Hey, I'm going to Krakow in less than a month!

Details to follow. Hooray for cheap flights and devalued currency!

Amerikanistendag in review

Just got back from the conference in Groningen--if you don't know what I'm talking about, see previous entry--and I'm feeling better about things than I have in a while.

Groningen is just the loveliest college town ever. It's a little larger and more crunchy-granola than Nijmegen, with lots of beautiful canals and prewar buildings home to fair-trade coffee shops and Birkenstock dealers. The university itself is the second oldest in the Netherlands, and the architecture is just absolutely spectacular. (Sorry, forgot my camera. Sad face.)

Aside from that, it was worth the nearly 3-hour train ride (in this country, that's ENDLESS) to talk about things like political accountability and transcendentalism and Foucauldian power relations and to have my ideas chewed up and spat out over and over again. Yes, it was probably the nerdiest 9 hours I've ever spent, but my brain feels like it's exploding. In a good way. If the world of academia is like this--endless conversations and tons of books and free-flowing coffee--then you can count me in.

I also made some new Dutch friends, both students and professors, and not only did we make tentative plans for Monday night jazz at a local club...they also directed me to the local arts center. WHICH CONTAINS PRACTICE ROOMS. YES YES YESSSSS.

And with that, I'm off to make some Cup-A-Soup and hit the hay...my brain hurts.

The Hague (and the Hassle)

I decided, more or less on a whim, to go to The Hague to visit Ian (he's there for a Model UN conference, which happens to be sponsored by Radboud University!). Getting there required some adept navigation of the Netherlands rail system. I figure we're long overdue for an extended airing of grievances, so here we go:


Why You Should Avoid Taking Netherlands Rail If At All Possible: The Definitive List

1. The trash receptacles on board

They are made of iron. They are extremely heavy. They adhere to Dutch design standards, which means that they look very practical but are absolutely useless. You can't open or close them without unleashing a giant THWAP that is just forceful and metallic enough to send shockwaves through your entire skeletal system. If I had a nickel for every time I was jolted out of a comfortable doze-bordering-on-blissful-nap by the guillotine-like thud of someone disposing of an apple core or bottle of Dubbel Friss, I would...have a whole bunch of useless American currency.

2. Children


There are bratty children, and then there are Dutch children. I saw a lot of those monsters on my train ride over. I can't say I wasn't warned...we had a speaker during our orientation week to educate us on Dutch culture, and he sort of jokingly hinted that they might not be the most well-disciplined bunch.

Cut to Maggie nursing an intense headache on a train stopped interminably outside of Utrecht Centraal. A father, clad in the typical Dutch uniform of hip canvas jacket emblazoned with some nonsensical English phrase, sits placidly as his two blond spawn SCREAM AT THE TOP OF THEIR LUNGS. AND SCREAM AND SCREAM. AND RUN UP AND DOWN THE AISLES. AND PLAY WITH SOME TOY THAT MAKES A NOISE SIMILAR TO THE "PULL IT!" LEVER ON A BOP-IT. FOR FORTY-FIVE MINUTES STRAIGHT. AND NOBODY ON THE WHOLE FRIGGIN' TRAIN THINKS THIS IS WEIRD AND ABSOLUTELY UNACCEPTABLE BUT ME. Sorry, a lot of caps. But you get the point.

3. Personal Space Guy

There's a Seinfeld episode about "close talkers". There should be a Seinfeld episode about close train sitters...more specifically, about sketchy, sweaty, overweight forty-year-old men in ill-fitting double-breasted corduroy blazers who sit in the awkward seat immediately facing you despite the fact that there is NOBODY ELSE IN THE TRAIN CAR. They reek of cologne and they usually do something horrid like drain a can of liquid, lukewarm Optimel yogurt with a weird smacking sound, wipe their mouth with the back of their hand, and then lean over and place said grimy hand on your personal (!) tray table. You're not hot and I'm not interested. Please go away.

And even if you're giving off that electric-fence vibe like nobody's business and they eventually let out a big sigh and concede a few centimeters or so of personal space, they will still find some way to make up for it. Like utilizing the trash receptacle (see no. 1) for said Optimel container. Or talking really loudly on the phone as if to emphasize that they're important enough to receive a phone call.

Don't worry, though, he'll eventually leave. Unfortunately, his personal scent won't.

