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I lived in Rome for four months, learned Italian, and learned how to live like a Roman. I tried new foods, interacted with new people, and absorbed a new culture. I saw the origins of Western Civilization, great masterpieces, and the ways of traditional life. For four months I filled every day as best I could with memorable experiences, constantly thinking about my life in Rome. Now, though, it all seems like a far-away dream.

Just before I left Rome, I started again to think of home (my town, Maine, as well as the United States). I remembered things like rock music, blueberries, and my mother's laugh. I yearned to hear the Rollings Stones or Fleetwood Mac, or to play ultimate frisbee on the beach. It was as if I had just awakened from amnesia – I had begun to remember my other life, my life in the States, and all its details, and I saw things there I had not seen before. An American culture formed before my eyes as the memories reappeared and danced around. Italian culture had been the center of my universe for four months with only minor interruption, but once I started to look back, a culture appeared there too, where I had never really seen one before.

So maybe that's it. Maybe the best benefit of studying abroad is not learning about another culture or language, as valuable as that is, but illuminating your own culture that we so often take for granted. Living in a different culture shows you the contrasts with your own, and thereby makes you realize that yours even exists.

Now, I'm home. I traded the car exhaust of the streets of Rome for the smell of pine trees in the spring. Instead of surroundings of ancient relics and marvels, I have New England's bricks and woodland, and Maine's beaches. Yes, I do miss Rome – how could I not? But at the same time, I'm glad I'm back here. There's something to be said for being comfortable again. I never felt uncomfortable in Rome, true, but it never felt like home; it always felt temporary, like an extended vacation. Rome was never easy, either: Speaking in a foreign language in most daily interactions with other people is tiring, exhausting even. Rewarding, of course, but to order a coffee in English again – as effortless as a wave of the hand – was truly a joy.

Posted by at 9:34 PM

Trains, Planes, and Hotels

I've almost finished up my semester here in Scotland, and this past weekend I finished up my travelling with a trip to Dublin. I thought this the perfect time to relate all my general travel experiences, in hope of bringing some wisdom to those looking to travel soon.

Of course, if you have money to spend, there is no point in reading this. I used to be a poor college student and now I'm a broke college student, so I'm usually on the hunt for good deals and will (sometimes) sacrifice quality and comfort for a few quid or euro. But either way, I've been there, and you may have not. So here's some musings on my experiences:

Trains: Trains, I think, are the best way to travel within a country. I've taken the train several times from London and Edinburgh up to Leuchars, travelling either on GNER or Scotrail. Train travel is (usually) much more relaxing and much less stressful than plane travel, and if you're travelling short distances and within a country, the security is nonexistent. (This really isn't to say I haven't felt safe. I've never felt unsafe on a train.) And besides this, you get to see things up close, like the countryside:

Now, the train to Paris is a little bit of a different story, since immigration and security are a must. I was patted down on the way to Paris (I always seem to set the thing off), but immigration wasn't terrible. From London Waterloo, I took the Eurostar to Gare de Nord, and slept the whole way since my train was at 5:30 AM one way and 6:30 AM the other.

Baggage can also be a little more of a hassle on the train, since you have to deal with it yourself. When my family came to visit over my Easter holiday, we had 6 people with 5 big bags, and it took all of us and some tight-space maneuvering to get the luggage on and off. Overall, though, I think trains are the way to go, if you can use them.

Planes: Unfortunately, you can't (usually) take a train over the ocean or the sea, so I flew to Dublin this past weekend. I flew Ryanair, which was possibly the most efficient airline ever. It also cost me 30 pounds, which is somewhere around 50 dollars (I try not to calculate it, it makes me sad), for my roundtrip ticket. Going into Dublin Airport I had to go through immigration, but not coming out. I still don't understand the immigration laws for the European Union although I am taking a class on citizenship this semester. Security is a big deal in Edinburgh, and there are signs up on the wall about flying near bird flu-infected areas. I was patted down again in Edinburgh.

Getting to and from the airport can sometimes be a hassle, especially if you live in a small town like I do. I took a train from Leuchars to Haymarket in Edinburgh, and then the airport express bus. From Dublin airport I took a city bus to my hotel. It seems that a trip never has just one or two legs of travel; I'm always getting on and off buses and trains and in and out of taxis only to get on and off of a plane.

As far as cheap airlines go, Europe is apparently the place for them. There's Ryanair and Easyjet, Jet2 and BMI, and I'm sure a host of other ones. All are booked almost exclusively online. However, the airfare that is posted is deceiving, and often doesn't include taxes and fees, which can run up to probably 40 pounds sometimes.

Hotels: I've stayed in a number of hotels this semester, but no hostels. I've had two "worst hotel ever" experiences, one in Aberdeen and one in Paris, but mostly I've had really good experiences. Overall, I recommend Expedia.com for hotel bookings, although good deals can be found on lastminute.com. If it's a deal you're looking for, and you don't mind public transportation, it might be worth it to look for a hotel a little out of the way. For example, my hotel in Dublin, the Jurys Croke Park, was outside of the city centre by about a mile, but it was a gorgeous hotel for only 100 dollars a night.

General Advice:
Get a guidebook. There are plenty to choose from; I recommend the "Let's Go" or Fodor's series.
If you have a lot to see and not a lot of time, use one of the hop on/hop off city bus tours.
If you're in a city, have a lot of time and not a lot to see, get out of the city for a day. Trish and I went to Howth for a day, outside of Dublin, just by taking the commuter train. We went on a cliff walk and sat by the ocean and had an overall relaxing day outside of the grime and bustle of Dublin.
Make sure you rest! If you sightsee all day and never get back to your hotel for a nap or never sit down for a real lunch, you won't get to experience the nightlife, which (at least for the younger set) can be the most interesting.

I'll leave off with some advice from a friend who was in London last semester. Before I came here, we had this conversation:
"So, as far as travelling goes, any advice?"
"Do a lot of it!"

Posted by at 7:44 AM

The joy (or horror) of driving in Greece

If you enjoy virtual-reality video games and want to test your driving skills, then travel to Rhodes, Greece.

