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So I've made it back to my wonderful, cozy home in New Jersey, thus officially marking the end of my mediterranean adventure and therefore my blog. I hope you enjoyed my posts. Catch you on the flip side!

Goodbye Athens

Today is the last day I have in Greece. My grand adventure is coming to a close. By 2 am tonight I will board a bus that will take me to the airport to begin my long haul back to the United States.

This is a very bittersweet moment. As I write this, I am alone in the apartment, last to leave, just waiting for my time. Looking at the empty walls, the stripped beds, the cleaned out closets, it's almost too hard for me to handle. Yet, I am looking forward to seeing all of my family and friends again. It will be a wonderful change to actually find comfort and a home. Athens brought me lots of joys, as did Pylos and Italy. I have learned more than I could have possibly imagined. I laughed, I cried, both profusely and at times, simultaneously. I have made some precious friends for whom I thank my lucky stars.

Everything was unique. Everything will be treasured. It is inevitable that when placed into these types of situations, the goodbye-type, a fierce sense of nostalgia sets in. Being stranded on Hydra for a weekend without a hotel room: one of the greatest weekends of my life. Climbing up to the sanctuary at Delphi: a purely magical experience. Our fearless guardian, Scout, the stray dog that always follows us at night to make sure we get home safely: now is only a memory. I may even miss these:

Well....maybe.

I can't look at the city, this country, this continent, the world, now and say goodbye, just see you later. I will be back.

Twas the month before Christmas....

Athens at Christmastime is lackluster to say the least. Of course there are lights, but they are sporadic and wimpy. The weather has just started to turn cold, well colder than humid 70 degree "autumn." The trash is just starting to get picked up from a horrendously long garbageman strike.

Since I had some free time after my Modern Greek final this afternoon, I rewrote the the well known poem "Twas a Night Before Christmas" to fit the reality of Athens at Christmastime. I hope you enjoy:

Twas the Month before Christmas

Twas the month before Christmas, when all through the town,

Not a trash can was emptied, and the metro shut down.

The keys were all hung on the sticky tack hooks,

In hopes that the house would be robbed by no crooks.

The ladies were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of verb forms danced in their heads.

And Katie in her tie-dye and I in my boots,

Had just settled many ancient Greek noun disputes.

When out on the street, there arose such a clatter,

I rolled over and slept, not bothering the matter.

Probably a cat or a dog, or a stray,

Was having a fight or so some would say.

The moon that was covered by the old, smelly smog,

Gave the luster to the Hellenic teens having a snog.

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a bottle of booze from the OK mart cashier.

And some cops did arrive, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment one must be called Nick.

They did no such search or arrest of any sort,

But he whistled and shouted and called his cohorts.

Now Giannes! Now Potras! Now Gorgos, Andreas!

On mopeds, on scooters, on vespas to Pireaus.

To the top of the hill, to the top of wall!

Now dash away, dash away, dash away all!

As cigarette smoke in the humid air blows,

They whisk away girls, right under her nose

So up to Lykavittos Oh Manos, he flew

With Katie on his back, and obedient too!

But back to the town, lets describe it some more.

Juxtaposed to the new are the ages of yore

Down in Syntagma Square as I walk down the road

No lights, but some riots, maybe a bomb that explodes.

The city’s too poor for even a tree

But the people they say, “Don’t blame it on me!”

The crisis is their fault, or his, of course hers

No money for pine trees, no conifers or firs.

Monastiraki has some twinkling bright lights,

But watch out for drunkards, they get into fights.

Exharkia’s got anarchists, should they take a bow

For stirring up ruckus, so the news has a cow.

Kolonaki is where many a step can be found

So can the “Dream Team,” a name we have crowned

Omonia is where all the cool kids hang out

As do pigeons and homeless and gypsies about

But back in Pangrati, not a storefront is glowing

With garland or tree lights or ribbon a-flowing

The sidewalks are slippery, without even rain,

Walking them in heels, induces great pain

And oh how we wish for a bit of the Spirit

To bring us great cheer, so come on, lets hear it.

But instead we light candles on Sarah’s menorah

And pretend we’re all Jewish and all read the Torah.

But a Christmas we’ll have, in just a short while,

And ignore that bad transcript CYA has on our file,

And we all will exclaim as we fly out of sight,

“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

No Ships, We Strike!

On Friday, Karen and I planned on visiting the island of Aegina, right off the coast of Athens. We woke up quite early (6:30...ouch) and headed down to the port of Pireaus. Having ordered the tickets online, we needed to pick them up at the port authority before boarding the ship. No big deal. When we got to the ticket office, it was closed. Apparently it opens at 9am. Our ferry was leaving the port at 8:50. This makes for a little incongruous situation. Typical Greece. Of course we would be sold tickets for a ferry that leaves ten minutes before we are able to actually get our tickets. Well, that ended up not being the numero uno problemo of the day... We found another man who apparently worked for the harbor. When we asked him about the tickets, he just looked at us, smiled, and said, "No Ships. We Strike!" in the most cheerful tone I have ever heard at 8 in the morning. Was I supposed to be happy for him?

Well, no worries. We went back home and I called the travel company, with which we booked the tickets, to see if we could get a refund. After settling that whole bit, Karen and I made use of our free day and climbed the Acropolis. It was amazing; however, on the walk up, I get a call on my cell phone. It is the ship company. What do they say? "Hi! There are no ships today. We Strike!" "Yeah, I kind of got that, considering I'm not on Aegina right now. Thanks for the info, about 3 hours too late."

An American Thanksgiving, Greece Style

I am so thankful and lucky that Karen was able to join me for Thanksgiving. I picked her up at the airport on Wednesday and she had with her most of the fixins for a traditional American dinner. She brought cranberry sauce (with the ridges!), stuffing, cream of mushroom soup and french fried onions for the green bean casserole. I have been looking forward to seeing her for so long. I was thrilled when she walked though that customs gate!

Thursday, we went to the Central Market to get all the produce to make our feast: green beans, eggplant, fresh eggs, celery, onions, potatoes, apples, and cinnamon. When we got home, we went straight to cooking. Let me tell you, for having a 1ft. by 1ft. work space, no measuring cups, one dull knife, and an oven that doesn't really show the temperature, this Thanksgiving dinner was pretty delicious. It was no comparison to Mom's home cooking, but we weren't too shabby with what we had to work with. We made the classic Guthrie sticky rolls, mashed potatoes, roasted butternut squash, stuffing, monkey bread, cranberry sauce and apple crisp. YUM! Since not everything could be made at once in our tiny little oven, we had to cook things in shifts. We starting with our very Greek tsatsiki and bread for appetizers, then adopted the European coursed meal. We spread the meal out into an entire afternoon of eating, or rather grazing. By the end of the night, we were some pretty stuffed birds.

We finished the day with a Skype call back home. It was really nice to see everyone in one place. Karen and I both agreed that we missed the craziness of Guthrie holidays, but at the same time, are kind of glad we are taking a break from the constant noise and chaos that defines a Guthrie Thanksgiving.

Sometimes, it's right under your nose.

