The Italian Job (Part I)

Well, a lot has happened, and I'm obviously very bad at keeping an up-to-date blog. This may set the record for longest blog post ever.

I haven't done all the traveling around Europe I had originally hoped for. In fact, I haven't even left the country. However, I have seen a lot of an amazing country! For sake of organization, here is a table of contents of what I will be talking about (roughly reverse chronological order) - feel free to skip around where you like:

- Verona
- Toscana (Firenze, Siena, Pisa)
- Cinque Terre
- Milano

Note: While I'm not absolutely certain of which cities will make up the "The Italian Job: Part II", here is an idea of what to expect:

- Napoli/Pompei
- Roma
- Venezia
- Torino

Verona

Ah, the fair city of Verona, fabled town of Juliet and her Romeo! If you've read earlier, you know that I almost went here to grab Juliet's boob. Now, you can clearly see from the pictures that I did go here and grab Juliet's boob! And I wasn't the only one who wanted to grab Juliet's boob. Ok, this is the last time I will write "Juliet's boob." (I know you were waiting for it ;)


Yes, as you can see, it was a grand time. I was scheduled for work that day, and really bummed when my student cancelled, because then I don't get paid and I waste a weekend (to be vented further down...much further down). BUT...the Lord always does provide, and provideth he didith, as you can see from above! ;-)

Yes, the five fair maidens hither in the picture are, counter-clockwise from stage-right (did you get that?) Annie, Chelsea, Allie, Nathalie, and the immortal Giulietta! They were going on to Venice the next day, but I was already committed at church, so I could only make a day trip out of it.

BUT...a full day it was. I serenaded Annie...


and then monologued to Chelsea...


and then I made out with Juliet.


The ladies in their compelling combination of purity and maturity settled with putting their names with their crushes' on the love wall. Somehow I don't really understand how this works. So...you love somebody so much that you want to have a passionate - if tumultuous - fling that ends in all of two weeks with a dagger to the heart? Hmmm....


Then we went over to the much less-traveled house of Romeo (and, of course, all of these are very real places from real historical events between feuding families in the 16th century...)


You could not imagine the traffic we had to beat off...

Anyway, Verona is so much more than Romeo and Juliet. I'm sure someday I'll figure out what.

Nah, but in all seriousness, pictures. Check them.






Tuscany (Florence, Siena, Pisa)

Ok, there needs to be a warning sign on the entrance to this entire region in general: WARNING: DANGER OF FALLING IN LOVE. PROCEED AT OWN RISK.

Now, I'm not exactly a romantic, lovey-dovey kinda of guy. However, even I had those feelings of "wish I had a girl with me here" at times. Why, HOW? (you might ask...)

Here's one reason:


Here's another...


...and still, another...


...yes, love, it comes in many different shapes, shades, and sizes. I found love most often just walking down the cobblestone streets of these enchanting cities right out of a storybook. There was such a magical presence in the air, a palpable feeling that just around the corner, there would be something that would just take you're breathe away. And every now and then, there was!


But please...believe me! As irreverent as I can sometimes be...


...I really legitimately fell in love with Tuscany, by far the favorite place I've been in Europe. After transportation and lodging, I only had 40 euros to spend the entire weekend. I skipped many a meal so that I could pay to enter the fabulous churches and museums. If you go to Florence, you must see David. Just as you must see the Last Supper if you go to Milan. It will change the way you look at the capacity of art. Just be secretive about any photos you take (note strange man staring at me with condemnation)...


...or, just settle for shots of cheap replicas that - while not a true likeness - can be surprisingly effective at suggesting the real thing...


If you go to Italy (Europe?) at all, make it into every church that you can. Religion might be going the way of the dodo in Europe, however the cathedrals will likely stand for ages to come. A powerful testimony of what art, devotion, and worship can (should?) look like.





There was one church, the Duomo (one in every town) in Siena which had this side room that might be the most spectacular room I have ever been in. I don't even know what it was for, but in addition to having beautiful art on walls, ceiling, and floor, it also had a bunch of hymnals with music written before classical notation was even invented!


