Mis queridos padres...

After Dani and the boys returned to their respective countries, I finally had a moment to breathe. For the first time in weeks, I found myself sitting on my bed, alone, in an empty apartment. While it had been fabulous seeing so many friends, it was nice to have a moment to collect myself again. I spent a few days casually studying for my upcoming exams and enjoying the improving weather with Ivan and Elena in Retiro Park. Before I knew it, my parents were on their way to visit me. The night before their arrival, we had a goodbye party for our good friend and flat mate, Dominik, who was heading back to Germany a few days later. A great time was had by all, and as always, there was plenty of tasty food and wine to go around our crowded apartment. I finally headed to bed about four thirty, leaving just enough time to catch two hours of sleep before leaving to pick up my parents at the airport that morning. Seeing them walk out of baggage claim was a very surreal experience and I realized at that moment just how much I had missed them since our last time together the previous August.
Having them here was a very special time for me, being able to show them around the city and help them understand exactly what I had been doing all year. I had booked them into a small hotel two blocks from my apartment, which was quite convenient, and we spent the first few days passing by the royal palace, making tranquil stops in various parks and plazas, the Prado museum, the university, and my favorite neighborhoods. They had a few different tapas experiences and we had an absolutely fabulous dinner in an Indian restaurant I had wanted to try, where we struck up a conversation with a 9 language speaking Argentinean martial arts instructor. We also saw an incredible flamenco show. This was all in the first couple days before they left for Barcelona, leaving me sadly behind to cram for and sit two midterm exams as they went on an adventure to a city I have still yet to visit. They arrived back in Madrid on Friday afternoon with stories of their adventure, and we spent the night walking around the city. We ended the night at a fancier tapas restaurant called La Musa that was packed with people and unique food. I was absolutely stuffed after trying all sorts of new tapas and desserts.
Saturday, their last day in Madrid, we spent seeing the last parts of the city I wanted to show them, like the huge forest-like gardens that extend to the south of the Royal Palace. We also took a cable car ride over Madrid's largest green space, La Casa del Campo, where we saw the end of a morning bike race, and as the sun was setting, we stopped in Madrid's majestic Atocha train station. That night, we went to my favorite Thai restaurant with my friends Emma and Julie. It was really nice to have my parents get to know two of the people that have really helped me feel at home this year in Madrid. I couldn't have asked for a better visit from my parents and I really did enjoy every minute that they were here.
The excitement of my parents' visit was slightly dulled by the departure of Dominik, which was a bit hard to swallow. The night before he left, after I had dropped off my parents for the night, I joined him, Emma, Pablo, and Annie at a nearby tapas restaurant for one last toast and chat before his departure the next day. As my parents and I helped him carry his last things to his car the next morning, I found myself at a loss for words for what exactly to say to him. I knew I would be seeing him for a short hello and cup of coffee in another month as he passed through Madrid on his way to Peru, but it still felt like goodbye, so it was hard to know exactly what to say. It made it easier, when seeming to be thinking the same thing, he told me that the words weren't necessary at that moment, and that we would be seeing each other again soon.

I still struggle with how to tell Dominik how much he has unknowingly affected my life. In the end, we never became quite as close as I would have liked to have been, the result of both leading two busy lives, but Dominik had a profound influence on me during the 7 months that I knew him. Not on any incredibly deep level, but on a very basic one, which is all the more important, I think. He is a person that I really admire, and leads a life that I have almost attempted to mirror, I guess you could say. We are similar in many ways, I think, but he has always been impressively good at living his life how he wants to live it. One of the coolest people I have ever met, intelligent, hard working but understanding when not to work so hard and perfectly take advantage of the time when he doesn’t, such as this year in Spain. He always speaks his mind, but has the friendly personality that allows him to do it effectively. And while he is constantly busy, he finds time almost every single day to run distances that pushed me to my limits as I tagged along. He is one of those few people one meets in their life, that while they may not make up a large part of one's time on Earth, profoundly influence how one lives. I will remember Dominik and what he taught me for a very long time. I guess that he really way like that older brother that I never had.