My roommate and I set off one morning to find the grand, much-talked-about Central Market of Athens. It is supposed to be the quintessential place for fresh meat, fish, fruits, vegetables, eggs, dried herbs, honey, wine, you name it. Surrounding the iron and glass building are quaint little vendors, screaming their heads off trying to get you to buy something from them. One man, while he had an entire array of fresh produce, kept shouting about his bananas. "FRESH BANANAS! LOOK AT THESE BANANAS! DO YOU WANT TO BUY SOME BANANAS?" I was very tempted to go up to him and say, "Excuse me, sir, do you happen to have any bananas by any chance? I didn't quite understand what you were saying."

After wandering around the streets of fresh produce, Katie and I decided to head inside the market. If outside is this great, inside must be Narnia! Au contraire, my friend. As we stepped inside, the smell of fish was strong enough to knock me out. There was about an inch of water on the floor from the melting ice covering the fish. There was not a vegetable in sight. The crowds were packed like the sardines they were buying. We walked as fast as we could to the other end of the market, trying not to slip on the innards that were casually tossed on the floor. There has got be a different area. Well, there was. We turned the corner and just as we stepped away from the fish guts and octopus tentacles, we literally ran into a man hacking away at a freshly slaughtered lamb. Wonderful. I hightailed my little vegetarian butt out of there as fast as I could. Traumatizing.

After loading ourselves down with dried raisins, apricots, oatmeal, lavender, and cinnamon, we wandering around the area for a bit. Personally, it was the first time I felt like I was living in a capital of a country. Athens is a great city, but is not very beautiful. However, near the Central Market, the architecture is cohesive and monumental, the streets are clean and bustling, the squares are well groomed and inviting. It was a gorgeous walk and exploration around a wonderful part of the city.

The biggest thrift store I have ever seen

I also went to the Benaki Museum, my now favorite museum in all of Athens, quite possibly the world, though the Rhodes Archaeological Museum puts up a good fight. The Benaki used to be a private collection of the Benaki family, which was given over the Greek government. The family's mansion was turned into the museum, exhibiting all the pieces beautifully and intimately. The collections range from 6000 BC all the way to modern art. While for the most part the collections follow a chronological order, there are random modern pieces displayed in line with the ancient collection. I love this juxtaposition. It is quite refreshing to see the contrast between the two so vividly. I appreciate both periods of art, but when exhibited as one cohesive unit, I am forced to recognize the stark differences and surprising similarities within the 8,000 year range of art.

Off to London, but first a few Flea Market Finds

After spending the past couple weeks in Athens, I'm off traveling again! I will be spending the weekend in London with my best friend Amy. I cannot wait to see her. It is a little strange that I will she her twice before I see anyone else from Chapel Hill, but I am definitely not complaining! It will also by nice to be back in an English-speaking country again!

London's climate, however, is quite different than the one in Athens. Here, it is 70 and sunny most days. I have a raincoat and a couple of sweaters and that's pretty much it for cold-weather clothing. For London especially, such clothing is a must. Well, you don't need to tell me twice to go shopping! And off I went.

Not wanting to pay tons of euros on nice sweaters and coats, I went to the open air street market in Metaxourgio this morning to battle the yaya's (grandmas) for inexpensive stuff. The market is a remarkable experience. On one street, for one day a week, almost everything can be found there. We have clothing, kitchen supplies, toilet paper, produce (YUM!!) and so much more. The street is crowded with little old women pulling their bags of goods behind them, in this strange type of suitcase that almost every Greek housewife has. The produce men are shouting what fresh stock they're carrying and the mothers are busy haggling with the clothing cart owners. The fish mongers are sorting their catch-of-the-day's while the florists are arranging their bouquets. Everyone is one a mission, and so was I.

I bought a purse/overnight bag for my trip this weekend (I definitely did not want to lug around my huge backpack) and two sweaters that will hopefully keep me warm. It all added up to just under 15 euros. A great deal and an unforgettable experience!

Off to London tomorrow!

So exciting, it's explosive.

I assume that most people have been keeping up with the news, but in case you haven't been, here's a little headline to catch you up:

Several parcel bombs, intended for various embassies around Athens, have either exploded or been neutralized. The first of many went off in the courier's office right in my neighborhood. There has been massive police control and many roads have been blocked off.

It is a little scary to be living here at this time, but it does not seem to affect my fellow Greek residents. I'm not sure if the stark difference is due to my over reaction or their indifference. It's almost like they are saying, "Whatever, this sort of stuff happens all the time." And well, it kind of does.

Along with massive road blocks (which makes a usual 15 minute walk turn into an hour taxi ride) the Greek government has suspended all international mail. Hopefully this does the trick!

Some days you are the bug, some days you are the windshield.

For my fall break, while all of my friends went to exotic locations all around Europe, the Middle East, and North Africa, I decided to stay in Greece and travel to Rhodes and Santorini, completely alone. As one of my professors described it very beautifully, I needed to get out of this Petri dish of people. So off I went.

After my 15 hour ferry ride, I stumbled off the boat, exhausted and confused as to where I was in the Rhodes town. After about 20 minutes of wandering around with my pack on back and without any sleep, I realized that the map I had did not show the harbor I was docked in. I was off the grid. Have no fear, Intuition is here! Somehow I made it to the tourist office and then from there to my hotel.

After setting down my things, I walked along the deserted beach to the aquarium. It was really neat and a relieving change from the overload of archaeology sites I've been going to in the last few weeks.

Sea Anemones

However, you can take a girl out of an archaeology site,

but you can't take the archaeology out of the girl. I soon found myself in the archaeology museum wandering around and marveling at all the sculpture and mosaics. This may be one of my favorite museums, yet. It was a converted 15th century hospital for the knights on the islands.

While you can easily get lost and the rooms aren't the best for "flow," the architecture of the

building rivaled the pieces it was used to display. Many times, I caught myself oh-ing and ah-ing at the building itself rather than the beautiful mosaic in front of me.

That night, I hung out at a quaint little coffee shop right near my hotel. I talked a lot with my waiter, Armand, and he invited me to take me up to the Acropolis and show me around the next day. My own personal tour guide!

The next morning came a little too soon and I woke up to sounds of crashing thunder. It was a monstrous storm. I hung out at a [different] cafe until it passed then met up with Armand that afternoon. We made our way up to the Acropolis and around the stadium. We ended at this gorgeous scenic road that looked over the entire city of Rhodes. It was quite windy and cold, but I was having a blast.

The Acropolis of Rhodes

After Armand and I parted ways, I explored the Old Town a bit more and found a great pizza and tea shop (weird combination, I know, but somehow it worked) called The Walk Inn. The owner was a Greek-American who grew up in Baltimore. Apparently I was the third girl from New Jersey who ate at his place today. Watch out, We're Invading!

