Dos alemanes, un chileno y un americano van al sur...

The rest of January was full of desire to still be on vacation but was instead spent writing multiple papers, teaching English, saying goodbye to Alfonso, and studying for finals. Alfonso left for a trip to New York and will be working in Belgium for the next few months until he returns to find a more permanent place to live in Madrid. I kind of forget sometimes that he is 26 with a real job... While a piece of the Princesa family is now gone, I was able to move into his old room, significantly upgrading the comfort of being at home. I finally have a bit of space to spread out and keep my things, as well as a much nicer mattress and a suitable desk. After a steady diet of writing and studying, my first finals were upon me and I went in needing to pretty much dominate if I wanted to save myself from my sub par midterm results. After a few relatively sleepless nights, I had more studying to do for my last and most important final the coming week. As we're in Spain, I decided I couldn't pass up the opportunity to take a trip south with Dominik that weekend. This in spite of my good conscience telling me that was probably the last thing I should do with my entire grade riding on the final I would have to take right after getting back. There was also a good possibility we'd be going without sleep our last night as it was Carnival and all of the hostels should have been likely booked in Cadiz.
We awoke very early Saturday morning and after a few cups of coffee and a solid breakfast we were on our way south in Dominik's car along with his German and Chilean friends, Malte and Nicolas. Malte can best be described as a very friendly giant, very interested in politics and photography, and it was fun to be absorbed in conversation with him for the first few hours of our trip in the back seat. Nicolas was also very friendly, but a bit more quirky, and I spent much of my time trying to work through his thick accent. We broke through the cloudy gloom of the north and were soon basked in the bright sun of the south. We made a few stops to enjoy the views and spent a few hours walking around a little town named Ubeda before rolling into Granada in the early afternoon. It was the most gorgeous day, and we spent the first few hours hopping around eating tapas and randomly searching for a hostel that had an open room. The city had the true ambiance of Andalucia, where the people are relaxed and there is nothing more important to do than enjoy the sun. Clearly in one of the more touristy areas of town, we decided to get off the beaten path a bit, winding our way through narrow streets up the city's giant hill. Atop, we were greeted with the most enchanting view of the city and the famous La Alhambra, which we unfortunately didn't have time to enter. The top of the hill was full of old, tiny, semi-run down homes with terraces built to suit the lifestyle of southern Spain. As Dominik and I stood there in awe that it was possible to live in such a beautiful and unique place and two beautiful Spanish ladies in their twenties stood drinking sangria on their terrace, I promised myself that I would spend more than one day on that hill sometime in my life. It was absolute paradise.
Just over the hill, we were met with another surprise, which was explained to us by a local after we offered to buy him a beer in exchange for a history lesson about the area. The entire mountain was covered by inhabited caves that were carved out during the civil war by people who had been displaced by the fighting. Today there is still a colony of free spirited people inhabiting these caves, spending their days playing guitar and sustaining their beautifully simple lives with one of the most beautiful views in Spain set in front of them.
As the sun set that evening we found a plaza overlooking the city below and the snowy mountains set behind the seemingly gilded Alhambra. Surrounded by locals sipping beer, playing instruments, and simply enjoying life, we soaked in what was one of the most beautiful views I've had in my life. Having purposely forgotten about the need to still find a hostel that night, we walked back to the center of town and after being turned away a few times, settled on the first place with an open room and a cheap price. The rest of the night was spent in true Andalucia style- tapas. Here we discovered just how misinformed madrileños are about what constitutes a tapa. We were ever so pleasantly surprised when after ordering our beers for 1.20 Euro, we were served a plate of large hamburgers. Unbelievable. And delicious. Other places offered us soups and stews, while others more traditional toasted treats. We also spent a few relaxing hours in one of the many tea and hookah lounges whose aromas tempted those passing by. At the end of the night, as everything started to close including our eyelids after a long day, we headed back to the chilly hostel and hopped into bed, dreaming of the hot cup of coffee that would await us in the morning.
After breakfast in the hostel and another short walk around town, we hopped in the car and continued our journey south, this time all the way to the Mediterranean. Passing through snow-capped mountains and river valleys, we drove along the rugged coastline, looking out into the infinite blue. Stopping a good distance short of Malaga as the sun dropped lower in the sky, we pulled into a scarcely inhabited beach town looking for a place to set up camp that night. However, upon seeing the crystal blue water, we parked, did a quick beach change into our suits, and went sprinting full speed into the frigid sea. The ice cold water sucked the air right out of me as I dove in headfirst. After many screams of agony and furious splashing in a futile attempt to ward off the cold, we emerged from the water and I quickly put on every article of clothing I had brought on the trip. Before long we were basking in the fading sun and enjoying a beer and baguette with cheese as we traded stories. After watching a brilliant sunset, we lugged our supplies over to a nearby park and set to work on the vegetable soup we had planned to make that night. The temperature dropped quickly along the breezy coast and with full stomachs we set off to find some sign of life in the deserted town. We found one open bar that offered a respite from the chilly night air and spent a few hours warming up, catching the soccer scores, and playing some intense games of foosball and pool. Deciding it would be easier to just camp illegally on the beach instead of illegally on someone's land across the road, we unsuccessfully hid our tent behind some palms and decided that the worst that could happen would be an even earlier wakeup call by a laid back coastal police officer who would just tell us to be on our way. It was a chilly night despite being wrapped up in a sleeping bag and all of my clothes, but waking up to the sounds of crashing waves was delightful, and breakfast on the sunny beach was the best possible way to start the day.