Visitas y viajes. De nuevo...

Goodness, I'm getting so behind on this blog. Again... Somehow the weeks pass, and I realize I could write a novel about what has happened since the last time I wrote something here. After my fantastic adventure in Asturias, I was back in Madrid one more day to see Melissa before she headed back to the States, and then my friend Dani arrived the day after. It was pretty easy to pick her out of the airport crowd with her blond hair among a mass of black. She was surprisingly awake and ready to go after such a long flight, but mostly was just better than me at fighting off sleepiness. I felt as though I could have slept for days after my trip and having Melissa here visiting. It was great to see Dani, and not as strange as I would have thought to be guiding her through the metro on the way back to my apartment. It's actually starting to feel quite normal having visitors here, and I like that. We passed a few fabulous days in Madrid, seeing the sights and some of my favorite haunts, and it was fun to be back in her company for the first time since last summer.
Before we knew it, we were off to the airport a few days later to spend the night trying to sleep in the airport (my second time in five days), as we had a 6:00 flight to Sheffield, England to visit Chris and Dave after their trip to Amsterdam. Sleepily, we arrived in East Midlands, and caught a bus that took us through a few quaint English towns (with streets that reminded of Privet Drive), and a train through the beautifully green English countryside. Chris and Dave were waiting for us on the platform when we arrived, and as always, it was great to have my boys back.
In true English fashion, we took a double-decker bus from the train station to a stop near his dorm. Sheffield, while the fourth biggest city in the UK, felt nicely small in comparison to Madrid, and had the familiar feeling of a college town, with bars and tasty places to eat scattered all over the place. Chris lives in a luxurious dorm with a living room (so jealous), and definitely has more of a college life than I do this year. At times I do tend to miss it. We spent the day walking around town, which was actually quite beautiful despite the unwelcoming English skies. It was a bit strange to have everyone speaking my native language again, and I think I got a little taste of the culture shock I'm going to have when I get home. Even though the culture is of course quite different there, having English spoken by everyone in public places had a strange effect on me which is quite hard to describe. I felt a bit awkward talking to people there and I still don't know if that is because I'm not used to people speaking fluent English in public places, or if it is the difference between English and American English that gave me some sort of inferiority complex. I think it might have been the latter. It was quite funny to read the street signs there, some of which contained phrases that I honestly had to think about to understand.
The next morning we were already off to London. For some reason, the bus near Chris's apartment was significantly late in passing his stop, and the traffic in the city was horrible. With panic on our faces, I could tell that each of us was mentally trying to create a path on the street for the bus to pass. We arrived at the station exactly when the bus was supposed to leave, and we saw it still idling on the other side of the building though the glass windows. Sprinting with our backpacks and suitcases, we arrived just in time to catch the bus to London. It was a long ride (around 4-5 hours), but I happily took the time to rest.
London was beautiful, and raining, of course, when we arrived. We navigated our way though the Underground, with our veteran Chris as the leader, and were soon at the hostel, where we were promptly told it was full despite having reservations (I've never understand how that happens, but it does frequently) and moved to a hostel a few blocks away. Kindly, they did refund my 10% deposit on the room though... Our hostel was an absolute crap hole, but for 10 pounds a night, not any worse than I was expecting, and we wouldn't be spending much time there anyways.
After some lunch nearby, we set off on the Underground to see Big Ben and the Parliament, which were stunning next to the Thames River, despite the light drizzle. We walked along the chilly waterfront as it started to get dark, and passed the beautiful Westminster Abbey, a spooky statue of Sir Winston Churchill, and eventually arrived at Buckingham Palace after a walk through a mysteriously foggy park. We spent another hour or so walking through the upscale neighborhoods nearby. Then we paid a visit to King's Cross to satisfy our Harry Potter appetites, visiting Platform 9 3/4, where they have the back end of a luggage cart sticking out of the wall, the other half on its way to the Hogwarts Express. The train station is beautiful. After deciding we had had enough walking for one day, we headed back to the hostel to grab some dinner and play some cards that night. It was great to just sit around and shoot the breeze with such good friends.
The next day was much more beautiful than the first, and although there was a biting wind that howled all day, it was finally sunny. We walked around Kensington Palace, the former residence of Princess Diana, enjoyed the park nearby, passed by the magnificent Tower of London, and got caught in a storm on the Tower Bridge that only lasted a short time. After a coffee to warm our chilled bodies, we passed through the Globe Theatre and continued our walk along the river down to the London Bridge. The city is so beautiful, and really, you can see most of the important things in just a few days. Granted, we didn't go into much because of the lines and outrageous prices (especially when everything is in pounds), but it was a lot of fun just being able to walk past such famous places one after another.
To top off our London experience, that night we had a tasty fish and chips dinner in a cozy little restaurant near our hostel, and played a few more rounds of euchre before hitting the sack. Since the city chose that weekend to do major work on the Underground, basically all of the useful lines were to be closed the next morning when we needed to get to the airport. A cab picked us up at 4:30 that morning, taking us to the nearest metro stop with a connection to the Gatwick Express train, and we were already on our way out of London after our short but pleasant trip.
We arrived in Madrid very sleepy after a long morning and only a few hours of sleep, and after constructing a four person bed on my floor using my mattress and our spare, and closing my window shutter, we all drifted into a blissful three hour nap in my dark room. Dani had one more day in Madrid, where she got to visit many of the same places again as I showed Chris and Dave around. It was such a treat having them all in Madrid, and the boys and I had some great times together even after Dani was on her way back to the homeland.

