Apologies

I have been remiss in posting about my new life in Honduras, and for this I apologize. I will attempt to provide justification for my absence here.

After the initial novelty and nervousness of living in a third world country dissipated, once school had started, I found it really hard to put my feelings into words. My experiences have been so foreign to me, how could I even begin to convey them to others? But other than that, I was trying to live by the maxim "if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all". This is not an entirely fair representation of my life here, by any means. There are some wonderful things about Honduras. But recently, they have been mostly overshadowed by the intense frustrations I've encountered. I debated about writing about my struggles, not wanting to seem ungrateful for this wonderful opportunity I've been given. But this is meant to be about my real life, not life how I would choose it to be. So here it is: my real life in Honduras.

The weather: It is always hot here. Hot and humid, beyond anything I've experienced in the States. Yes, Minneapolis can be hot and sticky. So can Tennessee, where we went this summer. But it's relentless here; the sun seems so much stronger, even the wind is hot. The only relief we get is at night when it pours down rain and turns the gravel roads into streams of dirt. It wasn't so bad at the beginning when I knew the weather wasn't so different back at home, but now, when the leaves are beginning to change and the days are cooling off and instead of going thinking about drinking apple cider wrapped in a sweater, all I want is ice cold water, it's getting harder to appreciate the tropical climate. The green is lovely, but I'm missing the variety of colors autumn at home offers.

The house: Our house is, by Honduran standards, quite luxurious. We have internet, a fully-functioning kitchen, a sort of yard in front and a patio out back with a hammock and washing machine. But the bugs. There are so many bugs. We've sprayed for cockroaches and wood-eating ants. We've had ants in our beds and food, spiders and roaches in the showers, and the flies come in droves. For the first several weeks I woke up every morning with bites from what I hoped were mosquitoes, but had no way of knowing that was the case. I've gotten used to it for the most part, but they still have their moments. Today for instance, I opened a box of macaroni that had been on the shelf for several weeks; when I pulled out the cheese packet it was covered in tiny little ants. Literally covered. I stuck my hand into the noodles and it came out with more swarming insects. Needless to say, that box went into the garbage.

The school: I'm going to try to step carefully here. Some of my frustrations with the school are not the fault of the administration. Some of it comes from the government, some from Honduran culture. But whatever the causes, there has been very little about the school I have really appreciated. The administration is resistant to change, discipline seems lax where it sorely needs to be enforced, bureaucracy and micro-managing are the order of the day, and they expect nearly impossible things considering the resources they provide us with. How, for example, is one meant to teach a two hour chemistry lab every week when the only lab equipment provided is 8 microscopes (and one outlet) and a box of slides? Many of the teachers had to wait several weeks for textbooks to teach from and some of the students still don't have the books they need. The students themselves have proved to be sometimes absolute delights but mostly difficult and resistant to our efforts. Some of the younger ones barely speak or understand English. My students at least know what I'm saying. Whether they choose to listen is another story.

The food: This is a biggie. Even bigger than the school. I knew before I left that I would have to at least try and like beans because of their prevalence in Latin American cuisine. This has proved true, but the larger problem is how much more of their diet revolves around chicken. The first night in town we all went to a restaurant and I had to ask for a salad without chicken because that seemed like the only item on the menu that could be easily adapted to a vegetarian palate. Things have gotten slightly but not significantly better. While I can find peanut butter, which has been a life-saver, there is very little good dairy here. Fruit and vegetables can be found both in the grocery store and from stalls along the street, but they are not always good and the variety is incredibly limited. I cannot count on finding spinach or any leafy green that's not iceberg lettuce. My eyes are never going to have trouble because the carrots here are numerous and gigantic, but my iron levels are another story.      On top of my individual concerns with not eating meat, I have trouble accepting the Honduran diet in general. Everything is overly processed and full of artificial flavoring and sweeteners. Coke bottles are more numerous and just as cheap as water. The candy aisle is twice as big as the produce section in the grocery store. There are restaurants selling fried chicken everywhere you look. The level of obesity here is quite high, especially in kids, because that kind of food is cheap. Coming from a city like Minneapolis, with it's co-ops and farmer's markets, and reams of veggie and vegan friendly options, this is quite a change. I didn't even have this much trouble in Slovakia, because it didn't cost nearly as much to import things. In order to find spinach, oatmeal, and (hallelujah!) veggie burgers last weekend, I had to take a four hour round trip bus ride into San Pedro Sula, then fork over $45 for three plastic bags of groceries. I'm really struggling and am beginning to notice the effects, I think.

