Jumping Right In

So we have departed from Rome, and although I already miss it dearly and it’s been less than a week, I can’t knock the sunshine in Spain.

And of course my ever-developing Spanish.

We actually live in a hostel that is unaffiliated with the school…need I say more?

I digress.

So far, everything my dearest señor had ever taught me is a proven fact. Everything from the lisp that all Spaniards speak in to the vosotros form and they, in fact, do not hold up signs that say, “conjugate this verb!” You just have to know how.

We are relatively separated from the real life of the city, which is a new idea to us. We have the bare necessities nearby; ie- supermercado, bars, American diner.

The first weekend here, I experiences all of the above and even took an excursion outside of the lively Sevilla.

Sharon, Sebastian, and me: bridge conquerers.

We drove a long time to some bridge in some town.

Sounds promising right?

Alright, so we signed up to participate in a bungee jumping excursion.

I didn’t really watch the entire hooking up process. All I knew was that we were to sit into a leg harness that and those little mountain climber clips were attached until you were ready to plummet.

NERVIOSA.

I watched two people go first. Actually, I watched two people get strapped in and one climb back over the railing in fear. Very inspiring. So naturally I volunteered to go next.

It was me and go ol’ Sebastian, which was intimidating considering I knew if he went there was no way I was backing out. I got strapped into the harness and the first wave of immense fear hit me as I climbed over the railing. I wasn’t hooked in, this was not the time to trip. Had I tripped, I probably would have at least broke my arms, therefore I wouldn’t be able to type.

Comforted yet Mom?

So there I was, standing on the railing of a bridge letting Spanish speaking men tell me I’m going to be okay as my hands tremble relentlessly.

All I kept reminding myself of was the jump I did into the state park which will not be named due the illegal nature of our presence where I jumped into the water after having to get pep talked into doing it. This was worse.

I heard the countdown begin, looked over at Sebastian, and as soon as the countdown finished, even mid-freak out speech, I pushed off the bridge.

Once we got into the raft I asked my jumping counterpart what he thought and he said “I thought I was dying.”

THE JUMP.

Accurate.

The fall isn’t long, but it was long enough for me to see my 20 years flash before my eyes as my stomach came up through my throat.

And then I felt the tug of the stop.

After that is the swing which gives a slightly smaller drop, but nonetheless stomach turning.

This was one of those moments that you feel young and alive (as someone else screamed as the jumped from the ledge.)

It was an absolutely incredible experience. And it took place in Spain. Adrenaline at its finest.

in our life boat.

From some points of view, this can be seen as completely uncharacteristic of me. But if nothing else, this entire trip is an excuse to do things uncharacteristic because that's part of finding out who you are and doing it in the best way possible: jumping off bridges.

I mounted the bridge and screamed ESTAMOS VIVIENDO. I don't think there was a better way to put it in any language. I had to jump because had I stood on the ledge and climbed back over, it'd be a missed opportunity.

And I'd have to sit in the Puss Circle with those (and by those I mean one person) who were strapped in and stepped back from the ledge.

In all honesty, I want to go back and do it again. But maybe I'll just settle for sky diving next.

Pizza, Lava, and Eroticism

These are a few of my favorite things! All can obviously be found in Italy.

Italy has so much to offer that traveling during this module only includes different cities in Italy. It's THAT good.

So we hopped on TrenItalia (marketing plug) last Friday and headed to Naples. No sleeping necessary (aside from my hangover) for three hours on a sunlit train. Very pleasant. We had basically one intention there and that was to have the Mother of all Pizzas. Ever.

Unlike one of my travel companion's very ill thought out plan to eat 5 salami sandwiches on the train before we got there, I prepared myself in every way possible to taste what pizza was meant to taste like.

We arrived in front of the famed L'antica Pizzeria da Michele where Julia Roberts ate what was probably the first carb of her life while starring in Eat, Pray, Love before the crowd even started to congregate. Somehow they did manage to fit our own personal crowd of 16.

There are three sizes of pizza: Normal, Medium, and Maxi.

First bite of Heaven.

Go big or go home, right? Needless to say… I got the maxi. When in Rome, or Naples.

It was absolutely delicious and though it was hard to stuff it all in my stomach, I did it. I don’t regret a single bite.

Outside of the doors, slicing through the crowd of people, lay before us the beautiful and romantic Naples. Less historic, making it much more lively, we took in every little piece of architecture and culture of this pizza-inventing, original-colonized city. From the tall project buildings to the spiderweb-esque bullet punctures on the windows, it was hard not to fall in love.

