Tag: ex-patriot

Call me Jane: Adventures in the Los Tuxtlas jungle of Veracruz, Mexico

I woke up in Veracruz City on the second to last day of 2016 having no idea I’d be going to bed that night in a jungle.  Our hostel owner at the Oyster Hostel in Veracruz moonlights as a tour guide and is passionate about the many offerings of the dynamic state of Veracruz, especially the region of Los Tuxtlas around Laguna Catemaco which was our destination that day, compliments of his comfy mini-SUV.

We spent much of the day in the car, winding through the rural countryside of Veracruz on our journey to Catemaco, making pit stops along the way at a famous Cuban-style cigar factory, and a humongous waterfall.  The people-watching was as good as it gets.

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There was “animal watching” too, unfortunately.  I witnessed a group of turkeys standing in the rain along the road, very malnourished and somehow given up on life as their owner tried to hawk them to passing cars.  That was depressing.

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But Catemaco wasn’t.  We had no idea what to expect, which is somehow the best of ways to approach a new place. After arriving, we spent the rest of the late afternoon exploring Laguna Catemaco on a boat owned by a friend of our hostel owner.

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From land, the scale of the lake was impossible to recognize, as the lakeshore was lined by trees.  But when we actually got on the lake, I was overtaken by the size.  We sped along on the boat so quickly that the bumps of waves we hit started to feel like concrete speed bumps that sent us flying, over and over again.

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We explored every corner of the lake, from a lakeshore stop for volcanic mud face masks offered by the wife of our boat guide outside the vacation home of the owner of the cigar factory,

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to the sunset stop to drink water from a hole along the lake where naturally carbonated water comes up from the earth,

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and finally a pause in our boat to roll along the small waves of the lake for a few minutes and watch the monkeys on a small island.

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My favorite moment was turning the boat to the west and darting off into the sunset, as the least bashful of the monkeys watched us disappear while peeling a banana another boat had thrown at him.

We went to bed that night in one of the two guest rooms off of a coffee shop.

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I showered with no hot water and went to sleep hoping the thousands of birds that populated the trees along the shore wouldn’t wake us up too early.  Luckily, I woke up surprisingly refreshed the next morning, the last day of 2016, and enjoyed talking to the other guests over breakfast.  They asked what our plan was for the day, and I told him we were exploring the Reserva Ecológica de Nanciyaga, which is supposedly the most visited fee-based attraction in the region of Los Tuxtlas.  In other words, there weren’t many other options.

The reserve’s name, Nanciyaga, comes from the Nahuatl language and means “at the end of the Nance trees.”  I did some research on the area, and the discontinuous rainforest belt of Middle America reaches its northernmost extent on the mainland in southeastern Mexico.  Apparently, the forest in this region is not a rainforest, though, and is instead considered to be a moist forest.

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Ha!  Whatever that means.

We easily found a taxi to drive us the beautiful four-mile stretch along the lake to the reserve, the same route we had taken by boat yesterday.

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I was apprehensive about what we would find at the nature reserve, bracing myself for potential encounters with caged, unhappy animals, which happens sometimes when groups market themselves as sanctuaries to increase tourism.

When we arrived we were the only ones in sight other than the nice woman at the wooden ticket booth.  I don’t remember how much we paid to get in, but it was around five dollars each, and maybe even less.  After paying, the woman waved us toward a young man carrying a tall stick, who turned out to be our volunteer guide.  Instead of letting us wander around on our own and get ourselves into trouble, this young gentleman took us up and down the winding dirt paths and through a history of the ancient Olmec culture, and a bit of a background on the wildlife that call the Los Tuxtlas Biosphere Reserve home.   

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The ecological park is a self-sustaining property made up of ten acres along lake Catemaco including a mineral spring (Nipapaqui natural hot tub), a tiny lagoon for swimming, small bungalows that  accommodate overnight guests, and a wonderful open-air restaurant serving three meals a day to guests, but closing at sunset for those not staying on the property.

Really, though, there was so much more to the property than expected, which we discovered through our sweet young guide.   We stopped along the dirt path as we encountered random replicas of Olmec sculptures he used as talking points.  Highlights of the property included the temazcal (sweat lodge), which is actually functioning,  and group treatments are scheduled throughout the month.

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As a theatre person, I loved their outdoor amphitheater.  And then, of course, I was shocked-but-not-shocked at the wall of printed photos of guests in mud baths, mixed with pictures of celebrities.  Apparently, parts of Medicine Man (1992) with Sean Connery and Lorraine Bracco, and Apocalypto (2006) with Mel Gibson were filmed here.  The owner, a woman, is happily pictured in a photo with Mel Gibson.

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After enjoying the photo wall, we entered the wooden structure and found ourselves in a small but clean and lovely open-air salon.

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My friend enjoyed a mud face treatment, while I purchased the dried mud and some patchouli soap to take home.  Folklore claims a princess used to cross over from a neighboring island to use the mud in this region to beautify herself.  I took that as a strong hint I should be doing the same.

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Once my friend’s face was thoroughly green from this miracle mud, we left the salon to discover rows upon rows of tied leaves laid out for us to select from.  I was bewildered, as everything was in Spanish, so it was becoming a bit hard to keep up with all the surprises.  I followed my friend’s lead, green face and all, as he picked up a leaf and dipped it into a bucket of water.  To my surprise, the leaves were watertight, and the water was carbonated.  I took a gulp from my leaf cup: the water had a familiar taste, and I wondered if they pulled it from the same hole we had drunk from the evening before.  This was the first time, and possibly the last, I had drunk from a leaf. So far, so good.  I was thoroughly charmed by our jungle adventure.

