she said "you only get married once" when he mentioned his new girlfriend (mind you, Bernard has been divorced for 7 years) . I think I am nervous to tell her because I guess I'm a little scared of her judgement. Which is unfair since I'm totally judging her lifestyle.

After talking to her about this a bit more (and now remeber, this entire conversation was in Italian, so I could have thought I was hearing "He has never done the dishes" and really she said "My dog has fleas") I said ,"what do you say when he refuses to help?" To which she replied while making a slap-upside-the-head motion:

"Vaffanculo" (f-off)

Italians are so romantic.

Paldo J. Fox

2008-03-05T12:38:00.011-05:00

I haven't written about any of the funny conversations that I've had with Paolo in a while. I could write a blog a day with the material I've accumulated, but that doesn't make for exciting blog reading, and really, I gotta give the guy credit. His English is getting better each day. I am still in the phase where he can't even make fun of the things I say in Italian because, really, it's not Italian. It's more like a random string of nouns and verbs, all in the present tense, thrown together in hopes that MAYBE the point will come across. In time I might say something funny, but now it's more painful than humorous. Anyway, there are 2 conversations that I've had with Paolo that still make me laugh out loud when I think about them. I'll try to recapture them as best I can:
I
Conversation #1: "J. Fox"

Where: At my parent's house before we went to the family Christmas at my aunt's house. It continued later during the festivities.

Why: It started because I was fake-scolding him about something (probably not putting the toilet seat down...he's bad).

Me: "Paolo ______ Johnson!! (obviously, not his real last name) You forgot the toilet seat again! Hey, wait, what's your middle name?"
Paolo: "I don't have a middle name. I'm just Paolo Johnson."
Me: "Huh. But that doesn't work as well in this situation. When I'm trying to be mother-like and scold you, I need a full name. Like Paolo David Johson, for instance. We gotta give you a middle name. "
Paolo: "Ok"
Me: "And should be 2 syllables, because that flows the best"
Paolo: "Ok"
Me: "And it has to be American, because you already have 2 Italian names"
Paolo: "Ok" (you have to love that he's so willing to go along with this)
Me: "How about Joseph?"
Paolo: "No, that is your daddy's name. How about Justin?" (I knew he threw this one out because he feels that he and one Mr. Timberlake have much in common)
Me: "uh, no. "
Me: "Michael?"
Paolo: "No... Thomas?"
Me: "Paolo Thomas Johnson? Nah...."

We proceeded to come up with 2-syllable, American names for a few more minutes, but couldn't decide on one. Eventually we gave up. Fast-forward to a couple of hours later. We were at my aunt's house and I'd totally forgotten about the middle name conversation.

Paolo (out of the blue): "I've got it! How about 'J. Fox'??"
Me: "huh?" (no clue what he's talking about)
Paolo: "For my American middle name. I like J. Fox"
Me: "Paolo J. Fox Johnson?" (trying very unsuccessfully to stifle my laughter).
Paolo: "Yes. I like it."
Me: "Well, ok, Paolo J. Fox Johnson it is."

To this day, I'm still not sure if he thinks "J. Fox" is one word--"jayfox" or if he realizes that "J. Fox" is actually a middle initial and a last name. But either way, on that day "Paolo J. Fox Johnson" was christened, and is still used quite frequently.

Conversation #2 "Where's Paldo"

Where: At our apartment in Otranto, two nights ago.

Why: His sister had bought him a new sweater. It has red and blue horizontal stripes. We both liked it when we saw it, but when he actually put it on...not so much. The following conversation ensued:

Paolo (looking at himself in the mirror): "Do you like it?"
Me: Ummm, it reminds me a little of "Where's Waldo?"
Paolo: "Who's Maldo?"
Me (starting to laugh): "Not Maldo...!"
Paolo: "Oh, scusa, sorry--who is Paldo?"
Me (erupting with laughter): Paldo!!?! YOU'RE PALDO!"

It took me 20 minutes to explain what this meant, who "Waldo" is, and why it all struck me so funny. He exhorts this kind of goofy humor without knowing it, and it kills me. When I try to explain it, it becomes funnier and funnier to me and more confusing to him. Which in turn makes me laugh even harder. And in this case, even though it's not truly all that funny, it was one of those things when I thought about it an hour later I would start laughing all over again. I would just envision him standing there in his "Paldo" sweater looking confused asking "Who's Paldo?" Awww. He has no idea how cute he is.

I'll have to take a picture of him in the sweater.

So, now he's officially become Paldo J. Fox.

Oh, and speaking of pictures. I've posted the pictures of our redecorated apartment and our Valentine's party. Enjoy!

What makes a woman, a woman?

2008-02-28T09:28:00.021-05:00

Now that I am in control over my life in regards to where I will be living and what I want to do, I've been doing some thinking. (Being married to an athlete was a tough lifestyle, we lived in 3 cities in 3 years, and from year to year we were never certain where we'd be next. I never felt like I had much control over my future.) I've begun entertaining the idea of getting my PhD--especially if I find myself living in Italy after I finish up my degrees, internships, and licensure (which is at least a year long process from when I return home in May).

I've been thinking, if I do live in Italy (and this is a HUGE "if"), what would I do? I certainly don't speak the language well enough to be giving advice to strangers. Well, lucky for me the University in Lecce has a "doctoratto" program in "psicologia." Doing something like that would accomplish a few things at once. First, and most obvious, it would further my education. Second, it would be a crash course in Italian. And third, it would give me something that was 'mine' when I got here. I would have my own friends and classmates, my own reserach and work. My life would not be reliant on Paolo--and I need that.

This line of thinking got me kind of excited, and I thought..."hmm, what would my thesis/dissertation be about? What am I interested in? What do I wonder about human nature?"

Something I've been thinking about lately is: In a female's mind, what does she believe makes her "a woman?" Aside from the normal, "I can have a baby" or "I have boobs and long hair and wear dresses and uncomfortable pointy shoes" what else defines her as a woman?

Had this question been asked 50 years ago the answers might have been more simple, "being a mother makes me a woman" or "being a wife" or "taking care of the house." And for some, those things are still true today. But for many others, they aren't. So what is it now that defines us as women? Are there any commonalities anymore?

We are a confused species these days, us women. We are plagued with guilt from every angle. If you chose to be a stay-at-home mom, should you be working? If you are a working mom, should you be at home? If you have no desire to ever be a mom, is something wrong with you? If you have no desire to be a wife, are you a lesbian? If you want time to yourself, are you neglectful? If you have a meltdown, are you crazy? If you have a high-powered career, are you a bitch? If you want a man in your life, are you needy? If you don't, are you frigid? If you expect others to pitch in as much as you do, are your expectations waaay to high???

I came up with those examples in as long as it took me to type them. The list goes on and on. We are all so very different, our desires range from one extreme to the other. But there is one common denominator. We've all experienced the feeling of guilt about what we want, or what we choose to do. As humans, we are defined (and judged) by the choices we make, and women today are all making very different choices. So, in regards to my (imaginary) thesis, I started to wonder if there were any underlying themes about what we believe defines us as women.

I thought about myself--how do I define a woman? It me took a lot longer to come up with these answers than it did to come up with the "guilt list." Here are my top three defining qualities: 1) Her complexity 2) Her intuition 3) Her ability to comfort.

Her complexity--I'll use myself as an example. I want to be a wife and a mother. I also want to be a therapist and a world-traveler. I want to be a woman with hobbies, friends and time to herself. I want to write, to learn. I want to be independant, yet I want a partner to take care of me. I want to be able to cry one minute and laugh the next. I don't want to have to sacrifice any of those things while at the same time have the time to enjoy all of them. Is that possible?

Her intution--I believe that many women turn off the little voice inside their heads because what it's telling them is true. They don't want to believe it, so instead they go with what is at face value only to find out later (often the hard way) that their gut/voice/heart was correct. I've learned to trust that voice. It's there for a reason.

Her ability to comfort--This one is kind of more by default. Women inherently know the right thing to say in a difficult situation over a man any day. We are more comfortable dealing with other's pain (according to my studies, both men and women prefer working with female therapists, and this is one of the various reasons why). Whether we are the nurturing type, the tell-it-like-it-is type, or the sympathetic, "let's go shopping and get a drink" type we often know just the right thing to do to help a family member or friend feel better.

I could ask 100 women this same question, and get 100 different answers. Or, quite possibly, I could see some themes emerging. And, if this were a real thesis then I would have to hypothesize about those potential themes and do real research and stuff (blech). I would also have to take cultural differences into consideration (it would be really interesting to see if Italian women would answer differently than American women--my guess, YES.) But since this is just one of the many things that swirls around in my brain as I put off studying Italian a little bit longer, I'm not going to do any of that for the sake of a blog. If this actually comes to fruition, I'll let ya know the findings. In the meantime...

Ladies, what makes you a woman?

Picture time

2008-02-25T17:16:00.003-05:00

I spent the good majority of today adding photos of Otranto, Camerino, and Assisi to my website, so feel free to check them out if you are interested in where I am living and what I'm seeing on a daily basis. It's the link to the right that says "Italy 2008" (sorry, that probably didn't need an explanation).

It's mostly landscapes and town/city scenes, so I hope they aren't boring. I still have to download pictures from our Valentine's party and the "after" pictures of the condo now that it looks totally different. But, I left my cord that takes the pictures off my camera and puts them onto the computer at home, so it's a process (actually, Paolo takes my camera somewhere and comes back with a USB full of my pictures). But he hasn't done it since the "festa." Soon, I hope!

Enjoy!

Train of thought...

2008-02-20T14:37:00.004-05:00

Paolo had to work at their soccer club tonight, so I was by myself for dinner. I didn't even bother to turn on the TV--it's more stress than it's worth. And Italian TV easily deserves a blog of it's own...at another time. I'm not good at reading and eating (I have a hard time not wearing my food when I am focusing on it, let alone when reading.) So during my dinner for one, I just let my mind run away with itself, and this is the twisted road it took me down...

First. Jenn got a call from her ex-husband when we were on IM today, so made me think of Leslie. And, for some reason this scene popped into my head: One average day in Columbus, we were at a gas station filling up the car, and the man at the pump next to us had struck up a conversation with Leslie (I was in the car). The man was a black guy (relavant in a second) and he asked Les where he was from (Leslie is also black, with dreadlocks and a Caribbean accent, so this was a common question). Leslie tells the guy that he's from Trinidad. The guys response: "Really?? I'm from Africa too!!" And...get this...he then handed Leslie his pump and offered to pay for our gas. Les, being the thrifty Trini that he is, played along with the dude and allowed him to buy our gas. Apparently he has no sympathy for the stupid. He gets in the car cracking up, and explains what just happened. We decide that with the money we saved on gas the only good and kind thing we could do was to buy the guy a map...so he could see for himself that Trinidad is absolutely nowhere near Africa.

So, that line of thinking lead me to "there really aren't that many black people in Italy" and it's sad, the only ones I see are African immigrants selling fake Gucci bags on the street. In fact, there really isn't any culture in Italy aside from Italian. Granted, the regions are all pretty different from each other-the food, the dialect, the architecture. But, I miss seeing people that look different. No matter what the region, the people all look very Italian. I guess this is normal for countries other than the US...the big "melting pot" but I really appreciate our cultural smorgasboard.

Thinking about black people in Italy led me to thinking about how Paolo and I watched "Stomp the Yard" or a similar movie (can't remember), about some black colleges competing in a "stepping" battle. We both love dance movies (and yes, Paolo is straight). When we watch movies we usually try to see them in Italian with English subtitles, so I can hear the Italian being spoken while reading in English. I just couldn't handle it with this movie. You can't have Italians doing voice overs for Southern Black Americans-- they take 100% of the cool out of it. And there is no way to translate "That's whack" or "crunk" into Italian and still have the same effect.

Then I started thinking about how Paolo and I are probably the only people in the world that watch American movies that are dubbed in Italian with English subtitles. Then I started thinking about how somethings are just really "American" and no matter how close the translation is, it still doesn't capture it. When I was thinking about ultra American things, I thought about my Italian class today, in which I had a 2 hour lesson about coffee (no joke, it's a religion here). My teacher asked me about famous coffee in the US. I told her that Starbucks was easily the most famous. She just stared at me kinda blankly "Non so"...I don't know...what??? My Italian teacher had NEVER HEARD OF STARBUCKS.

I'll leave it at that folks. I know, it's a hard pill to swallow.

Change in plans...

2008-02-17T14:02:00.004-05:00

I've got my mind set on learning a new language, but I'm beginning to think Italian isn't for me. Instead, I'm thinking about studying British. For some reason it just flows, and my comprehension level is already at about 75%, I'd say.

So from now on instead of writing about my ragazze, I'm going to write about my mates...and their favourite colours and flavours. And, from now on, I will refer to eggplants as aubergines.

Cheers.

I'm living in a dryer-less nation

2008-02-11T12:30:00.001-05:00

I just came downstairs from retrieving the laundry that was drying on the clothesline on the roof. Sure, sounds soooo Italian and kinda cool. But, really, it's not. At first I was also taken by the smell of air dried clothes, but after a few times of hanging each sock by a clothespin, the novelty wears off. And everything is kinda stiff--sure, you can add fabric softener, but until you wear it or use it (i.e. a towel) a few times it's a little like cardboard.

This is one of the many very Italian nuances that I am adjusting to. Each day, I become more used to how things work here, but some things are just so totally different than in the US. Not better or worse necessarily, just different. In some cases, I'd take the US's version and others Italia...here are a few of my favorite examples (and other random observations):

There are no dryers and the washers are TINY. The supersized, wash 33 pairs of jeans at a time, monstrosities that we have in the US would never fit into the normal place where a wash machine is kept in Italy...il bagno (the bathroom). Yes, they are cute and tiny and can maybe hold 33 socks, but really, you do a lot less laundry a lot more frequently. Actually, that's not true. Italians have no qualms about wearing clothes over and over until they are dirty. In fact, my teacher wore the same thing 3 days in a row last week, and that's pretty normal. We are a little more paranoid about that in the US. As if wearing the same thing twice makes us either dirty or poor. I can do it with jeans, but I usually have to switch my sweaters (even if they are not dirty), I'm working on it though. It's one of the easier Italianism to adjust to.
Nothing is open, ever. Ok, that's not really true either. But, shops are open from around 9am until 12:30 and then they close until 4, and then stay open from 4-8pm. And a lot of them are closed on Sunday. Oh, and Monday (from the difficult weekend??). There are some Target-type stores that are open normal hours everyday, but nothing is 24 hours. I'm sure in the larger cities the hours are a lot different, but I'm living in a small town in the very south. Things are still pretty old school down here...
Speaking of old school, there are old men everywhere. This is true. My mom told me the other day that the Italian population is becoming much older. This is due to family sizes shrinking and the economy not being so hot that young professionals are looking outside of their beloved country for work. So the old guys gather on the street corners or in front of the market and just stand around and talk. You can find them there at any point in the day. I often wonder where the old women are and if they ever leave the house?
Their government is a bigger mess than ours! Yes, I know, hard to believe. They are having an election for a new Prime Minister on April 13th. The current PM was recently voted out of office. This is the 61st time since World War II that power has changed hands in Italy (another factoid from la mia mamma...she's been reading all about Italy since her and my dad are coming to visit for two weeks in April!!! Yay!!) .
There are a lot of stray dogs. And nice ones at that. In Thailand or India, you wanted to avoid the strays at all costs. But here, there is a little problem with people getting dogs and then realizing for whatever reason they cannot take care of them, (going on vacation for a month and can't take the dog--just let it go, and hope it's there when you return!) so the strays are often very sweet, good-natured and clean. Sometimes I ask Paolo if we can take them home (this goes for dogs, cats, and cute old men...I love 'em all). He's yet to cave.
There is a couple that meets outside of our condo a few times a week for what is apparently some kind of secret rendezvous. They look to be in their 20's and they arrive in separate cars. They proceed to stand outside and smoke cigarettes and make-out passionately for a half and hour or so, and then leave separately. Sometimes I wanna yell out my window "is she your AMANTE????" But, I restrain myself.
You go grocery shopping virtually everyday. I actually really like this. I thought it would be a hassle, but buying bread that was baked that morning, fruit straight off the truck, and watching the butcher slice the perfectly thin bresaola makes the trips worthwhile.
Italy does not have notecards. Just an FYI, in case you ever find yourself here in search of notecards. I'm talking about the kind that you use to study--you know, when you make flashcards with a word or phrase on one side and the definition on the other (or for recipes, etc). Anyway, I thought these would be a great way for me to practice my Italian vocabulary. Until I found out the hard way that they apparently don't make flash cards here. We looked for days, one day for 2 hours in 4 different towns. I finally got some blank business cards.
In school, they don't have spelling tests. Every word is spelled exactly how it sounds. So if you can understand the phonetics of the word, then you know how to spell it. Almost all words in Italian end in vowels. In fact, Italians really enjoy vowels. It's not unusual for a 7 letter word to have 5 vowels in it. A fun example: "Miei" is one of 4 ways to say "my" depending on if it’s masculine or feminine, singular or plural. And it's pronounced Mee-ay-ee. Not easy for us consonant lovers.
Italians LOVE graffiti. So much so, that they often sign their names. Like if a lovesick boy writes "Emma, ti amo (Emma, I love you) he'll write "by Marco"--we can't have Emma thinking that Giuseppe wrote it now can we? Rome has more graffiti than I've ever seen in one place. This made the city so much more real to me. There is the Coliseum, and then the walls across the street are covered top to bottom in colorful street art.

So how’s that for some "you'll never need to know this information" information? But, it's stuff that I find interesting. I've had to dig deep some days to find patience and remind myself that I am in their country, and things run their way. Not mine. So the inefficiencies (and there are many, by American standards), I just have to get used to (don't get me started on the layout of large stores and where you are allowed to enter and exit...whoever designed them should maybe take up cooking or something).

But, as I am sure you can imagine, for all of the things that are difficult to get used to, there are so many wonderful things about living here. Um, waking up as looking at the sea each morning overrides 99.9% of the problems. We walk and walk and walk. There are miles of big beaches and a ton of quaint little towns to explore. And still so much about Otranto I have to see/learn. When we went to the north for Paolo's exam (which he passed btw!! YAY!!) we drove through the most beautiful landscapes I've ever seen--along the coast, through the countryside, into the mountains. We were in the car for almost 7 hours and I didn't pick up a book (for study or pleasure), I looked out the window the entire time. Italy is so, so, so, so, beautiful. It's no wonder it's one of America's favorite places to visit because it's absolutely breathtaking. Each area brought something new and so very Italian--the architecture, the vineyards, the olive trees...

Sometimes it's a love/hate relationship. But, I guess it's normal during an adjustment period. The best part about this period is I still see it all. I don't drive by it and no longer take it in. I enjoy and appreciate all of the beauty, and do my best to find humor in the hard parts.

Oh, and Paolo and I are having a party for San Valentino (Valentine's Day)...really just an excuse to show off all of the work we've done on the condo and get all of his friends and family together. My mom sent a bunch of cute V-day decor, and we are planning the menu and preparing this week so I'll be sure to write about hosting my first festa in Italia.

Ciao!

Super Tuesday

2008-02-03T16:43:00.001-05:00

Tuesday is a big day for us. Us as in us--the US, and us as in us-- Paolo and I (really, more Paolo).

First, and most obvious, is that Tuesday is the day in which 24 states vote in the US Primaries, likely deciding who will be our next Democratic and Republican presidential candidates. I've found it hilariously fascinating to watch the Italian news coverage of the US campaigns. You mean, there are actually Republican candidates? And who, by the way, is John Edwards? As far as Italy is concerned, there are 2 people running for president--Hillary and Obama. There is going to be some major disappointment over here when they find out that only one of them can actually run. Every night as I struggle to understand the news, I take absolute delight in the segments that cover US politics. It wasn't until Rudy Guliani dropped out of the race that I even saw a Republican candidate mentioned. Even on talk shows, the hosts ask their famous guests "Who do you support Hillary or Obama?" as though they are the only two choices. When I asked Paolo about it, he explained that there was extra attention paid to this election because of the significance of a woman or a black man becoming arguably the most powerful person in the world. Also, the Italian public as a whole, are not big fans of Geroge W. (or "Boosh," as they say. No pun inteneded, that's seriously how they pronounce it) so they are ready for the US to have a new leader.

Second, and almost as important as the fate of the next 4 years of the USA, Paolo has a HUGE Anatomy exam on Tuesday that he has been studying for forever. So tomorrow we are packing our bags and driving north to a small town called Camarino where his university is located. College is really different in Italy than in the US, and I think the format here is a lot more difficult. I'll explain by using Paolo's degrees as examples. So, he got his first degree in Biology, and like us he had to complete course work and labs to earn his degree. But, unlike us, it was determined if he passed a course based on one exam alone, which were always cumulative, covering an entire text book. Oh, and usually these exams were both written and oral. I don't think I've ever taken an oral exam in my entire life...unless spelling bee's count. So basically, when you decide what you want to major in, they say ok, to get that degree you have to take 32 (or however many) exams, and then it's kinda up to you when you take them, and if you attend classes or not. After Paolo got his bachelors in Biology, he was not considered a "Biologist" until took the equilivant of the bar exam for biology, which was almost an additional full year of school because it consisted of another lab, written exam, and oral exam covering all you've learned in the 5 year program. Yuck. Now he's doing a second degree n Pharmacy and because so many of the classes overlap with his biology degree he *only* has to take 12 exams. Anatony is #1. And it's a killer. I'm really hoping that he passes, because we both study so much, but we cannot study together, because Paolo is an "out loud studier." Yes. He reads out loud, repeats it all out loud, and asks himself questions out loud. I can barely say hello in Italian, but I can just about tell you how the lymphatic system works--fluently.

So please send some good vibes his way. If you'd like you can say a silent "In bocca al lupo!" which is an Italian version of "good luck" but literally means "In the mouth of the wolf" (???) and the response: "Crepie il lupo!" or just "Crepie!" (which apparently means "I hope the wolf dies.") Seems strange? Try explaning why we say "Break a leg" to a preformer before a performance...

And, in my absence (I am not bringing my computer to force myself to study my Italian flashcards) you can checkout my cousin's new blog at: http://www.hindsightis20-20.blogspot.com/ I'm diggin' the fact that more and more people that I know with the ability to write and something interesting/funny/worthwhile to say are jumping on the blog bandwagon. Maren, my cousin is 18 days older than me. And, this year, that was the sweetest gift I recieved. Up till now, she had all the good birthday's first--16, 21...and now, it's my turn to gloat. Mare, you were 30 before me...and you'll be 40 before me! Love ya!

I'm happy

2008-02-02T10:42:00.000-05:00

It's weird, I almost am hesitant to write about my current state of happiness, because I feel like readers get bored with happy. I get more response to my painful, major life lesson, ephiphany-type blogs than I do to my "life is good" kinda blogs...

Maybe that's why as humans we seem to be addicted to pain...because happiness is boring? Contentment = lack of excitement? I dunno, but, after a couple years of serious struggles, pain, and ephiphanies, I'm tired of them. C'mon happiness, bring it on in it's full boring force...

Each day, I laugh more and more. And it's real laughing. The kind you can't stop even if you try. (Which can be unfortunate, if you are in a public area and the laughing has just caused your drink to spew out of your mouth (or nose) or you accidentally let out an inadvertant snort). And I am really beginning to I enjoy where I am, both physically and in life in general. I think about the past less and less, and the future less and less, and enjoy now--a lot.

Maybe it's being in Italy, or maybe it's being with Paolo. I'm sure both of those factors play a huge part in it. But, more than anything, it's being me. I'm beginning to like the scars I've accumulated, and the person I've become because of where my life has gone, and the decisions I've made. I've never felt brave before, but I do now. I don't feel scared anymore. I am not sure what to attribute that to other than living through my worst nightmare, and coming out better than I ever could have imagined. I am proud of myself.

And sure, I still have bad days. But that's life. You have to have the bad ones to be able to appreciate the good ones. I have no idea what the future holds, and you know, I'm ok with that, because knowing that would make life really boring.

Divorce

2008-01-29T09:34:00.000-05:00

I just read Jenn's blog about the movie 27 Dresses, and how it basically teaches all of the female audience members that they will not be truly happy until they are "the better half" of a happy couple. I was planning on writing my blog about a typical day for me in Otranto, but after reading that, I thought I should put a big damper on the "a woman's not happy without a man" topic and instead, I've decided to write about a much more light and happy subject--divorce. A woman's not always happy with a man...

In talking to my counselor and also from what I have learned in my classes, divorce is one of the hardest events that someone can go though, only second to the death of a spouse or child. I can't imagine ever having to go through either of those things, and my heart breaks for those that have had to live through it. But I do think there is the possibility for there to be a bit more peace in death, because your love for them is pure, your missing and hurting is true and clear, and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it. It was out of your control. With divorce it is different, it's messy and confusing--and hardest of all, it is a choice. It's either choosing to no longer be with the person you thought you were going to spend your life with, or that person choosing to no longer spend their life with you. Whatever side you wind up on, it's hard as hell. You know that the person that you were once closest to, is still walking on this earth, continuing on with his/her life, and you are no longer a major part of it. You are no longer part of it at all.

