Chapter Thirteen: I Was Never Good At Goodbye

I have said a lot of goodbye's in my life, but this one I knew would probably be the hardest of them all. There were things about home that I missed, but nothing will ever be to me what Italy has been. What has been difficult for me is finding how to convey in writing the feelings that I have about this country without just telling you the day to day events of my life. Aside from meeting some of the most amazing friends and the most amazing man, there has been so much that happened here that changed me and awed me and drew me in. My heart is attached to this place in a way I never knew was possible. How do I say goodbye?

                                                      ~

A few weeks before leaving I went to the sporting by myself, where I ran into Genio. He asked me if I had  eaten yet, and I said no. Although it was almost ten o'clock, we went to Babayaga, where they kept the kitchen open late, just for us. With the restaurant closing around us, we spent the evening talking and laughing and getting to know each other. Although I met him on my first night in the country, we were both in other relationships at the time and it was truly fate that brought us together this night. From then on we spent every moment away from work together. We spent a day at the beach together swimming and tanning and laughing and drinking, the day before my parents arrived, when he was off and I had just finished my internship. When we got back from dinner that night Genio's roommate told him that because the next day was a new month, the chef gave him that day off too. Although I wanted nothing more than for my parents to meet him, I could hardly ask that of him after only a few weeks...he offered to come without my having to ask. After spending an awesome day with my incredibly wonderful and understanding parents, we got back to Bellagio just in time to go to Lecco for dinner...this time to meet his mother. It was an eventful and emotional day. We only had a few days left, and they truly flew by. Not only with Genio, but with Cristi and everyone else. I had formed such strong bonds that leaving seemed impossible. 

The last day before I left Bellagio I spent with my parents, walking around a very rainy and dreary Bellagio...a feeling that mirrored my own heart. It was hard to not be sad when I thought about leaving everything I had known for the past three months. When Genio got off of work he came and picked me up, and we met my parents for dinner at the Hotel Florence, where we split two bottles of wine. Afterwards, we headed to the Enoteca Wine Bar and went through three more bottles...it was such a fun time I almost forgot that it was my last day there. Because my parents stayed in Como, they had to go back on the boat and I was able to get one last dinner with all of the Americans in Bellagio. It was a wonderful way to wrap things up, and lovely getting to see everyone one last time. After we ate, most of my friends came to the sporting and we relaxed and hung out for a few hours. 

Time came to say goodbye, and I wasn't ready. I cried, of course. More so when Cristi gave me a letter, not to be opened until I get on my plane home. The night was hard, knowing I was leaving a lot of people whom I loved. The morning was harder. I saw Cristi and Genio, before they each went to work, and we all cried. I cried as I walked down to town. Cried as I looked out over the lake and the mountains. I'm crying now, four days later. I also just said goodbye to Genio again...he had two days off and took the train down to Florence to spend here with me and my family. 

It's easy to say I will come back. I always said I'd go back to Mackinac. I also want to go to Nasville, Chicago, DC...truth is, I have no idea. What I do know is that I have felt and received more love here than ever before in my life. I ate better, drank better, and learned an entirely new language (given, that part began two years ago). I can honestly say I've never seen a more beautiful place. The drawback? The work leaves a lot to be desired. If I can get a job here, it won't be what I could get in the United States. I absolutely have better work opportunities there. Can I really hold back from doing what my heart is calling me to do because I can't get a job as a manager? It seems like a silly question. I know the answer. You know the answer. Now let's all just convince my mom, eh? Who knows. For now, I return. I finish school. Maybe I'll cry every day missing this place, and maybe I'll just drink more Italian wine. Maybe I'll never see any of these people again. 

One way or another, I've had the most incredible three months of my life. I lived without reservations and have no regrets, only incredible memories and, hopefully, lifelong friendships. 

Italy has my heart.

Chapter Twelve: We're Not in America Anymore

Giving the benefit of the doubt, I like to believe that most people recognize when preparing to travel abroad that they are traveling to a place that is very different from the USA. Most people probably understand that a country like Italy operates in a completely different way than we do at home. Everything from eating and drinking to shopping to relaxing is done differently here. Most people, I think, know that going in.

That being said, for some reason that "understanding" doesn't seem to translate into actual understanding when they arrive here. Here are a few situations I've noticed over the past ten weeks. 

The most prominent thing that I've noticed has to do directly with the hotel. In America, were bred on chain hotels. In fact, independent hotels make up only about 30% of the market in the US, whereas it's more like 60-70% in Italy. What does that mean for you? Don't expect to walk into a Ritz Carlton. The Grand Hotel Villa Serbelloni does not have a multimillion dollar chain backing it and setting service standards to make sure everyone receives the exact same, top of the line performance every time they stay. The Ritz Carlton has a $2,000 allowance, per guest, allotted for service recovery. That means that if something goes terribly wrong during your stay, any hotel employee from the general manager to the girl cleaning your toilet is empowered to spend up to that amount to make sure you leave happy. Why? Because you'll return. Probably for life. 

Small, independent Italian hotels do not have the means to implement such a policy. Guest expectations, however, dont always consider this incredible difference between the two types of hotels.

Next: Wifi

In America, it would be unheard of to go to a five star deluxe luxury hotel and be told at checkin that you get one free WiFi code, good for one device, and that if you would like additional codes (for, say, the other three people staying in your room) you'll just have to pay the small fee of seven euros per additional code. Not only that, but you have to re-enter the username (a six digit code) and password (a ten digit code) every hour or so. 

I can't impress upon you how many complaints I've gotten about the WiFi over the last ten weeks. But I don't like it either...so stop blaming me! What I have noticed, however, over my travels through italy, is that this is not an unusual policy. Proof that even I have to manage my expectations of what italy has to offer! 

One time I had to spend an hour alone in the room of a man who couldn't get the internet to work on his 1998 dell brick of a laptop and listen to him spout curses at the hotel and the country of Italy. 

"I've traveled all over the world and never had issues getting onto the internet like this before."

"I went to a hotel in Africa and was able to get internet. Africa!"

"This is why I never come to Italy. This is absolutely ridiculous."

All the while expecting me to diagnose and fix his computer. Do I look like the geek squad? 

I most certainly do not look like the geek squad.

Then, there was the rat lady. This has a little less to do with America vs Italy than a language barrier and a madwoman. 

Nevertheless:

Earlier on in the summer, Maria escorted a couple up to their room. She told the bellman the room number, and while she showed the guests some of the hotel amenities like our pools, restaurants and spas, the bellman went up to the room with the luggage. When Maria arrived, he was standing outside the room on his phone, talking frantically and making it clear that Maria should not enter the room. He went in and came out. The head housekeeper arrived, and went in the room. The wife turned to Maria and asked what happened. Maria had no idea, as they were speaking too fast for her to understand. Then the woman turned to the bellman, who spoke no English (which she highly doubted, thank you very much). They were permitted to enter, but the woman was apprehensive. She told Maria she thought there was a problem with the room. Was it a bug? A rat? Yes, a rat, she decided. 

