Too Much Italy Is A Good Thing - Rome

In September, I found myself in one of my favourite countries - I had been to Italy before and I will definitely go back again. For some reason, I never feel like I have seen or experienced half as much as I should have when I spend time in this gorgeous and magical country.

My first visit to Italy was when I was just eleven years old - I went with my sixth grade class (I was attending an International School you understand) and we spent a week in Florence. Each student was given an assignment before we left - prepare an oral presentation about a piece of Renaissance art. And while we were in Florence, we each had the chance to present our findings in front of the said work of art. I chose the Gates of Paradise (doorways to the Baptistery) by Lorenzo Ghiberti. What I remember most from that day was the crowd of confused, yet pleasantly surprised tourists that gathered around us to listen in on my presentation. Everyone seemed delighted to be there and astounded by the sights around them - this seems to be a common occurrence for visitors to Italia!

When my brother Sean and I went to Italy last September, it was a completely different experience. We arrived by ferry from Croatia (Direct Ferries, Dubrovnik to Bari). Let me explain something about ferry travel - when you first board and the sun is shining and you don't have to struggle to find a seat, you can't believe how wonderful this mode of transportation is. You sit outside, feet propped up on the railings, looking out at the shimmering Adriatic sea and entranced by the group of middle-aged Italian women singing traditional songs on the upper deck. However, after five hours, when you've been scorched by the sun and you're sick to death of seeing nothing but the sea, the endless singing loses its appeal and you desperately wish you knew the Italian for 'Please. Just shut up'.

Ferry ride from Dubrovnik to Bari

 We arrived in Bari, a port on the Southeastern coast of Italy, just before 10pm and waited for the bus (only one an hour) to the central station to await our night-train to Rome. For any new readers, I should explain that Sean and I had already endured a night train earlier on in our travels... let's just say, neither of us were particularly looking forward to this second attempt at night travel. Before we boarded the dark and gloomy train, I asked an attendant if our tickets would be valid for the journey. I do not speak Italian, and he did not speak English. But we managed to convey that we wanted to get to Rome and he seemed to think our Interrail passes would be fine. He did not ask for passports, or try to lock us into a cabin so already this experience was better than Budapest to Belgrade! 

We did our best to sleep, despite constant stopping and a rotation of passengers in and out of the cabin, as the train rumbled along to Rome. We arrived at 6am, and although I had planned to get an early start, after the seven hour ferry journey and six hours on the train, we were both exhausted. Finding a hostel at that time of the morning wasn't easy, but thanks to one very friendly desk attendant and an old Italian man who was happy to have paying customers, we found ourselves climbing over strangers to crawl into bed-bunks for our first decent sleep in over 30 hours. You won't find it in Lonely Planet or Rough Guide and it might not be the fanciest place on earth, but I can highly recommend the Hotel Corrallo for great value and a great vibe. Located next to the popular Yellow hostel, but far cheaper. Just make sure you ask them for their hostel rooms and you'll be pleasantly surprised.

When I finally woke up and looked around at our fellow travellers, I noticed a man in the bed across from me who looked just like 'The Dude' from the Big Lebowski. When he woke up and said hello, I couldn't help myself from telling him who he reminded me of. He had no idea what I was talking about. Now this might have been normal had he been from Eastern Europe or Asia but Brad, as it turns out was his name, is American, from Texas, and has never seen nor heard of 'The Big Lebowski'. This really should have told me something about him, but he made us coffee and was very friendly, so I didn't think twice about it. As it turned out, Brad was a devout catholic, a conspiracy theorist and had been in Italy desperately trying to re-connect with his girlfriend for the past four months. He was sure 'they' were keeping her away from him. When I asked how long it had been since he had seen his lost love, he answered 'three years'. Hmmmm. Not really the type to watch Coen brothers' films then.

Sean and I headed out to explore and found ourselves wandering down the Spanish Steps in the blazing sunshine. It felt amazing and, despite the crowds of tourists, I felt incredibly happy. There's something about the air in Italy and the vibrancy of Rome that makes you feel unbelievably alive. I wish I could bottle up the feeling and take a swig whenever I'm blue. 

The Spanish Steps

Next on the list of sights was the Trevi Fountain, an incredible sculpture depicting Neptune in all his glory riding his sea-horse pulled chariot. We sat and looked, alongside at least 1000 other tourists, packed into the tiny square.

Trevi fountain - a definite favourite for tourists

We walked around the Pantheon, sat down and were promptly kicked out by a nun who informed us the service was about to start. Startling, as I thought that anyone could attend a service in the Pantheon but nevertheless, we were told to move on out. 

