the big drop

Well today I ended my trip with the most extravagant thing I could think of - skydiving over the Swiss Alps!  I am currently in Lauterbrunnen, the most beautiful town in all of the Swiss Alps, home to the highest point in Europe and some of the most breathtaking scenery that this good earth has to offer.  I decided to celebrate a wonderful, soul-searching, fun, challenging, inspirational trip by jumping out of an airplane from 11,000 feet in the air.

The first question everyone asks is, "Were you scared?" and the answer is a solid, resounding, "No!"  I kept waiting to get scared, because everyone acted like I should be.  But I was only excited.  The peace I found in Nice is still with me, and everything has just seemed magical lately.  Skydiving felt like the most natural, safe, thing to do.  As we ascended for 15 minutes, gliding over the jagged peaks and green valleys of the Alps, some of my fellow jumpers started getting scared, but I was just smiling.  I felt so connected to everything and so grateful to be up this high, about to plummet with nothing but a thin piece of nylon between me and death.  (Ok, that was a little dramatic, but this is a pretty dramatic activity, you have to grant me some license.)

When they opened the door, the air came rushing in and you could no longer hear anything.  My tandem jumper and I were the last of the 4 partners to go.  There was a split second as I looked down out of the plane, noticing my feet dangling, that I started to think "What am I about to do. . ." but then he jumped, and my stomach flew up through my body and out of my mouth.  We didn't just jump either, we did a backflip from the plane!  I screamed and screamed and screamed with joy for the entire 45 second freefall, which felt like at least a year.  I couldn't feel my arms or legs, my ears were completely blocked, and my mouth was so dry from all the screaming and the air flying in and down my throat.  Then, he opened the chute and we smoothly righted ourselves.  We could hear each other now, and I was allowed to take my camera out from under my jumpsuit and start to snap photos.  (It was secured around my neck, too.)  I just shot photos without stopping in every direction.  My guide asked me if I was ok, and I yelled, "I feel so alive!"  He laughed.  I think he got a kick out of me because I wasn't trying to hide my excitement at all.  He asked me if I wanted to do some tricks, and I said "Yes!  Do everything you can!  Give me the full treatment, like you would with an experienced jumper!"  So he flipped and twisted us in every which way, sending my insides flying again.  I kept begging him not to land, to let me fly longer, but he laughed and said, "There's nothing I can do to stop gravity!"  

The second my feet touched the ground, I wanted to go up again.  But I stopped myself from indulging that desire, because I didn't want to make the experience seem less than perfect in and of itself.  I don't need to go again for it to be wonderful.  I had those few moments, and they were exactly as they should have been, and I was present and aware and exhilirated for every one of them.  When they took off my harness and chute, I gave Dave (my guide) a big hug and did a running cartwheel in the landing field.  All the other guides were laughing at me.  I haven't been able to stop smiling all day.

Nice

Something really important is happening in Nice. In me. Everything I have been learning on this trip is coming to a head. It has been building up, rising inside me like a powerful tide, but it hasn't had a shore to spill out on until now. I would say that I feel like it's coming out, but that's not really accurate, because it's also coming in. It's as though I have been opened up from every angle, and am experiencing life transparently. As though life is happening right through me. I feel it all around me. There is no entrance point and no exit point. There is no "it" and "me," only life in its entirety, existing all at once, in me and outside of me and all through me. I observe it. I let it all soak in, then spill out, then soak in again. I am like my own tide.

Let me pause for a minute to tell you about J.J., the guy in the photo above. Now before you start making things up in your head, just stop. This is not a romance story. This is a story of freedom and inspiration, and so much more than silly travel romance. J.J. is a philosophy student from Toronto. A few weeks ago, he had his passport stolen on the way to Greece. When he tried to dock, the Greek police arrested him, assuming he was an illegal Nigerian immigrant, despite his repeated explanations of his nationality and situation. (They didn't even ask his 3 white travel partners for their passports.) He was thrown into a jail for illegal immigrants. This jail was one long hallway, with about 40 guys in it. There was one light at the end, and a hole where everyone went to the bathroom at the other end. There was no ventilation, no windows, no rooms. The air was full of smoke. The walls were covered in blood and semen. Rats and cockroaches scurried across the concrete at his feet. He was held for 3 days with no explanation, no phone calls, and no rights. He saw people get beat up - badly. He didn't know if he would ever make it out alive. But you should see this guy - he is the happiest person I HAVE EVER MET. EVER. I have learned so much from him, but this is the main lesson he's taught me: If you are going to say yes to any part of life, you have to say yes to all of it. You have to affirm your entire life for exactly what it is. You can't say "whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger," because that's assuming that the only purpose for difficulties is to make you stronger. He says you can't love the rain just because it makes rainbows. You have to love the rain for being rain. You have to say "yes," to it all, and love it for exactly what it is, a part of the human experience.

Now back to my story. Most of you know that I have always been afraid of sharks. Really, really, nonsensibly afraid. I was afraid of them in aquariums. I was afraid of them in swimming pools. I have had recurring nightmares about sharks since I was a child. I cannot go in the ocean. The counselor I saw in college thought it had something to do with my feeling of control and safety. I have always had a "slight" control problem (tee hee). The feeling of being in the middle of the ocean at the shark's mercy, in their territory, is the most out of control feeling I can think of. Well, a few nights ago in Rome, I had a different kind of dream about sharks. I dreamt that I was looking for an apartment. I went to see this place that was on a pier jutting into an ocean. I loved it. As the realtor was showing me around, she said "lots of people like to swim from here." But then I saw sharks in the water around my place. She saw me looking at them and said, "Well, yes there are some sharks here. That keeps some people from swimming." I thought about it for a moment, then said in full voice, "No, I think I can handle it. I'll take it." Then I woke up. That is the first dream I have had about sharks that was not a nightmare. Ever.

Today I went to the beach in Nice. Like I said, I don't do well with oceans. Every time I've tried to swim in them, I freeze up. I get so paranoid about what might be around me or under me or coming towards me that I have a near panic attack. Today, I dove right into the water - and topless at that. (Everyone else was too, and it just added to the feeling of freedom.) I didn't even have to tell myself to do it, I just wanted to. I swam very far out without an ounce of fear. I floated on my back with my eyes closed, feeling the warmth of the sun on my bare chest, hearing the sounds of the waves in my ears under the water. As the water moved me up and down with each passing wave, any remnants of fear ebbed out of me. I felt connected to the entire universe. But I did not feel afraid. At all.

