IK HOU VAN U KELLY!
So proud and blessings to my new 21yearold- Thank you for being one of my best friends, who proves time and time again no matter the distance we’ll always be close.
Such a weird thing when someone from another part of my life ( a completely different place) comes and gets the chance to see how I live here. I love my parents to death and saying goodbye to them was probably one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.. especially telling them I wouldn’t be coming home on the date they were expecting.
But I thank them every single day for helping me achieve my dreams and encouraging me through a strong support system. Just want you both to know I love you.
I think it would be relentless to make you sit and read through the itinerary of the activities and places I visited during my stay in Italy. After all, how am I supposed to tackle a sixteen day trip within a word count you would want to read? Let’s start with the Amalfi Coast.
Insight? Sentience? Let’s go with that and I will try and explain the only way I know how.
There are plenty of moments I want to catch my breath and take it all in, especially when I reach a place I never in my dreams thought I would be able to see someday. But as I touched the wet railing serving as the barrier between me and the Mediterranean, I knew there was a certain distinctiveness about this place.
With the iron fence as the only shield between me and the edge, I saw the scenary as being similar to the painting the Fall of Icarus. A mix of forest trees and craggy cliffs surrounding the bay with a vast expanse of royal blue coloring the depths and a dark turquoise lining the shores. The dimmed brown cliffs keep the pastel colored houses safe from harm, as a pathway of stone steps similar to the fine points of a sandcastle are carved into the sides descending down into the foamy waves. It is a complete tease. Similar to Icarus, all you want to do is disobey, forget the rules of gravity and float over the ocean, only to plunge head-first into the water below. Even if I know the consequences wouldn’t be in my favor. These are the kind of cliffs were starting from the top, the eyes trace it down and you can’t help but feel a tingle run through your spine at the height of it all.
Lemons as yellow as daffodils hang in bunches from the trees and scatter the ground. Lilac’s peek through fence posts and dangle the gates and terraces surrounding the streets, sending a sweet smell with a quick breath of air.
Rocks underneath my toes are a painful reminder of the Cape Cod coastline by the Sagamore bridge. But I just can’t come here and not jump in because the waves are just that irresistible. It’s a different kid of ocean from the Atlantic, still numb to the touch but such an exotic color that Benjamin Moore would have a hard time recreating in his palette. I dunk in as soon as possible, attempting to ignore the cold sensation pulsing through my body warning me to run back. If it’s possible I find the jade sea to be even more captivating as it dazzles the sun against the surface.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY EMILY! To one of the best people to enter my life and has made it all the better. A day we thought would never come. I’ll come be a ski bum with you at some point in Burlington! But until then I am sending all of my love to you!
Although morning is barely breaking in Massachusetts, a few million miles away in Rome I am taking part in the Easter tradition the best way I can. What better than to be in the holiest city in the world? Dressed in a simple sun dress, I tugged on my wrinkled skirt to cover the few inches of skin and dawned a dark sweater to hide my shoulders, secretly hoping it would suffice as appropriate for the Palm Sunday mass.
While on the walk to the Vatican I began reflecting on the moment before me. Here I am in the middle of Rome and about to attend a mass in the middle of the Vatican to be presided by Pope Benedict himself. (Bennie as Cait liked to call him) It’s strange to think in a matter of minutes I would enter a destination which serves as a symbol to one of the longest standing traditions in human history. A place where Catholics and tourists alike flock to every season allured by the promise of possibly finding answers within St. Peters Basilica, to become enthralled by Michelangelo’s ceiling and maybe find comfort in the community of people from all over the world entering the same journey.
Rounding the corner and descending a few steps, the sidewalk opened up to a concrete walkway with light posts aligning both sides of the street with the striking dome highlighted at the end. Though it was a pale gray morning, the monstrous columns wrapping around the sides designed to look like open arms to welcome individuals stood stark against the blurred sky, giving the spectator an instant feeling of reverence and awe upon entering. Basking in the moment, the statues decorating the columns stand strong after so many years and the shadow of an obelisk remains in the center to serve as a sign of power, but adorned with a cross on top to serve as a reminder of a true authority. As the crowds grew, programs in the Italian language were passed around and through context clues and Catholic school knowledge, the first and second readings, as well as the gospel are deciphered with the prediction it was going to be a long mass.
