Or the account of my decline into barbarism (and all of the lovely, mad people who helped me do it).

Wednesday, June 16, 2010


I've been in Italy for the past month, and I cannot begin to recap the adventures I've had there. I wish I would have brought my computer so I could have blogged overseas, but we traveled from city to city and I didn't want to carry any extra luggage.

The trip effected me in a way I cannot describe. I climbed the Alps and its beauty restored my faith in the goodness of the world.

The people with whom I traveled, once acquaintances, soon became my close friends within days.

In a monastery, I got drunk for the first time and showed the nuns my underwear.

I racked up 80 euro bar tab (about $150) with my friends and ran through the streets of Rome with a belly full of cocktails to make the curfew at the monastery.

I stood in St. Peter's Basilica and wept.

I learned I speak perfect French when I'm drunk. Resume material??

I got sick of hearing Italians say, "Americani." Am I that obviously American? I can't be. I almost didn't make it through Italian customs because the officer thought I was Italian, not American.

The night before we left, I wept for hours. In the bar. In the befriended's shopkeeper's store. In my friends' arms.

I miss Italy.

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