Day 178

Where do I begin. I don't have words for Venice. Except, wow. The only time I remember feeling so overwhelmed by the HOLYSHTISTHISFORREAL?NESS of a place is the first time I saw New York City from a taxi on the way into Manhattan from JFK. It was love (and awe) at first site. Before today, Venice was just another box on a long check list. I guess I imagined it would be cheesier...Vegas-y even. But I have never seen more beautiful side streets and street signs and clotheslines in my life. Venice is magical and I want more. I will take my mom there one day. I've always wanted to take her to another country so she could fall as in love with the world as I am and I think if any place could sweep her off her feet, it would be Venice. I don't know if it's the cocktail of old colorful buildings and water and bridges but whatever it is, I was sold the second I stepped off the train. I always feel pretty lucky but today (and for the last 5 months, really) I feel so SO grateful, and satisfied. My feet are aching, my waistline is expanding before my eyes but my heart feels full and my buzz has nothing to do with the free wine from the charming waitstaff at the hole in the wall we closed down tonight. This is what life is all about to me. When I go back to a cubicle in October, it is only to for the chance to come back to these old buildings, crumbling arches, colorful facades and even colorful-er people. And to teach more Russians and Nuns on trains how to shuffle and play Bullshit. Mamma mia. 

Day 177

It's Florence. What else is there to do?

Day 176

Gorgenhaussenguggenplatz. Switzerland got lucky. Real lucky. We were itchin to get behind the wheel in a bad way but Hertz and Eurocar were automatic-less and if you think I’m crazy enough to try my hand at a stick in the Alps, you’re almost right.

Back to the train station. We had to wait a looooong time for the train to Interlaken so naturally we grabbed eeeeevery shiny unrealistic adventure brochure about Interlaken to pass the time.

Minutes later we were at the ticket counter pointing to the picture that met our criteria: Minimum physical activity and maximum Alps. Seven non-English speaking ticket agents, three trains and one cable care later, we were zip-lining down the Matterhorn. And by Matterhorn I mean some big mountain with snow on it that could totally be the Matterhorn if you just squint a bit.

Holy uberlichtenstiengooberflaugen! Holy jello legs. Holy I want to do that again.

Our last night in Bern we walked around the city covered in Alp and stumbled into the mother of cute restaurant bars.

  

Good lighting. Fun chairs. Funky waiters. And a civilized bachelor party at the next table. Hot foreign guy jackpot. 

But for better of worse, we had to pass up free drinks and foreign tongues for an overnight train to Florence. Two middle bunks baby. Yeah let’s not talk about that. 

Day 175

we want chocolate
we want chocolate
and fondue
and fondue
we're gonna get real fa'at
we're gonna get real fa'at
elastic pants
elastic pants

(to the tune of 'Where is thumpkin')

Day 174

Hola! When you fly Iberia. They speak to you in Spanish. Since I haven't had to speak spanish in oh, 10 years, I just stared at the flight attendants. Instead of, you know, answering them. they're standing there with a pot of coffee, it doesn't take a genius to figure out what they're asking. But still, I just stare.

I caught on eventually. "Mas pan?" Yeah, for sure. Because this chicken looks it's been both eaten and digested for me already. And I usually like to do the dirty work myself.

Flight went by quickly and I was in Geneva before I knew it. Found my partner in crime at baggage claim and we took off to get a quick look at that lake that squirts water before hopping on a train to Bern. If I ever need a bank or a Rolex, I'll go back to Geneva but that's probably the only reason why.

Bern rules, though. It felt more Swiss-y, and not so bank-y. But after being awake for almost 40 hours strait, we just want a warm bed. More than we want chocolate--which is a LOT.

Day 173

In about 12 hours, I'm leaving on a jet plane. Because my good old days started about 6 months ago and I've got some catching up to do. 

I remember talking to my friend about a year ago and saying we were doing our 20's all wrong.  Why so serious, 20's? There was way too much working and whining about working and not enough careless frolicking amongst cobblestone and late nights with complete strangers. I can count the amount of times I've been up so late I saw the sun rise on 3 fingers. And that is not okay. 

I kept worrying that when got old, I wouldn't have any glory days to reminisce about. My 20's were approaching their midnight hour and all I had to show for them was a studio in Boston (yeah it's adorable, but still), a job that made it unwise to be around sharp objects and friends and acquaintances  out doing the things I wanted to do. The stories I'd tell were rarely my own. So & So just went here. I just read an article about a guy who did this. OH!! My friend from work and her husband both quit their jobs, went to Europe for a month, then moved to a city they had only visited once because they felt like it, without jobs or a place to live.