Everything I dreamed of... (?)

…the pizza was worth it.

Thank goodness it was never our intention to spend the night there or I may not have been writing this post.

The trains in Naples and surrounding areas work a little differently than all other trains I have ever taken. Depending on where you begin and where you intend on ending determines the amount you pay for your train ticket. I guess it’s intercity rather than interborough, so it makes sense.

We conveniently were able to get to Sorrento for 4 euro and the longest trainride since Venice. About an hour of people-watching and hoping the scenery would get better than our first image of the Almafi Coast.

Sorrento on a cloudy day is still beautiful.

And by scenery I meant the natural layout of the city, not the boys who blatantly wore girls pants and had 80s style, side shaven-frontal floppy hairstyles. I found it very strange that it was literally a very unique style that seemed to en vogue for the Napolitano boys, and no other boys in all of Italy.

When I finished dissecting the mops on the heads of these boys I got to look out the window and discover the landscape had turned from overly-urbanized Naples to hilly Sorrento with steep peaks over calm waters. It was absolutely beautiful.

The city (town?) itself was adorable. It looked as if it was built by Walt Disney; cutely narrow streets, shops galore, and just an all around peacefully fattening feel.

Not to mention Sorrento is famed for being the inventors of the strong, fruity, Italian liquor Limoncello. Perhaps the whole reason for the city being so lush and beautiful was to keep their lemon growth at its peak. Head sized lemons are not something one can simply grow in infertile and polluted soil.

View from Vesuvius.

We went from life and growth in one town to death and destruction in the next. You guessed it: Pompeii. What’s a little Italian historical excursion without some sort of dead civilization? Before we could see the dead itself, we saw the monster responsible.

And what a monster it was! After taking a trolley up the winding Vesuvian streets, which my theatrical friend described very cleverly yet falsely as a homage to the mythological serpent of Pompeii, we got to the top. And by top I mean, the highest point they would take us before we had to walk.

You don’t know how out of shape you are until you attempt to climb a Volcano. All the while, there was a tiny part of me just begging for it to erupt to put me out of my misery.

By the time I reached the top, I had whined to so many people that I made new friends and I had felt every single bite of pizza I had taken within the last 4 weeks.

So worth it though; even atop a Volcano, you couldn’t help but appreciate the beauty of everything we overlooked.

Pompeii with the quiet monster behind her.

Even the dead civilization.

This civilization, Pompeii of course, is always publicized as the poor innocent city that naively situated themselves at the foot of a Volcano and fell victim to its fury.

Well, I have my own theory. What isn’t publicized much until you get there is the fact that they were crazy nymphomaniacs. All over the walls are elaborately painted frescos of the Italian version of the Kama Sutra.

In my theory, possibly shared with the radical Catholics of the world, that they were probably soiled with unexpected pregnancies and STDs so God was just like, ya know what guys, enough.

enter Mt. Vesuvius

Perhaps this was me in my last life.

The main topic of conversation was: What the hell would you do if you saw that mountain explode in Volcanic ash and molten rock? After weighing the possibilities of attempting to create an imaginary sled, maxing out a lifetime of adrenaline sprinting away, and hiding as deep underground as one could possibly dig before it hit, we all decided we would just lay down and let it happen.

And now we have an excavated city of ruins and frescos and pottery and clay people in positions of terror. And eroticism.

A trip that covered at least three of the deadly sins: lust, gluttony, and vanity.

Those Who Are Holy See

Italy is honestly perfect. It is all the splendor of a city like New York but saturated in fascinating historical sites, monuments, and ruins. There will be a highway breaking straight through ancient buildings. Seeing them adjacent is like a time warp.

But I have truly not been doing this country justice; I decided that when I saw the Pope on Wednesday.

Wait what?!

Not a cloud in the sky; Jesus in the center like a boss.

The rumors are true! I went to see little Benny at the Vatican, just to get a nice blessing.

So we soaked in the rays in which God was definitely shining on us and tried to find where the snipers on the roof were hiding. There are scores of saints, some of which are recognizable and some of which I would have to Wikipedia to figure out, lining the perimeter of the entire Vatican state. The snipers could actually have been any of the white figures; with as many street performance statues I've seen in Italy, I wouldn't be surprised. The audience's attention, however, was blatantly called to the statue of Jesus, the only haloed figure, right at the apex of the open square.

Benny in the PopeMobile

It was a beautiful day to go to the Vatican, my first time, actually! Because it was so nice out, the papal audience took place outside. We arrived and we sat for literally two hours. It was definitely a date; I'm all ready to go and Benny is shitting around in the Vatican somewhere.

