Expats Live the Good Life

I slowly wrote this over the span of a couple months...

 

One thing I’ve noticed since coming here is that every expat I’ve met is out to have a good time. Despite work and relationships and whatnot, every one is determined to live the good life. That Voss trip I mentioned in the last blog – probably about 10 people total, two were travelers, one was Norwegian, seven expats.

Soon after the Voss weekend was the weekend birthday celebration for Lydia! Rather than your run-of-the-mill party, she coordinated a weekend of surfing at Bore Stand in southern Norway. She rallied the troops, booked a couple beach cabins, and we were off!

Lydia is a jack of all trades, one of which is surfing. She is a surf instructor on a few trips throughout the year in California and Nicaragua. So the birthday girl herself was the coach for all of us first-timers.  I was by no means your typical California girl in this situation for I have never surfed and not even spent much time in the ocean. I took a while to get comfortable in the water and then spent much of my time carelessly flopping around in the waves, livin’ the dream. Wearing such a thick wetsuit is so liberating – I’ve never been so un-cold in the ocean before!

We spent the entire first day “surfing,” but in my situation was sort of just paddling around, bodyboarding a wave as I fumbled around on the board. No way did I even get close to standing up but hot damn did I have so much fun. To round off the tiring day, we had a super American meal and a mega relax session. Solid day shredding the gnar and grubbing hella hard (I’m on the plane from Oslo to Newark at the time I am writing this bit, no functioning entertainment system on this puppy, so I’m writing a bit and practicing my rusty American/Californian lingo).

The following day, Lydia, Fi, and I were up and at ‘em early in the morning. The ground was still frosted, the beach was EMPTY, and we were ready for a second day of hangin’ ten. Again, this day I was absolutely hopeless on the surfboard but I had a previously unprecedented amount of fun. Too much fun, some may say.

I should describe this beach, too. It’s worthy. You would NEVER expect such a place in Norway – long, long sandy beach backed by a flat, grassy landscape leading up to gentle, furry hills. And in the break, there were no rocks on the bottom! Perfectly sandy, no worries of stepping or falling on a nasty rock under the waves. It was the beach of dreams! And all the while, we had clear blue skies and just the right amount of wind.

All in all, an excellent weekend and a perfect celebration of Lydia’s birth.

Soon after that, I forced Fi to go on a day trip with me that I bet she doesn’t regret. Nor do I. It was a rather dismal day but the fall colors were callin’ to me. Without much of a clue, we headed out in the general direction of Sognefjord. We drove some insanely beautiful roads, one of which was a tiny, one-way, hairpin after hairpin descent into a deep fjord valley. With big waterfalls on each side. Not bad! At the bottom, we opted to park and walk to the bottom of one of the falls…safe to say I’ll be going back someday – gorgeous stuff, I tell ya!

From there we continued on to Nærøyfjord, which was nearly annoying because it was so dang perfect. I’m talking picturesque fall colors lining steep walls of a perfect fjord, topped off with perfectly still water with a perfect reflection. So pretty, it was nauseating. I don’t understand why more visitors don’t come here in the off-season…

With determination, we went farther to reach Flåm and Aurlandsfjord because I was dead set on driving up a fancy road to a fancy overlook there. The fall colors made everything so extra stunning! People, don’t waste your time with the East Coast, git on over to Norway for the turning leaves!

It was a long day spent in the car, but well worth the solitude and scenery we found.

The most notable event to follow this was my trip to Croatia, which was so incredible that it calls for its own blog…next…eventually.

Upon returning, the good times kept on rollin’ as I spent a weekend up at Voss with my neighborfriend Marie. Her family has been there for decades and owns a lot of property, including some entire mountains. They have many cabins scattered across their property and we were able to stay in the main house where her mother actually grew up. 

 

We spent much of our time being cozy and getting reading/writing/relaxing done but we did take the time to walk up the mountain behind the house, which turned out to be quite an adventure. For the most part, there wasn’t much of a trail and it was quite snowy, so we just went UP. Mountains are pretty steep, right? Right. Yet we just went up up up. Many moments required hands and knees and actually posed a risk of tumbling long distances if we were to lose our footing. Worry not though, we made it.

 

At the top of the mountain is a very remote cabin of theirs. Unluckily for us, the electricity and water were off for the winter so inside provided no shelter from the cold. We attempted to light a fire and warm some water but the sun was setting faster than the snow would melt in the kettle - we had to abandon ship to get back before dark. 

Heading down was wild! Time was running out and everything seemed steeper going downmountain…so we literally slid our way down on our butts. SO fun and SO much faster than going up. But I bet we looked like belligerent fools.

To continue with the expat birthday season, the following weekend we celebrated the birth of my Croatia-partner-in-chaos, Sarah, with a crazy wig party and a night of dancing.  She received the first snow of the year as her birthday present from the Norse gods!

Soon to follow was the treasured American holiday of Halloween. Yes, they celebrate it elsewhere in the world, surely, but not like America. The US takes Halloweening seriously compared to other countries. Norway has just begun to acknowledge it these past few years. Eric, my most wonderful American brotherfriend in Bergen, is a diehard Halloweener and made a point to celebrate this year with a party. Since Norwegians are new to the concept, costumes were not enforced, but at least one costume item was highly encouraged. We had a marvelous time doing American things, including the devilish game of flipcup. Fun night, indeed!

The following Friday, I thought I was being sneaky by helping to coordinate a surprise birthday gathering for our fabulous Fiona (great night, great success), but little did I know that the very next evening I was to receive a surprise birthday party of my own!! Dream come true, I kid you not. I’ve always wanted a surprise party so so badly, but that’s not really something you can ask for. Eric planned it and surprised the heck out of me! In Norway, I have many friends who had never met each other, yet he was able to bring them all together for the party! Mariann even came from Oslo!!!!! That rascal - I had been trying to meet up with her in Oslo that weekend because I didn’t think anything would be going on…she had to make up a lie that she was going on a coworker bonding trip in Stockholm to keep me from leaving Bergen. Sly gal. Such a dreamy night though – I loved seeing all of my wonderful friends under the same roof. Eric, if you’re reading this (which I’m 99.9% sure you’re not), youuuu are the besssst. Love the heck outta ya.

Although my Oslo plans had been put on hold for the surprise birthday party weekend of dreams, Mariann’s gift to me was a train ticket to the lovely city to visit her. So that I did during the last weekend of November. Mariann and I are ridiculous. I mean, I don’t even know where to begin. We find the stupidest things hilarious and can easily crack up at nothing together for a solid 5 minutes….then again about the same stupid thing over and over and over for-basically-ever. We be all sorts of weird.

One of the highlights of the visit was the Oslo Christmas market, where I loaded up on Norwegiany products for friends and family (I swear I ended up smuggling nearly a whole reindeer worth of products back into the US…big no no going through customs), where Mariann (the vegetarian) fell in love with the sausage stand man (I sampled and purchased whale, horse, reindeer, and all sorts of hybrid gross sausages in order to give Mariann a chance to chat him up). We delighted in watching people ice skate around the central rink while reindeer trotted past pulling a sleigh. Oh, Oslo. We also spent an evening at a funky cool bar that hosts full-on opera performances every Thursday for free! Beautiful!!! Another highlight was the Thanksgiving dinner hosted and prepared by Mariann’s good friend, and fellow American, Andrew. It was the ultimate American Thanksgiving shared with people of many different cultures.

The last night of my visit, we ventured out into the outskirts of Oslo in pursuit of a new friend’s birthday party. After 30 minutes on the train, and about an hour lost wandering in the snow (during which we shared the bottle of wine intended for the party…had to keep warm), we finally found the party hall and it was delightful and movie-like, full of my pal’s good friends and family coming together to celebrate a lovely young lady.   