Que viaje, macho!

Wow. I had ridiculously high expectations for my short trip to Asturias, in northern Spain, but somehow they were still blown right out of the water. The fact that I continue to find such beautiful places on this earth simply astounds me, and always leaves me craving more. My friend Bailey and I took a day off of school before Spring Break officially began, taking advantage of some cheap Easyjet flights and in order to maximize our time there before her parents were to arrive in Madrid. The downside was that we had to spend the night in Barajas airport because the Metro wouldn't be open early enough in the morning for us to arrive in time for our flight. So, with backpacks strapped on and bellies full we set off to the airport at 1:30 that morning and spent the night talking and trying to catch a few elusive Zs. Bleary-eyed, we made it on to our plane and again kept our eyes closed as much as possible before landing in the tiny Asturias airport a short time later. While we were quite tired, it appeared as though our plane had touched down somewhere in Ireland, the ground looking green, fertile, and mountainous, a stark contrast to what we had seen so far in Spain.
We took a short taxi ride to a small coastal fishing town called Cudillero, where we were met with the smell of sea salt and the sight of a very colorful and quaint village. The whole town is situated on a hill, and its houses painted a variety of bright pastels. After enjoying the crashing waves for a while, we set off on a hike around the small town, watching old ladies come out to buy their daily bread and men arranging fresh fish on ice. We hiked a number of miles outside of town, passing grazing pastures for sheep and cows, as well as a beautiful old church and trees that would have been more at home in the Amazon. Taking a left through an even smaller town up the road, we passed an elderly couple out for their morning walk, and stopped for a chat, as they were a bit surprised to see people such as ourselves passing though that area. They were incredibly friendly, and as we went our separate ways, we were told that there was a beautiful surprise waiting for us just around the turn at the bottom of the hill.
Sure enough, Bailey and I were greeted by a truly glorious view that looked exactly like I imagined Ireland to be. The waves crashed against the rocky shore far below and the green countryside seemed to extend forever. Wanting a closer view, we continued on the curvy road that took us through an area that reminded me EXACTLY of the island where the television series LOST is set. We descended to the first rocky beach we found, and although I knew the water would be absolutely freezing, I had to take a dip. At the beginning of the year I told myself that I would swim on all four coasts of the Iberian Peninsula, regardless of the temperature. And I thought that the southern coast was cold at the beginning of February... yikes! Let's just say I didn't stay in to enjoy the water a really long time, but I did make it up to my neck. After a quick and much needed change of clothes we continued our hike along the shore, finding a beautiful sand beach just down the road. After a coke in the only restaurant in the area, we began our trek back to Cudillero, and after a lunch of baguettes, cream cheese, and oranges, we awoke a sleeping cab driver to take us back to the airport, where we could catch a bus to our next destination.
