Christmas Spirit

Before I get into all that, I'm going to briefly mention Talent Night. Last Friday night the students of LCC put on a variety show of sorts and it was like nothing I have ever seen before. First of all, nearly all the female performers were attired like Bond girls regardless of their act (with the possible exception of the belly and hula dancers-I miss American prudery.) There was also Russian rap and two guys pretending to be Communists as they sang incoherently and guzzled Coca-Cola. Next followed a mystery act, the contents of which even Sarah and Emas, who were hosting, knew nothing about. (Aside: Emas's imitation of the belly dancer was priceless.) So first of all, a guy completely arrayed in black comes on stage as spine tingling music creaks and whispers in the background. And oh yeah, he was holding a real knife as big as a spatula. Now, at this point, I was starting to think that I had watched one too many detective shows because I was genuinely concerned that someone was going to die. Then a girl in pigtails wearing a white sundress and holding a teddy bear pranced on stage. The evil character threatens her with the knife and she simply discards the weapon and places her hand in his. Then they start dancing and skipping as the music changes to reflect her reckless joy. She helps him to like himself and she replaces his cigarette with a giant lollipop. Then as the music winds down to a happy ending, he surreptiously picks the knife back up, and stabs her in the heart! The End. After the act had ended the audience members just looked at each other, stunned and confused and searching for the meaning in the madness. Finally, the audience pulled itself together enough to give a respectable amount of applause.

The next evening was the Christmas lighting in the town square. I would say that four out of every five of Klaipeda's citizens were in attendance, all packed together to admire the twinkling lights which enveloped every shrub and building, the glowing nativity next to the star that was about five Jesus's tall (in adult, not baby),a towering tree with what seemed to be an excessive amount of blue lights, and the electric violinists on the rooftop who were able to play with expert precision while swiveling their hips. (Which, let me tell you, is no mean feat.) Afterwards, Andrea, Hannah, and I got liquid chocolate as we reveled in thoughts of Christmas and going home. Then we went back to the dorm and watched The Holiday. We tried to get comfortable on the "couch" in the lounge, which was difficult as it was little more than wooden slats covered in fuzz. In any case, sometimes The Holiday talks a little too much about unrequitement to be that comfortable anyway. But the three of us shared the cookies my dad had sent me as well as a plentiful portion of malice which made it an enjoyable experience indeed.

Tonight was the Christmas show at school and it was highly satisfactory. Handbells-check. Ribbon dance-check. Little boy with askew buttons wandering away from the children's chorus in order to dance around and blow out the candles-check. Afterwards they served desserts which contained an exorbant of dried fruit and nuts. OH MY GOODNESS! Did I seriously eat fruit cake? That is so wrong.

Finishing

Okay, so I admit I've been putting this entry off...probably because it may be my last one. Everything here has gotten pretty routine and I don't want to bore you by mentioning how it's gotten so cold here that I would almost be willing to wear one of those ridiculous all-head encompassing hats, with tiny holes for ones mouth and eyes. I could also tell you about how I tried aerobics at the other dorm where the instructor moves like rubber and has a voice like the cat from Babe. But then again, so humdrum...Anyway, here's a brief description of my last day in Russia.

Day 8

After checking out from the hostel we went back to the Church of Our Savior on Spilled blood built on where Alexander the II was mortally wounded. Apparently people had been trying to kill him for awhile, putting a bomb in the Winter Palace (which is now part of the Hermitage)...derailing his train, etc. Eventually a bunch of revolutionaries got him by throwing a bomb at his carriage. Lame. In any case, when we walked inside, the interior was even more magnificent than the exterior (see picture taken by Jeremy.) And all the images you see are mosaics! The chips of ceramic that make up the pictures are about the size of a quarter which is completely insane.

Next, Bethany and I set off on our own in search of Dostoevsky. Now, I didn't love Crime and Punishment, I didn't even like Crime and Punishment, but this seemed like a rare opportunity and it was that or the museum with three headed babies. We looked at the map and went up and down the streets, then up and down the same streets. It didn't really matter though, because even though it was slap-you-in-the-face-repeatedly cold, it wasn't raining and we didn't have to run. We felt so incredibly free. Midway through our semi-productive wandering, I needed a Big Mac break. One of the employees took my order while I was standing at the end of the line and seemed thrilled that I was American and asked me if George Bush was my president. I said yes and she started girlishly giggling uncontrollably. Two minutes later I had my food even though it was so busy that Bethany and I ate standing up. (Sidenote: I ate a Big Mac in the time it took her to eat half a muffin. I told her not to feel bad though, it just takes practice.)

We kept meandering and felt hopeful when we eventually saw the Dostoevsky Cafe, the Dostoevsky Hotel, and a statue of him. It was like Disney world, but creepier. Finally, we arrived at his apartment, fulfilling our quest twenty minutes ahead of schedule! We strolled though the rooms and read about his life. He loved shopping and hated math just like me! Then we looked at his writing desk and other assorted junk. The coolest thing was the clock Dostoevsky's brother stopped at the moment he died. Lauren, upon hearing of this commented, "how clever, though he had probably been waiting for his brother to die for years just so he could do that."

We then had to get to the Kazan Cathedral in order to observe an Orthodox service. On the way we stopped to admire babushkas selling bright flowers, the twilight dazzling off the buildings, and lots of ugly old Soviet cars. While getting to the cathedral wasn't a problem, standing forty minutes for the service was. Granted, it was in another beautiful tribute to God's majesty and yes, there was an incredible choir chanting in the back while the priests moved with well practiced grace and wafted the smoky scent of the Holy Spirit over everyone. But I think everyone was ready to go back to familiar bleakness of Lithuania by then. And so we got our stuff to the station and through the ridiculously heavy, incredibly swingy doors. We got yelled at by the police-again and boarded the train. It didn't take long for everyone to fill out their paperwork and pass out on their beds. We awoke in darkness to pounding on our door and fumbled for our passports to hand tp Russian security. One by one, we drifted back into dreamland and soon heard another pounding on our door. Now what? It took us awhile to realize that this was not a Russian woman, but a Latvian man. We had reached the next border without even realizing it. Under normal conditions, this guy would have made our pupils dilate, but we were lucky to keep our eyes open at all. Eventually we awoke in good old Lithuania, which almost felt home-ish.

I feel like at this point I should make some sort of lofty statement about how visiting Russia forever changed me, how I was captivated by it's cold beauty, and how what I saw and experienced there will forever remain burned into my mind. But I think my account speaks for itself.

Yusupov Palace

Day 7

"I am to be killed," Rasputin said to the Czar and his court. "If I am killed by my own people, by the peasants, then you will continue to rule in peace and harmony. However, if I am killed by the noble class, then within two years, you and your children and all the royal family will be no more."

