Happy Easter! Since it’s Easter, I figured I’d write a blog about the history and my experience of Catholicism in Vietnam. I hope I’ll be able to write more about Cambodia and our Northern Excursion before the end of the trip. We’ll see with final exams approaching, but for now enjoy this little piece about Catholicism in Vietnam.

Coming to Vietnam I imagined large pagodas full of giant gold Buddhas, monks in saffron robes, and a society really imbued with Buddhism. I was seriously letting my experience from India and stories from Thailand inform my expectations more than I should have. When I got off the plane, I was met with something entirely different. My taxi driver had a statuette of the Virgin Mary on his dashboard (didn’t stop him from extorting a several dollar tip out of me as I groggily arrived in Saigon too tired to try and argue, I guess he could smell the fresh meat), and the first meal I had in Vietnam was a bowl of noodles under a large mother of pearl engraving of the last supper, flanked by a portrait of the laughing Jesus on the opposite wall and Jesus on a crucifix in the back of the room. Leaving the restaurant I brushed up against a Christmas tree lined with tinsel, and beginning to explore the city the first religious structure I came upon was the imposing Notre Dame Basilica Cathedral, a reminder of the French Colonial legacy with its huge pink bell towers and immense interior full of statues of saints and giant stained glass windows. I was to learn soon that Catholics make up a little more than twelve percent of the population of Vietnam, with a disproportionate amount living in Saigon/Ho Chi Minh city and a large portion of Vietnamese in foreign countries due to historical pressure in the region.

Jacob Ramsay in his section of the book Modernity and Re-Enchantment: Religion in Post-Revolutionary Vietnam, argues that Catholicism is just a much a Vietnamese religion because it is an imported religion just like Buddhism and Confucianism from China, its just that Catholicism had come a little later. According to some people Catholicism was an outside threat and shouldn’t have been adopted by so many Vietnamese. However if that logic were used, all of today’s Vietnamese would be animist ancestor worshippers without any Buddhist, Tao, or Confucian ideals because they were all imported from China or India. Now isn’t that a strange thought.

The first Catholic presence in Vietnam came from Spanish and Portuguese missionaries based in the nearby Philippines and East Timor. One of these Portuguese missionaries, Alexander de Rhodes, converted many people and also noticed a low literacy rate among the people. During that time basically only the elite had access to education and were able to learn Chinese characters, which were used to write Vietnamese at that point. Alexander knew that Chinese characters were too difficult for the masses to learn effectively, and so to improve literacy and enable people to read the Bible, he began creating a new script for the Vietnamese language. He used some of the underlying work used by Portuguese priests that came before him and using an adapted version of the Latin alphabet with diacritics and accent marks to display the use of tones in the language, Alexander created a language everyone could learn easily. The script is still used today and is called Quoc Ngu (National Language). Rhodes is still honored today, and a street in Saigon bears his name.

Over time, many Vietnamese converted to Catholicism thanks to successful missionary activity by the Jesuit order in the region. Whole communities embraced Catholicism, and that began to trouble some of the Ngyuen Emperors, who eventually expelled the missionaries and killed many Vietnamese Catholics who were believed to not be loyal to the state. This did not stop conversion however, as many Vietnamese of lower classes and even in the army came to Catholicism because of its egalitarian nature and as an escape from feudalism present at the time. Those killed became known as the Vietnamese martyrs, who are actually displayed at a side altar in Saigon’s Cathedral alongside the older European saints and angels. The majority of the martyrs were Vietnamese villagers along with a small contingent of Jesuit and Dominican missionaries. All of the martyrs, named and unknown were eventually beatified by Pope John Paul II before roaring crowds of happy Vietnamese.

Oppression against Catholics continued until the French came to power when Catholicism gained the upper hand with French patronage, and then later on in South Vietnam many people converted for political reasons because they thought it would land them better jobs or positions in the military. Just like the other religions, it survived the War… with some ‘alterations’.

