Weiner

Perhaps you imagine that I'm mature enough to be traveling around Europe, so I should be mature enough to not laugh at the word "weiner" when it's posted on every other sign in the city of Vienna, Austria. You'd be wrong. I'm also going to laugh at this. This language is just hilarious.
But I should fill you in on the happenings leading up to the adventure in the land of strudel and schnitzel. And, I'm sure you're all dying to hear how the museologia exam went. (You've been losing sleep, I know.) Well, WE PASSED! And not only did we pass, we all got the equivalent of a B+ or A, and some of us even got perfect scores. So there, Study Abroad. We didn't fail. We were on cloud nine after we finished our exam, and went out for a celebratory lunch and drinks afterward. This is where I will leave out a number of hilarious stories, because my Babbo told me he'd prefer that I didn't talk about drinking so much in my blog. So, I'll just let you know that there are some hilarious stories, and share some pictures so you can let your imagination run wild :)
But that was last Thursday, and our adventure to Vienna began on Saturday. Our flight was out of Milan on Sunday morning, so we spent Saturday in transit and stayed in a hostel near the Bergamo Airport. We were lucky enough in both of our accommodations on this trip to book a 4 person room. While there were 3 of us. And have some random girl sleeping in the rooms with the 3 of us, all whilst we insist on composing ourselves like 5-year-olds. Like when Adair trapped Jenna in her bunkbed while the strange foreign girl was in the shower, and was in the process of climbing on top of the fortress when the girl emerged from the bathroom. Adair proceeded to pretend like she wasn't Dennis the Menace, and ended up in this position:
The next morning our flight went off without a hitch (which is becoming unusual for me...obviously) and we arrived at the Bratislava airport on Sunday afternoon. Bratislava? Yeah, we didn't know either. Adair had red online that it was a busride away from the Vienna city center, and because RyanAir insists on positioning its airports as inconveniently as possible, that is where we arrived. All the while we were making jokes about where we were--if we'd landed in Botswana or Bolivia or Bulgaria. Well, we thought we were pretty funny at least...
We arrived in the Vienna city center with the help of a robot-like subway worker who insisted on speaking Italian to us after he asked us about our travels. He was pretty hilarious. The public transportation in Vienna is awesome: very clean and efficient. In case anyone was wondering: I approve. So we clearly grabbed some disturbingly large sausages and sat on a bench in the freezing cold to enjoy our immersion into Austrian culture. And then we stumbled upon these guys... talk about immersion. Who knew that people still did things like this? I mean, those people have those things hanging in their closets all year long. Casually flipping through your wardrobe, "Hey, mom, where's my hat with the plume in it?! I need that for this afternoon's parade!" But really, they were hilarious.
Afterward we checked into our really fun and funky hostel, oddly named the Wombat Hostel. But it was a really cool place. Again, highly recommended. And got to meet the next poor soul who had to sleep in a room with the three of us. Except this was a very quiet little Asian girl that we named Nancy, because all she said to us was "Hi" and "Bye" (I spent two nights sleeping on the bunk below her, and that was the extent of our conversation. Bizarre.) Sunday night we ventured back into the city center and decided to go to an interactive music museum called the Haus Der Musik. It was a freakin' blast. We had no idea what to expect when we got there, but we had a really really good time running around (again) like 5-year-olds and playing with all of the funny exhibits and learning all about Beethoven and Mozart. Spoiler alert: Beethoven was a huge jerk and Mozart was way too nice and everyone walked all over him. But they both made good music, I guess. It snowed on our way back to the hostel, but we were all appropriately dressed for the weather, so it wasn't miserable, just pretty.
The next morning we enjoyed a wonderful breakfast at the cafe where Sigmund Freud used to play chess. (Apparently that's significant. I just know that my croissant was AWESOME) After breakfast we wanted around the city a little bit, visiting the castles and all of the absolutely beautiful buildings in the historic center of Vienna. It was really cold at this point, but the snow made everything so much prettier! Strudel happened, again- a given. It was delicious. Also a given. We found our way to the Freud museum in the late afternoon. In reality, it was pretty boring. Sorry, Freud. Your house just wasn't anything to write home about. I wanted to hear weird stuff about why he was such a weird dude, obsessed with sex and killing people and stuff, but the museum had very little to offer in that regard. I did snag some pics to impress Matty, though. And obviously took a picture of myself being psychoanalyzed on the couch.
Monday night we hung out in the "Wombar" in our hostel, and had some silly sprinkled drinks. Nothing too crazy, we had to be up the next morning to head back to Africa, or wherever the airport was.
We arrived at the Bratislava airport a little bit early for our flight so we set up camp on a cluster of chairs and proceeded to talk loudly and obnoxiously, like we're famous for, and we caught the attention of another future passenger. We had assumed that the guy sitting in the suit across from us didn't speak English, and proceeded to discuss what country we actually thought we were in. (Embarrassing, I know.) And I'm pretty sure at the end we concluded that we must be close to a border, but certainly still in Austria, because you can't just take a bus from one country to another. Hold on. Unless you're in central Europe. In which case, you absolutely can. You can go from Austria to Slovakia and never even know it... Like we did. We had to be informed of this dramatic relocation by said "guy in the suit" who was, in fact, a Chicago native--only 2 years older than us, who had graduated in May and was currently a professor of English in Bratislava. We obviously adopted Ben into our silly little group, and he even introduced us to Slovakia's famous soda: Kofola. (Fun fact: Slovakia is one of only 3 countries in the world where Coca Cola is not the most popular soft drink. Even more fun: Ben told me that, and I have no idea if it's true or what the other two countries are.) But Ben was on his way to meet up with his girlfriend in Rome who he hadn't seen in 6 months and he was very fun to have around. I hope they had a good time-- he was very excited to see her. It was adorable.
So after a long day of traveling, we arrived back in Firenze on Tuesday evening. Nothing much to report around here, other than the fact that I got bangs yesterday. It's a pretty terrible haircut-- that was done with a buzz cutter (like, the thing you shave boys' heads with. Instead of scissors) That was pretty terrifying, but hair grows, and the bangs are growing on me. I feel so Euro. I even bought heels today.
Well, my Holy Cross buddies who study in Bologna are in town for the night, and I'm going to go meet up with them.
Love and miss you all! Baci!