On December 3rd, I went to court by myself to finalize everything. Leslie was in Trinidad, so it was considered an uncontested divorce, and was scarily simple. We split everything on our own terms (we didn't have a ton of stuff, just our bank accounts, the condo, and what was in it), signed some papers, he waived his right to be there, and I went with my mom (because you have to have a witness). We got to the couthouse early, in hopes that we could get in and out of there, and ended up waiting for almost 2 hours. As we were waiting I watched the other soon-to-be-uncoupled couples interact--it was so bizarre. One couple, who looked to be about the same age as me, were also there without lawyers. She arrived first, looking at her watch and rolling her eyes. He showed up 20 minutes later and they sat next to each other and started reviewing their paperwork. The dynamic was such a odd mixture--the familiarity was obviously one of two people who were once very close, they sat so close that their legs were touching. Yet, at the same time the hostility between them was also very apparent. I kept thinking to myself, "Right now they are married. When they walk out of that room they no longer will be. Huh. And, right now I am married. When I walk out of that room I no longer will be." Even though I kept telling myself that, I could not wrap my brain around it...

I finally got called into the courtroom, where we had to wait some more, for another proceeding that involved lawyers and custody discussions. I happend to be sitting next to the husband before they got called up and I heard him lean over to his lawyer and say "I can't believe this is really happening. It's so surreal." I hadn't cried all morning, but that nearly did it to me. He was right. It is surreal. How does that happen to 2 people? How can you stand across the courtroom from the person you are married to as though they are a total stranger?

The judge then called my name--my married name. I went up and stood in front of him with my mom at my side. He asked some questions--I don't really remember what they were, but one stuck in my mind "You've cited irreconsilable differences, so this means you've done everything in your power and the marriage can no longer work?" "Yes." I gulped, as the tears formed in my eyes. I think he saw that I was on the verge of losing it, took pity, and signed the papers.

I walked out of the courtroom in a daze. We got in the car and I turned on my cell phone. There was a message from Leslie. It wasn't until that minute that I broke down. The man on that message was no longer my husband. He was just Leslie. I was just Maggie, and he was just Leslie. No longer "The Fitzpatrick's", "Mags and Les," no longer a "we" or an "us." Just Maggie. And just Leslie. Ugh.

I know that we did the right thing. And with time, that is becoming more and more clear. I'm ok with being "just Maggie"...and, like the girl in 27 dresses, I too feel happy when I am part of a couple. But, I am learning how to also feel happy in those times when I am not part of one. And oddly, as I figure that out, the happiness I've found within "coupledom" has been much more fulfilling.

Introducing...A Little Girl's Large Life

2008-01-26T14:00:00.001-05:00

In numerous blogs I've mentioned a very good friend of mine, and how without her I don't know if I would have made it through 2007. We've been friends since we were 10, but became much closer in our post-college years...our husbands got along famously. Well, now we are even closer in our post-husband years, and I've finally talked her into joining the blog community.

You see, she thinks I'm really interesting, funny, and extremely wise. And I think the same of her. So, we can each write our respective blogs, read what the other wrote, praise one another for our wit and perspective, and continue thinking we are funny, interesting and wise.

Hey, whatever works, right?

So anyway, with no futher adu (??)...Here's she is. A little girl (literally) with a big, BIG, life...

http://alittlegirlslargelife.wordpress.com/

Otranto

2008-01-22T04:59:00.000-05:00

The city in which I am living is called Otranto, and it's the easternmost city in all of Italy. It is in the Puglia region of Italy, and it's where the Adriatic and Ionian seas meet. Although it does attract a fair amount of tourists in the spring/summer I'd still consider it a diamond in the rough. The population is about 6,000. The city which used to be one of largest political centers in Puglia has a rather sad history--this is what I've read:

"In 1480, without warning, an Ottoman Turkish fleet invaded, landing nearby the city and capturing it along with its fort. The Pope called for a crusade, with a massive force built up by Ferdinand I of Naples. The Neapolitan force met with the Turks in 1481, thoroughly annihilating them and recapturing Otranto. However, in the two battles, the city was utterly destroyed, and has never since recovered its importance since the sack of Otranto by the Turks, in which 12,000 men are said to have perished — among them, Bishop Stephen Pendinelli, who was sawn in half. A large percentage of these captured were given the choice of converting to Islam or death - none would convert, so 800 men were beheaded outside the city. The "valley of the martyrs" still recalls this dreadful event."

I haven't made it to the valley of the martys yet, but I've spent quite a bit of time in the "centro storic" or "old town" which is situated inside the walls protecting the castle (yes, the Argonese Castle still stands, and Paolo just told me that inside the castle are all of the remains of the men that were beheaded). From our condo we have a view of the castle and the sea and it looks different everytime you look at it, depending on where the sun is in the sky. It's so beautiful.

Inside the centro there are a ton of little shops selling clothes, art, food, crafts, etc. There are restraunts, bars (the Italian kind-- which means you go in, order an espresso, drink it while standing at the bar, pay 73 cents for it, and be on your way) and also the American kind where you can actually sit down and have a drink (not coffee) and watch the people as they stroll through the town. It's pretty quiet here now, since it's winter, but the days are getting nicer and nicer (I'd say the average tempature now is about 55 degrees), and the town is starting to come alive.

Since the weather has started to get warmer, vendors selling fresh fruit, vegetables and flowers off carts have started to line the street along the sea. People are making day trips on the weekend to walk through the town, have lunch or dinner, and spend time shopping or walking along the water. There are also stores opened year round selling fresh fish (pescheria), fresh bread (pannetteria), fruit and vegetables, and sweets and coffee galore. There is scuba diving, and a ferry boat to Albania in the summer, and there are numberous festivals that take place once the weather gets warm. There is a small park in the middle of town with rides for kids, and stands selling fresh nuts, cotton candy, and other handmade sweets.

There is a small beach, and a marina, and lots of cliffs and rocky areas in which people also set up camp for days at the sea. Apparently sand isn't as important to them. I'm going to try to post some pictures directly into the blog--these aren't my own, I've taken some but not enough to post yet. And next time I'll write about a typical day here. It's really different than the US. Both good and bad. But, the one thing I can say for sure is, I have never lived in a place as beautiful as this. Even the mountains surrounding Salt Lake City don't come close.

It's Italy afterall...

The Cathedral

A house in the Old Town

A View of the Sea from the Castle

Another view from the castle

The Other Woman...

2008-01-17T11:59:00.000-05:00

I wasn't planning on writing today, but this is just too good...

Today I had my 3rd Italian lesson, and we began by reviewing masculine and feminine nouns, singular and plural. It's tough for English speakers to remember that every object is feminine or masculine--so a car--la macchina, is female.

Anyway, my exercise was to take this list of objects and put them into the right categories based on their preceeding article. The exercise was actually in my Italian workbook, and it was about a very rich man, and the objects were a list of everything he has. So one by one, I put each object into it's correct section, while discussing with my teacher what each word meant. He has a wife, a yacht, an island in the pacific, a private jet, a personal trainer, and an AMANTE.

When we got to that word, I didn't know what it meant so I asked my teacher (who tries to only speak in Italian with me). She said, "amante = seconda donna" (second woman). Huh? She couldn't possibly mean what I think she was saying. So she repeated "amante= fidanzata" (girlfriend). Ok, so wait a second, this rich dude in exercise #4 has a MOGLIE (wife!!!) and an AMANTE (lover??!?).

Only in Italy.

Only in Italy, in the very beginning stages of your Italian lessons, would you learn the word for "mistress"...

La Casa Mia (e di Paolo...)

2008-01-16T06:54:00.000-05:00

For those of you that know me, and for those of you that have had the good fortune of being my roommate over the years, know that I am pretty much a freak about where I live. My mom is a decorator by trade, and apparently it's in the genes. I can be a little fanatical, I'm learning (sorry, Erin--you lived with me and "I want my dorm room/apartment/house THIS way" for six years...the agony...). Basically, I don't stop until it's exactly the way I want it, given the restraints I have to work with (space, money, time, etc).

So, when I walked into the condo that Paolo and I are living in for the next 4 months, I saw a georgous blank canvas. Nevermind the green tile floor, old beat-up royal blue futon, green wicker furniture with a floral pattern that at one time could have been ivory but were now a dullish grey or the completely sterile white walls. Forget that the kitchen is so tiny the refrigerator is in the dining room area, and who cares that the bathroom has 4 different types of tile-they are all some shade of blue, right? What I saw was a beautiful fireplace, FIVE floor to (almost) ceiling doors with a view overlooking the city and the sea, a huge great room with a great shape, and two good sized bedrooms. Bellissima!!!

After watching much TLC (not only do I learn loads from Stacy and Clinton) I've taken a lot of helpful tips on how to decorate on a shoestring budget from "Trading Spaces" and "While You Were Out." And much to Paolo's delight, have decided that some paint, and a few pieces of furniture...and rugs...and flowers...and more paint...and art....and the place will be in top shape in no time.

Now, normally, I wouldn't barge into someone elses house and decide to redecorate it (unless asked), but, this is one of a few rental houses that Paolo's family owns, and the nicer it looks the more they can rent it for. And we've been careful about what we've chosen. The new couch is a micro-suede that folds down into a bed, so the place can accomodate more than just the bedrooms, the chairs we bought for in front of the fireplace are papasan-like (smaller, with arms), so the cushions can be easily washed or replaced. The rugs are great--all seasons, big, and were only 40 euro each. (We spent a total of 550 on furniture--couch, 2 chairs, 2 footstools, coffee table, baskets to hold wood for the fire)--not to shabby.

There was some furniture already here, that is very, uh, circa 1973. The armoir that the TV sits on is wood with the cupboard doors covered in orange felt. Yeah. But, we've managed to work them into the color scheme, and now it *almost looks like we bought the piece on purpose. We've painted the large main room in a really pale orange, and the hallway, entryway and bedroom in a sandy color (best to go light, since it's mostly a summer home). It is amazing what a coat of paint can do for a place! Slowly it's transforming from a mish-mosh of forgotten furniture, to a cohesive, fucntional, warm space. I love it. And so does Paolo--now we can only hope his mamma feels the same way.

We took down her curtains, which were very pretty, green linen with panels of sheer floral patterns. I could tell they were very expensive and good quality. We are replacing them with simple off-white ones with a embroidered pattern along the top in a neutral color. The green was pretty, but with the orange walls it kinda had an easter egg effect. It's been the only thing she seemed a little adverse to...but, Paolo said when we leave she can put her green ones back up if she wants. (Hopefully when they see the place completed, they will love it...no one except his brother Vincenzo has seen what we've done to it so far).

So, basically, most of my time so far in Italy has been working my ass off in the condo. I could write about it as though it's a romantic comedy--young couple has a dream house that is a fixer- upper, and they turn it into a masterpiece. However, this is reality, there is no music montage of paint and construction and 5 minutes later--viola! it's done. Good Lord, don't I wish. My whole body hurts from painting, sanding, moving furniture, hauling things up two flights of stairs. But it's well worth it, because I can see Paolo falling more and more in love with it (mind you, this is his first "home" outside of his parents house--yep. It's Italy, that's how they do it. Mamma's house to wife's house) He's trying to break from that mold slowly, and when I leave, I think he will continue to live away from home. Which, in my mind (and in general in America) is a good thing.

Because of the work at home, I haven't been doing much exploring yet. I've had 2 Italian lessons, and it's overwhelming. I feel like I will never be able to learn it. I'm taking private lessons 3 days a week until classes start in mid-February. Hopefully, I will have a good handle on the basics by the time classes start. My classes for my Master's program start tomorrow, and I don't have my books yet (as usual), but my parents got them yesterday and so I should have them early next week.

Next blog, I will write about Otranto, and our life in this little town. But, for now, Paolo just got home from work and we are going to make lunch, do a bit more painting, and study.

Ciao a tutti!

Endings and Beginnings

2008-01-11T06:11:00.000-05:00

Happy 2008! I've been completely blog-dispondant, but now that I am back in Italy, and can only talk to one person (Paolo) because I don't know the language yet, the blog will be a welcome outlet to communicate, in English, when I'm desperate to say what I want to say without having to explain what I am saying. Hai capito? You understand?

Anyway, a quick recap of the last couple of months...

Since I returned from my trip I've been staying at my parents house, because it didn't make sense for me to rent a place since I was only going to be in Ohio for 4 months. Lately, I seem to do things in 4 month increments. Living with them has it's perks and downfalls, naturally, but overall we have a good time together. I got a job in Uptown Westerville at a cute little store called Encircle, which helped me to pay for my cell phone bill and go out to dinner (but not much else).

Paolo came to stay with me from right before Thanksgiving until January 2nd, when we both returned to Italy together. So it's going to be a total of 5.5 months of being together nonstop--wow. It was so fun having him around for the holidays, because he's always so happy. He loved Thanksgiving dinner, which was to be expected, as Paolo loves ALL food. He did wonderful at the chaotic holiday family get-togethers, where there are around 40 aunts, uncles, cousins all piled into one house. Not only did he have to try to remember all of their real names, they all seem to have nicknames too. It wasn't long before I looked from the kitchen into the dining room and see him tossing my cousin's daughter up in the air and her squealing with delight "again! again!" He fit right in. He was even a good sport during the gift exchange (if you can call it that)--which can get pretty intense--alliances are built, strategies are put into place, all relationships are pushed to the wayside, people will even steal from our 92 year old grandmother-figure. Paolo got his gift stolen and wound up with the laser level. Later he told me, "it's a nice gift Maggie, men always like tools." (The men I've had in my life, uh-hem, Dad, don't seem to know a hammer from a wrench, so this was new to me). And my dad's gotten a laser level before, and I think he response was "I always get the sucky gifts."

Aside from the holidays, we spent a lot of time studying, spending time with my friends, checking out the city, Christmas shopping, going to dinner--he became a big fan of sushi, thank God. I was worried about what he'd like to eat, because in Italy there really is only one type of food--Italian. Literally, they really do eat pasta everyday. So when I asked him what he wanted for dinner one night and he said "either Chipotle or Japanese" I fell in love even more. He was tired a lot, which I can understand the feeling. Even at night if we'd be watching TV, it was still work for him because he was trying so hard to understand. It's not like he could just zone out. We'd usually watch the Discovery Channel or Animal Planet where the narrator usually spoke relatively slowly, or What Not to Wear--who better to learn english from that Stacy London and Clinto Kelly????

We ended 2007 with some of my best friends, cousins, drinking, eating and dancing. For my friend Jennifer and I, 2008 really, truly marks a new beginning. Here I am, in Italy, learning Italian, living in a small coastal town, with a view of the sea. Jenn, just got a job as a Federal Prosecutor and will be moving to LA in September, where she will be living a real life Law and Order episode. Yeah, she'll be going on FBI stings and stuff--I love it. She's 5'1" and looks like she's 19. She is going to tear up that town.

But for both of us, 2007 was more than difficult. At some points neither of us could see the light at the end of the tunnel. It just goes to show you that no matter what, the future is always going to be different than today (got that piece of wisdom from my Google "quotes of the day"). I take solace in that. If today sucks, tomorrow might not--who knows? And if today is great, tomorrow might not be...but no matter what, we can count on it being different. That will never change.

So with 2007 being behind me, and 2008 at it's very beginnings, I am filled with hope, anticipation, and some almost closed battle wounds.

In the days to follow, I'll write about the town in which I am living, our crazy condo, my first Italian lessons, and what it is like to be fully immersed in a culture. I'm in the very south--the heel of the boot. There is no English spoken here, so it is sink or swim. (Or tote around a cute little translator named Paolo). He'd like to write a blog of his own, because I have had some great "Maggie-isms" where I've created my own words in Italian. What goes around comes around, and I'm beginning to pay for lauging at him calling his neck a "neckle"...

Thanks, Dispatch

2007-12-06T11:37:00.000-05:00

This is a "thank The Dispatch" and "please keep reading" post. If they haven't already, The Dispatch travel section will soon be removing my blog promotion (not really "tavelingmaggie" at the moment). I've decided to keep writing, and when I get back to Italy it'll be more frequent, as I'm sure I'll want to document what it's like to live in a small Italian village and attempt to learn that beautiful language.

So I wanted to thank the Dispatch for following my voyage--knowing that it was being promoted through the paper and the website really did motivate me to write as much as possible. Personally, it has been great to look back on where was I was and what I've done. I've gotten wonderful support from both people I know and people I've never met--thank you.

If you usually find my blog through the Dispatch webpage, and are interested in following along, you can just got to: http://www.travelingmaggie.blogspot.com/

Happy Holidays!

Closure

2007-11-10T23:08:00.000-05:00

Closure...what is this elusive idea?? Some kind of miracle event that will be able to close the door on the past, that will somehow neatly clean up the mess, that will provide you with what you need to move forward?

Whoever came up with this idea obviously has not endured any trauma in his life, or he would know that this idea is just that--ideal...but certainly not a reality.

You always hear about the families of victims of violent crimes, and how once the criminal is in prison for the crime they've committed against the family member, then the family has gotten the closure they needed...

What??

That is simply everyone else telling them that now the bad man is behind bars that it will be easier for them to move on...bullshit. They still have to wake up every morning feeling good, until they remember what's happened; then the nightmare continues--long after justice has been served.

We tend to do that, we tell people things to make ourselves feel better, because we don't like to think about them in pain. Like with me, when I was going through hell, you wouldn't believe how many times I heard "At least you have school to take your mind off things..." riiiight, you try reading Abnormal Psych when you are at your lowest of lows...it took me 25 minutes to read one page, and when I was done, I had no idea what I had just read. But yeah, it's a great thing I had school...

A friend of mine lost her husband, and she heard, on a daily basis, "It's great that you have grandchildren that you can spend time with..." as though they could replace her husband of 35 years.

Both of us knew and appreciated that our friends were trying to be helpful and point out the positives in our lives, but really at a time like that, there is nothing that takes the sting off. There is only time. There is no magic potion, secret solution, drug, prayer...nothing that will cure the pain. A switch does not flip--"Oh! I've got closure!" and then you are happy. There is only time.

And even with time, you have forever changed, whether it be for better or worse, you are a little more leery, a little more tentative, protected, guarded, whatever you want to call it. You know the pain of losing someone who is such a major presence in your life, and the thought of it happening again is terrifying...and exhausting. Why would you subject yourself to that again?

But, in time, you can start to understand why. You can start to see colors again, and you slowly, slowly become less numb. Things begin to taste, smell and feel again...a little of the guard begins to melt away. And now, what you can contribute to someone else's life is probably so much more than you could have ever offered them before. Because you have this new layer of understanding, this empathy that you never realized. Not only within a relationship, but also friendships, family, and even working relationships. You just get it a little bit more. And that does help to take the sting off...

But, this new you that emerges is scarred, and will be for a long time. There is no closure, there is no quick fix. Divorce papers, a prison sentence, grandchildren...sure, they may help, they may be a band-aid, or a catalyst for forward progress, but if it's peace-of-mind you are looking for, you will be sorely disappointed. This can only come with time and learning. Learning from the loss, from the pain, from the mistakes. Learning that inside you have happiness, it is just a matter of finding it again. And it may take time--a lot of time. But for right now, all you can do is keep going, keep moving forward, trying not to look back too much in the process. Happiness isn't always easy, sometimes you really have to fight for it. But it's definitely a fight worth fighting.

Stuff...

2007-10-15T11:38:00.000-05:00

I've noticed that at home I do not look at the sky half as much as I do when I am traveling. It's funny, when you are traveling you are always looking around you--seeing things that you'd never see at home. Not because they aren't there, but because you aren't looking...or, you aren't seeing. I never get excited about a sunset in Westerville--even tough recently, I am sure we have had great ones. This is something I'd like to change...you get so used to home being home that you become blind to how nice home actually is...

So, Paolo came and went...and we did it all. Literally, I ran the poor guy into the ground, I am afraid. But I wanted to prove to him that my country is just as cool as his, therefore I had to pack it full of all of Ohio's greatest sites and activities. A brief rundown...We walked through uptown Westerville, went to The Burgundy Room (my favorite) and Bar Louie downtown for my friends 30th birthday party. Went to Easton, built a bear for the new baby adorned with an Ohio State tee-shirt of course. And yes, I did get pictures of Paolo "tapping the heart to give it a heartbeat" before it went into the bear.My dad gave us a tour of the Statehouse and the Dispatch, we went to the zoo, we went to my favorite town--Athens, and visited the greatest school ever, OU. We spent 2 nights in a cabin in Hocking Hills, and hiked all around the area (Old Man's Cave, Cedar Falls, etc). For my b-day (30!) we went to Hyde Park and the opening Blue Jackets game. We carved pumpkins, made s'mores, played cornhole, saw some of the OSU game, ate Chinese, Chipotle, and cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory (my b-day cake every year)--you see, in Italy they have wonderful food, but only one kind--Italian.

He loved every minute of it. I knew he would, because that is how Paolo is. He loves seeing new things--it's like the wonderment of a little kid, mixed with the patience and desire to learn. He got along great with my parents, and held his own pretty well in most conversations--very little need for translation. When we were at a bar it was more difficult because it's so loud, it's harder to focus on what people are saying. And as for us, it was like we had never left each other. It came back so easily and naturally that we never really have to focus on the relationship. Do you know what I mean? In some relationships you have to discuss, work on, stress over, the relationship itself--and it takes up a lot of time. It's not like that with him, it is just easy.

And he felt the same way--he said, "even though I am in another country I feel like I am home" which was wonderful for me to hear. Because I know how much he loves his country, and particularly his region, so to hear how much he liked it here was a little bit of a relief for me. I think when a lot of foreigners think about the US, they think of the big cities. And being in Columbus gave him a taste of what more "normal" (if there is such a thing) life is like in America. He liked that Westerville had the feeling of a small town, yet the city was so close.

He was here for 8 days, and is hopefully coming back for Thanksgiving and staying for more of an extended period of time. I am still planning on going back to Italy to study Italian in January, so this is as far as we allow ourselves to look into the future at this point.

As for me and my life here. Well...I read A LOT. Anyone who went through grad school understands what the meaning of a lot is...3 classes, each wanting you to read 2 or more chapters per week and these chapters are not short. I am trying to get another part time job, because I am starting to feel like a recluse in the house all day by myself with only Thundercat and my books. (Plus, a little spending money might be nice...) It's hard when I am only going to be here for 3 more months, who wants to hire for that? But there is no way I could work full-time at this point with this amount of school work. Especially since I still have some very emotionally draining days. In fact, today I am headed to the courthouse to officially file all of the paperwork for the dissolution. Leslie signed and sent everything back to me (being considerate enough not to send them on my birthday), not my idea of a great present. When I am more ready, I'll write about my thoughts on closure (I don't believe there is such a thing).

A couple of random things--I just finished the book "Eat, Pray, Love" in which the author writes about her travels through--get this--Italy, India, and Indonesia...after a really hard divorce. I felt like I was reading my life story. Anyway, the book is hysterical, I found myself laughing out loud at times and that never happens for me with books. I also find myself copying down entire conversations or paragraphs to read again later. Great book--highly recommend it. Second, turning 30 was the most uneventful big event in my life. I'm just hoping that this decade can provide me with some more peace, knowledge and happiness than the last decade. Whew. Can't say I am sad to leave my 20's behind. (The only thing that sucks is actually saying "I'm 30"). I joined a bowling league with my friend Jenn and a bunch of her lawyer friends. And those that have ever seen me bowl are shaking their heads right now. My poor teammates... I am interviewing for internships positions at a few places around Columbus, and am going to try to volunteer in the meantime so I'm not totally green when internship time rolls around.

That's about it. I've been back for just over a month now. And truthfully, haven't been much in the mood to write. Externally there is not a whole lot to write about, and internally, I don't know if I am ready or able to get it down on paper yet. But it's in me...one of these days it'll all come pouring out.

And, on a cute note--a little Paolo story...A week or so before he came to the US, he said "wow Maggie, I just read your blog about 9/11, and it gave me bumps goose..." C'mon. How can you not love him?? Bumps goose. My mom has since told my aunt, and I have a feeling it will make its way around the family so by Thanksgiving time it will be a regular household phrase--"Uncle Joe, can you close the window?? I have bumps goose, it's so cold!"

Coming to America...and more

2007-09-25T10:51:00.000-05:00

Friday is the big day. Watch out Columbus, (or Coloomboos, as it is pronounced in Eye-talian) here comes Senior Paolo...

This time around he is only staying for about 8 days, because his brother is having a baby (well, his brother's wife is having a baby) so he needs to be back to work when Antonio takes some time off to be with the bambino.

We have a lot planned while he is here including a friends 30th b-day party, some time in Hocking Hills, the Blue Jackets home opener, MY 30th birthday (eeek!!), meeting friends, family, and getting the official Maggie tour of Westerville and Columbus--"this is my middle school... this is my dance studio...this is where we would drink illegally before high-school football games..."I'll take him to the Short North, cause it's the coolest, possibly the zoo (I have free passes), Easton, etc, etc.

I will also force him to eat Chipotle, watch the OSU game on TV at a bar, drink Bud Light, go to Target, and sing the star-spangled banner (Ok, maybe not the last one).

I can't wait to see him, and I can't wait for him to see MY home. I've been looking at it so differently since I have been back. The other day I was in the car with my mom and blurted out "Wow, the trees here are SO big!" I got the "you are a freak" look, and have since learned to keep those types of epiphanies to myself.

I have been pretty busy since I've returned. School is back in full swing and I am taking 3 classes this semester, including statistics--which is like nuclear physics to me, so it's quite time consuming. I've also started all of the legal paperwork for a dissolution and have been in touch with Leslie, so emotionally, I am also pretty exhausted. I experience such an array of feelings on any given day, that sometimes I wish I could turn them off. In fact, sometimes I feel like I just go numb, because it is exhausting to go from one extreme emotion to another. I got lucky and found a yoga studio within walking distance from my parents house--which is convenient for me considering I live there right now, and I don't have a car (doesn't make sense to have a car payment when I am leaving again in January--oh yeah, and I am unemployed...) I have been talking to my friends at the bank and they are trying to work on a way to get my job back, so I am crossing my fingers. An income would be nice...and necessary.

