Back in Italy for year 2. Three weeks after landing, I’m getting settled back into my routine, learning to let go of home again, and moving forward. I had such a relaxing, restful summer with the people I love most, so it broke my heart to leave again. Yet Genoa welcomed me with sunshine and stunning views, and along with some wonderful people, she reminded me that this is home too.
My flight landed on the 25th of August, and I began work on Monday the 26th — a week preparing for our students with evenings swimming in the Mediterranean or scooting about with Stella. The next weekend, I was lucky enough to return to Venice as one of my best Fordham friends and her boyfriend were about to depart for a 2 week Adriatic cruise. We shared an apartment one vaporetto stop away from the train station, and enjoyed a delightful Friday night strolling the streets, searching for the most perfect restaurant while catching up. I was jealous of their upcoming cruise, but Kristen reminded me that I live in Italy. Even if I had to go to work on Monday, it was the start of a new school year at a job I love, a far cry from the chaos and stress of the life I left behind in the overcrowded schools as one of many frazzled and under appreciated NYC teachers. On Saturday the 31st, before they boarded the “People Mover” to their cruise, Kristen handed me her copy of Without Reservations, a book she mentioned over dinner in the US this summer. A woman leaves her job for about 9 months, to follow her dream of immersing in several European locales without reservations. She was going to avoid planning and to see what happens.
I began the book yesterday. The best and worst aspect of living alone far from home is Saturday morning. I wake up in my cozy, renovated apartment with its terra cotta and marble floors, exposed brick, and garden views. I wake up too early due to the ever present bells, birds, and scooters. I make some coffee. Maybe turn on Netflix or Apple TV. I check to see if I got any iMessages or texts on WhatsApp. Scroll through email. Scroll through my Twitter and Facebook feeds. And it’s only been 15 minutes. The weekend looms before me, all mine for whatever I want to do, whether that is nap on the couch, stare at the wall, or travel somewhere. But as exciting as independence is, it’s also lonely. We are wired for family. And I left mine in the States.
I went to move my scooter, but it was so beautiful and sunny that I couldn’t just go back inside after circling the block, so I rode along the coast. I hit a snag of traffic and tried something new . . . passing the huge line of cars, crossing into oncoming traffic cautiously, and relishing the true pure joy of owning a scooter. Winding high in the Ligurian Hills, with the Mediterranean to my right, glittering in the sun, I could smell flowers and fireplaces. I saw my reflection in the rearview mirror, and I was smiling. I paid a price for this, but what bliss! As I reached Recco, known for inventing delectable focaccia formaggio with its flaky crust and liquidy stracchino, I climbed high into the hills on unexplored little roads, treating myself to sublime views. I stopped Stella and was about to reach under the seat for my iPhone but realized I didn’t have it. I just stepped out for a minute . . . didn’t plan this. So, free from social networks, free from sharing the experience, I was able to fully immerse myself in it and enjoy in the moment. It felt more special and pure as a result.
I wound my way down the hill, past super fit bikers challenging their lycra-clad quads, and headed back home where I changed into a swimsuit to hit the beach before the good sun was gone. The pebbles were strewn with seaweed, providing a softer than usual bed. I fell asleep to the cadence of Italian voices. When I awoke, I practiced deciphering the sounds, realizing that I understand more than just snippets of conversation these days. “Watch me, watch me uncle!” “I can’t believe what she said.” “We had ravioli and prosciutto and [kisses fingers] it was delicious.” “Children, it’s time to go.” Real conversations.
I waded into the choppy water for a good workout. Instead of just swimming, I have been using the aqua-size skills I learned from Mom’s class at the Y. And since the salt water makes us more buoyant, I can do these exercises without the flotation belt. It’s fun, and I can do both cardio and strength training while enjoying the stunning scenery all around me. After a half hour of cross country skiing, reverse jacks, hamstring curls, etc . . .I swam back and towel dried. When I reached into my bag, I saw the book from Kristen, and as the sun turned into the Golden Hour, I began. Over a year later, I’m still in awe at where I am and what I am doing. The old me would have read this book with complete longing, traveling vicariously through the author. Now I read it as a companion to my own journeys.
I was drawn in right from the opening inscription:
There are years that ask questions and years that answer. -Zora Neal Hurston
This is my time for answering, I suppose. While I am temporarily rooted in Italy, I have the freedom to wander on weekends and breaks, or even after work. I have the mental space to reflect and allow my mind to wander. And after all the hard work of settling in last year and prepping for 5 different classes while learning the IB and catching up students who were behind . . . ahh . . . I have space and free time this year. It is wonderful, and I have earned it.
When Alice Steinbach left for Paris, a friend said “Cheers to a successful trip.”
What I didn’t say was that “success” was not something I was seeking from this venture. In fact, I was determined not to judge this trip, or its outcome, in terms of success or failure.
As I noted in previous posts, expectations breed disappointment. I am trying to take this adventure as it comes: the good and bad, the wild and relaxing, the painful pining and euphoric awe . . . filling my days with wonder and writing my story. I’m writing some of it here as I reflect along the way. But my mother reminded me, “Your story is not yet written.” Who knows what is next? All I know are my plans for class and the trips that I have booked. Sitting here on my couch, shipped from NYC, with my cozy favorite blanket and a bottle of Barbera del Monferrato vino . . . I relish my freedom and independence. I don’t want to live like this forever, and I won’t, so cogliere l’attimo. Back to my book.
Living in Italy, I have many wonderful colleagues and friends. However, nothing can replace my best friends at home, friends who have become like family. In May, I was super lucky that two of those friends visited at the same time, ladies I’ve known for about 19 years. When Jen and Anna arrived, we called it “Waldwick Girls in Italy.” And that entire time, I felt at home and was filled with pure joy as I had the best of both worlds.
They arrived on Friday May 10th and flew back early morning on Tuesday May 14th for a quick Girls’ Getaway. I know Jen and Anna from the track team in high school, and since then we have had many, many adventures from road trips to meets at Princeton and Brown University to visiting Jen in California to traveling in Belgium and Switzerland with Anna. Now it was time for us to kick back, chillax’, catch up, eat up, and soak up some sun. Would the weather finally cooperate?
Upon their arrival, I escorted the girls to my apartment for a nap while I finished the workday. Afterwards, I went down to change for the volleyball tournament against the German School. They were our #1 fans, as we played.
I’m in the royal blue and tennis skirt
After a quick tour of the school, we met in the staff room for pizza, focaccia, salami, and of course prosecco. We had the opportunity to chat with the staff of the German School, all intimidating in their matching uniforms, then headed to the apartment to freshen up for dinner. The girls surprised me with many gifts. Anna brought a selection of tastes from home, including cheddar cheese! and ingredients for Thai and Tacos. Among other goodies I requested from home, Jen surprised me with a mortar and pestle so I wouldn’t have to make my guacamole with a bowl and shot glass.
tastes from home
After the goodies, we walked down to one of my favorite restaurants by the sea, facing the beach where I love to swim. This upscale place is a bit expensive yet worth it for the delicious quality.
