Scarier Than An R.L. Stine Book

So, I know what you're thinking, "More Rome?" Yes indeed, more Rome. Now you are probably wondering, "But why, Alicia, considering you are behind on you blog by three months?" To which I respond, logic rules exactly none of my life. So onwards!

In the following days, I did a lot of other sightseeing, like visiting the Pantheon, the Spanish Steps, the Trevi Fountain, all the stuff that people tell you that you have to do or they won't believe you have been to Rome. Two of the major sites that everyone goes to see when going to Rome are the Roman Forum and Palatine Hill. To concisely summarize them, they have a lot of neat old stuff. This is like the Oscars, gotta make up time somewhere. What I will talk about a little is the Colosseum. This is another one that I probably don't have to explain, but I just wanted to quickly mention it because of a fact I learned from the audioguide. Each time there was an event at the Colosseum, the event had to be more grand than the last one, like the Olympics, even though we all know nothing will ever beat China's opening ceremonies. The coolest one was inspired by a whale carcass that washed ashore nearby. For the event, they engineered a way to have a life-size whale replica rise up from the floor, unhinge its mouth, and from the depths, have 50 live bears pour out into the arena! And to think that people get excited about who is performing at the Super Bowl.

Y'all know this guy.

Picture 50 bears running around here.

I've never been one to prefer spending my free time in cemeteries or fancy wearing exclusively black clothing or enjoy sacrificing animals to appease Satan, because creepy stuff isn't really my bag. I'm much more into warm book nooks and watching videos of otters holding hands, but I decided to push myself and go to the Crypt of the Capuchins. Thanks to this wonderful idea I will now have very specific nightmares for life. I bought my ticket and headed inside. At first, you go through a nice museum that talks about the Capuchin order of monks. Without going too much into their history, which I found quite interesting, you should just know that they were a pretty hardcore group of monks, not like those monks you see nowadays clubbing and whatnot. The second part is what the morbidly-inclined come to see. Essentially, the bones of the Capuchin monks were dug up in order to be arranged in a series of chapels in different patterns and themes. One room might use only bones from legs, so it is conveniently titled the "Crypt of Leg Bones and Thigh Bones." Another uses only pelvises, another only skulls. The whole thing kind of freaked me out before I even went in, so actually going in was disturbing for me. They turned the horror up to an 11 with a small plaque in the first room. As if walking into a room lit by kneecap and jaw-bone chandeliers and depicting the resurrection of Christ with actual human skeletons wasn't terrifying enough, reading "What you are, we once were. What we are, you someday will be" will make you pee your damn pants. How dare they force me to confront my mortality! Needless to say, I was not entirely comfortable there, so I tried to hold my breath and hurry through the various rooms. I cooled off my fear-based sweat with a gelato, the solution to all of life's problems.

This nightmare fuel was brought to you by theculturemap.com. Taking pictures there is not allowed. Probably because they are worried a ghost will appear in one of them.

Watching this video will cleanse your soul.