I will say Catholicism is strong here. I imagine where life is tough, people need faith (why do you think Poland, Greece, and Cyprus have the highest church attendance ratings in Europe?) Driving to Da Lat for our day trip I saw multitudes of churches, and in front of these churches were poor barefoot farmers in rags. These men, women, and children stood on the outside of the churches because the insides were filled past capacity! When was the last time you saw people standing in crowds outside of church and at the side windows to hear the Gospel and receive Holy Communion? Those sights made me re-evaluate my devotion to Jesus.

Two more instances about Catholicism come from my own Catholic identity. I wear a crucifix on my neck, and twice on this trip people have noticed it and it has changed the dynamic of the moment. The first was when I met some of Nghiem’s father’s friend’s children. These two kids: Yaoman and Minh were the coolest kids. Yaoman had dimples that took up his entire face! Both of them wore small silver crosses and when they saw my crucifix they pointed at it and then at theirs, and then the large wooden crucifix they kept on the wall of their living room and gave me a thumbs up. Later when I was playing with the two kids their small grandmother hobbled over to me in her blue pajamas and showed me the cross on her neck and offered to take me to Mass. I would have agreed but I had to leave for Saigon, and so I had to decline.

Weeks later in Hanoi I was eating some fried fish and noodle on the street with Gabe, Alex, and Vien. An old woman nearby was serving tea out of her portable little stand (the flexible poles with two baskets on the ends which is ubiquitous to Vietnam and serves as transportation and a storefront when needed). She didn’t look very happy under her conical hat, but while giving us tea she noticed my crucifix and cracked a smile. She walked back to her little stall and returned to me with a Catholic prayer card. I’m not sure what exactly it says because it is in Vietnamese; however the man on the front of the card is definitely John the Baptist.

Later on in Hanoi I went to the huge Gothic Cathedral, St. Joseph’s to take a look around and say a few prayers. I was pleasantly surprised to find a stained glass window dedicated to very important and special saint to me, Saint Ignatius of Loyola, the namesake of my school! The window pictured Ignatius writing a letter to other Jesuits. There were many other saints in the large windows and side altars. The stained glass illuminated the dark gothic interior beautifully. It was much more ornate than the Basilica in Saigon.

Saigon’s Basilica may be simpler on the inside, but its pink brick and tile exterior definitely trumps St. Joseph’s bleak grey stone. The Basilica also has a side alter dedicated to the Theotokos, a Byzantine Icon of the Virgin Mary that looks stunning in soft candle light. During Lent there were many services in the Basilica were people would sing songs and chant outside the church around a granite statue of Mary, styled as Our Lady of Peace, which was erected during the War era in the hope the country would find peace.

On Good Friday I fasted and for my one meal I went to the usual Pho restaurant asnd ordered my usual minus the beef. The woman taking the order looked surprised and said in English, “Are you Catholic?” I said yes and she smiled, “Very good. I am too.”

I went to Easter Mass at the Basilica and it was PACKED! People were standing in the courtyard it was so crowded. I didn’t get a seat, but stood next to the side alter for the Vietnamese martyrs. The pews were predominantly Vietnamese but there were many Americans, Europeans, Africans, and South Indians dressed up in fancy shalwar pyjama.

I really saw that our church is a Universal Catholic Church because of the diversity in the congregation. It was a very good experience. After Mass I went to my favorite German bakery and got some hot cross buns for all the Americans and our roommates. For dinner since there is no Easter ham or Friedmann Macn’cheese we all went to a fancy Sushi bar and sat on cushions in a private room with sliding bamboo doors and had delicious raw fish.

As for Cambodia, well… Catholicism was pretty much eradicated in Cambodia during the Khmer Rouge era. Anything that wasn’t ‘Khmer’ was ‘erased’ and since Catholicism was seen as a western intrusion of Cambodian culture, most Catholics were killed. However, the Jesuits are still active and during our excursion to Cambodia we stopped by a Jesuit training center called Banteay Prieb, which is Khmer for ‘Sign of the Dove”. Banteay Prieb offers training certificates in five areas—mechanics, electronics, sewing, agriculture, and sculpture for people with disabilities. It was a very nice place and helped people who are marginalized in Southeast Asian societies find a home where they are accepted and learn skills to help them provide for themselves.

