Italy rocked my face off!

Dear Venice and Rome,

Thank you for a WONDERFUL trip.  Even if you did strike.

Sincerely, Me

I’m back in the Netherlands.  257 pictures have been put up on webshots, more than I’ve taken any other weekend that I’ve been here, haha.  Venice was just insanely photogenic, and in Rome there’s so much to SEE.

So photos are up.  Check those out.  I’ll get blogs for Venice and Rome (and Vienna!) up hopefully within the next couple days since we leave for Prague Thursday 5:30am, and then is our travel break.  However, I have TONS of papers due this week.  Now begins the final surge before home, so I’m going to be busier than I’ve been all semester for sure.

Now off to write papers!

Venezia and Roma saved Italia from the clutches of stupid Milano

Just to wrap things up.  Overslept by twenty minutes this morning, so I wound up missing the first train out to the airport, but it still worked out okay.  Made it to the airport, checked in, made the thirty minute walk to my gate (goodness, it was a long walk!).  The flight wasn’t bad at all, though at landing time I seriously felt like we were spiraling to the earth and kept having to look out the window to convince myself we weren’t.  They gave us all coffee and these yummy amaretto pie slices; YUM.

My flight was Rome to Brussels and shaved eighteen hours off my travel time.  Score!  From there, took trains back to Venlo.  Ran into Emily and Shane on the train from Brussels so wound up finishing the journey with them, going through Nijmegen instead of Venlo, but still made it back to the castle at exactly 5pm, just in time for dinner.

So overall, Italy was a big success.  I loved it.  Venice I adored and can’t wait to go back.  Rome I enjoyed and I know I’ll probably go back someday to see the few things I missed, though I’m really not in any rush.  It was awesome fun to see Fidan again (our next date is set for January in Texas, haha).  People were overall very kind and helpful, even playful with me.  I saw some truly wonderful things that any history-oriented person should (Forum, Colloseum) and some beautiful art that’s unbeatable (Sistine Chapel, Venetian canals). 

 AND I never had a single problem with the strike on Friday.  Score all around!

I am Jessicus Maximus and that is my triumphal arch

So Saturday, my second full day in Rome.

Oh, I forgot my Friday night realization.  So Friday night, after a WONDERFUL spinach ravioli dinner and tiramisu gelati dessert (the former from a very flirtatious young waiter who insisted I get the ravioli instead of spaghetti; the latter from an adorable older Italian man with a shiny bald head, round glasses, and the cutest smile), I wound up next to this young girl, Kristen, a freshman in college.  She’s from Connecticut but doing all four years of school in Spain through St. Louis Uni.  We talked about homesickness and travel and all that, and when I mentioned I’d been to the Vatican, she asked what I thought about the Sistine Chapel.

 I forgot about the Sistine Chapel!!!

Can you imagine what the rest of my life would have been like if she hadn’t reminded me.  “Yeah, I went to Rome when I was 19.”  “What did you think of the Sistine Chapel?”  “I actually . . . forgot it.”

So instead of sleeping in like I had planned,  I got up at the crack of dawn and took the metro all the way back to the Vatican Museums.  I had been warned by friends to get there early, so I showed up around 8:30am even though the Museum didn’t open until 10.  Already the line had wrapped around the corner.  So I spent the next hour and forty-five minutes in the freezing shade (it’s quite chilly in the mornings!), glaring at the obnoxious six men behind me (four Spaniards and two Italians who were teaching each other their languages), and stressing out that I wouldn’t have enough time because I was meeting Fidan at noon.

Fortunately, I made it in at 10:30 and had an hour to high-tail it through the Sistine Chapel section of the Vatican Museums (there are like five other parts I didn’t see; next time I’m in Rome!)  The museum part was interesting; pretty tapestries and statues and stuff.

The Sistine Chapel was AMAZING.  It’s just entirely overwhelming. It’s not very big, and there were several dozen people crammed into this small chapel, staring up at the ceiling like turkeys.  It’s not just the ceiling that’s painted, though, and actually the painting of Adam and God is very small.  The paintings cover the walls, as well.  I would have sworn the curtains were real, but no; painted.  Even statues in little nooks in the ceiling were FAKE; da Vinci did such a good job of shading that they actually looked like little statue nooks.  It became a game of “what’s real and what’s just really good shading?”  I still maintain that da Vinci’s humans are idealized humans, too many muscle bulges for even another time period.  But his art is still superb, his technique amazing, and I was truly overwhelmed by the chapel.  Everyone was, judging by the hum of conversation; every few minutes a guard would clap his hands and yell for silence because it’s a chapel, it’s supposed to be quiet. 