And so a group of us, armed with our Power shots, money belts, and traveler tenacity stormed the Yusupov palace to admire the lavish interiors where Rasputin was poisoned, shot, beaten, and wrapped in a sheet to be thrown into the icy river.

The palace was wonder to behold, even apart from its macabre history. First we had to slip black booties over our wet shoes and then put down a deposit to obtain audio guides. I was thrilled when the voice I heard was a jovial British chap who seemed like he would hand out small gifts to orphans at Christmas and who described every room with superfluous adjectives such as plush, opulent, and sumptuous. The three sitting rooms on the second floor were magnificently monochromatic. The blue one had a wonderful calming affect. The green one was nice, though a little nauseated looking. But the red room...someday...

Then, after stopping by the local market, we ran to the hostel to collect our things for the sauna. Unfortunately, unlike the girl with the hearing aids and impaired vision, I didn't have a valid excuse for not going. Plus, Hannah had been espousing the wonders of authentic saunas for ages and probably would have dragged me there by my pigtails if I had showed any real signs of resistance.

We arrived and an overly wise looking woman led us to where we would be "relaxing" for the next two hours. I was handed a white sheet which I looked at dismally. Oh geez. Eventually peer pressure kicked in and I joined the rest of my companions in the sultry steam room. After a week of being beaten by wind and icy rain, of moments rimmed with confusion and panic, it was absolutely perfect. Once we were all sequined with sweat we went into the adjoining room where we jumped into a huge stone tub filled with refreshingly cool water. It was like being in a Roman bathhouse where the restfulness and camaraderie were amazing.

When I left with a small group of girls, we were all so relaxed that nothing short of one of us getting hit by a bus could dampen the mood. And even then...We swayed into an English bookstore and spent a good hour perusing. I was so happy (in mellow kind of way) to find Twilight for which I had been scouring several countries. After that we waltzed into an Italian restaurant (not my decision, I promise) and enjoyed plentiful, almost non-European portions of pasta. Then we went to McDonald's for ice cream where Natalie and I worked together to accurately assess the number of mullets. By the time we left the count was at fifteen. Scandalous.

Masterpiece

Day 6

It started with a huge pile of eggs, seasoned, salted, slippery eggs. My other options were sticky barley mash or porridge that smelled suspiciously...natural, like what Heidi would drink on the mountain top with her grandfather. Given my options, I decided that stuffing myself with smelly eggs would be the wisest, if not the easiest way to start the day. And what a day it would turn out to be.

Jessy and I spent the morning at the Peter and Paul fortress which served as a political prison and cemetery. We visited the museum within the compound and I quickly located my favorite three museum artifacts: ornate clothing, a enormous doll house, and a first aid kit (complete with saw.)

Next we went to the Hermitage, one of the largest museums in the world. It's said that it would take a person four days view all the illustrious art housed with its resplendent walls. We had two hours. Jessy, Hannah and I made a beeline for Degas, Monet, and Renoir in the French art section. Next we powered our way through Rembrandt and the Dutch Golden age and then we flew threw the modern art, pausing to admire Picasso at his best: depressed. My absolute favorite painting was A Christian Martyr Drowned During the Reign of Diocletian.

Then it was time to go back and get ready for the ballet. Honestly, I didn't know what to expect. I had only ever seen the Nutcracker on PBS and I had high hopes for the real deal. This is what I wrote that night after the show had ended.

Tonight we experienced Swan Lake. The only way to describe it is incomparably beautiful and devastatingly romantic. The dancers moved so fluidly that I could almost see rippling water beneath them. And at one point, when the prince and princess were expressing their love via lifts and pirouettes to the lyrical strains of the a harp and violin, I could barely breath.

I am so spoiled.

Feel Yourself Russian

Day 5

Being dirty is usually not very fun. Being dipped in the mud of St. Petersburg at least sounds better. And actually it is better because St. Petersburg is a gorgeous city. It's often referred to as the "Venice of Russia" because of its shimmering canals and grandiose architecture. I was so taken in by the scenery that I kept completely missing what the tour guide was saying. After every stop Hannah would do a wonderful recap for me and whoever else had been distracted. Mostly it was just more stories of sordid love affairs and people being bludgeoned to death in the night.

After about three hours of this we stopped at a cafe where I enjoyed superior hot chocolate and inferior cheesecake (in comparison to what's served in the U.S.) I spoke briefly with Emas who planned the trip and whom I mentioned in the prior post. Here's an example of what a typical exchange with him is like.

Emas: What's up dawg? [appropriate gesture]
Me: Nothing dawg. [appropriate gesture]
[Hannah laughing uncontrollably.]
Emas: Are your glasses prescription or do you wear them as a statement of fashion?
Me: They're prescription.
Emas: So you're blind...
Me: Yep.
Emas: Me too! That's why I called you dog. I really thought you were a dog!

And because one day I wore braids intertwined with red ribbon, he has since called me Pocohantas. He frequently asks me where my canoe is and when I stopped by the study abroad office he started playing "Colors of the Wind." It's kind of funny because my dad also called me Pocohantas when I was younger because of my proclivity for tardiness...

Anyway, after the tour we went to a show called, "Feel Yourself Russian" which was held at the Nikolaevsky Palace. We took the location as a good sign, but had no idea what to expect otherwise. The show started when four average looking guys in shiny Russian garb walked onto the stage. One of them blew into a tuner and I thought, "Oh, they're just the Russian equivalent of a barbershop quartet." Ha! When they opened their mouths to sing, out came a divine cross between folk music and Gregorian chant. The Picasso quote, "Art washes from the soul the dust of everyday life," is so perfectly apt to describe how I felt as I listened. After they finished belting out perfectly pitched chords, some female singers came out. The youngest one in a blue dress had a mischievous expression and kept making shrill, Xena warrior princess type noises. Next came the Russian equivalent of break dancers who were flying and leaping and performing unbelievably complicated and athletic dance steps as they squatted two feet off the ground. And then there were strange dancing Eskimo-looking things and we couldn't tell if it was one person in the costume or two. In any case, the Eskimos kept getting closer and closer to those of us who were in the front row and then, he/she/they actually jumped into my lap! I had the eyes of the entire audience on me and ended up with a mouthful of fur. After the show ended Hannah looked at me and burst out laughing.

When it was time to leave, we looked outside and discovered a torrential downpour. Hannah I couldn't have cared less because we had enjoyed the show so much. My cheeks actually hurt from smiling. So we splashed along through the rain, Hannah in her big white poncho looking like the abominable snowman and me with my shoes so full of dirt, gravel, and water they could have just as easily been called terrariums. I ended the night with Hannah and others at a Georgian restaurant where I savored a large bowl of Italian soup.