After a super delicious dinner and delectable desserts, we walked towards Nervi, enjoying the fresh sea air and views, then back up to my apartment where we tucked ourselves in for a relaxing night.
On Saturday morning, we lazily awoke and convened in the kitchen for coffee and cheerful chatter. We didn’t preplan our train to Vernazza because there were many options, and we just wanted to rest. I put out a little breakfast spread for the ladies, then we were on our way to Nervi where we caught the train to the Cinque Terre.
After a beautiful hour and 20 minutes, we arrived in the Cinque Terre. The Five Lands — 5 small villages nestled in the mountains along the rocky coast, villages that have preserved their own unique culture due to their isolated location for many years. It is possible to hike between all five villages, although after the devastating flood of October 2011 there are still parts of the trail that are not yet open. It took more than six months to clear the earth that swamped the villages– destroying homes and businesses, bridges and the landscape. Yet with careful determination, 5 Terre was open for business last summer and was looking absolutely great for our visit this May. On his site, my travel idol Rick Steves explains the disaster and recovery efforts. He also provides much amazing information about the region. He may be the reason why the predominantly heard language in the 5 Terre is English, and most of those folks are toting his guidebooks. But these are my favorite type of traveler, so I don’t mind.
Vernazza before the flood:
The floodwaters rush through the charming town:
Rick Steves takes us to Vernazza 6 months after the flood:
When we arrived in town, we were happy to see that Vernazza was almost back to her old self, vibrant and restored. But it’s impossible to forget the floods, as a giant photo reminds visitors as they exit the train.
We walked up the main street to our charming B&B, where we checked into our quaint room, then proceeded to walk around, explore town, and enjoy a great lunch.
The main street’s looking good
Colorful umbrellas provide a stunning backdrop for lunchtime reverie
After a delicious meal, we hiked through town and then decided to stroll to enjoy the gorgeous views on the trail to Monterosso, where I stayed with my mother in April.
The following slideshow features highlights of our journey.
This slideshow requires JavaScript.
At the conclusion of our awe-inspiring hike, which was also an amazing workout, we saw a line. People were queuing up for a limoncello and lemonade stand on a man’s farm, served fresh from the lemon trees. Anna and I enjoyed lemonade while Jen had limoncello. I had a sip and regret not buying any. I’ll have to go back. Luckily it’s so close that I can return. We made friends with the old man selling the lemonade, and he invited me to go on his boat one day when he’s in Genoa. I have his business card.
Jen snapped this photo of me talking at the stand
Jen enjoying her limoncello
Next, we completed the trail then to Monterosso.
Once in Monterosso, we took some photos
then I took the girls straight to Cantina di Miky where a fellow Waldwick Girl works, as mentioned in my previous Cinque Terre post. We enjoyed a delicious meal, then posed for a picture with Christine.
We had delicious food, and anna especially loved the fried stracchino and vowed to recreate it when she returned home. She even found a distributor for stracchino in the US. At the conclusion of our meal, we were happily buzzed and boarded a train for a quick ride back to Vernazza and our cozy hotel room.
I fell asleep before I even touched my book. Unfortunately, the girls had a bit of jet lag and were up a while. But we woke up happy the next morning and enjoyed breakfast at the restaurant downstairs run by twin brothers from Sicily. Sicilian breakfasts are very, very sweet. The guys entertained us, and I got another business card as I made more friends once they realized I lived locally. “Come back and visit soon. Watch TV, you will learn Italian,” they said as I left.
We had just enough time to hike the hills right in town for some gorgeous photos. Finally, the Cinque Terre under stunning blue skies. Splendid.
This slideshow requires JavaScript.
On top of the world on a gorgeous day.
After a Siren photoshoot, we boarded the train for Genoa, where it was finally swimming weather. We enjoyed a couple of hours on my local beach before dinner.
perfect weather for my first dip of the season
Next, we explored Genoa’s Medieval Center, where I gave the girls some tips for tomorrow’s exploration as I would sadly be at work. Then we enjoyed a nice meal at the Porto Antico.
Photoshoot at Piazza de Ferrari
Waldwick Girls in Italy
Golden hour of sunshine at the Porto Antico
On Monday, Anna and Jen explored the Medieval Center on their own after a lazy start and a yummy breakfast at their hotel. (They stayed at a hotel the last two nights since I would be working and so they’d be more comfortable). I met up with them for some shopping at the COOP Supermarket, then chilled in the room a bit before boarding a bus to Nervi where we walked on the passegiata for more stunning views. We had an aperitivo on the passegiatta,
then concluded the evening with a meal at Halloween, a pizza place in the little port of Nervi.
Back to the hotel for vino and Girl Talk before I headed to my apartment for sweet dreams. The girls left very early the next morning, and I missed them right away. I was so grateful for such a wonderful and joyous mini-break! Thanks Jen and Anna!
My mother visited for 10 days in November over Thanksgiving, which just happened to coincide with the glorious warm sunny weather turning to chilly rain. She had a lovely visit yet was eager to see Genoa in the sunshine, so she booked a second visit this past April . . . just in time for a 4 day break for the Italian Holiday (Festa della Liberazione) from Thursday April 25 – Sunday April 28, followed by a 1 day holiday on May 1st for European Labor Day.
When she arrived, she already felt comfortable and at home in my apartment while I worked, and was looking forward to living like a local, shopping, walking around, and meeting me at an osteria or bar for lunch or making lunch together. At night, we’d visit Nervi or downtown Genoa, make dinner, or just enjoy a light snack in the apartment. We settled into a cozy routine and tried not to be too disappointed that the glorious spring weather everyone had promised us had not yet arrived. It was still a bit cool and awfully rainy.
We booked 3 nights in the Cinque Terre, my favorite nearby playground. The Cinque Terre is only 1.5 hours away by local train, yet feels like a magical vacation paradise. In fact, when I was first recruited for this job, I looked at Genoa on the map and gasped, “It’s right on the water! And . . .it’s right by the Cinque Terre!” I had always wanted to go there after seeing gorgeous blue glimpses from the windows as our train darted between tunnels back in 2004. My Mom and I were traveling around Europe together as a gift for my Masters in English. It was her first time in Europe, and I was taking her to some of my favorite destinations. We glimpsed a new possibility and knew one day we had to return.
We had originally only booked 2 nights in a Monterosso hotel on the beach, but added a third night when we saw a chance for sunshine on Thursday. Our original hotel wasn’t available, so we opted for an upgraded wonderful hotel with a wraparound balcony, also on the beach for that first night. Yet while we left a warm sunny Genoa, Monterosso had turned chilly and cloudy unlike the prediction. It was still lovely. We spent the next few days enjoying the quiet peace of the Cinque Terre, walking through town, hiking hills, and wishing the sun would come out just a bit so we could see that stunning blue, the scene we saw from the train, the scene I loved when I visited my second weekend in Genoa last August. We hoped to swim, but we didn’t mind reading on the beach when it wasn’t raining. And we ate very, very well.
