A Farewell to Rome

I’ve been putting off writing this blog until the last possible minute. So here I sit on a TrenItalia train on the infamous line from Napoli to Milan moving towards a new destination: Florence. I’ve been putting off thinking about leaving. I’ve been putting off feeling anxious or sad—because it was always the next week, the next day, later that day. Reasoning instead that I will always have just a little more time.

Well now it’s here. Time’s up.

I may or may not have started crying in the cab to Termini. And by may have I mean that I most definitely did. Complete with my mom, well meaning, asking me whether I could believe that the four months were already over and my sister with her own question of, “Wait, are you actually crying?” Well, based on the fact that I had to move from my fingertips to a pack of tissues, I would confidently say that yes I was indeed crying, Meg.

I think it’s sometimes hard for people who haven’t studied abroad to understand why it’s so incredibly difficult to leave. I know it seems like a vacation, but it’s not. Just take a look at the term projects from the last week of my semester. But, it’s not merely about schoolwork. Just when you begin to minutely start to feel like a local you have to leave. Just when it really starts to feel like home, right when you know you understand things. You work your butt off for four months to know the best places to eat, the best hidden views of Rome’s skyline, and how to avoid the mobbing at Termini. Four months and then you have to walk away from all of that hard work. 

And I think that’s the thought that has upset me today the most: walking away now, may also be walking away for good. It’s the if. I don’t know when or if I’ll come back to Rome. And if I do, it very well could be in fifty years. That possibility, that uncertainty, is what scares me the most. Because I have truly come to love Rome. And by love, I mean hate. Which is the only way you can truly love her at all.

I don’t want to say that I left my heart in Rome today. I’m not into clichés. I can put my palm to my chest and feel it still there, feel life still moving forward. Instead of my heart, I’ve left her with echoes of laughter. The scuffs of boot heels against uneven cobblestone. Empty bottles of wine and plates of pasta wiped cleaned. At least three inches of my hair somewhere on a Balduina salon floor. My favorite pair of jeans and the soles of my best riding boots. I’ve left her empty Bueno bar wrappers. Foam-stained and empty cappuccino cups. Hundreds of dropped Skype calls. My waistline and a fortune’s worth of ATM and foreign transaction fees. But, most importantly, my footprints scattered across nearly all of her winding, cramped, and so beautiful streets.

Rome has changed me so much. I know everyone says that, but they say it because it’s true. I’m not the same person who left for an adventure in January, but I’m not a completely different person either. This semester has been messy and crazy and beautiful; I wouldn’t change it for anything. Not a single thing.

I had exactly 109 days with that incredible city, which is more than many would hope or dream. 109 days of laughter, clutter, and discovery. 109 days. And now? Today is Day 1. 

Ciao Roma. Miss you already.

xoxo

lauren

 

Budapest: More like Buda-YES

My sister sent me that song when I told her two weeks ago that I had booked my trip to Budapest. I had no idea what she was talking about when she mentioned it, which shows just how out of touch I am with American pop culture right now. But, it's been stuck in my head all weekend and I figured it would be the perfect way to introduce this post.

I went to Budapest for Easter! I hope you all appreciated my awfully wonderful pun for a title. You thought those had gone away hadn't you? You thought wrong.

Budapest was a bit of a last minute trip for me. I thought I had plans for Easter and then they fell through. Our trip literally came together only after I got home from Spring Break, which was not that long ago. The air fare was expensive but the cost to do things there was super cheap, since they use Florin and not Euros. (And now I have about 50 euro worth of Florin to exchange. Oops.) We stayed at the HomePlus Hostel and had a really good experience there for only 19 euro a night.

So what did we do?

Exploring Buda and Pest

The Danube

We got in fairly late on Friday night so we decided just to get up early and do some exploring before our plans later that afternoon. Luckily we were staying in a very central area, practically next to the river. We walked the river, passing by the Parliament building and the memorial for those shot into the Danube by Arrow Cross Militiamen in 1944/45.

The memorial were cast iron shoes.

That's a mighty fine bridge.