4. Telepathy

Since I don't have a Dutch bank account and Ye Olde Bank of America Visa lacks the PIN computer chip necessary to complete card transactions, I buy my train tickets at the service desk. This morning, I purchased a ticket back to Nijmegen and was just starting to walk away from the desk when I realized that it might be a good idea to triple-check that I'd need to change trains at Utrecht like I did on the way over.

She looks at me like I have five heads and a pitchfork-shaped tail. "There's been an accident," she says cryptically, and types something on a computer and hands me a printed sheet of paper. Due to this mysterious accident, it looks like I'll have to change trains THREE TIMES to get back to Nijmegen. I'd have to take the aptly named sneltrain to Leiden, then switch tracks to get to Schiphol, then get on a different train at Utrecht and hopefully end up at Nijmegen sometime before I have to fly home in July. The part that kills me? I was just supposed to glean these transfers from the air.

Okay, so all my connecting trains have been at least fifteen or twenty minutes late and I'm sitting at Schiphol when I see on the train departures board that there's a 11:30 going directly to Nijmegen. I wait. Nothing. But no worries...there's also an 11:45. Hmm. Nothing there either.

I go to the information booth and relate my concerns. Another with the pitchfork-tail-and-multiple-heads look. She tells me that there's a train at noon as well.

"Okay, but why didn't the other trains show up?"

"Oh. We...skipped those."

WHAT IS MY LIFE?



It was a bit of a hassle actually getting to where I needed to be (damn you, similarly named hotels in different parts of the Western Netherlands), but once there, it was nice to do some exploring. At the risk of casting this entire journey in a comically bad light, I managed to pick the one day that every single museum and public building of any importance is closed. Boo. But there was some nice hanging-outage in a cute cafe, lots of strolling, lots of greenery, lots of cool architecture (see my Picasa account, why don't you), and it was fun to pretend to be a MUN delegate at the Global Village party. Even more fun to be sober and watch the world's future leaders get completely sloshed.

On the menu this week: on Friday, an American Studies conference at Groningen University (Amerikistendag 2009! Say that four times fast), which my geeky multidisciplinary soul is super excited for. Sadly, lovely Bea from Spain is spending her last week on Erasmus, so her goodbye party is on Saturday. Other than that...not much. Harsh reminders to work on my thesis would be appreciated.

Mr. Sun pays a visit to Nijmegen

I woke up today (after a lovely multi-part dream involving a cruise to the Hamptons and swimming with opiate-addled sharks...yeah, I have no idea either) and threw open my curtains and THE SUN WAS SHINING. This is not a joke. It is officially possible to have an unconditionally beautiful, warm, sunny day in Nijmegen.


There are buds on the tree outside my window. All signs point to the fact that spring is arriving. Slowly--and with an obscene amount of precipitation--but it's getting here.

Tomorrow marks two full months of the European life. Perhaps that's why my mind is turning towards home again: class registration and agonizing over the piles of thesis stuff that should be done and wondering if my thesis advisor hates me or if my emails simply went directly into spam. A teeny part of me will always wish I'd stayed there. Most of the time, though, I'm enjoying the here and now. Long dinners with friends and long walks for the hell of it. Having enough time to really absorb what I'm reading. And reading itself! Mostly all those classics that I pushed aside each summer in favor of the more lake house-friendly Wolfe and Franzen...and, of course, Gatsby for the umpteenth time.

I've planned yet another trip: to London! At the end of May! I'm hoping to see a lot of great (and hopefully cheap) theatre, drink some tea, and perchance hop on over to Bath. Touristy suggestions are welcome.

And more practical news: my flight home (on British Airways, no less...YESSSS) is booked for the afternoon of July 1st, and I'll be getting into Philly that night. It looks like I'll be up at BC for the rest of the summer starting July 5th-ish. God knows I'd love to be home this summer--gratuitous food, hot tub, laziness--but the Big Bad Economy is making steady work at the Robsham look pretty good right now.

Off to shower and attempt Moroccan couscous (yipes) before our international student organization's St. Patrick's Day party. Should be interesting...

As promised: the epic Italia entry

I'm not going to pretend that this will be an extremely accurate account of my adventures in Italy, but I promise you'll get the gist of it. It takes roughly 239840239 years to upload pictures onto the blog, so if you're interested in seeing all 300 of them: http://picasaweb.google.com/margaretaislinncarr

So!