In fact, one of my favorite stories in Genoa happened while eating in Monterosso. My mother and I were feeling a bit hungry and were about to look for a place to eat. Randomly, Mom said, “What about here?” We were outside a turquoise blue and black colored place with indoor seating and outdoor seating overlooking the beach. Gorgeous, and the food smelled great. We sat down, and our friendly server said to us in perfect English: “Are you from NJ?” My mother looked a bit embarrassed, thinking Is my accent that bad? But actually, she’s originally from NYC. Anyways, I said, “Yes,” wondering why she asked. “Are you from Waldwick?”
“Yes. . .”
“Are you Rich’s sister?”
“Yes . . .” I was floored.
“I’m Christine. I went to school with your brother.”
WOW! My mom then immediately recognized her from the church and from town. We talked a while, and she explained the story about meeting her boyfriend while studying abroad and how the family sponsored her work visa and now she works for the family business. They also own the restaurant down the street. Amazing. So amazing that the Australian couple next to us who overheard . . . they were floored.
Christine said, “You should join our American girls’ club. There are 16 of us in the area, 4 here in the Cinque Terre and a bunch in Genoa.”
“Definitely.”
With fellow Waldwick Girl, Christine at Cantina di Miky in Monterosso
The food at Cantina di Miky was so amazing and delicious that Mom and I went twice, and on our last night, we tried the food at the fabulous restaurant, Miky’s, and met most of the family. These restaurants feature some of my favorite food in the region along with excellent hospitality, and I return each time I’m in the area now.
Mom and I finally had some warm sunshine on her last day in Genoa, and we enjoyed some time in the Medieval Center. She left but said, “I’ll return soon . . . next time for a month.” But right now, I’m writing this sitting next to Mamma on the couch in Waldwick, NJ. 🙂
Photos from Mom’s visit are featured below in this circle gallery. Click any photo for an enlargement and entry into the gallery with captions. With so many photos, I thought this was a better method than the slideshow. All of these were taken with my Canon PowerShot SX260HS, which is a really nice pocket camera, but alas, not as stunning as my SLR. I’ll have to make sure to use her more in next year’s adventures. I just don’t always want to lug her around. 🙂
View from our first hotel balcony in Monterosso
Not too sunny but at least not raining.
Awesome balcony
Mamma’s happy
Mamma bought me a new owl necklace
Strolling through town
Off for a hike
Gorgeous, even on a cloudy day
Prettier and prettier views.
How far up are we going?
So happy.
I thought I’d be in a swimsuit this day.
terraced land
new friends
Mom with the new friends
Colorful buildings of Monterosso
Old church
Another meal at Cantina di Miky — and Sunshine!
In the second hotel room
almost sunny
Monterosso at night when I hiked up a nearby hill
Riomaggiore
Charming even in the rain
Mural in Riomaggiore
I want to see this quaint village in the sunshine
View from the second hotel room
Oh clouds . . .
Mamma happy sitting in my Genoa kitchen
Piazza de Ferrari
Stop and smell the azaleas
Medieval Genoa lit beautifully at night
The lions outside this cathedral remind me of Patience and Fortitude (the lions outside the NY Public Library) but their expressions are sweeter and softer
It was super wonderful to be back in America for the 4th of July, which is both the birthday of America and my baby brother Rich. When he was very little, he used to think the fireworks were for him. And for many, many years, the entire family gathered at my parents’ house for a massive yet chill backyard BBQ / birthday celebration. After a day of silly conversations, lots of amazing food, and chillaxin’ or napping in the grass with grill-scented dreams, we’d convene around a Carvel ice cream cake to sing Happy Birthday. Everyone in Red, White, and Blue. Family. Friends. Joy. At night, I’d head off for some excitement with friends – fireworks, another BBQ or party. I love this quintessentially American holiday – patriotism, a whole summer of memories awaiting us. The anticipation of many good days. The epitome of why I wanted to be home now.
When I get nostalgic for the way 4th of July used to be, I think of the last episode of The Wonder Years, as they celebrated Independence Day . . . one last time the way it was.
The next day Winnie and I came home. Back to where we’d started. It was the fourth of July in that little suburban town. Somehow, though, things were different. Our past was here, but our future was somewhere else, and we both knew sooner or later we had to go. It was the last July I ever spent in that town. The next year after graduation I was on my way [. . . ]Like I said things never turn out exactly the way you’d planned. Growing up happens in a heartbeat; one day you’re in diapers, the next day you’re gone. But the memories of childhood stay with you for the long haul. I remember a place, a town, a house like a lot of houses, a yard like a lot of other yards, on a street like a lot of other streets, and the thing is after all these years I still look back with wonder.
I grew up in Yonkers, NY on the border of the Bronx from 1980 to 1989 when I moved to a town much like that portrayed in Wonder Years, one of the Post-War suburban ideals where kids could be kids, biking to their friends, enjoying and exploring with wonder. Waldwick in Bergen County, NJ. I love my Yonkers experience, and it played a huge role in shaping my early years, especially with visits to Grandma in Innwood, Manhattan–sometimes feeling like a NYC kid. But I’m so grateful to my parents for choosing this beautiful, simple, peaceful town where I finished growing up and now stay when I return “home.”
Of course, just like for Kevin Arnold, home has changed.
After my grandparents passed away, as we all grew up and a bit more distant without the strong lure of the matriarch’s wings pulling us together, the giant family BBQ was canceled. Instead, now it’s just my parents hosting their kids, who have returned to the nest for the day or the summer. Yet while this year it was a bit quieter, with slightly less food and missing the laughter of my young cousins and the humor of my grandparents, it was a lovely day.
A friend visited me from the city, and we went swimming at Brookside, the lake where I used to lifeguard for many years. We enjoyed excellent food at my parents’ house, including the Carvel cake, and then drove into the city for a rooftop BBQ with some of my best friends from Fordham. Plenty of laughs, smiles, sunshine and relaxation as locals set off fireworks. I spent much of that party sharing stories and ideas from my time in Genoa, feeling completely grateful that, at least for now, I have the best of both worlds. I live a blessed life.
With my friend Denis who hosted a fabulous rooftop BBQ with his wife Natalie.
With my friend Kat, as you may remember from Whirlwind Weekend
So here I am home again after 10 months away, with just a 2 week interlude at Christmas time. Coming to America then after 4 months abroad, it was nice to be home; it was such a whirlwind that I didn’t have too much time to notice differences. But now after 6 straight months, after Liguria started to feel like home, after I’ve gone through all the phases of culture shock and adjusted to life in Italy . . . coming home has been . . .surreal.
Back in my city with my Starbucks Iced Coffee and the Empire State Building in the background
Of course home is comfortable. And it’s wonderful not to work, focusing on traveling, seeing friends, and just curling up on a couch with a book or my computer and this blog. 🙂 But it has definitely been a kind of reverse culture shock that has had me feeling weird and sometimes overwhelmed.