Let's not end this post on a cruel reminder of death though, and instead let's talk about the food I ate. I decided that after many days of eating nothing but pizza slices, albeit delicious pizza slices, it was about time I go out and get a proper Italian meal. Not wanting to majorly insult anyone, I tried to read up beforehand to figure out if there were any cultural items I should know about for a sit-down restaurant. One of the pieces mentioned that it was impolite not to get multiple dishes. Trying to note this in my Dory-like brain for future use, I picked a restaurant that many reviewers claim had the best spaghetti carbonara in the area. Sign me up! The restaurant was called Osteria der Belli. It basically has belly in the name, how can it not be good? I got there much too early for the dinner crowd (shout out to early bird specials!), so I was the only person in the restaurant. I'm going to tell you about an issue I have developed since arriving in Europe. The heart of the problem occurs when I walk in the door. The person working hears the door open, and spins around eagerly to hopefully address a wealthy Danish couple who is ready to drop some big bucks on multiple bottles of expensive wine. Instead they see me clamber across the threshold, a shabbily-dressed backpacker, and their faces immediately drop. I haven't seen such regular disappointment since watching people realize Sbarro is their only choice at a truck stop. Naturally, they assume I'll get the cheapest pasta on the menu and a glass of tap water. In all honesty, this is exactly what I would do if they didn't look so crestfallen. Instead, a switch goes off in my brain that sends me into The 1% mode. I'm not sure what inspires this exactly, probably a mix of anger over being thought of as cheap, wanting to prove their stereotypes wrong so that other young people will get the benefit of the doubt and good service, and general guilt. All of a sudden I'm ordering a drink, an appetizer, an entree, a dessert, an after-dinner cigar, paying off their mortgage, sending their kid to college, etc. On this night it was a couple glasses of wine and, for some baffling reason that I have not yet figured out, two entrees. WHY?!? Of course, I got the spaghetti carbonara, which was pretty much a religous experience, and then I also got a whole platter of mixed seafood. The seafood was also a religious experience in that I was praying I wouldn't throw everything up. Not because it wasn't all delicious, but because I am a moron. The restaurant was only a couple blocks away from my hostel, but I swear that those few streets were the equivalent of completing an Iron Man. It involved copious amounts of mouth breathing, serious food sweats, and one instance of stopping completely to bend over with my hands on my knees to catch my breath. Sadly, this was not the last time I was in this state due to my perceptions of my waiter's thoughts.


Tip #5: If you want to see the Colosseum, buy your ticket at Palatine Hill or the Roman Forum. These are included in the ticket, but have shorter lines. When you're ready to see the Colosseum, you can bypass the line and leave those people in the dust like a bunch of schmucks.

Tip #6: One entree. Trust me.

The Numbers

Pizza slices eaten: 14

Top bunk placements: 1
Dogs petted: 2
Photos taken: 163 out of 248
Number of times I had the thought "Oh my God, I'm going to ralph": 24

Carry On My Italian Son

I have previously mentioned the terrifically abysmal driving in Naples. To an extent, that chaos has continued into Rome, but certainly not to the degree of Naples. It was actually in Rome that I witnessed my first Italian car accident. Both drivers quickly got out of their cars and lots of yelling, pointing, and hand gestures ensued. I suppose it was something that non-Italians might stereotype Italians to do in this situation, but here it was happening before my eyes.
It was because of this experience that made what happened a few days later all the sweeter. I was on my way somewhere, probably to go look at some ridiculously old thing, just meandering along and enjoying the day. In front of me was a mother holding the hand of her young son, maybe around three or four years old. Suddenly, a car comes around a bend and starts, albeit slowly, to enter the walkway where the mother and son are crossing. It definitely was not a dangerous situation, (not like the one where I accidentally walked out in front of a car near the Circus Maximus. Car driver, wherever you are, you were right! I deserved to be honked at!), but definitely an irritation. Then, instead of the mom going off as you might expect, the little boy starts yelling at the driver of the car. I don't think I have ever wished to know Italian more in my life than at this exact moment. He's hollering at the car and making tiny Italian toddler hand gestures, and then, magnificently, the driver of the car rolls down her window, and starts mock yelling at the little boy! All the while, the mother is smiling delightedly and even encouraging the boy to go on at certain points, as if this is some rite of passage or important skill he has to know to survive in Italy. For about thirty seconds they yelled at each other, the boy earnestly and the driver humorously, and then the mother gently led the boy away, and everyone continued with their day as if this wasn't the most magical damn thing that has ever happened.

Possibly Offensive To Catholics

After a bit of time on the Amalfi Coast, I decided to dive in and go to Rome. I was unsure of what to expect from Rome, since I had heard mixed things, but -spoiler alert- I loved it right away. Rome was also the first place that I went where I felt like I was shaking off my jitters and acquiring some confidence, which was very exciting.

The Pope's Clubhouse.