Other random things that bother me: None of us, but especially the girls, can go out without being stared or whistled at. It's not considered rude, like it is in the States, but it's still uncomfortable, and makes walking alone through town unappealing. There are chickens and roosters wandering around the streets, the roosters crowing at all hours. We frequently have canine (hopefully) visitors who knock over our trash cans and spread garbage around our yard. This goes along with the heat, but I am always sticky, always dirty. I feel like so much more of an outsider here than anywhere else I've ever been.

Please do not get the wrong impression. I've spent time here complaining about everything I'm frustrated with. This is not my whole life. My hope in writing this is that I will no longer feel like I have to pretend that I absolutely love it here and that everything is perfect, because it's not. Now that I've gotten all this off of my chest hopefully I'll be able to spend more time focusing on the joys of living here, which do exist, as few and far between as they seem sometimes.

La Cascada Pulhapanzak

 On our first weekend after starting school Nick, knowing we sorely needed some stress relief, brought us to the Pulhapanzak waterfall, one of the 30 natural wonders of Honduras, at least according to the sign. He had told us to wear bathing suits and good walking shoes, and asked if everyone was all right jumping into the river from a ledge, but not much else about what we were going to be doing. After we had all clambered out of the back of his pick-up truck, we walked along the river above the falls and watched some zip liners soar over our heads. We waded across a shallow dam, killing time before the guide for our waterfall tour showed up. It was a perfectly idyllic place, with campsites and cabins for rent, smack dab in the middle of the jungle. We didn't have any idea what was in store for us, but I at least was excited.


We slowly made our way down to the falls themselves, and once there it was absolutely stupendous. The falls are about 140 meters high and because we're in the middle of the rainy season right now, they were thundering over the rocks and spraying water high into the air. I basked in the mist; despite living near a lake, the amount of water I encounter on a daily basis is not enough for my taste. Soon, out guide came to get us. He unlocked a gate at the end of the observation platform and we filed through.
      Edging along the bank, with the river rushing by about 10 feet below us, anticipation was running high. Soon we had to jump into a pool. I had expected to be at least a little nervous, but when it came time for me to take the leap, I was completely fine. Not a nerve in sight. The pool was deep and the current stronger than I was expecting, but everyone made it across ok. Slowly, in single file, we made our way to the foot of the waterfall, ducking under ledges and paddling across pools.
     Our final destination was a cave a little ways up the waterfall itself. Lord knows how anyone found this hollowed out rock under the rushing water, but they did, and getting there was an exhilarating experience. The last little leg involved a relatively steep slope, a single cable with a rubber grip, and lots and lots of water. Climbing up this incline, you could literally see nothing but water, and it was so hard to keep your eyes open that it was even hard to see that. With pounds of water crashing down on your head, and your only hand hold the narrow cable on the left, you had to put blind faith in your feet and trust that they were going to find solid places to stand.
     I have no idea how far up the waterfall we went. It probably wasn't that high. We rested in an alcove before shimmying down one last ledge then squirming through a narrow opening into the cave. Honestly, it was a little underwhelming. It was just a cave, and a small one at that. The attraction of this tour is definitely the journey, not the destination.
     Climbing back down the waterfall was only slightly easier for knowing what was in store. The inability to see was more nerve-wracking going down than up, and the leap into the pool even higher. It was so much fun. No company in the entire United States would allow you to do what we did that day, but it was absolutely incredible.

