First weekend of the semester and the buzz began as to wear we would travel to our first excursion opportunity. Well, most of us just decided to go to Rome. HA! “Just.” It’s only Roma! No big deal. It was a “short”, 2-day weekend (in regards to our usual 3-day weekends, sometimes 3 ½ if we’re allowed to leave Thursday evening), so we had to stay nearby. And next weekend will be our official “Rome Scavenger Hunt” where we will have to answer/de-code questions based on historical sites and take a picture in front of it. It’s stressful work I tell you! On a timeline and for a grade. Somehow I think we’ll make it.

The day started with a torrential down pour and a group of 17 girls (backbacks and rolling suitcases in hand) running from tabacchi to tabacchi in search of train tickets to make the 10 a.m. trip to Rome. Contrary to popular Italian belief, train tickets are not fully stocked at every tabacchi in town for every train ride going to Rome. We discovered this to our dismay, coming closer and closer to the departure time. By 9:55, five of the girls had found tickets and were on the train. Leaving 12 of us in the dust…or rain, that day, until we found the final stop for tickets. We run in in a hurry like full-blooded Americans, hustling for diecisette treno bigliette! We book it to the train station a block down (and a few slippery cobblestones later) and made it in the nick.  We caught our breath, sat for a bit laughing about the whole deal, and realized the train wasn’t moving. Hmmm. Did we run for nothing? Twenty minutes later, our question was answered, as the train departed perfectly on time, for the 10:20 departure. Awesome.

Figuring out the termini once the train dropped us off was quite comical, everyone kinda of wandering around, trying to interpret the blue and red signs. I, of course, whipped out my handy dandy traveling tourist guide, complete with every question a tourist could think of, and led us successfully no further than when we stepped off the train. I’m so glad I had it ready! One (or two) rides later, we made it into the Piazza di Spagna in the heart of Rome.

Olivia and me...TRYING to look like we know what we're doing!

When I climbed the stairs into the sunlight of raining Rome, my heart stopped. I realized, I’m finally in ROME! I’m STANDING in ROME! Complete with the Spanish steps, a fountain before us, roasted nuts on every corner (these ain’t just New York peanuts, either, they’re the largest nuts I’ve ever seen!), Trevi fountain six blocks North west, Gucci, Louis Vuitton, and Chanel directly in front of us, and of course, an American Express to our left. And of course, who could miss the row of horse-and-buggy waiting for the classic tourists, or the gladiator impersonator waiting for you to take a picture and tip him 2 euros?

  In the Piazza di Spangna

We each split off onto our own journey, with varied group sizes, mine consisting or myself and Ali.  We asked eachother, “where to?” and we both responded, “who knows?” Perfecto! We began the day by ordering cappucchinos (much frothier and twice the size of those in Ariccia), and heading down the equivalent of America’s Rodeo Drive. Realizing we would be spending a whole day window-shopping and lusting after the untouchable fashion, we headed down another direction with steaming trattorias, sunglass shops, and crackling old apartamentes. Everything was breathtaking. We proceeded to hit up every shop that seemed to strike our eye, or simply had that glowing word on the window/my middle name— “SALDI” (SALE!). This weekend was the end of the winter sales.

However, we were not in Rome to merely shop, so we journeyed into three churches, the Trevi Fountain (after seven different attempts for directions and two hours later!), Piazza del Quirinale, and a couple other momunments we couldn’t identify, but were sure they’d be on our list for next week’s assignment…so we took pictures of them anywayJ. Two gelatos,

 200 pictures, and 2,000 wrong turns later, we found ourselves exhausted and having had the time of our lives.

Trattorias all over the streets of Rome. 

Ali enjoying her panino: eggplant, pomodoro, e formaggio...Mmmm!

    

Inside the church next to the Trevi Fountain.

Although some decided to stay overnight to get the full Roman experience, half of us returned to the Palace. I returned with Mary Hester and Sara Beth to catch the 8:20 train. Trying to change our luck from the morning events, we arrived with ample time, not a worry, and tickets out and ready. Jabbing the whole way home about stories, shops, and people, we arrived at the destination feeling proud of ourselves for maneuvering effectively around the city and homeward bound. Then Sara Beth mentioned she didn’t quite recognize the place, and I said, “O sure, I remember the graffiti concrete pillars!”

Mary Hester recognized the lake, Lake Albano, but something didn’t seem quite like home…until Sara Beth read the sign at the front of the train stop: “Castel Gondolfo”. Perfect. We all 

looked at eachother, and at that instant, looked back at the train, as the doors shut at that moment and chugged away. Look back at eachother, look at the sign. Begin to gasp, then cry, then muster a laugh. Then laugh hysterically. One hour, two rounds of “These are a Few of My Favorite Things” (from Sound of Music), and three sets of frozen toes later, our train arrived headed back to Ariccia, and we started jumping for joy. I have never felt so at home in Ariccia before!      

 Mary Hester and me passing the time for the next train.

N is for Nemi, or NEVER eaten a better strawberry in my LIFE!