The excitement and fresh air that morning had brilliantly kept us awake that morning, but the bus ride was a new opportunity for some much needed rest, although it was difficult with the increasingly mountainous, fertile terrain passing by each minute. A few transfers later, and the only people left on the coach bus, we found ourselves in the remote town of Covadonga. Upon arriving, one is immediately struck by the seemingly colossal red cathedral that erupts from the forest green of the surrounding area. There are only a few small hotels and one restaurant in the town, along with the impressive cathedral and a chapel cut into the side of the mountain. It was unlike any place I had ever seen, and I was left dumbfounded as to how the cathedral could have possibly been built there. The chapel was founded on the spot where the Virgin Mary apparently appeared to some of the last Christian resistance in Spain in 711 which had been pushed to the brink of defeat in their last holdout against the Moors. Led by their king, whose casket still lies in the chapel, 200 Christian soldiers were said to have defeated a Moorish army of 4000, allowing for the future reconquista of the peninsula. The almost unbelievable significance of that remote place gave me shivers as I thought of how those 200 men had basically changed the entire course of history.
Deciding we had better make sure we could find some place to stay that night, we looked into a small bed and breakfast just down the road, which was excellent for the low price, included breakfast, and was run by a very kind lady in her 70s. We looked to be possibly the only tourists staying in the town that night, and were definitely the only ones in our bed and breakfast. The restaurant was even closed because there was just no one around, so we settled on sandwiches at the local bar, where I felt strangely like I was in the Homer Hickim's coal mining town in October Sky (originally named after the book, Rocket Boys, one of my favorites). This despite the fact there are no coal mines in Asturias, but the people at the bar were all dirty from the day's work and many missing a few teeth while speaking a very distinct dialect of Spanish. The short walk back to our B&B that night seemed to take forever as we both longed for our beds, which were soft and piled with warm blankets. I literally have no memory from after my head hit the pillow…

Ten hours later, at 7:30 am that morning, we awoke to the rude sound of my alarm, but it had been one of the best sleeps of my life. I don’t think I moved an inch the entire time, wrapped in my heavy cocoon. After a shower and breakfast downstairs, Bailey and I set off up the road that would take us to the Lakes of Covadonga. It was a brilliantly sunny day, and although the air was at first quite chilly, the combination of the strong sun, our loaded backpacks, and the uphill climb quickly had me down to shorts and a t-shirt. The first car to pass us by that morning stopped and asked if we wanted a ride up the mountains to the lakes, but we had decided to do that first 12 km stage on foot. Everything was beautifully green, and the mountains continued to grow to more impressive sizes as our altitude increased. Every so often, we caught a glimpse of Covadonga far below. Occasionally, a car or truck would pass by with people looking at us with wide-eyes, thinking we must have been a bit crazy, but that just added to the fun. Our progress was only delayed by our frequent stops to enjoy the view.

