Yay ME!

Yesterday started out badly. Mind you, I work graveyard this week (long story) so my day starts way after yours. After only about 3 1/2 hours sleep I was awoken by my phone ringing (it's on vibrate but even the vibrating is enough to wake me up). It wasn't the caller that made my day start out badly. Them I can ignore. It was the 6 chunks of text messages that had popped up on my screen during my sleep that did it.
Did I mention that I'm divorced? Last February. The guy I married no longer exists in the body of my ex-husband. In it's place is an angry, spiteful, self-righteous old man.  Every time I have to listen to his false preachings, I thank Heavenly Father that I am not married to him. I imagine though, that he utters the same prayer about me. Touche'.  
I have moved to Utah, albeit temporarily until I figure out what to do when I grow up (I'm still trying to figure that out). My car is licensed in Washington. That's the easy part. The hard part is that my car is in my ex-human's name because he signed the loan papers. SO, the tabs are also in his name and his address. Last year he paid for the tabs (we were not divorced yet-just separated-he was still civil then) and then gave them to me. (I still lived in Washington). So, I sent him a text message a couple of weeks ago and asked him to let me know the cost of the tabs and I would send him a check to pay for them. All he would have to do is mail them to me. He texted back that I could renew them online and pay for them myself. When I attempted to renew them online, it asked for the driver's license number of the vehicle owner which, of course I do not have. 
I texted him again and told him that I could not renew them because I needed his driver's license number and could he please just tell me the amount and I will pay for them through him. 
How easy it would have been for him to just say "Sure. This is how much it is...blah blah blah" Nope. Silly me. I'd forgotten that my formerly human husband had turned into the husband of "horse face" (another long story) and she was the controller of his brain. He was Jennified (think Zombified). He was gone. Instead, I get the 6 chunks of self-righteous lecturing diatribe on how I need to respect him, I got myself into this mess and I need to get myself out of it, blah blah blah. He refused. Instead, he accused me of living in Utah illegally (I guess I am an illegal alien? I'd better ask my mom) and I was breaking the law. He told me I had to get my car licensed in Utah. 
I don't want my car licensed in Utah. I am not planning on staying in this state longer than I need to. I moved here to be near my children. To help Natalie with her wedding and help my son get his own life established with his new-found freedom-ish. My time frame was 1 year.  My lease is up the end of May then I hope to be moving to places far warmer and ocean-ier. 
Instead I have Mr. High-and-mighty once again telling me what to do. Since I am not his wife anymore, by his choice, he gave up all rights to telling me anything. For this I am thankful every time I hear his name uttered by my youngest son because his dad decided that he too should receive one of his weekly false religious preachings (yes, I am angry. Do not mess with my children).
Aaaaaanyway, so this conversation went back and forth through text messages. He had contacted the Utah DMV and they told him I only need a letter of authorization stating that he allows me to get my vehicle licensed in Utah. He was more than happy to do that. Which I thought was really funny. He will take the time to write a letter giving his authorization but he will not take the time to tell me the amount of the tabs and sending them to me. Can you see the issue I have with his? It was HIS control. He wanted it done HIS way. Wouldn't it be easier to just tell me the amount? I would have even thrown in an extra 45 cents for the stamp to mail them to me. In fact, while I have since discovered that the tabs were only $43, I was going to mail him a check for $60 so he would have had a bonus. Silly me. 
Because of his ridiculous refusal to just do what I asked, and his continual preaching about what I've done to him and how I treat my children badly (although I'm pretty sure I'm the one who relocated three states away and spend every possible waking minute with my children and he has only seen them twice this year AND only communicates with them thru text message preaching AND he didn't even know that my oldest son had relocated across country to NYC and that he and his wife were expecting their first child...I am the one who treats my children badly??? Yes, I know. Run-on sentence. Breathe, Sheri. Breathe.) I was angry. I was upset. I was frustrated. If I had owned a gun and lived anywhere within shooting distance, he'd be dead....but don't quote me. This is WHY I will probably never own a gun.  
I think what gets me is that to others who don't/have never lived with him, he comes across as a wonderful human being. My dad was the same way. People who didn't live with him, looooooved him. They worshipped him. But those of us who lived under the same roof as my father, knew who he really was. Mind you, my dad was a great man. He was very loving. But on the opposite side of the spectrum (as my Mom always said "Jekyll and Hyde") he was a very mean, angry man who treated his family members as punching bags and verbal back stops. He taught me that love comes with anger and pain. 
So, during 22 years I discovered that my ex-human was also this same type of person. To others he was a very religious, perfect man. To his immediate family he was so flawed. He had weaknesses. If he didn't feel like dealing with something or someone, he just didn't. He never wanted to try hard enough. If it was too much work, he gave up. I called him band-aid guy. When something goes wrong, do just enough to stop the immediate problem but only just enough. The problem with that is, the issue continues to come back until it is permanently fixed. He only dealt with band-aids, not stitches or surgery. He didn't want to put forth the effort.
He was a great dad when the kids were little. They laughed at everything he said. He was the fun parent. I, on the other hand, was the disciplinarian. I made sure they did their homework, went to bed on time, got along, behaved, did the things they were supposed to do. He was rarely home because of his various jobs so I was both mother and father. I dealt with all of the crap that went on, not only with my children, but also with bill collectors. He would swoop in, make them laugh, then swoop back out. Yes, he worked hard. Yes, he paid the bills (ish). But I did everything else. 
When the kids became older and formed opinions and problems of their own, he no longer wanted to deal with it . It was too much work.  I was raising my children alone. He may have been there more often in our later years of marriage, but mentally he was not. He checked out. I never did.
**I do have to say that when my older two boys were little, I made bad choices. Horrible choices that I can not take back. No re-do's. I chose my own life instead of being their mother. For that I will have eternal regrets. When my younger two children were growing up (marriage numero due) I could never understand how I could have possibly abandoned my older two for some life I thought I needed to have (note to future young mothers: wait til you are adult enough to never ever ever abandon your children) . I would never do it again. If I could go back in time, I would do everything completely differently (which is why I moved to Utah last June to be near my children)**
Where was I going with this.....
Oh yeah, so to the outside world, my ex-human is a happy, perfect, righteous man that was treated badly by his wife. Hmmmm.  That's why his own children don't like him and think him to be ridiculous.  
Once again, ex-human, please explain to me how I am the bad guy here? 
So last night, as I'm working yet another graveyard shift, clarity formed in my mind. If my ex-human could call the Utah DMV why couldn't I contact the Washington DMV for the same reason? I went online and looked up the ever-present "contact us" on their website. I sent an email explaining my dilemma: I had my car, the car was in my ex-human's name, he refused to send me the invoice for the tabs, how can I get the tabs anyway. This morning I received an email back with the instructions. All I had to do was click the option "the owner is divorced, the owner does not have the car". YAY ME! I went to the Washington DMV website and BAM BAM BAM!! Purchased the tabs for my car, even going so far as to change the address on my car. Spoke with an actual human when there were issues with the debit card address not working, made sure MY address was now correct on the registration, and BAM! Got a receipt for my tabs for my car. NOT in Utah as my ex-human tried to control but in Washington where I prefer to call home until I can figure out what to do with my life when I grow up. I controlled my own destiny. My own circumstances. Not the ex-human. 
YAY ME!!
(on a side note: I told the ex-human that I was able to get my tabs in Washington, and his reply? "I told you it could be done..." Whatever. I still won)