Last week I visited fellow blogger Lauren there and we were joined by her mother and her friend. The bus system isn’t reliable and frequent, so the best way to see the island was to rent a car. Since automatics are rare and more expensive, we rented a small standard and I chauffeured us around the island for the week.

At first I was ecstatic to get in the driver’s seat for the first time since coming to Europe, but then I held a death grip on the steering wheel when I realized that motorists in Rhodes drive like the worst from Rhode Island and New Jersey.

The first day was the most nerve-wrecking, but fortunately I regained my composure and laid-back attitude for the rest of the trip.

In Rhodes Town, the city area of the island, streets are narrow and crowded like downtown Newport during the summer. I had to squeeze through lines of parked and moving cars, pedestrians and motorcyclists.

Finding a parallel parking spot was an adventure. Parking is only permitted in blue-marked areas and cars were jammed tightly within the streets. I parallel parked in a variety of ways, including on a hill and on the left side of the street.

Driving conditions weren’t any easier in other parts of the island. On the main coastal road leaving Rhodes Town toward the airport, cars sped through curvy areas uncomfortably narrow for two vehicles. Motorcyclists often came out of nowhere to speed between opposite lanes of traffic. Cars also passed on the left – even though there wasn’t a passing lane – and I wasn’t creaking along at grandma speeds.

Like Rhode Island, it’s rare to see motorists in Rhodes use their blinker.

Even more bizarre, the white lines on the road that actually did exist were faded and unclear. Stop signs, interestingly written in English, were usually 10 feet before the actual stop. It was helpful though that the traffic signs written in Greek had English translations.

The center of the island reminded me of New Hampshire forests, contrasting the palm tree and sandy environment along the coast. The roads through the Greek mountains were snaky with no lines and again, narrow. Occasionally another car would speed through and I was amazed at how they didn’t shoot off the cliff. But at least in the mountains it wasn’t crowded with living traffic obstacles, unlike the coastal areas.

Throughout the week I regularly asked Lauren, “Is this a 1-way street?”

To which she usually replied, “Nope! It’s a 2-way.”

Posted by at 7:02 AM

Spring Break

As some of you probably noticed, I went a long time without writing an entry. The reason for this was that I was traveling around Spain and Europe for my Spring Vacation. Spring vacation for me included the typical Spanish week off for Semana Santa (more to be explained shortly) and a second week off. During my free time I went to Barcelona for two days, visited a friend in Germany for three and then finished my trip off in Valencia.

I guess I should start off my story with a short description of Semana Santa (Holy Week). Semana Santa starts on Palm Sunday and lasts until Easter Sunday. The week is filled with processions led by what are called Nazarenos -- people dressed in a robe and a hat that covers the face (to hide the identity of the "sinner seeking forgiveness). In reality, these people scare me as they look very much like members of the KKK.

Here is a picture (photo from www.exploreseville.com).

The processions take place throughout Spain, but the most famous of these is in Seville, where millions of people come to see the festivities every year. Unfortunately I was unable to see one, but I was lucky enough to celebrate Easter in Germany and Palm Sunday in Barcelona.

In Barcelona, Palm Sunday was celebrated by, well, waving palms. Throughout the streets there were people waving what appeared to be branches cut off palm trees and dyed various colors. Another "celebration" I was witness to was Los Castellers de Barcelona. I call it a "celebration" because in reality it had nothing to do with Palm Sunday, it was just a live art show put on in the street. However this live art was like no other that I had seen before. This involved humans climbing up and down other humans to form a gigantic tower of people.

After Barcelona I was off to Germany to visit an old friend. Easter there is very much the same as an American Easter, except that apparently the whole egg tradition doesn't end at a young age as it does in the United States. Because of that I was lucky enough to revisit my childhood by painting/dyeing eggs and then later searching for them and various other small gifts in the backyard.

After Germany it was back to Spain and to the city of Valencia. Valencia for me was a time to relax and get my mind off the impending AP Exams, SAT Subject Test and work waiting for me back in Zaragoza. Because of that a lot of the time was spent at the beach. However I managed to visit a couple of sights. One of the more interesting things in Valencia is its market. Up until 1928 Valencia's central market was held in the streets, however in 1928 a building was constructed to house the market and protect it from the weather.

One of the main tourist attractions in Valencia is its aquarium. And while that may seem weird at first, it is obvious why once you see it and the area surrounding it. The aquarium is located among a mini-city of incredible architecture. The building the surround the aquarium are made up of architecture with incredible curves and buildings of amazing grandeur that just can not be translated well into words.

Thus concluded my spring break and a wonderful one it was at that.

Part of the city where the aquarium was in Valencia

Another part

A few from the "city" afar.

Part of the actual aquarium

The beginning of a person tower. It finished with about 8 layers of people.

Posted by at 3:58 PM

5 Days In Sevilla

Hey all. Yes I am still alive. I have been on vacation traveling around Spain and Europe for the last 3 weeks so I have been very busy. Spring break was a very busy time which I will be covering in a blog tomorrow, but first I wish to share with you all my experience in a Spanish school in Sevilla (known in English as Seville).

Being in an all-American school in Zaragoza, I never get the opportunity to be truly immersed in the language and the culture. I finally got my first chance in an opportunity offered by my school and I was lucky enough to get this opportunity in one of the most interesting cities in Spain: Sevilla.

The 5 Days in Sevilla program consists of 3 days of school and a weekend in Sevilla all while living with a new host family.

My new host family consisted of a brother who had just turned 16 a few weeks earlier and his mother and father. It was with my new host brother that I would go to school with during the week. I was one of three kids from my school that went to Sevilla the same week I did. However one of the goals of the trip was to make it as independent as possible. We had to buy our tickets on our own (thus sitting apart from each other on the train) and we were supposed to have as little contact as possible with the other two once we arrived in Sevilla. Now of course since I was in the same class as one of them it wasn't perfect, but we all did the best we could.

Being just one of three true English speakers in the school, we were bombarded with questions about the United States, questions like "Does everyone own a gun?" or "Do you always eat at McDonalds?" or other questions along those lines. After I calmed peoples fears that Americans weren't just fat people that sat on their porches shooting people all day, they started to make conversation and make us (meaning me and the other kid from my school) part of the group.

