a travel discourse in black and white

Round 2

In keeping with tradition, last night - the night before 2 final exams and the deadline for a 10 page paper - we went out for croissants at 1:00 am.

Recently, we have discovered an even secreter bakery even closer to home. As in, there is no line and no sign. It's just you and your sniffer as a compass. The trick to this particular establishment is the red van. This is your green light. If the van is parked in the alley, then it's blocking the open window of a croissant-factory. 

The baker nonchalantly says, "What'll you have?" (in Italian of course) and indulges every night prowler's craving. Upon placing our order of 8 croissants (for 3 people - don't judge), he whipped out a tray from the oven, poured the filling into piping bags and injected the gooey innards into the flaky, phyllo pastry.

Tailored to my demand, made on the spot in front of my face, fresh out of the oven, and here's the best part: 1 Euro each.

Let's just say last night it was cream-filled, orange marmalade and chocolate pudding.
And I made sure to take pictures this time around. 

Snail Mail

1%, at least, of Italy's GDP comes from the postcard.

There are more postcard stands here than trashcans, I kid you not. So, in keeping promises to all my fellow Americans, I sought out a particularly unassuming stand -- everyone likes an underdog -- and purchased 10 black & white cards that were historically-themed and not those flashy "I heart florence" neon tragedies. 

Now if you play your "cards" right (pun intended), then you can bargain maybe 10 for 6 Euro, which is still like $8. And then there's the stamp. One of my friends had given me false hope the week before, saying she bought a stamp for only 0.70 Euro cent. 

Au contraire. Turns out that's the cost to send one to Europe. To send one across the big pond:

 10 stamps = 16 Euro = almost $20

This spiraled me into an anti-establishment rant about the ridiculousness of money-pit traditions like gift wrapping, prom, and now postcard sending. I sought out some form of consolation in Google-ing (yes, it is a verb now) the origin of the little post-friendly sized paper cards. 

So here's what I found:

If you're a postcard collector, you're into deltiology. But don't think you're all that original, because it is considered the third largest hobby in the world next in line to stamp and coin collecting. Their introduction into society was a gradual process. The first officially-named "postcard" was allowed by the US Government in 1901. 

Originally postcards were hand painted, but these didn't last long since it led to the sickness of many women. "How so?" You might ask. According to all-knowing postcard historians, mostly women artists would sit in an assembly line to illustrate the cards. Each woman would be responsible for a particular color of the illustration. The cards were small, and the artwork was detailed. Women would wet the tip of their brushes with their lips when they worked. And soon the lead in the paint led to several women becoming sick and dying. 

There were many other trends in the postcard history. But after reading the rest of the article, I was able to properly identify the era, type and style of mine. 

I'm now the proud momma of 10 cards modeled after the Early Modern Period aka the White Border Period from 1915-1930, with the traditional divided back and real photo front. 

Moral of the story: use every seemingly poor purchase as a way to educate yourself, and you may end up realizing it wasn't a bad purchase after all. And if you still find it to be a bad purchase, now you're educated about a random topic of which you had no prior knowledge. And that's how people win "Jeopardy." So there.

headed down south...

...to the land of the lemons.

Our weekend at the Amalfi Coast was a merry-go-round of citrus, greyhound buses and volcanic rock.

Saturday we rode the ferry from our hotel in Sorrento to Capri. Perhaps I am desensitized to rare, volcanic-bore islands - rough life, eh? - but Santorini was the definition of my beautiful. So Capri was a slightly downgraded version of paradise. Nevertheless, it was paradise.

We took a boat tour around the island and fell into the 12 euro trap of seeing the Blue Grotto. In essence, this 15 foot wide/deep/tall sea cave thing is situation just so that the light makes the water a glowing pigment. But we were unimpressed the minute they charged us 5 extra euro for swimming. 

We had 3 hours of free time. Now why do they call it "free" time if they don't expect you to do something mildly wild and slightly crazy? So living up to that expectation, we found a 5-star hotel with an infinity pool that looked over the island's panorama and pretended to be guests of the establishment. We swam and sunbathed. 