We continued our travels along the coast, past the overdeveloped city of Malaga and on to Gibraltar, where Malte and I spent a few hours atop the island's peaks, Dominik and the passportless Nicolas taking a little siesta in a local park. The city itself doesn't have much to offer, but the view from atop the island is spectacular as one can see the southern tip of Spain and the northern tip of Morocco from the same spot. It's a funny feeling knowing you can see three countries from one place. Surrounded my monkeys brought by the Berbers in the 12th century we basically had the area to ourselves, but in the end were a bit rushed to get back to the boys, and were soon aboard the cable car a second time to descend the mountain and get back to Spain.
Driving onward, we arrived in Cadiz a short time later, a classic beach town with interesting historical roots. It was basically the cradle of Spain's liberalization during the revolutionary war against Napoleon in the early 19th century, and its first constitution in 1812 before a back and forth period of constitutional and absolutist monarchies. Again, Dominik and I went sprinting into the even colder Atlantic Ocean as the sun drew low in the sky, but we stayed in longer to enjoy some quality body surfing before retiring to a beer on the sand. We continued on into the city as the sun began to set, and after luckily stumbling onto a parking place in the crowded city in the midst of Carnival, we joined the giant party in the streets. Although we had no expectation to find a hostel that night, we would include a relaxed hostel search into the first few hours of the night as we checked out what was going on in town. We would later find out that the crazy party had been during the weekend but until about one a.m. the streets were packed with people in costume with groups of singers and performers on every block. We even managed to find a few open beds for the night where I could take a much needed shower before heading out again until after everything died down later than night. Although we were a bit disappointed that we hadn't come for the big party that Saturday, we still had a great time.
Breakfast in a sunny plaza the next morning left me wanting to stay in Cadiz a few more days instead of returning to the final exam that awaited my arrival in Madrid. We took a long loop around town before finally finding the exit to the highway, and as Dominik and I eyed the university along the waterfront, our collective sigh spoke for us in questioning why we had to leave the south so soon. My mind was furiously scheming for ways to get back there someday, something that is becoming a common theme during my travels this year. As long boarders caught beautiful waves a good ways out into the water, it left me yearning for just one afternoon of surfing that side of the Atlantic.
The trip home was long, but broken up nicely by many stops along the way, including lunch on a hill out in the middle of nowhere and a stop into a pueblo (also in the middle of nowhere). With our blond hair and electronica/jazz music playing out the car's open windows we must have looked like aliens to the old men that lined the streets seated on their front steps with nothing to do all day but think in the town's absolute silence. We took in some sun and fresh air, and before long were back on the road and stopping in Mérida, Spain's best surviving example of Roman conquest. We stopped in for something to drink, saw a few of the town's old ruins, and finally hit the home stretch on our way back to Madrid as I attempted to fill my head with a semester's worth of European medieval history. Also, I could hardly contain my excitement for Super Tuesday which was beginning back in the States, and for which I would be voting for through Democrats Abroad that evening. Arriving home after dark, I lugged all of the bags and camping gear upstairs while Dominik drove to the university to park the car, and I was soon off to vote with Maren and Emma just a few blocks away. It was quite the sight to see, with signs in English plastered all over the front of the bar hosting the event, a few crazy guys yelling their nonsensical political beliefs to us as we passed by, and Spanish TV crews filming the event. As I waited in line to vote, I was approached by a news anchor saying she needed an interview of a young male American who could speak Spanish well enough, and before I knew it was being asked to explain why I would be voting for Barack Obama that evening. Amazingly, I think it actually went better than they have ever gone for me in the States, where I have always gotten so nervous by the suddenness of everything, and I made it through sounding relatively coherent. I just wish I knew if I made it on TV or not... After casting my vote with Julie, who had coincidently arrived at the same time, I walked home anxious for the day's results and not so much for the night of studying I had ahead of me. While it was far too little time to spend in southern Spain, and I will almost certainly be back to the region sometime before I leave the country, it was nice to finally take a trip with Dominik, who has become a good friend and for whom I have a lot of respect and admiration. While I awoke to slightly disappointing election results, and a full day of studying still ahead, I walked nervously into my exam really happy that I had decided to make the journey.