Catholicism is alive and well in Vietnam, and if anyone wants to say Christianity is just a ghost of Western colonization, think again the Vietnamese have successfully made Catholicism there own since the French departure with incense burners, joss sticks, services in Vietnamese, altars dedicated to the Vietnamese martyrs, churches built following traditional pagoda style architecture, and bronze Asian elephants flanking statues of saints. Elements of Vietnamese culture have blended with Catholicism to give it a regional flavor all it’s own, and it is beautiful indeed.

P.S. I had candy for the first time in 40 days. It was amazing!

yay bin Laden’s dead hooray whoop-de-doo!!

yeah……That’s not gonna fly in Oman. Internet access in Oman, for me, is pretty limited. I’ve become a regular at a sheesha/coffee shop just so I can use their wi-fi. So I learned last night that bin Laden had finally been killed while I was at the coffee shop – of course I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to try and talk about it with some of the people in the place.

At first I tried to be all “hey guys bin Laden’s dead isn’t that good?”” but that was pretty much ignored. I sat next to a guy watching al-Jazeera and started to talk to him about it. I got a lot of “I don’t know”s and “We’ll sees” and eventually the channel changed to soccer. I was pretty disappointed – I mean, is there any opportunity cooler than the one I had? I didn’t want to let it slip away.

So I started pushing in on subjects that Omanis might be more concerned about. I talked about how he was from the Saudi Arabia, one of Oman’s neighbors, and also the rise of al-Qaeda in Yemen. I wanted to get their opinions’, but I was just met with more ambiguities and question-dodges.

I eventually left the place and went to a little stand outside that sells mishkek (mishkek is like barbecued meat on a stick, it can be goat, beef, camel, I’ve even seen quid, each stick is about 30 cents). I offered to buy mishkek for the people in line. Of course, like Arabs tend to do, they declined. Rather than get into one of those stupid “No I insist,” “No you don’t have to,” “Please I want to,” blah blah blah moments I explained that today was an important day because of bin Laden’s death. That went nowhere, although I did get a few “bin Laden is crazy!”‘s, but that was nowhere near what I wanted.

After trying the taxi driver and the gas station guy I eventually just gave up.

Now today I’m reading the emails from a) the US State department telling me to keep my mouth shut, b) SIT telling me to keep my mouth shut, and c) Loyola telling me to keep my mouth shut. I knew to keep a low profile since I first got here, but when something like this just flew in my face I had to go for it. I’m just glad I didn’t say anything to a cop in street clothes or someone who actually sympathized with bin Laden.

Omanis don’t like talking about bad things, or problems on the horizon. For shame if you mention His Majesty’s death and don’t you even think about talking about oil reserves depleting. Same goes for bin Laden. Oman’s cool – in the sense that it has no insurgency problems, but its neighbors, Yemen and Saudi, are different. There is a fear that some of that could spill over into Oman. In fact Yemen is so bad that it wasn’t even an appropriate topic of conversation BEFORE Osama died. It’s like it isn’t there. So yeah “How cool is it that you’re in the region during such historic times?”

honestly? meh, I could have more insightful conversations stateside.

on another note. I am done. I was hanging out at home in America earlier, remembering the time when I said goodbye to my host family at the airport. Then I woke up. My mind is no longer abroad. I’m done. And by that I mean I’m not at all done. In ten days I’m gonna board a plane to the US, but between then and now there are 30 pages waiting to be typed. But I am done. Of course I’ll get the work done and of course it will be good, but I am done. My mind has officially left the building. I. Can. Not. Wait. to get back home. Nothing against Oman but a) this program has been really hard, b) this research paper has been both physically and mentally exhausting, and c) summer is awesome. I don’t want to do a retrospect yet, because I’m still in the country, but study abroad: great experience, much harder than a regular semester, and, just as I couldn’t wait to get here, I can’t wait to leave.

I am supposed to be happy right now. When I saw my mom, my dad, and all my younger brothers at the airport I was so happy. My youngest brother ran to me and jumped up into my arms and I gave my mom one of the longest hugs ever. I am happy to be with my family again, but that feeling has taken a backseat to great amounts of sadness.

