We had a few very long train rides while we were in Italy. Many times we were very tired, having walked all day, speed-touring the various bustling Italian cities. You know what it’s like when you fall asleep in a sitting position, like in a car or on a plane. Your eyelids start drooping, until it’s like pure torture to hold them open. Your head starts to feel like it’s about 60 pounds. Eventually you allow your eyes to close, and you are able to enjoy the first 2 or 3 minutes of your sleep in an upright and civilized (albeit totally unnatural) body position. But then your muscles relax, and your head falls forward slowly, until your chin is on your chest. Or until it slams into the window of whatever mode of transportation on which you happen to be riding.
Furious at the law of gravity for not allowing my head to stay in an upright position while sleeping, I hastily sought to fashion a contraption whose sole purpose would be to keep my head back while I slept on the train. I took a quick look around me and immediately my eyes landed on my oh-so-hip travel bag. This bag had a shoulder strap. I immediately saw the potential. I carefully placed the top part of the shoulder strap against my forehead, and held it there as I slung the bag over the back of my seat. Looking back, this plan does not seem quite as intelligent as I had thought. Innovative and efficient? Perhaps. Intelligent? Not so much. Painful? Quite. But hindsight is always 20/20, so do not judge. I was desperate for sleep. Anyway, needless to say, the contraption did not quite work as planned. The shoulder strap slipped from my forehead down to my neck just as the bag dropped over the back of the chair. Essentially I had attempted a hanging. I am going to post a picture on here. It does not do the situation justice, but you’ll get the general idea.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Duomo di Milano
One of Mom’s favorite things in Italy was the churches. She loved to walk slowly around each one, soaking up each detail. The first one we went in on our trip (I couldn’t tell you which city it was in), I too took a slow stroll around the interior, taking in the details of the walls, sculptures, and stained glass. I enjoyed the dark, cool dampness of the air. It was a welcome change from the hot sun outside. I amused myself long enough for mom to finish looking around. Then we went back outside and continued our journey through whatever city we were in. In my mind, I had mentally checked “Visit church in Italy” off my to-do list. Haha. Little did I know that Italy has so MANY churches and cathedrals, and somehow I had forgotten just how much my mom likes to visit them.
We spent one day in Milan. Honestly, the main reason I wanted to stop here was just to be able to say I’d been. There really wasn’t anything I specifically was dying to see. I knew Milan to be a major fashion-minded city. Meaning they had lots of stores full of lots of clothes and accessories I could not afford without taking out a loan.
When we got to Milan, we took the underground train from the train station to a point in the city that we knew would be close to the “Duomo di Milano.” (Duomo means church/cathedral in Italian. See, I did learn some things in Italian after all.) We climbed the stairs that led from the train to the streets of Milan. Taking a cursory glance around, I immediately spotted the enormous cathedral. I said, “Oh, wow, it’s so pretty!” Then I continued looking around, and said “So, what’s next?” HA. Mom thought that was hilarious. I would soon learn that she not only wanted to see the inside of this cathedral, she wanted to inspect every last square inch, take note of every sculpture and piece of stained glass, and basically check the building for structural soundness. :)
We spent one day in Milan. Honestly, the main reason I wanted to stop here was just to be able to say I’d been. There really wasn’t anything I specifically was dying to see. I knew Milan to be a major fashion-minded city. Meaning they had lots of stores full of lots of clothes and accessories I could not afford without taking out a loan.
