Icelandic Weddings

Ok, so this post will not be about Austria but Iceland. Just warning you, so as not to confuse anyone. The other night, Rakel and I indulged in a girls movie night and watched Confessions of a Shopaholic. Like typical girls do, we were commenting on the colors, dresses, and themes of the girls in the show and especially during a wedding scene at the end. There were about five or so bridesmaids, each dressed in different colors with matching veils. I commented that it's not everyday that you see bridesmaids wearing veils. Rakel replied with something that took me by surprise. She said that in Iceland, brides have no bridesmaids. This shocked me for a second, but the more I got to thinking about it, I began to like the idea. After all, how many countless hours of sleep are lost and tears are shed as brides make the painful decision (or scrounging search) for bridesmaids? For some, like myself, I have considered numerous times about who I would want as a bridesmaid. For me it would be difficult to narrow down my list to just 4 or 6 girls with which I am the closest to. I have a fear of leaving someone important out. For others, the opposite problem exists. Hence the creation of Made of Honor. The elimination of bridesmaids would eliminate the potential for numerous feelings to be hurt. Not that I am thinking about getting married ANY time soon, but it is just something interesting to consider. I think part of the reason why I enjoy learning so much about other cultures is because then I can decide what I like about each, and try to incorporate and apply different aspects of each culture into my own. So, I might be getting married in Iceland after all. Welcome to Austria, and an inside perspective on Icelandic culture from an Icelandic roommate.

5 Euro Pizza

I am finally able to order a pizza in German, after 5 months of living in Austria. I still struggle sometimes, it really just seems to depend on the day for me. If I am in a good mood, I can usually stand to hold up the conversation. (In fact, it is usually easier to communicate with the cab driver and pizza guy because they are not Austrian. German is not their native language like it is definitely not mine.) Anyways... last week, Rakel and I decided to order one before watching an episode of How I Met Your Mother. While I would love to eat extremely healthily, it just simply is not realistic as a busy student. I ordered the pizza in German, but Rakel answered the door in English. When I greeted the pizza delivery guy in German, he knew automatically that I was not a native speaker. "Where are you from?" he asked. After I told him, he seemed quite surprised. It was as if he did not understand why I-or anyone for that matter- would consciously choose to live in Wiener Neustadt instead of America. "Why are you studying here? Aren't the schools better in America?" The comment somewhat took me aback. I would like to think that the quality of education in Austria is not completely inferior to that in America. I proceeded to explain that I was an International Business major, doing a year abroad. It seems that there is this double standard about perceptions of the United States. People resent it, but at the same time secretly desire to go. If I keep going on this tangent I will never get back to my short and sweet (or salty) story about the pizza. While nearly everything is more expensive in Austria, the pizza is actually quite cheap. For example, a medium pizza in the US would cost between $10 and $15, while the pizza delivered to the FH dorms costs a whopping....wait for it, wait for it....$5 Euros. And this includes a 33 ML can of pop. However, this pizza is not made by Austrians but by immigrants from Turkey and other south eastern European countries. There are numerous possible topping combos, unlike anything you would see in the US. Toppings range from mushrooms and ham to salami and artichokes to sardines, corn, tuna, eggs (even fried eggs) and seafood. My personal favorite is the Fantasia, with mushrooms, ham, and corn. Not only are the pizzas cheap, but there is no delivery charge.
Somehow I managed to get my hands on a copy of seasons 1 and 2 of The Office in the FH school library. How an American DVD series made its way into the FH library, who knows. What I do know is that what started out as a quest for a DVD series with German subtitles led to an Office marathon party. And when TV and movies are present, usually pizza follows. Bernie ordered the pizzas this time, and it was great to hear the genuine Austrian accent in action. After the pizzas arrived, I realized that we needed knifes. Bernie and I both rushed to our rooms and returned with some knives. Jody proceeded to ask Bernie "Why is the pizza not already cut? It would already be cut in America?" He just shrugged and laughed. I thought to myself, why should they cut it when we can do it ourselves? It is genius if you think about it, cutting out a lot of unnecessary hours of labor. But I kept quiet, and enjoyed my pizza.
Welcome to Austria, and the land of 5 Euro Pizza.

Austria vs. America

The other night, Nicole and I were working on our German homework. The task in sight: create two different dialogues about two different situations. I decided upon a restaurant and shopping situation, thinking these would be the most helpful. I started to work on the restaurant dialogue first. I was thinking about what a waiter in the US would say, not in Austria. In the US, after bringing out a plate of food, it would be considered rude if the waiter did not reply with something similar to: lassen sie mich wisse, wen ich noch etwas für Sie erhalten kann. (let me know if there is anything else I can get for you). Nicole, talking to her Austrian boyfriend Thomas through Skype (as he is on exchange in Norway) proceeded to ask Thomas if this was the correct translation. His response? "No. Well, yea, it is correct but no one would say that." So there you go, a major cultural difference between the US and Austria. According to Thomas, Austrians find the super polite way of Americans annoying. Well, some Austrians come off as just plain rude. I guess we are just nicer in the US. I find it amazing that something so simple as ordering food can be so complicated. Welcome to Austria, and the ultra reserved (sometimes to the point of rude) lifestyle.

Olympic Mania

When I was a little girl, I dreamed of becoming a professional figure skater. They just looked so graceful gliding along on the ice. This was perhaps the only sport that I really took seriously as a young girl. But now, as a somewhat experienced international traveler, I have come to appreciate the Olympics on a whole new level. It is quite neat, in my opinion, when one is able to watch the Olympics and identify a personal acquaintance from each country represented in a certain event. Such was the case a couple of nights ago as Nicole, Olivia, Lucia and I went to the exercise room to get a little exercise and watch the men's downhill skiing. From an outside view, it must have been quite humorous to see four girls crowded around a little TV (watching EuroSport, of all things) watching intently as a couple of Austrian guys appeared to converse lightly, not seeming to take the sports too seriously. I must admit that it took me by surprise that Euro Sport would be in English, but who knows these days. As soon as I saw stars and stripes down the arms of a skier, I knew that it was the US's turn. Not only was it Bode Miller who stood at the top of the hill, but he was sporting my lucky number 8. Bode managed to hold the gold place for a brief while, only be be pushed out of the way by the Swiss. The Canadians were struggling quite a bit, which I was sure to point out to Olivia. (Need I mention that the US defeated Canada in the hockey?) There happened to be a skier from Spain as well...what are the chances of that? Just for Lucia. Then, of course, all of the Swedish, Norwegian, and Austrian competitors hold a little more significance in my mind. I must admit that I am a little envious of the Canadian students from last semester who are lucky enough to witness the events up close and personal. I have decided that it is one of my life goals to make it to an Olympics games one of these days, one of these years, somewhere, somehow.

The Real Austrians

So now that I have been living in Austria for over 5 months (going on 6), I have decided that it is about time that I learn more about the true Austrian culture, the Austrian people, the Austrian way of life, and, well, the Austrian language of German minus the Austrian dialect. Tonight I had dinner with a couple of Austrians. We had some delicious vegetable soup (gemüsezuppe), salad, and red wine. After all, what meal in Europe is not complete without red wine?
We watched one of the first events of the Olympics so far, the ski jumping. I made a comment about the Finnish being good ski jumpers, only to be reminded that the Austrians were better. I learned probably the most important phrases that should come in handy when attempting to learn German, such as "Bitte noch ein mal" and "Bitte sprechen Sie langsamer" (meaning please one more time, and please speak slower). These will probably become signature phrases in the language of Megan.
Well that's all for now. Going to meet more of the exchangers today (walk to a Chinese restaurant or something).