You will be missed, Mookie

So, today I bought a new teddy bear, and it reminded me that I hadn't written anything else about my Christmas adventure. You guys didn't even know I needed a new teddy bear, did you?
Alas, I think it might be too long ago for me to regale you with hilarious stories. (Or that's my excuse, since my darling sister told me my recent posts weren't funny...) So hopefully the good stories will come up in context, like this one.
So we only got to stay in that sweet hotel for one night, and the next day we were forced to face the reality that we're poor college kids and that we belong in hostels. We had no idea what was in store for us as we approached "Ethic etapes-Residence Int. de Paris". Carolyn had booked it on hostel world, it had great ratings, said it was close to the metro and everything. Except as we approached it, from the GHETTO outskirts of Paris, we noticed a) the playground/sport complex outside and b) the odd size and structure of the building. As we entered the lobby it became immediately evident that this was not a normal hostel. In fact, it felt more like a hospital. Okay, that's pretty creepy. We all stood with our bags in hand as Carolyn checked in, inspecting the place and our fellow guests in silence--just staring at each other. It wasn't until we got to the room, noticed that there were two (handicap accessible) bathrooms that Katie finally started the conversation. "Are we staying in a mental hospital?" It was the same question on everyone's mind.. The other guests had also aroused some suspicion, as we noticed in the lobby that some of them were accompanied by nurses. I don't think we would have been QUITE so uncomfortable if we hadn't noticed signs getting off the elevator that read "Refuge (insert handicap symbol)" and the unmistakable smell of a hospital. At this point we were aware of a bit of false advertising on the hostelworld page that had led us to believe that we were staying in a vibrant youth hostel... We decided that we might be better off staying somewhere else the following night...When Megan and I went down to the lobby to ask the staff about a refund for the following night, we noticed some pamphlets displayed on the counter advertising "Handisport"http://www.handisport.org/index.php. Confirmation.
So, we enjoyed our night in Paris, spent MINIMAL time in the hostel. Unfortunately missed the complimentary breakfast, which I'm sure would have been an absolute riot, and rushed out the next morning.
I didn't even notice until the next evening that someone had been left behind. Yes, Mookie, my beloved teddy bear, remained on my sterile bunkbed amidst the hustle of departing from Hostel Handisport. The poor little guy. I tried to call them and ask about him, but the guy at the desk was a jerk and told me that he couldn't check lost and found. I'm just a 20-year-old girl who's seriously missing her teddy bear, sir. What's wrong with that? Also, I had a helluva time explaining what a teddy bear was to a man who spoke VERY little English. "Toy. Doll. Animal doll. Bear doll." Something along those lines. So, I hope Mookie has found a new owner who appreciates his perfect teddybear size and smell the way I did. In the mean time, I'll be breaking in Napoleon, the Winnie the Pooh bear I bought this afternoon.
I dragged my friends to the Disney store today after class because I'm fed up of being without a snuggle partner, and we found a good sized Pooh bear that I was read to buy until I noticed that he cost 25 EUROS! Alright, that's like a 40 dollar teddy bear. Not happening. Luckily, on our way out I noticed a display of Christmas stuffed animals that were 70% off. Guess who I found, clad in a stupid Santa hat and scarf?! You guessed it.
After I got home, and carefully removed his silly outfit, I no longer have to wad up a sweatshirt to sleep with. However, Quirky pointed out to me that Winnie the Pooh looks sort of scandalous without his little red t-shirt. So, here he is, Winnie the Pooh: Spring Break 2011 edition.
(And some of the sweet decor of my Italian bedroom. Just a picture of Leonardo when he's a baby. Not weird or anything.)

