big score

Finally we hit the jackpot! I'm not going to say that we deserved it, buuuuut....

To entertain ourselves on our dubious Ryanair flight to Rhodes, we happened to look in one of those in-flight magazines that are always so thrilling with their life-changing articles spotlighting where Julia Roberts shopped while in Madrid. Flipping through we found a small section on Rhodes in which there was a feature on a charming little place to stay in the heart of Old Town. After our catastrophe of hotels in southern Rhodes, we decided to go for it and yes! they did have an opening. The only room left cost 250 euros (not a chance!) but since the owner wanted to fill the room he knocked the price down to half. Still a splurge but at least I won't have to sacrifice food later this semester.

We had a lovely breakfast with "Doctor Love" before hopping onto the ONE bus the island has and going to the "last stop", which seems to be the only stop since it is all anyone mentions. Thankfully after a hot and cramped ride we arrived in the New Town and the owner of the villa, Jon, picked us up. Luggage in tow, we drove around the castle that encompasses the medieval city and its bustling streets. The place we stayed is in the heart of Old Town and without our trusty guide there is no way we would have found it. Twisting roads (actually, more like paths) paved in the tiny stones led us to a wooden gate that opened onto a beautiful courtyard complete with table, umbrella, cushioned lounge chairs and a stone fireplace.

Our room (discounted beyond belief) was the suite of the villa and featured a 4 post bed, couch, large bathroom, desk, espresso machine (that alone was enough to make me fall in love!) and wifi. The room was covered in courtesy items: soaps, water bottles, Greek candies, bath robes and slippers (though I don't think those were to take...) and maps galore. Needless to say our bags a at least a kilo heavier after we stuffed all our goodies into our already bulging luggage. Seriously, what are we? 12-year-olds on Christmas morning? Sheesh.

Old Town was hustling with tourists photographing the castle, day-trippers wandering through the paved streets into art stores, jewelry shops and restaurants, each shaded with umbrellas or ancient trees and decorated with wooden chairs fit for the tropics on which lay decadent cushions that awaited an exhausted traveler. It was very inviting. Jon gave us a phenominal place to grab lunch and once again we were enchanted by the freshness of something as simple as tomatoes, brilliant feta and cucumbers that literally dripped their juice.

 This was the first place we ordered dessert (surprising since we are both obsessed with baklava) but it was completely unnecessary. Not because we were full from our salad and grilled eggplant, nor because the ceramic wine vessel that never seemed to quite empty, but because they brought a lemon smoothie out as a finisher along with the bill, which of course, was tucked away in a small wooden box painted with gold swirls.

We left the shade under our large tree and wandered through the streets, abandoning our unnamed map entirely. The stone walls of the city's perimeter stood tall and supported Greek flags flapping in the wind. The castle had been built by the Knights (the Knights of what was never really clarified), taken over by the Turks, the Italians, the British and finally given back to the Greeks. The churches went from Catholic to Muslim to Catholic throughout history.

We found a great jewelry store that made anything one could imagine from local coral in which we spent so much time deciding what to buy for gifts that the store girls thought they might need to pay us hourly. We browsed through other shops that had original glass, ceramic plates and natural stone pieces. The main road (who knows the name-- as per Rhodes only a few were actually named on the map) ended at the harbor where several yachts were docked waiting to take people to the surrounding islands. It was tremendously helpful of them to advertise the cost of the ride directly on the side of the ship.

Very informative.

We were sweating (shocker!) by early evening and decided to retreat back to our room for showers and leisurely time since, obviously walking around, completely enjoying ourselves was too strenuous a task. We dressed and ventured out to find dinner, which took some convincing because it was so lovely in our room that moving sounded like an excessively arduous undertaking, but we hadn't eaten in about 2 hours-- an unthinkable interval that must be remedied immediately.

