La Dolce Vita ...

Buon Giorno!

First of all, I’d just like to mention that Google’s logo imagery today is CREEPING me out. Seriously, what IS that? Wereclowns? Clowns are scary enough on their own—there is no need to give them fangs and red eyes. Sheesh.

Anway, I had to google “Buon Guiorno” to make sure I spelled it correctly. I did. Champion speller in all languages … (Hey, if you’ve got it; flaunt it—that’s my motto.)

So today, I continue regaling you with tales of my adventures through Europe. I’m assuming you’ve already read about my arrival to Basel, Switzerland, and the first two days of Amanda's and my travels in the Swiss Alps. Today we’ll begin with …

Day three: Driving from Gstaad, Switzerland to Florence, Italy

The day dawned clear, blue and brilliant, as most days in the Swiss Alps seemed to dawn (not that I ever saw the actual “dawn” … semantics). Amanda and I ate another fantastic homemade breakfast at the Posthotel Rossli, walked around Gstaad, said our farewells to one of the most magical places on earth (Walt Disney clearly wasn’t that well traveled) and headed off into the proverbial Italian sunset.

The drive was just as incredible as everything else we’d seen that week—maybe even moreso. There were vineyards for miles and miles, surrounded by mountains, castles, and the bluest/greenest/cleanest lakes I’ve ever seen. I wanted to just jump out of the car and swim in each and every one of them. But I suppose that would’ve delayed our trip quite a bit, and we really wanted to get to Italy in a timely fashion, so I restrained myself.

There is a long tunnel you have to pass through to enter Italy from Switzerland. I can’t even tell you how excited I was about going through this tunnel, and in doing so, passing through border patrol. Want to know why? Passport stamps!!! You may or may not know this about me, but I have a goal of traveling to so many places and filling my passport with so many stamps that I have to get a new passport many, many times throughout my life. Here’s how it went down:

I approach the border security agent in my rental car, smiling like the naive tourist I am, passport ready and practically thrown out the window into the awaiting guard’s hands. He asks Amanda and I where we’re from and where we’re going, then takes our passports and goes into a building, where I imagine all the stamps sit on a shelf, and at that very moment, he’s taking one down, opening up my passport, and stamping the ink on it that will forever remind me of my first time in Italy. Visions of what the stamp will look like dance around in my mind, and I nearly jump out of the car to retrieve my passport from him as he exits the building. Once again, I show restraint, though, and patiently wait until he hands it back to me. I’m dying for him to go away so I can inspect the stamp, but he insists on standing there, chit-chatting as if he doesn’t have a care in the world and I don’t have a passport to inspect! He invited Amanda and I to come into his office and have a coffee with him and his friend, which we thought sounded fun, but c'mon man! Give a girl a minute!!

Thankfully, I snuck away to the restroom ("water closet" in Europe-speak). I shut the door, pulled out my passport, and opened it, scanning the pages for the stamp that would forever commemorate this moment. I saw my four Mexico stamps first. Then I turned the page and saw my Switzerland entry stamp. Then I gleefully turned to the next page, and ...... nothing. I turned to the next page and the next and the next and …. NOT A THING.

I learned two life lessons that day that will remain with me forever. One is that when traveling within the European Union, you only get one stamp per trip there, and it’s the stamp of the first country you enter from the United States.

The second is to never let an opportunity pass you by. Why oh WHY didn’t I ask the flirty Italian border patrol man to give me a stamp in my passport?? Did he have the authority to do so? I don’t know, and now, I will never know, because I didn’t ask. Ah the sting of lifelong regret. Let this be a lesson to you, too.

Determined not to let the disappointment of my crushed dream put a damper on this experience, Amanda and I excitedly drove out of the tunnel and caught our first glimpse of Italy, which was … say it with me now … Incredible. I need to think of new synonyms because I don’t want to lose the impact of that word. But trust me, when I say the scenery was incredible, it was. And our first glimpse of the Mediterranean shortly after we crossed the border took my breath away. This was one lifelong dream that came true ...

Shortly after crossing the border, we reached a toll road, and as we rounded the on-ramp, a car came at us from the wrong direction!! We almost had an accident (in every sense of the word), but thanks to my cat-like reflexes and adept driving skills (and the fact that we’d recently used the restrooms), we avoided having an accident. Wondering what in the world possessed someone to drive the wrong way on a circular on-ramp, we pressed onward toward the toll gate. The following transpired:

I pressed a green button to extract the ticket, as I would do at any toll post in the States. Then I waited for the gate to go up. But the gate didn't move. “Well, maybe we have to pay first,” Amanda and I thought. So we looked for a place to put money or a credit card. No such luck. There were several other buttons, though, so like a five-year-old on an elevator, I randomly started pressing all of them. One of them was a cry for help apparently, and a very annoyed-sounding voice came through the box. It said something in a language I didn’t know.