Te amo, Paris...

New Years Eve in Paris, what could be better than that? From the moment the plane touched down, it was a race against time, and we had to win if we wanted to celebrate the New Year how we wanted. We had three and a half hours to make the trip into the city, take a long metro ride, find our hostel, get checked in and settled, find dinner for our growling stomachs and champagne to pop in front of the Eiffel Tower. This was going to be a memory for the ages. Because it was New Years Eve, we were pleasantly surprised to find that all public transportation that night was free, including the normally six Euro bus ride from the airport to a metro stop on the outskirts of the city. It was a nice little touch that made the city immediately feel welcoming. The metro system was gigantic just like that of Madrid, but it had more character with it's older. more rickety cars. A few transfers and over twenty five stops later, we arrived at LaMark, the metro stop near our hostel. As we emerged into the city for our first real look, we felt as though we were on a movie set. The neighborhood looked exactly how one might romantically imagine Paris to be. Dim streetlights, little cafes, beautiful buildings surrounded by trees. All four of our jaws dropped. To be honest, after all of the amazing places we had been, Paris was almost an afterthought for me during most of the trip. I kept thinking that maybe we should have gone to Madrid for the crazy celebration in la Plaza del Sol, and eaten the ceremonial twelve grapes at midnight in true Spanish fashion. My first look at Paris completely and immediately changed my mind and I was now very excited for the next few days.
To our surprise, our hostel actually ended up being in one of Paris's most famous neighborhoods called Montmarte. It was quiet and quaint, and our hostel turned out to be the same, another shock as we had literally booked one of the last hostel rooms available in Paris that night. After descending the old spiral staircase and dropping our packs in the tiny room with two bunks we asked the guy at the desk how best to get to the Eiffel Tower and set of into the night. Our first stop was the small neighborhood store that was about to close, where we picked up a bottle of real French champagne to share that night. They don't even mess around with sparkling wine there, and the cheap stuff we were used to simply didn't exist- all for the better, I suppose. From there we descended into the metro station, which we could tell had gotten significantly more crowded since we had been in there an hour earlier. Our suspicions were confirmed as moved further into the center of town, where tons of people were bustling around, bottles of champagne, wine, beer, and everything else in hand. We exited the metro stop with a swarm of people and before we knew it, off to our left appeared the Eiffel Tower, looking majestic lit up against the night sky. It was more impressive than I had ever imagined it to be, and the four of us stood in awe as conversations in all sorts of languages could be heard from passersby. As all four of us were starving, having not eaten anything since our slices of pizza about twelve hours earlier, we stopped at a very busy stand selling delicious-smelling sausages and were soon happily fed and strolling down the surrounding streets, beautiful French filling our ears and Dave's bottle of red wine sweetly tantalizing our tongues. As midnight approached, the boys and I returned to the square which offered a perfect view of the tower, squeezing and nudging our way into the middle of the crowd. Fireworks were going off like bombs in every direction, right in the middle of the crowd, and I was amazed that no one got seriously hurt. When the clock struck twelve, the tower erupted into a dazzling light show, fireworks bursting beautifully around it, and more explosions erupting in our vicinity as the crowd exchanged cheers and kisses, and we joined in the mass popping of champagne bottles. We stood celebrating with what felt like the rest of the world and even after the crowd started to disperse so we could get an even better view of the tower. We took off on a walk through the crazy streets, past Napoleon's Arc de Triomphe de l'Etoile, the largest in the world, as cars raced by honking. We had a few brief conversations in broken English with drunken Frenchmen along the way, and after feeling like we had walked around all of Paris that night, decided to catch the Metro back to the hostel in the crowded cars.
As we neared the exit at LaMark station, I was approached by a French guy our age, who looked like he was returning from quite the party, and wearing thick black eyeliner. He had heard us talking, and engaged me in conversation saying his mother lived in Florida but he had spend pretty much his whole life in France. Before we knew it, he had invited us to a small get-together at his apartment, and while I was immediately a little unsure what to say, I quickly decided, "what the hell, it's New Years in Paris", and obliged. After meeting his friends, they offered us some drinks, and before long we were talking up a storm. As it always seems to happen to me this year, I was soon talking politics with two of the friends, and we traded stories about everything under the sun. It was also interesting to hear their poor opinion of Sarkozy, which at that point had never really been portrayed in the American media. It was funny to see the NYTimes pick up on it shortly after I returned to Spain after the trip. The boys decided to head back after a long while, but I couldn't bring myself to leave so soon and ended up staying for another hour or so. While I have never believed the stereotype that French people are unfriendly that seems to not only exist in the States, but in Spain as well, that night proved just how false it really is. I have never felt so welcome with a group of strangers.
After deciding I should probably try to make it back before sunrise so something could be accomplished later that day, I said my thanks and goodbyes, and somehow ended up leaving the apartment building out the wrong door, which locked behind me. There I was, stuck in some type of courtyard, which after quite a bit of searching revealed no way out. I can't imagine how ridiculous I must have looked climbing over numerous tall, cement walls, and metal gates at 5:30 in the morning, and then proceeding to wander around until I recognized a possible way back to the hostel. Without too much trouble, I found what seemed to be a logical direction, and was soon fast asleep in the top bunk above Mr. Meyers. What a great New Years...
As no one has set an alarm that night, the four of us were shocked when none of us woke up until 2:30 that afternoon. A bit irked that we had already missed a good chunk of the day, we showered and headed out to see Paris during the few hours of daylight that remained. It was nice to be well rested though, and knowing that we had sufficient time to see the city that week made hurrying not so important. In typical European fashion, there was a great bakery about 50 feet from our hostel, and we walked in to the warm aroma of fresh bread. Everything looked spectacular, as the French do best, and it took us a while to decide before I ordered a baguette filled with thick slices of fresh brie and a chocolate croissant in my best attempt at French. It was indeed a breakfast of champions. As we happily ate our breakfast, accompanied by fresh oranges from the fruit stand across the street, we took a walk up the famous Parisian hill toward the Sacré-Coeur Catholic basilica that marked its peak. Everyone was out enjoying the holiday with their families, a very talented duet was playing Beatles songs, and people were filing in and out of the beautiful church, whose structure and interior artwork appeared to be heavily influenced by Byzantine styles. This seemed rare given its construction during the neo-baroque era. I'm just guessing, but it seems possible that its construction represented a reaction to the opulence that was the baroque movement, as a sort of statement against the importance of money in the Catholic Church. Regardless, the interior was stunning, and we found ourselves leaving just as mass was starting.