On my first full day in Rome I decided to go to the Vatican Museums. I assumed that when I got into Vatican City, it would be apparent enough where to go, so when I saw a massive line stretching out in front of the Vatican, I assumed that was it. Usually when I see a line vaguely in the area of where I think I want to be, I hop in it. I'm like a moth to the flame. What can I say? I like being a sheep. Lines are abundant in Rome, and due to the fact that attractions are often close to one another, it is easy to wait an hour and a half in a line to see something that you weren't planning to see. At least this happens to me. The line hadn't started moving yet since it was early and things weren't open, but I was ready to wait. Luckily, I was able to amuse myself during my time by being aggravated at my fellow line-goers. Just as I was about to step into the line that was already halfway around the plaza, a couple quickly butted in front of me because God forbid another single person be in front of them in this thousand person-long line. And the same could be said for me, it's just two people more, what's the big deal? The big, annoying deal is that this couple is apparently of the belief that they has created a spot for their 50-person tour group. Oy vey.

So now I've got 50 more people in front of me in the matter of two seconds. It quickly became apparent I wasn't in for a peaceful wait. During my imprisonment, I learned many things from this group, such as, how many selfies is too many selfies? There is no such thing as too many selfies. Will pigeons run off when you run at them over and over? Shockingly, yes. Where is the physical location of Hell? Apparently, in front of the Vatican.

To just make things the epitome of perfection, I was sandwiched into the line by two parents and their cherubic toddler who decided to take the day off from being angelic. This was surprising to me, especially at the Vatican, because I know how much small children revere Catholicism and long, tedious masses in general. Perhaps the parents brought their daughter for an exorcism because based on the screeches coming out of that little body, I would expect nothing less than one of the higher-ranking demons to be inhabiting her.

Here you can see the unholy line.

To try to remove myself from this experience I tried to focus on other things occurring around me. For instance, the two women slowly cutting their way up the line behind me. I watched them slowly creep up through the ranks, passing families, elderly, and disabled people with no apparent sense of empathy. Eventually, they got to my level, and try as I might to put my juvenile basketball skills to use and box them out, they managed to get by me too. The real kicker, though, was when they were a couple of places behind a nun. As they were making their way forward, I was thinking to myself, there is no way that they are going to pass this nun. We are in Vatican City, for Pete's sake! I figure, if God is watching for screw-ups, it's going to be in Vatican City. There is just no way. Yet they made their way forward, inch by inch. Finally, they were in the spot just behind the nun, and I thought, okay, this is where it ends for them. They paused, as if weighing the pros and cons of eternal damnation, and then, hastily, they hopped ahead. NO WAY! THEY BUTT THE NUN! I haven't been to Sunday School in a while, but I'm pretty sure that's one of the 10 Commandments, "Thou shalt not butt nuns." Even the nun looked shocked. I even thought I saw her glance around for a nearby ruler.

Finally, with only the barest grip on my sanity, I reached the front of the line. After getting through a ridiculous amount of security, I realized, this isn't where I want to be. In an effort to make it look like I knew what I was doing, I randomly hopped in another line. Somehow I found myself paying money to walk up a bunch of stairs, because I sure as heck wasn't going to pay extra for the elevator to goes who knows where. The stairs could lead directly up to heaven for all I knew. It turns out I was going into the Dome of St. Peter's Cathedral, and not, in fact, into the Vatican Museums. Whoops. It ended up being a positive mistake though with great views.

No sign of the Popemobile.

After descending back down, I went into St. Peter's. It was quite amazing. Like an extravagant Catholic church on steroids. Everything in there is gilded and detailed. As I was walking through though I couldn't help thinking about how much everything in there cost. It was an interesting juxtaposition with just being outside and being asked by a bunch of beggars for money on their doorstep.

I'm not suggesting anything, I'm just saying I can imagine this would be worth a pretty penny on the black market...

