Back in San Diego.

I wake up in my parent's house in San Diego this morning and honestly wonder for a second if the last ten weeks actually happened. I have said it before, but it is something worth repeating. It feels like I have lived in Italy forever, but now that I am back it feels like it was just yesterday that I left this house. I look out my window this morning and see trees instead of terracotta rooftops and wake up to the garbage truck instead of the bells of the Duomo. I wonder what I am going to do today.

I stumble over to my suitcase that I am consciously forgetting to unpack. A bottle of Chianti smuggled through customs, a Fiorentina Soccer Team scarf and a Venetian Carnivale mask are among the things I find. But it's a piece of folded yellow paper from the debris that I am most interested in. I begin to write an email. When I am done, I translate it to English with a language translator just for fun to see how it sounds. This is how it comes out:

"Good day David! How it is?

I call myself Remy. I returned at San Diego yesterday morning from Florence. I studied and I lived in Florence for ten weeks. I have traveling a lot when it lived in Florence. When I visited billy Goats I met your Wise friend. He said you have an Italian restaurant to San Francisco. I live at San Diego but this the summer I will move to San Francisco for school. All Italian things pleases me and I would like worker like a waiter to your restaurant. I have working like a waiter to San Diego for two first years I went to Florence. I studied Italian Wine and Italian kitchen to Florence. I think there better Italy country of the world and Italian and an attractive tongue. I would like to speak Italian with you and to work your restaurant. Thanks one thousand for you time. I will visit San Francisco 23 of May, we are able we met for a work interview? Thanks one thousand David! I am very fortunate because I met with your Wise friend to billy Goats. Goodbye.

To please,

Remington Cox "

I hope it reads more elegant than this in Italian, but the fact that it translated "Your friend Savio in Capri" to "your Wise friend to billy Goats" gives me hope that perhaps the translator wasn't so reliable.

When I visited Capri, Kortney was stopped by someone selling perfume on the streets. His name was Savio. She started talking to him and the topic of his friend who owns an Italian restaurant in San Francisco came up.

Score.

When she called me over, I told Savio I was moving to San Francisco for school this summer and really wanted to work at an Italian restaurant so I could continue speaking Italian. On the aforementioned yellow piece of folded paper, Savio wrote the name of his friend, his restaurant and his email and told me to send him a message. I hope I can work with Savio's wise billy goat friend in San Francisco this year.

I miss Italy so much already. I would be ridiculous though if I complained about having to come back to San Diego. If there is one thing I learned from this trip, it's that you can have grand adventures and learn new things wherever you are in the world and life is what you make it. This, and San Diego isn't such a bad place. I am incredibly lucky to be here. But even if I didn't have the misfortune to come back to such an amazing place, I have realized more than ever that life is all about the way you walk out your front door everyday. You can be just as fascinated stuck in a deserted train station at midnight with no train in sight as you can standing in front of Michelangelo's larger than life David for the first time. At all times for me now simply living is enough. Even though I left Italy this insatiable appetite to enjoy life to it's fullest that I found hasn't. Every day can't come soon enough.

Now if you'll excuse me, there is a piano downstairs that has missed me terribly. I will even brave the cat dander from the two darling felines that I share this house with to have this reunion. There are worse things than itching and sneezing.

Last week in Italy.

Today is Wednesday the 21st. I am sitting in Piazzale Santa Croce. The
first game of soccer (or calcio) was played here, where a young artist by
the name of Michelangelo also used to play soccer. Last Thursday a volcano erupted in Iceland sending ash and debris into the
air grounding planes all throughout Europe. A funny coincidence that
I was walking around the ruins of Pompeii the day after. I go back
to the States on Saturday. I am secretly hoping for another Icelandic
volcano eruption.

I suppose if you are still reading this you haven't grown tired
of my overly decadent feelings towards this country. So I suppose I
won't stop now.

The realization that in less than a week I won't be here anymore has
finally set in. I'm not ready to go back yet though. I feel like I
have seen so much and done so much, but I haven't done anything.
There is so much to see and experience here, I can hardly stand how
overwhelmed I am by it all. But in a strange way I am a little
excited to come back to San Diego so I can have time to register and
process all these things that I have seen. I want it to become real.
It doesn't feel real here. It's impossible for it to, because the
things that I think are so incredible and unbelievable are simply
everyday occurrences to the rest of Italy. Waking up to the Duomo
outside my window in the morning. Couch Surfing with strangers across
the country. Being able to speak Italian with anyone on the street.
This is not real life. But it is to the people who live here. And
that makes it even more surreal. I don't know how you are supposed to
stay grounded in a country like Italy. I still don't feel like I have
lived here for two and a half months. I feel like I have been renting
out somebody's life, someone who gets to do extraordinary things every
day. I don't want to turn in this body. I want to live in it
forever. I guess at the end of all the pontificating I am just
overjoyed by how lucky I am to have gotten to do this. I don't know
what I did to deserve it. I have a ton of "Thank You" letters to
write.

***

I think everyone should take an overnight train in Europe sometime in
their life. There's nothing quite like sketchy Neapolitans peeking
into your car every 15 minutes looking for an opportunity to steal to
give you a good nights sleep. So I took the luxurious and notorious
night train from Florence to Sicily for 14 hours last Thursday. On
Friday morning I arrived in Palermo to a cheery Sicilian named Enzo in
the train station. I recognized him from his profile picture. As you
could have guessed, this is another Couch Surfing story.

Enzo missed the first part of his work to come pick me up from the
train station. We went back to his house where I dropped off my
trusty back pack and was given a delicious breakfast. Within the
first hour of meeting me, Enzo gave me his cell phone number so I
could call him if I had any problems while he was at work. I told him
I didn't have one. Without hesitation, he pulled out a cell phone,
handed it to me and told me to call him on his work number. And he
was off.

I wandered around Palermo for the day and everything I had heard about
it was true. It was beautiful and kind of seedy. It really did feel
like a different country.

I had also heard about how much nicer the people were in southern
Italy. I was a bit skeptical, because all the people I had met in the
north were already too kind to exist. But then I met Enzo.

Throughout the weekend Enzo made it his sole purpose to make sure I
had the time of my life in Sicily. He gave me a personal tour of the
city showing me the interesting things about Palermo, such as the
first page of the Qur’an on a Christian Church. Palermo does feel
like a different country because it practically is. They say there is
more Arabic, Norman, French and Spanish blood in Sicilian veins than
Italian blood. You can see it in the architecture and layout of the
city. The history of Palermo is so muddled with different occupation
and conquerors of the city it
seemed not to have an identity of it's own, but just a little of
everyone else’s. Or at least that's how I felt about it. ,

Enzo refused to let me pay or buy anything when we would go out to eat
or make food at his house. I would offer so much it even reached a
point of him and his friends getting angry with me. I quickly realized
the cultural difference and tried to explain that I am not offering
the money because I am not grateful, in fact it was quite the opposite.
I told him in the States it is a way of showing our appreciation
towards those who take good care of us. He understood but still
insisted that it wasn't necessary. He said because he knew when he
would Couch Surf, he would receive the same treatment. And it's true.
I have heard so many experienced Couch Surfers talk about how it's
not about giving and taking, it's just about sharing. Sharing the
things you have, a part of your culture and your time with complete
strangers. Nobody better embodied this philosophy than Enzo. I am
really excited to share when I get back to California.

