Friday, April 26, 2013

The Ancient City of Rome


ROME, Italy – The combination of ancient civilizations, religion, and the Renaissance give Rome the undeniable rich history and culture it boasts today. Last weekend, Juston and I had 36 hours to sink it all in, (as much as we could) before our flight left at 6 AM Monday morning.


Friday, April 19 – 10 PM
Friday evening we flew into Pisa, Italy and stayed at small Bed & Breakfast right by the airport. Only a 15 min walk from the train station, this location seemed perfect for us, and eliminated the headache of having to schedule transportation to and from the hotel.  When we arrived at the B&B, the young lady in charge of the place was in the kitchen studying. She was about our age, so we inquired about restaurants nearby she thought we would enjoy.  “La Paradisea Pizzeria,” she suggested. At 11 PM and with a hand-drawn map in tow, we set out on the streets of Pisa to fill our rumbling stomachs. Luckily, we found the place easily and it was still open for business. Even more luckily, the girl at the B&B suggested a place that served up the best pizza and red wine Juston and I have had on our Euro trip to date. Seriously, it was phenomenal. Our waiter was a doll as well. For two pizzas and a liter of wine, we had our best meal yet ring at about 24 Euro. Not shabby.

La Paradisea Pizzeria

Cariola B&B in Pisa, Italy
(Source: googleimages)


Saturday, April 20 – 7 AM
Saturday morning we caught a 2.5-hour train ride to Rome, where we started our day in Vatican City. It is a sovereign state that resides within the city of Rome and is the headquarters of the Roman Catholic Church. There, you will find St. Peter’s Basilica, Vatican Museum, and the Sistine Chapel.

St. Peter’s Basilica was built over (what is believed to be) the burial site of Saint Peter, one of the 12 apostles of Jesus Christ and the first pope of the Catholic Church. This church also houses Michelangelo’s famous Pietà, a sculpture of the Virgin Mary holding Jesus after he is pulled down from the cross.

The Sistine Chapel is where Michelangelo spent four years painstakingly painting his fresco masterpiece. Divided into panels, the paintings on the ceiling depict stories from the Book of Genesis. My personal favorite, the Last Judgment, shows souls being released into heaven or held onto the ground by demons.

Vatican City
(Source: googleimages) 

St. Peter's Basilica
(Source:googleimages)


St. Peter's Basilica
(Source: catholicconvo.com)


Michelangelo’s famous Pietà
(Source:googleimages)


Sistine Chapel
(Source:googleimages)


2 PM
Although peeved, we did not let the incident obscure the great time we had in Italy. We finished our trip back in Pisa, where that evening we went to see the leaning tower and had our last dinner at, you guessed it, La Paradisea. Although we were only able to salvage a few photos from our trip on our iPhones, we are so grateful to have had an opportunity to visit and experience a city that was on both of our 'bucket lists'. And besides, I don't think that will be our last Rome trip ;)


Next up was lunch - Pizza, of course. We were on the move to our next attraction when we stopped at Alice Pizzeria, a small shop next to a Gelato stand (dessert decision - covered) that offered fresh pizza by the slice. After pizza, well, you know what we did. The taste buds had waited long enough for Gelato. It t’was time!

Alice Pizzeria 
(Source:googleimages)

 Gelato!
(Source: neelywang.com)


After provisions, we headed toward the Pantheon. The ancient Pantheon stands regal and looking relatively untouched, near the beautiful square of Piazza Navona. Originally built to be a gift to the gods over 2,000 years ago, the Pantheon is one of the cities greatest examples of Baroque architecture. It is also the world’s largest unreinforced concrete dome.


We piddled around Piazza Navona for a good while, watching street performers and other Italians inhaling Gelato, until we wandered over to the Trevi Fountain.  Complete in 1762, the massive and famous Trevi Fountain is a statue of Oceanus, the Greek god of the ocean. It here that people toss coins over their shoulder into the fountain to ensure their return to the Eternal city.

Trevi Fountain
6 PM
Sunset at the Spanish Steps, followed by more pizza, pasta, and wine (SEE: carbohydrates). You didn’t think I would forget about gelato, did you?






Sunday, April 21 – 8 AM
The majority of Sunday was dedicated Ancient Rome. Dominating the skyline and symbolizing both beauty and savagery beyond all measure, we started our day with a trip to the most iconic emblem of Rome - the Coliseum.

