Let's Stay in Florence

Deanna and I made this decision after much deliberation.

Barcelona, or Florence?

Everyone said we should go to Barcelona. It was one of the places I wanted to go for sure during my travels. But my wallet was aching, I didn't feel like scrounging for food, and there was SO much to do here in Florence. And time was running short!

So, we decided to stay. And I'm glad we did! What a fantastic weekend.

The 'weekend' officially began on Wednesday night, after my night class. I got out early due to the fact that it was a presentation night, so after presenting (the teacher complimented my work), we were released. I went to Deanna's, where we killed time on Pinterest and watching Friends before meeting with Sammi and her dad for dinner.

He had just arrived in town that day, and kindly took Deanna, Sammi, Bridgette, Jackie, Ginelle, and I to a lovely dinner at All'Antico Ristoro di'Cambi.

After meeting her father (a truly genuine and kindhearted man--he was amazing, was wonderful to talk to, and made me laugh so much!), we all walked through the rain to the restaurant, which was on the other side of the Arno. Along the way, we struggled for sidewalk room as the marathon runners ran by (as was customary on Wednesday nights in Florence). Finally, we arrived at the restaurant.

It was a truly Italian experience, as we were the only Americans there. My heart sank a little as Sammi announced that the dinner would be family-style, but before I could even ponder what I would do, she leaned over and assured me that her father was aware of my situation and wanted me to get whatever I wanted just for myself.

We started with a cheese and prosciutto platter that I could enjoy with them. Then, their pastas arrived, and I requested that the waitress bring me a side dish of roasted potatoes (she smiled, as the potatoes aren't customarily served with the primi, but she understood my reasoning). Then came the bistecca alla fiorentina.

It was the rarest hunk of steak I have ever seen in my life. They brought it to us rare on a platter to get our approval, then brought it out moments later with charred edges, salt and pepper, and blood flowing from the juicy, tender center. I've never eaten meat that rare before, but I loved it (not as good as my dad's prime rib, though, I must say!).

During the meal, we were entertained by the group sitting at the booth across from us. There was a cranky woman who clearly disapproved of our American presence, her husband, their spoiled terrier (who had a napkin around his neck, a plate of his own, and enjoyed bread and an appetizer), and Daniel. Daniel was the old drunk man who fell in love with me during the course of the evening, coming to our table frequently to list more reasons why he loved me.

When a piece of prosciutto fell on the floor, I brought it to the terrier, asking the couple if he could eat it (he had eaten basically everything else in the restaurant!). The man smiled and said yes, but the moment I began feeding it to him, the man realized it was prosciutto and screamed, "No! No! It's too salty for him! It's bad for his diet!" So I'm digging my fingers in this dog's throat, pulling out prosciutto, as an Italian man yelled and my friends cracked up.

Daniel came over and sat beside me, much to the concern of Sammi's dad, and began telling me about his castle, his "sexy" dog, and the big blue diamond he would give me if I married him. "Shit," he said, "We will be in freaking love." He told me I could have all the food I ever wanted, I could travel, etc. He serenaded Sammi's dad, thinking we were all his children. He called him "Superman," congratulated him on his hard work, and inquired if we were Mormons.

I was the one to be serenaded next. He started singing, and I knew the song so I joined in, making him fall in love with me even faster, apparently. He told me he loved me because I didn't talk much (Deanna stifled a laugh), and he said I cut my steak like a lady; like a piano player. He then gave me his business card and told me to call him, which is how I discovered he is a photographer and journalist for Gucci. He also is a painter, and spent significant time in the Dakotas (his family is all Italian but many live in America) creating paintings of Native American tribes.

At the conclusion of the meal, he took a selfie with me, and gave me a bottle of wine from Vernazzano (the winery I actually toured a few weeks ago). On it, he wrote a note...something along the lines of me being the material dreams are made of. Even if I understood Italian, I don't believe I would be able to decipher his words. Finally, his friend came to rescue us, pulling away his friend and apologizing for his drunken behavior.

After dinner, we walked down to a gelato shop that was one of the most well-liked in Florence. I remembered vaguely going into the shop earlier in the semester and either being told I could not eat there or feeling that it was not safe for some reason or another. I walked in fully anticipating walking out empty handed.

Instead, the woman smiled, told me which flavors were off-limits (only 2), and grabbed a special red spoon (my favorite thing in gelato shops!).

It was the best gelato of my life. Panna cotta and crema and oh so delicious.

The next morning, Deanna and I met Sammi and her father in line at the Duomo, where I gave them a private tour. They absolutely loved it and complimented my tour guide skills. Afterwards, they went for some father-daughter time at the Galleria Accademia, but insisted we join them for lunch. I could not comprehend him paying for another meal for us, but we reluctantly agreed (Sammi and her father are VERY persistent and stubborn people).

Deanna and I killed time before lunch by going into a toy shop (there was an adorable boxer inside looking excitedly at toys; I imagined they were for her puppies). We then walked around the city for a bit, returned to my apartment for an episode of Friends, and met with Sammi and her father, who announced we were going to the first floor of the Mercato Centrale for lunch.

I have never been able to eat at the Mercato Centrale. It is a very popular place for locals and students alike, with lines of specialty bars with meats, pastas, breads, pizzas, soups, etc. However, everything is contaminated. Everything.

One place finally convinced me enough, and I reluctantly got a sausage plate while the others did a family-style lunch. We all shared wine, and I loved it. The sausage was delicious, and I felt no repercussions! Afterwards, Sammi got a plate of raw oysters, and I had one as well. Then, he offered to buy us gelato. I had heard that the gelato in the market was among the best in Florence, but could not recall seeing it listed as "senza glutine." However, after inquiring, it was indeed gluten free! Panna cotta and vanilla and oh-so-delicious. Gelato #2.

After lunch, we headed towards the Florence Handcraft Festival at Fortezza de Basso. Unbeknownst to us, there was an entrance fee, which her father once again paid stubbornly. Inside, there were buildings stuffed with rows of pottery, tables, handcrafted jewelry, shawls, ornaments, toys, and everything in between. The buildings opened up to a lovely piazza with stands and more and more buildings, and we soon realized it was an endless mass of crafts.

My favorite building was the food building. I went in with the expectation that I would not be able to taste anything. WRONG. The very first stop on the long list of booths serving regional products was a bakery from Siena, and 3 of the 5 samples were gluten free. Then came the olives, jams, dates (yuk!), sausage, dried fruit, and garlic samples. I saw another dessert booth and thought, "If only they were gluten free." I then recognized the orange logo, and yelled, "Starbene!" It was my favorite bakery, Starbene Senza Glutine. Even though I was stuffed, I caved and went to buy myself a typical rice pudding tartlet. However, while I was grabbing my money, Samantha's father apparently paid the cashier. I was angry, but became less angry when he let me share the pastry with him.

We then had samples of wine, sangria, and much more food. We looked at more crafts until it was time for Deanna and I to return to the city center for our last Rubaconte dinner with the Society of St. Thomas More.