Oh, and I did a bad thing and took a picture of the ceiling from my waste. 

Bought two wonderful beautiful necklaces for MYSELF (a silver cross with fleur de lis on the ends, and a blue angel cameo), then hurried off to meet Fidan at Santa Marie Maggiore church near my hostel.  While I was sitting there journaling, this man of mixed Asian-Italian descent, came over and insisted on talking to me –which usually I appreciate but not this time.  his long hair made him look dirty.  He asked where I was from and then went on for five minutes to tell me how much he hates America for being so rich in English so broken that I couldn’t understand most of it.

Then he asked if I wanted to go get a drink.  I wanted to say, “Um, you just spent five minutes insulting my country WITHOUT any input from me, and now you want to go get a drink?”  So I told him I was waiting for a friend.  He offered to pay, and I said, “No, I’m waiting for a friend.”  “Oh, you’re, eh, boyfriend?”  “No, he’s at home in the States.  I’m waiting for a girl friend.”  He was REALLY taken back by this, haha, which amused me, and for a moment looked like he didn’t want to talk to me anymore. Then he suggested we could go Sunday to get drinks because he’s there every day.  Just to get him to go away, I told him that was fine (I wouldn’t even be in the country anymore), so he wandered off.

THEN Fidan strolled over.  Thanks for rescuing me.

So we went walking.  She gave me my very own private tour of the Roman Forum, which is insanely cool.  Some of my quotes have been used as captions for the webshots pictures, haha.  She was silly, to say the least.  I did my best to try and imagine what it would have looked like back in the Roman Empire heyday, but it’s difficult to recreate it all.  Fascinating, though, at the very least, even with way too many tourists scrambling over the stones and weedy grass.

The Colosseum was next, and though admission overpriced (11euro? too much!), still cool to see.  We read about the history, about gladiator battles and theatre and how naval battles were staged in the Colosseum by flooding the bottom.  I just like BEING there, knowing I’m standing in such an old, old place.  It’s a kind of history the US doesn’t really have.  It’s inspiring.  And it’s so big, so there.

Went to lunch at what we thought was a cute little garden restaurant.  Instead, we were blatantly ignored by the waitstaff for 35 minutes, sitting at our table and continuously asking if we could order yet.  The food wasn’t very good for the price.  But whatever, we were together in our FOURTH country together (States, Azerbaijan, Austria, and Italy!)  Went to what Fidan insisted was the best ice cream parlor in Italy, and I very much agree; it was WONDERFUL.

From there, walked along to see about some shopping, but neither of us were really in the mood, so we wound up seeing this truly strange movie “Un’altra Giovinezza” (“Youth Without Youth”) which hopelessly confused us (mostly English with Italian subtitles, though they threw in a bunch of other languages), though I really enjoyed it.  It was very long, very European, and had an uncredited cameo from Matt Damon, haha! 

Only had a bit longer to walk around together before she needed to head back, so we wandered back up to Piazza del Popolo and then rode the metro together until I got off.  Quick goodbye hug, then it was up to internet and bed for me!

Just a quick summarization of ALL I saw Friday

So onto Rome!

Rome is one of those cities –I feel like I’ve explained this to a thousand people now– where the city itself is nothing special.  It’s just kind of your typical dirty, industrialized European city.  It’s the stuff that’s IN Rome that makes it nice to visit.  Every five minutes you stumble upon some ancient ruin, some baroque fountain, some medieval church. 

To better illustrate my Friday in Rome, I felt it necessary to trace my basic path on a map for you to see.  I actually traced it on my own physical map, so this is quite accurate.  It leaves out a few of the side wanderings –I occasionally, of course, would turn down side streets, and the like.  And it doesn’t begin to explain my hour-long lostness in the neighborhoods of southwest Rome.  But you get the general idea and can maybe now understand why the webshots title of this trip is “Sore Feet and Cobbled Streets.”  Keep in mind I was wearing 1euro sneaker-flats.