Now, I made this trip with about two hundred other exchange students who for the most part were more interested in getting hammered in a new city than checking out Medieval churches and Renaissance art:



Ah, there's a time and place for everything. Well, point being, I didn't necessarily get to see everything that I wanted to see in Tuscany. I didn't go into the world-famous Uffizi gallery in Florence (with the group itinerary, I had to in effect choose between that and David). I also did not sample any "local" cuisine or have any "nice" meal that was more than a 6 euro pizza (which killed my 40 euro budget, btw). I did not go on any wine tours or even sample any of the legendary wines that surrounded me (I bought 2 euro box wine for our Saturday night of mayhem). I scarcely even saw the beautiful countryside, only soaking in samples between winks on the bus ride between Florence and Siena. I didn't make my way to any of the innumerable "secret-treasure" smaller towns, away from the tourists, yet still basking beneath the warmth of the Tuscan sun. So many reasons to go back...

...with a girl!

(and now, I leave you with the sounds of the streets of Florence)



Cinque Terre

Ok, so this was just about the first place that all my friends traveled to while I was still in financial distress and starving to death in my room. But all was not to be lost, because my most loving, caring, wonderful parents were coming to visit me, bringing camera, clothes, and much needed ATM withdrawal card. And, well, they hadn't been to Cinque Terre yet (lit. "five lands"), so I figured that'd be the perfect way to spend a Sunday that I had originally kept available for Oktoberfest until ESN started being dumb. I'm not a stranger to salty water, but it really felt good after being estranged from it for over a month:



Plus, the area was so much more than just H2O + NaCl - the coastline was very dramatic, the air crystal clear, and the five coastal towns in a bubble of perfectly stereotypical Italian culture. Unfortunately, the parentals didn't take too much to hiking, so we only stayed in the first town (Monterosso), but it was great to relax, and we hiked out to a cool point where we could see at least three of the other towns at the same time. Here are some more pictures:






And, of course, there was the quaint little town of Monterosso itself:


And, also of course, as in any Italian village, food is kind of a big deal, hence this giant stir fry pan:


Finally, there's my dear mother and father, who flew all the way across the world to see me (and Italy)! It was really awesome hanging out with them. I feel like they are slowly making the transition to grandparents, and I really cannot describe it in any other way other than a feeling I get. It's kinda weird. And kinda cool at the same time. It was funny, I was able to drink a significant amount of alcohol in front of my parents the first time that evening. Nothing like getting tipsy with your parents on a remote Italian beach resort! Oh, the conversations that followed. I miss them, and as much as I love being on my own, they will never have to nag me to come home.


Finally, a nice little video of a motorboat easing its way into the little harbor for the town, textbook Italy... (note my dad monologuing in the background of whether it will make it or not, lol!)



Milan

Ryanair

I just bought tickets to and from Rome for mid-November with Ryanair. The were advertised as 10 euros each way, no taxes/tariffs/fees. What a deal! Now, I'm not complaining...but...I'm still allowed to laugh at my order receipt (apparently credit card payment and airport check-in aren't standard features...and aren't optional):

**********

YOUR CONFIRMATION NUMBER IS: XXXXXX

You will need this confirmation number and a VALID ACCEPTED FORM OF PHOTO ID (as detailed below) in order to travel.

ITINERARY/RECEIPT - All times are local.

