On an Island in the Sun...

Well, here I am. Lying in bed, curtains drawn, covers up, watching Friends and waiting for some medicine to be delivered to me to fulfill my last dying wish- to get sick and drink Pepto Bismal in every country on God’s great earth.

Italy: Check

Unable to sleep anymore, I actually decided to move my lazy ass out of bed and grab my laptop so I could post something new for my poor, starving fans. (Not that we have internet here, I’m just throwing down a Word document and I’ll hunt down some of that wifi nonsense later) Now I’ll move mountains as I strive to conquer the flu the old fashioned way- reflecting on the last month of my life via internet blogging.

A lot of things have happened since my last post about Taormina, which still remains to this day as my favorite place in Sicily. The weekend after that glory, we jetted off to Fontana Bianca (I’ve heard it pronounced it so many different ways; we’ll stick to that one), a beach in Siracusa. The game plan was to camp on the beach and hit up some touristy things the next day. Like usual, every plan takes a 90-180 degree turn for the different every hour on the hour, so needless to say we didn’t end up camping. Technically.

As it turns out, there’s a massively popular discoteca right on the beach 10ft from where we initially tried to set up shop. But then we got kicked off the beach and onto private property next to the beach. And then we got kicked off the private property and back onto the beach. We went swimming that night in the pitch black Mediterranean Sea, and went out to the discoteca at around midnight, meaning it was pretty empty. By 1am though, it was out of control. And by out of control, I mean we were all being mobbed & molested by an increasingly grabby circle of well-dressed Sicilians. (On a side note, men’s fashion here will never cease to amaze me. No guy wears shorts like in America, for a quick example. It’s capris/tight tight designer jeans or bust. Metrosexual is an understatement; intensely flamboyant is getting closer to describing it) One of the more persistent Sicilians I was trying to ignore decided to introduce himself by flat out kissing me. Not in the European way. I can only dream about what my face looked like as I turned to my friends screaming, “What the HELL.”

As the Italians grew their army in number and intensity, the four girls I was with needed the guys we came with more than ever. The Italian troops did not take kindly to the American Navy guys making a barrier between them and the foreign meat, so they maturely went and got some sand and threw it at them? (Please please someone pick up on an It’s Always Sunny reference here when the Gang Wrestles for the Troops) And well naturally young American sailors don’t take kindly to that, a fight broke out, and our gentlemen friends got kicked out. We were too scared to try to ward off the Italians by ourselves, so we left too. It was fun while it lasted?

Long, long story short, no one ended up sleeping more than 30 minutes that night, and it was just so reminiscent of a game day in Corvallis, up all night drinking and then waking up and drinking again. (Not that I was doing the drinking, I’ll save my binge drinking for home) A Sicilian sun rising over the Mediterranean was a great treat though. We laid on the beach until we couldn’t take the heat anymore (10am, no joke) jumped off some cliffs, smaller than the ones in Taormina, and drove home. It took a rank on the Top Five Saltiest Days of my life. I love the beaches here, I love the crystal clear waters, that the water is so blue it hurts, and I love how the salt content is so high in the water that you really don’t have to tread water at all, you just kind of stay afloat. But the taste, the after feel, the dried sheets of white peeling off your skin? No thanks.

[Nap Intermission]

Nap status: taken, but not satisfying.
Moving forward, last weekend we went out to this massive popular club, Banachers. It was wonderful. Free drinks all night (8 euro a drink- my BALLS) and stayed out till the early hours (which shall not be named due to CampA rules). The next day was a trip to the Catania market, which proved as always to be stressful, exhausting, and hardly worth it.