The next day, I was going to pick up my ferry ticket for Santorini and just relax at a cafe and people watch, my absolute favorite activity. When I got to the travel agency, there were a few problems. Actually, just one big problem. There was no ship. Because of the huge storm the day before, the ferry was unable to dock. The next one would be coming on Monday. WHAT?! I'm stuck here? No thank you, that answer does not suffice, please try again. The travel agent was quite helpful though and was able to refund my ticket and get me on a plane back to Athens that night. A one hour flight versus a 15 hour ferry, for about the same price? Count me in!

Although I was not able to see Santorini, I experienced a lot of Rhodes and was able to detox from the overstimulation of constantly being around people. All in all, it was a successful fall break!

Galavanting all over the Peloponnese

I just came home from a week long field trip to the Peloponnese. While this was my second and third time at some of the sites, the views, architecture, and just down and dirty archaeology never cease to amaze me.

After piling on the bus and crossing over the Corinth Canal, we arrived at one of my favorite sites: Mycenae. I felt like I was going back home. I visited this site during my dig (see previous posts) and I've spent the better part of the summer obsessing about the Mycenaean civilization.

As we ascended the pathway up to the huge walls of the citadel, I was literally skipping. I believe the phrase Cloud 9 comes to mind. We toured the ancient citadel and tholos tombs, stopping to have a picnic lunch at the edge of the site.

Alan, Sam, and I at Mycenae

Even though I had enough pictures of the site from my last trip here to fill a few extra large photo albums (I think I inherited that trait from my mom) I still felt the overwhelming urge to capture every rock and view and corbelled vault.

Our hotel was in the city of Nafplio, just about 20 minutes away from Mycenae. It is a gorgeous little city with oodles of character and charm. This was the city that was intended to be Greece's capital, instead of Athens, after the War of Independence. It is right on the water and the Old Town is lined with little boutiques and gelato shops, perfect for a stroll.

One of the "Seven Brothers" that protected the port of Nafplio during the Ottoman Occupation.

Not all the sites we visited were ancient. Mystra was a hilltop city in the Middle Ages, loaded with ruins of old churches and castles, with even a functioning nunnery. The views were breathtaking, almost rivaling Meteora for the "Most Picturesque" superlative.

Melanie and I at Mystra

We also stopped off at Epidaurus, Sparta, Delphi (you know, gotta consult that oracle!), and Olympia.

The Delphi Charioteer

At Olympia, we got to the museum just as it was opening. The combination of that and the fact that it is the off-season for tourists meant that we practically had the museum all to ourselves. When we walked into the room where the pediments were displayed, it was an out of body experience. These works of art are some of my favorite pieces. The images of Apollo and Zeus are striking yet reserved, truly deserving the title: masterpiece.

I love everything about these sculptures. What I love most is the power behind the sculpture. When looking at them, you directly connect with those living 2500 years ago. Your eyes and their eyes have gazed at the same image, which has generated the same emotions in each viewer. It is like gazing at the stars. A common focal point, seen from multiple planes and distances, unites all gazes into one unified vision. An image holds such power and beauty, things I repeatedly underestimate. A simple image contains so much knowledge, yet refuses to share it unless its hard shell of interpretation is cracked. It can be distorted and mistook, yet it yearns, almost shouts, to be understood. It is a mind bending brain teaser that beckons the eager scholar or the unintentional passerby. An image clasps onto you without any intention of letting you go. Fighting with an image only tightens its hold. Its water stain can be deep, unable to be washed off or rubbed out. The literal, visual sight be be gone, the the effect lingers like a smelly uncle, or burnt toast, or strong perfume, or freshly washed clothes. It can hug you and pierce you.

The artist is able to instill this feeling with only lines and shadow. He has survived the ages through his art. He lives forever in his crisp marble, preserved for posterity to marvel in awe and wonder at his ability to capture the emotion of the scene, the fluid nature of the body, the gaze of the eye, in heavy flat rock, lifeless inorganic matter.

4 months down, 2 more to go.

I am officially two-thirds of the way through my study abroad experience. I only have two more months in Europe, after an exhausting yet inspiring four months here. It is an erie feeling to know you are on the home stretch. While I want to go back home and see my friends and family, I have no real desire to leave the European, or better yet, the Mediterranean Lifestyle.

I love being able to sip an espresso for hours without someone hustling me out the door. While it can be frustrating at times, I like the way people just don't really care about things (to put it bluntly). Posting updated timetables for trains? Not a concern. It's a live-by-the-seat-of-your-pants type of life. The only thing that matters is right now, so stop worrying.

While I've written many a blogpost about the lack of comfort and irritating nature of my trip, I see it as my annoying little brother (if I ever had one, Thanks Mom and Dad for stopping at me by the way). I can make fun of him all I want. He's a dork, a dweeb, he irritates me to no end, but if someone else comes in and picks on him. No Sir. That guy is going down. How dare you insult him. He is wonderful, perfect, and mine.

I like being an outsider. Well, not exactly. Let me rephrase: I like the feeling of becoming an insider, the pregnant moment of being on the cusp, just before acceptance. The first moment when you can actually and successfully listen in on a conversation in Greek or Italian, or French or whatever, is exhilarating. When you can manage to get yourself across town without ever looking at a map: a very proud moment in my book. I fear that when I go back to the States, I will be going back to normal. Normalcy is synonymous with mediocrity and that scares me. I guess though, I've been doing a lot of things that would have scared me. Every fearsome moment is a chance to learn and grow. As Baz Lurhmann puts it, "Do one thing everyday that scares you." Maybe when I get back, it will be an antithesis to my experience here. I will be going on another exciting adventure into the unknown: home.

An English Tutor in a Hellenistic World

In order to make a few extra bucks whilst in Greece, I've been working as an English tutor for two families. Most of the time I love it...most of the time.

Every Monday I walk through the National Gardens, passed Syntagma Square, over to the posh neighborhood of Plaka, where the streets are literally lined with marble. I tutor two girls Martha and Yvonne, 4 and 5, and George, 4, for an hour and a half. We color, play games, eat snacks, and get in fights. A lot of fights. These kids do not want to play nice. Now, I would be able to handle these situations just fine over in the States, or even yet, if the children spoke any English at all. Not to toot my own horn, but I am a pro at babysitting; I've been doing it since I was 10. I can get kids laughing and playing nice within 10 seconds of them pulling each other's hair out. However, my magic charm does not seem to work over here in the Aegean. No matter what I do, one of them will inevitably steal another's marker, hit someone, stomp on a Lego tower, kick my shins and run out of the room crying, about every 15 minutes. Oh the joys of children.

However, there are moments of clarity, when all three of them are peacefully sitting at the table or all reading a book. It's at these moments when I get to use my excellent educational skills (enter stage-right Dripping Sarcasm). In every sense of the phrase, I am a broken record. For the last month we have gone over the same colors over and over and over again. One time, I found I was saying the wrong colors, simply because my mind refused to work. I would point to a white sheep and say Purple, or a black dog and say Red. Luckily, they have absolutely no idea what I'm saying anyway. Last week, we sang Old MacDonald for a solid 20 minutes straight. The result of this painfully tedious exercise? All three clucked like chickens for the remainder of the lesson.