I brought Sara and Adrian to the dinner, and enjoyed a penne with a red sauce (they were out of the vodka sauce). After several more glasses of wine and limoncello (compliment of the priest), we departed for the piazzas of Florence, as it was Notte Bianca, the night where Florence didn't sleep.

We listened to some jazz music in one of the squares, walked around a bit, then decided to go to Santa Maria Novella, as the church was open tonight to tourists free-of-charge. Adrian and Sara, being art students, told me all about the features of the church and the artwork. It was breathtaking to be in there so late at night (it was around 11:00 at this point), while the rest of the town was drinking and partying and singing. In one of the chapels, the large crucifix over the altar was darkened and lost in the night, so all you could see was Jesus with his arms outstretched. He appeared to be floating, like an angel. It took my breath away in that first instance to see my angel sent from God floating there in the darkness.

After the church, we wandered through a few more piazzas, listening to the live music along the way. We walked to San Lorenzo, and, lo and behold, Sem was there. He had left the bar after a spat with his father and had disappeared for a few weeks. Deanna and I no longer frequented our favorite Cafe (as I say, "we grew up").

We crossed the river and headed to a gelato shop Adrian recommended. I couldn't get any "senza glutine," but didn't mind too much because as we were walking afterwards I found the cotton candy man. I got my first ever strawberry cotton candy!

Afterwards, we returned to Adrian's apartment to drop her off and take a water break. Then, we all parted ways and went in for the evening before the rest of the city became unruly.

The next morning, Deanna and I met downtown to do some souvenir shopping, check out an antique market, and get her hair done. I packed a lunch for myself, as we were planning on eating in one of the piazzas. As soon we arrived at our destination, I was overcome by the worst stomach pains of my life thus far. I was almost crying/fainting/dry heaving as I made my way all the way back to my apartment (the most painful 20-minute walk of my life). I prayed that the pain would subside, and it finally did. However, my plans for the day were moot, as I then took a 5 hour nap. I woke up that night, feeling a bit better, and Deanna came over to do homework and watch Friends.

Apparently, the issue was caused by the consumption of non-lactose free yogurt. I guess my body can handle gelato but still can't do yogurt due to the intestinal damage. At least it's not gelato...

The next day was "Round 2." Deanna got her hair done as I took myself to Santa Croce (free compliments of my Ars et Firenze card). I saw the tombs of Dante, Michelangelo, Galileo, Machiavelli, and more). I took my time wandering through the chapels and museum areas, soaking in the grandeur of the cathedral and the history and art that surrounded me.

Deanna and I met up and went through several shops, then headed to Santo Spirito to eat fruit on the steps of the church overlooking the piazza. There was a flea market going on, and I bought an Italian sundress appropriate for work.

I then went to all the restaurants I had scouted in the area, asking if they served anything gluten free. These were restaurants on my bucket list, but unfortunately all but one had accommodations.

We then headed to the antique market in Piazza Compi. I bought Juli's something old and blue, got Dominic an antique leather-bound book of Roman Catholic prayers (in Italian, of course), and Deanna and I bought Sammi's dad an Italian Bible to thank him for his kindness. We could not believe how many meals he had bought us!

On the way to Mass, we stopped at the 99 cent store and bought him a card. All they had were birthday cards, so we got him the corniest one we could find.

We met with them at Mass. It was the last English Mass I will be able to attend in the Duomo, and Don Mario was on point. He talked of temptation and being the branches off the vine of Christ. I smiled as he made his announcement that he would be doing confession in confessional 12; that first night I went, it was because of that statement that I gathered the courage to join St. Thomas More, ask about confession, and met Sammi.

Mr. Noonan almost teared up when we gave him his gift. It was the least we could do, but he truly appreciated it. Even though I had homework to do, I accepted his invitation to join them for drinks. Sammi, Deanna, Jackie, and I headed out with him to anyplace we could think of.

I suggested Viktoria Lounge, which our tour guide, Christian, from the horseback riding tour suggested. We went, and I ordered a berry mojito. While they were preparing our drinks, I went to the nearby Conad and bought a bag of my favorite gluten free frollini to share with everyone.

We sat and ate cookies, and our cocktails arrived. Mine looked beautiful; it was like a jungle in a cup. Fresh berries of every kind, mint, and goodness. It turns out we were there during aperitivo hours, so we received complimentary food as well. They told me the rice was gluten free, and that was all I needed to go up and get 4 plates of it. Sammi's dad was surprised by my food intake, but I wasn't even ashamed. I would have gotten more if we didn't get smoked out of the street by a nearby fire. I, of course, saved the rice, and carried my rice plate and bag of gluten free cookies through the smoke-filled streets as everyone else ran for safety.

We retreated into the apartment Sammi and her dad had rented for the week. It was absolutely charming; it was on top of a building overlooking Santa Croce. We sat and had wine in the living room, which looked like it could have been a rooftop terrace, and talked about life, grace, Catholicism, forgiveness, and networking. It turns out Sammi's dad, a very high-profile businessman, knows everyone in the book. He gave us great advice on getting to know people, developing a Linked In account, and recommended that "If there is something you want, write it down and tell people about it. That's how you get it accomplished."

We shared our dreams of opening gluten free bistros, being an actress, etc. Then, it was time for dinner. It was no surprise at this point that they invited us to come along.

The place they had planned on going to was full and they had not made reservations, so we headed to the same restaurant as the first night. Another bistecca alla fiorentina. Just as good as the first! Then, the same gelato place. I was not going to complain about another panna cotta and crema! Gelato #3.

Sammi invited Deanna and I to brunch the next day, so the next morning we found ourselves in the charming La Vespa. I ordered a lovely brunch served with avocados, black beans, potatoes, and eggs on a corn tortilla. Deanna and I then went to Superfox for a much-needed homework session with delicious almond tea.

A few hours later, we met Sammi, her dad, and Bridgette for a hike up to Piazzale Michelangelio for the Gelato Festival. After arriving there and meeting with Jackie, I was dismayed to find out that all the gelato was contaminated. Everyone got their Gelato Card which gave 5 free samples (which actually meant 5 heaping cups of gelato). There were the most interesting gourmet flavors there (including the first ever gelato flavor and the brand new Nutella gelato), and everyone tried one that they said was their favorite in all their life. I was sad as they all had leftover samples, thinking to myself, "If I had 5 free gelatos, I would eat ALL of them!"

I realized that I am a glutton. I love eating. And I love food. SOOOOOO much.

However, they gave all the free samples to a young family, and the look on their face when they got the free samples made my day.

We then climbed back down, where we had to say goodbye to Sammi and her dad. Her dad had taken quite a liking to all of us, and said he was surprised I wasn't already an actress with my comedic timing. We thanked him again and again for the wonderful weekend. He tried to treat me to a gluten free gelato, but I politely declined, as I was to take Laura out for a congratulatory gelato later that evening (her artwork was selected to be displayed at Art in the Square next weekend).

