The Itch You Cannot Scratch

I had an itch that I thought this trip would scratch. Instead, it just spread the disease. From my head to my heart and down to every limb, finger and toe. It is now terminal . The prognosis is positive but I cannot be cured. It has seeped into my blood and clings to my bones. It has been sewn into my spirit and sprinkled onto my soul. While I may not die from it, I will certainly die with it. Unlike most afflictions, I hope this one's contagious. I want to transmit this inquisitive infection and induce discovery. I wish to impart my fever.

This voyage has not satiated my hunger but rather increased my appetite. Though it wet my palette, it has not quenched my thirst. I fear I may be addicted and that I will continue to crave this classification as a traveler, a wayfarer, an adventurer. I yearn to forever feast on this newness and knowledge. Won't  you join me in these appetizers of awareness and entrées of enlightenment? Can we dine together and itch with the eagerness for insight and exploration?

  

A City For Two

In Venice, I was a third wheel. Or more like a unicycle. The other wheels were found on a bicycle built for two, riding in the opposite direction. This was not the best city for the lone traveler looking to share a conversation or meal with new friends. Every lady my age was connected by the hand, hip or mouth to her man friend and I felt like a spectator on someone else's honeymoon. A public peeping-tom. It was rather uncomfortable. Instead of my usual wide-eyed self, gaping in awe, my gaze darted about, trying to avoid resting on an overly affectionate couple. It was a bit depressing. Even a gondola ride was out of the question. At a whopping 80 euros, there was no way I was going alone. It was the first time I felt limited by my independence. Being in Venice was the first time I felt sad. Me, the unabashed optimist, in a melancholy mood.

My low spirits didn't last long. After a long distance phone call, I snapped out of it. I was, after all, in Venice! Gorgeous Venice! A beautiful, floating city with many other sights for me to focus on besides the rampant lip-locking that I abhorred (or really was just jealous of). As I have done in every other city, I climbed the highest peak (the belltower in Campo San Marco) and spent time taking photos. In lieu of a gondola, I took the Vaporetto, Venice's subway on water, for a seven euro sunset spin around the islands. I stood on the side of the boat the entire route, getting off at the same stop at which I got on. I bought a hand-painted leather wallet and perused the Rialto Fish Market with so many sea creatures and buckets of live snails. Despite the reservation for one, I had one of the best meals of my entire trip. Fresh caught seared tuna, homemade macaroni with exotic mushrooms, and a lemon ricotta cream. Dangling my legs over the concrete curb with my feet hovering over the water, I spent my afternoons eating sicilian oranges, drinking spritz aperitifs and enjoying the sunshine. I left Venice happy, knowing I made the most of my solitude.

I can understand why it is a city for lovers - a magical place full of romance. With no streets, no horns honking, no traffic or the typical hustle and bustle, it is truly an escape. The narrow alleys are dizzyingly twisted and often appear to dead-end only to present you at your destination. It gives you the feeling of an explorer. As if you and your loved one are forging new paths, finding routes never before taken. Despite the masses of tourists, the cramped and tangled avenues provide you with the allusion that you are all alone. Just the two of you. Well for me, just me, but we're already over that. The accordion music is enchanting. The brackish lagoon water looks fake, like that of a luke warm swimming pool. The foundations are masked in green algae. The rocking water lulls you. Lights glitter on canals and cast a twinkle in the lover's gaze. This sinking city is hypnotic. From the stripes of the gondoliers and the canal reflections doubling what you see, Venice makes you dizzy. You must grab on to the one you are with for stability. The buildings are all slightly atilt and that, mixed with the abundance of Aperol cocktails, adds to the hallucinogenic qualities that this city is so famous for. For two, Venice is euphoric.

Amigos and Amicos

I may have come to Europe without a companion but have rarely been by myself. Only when asking about a "table for one" or seeing a couple kiss do I feel the sharp pang of loneliness. Of course I wish the people that I love could experience my travels with me, but they are not here. And still, I am not alone. Strange travelers have become fast friends. Our courtship is quicker than 'real life' as we start out with a common bond. We are fellow adventurers. We enjoy asking questions, pursuing learning and simply doing something different. Despite the distances between where we call home, we are close. We are kindred spirits.