GOING OUT

From Milan (Bergamo) (BGY) to Rome (Ciampino) (CIA)
Thu, 13Nov08 Flight FR9466 Depart BGY at 21:45 and arrive CIA at 22:45

COMING BACK

From Rome (Ciampino) (CIA) to Milan (Bergamo) (BGY)
Mon, 17Nov08 Flight FR9465 Depart CIA at 20:20 and arrive BGY at 21:20

PASSENGERS

1. MR ANDREW TREES ADT

PAYMENT DETAILS

********20.00 EUR Total Fare

*********2.00 EUR Taxes, Fees & Charges

********12.00 EUR Passenger Fee: Airport Check in

********12.00 EUR Passenger Fee: CC

********46.00 EUR Total Paid

the right decision

Two weekends ago (yes, it's been a while since I updated my blog) I was faced with a really petty decision that actually made me very anxious because it was choosing between two very good things. Within a couple hours of each other I had made to overlapping commitments for Saturday because I didn't want to miss out! Eventually I had to choose:

Option 1: Day trip to Verona with a Diego, a good Peruvian friend, and four other mutual female friends. While there I would have soaked in one of the more traditional of Italy's many beautiful cities, enjoyed the company of good friends, and gained the good fortune that only befalls those men who grope Juliet's right breast. While I definitely can go to Verona anytime, there was no promising I would, and it's always good to go with friends, and Diego was really hoping I'd come.

Option 2: Excursion with ICM (International Church of Milan) Young Adults (YA) to a ropes course in Lake Como. Awaiting me there was an exhilarating and challenging adventure activity, a great opportunity to invest more time into new friends in an awesome fellowship, and a cozy autumn respite at a young couple's beautiful country villa for pizza, drinks, and hanging out. While I have been on many ropes courses before, this was YA's only retreat for the season, and I my involvement in the fellowship is way too spotty as it is. I had already told two people I was coming, but canceling wouldn't have caused any logistical detriment.

The verdict...





It was the best ropes I'd ever been on, but more importantly, it was one of the best days I've had in Italy (and I've had a lot of fun here)! It's ironic how I'm learning 5000 miles away from my home how important fellowship - in any form - is not only to your faith, but to your general fun in life.

Not that you can't have fun outside of a faith group, Lord no! (lol) You need both. Sometimes I feel that often when I have the choice, I give up the Christian fellowship. And sometimes not even when I must choose.

On a side note, I feel so spread thin here. When I first arrived, it seemed that I needed a lot more than four months to do everything/meet everybody/go everywhere I wanted. One month later, I feel that the problem isn't so much months in a trip. It's smaller, maybe weeks in a month, days in a week, hours in a day. I feel like I could get so much out of singular attention to school, or work, or church, or weekend travel, or friends from school, or cultural immersion, or properly disciplined blogging. Instead, I feel like I'm just getting a taste, a morsel of everything, and somehow all these fractions don't add up to one, leaving me hungry still for something more complete than my "complete abroad experience".

On a note even further to the side, I got a transportation fine which was wrong on every level and that I don't want to or plan on paying. Add that to my outstanding rent payments and the fact that I still haven't even registered for - let alone received - my permit of stay, and that makes me about as illegal as you can be in a country. As fed up as I am with the Italian bureaucracy, you gotta love how slow things move here. I'll be back in American before they ever find me! :)

Summary Post

I've written four posts on my blog thus far, but they do very little to describe what exactly I'm doing here. In case you're curious...

**********

Arrival
I arrived in Milan on September 1st. I had about a hundred pounds of baggage without wheels that I dragged everywhere. I made my first friend in airport - another exchange student from the States who looked just as lost as I did. Turns out we were staying in the same dorm, so we found our way to it, settled in, and then found our first of many aperitivi. What a great idea - drink and unlimited food for a modest fixed cost.

Money
As many people already know (since I whine a lot), I had a variety of logistical difficulties my first few weeks. Probably the worst was the expiration of my checking card literally the day I arrived. I had no cash or travelers' checks (probably would have been a good idea in hindsight), so I had to do with a lot of begging, borrowing, and being content without. I ordered another card, but it never arrived, so my parents sent me money from my account at home via Western Union, which I collected yesterday. They will bring me a new checking card (and a camera! among other things) when they come visit me next week.