Since the two other students and I did not have anything to do during class we would visit other English classes to talk and help out in each class. Our basic role in each class was to answer the kids' questions that the teacher told us would be simple. Oh were we in for a shock. First of all, these classes were some of the loudest I had ever been in. The kids talked the entire class, nonstop. Second, their simple questions are not simple at all. How many 17-year-olds do you know who know exactly what they want to be when they grow up? I certainly don't know many. For me the simple questions like "What's your favorite movie?" or "What's your favorite band?" are hard because I don't have one specific one. And to top it off they learn British English so there was a little confusion. One memorable mix-up was the definition of mascot. The question was "What is your mascot?” Pretty simple question, no? Not at all. Apparently in British English mascot means pet. You can only imagine how such answers such as a Quaker (Moses Brown's "mascot") and a door (one girl went to Deerfield where their mascot is a door) would have confused them.

The weekend was another memorable experience. Friday night I got to witness some drama between my new host brother and one of his friends. My host brother felt that his friend was spending too much time with his girlfriend and not with their group of friends. I stayed out of that whole battle, leaving it to them to sort out. Saturday we did the typical teenage thing. We went to see a movie (Date Movie, a really dumb movie but incredibly funny) and hung around in the center of Sevilla. We walked by the beautiful bull ring and by the famous cathedral with its amazing tower that has a great view of the city. The day was finished off by watching F.C. Barcelona battle it out against Real Madrid in the biggest soccer rivalry in Spain (it is like Red Sox vs. Yankees). The game finished in a 1-1 tie.

Overall the 5 days experience was one that immersed my almost fully into the true Spanish life. A life that included Spanish school, hanging out with friends until late at night, watching soccer and just enjoying life. To top it off it helped my Spanish immensely as I noticed a huge difference in my Spanish when I arrived back in Zaragoza to resume my normal life. Of course shortly after this I went on Spring break where I would barely hear a word of Spanish, but that is a story to be told tomorrow.

Posted by at 9:09 PM

My Neighbor the Pope

It was a very warm spring day when I stood in the massive line that circumscribed Saint Peter's Square. I waited, along with thousands of others, to get into Saint Peter's Basilica for Good Friday Mass. When in Rome, you have to, no matter who you are, no matter whether you're Christian, Jew, Buddhist, Atheist, or Wiccan. The sheer splendor, size, and shine of Saint Peter's insists on being experienced as it is meant to be, and that is the experience I intended to have.

In a city of just over three million people there are over three hundred churches, many of them dating back five hundred years, and some of those a thousand years more. Rome was and continues to be a religious capital on the order of Jerusalem or Mecca. Washington DC has politicians and lawyers; Rome has priests, monks, and nuns.

Saint Peter's Basilica is Rome's Wailing Wall or Dome of the Rock. A Renaissance construction, it dwarfs everything around it all the way to the tall apartment buildings in the suburbs. Its dome pierces the skyline and almost conquers it completely if it were not for the nearby Janiculum Hill. Inside it is even more massive – you have no choice but to feel like a flea on the cosmic blanket that is this church. Its easy to assume that it had to have been built by giants in some previous age. I was there last Friday, sitting in a chair to the right of the main aisle, listening to mass.

The Pope was there, of course, with a retinue of cardinals in their typical red suits. He was in his plush red throne, reserved only for the rump of his Holiness, at the front of the basilica beneath a massive bronze and gold canopy (a Bernini masterpiece of the 16th century) – he too was only a white speck of a figure in the church's wide landscape.

The mass, as it turned out, was a special traditional mass held only on Good Friday and only special days of the year. Much to my surprise, it ended up being two and a half hours of Latin chant instead of readings in Italian. Though my patience wore thin as the sun set on the other side of the dome's massive windows, the experience was unique. I could imagine the farmers and merchants of the Middle Ages, the nobles and scholars of the Renaissance attending mass in this space and being awed by its unearthly perfection, its colossal size, and its spiritual aire.

Its all very impressive and special, yes, but if you're an Italian its just part of everyday life. The Pope is a celebrity beloved by all Romans, but really a lot like the next door neighbor, a beloved member of the community. In such a tightly knit city, God's chief earthly representative becomes as close to everyone as the fishmonger or the fruit vendor down the street. That does not mean they lack reverence for the man or the other clergy. Much to the contrary. When Pope John Paul died, Romans swarmed Saint Peter's Square and held vigils for days well before the media or the pilgrims arrived. Then when Pope Benedict was elected, the Romans all dropped their work, closed their shops, and went as fast as their feet and mopeds could take them to the Square.

I remember a story from weeks ago: I was walking by the Vatican one night when I saw ahead of me two police cars parked along the side of the road. As I approached, I made out five uniformed policemen. At the moment I passed, a cardinal complete with red hat appeared and was greeted by the policemen. I walked in silent awe as the policemen each in turn bowed and kissed the cardinal's hand. Then they chatted like old friends until I was well out of sight.

Posted by at 2:09 PM

Independent Ireland - 90 Years in the Making

Yesterday, Ireland celebrated Easter Monday. And though the holiday is better known as Patriots Day back home, canonized in the sports world by the Boston Marathon and a matinee Sox game, in Ireland it was a bit different.

On Easter Monday, 1916, a small sect of the Irish population staged a militant revolt against English colonization and prejudicial rule. The band of militia, made up of politicians, radicals, poets, and ordinary citizens, stormed strategic points of British military control.

Once the group gained control of the General Post Office, a massive structure located in the heart of the city, they read a declaration of independence (“Easter Proclamation”) from the steps. For the first time in centuries, Ireland began life as an independent republic.

The rest, as the cliché goes, is history.

The movement was quickly squashed by the mighty British military, resulting in many lives being lost. The leaders were executed in the subsequent weeks, fuelling support for the republic.

Eventually, Ireland became an independent country – save, of course, for Northern Ireland – and the Easter Rising, as it became known, was forever etched into hearts and history books alike.

To celebrate the 90th anniversary of such a momentous occasion in Irish history – comparatively akin to the 4th of July in America – the entire city shut down.

So, after attending Easter service, my friends and I strolled down to the city centre, to the very spots of revolt, enjoying an all too rare sunny day.