Venice

After braving the zoo-like atmosphere that is Ryanair (having to check my carry-on--and paying 20 euro to do so--and then getting my 3oz shampoo bottle thrown away...Maggie was not a happy camper) we arrived at Camping Alba d'Oro in Mestre, a town just outside Venice that Frommer's calls "charmless and industrial". Highlights of our stay: the best bottle of wine I have ever had (this includes the rest of Italy, mind you) and a sign promising "chicken parts with fries". Yum?

Perhaps I should qualify that "we": I traveled with Jaclyn from Tennessee, Rebecca from Colorado, and Rebecca from Sweden. We all live in Hoogeveldt, my dorm (if it could accurately be called a dorm) and have dinner together regularly.

We made a wrong turn when we got off the bus at the Piazzale Roma (no buses are allowed on the island itself) and ended up wandering around the less-touristy Santa Croce area. It was a Sunday morning and absolutely nobody was around, just tolling bells and sunlight on closed pasticcerias. There are some condemned buildings tilting dangerously, bricks crumbling, graffiti in English and Italian and a mix of both. And yet, it absolutely took my breath away.

First on our (well, my) list of things that absolutely had to be done was a vaporetto ride through the Grand Canal to Lido, a resort island just off the coast. The teal water, the strong wind, the sunlight, the canal traffic...it felt like Epcot, really. I had to keep convincing myself that I was in a real place.

Vaporettos (vaporetti?) are water buses, the preferred method of Venetian transportation. Much better--and much more interesting--than going on foot. Especially when the Carnevale crowds look like this:

Taken from the Museo Correr on the Piazza San Marco. Not kidding.

Lido was lovely...being a huge fan of the novella Death in Venice by Thomas Mann (please add it to your lifetime reading list), it was extremely cool to see the hotel and beachfront cabanas where the whole thing takes place. It was much quieter and had fantastic stracciatella gelato. And so begins Maggie's 9-day weight gain. Le sigh.

The Doge's Palace was absolutely enormous and wonderful: oil paintings and dark wood and the extremely creepy Bridge of Sighs. Definitely see the Picasa album for those pictures. San Marco Basilica was incredibly old and elegant and just on the edge of decay, which is the state of most buildings in Venice. I like it better that way--gives you an idea of just how old and history-rich everything is.

Absolutely exhausted from our jam-packed day (masked Carnevale revelers take a lot out of you, I've come to find), we had an early night and then wandered around the Jewish Ghetto and the Cannaregio until our late-afternoon train. It's most definitely not a ghetto in the American sense...pretty much all Venetian real estate is pricey, pricey, pricey. It's the area in which the authorities all but confined Jews in the 17th century. We managed to find take-out coffee (quite a feat) and perused books from the 1700s in a charming bookshop.

I love wandering with no real purpose in mind. I feel like you really see the city itself that way. And you sometimes stumble upon the most magnificent things, like a public archive that was having electric lighting installed in it for the first time or a mysterious, crumbling opera house that you'd miss altogether otherwise.

I was sad as our train went back over the bridge connecting Venice to the mainland. The city's disintegrating by the day despite everyone's best attempts to save it, and although it's probably possible to go back again, it'll never be just the same as it was for those two sunny, chilly days in February.



Florence

I just want to preface this by saying that Florence is my favorite place in the world. I fell in love the second I got off the train and I think a large part of my heart is still there in a sunny piazza. So yeah, bias on my part. Sorry.

Our hostel was amazing. We had a spacious room and a private balcony (!) all to ourselves. And let's just talk about the gloriousness of falling into a deep sleep, belly full of fresh, super-garlicky pesto pasta (oh.my.God.) and waking up to the bells of Santa Croce and Tuscan sun streaming in through the window. Yes. So glorious.

It's a tremendously walkable city, and so we got to the Duomo in about 20 minutes. It's amazing when you first see it--the streets are narrow and filled with tall buildings, so you round a corner and all of a sudden this enormous, gleaming work of art is just sitting there. Everyone around you just stops in their tracks, shuts up, and takes out a camera.

Brunelleschi, the architect, didn't even get to see it built because it took 150 years. They sure don't make 'em like that anymore. Dang.

