Lisbon, Portugal

With all the traveling, eating, and sitting that I do, I've run out of time to properly describe my last weekend, which was spent in the land of Lisbon, Portugal.  My study abroad group, ISA, bused the 150ish of us over to the capitol of Portugal to spend a few days touring castles, cathedrals, and ocean-side towers, in-between meals of the best seafood in the world.  At least, thus far in my  world.

Words can't quite do Portugal justice anyway, so I'll mostly just let the pictures speak for themselves.

View of Lisbon from the castle of Saint George.

Inside the Lisbon Cathedral

Lisbon Cathedral

Belem Tower

Laying in a Portuguese gutter

4th item down...Google translate strikes again.

Swordfish for dinner!

I literally cannot say enough about the food.  Because it was a liiittle pricey (contrary to the recommendation from the hotel lobby guy) for us college students, we ordered three dishes and split them among the five of us.  I had never had swordfish before and I don't think I will ever again, unless I'm back in Portugal.  I don't want one of the Top 5 Meals of My Life to be ruined by some questionable second-rate seafood place in Idaho.  The salmon was incredible (sorry Dad, it actually did beat yours--but made with less love), and the shrimp paella was to die for.

Lisbon's famous postres

Also, Lisbon is famous for their postres.  They are basically little cream-filled, flaky crusted miniature pies.  It would have been rude to not sample them...so I ate three for lunch.

Exploring the nearby town of Sintra

A group of us took a train to the nearby town of Sintra to explore one of the famous castles.  Upon arriving, however, we discovered that it cost a quite a bit more than we had originally thought to explore the royalty's former house and playground.  So a few of us opted out and instead chose to explore the town and the (much cheaper) summer mansion of the royals.

Royal summer mansion.

The royal mansion was beautiful, but the grounds were the really cool part.  We explored dark, creepy tunnels, which led to beautiful ponds, former wells (that you could play in!), tall princess towers, and secret grottos.

Going to this place was the best decision of the weekend.  Even better than watching "The Hunger Games" in English...which we also did, and was also awesome.  So keep your Katniss opinions to yourselves, haters.

View of Sintra from one of the twisty tall princess towers.

Twin Falls senior pic blue wall shoutout

Lookit!!

One of the really cool things about Portugal was that people are very polite.  Obrigado is "thank you" in Portuguese, and we heard it often.  I've said before that the Spanish and Italian men think they are funny when they call after American girls in the street with "Ohmaigawwd."  It's the same way in Portugal, only instead I heard, "Ohhhh myyy gooodness."  The change is small, but appreciated.

So beautiful I passed out.

La Peluqueria

"Do one thing every day that scares you."  

-Eleanor Roosevelt

Today, I would have made Eleanor very proud indeed.

In case you ever happen to be traveling around Spain for a few months, cursing your hair for its obnoxious length and lack-luster tendencies, you may need to pay a visit to la peluqueria.  Although I have the best hair dresser in all of Idaho (Holla atcha Lynn), my ratty ponytail couldn't wait any longer for her scissors and comb of magic.

A haircut in Spain is pretty similar to the procedure one would expect in the United States, so I'll omit the details.  However, very much like la farmacia, vocabulary is crucial at la peluqueria.

Haircut Terminology

flequillos - bangs

más volumen - more volume

menos aburrido - less boring (careful with this phrase)

capas - layers

So Rosa walked Sarah and me down the street.

Natalia (formerly known as Paco up until a few years ago) was excited to get going.  While she cut away, we had a lively chat about high heels.  I told her how I don't understand how so many Spanish women can possibly wear four-inch heels on the cobblestone roads every day, and she said something along the lines of how they are just born with the ability.

Well, born...or surgically enhanced.

Is anything in Spain ever not an adventure?

Oh, just superneat.

I can't say that I actually took Mrs. Roosevelt's advice today, as I wasn't scared to cut my hair at all.  The way I see it, I'm over 5,000 miles away--if anything really goes that badly, no one at home will know because that is why photoshop was created.

The picture to the right is a tad vague, but I'm satisfied with Natalia's work.  I have layers, I have more volume, and with those bangs it is certainly less boring.