But when he rolled out, it was obviously in style. Literally the cutest little old man, and his virginal white attire was practically blinding. The Church really does a great job with presentation.


...Not so much with brevity.

Though it was a beautiful day, it started to get a little hot in the sun after having sat there for three hours waiting and then to hear all the individual shout outs from the Pope... in every language.

It was a nice moment to hear St. John's University announced though. We love stealing the spotlight.

And so, we were blessed, not even realizing it since he was doing it in so many languages that we couldn't keep up, and felt like all of our trip suddenly became a holy pilgrimage, drunk times and all.

Still more to climb.

That is not where my Vatican intrigue stopped! The next day, on an equally sunny Thursday, a small group of us decided to get our bimonthly workout and climb the mama of Roman Churches: St. Peter's Basilica's dome.

I slipped into my leather jacket, regardless of being heeded not to, and sweated the walk to the Basilica. That was even before the 320 steps to the top of the dome.

I use the term steps loosely. It started off with a normal staircase, which then evolved into very flat elongated spiral stairs that gave the illusion that we wee only walking around in a circle and weren't ascending anything. The next stairs assured me we were; each was probably half a foot tall, very strenuous for little legs like me.

We got to a half way point which gave us brief relaxation and a very pretty aerial view of the Basilica itself.

Slanting walls, very trippy.

Then the medley of stairs continued. A thin corridor of steep steps that led to more Parisian style swirls. We knew we were getting close when the walls literally started closing in on us. The last set of stairs was the most condensed spiral staircase imaginable, leaving no room for even a banister; there was a robe strung through the middle for support.

Absolutely exhausting. The people who had made this trek with us were either our age or three times our age. I gave so much credit to them for braving the stairs over the elevator.

So we exited onto the terrace in which the congregation of people was condensed in front of one section, obviously the one which shows the entire Vatican state. Sweaty and stripped of my leather jacket like I was told I would have been, I pushed through into the view. Perfect day and even better than looking from the Eiffel Tower. Really. And much less frightening height-wise. It was the perfect view, and that's not just from one side.

THAT'S what I call getting dome.

Even though all the holy rollers wanted to see the main attraction of the dome of the Vatican, circling around the dome gave absolutely stunning views of Italy. Like I was saying about the history snuggled close to modernity, so goes for the view from the dome. Green grass and villas and fountains alongside phone towers and overpasses.

It doesn't even take from the scenery if you ask me. It is fascinating. Consider how the ancient Romans felt of their architecture and conveniences; though they created what we today consider much more aesthetic, it is most demonstrative of their way of life, as are our cars and towers and freeways. Maybe one day they'll climb the dome and marvel at our developments.

Only time will tell. In the meantime, I'm gonna keep praying that I get oppotunities to see all these beautiful things.

There's two sides to every story: Kony 2012

I take a break from my regularly scheduled celebration of study abroad to address a viral internet topic that has abruptly overtaken my social networking newsfeeds: Kony 2012.

I saw the video posted on my program's personal page and as soon as I noticed it was a trending twitter topic, I knew it was worth the 30 minutes.


KONY 2012 from INVISIBLE CHILDREN on Vimeo.


The movie starts out as if it intends to be a happy autobiographical account of a white missionary type guy with a great life. He creates a tie between his own beloved son and the children of Uganda who have been abducted to form the atrocious army lead by Joseph Kony. Lord's Resistance Army (LRA), at my first introduction, was presented as a band of African men who are nothing more but soulless and power hungry, employing children to exterminate their families mutilate, fellow Africans, and be sexual slaves since the 80s. The 30 minute video is graphic and touching. It taps straight into the life of a young boy afflicted by the terror of Kony who personally witnessed the execution of his own brother as well as providing sample images of the harm the LRA causes people of Africa.

The video goes as far as to link Kony with Hitler. One of several slogans states "No child should sleep in fear" and presents the number of 30,000 abducted and maliciously employed child soldiers under the thumb of this one man.

The campaign is meant to create stardom of Kony; "not to celebrate him, but to raise support for his arrest and set a precedent for international justice." As the lovable George Clooney is noted saying in this video, they should have as much publicity as Hollywood celebrities.

And so, Invisible Children as the group of initiators of this movement as well as creator of the viral video, Jason Russell spreads their belief in the idea that this evil man should be stopped with the help of voices being carried from one to another and to the White House and beyond. Combined with the voice that it needed to spread, the organization accepts donations to the fund as well as a kit to help promote publicity of the issue; a t-shirt, bracelet, stickers type of goody box for the greater good.