First Impressions: Honduras

     Honduras is a country unlike any I have ever been in. This was initially made clear to me before we had even landed. As we began our descent, there was bright blue ocean water on one side of the plane and tree-covered mountains on the other. As we came closer to the ground, shacks with tin roofs and large plantations started coming into view. The airport was small, but equipped with a dearth of armed guards and full customs inspections upon both entry and departure. We (the two other girls who had flown from Minneapolis with me) spent our first few hours in the country sitting next to a Wendy's in the San Pedro Airport waiting for the rest of the group to arrive. Once they had, we loaded our huge amount of luggage into a truck and piled into two vans for the hour and a half long drive up to Pena Blanca.
     Along the way we passed banana, sugar, and coffee plantations, all green and growing. But as the van careened around corners without regard for lane lines and narrowly avoided head on collisions while trying to pass a slow(er) moving vehicle on a two lane road we also saw innumerable shacks, stocked with a random assortments of items, sold desperately by people who have no other source of income.
     We passed the lake, the only lake in Honduras, with it's glistening water and drove further up into the mountains wreathed with low floating clouds before coming to the town itself. We received differing population estimates from the driver and assistant principal, but there seems to be about 10.000 people living in this community. Half the streets are paved, the rest are what could diplomatically be called gravel. The buildings are nearly hidden behind signs and more kiosks, but what you can see of them is ramshackled and crumbling. Most of the houses are basically open to the world with only a fence between the street and the living room. But all of this, the gravel, the shacks, the tacky Coca-Cola signs, are surrounded by some of the most beautiful scenery I've ever seen. The mountains rise up on all sides, cloaked in clouds. The view from our patio is spectacular.
     Our house is luxurious compared to the average Honduran's. The girls live in a duplex with a shared backyard, four in one side, 6 in the other. We have a small patio with a hammock out back, a washing machine, 5 bathrooms, and 2 kitchens (although one is currently infested with cockroaches) with basic small appliances. The floors are tiled, and the walls all painted bright yellow and green. We've killed loads of roaches so far which was initially accompanied by loud shrieks, although I suppose we'll get used to them fairly quickly.
     We went up to the school today for the first time, but there's enough to say about that to warrant it's own post, so this is all I'll say on the topic: I got exactly the teaching assignment I was hoping for.
     Here's my first impression of Honduras: it's a country that needs a lot of love. There were piles of trash along the road, some of them taller than me. There are men lying alongside the road, passed out drunk at 5pm. We can't drink the water, and need to buy it in water cooler size jugs across the alleyway from our front door. With all the misery in the world, Honduras is a country that is often overlooked because it's problems perhaps aren't as dramatic as an Ebola outbreak. But it also seems to be a country that has so much to give, and seeing the potential wasted in the way it is now is heartbreaking.
     In all honestly, my initial reaction to our way of life for the next 10 months was apprehension; it's going to be far from the easiness of living in the States. But learning to appreciate a different way of life is part of the reason I wanted to come in the first place. I'm still nervous, but eager to learn.

Dovidenia

     I am at the Vienna airport where I arrived at midnight last night. With part of the night spent strategically arranged across two waiting room chairs and my giant suitcase, and the other part on a rock hard sleeping platform at the gate, I am probably not going to make much sense. That is however apropos for my state of mind right now. I honestly have no idea what is going on. I left Bratislava last night at 11. I will be boarding my flight to Frankfort in half an hour. After a brief layover, and a nearly 10 hour flight directly to Minneapolis, I'll be home, for the first time in over 5 months. It simply doesn't seem real.