Some differences I've noticed about myself since my trip...I walk A LOT more. It's funny, for example, here we will go to Target...and park in front of it. Then we want to go to Best Buy, which is 300 yards away. And what do we do? Get in the car and drive to it. Seriously. That's American insanity. Another thing I've noticed is the food. I saw a commercial the other day for Giant Eagle. It was advertising all of your "dinner favorites" and was highlighting a montage of popular dinner choices. ALL of which were in boxes!! Why does everything we eat come out of a box? Is anything fresh?

Things are so wonderfully organized and efficient here, there is a process for everything, therefore things generally run pretty seamlessly. Customer service is hands down the best in the world, and people are really, really friendly.

And fat. People in Columbus are fat (back to the food in a box theory). I've read that we have the 3rd heaviest city in the US, but you don't really notice it until you travel to other places and see that people are not overweight like they are here. I know this is something that is becoming more of a focus for us, so I hope that it's something that begins to change soon. Parents--FORCE your children to play outside. Run, kids, run!!!!

Back to myself, I know that I've changed a lot. But I can't really put my finger on how. It's just like things are different...I take things in differently and in turn, probably respond differently. I do no try to cram 300 things into one day. That's something I've learned. We tend to set unrealistic expectations of all of the things we want to accomplish in a day, and when we can't do it we feel bad about it. It's silly, and it takes so much of the joy out of each day, because we are flying through it, not really thinking about what we are doing because we are focused on what we have to do next.

Ok..so there is my current in-a-nutshell update. I think things are kinda coming to me in spurts, in regards to processing everything. I'm sure the visit from Mr. P will definitely be blog worthy. Otherwise, keep checking back...I'll continue to try to post, it just might be on a little more of an irregular basis.

Ciao, ciao.

Statistics...

2007-09-14T11:27:00.000-05:00

This is what I did in the 72 hours it took me to get from Italy to New York. I am taking a statistics class this semester, so I figured I would get a head start...

A statistical breakdown of my trip:

3 Continents

Asia
Europe
Africa

8 Countries

Japan
Thailand
India
Italy
England
Sweden
Morocco
Spain

26 Cities

Japan--Osaka, Kyoto, Toyko, Omi Nagaoka, Kamakurra
Thailand--Bangkok, Koh Samui, Koh Phagnan
India--Delhi, McLeod Ganj, Bagsu/Upper Bagsu
Italy--Rome, Lecce, Viareggio, Florence, Sternatia, Otranto, Santa Cesearia, Gallipoli
England--London
Sweden--Stockholm
Morocco--Casablanca, Asilah, Tangier
Spain--Barcelona, Girona

16 Flights (not including connecting flights--only starting destination to ending destination)

Ohio-Osaka
Osaka-Bangkok
Bangkok-Koh Samui
Koh Samui-Bangkok
Bangkok-Delhi
Delhi-Rome (when I met Paolo!)
Rome-London
London-Stockholm
Stockholm-London
London-Lecce
Rome-Casablanca
Tangier-Barcelona
Girona-Rome
Rome-Casablanca
Casablanca-NYC
NYC-Columbus

13 DIFFERENT types of transportation

taxis-in all 8 countries
trains-in 6 countries (including the Shinkensen in Japan and overnight trains in India and Italy)
subways-in 5 countries
cars-in 3 countries
buses- in 3 countries
Other--bicycles, ferry, motorbike, tuk-tuk, water taxi, rickshaw, horse-cart, tram

26 Hotels/Hostels/Places to stay

Japan- 2 (1 guesthouse and 1 hostel)
Thailand- 4 (Tiff's house, 2 hotels, 1 hostel)
India- 3 (2 hotels, 1 guesthouse)
Italy- 9 (2 hotels, 2 hostels, 4 friend's houses, 1 villa)
London- 2 (Tom's house, 1 guesthouse)
Sweden- 1 (Micaela's house)
Morocco- 3 (2 hotels, 1 guesthouse)
Spain- 2 (1 guesthouse, 1 friend's house)

Time spent in each place (approx)

Japan- 3 weeks
Thailand-2 weeks
India- 2.5 weeks
Italy-1 month, 1 week
England-5 days
Sweden-5 days
Morocco-10 days
Spain- 7 days

Ailments:

2 toenail causalities due to mountain climbing
puncture wound in my heel from a sea creature
staph infection in my toe
kidney stone
sinus infection
dropped a marble slab on my big toe, and it took the first few layers of skin off (this was shortly before I left, at Paolo's house...I was cleaning his bathroom. From now on he cleans the bathroom...) **ALL toe problems happened on my left foot. It is a wonder I came back with 2 feet.

Miscellaneous:

climbed a mountain...got scuba licensure...went in an Onsen with a bunch of naked Japanese people...prayed at the Dali Lamas temple...swam in 4 different seas...belly danced...ate ALL KINDS of ethnic cuisine...visited a hospital (as a patient)...slept in bedrooms with total strangers (who often became friends)...got lost (a lot)...got found...met amazing people...forgave...walked A LOT...studied...fell in love...

All in all, I think I accomplished what I set out to do. My goal was to come back changed...and after a trip like that there is no way I will ever be the same. My eyes see things differently now, and they can't seem to get enough. The world is so much smaller, the people are so much nicer, going to other countries is NOT difficult. It is nothing to be scared of or nervous about. If you are careful, open to differences and can adapt, seeing the world is the best thing anyone can do.

PS.I am slowly but surely getting all of my pictures posted and writing captions for all of them. It is a tedious and time consuming process. I have finished Morocco and am almost done with Spain. Then I will go back and caption the rest of them.

PPS. Ohio is really nice.

9/11

2007-09-11T07:59:00.001-05:00

Like many Americans, today is always a difficult day for me. I was in Columbus when it happened, but I can remember it like it was yesterday. For me, 9/11 shaped how the past 6 years of my life have turned out...

Tiffany lived in NYC when the buildings were hit. I was calling her all day, until finally I got a hold of her mom and she said Tiff was fine and she was on her way home. The ad agency in which I worked allowed all of us to go home that morning, and for the next 12 hours I could not rip myself away from the TV. It was at this point that I first thought "I have to be there."

Tiff got home that night. We had our 5 year high school class reunion on Sept 15th--which still took place. As my group of friends were talking, Tiff made the comment about how she didn't know how she was going to get back to NYC, since the airports were closed. She talked about taking the train, or a bus. I blurted out "I'll drive you." And my friend Michele, who was feeling much like I was, said, "I'll come too."

So on Sept. 16, the 3 of us packed my car and drove 10 hours back to New York. I took a week off work, not caring if they would fire me (my boss was so cool though...she understood this was something I HAD to do). My mom freaked out "Maggie they don't NEED you in New York, they have enough volunteers, you will be in the way." (In other words, "Maggie, I am scared to death about you going to New York.) My dad supported her publicly...but would secretly pull me aside and say he wished he could come with me.

We arrived to New Jersey, and had to park at the Newark Airport because all of the bridges into the city were still closed. It was in Jersey that we began to see the missing pictures of the people that were still not accounted for (a vast majority) that covered every wall in the city. At the point the buildings were still on fire, and the smell is something I will never forget. It was a combination of burning metal, paper...and people.

Over the next few days we did a lot of tough stuff. We went to the Armory, where families were waiting to hear any news (it is where they were bringing any bodies or remains) we went to candlelight vigils, a Marshall McClellan memorial service, and a hospital to donate stuff that people sent with us. We watched the fire fighters come out of the wreckage after their 12 hour shifts, covered in ashes, their faces telling the whole horrific story without them having to speak a word. It was easily the worst experience of my life, but at the same time one of the best. New York was a different city. People were looking each other in the eyes, they were helping one another, they slowed down to give each other hugs--perfect strangers. Everyone was so obviously thankful that they were alive, that the feeling of the city was surely one of fear and confusion, but above all it was compassion and love--for each other and for our country.

It was probably our 4th night there when Tiffany got a strong sense of New Yorker pride (after all she'd been living there for about a year by this point) and she said "We are going out tonight--we are not letting them control us, we are not letting them control our economy, we are going out in this city. THE BEST CITY IN THE WORLD."

So we did. And that is the night I met Leslie.

The rest of the story plays out with us falling in love, getting married, moving to Atlanta, then to Salt Lake--soccer being the focus of our lives. Then the marriage started falling apart, and I had no idea what I was going to do with the rest of my life...so I decide to start running far and fast around the world, which brings me to where I am today.

Tiffany has somehow been an anchor in every major change in my life. If she had not dragged us out that night, I would not have met Leslie, if I had not met Les, I would have not learned all that I have learned over the past 6 years, and would not have gone on my trip. (At least not in they way I did). Sometimes it takes major life changing events to serves as a catalyst for making the changes you want...or NEED to make.

The same goes for Tiff. She was flying through the ranks at Kate Spade. No one from OU gets a job at Kate Spade right out of college, it's all Fashion Institute people...but Tiffany did. She was on the fast track to high powered success. Then 9/11 happens. And when you are faced with your own mortality...when you see that it can all end in a split second, you begin to evaluate what is REALLY important. And like Tiffany, I think most of us would find that it isn't power, money, status, career, or any material things. She did some reevaluating of what she really wants out of life, and has since been studying yoga, traveling the world and trying to live each day with purpose.

So had 9/11 not happened, Tiff likely would not have been living in Thailand, or be on this big world tour. And if she wasn't I don't know if I would have made these plans by myself. I'd like to think I am that brave...but when I planned the trip, most of it was supposed to be with her.

Tiffany and I are just some of many, many stories about how September 11th has caused very direct or indirect changes in our lives. But there is one thing for sure--it has changed all of us in some way, because it has changed America forever. And each time you go through airport security you remember what happened, and why you have to strip down in public. We were attacked. On our own soil. In our most famous city. With our own airplanes.

9/11 has changed us forever. My prayers go out to the families and friends of the victims.

We will never forget.

I'm baaaaaack...

2007-09-08T15:05:00.000-05:00

I'm in New Jersey now, at my residency at Seton Hall...so I am finally back on US soil...but getting here was no easy feat...

I left Lecce and Paolo :( on Monday night. I took an overnight train to Rome, and my flight from Rome to Milan was delayed by an hour. When I arrived in Milan, my flight to Casablanca was taking off. So I got on the next flight to Casablanca...which was also delayed. So, I missed my flight from Casablanca to New York. (I was flying from Morocco because I had already booked that ticket from the beginning, when I originally thought I was going to Ghana--so it was supposed to go Accra-Casa-NYC). That night I had to stay in Casablanca by myself. I was frustrated because at this point I just wanted to get to New York--I wanted to shop, cause my clothes were not exactly "business casual" for school, and I wanted to have a day to breathe before diving into school again. The plan now was I was flying out of Casablanca at 10:40 AM, arriving to NYC at 2:45pm on Wednesday, I was supposed to arrive to New York at 5PM on Tuesday.

But I was ok, I figured I still had much of the day to shop, relax, etc. when I arrived. However, when I got to the airport in the morning they tell us that our flight is delayed for 12 hours, and we will not be leaving until 10pm. I was ready to cry. I had been in the same clothes for 2 days, I didn't have hot water in my shower that morning so I took a "sink bath"... and I really just wanted to get back to the US.

The flight finally takes off at 11:30pm. I arrive to NYC at 3am. I get to my hotel, with absolutely nothing left in me, I could barely walk...and they tell me that the air-conditioning in my room broke, there were no more rooms in the hotel, and they had to move me to another hotel. So I FINALLY get to my new hotel and room at about 4:15am.

I left Lecce Monday night at 10pm (4pm EST) and arrived to New York on Thursday morning at 3AM. In the same damn clothes. Gross.

The next day I took a 7 hour shower and made my way to New Jersey where we had our first session of classes. I am loving be back in school, and like each new semester feel really energized for my classes (this usually wears off in a week or two...). It is really great to see all of my classmates and friends, and its REALLY nice to speak in English and have everyone understand me.

Leaving Paolo was tough, but he is coming to visit me soon, so it was easier to just say " I"ll see you soon!" and leave it at that. I haven't yet processed that I am back because I have been so busy since I've arrived. Plus, I am still sleeping in a hotel, so I am not really home yet.

When I get back I will post our pictures from Morocco and Spain, and write a few more blogs about the trip. I am debating about what to do with the blog in general...do I put it on hiatus for now? Do I keep writing? Is it done because I am done with the trip? Should I keep it going when I go back to Italy?

Stuff to think about...but right now my brain is focused on Psychology, internships, licensure, etc, etc...so I'll come back to that when I get home...

One more day, Thundercat!!!

Language

2007-08-31T04:34:00.000-05:00

I have been wanting to write this blog for a while now. Everyday that I spend in Italy, and spend with Paolo makes me focus more and more on language. In all of the other countries that I went to, although none spoke English as a first language except in London, I was never immersed in the culture enough to start to really try to understand the language. Here it is different, especially being in the south. In Rome, Florence or even Viareggio, I could get by with English relatively easily because they are all popular tourist destinations. In Salento, it is a different story. Although this region is probably one of the most beautiful in all of Italy, it is not a big tourist destination for people outside of Italy. Mainly because the towns are spread apart, and there is no public transportation. So you really need a car to get around here, unless you plan on staying in one little town (or Lecce--which has a population of about 100,000) the entire time.

Sometimes I feel bad, because we are staying at his parents house (they are living at their house near the sea right now) and we spend very little time with them. And the main reason for this is because I can't talk to them. It's really uncomfortable in this particular situation, when you really want to make a good impression, and you cannot have a conversation. So, I can see his mom making assumptions about me--the crazy American girl who takes off around the world by herself...and me about her--the typical Italian mom who wants a woman who will treat her son exactly the same way she does...when in reality, neither is probably the case. But since we can't talk to each other, we will continue to conjure up our own ideas about one another...at least until I learn to speak Italian. I do my best to smile a lot, to help clear the dishes from the table, to offer to help with anything. And Paolo does as much translating as he can, but, until we speak the same language it will be difficult.

The same goes for social interactions. Paolo has a ton of friends, so often we are in a group of people where there might be one other person who speaks English, or a few with limited (very limited) English. I do my best to try to understand the conversations, but they talk so quickly(or at a normal pace, which to me seems like lightening speed.) Slowly I am learning more and more words and phrases, but for the most part, I am completely lost. Again, Paolo does his best to translate...but it's hard for him sometimes because it stops the normal flow of a conversation, and I don't want him to always have to stop what he's talking about to explain it to me.

What's weird is the physical toll it takes on you. By the end of each day, I am exhausted. And I often have a headache. I think it is because my brain never has any quiet time. I am always trying to understand--Paolo, his friends, the radio in the car, billboards, street signs, the TV...even when I zone out, I am still subconsciously taking it all in. Anyone that has lived in another country and learned another language can probably understand what I am talking about--it is a really strange sensation.

When we first got to Morocco, Paolo was having a lot of headaches too, and it was likely because he was only speaking in English, all day every day. And it took a few days for his brain to adjust to it. He's so cute, he tries really hard...and sometimes it is so funny. There are many words in Italian that are very similar to English, so if Paolo doesn't know the word in English, he will say the Italian word but try to Americanize it, in hopes that it's close. We call these "Paolo words" and I could probably write a dictionary of them. And sometimes he learns a new words, but can't recall them perfectly the next time, but he still tries...these are my favorite, and usually I can't help but laugh. A couple that I am particularly fond of are "nerb" (nerd) and "groge" (gross). He sometimes uses "is" and "are" the wrong way, and still has a major problem with "him/her and he/she". But what is interesting is most Italians that speak English have the same problem (at least the ones I have spoken to). He often leaves out the little words (important little words) like "to" and "of" and forgetting the "n't" that turns "can" into "can't". So a normal Paolo sentence might sound like this..."You say me that you can go in the sea because your finger hurts." What he means is "You told me that you can't go in the sea because your toe hurts." (toes in Italian translate directly to "fingers of the feet", so this is why he forgets and calls them fingers). The words "say, told, call, talk" are all synonymous to him. And the can/can't thing can pose a problem, because it changes the sentence to have the exact opposite meaning...so I always make sure to clarify.

There are things about our language that I've also never thought about...like we use the phrase "take a shower". To Paolo, this makes no sense..."but Maggie, WHERE are you going to take the shower?" The same goes for "taking a walk." In Italian, the direct translation would be "to do a shower." Which to us, sounds really weird. We also say "It drives me crazy" and as you can imagine, it makes no sense to someone who knows the word "drive" to mean either driving a car, or to have determination. And, I've learned that in English we have a word to describe EVERYTHING. In Italian they have a zillion more verb tenses than we do, but we have more adjectives than all other languages combined. For instance--cute, pretty, beautiful, stunning, georgous, nice looking, hot--all basically mean the same thing. In Italian they keep it simple...Bellisimo!

Despite all of the things Paolo still has to learn, he is obviously leaps and bounds ahead of me. And I try to tell him everyday how much I appreciate him talking in my language because I know it is equally exhausting for him. And for all the times I have laughed at a "Paolo word" I know he is waiting patiently for me to start learning Italian...

Which is what I am going to try to do. There is a class at Upper Arlington High School on Thursday nights, that I am going to take (and maybe try to get my parents to take it with me). And in January, I am thinking about coming back to Italy for a few months and living in a small town called Otranto where there is an Italian school that has very intensive courses. I don't think you can truly learn a language unless you are living in a country in which it is spoken--because if you aren't around people who speak it, how will you practice?

Paolo's family has a condo on the sea in Otranto, which will not be occupied throughout the winter, so it would make my living expenses really cheap. And being in the south for an extended period of time would leave me no choice but to speak Italian. The school I am look into into is http://www.porta-doriente.com/

Paolo is also going to try to spend some time in the US in the fall, to hopefully pick up some more English...and to meet my friends and parents, and see how I live...

My trip is almost over, but I feel like I have more to look forward to now. I have some hard things to take care of when I get home...but I am really looking forward to seeing my parents, friends (and their new babies!)...and thundercat!

I don't think I can write a reflections blog until I get home, and it sinks in that I am finished with this life altering trip...but I will try to squeeze out a couple more before that.

But, now I must "take a boat ride" with Paolo and his friends for the afternoon...

My big fat Italian wedding

2007-08-26T04:25:00.000-05:00

Not MY big fat wedding, but the first Italian wedding that I attended...

It was yesterday, and it began at 10AM. It ended at 9PM. Yes, 11 hours of wedding bliss. Paolo's cousin Lulu warned me that it was going to be that long, but I thought she was joking. The wedding was beautiful, the bride was beautiful and she and the groom were so happy. (Incidentally, in Italy they do not have words for "Bride" and Groom"--they use "Sposa and Sposo--or plural, Sposi") therefor they do not know what the significance of "Here comes the bride" is, which might be why they played it at the end of the wedding...

Before the wedding, everyone gathered outside the bride's house, and the groom is already at the church. (It was in a really little town) The bride walks out of her house, everyone cheers, and then follows her to the church. The townspeople were gathered on the street to see the bride. The people invited to the wedding enter the church before the bride and from there it is pretty similar to wedding ceremonies in the US.

Anyway, the wedding was Catholic, and what I would consider standard for a Catholic wedding. Actually, maybe shorter than Catholic weddings in the US, because only the bride, groom, wedding party and parents received communion instead of all of the people at the church. After the wedding, everyone waits outside for them and throws rice, and in this case, the bride, groom and wedding party (two men and two women) ride away from the church on white Vespas with balloons on them--very cute.

The wedding started at about 10:45 (Italian time is pretty relaxed...) and ended close to noon. We went straight to the reception place, and arrived there about 12:30...and sat there, in the sun, with no food until the bride and groom showed up at 2:30. The good thing was that Paolo got to see a lot of his high school friends that he had not seen for a while, so it wasn't just him and I waiting by ourselves. The couple that got married were in his class in high school-- and when I say "class" I mean it literally, like classroom. In Italy, in high school, you stay in one classroom with the same people all day, for all 5 years, and the teachers move from room to room, so needless to say, you become pretty close the the people in your class.

We were starving by that time because we had only had tea and some cookies for breakfast. But need not fear, this is an Italian wedding, and there is never a shortage of food, in fact, the food is the reason I decided to write this blog.

We began with antipasti, or what we consider appetizers. This was not a buffet, it was all served to the tables. The first round of antipasti consisted of: little fried crab puff things, another fried ball of meat and olives, two types of ham, sausages in little croissants, some type of potato quiche thing, and cheese plates. Then we took a break. The next round of antipasti was all seafood. Calamari salad (raw), octopus (raw), octopus in tomato sauce, baby fried squid, and clams with some type of cheese and breadcrumbs. Then we took a break. (And by this time I was full) then came the "first plate" which is generally pasta. The pasta was a pasta that is specific to this region (kind of in the shape of ears) with some type of meat, and tomato sauce. Then we took a break. Then came the salad, and the first of TWO "second plates". This was the seafood second plate and had some kind of whitefish in a sauce and giant prawns. Then we took a break. We were then served lemon sorbet to clean our pallets to prepare for the second, second plate, which was beef and french fries. After the beef and french fries we took another break, and returned to find that the fruit had been served--pineapple, grapes and melon.

In between each course, we would usually go outside because the reception place was pretty hot (it is August in the south of Italy, after all). So you add the heat to the amount of food, and people were basically ready to sleep on the tables. In between each course, there would also be some wedding-y type of thing, like thank yous to all of the people who helped, a poem, pictures with the bride and groom, etc. After the fruit, came the bouquet and garter toss. I of course, had to go and stand in the group for the bouquet toss, and you can bet I was in the very back making zero effort to fight for that thing...a tall girl in the front caught it. The guys were funny about the garter--the first time she (the bride) went to throw it they all ducked. The second time, they all jumped to the sides away from it...but, it still happened to touch one guy. Can you guess who that was? Yeah, Paolo. Of course.

There was a little dancing (some traditional dancing called "pizzica" and then a few slow songs) Then it was time for the cake--which was HUGE. So they cut the cake, we had one more thing to eat that night (you HAVE to eat at least a bite of cake at a wedding, or its bad luck, right?) And it was time to give gifts to the couple and say goodbye. 11 hours later. We literally ate for 6 hours straight.

Paolo's friends were all so sweet to me, even though most of them do not speak any English. His really close friend, Daniela, can speak English perfectly, so it was great to have her around. My brain hurt by the time we were getting ready to leave from taking in some much Italian--language and culture. And I was exhausted. Everyone was. It was a very long day...but no one left hungry, and the newlyweds were very, very happy...which is the most important part.

Spagna, Italia, e NO Ghana

2007-08-20T09:29:00.000-05:00

For some reason lately I haven't been in much of a blogging mood. I think truthfully, it has to do with the fact that there is not a lot going on--travel wise...personally, that is another story.

Paolo and I left Asilah for Tangier on August 8, and then went to Barcelona on the 9th. Our last day in Asilah we took a horse ride (the horse pulled us on a flat wooden cart) to a beach called Paradise Beach. It took about a hour to get to, and by the time we arrived we could barely walk because our butts hurt so badly, but it was definitely an experience and that is what its all about, right? The beach was beautiful--huge, with cliffs and caves and waves to play in. We took the horse back to town, and during our stay at the beach apparently the horse ate something that did not agree with it's stomach. This was very unfortunate for me because I was sitting directly behind it all the way back. Every few minutes I would get a major toxic blast straight to my face. I couldn't move because the cart was full of people. I was green and ready to pass out, Paolo on the other hand thought this was hysterical...

We took a taxi to Tangier (only cost us 20 euro) and got extremely lost trying to find out hotel (the taxi dropped us off outside the medina, because some of it is only foot traffic). Finally an un-official "guide" led us there, after about an hour of different (wrong) directions from all kinds of people. The guide tried to demand 10 euro for his services, we gave him 2, and the hotel manager shooed him away. The hotel in Tangier was hands down the nicest hotel I have stayed in on this trip. It was located in the medina (the old part of the city) and was decorated with beautiful authentic Moroccan motif. I'll post pictures soon, so you can see this place. It was wonderful. We met a nice Canadian couple and had mint tea with them on the rooftop that night. From one side of the roof you could look over the port to Spain, and from the other side you could see the entire medina which was lit up beautifully at night. We did not eat dinner there but we heard the food was great, and the man that ran the place was super nice. If you ever find yourself in Tangier for any reason, I highly recommend Hotel Dar Jameel.

We had to get up at 3am for our flight to Barcelona. We arrived to our hotel at about 11am and slept for a few hours. It was nice because the place had a kitchen, so we could cook, keep water/drinks cold, have snacks, etc. It saved us some money to not have to eat out ever night. And, Paolo discovered an American delicacy that he is now addicted to--grilled ham and cheese sandwiches. He thought I was quite the chef and wants me to teach his mom and sister how to make this fancy foreign dish...