New Beginnings

So, you are probably expecting this blog to be about the European bus tour? Wrong-o. I have decided to postpone my blogs about the bus tour with my mom and uncle in order to start a more accurate preservation of my fleeting thoughts and opinions, (i.e. more interesting and less in-depth like a real blog should be.) Hopefully this means that you can expect to see more posts as well, but we'll see what happens as the semester progresses. Anyways, so my two months of carefree (for the most part) traveling have finally come to a close. I am back in Wiener Neustadt (which I need to do a more in depth blog on) preparing for yet another amazing semester in Austria. I just found out today that my roommate will arrive late tomorrow night (which might turn into early Sunday morning because of all of the delays) from Iceland. I did a little research about the country of Iceland, and discovered that the population is a whopping, get this, 320,000 so about the population of Wichita. Speaking of Wichita, these are some of the things that I miss:

1)Late night Wal-Mart runs for groceries
2)The drive across Wichita (from East to West or West to East, sometimes multiple times daily)
3)The long drive to El Dorado...but I don't miss listening to Rush Limbaugh daily!
4)Mostly just driving in general, although I do appreciate the bus and train systems over here in Europa. Don't know what I'd do with em.

5)Also (how could I forget!)...the Chai Tea Lattes from Starbucks. Not Starbucks, I swear. Just the Chai baby, yummmm. And...Chinese food! (I need to find some Chinese here somewhere soon.) Chai and Chinese.
Well that's enough for now, I have to get rested up so that I have energy to hang with all of the new students tomorrow.


Should be an interesting semester, I am excited to see what the future holds!

Godt Nytt Ar (New Years in Norway!)

The Norwegian bus trip was perhaps the most beautiful trip that I have taken in my entire life. The Scandinavian way of life must have rubbed off on me at least slightly because I was listening to Nightwish’s Bye Bye Beautiful on repeat on the journey. The song was fitting for the journey, it being in a minor key and all. The song has a melancholy air about it but also I sense of urgency and of adventure to it as well. I took a 5-hour bus from Gothenburg to Oslo and then another 3-hour bus to Kristiansand. When I arrived, Aashild was waiting for me at the bus stop! Man was it good to see her standing there. There was just a moment’s pause of awkwardness as we began the long string of conversations ahead. We took a city bus to her place, as I had that cumbersome bag with me (which I will not be taking on any more trips across Europe!) We arrived at last at Aashild’s spatious white college house. I was amazed at the sheer amount of space in her house, especially for only four girls. While there was only one bathroom, the living room/dining room was huge! We made tacos for dinner and spent the evening chatting and catching up. The next morning, after a lieserly breakfast during which I discussed the Norwegian trash and tax systems with Aashild’s dad, we walked around town and I helped Aashild pick out some decorations for her New Years party. We went to this cute little store (of which the name is escaping me, something like Upstairs?) dedicated to party decorations. But this was no Party City. It didn’t have any lame-o, cheap-o, cliche decorations, oh no. This place was awesome. They had everything that you could possibly imagine for every different color-themed party, down to the napkins and silverware. Aparently parties are about colors and not themes in Norway? Just a guess, feel free to correct me if you think I am wrong. I think that Norwegians and Scandinavians are just more classy when it comes to partying. They don’t need some lame excuse (AKA: theme) to have a party. They can have a party just to have a party, and they will. Whenever they feel like it. Because of this, they choose to invest a little more something that they could possible re-use for a future party instead of buying cheap, dispensible party favors that will get chucked out the door the next morning. Again, the recurring European theme of quality over quantity. I am starting to like this mentality alot, and I hope it rubs off on me. It will be hard to change my shopping habits, but I think that I can be done, with a little practice and effort.
I have to admit that Aashild is like me in many aspects, including indecisiveness. At least it made it easier to shop with her since we both took forever to make up our minds! (The only bad thing about this ist hat you end up spending all of your time in one or two stores). We stopped for lunch at a cute little sandwich place (again I have forgotten the name...which isn’t hard to do with these long Scandinavian names!) inside the stripmall where Aashild ordered sandwiches with some sort of curry patte, which was utterly delicious. I could have eaten the whole thing, but I noticed that Aashild wasn’t even going to be able to finish half of hers and I didn’t want to look like the typical American pig of an eater, so I decided to follow suit and save half of mine as well. Not only did fear of stereotypation motivite this decision, but also the fact that the sandwich was so darn expensive. According to Aashild, it is really super expensive to eat out in Norway, so many rarely take the opportunity to splurge on a meal outisde of the home. Another thing completely different from the United States...thanks to McDonalds, it is actually cheaper for some families (who lack the time, energy, and funds needed to prepare a proper meal) to eat out than to buy all of the ingredients. Also, it is more about convenience. Why take the time to cook a meal when you can eat something cheaper and in less time? Also speaking of McDonalds, there is a McDonalds in Kristiansand that is located in a grand-looking historical building that used to be a bank or something. Walking down the main street in Kristiansand it is pretty hard to miss. I couldn’t help but gawk when I saw i and I had to take a picture. If you’re lucky you will see it posted on here. Anyways, did I mention that I am in love with the Scandinavian eating habits and choices for foods? For breakfast, we would eat a soft boiled egg, and a couple of small sandwiches with meat, lettuce, cheese, etc. While many might not conisder this typical breakfast food, it makes sense that these kinds of foods should be served at breakfast since it is, after all, the most important meal of the day. Also, who has the right to determine what a typical breakfast is like? Everyone gets used to eating different things for different meals out of habit, not necessity. After all, food is food so what does it matter at what time of day you consume the different elements that your body requires to function? (Just a thought, I have been noticing how some people can be so set in their ways when it comes to eating habits. Some people are not willing to sacrifice routine for the benefit of gaining a valuable cultural experience). Also, nobody rushes around at breakfast time in Norway. Every morning that I stayed in Kristiansand, I would awake to find the table already set, coffee already made, and the entire contents of Aashild’s refrigerator covering the table. I think this is definitely a characterstic of Norwegian people, because I remember the same table strewn with juices, yougurts, fruits, butters and various spreads when I stayed at Per’s house in Norway. I never really understood why Per did this, I just accepted it as a more formal dining experience since we were guests at his house. But when Aashild did the same thing, I was left with no better explanation except that it has something to do with the Norwegian way of life. From personal observation, I have come to the conclusion that Norwegians (and this probably goes for most Scandinavians as well) are just more laid back about life. They are not in a hurry to start the day, and like to start it off right with good conversation, good coffee, and a little relaxation. This is completely opposite from the rushed and frenzied American breakfast that I am oh-so used to. (I think that this style of emptying the contents of the fridge has actually rubbed off on me....when my mom and uncle came to visit in Wiener Neustadt for a week I found myself taking out everything from milk, soy milk, orange juice, yougurt, friuits, rolls, coffee, sugar, etc. because I had a guest who I knew to be a picky eater.) And now I have gotten off on a long tangent. So where were we? Speaking of food, Aashild and I also did a little grocery shopping that afternoon. Kiwi is one the most popular Norwegian grocery store chains. I noticed some fresh shrimp staring me in the face, and Aashild promised that we would have that for dinner some night. The first grocery store that we went to was sold out of turkeys, so we went to a different one. (I found it slightly odd that a grocery store could sell out of something like a turkey, but apprently it is not very common. Also I have to take into account the fact that it was holiday, and the turkey was a desired commodity for many hungry families!) Apparently the Norwegian New Year’s meal is quite similar to the American Thanksgiving and is made wonderful with turkey, vegetables, and potatoes. We finally settled on a 5 KG bird, and went back home to do some research on how to cook the darn thing. I also convinced Aashild that I should purchase a Kransakake, a tiered ring-shaped cake tasting like almond marzipan. Adorned with miniature Norwegian flags and Norwegian jokes and drizzled with white frosting, I simply could not pass it up. Aashild was a little hesitant about the purchase, not sure that it would get eaten. She said the she personally liked it, but not all youngsters like us did. That evening we picked up Helena, Aashild’s best friend, from the bus station. On New Years Eve, Helena and I walked around Kristiansand while Aashild worked on the turkey. Kristiansand, located on the southern tip of the Norwegian shores, is a beautiful place. It is a port city, and as Aashild has told me, is a summer town and really lights up during this time of year. Helena and I had a discussion about Norway and about all of the immigrants from Samalia and Afghanistan. According to Helena, the Norwegian government (along with other governments in Scandinavia) feels overly sympathetic for people living in asylum and therefore provide them with housing and funds necessary to survive. Currently, about 8% of Norway’s population is made up of immigrants. We arrived back at Aashild’s just in time to see the bird make its way into the oven. Later that afternoon two of Aashild’s good guy friends joined us. Before dinner, we chatted about the political and social systems in Norway, comparing them to the US. Mainly we talked about the differences in the education systems. I think that future blogs will focus on a more in depth comparison of country’s social and political systmes, but you will get a brief overview for now. For example, college education is free, but when students get jobs after graduation in Norway they are taxed out the wazoo. However, they do have to put down a deposit which gives them incentive to pass their classes. If they do not pass, they do not receive the doposit back (I think there are other countries with this system as well). Also, students in Norway (as well as all of Scandinavia) are held under ten social rules that is called the Jante Law.
The ten rules are:
1. Don't think that you are special.
2. Don't think that you are of the same standing as us.
3. Don't think that you are smarter than us.
4. Don't fancy yourself as being better than us.
5. Don't think that you know more than us.
6. Don't think that you are more important than us.
7. Don't think that you are good at anything.
8. Don't laugh at us.
9. Don't think that anyone of us cares about you.
10. Don't think that you can teach us anything.