    
     Making the decision to leave Bratislava and Bilgym was one of the hardest choices I've ever had to make in my life. I've really enjoyed my time here, despite the obvious challenges. All the same, I've been really looking forward to being home. At least, I was, until a few days ago. Ever since I made the decision to leave, and especially since accepting the position in Honduras, I've been chomping at the bit. With my departure in the near future, the things which had been only minor annoyances previously were really grating on me. My lack of Slovak was especially frustrating, my occasional impatience with the students and bureaucracy of the school grew more pronounced.
    
     But then something changed. I started living with graduation goggles, at least as far as school went. I was reminded that there were times when staying didn't seem impossible, when I could see myself here for another year. Saying goodbye to my students, hearing their appreciation of the work I had put in to their classes, needing to realize that I won't see them every day anymore, was hard. Walking around Old Town, trying to burn the images into my memory because I have no idea when I'll be back to see them again, was hard.
     I thought it was going to be easier. It wasn't until I started counting lasts (last Friday in Bratislava, last day with the students, etc) that I realized just how much I was going to miss this place. I hadn't known just how attached I had grown to the people, sights, and life in Bratislava. So ever since then, thinking about leaving has been bittersweet, where before it was, honestly, just sweet.
    
     I'm not second guessing my decision. I know that I belong first at home, and then in Honduras next year. I'm confident in that. But now, for the first time, I'm realizing how profoundly I've been affected by my time here. I've known since the moment I was offered the job back in December that this was going to offer an incredible learning experience. I learned how to teach by teaching, an experience that has been both terrifying and marvelous. I expected that, and have not been disappointed.
     But there is so much else that has happened, things that wouldn't make sense to you even if I had the words to describe them. I am so blessed to have met the people I did, and to have taught the students I taught. If they have learned half as much from me as I have from them, I would consider myself successful.
   
So dakujeme, Bratislava, for everything you were and everything you will continue to be.

Next Steps

     Well, I officially have a plan for next year. After countless applications, several interviews, and long weeks of waiting, I have a job! What's more, it's a job I feel so good about that I cannot wait to get started. I'll be teaching at Lake Yojoa Bilingual School in Pena Blanca, Honduras. Pena Blanca is a little town in the mountains of central Honduras, the school a private non-denominational Christian school with around 400 students from kindergarten to 10th grade.
     I am well aware that this is going to be something completely different from anything else I've ever experienced, but that's kind of the point. I don't know exactly what I'm going to be teaching, but it will probably be upper-elementary or middle/high schoolers. The situation of the town will be as different from Petrzalka as it is possible to be, almost. It's a small town in a rural area, in the mountains, near a lake. There's lots of hiking, not a lot of clubs, and I will certainly not be anonymous; I was told the American teachers stand out quite a bit from the rest of the population. While the children who go to the school will be well off as far as Hondurans are concerned, I will be living in one of the poorest countries in the Western Hemisphere.
     I will once again be living in a different language, an inevitable part of being an English as a Foreign Language teacher. However, unlike Slovak, Spanish is a language which I feel reasonably confident of being able to pick up quickly. I'll be able to dredge the remains of middle school from the depths of my brain, and put my hibernating French grammar to use again. I'm excited about actually being able to communicate with people, and not feel lost in a sea of sounds.
     Other than that, I don't know a whole lot about what my situation will be. But this feels right. Talking to my family about it last week, I literally could not stop smiling.
     I'm excited about the teaching I'll be doing, the students, teachers, and other locals I'll meet. I'm excited about no longer living in the concrete jungle of Petrzalka. At the same time, I'm going to miss the people here so much. Saying goodbye to my kids was the hardest part; they were really the main reason my time here was so good. If there was a way I could teach them in a vacuum, without any of the other complications of Bilgym or Slovakia, I would do it in a heartbeat. They are such sweethearts. When I leave, part of my heart will be staying behind with them.
    