My final meal in Barcelona, and perhaps my favorite, was shared with Jessica at the popular Cerveseria Catalan. She is a Brazilian Biologist and slept in the bunk bed across from mine. She is trilingual; receiving her Master's in Puerto Rico and now working towards her PH.D in England. Jessica just saw her first snowfall and wants to work in the Sahara. We split a pitcher of Sangria and a plate of prawns and started a conversation with the Finnish couple next to us. We discussed economies, gender roles and mental health. We shared our ideas on relationships and theories on politics. The two of us learned Finland's definition of traffic, early love for liquor and lack of marital affection. We spent over an hour comparing American, Brazilian and Finnish cultures; laughing at America's obesity and obsession with Oprah and Dr. Phil. When parting ways we all smiled, understanding how we were different while still being very much the same. Heading back to our hostel I hoped we would one day share another meal.


My last night in Florence was spent with an old friend and a new friend. Old in terms of Barcelona and new in terms of Florence. As planned, I met up with Krystal, the audacious Australian doctor I met in Spain. She was fresh from Cinque Terra and wearing new leather boots from Milan. We joined Whitney, and two bottles of Chianti, and watched my final sunset over Piazzale Michelangelo- my favorite overlook in Firenze. We took photos and shared travel tips. We spoke to other English speakers and recounted stories of our past. We ate large plates of spaghetti and took fancy shots rimmed with Nutella and coconut. Then, as has happened many times on this trip, we had to separate for our journeys are bringing us elsewhere. I am now in a new city but I know our future paths will cross. These bonds will not break as swiftly as they were built.

My friends at home will never recall my experiences in Spain or Italy. I cannot reminisce or ask them to remember when. Without them being here to take part in the memories I am making it feels as if once I return home, I will only be left with photos. Snapshots and personal recollections of my journey. However, this is not true. My fellow travelers and I have not been alone. We have had each other. I hope that those whom I have met rest assured knowing that I will never forget the times we have shared. While I may be across the country, or even the world, from where you live- I will remember. The random rope playground and zip line we found on a cloudy day. The dutch words you taught me. The 2am bottle of Jager we drank. Getting lost at the mall and roaming the Gothic Quarter. Laughing at awful photo-taking tourists or cringing at unappreciative audiences. Climbing hundreds of stairs, taking thousands of steps, surveying our new surroundings. I will always remember. We are kindred spirits and I hope we meet again.

Il Dolce Far Niente

The sweetness of doing nothing. Pleasant leisure. The joy of relaxation.

Rome was a mighty city. An ominous feeling swept through the maze of narrow cobblestone streets and left me with goosebumps. It's power was once measured in conquest. It's wealth, marked with slaughter. Countering the city's extravagance was it's Dark Age. Despite the opulence of the monuments and pompous relics, Rome's downfall was palpable. Were the grooves in staircase steps worn by invading barbarians? Did stones from statues still lie in the same locations on which they were destroyed? Including my visit here, all good things must come to an end. I ran myself ragged in Rome. Cramming almost three thousand years into three days of sightseeing was taxing- on both my body and my mind. Add a blanket of heat and a thick layer of grime and I was left drained, sunburned and spent. The coin I threw in the Trevi Fountain must come through as I need to return to the Eternal City to view the marvels I left behind. I came. I saw. I conquered.

After a three hour train ride through green laden trees and vast stretches of Tuscan farms, I am in Firenze (what we Americans know as Florence). The heart of the Renaissance. A city whose Golden Age continues. Though once plagued by a Black Death killing more than half of it's inhabitants, this glorified museum still feels very much alive. Along the flowing Arno river, there is a marriage of history and nature. Panoramic views include rising Cathedrals and lush, carpeted mountains. Florence was a land where intellect became sharper than the sword. Ideas outsmarted armies. Mastery meant more than just the triumph over enemies. I do not feel like I have to conquer this city but to simply enjoy it. I stroll rather than scramble. Saunter rather than sprint. Yesterday I wandered along the Arno shore, collecting rocks, braiding a flower crown and eating gelato. I climbed the 500 steps to the top of the Duomo and the 800 steps to the overlook of Piazzale Michelangelo yet do not feel stressed. I aimlessly roam. My evenings are spent watching the sunset and drinking many bottles of Chianti with Whitney, a wedding photographer whom I met at my hostel. This city feels rather carefree. A taste of home, and of wonderful Italian food, while still being so far from familiar. You can sit back and breathe easy here. You are encouraged to unwind and swig wine. So far, Florence has been my favorite city.

