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

Naked statues, nudie beaches and Speedos—oh my! How Italy literally changed my life …

Hello, dear readers! You’ve probably forgotten about my promise to finish the grand European vacation summary with an account of my adventures in Florence and Cinque Terre. I know I did—well, almost. Lucky for you, my memory is firing on all cylinders today…

Before I jump in, I just need to say that I’M WATCHING YOU. No, that’s weird. But seriously. Blogger has this tracking thing that provides a report of how many people look at my blog, how many “hits” per day and even where the traffic is coming from (which websites refer people and which countries the viewers are in). It’s pretty cool! I’ve seen a huge increase in traffic to my blog from all over the world (which is neat-o, but also slightly creepy as I am positive I don’t have friends in Saudi Arabia, Russia or Denmark at this point). So, as long as you’re not a stalker, welcome to my blog! I hope you enjoy random musings from a silly American girl. And hey! How about a comment every once in awhile?

Back to it.

Florence was an oddly fascinating jumble of smells—sewage, tropical flowers and fresh dough were the three that stood out most. It wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience when I took a deep breath of doughy air only to realize at the end of the breath that it was no longer delicious, yeasty dough I was breathing in, but rather sewage from the nearest apartment building’s obviously worn-out pipes. I tried to stop taking so many deep breaths. But let me tell you, when the scent of flowers wafted through the air toward my nose, it was intoxicating. It actually reminded me of the smell of plumeria that permeates Hawaii. Oh, but wait. There’s that sewage again. So NOT Hawaii. But then again, Hawaii doesn’t have sculptures crafted by Michelangelo or two thousand year old buildings … or gelato. So, I’m not taking sides here.

Our first full day in Florence, Amanda and I went to a cooking class. It’s been a lifelong dream of mine to take a cooking class in Tuscany (see Bucket List post from a couple weeks ago). And while a half-day class only scratched the surface, it was by far one of the BEST days of our entire trip. The chef’s name is Melanie, and she’s an American who married an Italian years ago and moved to Italy to be with him. Their love story is one that rivals any fairytale (well, except maybe Beauty and the Beast, because clearly, nothing could rival that one …). I think someone should write a book about them, or at least a blog. But that’s another topic for another day. Anyway, she was amazing. If you’re ever in Florence or anywhere close to it, spend a day with Melanie in her outdoor kitchen in the middle of an olive grove with a view of the Tuscan countryside better than anything you’ll see in any photographs. Not only will you taste some of the best food of your LIFE, but you’ll get to experience the Tuscan culture as it’s meant to be experienced, and that’s a priceless way to spend a day. Some photos from our day together …

Did I mention we made gelato?

I’m totally buying a gelato machine once I get back to the United States.

After our amazing cooking class, we took a self-guided tour through Florence. And by “self-guided” I mean that we tried to get from the Uffizi Gallery to a famous garden whose name I can’t remember and spent hours wandering around, lost. Florence is a really confusing city, and I don’t think it was just me. But then again, I didn’t see anyone else who looked lost, so maybe it was. But regardless, getting lost is sometimes the best thing in the world in a new city (except that time I got lost in Chicago and ended up somewhere that resembled Detroit’s Eight Mile (sup, Eminem) on a bad day—that wasn’t good.) But in Florence, it was great! We ended up seeing all sorts of sights. Mainly really magnificent ancient buildings and naked statues. I’m not sure why, but the Italians REALLY love naked-man statues. Here I am trying to pull off a David.

Sometimes I wonder what I was thinking at the time. Do I seriously have no shame or sense of trying to NOT look like a tourist?? Oh well, the entire cast of Jersey Shore was in town the same time as me, so I’m positive I was less of an embarrassment to America than they were. After all, it’s all about comparisons …

I’m not sure I’ve given you any great insights into the city of Florence through this blog so far. So let me try to summarize before we move onto Cinque Terre. Florence is a beautiful city—larger than most other Tuscan cities with a mingling of rich, poor, pristine and gritty areas. It’s a place where some of the most magnificent artists in the world practiced their craft and left their mark on a world that will never be the same because of their skill. From Masaccio to Donatello to Michelangelo, if you want to see some of the most breathtaking art in the world, Florence is your place. Chapels, sculptures, paintings, architecture and more await you there. Along with real-life flavor of a big, Italian city with a lot of character, great food and friendly Italian people, Florence should be added to your bucket list of places to go before you die. And if you make it there, make sure you eat at Pitti Gola e Cantina. You won’t regret it (And the owners—three young guys—are super cute in case you’re interested in a little Italian eye candy. I’m just sayin’…).

Last but not least is possibly my favorite place in the world: The Cinque Terre on the Italian Riviera. I don’t actually have a lot to say about this place—not because I couldn’t go on and on about it—I think we all know I could. But I just don’t think my words could ever do it justice. This is a place you have to see to believe. It’s as if when God created it, He thought to Himself, “I’m going to make a place that, if I ever decide to leave heaven and live on earth for awhile, I wouldn’t get homesick because it looks exactly like home,” and thus, Cinque Terre was made. (A little trivia in case you’re ever on Jeopardy: Cinque Terre means "The Five Lands" and is composed of five villages: Monterosso al Mare, Vernazza, Corniglia, Manarola and Riomaggiore.)

I’ll just tell you one story about a life-altering experience I had while hiking the trail between the five towns that make up the Cinque Terre—a moment where something fundamental changed within me, and I don’t think I’ll never be the same again. It summarizes my time there …

I was hiking along the trail that hugs the cliffs of Cinque Terre and overlooks the Mediterranean Sea (which is, by the way, the clearest, bluest water I’ve ever seen). Amanda and I were fairly silent, because like I said, there’s just not much you can say when you come face-to-face with that kind of beauty and the utter magnificence of God’s creation. As we were walking, we had to be careful in some places, because the trail was steep or wearing away. It was at one of these parts I was looking down so as not to face plant and ruin my communion with nature. As I was about to take my next step, I saw a little spider making its way along the trail too, and my right foot came to a stop in mid air. I stared at the spider, and for the first time in my life, I didn’t feel compelled to kill it. In fact, I felt just the opposite. And not out of fear (the only reason I’ve ever let spiders live in the past), but because I was so overwhelmed by the beauty of the place—the raw, unadulterated, unblemished perfection of it—that I could never deprive any living thing of it. If that spider was lucky enough to live there, then shame on anyone who would intentionally take that away. I let a spider live so that it could experience the joy of living in that perfect place.

Cinque Terre changed me …

You can get an idea of why that happened from the pictures below. But I implore you--Go! See it for yourself!

Lest I end this blog on too serious a note and make you wonder “Who is writing this blog and what have they done with Carly?” let me tell you a couple other things about Cinque Terre: There is a nudie beach that apparently is one of the best beaches on the Italian Riviera. I didn’t test that opinion out last trip, but maybe when my mom comes to visit and we go back, we’ll check it out(kidding, mom). There are hand-painted signs all along the hiking trail that direct you to the naked beach. Obviously I’m five years old and thought it was funny, so I took a picture of one.

Second, God bless America for board shorts. If I see one more fat man in a little Euro-Speedo, I will literally barf. But hey—if I have to see it, so do you. :D Enjoy!

Next week, my mom will be here, and I’m SO excited to take her to Cinque Terre and share the magic with her. I’ll post pictures and let you know if I have anymore life-changing revelations.

Until next time, ciao!

xoxo

Carly

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!!!!!!