Once I left St. Peter's I went to actually find the Vatican Museums. This time I was a little more successful. I wandered around for a bit, attempting to be a worldly and cultured museum-goer. I made my way to the Sistine Chapel, which is the major draw of the Vatican Museums. It's a slightly weird experience seeing the Sistine Chapel. It's positively filled with people. There are benches around the outside of the room for people to sit on and absorb in awed silence. Unfortunately, that silence is often broken by an employee screaming at people not to take pictures. I'm sure they don't want people to take pictures because they want to preserve the art, and not because they have multiple souvenir shops directly outside of the chapel hawking pictures of Michelangelo's work. I found it impressive, but I'm not much of an art critic, so I didn't spend an overly long time looking. Also, I found the crush of humanity in the room off-putting. It wasn't until I left and was walking by one of these souvenir shops and happened to glance at their wares that I thought, "Oh my God, I forgot about God." I totally forgot to look at the most iconic part of the Chapel, The Creation of Adam, or as it as more commonly known, your co-worker's mousepad of God reaching out to that naked dude. Major mistake number two of the day. This meant I had to walk around the whole museum once again to go back. Having seen it, I believe I am allowed to say I am no longer an uncultured swine. To reward myself, I treated myself to some yummy gelato. Note: Treating myself to gelato after accomplishing minute feats will be a common theme running throughout my stories.

Not the Sistine Chapel, but it's a fancy ceiling, so basically the same thing.

Tip #4: Know that sometimes mistakes can be happy mistakes. I'm sure many parents can identify...

The Numbers

Pizza slices eaten: 9

Top bunk placements: 1
Dogs petted: 1
Photos taken: 163 out of 248
Religious figures insulted: 1

The Edge of Glory/Worry

After a couple torrentially rainy days in Naples and Pompeii, I was eager to move on to a new place to potentially escape the rain. My next destination was Sorrento, Italy, which is a good point from which to visit the Amalfi Coast. It was as if someone gave me a little bump, though, and I ended up in a hostel one town over in a place called Sant Agnello. At least the hostel said it was in Sant Agnello, but from how long it took me to walk uphill to it, it could have been on the top of Mount Everest. I asked somebody for directions along the way and they literally said to me, "Oh, it's just up the mountain." On the day that I was supposed to check in to the hostel, I was practically sprinting because I was nervous about not being there on time. Some of the hostels put a scary note on their page that says something like, "If you are not on time to check in, we will absolutely, positively, 100% give your room away, leaving you in the crappiest of circumstances because we are in the middle of nowhere." This is verbatim. By the time I got there, and on time I might add, I was soaked from the rain, which had not gone away yet, and from a serious back-sweat situation. The kicker was, the lady wasn't even there! All this jibber-jabber about being on time, and yet here I am, a smelly wreck collapsed on the ground in a pitch-black hallway waiting for my host to turn up. It turns out she is a very sweet lady, so all is forgiven.

In Sorrento, there are orange and lemon trees everywhere. I don't know if they are fair game or not. Either way, they are healthy, so I wouldn't eat them anyway.

Poster in hostel...maybe she isn't such a sweet lady...

The next day, my plans were to go to Amalfi. I quickly learned that getting there is the fun part. You've never lived until you are sure you are going to die careening off a cliff into the sea because your bus driver is happily babbling away on his phone. It's pure exhilaration. Looking out the window is frighteningly awesome, because in looking down, you literally can't see any road because you are so close to the edge. Frankly, I am amazed by the drivers of these buses. The roads are so tight and winding that they must need a tremendous amount of strength in their arms to pull the wheel back and forth for hours of loops of this road. Or in the case of my Chatty Cathy driver, strength in one arm.

Before I realized that I was on a demon bus.

You can kind of see from this picture how close the bus comes to the edge. Fun!

Along the coast road, the bus passes through a couple different towns. Positano is one of the more well-known towns, and although I didn't stop, it looked wonderful and I heard great things about it. In Naples, I had dinner with two Korean guys, one of which could speak English very well, and the other could understand, but didn't speak it. The one thing the entire night that the guy who didn't speak English did communicate to me was "Positano" and the thumbs up sign. So it must be nice there.