I think my favorite thing we did was visited the Capuchin Catacombs of
Palermo. We walked through aisles of embalmed bodies all the way back
to the 16th Century. To add to the creepiness, all the Sicilians were
left in their death clothes. They weren’t just bones, they were propped up
bodies in suits and dresses as if waiting to go out in their Sunday
best. You could tell the difference from the rich ones and the poor
ones too because the poor bodies were adorned with minimal clothing. Some
of the bodies still had skin and hair, but it was pulled tight giving
them the appearance that they had emotion on their faces and were
ready to recount to me the story of their death. But for the few
hours we were down there I didn't see a single body move.

I had told Enzo that the Grandma of my Grandma was born in Sicily.
When I told him our family last name, he said it was a very old last
name and had some history in Sicily. I couldn't help but wonder as I
wandered around the musty catacombs if I was distantly related to one
of the lifeless bodies adorning the crypt walls, like lifeless
photographs hung on the walls of my grandmas house.

My last day in Sicily was one of the best. Mind you I only had three,
but this is beyond the point. Before I had come, Enzo asked me if
there was something particular I wanted to do while I visited Sicily.
I told him I was content to do whatever he liked doing and I was
interested in seeing what real life in Sicily was like. But I also
mentioned that I heard about the beautiful beaches in Sicily and how
much I loved to swim. So never failing to come through, Enzo, his
friends and I piled into a car Sunday morning and drove to Monterosso.
Driving to the beach Enzo and his companions were making fun of me
for putting on a seat belt. I just smiled. Ziggy Stardust was in and
everyone in the car knew the words. Or rather, everyone in the car
thought they knew the words. They would sing along making sounds of
English words vaguely reminiscent of the ones Bowie was singing. I
smiled again.

I think Palermo is the only place in the world where walking up to the
beach you can see piles of trash towering over the seemingly non
existent trash cans and then arrive at the beach and see beautiful clean
transparent turquoise water. It was the greatest clash I have ever
seen. I swam and Enzo said he had never seen someone so happy just to
"have a swim." By this point, the smiling muscles in my face hurt
terribly.

At the train station later that night I told Enzo he has to come visit
me in California. He said "prepare your surfboard Remy, I am coming
to California." As the train slowly started to pull out I wondered if
one day I would be surfing with Enzo in San Diego.

Speaking of seeing people again, Roberto demanded that I come back to
Italy before he dies in 2 years. Not the Roberto that gave me free
gelato and runs the tripe cart by my house. This Roberto lives in
Capri.

As Barbara, Kortney and I are descending a fenced off cliff in Capri
towards some unbelievably gorgeous blue water, we round the corner of
the overgrown
trail and the wall of the mountain that was hidden by
our high vantage point was revealed.

We see a group of people lounging
the rocks by the water near what looks like a beach shack carved into
the face of the cliff. They are staring at us. I tell the girls to
wait and I will go ahead and ask them if it is ok to swim here. As I
get to the bottom of the trail and mountain goat my way over to the
people over the jagged rocks I can see the scene more clearly. The
beach shack is indeed
carved into the face of the mountain and the eyes of the owners of it
have still not left me. As I approach a particularly dark man and ask
if it is ok if we swim here, his face lights up and his teeth provide
a stark contrast with his beach tan body. He throws his hands up and
exclaims, "Yes! It's the last free paradise!"

This is Roberto. He is a physical therapist, but says he works for
two days and lives his life for the other five. The beach shack is an
old concession stand that has been abandoned for thirty-five years.
Roberto and his friends practically live on the beach and just stay
out in the sun all day swimming and enjoying life. You can see it in
his skin. He jokes about how he is fifty and is afraid to die. We
assure him he has more life in him than many college kids we know, but
I can't help but think that skin cancer may be lurking around the
corner. Within ten minutes we are eating "Italian Flag Pasta" made
specially in the cave and fishing out the jelly fish that they share
the beach with. Roberto brings out a net and we begin clear the water
of the jellies so we can swim. Once the scene is set, Roberto takes
his place on a rock above the water in perfect form and exclaims "For
the next Olympic games" and dives gracefully into the beautiful water. I can't
tell which is more blue, the water or the sky above. As we leave to
catch the last ferry back to Sorrento, where we are staying, the girls
and I assure Roberto that we will come back to Capri within two years
to swim with them again.

I have said it before and I have to say it again. There is just
something unexplainable about the way people in Italy live their
lives. They are not as concerned with ephemeral things, and
incredibly aware of the fact that life goes by in the blink of an eye. Maybe it is because the past is present in their everyday lives. They know that they don't have time to waste it. They need to live it to the
fullest and above all enjoy it. You can see it in everything they do; the way they treat each
other and strangers with such emotion. You feel it from the second you
step off the
plane. It's unexplainable yet at all times tangible. It is true, the main reason
to come here is to see all the incredible history and places Italy has
to offer. I would be lying if I said that it wasn't the best part about
Italy. Walking through the ruins of Pompeii, standing in front of
Michelangelo's David, crossing over the line into Vatican City from
Rome, sailing through the Venetian canals and waking up every morning
to the Duomo outside my window. These things are what make Italy so
relevant and such an incredible place to visit. But I think my
favorite part was meeting all the beautiful people who live in this
country. It's going out into the streets and talking to people and
taking a train to go stay with a complete stranger that really made this
trip amazing for me. I have learned as much from the people here as I have about the art and the history. The Italians are different from the art and the history though. They are not something you can satisfyingly read about or see in a movie. You have to come live over here to experience it. I feel so lucky to have come here to see a different way of life from the people who live here. I guess that is it.

Couch Surfing over Spring Break.

Well it's good to know that if I had to I could run off of four hours of sleep a night. But I will admit that it feels good to have gotten a full nights sleep these last few nights after over a weeks worth of sleepless nights. My bed got smashed by drunkies the other night at our Easter Potluck gone wrong, but even that didn't deter my glorious nights of sleep these past few days. I will leave the details up to your imagination.