The Great Train Escapade

Day 4

Rivulets of sweat are streaming down my face, I'm wheezing and gasping like an asthmatic-with a stoma, and my eyes are soaked -sweat and tears intermingling.

We had left the hostel about an hour earlier, laden like lumbering beasts of burden. By the time we were de-escalating into the metro, we were already feeling rather toasty, our winter coats like an unwelcome embrace. We were then thrust into the crush of people. Meanwhile, my mind was flooded with safety tips syncopated with trying to stay with the group, "Camera-check-blond hair-Bethany-purse secure-check-white coat-Dave-don't stare-check-tall person-Mark-don't panic-um, um...." We scurried/power walked/penguin waddled from train to train, the threat of getting smashed in the doors (again) ever present. Finally we reached the station, set our bags down, and breathed a huge sigh of relief. Well, it was the WRONG station!!! We slung our burdens back over our shoulders and set off at a dead run. We sprinted for about thirty seconds, paused to bob and weave, and sprinted again. I fought as hard as I could, but the rest of the group was disappearing into the distance. Suddenly, I was twelve again. My blue Adidas shorts were hiked up half way to my neck and the rest of the cross country team was nowhere to be seen. I snapped back into real time, my bag and back breaking and my heart aching with the sickening feeling that I was running through an impossible nightmare. Finally, when I was convinced I was about to collapse into a sobbing, gasping heap, I saw Natalia up ahead, an angel of mercy practically wreathed in celestial light. Emas called out, "You made it!" in his typically easy-going, boyish way, though I could tell that even he was visibly relieved. And that is why I boarded the train to St. Petersburg approximately three minutes before it departed.

Besides the Great Train Escapade, there were a couple other notable events which transpired. The day started out with a snack at the McDonald's, our cheeseburgers steaming in the early morning chill. Next we got in line to get into the Red Square. We passed through a metal detector manned by guards with contempt for tourists burning in their eyes. When we finally entered our ultimate destination, one guard angrily gestured for me to take my hands out of my pockets and other guards spaced every fifteen feet gave us their undivided attention. Then we descended a dimly lit staircase into the ominous and all encompassing darkness, into the inner sanctum. And there he was in his glass display case, as though he were someone's butterfly collection and not a man who had changed the course of history. Just as in the pictures he had his trademark goatee. I noticed that one of his hands was open and the other was clenched. His skin looked a bit waxy, though overall he looked great for having been dead since 1924. Mostly, he just seemed small and frail. I almost expected a nurse to bustle in with a tray and ask, "Mr. Lenin, would you like some chicken soup now?"

We also went to the New Tretyakov Gallery which we were told was modern and Soviet art. Upon arriving I was relieved to see that they had kept the cubism to a minimum. The pieces consisted mostly of pencil sketches, vibrantly hued surrealist paintings, and images of infectiously happy and healthy men, women, and children. There was one of a female shot putter I particularly liked. She stood there contentedly as the metal sphere sat in her palm and the sunlight danced in her golden hair and reflected off her strong arms. If only things could have worked out that way...

The Symphony

Day 3

Today we had lunch at one of the many "pancake" places which serve crepes filled with meat, or in my case, chocolate and bananas. After an interminable walk (someone referenced the Exodus from Egypt and waiting to die while we were walking) we arrived at Christ our Savior Church. After covering our heads and passing though a metal detector, we entered the vaulted coziness of the candle lite church. One facet I couldn't stop staring at was a fifteen foot chandelier in front of the arching windows. Sunlight streamed in, richly glinting off the filigree and gold. We then went downstairs to a smaller chapel filled with pictures of the saints. I noticed one woman in particular who was delicately lighting a candle. She paused for a few moments, waiting for the person in front of her to finish. When it was her turn she walked quietly up to the picture. Then she drew her face near to the saint's and tilted her forehead to his as she gently whispered, reminding me of two lovers I had seen on the train the night before.

Once our time in the the church was up, we went to the Vernishazh Market. And just for the record, I actually negotiated (which was about as much fun as having a root canal during a Novocaine shortage.) Then we went to Arbat street where I savored a Starbuck's chai latte. By the time we got back to the hostel, we had very little time to get ready for the symphony. Five girls in a small, enclosed space trying to go from sweaty and frizzy to radiant and styled in fifteen minutes looks a little like the end of the world. We somehow managed to get to the concert on time and decently attired.

The concert was a tribute to Paganini and as the orchestra played the first couple pieces, I was under the impression that the audience was thinking, "Isn't it nice that we're so cultured, what enchanting music, what shall I make for dinner tomorrow?" But then the soloist/conductor said "Vivaldi" in his next introduction and there was a murmur, possibly even a twitter from the crowd. Finally, they would get to pay homage to a classical rock star. Shorty thereafter, as a mama's boy was wailing on the harpsichord, the crowd finally stopped wondering "Chicken or fish?" The soloist/conductor Sergey Stadler was a rather corpulent man. The intensity of the music was actually reflected in his jowls which quivered like a seismograph. It seemed that he should look more like the silver fox of a first violin with his metallic hair and trim figure. When the solo ended and soloist/conductor was taking his third bow, the applause of the Silver Fox was transparently dutiful.

After the concert ended, we got ice cream at McDonalds, even as the cold seeped through our coats. But we couldn't have cared less, we were so warm inside, so utterly intoxicated by Russia. We went back to the Red Square to see the already beautiful structures awash in magical lights. I stood there gawking, vaguely aware of other students taking goofy pictures and performing the Electric Slide. It just seemed like such an incredibly profound moment and I wanted to be in it so badly. As we left the Red Square, the thought that I will never see this sight again kept rolling and reverberating inside my head.

The Kremlin

Night 1 & Day 2

About ten minutes after I first penned my previous entry, I was practically unconscious, so deep was my rest. The sweet lullaby of the clacking tracks and the gentle sway of the train engine had rocked me to sleep. When I awoke a couple hours later, the air was rife with excitement. Carly was dutifully studying the itinerary and Hannah was pouring over the Russian alphabet. Soon after, the Latvian and later Russian border police poured onto the train, sifted through luggage, checked passports, and communicated via grunt. Honestly, I was a little disappointed that they weren't scarier. Oh, and every now and then someone would randomly break into song (and sometimes dance) from the animated movie Anastasia.

Fast forward to about noon the next day. We had already checked into Godzilla, our predictably green painted hostel, and were now going to the Red Square. St. Basils, aka the Candy Land palace, was so whimsical, colorful, and bulbous that it made me think the architect had had a lot of fun. Although if I remember correctly, he was the Italian who had his eyes put out so that he could never make anything as magnificent again.