So I said, “English, please!”

The voice said, “German?”

I replied, “No, just English. English, please!”

The voice said, “Italian??”

“Just English.”

“French??”

“I’m sorry for being an undereducated American, sir, but I ONLY SPEAK ENGLISH!”

“Please wait” was the response I got.

So we waited … and waited, looking around for someone to come to our rescue. Five minutes later, no one had come to save us.

So, I pressed the dreaded button again.

“PLEASE WAIT!!” was the response.

Sheesh, sorry!

Five more minutes later, and we’re getting REALLY annoyed. A car is now behind us waiting, and I’m afraid I’m about to have a cap busted in me, but then I realize I’m not in America anymore, and I relax a little. People in Europe don’t seem to suffer from road rage quite like we Americans do.

I press the button again, and still nothing. Finally, blessedly, we see a cop car park about 50 yards away. I thought maybe they were coming for us, but I didn’t care at this point. I mean, my grandpa LaRosa was born in Italy, so that has to count for something in the slammer, right??

A thought sparked for Amanda and me exactly the same moment. Drawing from our recent experience with the po-po in Gstaad, we thought, “hey! Let’s get to the cops before they get to us!”

Naturally, since I was in the driver’s seat and couldn’t abandon my post, Amanda was selected as the person to approach the boys in blue. Another veteran move on our part, because the cop was so nice, came right over to the car, spoke to the unfriendly voice on the other end of the line, and discovered that the gate had been broken all day. This explains why we saw the car driving the wrong way on the on ramp.

WHY didn’t they put a sign up or something, though?!?? I mean, not that I would have been able to read it, but I could have google-translated it, or I may have surmised that the gate was broken if there was a sign hanging on it, and if the light to approach it was red, as opposed to “come on through here” green. Anyway, the nice cop lifted the gate for us, and we were FINALLY on our way again.

In case you think I’m making up these stories, I slyly took a photo to document the event. Score another point for the American girls!

The rest of the drive was (thankfully) uneventful, and we arrived in Florence that evening. We checked into our hotel, and then set out to explore. And by “explore” I mean “find a place where we could leave the car for the next three days without fear of it being stolen or towed.” This turned out to be a much longer and more arduous process than either of us anticipated, and by the time we got back to our hotel, it was nearly midnight. But the good news is we saw a lot of Florence that we wouldn’t have seen otherwise. Translation: we were hopelessly lost. I won’t bore you with the details of that night, but let’s just say we were relieved to make it back to our hotel. (Sorry, Mom. Pretend like you didn't read that part. 0:)

Day Four: Living the dream in Tuscany—aMAZing

I did a lot of pre-reading to determine what we should do in Tuscany, and the overwhelming reviews I read about a company called Walkabout Tours convinced me that their Best of Tuscany tour was the way to see the highlights of Tuscany, while also getting some local, non-touristy flavor. So, never one to turn down great advice, I signed us up.

We walked to the train station where we were to meet up with our tour guide and group. This is when I first realized that the men in Italy are kinda pervy. Or, at least, they act like they’ve never seen a woman before in their lives. Cat-calling, whistling, ogling, nodding enthusiastically as we passed, marriage proposals, declarations of love—we each experienced these things over and over and over during our time in Italy. It was fascinating to me. And I don’t mean that in a good way, boys. So don’t get any ideas. Ick.

A quick run-down of all the places we went in Tuscany (see my Facebook page for more pictures!)

Siena
My favorite place—it’s absolutely breathtaking. The scenery that surrounds it, the cathedral, the stone streets and its ancient buildings. It’s everything you would imagine a Tuscan city to be.

And don’t even get me started on the gelato … actually, DO get me started. Because OMG I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: gelato is the nectar of the gods. It kick’s Ben and Jerry’s butt—with both hands tied behind its back. It makes Dairy Queen taste like sewage—or worse. Gelato is delicious. I had my first in Siena. And my second. Don't judge until you've walked a mile in my flip flops ... to the next gelato shop. :)

Siena felt like a real town, but part of a different world—a simpler one, where you could imagine daily life being lived. There was laundry hanging outside windows, flags proudly flying outside homes and old men sitting in the city square because that’s probably what they’ve done every morning for as long as they can remember. If you want to visit what I think of now as “quintessential Tuscany,” don’t miss out on Siena.