They say, “Leave New York before you get too hard; leave Los Angeles before you get too soft.” I chose Italy instead of Cali, I guess. Same idea. But while I’m still known around the school and the hood for my “tough, no nonsense, get it done and get it done now style” I have learned to relax and slow down more. I have that side of me that loves “Il dolce far niente,” the sweetness of doing nothing, as the Italians like to say. In New York, that is viewed as time wasted, and we’d be criticized for being unproductive. Let me tell you, I love to chillax’ and I brought that peace right here to my couch and the local beaches.
Jones Beach Field 6 in Long Island — where I went Saturday (not my own photo)
A local swimming hole by my parents’ house. I used to be the head lifeguard here for many years. Now I just enjoy the sand and fresh water swimming.
Before boarding the plane, I had a strange thought. “I’m heading back to a gun culture.” A thought that never really crossed my mind until I had so much time away from it. I could walk around Genoa at 3am, and often did. Even in the “bad” neighborhoods, you wouldn’t have to worry about guns, and shootings were not really in the news. I lived in a neighborhood in the Bronx where I used to hear gunshots periodically, sometimes once or twice a month or more. I got used to it, and I knew how to protect myself and avoid dangerous situations. But now that I’ve . . .softened . . . I’m wondering if I let my guard down too much. I have to remind myself to watch my back but to avoid fear. My coworker Paul said it best: “Genoa is so peaceful and passive. We really don’t have much to worry about here, do we?” And that has been nice.
There have been other moments of reverse culture shock that I will list. Not necessarily bad, just clearly different.
Driving my car, I realized I didn’t have those smooth, sharp skills and couldn’t just parallel park her like a thoughtless breeze. I did, however, improve my scooter skills during the past few months.
In the grocery store, I was overwhelmed and almost didn’t know how to handle it. All the variety of foods that I couldn’t find for months. Cheddar, all kinds of cheddar all over the place. Mexican, Thai, all kinds of options. Yum! And then aisles and aisles of pre-packaged, processed or frozen foods — foods that taste great but are filled with things that poison us. I learned really quickly once I moved to Italy that my health, fitness, weight and general well being improved in days just by eating fresh food. I missed a lot of these foods, but I knew that I couldn’t just dive in and gorge because my body is not used to it. How do I shop now? And oh wow, that blood orange juice from Italy is $7, where I could get it for 2 euros in Italy.
In Duane Reed, waiting for a train, I spent the time walking up and down the aisles at the absolute variety of products. Dozens and dozens of options for shampoo, deodorant, even 5 types of nail scissors. In Italy, you got the few items (or item) that the store chose. And I saw Opi nail polish for $9. It’s 17 euros in Genoa! I just walked up and down, and left without anything. I have trained myself that I don’t need that much stuff, and ultimately can’t afford it. But I was just mesmerized by the variety.
Walking through the streets of Manhattan, I heard English everywhere and felt comfortable. And the streets were wide, big. Manhattan is cramped and overbuilt, but there was space. Genoa consists of tiny streets, alleys, roads where you have to squish up against a wall to avoid being slammed by a passing car’s mirror.
Lying in the sand at the beach. It was powdery, soft, take it home with you type sand. So different from my pebbles or the trucked-in “tiny pebbles” that some beaches have.
Lawns and trees. I’m staying at my parents’ house in the leafy suburbs in NJ, 25 minutes from Manhattan. There are green, landscaped lawns everywhere. Tall trees, pine trees, so many different types of vegetation. I was worried how I’d react after leaving so much sublime and stunning beauty, but I have come to realize that it’s still beautiful here, just a different type of beauty. And I’m enjoying it.
Tipping. As I purchased my Starbucks Iced Coffee from a drive through — how American!– I saw the tip jar and remembered to throw in a buck before grabbing my marshmallow dream bar. I have to remind myself I’m back in a tipping culture. In Genoa, you don’t really tip at all, except maybe a euro or two at the hair salon. When I went out to eat, I had to remind myself that the bill was more than I thought. I’m afraid I’ve turned so European that I’d accidentally leave without tipping — but luckily, I’ve been with others so far. I did have that mistake in Ireland after a haircut when I walked out without tipping more than a couple of euros, then went back to be sure they got their 10 percent. oops! And as we know, the US is a 20 percent culture. It’s so weird to me after so much time in Europe where it’s included. But I know all too well that servers don’t get paid much. When I worked at Chili’s after college before my Australian jaunt and then eventually grad school, I only made 2 bucks an hour on the clock! Then I had to report my tips. I needed those tips, and what I actually made wasn’t mine because I had to tip out to the bartender, the expeditor, the food runners, etc. Whew. Anyways, differences.
This is all that’s on my mind for now. I’ll continue to post as they come to me. It’s fun to drive the same roads and bridges, sit in the same diners and cafes, and visit the beaches and city streets that I missed so dearly during my time away almost as much as the faces of those I love. But I’m not the me of Summer 2012 . . . I’m slightly European and it’s all slightly foreign. Very interesting.
I can’t even imagine how comedy author Bill Bryson felt after moving back to the USA after living in England with his wife and children for 20 years. Upon his return, he published the book I’m A Stranger Here Myself, which I have chosen as the title of this post.
After Christmas in 2009, through the New Year, I went to one of my favorite places, Bruges – as mentioned in previous posts such as My Magic Bruges. On that trip, I was relaxing and warming up in the hostel common area when a friendly fellow backpacker wandered in. His name was Joseph, and he spoke briefly with my friend and me. I had plans to see my Belgian friends, and then we left the hostel the next day. But just in that short time, it was clear this person would become a nice friend. Thanks to facebook, it was easy for that to happen.
We chatted online over the years. Joseph is even more of a Europhile than I am, and with his duel French citizenship, he has lived in France and now Ferrara, Italy since he departed his hometown in Midwestern, Iowa. When I was in Italy in the summer of 2011, Joseph gave me some great advice as my mother and great aunt prepared to visit the hometowns of my great grandparents in Emilia Romagna, his local region. With our tight travel schedule, we didn’t get to meet up, although I appreciated his super helpful advice.
Last January, when I received the job offer in Italy, Joseph was one of my biggest proponents. “Come to Italy,” he said. “I’ll visit Genoa and we’ll paint the town red.” I knew how happy he was teaching English language at the University of Ferrara, and I knew it was time to live my dream as an expat abroad. It was extra encouraging to know I’d have a friend in country.
When I arrived in Italy, Joseph was there to chat on Skype, counsel me through the many translation or bureaucratic issues, and we shared many laughs and good times, becoming even closer friends. Due to our busy schedules, most of the year went by before either of us had a chance to visit each other. Finally, with my summer flight home booked, and the last of my visitors had departed, I set a date for the weekend of May 25th. I was going to Ferrara, finally! And I would see Joseph in person for the first time in 3 years. Wow.
Over the years, I have been following Joseph’s facebook posts: stories and pretty pictures from the flat, charming, peaceful medieval city. A month ago, I boarded a 9am train, departing soggy Genoa and arrived in sunny Ferrara.