So today, I said "yes" to life. All of it.

Oh, and I haven't had a cigarette in 2 days.

Chianti (without fava beans and liver)

I haven't blogged in awhile, which can only mean one thing, I've been too busy having a great time. I've just had what I have officially deemed the "best day" of my trip - that slippery, elusive phrase that all travellers want to say aloud but don't. Why? Fear of ruining the moment or eventually being topped and then sounding dramatic and superfluous I guess. But I've ruined my chances of being too dramatic a long time ago, so, yes, this was the official best day of my trip.

I met some wonderful people in Florence. No young, partying Aussies. No spoiled rich kids. No obnoxious philistines. First, there's J.J., the philosphy student from Toronto who spent 3 days in an inhumane Greek jail after having his passport stolen. He is in love with life and has brought a fresh light back into my trip. There's Brett, the kind, genuine lawyer from Sydney with a listening ear and a great sense of direction. Then Heather, the socialogist/criminologist from Winnipeg with an independent spirit and a deep sense of loyalty and friendship. And Amy, the wide-eyed first-time traveller from a small village in the north of England, with a sweet spirit and a contagious laugh.

The first day, we walked the city of Florence and checked out the museums. We oohed and ahhed over Michaelangelo's David, Boticelli's Birth of Venus, and lots of other moving Renaissance art. We frolicked through the cobblestoned streets, gazed longingly at the picaresque bridges and churches, ate lots of gelatto, and visited the home of Fydor Dostoevski. All this was punctuated with some of the best conversation I've had on this trip. These people are really seeking to experience life. They want adventure and meaning, and I felt so grateful to finally be around some kindred spirits.

So yesterday, we set out on our great adventure. We rented a car (an absolutely adorable, pale yellow, stick shift, Fiat) and drove into the Chianti wine region surrounding Florence. We had no idea where to go or what we would see, but we knew that our company would be enough. I volunteered to be the driver, since you all know how much I love to drive. My city girl came out in full force as I swerved and swore just like a real live Italian, narrowly missing bikers and yelling at busses like I wasn't one eightieth their size. We drove up through the most breathtaking hills, covered in endless rows of grape vines and fields of sunflowers in full bloom. We stumbled upon this tiny winery tucked into one of the hills, and drove in to check it out. The owner came in from the field to give us a free wine tasting, where he poured several liberal tastes of their best wines. He loved having visitors, and chatted away with us about everything "under the tuscan sun" (it had to be said somewhere - come on). Then we bought a couple bottles, ordered some antipasti from their restaurant, and sat on their balcony, which overlooked their wine fields, stretching in every direction. Finally, we made our way back, while singing to a mix of bad American pop songs, Italian opera, and whatever else we could find on the radio. We returned the car, and went out to see Batman at the local English cinema. The evening ended with some more wine and great conversation back at the hostel.

My night with the Romans

So my night with my Roman friends from Camper was beautiful and so Italian in every way. Mirko asked me to meet him at the store at 9:30 so we could get some dinner and drinks. Now, I grew up eating dinner at 4pm when my dad got home from his very early shift at work. When I moved to DC, I had to adjust to the city dinner time of around 7pm. But in Italy, it's bascially a crime to consider eating dinner before 9pm. So, knowing myself, I got a gelatto at 8:00 to hold me over. They were ready to go by about 10pm, at which point we walked around and talked, sort of aimlessly discussing where we might eat, among other introductory things. Then one of the guys' mates called and said he would drive us to the place we would eat. So my new friends Mirko, Linda, Angelo, and Gian Paulo and I started driving through Rome at night. This in itself was a spectacular sight. I don't think I would ever adjust to living in a city full of buildings that have been around since before the New Testament. My eyes were just popping out of my head. Then Mirko said, "We are going to eat at a place under the Colosseum, is that ok?" Um, yeah. That's ok.

So by the time we got to the restaurant, waited for a table (eating out is like an all-night marathon for Italians - the evening has just begun when the meal is over), it was almost 11:30. I had the full treatment: fried balls of cheese, olives, and tuna; zucchini blossoms stuffed with cheese and anchovies; a pizza topped with mozzerella, fresh tomatoes, and arugula; tiramisu, white wine, and limoncello (a lemon after-dinner liquor that is popular here). The four Italians I was with talked feverishly with their mouths and hands the whole night. Mirko or Linda would occasinally translate for me, but it didn't even matter if I could understand. I was in heaven. I just drank in their words like they were the water of life. When there was no English, I just sat there listening, smiling stupidly. They discussed their corrupt mafia leader. They argued over which brand of pasta is the best (no kidding, Italians really talk about that). They spoke every sentence as though was the last one they would ever say, punctuating every point with a wild gesture or a belly laugh. We closed out the restaurant, at at the end of the night, Mirko paid for my entire meal.

On the way home in my cab, I just stared out the window at all the lights and beautiful, dirty, raw energy that is Rome and my whole body smiled. I am so, so lucky to be here.

I'm officially back!

Ok, I know I've been posting on here a lot lately, but when I'm doing the solitude thing I have to tell someone what I do with my days or I'll explode! This blog is like free therapy for me. So grin and bear it.

Anyway, I had a day alone like I promised myself. It was awesome!! I started by laying out at the pool for 2 hours, listening to my ipod and getting a nice tan. I didn't seem to get tan anywhere else I went. It's almost like my skin recognizes it's ethnic home in Italy and wants to help me blend in. Whatever, I'll take it. Then, I had a plate of spaghetti (the sauce wasn't even chunky, mom) and an entire bottle of wine for lunch. I hear those clicking tongues - don't judge me, it was a small(ish) bottle and it was only 4 euros.

Then, into the city. I rocked the sketchy public transportation like an allstar. No pickpockets for me. I had my ipod in and walked with confidence, pushing past everyone just like a the little Italian old ladies do here. Then I walked. And walked. And walked. I walked the diameter of the entire city today, which is no small feat. I planned my streets strategically to hit the shopping districts. I bought so much stuff!! I know, I know, budget blah blah blah. But I needed some new duds to lift my spirits and make me feel a little less feral. So I bought 2 dresses, 4 pairs of underwear, 2 tank tops, 1 sweater, 1 bath scrubby (mine unravelled a few days ago and I just can't be bothered to use only my hands), a few awesome souveniers for people back home, and the creme de la creme of the day. . . (drumroll) 2 pairs of shoes!