The Market… Flea/fish/fruit, take your pick. They’re all equally smelly, loud and stressful. I love the fresh produce and the ridiculous prices, but I can’t take everyone screaming in Italian at the top of their raspy, been-a-smoker-since-I-was-10-years-old voices. They love shouting random words in English to get the blatantly American girls’ attention and then grab you and start trying to sell stuff. It’s crowded, everyone smells awful because there is a deodorant shortage here, and it’s exhausting due to the boiling heat. I won’t deny my love for the culture. It’s so rich, in its own dirty Catania-Sicilian, slightly passionate, mostly creepy way. Plus, going to the market means hitting up the pastry shop in the Elephant Square at the center of the city with the best, flakiest, most melt in your mouth wonderful carbs in the world. The traditional Sicilian breakfast is this flakey sweet bun with an amazing iced sorbet in between the two buns that you dip it into. Mango sorbet for the win. Ahhhhhh.

This weekend? I probably won’t go out tonight because let’s face it, the flu+staying out all night again isn’t one of my better plans, but then tomorrow morning we’re heading out to the capital, Palermo all Sunday, and then Monday (since we work Tuesday-Saturday which yes can s my d) we’re heading to Agrigento, with all the amazing Greek ruins. Fingers crossed?

Taormina, Bar di Turrisi, and Too Hot for FB

If I could spend every weekend of my stay here in Taormina, I would be one happy cookie. Shoot, every weekend of my life? Done. Unfortunately, I still have much more of this island to see, so we'll keep on keepin' on. But Taormina was a breath of fresh air to the somewhat monotonous and exhausting weeks teaching 4 year olds to swim (Swimming, one might be wondering, is NOT screaming bloody murder, sobbing without end, sleeping on the side of the pool, or asking me relentlessly if we can go to the kiddie pool yet).

Taormina is renowned for being most beautiful place in Sicily, and I second that decision without question. Considering the breadth of my travel only reaches from the East Coast to Victoria, Canada, it is the most beautiful place I've ever laid eyes upon. Generally cities are strategically placed on hills in Sicily, since Sicily was used as a key battle location from the Byzantine empire to the Greeks, Arabs and Romans (and now the Mafia). Let it also be known that most often Sicily has better and more intact Greek ruins than the Greeks, and is breathing with more rich and diverse culture than any country you'll find. But don't take my word for it... (Reading Rainbow reference?)

An overview of our luck with public transportation: Took a taxi from Base to the train station. A train from Catania to Giuardi (or something), took a bus from Giuardi Noxes to Taormina middle level (There is a highest peak with the best stuff, a middle level and a bottom level because it is on an enormous hill). Another bus from the middle level to the top. A bus back from the top to the middle. A tram from the middle to the bottom (where the beaches are). The tram back up to the middle. A bus down to Giuardi again. Train to Catania, taxi to base. Solid.

(WARNING: too hot for public consumption. Virgin eyes be wary.)

When we first got to the middle level of Taormina we wandered around seeing all the beauty and asking people if they knew of a "Bar di Turrisi," pointing frantically at our crotches and following blank looks with "sexuale!" Hoping something would catch on. That's right, we were on the hunt for the Penis Bar and wouldn't stop until our quest had been reached. The rumors of penis everything in this Bar di Turrisi (Bars are cafes here, PS) had us too intrigued, so we were lead up to the Castlemore (a gorgeous castle overlooking all of Taormina) and wandered around the town. Once we got up there everyone knew what we were talking about and were directed to our prize, the Penis Bar. It was a little cafe/ristorante cramped with penises, tiny winding staircases, kama sutra-related artwork.

Going up one set of staircases the walls/ceiling were coated in graffiti. Carved into the red paint were names and messages in Italian, giant penis carvings; everyone has to leave their mark.

And this is the part for my boys Brian Westby and Michael Kiso

For every dick drawn on my schoolwork in the last 6 years, for every penis ref

erence, sticky note penis left on my desk while I was away at training, every wonderfully perverted conversation, for every too much information moment and so much more:

I provide you with the knowledge that if you come to Sicily, Italy, go to a city called Taormina, go to the highest peak and find a tiny penis-based restaurant, on the third floor both of your initials are carved into history. Because what better way to preserve your adolescence forever and ever? (Also it was carved with a spoon, so don't judge my dick drawing abilities.)

