Redefining the "Traveler"

I've always thought that the "traveling" types were the people who were born a different breed. They're the ones who were blessed with the care-free, adventurous gene that the rest of us missed out on when we were born. They're the people in pictures you see cliff-jumping or standing on the edge of mountain tops without a care in the world. They have that natural "one with the earth" glow that comes from their fearless attitude.
They're the dreamers, the inventors, the outside-of-the-box thinkers that the rest of us have accepted we could never be.

I am surrounded by 90 other students who have chosen to fly away from home to live in a different part of the world. Some of us have studied for a semester and others are studying for an entire year. I've met backpackers and vacationers of all ages who have made the decision to break free from their daily lives to live a different one for a while. 

I think of historical "go-getters" like Christopher Columbus and wonder if I could ever actually sail for that long, knowing full well that I could die of a thousand different things from Malaria to a violent storm, in hopes to find land. I'm not half as brave as that. 


I wonder, am I courageous enough to be labeled an "adventurer", a "traveler"?
I have fears, doubts, and anxieties.
This trip has shown me a lot of areas of my life that I could really stand to fix up a bit.


But, after 3 1/2 months here, I think I stumbled my way into a realization: we've got the wrong definition of "Traveler". Sure, there are some adventurers who's personalities line up perfectly with our made-up connotative definition of the word. But nowhere in the dictionary does it say "free spirit and type-C personality necessary". As a matter of fact, I don't think I've ever met a traveler without some fear or doubt.

I believe that it is the conquering of those fears and doubts that actually make someone a traveler.  It's the ability to say, "Hell yea I'm scared to death of this airplane ride, but that view from up there is going to be amazing." or "I'm a bit anxious about this, but I'm going to do it anyway." I think the adventurer is the one who sees the problem but chooses to focus on the outcome.

It's when we refuse to grapple our fears that keep us trapped in comfortable monotony and routine--the fear of the unknown, the fear of failure, anxiety from money, phobias. The adventurer has those same fears but ventures anyway. We're the ones who don't allow ourselves to be this way.

So, from one Traveler to another (and in the wise words of Ralph Waldo Emerson), "may you always do what you are afraid to do."

Emily Goes to Paris!

I suppose I should write about a trip I've taken since this is a blog about my study abroad adventures, after all. I've decided to share my adventure to Paris, France.

It all started a few weeks back when a friend and I saw a free weekend on our schedules. 60 Euros roundtrip later, our plain tickets to Paris were bought. Fast forward to just 3 days before our flight and I booked a last minute hostel. From there, we were set. Thanksgiving afternoon we started our 6 step travel process to Paris. We started by metro from our apartments to the train station, proceeded to take a 2 hour train to Milano Centrale (No train strikes that day. Always a good thing.), then ended with a 1 hour bus ride to Milano Bergamo airport. Step 4 of the process was the plane ride itself, followed by another 1 hour bus ride to the city and a metro ride to the Hostel. Deep breath. We made it.

We arrived at Peace & Love Hostel around 11pm, Thanksgiving night. Lugging our backpacks and ready for bed, we made our reservation payment and walked upstairs to our room...all 105 stairs that is.  (Yes, I found it necessary to count every last torturous step of that creaking wooden staircase). Finally arriving at the doorstep of Room 14, we passed out in our beds.

Did I mention our hostel was a bar?

View from our room

For the next two days, we ventured around Paris and Versailles.

First stop? Arc de Triumph.

Seeing this was Cooper's "Oh my gosh, I'm in PARIS!!!" moment

The first day of Paris was overcast and rainy... not Eiffel tower viewing weather. So we spent the day inside the Musee du Louvre (which is pronounced COMPLETELY differently in French than it's spelled, so don't even try). 


Some of the most famous art works and statues are housed here, from Aphrodite and the Mona Lisa to paintings by Delacroix and Jacques-Louis David (who are well worth your time researching if you're unfamiliar with their masterpieces).

Don't be fooled by this sassy pose. I WIPED OUT right after this picture was taken.

The next day was sunny and beautiful and perfect! What else would you do when you have that kind of weather combination, but go down to the Palace of Versailles? 
This was the home of French Royalty including the one and only, Marie Antoinette.

It took a 25 minute walk to get from her main palace to her summer guest house in the backyard

But it was later that night that we saw it:
The captivating pinnacle of all that defines "Paris",  
The cultivation of French passion and emotion all built into one massive display of light.