We strained to watch an elaborate and parade and even get a glimpse President Mary McAleese. We watched as tanks and armoured cars, soldiers, and marching bands all paid unique tribute to the holiday.

Less “globalized” and epicurean than the St. Patrick’s Day parade, the Easter Rising celebration was more of a grateful homage to those who paid the blood sacrifice to a fledgling independent nation.

As we hummed along to Irish national tunes (mainly “Molly Malone”), we could not help but get swept along with the spirit of nationalism and pride of the Irish people. Were it not for the indepence movement 90 years ago, we realized, we would not be here today.

--

Posted by at 6:35 AM

Spring? Not yet for glacier skiers

Some people ski on mountains and hills, but Austrians can ride on a glacier just outside of Innsbruck.

I was beginning to get used to springtime weather, when I ventured to Stubaier Gletscherbahn, where the highest point is over 3,000 meters (9,843 feet). With that elevation, people can ski year-round.

It snowed all day at the glacier. There was already a ton of accumulation because when my friend skied off the trail, the snow cleared his waist.

I opted to stay on the trails and had a blast carving through the soft powder. Falling on the snow was like sinking into a cloud; except for the time I went head first and then had to dig my face out for air. But that didn’t hurt, nor was I stuck under the snow for long.

One time in the morning, I took a chairlift that landed above the 2,900 meter point. It was so windy that I could barely stand up on my snowboard—and that wasn’t even the highest point. As I began to go down the trail, the visibility was extremely low and I could barely see the bright red trail markers. However there weren’t such harsh winds or unclear conditions at lower parts of the glacier.

By the end of the day, the front sections of my long hair looked like two big, white icicles. The bottom half of my face below my goggles was tomato red and wind burned. I even had a snowy white mustache under my nose.

Despite my resemblance to the Abominable Snowman, I still had the most incredible day of snowboarding. But I do recommend wearing a ski mask.

Posted by at 7:00 AM

Haggis, Neeps and Tatties

It's a fitting time, I think, to describe the traditional Scottish food, as my family just left all fat and happy and my classmates just returned from places like Barcelona and Florence where they eat quite differently from the Scots.

If you're planning a trip to the UK, you've probably noticed on your hotel voucher that your room includes a Full Scottish (or English) Breakfast. Breakfast, to me, is the best meal of the day here, although it is no question different from American breakfast. There aren't Lucky Charms or any sugary cereals for breakfast. (Rumor has it Lucky Charms are illegal here, but you can order them online through AmericanSoda.co.uk) Porridge is usually on the menu, along with mushrooms, grilled or stewed tomatoes, fried bread, potato scones and black pudding. My grandfather tried black pudding while he was here, even though I warned him...I don't think it's exactly something Americans might call normal. At breakfast, you might find some kind of fruit, although I think America is bigger about fruit than the rest of the world.

I have a feeling that lunch here is generally lighter fare. Usually I have a jacket potato or some soup. "Jacket," I think, is a fancy word for "baked," although I've heard that some places will take the insides out of the potato and mix them up with the filling before returning it to the skin. Fillings for jacket potatoes include cheese and beans, coronation chicken (which is a bit like chicken curry), chilli, and a number of other things. The Scots truly know how to make potatoes, too, and I can see how a potato famine would do a number on these people. Potatoes are served with every meal, and are incredibly big.

Soup is another thing the Scots have gotten right. Soup here is not like American soup. It isn't Cambell's Chicken Noodle; in fact, it often doesn't have broth (unless the soup is Scotch Broth) and is pretty much just pureed ingredients. In my hall, it's not unusual to find an entire mushroom in mushroom (not cream of mushroom) soup. Sometimes it does need some salt and pepper, but everything here is a bit bland, so salt and pepper have become staples.

Fish and chips are just as big here as in Rhode Island on a Friday. They are very much like Rhode Island's fish and chips, too, but much less greasy. My family was very impressed. I haven't tried them, as I generally try to avoid fried things, but the grilled haddock I had was delicious.

Speaking of chips, chips and cheese is the Brit's version of pizza. Where at Colgate everyone would stop at Slices after a night out, at St. Andrews, everyone ends up at Empire for chips (french fries) and cheese. Not exactly chilli cheese fries you would get in the States, these are more like McDonald's fries with grated cheese on top.

Snack foods in general are a bit different here. I rarely find pretzels, and the times I have found them (in big cities, mainly), they have been made of (surprise!) potatoes. The crisps (potato chips) come in all sorts of weird flavors, like pickled onion, steak and lamb and mint. Chocolate chip cookies are hard to come by, but Cadbury eggs are abound, no matter if it's Easter season or not.

The most different thing of all, however, has got to be haggis. It's infamous, I think, and many people have asked if I've tried it (that's a resounding NO). Basically, it's a sheep's organs all mushed up with other ingredients and shoved in the stomach, and then boiled, usually served with mashed rutabaga (neeps) and potatoes (tatties). Not something for someone even kind of picky about their food.

If you've noticed, I haven't really included poultry on here. I don't think it's eaten quite as much as in the states, which is good in light of the bird flu scare. But we're all avoiding it, either way.

Posted by at 5:53 AM

Embracing the Greek Culture

I know that I have not been posting lately, well hardly at all. By no way am i trying to create excuses, but I have been trying to embrace the Greek culture, which does not involve the internet.

The Greek culture is filled with laid-back cafes and places to pick up a cheap gyro (only about 3 Euros), but only a few internet cafes. Even in these cafes it is mainly tourists who are checking their email. So unfortunately it has not been a top priority to get myself online, which has caused this blog to suffer in return. However, since I am now at an Internet cafe, I will give a quick rundown of what I have been up to in the past month or so.

It's been the same old routine with classes, but there were two very welcomed interruptions. The first was that I traveled the mainland of Greece for about five days as a sort of "field trip" for the program. We stopped at almost every major tourist site including the Acropolis in Athens, the Oracle of Delphi, and the Olympic Stadium. It was very rushed and I spent many hours on a bus, but it was all worth it to be able to see everything that we did. The other trip was one that I took with a couple girlfriends to Barcelona, Spain. We stayed in a hostel for six nights and met a variety of people from around the globe. This trip was focused more on nightlife than seeing the sites and it was a nice change of scenery from what we were used to.