As we passed a 10km marker on the side of the road, our anticipation for the lakes grew, and later, as I climbed a hill to examine a large stone monument, I was shocked to see a beautiful glistening lake before the snowy mountains in the distance. I yelled happily to Bailey below, who came charging up the hill after me. A biting wind was blowing down at us from the mountain, immediately dropping the temperature at least 30 degrees, but it felt refreshing after the long, sweaty, first stage of our hike. We goggled at the view for a while, enjoyed a granola bar and orange for a snack, and continued our hike on the second lake, where we saw all of the people that had passed us on the road that morning. The view was truly spectacular, and reminded me of a scene from the Sound of Music. We spent several hours there before deciding to continue our trek through stage we had really been looking forward to, away from any roads and other people. We were on our way to the Refugio de Vegaredonda, another 3 hours off the beaten path, and little did we know that we would actually be heading up the those snowy mountains we had been admiring from far below….

The hike started off relatively flat as we walked along a small dirt road though an open field, but as we came upon a sign that read “Danger, high mountain area” that showed images of about a dozen different ways one could die, we knew we were in for a true adventure. The “trail” was marked by yellow and white markers painted on the occasional rock, spread just far enough apart where you were never sure exactly if you were still on the path until you found the next. We climbed and we climbed over the rocky and grassy ground, zigzagging our way up until we reached a beautiful open valley between two mountain peaks that we followed past the occasional wildflower and mountain deer, and the increasingly frequent patches of snow. We would momentarily lose the trail at times, but stayed on course fairly easily while still enjoying the immensely beautiful surroundings. The snowy peaks continued to grow larger in the distance, and before long we realized that that was exactly where we were headed. Along the way, we also found a spotting of stone huts that could have been built anytime in the last hundred years or so. It was just impossible to tell exactly when, and they were all completely abandoned.

We continued to climb as we were likely reaching the 20 km point in our hike, the fatigue and thinning air making each step a bit more trying. After a particularly steep and rocky hill, we sprawled out on the ground, exhausted and wondering just how much higher we could really go before a refuge would be impossible to find on the mountain peaks. Gathering our strength, we set off again, and within seconds saw the refuge in the distance, behind a more distinct path of jagged stones. Upon entering the area, we found what looked to be a couple, the woman playing with a small dog. They looked at us a bit oddly without saying anything as we drew closer, and after saying hello and waiting though the uncomfortable silence, I extended my hand to the rugged looking man, who, a bit unhappily extended his as well. All he said was his name, and the lady looked at us with an odd smile. The silence was almost unbearable for only a few seconds, before I finally asked them if they were staying at the refuge, living there, or why the hell they were silently sitting on the top of a mountain, seemingly unable to socialize like normal humans. All we really got out of them was that they lived there and ran the refuge, and that they had forgotten that they were to have guests that night. We were some of the first people they had seen up on the mountain that spring. Finally having a little something to break the ice, and the “Mountain Man” as we would call him still seemingly glaring at us, we were shown inside by the lady. Downstairs was a small kitchen, big metal lockers to store backpacks, a dining room, and upstairs, a dozen bunk beds, all of which were empty. The setting sun and our drying sweat had made the top of the mountain positively freezing cold, and unsuccessfully trying to get warm under a mountain of heavy blankets, I decided I would be better off just layering on the clothes and getting my blood moving again, although lying down felt amazing after the strenuous day we had just completed.

Leaving Bailey behind to sleep a bit more, I headed outside for a look around the camp, from which there was a stunning view of the valley and mountain creek below, as well as the surrounding mountain range. Finding possibly the most peaceful, tranquil place I had ever been during my 20 years on this earth, I sat on a giant boulder in silence other than the icy wind that occasionally tickled my ear. It was so incredibly remote and such a far cry from Madrid where I had been just the day before. It was a place I could have sat for days, just pondering my life and everything else one could imagine. One thing for me is certain, while a busy city life may cloud my spirituality, experiences like this constantly renew my faith in God. I felt as if I could almost reach up and touch the gates of heaven, just as I have felt watching the sun set over the Banana River, seeing the stars from the Panamanian rainforest, or lying on a dock watching the clouds float by on a balmy day in northern Minnesota. In such moments one cannot help but be consumed by such a masterpiece and the force that paints it.