After the penis bar, we had lunch at my new favorite ristorante: cheap prices, good food, amazing view, music, nice and patient waiters who work really hard to understand what the hell you're talking about when you try to ask if something is toasted (How does one charade toasted? I came close to asking if you could order it en fuego, but who knows how that would've turned out), and one more time for emphasis, the most amazing, beautiful, breathtaking, awe-striking view. Absolute serenity. We hiked around the Castlemore (Cast-a-la-more-ay) and tried without success to take it all in: the beauty of the world laced with how lucky I am.

Annnnnnnd then we bus-ed it down to the middle level, figured out the tram (Which looked similar to what I imagine the love babies of Portland's OHSU tram and the Disneyland teacups ride being). We went to the beach, went cliff jumping (My nose will never forgive me for how much salt water went up it), tramed it back up to the middle level and you know the rest.

Overall day rating: Success.
The Top 5 Top 5 lists started throughout the day-

1. Top 5 Muffin Tops of the day

2. Top 5 Nerdiest Conversations to have

My love for this island, country and experience? Reignited. Bring it on.

Mas y Mas

Some pictures of the wine tour and tour of the city that The Godfather was said to be filmed at and take place in, but the producers found a prettier city later and filmed the Sicilian scenes there instead. [Note: I didn't take any of these pictures, or the ones at snorkel trip, I was a jerk and forgot my camera for the former and forgot the card for the latter. I know, I know, get off my nuts Jordan/Lindsay]

Mas

A couple more pictures from the snorkel trip. I haven't found any good ones of just the Greek ruins, so I'll post those when I find them.

The Final Chapter: My Aching Green Heart

Oregon grown, liberally raised, and spending countless hours taking out the compost bins at my house (:-|) through the years has led me to what I considera rather green disposition. I'm not the girl wearing burlap, promoting veganism and being lulled to sleep every night by the sultry narration of Al Gore in "An Inconvenient Truth," (despite it being a goodslashdepressing movie), but not being environmentally conscious and trying to do my part everyday makes me squeamish. At the mere notion of not recycling at every opportunity (and in the Northwest there are many) my stomach turns and my conscience shakes an angry finger. My inner monologue turns to scenarios about how if I don't recycle this ONE bottle my children will spend their lives in a world without trees or oxygen, breathing out of tanks, and taking residence on another planet because I screwed up this one so much with how selfish I was. So yeah, I do what I can.

Annnnd then I came to a U.S. Military base.

I feel like the level of wastefulness that goes on here is equal to what the States were like in the 1940's. It's not just Sicily, I can forgive Sicily, they do much better than the base and also consistently operate in a time about 15 years behind the present year, that's just how things are here, but really America(ish)? Really? They get filtered water here on base but no one will touch it, everyone cracks open a new huge 1.5 Liter bottle of water every time they think they might be halfway thirsty. These bottles are everywhere, they outnumber the people here 20fold on a daily basis. No one bothers with reusable bottles, no one even reuses their giant bottles just once. By all means, don't disgrace your precious lips with something you've already had a sip from.

Then I guess we can talk about the recycling. There are 2 little places on base where you can throw your recycling. But why bother? Where does that recycling go when it's being collected? The dump, with everything else.

That's not to mention food waste (but I guess anything that is left out will be had by ants, so not real wasting?), general disregards for the environment, no one caring about anything. It makes me nauseated. I've been here a month and I still can't take the ache out of my heart every time I have to throw away someone's half full plastic water bottle. Every colored on piece of paper a child starts at the youth center: trash. I've been informed it's like this on every military base, and it breaks my heart. There's nothing I can really do about it, or even say about it because low and behold, attitudes on an American Naval Airstation aren't all that liberal. I just needed to vent. And ask that in my honor please be really not-wasteful because I'm going crazy here!