A list of some of the major things I saw, though a considerable amount is being left out: Teatro dell’Opera, Largeo di Villa Peretti, Piazza della Repubblica, Santa Maria degli Angeli, San carlo Quattro Fontane, Palazzo delle Esposizioni, Piazza del Quirinale, Quirinale, Trevi Fountain, Piazza Colonna, Fontana del Tritone, Trinita dei Monti, Piazza di Spagna, parks around Villa Medici, Piazza del Popolo, Pincio, Mausoleo Augusto, Ara Pacis, Large S. Rocco, Ponte Cavour, Piazza dei Tribunali, Castel Sant’ Angelo, Basilica S. Pietro and the Tombs of the Popes in the Vatican, Ponte Vittorio Emanuelle II, S. Giovanni dei Fiorentini Fountain (I just realized I left this side trip off the map!; after the Vatican, I crossed the bridge, saw this fountain, and then crossed back; a considerable side-trip), Ponte Principe, Faro al Gianicolo, Anita Garibaldi monument, Garibaldi monument, Porta San Pancrazio, Fonte Acqua Paola, the inside of a McDonald’s, Piazza G. Belli, Isola, Teatro Marcello, the Synagogue, Area Sacra, Campo de Fiori, Piazza Navona, Palazzo Madama, the Pantheon, Chiese dei Gesu, Palazzo Venezia, Monumento a Vittorio Emanuele II, Colonna Traiana, Mercati Traianei, not to mention TONS of statues, squares, and churches.

Not bad for one walking day in Rome, eh?

Isola was as cool as I had hoped.  It’s a small island in the middle of the river where the mills used to be; there are still old buildings, an old church.  It’s pretty much the only attractive area on the river.

Area Sacre was one of my favorite parts; it’s old ruins, as are all cool things in Rome.  It’s also now a cat sanctuary so there are DOZENS of cats lounging around on all the old broken stones and columns and walls.  An adorable old shriveled Italian man started telling me all about it and when I clearly didn’t understand asked, “Parlez-vous Francais?” “Un peu.”  So he went off in Italian.  I caught about halof of what he said, haha.

The Vatican was quite lovely.  It definitely has the feel of being Catholic HQ.  There are sweet nuns and determined visiting clergy coming out of the woodwork.  The inside of St. Peter’s is all reds, golds, and beige marble (as opposed to the grey and white stone in other European cathedrals) and feels more warmer, cozier than the grey stone.  There weren’t beautiful stained-glass windows, but the big things in the middle (I don’t know what they were!) that were sort of in place of altars were rather spectacular (check my pictures).  The mosaics on the ceiling were captivating, and there were plenty of statues of saints to go around.  The tombs of the popes were overall meaningless to me, except for what I believe was John Paul II’s, which had fresh roses and all. 

The Parthenon was interesting.  It doesn’t feel at all religious to me, and I actually think the deteriorating exterior is more interesting than the smooth, shiny marble interior.  Fidan explained to me that when it was build so long ago, they build the front to be a certain height to fit the columns they had ordered from Egypt, but then the columns couldn’t arrive –broken, too big to trasport, etc.– so they had to order new, smaller columns closer to home.  That’s why there are sort of two “layers” in the front; they had to add a piece to fill in the difference between the heights of the columns.  Isn’t it funny to think of ordering columns and failing orders and all that in early AD?

I didn’t go through the Castle because it was more money than I was willing to pay for a rushed view, but the outside was just kind of a bland, typical Medieval castle.  Trevi Fountain was pretty cool to see, but I thought the Paula fountain was just as pretty. 

There are a lot of other things I could elaborate on, but to actually describe everything would take FOREVER and I’m crunched for time, so check out my pictures for the other sites I saw, haha.  See for yourself. 

Go http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y43/myToyotaisaBeast/romemap.jpg to see it larger.

You know, I never did see a single cat

I woke around 8 and wandered off, photographing several beautiful early-morning canal seasons before resting for a cappuchino in an outdoor cafe.  Comment on all the coffee I had in Italy: it was delicious, but I’ve never been a good judge during taste tests.  I didn’t think it was any better or worse than home coffee.  The cappuchinos at the cafe I went to every morning for breakfast in Rome were beautifully proportioned, but other than . . . I didn’t really think it was as holy as I had expected.