So I read the stories, watched the videos, and couldn't help but think to myself where's the counterargument? I was truly shocked when I encountered it.


Andy Milonakis, the famed star of his own self titled show which my parents loathed as I cackled during his outrageously funny and admittedly stupid antics, took the limited-to-140-character route to what I needed to see; what he called his stance as "Devil's Advocate via Kony."

Throughout his series of tweets on the trending topic, he attached a condensed and (what I found to be) well-written link to a counterargument on what Invisible Children is to those not quick to grab at a halo, appropriately titled Visible Children, by Grant Oysten.

In this article, readers are given facts as well as resources to research LRA further than the 30 minutes of sheer fear, disgust, and opposition to his actions we see through Russell's depiction.

Besides the aspect of money this "not-for-profit" organization publicizes, what Oysten stresses is that the Kony 2012 campaign is a movement to end violence in Africa by means of violence. This organization is supporting the Ugandan military which opposes Kony but also engages in acts of violence that they are working to end.

Further, Russell's video points at the fact that the American government was addressed but declined to take immediate action until they were urged again by a larger movement. This is not the only nor the first organization, however, to bring it to the White House's attention, nor is it the first time which the White House responded. Advocacy groups such as the Enough project, the Resolve campaign, Human Rights Watch, World Vision and the Canadian-based group GuluWalk have worked to get this issue addressed. The response from the United States, though it may have been muted due to it's minute correlation with the country's current and most relevant focus, existed before this campaign exploded throughout the young generation. As long ago as 2004, when George W. Bush put the LRA on the U.S. Terrorist Exclusion List, banning members from entering the country.

As all authors I have read from in my brief and non-extensive education of this topic, the cause is clearly one with "good intentions." This is not United States getting into things which don't relate to us; it is one community of people helping out neighboring communities for the benefit of all man-kind. That, to me, should be the essence of all goals in which America sets. However, for there to be claims of a strictly black and white war within a country from which  only a select few people report back certainly gives an impression that King Leopold's ghost is lurking.

In conclusion: I will most likely take a stand, as a liberal, humanitarian young adult in Seville on April 20 to support the end of Kony's terror. However, I will not as a journalist only take information from one source or one point of view in making decisions. I think what this campaign (which kind of has an Occupy air to it...) is one that appeals to young people for very varied reasons. As long as the appeal is to help the greater good and not to wear a trendy bracelet, I will use my voice to support.

I only eat crust in Italy

Food consumption in Rome is practically unconscious.

It's not because it's provided for us and we eat it, thankful to be fed in a strange living complex. We are actually given what we in the orphanage like to call 'food stamps' in which we are to budget our meals for the week around supermarket groceries or various restaurants that accept them. They are actually vouchers and if not used correctly, you run out in three hours.

We have all been using them very wisely at the pizza restaurant that is literally across the street appropriately named Mondo.

If I ate it any more than I do, I would be a grande come il monda.

The place's full name is actually Monda Arancina;
literally "Rice Ball World."
I also have no idea who took this photo
but the credit is obviously not mine

All in all, I think I've done a pretty good job limiting the amount of pizza I actually consume during the week. I mean, I can't always resist a quick and balanced meal; starch, vegetable, and dairy all layered out between adorably labeled slices of carry-out paper.

When you go in the restaurant, it is even more unlikely that you'll be able to resist. The long slabs of pizza with outrageous combinations of toppings (the only egg I've seen in Italy was on a slice one day) that they cut to whichever size you want with little scissors.

It's like an art museum. And the intrigue doesn't stop with the pizza. It continues with the rice balls (le arancinas), mozzerella corozza that would put mozzerella sticks anywhere to shame, and donuts as big as my head that I've somehow, to date, resisted.

I love New York pizza as much as I assume I will love my future children. But this pizza... is so good, I can't leave any specifically weighed and paid for ounce unconsumed.

And I also don't want to waste a cent of my cherished and scant meal voucher.

Florence the Classy Way

Venice treated us quite nicely, and saw us off with a sun shiny farewell. We spent the day continuing perusing the shops and backpacking the city. When we tired of that it was early in relation to the time which we were supposed to catch our train. We decided to head to the station anyway considering it was so close to the water.

Greetings from Venice!

We stripped ourselves of our exterior winter shells and soaked in the sun along a vacant Venetian dock with a few bottles of Bacardi Breezers. It was such a picturesque moment that we had strangers taking our pictures.