In my opinion, this makes it difficult to set very high goals because of society’s innate fear of success but also of failure. It is almost an oxymoron...you are supposed to try, but not too hard. What is that supposed to look like exactly?
As to other academic habits in the North....while Scandinavians take education very seriously, the system of being able to retake classes more than once makes it difficult to set very high personal standards. For me, when this exists, it is hard to get out of the mindset of...well, since I can take it again, why try now? Of course I still try my best, but this is always in the back of my mind...
Getting down off of my soapbox...
We had a lovely dinner and enjoyed some pre-party drinks to go along with the plethera of desserts before us. We opened one of the jokes on the Kransakaka, but I cannnot remember what it was. (Whatever it was, it wasn’t very good. Aahild’s friends willingly admitted that Norwegians are not very humours at all, as if this would explain why the joke was not very funny!) before making our way out the door. We literally only made it out the door at midnight, but were able to enjoy a fabulous fireworks show. We then slowly ventured into the cold (freezing, really!) outdoors as we made our way downtown. Since all of the clubs were closed, (which Aashild’s analytical friend insisted was Norway’s doing, since the government has that much control and all....but I’m not sure how much of that is really true) and made our way to a house (or I should say, aparatment) party. In Norway, home parties on New Years are more popular than going out anyways. We managed to dance the night away into the wee hours of the morning. At around 3 or 4 we made our way back to Aashild’s place where you would think that we would have gone to bed straight away. However, I think we were really too lazy to get up and change our clothes, so we ended up lounging around in the living room for a few hours singing oldies songs along with Aahild on the guitar (which she rocks at, by the way!) Finally, we called it a night and proceeeded to sleep until well after noon the next day. We bummed around the house, took our time to get up and around, and watched a couple of movies. The boys had gotten up early to go shopping (can you believe it? Boys getting up to shop the sales, and not the girls?! It must be a Scandinavian thing, I swear) but Helena, Aashild and I spent the morning lounging around and listening to music. When the boys got back, they announced that they had to leave soon and sadly would not have time to take a walk with us. We said our parting farewells and then decided to take a walk just us girls. It was a lovely day, and we stopped to pet a few horses on the way. Soon we approached a cross-country ski path and made our way down the middle. With skiiers wizzing by on either side (some accompanied by their favorite form of companion, the family dog) I felt pretty lazy. Apparently walkers like ourselves are not a common sight on such a skiier-dominated territory. It got to the point where there were skiiers remarking on our langsam (slow in German) speed. One man passed us at least three times and at one point, yelled out encouragingly...come on girls, speed up! That night Helena, Aashild and I cuddled up on the couch and watched chick flicks. The next day we were lazy again, but took a walk before taking Helena to the bus stop. Again, Aashild and I enjoyed another night in.
The next day I got to attend classes with Aashild. Well, so I thought....we arrived at the school only to discover that the classes for the day had been canceled. While I did not get the classroom expreince this day, I got to meet several of Aashild’s friends. That evening we went sledding with one of Aashild’s roommates before heading to the swimming pool. Finally the day came when I got to attend a Norwegian class, Renaissane Literature. The professor went on a long spiel about Italy and the large cultural influence that it has had on Europe historically, politically, and artistically. That night I decided that I would take Aashild out to eat to thank her for putting up with me for over a week. After much discussion, we finally settled on Egon, a Norwegian restaurant chain. I decided that I would order something typical of Norway, so I settled on the fish soup. Ashild, on the other hand, went full out American and ordered a hamburger. This was probably the most expensive hamburger that I had to purchase in my whole life! For the two of us, the meal was over $50, and this was not including drinks! That means that the hamburger alone was about $25. Maybe this will help put into perspective how expensive things really are in Norway? That night, after making it back, Aashild began to play her guitar and I began to sing along. We headed to Oslo in the morning, arrived in the afternoon, and went to Helena’s place of employment (the Scandinavian travel agency Apollo) to drop off our bags before walking around the city. Aashild and I walked up and down the main streets, and stopped in front of all the important buildings including the Parliament, the Grand Hotel where President Obama received his Nobel Peace Prize, the Royal Palace, and the Opera House. I just looked this up on Wikipedia to confirm this, but Oslo regained status as the most expensive city in the world in 2009. Of course this is the year that I decide to travel there, wouldn’t you know? Also, over 25% of Oslo’s population is made up of immigrants (mainly from Pakistan, Samalia, Sweden, and Sri Lanka), and the city’s population is growing at a record rate of 2% annually, making it the fastest growing Scandinavian capital. This is really mind blowing when you stop and think about it for a second. 2% Annually? Wow! The following day, Helena had to work, so Aashild and I spent the day walking around, shopping, and trying to keep warm. I noticed that all of the most expensive stores could be found along the streets. I eve saw a Bose store, which blew my mind. However, it makes sense, since Bose speakers are of the utmost quality and are therefore outrageously expensive. When Helena finally got off work at around 4 PM, we went back to Helena’s place (a spatious apartment in the upstairs of a quite nice house in a quite nice neighborhood) to prepare ourselves for the evening. We went out to dinner at a savy little pizzeria caled Olivia’s. Established in 2008, the interior was very hip and modern with actual olive trees inside, and a few log walls. http://oliviarestauranter.no/
I grabbed a menu for Olivia, since it is, after all, her name. Our waitress was a sweet girl from Sweden who agreed that it would be fine if I made off with the menu. (Aparently a lot of Swedes go to Norway to work because they can earn more money). Helena explained that I ordered a coffee and Bailey’s for Helena and I, as Aashild had already ordered a beer for herself. It is an odd experience to be out to eat, willing to splurge, but also being forced to order the cheapest item on the menu so that the splurge does not amount to an extremely outrageous amount. I ordered a pizza, which turned out to be about a $30 pizza. With the two drinks, my bill came out be around $50. While in Norway, my two meals out to eat were perhaps my biggest splurges. Since I had a place to stay, I luckily did not have to pay for lodging or else I would have been in some serious trouble. Not only is eating out for me expensive, but it is expensive for Norwegians as well. This is perhaps why Helena and Aashild had never been to this restaurant before despite the short distance between it and Helena’s place. Our dinner conversation revolved around the outrageous amount of inflation in Oslo. I was wondering, as I am sure most of you are as well, how one (espeically a student) is able to surive in such a place when the cost of living is so high. Helena and I worked together to figure out how much she makes in US dollars, and it is quite alot. Therefore, the wages are simply higher in order to at least partially compensate for the outrageous cost of living. The thought entered my mind about how much I could make in US dollars by merely working in Oslo for a summer or so. Helena mentioned that a lot of Americans and Australians work at the TGI Fridays down the street, and speaking Norwegian is not a pre-requisite for the job. I was tempted to go request an application, but I chickened out at the last minute. I haven’t gotten the best vibe from Oslo, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to work in the food industry again....but who knows. Maybe Helena could pick up an application for me before she comes to visit in the spring? We’ll see...
That night after dinner, the girls helped me purchase the bus ticket online that I would need to get from the Oslo bus station to the Torp airport, where I would fly to Paris. The ticket for the five-minute tram from Aashild’s to the airport cost over ten dollars, what a rip! Oh well...it was well worth it, considering that if I would not have taken it, I could have missed the bus that would get me to the airport with plenty of time to spare at the airport. When checking in at customs, in Oslo, the lady asked me how long I had been in Scandinavia. I couldn’t remember the exact date, and went on to explain that I had taken a bus from Sweden to Norway. I think I just further confused her, because when I finally came up with the date of the 28th, I remembered that the 28th was the day that I had changed planes in Copenhagen on my way to Europe. This lady thought that I had been in Scandinavia since the end of August! She gave me a stern glance, and suggested that I not stay longer than an extended period of more than three months in Scandinavia. By the time I realized the reasoning behind her stern advisory, it was too late to do anything about it. Shortly afterwards, I was on a plane leaving the beautiful snowy land of Scandinavia and flying to Paris, France for yet another fabulous adventure!