            I left Vietnam to hugs and tears. When I left India I was in a bus full of Americans who were itching to get home. We were rushing to our plane because the roads were backed up because of a storm. Some of the girls on the bus were in tears because they were afraid they would miss the plane. When we got to the airport we were rushing through security and ran to the terminal as they were giving the final call. It was really dramatic. Our professors wished us all the best, but it wasn’t like we were leaving close friends behind. It was funny because it seemed like we were evacuating India, and in Vietnam the country had just celebrated the fall of Saigon and reunification where lots of evacuations had taken place thirty six years before. As opposed to those American girls on the bus in India, in Vietnam we cried because I was going to get on the plane. Some of the best friends of my life waved goodbye to me at the airport. Security wouldn’t let them come inside the airport with me, so I hugged all of them for a long time, sharing choked up smiles amidst tears and strong hands on shoulders reassuring we would see each other again… some day. A firm conviction in our eyes meant these were not just words, but a pact. I would return to Vietnam, or they would come to America. No matter what, we would see each other again. A promise hung in the air.

 How does that make sense, I have been studying India for years and the culture of India is something I have always been enamored with, and while Vietnamese history and culture is cool I still love India. Then why was I not so upset to leave India, but very sad when leaving Viet Nam. I’ll tell you, relationships trump any culture. I didn’t make any Indian friends my age when I studied in India last year, but I grew so close to several Vietnamese students my age this semester. Friendships have a great power over me.

After a round of goodbyes I walked with Vien to the doors with my bags where the guard stopped her and told her to turn back. I gave her a big hug still sobbing and she said, “I love you Jimmy” and smiled. I laughed a little and with a smile said, “Love you too Mama”. I turned and waved back to the rest of the students standing at a distance behind the rail, and then saw Nghiem, my roommate standing alone away from the pack looking at me. Something jerked inside me and I ran back to him leaving my bags with Vien. Even though the fence separated us from the hip down, we grabbed each other. We both promised we would see each other again. The face that was above the crowds when I walked dazed out of the same gates a few months earlier was here again, but it was a perked up smile waving crazily and shouting “Jimmy here!” back then. In the present we were both a mess. I pulled away.

I couldn’t look back again. I had to go. It was so hard. If I looked back again I knew I couldn’t leave, wouldn’t be able to. I had to walk through those doors.

With one final hug I walked back to Vien and picked up my bags, “See you” she said. I paused and said, “See you” and kept walking on to check in. We don’t see bye in Vietnam, because we’ll see each other again. Its never goodbye.

When I got back to America the customs official stopped me and looked at my passport and my travel documents. He started off by looking at me for a long time and then said, “What the f*@k were you doing in Vietnam?” I was surprised and replied nervously, “I am a student and was studying there.” “What the hell is there to learn in Vietnam” “Buddhism and Vietnamese culture.” “What is so special about Buddha?” “I’m a religious studies major that is what I study” “What school?” “Loyola University” “But that is a Catholic school, why are you learning all this sh*t?” He continued to berate me and I just about started to cry when he said curtly, “Welcome home” as he stamped my papers and threw them down on the counter. I picked them up and continued on.

            I walked through the terminal toward the gate to Cincinnati and came across a young Vietnamese woman who didn’t know any English. She had just gotten off a transatlantic flight, and service in Vietnamese ends in Hong Kong, so she was completely lost. A pilot was trying to explain to her in English where to go but it wasn’t working. I walked over and offered to help. Using the bit of Vietnamese I know I was able to get her to follow me, get her on the tram, and get her off at her terminal’s station. I wanted to follow her, to go back. I wasn’t read to be home yet. A few more days, a few more weeks, I needed time with all the friends I had made over the past semester. They were my world, and my world was crashing down before me. I was heading back to my normal life, something that will never be the same again after that extraordinary semester.

Ciao from Roma, or more specifically, Loyola’s John Felice Rome Center! I have been here not even two weeks,  but I have already had some great times and seen some of the great sites. It all started on the very first night.