<<Enter, me.>>

I was standing at the desk when a very nice couple walked up. The woman chatted with me a bit, and then asked me if I spoke Italian. Yes, I said I do. 

Oops.

She quickly stopped being nice, as she yelled at me and scolded me for what happened, said that no one would tell her what was going on, that Maria and the other person she spoke with were trying to hide something, and that I was going to find out what happened and tell her the truth. 

"All I want to know is what happened. I know there was a rat in the room, I just know it. But no one will tell me the truth, you're all hiding something from me."

Never mind what the housekeeper would have done with a live rat while the guests waited outside the door.

The exciting truth is that the bellman thought he saw the guests from the night before, who had checked out already, exiting the room. He called the head housekeeper because he thought the room hadn't been cleaned.

In other news:

-My parents arrive tomorrow

-I've officially finished work

-I'm going out to dinner tonight with a boy from work

-I have only two weeks left in this beautiful country and I absolutely do not want to leave. Keep a lookout for the stories to come about my travels around Italy with my parents, their friends Becky and Charlie and their son Chris. 

Feeling bittersweet, but enjoying every single second. 

Chapter Eleven: Le Squinzie

Have I introduced you to my Italian friends?

Well, there's Anna...

And Gloria (left)

Franci

Cristina

Clara

And Veronica

I knew we were going to become good friends when they started calling me their "American Pussy."

~

In the interest of time, I've left out some of the random fun things that I've been doing over the last couple of weeks with these guys, but now seems like a good time to catch everyone up! Rewind two weeks:

For some reason while I was at work, I spent the entire day battling a really bad stomach ache. Maybe all the gelato I'm eating is making my pants a little tight! But late in the day, one of my coworkers brought in some sweets, and my other coworker mentioned (in front of my manager) that I wasn't allowed to have anything because I wasn't feeling well. Five minutes later I was sent packing! After going home and resting for a bit, taking medicine, and enjoying some hot tea, I  finally felt better. Thank goodness for that because I had plans that evening to go up to the mountain for dinner. Although I had expected to go to a restaurant, I was taken by surprise when we pulled up to a large house set in in a clearing on the mountainside. There were about fifteen people outside, but tables set for more than forty. There was a large fire going, several men taking turns chopping wood, and two huge slabs of some type of meet slow roasting over the embers they pulled out of the fire. Right after I arrived, the truck with the wine pulled in...over fifty liters. Although I opted out of drinking for the sake of my still slightly sensitive stomach, I'm so happy I was able to go. With classical Italian music playing throughout the house, the smell of the burning fire and cooking food, and a cup of wine in the hand of nearly everyone over the age of (my best guess) twelve, it was probably the single most classical "Italian" night I've experienced since getting off the plane in Milan two months ago. What a great night with great friends!

The following weekend, we finally got a break in the weather! I haven't said much about it, because frankly it's depressing, but there were about three weeks of either solid rain, or cold and cloudy weather. Finally, finally, last weekend we got some sunshine! Anna and I went to the beach to get some much needed sun. After we finished goofing off and taking selfies galore, I laid down for a couple of minutes before I heard Anna yell, "Franci!!" I looked up, and there at the end of the dock was Franci, smiling at us from his boat, holding out his arm to help us on. We went out for a few hours, stopped for a while in front of the Villa Balbianello to swim, then went around the only island on the lake, and finally stopped in Lecco before heading back to Bellagio for aperitivo at Lido. 

A few days later Gloria and I meandered over to the Villa Melzi to see some of our friends (including her dad) sing in a concert for the Festival of Bellagio and Lake Como, where the choir arrived via decorated boat and sang a hefty repotoire including their own rendition of "Kumbaya"...

Then, the next day, Cristina and I decided to have dinner together at the Sporting Club. I had risotto with some type of weird and expensive mushroom, and Cristina ordered a pasta that looked like tiny little maggots. It may be no surprise that the better part of the meal came when two guys we know from Bellagio came and sat at the table next to us, and treated us each to a glass of wine. I think Christina drank hers a little too fast though, because she seemed a little confused when our desert arrived. We each ordered creme brûlée, and it came with some fresh fruit and a small dish of chocolate gelato.When she finished her gelato, she picked up the small black dish that it was served in and smelled it. "It's chocolate!" she said. So, we both proceeded to try biting into these little dark plates. Little, dark, plastic plates. 

Me: "Cristina, this is plastic." 

Cristina: "No, no no no. It's chocolate! I'm sure!" 

She figured it out eventually. Over the next few days I would periodically look at her and say, "It's chocolate! I swear!" and we would both break down in fits of laughter. Sometimes hanging out with her makes me feel like I'm in middle school again! She brings out the kid in me. I'm looking forward to her coming to Cleveland in February to spend some time with me!

But the highlight of the week, obviously, was my 21st birthday! Woot woot! Although a little less exciting since I was already legal here, I had a pretty fun day. Here are the details:

I woke up early (ok, so I didn't get off to the best start..) and took the bus to Como where I finally got to go to the market! I left with my pockets a little lighter, but enjoyed a morning of shopping and eating. My arms full of bags filled with clothing and jewelry, I took the 1 o'clock bus back to Bellagio, arriving in time to shower, do my hair, and get ready for aperitivo. We went to a Campari party (a type of liquor I had never even heard of before arriving here, and frankly I'm only now starting to like it...) for pre-dinner drinks, and then to Trattoria San Giacomo, a great local place, for dinner. I enjoyed some delicious ravioli, red wine, and the best chocolate cake I think I've ever had. Afterwards we went to the sporting for a while, then took a trip to the lake to try and escape some of the intense heat that wouldn't go away even long after the sun set. Although out of the eight of us at dinner (everyone pictured above went with me) I was the only one who made it into Lido, I was greeted by all of my American friends as well as many of my coworkers. It was a fun night!

Despite having fun, it really impressed upon me how much I missed home. I finally realized what I have there that I don't have here: the friends and family that make occasions like this truly special. Although it has been wonderful getting to know my Italian squinzie, it would have been really nice to spend this day with my family and friends in Ohio. At least now I know, after this amazing experience, that home isn't always where the heart is, but instead...."home is where your mom is." ...and dad, and dog, and best friends. 

22 days til home. Never in a million years did I think I'd be counting that down with even a hint of excitement. 

Chapter Ten: The "Handprint on my Heart"

Since beginning with the blogs about my travels and work experiences, I have received a lot of positive feedback about writing. The truth is, growing up, I was never a particularly talented writer. It was my brother, the literature major, who was constantly receiving praise for his writing abilities. Although I was always a huge lover of books, I just never seemed to be able to get a grasp on writing. I couldn't seem to find my voice.