Why so excited about shoes? you ask. Well, I'll tell you friends. After buying all of the above-mentioned items, I spotted a Camper store. Now, Camper is one of my favorite shoe brands ever, but they are kind of pricey and we don't have many stores in the U.S., so I have bought them online in the past, but they're even more expensive that way. I knew I shouldn't go in because I had already bought all that other stuff, but somehow gravity just pulled me there. It was beyond my control. I instantly spotted at least 23 pairs of shoes that were obviously made just for me. I thought, what's the harm in just trying a few on? I'm tired anyway, it would be nice to sit for a minute. I started trying shoes on and chatting with the sales guy. He loved my tattoo. We bonded instantly. After trying on about 10 pairs (I was too embarrassed to try any more than that), my sales guy friend said, "I give you a deal. I want to give you the family and friends sale. I not allowed to give sale on only one pair, but if you buy two pairs, I give you half off each, so you get two pairs for only one price." Whoa. Back up the train. I rubbed my eyes in disbelief and heard that squeaky squeaky sound that makes when they do it in the cartoons. "What?" I said. Maybe I heard him wrong. "You would do that for me?" He said, "Well it's only for family and friends, but I like you. So now it's for family and friends and people I like." The clouds over my dreary stay in Rome opened up, and a light of mercy shone down on this poor American girl. (And he's gay, so I knew he didn't have any ulterior motives for giving me this bargain.) I narrowed it down to 2 pairs and bought them. Then, I did the scary, ballsy thing and asked him if he wanted to get a drink when he was done with work. He couldn't tonight, but was so excited that I asked. We have plans to go out tomorrow night with some of his friends that also work at Camper. He said he would show me the real Rome. Finally! I met a local!

After my glorious time in Camper, I had renewed energy. So I decided to keep walking to the other side of the city, even though there was a metro stop right outside the store. I walked all the way to the Vatican. I hadn't seen that yet in this trip, so I figured I should at least walk into St. Peter's square and get a picture of the darn thing. Plus, I think my grandmother might disown me if she heard I was in Rome and didn't at least walk by the Vatican. I walked into the square, did a 180, and said peace out to ol' popey.

Now I am at the end of my long, long day. All I have left to do is get a pizza to go from the brick-oven pizzeria at my campground, take it back to my room, and eat it while I gaze at all my new purchases from the day. I think the sun has come out again for me.

Aussies - once and for all

Ok, I've been doing a lot of thinking about why the Aussies bother me. They shouldn't. Some of the best friends I've met on this trip are Aussies. I can't really despite the entire race based on a few dozen drunken, rich, college-aged ones, right? But why do they continue to get under my skin?

Well, I think it's because they're all doing what I'm doing (travelling through Europe), but they're doing it so young. 9 out of every 10 Aussies I meet has this story: "Hey mate, I just graduated Uni and decided to take a year off to travel the world before I move to London to get a job. Oh, and my budget is 100 euros a day, not including accomodation." My usual response: WTF?? First of all, how can you afford to travel just after graduating college? You haven't even had a real job yet! Second of all, how in the world can you afford to travel for a whole year? Third of all, how do you have a budget twice the size of mine, even though I'm only travelling for 6 weeks?

I guess the root of it is that I'm bitter. When I graduated college, my dad handed me a very fat envelope. I assumed what was in it would be a card and a nice, thick stack of cash. But I opened it to find my student loan bills, my car loan information, and some pamphlets about finding my own health insurance! Haha, yes, it was joke, but still, I was on my own. All I have since graduating is a mediocre-paying job and a student loan that won't be paid off until I'm 43 - just about the time I'll have to take out more loans to put my hypothetical children through college. The only way I could even afford to make this trip happen is because I got in a car accident in December and combined that money with my tax return and economic stimulus package. Even then, sometimes I have to just eat gelatto for lunch (not that I'm complaining).

There is something about the way that so many of the Aussies can just pick up and travel the world with what seems like not much forethought or worry that just drives me absolutely bonkers. Don't they know that this trip is huge for me? Don't they know that most of my friends have never done something like this, and none of my family has ever even been to Europe? Don't they recognize how courageous and independent I am to take this big step into the unknown for a whole six weeks? Don't they want to just buy me drinks and ask me questions about life because I am so wise and brave??

When I tell people I've been married, their eyes widen into saucers before they can restrain their gut reaction and try to act nonchalant. It's like they've never met anyone who was married. Like it's a rare disease and they want to put me under glass and inspect me for further study. Wow, what could possibly make someone get married before the age of 30? And you looked so normal. . .

Needless to say, I'm going to have to stop looking to the people I meet on this trip to pat me on the back for my unprecedented courage and valor. The fact is that lots of people travel Europe at all ages, for all reasons, and with all sorts of budgets. That doesn't make my experience any less valid. But I'm also going to have to stop expecting to have long, philosophical conversations with fascinating locals who have never met an American before. I'm not travelling in some remote village to go see a medicine man or something. I'm in huge, European cities where there are often more tourists than locals, and the opinions of Americans are. . . well, less than great. I usually have to spend some time as soon as I meet someone debunking the myth that all Americans are ignorant religious fanatics who care only about waging war and consuming all the world's resources. Because, that's not true, right? Right? RIGHT?

This is me putting on my big girl pants

Alright, I'm doing my best here, people. Yesterday, after my ranting post on here, I put on my bathing suit and went down to start drowning my sorrows at the pool bar. As I sat there in the sun, I thought to myself, you're sitting at a pool on a hill drinking beer with the sun beating down on you - IN ROME, ITALY! Cut the crap. Things could be worse.