Dinner was at a place boasting of "top chefs from around the world" and held up to its grand declaration.  We started with bread stuffed with feta and spinach dipped in spicy cheese or olive tapenade. Next was the most tender octopus that ever was cooked followed by grilled squid stuffed with the national cheese--feta-- a few other herbs and drizzled with olive oil that was more golden than any I've ever seen. This could have been the best dish we've had so far, which is saying a lot. Tender doesn't even come close to what this meat was. Sinful is a better word.

mom and octopus 

Dessert was ordered but, again, it was thoroughly gratuitous since they brought out not one but two complimentary treats: a mousse made from nougat and cherries cooked and fried like a doughnut only to be rolled in cinnamon sugar. I mean, beach doughnuts are good but they don't even compare... these Greeks don't mess around. Cherry dessert wine was brought gratis by the waiter but we couldn't even think of sipping it since we had just eaten Heaven and could imagine nothing more magnificent.

Back to our own Greek hamlet to sit outside in the perfect temperature, watching the sky and the candles flicker in the light breeze.

Warning: we might not come back home.

Zacosta Villa's entry court

battery power

Second day in Rhodes, first day being able to actually see it. Alright, this one's going to be great. We got our travel kinks out yesterday-- this one's going to be smooth riding. In fact, yesterday was so ridiculous the rest of the trip is going to be a breeze.

After arriving late last night (let's not get started about that day again...) we stayed up deciding just what there was to do on the island of Rhodes. We had planned to arrive in the city center, stay one night, tour the city during the next day and take an overnight ferry to a nearby island. As has already been covered, we never exactly ended up in the city of Rhodes. In fact, we were what we lovingly now refer to as "the country". So, in Ozburn-mishap-tradition, we looked at the map, figured out where we were (not an easy task on an island that apparently only names its streets when it feels like it and seldom actually puts those names on a map), and decided to spend the day exploring the south of the island and voyage to the capitol city the next day.

We consulted with "Doctor Love", who was pleased to find me in a better mood, and he agreed to find us a car and allow us to stay an extra day. Within an hour the Jeep pulled up, we paid the fare, and were off. Off to a gas station that is. We were told that the tank was 9 liters. Or at least that's what we thought we heard.

Ok. So, if the tank is 9 liters and this island's not so big, there's no way we need to fill it all the way up, right? Let's fill it 4 liters and that should do. (For any other Stupid Americans, 4 liters is just over 1 gallon. Yup, we didn't know that either...) Actually, as we come to find out, the Greek-speaking man was telling us that we'd need at least 9 liters to get to Lindos, the smaller town in southern Rhodes. Woops... let's chalk that up to accent trouble rather than selective listening.

And we're off. No international drivers licenses, no idea how to read the signs, no idea how much gas to put in the car, just two fun-loving American gals off to see the beautiful beaches. (Side note: knowing how to drive stick is a must. Anyone--Katie!!!-- who refuses to learn is one day going to miss out on an acclaimed Greek adventure and will never realize just how great a Honda Fit is with a manual transmission, which might be an even more considerable tragedy. Sermon over.) The ride was enchanting but being the driver, I was the one that had to stare at the gas gauge getting lower... lower... lower. We pull over at a Shell station to fill up but of course they don't take credit cards and we were fresh out of Euros. We hop back in the car, off to find an ATM, turn the key... turn the key... turn the key! Start you gosh darn Jeep! Start! (The Fit would never have this problem. Just saying.)

Needless to say, our battery was dead. Middle of a gas station. Boiling sun blaring down on our bare shoulders. It would be 2 hours and a few Coca-Colas later before our little Greek man came to our rescue. (Is it actually considered a rescue when he was in fact the one to not give us a car with a working battery?!) We explained to him that he should fill up the gas tank, after all, we had sat in the heat of the day for 2 hours.

-- Two hours? What is two hours?

Vivid flashbacks of the "One night? What is one night?" conversation came surging back and we decided that these Greeks must have way too much time on their hands. Clearly Americans know how to pack our days enough that missing two hours is a complete and utter tragedy. What? Waste time?! Psshh.

Lindos

Finally, 11 km up the road was the stunning town of Lindos. Quintessential Greek village: white residences, stone castle looming above and inconceivable blue sky overhead. Ok, the Jeep debacle was worth this. This is pretty amazing.

