Looking out my apartment window, I see two Perugias. I see modern day Perugia, the one that abides by the second hand ticking on my left wrist. This is the one that listens impatiently for the echoes of tower bells clanging the newest hour, signaling for children lugging their trombones and clarinets to be let out from the music school across the parking lot, and for la pausa when the doors of my neighborhood storefronts close. But as I turn to my right, facing the building adjacent mine, I see old archways embedded in the ancient stone walls, now long unused but still lingering hopefully. The happenstance arches don’t seem to serve any purpose in modern day Perugia, as the doorways that once stood beneath them have now been moved to inhabit other more recent arches on the side of the building. But in these long-idle remainders in the stone walls, I see quiet reminders of other lives, of other histories these buildings have had. The buildings seem to be tired from so many years of holding roofs up over ungrateful heads and seeing lifetimes of ugliness and love carried out beneath their exhausted arms. They don’t seem to care that I stand here on the street, my mouth gaping open as I stare at their ancient beauty. These buildings remind me that I am only a passenger here, a temporary fixture, a blink of an eye in the grand lives of these ancient archways. I am part of this moment-by-moment, modern-day Perugia that exists in juxtaposition with these permanent stone walls, dragging centuries of history behind them. Here, away from the world I grew up in, a temporary bird of passage in a foreign place where history is so prominent, I have had to learn to be comfortable with the only thing that I brought with me from the rolling hills of southeast Minnesota: myself.

My life as a temporary Perugian carried out beneath my apartment building’s sturdy, wise roof has been a whirlwind of growth. I have always been an advocate of growth outside my immediate comfort zone, and by being a quiet, shy observer, it’s not hard for me to feel outside of my element. I, however, ignored my blushing cheeks and shy ways, and zealously ran after this goal of growth by throwing myself into situations of unfamiliarity and possible growth through leadership conferences, teen-exchanges, and a French language full-immersion camp. But it wasn’t ever enough; I was never fully out there on my own. Here in Perugia, swimming in a different culture, with a new, delectable language to absorb, and with a completely different terrain of land and history than my home, I am without immediate contact with those I love most and away from the familiarity of my native country. I have finally stepped outside of my bubble and have taken that big jump across the endless blue ocean.

Although I am out of my little pond of Minnesota, however, I have not started another life separate from my own in the U.S. or gone wild in my freedom from preconceived notions and acquaintances. No, I am undoubtedly still the same person at my core. I still love to write more than anything, the countryside moves me more than any museum of art ever could, and I still eagerly anticipate the daily phone call from my boyfriend. But in removing myself from habitual reassurances, I have finally, inversely, become more at ease within myself. Any other changes that have occurred here have all derived from this need for self-lucidity: if any part of my personality has prevented me from feeling this internal peace, I have attempted to slowly alter or change those aspects. And alternately, if I have seen some aspect of Italian culture and society that fits within this nature of mine, I have tried to adopt it, and make it my own. I try to learn from my Italian hosts, taking bits and pieces of their slow lifestyle, and fit it into my own where it seems to coincide. Throughout this semester, I have watched Italians closely, and have taken in how they seem to have retained a connection to the earth, how their food culture is so much more sophisticated and healthy than the American diet, and how family is still an always important component of their lives. This differs greatly from the mainstream American culture, but nevertheless coincides with the teachings and respect for others that I was raised with. The aspect of Italy that I connected with most while abroad was the Italian campagna. It gave me so many levels of beauty to gaze at, so many inspired words to write, and also created a fire inside me to learn more about organic farming, and other crops that are difficult to grow at home, like the plump grapevines, ironic sunflowers, and quiet olive trees.

Because of my experiences here, I have had my eyes opened to other future temporary experiences to stimulate growth, feeding my always bottomless appetite. My connection to the beautiful Italian terra madre, mother earth, has exposed me to the possibility of working on an agriturismo, which use organic farming practices to produce their own food. My time at school has brought about another possible future endeavor for me: coming back to work at my school in Perugia, or to student teach abroad elsewhere.

Since these experiences are usually temporary moments, my mind runs in overdrive, taking in all I can, stimulating every sense to make me feel alive and searching for more. My eyes are greedy for more to see, my brain hungry for more stimulation, my tongue quivering for more languages to wrap itself around. And I don’t think I would ever feel one-hundred-percent ready to leave any of these momentary lives, because I don’t think anyone is ever really done growing. So it’s better to leave while my appetite is still strong, strong enough to push me back into new places, to jump across other oceans to new lands waiting to teach me, other wise buildings to house my small little moments of an ever-searching quest for personal growth.