I read a few chapters in the Bhagvahad Gita (an ancient yoga/Hindu text I've been working my way through) and had some time to meditate. I was reminded that the root of all unsatisfaction is desire. Our nature is to always desire something else; something other than what we are and what we have. When I was at home, all I could think about was leaving for Europe. Now that I'm here, all I can think about is going home. What is it that keeps us from simply living in the present; from appreciating what we have? Desire itself is not "evil," of course. I read in the B.G. something about how the wise man absorbs all desires the way that the ocean absorbs all the water. I know it was written much more beautifully than that, but the point is that I need to absorb this desire, not allow it to dominate me. It's ok for me to miss home. It's ok for me to desire a healthy ankle, or a hug from a good friend who knows me, or a chipotle burrito (it's killing me, friends, just killing me). But I need to just sit with those desires. Absorb them. Let them become part of me without letting them jerk my attention and contentment in every different direction. I mean, the main reason I came on this journey was to learn how to know myself, right? I wanted to learn how to be alone; how to be my own best friend; how to appreciate the beauty of solitude; how to celebrate independence. Yes, part of that is frolicking through the streets of Paris writing poetry, and part of it is laughing over beers with some new friends. But part of it is also feeling sad and lonely and empty inside. Those feelings are also a valid part of the human experience. How will I really grow from this trip if I all do is laugh and frolic and drink beer? Even though it's much more difficult, I am trying to accept all of the emotions in the spectrum with open arms, and allow them to teach me.

That said, it certainly helped that I got a new roomie last night and she's pretty cool. She's travelling alone too and was looking for a friend to hang out with while here. Last night, we did our laundry together, got a pizza, and hung out at the bar for awhile. Then we talked in bed for like an hour before going to sleep, just like middle-schoolers at a sleepover. Today, we did a walking tour of the city together, which was fantastic. I finally got my ass into Rome and saw the stuff you're supposed to see. The forum, the pantheon, the colosseum, the trevi fountain, Mussolini's balcony, etc. The tour guide was this total history nerd from America. He was really funny and cool, and made all the ruins come to life before our eyes.

There is still a very big part of me that would like to be home, but I am also starting to accept that I will still be in Europe for 2 more weeks, and that's not that bad. I just have to ease into the walking thing, and spend time icing the ankle every day. It's really not a big deal. I changed my itinerary yet again to spend more time with my new roomie. We'll be together through the rest of Rome, Florence, and La Spezia. But just for good measure, I told her that I'd like to spend tomorrow alone. I want to make sure that I don't cover up all these important emotions and fears with surface conversation with strangers right away. I'm making myself sit with them a bit more. So I think I will go to the big park in Rome tomorrow, and maybe the modern art museum. Art always makes me nice and introspective.

So take a good look at me, because this is what I look like wearing big girl pants.

(The photos above are me at the Pantheon, me eating my staple food here - gelatto, and me in front of the colosseum.)

BLEHHH!

Well I've had my third piss-ass crap day in a row. I went on a pub crawl last night in Rome, hoping to meet some people, since all my friends are gone. Everyone was - you guessed it - 20 years old, Australian, and just out to "get wasted mate." This whole trip I have been surrounded by the kind of people I worked very, very hard to avoid all through college. I like to think that one of the wonderful things about getting older is that you start to find people whom you can groove with. People who nourish your spirit and ride your kind of waves, know what I mean? I was very lucky to meet the four friends I have been travelling with, but I think I am out of friend karma at this point. I have been thrown back into this hell of frat parties and spilled beer - and I'm just talking about at the hostel, let alone the bars.

Anyway, I woke up with quite a throbbing ankle since I stupidly walked on it all night last night without my crutches (didn't want them to get in the way of meeting people). I decided that it was time to go home. I told myself, Melanie, you've had four good weeks of independent travel. Enough is enough. Go home. So I got my hopes up as I waited anxiously for the office I needed to call to change my flight to open.

Finally, after missing my walking tour through Rome and doing nothing but hanging around the hostel all day, I could call. With visions of comfortable beds, clothes neatly folded in dressers, Amercian dollars, and all my friends and family dancing in my head, I called to find out that I cannot change my flight. I begged. I pleaded. I cried. Nothing. People that work at airlines have hearts of steel, my friends. My only option would be to purchase a brand new one way ticket which is obviously out of the question.

So I did the only thing that a girl in my sort of predicament can do - I hobbled back to my room, scratched every mosquito and bed bug bite on my body vigorously and without shame for a full 5 minutes until most of them started to bleed, and then cried until I fell asleep.

Now I am awake and trying to see the bright side of things. I am in Europe. I am in Italy. They have lots of cool stuff here. Yippee. I would go into the city now to try and take my mind off of things, but there are several reasons why I can't. First, my hostel is 40 minutes outside the city and the public transportation stops at 6pm (it's 5:30 now), so I would have to take a taxi back which would cost at least 15 euros. Second, my ankle has just now stopped throbbing, and if I want to do this walking tour to the colosseum, parthenon, and all that tomorrow, I shouldn't walk on it any more today. Third, I don't feel like it.

So I will now book the accomodation for the rest of my trip and, as my friend Melanie would say, "put on my big girl pants." This will most likely come in the form of getting rather inebriated tonight. All alone. That's not pathetic or anything.

Hopefully I will have a less pissy blog entry for you soon. Right now you are just getting brutal honesty. Take it for what it's worth folks.

pity party

Dearest friends, family, co-workers, and acquaintances,

I would like to cordially invite all of you to my pity party this evening. I am throwing it in honor of all the stupid, stupid stuff that is wrong with my body right now. Yesterday, I wrote about twisting my ankle. Well, the feeling of glorious independence has quickly worn off. It only took one time trying to get in and out of the bus today to suck all the fun out of it. Everyone just stares at me. At each rest stop on my trip from Munich to Venice, people say things to me in Italian with a facial expression somewhere between patronizing pity and mild annoyance. No one from my bus offered to carry my tray at McDonalds. Finally, after watching me struggle to hold each side of the tray with a finger I had lifted off of my crutch, coke spilling everywhere, a random German woman walked me to my table. (God bless the Germans. They get a bad rep.) Then, no one from my bus offered to help me carry my backpack to my room. They all just walked away and let it sit there on the gravel. I couldn't even get it on my back. I just stared at it, trying to think of how to solve this conundrum, until another random person staying at the hostel offerred to hold it up for me while I put the straps on my back. Not to carry it for me, mind you, but to put it on my back. After I hoisted the thing on, adding 30 pounds to the weight I am already putting on my ankle, I hung my shoulder bag around my neck and began the long trek to my tiny hostel room.