     Part of what comes with living such a nomadic lifestyle is that you get attached to people, and create connections that you are reluctant to let go, in the fear that they will disappear. But that's part of life. Pieces of my heart live all over the world, with my family and friends in Minneapolis, in various locations across the US, in Scotland, Prague, and now, in Bratislava. And while it may seem like I'm running out of heart to leave places, I think exactly the opposite is true. As humans, I believe we have an infinite capacity to love. The more love we spread into the world, the more we receive in return, and the more we have to give back.
     I have been incredibly lucky in having found people in every place I've been who have made an impact on my life, and who I am proud to call my friends. Bratislava is no exception, and for that reason, I'm sorry to be leaving. But I'm sure the same will be true of Honduras, and I cannot wait to head out on this new adventure.
     But first, I have almost two months at home to look forward to. Two months of sisters, friends, bike rides, road trips, and English. I absolutely cannot wait. 

Life Less Ordinary

     Once again, I am on the verge of a major life change. I don't know where I'll be going next, but thinking about moving away from Bratislava as well as the general trajectory of my life over the past couple years has brought up some thoughts that I've been quietly mulling over for months, but didn't really know how to express.
     But then, I was reading this article earlier today, and it helped solidify some of the language I've been wanting to use concerning these ideas. It also gave me something concrete to respond to which resulted in a (rather tenuous) conclusion, or at least a viable foundation for further exploration. In the article, after coming across an urging to live an extraordinary life, the author asks his wife if she thinks they do.
     Her response is no. They, like many modern parents, spend most of their days at work. They run errands, watch TV, and try and squeeze as much time in together with their son as they can on evenings and weekends. There is nothing remarkable or unusual about their lives, nothing extraordinary. But, and this is the important part, they are extraordinarily lucky to be living the lives they are. She also acknowledges that this 'luck' does not mean they should not be striving for a more extraordinary life.
   
     This is my response: all our lives are extraordinary. Like many young people living abroad, I fled the country as soon as I could, not because I don't love it, but because I didn't want to get stuck. I didn't want to get stuck in a job I didn't like, or find myself back in school because I didn't know what else to do with myself. I wanted adventure, to try new things, to meet new people. I wanted to be able to say that I had lived abroad. And in all honesty, I felt sorry for the people who didn't. I felt sorry for the people who got married right out of college, settled down somewhere with jobs, bought a house, maybe even started a family.
     How sad, I thought. I would hate being tied down like that so early in life. Yes, someday I want to get married and create a life for myself and my family someplace I love, but not at 22. Or 23. Or probably 24 or 25 either. At that point in my life, that wasn't something that appealed to me, so I judged other people's decisions through my own restless lens. As pompous as this sounds, I thought they were missing out on the kind of extraordinary life I was living.
   
     But here's the thing. Those people, who married their high school/college sweetheart, who have steady jobs; they are living their own adventure. Just because they never left the country, state, or even city where they were raised, doesn't mean they're not living an extraordinary life. Their adventures building careers, continuing their education, raising a family, surrounding themselves with comfort and familiarity, none of that is less important than my globe-trotting. In many ways, it may be even more important.
     It is undeniable that I am having experiences and facing challenges living and working abroad that none of my friends at home can fully understand. But it is equally undeniable that their lives are just as foreign to me as mine is to them. I may recognize where they are living their lives, but that doesn't mean I know everything about them, or that they're less exciting than my own.
   
     I've chosen to live the kind of life everyone says you should live in your 20's. I'm making decisions for myself, I left the US to go work abroad, basically all of my essential belongings fit into a suitcase and a backpack, and I don't have strings tying me down. But as wonderful as it is to have that freedom, it's an incredibly hard life to live, especially for someone as introverted as I am. Constantly having to make new friends, get used to new cities, learn new languages, facing trial by fire at a new job every six months, it's exhausting, and I've found myself envying the people I pitied two years ago.
     Yet even now, knowing the challenges of living abroad, I still have this fear of living what I saw as an ordinary life. I'm afraid of going home. I'm afraid that, finding myself back in Minneapolis, surrounded by my wonderful childhood friends, and the sights, sounds, and smells of home, I will never want to leave. I'm afraid that I will grow content with what is there, and no longer have the desire to adventure out into the unknown. As much as constant transitioning and culture shock have lost their novelty, the idea of losing the desire to do more with my life is even more debilitating.
     But here's what the article forced me to admit: routine and familiarity are not the enemies of adventure. If you don't have those things, the adventures don't stand out. Choosing to get married early doesn't limit your options, it gives you another set of dreams to live out together. My way is no better than anyone else's, no matter what the internet or my own impulses might say.
   