The first time I ever received an "A" on a written assignment was my freshman year of college. Many of my friends have often heard me chastise my high school English teachers for being too hard on me, especially because since being in college I have not received anything but A's on written assignments, in any class. I have since learned that the difference in my grades had nothing to do with English teachers in high school being too hard on me. I still had to learn who I was as a writer. This, I think, is the most important thing. 

That first writing assignment was for a class called WRT 100, and the assignment was due within the first month of being at school, only two short months since The Day. Our task: compose a Literacy Narrative. We had to write about a time that reading or writing had affected us in one way or another. Little did I know then that this writing assignment would play a huge role in the literacy narrative of my life. 

Of course, I wrote about Grant. I had felt the urge for the two months prior to write, and that was exactly what the assignment was about. What made it easier was that I could see the accident happen in my mind every day since that morning. 

~

We met in the summer of 2010, after my best friend Nicole introduced us. The three of us spent a fun summer together, and I often look back on some great memories of those warm summer nights spent by a campfire, and a couple of Indians games we attended together. It was those two, Nicole and Grant, that I turned to when I greived over losing my first pet, tragically. We spent many nights together, growing closer as the summer went on. It wasn't long into the start of my senior year, when I became overwhelmed by my workload and my role in Phantom of the Opera, that he and I eventually stopped talking. Looking back, I can see the day that God entered our friendship. It was almost eight months later, on May 30th, 2011. I was driving to my friend Natalie's house on a Monday night. I remember because Natalie and I were getting together to get our weekly dose of Secret Life of the American Teenager (which I am more than slightly ashamed to admit). I drove past Blackbrook Golf Course, where Grant used to go golfing. I thought to myself as I passed how long it had been since we'd talked, and how I missed his goofy smile. 

I arrived at Natalie's house a few minutes later and sat down in front of the tv while Natalie made popcorn. My phone buzzed. I looked down, and couldn't believe my eyes. I handed the phone to Natalie and asked if she could please read the text out loud. She read, "Hey, what's up?" I asked who it was from, and she replied, 

"Grant." 

~

There is a lot that you learn from losing someone as young as I did. I know it can't be the same as losing a family member, or a lifelong friend, or a spouse. But at seventeen, it's a shock. For me, it inspired a rapid change that I am only now starting to recognize. I have known for a long time that I get along better with people who are older than me. I've been told by one of my family members that I understand things at my age that they did not understand until much later in life. Part of that was the the three days following his death. Part of it was going into my first year of college as the only person, seemingly, who understood the consequences of driving intoxicated. Of getting in a car without a seatbelt. One of the more complicated moments in my college life was when I stopped the car and had to ask my friend to get out and walk home if he would not put a seatbelt on. He thought I was kidding until I drove away. The friendship didn't recover, but the lesson was worth teaching. I don't ever want to lose another friend the way I lost Grant. 

~

After hearing from Grant after so much time had passed was a blessing. It led to some wonderful memories. That first conversation actually led to us going to an Indians game together. He loved baseball and my mom got us great tickets - right up front, between home and first. He was like a little kid, absolutely giddy, that day. Just remembering makes me smile!

~

In my Literacy Narrative, I told everything. I described the accident, the morning when I found out. I described what it felt like having to go to my senior piano recital that afternoon and perform in front of all of my family and friends...something for which I had been preparing for nearly three years. The next day was my graduation/birthday party, and then calling hours and a funeral the two days following my eighteenth birthday. People who read my story called me strong, but I wasn't strong then. Life keeps going, and strong doesn't just mean you didn't lock yourself in a room and shut the world out. Sometimes there is no other option than to keep going. But after that, when looking back, that is when strong comes. It comes with difficulties - being an outsider in college when you don't want to drink. Getting called "mom" condescendingly when you tell your friends to buckle their seatbelts. Strong is in the invisible scar I wear everyday. Strong is the woman I have grown to be, from the feeling of life that exploded within me after his death. As strange as it sounds, I never felt truly alive until I understood the fear of death; the fear I gained through that of my friend.

Being young is amazing. The opportunities presented to people while they are young are endless and incredible. But being responsible, a lot of people my age think, contradicts being young. Making smart decisions, making hard decisions, you can do those and be young. Young doesn't have to mean stupid. Sometimes young, and stupid, and irresponsible lead to things that young people refuse to think about. Sometimes young, and stupid, and irresponsible can turn those endless opportunities, like the chance to move to South Carolina to become a professional golfer at 21 years old, into ash.

The day after I turned eighteen I went to a closed casket funeral for a friend who died while driving drunk. 

Looking back, I know where I found my voice. I know where I found courage - and that may have been the most important thing. Moving to Mackinac, coming to Italy...before Grant, I don't think I could have ever done that. At some point, everyone will face a moment where their path is changed forever, for better or for worse. I have been praying, since that day, that during my lifetime I can impact someone's life for the better, in the way that Grant impacted and changed me forever. 

Who would have ever thought that one person or one event could change another's path so drastically as it changed mine. 

~

The morning of Grant's death, my friend Nicole opened her devotional bible. The first line of that day's passage read, "You learn more at a funeral than at a feast." 

I have carried those words with me for three years, and found a lot of truth in them. 

In loving memory of Joel Patrick "Grant" Furr. December 6, 1990 - July 16, 2011.

Chapter Nine: 27 Hours: The Story of Venice

For those of you who don't know, my time here in Italy is happening all thanks to my college, Niagara University. About fifteen years ago, our dean reached out to Luca Leone, the owner of the hotel DuLac, proposing this program where students from Niagara come to the Como area and work for the summer, and then students from the University of Insubria in Como come to Niagara to study in the fall. In exchange for working forty hours a week for ten weeks, we receive a semester worth of class credits. There was a hotel association in Como that decided to sponsor some trips for us while here, in addition to a private donor who gave us $15,000 to be used towards everyone's flights to and from Italy. All in all, for about $200, I got a roundtrip flight, a trip to Florence, and a trip to Venice. As if simply being able to come to Italy wasn't good enough!!

Because we went to Florence the first weekend we were here, we still had Professor Scarcelli, everyone's favorite teacher, to take us on a tour around the city. Because he was gone, the university had to provide someone to accompany us to Venice and make sure no one got lost, or fell in a canal. Our guide, Professor Arianna Grasso, was absolutely wonderful. More on her later...but first...

During my last seven weeks in Italy, I had heard two things about Venice: It is crowded with tourists, and smells awful.

Much to my surprise, I found that during the Fourth of July weekend in the US, Venice proved to be a calm and enjoyable getaway. The only fishy smell we encountered was on an occasional walk across some of the smaller canals. The streets and shops were all quite empty on Saturday and Sunday, so we pretty much had the place to ourselves.