Snow falls in Utah

We got our first official snowfall of the year today. I love snow. If I don't have to leave the safety of my home. I can drive perfectly well in the snow. It's the other idiot drivers on the road I worry about. I often tell my children to be careful when they are traveling, whether by bicycle or car or even walking, not because I think they might be careless (although, watching Luke zip thru traffic on his bike freaks me out) but, because other people can be careless. In the days of increased traffic on the roads and people who insist on either texting or talking on their phones while driving, it is far less safe than it was back when I was zipping thru traffic on my own beautiful blue ten-speed.
Just the other day, when I was commuting to work, I noticed a man merging onto the freeway in his car. He was talking on his phone (it was in his left hand blocking his view of the freeway he was merging onto) and I could tell he was going to head right into my lane...where I would be in his way in my car. In his back seat were two dogs. One of the dogs, a German shepherd who I could only see the top of his head to his muzzle, was peering out the window on the rear driver's side. As the driver headed into my lane and, directly into my car with nary a turn signal activated to alert me, I wailed on my horn. He swerved back into the lane he was trying to leave without even giving me a courtesy "oops" and, in the process, his poor canine passenger went slamming into the window he was trying to enjoy the view from. The driver continued on his way, never even interrupting his conversation.
So, this is why I dread being on the road when it snows. Two days ago, when that driver nearly took me out of the human equation, it was a lovely sunny day. Imagine what he could have accomplished in the snow.
I drove to the local "Trax" station and commuted safely to work via public transportation. I'm not a complete idiot.
As I left work tonight, at first I was walking quickly to avoid getting wet by the continual snowfall. Then I looked up. One of my favorite things about snow is nighttime. Have you ever noticed at night how quiet it is when there is snow on the ground. The world is muffled. Even when I was young I loved to play in the snow at night. I remember coming back from the family trip to Hawaii one Christmas. We were stuck in the airport in Hawaii for several hours because there had been snow in Seattle and they had trouble allowing us to land in the airport. When we finally got back home, I had been up several hours already. But it was nighttime and there was snow everywhere. One of the heaviest snowfalls I can remember in my youth. My next door neighbors and I grabbed our sleds (which were rarely used in Washington) and spent the entire night sledding. Roads were empty of cars and full of snow. It was amazing.
So, tonight I walked out of my hotel and suddenly noticed the snow coming down around me. I could see it in the streetlights and neon of the hotels and office buildings illuminating the flakes as they fell. For one brief moment I was young again and felt that same wonder. I paused my steps and looked around. And smiled. It wasn't too cold as everyone who came into the hotel had been complaining about. It was perfect. Not quite enough snow on the ground yet to cause that complete peace of a heavy snowfall but, beautiful just the same. I walked the rest of the block to the Trax station much slower and enjoyed the white world around me.
Of course, now I have to commute back home from the Trax station. I hope those idiots are all safely tucked in their beds...

Goodbye Rome

Each place we stop, with the exception of Venice, I have felt is my favorite place.
I loved Varenna, Menaggio, and Bellagio. Of course, these may still be my favorite because I spent the most time here. I feel a little nostalgic when I review the pictures I took there. I remember the feelings I had the first moment I stepped off the train. The sun was shining, the architecture was everything I imagined it would be, and the language was flowing freely. I had no fear. I could find my way easily.
Then there was the second day with my tour group and the weather was chaotic but we all bonded under our umbrellas and rain ponchos. I would love to go back to Varenna and wander the streets again. I would stay at the youth hostel in Menaggio again. I would go back to Bellagio and climb the hills and back alley ways and probably even walk farther than I did before to see what I could find.
Castelroto was really wonderful with it's German feel and first snow of the season but I don't know that I would go out of my way to visit there again. Venice was not my favorite place at all. If I were to come back to Italy by myself (which, the plan is to return), I would not go back to Venice. I've seen Venice, I don't need to see it again. BUT, if I returned to Italy with someone who had never seen Italy, we would have to go to Venice. Everyone should see Venice one time. This time I would venture further and not worry so much about getting lost. I would be more adventurous. I would try and find more of the waterfront and less of the canals.
I loved Verona, Florence, Siena. I adored Monterosso in Cinque Terre with it's gravely beaches, high cliffs, and gorgeous sunsets. And Orvieto was so beautiful with its rolling hills, olive groves, grape fields...all of the things I had thought Italy was. Even in the rain and wind, I loved Orvieto.
And now we are in Rome. It's so sad to think that there are only two nights left in Rome and then this little adventure is over. For four years I have planned, dreamed, and even obsessed about this place. It has gone above and beyond my expectations. Traveling with a tour group made this trip easy. The company, Rick Steves, did all of the work: they made all of the plans, bought all of the tickets, and booked all of the hotel rooms. All I had to do was fork out the money, buy a plane ticket, and make my way here. The next time, I will make my own plans, buy my own tickets, and plot my own adventure. And I'll probably save about $3000 doing it myself.
SO, in Rome. We bussed our way from Orvieto to here, stopping only at the usual "Auto-grill" along the way to buy lunch (I had another salad with tomatoes, calamata olives, and anchovies. I bought a couple extra foccachia bread slices for the road (because the budget is tight again), and we headed on our way. Dino and the bus took us to our hotel, Hotel Sonya, long enough to get our rooms and drop off our bags, then Dino said goodbye to us all at the Colosseum.
At the Colosseum we met up with Francesca, a woman born and raised in Italy by an American mother and Italian father. Because of her American mother, Francesca had no Italian accent. She was all American. Francesca led us all over the Colosseum calling upon our imagination to recall a time when Romans cheered for animal fights, Gladiators, and death. I probably could have spent more time there to make sure I saw all that I wanted to see but we had so much more to cover and only about 4 hours to do it. The Colosseum was literally "awesome" and she reminded us of a time when "awesome" was more than a word you used to describe really good pizza. She took us from the top of the Colosseum to the bottom describing what was missing from each floor, what would have been there had it not been "borrowed" by people who thought of it as the Roman "Home Depot" and taken it apart piece by piece to help build the other ancient buildings in Rome. There were still patches of marble flooring that had been left behind only because it was not perfect marble.
We learned that marble, when lit on fire, turned into lime and was used for mortar to lay bricks. The Romans had destroyed columns and statues without even realizing what it would eventually mean to history.
We also learned that Romans were able to create these wonderful monuments that last for centuries because there was ash added to the stone in the buildings.
The Colosseum was filthy from all of the exhaust from years of automobile and bus traffic whizzing by but cleaning it off was too expensive to undertake. They couldn't seal the stone to prevent further damage because it would cause the buildings to grow mold. Francesca told us that recently there was a famous shoe manufacturer that had invested money to restore the Colosseum but she, and others, were afraid a large neon shoe would end up on the top of it as a result.
From the Colosseum we walked down the street to more wonderful ancient ruins. I will have to look over my map and my Rick Steves book to figure out exactly what other monuments we saw but I took plenty of pictures that I can review later (better do it sooner before I forget which picture was taken where). I do know we visited the Pantheon (which is where my camera battery died) and even got the pleasure of hearing an impromptu choir sing for us.
We separated into little groups (whomever we wanted to spend extra time with) and found restaurants to step into for dinner. I ordered my usual anchovy and tomato sauce pizza and consumed it all by myself. Again. While in the restaurant, I headed to the bathroom (because in Italy you need to use a free "WC" whenever you can find them, otherwise you end up paying anywhere from ,50 to ,75 euro to use the restroom) and found our tour guide, Stephanie, and Francesca having dinner. I stopped to tell Francesca about how much we all enjoyed her tour of the monuments and we ended up chatting about my love of Rome, and Italy in general. I told her that I felt like there was so much more I wanted to see, that I hadn't seen enough, which is really how I have felt throughout most of this trip. She told me that I need to remember that feeling when I have gone back home. I have no doubt that I will.
After dinner, Stephanie led us through the alleyways to the Trevi fountain. Because of the continual crowds in front of the fountain no matter the time of day or night, Stephanie had us stop for a moment so she could explain the theory of throwing a coin into the fountain: first, the coin had to be thrown by the right hand over the left shoulder (even if you were left-handed). One coin meant you would return to Rome. Two coins meant you would fall in love. Three coins meant you would stay. She didn't say stay in Rome so you had to be careful of that one.
Throughout the trip, I have had one 1 euro coin in the outside pocket of my backpack. I wanted to keep it because it had a picture of the Michelangelo drawing of man (can't remember what it is called right now but it's a cool drawing) and I really liked it. I thought that it would be great to have a hole punched in it and worn for a necklace. The first thought I had of which coin to toss in the fountain was that coin. I dug into the outside mesh pocket and found the coin AND an American nickel. Those were my two coins.
The fountain was as crowded as Stephanie had predicted, and finding a spot that wasn't already occupied by 20 other tourists waiting to have their picture taken was a test of patience. Jump in, jump out.
Since my camera battery had died in the Pantheon, I asked Bruce and Renee to take my picture with their camera in front of the fountain, tossing the coins in. I can't wait to see how it turns out.
From the fountain, we hiked the 15 minutes back to our hotel. Tomorrow is the Sistine Chapel and the Vatican Museum. Afterwards, I'm hoping to be able to find my way back to the Trevi fountain and the many other fountains I saw along the way so I can get the pictures I didn't get taken when my camera battery died. I don't want to waste one minute of the 36 hours I have left in Italy.
I would compare Rome to my experience in Seattle. Cars rushing up and down the streets, city buses zipping by, people pushing and shoving for a place on the sidewalk, big buildings (although far more historical than the ones in Seattle), and the usual tourists. I love big cities. I love the sound of them and I have always loved the architecture. You can get in your car and travel an hour to a beautiful, quiet countryside, but come back to the excitement and wonder of the city. This is definitely something I would like to research further.
Until then, I am once again sharing a room with my strep-infected tour roomy, Pat. Since she is coughing is hacking up all sorts of ick, I have pressed the earplugs firmly into my ears and hope they manage to block out the sound. I'm a little concerned because I was able to hear the church bells from down the street even with the earplugs in. That does not bode well for my night....