View from Castle Hill

Then we crossed the bridge to the 'Pest' side of the city. Pest is more historical and quaint. Buda is more urban and modern. We walked up Castle Hill where-- as you can probably guess-- there's a castle. There's a tram that you can take but, we had our gym shoes on and decided to hike the steps instead, which were actually not that bad of a climb at all. Beside the castle and church that's there, there's also a really sweet area of houses and restaurants up there. Plus some awesome view of the city. We stopped for lunch at a street side cafe where you can sit outside with blankets and eat. I had a cappuccino and chicken paprika-- which is a really traditional Hungarian dish.

The roof of this church was stunning. So much color.

Ah, yes. The main event.

Caving Under Budapest

Budapest is a pretty popular destination here at school and we had been told that we had to go caving, warned that it would push our limits but that it would be an experience like no other. So basically had to. Plus, we got to wear some pretty sexy outfits.

We vaguely look like Bob the Builder.

Caving, or spelunking which is the proper term I think, is basically going down into cave veins and crawling through them. Simple, right? Wrong. The veins you explore force you into teeny tiny spaces that you had no idea you could fit through. Rocks jut out everywhere at you. At one point, we had to do a cramped version of an army crawl on our stomachs with our heads turned sideways in order to fit through one space. It was crazy.

Rocks and stuff.

At one point, we got to what they call a room, which is just a bigger space where you can stand or sit. Our guide told us to turn off our helmet light so we could experience perfect darkness. It was actually kind of trippy. Your eyes desperately try to search for an object, a shadow, something, to see but there's nothing. And then he told us to be very still and quiet until I could hear a ringing in my ear: perfect silence. There's no water or animals down there at all. Just rocks, space, and darkness. It was so cool.

I'm about to fit into that crevice.

It left Maddie and I pretty banged up and bruised but, I would do it again in a heart beat.

The Ruin Bars

That night we went on a ruin bar crawl that was affiliated with our hostel. We basically had time to shower and stuff our faces with McDonald's before we left, but we made it work. The ruin bars are pretty unique to Budapest. There's worn down buildings-- hence ruins-- and instead of tearing them down, people put bars in them. They're grungy and kind of wild-- but in the good way. Plus, drinks in Florin were really cheap. We had so much fun and met some really cool people from around the world. That's one of the things I love most about staying in hostels and doing things like that. Even if you never speak to them again, you did have a conversation with them and just by doing that you can expand your world so much.

 The Mineral Baths

So bruised up and, I'll admit it, very hung over, we decided to recuperate in the famous mineral baths. We went to the largest and most famous one, Szechenyi Bath. It's located in this great park area right near Heroes Square adn the Vajdahunyad Castle.

The man asked me what I was doing. I told him it was too pretty.

We went on Easter so we happened to run stumble into the Easter Markets being held at the castle. Everything smelled so good and, honestly, looked even better. I love markets. I'm always at them in Rome. It was interesting to see how similar and different Hungarian ones are.

Photo cred to Maddie on this one.

Szechenyi was recommended to us specifically because it's the prettiest one in Budapest. There's tons of architecture and sculpture through out. The baths are basically like just one big hot tub, but apparently with healing powers. Even though it was only probably 50 degrees out, we sat in the outdoor baths, switching between the medium hot one and the hot one for a few hours. By the end, our limbs felt like jello but in the best possible way. I wanted to get a pedicure but, we just couldn't find where to do it, and actually got a little lost in the building. Oh, well. I'll treat myself back in the good ole' U S of A.



Oh, and I almost forgot to mention the awesome street food we discovered. The woman making them rolled dough onto rods. Theyey cook for just a few minutes, and then, still hot, they're rolled in your choice of topping. I got cinnamon.

It's statistically proven that things on sticks taste better. Because science.

Food porn game is on point here.

Budapest is one of those places that I know if I didn't go now while I was abroad, I probably would never make it there. It's a little off the beaten path but in the best possible way. It's affordable, rich with culture and things to do, and it's incredibly beautiful. It was especially cool for me because my great-great grandparents on my mom's side actually immigrated from Budapest. I felt connected to my heritage in a way that just doesn't happen back in the states.

More than just the city though, I tested my limits and did so many things that I had no idea I was capable of this past weekend. I mean, I climbed through caves! I feel like Budapest has helped me to grow as a person, even if it was just slightly. So thanks, Budapest. I mean it.

xoxo 

lauren

Tuesdays with Keats

I feel like half of my posts are just English major nerd out sessions. But, I mean that's a pretty accurate representation of who I am in general. So take me or leave me, readers.