The rest of the evening was gelato #4 (Peanut Butter and Crema) and homework.

It was an absolutely fabulous weekend full of wonderful memories! While I missed Barcelona, I couldn't have asked for a better weekend in my new home.

Cinque Terre and Recovery

Last weekend, Deanna and I ventured to the fabulous and breathtaking "Five Lands" (we only made it to four, but who's counting?).
It was absolutely breathtaking, but I was slightly disappointed at the lack of things to do, since we weren't hiking. I have officially put hiking in Cinque Terre on my bucket list. The trail we were planning to hike was closed due to rock slides, so we were forced to wait an extra hour in the first land for our train (thus only making it to four).
We began in Riomaggiore, where we walked along the main street (I have now lovingly nicknamed Cinque Terre "Cinque Streets," because it seems like all each land has to offer is one main street. However, I know we left A LOT unexplored). I was frightened at the amount of fried foods, as each food stop boasted fried fish, potatoes, and everything in between. I found a place that sold farinata, the Italian variation of the Socca I enjoyed in France. While the restaurant also served foccacia, I weighed the risks, checked out the kitchen, and decided to get four slices of farinata--two of pesto and two of rosemary. Deanna got fried calamari and pizza, and we ate down at the water.
By the time we made it on the train, we headed straight for the most popular of the lands, Vernazza. There, I enjoyed handmade pineapple gelato, we climbed to a castle but decided against paying the entrance fee to climb to the top, we walked through a beautiful church on the water's edge, and we sat on the rocks and I let the water hit my feet. Afterwards, we rushed to Corgnilia, where we stopped at an outdoor bar and ordered strawberry sparkling wine and olives. We didn't get to stay in the land of olives for long, but the land looked beautiful and overgrown with olive trees and vineyards.
Our train to the next land was delayed, and when a train did come, we all approached the platform expectantly, only to have it zoom past us, forgetting to stop. We were only offset by a little bit of time, and had just enough time to check out Manarola and stop so Deanna could get a crepe before heading back to the main train station.
As I said, hiking Cinque Terre is a must, and is something I am determined to do with my future boyfriend/fiance/husband. If he is unwilling...sorry, honey.

The next morning, Deanna, Sammi, and I met up at a new vegan bar called "Shake"for brunch. I ordered a quinoa salad with walnuts, pears, and a honey balsamic dressing. Afterwards, we ventured over to Piazza S. Maria Novella to check out the food fair. It was temptation in a piazza for me, with rows and rows of Sicilian dessert trucks and delicious foreign foods I couldn't eat. I wandered around and collected cheese and gluten free salami samples while Deanna and Sammi enjoyed a cheese and honey crepe. We then went to the Boboli Gardens and walked through the Costume Gallery of the Pitti Palace.

Afterwards, I was feeling pretty crummy. The farinata I had ordered was, surprise surprise, contaminated. I suppose a part of me expected it, and a small small (not so small) part of me was hoping that if I "accidentally" got contaminated, I could justify going to a secret bakery or, seeing as there were tons of trucks just waiting for me at Santa Maria Novella, try my very first and only Italian cannoli.

I was really contemplating this. At brunch, Sammi had leaned over to Deanna and almost whispered that they should check out the food fair, and I had to speak up and ask if I was even invited to this thing with them. I felt so left out. They wanted to do it, but didn't want me to feel isolated, and as a result I felt isolated. The same thing happened in Cinque Terre, when Deanna got frustrated because we could not find a place where I could eat, she was hungry, and the place that I could eat didn't look appetizing to her. It set of something within her, and I understand. It is frustrating. I'm frustrated. And I wanted a cannoli.

We were walking towards Sammi's place, as we had made plans for dinner at her house and wanted to drop some things off in her apartment. We walked past a little coffee shop with an adorable vintage sitting area, and a chalkboard sign that said "Gluten Free Crepes."  I was hesitant, because the only crepes I had found in Florence in all my research was at Ciro and Sons and came at a high price, but at my friends' urging I walked in and asked the man at the counter if they used a separate pan for the gluten free crepes and if they were prepared in a separate area. He smiled and said, "No, we don't need to. It's all gluten free. This is a gluten free cafe."

It's called Superfox, and it's brand new. There's not even a sign on the door yet. We sat and talked to the man and his wife, who owns the cafe. Martha is from the Czech Republic, but moved to Florence after studying abroad in college. She is a celiac and wanted to offer something for other celiacs in Florence. She and her husband are expecting their first child. We talked about gluten free options in Florence and living with Celiac as I ate the most delicious marscapone and strawberry-layered crepe in my life. Deanna ordered a sweet iced tea, and we were impressed with how fresh everything was.

After the palace, we went to get a "Florence Fish Kiss," a fish pedicure. It was the strangest sensation to have a hundred sucker fish cleaning the dead skin off my feet! I knew it would be strange, but somehow was not prepared for the first moment I submerged my feet and all the fish flocked to them. They targeted my calves, for some reason, and some brave little suckers were willing to stick their heads out of the water to get a better taste. If we opened our toes, they would go like magnets in between. I stopped doing that after one poor little guy got stuck in between; he barely made it out alive. It's a dangerous line of work! The woman working there was very pleasant, and granted us a 10% discount.

Later, Deanna and I went through the leather market to pick out some souvenirs for family. Afterwards, I went home not feeling well from the farinata, leaving Deanna and Sammi to their dinner at Sammi's without me. In some way, I felt that it was for the best. I was sick, but a part of me knew I could have gone, but I wanted to give them time without me. Too much Lindsey is no good.

The next day, we met up at the food fair for lunch. I didn't want to go, but I knew that it would be an experience, and I didn't want to miss out on an experience. We went, and all my friends paid 5 euro for great food. I dished out 12 euro for something called stinco--a roasted, oily, fatty meat from the shin--with potatoes. After finishing it, I was about ready to throw up. We went to Superfox for some fresh-pressed rose tea, which helped me feel better. We spent approximately 4 hours in there doing homework, then departed for Mass.

The next day, Deanna came over and we made risotto with basil and sun dried tomatoes. We continued our homework/Friends marathon, and then went out to take part in "Music in the City," an event in which several of the piazzas in Florence have classical music performances. By the time we got to the meeting location, the skies had opened up, and our tour guide eventually showed up to tell us what we already knew--it was cancelled. We met Sammi there, and decided while standing in the rain to have a pasta night at her place. Deanna and I made the 20 minute trek in the pouring rain back to my house to get my gluten free pasta, and we then made our way to Sammi's.

We arrived soaking wet, but poured some wine and got back to working on homework while listening to music. We then made pasta and watched a horrible but hilarious movie, "They Came Together," while eating cinnamon sugar popcorn.

I was still not feeling my best, and on two occasions throughout the next week was very ill because of the farinata. But, God showed me that I do not want to harm my body by giving into temptation. And, the best part, I don't need to. Because He will constantly take care of me and put places like Superfox in my path, and will give me strength.