See you soon Scandinavia, I will be back for sure.

Swedish Christmas

Sweden (Svenska) is a fascinating country. On Dec 21st 2009 Andreas and I arrived in Borås via Berlin Air. Since our flight left from Vienna at 6:30 AM we decided to spend the night at the airport. In order to do so, we took a 9 PM train from Wiener Neustadt to Vienna and then an airport shuttle bus from Vienna to the airport. Andreas and I then proceeded to sleep on a couple of nice benches close to the check-in station. Well....we only slept for about two hours because we were watching Whose Line Is It Anyway and How I Met Your Mother. We slept from about 2 to 4 AM before awakening to prepare for the flight. On the plane, I awoke just in time to see the ocean to the west of Sweden (Someone upstairs must have been pointing out the majestic beauty of the place) just before it was engulfed with clouds. I made Andreas practice a few basic Swedish phrases with me so that I would not be forced into a state of mute misunderstanding and would be able to communicate on at least a basic level with his parents. Of course, when I asked Andreas how to say: the food tastes really good, I should have known that he would teach me the direct translation of: that food tastes fucking good. Really the first impression that I wanted to make after meeting his parents for the first time, if you know what I mean? I wondered why his mom hesitated slightly after I had said this...but now I know for certain! However, it seems like cursing is so much more acceptable in Scandinavia than in other countries. Harsh language (including words like shit, fuck, and damn) is part of the typical day-to-day conversational bantering. I noticed (just from driving from the airport to Andreas’ home) the high level of liberalness by noticing simple things such as underwear and revealing bustiers hanging in the windows of nearly every clothing shop. As Andreas mentioned to me earlier in the semester, lingerie is considered to be acceptable party clothing. Anways...so Andreas’ Papa picked us up from the airport and drove us to the family home, a cozy red-brick home situated on the edge of a never-ending portion of sprawling forest at the top of a residential hill. I met the family, including the family dog Morris. We spent the afternoon relaxing, hanging out, and watching TV. Andreas fell asleep while I read, but later that night I was the one who fell asleep to Gladiator. I guess I was just too tuckered out after a long day of traveling to really enjoy a serious, intellectual movie.

The next day, Andreas and I slept in until about 11 or 12 before catching a train from Central Station in Borås to Gothenburg. Andreas took me to Liseberg, a small Christmas-inspired village with Christmas booths, rides, and candy wheels. Since my wallet was so heavy with euro coins, I decided to lighten my load and give my cousin Emily an indirect Christmas present at the same time. There was a WWF fountain for endangered animals, and this is where those coins went. We passed stands selling Swedish specialties as well as marzipan pigs, which are actually part of a German tradition that began in German farm families that were lucky if they had a pig (and thus meat) to make it through a cold winter. Thus, the gift of the pig came about to symbolize a token of good luck. While I did not buy a whole pig, I tried several typical Swedish food items including: glügg, a sweet Christmas drink with a little alcohol, raisins and almonds and a Jul (Christmas)flavoring, a cinnabun, flower-shaped waffles with cloudberry jam, a kebab made of reindeer meat and more typical of the Sami people, residents of the northern most parts of Norway (the Norrlands) who lived off the land, slept in tents like American Indians, and hunted raindeer and fished in fjords to survive. We both tried betting a couple of times in hopes of winning a gigantic, life-sized candybar. Andreas (with his lucky numbers of 14, 15 & 17) had his eye set on the Anthon Berg marzipan assortment, while I (with number eight on the brain) tried my hand at the Polly assortment as well as the wafer-like KEX. Later in the afternoon, it began to snow gently and before long, the winter wonderland of Liseburg was covered with a thin layer of snow. We passed an ice bar, where the entire bar was covered with ice. Andreas’ dad later told us that the company that he works for made the down-lined bodysuits that were a requirement of dress for cold customers. The whole experience was so cute and romantic. At one point there was mistletoe suspended above a bridge over a river illuminated with Christmas lights. We wandered around for awhile before finally heading towards the exit. We took a cable car to the train station, and took a bus instead of a trian this time back to Boras.

The next day was the day before the Swedish Christmas, so of course this means that Andreas and Pierre needed to do some last-minute shopping like most men must do. We stopped by Hemmakväll (meaning home night) a movie and candy store combined into one. I am sure that I looked exactly like a little kid in a candy shop. (While I am not really a little kid, I am sure that I acted like one) I was just overcome with excitement with the number of new brands and chocolate combinations. It amazes me that such a basic product like chocolate can be marketed into so many different ways by changing, adding, or subtracting one simple ingredient. Also, it was neat for me to see what my reaction was when coming in contact with new brand names. After all, most people begin developing brand loyalty subconsciously at such a young age. However, for me, it was like I was being thrust into a brand new world of alternative brands and I was forced to make many difficult decisions. When my comfort brands were not available, I wanted to try everything so that I could begin to develop my own opinions about these brands. I tried Maribo, KEX, Polly, Anthon Berg, Pigall, Reisen, and Scotty. I tried them all. Since I am such a sweet tooth, all of the ingredients were appealing to me. Thus, my decision was decided mainly based on the name and packaging techniques used. This is all so new and exciting to me, and makes me even more glad that I have decided to change my major from Accounting to International Business and Marketing.