I just got back from backpacking trip to northern (mostly) Italy over spring break. Over nine days I went to Venice, Verona, Lake Como, Milan and Pisa and Couch Surfed (Couchsurfing.com) with some awesome people. I wrestled a French and Korean while Couch Surfing at Massimo's in Venice, stayed with Sophie, Ruth and Sarah two British girls and an Italian girl in Verona and Couch Surfed with a fashion student named Olivier in Milan. I don't even prefer Couch Surfing because it's free. I would pay triple the price of a hostel to Couch Surf. I love it because you actually get to stay with someone who lives in the city you are visiting and it gives you a real idea of what the place is like. Plus these people are so personable and interesting it makes traveling alone almost more sociable than traveling with friends. Everyone was asking me if I go lonely traveling alone. I told them not really. I actually made some great friends and met some people that I don't think I could have met traveling in a group. The CS community is so tight it's kind of like every Couch Surfer is already friends, even before they meet. I love it and I will never travel another way.

My first stop was Venice. This city was unreal. It was impossible to get my head around the fact that it was an Island. Getting lost walking along the canals and crossing over bridges as gondoliers serenely (and sometimes boisterously) glided bellow me was infinitely enjoyable and never got old. I felt so sly sneaking onto the water buses to sail through the Grand Canal without buying tickets, up until the point I saw an old Italian lady sharing my cunning tactics. Not as cool as I thought. When I wasn't pirating my voyage on water buses I would pound the floating pavement on foot. My Converse have never gotten so much use before. A wrong turn would send me into a labyrinth of seemingly never ending narrow streets. But having no particular plans made getting lost not an inconvenience, but actually the purpose of my day. I called it "Let's get lost and see if I can get back to where I was. If possible, find something cool." Within the first day I realized this was a completely realistic goal. There was always something cool. On every corner. It's like they hid all these great spots in this city just for me to discover. In short, I don't know if there is or ever will be a city quite like Venice. I am not saying it's the best, but it is probably one of the most unique cities in the world.

And it gets better. Oh yeah. Remember the wrestling bit? Here it comes...

Now for a second, set aside any preconceived notions you may have about an Italian who invites strangers over to his house to come wrestle. I am aware of how crazy that sounds. It's nothing short of outrageous. I am not denying that it is a potentially dangerous situation to put yourself in, and I'm not just referring to the many wrestling related injuries that could be inflicted on a scrawny 135 pound American. The first thing people always ask me is "why do these people have strangers come over to their house to stay for free?" There has got to be an ulterior motive. It just doesn't make sense to invite a stranger to come stay with you for no outcome. And then when people hear the guy has wrestling matches at his house, they are even more sketched out. And by all means this is smart thinking. Staying with strangers you meet on the internet is probably not a high percentage move, let alone ones that wrestle. But I feel like the skepticism of Couch Surfing can only be overcome when you try it. It's indescribable, but the only thing hosts care about is cultural exchange with people from around the world. And the people who would try to use Couch Surfing for sinister purposes would have a difficult time overcoming the reference based system and relatively safe and watchful network on the website. I think it really is a brilliant way to see the world. I figured sometimes you have to do crazy things if you really want to get the most out of life. Or just get destroyed in the Venetian Wrestling Ring.

So when I arrived at Massimo's house in Venice the wrestling training began. He taught me moves and techniques that I would later use on my French and Korean opponents. As you could have guessed, I was a less than brilliant wrestler. It probably didn't help that Julien and Jihoon were about 35 pounds heavier than I was, but still. My nickname in the wrestling ring soon became that of my Italian cartoon doppelganger "Dolce Remì," rendering me a non-formidable opponent. Appointed by Massimo, this gives you a bit of an idea of who I was staying with. Massimo is brilliantly uncensored and had strong opinions, which fit perfectly with his wrestler persona. He is a psychological security guard at the international airport in Venice, which means he looks for people who appear nervous and questions them at the airport. I can imagine they only get more nervous when they see Massimo walking towards them.

In 5 years he has hosted over 560 people. His stories of his wrestling matches are incredible. Anyone skeptical can see within five minutes of meeting him that there's no sketchy business here, he just loves teaching people the art of wrestling. No homoerotic or creepy undertones. He is just passionate about wrestling. And it's contagious to be around people who are so into something. I haven't caught wrestling fever, but it is really refreshing to be around people so enthusiastic. Julien cooked us a great dinner and Massimo's house and wrestling matches in Venice are something I won't soon forget.

Then I arrived in Verona. I walked out of the train station and saw a bus that was leaving. Continuing with my technique of taking advantage of the lack of enforcement on public transportation I hoped on, not even sure where it was going. But wherever it was going was where I wanted to be. I like traveling with the mindset of improve as you go. It didn't matter that I had hardly slept the night before and had arrived in a new city alone. What mattered was there was a bus leaving and I could get on it. So I did.

I had in my pocket the address of a girl scribbled on a tiny piece of paper who had written to me the night before saying that I could come stay with her. That was the goal for the day. So when I saw the Roman Colosseum in Verona out the window of the bus I got off. A good starting point. They say "All roads lead to Rome." Now all I needed to do was find the road to this girls house.

After a couple hours of wondering around, asking for directions from people every once in a while, I arrived at the house. When I got there Sarah, the girl who would be hosting me from Couch Surfing, wasn't even home. I was greeted and welcomed into the house by Ruth and Sophie, her two roommates studying in Verona from Britain. It's amazing how you can arrive at a new house in a city halfway across the world from you with people you have never met before and feel like you are at home. When Sarah arrived the feeling only grew. These girls were amazing. The next day Sarah went to Bologna to see a Musical and simply left me the keys to her house and her bike. Like we had been friends for a long time and not just met the night before. I don't think you can find the type of trust anywhere else in the world between strangers that you find in The Couch Surfing Community. It's invigorating. It restores your faith in humanity. There are good people in the world.

So I spent the day riding my bike (Sorry, Sarah's bike) around Verona marveling at the Roman ruins, beautiful Piazza's and Castle walls throughout the city. I couldn't help but wonder if the fate of the two lovers from Verona could have been changed had Romeo borrowed Sarah's bike and made up for lost time.

We had a big dinner at Sophie and Ruth's house that night with their fellow students in Verona. The majority resided in the hands of British girls, but there was also an Irishman there and two people from Arizona. They made delicious Veggie Lasagna and I couldn't believe how lucky I was to be staying with these people. I wish I could have stayed longer, Sarah even demanded that I return on Friday for dinner. But as I once heard an Italian traveler say "The road always wins."

I suppose I have my roommate Chase to thank for telling me I had to go to Lake Como, and before that my friend Anna. I am really thankful for these friends of mine were so persistent. Sailing through the Lake on a deserted Boat (well, add one German couple) was one of the high points of the trip. For some reason the weather would clear up right as I arrived at each of my destinations. It was foggy in Venice, there was Thunder and Lightning in Verona and it was raining in Milan and Bellagio when I arrived. But at each place the sun would come out and bring beautiful days with it before I left. I need to write a thank you letter to someone. When I got on the boat the sun came out and drenched the lake, the tiny villages along the shore and the surrounding snow frosted mountains in a soft golden light.