With a history steeped in gladiators, predatory animals, naval battles, and bloodbath, it is no wonder this tourist attraction is a favorite of all historic remnants in Rome.


Near the Colosseum is the Roman Forum and Palatine Hill. The forum is where political and religious meetings were held, as well as a place where Romans would do their shopping and go to school.

It is believe that the first Romans did indeed live on the land of Palatine Hill. Over the years, it has served as the home for a number of emperors and other wealthy romans.

Roman Forum
(Source:googleimages)

Roman Forum
(Source:googleimages)

11 AM
With our train leaving back to Pisa at four, we decided to have a relaxing day and spend the rest of our time in the Trastevere neighborhood. Across the river and set away from the hustle and bustle of tourist attractions, the Trastevere neighborhood is beautiful Italian neighborhood with an old-world charm that is filled with many shops and cafes. To me, the pace of life was much different on this side of the river. It was what I had imagined quaint and quiet Italian neighborhoods to be like.

                                                                    The Art of Espresso
                                     It’s been said Italy has the best cappuccinos in the world.

 (Source:googleimages)


 (Source:googleimages)


 (Source:googleimages)

 (Source:googleimages)


Our Lunch Stop - Trattoria: Il Ponentino

Lunch

J enjoying a cigar before leaving Rome

It was a gorgeous day, with crisp blue skies. We were full, happy, and in Italy. We had blisters from walking all weekend and were very much looking forward to the four-hour train ride ahead of us. We even purchased a couple mini bottles of wine to take with us for the trip, as we would be passing through the Tuscany region of Italy on our back and wanted to make sure we had wine in hand for the occasion. Once we got to the train station, we found our train, our seats, and settled in for a nice relaxing ride. We put our backpacks right above our heads, took off our shoes, and melted into the seat of the train as it left the Rome station. As hectic as it was to finalize the plans for this destination and make our way through the crowds to see all the attractions we wanted to see, the trip had gone off without a hitch. We even had great souvenirs for our peeps and awesome pictures to share.

Then it happened. Our camera was stolen, and everything inside of the camera bag. (A whole different blog post entirely)



Sweet Lean


Thursday, April 18, 2013

Two Tickets to Paradise


MALLORCA, Spain - Considered the “island of calm” by famous Spanish poet Rubin Dario, Mallorca (or Majorca) offers turquoise beaches, luxurious resorts, delicious local cuisine, and a thriving athletic culture centered around biking and aquatic sports.

For 220 U.S. Dollars, Juston and I were able to fly to the island oasis last weekend just off the eastern coast of Spain. With a population around 860,000, Mallorca is the largest of the Balearic Islands in the Mediterranean. As we made our descent Friday evening, we both stared out the plane window and were dazzled by the sublime landscape, counting no fewer than five shades of greens and blues.

Upon arriving in Mallorca, a stalky Spaniard woman escorted Juston and I, along with three others, to the ‘shuttle’ parked between two palm trees outside. A week prior, I had arranged a shuttle bus to pick us up from the airport and take us to our hotel across the island. Instead of dingy and oversized tourist bus like I had expected, we were to be transported in what looked to be a brand new Mercedes passenger van. Juston and I looked at another as we climbed into the luxury vehicle and in unison whispered, “paradise”. The faces of the other three passengers seemed to also agree.

After an hour and forty-five minutes of awe-inspiring scenery across the island, I begin to wonder where it was we were going. I had researched the distance of the hotel from the airport and it said it was only 60 miles, about an hour trip. It was beginning to feel like we were driving back to Germany, BFE, somewhere far and away from the ocean. Until, alas, I felt the vehicle come to a stop. “Bienvenidos a Playa Mondrago,” our driver announced.  It suddenly all made sense when we exited the van and had our first look around the secluded resort.

Hotel Playa Mondrago, as promised, was set in a lush, National Park, filled with exotic varieties of birds and flowers. Within steps of the hotel was the white sandy beach of Mondrago, with a restaurant and bar nestled amongst the foliage nearby.
We were able to stay at the hotel for $90 a night, with breakfast and impeccable views included. A steal if you ask me. So, that night after dropping our stuff off in our rooms, we sat in the hotel restaurant sampling the cerveza and homemade paella, wondering what we had done to deserve being in a place like paradise.