The City
The city of Milan is absolutely enchanting. Cobblestone streets seem mystically laid out as haphazardly as they would have been (and likely were) hundreds of years ago. Architecture is standard European fare - a feast for the eyes of a California not used to seeing buildings ten year old. The heart of the city can be found at Piazza Duomo, a spectacular city plaza with the third largest church in the world and the world-famous fashion districts just blocks away. I walked down one understated street and peered through humble windows into minimalist interior design with the latest from Armani, Prada, and Versace on display. About a kilometer away is a majestic medieval castle with ceilings painted by Da Vinci and Michalengelo's unfinished Pieta on display. Just to the south is a network of navigli, canals ages old that give the feel I'd expect out of Venice. I love walking the city, getting lost on purpose, wandering the streets thinking, "Am I really here?"

The People
As beautiful as the inanimate city is, the people shine brighter. The women are angels. Every time I see a DSI (dark-skinned Italian) pass by me in the streets, I think I melt into the sidewalk and fall in love just a little bit. Everybody is dressed so nicely - I feel self-conscious walking around in public. I've seen more sharp suits on businessmen here than I have my whole life in the United States. The women always cover their shoulders, stomach, and knees, and honestly, it makes the look even hotter (take note American fashion). The Milanese speak with such a clean accent and are more than happy to entertain my feeble attempts to speak Italian. When a beautiful DSI speaks, the Sirens do not compare.

Friends
Oh, gosh, sooo many people that I've met. To early to tell who my good friends are going to be. I feel very spread thin relationally, so I hope that doesn't prevent me from getting to know people well. Since I am in international student housing, I have met people from dozens of different countries. However, I've met surprisingly few Italians. Everybody in my Italian crash course were really cool. I have a good group of guy friends from Brazil named Vini, Pedro, Andrew, Bruno, and others with whom I play football and basketball. I have a Turk friend from Santa Monica who speaks Spanish that loves to surf and ski. I'm planning on also traveling a lot with a friend from Peru named Diego, who also helped me get tickets to the Milan-Inter game. I haven't made good friends with any girls so much, it seems. Jordan Reagan connected me with a friend named Annie from North Dakota who's really cool (and now famous thanks to my previous post). There were two chill Hungarian girls from my crash course, Rita and Katica, that I usually sat next to and caught lunch with. There was a big group of Spanish girls that I toured the city with, but unfortunately I haven't seen them much lately. In general, you just meet a lot of people and can chill out with anybody and it don't matter. There's a good amount of just chilling, talking, and sharing culture. A lot of late-night hangouts-turned-parties with drunken singing/campfire-style guitar.

Church
I found a small but awesome fellowship called the International Church of Milan. The pastor is a personable, solid, Bible-teaching, self-professed redneck who loves God. Everybody at the church is very friendly and speaks English, the two most important requirements. I even have the opportunity to play piano for them some Sundays. The Young Adults leader, Adam, is really cool and goes out of his way to get to each member personally.

Work
When I wasn't in my surprisingly ineffective Italian crash-course, I spent time look for and later training for work. Now I have a really sweet job teaching English for Berlitz Language Center right next to the Duomo. I just finished training, and start working next week, hopefully as much as 20 hours a week. I think most of my students will be businessmen and other professionals looking to refine their English. I now give you permission to start laughing.

School
Oh, yeah, that's why I'm here. Bocconi as a campus is butt-ugly, not to mention a 30 minute tram ride away from my dorm. The Italian student culture seems a little distant and self-contained - the international students definitely travel in packs. Some have told me that Bocconi is considered the Wharton of continental Europe, and it definitely has career services that would compare with Wharton's. However, the rest of the administration is not very user friendly. Regular students all take the same courses at the same time - exchange students don't have a clue about courses until first lecture and cannot drop or add. My courses seem like they are going to be a nice breather from my biology/finance intensive Penn workload:

- International Demography
- Economics of Globalization
- Economics History
- Art and Culture (design section)

Travel
Between school, work, church, and friends, I have a lot going on in Milan. Because of this and money constraints, I might not be able to do as ambitious weekend travel as I once dreamed. This is probably a good thing (see my first post). However, there are a few things outside Milan that I don't want to miss! (hopefully my boss understands)

October 4-6 Oktoberfest!
October 10-12 Trip to Tuscany (Florence, Siena, Pisa)
October 16-19 Surfing trip to Iberia (Barcelona, Northern Spain, Lisbon)
October 26 Chargers vs. Saints in London!
December 5-8 Skiing in the Dolomites

These are activities that I have dates for. I also really want to make it Rome and Venice sometime during the semester. After school gets out, I want to make a quick trip to Monaco and hopefully ski in the French Alps. Then I plan on backpacking for a couple weeks through Switzerland. Hopefully I'll find a way to make all this work.