This brings me to the update on my bedbugs. I don't have any new bites, but the 70,632 I already have still itch as much as day one, and I have run out of medicine (despite the Viennese pharmacist's insistance that I would have enough - she obviously couldn't see the disaster that was hiding under my clothes). For added fun, I allowed myself a few spectacualr moments of uninhibited scratching last night before the ankle debaucle. Unfortunately, the place I chose to receive this blissful scratching heaven was on my right ankle. So after scratching open all the bites on my right ankle, I twisted it and had a bandage wrapped around it. Today, all the bites have been oozing pus and nastiness, which has dried onto the bandage. When I removed the bandage to shower this evening, I removed several layers of skin along with it. And I'm not even going to go into the joys of showering in a shower the size of a refrigerator box with a hand-held shower head while standing on one foot.

Glorious independence is overrated.

I hope you've enjoyed attending my pity party. Sorry there was no cake.

oops I did it again

I was only in Munich for one night last night, so I figured I would experience two of the most important things about Germany: the Hofbrau House and a German emergency room. Remember when I twisted my ankle dancing in Berlin? Well I kept ignornig nagging the little voice inside that said "gee, that still kinds hurts." So last night, on the way home from a fantastically fun evening at the famous Hofbrau House (Dad, I thought of you the whole time), I tried to leapfrog a post in the road, fell, and twisted that same darn ankle again. But this time, I couldn´t walk on it anymore. My friends carried me home, despite my protests of "No really, I´m fine. I can walk - jesus*!?%&$ christ! Ok, maybe I can´t walk." But I didn´t realize that it was bad enough to go to the E.R. until after everyone had left me. So all alone, I rode in an ambulance to the hospital, and all alone I waited. It was kind of fun actually, aside from the burning pain emanating from my rapidly-expanding right ankle.

So here´s the skinny:
The x-rays showed that nothing is broken. However, the space between my tibula and fibula is too wide. This could mean one of two things. Either the ligaments that join these two bones are simply sprained, in which case I will need to use these crutches and take some pain pills for about a week until it heals itself, or the ligament is ruptured, in which case I will need surgery to repair it. The doc couldn´t tell if it was ruptured without doing an MRI, which costs 3000 euros. So he said to walk with the crutches for another week or two, and if it still hurts when I get back to the states, I have to get an MRI to see about this whole ruptured thing. Super. So it´s either a minor annoyance or surgery.

I must take a moment to congratulate myself for how well I´m handling this, though. I hurled myself up to my top bunk when I returned from my trip to the E.R. at 4am last night. I strapped myself to my giant backpack and carried it downstairs myself this morning. I´m no longer travelling with any of the friends I´ve met, so am flying solo with this crazy injury. I feel very independent and I like it. We´ll see if I still feel this way after trying to walk the streets of Venice like this tonight. . . stay tuned.

Superlatives

For my day´s outing in Salzburg, I went on an adventure to the largest ice caves in the world, by way of the steepest cable car in Europe, deep in the Alps, some of the tallest mountains anywhere. It was a day of superlatives for sure.

I started out on a 50 minute bus ride through the breathtaking Alps. I know we´ve all seen them on postcards and on the Ricola package, but there´s just no describing the feeling of being at the mercy of these massive monsters as they reach up into the clouds, reminding you what a mighty thing the earth really is. When we got to the base of the part of the mountain we would be ascending to, our bus took a very, very windy road that was a way too steep to be safe for a bus. I saw my life flash before my eyes as we drove . . . my first day of preschool, mom crying as she dropped me off, fast forward to my first day of college, my wedding day . . . ok, I wasn´t going to die. Cut the drama, Melanie.

Finally, when the bus could push the limits of physics no further, we got out and walked about 20 minutes up - what else - a very, very steep, windy path. This took us to the little hut where we would catch the Austrian death trap - otherwise known as the cable car. I swear this thing went straight up at a 90 degree angle. At the top, after narrowly escaping death once again, we were faced with yet another 20 minute walk up a steep, windy path. (Are you noticing a pattern?) At last, thanking all manners of gods and goddesses for allowing me to keep my young life, we reached the entrance to the ice caves. I took out the piles of clothes from my bag and started preparing for the freezing temperatures. I hadn´t packed for this sort of activity, so I looked rather silly with a tank top, t-shirt, long sleeve shirt, hoodie, summer scarf, 2 pairs of socks (mismatched), and my birkenstock sandals. When they opened the door of the cave, the cold air came blasting out at what they said was 17 kilometers an hour. You literally had to hold on to something so it wouldn´t knock you over.

Then we entered these white, silent marvels. The entire cave is apparently 20 kilometers long, but we only saw the first kilometer, the only part remotely safe enough for visitors (a judgement I questioned several times as I slipped and slided my way past steep sheets of ice). The cave is not lit at all - AT ALL - except for a few lamps they pass out to some visitors to carry for the rest of the group. Every now and then, the guide would stop and illuminate some ice sculptures with manesium, which gave them a greenish, aurora-borealis sort of tint. After about an hour´s walk through an arctic wonderland inside one of the tallest peaks of the Austrain Alps, we descended again, walking right through a glacier! (The photo up top that looks like we´re walking through a cave wall of rock is the glacier. It´s actually solid ice. The lines you see tell how many years old the glacier is, sort of like tree rings.)

When leaving the cave, you get pushed out with the same forceful, frigid wind that nearly knocked you over when you came in. But this time it comes from behind, so it feels like someone gives you a swift kick to the rear end as a formal aufwiedersen as you bounce out of the door. Then the descent down the mountain, taking all the same steps we took to get up, but this time we stopped for a beer and a snack at the cable car shack. The other photo above is a beautiful castle we saw on the drive back down.

So I didn´t see many of the Sound of Music sites while in Salzburg, but I had quite a satisfying day!

Chillin´with Mozart

I understand why so much beautiful music was made in Salzburg. This place exudes culture and class, but not snobbery. I went to see a violin/piano concert tonight held at the Mozart University. Just like at the Opera in Berlin, I started out feeling very out of place and underdressed - like a lost, dirty hippie backpacker who accidentally wandered in to a classical concert thinking it was some sort of outdoor folk music festival. Of course my self-consciousness was heightened by the fact that every place of exposed skin on me looks like a road map of red dots. Buying the ticket, I felt like I should apologize. "I´m sorry I´m wearing green camo pants and birks. I´m sorry I have a giant tattoo of a tree on my back. I´m sorry I´m covered in inflamed red spots, but don´t worry, they´re not contagious." Of course I didn´t say those things, and I´m sure no one was thinking them either. We are always our own worst critics, right? Well, they might have been a little afraid of all the spots. . .