Over the course of the semester, I have been collecting helpful passages from the Bible that talk about bread--about Jesus being the bread of life, about God being our spiritual food and our portion, about how our bodies can find strength and sustenance in Him rather in the temptations we have in our earthly food. I began collecting scripture, and they have continually brought me strength. Sitting in Superfox, I was struck with inspiration to make a place, someday, for people who can no longer enjoy the food they want to due to allergies. I want to show them through this place that they have what they need in God. I want to call it "Feed My Sheep" (because that is what I feel God wants me to do in my life), and I want to write these scripture on the walls so others can grow and find strength and courage. It is just an idea, of course, but one I am holding on to until the day God plants something different in my heart.

Siena and Arezzo

We arrived in Siena in the early afternoon, and saw San Domenico church. Inside were the relics of St. Catherine (her right thumb and head, to be exact). It was a little morbid, to be honest!

Afterwards, we had a walking tour of the city, during which our tour guide described the different neighborhoods and the 'wars' between them (the neighborhoods are named after animals; "Owl," "Goose," "Porcupine," etc.). The horse races, which happen twice a year, are the city's largest event. We learned about how the horses are drawn by lottery, kept under careful watch, and blessed prior to the race in the churches. The winning neighborhood receives bragging rights, and that is reason enough to spend ample money on each race and the festivities that accompany it.

Following the tour, I eagerly made my way with Renne to a gluten free restaurant I had read about. One review said it was the best gluten free pizza in all of Italy. After circling the same half of the village for 15 minutes, I finally discovered that the restaurant was closed indefinitely. I sat with Renme and watched as she ate pizza and french fries. I walked across the street to a small candy shop and bought 3 dry gluten free cookies. Afterwards, Renne and I wandered to a bakery the tour guide (who pitied me when I told her I was Celiac) recommended I go for the typical Siena cookie, made of almond flour and naturally gluten free. I ate cookies all that day, and loved it. They were some of the most delicious cookies I had ever had; moist on the inside and coated on the crispy outside with delicious powdered sugar!

We arrived at the thermal baths shortly after, and I spent the afternoon soaking in the sulfur-filled water as my colleagues complained about the rotten egg smell and splashed obnoxiously in the hot tub. As I watched them splashing the Europeans who were sharing the spa with us, I became so embarrassed at their lack of attention to the fact that they were being disrespectful. I finally gingerly swam over to a very annoyed-looking elderly couple, and said: "Dispiace; loro sono studente Americani, et loro sono pazzo" (I'm sorry; they are American students and they are crazy!). At this, the couple (and every other Italian within earshot) burst into laughter and welcomed my words warmly.

At the hotel, we were treated to a dinner of pasta (rice in tasteless tomato sauce for me; it tasted strikingly similar to Spaghetti-O's!), roasted chicken and potatoes, and chocolate cake for dessert (they finally brought me a very rough pear after the rest of the dining hall had been emptied, forgetting about my dessert). I went to bed feeling dissatisfied with a lack of a decent Tuscan meal, but was determined to have one the next day in Arezzo!

We toured Arezzo (with the most humorous tour guide ever), and I met up with Sarah (another Celiac on the trip). We wandered around until we found a promising restaurant I had read about that offered an entire gluten free menu. We split a pasta and pizza, both of which unfortunately tasted like they were from a frozen dinner. However, we were hopeful as we made our way towards a gluten free bakery (I do my research!). We arrived to find the "gate of doom" over it, as it was...of course...closed.

We loaded into the bus and made our way to the wine tasting at Castello Varazzano. The winery was beautiful, and I attempted to enjoy the rolling Tuscan hills despite the fact that a majority of my colleagues had "pre gamed" for the wine tasting and were acting, once again, obnoxious.

I could not even understand how something could be so beautiful. The rolling hills with the olive trees and groves, the grape vines, and an endless stretch of green and pine trees. I was so amazed, and so at peace as I prayed for a loving and patient heart.

We were seated for the wine tasting, and tried two red wines: a Classico and Riserva. Never before had I had a wine with such a drying effect! We had sheep cheese, bread, salami, prosciutto, and beans with our wine. Afterwards, we were brought gluten free biscotti to swirl in an orange dessert wine. I recognized the wine from my other wine tasting (see embarrassing 21st birthday story), and I immediately knew not to sip it in fear of getting sick; it is strong stuff! However, I enjoyed munching on the biscotti; it was delicious! I was so excited to have some of my own! Sarah and I dug in and even asked for seconds of our bread!

As I arrived home, I came to a monumental realization: I do not like people.

The people I do like, of course, I dedicate my whole heart to. I love them dearly, and would give my life for them.

But I do not like people. I don't like them. They are loud, obnoxious, stupid, and disrespectful. I don't want to talk to them, to associate with them, to hear them. I don't want to hear them laugh, chew, etc.

I pray that God may heal me from this and give me an open heart. I cannot be a choosy person when it comes to being an ambassador for the Lord. Being a disciple means talking to and loving all. While I am glad I was finally able to admit that I am an impatient and generally intolerant person, I pray that God can guide me to a different outlook.

It was a beautiful overcast weekend in the rolling hills of Tuscany!

Pompeii, Capri, and Sorrento

This past weekend, I traveled with LdM back to the Amalfi Coast! We arrived in Pompeii, where we walked through the modern side of town, walked through a Baroque church (where there was a Catholic wedding in progress), and purchased Buffalo mozzarella in balls (by far the richest and creamiest cheese I have ever eaten; I had to stop halfway through and purchase chips to eat with it).

Afterwards, we walked through the ruins of Pompeii, learning about the progression of events on that historic day. First, the volcano erupted, much to the confusion of the inhabitants, who had previously believed it to be a mountain. Ash shot up 25 miles vertically into the sky, darkening it and causing the lower half of the city to be buried in a hailstorm of volcanic rock. Those who had not fled suffered under collapsing houses. After the others returned to attempt to save them, the city was showered with ash, literally submersing the inhabitants in a heat so intense they were buried and burned alive. This allowed for the perfectly preserved plasters, which were among the creepiest but most fascinating things I have ever seen.

We walked through the old colosseum, the baths, the city center, an old brothel, the bars, the forum and saw the fronts of several old homes. It was an eerie sight, but one I will never forget.

Afterwards, we stopped for some fresh lemon and orange juices, and headed towards Sorrento. We were staying at a very nice hotel right in the city center (one I had admired on our last trip). We ate dinner in the hotel (I had gluten free pasta--unknowingly with fish sauce--, steak and potatoes, and ice cream). The girl next to me, a 'health freak' who always tries the odd regimens, tried to ask for gluten free bread once she saw that I had some. This angered me--she's not gluten free, and I never get gluten free bread at restaurants! The waiters immediately became confused, and mixed us up, thinking she was the celiac. She tried to explain to them that it was a preference rather than a necessity, and they did not understand. I panicked as they began pointing at me and her. Finally, one of the waiters understood what she was trying to say. He angrily picked up her fork, handed it to her, pointed to her food, and said, "Just eat."