Afterward, Marz and I headed out into the Oslo nightlife and ended up meeting a group of goofy guys from Trondheim with whom we put on the funniest dance show up on an empty stage in front of the whole bar. Safe to say the whooole crowd started dancing, too. You’re welcome, Mono Bar. Easily the funnest night of dancing I have experienced in Norway.

After parting with Mariann, I had one hour to spare before my train departed for Bergen. Ian and Klara had JUST landed from their trip to California, and they were suspiciously determined to meet up with me in the city before I left. Liiiittle did I know that was because they wanted to tell me in person that they were engaged!!!!! AHHH so exciting!!!!!! I love them two and I am overjoyed at the fact they will be wed within the next year. Eg gleder meg til å ferie bryllupsfesten din! (You get the point, Klara. Eg snakker ikkje norsk....)

Soon after this trip, I went back to the States for Christmas. Seeing as most of y’all reading this were in-the-know while I was there, I will not likely write much on it. I will write a little bit though, later, about the experience of coming back to America after such a long time abroad. It was weird.

Most recently, I returned from a short weekend getaway with friends to the Zachrisen’s rented cabin in the tiny mountain town of Maurseth. My wonderful Aussie friend, Brendan will soon be returning to Melbourne to continue his architecture education, so this trip was meant as an ultimate Norwegian farewell. Brendan, his girlfriend Sandra, Eric, his girlfriend Cecilie, and myself  (our group known as the only remaining members of The Honeybadgers), spent the weekend lounging, sledding, strolling, and drooling over Leonardo DiCaprio. It was absolutely wonderful to have a solid good weekend, with no agenda, and with wonderful friends. Brendan and I, the youngest of the group and most foreign to snowy weather, set out to build a snowman on the porch but it turned out to be a very sturdy chair. A Chairman, maybe. It was just so nice to be outside in fresh powder and good weather. Chendan, 99.9% sure you’re not reading this, as well, but I will miss you heaps. Never forget, “Great Barrier Reef, have ye heard of it?”

And now, over a month after beginning this blog, I sit on a plane en route to Venice. Watch out, Carnival, here comes Emilita. So my next blog will be…eventually…and will most likely be about Croatia and all the amazingness that that trip was. And America. And then some day I’ll get around to recapping this Italy trip that is sure to be another emotional rollercoaster/crazy fun time! Stay tuned – vi snakkes!!!

(Post-Italy note: very good times. My family is wonderful.)

The Visitors

What a summer!!! I moved here at the end of October 2011 so my first 6-7 months, I had only known cold, dark, and colorless Norway…and I thought I couldn’t have loved it more. People repeatedly told me, “Bergen is the best place to be in summer,” and “There’s no place like Norway in the summer.” They were not kidding, this place is incredible. What’s even more incredible is experiencing the beauties of this country with great people. Some of the highlights of my time spent in Norway this past summer were shared with visitors from far and wide.

One of the most epic experiences of my life was shared with dear friends old and new – Trolltunga. Robb Wills, a hometown friend since the beginning of time, had the opportunity to attend a scholarly conference in the mountains of Norway as part of his CalTech PhD studies. He took advantage of the travel opportunity and was able to plan a couple extra weeks to bike from Oslo to Bergen (where he spent a few days with me) and then up north to the conference location. Not going to lie, Robb and I had mostly lost touch since the end of high school, but holy smokes am I so glad we were able to spend some serious time together this summer – he is one of the most wonderful and intelligent people I have ever encountered and I love knowing that despite time and distance, we will be friends forever.

Very soon after his arrival, Mariann and her friend from back home in Arizona, Christian, joined us in Bergen. What a motley crew to have on Bjorøy! My room was so packed and cozy (and messy) with all of us. Our first day together, Cato took us out on a boat ride around the island and the nearby areas. We decided to drive into the Navy dock (totally legal here) to check out all of the fancy boats. Normally, this would be 100% fine but we looked a little sketchy…I was wearing a scarf around my head (to keep the wind from attacking my hair) and Robb and Christian both had fancy cameras with which they were snapping pictures of the Naval fleet. Sooo, we were abruptly “pulled over” by the most interesting of Navy boats and Cato had to vouch for us (didn’t even have to show ID or anything though) that we were all just American tourists. Hilarious, in my opinion…I mean, we were thought to be terrorists and “pulled over” on the water by the Norwegian Navy. All they did was delete the pictures from the cameras and let us go on our way again, into the naval docking area. Afterwards, we had a nice dinner on our front deck and then headed into Bergen to show Robb and Christian the Bryggen part of the city, as well as to visit our friends Eric and Johnny at the Anti office where they were laboring away on Eric’s entry for a Sigur Ros video contest.

Bright and early the following morning, we departed to hike Trolltunga, near Odda, Norway. The hike is approximately 13km each way with over 1,000 meter elevation gain. Because Norway is pretty and we are easily distracted, our drive took much longer than expected and we did not get to the trailhead until 2pm. And so began our ascent. The hike begins with a tough decision – either take the poorly maintained trail that zig zags up the first major elevation gain or take the emergency stairway along an old, closed-down tramway. Most people choose the stairs because it’s one straight shot, despite the rickety and narrow state of them. Each “stair” is more so a hip-width board nailed approximately the distance of each small step up alongside a rail track. The stairs are for people hiking both up and down and there is only one skinny cable to hold onto on the outer side of them. It’s a hell of a start to a long hike - 900 meters straight up. From the bottom, you can’t see the top. From the top, you can’t see the bottom. And there was one particularly steep section where you can easily grab the next few steps with your hand because you’re nearly climbing vertical. And all this was done while carrying a backpacking backpack. Not to mention if someone were to take a wrong step, they could easily fall off the stairway to the side of the mountain, which varied from one meter to a few meters down below. Passing other hikers was terrifying. I hated my life kind of. If it weren’t for Christian being my moral support, I’m pretty sure I would have lost my cool entirely.

After many necessary pauses, we completed the first ascent in under and hour. While taking a much-needed break at the top, it was a little disheartening to see another significant ascent just about a 15 minute hike away. So we strolled through the nice glacial-carved valley and began the next ascent up along a delicious creek (you can absolutely drink from creeks in Norway, especially this high up, SO PURE) and up over the rocky face of the mountain. The view from the top was worth it all – looking back, there was a light, illuminated mist hanging over where our hike began far down below with the sky reflected in a small pond in the foreground…and in the other direction, a glacier! Also at the top was a killer perfect snowmelt lake, which will definitely be mentioned again later in the story. Not a bad place to be.

The hike continued on for many more hours, crossing streams, slipping through mud, inching along cliff edges, and scrambling over rocks. By the time the sun was setting (in the summer, sunsets last a longgg time and darkness does not come for even a while longer after that), we were beginning to wonder if we were going to make it to Trolltunga that night. Near where we thought was the end, we crossed paths with a scraggly old man headed in the opposite direction who spoke NorwEnglish to us. When we asked him how much farther to the rock…he responded something something something mumble mumble mumble in half English half Norwegian and then what sounded like “six eggos.” Great, six more waffles to the rock, you guys! Looking back on it now, I’m realizing he probably said, “Six eg går,” which is terrible NorwEnglish for basically he has been walking for six hours. But don’t quote me because whooo knowsss what that man said.

So since we thought he said it was six more waffles to hike until the rock, we opted to call it a day and scout out a place to camp. Mariann and I were completely content with posting up on a perfect, empty, out-jutting peninsula with a killer view of the cliffs and lake below. The boys wandered off in case they could find better and within minutes, Mariann and I heard some yelling. Christian had slipped and injured his arm. Å nei. At first, it looked like it may have been broken and a bit cut up but talks of heading back down – hours and hours back down – that night was quickly hushed. No way, Jose! Hiking that trail and those stairs at night would have been the worst idea ever. It was decided that we would stay on the peninsula, clean out the cuts, elevate and ice his arm with bags of snow, and wait it out til the morning. It would have been tragic to travel, drive, and hike so far to get within six waffles of Trolltunga but not get to see it.