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But the surprises didn’t end there. The handy leaf cup maker, a nice young woman, asked if we wanted to have a “White Magic” treatment.  I wasn’t aware of this at the time but later discovered from the mother of great friends of mine near Mexicali, Mexico, that this region of Veracruz was famous, or perhaps infamous, for its traditions of magic.  My friend and I decided to participate together, and we spent a thoroughly unusual but surprisingly pleasant five minutes being swept with leaves as our white magic doctor chanted and prayed around us.  At the end of the ceremony, he presented us with a clay ceramic face on a ribbon to wear around our necks, that he had blessed for us to ward off the spirits.  I keep it in my purse.  I figure I need all the help I can get. ;b

Our adventure continued alongside an algae-filled lagoon inhabited by more than a few crocodiles and turtles, with a fence separating us humans from these prehistoric-looking characters.  They were as still as statues.

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 And the turtles perched along the long wooden logs looked like a cartoon.

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Along with these guys, the area is apparently known for rich birdlife, including toucans and parrots, which we saw from a distance.

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In 2003, a few Howler monkeys were reintroduced in the reserve which apparently did well.  We saw a large iguana and babies.  And we didn’t see any unhappy animals.  I was relieved.

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Our tour wound down, and our guide showed my friend where to wash off his mask.

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Bowls of fresh patchouli leaves adorned the sinks, and our guide smiled and encouraged me to use them as my soap.

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I loved them: the fiber seemed to scrub my hands clean and left a wonderful scent.  We tipped our guide nicely as he handed me back my soap and mud that he’d carried, and we bid each other goodbye, at which point we were let loose in this little paradise!  I was thrilled.  It was lunchtime, and lunch at the open-air restaurant seemed like a perfect idea.

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We talked to a chef who managed the dessert bar, and she showed us some of the traditional cakes that they offer, tempting us to leave some room for later.

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We enjoyed a thoroughly relaxing, delicious lunch on the lakeshore, a beautiful piñata blowing in the wind above us.

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After lunch, we made our way back up the winding dirt paths to the wooden ticket booths and asked the woman to call us a taxi. While we waited, we chatted with the volunteer guides waiting for the next visitors to arrive. They were local students and all very proud to be a part of the reserve.

The visit couldn’t have gone better. I’ve promised myself I will return, and next time I will stay at the reserve. Full of good energy, happy people, and happy animals, this is the type of place I want to go to remind myself how much there is to appreciate in life, despite our everyday stresses and challenges.

And until my return, I luckily have quite a store of mud mask to tide me over. I put it on and pretend to be the princess of Catemaco. 🙂

For more information on Nanciyaga, visit this helpful website apparently maintained by an American ex-patriot not affiliated with the reserve.

Being an American Abroad in 2017

I woke up New Year’s Eve day in a small guest room off of a coffee shop on the lakeshore of Catemaco, Veracruz (Mexico) to a large flock of birds chirping incessantly.

I decided to take advantage of my early rising and unusual lodging arrangement by sitting on the porch of the coffee shop and enjoying a cup of tea and the lake view (pity I don’t drink coffee because Veracruz is famous for delicious beans).  At the next table, a pair of men – also enjoying the porch – were switching their conversation between English and Spanish.  My German travel companion and I played the typical game of “guess the home country of the ex-pats/tourists without directly asking them.”  We thought they were German, as the owner of the coffee shop was a German ex-pat.

Eventually, my friend got up to use the restroom, at which point one of the men decided to introduce himself while his buddy was packing.  He was an organic pesticide salesman traveling for business, and taking a holiday break to visit the famous butterflies and this beautiful lake in Veracruz.  He was the sort of man who used a bad word every three sentences, but it didn’t bother me because someone once told me people who swear are more honest.  Which was ironic, considering our next topic of conversation, where the inevitable question arose:

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“El Centro, California,” I responded.  “You?”

“I’m Canadian!” he belted, his voice rising above the hundreds of chirping birds across the street.
Now, I’m no expert.  But this accent was not the accent of a Canadian.  Or rather, since I don’t know Canadian accents well but can certainly recognize an American accent, that was the sound of an American if I’d ever heard one.  Our conversation continued on into past experiences he had “visiting” Seattle, and how much his Mexican farmer clients supposedly “hated” Americans because of Trump.  Which was a bit of an “ah-ha” moment for me in deciphering the mystery of this man.  I had never experienced any animosity as an American abroad, but I was open to hearing his opinions.

We said a pleasant goodbye and my friend and I headed out to a jungle sanctuary for the afternoon, followed by a rambunctious New Year’s Eve celebration in Santiago Tuxtla, and finally, back to Mexico City.  God, I love that city.  I had such a great time in Mexico City (posts to come!), and truly enjoyed the Mexican people, above all else.  Often I felt safer as a solo female traveler than I do in big cities in Europe, as I was frequently surrounded by families, and felt a much more relaxed, considerate vibe.  That is, with one major exception.

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The famous fountain in the Anthropology Museum’s courtyard known as “el paraguas”, Spanish for “the umbrella”.

