Published Article, San Francisco, and New Year Sun Bear

Ciao tutti!

I am not sure if anyone is still reading this, seeing as I haven't posted anything in a minute (that's my new nor cal lingo slipping in. Hella sick bra.) I thought it would be fun to give a quick update:

I published an article about returning to San Diego from Florence last summer. You can read that here: http://www.sandiegoreader.com/staff/remington-cox/

I moved up north last August and am living in the Haight attending San Francisco State as an English/ Creative Writing major. I've been writing quite a bit.

In January of 2011 I released an Electro Pop CD for free under the name New Year Sun Bear. My good old friends Jason Webber and Greg Skiano helped out immensely. Webber mixed and produced the music and Skiano made the music video. You can download the album for free and watch the music video for "Michela and I" at http://newyearsunbear.com/

SF Weekly had some nice (and hillarious) things to say in an article they published about New Year Sun Bear. Read it here: http://blogs.sfweekly.com/shookdown/2011/02/ask_and_ye_shall_receive_vol_2.php

Your friend

Remy Cox

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.