On Milan

The problem, of course, with having such a lovely, soul-filling, restful little stretch is that eventually it has to end. And the nearest city to go on to immediately afterward was unfortunately Milan. Honestly, I've never really had much of a desire to see Milan, but I've always sort of felt like I should at some point. It seemed like such a glitzy place, and incredibly mysterious, as I always seem to hear it mentioned but knew really absolutely nothing about it. So I thought, alright, onward to Milan!

The thing is though, for the first time since I stepped off the plane two months ago, the minute I set foot in this city... I couldn't wait to leave. I truly and honestly hated this town. I know that sounds harsh... and the funny thing is I can't give you a good reason for it. The city itself really was a lovely, pretty place. I mean, see for yourself:

It really was just as lovely as any other place... I just hated it. I hated the spirit of it, I hated the feeling of it, and I hated the way people looked at you as you walked down the street. Never have I been in a place that made me feel more... unworthy, somehow. And I just came from Paris! I mean, really... sheesh! So even though I don't think I'll ever be able to put it into words, all I can say was that after two days I was more than ready to hightail it out of there, and on to more friendly parts of Italy.

On Monastic life

My time with Mir in Germany marked the end of my Scheduled Plan. I had gotten that far before I left, and afterward I kind of hadn't a clue what I was going to do. I had several ideas and several semi-plans working, but all of them ended up falling through for one reason or another. While I was still in Paris with mom I was talking to her about how frustrated I was about this last section of my trip, and how I said I just wanted a place where I could sit somewhere quiet and just feel at peace. And she said, "well then why don't you try to just find that?" And so I did. And I ended up at an Italian Monastery just north of Milan. It ended up being exactly the quiet, restful respite I needed. I woke up every day at 5:30 in time to watch the sun rise over the alps in the distance, and spent all day walking and reading and writing and working in the high production gardens and helping them make jam. I was the only non-Italian, though there were tons of other yound guests there while I was there. All in all it was pretty much amazing, and by far the coolest thing I've done in a long time.

It's pretty amazing what happens when you actually allow your mind the free range space to wander and skip and go wherever it wills, when you give your soul permission to take a big gulp of air and just stay there, at rest, for awhile. Things came to the surface that I hadn't even realised had ever submerged... my soul was healed in areas in which the bruises hadn't even been visable. Sufice to say, it was an incredibly lovely time.

Here are some pictures of the sleepy little town where I stayed.

And if this is not the most amazing road sign you've ever seen in your life, I don't know what would be.

And then there were the gardens. That word probably inspires images of a monk in a habit with a hoe, but these were high level, mass-production orchards and fields. It was really fun to get to harvest and work in them for a few days. Here are some fruits (literally! ha!) of my labor...

And in the afternoon I worked in the jam factory (and it seriously was) helping them label the new arrivals.

And then of course, through really broken Italian and lots of smiling, there were the crop of new friends. :)

On La Deutche Vita

I finally settled into an internet cafe yesterday with the intention of finally catching up on all of the pictures and posting I've gotten behind on over the last few weeks that I haven't been able to find internet.

So, I got myself comfy, pulled out all of my various cords and cds and paraphernalia to upload pictures... and discovered that the fear of every traveller had come true. Unless by some stroke of luck what I'm looking for is on some other CD buried deep in my suitcase that I just haven't unearthed yet (after all, there's no telling exactly WHAT'S down there at this point), I'm pretty sure that all of my pictures from the latter half of my time in Austria and all of my time visiting my lovely friend Miriam in Southern Germany are completely gone. Anyone who's travelled knows that horrible, stomach-clenching feeling as you clear your camera contents onto a CD and pray to the God of sightseeing posterity that everything transferred while you press that terrifying delete button with trepidation. Well... apparently I had no such luck. Which means, I'm sorry to say, that I have no pictures to show you in this post.

After my singing sojourn in Salzburg I caught a train to Vienna, which I've been to once before as a 5 year old, but one of my only memories of the city involves me feeding pigeons with my big brother in the main square in a navy jumper sewn by my mother. IF I had my pictures, I would show you the one I took as I hunted out that square, because apparently my trip is about chasing down the Ghosts of Janis Past across Europe. My guidebook said that if New York is the Big Apple, Vienna would probably be the Big Wedding Cake. And I quite agree. It's frothy, frilly, prissy, pristine, and decadent in a very reserved, Sunday parlor sort of way. I played in fountains and listened to impromptu concerts and drank Viennese Roast with due diligence. I don't have many other brilliant thoughts on the subject, especially as I'm mourning the loss of photographic aids, but it was a lovely way to spend a few days.