Arrivederci Dino

With our last trip with our wonderful bus driver, Dino, looming ahead, I feel a need to tell you about him.
Stephanie raved about her dear friend and bus driver, Dino two days before we even got to meet him. On the day we were heading to the Dolomites, we were met at our bus by a charming Italian who spoke very little English. He didn't need to speak English. He was adorable. Now, before you start thinking there was anything to worry about, Dino is married with two children. We could tell instantly that Stephanie adored Dino. I don't know how much farther it went than familial adoration but after a few days, it also didn't matter.
We rode across the Italian countryside in a large Mercedes touring bus. Dino had personalized it with key chains and trinkets either left behind by former tourists or given to him by people who had also grown fond of him on these long bus trips. After 15 days of traveling with him, the 21 of us had all adopted this goofy little Italian. He was wonderful. Big dimply smile and a scratchy sicilian voice, we loved him.

You could count on Dino to try and explain himself in American conversations and if he couldn't, he would call for "teacher", his pet name for Stephanie.
Bruce, of the Bruce and Renee' team on our tour, was a big fan of Jack Daniels and Coke. For some reason, Dino started calling Bruce "Jack". When he found out Bruce's name was really Bruce, it confused him. He was told it was a nickname. From then on he would introduce Bruce as "Bruce, nickname Jack" (with a thick Italian accent). I don't know that he ever remembered my name but he was always great to poke me in the ribs, squeeze my arm, and laugh at my translation app translating English phrases into Italian. I learned that the Google translate app was one to delete off of my phone. I also learned that calling an Italian a "dork" is not a nice thing to say. No problem!
Tonight we said goodbye to Dino. We had our dinner together and then Stephanie presented Dino with a card we had all signed and a bottle of wine. She had bought him a wooden Pinocchio (who is big here) to remind him of us. Ironically, one of the tour members, Michelle had also bought him a Pinocchio but smaller. He'll have it to hang in his bus. Bruce had put together money for Dino to do something in with his family since we had taken him away from them. I never got asked to contribute. I hope I wasn't supposed to. Anyway, Dino got teary-eyed and made a broken-English speech about how much fun he'd had and how much he admired Stephanie. I'm sure when I actually say goodbye to him in the morning as he drops us off in Rome, I'll get teary-eyed also. Dino was a huge part of this trip. If we'd had some old fart with no personality as our bus driver, I'm sure the journey would have been completely different. Dino added flair to our trip. Who else would have passed out Lemoncello on the bus wearing a "David" apron completely anatomically correct (that was an unexpected surprise). We could always count on him to make us smile or laugh. He was my favorite Italian.

Siena

So I'm sitting in the middle of the piazza in Siena just enjoying sunshine. There really hasn't been any bad days since I got to Italy...well, except for the pouring rain in Varenna on the second official tour group day but I'd had three days before that to enjoy the Italian sunshine. Then there was the snow in the Dolomites but that was really a direct result of the rain in Varenna and it was gorgeous sunshine in the snow and Italian Alps. Honestly, I have no complaints.
Siena is a college town in the Tuscany region in Italy. The main piazza is the gathering place for the young and old alike. There is no auto traffic here. The residents and guests are encouraged to just sit and take in the sunshine and ambiance. I brought a roll and pear that I'd taken from our breakfast spread this morning. Since my budget is very tight (I can feel it strangling me daily), I try to sneak a little snack for the road if I can. A couple of the hotels have had weak breakfasts lacking in substance but this current hotel was definitely packing everything I needed for a budget lunch. Last night we had one of our included "feasts" but tonight our meal is on our own. With only about 7 euro left in my pocket until tomorrow, I'm a little picky about where I spend my money. Tomorrow I will definitely treat myself to that gelato I've been craving since Verona.
I do so love the Italians. The only flaw I can see so far is their flat-tasting Diet Coke. Otherwise, I have compiled a list of why I love Italy:
They drive on the American side of the road and their cars are left hand driving (like America).
You can live here without ever having to own a car. Walk everywhere, buy a bicycle, take a cab, take the bus, take the train...or have a friend who has a car and loves road trips.
You can go from the north end of Italy and drive to the south end of Italy in one day and see a different type of country every step of the way. From the German country of the Dolomites to the wine country of Tuscany, it's almost like being somewhere else, not Italy. Flat areas with farm land (much like eastern Washington), industrial areas, boat-building areas (like Bremerton), rolling hills (like East Tennessee), entire towns built into the mountains (like nowhere I've ever seen) with expansive ocean views. Castles, towers, arenas, cathedrals, art, sculptures... you'd never find these things in the United States.
The language alone is something to experience. It's almost lyrical. I had no idea how wonderful it would be to actually immerse myself in it. They answer their phones with "Pronto". They say goodbye with not one "Ciao" but several at once. The kiss on each cheek. The words that have more than one meaning: "Allora" can mean "and so" "then" or "well" and is used alot in conversation. I kept hearing it in the television programs I watched and for the life of me, I couldn't figure out what it meant (it's not in my language book) but my tour guide, Stephanie, used it a lot and explained it didn't just mean "and so". When I pass anyone speaking italian, I just smile. I will miss this most of all.
Italians love to talk, and they talk fast. And it takes them more than just a couple of words to explain something we would find simple to explain. Our bus broke down at a rest stop outside of Pisa and when we asked our bus driver later what was wrong with it, he couldn't just say "starter" or "alternator" (which I'm not even sure they have a word for that). He speaks very little english so he tried to have Stephanie translate for him and he couldn't explain it simply. One of the men in our tour told him to just say "It was broken and we fixed it" to make it simpler but he couldn't do it. To the Italians, nothing is explained simply.
The food. Oh my gosh. I thought I knew what to expect but I definitely didn't. The fish is cooked to perfection. Not a dry meat in the house (at least at the restaurants we ate at). The pizza. *sigh* I've had pizza with anchovies twice since arriving in Italy and I will definitely be eating it again tomorrow, if not tonight. I can just buy a slice, after all. And let us not forget the gelato. But meals are an event in Italy. No one rushes to eat their dinner or breakfast. Unless you are drinking coffee. Italians have coffee bars everywhere. Literally, you order your coffee from the cash register, you take your receipt to the barista, she/he makes your coffee, and you drink it either at the bar or at a tall table (with no chairs) and then you leave. But do not go to a restaurant just to drink. They will make you stand at the bar. You only sit in a restaurant if you are ordering food. Then you can sit for hours chatting over coffee or drinks or dessert. No one shoves a bill in front of you here, making you feel as though they are in a hurry to fill up your seat. You can just sit. Then you actually have to ask your wait person for the bill. And you will wait a little longer to have them bring it. One of my tour mates actually said "It takes you as long to get your bill as it does to get your meal". No hurry here. Sit back and relax. Don't get lunch if you have an appointment in an hour. You will be late. No drive thru. Give yourself a couple of hours.
The other reason meals are an event? There is no spend-all-day-cooking -then-dinner-is-gone-in-15-minutes. First comes anti-pasto. (Before pasta). Meat, cheese, etc. Then you have pasta,then meat and potatoes (if you are in the inner-regions of Italy), or fish. THEN salad. Then dessert. By the time you are done with dinner, you are done. You cannot fit another bit of food in your stomach. You will not starve. We have been lucky enough to have our "feasts" in family owned restaurants that love to spoil us. The food just keeps arriving in front of us. We think we have eaten the last bite and then another course arrives. And the wine. And the after dinner drink. Start walking. You've just gained about 5 pounds.
The fashion: Italians are very fashionable. And they don't care about what people think. Scarves (scarpe) are very big here, even on men, even when it's warm out. Boots in any weather. Hair styles on women? Big and curly. I am so jealous. And the women are thin. Not the stereotypical large italian women with brown eyes and dark hair. Thin. If you see a large woman (in bad clothing) she is probably American. Since they walk so much and eat their dinners so slowly, they do not get fat. They are in no hurry.
The architecture. There is so much history here. The amazing art. So much to learn! So much to take in. I feel as though there is still so much I want to see and hear about. I know I have missed more than I have seen.
I wish I had a never-ending budget to just travel around Italy and immerse myself in the culture and history. I wish I was a famous writer who could get paid to travel throughout Italy and write about what I experience. I know this has been done a million times over but surely, not with my personal take on it all.