Long Islands, Snorkeling, and My Aching Green Heart

Well, you can see it, one Italian Long Island Iced Tea in and it's time to start dancing in front of the whole bar. Anyone who has ever had drinks with me know that I'm a dancing machine once my lips hit the glass, and I think there is enough Halloween webcam video to back up THAT assumption. Annnywayyys, I think it's important to outline some differences I've noticed between drinking in Italy and drinking in the States. For one, the rumors are true: generally wine is cheaper than or the same price as water. A large handful of Sicilians make their own wine, so most restaurants have their own stash of fresh Sicilian local wine (I still don't like wine but I'm entering a grin and bear it phase). Alongside that stands the fact that drinks of all sorts are stronger here, (see: the cappuccino). A Long Island is a notable challenge anywhere you go; I'll proudly accept the name "One and Done Vicky" when it comes to them, but then you get here and all the sugar packets in the world couldn't wipe the grimace off your face every time you take a swig. Every drink that we've ordered at the bars across the street stronger than all get out, and I'm not one to point fingers, but I feel like they get exponentially stronger as a huge group of well-dressed American girls enter the bar. Just sayin'. Without going on a rant about my feelings on the 21-year-old drinking age in the States, I'll just say that I love going out to bars, pools, and bars that are located in pools here. Across the street from the base, most people waste their weekends away at 4 classy locations: la discoteca, the bar, the hotel that has a swim-up bar, or the aptly named Studio 69 strip club. Choose your poison.

[A shout out to Mama and Papa Braun: Please take solace in the fact that I leave every drink unattended and begging for roofies, I go out alone and looking desperate, I make it a point to black out every night, and am involved in many a-orgy]

On the wine tasting we went to last weekend, after dessert they gave out shots of espresso (see: tar) with Grasso (see: fire water). With a higher alcohol content than Everclear, complimented by an extremely high rubbing-alcohol-flavor, it's used to promote digestion and/or burn the walls of your stomach and esophagus. They told us not to smoke or be around fire right after drinking it. Whether or not that was serious I'll never know, the only gist of Italian humor I can grasp is when they're laughing at me, not with.

Snorkeling

We went to Marzamemi on a boat and snorkel trip on the Fourth of July. It was beautiful, it was hot, not a cloud graced the sky and Mt. Etna kept her constant stream of smoke to herself. We took an hour or so ride out there with I think maybe 10 people total on the trip, loaded on a little boat and hit up some islands about 15 mins of the coast of Sicily. They were gorgeous huge Mafia owned houses and castles (like everything else). Most of them

were actually vacant, seeing as Sicily is a very poor, poverty-stricken region of Italy. It's not awful by any means, but you can see the evidence of it everywhere: the unemployment rate is about 50%, trash litters the streets in huge piles some places between cities, graffiti on beautiful historical monuments because they can't afford to be kept up. Everything is run by the Mafia, let me say that again: Everything is run by the mafia. When the US came to Sicily and asked to put a military base here, they had to get permission from the Mob, a fun fact to munch on.

Alas, there are more pressing issues than the poverty of Sicilia, like my absolute inability to snorkel without having a panic attack, my absolute hatred of seaweed, and my lack of smarts.

I freaked out the second I jumped in the water, I love the water, I love the beach, I love going out boating, but as my friend B-West can agree, the black deep part of the ocean, the ocean floor, and mostly every sea creature is absolutely frightening to me. My condolences, Brian, on your Hawaii snorkel mishap, much like mine. It took me about 20 minutes to get adjusted to everything and not freak out. Mainly I was just confused at the emotion of being frightened at a new, adventurous experience. This wasn’t the “I don’t know it so I’m afraid” type of nerves, this was me literally petrified, and that’s just something I don’t experience. I’m not afraid of heights, roller coasters etc, so this in itself was a new experience.

