Sail Away

Yeah, this wacko family
would probably do something
like that

You know those families that go on vacation, all dressed in the same color so that the little kids won’t get lost... or if they do get lost, they’ll remember what color their parents are wearing?  Embarrassingly enough, Adair and I began our adventure to Greece--when I say adventure, I mean adventure--in precisely the same way.  

The uniform? Hot pink v-necks and black sweats. 

Pre-planned? Absolutely not. 

Did it look pre-planned? Oh hell yes. 

We couldn’t figure out why the guards outside of the cruise ship were throwing us such glares. UhmHmm the fact that we looked like two twenty-year-old girls playing “twins” for the day may have had something to do with it.

Anyhow, Greece was beautiful. Are you surprised? Probably not. I can honestly say that it was the brightest place I have ever seen. Strange statement, but one-hundred-percent true. I exited the ship and walked directly into the sun or at least what I imagine it would feel like to walk directly into the sun. With my sunglasses on, my weekend began.

Sadly, essentially everything that could have gone wrong, did go wrong during our little, Greek getaway.  Overbooked trains to and fro, lost ferry reservations, cancelled kayak safaris, and one, sick, little Adair.  We did, however, get to amp up those suntans that we’ve been working on, in addition to attending a Greek-themed toga party hosted by our hostel.

Things that the hostel should consider? Providing “How-To-Make-A-Toga” instructions.  Adair and I are very crafty people. We love dresses. We own a lot of dresses. Sure, I’ve never put together a toga before, but really how hard could it be? The two of us returned from a day at the beach and spent a full (well this is embarrassing) 2 hours standing in front of the mirror, twisting, folding, and tying ourselves up in these ridiculous, pink sheets. The level of frustration on the trip hit an all time high, until at last Adair maneuvered the wad of fabric into a grecian gown. Thank the lord.

The trip ended with Adair and I, sitting in the backseat of the hostel’s shuttle bus to the port, fifteen minutes before departure.  Passengers are supposed to arrive two hours prior. We’re watching the minutes tick past on the clock while the song “Sail Away” is blaring (appropriately) out of the car’s speakers. No worries, we made it.

Now, it is 90 degrees and sunny in the beautiful city of Florence which is now especially inundated with tourists... Great for the city’s tourism, bad for the city’s biking population. I may have casually grazed a person's backside last week. Whoops! 

Here, I was going to write a little tidbit about how happy I am that I haven’t run into the cast of "Jersey Shore."  I’m sure everyone in America is well aware that the trashy, MTV reality series decided to drop off the group of hair-gelled, fake-baked stars in the center of Renaissance history and culture. Anyhow, what I was going to write no longer applies. After class this afternoon, the three of us walked directly passed the "the situation."

Luckily, that wasn't my only celebrity sighting of the week! Yesterday, I was actually so overjoyed when I jogged past our favorite professor in the park that I immediately informed my friends about it. Clearly they were jealous.       

Look at that Tiffany-blue
suit jacket and tell me
he's not a champ!

Fast & Furious 5: Fiat Edition

Starting point: Firenze

So as most of my readers already know, the Florence crew and I road-tripped down to the Amalfi Coast this weekend!  For those unfamiliar with Italian geography, I’m including a little map so that you can get the whole effect. The Amalfi Coast is mentioned in essentially every Road Trip/Scenic Drives Top 10 list ever produced. It’s also been on my personal to-do-list for as long as I can remember. 

Our navigator.
Worrisome.

When our teeny Fiat rolled up, early Friday morning, our adventure began!  Anna (The only one who drives stick... God bless her) was behind the wheel, contending with the temperamental vespa drivers, and Adair deciphered the maps, while Spencer, Lauren, and I (classified as the “Sleepers”) took turns singing, dancing, and dozing in and out of consciousness.

Music up. 
Windows down. 
Sea-Bands on. 
Feeling-in-butt gone. 
One bag of popcorn, two pringle cans, a few 90‘s jams, some unreal glimpses of the coastline, and 6 hours later... we arrived in Sorrento, which became our home-base for the weekend.  

Saturday, we left the mainland for the Isle of Capri. (Pronounced: Kah-pree. I was corrected many a time.) The island, about a 45-minute ferry ride from Sorrento, combines rock formations, fancy white villas, and the clearest of turquoise waters.  Sure, 5 college students fit in just fine with the big-spenders and honeymooners dominating the paradise. It's becoming a theme here that the 5 of us enjoy traveling to lavish and exotic places where normal, twenty-year-old kids should not be traveling. We stick out like a sore thumb. I guess you could say that the Amalfi Coast is not quite our natural habitat. Yet, secondo me, it should be. 