So, you've all heard the popular saying "When in Rome, do as the Romans do." But, when in Venice, you go on a gondola ride. This was the one thing that everyone was set on doing. We actually found out that Professor Grasso, our guide, although having already visited Venice three times, had never been on a gondola. At an extra cost of about two euros for each of us, we decided to pay for her spot on the boat...partly because we found it hilarious that this native Italian, on her third trip to Venice, was going on her first gondola ride with a group of rowdy Americans.

The gondola itself was a lot more relaxing and photogenic than it was a thrill ride through the narrow canals of Venice. We had a lot of fun listening to the "drivers" for lack of a better word, speak in the Venetian dialect which none of us could understand, and watching them take the tight turns and ducking under the low bridges. When we laughed at the sight of it, our driver said,

"Duck or die."

That evening, after an exhausting and expensive shopping trip, we were ready for dinner. Although the majority of the group, on their first and perhaps only trip to Venice, chose to eat dinner at the Hard Rock Cafe, my small group (Jeff, Emily, myself, and prof. Grasso) decided to find a good local restaurant and try some of the dishes native to Venice.

Now, I understood going in what I was getting myself into. Venice is right on the water. It's a fishing village. Dinner would most certainly be fish. But I'm brave and I will try anything.

Professor Grasso told us about this native Venice dish called Sarde in Saor. She explained what it was, but I didn't really listen because I had decided I was going to try it no matter what....the best way I could describe it to you would be this: the largest whole sardines I have ever laid eyes on, covered in sauerkraut. And holy vinegar! I'm still cringing just thinking about it. Luckily. Jeff and I split that as an appetizer, and I still had my entree coming. My entree, however, turned out to be a bunch of fried something's, mixed with fried fish, heads still attached, and plain polenta. After the sardine incident, I did not have a strong stomach for whole, tiny fish, and ate very little. How fortunate I was that there were free refills on bread and plenty of wine.

Probably the best part about dinner was that we were sitting at a table outside facing the canal, and a boat rode by, filled with musicians playing live music all the way down the canal. They weren't begging for money, or overly seeking attention. Honestly they just looked like they were having the time of their lives. We loved it, and, as Emily said, "I want to throw money at them!!"

The next day we had a walking tour guided by a very nice woman who knew a lot about the city and made our two hour hike to St. Marks square interesting and fun. My only complaint was that there were a lot of things that she started telling us about, like the shape of gondolas, that she said she would tell us more about later and never did. We did learn how they built the entire city on the water though! It had something to do with thick clay, wooden boards, and seven layers of really strong rocks. See, I was listening!

St. Marks square was without a doubt the single most crowded place in all of Venice. Very pretty, and very crazy.

We had a few hours left to shop and then it was time to go home. Although by the time we got on the train we had only been in the city for twenty seven hours, it was some of the most fun I've had so far. I probably say that a lot, but the great thing about being here is that every day brings a new adventure that is better than the one before it. How beautiful this life is! 

Anyway, after getting off the train in Milan, prof. Grasso left us, and I found out that everyone who lives in Bellagio was planning on foregoing their free train ticket to Como, and instead buying a ticket to Verenna, and taking a boat to Bellagio. Because it would have cost me more money, and because it meant another hour waiting at the Milan train station, I decided to take the route that was already paid for. The shitty part was that I had to take the hour and ten minute bus ride, fearing for my life the whole time, on my own. While riding into Bellagio, I heard from my Italian friends who were at the beach, San Giovanni, so I got of the bus one stop early and went to meet them. Upon arriving I realized that there was a full blown festival going on with hundreds of people, live music, and food everywhere. Turned out to be an amazing night with great friends. 

Who would have thought that one night without my American friends would have led to these amazing friendships and networks of Italians that I have been getting to know. I can hardly wait to tell you more about my adventures with these italian friends, but that will have to wait, in the interest of time!

That being said, with all of this time I've been spending with the Italians, my language skills have been getting better and better. Today at work I had a twenty minute conversation with the tennis instructor in only Italian. There is no better compliment than when I meet someone knew, and after talking for a while they ask me where I'm from and I say Ohio...their response is always the same. With a very quizzical look, they say "Ma...parli ben italiano!" With a question in their voice, it's easy to tell what they're really asking...why the hell does a girl from Ohio speak (near) fluent Italian?

The answer to that lies here.

Chapter Eight: Finding Beauty

In my last post, I began with a quote. I really liked what that led to, so I'd like to do the same today. 

I really love this.

"What's your favorite thing about your mother?"

"She loves life more than anyone I've ever known…recently she's had some health problems. And her health got so bad at one point, she called me and said, 'I was starting to wonder if there was any reason to go on. But then I had the most delicious pear!'" 

-Humans of New York

--

When I was in eighth grade, I had the most beautiful long hair which I absolutely loved.  There was this guy at my school that I had a huge crush on who never noticed me. 

One day I decided I was going to cut all of my hair off. Maybe then he'll see me, I thought. I've spent the last seven years growing my hair back out again…and every once and a while I think that maybe I will cut it again but am stopped by this thought…amen like women with long hair.

I have always struggled with my image. Worrying about what others think of me. Friends, strangers, family. I walk around constantly worried that I am going to upset someone. A lot of times I slip up, and that just makes me try harder. 

For the last week or so, I've been feeling a little left out from my group of friends. I was feeling hurt, and trying to figure out what it was that I did that could have upset them…then I realized that I had been removing myself without realizing it. In my head, I don't belong with these four friends who had been very close previous to my joining them here in Italy, and I let my insecurities get in the way of that. While I was drawing away, I blamed them for leaving me behind. After realizing what I had been doing, I decided to use that time to understand what the real problem was, and that lead to my new goal.

Here is what my soul searching revealed to me:

There is something incredibly beautiful about individuality. When one of my friends looks cute, and I acknowledge that to them, it doesn't occur to me that they dressed the way that they did in hopes of my appreciating it. Individual styles, choices, and tastes are part of what make being abroad so fun. I am here, in part, to learn about a different culture and people. I've learned their language, I've eaten their food, and awed in front of the country that has lain before me so beautifully. Why then should I be worried?

I want to live for myself. 

"When I was twenty, I made a plan to get a good job and be secure. Now i'm thirty-five, and I need a plan to be happy." -Humans of New York

I am twenty years old. I have a plan to get a good job and be secure. I don't want to be thirty-five and searching for a plan to be happy. 

Saturday night, I left work at ten and headed home to get changed and go to the Sporting Club, with no plans to go out afterwards. When I arrived, I knew no one there. I found out after arriving that Maria and Claire had gone to Milan to see One Direction in concert, and Julie and Dani arrived, but left shortly after. Then, I was introduced to some Italian girls, and we immediately hit it off. I spent the night playing calcetto (foosball), drinking a bit, and then headed to the Lido, after some convincing. 

My first time, pretty much since being in Italy, without a single English-speaking-crutch to be had. I forgot myself (not due to the drinking) and had the best time I've had since being here. For the first time in my life I let go, had fun, and danced the night away with a great group of girls.