Once I got used to the snorkeling it was alright, there wasn’t a ton to see in the water, but we stopped a couple times and then went to the place where there were Greek ruins in the water and explored those for a little while. They were massive Greek columns on the ocean floor, about maybe 7 or 8 meters down? For some reason I had this picture in my head of glistening, white, Greek glory, and was a little let down by the grayed, sea-moss covered mess, but nonetheless it was breathtaking.

Since you’re wondering- yes, I fell asleep while lying out on the boat. Yes, I got massively sunburned all over my body. Yes, I’m in immense amounts of constant pain, and every part of my body where I once had awful tanlines from our one-piece guarding suits, is now soaked in blistering red madness. No, I didn’t learn my lesson the first time. No, I don’t think God is planning on ceasing his punishment on me for my undying stupidity any time soon.

Later on in the day we threw down the anchor (a giant brick?) and the crazy Italian men busted out a barbeque and 45 minutes later (Sigh… Italians) started making a traditional Sicilian BBQ for us. Olives, cheese, salami, bruscetta, and then grilled sausage and beef slices. The traditional part being the food, the Sicilian factor- the freshness. Bought at the market that morning, like in 90% of the meals one will find here.

We snorkeled some more, took a lot of underwater pictures, got up really close to this natural preserve island that we weren’t allowed to actually walk on, saw a hole in the ground that looked like something scary would live in, turned around screaming and swimming as fast as I could all the way to the boat, stopped panicking 5 minutes later. They also had some GIANT ASS clams here. Clams? Oysters? I don’t know what the difference is, nor do I particularly care seeing as seafood is awful, but hey, it was cool to see.

Annnnnnd without finishing my final segment entitled, “My Aching Green Heart,” I will wrap up. That is a story for another day.

I love my job, but

Oh how I wish this were edited. Here it is: the first and thus far worst Sicilian Sunburn I've Sustained. I'm pretty aware of how generally awkward this photo is, angle wise and beyond, but I just needed proof that I lived through that sunburn, peeled, and am presently still red. My poor, white, Oregonian, sun-kissed skin is begging to peel a second time. Let's hope the Aquaphor, (aka: glorified petroleum jelly) I've been lubing my entire body with three times a day will pull through for me in this final stretch.

Living on a U.S. Naval Airstation has high points and low. I get this sneaking suspicion that a lot of people don't actually know what I'm doing here, where I live, and the circumstances which brought me here, so I figured I'd take this time when I'm not sleeping, working, eating or wishing I was sleeping or eating to clear the confusion, if I may.

It's hard to know where to approach in tackling the massive, pulsing culture, lifestyle and silent undertones that lick one's toes no matter where they go. It has come to my attention that many people don't know exactly what an International US Military Base is (those of us lucky enough to be without family members fighting for our grand ol' country) so go educate yourself on Sigonella... I'm working off the assumption that link will be in English. My computer is very much aware that I'm in Italy and has dutifully changed every website I go to to Italian for me. Gratzia.

Tying in the aptly named title of this particular post, "I love my job, but... I hate giant, naked pregnant bellies." I can quite honestly say that I have never seen so many pregnant bellies in my entire life. I actually asked a friend that recently, "Why am I so weirded out/surprised when I see a massively pregnant stomach?" Every single person on this earth was once roofed under a belly, so it REALLY shouldn't surprise me. Yet...

Pregnancy here is an epidemic. To be frank, Navy men come in on the ships to their wives/girlfriends/current girlfriends and soon to be shotgun-wedding-style brides, after months abroad and what do you know? 9 months later a new crop of babies has surfaced from the wake of many-a-womb. So right now, I can look at the dozen or so women who come to the pool and are about 7 months pregnant ("Granted, gynecology is just a hobby of mine, but it sounds like she's crowning." I love you Jason Segel, I'm so incredibly attracted to you) and pinpoint the date that a fleet came home.

A fun trick they taught us at training is to just ask kids you're working withwhen their birthday is, because a fat chunk of them will be all scattered around the same time ;). Ba-dum chhh (my attempt at a drum sound?) But I digress...

