Paris Scrapbook

A lot of special moments this week. Inspiring conversations, delicious dinners with my roommates, and the anticipation of my family's arrival on Sunday!

In the meantime, some Paris memories:

The Louvre

Guess this art is pretty famous or something...

Musee Orsay...a museum in an old railroad station! It was my fave.

Notre Dame

So massive

Street jazz band...they were AMAZING. Wish I bought a CD.

Going up! Who needs to work out...

Top with Ash!

Paris views

All lit up and flashing

Macaroons should be their own food group

Sacre Coeur

Nom nom nom

First thought when I saw the Arc de Triomphe: Oh, I saw the Nazis march under that in my World War II documentaries. #majornerdstatus

Most expensive street in the world!

Continued

My 6 euro hot chocolate, but worth every penny.

Paris was the perfect place to spend Easter. I had a calm, reflective weekend walking the narrow streets, beautiful parks, and river paths. It's impossible to do Paris in three days, however. (Probably not even in a hundred). So I'll be back. Maybe with a date next time. :)

Childhood Revisited

Reading and writing nerds, unite!

There is a little bookstore in Paris that will forever have my heart: Shakespeare and Company.

To set the scene: I spent my first two days in Paris doing a lot of exploration myself (my friend was working on a big paper). No one to answer to, no agenda. Just me. These moments were some of my favorites from the weekend. I am an introvert. Many people are surprised to learn this, as I am relatively outgoing at times, and communicate very well with others. However, introversion is NOT about shyness and social isolation. That's a myth. Introversion and extraversion are about where you get your energy from (I just did a paper on this, thus the rant). Introverts tend to feel the most "alive" when they are by themselves or with one or two other people. This made so much sense to me, and really explained why I am the way I am. I love being left to my own thoughts and reflections when I'm exploring.

Anyway, after mass at Notre Dame, I was walking the streets when the store sign caught my eye. Intrigued, I entered and didn't leave (for two hours).

Shakespeare and Company has a fascinating history behind it; you can almost feel the fascinating stories when you walk through the door. It was originally founded around 1920. Famous authors such as Ernest Hemingway and James Joyce would frequent the store to read and write. However, the Nazis closed it down in 1940 when they invaded France. Miraculously though, much of the library survived the war. Reopened in 1951, it has been thriving ever since.

I really cannot put into words the happiness I felt while I browsed the selection. Downstairs, the books are modern. Upstairs, however, is an extensive collection of antique books, mainly from the 1800s. The originals! The upstairs of the store was a homey nook, with a few small rooms with cushions and shelves and shelves of masterpieces. There was even an antique piano against one of the walls; a very talented customer began playing classical music that filled the store. The store's message is that of compassion and shared love of literature. People can stay as long as they want, play music, and enjoy.

Staircase author tribute

The old books aren't for sale, just for reminiscing. Little Women anyone? Look what I found: An original (in ink!) message written by Louisa May Alcott in one of her books!

"To the many boys and girls whose letters it has been impossible to answer, this book is dedicated as an offering by their friend, L.M. Alcott."

There were so many surprises like this one. It got me thinking. How many people have opened each of these books? How many individual stories are represented? At the risk of sounding completely sketchy, I loved smelling all of the old books. So many hands have turned the pages. So many decades have come and gone in their presence.

Autobiographies have always been my one of my favorite genres. I could listen to people talk about their life stories for hours on end. Books have played such an essential role in my own life story, particularly in childhood.

I genuinely taught myself how to read when I was three. It started out with just memorizing the words, but then I somehow actually read them. I certainly had practice. My mom loves to tell the story of a huge parade in my hometown when I was a toddler. Rather than watch the parade and partake in the festivities like a normal child, I picked up my little bag of Berenstein Bears books, marched off to a patchy area of grass, and stayed content for hours (as fireworks and who knows what else were going off around me).

Therefore, I almost started to cry when I saw some of my favorite classics in the store, many in their originally published print. Madeleine, anyone?! "In an old house in Paris that was covered in vines, lived twelve little girls in two straight lines..." SO good. Pretty sure I wore out that VHS tape...