Next we went on a tour of the Kremlin and the Armory within it. The Armory is basically Russia's treasure house. Diamond encrusted prayer books as big as pillows, ornate carriages with wheels twice my height, and serving dishes big enough to bathe in made quite the impression. Even the guns, swords, and shields were inlaid with tortoise shell and spangled with precious stones.

The tour paused at the coronation dress of Catherine the Great with its silvery luster, delicate details, and Disney princess proportioned waist. Next to that gown was a dress that had belonged to a significantly portlier woman. Ana Something-Something was one of the fattest, ugliest, and most reviled rulers in Russian history. From what I could gather of the tour guide's version of English the story goes something like this...Ana was a princess residing in the Baltic region when her relatives invited her to come and marry into the Russian dynasty. Once she arrived, she shredded the contract and declared herself Empress of Imperial Russia. For ten years she let her German boyfriend rule as she was far too busy with her favorite sport: hunting. Eventually she becomes so incapacitated (whether from obesity or disease I'm not sure) that she actually has servants lead game outside her window so she can shoot them without moving. She also decided to make a palace entirely of ice, inside and outside. To complete her nifty little project, she poured water on some of her handmaidens and let them freeze overnight.

After that we visited the gilded chapel where many czars had been crowned. By the time we were done with our three hour tour (and yes, that reference was made a couple dozen times), we were footsore and freezing. Luckily it was time for the circus! Nothing like cotton candy and contortionists after a long day of looking at beautiful things. My favorite acts were the acrobats. One act had them floating through planets and stars, glowing neon under a black light, another act was a Latvian couple who were able to fly through the air together in perfect synchronization, and there was also a young girl who sprinted across the spray of a shooting fountain and then shot into the atmosphere. Meanwhile, Hannah alternated clutching my armor in terror and maliciously biting off gummy bear heads. Again.

Hill of Crosses

Hi Everyone! For those of you who didn't know, I spent last week in Russia for fall break. Some of my next posts are going to be exactly as I wrote them and some will be looking back from now. Hopefully, I'll have them all up by the end of the week:)

Day 1

I am currently on a yellow train hurtling though the frosty autumn air. Our destination is a foreboding specter in our mind's eye, a land of czars and palaces, a land of crime and punishment, a land of mayhem and mystery...but I'm getting ahead of the story.

So this morning I awoke to the sound of Hannah fiercely whispering, "Cole, COLE!"
"What?" I painfully moaned.
"It's time to leave NOW!"
"Dang it!"This is what I got for staying up late packing and talking to friends. Luckily, I know my tendencies so well that I had laid out all my clothes the night before. After jumping into them like a firefighter and making my bed in a manner that would induce Martha Stewart to tears, I flew down the stairs.

The next few hours on the bus were a haze of Celtic music, someone violently puking, and throbbing neck cramps. As I finally awoke and glanced out the window, I was shocked at the sight of our first destination, the Hill of Crosses. The bus unloaded us, and as I walked toward the hill, my feet were heavy with apprehension and my eyes were hypnotized by the eerie sight.

Hundreds of crosses, thousands of crosses, millions of crosses shot up from the flat landscape and formed a gray mountain in the midst of green farmland. Within basic boundaries, crosses streamed, poured, and gushed forth from one another. Some were behemoth medieval marvels and others were smaller than a quarter. Jesus wore several variations on mind-blowing agony, sometimes he looked angry, other times-heartbroken, and occasionally there was faint glimmer of hope.

My reaction was mixed, as one moment I would be contemplating the faith of so many and the next I would be estimating how many vampires the place could withstand. Eventually, our time was up and I savored the image of the Hill as it faded into the horizon. Then Emas got on the loudspeaker to share some of the local lore. He started by saying that if you leave a cross and make a wish, that wish will come true. The exception is making a wish for someone's death which will allegedly result in the death of one of your siblings.

During the times of the Nazis and the Soviets, Lithuanians used the Hill of Crosses as a sign of peaceful resistance. They wanted to leave a part of themselves in their beloved homeland, even as they were being shipped to a desolate tundra. Even more chilling was the story of the man hired to demolish the hill many years ago. He brought his infant son to the Hill that day and began to bulldoze. At one point, he had to get out in order to toss aside some crosses by hand. Suddenly, the bulldozer starting rolling of its own accord. His child tumbled out of the cab and was crushed beneath the wheels. From that day forward, no one dared harm the Hill of Crosses.

That story, as well as others involving strange sounds, powerful miracles, and weeping Marys, have cemented the Hill of Crosses in the mind of pilgrims as a powerful symbol of hope, an unsettling visage of faith.

Floor Activity

I had spent this past afternoon studying and was desperately needing a break from annuity tables and yield curves. Hannah had plans to go to the school play and I really wanted to go with her. The only problem was that my roommate is the RA and had planned a floor activity for the evening. I decided that I would be supportive, that I would do what Jesus what do. At six, Tanya came up to my desk and told that it was time to go to "Oriental Night!" I scoffed, "What are we going to do, belly dance?" I had totally been joking...

Internship

Last week I started my internship at E!Motion, a website design company. Wandering into the quaint office where five guys diligently work made me feel a little like Snow White. This wasn't helped by the flower stickers plastered on my computer, nor the big silver heart on my power cord. My job is basically to catalog different websites in order to establish basic data on Lithuanian e-commerce. I'll be getting my nerd on as I answer questions such as "Does the website use Google analytics?" and "Are the URLs SEO friendly?" I'm looking rather forward to the challenge.

In some ways, my college experience here in Lithuania has been more normal (for lack of a better word) that my experience at Taylor. I love Taylor and I miss it dearly, but there I things I really enjoy about being here. It's nice to go to boisterous basketball games, to go dress shopping at the mall with friends, to go out on a Friday night and have no one mention classes or chapel or Linux. (And yes, I am aware of the blatant contradiction in this post.)

Eagle Eye

Last night we decided to have a cinematic experience. After we sat in our assigned seats and happily started munching our contraband candy, the previews began. Then all of a sudden, a guy in the front row stands up, starts singing "I like to move it, move it," and dancing crazily. After he dances out of the theater, a picture of different kinds of Ipods comes on the screen. We all just looked at each other in astonishment. The movie we saw was Eagle Eye or "Sakalo Akis," which I highly recommend. The only downside to seeing the movie here was that most of the humor was lost on the rest of audience, so we had to keep our guffawing to a minimum.

In general, things are becoming more...not comfortable, just easier. I no longer into collapse into bed every night like a wounded jelly fish and I'm beginning to feel more competent at navigating, well, everything. I've also been surprised by how much I 'm beginning to like living in an actual city. It's kind of refreshing.