Then it was off to Positano for the rest of the day. We hiked up to an overlook also known as someone's roof with open access. And the Lord gave me the perfect opportunity to have a conversation about Him with a friend. 

Then we shared an overpriced, undersized plate of calamari and a strawberry "smoothie" which tasted like milk with seeds. Another tick mark in the column of tourist traps.

All was redeemed when we sought out an empty beach, swam with an octopus, smoked a cigar and searched for heart-shaped rocks.

That night we ate Paola's homemade apple bread that she sent along in our travel parcel and watched the awesomest, historical-fiction movie of all time: "O Brother, Where Art Thou?"

Maybe it was because I had forgotten my socks, or maybe it was because we were trying to be as frugal as possible and didn't pay for the guided tour, but Pompeii was difficult. We could not make sense of our emotions towards it. "And that's all I have to say about that."

Then we headed to Pompeii's destroyer: Mt. Vesuvius. As one of our Canadian tour companions described it, "it's like a horribly misunderstood ball of death." Why yes, it is a volcano.

Kindle

The trick of this par"trick"ular (smile) trade is not yet perfected. 

Inhale, gather, pucker, blow. 

Repetition masked in the scent of the pressed and rolled cylinder. 

Providing a rhythm to her toil and an exhalation of her pent-up, bent-out-of, shape-less mental aberrations. 

There is simplicity in learning. 

Mastery is when the challenge comes. 

For then the point of perfection is always the measuring stick. 

Upward, learn’d ascent she knows and blows and throws it from a trade to a therapy. 

In the rose-tinted haze dissipates it all.  

Fruity Truth

lots of laughter and serious smiling went down this morning when i saw this truth in the fruit.

now you do

certain songs that provide a track to my musings. this is one.

Lana del Rey - Video Games from Chriistoph on Vimeo.

My Confession

I struggle to articulate You in the way they do.

It seems like such a permanent gesture to carve out Your grandeur in green marble and gold-plated leaves.

Does not this permanence seem to absolve the participant of responsibility? 

Now that we have so loftily constructed You into a cathedral, what need is there for oratory praise, struggled inquiry of Your Word or even devoted prayer? 

The vaulted ceilings elevate You beyond my grasp.

And while the intricacies of these basilicas remind me of how lofty and deserving You are of such an edifice, backed by innumerable efforts and eras of appreciation, and while they embody Your infinite power, I prefer a sunrise or a meteor shower. 

Why must we gaud You with our religion? 

Biased and self-righteous are two qualities that follow me like my shadow, but I can't help but think You prefer the austere, grass-root humility of Your people.

And yet I'm wrong to think by being in Your preferential gaze that I would increase Your pleasure of me.

In the light of the cross - diamond-encrusted or wood-constructed - I am Your beloved. 

You are glorified and enjoyed by me.

How to see Rome in 2 days

Rome wasn't built in a day, but you can certainly see it in two.

To kill two birds with one stone, my roommate and I stayed in Rome for two extra days upon returning from her Austrian and my Grecian travels. And the best part is that we did it under 50 Euro. Granted we ate Chinese food two nights in a row because our cheap, last-minute hostel was smack in the middle of Chinatown, but we did it.

The first night: dinner for 2 and online television = 9 Euro

First stop on our first day was the Vatican city = 11 Euro

St. Paul's Cathedral = free

We stood on the Spanish Steps = free

We made wishes in the Trevi Fountain = free

-1-

-2-

-3-

Saw the Pantheon = free

And the Coliseum (from the outside) = free

And the rest of the ruins (from a secret overlook) = free

And wandered the streets to our heart's content = free

Greece

20 hours in transit and we arrived in paradise. 

A train to Rome, a bus to the airport, an airplane to Santorini. But it wasn't quite that effortless. We ate dinner in Rome and looked at seven hours of waiting time before our flight left at 6:00 am the next morning. So we after 4 games of bananagrams, makeshift scrabble, 5 games of spades and, "I spy," we made a princess palate behind the rental car office, lulled to sleep by the hum of the floor buffer.

