Day 255

Day 255.

And today is the day the homeward journey begins.

Waiting in the Pulkovo airport as the blizzard outside rages along.

I am leaving Russia. I am leaving Europe. I am leaving this adventure.

I am going home.

11 days.

As our train crosses the border I am struck with the feeling that we have crossed much more than a political barrier between two countries. We have left behind crumbling roads, archaic transportation and Soviet block housing. Every village, factory and road we pass seems to be the most beautiful and modern piece of design I have ever seen. It is just a matter of miles, but it is this short distance that makes all the difference. I am no longer in discontented, corrupt, and collapsing Russia. Oh no, I have just stepped foot into one of the most modern, progressive and happy places on earth. I have just entered Finland.

Now before you read this and assume that I detest Russia and its many (and I mean many) flaws, let me just refute that. My three months in Russia have given me a deeper love of Eastern Europe and a sense of home in this strangely cold and unfriendly culture. While I may not adore the fact that people are rude and self-focused as all get out, or that I cannot take a sip of tap water without fear of parasitic infection, it is the flaws of Russia that make it so endearing. This place feels like home because once you master its “unique” and strange system, and once you begin to understand its people, you finally feel like you belong. It is as though you have solved a riddle and discovered your place within that riddle.

So, it wasn’t leaving Russia that induced such excitement, instead; it was the knowledge that this Scandinavian country with its world-renowned gender equality, its unparalleled education system, and its fascinating history would be a reminder of something Western European. And that reminder is exactly what I got.

From delicious coffee, Thai food, people who spoke impeccable English (really, Finnish people have better English than me), H&M, modern and efficient transportation, women who don’t wear gaudy fur coats and heels all day-everyday, SUNSHINE, and the feel of fresh, clean air, Helsinki was like a dream come true. I’d like to call our weekend there my water break from the marathon that is Russia. Other than consuming mass amounts of real coffee and perfectly curried tofu, I explored the cobblestone streets of the city to no end, went to an island fortress, took a ferry across the Gulf of Finland to Tallinn, Estonia for the day, and soaked up every moment of sunshine that I could.

It was joy.

Even so, coming back to Russia, back to my little apartment with Mama Tatiana waiting, was definitely like coming home. And speaking of coming home, the stateside countdown has reached 11 days. My heart almost stops when hearing this. The joy of seeing family and friends and things that are familiar will be more than I can handle. Equally, knowing that this 9-month adventure of seeing the world and its people is coming to an end is bitter, bittersweet. I feel as though I have homes all over the world now, and my heart is scattered throughout. There is still so much to do and so much to see. With classes wrapping up and finals approaching I hope that I can make my last visits to people and places surely saying, “Goodbye. Until next time that is”.

A Picture of Russia

Saint Basil's Cathedral - Moscow

This is Red Square. This is a real place.

With Leti on our first day in Ukraine

Something like Bouldering on Ukrainian Ruins - Rivne.

Saint Isaac's Cathedral...back in the Peterburg.

A Day in the Life

Time flies here in Petersburg.

What was three and a half months now stretches before me as a mere five weeks. In an attempt to give a fly by summary of some of the things I have seen and done here, for lack of inspiration, is a list.

-3 days spend in Moscow. Went to the Circus. Saw Lenin's Body (he is mummified into perfection). Walked around Red Square. Took a tour of the Kremlin. Went to the first and largest MacDonalds in Russia (you may think this is lame...but its a symbol of the end of the Cold War...and its massive and ridiculous).

-Spent my mid-semester week break in Ukraine. Traveled with two friends: Alex and Leticia. We explored the capitol of Kiev to no end and I took a little detour to Rivne for a few days to visit some of my Ukrainian friends. It was the perfect break I needed and so good to visit my second homeland.

-Moved into my Russian homestay. I now live with a Russian mother (Tatiana) and brother (Kiril). They are fantastic and the opportunity to daily practice my Russian, eat delicious Russian food, and experience the culture is simply GOLD. Oh, and we also have two cats whom I love.

-Took day trips to the towns of Pushkin and Viborg. Beautiful and wonderful to see the Russian countryside.

-Toured the home of Dostoyevsky where he wrote "The Brother's Karamazov and later died. This man is amazing, read his stuff. The Russian people consider him a prophet for Russia.

-Passed my midterms with flying colors.

-Continued working at the Youth Transit Center. I visit this home once a week to spend time with the kids. Playing, making crafts and simply talking with these kids lost in translation. Most are removed from abusive homes, are illegal immigrants or come from busted gypsy camps. Their fate is the orphanage. It is a common tale.

-Went midnight ice-skating. Let me just say, Russians are way more skilled at this than I am.