For me.

And it felt really good.

And that guy from eighth grade? He never looked twice at me. 

Beyond myself, the only affirmation I seek is that of God. Earthly impressions are gone as fast as they come. Plus, I'm in Italy. The clock is ticking, and it's my time that the hands are counting. Besides, sometimes enjoying life to the fullest is simply about appreciating the little things…be it a perfectly delicious pear, or pear and walnut gelato from the gelateria down the street. 

Chapter Seven: A Home For My Heart

"Everyone is just walking along, concerned with his own problems, his own life, his own worries. And we're all expecting other people to tune into our own agenda. Look at my worry. Worry with me. Step into my life. Care about my problems. Care about me." -Sharon Creech

I can't speak much to what life was like fifty years ago, I wasn't there. All I have known for the majority of my twenty years, eleven months, and four days on this earth has been distorted and transformed by the emergence of technology. It's happening here, but it's nothing like it is back home. Facebook has become this tool that people use for everything, good and bad. The moment something happens, everyone you've ever known learns about it instantly. From sharing sorrows to happiness, worries, triumphs, sickness, bad days, good days, problems or promotions at work, travels...

Why then is there no further sense of unity between us and our "friends?" Congratulations and condolences in the form of likes and comments rarely turn into cards or phone calls for our "friends" triumphs or failures. 

Bellagio is a small town. Everywhere I go people are talking to each other: standing In a shop and talking, walking on the street talking, sitting and talking. If you walk down the street and someone you know passes by they stop their car and catch up with you. It's not like the superficial neighbor-talk we experience all too often in the US - I made eye contact with you and now I have to ask how your kids are doing. There is a community here. Everyone knows everyone, and if they don't know you, they want to. Shop owners look you right in the eye and say, "Ciao," every day, and when you finally go in and start a conversation, it's almost impossible to leave because they want to know everything about you....where you're from, who you know, where you work,  where you learned Italian, when you leave, and are you coming back? Just imagine walking into a coffee shop in America and having your barista treat you this way after seeing you for only a second time....and not just that,  but giving you a ten percent discount for coming in a third time. 

I feel more at home here than I ever have in Ohio or New York. 

The closest I've ever felt to this community was in Mackinac...and oh, how I miss it!

The inspiration from this post may come from my location of writing this afternoon...

Enjoying a lovely day off at the pier, and although it's a bit overcast, I'm surrounded by the beauty of Lake Como. As I look out over the largest mountains I've ever seen, framing the small towns built into the hills in a way only Italy seems to have mastered, I can almost hear the clock ticking. I've been here over a month now, and the six weeks I have left seem flimsy and fleeting. When I say I never want to leave, it's much more than just a summer of fun that I don't want to only have as a memory...I feel as though this little village and their way of life has made an imprint on my heart, and quickly become home. The thought of having to ever wake up and not be able to walk through these charming, cobblestone streets for a cappuccino before a day of fun, adventure, friendship, and truly raw joy, has me in tears right now. How could I even think of leaving?

Chapter Six: The Grand Hotel Villa Serbelloni

First I want to apologize. I've been quite neglectful. You see, I've been here for over three weeks already and I realize I've hardly told you anything about the place in which I spend most of my time...

The hotel, as you may have guessed from the name, was originally built as a villa, or rather, some rich guy's house. That was back in 1815, when it was less than a quarter of its current size, and the town of Bellagio much less of (rather, not at all) a tourist destination. At some point between 1815 and now, the villa was turned into a hotel, several wings were added on, and a third floor of rooms was added to the top. As you walk through the halls, you are guided along by marble floors and pillars, stretching throughout the entire property in true Italian style. It is easy to find your way around the hotel, unless you get lost while staring up at the hand painted mosaics, original to the villa, that cover the ceilings throughout. The staircase, called the scalone reale,

or loosely translated into "huge, impressive, royal staircase into heaven," (exaggerated) can be found in the center of the Grand Hotel Villa Serbelloni, located across from the ballroom. It is in this impressive, 1815 original ballroom, where every night a bass, violin, and piano trio can be found playing the Cinema Paradiso suite, at my request, in addition to all of your other classical music favorites from eight until midnight each evening. For a classical music lover such as myself, nothing could make working the late shift more enjoyable. 

Work itself has it's ups and downs, like any other job. While working forty hours per week for no pay can be exhausting, there is no where else in the world I would rather be spending this time. The hotel is exquisite, my coworkers are absolutely incredible, and the guests are mostly wonderful. Although I'd love to share some of my stories, I think it will be better to save them for my post-employment "epilogue" chapter. Regardless, I love the hotel, where I live, and the people I am surrounded by each day. My Italian has been getting better and better, especially after a glass or two of wine, and my coworker Elisa told a guest a few days ago that I am fluent. Although I'm not so sure I completely agree with her, I am certainly on my way there. 

Outside of work, I meet up with my coworkers every single day because, as I said, they are awesome. Be it at the Bellagio Sporting Club, the Hotel DuLac, Lido, or the beach bar Armando's, we always have a great time. 

A few other abstract thoughts I wanted to mention: 

My favorite part about work -- what I call "family dinner." Each day, for lunch and dinner, I go up to the employee dining room to eat. Unlike any other employee dining area I've ever seen, this one is unique in that there are only two tables, and the same ten or so people sit at one table, every day, and eat together. It is cozy, but it is so much fun. As the weeks have been going by and my Italian has been getting better, I've found that sometimes the best part of my day is getting to unwind for a half hour while laughing and eating with my friends, young and old, and of every rank in the hotel. It's certainly unique to me to have my manager come up and eat lunch with me, while joking with the servers in the restaurant and their managers alike. I guess really what i love is that there is no difference in rank when we enter for lunch. It's really neat, and has allowed me to get to know a lot of people I would have otherwise never met.

My favorite part about living in a small town -- guest loyalty discounts. But first, let me explain a few things. When I wake up for work, I first stop on my way down to get a custard filled, powdered sugar covered brioche, and a cappuccino with cocoa from the pasticceria that is closest to my apartment. On my way home from work, I stop at the gelateria next door to that to get the only type of gelato I will ever again try, pear with walnuts. It sounds weird but take my word from it that this stuff originated in Eden. After getting home and changing I either head back downtown to the DuLac for a glass of wine, or over to the Sporting Club for the same, plus a pizza. Now, three weeks into this routine, I have finally started reaping the benefits of what I call "life as a local."

1- I now receive 20 cents off my 2.60€ breakfast at the pasticceria.

2- For the times when i pass by the gelateria without money, i have now established good enough credit with my ice cream lady that I can always just pay tomorrow. 

3- At hotel DuLac, discounts when I buy two or more glasses of wine (doesn't happen very often I promise!) and at Sporting, portion increases and an occasional food discount. 

It's not a bad life.

My favorite part about Italians: language barriers. A few days ago a coworker said to me, "Why are you laughing?" What I heard, "What do you love in a man?" 