Streams of nuns, priests, and bishops alike parade down the makeshift aisles within the crowds raising palm branches in their hands while continuing to sing in tune along with the choir. In an almost surreal moment I realize I am welcoming the Pope to the center of the Vatican grounds. As the group of religious people continue to sway in a circle around the obelisk, Benedict enters from St. Peters Basilica assisted by a few individuals, but eventually left to stand alone on the car as they bring him to the center. Almost serene and reserved, he saves a few hand waves for after the blessing. His face is old, and the individual can see the years from his sagging skin hidden underneath the robes, but if he is suffering it is unlikely he will show it today. I kid you not when I say this though, when he reached the stage the clouds began to break and sent some sun rays over the ceremony. The kind of light which streams through the clouds with nicknames similar to a divine light. My friends and I couldn’t help but look knowingly at the clouds, laughing at the irony of it as somewhat of an expectation that was bound to happen.
Through a litany of hymns and readings the mass ended with communion and special message from the Pope. He may have entered the mass seemingly solemn, but he left with an aura of prestige and humbleness as he acknowledged the crowd with a few waves.
I am a small speck in this place of many, but I keep picturing me with my own family and the amazement they would be in if they were standing next to me. I think of them too, for helping me get to this point where I am able to see it. Yet, while everyone within the Vatican that day may not wholeheartedly believe in the Catholic faith, we were all there together taking part in something so intimate it left us feeling a little bit of bliss in a different kind of household.
But it was bound to happen at some point… I’ll entertain by copying some of my friends photos until I can get mine developed. But for those that are close to me already know, I love using disposable cameras just as much! No shame in keeping a disposable project going for a little while.
W. Somerset Maugham, The Razor’s Edge
just finished it. great book.
The sun glistens its rays on the bus window as I lean my head against the glass wall. It was late in the afternoon, and the day trip to Germany was starting to wind down. Beginning the day in Aachen, the group hit the ground running touring the ancient Cathedral home to Charlemagne and are now back on the road to visit our final stop.
With a twist, the wide bus makes a sharp turn on the narrow roads revealing a different scene; a small rustic village complete with wooden homes and bridges.The small town of Monschau is one of the few remaining areas of the Aachen district said to be untouched for the past three hundred years. The bus slowly snakes its way down the side of the mountain and parks itself at the base of the entrance. The rush of the river floods the background noise softening the chatter of the large group. With the clack of my boots on the stone pathways, I ran my fingers along the stoney walls between the sidewalk and river. Leaning over the edge, I could see little currents forming small ripples around rocks jutting out of the water.
Approaching the entrance, German flags and the seal of Monschau wave from their poles as a brisk breeze floats through the outdated streets. Half timbered houses contrasting with the bright white paint gives the city an almost enchanting appeal as if the group is being transported into a postcard scene.
Walking down the pathways, I began to see the neighborhood from the perspective of the winter season as the picturesque mountain town dotted with houses buried in snow and lights glowing from the small windows. Garland hangs from an open window sill and thoughts of Christmas come to mind as I imagine snow collecting in soft patches on the ground. Chimneys billowing smoke from warm fires cloud the sky, and the chime of church bells and soft carols chime softly throughout the night.
The sweet smell of taffy from the candy shops, coffee brewing among little cafes, and pleasant guten tag from the locals sends a warm welcoming through my body. Rows of shops line the streets displaying little trinkets and toy sets, as little children crowd to watch the ice cream seller scoop decadent raspberry vanilla cream onto crunchy waffle cones. Grabbing a cone, I value each satisfying taste of the dessert before it becomes a sticky mess all over my fingers. Before I leave to catch a bus to bring me back to reality, I grab a small postcard as memento of this beguiling place.