I love...
aperitivo!
il calcio (the real football, Rossoneri!)
just chilling around Duomo
non-American girls
Italian fashion
that cafe just off the tram-stop
my dorm/room
my job (I get paid to talk)

I could do without...
Nutella! (gosh, it's everywhere here)
Italian bureaucracy
blue-shirt transport officers
PNC (yeah, I know, they're in America, but they deserve to die)
Italian crash course
exchange rate
foreign transaction surcharges

I miss...
California burritos (Rico's, Roberto's, Kotija Jr., etc.)
In-N-Out
PEANUT BUTTER!!! (see my second post)
American girls
American football (GO CHARGERS!!!)
surfing
San Diego sunsets
food carts
Wawa, Qdoba, Greek Lady, etc.
Mexican beer (Sol, Negra Modelo)
Reese's
the guyz house
the girls house
Penn Students for Christ
WPS, swing dancing
Glee Club, singing
piano/guitar
Penn
you

**********

I think that covers most of the essentials. Hopefully many exciting, funny stories to follow! Let me know if there's anything else you want to know about. God bless!

Colpito dal fulmine

Even though I can barely speak it - and even have trouble understanding at times - I am infatuated with the Italian language. Often when people laud this work of art, they refer to its sound. And to be sure, it is music to the ears of an English-speaker imprisoned by the curt, monosyllabic gasps he has been taught to produce and appreciate. I think that somewhere on a scale from angel music to German, the English language leans to the wrong extreme.

However, Italian's beauty is not limited to the tonal ecstasy that has chilled opera houses for centuries, found its way into the language of our modern music, and sent lovers into serenade - singing Andrea Bocelli's "Con Te Partiro" (which beloveds play on repeat) by default.

It is in the grammar. There is something romantic (*snickers*, I swear, last bad pun!) about conjugation -- action and expression directed to the audience, personalized, linguistically reverent. And there is a sensuality to male and female voices dancing on the page as two become one in writing.

It is in the structure. Avoiding much of the narcissism of English, it contently submits to the real, external nature of pleasure. An American speaks like a god and claims "I (do not) like/love" -- that he does or doesn't give his approval to something. An Italian speaks like a creature and claims "mi piace/incanta" -- that something gives him pleasure, enchantment.

It is in the idioms. Now, you could fairly call me out on this and charge my claim as presumptive. To be sure, I barely know the language -- let alone enough idioms to justly compare -- however, one of them in particular has struck me (*more snickers!*, ok I lied).

...colpito dal fulmine...

Literally, it means "struck by lightning", but its equivalent idiom in English would be "love at first sight". The Italian version is vastly superior. The English version may speak sufficiently to what happens to somebody, but it does not even try to describe by metaphor in a few words what one feels. Spoken from a person who has never been struck by lightning.

**********

The sun never came out this morning. And given that I had left the blinds of my east-facing window open, I am surprised that I did not notice that nature's alarm had failed me. Slowly but surely, however, nature's back-up seeped in through the screen door like elevator music. Though such melody was unexpected, I was neither awoken nor entranced. However, the distant, distorted, yet unmistakable beat of a bass drum soon followed, reminding me that I was not there for smooth jazz. The beat defined itself, pulsating into a rhythm that I could feel more than hear. Somewhere in time the crescendo went from curiosity to compulsion, so I gazed into the chamber, tore through the double doors, and took my seat in the balcony. The air erupted into waves of fury that bolted across the amphitheater with a sound so loud that it was blinding. Smooth jazz had given way to orchestral majesty as strings echoed, winds resonated, and brass waited for cue. And there was the conductor - so small, so far away, yet so present, so in control as he maintained perfect organization of mayhem, resolutely waving that invisible rod, delighting in every sforzando. And there were the cymbals - fearsome weapons of war ready to crack the air in two whenever fortissimo wasn't enough. These terrors could terrorize the terror inside of me, and how I loved them. I feasted on every gunshot, counting the rounds off as best I could and eventually realizing my folly - whoever tried to count the notes of a symphony?