Before our eyes stood... the Eiffel Tower.

My "Oh my gosh, I'm in PARIS." moment

Well, you can't go to Paris without climbing up the Eiffel Tower. So the next morning, that's just what we did!
(Now for a series of pictures so this blog doesn't get boring with words).....

And so the trek begins

First of 3 stages completed!  We were oblivious to the fact that we had 2 more very high stages yet to climb. 

Looking across the tower on our hike to the top

The city is overwhelmingly huge

2,500,000 rivets to complete this bad boy. Impressive.

View from Stage 2--Note the hot air balloon. Picture perfect.

Waiting for Stage 3's elevator that would take us up to that tip of the tower. Never felt my legs go weak from heights until that elevator ride to the top.

It's amazing how everything suddenly looks like little play things when you're so high up.

The breathtaking views reminded me again why I like heights so much

Later that evening, we strolled on down to Notre Dame. It was as beautiful inside as it was outside.  (There was also a Subway restaurant across the street who's food was also worth noting- Delicious!)

Then we found a hole-in-the-wall bookstore that turned out to be my favorite part of Paris! So eclectic and artsy! 

Later that evening...
Our hostel, being a bar, had "Happy Hour". While my travel buddy, Cooper, sipped on her cocktail and I enjoyed some beer (cheaper and more satisfying than the fruity drinks), we discussed our plans for the next day. 
Before long, some Londoners staying at the hostel stopped by our table and bought us drinks. Yes, all three of them wore Argyle socks and carried strong English accents. 

"We created a great language and you Americans went and messed it up"
"No," I said, "We improved it."

The night brought a few rounds of shots that looked as delicate as the French language itself.
But let me tell you. They were nothing close to delicate. Imagine thick syrupy liquid Cinnamon followed by an aftertaste of vodka. I almost gag thinking about it. YUCK.

For anyone planning on visiting Paris: Stay away from any type of red shot

The night brought the opportunity to let go and just enjoy Paris nightlife. It was a whole new experience to be surrounded by such an atmosphere and to be care free. I hope to never lose that ability to simply let go of stresses and forget the worries of tomorrow. I never want to forget to dance. And that is just what we did; our London friends, the French locals, and us..we let go and we danced.

Underground local French nightclub

Paris was just as amazing as everyone had foretold. And I fell in love with it just as they said I would.
It was busy and bustling and pushing to grow, yet seeking to appreciate its own history and special place in this world. 


By the end of the weekend though, I began to get a pulling in my heart for home. I missed the familiar faces of my neighbors and the comfortable sounds of the language spoken around me. I was ready to fly back. 

Torino and the Alps from the Mole Tower

Yes, I was homesick for Torino.  I have become attached to Torino, comfortable in its slow paced life and animated people. I've become rooted in the environment.

With two weeks left of stay here in Italy, I am truly understanding the meaning to La Dolce Vita.  And I am planning on bringing that Sweet Life with me back to America.

This Has Nothing to Do With Italy

Death is really very sad.

As I looked through the window to the blue sky and bright sunshine, trying to comprehend the notion of someone passing from death to eternal life, the latest Cosmopolitan magazine sitting on the corner table caught my eye.
Big bold letters shout “SEX TIPS”.
What a superficial world we live in.

 We are caught up in looking beautiful in these passing bodies. Our society has placed so much emphasis on being the top, the best, the most envied. We admire the girls who have these beautiful facebook pictures that boast skinny bodies in short, tight dresses.
My friends huddle around a table admiring the shirtless men that dress magazine pages.

What’s it worth?

We are raised learning how to flirt with boys to make them want us. We are obsessed with perfecting these bodies that will surely decay anyway.

Death leaves behind all the things that we're caught up in in this earth- sins, worries, anxieties, pressures, struggles. It releases you from that bondage. What an utterly amazing thing. Why aren’t we envious of that?

Certain things like death give a hefty reminder of where our alignment is.

So, in the words of Mumford and Sons, Where you invest your love, you invest your life.

Anything we replace with intake of Bible doctrine, we are placing in front of God. Where are we investing our time? In Cosmo? What a lie that is. The lies they feed convincing us that we need to get a monthly issue to learn how to be seductive or how to look our hottest is horribly sad.