There is so much more to say I am sure, but don't let me exhaust you. I'll just give you one more image of my time here in Russia. Here is a day in the Life:

Wake up at 8am. Its the perfect hour - not to early or late. Take a shower, if my host brother or roommate hasn't already claimed it. Hustle about our 2 room apartment gathering my things and getting ready for the day. Step onto the balcony off of my room to determine just how frigid today's weather will be. The usual verdict: absolultey freezing. 9am - breakfast time with Mama Tatiana and my roommate, Linsey. Often its Tea with Blini, or Kasha, or some other delicious Russian treat. We talk and talk and talk about our plans for the day, our activities yesterday, etc...Out host mother, Tatiana might work today as a tour guide in the city or she might not. If not, she'll probably be in her pajamas covered in long white cat hair with one of the two feline loves of her life in her arms. Its a beautiful sight. 9:30 - we run down the four flights of stairs and catch the passing Tramvai (train like form of public transportation). After a 10-15min ride we walk another 10 minutes to our university and begin 3 hours of Russian language class. Class goes and goes and goes and my brain almost can't handle anymore Russian once the three hours is up. Then its lunch time either in the cafeteria or perhaps we'll do some cooking in a friend's room in the dormitory. Class again, this time an elective focusing on history or literature. Wonderful subject matter, but our professors don't have the greatest command of the english language, so things lag a bit.

The freedom of the afternoon could be filled with hanging out in the dorms, going on an adventure down town on Nevski Avenue, exploring a new metro stop, working in the Youth Transit Center, using my new gym membership, or chatting more with my host mom. It is usually never filled with homework...this is purely a Russian phenomenon. When dinner time rolls around it is time to a) cook in the dorms b) cook with our host mom c) go on a cuisine adventure in the city to try some eastern ethnic dish like shashlik or borsht. Depending on the choice above, the rest of the evening might involve further city exploration, relaxation, or a bit of Russian studying. I catch the midnight metro or tramvai home and fall asleep in my tiny but plush bed with a kitty at my feet. This is Russia. This is home.

Metronome

The heavy and constant beat of a metronome filled the white noise of Leningrad’s radio waves. For 900 days and 900 nights this dull beat rang out as the heartbeat of the city. It was the only signal that Leningrad was still alive; the only sign that Leningrad had not been over taken by the Nazis. With borders, roads, and all means communication cut off, the city was completely isolated. No aid from Moscow, no food from Ukraine, no one from this, the largest country in the world, could come to the aid of the city. As food ran out, as land froze over, and as a constant state of starvation took hold of Leningrad, desperation could be seen in every corner of the city. People ate what leather goods they had, they made bread from sawdust, at times even the dead were consumed. The drive to live was there, yet the means by which to survive were not. Still the metronome rang out. Still the city was alive.

Many people would agree that Russians are of the hardiest stock of humanity. And how could they not be? With the entire northern border running along the Arctic Circle, with much of the land in entrapped in permafrost, and with a history of endless unrest and struggles for power, the perseverance of the Russian people is something to be respected. After the 900 days and 900 nights of The Siege of Leningrad, the city prevailed and survived, driving out the Nazis and reclaiming their lives. Not without loss. A city that once boasted 3 million was now home to only 1 million. The rest were among the massive losses of WWII.

Saint Petersburg (formerly Leningrad) is still feeling the effects of the Seige. Memorials can be seen all over the city; some serve as museums, others as mass graves. There are those living now in the city that survived the siege. Many more are the children and grand children of those who lived through the 900 days.

When you think of Russia you think of communism, bears on unicycles and perma-frost. Now, when I think of Russia I think of a people group who have experienced massive upheaval and immense suffering throughout their history. And now, as I walk down the streets of Saint Petersburg seeing faces void of emotion and experiencing a people who seem rather cold at times, I know that this is survival. These are a people who are beyond the façade, beyond the formality of cordiality; they are a people who live as their history taught them to live. I’m taking this lesson to heart.

Thoughts of Whitman on these Russian Streets

O ME! O life!... of the questions of these recurring;
Of the endless trains of the faithless—of cities fill’d with the foolish;
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light—of the objects mean—of the struggle ever renew’d;
Of the poor results of all—of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;	5
Of the empty and useless years of the rest—with the rest me intertwined;
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?
Answer. That you are here—that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.

Привет Санкт-Петербург!

As our boat cruised along the Neva River through the heart of Saint Petersburg, rain splattered across our windows and the sounds of smooth live jazz filled our ears. There was the Winter Palace. There was cathedral after cathedral. There were the city lights that brought color and life to this city on even the dreariest of days. The conversation of forty-three students rose and fell with the lapping waves of the river; we ate, we danced, we laughed. And this is this: the celebration of our first week in Saint Petersburg, Russia. A celebration of this place we now call home.

Calling myself a resident of Saint Petersburg simply makes my heart smile. This is a part of my journey that I have been waiting a very long time for, and let me assure you, even after five months of travel, the wait for Russia was definitely worth it. Hearing, seeing, and speaking the language that I have studied for almost two years and knowing that I am not simply visiting, but living here among the Russian people is simply bliss. I can only eagerly anticipate what these next three and a half months will hold.