On my second-to-last day in Mexico, I found myself enjoying the Teotihuacan pyramids followed by an afternoon at the National Museum of Anthropology, one of the more respected museums in Mexico.  I was taking a rest at the museum’s restaurant, as I love myself a good museum café, when a bit of a ruckus fired up near me.  I don’t like to make assumptions, but what seemed to be a fairly affluent American family sitting at the next table was complaining about everything, and the restaurant management was making rounds to appease their barrage of complaints.  I was embarrassed, as I feel inherently linked to other Americans while abroad in a way I don’t when I’m in the United States.

Everyone sitting on the beautiful patio trying to enjoy their lunch heard the ruckus, and an English-speaking Mexican randomly spoke up: “Be careful,” she said.  “Stay in the museum.  There are riots, and they are after Americans.”
I heard her words, and I immediately went from trying to tune the scene out, to hanging on their every word. “My husband called me and warned me,” she went on.  “They are angry about the oil prices, and they are blaming Trump.  They are going after the Wal-Marts in the city, looting, because the store is American.”

As I quietly freaked out by slumping in my chair and frantically texting my German friend who works at the Goethe-Institut and is very connected to city happenings, the American family didn’t make any effort to hide their concern.  They went from table to table, asking for more information from anyone that would respond.  Nice Samaritans began googling local news sites, and a young man tried to calm them, “The United States Embassy is next door.  You couldn’t be in a safer place.  And if you want, you can call them, but you really don’t need to.”  The family spent the next half-hour on their cell phones, calling various people at the embassy.

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Hiding away in the Anthropology Museum, and watching other visitors take it all in.

Meanwhile, my German friend started getting answers.  The Mexican woman was right.  There was looting going on, and they were targeting Americans.  His local friends that knew he was hosting me had started to text him, worried about me and urging me to stay inside.  I spent a surreal few hours in the starkly quiet museum surrounded by ancient treasures, trying not to think about the potential chaos outside.  They finally closed and ushered us out, and I called an Uber to take me directly to meet my friend.  As we drove along, there were guards armed with semi-automatic weapons outside all of the stores we passed.

The night ended without incident, and I was even able to enjoy the historic center the next morning, despite the warnings of a few friends in the city.  I returned home to San Diego unscathed, but with a lot on my mind.
This was my first trip outside the United States where my president – or rather, the president on everyone’s minds – was not Obama, a president that I have never heard a negative word about in all my travels.  Admittedly, I have a limited perspective, as I didn’t travel much before the Obama administration.  Hiding away in the Anthropology museum that afternoon in Mexico City was the first time I’ve felt vulnerable due to my nationality and the international politics of my president.  And technically, Trump hadn’t even been inaugurated yet.  The words of the “Canadian” organic pesticide salesman began to resonate.

Whether we like it or not, however long or short our travels are, we are mini-ambassadors to the United States in every interaction we have.  Interactions that are now under the shadow of the Trump administration, an administration that has sent a clear message to the rest of the world that they are putting “America first.”  Whatever that really means – I don’t mean this to be a partisan issue – it is left to the interpretation of the receiver of that information, which we can’t control.  And in the case of the Mexicans, understandably angry about the rise in oil prices, the Trump administration was an easy bad-guy, a scapegoat for their woes.  But here I am, in their country, face-to-face with these angry people, and Trump is safely in the Whitehouse with men with semi-automatic weapons standing on his roof, protecting him.

I’m considering being “Canadian” as well in order to safely live my ex-pat life, the life that I’ve become so accustomed to over the last five years, a life I’m not ready to give up yet, but a life that has drastically changed shape within this new international political landscape.

I’m curious if any of you have had similar experiences abroad in the last few days, weeks, and months.  I would love to hear your thoughts, insights, and concerns.

Thanks for reading.

Bologna: the city of nighttime.

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As the host of the oldest university in the western world, Bologna has been a second home for young people from across Europe for centuries. And with the saturation of young people comes the inevitable nightlife of those who don’t have morning meetings and people depending on them to make breakfast.
I’m one of those students that made my pilgrimage to Bologna, only to be charmed by the nighttime energy of this city. Only in Bologna does coming home at 3am on a Saturday night feel early.  After five years of this, I’ve finally learned to prioritize my favorite places, and cut my nights short so I actually come home before sunrise.  Sometimes.
The energy of the city is visceral, and therefore photographable.  Instead of always wasting my nights away in laughter and Italian wine, I’ve started shooting instead.  Or at least, taking a few minutes to shoot on my way home, ha!  My new lens is a f/1.8, and the results have been fantastic.  I hope you enjoy my meanderings through the streets of Bologna, seen below.  And stay tuned for a vlog coming soon, featuring interviews with Bologna’s best bartenders!
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Italian Liberation Day in Bologna


Today is a special day in Italy. A holiday from work, a day spent relaxing with family and friends, enjoying the new season of warmer weather, and remembering the close of a dark period in Italian history.

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The Cineteca’s Instagram account from this week posted historical photos of these days 71 years ago, including this huge crowd on the streets in the center of Bologna.