I am so uncomfortable by giant naked pregnant bellies I have to sacrifice many womens' safety whilst guarding and avoid looking at them, as to not put the rest of the pool in danger when I start hyperventilating. In all seriousness, how is that not the most disgusting thing you have ever, ever seen?

In summation, there are so many young kids, babies and pregnant woman it's enough to make anyone's head spin. I suppose that's why we're here though. The life of a military wife/husband is not one to be envied. I've gotten to know a couple of women who's first and most stressed piece of advice is to not fall in love with anyone in the military. Thanks ladies, I'll do my best? The adopted mom that we're given when we get here to help us adjust is a sweet girl, barely older than me and often jokes about the shopping sprees she's going to go on when her husband, also a really cool guy who works with the k9 unit, as therapy through the loneliness when he is deployed for a year.

I could ramble on and on; the dynamic here is one of stress, sadness, deep love and strength, with that quiet glimmer of hope. I can't get over it, I keep running around trying to take it all in, but I'm far to overwhelmed by it all

I'm getting bored of writing about this, so I'll wrap it up. I live on a hotel on a military base in Sicily, Italy. I volunteer 8 long hours a day 5 long days a week and get evenings and weekends to travel this odd little island.

It's hard to describe how it is different from mainland Italy, so I guess that if I'm going to be stereotyping Italian culture from now on I try to say Southern Italy. It's very similar to the North and South of the States though. An Oregonian would probably be offended if compared to a Texan. We are worlds apart, language, food, lifestyle, culture. The same, but very different. Same goes for all 7 regions of Italy. Each speaks a different version of the same Italian, each with new variations of the same dishes, bla bla bla. I've officially bored myself to my limit.

Jelly fish?

The Never Ending Jet-Lag Story

You know that feeling when you're absolutely in love with the recent experience you've immersed yourself in? I had a little tingle of that feeling today when being served my first true Italian ice cream sandwich, a spamoni-esque gellato blend squished between to honey croissants.

I'm sure you'll be proud to know I've increased my phrase knowledge base from: "ciao," (hello/bye), and "bonjourno," (good morning) to include the ever-neccesary: "excusa," (excuse me), "mi excusi," (I'm sorry), "dove il bano" (where is the bathroom?) and "questa?" (how much? I'm not even sure on that one I just kind of mumble it and they scream numbers at me).

Regardless, I really do love it here. Italian culture is one that will take much adjusting too, and I'm sure to annoy my friends and family with my new found lackadaisical ways when I come home in September.

Some wonderful things we've learned the hard way about Italian culture?

1. Public Transportation: Oh, southern Italy. Your heart is in the right place, but you are far too busy to provide any sort of semi-secure/timely public transportation. Without going into too much detail, the aquatics staff decided to take a trip out to Catania (about 15 minutes from base in a regular vehicle) to hit up the flea market and regular market for fresh fruit and vegetables and then a nice trip to the beach. A well-intentioned plan morphed painfully into a ten hour trip, which may have been fine, if 7 of those hours hadn't been spent on or waiting for a bus.

Let's not go into asking for directions via your Italian phrase book, the biggest language barrier of my life (PS, don't let anyone tell you Spanish is similar to Italian. I mean it is, but don't expect your extensive Spanish knowledge to get you anywhere. They will venomously ignore your Spanish attempts are pretend they don't know what you're talking about. They do - ish, they are just offended because Italians are in love with Italy and Italian culture) trying to pay for bus fare (Bus Driver: "Que disastre!" and just walks away without explanation for 15 minutes...), validating tickets, finding which bus goes where, getting yelled at by literally an ENTIRE bus of Italians to get off, screaming god knows what.

Wrapping up my public transportation in Italy rant, the one language that saved our ass was Polish... Well, naturally.

2. The Time Continuum: Italian time differs on many counts. To start with the obvious, there is the wonderful 9 hour time difference between here and home, making most communication really tough.