Oh Hello, down there!

We took a chair lift to the top of Anacapri, the highest region of the island, where we paraded around with our cameras, capturing the views as best we could.  We simultaneously took part in a fun, little game called “What would you be doing at Holy Cross right now?”  On Saturday, our poor, little Crusader friends were slaving away at exams after endless hours of studying, without sunlight, fresh air, or food. Okay, maybe they could eat. But still. I guess it’s a teensy bit unfair that we spent Holy Cross’ final exam week doing this:

Our "We're in CAPRI instead of taking FINAL EXAMS" faces!

What would you be doing at Holy Cross right now?

What are you doing instead?

THE FIAT 5

 After a Caprese pizza and a gelato (I don’t kid when I say “A Gelato a Day”), the gang headed to a little, rock beach on Capri’s Marina Piccola.  We could only worship the blazing sun for a matter of minutes before bidding farewell to our towels and immersing ourselves in the Tyrrhenian.  We swam around like little fishies, waiting to be pinched and awoken to the reality of Dinand Library. 

Yup that little bobbing head is mine!

Birthday kids!

That night, we celebrated Spencer and Lauren.  The pair happen to share the same birthday which we rung in with a picnic of bread, cheese, and vino atop the hostel’s gorgeous, rooftop patio.  Uber European.  We kept the party rocking with a make-shift cake in the form of a tin of cookies, garnished with festive, birthday numbers.

Before hitting the road for our return trip to Florence, we revisited our friend, Signor Fiat, who toured us all around the roads that snake in and out of cliffs, high above the sea. I'm not going to lie: I took my Dramamine and was prepared for anything because the last time I drove on winding cliff-roads was on an entertaining, yet heart-attack-inducing, trip to Yosemite, as a backseat to Uncle Ken's superb speed-racing. Luckily, Anna's a bit more tame, behind the wheel. We stopped in Positano, a picturesque little town, built on the side of a ledge. 

GRANITA!

Sadly, on the beach at Positano, we mutated from tanned beach bods into overcooked, red lobsters. However, in the meantime, we did enjoy a bit of beachside granita--an Italian lemon-flavored slush.  Make that, a GIANT lemon, flavored slush. For some odd reason, the lemons in Amalfi are on steroids. They look a bit like Kyle, after a nasty, chalky power-milkshake, during a hockey season, lift session. That's one freakishly, huge lemon.

A view of Positano from the beach

Once my gelato franchise hits it big in the States, I will be joining the girls in purchasing a Positano time share.  Today, at the ceramics store, Lauren and I even picked out the blue and white design for our kitchenware. You are all welcome to visit, just be sure to pack your walking shoes because the stairs on this hillside village challenge those at good, old HC. 

I don't have a mere minute to complain about my blah and boring life because I'm off yet again.  This is my final little Euro trip... I can't believe that next week I'll actually have to buckle down with Boccaccio and some good, old Tuscan History readings. Boo Hoo povera me. Guess I'll have to enjoy myself this weekend in Greece with Miss Adair!

Happy weekend! I hope these sunny photos bring positive thoughts to rainy Massachusetts!

A much-needed vacation

Things that are new in my life:

• I got my nails painted for the first time by an Italian manicurist. It may have involved safeguarding my hands with a funky aerosol-spray. Italians, you are bizarre.

• The family hamster Alvin is now a suicide jumper, spending his spare time (usually consumed by spinning in his wheel, eating rotten apples, hiding from Angiolina the cat) plummeting from the highest part of his cage. The poor kid is miserable.

• We bought Adair a new bicycle for her 21st birthday (her old one was not exactly mobile) and she reacted with shrieks and smiles as every good 5-year-old should.

• On my walk home from school, I was passed by a parade of black, cars with flags and tinted windows, enveloped in a sea of police motorcycles. Berlusconi, Italy’s 74 year old, womanizing, prime minister has arrived in Florence. Mom, don’t worry.  He kept on driving and didn’t even offer me a ride. Guess my tousled hair and American flip flops don’t quite scream political prostitute.

• I attended a seminar on gelato-making and am now making preparations for my Stateside gelato franchise. Anyone interested in investing in my future (in the form of a 15,000 Euro gelato-machine) can make checks payable to yours truly.

I know that after reading this blog over the past few months, you’re all extremely concerned about my well-being.  It’s clear that I am overworked--Some might even say that I’m stressed beyond belief. 