It’s hard for me to break my day in Venice up because the entire day was one long shopping trip, one long photoshoot, one long wandering mess as I tried to feel my way around the maze of a city.  I went shopping crazy for the first time all semester, buying glass and masks as though money was no issue (in the end, I didn’t spend as much as I had thought), wandering through crowded mask shops.  I got to watch a man hand-painting Venetian masks and two men making gondolas. 

Venice is quite literally a city in the water.  I only found two patches of grass in the entire city; the rest is cobbled squares, narrow twisting alleys that sometimes lead to nowhere, and slightly wider streets alongside the water.  You’re constantly going up and down, up and down, up and down on stone or wood bridges to cross the dozens of canals that the city is wedged between.  Everything is transported around the city –fruit to market, furniture to home, tourists to destinations– by boat.  There are water taxis and water busses, and of course the infamous gondolas, manned by men in striped shirts and flat hats, who charge an exhorbitant amount for the dozens of tourists who flock to Venice for the gondolas, masks, and Murano glass.

I watched little old ladies hobbling up and down the cobbled alleys; woman lugging strollers over bridges; old men lounging in bars to discuss important matters in the lyrical Italian language.  People watching was at an all-time high, and the city itself was so beautiful to photograph that even the never knowing really where I was didn’t bother me.  Several times I got really lost and had to backtrack or ask directions, but the people were so helpful and pleasant and never hesitated to help me as best they could.  Their directions are not by streets, though, but by directions.  Giving streets would be no help at all, so they just always point, and say, “Go straight and then turn right.”  And actually, their directions never fail.

I stopped for lunch in a little cafe that had an arcade in the back.  It was all middle-aged and older men who wandred in and out of the back or stood at the bar, talking to the barman who was very nice and helpful to me.  I think he was amused by me, at any rate, and made me a fresh, warm sandwich and gave me a cookie. 

San Marcos square is packed with pigeons and tourists and carts selling cheesy souvenirs.  Expensive glass shops line the outer walls, and a restaurant in the middle at a string quartet.  Inside the church was beautiful but very different than any of the other churches I’ve been in; smaller, without a really long knave.  There were only a couple stained glass windows, all rose windows, and most of the light came from glassless windows near the ceiling.  The ceiling was covered in beautifully intricate tiled mosaics of saints and Bible stories. 

Really, I can say again and again what a beautiful maze Venice is, but you should just look at my pictures; I got some pretty good ones, I think.  It’s just one of those cities that’s utterly unlike anything else; it has such a strongly defined character, which was nice after some rather bland cities (*cough*Vienna*cough*).

One glass shop I went into was run by a sweet little old woman who spoke NO English whatsoever –and my Italian is extremely limited, mostly to what can be figured out from French and Spanish.  I wound up buying four pieces of jewelry from her, partly because I really wanted them, and partly because she got SO excited that I was buying FOUR things.  She was adorable.

Met up with Marcelo again for coffee before his train that evening; we sipped and talked.  He left and I wandered around near the trainstation only another hour before time for me train to Rome, which was about as uneventful as it can get. 

Anything else to say about Venice other than that I LOVED it and WILL be going back, hopefully for a more extended period of time . . .  Here are some quotes I like from my travel journal:

“The glass jewelry and masks for sale are everywhere; you see them when you close your eyes.”

“Overall, Italian men haven’t the slightest interest in me whatsoever (unless I’m completely oblivious, but I don’t feel the Italians are subtle in anything), which is simultaneously a great relief and a gentle blow to the ego.”

“The city goes up and down, up and down.  You climb so many stairs you forget what day it is.”

“The canals are everywhere, they own the city, and it’s by the canals you have to navigate if you ever hope to get anywhere.  If you get lost, find water and follow it and you’ll wind up somewhere.  I like the stairs that lead into the water; clearly for the boats, but it looks like they’ll take you down into another world, the world reflected in the water.”

“I never did see a single cat.”

Venetians are bad at labeling streets but it doesn’t really matter because you’ll still be lost

After several hours of people watching in the wee hours in Cologne Trainstation (I have excellent people-notes in my travel journal), I boarded my train.  The ride itself was uneventful to Munich, where I transferred to a new train taking me to Verona. 