This part of the trip included a TON of touristy things. I think Paolo and I walked 100 miles while we were in Barcelona. And I think Paolo ate 100 lbs of Paella and drank 100 gallons of Sangria...the city probably went on a Paella shortage after we left. The first night we went to a nice (kinda expensive) restaurant and walked around Placa de Cataluna and La Rambla. The next day we decided to start with a bus tour. I recommend doing this in most large European cities. You get an idea of how the city is laid out, and you go by a lot of the important sites. You can decide from the bus where you would like to spend time. And with most of them, you can get of at any stop, walk around, take a tour, whatever, and another bus will be there for you to hop on when you are done and you can finish your bus tour. That day we took a tour of FC Barcelona's enormous soccer stadium and museum. It was really cool, it was about the size of OSU's football stadium and equally as impressive. We walked through the locker rooms, the press seats, and down on to the field. I handled it better than I thought I would, but it did stir up some tough emotions. But, I think putting myself in situations like that and learning to detach the past from things I experience now is good for me. (For those of you who haven't figured it out, Leslie played soccer professionally so that is why being in a soccer stadium was strange...same with going to the soccer match in Stockholm...). Paolo loved it. Italy and Spain have arguably the best soccer leagues in the world, so naturally he is a huge soccer fan. We were hoping there was going to be an exhibition game of some sort while we were there (The European season has not yet started) but no such luck. Had we been there this week, Barcelona is playing Inter Milan--which would have been a great game. After that, we walked down by the port, and through La Ramblas, stopping to watch some of the best breakdancers I've ever seen. It was a group of about 10 guys, all from different countries. 4 or 5 of them introduced themselves and the other dancers, and none of them spoke in their native languages to do so. It was really impressive. And they weren't just from Europe--there were 2 Americans, a Russian guy and an African guy. Very cool. We at dinner on La Ramblas that night and it was pretty bad. Over priced and not good food. Disappointing. The next few days are all jumbled in my head, but they consist of lots of walking, lots of Paella, a tram ride over the port, a couple of tours, lots of Gaudi and a Flamenco show.

I really knew nothing about Antoni Gaudi until I got to Barcelona and now I cannot get enough. He is probably the most famous artist of the modernistic movement. We went into one of the houses he designed, and I felt like I was in a real live Dr. Seuss book. It was amazing. He was a brilliant architect and artist, and he has left his mark all over Barcelona. La Sagrada Familia, Park Guell, and Casa Batlló were three of his most famous works and Paolo and I took tours of all of them. Hi most famous structure, the church--La Sagrada Familia, is still not complete. It is being constructed only on money through donations and is expected to be finished around 2020. It was started in 1882.

Barcelona is located on the coast, so there is a large beach, a lot of great food (seafood) and a TON of tourists. It was almost like New York. Each restaurant has their menu in about 6 different languages. There is a great night life, a lot of Catalunyan culture (the native language in Barcelona is not Spanish, it is actually Catalunyan) good shopping and a lot of history. It is easy to travel in because everyone speaks English, and the city is relatively easy to navigate (even if you are like me and have no sense of direction). The last night we were there we went to see Tablao de Carmen, an authentic Flamenco show. I love all kinds of dance, and I remember watching flamenco in my Spanish classes, but wow. The TV does not even begin to capture the passion of these dancers. And their feet move so fast I don't know how they do not catch on fire...

Our last day in Spain we went to visit one of Paolo's cousins in Girona. A beautiful coastal town about an hour train ride from Barcelona. Erica, his cousin is married to a Spanish man that she met in London. The two of them speak Italian, Spanish, Catalunyan and English...as does their 2 year old daughter. It was really humbling to ask a toddler a question in English, have her understand me and answer me in either Spanish or Italian and have to have someone else translate it for me. I REALLY need to learn another language...

Which I think I am going to have to do. I am back in Italy, and have a feeling this will not be my last time. Ghana fell though, and I have been having a really hard time with that. I feel like I am letting myself down by not going to West Africa, because it has been something I wanted to do for years. Tiff and I had a minor problem about it too, because since she decided not to go, I am out about $900 for plane tickets. It is just not some place I feel comfortable traveling to alone--at least without a plan--which is why I attempted to go through the volunteer organization. I had been sending email after email to the place, and not getting any response. When I finally did get a response, my last day in Morocco, they told me they had lost all of my application info and asked me to resend it. Which I did, along with a note saying I HAD to know by the next day if there was a placement for me because I had to get a visa right when I got to Spain. The next day--nothing. I emailed them one last time...and nothing. Until August 13th. When they told me they did NOT have a placement for me. Thank God I did not pay for the visa or book a ticket back to Casablanca (which is where I was flying to Accra from). So I am back in Southern Italy now, with Paolo. Tiffany and I have talked about the moneysituation...because had she not changed her mind we would be in Ghana right now (it was Tiff who originally wanted to go to Ghana so badly--to study drumming...I had been looking into going to Tanzania.) And she is going to reimburse me when she has the money. Which unfortunately could be a while because she has just enrolled in a Masters program in Italy in Tibetan Buddhism ( I know, Tibetan Buddhism in Italy??) so she is a broke college student again.

This blog is beginning to get long...and there is more to write. About Paolo, my thoughts about coming home, what the next steps are, and a sad conversation I had with a Pakistani guy that was staying in my hostel in Rome a couple of nights ago.

But, now that I am here, I have more access to a computer and more time to write, so I promise I will be better. Only 2 more weeks of this adventure...

I have to make the most of it.

Leftovers...

2007-08-08T07:25:00.000-05:00

I tried to write this blog my last day in Asilah but apparently it did not post correctly. I wanted to mention 3 things that I had forgot in my last blog...

First, in Casablanca we went to the Hassan II mosque. Wow. Of all of the religous sites I have seen on this trip, this was by far the most impressive. It is huge...25,000 can pray at one time. It cost 1 billion dollars to build, and it was paid for stictly through donations from the Moroccan people. 30,000 artisans contributed to the handiwork and 10,000 workers built it. It took 6 years. I will try to post pictures soon.

Next, Paolo and I saw Kofi Annan, the last president of the UN, while we were in Asilah. He stopped to watch the drummers from Ghana for a bit.

And finally, when Tiff and I were in Florence, we sat a few tables away from Sean Lennon, the sone of John Lennon and Yoko Ono at a restaurant one night.

Thats it for now. We are in Barcelona and it is wonderful. We have done/seen a lot. More on that later...and more on the rest of my trip. Plans changed again and I am not going to Ghana (the organization kinda dropped the ball...)

So when I get back to Italy I will fill you in. Now we are going to seem some of Gaudi's amazing art and architecture...

adios.

Asilah...and more

2007-08-07T08:30:00.000-05:00

I have to try and write quickly because Paolo is sitting next to me, bored out of his head...but it is hard since the keyboard I am using is French and the letters are all in different places. We are in the beautiful town of Asilah, and have been here for the past 5 days. We flew into Casablanca, and spent 2 nights there. I dont really know what to say about Casablanca. It really isn't much of a tourist place, it is more of a real Moroccan city. It is quite dirty, but nothing like Delhi. The first night we walked through the market, Paolo bought a pair of sandals, we went to dinner, and Paolo left his shoes at the restaraunt...he did not realize this until we walked all the way back to our hotel--Hotel Central (which was so cute...very traditional Moroccan decor, and a terrace on the roof with a nice view)...so we decided to wait until the next day to go back to see if they were still there. In my mind I was quite certain they would be gone, but when we went back the next morning, the restaurant owner happily retrieved the shoes from behind the counter--and this confirmed what I had been suspecting since I had arrived...Moroccans are really lovely people. They have been so hospitable, both in Casablanca and here in Asilah. They are friendly, funny, and very helpful--especially for the two of us. You see, in Morocco they speak Aribic and French. This is a bit difficult for the English and Italian speaking couple...however, its amazing how we can always communicate what we want or need, and can understand their responses. This was one of my biggest fears before leaving on this trip, but I have come to realize that there are so many more ways of communicating than speaking alone.

In Asilah they also speak Spanish because it's so close to the border of Spain, so with my limited Spanish, Paolo's limited French, his Italian and my English we usually have most conversations in 4 languages, where we can greet people in Spanish or French, talk about the weather, or ask for the bill, but everything else is mostly in English or bits of Italiano. It is actually kinda fun.

Asilah is wonderful. It is quaint, authentic, and calm (compared to Casablanca). It is on the Atlantic Ocean, and has a huge beach. Right now there is an international arts festival going on, so there are a lot of tourists in town (mostly Moroccan, Spanish or French). We spend most days relaxing--eatich a late breakfast, having some traditional Moroccan mint tea (which is fabulous), going to the beach, reading, playing paddle ball, talking, resting, watching amazing sunsets, and looking at the new art that is being painted on the white walls of the city buildings each day. In Morocco, there is a section of each city called the Medina, which is usually the older part of town with a giant wall around it. Inside the Medina you will find all of the craft work, which is unbelievable--I could fill 2 suitcases full of art, shoes (they make leather sandals by hand along the streets of the Medina) hand painted dishes, and the coolest lamps in the world. I am trying to figure out how to get one home...I think maybe I will send it home with Paolo and have him deliver it to me in the US... ;)

I did not even think about Morocco being a muslim country and how different going to the beach would be. Many women are still completely covered, and even swim in all of their clothes. I have yet to figure out how it is decided how covered a muslim woman is. There are some that you only see their eyes, others who you see their entire faces, others who are wearing jeans but have their hair covered...and young girls and teenagers dress very western. Some even more provocatively than girls in the US. It is really interesting to see a family, the dad and children in clothes like ours, and the mother in traditinal Islamic clothing. It is like the family is living in 2 different centuries.

But, like every other country I have been to, you just have to watch the interaction amongst families or friends to see that we really are all the same. And here in Asilah, it is even easier to see with so many children around. Children do not see differences...its like they look straight into your heart, or your character, to decide if you are someone they like. It has nothing to do with religion, dress, etc. And by watching families with kids it is really easy to see that they do exactly what we do...and kids will be kids everywhere you go.

Since we have been here, I got a henna tattoo on my hand and talked Paolo into getting one on his arm (which he was not thrilled about). We also watched a drum troup from Ghana perform the other night. Wow, wow, wow. It was six guys, probably in thier early 20s, and they we so much fun to watch, it made me want to go to Ghana even more.

...But, I don't know if that is going to happen anymore. I have not heard from the volunteer organization for over 2 weeks despite numerous attempts to contact them. They have not sent me any info about where I will be staying, working, etc. If I do not hear from them by the time I get to Barcelona I will likemy not be able to go. I have to get a visa for Ghana, which I can do from Spain, but it will have to be expidited...and will cost a couple hundred dollars. I also have to book a ticket from Barcelona to Casablanca (which is where I will be flying to Accra from), but I hesitqte to do any of this if the volunteer organization does not have space for me or cannot organize things in time. So I guess I will know in the next 2 or 3 days. My other option is to go back to Southern Italy with Paolo, and meet Tiffany there. Not a bad second choice...but going to Ghana is really important to me, so I hope everything can work out.

And...now...the dirt.

Despite the fact that poor Paolo has been visited by our friend Montazuma (I think I have enough bacteria in my stomach from India and Thailand that foreign food/water does not affect me as much), we have been having such a great time together. It is so strange how easy and natural it is...and for me, it is scary as hell. It has stirred up a lot of unexpected emotions, and has actually caused me to think about Leslie more than I have in a long time. It is clear that the feelings I am having tell me that that chapter in my life is officially ending, and a new one is beginning. So, it is somewhat bittersweet...I am saying goodbye at the same time as I discover this amazing man that is here with me. Lucky for me, Paolo is so understanding, and I can tell him exactly what I am going through. He understands that a 6 year relationship is not going to be forgotten overnight, and that there will be residule emotions that arise.

The feelings that I feel now, I have only ever felt once before, but this time I know (hopefully) how to do things differently. Paolo and I do not know what the future holds, and we know that no matter what it is it won't be easy. So we can only go step by step (which he tells me on a daily basis) and see where it takes us. All I know is, I feel the happiest and most peaceful that I have in a long time. We laugh a lot, we can have quiet moments, we talk a lot--we make a good team. We will see where this leads, but I think I should probably start to learn to speak Italian...

Sorry....Paolo writing, ok now i 'm tired to wait here ........( I'm waiting for, maybe, 2 hours) i' m really apologise for you ( i know that you wanna know bunches and bunches things about us) but we'll see next days........
ciao ciao

Paolo took over the computer...and Lisa, he learned "bunches" from you thank you very much...

So I guess this is my cue to end the blog. See ya en Espana...

Never a dull moment...

2007-08-04T11:35:00.000-05:00

Last time I wrote I was in Viareggio finishing my finals...my last day there, Tiff and I went to the beach, got massages (on the beach for only 15 euro), and had a nice dinner. The entire day, I had a strange pain in my back, which I attributed to my backpack--a pinched nerve or something. The next evening we headed to Florence, to meet up with Paolo the following day. We checked into our hotel in Florence, went to dinner and crashed early. My back was still hurting, but I had been carrying my heavy pack, so I assumed thats what it was...

The next morning I woke up, still in pain. I tried to tell myself it was all in my head, but it was getting worse by the minute, and it had moved from my right lower back to my right lower abdomen. Finally it got so bad that I told Tiff I needed to go to a doctor. We looked up english speaking doctors on the internet...and both that we found were on holiday--till September! By this time it was so bad, and it was a Saturday, that we decided to go to the nearest hospital. On the way there Tiffany called Paolo to tell him we would not be able to meet him at the train station, instead, we would meet him at the hospital. He knew immediately that it was bad when I did not get on the phone (I hurt too bad to talk). We got to the hospital and did our best to explain the problem to a nurse (thank God Tiffany speaks Italian). They checked me in, and put me in a waiting room with an old woman who was sobbing. Apparently she fell and hurt her arm. And, apparently she is a regular at the hospital...the nurses all knew her by name, and everyone kinda gently ignored her. I think more than medical attention, she just needed some attention in general...so I held her hand for a minute, and Tiffany spoke to her about the US.

After about an hour of waiting I finally saw a doctor. I (through Tiff) explained my symptoms, and the doc did some karate chops to my back and stomach. She then told Tiff to leave, that I would be getting an ultrasound and some x-rays. In the meantime they stuck an IV in my arm and started pumping some really good pain medicine into me, that made me nice and loopy--in moments I became fluent in Italian...even if I was the only one who could understand.

The hospital was not as nice as hospitals in the US, but Italy is known for its great healthcare, and the doctor seemed to know what she was doing. The weird part was waiting to be taken to get my tests done. I was put in a room with about 5 other people with various ailments, and there were no curtains between us, like in an American emergency room. So I could see the old man filling his bedpan, the woman talking to God as though he was right there in front of her, and another man, who was in so much pain that he paced back ands forth and groaned nonstop. Seeing sick people does two things to me...makes me more scared and makes me feel more sick. So I tried to not let my mind run away with itself as I waited for the nurse to call me (the pain medicine helped keep me calm).

I finally went for the ultrasound and x-ray. The woman who preformed the ultrasound saw some interesting things in my kidney, which she told me the doctor would explain. So after 2 hours of testing, the doctor, Tiffany and PAOLO come back to explain to me what was wrong. You can imagine my mortification, Paolo seeing me for the first time in weeks, in a wheelchair with an IV in my arm, practically drooling (not really), but definitely a little out of it. He translated that I had passed a kidney stone (not sure when, either earlier that day, or the day before), and my kidney, bladder and everything in that general vicinity was really inflammed; I was shocked, because I had not felt the stone when it came out, and I have always heard that they are excruciating when they pass. But the doc said it was likely a couple of really tiny ones that wreaked havoc as they made their way through me. She gave me some more really strong pain medicine, an anti-inflammatory and an antibiotic. She also said that when I was sick in Lecce (throwing up) was likely when it started.

The next two days I didnt do much except sleep and drink a ton of water...and Paolo, the angel that he is, did not leave my side. He kicked into doctor mode, and made sure I took my medicine on time, drank lots of water, rested, etc. He made me lunch, rubbed my back...was an absolute saint. We debated changing the Morocco plans, but I did not want to change my trip again, and I felt better each day, so despite not seeing much of Florence except the hospital and Paolos friends house, I was ready for Morocco 2 days later.

We are now in Asilah, and the town is amazing. It deserves a blog all of its own, so I will try to write again tomorrow--about Casablanca, Asilah, traveling with Paolo, the emotional rollercoaster of starting to fall in love again, and the closing of one chapter in my life and the beginning of a new one...its terrifying, wonderful, sad, exciting...all at the same time. But Paolo is so understanding, he allows me to feel all that I am feeling without being nervous, overbearing or jealous.

Is this really happening?

Oh! And I will also write about the muslim beaches. It is fascinating to see women swim in the ocean completely covered, even their faces...

To the ladies at CSB...

2007-07-27T05:14:00.001-05:00

I just mailed my final-final exam to my professor (he had to have a hard copy mailed to his house, it cost me $50...ahhh) and I shipped my books home (about $100)...but, I am over 20lbs lighter, and mentally a huge weight has been lifted...now I can relax for the next couple weeks, enjoy my time with Paolo, and prepare myself for Ghana...(working on figuring out how to get a visa when I am in Spain)

We are headed to Florence in an hour or so. Italy has been amazing, I love the pace of life here. Tiff and I have had a good time together, as usual. I didn't take many pictures, but the few I did take I will try to post soon...and add captions to the ones I've put up most recently.

I wanted to say hi to all of my friends at Commercial Savings Bank, in Westerville. I've been thinking about you...Ladies (and Bob), I can't wait to fill you in on the REAL details... ;)

Baci mille.

Until Morocco...

Study break...

2007-07-25T06:09:00.000-05:00

So sorry for the blogging deficiency, I am working like a crazy lady on these finals. I might be able to pull off an "A" in my theories class, so I am really, really trying. In Abnormal Psych, I think I'll probably get a "B"...ahhh well, I guess this experience is worth the depleating GPA. The good news is, I will be ALL DONE today! I finished a 15-pager yesterday, and the one I am writing today only has to be 6-10 pages. I've spent my entire time in Viareggio in the internet cafe. It's good that I am here...less distractions (specifically, the hot, Italian distraction that starts with a "P") It's tough though, because Viareggio is a beautiful town--think, an Italian version of Hilton Head; expansive beaches, lots and lots of shopping, restaraunts, gelato (!!), people, dogs--you get the picture. And it is becoming more crowded by the day, as it is a popular vacation destination for Italians and many of them have much of August off for a holiday.

So, my plans have changed slightly again. Surprised? The itinerary is basically the same but with a slight modification. The new plan...Tiff and I are meeting Paolo in Florence on the 28th (we are going on the 27th) and will spend 3 nights there, so Tiff gets to meet and hang out with him for a bit. I have to get a second opinion of this guy...maybe she can pull me back to the ground from the cloud I've been floating on. (But I have a feeling she'll be smitten too). He's really good--he called HER the other day just to say hello, he said "I've been talking to Maggie online all day, and felt bad that I haven't said ciao to you today"...Talk about earning some major brownie points. See? He's knows what to do, he's Italian. Watch out, mom...

Anyway, back to the schedule. Paolo and I fly to Casablanca from Rome on the 31st. We spend 2 nights in Casablanca, then go to a small coastal town in northern Morocco called Asilah...its going to be hosting a big international arts festival while we are there...should be cool. We will be there for 5 nights, and will probably spend a night in Tangier before we take the ferry over to Spain. We are planning on a few days in Valencia, then heading to Barcelona. We will stay with a friend of his in Barcelona.

On August 16th, I fly to Accra, Ghana. By myself.

No worries, though- I am soooo excited....I have found a volunteer program based out of the UK where I will be working at a refugee camp in Ghana counseling children with HIV/AIDS. They will pick me up at the airport, provide me with housing and all of my meals, give me an introduciton to Ghana, and take me back to the airport on Sept 4th. Here is the link to their site:
http://www.ikando.org/

It is a very reputable organization, I will be with other volunteers from all over the world, and hopefully it will be good experience for the new career I am pursuing. I have been talking about doing something like this in Africa for a while now, so the fact that I've found this organization and I can set up all of the details in such short notice tells me that this was meant to happen. I'm not sure what I want to do with my degree when I graduate, but working for an organization like this is definitely on the list, so this will give me a real taste of what it is like.

Tiffany is no longer keen on going to Africa, but I am determined...and I've learned something about myself on this trip...when I set my mind on something (like having a "travel buddy" in Rome) I will do everything in my power to make it happen :)

I also booked my ticket from New Jersey to Columbus on September 9th. I can't believe it. I can't believe the end is in sight. I can't think about it yet. What am I gonna do when I return to reality?!?! (Literally--I have NO IDEA what my next steps will be).

That will be a blog all of it's own. Written from Columbus after I have had time to process the last 4 months...all I know thus far, is that I would not trade a second of this experience for anything. And I still have 6 weeks left, so aside from booking the ticket and this small paragraph, it is getting no more thought. Things will work out as they should. They always do...

Mamma Mia!

2007-07-18T06:20:00.000-05:00

One thing I wrestle with when writing this blog is how much personal stuff I feel comfortable disclosing. So far, I've pretty much laid it all out there. But with Paolo, for some reason it is different. Almost like if I talk about it too much I will break the spell. But, I've gotten some emails lately asking about my slacking on blogging, so I will do my best to report about my time in Lecce.

I think I left off after Paolo's birthday party. I began to feel better the following day, and it was a good thing because his great-aunt came over to the villa for a proper Italian lunch. The lunch began with pasta (a type that is specific to the region-Salento), which was fabulous. Then came the meat... they kept telling me was horse, but I still think it was beef and we were mixing up the translation (at least that is what I keep telling myself...because it tasted an awful lot like potroast, and I don't like thinking that I could have actually injested horse meat). Next was the fish that his brother had caught the day before. Then the fruit. Then the cake. Then the coffee and grappa. I thought he was going to need a wheelbarrow to roll me out of the dining room when we were finished. How are they all not morbidly obese? Lunch took close to 3 hours...which is necessary for that amount of food to digest. If someone had to return to work immediately after a lunch like that, productivity would be at an all time low. His aunt was adorable. She spoke as much English as I do Italiano (NONE) but I think she thought if she spoke louder and louder I would suddenly begin to understand. This unfortunately was not the case.

Most days, Paolo would go into work from 8 until about 1, and I would study, sleep (I was still feeling pretty crappy) and then he'd spend the rest of the day with me. Often we would go to the sea, where the biologist in him would come out. Instead of beaches, usually we would go to rocky (as in boulders) areas with crystal clear, very deep water. We'd be swimming and he would dive down, pick up some kind of sea creature and give me a lesson. At night we'd usually go to explore the nearby towns and cities and he would walk me around the squares, showing me beautiful old churches, castles, shops, restraunts, etc.

We had such a good time together. He really is a neat man. He is the type of guy that makes everyone smile. He talks to everyone...and althought I do not know what is being said, they always wind up laughing. I love that. He is interested in my studies and we have great conversations about the chapters I am reading. He is very in tune with how I am feeling (rare for a man) so if he could tell I was exhausted from being sick, or overwhelmed by being surrounded by people I cannot communicate with, he would change the situation to ensure I was comfortable. The language barrier was sometimes hard, because when we were both tired, it was hard to constantly focus on speaking. You do not realize how draining it can be to have to think about each word that comes out of your mouth. And I'm sure it was twice as exhausting for him becuas ea lot of the times he doesn't know the words he is looking for.

Once in a while I would get frustrated because I cannot communicate with anyone. For instance, I bought his mother a small gift to thank them for having me at their villa. I felt so silly when I gave it to her, because all I could do was hand it to her, smile, and say "grazie" while Paolo told her how appreciative I was. I wanted to be able to talk and joke with his friends without him having to stop the conversation to explain everything to me. But, he would always comment on how he appreciated how I handled the situation, so again, he recognized that it was difficult, and that alone meant the world to me.

I think sometimes in relationships we tend to over-talk (at least I do) and with this situation that is definitely not the case. It's really amazing what other type of connection you build when you do not solely rely on verbal communication but also body language and intuition. There are times when I feel like we were reading each others minds...

Watching him interact with his family, his little cousins, his friends, even waiters or the coffee shop workers made me like him even more. He is genuine, caring, funny, smart...I could keep going. But, like I mentioned earlier, some things I would rather keep to myself...and I don't want to jinx it.

As for the future...who knows. All we can do is take it step by step. Which is a big breakthrough for me. I used to NEED to know that everything was going to work out and be ok. Now, I know that no matter what I will be ok...and that gives me the ability to explore this situation wholeheartedly without fear taking over. He and I are going to Morocco by ourselves, and then to Spain for a week before I meet Tiffany in Ghana. I am really looking forward to traveling with him, because you learn a lot about a person when they are taken out of their comfort zone. It should be good...

But, before that I have 2 finals to finish by July 27th...ugh. So I apologize if I am not as good at blogging. I am spending so much time in front of the computer that its hard to motivate myself to stay any longer than absolutely necessary. I am now in Viareggio, a beautiful coastal town almost directly east of Florence. I'm here with Tiffany, and it's so great to see her again. I think I needed a break from the intensity of being with Paolo so much, and also to be able to speak English at a normal pace, using my full vocabulary. :)

Oh, and speaking of vocabularly, and Paolo thinks my thesis should be on why people retain "bad words" in other languages quicker than any other words. It is so true. I can barely remember how to say hello, but I can swear with the best of them. Why is that? Psychology friends-- thoughts?

7 is NOT my lucky number...

2007-07-11T09:14:00.000-05:00

I wrote the last blog from the airport in London, on 7/7/07, awaiting my flight to come to southern Italy to visit Paolo. I had gotten up at 3am for a 6:40 flight, had tons of time at the airport and my next flight was at 17:15. Ok...since we do not use the 24 hour clock in the states it confuses me sometimes, so the entire time I was thinking that my flight was at 7:15pm.

Wrong. My flight was a 5:15pm. Yep...you guessed it. I was sitting in the damn airport and missed my flight. I was actually talking to Paolo on instant messenger, and he said "What time is your flight" I said don't worry it's not until 17:15...and thats when it dawned on me. I sprinted to the departures board and saw that it was 17:18. My flight had left 3 minutes before. I was in the airport for 6 hours before the flight and MISSED IT. How does that happen? So, after my two previous days of bad luck, this topped it all. Not only was I not getting to Italy that night, I could not get another flight until the following evening...for 185 pounds (or roughly $370). Then, I also had to find a place to stay. I could have tried to contact Tom again, but I didnt want to inconvienence him, plus to get into London and back to the airport would have cost me about the same as one night in a guesthouse. So I opted for a 70 pound guesthouse that was close to the airport. So $500 later and a missed day in Italy, I learned the hard way how to tell time like the rest of the world does...