"Positano" -Thumbs up sign-

The Amalfi Coast has many qualities that make it an excellent place to visit, but one of the main reasons people go is to see the way these towns are built. They are situated, like the aforementioned roads, so that they are built into the cliffs of the coast. What this means is that there is a great deal of verticality. Hence, -ugh-, hills and stairs. In spite of these things, my two greatest enemies, I had a lovely time in Amalfi. I was definitely blissed out on the fact that the rain had finally and mercifully stopped, but more importantly, on being in this truly beautiful place. Because they are so vertical, when you get at the right angle, you can see a lot of the towns, which makes for captivating views.

Amalfi.

Also Amalfi.

Seeing all these places along the coast, I couldn't help thinking, why would anyone want to put themselves through the trouble of living here? I mean other than the fantastic views, lovely people, abundance of delicious seafood, and general excellent quality of life. But can you imagine having to get a washer delivered?!? In addition to the towns, while driving along, I could often spot lone houses way up on the hill. My first thought is always, "How do you even get up there?" And second, I think about how these people sometimes have to haul supplies up this mountainside, and how I'm usually too lazy to even walk the 20 feet to get the groceries from the car.

Not a great picture, but you can see the ridiculously located houses. How do you get there?!?

The ride back from Amalfi was even better than the way there. It had all the fun and excitement from the first ride, driver on a phone included, but this time also involved a five minute Mexican standoff. Basically, our bus and a van reached a one-lane bridge at the same time, both vehicles continued driving onto the bridge, and then, obviously, both had to stop in the middle. The first minute was tense because there was complete silence, and the drivers weren't even looking at each other, just looking off into the distance, feigning indifference, waiting for the other to move. Minute two switched things up because now the drivers were staring at each other, murmuring things under their breath. The third minute turned things into high gear because now both drivers are yelling at each other. Reaching minute four was when the frenzy began. In addition to the lines of cars honking around us, the native Italians on the bus are standing up and getting involved in yelling at the van driver too. So many rude hand gestures! So many! Meanwhile, I'm sitting gleefully in the back of the bus hoping this moment will never end. Minute five was where the dam broke and the bus driver opened the door, remembering to grab his can of whup ass out of the glove compartment on the way out, and it was at this juncture that the van driver decided it would be in his nose's best interest to back up. Who even needs television?!?

Tip #2: It is imperative that you sit on the right side of the bus.

Tip #3: Always validate your train ticket, because the time you don't will be the time they check.

The Numbers

Pizza slices eaten: 3

Top bunk placements: 1
Photos taken: 61 out of 85

Rude hand gestures witnessed: Approximately 73

Nope-les

I want to be honest and straight-forward right away, my trip did not really start off with a bang. I wanted to start in Naples not because I wanted to see Naples, but because I wanted to see Pompeii, which is nearby. I had heard before leaving that Naples isn't the nicest place in the world, so perhaps that created some bias. I probably didn't give Naples the chance it deserved, but, in my defense, I didn't feel like it. Sleep deprivation and jet lag will do that to you.

Unfortunately, my experience at Pompeii wasn't what I hoped it would be. I was super excited to see it because my interest in Pompeii was one of the reasons I studied Anthropology. It was quite an unlucky twist of fate, then, when the skies opened up and let forth a mighty downpour. Now, I can deal with a little rain, but this rain was so heavy that I was concerned that maybe I missed my invite aboard the ark. (It was people on the ark, right?) At a few points throughout the day I would find myself standing in a puddle of water up to my ankles trying to derive a twinge of pleasure from what I was seeing, and attempting to perk myself up by thinking, "Well, at least I have the place to myself." I can imagine the people watching over the security cameras looking at this wet rat of a girl on their monitors, shaking their heads, and saying, "What a poor schmuck." I had also purchased an audioguide before I went in so I could understand what I was seeing. Big mistake. Trying to manage the audioguide, the accompanying map (to know what buttons to press), and my umbrella was just too much for my poor uncoordinated hands. God forbid I would want to take a picture, too. The map was also something that someone with a sick sense of humor dreamt up. I think I'm pretty decent with maps, (shoutout to Matti Curran, my partner in being the first female team to finish the orienteering course in 8th grade!), but I probably could have had as much success with a map of Narnia to get around Pompeii as I did with their map.