The train ride was BEAUTIFUL.  And get this: it snowed.  Or flurried, to be more precise.  Apparently it was really snowing in Berlin further north, but in Southern Germany/Northern Italy, somewhere south of St. Jodak, it flurried against the background of beautiful mountains and tiny villages.

Had a 45 minute layover in Verona, but only stepped outside long enough to take a photograph of the church across the street; I was worried about wandering any further. 

So really, I didn’t lose much time in Venice.  Instead of arriving at 2:30, I arrived at 5pm.  To actually get to Venezia-St. Lucia, the train goes over the water, but it’s a really surreal experience.  You can’t see the track beneath you or any land at all out the window; nothing.  The train sort of slows down and sways, so it feels like the train is literally running across the water and any second you could plunge beneath the water.  I felt like Peter –in a train.  No wonder the poor guy was nervous; it’s a terrifying yet invigorating feeling.

Upon stepping out of St. Lucia station, you’re immediately on the central canal and surrounded by restaurants, tourist shops, and so, so many boats.  It was about a 15 minute walk to my hostel, over small bridges, along canals, down alleys, and I was utterly flabbergasted by this city unlike anything I’ve ever seen. 

Made friends instantly with the only other person in my four-bed room, a Bolivian boy named Marcelo.  After dropping my stuff, he suggested we go out walking.  By now it was dark, and I don’t usually go walking along at night by myself in foreign cities, so I was happy for the company.

Having arrived the day before, Marcelo was able to show me a lot of the cool sights (San Marcos square, church, Doges Palace, Per Rialto, etc.) by night.  Venice stays up late, which is night because most European cities don’t.  We wandered around, frequently asking for directions in a city where you never actually know where you are.  It’s a beautiful little place at night, with lamplight reflected on the water, cozy little restaurants squeezed in between shops closed for the night, and squares littered with friendly, cheerful people.

We wound up eating pizza at a rather nice little restaurant.  Got these interesting seltzer drinks that had olives in them, just to try.  Admired the towering buildings at night, the peaceful water, me snapping pictures (few, unfortunately, of which actually came out any good at all).  Everyone was very nice and helpful, though at the time I assumed it was because Marcelo could at least speak Spanish with them, so it wasn’t a case of obnoxious ignorant tourist. 

I finally was dead-tired, so we spent 30 minutes wandering around trying to make it back to the hostels.  Constantly we’d hit dead-ends in claustrophobic alleys, bridges closed for construction, or wander down one narrow streets to find it didn’t at all go where we wanted.

I pretty much fell asleep as soon as I got into bed, perfectly happy and in love with Venezia.  It was lovely to see Venice at night, though, so thanks Marcelo for showing me around!

Foiled in under an hour

I knew avoiding the strike was too easy.  Something else was bound to go wrong, and it did.  I sprinted from class, which ended at 8:45pm, to make the 9:03 bus to Venlo, where the trainstation is.  Arrived at about 9:40 (train was 10:04), so purchased some coffee. 

Standing out on the platform, waiting with about a dozen other people.  Waiting, waiting.  No train.  Finally some porters come wandering over and the following conversation ensues:

Porter#1: The train isn’t coming.
Everyone: . . . . (various curses in Dutch, English, and German)
Me: What?
Porter#1: The train isn’t coming.  There’s a bus.
Me: No, back up, why isn’t the train coming?
Porter#2: There was a . . . uh, accident.
Porter#1: So there’s a bus.
Me: But I only have five minutes to make my connection and I think I’ve already missed it and I have to get to Venezia.
Porter#1: Oh, that’s not going to happen.

I just stare at them long and hard as they try to encourage me that there’s a bus that will take me to Germany for free.  I pull out my itinerary to show how I have to make my connection in order to make it to Cologne in time to make the overnight train to Munich in order to make it to Venice.  They were very nice, at least.  I made the split-second decision that, instead of going back to the castle with my tail between my legs and thus not making it to Venice until midnight the next day (instead of the original 2:30pm), I would try to make it as far as Cologne.  Their train station stays open all night, so I could just chill as long as needed and then catch the earliest train to continue.

So the porters do everything but hold my hands as they walk me to the exact place to get on the bus.  I get on and the crowded bus takes off.  We stopped somewhere past Boisheim (where the train broke down on the way back from Vienna) to pick up more people and the bus driver piled their bikes up in the space right behind me, six bikes stacked on top of each other.  Safe!