Bonne Annee in Paris!

I write this still a little wiped out after staying up to watch my Ducks rip my heart out on Monday night. I won't pretend like I didn't feel a little strange in my pitch black Italian bedroom from 2:30-5:30 AM wearing my U of O baseball cap with my laptop resting on my knees having my normal dramatic reactions to football games... fearing that I'd wake the rest of the family up as I shrieked at interceptions and squealed during epic drives. Only to be ultimately very sad and VERY tired the following day. But the National Championship was the most exciting thing in my life lately. Studying for this exam is slowly draining the life out of me. If you know me, you know I'm not exactly "prone to stress." But having two weeks with nothing on my agenda but studying for one oral exam that determines my entire grade in a class--in a foreign language-- is driving me out of my mind. So, I'll take a break from the Medici family and continue sharing my Christmas break adventure:
Like I said, arriving in Paris was a new beginning. We were determined to enjoy ourselves and forget about all of the catastrophes in Spain. No trouble getting to Paris (as I had my passport back in hand at this point. But not really "in hand" because Megan insisted on carrying all of my important paperwork for the rest of the trip. Probably for the best, in retrospect..) and after a few mishaps on the Paris metro, we made it to our "hostel" that was, in fact, a hotel. But not just any hotel, a one star hotel. So proud of being such, Hotel Metropole Lafayette boasted it's single star on it's sign outside. We knew we were in for a treat. After checking in and realizing that the floor in our room slanted downward--we decided that this was the type of place "where hookers get killed" and thanked the Lord that we were only staying there for one night. And we didn't spend much time there because we decided to tromp around the city all afternoon until we met up with some other HC buddies. Quirk and I walked all over the city, and even managed to lose the Eiffel Tower on our quest toward it because it was shrouded in fog. I would love to hear anyone compete with LOSING the Eiffel Tower. We did eventually find it, and managed to eat some Nutella crepes while basking in its glory. Okay, there's one thing I'm really glad we don't have in Italy. If I had crepes available to me every day I would be unrecognizably fatter by this point. (Instead of just regular fatter) They're so delicious...
That night we met up with some HC buddies, ate some pom frittes, and returned to our sleaze ball hotel to wake up early the next morning and meet up with Katie, Carolyn and Erin! (Katie and Carolyn are the HC friends that we were planning to meet, Erin is an added bonus--Katie's friend from home). The original plan--because Megan and I are really responsible-- had been to not book a hostel for the night of New Years Eve because they were scarce and expensive. But, Katie's dad wasn't so keen on that idea, so they booked a hotel room for three people. So Quirk and I snuck in like sketchballs, spending a solid amount of time loitering outside of the hotel looking homeless. Then, the new years celebrating began. I'll leave that at that.
We decided to meet up with the Holy Cross crew on the Champs de Elysee, the famous shopping street in Paris that ends at the Arc de Triomphe. It was absolutely insane. It felt like Times Square there were so many people. We had an epic reunion (where we found each other in a game of "Marco Polo") there were a lot of hugs shared, as we counted down to midnight--since there we're fireworks or any sort of official celebration--we all started chanting "HO-LY CROSS! HO-LY CROSS!" in unison. It was glorious.
The night unfortunately ended in Katie and Erin's cell phones getting stolen on the disturbing packed metro, and the horrifying discovery that Paris doesn't have any pizza delivery places open at 3:30 AM. Bummer.
More Paris to come, but I wanted to publish this to feel like I've accomplished SOMETHING. Because it's certainly not studying. Wahhh. I still have a week until this stupid test. Fortunately, we've started brainstorming trips to leave for the second we get out of the exam. We're thinking Vienna.
Vi voglio benissimo! Baci!