The nook with old children's books had a small wall where people have posted thousands of handwritten notes to the store, thanking the store for what it has given them. The notes were in dozens of languages, connecting people from all over the world. Mine reflected my warm heart and remembrances:

Don't worry, Shakespeare and Company. I'll be back.

Unconventional Easter

Buona Pasqua!

I hope that all of you have a beautiful day today, wherever you are. Key phrase: wherever you are. I am in Paris this weekend, visiting with two friends of mine from UMass. Paris is absolutely stunning (posts to come later), and this morning, I had the once in a lifetime chance to go to Easter mass at Notre Dame! Considering that thousands of people were inside the cathedral (sitting and standing), the experience was shockingly reverent. I didn't know how it would go considering the crowds, but you could hear a pin drop. Most of the mass was in French, but they also said parts in English and Italian as well. It was so nice to read a reading in English, and to understand the Italian portion. The choir was the best I've heard (reminded me a lot of how Westminster would sound from what I've seen on television).

One of my favorite moments: sign of peace. I have no estimate of how many languages were represented in the crowd today, but everyone shook hands with each other and smiled and said "peace" in their native tongues. Whatever that may be. No one cared about not understanding, because we all understood. This goes along with the theme that has repeated itself a lot during my semester: there are some things that just transcend language barriers. It was a beautiful moment.

That being said, I am really missing my family today. This is the first time I've ever been away for a holiday. Easter is big with us. There's morning mass, and an egg hunt with my cousins at Auntie Donna's (even though we're pretty much all in college or older. Still just as fun, if not more so. You're never too old to tackle someone for that Hershey bar). Easter is one of my favorite holidays, not just because of what it means to me religiously and spiritually, but because of them.

But I'm not with them today. Do any of you relate? I know as we get older, distance can keep us away from some of our loved ones when we want to be with them most. And that is never easy. Actually, it's downright tough.

And yet. My Easter is a different kind of Easter. I'll certainly never forget it. I appreciate everyone in my life a hundred times more than I always do. Jesus is still Risen. That's what matters: The spirit of those within us, whose lives we are a part of and who make up part of us.

Plus, Mom's saving me my Easter basket. :)

Melancholy

I'm realizing that a lot of my writing in the coming weeks will be more for me than anyone else. 

I'm in a funk today. At first, I thought it was just the cloudy, drizzly day (I shouldn't be complaining, this is the first time I've seen rain in over a month). But it's not the weather. It's something else entirely...

I do not want to leave this place.

Today in my 3:30 class, the brief flash of leaving prompted tears that I actually had to wipe away. I don't know what caused me to think, "the end." Maybe it was receiving our predeparture handbook in my email yesterday. Maybe it's the fact that people are starting to confirm their flights home. What I do know is that three weeks from tomorrow, I will be leaving Perugia.

And that's scary.

Don't get me wrong, not every single day was peachy. There was the afternoon I had a fever and just wanted my mom. There were the exhausting nights in the airport. There was the embarrassing wipe out on the cobblestone streets when the sole on my beautiful black boot decided to break off.

But my time here has been nothing less than absolutely magical. 

There's the amazing Umbra staff (who deserve and will receive their own entry). There's Ciao-Ciao, the store owner downstairs who makes incredible lunchtime paninis. There are the steps where we sunbathe and people watch. There are three hour dinners, beautiful morning walks, and the life-changing feelings of accomplishment each and every day.

If you asked me even a month ago if I thought I could spend more than a few months abroad, I probably would have said no (only because I'm such a homebody). But in the past few weeks or so, something has really clicked. This city went from a long term visit to a home. 

This realization is not so much about the individual moment in which it occurred, but more about how it made me feel. If I could spend a semester abroad and love it so much that the mere thought of leaving makes me cry, then it must have deeply affected me. I now realize that I can adjust to any place or any situation and flourish. 

Which to me, means the world. 