When we got to Milan, we took the underground train from the train station to a point in the city that we knew would be close to the “Duomo di Milano.” (Duomo means church/cathedral in Italian. See, I did learn some things in Italian after all.) We climbed the stairs that led from the train to the streets of Milan. Taking a cursory glance around, I immediately spotted the enormous cathedral. I said, “Oh, wow, it’s so pretty!” Then I continued looking around, and said “So, what’s next?” HA. Mom thought that was hilarious. I would soon learn that she not only wanted to see the inside of this cathedral, she wanted to inspect every last square inch, take note of every sculpture and piece of stained glass, and basically check the building for structural soundness. :)
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
The First Bus Ride
Before we left for Italy, Mom and I would sit for hours and plan the details of our trip. We each picked out places we wanted to visit, things we wanted to do, and tried to think of things we would need to know before we landed ourselves in a foreign-speaking country. Mom purchased several travel books, which of course had some common and useful phrases translated into Italian. Being the dedicated, diligent traveler, she wanted to learn at least some of the basics in Italian to help in our day-to-day adventures. She asked me if I was going to learn any Italian before our trip, and I said “Nah.” She said, “Well what are you going to do when you need to say something to somebody? “ I said, “I won’t need to speak to anyone over there except you, and you speak English.” She said, “What about in a restaurant, when you’re trying to order food?” I said, “I’ll point” and I held up my finger and demonstrated with prideful satisfaction.
When we finally arrived in Florence, 13 hours after leaving Atlanta, Mom and I were both dead on our feet. You know that level of exhaustion where you cannot think clearly, let alone navigate in a foreign country where you don’t understand the native language. We made it out of the airport, and across the street to the bus stop. The plan was to ride the bus to the train station, and take a train to Pisa. Standing at the bus stop, backpacks strapped on, suitcases the size of Pisa itself sitting beside us, we waited. We had gone to an ATM inside the airport, to get some money out in Euros. The smallest currency we had was 50 Euros, or roughly $75. We panicked for a bit, trying to decide if we should go back in the airport and get change, wondering if the bus driver would take such a large amount, if he would even have change, and most importantly, how the heck we would ask him whether he would take that amount and if he had any change.
So, when the bus finally arrived, I left my poor mother standing on the sidewalk with our mountain of baggage, and joined the crowd of people who were filing onto the bus 4 at a time, and paying the driver 1 at a time. When it was my turn to hand my money to the driver, I held up two fingers to indicate that I wanted two tickets, and I shoved the 50 Euros into his hand. He didn’t bat an eye as he handed me my change and two tickets. Success! Except that my mother and everything I owned was still sitting outside the bus on the sidewalk. Looking back over the heads of fifteen people, I looked at her helplessly, wondering if I’d ever see her again. Haha. I must have really looked that forlorn, because some of the people in line behind me saw what was going on, and allowed mom to squeeze through, and even helped us get our luggage onto the bus. Now if I had attempted to get on that bus and say in Italian “Two tickets please” and “Do you have change for a 50?” I probably would have butchered the language, and landed us in some unknown, forsaken desert in Italy. You may be thinking, “There aren’t any deserts in Italy” but that’s what they want you to believe. It’s where they toss all of the idiotic tourists who hold up the line at the bus stop.
When we finally arrived in Florence, 13 hours after leaving Atlanta, Mom and I were both dead on our feet. You know that level of exhaustion where you cannot think clearly, let alone navigate in a foreign country where you don’t understand the native language. We made it out of the airport, and across the street to the bus stop. The plan was to ride the bus to the train station, and take a train to Pisa. Standing at the bus stop, backpacks strapped on, suitcases the size of Pisa itself sitting beside us, we waited. We had gone to an ATM inside the airport, to get some money out in Euros. The smallest currency we had was 50 Euros, or roughly $75. We panicked for a bit, trying to decide if we should go back in the airport and get change, wondering if the bus driver would take such a large amount, if he would even have change, and most importantly, how the heck we would ask him whether he would take that amount and if he had any change.