For two hours I sat on the deck of the boat wondering if anyone knew I was here. There are certain moments when you travel alone when you feel, well, completely alone. Like no one in the world is aware or cares about you and your backpack. And this feeling sneaks up on you at the most interesting moments. It could happen when you are meeting interesting people on the road, or standing in crowded Piazzas, or more appropriately, when you are the only one on a boat sailing through Lake Como (minus the aforementioned German couple. But don't ruin this for me.) And It's not always a sad feeling. It sometimes is really nice to feel cut off from the world, and if it was still flat, to feel like your boat could sail right off the edge into nonexistence and no one would know you were gone. You wonder if all the things you dwell on and care so much about will really have any importance one day. When you are alone on a boat, sometimes it's nice to just float along and see where you end up. Maybe it will be a good trip, maybe it will be a bad one. But the fact is it's happening in this moment and it's actual. That's what is important.

And you can't really ask more or expect more than that.

Then I wake up in Milan. There are Italian children sneaking into the lobby of the hostel stealing the pastries from the free continental breakfast. After they attain their prize they run off to God knows where trying (but failing) to suppress their laughter. Their exercised caution is superfluous though, the larger Italian man sitting at the check in counter is fully engulfed in his cigarette and the facebook page of the scantily clad girl he is looking at. I walk up to the counter and give a slight cough. He wheels around and I ask him if I can use his telephone. He asks who I am calling. I tell him my friend in Milan.

"Pronto"
"Ciao this is Remy from Couch Surfing! Is this Olivier?"
"Yes it is, how's it going?"
"Awesome man thanks! I received your message about possibly meeting up for lunch today, I hope it's alright that I called."
"Oh yeah, it's not a problem at all. Where did you say you were?"
"I am at this hostel, I guess it is pretty easy to get to the Cathedral by bus from here."
"Oh ok. Let's meet under the arch of the Galleria, can I will call you back in about an hour or so."
"Oh, actually I don't have a phone, I am calling from the one at my hostel."
"Ok, how about we meet at 12:30. What day is it today?"
"Friday…I think."
"Oh great that means I can host you tonight."
"Oh wow that would be so great! Thank you so much man! I can't wait to get out of this hostel. Can't wait to have lunch with you."
"Ok, I will see you at 12:30 then."
"Va bene. Ciao!"

Olivier is a fashion student in Milan. I couldn't have asked for a better person to stay with in the fashion capital of Italy, if not the world. He had thread strung about the floor of his room and pictures of a man modeling his last suit. It looked really really sleek. He also played piano. Double win for me. He had a book of Terry Richardson's photography on his shelf. I thumbed through the pages depicting Terry and his many particularly raunchy photos of him, other women and men as Olivier played Claire De Lune on the Piano. An unlikely pairing of art, but certainly interesting. I hope one day to save up enough Euros to buy an original Olivier Greene suit. I am sure he will have them, whether or not I will have the money though is the real question.

The next morning I woke up and headed to Pisa. Saw the Leaning Tower, this time in the light of day. Still amazing and still tilted, though slightly warmer than my last visit. Although I was equally as tired. Could have been my delusional sleep deprived state, but I swear I saw Galileo conducting his gravity experiments from the top of the tower.

It could have been a dream though.

Sunset along the Ponte Vecchio.

Cliff diving in Cinque Terre and missing trains in Pisa.

I am going to write instead of doing homework. Don't think any less of me.

My friends and I missed the last train to Florence from Pisa last night at 11:30. Missing trains is my new favorite thing. I like having a general idea of what you want to do when you travel, but I feel like the best kind of traveling is unplanned and spontaneous. Missing trains is a great way to perpetuate this travel style. Not knowing what is going to happen and just going with it is so exciting. We had some time to kill until the 1:15 bus arrived, so we decided to walk to the Leaning Tower of Pisa in our spare time. The incessant rain hindered us in no way and the fact that I had been soaking wet since 3 that afternoon had no affect on my high spirits. It's almost like blunders in this country aren't inconveniences, but little gifts. If you look at everything that way I promise you will never have bad days.

My friend Mark told his Italian teacher this morning that we went cliff diving between Manarola and Corniglia in Cinque Terre yesterday. After he showed her a video of our friend Barbara landing very close to the rocks she said that was a dangerous place to do it and a ton of people had died at that spot. I guess that would have explained the caution signs we later discovered over the spot on maps.

The water was freezing but it was great. We found a little flat platform about 35 feet above a boat ramp. You had to jump out about 8 feet to land in the water and avoid the rocks that sloped from the platform to the waters edge. It was definitely a sketchy spot, but it was totally worth it. I can't imagine how much fun this place would be on a warm summer day, seeing as it was incredibly fun with rain and cloudy skies in the freezing cold water. We hiked to three of the five towns in the short day trip we took. I am still amazed that all these places actually exist.

I don't know what to say about Rome.

I am sitting on a wall that runs perpendicular with the Ponte Vecchio along the Arno River. I guess I am able to use the WiFi of the surrounding houses here. I hope they don't mind.

The sun is out and I have forgotten what it feels like to be warm. A pretty exaggerated statement, but I am sure you can understand coming from someone who lived in San Diego where the weather is perfect year round. And that is hardly an exaggeration. Don't get me wrong either. I'm not complaining, it's hard to believe that only a few days ago I was having snowball fights in San Gigminano. If the river didn't look so murky, I would be tempted to jump in for a swim. Probably not a high percentage move there. If weather permits though my friends and I will be going cliff diving in Cinque Terre on Sunday. I suppose I can wait a few more days.

***

It is so surreal to stand in a building that has been perfectly preserved since the Second Century. And to call it a building would be a gross understatement. The Pantheon in Rome is enormous and has the largest freestanding dome in the world. You see pictures of these places and you don't believe them. I can't even begin to know what to think when you actually go to them.

The city is dreamlike. Even more so than Florence. The amount of history there is so overwhelming.

I was getting dizzy from leaning my head back. Either the place really was one of the most incredible things I have ever seen or the lack of blood flow to my brain caused me to think so. Or maybe it was a little of both. Either way, I will never forget seeing the Sistine Chapel for the first time.

Or the minute when I first stepped into the Colosseum. Amazement turns into disgust after listening for someone talk for two minutes about the horrendous events that took place there. You can't believe-You don't want to believe that you are part of the same race that showed such cruelty to one another. And then you realize that you are standing where it all happened and your mind is blown all over the stadium. It's not comprehensible.

Then you walk to the spot where Julius Caesar was betrayed by Cassius and Brutus and you see cats running all over the place. Cats. Everywhere.

And then you step over the line separating Rome from Vatican City, technically a whole other country. You don't have to be religious to appreciate that this place is sacred or know that you are somewhere that has such an influence on so many lives today and throughout history.

I don't know. I want to draw some conclusions about this place. But I don't know how to make sense of it all. I don't know how to get your head around all these things. I could say it was amazing, but amazing is just a word. I could say I loved it, but love is ephemeral. I could pontificate forever about it, but I know you don't want to read that. All I know is that I don't know how you are supposed to go back to real life after this.