April 25 is known in Italy as the Anniversario della Liberazione d’Italia, or the Anniversario della Resistenza. It was during these last weeks of April, 71 years ago, that one by one the cities of Northern Italy successfully renounced 20 years of fascist dictatorship, and five years of war. A friend of mine equated it to the 4th of July in the United States, as what was happening 71 years ago in Italy created the momentum for what would officially become Italy as we know it today, the Italian Republic, when the constitution was signed in 1948.

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A day of sunshine in Piazza Maggiore, Bologna. This is where some of today’s festivities take place, and where they took place the very first time.


As an ex-patriot living in Italy, these holidays always catch me by surprise. Growing up in your own culture, holidays are tied to so many memories and anticipating them is second nature. But when you are living outside of your culture, none of these triggers exist and life from one day to the next is just one huge learning lesson.

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Late afternoon sun in Piazza Maggiore.


Even though I’ve lived in Bologna for several years already, I’m still learning. I just found out from a friend that Bologna is an important destination for Italians celebrating this holiday. The city is full today – it is very exciting.



As an American, it is hard for me to understand the impact of a war happening in someone’s own backyard, and therefore, the significance of a holiday dedicated to the end of such a war.

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Another historical shot from Cineteca’s collection: A happy group celebrating 71 years ago in Piazza Maggiore.


I’ll never forget the afternoon that my English student, a Bologna police officer and a lover of history, showed me something in Bologna’s central square, Piazza Maggiore, that changed the way I look at this hub of activity and concentration of precious architecture in the center of the city.

We took a familiar path toward the piazza, one that I had walked hundreds of times, and he stopped me just as we were stepping up onto the center walkway.

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Piazza Maggiore during a night spring rain.


“See here? Where the stone is missing? Do you know why it looks like this?”

I looked around. Strange, he was totally right. There were chunks of stone missing along this shallow curb that I had never noticed. But it wasn’t like that around the whole walkway, as far as I could see.

“Weird, I never notice,” I responded. “Why is it like that?”

“The tanks,” he responded. “From the war. They would damage the stone when they were rolling up onto the curb to go to the center of the piazza.”

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From this photo posted by the Cineteca, you can see one of the tanks he must be referencing.


I was flabbergasted. The war seemed so long ago, but this visible damage to the piazza in front of me made it so tangible. “Why didn’t they ever fix it? It has been so long!”

“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “Maybe they want to remember…”

In honor of today, I paid a visit to that curb, and took this picture. Turns out I wasn’t the only one with this idea. The gentlemen on the left side of the photo were doing the same thing. You can see the same clock tower in the background here as is pictured above the tank in the historical shot.

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Visiting the broken curb in Piazza Maggiore today.


I’m discovering a little bit more every day how rich our pasts are, and how much there is to be found just below our footsteps.  And most of all, I’m grateful to be included in today’s important festivities on this day of liberation in Italy. Here’s to many more to come!

A dream job doesn’t always have to be perfect: What I’ve learned as a guide in Rome.

I learned when I was still nearly a teenager that dream jobs aren’t all they are cut out to be when I landed a much sought-after role as a directing assistant to the directors of the Lion King, the stage musical, in Los Angeles.  When I started the job, my memories of walking through Times Square in New York and dreaming about seeing and working on all the Broadway plays were still fresh.  It only took three months of an exhausting and somewhat mind-numbing round-the-clock work schedule in Los Angeles preparing for the opening of the Lion King to teach me that there’s always a complement to our dreams: reality.

Fast forward (quite) a few years to just two weeks ago, when I started another dream job joining a team of OPCs who provide on-site program coordination for CISabroad‘s Faculty Led Programs around the world.  I was brought on due to my expertise in Italy, and I was offered my first week-long program in Rome, which just ended a week and a half ago.  And I’m still trying to catch up on sleep.

Me and my partner in crime and fellow CISabroad OPC Jamie, as we wait for the students and faculty to arrive at the airport.

Ha!  Actually, I’m exaggerating.  Slightly.  When you think about how exhausting it is to be a tourist – being outside on your feet everyday no matter what the weather is like, taking in a million new details and always having to be on your toes because you’re so far from home – and multiply that exhaustion by the amount of people you are responsible for as an on-site coordinator making sure every detail goes as planned for their experience abroad, the math is clear as the exhaustion multiplies very quickly.
But in the end, life is all about balance, right?  When I am in a challenging situation, I’ve learned to ask myself: ‘Does the experience and the work outweigh the exhaustion?’   And in this case, the answer is an overwhelming ‘yes.’
This job has given me the opportunity to see the cities that I have visited so often in the past in a whole new light through the perspectives and the knowledge that the students and faculty bring with them to these cities, from something as simple as a student’s comment about how she is surprised at the grand scale of all of the buildings in Rome, to visiting places that I would never have even known existed, let alone gone on my own, thanks to the expertise of the professors and the CISabroad staff that design the travel abroad programs.

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Students and faculty crossing the street on a tour of the churches in the center of Rome.

This work is only going to enrich the resources and the stories I get to share with you on Gracefully Global blog, and I’m really looking forward to hearing your feedback on my new job. 🙂
In just a few days I’m heading to Florence to prepare for a program that will be visiting Florence, Ferrara, and Ravenna!  I love these cities and I can’t wait to see what the students think of them.  And I’m already saving up some extra sleep hours so I’ll be doubly prepared. 😉
Since I’ll be on the road for the next week and a half, I won’t have many updates for you.  But in the meantime, here are a few highlights and favorite discoveries from our last program in Rome that maybe you can enjoy for yourself someday:

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Students seem dwarfed in size by trees at the Baths of Caracalla during our day trip to the Appia Antica area.

