An Endless Midsummer's Night

Look at me, blogging on the road. Now, had I been able to do this while I was on my grand European Tour I might not be posting about it fifteen months later. But then again, the "road" I'm on only involves a measly three cities and five days, rather than six weeks and eight countries; more importantly I have my laptop on hand, some spare time, and fifteen months ago I was too busy making the most extraordinary memories of a lifetime to be worrying about blogging. Better yet, as I've said before, getting to relive those fantastical moments is the best part of writing. So here, for your enjoyment and my reminiscent mind, is country number six: Sweden. 

We arrived at a dinky airport on the periphery of Stockholm on the 21st of June, the Summer Solstice, and date of the Swedish Midsummer celebration.

Anyone who knows my best friends and I well will not find it surprising that at my adamant demand we flew nearly a thousand miles to partake in a foreign holiday, mostly because you get to make flower crowns. Anyone who doesn't know us may call us a little crazy, which we are, so that's fair. 

8 tips for falling in love with Paris

The only thing that has been more dragged out than my Euro-trip as a whole, is the four days spent in Paris. To say "I took too many pictures", is an understatement. To say "I can't let go of reminiscing about the splendor that is the City of Light", is just a fact. 

Can anyone really blame me for my infatuation with Paris? Anyone, other than those preposterous people who think Paris is smelly, rude, and overrated? I think not.

So here, despite my nostalgic attachment, is my final post on Paris: our last day and a few tips on how to not be one of the aforementioned, absurd Paris-haters. 

Tip #1: Eat crepes. Specifically, crepes loaded with chocolate and/or Nutella, because no one can sh*t-talk a country that is responsible for this kind of scrumptious treat.   

Tragedy on the Pont des Arts

Sometimes we make plans, and they just don't go the way we, well, planned. 

A little over a year ago, my two best friends and I sat in a chinese restaurant in Paris (because we felt a need to eat it in every foreign country, escargot be damned), talking about our return trip to the city in 40 years. 

The idea of re-living our backpacking trip forty years from now arose when we were in Barcelona and learned that La Sagrada Familia is believed to be completed somewhere in between 2020 and 2040 (2028 to be exact, but the Spanish don't seem to be overly optimistic that it will ever be really completed). In any case, given this excessive range of years and the assumption that we're going to get a little caught up in families, careers, and the craziness that is life over the next four decades, we decided at about 60 we would be ready to recreate the trip and see how Europe evolves in that time.

Cheese: the glue of friendship

It may be many years of friendship (Brooke: 21 years, Lindsey 8 years, Nicole: 4 years) that have bonded me to my best friends. It may be our shared memories, like high school shenanigans and malicious mischief with Brooke and Lindsey, or the past summer we spent backpacking Europe. Nicole and I's college memories of freshman dorm debauchery, road trips, and an 18 hour day at Disneyland probably did a pretty good job of solidifying our bestie status.

However, in all those collective years of amity, my college best friend and my high school best friends never really came together. There was only one thing that could bond my lovely ladies together after all this time: ooey gooey melted cheese. 

C'est la vie

What I would give to be in Paris walking along the Seine at this moment...probably the same thing I would give to actually have finished editing all my photos and be talking about this summer and not the last. Then again, why would I want to give up reliving the memories of the most dazzling adventure I've had to date. 

Recalling my memories from Paris is like slipping into a black and white movie; everything is far away and as if from another time. It's an image of a life that I could not have possibly lived. 

The first 5 hours in Paris

I think I should preface this little bout of narrative by saying that Brooke, Lindsey, and I absolutely adored Paris. While I think we all were equally excited to go there, I particularly was a little wary of it, simply because I had heard various things about smelly streets and snobby Parisians. During our brief romance with City of Light, however, we had a nearly entirely enchanting experience.  

I say "nearly" not because we had any kind of Barcelona-esc trauma, but rather because our first evening excursion in Paris, after a quick flight and a long taxi ride, was so incredibly comical. 

While there is no photographic evidence of the first part of this story time, I can supply one iconic image to pretty much summarize what occurred within our first hour of wandering the airy Summer streets of Paris: 

Being infected by an Airborne Toxic Event

To begin, it is important that you fall madly, deeply, forever in love with the incredible band The Airborne Toxic Event immediately. The quickest way to make that happen is to click below and listen to the best song ever (I don't exaggerate): 

Laughter is the Best Medicine

"My life isn't perfect, but it does have perfect moments."