We’re going and then it occurs to me that I don’t even know where this bus is going.  The guys just said “Germany”.  I need to get to Monchengladback to get on a train to Cologne, so I lean forward to ask these two guys about my age, seated in front of me.  One blatantly ignores me and the other says he doesn’t speak English, but his shifty eyes and the fact that I KNOW German students learn English doesn’t fool me.  So I ask, “Well do you at least understand me enough to tell me where this bus is going?”  He says, “Viersen, then next Monchengladbach,” trying to answer without giving away that he speaks English.  Then I guess he felt bad for not being more helpful, because when the bus finally stopped, he asked, “Monchengladbach?”  I nodded that’s where I needed to go, so he motioned for me to follow him, but he didn’t want his friend to realize he was helping me.  So I followed them into the train station and to the platform, and he subtly glanced over his shoulder to make sure I was following.  Took me to the exact platform, which is where he was headed, as well.  So even if he was stubbornly unhelpful, he was helpful as well.

Actually made it to Cologne from there with no problems.  The next train to Munich was 4:21am and it was only 12:34am, so I found a cozy little part of the train station down by all the restaurants and right beneath a heating vent. 

In the station, four homeless men ambled around, digging through trashcans.  A couple other travelers staked out claims near me.  And then came Ingls, me new friend.  Ingls was a middle-aged man with a green German military cap and a gold hoop in one hear.  In very broken English, I picked out during our ten minute conversation that he’s convinced he’s a German volunteer security guard.  He’s not (as clear by the other security guards who came by and stayed the rest of the night near me to make sure I was okay).  He wanted to make sure I was okay, offered me his half-drunk coffee, told me to find him if anyone bothered me, then shook my hand, then kissed the back of my hand three times and my palm once before he wandered off, intimidated by this boy sitting next to me watching him suspiciously.

I guess that’s the good thing about being a cute little solo girl traveler.  Guys who are spending any length of time with you –even just spending the night anonymously by you in the trainstation– tend to make a mental claim on you and will watch out for you, even if they don’t even know your name.  I don’t know how many times I’ve had guys I haven’t even spoken with get protective of me against someone else they perceive is annoying me.  It’s a good feeling.

So . . . by this point I was supposed to be sleeping in a train on my way overnight to Munich.  Instead I was in the Cologne trainstation, which is only 1.5 hours from the castle.  I was getting “Monaco 2007″ flashbacks . . .

Leaving toniiiiiight

Well, I would have liked to say farewell for the weekend a little later than this, but I’ve got SO much to do before my classes 2:30-8:45, and then I literally will run from class to the busstop to make the 9:03pm bus.  So instead I’ll say it now.  Ta everyone, have a wonderful rest of your week and weekend.  Maybe say a prayer for me that all my rerouting due to the strike works out okay and that I have a great time in Venice and Rome.

Italy was already on my bad side because of Milan

Okay, so first the almost-bad news.  Fidan messaged me about thirty minutes ago, frantic because Italy trains and busses are (probably) going on strike  Friday.  Of course, I was supposed to take a train from Venice to Rome on Friday.  And to even get to the train station, I’d have to take a bus.

Fortunately, this time I got one up on International Travel.  I immediately e-mailed both my Venice and Rome hostels, asking if they’d heard anything about this.  I told my Venice hostel that if so, I’d need to cancel Thursday night, and my Rome hostel that, if so, I’d need to book another night, Thursday night.  I found a train that goes directly from Venice to Rome at 6:38pm Thursday night, arriving at 11:03pm.  I have wifi in my hostel in Rome, so as soon as I get there, I’ll e-mail Fidan.  By then, her school will have told her what times the strike is.  If it’s going to prevent us from meeting up Friday then we’ll just have to make due with only seeing each other Saturday, by which time the strikes SHOULD be over.

 Don’t get me wrong, I’m FURIOUS about this.  Let’s recall my history with strikes, shall we?