The first day of “class” we went on a 5-city tour of Frascati, Grottaferato, Castel Gondolofo Nemi, and, Montecavvo. Frascati was our first stop, and is known for its town symbol of a three-breasted woman—two breasts are filled with milk and the third is filled with wine. Many giggles were swapped upon this discovery. Followed by excitement when we found cookies in the shape of a three-breasted woman!  Amazing! Then a few of us went into the church in the center of town, which was awe-inspiring to say the least! I have discovered the original inspiration for inspired design—the God worthy of all glorious design, excellence to the extreme, and finery in every detail. I was left speechless.

The second town we visited was Grottaferata, centered around a castle which is used as a monastery.  In the inner courtyard of the castle is a quaint church, “quaint” being relative, as each church is elaborately ornate with gold leaf trims, hand carved wooden statues, marble columns, wrought iron-clad wooden doors, wrought iron gates to each shrine, impeccably detailed paintings that serve as the inspirational central piece for each corner of the church. The only things not so elaborate—the wooden benches. It’s a shame, as those benches are typically our only resting stop for the day. Cheery ho!

Next we traveled to Castel Gondolfo, the summer vacation spot for the Pope to this day. It’s a small town, centered solely around the monstrosity of a palace where the Pope resides, and outlined by one of the most incredible views I have ever seen. Granted, the sun was on its way down at that point in the day, casting perfectly romantic shadows on each flower pot and wrought-iron restaurant chair left outside of the overhang-trattorias for the evening diners.  The buildings and villas are all connected, each a similar shade of terra cotta clay, imitating the color of the cobble stones that line every walking space in Italy. When we arrived to the overlook view around the corner of the Pope’s palace, every girl gasped upon turning the corner…it was like a ripple effect of awe-inspired breathlessness.  Once we absorbed it, the cameras were out in a flash. I don’t know how many angles you can take of a range of mountains and the sun casting the furthest-stretching reflection on a lake, but I assure you, every angle was captured. In addition to various groupings of people in front of said scene to capture it a bit more. Even still, the pictures will never do it justice.   It was as if the sun and the mountains were singing a harmony of “Majesty”. I shall return!

Next was Nemi, famous for its STRAWBERRIES!! (And rigthfully so…I have NEVER eaten a strawberry torte that melted in my mouth the way that one did…complete with the tiniest strawberries on top and custard smoother than Dunkin Donuts Boston Crème!) Here, I saw my first town-incorporated castle, where the neighboring trattorias and villas were connected to the sides of it, winding and forming the twists and turns of the sidewalks streaming under the arched overhangs.  The doors of the buildings are so flat to the walls (due to the narrow street ways) that one would hardly know that a little door was the grand entrance to a top-rated bed-n-breakfast, an art gallery, wine shop (well, those are designated by the front windows), or just a regular house entrance.  As we were lead through another winding course of villas stacked on villas (each  complete with their own flower box hanging outside their back steps), I assumed we were being lead to some grand villa or another epic scenery site. Yet, we happened upon a small glass door, which opened into a large seafood restaurant (“seafood” restaurant is again, relative—they serve one fish, which is native to the lake the spot overlooked, and the rest was 50,000 varieties of pastaJ). I would have never known that was our destination except for a small sign with the name of it painted on, posted one alley way away from the hot spot. It was definitely not “hot” literally, as we scarfed down our delicious pasta (and one fish I think someone ventured to try) in -2°C. Note to self: central heating/cooling is a LUXURY. So in between bites, we found it comical that as we chewed, steam would come out of our mouths, and then chilled breath in the next instant. Brrrr.

  
 

Montecavvo was our last stop, and it was literally just a stop. Overly stuffed and sleepy from our abundance of “seafood” style pasta, most had fallen asleep on the bus, only to be awakened by one last photo spot. I must admit, I was a little annoyed to be awakened for another photo op, as my camera had already absorbed its max capacity that day, but I was really glad when I saw what it was.

 Montecavvo is the trail where the original founders of Rome paved the way for their journey into Rome. It became a major walkway for all sojourners following. One would have never guessed, unless told so, as it was just a normal looking pathway on the side of another dirt road, winding off in a direction with some stones to guide the way, hardly. After we were told the story and headed back to the bus, however, I could just visualize the leather strapped sandals, blistered, muddy, and hopeful, walking in the same direction on the same path I was going…only their steps were filled with much more unknown adventure and risk. I think I’m experiencing a daring journey by coming to Europe? They began a whole nation, from scratch, which has outlasted timeless renown. Now that’s daring.

BE Italian!

Caio! It’s hard to believe I have already been here two full days! Yet it feels longer than that. I have already experienced a multitude of adventures since I left the States three days ago. First stop- Heathrow, London. First reaction—GREEN! Beautifully lush and emerald green, like the view I remember flying over Connecticut. Overcast and rainy like Connecticut too. To welcome me into the land of the Brits, every beverage break and meal came with a side of tea. 

And I must say, I experienced some intriguing forms of airport food, but undeniably tasty. 

(??“milk stick”??) Needless to say, I didn’t understand that when I asked for vegetable lasagna, I was given cheese and sauce with a side of a noodle, and the vegetables in a bowl on the side, supposedly to be mixed in? Ah, the way of the Brits.