Joseph met me at the train station, and we walked to have yummy piadine — I chose speck and cheese with a creamy mayo sauce. Yum. We chatted over a beer, then I wandered through the center with a little bit of history from Joseph, explaining the Jewish ghettos and information about the various buildings we passed. He had some things to do in the apartment, so I went for a nice wander. I deliberately did not consult a guidebook or too much on the Internet so things would be a surprise. A wandering adventure. I snapped many photos on my walk, then returned to prepare for our evening.
Joseph’s friend, a woman who owns the cafe down the street, invited him to an outdoor concert that night, featuring her husband’s band. It got unseasonably cold, so we bundled up and Federica picked us up.
While we waited for the show, wandered in search of food, and ended up in a tent that was a fundraiser for a local church. I tried the local treat cappellacci, made with squash and filled with yum. Our servers were parishoner children — it was just a really super special, super local night. We chatted and ended up enjoying the show very much. When Fedi noticed that I was into the music, she returned later with a surprise — an Inspiral album for me, which she then had all the band members sign. 🙂 What a special treat. It was also fun hanging out with her because she helped me practice my Italian.
The next morning, we had lazy Sunday. Joseph had delicious pastries and made fresh coffee, then we went out for a stroll around town, followed by another coffee.
Making friends on a Sunday stroll
Before departure for my train, we stopped for pizza at a place he never tried before. With so much good pizza in Italy and so many great places in Ferrara . . .Joseph was diasppointed that his 4 Formaggio was made with a premixed spread and that my pizza featured canned olives with pitts and awkward tomatos. Not as good as expected. He said, “We just got fu*cked. They could at least kiss me next time.”
That aside, it was still a lovely day. We took a peek at some Palio-related events (this Palio is older than the famous Siena one). It was a nice atmosphere, but I didn’t see too much. Before long, it was time to board my train and head home. I was lucky that I had business class for the stretch from Bologna to Milan on the high speed train, for a little spoiled comfort. It was the same price as the 2nd class ticket because they still had some super economy fares left. Woo!
Here are some photos from my adventure in Ferrara. I’ll certainly be returning:
Today’s a special post. Live from my office at my school on the last day of work. 10 months to the day since I boarded the plane in a whirlwind of emotions, leaving for my new life in Italy. The amazing, challenging, fun and incredible year has come to a close. My 9th year as a teacher. 6th year as a high school teacher. 2nd year teaching middle school. And my first year in Italy! It was a huge and exciting decision, and I can’t imagine if I had not accepted this amazing offer which has changed my life so positively. So much joy, beauty, adventure, some loss and lots of reflection. I spent much time thinking about NYC and my family, missing home and the familiar comforts. I spent much time getting excited about my travels and exploring the gorgeous landscape and culture of Liguria, but I was also always counting back hours to see what time it was in NY, looking at the weather, and messaging friends at home. Yet over all that time, Liguria became home. Tomorrow, I have a ticket to fly home. Where is home?
When I purchased this ticket — Thanks Dad! — my father then said, “You should have stayed a week or so to enjoy Italy and your scooter . . . or even to travel.” To be honest, I’m low on my travel budget, everyone’s heading off, and I just was really looking forward to a long, relaxing, extended time in NYC and Jersey with family and friends I have missed so much. And my cats! But now the weather is absolutely stunning, day after day. The turquoise blue waters call, and I dive in after work, then bask in the warm glow of sunshine sprawled on warm, smooth rocks and pebbles. I head to my friend’s house for vino on her balcony, which faces a castle, as we watch the sky turn pink then an inky indigo, long after 9:30pm before walking home under the stars. I stroll uphill to my apartment, past balconies strewn with beach towels, couples walking dogs (everyone has a dog here in Genoa), and smell the flowers in full, lush bloom. Genoa is at her finest right now, and I have chosen to leave her. And that hurts.
One of the many beautiful beaches along Genova’s coast.
Genoa will be stunning when I return in August, as I have learned from last year’s arrival. I was able to swim well into October. It was sunny almost every day in those months, and it will still be lovely. I have so many adventures, good times, wonderful conversations, beaches, lakes, mountains, hikes, fire pits, great food and smiles waiting for me at home. I guess I’m just really realizing the huge effect of a transatlantic move. My heart belongs here as well as there. I’m very grateful that I have another year to return and enjoy, and now that I am settled, the lessons are planned, the books read, and the details sorted — I can enjoy it all even more!
I’m overwhelmed with emotions. Last night, I just said goodbye to a choir friend who is moving back to Lithuania. (A great excuse to travel one weekend in the fall!). We had an excellent sushi meal followed by Neopolitan pastries, and then stood in the parking lot, lingering, delaying the inevitable. Now, my classrooms are cleaned, posters torn off the wall, drawers emptied, my office tidied, papers purged . . . and it was all a crazy trip down memory lane with flashes from the past school year. It really was wonderful and joyful. This is a special school.
At graduation, we said farewell to our seniors. Administration prepared a special slide show, showing pictures of the kids through the years. 3 of them started at age 3! I managed to hold back the tears until that rolled across the screen to one of my favorite songs “Send Me on my Way.” A few days later, the seniors returned to our farewell ceremony, to give some more speeches, lots of hugs, and then . . . on to their lives. It was an honor to be their teacher, to get to know them, and to be part of their lives. They have touched my heart, and while we had so much work to do, I always looked forward to class.
It is my last day of work with my colleagues, friendly faces I met on an August day before sharing focaccia formaggio by the sea, sharing aperitivi in Piazza del Erbe, dancing till early morning, laughing in the office during stressful times, and over time, becoming cherished friends. Off to lunch, one final meal for the school year.
Sweden’s Disillusionment. My friend and colleague just wrote the previous post about life and travel in Italy vs. other, wealthier countries. I truly agree. It’s amazing how people ooh and ah at home about Italy and refuse to let me say a negative word, thinking that I’m doing some kind of Eat Pray Love La Dolce Vita who knows a whata experience all the time. One friend even said, “It’s a 2 year vacation with just enough work so you don’t feel lazy.” No, no, no. And . . .it’s work just to live here. There is a very high price for all this beauty. I’m happy to pay it . . . at least for a little while, but I do love the ahhhhh I feel when crossing the border into Switzerland, for example.
I’ve had many visitors since I arrived, and many were happy to take in the sights, but they also quickly grew to see the subtle annoyances of life here. “Where can I buy a razor?” Not at this hour. (8pm) “Why is the store closed?” Nap time, lunch time, holiday, because they don’t care. “Why is this post box shut?” They can’t be bothered. “Where can I buy bus tickets at this hour?” You can’t. Hop on and take a risk. “Why did they just charge us 13 euros for boxed pasta?” Where is the food I’ve heard about?” The food in Italy can be hit or miss, and actually, the best food’s at home. Pasta Fresca, 2 euros! “Where is the sun?” Uh, I have no idea, that’s supposed to be a given . . .