As for the rest of the time in Rhodes, we have rented cars and driven around the island to explore where the buses will not take us, such as the southern tip of the island (where there is amazing snorkeling) and Lindos (where there is a castle on top of a hill that you can ride donkeys up to)! Easter is almost here, which is the official kick-off of tourist season, so I'm sure I will find plenty more things to explore as more businesses begin to open.

I only have one more month in Rhodes, so I will try my hardest to write more often! After that I will be in Dion, Greece for a three week summer course and then who knows after that. Maybe island hopping? The possibilities are endless...

Posted by at 4:16 AM

On Politics

On Sunday and Monday, the people of Italy elected a new government. For months the advertisements and political banterings have been everywhere, and now its over. Well, not really, because politics in Italy - much like in the United States of late - are far from simple.

Politics in Rome usually takes the form of posters. Everywhere there are poster boards - like miniature billboards - that have been covered with poster after poster pasted to one another. I walk down the street and there are literally piles of posters eight inches deep hanging down off these boards. Political candidates and parties love these as a form of advertisement, and frequently wallpaper entire streets with dozens of the same poster in rapid succession. Of course, its only days before they're ripped, covered, or graffitied.

Speaking of which, graffiti is another public way that Romans participate in politics. Italian political parties and coalitions identify themselves not by their name, but by their logo, which lends itself charmingly to graffiti. In Rome, I have found the graffiti to be very legible, and most often about one of three things: politics, soccer, or some kid's undying love for another. Graffiti has been in Roman blood since the time of the Caesars. Everywhere there are anarchist symbols, icons of the Christian Democrats, the Socialists and the Communists, and colorful insults of all sorts of figures, though primarily Silvio Berlusconi, the (former) leader of the government.

Silvio is a man both hated and loved. In my very non-professional analysis of the Italian psyche, it’s clear to me that Italians love fame - and Berlusconi's got it. He's the richest man in the country, owning everything from soccer teams to television stations. He's also a very attractive man, having had both a facelift and hair transplants (though those may, or may not, be rumors). He's shrewd, smart, charming and charismatic, and thus has a devout following akin to the groupies of the Beatles. But he's not exactly perfect: he has been accused of illegal activities both in business and in government; he has led the government into a period of zero economic growth and non jobs; and he has often made comments that are...shall we say, unbecoming of a head-of-state, such as the day not long ago when he accused the Chinese people of boiling their own babies. Or before that, when he compared himself to Jesus. Or the time when he said he'd abstain from sex with his wife until the election was over. The Italians love drama, and Berlusconi gives it to them.

His opponent, Romano Prodi, ran a campaign totally opposite that of Berlusconi in every way. He himself is a quiet man, an intellectual with thick glasses and wrinkles – the Italians call him “The Professor”. He made small appearances in small places, spoke softly and without the panache and hyperbole of his opponent. He made himself look to be everything that Berlusconi wasn’t, and that included wisdom and the ability to govern. When coupled with the ailing economy, this, more than anything else, was the fulcrum of the entire campaign.

So there I was last Friday in the Piazza del Popolo, one of the biggest squares in Rome surmounted with an enormous 3,500-year-old Egyptian obelisk. That afternoon Prodi’s coalition was having a pre-election rally: they had bands playing, free stuff and political information/propaganda, balloons, and enormous flags emblazoned with party logos. It was quite an affair, and overwhelmed the humble piazza. The last polls had been taken some days before: in Italy there is a law (I think) preventing polling near the election date, as it is feared they might skew undecided voters. Those polls had placed the two coalitions neck and neck, though with Prodi’s party a nose ahead.

Then came the election days, Sunday and Monday (another law, I believe, allowing everyone ample opportunity to vote on the most common days off from work). By Monday night, the news had gradually leaked out: the election was “razor-thin”. And it was. Even as I write this the result is in dispute: Prodi’s coalition won the lower house of parliament by just a few seats (25,000 votes), and the upper house by two seats out of three hundred fifteen. The nation voted en masse, with a turnout of 84 percent. Berlusconi, typically, refuses to concede and is vocally contesting the results, claiming that there were irregularities, while Prodi already is rallying his troops for the new government.

Reporting live from Miami-Dade County, Italy. Stay tuned.

Posted by at 12:25 PM

Review: An Austrian hostel with character and location

Nepomuk’s Bed and Breakfast in Innsbruck is easy to miss, but it’s a steal for 20 euros a night.

The hostel is above Café Munding in the heart of the Aldstadt and is about a minute walk from Maria-Theresien Strasse, which is the main street in the city.

My apartment-styled accommodation, which I shared with two friends, included a single full-size bathroom and kitchen stocked with utensils, coffee and tea.

It also featured a balcony with a view of the mountains. There were no enclosed windows, but there was a roof which protected the loveseat, tables and chairs from any possible rain. Useful brochures and maps were stacked on a table and tips for enjoying the city, along with city bus schedules, were posted on the bulletin board.

We stayed in a comfortably-sized four-person bedroom and shared the kitchen, bathroom and balcony with travelers in two other rooms. Linens and a small towel were included.

The layout of the hostel made it easier for us to meet other guests. On the first night, we played cards and went out with two girls from England.

Breakfast is also included in the overnight cost. Vouchers cover cereal, rolls with jam, coffee, tea and hot chocolate, which are served in the café from 8 – 11 a.m. Pastries and other food can be purchased for an additional cost.

While there are stated breakfast hours, the time is actually flexible. If 8 a.m. is too late, then guests are given a packed meal the night before. When we did this, we received an orange, apple juice and two meat sandwiches.

And if 11 a.m. is too early, then guests may bring their vouchers to the café and receive a pastry, Tina, the woman in charge of reservations, said.

Overall the hostel was a hit. While there was a range of different age groups staying there (a mother and her teenage daughter, a couple of friends in their thirties and college students), the unique features of Nepomuk’s gave it a relaxing and fun atmosphere for a great price.

My friend Keith Mayotte talking on the phone in our room.

Top right: The Alps view from the balcony, with the sun fading into my camera lens.