More exciting though, was that after Vienna I caught a (frustratingly delayed) train to Germany, to go visit my wonderful Miriam, who I lived with in DC two years ago. By the way, as a random note... just because a conductor is in a uniform does NOT necessarily mean that he is in ANY way competent, or really has any clue what he is talking about whatsoever. Therefore, if you attempt to get on a train, being pretty well sure that this is indeed the train you're supposed to be on, and a train conductor tells you not to get on, do not be at ALL surprised when after the train then leaves the station he tells you that in fact that WAS the train you should have been on, and why on earth didn't you board the thing when you had a chance. Grr.

At any rate, eventually I made it to Miriam, and the next few days were lovely. I took so many pictures of her beautiful town and of the two of us together, and I'm really missing them now. It's amazing how easily after so much time two people can so quickly just pick up where they left off. Within minutes we were driving on the autobahn, listening to an old cd mix we'd made while we were all living together, and suddenly I was back in Washington, driving through Georgetown on my way to go eat a burger at Five Guys, instead of on my way to Stuttgart to go eat spetsle. We laughed and chatted and ate lots of junk food and watched girly movies and looked at pictures and called friends and waxed nostalgic, and for a few lovely days nothing at all had changed.

We also quickly discovered that Mir is a horrible tour guide, and her wonderful parents took over the task of showing me around Germany, and so we spent hours driving through back roads looking at castles in the distance and mountains rolling past us, in search of the best views, and now I'm sorry to say that all of their hard work has nothing to show for it, photographically speaking. I guess you'll have to take my word for it that Germany is lovely.

My primary pastime during the week, though, was filtering out my favorite words in German. Mir helped me string them all together into what would end up being I think the best compliment someone would ever be able to receive, and I'm pretty sure if a boy ever approaches me with this line I will more than likely be putty on the floor.

Ihre Hüften sind hübsch wie Kokosnüsse, tschüs!

Which means something like... your hips are pretty like coconuts, bye!

But trust me, it's really fun to say. :)

On a few of my favorite things

Salzburg!

Alright... it's only fair that I warn you now. If you are one of those people who has always given me crap whenever I happen to burst into random song or ramble forth a river of musical trivia, I advise you to skip this post.

Because, well... if the word Salzburg didn't imediately make you think of one very particular thing... I'm sad for you.

All I have to say for myself, and my current giddy state which carried me singing and yes, twirling, through every hilltop and garden and riverside of this lovely little town is, well... The Sound Of Music!

Let me just say that I adored this town. I loved it when the sky was smokey and brooding, I loved it when it danced through the dainty little trees which line the river, I loved watching the rainstorm loom through the alps. I really and truely loved this little town. And I think I've come to a kind of sad realization. I really love pretty things. Ok, so that sounds a little odd, but what I mean is that as much as I've loved each of the places I've been wandering over the past few weeks, it hasn't been since France that I've really and truly loved a place. And really, if there is one thing which Salzburg and Versaille have in common it is a kind of dainty, tidy, prissy kind of prettiness. And I'm just a sucker for it.

Honestly, I wish I wasn't. I mean, all the cool travellers are the ones who can't get their fill of back alley markets and grimy ruins, and would much rather be on the back of a truck with a bunch of chickens driving into a remote African village than in a fussy little royal garden. But honestly... I am just a sap for the pomp and perfection of lovely little places, in all their forms. Not to say that I didn't enjoy winding my way through the back alleys of Czechloslovakia... but really... give me a Linzertorte and an espresso, please.

(And by the way... a word about the uh... singlemindedness of these photos. Just be glad that I didn't actually break down and pay the 30 euros for the official Sound of Music tour, which took you by bus to the villa where they set up their estate, and out to the cathedral where they filmed the wedding scene... but not out to the hills so you could go frollic and twirl, otherwize I SWEAR I would have done it in a heartbeat.)

(by the way... this view might just happen to be the one Maria walks past while she's singing out what on earth her life is going to be like now that she's being cast to the unknown. Or something.)

(And this might be the fountain she walked past as she was singing "I Have Confidence".)

And then I frolicked in the woods... which had nothing to do with The Sound Of Music, but I couldn't get out to the hills, so it was the best I could do. :)

And then there are some things which time can't ever quite heal...

This is the kind of hardy fare ones eats in Austria. And that is just fine with me.

(And this just might be where Uncle Max and the children were walking as they waited for the Captain and Maria to come back from their honeymoon.)

And then I went to what I think is absolutely THE most beautiful garden complex I have ever seen in my life. And I know me a garden.

...and the fact that I went there had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that it might have been where they filmed all of the pieces of the montage of Maria and the children dancing around to "Do Re Mi". Or, ya know... so I've heard. Or Something.

(And if this covered walkway looks like where they rode their bikes through... well... don't ask me because I would have no idea. Or something.)

And so that's Salzburg. Oh my, but I could spend so much time in that city. I will stay here for some period of time, at some point, I think.

And really... those hills really are alive. I mean... come on. You've got to admit those are the alivingest hills you've ever seen. :)

PS... for the first time since I began my trip, I am completely caught up! Now that is worth celebrating with another sauchertorte.