I need a map

That horrific moment in your life when you realize you don't really know what you're supposed to do next.
Am I supposed to stay in Utah? Where am I supposed to go? I need to start planning and preparing. I'm sitting on a beach in Italy and I'm scared. Not because of where I am right now, on this beach, but where I am in my life. Right now. Is this really all there is? Am I going to spend the next 30-40 years wondering where I am supposed to go next? Will I forever be dissatisfied with my job, my life.
Moving to Utah was the perfect answer almost six months ago. It just came to me in a moment like this where I was just relaxing, looking for an answer and it came. Totally unexpected and not at all the answer I would have chosen myself but there it was, as clear as day "Move to Utah" and so I did. It helped me get past that fork in the road and for the first time in two years I was at peace.
Now I'm at this crossroads again and I'm asking the same questions, what is next for me?
Natalie doesn't need me anymore. In a few months, Luke won't either because he'll be on his mission. Scott doesn't seem to need me as much as I thought he would, which I guess is a good thing. And Jeffrey has everything he wants with his job, his wife, and a baby on the way. And John, the one who was even more lost than I, even he has his life all figured out. Oh to be 27 again and have that all ahead. It's easier when you're young. So many choices. So many paths to take. At 50, your choices are limited. The job market is limited. Who wants to hire a woman in her fifties who may not be able to work in five or ten years for whatever reason.
I remember 6 months ago just wishing someone would tell me what to do. I am here again.
Please, someone. God. Heavenly Father. Give me the answer again.

Let me introduce to you...

It's always a little nerve-wracking when you attend a party with a bunch of people you have never met. Try being trapped with them on a bus and in a hotel for 17 days. You just never know what you're gonna get. At least at a party, you can leave at the end (or early) and never have to see them again. On a tour, you don't have that choice. You expect to like a couple of them and can avoid the ones you don't. Luckily, I am on a tour with 22 other people that, for the most part, I would happily socialize with them on a regular basis.
On our first night together in Varenna, we all gathered together in our hotel for drinks and snacks (cheese and tiny little sandwiches). I had met a couple of the group accidentally prior to this. The give away? Rick Steves tour members are given matching grey backpacks. I met one couple as they were leaving the hotel and I was coming in and recognized the backpack. The same with the second couple. Then we all gathered together in a different hotel meeting room. I was amazed at how friendly everyone was. I was adopted instantly by two different men (and their wives). Everyone was very humorous and I could tell we were going to be a fun group. Our tour guide, Stephanie, whom I had met ironically at the hostel in Menaggio, had an easy group. We all introduced ourselves and talked about what we were wanting to see in Italy. I got teary-eyed when I talked about how Italy was a dream I had carried with me for four years. Probably didn't help that I was tired.
Earlier in the evening, it had started to rain. We had all met in the lobby of the the hotel we were staying in to walk together to the other hotel. My roommate, Pat, a spunky elderly woman with long blond hair and thick black eyebrows, had put on the hotel slippers and wore them down to the lobby. She had to go back upstairs to put her shoes back on and came downstairs with a bent, beaten, blue umbrella. We all walked together in the rain and wind over to the other hotel.
After our little meeting was over, Stephanie led us all back out into the rain to show us where the boat dock was. Tomorrow we were basically on our own to roam Lake Como (which I had done already the first two days I was here) and she wanted to show us where to catch the different boats. She was also giving us round trip boat tickets so we could go where we needed to go. She made some suggestions: Bellagio (which I had already seen), Menaggio (which I had stayed for two days), and Caddenabria and the Villa Carlotta. She also gave us suggestions of restaurants in town to eat at for the best seafood. I wasn't really interested in eating, mostly for financial reasons, and my roommate really just wanted to try the Lemoncello, a highly alcoholic drink made from the lemons of Italy. She and I ended up following the group to the restaurant Stephannie had recommended. I recognized the restaurant as the one I'd had coffee with my hostel friends earlier in the day, although this time the restaurant was well-lit and the staff far more friendly than they were when we had gone in. The owner, a very stereo-typical large Italian woman, chatted away with us about which fish was best then surprised us at the end with yogurt, and grapes picked from her own garden for our dessert. For my first real Italian dinner (because the hostel didn't count), I was glad I had gone to dinner with my new friends.
After dinner we headed back out into the rain and wandered our way up to the hotel. One of my new friends, Ken and Jen from California (and my personal favorites) were worried about the fact that my coat was nothing more than a denim jacket. They had come to Italy well prepared with insulated and water repellent jackets. Ken kept offering me his coat but I insisted I was fine. I am from Seattle, after all, and know how to handle rain.. In Seattle, the only people carrying umbrellas are the tourists (and women who pay to get their hair coifed on a weekly basis and don't want it ruined). I had checked the weather for this time of year in Italy and had packed the way Rick Steves had recommended: Only pack things you will wear more than three times. Pack light because you will be carrying your suitcase up and down stairs. I only packed clothes that I would be wearing several times and I thought it would be too warm to bring the leather jacket my dearest friend bought for me to bring on my trip. Trust me, I wish I had brought it.
Tomorrow we were still expecting rain on Lake Como and my new friends were worried I would get wet and catch a cold. By the third day of the trip, they had loaned me a rain coat, sunglasses, and a pair of socks. I never asked for any of these things. They were just very concerned and very insistent. I love these people. I would like to mention also, that Ken reminded me very much of my older brother Kyle. Same grey hair, a year age difference, same sense of humor, same bow-legs, same fashion sense. I felt like he was family right away, but I think his wife was getting annoyed at the attention he was paying me so I tried very hard as the days went on to not spend that much time with them.
We were told to find "buddies", someone we would be in charge of keeping an eye on and making sure they were in the group whenever we needed to make stops or start walking tours. I ended up with three. My roommate, Pat, from Vail, Colorado was one of them. The second "buddy" was Ken. The third buddy was also a Ken. He was the husband of the first couple I had met earlier in the day. Ken and his wife, Lanny. Right now I can't remember where they are from but, while this Ken was an admitted chain smoker, vodka and Bloody Mary drinker, Lanny was gentle and childlike. I found out later that they had only been married 8 years when I assumed they had been married 30. Our second night together in Varenna, we discovered that they were secretly celebrating Ken's 67th birthday. During our "feast" together in Venice, Ken came strolling into the restaurant holding a rose he had purchased from a street vendor for his wife. There were no obvious signs that this man was a romantic or that their relationship was anything more than rocky but they showed me more than once that they had a very strong and loving marriage. I really liked this couple.
My third favorite couple, Bruce and Renee. They weren't married but had been together for 6 years. She had been married before and had 2 daughters. He had never been married. She was 46 and he was 54. Bruce was a wine connoisseur who loved to order bottles of wine and share with the whole table, and had a sarcastic wit. Renee was alot of fun to be around. Well, they both were. We had alot in common and it was great being around people my own age. I spent time with them in Bolzano (after seeing the IceMan) and again in Venice. While they frequently came across as completely annoyed with eachother, it was the little gestures that showed me they had a very strong bond. Bruce got sick with a bad head cold on the second day and missed our hike to the Dolomites.
Rick and Maggie were from the south (Texas, I think). They were another couple I had met outside of the hotel before our actual meeting as a group. Maggie was extremely friendly, the kind of woman you just wanted to hug. Her husband, Rick, didn't come across as being as friendly right away. He was kind of a Type A personality (although he didn't think so) and his first concern was whether or not to tip the waitstaff in Italy. A "money guy", he needed to know the details of things that the rest of us weren't really concerned about. He had a gigantic smile you couldn't miss a mile away.
Then there is Beth and Beth. Seriously, both Beths. They were from Texas and even used the expression "bless their heart" (a comedian we had heard once said that that expression is used when talking about stupid people). Both large women, one had never been married and the other was divorced with no children. They were in their 40s and 50s. The younger Beth had a problem going up and down stairs and getting out of the bus. She got sick by the time we were in Venice with a nasty head cold and missed the day we went to St. Marks.
Amy is a man-ish woman who doesn't say a whole lot unless you talk to her. She's kind of a loner and paid the extra fee to have her own room the entire trip. I swear I have met her before but we couldn't figure out the connection. I can only assume she had a doppelgänger somewhere.
The other couples I still don't remember their names. Jordan and his wife: he's a big goof and pretty fun to be around. He and his wife once lived in Sandy, Utah so we had that in common. They've never had children but seem ok with that. They live back east now. Another couple, they'd been married the longest so they got to go on the gondola with the musicians while we were in Venice (the couple married the least amount of years also rode with them). And the last couple, the only thing I can say about them right now is that they bailed on the gondola ride, and the hike up in the Dolomites in the snow. They are elderly and both complain about the heat of the bus and he has a strong New York accent.
My roommate, Pat, which I mentioned earlier isn't a bad roommate to have. She's pretty quirky and my fellow travelers have felt sorry for me a time or two because of her strange and outspoken behavior. She's messier than I am and once in awhile, coughs up a lung or two. She doesn't snore, thankfully, and I haven't had to wear earplugs. There have been times when she insists on tagging along when I wish I had some time alone. When we were in the Dolomites, I was lucky enough to end up with a room within a room alone. I really enjoyed the peace and quiet and hardly ever saw her. She is sweet and well-intentioned but sometimes, I just need a break. She could definitely be worse.
I really lucked-out with this group. They have been helpful and friendly and supportive. When I see them, I call them my family. I know at the end of this trip, well I hope, that at the end of this trip, I will be able to maintain contact with a couple of them. Some are more forgettable (obviously) than others but, the ones I could describe in detail, I believe we will find a way to say in contact.
Next post: the bus driver....