That one was a little awkward.

My favorite part about the culture: national unity in one sports team. Tonight was the first Italian "football" game in the FIFA World Cup series and it was crazy. Never in my life have I seen so many people gather together like this. There had to be 75-100 people at the Sporting tonight, and the eruption from them when the Italian scored their first and second goals, and finally won, were unlike anything I have ever since experienced. It is clear that there is no joy known to man as great as there is to an Italian man whose country has just won a football game.

Also, for the sake of my reputation among my Italian readers, I will hereby avoid use of the word "soccer."

So then...I just realized it is 3:15 am and I've been writing for an hour. Hope you enjoyed, but now it is time for bed! A dopo!

Chapter Five: Under the Bellagio Sun

It is no surprise to me that life in Bellagio is different from that of life back in the US. A new country, language, and culture bring with them many changes. But, beyond the differences in fashion, food, and (as my friends and I have noticed from the multitude of children running around unattended) a different sense of responsibility, the biggest difference I've seen is in the way people go about their lives here.

A couple of days ago, I needed some things from the grocery store, and had gotten out of work relatively early. As I was walking back with my bag filled with wine, cheese, chips, and m&ms (a 10€ shopping trip) I looked around me and noticed a few things. First: the mountains. They are completely sprawling on the horizon: huge, majestic, and impossible to miss. Next were all of the people...there were a lot of them. Just walking around. Not seeming to be headed anywhere, not rushing, just taking a walk. People do that here...it's kind of cool. Cars seem almost unnecessary sometimes. I guess it's really just that the atmosphere  - surrounded by beautiful mountains, the lake, and this amazing little town - give you a sense to just slow down your pace and look around a bit. Why not? I'm only here for two more months after all.

After my fun little shopping trip came time for the weekend...and I have to say, it was the most Italian-culture-intensive weekend I've had yet. Although I had to work on Saturday, I got off in time to meet up with my friends and, for the first time, really get dolled up for Lido. We all did our makeup together, curled each other's hair, and were sharing each other's shoes.

Ok, so that part was a little American. Moving on....

We went up to the sporting club, had a few drinks, and listened to the whole crowd of people at Sporting sing, passionately, along with songs that were the Italian equivalent to when "Don't Stop Believing" comes on in an American bar, and finally headed to Lido, where we arrived VIP again. :-) I stayed until four, and was still, for some reason, awake at five to see the sunrise. What a treat!

I learned the next day that our friend Claire, who works at the DuLac, had a little moment herself after the club...our friend Mickey gave her a ride in his Vespa to the beach bar Armando's, and unfortunately Claire got off the bike on the wrong side slipped on the pavement, and went tumbling about five feet straight down into "the wilderness" as she described it. It took a few minutes, Mickey jumping down to help her, and three more strangers to pull her up, but despite a few bear-like scratches (giving a new meaning to the nickname Claire-Bear) she was fine, and had a great story to tell later. 

The next day I was off work, so I woke up around noon-ish to go back to the sporting a sunbathe for a few hours. The rest of the group showed up around three, when we went in the pool for a bit, then decided it would be fun to check out the lake. Although they don't have a lot of actual "beaches" here, there is a great place called San Giovanni that is basically a huge pier that people like to hang out on. When we arrived, everyone was sitting up on the walls, but we were hot and decided to take the 10 foot jump into the cold, choppy lake. And how much fun we had! I only jumped in a few times, because there was a long swim back to where you could get out of the water, but it was fantastic. I think it must have looked like a lot of fun because right after we went in most of the other people hanging out there decided to join us. 

This is what summer is supposed to feel like.

And, in Italy, this is what summer looks like:

Anyway...we left the lake, went back for a shower, and then met up with Dani and drove 20 minutes up the mountain to this tiny, locals-only restaurant that served real Italian food. We ordered two liters of (very strong) red wine, and everything family style to share. Included in the feast were things like pickled (or something like that) onions, various cheeses,  salami, some type of pasta I'd never heard of before, donkey (yes, donkey and yes, I ate it and yes, I loved it), polenta with garlic and cheese, and for dessert chestnuts with chocolate and whipped cream. We stayed for about two and a half hours, and laughed so hard I was crying. We all re-lived Claire's fall into the wilderness, made even more hysterical after several glasses of wine, and finished the night off with a small glass of limoncello. After heading back we stopped at sporting, but by that time we were all so exhausted from the food, the sun, and swimming that we left shortly for bed.

Today I woke up, got a quick lunch, and came back to sporting where I've been all day. My sun tan is coming along wonderfully,  and the heat is intense, but I'm surrounded so much beauty all the time I could hardly care. 

I love it here, and I love this way of life. 

I could hardly ask for more...except perhaps another glass of wine.

Chapter Four: Dolce Fare Niente

I have to say vacation spots are much more charming when the streets aren't filled with horses..and what they leave behind them. There is a good reason Bellagio is called the Pearl of Lake Como. It's incomparable. It's beautiful. And I'm pretty sure it's not real.

I've been having a much more difficult time writing here than I did in Mackinac. It's not that I'm not inspired by what I see every day. What I think the problem is, actually, is that none of this looks real. I've been waiting to come to Italy since January of 2012, and now, here I am. In Italy, 

Maybe it was all of the horse shit in the streets of Mackinac, but it all just felt so much more real. Here, it sometimes feels like I'm watching a movie...one that I don't belong in.

Most of our guests, and most of the tourists here in general, are American...but I don't feel connected to them. Honestly I find them to be, for lack of a better word, brutto, ugly. Not looks, obviously, just their personalities. On my way to work yesterday, I passed a couple in the street who were arguing. They had passed a restaurant that the husband wanted to eat at because it looked good, and it was close. The woman insisted, angrily, that she didn't want to go there, she wanted to go to the restaurant  that Trip Advisor said was good. 

Why do we do this? Italy is filled with so many amazing things to eat, drink and explore, why do people plan out their trips so close to the tee of what everyone else has previously experienced? Does anything really beat the experience of walking into some corner dive bar and finding out through sheer dumb luck, that it is the best place to eat in the whole city? Plus, Italians don't use TA, so by going to that site to get recommendations on where to eat in Italy is just dumb. Ask a local. It's worth it. 

The other thing that I've learned since being in Italy is that it really is about who you know. The five of us here in Bellagio - Maria, Julie, Claire, Ryan and I - have had the extreme pleasure of getting to know easily the kindest and most incredible family in Bellagio, the Leone's. Their patriarch, Luca is the owner of the Hotel DuLac, the Hotel Bellagio, and the Sporting Club, all of which are now our regular spots to socialize and relax. Dani, Luca's son, is one of our closest friends here in Italy. Having grown up in Bellagio, he is the perfect person to help us learn our way around town. In fact, on Saturday night, we all went together to Club Lido, the beach club we went to shortly last week. But this week was a little different. Because, this week, for a small cover, we arrived VIP at Lido....which means bottle service. I'm not sure it was really for me, but I have to say it was truly a once in a lifetime experience, and definitely the most fun I have had since arriving.