San Gimignano
Another ancient city that was similar to Siena in look, but not feel. It’s a really gorgeous place, but it felt so touristy. It was hard to imagine that real people, with real lives, actually lived here. Don’t get me wrong—it was beautiful, and I’m glad we went. It just wasn’t Siena. Here I am with my newest weakness (Thank GOD I'm not living in Italy for the summer--I'd need a seatbelt extender on the plane ride home).

Volterra
We only saw Volterra as we drove past it, but I had to mention it because it’s famous now, thanks to the Twilight saga. I can’t even tell you how badly I hoped our bus would break down and we’d have to stop there so that I could reenact Bella running through the fountain. Classic. Oh well, it’s probably good that I didn’t embarrass America that way. Maybe next time ...

Chianti (outside San Gimignano)
Breathtaking. The Chianti region is amazing—some of the best olive oil and wine in the world is produced here, and we were lucky enough to tour a vineyard/olive grove, do a wine tasting and eat lunch at an organic farm. I also bought olive oil and sent it to my dad for Father’s Day from here, and he LOVED it. Buy some!

Pisa
Pisa was my least favorite place in Tuscany, although it was still beautiful—the architecture is out of this world. Except for that little mishap they call the Leaning Tower. What I didn't like about Pisa, in addition to the endless line of vendors hawking their cheap, knockoff Ray Bans, were these T-shirts. Do you think my expression gives me away? Oops. But I Heart New York. So THERE, Pisa.

We didn’t spend too much time in Pisa. We got our obligatory picture with the tower (I'm not gonna lie--that was fun), then peaced out. I just want to point out that I took the obligatory picture to the next level. While those other schmucks all took their "look at me--I'm so strong, I'm holding up the tower of Pisa just like everyone else who ever visits," I was on the other side, taking a "Hehehe--I'm pushing it over!" picture.

Our whirlwind tour of Tuscany was money well spent—we really saw the best of everything. If you ever find yourself in Florence, you won’t regret spending a day this way. We met some cool people, had some really interesting conversations and saw places and things I only ever dreamed I’d see. At this point, it still felt like I was living in a dream. Actually, to be honest, it’s a month later, and I haven’t woken up yet. Life really is good. :)

Ok, well once again, I kinda rambled (shocking, I know). In the next (and final—I promise!!) installment, we’ll spend a day just outside Florence on an organic, family farm, taking a cooking class. Then we’ll explore Florence one last time and drive to Cinque Terre on the Italian Riviera for long hikes and days on the beaches of the Mediterranean.

Until then, make sure you're chasing your dreams. Whatever the cost, it's worth it when they come true ...

xoxo
C

Living in a postcard, enchanted by Switzerland ...

Hello dear readers!

I am back with yet another thrilling installment in my saga of a broad abroad (like the play on words??). Due to a debilitating finger injury, I am writing with a gimpy left-hand pointer finger. Which, as you may know, is vital to typing. I’m doing my best without said finger, but if this post has typos in it, or is shorter than anticipated, you’ll know why…

Since you’re probably morbidly curious about my finger, I’ve kindly included a photo. It’s pretty gruesome, so beware. The Swiss do a few things really well: clocks, watches, men, chocolate and … knives. My kitchen knife has viciously attacked me, not one, but TWO times in our short stay together. The most recent assault left me without a piece of my finger, and I’m not sure I’ll ever get that little bit back. Tomorrow, I think I’ll go see the school nurse (i.e. Syngenta clinic nurse) to make sure I don’t need a skin graft or something. Note the empty space where the rest of my finger used to be … :(

But back to my excellent traveling adventures. I thought I’d do a day-by-day account of the week-plus Amanda and I spent traveling around Switzerland and Italy. So, without any further ado, we begin with …

Day 1: Basel to Gstaad, Switzerland, by way of Bern (twice), a broken GPS and some really nice policemen

As I mentioned in my last post (I think), I arrived in Switzerland on a Friday morning after flying all night from North Carolina (layover in Philly). Friday was spent mainly attempting to stay awake. Oh, and I exchanged some money. Which was a COMPLETE ripoff. Actually, it’s not that I was ripped off. It’s that the dollar sucks. We get no respect in the rest of the world for our hard-earned dollars these days. Who is in charge of changing that? The Fed? Well, Fed, if you’re reading this, there is a girl living abroad this summer who would be so very happy if you could fix this little problem while I’m on the other side of the pond. Thanks!