As our late start to the day left us with very little daylight at this point, we decided to hop the metro down into the city center and try to see the Notre Dame. With construction beginning in 1163, this beautiful cathedral is one the first examples of Gothic architecture, and remains the world’s best example of this architectural revolution. On the exterior, sharp pinnacles pierce the sky and menacing gargoyles watch over those that pass below. The interior is awe-inspiring and haunting in the dim candle light, and its bare, yet architecturally brilliant construction was more impressive that any cathedral that I had seen in my life, which is saying something after a grand tour through Europe that included a stop at St. Peters. As was becoming a common theme on our trip, we found ourselves leaving just as mass was starting, the thundering organ only adding to the enormity of everything inside.

After a nighttime walk to admire the full exterior of the cathedral, we continued along the Siene River, which cuts directly through the city. We had a constant view of the Eiffel Tower in the distance, and we set our course for the location of the night before to find something to eat. On the way, we walked passed the famous Louvre museum, touring its courtyard and imagining the thousands of priceless works inside. After baguettes and crepes for a tasty dinner, and another long walk through Paris's zigzagging streets, we decided to retire to the hostel to enjoy some of the delicious looking red wine we picked up that evening, and we spent the last few hours of our day comfortably chatting in our warm hostel beds before looking forward to the next day.

Returning to our local bakery in the morning for another attempt at our pitiful French, wide-eyed at the brand new assortment of complex pastries behind the glass, I ordered another promising baguette (you really can't go wrong) and one of the many pastries, along with another few pieces of fruit from the man across the street. Our main item on the agenda was to see the Louve, which matched my high expectations revealing a wealth of beautiful paintings, most notably a fantastic collection from the Romantic period. Of course we also saw the Mona Lisa, whose small frame stands alone on an enormous wall in the in the center of a room, protected by about ten guards and surrounded by a constant mass of onlookers. The museum also holds an impressive collection of Flemish paintings, of which I have grown to be quite fond this year. I really like the almost unrealistic amount of detail that is used, along with the symbolism and movement that the works create. When compared to what was being produced at the same time in other parts of Europe, Flemish painting was completely revolutionary and being produced with techniques unimaginable to other artists of the era.

After a number of hours and having seen pretty much everything we wanted to see, we left the busy museum to the cold Parisian air as we walked along the edge of the river once again back toward the Notre Dame. We waited shivering in line for our chance to climb to the top, and I savored every hot bite of the nutella filled crepe that gave me new life. Seriously. It was COLD. We had a great view of the city from top of the cathedral after climbing hundreds of steps on the tiny spiral staircase, but in the end, I was just ready to find warmth. We took refuge in a little shop along the street, where we picked up another few bottles of tasty looking French red, and caught the metro back to the hostel for a rest after a long day on our feet, and a much needed break from the cold. That night we took the elevator ride up the Eiffel tower, stopping on the way up to admire the view from a few different levels. The tower is much bigger than you would expect, containing a few restaurants, plenty of space to walk around, and even a snowshoe track of all things. The sea of Paris lights looked stunning down below as the wind blew sharply, and the elevator ride felt as though we were ascending into space. Actually, it made me think of the elevator from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory with how it felt like we were just floating in air hundreds of meters above the city. The symmetry of the tower is beautiful, and although it appears so simple from the outside, an up close view reveals the intricacy of all of the steel bars that went into its construction. We spent hours on the tower just walking around admiring the design and the view, and even in the cold air I knew that there was no other place I'd rather be in the world on that night. To top it all off, we indulged in another crepe on the way back to the hostel and slept wonderfully in our warm beds until morning.

On our last full day in Paris, we started off the morning at another local bakery, where I selected the most delicious quiche this world has ever known, and we proceeded to investigate our neighborhood of montmarte a bit more. It was the perfectly stereotypical Parisian neighborhood, filled with cafes, crepe shops, and squares packed with talented artists. We wound our way slowly through the neighborhood and descended the giant hill in search of the Moulin Rouge, which the movie had made so famous. To our surprise, the entire surrounding area was packed full of dozens upon dozens of sex shops that after passing I felt like I needed a long shower to feel relatively wholesome and clean again. Near by, there were stores selling wine and cheese which we spent our time perusing as darkness started to fall. We headed up the hill once more, taking our time to arrive back at the hostel, wanting to soak in as much as we could during our last day. That night, we decided that a proper French dinner was in order, so we went to one of the restaurants we had scoped out earlier that day. While we pretty much had the restaurant to ourselves the entire night, it ended up being the perfect way to cap off what had been a fantastic trip. We all ordered duck prepared in different ways, a first for me, and it was quite a treat; the richest meat I had ever tasted in my life. It was prepared and presented so nicely with roasted vegetables and after a glass of wine and splurging for crème brulee for dessert, I couldn’t have asked for a more delicious meal in France. A guitarist played what was basically a private performance for us, and the ambience was ideal for reflecting on the time we had had together over the past week. It was a time of celebration and a little sadness, as we knew we would part ways once again the next day. Taking one last walk up the famous hill to see the basilica and overlook the city a final time, and one last trip into the center to see the Eiffel Tower, we returned to the hostel to pack our things and catch a few hours of sleep before our alarm awoke us in the morning. We had breakfast in the hostel early that morning, and before we knew it, the four of us were taking our last metro ride together, saying our goodbyes as Chris and Kyle would head north to one of Paris’s airports, where Chris would fly back to England and Kyle back the States. Dave went to find a train back to Freiburg, and I headed south to the Paris-Orly airport to fly back to Madrid. What I would have given for just a few more days with those guys… I felt a sense of loneliness as I took the long metro ride to the outskirts of the city. Madrid didn’t have the same draw for me at that moment as it always had. Something felt like it was missing as I headed back, and although the sound of Spanish that greeted me at Barajas airport felt comforting and really did feel like I was almost returning home, it took me a few days in our nearly empty apartment to feel better about all the studying and paper writing I had to do in the next few weeks, as well as the coming semester in Madrid. Before too long, however, I was back in the swing of things and loving every minute of being here, but for a while all I wanted was a sunny day in Madison with my friends. What a trip!