Don’t worry though... this past weekend, Anna, Lauren, and I took a much-needed vay-kay from the trauma-filled lives that we lead in Florence. 

On Thursday, we boarded a ship destined for Split, Croatia.  After stamping our passports, we realized that we were the only passengers onboard under the age of 65.  Hello, elderly cruise ship.  Commence, geriatric adventure!  

Sure we got stares...  

Sure we felt out of place... 

Sure we closed down the ship’s restaurant when we paid the bill at 9:15. However, at this point, the elderly crowd should be used to us.  We’re certainly used to them. Take a quick peek at the Italian kids studying Modern History with us at the University of Florence...

Someone got dressed-up for class!

   

Just your average undergrads

Anyhow, come Friday morning, we awoke on the other side of the Adriatic!  I’ve said it before, and I can’t guarantee that I won’t say it again: Croatia was one of the most beautiful places that I have ever seen.

You’ve probably never thought of Croatia in that light.  When I told my brother I was going there he cringed and asked why.  Why? Maybe because this is what Croatia looks like! 

A view of Split from the ship

Old town, Split

The beach where we spent our last day

From this point on, you’re going to think that I’m writing an article for a travel magazine, encouraging tourists to visit Croatia.  It’s going to sound ridiculous. Repetitive. Fabricated. Too good to be true. 

But I’m not going to stop.

Soooo accept this as my pre-apology. 

It’s actually impossible to do Croatia justice in words and photos alone... I’ll try my best, but let’s be clear-- my friends and I spent the weekend swimming in the clearest of emerald green waters and sleeping within Diocletian’s palace. My life is not real.

Sometimes people tie their dogs to poles when they
run into the grocery store...?

Friday was a day for sun, sand, and trashy beach novels.  (I could also try to sell you the Kindle, while advertising for the country of Croatia, because in case you are unaware, I’m ob.zessed. with my kindle.)  Anyhow, the only thing missing from our beach day was a cabana boy to serve us our strawberry daq’s at the ring of a bell. Just kidding. That would be overboard. Wait, would it be though? The day was perfect... though it did result in some awkward, below-bathing-suit burns and tomato-colored-faces.

On Saturday, we opted for a bit of adventure! Alongside Ivan (our Croatian tour guide) and Martin (a middle-aged Polish cook) we took on Croatia’s finest, white-water rapids! 

Is Lauren looking a little cozy with Martin, or is that just me?

"We just climbed through a cave!"

After reading about how FINE my study-abroad-bod looks after a happy 8-month-long relationship with Italian food, you can only imagine how well a full-body wetsuit and I meshed. Use your imagination... Yup. That well. Throw in some helmets (we christened ourselves “Eggheads”) and Crocs (Oh dear God, I thought I would never see the day) and we were ready for the river!  At one point, we jumped beneath a waterfall, swam through a frigid pond, and climbed through the stalactites of the cave. I do not joke. Also, why in the world has the word “stalacite” appeared twice in the span of this blog? Not real life.

Yeah. That's a real, live scream. 

After resting our burnt skin for a day beneath the aforementioned rafting-gear, we reapplied our sunblock (60+ baby lotion, Aunt Linda!) and hit the beach yet again.  This time, we explored the other side of Split, thanks to Anna’s champion map-reading-skills, and arrived at a beautiful rock beach: sparse in sun-tanners, plentiful in sun. 

It's a green screen background.

Speedo alert.

Our weather was unbelievable... Not once did I need a sweater. (And hey, that’s saying a lot.)  Fortunately, this week, Florence is fighting back with its own sunshine.  Things that I love? Sunny springtime Florence.  Things that I cannot believe? My bellissima vita italiana ends in less than one month.  

I returned from Croatia Monday afternoon and tomorrow, bright and early, the Florence Crew and I are road-trippin’ down the Amalfi Coast.

Hopefully the sun is finding you too, wherever you may be!  

Eating my body weight, per usual

I just got in from my last. cooking lesson. ever.

Yeah, you probably didn’t even know I was taking one.  It kind of irritates me that it’s now over and I hardly blogged about it. Jumble together 3 American college girls, Mamma Elena, and 3 hours of cooking (& eating) every Thursday and you have yourself quite the pahhr-tay. Yes, we call our cooking teacher Mamma Elena. No, we’re not related to her.  It’s weird. Whatever.

Anyhooo, the 4 of us prance around her fabulous, emerald-green kitchen (honestly, it’s like the Land of Oz in there) in our aprons and little, chef hats every week.  Okay, so 3 out of 4 do that.  My hat looks more like a Little Bo Peep bonnet because the velcro flaps refuse to succumb to my giant head. (It’s deceivingly large...I’ll blame the thickness of my hair until the day I die.)  

