Leavin' on a Fast Train...

I know, the lyrics say "jet plane," and until yesterday I was leaving on a jet plane...a dirt cheap Ryan Air flight to Paris, to be exact. But then I found a €30 TrenItalia special from Turin to Paris Gare de Lyon and couldn't pass up the ease of hi-speed train travel. So that's that.

Today's the day I leave Treviso, the city I've called home since November. I don't know when I'll be back again. Despite a few close-minded attitudes and a racist mayor, I've grown quite fond of this place, my simple life here, and more importantly the people I've met.

Each of my six roommates, Gianni, Santi, Dani, Erica, Anna and Lucia has shared a piece of their life with me and have made coming home after a busy day a joy. Yesterday Lucia gave me Beppe Severgnini's book "La Testa Degli Italiani," as a going away gift. It's an ironic attempt to explain what's really going on inside the Italian mind. Hah, so I'm not the only one who doesn't always get it? It's written in Italian and will be my go-to when I need a little brushing up.


I'll also miss my students who kept me young and never cease to make me laugh (and on the off occasion cry). My prized pupil and colleague, Chiara, began English lessons without even being able to say "The book is on the table," but now any topic (and verb tense) is fair game. She's also the Queen of gifts and sent me away with a fabulously plush Armani beach towel. Even softer than the towels at San Clemente Palace.


Then there's the New Zealand rugby crew of sunny Favaro, a neighboring town. They are always up for fun adventures and hearty meals, two things I never get sick of. Samoan buddy, Josh, is one of the most generous, patient and modest people I've ever met. He taught me alot; how to drive a manual car, "smash" a tiramisu in seconds flat, and how to speak Samoan. Talofa Josh, Tash, Ryan, Harley and Honeybear.


Lastly, there are the other two expat extraordinaries, Stephanie and Ginny, who you've read about numerous times on my blog. For them it's definitely not goodbye but only a short farewell until we plan our next adventure together.

And a message to Alessandro: Your yellow mountain bike was my saving grace. It's sitting on the side of my house because I couldn't get in touch with you to return it! Thank you for accompanying us to the wild ride to Favaro. You are a true sweetheart. Forse ci vediamo a Siracusa!

Train's about to leave...gotta get going. Un bacio a tutti.

I wear my sunglasses at night...

Well not really, but a friend of mine brought it to my attention that almost all my blog photos are with shades! So Emily, these Italy snaps are for you, dear.

Looking very school-teachery in my cardigan at the local pizzeriaQuality time with my host brother and sis, Luca & Alice

Practicing for Euro Disney in my apartment

And here's a snappy update about my latest whereabouts. Move out day is tomorrow (sad) so I'm off to Milan to hook up with one of my Italian friends who is driving me over to Torino. I'll be there for a few days with my summer host family before heading up to Paris with my long lost NYC chum. From there details get a bit hazy as I'm still unsure where in Italy ACLE will be sending me for summer work.

Stay tuned for updates and more sunnie-less photos. Baci xx

Mission Possible: 5-Star Pool Crashing

There comes a time in every backpackers' journey when we need a little luxury. A little reminder of la dolce vita. For me and fellow 'packer, Stephanie, the time was this weekend.

Don't get me wrong, I love being on the road, sleeping in hostel bunk beds, wearing t-shits with holes in them and living off free breakfast croissants. But on my final weekend in Treviso it was 5-star service we were after. Our sights were set on the most luxurious hotel in Venice, San Clemente Palace, a converted monastery on a private island which boasts a modest 800 Euro/night price tag and can only be reached by the hotel's personal water taxi.

Unfortunately our desire to be pampered didn't really jive with the collective 20 Euro we had in our wallets so any chance of living the high life would require creativity, charm and maybe a few white lies.

Which takes me to midday Saturday--Piazza San Marco, Venice. Our plan was clear: Find the dock where San Clemente's guests board their exclusive water taxi and hop on. Once we arrive at the private island, follow signs to the pool. Change into bathing suits in the cabana and assume tanning position in pool-side lounge chairs. Our mantra was simple, "If you believe it, they will too."

The photos tell the rest of the story...

Waiting patiently on the dock for the complimentary water taxi

Enjoying the ride

Trying to hunt down the pool without looking suspicious

A quick change into our bathing suits

Pool-side tennis courts

Total relaxation (and really soft frette towels) Heading back to San Marco after three hours of sunning. We drove the boat back. Thanks Signoro Papas!

Window Seat

A European woman loves to perch on her window sill. She curiously spies on the neighbors, her perfectly quaffed Aqua Net hair not blowing an inch in the breeze. Sometimes if the window is close enough to ground level, she starts a friendly conversation in dialect, to which I usually just smile and say Buona Giornata. And if the mood strikes, she even take her pet out for a sun bath (or annual tooth cleansing like this Catalan lady).

I can only remember one time when I perched outside a window. It was a summer day in 2006 during NYC's Gay Pride March.

I balanced a glass of white wine in one hand while catching beads, rainbow buttons, neon condoms, and penis-shaped soap thrown from outrageous floats. J-Lo and Madonna blasted which made conversation (in dialect or otherwise) rather unnecessary. Sculpted bodies danced their way towards Christopher St. while fabulous drag queens with perfectly quaffed hair blew me kisses. [Photo (right): © Janet Mayer / PR Photos]

BCNcredible: Tapas Gem

Can you believe all of these BCN posts were from one day of sightseeing? You'd think I had a turbo jet pack strapped to my back (hehe, funny visual). Anyway, let's recap - morning at the market, Internet cafe and numerous beaches, afternoon kicked off with Gaudi, which takes me to today's post -- LUNCH.

