Studying Abroad

Okay so here it goes...

I studied abroad my junior year fall semester. That is the fall of 2010... I would have been packing by now this time last year. What a wonderful semester it was- it truly seems like a dream now, something that my mind and body went through, but as I sit at my desk it's so hard to imagine myself there again. Just walking around Florence with my messenger bag, roaming into old shops, buying yarn so my 74 year old housemom could teach me how to knit. I think Flavia is the thing (or in this case, person) I miss the most. I remember the littlest things about her too... the way her hands wrinkled or the smell of her smoking her skinny cigarette in the morning while I ate breakfast next to her.

She ate breakfast with me every morning, 7:30 am on the dot. It was nice... to wake up and attempt to make my choppy italian a little better. Then she would tell me some kind of italian saying and send me on my way. The market would be bustling by this time, vendors selling old jewelry, cashmere leggings, and old scarves. I always loved walking past this in the morning, although on the weekends I loathed the market for waking me up when I finally had the chance to sleep in!

Arriving in late August, Florence was a beautiful sight. It was touristy yes, to be expected, but something about it defiant. Yes, they had the Duomo. Yes, the David was over there. Yes, the Boboli Gardens... I could go on. But the people there were different... slightly cold I could say. I guess the Florentines are commonly known as being a little more reserved or stuck up and trust me I had some personal experiences that can account for that. But past all of the italian designer clothes and swagger, they were just nice people. I know if I was truly in trouble they would help me while secretly making fun of my dress and awful Italian along the way. Looking back, I can see that now... maybe not so much before.

So for the checklist: I visited Rome, Pisa, Lucca, Sienna, Cerveterai, Pompeii, Sorento, Naples, and Venice in Italy, and Dublin, Paris, London, the south of France, and Barcelona for the rest Europe. It was literally a whirl wind. Came and went in a flash... But looking back it was a marvelous amount of time. I learned important lessons like don't lose your wallet the third day you are in Europe. Too bad I learned the hard way and ended up sleeping on my friend Pam and Caitlin's cold hard floor of their homestay. That was interesting trying to explain that to their host mom the next day. It was also an expensive mistake (I had to buy another lock for my host mom's house for a whopping 200-something euros) but it made me grow up a little bit. All my life I depended on people to take care of me in the littlest of ways. I wouldn't pack certain things because I knew my mom or friend would have it, I didn't really check the flight time because I knew someone else would know it, I didn't really know where we were staying or directions because someone else would find out... get the picture? But Europe was ready to smack me silly (and it did). I learned how to pack light, negotiate cab fares in a different language, and how to WALK WALK WALK. I walked everywhere and I didn't mind it. Lost myself 10 pounds along the way, which I couldn't complain about :-)

Anyways, now I remember different things than the daily gossip at the Villa Rosa. I remember my painting teacher, Kirsten's, smile. She always wore bright pink lipstick with her boy cut hair. My final art show and how Flavia held my hand and listened as I explained my work. I remember the city of Valdrada in Calvino's "Invisible Cities," in which there is a city on a lake. There is one city and another, that is reflected from the water, however this mirror changes the city. "At times the mirror increases a thing's value, at times denies it. Not everything that seems valuable above the mirror maintains its force when mirrored. The twin cities are not equal, because nothing that exists or happens in Valdrada is symmetrical: every face and gesture is answered, from the mirror, by a face and gesture inverted, point by point. The two Valdradas live for each other, their eyes interlocked; but there is no love between them." I remember Anne Carson's poetry about her journey to Compostella. I remember getting delicious red wine for 2 euros a glass. I remember my roommate Alyssa and her footie pajamas that she wore to bed with all seriousness. I remember the smell of late night dancing, loud foreign music, and regretting ever wearing heels. I remember how I had to leave my oil paints behind, and how I didn't get home for three days.

Oh right. That one.

The unfortunate tale of me getting home for my sisters wedding #2 (she married a french man so they had one in france that I made and then one in Chicago) is not a happy one. It actually gave me serious trauma issues and makes traveling extremely difficult for me now. In short, I got to the Florence airport at 6:00 am and didn't leave until twelve hours later. Snow had started gathering in inches on the old cobblestone ground, and the entire city was in a panic. "Where are the fucking plows???" I kept asking myself and friends. Duh. They don't have any.

After hyperventilating in a closet for about 2 hours talking to my mom back in the US (with someone ELSES phone mind you. I didn't have an international phone and even left my italian phone at Flavias beause I'm soooo intelligent) I was literally hysterical. My sister's wedding was in 24 hours and I needed to be there. I was the maid of honor. I was supposed to give a speech... which I never even ended up writing because I thought I would have time on the plane (HAH). Don't tell my sister that....

In the end the speech didn't matter anyways. My mom bought me an entire new one way ticket that left from Rome. Her final words? "You have 12 hours. Get to Rome." My flight was departing at 9:30 am, and I was then shuffled outside into the snow with hundreds of other stranded sorrowful people. I somehow see a woman flag down the only taxi in sight... and she is alone. I run to her and ask, "Where are you going?" only to realize she spoke no english. "Dove vai?" I asked... "Statzione de Santa Maria Novella???" She said SI. I cried with happiness as she told me I could come. I hop in. Two other Germans hop in... and that was our little happy family trip to the train station. Literally one of the most bizarre experiences of my life but I didn't care. I get to the station... a gypsy tries to steal my luggage... I battle on, only to look at the departure board and ALL of the trains are cancelled. Another defeat.

