So many blog ideas, so little time!

Oh dear.

Here it is, October 10th, and I haven't blogged in two months. Unacceptable! I have so much to write about, but I just haven’t had the time to write! My last few weeks in Basel were crazy (in a good way), and I’ve been going nonstop since I got back to the U.S. Long on blog fodder; short on time. So, just as a little preview, and to get myself back in the swing of things, here are the topics I plan to blog about over the next few weeks, in no particular order:

1. My trip to Germany, which included Munich, the Neuschwanstein Castle (Walt Disney’s fairytale castle!) and the Dachau concentration camp

2. Paris, the city of love. Or is it the city of light? I can’t really be sure, but all I DO know is that I loved it. So we’ll go with “city of love.”

3. My last few weeks in Basel, and all the fun I had

4. Why I’m going to Romania in December (because people keep asking)

5. The books I’ve read lately—I’ve been reading a ton (um, this could also be why I haven’t blogged lately …), and most of them have been blog-worthy

6. NYC! (Just got back from an awesome trip with Terri)

7. Dancing with the Stars. Maybe. I don’t want to step over the edge I’ve been precariously hanging onto into complete loserdom by blogging about a reality TV show. But I do watch the show. And I do have a lot of thoughts (some nice, some not-so-kind, some funny, some not-so-humorous) that I share with my friend and fellow blogger Terri. So why not just put them into a blog? At least it’ll get me blogging regularly, and who knows. Perhaps I’ll become famous as the Dancing with the Stars blogger, and my stardom will land me a spot on the show. Obviously my partner will be Maksim Chmerkovskiy.

Or Derek Hough.

Or Tristan MacManus.

I won’t be choosey.

I’ll be back soon. I promise.

xoxo!

La Dolce Vita kicks La Vida Loca’s butt. Sorry, Ricky Martin …

As a now-seasoned(ish) world traveler, I think I’ve reached the point where I can compare and contrast the places I’ve been and opine about each one. I hope it’s not too premature for that.

Last week, I returned to Cinque Terre, Italy, and while I was there, the phrase “La Dolce Vita,” or “the sweet life” was constantly on my mind. Why? Because Italy is unique from anywhere else I’ve ever been. They not only live a less stressful, “hakuna matata” (I’ll always love the Lion King) lifestyle—they embody it. I think it’s foundational to the very core of who the Italians in this region are. “Sweet” is the perfect way to describe their lifestyle. It’s simple. It’s friendly. It’s open. It’s beautiful. It’s fun. It’s relaxed... It’s sweet.

“La Vida Loca,” or “the crazy life,” which is more descriptive of the Mexican/Central/South American lifestyle, is a whole different world. It’s a fun world too—trust me, my weeks in Cancun, Mexico have been anything but dull! But if I had to choose between La Dolce Vita and La Vida Loca, there’s no contest—I’m going with sweet over crazy every time. (Note to self: I should also keep this in mind when it comes to dating decisions.)

Mom arrived in Switzerland last Thursday morning, and we left for Italy that same night (looking back, I realize a day to relax and get settled in probably would’ve been nice. I’m still working on living la dolce vita. Sorry, mom!). We arrived just outside of Lake Como, in a quaint village called Bellagio, after midnight.

Our hotel there, Borgo Le Terrazze, was sweet. And I don’t mean sweet solely in the way I was using it above. I also mean it in the, “Dude, this place is SWEET!” way. The room was decorated in traditional Mediterranean coastal style with a bit of a rustic, breezy feel, and the view was … well, why don’t I just show you.

It’s obvious to me now why George Clooney loves Lake Como so much. Not that I ever doubted his impeccable taste … well, except for the fact that he still hasn’t proposed to me. But we’ll chalk that one up to the lack of an introduction.

Now here’s a winning combination.

Anyhoo.