The Winter Palace

Roommates ready for the Jazz Cruise

And so, in our first week here, we have dived directly into classes and filled just about every moment of spare time with tours, exploration, and orientation. It has been busy and exhausting, but we are in Russia (!) and the thrill of that overshadows all else. From cathedrals, palaces, museums, and forts we have seen much that is on the surface of this city, but it is really just a drop in the bucket of all that Saint Petersburg has to offer. With the several months that I have here I hope to at least fill some of that bucket.

For this first month here in the city I will be living in an International Dormitory connected with Saint Petersburg Polytechnic University. I must simply rave about my fellow study abroad travelers, a few of whom I now call roommates in our dormitory apartment. It is so refreshing to live and work with other students who are as interested in Russia as I am and who are as excited about learning its language. I couldn’t have imagined better friends with which to explore this city and this country. After the first month, about half of the group will be moving into home stays. In these home stays we will live with a Russian family in the Saint Petersburg area for the duration of our time here, commuting daily to the University campus. I cannot wait to have my very own Russian host-mother and daily be forced to converse mainly in Russian. The fluency that will ensue!

Peterhof: The Versailles of Russia

At Peterhof

While the Russian air may chill to the bone, while the stereotype of Russians as serious, intimidating people may prove to be somewhat true, and while three and a half months is entirely too little time, I am simply loving life.

Oh my life and days.

I’ve been out of Ukraine for nearly a month. I’ve been traveling the UK for nearly a month. I’ve been with friends and family for nearly a month. Goodness, it has been a glorious month. Stepping off of my Ukrainian International Airways flight and meeting Mom and Erica was ridiculously surreal. Then, having ten days to revisit some of my British Isles Quarter highlights with them was just brilliant. While it felt a bit soon to already go back to cities like Cambridge and Stratford and reminisce my time living and studying there, I secretly loved feeling like the comfortable “been here done that” tour guide. I can’t pretend I didn’t get us lost or confused a few times, but we did just fine for ourselves. We saw loads of plays, visited ancient historical pubs, and soaked up the history that this country is practically drenched in. What adventure could be better? That bit of family and home was just the fix I needed. But it doesn’t stop there…

Dropping Mom and Erica off at the airport I immediately picked up Shelby, fellow SPU student and former part of my SMC staff all those millions of years ago when I was an SMC in the dorms. Having just graduated, she was gifted a plane ticket to anywhere by her parents. Making the best decision of her life, she decided to make her way on over here to the motherland to hang out with me for the three weeks I had left while that troublesome Russian visa was processing. With dwindling finances on my end, a two-man tent purchased by Shelby, and an adventurous spirit between us, we booked a hostel in London for one week but left our other two weeks completely open. We explored London top to bottom spending days in museums, going to the Ballet, wandering new boroughs, seeing local theatre, and frequenting the market. This being my third visit to London on the trip I thought surely I had seen most everything previously, goodness I hadn’t.

Straight off the plane and into Kensington Gardens. Shelbster rocks the idiot grin.

As our week was coming to a close, we looked at the empty two weeks ahead of us and decided it was time to make a few plans here and there. Decision number one: let’s go to Swansea. The major factors in choosing this location really had to do with three things: bus tickets to Swansea were extremely cheap, it was in Wales, and Joanna Newsom sings a song about it. The last one was really the deciding factor for me. So we went, and pitched our tiny tent on a family owned farm that stood on magnificent cliffs overlooking the Ocean. Our immediate conclusion was that we were geniuses, when we chose blindly we chose very well. We may not have gotten the best sleep of our lives on the hard ground without proper sleeping bags, but days spent seeing castles, laying on the Welsh beach, and hiking the cliffs along the ocean surely made up for it. Making friends with old ladies at the bus stop didn’t hurt either. We extended our visit for a bit longer and plotted where our adventures would next take us.

Check out the baby tent.

We extended our visit for a bit longer and plotted where our adventures would next take us. Finding ourselves at a “Y” in the road we had to choose between going North to Scotland or South to Cornwall. Somehow we made the best decision of our lives: going south to Cornwall. Cornwall Cornwall Cornwall…you do beat all.

Oh my life and days, I’ve got no idea where to begin in describing the most fantastic week of our UK adventure.

After a few emails and phone calls with my friend Chris Parker (former intern at Oasis-Bend) it was decided that we would stay with his family in Truro and perhaps do a bit of camping around the area. Staying for just a few days and camping during those few days soon became a ridiculous idea when we realized that this was the most fantastic family and place. A few days turned into a week, and our one friend soon grew into a slew of English mates and a family we wouldn’t mind adopting. We kayaked, boated, hiked, enjoyed cream teas and crumpets, went to pub open-mics, cooked, sat around bon-fires into the wee hours of the morning, danced, and had the most excellent conversation I’ve had in a very very long time. The genuine spirit of this family, the overwhelming hospitality and the amazing wit of this family was like nothing I’ve experienced before. Truly, I do not exaggerate. Shelby and I were in no way ready to leave at the end of the week, but London called. Thoughts of returning or somehow visiting are already milling around in our minds. They will forever be milling around in our minds.