Quirk and Evs' Excellent Adventure: Vol. 2

These posts are probably all going to be as unnecessarily long as the last one because 1) I'm incapable of studying for museologia 2) there are only so many times I can scroll through my entire newsfeed on facebook and 3) because SI.com only updates itself so often- it doesn't do much to check back every 10 minutes.
I believe I left off as we shipped off to Barcelona. For some reason I was fortunate enough that you are allowed to fly within Spain with only a copy of your passport. So I didn't have any trouble getting on the plane. Quirk and I had booked a really cool hostel in a great location, but we weren't able to check in until later that afternoon so we wandered around the city until we stumbled upon Sagrada Familia, the famous basilica designed by Gaudi. (Sorry it's come to Google-imaging things. Trying to keep your interest.) Not knowing anything of Sagrada Familia other than the fact that it was famous, Q and I were both a little bit ticked off to find that it was covered in scaffolding and taking pictures was a task. After waiting in line for an hour and a half, we opted for the audioguides so we could really immerse ourselves in the experience. Well, I'll fill you guys in so you don't feel like as big of d-bags as we did when we found out that this basilica is famous BECAUSE it's still under construction. Woops. Misplaced anger at the cranes. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sagrada_Fam%C3%ADlia) It was a really really cool place, though. Even from a non-Religious Studies point of view, I think. The whole place was so detailed. Gaudi literally thought of everything. Which leads me to believe that maybe he was a bit of a crazy. But that's okay.
That night we went out to explore the famous boulevard in Barcelona that's full of little carts and street performers called La Rambla. It was pretty cool, but I have discovered since I arrived in Europe that I don't do well in really crowded places, a trait that Quirky and I share, actually. So we rushed down the street to the marina where we hung out for a while and told each other how much we love water like 12,000 times. On our way back up La Rambla we got stopped by a bar promoter who told us that "My Bar" had a special on chicken wings that night. Stop right there, there are few things in this world that I miss more than Wings Over Worcester, so we decided to stop in. Bummer: the wings were gross and expensive. Super bummer: while we were sitting at dinner (and I stupidly put my purse on the chair next to me with my coat) said purse was stolen. Needless to say I made a scene, and poor Megan was once again in charge of keeping me composed (or trying) and helping me sort out the mess that I'd found myself in. The bar owner comforted us telling us that another woman had her purse stolen from inside the bar earlier that day. (All that says to me is that this dude needs to get his establishment under control, but anyways..) So we went to the police station to report the incident. I'm pretty sure that the police station in Barcelona exists solely to file reports of stolen purses and wallets and nothing else. So as I wailed to the poor woman making the report she told us that she'd had her purse stolen in Barcelona twice. I'm obviously just sharing these stories so you will think I'm less of an idiot, and more of a victim. But we all know I'm an idiot. haha
So not having a camera or a wallet sufficiently tainted Barcelona. Which is a bummer because I think I could have really enjoyed it. The weather was incredible, and it was one of the most beautiful places I've seen yet. But, obviously, I harbor animosity toward everyone in the city. Especially anyone with a red Longchamp bag... We did have one fun night, where we went on a pub-crawl sort of thing with the kids in our hostel. Met some fun people, boogied the night away at Club Roxy. Quirk got actively pursued by a girl from Alaska and a Spanish waiter. I laughed as she did her best to hide from them. Our last day in Barcelona we wandered around Gaudi Park, which is definitely one of the coolest places I've ever seen. We spent some time listening to a (definitely drunk/probably high) Spanish man wearing a leopard leotard, motorcycle boots, a fringe vest, and star-shaped sunglasses play the guitar and pretend to sing songs in English. Definitely wish I had a picture of him...
At this point, it seemed best to just put all of the nonsense of Barcelona behind us and have a positive outlook for Paris, where we would be spending New Years and meeting up with our friends. Hard not to have a positive outlook when that's on the horizon.
Baci!