Italia: Part 2

Susan & Andy Barry’s Top 5 Worst Fears 

Category: Daughter Going to Europe
1. Daughter is lured by charming European hottie into the arms of international human traffickers, sold to drug lords, then brought back to her Amsterdam hostel in the Red Light District, which was really a brothel all along. Here, she works the darkest corner possible under the red-hued conditions and is quickly conditioned to like copious amounts of cocaine. Because Andy is the owner of a rental store, and not Liam Neeson, there is nothing that can be done. However, The University of Idaho continues to hold the annual Dance for Justice in her honor.

2. Returns with lower back heart-shaped tattoo in the colors of the Spanish flag.
3. Falls in love.
4. Pierces other side of nose.
5. Brings incurable European disease home, which wipes out the Barry Rental dog population because as purebred golden retrievers, they have no functioning immune system anyway.

I am still healthily blogging away, so clearly your #1 worst fear has not yet been realized. Numbers 2, 4, and 5 are still to be determined. I hate to break it to you, Mom and Dad, but I have fallen in love.

Rome 

First of all, Monica and I arrived in Rome from Viterbo safely and were checked into our hostel by a very attractive young Italian. His English was not the best, but we gave him an A for effort and enthusiasm. He was able to give us directions concerning the metro system, and we wasted no time in following them.

Metro Stop: Colloseo
Upon exiting the metro station, metro-travelers are immediately greeted by the Colosseum. 

  

With our first monument sighting under our belts, we continued onwards to The Vatican. There may have been some restaurants on the way, so obviously we didn’t say no to pizza (that would be against Italian code)…but in true cheap-o form, we ordered them to-go and ate it with our 1 euro Cokes (rather than 4 euro Cokes) on the steps of yet another beautiful and important building.

As a born and raised Catholic girl, I have seen pictures and videos taken inside and around St. Peter’s Square many times. However, nothing prepared me for the overwhelming size and beauty of St. Peter’s Basilica.

St. Peter's Square

St. Peter's Basilica

Not the Pope

We happened to be there in time for Holy Thursday mass, led by a little old man with a fancy hat and a tall twisty cane. Although it was said in Italian and I mainly only picked up on words like Dios and Gesu, it was a beautiful mass. Whether you are Roman Catholic or just a Protestant heathen, everyone should experience mass inside of the world’s most important church some time in their lives. 

 
Afterwards, Monica and I strolled around The Eternal City and let it show itself to us.

The Pantheon

Michelangelo's Pietà in St. Peter's Basilica

Point of Interest: When trying to communicate with Italians, Spanish is close. However, not that close. We found it best to speak in English with a heavy Italian accent. For example, when Monica and I wanted to find the best place for tiramisu, no one understood what we were saying. 

“Tiramisu? Tiramisu? Um…teer-ah-MEE-su?”

“Ohh, teer-ah-MEE-su!!”

The Trevi Fountain...we made many wishes. Mostly to return.

Somewhere between people-watching on the Spanish Steps, eating the best chocolate gelato, and making a wish in the Trevi Fountain, I fell in love. Rome is magic. 

Oh you know, just a random cafe covered in lavender

I wasn't joking about the frolicking.

On Good Friday, we stepped off the Colosseo metro stop, beat the 3-hour line at the Colosseum, and bought our Roman Pass across the street at the Roman Forum. It turns out that ruins are very cool, but Monica and I are more into frolicking in the flowery fields nearby Palatine Hill. From there, we walked past the sweating, bored tourists and scanned our tickets to enter the very same place where people used to gather to watch gladiators kill each other. 

FIGHT ME.

Useful Tip: Let yourself get hustled. The waiters standing outside the strings of restaurants and cafés may be aggressive, but they can also get you a good deal. Look at the menu prices as a bargaining process. They are written in ink, not stone. You just might get loads of pasta and pizza, Coca-Cola, free cover charge, lively conversation, and a view of the Colosseum for 8 euro.


After lunch we met up with Maddy and her friend Taylor, explored the city some more, and eventually wound up in front of the Colosseum again, watching Pope Benedict XVI say the Stations of the Cross. 

Yes.

I saw and heard the Pope reenact Jesus’ passion, and then speak afterwards. Alright, maybe I didn’t completely understand every single Italian word, but that wasn’t important. I got the overall message. 

I could see him better than this picture shows, I swear.

The next day, Monica and I got up early(ish) to wait in line at the Vatican Museum.  After a couple hours of chatting with numerous tour guides ("Only 40 euro for a tour! No--35, because you're girls!), turning down umbrella-selling gypsies, and arguing over who got which postcards out of the pack of 20 for a euro that we bought from the postcard-selling gypsies, we made it.  