We wandered around streets made from tiny stones expertly laid, but slick from years of use. (It has already been established that I am not the most graceful of people so that was interesting.) The 4' wide streets were crowded with jewelry stores, tourists and donkeys whose owners were attempting to grab anyone, place in the saddle and lead them up these slippery stones to the rising castle at the height of the mountain.

prosciutto, melon, greek salad, prawns and avacados

We had a fabulous lunch on a rooftop terrace. In fact, the only un-fabulous thing about all of Lindos was their choice of table napkin. Who buys these little dinky paper excuses for a napkin anyway? They most certainly do not hold up for to a traveler who, despite her courteous upbringing, can not seem to keep fresh tomatoes off her skirt. Nor do they hold up to tucking into one's shirt and stuffing behind one's knees to mop up the incomprehensible amount of perspiration that seems to have no end. Lindos chose these napkins? Honestly, the nerve.

We decided to trade sweat with clear water and made our way down to the beach, peeled off our shoes and slipped our legs into the sparkling Lindos water. Later we discovered that we once again would be covered in sweat after we hiked back up the mountain to our Jeep in the afternoon sun. Luckily, this time, our gas-guzzler started.

The drive back to our accidental hotel was uneventful compared to the morning's thrills. "Doctor Love" was there to greet us with white wine, tatziki and the most succulent stuffed mushrooms imaginable. We finished the day by showering off the Jeep grime in the curtain-less shower and watching the sun go down over the water from our balcony. The breeze was perfect and together with the wine and long drives in the sun, the whispering ocean water was having no trouble lulling us to sleep. Just when we thought we could complain about a hard day...

planes, trains and thoughts of homocide

I'm actually not even sure how to start this one off. I'd say that our travel here to Rhodes is probably the most ridiculous "adventure" I've had so far. Good lord. 

cafe at our last airbnb room

So we started off great. A slow morning in our ghetto neighborhood, which only had the stress of trying to find a printer that would hook up to my computer in order to print off our boarding passes (apparently Ryanair does not have the capability of printing passes when you check in). So after wandering, finding a place, not having wifi, having to go back to the room to email myself the pdfs, and going back in order to print off my email, we finally found ourselves having cappuccinos, boarding passes in hand, at a nice little cafe by the farmers market. 

We found the tram to the airport with minimal anxiety and even were able to get on the shuttle bus to the airport with only a few embarrassing moments. (Mom had a definite "chemo brain" incident but that's typical these days...right?) 

We get to the airport 2.5 hours early thanks to our paranoia of security lines and missing flights (having Dulles be our local airport has definitely taken its toll). After waiting in a line that queued up to a desk with no clerk, no clerk...no clerk (where are the workers?!) we found another line in another part of the tiny airport that actually did have a clerk. Checked our bags, had some lunch and headed through security. (As a side note: you don't have to strip down in a European airport. If you take off your shoes--or even take out your computer from its case-- you will get looks like you are crazy. Glad we're used to getting those looks at this point of the trip.)

Apparently we had missed the memo that with Ryanair you line up in order to get on the plane hours before the flight takes off. We waited 45 minutes at the back of the line, a line that twisted so far around the waiting area that we weren't sure if we were in the line for Paris, Madrid or Rhodes. Again, not a clerk in sight. Does Ryanair even have employees?! Suddenly the mob we were standing behind took off like a school of fish to another gate. Seriously. Running with bags, children and these darn boarding passes. This thing moved so fast we of course couldn't keep up and found ourselves at the end of the line again, this time at a different gate. The funny thing was, yup hard not to guess, no clerk, no announcement, not an employee in sight. What the ___?! How did these crazy Europeans know to abandon ship and work up a sweat to another line?!

ryanair... stupid.