Friends, Romans, Countrymen.... Lend me your ears

I've been drinking it all in. Literally. And I don't mean alcohol- though I've had a glass of wine with every meal. I mean the city. The water. It flows fresh and cold from beautiful fountains scattered every few blocks. Marble lion heads spew straight from the aqueducts and into my water bottle. It's wonderful. Refreshing. Rome has become a part of me more so than I had anticipated. I drank from the fountain at the top of St. Peter's Basilica - Outside the Pantheon- Next to the Trevi Fountain. I have ingested the antiquity- the culture- the history.

Rome is an amazing city. I had thought the architecture of Barcelona was impressive so arriving here was absolutely stunning. Imagine turning a corner and seeing the Colosseum - Getting lost and finding the Spanish Steps. I ate pasta carbonara at Piazza Navona. I gazed at a Bernini sculpture while eating gelato. I made calls to those I miss and love while in Vatican City. I had always envisioned the Roman ruins to be confined to one area. One enclosed location housing the past. But they are everywhere- every street, every neighborhood. There are ancient stones outside modern looking condominiums. The rubble of old homes are strewn near souvenir shops. Broken columns are used as park benches. Bases of medieval statues sit, unadorned, in thick grass. Rome's yesterday is very much part of it's today. And, as I drink the water, it is very much a part of me.

La Boqueria y Las Basilicas - A Feast for the Senses

Tapas, tapas and mas tapas! Boquerones- vinegar marinated anchovies. Padrones- a mild roasted green pepper. Patatas Bravas- glorified french fries, cubed and served with mayonnaise and paprika sauce. Serrano ham - served by the plateful and sliced off a proudly displayed hanging pig leg (which are found everywhere and smell AWFUL). Having made friends with the tennis coach, fluent in Spanish and who's father is from Spain, sampling Barcelona's cuisine has been a cinch. Everyone I have dined with has been an adventurous eater and we have made efforts to order as many different dishes as we could. Different but edible. I haven't tried tripe, rubbery stomach lining, as I saw it being sold at La Boqueria and I don't think I could stomach the stomach- no pun intended. La Boqueria is the large public market located a few blocks off Las Ramblas, a tree-lined pedestrian street swarming with tourists, souvenir stands and street performers. The vendors at La Boqueria sell everything from intestines, testicles and whole skinned rabbits to lamb heads and plastic boxes of brains. There are brightly colored crates full of every fruit imaginable and dried peppers that could kill your tongue with one taste. I bought fresh cuttlefish and coconut meat and desperately wish I was able to smuggle food home in my carry-on.

In addition to my appetite, Barcelona has also been feeding my soul. Though I am not devoutly religious, I have visited several colossal cathedrals and giant basilicas. Built of thick grey stone and cold to the touch, entering each of these holy places has brought warmth to my heart. The gargantuan columns and impressive stained glass windows are humbling. The grandeur invokes reflection. The basilica of Santa Maria del Mar, one of the several churches I entered today, was rife with serenity. Built from 1329 to 1384, it is the only remaining example of pure Catalan Gothic architecture. It was a place of worship for medieval shipwrights and merchants. How many merchants offered praise within these walls only to be eventually lost at sea? Being saved from the rain, I sat on the wooden pews and silently prayed for loved ones. I felt sublime. Unsure about the exact way to pray, I pictured each of your faces. Underneath the towering buttresses, I emanated feelings of positivity and wishes for your happiness and health. I wish you were here so I could further share my meals and my musings. I am off to Rome tomorrow. Spain has been a feast for my senses.

Montjuic

The past few days have been full of rain. My lack of waterproof shoes has thrown a bit of a wrench into my routine and my feet are not extremely happy. As if the six plus mile walk each day wasn't enough, I now must deal with wet socks. It is the type of weather that is perfect for napping. If I was in San Diego I would probably spend the afternoon cuddled up on the couch catching up on HBO series and sleep. However, I am not in San Diego I am in Spain, and as I stated before, I will sleep when I die.