Unfortunate statue in the Musei Vaticani

I saw the entire Vatican Museum, which is packed with paintings, sculptures, maps, tapestries...you name it, someone who shares his last name with a Ninja Turtle has created it, and the Vatican has it.  The Vatican Museum ends with the Sistine Chapel, which doesn't permit photos.  However, if you would like to see what Michelangelo's ceiling masterpiece looks like, go creep onto any of your facebook friends that have been to Rome, and you will see the pictures that they took of the Sistine Chapel.  Because no one listens to the security guards.  Personally, I just felt that no photo I could take would do the place justice.  After about an hour of open-mouthed gaping in the chapel itself, we concluded our tour.

Playtime in Italy!

Monica and I continued playing with Maddy and Taylor until it was time for us to leave. Actually, it was past the time for us to leave, but we had a hard time tearing ourselves away from our dear Rome. But the prospect of buying a whole new ticket from home to Sevilla last minute certainly boosted our motivation, so after an expensive cab ride, some line-cutting, and running through the airport, we made it on the plane in time. 

Being surrounded by the Italian language, which sounds a lot like if Spanish went to a circus to play on the carousel while writing romantic poetry in a changing-color calligraphy pen, is wonderful. However, when I woke up on Saturday morning I was ready for my own twin bed in Triana, tostada for breakfast, and showering with towel-access again. Also, I missed being able to communicate with the local people by more than an exaggerated accent, grunting, and lots of pointing. 

So Mom and Dad, don’t worry. I fell in love, but Rome and I have a special kind of relationship. I can leave and come back and it will always be as if no time has passed. Rome doesn’t ask about the other cities I’ve slept, it never stops feeding me gelato, and will never leave me—that’s why they call it The Eternal City. 

 Also, Sevilla is still better.

Italia: Part I

Since Maddy and Agata visited Monica and me in Sevilla last month, it was only polite of us to return the favor.  So for most of Semana Santa, we decided to head to Viterbo.  And Bologna.  You know, let's just throw Florence in there too.  And you can't go to Italy without seeing Rome!

The skies were intent on ruining another day of Semana Santa, but we had already seen enough processions to take the airport shuttle guilt-free.  As Monica and I stood in line at the RyanAir gate with our size-approved backpacks ("my purse won't fit...do you think they'll notice if I hide it in my coat?"), we noticed that there were no RyanAir employees in sight.  Shortly thereafter, the gate's sign changed from boarding to delayed, and it got really noisy in many different languages.

Paris was throwing a fit about their short smoke breaks, so the board at the Sevilla airport Monday evening looked like this:

"I am le tired...let's strike."

Ginrummy for 3 hours!!

Thankfully, Monica and I are really good at having fun anywhere we go.  With the Idaho Potato cards sent with love from Susan Barry, we had no problem entertaining ourselves in the airport.  

Bologna

Overall impression: Diagon Alley from Harry Potter.
Fun fact: No one in Bologna's public transportation system speaks English after midnight on a Monday.
Saving grace: Spanish and Italian are similar enough that we were able to find the right bus stop.  The first hostel we found literally could have been the setting for the Order of the Phoenix headquarters.  The sleeping Gringott's Bank elf behind the desk gave us some marvelous directions to our actual hostel, which was situated in a charming graffiti-filled neighborhood.  The elderly desk manager woke up long enough to show us to our room, where we spent another night bed-bug free.

Florence

Maybe one day I will return to Italy and give Bologna more than twelve hours of my life, but we were really excited to get to the birthplace of the Renaissance, the statue of David, and Ezio Auditore.  What we didn't know was that these Italian cities really do get expensive.  A coupon for "free cover and water" to a local restaurant is not something to laugh at, especially when that place also offers delightful fettuccine alfredo with homemade noodles.

THE DUOMO

The Day of the Duomo

Not only is it fun to say the word Duomo, but the Duomo of Florence is also a great thing to center your entire day around.  Monica and I found the wrong Duomo (much smaller), then accidentally stumbled upon the real Duomo while searching for gelato.  

The ticket lady at the Duomo does not accept student IDs from Sevilla as a reason to give a discount, so we had to pay the full 8 euro to get to the top.

"You can do it, push through!"