Ode to Seaglass

While I dig for seaglass on the beach in Capri, a figure approaches me. A little boy, maybe about nine years old. Little Boy gives me a questioning glance, kneels down, and digs in my sand hole. The kid in me silently shrieks. That’s my seaglass-finding-hole, Little Boy! Who are you?

He sweats and labors over his mountain of sand, carefully sifting with his delicate fingers. I grow comfortable with his silent presence. Suddenly, he gasps, breaking into a wide smile.

Little Boy excitedly shows me his shiny, beautiful new seaglass find. I smile back. He looks at his glass, looks at me, and reaches out his hand.

“You keep it!” I encourage him. But Little Boy holds out his hand again. I accept.

Little Boy sits with me for over a half hour, as his dad wades nearby. We slowly learn more about each other.

“Abiti qui?” I ask. Do you live here?

“No. A Napoli.” No, he lives in Naples.

“I miei nonni sono di vicino a Napoli. Avellino.” I tell him that my grandparents are from nearby Naples. Avellino. He smiles again.

His father gives me a look. I think it’s a look of appreciation. Where is his mom? Brothers and sisters? I never find out. Today, it is just the two of them.

“Un castello!” Little Boy points to his newly sculptured sand mountain. It’s a castle. I proceed to show him the sandcastle-building techniques my dad showed me on my Cape Cod beaches so many summers ago. First, you dig a moat. Then, you take all the sand you dug and pile it in the middle. Then come the towers. Sometimes, we’d even stick hermit crabs, snails, and seaweed in the moat for effect.

Giallo! Yellow! He’s still at it with the seaglass. A small rainbow in his hand. His excitement is infectious. Seaglass-hunting turns into a game.

Are you married? He asks me. No Little Boy, I’m not quite there yet.

“Ale! Andiamo!” Little Boy’s name is Alessandro. His dad, who had joined in our hunt, summons him. But Little Boy has another question. Where am I from? “Stati Uniti!” I reply. He looks at his dad. His dad clarifies. “America.” Little Boy’s eyes light up. Oooo, America. Some faraway land. Yes Little Boy, I am from far away. But people like you make my journey priceless.

With one last wave, Little Boy and Dad are on their way. I already miss him. I have never doubted the innocent, pure beauty that young children spread through the world.

Dear Little Boy, you made my day. You reminded me of the joy that comes from the seemingly simple moments of life. We are all connected. Language and geography aside, we are all cut from the same cord. We crave contact, friendship, and shared experiences. We have a common goal of happiness. Little Boy, thank you for that reminder. You will probably not remember me in the coming days, weeks, or months.

But I’ll sure remember you. 

Capri in Pictures

This past weekend, we had a school trip. Saturday's destination? Capri, an island off the Almalfi Coast in southern Italy. I think in this case, pictures speak louder than words. 

Yes, the water was really this color!

The highlight of the day was probably our boat tour. It sailed all around the island (which is how I got most of the pictures above). Capri is famous for the Blue Grotto, this cave with electric blue light. Four people sit in this little rowboat, and the man rowing sails you around the inside. It's intense getting in though; you have to step off the big cruise boat into the rowboat, and then lie on the floor of the rowboat and duck your head to get in to the cave! I guess people in old times used to use the Blue Grotto for romantic escapades as to not be discovered. Seems dangerous, since we were told that you can swim at your own risk, but that high tide may through you into the rocks on the side...

This wasn't the model shot I was hoping for. Hair problems.

Close quarters on the rowboat!

Cool huh?!

Sunday equaled pizza in Naples. We went to the restaurant where cheese pizza was first created! Want to know the story? Queen Margherita asked for something with the colors of the Italian flag when she went to Naples. Green, red, and white. They made cheese pizza (white cheese, red sauce, green basil.) Mission accomplished! Cheese pizza here is called "pizza Margherita" for this reason. 

Seriously the best.

Being at the beach this weekend was a wonderful reminder of home! I'll always be a beach girl. No changing that!