As my departure date from this temporary life under ancient roofs looms closer and closer, my heart pace quickens in protest. I am not ready to leave yet, one of the voices in my head shouts. This part wants to stay longer in this beautiful country and become fluent in Italian, eat more fantastic food, and see more of the patient countryside. I am addicted to this growth, and any place that inspires so much learning, so much knowledge-seeking, is one that I am loathe to leave. But the other voice reminds me that I have my plane ticket already, and a boyfriend, family, and friends that I really want to spend the holidays with. However, I have decided to reconcile these two equally important parts of me; the part that itches to be on the move, absorbing new ideas, fueling greater learning, but also the part of me that is my foundation. I could not move so freely about the world without a firm, loyal, and patient foundation to keep me grounded. I don’t think these two sides of me need to be in conflict, either: rather, I prefer a resolution that will satisfy both halves by promising to return someday, not necessarily to Italy, but some other fantastical land, some alluring country different than my American culture. I don’t think I shall ever quench this thirst, and I don’t want to. Knowledge is something I want to always be searching for more of. Growth is something always worth climbing up to the next peak for. And hopefully, in these future adventures, growth expeditions, and knowledge searches, I will have the comfort of not only myself, but my boyfriend Todd, or my sister, or best friend Megan, or any of the many loves of my life. My time here in Italy is so short, and the ticking clock of the moment-by-moment Perugia reminds me, as always, that this is only a passing thing. But it’s one of the passing four month periods of my life that I will always carry with me, like those buildings carrying the remnants of ancient doorways to other histories, happy scars of all the fleeting lives carried out beneath their watchful eyes.

Barcelona, December 5-7th. Amanda and I, on our last big adventure . . .

Barcelona’s mystical charm has captured my imagination. You can see the toughness and pride of this still staunchly Catalan city, as it defines itself separately than the rest of Spain in accordance to their previous separate nation, history and language. Catalan is still the language spoke most prominently there, and as the bus I rode wound through the countryside on its way to the city, I saw an abandoned building that told me everything I needed to know: Catalunya was written in big, loud graffiti letters, while underneath was written Espanya with a big red X through it. You see this toughness, this stubborn nature of the nation within a nation in its landscape, and you see their choice of stubborn freedom, an enhance imagination, run its course through the city limits with the creations of architects Antoni Gaudí and the like.

I fell in love right away, as I sat on the hour long bus ride from the Girona airport to the city center. Looking out my windows, my overfed imagination ran wild, making up stories and mythical creatures in my mind. The grass here grows in raw, grassy tufts, bursts of adrenaline as they finally break through the dry, caked land and into the proud Catalan sun. The mountains too, are tufts of greenery, roughly scattered here and there. They, in my zealous imaginings, became a tough, grassy, uneven rug laid over top of all Catalunya´s treasured stories, hiding them from the greedy Espanya. Kapoc trees that twist and wind around upon themselves became dark fairytale creatures that take all the bad energy of the people, of the history and absorb into their altruistic way, the evil curling their branches, thwarting their aged trunks.

In Barcelona, you choose the color of the sky. As the bus drove into the city, it carried on this tradition of mythological visions as the tops of the partitions between highways had glass panes of all different colors. It’s as if they were saying, like the process of selecting paints, "What color would you like your sky, miss? Are you someone who is satisfied with your happy life? If that’s the case, we have bubbling, fantastical blues of every shade for your picking. Or are you one of those people who only wish the world in which you live was more like the world in your imagination? If so, we have just the colors for you: a rosy red, or a trepid yellow, or even sinfully gleeful green."

Barcelona was home to one of the world’s most expressive and artistically free artists of all time; Picasso. Manda and I wound through the series of rooms full of Picasso’s early work, and watched as the works slowly progressed from the clear realism in his first work towards his better-known style of Cubism.

Saturday was the Day of Gaudí. His famous unfinished church, the Sagrada Familia, made me cry, I loved it that much! I am not one of those people who cries when seeing art, but this time, I did. It was so beautiful, so resonating for me, as his architecture, his art, is so natural, so approachable. In his words, “originality consists in returning to the origin.” The interior looks like palm trees, and the top spirals on the outside have bundles of fruit, echoing his organic style, and how he takes his inspiration from nature. The stain glass was all colorful geometric shapes that made the room glow with fiery reds and comforting blues. It was the most beautiful church I have ever seen, and it didn’t feel intimidating, even though the top spirals reach up forever, past all other buildings attempting to break the skyline of Barcelona. It was something I could feel, a style that I could relate to, a quiet refuge among the other lofty, beautiful, yet somewhat scary churches I have seen on my travels.