Our campsite ended being spectacular. We were all alone in the Norwegian backcountry, a perfect view of sunset with clouds below us and clouds above us. B-E-A-UTIFUL ughh take me baaack. Marz and I set up camp, fetched some snow for Christian’s arm, and got everything sorted as Robb cooked us all a super good dinner of curry noodles and veggies. After dinner, spirits were much higher so we had a bit of a dance party/light show/long exposure photo shoot and then called it an early night.

Pretty rough night for little old me! So, rather than packing a proper sleeping pad like a smart person, I packed an inflatable pool mattress (and an inflatable shark) for post-Tunga swimming in the lakes. Such a terrible sleeping pad!!! Because we were at such a high elevation, despite it being August, it got COLD and the air in the mattress made me even COLDER. Didn’t sleep much because I was shaking violently most of the night. Once the sun came up, I slept maybe an hour…but the show must go on!

Marz and I went out to fetch water and watched the sunrays beaming over the edge of the cliffs onto the water below. It was a beautiful. Our day began with discovering Nugatti (like Nutella, but better) oatmeal is the most delicious breakfast in the world and that Christian’s arm would live to see another unbroken day, so we knew nothing bad could happen after starting with such amazingness. After breakfast, Mariann and I left the guys for a bit, telling them not to leave the campsite, because were off to partake in a growing Norwegian fjellkjerringer (mountain women) trend…We scouted the most epic location on the peninsula and took turns standing near the edge (but not the actual edge Mom, just a spot that looked like the edge), facing out to the open scenery, and taking our tops off. Not that we are nudists to any degree (I’d say Mariann and I are quite the opposite entirely), it was so liberating to do such a thing!! So we now have pictures of us from behind flashing the Norwegian wilderness that neither of us plan to show anybody. You can only see our backs, but still. Quite a memory!

After that, we scrambled over rocks for one more hour until we reached Trolltunga. It’s the Norwegian version of Pride Rock and it is heaven! There were quite a few people hanging out around the rock but everyone cooperated and took turns on the rock so anyone that wanted to go alone could easily get that experience. Watching other people on the edge nearly gave me a heart attack. They seemed so careless, balancing on the edge, casually sitting with their legs dangling over, crawling around the edge….euugh makes me sick to think back on that. I SWEAR I WAS CAREFUL. The riskiest thing I did was sit with my back towards the edge and leeean back just to get my fingers over the edge. No danger in it, I swear. Also, this rock was much less scary than Preikestolen. PreikPreik was angled much more dangerously and the drop much more direct, therefore more nauseating. Trolltunga was slanted in such a way that gravity was constantly doing it’s best to pull you back to safety. You really had to pursue the edge – which I did not. Anyway, it was such a rush being on that rock. The sense of accomplishment was through the roof. I had seen pictures since before moving here and I always wanted to go, I just never knew if it would happen – I knew the stars would have to align to find friends wanting to go and being able to go at the same time, to have a window of great weather, to be physically able to make the trek, and such and such. I’m so lucky to have experienced it, especially with such great friends.

Our hike back was long, seeing as we had already done one hour from where we camped, then we had to hike that hour back, and then all the way to the trailhead. We did not stop much at all, except at that one perfect lake at the highest point.

I carried two inflatable swim toys in the backpack all the way up and I WAS going to put them to use. Robb and I plunged in and nearly froze. Not really, but it was soo very cold and my floaty was not entirely floating properly so I was pretty quick to paddle across the lake. It was such a fun little addition to top off the Trolltunga experience. To bring the whole hike to the end, we had the (surprisingly) hardest part of the hike last. The downhill of the stairs was absolute torture. We were so tired, and then the descent required total focus on the stairs to avoid taking a bad step and falling…our brakes were burning. We had to take more time-outs going down than up. It was rough. But the feeling when reaching the bottom was just spectacular; aside from the fact our legs took a while to remember how to function on flat ground. We rocked Trolltunga! And then we headed back to Bergen, where all three visitors departed the following morning….they were a great group of visitors!

My next few days included helping Eric making his Sigur Ros video – it was the best of times, it was the worst of times….videos are hard work! And Emil had his first day of elementary school. Oh bless him, he was adorable dressed in blue head to toe….even had blue dye in his hair. So cuuute.

And then some more visitors of a whole different kind came along – Couch Surfers! Couch Surfing is an organization that brings together a community of people who encourage travel at a low cost and who offer up their couches for people to sleep on. While I do not participate in such a way, from time to time (pretty rarely) I offer to meet up with some people and show them around the city, and this was such a time. I had a Saturday entirely free and there was a young German guy, Ingmar, driving around Scandinavia in a VW bus he fixed up. He was looking for someone to walk around the city or check out some museums with, and I agreed to show him Bergen’s few sights. He brought another CSer (CouchSurfer) with him, Richard from Oxford, and within about 15 minutes of meeting, after making sure these guys were not creepy or lame, it was determined that we would all go up to a cabin in Voss with a large group of my friends for the night. Best idea ever, these guys are wonderful humans! We walked around the city just a little bit, mainly to help them get some gear for their impromptu Trolltunga hike two days from then (these guys had just met the night before and had already planned out a week of exploring Norway together…they were adorable). After gathering our things, they hopped into the VW, Lydia and I hopped into my car and we were Voss-bound.

The cabin belongs to the company Aker, which our friend Ian works for. It sleeps 18(?), has a sauna, and an impeccable view. We were told the cabin was in Voss, but upon arrival in Voss, the directions kept going and going….all the way up into the mountains on dirt roads. We FINALLY arrived and it was WAY COOL. Everyone else had arrived much earlier so they were already settled in and in the relaxing mode. We were quick to join in, cook some dinner, and the CSers busted out a guitar and performed for us all the way until about 7am with only one break for a big group sauna session. It was such a great, chill night. We really could have been anywhere and had a good time but waking up the following morning to look out the window at remote wilderness was most excellent. As the rest of the group began to wake up, Lydia and I enjoyed tea and breakfast on the porch, overlooking Voss. Once everyone was up, we did lunch and a short hike around the cabin to pick blueberries. And then it was time to pack up and go home. Such a short trip, but so much fun! I still keep in contact with both CSers and even plan to meet up with Ingmar again in February while some friends and I are in Berlin….friends I actually met through CouchSurfing – Mariann, Eric, and Eric’s cousin Andreas. Such a great organization, I’m tellin’ ya!

The last visitors of summer were Ian and Klara, as well as Eric Zellhart and Derek Clay, my cousin Matt’s friends. It’s always great to meet up with people I know, but even better when these people have familial connections. Ian had just recently broken his foot, so to spot him in the big crowd at Bryggen, wobbling around on his Norwegian crutches, yelling for me louder than any Norwegian has ever heard….priceless. Soon to follow were Eric and Derek, with reindeer burgers in hand, and then finally Klara who had the feat of parking the car on such a crazy weekend day. We spent the next hour or so trying to navigate the food festival and beer festival going on at Bryggen but it was a bit hard for our little cripple, Ian. He kept yelling out, “HOT DOGS, GIT YER HOT DOGS HERE!” I’m not entirely sure of his phrase selection but it was meant to clear out the crowd for him to be able to get through. It worked! He was actually faster than the rest of us. Highlight of our Bryggen time was when we were taking a break in one of the emptier walkways through the old buildings when a parade of terrifying Medieval gypsy jesters came marching past being creepy as heck (there was a Medieval festival going on at the nearby fortress, too) and we didn’t know how to react except with awkward straight faces as they passed, followed by a collective “whattttt theee………?!”