As the musical maelstrom continued, I feared for my life. I thanked God for the shelter of the balcony as His chamber raged in front of me. Yet, I could not believe the sensation my soul was experiencing. The realization that I hated my shelter. I hated seeing fear without feeling fear. I hated hearing terror without tasting terror. I was a spectator of the fury, but I wanted to be the target! I wanted to run out into the arena and stick my head right in between the descending blow of the cymbals. As a pouring rain irrigated the spectacular garden of sound, I wanted to be stuck in the middle of it, dripping wet, completely exposed with nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. I wanted to feel the hairs on my neck stand on end as the rubber in my shoes froze to the earth. I wanted my heart to fall at the speed of light into my stomach because of knowing exactly what was about to happen to me at time equals zero. And then I wanted it to shoot up into my throat as sparks fly in front my eyes and I get struck by lightning.

Questa mattina - per la prima volta - volevo essere colpito dal fulmine.

North Dakota

So I met this girl named Annie today. Two exchanges of particular note, the first being very paraphrased, and the second being very not:

**********

ANNIE -- Really? Is that what Wharton students are generally like?

ANDREW -- Yep...pretty much.

ANNIE -- Gosh, I find that hard to believe, because all the Wharton students I've met are not like that at all.

ANDREW -- Really? How many Wharton students have you met?

ANNIE -- Well, I guess three.

ANDREW -- Who are they?

ANNIE -- Let's see... well you, Jordan Regan, and... is it... Josh Veit?

**********

Annie: well I will cook and you will show up and we'll pinky promise then...?

haha

9:32 PM me: A, B, and C, done!

Annie: NICE

I'm stoked

you have class tomorrow?

9:33 PM me: no, i do not

9:34 PM Annie: what will you do all day?

oh

your interview?

I'm looking at the photo rightnow

you're sooo good looking

fyi

9:35 PM oh shit

sorry

omg

wrong windo

9:36 PM oh my gosh

you probably thought i was crazy

oh my gosh

oh my gosh

9:37 PM i am so embarrassed

oh my gosh

you're both named Andrew

oh my gosh

I am soooooo embarrassed

SORRY!

9:39 PM me: LOL!

what?!

there's another andrew in your life?

Annie: haha

yes

me: who's better looking that ME?!

Annie: and I am talking to both of you in google chat

haha

!!!!

I'm sorry!

me: lol

Annie: you prob thought i was SUCH A creep

9:40 PM me: gosh, that made my day

Annie: looking a good looking photo of you?

haha

thanks

I am mortified

Dove posso trovare del burro di...

My mind goes blank. How is this happening? My friend just gave me the bloody word, and I have already forgotten it. I seem to recall a mixture of consonants, even some vowel sounds in random order, but nothing even closely resembling anything of linguistic function. I try to garble out of my mouth a random permutation and immediately regret the attempt. The employee and I stand there, face-to-face, communicating with blank expressions like two desperados realizing they just brought air horns to a gunfight.

Frustrated beyond measure, I attempt to communicate using the universal art of sign language, motioning with my fingers, outlining the minuscule object in question. The employee must think I am squeezing the udders of a cow, because he gives a little chuckle, motioning me toward the milk section. With both sides defeated, I drop the case (or he just left, I don't know).

Come on, it's peanut butter!

I guess I should have asked for the international food section. La sezione di cibo internazionale. After all, I knew how to say that. It's practically English.