I know some of my visitors on their first visit to Italy may have been disappointed. I remember the feeling. In 1997, I signed up for a High School trip to Europe. That year, it was Paris, The Riviera and Rome. yay! I wasn’t too psyched about Paris, but with low expectations and it being my first European country, I was thrilled and pleasantly surprised. I remember gazing in awe at the canals, finding the people friendly and helpful, and just kept hugging my friends because I was so happy. When we arrived in Italy, it was nice — but we were starting to get tired as we visited Assisi and then we got lost in Florence where the ATM took my credit card and the bank was closed and . . . it was a lot of nonsense. By the time we got to Rome, it was pouring rain, we were exhausted, and I just wanted to go home. Italy and the food didn’t really impress me. Too many tourist traps? Package tour food? Whatever it was . . .I was ready to go. Perhaps extra disappointed because my expectations were too high.
Moving here, I was well-informed. I had been to Italy 5 other times. I enjoyed the summer days Under the Tuscan Sun; saw the gorgeous Cinque Terre through train windows and wanted more; studied a bit of Italian in college; and had an amazing week along Lake Como. But I had my share of cancelled or overcrowded trains, travel stress, disappointing and overpriced meals, tourist crowds, frightening travel chaos, and bad attitudes . . . to make me notice the reality. I came to the conclusion that Italy knows that tourists will visit anyway, so who cares? They are too busy enjoying life! I also devoured travel writing that made no secret about how complicated, bureaucratic, and often completely nonsensical life can be here sometimes. I was prepared. But it can still be hard.
This is further exacerbated when the weather does not cooperate. The weather and beauty soothe the soul and make the nonsense tolerable. But this year . . .is a bit different. For some reason, Europe has been plagued by very strange unseasonable weather. Dublin was getting snow into March. Genoa even had snow. My students and colleagues said the swimming season is definitely in full swing by the end of March . . . but this year, I STILL have not been in the sea, except for a brief wade up to my calves while visiting the Cinque Terre for four days. Yup, for the Festa della Liberazione (Italian holiday last Thursday and Friday) I thought for sure I would have the opportunity for sun-soaked days in the turquoise water. But we had mostly clouds, walked around in our jeans and jackets — and were even drenched in pouring rain one day. I had a friend visit for Easter break, and excitedly told him “pack your swimsuit.” That was the only item of clothing he did not use, and we spent quite a bit of time wandering around the soggy streets of Rome and Milan. I felt so bad.
We’ve all been waiting for the spring that was supposed to arrive a while ago, but . . .it’s just taking it’s time. I have my mother here these past two weeks, and then on Friday, two of my best friends from High School arrive for a girls’ weekend, where we head to the Cinque Terre again. Mom and I spent 4 days in Monterosso, and I’m heading to Vernazza with the girls. I hope we have sun! I’m sick of disappointing my visitors and myself.
I often think of Wordsworth who wrote a poem when climbing through the Alps. He was looking forward to his first view of Mont Blanc. All the others on the Grand Tour, the artists and poets, have explained the view — talked it up so much, that when he did see it, he was disappointed. He regretted choosing the wrong trail, the mountain revealing itself in a different way, not the way he pictured it. He couldn’t appreciate it for how beautiful it was because it didn’t match the image in his mind’s eye, didn’t live up to the hype he expected. He didn’t feel the sublime light of sense he craved. Expectations breed disappointment. That’s why, sometimes, a small unknown city can bring me so much more joy than a famous tourist destination — ESPECIALLY when I don’t know a thing about it.
Italy is so hyped up. People have been raving and talking and writing about it for years. In NYC, there are whole neighborhoods devoted to Italian culture and cuisine. Movies are filmed here, books written . . . I remember when I posted that I was moving to Italy, the response was absolutely overwhelming. I wondered if people would have been as excited if I accepted a job in Kiev or Oslo or Kuwait or Jakarta or even London. I made the choice. I wanted the weather, the language, the location, the comfortable familiar culture, but I also know that if I was in London or Switzerland or Germany I would have a better quality of life. But . . .hey, the grass is always greener. I currently have a friend in Switzerland who can’t wait to leave and feels it’s too Xenophobic and cold and harsh. These feelings are all a part of expat life.
In grad school, I wrote an upside-down sonnet inspired by Wordsworth’s disappointment. I remembered hiking in the Swiss alps, with the beautiful snow-capped peek of Jungfrau in the distance. I have included this poem now because I was thinking about it this weekend in the Cinque Terre when I was disappointed like Wordsworth. I wanted to show my mom how beautiful and lovely it was with crystal blue skies, igniting a bold turquoise sea and an unparalleled, sublime vibrant glow to all the scenery. I couldn’t thoroughly enjoy the beauty that was before me because it wasn’t matching what I had in my mind’s eye. My mom, however, was able to appreciate it for what it was — gorgeous and relaxing.
Jungfrau, Switzerland
Shadowed by the image in my mind’s eye,
the crest thwarts my dream from across the vale.
Like Wordsworth climbing for the light of sense,
I grieve and regret choosing the wrong trail.
No sublime, no flash, can’t see — though high
struggling to comprehend the immense.
Soon I realize there’s no single right way
for in countless, varied directions lie
diverse perspectives of the same blue sky,
framing the same grand pinnacle. A gray
frosted mane of wisdom reflects each ray
as I snap breathless photographs and try
to explore every path, pretending to fly
soaring–arms spread– till the end of my day.
On Friday 5 April after the lovely afternoon in Switzerland, we were on our way back to Genoa, arriving just in time to run to the Carrefour Express before it closed at 8pm. When Brendan expressed all his desires for amazing Italian food, I responded “The best food in Italy is at home.” He told me that, “I want the Italian Restaurants!” He’d heard about Italian food his whole life, but what fails to come across to America is that Italy is a Cucina di Nonna culture, Grandma’s Kitchen, home-cooked, family sitting around the table eating local, fresh ingredients where the flavor really shines. Going to restaurants is actually a rarity, and I’ve noticed that most of the time, even my homemade concoctions are better. This is Italy.
As we did our mad sprint through Carrefour, I think Brendan was beginning to notice that home cooked is the way to go. We got pasta fresca tortellini for a euro, some sausages, and some other ingredients before returning to my apartment to make a quick yet delicious meal. We both agreed it was better than the restaurant food, and we had not even put in any effort.
Sipping on Tuborg beers, we called for a relaxing night in with Netflix, and watched a Bill Murray movie Broken Flowers, which ended up featuring lots of scenes where we hike in the summer in NY State. I could barely keep my eyes open during the movie, and fell asleep exhausted.
I awoke the next morning, battling a sinus infection but happy the sun was shining. We were hoping to go swimming, but the weather was just not warm enough yet – even though it should have been. Brendan wanted to see Milan, hoping for a better impression in the sunshine, but I said, “You haven’t seen Genoa.” He looked at me quizzically, because . . .well, then where were we? But the truth was, we were in the resort area, along the sea. Except for Brignole train station, we haven’t seen the medieval center or the port. Brendan was looking forward to seeing those things and another excuse for a scooter ride.