We all arrived at some point on Saturday, May 14. We all moved in and got settled and at orientation learned about  “Notte dei Musei”, meaning that for that one night, and one night only, would all museums (excluding the Colosseum) be free! So, jet-lagged though we all were, we went out to experience Rome and see some museums. A group of us from the JFRC found ourselves at the Piazza Navona, and stumbled into the Musei dei Roma there. All was beautiful and I had my first gelato!

Sunday was our beach day, which sadly was rained out. I still, however, got the chance to dip my feet in the Tyrrhenian Sea!

Later that week, my roommate and I decided to go be tourists and see the “Piazza de Spagna” (Spanish Steps) and “Fontana di Trevi” (Trevi Fountain). My roommate deserves a shout out for using her two semesters of Italian to successfully ask for directions, in Italian! (Even if they answered in half English). The Trevi Fountain is probably one of my favorite places in Rome so far, it really is unbelievably beautiful. We tried to eat our Calzones by the fountain, but apparently that’s not allowed. We came upon this knowledge when a security guard came over to us and literally waggled her finger at our food. No problem though, they were just as delicious on a bench down the way!

We also experienced our first Fr. Bosco tour. Fr. Bosco leads little tours of whoever wants to go twice a week. These tours involve jogging to keep up with his walking pace, lots of churches, and a gelato stop for each tour. Gelato is a key part for Fr. Bosco, he has list of his top seven gelato places and insists on having gelato everyday in Rome. When in Rome, I say!

And all of this in the first week!

So in about 15 hours I will be on my way to Spain! It hasn’t quite hit me yet that I am leaving tomorrow or that I will be gone for 7 whole months. It still sort of seems like another crazy idea I came up with and not something that is actually happening. Any way, I have procrastinated for far too long and have to figure out what to take out of my bag because it is so heavy! I’ll be back soon to let you all know about my adventures! Hasta Luego!

¡Hola! It only seems fitting that now as I prepare to start the last part of my study abroad that I blog again. I started this amazing and wonderful year in Europe blogging, and now, I shall finish it blogging. To date, I have lived and studied in two counties in Europe: Freiburg im Breisgau in Germany, and Roma in Italy. And now, it is time to start country number three: Madrid, Spain.

The last time I started a blog for Loyola, I was sitting at my home in the US, wondering if I would be able to handle studying abroad for 10 months, or if my language skills would be able to get my through University in a foreign country in a different language. Well, some things have not changed. I am still wondering if my language skills will be good enough for University in a foreign country. However, this time I am not looking out over the cornfields of central Illinois. Instead, I find myself wondering these same questions as I sit in my cousin’s dinning room outside the city of Madrid.

It has been a crazy year so far. I have gone from the United States to Germany to Italy, and now Spain. I have made the language switch from English to German to English/Italian, and now, I am attempting to switch to Spanish. In one week, I will be moving into University housing in Madrid, with roommates I have never met, who may or may not speak English, and will start class at Universidad Rey Juan Carlos. Since taking Spanish at Loyola my freshman year, I have since taken 2 semesters of Italian and had an intensive language program in Germany. Thus, I do have a few concerns about taking Spanish again. But if going to Italy is any indication, after speaking it and hearing it, it will come back.

Until 2 June, though, I am enjoying my “summer vacation”. After I finished classes at the John Felice Rome Center in Roma, I traveled for two weeks with my sister in Greece and Spain. When she left last week to return to the US, I came here, to my cousin’s house. This time has not only allowed me to start to make the transition into Spanish culture and language, but to also take some time and reflect on this past year, and help me decide what I want to do to make the most of these last 38 days in Europe. So here is what I have come up with, which I guess also doubles (for some parts) as advice to anyone who will be studying abroad, either this summer, next year, or in the future:

1. I have taken many photos, from side trips, to random moments with friends, to daily life. However, it seems that the best moments happen when my camera is at home sitting on my desk. Therefore, I want to have my camera (with plenty of batteries!) with me as much as possible. There are so many moments that I have captured on film and I am grateful that I have them. So for all those who will be studying abroad (or even those at school in the States), bring your camera and take those photos, random or otherwise! You will enjoy them and cherish them, even photos of simple items such as a bus stop you use every day.