Throughout all of it, Paolo was a saint. He was a little shocked when I told him--his response..."but Maggie, how do you lose your airplane?" So cute.

He picked me up at the airport after 2 of the longest days of my life. (A total of 17 hours in the airport) and brought me to his beautiful villa where we are staying. My first day here, I met a bazillion cousins, brothers, friends, uncles, etc...and I met his mom (nerve wracking). It is really hard meeting all of these people because I want to make a good impression, however this is difficult to do when I cannot speak to them aside from saying "hello, nice to meet you." He drove me around the area and we went to the beach--which was wonderful. We were also planning and preparing for his 30th birthday party the next day. We ate dinner on the roof of the villa with his friend Liza and her date, and then called it a night...

Until about 4am when I woke up feeling like total crap. I started getting sick at about 7am (as in vomiting, sick) and did not stop until the afternoon. I dont know if I have ever slept so much in a single day. I had no energy at all, I could barely lift myself out of bed to run to the bathroom. I felt soooo terrible, because he was running around trying to take care of last minute party stuff, and at the same time he wanted to take care of me. Yesterday was the first day that I really felt homesick--you know when you are sick and all you want is to be someplace you are comfortable and do not have to worry about anything? That is how I was feeling. I think the non-stop, India-Rome-London-Stockholm-London-2 days in an airport-Lecce, took a major toll on my body, and it all came to a head yesterday. Today I am feeling much better. Not 100%, but I managed to eat some pasta, and fruit, which is a vast improvement from yesterday when I choked down a couple crackers and an apple.

I did end up going to the party. Needless to say, I wasnt doing much partying. I did my best to appear really happy and to be having a great time, because I did not want Paolo to be worried about me, but all I really wanted was to be back in bed. It was nice to meet all of his friends, and had I been able to drink some of the sangria, then conversations might have been even better. (Its funny how when Italian people start drinking their english gets much better...opposite of us, our english gets worse!) There are very few people here that can speak english, and the ones that do are often nervous because they do not practice much, so they are embarrassed or worried about making mistakes. However, what they don't understand is that I appreciate any effort and totally admire the fact that they can speak another language--this is something that this trip has really inspired me to do...I feel bad about people always having to communicate with me in MY language. Although, realistically if I were to learn to speak another language, the most sensible would be Spanish. (plus, I've had 5 years of it in school) But, these days Italian is the most appealing...

Oh, I forgot to mention what else Paolo showed me on my first day here. As we were driving to the villa, we drove through the little town where his family lives and their business is located. As we approached one corner he said "my parents house starts here" and then we drove for 30 more seconds, and at the end of the block he said "and it ends here". Ahhhhh....ok. Your parents house spans an entire block. We make a stop at his office (where he works with his dad, brother and uncle) and after that he grabbed a garage door opener and led me to a large garage by the office...where they keep their 2 Maseratis, a Porsche, a Jaguar, some kind of old-fashioned car, and Paolo's very own Ferrari. Not to mention the Audi we were driving in and the other 2 or 3 street cars they have for "regular" driving. Uh, yeah. My cars have served one purpose--to get me from point A to point B...so I did not know what to make of this. I asked him when I was going to get to see his airplane...

Aside from the constant shock I have been experiencing, we have had a really good time together. He is an absolute sweetheart, always worried about my well being. I really wish that we spoke the same language because I can tell when he is with his friends he is really funny--and dorky (which I love). But with us, the language barrier is still being worked on, so making sarcastic remarks or teasing, sometimes has to be explained. (not always, though.) There are certain things that he cannot seem to register no matter how many times we go over it, for instance, the words "say and tell." He will say "I will say him that we will meet at 5." And sometimes when he doesn't understand a word, I try to use another word to describe it and he doesn't understand that word either--so there is definitely a lot of charades going on. But, most of the time we communicate just fine. And I love that he still cannot figure out when to use he/she and will often refer to his mother or female friends as "him" or "he".

I think by tomorrow I should be back to normal--I am still exhausted, but I slept well, and I took a nap today. I should have figured this pace would eventually catch up with me, and carrying a huge backpack and my school books does not help the fatigue.

I am officially into the second half of my trip, and it has not been quite as smooth as the first half, but I was expecting days like the dreadful 7/7/07 to arise. (I didnt think it was going to be that expensive of a lesson to learn...) But, I have been able to keep my perspective, and realize that days like that happen, and I am very lucky to be able to be doing what I am doing.

Ok, back to homework, which I have been neglecting a bit. (oops...) Its hard to focus on homework when you are with prince charming at a villa in southern Italy...

It's been one of those days...

2007-07-07T04:55:00.000-05:00

...and it just keeps getting better. I just wrote an entire blog, tried to copy it in case it did not post correctly, and it erased the entire thing...

It all began yesterday. The weather was kind of overcast, but it was still nice enough to walk through the city. I went shopping with the plan to buy something for Micaela as a thank you for letting me stay with her. I was in a very expensive department store--equivalent to Saks--and was looking at candles and gift-ish things. I opened one of the candle boxes to smell the candle, and the bottom of the box was facing sideways. It was like slow-motion, as I watched the candle slowly slide out of the box. All I could do was wait for the CRASH as it smashed into the ground...which was quite loud.

It was about a $60 candle that lay shattered at my feet. And to make things even better, I got a piece of glass stuck in my leg, so it was bleeding pretty badly (little cut, but lots of blood). I stood there with pink glass at my feet, blood dripping down my leg and watched everyone near me pretend they didn't see it happen and quickly scurry away, thinking "that poor, dumb America girl". Luckily, the woman who worked there was really nice. She brought me a cloth and a band-aid and told me not to worry about the candle, accidents happen. I of course offered to pay, and did end up buying Micaela a similar candle (not so big and expensive). I quickly paid for my guilt-purchase and hurried out of the store avoiding all eye-contact.

I was relieved to get back to Micaela's...but as I mentioned yesterday was one of those days, so nothing could be easy. I put the key in the door, turned it counter clockwise twice, like I was taught... and nothing. The door was completely stuck. I pulled, pushed, shook, twisted, pounded. My stuff was scattered all over the hallway, I had worked up a sweat...and nada. Normally, this would not have been that big of a deal...if I had a cell phone. But, I don't. The only way I had to get a hold of people was via the internet. And, you would have thought I'd keep Micaela's and Khari's phone numbers in my purse...but I didn't. On top of it all, Micaela was on a shoot in Norway (she was working on a documentary film) so I had no idea when she was getting home.

I had to find a computer. I walked down the street to a hair salon and asked if there were any internet cafes nearby. I explained my situation and again got the "that girl" look. They told me that there were no computer places close, and asked if I had a number to call...again, I got the look. Finally, they just allowed me to use their computer to get Micaela's number and send an emergency email to her friend Karin, letting her know about my dilemma and seeing if there was anything she could do. Then I had to ask the hair salon people if I can use their phone. I called Micaela, and immediately got a recording--in Swedish. So I had to call back and have the salon receptionist listen to it and translate for me. She said "Her phone is either off or you wrote down the wrong number."

Great.

I thanked them profusely for their help and decided to go back and try the dreaded door again. This time, I decided to try my burglary skills (I used to lock myself out pretty regularly in Salt Lake, so I got good at the credit card- pop-a- lock trick). I was sliding my passport up and down around the lock to see if it would catch. Thank God none of the neighbors were home, or the police definitely would have been called. Just as I was about to give up and head to a bar for a beer or five, I heard someone coming up the stairs. It was Micaela. She must have thought I really missed her when she saw how excited I was to see her. You see, there are 2 locks on Micaela's door. I only had a key to the bottom lock, and apparently when I left the top lock had somehow locked. So she opened the door and I ran in and emailed Karin telling her that no rescue units needed to be sent out. (Micaela had forgotten her phone charger on her trip, so no one was able to get a hold of her...)

After that ordeal, we decided to have a quiet night. I had to get up at 3am because I had a taxi to the train station to get a bus to the airport (1.5 hour ride) to make my 6:40 flight. And now I am in the airport for 9 hours before I fly to Italy. I am going to be a zombie by the time I see Paolo. And probably a pretty scary-looking one at that. We got home from dinner at midnight, so I thought I would get 3 hours of sleep. But, no such luck. It was one of those nights where I could not shut my brain off (I hate that), and I never fell asleep.

Micaela and I had a really nice time together. It was good to spend the last night with her--she is really an amazing woman. I sat and listened to her speak in 3 different languages effortlessly in a matter of 2 minutes. She is super talented, and just a ton of fun to be around. I hope it isn't too long before we get to spend time together again...I'd love to travel with her. South America, Micaela??!?

So, to keep yesterday's theme going, today I've lost one of my favorite earrings somewhere between Stockholm and London, and a little girl spilled her chocolate milk all over my WHITE pants. Like I said, I am going to look like a princess for Paolo...

Oh, and Tiff is changing the plans again. Actually it's her dad this time. He has booked a trip to Italy beginning on August 8th. She is planning on meeting him there meaning she is cutting her time in Morocco by a week. She said she will probably meet me in Ghana--which I really, really hope happens because I have been looking so foward to going to Africa, I'd hate to have to change it. It is just not somewhere I feel comfortable traveling by myself. I know I'd be fine, but I won't go alone.

Paolo and his cousin are planning on going to Morocco with us, so we'll see how it all plays out. I am hoping that Tiff comes to Morocco from July 31-Aug 8, then goes and hangs with her dad and meets me in Ghana as planned on Aug 16th. I am feeling a little bit frustrated because plans keep changing. But, I keep trying to remember how lucky I am to just be on this trip, and go with the flow--no point in crying over spilt milk. (ha! clever, Maggie--I am proud of that one considering my brain is in no way functioning on all cylinders right now)

Stockholm was great...and as per usual, I met a really nice guy--Lars (yes, he's Swedish...did the name give it away?) He was very smart, cute, funny...where do these guys come from??! (Europe obviously...oh, and Australia) Lars is getting his PhD right now in some kind of space (like outer space) physics stuff. So any rocket scientist jokes do not apply to him...cause he's like a real one. If there are any single women out there that feel like traveling, come join me--there seem to be plenty of eligible (and worthwhile) guys in this part of the world!

So I guess I'll go do some more duty free shopping now and try to pass the time...don't worry Paolo, I will stay out of the sunglasses store this time :) Which is probably a good idea anyways, with the way I'm moving these days I'd probably break a £500 pair of glasses...

Sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep. Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeease.

It was the 4th of July???

2007-07-05T04:12:00.000-05:00

Odd, there were no fireworks or American flags and "God Bless America" wasn't being played on every radio station.

Hmmm...it could possibly be because the Swedes could care less about my independence.

I am in Stockholm now and actually spent the 4th of July at--get this--a Beastie Boys concert. And a really great one at that! We were so close to the stage. But, seeing that they are all starting to turn grey made me feel a bit old. I'm mean, hell, we started listening to them when we were 15. It was hilarious to be at a concert where they knew every word to the songs, yet english is not their first language. So when they kept cheering for "Intergalactic" it sounded very Swedish.

But, that was just yesterday. I have not been very good at blogging lately...so I have much to catch up on.

After leaving Paolo in Rome I flew to London where I stayed for 5 days with a friend of mine from OU, Tom. He could not have been a better host. I had my own room, down comforter, fluffy pillows, a washer and dryer...it was heaven. It was also FREEZING. I was coming from Delhi and Rome, which were both insanely hot, so hitting London was a major shock. I had to shop (HAD to) because it was literally so cold that at night you could see your breath.

The city itself was amazing. Although, I arrived the day before the bomb scares took place. Actually, Tom and I were in the area where they found the bomb the night it was discovered. I had a sightseeing tour booked the next day--a bus tour and then a tour of the Tower of London (where the crown jewels are kept) and then a boat ride down the Thames. It was a total mess. Buses weren't running, parts of the city were shut down, subway stations were closed. But, the tour ended up still taking place, and although there were some minor inconveniences it was a really great way to see the city.

At night, Tom and I would usually go get something to eat and have a couple pints and hang out with a few of his friends. He is moving back to the states at the end of July so everyone wants to see him before he takes off. I also talked him into going to see the musical, Billy Elliot (I love the theater) and it was absolutely fantastic. It was one of the best shows I've ever seen--there are some of the most talented children imaginable in it. It is only playing in London (although, I'm guessing it will come to Broadway sometime in the near future) so if you are ever in London I would highly recommend it. My last day there, we walked all over the city. We went to Hyde Park, where they have this area called "Speakers Corner" where people go, stand on boxes, and discuss/preach about politics, religion, world events, global warming, the environment, etc. It was really interesting. It is actually where the phrase "get off your soapbox" comes from. Most of the topics were based on religion when we went--maybe because it was Sunday, or maybe because of the bomb threats. After that we went to Camden Road, which is a totally eclectic part of town. All kinds of gothic shops and different people. Certainly had a different feeling than South Kensington, where Tom lives (A super nice part of town). We went to Buckingham Palace (where of course my camera battery died right as I was getting read to take a picture of the guard with the big fuzzy hat), and then walked toward the Parliament and Big Ben.

I had imagined London having a big skyline like New York or Chicago, but it doesn't at all. Instead, like much of Europe it is such a mix of old and new. There are some of the most modern-looking buildings and next to them are churches and castles that are thousands of years old. I love that. It was strange to be in a country where English was the native language. I caught myself a few times talking really slow so the internet cafe lady, or a waiter could understand me. When I would finish they would look at me weird and say in perfect English "Ok, anything else?" and I'd feel like an idiot. But, it had been 2 months since I'd been in a country where English was the first language, so I guess it's kinda understandable.

I left London on July 2nd, the day the terrorists were apprehended. Security was pretty tight at the airport, as expected, but it really posed no problems in travel.

I brought the grossest weather to London, but apparently I left it there, because Stockholm has been absolutely perfect. Of all of the places I've been I think Stockholm is the most beautiful. And the people...wow. And I thought the Italians were gorgeous. I think the Swedes have them beat.

Stockholm is such a cool city because it is comprised 14 islands connected by bridges. So everywhere you turn there is water. And beautiful boats and buildings on or near it. I am staying with my friend, Micaela, who is Swedish, but has spent the last 10 years living in the US. She has recently moved back home, so she is kind of re-exploring the city herself, and she has been a great host. My first day here, I finally downloaded all of my pictures (I've posted some, but haven't written any captions or anything yet) worked on another exam, and tried to sleep. When Micaela got home from work we headed out to an outside eating area--they are all over the place, and my friend Khari came to meet us for dinner. I met Khari in Salt Lake City when he came to try out of the MLS team that Leslie was playing for. He stayed with us for a week, and we have remained friends ever since. He had a game on Tuesday, and he got Micaela, a friend of hers, and me free tickets--great seats. I was a little nervous about going to a soccer game, since I haven't seen one in the last 6 years that did not include my husband. But, it was surprisingly easy...the only tough part was when one of the guys scored a goal, and then kissed his wedding ring and pointed at his wife. Les used to do that, and when I saw him do that a small lump formed in my throat. Aside from that, the game was good. AIK, Khari's team, won 2-0. AIK is one of the most popular teams here in Sweden, and the fans were crazy! And it was a Tuesday! They were jumping and singing for the entire game. It was easy to see why soccer is so popular here. The energy is contagious.

One of the funniest things I've seen in Stockholm, is that at night it still gets pretty cold. But the Swedes LOVE to sit outside. So every restaurant or bar has blankets on all of the chairs so you can stay outside even when its freezing cause you can cover up with a big thick blanket that they provide you.

Today, I am dragging Khari on a boat trip. As much as he pretends he doesn't want to do this touristy stuff, I know he's secretly excited...

So, more from Stockholm before I head back to Italy to spend Paolo's 30th birthday with him. We talk every day, either online or on the phone. I think my parent's are thinking: uh-oh, Maggie's going to come home, say hello, grab her clothes and her cat, and head straight back to Europe. Who knows. A lot can happen in 2 months (as I've learned!). But, he is really a great guy, so we shall see. I looked back on my entries, and I had just written about how I was by myself, and there were no prospects, and I was cool with that...ha. That lasted all of 48 hours...

Happy 4th of July.

My real life fairy tale...

2007-06-28T05:24:00.001-05:00

Once upon a time there was a girl who was recently, terribly heartbroken. But instead of staying in Columbus, Ohio at her parents house wallowing in her sorrows, she decided to take a trip. An epic journey of sorts, to various ends of the earth, to learn how others live, meet new people, see new sights and learn more about herself.

She went to Japan, Thailand, and India. She was leaving Delhi and headed to Rome--one of the most romantic cities in the world...by herself.

Or so she thought...

She got up early the morning of her flight, took a taxi to the airport, bid goodbye to India, and slept her way to Qatar, where she had a 2 hour layover. In the airport in Qatar she went into the duty free shop because her friend, Tiffany, has convinced her that an expensive pair of sunglasses is a necessity. While looking at sunglasses she saw 3 men also shopping. The one trying on the glasses was young, well dressed and very nice looking. He was asking the other 2 men for their opinions about the glasses but did not seem satisfied with the responses. They were speaking in Italian so the girl didn't know what was being said. He sees the girl, and says in broken english, "I need the opinion of a woman, which sunglasses do you prefer?" She told him she liked option #1. He thanked her, put the other 2 pair away and purchased option #1. The girl smiled to herself, pleased with the interaction and continued to look at sunglasses, not giving it another thought.

The airport in Qatar was an array of cultures, women completely covered--everything but their eyes, sheiks, travellers, tourists...the girl was fascinated so she waited patiently for her delayed flight watching all that was going on around her. She noticed that the sunglasses boy was sitting nearby, and she wondered if he was on her flight. There were many flights going to various cities in Italy, so the chances were slim. The plane finally arrived and the girl boarded. She walked to her seat, looking forward to 5 hours to sleep. She sat down and looked next to her. It was the older gentleman from the sunglasses shop... and next to him was sunglasses boy. He looked over and smiled, also surprised. He started speaking to the girl over the older man (his father) and the men ended up trading seats. They continued to talk and talk and talk for the entire 5 hour flight. He gave her an Italian lesson, they discussed her trip, his work, Italy, the US, and they watched Happy Feet together in English (because they didn't have it in Italian and they figured it would be the easiest movie for him to understand in English).

Much to the girl's dismay, he was not from Rome, and was headed to his home in the south. When the pilot came over the intercom saying they'd be landing shortly both the girl and boy felt immensely disappointed. They were not ready to part ways. The girl said "I wish you lived in Rome so you could show me around." The boy smiled, leaned over to his father said something in Italian and leaned back and said, "I would like to stay in Rome and show you around. I have a very good friend who lives in Rome, I will call him and tell him I am staying."

The two checked into the same hotel--ironically called "Hotel California" and met his friend for the girls first real Italian dinner--pizza. After dinner they went to a fantastic little bar and had a glass of wine. The day had been long and the girl had been up since 4am so after a glass of wine she was ready for bed.

For the next 4 days the girl and sunglasses boy were inseparable. They saw all of the amazing sights of Rome-- The Colosseum, the Vatican, the Pantheon. They went to see the Pope give mass on Sunday (but arrived a bit late), they took a bus tour, shopped, saw artists on the streets, cooled off in public fountains, ate at all of the cute little outdoor restaurants. The girl could not have imagined a more perfect 4 days if she tried.

They had a connection that neither one of them could put into words (especially since they barely spoke the same language). He could just look at her and know how she was feeling--tired, hot, happy, in awe...and often he was feeling the same way. When they spoke it was as if the language barrier disappeared and they were totally in sync. For them it was effortless, romantic beyond belief, and so, so much fun. They laughed, joked, and sat in stunned silence at the realization of how old their surroundings were.

As the days went on, she learned more and more about him. He is her age, 29, and is a doctor of marine biology. He works now as an electrical engineer/businessman with his family business. He was in Qatar because the business might be expanding into the Middle East. He has a large family, and they are also involved with real estate. He has asked her to come visit, and has offered her a place to stay here:

http://www.villaraffaella.it/en/index.htm

She has decided after London and Stockholm to skip Paris. Instead, she is going to go down to Southern Italy, to spend more time with this wonderful man. She keeps waiting for the moment she is going to wake up...but for now, she's happy to live in the fairy tale.

Paolo, I know this blog will be hard for you to understand...but when I arrive to Lecce I will explain.

Grazie mia amore. Ti vedrò presto.

Watch out Bollywood, here I come!

2007-06-21T08:32:00.000-05:00

Yesterday Tiff and I were sitting at our favorite coffee place, Moonpeak, doing our favorite thing--monk watching--when suddenly, for a brief few minutes I became a famous movie star. We were sitting at a table outside near the road and there was a group of Punjabi Indian men (looked to be in their 20's) sitting on some concrete barriers that stopped cars from careening over a cliff, across the street. They were not at all attempting to be discreet in looking our way. This went on for about a half hour until one of them, after much discussion and prodding, finally had the courage to approach me. "Can you please take a picture for us?" he asks. Ha! Is that all they wanted? Me to take their picture? They shouldn't have been nervous about that, I was more than happy to...

...maybe it was the language barrier, but that wasn't exactly what they were asking.

Instead, they wanted me to have my picture taken--with each one of them--separately. So feeling utterly amused and quite flattered I obliged, and each one of them came to stand next to me for a very un-candid photo. There was no arm over the shoulder action--nothing. Just me standing there, hands at my side, them next to me, hands at their sides, smiling goofily at the camera. After that was done, I smiled politely and started to make my way back to Tiffany. Wait, but no... they weren't done yet. Apparently they had round two planned--the seated photos. They sat me at one of the restaurant tables and then a couple of them at a time would come sit with me--making it appear that we were actually dining together. (Sans any food or drink). By this time a small crowd had gathered also bemused by the impromptu photoshoot. Finally, after the "dinner" photos were finished, I was allowed to make my way back to Tiffany, with many kinds words of gratitude from the men.

I am dying to know what they tell their friends when they get back to Punjab...I can only imagine.

So, for a brief moment, I felt kinda famous. A little flattered, a little weirded-out, a little violated, a lot embarrassed. But, you know, if I had to, I could probably get used to it... :)

I flew out of McLeod Ganj today and I'm back in Delhi-- and its still hot. But this time proved to be much easier, even though I am by myself. Once you have experienced a city and have some sort of familiarity with it, it is so much easier the second time around. I am staying at the same hotel as the first time, and it's made me realize how good we had it up in the mountains. Tiff and I were paying 3 dollars each a night to have a bed with sheets and blankets, and hot running water--and a view worth a million. Here, I am paying twice as much, to have a room where I will not put my head directly on the pillowcase (I cover it with my sarong or a towel), there are no blankets on the bed (although the aren't really needed) the flat sheets (no cover sheet), although I'm pretty sure are clean, have holes in them, and there is no hot water. I miss McLeod Ganj!!!!

Wow. What a fantastic little treasure of a town it is. It is someplace I'd love to visit again. Next time I would set up some classes beforehand because the town is overflowing with educational opportunities. Massage, cooking, dance, Tibetan, Buddhist, Hindu, music, yoga, meditation, trekking--all types of classes and all very affordable.

While I was there I spent most of my time taking it all in. It's a place you probably need to stay longer than 9 days to really get it, but I did my best. We found our favorite places to eat, hang out, use the internet, explore--and since it is so small, by the time I left we knew all of the people that worked at each place and some of the other regular patrons and we were recognized and greeted by many. We had our favorite Lepers ( many of the beggars have leprosy and are missing limbs) but they are absolutely lovely people, and even if you don' give them money they are always ready with a Namaste and a smile. We saw monkeys pretty regularly, we belly-danced, we attended a Sufi (type of Islam) music concert, we saw a sitar (stringed instrument) and tabla (percussion) concert, had Tibetan massages, went to the Dalai Lamas temple, shopped for beautiful Indian and Tibetan clothes, jewelry, decor, watched a young girl walk a tight rope with no net under her in the middle of the street for money, met a fantastic young Aussie named Tiirum, who is bound to change the world, I had my epiphany...and I finally got rid of all of my ailments. So overall, I think it was a successful part of my trip.

After being in Asia for the last 6 weeks, I am looking forward to Europe. It's crazy, the countries I've gone to and have ahead of me are all so different, culturally. But, there are good people all over the world and Tiffany and I have been really lucky to have met so many.

Namaste, India. Buon giorno, Italy.

Can I getta "Oui, Oui?!"

2007-06-19T02:20:00.000-05:00

So anyone wanna go to Paris with me???

I am headed to Rome, London and Stockholm BY MYSELF because Tiff is a punk, and just haaaas to see the Dalai Lama. Spirituality-smirituality...

We both had tickets booked to Rome on the 22nd, but only one of us is going. The other has decided to stay to celebrate the birthday of His Holiness and participate in an introduction to Tibetan Buddhism course and listen to the Dalai Lama's teachings while he is at home (here in McLeod Ganj) from July 6-13. So we will meet up again in Rome on July 14th.

That means I'm traveling by myself again. Which I can do just fine, I just prefer to have someone with me. It's not as much fun to see and experience such amazing things without having someone next to you to say "can you believe that?" But, I'm being a brat, because really, it's me by myself for 4 days in Rome (poor baby, I know) then I am flying to London and staying for a week with my friend Tom, from OU. Then I fly to Stockholm and am staying for another week with my friend Micaela and another, Khari, who plays soccer for AIK, a Swedish team that is the arch rival of Micaela's favorite team, Djurgården. He will have 2 home games while I am there, it'll be fun going to those with her...