But once the music began, my fears slipped right through the frayed bottom of my dirty camo pants and out of my itchy body. Let me explain the setting. The concert hall is located in the famous Mozart Conservatory, which flanks the Mirabella Gardens (well-known for the "do a deer a female deer" scene in The Sound of Music). This concert hall was on the second floor. The entire back wall behind the stage was windows, with a breathtaking view of the gardens, opening up to the Austrian Alps behind, complete with a view of the distant castle jutting into the horizon line. As the concert progressed over 2 hours, the sun set behind the music, filling the room with a warm, pink glow.

Now I know about as much about classical music as I know about Opera - which is about as much as I know about the chemical makeup of Neptune´s atmosphere. But I didn´t need to know a thing to know that what my ears were taking in were some of the most flawless sounds this earth has ever heard. What an amazing thing music is. These pieces of music exist only in the realm of sound. True, you can see the composition on a score sheet, but it doesn´t live until it is played. So unlike a book which is printed in multiple copies and circulated around bookstores and passed between friends for years, or a painting which is hung in a museum you have to travel to to view, a piece of music only exists in the exact moment it is being played. It is different every time it is performed. Each musician who takes it on infuses their own energies to the music and gives it a new feeling. I felt like I was watching history happen. But not the kind of history written in books or taught in schools. There would have been no point to taking photos of the concert. How would that help you all understand what it felt like to be there? I had to sit in the moment, taste it, feel it, let it become a part of me, and then let it go.

I think Salzburg is going to be a lovely break for my party-weary soul.

"Good night, sleep tight, don´t let the. . ."

How does that phrase end? ". . . beg bugs bite"? Yeah, well no one said that to me before I went to bed last night. I woke up feeling a little scratchy. In the shower, I was still a big groggy, and thought I noticed a few red spots on my legs, but shook them off as mosquito bites (even though I haven´t seen one mosquito since being in Europe). Then when I met my friends for breakfast, I said, "God, I have all these stupid mosquito bites." I pulled up my pant leg, and I was covered from hip to ankle with about 100 bites between both legs. Then they noticed that they were all up and down my arms and neck too. Hands, feet, ears - you name it. YUCK!! I told the girl at the desk. She was extremely apologetic. She moved my room immediately, paid for my anti-itch medicine, gave me money for laundry, and gave my friends and I all vouchers for free beers and free breakfasts. So after slathering myself with this gel, we went to breakfast. In a moment of self-pity, I decided to treat myself to a decadent breakfast of ice cream, fresh fruit, and melted dark chocolate to dip it all in. It hardly cancelled out all the embarrassing itching and spottage, but melted chocolate certainly can´t hurt.

Vienna

Second day in Vienna, Austria. The Lonely Planet guide refers to this city as a "multi-tiered wedding cake," and I think they´re not too far off. It doesn´t exactly have the powerful presence of Paris, but everything is beautiful and ornate in a similar way. It is also having a similar effect on me as Paris - which is to make me interested in things like operas and symphonies and Barocheness (totally not a word). I kind of just feel dirty drinking and being a loud backpacker in this city. I feel like I should walk around with my head high and my scarf flowing from my neck as I make insightful comments about architecture and Mozart.

So my first night here, we went for Schnitzel at this tiny little place around the corner from our hostel with a bunch of people from our bus. I reunited with my American girl friends for one night, but thankfully still have 2 more nights with my Aussie couple. So since it was the last night the 5 of us would be together on this trip, we just spent it together walking around, hanging out at the hostel bar, playing cards, being unnecessarily loud, taking stupid pictures, etc. Good times.

Today, my Aussie couple friends and I walked basically the whole city. We saw all the palaces and stuff. We saw the travelling King Tut exhibit. Well, they didn´t really want to, but I twisted their arm because I´m an Ancient Egypt nerd. It was ok, but there was no mummy! You pay 8 euros for something you expect a gol-dern mummy at the end! Sheesh. Anyway, after I got over my disappointment, we went to dinner at this traditional hole-in-the-wall Austrian food place. We got a wheelbarrow of food. I´m not kidding - it came in a small wheelbarrow right on the table. There was schnitzel, some kind of roast pork, noodles with ham, sausages, fries, a potatoey-cheesy thing. . . and I think that´s it. It was AWESOME. I plan to eat all of my food from a wheelbarrow from now on. Last but not least, tonight I went to see a performance at Vienna´s 25th annual International Dance Competition. It was a modern dance thing from South Africa. Pretty weird and awesome.

I think tomorrow we will see the Belvedere Art Museum and gardens, and maybe head out of town to a local winery village. Stay tuned.

lazy day

I had the laziest of possible lazy days today. I started out with good intentions. I rented a bike from my hostel and got a map of the local trails through the mountains. My intention was to ride all day, to an old monestary, to some castle ruins, you know - have a day of peace and solitude in the mountains. Find myself, all that. Well, here's the thing about today - it's friggin hot. And here's the thing about being in a "cute mountain town," you have to ride uphill to got anywhere. So after huffing and puffing for about 2 hours, I finally reached the old monestary, but by that time I didn't much care. Instead of spending a few crowns on a ticket to see the place, I bought a popsicle and turned around to go back. I put my ipod in, cruised down the mountain, and returned to my hostel where I promptly put on my bathing suit and trekked out to the closest place with water. I laid on a sheet near the river ALL DAY. I alternated between the highly stressful activities of reading, listening to music, and sleeping, with an occasional dip in the river sprinkled in just for fun. I did exert a bit of energy to cook dinner with some friends (pasta with tomato sauce, veggies, and ham) in the hostel kitchen. But now I'm just sittin' back with a vodka grapefruit juice and I intend to not move very much for the rest of the night - except maybe to get my dignity back in a ping-pong rematch. I know, my life is hard. Throw me your sympathy.