Today was a parmigiano di melanzane-kind-of-night with cheesecake for dessert.  I’m not sure how Italian we can pretend cheesecake is, but it was phenomenal nonetheless.  Key ingredients? Cream cheese and whipped cream.  If you had any prior doubts, you can now rest assured that cheesecake is without a doubt the dessert-of-choice for diet freaks and health nuts. Not. 

Panna Montata

Why even pretend that
there are other brands?

Things that are hilarious: The Italian translation for “cream cheese” is actually “Philadelphia” (as in the cream cheese brand).  I kid you not. There is literally no other word for it. Whipped cream is “panna montata” which sounds a lot like Hannah Montana when uttered with a good enough American accent.

So what if I creepily sought
out this pic of him
on an Archaeology website?

Unfortunately, while the three of us groaned and grimaced over how horribly delicious the cheesecake was (Darn you and your homemade, mixed berry jam, Mamma Elena!) Mamma Elena had to take a phone call.  Fortunately, we were joined by her husband, a retired archaeologist who now travels the world giving lectures.  I’m slightly obsessed with him. At this point, I’ve asked Mamma Elena on various occasions whether he will be attending our “final dinner.” I’m trying to steal her man.  He’s so adorable with his funny Italian mannerisms and dress suits. I should probably give it up quick.  He’s in his eighties. More importantly, I think she’s onto me.

Family and friends, expect some Italian cooking alla Jenna this summer because I will definitely be testing out some recipes.  (After first devouring 34928374 chicken finger baskets at Supreme’s. Duh.)  Before you get too excited, I should probably warn you that Mamma Elena specifically asked me to clean off the the table today while Girl 1 was dicing and Girl 2 was stirring. I’m not so sure if that’s a stab at my poor cooking or a way of complimenting my mean cleaning $k!LLz. Let’s pretend it’s the latter.

Jamie visits!

In other news, there have been an outrageous number of visitors to Florence over the past 2 weeks--Jamie, a friend from high school; Adair’s mom & her friend; and Lauren’s entire family!  In other words, I was spoiled rotten all week long with fabulously delicious, family dinners. Tragically, Lady Gaga and the Easter Bunny were not among the visitors.  [Side note: Europe’s TRL Awards were in Piazza Santa Croce in Florence and there were rumors that Lady Gaga would be performing. Just talk. All lies. So upsetting.]

Boboliii

Mom, ya cute.

As for the Easter bunny... apparently it doesn’t exist in Italy. Like whaaa? I just got a view of my friend Shannon’s perfect, American, Easter basket via Skype and I cannot understand why Italy wouldn’t want to offer its children an overwhelming supply of Peeps and Reeses Eggs fluffed in a pound of shiny, tinsel-y goodness.  Don’t even try to defend Italians with the whole “religion” thing. That’s baloney: Instead of an Easter basket, I received a giant chocolate egg the size of Nina's head... with a prize inside.

Signorina Nina, with the egg she picked out for me!
Things to note:
 A) her adorable, Hello Kitty sweatshirt that I got for her birthday
B) how super girly and pink my egg is
and C) this egg was half the size of the one that she ate

I was lucky enough to spend Easter (which also happened to be Adair’s 21st birthday!) with Adair, her mom, and her mom’s friend.  In my little easter dress and bonnet (okay maybe not a bonnet) I made my way to Easter mass at the Duomo which was lovely.  

Art historians & restorers around the world, start cringing at the
proximity of those fireworks to the Duomo 

After mass, we watched an insane celebration called the “Explosion of the Cart,” in which a cart (see pictures) is hit by a rocket in the shape of a dove and then exerts fireworks from all directions while the bells from Giotto’s Tower ring out for the whole city to hear.  

Florence's red, white, and purple pride!

The 4 of us had a lovely lunch and then regrouped later on for more food and Easter/birthday festivities.  Adair and I experienced the Florentine steak for the first time and it was ahh-maaaz-ingggg. 

Dad & Uncle Ray, envy me.

I hope that every at home had a Happy Easter and a chance to watch the Royal Wedding! I twisted my hair into a bun, and frosted myself in a bedazzled headband... The woman at my fave pasticerria told me that I looked like Kate with my tiara on. Thank God someone understands me.  Congrats, William and Kate, we watched you from all angles, in two languages, accompanied by brunch! Harry, get ready--we’re next! 

The real princess. Sorry, she's not sorry, Kate!