With darkness beginning to fall, I headed back to the refuge and found that Bailey too had found a bit of time for exploring. We saw two more grizzly looking men descending into the camp just as darkness was to consume the mountain, and as we were heading into the dining room to eat the dinner that our growling stomachs were awaiting. I honestly think we would have both eaten just about anything at that point, and the egg drop soup that was brought to us warmed us up fantastically. A lentil soup came next, which on a normal day I would imagine wouldn’t have been anything to write home about, but on that night was simply indescribable. Our stomachs just barely satisfied, we both prayed that there would be another course, and sure enough, slices of pork and potato chips were brought to us. These would have been even less appetizing on a normal day, but the salty meat was just what we were craving. Bailey and I joked that we were most likely eating the remains of the last people to visit the refuge, those who had been killed by the creepy Mountain Man. And at that point, we probably didn’t care as much as we should have…

Mountain Man even came over to talk to us for a few minutes after we asked him a question from across the room. He explained that a helicopter had delivered the raw materials for the refuge to the top of the mountain twenty years ago, and he had built it all by himself, having opened the place as a refuge ten years ago. All food and supplies were brought up on his back, sometimes by horse for the first portion of the climb before it became impassable. That made us appreciate the meal even more, and after we realized that was about all the talking we were going to get out of Mountain Man, we headed sleepily up to bed around nine o’clock. We layered on the heavy wool blankets over our sleeping bags, and settled into bed, although for some reason we both had trouble sleeping that night. Most likely a result of the 10 very heavy hours of sleep we had had the night before. Our attempts to sleep were interrupted only by the murderous looking silhouette cast by Mountain Man as he entered the upstairs to go to sleep…

Despite the slightly disrupted night, we managed to stay surprisingly warm as the icy air blew hard against the refuge all night. Waking up the next morning we were stunned to see that we were literally in the middle of a thick cloud, and could hardly see out the window. We packed our things to go, but the mountain offered us terrible visibility as even the hardened mountain climbers that had come the night before were waiting for the weather to clear up before setting off, granted they were going up to the peak while we were heading down the mountain. It started to rain, and the visibility only grew worse, but as our nine o’clock departure time came and went, we decided we had to set off if we were to make it back in time to catch the bus back to the airport that evening. We immediately grew a bit leery of our decision after getting momentarily lost just finding our way completely out of the camp. It did not bode well for the rest our journey, when at that point there was literally no more than 10-15 feet of visibility. While I had looked a bit foolish the day before with my heavy backpack prepared for just about any weather condition, it proved valuable that morning as the mountain did it’s best to make us surrender back to the refuge. It rained constantly, creating small rivers though the valley. Later, we were caught in various hailstorms that rained down on us with increasing intensity as the wind whipped at us ferociously. I really wish the pictures and videos I took could remotely capture what it was like, but they just don’t come close. It was a true battle against Mother Nature, and I loved every minute of it. The seriousness of the situation came with the thunder that felt like it was rumbling all around us (as we were literally in the storm clouds) and the lightning that had to be being produced somewhere. This, I can assure you, made us pick up the pace as we found ourselves exposed out in the valley. We made very quick time down the mountain, due to our rested legs, slippery but downhill hike, and slight anxiety about being zapped in the middle of nowhere. We slowly broke out of the storm clouds and rejoiced in our domination of the mountain that lay behind us.