NEXT MORNING

6:30 AM - We were up with the roosters. Literally, it was us two and the roosters of a nearby farm awake at 6:30 am on a Saturday morning. We had a date to see the Mallorca sunrise, a date we did not want to be late for. We threw on clothes, grabbed the camera, and slowly shut the hotel door behind so as not to wake the other guest still deep in their vacation slumber. We lightly jogged across our beach cove, then another, up to a park trail that led to rock cliffs jetting out into the ocean and facing east. This was to be our viewing spot. Before the sun made it’s debut on the horizon, J and I sat on the rocks for a while, admiring the view and enjoying the tranquility. It was pure bliss. Hues of purple, orange, and pink filled the morning sky.  It was like a painted picture with the sparkling water, seagulls gliding through the air and waves crashing up on the rocks. I thanked the Lord for being able to be in that moment at least ten times. Sunrises are one of the most magical things to me.  It’s one of God’s glorious gifts YOU MUST experience at some point in your life, in its entirety.

8 AM – Breakfast time with delicious coffee. On our usual travel trips, breakfast is the time that we convene and discuss our plans for the day, mapping out routes, scheduling attraction stops, yada, yada.  As we slowly sipped our coffee and looked out the window overlooking the beach, we quickly realized that for the remainder of the weekend we had nowhere to be other than where we were. Fighting off the tourist-mode urge to pop up and do something else, we leaned back in our chairs and set our watches to Mallorca time.

10 AM – Because our Eurotrip has taken place during the winter months, Juston and I have been cold and without sun for far too long. It was 70 degrees and sunny in Mallorca that weekend and we were looking to bask in it. Notice I said bask, not broil. In order to prepare for the long day of basking, we walked to the nearest town of Porto Pedro to pick up a few beach essentials. Flip flops, beer, sangria, and snacks. Those all made it into the basket, along with some fresh oranges picked from the trees of the storeowner’s garden. (Yes, we paid for them.) Were we missing anything?  Any necessity or protectant that might be helpful when you skin hasn’t seen sunlight in months? Na, we couldn’t think of anything. Back to the beach!

Porto Pedro was a small, picturesque port town with cobbled streets, white adobe houses with rooftop terrace gardens, and beautiful shiny boats parked in the dock. There were only a few people milling around that morning – dog walkers, store owners washing their windows, men putting fresh coats of paint on their boat, and coffee sippers enjoying their early morning smokes and tapas at the sidewalk cafés. It was a quiet and peaceful little place. We enjoyed making the stroll and meandering about the little town. By 11 AM, we were back at Playa Mondrago where for 20 bucks we sank our butts into two sun-loungers for the remainder of the day.  Ah, this is the life, I thought. A vacation within a vacation.

3 PM - Thus far on our Eurotrip, Juston and I have confined our imbibing of adult beverages to evening relaxation, not wild nights out on the town. Neither of us has been interested in turning our backpacking trips into indistinct nights and hung-over days. (Exception – St. Patrick’s Day in Dublin…. C’mon, do you blame us? Guinness beckoned!) On this trip, it was the sangria of Spain that was calling our names. Lots of it.  Picture the scene: the sun is hot and high with the blue sky virtually cloudless, the water in front of us is a cerulean blue, Juston and I on sun-loungers with full cups of sangria, surrounded by tropical palms, vibrant blossoms, and the sound of a Spanish guitar being played in the background. We were smiling so much our faces felt like they could hardly contain it.

4 PM – We slipped out of the sun and returned to our room to get ready for dinner in a couple of hours. This was when we were able to survey the damage our little ‘basking’ adventure resulted in. We looked like two steamed lobsters. SUNSCREEN! That’s the little gem that didn’t make it into our grocery basket this morning. Yikes, we’ll be paying for that lapse in memory for a week after the trip, I thought. And we are. Sorry, Mom! You even reminded me before we left for this trip to pack sunscreen. I got distracted L

Feeling the heat radiating off our skin and the effects of the sangria, Juston and I decided to take a little nap. A little nap that turned into a 12-hour slumber. We didn’t wake up until the next morning when our alarm went off to remind us of our 6 AM second sunrise date.

DAY TWO – SUNDAY

Ouch. Have I mentioned the sun charred us? Oh, I have. I’ll move on. Following our healthy dose of sleep, we wiped our eyes (carefully around the burned skin) and made our way out into the darkness again to see our beloved sunrise. We took the same path, down the same trail, to the same cluster of rocks, and set on the edge of the same cliff to watch Mallorca sunrise for the second time. Only this time, it seemed far more bright and beautiful than the day before. Both mornings are ones we’ll remember for quite some time. As we walked back to our hotel for breakfast, Juston and I both made a comment on how sorry we felt the buffet we were about to encounter. Other than the liquid sangria and cerveza calories, a few pretzel sticks, and a shared homegrown orange, the last meal we had was breakfast Saturday morning. It was about to go down! Two of every thing and tons of coffee!