The same day, Andreas, Pierre and I made a quick stop at the hospital to get shots for the swine flu. At first I was not even sure where we were going, but I finally figured out why the boys were in such a hurry...we wanted to make it in time before the hospital closed, since it was the day before Christmas. So I followed the furry of black jackets into the anything-but bustling hospital. I expected there to be a long waiting list in the lobby, but there was not one other patient in sight. At first, the boys mustered something short to the nurses on staff before heading down the corridor to a different room. Andreas briefly explained that since I was not a Swedish citizen, that it would not be possible for me to receive the vaccine. I immediately took a seat in the waiting room, not wanting to get my hopes up too high about the chances of possibly receiving the shot. However, within ten minutes or so, Andreas came over to me and mentioned that it would be ok for me to receive the shot after all....he had talked to the nurse and told her that I wouldn’t be going back to the US for awhile, but would be studying in Austria instead. Afterwards, Andreas and I went to ICA to pick up some chocolates for Andreas’ family members for Christmas presents. That night, Andreas and I stayed up super late wrapping presents and making them look all nice. It was so cute watching Andreas wrap his presents. I was thoroughly impressed that any guy could possess such sophisticated wrapping skills. I went out into the hallway to wrap Andreas’ present so that he couldn’t see it. I hadn’t had the chance to look at his present since it had arrived via FedEx, so I had to take a peek before wrapping it. (Andreas mentioned that I was taking forever wrapping it, but I couldn't help it). The next day (the 24th) was Christmas in Sweden and Christmas Eve in America. We awoke around 10 AM and went up for breakfast. I decided to take Morris for a walk on Christmas morning while everyone else prepared themselves. I walked around a small pond and the football field where Andreas played as a young boy, When I got back, I was informed that Andreas was working on my Christmas present in the basement. I attempted to sing along while Amanda played piano, but it was a lost cause. In an hour or so, relatives started to show up. Felix and his girlfriend arrived, along with Corrina and other aunts and uncles, cousins, and grandmas. I attempted to talk with Agneta’s mother, but all that I could muster were basic phrases such as (jag är mycket met and det shno är fin) I asked Pierre what she had said, and he said that she said that I should learn Swedish. It was really interesting to spend a holiday in a non-English speaking culture. Since I am pretty shy anyway when it comes to meeting new people, it’s not like I was missing out on some intense conversations that would have arose if I could speak the language fluently. (Even if I could have spoken Swedish, the conversations probably would have remained quite basic). It was frustrating and yet a relief at the same time. I was spared some potentially awkward and uncomfortable conversations, but the fact that I couldn’t have held a conversation if I had wanted to was frustrating. However, I made the best of the situation. After all, that's just life, folks (folk is how you say people in Swedish.) While I couldn’t converse with everyone, I spent a great deal of time talking to Felix, Sophia, and Corrina. I learned that Sophia was attending law school in hopes of becoming either a prosecutor or a judge, but she had not decided which she would prefer. Dinner consisted of many delicious entres, including Janssons frestelse, a potato casserole with onions, artichokes and sour cream, an omelette casserole of eggs, cream, ham and peas, Swedish meatballs (both regular and Jul) two different kinds of savory sausages, mustard sauce, green cabbage, and Reis A La Malta for dessert. As a tradition, one almond is placed into the rice pudding before it is served. Whoever happens to get the hut in his/her portion is said to either have good luck or will be the next one to get married. Before the meal, Claus Jüron passed out cone-shaped shot glasses for a schnapps shot before the traditional Christmas song was sung at the dinner table. I shot Andreas an I-don’t-have-a-clue look, and he whispered....I should have taught you this...but it was too late. I attempted to mouth the words, but it was pretty hopeless. It was over before I knew it, and I continued to eat while half attempting to translate the language and half zoning out. Andreas’ aunt Corrina was nice enough to converse with me in English for the majority of the meal....I think she understood what I was going through, as she is a marketer herself who has traveled to many different countries on business trips (she works for a pharmaceutical company that I can’t remember the name of). After dinner, the gift exchange began. I received socks, cookies (almost like thin mints) from both Andreas’ mom and grandma, a matching hat and glove set from Corrina and Felix, and a beautiful, hand-painted Swedish horse from his parents (apparently Andreas’ mom drove to a special town just to purchase the horse for me!) I thoroughly enjoyed watching this whole process. The gifts that everyone received were so simple but yet so meaningful and appreciated. For example, Andreas received underwear from his sister, socks and a scale (which he asked for from his parents), who-knows-what from his brother. It was so funny to watch Pierre open the gift from Andreas to him...a little black wallet from Fossil. It was so humorous because it reminded me of just how indecisive Andreas is when it comes to shopping. We probably spent an hour in the store during which Andreas went back between about ten different wallets, all various shades of brown and black with minor differences in the detailing. He finally took my advice and purchased two black ones in different styles (not only did he want a gift for his brother, but he wanted one for himself as well). From observing Pierre’s gift of the 2010 Guiness Book of World Records and the shelf full of books from years’ past on the bookshelf in the basement, I was able to draw the conclusion that there is a tradition associated with this particular gift. Amanda, a true tomboy who doesn’t seem to care what others think (which I really like about her) received plaid in various different patterns. Andreas’ grandmother (on his dad’s side) showed me the little plastic watch that she received as a prize for calling into the local radio station after completing a crossword puzzle. I said "fine" which means nice in hopes that she would understand what I was saying. Lastly, the adults had their own little gift exchange. (I think they had to have a redistribution since just about everyone got their own gift the first time). After everyone left, we just relaxed and hung out and vegged in front of the TV until it was time to skype my family in Cincinnati. The next day (which was officially Christmas for me) was another lazy day. We slept late and basically did nothing until around 3 or 4 PM when I skyped the family again. It was Christmas morning in Cincinnati and everyone was eating around the dining room table at Aunt Cindy and Uncle Jamie’s house, including Grams. Grams was wearing a new sweater that still had the security tag from the store attached to it. Andreas’ family was able to say hi, even Morris. Emily’s cat Lynx said hi to Andreas’ dog Morris. (I am not sure what pets are able to tell about each other through a webcame introduction, but the interaction was interesting to watch!) After watching a few minutes of their gift exchange (in which I was able to predict the brand of Emily’s new yoga pants....can you say Old Navy?) Andreas took me to see his apartment by car. While we drove, it probably wouldn’t have been more than a 10 or 15 minute walk. I was surprised at how modern (and not to mention tidy) his room was. Black and white were the recurring colors, and he had had a couple of pictures of New York on the walls. We spent about an hour or so drinking hot glügg and watching Home Alone before returning to his home where we found Peirre waiting for our arrival in hopes of going out on the town for the night. I quickly changed and downed a mixed drink that Andreas had quickly concocted for me. We went out to a pub called Harry's where I met a couple of Pierre’s friends. We talked a bit, ordered drinks (Andreas bought me a girly drink) and then went downstairs to dance. Pierre, who had done quite a bit of pre-drinking, was probably having the most fun of all. He was swinging around and around on the pole while Andreas and I and Pierre’s friend laughed in amusement. At one point in the night, Pierre picked me up in one felse swoop, and Andreas rushed to support him. At another point, they were tossing me up in the air. Amanda did not go out with us because the bar was for people over 20, but the people at the door were not even checking IDs, so she definitely could have made it in. Also, I am pretty sure that there were plenty of others under the age of 20 buzzing around the bar. The dance floor was so crowded that I could barely move, and thus got pushed back and forth between sweaty bodies to the pulse of the music. The night ended too soon, around 2 AM (when the bars close). I had gotten used to the clubs in Vienna staying open to around 6 AM. Poor Pierre misplaced the number for his coat check and had to wait until everyone had left only to find that someone had found his number, cashed it in, and stolen in jacket. Andreas and I left earlier (Daddy Hult came to the rescue) despite my pleas to stay and wait with him. Apparently Andreas had called his dad because he didn’t want me to walk back in the snow in my heals. Pierre on the other hand had to run to the police station (luckily accompanied by his friend) and then run home without a jacket!