Sorry, I keep getting side tracked. Must be the injury. Back to the story. Friday night, I slept off all the jet lag and woke up feeling pretty refreshed! Amanda and I went to the grocery store just to pick up a few supplies for my apartment (laundry detergent mainly—which proved to be a bit tricky since I couldn’t figure out which one was detergent and which was fabric softener. And I’m learning grocery-store clerks aren’t the best at English. So, I may or may not be “washing” all my clothes with fabric softener. Oh well, at least it smells good.)

Anyhoo, while the trip to the store wasn’t successful in every way, it was successful in the way that the Israeli national men’s soccer team happened to be in town that day. And they also happened to be shopping in the same grocery store. Their English also wasn’t so great, but I’m positive that if it weren’t for the language barrier, I’d probably be Mrs. Liad Amir by now (he’s on the right).

After our trip to the store, we hopped on the tram to go pick up our rental car at the airport. Keys in hand and two iPods charged up and ready to go later, we hit the road for Gstaad, Switzerland, which is a couple hours south of Basel. The plan was to arrive by about dinnertime. Well, about an hour into the drive, the GPS died. And it refused to charge. Turns out the cigarette lighter/charger was broken in the car they gave us. We debated whether or not to go on without the GPS, but I think this picture sums up my feelings about that:

Se we drove back to the hour back to Basel to exchange our car. We would’ve been ok in Switzerland without the GPS, but I wouldn’t have wanted to try to get around Italy without it. Keep that in mind if you ever go to Europe and rent a car: Pay the extra for the GPS. It is WELL worth it. And in our case, because of how inconvenienced we were, we didn’t have to pay for it! And, the other silver lining (you know how I love them) is that we got to see the city of Bern, which is just beautiful. I definitely need to go back and spend a day there sometime.

Oh yeah, and while we were driving back to Basel, we were flashed. I’m not even joking! Three guys driving on the autobahn next to us flashed us, then motioned for us to do the same. As. If. They thought it was funny, and truth be told, so did we. But, ew.

We finally arrived in Gstaad in our super-hot Volkswagon Passat station wagon at about 11 p.m. Thinking we were finally at our hotel and SO ready for bed at this point, I was just a little T.O.’d to discover that much of Gstaad is closed off the vehicle traffic. That’s great for the people walking around the quaint village. It’s not so great for foreigners already prone to getting lost, with a GPS telling us to drive up roads that are clearly not meant for driving!

As I was making yet another (possibly illegal—but who knows for sure? I couldn’t read the signs) U-turn, I looked to my right and there was a cop car. Crap! I could see that we were about to get pulled over. But, always thinking on our feet, Amanda and I made a quick decision to play the pathetic, lost tourists and get to them before they could get to us. So Amanda jumped out of the car and walked up to their window. Nothin like flipping the script! We are goooood. (This worked in every country, by the way. Tested and proven. Try it if you’re ever in a bind.) The nice cops gave us a police escort straight to our hotel’s door. Score for the American girls!

We stayed at the most adore hotel, the Posthotel Rossli. Photos below. This place was wonderful in every way—the people, the views, the free breakfasts, the cute rooms—quaint doesn’t begin to describe it. Stay here if you ever find yourself in Gstaad.

Day 2: Beauty and the Beast, Heidi and the Sound of Music--so pretty much the best day EVER


We woke up the next morning, ate our delicious breakfast, and headed for the charming town of Charmey, where we were planning to hike. First, of course, we had to get a feel for the lay of the town.

And sample the local fare.

Then the hiking began. If I hadn’t gone to Cinque Terre, Italy, just a few days later, I would’ve told you that this was the most amazing hike I’ve ever been on. Cinque Terre topped it, though. But not to take away from the Charmey-Gruyeres hike, because it was truly incredible. It felt like we were in the Sound of Music and Heidi during our hike.

The hills are alive … with the sound of music

That’s what I was singing/shouting as this photo was taken. You would’ve done it too; don’t even pretend like I’m wrong.


And then, when we arrived at the town of Gruyeres, I felt as though I stepped into a fairytale!

Bonjour! Bonjour! Bonjour! Bonjour! Bonjour!
There goes the baker with his tray like always
The same old bread and rolls to sell
Every morning just the same
Every morning since we came
To this poor, provincial town---
Good morning, Belle!


Would you judge me if I told you I just wrote all that from memory?