Last week, my on-site class (which I'll be blogging about later in the semester) met at the Spanish steps for class and my professor pointed out the Keats-Shelley Memorial House before we moved on with class to the Borghese gardens. So of course I stayed down in the center and went there immediately after class. Like, duh. 

The museum, located literally next to the Spanish Steps, is actually the apartment where Jonathan Keats lived and eventually died in while in Rome. I took a Brit Lit class in Romantic literature last semester with a professor who was super jazzed about Keats and Byron (I mean how could you not?), so walking through was essentially me reliving my awesome class. 

It's actually really sad for those of you who don't know Keats' story. He trained as a surgeon, which means he was a doctor who actually worked with the body, as opposed to the more high class doctors who dealt with bodies in the abstract. When his younger brother caught tuberculosis, it was Keats who nursed him until his death. Keats was immensely close with his brother and his death wrecked him emotionally. More than that though, it made him into a real poet. Keats had wanted to be a writer his whole life but he wasn't in a class capable of living such a lifestyle, hence the whole doctor thing. The poetry he did write though was horrible. It was only after his brother's death that he improved. And when he himself discovered that he too was dying of tuberculosis, well, he produced some of the greatest poetry in the English language.

Books, on books, on books.

That's why he went to Rome actually. People thought that the warmer climates of Italy helped to cure the disease which sadly it didn't. Keats' time there is recorded by the many letters he wrote. I've actually read a great deal of these letters and they have quite a few of them on display at the house. They're terribly sad. Because of his training and his time with his brother, Keats was highly aware of the fact that he was dying, and at the age of 25. If that doesn't make you write amazing poetry I don't know what will. 

The house itself is mainly devoted to small artifacts from not only Keats but a variety of the Romantic poets, including Lord Byron and the Shelleys. They actually have a first edition of Byron's Don Juan on display. It was open to Canto I and I might have been super excited about it. They also have a lot of little known portraits and letters which are really cool to see. 

No big deal.

Probably the best part of this museum, which is very very small, is Keats' bedroom where he died. Because of the disease, all of the original furniture was burned following his death but, the curators have done a great job of finding replicas. There's not many artifacts in there except for a plaster mold of Keats' face which was made immediately following his death. It's super creepy. Not gonna lie. Cool, but definitely creepy. Especially because it's inches from the bed at a height where he would be lying at.  

I'll spare you the close up of the death mask.

I was one of the only people there that day so I had a good few minutes in his bedroom completely by myself. I took a walk around and looked out the windows down at the Spanish steps trying to imagine him there, slowly dying and writing a legacy to leave behind. It's even stranger, I think, because he was so incredibly young. He was just a few years older than me when he died and I can't imagine what could have been possibly going through his mind from day to day. 

I think my professor put it best, though in a tongue and cheek way. He had just finished telling us his biography and he had a way of telling stories that really compelled you to listen, especially this one. He ended by laughing and saying, "So if you ever want to feel completely inadequate, just remember that at your age Jonathan Keats had already written some of the best poetry ever penned." 

And that's sort of how I felt walking through the apartment: deeply inadequate but at the same time strangely connected to these writers.

And then there's this Tuesday, which involved a visit to the Protestant Cemetery of Rome. It's not limited to Protestants though. It's actually considered one of the oldest burial grounds in Europe-- because it also includes that random pyramid which is also a burial site.

The place is breathtaking. It was actually Percy Shelley, who is buried there, who said, "It might make one in love with death, to think that one should be buried in so sweet a place." It's part cat sanctuary, part jungle, part flower garden-- oh and a cemetery too. The way that the sun pours through the branches of the Cyprus trees honestly makes me agree with Shelley. Death, at least death here, might not be so bad.

There are so many random tomb stones from all different nations and religions. You'll see everything from Arabic to Greek to German on them. Some are simple crosses. Some have full on sculptures covering them. Some of the epitaphs are poetry, others question marks.

Percy Shelley, Jonathan Keats, and Gregory Corso (a famous Beat poet for those of you who don't know) are all buried there. Percy Shelley's grave was really cool-- he has a quote from the Tempest at the bottom-- but, it didn't stand a chance at beating Keats' grave. I mean that is the theme of the week, right?