It was a glutes workout better than even Shaun T. could give as we climbed hundreds of steps.  Old steps, remodeled steps, creaky steps, stone steps, windy steps, tall steps, narrow steps...we got them all.  Just when we thought we had finally reached the top, we would turn a corner and find more.

Worth. It.

Syncing...45% complete.  Where's the pile of hay?

No I did not share.

After the climb down, Monica and I rewarded ourselves with our very first gelato as we sat in Piazza della Signoria with Michelangelo's statue of David imposter and watched the other tourists go by.  Dinner was the greatest pizza I have ever had, consumed near the Duomo.  The day ended on the hostel's balconey as our friends Sarah and Matt joined us for some wine while we watched the lights of the Duomo twinkle in the distance.

Goodnight Moon...Goodnight Duomo.

The next day we waited in line for a couple hours to see Michelangelo's statue of David at the Accademia Gallery.

Let me rephrase that:

David killed Goliath a couple thousand years ago.  A few hundred years ago, Michelangelo commemorated him with a giant-sized (irony?) marble statue.  It wasn't until April of 2012 that I witnessed the marvel with my own eyes. Unfortunately, photos aren't permitted inside the museum (Dave is kinda camera-shy) but feel free to google image search him as much as you want.   Later, we trecked all over the outdoor market for Monica's Perfect Statement (but not too statement-ey) Purse.  There are tons of little tent-shops set up, all selling the exact same leather items.  "Hey, bootiful, ohmaigawd I have a purse for you!" The vendors think they're hilarious.

                                    Viterbo

We'll see more of you another time, Viterbo.

We were sad to watch Florence slide out of view from our train window, but Maddy's hugs and big plates of homemade gnocchi and rosemary chicken quickly made up for that.  It was a wonderful evening full of cultural exchanges, copious amounts of giggling, Skyping with our counterpart Claire, and peaceful sleep--secure in our faith that Maddy's couch is bed-bug free.

Just like Bologna,  we were only able to spend roughly 12 hours in Viterbo.  Some would say that's not enough time to get to really know a city, but all I needed to know in the morning was the 1 euro cappuccino place with Maddy, Monica, and Agata.  At 11am we caught another train, and thus began a new chapter in my life called Being in Rome.

My life's current chapter is named Been to Rome, which is still great--but with less famous attractions and a teensy-eensy bit less magic.  Rome gets her own blog post...which will be coming right up after I return from Portugal, folks.

Semana Santa

Semana Santa, commonly referred to as "Holy Week" in the English language, was just last week. Depending on which Wikipedia statistic you consult, about 94.2% of the country is Catholic, so Holy Week is a big deal here.  By Catholic...I mean, just about everyone is baptized Catholic, but this doesn't mean that all of the 94.2% do anything crazy like go to church or believe in God.

 And yet.

Semana Santa is a big deal.  As a general everyday rule, no one except the gypsies and American students leave the house in anything less than dress pants and a chic blouse (and don't forget the woolen peacoat--it's 70 degrees, how are you all not dead from heat stroke?).  On any given day, my "European outfits" are a solid 3 notches below the average 7-year-old, even if I spend an inordinate amount of time in front of the small decorative mirror Sarah and I use.  However, for Semana Santa, these people really bring on the class.

On this past Palm Sunday, I observed each Sevillano in his best suit, arm-in-arm with towering Sevillanas in heels and the latest spring fashion from Zara.

My friends and I were excited to see the processions everyone has been talking about, and were hoping for good weather. Each Catholic church in Sevilla (approximate count: 1.3 fillion) has their own procession with anywhere from 200-2000 people.  Every procession has their own exact time to go. As you will see in the pictures below, these cofradias are not cheap.  If a single drop of rain falls, a procession will refuse to leave, and the crowds that have gathered will disperse to the bars to drink away their Semana Santa sorrows.

On the morning of Palm Sunday, I put on what I deemed to be appropriate attire for Holy Week and skipped over to el centro to watch the processions.  However, this is what I was greeted with:

Yeah rain, you think you're real funny, don't you?

I had optimistically left my umbrella in my room, so after much moping in the rain, I returned home to sadly remove my soaking flats and bundle up in my bed to stream some illegal American online television.  However, I wasn't home for more than five minutes before I heard an “¡Oy oy oy oy! ¡Estrella ha salido!” from below, where Mama Rosa was watching the procession news on TV.