2. Get out of the apartment and live and explore!!! Last semester I spent way too much time inside or in the library. Yes, I do need to study and do homework, but that can be done outside at a cafè or in a park. I want to see the city, the country, and enjoy the life here. After class, I want to do homework as soon as possible and then get out and see all that I can. You only have this opportunity once! Make the most of it. As Mark Twain said, “Never let formal education get in the way of your learning.” I plan to make this my motto for these last days in Europe.

3. Jump into the culture and language. In Italy, I was afraid of making too many mistakes with Italian. Thus, I shied away from going out and using the language. I would rely on others who were better at the language. I learned later in the semester that this fear held me back. Thus, in Spain, I want to go out and use Spanish as much as I can, even if I make many mistakes. I know more people than not appreciate you attempting to speak their language, and the language of your temporary home, than not. They don’t mind that you make mistakes. Some may even help you and further your knowledge of the language! It also can help you make friends and allows you to see more, as people might even suggest places to go, things to do, or even foods to try.

4. Be better at blogging and recording what I see and do in Spain. I wasn’t the best blogger for my family and friends this past semester. And looking back, it was foolish. While I do have 5.000 plus photos that jog my memory of many events, reading about them is better. There is more information contained in words in combination with photos. These memories are to precious to me to forget-thus in conjunction with goal number 1, I want to blog/write anywhere from 2 to 3 or more times a week. Yes it will take time, but it is worth it. I also know I will really appreciate the written record next year, and in the years to come, when I am missing my friends here in Europe and the adventures we have had.

5. Don’t worry about returning to the US. This may sound strange, but I am terrified of returning. A lot has changed in the past year, not only in my life, but in the world. I have grown as a person, spirituality, athletically, mentally, and emotionally. That is part of the process of growing up and university, along with studying abroad. However, I have kept in contact with my friends from the US, and my friends from various countries here in Europe that I have made since August. I know that with a bit of effort that will continue because it is important to me and to them to keep these friendships alive. I also know that I have many friends in the US who have been abroad and have returned. They are there to help ease the transition back to the American culture and lifestyle, as others were there for them.

6. Do what I want to do, even if it means doing it alone, such as going to a museum that I want to see. This may sound silly, but it is true. It is one of the hardest things to learn while abroad. You want to be with someone you know as you are in a new environment and the companionship makes life easier. But, I only have this opportunity once. Thus, I am going to take full advantage of it. There were a few times last semester that there was something I really wanted to do, but no one else wanted to, and thus, I did not do it. While I do not regret my decision, I also know that I held myself back in those instances. Thus I am not going to let that happen here. I am going to live life to the fullest extent possible.

I think Buddha sums up all of these goals perfectly: The secret of health for both mind and body is not to mourn for the past, not to worry about the future, or not to anticipate troubles, but to live in the present moment wisely and earnestly.

So for now, it is about time for bed as it is 23.00 here in Spain. I leave you with the following photos. Enjoy! And check back soon!

Joel

Toledo, Spain

The Royal Palace in Madrid, Spain

Plaza de España, Madrid, Spain

Sunset in Spain

Yes, the subject line to this post is in french. I have the natural tendency to greet the majority of the Italian population like this, and cannot seem to shake it. The normal italian greeting would be a simple ciao, but apparently that doesn’t matter in my thought-process. I’m sure the people who don’t know me probably think I am a french or canadian tourist… which is actually better than being thought of as a stupid american, so I got that going for me.

I’ve been out and about in Roma and beyond. During the week, I generally stay in Rome, visiting the Colosseum, The Forum, Spanish Steps, Trevi Fountain, Borgias Gardens, and St. Peter’s Square. The Colosseum and The Forum were class trips for my Art and Architecture class, and the other Roman attractions were done with friends at night. And then this weekend, my program went to Pompeii during the day on Friday. The town is a pile of ruins that were oddly preserved by the volcanic ash that showered on it way back when. As beautiful as the dusty town was, the more distracting feature of it were the scattered penile organs engraved on the buildings’ walls and the streets, pointing to the nearest brothel. Yep.