Sister Countries

Saturday did not get off to the most auspicious of starts. When I awoke, I was curled into painful, little wad, on a tour bus, in Estonia. After an unremarkable breakfast and an unremarkable walk, we met our unremarkable tour guide. What was remarkable was the Old Town itself. Someone described it as "Beauty and the Beast-like" and they were dead on. With spires and steeples that pierced the sky, elaborate iron-wrought gates, and whimsically painted doors, I felt like I was in a fairy tale. We stopped at a little courtyard and I was thrilled by the sight of color splashing against the blue backdrop. I hadn't realized how much I missed autumn colors.

After awhile, we checked into a hostel and I had been expecting one similarly questionable to the one we had stayed in the first night. I was happily incorrect. This room looked like one Harry Potter would sleep in, with its fifteen foot ceilings, expansive drapes, and intricate woodwork. For the next outing we split into groups. The group I was in first went to a tv tower the Russians had built to celebrate the Bolshevik revolution. The closer we got to the tower, the less impressive it was (probably not unlike communism.) Though very tall, the sides had green slime dribbled down them, the entrance was barred for no apparent reason, and the would-be pool was reflection-less. It felt as though something had died.

In sharp contrast, was the botanical garden we visited next, as it teemed with life. As we walked, Hannah took out a package of gummy bears and started maliciously biting off their heads and limbs with great relish. "You know," I said, "that's probably how Hitler ate his gummy bears." "Nope," she answered confidently, "Hitler didn't have gummy bears." For dinner we went to a medieval meal at Old Haus complete with candlelight, costumed musicians, and sausages made of bear meat. After dinner, we leisurely strolled the streets. We heard music and after seeking out the source discovered a fashion show! The perfectly elegant clothes on the perfectly coiffed models were amazing, as were the cellist and drum player who accompanied them.

Some of the highlights of Latvia include a warm, Bocelli-blasting Italian restaurant, a traditional church with a sermon in English (where we met the Canadian ambassador to the Baltic States and ate peanut M&Ms), and a tour of the Museum of Occupation (where we learned more about the Nazis and Soviets and had a delightfully awkward tour guide.)

Aerobics

Today I went to the City Church which meets at school and is conducted entirely in Lithuanian. They have translation headsets you can use which is nice. The woman whispering in our ears sounds like water with her long, soft, liquid intonations.

Tonight, I joined the some of the girls in the dorm for aerobics. This wasn't the cute, fun, American aerobics I had been originally expecting, this was sadistic Eastern European military training- leaping lunges, and high knees with arms perpendicular to the body. My shoulders to my knees already ached from aerobics on Friday night and then volleyball with Jessy on Saturday. I was only there today because Jessy coerced me. Tanya thinks that when I get home and my mother sees me, she will ask if my roommates stole all my food...

Hill of Witches

(The picture below is an unexpected moment captured while we were waiting for the ferry.)

Her name is Egle Songailine. She is taller than most of the boys in our class, her blonde hair is cut at a sharp angle, she accepts no excuses and isn’t afraid of a fight. And it is because of her, that for the first time, I am excited about my major. In the back of my mind, I had always wondered if marketing wasn’t just about manipulating people, if it was just about finding new ways to sell people old garbage. But now, I know better. A marketeer is really a professional promise maker, and as such has great potential for either good or evil, but they still have a choice. I’ve also started to question some of my own thought processes, my own motivations…I feel such an immense sense of relief right now.

Switching gears…Yesterday, Altynai, Hannah, and I went to the Hill of Witches. I’m going to be super lame and put a brief description from visitneringa.com. “Since the ancient times, Festival of St. John was celebrated at the Hill of Witches, formerly called Jonas’ and Ieva’s Hill. Nowadays, walking along path of the hill, you can see the unique exposition in the open air. 71 sculptures out of oak tree were gouged during summers of 1979 – 1981 by Lithuanian (mostly Lowland) folk artists. The theme of the hill sculptures is the world where witches, demons, and characters of Neringa legends live.” The sculptures were often startling as one second I would be looking at a beautiful maiden with flowing hair, and a moment later I would see a grotesque (yet strangely hypnotic) monster. There was also a great wooden teeter-totter which reduced Hannah and I to about the age of five. Altynai mounted a great wooden horse and looked as though she perfectly belonged there (perhaps a testament to her Mongol ancestors.) The only slight downside to an otherwise perfect outing was the frigid wind that insisted on making it's presence felt. To combat the cold, we stopped at a lovely cafe decorated with all warm colors of a hug. As I was downing some spicy soup, I had the feeling that this was how life was meant to be lived, good food with good friends, in a beautiful place.

The Bad and the Good

It would seem that the food situation is now critical. Those you of who know me well, or for that matter, those who know me at all, know that I'm not the most open-minded eater. Actually so far, I've ended up pawning off half of the things I've tried. And ready-made foods are practically non-existent here. Friday night, I attempted to make French toast. While I had never made French toast before, due mostly to my aversion to raw animal products, I courageously gave it a go. An hour and a half later, I was left with the most pathetic looking French toast I had ever seen, (see picture) having been cooked on an oven the probably predated the Soviet occupation. And yet, because I did not want to relive the experience of cooking again I ate that toast not only Friday night, but twice Saturday, and today. I know I could do the co-op thing, gather in the kitchen with some other girls, laughing and talking, the savory smell of spices wafting up from various pots and pans. But that does not appeal to me at all. By the end of the day, having gone to class, talked to so many new people, walked all the way back to the dorm and up five flights of steps, I just need to be alone and immobile for awhile. And if that means disturbing my roommates by eating cold, breaded chicken patties and Nutella for the next three months, so be it.

With the exception of eating, I had a very nice weekend. Yesterday, Jessy and I went to the market and I was stunned by the vast array of goods. To me, market meant about three farmers in a parking lot selling corn out of the back of their pick up trucks. Here, people were selling a multitude of fruits and vegetables, jewelry, underwear, etc. I came away with some apples, peaches, and a pair of shoes. Next I went to Akropolis, the huge shopping mall with a couple of my roommates. The food court (which looks more like a theme park) is set up around an ice skating rink which I can't wait to visit.

Today after church I was faced with a very difficult decison. Do I complete my business finance homework or do I go swim in the Baltic sea on an incredibly beautiful day? Jessy finally convinced me (I get the feeling she's going to be doing a lot of that) to go to the beach. We ran to catch the bus and then were packed in so tightly that an elderly lady was practically sitting on top of me and several random elbows were dangerously close to my face. I was sweating so copiously that it actually wasn't unpleasant, kind of like talking a shower. Once we got to the beach, we charged/tiptoed into the salty, frigid sea. After taking several pictures and making ourselves into human knot and then untangling, we dispersed to do our own thing, whether it was swimming, talking in small groups, searching the seashore for bits of amber, or a reading questionable, semi-historical novel (guess who.) A few hours later, we ran to catch the bus back and sat there contented, toasty, and very much relaxed.

