Flew into Catania, spent the night in a hostel that had a stream flowing underneath it from a lava flow from the near-by mount Etna. Rained that night.

Spent the next day climbing Mt. Etna. The ground was warm and steaming in some places, and I got very close to the peak. Rained that da

Took a bus to Palermo, left my sweatshirt on it. It gets cold at night in Palermo in autumn. Palermo was nice, rained all day.

Saw the catacombs, which is one of only two mummification museums in the world. I was in a room with thousands of preserved bodies. Very morbi

Then, while walking past the Duomo (cathedral), there was a funeral procession for one of the Italian soldier killed by an IED a month previously. Many people, both civilians and military, which was very emotional.

Ate a spleen sandwich there, which is a delicacy and a regional favorite. I actually really liked it.

Took the train to Cefalù the next day, which is Cifalù in Sicilian. Sicily has a separate accent from mainland Italy, as in antiquity the island was taken over by any dominant force in the area when they wanted a stronger hold of the Mediterranean. As such, there’s as much of a northern African and Middle Eastern influence on the language, architecture and culture as there is in Italian influence.

Cefalù was built in the shadow of a giant rock, yet the route you can take to climb to the top was closed off because it was raining. I found a route around the locked gate, yet you had to climb through a patch of overgrown cacti with a small hole in the middle. After that, there was a ledge about 3 feet wide leading around the rock, without a guardrail. It’s tough climbing a cliff face when everything is slippery from rain. I finally make it to the top for an amazing view.

Bussed to Trapani the next day, where I stayed at this great pensione, very cheap. Trapani is my favorite city in Sicily: gorgeous, neat mix of new and old in the downtown, and stayed open very late. It rained. I went to a pizzeria and ordered a seafood pizza. It wasn’t bad, but they put anchovies on it, which I’d never had before. Woke up early to catch my flight to Paris.

Everyone was amazingly friendly all over Sicily. Rained every day I was there. Great food. Trains and busses were usually less than 2 hours late, which was nice.

Paris:

Paris was amazing. It didn’t sink in that I was actually in the City of Lights until I was eating an éclair and walking down the Champs Elysees.

I passed by the Arc De Triomphe twice before I noticed it.

I met a couple of the nicest people in a bar who put me up for my first night, and Jean-Philippe, the French-Canadian fellow I Couch-Surfed with, couldn’t have been a better host.

I had the best macaroons of my life.

I got hassled on the Pigalle.

I defiled the Notre Dame.

I met amazing people.

I saw Versailles, Jim Morrison’s grave, and La Grande Arc of La Defance.

I ate crepes, pastries and French bread. It rained.

• no popcorn
• no people in packers/brewers jerseys/hats
• the standard of personal fitness is ‘thin’, not ‘not obese’
• dudes be wearing purses
• porn stands on street corners
• topless women on the beaches

Verdict:

I’ll stay for a bit

Last night, the second Italian dude tried to hit on me, this one asking me where a gay disco was at 1 a.m., and then asking me to get into his car while making kissing noises.  Gosh, Italians are friendly!!!

Today, we went to Cinque Terra, on the Amulfi Coast, which was one of the most beautiful places I have ever been!  The area was amazing, and I had an amazing time!  Once we got to the beach of the final city (Riomaggiore), we immediately got into the water, which was clear turquoise blue and the perfect temperature.  I decide to explore the area more with Jordan, and we discover an area where a 2 Italians are bobbing up and down in the extremely choppy water past the breakwater.  Under this breakwater outlet, there are a series of large, jagged rocks, and the in the ebb of a wave, the water level is about 13 feet below the breakwater pier.  The men are both grabbing onto the edge of the pier every time the wave brings them closer to it, but always push themselves off immediately.  All of the sudden, a wave larger than all the others swells up and pushes one of the men onto the pier, where he laying and laughing.  Jordan and I decide to try it, and we get directions from Ricardo, and we dive in with no idea what’s in store for us.