**********

Those who know me know that language is not my strong suit. It is a wonder that English has survived Andrew Trees for as long as it has (some friends of mine claim it hasn't). Even so, hardly content with butchering one language to a pulp, I now continue my path of destruction into the pure-hearted romance languages; virgin with their crisp texture, melodic pacing, and exact pronunciation.

I have taken just enough Spanish in my life (four years high school, a semester in university) where it is in my head to some degree. Then I took a semester of Italian, which is pretty much Spanish with different spelling, different (often opposite) grammar, and pretty much different everything. Two years and no practice later, here I am. I'd say I can speak one language well: 3/4 English and 1/4 Spantalian.

To make matters worse, since I am in an international economics school, I have made friends from all over the world (a blessing, in itself). I hear English in my head, Spanish on the tram, Italian in class, and Brazilian (which for some reason they call Portuguese) at lunch. Whenever I want to say anything, my mouth feels like a trash compactor, loaded to erupt into my victim's ears its putrid concoction of sounds that dogs cannot hear. I cover my mouth in shame, open it for the prescribed dose, and wince as my patient takes the medicine. Then we both cry.

Not that I am satisfied or proud of this in any manner. Yesterday was the straw that broke the camel's back of frustration for me. I hung my head low as I returned via tram from the supermarket to my dorm, passing graffiti-covered walls on the outskirts of town, far from the inoculation of American or English-speaking influence. Those walls--I had failed them.

I feel like showing up to a foreign country without bringing the language with you is sort of like showing up to a sandlot game without bringing a glove. Sure, people will smile and be polite. You might be able to take a few fastballs with your bare hands. Maybe someone can even spot you their old beat-up little-league glove for a while. However, you just don't want to be that guy. It sucks. For everyone.

**********

My thoughts shamefully drift toward my largely unopened Italian immersion course materials in my dorm. I reluctantly make my way for the colossal tower of Nutella (why do they love this stuff so much?!) for discount in the center of the supermarket.

After all, I'm mute, not blind!

My First Post

St. Augustine mentioned that the world is a book, and that those who do not travel visit only one page. That is easy for him to say. He never had to deal with passports, travel visas, permits of stay, and debit card expiration dates. He did not need proof of residence, finance, and health insurance. Gold was the standard everywhere he went, and he didn't need to empty his pockets when going through port security. His known world was not much larger than a country.

St. Augustine and I are a kindred spirit with a common compulsion. We are also both guilty of a common arrogance--a narcissistic perspective that travel should be not only enjoyed, but expected, even easy. He preached surrounded by serfdom, slavery, and social conventions that he could not taste. So sit I here today, thousands of miles from home, zero from expectations, and far from done. I have been given an Augustinian highway as I callously whine because of the speed bumps. And I might even be missing the scenery.

My original goal was to visit 50 countries before my adult life begins (which I defined liberally by full-time job and/or marriage). 50 pages. Roughly a quarter of the book St. Augustine describes. I have summer, winter breaks, and long weekends; close-to-nothing transportation costs; and friends living in all six continents to help me out. I figured I could easily accomplish my goal, hopping from country to country, never spending more than three days in any one place. After all, a place is nothing more than a dot on a map, a passport stamp, a page.

How flawed my vision was. St. Augustine would have been appalled. This is not a book worth skim-reading or crash-studying with Cliff Notes. Places are not points to connect, but rather spaces to be filled. Yes, they are pages in a book, but they are also volumes in a collection, collections in a library, and libraries in a system. Thus a man may read more bound for a lifetime to his city-state than a merchant that has traveled the seven seas.

So here I am in Milan without a euro in pocket, yet blessed beyond measure. I forget this for a minute and return to my various weekend fantasies -- Venice, Rome, Florence, London, Brussels, Barcelona, Monte Carlo, Athens, Prague, Munich, Zurich -- thinking this would put me at twenty. And here I am in Milan.

I have never been a good reader. I have never been given a better opportunity to learn than right here, right now.