After our time in the city, Eric, Derek and I went grocery shopping and later met up with Klara and Ian and Klara’s older brother’s house where Eric and I whipped up some mean Norwegian tacos for everyone. It was so great having so many people from home sitting around the table, talking loudly and Americanly, having a grand ole time. Although the time together was short, it was wonderful. And Ian and Klara are engaged now!!!! SO EXCITING!!!!!

Thanks for visiting, visitors! I loved seeing you all!

Since summer, I have had some amazing experiences – including a day adventure in the fjords, a surfing trip in southern Norway, a sailing trip in Croatia, a weekend in the mountains, Halloween, a surprise birthday party, and a weekend in Oslo! As well as little events and occasions along the way. So hopefully I can get that all written within the next month or so. But now, I’m heading back to America. In 12 hours exactly, I will be walking out the doors and heading home. I’ve been in Europe 424 days; it’s time for a bit of America…time to get gone.

Reflections on May

Part 2 of my mom's visit...

The second half of my mom’s visit was spent checking out some of Norway. Between the time we left France and the following morning back in Bergen, La Momma had become very ill. Our first day back in Norway was actually the 17^th of May, the equivalent of the US’s 4^th of July and is similar in many ways…except Norwegians dress up in the traditional national attire called bunad or in very nice clothes if they don’t own a bunad($$$$). But because my ma was so sick, she stayed at home, alone, in bed, without eating anything all day. I felt terrible for leaving her but she insisted I go because she had known how long I had been looking forward to this holiday.

So off to the city I went, where I met up with my most wonderful friends, Mariann and Eric, along with a homefriend of Eric’s who I recognized from our flight back to Bergen the previous day. That was so random but pretty awesome. Throughout the day, I ran into a few other friends of mine and felt, in some small ways, as though I had finally become really incorporated into the Bergen society. But at the same time I definitely did not blend in because I (obviously) do not have the traditional attire and my language skills are still pretty pathetic. Loved the holiday though, loved the patriotism, loved the clothes, loved it all.

The day was spent enjoying the parade in the rain and checking out all of the beautiful bunads around town. After the parade, I brought my friend Maria-Elena back to the island to show her very elaborate bunad to my mom so she could get some feel for the Norwegian culture. I then took Maria-Elena up to her aunt and uncle’s house, where I checked out their bunads and sampled a bit of traditional 17^th of May cuisine – some dried salted meat leg and a porridge made of the Norwegian equivalent of sour cream. Interesting stuff – the porridge was amazing but the meat was not to my liking. Then the rest of the day was spent back at the Zachrisen household, eating hot dogs (very popular in this country and very different than American ones), and watching Big Bang Theory. My mom had not eaten ALL day, when out of nowhere she asks if she could have one of the PopTarts that she had brought for me from ‘Merica. Of ALL things that lady could want to eat that day, she wants a PopTart. Of ALL things…

She felt much better the next morning so I forced her to get up and walk around Bergen with me, mainly so she could meet Mariann. We rounded off our time in Bergen with a dinner with the Zachrisens and Mariann at a very traditional Norwegian restaurant along the harbor…where neither of us actually ordered Norwegian food. Hah, soo American of us. Then we were off to the airport for part two of her visit….

We spent that night in the northern city of Ålesund, a picturesque town that often makes it onto lists of Places to See Before You Die. It’s pretty but we were there at an off time of the year, so much of our experience was empty streets and closed businesses. At this point in our trip, we only actually slept there (we returned once more later on), as we boarded a Hurtigruten ship into the dramatic Geiranger fjord the following morning.

The ride in into the fjord was a handful of hours and the scenery was fantastic! This was an early-season trip for the area so the sights weren’t even up to the normal par. The trip itself attracts a lot of visitors wanting to see the Seven Sisters waterfall…that seems to be the name of a billion land features around the world. But for Norway, it’s famous. Alas, it was barely a trickle of 5 or so sisters at the time that we drifted past. I’m not too worried about it though, it was still very beautiful.

Geiranger turned out to be the world’s tiniest town. Ever. Probably. So, so small but quaint and empty (again, off-season = not much happening). Oh-so-conveniently, our hotel was basically the highest point of the town and there were no taxis in sight. Luggage in tow, we trekked up the one road in town, winding up the slope at the very end of the fjord. It wasn’t suuuper far but the luggage made it really quite annoying.

Our hotel was pretty nice from what I remember – really all that mattered was the view, and it was fantastisk (‘fantastic’ in English for those who need translation). More specifically, the sunset was out of this world! As the sun lowered behind the mountains of one side of the fjord, we watched the last slanted rays of light glow upon the snow-covered mountains lining the opposite side of the fjord. All peachy and rosy and all those good sunset colors. We also watched what was possibly (maybe mayyybe?) a rescue from one of the mountains closest in our view. It was a bit too far for the naked eye to see, but with the utilization of camera zoom technology we were able figure out that we were watching a person being towed along a long line underneath a helicopter. Who knows though, Norwegians love extreme sports so it may as well have been someone out for a joy ride.

Seeing as the town was so very small, our day had been relatively uneventful. The most notable occurrence was our visit to a little chocolatier along the water called Chocolate With a View. Tiny little old building with plants growing all over the roof – really idyllic – owned and run by a young Swedish guy who just really, really loves chocolate. So then we strolled the rest of the town in approximately 0.4 seconds, give or take a few milliseconds, and walked back up to our hotel for a super fancy, high-class buffet which we were certainly underdressed for. Who knew such an elaborate meal would take place in such a remote hotel?!

Because Geiranger really is super teeny and the lingering winter (it was May at the time but there’s still tons of snow) prevented the most famous attraction of Geiranger (some crazy fancy road named something to do with an eagle) from being accessible, we only stayed just the one night. Post-breakfast and pre-departure, we ventured out on a short hike along the creek that cascades down the entire mountainside to the fjord below. It was short-lived but very pretty. The Geiranger goods within the tourist shops occupied the rest of our time up until we boarded another Hurtigruten ship that took us out of the fjord and back to Ålesund.

Aboard this ship, we were able to better enjoy our time lounging outdoors (the weather was nasty cold the previous day) and we befriended a young-ish lone Canadian woman who had also been on the ship with us the day before and would be on the same route the next day, as well. When we arrived in Ålesund, the three of us perused the picturesque, empty town, climbed the steep hill overlook (excellent view, where all the pictures of the little city are taken from), then settled in a restaurant for some dinner…we had a lot of time to kill.

I reckon Ålesund would have much more appeal at a different time of year. We were there on a Sunday, during the spring, just three days after the biggest national holiday. People were few and far between. Since we had walked nearly all of the town worth walking (said our Canadian friend who had spent multiple days there before Geiranger) and our next ship would not be departing until QUARTER til ONE AM (!!!), we spent quite a bit of time hanging out in hotel lobbies with other folks waiting for the ship. In the meantime, at 11pm we watched the most raspberry sunset you can imagine. Norway has some of the most impressive sunsets when the weather is good.

We survived the wait and we boarded our final ship to Bergen. Our room was insanely tiny (about 2/3 the size of the room I had to myself on my Hurtigruten excursion in the Arctic Circle) but whatevah it was just for one night. The next morning we woke up, packed, and left our room to spend the day lounging around on the top deck with our Canadian friend, an old Austrian diplomat and his chatty wife, and the most outgoing old Californian man with Norwegian heritage and his formerly-Broadway wife. What a crew!! But first, we all snagged a free buffet breakfast, which should have actually cost 330kr per person….I’ve spent way too much time on those ships that I know how to harmlessly work the system. ;)

Once back in Bergen, we opted to hang out around the island and go for a walk across the bridge to visit my “beach” on the neighboring island, Tyssøy. Simple day with great weather. And then my mom was headed back to CA the next morning. I even watched her plane take off while I was sitting in my front yard…what a weird feeling knowing my mom was in that tiny metal tube in the sky, flying back to a home I haven’t seen in so long (over a year now)…but it was a good trip and it was nice to see that old lady!