I love how seriously the Italians take celiac. No other substitutions. Either you're gluten intolerant, or you eat the bread. I love it.

At dessert, the group was given delicious looking cake with pineapple cream. I got a wonderful plate of the freshest and most flavorful strawberries and pineapple I have ever had. Once again, my neighbor asked for fruit, like the celiac. They complied this time. But she ate cake, too. Whatever.

We went to a limoncello tasting, and I almost could not handle the strength of these samples. They passed out cookies and chocolates to help lighten the effect, but none of these were things I could eat. They finally brought out a tray of candies, and the man said to me, "You can eat these. Senza glutine." I greedily grabbed a handful and threw them in my mouth, eager to get the taste of limoncello out. I bit down on the hard candies, and they cracked open and spurted limoncello down my throat. Like some kind of alcoholic fruit gusher. I felt so sick.

On the walk back, my dinner neighbor complained of a tummy ache from all the sugar she ate, saying, "I wish I was Celiac so I didn't have to eat all these sweets. That way I would refrain."

Things not to say to a Celiac.

I had made a friend on the trip who lives near Granville--a fellow Ohioan! A group of us went down to the port to look at the night lights. It was the same port Deanna and Sammi and I had sat on during Spring Break. I felt nostalgic sitting there, looking at the moon and trying to pet the stray cats that walked by.

The next day, we headed towards Capri. Upon arriving, we were given a boat tour around the island, and went inside the grotto. I had a mini panic-attack inside, as we had trouble getting out of the small entrance because of the amount of waves crashing us in. However, it gave us more time to look in awe at the glowing blue water beneath us.

Afterwards, we walked through the town of Capri, and through the gardens and perfume factory. Then, Ginelle and I hiked to Anacapri, where we walked through several shops prior to returning to the port for a ride home. I had been excited all day for a gelato shop I had heard about, where there were homemade gluten free waffle cones made fresh on the spot. We descended back down the cable cars towards the port, and I went to the gelato shop. Upon arriving, the staff informed me that their shop was a "sister shop," and the one with the gluten free cones was back on top of the mountain--which meant purchasing two more tickets to ride the cable cars, and about a half hour of time that I no longer had. We had to meet our group in 15 minutes. I sighed, defeated. However, upon returning to Florence, I knew I would reward myself with a gelato with Deanna (and I did, a few nights later after our last Slow Drink/Wine Tasting with LdM).

I can see why my sister and her fiancé fell in love in this beautiful spot. Capri was by far the most breathtaking sight I had seen in all of my excursions thus far! I loved every minute of it...even those where I wasn't eating.

Fiesole: On the Other Side of the Kitchen Window

All semester, I've looked at the view out of my kitchen window and off my rooftop terrace. Far in the distance, there is a hilltop town dotted with steeples and forests. I have always thought it looked so tiny, so far away. And I was always curious what it was. It wasn't until Deanna and I had completed the 3 hour hike to the top of Fiesole that I realized I had hiked to that mysterious little town!

It was a brutal but beautiful walk. Luca, our guide, talked to us about Italian culture, studies, etc. But mainly, it was refreshing to escape Florence and get some fresh air. And the air really was difference once we got out of the city center. Our first stop on the trek was a small natural park, where we walked through the grass (very rare for us to see) and watched pigeons and turtles sunbathe alongside a small pond. Then, we continued our trek.

After arriving to Fiesole and taking a small break, we wandered through some trails off in the woods, winding up to some caves and ending at the very cliff where Leonardo da Vinci once tried his famous flying machine. After the long and exhausting hike, we rewarded ourselves with gelato.

Now, when I wash my dishes (avoiding the piles of moldy dishes left by my wonderfully hygienic roommates), I look out into the distance and see...Fiesole.

Easter in Italy: An Eye-Opening Experience

Holy Week is not something I have ever celebrated before. However, being immersed in this Catholic community, I knew that I wished to partake in all Florence had to offer. And I could not be happier with my decision.

We began with Mass on Holy Thursday. We had been told by our Catholic club that we would have reserved seating. However, after arriving, Deanna and I realized that there was no hope in finding anyone in the mass of people (pun...mass...Mass...haha).

Luckily, there were a few seats open for us, and we squeezed among the crowd as the religious officials and Cardinal processed in. I instantly became annoyed with the large groups of tourists who came in by telling the guards there were there for Mass...and then proceeded to get in our view, take pictures, walk around the sanctuary with their jaws on the floor, and walk out. It was the most disrespectful thing I had witnessed thus far in my life. I tried not to become angry, telling myself that it was not for me to judge them. However, as we began the readings, and read about the last supper and what Jesus was saying to His disciples, I could not help but burst into silent tears. Here it was Jesus's last night on earth. He knew what He would soon endure. And He was scared. He went for prayer in solitude into the garden and prayed to God, asking for help and strength. He was about to die on a cross, suffocating and beaten, because I am a sinner. Because we all are sinners. And He was doing it willingly, as a flawless human being with no sin. And here these people were tromping through His Mass. It was our time to thank Him and to praise Him. If I were Jesus, I would be flaming with uncontrollable anger. Life isn't fair. People are bad. And He died for them?

Then, I realized. I'm not Jesus. And Jesus is not angry. He forgives these people, for they know not what they do. I instead dried my tears (Deanna was kind enough to hand me a tissue halfway through), and instead I prayed for those people. And through this, I was able to see more about why Jesus is such an amazing figure.

Good Friday's service was long. And the church was cold. Needless to say, I was a frozen ball by the time we left. But I was so glad to once again be amongst this worshiping community. And I was so excited for Sunday. I was able to decipher a part of the reading and what the homily was about--particularly, how the water and blood flowing from Christ's side represented the baptism by water and blood.

On the morning of Easter Sunday, I awoke feeling like it was Christmas. The streets of Florence were bustling at the early hour of 9:00 (that's early for Florence). There were so many people packed in the city center that I could barely fight my way through to the church entrance. I entirely missed the procession with the cows pulling the cart and the bands, but there was not chance I could have seen it with the great multitude of people. Inside the church, we waited an hour and a half for Mass to start, and were happy we arrived early for seats. After the Cardinal sang the Gloria to signify the start of Mass, a fake dove ignited in the front of the sanctuary, flying in a large flame on a wire to the city center, where it ignited the cart waiting outside. The phenomenon we were all waiting for: Scoppio del Carro. We knew what to expect, and even purposefully got seats on the side aisles so we could have a good view of the dove and the cart outside. But I wasn't prepared for the firework that accompanied the igniting of the dove, or for the dove's return back to the pillar in the front of the church after lighting the cart on fire! I almost teared up; it was one of the most impressive sights I'd seen, with the exception of the fireworks and Eiffel Tower on July 14 and Elphaba ascending in "Defying Gravity" in Wicked. As the fireworks went off outside the church door, the entryway filled with flames and smoke, and our ears buzzed with loud noises from outside. It was so calming to be inside the church, in this holy place, away from the tourists and the flames but still seeing and appreciating this great tradition. A man stood on a chair, blocking our view in order to get a decent video on his iPad. Someone threw a balled up bulletin at him, resulting in laughter and relief from many.