Other than Lido,  it has been a relatively calm and slow week. Every night after work the five of us, plus Dani, usually, meet up at the DuLac or some other wine bar in town and relax. It's really an amazing way of life. Additionally, my Italian is getting better and better. This week I learned a very important word that I now use all the time : starnutire, to sneeze. Other than that, I have been getting along great. Several times a day I am told that i speak beautiful italian. Plus the day that someone told me that I am Bella come il sole, or, as beautiful as the sun. 

Did I mention that I don't want to leave?

Chapter Three: Pizza, Pasta, Gelato, and Brioche - The Summer of Weight Gain

Lunedi, Monday, 26 Maggio 2014

I woke up from another much needed 9-hour sleep with a huge pain in my stomach. Unfortunately, as I had already been getting used to, the breakfast in Italy leaves a lot to be desired. The small croissants or brioche, aren't quite as filling as the eggs and toast with cereal I have become accustomed to at home. I woke up, not needing to go to work until 11, and went down to a pasticciera to grab something quickly before returning to get ready for work. As I walked down the cobblestone street to the shop, I couldn't help but take in all of the beauty around me. What have I done to possibly deserve this blessing? I am taking in the beauty with every waking moment...as I think back about my summer on Mackinac, I remember sitting and writing knowing that it would all soon be over, as it was. Now time has flown 8 months and I sit here thinking that one day I may read this in forty years and wonder where the time went. I don't want to have any regrets...that's why, for now, sleep is secondary.

Anyway, I arrived at the pasticciera and they only had one brioche left. Only silly a
Americas wait until 10 in the morning to eat breakfast. What was I thinking? I was pleasantly surprised, to say the least, when I found the custard filled center. Yum.

An hour later, I was on my way to my first day of work. I didn't feel at all nervous, because my friend Elisa had taken a job there a month previously, and we would be working together there as well as my roommate Maria. I felt comfortable going in, and I think my confidence showed. By the end of the day, I was helping scan guests passports, becoming familiar with the check-in process, and escorting guests to their rooms by myself. Every time I would begin walking down the stairs from dropping off a guest, I would look around me, seeing the unimaginable beauty of the Grand Hotel Villa Serbelloni, and close my eyes and thank God he didn't listen to my plan. However badly I wanted to work at the world's number one hotel, the Villa D'Este, I now know why I am here. This hotel fits me perfectly, and I am eternally thankful that I have a dean at my school who understands me more than I do. I love it here, and I love my job.

Heads up, I am probably never coming home.

After work,  met up wit the other American students and our Italian friend, Dani, at the sporting club for a drink, followed by a trip to the wine bar, and then the beach bar (where I drank water, for good measure). Afterwards, I got to go to the Hotel DuLac to skype with my parents for the first time since I've been here, although, due to a huge storm here, we had a lot of technical difficulties. I will say one thing; I don't think Mazie (my dog) misses me. :-(

Martedi, Tuesday, 27 Maggio 2014

Today I woke up and met Elisa for breakfast down by the water. We met when she came with the Italian students this fall to Niagara University, my school, for the exchange semester for our summer here in Italy. She told me the first thing she did when she got back from America was "drop off my bags and then go to get a cup of coffee." ...It's really not the same. I'm not quite sure what it is that we drink in the US, but there is no way Maxwell House is real!

Later on Elisa and I were talking in Italian, and then I told her how to pronounce someone's last name in Italian. She looked at me and said, "Oh. I forgot you are American!" - Goal accomplished!
In general, work has been wonderful. I hope for days that drag, so the summer won't fly by too fast, but I know my hopes are in vain. In the meantime, if there is something you've been waiting to vicariously do through me, let me know! Days off are Thursday and Sunday this week, and I can't wait.

What more could I possibly ask for out of a summer?  Well, maybe just to be surrounded by a little less gelato. I'll be coming home twice my original size, and, as my dad would say, "there will be a lot more Lizzy to bring home."

Chapter Two: Fun in Firenze

To begin the story of Florence, I should first begin where I last left off: club Lido.

How amazing this place is! We spent the few hours before going to Lido in several different bars, chatting and having a few glasses of this and that. When we finally decided to head over to Lido, it was cold and I was not particularly excited, as one who does not much enjoy this type of night life. I was taken by surprise when we entered this huge place to see half of it, easily 400 sq ft., was set up as a restaurant, but had a slightly different atmosphere with people dancing on the tables. The other half inside was a bar, with another bar outside on the upstairs patio. Below the patio was a huge beach, three bars, and an enormous dance floor. All of our new friends came to join us and we danced the night away until I finally left around 2:30.

6:00 a.m., Friday I was up, packing for Florence, with a boat to catch at 6:45. I suppose we shouldn't have been so surprised that half of our Lido group from the night before didn't catch the boat, and our good (albeit new) friend Daniele drove them to meet us at the train station in Como. We transferred from Como to Milan, heading to Florence on a train traveling 180 kilometers per hour, and made it to the city in time to trek over to our hotel to drop off our things, head across the city for lunch, and then go to the Duomo where we climbed over 300 feet, or 462 stairs, into the sky to see Firenze from a view I think no one but God himself could possibly imagine. You could see the whole city from the top of the church, spanning out into the Tuscan countryside of rolling hills, stucco houses, all tightly built but beautifully architectured. It was an absolute blast. We left the Duomo for dinner, where some friends and I split a Margherita pizza like nothing I've ever had before, and I ate half of the thing in less than 5 minutes. We shared a bottle of wine and enjoyed a two or so hour dinner without once being bothered by a waiter or offered a check...truly this is one if the things Italy really has right compared to the States. On our way back to the hotel, we found a leather shop, and although I swore I wanted nothing to do with a leather jacket, I agreed to go in nonetheless. After trying on a few jackets, and finally finding one that was audibly calling my name, I agreed on a price at the same time as my friends Jeff, Emily, and Kaila, and an hour later we all left with heavy, cow smelling bags swinging in our arms. :-) it was a pretty successful trip. 

I am proud to say that after this I went back home and got nine hours of sleep that night! Many of you are asking whether or not I have been sleeping, and the honest answer is, no. The previous thee nights combined I got about twelve hours of sleep, so this nine was much needed and appreciated.

The following day, as we roamed around Florence, got a two hour walking tour where we learned more about the Duomo, the city buildings, the golden hog that you're supposed to rub for luck, and some key places named in Dan Browns Inferno, and then wandered off to do some more shopping, where I made out with a few post cards, and this gorgeous spoon rest decorated as a sun flower with a picture of David and several other famous Florence sights, for only 5€!