Appia Antica: Via Appia is a historic Roman road that connects Rome with Brindisi in the south, and when I say historic, that’s an understatement.  There is so much history to explore in this area outside Rome along the historic Appian Way that it could easily take you all day, including the Catacombs of San Domitilla, the Tomb of Cecilia Metella, the Palace of Maxentius, and a bit of a drive away, the Baths of Caracalla (my personal favorite).  The downside to this neighborhood is that it is best reached by car, but there are buses that can take you there.  It is worth the investment in a day trip, especially if you like nature, as there is also a great park nearby that is beautiful on a nice day.

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Students looking out onto the Forum through the beautiful arcades along the side of the Capitoline Museum.

The Capitoline Museums: I very much enjoyed this group of archaeological and art museums on Capitoline Hill in Rome for reasons other than the artifacts – on one side of the museums (which are all connected but a bit confusing to navigate across) the view of the Forum is amazing, and on the other side of the museums there’s an affordable cafe with a gorgeous terrace where you can sit and enjoy the view of the city.  This is a destination for a beautiful, relaxing day – it is never crowded, and you can sit far above the crowds and enjoy the best views of both historical and contemporary Rome.  It is also right next to the Victor Emmanuel Monument (note that there is paid admission to go to the top of the monument), so if you want an even more dramatic view of Rome you can head up the monument after you’ve enjoyed lunch at the cafe.

Pope Francis in St. Peter's Square
Pope Francis looking wonderful as ever during the papal audience in St. Peter’s Square.

The Papal Audience: On Wednesday mornings, if Pope Francis is in town, he gives an informal service in St. Peter’s Square which is a free, ticketed event, open to anyone who would like to attend.  I had no idea what to expect of this experience, and it far outweighed my expectations.  It was such a positive experience seeing so many families excitedly waiting to see the Pope and to sense his wonderful spirit as he greeted pilgrims and audiences, and finally to enjoy the peacefulness and spirituality of hearing him speak.

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Excited audiences anticipating the Pope’s arrival.

The Pope usually starts greeting audiences around 10am, then speaking around 10:30.  There are introductions of groups in attendance in all different languages beginning at 9am.  We arrived at 8:45 and we easily found a seat.  You have to go through security, and tickets are free but required.  We had a difficult time requesting tickets when we went directly to the Vatican, and then we got a tip – if you are American, contact the North American College, which is the U.S. Bishops seminary in Rome at this email address. When we finally contacted them, they were very gracious and helpful and coordinated our tickets right away, and even gave us an orientation in their office so we would know what to expect from the experience.  They were truly wonderful, which added to the experience as a whole as being positive in every way.  Please note that we attended the papal audience during the early spring.  Summer hours and logistics will be different due to demand.
The Prati neighborhood: We all stayed in the Prati neighborhood in Rome.  As a tourist on my own accord, I never would have thought to stay here.  But it was truly a delight.  Not only is it well-positioned to reach many of the must-see destinations in Rome like the Vatican and Castel Sant’Angelo, it is pretty and “orderly” and has very few tourists and many chic bars and restaurants, making dinner after a long day on our feet an easy choice.

Here are our dining favorites in Prati:

For breakfast we loved Vero Cafe (Via Marcantonio Colonna, 30, which is not far from Piazza del Popolo and Piazza Cavour) because of its organic, healthy, and delicious traditional Italian breakfast offerings as well as more hearty American-style bagel breakfast sandwiches.  They have a wonderful staff, and also offer to-go cups for coffee and tea, which are a true rarity in Italy.

For lunch, don’t miss the opportunity to try the neighborhood star, Il Gianfornaio (.  They actually have several locations in Rome, so check out their website linked above.  They are a bakery, making delicious pizzas and desserts, but are also pros at buffets in general and offer a weekend brunch buffet and a nightly aperitivo buffet.  It is a popular, hectic place better for a quick lunch or dessert and coffee, but whatever you end up getting will probably be quite tasty.

Tea and ricotta tart at Il Gianfornaio.
Tea and ricotta tart at Il Gianfornaio.

For dinner there was nothing better than the warm, modern basement of Zi Gaetana and a huge, traditional, thin-crust pizza followed by one of their incredible desserts.  We also really liked 3Quarti for its traditional menu mixed with some fun surprises and its comfortable, pretty interior (although it is small so a reservation is suggested, otherwise be prepared to wait a bit).

Zi Gaetana dessert
Jamie and I were both exhausted yet determined to make it through dessert because it isn’t every day we can get a dessert like the ones they have at Zi Gaetana.

Illustrious Instants: An Afternoon Stroll in Bologna

This photo is perhaps the most “illustrious” of my “instants” so far. The photo isn’t meant to demonstrate fabulous composition, color, movement, etc. The photo taking is normal, but the subjects are wonderful. 
  
I took this photo because this relationship – daughter and mother taking a simple afternoon stroll -represents Italy for me in a special way. The unconditional love and family ties that still run deep in this country are a joy to witness. 
I am always grateful for the perspective that witnessing moments like these in countries other than my own have given me, and I hope for the same opportunities for you as well!