Moving on, from Pompeii me and four other friends went on to Sorrento which was a short commuter train ride away. We spent the night in Sorrento which was really great. Our hotel was up on a mountain and looked over the bay. That night we had dinner along the main strip, which was closed down so people could walk without dodging the rather aggressive italian drivers and then we walked up and down the main street going into the different shops, which were full of trinkets. The town was all about the lemons, it had lemon trees everywhere and was filled with Lemoncello. Lemoncello is a really sweet drink with lemon juice, sugar, and some kind of liquor. After one sip, I had a smile that lasted for a good 45 seconds because it was so sweet. We then naturally migrated to a karaoke bar where there was nothing but embarrassment. Lots of college kids, and a a group of VERY old locals. One had a hearing aid, and another serenaded the bar with a lovely rendition of Mercy by Duffy. The next morning we took a ferry to the island of Capri, which was only a 30 minute trip on a really nice boat. Once in Capri we looked around for a bit at the main street of more trinkets and such. Capri is absolutely beautiful… seriously the most beautiful place I have ever seen. The water is the bluest water I have ever seen, and the people are the nicest people we’ve met so far. We stumbled upon a company that did boat tours around the island, and since we didn’t have any other plans for the day, we decided to do it. It was the best the 20 euros (each) we spent. The medium-sized boat took us out for two hours and was the most glorious thing ever. The weather was perfect (I, naturally, got a little crispy), and the whole boat was like one big bed with enough room for all five of us, plus one crew member. It was extra nice because the company that owned the boat were actually americans… or some variation of american. The two captains were brother and sister who have lived on the island for their whole lives, but the their mother just moved to Capri from Connecticut four years ago, and ran the business.

After boating and putzing around Capri on Saturday, we took another ferry to Naples so we could catch a high-speed train back to Rome. As much as I hate to say it, Naples was a complete dump. It literally looked like a third-world country… or at least the route from the ferry station to the train station did. We were warned about big groups of little children who will swarm you and take you for everything you got. They will literally cut your back pockets to let things fall out and cut your bag straps to run away with your stuff. We didn’t see any of this actually happened, but I would definitely not be surprised to see a gang of toddlers snatch up some tourists fanny pack… the town was bleak. Our train back to Rome was delayed for 30 minutes, so we decided to indulge ourselves in a little American comfort called McDonalds. We brought the food on the train and rode the two hours back to Rome, eating fries and then sleeping. We got to Rome late Saturday night and then took the Roman subway system to the nearest bus stop, which was our first foray into the subway of Rome, and it went very well.

Sunday morning we all got up to run the Race for a Cure Breast Cancer 5k in Rome. The race didn’t start until 10am, which is when it starts to get pretty steamy in downtown Roma. And if you didn’t already know, italians smell on a regular basis, so after a jog in the sun there was a distinct stench in the air. There was no water during the race, and let’s just say that after a week of eating gilato, pizza, and pasta at least once a day, none of us were too limber or had the appropriate lung capacity. However it went well, we all finished. And it was absolutely packed! I think I heard over 60,000 people were there. Nobody got timed, which helped our self-esteem a little. Because the city was so packed with the race, and the race closed down lots of streets, getting home was quite a challenge. We probably did out own little 5k tour around Rome trying to find our bus. Once we found the bus stop, it was thankfully next to a pizza place and we all treated ourselves. The weekend was tiring, but we’re back at school and in need of clean clothes and some sleep. We taking a weekend-long class program trip to Abruzto next weekend, which includes a wine tasting, a cooking class, and a hike. The first two sound amazingly italian, but the hike sounds a little out of my league.

I went to Abruzzo this past weekend, where my body was brutally beat by a mountain and some gravel trails. The leisurely hike that I thought I signed up for turned out to be three days of sweaty outdoor movement. Thankfully I only fell once.