     An extraordinary life does not come from what you do, but rather how you do it. Extraordinary moments can be found in the simplest joys, the ones that take your breath away with astonishment, laughter, or love.
   
     So here is my promise to myself: as long as I'm home, however long that ends up being, I am going to find the extraordinary moments in the familiarity of life in Minneapolis. Instead of constantly longing to be elsewhere, of searching for some elusive 'other', I am going to savor the things I know and have loved for years. All our lives are extraordinary, because life itself is extraordinary. The simple fact of our existence, of us being us and not some other combination of DNA, is mind-bogglingly unlikely. So even though it may not seem like our lives are anything special, it's absurd to think of them as anything but.
     By no means am I saying I want to grow complacent with living at home, I certainly will be looking forward to once again setting off into the wild blue yonder. But instead of treating it as a time that somehow doesn't matter because I'm not off doing anything especially interesting or exciting, I want to treat it as a time of appreciation, of rediscovery. I want to find the extraordinary in the everyday, and strive to create more extraordinary moments through my own thoughts and actions.
     
     Extraordinary lives don't come from wandering around the world or wild adventures, they come from a desire to appreciate the moments that really matter, whether that's the pride that comes with a job well done, spending time with your family and friends, or taking treks to places no one you know has ever heard of.
   
     For those of us blessed to have the assurance of safety, shelter, and sustenance on a daily basis, there is no reason not to value the life we are living, regardless of the life we would ideally be living. So while you should never stop striving to live a life you love to live, be sure to pause every now and then and find the joys in the life you're living now.

Verona: All Deliciously Italian

Padua, while beautiful, does not offer a wide range of entertainment options for those who are neither university students or residents of the city. Much like Aberdeen, Padua is a lovely town to live in, not quite as nice a town to visit, at least that's the impression I got. With this in mind, we opted to spend our full day in Padua about an hour away in Verona instead. I'm not sure what I was expecting Verona to be like, but it wasn't.
     I certainly didn't anticipate it being as large as it was. When I pictured Verona, I saw it as more of a smaller city, maybe the size of Padua. Definitely not as a city seemingly larger than Florence. But it was. The first hint was that Verona has more than one train station, one of them being a terminus, a not insignificant clue to it's size. We embarked from the main train station, and walked the short distance into town, passing an old moat along the way. The main drag leading to the old city gates was lined with modern shops in slightly-less-modern buildings. There were wide sidewalks, with occasional tree-lined boulevards. The effect was lovely. I liked Verona already.


     But it's not until you get to Piazza Bra that you really are struck by the vast importance of this city. Standing smack in the middle of the square is a giant Roman arena, one of the largest, most well-preserved arenas in the
world. It's very nearly complete; most of the outer section was destroyed by an earthquake, but the rest is still standing, a remarkable testament to it's builders. What were they thinking, these Roman, as they built all these aqueducts, temples, arenas, and forums? They had to think they were going to last forever, because they thought the Empire was going to last forever. Did they know these stones they laid on top of each other were going to last longer than almost anything else they left behind? I stood on the plaza, my hand resting on the cold stones, trying to soak up everything they could tell me. Can you imagine what stories they could tell? What intrigues, what mundane details, what scandals and governments have risen and fallen as they watched silently? How many millions of people have walked past them and marvelled at their grace and power, exactly as we were that day? It absolutely boggles my mind.