1. I get stranded in Achen, Germany due to the trains all being screwy as an after-effect of German train strikes two days before.  I spend the night in a stranger’s aparment.
2. I get stranded in Paris, France on my way to Nice due to French National Railway strike.  I spend the night in a hostel but lose a day in Nice.
3. I . . . okay, I actually didn’t see it at all, but Germany went on strike again and I only narrowly avoided it on my way to Vienna.  I literally left the country of Germany like an hour before teh strike began.  My friends all missed a day in Berlin because of it, though.
4. Italian air traffic controllers went on strike, so my friend Emily got stranded in Italy for three days during midterms.

And now I am PUMPED full of adrenaline.  I’m so relieved I knew about this ahead of time.  I’m upset that I’m missing an evening in Venice, and it means I’m going to have to deal with an evening train and getting into Rome really really late instead of having a nice quiet evening at the hostel.   But it could –and has been before– so much worse.  I’d rather lose an evening in Venice than only have half a day to see Rome.  This would have been such an infuriating surprise in Italy.  Hopefully both my hostels will be very understanding and helpful and e-mail me back SOON so I can feel absolutely sure it’s all sorted out before I leave tomorrow night.

And now I’m excited about Italy.  Maybe my anxiety about this trip was a gut feeling that something was going to go wrong.  I just wasn’t feeling RIGHT about it.  I actually had been considering cancelling it the past two days.  Now I feel like this was God’s way of saying, “No, look, you’re going to be fine.  I’ll even let you know ahead of time what’s going to go wrong so that you can be ready for it.”  Thanks you, God!

In light of my adrenaline rush from defeating International Travel (sometime I’ll explain that castle-wide joke), here’s a game for you to play.  It’s called “Find Jessa”.  I guarantee I’m in every single one of the following pictures (taken by a professional photographer at the banquet we had for Jackie Liebergott back in September).  Some are harder to find me in than others.  Have fun!

Stranger danger would have me sleep in a freezing train station!

Sunday through Monday was rough.  Though my original plan had been to spend all Sunday in Milan and then take an overnight back to Venlo, I wanted OUT of Milan, and wanted to be able to see Switzerland during the day anywas.  So I set off from my hotel at seven in the morning.  Due to stupid and rude people at the train station, and some lack of initiative on my own part, I wound up not making it on a train until 11:30 to Basel.

The train ride from Milano Centrale to Basilea SBB was breathtaking.  There were cute kids on my train, I finished my book, AND I got a grand tour of Switzerland, which is possibly one of the most beautiful countries in the world.  I mean, seriously, unreal.  Most of the country looks completely untouched, vast mountains with small pockets of houses or else quaint towns crawling up their sides.  For once the movies were right, and Switzerland actually looks like the scenery in the Sound of Music.  Just getting that beautiful tour of Switzerland made the day in Milan worth it.

Then came the crummy part.  Apparently the German train workers went on strike Friday and the smaller stations I was at were a mess.  I had to keep redirecting myself, and finally accidentally got on the wrong train because it was mislabeled.  I wound up in some small little town at 11pm at night.  Fortunately, three kinds souls took it upon themselves to help me –Caro, a sweet 25-year-old German girl, Adam, also German, and this adorable Middle Eastern med student boy.  They suggested I go to Auchen with them and they could help me reroute from there.  So we made it to Auchen . . . but the travel buro was closed and it had been the last train anyways.  I was going to have to spend the night in the freezing train station.

Then Caro did the unthinkable, and suggested that I could spend the night at her flat and come back in the morning to catch a train.  I was torn between remember stranger danger and NOT spending the night on the floor of a train station.  Then I realized what a funny story it would be, so I said yes.  We said goodbye to the boys and made the short walk to her flat.  Though we’d planned on sleeping, we wound up staying up until about 2:30am, talking about everything from the Euro to Britney Spears to slavery to boyfriends.  Her flat was tiny and crowded and crazy, and she had two pet rats that are identical.  She said she can’t tell them apart so she just calls them both  sweetie and darling.  She was also happy to teach me all sorts of German jokes and idiomatic expressions.

Though I would have liked to sleep in, I got up at 4:45ish, said goodbye, and caught the 5:38 train to Viersen.  Had to way 50 minutes on a freezing cold platform, at whcih point I inhaled a tube of Mentos because I hadn’t had anything to eat since 7am Sunday morning.  Got to Venlo, took the bus back to the castle, then was INSTANTLY thrust back into the chaos of life at the castle.

Random acts of extreme kindness restore my faith in humanity.