Deciding we had had enough hiking the last few days, and enough adventure that morning, and realizing we could possibly catch an earlier bus from Covadonga, Bailey and I set off down the second stage of the hike with thumbs out, ready to save ourselves another three hours down a slippery road. A few cars passed guiltily by, but finally, an older couple stopped to ask where we were headed, and before long we were cruising slowly down the steep, curvy road that we had climbed the day before. And let me tell you, it seemed like a very long way… As they were heading to the exact place we needed to go, we arrived with 10 minutes to spare in time for the earlier bus to Oviedo, where we were happy we’d get to spend a few unexpected hours before continuing on to the airport. Oviedo was beautiful, and a man in the city tourist office offered us a map and some sights to see in the few hours we had, including a beautiful park, royal palace, and cathedral. The city, one of the two capitals of Asturias, was very quaint, much more so than I had expected, and although we were happy to see some of the sights, we settled on a much needed midday lunch. Again, we learned why it was so nice not to live in Madrid, as our nine Euro meal included an amazing vegetable and cheese creation, tasty salmon, bread, a drink, and dessert. Not only was it reasonably priced, but also delicious, something that is often impossible to come by in Madrid if you aren’t eating Indian or Thai food. Bailey had been terrific company on the trip, and I can imagine very few people that would have been up for roughing it like we did. Like me, she really enjoys those types of trips, and is a truly fascinating person. Without question, one of the friendliest and most positive people I have ever met. She took a semester off from Madison her second year to teach English in a small village in Malawi, worked with a lawyer in the states to set up a nonprofit organization to benefit the village making her the youngest Executive Director in Wisconsin, managed the locker room for the Milwaukee Bucks during high school allowing her to play one-on-one with the likes of Yao Ming and Chris Weber, tell Shaq to return the wheeled chair to the locker room on which he was riding down the hallway like a school boy, and have heart to hearts with Ray Allen. Not to mention she was the first one to find an apartment here, with all Spaniards, making everyone in the program immediately jealous at the beginning of the year. A truly remarkable individual with a million stories to tell. Asturias was quite an adventure…

Sigue la vida

So, there isn't a whole lot of exciting news to tell or adventures to describe, but I thought it was time for a short update nonetheless, if only to preserve my memories of this seemingly vacant period of time in which I find myself. Over half of my classes this semester are extremely dry, and although I somehow did fairly well last semester, I have a feeling the lack of interest and dramatically increased workload might have some negative effects on the academic front this time around. However, for the first time in years I find myself not really caring about that so much. Other than school, life has been plodding along pleasantly and rather uneventfully. Maren left a few weeks ago to return to the United States, and we have had two Italian guys, Marco and Lorenzo, move in during the last week. They're both very friendly, although Lorenzo's very limited Spanish and slightly better English knowledge have made it a bit difficult to communicate much. Needless to say, there is some sort of pasta constantly boiling on the stove...
Lizzy and her dad came into town a few weeks ago after a week in Salamanca and I was able to play tour guide for them around the city for the day. It's more and more fun to see familiar faces from home as the months pass, and with visits from my friends Melissa, Dani, Chris, Dave, and my parents during the month of March, I should have plenty of them around.
I've also spent the last few weeks organizing some trips for the semester including a trip through the mountains in northern Spain with my friend Bailey, a trip to London with Dani to see Chris and Dave before we all return to Madrid, a late birthday and post-midterm trip to Athens to visit Mandy who is there for the semester, Santander on Spain's northern coast again with Bailey at the end of April, and a trip to Barcelona with my friend Julie at the beginning of May. Then my sister comes to visit! Between school and traveling, I think this semester is going to fly by way faster than the first. Dominik leaves at the end of March, which will mean another new roommate, and another sad goodbye like it was with Maren, whom I'm really going to miss.
Meanwhile, I can't avoid the questions in my head about what I want to do with my life next year and, gulp, after I graduate... It's the last thing I want to or should think about right now, but the inability to answer those questions seems to be unnecessarily taking up a lot of my time lately. It's annoying to say the least. It could have something to do with the terrible shin splints I've had for about two weeks after what had been a great few months of running. They came out of nowhere just as I felt like I was in the best shape since my swimming days, and I've felt kind of caged up without the normal running routine lately. I think they're finally on the mend, however. Let's hope so. Spring keeps coming and going these days, and I have the feeling it's going to permanently break through any time now. I am also officially addicted to Nutella. It has moved from a spread to its own food group.

Brett Favre retired and Hillary refuses to go down. Come on, America. Seriously, don't make me come back there and fix everything...

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...