Since I was alone I decided to go on an epic quest for the perfect tapas place. Despite having two guide books with me, each recommending their #1 picks (one was Tallers de Tapas in The Gothic), I wanted to find my own personal fav. Drum roll please.....

Bar del Pi. It's situated in one of The Gothic's smaller but incredibly charming squares, Plaça del Pi. The outdoor tables are nicely shaded and the Basílica de Santa Maria del Pi provides the picture-perfect backdrop. Inside the bar, it had all the elements I was after, a sprinkling of tourists but mostly local clientele, rustic old-world charm, tasty- looking seafood tapas and a smiley young waiter.

Using alot of finger pointing I ordered two tapas plates, croquettes with minced pork and a crab and pepper salad with vinegar and lemon juice. I asked for a recommendation on the wine and was given a light red.

The weather was perfect for al fresco dining--cool and breezy. An Asian woman was playing soothing melodies on a one-stringed Danbau (like a zither) as I perused my guide books for good afternoon attractions.

Although the conditions were just right for hours of relaxing in the square, I wanted to check out the Cathedral before dark and then shower up for a night of dancing so I took a shot of coffee and tracked down my waiter, Sami, for my bill. He surprised me by speaking English and even made a joke about the amount I owed. He said something like, "That'll be 1,000 Euro please!"

Of course I joked back and said, "I thought it was free!", to which he responded, "OK, it is. It's free."

After some more funny back and forth, he insisted that my meal was free and suggested that I can pay full price the next time I come to the bar. I thanked him in every language I knew and strolled down a cobblestone alleyway feeling smiley, thinking, "Yeah, I'll be back."

Remember all that ranting I was doing?

Well, it all felt a bit silly after Monday's dinner with two American Peace Corps. girls who were visiting from Mali, Africa. Somehow my little mosquito problem (which hasn't completely gone away) seemed SO pathetic after listening to tales of dysentery, malaria and worms. The most shocking story was about a boy who had a worm that decided to poke through his penis and he had to use a wooden stick to twist it out. This specific type of worm causes profuse itching, but you can't use any water to soothe the pain because it breeds when put in water.

Reality Check, Court. You can handle one measily mozzie. And "handle it" I did (see brown speck in the photo).

BCNcredible: Gaudi's La Pedera

BCNcredible: And I'm off...

Breakfast at the hostel was quick and free - toast, jam and instant coffee. You could have lingered over your coffee and met a flurry of young travelers who all dine together at picnic tables, but I was anxious to get going so I ate and hit the pavement and started my ambitious Day 1 itinerary.

First stop - a local El Raval market, less touristed than Ramblas' Boqueria, called Mercat de San Antoni. It's where Catalans go to grocery shop and Californians don't go to buy souvenirs. According to Lonely Planet, prices are also cheaper here than at Boqueria. After seeing this fruit stall it was impossible not to buy something--a huge bag of juicy strawberries was only €1.

2nd stop - Internet Cafe to blog. Unlike Venice's appauling 8 Euro/hour internet rate, this cafe was the perfect price - 1 hour, 1 Euro. It was clean, high-tech and the guy at the front desk spoke English. It's a short walk from the market down Ronda Sant pau.

3rd stop - PLAYAS! After almost a month of rain in Treviso I was dying for some beach time. Barcelona's strip of beaches was easy to get to - from Paral-lel the 157, 36 and 64 busses go directly to Barceloneta and Puerto Olympico. I stopped at a newstand on the way to get the 10 trip bus/metro ticket for about €7.50. It lasted nearly my entire trip.

There are several BCN Beaches to choose from but after a survey up and down the strip I liked Icaria Beach best. It has good mellow house music cranking from the central cafe/bar less families than Barceloneta Beach and is close to public transport. I only stayed long enough to nosh on some strawberries and try my hand at topless sunbathing (hehe) but I was too curious about the rest of Barcelona to lay still.

4th Stop -- Parc de la Ciutadella Strolling through the lush gardens and grounds is a must. Have a picnic, rent a bicycle, go to the zoo or check out one of the park's museums. For, me the park was a great passeggiata and photo op'.

BCNcredible: Getting There

I can't say I made any strides to balance out my sleep patterns over the past week...I mean, does anyone sleep in a hostel, let alone a hostel in Barcelona? Yes, my insomnia in BCN was entirely voluntary and actually had the opposite effect...I've been revved up and giddy ever since I got home. Here's the rewind:

The Arrival: Travelling alone has never given me reason to be afraid, so arriving at 2am in Las Ramblas after a delayed flight from Venice didn't really rattle me. It wasn't until I turned down Carrer Sant Pau, the street where my hostel is located, that I my internal radar went off.

ABORT, ABORT!

Spilling out of each door, balcony and alley were prostitutes and their creepy admirers with paper-bagged liquor and beady eyes. But there was no turning back.

"It's too late now" I thought. "If I do a 180 I'm an obvious target."

So I went forward, rolling my suitcase down the center of the narrow street looking as hard-ass as possible, which mustn't have been too convincing given my flowing bohemian skirt and wooden bangles.

After 5 harrowing minutes, there it was...#80 Barcelona Mar. I never thought I'd be so happy to arrive at a youth hostel...you'd think I just entered The Ritz. No wonder the hostel's website advises you to arrive from the other direction.

At the front desk there was a mellow French guy, Julien who gave me the lay of the land, key to my locker and sheets for my bunk bed. He told me about a cool party that was happening the next night - I heard "French DJ" and "Salsa" and agreed on the spot to join him.