Ukrainian Challenge

Today after class, Jessy, Hannah, and I went to celebrate Ukraine's independence. Jessy exerted a fair amount of energy trying to get me to taste something square and white on a toothpick. When she refused to answer any of my inquiries, I refused to try it. Later I found out that it was salted, solid lard. Hmm...

The program started and there was a kind of "Come to Ukraine" sideshow followed by some singing. Then they decided to show us some traditional games. The first game needed two boys and two girls. The girls were then blindfolded and had locate ten clothes pins on the boys which resulted in a fair degree of hilarity. I whispered to Hannah, "I almost volunteered and I am so glad I didn't." But then the host called for three more volunteers, and as I had kind of stuck my foot in my mouth, Jessy and Hannah were able to force me on stage. Looking back, I honestly believe I had an out of body experience. The whole world tilted and I said to myself, "I'm standing in front of all these people I don't know, going to do who knows what, and oh yeah, I'm in Lithuania. Okay, I'm ready to wake up now..."

The host laid out a ribbon and told us the rules which pretty much amounted to Simon Says, but with three commands, in Ukrainian. Jump to one side of the ribbon, the other, or straddle it. Finally I took a deep breath, focused my mad DDR skills, and began. A few short minutes later I had hopped my flip-flops to victory! (My roommate actually filmed it without my knowledge or consent, but it will not be posted at this time- sorry.) Then Hannah, Altunai, and I escaped before the folk dancing started and made a brief stop at Iki to buy bags of milk and yogurt. And yes, I said bags...

First Day of Class!

On this most momentous day, I decided that I would sleep in as long as my schedule would allow even if I had to walk to school by myself. Given my notorious sense of misdirection this was rank insanity. I did at least ask the girl at the dorm's desk for directions and off I went. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, I was surrounded by people who couldn't give me directions if my life depended on it. And for some reason I couldn't get that song from the Sound of Music out of my head (you know the one.) After zigzagging up and down the streets I did try to ask a couple girls for directions (my roomate is currently listening to White Chirstmas-sorry) and it was as I feared, they spoke about three words of English and right, left, and feet were not the words. (Brief aside, I have come to the conclusion that the US needs to get on board with the metric system. I feel like I spend a fair amount of time each day feebly trying to do conversions in my head. That, combined with trying to remember conversions of military time does nothing to ease the transition here.) Anyway, I thanked the girls for their time and after a few wrong turns I noticed the directions I was given and the things I was seeing were the same thing! This was something I had very rarely experienced. And when I found the bridge that goes over the railroad tracks I was ecstatic. I knew the rest of the way and I knew that I had done it. Granted, it took me forty-five minutes for a walk that was supposed to be twenty-five, but even that didn't quell my pride.

Once I got to the actual school and found my class by navigating the MC Escher-like stairs (as one study abroad student so aptly put it) I was very pleased with what I found. The class was Introduction to Theology, the professor was from Indiana, and about ten study abroad students were in the class. Our professor told us that he welcomes questions and challenges and if we did well then at the end he would give us Jr. Theologian certificates. I'm beginning to get really excited about taking a Bible class away from Taylor. Rather than arguing about speaking in tongues, women in the church, and whether Patriotism goes hand in hand with Christianity, (again) some of the members of my class may not agree with some of the more basic tenants of the Christian faith and it will be very interesting to see how everything plays out.

Next I had business finance where things were a bit less comfortable. For starters, it's business finance. Also, I was the only study abroad student in the class so I was back to doodling on my notebook while everyone else was speaking a different language. And lastly, my professor is Lithuanian and while his accent is very pleasant to listen to, I can also see how it might be very soothing. I've decided to put forth effort in this class.

After class I hung out with Jessey and Theresa, who was kind enough to share some of her food and we talked about how it's difficult not just to transfer to Lithuania, but to go from a very conservative Christina college to a much more liberal one. Then we went to a small gathering to celebrate Kurgistan Independence. Altunai, our resident Kurgistani, told us interesting things about the culture like how whenever they watch Mulan they root for the bad guys since those are their ancestors. She also spoke of some of their sports such as when a guy on a horse chases down a girl and marries her if he catches her. There is also a version of keep away played on horses with wrapped up goat intestines. It was all very informative. Ukraine celebrates independence on Wednesday, at which time I will get the chance to learn about my roommates' homeland.

Becoming Oriented

It turns out I'm living in the dorm that's twenty minutes away from campus and on the fifth floor which should make things interesting. Although it looks like I'm not going to have any classes before noon which should hopefully make things less interesting. I love my room. It's at least four times the size of my room at Taylor and has it's own bathroom, refrigerator, and kitchen table. The only downside is that the bed is narrower than I am used to, and as I'm on the top bunk, this had already proved to be somewhat precarious. My three roommates, Lidiya, Oksana, and Tetyana are all from Ukraine and since my Ukrainian is a bit rusty we communicate as best we can in English. Lidiya is an RA and loves literature. She has read all the Harry Potter books in Russian, Ukrainian, and English and says that they are very different, having been changed to reflect different cultural values. Tetyana reminds me a lot of my cousin Lindsay which is very good thing as Lindsay can turn even the most mundane occurrence into a laughable anecdote. All three of them seem very nice and I look forward to getting to know them more.

Today was more orientation. We perfected our schedules, learned some Lithuanian words, and listened to several speeches. They told us not to stress out, but not to forget that we're representing our schools...our country...and Christendom itself. Okay then.

We went on a walking tour of Klaipeda and saw many interesting restaurants, shops, and markets. The weather was very volatile, sunny one moment and pouring sheets of horizontal rain the next. "Is this typical?" I asked one of the interns. "Oh yes, they even call Lithuania 'the Land of Rain." Funny, that wasn't in the brochure. Looks like I"ll just have to buy some cute rain boots. Oh darn...