Next up was the Accademia, where we saw tons of 12th-century religious art (my new obsession...so creepy and amazingly well-preserved) and snapped numerous surreptitious pictures of its most famous offering:

We finished off the day with a couple hours perusing the extensive collection of leather purses, silk ties, and gloves at the Mercato San Lorenzo. Got to sleep early and woke up at 6:30 AM for the Uffizi Gallery. Maggie was not pleased. But she was very pleased once she spent three hours in that smashingly fantastic museum. Botticelli and Durer and Michelangelo, oh my! Sorry, no pictures...intense guards were watching my every move. We enjoyed great views of the city from its top floor and rooftop balcony, though:

Lunch was falafel pitas and sparkling water and dark chocolate on the steps of Chiesa Santa Maria Novella. The sun was surprisingly strong--such a nice change from the gloom of the Netherlands. I think I could have stayed there forever, watching the people pass by and Jaclyn's attempts at pigeon sabotage. After some brief regrouping at the hostel, we headed up the hill on the other side of the Arno to the Piazzale Michelangelo.

The guidebooks say it's one of the best views in the world, and they weren't kidding. I couldn't stop looking at the bridges and city to the west and the rolling, foggy Tuscan hills to the east. Said guidebook also recommended that we hike up even farther to San Miniato al Monte to hear the monks chant in the darkened church at sundown, and it didn't disappoint. I got chills.

Tuckered out from the Tuscan StairMaster, we stopped by a free olive oil tasting at the wine bar down the street from our hostel (flavors tasted: juniper, mandarin orange, black truffle, lemon...and you can seriously taste the difference between them) and then sat out on our balcony with a bottle of wine and looked out at the stars. I'm telling you, this place is heaven.



Rome

We caught a train in late afternoon after saying goodbye to the Duomo once more (sigh). After all the surreal, laid-back, quiet beauty of Florence and Venice, it was strange to be in a bustling, almost American city once again. After putting our stuff down in our (kind of icky) hostel, we loaded up on sunscreen at a quirky little farmacia, grabbed a bite, and hit the Colosseum.

It's so strange and cool that there are ruins hiding out in the middle of this pretty modern city. Over the years, marble and iron and all kinds of stuff has been incorporated into new architecture and even recycled. Case in point: the old roof of the front of the Pantheon was melted down and re-cast as the altar in St. Peter's. Which reminds me:

St. Peter's Basilica, where we went the next day, is one of those places that takes your breath away the second you walk in it. We all know that I have some, er, issues with the Catholic Church, but being in a place like that fills me with some kind of faith. Whether it's in God or human ingenuity, I'm not sure--but wowza.

The Vatican Museums were absolutely incredible. If we weren't up until three in the morning listening to our neighbors, who thought it would be fun to blast "Hips Don't Lie" on repeat in the lobby (are you picking up on the subtle hints that this might have not been the best choice of accommodation?), I think I would have enjoyed it a lot more. The biggest surprise was an incredibly well-curated modern art museum in the Borgia Apartments. We also saw some hilariously inaccurate old maps (Canada was just a blob labeled as "Terra Incognita") and tons of papal bling. The Sistine was impressive, but I honestly think the School of Athens was my favorite. It's so cool to see this stuff close up.

After some postcard writing on the Spanish Steps and throwing coins in the Trevi Fountain (one to return to Rome, one to fall in love while there), we got some incredible gelato (one scoop of raspberry with crunchy seeds, one scoop of Nutella as thick as the stuff itself) and hit the Pantheon. It was just after Mass and everything was foggy and smelled like incense. It's a Roman building, and incredibly well-preserved.

There was a bit of a fiasco as to where exactly I was staying after I branched off from the Nijmegen girls and met up with BC kids (too long to go into detail here), but I ended up crashing at Deanna's after clubbing at a predominantly American bar until 6 AM. I think my body still hurts. It is the oddest feeling in the world to walk into a completely new place in a completely new country and see the same thirty or forty people milling around that you'd see walking through the quad on any given day. Got a late start the next morning (obviously) and regrouped by sitting in the sun on a grassy hill alongside the Colosseum, gaining freckles on my nose, journaling, and just thinking about how lucky I was to be there. I mean, seriously.