Free Hugs in Bologna.

I am continually blown away by the kindness of the people here. Mind you the particular group I'm talking about spends their free time giving out "Free Hugs," but this is beside the point.

I am sitting at a table full of strangers, but everyone feels like an old friend of mine. As I announce my departure from the restaurant to head back to Florence the table erupts in protest. One particular lady says I can spend the night at her house and head back to Florence in the morning. I tell her I wear contact lenses and have to take them out when I sleep. She says it's not a problem as she points out a gentleman sitting down the table from us. He smiles and waves as she tells me he has some solution and cases I can use for the night. I also tell her I grind my teeth at night and I need to sleep with a mouth guard. My new friend Rosa interjects with "You can't just go one night without it?" I am beginning to feel like I am coming across as ungrateful and rude at this point, refusing such hospitable gestures from people I have only known for a day. My broken Italian is only making matters worse. I finally tell her the real reason I have to go home is because I am feeling a little under the weather and would hate to get everyone sick. They concede at last and say anytime I come back I am welcome.

This is what happens when I get a message entitled "Want to come to Bologna with me this weekend to give out free hugs?"

Oh yeah. Every time.

I met this guy Michel at the couch surfing dinner I went to in Florence the first week I was here. He speaks Italian and Spanish. He sent me a facebook message inviting me to Bologna with him. So Saturday Michel and I hopped on a train to Bologna and wandered around the city for a few hours. Later in the afternoon we met up with a bunch of his friends at the Piazza Maggiore and started giving out free hugs, or "Abbracci Gratis." The Free Hugs Campaign started in 2006 by Juan Mann, who wanted "to reach out and hug a stranger to brighten up their lives." Although I had heard about before, it this was my first time giving out free hugs. Most people walked on by perplexed or annoyed by what our group was offering. But the people who took us up on our charity were as excited about it as we were. Some of the people we hugged busted out pieces of paper, scribbled "Free Hugs" on them and joined our ranks. I don't think it would have been nearly as fun either if it would have been in an English speaking country. Everyone was joking around with the people passing by saying "This kid came all the way from San Diego to give free hugs."

It's true. That's why I am here.

After the hugs were all given out we went to a restaurant to eat at the equivalent (but not really) of happy hour in Italy. It's called Aperitivo. Between 6 and 9 PM you go to a bar and buy a drink for 5-8 € and get to eat a free buffet. Not a bad deal if you want to have a drink with dinner.

When I decided it was time for me to go Michel and Rosa insisted on walking me to the station to make sure I got on the right train back to Florence. I told them it was alright, but I was glad they accompanied me. I didn't trust myself quite yet traveling alone in Italy. On the walk to the station Rosa was singing the theme song of an Italian cartoon to me called "Dolce Remi." The protagonist of the cartoon, "Remi Sweetie," goes on adventures playing music with animals, big bearded men and gets hot older Italian women...Or something like that.

It's great. I haven't even been here a month and they are already making cartoons about my life. (Kidding people!)

...But not really.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aemmQKHUrSU&feature=player_embedded


Michel told me the train station I was arriving at in Florence was outside of the city and I would have to take another train to get to the station I wanted. When the train was coming to a stop I exited my train compartment to make sure if it was my stop I didn't miss it. There was a guy and a girl eating M&Ms in the corridor of the train. I approached them and asked them if this was the stop for Florence. The guy said yes, and offered me some M&Ms. They were from Naples and needed to get to the same station as me. If I wouldn't have talked to them I am positive I would have missed the train into town, seeing as it was a bus not a train. I have done pretty good so far with zero nights spent sleeping in the train station.

But I am secretly hoping one of these nights it will happen.

Trip to Siena with my new Italian friends.

Last week I met this wonderful Italian lady at the Hot Springs in Petriolo Italy. Her name is Lilla. She invited me to come eat dinner and stay with her in Siena Italy. So on Saturday Lila, her friend Francesca and I went to see her daughter perform in a break dancing competition in Florence. After that we took a train to Siena to Lila's house. She lives in the hills of Siena. We ate delicious pesto pasta when we arrived at her house. I read somewhere that when an Italian family invites you over for dinner it is always customary to bring a gift, such as a bottle of wine. I don't know if it's true, but when I pulled out a bottle of Chianti from my backpack Francesca and Lilla were very excited. It was really neat.

I woke up early on Sunday morning to coffee with Francesca. For lunch Lilla taught me how to cook her speciality "Artichokes and Garlic Potatoes." I tried Buffalo Cheese also. It was delicious. After we ate Lilla said she had a surprise for me and took me into the garage where she had a piano. I don't think I have ever been so happy to see a piano. It felt so good to be able to play again. I hadn't realized how much I missed it. We finally left Lilla's house and they took me into the city to show me around. It was so amazing. Siena is like Florence but smaller, less people, less modern, more hills and cleaner. Or at least that was what I was able to gather in the few hours I walked around. They showed me the right bus to take and I headed back to Florence on Sunday night.

We only spoke in Italian. I probably only spoke 20 words in English for the duration of my trip. I am far from fluent but it felt so cool to get the basic gist of what was being said and be able to convey my basic thoughts. It blew my mind how kind and hospitable these women were to a complete stranger. And not even that but a stranger who barely spoke Italian.

When we were on the train Lilla called her friend Giovanna who lives in Naples. Lilla asked me if I wanted to go to Naples and stay with Giovanna next (this) weekend. Of course I said yes.

They say the best food in the world is in Italy and that the best pizza is in Naples. I am finally fulfilling the sumation of my existence: to eat the worlds best pizza. And if Giovanna is even half as amazing as Francesca and Lilla I know I am in for another warmhearted Italian weekend.

(Ended up not being able to go to Siena because of a boyfriend...or something rather. Lilla and Francesca still rule.)

About time passing.

I'm wine tasting in the cellar of the oldest building in Florence. It dates back to the Roman Empire and used to be a Roman Amphitheater. As I am listening to someone talk about the difference between a denominazione di origine controllata e garantita Chianti wine and a denominazione di origine controllata Chianti wine (which surprisingly is a lot less complicated than it sounds) the realization that I am where I am slowly creeps up on me.

There's nothing like walking through streets that have been virtually unchanged for centuries to remind you how small you are in this universe. Living in San Diego a house that is fifty years old is considered ancient. The house I am living in right now is older than the United States. Literally every brick here has a story. It's overwhelming.

It really puts things in perspective for you. Our lives go by in the blink of an eye compared to the time line of history.

And nothing makes the passing of time more apparent than walking through these perfectly preserved medieval streets, as though centuries ago were just yesterday.

Sure it's discouraging, but it's also empowering. Like you can't waste a minute. You have to walk out your door and enjoy every day like tomorrow will be centuries away. I am aware that's such a trite and repetitive saying. But sometimes worn out statements are that way for a reason.