Vinius

i
Yesterday we toured the town of Vilnius. During the walk to breakfast we passed a bridge covered with locks of every conceivable size and shape. Apparently, when couples get married they attach a lock to the bridge as a symbol of their love, commitment, and new found imprisonment. As the walk continued one of our leaders pointed out that the men of Lithuania like to wear man bags and incredibly pointy shoes. Honestly, one of my favorite things has to been to look at what everyone is wearing. I mean the Coliseum was great and all...(joking...-kind of:) Unfortunately, some parasitic forms of fashion have wiggled their way in, not unlike a tape worm on an exotic island, including Hello Kitty T-shirts, Crocs, and High School Musical apparel. The walk continued to continue (I get the feeling that I'm going to be doing a lot of that-walking) and Natalija explained that the first couple days are amusing as everyone is very jet-lagged. A few years ago, one guy was so tired that as the first dinner progressed, his head bobbed deeper and deeper towards the table. After some time, he leaned so far forward that his head came into contact with the candle and caught on fire. The girl next to him, thinking quickly, smacked him across the head to extinguish the flames. "What?" he asked groggily. "Your hair was on fire!" she exclaimed. "Oh."

The first stop on our tour was a building which had formerly been used as a prison by the Nazi's and then by the KGB and which now was a museum. You know something, the KGB were jerks. Our guide told us about various forms of torture and showed us how the cell wall had been painted sixteen times because prisoners had desperately written out their stories on the wall, a final testament to a world most of them would never see again. Then he took us to the execution chamber, a small, dark cave with drains in the floor to direct all the blood and walls riddled with bullet holes. The guide explained to us that his grandfather had been a Freedom Fighter until he was captured and killed by the KGB. His body was dumped in the town square to be claimed by the family. When his grandmother went retrieve the body of her dead husband the KGB watched like hawks. If they saw her crying she would be thrown into prison. It wasn't until she got home that she could weep.

Next we went to a couple churches. Lithuania's church history is very interesting because they were last European country to become Christian, and for a long time they held pagan services in Christain churches so that their more devout neighbors would start trading with them again. Then we went down into the catacombs which smelled a lot like the inside of an old ice skate but where it was fun learning about the deceased Lithuanian royalty.

Oh, and the last note worthy thing that happened was that I tasted some chocolate that tasted exactly like eggnog! Wow.

Arriving in Lithuania

As our tiny plane was landing in Lithuania, I could not stop myself from grinning like an idiot. (Something I think a random Lithuanian guy took the wrong way...) Anyway, Natalija was there to pick us up and take us to taxi. All of a sudden, (I feel like I've been saying that a lot lately) we hear what sounds like a full orchestra playing what sounds like some sort of national anthem. Natalija explained that two of the Lithuanian Olympians had returned. Then a huge crowd poured out of the airport, flashbulbs exploding, people shouting, silver balloons bouncing...The Olympians had huge wreaths around their necks and smiles on their faces as they enjoyed the well deserved adoration of their countrymen.

The taxi drove us to the hostel where we met some of the directors and interns and were given a snack. Then they took us took us to our room. Jaclyn and I exchange forced smiles, not knowing what to expect. The door swung open and we took in our surroundings. Two short very short boxy beds whose shape reminded me vaguely of coffins, a tiny lone mirror about the size of a mini van window, and a trash can. But, since our room seems to be a deluxe version, we have a tv whose screen is smaller than my laptop's and a single shower crammed in the corner. A single shower which is completely translucent. Or was, in any case. I was able to rig some sort of curtain using towels, a carabiner, a binder clip, and bobby pins.

Well, I'm ready to go to sleep, I have a big today tomorrow and a lot of places I'll need to be on time (wince.) Later.

Rome

Rick Steves said we were crazy, the Meinkens had deep reservations, but we did it! We saw nearly all the major sights of Rome in one day! The Coliseum, Forum, Vatican Museum, Sistine Chapel, St. Peter’s Basilica, the Pantheon, and Trevi Fountain. In the back of my mind, I had kind of pictured everything nicely laid out, like Washington DC, only with less grass. Ha! Major points of interest were sprawled all across the city to be seen only after charging through a gauntlet of uneven cobblestones, slanted steps, and steep inclines.

Our first destination was the Coliseum and with the help of Rick Steves we were able to pretty vividly picture what had happened there. Although it made me wish that I had watched the movie Gladiator and that I hadn’t watched the heinous movie, Jumper, which had filmed a scene there.

Besides the Sistine Chapel, my favorite stop was St. Peters. Its vast, celestial grandeur made me feel very small, both in terms of space and in terns of time, its sheer scale reminding me of the greatness, the vastness of our God.

And that’s where I give up trying to describe the monuments I saw…They were far too magnificent for my petty writing skills. I do have a couple other things I want to share though.

Many of my favorite things from that day were not listed in Rick Steves book. One of them happened outside the Pantheon. A chubby little boy toddled after the pigeons, who cooed unappreciatively. Every time the pigeons would scatter, the boy was overcome with a fit of giggles. As Jaclyn pointed out, the best part of the scene was the mother’s expression as she chased after him chasing after the pigeons, an expression of complete love and utter devotion.

The Pantheon was near the end of the day, by which time my feet blazed with pain. To make matters worse, we missed out train which had switched tracks at the last minute. Then, when were driving back, Mr. Meinken took a wrong turn and ended up driving to some random village. So there I was, sitting in the back seat having a little pity party when suuddenly, we saw a bright green flash in the sky. Fireworks! We pulled the car to the side of the road and got out. A few people had already assembled, and others soon pulled over or came out of their houses to join our impromptu gathering. All day, there had been a lot of miscommunication, confusion, and chaos. And yet… we were all standing there together, marveling at the same the thing, appreciating the same fiery beauty. We were all just people.

Spoleto

Our destination for the day was the quaint and quiet hill town Spoleto, or so we thought.. [cue semi-ominous music.] On the way to Spoleto we drove past a hamlet named Narni which was rumored to inspire a certain famous author. Right before we arrived we stopped to take some pictures and scent of wild basil suddenly flooded the car. Not long after, we were panting our way up to the castle at the top of the town. With all the parapets, turrets, and arrow slits, I fully expected to see Robin Hood (or some Italian equivalent) leaping over the side to be caught by Little John (or some Italian equivalent.) The walls of the castle were lined with frescos which frankly, seemed unremarkable. There was one in particular that did catch my attention. Whereas all the other frescoes were in excellent condition and depicting this biblical event or that pope, there was one in bed chamber of a young man that looked like it had been attacked with a chisel, an ex-boyfriend perhaps?

As we walked back from the castle we saw a bunch of cars lined up in a little alley. Without warning, Jaclyn and Mr. Meinken got really excited while Nani and I just gave each other bewildered looks. Apparently these fourteen little red cars were Ferrari's and apparently that's something special. After gawking for about twenty minutes, we started hearing the loud, guttural reeving of engines so we went off in search of the source.

We were pleased to discover that the denizens of Spoletp had closed down the center of town for an afternoon of motorcycle racing. By the time we got there, the older guys were racing, roaring around corners and slamming into hay stacks. While watching, we savored some gelato. Never before have I discovered the taste of ripe cantelope captured so superbly.