Ahem. Moving on.

This place was absolutely lovely. It was French speaking, and had a castle and a fountain and really, it has to be the village where they filmed Beauty and the Beast. Or, where the cartoonists went for all their inspiration for the setting. Whichever the case may be. Look at the comparisons, and then I’ll let this go.

There were even lambs! They weren’t frolicking in the city fountain, but I believe that’s a result of a health code violation after one of Belle’s lambys pooped in the water. It’s NOT because we weren’t in the middle of a fairytale. Because we were.

I had some soup and a plate of vegetables for dinner. Want to know how much it cost? About $45 American dollars. Yep. So, losing weight while I’m here should be pretty simple and come as a natural result of not being able to afford food. Again with the silver linings! I’m on a roll tonight.

After being completely enchanted by the town of Gruyeres, we headed back to Gstaad for our last night there, and our last evening in Switzerland for about a week.

In summary of our time in the Swiss Alps: the stars were brilliant, the people earthy, open and welcoming and the scenery, idyllic. I think the quote of that trip was when one of us said, "This is everything I ever imagined it would be, and more. I feel like I'm living in a post card or the pages of Heidi right now. I never want to leave."

Switzerland is an enchanting place, and I’m fortunate to have experienced such a real part of it, far away from the major cities. I didn’t want to leave as we pulled away …

Little did I know what was ahead.

Ok, that’s all I can manage with my gimpy finger for tonight. I’ve got a hitch in my typing gitalong, and I need to give it a rest. Next blog will be all about Italia! It’s going to be good, it’s going to make you hungry … it’s going to make you want to hop on a plane and fly there. I promise.

Oh! I almost forgot my last photo with the best caption ever. My brother wrote this on my facebook page under this picture, and I laughed so hard I almost peed my pants.

As far as Nick writing this, I'm not sure whether to be proud or concerned. But regardless, I share, because it would just be selfish if I didn't.

"After a night of heavy partying & LSD-fueled hallucinations, Lassie traded his reputation and dignity for a giant slab of veal, cooked just the way he liked. It wasn't until the next morning that he realized why his "veal" tasted like young... boy leg. His lack of K9 discipline had finally caught up with him.

The now-hobbled Timmy was metaphorically and literally scarred for eternity, and their relationship was never quite the same. Each time Lassie would stick his tongue out as a dog is prone to do, Timmy would reactively try and lift his other leg in a subconscious act of self-protection. The ensuing face-meets-ground moment was humiliating, and he could never quite forgive Lassie for taking away not just his leg, but his freedom. After all, legs are to a young boy what a car is to a teenager.

Tragically, the story doesn't end there as Timmy's father - embarrassed by his son's handicap and his wife's rapid weight gain after Lassie's night of debauchery - drank to ease the pain, eventually becoming so hooked on the Sauce that he was unable to be an effective father to Timmy.

Timmy went on to join a gang called the Olegs (a play on the brand name "Legos" and a reference to the one thing all gang members had in common: their possession of only one leg, apiece). Known for wearing one of their pant legs higher than the other and for their raucus parties (most ppl. referred to the parties as "one-legger keggers"), they were a force to be reckoned with, unless you ran away from them. You were OK then.

As for Timmy, he was arrested one night after trying to rob a sporting goods store. Ironically, he was arrested having robbed only a pogo stick & a jump rope. Police suspected drugs as the cause of not only the robbery, but of the poor choice of stolen items. As punishment, an unorthodox judge sentenced Timmy to stand as a beacon of caution to all the other one-legged hooligans out there.

To this day, he stands as an example of what drugs, alcohol, and gangs can do to a young man maimed by a hero dog in an LSD-inspired trip. The support post is thanks to the ACLU, who vigorously advocated on Timmy's behalf, arguing that his repeated faceplants were cruel and unusual punishment. The post, while painful due to the spikes, helps support Timmy and remind us all: Spare the rod, spoil the dog."



Auf wiedersehen and ciao!

The Innocent Abroad, post one: My grand European entrance

At the beginning of March, my boss asked if I’d like to move to Basel, Switzerland to work on a special project at my company’s global headquarters for about four months. Even if you’ve known me for five minutes, you know that I literally JUMPED at the chance. Right out of my office chair and onto the airplane. Except: WAIT! There’s this stuff Switzerland loves called bureaucratic red tape, and getting my work visa (which allows me to work in Switzerland, clearly) was not as quick a process as everyone expected. I was supposed to start my new job April 1. Then it was moved to April 24. Then May. Then, when the visa still hadn’t arrived by mid-May, we quit trying to put a date on it. Talk about frustration. The last few months brought a whole new definition to the phrase “hurry up and wait.”