Some of the Parker Clan.

Windy Cornwall Beaches

This is Cornwall.

And so, I am back in London for the fourth time…the penultimate time. Shelby is flying home to Seattle and I am running around the city taking care of last minute things before I begin what I have waited so long for: Russia. I’ve got my visa, I’ve got my itinerary, now I just need to wait for my fellow travelers to arrive and my plane to leave on the 28^th. I don’t know a single person in my study group or in the vast Russian country, but I do know that I love this culture and this language and I am ready to spend the next three and a half months learning, living, breathing all things Russian.

The Four Corners of Ukraine

These are stories from Ukraine.
On my first solo trip to Ukraine I got to see some good friends, explore a new side of ukrainian life, work in a few camps and see the four corners of this beautiful country I might just have to call home. These stories aren't what they should be, but hopefully they give a glimpse of my month.

This is Ukraine.

Day Two: Korestan

It is two in the afternoon and I am sitting under the shade of an enormous tree in Babushka Nadia’s garden. The table before me is filled with potatoes, borsht, fresh vegetables slathered in mayonnaise, kielbasa sausage, and raw eggs. I am firmly encouraged to eat it all, and every time my plate starts to look a bit empty I am accused of eating too little. Dedushka Tolik, wearing just a pair of shorts and a straw hat which reads “Vancouver” sits on the steps in front of the house smoking a cigarette. The garden, exploding with vegetation all around us, is largely what has produced this excellent and traditional Ukrainian meal, and the vicious chickens that roam among the potato and tomato plants are surely what produced these raw eggs. Babushka Nadia rambles continually sometimes in Ukrainian, sometimes in Russian and as desperately as I try to understand, I keep turning to Vadim to act as my translator. And, oh yes, I am here with Vadim. My dear dear friend that I have not seen in two years. It was surreal enough just to think about seeing him, to have him pick me up at the airport, but then to spend three days in his hometown meeting his family and friends in the place in which he grew up, truly I feel as if I am living in a dream. I am swiftly shaken out of that dream as I see Vadim cracking a small hole in both ends of the egg and then swiftly sucking out its raw contents. It is very good for your health I am told. Babushka Nadia vigorously nods her head and watches me until I pick up my own egg and hesitantly crack the first small hole. Ignoring thoughts of salmonella poisoning or even just the idea of swallowing a raw egg whole, I swiftly take my own gulp and there, it wasn’t so bad at all! The rest of our afternoon is spent swimming in the beautiful river just 20 meters from their home and meeting the neighbors who have wandered down to do their laundry in the river or simply take a dip themselves. My Russian is improving, my skin is growing darker by the minute, I have been eaten alive my mosquitoes, and on top the of the raw egg, I have also enjoyed my first slice of pig fat and fresh garlic on bread. This is truly an outrageous cultural experience, and I count myself blessed in getting to experience it.

Blinchiki Lunch with Babushka Nadia.

Day 9: Zakarpatia

Under the mountain and stagnant air around me presses down heavy and forgotten. I carefully place each foot on the thin wooden planks that hover delicately above the narrow water filled passageways through which we climb. There is little light and little room in this labyrinth under the Zakarapatia mountains. Voices fill the echoing tunnels, some singing, some shrieking, some conversing in hushed whispers. While it would seem that I have somehow entered into the world of Lord of the Rings, I travel not with a troop of elves, but rather a band of Ukrainian children. Our feet carry us through the catacombs of Ukraine, most likely old tunnels and bunkers left of from one of the many wars Ukraine has endured. I am in the first week of my first camp and already these new kids have captured my heart. They always do.

Camp Zakarpatia: These are my girls

Day 17: Crimea

After two weeks spent in rainy Zakarpatia, a rough 18 hour train ride, and a ferry ride across the Simferopal bay, my heart is simply bursting to be in Andrevka. I have heard much about the Crimea. The Crimea! It is the Ukrainian Mediterranean, heavily influenced not just by its naturally Slavic roots, but by its neighbors across the water: Turkey and Greece. It is the Black Sea, it is the Crimean Mountains, it is vinyards, it is beaches... We drop off our bags at the unfinished, under-construction home of a friend where we are staying, throw on our swimsuits and run down to the beach. We are met by pristine blue water that stretches as far as the eye can see. Tall cliffs loom above the sandy beach. Men selling kebabs, kvas, fruit, pastries and fish roam the beach. A babble of Russian rises of from the sun bathers, swimmers, and beach campers. I am ready to be one of them. For one week I am to live, eat, breath the Crimea. Let this week never end.