We continued exploring the city, wandering down the streets, stumbling upon churches, more Roman ruins, and the house of a famous girl who never actually existed. Yes, I'm talking about you, Juliet. The house is lovely, despite the balcony which was added on in the 1930's as a ploy to attract more tourists (it worked. People pay money to stand on Juliet's balcony. I don't understand.), and if this is what has to happen to maintain sights like this in a world so intent on modernity, I guess I can live with it. The falsity of it seems to mock the entire atmosphere of the city in a way it wouldn't in Venice, say. But honestly, there's only so much one can expect. I'm willing to give Verona a pass on that. It makes me sad, but not as sad as the alternative would.

   
The contrast between Florence and Verona is subtle, but definite. For one thing, Verona doesn't exist in the bottom of a bowl. Consequently, it had more room to grow. This makes it seem like a much more livable city. The streets are wider, perhaps a tad bit cleaner and the river is given more freedom to roam. Although the actual old center of town isn't actually that big, the sights are perhaps more spread out which maybe dilutes the crowds of tourists a bit. And with the wider streets, and more open riverfront, the stifling heat of summer could maybe not hit quite as hard.
      While eating lunch (the most delicious gnocchi I've ever had) on a sun-drenched piazza, we pondered the storyline of the another Shakespeare play set there: Two Gentlemen of Verona. Neither of us could remember much about it, unsurprising, since according to Wikipedia, it's generally considered one of his weaker plays. (I read it when I got home. It doesn't even take place in Verona.) But, it did inspire a great travel itinerary.
     What if you created a tour that went to all the sites mentioned in Shakespeare's plays? Think about how great that would be: all over England, Scotland, and France, numerous cities in Italy and Greece, Denmark, Egypt, and possibly more I'm unable to bring to mind right now. Who wants to come with me?  I'm dedicated to this idea. It's going to happen at some point.


Eventually, we found steps to a terrace overlooking the city. On the way up we passed the ruins of a Roman theater currently undergoing excavation, some absurdly picturesque homes, and a mini-park half-way up that gave us a teasing glimpse of the city from above. When we did finally make it to the top, we stood silently, drinking it all in. Florence was a city of domes. Verona is a city of spires. The sun was shining in bursts through the clouds, lessening the menace of the dark grey hanging over the city. We paid absolutely no attention to whatever castle or palace was behind us, because we were so taken with the city laid at our feet.

      Reluctantly, we retraced our steps, somehow managing to end up at a different point along the river than where we had found the path. We passed a crowd of seagulls surrounding a pile of spaghetti someone had dumped on a concrete post. Spellbound and slightly uneasily, we watched as they devoured the pasta, pushing each other in order to get to the food.


Seagulls aside, Verona was the perfect antidote to whatever travel weariness I had experienced the day before. I don't know what it was: the lack of rain, having slept, being in a different city than the one which had made me such an inexplicably grouchy human being, or just the simple fact that I got over myself. But I'm certainly willing to give Verona some of the credit. So far on our trip, we'd immersed ourselves in the old, even ancient worlds of Italy. Disregarding Milan (which I am perfectly happy to do), Verona was the first truly cosmopolitan city we visited. It had charm and history, but also sensibility and forward motion. It recognized it's past, while acknowledging there is more to a city than the number of tourists it can attract. In Verona you could sense both the old and new civilizations living in harmony with each other. The contrast of ancient ruins and modern idlers on cell phones nowhere seemed more natural. Florence and Sienna were museums, Padua, a dream. Verona was real life.

     As we passed back through the gates on our way back to the train station, we discovered another Shakespeare artefact. Right next to the gate, on the inside wall of the city, there was a plaque quoting Romeo: "There is no world without Verona walls/ but purgatory, torture, hell itself. / Hence banished is banished from the world/ and world's exile is death..." I might not go that far. But Verona definitely captured my heart.