"Cuándo estás en Roma..."

It was a constant struggle between the desire to close my eyes for a much needed rest and the need to look out the airplane window to look at the Alps as we flew over them on the way to Rome. They stretched along endlessly and the white, jagged peaks provided a stark contrast to the vivid, blue sky that filled the dome above them. We flew over the historic city on our way to land in the suburb of Campiano, and I could see ancient ruins dispersed randomly throughout the modern metropolis, which looked to be thoroughly confused about the date. Upon landing, we knew we had officially left the cold and gloomy north, and were soon basking in sun as we walked to the bus outside the small airport. We caught a metro from the last bus stop, and emerged above ground into the Termini train station, just a few short blocks away from the hostel in which we would be staying. The streets were busy with honking cars, whining scooters, and the occasion yell or whistle.
Our hostel was exactly opposite of what I had in mind, trying to be super trendy, while just lacking in the simple things like easy check-in and kind/relaxed staff that you actually look for in a hostel. The people who worked there were complete tools, but whatever. Moving on... As we couldn't check into our room for a few more hours, we dropped our backpacks into the storage room and took a quick walk around the neighborhood before meeting Chris and Kyle about an hour later back in the lobby, as they had arrived the night before and the trip to the hostel was much shorter than expected for Dave and me. When we arrived back, the guys were waiting for us, and it was such an incredibly strange feeling to know we were united again, thousands of miles from Madison, Wisconsin, after being separated for way too long. As Dave and I waited to check into our separate room, we caught up on our adventures that had brought us together, Dave and my epic journey, Kyle's long flight to Spain before spending a few hours with Chris who had been staying in Madrid, and their arrival in Rome the night before.

The first thing on the agenda was lunch, as we were all completely starving, and were thinking one thing, and one thing only... pizza. The staple food of a college student, it had been absent from my system in Madrid for far too many months to be considered normal. As we sat down at a restaurant, I could tell that reality still hadn't set in for any of us, and to be honest, it felt kind of weird to all be together again. After living and spending every waking moment with these guys the entire year before, I hadn't seen them in over four months, but within a matter of minutes, the chemistry returned to normal like we were back in 104 College Park. At that moment, I realized just how much I had missed having my best friends around me. My semester in Madrid had moved along like a blur, and while I had met a lot of cool people and made some really great friends, we naturally just didn't have the same type of relationship. Not like I did with these guys who had basically become my second family after moving away to UW-Madison.

The pizza was oh-so-delicious, and after a lazy walk back to the hostel, we separated so Dave and I could drop our backpacks in our room and we all met in the cafe next door where Chris and Kyle told us they had met some cool Slovenian girls next door to their room. Kyle had come bearing gifts from Jen, Mandy, and Tiffany, our lovely neighbor girls and close friends from the year before. It made me realize just how much I missed them too after seeing the photos they sent and reading the play list of the mix CD they made in memory of us. At that moment, I was ready to get back to Madison, and it was the first time that I truly questioned what I was doing spending a fourth of my college career in a different country. Time seemed to have escaped me, somehow, and only one more year at Madison seemed far too little. Looking back to my first days of moving into the lake shore dorms, it feels almost surreal to already be looking on to my senior year. While you don’t notice it day to day, it’s also interesting to see how much things have changed since then. Different relationships, different priorities, different concerns, all of which create a sort of nostalgia that leaves one longing for what once was despite how much one may value what is. There’s a fear that one day I’ll look back and wonder how these great years got away from me so quickly. I think these sentiments resonated a bit with all of us at that moment as we sat around the table together, our thoughts turned inward. There was a collective silence, and I think we all wished we could just see the girls for a few seconds to give them a hug, a look in the eye, and an ¨I miss you¨.