Posted by at 7:50 AM

Revisiting Morocco

Having been asked by close friends and family members to explain more about my trip to Morocco and the Sahara, I have decided to write a short entry on riding a camel, since it is such a rare experience and Rhode Islanders are probably more interested in that.

First, to review, we woke up at around 4 or 5 in the morning to the sound of a camel braying. I jumped at this sound, since it was loud and very close to our enclave of tents. At first, I didn't know what to think. Then, I had this vision of some wild desert animal tearing through the Berber camp and destroying everything in its path until being tackled by 34 American University students and a program assistant. When I realized it was a camel, I relaxed and tried to shield my ears. One of the Berbers then gave the offending camel some food and quieted it.

As we left our tents and headed out of our camp and into the dark morning, we were surprised to see a pack of 40 or so camels seated on the ground. Our program director had told us we would "wake up early and see the sunrise." But she didn't say anything about mounting any animals. Some of the camels were chewing cud or some leaves when we approached, which didn't make me very comfortable, since I know that camels can spit very far (which they love to do). Most of the AU students were eyeing these "horses of the desert" suspiciously. One by one, the Berbers began taking students and plopping them on top of the seated camels. There were five camels seated in a line in front of me; I sat down on top of the third camel and waited for further instructions.

The saddles on top of the camels were these large, triangle-shaped contraptions draped across either side of the camel, with a metal "T" mounted in the front. The saddles were covered by blankets or mini-rugs. I could see some desert shrub leaves and greens shoved in between the blanket and the saddle of the camel in front of me. The leaves provide extra padding and can also be used to feed or persuade a stubborn camel to keep moving ahead, if needed. Some of the camels were already acting up when we arrived, so I kept wondering whether we would need to resort to "carrot on a string" tactics to urge along these restless beings.

After everyone mounted their camels, the Berbers then went down the lines of camels. They tapped the first camel in our mini-caravan to signal that it was time to rise. The camel rose, hind legs first, and Liz, the first in our line, went flying up into the air. Luckily, she held on tight. Then, the camel rose on its front legs until it was perfectly upright. Then Marissa's camel rose in the same manner, and then mine, until all the camels were upright and all five AU students were holding on tight. And it was necessary to hold on tight. If you've never ridden a camel, you should know that it feels like riding on a rocky boat. Nobody got motion sickness, but every step the camels took in the soft Sahara sand was another lurch forward. Going downhill was worse. When the camels reached the dunes and started trudging downhill, I fell against the metal "T" and felt like I was losing control. My camel also had this bad habit of wanting to run ahead of the other camels in front of it (Just my luck that I get the camel who wants to win the Olympic 100-meter dash). But since all the camels are tethered together, this complicates things. Fortunately, I didn't fall off and my camel seemed content to just poke its nose into the saddle of the camel in front of it and slightly molest Marissa. No harm, no foul. I eventually relaxed and just tried to enjoy the desert in the dark, lit only by the stars. It was fun, and I eventually got to sense when and in which direction my camel was going to move as I rode.

Here is a picture I borrowed from Marissa, showing us in the camel caravan.

And this is one borrowed from Jessica that captures some good silhouettes of us against the early morning sky, riding our camels through the desert.

Just before the sun rose, we stopped at a very tall dune and, one by one, dismounted, starting with the first camel (front legs first, followed by hind legs) and continuing down the line. There, we climbed up the dune and watched the beautiful sunrise. It was fun running up the dune, but it was very steep and I still found it difficult (though less so than my fellow participants) to run through the sand despite having run cross-country for many years. I would like to see a state meet cross-country course on a sand dune. Now THAT would be a challenge!

After staying there for about an hour, we trudged downhill and mounted the camels once more before returning to our camp. I really liked riding the camel, but I think I prefer more modern forms of transportation, which can at least ensure a smooth ride and prevent "saddle soreness" from setting in afterward.

Posted by at 5:44 PM

Spring Break in Paris

My spring break had a couple of parts to it: the first in Oxford, then London, then a quick weekend in Paris before meeting my parents back in London for some UK travelling. Although I had an amazing time in all of the places, my juiciest travel stories come from Paris...

When I was in London the first time I checked my email to find two worried parents and several worried grandparents checking in on me, and asking me to maybe reconsider my trip to Paris, which was to be the next day (Thursday the 1st). As all normal people my age, I ignored the warnings about the protests from my parents and got on the train. (Mind you, to get on the train, I had to wake up at 3 am and leave my hotel in London at 3:30. Someone told us it was a 45 minute cab ride to Waterloo, where it actually was 15 minutes, and check-in for the Eurostar didn't even start until 4:45.)

The seven of us (five other girls and one guy) arrived in Paris at 9:30 and attempted to hail a van to our hotel, which, we found, was not on a map. The van driver struggled with his English while we struggled with our French, and somehow, eventually, we found it: the Hotel Amarys Simart (read: worst hotel ever.) We threw our stuff in the baggage room and headed off to the Louvre.

All of the sightseeing parts of Paris were amazing; as were all the shopping parts. I tried to get as much done in two days as possible. I climbed to the top of the Eiffel Tower:

I saw the Mona Lisa and the Venus de Milo, I looked in the window at Cartier, which, excitingly enough, is across the street from the Arc de Triomph:

and ventured out to Versailles:

The most exciting parts, however, were the glitches.

We didn't have hot water in our hotel for the first 36 hours. We lost a friend at the Eiffel Tower; luckily she (somehow) found the hotel after about three hours. We crammed our way into the smallest hotel rooms in Paris and bickered a little, as six girls often do. However, we ate the best crepes and pastries, saw the greatest sights, enjoyed the most beautiful weather, and now I can say I saw Paris in the springtime.

Posted by at 1:40 PM

Nationalism, Prejudice and Identity

We have been talking a lot about nationalism in class lately, both in seminar and my security issues class. Nationalism is actually being discussed by many people in Spain, from teenagers on the street to people riding the Metro to work. I think this is due partly to the ETA ceasefire that I blogged about earlier, and the response from different factions within and outside of the government. Recently, I have seen some posters hanging in the windows of some businesses reading: "Zapatero: Traidor" or "Zapatero: Traitor." Clearly, these people do not like the fact that the president and his party are trying to negotiate with ETA to work toward establishing a permanent peace. This sentiment is understandable, especially from the point of view of those who lost family members or friends in any of the ETA terrorist attacks.