One last little sidenote – I would like to share the story of my mother’s first and only cooking attempt in Norway. HAH. That woman can cook pretty decently, as you probably all know…but it’s a whole different ballpark here. Thinking back to my first few months in Norway, I remember my struggle to re-learn how to cook familiar foods with different ingredients that I was never quite sure of. So, seeing as I had not had my mom’s cooking in such a long time, I asked/forced her to cook risotto her first night here. Let’s just say it was a good effort followed by an epic fail. Not saying she sucks at cooking or anything! It was just so entertaining witnessing the master experience the same thing I experienced when I was new here. Sometimes it can be tough living abroad.

Flashbacks of France

I know I'm so far behind on blogs...basically 90% of summer...but I'm going to do a simplified summary of the on-goings of my visit from the legendary Dawn Vernizzi. 

 

Back in the days of May, my mom came for a visit! We spent her first day perusing Bergen and it’s few, rainy points of interest and then we were off to Nice, France in search of some sun. It was not exactly hot when we arrived but I had been in the cold for so long that I still had to acclimate – my body didn’t remember how to handle heat anymore. Our first day in Nice was spent walking around, putting our feet in the water (which is quite a feat on Nice’s rocky beaches), and having an incredible Italian dinner at a questionable-looking restaurant.

The next day, after a bit of hotel payment drama, we went on a quest to find the correct car rental place, luggage in tow, overheating like crazy. Once we finally made it there after one wrong stop, they said we did not have a reservation, so that was cool…but it all worked out in the end and we got a cute little Mercedes and we hit the road (or “frap la rue,” if Sarah King is reading…). We spent our first mobile hour driving all around the Nice and Cagnes area, just trying to find the dang highway to Castallane. I finally convinced my (stubborn) mother that it was time to retrace our steps to the airport in order to follow the proper directions we had – and then we were good. I'm so wise.

Our first stop was in Grasse. Oh, Grasse, you sweet-smelling son of a gun. We strolled the tiny walkways, ate a savory crepe (my first crepe ever), visited the perfume museum, and unintentionally toured the art history museum (which was a great mistake when all we originally wanted was a toilet). From there, we drove off into the French mountains headed for the Verdon Gorge.

Upon arrival in Castallane, I knew there was going to be a problem…I adored it. It was a tiny old town, with a church perched up on top of this giant, abrupt rock feature and with a crystal blue river flowing along the edge. We followed the road along the river to our turn about 20 minutes outside of the main town and we headed up a tiny one-lane dirt road up the mountainside. My mom was fuh-reaking out the whole time, but since moving to Norway I have driven my fair share of sketchy narrow roads so I was lovin’ it! After perhaps 10 minutes of up, we arrived in the tiniest storybook village of about 30 people, Chasteuil. This place turned out to be a bigger problem than Castallane because I loved this place even moreso…

All of the buildings were picturesque old stone abodes with a killer view of the Verdon Gorge. Our B&B was owned and run by a French man and his Californian wife and while we didn’t see much of her, Pascal was the most incredible host. That night he prepared a private dinner for us on the patio overlooking the gorge. We ate pistou (I think I concluded that means pesto in French) soup made from local vegetables, bread with all sorts of fresh cheeses and smears, and drank some local red wine. Ahh it was to die for! As if it couldn’t get any better, there was an Irish music convention going on at the B&B so after dinner, the handful of musicians gathered in the small open-air living room/dining room/common room of the building and began to play. They filled the valley with the sound of Irish fiddles and I was in heaven. And as ifffff things couldn’t get better, the G4 hiking trail ran literally in front of the hotel, so after dinner we took a bit of a sunset stroll along the G4, with a belly full of great food, all whilst listening to live Irish music. Ugh take me back…

The next morning started early with a group breakfast with all of the other guests, most of which were the musicians. There was also a group of four older folks visiting from Australia and they were quite an entertaining, delightful bunch. Post-brekkie, my mommasan and I headed out for a bit more G4 action, but in the opposite direction of our stroll the previous night. First we passed the tiny spring that has supplied the village of Chasteuil since it's beginning. We continued on, up the mountain, all the way to a tiny, tiny one-room chapel built into the rocks on a random out-jutting peak.

The later half of our day was focused on exploring the Verdon Gorge. When planning my mother’s European visit, she had mentioned the desire to visit the French Riviera, whereas I have long wanted to see the Verdon Gorge. The fact that we were able to do both during this trip was quite fortunate. Pascal pointed us in the direction of the beginning of the really gorge-y part of the gorge and we were off. At first sight, we were pretty blown away…this was a dang impressive river gorge. Walls narrow as can be, water blue as can be! We hiked along the river a bit, which led us up into long, unlit tunnels carved through the canyon walls. We navigated around the giant puddles using the light from our cells phones and ended up getting some pretty cool views of the gorge. However, we decided to turn back as we reached a stretch of tunnel with no end in sight…if I ever make it back (god I hope I do), I’ll be prepared with better shoes and proper flashlight.

Along the way back to the car, we stopped to take some AO pictures since we both matched. We are just too darn cute. Back at the car, we ate the lunch Pascal had packed for us and it was nearly as life changing as the gorge itself! A to-go “backpacker’s” lunch consisted of ham sandwiches on quality baguettes, another baguette with brie, fresh apples, and chocolate cake. Pascal is the food king!

The drive back to Chasteuil was broken up with many photo stops and a break for a dip in the river. That water was so perfect and blue and clear and looked so warm (but was actually super chilly) that it would have been blasphemy to not give a swim a shot. It may have been too cold to entirely submerge but I splashed around a bit nonetheless. Back at the B&B, we lounged on the patio as I finished reading The Alchemist (Thanks to Kara!) and had a classy (or classless?) dinner of croissants and pizza from a local Castallane bakery. Then we wasted away the evening with a sunset walk while listening to Irish fiddles and crickets again. To top off the evening, we sat around on the patio watching the stars come out and smelling the sweetest air in existence (there’s a reason France is known for making perfume). And the next morning, against our will, we departed back for Nice. Not that Nice is bad, but Chasteuil is a dream.

En route back to Nice, we made a stop in Saint Paul de Vence to check out the sights along with hoards of other tourists, then continued on to our final destination – Hotel Negresco along the Promenade des Anglais. (Side note: still entirely impressed that we navigated France without any major issues)

When checking into Hotel Negresco, I felt like a female version of Jack in Titanic. That place is gorgeous. And old, sophisticated, located along a famously beautiful coastline, full of expensive and historic art…and rich people. Just full of rich people. I stuck out like a sore thumb, for sure! I casually walked in wearing dirty sandals and carrying a traveling backpack. I am pretty sure the bellboy had never handled a backpack on the job, seeing as he had quite a hard time carrying it when he delivered it to our room. I told him it took practice and loads of muscles (obviously).

Our first night there involved perusing Old Town Nice and later loads of lightning and rain joined in on the party. Not quite the weather I was pursuing by vacationing away from Norway. The next morning, we continued our splurge-fest (staying at the Negresco was a huge splurge to begin with) by going on a small, fancy tour of the surrounding cities and Monaco. We started with a stop at a killer viewpoint of the French Riviera and then moved onto Eze. That place was just delightful. Perfect, tiny, old, walled town perched on a hill followed by a visit to Fragonard Parfumeur. And there, I fell in love (very common trend I have towards everyone, every place, and everything I come across in my travels). As many people know, I’m a TOTAL sucker for perfumes (and sunsets…a possible combination of the two would just be overwhelming for me). We came away with quite a few purchases, which I continue to adore and continue to use on the daily. If anyone is heading Franceward anytime ever, please pick some Fragonard up for me. I’d love you (even more). I really like perfume, yadda yadda, ok moving on.