And the Italians all seem to perfectly portray this attitude. The looming future is ever present, even in a city frozen in time. But the Italians make time to enjoy life. You can see it in their everyday lives. Eating is a full event and is a big part of the day. It's not just a task that has to be completed to ensure survival. It's a celebration of life. It is a subtle declaration of their refusal to let life pass them by without living.

Last night I went out to eat with my roommates Tom and Chase to this restaurant run by two musical brothers Lorenzo and Frederico Fattorini. The restaurant was empty and after we were finished eating one of the brothers Frederico came up to us and asked us where the girls were tonight. As if they heard us, a big group of the girls we go to school with and were planning on meeting up with later walked in the door. The brothers announced "oh the girls are here!" came back with wine for everyone and sat down at the tables with us. Lorenzo asked me if I wanted red or white wine. I told him I was alright, but he refused let me go thirsty and said "in Italy everyone drinks with company."

Who would I be to come over to this country and not drink red wine with the musical brothers? A bad guest that's who.

We sat around the empty restaurant and talked with the brothers for quite some time. Lorenzo put on Brazilian Pop music with a woman singing in Italian. I told him about Ricardo and the crash course I got in Brazilian Pop music. He said "Bossa Nova is like the rhythm of life." So we listened into the night.

And that's what I'm talking about. It's the idea of living in the moment and being aware, but not so concerned that time is passing by. Acknowledging that you are an insignificant speck and reveling in the great fortune you have of living. It's not depressing. It's brilliant.

I wouldn't trade these nights for anything.

***

So I am off to Siena to go eat with the nice Italian lady I met at the Hot Springs and her family. Or at least I think I am. Like I said, nobody speaks English except for me. Great stuff.

The view from Piazza Michelangelo.

More here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/remycox/

Petriolo Sulphur Hot Springs and Couch Surfing.

Good morning (or night) everyone! Depending on where you are I suppose...

I am sitting in my living room. It's Sunday and the bells of the Duomo are going crazy. Yesterday I went to the natural hot springs in Petriolo Tuscany with my roommate Ryan and the Florence Couch Surfers. The smell of sulphur on my skin is only faintly detectable and exponentially less offensive than yesterday. If you are looking to authentically recreate the smell, leave some eggs out for a few days. Not long enough for them to go rotten, but just long enough for you to think,"oh wow, those are some stinky eggs."

Got it? Good.

But I need to go a bit further back before we arrive in Petriolo...

I had my first couchsurfing event on Thursday night when I met a bunch of Couch Surfers at a vegetarian restaurant in Florence. If you don't know what couchsurfing.com is, it's a world wide hospitality community where travelers spend the night in the homes of people that live in the places the travelers are visiting. It is a cultural exchange and is intended not to provide free accommodations for travelers (although it does,) but to present an opportunity to meet and learn from the people who live in that city and know it best.

Are you skeptical yet? I'll admit, it's a pretty outrageous thing to hear for the first time. Stay at someone's house who you have never met in your life? I know I know, not a high percentage move there.

But after eating dinner with these people and getting to spend some time with them, I am convinced otherwise. It gives you an authentic experience of what life is actually like somewhere when you travel, not a recreation of familiar comforts from the place you came from. Anyway, I met so many great people (some who only spoke Italian) at the dinner and am convinced that this is the only way to travel. After we finished eating, we walked around Florence for a bit. We wandered around the city talking, laughing and sharing stories the whole way. We ended up at The William Pub in the Santa Croce area, a British pub exactly as you would picture one. I ordered my first beer in a pub. I was really cool. Then half of the group went home and the remaining surfers (myself included) went club hopping. Two or three hours later, I walked home through the cold streets smelling like a cigarette from all the second hand smoke. It was really really cool.

On Friday I went to the Galleria dell'Accademia, home of Michelangelo's David. It's Sunday morning, and my neck still hurts from looking up at him. If I stared at his torso for long enough, my eyes would play tricks on me and I would swear he was moving. If you have a Bucket List (things to do and see before you die,) make sure David is on it. I know he will really appreciate it.

That night I went out to eat at a family run restaurant called Trattoria Contadino with my new friend Ricardo from Couch Surfing. He said the gnocchi there is the best he has ever had, and I agreed with him. We talked about when he lived in San Francisco and how I was going there when I finish school in Italy, truffles and how unique they taste and his favorite type of music, Brazilian Pop Music. After the dinner we went to his house and drank wine and listened to Brazilian pop music for hours. He was born in Brazil and would translate the lyrics from Portuguese to English for me as the songs played. He was so excited about the music and would point out all of the musical style in it while it played. I feel so lucky to have gotten a crash course in Brazilian Pop music from Ricardo. Just when I thought the night couldn't get any cooler, he took me to La Citè. It was packed and there were great jazz musicians playing. I will definitely be going there again.

As we were walking back over the bridge to go home I was telling him how thankful I am for Couch Surfing and how awesome it is to go out and do things with people who live in Italy. He said, "Yeah, I'll show you all the things to do here. We also do this."

He whips it out and starts peeing off the bridge into the Arno River. I did the same. When in Rome I guess, right? ...Or Florence I suppose.



Now onto the stinky eggs!

Yesterday morning my roommate Ryan and I met the Couch Surfers outside of the city center at 10:30 and we all left for Petriolo to take a bath in the natural sulphur hot springs. It's so easy to be overwhelmed by everything in this city and forget about all the great things that are just a short trip outside of it. I think I could stay within the walls of Florence for my entire three month stay and still feel like I didn't have enough time to see everything. Don't get me wrong, I can't wait to get out and explore all the other great parts of Italy. I just wanted to exhaust and try and see everything in Florence before I visited other places. But the idea of a natural jacuzzi bath just seemed too good to pass up.

So I drove with my new friend Paolo and some other couch surfers through the Tuscan countryside to the hot springs. The foul scent of the springs quickly invaded our car windows as we pulled up. Pull out your eggs that have been sitting out for a few days. Yeah, that smell.

Ryan, who had drove in a separate car, was already soaking in the sulphur pits when we walked down to the river. I wasted no time getting in and the hot water felt amazing. It hasn't been unbearably cold this last week, but a hot jacuzzi bath was welcomed and pretty glorious. My nose grew accustomed to the scent within minutes, but the scent lingered with me hours after I got out. But it was one hundred percent worth it. A small price to pay for a free gift from mother nature.

I met a lady from Siena who I talked to for some time. She asked me if I would like to come to Siena and have wine and coffee with her family (Or atleast, that's what my broken Italian
thought she said. The entire conversation was in Italian. That could be a glorious mis-communication. But she gave me her phone number and contact information and told me to call before I came over. So I am planning on going to Siena this weekend. We will see I suppose.)

After soaking for hours in the hot springs, my new friends from Germany and I walked over to a nearby bridge to sit and practice Italian. The sun was going down and a massive bridge in the distance blocked it making it suddenly very cold. We laughed uncontrollably at "The piece of shit bridge that was stealing our sun." Some things are funnier when spoken in a new strange language I suppose.