Well, I FINALLY got the phone call that my Visa was approved, and everything was set into FAST motion. All of a sudden, I had a week to pack everything, buy my plane ticket and get to Switzerland! It was a whirlwind, and without my mom to help me with packing, errands and moral support, I don’t think I would’ve been able to do it all in time. Seriously, I am the WORST packer ever, and also, I love shoes. This is a bad, bad combination. Then, my mom came to the rescue and helped me be slightly less vain and slightly more practical about what I really needed to bring. I went from about 25 pairs of shoes to maybe 15. Baby steps, people …

Exhibit A: My shoe bag.

Exhibit B: The rest of my luggage. Belle is exhausted from all the packing.

My flight to Zurich from Philadelphia was long. It was uncomfortable. It was exhausting. I hated it. The only saving grace was that I had a window seat and sat next to a Swiss guy named Jerk (I am almost positive that’s not how it’s spelled, but that’s how it sounded) and we talked during much of the flight. I taught him silly American phrases and slang, and he gave me lots of practical (and some impractical) information about my new country of residence. He also bought us wine, thinking it would help us sleep. It didn’t, but it was pretty tasty as far as airplane beverages go. He also taught me how Europeans toast (or “cheer” as he put it). Apparently they look into each other’s eyes and say “cheers”—rather than flippantly, Americanly toasting just because you’re supposed to, without making eye contact. It's supposed to be more meaningful, I guess. He had really pretty blue eyes, in case you were wondering. So many of the Swiss do. It’s quite lovely!

Note to readers: let’s revolutionize the toast, Euro-style!

When I arrived in Zurich and collected my luggage, I realized there was no way on earth I’d be able to manage my bags alone, unless I grew a third arm, hand and a lot of muscle, which I didn’t imagine was very likely. In my sleep-deprived state, I nearly started panicking, but I maintained my composure and decided it would just work out. It had to. Somehow, I was going to roll all my bags to the train Station in Zurich, buy a ticket to Basel, then pick up the bags and get them up the train stairs and onto the train.

Then I saw the escalator and nearly got trapped in it trying to get my bags off. My huge suitcase fell over in the process, tripped me and another traveler, and as I nearly got sucked under the edge of the escalator, I lost the will to live.

Then, three knights in shining armor (there was no way just one would do) seemed to appear as if from nowhere to rescue me. They laughed at me a little, but mainly just helped me (and my luggage) get on the train. Thank God chivalry is not dead in Europe! I had more gentlemanly help getting off the train in Basel, and I was over the worst of it.

Note to self: Ship as much as possible home before I travel back to the U.S. in September. There is NO way I’m going through that again.

A quick aside: When I first found out I’d be living in Basel, my friend Amanda bought a plane ticket to visit me May 28 through June 7. Well, as you may have guessed, I ended up arriving the exact same day she did. AND, to make it even better, I didn’t have to start work until June 6. So, I took a few days’ vacation time, and Amanda and I were able to travel without having to worry about me needing to work. Amazing!

Anyhoo, when I got to Basel, it was 4 a.m. according to my body’s clock, and I knew that if I wanted to beat the jet lag, I had to stay awake until at least 9 p.m. local time. Yikes. It was a rough day, but I kept busy until Amanda arrived, and then she and I walked around, ate some dinner (I won’t even get into how expensive things are here—sticker shock doesn’t BEGIN to describe it) and unpacked. My apartment is really, really cute. It’s right across from a big park, and spacious according to European standards. I’m also the first person to ever live in my unit, so everything is brand new and feels clean (which you know I love). Pictures to come soon. I haven’t decorated yet, so I’ll post them once I’ve added the “Carly touch.” (No, I’m not talking about clutter—I’m talking about COLOR! Everything is very European—black, white and gray. No exceptions.)

Below is a picture of my street, though. I don’t plan on decorating that.

Amanda and I only stayed one night at my apartment before we headed off for our excellent European adventure. And excellent it was!

My next post will dish on all we did, saw and the police we met along the way (let’s just say I’ve met and spoken with more cops in the past ten days than I have in my entire life. I know. Now you’re on the edge of your seat. Right where I want you…)

In the meantime, here's a little teaser. It's a picture of me next to the Mediterranean Sea... I still can't say that without grinning. I've been swimming in the Mediterranean Sea!!!!!!