So, when the bus finally arrived, I left my poor mother standing on the sidewalk with our mountain of baggage, and joined the crowd of people who were filing onto the bus 4 at a time, and paying the driver 1 at a time. When it was my turn to hand my money to the driver, I held up two fingers to indicate that I wanted two tickets, and I shoved the 50 Euros into his hand. He didn’t bat an eye as he handed me my change and two tickets. Success! Except that my mother and everything I owned was still sitting outside the bus on the sidewalk. Looking back over the heads of fifteen people, I looked at her helplessly, wondering if I’d ever see her again. Haha. I must have really looked that forlorn, because some of the people in line behind me saw what was going on, and allowed mom to squeeze through, and even helped us get our luggage onto the bus. Now if I had attempted to get on that bus and say in Italian “Two tickets please” and “Do you have change for a 50?” I probably would have butchered the language, and landed us in some unknown, forsaken desert in Italy. You may be thinking, “There aren’t any deserts in Italy” but that’s what they want you to believe. It’s where they toss all of the idiotic tourists who hold up the line at the bus stop.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Tuna
My mom and I went on a trip to Italy last May. It was so much fun, and Italy was absolutely amazing, with breath-taking scenery. I would go back in a second. Mom and I talk about our trip frequently - about the funny things that happened, the things we would like to go back and see or do, etc. Anyway, we just had so much fun, and we had a few pretty funny stories, so I thought I’d share some of them here.
Oh, and don’t worry, I am not secretly blogging during basic training. I discovered the secret of scheduling posts for future dates. Hahahahaha. I’m so clever it’s kind of scary. ANYWAY, the next several posts will be Italy-related. So grab a coke, sit back and enjoy. But do so with guilt, knowing that is probably NOT what I am doing right now… =)
Our “home base” while we were in Italy was the city of Pisa. On some days we made day trips and then returned to Pisa for the night. On other days we traveled further distances and would spend the night in another city. But, let me start from the beginning:
We departed from Atlanta on an evening flight. We were flying from Atlanta to Paris, and from Paris to Florence. We were served dinner first… I think it was pretty late, maybe around 9 or 10 pm? After dinner the flight attendants gently closed the shades on the windows, and pretty much everyone leaned back, sighed a collectively cramped sigh, and tried to sleep. Much the same way a sardine tries to catch some shut-eye when he’s in the sardine can with his buddies.
About 4 hours later (yes, 2 am), the flight attendants, who only hours before had seemed human, snatched up the window shades, allowing a brilliantly bright light to come flooding into the cabin. “Surely not,” I thought. But surely indeed… A few seconds later I heard “good morning everyone, breakfast is about to be served.” Come on people. It’s 2 am. You can try to trick me all you want with your sunshine and perky attitudes. But I have on a watch. I am not fooled. It is TWO FREAKIN O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING. So while I’m still reeling from this unpleasant jolt of morning perkiness, they begin serving breakfast. I don’t remember everything that was in that breakfast, but I remember one thing that was on my plate – tuna.
So, after a trilingual greeting over the intercom: “Good Morning, Bonjour, Buon giorno,” I ate my breakfast. Tuna. At 2:00 in the morning. At least it wasn’t sardines.
Note: At least 3 of our subsequent in-flight meals included tuna. blech.
Oh, and don’t worry, I am not secretly blogging during basic training. I discovered the secret of scheduling posts for future dates. Hahahahaha. I’m so clever it’s kind of scary. ANYWAY, the next several posts will be Italy-related. So grab a coke, sit back and enjoy. But do so with guilt, knowing that is probably NOT what I am doing right now… =)
Our “home base” while we were in Italy was the city of Pisa. On some days we made day trips and then returned to Pisa for the night. On other days we traveled further distances and would spend the night in another city. But, let me start from the beginning:
We departed from Atlanta on an evening flight. We were flying from Atlanta to Paris, and from Paris to Florence. We were served dinner first… I think it was pretty late, maybe around 9 or 10 pm? After dinner the flight attendants gently closed the shades on the windows, and pretty much everyone leaned back, sighed a collectively cramped sigh, and tried to sleep. Much the same way a sardine tries to catch some shut-eye when he’s in the sardine can with his buddies.