***

My friends from school and I walked up to Piazza Michelangelo today to see Florence from an elevated perspective. Pretty cool. That was my adventure today instead of homework. I don't have a lot today, but I need to stop blogging and start doing it. My roommates are laughing at me saying I'm going to have a whole novel written by the end of April but F's in all my classes.

Maybe I can be an author.

The people of Florence.

It's really true what they say about the food here. It really is difficult to get a bad meal. My favorite restaurant so far is Ristorante Il Teatro . We ate there for our school's welcome dinner a few nights ago. I eat slow, even for Italian standards. So as they are bringing desert plates out to everyone, I still have a full plate of vegetables in front of me. The waitress Mariella comes up to me and asks me in Italian why I'm not eating. I say "I am! I'm just slow!" She says "no no no," grabs my fork and starts shoveling food into my mouth- Choo Choo Train style. I can't eat the food as fast as it's coming. Everyone applauds her after my plate is picked clean. She takes a bow and walks off.

I go back the next day to eat lunch by myself. My other friend Karmen is working, but Mariella seats me. When she takes my order, she pinches my cheeks and tells me how good I am at speaking Italian. A little bit later, she pulls on my hair as she makes her way into the kitchen. I give a bit of a jump, and the Italians eating at the table next to me give me a strange look. I tell them she is my friend, and they give me an even stranger look between "Why is this American speaking Italian?" and "Why is he speaking Italian to us?" I just smiled and continued to eat.

I like all the people here. I think they are all brilliant. I was buying a pannini from Roberto today, when an old gentleman started talking to me in English. With a thick British accent, he said, "Why is it that not many Americans speak another language?" I was caught off guard to hear him speak English, as he had ordered his sandwich in Italian. I regained my composure, switched to English and said, "I don't know, but I'm trying to fix that." His name was Alan and he talked to me for two hours about everything from teaching at Oxford to how America needs to switch from privatized to public health care. He had a lot to say and I just stood and listened. If you had recorded our conversation and made a time lapse of it, you would have seen us dancing in an elliptical motion around Roberto's cart, me taking the lead as I would try to put some distance between us. I wasn't trying to avoid the conversation, just the spit coming from his mouth. But I wouldn't have traded those two hours for anything. I hope I run into him again.

Last night I went out to a restaurant to eat with my two friends from school. As we are sitting at the table, I hear our waiter singing as he enters the room. I tell him "Signor, canti bello!" He laughs and sets me straight saying he's not a good singer. Then I start to sing in Italian. Basic sentences that are by no means poetic to someone who speaks the language. Things like "I love to eat! I would like to eat right now!" He laughs. I tell him I like to sing, but I am not very good. He begins to talk to us. We listen attentively.

He talks about how it is the responsibility of the men in this world to take care of the women. He says it's instinctive and is necessary for the survival of our race. Nothing serious here. He's just speaking his mind to Christine, Chiro and me in the empty restaurant as he twirls an empty wine bottle through his fingers. Nowhere to be, no one to serve. Plenty of time to talk to some Americans. He scolds me for calling him signore and tells me we are friends and to call him Nicola. So I do.

I ask him if he has ever been to the States. He says if he goes, he is afraid he will never come back. I ask him how he could possibly leave this country, and he says "Niente Speciale." It's nothing special. He then asks me how I like Florence so far. I tell him I like it so much better than San Diego. I say "I've lived there for so long so San Diego is nothing special for me. It's beautiful, but it's nothing special."

It's weird to think that someone can live in this city and walk around everyday and not be mystified at where they are. I want to run around and shake everyone and say "why aren't you more excited? Look at where you are!!" It's hard to imagine the surreal effects of walking around here ever wearing off. But then in the same minute I have this thought, I think about the paradise I came from and how people must react to me when I say "oh I live in San Diego, it's nothing special." I don't think I can ever fully appreciate how lucky I was to grow up there. But sometimes you don't realize how cool the place you come from is until you've left it. I think traveling is great in that way, where you get to discover new awesome places but at the same time rediscover where you came from. It's exciting, I kind of like being the guy from California.

As we leave the Trattoria Anita another waiter, Maurizio, comes up to me and asks me how long I will be living in Florence for. I tell him about three months. He responds with "now that you live here, the only restaurant you eat at is Trattoria Anita." It was less of a request and more of a statement. I laugh and I tell him he will be seeing a lot of me from now on.

The sights and art of Florence are amazing. But next to coming here and seeing it yourself, it doesn't do a lot of good if I try and describe it. You can read an art history book for that. And don't get me wrong, it's tied for first place for my favorite part of living here. But it's competition is the people. It's the people that you can't see or read about if you pick up an art book on Italy. They are truly works of art in their own.

***

Tonight I am going to eat at an Italian restaurant with the Florence Couch Surfing group. I haven't met these people before, but I am really excited to. There will be Florence Couch Surfers there and people from all over the world. I can't wait.

Remy

The amazing Italians I met from Milan and my new friend Roberto.

It's carnivale in Italy, which is a celebration of lent and literally means "goodbye to meat." But it is also true to the english sense of the word, which brings forth visions of masked theatrical celebration. Although it really goes off in Venice, there is plenty of confetti littering the streets of Florence from revelers celebrating this Italian holiday. And we go to yesterday around 4 outside the Duomo...

I am walking with some people I go to school with when a little girl runs past me and throws a handful of confetti on some girls that were walking a few feet ahead of me. It got all in their hair and they looked like sprinkled Italian cupcakes. So as I walked past I said something funny in Italian, like "che scarbata!" which translates to "how rude!" They laughed and I didn't think more of it for the next few steps. But then my friend Kelley said "Remy, those were the Italian girls you are looking for!" I realized Kelley was right, and I turned around to go talk to them.

I have no social inhibitions. There's just no way around it. I am not scared of talking to people I don't know and I am not afraid to look like a complete idiot. A foreign country is the perfect place for me. I can talk to strangers without them thinking I am a weirdo (like most people probably do in the states) because I am from another country. I feel like people are more receptive to someone from another country in their homeland than someone who lives down the street from them. Or who knows, maybe that's just the Italians. Or I could be completely wrong altogether. I can't draw infinite conclusions about anything I suppose. In any case, I think everyone should drop their social inhibitions. You can meet some really great people.

So I ended up talking to these confetti girls from Milan and their friends for about thirty minutes. All in Italian. It was one of the best experiences I have ever had in my life. They were so nice and kind and put up with all my ugly grammatical mistakes and strange pronunciations. They probably thought I was pretty hilarious. If I were them and an overly excited American came up to me and talked like I did, I would be like, "This guys is so ridiculous. What a goober." But they were so awesome and I am so happy they talked with me last night. So Maria, Irene and Beatrice and friends if you are reading this right now, Grazie Mille. You made my day so amazing. I am coming to Milan and I hope we can eat great food and have another great conversation together.