Waited another 30 minutes to have a couple of buses pull up. The line funneled through another boarding pass check point (an employee at last!) where they simply ripped your infamous piece of paper of a pass, not checking passports, and letting you run (again) across the tarmac to the bus. As the bus pulled up to the plane (again just sitting somewhere on the runway) people, apparently just dying to show their athletic abilities as often as possible, ran to the doors of the plane. The back door was open and a huge procession formed there and suddenly, in keeping with Ryanair tradition, another door opened at the front of the plan and there was a scramble to get in that new line. No explanation. No directions to the second door. I just...I just... what?!

A bumpy ride ensued. Applause when we landed (literally). We get out, find our bags and find out that the cab we were going to spring for was no where in sight because of course every taxi on the island is on strike. I called the hotel where the following helpful conversation conspired:

new room

-- Hi, we are staying there tonight. What's the best way to get there without a taxi?

-- The bus.  

-- Which bus?

-- Only one bus. Take the bus, get off (no stop name given) and turn at the gas station.

-- Okaaaaay... So where are you?

-- On the road. End of the road. 

Alright, so I'm thinking this is a whole island. Are you telling me there's ONE bus for the WHOLE island and that we will find this unnamed "road" at which we will turn down it and arrive at our hotel. I'm thinking there's a 100% chance we will not get there tonight. Just to add to any confusion we might still be having, the Kayak website on which I booked our hotel the night before, boasted of a hotel located in the center of Rhodes Town, the capitol of the island and where we wanted to be. Whenever I google the location of this said hotel (again because I am completely certain "the road" will be an adventure in itself" says that no, we are NOT in the center of the city, located north of the airport, but in fact 6 km south of the airport in the middle of no where. 

view from new room

Now, as has been well established in the past, I am not a person that does well when I am lost. My blood boils, I start making threats and any polite and flexible part of my personality completely disappears only to be replaced with a snappy, inconsolable and obstinate one. Lovely. My poor mom is trying to be cheerful but it's not happening. The clerk at the tour-bus desk (think of it-- a clerk! Novel idea!) thankfully had heard of the hotel and put us on a mini-bus with a driver who would take us there. At this point it is 10.30. Our plan landed, with much acclamation, at 8 pm. The driver keeps going, and going and going. Drops us off at a hotel that looks nice enough but remember that "road", yea, definitely barely paved and probably AT LEAST a mile long. 

Finally! We've arrived at the hotel! Our travel calamities are over!

shower... hmmm

-- Ashley who? You have a reservation?

-- Yup (says my unyielding self, looking for someone to murder)

-- You're staying only one night? Not more? No one stays one night.

-- Yup. Only one night. We have the confirmation right here. Already paid you and everything.

-- One night?

-- YEEEEEES. (thoughts of how exactly I could kill this guy without getting caught were filling my brain)

-- In that case, we are over booked. It is only one night-- it is ok if you stay somewhere else. I will take you. It is only one night. It will not be bad for only one night. 

They literally had to drag me to another mini bus. At this point I am not only not being polite but actively (and visibly) rolling my eyes, huffing like a pro and in general showing my wrinkled tail feathers. 

pool view from our room

To sum it up, we get to a much smaller hotel. Three single bedrooms, shower with no curtain and no doors. The owner of the hotel is a little family that has run it for 15+. The owner's son called himself "Doctor Love" because he was determined to turn me back into a nice person. We had great stuffed veggies for dinner and generally began to chill out and enjoy the island. 

No internet in our rooms though, so sorry this is a day late. I'll enter in our adventures from yesterday later today when we get to Rhodes Town. Traveling can't get any more difficult than this... riiiiiiiight?!

travel partner

So, today's entry is two days in one. Oops. Thanks for all the emails calling me a slacker, though. Appreciated. (ha!)