We spent part of the day exploring the Bellagio/Lake Como area, had lunch on the lake, window shopped and people watched. Mom kept saying, “this place is so beautiful—I wish we could stay!” and while I agreed that it was beautiful there, I also knew where we were headed. I told her to just trust me, because as impossible as it was to imagine, we were about to step into an entirely different world in Cinque Terre that she’d never want to leave.

As a side note, though, I would love to spend more time in Lake Como. In addition to the scenery, hiking, swimming, boating and other fun lake activities, I’d really like to give Clooney the opportunity to meet me. Maybe next year …

We left Lake Como in the afternoon and drove three hours to Cinque Terre, where we were staying in the most northwest village, Monterosso al Mare. The place I booked for us to stay was actually a Bed & Breakfast, La Serra sul Mare, and I couldn’t wait to see it based on all the reviews I’d read. And we weren’t disappointed! “A room with a view” doesn’t do it justice. See for yourself.

We spent the next three days soaking up every ounce of sun, sand and Mediterranean Sea we could, basking in the perfection of livin’ La Dolce Vita. We hiked, we boated, we swam, we laid in the sun, we shopped, we ate gelato, we were serenaded by an old, Italian man with his guitar (in eight languages no less), we mingled with locals and tourists alike as we strolled up and down the streets of the Cinque Terre villages each evening after another gourmet meal, we met and talked to people from all over the world ... it was everything a vacation should be, except not nearly long enough.

I won’t go into too much detail about all we did, saw, and the people we met along the way—you really need to experience it for yourself. But I will share pictures below, and tell you about one activity we did, which we still can’t stop talking about because mom and I both agree it was the best day either of us has had in ages—so much fun!

The tour was with a company called “Angelo’s Boat Tours” and I discovered it by chance when I googled “boat tours Cinque Terre.” I thought it’d be nice to go out on a boat one day. Fellow travelers on the Tripadvisor.com forum (my travel Bible) had only good things to say about the tour, so I signed us up.

Best. Day. EVER!

The boat’s captain is a guy name Angelo, and his family has lived in Cinque Terre for generations. He’s about as local as they come. Every stereotype of an Italian man that you can imagine fits Angelo—all in one incredibly fun, charming and hilarious package.

Angelo’s wife Paula (an American who met him during a vacation to Italy years ago) is a talented chef who prepares all the food for the day on the boat. Linda, Paula’s cousin, was Angelo’s “co-captain” and our hostess for the day on the boat. She had the perfect personality for the job.

There were twelve of us total on the boat, representing all different corners of the world (Brazil, Ireland, Italy and the U.S.)—ranging in age from 20 to 80. After just a few minutes and as a definite testament to Linda’s perfect hostessing (totally a word), everyone was interacting and having a great time.

The tour itself was great—we learned some of the history of the region while seeing the most beautiful scenery—cliffs that jut out into the clearest, bluest water I’ve ever seen. Mom and I tried to figure out a way to describe the color of the water, and the best we could come up with was “it looks like a liquid sapphire—but prettier!”

Besides the awesome captain, hostess, new friends and AMAZING food, the best part of the tour was getting to stop and swim at different coves. Angelo had rafts on board for those who wanted to float in the sun, snorkeling equipment for anyone who wanted to be more active and plenty of adult beverages for those wanting to stay on board. (Those of us swimming in the water enjoyed a few beverages of our own too---don’t you worry.)

I can’t imagine a better day—we are still talking about it as one of the best days we’ve had in a long time.

P.S. I’m still waiting on Angelo’s son to call me (in 2011 lingo: facebook friend request me). While we were on the tour, mom and I had a conversation that went something like this:

Carly: I don’t want to leave here. Ever. Tell Dad, Nick and Pete I love them, but if they ever want to see me again, they’ll need to buy a plane ticket to Italy.

Mom: You need to do what Paula did—find an Italian guy while you’re here, fall in love and get married! Oh! I have an idea!

Mom: Hey Angelo—do you know any single guys you could introduce my daughter to??