Next, is the idea that time, or being on time, is important or a pressing issue. There isn't much else to say, other than that being on time is unnecessary and a little gauche. Also, restaurants are open for lunch, then close, and then reopen at around 8:30pm. If you shop up to a restaurant at 8:30p, your food will probably be adorned with spit; no one goes to restaurants for dinner before 9pm, and it is an instant American flag waving proudly above your head. Which I suppose brings me to Italian meals, at minimum a 3 hour affair, the average being around 5 hours. Sicilian meals are 4-5 hour affairs, as every ingredient is hand picked/caught/slaughtered that day and won't go anywhere near a grill/kitchen until you order it (Dear Camas, WA residents, if you haven't already, cease your complaints of Top Burger's wonderful cook to order frozen burger patties. I won't hear it.) There is a restaurant here where the woman leisurely wanders to the garden and picks the food that she is going to be using for the meal after sitting down next to you and reciting tonight's "Menu."

Moral of the story being, don't go to a restaurant under time restraints of any kind. Don't go to a restaurant already hungry; you will suffer. (On the flip side don't go with a full belly. There are baskets and baskets of bread, appetizers to be had, plate 1 of dinner [generally a pasta dish], plate two of dinner [generally a meat platter], dessert, and wine by the liter.) Don't rely on busses/trains/planes to be anywhere near on time, although once they get there everyone drives at least 100Km per hour...

3. Pushy Italian Bitches: The concept of a line and waiting is a widely discouraged idea and when I say pushy Italian bitches, I mean vicious, old Italian woman who will rip your hair out, shove you to the ground, kick your lifeless corpse and rape your mangled body before waiting in a line behind of you. In all seriousness, they will actually slap/hit you if they feel they are entitled to your spot, no gentle love taps here. No one waits in line... In retrospect, at LAX for our Rome flight, the clusterfuck at the airport should have been a surefire sign of Italian's hatred of waiting, but we were young and naive. It took getting taken advantage and screwed over for 2 weeks straight everywhere we went to pull on my big girl panties and start pushing back. These women are NOT frail or fragile, don't let their lies fool you

Once again, I'm far far far too tired to think of anything else. I won't complain, because shoot, I'm in Italy, but say if I did want to complain I would say that I've been up 18 hours, waking at 5am everyday, and am in a continual state of burn and peel. In other news, my first hot shower in a while today! Solid.

Mud baths

In keeping with my list theme...

Top 5 Favorite New Experiences Thus Far (Not in Order):

1. Eating Sea Urchin Eggs..

Salty, a little fruity, and not generally my cup of tea because I hate sea food. When in a city several hours south of Rome, right?

2. Mud Bath in Sulfur mud.

Well, when we were headed to the Aeolian Islands we all had a very clear idea in our heads of what our mud baths we're going to look like. Were we pleasantly surprised when we found a gaggle of Italians soaking in a Sulfur mud pit inside an active volcano? Debatable. Sulfur, mind you, smells like the love child of Human Excrement and Rotting Eggs. Several girls opted out right away, their "day at the spa" idea murdered by the pungent notion of smelling like shit for several days. My more adventurous colleagues and I embraced it with open arms; never has slathering myself with something the texture and smell of diarrhea been more satisfying.

Several more serious fellow Mud Bathers would coat themselves head to toe and step outside the bath and not move, just staring at everyone else until they were completely dry and would peel the mud off. I didn't have the patience for that, nor the mud monster mentality, so we showered off the best we could and then went to the beach and dipped in the Terranean Sea (not quite the Mediterranean, mind you, but I guess if you think about it they're all kind of the same anyways). From there we swam/dragged ourselves to the water with hot springs. Anywhere there were bubbles you had found yourself a warm spot. A lifetime of Oregon oceans have never prepped me for any body of water that naturally warm.

The post-mud feeling was amazing though. My skin has never been so soft. Overall, I recommend it if you like your skin soft and shitty.