So I make friends. I stand in line and chat up an italian family inbetween my self loathing and tears. Suddenly another girl in front of me turns around and asks if I'm trying to get to Rome. I say I am. "Want to split a cab?" she asks. Hell yes.

Her name was Christina. She was amazing... a Japanese student studying abroad in Florence too. Her and I are discussing our options when her friend who is a bouncer in Florence (I want to say his name was Massimo or something?) says he'll drive us for free... WHAT?? OK! Except wait... isn't this how people get kidnapped? I've seen "Taken" and I know how this works... but did I say yes? OF COURSE I DID! I was too desperate to think otherwise. Her friend shows up in his leather jacket and I hop in the back next to giant squash as he mumbles something about his mother. Then off we go.

Except not really. Because we get to the ONE HIGHWAY that leads to Rome and are stuck on the merging ramp for six hours. I wish I was kidding. Six hours. No movement. Nothing at all. I felt my time slipping away from me as I banged my head against the window (figuratively, of course). Her friend turns on the news to hear that the highway is closed and people are sleeping in their cars. We drive back towards Florence.

Massimo mentions that he can possibly take us to the coast but it is mountaneous and has poor lighting. I accept defeat. "Just take us back to the train station, maybe there is an early train..." I finally close my eyes for the first time in over 24 hours.

We get to the train station and it is closed. Its around 4 am and it looks like there is a train around 7:00 am. We look at the platform and the dark train is waiting there. Christina and I hop on and are surrounded by  many homeless men. We veer by and get our own room. We're afarid, exhausted, and freezing. It's only 20 degrees outside and this train is off... there is no heat. We're huddling together, all of our bags in tow, and pray for the train to start soon. I realize that its a 2 hour train to Rome, and then we have to take another train to the airport.

I'm not going to make it.

I was literally all cried out so I just call the airlines (thank God my parents activated my phone by now) and tell them I need to reschedule the flight. "Well there's one at 11:30.. but its booked, there's one at 1:00... oh its booked... Looks like there's nothing until Tuesday." Tuesday? You're kidding me right? My sister's wedding is today! I need to get back there! All of a sudden its as if my guardian angel finally felt sorry for me. "Wait... there is one seat left on the 2:30 to JFK. Would you like me to put you on it?" Hell yes.

Finally the lights on the train come on and magical heat starts pouring out of the vents. Christina and I squeal with the first inkling of hope in a while. We evenutally make it to the airport and sadly part ways. We promise to Facebook each other, which I did but couldn't find her name. I always wonder about her because of the earth quake in Japan, and I hope she's ok. I get to the gate and realize that some people from my program are there, including my two friends Pam and Caitlin. They see me and Pam stares horrified, "No, no no no!!!!!" I hear Pam still. But yes yes yes. There I was. I'd been traveling for an entire day longer than they had but there I was... my eyes bloodshot, my hands blistered from lugging my bags around, my body exhausted. They listened and cried with me. I'll never forget that.

It's time to board, but now the flight is delayed for another two hours to wait for students that had a hard time getting to the airport. JEEZ, I think. Wish that could've happened for me.
I take a large sleeping pill on the plane and plead to the front of my seat that I wake up in America. Sure enough, eight hours later I wake up to find other people chattering and the New York skyline come into view. I get off the plane and want to kiss the ground, except for the fact that I've missed my connecting flight and will now be staying in New York City hotel alone while my entire family and boyfriend dance the night away at my sister's wedding.
My sister and mom and I take turns calling each other and crying. The only good part is I could finally shower for the first time in 3 days. I lay on my bed, curl up in the fetal position, and want to die. One more day... I keep telling myself... One more day....

The next day I'm picking up my bag in O'Hare and I see my boyfriend walk through the glass doors. Emmett, I whisper. I haven't seen him in four months. My love... there he is! He scoops me up and I just stay there for a few minutes. I don't want to move yet. I can't move yet. I'm still all mixed up from the last 72 hours and he is my anchor. I get in the car and am quiet, trying to converse with my stepdad. I finally see my sister, we both cry. She looks so tired... she tells me her wedding wasn't the same without me. I collapse on the couch with Emmett and look at him and say...

"I'm never going back to Europe again."

Looking back now I can only laugh a little... and wince. It was literally an adventure, something out of some comedy that wasn't really funny. It's true that my departure with Italy left a bitter taste in my mouth, but I knew it wouldn't last forever. I still think of the beautiful flower trees in the Villa Rosa garden, my favorite panini sandwich at the local deli, and seeing so many things I'll never forget: my class's private tour of the Sistine Chapel, Pompeii, the leather markets of San Lorenzo, the way Venice is ACTUALLY that magical. Now I think that maybe I could go back...

Maybe.