So, we piled onto Stella and hit the highway, still going slow as novices but gaining more confidence and speed. We rode along the sea by the fair grounds, and parked by the Porto Antico, wandering by the ships and soaking in the vibrant scene in the sunshine.
Next, we walked up through the Medieval Center and wandered into salumeria, Brendan lured by the enticing cuts of meat in the window. He requested a sopressatta and gorgonzola sandwich. When he first tasted it, he said “Ahh, this is the sandwich I have been waiting for.” Brendan eventually got the kinds of food he was hoping for, but they were in unexpected places and usually cheap. “The best food here is under 10 bucks,” he said.
“Yep, that’s Italy.”
After the traditional photos at the Piazza de Ferrari fountain (Blue for Autism Awareness), we had time for some shopping as Brendan wanted some new threads. I suggested Celio, where I bought some things for my brother at Christmas time and thought Brendan might like the style. And boy did he. We spent over an hour searching and trying on clothes, purchasing three pairs of awesome pants, and a couple of sharp stylin’ shirts. The fit and fabric were of great quality and would be much more expensive in America.
Next we found a market where Brendan bought 7 new ties at 5 euros each. The style and price were too good to resist.
Next, it was time to head back to the port and to Stella.
We rode home and Brendan had a chance to ride Stella a bit on his own.
Then we packed, and boarded a train for Milan. Ahh . . . Milan again. Brendan’s flight was at 10:30am, and we’d have to take a 5:30am train from Brignole after calling a cab. To save ourselves the weary stress, we booked a hotel in Milan for the final night, ending up with a great deal at the Hilton for only 80 euros. Fabulous hotel.
View from our balcony at the Milan Hilton
By the time we arrived in Milan, we were super exhausted and opted just for a light cafe dinner before crashing. We had a wonderful journey and as Brendan said, “I have squeezed enough out of this trip. Let’s just rest.” Milan has a lot of culture and events, but it does not really have much to offer for sightseeing.
The next morning, we woke, boarded the bus for Milan Malpensa airport, did a bit of souvineer shopping, and we hugged farewell. I headed back to Genoa, not knowing that Brendan was sitting in an airport lounge with a three hour delay, journalling all his favorite moments and memories from the trip, which he later sent to me.
It really was a lovely time, and I’m so lucky I got to spend this break with a friend of almost 15 years. I hope he gets to visit in the summertime where he can experience Genoa at her best and see more of my Italy (Tuscany, Venice, Capri, Naples?). We shall see.
-Written 27 June but posted in April for timeline purposes. Part 4 of 4.
On the morning of Wednesday April 3, we awoke in Rome for another yummy breakfast in our hotel, featuring fresh-baked cakes, breads, Nutella, cheeses, eggs, cereals, coffee, juice . . . plenty of options for a free hotel breakfast in a country where it is very common to just have some bread and coffee. The sun was making an appearance, brightening the room and our spirits.
I grabbed a few pieces of fruit for the journey, and we headed to the room for the final check out. Farewell Sacre Coure golden statue, the beautiful view from our 6th floor room.
View from our Rome hotel room – taken from my iphone.
Luckily, our hotel was just meters from the Roma Termini Train station, so it was easy to walk and board our train to Milan. It was a super high speed train that would whisk us to Milan in less than 3 hours, a journey that could take a very long time with regular trains. We paid dearly for the ticket, but with limited time and an ambitious itinerary, this was the way to go.
A bit of reading, a bit of napping, passing through gorgeous Tuscan rolling hills . . .Brendan tapped my knee to point out when we were in Florence. “You love this city, right?” I do like Florence, and was especially fond of my recent visit with Kat. Then before long, we were pulling into Milan’s Central Station where were transferred to a packed Swiss train for the Alps. It was so crowded, that even though I booked weeks in advance, we didn’t have seats next to each other — just across the aisle. No problem. Brendan was reading a good book, Umberto Eco’s Baudolino. I had a book for book club, Erik Larson’s Devil in the White City, but I just couldn’t get into that dark world of mystery and terror. I was craving more of light and fun travel writing. Anyway, I was sitting at a table with two Italian grandparents and their charming little granddaughter, coloring and chatting away. Grandpa was kind, and we spoke to each other with my limited Italian and his limited English. Very friendly. And Grandma made sure I was well fed throughout the journey with pizza, foccacia, and other snacks. It made me miss my own grandparents and my own family in general. They were from Recco, a local town nearby on the Ligurian Coast, bringing their granddaughter back to their son and daughter-in-law, who live in Frankfurt, Germany. Maybe she was visiting for Easter? The son was going to pick them up from Basel to lessen the amount of time the girl would have to spend on the train. But she was loving it at this point.
This train ride is one of the most scenic, starting just minutes after Milan. On a clear day, you can see the snow-capped peaks surrounding Milan. We glided right towards them, first stopping in a charming town called Stressa. Stressa is nestled along a lake, and seems like a charming and inviting escape near Milan, and ultimately not too far from Genova. I should go sometime during swimming season.
After Stressa, the mountains grew more dramatic, the lakes bluer, and soon we passed through some tunnels and popped out along Lake Thun, stopping in Spiez. I traveled this same route with my seniors in February for a snowy writer’s workshop perched in a hotel in Wengen, up in the Alpine Peaks of the Berner Oberland. When Brendan said he wanted to see alps, I knew we had to head to that region, and I could think of no better place than my favorite spot, Interlaken, nestled at the base of those peaks between two turquoise glacial lakes, Thun and Brienz.
The air was fresh, the vibe instantly awe-inspiring. We climbed into our last train for a short ride to Interlaken and exited in bright, relaxed spirits. It was sunny and slightly foggy, probably because of the snow-melt. We had arrived in the off-season, where skiers were squeezing in their last runs on the slopes while snow melted in the lower elevations. I clapped my hands with exhiliration and pure joy on my 10th visit to my favorite place in the world. Brendan’s hay fever and jet lag were both minimized and he instantly appreciated the stunning peace and beauty of the region. Even in the off season it was stunning, with both green grass and snow-capped peaks. “Are you happy?” he asked.
“Oh yes!”
The Jungfrau Region. Interlaken is in the valley between the lakes.
We took the short stroll to our hotel, which I had found along the River Aare, a blue green river connecting alpine, glacial Lake Brienz with the slightly warmer castle-strewn Lake Thun. I spent many days swimming in these lakes during summer visits. In my winter visit they were a steel gray, so I was glad to see them back to their vibrant blue.
View from our Swiss Hotel Room, over the River Aare with Jungfrau and paragliders in the background
View from the hotel window
The Beautiful River Aare
Our hotel was actually a few guest rooms above a restaurant. We had a view of the river and the high peaks beyond, including Jungfrau, the highest peak in the region, snow-capped even in August. We were extra lucky with our room because they upgraded us to a spacious suite, and the hotel staff couldn’t have been more friendly. Brendan was impressed with the Swiss Hospitality, and while I had grown to love it from all my other visits, I too was impressed and appreciative.