To be fair, you don't need much cheering up while you're galavanting around Europe, living the life. Still, I have been thinking a lot about how exceptionally lucky I am to have wonderful people in my life that can make me laugh until I cry, even when I maybe only want to cry. On top of that, it is only becoming clearer how true it is that we don't always remember the exact details of our lives, but we do remember the moments that made us smile the most. 

When Brooke, Lindsey, and I were in Geneva we did a lot of things, but what I remember most vividly, was the afternoon we spent doing nothing but frolicking through this one incredible and ginormous park (which Google informed me is called the Parc de l'Ariana). 

Couchsurfing: Switzerland Edition

Brooke, Lindsey, and I have all been asked more than once how we possibly afforded our Euro-adventure. We had to be pretty frugal. There was a lot of grocery store trips (nothing is cheaper than pasta), food splitting (or "rationing" as we called it), picking and choosing of what "splurge" sites we would pay to see, and just general attempts at being thrifty. However, nothing saved us more money than Couchsurfing.com. 

For those of you who haven't heard of this webpage, it's basically what it sounds like, except sometimes you get a couch, sometimes you get a bed, sometimes you get a futon, sometimes you get a floor, sometimes you'll take whatever you can get. Essentially you make a profile and then request to stay in strangers' homes.

Now the appropriate and usual reaction to this idea is "STRANGER DANGER!!" While this is a practical concern, we had a really great and safe experience with the whole thing. Profiles are linked to reviews from other surfers and that's largely how we chose who we stayed with. The people you request to stay with must also approve you, and you can talk with them prior to your visit. 

To be fair, there is a decent part of this that is trusting your gut. I am sure that not every Couchsurfer is a safe and hospitable new friend. There are creepers everywhere, but just as well, there are wonderful people everywhere. We tried to be as safe as possible, like I said, trusting other surfers' reviews and especially steering towards people with a large quantity of positive comments. 

While I had my first Couchsurfing experience on my trip to England, and Brooke & Lindsey had their's in Florence (while I was off galavanting in Southern Spain), we had our first joint experience in Geneva, Switzerland. 

Adios Spain

When it came time for my last day in Spain, I descended (via sketchy bus) from Ronda to the seaside city of Málaga. 

Even though I knew I was flying to my next destination from Málaga and therefore would have stop there eventually, I somehow had myself convinced I was only rolling in for the morning and not actually spending a day/night there. I was wrong: I had a whole day! 

So with that I booked a quick bed at the Oasis Backpacker's Hostel and went out into the hot sun to make the most of my wholly unplanned day. 

October is Over?

I'm never going to be done blogging about my Europe trip, we can just all accept that. I do, however, want at least to document a few of my memories from this semester, which has been a blast, if busy as heck, hence the struggle to complete my blogs. Jewel suggested I throw in some of the here & now and just go back and forth, and you know, why not? Screw OCD and chronological order. 

So here's a goodbye to October, which is already ending, though how that has happened I don't know. It's still 85º in San Diego, since we don't actually have seasons, but when we headed to Julian for the day it finally felt a little bit less like summer. 

Barcelona Bites Back

Sometimes unfortunate things can happen while you're traveling, and like in life, you just have to take them in stride and handle the situation. Our second day in Barcelona started well enough, but concluded with a bit of a struggle, in the form of two stolen cell phones. 

We all like to think that we're conscientious enough to not get our stuff stolen. That all those crime alerts about ripped away cell phones are just dumb people not paying enough attention. Really though, it can happen to the best of us, especially when traveling in a foreign country known for its master pickpockets. 

Barcelona sits on the southern coast of Spain, along the Balearic Sea. Brooke, Lindsey, and I thought we would take advantage of a beach day, being the California girls we are. However, though they may be beautiful, Barcelona's beaches are nothing like California. People line every inch of the sand, and there are panhandlers consistently harassing you. 

"Mojito! Mojito! Fresh mojito!" 

The promising start to Barcelona

After a late entry into the Spanish metropolis of Barcelona, the first thing to be found in the morning light was food. A whole warehouse size market of every food to be imagined, to be more exact. 