We then drove past La Turbie, too quickly in my opinion because I wanted a picture of the ruins from YEAR SEVEN B.C.E.! We couldn’t stop because we were in hot pursuit of Monaco. The day we were there was just the day after the classic car race and just the day before the famous Formula1 race so driving through the town meant actually driving along the race track. Being in Monaco with the guards set up along the roads, it felt like we were navigating through a video game. We arrived at the royal palace just in time to watch the uneventful changing of the guard before heading over to Monte Carlo. Unfortunately, we were unable to go inside seeing as we arrived just about one hour before it opened, but the walk around the grounds was nice enough for me. The cars kept us pretty distracted, as well, and I’m assuming there weren’t many of those to look at inside the building. Also, we saw this wicked cool half-boat-half-submarine creation…as weirdly interesting as it was, I couldn’t help but think of how many people could benefit from the amount of money someone spent to build that watercraft. Imagine if that person had a simple giant yacht and donated the rest of the millions that went into that hybrid. It’s a shame.

Monaco was pretty neat and all but I didn’t fancy it much. It was a bit too flashy for my liking. And so we made it back to Nice by midday for a late lunch on the beach. Unfortunately, the weather was still chilly as heck but we made the best of it as we strolled the Promenade des Anglais. For dinner, I introduced my mother to the world of European kebabs (and lamb in general) and it was magical. We ate along the Promenade and she spent the evening pressuring me to get a boyfriend and give her grandchildren, like, ASAP. Yeah, we’ll see about that. So much to do, so much to see…

Our last full day in France began with another visit to Old Town in attempt to get our paws on some famous socca made by a specific lady named Terese. Well, she turned out to be the slowest, rudest person ever so we said, “NEVERMIND RUDE TERESE,” and took our monies elsewhere. She may have crazy good reviews online and in travel books but it just wasn’t worth it. Sooo we walked through the farmers’ market, bought loads of delicious things, and then headed up Castle Hill for some impressive views. Pretty good hill! Snapped a few pictures then we went down to our beach to soak up some rays for the first time all trip. Unfortunately, I acquired no tan (or fortunately, in my skin’s opinion).

Our last night in Nice consisted of Dinner at La Cambuse back in Old Town. I kept it touristy by having French onion soup and the world’s most heavenly crème brulee. The night came to an end with one last walk along the Promenade, during which we FINALLY witnessed the fancy lamps along the walkway light up, which when lit is referred to as the Queen’s Necklace. I guess it looks like pearls when seen from above. My mother was elated! She had been hoping to witness this during out entire time in Nice. I was just ok with the fact that the path was well-lit. Sooo then we went back to our room, packed our things, and slept a few hours before our painfully early flight back to Norway in the morning.

France was simply spectacular. I would be delighted to find myself there again someday, particularly in Chasteuil.

So our visit to France had come to an end, but my mom’s visit was not yet over…this is to be continued.

Sangue Dolce

I feel closer to becoming complete person now that I’ve been to Italy to meet my family and find my roots. As I left Italy, I posted this exact Facebook status: “Headed to Italy one week ago knowing that I have relatives there. Left Italy today knowing that I have family there.” It was a trip I will never forget.

My two-week summer vacation began with a week in my favorite Norwegian town, Kongsberg, for a wild time at their yearly JazzFest. My week there also included a day trip to Oslo on the 4^th of July to hang out with Mr. Ian Plaine himself! We made a most excellent salute to the homeland that day and had a great time discussing our experiences of living abroad in Norway. Another highlight of the week was attending The Flaming Lips concert back in Kongsberg, by myself. There’s the saying that “you don’t know the meaning of life until you’ve seen The Flaming Lips live.” I’ve seen them before and thought I understood, but the second time blew the first out of the water. UNREAL. Front row, small venue, tiny friendly crowd (I even befriended a group of real Norwegian guys, which is a rare occurrence for me/most expats), and an unparalleled intimate concert. And then the next morning I began the 12-hour journey to the homeland, Italy (much thanks to the Zachrisen’s for the transportation assistance during those hectic times!).

Car, train, bus, another bus, another train, plane (sat next to the most gentlemanly and handsome young professional opera singer...he was absolutely charming...he even sang to me...I may believe in love now), another plane, one more final plane, and finally home...or so it felt.

I can’t even put into words my crazy emotions when I walked off the airplane in Venice. Excitement, nervousness, a sense of fulfilling a lifelong goal, and the feeling that my grandpa was up in heaven(?) overjoyed that I was finally visiting his stomping grounds. Walking through the security doors, I was nearly nauseous with all those thoughts and emotions…but then seeing Valentina and Andrea waiting for me through the arrival doors was one of the coolest moments of my life. Since leaving California, I’ve been in many, many airports throughout Europe and have witnessed many people saying hellos and goodbyes at arrival and departure gates, families being reunited, people standing with signs and flowers….and watching those moments makes me feel lonelier than ever because I’m basically over here on my own and generally traveling alone. I actually get all emotional and jealous when I watch all the people with their families and friends…I’m such a girl sometimes. So when I saw Valentina, a family member I’ve never actually even met before (but have chatted with many times), waiting there at the arrival gate for ME, I got all choked up. We hugged, we got teary-eyed, we hugged some more. It was so incredible. I wasn’t alone.

From there, we drove into Padova where I (re)met Manuela and Pierro after probably 15 years since their California visit (none of us were quite sure if we had met back then until they mentioned their visit to Alcatraz, which is a randomly distinct childhood memory of mine, and it was determined that was surely with them!). As soon as I walked in their home, a beautiful Italian dinner was already on the table. It was the most welcoming feeling. To be sitting around with family, eating delicious food, sipping real Italian wine, and listening to conversations conducted in Italian….simply divine. To bring the evening to a close, Pierro had me try a bit of his homemade liquor. Too strong for me to handle, yeeeoowww!!! So, after over 12 hours of traveling and a big Italian meal in my belly, it was time for bed. Despite the insane heat and humidity, I passed out hard. I blame the beverages…

My first Italian day began with a Padova tour by Pierro! Because Pierro does not speak very much English, he brought along his friend Guiliana to help with the communication. We visited a handful of churches, accidentally attended a funeral at the Duomo, took forbidden pictures within the Baptistry, did loads of window shopping, HAD MY FIRST COFFEE EVERRRRRRR (which Pierro and everyone else in the coffee shop thought was hilarious) at the “best coffee shop in the city,” and had the most delicious lunch at L’Anfora. Mmmm smoked ricotta and zucchini pasta. Guiliana and Pierro both had a meal with buratta cheese, which they made me try, and with which I fell head over heels for. “Buratta” became a form of communication between Pierro and myself. We would say it for everything! “-Tutto bene?” “-BURATTTTTAAAA!” “-Bion giorno!” “-BBBBBUUURRRRAAAATTTTTAAAAA!!!” It became an obsession.

That afternoon brought about some emotional meetings. First, I met my grandfather’s sister Zia Lidia and her daughter Clara. Now, I knew I was really happy to meet them all but all of a sudden I had such a rush of other emotions, as well…a sense of guilt for having not met them earlier and being so disconnected until then, a feeling of being a more complete person for finally knowing my own relatives, regretting not having a chance to meet my great-grandma who I apparently look like, and the overwhelming sadness when being shown old pictures of Grandpa Ernie and my cousin Matt. I was such a crying mess, and my inability to explain why I was crying created some confusion. That first meeting was the most emotional.