About 4 hours later (yes, 2 am), the flight attendants, who only hours before had seemed human, snatched up the window shades, allowing a brilliantly bright light to come flooding into the cabin. “Surely not,” I thought. But surely indeed… A few seconds later I heard “good morning everyone, breakfast is about to be served.” Come on people. It’s 2 am. You can try to trick me all you want with your sunshine and perky attitudes. But I have on a watch. I am not fooled. It is TWO FREAKIN O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING. So while I’m still reeling from this unpleasant jolt of morning perkiness, they begin serving breakfast. I don’t remember everything that was in that breakfast, but I remember one thing that was on my plate – tuna.
So, after a trilingual greeting over the intercom: “Good Morning, Bonjour, Buon giorno,” I ate my breakfast. Tuna. At 2:00 in the morning. At least it wasn’t sardines.
Note: At least 3 of our subsequent in-flight meals included tuna. blech.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Leaving
For the last five or six years I have been interested in joining the Air Force. Up until this year, I had talked myself into thinking that it was a crazy dream that I shouldn’t try to pursue… that I wouldn’t have what it takes, and that the desire would pass in time. But it did not go away, and after lots and lots and lots of praying, I’ve realized that it truly is part of God’s plan for my life. I also have always been interested in medicine, and have had an overwhelming desire to help others. Which is what led me to the desire to pursue nursing. I just wasn’t sure how to go about getting through nursing school while holding down a full time job.
Now I am being given the chance to go for both dreams – the Air Force and nursing. I am so grateful and thankful, and I should be so full of faith. And I am, about 95% of the time. The remaining 5% of the time I spend wondering if I have what it takes. Not physically or even mentally… I know I can handle what’s coming once I get to Texas. It’s what has to happen before that. I don’t know how in the world I am ever going to say goodbye to my family and my friends. I have known no other life than the one I have here. I have gone to the same church my whole life, lived in the same city (or at least within a 20 mile radius of it) my entire life. Some of my friends have been with me from the beginning. We were in the nursery together, played on the playground together as kids, struggled through the awkward teenage years, and learned how to be adults together.
The concept of leaving is not a new one to me. What is new to me is being on this end of the goodbye. I have always been the one being left. Since I was a kid, I have grown attached to friends, only to have them move away and force me to say goodbye, and eventually (in most cases), lose touch. I have had people comment to me, “Gosh, everybody you get attached to really does pack up and move away, don’t they?” ha. So I am certainly no stranger to getting attached and having to let go. Again, what’s brand new to me is the whole experience of being the one leaving.
So please pray for me over the next few days, weeks, and months. I really am so grateful for this opportunity, and I am so thankful that God didn’t take this chance from me in spite of the fact that I took my sweet time to finally make the decision. But despite how obvious God’s calling on my life has become, it is still not easy to say goodbye.
Now I am being given the chance to go for both dreams – the Air Force and nursing. I am so grateful and thankful, and I should be so full of faith. And I am, about 95% of the time. The remaining 5% of the time I spend wondering if I have what it takes. Not physically or even mentally… I know I can handle what’s coming once I get to Texas. It’s what has to happen before that. I don’t know how in the world I am ever going to say goodbye to my family and my friends. I have known no other life than the one I have here. I have gone to the same church my whole life, lived in the same city (or at least within a 20 mile radius of it) my entire life. Some of my friends have been with me from the beginning. We were in the nursery together, played on the playground together as kids, struggled through the awkward teenage years, and learned how to be adults together.
The concept of leaving is not a new one to me. What is new to me is being on this end of the goodbye. I have always been the one being left. Since I was a kid, I have grown attached to friends, only to have them move away and force me to say goodbye, and eventually (in most cases), lose touch. I have had people comment to me, “Gosh, everybody you get attached to really does pack up and move away, don’t they?” ha. So I am certainly no stranger to getting attached and having to let go. Again, what’s brand new to me is the whole experience of being the one leaving.
So please pray for me over the next few days, weeks, and months. I really am so grateful for this opportunity, and I am so thankful that God didn’t take this chance from me in spite of the fact that I took my sweet time to finally make the decision. But despite how obvious God’s calling on my life has become, it is still not easy to say goodbye.
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