Anniversaries 

 

The center of Bologna’s historic center

It snuck up on me…exactly one year ago today I left Bologna to return to family, friends, and career in the US. It hasn’t been an easy year, but I don’t regret it, especially the moments spent with loved ones.
First selfie stateside with my host and wonderful friend Janet at her work in New York, MOMA, last May 19
 
I really had no idea of the level of challenge that would accompany returning to my own country after 3.5 years abroad.  I just remember sitting in my ex-boyfriend’s car as we sped to Malpensa airport near Milan, looking out the window at the bright Italian sunlight and the green countryside, wondering what would lie ahead. One year ago to the hour. 
Celebrating the beautiful climate on a beach adventure near my home in San Diego with visiting Swedish friends
  
In retrospect, my naïveté supported me, as if I had known in advance, I don’t think I would have had the guts to do it.  But I am still trying to understand why returning “home” can be such a challenge! 
The support from both sides of the pond, including the blogging community, has been a blessing…extending a big, heartfelt thanks.
 
Some graffiti of my name a mysterious admirer wrote on the side of the building where I lived in Bologna is still there, just faded.
   

The dawning of a new adventure 


As I start out on this new adventure to Italy and beyond for the summer, I can’t help thinking it is going to be a good one.  But really, I’ve already had more than my fair share of adventures, from my perch in a swinging TSA bassinet on my first flight from my birthplace in Togo, West Africa, to my multiple cross-country drives, and starting life anew in my thirties to pursue a graduate degree in Bologna, Italy.  If I never had another adventure, I really couldn’t complain, and I’d still be fiercely grateful for all of it.


After nearly a year of adjustment to being back home in San Diego, California, and getting used to not being a perpetual traveler, I am now off from my university job for the semester, and therefore back to my old traveling ways.  At the moment I am lounging in an armchair at JFK, on my way to a wedding near Lecce in Puglia, Italy, which forms the heel of the boot of Italy.  I have been to Puglia one time previously, and the abundance of sun, vegetables, and unique architecture made it a favorite of mine immediately.

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Combine a beautiful place like Puglia with a traditional Italian wedding of two of your best friends, with some of your other best friends in attendance, and you’ve got an epic event on your hands.  Ironically, these two love birds met for the first time at my apartment in Bologna.  Several years ago, an American friend of mine convinced me to throw a “day after Valentine’s Day party” for singles to meet.  That particular friend is still single, but two of my other friends – an American and an Italian – met at that party, and the rest was history, as they say.

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A few of our group that will be at the wedding, including the groom!!


Some of my favorite travelers, also part of the same friend group, are currently en route to the wedding as I write this.  I will meet one of them in a few hours at the Emirates check-in desk at JFK, after my godmother takes me to a Peruvian dinner in Queens to fill the time of my long layover.  Another flight and a bus and a train later, we will all be in Puglia together.  And that will kick off this summer with a bang.


I only hope that you all will experience time with loved ones and/or some wonderful adventures this summer as well.  And if you don’t have anything planned yet, well, get to it!
Stay tuned!

Suspended in time in Siena, Italy


Just as Siena is stuck in time, I wish I could have gotten stuck in time in Siena.  Like in Groundhog Day, I want to be living that weekend over and over.  But unfortunately it didn’t hit me how special my weekend in Siena was until I was actually gone, so I was not able to inquire as to how to stop time when I still had the chance.
So instead I rely on blogging, so at least we can relive it…together.


I had been wanting to go to Siena for years, and years, as I had heard so many bits and pieces of wonderful travel stories from friends who had been lucky enough to travel there.  There’s a great blog called “Just Visit Siena” that I’ve been following for a long time, and I even shared a video about it here on the blog a few years ago.  But Siena can be tricky to reach, due to mundane logistical challenges called mountains.  Pesky details.  An eight hour round trip train ride wasn’t worth it in relation to what I envisioned to be an overnight trip.


But after much anticipation, I finally got to go last April with my boyfriend at the time, who drove us.  The approach into Tuscany was undeniable and fit perfectly into the stereotype – the road was smaller, the grass was greener, the sun was brighter, and the soft hills curved into infinity.  We parked just outside the city, and walked in with our luggage.

Siena, Italy, cityscape
A chef statue seems to beckon us to enter Siena.


I was a bit worried that I would be disappointed with all of my high expectations about Siena.  I mean, at this point, I’ve been to a lot of Italian cities, and I’ve found that many of them are alike, or are not necessarily unforgettable.  But I shouldn’t have worried.  Siena is a place all its own.  Siena is, for lack of the creativity to come up with a better word, gorgeous.

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There is never a dull view in Siena.


There are heart-stopping Tuscan views surprising you constantly, and each perspective is just as memorable (if not more) than the last.   And as cliche as it sounds, it is totally true: walking the narrow, winding stone roads feels like it must have hundreds of years ago.

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A young family walking through the streets of Siena.


Wandering Siena is a constant visual delight, so walk slowly and indulge in reality, which we did as we toted our luggage and stumbled upon hidden courtyards,

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A gorgeous Siena courtyard.


mysterious wells, and other fascinating historical remnants.

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Some tourist boys enjoy a wishing well in a courtyard in Siena, Italy.