My fabulous mother flew in yesterday after an all-night flight. Thankfully it was direct so she was able to sleep on her way over-- as much as you can sleep in the middle of 5 seats in the "steerage" class. She got in around 8.30 am and took the train to the new part of the city I am staying. Alas, I had to leave my wonderful airbnb room located so perfectly near the sights and move to a charming studio apartment in the lower east side of the city. Believe, me "lower east side" is exactly what it is. Very charming little room (Dwell Magazine would salivate seeing it) and there is a awesome farmers market near by, but other than that its main features are a 20 minute walk to the metro, buildings covered in graffiti and the main sights of traffic overpasses. Definitely a different experience of the city. Of course, if I was ever to live in Rome this is most likely the area I would choose since I seem to have a predisposition to gravitate towards "ghetto" areas...

The day before Mom got here I headed over to the Colosseum. Actually, "headed over" is a little bit misleading. I was sitting in my usual cafe writing and enjoying the morning and decided to walk in the other direction on my way back to the apartment. Typical of this trip, I walked about 5 blocks and saw the ancient monumental structure just down the street. Yup. No idea it was anywhere near where I had been spending 2 hours each morning. 

Awesome, Ash. Way to be on top of things. 

The place was great-- just as you'd expect but extremely humbling to actually see its size and realize you're standing literally in the spot where so much history happened. In keeping with true tourist tradition, the line to get in was about two hours long and filled with sweaty adults trying to keep a group of twenty teenagers in line or confused sightseers desperately looking in a translation book trying to decide which line they needed to be in. Being cheap and impatient, I opted to walk around the place, take pictures and just to pretend to have seen everything. I'll come back someday, right?

redeeming farmers market

Then it was off to the great adventure of finding my new place. Once again too cheap to hail a cab, I opted to walk the 3 miles--suitcases in tow-- and just hope I was headed in the right direction. According to iMaps, the route looked do-able. Unfortunately, the lovely app did not account for the fact that there are not actual places for pedestrians to walk on the busy thoroughfares.  There I am, phone in hand, scared to take my eyes off the bobbing blue dot, scrambling to keep my suitcase on its wheels, lugging a bookbag that is as heavy as I am (well, probably not any more thanks to Italian pastries...) and waving an "I'm-sorry-I'm-in-the-middle-of-the-street-while-you're-driving-like-a-maniac" wave in a very clueless traveler way. It's actually impressive I'm still alive. Might now hold the record for most honked at within 30 minutes. 

Stupid American.

Thankfully I found the train station a bit easier when I went to go pick up my mom the next morning and we even used the BUS to get back to the apartment! After unloading her stuff it was off to the Vatican. Once again tourist lines (as well as bare summer shoulders and breezy skirts) we decided not to go in but hopefully we'll be back with a guide next summer during the Ozburn Graduation Trip (sorry Ross, you'll graduate at some point...teasing). The piazza in front of the Vatican was impressive as were the buildings and river surrounding it. Very Catholic. 

vatican piazza

mom with new purse

We wandered across the river and through the fantastic winding streets around that portion of the city. We promptly (literally the first store we went into!) bought two leather purses, both orange and both unnecessary. I haven't bought a single thing since I've been here (alright, one architecture book at the Maxxi, but that's academic and doesn't count, right?) so needless to say, having a partner in crime here with me who loves shopping more than myself (who is also very convincing with her great arguments about the benefits of practical souvenirs) is going to be interesting. I must say, they are both very chic. We are so hot right now. 

4 types of bruschetta

We found a tiny restaurant with a 10 euro special that included bruschetta, a pasta, water (which is crazy expensive here) and vino. Probably the best deal I've seen since I've been here. I'm used to spending 6 euros on a glass of wine alone, let alone dinner. I guess being with her and finding these deals is going to balance out my purse after all. 

watercolor kit. love it.

We walked and chatted, sat and chatted, drank wine and chatted. It was a lovely day. Ended it off sitting outside at a restaurant sketching (while chatting!), listening to live music in the piazza while it turned to dusk. Definitely a great day and definitely nice to see such beautiful things with someone else there. Didn't realize how much I missed traveling with another person. Makes it much more fun. 

Now it's off to Rhodes. Hopefully trying to find the CIA airport is not going to be as much as an adventure as trying to find the apartment and we'll make our 17.45 flight. Can't believe I've been in Rome for 5 days and tomorrow I'll be in Greece. Surreal. 