Due to our recent acquirement, we decided to forgo sunbathing on Sunday. Instead, we explored trails in the National Park, climbed rocks to other beach coves, and laid in the shade overlooking the ocean while scribbling life goals and thankful notes in our journals.  Before leaving paradise, we enjoyed one last lunch on the beach. We both ordered a hearty salad, chips, avocado, and yes, more sangria.

It was a great day, a great weekend. We were truly, completely, uncompromisingly happy. We were high on life. Mallorca is one sexy beast. Seriously, the side of the island we were able to stay on (Cala Mondrago) is so breathtaking you could suffocate. Throughout the weekend and throughout our Eurotrip as a whole, Juston and I often think about how blessed we are to get to do such things. Little things, on the face it, but it’s the little things and those once-in-a-lifetime experiences that make a life. We recognize what a privilege it is to be able to do such things, and do them together. We will forever be grateful to have done it, and thankful to our Heavenly Father whose hand arranged it. 

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

Our Escapade on the Alps

THE ALPS - Stretching across eight countries, the Alps are one of the world’s great mountain ranges.  Last weekend, Juston and I took a road trip to southern Germany with a friend of ours and we had the pleasure of spending an entire day on one of the many beautiful and serene snow-capped mountainsides.

Arriving into Söll late in the evening, we stopped off for dinner at literally the only place open in the small village town. After a seven-hour drive (none of which I was able to contribute to because of the lack of a drivers license), we sank into the restaurant booths and toasted our beers to great weekend ahead. Hazem, a native of Jordan and fellow co-worker at Cameron, would be skiing for the first time in his life this weekend. J and I were quite thrilled at the prospect of introducing him to one of our many winter pastimes.

The next morning, we were the first ones in line at the ski rental shop to acquire our gear. The anticipation of skiing down the great mountains of the Alps was growing. I could see my heartbeat moving the shirt on my chest. Once again, another experience we may only have the opportunity of doing once in our lifetime. This was going to be sick! At 9:30 AM, after being outfitted with the finest ski and snowboarding gear, our rears were planted in the seat of a gondola and headed upwards toward the peak of a mountain. We could tell Hazem was anxious to get this journey underway. We were experiencing some last minute jitters ourselves. So, before reaching our stop, we shared some last minute encouragement and assured him we would be alongside to assist.

Once exiting the gondola, the thick mountain fog immediately engulfed us. Seeing your own hand in front of your face was challenging, not to mention the slopes of the mountain under your skis or the trees that lined the trails. Not being familiar with this mountain or any of the trails, I felt like skiing down them would be a death wish. You would be disappearing into the air and skiing aimlessly into what could possible be a tree, a fellow skier, or off the side of the mountain completely. I’m adventurous and will almost try anything once, but I preferred to live to tell the story about our trip to the Alps. Ergo, a team huddle was requested. It seems, the only way to get to a ski path that would be appropriate for Hazem’s ski-level was to ‘briefly’ ski down a Black (Advanced) trail until we reached the beginner trails. Okay, sounds easy enough. We got this.

Forty-five minutes later, we are right back to the spot where the gondola initially dumped us off. It seems the trail we cleverly decided to start on (en route to the beginner trail) was far more ambitious than we thought. Because of the considerable amount of fog and the many 90-degree angled slopes, we decided it would be safer for all those involved to walk to the next trail. That was until we realized, from the help of another patron, that the short walk would actually take over an hour to complete.  He advised we go back to where we started. With beads of sweat dripping from our faces and labored breathing, we looked back up at the steep slope we had just descending from. With heavy boots and gear thrown over our shoulders, we slowly scaled our way back to the top. A daring passerby chuckled at our attempt on his way down, before disappearing into the fog.  ‘Hey dude, I’d actually like to see the mountain I’m skiing down and live to tell about it’ I thought again.