I was planning on leaving Stockholm on the 9th or 10th. And that leaves 4 or 5 days before I meet Tiff. I am considering going to Paris. My aunt's brother and his wife live in Paris (she is Parisian) so I'd have another place to stay. But Paris definitely seems like a city that would be nice to have a travel partner. Hmmmm...maybe I'll meet one along the way :)

I spent all day yesterday in the internet cafe. No fun, but I finished one of my midterms. WHEW! It was weighing on me; keeping up with school work while traveling is not an easy task. I guess I'm not as disciplined as I should be. I had planned that I'd study for 2 hours every morning so I'd have the whole day to do whatever it is that I wanted to do. But that has yet to happen. Usually I put it off until right before it's due and read the bare minimum. Which is too bad, because the course work is actually quiet interesting. But it can't hold a candle to what I am seeing outside of the internet cafes.

Mom, I can't stop buying you stuff in this little town--you'd love it. You guys should be expecting a very large package. But you aren't allowed to open it until I get home, or at the very least I have to be on the phone with you. And Happy Dad's Day again, Dad. I haven't bought you anything but I don't think you'll be sad when you see what I got mom--not exactly stuff you'd want.

Speaking of buying stuff. Tiff and I saw a guy wearing a shirt the other day that said "My dad is an ATM" I almost offered him all my rupees for it to give to Tiffany. I've already come close to spending my entire budget and I'm not even halfway through the trip. Thank God for tax returns! I have to shop here though because it is so incredibly cheap and beautiful and I know when I am back in the states and see the stuff at half the quality for twice the price I'd kick myself for not having bought it. And I know I can't shop in Europe cause the dollar definitely doesn't go very far there! It's a weird dynamic seeing these ultra poor people and shopping with reckless abandon. It makes me feel extremely grateful and a bit guilty for having the lifestyle that we are accustomed to. I do very little bargaining here--the dollar we'd be fighting over means a lot more to them than to me. As for the beggars, you have to buy them food and actually open it or else they take it back to the store and get the money back. Sneaky lil' beggars...

Alright, speaking of money, Tiff and I have to go to another town to use an ATM because the one and only ATM here does not work and I only have 40 rupees to my name (a little less than a dollar).

So seriously, Paris anyone? July 9-14? Can I getta oui, oui??

Forgiveness

2007-06-16T23:30:00.000-05:00

Right before I fell asleep the other night a thought popped into my head. It wasn't like a thought that I came up with on my own, instead it was like someone else telling it to me. The thought was:

"You did the best you could with the tools you had."

I didn't know where it came from, or really what it was about, I just thought, huh, that was strange and quickly fell asleep. The next morning Tiffany and I went to our favorite place for breakfast. We were sitting there quietly and suddenly tears started pouring out of my eyes. I had no control over it and had no idea where they were coming from. I wasn't feeling sad or upset, or even really happy for that matter. Luckily I was with Tiff, and she didn't think it was at all weird, so she allowed me to cry as I tried to figure out where the tears were coming from and why they wouldn't stop.

Then the thought from the night before came back to me. And it all became crystal clear. For so long I have killed myself with questions like "why didn't I do this differently... how could he do that...why did I act that way...why didn't he understand...why couldn't I hear what he was saying...how could we hurt each other so badly when we loved each other so much?"

...we did the best we could with the tools we had.

We thought we were loving one another--and we were. The only way we knew how. And the way we knew how to love came with a very self-protective element, because, like I've mentioned before, we are terrified of getting hurt. What is amazing though, is the fear of getting hurt is SO MUCH worse than the actual pain itself. So this whipser of awareness that I recieved in the middle of the night allowed me to see that sometimes even when we have the very best intentions we still can't get it right...because we are not yet equipt with the tools to do so.

I don't feel like "if I only knew then what I know now" or "hindsight is 20/20" instead I feel like my life is playing out the way it is supposed to. This little whisper was a BIG lesson to learn, and apparently a very important one for me because I certainly had to learn it the hard way.

So the tears over breakfast were neither sad nor happy. They were tears of forgiveness. Forgivess for him, and more importantly, forgiveness for myself. We made mistakes, but not maliciously, instead,they were out of ignorance and fear. We did the best we could with the tools we had. And realizing that has allowed me to be able to let go more and more, and feel the freedom of this journey I am on.

And the journey I am referring to has nothing to do with traveling...

By myself

2007-06-14T05:19:00.000-05:00

For the first time in my life, there is absolutely no man in the picture. Sure, some float in and out...and technically I am still married until paperwork is finished (legally, but certainly in no other way) but for the first time in I can't even remember how long, there are not even any prospects.

This is a somewhat scary feeling. But, apparently it's how it is supposed to be right now. Before I left, I was dating a wonderful guy. Unfortunately, there was absolutely no way for it to work out because I was piling all of the leftover, undealt with stuff from my marriage on to him. Not to mention, he had plenty of personal stuff to deal with himself--and he definitely was not ready for me and mine. Then I met Jeremy. Fell head over heels in a day. Talked myself back to reality, but was still pretty blown away by that one. I had maintained casual email contact with both of them but haven't heard from either of them for a while. At first I was thinking, well this sucks. It's nice to have a "potential someone." That person that you can think about while you are on a gross bus ride or before you go to bed.

Obviously, someone is watching over me saying "hellooo, Maggie--you are absolutely not ready for that. Stop it, stop it, stop it. Take care of yourself, let yourself heal and enjoy the freedom of being able to do whatever you want whenever you want (with whoever you want!)"

It is so ingrained in me that I need to have a significant other. But being on this trip, and seeing what I see on a daily basis, causes me to live in the moment, and not think about the future (or the past for that matter). Then when I realize, wow, it's been days, and I haven't been thinking about a man, or what I am going to do when I get home, where I am going to live (although wherever it is, it's going to be decorated so cute!). I hope when I do return, I can continue to do that. Immerse myself in new things, continue to learn about different people, and try to stay out of my head and work through my fears. We place so much emphasis on finding someone, that we miss all of the beautiful things that happen along the way. It's like relationship tunnel vision. And, from meeting each of these men, I've learned that if you are looking, it's not going to happen. When you are living is when it happens.

Tiffany and I got stuck in Bangkok for 2 days before we finally made it to India. Of course, the day before I left I met a really great guy--Dave. He is Welsh and is adorable. We hit it off, hung out my entire last night there. And this time around it was much easier to say "goodbye, it was fantastic to have spent this time with you, and I truly wish you the best." And if our paths cross again great, if not, fine. Back to me and my quest. When the time is right and I am really ready, it'll happen. I just have to not let the societal norms weigh on me and feel unnecessary pressure to have a significant other. I'm not going to try to fit a square peg into a round hole, just to have someone. I know what I want this time around and I think I have the patience to find it. In the meantime, the Jeremys and Daves are great to meet. There is a part of each of them that I hope to find in "him."

But for now, being by myself is just fine. Being by myself feels very different than being alone.

I fell in love with a monk today

2007-06-13T11:17:00.000-05:00

I feel really good. Physically, I am kinda a mess. I had to get some antibiotics today for an infection I have in my toe (blister from scuba diving gone bad) and Tiff and I both still have lingering colds--Delhi didn't help. But this is a different kind of good. A peaceful kind of good, where I know that even though I am tired and a bit of a wreck I feel better than I have for a while. Maybe it's this amazing place we've landed.

We are in a small village in the Himalayas called McLeod Ganj. It is where the Dalai Lama resides and it is a predominantly Tibetan village that the Indian government gave the Tibetan refugees when the Chinese pretty much ran them out of the country. We are staying in a nice room with a beautiful mountain view and a bathroom with hot, running water and a toilet that flushes--posh--and it is costing us each $3 a night.

Getting here was definitely an adventure. After almost falling for a scam in Delhi (we got taken to a travel agency that lied to us told us there were no trains to where we were headed for 6 days and tried instead to ship us off to some place on a houseboat--for a large commission, I'm sure), we luckily had our wits about us enough to see through it. The next day we went to the train station in Delhi--which was complete chaos and so, so HOT (did I mention that?) and guess what? We booked an overnight train ticket for that night. Six days my ass--I wanted to go back and stand outside that travel agency and warn everyone going in that they were lying con artists, but, like many of the Buddhists believe, "karma is a bitch" (sorta Americanized that) and they will get what's coming.

We got an air-conditioned cabin on a first class car of the train. It was Tiff, me, and an older Indian couple. Tiff and I had the top bunks. We slept, rather uncomfortably most of the way--we had to share our little beds with our giant backpacks to be safe, so it was pretty tight. We met a really nice Israeli guy, Ohad, on the train who ended up traveling with us the rest of the way here. After 12 hours on the train, we landed in Pantakot and then got on a public bus for an additional 3 hours to reach McLeod Ganj. The bus was unairconditioned, and very full so it wasn't the most comfortable ride. I did see two monkeys out in the wild, one in a tree and the other just walking down the street--so cool. Cows and goats in the fields and monkeys in the trees. Each time we transferred buses Ohad would have to climb on top of the bus to retrieve our packs. I don't know what we would have done without him--Tiff and I were running on fumes by then, both with sinus infections, feeling so overwhelmed by Delhi that we needed someone to take care of us a little bit and he stepped in and took over--I think he could see the exhaustion written all over us. The good news, the total cost of the trip--train and bus, was $4.50.

When we arrived here, it felt sooooo much better. The sky, although it's not clear, it's not polluted. It's simply cloudy now. We are literally sitting in the clouds. We are at about 5000 ft. above sea level and the mountains are breathtaking. Things are quieter and with all of the monks and Tibetan culture there is a natural calm in the air. We ate dinner at a Japanese (ha!)restaurant with Ohad, found our hotel and totally crashed.

Today we woke up, went to the "chemist" (what we'd call a pharmacist) I got some amoxicillin, and met Ohad for breakfast. We walked through the two main streets, in and out of all of the adorable stores/stands looking at jewelry, clothes, home decor. I keep buying stuff to decorate my apartment when I get home (going to have to find an apartment when I get home...). I got 5 pillow covers for throw pillows on my couch--they are so pretty, hand woven, bold colors--I love them. And they cost me about $8 total. In the US, one would probably cost around $40, if you could even find them. I am going to have to ship the stuff I am buying home because there is no way I can add it to my pack with my books. And I fell in love with a rug--I am thinking about it for 24 hours to see if I still want it tomorrow, but I have a feeling my parents might be getting a large fedex from the Himalayas...

Not only did I fall in love with a rug, I also fell in love with a monk. We walked through the Dalai Lamas' temple today. They were beautiful grounds--paths through the mountains with prayer flags blowing in the wind and these large, round, hand painted and carved cans on sticks that you'd spin and it's believed that each one that you spin prayers that were said into the cans are being floated out into the air for you. Nice, eh? Toward the end of the walk we heard what sounded like a bunch of men yelling at each other--which is exactly what it was. Except, they weren't fighting. It was monks debating one another on their knowledge about the ultimate truths they've learned. And after each point was made, whoever made the point would clap his hands in this certain way, to say he was done. It was fascinating to watch. And the energy was indescribable. I have never really paid attention to the energy of a specific area--I've gotten good feelings or bad feelings about places, but the energy watching these monks was unlike anything I have ever experienced. They are so in touch with themselves and the world that they almost vibrate with awareness. I made eye contact with one of them and it shook me to the core. It was like he could see straight into me, I had to look away. But I wanted to keep staring. I didn't know how to act, I didn't want to be disrespectful, because these monks have taken vows of celibacy, and I didn't want him to think I was staring for "un-pure" reasons, but I wanted more--I wanted to keep taking it in. It is really hard to explain, some feelings you cannot really put into words. The best word I can think to describe it is that I was humbled. Totally and completely humbled.

After that we went inside the temple and saw where the Dahli Lama sits and teaches when he is in town (he's not here now). I was still shaken by the experience with the monks. It's been with me all day. It's gone from stunned, to contemplative, to a very happy and content feeling. This place has a wonderful vibe and I'm very glad we are here.

After the temple we went for our first official Tibetan lunch-- momos. Momos are dumpling-like things filled with veggies, cheese, potatoes, chicken, whatever you want. And the are so good. We split up from Ohad after lunch and went to a coffee shop with our books. Tiff read, but I couldn't. I can't stop watching the people around me. So many different people. Beggars everywhere, often with no hands or legs that don't work and are pushing themselves around on skateboards, many Indians (we are still in India, after all), travellers from all over the place, monks, nuns. Its incredible. So many different kinds of clothes, so many different beliefs, such different histories. I could have sat there all day and just watched. And having learned more about the story of Tibet--knowing that the majority of the Tibetan people we see walking down the street had to flee their country to stay alive, is yet another humbling thought. God willing, I will never understand the hell they have lived through.

Tomorrow we start belly dancing classes which we are super excited for. Tiff and I both love to dance and have had many years of dance training--but nothing official for years, so this is a treat. The teacher is, ironically, a friend of Tiffany's from her yoga school in Thailand (small world). We might also take a Tibetan cooking class so we can make momos when we get home!

Maybe I've fallen in love with this place so much because Delhi was so hard. But I don' think that's it. It really has a feeling about it. We've definitely landed here for a reason. And Tiff and I have had some really good talks lately that I want to get down in writing too, but I don't want to spend all my time in the internet cafes so I hope I can remember them!

I also found out last week that a good friend of mine has cancer. He had surgery the other day and from an email I got today it sounded like it was a success. He is waiting on more test results, but from the beginning I had a feeling that he is going to be just fine--for some reason I never felt scared for him. From what he has written, it sounds like he is also starting to question what's truly important when you can put all of the crap aside. For some it takes life altering events to ask these types of questions, for others it's just inherent, and for many they don't ask, they are content with life as it is and don't wonder why they are here, what it's all about, what their purpose is--I envy those people. It seems like a much easier way to live. For my friend, Matt, I just wanted him to know that when I spun the prayer cans today, I asked that the prayers be sent out for him--a speedy recovery and to keep going down the new path he has begun.

Matty--hurry up and get better, so you really can meet me in the jungle somewhere. You name the time and the place and I'll be there. Lots of love.

Namaste.

Perspective

2007-06-10T10:11:00.001-05:00

I have to write this before it leaves my brain. I am so hot. And so tired. It is probably 120 degrees here in Delhi. It is the dirtiest place I have ever seen. When I blow my nose it comes out black--great for the cold. The sky is perpetually grey because of the mass amounts of pollution. People live and work and sit and eat and rest on top of trash on top of trash on top of trash-layers and layers. Cars drive in every direction, men stare at us as though they see right through our clothes, we see very few women, but there are cows in the middle of main roads. There is a scam around every corner and you have to be aware of yourself and your belongings at all times.

It is a complete assault an all of the senses. The smell of exhaust, smog, people, animals, food...the unbearable heat. I have never sweated like this in my entire life. I am soaked sitting here in an internet cafe. The cold water in the shower doesn't even really come out cold. We actually had a pretty good day despite the overwhelmingness of it all. We went to the travel place to book our train tickets to the North but it was closed. We had a fantastic rickshaw driver (these are like 3 wheeled open-air mini-car type things that are one of the main ways to get around. They are much cheaper than taxis) and he offered to take us on a driving tour of Delhi, so we sat back, sweated our asses off and spent 2 hours getting an insiders view of important places for a visitor to see. More interesting than any of the places he showed us were the things that he doesn't even see anymore. Like a woman carrying a huge pile of bricks on her head. Or the man asleep on top of his ice-cream cart. Or the mass piles of trash everywhere. I gotta get outta here soon cause its so hot (our room actually has AC), but my point of writing is this:

When I get home, I hope to God that I can remember every second of being in Dehli. There is nothing easy about living here. It is so incredibly crowded, dirty and hot. When I start to get frustrated about Columbus traffic, or pissed that my cell phone lost reception again, or annoyed that "he" (whoever that may be) did not call yet, I'll think of Delhi. Cause in one second my perspective will completely shift. I can say it over and over, but it's like I still haven't digested how true it is--our lives are so easy. Yes, we have problems, but the stuff we let ourselves get worked up about on a daily basis...lord. It's bad.

Tiff and I were talking about how what we have to be careful of when we get home is to not get frustrated with others frustrations. Like, if one of my friends is frustrated because they had to wait a half hour at a restaurant before they were sat for dinner, or Grey's Anatomy is a rerun, or their husband came home from work late and dinner was ruined...we can't be like "what are you worrying about??! You have NO IDEA what its like in other parts of the world. Just be happy you have dinner- period!!!"

We'd be really annoying. And, ultimately that is us thinking we know more or better--when really we just have gained a different perspective. A lot less will bother me when I get home--at least on a smaller scale. I honestly don't know how they do it. I do not know how they live here. I always ask myself, why don't they leave? Move? Go someplace cooler or less crowded? And then I think--is that even an option? Do they perceive that as an option? Where would they go? Is it hard for them to live here? Are they happy? Is it even about that? Or are they just so used to it that this is life from their perspective...and maybe it's not so bad.

I dunno. I think the heat is getting to me. My fingers are going as fast as my head and I don't know what I am writing anymore.

Damn. I am in India. India is hot.

Under da Sea

2007-06-06T07:05:00.001-05:00

I'm in the internet cafe finishing up my homework before we head to India first thing in the morning and I just re-read my last blog. Uhhhh...sorry for the lack of proofreading and spell check, it's much better now.

Anyway, I'm feeling pretty sunburned and waterlogged but also quite proud. I am officially certified as an Open Water scuba diver. It was a 4 day course culminating in 4 dives over the last 2 days. I absolutely love it. I've always loved the ocean, but seeing it from the fishes perspective makes it all that much cooler. It's a whole different world down there, like swimming in a giant aquarium. I saw grouper that were bigger than me, and some barracuda. But my favorite were the little "Nemo" fish. You think they are so cute and friendly...but watch out! You get near the nest that the mom is floating over and the dad will come charging out and swim directly into your mask. He'll keep banging until you are outside of their safety radius. I saw one today and he was ready to take down my instructor (who is a HUGE, rough, rugged German man).

Tiff didn't make it through the course. The breathing underwater thing was giving her some claustrophobia issues...I'm confident that she will finish, but it'll have to be really slowly. She snorkeled a lot, and getting used to breathing for extended periods of time without coming up is making her more and more comfortable.

Our flight doesn't leave tomorrow till 2:30AM. It's going to be a long day of travel with the heaviest books ever (anyone familiar with the DSM-IV? Think encyclopedia x 2 with a diagnosos for any mental disorder imaginable. Yeah, I'm lugging that beast around). I've got a terrible cold and I stepped on some kind of barnacle thing that punctured my heel--looks like someone hole punched it, but the skin is still in place, hanging in a perfect circle. On the same foot my second-to-baby toenail is going to fall off soon, from the mountain climbing (no laughing, Bret). Right now it's like wiggling a loose tooth--not quite ready yet. I wonder if there is a toenail fairy that'll come and leave $5,000 under my pillow? To add to my attractiveness, I ran into a rusty lock on a bathroom door so my right shoulder has had a gash in it for a while...but its healing. I guess I'm a bit of a klutz, or accident prone. I'm trying to be tough... but I needed to whine for a sec.

Not sure if I am mentally prepared for India yet. I have no idea what to expect. We were originally supposed to go to Rishikesh but instead we are headed to Dharamsala because an Indian friend of Tiff's said it'll be much cooler, less crowded and overall more enjoyable. Each time I go to a new place it's like I haven't given it much thought because I've been trying to stay in the present culture as long as I can and enjoy it.

So on that note, I'm outta this computer lab and off to my final dinner in Thailand. I think I might have mentioned it before--this place is magical.

"Seriously. Somebody PUH-LEESE shave my armpits"

2007-06-05T05:10:00.001-05:00

This was Tiffany's cry for help. Loudly, and in an internet cafe. And if you know Tiff, for her to acknowledge an overgrowth of body hair it has got to be pretty bad. The reason for the immense desire for a razor was because we went to a place called the Sanctuary with the intention on staying one night. Seven days later we finally left. Tiff had to make a stop at home to get us clean clothes and a razor after about day five. We had been washing our two pair of underwear in the shower and pretty much wearing the same thing everyday (because we only packed for one night). We kept thinking "ok, one more day." I guess that's how it is when you travel, you fall in love with a place and don't want to leave.

So let me back up a bit and tell you how we wound up in the Sanctuary in the first place. I arrived in Koh Phagnan on the 23rd. We were supposed to leave for India on the 30th, but Tiffany had visa issues so we aren't leaving until June 8th. When Tiff was in Thailand for the first time 5 years ago she lived and taught yoga at the Sanctuary and always told me what a magical place it is (I use that word a lot to describe Koh Phagnan, but it's really one of the few that truly fits) so we decided to go there for a night.

Tiffany's house is in the Northwest part of the island in a quiet somewhat secluded area near where she is studying yoga--a place called Seetanu, and her beach area is Haad Joa Phoa ("Haad" means beach, "Koh" means island). The Sanctuary is on the Southeast side of the island close to the crazy beach where the Full Moon Party is each month (more on that in a bit--this might be a lengthy blog...) To get to Haad Tien where the Sanctuary is you must take a water taxi from Hadd Rin (the party section of town). The boat ride is breathtaking...

The Sanctuary is a "resort" of sorts. It has beautiful bungalows on cliffs over looking the beach and ocean. It also has the economy rooms--in our case, a dorm, which we shared with 8 other people. We slept on 1" thick mattresses on the floor, under mosquito nets (which I LOVE) in a hot, un-airconditioned, no fans, room right above a noisy restaurant. Sounds like resort living, eh? But, we paid about 3 dollars a night. The first night I went to get in the shower (community shower) and found a frog hopping around. The frog got into the shower because part of the ceiling opens into the jungle so whatever wildlife creatures are hanging around are free to be little voyeurs and watch you bathe. There is also a large boulder jutting into the bathroom, so it was a perfect place to hang a towel or clothes. There is no hot water, but this is never a problem because it's usually so hot that there is no desire to take a hot shower.

If the thought of a frog in the shower is enough to make you squirm, then Koh Phagnan might not be the place for you. In Tiffany's house there is a spider that occupies the bathroom that we fondly refer to as "Mamacita." She is about an inch in diameter (her body, not her legs) and is brown and furry. These are all over, and they kinda just chill--like big, friendly mosquito traps. But, the spider that hangs outside of her house over the hammock is a different story. It's legs are longer than my fingers, it's a vibrant black and yellow, and from what we understand it's best to steer clear of them--they look like a giant caution sign so I think they are telling you to stay away. Spiders are just the tip of the iceberg--apparently there is a giant (literally) snake living close to Tiffany's house. A Thai friend of ours saw it a few nights ago--they've been referring to it as an "anaconda" but we don't think actual anacondas live in Thailand. Anyway, the thing is like 15 feet long about a foot in diameter and when Pi Pat saw it she said it looked like it had just swallowed a chicken whole by the bulge in it's belly. We haven't seen it yet--which I guess is a good thing, but I'd love to get a picture...(we think it's a constrictor, so as long as we don't allow it to wrap around us and squeeze we should be golden.)

Ha! What a fantastic marketing representative I am for this place...I've made it sound scary as hell, but really, it's one of my favorite places in the world. You do not have to "rough it" and can stay in real resort areas that Westerners are used to. Some of the bugs will still be around but luxury can be found--and at such reasonable prices! There are very few hotels on the island. Instead, there are tons of bungalows usually ranging from 150-2500 baht, so $5-$75 dollars. For 150 baht you get a room with a bed and a mosquito net and you'll have a community bathroom/shower. For $2500 you will have a totally luxurious room with air conditioning, hot water, TV/DVD, a pool, front porch, gorgeous view (which also come with the cheap ones)--reallly nice. And then there is an obvious range in between. Getting to Thailand is the expensive part--once you are here you can vacation relatively cheaply.

Ok, back to what I've been doing...we stayed a Tiffs for a few nights before we took off to the Sanctuary. The yoga season is ending so there was a farewell party at one of her friends houses. This party did not include any alcohol...instead there were raw chocolate aphrodisiac bliss balls being passed out. Wow. Not only did they taste fantastic, the effect they had was like a total natural, euphoric high. Everyone that was there is studying tantric yoga--and if you are anything like me, the only thing I'd ever heard about Tantra before was about how Sting is tantric and he can have sex for days on end. (I know, all my guy friends are like "sign me up!") There is definitely a sexual aspect to Tantra, but from what I've learned, it is really focused on the chakras, or energy centers in the body. It teaches how to use/maximize this energy through yoga--with the ultimate outcome being spiritual enlightenment. It's interesting stuff. A little much for me to digest, but I'm always open to learning more.

So after all the yogis said goodbye, we hopped on Tiff's motorbike (which I've also discovered I love--such a great feeling to be zipping down a deserted island road with the sea to your right and a jungle to your left, only passing a car or other motorbikes every couple of minutes--there is something really freeing about it) and went to Thong Sala, a nearby town where we hopped in a taxi (which is really a pick-up truck with benches in the back) and headed to Haad Rin, the very developed part of the island. We can't take Tiff's bike all the way there because the roads are pretty treacherous and she drives like a grandma. From Hadd Rin we caught the water taxi to Haad Tien and that brings me back to the Sanctuary.

The first 3 days we spent catching up, having lots of "Tiff and Maggie" conversations, kinda living in our own world. We'd get up, eat a great breakfast, swim for a while, lay in some hammocks, nap, eat lunch, maybe swim some more, lay around some more, do yoga, talk, eat dinner and go to bed. It was rough. But, after a few days of this, we got tired of hearing our own voices and decided to start meeting the people staying there. Many of them were doing fasts (3-7 days of no food and lots of colonics...). Others were there for relaxing vacations that include a bunch of yoga and good (vegetarian) food. I am not a vegetarian, but the food there was fantastic. We met two young guys from London who were studying Thai boxing--there was a Thai boxing ring in the jungle right by the Sanctuary so they were staying in our dorm. Jonathan and Ben, great guys who we'll probably see again when we are in London. It wasn't long before we could go down to the restaurant and sit at any table because we had made friends with everyone--that's sort of how it works, you stay there long enough and you build a little community. And the people you meet are all so interesting. I thought my trip was big--4 months. In comparison, I am a complete novice. Some of these people have been traveling for 12-18 months. They often plant themselves someplace for six months at a time and work, sink into the culture, and then move on and do it again. So many cool stories...