(Update on shoe saga: wore different sandals yesterday. Horrible for the soles of my feet. Back to my vindictive shoes today but thankfully Mom brought a refill of blister bandaids. Just in case you were wondering...I know the concern for my feet is overwhelming.)

old vs. new

Spanish Steps

What a bummer to wake up to another brilliant day in Italy. Mid 80s and dazzlingly sunny. I could come up with tons of cliches about sun coming through the leaves, the vibrance of the streets and the smells of cappuccinos and pastries but I will refrain because I might actually gag myself from the cheesiness. Still, it's wonderful and deserves the platitude.

Once again at my morning cafe (where there is free internet!) trying and failing to have a legitimate conversation with the barista (did you know this title applies to a male as well as female? Just looked it up so I'm sure.). It is funny. Having everyone I encounter speak to me in Italian I find myself attempting to use it myself in my reply. However, unfortunately for some reason it keeps coming out in Danish. Yup. I could hardly speak the language while I studied there, yet much to my embarrassment,  it has apparently come back to me and pops out whenever I am trying to be suave.



-- Un alto cappuccino, bella?  (Another cappuccio?)

-- Nej tak. Tak for mad og drikke.   (No thanks. Thanks for the food and drink.)

I mean, seriously?!

At least, even though the attempt to blend in linguistically has failed miserably, I am starting to get my bearings. Walking all around the city makes you realize how close everything is. However, lovely map I purchased is still an necessity. Of course, the simple purchasing of this said map was an experience in itself. I sauntered into the bookstore (which I found on my own!) and found a great fold-out map book with a map specific to each neighborhood. (Little did I know-- thanks to my keen observation skills-- that I was purchasing a book written only in Italian. Keeps way-finding interesting...) I paid for it with my brand new euros and promptly turned around to leave and ran straight into the glass door. Bang.

-- Aye! Aye! Senorita, attenzione! Sta bene? Attenzione!

Needless to say, my flattened nose and I got out of there asap. Stupid American.

This language barrier is not always a problem. The younger waiters seem to love to start up a conversation using their Italian charisma to try to charm the unknowing American girl eating alone. It seems that eating alone is something completely unseen in this gregarious country.

-- Aye, bella. Why you eating alone?


-- Oh, just traveling around by myself. 


-- You married, bella?


-- No.

-- Boyfriend?

(smile and suddenly am very interested in my insalada.)

-- My name is Massimo. I take you after work? We meet at the club? You have beautiful eyes.

(I'm wearing sunglasses.)

Alright, enough with Italian "culture" and more on adventures. Took my brilliant and perplexing map book and headed to the Spanish steps. Talk about tourists! There were so many people there I felt like taking a shower afterward. A girl came up to me asking me to take her picture. She too was very concerned I was traveling alone and insisted on taking a picture of me as well. It is an very "Where's Waldo" image but the first to prove that I'm actually here and not finding pictures on the internet. So, there ya go.

Right across from the Spanish steps is what can only be described as the "Magnificent Mile" of Rome. Gucci, Prada, and so many other names that even someone like me could recognize. To make my sister proud I did go into Prada. The woman at the door gave a look of disapproval at my sad attempt to dress like an Italian but let me in anyway. It was difficult to pass up the 478 euro shoes ($672 in US dollars!), especially since they were 30% off, but somehow I managed. Sorry, Kate.

Piazza del Popolo

Anyway, I finally made it to the Piazza del Popolo yesterday afternoon. This plaza has twin churches designed by Bernini. Despite the piazza's name, the churches were closed to the public, but I think I could draw their floor plans by heart (thank you Peter Eisenman) and made me starting considering a new tattoo (kidding Mom). It was cool seeing something that you have studied so intently close enough to actually touch it (maybe that's why they don't let people inside... hmm).