Then that ball and chain called a 9-5 was suddenly not of my concern. In the last 6 months, I've racked up more stories and experiences than I have in the last 6 years. Or in my whole life. 

I look at things differently now. Things that seemed impossible or unrealistic, don't. I feel a little bit fearless. Not to be confused with confident. I'm well aware that all my little plans and ideas could backfire. It just doesn't bother me. 

So my "good old days" didn't start until I was 27. So what. Better late than never. 

Vivir bien!

Day 173

Filling my suitcase with things I don't need. Making playlists. Charging cameras and phones and iPods. Defrosting my fridge. Exfoliating. 

Day 172

Errands. Errands. Errands. Packing. Billy Ocean.

Day 171

Made pancakes for the Frenchies. Brian...I think our pancake stand would do VERY well abroad. Europeans make fun of our food but they secretly love it. 

Reading Rainbow

       

Immoveable Feast: 

Dude meets a French girl in LA. They get married and move to Paris. 18 years later, he's still making Christmas dinner in the French countryside for her family. And I want to go, in a bad way. Sorry Nana.  

French Milk: 

I did not realize this was a graphic novel the night I got trigger happy in the Travel Memoir section of Amazon.com. Wasn't bad. Wasn't great. Reminded me that there are lots of ways to tell a story.

Paris to the Moon: 

American couple moves to Paris to start their family. They just pick up and go. (WHAT?!) And figure it out as they go along. Drags on about too many boring details. But boring details about life in Paris are still pretty interesting. Badass intro.

Day 170

It hasn't stopped raining all day and I don't want it to. I liiiiiiiike it. 

Day 169

Day 168

Spoke to the creative director today about accepting a permanent position when I return. Now I need to talk to HR. If the price is right, I stay. And save for Italia. If it's not, I don't stay. And explore other options. And still save for Italia. 

I hate this part. The money part. It always sucks. 

In other news, I tried cottage cheese today and it might be the most disgusting thing I've ever put in my mouth ever. Gross. 

Gross. 

Day 167

They found a loophole. I will too.

The Olive Notes

Figs and Lemons

Emilie Johnson

Moscerina

L 'Etrangere Americaine

Day 166

Watching Big (yessss!)

Reading about some Expats (double yessss!)

http://www.expat-blog.com/

I know what I'm going to be doing ALL day at work tomorrow.

Day 165

I want long hair NOW. And also at the exact same time, I want to cut it. This is both a true story and a metaphor for everything else in my life. 

I want the east coast & the west coast. Stability & adventure. Commitment & complete freedom. Foreign & Familiar. Sweet & salty. 

I just do not want the in between. 

Day 164

Only 35 hours, 47 "we-have-no-rooms-available-on-those-days", and one "uh-i-know-i-gave-you-my-credit-card-number-but-i-changed-my-mind-ok-so-get-off-my-back" later...and we have a winner:

I'd like to thank the academy. And TripAdvisor.com for all your support. And to everyone who reviewed this hotel, I am only here because of you. Thank you. And good night.

Day 163

Looked up hotels in Paris all day. Like it was my job. Maybe it should be. Maybe I should be a travel agent. When I move to Italy, I should become an American travel agent. I can teach them English, get them drunk (bartending class begins October 5th) then plan their trip to America. 

Day 162

I'm sweaty.

9-5'd then wine shop'd then BBQ'd with mes amis Français. What would I do without them. I wonder how many foreigners I missed out on by not teaching english the past two months.

Day 161

13 more days and I get to be the foreigner.

Day 160

Everything is falling into place. Not just for me. For the people I love most!

• The Nicks will officially elope while we're in Barcelona!
  
• The Bear officially got a jay oh bee!
  
• LL QUIT her jay oh bee!
• D bought a house!
• Joey's going home!
• Flight from Milan to Barcelona. CHECK!
  
• Train from Barcelona to Madrid. CHECK!
  
• Flight from Madrid to Paris. CHECK!
  