And like I said, we thought we were only going for a night. So we were absolutely disgusting when it came to hygiene. We seriously had bathing suits, 2 pair of underwear each, yoga clothes and the clothes we arrived in. Tiff kept telling me that I need to learn how to be dirty cause in India we'll likely be much dirtier, but 5 days in the same clothes, when it's 90 degrees outside gets pretty gross. And when Tiffany is complaining about needing to shave you know the situation has come to drastic measures.

Her revelation came in the middle of us checking our email at the internet cafe. It was like her own body odor overwhelmed her so much that she blurted it out without even thinking about it--and we weren't the only people in there!! I almost fell out of my chair laughing because she said it so loudly and with such disgust, yet the woman at the computer next to her refused to even look up. (She was probably trying to finish whatever she was typing and get out of there ASAP because she was getting ill sitting next to us).

That was just one of the many times I laughed until I cried since I've seen Tiff. I has been SO GOOD to be with her again. We met almost 20 years ago, lived together in college and just know each other inside and out. We travel easily together because we can be completely honest about if we are annoyed, need space, feel weird, scared, etc. And we think we are hilarious, so even when there is no other entertainment around we can easily occupy ourselves. For example, we were sitting on the beach the other night having a typical female over-analyzation type of conversation when Tiffany says "To be completely honest with you, he would have been a perfect boyfriend...if he was just somebody else." I lost it. A quote like this comes out at least once a day. I should start documenting them.

So most nights at the Sanctuary were pretty quiet, but we happened to be there for the Full Moon Party. This is a monthly party, obviously the night of the full moon, on Haad Rin. Thousands and thousands of people come the the beach and party until midmorning the following day. When I was here in January we went and had a blast (It is where I met Marcus, the guy in Japan). So I talked Tiff into going again. Now, you have to prepare yourself because it is like Spring Break Cancun x 10. They serve drinks in buckets called "buckets" (original) that include some bottle of liquor, coke, redbull, and 6 or 7 straws. It's nuts. Tiff and I stuck with beer, because buckets seem a little excessive and scary with the wide open-ness of them...inviting shady people to drop whatever they'd like into them. We were walking through the party and suddenly this Thai guy came up to me and put a baby monkey in my arms. It was so cute, but looked so sad. He then pretty much forced Tiff and I to get our picture taken with it for 200 baht. (like 6 bucks) Tiffany cried. She was sad for the monkey....

There are also these crazy people that twirl fire on ropes/sticks/stilts, whatever. It is so cool, but then you get these dumbass drunk westerners that want to try it but then you see them the next day with bandages on their arms/legs/face from burning themselves. Usually the party ends a few hours after the sun comes up with people passed out all over the beach. Tiff and I took the water taxi back to Haad Tien at about 3:30am. We must be getting old.

Something that I notice about Thai and other SE Asian cultures, is that they place much more focus on resting and relaxing than we do. They recognize the importance of stopping, breathing, being quiet for a while. It is in this time that you remember the important things and regain perspective. We say things like "There aren't enough hours in the day"--because we have that much to do??!? Why??? We never stop to rest. We burn ourselves out. I've felt more alive because I've had this quiet time, this time to think rather than going, going, going and missing out on whats really going on. It's weird, because at first you feel guilty, like "I should be doing something" but, then you realize that always having something to do, always feeling a sense of responsibility isn't really good, it's exhausting. We forget about the things that are really the most important--family, loved ones, laughing, learning, enjoying ourselves and focus so much on money, work, material things. It's cliche, but I think about when I die, what would I more likely say-- "I wish I had spent more time with my family/friends, seen more of the world, had more experiences, been happier" OR "I wish I would have gotten that promotion, had more money, worked harder, etc" and the answer is so simple. We have so much in the US, but in my opinion we have it all backwards--we have so much stuff...but what else? Do we really have our priorities straight?

This has been a haphazard-ish blog. I had so much to write about that it probably came out a little disjointed. Thailand is truly magical. The Sanctuary is fabulous. And doing all of this with one of my best friends in the whole world makes it perfect.

If you are interested in the Sanctuary the website is
http://thesanctuarythailand.com/indexF.htm

Oh, and one more cool thing. I am getting my open water scuba diving certification. I've been in class for the past 3 days. I did my first real dives today and LOVED it. More on that later too!

Till India...

Thai state of mind (or being)

2007-05-28T22:35:00.001-05:00

I am feeling a little stressed right now. Tiffany procrastinated on getting her visa for India so now we can't leave until June 8th, meaning I have to change my tickets around. However, I haven't heard back from my travel agent and I am on a remote part of the island where Tiff's cell phone doesn't work...not really that big of a deal... if my flights didnt leave tomorrow. Oops.

So as I was fretting about all of this stuff, I walked past this little shop on the beach where we are staying now. It was closed (it was about 10am) and the sign on the door read:

"Most days we open around 9:30 or 10 but it can be as early as 8 but some days its as late as 11 or 12.

We close for afternoon break around 2 but sometimes it can be 3 or as early as 1:30.

We open again at 4 but it may be 4:30 if it's a nice day and we will close for the day at 6:30 but it may be as early as 6pm or as late as 7pm.

Some days we simply aren't here as we are somewhere else but we will always try tp be here when we are not there. "

I LOVE IT. Can you imagine that in the States? People would be rioting if a shop was closed when it said it's supposed to be open. Letters would be written to the Better Business Bureau, local paper, the shop owner--people would boycott it and never return...

So it's a little inconvienence. But it's an inconvienence because someone else is out doing something they enjoy. How do you fault them for that? Yeah, yeah. Responsibility, work ethic, blah, blah...They run the shop because it makes them happy. And if there is something else they would rather be doing, they will do so. And if you don't want to come back, then don't. They are not running their shop for YOU (or me.)

Why can't we adapt that theory? Work because we enjoy it? Find what we REALLY love and do it--for ourselves? It sure makes responsibilities seem a lot less burdensome.

Ok. my daily does of "we really got it wrong in the US"... now I have try to figure out these tickets. Much more on Thailand later.

Thank You

2007-05-27T06:49:00.002-05:00

I have gotten many wonderful emails/comments from friends, family and people I didn't realize were following along. I feel terrible that I haven't emailed you guys back yet. When I sit down in front of the computer it's usually to do homework or write an entry. So please know that I have received them, they've made me feel really good, I miss you all lots, and knowing that you are reading this blog absolutely makes my day!!

I'm paying big bucks for this internet session (3 baht per minute--approx 8 cents) which is high here in Thailand, and I have MUCH to write about. So when I have time, am at a 1 baht internet cafe, and can figure out how to get it all down eloquently I'll write about frogs in the shower, this mystical island, a giant anaconda, the Sanctuary, tarot card readings, tantric yoga, hanging with Tiff, chocolate bliss balls, and rediscovery...

The traveling part of traveling

2007-05-24T00:43:00.002-05:00

I'm in Thailand now. And getting here was a bit of an ordeal. I think I took every means of transportation possible (aside from camel) to finally land in paradise--Koh Phangan.

I woke up at 4:30am on Tuesday to take the subway from Azabu-juban to the Tokyo station to catch the Shikansen train (bullet train) to Osaka, which is where I was flying out of. So I got my speedy-train ticket without a problem, turned on my iPod and zoned out most of the way to the Osaka station. From the train station I had to take a bus to the airport. Lucky for me there were signs everywhere saying "bus to airport" so I follow the signs, paid 4 dollars and felt good that I was going to make it to the airport with plenty of time to spare.

When I go to the airport, the bus driver gave us two options--Japan Airways, or All Nippon Airways. I was flying Thai Airways...so, before panicking, I thought to myself, maybe its a co-operated flight or something, just go in and ask...

No one had mentioned to me that there were TWO airports in Osaka. The woman that was helping me out told me that I was at the wrong airport and it would take an hour and 10 minutes by bus to get to the other airport. By this time it was 9:55, and my flight left at 11:45. My only hope of making it was a cab. A very, very, very expensive cab. So the taxi driver flew to the other airport, I ran to the check-in line, made it with a few minutes to spare and sank into my seat, all the while telling myself that these things happen, and that in the big scheme of things an $100 cab ride isn't that big of a deal (we can always get more money, right Jeremy?) I was just happy that I would make my connecting flight from Bangkok to Koh Samui.

Riiiiight...After about an hour and a half in the air, the pilot comes on and said we were having mechanical problems and need to make an emergency landing in Taipei, Taiwan. He said it would be a short stop and we'd be back in the air in 20 minutes. 2 hours later, (sat on the runway the entire time) we were back on our way to Bangkok, and I knew that there was a good chance that I would miss my connecting flight. But in a situation like that, what can you do? There was no point in getting worked up or frustrated, because there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

As I'm landing in Bangkok, I see my connecting flight taking off...

So I take my time through customs, go to the Bangkok Airways counter and they put me on the next flight (only an hour later). I made it to Koh Samui right as Tiffany was getting to the airport. So after the subway, bullet train, bus, taxi, and 2 airplanes and Tiff's motorbike, I am finally in Thailand--in PARADISE. I am so happy to be back here. Its such a drastic change from the fast-paced, material world of Tokyo. And seeing Tiffany made everything I am doing feel so right. We have been friends for 20 years, and being able to share the next 3 months with her is going to be magical.

We took a ferry (one final mode of transportation) over to Koh Phangan yesterday, and most of today I've spent on the beach, playing fetch in the ocean with a new 4-legged friend, and spending time catching up on the last 5 months with Tiffany. She has been here studying tantric yoga--so obvoiusly there was much to discuss.

I am still missing a book for one class, and Drew is going to ship it to me in India (it made it to Japan the day after I left). I just finished my homework, chatted with Jeremy online for a minute, and wrote this blog--so its back to the beach now!!! I would be envious of me right now :)

Sawadee Ka!

Japan Photos

2007-05-21T04:52:00.001-05:00

I spent all day uploading, organizing and adding captions to my pictures from Japan. So feel free to take a look. They might make more sense now...

Off to Thailand tomorrow. What a different world that`ll be. And thank God. I think I`ve blown half my budget here. Not a cheap country...

He comes from a land down under

2007-05-21T04:40:00.001-05:00

It never fails. We`ve all had it happen...

My intentions for this trip were to keep an open mind, make connections with all different types of people and learn about myself. Meeting men was pretty much last on the priority list. But...undoubtedly when your not looking is always when it hits. Hard.

And it also never fails, that you meet this particular person the day before he is leaving.

So I went out on Friday night with Drew, Mei and a bunch of Drew`s friends. One being his close friend, Honor, a really cool girl from Australia. She had a friend in town, Jeremy, who is a pilot for Qantas airlines. Drew immediately saw some kind of potential match making opportunity, and maybe planted the seed a bit...

Jeremy is 28 and 3/4 (his words) and lives in Sydney. He flies 737s (I believe) from Sydney to various destinations in Asia and other Australian cities. He`s charming, bright, funny, fun, really good looking...the type for me to run far and fast from. So, of course, I do exactly the opposite. There was a pretty immediate spark and we spent hours dancing and not doing much talking since the music was so loud you couldn`t even hear if you screamed. As usual, it was close to daylight when we came out of the club. The trains were not running yet and he was staying at a hotel near the airport so unless he took a $200 cab back he had no place to go. Being the good samaritan that I am, I offered to hang out with him some more. Not really knowing anything about him other than he was safe, cause he was part of our group, and he was really cute (two great reasons, in my opinion) we went back to my hostel. Now, before you think bad things, my roommates were all home, so we went up on the rooftop and hung out for a bit, getting to know one another--since we could actually hear each other speak. When the trains started working we headed towards the station, both exhausted. I told him I was going to go get some coffee and he said he`d join me. Almost 4 hours later we were still at the coffee shop, having talked the entire time.

It is amazing how when you are in a situation that you know there is a very good possibility that you will never see this person again, you just lay it all out there. You know? Here I am, this is me, take it or leave it, I don`t care. And crazily enough, when you do that, it seems to enable the other person to do the same and you end up having a conversation that is more in depth and intense than you`ve ever had with even some of your closest friends. It was like we were in some kind of zone oblivious to everything else around us. He completely understood everything I am doing. He wanted to talk about the things I need to talk about, that others either think I`m weird or they don`t get it. And it wasn`t all serious stuff. It was fun, effortless....really, really nice.

So, after we realized how much time had passed, he said he had to get back to Narita (the airport town) but neither of us were ready for the day to end, so he invited me to join him. It was about an hour and a half to get out there, and on the train ride we just relaxed, looked at pictures, talked some more...just enjoyed one another. When we got to Narita, we went to lunch, and then he cleaned himself up and got ready to fly. He went from being the cool, cute guy in the club to Mr. professional airplane pilot that even wears the funny hat. As my friends know, I am apparently a sucker for accents and uniforms (no worries, NOT a soccer uniform) and this guy has both. Uh-oh.

Then all of the sudden dread started to sink in. Here was this person that I was enjoying the company of immensely and he has to leave. And who knows if we`ll ever see each other again. ahhh...

Mental delimma. I had a short debate in my head--there are two ways of looking at this situation. First, it sucks. Bigtime. How often do you find an attraction on all levels--intellectual, emotional, and physical? And when you do, how do you not want to hang on to it for dear life? I am female afterall. But, then I took a deep breath, shut down the franticness in my mind and thought, damn, I am really lucky to have met him. Even if we don`t ever see each other again, I`ve had a wonderful time, and my life is better for having had this experience with him. The past 15 hours have been great, and if nothing else, the memory will always be a cherished one.

When we were looking out the window before he left, there was a beautiful sunset...but it was raining at the same time. He said "Well if that isn`t a perfect metaphor for this moment." Indeed it was...

I imagine this might be a dilemma I may run across a couple more times during my travels. So learning to say: "goodbye and thanks for the contribution you have made to my life" is something I have to be able to do, without getting all mopey and girly about it.

Plus, coming from the hard place I`ve been in, meeting someone like Jeremy gives me hope for myself when I am ready for a relationship in the future. There are good guys out there. I`ve been lucky to have met a few. We have already been in touch via email, and at the very least, I have a new friend.

And who knows, the world is a small place and the man flies an airplane...

Mei, Mahnaz, and Maggie

2007-05-17T00:26:00.001-05:00

Last night was one of the best nights I've had on my trip thus far. I got back to my room after a frustrating day of trying to get my cell phone to work, playing catch-up with my school work, and realizing that Seton Hall only sent me books for one of my classes....ugh. I walk into my room annoyed and hungry and Mei says "You have plans for dinner?" Nope. So I decide to go with her to meet a guy from New Zealand and Iranian girl she knows from her Japanese class to eat at a near by restaurant.

It was absolutely amazing. In one night my world expanded tenfold because of this indescribable connection between 3 completely different women. (Tim, the Kiwi guy had to leave early cause he's a broker and gets up at the crack of dawn) So it was Mei, Mahnaz, and I--Singapore, Iran and America.

Mei and I had built an immediate friendship--you know those people that you feel like you've known forever and it is effortless? That's how its been with Mei (pronounced May). Mahnaz, the Iranian girl, is unlike anyone I have ever met. First of all she is drop dead gorgeous and seemingly oblivious to it. She's just 21, but is well beyond that in terms of understanding life and people. She is an actress in Iran, and is in Japan studying Japanese. She seems to almost be a savant of sorts when it comes to languages as she speaks English very well and has learned it simply from listening to music and watching TV. Her native language is Persian, but her Japanese is very good after only being here a month.

After getting to know each other a bit, the conversation turned to Japanese culture. Mahnaz was hilarious when describing it, because she is so animated and very good at doing exact imitations. The culture is difficult for her, because she is a very, very passionate person, and the blank faces and surface level smiles she receives on the subway are beginning to get to her. The talk eventually evolved to discussing Buddhism...then Christianity and Islam.

I learned so much last night (or maybe just confirmed what I knew deep down). Mahnaz's religious practices are beautiful. Her beliefs are completely peaceful and loving. She is a devout Muslim, but open-minded to all religions and has studied Christianity extensively. Her boyfriend is Japanese and a Buddhist. Her deep love for her mother and sister, her passion for life, her genuine interests in others was contagious. She talked candidly about her religion. When we asked her about terrorism or suicide bombers she said that her beliefs are that anyone who kills themselves or others cannot go to Paradise.

I was fascinated. How quickly all of my preconceived notions were thrown out the window when it was brought down to the human level. Yes, she must be covered when she walks the streets in her country. But no, she does not hate Americans or Christians. She cracks jokes, has boyfriend problems, and is sad about her lack of relationship with her father. She is me and you. If only everyone could meet a Mahnaz. There would be a lot less to fear. And isn't fear what drives all of this anyway?

I've been reading the book Conversations with God (great book if anyone is interested) and the author describes two fundamental human feelings/emotions. The first being love. The second being the opposite...and it's not hate. It's fear. The reason we are at war is not because they are wrong or we are wrong. It is because ultimately we (humans) are terrified of what we don't know or understand. Fear culminates hate. If we could all do what I did last night--bring it down to the human level and understand that we really are all the same...we are all made up of the same matter, we are all born the same way and we all live and we all die. Then the fear would disseminate, acceptance would build, and we'd all live happily ever after.

Yeah, yeah, I know. A little idealistic. But you get my point. We cannot judge the people of Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan based on what we are seeing on TV. It would be like judging the US based on Ted Kaczynski and Jeffery Dahmer. I think the term "Terrorists" is a perfect description for the sad, horrible people that hurt so many-- not because they inflict terror, but because they themselves are terrified. And the only way they can handle their fear of what they don't know and don't understand is to try to suppress it or get rid of it altogether.

These 2 woman, who have experienced more in their short lives than I probably ever will, taught me more in one night than any psychology or sociology class ever could. I also realized what a charmed life I have lived. Although my problems sometimes seem overwhelming, having a night like last night gives me the perspective I need. We are lucky in America. We do not realize how easy we really do have it. But it doesn't make us better, it doesn't make us the best. In fact, maybe it makes us less capable of handling real difficult situations when they arise. Our lives are easy. Even when we think they're not.

This is why I love traveling...

Observations

2007-05-14T22:06:00.001-05:00

Ok, to make up for the total suckiness of that last blog I decided to do a bonus blog. (and its thunderstorming outside, so its best for me to stay in the internet cafe until it blows over a little.)

Since I have been in Japan, I`ve seen tons of great sites, but those are really secondary interests to me. I am, and always have been, a people person--watcher, listener, interactor. I`m completely fascinated by human behavior--hence the psychology/counseling grad program. So here is a comprehensive list of what I`ve seen in Japan that has interested me. Much of it is very surface level observations as it`s hard to have in depth conversations when you don`t speak the language...

For Japanese women the desired appearance is "cute", not sexy or hot, but cute. And it seems that cute is equated to "little" and "young." So fashion is interesting. Very fashion forward, but lots of catholic school girl looks, with short skirts, knee socks (often coming over their knees) and high heels--frills. The most interesting part though, is they walk very pigeon-toed... on purpose. Apparently they believe it makes them look young, unassuming, innocent.
To continue with the cute theme, everyone decorates their cell phones with little charms. As I`m sure you`ve seen, Hello Kitty is big here, so lots of Hello Kitty charms.
Japanese women wear the most uncomfortable looking shoes ever. I feel like even if they were running a marathon they would be in heels of some sort.
Many men tweeze their eyebrows (yes, straight guys)
No one talks on cell phones in public places, like the train or bus. It is considered rude. But they text message non-stop, I guess that's not rude.
There are 40,000,000 (yes, MILLION) vending machines in Japan. On every corner there is a drink machine, selling everything from Coke to juice to water to beer. But you could walk for miles without finding a trash can. So they will carry the trash around until they get home. However the streets are incredibly clean.
Japanese children could quite possibly be the cutest kids on the face of the planet
Every restaurant takes pictures of all of the food they make, and post them on boards outside--that's usually how I order, by pointing at a picture. Same even goes for Starbucks
In Tokyo there is a word for literally working oneself to death called Karoshi. Dropping dead from total exhaustion from working non-stop.
Men go out in packs after work, most often without wives/significant others, and I think they spend more time doing their hair than the women. There are a lot of Rod Stewart circa 1979 haircuts here.
Everyone seems pleasant all the time. It`s like New York except there are no pissed off, grumbling, rude, loud people. (Ok, so maybe it`s not like NY afterall) But seriously, are they really this happy?
The westerners don't seem to assimilate all that much. Maybe because the language is so drastically different, or the culture. But it makes me think of the US, when you see large groups of foreigners together--makes more sense now. Its just easier I guess. But they do all mix with each other--Americans, Aussies, Europeans, etc.
Most of the men I`ve met are dating Japanese girls. And when I see them together I can`t figure it out, because conversing looks painful. Ohhhhh....it just dawned on me...No wonder men like the language barrier--less talking in general! And probably very little of the "So where is this relationship going? What exactly are we? Where were you till 3am?"
Animation is hugely popular here, all kinds of comic books, video games, people dressing as comic book or video game characters...
You don`t top off your own drink
At the BBQ the women did the grilling
Technology is everywhere.

I`m sure there are a ton of things that I am leaving off and as soon as I step outside I`ll see something that is unusual to me.

As I was sitting at a coffee shop this morning listening to my iPod and watching people go about their day, I had a bit of an epiphany. Yesterday I spent the day and went to dinner with my roommate, Mei (the one from Singapore). We spent 3 hours just drinking tea and talking--and it made me realize that THIS was one of my main goals of this trip. Seeing the temples and shrines are nice, but connecting with people from all over the world is what I love most. Talking to her, I realized that even though we couldn't live farther away, we have the same fears, joys, worries, senses of humor, etc. And each person that I can connect with makes the world just that much smaller--and that much better. Everyone has a story, and taking the time to hear them is what is most meaningful to me. So sure, I`ll write about the sites to see and things to do, but what is going to make this trip unforgettable for me is the people I meet.

Hello, Tokyo

2007-05-13T23:28:00.001-05:00

Well I made it to Tokyo from Kyoto with relative ease. I took the super-duper fast bullet train called the Shinkansen. I fell asleep as soon as I got on the train, but woke up, luckily, right as we were passing Mt. Fuji. Wow--what a site. It just shoots into the sky out of nowhere--no other mountains around. It looks like an actual volcano, the way it is shaped and it was still covered with snow at the peak. Breathtaking.

My friend Drew told me that it good luck to see Fuji from the train because its often to hazy to get a good view. And based on my time in Tokyo so far, he`s been right.

Drew and I went to OU together, so it`s been really, really nice to have a familiar face around. He`s been a great guide so far since he`s lived in Japan for almost 4 years, and we`ve been going non-stop since Friday evening. I am staying at a hostel (my first ever!) and I have a really cool roommate from Singapore named Mei. There are also 2 Russian girls and an Australian living in the next room. Some guys are a floor below us but I haven`t met them yet. I am right in the heart of the city, in an area called Azabu-juban . It`s within walking distance from Roppongi a shopping/eating/nightlife area that`s well known.

Tokyo and Kyoto are extremely different from one another. Kyoto is quieter, and has such a rich history with all of the temples and shrines in the area. It recently passed a law that no buildings being built can be over 7 stories high. In Tokyo there doesn`t seem to be buildings under 7 stories high. There are probably more tourist activities in Kyoto, but Tokyo is my kind of city. It is so alive, vibrant, loud--real.

Upon my arrival, I talked with the Australian girl for a bit...she is here hostessing. (a different kind of hostessing than in the US...shes NOT seating people at a restaurant) Look it up if you`re interested... Drew and I then met up and went out on the town. He took me to a very cool underground club, where they had live art being created--graffiti, sculpting, etc. I met people from all over the place (a very drunk Australian actor that acts in low budget Japanese films was pretty fond of me. He told me at least 37 times that he was going to be in a new movie and that his grandma just turned 100). When we walked out of the club it was daylight. Apparently that's a norm here. I don`t think I could hang on a regular basis.

The next day we went to a cookout by a river. It was fun, I got to meet more of Drew`s friends. The food was kinda weird though. They made spaghetti...? And put bananas on the grill. We played frisbee and just chilled, very much like a cookout at home (aside from the bananas).

That night we went to a dinner part and watched the movie Babel. Yesterday we went to a Thai Food Festival in a park in the Shibuya area. It`s kinda like the Central Park of Tokyo. We listened to some Thai rock bands, and ate some fantastic food--made me ready to get to Thailand!

However, I don`t want to rush out of Japan, as I`ve been loving observing the Japanese culture. It is SO different. The people are so incredible hospitable and friendly. Everything they do, they do 100% and then some. But, its apparent that I am different to them, and there is definitely a feeling of us v. them. Not negatively, but the difference is recognized constantly. It isn't "we`re all human", its more "we`re Japanese...and you are whatever it is you are" You know in the states, pretty much anyone can be American despite their background, skin color, etc. Here no one can be Japanese, unless of course you are Japanese. Does that make sense?