Ah, prom. The name itself can make anyone give a faint sigh by reminiscing their experience, or it could quickly go in the opposite direction with pouts of dissatisfaction alluding to the hype of the event. Regardless of emotions attached to the word, prom still remains the pinnacle of every teenage girl’s fantasy. It’s really all the same, every girl pictures themselves entering the room dressed to the nines and holding on to that special someone ready for an evening of bliss likening to a John Hughes movie.
Well, not to burst the dream bubble, but prom nights are hardly anything like the fantasy teenage flicks in theaters. Throw in a bit of drama between dates, the stretch hummer limo becomes a senior citizen transport van, and the after party is anything but glorious and you’ve got yourself a good ol’ traditional evening. Don’t get me wrong, I loved prom, (all five) but I guess any individual can see I am just very realistic looking back on it all.
During high school the hunt for a dress becomes the lunch table talk for two months, possible arm candy for the night is debated back in December, and who will be in charge of throwing the legendary after party is chosen with high respect. Boys began asking the girls as their dates as if they were being featured on a reality show on MTV. Dressing up in monkey suits, decorating individual cupcakes with the words “Will you go to prom with me,” and tossing a softball blazoning the awkward question were all tactics used by my grade. (Good job boys)
Picking the flashiest wheels to roll up in, hastily running to make pre-prom photos and ending the night with a cheesy slow dance to “Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing” can accurately sum up anyones experience the past ten years. Fortunately, I made it through each event with a few simple (but beautiful) dresses, fun dates and a (somewhat early) party night to begin catching for softball practice the next day. To sum it all up, I wouldn’t change a thing. Those experiences define my idea of prom to this day. So when a few our of Belgian friends asked if we would like to join the Criminology Prom, of course we said yes.
In spite of last years dead turnout, the Crimen faculty was hoping to create the perfect balance of a fun and stylish evening. Of course, the usual group of three Americans came together to relive our prom dreams. Fashioned in put -together outfits, we walked to the pre-party under the lights of the Central Library. Teetering on heels among ankle breaking cobble stones, the group gathered in a wine cellar promising free bubbly for an hour. With three glasses in our hands (pinky fingers were up of course) our group attempted to look classy while indulging in the prosciutto wrapped fruit and honey glazed brie with pine nuts. Of course all the while we began taking awkward prom photos; setting ourselves in the poses with hands on the hips of our fake dates.
Ironically, it was like the three of us were transported right back into senior year of high school. The event was held in a Hotel ball room complete with a bar and DJ spinning through a top forty playlist. There was even the crazy kid from class, roaming through the dance floor stamping people like a librarian with an imprint of the thumb’s up sign from Facebook.
Although I wasn’t wearing the perfect dress, rolling up in the coolest ride or cheering with the famous “American red cups” (they’re considered to be very cool in Europe) I had a fantastic time sharing in my “adult” prom with new friends. It also didn’t hurt that I ended up with a perfect date to end the evening.
Towards the end of the game the players came together to face the fans and join them in some cheers. They’re chanting the lyrics to a song called “Waar is da feestje? - Hier is da feestje!”
Direct translation: Where is the party.. yup, it’s here!
Cait: “Waat is da geisha?!”
I can officially say I’ve been to a European football match! My friends and I attended the last season game for the local Belgian team Oud-Heverlee Leuven (OHL) and it was a blast! I’ve seen crazy, (I am a sox fan after all) but it’s so amazing to see the passion the crowd has for this team. Although the team itself does not hold the best record this season, each of the players are very talented and they keep the fans coming back to watch each game. Lucky for us we were able to sneak into the prime seats with our Belgian friends and they showed us a thing or too about cheering. Half the cheers were in Dutch, but some of the ones in English we were able to figure out…. for the most part anyways.
The game ended with OHL winning with a score of 3-1, but I will let the videos sum up our experience.
LU student. boston. beach breaks. passion for music and to explore. inspire me.