After the service, I joined Deanna and her roommates for an Easter lunch/dinner. I had created the menu, and they willfully complied. Prosciutto-wrapped cherry tomatoes stuffed with pesto and mozzarella, zucchini and parmesan chips in an herb cream cheese dip, pesto and provolone bruschetta, and cinnamon polenta cake with Nutella cream cheese and (moldy) strawberries. We cooked and ate and played Head's Up, and then went to Lion for wine. Two glasses of wine and a free limoncello shot later (which I urged Deanna and Cara to take with the English boys sitting a few tables down), I was throwing peanuts across the aisle into Sem's mouth and hitting Cara's teeth with failed attempts. It was a wonderful and blessed Easter, to be sure.

The next day (Pasquetta), Deanna and I headed to Assisi for a day of prayer in their abundance of churches. It was a beautiful day with flawless weather. We hiked and walked and talked and at each church, we stopped and prayed. We stopped briefly in a cafe for a break before continuing on, walking through shops and looked at olive wood rosaries and crosses. My favorite church by far was not the touristy Basilica of Saint Francis, but was instead the small, empty church. We were the only people there, and spent a few moments in contemplative prayer. I was so thankful for such a fabulous week of closeness with God.

A Tour Guide at Santa Maria del Fiore

I have, for this semester, been harvesting volunteer hours for my Leadership Studies minor by working as a volunteer tour guide with Ars et Fides Firenze. Each week, I give guided tours of the Duomo, Florence's treasure.
During those times, I am forced to speak Italian and French, despite the fact that I barely speak either languages. However, when a tourist approaches me with a question, I am obligated with my badge to at least attempt to answer. I constantly surprise myself with how capable I really am. I can stumble through responses, and the conversations always end in one of three ways: 1) They smile and nod, meaning that what I said actually made sense 2) They do not understand, and I have to find someone who speaks their native language and try to explain the predicament to them 3) They finally decide to tell me they speak English, too
On several occasions, I have been complimented by tourists on my "impressive English-speaking skills." I also often have the tourists wanting to take pictures with me (don't mind if I do!). I have also received several tips, since our tours are free--these tips get donated back to Ars et Fides.
I interact with a diverse group of people. I have given tours to people from France, Austria, Switzerland, Germany, Cuba, US, the Netherlands, Italy, Spain, Jordan, England, New Zealand, Canada, and Israel. Each person has been amazingly pleasant (with the exception of the mother who could not control her ill-tempered boy, who blew out the memorial candles and cried when he couldn't play a game on her cellphone because she wanted to take pictures).
I was told last week by a tourist who had visited the church periodically throughout his life that this was the most information he had ever received.
It is a drag to have to get out of bed every Monday morning, especially when I do not have class until 3:15. However, it has been a rewarding and eye-opening experience, to say the least!

Today, I was complimented multiple times on my eloquent ways of speaking and the ease with which I give my professional tours. I have been ecstatic and honored to receive several monetary donations (all of which go back to the church, of course). It is very exciting to be told that my Communications major is making a difference!

Here It Is...The Crazy 21st Birthday Story

Horseback riding, wine tasting, and a lunch in Tuscany. Not a bad way to spend a 21^st birthday!

Deanna and I began the day meeting at Lion Café—you always need to start your day with a little Sem (cute Italian barista).

We headed over to the meeting point, getting lost on the way, but finally finding where the email said the vans would be waiting. Sammi, our third member for the outing, was nowhere to be seen, which was unlike her. The girl’s got a good head on her shoulders.

We waited for 45 minutes; the tour bus delayed leaving. I started to get worried. Deanna and I swiveled our heads frantically every second, looking for our curly-haired redhead to come bobbing around the corner. I called her. Messaged her. Nothing. I felt like a Mamma Duck who had lost her duckling. Finally, our tour leader Christian suggested we try the tour a different day—our deposit was nonrefundable, but could go towards a different booking.

This was my 21^st birthday. And I was worried sick about Sammi. And we were angry that she didn’t show up. She wasn’t answering our messages. If she was alive, I was going to kill her.

We said farewell to Christian, and Deanna and I started heading to her apartment, ready to bust down the door to make sure she was still breathing before we strangled her. As we turned the street, I received a text from Sammi: “I’m in front of the McDonald’s at the train station.”

She had the wrong meeting point.

Correction: Funintuscany.com sent her to the wrong meeting point. The confirmation email we had all received saying “Meet in front of this café” was a different email than the one Sammi said—later, the company apologized for “the technological error.”

We met up, called Christian, and caught a taxi, which took us to Via Roma, where the van was pulled over waiting for us. We received death stares from everyone waiting in the van, who had already delayed their trip 1 hour because of us. I got in the van, ready to apologize, but the ever-fiery Sammi addressed the entire bus: “Hey, y’all. Sorry you had to wait. But I am expecting an explanation from the company as to why this occurred, as well as payment for our extra taxi.”

Christian raised his eyebrows, a little frightened. But, it all smoothed over, and within a few moments we were driving through the hills of Tuscany, passing villages where scenes from “Under the Tuscan Sun” were filmed, as well as the monastery where a scene from “Twilight” was shot. Christian talked to Deanna and I in the front seat as we drove about his life in Florence, his love of American students, his interests, etc. I mentioned to him that I was the one who had previously emailed him about whether or not the “provided lunch” was able to accommodate Celiac disease. He smiled, and said, “Oh yes, I remember you! Yes, they will most definitely have something for you. You are going to love this place.”

We arrived at the horse farm, “Il Vecchio Maneggio,” where we walked around admiring the view as Christian plucked pieces of rosemary and basil off the plants for us to hold and smell. We were shown the bee farm where the honey was harvested. Finally, we were introduced to our horses, and Jacamo, our riding guide.

The horseback ride was stunning. Taking pictures from horseback is difficult, so there are minimal shots of the process. Jacamo spoke only Italian, and we talked with him about where we were from, what we liked to eat, what we cooked, who we lived with…basically everything covered in the first term of an elementary conversational linguistics class. There were multiple occasions where he would prompt us with a question, and Sammi and Deanna froze, unable to formulate a response. I knew what he was asking, but we didn’t know how to respond. I would then take a deep breath, and the words would just fall out of my mouth. He would smile, proud that I was able to respond, and continue the conversation. He laughed as we talked about food and what he liked to eat and whether or not we liked it too. After every sentence (“Si, mi piace fragole.” “Si, mi piace crepes.”), I would say, “Con Nutella!” He laughed, nodding his head, agreeing that everything tasted better with Nutella. “E vino,” I added, causing him to laugh again in agreement.