La Hermandad de Estrella la Valiente is the name of the first procession able to leave for this year's celebrations.  The brotherhood is called "the valiant" because this was the only one brave enough to go out during the Spanish civil war.  Over 70 years later, nothing has changed.

Attention: What you are about to see is not a European KKK uprising.  The KKK copied the Spaniards, not the other way around.  Posers.

Smile pretty!

First, these guys in robes and pointy hoods lead the procession carrying candles, crosses, and other symbols of their brotherhood.  

¡La Estrella ha salido!

The pointy-hats are followed by a large band, which leads the first paso.  The first one depicts Jesus in some stage of the Passion.

Next, members of the brotherhood with deflated hats and crosses follow.  These guys bear crosses as a personal sacrifice, and many choose to walk the 12 or more hours of the procession barefoot.

"La virgen!"

Another 50-person band follows, with la virgen behind them.  The virgin Mary is beautifully presented in gorgeous robes, surrounded by thousands of flowers.

Oh, and I forgot to mention that these enormous floats (for lack of a better word) aren't pulled by someone's Chevy or Ford (what is this "truck" you speak of?), and they don't bop along by themselves, either.

The procession leaves its home church, parades around Sevilla, passes through la catedral, and finally heads back to its neighborhood.  All the while, beneath the metric ton of metal, cloth, candles, wood, flowers, and Jesus, anywhere between 24-54 men are sweating profusely as they carry the paso on their backs.

Semana Santa is nothing to sneeze at in Sevilla.  And, it's even cooler at night:

Ah! White ones!

We were able to see a few processions, so the first day of Holy Week ended with much less pouting than the rain had promised earlier in the day.

Holy Week can begin.

When I told Mama Rosa that I wouldn't be at home in Sevilla to observe all the processions, she gave me a look full of pity, "Que peina," she said sadly, shaking her head solemnly back and forth. "Que peina."

Well. Although the processions are an awesome and important part of Sevilla's culture, I was pretty sure that Italy could have something to offer, too.

Juergas for Huelgas

As a perfectly fluent Spanish speaker who often is mistaken for a true Sevillana, I very rarely make language mistakes as my accent is always so clear.  However, these things do occasionally happen to the best of us.

We always watch television during mealtimes at my casa here, and at lunch with Mama Rosa yesterday (lentil soup!), the leading news story was centered on las huelgas.  Basically, the entire country was shut down for yesterday's strikes against the new labor reforms.

No I did not take this photo.

Now, a nation-wide general strike sounds very exciting.  You know--stick it to the man, yell profanities, wave big angry signs, and all that.  The picture to the left is not actually descriptive at all of what happened in Sevilla.  Mostly, everyone was inconvenienced because 500 flights were canceled ("I'm supposed to be eating gelato in the Colosseum right now!"), stores were closed, very few buses were running, and Avenida de Constitucion was packed with peaceful protestors.


As Sarah and I ate lunch with Mama Rosa, we asked a few questions about the strikes.  At one point, she had to explain to us the difference between two very different words that sound strikingly similar with our (hardly noticeable) acentos americanas.  

huelga -- strike; such as yesterday's 2012 Spanish general strike.

juerga -- basically, partying.

Apparently, it sounded like I said juerga when referring to the strike.  Well, as it turns out...these words mean the same thing to a study abroad student when there are peaceful nation-wide strikes.  Here is how the general strike situation looks to fellow temporary Spaniards:

Order of huelga events

I did take this photo.  Go labor unions!

- Class was canceled, so my school week was shortened to a nice three days.

- Sleep in.  Duh.

- Attempt to run with Sarah--wait, what's working out again?  This concept sounds vaguely familiar...

- Flock to the river, like everyone else who also has limited concerns about the strikes.

- My favorite chino shop was closed, so I had to take an ice-less cooler of refrigerated Cruz Campo with me to sit by the river and pound Principe cookies.  Ugh.  Come on.  

- Kebab place was closed.  Heart = broken. 

 But probably healthier.

...and that's about it for the huelga side of things...

However, juerga applies to an entirely different story.  

No one had class or work, so everyone was out on this Thursday night.  My friends and I were no exception.  We had met a few Spanish hombres whilst playing by the river earlier in the day, and they badly wanted to see us again.  They also had taught us a useful new word--pagafanta (friend zone) so we thought it couldn't be a bad idea to hang out with some locals and improve our Spanish over a cerveza or two.