But what struck me most about this situation with ETA is that it has stirred up a lot of "anti-nationalist" sentiment. I use "anti-nationalist" in quotes because it is really more in opposition to Basque or Catalonian nationalism, or anything that does not adhere to mainstream Spanish "Castilian" culture. The extent of this anti-minority, pro-Castilian feeling seems to be escalating, much like isolationism and nativist sentiment have been awoken by the recent debates in the U.S. over the Dubai port deal and immigration from Latin America.

I was a bit unsettled by the emergence in Spain of this nativist sentiment. One of the host brothers from our program, Danny, said that after the March 11 attacks by Al-Qaeda, there was a resurgence of anti-Basque sentiment, due in part to the fact that the government kept insisting (despite evidence to the contrary) that ETA was behind the attacks. Danny said that he heard some people start shouting anti-Catalonian slogans, even though there was no logical link between the Catalonians (who have been very peaceful in their quest for independence) and the Basques, let alone between the Basques and the train bombings. It apparently didn't matter to those people: they voiced their hate for the Basques and decided that, while they were at it, they could also voice hate and make violent threats against other non-Castilian groups. And this is why I think the re-emergence of this form of nationalism is so unsettling.

Anyone who studies Spain's history knows that for many years, Spain was ruled by Francisco Franco, a dictator who tried to form a unified, fascist Spain where non-Castilian national identities were almost completely eliminated. Spain's political and economic position from the end of the Spanish Civil War in the late 1930s to the 1950s, when the borders and markets were opened to foreigners, also exacerbated the situation, resulting in a very homogenous culture. These elements have contributed to a strong pro-Castilian nationalism, but hostility towards Basque, Catalonian or Galician nationalism. It also carries over in other ways: for example, there is a lot of prejudice against Moroccans or North Africans due in part to Spain's history under Muslim and North African rule and to the desire of some people to ignore Spain's African roots in order to establish a "European" Spain that is largely Castilian and Roman Catholic, and nothing more. This has been exacerbated in recent years by increased immigration from North Africa and tensions between native Spaniards and those immigrants.

Not all Spaniards share these sentiments, just as not all Americans express anti-immigrant feelings. But I think that both societies still have much progress to make in the way that they deal with minorities. One of my classmates lent me a very interesting book on race in America, entitled "Why Are All the Black Kids Sitting Together in the Cafeteria?" It was very informative and hit the nail on the head regarding some of the issues we talk about (or don't talk about) concerning prejudicial attitudes in America. Reading that book, seeing the immigration debates in the U.S. on TV and the Internet, and hearing and seeing the Castilian "purists" in the news certainly started me thinking about the rhetoric we use towards minority groups, whether they be racial, religious, ethnic or defined by some other social construct.

These issues have also caused me to think about one of my friends. An Asian-American studying abroad in Spain, she is enjoying herself, but is shocked at the often prejudicial attitudes or comments she will receive from ordinary Spaniards on the street. She is Korean, and is tired of being referred to as "china" (pronounced "CHEE-na") or Chinese. I will grant you that there are very few Asians in Spain, especially when compared to other countries, and some of these comments or gestures (such as slanting their eyes) may just be ignorance due to a lack of exposure. The people doing this may not even know or understand how hurtful their attitudes can be. My friend, though offended, is open-minded and tries to understand the social context in which most Spaniards are operating. And, as I mentioned before, there are others who do not make the comments or gestures who just treat people as people.

Regardless, I do think some discussion of these issues is warranted. In fact, by comparing the social situations in Spain, or the United States, or in any other country, we may even be able to single out what certain countries or cultures do things better, and where they fall short. Either way, it would be a lot more constructive then playing the "blame and stereotype" game that usually occurs when such issues are discussed. It also keeps us grounded in reality: as much as we might not want to admit it, we (as in human beings) still have much to learn in the way of tolerance. This can be applied to any social construct, whether racial, ethnic, religious, or even in terms of lifestyle or others' political affiliations (for example, a liberal being open-minded towards a conservative's ideas or beliefs).

But life does move on, and not all is bleak or hopeless. My friend and I are enjoying our time in Spain, we are taking the good with the bad and are looking forward to more exciting adventures and experiences.
Until I write again: hasta luego.

Posted by at 2:03 PM

A nice "Welcome home" from the birds...

I've been on holiday for two weeks, and there is much to catch up on about that...but I'm sure you would all like to hear about the bird flu. As if you haven't gotten enough of it.

I was away from St. Andrews from the 25th of March until today, and I refused to check in with the "real world" via email or phone or internet or, for the most part, TV. That is, until this morning, when I woke up in my hotel in Edinburgh with my grandparents to find the BREAKING NEWS: bird flu has invaded the UK! Not a big deal, I thought, I think I heard it was in France and I was just there a few days ago. Plus, Europe is still big, and so is the UK. But then I heard it was in Scotland. And, even more than that, it was found in a dead swan near Anstruther, which is about 10 miles from St. Andrews. So I guess I should be worrying, even a little bit.

My parents are here visiting for the second half of my Easter break, and they seem to be worrying a little more than I am. Of course, they're heading home on Saturday, and their fears are more about being quarantined and leaving me behind than their next two days of possible exposure. I'm thinking about what precautions I'll be taking for my last two months here in Scotland, which will include avoiding my daily 2 hard-boiled egg whites as long as I can find some other source of protein that isn't lamb or pork (both of which seem to be staples here, and neither of which I like), and probably stiffening up whenever I see a stray dirty feather. But other than that, what can I do?

I would advise watching the AP websites for further stories about the fate of the Scottish and their poultry, while I'll be watching my own fate...

Posted by at 4:10 PM

And then God said, Let there be Bread!

And there was, and it was good. I've decided to celebrate the levity that the Roman spring has brought with a short bit about bread. Yes, thats right, bread. It is the staple of Italian cuisine, and we're not talking about your mother's Wonderbread here. The Romans have no qualms with carbohydrates, and if you're ever in Italy, you won't either.