Following meeting Zia Lidia, Manuela took me to meet Zia Gina. Upon arrival, we found sweet Zia Gina in her dining room wearing a tank top and underwear! I was actually so, so thankful for the comic relief because it took my mind off how much of a wreck I was that day. After we met, she clothed herself despite the stifling heat and joined us for some ice cream and more (emotional) picture sharing. Zia Gina has a new boyfriend whom she loved to talk about and was an excellent mood-lightener for me to hear about. Also, she kept insisting that next time I come visit, I will stay with her…Manuela pointed out that would be an adventure since Zia Gina speaks no English and I speak no Italian. She was such a funny, funny lady! And looked so very similar to Grandpa Ernie, which made looking directly at her a bit hard for me. I felt like I was seeing my Grandpa alive again though, not only because they look so similar, but the humor was spot-on the same.

To finish off my first full-day in Italy, Manuela and I went to Valentina and Andrea’s home in the countryside for a delicious (most accurate word to describe most everything I ate in Italy) dinner, along with Valentina’s co-worker, Jacopo. Good times were had, much wine was consumed, and the mosquitos flourished. This was when we discovered that Italian mosquitos have a thing for me (if only it were Italian MEN)…despite wearing repellent and burning two incense sticks, I was getting attacked nonstop. It was determined that I must have sweet blood…or “sangue dolce.”

Waking early the next morning, Manuela and I were off to Venice. What an enchanting place!!!!! It looks like one big postcard after another. Arriving early, we were able to roam the little streets nearly by ourselves. Having my obsession with Venetian masks, of course I bought one. I found the small shop which made the mask my mom brought back for me from their family trip a few years ago and thought it to be most appropriate to buy myself one from there, as well. For much of the day, we wandered the canals and alleyways doing a bit of shopping and dining (had my first cappuccino) until we ended up at St. Mark’s with the rest of the tourists. From there we water-taxied through the Grand Canal and headed home for an afternoon nap. Post-snooze, we began cooking! That night, Manuela and Pierro hosted a party of about 15 people, including one young family friend who just recently returned from a year abroad in Iowa. It was a great night, full of even more wine and good food, which came to an end when a major lightning storm moved just over us. I seemed to be the only one hesitant about having lightning bolts lighting the cloudy skies above us…we all survived though, so I guess they were right to just chill…

The following day consisted mainly of me catching up on sleep. It had been a hot and hectic trip thus far (starting in Kongsberg, where I wasn’t getting much sleep already) and I was still recovering from an illness. Manuela was the ultimate host…every morning she would leave out a homemade fresh fruit salad, fresh-squeezed orange juice, yogurt, and cough syrup for me. All of which, even the cough syrup, was unbelievably tasty. After a bit of breakfast, I braved the insane heat and humidity for an hour of sunning in their backyard. That was sweaty. Whew. The rest of the day was mainly spent reading (House of Spirits is a great book! Lots of type-o’s though since it was translated from Spanish) and then getting ready for the big family dinner that night at La Scuteria. WOWWWW good food. That was where I had my first Italian pizza experience. In the words of Grandpa Ernie, “Ouuuch.” It was so cool just to be there with so many relatives – it felt like a natural, casual family night out despite the fact I was just meeting most of them for the first time. And they all gifted me a real Italian Charm Bracelet with my name on it. So beyond sweet of them all. :))))

Wednesday was possibly the most memorable of them all…I set out on a morning train, entirely by myself, headed to Verona with a sign reading “Angelo, sono Emily.” I was to be met at the train station by a relative, Angelo, who I’ve never met nor seen a picture of… Upon arrival, my awkward self stood around with the sign for a while until I eventually saw someone running over to me, waving. What a relief! For a second there I thought I had gotten off at the wrong station. So, Angelo…I could immediately tell he is the sweetest man ever despite our inability to communicate. As soon as we got into his car, he gifted me a book about the operas performed at the Verona Arena and then sang along for me to the opera CD he had playing as we drove to who knows where. This man loved opera - that much I could tell.

The first stop of our day was to visit Zia Ada at her nursing home. Cue the waterworks arrrghhhhh dangittttt I just couldn’t help it! She looked so much like my Grandpa, and seeing her in such a setting, surrounded by adorable, helpless old people was just too emotionally overwhelming. And then going into her room and seeing the “Ada Vernizzi” nametag on her bed and a picture of my family on her shelf…too much. I felt so terrible for not having met her sooner.

After that emotional overload, Angelo and I were off to the Verona city center to see the sights. First, we went to the Opera Arena…and it was then that I finally realized he had been trying to explain to me the whole time that he works there. We walked right in the tourist exit and he started introducing me to anyone and everyone that worked there. I must have met at least 20 people just during my time in the Arena and upon meeting me, nearly every single person skeptically asked Angelo if he speaks English or if I speak Italian…he would say no….then they would all sort of laugh like, “holy smokes, good luck you two!” It was pretty entertaining. Anyway the tour was awesome! We first walked to the top row of seats to get the whole view then continued down into the backstage area where we went into the props rooms, the costume rooms, and the ballerina rooms. I wanted to touch everything! Especially the opera dresses….whoa. Before leaving the arena, we went into a souvenir shop where Angelo asked me if I liked this one shirt that said “100” (marking some sort of anniversary, still haven’t totally figured it out), I politely said yes since the girl he was simultaneously introducing me to was wearing one just like it…and then he bought it for me! I’m tellin’ ya, this guy was spoiling me, he was so nice! And the shirt has turned out to be very comfortable, too, so I love it.

En route from the Arena to Juliet’s house, he lead me into a random flower shop and introduced me to some more friends of his. Angelo knows everyone in Verona, I swear. And they gave me a very pretty bouquet of purple flowers to accent the dress I was wearing that day. Italians are just the best. Then we continued to Juliet’s house where everyone and their mom was packed into the little courtyard, all trying to get pictures with the Juliet statue. It was cool to be there (especially because of the terribly corny and wonderful movie Letters to Juliet that my college roommates and I would shamelessly play on repeat as we studied), but wayyy toooo touristy for this little travelling diva. So we went in, greeted more of Angelo’s friends in the souvenir shop, snapped a picture with the statue, and headed outta there! Afterwards, we strolled the old streets back towards the arena, where we stopped for a cold beverage. While sitting there, Angelo was greeted first by a beautiful lady who turned out to be the lead opera singer in Carmen and then an American lady who is the lead ballerina in…I think Tosca?...either way, Angelo knows everyone.

After the Verona tour, we drove a bit out into the countryside to meet more family members for lunch. Little did I know that the chefs of the restaurant were actually my relatives (communication was really quite difficult…most of the day felt as if I was just “along for the ride,” which was pretty exciting). Lunch really felt like I was a part of the gang – casual, no tourists anywhere near, just a big family lunch. Zia Ada was able to come from the rest home, as well, and this second meeting of the day was a lot less emotional although I did tear-up a bit again when it came time to say goodbye. But lunch was great! As I had for the past few days, I ate as many plates of tomatoes and mozzarella I could get my paws on. Cousin Elena is a trained pastry chef and her desserts did not disappoint. Her husband, Fabrizio was celebrating his birthday that day so everyone sang to him when he came out from the kitchen. He also brought over an olllld cardboard model of the Golden Gate Bridge that (I thinkkkk….possibly lost in translation…) was brought over from my Grandpa many years/decades earlier and has since been on display in the restaurant.