We were walking around with our luggage for an extended period of time because we had a small snafu with the hotel we booked on Booking.com.  Keep in mind – last minute bookings for Italian hotels via third party booking agents are never a sure thing due to communication challenges, a lack of a customer service initiative, and small hotels.  But we found another average, affordable hotel, so the crisis was averted (I never expect much from Italian lodging, but I never have to pay much either).  And Booking.com handled the “crisis” well.

Piazza del Campo, Siena, Italy
Piazza del Campo at dusk in Siena.


Our first night in Siena was a bit quieter than either of us are used to, as we weren’t visiting Siena during the high season of their incredibly famous annual Palio Horse Race in July, and we are both used to the nonstop nightlife of Bologna.  There is no nightlife in Siena, so it is a good place to practice “early to bed, early to rise.”  There are a ton of interesting events, though, so do your research and plan accordingly.

Siena, Italy, Duomo
Tourists photographing the Siena duomo.


We joined the crowds on our first morning just walking and looking, relaxing and people watching the never-ending characters in Piazza del Campo, where the Palio Horse Race takes place (in our case the most entertaining animal was pizza-loving dog),

Piazza del Campo, Siena, Italy, pizza, sun
A family trying to enjoy a pizza lunch in Piazza del Campo and rudely being interrupted by their dog.


checking out the Duomo,

Duomo, Siena, Italy
A different perspective on Siena’s Duomo.


the neighborhoods proudly displaying their flags supporting their horse,

Siena, Italy, Palio horse race
A neighborhood flag proudly displayed in Siena.


the famous Museo Civico, and an occasional unexpected attraction like a tiny church we found full of wonderful art and architecture.

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Art on the street in Siena


We didn’t do the Duomo tour because it was a bit pricey, but one of my English students highly recommends the tour and I definitely regret not doing it.


It is quite easy to eat well in this city without paying a lot, but it is also easy to eat an overpriced, mediocre meal.  We used a phone app, maybe yelp, to help us wade through our lunch options after eating an overpriced meal the night before.  We ended up at a modern family-run restaurant perched at the top of a hill at a beautiful outdoor table called Zest Ristorante and Wine Bar.

Siena, Italy, pasta
Lunch in Siena, Italy

The tiny street it was on stretched ahead, sharply curving down and up another hill, nearly giving me vertigo until I was distracted by spotting the special flags for the neighborhood horse flying proudly and colorfully ahead, and my potential vertigo was replaced with a sigh of appreciation for finding myself in this one-of-a-kind place. As I write this, I am remembering for the first time in a long time that I stopped to think and look around me for a moment, giving thanks to the universe to be able to experience this moment.  It sounds corny, but Siena really is that special.

Wine, Siena, Italy
More delicious food in Siena


After our amazing lunch, we relaxed again for a bit in Piazza del Campo trying to decide if we had it in us to do the big climb to the top of the Torre del Mangia, the major tower overlooking the piazza that is attached to Palazzo Pubblico, Siena’s City Hall.  It cost a bit, and the day was already winding down.  But, we decided to go for it.
It was unforgettable.  The climb went round and round…the steps were ancient, and we all were forced to cooperate as a group to get to the top.

Torre del Mangia, Siena, Italy
Climbing Torre del Mangia in Siena


But it wasn’t overly strenuous, and there were more than enough stops where we could take a rest and breathe in the amazing Tuscan air.

Torre del Mangia, Siena, Italy, landscape
The beautiful view from Torre del Mangia in Siena


It started raining on the way up, but somehow hiding from the rain and checking out the dramatic storm clouds just added to the drama and adrenaline of the experience.


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We finally got to the top, and our reward was a nearly unobstructed 360 degree view of Siena and its surroundings.

Siena, Italy, city, church, landscape
The light was peeking through the clouds and gave us a gorgeous view of Siena.


By the time we got down, we were so elated, there was nothing else we needed to do to improve our weekend.  We returned to a small bar, called the San Paolo Pub, with a balcony overlooking the Piazza del Campo smaller than my closet.

Piazza del Campo, Siena, Italy
Piazza del Campo in the late afternoon sun in Siena, Italy.


The beers were affordable, and how much space do you need to enjoy a view anyway?  It was perfect.  We sat there for hours.  Couples came and went around us.  One was “like us” as my boyfriend had said.  “Whose English is better, his or mine?” he asked me earnestly, as he recognized the couple next to us was also an Italian guy dating a young American woman.

Piazza del Campo, nighttime, Siena, Italy
Piazza del Campo from our favorite little bar overlooking the square.


It was getting to be that time, but I wasn’t ready to go home.  “Let’s go back to the restaurant where we had lunch, please??” I asked him.  After all, we hadn’t yet had any of Siena’s famous Chanti.  He graciously obliged, and back we went to the same restaurant where we had lunch.  The young waitress and the manager, who appeared to be father and daughter, recognized us and greeted us warmly.  This is something I love about Italy – people are nice and gracious to you authentically.  They were genuinely happy to see us.

Coincidentally, we discovered that the young waitress comes fairly often to the small suburb outside of Bologna where I lived at the time.  Apparently she likes a restaurant in my neighborhood (ironically).  We talked about where I lived, and that I would be returning to the United States soon.  Suddenly, she gave us a worried look.  “But what about you guys?  What are you going to do, so far away from each other?”  she said it in Italian.

Good question, ha!  I guess her question could have also been about our trip to Siena.  What were we going to do so far away from it?  It was just a moment in time, that now I have the vibrant memories from.  Hopefully they won’t fade anytime soon.  Anyway, most of life is memories, really, isn’t it?  What more can I ask for.