Hiking up Mt. Olympus and suffering the wrath of Zeus

This weekend I went on a trek up Mount Olympus with 28 other people from CYA. The conditions were less that spectacular. When we got off the bus (a SEVEN hour ride, ugh can you say leg cramps?) it was pouring down rain. Our guide was about to cancel the trip entirely, but we convinced him that we wouldn't melt if we got wet. And, boy. did we get wet...

The first two hours of the hike we were completely soaked, but we trudged on. As we climbed in altitude, the weather turned colder.

The rain turned to sleet, then to snow. Before we new it, we were in the middle of a snow storm and I couldn't help but break out into total nerd mode, Lord of the Rings style. For those who need some edification, here is a link to what I'm referring to. Granted, it wasn't as bad for us as it was for Frodo, but you get the drift (no pun intended).

We finally made it to our refuge just as the sun was beginning to set. Our sleeping conditions consisted of one giant bed for all of us and tons of blankets. Did I mention that we had no heat?!

Instead of going to the summit, we had to return the next day because of icy conditions. Only a few people fell on the way down the mountain, but without any major injuries. One of my friends slipped on some ice and fell straight into another hiker who was heading up the trail. The only thing he said in his broken English was, "Shit Happens," and continued on his way. I feel like that is quite indicative of our entire trip.

At the bottom of the mountain, there was a waterfall that people were jumping into. I refrained, considering the temperature was a little above freezing, but many others didn't think twice about jumping straight into unbearably cold water. I did however get some pretty GREAT reaction shots after they realized what they've done.

Meteora: Why do we look homeless every where we go?

Contrary to what many might think from my last post, my birthday weekend was amazing. I, along with 3 of my friends, went to Meteora, an outcropping of sheer limestone cliffs which are home to 6 active monasteries. We spent the weekend camping and hiking up to all of them. There were some amazing views from the top.

We got up early Friday morning and made our way to the train station in Athens (about a 40 minute commute from our apartment) and took the five hour train to Kalambaka, the main town next to the monasteries. The view as we got off the train was breath taking. Right from the start, I could tell we were going to have a great weekend. The weather was perfect, very refreshing from the intense humidity of Athens; the people are some of the closest friends I have on the trip; the views are spectacular; the pace is slow yet exciting. Can you ask for better conditions?

After checking into our camp ground, we had a quick lunch and hiked up to one monastery just in time to do some exploring and see the sunset.

Saturday, we got up really early and hit four monasteries in a row, stopping only for a picnic lunch on the top of a cliff. When visiting places like this, it really is no wonder why the ancient Greeks had such a dynamic pantheon of gods. During our hikes up to the monasteries, I fully expected Pan to jump out with a trail of nymphs frolicking behind him.

After our lunch, we made it back down to our camp site, stopping to pick berries and talk with other travelers and hikers along the way. We took some naps, recouped, and headed to a taverna to celebrate my birthday. Basically, the taverna was the best restaurant I've eaten at in a long time. We sat outside under a roof of ivy and sat there and talked for the rest of the night, sipping tea that warmed our bodies and calmed our minds. We got some baklava from the bakery down the street and brought it back to the campsite to have a little birthday celebration there.

On Sunday, we took the train back to Athens. We soon realized that the Greek train system leaves much to be desired, like punctuality, assigned seats, knowledgeable conductors, platform assignments, and much more. However to my surprise, we made it to Athens safely. When we got home, the rest of my apartment-mates had decorated the apartment with balloons and had apple pie and ice cream waiting for me. It pretty much was the best birthday ever.

The worst apple pie in the world

Today was a little subpar, at best. For some reason I had very itchy feet (metaphorically, not literally). I needed to get out of Athens, out of a city, away from people. Being in an apartment with 5 other girls can get a little crowded, even though we have a great time and get along really well. A girl just needs her space. Well, since I have a commitment to my classes and studies, it's not that easy to just pick up and head out to the country in the middle of the week. I did the next best thing.

I grabbed my book, keys, and a few bucks and headed out the door to my favorite cafe: Ciao Italia. It's a little over priced and the espresso isn't the best I've ever had, but it reminds my of my time back in Italy, and for that, I am willing to overlook it's shortcomings.

Usually I would just get an espresso, enjoy the little complimentary biscotti, and be on my way. Today, though, was a particularly rough day. I was completely lost in Greek class, I made a fool of myself in the cafeteria, was under a lot of emotional stress and exhausted from physical fatigue of breathing in smog for the past month, and to top it off, I came to the realization that I will be alone (without any best friends or family) on my birthday, which is coming up in a few days. Today needed more than just a cup of espresso. It needed apple pie.

If you grew up in my house, you would know the ins and outs of apple pie. It is more than a dessert. It is a ritual experience that occurs every holiday. Homemade crust, perfectly cut apples, bake to perfection. My mother has this art down to a science, and because of that, I have somewhat high standards when it comes to pie. However, I've become used to the underachieving pie, the over cooked, the runny pie, but this one takes the cake. It was the worst pie on the face of the planet. All I wanted was a reminder of home, a little bit of comfort I could sink my fork into. And would I be asking too much for a little bit of vanilla ice cream? Instead, I got a frozen chunk of apples and a spoon. Even after it thawed, the taste was unbearable, the texture even worse. I quickly paid for this abomination that dared share its name with my mother's glorious concoction and went home, still in a mad mood, now with an awful taste in my mouth.

My itchy feet will just have to wait until this weekend, when I head to Meteora (in Central Greece) to spend the weekend camping and hiking up to cliff monasteries all over the area. I can't wait.

Crete: the land of 1,000 faces

This past week, I, along with the other 160 people in my program, traveled to Crete for a week-long "educational" field trip. I loved every minute of it.

Crete is know as the land of 1,000 faces. It has a pretty rough history, having been taken over by many, many empires. The only indigenous people that are actually from the island are the Minoans, a civilization dating back to about 1500 B.C. After that, Crete was just a conquered colony of one empire after another, each bringing its own flare and personality of people. This makes Crete a very diverse island. On the mainland, everyone looks fairly similar: brown eyes, brown hair, olive skin, similar bone structure; but on Crete, it's a medley of blondes, brunettes, red heads, green eyes, blue eyes, BLACK eyes, short, tall, thin, heavy, low cheek bones, large chins. People watching definitely was at its peak when I stepped off that boat.

However, I didn't get to do much people watching once my program started its schedule. We went to practically every Minoan archaeological site on the island:

Knossos, Phaistos, Gortyn, Arkani, Hania, you name it. Even for me, an archaeology major, it was quite exhaustive. Our professor lectured us at each site, inevitably drawing a crowd of tourists who got bored of their own cruise-line-assigned tour guides, following us around like lost puppies.

As for the Minoan civilization, we know very little about the actual society, and without literary sources, we can

only gather so much from the architecture. A Minoan archaeologist's catch phrase for anything that doesn't make sense is "it's probably of ceremonial significance." This phrase was uttered so much on the trip that it soon became a running joke. Why is the bus late? It's probably of ceremonial significance. How come there is an extra 2 euro tacked onto our bill? Ceremonial Significance.