Definite bummer.

Basically, I guess I don't have much of an opinion on Naples because I didn't really take the time to explore it, and I don't have much to say about Pompeii because I was worried about getting trench foot and gangrene. Do yourself a favor and do not Google that. I do have a couple thoughts in regards to both of these places, though.

First, Naples drivers are the worst drivers I have ever seen. Now, you say to me, "But, Alicia, how can you generalize all of the drivers of Naples like that?" Well, friends, I will tell you. It may have been when I saw a woman leave her car in the middle of a busy intersection to run into a tobacco shop, or perhaps it was when that moped driver sat at a green light while casually, and seemingly without a care in the world, lighting his cigarette while a long line of cars beeped at him, or when a Fiat raced down a heavily pedestrianized street at around 40 mph in reverse, probably with a cigarette clasped in mouth, but at some point, I threw all the Naples drivers under the bus and generalized. Okay, okay, I'm sure there are some good drivers in Naples out there, but, imagine, those are all examples of driving incidents I saw just in one day in a relatively short period of time! What's it like on all the other days?! It's a complete madhouse, for both drivers and pedestrians. The US is like being in the kiddie pool compared to them. It almost makes me want to get my driver's license back in the States. Almost.

Video courtesy of Yellow Productions.

Second, another theme occurring in all these driving stories, (probably), is the appearance of cigarettes. Everyone here really seems to enjoy their slow-burning death sticks. 24-hour cigarette vending machines are a common sight. It's slightly surprising to see so many people smoking, whereas it has kind of turned into more of a rarity in the US. I don't really mind though, because all these smokers mean there has to be a lot of tobacco shops, which is where you buy all sorts of tickets, like for the metro, and all sorts of candy, like for eating. So bring on the bad habits! I'm just kidding, smoking is bad, kids.

Lastly, from the minor amount of human interactions I have experienced so far, I'm kind of digging the vibe here. After coming from the "customer-is-always-right" culture of the US, it is a relief being here, where the workers aren't always bubbly rainbow fountains of joy and delight. In all honesty, I am really enjoying the fact that at any time I could do something that will have someone curse me off for my stupidity. It's refreshing. One of my favorite things occurred when I was in line to get my ticket into Pompeii. As a major historical site with thousands of people coming through a day, you would think they would want their workers to be very efficient and utterly focused on the task at hand. Well, the lady selling the tickets certainly doesn't think so, because she has some important personal phone calls to make. It's called multitasking! I love it!

Tip #1: Never, ever drive in Naples, unless your dream job is to be a crash test dummy.

The Numbers

Pizza slices eaten: 1

Top bunk placements: 1
Photos taken: 24 out of 24

Almost car crashes witnessed: Countless

55 Liters of Stuff in the Bag, 55 Liters of Stuff

55 liters. What does 55 liters mean to you? Probably nothing because America is overflowing with idiocy and doesn't use the metric system like the entire rest of the world. I definitely didn't understand what 55 liters was until a few weeks ago. Then, 55 liters became the amount of space I would be living out of for two months. One week? Six months? Who knows? Anyway, my backpack is 55 liters total, 40 in the main pack, and 15 in the day pack. However you are doing the math, it looks small. Unless it's in beer. Then it's a lot.

Literally, it is just Liberia, Myanmar, and the US not using the metric system.

Packing was definitely an adventure in itself. Over the course of a few weeks, I managed to buy 11 pairs of shoes, a kit to wash my clothes in the sink with accompanying rubber clothesline, a silk sleep sack, and over 100 dollars worth of socks. Do not fear, most of the shoes were returned, although I can't say the same for the socks. SmartWool socks are a damn delight and you can rip them from my cold, dead feet. Also, if anyone needs help rolling clothes, I can now roll mine to drill sergeant precision levels. I literally learned from a YouTube video made by a Army Ranger. Due to my planning ahead and purchasing everything I needed fairly early on, I was able to have my pack fully ready exactly five minutes before I needed to leave. Not exactly sure how that happened, but I do seem to recall at some point during my all-nighter that I was no longer going to try and carry-on, which meant readjusting the entire bag, and probably costing me that one hour of sleep I would have gotten. I also remember staring blankly off into the distance a couple times and thinking exactly no thoughts. The brain with sleep deprivation is a wondrous thing.