thoughts from my windowsill

All the labor pains of this year are finally resulting in what I think is a rebirth. I am giving birth to a new self. After all the aloneness, the fear, the nights of crying myself to sleep, the panic attacks, the desperate clinging to vices and self-destructive habits, something new and beautiful is growing. When I made certain very difficult decisions earlier this year, it was a moment of strength and independence. I made a statement. But I had no idea how much it would hurt. It was like the second I left marriage, the universe took over and said, "Thank you. Now sit back and get ready, because we've got some work to do." From that point on, it was beyond my control. When I realized what was happening, I tried to back out. I begged and pleaded, trying to explain to my Greater Self, which had taken over, that his was not what I had signed up for. I just wanted freedom and adventure. I never asked for lonliness, fear, and doubt. "I don't want to be alone anymore!" I'd scream. "I was just acting rashly when I said I wanted to grow! This is too hard! Please let me turn around! Here's my ticket, give me my money back!" But it was no use. I had opened up a pandora's box of pain, growth, and solitude. My Greater Self had me by the wrist with an iron grip, and was determined to drag me into this dark cave, kicking, screaming in protest, crying in desperation. I knew that I was growing, and that it was probably good, and that there might be a light at the end of the tunnel, but it just hurt so much. I feel like I've been in labor for 6 months, trying to push out something good from all this pain. But this, now, whatever I've been feeling - this is good. This feeling of knowing myself; liking myself. This actually craving solitude. I feel so lucky to be travelling. How can I get melancholy and become stuck in self-pity here? I am finally giving birth to a beautiful new self.

rafting

So I went rafting today. It was kind of a pub crawl, because the idea was that you stopped several times along the way to have a beer at several places along the river. It was fun. There were about 20 of us between 3 boats. The only problem was that I fell in. I was being a wonderful friend by offering to get in the river to get our boat off of a rock in some shallow water. The water was only up to my mid-calf, but then I slipped and fell in. We all had a good laugh, until I realized that my camera was in my pocket. It's currently drying out on my window sill, but it doesn't look good folks. So all of you around the world, send good vibes to my camera! Pray, meditate, think nice thoughts, send positive energy - whatever! Become religious for a day for the sake of my camera! I think the memory card will still be ok, but I might have to buy a new camera. Bollocks!

Cesky Krumlov

I have left the grand majesty of Prague for a little town in the countryside in the Czech Republic called Cesky Krumlov. I have been here a half a day, and it is hands down my favorite place so far. If you were staying in Cesky Krumlov, this is what you would find:

You would arrive in the little town of clustered shops, restaurants, houses, and hostels, all overshadowed by a fairy tale castle looming on the hill. You would walk, wide-eyed, through the cobblestoned streets, smelling pork, dumplings, and all kinds of baked sweets drifting out from open doors along the road.

You would get to your hostel, which is really more like a Mexican cabana house, and be told that while you are here, you can raft down the river, ride horses, rent a bike to explore the old monestaries and castle ruins in the hillside, oh, and use the free unlimited internet. The doors don't have locks. There is a large kitchen, an even larger porch, games of connect four, chess, and some other unidentifiable Czech board game that you make a mental note to try and figure out later. The owner is from Brazil, and he works here nearly alone. He points you to the restaurant, where you are served two of the most delicious meals you've had on your trip. Fresh vegetables, baguettes toasted with sun-dried tomatoes, melted brie, pesto, and bacon, I could go on and on.

At night, you might watch the sun set while drinking your half-dark, unpasturized beer on the porch. You might play ping-pong against a new friend. You might sit and discuss god and politics, or even just sex and farting (not at the same time). Then, you could wander to one of the local bars. You might find one that is in a cave under the mountain. It would be a steep descent down stone steps, where you would have to duck a bit, even if you were only 5'2". You would get your beer, take your place at the large, wooden tables resembling feasts for royalty. The place would smell musty and cool, like a basement. There will probably be at least 3 wild, drunk Czech people dancing madly to some rock/metal/pop that you can't understand.

The point is, this place is water to my thirsty, dry, travelling soul. I had no idea how fast I had been moving through busy cities until I came here and the universe said, "Sit down, Melanie." I am going to extend my stay for another 2 days. Will try to post some pictures later, after I've had more time to explore.

Hello Italy!!

I have very exciting news! After taking another took at my itinerary, I realized that I have enough time to add in several more cities, mostly in Italy! I had originally planned to take my time going through just Northern Europe, but I am finding that 3 days is really enough to get the feel of each place. So I bought this "Southern Loop" from the bus company I've been using. Now, after Munich, instead of just going back to Paris and flying home, I get to go to:

Venice, Rome, and Florence (Italy)
Nice (beach town in France)
Lauterbrunnen (small town at the base of the Swiss Alps)


Then I'll pick up a cheap flight from Geneva to Paris, and fly home from there. I'll have about 3 days in each city. Since I made this decision last night, I've been walking around singing "Ole Sole Mio" and "When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie. . . " in a very big, dramatic, Italian greaseball voice until my friends tell me to shut up. Which is usually right away. But you know me, I don't listen.

"OLE SOLE MIO. . . !"

Friends!!

This is the best city of my trip so far, and it's not because of Prague itself (although it is wonderful), but because I've finally made a really great, tight group of friends. I had the wonderful fortune of being put in a room with both my Aussie couple friends from Amsterdam and my American girl friends from Berlin! So the 5 of us have so much fun in our room, and spent the whole 3 days together. I changed my itinerary slightly so I can be with them in the next 3 cities. We're going to be travel buddies for awhile. Yippee!

Prague

Here are some photos from my day out in Prague. This really is like the Paris of Eastern Europe. I love it here! The people are chill, the food is hardy and delicious, and everywhere you look is beautiful. It's a small and walkable city with a peaceful vibe.

Happy Birthday America from Europe!

So my July 4th this year was quite different from any others I've had, seeing as I was in Germany with a bunch of people who had no idea that they were all supposed to be eating hot dogs and pasta salad and watching fireworks. But I did have a few touches of the land of the free. I spent the day with an American that I met. (That's us at dinner at the top with two banana beers - yes, they're delicious.) Then, we went to an American Opera, Porgy and Bess. This guy I was hanging out with is an opera singer from the States studying German opera in Berlin for awhile. He knew the inside scoop on this opera stuff. So basically, Porgy and Bess is the most famous American Opera (there aren't many), but it's really difficult to put on because Gershwin insists that the entire cast be black. So this is the first time the Opera had been performed in a few years, at least in Europe . . . or something equally dramatic like that. And July 4th was opening night, so this guy was super pumped about going, being an Opera nerd and all. He invited me to go with him, and I figured it would be a good experience since I had never been to an opera. So we got there an hour early to see if there were any leftover tickets we could get at a discount price. They sell the leftovers for cheaper to students right before the performance. We ended up getting 2 front row seats for 13 euro each!! Those seats normally sell for 130 euro, and everyone around us was rich white old German people who must have bought their tickets ages ago. So on July 4th, there I was watching the premiere of one of the most important American Operas in the front row of the German Opera House with an American Opera Singer. I think that will do instead of pasta salad this year.