While we spent most of our time at archaeological sites, we did venture into the modern world once or twice. We visited a beach town called Matala.

Matala was popularized by a bunch of hippies from the 1960s and 70s who expatriated from America to live in manmade caves (from the Roman times). While the hippies no longer live in the caves, they still roamed the streets. We had lunch there and explored the caves, which were cut into practically sheer cliffs. One of our friends fell, then got stung by a bee, and then dislocated his finger. He was having a little bit of a bad day...but it probably had ceremonial significance.

One of our other modern destinations was the monastery of Arkadi.

It has a beautiful church and rose garden. We spent 45 minutes just wandering around, admiring the amazing yet subtle architecture of the complex.

Most of the towns we stayed in were old Venetian ports. Within the old walls of the town, the streets were narrow and winding, perfect to get lost in. While they allowed for any unsuspecting passerby to drown in the sea of alleyways and back roads, they were easily navigable. If you happen to be lost, all you have to do is walk north (or the direction of the water) and you'll find yourself at the harbor, true for any Venetian city. From there it is quite simple to reorient yourself and find your hotel. Needless to say, I got lost many times.

A crowded trolley is never my friend

Athens has fairly good public transportation, when they are not on strike that is. Thanks to the 2004 Olympics, the transportation infrastructure of this city greatly improved. We have access to trams, trolleys, buses, metro lines, and ferries. They all accept the exact same ticket which can be used for any mode of transportation for up to 90 minutes of travel. For any point in the city, there are about 4 different ways of getting there. It is quite convenient.

The down side? Everyone else knows it's convenient as well. The trolleys are always packed. The metro lines are jammed with people. You're practically pushed off the bus by the crowds, even if it's not your stop.

Today, I had to go to the National Archaeological Museum for my Greek Sculpture class. No Big. I know exactly what to do. Get on the number 11 trolley and take it to the National Archaeological Museum bus stop. Sounds easy? Well, it is. I've done it plenty of times. Today should be no different. Except, it was.

As the trolley approached the stop I was waiting at, I got a little nervous. It was more crowded than usual. People were literally pressed up against the windows. Every handle bar was filled with clenched fists, people unwavering to move, lest they lose their precious space on the bar. I was sandwiched in between a 4'10" saucy grandma, who was not afraid to throw some 'bows and an older man who apparently forgot to put on deodorant for the past twelve years. All the while, I was trying to make sure I was not getting pick-pocketed by the sketchy guy next to me.

I finally made it to my destination, flung myself off the bus, and nearly kissed the steps of the museum. I even had 10 minutes to spare before class! Beep Beep Beep. I got a text message. It was a reminder that class was not to be held at the museum, like the syllabus said, but in the classroom. WHAT?! I hauled my butt as fast as I could back to the bus stop and recreated my journey in reverse. 20 minutes later, I rushed into the classroom (now, 10 minutes late to class), smelling of stale perfume worn by the woman shoved against me for the entirety of the ride back.

I've definitely gotten used to a lack of personal space, as per normal Greek behavior, but today it got taken to a whole new level. Tonight, I am heading off on a week long field trip to Crete. Hopefully there I will have some wide, open space.

Around Athens

Last weekend, while everyone was taking huge ferries to Santorini or Mykonos, we hopped on a bus to Cape Sounion, about an hour and a half away from Athens. There sat an amazing Temple of Poseidon, with HUGE Doric columns and a view that will take your breath away. We visited the temple for a bit, took some good pictures, then headed to the beach to some relaxing and sun bathing. We heard about this grotto from another girl who went the weekend before. I am always up for an adventure, so we swam around the cape looking for it. We finally stumbled upon it, and it was amazing. The grotto was a small opening to a fairly decent sized cave, which the sea extended into. The echo inside was a little erie, but worth the 20 minute swim.

We stayed at Sounion to watch the sunset.

I also ventured to the Athenian Flea Market.

Not as bad as a Turkish Bazaar, but pretty close. Everyone is in your face, either trying to sell you somethings, push you out of the way, or pick your pocket. They sell everything, from old shoes, to books, watches, pirated movies, cameras, maps, jewlery, silver, antiques, clothes, megaphones. Everything you didn't think you needed

until you realized you didn't have. When I go back, I definitely need to work on my haggling skills. Canal Street in NYC taught me at least one lifeskill!

This weekend, we headed over to Hydra, an island off the coast of Athens, with incredible views and amazing tavernas. We spent the day lounging on the rocks and window shopping at all the little boutiques and mom&pop shops. The island does not allow motorized vehicles of any sort. The main mode of transportation was by foot, but there were the occasional donkey here or there, which meant the need to occasionally dodge the donkey droppings. I'm safe to say that I did not step in any of it, but I came pretty darn close.

Surprise, Surprise. So I'm a local now?

Today was full of surprises. Well, that is admittedly a hyperbole. Correction: today, I was surprised multiple times in one little conversation. I was reading in the National Gardens across from my apartment, completely content, completely oblivious to my surroundings, and engrossed in my book. A Greek man came up to me and started talking in Greek (I wouldn't say I was surprised, but definitely a little startled.) Surprise #1: I actually understood him. He wanted directions to Syntagma Square, which led me to Surprise #2: I actually knew where Syntagma Square was and could direct him to it. As he left, content with the information I gave him, I shared the same satisfaction of the interaction. I was surprised (#3) that he actually took me for a local. Most times, people take one look at me and automatically think: NOT FROM AROUND HERE, which of course, is correct. But today, I was a local, and I played the part with pride.

There is a weird feeling that arises, when one makes the transition from a tourist to a civilian. As Elizabeth Gilbert puts it in Eat Pray Love, "traveling-to-a-place energy and living-in-a-place energy are two fundamentally different energies." I miss the constant battle, yet eternal excitement of figuring out train time tables, stumbling my way through Italian to order gelato, conspicuously analyzing a city map, the list could go on. Now, I'm starting to settle into Athens. It is becoming my city. I'm becoming a resident, blending into my surroundings, well, as much as a 5'4" white girl with blonde hair and blue eyes can. Enough to get asked directions, in Greek no less, in a city where most everyone speaks English.

Being comfortable does have its benefits. I am knowledgeable. While I miss the excitement of initially gaining that knowledge, I like the fact that I don't need to pull out a map at every street corner. I like knowing shop owners by name and hole-in-the-wall tavernas. "Oh, you ate there? Did you try their moussaka? It's delicious." or "I know this great cafe around the corner. Want to check it out?" I've become irritated with tourists ooh-ing and ah-ing at the Acropolis (yet, on the inside, I still get the chills every time I see it. I try to justify it by saying it's because I'm a classics major). I've adopted a Mediterranean sense of time and grown accustom to little-to-no personal space (a very Greek ideal).

I'm always expanding my cognitive map (thank you, Mrs. Brown's IB psychology class) of this city, soaking it in step by step. I've reached a new level that I've never reached in my three months of travel so far: I am a local. Would you look at that.