Hotel Cavallino d'Oro-Castelrotto

Up in the mountains near Germany lies a little town left behind by the Austrians. Castelrotto is technically in Italy but everything about it says Germany. The architecture, the language on the signs, even the man standing in the court yard speaking on his cell phone. If you were blindfolded from Varenna to this village, you would think you had left Italy for another country.
The interior design in this hotel screams old-world Germany. I have never been to either old-world Germany or regular up-to-date Germany but I'm pretty certain this is what it would look like. And, honestly, this hotel makes the last one we stayed in (supposedly a 5 star hotel) look slightly better than a Best Western. This hotel has all the warmth and luxury you would expect from a haus in the alps.
We left Varenna this morning to a beautiful sunrise. Compared to the wind and rain storm we had yesterday, today looked like heaven. The rainstorm in the lower altitudes, mixed with cold temperatures, created the perfect recipe for the first snow fall up here in the mountains.
If it weren't for the blisters on the backs of both of my ankles caused by the friction from my wet shoes rubbing on my heels, I would look forward to the hike we are taking tomorrow as a group. Right now, I don't even want to put my shoes back on. Sandals in the snow, anyone?

A day in Bellagio...

I got rained on. POURED. Should have brought out some soap and shampoo, it rained that hard. Not all day, luckily. I wandered Bellagio in the sunshine, strolling up and down narrow cobble-stoned streets in between buildings. Didn't wear the hiking shoes. I was wearing my cheap sandals from Target. But for casual strolling, they weren't so bad. I went as far through Bellagio as I could until I ran into water and ended up talking to a wonderful elderly Italian gentleman who told me I should go to Pescallo. He assured me that I could easily walk it. He said we might see eachother again. I said probably so but I didn't see how. It was ok. He was a nice man and I am always thrilled when I find someone who can speak english.
So, I strolled through Bellagio until I recognized the name of the town on a sign and headed in that direction. I didn't know how far away it was but the man assured me I could walk there. Along the way, walking up steep streets and hoping I didn't get hit by speeding Italian cars, I found an amazing old cemetery. It is hard to explain the utter beauty of the headstones and mausoleums that I knew must be old and historical. Hidden up on this hill, surrounded by 6 foot granite walls. At home our cemeteries are wide open grassy spaces enclosed by metal fences. You never expect to find an historical cemetery. I stopped and walked inside for a moment. It wasn't necessarily a spiritual experience but I was in awe at the beauty of the ancient headstones. Many with actual pictures inset on the marble. Some with old pictures just sitting in their frames on the granite ledge. I only stayed for a few minutes because I was really afraid that one of the residents would come in and shoo me away for disturbing the sanctity of the grounds. I took some pictures simply because I felt I would never see anything like this again.
In Pescallo there is not much more than a hotel and a restaurant. The rest are homes and apartments. I had walked all the way there following a road and signs and only realized once I got there that I could have cut over by taking the narrow walkways in between the buildings of Bellagio. When I looked at my gps on my phone, I discovered that there was an easier way to get to Pescallo. Oh well, had I taken the short cut, I would have missed all of the scenery and the really awesome cemetery. I'll take the long way any day.
Throughout my two days of being in Italy, there are moments when I audibly gasp at the beauty I find. There are times when I actually feel like I am on a Hollywood movie set. It is so beautiful here. The color, the architecture, the language.
After I got back to Bellagio, I stopped at a restaurant. I thought I was heading into the Gelato shop but walked in the wrong door. Not to be rude (and look dumb) and turn and walk back out, I walked up to the bar and said "American" because I figured then the guy behind the counter would speak english to me. Nope. He thought I was asking for American coffee. Oh, ok. So, I had coffee. I did look at the menu but I really just wanted something small (and inexpensive). This trip has been pretty inexpensive for me because I don't eat. Not because I'm not hungry but because I'm afraid of looking dumb when I order. I don't speak Italian. At all. Yes, I had ample opportunity to learn Italian before I got here. I had purchased "Italian for Dummies" and even got Rosetta Stone Italian through work. I had no excuse. I had just procrastinated and ended up getting here with very little preparation. I can say "grazie" and "scuzie" but that's about it. I haven't enjoyed any amazing pizza or pasta. I have only eaten full meals at the hostel, where they only offer one menu item but you can understand what it is. I have been afraid of not being able to say what I want. It's sad, but it is my own fault. I had visions of being Julia Roberts in "Eat, Pray, Love" and being able to just sit in a restaurant by myself and eat whatever. Instead I wander the streets alot and never enjoy the one thing I looked forward to in Italy. The authentic Italian food. I am afraid. But I do love it here. It's truly beautiful and I do so love listening to the natives speak to eachother. I will wish I had done more to prepare.
Anyway, so, after having the American coffee (yep, that's what it tasted like), I went into the shop next door and picked up a skinny can of Coke Zero and a piece of chocolate and sat out on the bench and watched the people go by. Then I wandered around some more. The thing about Italy is that you are constantly walking. Really, there is no need for a car because you can take a bus or a train anywhere. When you have a car, you have to worry about where to park it. That's what I have noticed in the two days I've been here. It's just easier to walk.
So, I walked around some more then headed back towards the ferry dock. Now, mind you the sun had been shining all day then the clouds began to move in. I stepped into a gelato shop and ordered a carmel and pesca (peach-which I butchered when asking, thinking I was saying it correctly. The woman behind the counter corrected me rather snobbily-I imagine she was saying "stupid American tourists" in her head. Yep that's me). Either way, it was really delicious and I sat at a table outside enjoying it.
Afterwards I found a park bench to sit in trying to decide what to do next. I had walked all over Bellagio and felt I had seen all I needed to see. As I was sitting on the bench, an elderly gentleman sat next to me. He began to speak to me in Italian. I apologized for being American and he stopped speaking. His phone rang and he got up to answer it and I took the opportunity to walk away.
I walked over to the ticket booth to get a boat ticket back to Menaggio and was informed I needed to go to the car ferry office for my ticket. I said "I don't have a car". I feel my humor is lost to the Italians. He just repeated himself and I walked away to find the car ferry ticket office.
I purchased my ticket using my credit card (because there was a line and I didn't want to have to dig for my change and look even more stupid than I already felt) and the guy behind the counter looked at me, again as if to say, "stupid american tourist". I can't win. When they come to America and use their card, do I think "stupid tourist"? No, I am glad they don't try to count their change to me. Anyway, I got my ferry ticket and walked to over to a nearby railing to wait for the boat. One of the ferries pulled in but since it was going to Varenna and not Menaggio, I knew to wait til the next one (although I did find out later that this ferry also stopped in Menaggio and I could have taken it-oh well). So, as I am standing there, minding my own business watching the cars and tourists unload from the ferry, here comes my elderly Italian friend (not the one that I met earlier but the one from the bench who got the phone call). He walks up and once again begins to speak to me in Italian. I, again, told him I was American and didn't understand Italian (I always think that when I say this they will either nod and walk away or start conversing in broken english. Not this guy.) He began to chatter away and it wasn't until I noticed he was looking me up and down over and over that I realized he was talking about my appearance. I wish I could have understood one word that he'd said but he was speaking so quickly that I couldn't pick up a single word that I recognized. He made some gesture to his face that I'm hoping was saying I was beautiful otherwise I don't want to know. Then he put out his hand to shake mine. He took my hand, shook it like a normal handshake, then did the American finger-grasp handshake, then he kissed my hand and rushed to catch the ferry. I stood there for a moment in shock then just chuckled. I had never experienced anything like this before. I sort of hope I never will again. It was flattering but it was also, on the opposite spectrum, very creepy. Probably a good thing I couldn't understand what he said.
I was standing waiting after that ferry left, it began to sprinkle. It had sprinkled earlier and stopped so really, that's all I expected it to do. Because I was under a tree, I didn't feel any of the raindrops...until it began to rain harder. And harder and harder. I stood as long as I could under the tree then made a bee-line to the covered ticket area and joined the already sardine packed group into a little room.
As I was standing off by myself in this tiny little room, I began to listen to different conversations that were happening around me. I am still amazed when I pick up a conversation I can understand. Even walking through Bellagio (which, by the way, is nothing like the hotel in Oceans 11, 12, or 13.) I would pass a couple carrying on a conversation and would smile because I knew what they were saying. At one point I even said to a woman "It still freaks me out when I realize that I understand". She laughed. Either because she gets what I mean or she thought I was crazy.
Anyway, I'm standing in this tiny glass enclosed waiting room and started picking up a conversation between two British couples who were talking about how much fun a Disney cruise is. I had taken a Disney cruise back in 2010 and was ironically wearing the hoodie I had bought from Castaway Cay. I never said a word to the couple but all of a sudden one of the husbands looked at me, saw my sweatshirt and suddenly I'm part of the conversation.
The rain poured down all the way from the boat leaving Bellagio to when it dropped people off in Varenna. I had visions of walking up to the youth hostel soaking wet. Luckily, when we arrived in Menaggio, the rain had stopped.