Quirk and Evs' Excellent Adventure: Vol. 1

First and foremost, merry Christmas and happy New Year to everyone! I hope you've had a great first week of 2011.
Secondly, I have absolutely no idea where to begin recounting my life since I last posted. I suppose the beginning would be a good place to start, but so much has happened in 17 days that I'm having trouble remembering details. Forgive me if I jump around a lot. Also, I regret to inform you that all of my outrageous anecdotes will be without photographic assistance, as my camera was stolen along with my purse in Barcelona. We'll get to that later. I understand if you don't even read all of this. Without pictures it's going to be much less appealing.
So the snow storm I told you about became less enchanting and more of a huge pain in the ass as days went on, as it meant that the airport was not functioning. My flight for Monday, December 20 from Florence to Mallorca was canceled indefinitely. In order to avoid awkwardly going back to the Rizzi's--after accidentally kissing Francesco on the face as we bid our farewells--I decided to camp out in Jenna's hotel room (courtesy of AirFrance, because her flight had also been cancelled) and we spent Monday watching movies in her hotel room. Not so bad. Tuesday we reported to the airport hoping that things were back in working order. Surprise: they weren't. After a very long line, some tears, and some phone calls Jenna and I each had a seat on a plane from Rome to our respective destinations the next day. Fed up with the situation, we jumped on the next plane to Rome. Casual, I know.
Luckily, Adair and her family were staying in Rome that night and we had the opportunity to share a lovely dinner with and finally meet the famous Bender clan. They were absolutely wonderful, and we had a lot of fun combining both of Adair's families. That night, unfortunately, was spent on the floor of the Roma Termini train station because Jenna and I were too stupid to find ourselves a real place to stay and had to pick our bags up from their baggage storage. Never again. Pry the most miserable "night's sleep" I've ever had. Thank God I had Jenna there with me. Fortunately, my flight was early the next morning and I was finally on my way to meet Quirky--who had been sitting in our hostel in Mallorca for two days by herself...
My flight from Rome to Vienna (where I changed planes...on my way to Spain...don't ask me) was delayed and it didn't look like I was going to make my connection from Vienna to Palma. I was getting worried, but rushed through security to the gate anyways. Good news: the plane hadn't left yet. Bad news: I lost my passport somewhere in between the two planes. I was a complete mess. A very nice Spanish lady helped me go through my entire bag as I bawled and cursed my stupidity, but they let me on the plane to Palma without my passport, and I figured I have to deal with it once I got to Spain.
After googling "What to do when you lose your passport in Europe" about 45 times, I made an appointment at the consulate in Barcelona where we were going in a few days, and figured I could get an emergency passport issued, and this nightmare would finally be over. Then, I decided to call the lost property office at the Vienna Airport. After I finally got an "English speaking" human on the phone I inquired about an American passport, and have never in my life been so happy to hear someone say "Lauren Ferris Evans". So, it was in the Vienna airport. How do I get it to me in Spain...FedEx is a beautiful thing, ladies and gentleman. Had it shipped to our hostel in Barcelona and one catastrophe was over. Quirky and I were free to enjoy the rest of our time in Mallorca. And we certainly did. I have never met so many hilarious characters or done so many hilarious things. Our hostel wasn't actually IN the city of Palma, unfortunately, it was in a strange little "suburb" (or the ghetto) called Arenal. Not being in the city meant that we had to make our own fun. Or lay in the room, Skype with the Quirks, eat Pringles and watch Christmas movies. It was so nice to see Quirky, I didn't care what we were doing. Or that we were accused of being a lesbian couple on three separate occasions. There are too many strange stories to tell them all. The night of Christmas Eve, while you were all going to church with your families, Megan and I accompanied some weird kids we met in our hostel to a discoteca called Pacha where we danced the night away with the type of people who are in a discoteca on Christmas Eve...glittery transvestites included.
Christmas dinner, while you were all gathered around a table with your loved ones getting ready to dive into some turkey and mashed potatoes, Quirky and I were sitting in a German restaurant (the only one we found open) being waited on by an incredibly intoxicated Dutch man named Sven. Who later introduced us to his boyfriend Sebastian who worked in the kitchen, and their friends Tomas and Tony. The six of us shared schnitzel and liters of beer and again, ended up dancing the night away. Gay Germans can really boogy, let me tell you. Sven and Sebastian definitely thought we were on a double date. Also, totally fine.
The rest of our stay in Mallorca was pretty uneventful. I'm going to cut this post short because I really should be studying for my museology final. Wahh.
Stay tuned for the tale of Barcelona...
Love and miss you all! Baci