Jungfrau in the distance
We wandered through the city, touristy but in the good kind of way: friendly shops, adorable knick-knacks, snacks and chocolate, and paragliders floating through the sky in peaceful descent to the big green field in the center of town. Elderly couples strolled hand-in-hand, groups of tourists gazed up in awe, friends and families in good spirits. Switzerland is Peace, Love, and Happiness. Brendan later told me, “Your soul lives here.”
The difficult task of choosing from all the wonderful swiss chocolate.
After some shopping, we went for a walk to Lake Brienz. In this shoulder season, we had the whole trail almost to ourselves as we wandered through the woods, gazed at the majestic water, and passed my swans in Bonigen.
Bonigen
We continued along to Iseltwald, nearing the waterfall when, suddenly, the souls of my 1998 hiking boots literally split and fell apart. The rubber was that old. The boots were not worn away, but I guess that stuff doesn’t last forever.
In such a charming location, it didn’t affect me much at all as I hobbled along, but we decided to turn back, and boarded a bus for Interlaken back in Bonigen, continuing good, animated conversation and philosophy. Then we booked PARAGLIDING for tomorrow. My third time and Brendan’s first. We were going to fly.
That night, we went for dinner in the Happy Inn Lodge, a very special place for me because I stayed in this hostel my first time in Interlaken with my friend Anna the summer of 2001. We had always wanted to visit Switzerland, and spontaneously boarded a night train from Amsterdam when we were unable to get accommodation. We didn’t have sleeper cabins, so we sat in the seats all night and made friends, groggily rolling into town in complete silent awe along with our fellow passengers as the mountains revealed themselves to us. It was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen.
At the train station, we went to the hotel board, saw hotels with availability, picked up the phone, and the Happy Inn Lodge welcomed us. We stayed there, shared some drinks, and enjoyed a splendid stay, my first of many. While Brendan and I opted to stay in better accomodation, Happy Inn Lodge has good beer and food, and was perfect for a peaceful dinner, followed by a walk through town to the outskirts, where I checked on the dance club at the hostel Funny Farm. Closed tonight, but it would be open tomorrow (Thursday). Good Plan.
Back to the hostel where we watched some tv on NBC.com on the iPhone before drifting into mountain-air dreams.
On Thursday morning, we awoke for an absolutely delicious Swiss breakfast in the hotel, including homemade jam, fresh breads, farm fresh eggs, cappuccino, hot chocolate, whatever we wanted. Everything was fresh and flavorful, and again, the staff were super warm and friendly.
We prepared to fly, and a van came to pick us up, toting us to the top of a nearby mountain. I went paragliding that first time with Anna in 2001, and it was the most exhilirating experieince of my life to that date. It was summer. And it was summer when I went again with my friend Krista in 2006. Now in 2013, I went for my third flight in early spring. They suited us up in helmets and our seat, attached us to our instructors, and I snapped some photos of snowy mountains and the grass making her spring appearance.
Before long, Brendan was running down the hill then AIRBORNE. I was so exited for him because I can never forget that first time you are flying, feet dangling in the sky among the birds and trees.
Then I ran down the hill, and shortly after we were in the air, my instructor had me take the controls and allowed me to steer and fly a bit. “You’re ready now. It’s your third flight.” He explained that I could take flying lessons in Interlaken, spread out throughout the year, or in an intense two week course with several flights a day after some ground training. Once you are done, you can buy the equipment (used) for about 1200 CHF. “At that point, it’s a pretty free hobby.” Something to really think about. There is no feeling like it.
Brendan flying
The flights always feel too short because before long, I was spinning to the ground in dramatic dips and curves before a soft landing. Brendan gave me the thumbs up, clearly high from the adrenaline.
I was so excited to see him feeling better and truly enjoying the trip at this point. Yay Switzerland!
We packed our bags for the mountains. According to my iPhone, it was in the teens and 20s up in Murren and Wengen (two sides of the valley). I took him up to Wengen, where I was just visiting with my high school students in February. We hoped the roads would still be snow-covered for some tobogganing. We also packed our swimsuits, eager to use the spa at the Hotel Lauberhorn, where my dad and I stayed in the summer of 2011.
We took the train to Lautberbrunnen
then boarded the cog railway up the mountain to Wengen as Brendan gazed in awe. The alps are impressive from the valley and even flying. But we were going way up into them now, and the views were dramatic and ever-changing. When we exited the train, it was clear that the iPhone was wrong and the snow was melting, so we put our bags in the locker, stopped in the Coop where we found some Duff beer, yeah Duff, and went on a snowy/muddy hike up the mountain. We stopped at a bench on the edge of the woods to just be. It was the most peaceful, wonderful moment of the trip.
Then back down to Wengen where we enjoyed traditional Swiss food. We ordered fondue with herbs and rosti with eggs and cheese. A hearty mountain meal where I ate with both my father that summer and my students in the winter.
We were saddened to learn that the Victoria Lauberhorn was closed for the season (we missed it by a couple of days) so we couldn’t use the spa, to our dismay. We enjoyed a bit more of Wengen.
Then we took a train back down to the Lauterbrunnen Valley and had enough time to walk to the famous waterfall before our train to Interlaken. I thought with all the snow melt, it would be more impressive, but it was just a well-lit trickle.
In the summer, it’s a raging, rushing waterfall. However, it was still beautiful and impressive. Then back to town where we prepared to dance.
We walked to the disco club, which was quite empty when we entered. Brendan felt slightly uncomfortable and asked what I wanted to do. I said, “We are gonna dance.” We tore up that dance floor, and soon others joined us. It was a lovely, fun night followed by a nice starlit walk back to our hotel for another sweet mountain air sleep.
The next morning, we did not want to stress ourselves unnecessarily with an early train. We were woken up in the most swiss way possible. I heard a cacophony of metallic sound in the street. What was this? A bunch of metal wheels? A truck? I went to the window and saw the road filled with a parade of cows donning giant bells. They were heading somewhere. I had to wake Brendan up to see this special site. It truly made my day.
Back downstairs for another delicious breakfast, sad that we couldn’t stay another day or two. But we were lucky that we had a few hours to enjoy Interlaken before our train. I went to get my Jowissa watch fixed, and we rented a tandem bike, heading through town and back to Bonigen and my swans.
Tandem Bicycle
What a new, fun experience! The guy at the bike shop was super talkative, friendly and informative, and he gave me tips for my future visits, knowing I like to come so often. Apparently, there is a special camping hut in the back of the Lauterbrunnen Valley (below Wengen), where you can have a nice, peaceful time.
Time was unfortunately running short, so we had to return the bike and grab our bags from the hotel, where we passed the Cow Parade going back from whence they came this morning, perfect bookends to our final day in Switzerland. We grabbed sandwiches from the supermarket, then boarded our train back to Genoa. It was a wonderful stay and always sad to leave, but we had a fantastic time. Brendan said, “I don’t want to steal this as your favorite place . . . but I love it.” Yay Switzerland!
-written 27 June but posted in April for timeline purposes
Under the Ligurian Sun 