We are one day closer to our eternal bodies. We are called to stay focused on that. It's not only a command, but a refreshing allowance. Our focus strays from stress in grades, future jobs, or how perfect our hair looks. These things in our lives have never been ours anyway. It’s Gods. It’s God’s to use to His glory.

And that, in itself, is quite relieving.

My Not Bucket List

I don’t like Bucket Lists. Why? Because in every movie or book that I’ve encountered with the main character creating a bucket list, they complete it and then they die.

No, I don't want that. I want something with the same general concept, but not that.

I love lists. I love crossing things off of lists. I love always having something to do and a deadline in which to complete it. I love having my mind focused on a hundred things at once. 

So. I want to make a list. I want to make a list of things I love, things I think are awesome, things I hate, things I want to do, things I don’t want to tell people because I’m afraid I won’t complete them.

And I want them in cursive. At least for today, because cursive makes me feel pretty and creative.

Yes, I will start my lists right now and I will start them in cursive.

I think I am getting into a mental block.
Maybe this happens in your first "on your own" experience, not having your parents even a phone call away just in case.  

You know, fears have this crazy way of gripping your life so much. that you can literally convince yourself not to walk out your front door, just to make sure you don't fail, or get lost, or die. 

But the irony is that, fear is self-defeating. You see, we like to control our lives-we think we can control how we will live and how we will die. And that, we tell ourselves, is living. We tell ourselves as long as we control it, we are living. So when you come to the realization that you're not in control of your life, fear sets in and pushes you into seclusion. It keeps you locked in your apartment where it's safer and you still feel you have control of your life.  But here's the kicker: you've lost your life because of that fear of losing your life.

So these lists are my way of pushing myself back out there, out of the nest and into living. God's got me. He's not dropping me.

(Oh and about the lists. They're private. But, it's boring reading someone else's lists when you can write your own anyway!)

Grazie Mille

A week of being sick can leave you doing only one thing...thinking.  


I started thinking of reasons why being sick at home would be so much easier than being sick in Europe.

Well, for one thing, the doctors office is much faster moving and efficient.

Oh yea, and the doctors at home speak English.

I don't have to guess if I'm taking the correct amount of medication. 

And I can have my mother to check my forehead when I am running a temperature...and my dad to say, "you're not throwing up right? You're fine."  

Ugh. Not to mention, the Steelers lost, which every student here from the West Coast was sure to remind me. 

Without making you depressed with more negative thoughts, let me leave it at the point that things were looking pretty gloomy at the moment.

My head was bringing me down more than my sickness!

So, determined to not get stuck in this rut of a detrimental bad mood while in Italy, I decided to change my thoughts' directions. 

After all, it's pretty awesome that I get to be sick IN ITALY!!! How many people can say that?? Not many, considering that 1% of students in America study abroad. 

So to everyone in the states, I know, be jealous, I am sick in Italy. :) So cool.

While on this track, I figured I'd compose of the list of things that I am thankful to be blessed with that really do make my mood that much brighter.

• Men and women fighting for our country
• Sunlight shining through autumn leaves 
• Breathing in a crisp fall day followed by a misty silent night
• Scripture keeping me plugging on a bad day & motivated on a good day.
• Laughing at senseless things with great friends
• Meeting new people and hearing their stories
• A roommate who loves to bake
• My beds lovely down comforter that keeps me warm all night
• Dancing, dancing, dancing
• Listening to Billie Holiday while washing the dishes (quite relaxing!)

And of course, another day of life to enjoy it, in Italy. (sick or not)

Some of the little joys of Italy:

Fall day along the river in Rome

These handy little things give everyone who owns one 10 extra style points

Luke Bryan was right when he said, 'Rain is a good thing'

A great friend who made sure I attended the sorority formal while I was absent

How could you not be thankful for headless statues?!

What are you thankful for today?

Change, displacement, discomfort-Adventure is madness!

The honeymoon stage is over.

Scenario #1: You are surrounded by no one who speaks your language, in a place where even street signs are obscure.  Dogs don’t even respond to your English! Everything, down to the clock and calendar, price tags and bus stop hours are written differently.  Even your landlord throws rapid fire Italian your way and you try to understand by using English. Both of you are at a total standstill when it comes to working out apartment issues because of the language barrier.

Scenario #2: You are in a supermarket, surrounded by isles and isles of Italian labeled foods and prices in Euros, measurements in Kilograms and quantities in Liters. Even the simplest recipe becomes a search throughout the store to find an equivalent to what you’re looking for. You are looking for sugar but have no idea what its Italian name is. You approach a worker only to realize you have no idea how to describe sugar’s characteristics in Italian. Even the simplest things back home are a challenge here.