Hostels...not to be confused with the horror movie

I have a new found appreciation for hostels. I'm sure there are bad hostels out there but the one I stayed in at Melaggio was really wonderful. Clean, friendly, and thankfully, they spoke english. The front desk girl, Maria, had grown up in America but she was Italian. Then there was Toby. He was British. Wanted to live in Switzerland (my new friend, Emily from Chicago, and I were vying for his job whenever he decided to move on). I wish I had taken a picture of them while I was there but you can find pictures of them on the Facebook page. The rooms were clean, the bathrooms small, but for the price of $46 for two nights, it was worth it. I paid 1 euro for a lock (which, now that I think about it, I think I put a 5 euro deposit down for that key and I've left it behind...dangit) and a euro for a towel. They gave you clean sheets and a pillow case. The beds were comfortable and the room held four bunk beds. My bunkmates were all pretty polite. I ended up coming over to Varenna with Emily from Chicago and two other young women, which I never did get their names (that's horrible) from Australia. We even had a cappuccino together once I dropped my (heavy) belongings off in the Varenna hotel we were staying at for the tour. They wanted to hike (straight up) to a castle but, once I started heading up and realized what I had ahead of me, I knew i'd never make it. They are half my age and definitely have more energy and better muscles than I do. I didn't want to hold them up or make them have to stop and wait for me so I said my goodbyes and let them go. The cobblestones heading up to the castle were slippery also and I had left my hiking boots at home.
Anyway, back to the hostel.
The BBQ was really good, but since I had only eaten, really nothing, since I had iffy scrambled eggs and bacon (cooked to crispy almost-burnt perfection) in the morning, the chicken wings and ribs and polenta was delicious. I paid extra for the grilled vegies but really didn't enjoy them. They were grilled but more soggy than anything else.
I guess the Saturday bbq at the hostel is pretty popular, plus it was Saturday so the place was busy.
The night before we had met a young woman and two men from Germany. The young woman, it turns out, was the sister of one of the young men. The other guy wasn't so young-mid 30'sto 40's. But he gave them a ride to Italy. Can you imagine just saying "Let's go to Italy" one day and then just jumping in your car and going? I guess they have companies that you can just carpool with to another country. What a wonderful idea! With Switzerland only an hour away, I would be just country jumping as often as I could.
So, back to the German group. The young woman was blond and typical German. She was beautiful but seemed a little cold and unfriendly to me. The older man never really said much (they could speak english) but her younger brother was more friendly. When I came down for dinner (because I had passed out for an hour after my trek throughout Bellagio) my Chicagoan friend, Emily, was talking to the German boy whose name, it turned out, was Wolfgang...so German. He actually introduced himself as Wolfie. Now I had taken a picture of him the night before (without his knowledge, ofcourse) and posted it on Facebook because he had a striking resemblance to my oldest son, Jeffrey. After that I had one of those "Oh, he's so sweet" relationships with him because I felt like I was talking to my son. Nice boy. In dental school. His sister, Johanna, was ever watching over him. He began to make jokes about what she was going to allow him to do or not do. At one point, I actually told him that she was going to tuck a napkin in his shirt so he didn't spill. I wish that I had found a way to stay in contact with him so I could see how well he did in dental school. As I left today, I hugged him goodbye and wished him luck with school. Seriously, nice boy.
As more people were arriving at the hostel for the night, we had a New Zealander join our table. At this point it was Joyce, from California, Emily, from Chicago, Wolfie from Germany (I don't remember what part exactly was it as close to Hungary), and myself. Nick from New Zealand added to the funny mix. He was in tourism (although we're not sure what) and actually lived in Germany. His humor was over the top with sarcasm and he felt a need to stir up trouble. First he talked about how lazy women became after they got married and then felt a need to tell their spouse how to behave and what to do. From there we covered religion. He stirred up Joyce's feathers with his comments and she labeled him a chauvinist pig, at one point even oinking at him. He felt a need to find out what religion we all were. I was Christian, of course. Emily didn't want to label herself. Wolfgang was Catholic and, Joyce said she was Buddhist. We determined later that she just wanted to remain neutral and so she picked a neutral religion. Once we passed the religion discussion, she went to bed. She'd had enough. It was pretty funny how she became irritated by Nick's sarcasm when I just let it go by. He did, at one point, let me know that by being a mother of four children, I had done the most amazing thing in the world. Deep down inside, that fight-picking New Zealander was not a bad guy.
At one point we talked about Germany and Nazis. Poor Wolfgang sat there uncomfortably. Nick talked about how he thought the current Germans felt about the situation of old. When he got up and walked away to use the restroom, I asked Wolfgang what he had been taught in school about German history. When else are you going to get a chance to ask that? He explained that they did teach the students in school about German history and that it was a sad subject. He even said that yes, Hitler was influential but that the Germans had a choice in who they would follow and shouldn't have followed Hitler. They could have said no but chose to follow him anyway. Yes, it was a scary time to stand up against the things that were happening and people who did refuse to follow were killed. But they still had the choice and if they followed Hitler, they were just as bad.
Where else do you get the opportunity to learn so much from people of other countries. For me, the hostel was a great place to do that. I wouldn't have changed that for the world.
We all sat together (except Joyce who'd enough) and laughed and talked about ourselves and the world in general. We closed the restaurant/lounge down and when we got upstairs to our room, we had a full house. Every bed was filled. Emily and I went to sleep, exhausted.
The next morning I realized I wish I'd brought a flashlight. It's hard to try and get into the shower first when you an't see your belongings to gather them together. My phone was dead and so I couldn't use it for light. I didn't want to turn on the light and disturb my roommates so I waited. Realizing I had my iPod to use for light, I dug around in my things and ended up just bringing my suitcase into the bathroom with me. It was easier than trying to dig through the suitcase to find clean clothes for the day. BUT, I ended up forgetting the keys to my suitcase in my backpack. On my bed. After my shower I just put on the clothes I had worn in and changed when I got back into the room. By then, the lights were on and my roommates were awake. Once dressed and makeup on (because I can't bear to be seen without makeup) I headed downstairs for breakfast. Breakfast included with your stay at the hostel was bread, coffee, and juice. Italians LOVE to have chocolate on their bread for breakfast. Yes, it's true, I had chocolate on my bread. Having bread with just butter and jelly will never be as good as bread with chocolate spread. So, I skipped the 4 euro eggs and bacon and just ate what was included with my stay. It was more than enough. Nick from New Zealand sat at the table with me while the Germans ate with Joyce. Emily had found new friends and was sitting at another table.
Later, as I was packing up my things to check out of the hostel, Nick came to me with a pen and notebook that I'm guessing comes from his company. He said I needed to write things down about my trip the old-fashioned way: with a pen and paper. A very nice gesture from a guy that caused so much trouble the night before.
It was sad to leave the hostel after my two days. As I said, I would go back there again.