• Phone call from my mom this AM telling me she thought a lot about my new life plan (come back from Vivir Bien '09...accept job and work for 6 months while getting my TEFL certification and taking a couple Italian classes...MOVE TO ITALIA IN APRIL FOR ONE YEAR and teach English. And hang out.) and she wants me to do it! So now I just have to make it happen somehow. And save money and get work visas and make living arrangements and figure out how to put my life in Boston in storage. 
  
• Oh and drumroll...THREE LOADS OF LAUNDRY. CHECK!

Day 159

I had every intention of doing laundry and tons of other productive things but it's impossible for me to move from in front of my air conditioner. I can't do it. So I'm reading an interview with Jim Jarmusch instead and now I'm even more obsessed with him. 

"I love the surrealists' ideas of taking mundane things and amplifying details."

Day 158

I hatched an amazing plan late last night. I told my mom today and she flipped out. I wish doing something that made me happy didn't make the people I love so unhappy.

But once I get something in my head...

Day 157

Sat in front of the air conditioner and busted out a resume and cover letter for the human interest ad agency in ny. Lame. I wanted to think of a cool way to approach them since they are not hiring and I really want them to remember me when they are...but I have too much to do before I leave for Europe in two weeks. Including finding more interesting jobs to apply to. And by interesting, I mean in Italy. My Italian friend tried to convince me that it's easy to find a job in Italy. It's not easy, but maybe it's not totally impossible.

Day 156

It's hot. I'm melting. Caught up on my freelance in slow motion. Looked for jobs in NY and San Francisco in slow motion. Going to have to cave and excavate my air conditioner from my closet tomorrow so I don't move like molasses through the entire 90 degree week...

Day 155

Me, my own bed and I. 

Day 154

The end.

I can't believe our 2 week whirlwind tour de American force is over. Can't believe it happened to begin with.

155 days ago, I was sitting in an office, hovering over a mess of post-it notes, splitting my PTO across the 8 weddings I had to go home for. Feeling all cheated and bitter. I would spend a good 365 minus 18 days working my robot ass off and my only reward would be 8 overpriced flights back to the state shaped like a mitten that I barely escaped to begin with. Then I got laid off.

So while this trip didn't change my life (I didn't climb Mt. Kilimanjaro (like Irene!) or meditate with Buddhist monks or volunteer in Africa) it was more than a roadtrip. This was two weeks of living, that I would have spent dying a little on the inside as I wrote brochure copy for laser assisted lipolysis.

Pietro's dream roadtrip turned out to be like staring in one of the very daydreams I would have while staring out my office window. He got to see the Grand Canyon, the Empire State Building and the Pacific Ocean. I got to wake up each day in a new city, end each one with a taco and never missed a single sun set in between. I appreciated each and every moment (even the ones in LA) because the entire two weeks were like...I don't know...being somewhere I wasn't supposed to be. They were extra. And I needed that.

Once again, I have the recession to thank. It has redefined the meaning of PTO. I didn't get paid in cashmoney but I got paid baby. I feel rich.

[signore e signorini, REcalculating, headcake, whhobody, mama mia, puppies, ski, what the f*** are you doing?, princess, eyeball alarm clock, where the 'ell hare we?, gummy worms, red vines, i wanna coffee, water water water, you can't even imagine what i said but it was about your sister, i don't know if i'm hot or i'm cold only my middle feels good, apple bottom jeans, candy, don't look me, the boss, walk of life, yesssssss, homer simpson, creedence clearwater revival, 9/11, italian bad word time, no talking after..., skoot up, what keep left mean?, che pale, che stronza, fonculo, i'm in jail, white jeans, the moon, stephanie and pietro's bridge, you always have to be first, stop, picture picture picture, mambo italiano, singing in the rain, starbucks]

Day 153

To say we are exhausted is an understatement but shoot, I'm never too tired for Central Park. Never. I can't think of a more appropriate way to end two weeks of desert, mountain, ocean and concrete jungle. I showed Pietro my favorite parts of the park then we just sat. And sat. And sat. And talked about how lucky we were. And how incredible the last two weeks were. And had another hot dog, naturally.

Then met up with friends in the city and showed the Italian one last night of all-American fun. 

Day 152

Somewhere between San Francisco and New York. Somewhere between night and day. Some where between conscious and unconscious.

Got to NY at 7ish am. If I was an asshole today, that is why. I'm too old for this. I hated life for the 45 minute cab ride from JFK but walked into our hotel and all was well again. 