Don't be surprised if you see us on a brochure when you travel to Venice.

So after a little unprotected sun bathing, we grabbed our jackets and headed to the 4 hour train ride.

Considering this one took place during daylight hours, I was much more comfortable with taking a little nap; a night in Florence called for it.

We got to our hostel fast, and lucked out again when we realized there was a room fit for 9 that we were in. It was a perfect secure sleeping situation that was just begging us to go out and enjoy the night life.

We first had dinner though, after being completely famished due to a mere slice of pizza in Venice an approximate 8 hours earlier. I don't think we've skipped an offer for an Italian dinner since being in the country. The best part about the location in which we chose on this occasion: FREE BREAD.

To my American audience unfamiliar with the European Union, a little cultural note: when you're in a restaurant, water is not free regardless of how many perpetually flowing fountains you see on the streets, and the pre-meal bread is also not free. Lay a finger on it and you're paying 4 euro.

We roll deep. Taken by Patricia, missing Patricia.

Like I said.. except here!

I split a Caprese Salad (Dad, yours is still better) and indulged in tortellini bolognese.

As girls do, at the conclusion of the meal we took a group bathroom break. There were only two toilets available; one marked men and one marked women. My logic tells me, why leave the men's vacant when there are none in sight? So I used it. Karma got me good.

I knew I had an audience of three friends waiting outside the door, so I wasn't embarrassed to be talking. Until the fell silent.

One of them is notorious for taking very unexpected pictures and recording at inopportune moments. I immediately screamed "Are you f*#%ing recording this?"

Giggles ensued, and a "no."

Then I asked for something that, in this situation, was almost more embarrassing than asking for cocaine. I'll let you use your imagination. To this request I heard more giggles and a "I think you should stop talking now."

So I did. I retreated my little stall to find out that some guy was waiting for his appropriately labeled door the entire time.

Patricia Holliday original photo: fake David.

This is why Florence hates Americans. Just glad to know that I've still got it in me to be one!

So we payed our check and left, full from free bread and expensive pasta and ready to dance it off.


First stop, David.

We were all under the impression that Michelangelo's David was the great statue standing unprotected from elements and vandalism in an open square. Out of nine of us, only one was smart enough to let the rest of us know the real one was in a museum nearby.

It was still very beautiful to look at (above the waist...)

Jackie Herro photo: the Duomo.

We had connections to someone who is studying in Florence which made our night out run very smoothly; we didn't have to play guessing games, he took us to the bars that we would want to be in. The last of these bars was next to the massive and impressive Duomo whose entrance line during the day is overwhelmingly long. It is still very impressive, so much so that it is pretty much the face of Florence.

All is well that ends well.

The next day we all managed to get up and ready with all of our belongings and take to the leather of the city. Markets of leather galore! It felt and smelt like heaven. We would spend literally an hour at all the [reputable] stands, feeling and sniffing the wallets and belts and bags.

Somehow, I walked away from all the bags. But I did snag a belt. talked him down to 10 euro, seemed worth it.

mmm, carbohydrate and sugary goodness.

The real treasure of this trip was the breakfast that we had. The term breakfast itself is as American as it gets; they really don't do that here. But we found it: a utopia of pancakes, omelettes, and even burgers with what else but the St John's game playing on TV. Literally an absolutely to-die-for taste of home.

The walk back to the train had a much less beautiful departure scene. And by much less beautiful, I'm referring to the trees literally infested with shrieking bats. I am sure that this was a scene straight from the outer circles of Hell. It was creepy, but obviously still fascinating.

Nomelet with home fries. heaven.

When we got into the train station, it was also a lot less welcoming than Venice's and bordered on being as eccentric as New York's. For instance: I laughed for a good 2 hours about a man who rolled in on his roller blades, completely nonchalant, spinning and twirling on the information line.

Who am I kidding, I'm still laughing.

The train ride home was a breeze; no assigned seats so naturally all nine of us made home in a single car which no one else wanted to join in since we were so loud and gossipy. Perks of Being American.

All in all, the moral of the story is that all roads lead to Rome; still my favorite city... behind New York.<3

That's Amore

This weekend was the weekend of all weekends.

Perfect weather, three course [budget] meals, gondoliers, and strong drinks.


Venezia e Firenze.

We departed my beloved Rome Thursday night at 9 o'clock to take an overnight train into Venice. The train was an adventure in itself...