pics of me

So this blog entry isn't really about anything. You guys just keep telling me that you like when I put pictures up, especially ones of me. So I'm listening to my fans and giving you some pics. I'm at a new hostel in Prague now, and I can upload pics here. So the first two pictures are kind of random ones from Amsterdam. They were both taken on the bike tour that I took out of the city. That's an authentic windmill. The giant clog pic was taken at this cheese and wooden clog maker's farm that we rode to. He is one of only 4 remaining wooden clog makers in the Netherlands. And the cheese was AMAZING! I bought a wheel with some bread and ate the entire thing for lunch in a park after the tour. The last picture is just a little shout out to Busabout, the bus company I've been using on this trip. They're fantastic. I just jump on the bus whenever I'm ready to leave and sleep or read or watch the DVD the whole way until they drop me off in the next place, complete with directions and maps and good tips. Yeah Busabout!

Berlin: out of the bombed, into the avant garde

So Ive been in Berlin for a couple days now, and Im trying to think of what to write about it. (First let me explain that I cant find the apostrophe on this keyboard and Im tired of trying, so youll just have to read the contractions without it. Youll be ok.)

Berlin feels very different from the last two cities Ive been in. Paris was larger than life. It was beautiful and dripping with detail and meaning and history. Walking around Paris, you really feel like youre in the center of the world; as though civilization itself begins and ends in Notre Dame square. Amsterdam is a very strange hybrid of Las Vegas and . . . I dont know. . . some quaint little town. Its canals and perfectly manicured lawns and tall, skinny, brightly-colored houses all give the impression that the Dutch dont ever leave a speck of dust on their furniture. But walking around the center of the city, one can also easily get the feeling that the entire town was built here for tourists. Like a hippie Vegas, with ample opportunity for making bad decisions and acting in a way that you never would in the light of day in your hometown.

That brings me to Berlin. I havent taken many pictures here, because whats meaningful about this city doesnt really have anything to do with the way it looks. Its the way it feels in your gut to be here. Berlins history is all so recent, you kind of get the feeling that youre walking through a history book as the story is being put down on paper, kind of like in that movie Stranger Than Fiction (great flick - check it out if you havent). The emotionally-charged graffitti on every wall combined with the bombed out remains of god knows what building make you sort of feel like you should be quiet when walking around here. Well Berliners are many things, but they are certainly not quiet! Its as though theyve taken all their Nazi, Communist history and turned it on its head in the fastest, most dramatic way they could think of. Everyone is accepted here. Its a huge gay-friendly city. People are not necessarily beautiful, and they dont necessarily wear the latest fashions, but they are unique and proud and strong. They dress like art. It feels like everything happens here about 5 minutes before it happens in the rest of the world. They know whats going on here.

The best way I can think to describe the feel here is to tell you about the bars and clubs I visited on the pub crawl a couple nights ago. The first bar was a kitchy Communist bar. The walls were red, the bartenders were stoic and bearded, and the whole place was filled with pictures of Marx and other red paraphanalia. I know they were trying to be ironic, but one cant help but wonder. . . are they really? The second bar was like a 60s lounge. There were several rooms, all set up like living rooms, complete with shag carpet, couches, and strange trippy lighting schemes. There were djs stationed in random corners of the bar spinning stuff. (It might interest a few of you to know that I twisted my ankle here trying to show off my extremely lame Vanilla Ice dance. Serves me right. The swelling is starting to go down, so dont worry too much Ma.) The third bar was outside, and meant to simulate a beach. We found lounge chairs and put our feet in the giant sand pit while they brought our drinks. It was pretty lame actually. At the end of the night, we ended up at one of the most hoppin clubs in Berlin, called Matrix. Its located under a bridge covered in graffitti, and theres always a waiting line to get in. It was, you guessed it, a techno club. Damn they love that silly booming music here! It was fun after I just gave in to the spectacle of the whole thing. I wish I had some glow sticks and a pacifier though. . .

Today I plan to do some cultural things like go on a tour about the third reich and possibly go see an opera. Oh, and purchase a pair of Birkenstocks. Peace out. God save Berlin.

Berlin

Im in Berlin now and with 3 minutes of internet time. But wanted to check in and say Im alive and happy, if a bit tired. Going out to a pub crawl tonight with lots of people from the bus. Going on a third reich walking tour tomorrow. Will write more later. Hopefully I will find a computer that will let me upload pictures soon. . .

adult friends!

So just after last night's indulgent, melancholy blog entry, I went outside right before bed. I met these two American girls who were really cool. One was 26 and the other, 29. Thank god for people over 20! Talking to them for 5 minutes made me realize that one great source of my recent frustrations has been all the babies I've been hanging out with. So many of the travellers I meet are 19 or 20. I'm sorry, but I can't stand little obnoxious 20 year olds. They're so bouncy and ignorant and wide-eyed and just. . . well, loud. I want to swat them like flies. So I was thrilled to meet these 2 counselors from Chicago. They're funny, smart, single, and mature. We are spending the day together today, then we ride the bus together to Berlin tomorrow. I'm giving myself a pass for last night's bout of self-pity, because I now see that it was due to exhaustion from 4 days of trying to live like a 20-year-old. I'm back on planet 26, and happy to be here once again.

One thing I miss though that I hadn't anticipated is singing. I mean, I miss proper singing like with my band at home, but I also miss just singing in the car. I hadn't realized how much of my day I really do spend singing until I had all of my privacy taken away. I am never alone while travelling, so can never let go and sing. Yesterday, it reached a point of crushing proportions, and I felt as though the song was eating my inside alive, trying feverishly to find a little chink in the armor of my skin to come bursting out. Then I saw two people walking with guitars in the park. I ran over to them and shouted, like a crazed drug-addict, hungry for song, "Hey! Are you going to play?" They said, "Yeah, will it bother you?" I said of course not and begged to sing with them. I got in a few hours, which was enough to quench the thirst for a bit.

By the way, thank you to all of you who have let me know that you are reading my blog faithfully and enjoying it. It feels really good to write again, and it's nice to know that there's an audience for it. Please keep emailing me and posting comments on my blog entries. I may not always be able to respond, but I really appreciate hearing from people.