Then it was off to the Maxxi modern art museum designed by Zaha Hadid. Now, I must stay that I categorically don't like Ms. Hadid. I think she is a terrible lecturer and her theories on architecture seem to disregard the common human experience of urban space; however, every museum of hers I have visited I have thoroughly enjoyed. The space was crazy but definitely created open galleries that featured the art very well. The courtyard was left undesigned and is being used for the YAP (Young Architects Program) as a similar design space to the MOMA's PS1. Up and coming architects submit proposals for what to do with the space each year and the winning design is installed. It was really cool and a great contrast to the nearby piazzas of the 1800s.

Maxxi lobby

Alright, I am heading out since this nosey barista keeps reading over my shoulder trying to see if I am writing about him, which of course, I now am. I was kind at first but now I am about to punch him in the face. Dude, stop sitting down at my table and trying to "conversation me" and go make me another cappuccino!

PS- pleased to report only 2 blisters yesterday. Think I might win the shoe battle after all.

Maxxi reception desk

courtyard by stARTT

Inside the Maxxi

Piazza del Popolo

clueless traveler

Italy.

I mean, I've heard about it but you think that a place cannot possibly live up to its reputation. I must say, this does.

first airbnb experience

Ever since my arrival at the airport, I have tried my best to make this experience stressful. Definitely almost lost my luggage. Arrived and had no cell service, no map on how to get to the place I'm staying, a calling card that cost a fortune and had 10 minutes on it, no Euros, no idea which train to get on and pretty much had no plan whatsoever. Luckily I jumped on the correct train at the last second and by the time I arrived at the stop I had international texting which allowed me to find the great room I had booked on airbnb.com (if you have never used this site it is absolutely fabulous-- sorry for the plug). The room is decked out in bright red IKEA (yes, the Swedes have infiltrated every country, those Scandinavian geniuses) and is air conditioned-- a definite plus. The bathroom is similar to that on a sailboat, complete with a 2'x2' shower and toilet so close to the side wall that turing around to reach for the toilet paper is definitely not happening. (I am very intrigued by the corner-door shower, though. I have to remember this for future architectural planning.)

awesome corner door

A late night pizza at a pizzeria I found by accident definitely melted any remaining travel tension. By the way, that plate was definitely FULL of pizza. Yup. Ate that much. Just remember: 24 hours of traveling earns you the right to pig out.

Yesterday I got up and putzed around Rome. It is crazy how intense and relaxing this city is at the same time. The drivers live up to their reputation of being fast and ruthless. A stop sign is merely a suggestion. Of course I loudly advertise my American citizenship by smiling and waving a "thank you" every time a car stops for me. The Italians saunter in front of the oncoming cars with complete cool-ness and disregard. They would never belittle themselves and wave. Stupid Americans.

The thing about Rome is that it is crawling with tourists. From the clearly Asian with typical umbrellas and fanny-packs to more Swedes than you can imagine (just what Italy needs- more beautiful people...), the tourists are easily identified. The locals are very patient and seem to enjoy showing off their English. It helps that I whip out a watercolor kit every time I sit down at a restaurant. So far I have gotten free gelato, free local cherries and the card of a obscure artist who wanted me to go online and check him out right away. It seems that restaurant owners like the idea of forever being recorded in someone's sketchbook.

entry into my room

I have found that I much prefer escaping the masses of disoriented "globetrotters" by stumbling down the smaller streets that lead to shops tucked away between apartments, yards paved with cobblestones and moped parking. I love the paper shops the most. It has been challenging to resist the temptation of a finely-crafted new sketchbook, but my first one is barely started. That and I'm pretty sure my rapidly depleting budget does not allow for such liberal spending. They are beautiful though and I should be congratulated for my restraint, just for the record.

It is crazy how, even when aimlessly dawdling down hidden streets, you turn a corner and find a building you have had crammed down your throat in architectural history courses. I am embarrassed to say that I was roaming around a piazza taking pictures of the tops of buildings that had sun on them making the colors irresistible (I'm serious! It was lovely) that it took me a good 20 minutes before I realized that the Pantheon was right behind me. Thankfully no one from Yale knows about this blog otherwise I would be ousted immediately.