25 students and 2 Student Life Assistants left early Friday morning and traveled East to the region of Abruzzo, a small area in the mountains where many Romans go to in summer months to escape the hotbox of a city they call Rome. We supposedly made good time and got to the hotel well before noon in time for our first death march, I mean hike. Once we got settled into our rooms and then we met outside and grabbed our sack lunches from a restaurant where we would eat all of our meals over the weekend. We walked a few kilometers up a mountain that over looked the town which was pretty pretty, if you’re into breathtaking views of the rolling green Italian landscape. On our way down, we stopped at a cemetery to eat our lunch. If our lunch locale was any indication of what the rest of the weekend would be like, it wasn’t great. After our lunch break with the deceased, we walked back through town and on to the next hill we could find. Just kidding, we knew where we were going. We walked up another hill to a waterfall that very pretty, and very chilly. It was fantastic after walking in the mid-day sun. After the first round of hiking we went back to hotel to rest for two hours, and in those two hours we were treated to our first musical treat of the night; our hotel was hosting a children’s choir competition. After hearing a plethora of Disney songs from across the building, we had a night of swanky activities. The first event was held at a restaurant in Civita d’Antino, it was a wine and cheese tasting. I didn’t like either, naturally. However, while the group chowed down on some cheese, the mayor of the town stopped by to welcome us. Then after hob-knobing with politicians we walked across the very small town, which incidentally looked a lot like an Olive Garden, to the town’s museum which overlooked Valle Roveto. The museum had an exhibit of prints by the Scandinavian artist, Zarhrtman. And at the same museum, we were treated to a small musical performance by a trio of men from the town. They played Italian swing music, which was very neat. After the art and music, we all went back to restaurant and had dinner. We ate locally raised baby lamb and a noodle-and-bean soup, which was delicious.

The next morning we woke up early for the second of three hikes of the weekend. The hotel had a very nice breakfast, which we got to enjoy with all of Italy’s children choirs. This day’s hike was a bit more challenging to say the least. It lasted about 7 hours, and consisted of climbing a mountain in Valle Roveto. It was definitely no walk in the park, considering I spent half of the time strataling the mountain face. The group split up, and some taking the short cut, while others took the road that zig-zagged up the mountain. I chose the short cuts, because I liked the name, obviously my judgement was off. At some points, we were actually climbing with our hands. We were supposed to go to the peak, but the weather didn’t cooperate (thankfully) and we called it a day after reaching a plateau with a cross in the ground, next to a little Jesus figurine… which are also very common on Italy. So after we retreated from the mountain top, we got a few hours of rest and then we went back to the restaurant where the owner demonstrated how to make gnocchi and marinate the chicken we were being served that night. It was nice to be at the restaurant and in the town, because it was totally not a tourist town.

The next and final day was supposed to be a short hike up on another mountain in the morning. The hike was really tiring, considering the day’s previous jaunt. We went to a sanctuary that overlooked the entire valley. The sanctuary was actually a building built into the side of the mountain around 1300 years ago. The town’s people still go up there once a year on a certain day and hold a celebration on the lawn and a mass in the building. After we hiked down from the sanctuary, we went back to the Osteria where we were prepared a lunch of spaghetti and pork roast. The food is especially good in the town because they only use ingredients found in the town, usually the day of.

As much as my body hated the trip, it was nice to leave Rome to see the actually countryside. And as much as I would suggest people to visit the town, there is not really a tourism industry there… better for a day trip due to the lack of hotels. I have midterms the next two days. And then on Wednesday, class is cancelled because we are going to the Papal Audience that morning to see the Pope speak, or do something… I’m foggy on the details. Anyways, my plans for next weekend are up in the air so I don’t really know what I’ll be doing.

I got here a few days ago but it was hard to get to a computer for a while… but I am alive so don´t worry! My host mom is a wild lady she is so much fun. She was upset when I only came home at midnight the first night, she expects me to come home at 2 or 3 from now on! It is absolutely amazing here people are so nice. We received so much free food last night at the bars and Grandpa Mike you would be proud of me and my wine drinking 🙂 It is great here… I might just stay here forever!

Vingt-Neuf days until I am in Aix en Provence!