Well.  It turns out they weren't quite up to our level of "going out," and this factor combined with the language barrier did not bode well for the future of our friendship. 

Order of juerga events

- Use proficient acting skills to encourage los hombres to find otras chicas.  Succeed.

- Find small discoteca, walk past bouncer--holla atcha no cover charge.

Not taken last night, but still very applicable.

- Dance. Dancedancedancedancedancedance. 

- Rest.

- Dance more.

- Leave discoteca at 5:30.  Not as easy as it sounds--the place was packed.  

- Walk around, find nice bench nearby La Catedral on which to rest our tired feet.

- Help Dunkin' Coffee delivery guy load the pallet of overturned soda into his box truck.  He's a nice guy from Málaga, just trying to support his wife and family.  You are very welcome for the PR points, America.

- Toast to an interesting* evening over a nice breakfast of café con leche and tostada de jamón ibérico (coffee and a toasted ham-and-cheese sandwich) at a little local café.  

*Note to parents, grandparents, and other concerned adults:
By "interesting," I mean completely safe.  Also, parents, grandparents, clergymen, and all those who do not worship the devil and clothe themselves in sin will all be happy to hear that I no longer have a "thing on my face," as somehow my nose piercing was lost in the shuffle last night.

Sit, Eat, Play. . . Repeat

This past weekend, Maddy (aka Line) and Agata stopped in Sevilla for the final leg of their spring break. Maddy, Monica, and I have been best friends for, you know, forever, and Agata fit right into our group as soon as she stepped off the bus and wasn't creeped out by Monica's cursory game of 20 Personal Questions.

It's simple math:

Sevillanas

EXPLOSION OF FUN AND FRIENDSHIP

+                                      =

Italianas

Best Friends in Europe

No apologies for being obnoxious when we're having this much fun.

Plaza de España 

- Pounce on Maddy and Agata as soon as they step off the bus (literally--Monica hurt her tooth on Maddy's face mid-hug).
- Wish Claire Paterson was there to spend the time with us.
- Sit and eat mounds of tapas.
- Walk around the city with ice cream.
- Experience all the different types of Spanish nightlife: casual, medium, and all-out raging (no pouting when everyone else wants to go home early at 4 in the morning).

- Sleep.
- Siesta ("Sleeping" implies 6-8 hours of REM cycles, which wasn't penciled into our schedule).
- Play and eat Principe cookies by the river.
- Yell at creepy dreadlocked gypsies in Polish and English (Agata's last name is Siwinski) who were not invited to play with us at the river. No you may not touch the pretty girls.

La Alcazar in Spring!

- Sit and drink Agua de Sevilla at a flamenco show.

- Break up the multiple bar brawls Maddy starts.

- Catcall back at all the Spanish men (they have no idea how to react).
- Siesta.
- Fall in love with La Alcázar (see previous blog post for more).

- Chase peacocks at La Alcázar.
- "It's pretty here, but...I'm hungry."
- Sit by river and eat kebabs. 

- Pretend to be guests at the Edward Jones conference at the super swanky Hotel Alfonso; "So what did you take from the seminar? I've just got to diversify my investments. I'm calling Albert this instant."

- Hog the outdoor bungalow at Hotel Alfonso for two hours, whilst drunk off of the sun, giggling, and the free potato chips the staff brings after you've overstayed your welcome (sit and eat...for free).

-Siesta.

Oh no-no, ladies.  We don't wait in line.

- Bluff way into front of the long line at la discoteca: Succeed.
- Dance, dance, dance.
- Siesta.
- Exist (highly underrated...existing is the cheapest way to enjoy life and each other).
- Sit and eat churros con chocolate while watching the rain.

Pretty dresses! Let's touch ALL OF THEM.

- Walk around flamenco dress shops and touch everything.

- Look for somewhere else to sit and eat.
- Find new kebab place--sit, eat, watch Arabic music videos in very authentic kebab establishment.
- Water fight in the street (Monica was tired of carrying a water bottle, and Maddy's face looked too dry).

Sitting/eating/playing in our bungalow at Hotel Alfonso: this picture sums up our weekend perfectly.

The weekend ended at another bus station. It would have been sad to see such great friends go--but hey, we're going to have Sit, Eat, Play: Italian Style in a little over a week. Thank you Agata and Madeline for such a wonderful weekend...see you soon!