I technically saw it twice. We originally had some time just to wander when we first got there, so of course I B-lined it for where the signs were pointing for his. I'm glad I did because I had the chance to take a few moments by myself there and feel the weight of being in such a place. It's especially touching because his friend Joseph Severn is buried next to him, even though he died 50 years later. Severn nursed and stayed with Keats while he was on his death bed in Rome. Even in death, he hasn't left his side it seems.

Keats is left, Severn on the right.

His grave reads, "This Grave contains all that was Mortal of a Young English Poet Who, on his Death Bed, in the Bitterness of his Heart, of the Malicious Power of his Enemies, Desired these Words to be engraven on his Tomb Stone. Here lies One Whose Name was writ in Water."

Keats died believing he was a failure. He never thought his poetry was of any worth and never imagined it could be. He thought his name would disappear, the way it does when written in water. Now, he is one of the greatest English poets. And his tombstone is some of the best poetry I've read in a while.

A little later, with my classmates there, I had the chance to read aloud my favorite Keats poem in front of their graves-- La Belle Dame Sans Merci. It was a little surreal; I was basically reading the poem to him, if that sort of thing actually exists. And if there is an afterlife, I can imagine Keats is perhaps smiling at the fact that we are still reading it.

Ciao ragazzi.

xoxo

lauren

Our Day At Versailles

I think I've studied the French Revolution more times than I can count in my lifetime's worth of schooling. Some historians call it the most important event in modern Europe. But, that's an argument I'll leave for history majors. I actually had a whole section of my Honors seminar freshman year dedicated to the architecture of Versailles. So we didn't even bother getting an audio guide. I'm a bit of a know it all, and for once it was a little helpful.

Versailles is basically the pinnacle of French precision and beauty. The lines that the trees make are so sharp they could make you bleed. The furniture and decorations in the rooms inside the palace are intricate and breath taking. It was really such a cool experience. I'd seen so many pictures of it and studied it so many times. Being there felt like everything came full circle.

The front gate.

And when I say that we did Versailles, I mean we really did Versailles. We not only did the Chateau and gardens, but also the two private residences and the queen's hamlet. And we did it all on foot. Because bikes are for the weak.

This post will be a lot of pictures but I'll try my best to tell the stories that go along with them.

The actual Chateau is probably the most popular tourist part of Versailles. There's so much to see and there's so much original furniture. Not to mention the Hall of Mirrors, which is one of the most spectacular places I've been in my life. 

Mirrors on one side, windows on the other, chandeliers above, and me in the middle.

Totally took a selfie in the Hall of Mirrors. I'm a little ashamed. But not really.

One of my favorite portions was when we got to walk through the Queen's bedroom, last used by the infamous Marie Antoinette.  The bed is only a replica due to the peasant women who stormed the castle calling for the queen's head. They killed several guards before reaching her bedroom. The queen just managed to escape. So they destroyed her bed instead.

That little door was how she got away.

 Going during the off season had both its benefits and negatives. It was great because it wasn't as crowded and we never had to wait for anything. However, the gardens weren't quite so green as we would have liked. The fountains weren't on and all of the sculptures wrapped for the winter. They were still beautiful though. I can't imagine what they look like in the summer.

We also went to two private residences. One was for the king and his family to get away from palace life at the Chateau, where all of the nobility also resided. This was also used later by Napoleon. 

Napoleon's study. No big deal right?

We also saw the Queen's private residence which was used by both Marie Antoinette as well as many famous mistresses such as Madame du Barry. It's very quaint. It's also one of the few places on the residence that Marie really had a hand in decorating. Let me just say that she had a real eye for that sort of thing. 

Marie Antoinette's bedroom

As sort of a last minute burst of energy, we decided to make the trek to the Queen's Hamlet which is really far away from the main grounds. We had sort of made our way over in that direction as we saw the private residences but, the walk back was actually a little painful. The Hamlet is so quaint and lovely. I can really see why Marie Antoinette enjoyed spending time away from the palace there. Fun fact though, she never actually slept there. It's basically just a mini village, fully functioning, for her to hang out in. It also has the cutest pond ever, complete with swans. I can't imagine how gorgeous it must be in the summer there.