We then made our way to some of his other creations. First his Park Güell, with the boldly colorful bench that winds around the main market square, and the quiet trees by his earthy, clay-looking walls, and the tree-imitating columns supporting the ceilings of his creations. We started from the side entrance, and made our way to the famous dragon in the main entrance, near the colorful mosaic tiles on the walls leading into the park.

We also saw his Casa Batlló, which reminded me of a house that a mermaid would live in under sea. Some say the top looks like the back of a dragon, the light reflecting blues and purples from his scales. The last creation of his that we saw was his other apartment building, Casa Milà which wound around, up and down, its walls so different than the other boring, straight walls of the buildings next door.

We then made our way to the Port as the sun passed below the water, and then we ended our night in the Plaça d'Espanya, where every Friday and Saturday night, they have a fountain show, lighting up the shooting water, in time with music.

We made our weary way back to our endearing little hostel, owned by a young “hippie-ish” couple, and run by them, the woman’s brother, and her mother. They, too, added to my love of Barcelona, with the homey-feel of the hostel. Tired, feet sore, but minds racing, as if just brought to life, we dreamt that night of places that only exist in our imaginations, and Barcelona.

November 14-16. Athens, Greece.

The dogs in Athens were among the most hilarious phenomenons I’ve ever seen. All over Athens there are these huge, fat homeless

dogs that look like they could be werewolves, they're so huge! It must beall that amazing Greek food, I guess. But anyway, in addition to beinglumps of lard, they are all also COMATOSE, I swear to god! They just lie in the middle of streets and sidewalks, sleeping, I guess, and nothing you can do, no noise you can make will wake them up or startle them! And they all lie in packs - we went to the Temple of Zeus, and there were SIX mangy, plump dogs all lying down, passed out from so much eating! And then, the few that ARE awake, follow you around everywhere! We had this one dog follow us across one of the busiest intersections in Athens - he just waltzed across the crosswalk with us! I felt like he was our tour guide, telling us all the stories behind everything in his head. I started making voices for him, it was great! And then he had to stop and poo, so we just kept walking, and later, like half an hour later, he found us again, and started following us again! It was hilarious!! Oh Athens . . . hehe!

Greece is fun, although Athens isn't the romantic oceanside view that you see in all the postcards. But as any historical city, it has its own beauties, which we saw as much of. We started out early the first day, 8 am and saw the Acropolis with the Parthenon and Ancient Agora, and such. I really enjoyed that - if you like the Roman Forum, you would like this. The only down side was that it was sprinkling a bit off and on all morning, and everything in Greece is outside, but oh well. It wasn't too bad, and the sun came out later. Also, since its off-season for tourists, they're reconstructing a lot of the

Acropolis, so there's scaffolding everywhere which kind of takes away from the grandness of it all. But it's still pretty amazing!

We also saw the ancient temple to Zeus, which was really cool. Then on to the National Museum of Archeology. We got there about 25 minutes before it closed though, so we kind of had to rush through it. It was interesting, though - lots of statues, sculptures and old pottery, gold, and artifacts like that.

Good thing is that Greek food is really good, and really cheap! We had the authentic Greek gyros, at a little place that we found by recommendation of our Greek hostel owner. We also had dinner the first night in Greece in the center of the city at one of the many restaurants with waiters waiting outside, calling to you, begging you to come in and eat. At this place, we fell in love with the guy outside, who promised us a bottle of wine on the house. He sat us next to the window, and recommended mousaka and other delicious food for us through the open window between his pleas for business to other passers-by. However, confusion ensued when we tried to ask for the check, they brought us a platter of fruit, free. Confused, but pleased, we promptly ate the fruit, and then asked for the check again, but before we could get the words out of our mouth, they brought over ANOTHER bottle of wine! On the house! And to top it off, the waiter said “For the beautiful ladies by the window.” Apparently, we were good business bringers, and they wanted us to stay as long as possible. Really confused, and starting to get slightly frustrated, but not about to turn down free wine or compliments, we sat for a while longer and sipped our wine. FINALLY, after two bottles of wine, appetizers, Greek salads, mousaka, and our fruit platter, we were able to get the check and leave.

Aahh, Greece. :)