After gathering ourselves for a busy afternoon and evening, we decided to march toward the home of battle and blood its self, the Colosseum, which Kyle and Chris had walked past the night before. Naturally, we are all obsessed with the movie, Gladiator, including the movie quote master, Chris. Needless to say, I was expecting a flurry of Russell Crowe quotes to come spilling brilliantly from his lips, and indeed they did. We had arrived too late to enter the great amphitheatre that day, as well as the surrounding ruins, but we took our time in admiring the iconic symbol of Rome and the great Arch of Constantine that marked his rise as the sole emperor of the Western Roman Empire in 312, undermining the tetrarchy that has previously divided the empire after the retirement of Diocletian. As the sun began to set, we continued our walk into the center of town, past statues of different emperors, ruins scattered amongst modern buildings, and SPQR Senātus Populusque Rōmānus ("The Senate and the Roman People") covering everything. In one of the strangest acts of nature I have ever seen, we looked up into the sky that was showing signs of dusk only to see giant clouds of black birds moving like schools of fish in the ocean. They formed a solid figure that seemed to expand and contract, contorting into various shapes and formations. We wandered, partially guided by whim, partially by a map, through some of Rome’s smaller streets, finding plazas and giant basilicas and cathedrals around seemingly every corner, literally popping up out of nowhere. They were more modern that many of those I had seen in Spain, covered in giant frescos that left me wondering yet again how the human race was capable of such things so long ago.
Remembering my family trip to Italy in eighth grade, I distinctly recall being mesmerized by the Pantheon, built in 31 BC as a place of worship to the pagan gods. In the 7th century, it was converted into a Christian church, and it is the oldest standing domed structure in Rome. Above all, it is a chilling spectacle at night when it is all lit up, and it remains my favorite sight in Rome.

After a pizza dinner in one of the city’s many squares, listening to a very talented electric guitarist in another, and visits to a few more cathedrals along the way, we continued our walk along the Tiber River, which was beautifully lit by the city street lamps and a crescent moon. In an attempt to navigate ourselves back to the Colosseum through some foreign parts of town, we ended up getting a bit lost and walking through some areas that felt a bit too dark and isolated for weary travelers such as Dave and I, still running on an hour of sleep since we had been in Prague a few days before. Gradually, the rumbling of city traffic over the cobblestone streets grew louder, and we found ourselves walking back into semi familiar territory that felt like it was close to the Colosseum. Sure enough, the enormous monument showed itself over the hill to our left, looking positively haunting in the night. This was perhaps our most intimate experience with it, and free of the normal tourist crowd, we had it all to ourselves on that quiet night. More Gladiator quotes were said, and for the first time since arriving, it felt completely normal to be with the guys again. As we walked back to the hostel, my thoughts were strictly focused on my bed, which seemed to be whispering to me softly to come lie down as we made the long trek back to the hostel. For the first time since the morning, I felt truly exhausted, and was out within seconds after saying goodnight to the boys.

The next morning, we woke up fairly early with the intention of getting in line for the Vatican before it got too late. As we expected, we ended up waiting for about an hour and a half in line after a breakfast of bread and fruit from the local grocery store. I remembered some of the things inside from my trip there many years earlier, such as the Sistine Chapel, which was just how I remembered it to be, but even more impressive. Michelangelo’s The Final Judgment is an absolutely incredible work, and I wished that the four of us could have had the room to ourselves with some really comfortable chairs to just stare at it the rest of the day. I really do think you'd need a few hours to really appreciate it and see it all. We saw hundreds of Gothic and Renaissance paintings, and it felt good to know that I could understand them a little bit better after my Spanish art history class, which explained some of the Italian influences.
After a few very fulfilling hours, we headed for St. Peter's Basilica just outside and were soon inside another building I remembered very well from 8th grade. This was only after another delicious pizza lunch nearby. Outside, large statues of St. Paul and St. Peter seemed to watching somewhat accusingly over the passersby, at the same time conveying a sense of divine power and justice. The size of the basilica, once inside, was almost overwhelming, with giant marble pillars, gigantic statues of former Popes, and the Papal alter rising high into the air. The basilica was also adorned by the stunningly beautiful "La Piedad" by Michelangelo that he created when he was just twenty five years old. It's perhaps most interesting because it marks a period at the end of the renaissance, just before his influential transformation to the development of mannerist art for which he is so famous.

Returning to the hostel after another long walk and metro ride, we all decided to take a little rest before planning our next move for that evening. We all had a chance for a little nap and a shower after being on our feet since early that morning, and we found new life as we headed to the grocery store to buy some more food since all would be closed the next day. On our way home, we found a small pizza-by-the-slice place where we happily decided to continue our streak of pizza meals. Having made plans to go out with the Slovenian girls earlier that evening, we opened a bottle of red for a celebratory toast and headed upstairs to see what they were up to. We spend a number of hours talking and getting to know Petra, Tadeja, and Alitza, who studied together in Slovenia, and although they were slightly more spread out through Europe these days, still traveled together frequently. They also spoke English quite well, which made it easy to have a good time. As it got later, we decided to head out to a club they had heard about, and after bartering with the understandably grumpy cab driver for a pretty cheap fare, were on our way to an unknown part of the city. To our utter disappointment, upon talking to the only two people at the club, we learned that it was not only closed, but that everything was closed that night throughout the city. It just didn't seem possible. It was Saturday night in a big European city. Nothing should have been closed. The reason? It was the weekend before New Years. Not an excuse in my book. Sorry, Rome. We tried our luck at one more place the girls had heard about, and sure enough, no one was there. Disappointed by our luck, we hailed two more cabs and again negotiated an acceptable price to return back to the metro stop near our hostel.