While the storm was still brewing over the Mediterranean I went to explore Montjuic. The magician and tennis coach asked if I wouldn't mind the company and the three of us journeyed up the nearby mountain. Montjuic is a mystical place with many gardens, a magic fountain and a castle. The route up typically includes an air tram, similar to what you would find in a zoo, which is included with your metro ride. Unfortunately, due to the wind and impending rain we were forced to travel up by bus. The ride was very short and the road up to the castle was thick with pink poppies. A grey haze shrouded Montjuic, adding to it's mystery. Mist hung heavy over Barcelona and bright green parrots and white winged ravens sang from the trees, as if welcoming the weather. As a Game of Thrones fan, I couldn't help but imagine the royal rituals, ancient alliances and betrayals that must have happened here. Peering from the watch towers and behind the cannons I pictured knights defending this stone fortress. I wondered how many battles there had been and how much blood had been shed. The castle's stunning views of the city and sea left us speechless and we silently walked the rocky terrace grounds, soaking it all in.

The Montjuic expedition ended yesterday with an evening Magic Fountain show. It is similar to what you would find at the Bellagio in Las Vegas but the backdrop is Palau Nacional, a giant Italian-style building dating back to the twenties. A Canadian who will soon get her Masters in curatorial studies moved into my room at Sant Jordi and joined us for the light/music/water spectacular. With a similar vernacular and friendly attitude, her and I hit it off immediately. She is traveling for a month and a half and recently toured the lava rock fields, waterfalls and glaciers of Iceland. She will be in Paris at the same time as me and we hope to meet up one night for dinner. Fifteen minutes into sky high water streams and a terrible 80's music soundtrack, our Sant Jordi crew left the fountain for a typical tapas dinner, passing an old bullfighting arena along the way. Having not eaten since our beer and cuttlefish breakfast in La Boqueria, we feasted on bread, ham and pickled fish. A cheers to travels of the past and the future.

Sant Jordi

I'm writing from the red bean bag chairs that litter the floor of my second hostel. I wanted to extend the stay in my first hostel, Casa Gracia, knowing that it would be a while before I had a private bathroom again, but they were booked so I made a reservation at nearby Sant Jordi Gracia. Sant Jordi hostel is named after el Dia de Sant Jordi, which was Tuesday. It is a holiday honoring the death of Saint George, Barcelona's patron saint. As if I didn't miss my boyfriend to begin with, Sant Jordi's day is celebrated by an exchange of gifts between lovers. Men give their ladies red roses and women buy their men books. The streets were scattered with stands selling roses and paperbacks. Everyone who was anyone carried a flower around all day. I bought a pair of red hand-crotched rose earrings to not feel left out.

At Sant Jordi, I am staying in a room with three bunk beds. The bathroom the entire floor shares is clean and the people who work here are friendly. I'm sharing my room with a magician from Miami, his best friend the tennis coach and an Australian doctor. She is a kidney specialist and the same age as me. After I spent my day walking the Barceloneta boardwalk and sticking my toes in the Mediterranean, my roommates and went out to dinner at a place I had read about in a travel guide. Over octopus and salmon tartare we talked about where our travels had taken us and where they were going. The boys have just come from Feria de Sevilla in Seville. A crazy week long Andalusian festival complete with bullfighters and flamenco dresses. The doctor, Crystal, will be on a ten month journey; going everywhere from Barcelona to Nice and Switzerland to Croatia. Her trip to Florence over laps mine for two days and we plan to meet and have dinner together. We'll be able to reconvene and chat about our solo vacations. While I've enjoying sight seeing alone, with only my camera, it is nice to be able to talk with other people and share an experience. After a surprisingly inexpensive yet delicious dinner we headed to our hostels sister hostel, a Sant Jordi in a different neighborhood. What this hostel lacked in space it made up for in liveliness. I took welcoming shots of bad rum and met a Moroccan girl who lives in France as well as a guy from New Orleans. Here I am, halfway across the world, reminiscing of old college hangouts. The hostel had organized a pub crawl and we headed to a cramped bar where most of the 2 Euro shots were lit on fire. It was pyrotechnics mixed with alcohol and I loved it. The mob of over 20 hostelers moved to nearby club, Jamboree, and we danced the night away. I met more lone female travelers and we all made a toast to our bravery. I have not yet felt alone. So far, strangers have only been friends that I haven't met yet.