When we arrived, we took a cab straight to the beach. We instantly realized our need for water shoes, seeing that the beaches were made of volcanic rock. And if you're buying water shoes, it's an unspoken rule that you have to buy goggles. So we suited up and hit the waves. 

We stayed in Thira, the capital city of Santorini. It was a beautiful caldera, which is the inner wall of the crater where long ago a volcanic blast occurred. The caldera is where the buildings are stacked on the edge of the island cliff overlooking the water. 

The second day we went to the famous Red Beach. It is carved out of the side of a red-colored volcanic rock. But to our dismay, it was overly touristy and scattered with umbrellas. So we sought out a trodden donkey trail that we hypothesized would lead us to the next-over secluded beach. And it did. We enjoyed our own beach for an entire day. It's everyone's cubicle daydream.

We swam about a mile from our spot and did some cave and cliff climbing. I was about 10 feet off the rock ocean floor and lost my grip when my volcanic-rock handhold crumbled into dust. I free-fell the whole way and came way too close to smashing my head open. But Praise the Lord! a friend was below me with arm wide open to catch my fall. With minor scrapes and hearts still pounding, we hiked back into town to watch the sunset on the west end of the island.

Perhaps one of the greater days of my existence, on Sunday we suited up and zig zagged down the back of Oia to the point of the island where the cliffs hit the Aegean. The banks here are known for their drop offs which make for extremely deep (200 feet) waters right off shore. In layman's terms, this means it's perfect cliff jumping water.

We snaked our way around to the perfect rock. The water in this cove area was truly prismatic. We climbed all over, bouldering, stretching our limbs to reach and to grasp the holes that nature had bore. It was beautiful in its challenge. And we jumped, high and far.

We enjoyed seafood at the port, some people say it's the oldest functioning port in the modern world. Then we hired some pack mules and donkey-ed our way back up the stone switchbacks.

That night we all wore white. Clad in eyelet and lace, graced by the remnants of a day in the sun, we were bronzed and bright eyed. We watched the ocean meet the sun and marveled. Perhaps our longitude and latitude are to credit, but the Lord's face shines upon that place.

Then it was off to some Greek food and dancing. We had some house-made wine and olive moonshine (compliments of the drunk guitarist) and twirled the night away like stray dervishes. At midnight we walked into town with the intent to devour pastries. So after sniffing out an open bakery, we bought 3 huge Greek baklava-like desserts, found a ledge on the historic Oia castle, star gazed and killed each honey and phyllo delight.

The next day we took a 7 hour ferry ride from Santorini to Athens. It was overall painless and we arrived at our friend's apartment in the city by midnight. The next two days were filled with ruins, sweat, watermelon, naps, "OPA!," and metro tickets.

I said "ciao meow" to my friends who were leaving for the USA, and I headed back to Rome to meet my roommate, who all this time had been tromping around Austria having adventures of her own.

Beauty and the Beast

We have the privilege of living with two opposites. Their personalities are absolutely perpendicular. One is loving, lazy and slightly lugubrious. The other desires attention but denies affection. 

But when I manipulate my key into the lock, finally opening the door to our flat, these two sets of brown eyes console me. 

Ada, the beauty, seems to go to great lengths to be noticed. She is in a constant, delicate tension of lingering and lurking all for the purpose of achieving her narcissistic ambition. 

Now Eva, she just adds a layer to the carpet. The pretty little beast's legs are inconveniently short, requiring double the effort to set her into motion. Thus she has resigned herself to sedentary living.

This summer I have functioned independently from everything and everyone I've really ever known. 

 And while self-governance brings many happy freedoms, sometimes I don't realize just how suspended I am on my own string, detached from exterior responsibility and familiarity. I hadn't realized I had been missing the sentiment "I've been waiting for you." And the anticipatory gazes from these two seems remind me that beauty truly is in the eye of the beholder.