Agneta informed us of all of this the next morning. After lunch, we went out to do some shopping (Pierre, after all, had to look for a new jacket). Amanda and I dropped off Andreas at Game Stop (big surprise there! =)) before heading off to do a little shopping of our own. I fell in love with a neat little shop called MQ and got really close to buying a black and white plaid pleated skirt but decided against it at the last minute. That evening, we sat around watching TV (mostly cooking network shows) and relaxing. That evening, Andreas took me out to dinner to Thai Silk for my Christmas present. It was a nice, romantic evening of good food, good wine, and good conversation. Andreas suggested that we order American red wine since the buffet was a BBQ buffet. Our waiter was a cute little Thai man who perkily took our order. Andreas said that he is funny to watch in the summer when the restaurant is packed with customers. We discussed the topic of Thailandish people who moved to Sweden to work. (I guess this goes to show why there are an excess of Thai restaurants around town, and across the country). Going out to eat like this made me feel like being home for an instant. I felt like if I had been home in Wichita, this was the kind of restaurant that I would have been going to. Which makes me want to show Andreas Wichita even more now.

I convinced myself that I would enjoy myself on my last day in Sweden and not dwell on the fact that I did not know when (if ever) I would be back. We slept somewhat late (10 ish) and took showers before getting dressed for the day. Andreas drove me to the little lake where his mom sometimes runs, and I was completely blown away by the beauty of the place. He kept commenting on how much better everything looked in the summer, when the grass would be green and the water warm. However, I thought that the snow was absolutely gorgeous. Afterwards, we went for a walk along the river downtown and passed one of his favorite restaurants on the banks of the river. before heading to the infamous sushi bar where we got all you can eat sushi for the small price of 10 euro. I got to meet two of Andreas’ best friends along with Felix at the swimming center in Boras for a little afternoon swim. The boys, of course, had to race down the slide and compare times. I actually improved slightly with each progressive slide except for the last one. After attempting to climb the rock wall and after completing a few dives, we went into the sauna (and, luckily, did not have to strip down naked like you have to do in most Scandinavian saunas). The cool water bath was quite the experience afterwards. The boys insisted that it would feel good, but I had a hard time believing them for some reason....However, I should have taken their word for it because it was amazingly refreshing (but probably not as refreshing as a dive into the ice cold lake that Andreas and I visited earlier that day!) I thought that being a girl, I would be the last done in the locker room, but in fact I was the first (I even beat Andreas!). Just goes to show how particular the Scandinavian guys actually are. Last but not least was Felix, who Andreas warned me was always late. Since we were so cold from swimming, we decided to warm up by going to a cafe to get some hot cocoa and cake. Andreas took me to a quaint little cafe where he ordered a blueberry piece of pie for himself, a slice of apple for me, and cocoa for the both of us. The boys ordered spaghetti and tacos, something slightly more substantial. Apparently tacos are quite popular in Sweden, who would have guessed? Because of this, they were given a small wooden number (painted like the Swedish flag) with their orders. I had a nice conversation with the boys before Amanda and Agneta surprisingly showed up. I asked Agneta to sit down, but she said that she had arrands to run. That is something that will never cease to amaze me....the true sense of community that exists between his family members and friends. They live really close together but still maintain contact almost constantly, and I think I like it. I guess that since they were in the neighborhood, they decided to stop by. On our way back to the car, we stopped in a candy shop where I bought nearly 2 Kilos of candy (to justify this, let me explain that I was buying gifts for people, I did not plan to eat all 2 Kilos). It was funny because I saw a cute little burlap bag in the window of a different store that said God Jul (Merry Christmas in Swedish) and thought to myself....I could just buy the bag and get candy elsewhere. Within the next minute or so, Andreas pointed out the exact same bags with the exact same suggestion. It is strange to think that we think so much alike sometimes; in fact it is a little scary. So that is exactly what I did....I bought a couple little bags (one for my mom and one for Aashild) and bought candy at Hemmakväll instead. When we got back to Andreas’ place, a smorgastorte was waiting for us, in all its glitz and glory. A smorgastorte is a huge sandwich cake where the layers are pate, egg, mayo, tuna, shrimp, cucumber, and various other ingredients. After eating, we sat around until Andreas’ mom informed me that she was going to work out. Being starved for a good workout, I decided to take her up on the offer. I went down to change clothes and then went for a nice little walk/jog with Agneta and Morris. Agneta told me that she had a friend who worked at the hospital with her whose husband was American. We stopped by their house to say hi....and boy could you pick out the house! Unlike the more conservatively decorated traditional Swedish houses with minimal Christmas lights, this one was decked out from top to bottom with colored lights. Unfortunately her friend was not home, so we were forced to just pass by. Since the roads were pretty icy, we would alternate walking and jogging. I told Agneta that I wished I could speak more Swedish, and she expressed her desire to learn more English. She said that she was thinking of going to a class to learn more, in fact. We discussed the mental health care systems in Sweden and the US, and she told me about the difficulties of her job. I admire her for her abilities to deal with the mentally ill, and applaud everyone who works in the health care industry...they are so needed, but not appreciated nearly enough. When we returned, Andreas was still sound asleep in the same position that I left him in. I changed clothes and woke him up so that we could play some monopoly. While Amanda and I wanted to gang up Andreas, I should have known that it would be a lost cause. After all, we were up against the gambling extraordinaire. When he had hotels on half of his properties, Amanda had mortgaged half of her properties, and I was out of cash, we knew that we should probably just call it quits. During the game, I also sampled the 007 glügg (after I reminded Andreas) which wasn’t exactly what I had expected. I can see why it was one of Andreas’ favorites, but I think it was more his style than mine, personally. We were so tired from swimming that night that we barely got through one episode of How I Met Your Mother before I was out cold.

The next morning came all too soon, and it was time to say goodbye to the beautiful land of Sweden, a winter wonderland of yellow houses, yellow peppers (paprika), wooden spoons and wooden horses, heart-shaped wreathes and cookies, upside-down cone shaped glasses, and people with hearts of gold. I had said goodbye to Pierre and Amanda the night before so that I would not have to wake them up in the morning. When I came upstairs, Agneta was up and Andreas had already made several sandwiches for me to take on the road. I said goodbye to Agneta, and said that she wished that I could stay there with Andreas. I can’t say that I disagree, I absolutely loved it there. Who knows, WSU does have a direct partnership with a business school in Jöngköping... Pappa Hult had the car on and all warmed up for us so that Andreas could drive me to catch my bus in Gothenburg. The drive was bittersweet. I think that Andreas was a little stressed, as he was not familiar with the parking areas near the train station and he clearly did not want me to miss my bus. However, when we arrived, we had plenty of time. I don’t think he knew what to say, honestly. I really didn't know what to say either. He told me that I looked cute in the hat that his godmother had given me for Christmas. He walked me to the bus, and even loaded my bag on board. I told him to be good, to do his homework, and to get some sleep. It didn’t feel like I was leaving because I wasn’t leaving Scandinavia, so I did not cry. I could not bring myself to say goodbye for real...I told him that I would see him again.