The driver for the girls went flying ahead at full speed and we quickly asked ours to catch up. He stepped on the gas, and we were immediately flying through Rome, over the cobblestone streets, at a positively ridiculous speed. All of a sudden, our driver took a hard left, and before we could object, we were separated from the car ahead of us. He assured us that it was a faster way, despite our rage, and sure enough, within minutes we arrived at the metro stop. The only problem was that Termini is a huge train station, and after a few minutes of waiting we accepted that we had lost the girls. Severely bummed at our unsuccessful search for nightlife and the loss of our new friends, we made the short walk back to the hostel, cursing fate with every step. Dave and I decided to drop our coats in our room before heading upstairs to meet the boys, and to our surprise, the Slovenian ladies were waiting for us with our boys at the elevator door when we returned. We exchanged stories about our crazy cab drivers as we again left the hotel in search of a speckle of nightlife, as hopeless as it may have been. Determined beyond belief, the girls even tried a few hotels, whose lobbies were closed, and in one last attempt, a lonely receptionist amazingly let us in for a drink in their comfortable chairs. We passed several hours there talking and laughing about how this was the best Rome had to offer on our first night, but in the end, it was actually a lot more fun than we could have ever predicted. After making plans to explore the city with them the next day, Dave and I went back to the muffled snores of our roommates in the hostel, laughing about the idea that we had seen the Vatican, St. Peter's basilica, had a few delicious pizzas, and went gallivanting through Rome with three gorgeous girls from eastern Europe all in one day. That, in the words of the great Ali G, is unquestionably "safe".

The next day was spent visiting the Spanish steps and Trevi fountain with the girls and the rich Italian sunshine, along with a few smaller churches we found to pop up every few blocks. As the girls wanted to spend a few hours shopping, we took the more stereotypical manly rout, marching onward to the Colosseum, hoping to actually make it inside this time before the sun went down. I also remembered the Colosseum well from our family trip, but this time it was complete with Chris's hilarious rendition of the famous Gladiator quote, "My name is Maximus Decimus Meridius, commander of the Armies of the North, General of the Felix Legions, loyal servant to the true emperor, Marcus Aurelius. Father to a murdered son, husband to a murdered wife. And I will have my vengeance, in this life or the next." As the sun lowered in the sky, its reddish light reflected beautifully off the ancient stone. We took another long walk around the city, and grabbed some pizza from our favorite local joint, successfully eating pizza for every meal other than a few breakfasts in Rome. We had coffee with the girls in the morning, said our goodbyes, grabbed one more slice for the road, and marched off to Termini station together to catch the metro and bus back to the Roman suburb. Having successfully conquered Rome, we were anxious for the next stage of our epic European journey. An eventful New Years Eve in Paris awaited our arrival...

Volar por Berlin

While our alarm was set for 6:00, it turned out to be unnecessary when our drunken roommates obnoxiously burst through the door around 5:30. Bleary eyed, Dave and I arose to finish packing and eat up the rest of our bread and nutella from the day before. A cold, dark trek to the station later, we waited to board our train to Berlin. There was hardly anyone on the train, being so early in the morning, and we pulled out of the station just as dawn was breaking on the overcast city yet again. The journey through the countryside was beautiful as we followed a river through a mixture of flat plains, rolling hills, and little towns speckled along the way. We passed through the same type of hazy air we encountered during our ride through Switzerland, and it once again added a sort of mysterious element to our travels. People boarded and exited the train every hour or so in the small towns where we stopped, but overall, the train filled to maximum capacity as we drew closer to Berlin.
Reaching Berlin about 1:30, we were greeted by Dave's German friend, Felix, from the university in Freiburg who happened to be home in Berlin for the holidays and with whom we would be "staying" until our departure to Rome the next morning. He turned out to be a really cool guy, and after catching a few buses, we were walking to his mothers apartment in east Berlin near the old Berlin Wall. We were immediately greeted by a friendly smile and a hug from his mother who reminded me in every way of Ms. Weasley. After dropping our things in his room, we were encouraged into the kitchen, where she had already prepared a delicious-smelling and very German lunch for our growling stomachs. Numerous helpings of a dark brown cabbage dish and a very unique unsweetened pumpkin pie, followed by great coffee and cookies gave us energy for the lightning-quick tour of Berlin we were about to have.
We began, as it was already starting to get dark, at the Berlin Wall museum near his house. We passed by the parliament building and various others owned by the government, all beautifully designed. From there we saw numerous embassies from all over the world, included that of the USA, which, in true American fashion, was completely inaccessible and heavily defended by high walls, gates, and military police. A stark contrast with that of the UK just a few blocks away, which was guarded by two unarmed men at the doorway to the street. We saw their highly controversial Holocaust museum, which is a sea of large stones that appear fairly uniform from the outside, but as you wind your way through them, they grow to gigantic sizes all around you and you begin feel consumed by their presence. For such a simple design, it had an incredible ability to demonstrate the overwhelming and consuming memory of the Holocaust. Passing through the center of downtown, through it's modern buildings, streetcar tracks, high end shops and bars, we came across a building covered in graffiti and looking very out of place. Inside, artists had set up shop, and all 5 stories were full of brilliant work by the artists who smoked any number of things as they sat looking relaxed and uninterested.
Deciding we needed a little rest, Dave, Felix, and I returned back to the apartment and enjoyed a few Berlin brews as we sat in Felix's cozy living room. Later on that night, we made a stop at the local kebab shop for a tasty dinner and continued on our way to visit some of Felix's friends at a jazz club where we caught the tail end of a set by a great band. We accompanied a few of them to another bar a few hours later and found ourselves arriving home about 3:30, a bit tired and knowing we had exactly one hour to sleep before getting up to catch the metro to the airport. We packed a sandwich and some fruit for a mid-morning snack on the plane and set off to tiredly make the 45 minute trip to the airport on the deserted metro. It was hard to believe we would be in Rome in just a few short hours after the whirlwind that had been our visit to Berlin. I couldn't wait to see the boys.