Home of the Free

After a day straight out of Lonely Planet, I took my time starting the evening. I ventured into the common area around 22:00 and my friends, the lovely dutch girls, were no where to be found. I forgot to mention that they joined me for the free hostel breakfast this morning. It consisted of coffee, toast, several meats, cheeses and condiments for the bread, as well as nutella, jam, yogurt and muesli-- which is like granola. Spain serves a lovely tomato puree with their meals. This would have been delicious smeared on my toasted ham and cheese however I put a dollop on my yogurt only to realize that what looked like fresh strawberry jam was actually tomato. It is 2:56 in the morning. I am not up to talk about my breakfast experience. Instead, I wanted to share what happened this evening.

So as I said, I did not see anyone I knew downstairs so I ventured several blocks down the street to Placa del Sol where there are several bars/restaurants in a square, situated between several small cross streets. I choose a table at a little cafe, El Sol de Nit, nearest to a group of local Barcelonians jamming on three guitars, a bongo drum, a tambourine, a giant cardboard tube, and one girl was using her large silver ring to clang against her glass beer bottle. I had an awesome cheap meal of hummus and handmade squash ravioli with a truffle crema while listening to the makeshift band on the plaza bench next to me. After several glasses of liquid courage, I paid my bill and purchased two cans of beer from the Indian man selling them from a six-pack on the corner. I joined the band! I quickly became the tambourine player and, despite not knowing any of the words to the songs they were playing, oohhh'd and ahhhh'd my way to back up singer. It was completely surreal. What better, or more authentic, of an experience than to be singing and dancing with the locals! As they do in America, La Policia had to show up to ruin the time and disperse the crowd.

Upon returning back to the hostel, I stopped in the lobby to use the wifi and unwind from my epic jam sesh. What I encountered is why I must write about it now, while it is still fresh in my mind. From the bean bag I was lying on I overhead a young chinese boy speaking to an Isreali man. Ahhh the beauty of a hostel! Their conversation sounded interesting, so I listened. The Chinese boy talked about how he had met the first Chinese noble peace prize winner, who had come to his University for a lecture, and how it was very brave of the writer to vocalize against decisions made by the Chinese government. The Israeli man was a semi-celebrity in Israel, having competed on their version of Top Chef and coming in fifth place. My ears perked up about his passion for cooking and in a matter of minutes I too was in the conversation sharing recipes and photos of my culinary expertise. The Israeli man was a lawyer and business consultant and he looked like a bald Ali G. He shared that he was a soldier in the 2006 Lebanese war and operated a tank. He showed us, on his iPad, a picture of two tanks. The first one was on fire and the one behind it had chains on the front and smoke billowing from the protuding heavy machinery, indicating that it had clearly just fired at the enemy. He was the driver of the second tank and his friend was dying in the first one. He said everyone between the ages of 19-21 in Israel wanted to participate in the war. His friend was killed.

Somehow the conversation of war turned into a polite interrogation as to why I was in Europe. I explained my employment situation and my lifelong desire to travel. The Chinese boy did not understand. He said that at my age, because I am super old and all, I should know what I want to do and have moved a level up in my job-- or that I should be married with children. He said that it was bad to be in an exploratory state of indecision. He said that he was told that by the age of 30 all these life decisions should set and being worked on. At the same time, literally the same time, the Isreali and I asked, "Who says?" This is the difference between a country being free or not. America is a free country ( please don't give me any shit about the current gun laws being discussed-- in the grand scheme of things, we are still a free country). China tells there people how many kids to have for god sakes. The Israeli and I both agreed that when we are extremely old we want to be able to look in the mirror and give ourselves a thumbs up rather than regret not fulfilling the dreams of our youth. I take my freedom for granted. I live in a country where I am encouraged to follow my heart and accomplish my dreams. I do what I want! I am American. I am free.

An Experience Beyond Words

I cannot describe today. My senses were completely overwhelmed. It was an experience beyond the reach of my vocabulary. If I had to leave tomorrow, I could still say that I had the best vacation I could have imagined. That is to say in the current conditions.There is a certain someone that I really wish was here. Anyhow, pictures will tell my day. My words will not do it justice.