The ride lasted approximately an hour, after which we met with Christian again, and sat at a table of other English-speaking travelers while we had a honey tasting. I met a gorgeous young man who was an American study abroad student in Rome, as well as his (already slightly tipsy) mother and aunt who were visiting him.

Afterwards, Christian drove us to San Gimignano, where we toured the microscopic medieval town of old towers and stone streets.  We had the world champion winner for gelato, and traveled to the panoramic view site. Afterwards, Sammi, Deanna, and I prayed in a tiny church, and we were ushered into the car to return to the hills of Tuscany, where we were to eat lunch at a charming winery.

Let me preface the next portion of my story with a little prequel: When signing up for this (very expensive) horseback riding and wine tasting tour that boasted a full Italian meal, I was hesitant to book due to the lunch component.  I by no means expect any establishment to ever provide gluten free food. I do not have a sense of entitlement and believe that every place should have something that accommodates my allergies. I have an allergy, it’s unfortunate, but there will be places where I can’t eat and I don’t expect special treatment. However (and this is a big “however”), if an establishment guarantees that accommodations will be made and charges the same amount for my assured gluten-free four-course meal as everyone else, I expect to have a meal comparable to the gluten meals.

So, I had emailed Funintuscany.com about two weeks prior to booking inquiring about the meal. I received a lovely response stating that yes, they would indeed have food for me. So, I faced the price of the bill and paid it, gracious that my parents were urging me to have these opportunities.

We arrived at the winery and its finely decorated dining hall, with walls lined by aged bottles of Italy’s finest wines and truffle oils. At each table setting was a heaping plate of appetizers. I went to the host and quietly questioned where I was to sit, as each plate had bread on it. He motioned towards an empty spot, with no food.

The wine tasting commenced, and everyone dug in. I was finally handed my own plate, with the appetizers minus bread, and instead a Quaker’s rice cake. My friends and I snapped pictures, thinking that it was adorable that they gave me a dry rice cake in place of bread. Most places would have given me nothing!

Then, the second course came. By this point, we had worked our way through our first three (very full) glasses of wine for the tasting. The second course, a traditional Tuscan soup, featured lentils, spices, and, the star of the show, bread. I sat back patiently, knowing they had not forgotten about me. Sure enough, another appetizer plate was brought out for me, this time with tomatoes and mozzarella. I looked longingly at the soup, but was thankful for my substitution.

Two more glasses of wine later, the third/main course arrived. A very delicately layered lasagna that looked stunning, topped with truffle oil. Each person dug in, and I watched as the waiters came out of the kitchen with…another appetizer plate, this time with only some slices of prosciutto and…more rice cakes. I had eaten about 4 rice cakes thus far, as they were the main part of each of my plates. I sat back, a little dizzy from the lack of food and abundance of wine, and thought back to the email I had received about there being a 4-course meal for me. Did I misunderstand? Surely I did not pay (insert ridiculous dollar amount here) for rice cakes?

After the plates were cleared, some of the other travelers I did not know looked quizzically at me, saying, “Are they ever going to feed you? You poor thing!” I tried not to be upset, and look forward to dessert as they brought out an orange-colored dessert wine.

Before bringing the dessert, the host (quite an attractive young man) asked for a volunteer. My friends volunteered me, and I stood up (a little less stable than preferable), and he placed me on one side of the room. He then walked to the opposite end of the room, explaining to us that in the Tuscan tradition, when drinking this wine in a bar and seeing an attractive woman across the room, you take some biscotti (at this he took a piece of biscotti out of a basket at his side) and swirl it in the wine, making your way over to the woman like she was your pray. I eyeballed the biscotti as he seductively made his way over, obviously enjoying his little act. However, I had my gluten radar on. He made his way to my side, and said a pick-up line smoothly in Italian, holding the biscotti up to my mouth. He winked at the crowd, saying in a low voice, “At this point, the woman, if she accepts your display of flirtation, will…”. He then proceeded to put the biscotti near my mouth, and I (equally flirtatiously) held up one finger to stop him, and in a high and cute voice said, “Ma sono celiacha; senza glutine?”

He had lost. He had forgotten, and crumpled to his knees in defeat as the crowd applauded me. I laughed, seeing that I had completely ruined his magnificent set-up; an act that he had performed on girls day after day as they came visiting the winery. It was his favorite part of the wine tasting demonstration, and I stopped him! My friend caught this on video, and we later laughed hysterically at his response—the recognition and horror in his eyes, and the sigh of defeat.

I then had to go take my seat as another girl came up and was able to eat the biscotti. Then dessert—biscotti—was served. I drank my wine, and excused myself to go to the restroom.

I am not much of a drinker. Prior to coming to Italy, I had only dappled safely and responsibly with alcohol, and in Italy I only enjoyed wine socially. When I began to fall down in the bathroom and the room was spinning, I knew I had a problem and needed food. Unfortunately, I had not packed any granola bars, anticipating a meal. Not rice cakes. I began bawling in the bathroom, and (after finally managing to unlock the door), made my way out to the winery garden, hoping no one saw the tearstains on my face. I made a beeline for the company van, wanting to get home as fast as possible and away from this place. I was ashamed and embarrassed at everyone who was looking at the poor little tipsy celiac girl during lunch.

Instead, as I made my way towards the car, I heard Christian call in a chipper voice, “Yoohoo, birthday girl!” I whirled around (a little too fast) to see the entire group—winery staff, travelers, and all—standing in a semicircle around a bottle of strawberry champagne. I reluctantly went to the center, terrified that I would do something stupid or fall over. And then, Christian handed me…a sword. A very real and very heavy sword. I looked at my Deanna, who was already videotaping in anticipation for whatever chaos ensued, and mouthed the words, “I am SO drunk!” She laughed nervously and ushered me on, with a worried look on her face. Christian made a little speech to thank everyone for booking their trip with them, and then introduced me, the birthday girl, and declared that I was going to open bottles of champagne for everyone using a sword. It took me way to long to make my brain successfully tell my arm to move with the sword, and even then, after 4 failed attempts, Christian, recognizing the state I was in, came and helped me.

They poured the champagne in my honor, and I did not wish to be rude by refusing a glass. It was very good—my eighth of glass of wine that day. Someone offered me another, and I thought, Well, I’m in this deep.

That last glass was a good decision. It brightened me right up; put me in great spirits! Soon, I was running around the winery garden with this 60-year old lady who was on the tour with her son, Dan. I told the woman as we tromped through the garden: “Listen, l-list—listen to me! I…am going to marry your son. And not just because he’s hot. But because I want you as my mother-in-law!”

Then, my future mother-in-law and I found a goose. We tried to feed it champagne, but it didn’t want any. It almost bit us. We liked the goose.

We got on the van, and remorse hit me again as all the people noticed how drunk I was. I kept repeating, “It’s because rice cakes aren’t absorbent!”