Met up with Grace and Colleen a couple hours later and made our way over to Chiesa St. Ignacio to see the Chorale sing Mass. You all know I'm not a crier, but I walked into that room and saw a large percentage of people I've been missing incredibly and there were some happy tears. The Chorale has a tradition of singing "Tollite Hostias" at midnight in a different place each night when they're on tour, so after a brief stop at an Irish bar (I mean, come on...we go to BC, for God's sake) we Tollite'd and hit the sheets.

The next morning, we got up early for one reason and one reason alone:

Yep, he blessed me. Now I'm excused for everything that has ever occurred in my life up to this point. I think.

Went back to St. Peter's because I simply can't get enough of it, and after some wandering and great conversation and coffee with Grace (who, for all of you listening at home, is studying in Rome this semester), ended up at Chiesa Jesu for a full Chorale concert.

And, as if this trip could get any more BC, it's the church where St. Ignatius is buried. Go figure. There is this crazily blinged-out statue of Iggy himself hidden behind a canvas on the side of the church, which moves up and down to hide or uncover it. Apparently there was some ransacking happening in some century by someone--yeah, good memory, Mags--and it was a way for them to hide it if necessary. They usually only bring him out on special occasions (notably the feast of St. Ignatius), but they did a special uncovering just for us. It was crazy. Pictures of the whole dang thing on Picasa.

A late night with Tollite and typical college behavior on the Campo di Fiori (oy) and up extraordinarily early the next day for a tour of the catacombs, the Colosseum and the Roman ruins on Palatine Hill. I'm running out of time and should probably be doing something more productive and GPA-boosting (like going to class...or something), but all the pics are up on Picasa.


It started drizzling on my return trip to the Pantheon, and I got to see the ancient drainage system in action. Very cool.

We headed back to the hotel to take a quick disco nap (you would not believe how good the floor feels after a long day of walking), got some dinner, and headed to the Piazza Navona for my last Tollite. People were coming out of their balconies and watching. It was such a bittersweet moment for me...I was just so torn between the happiness of spending 9 days in such an amazing place and the sadness of leaving the people I love (especially the seniors). Aw man, I'm getting all verklempt just writing this.

I walked the half-mile or so to Termini Station the next morning at an obscenely early hour (7 AM, if you must know). The city was just waking up. Workmen in their orange jumpsuits were having a cup of java at a local cafe and the dew was still fresh on the grass. I felt completely and totally at peace. More than I've felt in a long, long time. Returning to Nijmegen was hard, but I think you've got to go away in order to start to appreciate where you come from.

I think that about does it. More on the Amsterdam weekend in a few days.

From Italian sun to Dutch gray.

Italy. Was. Awesome.

There is dirty (we're talking horribly dirty) laundry littering my floor and papers that need to be written and stuff that needs to be read, but I keep looking at these pictures as if to remind myself that the past nine days actually happened. I think I'm going to do an entry on each city at some point because there is SO MUCH to be said about all of them. This will probably happen next week, so stay tuned.

In a nutshell, things I will always remember: the color of the Venetian canals, the Ponte Vecchio from the Uffizi, monks chanting at San Miniato al Monte at sunset, the charming used bookshop in the Venetian Jewish Ghetto, that hilariously horrible hostel in Rome, limoncello on the balcony in Florence, hot chocolate on the Spanish Steps, "Come Thou Fount" echoing in Chiesa Jesu, turning the corner and seeing the Duomo for the first time, that pizza shop by Deanna's apartment in Rome, "Tollite" everywhere, journaling amongst the ruins of the Forum and the Colosseum, watching incense rise behind the altar at St. Peter's Basilica, being blessed by the Pope (not kidding), hugging every BC person in sight, gelato gelato gelato.

I felt tears coming to my eyes as I watched Rome fall away over the wing of the plane. It wasn't entirely from sadness, either. I am so grateful for what Italy did for my spirits: it showed me that there is a Europe outside this kind of humorless and calm and sterile country, a place where people jostle and yell and sing and bask and take great pride in food and friendship in a way completely different from--and yet compatible with--American mannerisms.

Matt comes to visit this week. I have been totally cheating on this whole study-abroad-and-leave-everything-behind thing, but I've found that being with the people I know and love has reminded me that they'll still be there when I get back. I know I made the right decision in coming here. Not the easy decision, but the one that will be make me the person I need to become.

Amsterdam this weekend! Whooooo!