The Black Sea

Day 27: Bogodukhiv (Home)

I am looking into the faces of children who have seemed more like dreams and distant memories for a very long time. My hands shake as the nervous idea that they won’t remember me creeps into my head. Still, the idiot grin of overwhelming joy spreads across my face as I realize this is reality. I am seeing my kids. I am seeing my home. And there they are on this hot summer day, lazing about the orphanage courtyard just as I left them. Contemporary rap music blasts from a first floor window and my heart skips a beat when I see that Dima is manning the CD player. And here comes the band of boys, no longer boys but young men: Lova, Eura, Babyshka, Vitya, Max…Grins spread across their faces when they see Vadim: their friend and mentor, and then shock when they realize who I am. I hear my name: Это Джия! It is Gia! Relief and joy. They haven’t forgotten me either.

The younger kids start coming into the courtyard and I can feel the buzz of excitement spread through them just as I felt it when I stepped off the bus here for the first time two years ago.

Stop. There he is. My Iliya.

And I hug him as I have wanted to do for two years and I must fight to keep back the tears. There is just no denying it, he is my favorite.

The trumpet sounds and I know exactly what that means: lunch! I am ushered into the cafeteria as kids splash me with water and as “Bon Appétit” is said over and over again. It is like déjà vu. So much is the same: the process, the words, the place, and yet me kids are different. I look into their faces and see how much they have grown, matured and changed in two years. Taller, stronger, more sure of themselves. I have missed so much.

The idiot grin in action. This is joy.

A Thought From Ukraine

Hello from Ukraine!

Clearly internet access is someone limited for me over here, but while I have a few minutes I thought I would let everyone know that things are going wonderfully over here in beautiful Ukraine and I have had a fantastic 2 weeks. It is hard to believe that I have already been here that long, time certainly flies. I don't have the chance to share some of the many stories I have to tell, so I will just say that I finished a great camp in a small town called Svalyava. We were legitimately camping in tents and all, and got to go on some epic hikes around the Zakarpatia area. Ah! Ukraine never ceases to be beautiful and impressive.

I am in Kiev for the day and then taking a train south down to the Black Sea where I will be doing another week long camp at an orphanage. I cannot wait to swim in the sea! After that I will be heading to Bogodukhiv, my first orphanage! The idea is still so so surreal.

It has been interesting, fun and challenging being here on my own, but I must say that I have learned a lot because of it. Thank goodness my Russian is coming in handy, although I am realizing how much more there is to learn.

Two more weeks! Ready, go.

Three Months

Three months.

It is a very long time, and yet it is no time at all. To think that I have been on the road of European backpacking and studying for three months seems just impossible. I feel as though I left yesterday and I simultaneously feel as though I have been here for ages. I can now check off one third of my trip, but it’s a third of my trip that I will sorely miss. I have fallen hard for the UK, and I think parts of it will forever feel like a bit of home. As of tomorrow, I will officially be on my own traveling to Ukraine. It is bittersweet to say goodbye to my travel partners, made sweet only because my heart longs to be in Ukraine. I will arrive in Kiev on Monday and swiftly make my way to Bogodukhiv…the orphanage I first worked at two years ago. Knowing that I will be in Bogodukhiv with the children that changed my life is simply surreal. I’m not even sure I fully comprehend it yet. I am ecstatic to say the least.

This month of travel post-study abroad has flown by, and it has also been a huge time of learning. I’ve experienced so many new situations, met so many new people from all over the world, and enjoyed such beautiful cities. From the mayhem of Paris, the rejuvenation of Cessy and my immense love of Italy, it has been a glorious month. This term of Italian travel was split between Palermo in Sicily, Florence and Venice. Each of these cities is so different and our experiences in each were very different as well. I must say that Sicily is my new favorite location in Italy – it seems to have remained untouched by tourist culture, and the raw Mediterranean atmosphere that you find there is hard to resist.

Ciao Sicily.

Florence.

Going to Florence, where it seems that more people speak English than Italian was a bit of a shock after Palermo. While Florence holds such a wealth of art, history and architecture you can’t seem to escape the tourists that flood the streets.I was expecting much the same when we went to Venice a few days later, and while the main streets surrounding the Grand Canal and San Marco Square were filled with flashing cameras and rows of gaudy souvenirs and knock-off purses, once you meandered down the narrow alleys and bridges you found yourself in what is truly Venice. Small cafes lining the canals, locals conversing, and motorboats which have replaced the usual cars found in a city. We enjoyed many a morning sipping on cappuccinos, eating pastries, and reading as the city woke up and as canal traffic began. I think I could go on forever living such a life. Venice was the perfect end to our grand Italian tour and the perfect end to things resembling the west. So now, it is time for the east. Time for Ukraine.

This is Venice.

Venice.

Venice.