So long Sweden, see you again someday!

What is Love, Anyway?

"We love because it's the only true adventure." Nikki Giovanni

While I have been traveling around the globe, I have also been doing much traveling and growing inside my own head. During this time abroad, I have learned many personal lessons, one of which is the value of quality relationships with those who truly matter. With Valentine's Day quickly approaching, I thought I would take a few minutes to discuss how my views on love have evolved. While I have never taken the idea of love lightly, perhaps I have been using the word a little too loosely with friends and acquaintances (although not as loosely as many others my age, who attach the three words casually to the end of every other sentence). After all, according to Dunbar's number of 150, the human being is only capable of maintaining 150 quality social relationships. So, in a world that encourages qantity vs. quality, love is at a risk of becoming extinct as we know it. Since my semester began in Austria, I have been forced to evaluate the quality of the relationships with those friends that I did have back in The United States to figure out which were worth keeping up and which were not. Sounds somewhat harsh, but it's a reality. And I am not saying that I have successfully kept in contact with all of those who matter to me, because I have not. After all, I am not perfect. So if you are reading this and wondering, well she hasn't contacted me so I must not matter, you are probably wrong. I have really realized who the important people are in my life, and who I can live without. This has definitely not been an easy process. Maintaining relationships- especially those involving the forbidden four letter word- require work and lots of it. Love is all about action and the decision to be committed to someone or something bigger than yourself. If you are not putting your whole self into something with every fiber of your being, then you probably can not say that you love it. You might like it, but you do not really love it. If you love something or someone, you will go to great lengths to make sacrifices for the sake of love. Think about that before you say "I Love You" next time.