The sun shines down on the Pantheon

 Last on the list for the day was Rome's most famous monument, the Colosseum. Despite having seen it before, and the image being plastered on posters and pictures around the world, it is still a phenomenal sight to behold when you actually stand in front of it and think about how long it has been there. The Forum Romanum too, as you wander along the old Roman road past ruins of once great buildings, captures the imagination and takes you back to a time most of us now probably associate with films or TV shows rather than actual history.

The Colosseum - still standing, still stunning

 As we headed back to the hostel, with plans to indulge in a lot of delicious and yet reasonably priced red wine, I thought to myself 'I will never tire of visiting Italy'.

Next post - from Rome to Milan, and everything in between.

Thanksgiving in Barcelona

"How come there are no ovens in Barceloneta??" This was my hourly cry as I spent the last Thursday in November preparing for and cooking an American style Thanksgiving dinner in Barcelona last autumn.

When my brother and I decided to go travelling around Europe, we knew we wanted to spend a considerable amount of time in Barcelona. And we did. We rented an apartment in the beach community of Barceloneta and settled in relatively easily. That is, until we needed an oven.

Barceloneta is a great community to live in - it feels like a village within a city, not to mention you get to live on the beach, with the Mediterranean as your neighbour. We made quite a few friends in the area and really felt we had been accepted by the locals. We knew the men who lived on the beach and designed the sand sculptures. We were recognised and greeted by all of the local store owners. And most importantly, we were very well looked after by the two barmen, Joe and Victor, in our local watering hole, Ryan's Irish pub.

By the harbour in Barceloneta

Throughout the two months we were in town, we hardly ever needed an oven for anything. Sure, we couldn't make frozen pizza but that's hardly the worst thing in the world. However, it's impossible (honestly, it is) to make Thanksgiving happen without an oven and no one in Barceloneta seemed to have one. Not the bars, not our neighbours. All we could find was a microwave/oven conversion which was never going to be sufficient for a whole bird!

I was planning to serve up the traditional casseroles, side dishes and a turkey to a group of friends in our local bar. But there were several problems. 

I am a vegetarian so the meat wasn't all that important to me. But clearly anyone who has ever heard of Thanksgiving has heard of the turkey. Well, finding a turkey is not as easy as it might seem. Spanish and Catalunyans don't really eat very much turkey. And when they do, they don't eat it whole. We settled for a chicken instead.

Luckily, my friend Jodie had decided to come visit us for the weekend, and though she isn't American, she loves all kinds of meat so she saved the day by showing me how to prepare a roast chicken. Now all we needed to do was cook the blasted thing.

Jodie - the 'chicken chef'

Our hero of the hour was James, a local musician and bizarre bling t-shirt salesman that also frequented the local pub. Amazingly, James was the only Barceloneta resident with an oven... and he was willing to let us use it! 

So Jodie and I spent the day peeling potatoes, chopping broccoli, making cheese sauce for the macaroni and preparing a large chicken before setting off across town with our platters. We delivered the goods to James' kitchen and set the timers.

Thanksgiving preparations

And at 8:30pm on the fourth Thursday in November, we delivered an entire Thanksgiving meal to the punters in Ryan's pub on the beach. There were ten of us eating in total, only two of whom were American, and the feast went down very well indeed!

Lining up to get served

Enjoying Thanksgiving dinner in Barcelona!

Just goes to show that no matter where you are, and no matter how tricky it is to find an oven, with a little perseverance, a meat-eating friend and a very friendly t-shirt salesman, you can make Thanksgiving happen anywhere!

Coming home again

I think the hardest part about travelling, by far, is the moment you come back to 'reality'. While on my own travels, I discussed this at length with a new friend: Camilla and I met in a hostel/hotel in Milan. We were staying in the same room, just the two of us (my brother was staying in Venice an extra night) and decided to go for a quiet drink.
We talked about a lot of things, but the discussion stayed with me because of something Camilla said. She had been travelling for over a year and many of her friends back home in Norway were asking her when she was planning on going back to 'real life'. Real life. Strange concept. Once you've decided to pack in your day job, start heading around the world and see where life takes you, the idea of any other life seems restrictive to say the least. Camilla and I agreed that other people's concept of 'real life' is very different from our own.

Now I am back in Florida, a place that I left over ten years ago and it doesn't feel like 'real life' one bit. I'm so happy to be spending time with my mother, to be back with my family, but the idea of looking for a job and settling down is completely terrifying. How do people manage this part? I suppose my case is slightly different as I was living in London and working in a busy office, whereas now I am living with my parents again in a very small American town. But the idea of settling down is the same whether I am in London or Florida. It's just awfully difficult to make a decision about what I want to do and where I want to be.

The plan for the moment is to venture north, stay with family in Illinois for a while before taking a road trip out west. Hopefully in the next few months, I'll get more of the travelling need out of my system and clarify my own ideas about what I'd like to be doing. But 'real life' is still a concept I can't quite grasp. If anyone has the answer, I'd love to hear all about it!