So far the only unfortunate circumstance has been my shoes, which I thoughtfully purchased for the sole purpose of walking long hours during my travels. Despite constantly wearing them pre-trip in order to break them in, and the ignoring the 20 blisters I got each time I did--trying to convince myself that eventually they would learn to love my feet and stop punishing them so harshly-- they seem to be dedicated to laugh at me as I limp around attempting to get my foot in a position so the leather stops rubbing open foot flesh. I think I might have beat them though! This morning I cut off the offending leather straps with a travel x-acto blade and now have shoes that, if they fail, will have the last word by forcing me to buy new ones in this expensive city. Good lord.

Alright, now that I've finished my second cappuccino (did you know that lattes here have no espresso?! What is the point of that?!) it is off to another day. Hopefully this one will include fewer blisters.

pantheon and plaza 

the beginning

Wow.

Can't believe I'm here, that I'm blogging and that I'm actually wandering around in Europe alone as if I have ANY business being here! Whodda thunk?

In typical "Ozburn" fashion I had several last minute changes of plan and am now traveling solo. I have decided to completely abandon my normal control freak personality in which I am over-organized and 100% anal-retentive and be a clueless wander, hoping things work out and pretending to not stress out to the point of a shingles outbreak (don't laugh. it's happened before). My lovely mother has graciously opted to abandon precious Bethany time to participate on a Yale-funded adventure through the Middle East. While this is my third time to this part of the world it is her first and needless to say if there wasn't the tempting 10 days in Greece at the beginning of the trip not sure if she would be as willing. Thankfully my Roselund-Ozburn heritage has groomed me to be flexible in rapidly changing plans and if they don't happen accidentally to seek them out and create them myself! Haha.

So I basically have to decide what I am doing with this blog. As far as I see it I have three options:

a) write about purely academic and architectural events and experiences (my original and "intellectual" intention)

b) use this as another travel journal in which I record my adventures, both architectural and personal, and end up with a wonderful record yet at the same time completely obliterate my intense conviction against all sappy internet sharing and creepy world-wide big brother connectivity (groan...)

c) start this at the request of my mother but abandon it mid-stream because I just can't handle it (ha!)

Hmmm...

I guess in the spirit of academic recording I should start by saying that the goal of this trip is to physically experience and document cities that have been destroyed by war and have at one point established a Green Line-- a line of demarcation between two hostile and opposing forces. It is usually established during a civil war between religious groups and results in a city divided into two homogenous sections with a street or buffer zone as the physical boundary. This area invariably gets destroyed by bombs, snipers and fighting in general and leaves a scar on the city that takes years to reconstruct.

Beirut, Lebanon had one of these during the Lebanese civil war and Nicosia, Cyprus still has theirs after a failed attempt to dismantle it in 2004. I'll be mapping these "lines", taking pictures of what is being rebuilt after the destruction, and studying how these spaces that are drawn on a map as a thin pencil line are manifested physically in width and cultural prejudice. You know, just everyday, general, easy tasks... sheesh.

The original trip included Syria and Cairo but thanks to Yale's needless worry about trifling things such as "safety", "liability" and "unstable political climate" (the weenies!) my trip now begins with a strenuous tour through Rome and Greek islands. Oh, the hardships of life...

Rome is a personal indulgence since I've never been, but Greece is part of the study as I will be looking at cities designed and founded after the end of WWII by the Greek architect and city planner Konstantinos Doxiadis. He went on to do city plans for Beirut and many other Middle Easter cities and my original research proposal was to record the implementation and current day status of those plans (see left). Regardless of this, I'm sure my time in Greece will be less focused on cities established after the occupation and more on the blue water, white sand and baklava. Academia at its best.

Ok, not sure how long these post thingies are supposed to be but I feel like that is enough for now, although it is hard to want to get up from this cafe. Tree lined streets, cafes with umbrellas and great cappuccinos do that to ya I guess. Ciao.

(Am I allowed to say that or is it too typical-American tourist?-- insert "when in Rome" comment here along with a generous eye-roll)