I'm so glad I was able to make it to Versailles. It's another one of those things that I can cross off of my bucket list. It's funny because I had to convince Stephanie to make the day trip with me when we were initially planning our trip-- but it was mostly because she had no idea what it actually was. It's historical significance coupled with the sheer visual artistry of it makes it such an amazing place to visit. She ended up being so glad we went. And I think I took about a thousand pictures.

xoxo

lauren

Exercising My Right To English Nerd in Paris

There were a lot of things about Paris that I wanted to see and do. However, this is me. And I of course made it nerdy in the best possible way (at least in my opinion).

For those of you who are not pursuing a BA in English literature, I'll give you some background. In the 1920's, Paris was the hub and gathering space of some of the greatest creative minds and movements of the time. Since it occurred immediately following WWI but before WWII we like to refer to them as Lost Generation artists. (But, that's a highly problematic categorization which has holes and issues that I won't go into here.) Notable artists who took up residence in the city of light include Joyce Carol Oates, Salvador Dali, and most importantly for me, F. Scott Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemingway. And those are just a few big names. Fitzgerald and Hemingway actually met for the first time at the Dingo Bar in Paris.

While in Paris, I made it my mission to--for lack of a better term--stalk them.

One of the things most associated with this group, stereotypically at least, is the image of a bunch of writers and artists hanging out at some sidewalk cafe. It was in no way limited to that but it is a relatively accurate picture, all things considered. 

 I made it to a total of three what I call 'Hemingway Cafes'(because he frequented quite a few cafes throughout Europe). They were: Les Deux Magots, Cafe De Flore, and Cafe Le Dome.

 Les Deux Magots and Cafe De Flore are actually right next to each other and back at the time of all of this, they were rivals, both being frequented by groups of artists. Now there are small historical plaques out front (unfortunately all in French) which detail their historical significance. Unfortunately both were very busy and very expensive so my dream of having a cappuccino at one of these cafes was crushed, but at least I did get my visit in.

Cafe Le Dome is just a few blocks away from the Eiffel Tower. I was really creepy about my visit here and totally just randomly walked through the place without sitting down or saying anything to anyone. The waiters were all really confused. The people who frequented this cafe are known as the Domiers, including: Sinclair Lewis, Henry Miller, Hemingway (duh), Vladimir Lenin, Ezra Pound, Pablo Picasso and many others. It was even mentioned by Hemingway in one story: "Ten years from now it will probably be the Dome."

Take me back.

 Aside from stalking cafes, I also visited the Shakespeare and Co. Bookstore, which is honestly a must visit in Paris if you love books (which you should). The books inside are super expensive but It's honestly more of an experiential thing. It's basically everything you could possibly want a bookstore to be, a safe haven for people who just want to curl up with literature forever and ever. It's two stories, the bottom being the shop and the top split into two reading rooms, one for fiction and one for non-fiction. You can just pick a book off the wall.

Cat included.

Also, next door they have a separate store just for really early publications of famous novels. It's like going into a museum where you can buy stuff if you have that kind of money. They have a first edition of Slaughterhouse Five. I got kind of emotional over it.

Me and the main squeeze.

In fact, I got kind of emotional over all of these experiences. I may or may not have teared up going to my first Hemingway cafe. It's just so surreal to walk the same pavement they did, or experience the same businesses they did. It helps to realize that they too were people and that people, maybe even someone like me, could do the same in their own way.

Oops. I think my English major is showing. But are you even surprised?

xoxo

lauren

Illuminating the City of Light: Reflections on Paris

I think it's funny, the way people place Paris in their heads, how it means so much to them and more often than not they don't really know why that is. I know when I told my sister that part of my spring break would be in Paris, she drooled over it. In the weeks leading up to our trip, our conversations were speckled with her making very clear to me how she was upset that I was going to Paris and that she was not. And I kept telling her that she would be going to Rome soon enough. But she always told me the same thing: that she knew but it wasn't the same. And I suppose I'm guilty of it too. I saw Paris as my pilgrimage. If Hemingway and Fitzgerald had found such a love affair with the city, well, then there had to be something special about it. Not just special, but magical. I would walk out onto the street and it would transform me. I would be an artist, a fashion model, the star of some classic romance.

This makes me French, right?