The Cliffs of Moher

For someone who was once borderline anti-people, I came to find that making new friends on my adventures was one of my favorite parts of traveling. One exceptionally fortunate encounter occurred in my sweet little town of Doolin. It was here, in my hostel, that I met four beyond-lovely girls, with whom I would spend the next two days. 

I was lucky enough to meet Vanessa, Chelsea, Katie, and Amelia before they had ventured up to the Cliffs of Moher. With our shared destination in mind, I joined them on a bus trip up the mountain to see what really should be considered one of the natural wonders of the world. 

Endless sun

After Bre and I's morning at the pool we went and harassed Poppy about how to acquire a quad for the day, a process which proved to be surprisingly easy and cheap. We didn't even have to sign our lives away (like in ol'America). 

Lounging in Santorini

When Bre and I arrived in Santorini, there were clouds in the sky and sprinkles of rain falling. We were a bit dismayed by this weather, but quickly perked up as we arrived at our quaint Grecian retreat. 

Villa Manos is the perfect homey island escape destination (on a budget). For just $12 a night each, Bre and I got a large room to ourselves, with the added bonus of the nicest hotel staff in history. The woman who runs Villa Manos, Poppy, is about the sweetest lady on the planet, and essentially the greek mama you never had. Her and her husband run a pristine hotel, and are always willing to help you with any of your island needs. Bre and I went running to Poppy on more than one occasion over our 7 days stay trying to figure out how the hecky to get around the island.

Coming Soon

Over two months ago, when I set out on what I like to call my "Great European Adventure", I had no idea how fast the time would fly by. I should have anticipated that after what a whirlwind studying abroad for a whole semester had been, 51 days would feel like nothing. Still, as I sit here back at home in sunny California, I cannot believe it's all really over. 

Backpacking around Europe had always been a dream of my best friends and I, even with the foreboding peril of packing, so well illustrated by Lorelei and Rori. Nevertheless, we rallied and managed to fit 6 weeks of clothes in our Osprey Porter 46 carry-on size backpacks, and now can basically consider ourselves the most efficient packers on the planet. While the majority of my time traveling was spent with my two best friends from home, Brooke and Lindsey, I started my trip with my amica Bre from school in Italy, and then spent some of it on my own. 

On Hiatus

I wanted to write a blog post that summed up my whole semester abroad. That named all my favorite things (the ones I spent my last week savoring) and express how fortunate I felt to have such great friends in Italy (and now, around the world). But I don't really have the words to express the entirety of my semester. It was too great, too unreal, and went by too fast. I can only say, ciao Firenze (for now-I may even come back with a reminiscent Italy blog in a few months, we all know I have the photo number to do it). 

Planet Amalfi

Sometimes living 'the life' gets all kinds of overwhelming and time consuming, making for one very inconsistent blogger. When I last penned out a post for my dear bloggy I had said goodbye to London. I, however, failed to mention that I was departing from my new found (future) home to head off on another adventure on the Amalfi Coast of Italy. 

After spending a week in London, the evening I returned to Florence I found myself with a fierce contention for Italy. Why are there so many people on this miniature sidewalk? I forgot how to speak this language! Hey you with the creepy eyes: don't you dare holler at me! I had a bit of re-culture shock situation on my hands. 

Fortunately, the cure for any negative feelings for fair Italia is to briefly recover from exhaustion with a good ol' fashion bubble bath and then head off to somewhere entirely new that will remind you just how magical of a country you live in. 

-Insert 4 hour train ride to Southern Italy here-

My friend Elsa and I arrived on the train in Salerno, then set off to Amalfi by bus. Arriving in the sloping land of Amalfi, Elsa and I were both left speechless. Usually when you arrive in a new place you can compare it to somewhere you've been before. This is not a possibility on the Southern Ionian Coast of Italy. It was like arriving on an new planet. Even the Amalfians portray their tiny town with some very alien-like figures. 

Gelato, Bicyles, and Tights

La-la-la-Lucca! The little Tuscan town of Lucca swept me away on Saturday into rays of sunshine, smiles, and happy humming. 

To enter Lucca you must first get past the mighty medieval wall. There are plenty of entrances, but we chose those most cryptic. I felt a little like Indiana Jones creeping through a lost tunnel.