Meeting Bisacquino

Barely having time to scribble down the address I scramble out the door of my hostel to catch the 8.15 bus to Bisacquino. The hot sticky Sicilian air temptingly lulls me into a sleeping daze as our bus ride begins through what is some of the most breathtaking Mediterranean countryside. Two hours later our bus pulls over on the side of the highway and a small sign points down to the red roofed village below. It reads “Bisacquino”. Following the main road down I enter into a web of small homes and cobblestone streets. Lines of laundry rustle softly in the breeze making rainbows of fabric outside every window and terrace. The village is sleeping and there seems to be little activity other than the few cats who scurry across our paths and the grandmothers who peer at our unfamiliar presence. I carry only a slip of paper in my hand that reads “Santa Lucia 4. Near the small catholic church and city water trough.” This is the address of Gioacchino Magro – the address of my great grandfather.

I had imagined that I would simply stumble upon the stoop of my Magro ancestors, or that I would follow the sound of a single church bell that would lead me towards the home. Little did I know Bisacquino is sprinkled with about a dozen small churches and even more fountains, wells and troughs. My map-less quest would prove to be a bit more difficult that I had anticipated. What I did stumble upon after an hour of fruitless meandering was the Piazza Triona. A large church, a large fountain, rows of old men communing in the Sicilian sunshine, still no Santa Lucia 4. Naturally, when hope seemed lost, we turned to food as the answer. A cappuccino and a croissant was just the thing.

As the coffee was brewed and the pastries served, a small conversation between my little Italian and the baristas’ little English began. My family immigrated out of Bisacquino. I am here to see the home of my great grandfather. Their surname is Magro. “Magro, Magro, Magro”. The two baristas, smiling middle-aged women wearing brightly colored tops, wracked their brains for any knowledge of the Magros. No success. Bring in the old men communing in the Sicilian sunshine. “Magro, Magro, Magro”. They searched the recesses of their mind. No success. Gioacchino Magro, I said, my great grandfather. The crowd of Bisacquino citizens grew, phone calls were made, phone books were searched. They wanted me to meet my family, to meet any Magros that might be left in Bisacquino. They decided that the language barrier was just too much and so called in the only person in Bisacquino who could speak English well to act as our translator. Five minutes later she pulled up to the little café to offer her assistance. Some Magros were known of, but not in Bisacquino anymore, they lived in another village just five kilometers away. The historical office was closed, as were the churches, and all the people seemed a little disappointed that they couldn’t be of any greater assistance. Slowly the crowd dispersed, of course after paying for our lunch and pointing us in the direction of Santa Lucia, a small catholic church located a few blocks from the Piazza.

Surely I hadn’t meet any Magros, but I had met just about every citizen of the village and experienced a sort of Sicilian hospitality like I had never seen before. I didn’t just see Bisacquino, I experienced Bisacquino, I met Bisacquino. A short walk down Via Roma brought me to Santa Lucia. A small catholic church, a town water trough, and a number 4 above an old wooden door. I’d found home.

Paris: The City That Stole My Heart and My Wallet.

Paris.

The pitter-patter of cool rain is hitting my window creating a soft symphony of sound on this, my third evening at Le Rucher here in Cessy, France. The peace and nature I so needed while in Paris is found here. Being with Alberta, being in this breathtaking countryside, and transitioning into a new pace of travel is exactly what my soul needed. I feel myself becoming human again. I feel myself thinking again. And while it may seem like my eagerness to escape the city limits of Paris implies a hatred of the city, that is not totally the case. True, I will not miss the pickpockets, who stole my wallet, the overly creepy Parisian men who stroked my face while uttering things in French I am so glad I do not understand, or the smell of urine which seems to permeate every inch of the city. What I will miss is the sound of street musicians playing soothing basso nova down by the Seine, the dozens of parks oozing with flora and fauna, and the art and architecture which makes this city like no other. After the first couple of days, which mostly consisted of two girls and their 40lbs. bags pitifully trying to find their way around, things got much better. We moved into a 5^th floor apartment right in the heart of Paris where we stayed with a friend of a friend, who happened to be the most lovely French girl and who become a great guide to the sights and to the finer cultural elements. During those days we took a trip to Versailles and saw the outrageously ornate chateau and walked the gardens of Marie Antoinette, we paid visits to the Louvre and the Musee D’Orsey, I must rave about the wealth of Impressionist art that the D’Orsey had…I was in heaven, and we saw the major sights: Eiffel Tower, Arc de Triumph, Notre Dame, etc.

Notre Dame.

Place' de Republique.

Evening at the Eiffel Tower.

The Louvre

I was also able to spend some time with my friend Alla, who has been studying in Paris for the last few months. Alla and I had not seen one another since we worked together in the Bogodukhiv orphanage two years ago. Such a surreal experience to see her and spend time with her in Paris. She took us to her favorite crepe stand, showed us around the Latin Quarter, and had us meet the Parisian host family that she has been staying with. Again, city insiders prove to be the best guides.