I’ve swam in oceans before, and this was much saltier than the Atlantic or the Pacific.  Just being in the Mediterranean makes you want to pour Pepsi in your eyes, nose and mouth.  And since we were so close to the pier, the foam and water coming back at you provided a constant inability to see or hear.  And the undercurrent was so strong, it was an athletic feat in and of itself to stay far enough from the rocks as to not get slashed or mangled.  Jordan, exercising more intelligence than myself, decided to forfeit the adventure, but I felt a need to soar onto the pier.  After about 20 minutes of failure, my muscles started to ache and my throat began to burn worse than before.  Determined to achieve this amazing acrobatic stunt, I stayed in the game with Jordan, Ricardo, and several other Italians and tourists watching.  25 minutes into the ordeal, Ricardo calls out a wave 2 sets back (only one in about every 40 waves can be ridden, as most are too small).  I prep myself and get into position (2 feet from the pier, with my hand up to grab and brace and ready to paddle).  The wave takes me lower than usual, and then swells upwards, and I kick and flail as hard and fast as I can.  The foam and backsplash are too much, and I close my eyes, only to open them again to a severe pain in my right knee.  I then see an ankle in front of my face, which surprised me, as I could only see people’s heads and shoulders from my position in the water.  The water then flows backwards, but I stay stationary with a hard mass against my stomach.  I then realized that I made it, and I was laying on the pier at the feet of Jordan and Ricardo!!!!!!!  I start screaming and yelling while I get handshakes and pats on the back, and Ricardo tells me to go wash the blood off of my knee.  It then occurs to me that as my eyes were closed, I couldn’t see where I was, and I kept kicking at the water even though I was already up on the pier!

To date, that is the physical accomplishment I am most proud of.

Finally in Firenze!

After a 2 hour plane ride from Milwaukee to Detroit, a 3 hour layover, 6 hours of Northworst Airlines to fix a simple problem and get us another plane, 8 hours from Detroit to Roma, Italia, 2 days bumming around Roma, and a 2.5 hour train ride, I’m at my home for the next 4 days, the Pensione Ottaviani.  Being in the Shadow of the Duoma de Santa Maria Nouvella, I’ve only gotten to see the city briefly, having walked a few blocks and gotten an amazing plate of Lasagna with another member of the ACM program, Nathan.

I didn’t know it was possible, but I miss Roma already.  The beautiful city, the beautiful people, was all so overwhelming, and the energy of the city was incredible.  Once I got off of the train from the Airport to Termini Station, the main train station in Roma, I made a call home and found a hostel.  Soon after, I met a group of English-speakers (Michael and Craig from Sidney, Australia, Choaimi from London, England, and John from Texas).  We got pizza e bierre and ate it in Vatican City, under the stars in St. Peter’s Square.  We swapped each other’s information and slang from our respective homes, and then headed back, calling it a night.  I then met a girl from Vegas who had just gotten back from a week in Turkey, which she had followed up with a week at a yoga camp in Sicily, which she used a houseboat she rented to sail to.

The next morning, I was ready to take in more of Roma, and I jaunted over to Trastevere, which is an area across the river, to meet up with some friends who I met on the plane.  Their names are Liz, Carmen, Zach and Erica, and they all attend John Cabot University.  (They then introduced me to Boots, Alex, and all of Zach’s roommates).  I toured Rome with them, and they kindly allowed me to stay the night, just to do it again today.  After a nice walk back to Vatican City, Zach, Sean, Harry, Heraldo and myself saw the Castle and then got into line to get into the Basilica.

After around 15 minutes of being in line, we get past the metal detectors and arrive to the guards (not the Swiss Guards, but the Catholic tools who check if you have sleeves).  I was wearing a wife beater, and they told me that I could not come in.  Being the only one of the group who could not get past the line, I looked for a woman to loan me her shall, as all the woman with short skirts and sleeveless shirts were simply wearing scarves around themselves and getting in just fine.  However, when I get to the line, the guard says again, in broken English, “No, no t-shirto, no.”

The others then decide on a brilliant plan where Shawn goes into the bathroom, takes off his shirt, Harry brings it out to me, and I get in.  AND I GOT IN! As we proceeded out of the bathroom, Sean wearing his original shirt, and me again only in the wife beater, the same guard yells, “Hey! Hey! Oy! HEY! T-shirto! OUT-A!”  We then realize it’s a fruitless caper, and we head out back to the apartment.

After a rushed departure, and making a train I never thought I was going to catch (always buy bigliettas/tickets at least one day in advance), and meeting one of the nicest people on the train, I got to Firenze!  I’m now sitting in my room, listening to the Italians in the café across the street jabber in such a melodic tone, and the Americans (so many Americans here in Florence) yell and scream at each other in slurred speech (Friday night at 1 in Florence…).

Caio!

P.S. Italian is so much more beautiful that I had thought it was!

P.P.S. Italian women are so much more beautiful than I thought they were going to be!