Garden Parties and museum visits, it keeps getting better

The past week everyone in our program (College Year in Athens/DIKEMES) got invited to the President's house (of our program, don't get too excited) for dinner and garden party. Monday night, we all piled in three huge buses and fought our way through Athenian rush hour traffic to the northern suburbs. There we were greeted by his whole family and escorted into the garden. To sum it up in one word: gorgeous.

There were little tables set up everywhere and quaint flower beds and broken pots scattered in little corners of the property. You can't be the president of a classics school and not have imitation ancient pottery in your backyard. The food was amazing. MMMMM. Our apartment tried to do some mingling, but quickly realized, we are not that good at mingling. Oh well...

This past weekend I also experienced my first Athenian metro ride. Not very noteworthy, but the destination is. The Dream Team (the self-proclaimed title of our apartment) went to Archeon Gefsis, a restaurant that is a time machine back to Classical Greece. Can there be a more perfect spot for a bunch of archaeologists? The waiters wore traditional dress of 5th c. Athens, we ate traditional food, and drank traditional drinks. It was awesome.

Oh, and I guess I should mention some of my classes, the main reason why I am abroad in the first place. I love everything about them. For my Aegean archaeology and Greek sculpture courses we rarely meet in the classroom. Instead, we meet at various sites and museums around Athens. We learn directly from the pieces, instead of a powerpoint with fuzzy images. Why sit in a room studying the ancient agora, when you can be walking through it, pretending like you're Socrates and debating with the youth of Athens. In two weeks, CYA will be taking us to Crete on a week-long field trip to visit the ancient sites on the island. Can't wait!

Exploring Athens one neighborhood at a time

In order to understand the reasoning behind this post, you need a little history of Athens. Sit back class and take some notes.

Athens was never intended to be the modern capital of Greece. After the War of Independence in 1821-1830, many Greeks thought the city of Nafplio, on the east coast of the Peloponnese, ought to be the capital.

Instead, outside forces thought that Athens, the once thriving classical city, would be a more honorable capital than simply a large city with advanced infrastructure like Nafplio. Athens at the time was just a collection of small neighborhoods,

organically and sporadically placed within a small valley, and a city derived from there. Now, the neighborhoods have connected, yet remain somewhat independent bubbles of culture and style, each one having its own flair.

I've made it my goal to explore one neighborhood per day. After class is over for the day, I take my trusty map and pick a different neighborhood to go to. A few days ago I roamed the streets of Plaka, which is right near the Acropolis. There were tons of tourists and gimmicky shops, but the streets were beautiful and the sights were breathtaking. I definitely want to check out that part of town in about a month, when the tourist season dies down.

Yesterday, my roommate and I climbed to the top of Lykavittos Hill, the largest hill in Athens.

At the top, there is a theater, church and cafe. You can see every point of Athens from the top of the hill. Luckily, the smog wasn't too bad, and we could see the sea and bay.

Geia Sas! (hello!)

I finally made it Athens, got all settled in, and actually washed my clothes in a real washer and dryer! I live in a little apartment in Pangrati, which is a small neighborhood just east of the Parliment building and the National Gardens. I have 5 other roommates and only 1 bathroom. This makes for VERY hectic mornings.

The academic center, where I have all my classes and eat lunch, is literally right next door to the stadium (used in the first modern Olympic games, and restored to use in the 2004 games). It is a beautiful structure, made entirely of marble, and just a "little" reminder of the fact I'm living in a city rich in history and steeped with culture. Oh yeah, I can also see the ACROPOLIS from there too! For 150 classic majors at this program, this is pretty awesome. What better way to learn about the Parthenon, than going to the Parthenon? This definitely beats a picture in a textbook.

Besides the major monuments and museums that Athens can offer, I am also really fascinated with exploring the tiny little neighborhoods throughout the city. The neighborhood I live in has a flea market every Friday and I can't wait to check it out tomorrow. There are bakeries at almost every corner, cafes packed with people who just love to talk to you and get to know you, book stores, fruit stands, and pretty much everything else you would think a Greek neighborhood would consist of. At dinner time (around 10 pm) Tavernas lines the streets with their outside tables and child ride their bikes while their parents enjoy a long, relaxing meal.

People never hesitate to give you something whether you need it or not. When buying book supplies, the owner gave me free led for a mechanical pencil I bought and colored pencils for my roommate because she mentioned she liked to draw. The man who owns the cleaning supplies store at the corner of out street always stands outside his shop and waves as we walk by. Every time, he tries to teach us a new Greek word or phrase. Everyone is quite friendly and understanding that we cannot yet communicate with them but we are trying to learn. Our waitress at a cafe we went to talk to me for 10 minutes about an island I should check out, without me even asking for travel advice. I think I can get used to this lifestyle.

The End of WWOOFing: my time in tudia

To say the least, WWOOFing has been one unforgettable experience after another. This farm is no different. It tops the cake with its eccentricity. So, where to begin?

After a very exhausting few days of traveling and then subsequently being stranded in Palermo, Amy, Chris, and I finally made it to Tudia, Sicily, where the farm is located. What did we find? Isolation. Pretty much nothing except some wild flowers, bushes and a stray dog or two. When you step out of the farm’s walls, you step into nowhere. We can see one other house from the farm and that’s it.

The farm is beautiful though. It is the biggest farm I’ve stayed at, with over 240 hectares of land. They grow mainly olives and wine grapes but they also have a small vegetable garden and fruit orchard. The agirturismo is a restored farm complex, complete with a massive courtyard, long corridors and multiple rooms. It seems like the building goes on forever. I could (and did) get easily lost in there. They have a swimming pool and outdoor bar for the guests and anyone else from the next town over who wants to take a swim.

There are about 8 other WWOOFers here with us, yet we don’t really do much, except hangout with each other. The Sicilian lifestyle is very different from the American lifestyle and even the lifestyle of northern Italy, which I’ve gotten used to over the past two months. Here, we call it a day after about two hours of work. The rest of the day is spent hanging out around the pool, sleeping, reading, or just relaxing. While at first this seemed like a fantastic break, and it was, I find that I miss work. Not only has UNC instilled a hyper-motivation gene in me since the day I set foot on campus, I also simply like the satisfaction of knowing I put in a hard day’s work, that I deserve my dinner, that I am truly exhausted when my head hits the pillow. Instead, we lounge around all day and do nothing. However, it seems a little harsh to be complaining about this. It could be much worse.

The owner of the farm may be the MOST eccentric person I have ever met, seriously. Sudir (or Vincenzo before he changed his name, I’ll get to that in a bit though) reminds me of a mix between Santa Claus, the king from Cinderella, and Shaggy from Scooby Doo. He is a 60-year-old child. He loves life and wants everyone to have fun, hence no work. He is also not really all there. He told us a little bit about his life, and I am partially amazed and partially terrified. He learned English from living in Hawaii growing marijuana. He spent two years on a commune in India, studying under this whacked out guru, who changed Vincenzo’s name to Sudir. His mother was a noble of Sicily, who owned almost half the island, and then Sudir lost most of the property by playing poker and the other parts he sold and gave the money to his Indian guru. He married an American woman simply to get a greencard. He has never met her and they are still married to this day, even though Sudir has another wife. To put in bluntly, he has lost his mind. At times, he just sits there and laughs at you, without ever saying why. He does have a quirky side, though. He loves to dance and play foosball. Surprisingly he is very good at both.