I'm obsessed with this place! Coolest hotel I've ever stayed at EVER. From the walls covered with art to the burnt-out rocker hotel clerks, to its storied past, to the shampoo and conditioner. 

Zombies or not, we walked around NYC for about 9 hours. The Italian was in heaven. Every other word out of his mouth was "mamma mia!" or "che fantastico!".  And from my mouth, "Uhh can we paaleease leave time square now?".

Took a ferry to the Statue of Liberty.

Went to the Empire State Building. 

Ate street hot dogs. Got a seizure in Times Square. 

Somehow made it back to our hotel with our limbs hanging on by a thread.

Only a couple more days left, then back to reality. Kinda :)

Day 151

I like waking up in San Francisco. I knew I would. Now I just have to find a place that will hire me. So I can live on this street with this tree.

And drink espresso here.

And make more pictures of more signs. And eat awesome hot cakes.

Stop at other delicious cafes along the way.

Get lost in a new city.

NEXT: Red-eye to NYC

Day 150

Drove back to San Francisco. We loooooove it. Even though we have no idea where we are going ever. Even with 7 maps of San Francisco.

Went to Nick's Crispy Tacos in Nob Hill. 

Neither one of us had the energy to move from our plush red booth so we got more margaritas while I made Pietro make a bucket list. NOT because I'm going to kill him soon for having to stop every two feet so he can take video and pictures and more videos and pictures and MORE videos and MORE g damn pictures. I forgot what he looks like without a camera in front of his face! But I guess I was the same the first time I saw Italy.

We topped off the night with espresso and tiramisu and good conversation. Back to the hotel by 10pm.

We are BEAT. But still loving every minute.

Day 149

Woke up in a seedy motel in San Luis Obispo (just like in the movies!) then took off to find the Pacific Coast Highway.

A   M   A   Z   I   N  G. Jaw-dropping take your breath away make you forget everything kind of amazing. 

Top down. Heat on. Wind in my hair. Ocean on my left. Mountains (and Italy) on my right. Singing classic rock n' roll and the Apple Bottom Jeans song from the top of our lungs. Kept.It.Classy.

Breakfast for lunch.

Drove through San Francisco to Napa. Got in too late to visit any wineries but got some rest and relaxation and Savignon Blanc. 

Day 148

I drove for almost 9 hours strait today while the Italian took photos of himself in the passenger seat and ate all the red vines. Uhh what's wrong with this picture? 

I've always hated driving. I'm a road hazard. I can't read a map. I don't know east from west (sometimes not even right from left). And I don't even know where the button to pop the hood is, or what the fuck is under it.

But something happened on this trip! I LOVE DRIVING. I think I owe it all to my iPOD and GPS and frustrated international driver...

"Why people [drivers] says to me all the time 'fuck you'?"

Later...

Me (at a light when he was driving in LA): Skoot up.

Him: What 'skoot up' means?

Me: OMG stop asking questions just DO IT!

I got off and on highways like it was nobody's business. I merged. I passed semis on a one lane highway. I DROVE AROUND A STEEP AND WIND-Y ASS MOUNTAIN IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE FOR 3 HOURS IN THE PITCH BLACK!!! While singing loudly and off tune. 

I've turned a new leaf. And it feels damn good. 

Day 147

Not only did I drive to Vegas, we made with without ending up in Alaska or Texas. No head on collisions. No police chases. This was a turning point in my life. It's not that I wanted to drive, but I prefered it to repeating everything the gps said 8000 times so that Pietro knew when to keep left on the 15. 

A few new rules we have established. 

No asking me questions after 4pm. If he starts a sentence with "why do", I'm not legally obliged to answer. He's cut off.

Italian Time. This is when I do something like go to the wrong airport or get on the wrong train or accidentally put his memory card in his camera wrong so the pictures don't record. And he needs a few minutes to only speak ITALIAN. And when ask him to translate, he says "you can't even imagine what I just said right now YOU CAN'T". So I don't ask anymore. I smile and sometimes repeat everything for fun. FONCULO!

We got to Vegas just in time for our helicopter ride over the Grand Canyon. It's been his dream to see the Grand Canyon ever since he heard the Dire Straits song "Walk of Life" on a juke box when he was about 10. It was fun to see him so happy. And not swearing at me in Italian.

And it also made realize I want to be a helicopter pilot. I definitely need a helicopter. It was like being on the Jetsons!!!!!