3. Diving into Jellyfish infested waters. Mostly everyone avoided the black sand beach we went to later in the day on our Aeolian Islands trip because the sand and water were covered in jellyfish. They weren't huge, but they were everywhere! The sand on the black sand beach was so soft and silky I just wanted to bring it home and... shower in it. Sleep with it. Make it breakfast in the morning. Call it back the next day. You get the picture. Plus, not running straight into a warm, beautiful, crystal clear, bluer than blue ocean was one of the hardest things I've had to do as well. I didn't succeed.

After walking down the beach we walked out on a long dock and I just couldn't take it anymore. I didn't even care if I got stung, I wanted to jump into the Terranean Sea. So I convinced my friend Caryn to go with me and it was amazing. We pointed to the least jelly-fishy spot we could find and didn't hesitate. Once I got resurfaced it was instant fright and just scrambled to get back on the dock. Thankfully, we didn't get stung but I wouldn't have regretted the decision even if I had. Andddd we were the only two who dared to do it, woooo.

4. Being a foreigner. I've only left America once, and that was to go to Canada, so my first excursion outside the country for real has just been a jumbled experience of people staring at me, feeling like a two year old (Wanting to know what every sign says, never understanding what anyone is talking about, wide-eyed trying to take all this newness in), and butchering a beautiful language trying to order pastries. It would be harder but better if I didn't live in a mini-America, but about half the people and almost every employee working here is Italian so I still get manage some culture here. And that's not to mention the odd culture of the military base. But we won't go down that road today. Regardless, I'm picking up little bits here and there and it's fun to listen to people talk a million miles a minute and be able to pick out one or two words.

5. That's all I've got so far. I'm going out to a nice Italian place tonight though so this spot will be filled.

Island Life

Well, we've wrapped up week 1 of my 12 week stay in Sigonella, Sicily. I'm exhausted, sunburned and a little cold, but feeling good.

Presently, I'm sitting in the back corner of the lounge/cafe/hangout/one of the few places with internet connection with half the CA people and a couple lingering military guys. If I may divulge, the time difference is a little frustrating, the best times for me to come here to Connections is generally a pretty poor time for people to be online, so that's the real reason why I've resorted to blogging.

For anyone who doesn't know, I'm in Sicily working for a program called Camp Adventure on a U.S. Military base (Sigonella) where college students get sent to international bases were college students are camp counselors for kids whose parents are in the military. They move around every couple years and it's pretty rough on them, the idea being that no matter where they go the camp is the same.

List Time :D

Some things I'm liking about Europe?

1. The euro. Thanks Biniyam Iyob for your lessons on the EU and western world economies. They have not benefited me thus far!

2. The fact that Italians (or maybe all Europeans) can't seem to get their toilet situations together. Every single toilet I've come across has presented a new toilet flushing challenge. For future notice, the norm I've noticed is that Italians (All? Just Southern Italians? All Europeans?) like their seats WIDE and uncomfortable. Ladies? If you feel like you're falling in and peeing on yourself, you probably are (but you're definitely doing it right).

3. The staring! A fun game you can play is the staring contest with an Italian man. You notice him staring at you? Stare back. So far I've found the game unbeatable, but I still try. (Age is not a determining factor, however, there is a positive correlation between age and creepiness of the stare)

4. Cars. Unlike our great American forefathers, the catch phrase of the European auto industry is not "Bigger is Better," or "I NEED MAH MAN TRUCK." I have yet to see someone driving a truck as a personal vehicle.

That's all I can think of... more later?

In more important news, however, I'm having a really hard time keeping my eyes open. So while I have experienced un molto bel giorno, sono stancato e non sento come esso (Thanks, free Italian->English translator!)

It begins...

The countdown is on: 4 days until I leave for Sicily for three months.

I'm flying from PDX to LAX this Saturday, June 12th at 6:55am - 9:20am. Then at 3:25pm- 12:15pm Sunday I fly from LAX to Rome, and finally Rome to Catania Sunday 1:50pm-3:05pm.