Celebrating the Italian Summer at the Seaside in Cesenatico

Italians find themselves at the sea nearly every summer weekend, whether they smartly rent or own a whole beach house, or just a few feet of sand under an umbrella.  Having lived in Bologna for years and living as any honorable Italian would do, I joined in the weekend beach-side adventures, fleeing as far as Ancona, but mostly sticking directly East of Bologna in Rimini, Riccione and Ravenna.  But mostly Rimini, because it was familiar.  As soon as the fan came down off the top shelf of my closet and propped up by my bed, the early Saturday morning train rides to Rimini commenced. So it was fitting that I spent my last weekend in Italy before my big return to the United States relaxing at the Italian seaside lifestyle that had defined my summers there.  But this time I didn’t have to wake up early and take the train.  Instead, my boyfriend at the time preferred to drive.  And he was a different sort of character.  He didn’t do things the same way everyone else did.  Instead, he suggested we go to the tiny town of Cesenatico.  I didn’t have the slightest idea what to expect, but as always, I was up for the adventure.

The canal leading to the sea in Cesenatico, Italy
The canal leading to the sea in Cesenatico, Italy

The non-eventful drive and the parking process played out like all of my other beach adventures.  The drive east toward the Adriatic Sea is flat with huge green fields broken up by an occasional ancient structure.  As you approach the sea, there are lots of trees shading the streets and houses.  I was unsuspecting as we parked in an ugly supermarket parking lot until we emerged onto the main walkway of the village.  Stretching before me was a long canal that ran to the sea, flanked by colorful buildings and sporting a long line of cleverly named boats.  But these weren’t recreational boats, they were fishing boats.  And the canal, apparently, is famous because it was once surveyed by Leonardo da Vinci.  Only in Italy.

Fishing boats in Cesenatico, Italy
Fishing boats in Cesenatico, Italy

I was surprised by my surroundings.  “Where are we again?” I asked him.  I’m bad with proper nouns. “Cesenatico,” he replied. “But this place is so cool – why doesn’t everyone come here?” “I don’t know,” he said. “But that’s why I like it.  Not everyone comes here.”

 A boy playing on the beach in Cesenatico, Italy
A boy playing on the beach in Cesenatico, Italy

He was right.  There were definitely other Italian tourists, but they were mostly families.  Instead of walking into a tourist trap, it felt instead like we were stepping into the seaside life of these lucky Italians that call Cesenatico home.

A girl taking a stroll along the beach on her own in Cesenatico, Italy
A girl taking a stroll along the beach on her own in Cesenatico, Italy

We walked down the crowded main stretch along the canal, toward the sea.  I almost felt like a voyeur, watching all the families and the family dogs enjoying their Saturday.  There was even a funky shaped boat that cost one euro that would take you to the other side of the canal if you so desired.

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We drifted until we couldn’t walk anymore, to the point at the end of the boardwalk.  Fishermen and teens and couples like us trickled around, but nothing overwhelming.  Near the boardwalk was a sprawling restaurant with whitewashed walls and tables.  We were led to a table in the sand.  A family with a toddler playing in the sand sat at the next table.  We sat a bit with our drinks, the sight and sounds of the sea releasing our stress, much of which stemmed from my impending departure.   “It seems impossible to believe that in a week you will be in New York.  From Cesenatico to New York – I can’t imagine a bigger change,” said my traveling companion.  I sat and munched my olive and took a sip of prosecco.  He was right.  At that moment, New York was absolutely worlds away from Cesenatico.

The scene of a small town that looks after itself in Cesenatico, Italy
The scene of a small town that looks after itself in Cesenatico, Italy

We eventually found ourselves making our way back up the canal.  A pair of sunglasses caught his eye, and as he tried them on I wandered a few steps and discovered a little fair on a tiny side street, so characteristic of Italy.  Everywhere I turned this little street was dripping with charm – a candy-cane striped awning and a retro bike, a gelato shop that tempted my traveling companion, and knitted jellyfish hanging from a string tied to streetlights.

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I followed the jellyfish hanging from the sky, one by one, to a small, quiet piazza, full of families and a few curious adults, officially stepping over any remaining line between tourist and resident.  To my delight, there were nautical-inspired knittings livening up the ancient stone fountain, church, and doorways of the building facing the piazza, to match the hanging jellyfish.

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Children played under trees decorated with diamonds and more jellyfish.

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With a bit of internet research, I realized I had stumbled upon Cesenatico’s Urban Knitting Group “Il Mare in Conserva,” an installation art exhibit in the Piazzetta delle Conserve.

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I was utterly charmed to so unexpectedly wander into this peaceful, simple world.  I participated as an outsider, snapping photos of the happy children and cats, until realizing my travel companion had probably finished his gelato by now.

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I reluctantly followed the jellyfish back, and found him happy as a clam (no pun intended), taking advantage of his phone’s data plan as the celebrations went on around him.

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We made our way back to the car slowly, our departure marking a transition into a much more complicated world, void of knitted jellyfish and children playing jump-rope on the street.  It had not been just another beach adventure.  It was the end of an era of a naive American girl marveling in the oddities and delights of a beach life so different from my Southern California home.  And the beginning of a mysterious something else.