Exploring

I started out the day in the best way possible: by sleeping in obscenely late. After I tried to eat a peach that seemed to explode more with each bite, we put on our tennis shoes and bounded out the door. (Or as close as I ever get to bounding.) Nani, our fearless leader, charged ahead, eventually leading us to the large grove adjacent to the house. She carried a red basket for collecting any choice berries or lush apples we could find. Jaclyn and I lagged behind, trying to permanently remember the light dancing in the olive trees and the soft breeze ruffling the golden grass. Eventually, we came across a long expanse of blackberries which Jaclyn and I eagerly devoured while I was vaguely reminded of a certain poem I had read in high school. Nani thought we were being silly and quickly picked a bunch of berries for us, indicating that we should pick up the pace. Jaclyn and I took many pictures, experimenting with light and color. Meanwhile, Nani (who had tired of us taking pictures of her) made a wreath of olive leaves and placed it upon my head. Finally it was time to head back to the house. Nani pointed out an expired bird and suggested I take a picture of its bright yellow feather. I thought the bird deserved some sort of burial rights simply on account of its beauty. I arranged the body with a stick and said a few words until Nani started pelting me with blackberries and shouting at me to stop being weird (I think she needs to meet my sisters.)

Mr. Meinken then drove us into town where we visited a small, strange-smelling fruit and vegetable shop (come to think of it, the entire town had a plethora of strange smells) and then went off in search of an elusive sculptor. While Jaclyn and I were waiting, we visited the Italian equivalents of Claire's and Victoria's Secret. Then we stopped at a bakery to nab some powdered confections. Most seemed to be filled with a creamy, Nutella-like substance.

After driving home (the usual blind- corners- whizzing- vespas- narrow- like- Star- Wars- trash- compactor- death- trap ride) we got ready for dinner. Mr. Meinken was the head chef and we, his eager assistants. He assigned me the task of grating the cheese (something for which I was well qualified, thanks grandma!) Next came time to cut the bread. The softest bread to be gotten from the grocery was the hardest bread I had ever encountered. It was not until I had little beads of sweat on my forehead that I had wrestled the bread into submission. Finally, we carried our food onto the candlelit back patio and thanked God for all his blessings. After "amen" everyone else starting recapping a conversation I had missed (while I was asleep) about the intricacies of making cheese. Then Mr. Meinken started asking random questions. The first question was, "Who was your first love?" I asked Mr. Meinken whose his was and he said that in second grade he liked a girl named Laura, though all he could remember about her was her excellent posture. (This story was eerily familiar.) I said that my first love was Vinnie Santilino in third grade. I thought he was so cute because he wore a leather jacket and gelled his hair. (I've come to believe that the sale of hair gel is vastly importantly to Italy's economic development.) Then Mr. Meinken asked us what the greatest lesson we had learned from our father was. I was the first to answer, "Everything is negotiable." Mr. Meinken went on to talk about being a father and how at some point you just have to trust that you've done the best you could and leave it up to your kids. He then told us that few will change the world by building large factories, becoming famous politicians, or dying for a great cause. For most of us, our children will be the only legacy we leave...

After we sat in silence for a few moments, contemplating, we started clearing the dishes. When clean up was finally complete, we piled back into the car and headed back into town for a concert. As earlier concerts had included jazz, classical music, and bad Beatles covers, I approached this event with some trepidation. Fortunately for us (meaning Jaclyn and I, not Mr. Meinken and Nani) it was an Italian Rock band called Reset. While we discussed the possibility of a two-person mosh pit, I got my first impressions of the performers. The lead singer was standard issue, although he got bonus points for playing the harmonica. The guitarist on the right wore an expression of alternating mischief and pleading, giving me the impression that he had apologized to many women. The guitarist on the left seemed to be trying a little too hard, as though he had spent his formative years playing video games and latched on to the guitar with the strength of a desperate barnacle. The drummer was mostly inscrutable (that one's for you, Christin) though it seemed he would eat a rabbit raw, possibly while it was still moving, and yet love babies. I thought the band was very talented. I can't imagine how much better it would have been had I actually known what they were saying. Although coolness needs no translation.

Florence

Today we hopped on a train bound for Florence and ended up in a very Harry-Potter-looking kind of car. When a porter came by with a cart of snacks, I resisted the terrible urge to ask for a chocolate frog.

After switching trains, getting lunch (the pasta was not nearly as good as grandma's), and a long walk we ended up at the Galleria Dell Uffizi where we saw famous works such as the Primavera (pictured) and The Birth of Venus. Yet one can only look at so many depictions of the blessed Virgin Mary. (I think I'll be counting them in my sleep tonight.) To break the monotony, Sayre pulled out pages from Rick Steves' (or "Ricky" as we now affectionately call him) guide book and began reading aloud. Here's a brief excerpt from the part describing Primavera, "The Graces may be symbolic of the three form of love- love of beauty, love of people, and sexual love suggested by the raised intertwined fingers. (They forgot love of peanut-butter-on-toast.) " Ricky also took time to mock some of the earlier works, especially the experiments in perspective and some really awkward looking toes. After a quick gelato break, we went to La Academia Museo to see David. 'Nough said.

We spent some time shopping at a flea market and then I had a Big Mac for dinner. It was at this swankiest of McDonalds that I had one of my few positive interactions with an Italian person (meaning, they weren't yelling at me, hitting on me, pushing me, asking me for money, or looking at me like I'm crazy.)

Surprisingly enough, we managed to deftly navigate both the street signs and the train schedules for the majority of the day. ("We" meaning Sayre and Jaclyn.) I took it upon myself to be vigilant while they were looking at the map (the first rule of self defense, if I remember correctly from 6th grade.)

During the long train ride home we played Ghost, and there was some controversy over how to spell "villain", a clear indication of our exhaustion. By the time we got back to the house, we were tired, grimy, and ridiculously happy...

Good Morning!

This morning I woke up, stumbled out of bed, climbed up some stairs, and ambled down the hallway. "Am I really in Italy?" I wondered, considering the possibility that this could be a very realistic hallucination. I decided to step onto the balcony for a second and wanted to weep for the view that assailed me. (This picture doesn't nearly do it justice.) The most beautiful sight I've ever seen was followed by the most incredible apple danish I have ever tasted, life-altering really. Unfortunately, I was sick a couple weeks ago, and with all the travel I seem to have gone into a bit of relapse. So right now everyone else is splashing around in the Mediterranean and I'm at the villa alone, downing Gatorade which is perfectly fine by me. I just want to enjoy the sunshine and sleep. Shocker, I know. I can't wait to get better and see what else in store [thumbs up.]