I was thankful to have such a significant lay over between flights (3 hours), as I non-chalantly made it to my next check-in spot, trying to look like I fit in (even whipped out  a British “Hullo” and “Pahdon me” as I passed my British counterparts), waiting patiently in the slow-goin looong security-check line. And upon entering the central lobby of Terminal 3, I quickly realized that Rome was not listed on the Departing Flights screen, double-checked my ticket, felt a bead of sweat drip down my smudged makeup from the previous flight, and raced back to the security check I had just passed through. (Mom and Dad…don’t read this part;) I was informed I read my ticket wrong, as I would be landing in Terminal 3 in Rome, but taking off from Terminal 5 in London. Which was another 15 min. shuttle ride to the opposite side of the airport. Long story short, my worry and nervous sweat (and total loss of suave-British composure) was all in vain, arriving to my correct terminal in ample time, even too early for the screen to list the gate which would hold the departing flight to Rome. Sweet. Relieved, annerved, confused, I was back to my play-it-as-a-native-Brit composure when I saw the universal sign to happiness—Starbucks. Ordered myself a frothy cappuchino, and relaxed…finding amusement in the blonde-topped little boy who sounded something like, “Mummy, the tunnel was quite fantastic! It was quite spooky! I’ve neva been through a tunnel befaur!” Welcome to Europe, on to Italy…

Upon first site of the romantic nation of Italia, 

my exhaustion and sleep depravation (snoring Brits do NOT help the overnight flight experience), adrenaline quickly kicked in, and a sleepy, overly joyous smile strectched across my face. Blatant tourist face ON!

It is green and beautiful. Not like the green in London, though. More of an oil-saturated green olive. Verde e bella Italia. All of the roofs are the same color—earth clay with the same shingles. No buildings stand out in height, all about average height, with the exception of a few obvious business buildings that stretched to the sky an entire 2 stories above the typical villas.  All the grass appears perfectly mowed. Buildings/villas sit into the land, as opposed to the American way of clearing our spot and building where the dirt has been tirelessly perfected.  The land is geometrically, yet somehow still organically sectioned off into perfect rows—of growing things. Whether it be houses aligned in the corners of the fields, vineyards, those tall creepy trees that scream “ITALY”, or soccer fields. 

Get off the plane, ready to take the land, then realize I also didn’t remember where I’m supposed to meet my driver. No sweat, go w/ the flow. FLOWWW with the Italians. I AM ITALIAN…who doesn’t know how to read signs. Sweat beads form again. Nope, wipe it off, I’m Italian. Go to wrong baggage claim. It’s ok. No one knows I messed up. Right? Keep going. Everyone seemed to get a cart, the part that I missed when going to the wrong claim spot. So I figured I needed one too, seeing as how I have 4 bags (no, not all mine, thank you, I’m not that girl…carrying for a friend), so I grab a massive one. Apparently that one’s not ok, b/c an Italian guy ran toward me shaking his hand. Figure out the real ones cost a euro. Can’t find my euros. Sweat beads form again. Dangit. Nice man gives me a cart for free. Carry on. Finally find my driver once through customs, Patrizia…who is AMAZING and finally sets my mind at ease.

The next hour consisted of “Come si diche en Italiano…” lots of laughing, teaching her English, Patrizia putting on the role of instant Italian-tutor with hilarious English syntax. We are now best friends. I was the only one in her massive taxi van, as I was the last of the class to arrive in Italy, so we were really able to get to laughing. Italians laugh beautifully. Or at least, she did. So full of life. So excited that I’m excited. I am home.

She loved that I said “bellisimo” and “magnifico” and “Tramonto en cello multo bella” and “Sono vivere qui” (“So beautiful!”, “Magnificent!”, “The sunset in the sky is very beautiful” and “I WANT TO LIVE HERE!”) So she decided to take me the extra long route, pitoresque side, and she fulfilles the romantic-tourist’s wish to stop and take pics…which does does for me, of  me in front of the sparkling city line of Rome, resting under the glowing umber skyline as the sun set behind billowing clouds. Took me a few pics later to realize I was forgetting to breathe amidst taking in the scenery that seemed to write poetry by virtue of simply existing. 

 (Compliments of Patrizia)

My new best friend, dropped me off at the Palace, 

     and laughed at my graceful reaction to my new residence. Doorway graced by the dorkiest wide-eyed, mouth-dropped tourist. Well, I had the next 45 min. to get real acclimated with it,

   as the class had already gone on to Albano to buy cell phones. Didn’t realize this, so I’m just chillin, waiting for them to get back, until a group of girls come back heading off to dinner at the exquisite hotel down the road! Complements of the JSB program. The following sums up the rest of the night…

Bread, antipasto, al dente carbonara, lasagna, tiramasu, endless wine…and of course, we ate EVERY course. It’s rude not too. I was NOT one to object. So concludes my introduction to this wonderful world of class, romance, rolling hills, rolling bread, wine, marble buildings, marble gelato, and everything in between.

  

Woops! I ate the lasagna before I remembered to take a pic:)

I’ll keep the updates on excursions MUCH shorter, promise. I applaud you if you’ve followed this far…thanks MomJ.