Paris is tricky. I'm going to be honest. It's like she knows just how amazing she is so she doesn't think she has to try to impress you. You have to come to her. You have to work for it. In fact, it's like she wants to see you squirm, see that maybe she wasn't what you thought she'd be, see you fight with the fact that you're still infatuated despite all of that.

I think it's easy to hate on Rome. No one knows how to drive or how to walk or how to be on time. It's like no one wants to talk about how Paris isn't perfect. Well, I'm going to just put it out there. She is actually anything but perfect. Paris was taken off of her pedestal for me. However, it gave me the opportunity to fall in love with her for who she truly is. Not what people want her to be.

She's a beaut.

So let me tell you about why I love Paris. Because I love her in despite of and for all of her faults. 

Paris is honestly the most beautiful city I have been to in my life. Leave it to the French to have the most visually appealing city ever. Everything is symmetrical. Trees and bushes are cut at straight edges. There are flourishes and statues everywhere. And I mean the Eiffel Tower. It literally sparkles. 

Another thing about Paris that was really impactful for me was just the sheer amount of art there. Even the air is steeped with it. It probably relates to the fact that it's an incredibly beautiful city. But it's more than the Louvre or lines of trees. It's the murals commissioned on the walls of metro stations. It's the performers on every corner. It's the way people dress. It's the painters and caricaturists on the side of the Seine. It's literally everywhere. It envelopes you. I had a conversation with a rather nice French man in a McDonald's and what he told me when I commented on it surprised me. He said, "We don't even notice it. Only the people who leave and come back appreciate it." 

The sheer amount of history there is also incredible. For me, it was particularly special being able to walk in the footsteps of my heroes-- although I couldn't afford to drink at the same places. God knows I tried. 

So I guess what I'm trying to say with this post is that Paris wasn't what I thought it would be. But, not in a bad way. Just in a realistic way. And I think a lot of people find that they feel the same. You just have to love her for what she is. And now I do. 

xoxo

lauren

Look At What I Ate: Paris

Just as a beginning blurb: I don't know if it's just because we specifically sought out really good restaurants and did our research but, I had some truly spectacular meals in Paris. I can't betray the food of my beloved Italy, but she does have some close competition now.

Let's Talk About Crepes

So. Many. Crepes. Crepes everywhere. But, it's not in the bad way. It's in the wonderful-makes-me-the-happiest-twenty-something-tourist-slash-dessert-addict-in-Paris type of way. The first day we actually had crepes for two out of our three meals that day. No regrets.

Where the magic happens.

Right before my first crepe. Look at the excitement.

Baby, shape doesn't matter.

Break the Fast

Cafe Richard-- Montmartre 
We found this place near where our flat was. It wasn't anything spectacular but, it was definite proof that we had no idea what we were ordering. We thought we were getting toast, some coffee and bacon. Nope. Didn't even have to eat lunch that day.

 Le Petit Pont

Right by the Saint Michael metro stop and the Siene (and the Shakespeare and Co. Bookstore). It's a fun little place and they had a pianist and some super fun drinks on the menu when we were there.

 Cafe de l'Industrie

A fun, super cheap place that's a little out of the way but totally worth it. It's been around for basically forever (like many restaurants in Paris). But, it's geared towards working class people and always has. Their menu reflects that: nothing fancy, but everything good.

Special note for, I kid you not, the best hot chocolate I've ever had in my entire life.

Money? Nah, Show Me the Desserts

Best Eclair I've ever had: Le Moulin de la Vierge

 Lunch on Rue Cler

Rue Cler is basically a foodie's paradise. If you're in Paris and you love your ingredients, I highly recommend. The shop is lined with specialty food sellers. Stephanie and I walked around and bought a every piece of our meal from a different shop. The cheese man was so nice. We told him that we were making lunch out of bread fruit and cheese, and he didn't even hesitate before saying that he knew just the cheese to give us. And the cheese was amazing. But are you even surprised?

Au Pied de Fouet

No pictures for this one but, I had to mention it. Au Pied de Fouet is the definition of a hidden treasure. It's a little closet of the restaurant. You share tables with people you don't know. The staff is super friendly and doesn't speak much English. It was also one of the best meals I've ever had in my life. Nothing was overly fancy but, everything was so perfectly cooked and paired. We also had three courses for under 20 euro a person. Where does that happen? Nowhere I know but here. This is an absolute must try.