On our final night in Paris we enjoyed a picnic on the Seine with our professor and his wife who have been staying in Paris. Seeing them again, about a week after our program had ended, was simply magical. It was like seeing family. I must admit, I did shed a tear or two, which might have also been induced by the fact that my wallet had been stolen about two hours before, but even so. I am continually reminded of how traveling with people bonds them together. Everyone’s best and worst is revealed, and its hard not to fall for people when you begin to understand them in such real life contexts.

So, I’m learning how travel. How to really travel – independently. It’s a terrifying and confusing process, but the learning curve is exponential. Post-Paris I feel as if I could tackle the world. But I’ll stick to my plan and enjoy this beautiful time I have with Alberta somewhere between France and Switzerland.

Cessy. Perfection.

Second Star to the Right...and onto Paris.

Lovely London

Bonjour!

I am writing this amidst the whirlwind of the end of the quarter, saying goodbye to my fellow classmates and travelers, and my first few days in Paris! Whew! These past two weeks have been such a flurry, and yet they were quite a fantastic two weeks. Even while attempting to crack down on studying and pump out four essays for my classes, there was so much of London that I was able to see, and goodness, London has so much to see and do! Because I lack the time, accurate memory and space in which to write all that I did, I will attempt to simply portray some of the highlights.

As previously mentioned, the London Tube is simply a dream. You really can get anywhere in the city within a matter of minutes. Once you master the system, the city is at your disposal. Within the first few days we saw most of the major sights: Trafalgar Square, Big Ben and Parliament, The Tower Bridge, The London Tower, The British Library (home to the origonal Beowulf manuscrip!), Harrods, Hyde Park and Westminster. On Sunday we went to the evening Service and Westminster, which was a little disappointing in that it was really catered only to tourists and visitors…no permanent congregation to speak of. Even so, the cathedral and all of the graves and treasures it holds are simply breathtaking. As a class we also saw a production of MacBeth held at The Globe. While perhaps not the best production (especially in comparison to the phenomenal Shakespeare plays we saw in Stratford) it was really amazing to see Shakespeare in the original theatre!

Big Ben

Something else that London holds a wealth of is Musicals. I went to see two, Mamma Mia and Wicked. Let me just say that both were incredible! But Wicked, oh Wicked, this musical was on an entirely different level. For those of you who haven’t seen or heard of this musical, I insist you do!! (I hear its coming to Eugene this summer). Not only does it have a wonderful plot, but the music is just out of this world. I would wager to say that it was one of the better experiences of my life. The moment I got home I bought the soundtrack and haven’t stop listening to it.

While in London, I also took a few day trips out of the city. The first was during Bank Holiday when two friends and I took the train to Oxford. Our goal in this was not simply to see the beautiful colleges in Oxford, but also to pay homage to the greats: Tolkien and Lewis. Our day here consisted of lunch at the Eagle and Child (the pub frequented by the Inklings…writing group of which Tolkien and Lewis were apart of), visiting a few of the colleges, napping and reading in parks and perusing the city streets. It was fun to compare Cambridge and Oxford – although choosing between them might be impossible for me. Our second day trip was to Liverpool. This journey by train was mostly made so that we could again pay homage, this time to the Bealtes. Liverpool is really a fun city, and the Beatles Museum on the Albert Docks is simply amazing. More of an experience than a museum.

Outside the Eagle and Child - Pub of the Inklings

The Liverpool Docks

Other highlights of London included a visit to the Tate Modern. This art gallery is simply enormous, and to see works my Picasso, Dali, Monet, and so many others is mind-blowing. I could spend days there just exploring, sitting and observing. I also took a visit to the British Museum which houses a mass of wordly treasures. Precious artifacts fill the shelves, rooms and halls of the enormous building and seeing things that you have read about and seen only in textbooks is unreal. It’s hard to believe that you are seeing the physical object. Some highlights were the Elgin Marbles, the mummy of Cleopatra, The Rosetta Stone, and hundreds of Grecian Vases. Again, a place in which to endlessly explore and lose yourself in. We also went on a London-wide hunt to find art of the great graffiti artist Banksy. We were lucky enough to find some along the Camden locks…his is the kind of graffiti that doesn’t get washed away.

One of the Elgin Marbles - From which Keats was inspired to write Ode on a Grecian Urn

And so the quarter is over, and our traveling troop of students has dispersed over much of Europe and back into the States. I already miss seeing those who have become a kind of family over the past ten weeks, and I cannot help but long for each of the places we have visited, which hold such a dear place in my heart.

With summer officially here I am looking forward to this next leg of my journey in which I will move from Paris to visit Alberta in Cessy, something I am beyond excited for! Then to Italy with a friend from University. This is sure to prove an adventure, and I find myself falling further and further in love with Europe.

Stratford upon Avon

Stratford upon Avon.