Although we stopped and stood in line for the Accademia, we decided there wasn't time enough to see the original statue of David, and had to head back to the hotel, and then to the train station.

Another thing that may be worth mentioning is the hot Italian man that you're all waiting for me to bring up! I was actually lucky enough to meet him before coming out here, so while I am visiting his homeland, my Nick is waiting for me back in the states. Not being able to talk with him or my family has been difficult, especially because of the time difference, but I'm adjusting well and really enjoying my time here. Despite that it is hard at times to accept everything I am missing at home, including the weddings of two close friends.

But, back to Italy stuff, I will close with my new favorite thing: a long term love of my mother's - the cappuccino. I tried my first one this morning at a cafè. As I sit here at the Hotel DuLac writing to you, I am sipping on my third of the day. I may not sleep tonight, but it will be worth it! Plus the work schedule came in and I'm not due until 11:30 tomorrow...hello sleep!

So, work does start tomorrow. I am nervous but more than that, really excited. After all, this was the goal right? Hope you all enjoyed. Ciao for now!

Chapter One: Feeling Prepared

Doesn't exist. Here's how the day was planned:

Arrive in Italy after a long, seven hour sleep on the plane, without any jet lag because I had slept so soundly on the way. Next, we would take the bus to our hotels, where we would relax and then meet up later. Next, we would have a nice dinner, hang out, see Como, get our phones and take the bus home, and upon arriving we would have a full night sleep.

Here's how it actually played out:

Italy is gorgeous! Although, as comfortable as I am with the language right now, adjusting isn't easy. The weather was very dark and rainy and cool, but despite that, the lake was the most beautiful place I've ever seen.  However, only getting two hours of sleep on the plane ride over certainly didn't set us up for a completely successful first day... (but hey, we are in Italy, that's a heck of a silver lining).  We arrived in Milan, but did not see any of the city because the airport is far outside of the city center and we immediately got on a bus for the hour ride into Como after landing. The first stop was for two purposes: to drop off the professor who had planned and organized the whole trip for us, and to scare the living daylights out of all of us as we went to go meet our hoteliers without an introduction.

We were, however, pleasantly surprised and happy to find out that one of the Italian students who was at Niagara in the fall, Federica, was also there to take us to each of our hotels. Unfortunately for a very tired Elizabeth, Bellagio was the last stop, preceeded by an hour long bus ride through the winding, bumpy, road that, in my opinion, we were going way too fast on.  After we set down our bags, we got right onto a boat and went back to Como for a long, cold, and beautiful ride through the city.  It was amazing, but it was raining, and we hadn't slept in over 24 hours, when we got on the bus to come back to Bellagio. 

The bus. 

This was easily the worst three hours of our trip. The four other students in Bellagio and I got tickets for the 7:45pm bus to Bellagio, but, at 7:45 when the bus came and we boarded, it turned out to be the wrong one.  At nearly 8 at night, right before all public transportation stops completely, we found out we were headed in completely the wrong direction.  After explaining ourselves (with the help of a very nice Italian man) to the driver, were pointed in the right direction and got on the right bus just in time. We were all beyond upset and frustrated when we got back to Bellagio, an hour and a half later.  Now pouring rain, we had a mile walk back to our apartment.  After 36 hours of being awake, all I wanted to do was sleep.  Instead, we stayed up for four hours, hanging out and playing cards with out neighbors, who are awesome. Several of them speak English and several do not, so I got good practice translating and speaking Italian. 

The next day, I woke up feeling a little sick, probably from not having a good meal since noon the previous day. There was also no time for breakfast when we met up with our professor and the rest of the group to go on a tour of Bellagio, and the Villa Serbelloni.  We then got on the boat for Como!  After arriving, we went to the University of Insubria to meet the president, the Italian students who went to Niagara last year, and the ones going this coming year, and then presented ourselves in Italian. After the ceremony, I got a ride back to Bellagio in a friend's Audi, going 120 km all the way through the winding roads back to Bellagio. It was probably the most terrifying experience of my life.

As I am writing, I am sitting in a local sporting club with four Americans, a German girl I met at Niagara two years ago and ran into here, and the son of the owner of one of the hotels here. We are eating, drinking, and having a wonderful time. I can't wait for tonight, as we are going to a club here in Bellagio called "Lido," with all of our new Italian friends. 

I think, on a final note, it's also worth saying that I've clearly never had pizza, pasta or ice cream before, and the views here are beyond my ability to describe. 

Italy: The Prologue

In early spring of 2011, my mom and I traveled to Niagara Univesity, the college I would be attending that fall, for an informational meeting of the College of Hospitality and Tourism Management. We were awed after we arrived at the home of the college on the fourth floor of Saint Vincent's Hall, to see that the inside of the building was decorated to look like the inside of a hotel. The college, equipped with a a full kitchen and dining room, provided breakfast for my mom, myself, and all of the other prospective hospitality students before Dr. Praetzel, the dean, spoke to us. In his speech he mentioned many things, including a once in a lifetime opportunity provided to the Hospitality students in which ten students each year are chosen to travel to Lake Como Italy to work at some of the luxury hotels located there. As he finished talking about the incredible experiences of past students, the marketability one gains by working In a foreign country, and the fact that George Clooney has three houses there, I looked at my mom and made one simple statement,

                                                               "I'm going"

Throughout the last three years, after applying six months after that initial meeting and being accepted, I've never forgotten those words. At one point, after going through some struggles with school my Sophomore year, I taped a postcard to the wall which Niagara had sent me which, in addition to a beautiful bird's eye view of Lake Como, read, "Which university offers it's students a chance to work at the number one hotel in the world?" This trip has been the single goal and purpose to my last three years at Niagara. Although with two years notice, it at times was hard to imagine that some day I would actually be going to Italy and working in one of these amazing hotels, the time has passed quickly as I am preparing for my flight to JFK which leaves in 22 hours!  I've felt a range of emotions, from excited to nervous and back again, sometimes forcing myself not to think about it just to avoid the anxiety. But, ready or not the time has come. Despite my anxieties, I have worked hard and am very comfortable with the language, and can't wait to get over there and immerse myself in it. So, today I finished packing my suitcase, which weighed In at a whopping 48 pounds. I'm really hoping to not have to carry it too far! That being said, I'm truly just praying that it doesn't fall into the DELTA Airlines motto of "Don't Expect Luggage To Arrive," as did happen to one student last year. But, luggage or no luggage, at this time tomorrow I will be boarding my final plane (which I am comforted to say is a huge Boeing 767) and will arrive in the land of pizza, pasta, wine and shoes at 7:45 a.m. on. Thursday morning.

I'm extremely excited and nervous for this trip to begin, and look forward to sharing it with you all. I hope that, as I did last summer with "A Summer in Time," I can bring you all on this journey with me, and allow you to experience things as I do - seeing what I see, smelling what I smell, and perhaps drinking a glass of Malbec along with me.

Ciao for now!