I am a bit of a commodity though. I`ve been told by more than one Japanese woman that I am lovely (pronounced lovery). And the reason I am lovery? Because I have a small face. Yes. A small face. Is that a compliment? Ha! I'm not sure, but it seems to be. A group of Junior High aged girls were pointing and smiling and waving at me at the train station the other day. At first I thought they must be looking at something behind me, but then I realized it was me that they were talking about. So I smiled and waved back. They got excited, clapped, talked amongst themselves and waved some more. It was causing a little bit of a commotion. An Italian guy standing next to be said "you have blue eyes." But I can`t imagine that`s what it was. Most likely, my zipper was down, or I had rice stuck on my face or something. But, I definitely don`t fit in, so I get lots of stares. It`s cool though. Everyone should be out of their comfort zone every once in a while.

A couple things that suck--my camera isn`t working. I have the WORST luck with digital cameras, this is my 4th one in 2 years. I have to try to find an Olympus store to see if they can help fix it. Uhhh...what a pain. And trying to explain the problem when all I know how to say in Japanese is Hi and Thank you makes it even more fun...

Second thing that sucks--my parents are shipping my books to me for this semester and they said they are really heavy. Great. Another 10 lbs to lug around Asia with me.

I have posted some pictures from Kyoto so far. They were from Mike`s camera. Its some of the mountain climb and the night out in Shisaibashi. Haven`t had time to do captions because school started on Thursday, so most of my time on the computer is focused on that. I will though...one of these days.

Alright. I think this was a boring blog. Sorry! Im tired of being in the internet cafe. Going to meet Mei for lunch. I`ll be much more interesting (and hilarious) next time around.

Oh! I almost forgot! We saw an old Japanese women yesterday in the train station wearing an Ohio State hat. We are everywhere. I thought about yelling O-H! to see if she`d respond...

Alone

2007-05-10T05:00:00.002-05:00

It`s my last day in Kyoto, and its cold and rainy. I was supposed to go visit Nanzen-ji Temple and walk the Philosophers Path today with a guy from New Zealand that I met last night, but mother nature put a damper on those plans. So instead, I`m just sitting here in my little apartment feeling very much alone. I can`t watch TV, because I don`t understand a word of it, and quite frankly it`s bizarre--I guess I don`t get the Japanese sense of humor, where watching people eat weird stuff is entertaining...but who am I to judge, when the US has such quality shows, like "Wife Swap..."

It`s in these quiet moments, when I can`t just pick up the phone and call home (since its 4am) that I ask myself, "What in the hell are you doing?" The answer...traveling around the world. Which leads to my next question. Why? Because I have the money to actually do it. Why? Because I sold the condo in Salt Lake. Why? Because I am getting divorced.

Oh.

And just like that the reality of my messy life comes crashing down on me, overwhelming. Sure, this is an experience of a lifetime, but I`d change it all in a heartbeat if I could go back in time, figure out what went wrong and fix it. This is the last thing I ever wanted, but somehow I did my part in creating it. Do we do that? Manifest the very things we fear the most so we have to face them and learn how to deal with them? Now, I am fully aware that I cannot be responsible for anyone else`s actions, but I do truly believe that we create most things that happen to us, whether its on a conscious level or not. So subconsciously, I must really have it out for myself...

It`s times like this that I have to believe it is all happening the way it is supposed to. Maybe the lesson I am learning is how to be alone and be OK with it. That giving yourself completely to someone else, although in theory is supposed to be a good thing, really isn`t. It is one thing to be selfless, it`s another to be self-less. It`s terrifying to wake up and think your life is headed in one direction and suddenly it takes a sharp turn and all your left with is you. And who is that? God knows. Apparently, I think the answer is going to be found under a rock in India or something...but really, honestly, I know the answer is right here with me all the time. It`s just facing it, looking at it head on, and then holding on to it, so as to not let it go ever again.

There are so many questions. Is my life going backwards when everyone else`s is moving forwards? Will I be able to do things differently in the future? What if this happens again? What the hell am I doing?

Oh, yeah. Traveling around the world. Looking for me...under a rock in India. Trying to find what I know is there but has been buried for so long. Trying to understand that everything I need, I already have--no other person will be able to give it to me, and if I look to someone to do that, then I will find myself back here all over again.

Alone.

Lesson 1: Remember where you parked your bike...

2007-05-07T19:04:00.002-05:00

Yes, that`s right, it says bike. Not car, or SUV...bike. Now, since I have been able to drive, I think I have maybe been on a bike twice. And both times were on paved bike paths, with no cars and very few obstacles (read: people) to maneuver around.

In Kyoto, bicycles are the main mode of transportation. Everyone has one. Including me. (The city should be on red alert.) My bike is blue, it has a basket, a bell, and a blinking red light on the back when it gets dark. It is everything we would laugh cruelly at if we saw it in the US. In fact, when Marcus told me that my guesthouse came with a free bike, I did laugh. Like I was going to be riding around a foreign city on a bike...

Well, I don`t really have much of a choice. The closest train station to my house is about a 10 minute bike ride away. Technically, I could walk it, but it would be a hike, and Lord knows I`ve had enough of those to last me a while. So I began practicing on my little street...back and forth, back and forth. Surprisingly it came back pretty quickly. Like Brett said "it`s like riding a bike."

When I felt brave enough, I agreed to meet Brett and Mike on my bike to do some sight seeing. Of course, I got extremely lost and they had to come find me at a pay phone on a street corner. After they tracked me down we proceeded to ride through the busy streets of Kyoto, dodging taxis, streetlights, people, other bikers...

It was the second time in two days that I went on auto pilot. I just focused on Brett`s back, and staying upright. I didn`t spend much time taking in the sights around me, my main focus was staying alive.

The first place we rode was to the Fushimi-inari Taisha Shrine. It was a beautiful shrine with thousands of orange gates leading through forests with stop along the way for cemeteries, and places to pray. We then went to lunch at my first ramen shop--mmmm...I love Japanese food. After that we tried to squeeze in a trip to Nijo Castle, but unfortunately when we got there it was closing due to it being a national holiday. To get downtown to the castle, it was riding through major (busy!) streets. I think I`d have a hard time recognizing Brett from the front because since I`ve been here I`ve been basically keeping his back in sight, trying for dear life to keep up.

That night we went to Osaka and went out in a place called Shinsaibashi. If Kyoto is like Boston to the US than Shinsaibashi would be like Atlantic City...or even the Vegas strip. When I have the opportunity to post my pictures, you`ll see what I mean. Trains from Osaka to Kyoto stop at midnight, and of course there was no way we were going home that early, so we had to wait until the 5am train to head back. The next day I was worthless.

Yesterday, my friends that live here had to go back to work, so I decided to venture to Nijo Castle by myself. I rode my bike to my station, figured out the train ride (only one transfer) and had a wonderful day of sightseeing. The castle and its gardens were beautiful. Afterwards, I wandered to a shopping area of town called Sanjo where I strolled in and out of stores, and stopped for my first sushi since I`ve been here.

After a full day, I made my way back to my train stop, and was ready for my quick ride home. I went down to the bike parking lot, and my bike was no where to be found. Now, when I described my bike, I described 99% of the bikes in Kyoto--they all have baskets and bells. I did not realize that there were about 8 bike lots surrounding the station, and I had no clue which one mine was in. I wandered in circles, in and out of rows of bikes, for at least an hour before I FINALLY recognized my bike lot. There was a big number 6 by it that I paid no attention to when I got there, which would have been extremely helpful in the search. I didn`t bother to ask for help, because trying to describe a bike here would have been quite comical: think, Something About Mary`s "Have you seen my baseball??"

So lesson learned--look for landmarks, numbers, etc. around where you park your bike so you are not that Gaijin wandering for hours trying to find it.

She´ll be coming ´round the Mountain...

2007-05-03T18:29:00.005-05:00

Well I made it safely to Japan and my travel was relatively uneventful. Columbus to Chicago, Chicago to Toyko (14 hrs), Toyko to Osaka, and at Osaka I had one of those guys with my name on a sign pick me up and take me to my guesthouse in Kyoto (about a 45 minute drive).

My guesthouse is quite comfortable with a living room with a PC and high speed intenet, a full kitchen, bathroom and bedroom.

I left at 10:30am and arrived at 7:10pm the following day. I didnt sleep well on the flights so I was exhausted. After having tea and a tray of Pringles and fudge striped cookies (intersting?) with the woman I am renting the guesthouse from, I was getting ready to head up to bed when my friend Marcus called. He said "get some sleep, we are meeting at 7:45 to go hiking tomorrow in Omi Nagaoka." Ok, cool. Some plans for my first day.

I met him and 2 of his friends at the Kyoto train station in the morning and we took about an hour and 10 minute ride to a remote little town with a really big mountain. Mount Ibuki stood towering in the distance and Marcus pointed and said "I think that´s what we´re climbing," I laughed...Marcus is really a funny guy. I knew they wouldnt do something like that to me my first day, after 26 hours of traveling and 6 hours of fitful sleep. We met 4 more friends at the Omi Nagaoka train station so in total there were 8 of us. 3 from Japan, 4 from the US, and 1 Canadian (Marcus is from Canada), and we headed to the base of the mountain.

This entire time I was still not believing that we were actually going to climb the mountain. Maybe hike around it, or go halfway up, or take a scenic ride...something other than scaling (literally) up a mountain. So we began walking...and walking and walking and walking. Straight up. Not weaving back and forth like when usually climbing up a large hill...no, STRAIGHT UP. The group quickly split into 3 groups, the super climbers, the middle of the pack, and then me and Tomo. I remember at one point we stopped at a sign written in Japanese, I asked Tomo what it said and he said it was the second stop. I asked how many stops there were total, praying the answer was 3...he said 9. I´ve never climbed a mountain before and had not at all prepared myself mentally for what was ahead of me. On top of everything else, my body was telling me that it was midnight and it was time to go to bed (there is a 13 hr time difference). So after climbing for about an hour we meet the group halfway up. They were taking a nice little break while waiting for us. I sat down and thats when I felt my legs tell me "there is absolutely no way you can walk one more step, Maggie." But the rest of the group jumped up ready for the second half of the climb, nicely rested. Tomo and I looked at each other, I´m sure thinking in our two different languages the very same thought..."we´ll see you guys on your way back down." But instead, we stood up too, and what I accomplished from there has become one of my proudest accomplishments to date.

Physically, my body was done. There was nothing left in me. Jetlag is bad enough when you are just out shopping, nevermind climbing a mountain. But something in me was saying you have to do this. So I kept going, literally willing each step, living one second at a time, afraid to look up to see how much farther. I hated Marcus, I hated Japan, I hated everything. I have never felt this type of physical pain and exhaustion, but for some reason I kept pushing through. As we got closer to the top it became much more difficult. We were climbing with our legs and arms now through large rocks and narrow trails. I was running on nothing but sheer willpower. Finally when I allowed myself to look up I saw my new friends (even though I hated them) smiling and cheering and taking pictures of us (hated them for that too).

I did it. My first day in Japan I climbed a mountain. At the top we ate lunch (which was heaven since all I had to eat in the past 2 days was airplane food and a breakfast bar that morning) let our legs relax for a bit and took in the sites. I was trying to play it cool on the outside, so my new friends didnt think I was a huge dork, but inside I was beaming with pride. I cannot ever remember a time in my life when I pushed through something so physically streanous by only using the strength of my mind, because there was no more strenght left in my body. Already this trip has started to make a difference...

So, what goes up must come down, right? I was a master at going down, but my knees and blisters the size of bowling balls disagree today. Brett, one of the other Americans told me to embrace my pain, so I kept repeating "I love my blisters, I love my blisters" and he was saying the same thing about his knee. We reached the bottom, and just sat for a bit. It took two and a half hours to go up and an hour to come back down.

Now the story could end there, but what´s a good story without some nudity?

After a day like that nothing sounds better than a hottub. So we headed to a traditional Japanese hot spring, called an Onsen which included indoor and outdoor natural baths. I had read about these baths before, and thought it was funny that such a modest society holds business retreats at these hot springs where you are bathing completely naked with strangers, or worse, coworkers. But, as they say, when in Rome...

So I put my own modesty aside, paid for my little towel and an hour in the Onsen, and proceeded to let my muscles relax in the soothing natural springs. You have to first wash yourself with soap in a shower, and then you are free to go into both the indoor and outdoor baths. One of the large indoor baths had some bags of herbs floating in it, and one of the outdoor baths had bubbles like a hottub. The other one outside was simply carved into a large rock. It was wonderful.

I´m guessing by now you are wondering if these baths are coed...sorry, nope. The women and men seperated and met back up in a quiet relaxation room (like a yoga room) where we just laid on the floor waiting for our taxis back to the train station.

I crashed on the train, and made my way back to my little home. I slept for 8 consecutive hours and am starting to feel like I am catching up. My knees and blisters are still killing me, but I just look at it as a reminder of my accomplishment on my first day in Japan.

Today I am going with Brett and his brother Mike to visit some temples and tonight we will meet Marcus and head to Osaka for dinner and a night on the town.

I am still trying to get my bearings and still can´t quite believe that this is just the first stop in 4 months of travel. I dont think I could have scripted a better first day.

On a side note, I feel like I should also address those people that might be reading this blog whom I havent met, that saw the little blurb in the Dispatch (all 4 of you). Originally I set this up to keep family and friends updated on whats happening in this hemisphere, but was excited about the opportunity to share my travel (and life) stories with Dispatch readers. So welcome, I hope you enjoy. And please remember "The thoughts and views expressed here are solely those of the author and in no way reflect those of the Columbus Dispatch"...blah, blah...my official disclaimer.

Ok, going to make some tea and begin the second day of the rest of my life...

4 months, 1 backpack

2007-04-29T11:42:00.001-05:00

I don't really consider myself high maintenance (I can feel your eyes rolling, Mr. W). But attempting to pack one large backpack for four months would be a daunting task for any average female. Seriously, one pair of jeans? It gives me minor panic attacks just thinking about it.

I am not accustomed to clothes shopping for functionality purposes. Dick's isn't where I usually go to update my wardrobe. So you can imagine my surprise when I found that they make pants that turn into shorts that turn into a sleeping bag and a parachute. Everything is multi-purpose-- quick-drying, waterproof, fire retardant, and reversible. And unfortunately, most leave much to be desired in terms of aesthetics. I've had to do my best to let my snobbery go, remember my purpose for this trip, and try to pack accordingly.

So ladies, prepare yourself for this...deep breaths...here's what I'm taking: ONE, yes, literally, one pair of jeans. A pair of cargo pants that can snap up into capris. A pair of actual capris, and a pair of shorts. 2 sundresses. Lots of tank tops, cause they can fold into 1" x 1" squares, a bathing suit, a sarong (that will also serve as a blanket or towel), 3 pair of socks, a zillion pair of underwear (the one thing I refuse to wear over and over) a light weight rain jacket, a hoodie, and 4 pairs of shoes--tennis shoes, 2 pair of flip-flops and one wedge sandal (my splurge).

Toiletry-wise, I'm bringing a little make-up, shampoo, conditioner, lotion, bug spray with deet (a necessity says Dr. Disease, can't get Malaria if you don't get bitten), advil, toothbrush, toothpaste, etc, etc. All in 3 oz. or less containers, otherwise I'll have to leave them at Port Columbus...because I'm not checking my bag.

Imagine, a 4 month trip with so little luggage that you can carry it on the plane. After wanting to hyperventilate into a paper bag, I do feel a slight bit of pride. I'm going to be wearing the same thing day after day after day...and you know what? I don't care. (Ok, I'm getting there at least...I almost don't care) This trip is not about my wardrobe or lack thereof. Plus, I learned the hard way from my last trip to Thailand, carrying all of your belongings on your back can get really heavy, especially if you are only 5'3" and your backpack is almost your size.

For those of you who have traveled extensively, I know this really isn't that big a deal--people do it all the time, right? But, this is a first for me and it's taken quite a bit of deep thought and consideration to figure out which articles of clothing make the final cut.

So, please think of me as you are walking through Nordstrom's shoe department and tell Anthropologie that I'll miss it dearly, but I will return in September to buy something that cannot hold up against a monsoon but looks really freakin' cute.

Dr. Disease

2007-04-15T19:47:00.002-05:00

On Thursday I went to a doctor who specializes in travel immunizations to get all of my necessary shots for the trip (fun, fun). Before the needles, he talked with me about where I was going, what shots were needed and how to stay safe and healthy. He broke my trip down into 3 groups--the first: Japan and Europe, the second: Thailand, India, Nepal, and Morocco, the third was Ghana, in a group of its own.

For the first group I didn't need anything. For the second group he was most concerned about food and water borne diseases so he recommended Hepatitis A and Typhoid. For Ghana, I had to get a Yellow Fever vaccination or else I can't even enter the country. Ghana is also the only country that he was worried about Malaria so he gave me a prescription that I should fill if I decide to venture outside of the capital city, Accra.

I got two shots--Yellow Fever and Hep A. He gave me pills for Typhoid which I am taking now. 4 pills every other day for 8 days. I think it's made me feel a little nauseous but nothing too bad. So I have all kinds of cool antibodies streaming through my body right now.

Obviously, the shots sucked, but what impacted me the most during the consult was when the doc said "Based on the places you have chosen to go, I need you to listen to me carefully...Do NOT have sex. Do NOT get a tattoo. Do NOT do drugs. Do NOT have a blood transfusion. YOU WILL GET AIDS."

Point blank. Just like that. You will get AIDS. It gave me chills. I am not naive in thinking that some of the places we have chosen to go are going to be a big resort vacation. But that sentence, that bluntly, really drilled home how serious it is to be careful when traveling.

So, I will heed his advice, wrap myself in saran wrap for 4 months and only travel by double decker tour buses...

In all seriousness, if you are planning a trip, the doctor I went to was great, he has been all over the world and knows what he's talking about. It cost me $340-- but better safe than sorry.

Here is his info: Dr. Disease.

15 days...

The Mantra

2007-04-11T12:49:00.001-05:00

So I am in the middle of writing a paper (that's due at midnight tonight) and it brought up so many unrelated thoughts that I wanted to get those down in writing too. These psychology papers tend to do that. I start thinking and stray waaaay far from what I am supposed to be writing. Sometimes I think that's what the professors want us to do-- the courses seem to be as much about self-exploration and discovery as they are about the content of the course.

Since I sent out my first blog I have received such awesome responses, reminding me what wonderfully supportive friends I have. It was so great to hear from all of you. But, I also got a lot of "What in the world is going on with you???" emails. I guess I shoulda thought about how this would probably throw some of you for a loop if I haven't talked to you personally for a while.

So let me rewind a bit... My life has changed pretty drastically in the past six months. After 7 years in advertising, I've decided to go back to school for my Master's in Counseling Psychology. Naturally, right? I'm enrolled in a 2.5 year program at Seton Hall University, and can do the majority of my classes remotely. I graduate spring of '09, and will then have to become licensed (so I can be reimbursed by insurance companies). Ultimately, I'd like to have a private practice, but that'll take a while to build. I'm not even sure what type of counseling I want to focus on yet--marriage and family, mental health, addictions, etc...maybe this trip will help bring some clarity to those types of questions.

Sadly, after almost 4 years of marriage, Leslie and I are no longer together. I moved back to Columbus from Salt Lake in December. Since then I've been living with my parents...uh, yeah. Love you mom and dad. But still...yeah. I'm 29 going on 16 right now.

I went to visit Tiffany in Thailand in Dec/Jan for a much needed vacation. She’s been living there for the past 5 months (A whole separate blog...) and has invited me to do some traveling with her. She's on a 2 yr trip around the world and things have miraculously fallen into place to allow me the time and the means to join her for a bit. Leslie and I sold our condo in Salt Lake so I am taking part of the profit to fund my trip. (Had to be responsible and save some of it for school loans...) Incidentally, the lease on my car is up and my second semester is ending, all at the end of the month. (Although a new one starts a week later, so it’s going to take some serious discipline to keep up on my school work while traveling) But really, timing couldn’t be better.

Needless to say, sometimes I still feel like my head is spinning. So that's where this paper I am writing and my in-a-nutshell recent history tie together. My paper is a Career Conceptualization paper--where I am supposed to take a counseling theory and apply it to how I got to where I am right now career-wise. Ha! Career?? I am currently working 25 hours a week at a bank... and I am complete mess when it comes to all things finance. (Thank God the people I work with are fantastic and very patient with me.)

Anyway, in researching theories I came across one called the LifeCareer Process Theory. It basically states that life is your career and your job is simply a part of it. It goes a lot more in depth, but that's pretty much the gist. The theory, created by Anna Miller-Tiedman, talks about rolling with all life throws at you rather than trying to fight it. It suggests that all decisions (career and otherwise) whether you believe them to have been good or bad are ultimately good because you've learned something from them. And by trying to plan too much just adds undue worry since life is going to deal you what it chooses despite how in control you think you are. (This lady is a genius!)

Since I have been back in Ohio, my friend Jenn has been my single biggest support, as she is going through the exact same thing I am. There have been many days we've had to pick each other up-- almost literally, and talk one another off the proverbial ledge. But one thing we constantly remind each other is:

"You are exactly where you are supposed to be."

Our mantra. I mean think about it. If you live life with that in mind it certainly helps to alleviate some of the unnecessary stress that we put on ourselves. If we are at our happiest, saddest, most scared, or bored, it's the exact necessary state we need to be in--because like the theory infers, we're going through that state, at that time, for a reason. So if we make a bad decision we shouldn't dwell on it or beat ourselves up because ultimately it will lead to having to make more decisions, one eventually ending in satisfaction. And all of it, the happiest and saddest times, the best and worst decisions lead to heightened awareness and hopefully some nuggets of wisdom as to what to do next time we are faced with something that feels insurmountable.

So I guess instead of looking at this trip as an opportunity to run away from reality, I should look at it as an opportunity to start a new reality. Maybe I can't see the reason for being where I am right now, but if I trust my new philosopher friend, Dr. Miller-Tiedman, then I should just accept it. And if I am accepting it, I may as well make the most of it, right??

Whew. Ok. A little of where my life is right now, and a little of where my head is. Back to my paper...

Nepal

2007-04-09T19:38:00.001-05:00

So, based on these (and a very worried father) we might have to re-think going to Nepal. As of right now, it doesn't sound like the smartest place for us to visit...

Important Security Information for American Citizens in Nepal

Travel Warning

Maybe since we'll be in Northern India we'll just hit up Pakistan instead. (kidding, Dad.)

Procrastinating...

2007-04-07T12:03:00.001-05:00

As usual, I have 3 chapters to read and 2 papers to complete by Wednesday-- so what do I do? Set up a blog!I've decided to join the rest of the cyber dorks and document the trip I am about to take, mostly for me to look back on when life returns to "normal" (and it will give my parents some peace-of-mind that their daughter didn't get eaten by a python). As many of you know, my life is in an extremely transitional state right now so writing about it is somewhat cathartic. I'll try to stick to the facts and not stray too far into the philosophical debates inside my head, but I can't make any promises. Especially when I am with Tiffany... (love you, Tiff)

I officially got everything booked last week, and $4,000 later (ugh) I am headed to Japan, Thailand, India, possibly Nepal, Italy, Sweden, England, hopefully some more of Europe time permitting, then on to Morocco and Ghana. 3 continents in 4 months. Originally I was going to meet Tiff in Dehli, India but after some major arm twisting I am meeting her back in Thailand--This is kinda how it went--Tiff to Maggie: "You should come back and visit me in paradise for a week before we go to one of the hottest, dirtiest, crowded-est places in the entire world" --It took a lot of convincing.

I am spending about 3 weeks in Japan, staying with a friend in Kyoto and another in Toyko. Ironically, my dad might be in Japan at the same time so that would be great. I'd tag along with him when he goes to interview very important people and visit very important places. And maybe I'll even get my picture in the Dispatch! (right, I know Dad, not allowed). From Japan I'll meet Tiffany in Koh Phangan (an island off the southern coast of Thailand--it's where I took the sunset picture on here) and together we will fly from Bangkok to Dehli and quickly hop in a taxi to take us to Rishikesh. Apparently Delhi isn't the best place for two little American girls to be hangin' by themselves. We will spend close to a month in northern India and possibly travel to Nepal depending on how we're feeling. Personally, I'd like to say I went to Kathmandu, because until recently all I knew about it was that Bob Seger sang about how badly he wanted to "get out of here and go to Kathmandu" (A feeling I can relate to...)

From Delhi we fly to Rome, where we will go meet Tiffany's adopted Italian family in Viareggio. She will likely spend her entire time in Europe in Italy. Me on the other hand...well, who knows what I'll do. I do know I will be making a trip to Stockholm to visit my cousin-in-law, Micaela and watch a soccer game that one of my friends plays for in the Swedish Preimer Division. I'm hoping I can talk Micaela into taking a long weekend (or more) to do a little traveling around Europe. We'll see how it all works out. I don't have any concrete plans aside from Sweden so it's WIDE open. I'll meet back up with Tiff in Italy and we'll fly from Rome to Casablanca, Morocco at the beginning of August. Depending on the political/safety/terrorism scene there at the time we are planning on staying for 2 weeks. If we aren't feeling great about the situation that could potentially change. From Casablanca we head to Accra, Ghana which I am SO looking forward to. From Ghana we fly back to NYC--yes, Tiff is coming back with me! And I go straight to a intensive residency program at Seton Hall. That'll be fun--9 hours of class a day on total jetlag. But hey, my delirium will give my classmates something to psychoanalize, right?

It's still surreal that I am actually doing this. I only have one expectation for the trip--to come back changed. Not in a bad way, but in a way that allows me to have an even bigger view of this crazy world, and a way that reminds me that it's a lot bigger than me and my stuff...bigger than all of us. Ok...more on the deep stuff later. Maybe after a hookah bar in Rishikesh or something...

So...that's the plan. I leave May 1, return Sept 4, and in between hopefully make the most of every second of this experience.For those recieving the link to this blog, I just wanted to thank you for being my friends and being here for me. Love you all lots. Hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it.

Maggie