Carly: Oh dear God, make it stop.

Angelo: Oooh, I wish I could introduce you to my son, but he’s too old for you. He’s 28.

Carly: Bless your Italian heart, Angelo. But 28 is not too old for me.

Angelo: I thought you were 20!

Carly: I’d like to marry YOU!

Angelo: I’ll be right back.

He leaves, and I’m left looking at mom, wondering what Angelo is up to. A few minutes later I’d nearly forgotten about the whole, random conversation when Angelo is next to me, thrusting a cell phone into my hands.

Angelo: Here, say hello to my son.

Carly: WHAT?? ::skeptically takes the phone, because you can’t argue with Angelo; trust me on that one:: Ummm, hello?

Strange boy on the phone who I don’t know: Hey! Soooo, this is kinda awkward.

Carly: ::nervous laughter:: yeah … just a little

We went on to have a short, yet fairly normal conversation despite the total abnormality of the situation. My mom sat there mouthing “I’M SO SORRY” the whole time. And Angelo was just grinning from ear to ear. From what Angelo tells me, though, his son David is quite the hottie. If he hadn’t been in London, I would’ve loved to meet him. So, David, if you’re out there somewhere reading this, feel free to track me down on facebook. ;)

Ciao bellas!! Enjoy the pics. I'm sure you'll be able to tell just by looking that mom and I are having an amazing time. I just wish she could stay longer and we could visit some other places ... or, let's be honest, just go back to Cinque Terre and never leave.

More pictures to follow soon on facebook!

xoxo

Happy 4th of July! An ode to my homeland …

It’s the 4th of July (well, almost), and for the first time in my life, I’m not celebrating the birth of my country with other Americans, in America. Last year, I spent the day on the lake sailing with some of my closest friends and the night around a bonfire. It was perfect. I miss my friends and family this year, I miss the fireworks, and of course I miss the BBQs that no one does as well as Americans (sorry rest of the world!). I also miss having the day off work. What? I had to say it. I’d like to propose that Independence Day becomes an international holiday. Every country should celebrate the birthplace of Friends, college football tailgates (the real football ;), electricity and yours truly(random list, I know).

Right? Everyone who’s with me, say “I”! Anyone?

Anyone?

Bueller??

Ok, never mind that. Today is about being proud to be an American. And while I’m not about to get all misty-eyed and quote Lee Greenwood (although I couldn’t resist adding him to my patriotic playlist. And don’t you DARE mute it, or Uncle Sam will hunt. You. DOWN.), I AM going to pay homage to my great country by doing a blog about the good ole U. S. of A. They say life is about the simple pleasures. If you’ve known me five minutes, you know I agree with that. So, here are a few of the simple pleasures I miss about America.

Ice, Ice Baby …

NOT Vanilla Ice, sillies—but actual ice. The kind you fill your glass with and pour tea over or add to a blender to mix up the perfect margarita.

Mmmm, ice. So smooth. So refreshing. Literally melts in your mouth. It’s like the zero-calorie dessert! Hey, maybe I could start a business over here selling ice! I’ll call it “a chip off the old block” (that literally just came to me and may or may not need a little work.) I really just have a hard time wrapping my mind around how, in a country with literally NO air conditioning, there is also no (okay, very little—some restaurants have it) ice. I thought Western Europe was supposed to be all progressive and stuff … well you show me ice, and I’ll show you progressive. I miss ice.

Sweet southern comfort
Not the whiskey. Gross. Sweet tea! I miss it so very, very much. I know that’s bad, and Sweet Tea and I really needed some time apart. We agreed to use the distance as a time to reevaluate whether or not our relationship was a healthy one (it is not). And this break has been good for us—really, it has. After the withdrawals were over, I hardly even thought about Sweet Tea anymore.

Until this week.