In Rome, bread is rich. It comes in large, thick loaves made with generous amounts of olive oil and salt, giving a thick texture and rich taste. The crust is hard and crunchy, but the inside is soft and doughy, like a good bread should be. This is a bread that is delightful all by itself. But the Romans also get creative with their bread. They often make what essentially amounts to plain pizza dough, baked with copious amounts of olive oil on top, and served just as is. Simple, but absolutely delicious.

The Florentines and the people of the Tuscany region, however, prefer their bread unsalted. Salt, if you know nothing about cooking, is what brings out the flavor in everything. Not only this, but they do something to the dough - I'm not sure what exactly - that makes the resulting bread airy and light. Therefore, Florentine bread is crumbly and almost totally tasteless: its like eating air. But the Florentines never intended you to eat their bread alone. Its faults make it perfect to put things on top of it: leftover pasta sauce, olive oil from the bottle, cheeses, meats, whatever. It is the simple vehicle of the condiment, and will no doubt increase the joy of that addition, without overpowering it.

But in Ravenna, the ancient Byzantine capital of Italy on the Adriatic coast, bread becomes decidedly weird. Its flat. In fact, its made from just flour and water and a pinch of salt, then cooked fast on a greased griddle. Imagine a tortilla. Yes, you can eat this stuff by itself, and its not bad, but its really meant to be the canvas for what the Ravennites call the "piadine", what we Americans know to be a wrap. They stuff all sorts of things (olives, meats, cheeses, vegetables, greens, spices, whatever) onto a large round disc of this bread and roll it up. Whether this is a modern invention or not, I do not know, but the result is just scrumptious. You wont find this bread - or any bread - at dinner, however. For that meal the Ravennites prefer thin, crunchy breadsticks.

This is Italy. If every region of Italy has its own way of making bread, the staple of life for thousands of years, then each region also must - and does - have unique ways of doing everything. Each region, almost each city of Italy has its unique culture and lifestyle, down to such trivial things as bread. In my experience, traveling to a few of these regions ignites some sort of primal desire to acquire and collect, and thereafter comes the compelling need to visit all the nooks and crannies of this tiny country in an effort to find all the little regional idiosyncrasies. But these different peoples are not entirely different, they are still united by some common traits, practices, and philosophies. One of those, unquestionably, is the universal worship and love of bread.

Posted by at 12:39 PM

I rode a camel through the Sahara!

I just returned from a week-long trip to Morocco and it was unlike anything I had ever imagined!

We flew from Madrid to Marrakech, in the southwest of Morocco, and from there took a bus into the mountains to Ourzazate, a town near the edge of the Sahara. We were accompanied by a Berber tour guide named Omar, who took us to his tribe's camp in the southeast of Morocco. The Berbers were extremely hospitable, and allowed our group of 37 students (some people brought along their significant others) and instructors to ride their camels through the Sahara.

After being awoken by the braying of camels (which sounded like a cross between a car horn and someone being murdered) at 4 in the morning, we mounted our camels and rode until we stopped at the top of a dune 60 kilometers from the Algerian border and watched the sun rise. Sunlight mixed with shadow, creating a stunning view of the Sahara in the early morning hours.

One of the other things I noticed while in Morocco was the extent of poverty in some of the cities we visited. Near the tourist attractions, Moroccan children surrounded us and held out their hands for money or other tokens. Our group gave them ballpoint pens, which are expensive for Moroccan children to buy when attending school. The children would run at top speed to snatch the pens from our hands or the hands of others who were too slow. Although it was difficult for some members of our group to see so many children begging on the street or following us around, I think the contrast between the places we visited and the wonderful treatment we received in the hotels or at the Berber outpost made us realize how fortunate we are to have this opportunity. It was a humbling yet gratifying experience. I never would have thought I'd be able to travel to Africa, let alone ride a camel in the middle of the Sahara. I am grateful that American University's study abroad program has allowed me to take advantage of these opportunities.

Morocco is a beautiful country, and has many diverse landscapes, ranging from the desert to the mountains to lush, green fields to cool, shady oases. The temperature varies throughout the day, from baking hot to freezing cold, especially in the desert regions at night.

Moroccan food generally consists of steamed vegetables, spiced meats, flavored jams and pastes and couscous or rice. With the exception of one day, I luckily managed to avoid getting sick from the change of diet and was careful to not to drink unfiltered water. Some others in the group had a little more trouble adjusting to the food, but for the most part, we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.

I think traveling to Morocco also shines some light on parts of Spanish culture, especially those elements that were of North African or Muslim origin. For example, in Spain, people are very individualistic and there is less emphasis placed on group work. This idea of rugged individualism is understandable if you consider that Moroccans or other desert peoples who crossed into Spain in the 8th century came from a culture where they had to brave the sun and the elements, without help from anyone else. In places such as Cordoba or Granada, where Muslims built fountains or designed gardens filled with running water, you can see why the presence of potable water was almost like a godsend for them. After spending a couple of hours in the midafternoon in Morocco, especially in the desert, it is easier to understand why they constructed such places as shrines to this valuable natural resource.

This is a view of Ourzazate from above.

This is also in Ourzazate. The diagram of a star surrounded by Arabic writing scratched into the land reads "The Land is Ours." There was some debate about the star's meaning. Some people thought it was pointed in the direction of Mecca, the holy Muslim city and might be used as a guide.

Our camp in the desert.

The inside of my tent.

The Berbers entertained us by playing instruments
during and after dinner. Here, four girls from our
group are learning a Berber dance while the musicians play.

I would recommend Morocco. I really enjoyed my time there, and the people are very friendly. The traveler would have to be careful to respect the culture there (the girls on our trip did not wear very revealing shirts in the cities and were careful not to expose themselves despite the heat), but only one very irate man in a bazaar in Marrakech yelled at us for being American and the U.S.'s involvement in Iraq. While our country's foreign policy may be distasteful to the majority of Moroccans, most people we met were friendly and could separate the tourists from the policies or actions of their respective home countries.

I would definitely love to return to Morocco some day and see some of the coastal cities, such as Casablanca, since our trip focused on the southern landlocked part of the country.

Posted by at 10:54 AM