It's a t-shirt burrito!

My trip from the global power that is Langhorne, Pennsylvania to Naples, Italy felt like quite a whirlwind. I'll give you the short version. It went like so: drive from my house to Trenton train station, take train to Penn Station, take train to Jamaica station, take Airtrain to JFK, get checked in and have my personal space violated by security, possibly moon somebody while hurriedly putting on shoes without belt, buy outlandishly expensive food, wait around a few hours, take nine hour flight to Istanbul, have six hour layover in what are undoubtedly the most uncomfortable chairs ever created, take two hour flight to Naples, take bus to hostel, almost cry from exhaustion when you realize you need a five cent coin to take the elevator to the hostel on the 7th floor, go out looking for ways to break money, fail at breaking money, fail at breaking money, finally acquire five cent coin, return to elevator where a fellow hostel-goer has paid coin making yours irrelevant, almost cry again, check in, flop onto bed and into coma with no time to cry tears of happiness.

Additionally, I had the pleasure of sitting next to some interesting people. On my flight to Istanbul, I was seated next to a man on his way to Jerusalem to visit family. He owns what I think may be a sandwich shop in Jersey, but I'm still not certain because he kept calling it a bakery. I know he has five children, one of which is an extravagant spender. The extravagant spender buys a new car every year and has four full walk-in closets. My seat-mate thinks that immigrants shouldn't bother coming to America unless they work three jobs. I know what all of his children and grandchildren look like since I saw literally every picture on his phone. He believes in smacking your child every once in a while to prevent them from using "the marijuana drug." He has been married to his wife for 38 years. She is a good wife because she does not let herself go. He does not like shrimp. I know all of this because I listened to him for quite a while since the man brought absolutely nothing with him onto the plane to occupy himself. For a nine hour flight! No music, no book, no tamagotchi, nothing. He also let me know early on that he is incapable of sleeping on planes. To top everything off, his little TV in front of him was broken. Oy vey. I wanted to get a little sleep on the ride over though, so I was able to squeeze some naps in. Every time I would wake up, he would just be staring straight ahead at the broken TV, apparently creating his own shows. You have to have a decent imagination when you bring nothing on a flight.

This is tangential, but I have a theory that the government is running an organization that creates movies based on wonderful books with the sole objective of ruining them for readers. By doing so, they are hoping people will be so disgusted by the interpretations that they will stop reading books entirely, thus becoming a society like in 1984 or Fahrenheit 451. Case in point: The Giver. I find it almost offensive that you have an excellent story, Jeff Bridges, and the incomparable Meryl Streep, and still find a way to muck it up. It can be nothing less than a purposeful, tactical move by a high-ranking agency in the American government. Possibly the same agency that decided on not using the metric system.

I was so excited for my second flight, because I was going to sleep the sweet heck out of that flight. When we started boarding I got super pumped because there were approximately 25 of us, and pretty much everyone had a row to themselves. Naturally then, an entire family sits down next to me, and I mean like an aunts, uncles, extended cousins type-of-family. Lucky for me, the guy who sits next to me gets to chatting and immediately labels himself as a people-person. Oh, Sleep, I hardly knew you. I now also know countless things about this guy, but I'll spare you the details of this one. It turns out that Turkish Airlines ended up being my savior for a little of the flight because even on an hour and a half flight, they still served a meal! When you get a meal on an airplane, all of your concentration has to go into eating it. It's the rules. I think it's because the tray tables are so tiny and the utensils so blunt that you really have to focus. Either way, with my neighbor happily munching away I was able to fall asleep a couple of times with my eyes open. When our plane landed, my seat-mate insisted on giving me a hair-clip he bought for his mother, (what an A+ son!), and in return I would give him my number so he could contact me when he comes to the United States from India. That's when old Alice Eisen made an entrance. Surprisingly, her phone number is one digit off from mine. Small world!