The nine of us girls were lucky enough to somehow be split evenly into three train cars. That means there was room for three other people to be seated in there...

Lucky enough for me, I got on the train and someone was in my seat! In an attempt to inform him politely that that was the seat I had payed for and intended to sit in during this trek, he conveniently asked "Parlez vous francais?"

Thanking God for my life and my
leather when we got to Venice.

I just can't escape it.

In a fury I pulled out my ticket and pointed to the seat number. Numbers are the same in every damn language, there was no reason he should not have understood. But a guardian angel was also seated in my car; an American girl who figured out he could also speak Italian and somehow got him up.

So I sat semi-comfortably and tried to doze off after we waited for the train to leave for minutes. Next to the four of us girls was a pair of random, unacquainted Italian dudes; one who was frantically answering phone calls and the other who seemed to want us to stop gossiping so he could get a peaceful rest.

I was not getting a peaceful rest when the cell phone guy got off and was replaced by someone I was sure was a merchant. It would be fine if he had brought his middle eastern goods to sell to help feed his family. It was not fine that every time I opened my eyes he was leaned over staring at me. At that point, I knew I couldn't close my eyes for a second. I let out a dramatic sigh of frustration and what I hoped had come off as aggression.  I took out my first generation iPod touch which could miraculously manage to allow me to type a note and furiously typed away just so he knew I wasn't gonna go to sleep with a pair of all too curious eyes in the same car as me and my leather jacket.

He got the hint that I was an assassin; the exact hint I wanted to convey. He grabbed his little rolly-bag of useless nic-nacks and left the car. I slammed the door and closed the blinds.

trekking to the water taxi at dawn. photo cred: J. Herro

By the time we arrived in Venice, it was 5:30 in the morning and I had gotten a full 15 minutes of sleep. The only thing that kept me awake in our somewhat muted scurrying of trying to figure out how to get to Campo Tomá on the middle of this island was the beautiful sunrise we got to watch from our Venetian water taxi.

However, after we found our hostel it was time for a nice nap before we began the day.

The day officially began at 12 o'clock when we went to a restaurant where everyone got pasta except me, who chose salad (for you Krystal), but of course wine.

A lot of wine. No better way to start the day!

After being vinoed we took to the streets to do as tourists do; this is not Rome, there was no chance for us to pretend we know what's going on.

Apparently, glass is a hot Venetian commodity.

Shop after shop of mardi gras masks, pinocchios, and blown glass. Throw a few 4 euro scarves in there and you have the attention of American college girls!

We ventured into St. Marco's Square, the central location of the island. A nice big piazza-esque area with lots of tourists and vendors. I was personally more awed by the water; it was gondola time.

We wound ourselves back through the narrow Venetian streets to come to the ideal spot for the boat tour. A narrow water passage allowing us to watch the sun set and provide a view of Venice's most famous bridge. Our gondolier, who is apparently a third generation gondolier looking to pass the flame to his son, showed us the house of Marco Polo and Casanova, boat garages on the water, and, by my request, a rendition of Nino Roto's "Speak Softly Love" in Italian. Nothing like murder tunes in the evening on the water, right Fredo?

It was a beautiful and romantic ride with some of the best girl friends I never thought I'd find (just missing you ave </3). In all honesty, it is kind of awkward seeing just couples in gondoliers. It is not very private, and everyone should know now how I feel about PDA. And it kind of also blows my mind that people do it anymore. I guess I just assume that all married men get sea sick since I know a certain grown married man who does. No names necessary.

It was definitely an experience that I will always remember and never regret paying XX euro for.

Pictures don't do it justice

We went to a restaurant on the water and me and my fellow Roman Catholic got calamari to honor the fasting from meat on Lenten Friday's while everyone else got chicken cutlet. God can't strike anyone dead in a city as beautiful as Venice.

I can speak only for myself when I realized I was exhausted from the 2 hours and 15 minutes of sleep I had accumulated in the last 36 hours, so we made the very rash decision of having an early night... once we got the free drink our hostel offered us.

It was definitely free for a reason.

Venetian drink... I'm sorry, no.

Having never researched or indulged in specialty city drinks besides Long Island Iced Tea, I cannot give the so-called "Venetian drink" a fair critique. So I'll just give it an amateur critique and say that it tasted like pure acid. It was bright red and I'm pretty sure there was a chili pepper in it. Who quite knows what they do on this little island.

We settled for gelato and went back from some rest. It was a long day of traveling and adventuring (hence the long post of writing).

Tomorrow [and in the next post I'm going to write after class] comes Florence.