Lunch came to an end, ciaos were said, cheek kisses were exchanged, and Angelo and I were off to who knows where again. A while later, we were atop a mountain overlooking Verona, parked illegally but parking rules are for tourists and we ain’t no tourists. We’re Italians. I snapped a few pictures, tried to understand the history Angelo was explaining to me, and then we were on our way to….? Apparently higher mountains! It was quite a scenic drive past fields, vineyards, marble mines…and then the car overheated RIGHT as we reached the summit. CLASSIC. I mean, I pretty much thought it was hilarious with the timing and all but I can’t say I was too surprised – it was a HOTHOTHOT day and that was a long upwards drive. So we got to the top, within feet of the view, but we turned right back around, turned off the car and coasted back down the steep, windy road riding the emergency break. We eventually found another human on the mountain and got some water in the engine, but the problem was not fixed. We continued to drift back to the city and eventually, somehow made it back to Angelo’s house where we let the car cool down as we watched the last 15km of the day’s leg of the Tour de France. Before heading off to the train station to send me back to Padova, Angelo showed me a bunch of skiing pictures from the past winter – it was pretty hilarious, he’s such a funny, generous, amazing guy. And then I was on the train “home.”

Wednesday was such an eventful day because soon after arriving back in Padova, Manuela, Valentina, Andrea, and I were off to the Sherwood Festival. The previous night, The Flaming Lips played there (note that they had just come from Norway, as I had)! But Wednesday was a super cool, chill night and I met a bunch of Andrea’s and Valentina’s friends, as well as Andrea’s brother Alberto and his girlfriend Claudia. The festival had some really great craft booths, too! I finally found my dream purse…handmade from Italian leather…totally foxy…45 Euro. Worth it. After the festival, I changed home-base location to Valentina and Andrea’s house out in the country.

Thursday morning began with breakfast (pastries and coffee) with Andrea’s amazing parents! Despite language barriers, it was still very clear that they were entirely lovely. Post-breakfast, Valentina and I headed into the city center for a bit of touristy things and a lot of shopping! Mmmmm ohhhhh it pains me to think back on how incredible the shopping was in Italy compared to here. All in all, I only bought two shirts (one was a serious splurge but I adore it), a scarf that I wear way too much, and some perfume…honestly, I don’t remember what perfume I bought…I wrote it in my blog notes that I bought perfume buuuuut….hmm mystery. But other than shopping, we also visited Saint Anthony’s Basilica. WOW that was overwhelming yet I didn’t want to leave because it was so impressive. If I remember correctly, Saint Anthony of Padova is the saint of lost things…and along his tomb people have left pictures of loved ones they have lost. I literally couldn’t even look at the hoards of pictures because I was getting all teary. This trip, I tell ya, I was just emotionally overloaded being in Italy, with all the family significance and such. Catholicism makes me emotional, also. I just feel like it’s part of my identity in such a way, being many relatives and ancestors are religious, but I just can’t make the connection…nor am I sure I want any such connection. Internal struggles, I tell ya. And as much as I wanted to say the prayer, and put my hand on his tomb, as nearly everyone else around, I just couldn’t do it. Too much for me to handle…next time though, I’ll be more emotionally prepared. Other than that interesting moment, the church was beautiful! Except maybe the small, shriveled, enshrined piece of flesh that once was Saint Anthony’s tongue. That was just a bit gross.

That night began with a tramezzino and a spritz in the Padova city center, followed by a delicious, very Italian dinner at Andrea’s parent’s house. Despite mosquito sprays and candles burning, I was the only one being eaten alive. Common theme of this trip. Can’t help it, it’s just my sweet blood! OH and this dinner had the BEST background music…I think only Andrea and I heard it because we were the only ones commenting on the hilarity and singing along – the TV just inside the window was on MTV which was having some sort of 90s throwback music video sesh. The 90s was an unfortunate decade for music (and style and most other things), but oh how it has a place in my heart…Our visit to Andrea’s parents’ house ended with watching them salsa dance for us. I can’t even begin to tell you how cute they are…

Following dinner, we were headed out to a bar along with Alberto and Claudia to meet up with a bunch of all of their friends. We ended up at a giant outdoor bar where I met more people than I can even name. Everyone was so nice, and Andrea conveniently knew the bartender (I swear his name was Lucas), who was particularly friendly and called me his “special guest.” Grammy’s don’t read this: it was a blurry night full of free drinks, meter-long straws (only person at the entire place with one like a looooser), and wonderful Italians! Especially unexpected moment of the night: so this whole time I pretty much thought I was the only non-local at this bar, but while in line for the bathroom a guy walked up to me and commented on the length of the line, in English! Chatted him up a bit and found out he’s the drummer of a band I know (Kasabian) and they were all there just hanging out after they played a show that night…whatttt. That was cool. And then Andrea, Valentina, and I headed home.

Friday morning was rougher than most. We woke up pretty early and headed into the city for a bit of strolling and shopping with the family. Ahh I miss the smell of the markets in the plazas…so many fresh fruits and vegetables, then the little stands with meats and vegetables galore. Mmm. Post-city was a much-needed naptime, which was then followed by a most excellent event in the evening – Festa del Redentore in Venice!

Upon arrival in Venice, we went off on a long trek across the city, originally aiming for the main square but changed our route to go meet up with Andrea’s parents on a sailboat docked on the other side of the city. In order to get to such a place, we crossed the once-a-year floating bridge constructed specifically for this occasion. But first we strolled the alleyways, had a spritz along the Grand Canal, observed the high tide flooding the edges of the canals and the lowest bits of the city, including parts of Saint Mark’s square and church itself. Then we continued on, crossed the Rialto Bridge, window shopped to our hearts’ content, then continued on to the boat. We picked up some pizzas and beers along the way and settled in for a great night.

We ate pizza, we drank wine, I tried some octopus, they grilled some sea beam, and all was well. Valentina and I had the most amazing conversation that evening – she told me about my great grandmother and how she was actually born and died in Venice and our relatives are a part of the Murano glass industry. It just blew my mind to be finding this out while sitting on a boat in Venice, my great grandmother’s turf. This was her home. As if the night couldn’t get any better, the fireworks then began over the water and it was just beautiful. Venice was alight with pyrotechnics. I took some vid’s…maybe you’ll see them sometime, somehow. When the night was through, we meandered the hidden backstreets of Venice for at least an hour until we reached the car and exhaustedly headed home.

And so the next day marked my last day in Italy. It began with the ultimate Italian breakfast of delicious mini pastries (dessert for breakfast, Italians know how to prioritize) and a cappuccino, followed by more shopping (a major part of the trip), then we went to Manuela’s for a goodbye lunch.

The trip ended in reverse order as it began the first night, a cozy homecooked meal (this lunch was pasta with pesto, melon with ginger, chicken, buffala, tomatoes, vino mmmm) with Manuela, Pierro, Valentina, and Andrea then off to the airport with Valentina and Andrea. Saying goodbye was hard. Even though we’ve pre-planned my return in February, it felt like I was leaving home, like my real home, again. Italy and the family definitely struck a chord with me…I’m hooked.

Even now, over two months later, I can still clearly hear Valentina’s ciaos, Manuela’s great under-her-breath remarks while driving the crazy streets of Padova, and Pierro’s gentle “tutto bene.” I can still taste the pine nuts, the fresh fruit cocktail Manuela made every morning, the cough syrup she gave me for my nagging illness. I can still feel the intense humidity, the sense of being surrounded by so much history, the nagging itch of the mosquito bites…the whole time, people kept repeating that I must have sweet blood…and it’s true. I left Italy with a real awareness of my “sangue dolce” – my Vernizzi blood.

As many of you know, lots has happened since my Italy trip. My next blog will cover my visit from Robb Wills and our trip to Trolltunga, a short trip with friends to Voss, a weekend surf trip in southern Norway, and a fjord excursion in hot pursuit of fall colors….and maybe more. I’m off to Croatia Thursday morning so hang tight!

Love,

Emily