Being in a hostel is fun...

I'm sitting here in the hostel "bar" (big room with tables and the reception area and a "bar") with my "American coffee" and beer (nice combo, I know). I am FREEZING and wish I had a thicker hoodie with me (but it wasn't supposed to be cold). And I haven't seen a cheap sweatshirt anywhere..you know, one that says "Viva Italiano" that I can wear to advertise that I have indeed been to Italy.
I can tell you though, I do love the hostel. Not only is it cheap but it's also entertaining to hear all of the different languages. At my table right now is Emily from Chicago and some German guy who looks like Jeff (did you see the picture?) And Joyce (she's old) from California. It's really entertaining. And yes, for 10 euro there is the BBQ tonight. Actually, it's 12 euro to add grilled vegetables.
Anyway, it's fun and definitely an adventure. And I really haven't eaten anything here. The dinner last night and then breakfast this morning (4 euro for bacon, not good scrambled eggs, and pancakes I didn't eat). I didn't eat lunch yesterday and today I only had coffee, a Coke Zero (in skinny cans), a bit of chocolate (which was good) for lunch. I ate a granola bar when I came back to the hostel then I passed out for an hour. Now I'm sitting with my coffee and beer and laughing at my seatmates.

Day one in Italy...

Actually, I'm in Menaggio. But I started out in Milan. I flew out of JFK riding with full classiness in the "Business Elite"section of the plane. When I got to JFK, I stopped and grabbed a slice of pizza at Sbaro, which just happens to be a mall oriented pizza joint. Before that I exchanged $100 US for 80 euro. Not a great exchange rate but it all spends the same.
Then I sat in the waiting area hoping I'd be able to get a seat. I started out 4/5 then 2/4 on the wait list. With 45 minutes left til take off, they began boarding the plane and I didn't have a seat yet.
Seated around me was an Italian family, happily conversing in their language. This was really my first experience with authentic Italian so I was in heaven. I just sat there smiling at them. I didn't understand (except maybe 1%) what they were saying but it didn't matter. They were speaking Italian.
When the waiting room emptied of most of the passengers, I went up to the desk and asked if there was a chance I had made it on the plane. Well, I guess my name just hadn't popped up on the "cleared" list yet and I definitely had a seat. As I went to the check-in at the gate, the girl let me know that she had held me to the last so she could give me a seat in "BUSINESS ELITE"! Although, she did stop me as I was getting my passport checked. I was really freaking out. Reason being because my passport is Davis (my married name) and my name now is Jones. When I got my passport, it was because I was going on a Disney cruise and I was still married My divorce went through last February and I've never thought "pay another $100 and change your passport!". Anyway, I thought she was stopping me because my passport name didn't match the name on my ticket (because I didn't realize they needed to when my ticket was booked PLUS I had forgotten that my names didn't match). Turned out, I had never signed my passport. I've had the thing for two years, went on one trip that required a passport, and no one ever noticed. Anyway, I cruised on thru after signing my passport and actually did a happy dance down the gangplank onto the plane. I had made it! I was going to Italy. This was something I had dreamed of for four years and I was actually doing it. I was living my dream AND I was doing it practically first class.
So I walked on the plane and was directed to my (as Natalie says: "I got the damn...") pod (ala "Last Holiday"). A POD. Kind of. I wish I could explain or had taken pictures of the actual seat. If you've seen "Inception" and they're on the plane, the seats looked a little like that. About 4 feet of leg room, seats that reclined FLAT and gave you a back massage, quilted blankets, fluffy pillows, and an amenity bag with toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, comb, shoe polish, comfy socks, Chapstick, lotion, eye cover for sleeping, kleenex, and a face cleansing cloth. KEEPER. BONUS. Yeah, Business Elite is amazing. You even order your food from a menu! Three course meal. Fancy noise-canceling head phones which, sadly, only worked on the plane because, otherwise, I'd have taken those babies home. They were really nice.
So, after eating a pretty good dinner (although the beef was a little dry), and watching "People Like Us" (which is pretty good-Love love love Chris Pine), I snuggled down into my "pod", with my comfy socks and my quilted blanket and squishy pillow (but the seat was hard) and slept. I did try to watch "Snow White and the Huntsman" but only made it about halfway. Kristen Stewart just cannot hold my attention. Plus I was concerned that I would not sleep enough and be exhausted the next day. I think though, that I only slept about 3 hours at the most. Next thing I know, I can hear the flight attendant asking another passenger what they wanted for breakfast. I knew we were getting close to Milan and I would have to wake up if I wanted to eat before landing. Sadly, as much as I wanted to be in Italy, I also wanted to sleep. I was tired.
The other issue I had was that I was afraid. I knew that once I walked off the comfort and familiarity of the plane, I would be on my own in an UNfamiliar place. On my own. I had told John that I was afraid of being on my own. I've never been in a foreign country (a Disney cruise doesn't count) and I was afraid of being somewhere where I don't know the language (which at the same time is exciting) and getting lost. I had visions of sitting on a bench in the airport and falling apart because I had no idea what anyone was saying or how I was supposed to get anywhere.
So I hung out on the plane, taking my dear sweet time getting my suitcase out of the overhead bin. And it was dark outside still which, to me, made it worse.
But I had to finally walk the plank. And it was really okay. Where there were Italian words, there were also the english translation. I understood. And the first place I went as I walked off the plane? The bathroom, which luckily has the international symbol for women's bathroom. Looked like a bathroom, acted like a bathroom. Thank goodness.
From the bathroom I knew I had to find the train to Milan Centrale. That made me a little nervous. But I sat down outside the terminal, relaxed, got out my Rick Steves paperwork and book and figured out where the train ticket booth and platform was and I was good! Even took the time to spark a conversation with the ticket guy who was spinning a coin across his knuckles. I asked him if he did this when he was bored....he was a poker player. Nuff said.
So onto the train to Milan Centrale. At first it was pretty empty and I made the mistake of not sitting right by the window but, then it filled up with commuters and my view of the scenery I had dreamed for four years of seeing was a seat away. I listened to Mormon Tabernacle Choir on that leg of my travels and it made for beautiful theme music. Although, when "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing" started, I started to cry. That song has special meaning for me. I hear it and get teary-eyed.
So, once I got to the Milan Centrale station, that started the next adventure: find the ticket booth to buy the ticket for the train to Varenna.
The hard part of being a tourist is the hauling of the suitcase every where. Up the moving (steep hill) sidewalk, down the sidewalk, dodging passengers and tourists. Don't bother going in a souvenir shop. Too much bother. Saves me a lot of money though.
So, I re-read my Rick Steves instructions about how to purchase a ticket for the trenno and headed downstairs to find the magic machines. When I found them, there was a little man (not old) that took it upon himself to help me buy my ticket...I was under the impression he was either an employee and it was his job to help travelers work the automated ticket machines OR he was just helpful. Nope. Wrong on both counts. He asked me, in broken english, to buy him a cup of coffee. Yeah, sure, that's what you want my extra change for. I just told him I didn't have cash...I lied. I wasn't going to give that guy 20euro! That was all I had! And his helpful ticket purchasing assistance wasn't worth 20 euro.
After getting my ticket, I hauled myself and my caravan of stuff back up stairs to find the correct train platform. And that's where I got confused.
Look for Lecco not Varenna and not Verona. Whaaaa?
SO, I found a couple that looked American and asked if they could help me. They weren't american. They were Australian BUT they knew what they were doing...except when they started asking Italian passers-by if they spoke English because they thought I had to get my seat on the train reserved. My instructions didn't say I needed to reserve a ticket but they must know more than I. They're AUSTRALIANS. And a lovely couple, by the way. My train that I needed was 2556 but the Australian man said "two double-five six". So much better than the way we say it. So they stopped an Italian woman who spoke english pretty well and she let them know I just needed to get the ticket punched (validated) prior to boarding the train (which is what my Rick Steves instructions said).
The train to Varenna was about 90 minutes away so, once I figured out how the reader board worked and kept an eye on what platform I would be on. Figured out by watching the other travelers how to get my ticket punched in the machine (and how to find a validation machine that is actually working). Managed to get on the right train and then just sat back and watched the world go by.
I sat on the left side of the train as Rick Steves had suggested to get the best view of Lake Como. Most of the trip was buildings and bushes. A lot of going in and out of tunnels under mountainsides. But once we got into view of the lake, I was glad I had chosen to take his suggestion to heart. The view was amazing. My camera did not capture what I saw outside that window. As we sped towards Varenna, I would often gasp at the amazing views that passed by my window. I ended up recording about 15 minutes of the trip just to make sure I saw everything that was there. Trying to take pictures of scenery when you are on a speeding train is useless. A lot of blurred pictures.
Once again reading my Rick Steves paperwork that told me when to prepare to get off of the train, I was ready when we pulled into the station. Varenna.
Since I hadn't used the bathroom since the airport, the first thing I did was look for a restroom. Easy enough. Right on the station platform and easily recognizable. There was only one stall though so I had to wait for the other tourists ahead of me. As I was standing, waiting for my turn into the skinny single stall,I heard the familiar (and most welcome) sound of Americans. Not just regular Americans but SOUTHERN Americans. "Thank goodness. You're American," I said to them. Flight attendants from Delta airlines who had a layover and wanted to see more than just Milan. We spent the next hour or so together wandering Varenna and looking for the ferry dock so I could take my boat over to Menaggio. They were very friendly and polite and I was glad to have something familiar in a strange land.
Once we purchased our tickets, me to Menaggio, they to Bellagio, we said our goodbyes. They're ferry left before mine so I had some time alone to take in the scenery and listen to the tourists (several of them from Germany and Switzerland). Once my ferry arrived, I headed to Menaggio and one step closer to a hot shower.
I did find, that since I only got about three hours of sleep on the airplane form JFK to Milan, that I was getting sleepy on the train. There was no way I was going to fall asleep and miss the view. I can sleep when I get home
When I arrived in Menaggio, it was an easy and short stroll to the hostel I was staying in. And the front desk girl spoke perfect english!! I am having an easy go of Italy.