I am also happy to report a small accomplishment. Within six hours of being in Italy, I ate a slice of pizza.

Introduction, or The Part Most People Skip Over

Welcome lovely friends and family, and also, hello to you creepy internet strangers who have randomly come across this blog! I am both shocked and impressed at the level of your masochistic tendencies that would bring you back for another round. I imagine most of you reading this know generally what I am up to, but for the benefit of the creepers, I'll summarize. For a little while, I will be traveling through Europe. I'm not sure how long I'll be traveling, perhaps as much as six months, or perhaps you will see me eating at Brothers Pizza tomorrow. I am starting my trip in Italy, and from there, we'll see what the world holds.

I was pretty excited when I figured out the name of my blog. It took me quite a while to pick it out. For a bit I was leaning towards "Alicia's Planetary Quest," but then I realized I was getting altitude sickness from being so far up on my high horse. Once I safely dismounted, I toyed around with some more names, and eventually decided on including "Homebody," because that, straight up, is what I am. I am the type of person that likes staying at home. That is what I like to do. Unless the power is out, which just might be hell on Earth, I can amuse myself with numerous items at my house like books, the TV, movies, video games, the overabundance of food, YouTube videos, the DVR, the list goes on and on. That's not to say that I don't like going out, but just how about we get home in time to catch the end of the Law and Order: SVU marathon? That's part of the reason that I think this trip is such a big deal for me. It has always been a dream of mine to do this, but it is quite far out of my comfort zone. This trip is so far away from my comfort zone it was charged long-distance to make a phone call. 2015: The year Comfort Zone jokes take over from the ever-popular Yo Mama jokes.

Eventually, I kind of settled on "Adventures of a Homebody," but I wasn't happy with it since it felt kind of generic. That's when I pulled out the trusty thesaurus. As any decent slacker or procrastinator knows, the thesaurus is the ultimate guide to meeting a paper's page count. ("Eats a lot," what is this, amateur hour? More like "gormandizes superabundantly.") So, while perusing my old friend the thesaurus, I stumbled upon "ramblings." I liked ramblings because it's what I do. I write long, meandering posts, which could probably be compared to reading my stream of consciousness. If these past few paragraphs are not enough of an indication, feel free to look back on my blog from my study abroad in Ireland for further examples. For this, I apologize, but, I also say to you, do not expect change from me. I will ramble, and you will either read or not. I personally suggest skimming. There's a lot of garbage here to dig through. Rambling is also what I am going to do. I am going to bop around from place to place with no real destination or plans in mind. On one hand, this is going to be exciting, because, yay!, freedom and youth, but on the other hand, this is slightly terrifying, because I like having a plan.

At the end of the day, (my time, not EST), this blog is a way for me to connect with you, beloved family and friends, and let you know what I'm up to. I feel very honored that you think I'm interesting enough to read about, because I don't think I would read about me. But that may be just because I know how many hours I spend watching Bravo. This blog is also  way for me to remember what I did, because I have the memory of a very forgetful elephant. Personally, I'm proud of myself for doing this trip. Not everyone can say they doing things that challenge them, and not everyone can say they are accomplishing their dreams, so go me!

Anywho, I'm not exactly sure how I am going to work this blog since I'm doing a lot more traveling than I was when I was studying abroad, but we'll make it up as we go. I'll probably talk about the truly interesting places I go, none of that Colosseum baloney, or chuckle-worthy things I saw or went through. Ultimately, I want this to be a way for you to passive aggressively kill time at work ever since your boss called you out in front of all your co-workers at the morning meeting. And I hope I can oblige.






P.S. This blog is definitely still a work in progress, design-wise, so give me a chance to work the ugly out. In truth, this may not be a possibility from this god-forsaken iPad.