Once merely a small village which Shakespeare called home, this lovely little town is now a mecca to lovers of literature and theatre. While it may be touristy as all get out, it is simply impossible not to visit Stratford when in England. Once you get past the shops that shamelessly abuse and exploit their connection to the great bard, you find a town that truly loves Shakespeare and takes the theatre very seriously. We were able to see three plays done by the Royal Shakespeare Company while there: Antony and Cleopatra, Romeo and Juliet, and King Lear. Let me just say, all three were simply phenomenal. And King Lear, oh Lear. Not only is this play by far my favorite of Shakespeare’s works, but this production of it was simply out of this world. Beautifully heartbreaking.

The stage set for Antony and Cleopatra

Standing outside the home in which Shakespeare was born.

Another perk of staying in small Stratford is that you seem to bump into the actors quite frequently. I met Lord Capulet in the post office, saw Mercutio and Romeo chatting on a street corner, and talked to King Lear at the pub. I now know the meaning of being star struck. These actors can render 16^th century verse with such feeling and clarity that when you actually meet them and realize they are human your heart just skips a beat or two. When attempting to meet these actors (and by meeting I may mean borderline stalking), it is always useful knowing where to go. Just down the road from the theatre there is a little pub called the Dirty Duck. If you so happen to stop by, you are about one hundred percent sure to meet an actor or two. It seems to be their nightly hangout. I highly recommend it.

And so, when not seeing plays at the theatre, many an hour was spent reading in parks under the shade of high reaching trees, taking walks along the River Avon (Avon is the gaelic word for river, so it literally means The River River), and spending way too much time in book shops. Oh, and also spending way too much time discussing Shakespeare.

Home of Anne Hathaway (Shakespeare's wife)

Now we have come to LONDON! What a city. We’ve been here about 24 hours and already I’ve gone to a music festival (these Londoners love their music), learned to navigate the metro (The Tube I should say), and been completely overwhelmed by all that this city has to offer. We are here for two weeks and I guarantee that I will need every single day to even begin to see all that I want to here. While it is a crowded and dirty city, I must confess that I have already fallen for London. It is so utterly European and so utterly big. I’m not sure how much essay writing or literature reading I’ll be able to do here. Even so, excitement abounds!

Bike City.

Pedals, a basket, and a bell. To what do these belong? My very own bicycle rented for the week in Cambridge, lovely Cambridge. While learning to bike on the opposite side of the road has proved mildly confusing, I’ve learned that if I just follow the massive pack of biking university students, I’ll be safe. Cambridge is in a week of exams and so most of the colleges are closed for the week. Luckily, using powers of the intellect, we’ve learned that attending churches within the colleges means that you gain access as well. Mostly I’m talking about going to church at the King’s College Cathedral on Sunday, one of the largest and oldest colleges part of the University. I am still in awe of their boys choir. I never knew voices could sing that high, let alone male voices. These districts of Cambridge are beyond lovely and give an image of what Medieval England would have looked like. Along with ancient streets and structures, Cambridge is full of bookshops loaded with antiquity books. For a bunch of English majors, a lot of drooling happens in these shops. Seeing first editions of Lord of the Rings, Johnson’s Dictionary and Shakespeare’s first complete folio compilation was rather epic. Our professor considered selling his house in order to buy a few of these treasures. Unfortunately, the idea didn’t take flight. Against my better judgment, I bought several books in Cambridge, most notably a fantastic copy of Anna Karenina. I have yet to figure out where I am going to store all of these books for the next seven months, and a package or two may have to be sent home.

Kings College, Cambridge

Did I mention Newton was a Cambridge Alum?

Well, him and just about every other important Englishman, including Wilberforce and Tennyson just to name a few.

On Thursday we went on a little punting adventure through the Cambridge canals. This boating experience was reminiscent of the Venetian gondolas, but instead of Italian men in striped shirts taking us down the canals, we did our own punting. Figuring out how to balance yourself on the back of a narrow boat while propelling the craft using only a long pole is a bit terrifying, but the learning curve is exponential. After an hour, we were cruising down the canals past colleges, parks, and rows of weeping willows. We only crashed into other boats a few times, so I would call it a success.

Punting.

Embracing our mobility thanks to our bicycles, we paid a visit to Granchester, a small town outside of Cambridge. Granchester is quaint and calm to say the least, and we found ourselves at a place called “The Orchard”. The Orchard is exactly what its title implies, a beautiful orchard full of pink cherry blossom trees. We spent a day there enjoying tea and scones while sitting, reading, and talking in the sun. With each little breeze, pink petals fluttered their way down making a carpet of the stuff. What can I say but beautiful beautiful beautiful.

Cambridge is a place I could easily live in (although I think I could say that about every place we’ve visited). I love the beauty of its architecture, the liveliness of its college town atmosphere balanced with the calm of its parks, canals, and trails leading into the country. It doesn’t hurt that it’s a biking town either.

In the spirit of sharing a bit of my academic learning on this trip, here is a quote from Graham Greene’s novel “The End of the Affair”. A really beautiful piece of literature written by an interesting and complex man.

“It’s a strange things to discover and to believe that you are loved when you know that there is nothing in you for anybody but a parent or a God to love”