At the farm, Amy and I are constantly being exposed to new habits and customs, some are typical Sicilian, and others are just typical Sudir. We’ve meditated, done morning yoga, learned Sicilian card games (they even use a different deck), had our tarot cards read, cooked and cleaned for about 100 people, and witnessed a dog give birth. Unforgettable experiences. We’ve come to get used to being constantly surprised with what each day brings and we both agree that a year ago neither of us would have guessed we would be doing any of this.

Amy and I have befriended the bartender, Angelo, who works at the pool. Yesterday, for our day off (like we needed one anyway) he took us to Cefalu, which is a beautiful beach and city about 30 minutes away from the farm. It reminded me a lot of Greece, with rock cliffs leading right up to the ocean and water as blue as a sapphire. We walked along the cobblestone streets and found a great restaurant to have lunch. Amy tried her first Italian gelato! YUM! In Sicily, however, it is common to eat it in a brioche, almost like a really nice ice cream sandwich. I liked it, but I think I may stick with the traditional cup and spoon from now on.

When we got back to the farm, we found out that everyone was heading out to this large tomato festival in the next town over, so off we went. The festival was fun, like most of the other festivals I’ve been to in Italy. It was very small, very quaint, and everyone shows up. In a small side street, there was a man playing really loud music from his car, marketing it as an outside discotheque. Well, you don’t need to tell Sudir twice to start dancing. All ten of us (8 American and English WWOOFers, Sudir and his wife) started busting a move in this tiny little street in Sicily. We were obviously not from Italy and completely out of our comfort zones, but that made it all the more fun. We were the entertainment for all the locals and of course, a crowd started to gather to watch a bunch of white 20-year-olds attempt to dance. I find that I am the local entertainment a lot over here. We eventually got other Italians to join in and made a huge party on the street.

All in all it was a great day, and a great time in Sicily, full of adventure and spirit.

Palermo, a city of expectation with little follow through

Palermo is quite underwhelming. I heard such great things about this place, but I didn't really enjoy it. Compared to Bologna or Torino, Palermo is a cramped, dirty, smelly city with not a lot to look at. There are some landmarks and museums, but nothing that really stands out in my mind. I will therefore not bore you with the happenings of my day in the city.

However, I could be seeing this city with an extreme bias, since I am not supposed to be here in the first place. I am supposed to be in the Sicilian countryside with my best friend working on another farm. Instead I am stuck at a hostel because her plane was canceled and the next one comes in later tonight. Once again, a great expectation was let down. I was literally counting down the hours until I saw her. It was pretty much the only thing that kept me sane during the 24 hours of travel time getting to this city. Hopefully everything goes smoothly with her plane ride tonight and she will get to Palermo safely. For now, I can only hope and pray and make the best of this situation.

Gold? No. The streets of Torino are paved in chocolate

Travelling on the 15^th of August in Italy, well for lack of a better word, sucks. Everyone goes on vacation. Shops close down, people shut up their homes, and they all head south. On trains. Where am I trying to go on the 15^th of August, on a train no less? Why Sicily, of course, the most southern part of Italy. You can’t get much more south without scampering over Tunisia’s boarder. With all this competition, it becomes very hard to get your hands on a ticket, even with a Eurail pass. I took the bus into Torino, found my way to the train station, and arrived there in plenty of time for the 11:00 am train. What happened when I try to get my ticket? No dice. They were all sold out. They were all sold out for the 1:00 pm train as well, same for the 4:00 and the 6:00. The only train with seats open was at 9:00 at night.

Great.

I dropped my bags off at the left luggage office and headed to the info center to get a map. Maybe I can just waste 12 hours of my day at some café. Of course, there was a huge line at information. I’ve come to the realization that nothing is ever easy, but everything somehow works out. Waiting on line, a pamphlet caught my eye. The Streets of Chocolate. I need not look any farther. This 27-page booklet contained all the historical cafes, pasticcerias, confecterrias, and gelaterias that made Torino the chocolate capital of Europe. I therefore had a new quest: to seek out the best chocolate in Torino. I was definitely up for the challenge.

First stop: Confecterria Roma gia’ Talmone. I crossed the threshold of this shop, stepping out of the 21^st century hustle and bustle of the Torino traffic, and entered a 1920s café, complete with wood paneling, wait staff in ties and vests, and old fashioned cappuccino machines. I ordered their “famous” cappuccino and sat outside to do some people-watching, my new favorite pastime. While I was enjoying the relaxing and charming atmosphere, I was on a mission. There was no time for dillydallying.

Onto Caffe Mulassano. It’s located in a glass and marble covered pedestrian walkway, surrounded by art deco inspired décor. The sign for the shop was a dark wood with bronze inlayed letters. It was looking like this was to be a wonderful choice. There, I ordered a chocolate croissant from an adorable old man behind the counter. It came out toasted. Why? Well, Caffe Mulassano had the first toaster in Italy. Brought over in 1925, they made the first Italian hot paninis. Didn’t know you were going to get a history lesson when you signed on to this blog, did you? However, the whole toasted bit didn’t really live up to my expectations. On the bright side, what it lacked in taste, Mulassano made up in style. A little hole in the wall, the shop had about 4 tables made of marble and cast iron, mirrored walls behind the counter, carved wood paneling, and a hammered tin ceiling. It is times like these that I wish I had Jane Austin or The Great Gastby under my arm.

Next stop: Gelateria Pepino. Since it was about 10:00 in the morning, I wasn’t really feeling gelato. I ordered biscotti and rested my feet. (Before this stop, I walked about a mile out of the way to check out a confetteria called Baratti and Milano. Unfortunately it was closed until the end of August. Holidays are taken very seriously in Italy) The biscotti was fine, but I wanted to really taste Torino. I wanted to discover it’s local favorites that put Torino on the map. Have no fear; this quest is far from over.

After a small detour of sitting under an overhang for about 30 minutes because torrential downpours, I made it to Caffe Al Bicerin. This is what I was looking for. Bicerin is a type of hot coffee, mixed with chocolate and topped with whipped cream. The drink is served in a traditional bicerin glass, which is clear so you can see the layers of drink. As the name suggests, this caffe is where bicerin was invented. It was a little pricey, but worth it. The 5-euro drink warmed me up and gave me a much needed caffeine boost. The mocha flavoring was nothing like a tall mocha latte at Starbucks. The dark chocolate Caffe Al Bicerin uses gives this drink a bite. At the caffe, I met a couple of really nice French university students and a hysterical waitress, but that’s a different post.