La Noche Buena y la Navidad en Praga

We arrived in Prague early that afternoon not exactly sure what to expect. It was Christmas Eve, but neither of us could remember a year in which it felt less Christmassy. We exited the airport under gray, gloomy skies, and caught the city bus that would take us into town. After a transfer to the metro, we emerged into the city center and were pleasantly surprised by the beautiful buildings and Christmas market that surrounded us. We oriented ourselves and headed off to the hostel a short ways away. We entered the tiny reception room, checked in, headed upstairs to drop off our backpacks and get settled in the very nice 12 bed room. We had a few hours until we were to meet up with my friends Julie and Melissa, and Julie's roommate, Margie, so we decided to take a little walk around the town center and stop for a delicious-smelling sausage at one of the stands. As darkness fell on the city, the Christmas lights came on, and the city was truly magical as I had been told it would be around Christmas time. All of the streets were decorated and families were out enjoying the markets together. Around 6:00, we wound our way over to the girls' hostel after cracking open a famous Czech pilsner and let ourselves in to their equally nice hostel. Within moments I was met by the easily recognizable long blond hair of Julie and we spent a bit of time catching up on everyone's adventures up until that point.
With that, we headed out into the city toward the Old Town Square, which was surrounded by beautiful churches, and which held a Christmas market to rival that of Freiburg. Gluwein, sausages, crepes, old Prague ham, candied nuts, and everything else you could image was being sold, and it was full of people in the true spirit of Christmas. After a cup of gluwein to ward off the frigid air and much time spent absorbing the festivities, we decided to look for a place to have Christmas Eve dinner. Without a reservation, this turned out to be quite the task, as we were turned away from every restaurant we could find. After hours of walking around, we finally found a place where we could get a table. And it couldn't have been better luck, with a very comfortable, homey atmosphere. We all ordered the Christmas Eve, traditional Czech special of pork and dumplings, along with the most delicious beer I have ever tasted. Some type of Czech ale named Kazel, it was sweet, dark, and made the taste buds do cartwheels. Even being thousands of miles from home on Christmas Eve, I couldn't have come up with a better way to get into the spirit of the season.
As midnight approached after hours of feasting and conversation, we headed back to one of the cathedrals near the Old Town Square to attend mass. A hauntingly beautiful, clearly baroque interior surrounded the mass of people that had already entered. As there was nowhere to sit, we stood near one of the giant columns supporting the roof and waited as the air grew even more frigid and the organ started to play. It was a beautiful service, although I clearly couldn't understand a word, and it made for quite a change from my grandmother's local Presbyterian church that I had attended every year since I was a baby and of which I had grown so fond. Tired, cold, but happily satisfied by my first Christmas Eve outside of Cocoa Beach, Florida, we parted ways with the girls and headed back to the hostel where we quickly fell asleep in our warm beds.
We slept in on Christmas morning for the first time in a few days and slowly set off to take another walk before meeting the girls in the afternoon. Everything was closed, minus a small, hidden store that we found along the way. I'm finding it to be a common theme during my time in Europe that life would be so much less comfortable without Chinese immigrants. Just as in Spain, they are the only people to keep their shops open at night and on holidays when you are desperate for something to eat. Bless their souls. With plastic bags full of fruit, bread, cheese, and Nutella, we set off toward the edge of town and climbed a steep hill up to the city's highest point where we ate our breakfast overlooking the gloomy-looking city that made us feel like we were unquestionably somewhere in eastern Europe. We met up with the girls and headed to the other edge of town, over the Charles Bridge and the Vltava River. Here we took a walk through the old fortress walls, but arrived too late to enter the large cathedrals, which had just closed for the day. Dave and I headed back to the hostel to rest a bit after some late lunch in the Old Town Square market, and got ready for the Christmas concert we were to attend that night at the concert hall nearby. The warm air and comfortable seats in the balcony perfectly complimented the sweet orchestra music that resonated from below for the next hour, and Dave was excited by the fact he had played many of the pieces during his time in the high school orchestra. After dinner in the Christmas market and a few beers later, we headed back to the hostel to await another chilly Prague day.
For our last day, Dave and I still had a lot to see, and returned across the river to look inside the gothic and baroque cathedrals and check out the riverfront. We picked up the girls and headed to the old Jewish quarter, stopped in for some much needed hot coffee, and again found ourselves in the Christmas market for dinner that night of more sausages and crepes, of which we simply couldn't have enough. Being our last night in Prague, we decided to head back to our favorite little restaurant for a few more Kazel beers before saying goodbye to the city in the morning. There we made friendly with some of the locals during our very very extended period of time comfortably enjoying the ambiance inside, and before we knew it, Dave and I were on our way back to catch a few hours of sleep before catching our early train to Berlin in the morning. While it didn't quite measure up to our short stay in Leysin, Prague was the perfect place to spend Christmas, and in the absence of my family, it was nice to be surrounded by Dave, one of my best friends of the last few years, Julie, one of my closest friends here in Madrid, and Melissa and Margie who are always great for some comic relief. We had spent just the right amount of time there, enough to see pretty much everything at a tranquil pace and really enjoy the Christmas season. Next stop, 12 hours in Berlin!