It’s been 94 degrees, and I’m only human! I would really, really love a glass of cold sweet tea with two lemon slices right about now. I’m going to stay strong, though. It won’t be easy, but I will NOT go home and make my own sweet tea tonight. (But only because there is no ice with which to enjoy it.)

Kaia
Since Independence Day is all about celebrating freedom, I’d be remiss not to mention my own version of freedom: a set of wheels. In case you haven’t met her yet, allow me to introduce you to Kaia.

She may not be flashy, fast or anyone’s dream car, but she gets me where I want to go, when I want to go there. And that’s why I love her.

I also love the freedom to sing my heart out at the top of my lungs whenever I’m driving around town to whatever music catches my fancy that day—usually it’s T-Swift or the Dirty Dancing soundtrack, but I like to mix it up sometimes … Unfortunately, I don’t think the Swiss are big on public displays of interpretive singing/dancing on their trams and buses. So until I get home, I’m singing and dancing on the inside.

My Big, Fat, Greek Wedding
No, I’m not getting married. I’m not even Greek. But I always said my Italian(ish) family reminds me of the family in that movie, and the meals we make and eat together could rival any Greek celebration.

So, I miss that. Not just the home cooking, but what it means to spend a day in the kitchen cooking together, eating together, laughing, joking—all of it. I cook for myself here, but my very miniature college-dorm-room sized refrigerator makes it impossible to keep a lot of variety on hand. And, what fun is it to cook for one?

English speaking television
Now you know I’m not big on spending hours and hours in front of the TV. However, I’d at least like to have the option! Here, I get two channels in English: The Bloomberg network (snoozefest) and MTV (16 and Pregnant? Really, America? We’re watching that crap? Oh sorry, I’m supposed to be saying nice things about my homeland). When forced to choose between the two, I pick watching cartoons in German. But I digress. I think it’s time to move onto my next point …

Affordable food and entertainment
Everything is SO expensive here!!! How much do you think it costs to go see a movie? About $35 dollars. PER. PERSON! How much do you think it costs to go out to dinner at a middle-of-the-road restaurant? At least $35 per person, and that wouldn’t include a glass of wine at most places. It’s unreal. What do people do on dates here?? I mean, I’ve never been a big fan of the typical, completely cliché “dinner and a movie” first date. But you wouldn’t even have that option here. And I’m all about options. Hmmm maybe I’ll go on a date while I’m here and I can report back on what we did. Hopefully something imaginative like strolling along the banks of the Rhine followed by a wine and cheese picnic. How fun would that be??

::extracting myself from fantasy land and returning to the bright light of harsh reality now::

Deodorant and American hygiene
Ok, I’m not going to be gross and go into detail here, but let’s just say that most Americans appreciate a good shower. A good, DAILY shower. Some of us even shower twice a day if we go to the gym. Not so for our European cousins. I’m not saying everyone here is like that, because they’re not. But a lot of amazing inventions, brilliant people and phenomenal artwork have come from this part of the world. So again, for such a progressive, intelligent society, you’d think less people would smell bad. I’m just sayin …

Screens
I will literally kiss the screens in the windows of my bedroom when I get home. It’s bad enough that this country loves the ozone layer too much to equip their buildings with air conditioning (I think it’s just a cover up—there has to be some other, more sinister reason to subject people to such harsh conditions. Maybe it’s a form of mind control? “If the people are too hot to think; they’ll do whatever we want them to do!” Hmmm, something to at least consider.). What’s worse is that there are no screens anywhere, including my apartment. And bugs love me, so basically there’s a big arrow pointing to my windows inviting the bugs to come in and harass me, which they happily do (until they meet an unhappy end on the bottom of my flip flop. I like to show them who’s boss.). Can’t a girl get a screen?!??

My Belle
I just can’t write a blog about what I miss without including pictures of my sweet Belle. I think this is a fitting way to close the ode to my homeland. Enjoy the photos, and it’s okay if you want to comment and tell me that I have the cutest dog in the WORLD. Because I do. :)

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!!!!!!