Plan numero dos was quickly devised. We hopped a gondola back down the mountain to the trail we would stay on for the majority of the day. It was a nice trial filled with many Alps, which actually refer to the high mountain pastures below glaciers where cows graze, not peaks of a mountain. This is where Hazem began his first real ski attempt, or attempts rather. Like a newborn baby fawn, he struggled to keep his legs beneath him. J thought it to be of particular importance to instruct him first on how to ‘Stop’ before getting into how you actually accelerate and produce movement. As amateur ski-instructors we advised Hazem to use the ‘Pizza’ technique, pointing both skis in front of you to resemble a slice of pizza. Once this was comprehended, we moved on to feet/pole/body position. He seemed to understand. Putting it into practice was the next move.

The trail was quite a long one, winding between lush trees and offering scenic views of the mountainside throughout. Hazem was quite the champ on his first official ski run, despite the many wipeouts he endured. Although he understood the process of halting to a stop, he never actually mastered the technique the entire day. Which, as you can imagine, made for a very entertaining ski trip. Hours later, as we were all approaching the final leg of this particular trail, Hazem sped past us with beaming confidence. “Look at him go,” I say as he flies past us like a pro. “Let’s go after him,” Juston promptly replied. As we rounded the final turn, Hazem was nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t until we came down the final and steepest slope of the trail that he came into view. At the very bottom of the mountain was Hazem, positioned like a lifeless body you would see at a crime scene. Halfway down the mountain Juston and I started to take note of his discarded equipment. First was a ski pole, then its mate another few meters down, then one ski, then the other, until all those little crumbs led up to Hazem, moaning and groaning in the snow at the foot of the mountain. In what sounds like a Jamaican accent he whispered, “I couldn’t stop, man.”  

Uncontrollable laughter took over my and Juston’s entire body. Hazem even laughed himself. For the entirety of the day, up and down the trails, every wipeout of Hazem’s brought us tears - the type you get from laughing incessantly.  More so than actually seeing Hazem fling his entire body over hills and into the snow to stop himself, it was the commentary that followed the falls that was priceless. Of course, we are not evil or mean-spirited human beings. We made sure no serious injuries were sustained before our giggle-boxes were turned on high. After beating the ground with his ski poles and repositioning himself on the pesky skis, Hazem would even join in on the laughter. Like I said, he was a real champ.

Late into the day, however, he was a bruised soldier. He was no longer interested in skiing, or falling. This is when ‘Team No Man Left Behind’ was introduced. As a mode of transportation to get us off the mountain we had currently been on for 9 hours already, Juston strapped on Hazem’s skis and pushed Hazem down the mountain as he rode on Juston’s snowboard. Other than the ski plows we had to continuously dodge, we were the last souls on the mountain. This was epic footage I just had to record. And so, I did. I was laughing so hard my cheeks started to ache. But as funny as it all was, we were ready to get down off the mountain and get back into our warm clothes and shoes. A beer was needed, stat.

We started to shed our gear once at the bottom and plan out which bar we were stopping at on the ride home, when we looked up to realize it was a ghost town at the ski resort. Our car was the only one still parked in the lot. The ski rental place was dark and locked. Not only did we have something of theirs, they had possessions of ours. Our shoes. The only shoes Hazem and I packed for the trip. Oopsie. How well do the German bars take to the ‘no shoes, no shirt, no problem’ adage, I wondered. At this point, we were pretty much giddy from exhaustion, hunger, and from our sheer bad luck. Thank goodness we had the car keys and our wallets! We opted to grab take out pizza, brews from the store, and convene back at our hotel.




Shoeless and in warm socks, we sat around our small hotel table and devoured the food in front us. We paused from cramming our mouths full of food only to recall events from the day, or to ask Hazem questions about the German singing show on the TV in front of us. It was a well-deserved hotel celebration.

The next morning, we continued to celebrate by going to return our ski rentals and to retrieve our precious footwear we had gone the night without. “Ah, the Texas speed racers,” the owner of the ski shop said upon us entering the store. “I sent out some guys last night on snowmobiles and told them to look for the three people trying to live in the mountains,” he teased.  “I’m glad you all made it down.” We laughed, handed over our skis, slipped our feet into our shoes, and waved goodbye. We would not be skiing on the mountain today and/or testing our luck or fate. No, our one long date with the beautiful yet demanding Alps Mountain was enough. We were thankful to be back on the ground, in shoes, and were ready to recount all the stories from the day before on the way home. This was definitely a ski trip for books.

(This post only reflects an abridged version of our trip. There were far more hilarious and you-had-to-be-there-moments that took place. I'm sure the videos will surface at some point ;) )