Scenario #3: You hop on a train to Milano Bergamo but the train you walked onto stops at Milano Centrale which is 30 minutes north of where you want to be. You rush off with the other passengers and find yourself standing against a crowd of people pushing by who know where they’re going and what they’re doing. They know which of the nine trains in this station is the connecting link to Bergamo...but you have no clue.

These situations have a common theme: You are alone. You are out of your comfort zone, brought into situations where nothing is easy and challenges await you every time you step out of your apartment.

You are alone.

As I sat amongst hundreds of immigrants in a huge cemented warehouse room waiting to apply for my permit to stay, it hit me. For the first time in my life, I was one of the outgroups, one the minorities. I simply blended into hundreds of people who have uprooted their lives to face the daunting challenge of living in a new country, a new culture. Here I am struggling to make it through a semester knowing I can run to a school coordinator for answers and direction. These people are coming here to spend the rest of their lives with no help from anybody. I go home in 2 months. They are accepting the challenge that they will not go home, but instead assimilate into the Italian culture in order to make a living and survive.

A woman from Iran was speaking of her travels to America, China, and Italy. She remembers being on a boat going from America back to visit her home country and looking around at the Iranians who were headed back home as well. But unlike her, these people weren’t going home to visit, they were going back home because they couldn’t survive in America. Why? Her answer was simple. They wouldn’t allow themselves to integrate into the culture. They closed off, falling back from the challenge to learn English, understandably daunted by the culture shock and homesickness. They stayed in their comfort zones because it was the last thing they could cling to. They failed to adjust.

I understand now what it’s like to be a bystander, simply an observer. I am alone here and I have every opportunity to close myself off in my room, not willing to face the daily challenges. But unlike those returning home on the ship, I understand that I am alone in the best way possible.

I am learning what it means to stand in the background, soak up an environment and culture, truly learn from people who have so much to offer.  

Somewhere along the line growing up, I somehow learned that a “good day” meant that everything had to be going my way. How often do I grumble when it rains or become discontented if I have to wake up super early to finish a paper that I waited last minute to do. One thing goes “wrong” and my attitude plunders into “bad day” mode. I become miserable and irritated just wishing that today would end sooner so that tomorrow can be better.  When did I learn that my way was the right way? That easy meant good and challenging meant bad? Don’t we know as Christians that true joy isn’t dependent on circumstances? Why do I know this, yet let one spilled coffee cause me to have a negative attitude as if it’s some sort of omen of a bad day to come?

Nothing here is perfect or easy. Nothing is my way. But that’s the beauty in it.

Every single day I learn from mistakes. I have seriously offended waiters thinking I was complimenting the meal by giving them the “ok” sign, I have ruined many dinners and desserts because I failed to correctly translate a recipe. I have missed trains, got caught in train strikes, gotten lost walking around Torino,  stood over my Italian stove struggling to figure out how to even get a flame with the stove lighter (not an easy task), got caught in a rainstorm in the Alps. I have to adjust to having no heat in the apartment at night due to government regulation and I have to be sure that I make no loud noises from 10pm until 8am.

But that's just it! Half the fun in life is made up of the challenges and the unexpected! How boring would life be if we really did control everything like we want to? We are often impacted most by those who have a good attitude in the midst of struggles, and these Italians do it every day.

Nothing is easy here. But let me tell you, I wouldn't have it any other way.

From that day on, if I was ever going somewhere, I was running!

After studying Italian for a few solid hours I felt the urge to get outside and do something. After all, when you’re in Italy, why would you want to waste a beautiful 30 degree day (86 degrees to us) inside? 

My fellow students in the apartment were spending the day at museums or recovering from their fun nights at the clubs that brought them in at 5am.

So, feeling a bit lonely, I decided to attend to my "alone time" routine: run.

The famous River Po is a quick 2 minute walk from my apartment with a running trail that winds all the way down to the city. I pulled a Forrest Gump and ran until I didn’t feel like running anymore.

A ways down the path, I stopped and looked up. What did I see? 

Oh, just a giant castle towering above me.

That’s the kind of thing that happens here. 

You just have to get up, get lost, and you’ll find something that you never expected.

And that's the fun part about life's surprises, you can't look for them, you simply stumble upon them.