Idyllic Italia

I realize that this post is incredibly late, but better late than never, right? So Olivia and I finally made it to our Tuscan Terre (land in Italian). We had quite the adventure getting to the Bratislava airport, but the thrill of the moment made the trip all the more interesting and exciting. The night before heading off, Liv, Nicole and I took the train into Vienna to see the Swan Lake ballet with Marianna and Arun for 4 Euros each. It was so worth the money to see the show. I don’t know if I have ever seen someone move as elegantly and flawlessly as the prima ballerina did on that Tuesday night. With all of the ballerinas lined up across the stage, their purely white costumes remained independent of each other, while somehow also connecting together to create a celestial illusion of grace and beauty. Since we paid four euro instead of three, our standing spots were centrally located (instead of up in the balcony) with a fabulous view of the stage. After the show, we crashed at Marianna’s apartment in Vienna (Marianna was studying in Wiener Neustadt but living in Vienna and had graciously agreed to let us stay the night with her). The next morning Olivia had to wake me up (as I had completely slept through my alarm) at 3 AM so that we could catch a 4 AM taxi, a 5:30 AM train, a 7:00 AM bus, and finally an 8:30 AM plane to Pisa. We found cheap plane tickets for 27 E, but the taxi ended up costing almost 10 E each, the train 14 E each, and the bus about 1 E more. Nevertheless, the trip was relatively inexpensive. We got to the airport thinking that we only had 10 minutes before the gate to our flight closed, but we had forgotten that the Italians (I know it’s a stereotype, but still seemed quite true, at least from our experiences!) are usually late. Regardless of the flight delay, we still arrived in Pisa before 10 AM. We stuck around the airport until the tourist info desk opened at 11 AM to pick up our free city map before heading off to explore Pisa. We took the bus first to the leaning tower, where we proceeded to take several goofy pictures of ourselves, posing and pretending to alternatively push over the ancient landmark. Little did I know, but actually only a handful of the marble pillars are original. The two of us spent the remainder of the afternoon walking the streets, sampling the famous Italian gelato, and taking in the marvelous riverside view before catching our 2-hour train to Florence. The plan was to study German during this stretch of supposed down time, but Liv and I ended up chatting and admiring the “bella” (beautiful in Italian and Spanish) Italian landscape instead. Upon arrival in Firenze, we checked into our hostel (New Ostel) located directly north of the train station just a couple of blocks. Our room had three twin beds and a white shuttered window that looked out onto a nearby neighbor’s laundry selections. After taking the suggestion of a local, we moseyed further north to a little square (where the locals go) where we stopped in for some authentic Italian pizza. Liv whipped out her handy-dandy Eastern European phrase book to help us order in Italian. We noticed the tall, thin shape of the sodas in Italy, wondering if it was due to marketing research about the preferences of Italians? I thought that perhaps the tall thin shape was more symbolic of the sophisticated and dainty café and latte cups. A couple with two small children overheard us conversing in English and asked us if we were studying in Florence. It turned out that they were from Alabama, taking a short trip to travel while the husband of the household was teaching on an air force base in Venice. Olivia and I, completely exhausted from a strenuous day of traveling, decided to head back to the hostel and call it a night. We met an awesome screenwriter and movie editor from Mexico who shared a hostel with us. She was on her way to Rome, just having come from a friend’s wedding. It was interesting to sit and chat about the current conditions in Mexico in terms of violence, safety, and the political situation. The next morning, after a good night’s rest, Liv and I set out to explore Florence. We planned on eventually making it to the Ufizzi, but instead ended up at the Duomo, the remarkable cathedral in the center of the city with eight sections to symbolize the seven days of the week, plus the day that God created the heavens and the earth. We decided to make the 352-stair trek all the way to the top for a fabulous view of the city. I saw a man with a K-State jacket and couldn’t help but comment. As it turns out, they were from Denver but were honeymooning in Italy. After the Duomo, we wandered through a few street markets where the scent of new leather drifted into the streets. As the weather was quite warm, I had my jacket tied around my purse. Then, almost out of nowhere, I heard a faint voice whisper…”you dropped something, ma’am”. I wheeled around, legitimately concerned that I had actually dropped something. When I turned around, a young Italian man said: “it was my heart, you dropped my heart.” I couldn’t help but smile and laugh to myself. Not 15 minutes later, I heard the same line again. I had heard so many stories about the flirtatious nature of Italian men, but this was my only encounter with such behavior, except for a few men making kissing noises from the street. Next on the list was the Academia, where we got to see the real sculpture of Michelangelo’s David. It was a truly remarkable sight to behold, even the view from the rear. And sorry to say dad (if you are even reading this) but I had a hard time distinguishing any significant resemblance between you and the statue. Not only was the statue of David impressive, but also several religiously inspired pieces dating back as early as the 1400s were quite remarkable. I guess I did not realize the deep religious significance of certain flowers and fruits such as the lily, yellow flowers in general, blue flowers, and pomegranates. A few of the sculptures caught my eye, but only those that were crafted with a deeper symbolic meaning in mind. For example, one sculpture with the basic circular as to symbolize the world and three intertwined figures of children on top to represent three different emotions. After touring the Academia, Liv and I toured a couple of cathedrals. It was getting a little late, so we decided to head back to the hostel to freshen up before going out for our “Big Italian Night.” While we are both cheap, we figured that it would be worth it to splurge in order to experience some real Italian cuisine at its moderate best. We wandered around for a good hour, checking all of the prices in the windows of the restaurants. After we narrowed it down to three, it was time to make a decision. We finally settled on a small place hidden from plain sight by some obstructing scaffolding. The setting was not so inviting, but we hoped that the menu would make up for our losses. Liv and I ordered simple pasta dishes and a ½ liter of wine. Well, let’s just say that if it would not have been for this wine (as well as the other free liters that our waiter so graciously gave to us free of charge) our evening would not have been so nice. The pasta dishes were quite small, as they were really only meant to be appetizers. Although the food was not up to par, we had a nice discussion about Italy with our waiter who was from Naples. He compared Naples to Florence, insisting that people in Florence were more racist than those in Naples. After a good three hours of good wine and conversation, Liv and I somehow managed to make it back to our hostel. We planned to get an early start in the morning, but do things ever go as planned in Italy? We got up, showered, emailed our German homework, ate breakfast, and were out the door by 11 AM. This left us ample time to go to the Ufizzi and the Boboli Gardens behind the Pitti Palace, a truly breathtaking place. As it was November, beautiful shades of brown, orange, yellow and green leaves-some bigger than the palm of my hand- were cluttering the ground and clinging to the trees. Liv and I had a mini-photo shoot in the sunlight of a patch of beautiful, yellow leaves. It was starting to get dark by the time that we left the park, so we knew it was time to head back to the hostel, grab our bags, and catch a train to Cinque Terre (which means five lands in Italian). It was after dark when we arrived, and luckily the tenant of our hostel was at the train station to meet us and take us to the cute little apartment where we were to spend an unforgettable night in (my opinion) the most beautiful place in Italy. Over centuries, people have built terraces along the coastline of the Italian Riviera. Vineyards and olive trees were everywhere. Since cars do not have access to the villages, there was a certain natural feeling that you just don’t get when staying in the bigger cities. Our tenant apologized for the double bed, explaining that he thought that we were a couple when he read our booking. Because of this, Olivia and I developed an inside joke between the two of us that we were “lesbian lovers embarking on a week-long romantic requite in the Italian Riviera”. And romantic it was, let me tell you. I feel like we got to catch a glimpse into the true Italian culture (instead of falling into yet another tourist trap) as we walked along the “Lover’s Path” between the five villages of Monterosso, Vernazza (where we stayed), Corniglia, Manarola, and Riomaggiore. We actually took a train from Vernazza to Manarola and worked our way back up to Vernazza. We had been told that if we started at Riomaggiore we would have to pay, so we decided to start at Manarola instead. This hike was the highlight of the entire trip without a doubt. We started in the morning, so there was virtually no crowd at all. The sky started out slightly gray, threatening rain. However, about an hour into the hike and our jackets were around our waists. The crazy Italians all said that it would be so cold, what were they thinking? The weather was beautiful, and probably much better than the scorching heat that we would have experienced had we visited in the summer! I did find it terrible ironic, however, that Olivia means Olive in Latin, we were surrounded by gazillions (yes, this is a word) of glorious Olive trees, and Olivia doesn’t even like to eat them. I was in fact brave enough to sample one directly from the tree, but this only ended in utter disappointment, I believe that it was not ripe. We arrived back in Vernazza by noon, picked up our bags, and walked around the town for a couple of hours. We had some authentic Italian pizza served on circular wooden slabs and purchased some small gifts before hopping on the train to Monterosso, where we took a brief break to enjoy the beach and more importantly, the ocean! Liv and I took turns watching the bags while the other walked to the ocean and dipped our respective feet in the sand. It just so happened that there were some cool Italians paragliding onto the beach, which was pretty amazing to witness. With sand (still) between our toes, we boarded to train again, this time headed up north to Genoa for a night. This place (a bed and breakfast, not a hostel) was pretty nice, so we decided to take advantage of this and spend a night in. We grabbed some pizza to go and a bottle of cheap wine at a supermarket. Back at the B&B, I thought it would be a great time to test out my wine-opening skills. With Olivia’s permission, I began to twist the corkscrew (property of the B&B) into the cork, crooked of course. By the time Olivia noticed that it was crooked, it was too late. We tried over and over to open the wine, but with no luck. In fact, we tried so many times that we eventually managed to break the corkscrew. The wine was a lost cause. Just how this happened, neither of us were quite sure. I insist that it was because of my incredible good luck that I had had the past semester with any semi-technologic gadget (a wine opener can be considered technological, right?) Needless to say, we decided that it was just not meant to be. Olivia wanted to condemn the wine to the trash, but I, being the optimistic person that I am, decided that if the wine made it back to Wiener Neustadt in one piece, surely someone would be able to enjoy it. (This story is to be continued in the next paragraph or so). The next morning, we enjoyed a nice breakfast in the company of a young man from Turkey, visiting Genoa a day before a job interview. He explained that he wanted to explore the city and asked if he could join Olivia and I in our journey. So we set out with map in hand. Needless to say, the map did not do justice when it came to finding our way through the winding streets and squares of the Italian town. Nonetheless, we were able to find the main sites including the home of Christopher Columbus, the great lighthouse (and also symbol of the city), and the Aquarium as well as enjoying a nice stroll alongside the harbor, as Genoa is a port city after all. Before dawn, Liv and I were on yet another train to Torino, Adina’s home town. It took us awhile to make it from the train station to our hostel, as it was situated slightly outside the city. We laid around the hostel for a few hours relaxing and talking before finally making the decision to go get a bite to eat. It was actually a good thing that it took us a while to get in the mood for dinner, because in order to eat with the locals, you have to wait up anyways (the Italians eat late dinners). We enjoyed a leisurely meal of pizza, wine, and desert while absorbing and observing the details of the Italian dining experience. It was 11 PM, and a family with young kids was just getting around to eating dinner. In the morning, Liv and I took our time getting ready and left around 11 AM. Just before leaving, at the suggestion of Liv, I ran upstairs to grab my jacket. It just so happens that while running up the stairs, I managed to rip the skirt of my dress. A little flustered, I lost focus while pulling my jacket out of the locker and managed to knock over the hopeless bottle of wine from the night before. Luckily the floor was tile and not carpet, so it was easy to clean up! While this was not the ideal start to a day in Italy, I wasn’t about to let this little mishap get me down. (In fact, it was pretty funny that we actually did manage to open the bottle of wine, just in a different way than expected). Liv and I spent the day exploring Genoa and its wonderful, historic squares. We sampled gelato from Grom, an Italian gelato chain, at Adina’s suggestion. While eating our gelato, I noticed a Mizuno outlet across the street and was tempted to purchase a new pair of running shoes. However, after consulting the gelato clerk about the hours of operation, I came to find out that on Mondays not only are museums closed in Italy, but most shops also do not open until the afternoon. Liv and I walked around, poking our head into various historical cafes and churches. We even saw what is supposedly Christ’s holy shroud, but who really knows these days? The next day, we packed up and headed to the train station to make our way to Milan. Since our flight left that afternoon, we did not have any time to explore the city of Milan. It turned out to be a long day of traveling, but we made it back to Wiener Neustadt around nine or ten PM, just in time to celebrate Anja’s birthday in the lobby of the dorms. Italy was fabulous, but boy oh boy was it good to be “home” in Wiener Neustadt! I found myself missing everyone by the end, and it was good to see them all again. I never thought that a dorm could feel so much like home, but it was a great feeling to walk through those doors.
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