I walked down some original Roman roads, built under Augustus (um, this is quickly becoming the best day of my trip) to find the Mecca of chocolate: Pasticceria Caffetteria Tamborini. This is where I found Gianduiotto, a soft hazelnut-chocolate candy molded into wedge shapes that resemble cigarette buds, hence the name. Gianduiotto comes from the word givo, cigarette bud, in Italian. Here’s some history of Gianduiotto: When the Piemont region was conquered by Napoleon, cocoa powder was hard to come by, so Torino chefs ground up toasted hazelnuts to supplement the depleted supply of cocoa powder, thus creating an entirely new flavor that became extremely popular. What sprung from necessity has turned into a vogue delicacy that has been a popular staple ever since. Tamborini lived up to the hype. I got two bags full, enough to last me, well, the train ride to Sicily.

My last stop before heading back to the train station was Pasticceria Peyrano Pfatisch. Apparently it is one of the most famous pastry shops in all of Torino. I got an assortment of chocolates: pralines, walnut-chocolate, some other chocolate filled with something delicious, and another chocolate I could not pronounce but looked delectable.

I walked pretty much all of Torino, back roads and main streets, cobble stone and pavement. I put to use the Italian I’ve learned and discovered tasty bits of history along the way. With the day’s mission accomplished, I was a very satisfied passenger on the 8-hour night train to Rome, then the 14-hour day train from Rome to Palermo. 22 hours of riding in a cramped train was not what I wanted to be doing. At least I had chocolate!

The Power of Italian Gender Roles

While in Italy, I have noticed set gender roles that reoccur at every farm I've gone to. Though not necessarily forced, males and females have very distinct, very seperate roles in society: the men work out in the fields and the women stay in the house. Period. During siesta times, I sometimes head down to the town square to mail postcards or grab some coffee. I only see men. The women I encounter are the rare ones working at the cafes or magazine shops. Commercials are the best representation of this. Women get the choice between two schemas: they can be pregnant, in the kitchen, cooking, and doing laundry; or, they can be on the beach, clad only in a bikini selling something like cellphones (note: the cellphone is only shown in the last 5 seconds of the commercial. For the entire time leading up to that, I had no idea what they were trying to sell.) These are the options for Italian women? Prudent housewife or sex-machine?

Luckily, throughout my experience WWOOFing, I never really had to deal with these set gender roles. I was accepted as a strong, young, capable individual, who could manage pretty much any task on the farm: weeding, hauling, feeding animals, you name it. Because I am in Italy specifically for farming, a typical job for men, I was never put into these stereotypical situations of a female housewife, until yesterday evening.

Bruno and Milena went to the mountains for the night so that Simone, the oldest son who has been spending the past month out there on a donkey trek, could have the night off. He came home around 8:30 and, as per Milena's instructions, I was expected to have dinner on the table waiting for him. Well, if anyone really knows me, they should know two things: I like to cook but I hate gender stereotypes. So, I didn't mind cooking dinner for Simone. It was actually a nice break from the hard labor I was doing all day. However, I was very frustrated with the expectations of an "Italian Housewife." After dinner, I was expected to clean up the dishes and make coffee, even though I think drinking espresso at 10:00 at night is a little absurd. After every thing was back in its place, the plates were dried, the leftovers in the fridge, I naively expected some sort of thank you from Simone before we retired to our seperate rooms. Nothing.

I am used to the independence, but more so the respect American women have in their own homes and the workplaces. It takes time to adjust to this different way of life. While the jobs are seperate, I am still unsure whether they are equal. Bruno and Milena both put in their fair share of hard work and everything gets done. I just wonder if this is how Milena wants to live her life. Is she happy with the expectations put upon her by her sons and husband? I've never heard her complain, but is that because she is used to it or just doesn't know anything different, or maybe she actually enjoys it.

New skills, some obvious, a few unconventional

I've been abroad for about two months now and I've developed some unique skills. Some I could have guessed, but others I would not have predicted to obtain when I left the states. Here's the list:

Manual labor with my left hand
Chucking things
Hand washing clothes in various sinks
Navigating my way through Italian train stations and cities
Making myself look busy
Hurling bales of hay
Eating things I don't like
Understanding conversations in Italian
Standing with purpose
Holding my breath for long periods of time (i.e. when mucking out a chicken coop)
Falling asleep anywhere for any amount of time
Pruning tomato plants
Making playlists on my iPod to fit my mood/activity
Saying goodbye to people, I've had to do it a lot.

Dante's Inferno

I have made it to my third farm of the summer. One more to go! This farm is called Frutasè and located in Cumiana, a small village outside of Torino, in the north of Italy. They grow tons of things as well as raise chickens and donkeys. The donkeys are not currently on the farm, though. They are being used to go through a month long trek through the Alps. The farm also has one mule and a horse.

My favorite of the animals, though, is Dante. He is a HUGE black lab who is full of love. Whenever you come in the door, he comes galloping towards you and just so much as knocks you over. He sits everywhere he's not supposed to and gets in everybody's way, especially Malena, my host mother. He is always in the kitchen when she's trying to work. From the garden I can hear "BASTA (stop) DANTE!" at least once every hour. It's a great comical release from the work that we do, which brings me to the Inferno part of this post.

On the farm, we are setting up synergistic gardens in the greenhouses. Synergistic gardening is pretty much what it sounds like. Because of how we set up the bed, all the plants in that bed work together to replenish the soil and stop most of the weeds...aka do a lot of the work for us! Well, in order to begin the bed, we had to dig a large trench along each side that will eventually be lined with hay. Digging in the middle of the day in a greenhouse is not really a walk in the park. By lunch, every piece of clothing I had on was drenched in sweat. Nothing a good shower can't fix!

Getting lost is part of the journey, right?

I went on my second bike ride around the area. This time I decided to ride into the city of Bologna (about 10 km away). As any good traveler does, I google-mapped my trip and it gave me two suggested routes: along the main highway and along a country road that follows a winding river. Which one did I choose? Why the country road, of course. I'm not in Italy to just follow highways, I want to see the country! I wrote down the directions, at least I thought I did, and set off with all the necessary accouterments for spending the day in Bologna...everything except water, but I'll get to that in a bit.

The ride was going great. The road was just shaded enough to be cool, but the trees were scattered enough for me to see the beautiful scenery. I was listening to a great podcast about organic food and my mind was at ease. Then, I turned right. I was following the directions that I had and the road seemed to match up, Via di Paleotto. This is great! I can successfully navigate my way through the Italian countryside on a bike. However, you know what they say about counting your chickens before they hatch. The road was an uphill battle, literally. I road for about 25 minutes on what felt like a 45 degree incline. The road was getting less and less like a road and more and more like a path, then a driveway, then a Do Not Enter sign. Are you kidding me?! I biked up this mountain for a Do Not Enter sign? No thank you. And what did I want once I made it to the summit? A nice drink of water. I searched in my bag for my trusty water bottle, but to no avail. I left it at home. Great.

Well, trying to stay positive, I thoroughly enjoyed the speed and rush I got going back down the mountain. As I came back to the junction where I turned right, I did some exploring. Evidently, there are two Via di Paleotto's. I made sure I took the right one this time and continued on my journey, without the massive incline and frustrating dead ends.

In Bologna, I visited the archaeological museum (which was amazing!) and tried a gelato place I've been meaning to check out. Good stracciatella gelato was just what I needed after a exhausting bike ride. All in a day's work!