And speaking of rad Italians...

I made a friend who I guess it probably doesn't make sense for me to be friends with, but in case you haven't picked up on the theme yet I am a big fan of things not making sense. He runs the tripe cart just outside of my house. If you weren't aware, tripe is cow stomach lining. Or something like that. I am a vegetarian, but I think what people want to eat is completely up to them and I have no problem with people who eat meat. So a few days ago I stopped to talk to him and he offered me some tripe. I told him I wasn't hungry, but I would come back tomorrow for a caprese pannini. He thought I was funny with all the words I used and our friendship quickly transitioned from the formal to informal tense. Long story short, Roberto and I now talk to each other on a first name basis and I say "Ciao" to him every time I walk out my front door. He yells "Ciao Remy! Come stai?" from across the street, and I don't feel like I have been living in another country for three days, but like Roberto and I have know each other for years and we are old friends. He gave me free gelato yesterday from the gelato shop he owns down the street and wine today when I stopped to say hello. Pretty great stuff.

I guess it's just been remarkable so far. I'm almost a little disappointed at how easy and enjoyable it was for me to make the transition to live in another country, but not really. Like I miss seeing my family everyday and the totally amazing people I know in San Diego, but hey I guess distance makes the heart grow fonder right?

Anyway, thanks again for reading. I really enjoy transmitting all my thoughts to a digital computer screen. Ciao bella.

Outside the Duomo at 6 in the morning.

I love this city.

Too many things I want to say right now! This blog will be very scattered and confusing (just like my mind right now) but I want to say a few things.

The first is I love this city. I love the people (even the ones who are rude,) I love the crazy drivers, I love the freezing weather and I love that I haven't gotten a good nights sleep in days and it hasn't even phased me.

I think my favorite part so far is talking with people in Italian. I just can't get enough of it. It's like an adrenaline rush every time I say something. I have already made Italian friends at various shops around the city who recognize me when I walk by them. It is just so cool.

Oh yeah, and the art is cool. I am still in complete awe and shock as I walk through these streets.

I still can't sleep. I woke up at 4:30 Italian time this morning and was out the door by 6. My roommate Ryan and I walked around the deserted streets of the early morning waiting for a bar to open so we could get coffee and a pastry. It was a great morning.

Last night my roommates and I went to eat at a really fancy restaurant (don't worry, it was cheaper because I am a student) on the Ponte Vecchio. There was live jazz music and we could see the Arno River and the bridge from where we were eating. And it's true what they say about the food in Italy. It really is amazing. And it's pretty cool being able to have a glass of wine with dinner. God I am so lucky.

I really want to meet some Italians and do things with them, so I have been replying to posts on couchsurfing.com under the Florence group. I am going to a vegetarian dinner this Thursday with a bunch of Vegetarian Florentines. I am so excited.

I guess I am just excited about everything. I think not being able to sleep has started because of jet lag but sneakily transformed into an excitement induced sleeping disorder. Whatever. This is sweet.

My house is amazing too. Roommates are sweet and you can see The Duomo from pretty much every window in our house. Like no exaggeration, we live right at the base of it. My key looks so awesome too.

Anyway I should probably go. Thanks for reading this. I know it is quite jumbled, but I am alright with that.

A dopo.

Remy

Jet Lag and life so far in Italy.

It's 6:45 and the sun is just coming up over Italy.

I woke up at 5 to a man boisterously singing a song in Italian in the street below my hotel room. I wanted to open the window and shout "canta bella signore!" But my roommate was sleeping and I didn't want to wake him up.

We move into our apartments today. I haven't seen it yet, but it is right between the Duomo and the Ponte Vecchio (I think? I don't know my sense of direction is terrible. I mean, I even got lost last night. I am a champ.) In any case, I am really excited to see it.

Last night I walked around the center of Florence and literally could not believe I was here. The effects of jet lag (increased by my inability to sleep at all on the 11 hour plane ride from LAX to Paris) made me feel like I was in a dream. It was just unbelievable. These places that I've seen in books and thought about for years actually exist. To actually walk across the Ponte Vecchio and stand at the base of the Duomo is probably one of the most surreal things I have ever done. Then add the dream like effects of jet lag (the great paradox where you are too tired to sleep) and I find myself here, the next morning wondering what is going on.

Did I really talk in Italian to some Italian last night in the hotel hallway about brushing my teeth?

Did I really fly over the Atlantic Ocean and step foot for the first time in Europe in a snow filled Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris?

Did I really hear some guy singing in Italian outside my window this morning??

I have no idea. I think now that I have slept for a little bit reality may present itself today. But man this is so surreal.

I hate packing.

Time and time again I consistently demonstrate my brilliant ability to self sabotage myself. It's really quite impressive. I've known for months I would be leaving for Italy on February 11th and I wait until the night before to pack for a three month trip. I'm even choosing to write this blog write now instead of finishing up the packing.

Nicely done Remington. We all think you're really awesome.

But hey, at least I'm aware of it. Everyone can laugh at me tomorrow when I show up to the airport without my passport (I'll probably knock twice on wood for that one) but for now I'm reveling in these final hours in San Diego.

It's strange that this day is finally here. What do you do the night before a trip you've been looking forward to for over two years? More importantly, what do you do the night before you move away from home for the first time? It's like nothing I've ever felt before. It's an awful mix between frustration and anxiousness. If I've been looking forward to this trip for so long, why can't I focus for long enough to pack a suitcase?

But that's just it. Packing the suitcase makes it too real. This has always been a nice idea to me, but never something that was real. Always on my mind but forever elusive. Kind of like an opiate that would keep my restlessness at bay, but never really satisfy that inexplicable wanderlust. I think today, for the first time, I actually realized I was going to Italy. It blew my mind. This is my last night in San Diego. I was like "shit, I should probably pack."

I feel so lucky to have gotten to live the life I did in San Diego. My brother always tells me how "dramatic" I am, but I don't think I am being dramatic right now. I'm just being thankful. I'm ready for this though.

So let the adventure begin, right?

Although I'm not going to lie, packing this suitcase is incredibly stressful.

Last week in the country.

Hello, my name is Remy. I love many things, adventures being one of them. I guess music too. I used to play in this band called Play The Fox and I still continue to play music. I get high off of connecting with people through it and am forever enthralled by it.

I have a week until I leave to study abroad for my third semester of college in Florence, Italy. I caught the travel bug bad. For as long as I can remember I've wanted to travel, see new things and meet new people and learn from them. Since I was a senior in high school for some reason I have been transfixed with Italy, so I am pretty excited about this.

I wanted to start this so I could have some tangible way of documenting and remembering the people, places and things I see from here on out. But I don't want it to be a snooty "look at how awesome I am" blog. I want it to be a "look at how awesome we all are" blog. I believe there are overwhelmingly more good people in the world than bad people, and I aim to prove it.

I just love to write I guess...and if you love to read, i don't know maybe it could be cool.