Viva Italiano!

I made it! The flight was perfect. More on that later when I find wifi. I'm on a train from the airport to the central train station. And I'm proud to say I found both the bathroom (which luckily uses the international symbol for women's bathroom) and the train station without asking for directions. I'm on my own little adventure and I can hardly stand my excitement.
There are two men sitting next to me on the train (across the aisle) speaking Italian (of course, I'm in Italy! What else would they be speaking?) and one actually said "scussi"to me. I love it. So far the Italians are friendly and helpful and don't mind that I'm an American in Italy insisting on speaking American. Shame on me.
My first conversation with an Italian? The ticket agent who sold me the train ticket. He was flipping a coin across his fingers. I asked him if that is what he did when he was bored and he let me know he was a poker player.
Did you know that even the Italian flies are annoying? They have no issues with personal space and I keep having to shoo it away. Feels like home. Atleast that is one thing that does not change.
The weather is overcast but I don't care. I am in ITALY!!

Delta delta delta

So, I got the last seat on the flight from SLC to JFK. I was sweating bullets, ready to ask when the next flight was. My dear friend had more faith than I and kept telling me (via text) "You'll get on". I went from 6/7, to 7/8, to 5/6, to 2/3 (on the wait list) then cleared for a seat. The two hours I waited until I was cleared was pretty stressful.
I was near the front of the plane (which, luckily, isn't like being on the front of a cruise ship...trust me, you don't want a room at the front of a cruise ship), and was lucky enough to have a window seat. But, even after being up since 8pm last night (graveyard, remember?), I never went to sleep. I wasn't even drowsy and I'm assuming God must know what he's doing to help me avoid jet lag. The lady next to me was not as awake. Even with her neck pillow, which I thought was to avoid the uncomfortable napping on the plane, she kept nodding off...violently. Eventually she was snuggled up next to me, even with the neck pillow. I have pictures. Her head on my shoulder.
No food served on this flight. Not free food anyway. You could purchase "food" for a high price. There were the complimentary snacks: pretzels, cookies, nuts. And beverage service. Crummy tv shows I would never watch at home (except a rerun of "Once Upon A Time" and "New Girl" which my daughter loves). And really annoying commercials that lasted longer than a normal television ad.
And does anyone remember when flight attendants were friendly? Yeah, me too. Not a requirement anymore, I guess. Rude, unfriendly. Barbie needed to spend more time with Ken, I guess. She was pretty but cranky.
Right now let me insert that I am in heaven, surrounded by an Italian family at JFK waiting for their flight home. They're just jabbering away in their native tongue. I can only understand a few things (very few) but I love it. I think Italy is truly the place I will find happiness. If only I can find a job...

Heading to Italy!

I've dreamed of this trip for four years. It only came to pass because of the divorce and the sacrifice of some very wonderful people. My tour ticket was bought with the last of my equity money from my house. The plane ticket was given (more or less) by my co-worker whose husband works for Delta. She sold me a buddy pass for $650 (the ticket would have cost me over $1400 without it). Half the ticket money was from my old porcelain doll supplies and molds and the other half was "loaned" by a very dear friend of mine (and you know who you are).

The stress getting to this point has been tolerable but not enjoyable. I didn't actually get the confirmation number for my ticket until last night. Needless to say, I've been truly wondering whether or not I actually had a plane ticket. I worked all night (graveyard shift) and now I'm sitting in the airport waiting to find out if I am even getting a seat on the flight (the pain of flying on a buddy pass is that you fly standby, hoping you'll get a seat).
And then I glance up from technology and see the sunrise. Thank you. It's beautiful, as always.
I have 4 hours to New York then 2 hours layover then 12 hours to Milan. But is it really 12 hours? No, they're 8 hours ahead and I get in at 7:30am Milan time. That makes it 11:30pm here, right? Ahhhh, math, how I hate thee. So I guess it's really 6 hours to Milan from JFK. That's not so bad, right? Lets not take into account that I've been awake since 8pm last night...
Now I'm just waiting and watching the standby list. And I gotta pee...