Apparently, on that bus ride home, I told a charming young man that his eyes were gorgeous and his babies will have gorgeous eyes, and that I could tell him that openly because he had a girlfriend so I was technically okay to say it. I also announced to the entire van that Sammi, who kept trying to keep me quiet by laying my head on her chest, had a very soft and ample bosom.

We got back to Florence, and it was Deanna’s job to get me home and fed. I wanted to go to Lion Café to gawk at Sem, and she finally convinced me that I needed food.

We arrived at my apartment, where I ate cookies and potatoes for dinner.

            Fun In Tuscany, after receiving an email from me a few weeks later recommending that they no longer mislead travelers by advertising rice cakes as a meal substitute for those with gluten intolerance, kindly provided me with a 25% refund.  A few weeks later, Sammi, Deanna, and I ran into Dan at a hostel in the Amalfi Coast—it was an awkward reunion, to say the least!

            I never wanted to be one of those people with a crazy 21^st birthday story. I suppose I got one, nonetheless. I suppose when life happens, you simply need to enjoy it. That’s what I learned on my 21^st. And, even if you feel ashamed, sometimes you just need to chase a goose in the garden with champagne.

Il Mio Compleanno

It is my 21^st birthday, and how blessed I am to be spending it in Florence, Italy! My first birthday text arrived at 1:30 AM from my mother—and I couldn’t be happier that she was the first one to wish me a happy birthday. It was the perfect way to fall asleep.

I awoke with the sense of excitement I used to feel when I was young. My mother always made our birthdays seem like a holiday in our house. We would go down to breakfast to find ‘our chair’ decorated with balloons and a “Happy Birthday” sign, and our favorite breakfast cooking on the stove. I remember the decorated chair most. It was our special spot.

When I went into my kitchen this morning and switched on the stove, I looked at the bare chairs surrounding the table, and became saddened that I was not celebrating with my family. I have been blessed to have a birthday over spring break, meaning I was always able to be with my family on my birthday. But, it is just a day.

I decided to treat myself to a special breakfast—crepes and baked apples. I had found a simple recipe online for baked cinnamon apples, and had some leftover ingredients to make more crepes for myself. Why not start the day with something sweet?

I diced an apple, put it in the saucepan with butter, sprinkled it with cinnamon, and set it to simmer and caramelize as the directions indicated. I then mixed my crepe batter, praying that I would not feel ‘glutened’ from these crepes like I did after the last batch (even though all the ingredients are completely gluten free, something definitely does not work with my intestines, as I spent the rest of today in immense pain).

As I started flipping crepes, I smelled something burning, and found the bottom of my apple saucepan completely coated with black tar. I had to dump the apples out, resolving to fill the crepes with strawberry jam and whipped cream. I was determined not to be upset with myself for burning my breakfast—it happens to everyone sometimes. The pan looked beyond repair, but I scraped it the best I could and set it to soak.

I then began cleaning the kitchen, which was much more of a mess than I would have preferred (both from my handiwork and from a week of neglect). As wrappers and napkins spilled out of the trash can and toppled onto my feet, I decided that I would officially terminate my “strike” against my roommates, who had not emptied the trash can since last week despite the fact that it was clearly written on the chores list for them this week, and empty the trashcan myself. It took 4 bags to gather all the garbage. No matter—I was not going to get frustrated on my birthday!

Frustration is useless. I was supposed to start my day by running across the street to the Hotel Enza, where Jon and Shaun would have been staying. I was supposed to hurry to class and hurry back so we could depart on a night train to some foreign land for an amazing adventure. Of course, things fell through on their end, so I gathered my folders and prepared for a long day of class (and then a special “festa” tonight at Deanna’s hosted by her and Sami!).

Even though today is my ‘marathon’ day with classes (7 hours of class), I found time to relax in the morning at my favorite café with Deanna. My roommate Laura joined us halfway through, and we sat together, sipping coffee and doing homework. Sem was happy to see us there, and made small talk (meaning he barely talked, as always!). He looked at me and exclaimed, “It’s your birthday today!” I laughed, surprised that he remembered. Four weeks ago, he helped me study for my Italian quiz—one of the questions to study was “When is your birthday?” He remembered from helping me study!

After coffee, I headed across the street to give San Lorenzo another chance as my prayer location for the day. Yesterday during my prayer, the organ was being tuned. Not that I mind—an organ has to be tuned sometime. However, the tuning was in a minor key, and it’s hard to feel cheerful and engage happily with my Father and overcome my sorrows when there’s the haunting sounds of an organ being tuned looming in the background.

            The organ was still being tuned. Unfortunately, I did not have enough time to go elsewhere, so I bowed my head and attempted to concentrate the best I could.

I then headed to Intercultural Communication, where my professor brought his wife, a Turkish woman, in as a guest lecturer to provide commentary on our reading of intimate intercultural relationships. It was inspiring to observe the two of them, sharing stories of follies and struggles they had to overcome in order to build a successful marriage. This woman was absolutely incredible—born and raised in Turkey, she fell in love with an Italian, and left all she knew and all she had to move to Italy. She knew nothing of the language, culture, etc. All she knew was that she loved this man. It was truly an inspiring story.

After class, I went to the nearby piazza to find a photo booth to take my pictures for the Permit of Stay. I knew it would cost 5 euro—I didn’t want to part with 5 euro, as this permit was costing enough already. However, it had to be done. I sat in the photo booth, snapped the picture, and realized that in the lower left hand corner of the screen were the words “Credit: 6 euro.”

Apparently, the booth’s previous user had left an additional 6 euro in the machine, allowing me to receive my pictures for free. As the machine spit out my pictures, I glanced around, feeling like I was stealing something. I slid my hand into the slot, grabbed my pictures, and left, thanking God for this special birthday surprise.

I had extra time prior to my Italian class, and happened to walk past Lion Café again, where Franco met me outside. Franco had disappeared for almost a month due to a back operation. He was paler than usual, and seemed to have lost his spirit. He came up and hugged me as usual, urging me to stay and talk for a while. Sem, having seen me from inside Lion across the street, had come out onto the sidewalk, yelling to Franco that it was my birthday. The two of them then urged me to come in for a complimentary drink, and I was pushed into the café and received the most delicious hot chocolate of my life. Franco put his arm around me as I drank, repeating to Sem in Italian, “Isn’t she beautiful?” Sem would laugh and agree, and I would just laugh along, even if I didn’t know all that was being said.

Not a bad way to drink some hot chocolate.

I then went to Italian class, and had a short break afterwards (during which I returned home to discover that Laura had left me a pack of my favorite gluten free cookies) before heading to Body Language. We had a mock interview tonight (which was graded, so I was of course nervous beyond compare). However, we were released a half an hour early, so I went to the Mercato Centrale to do a bit of homework before heading to Deanna’s.

They had prepared me an amazing evening of gluten free cheesecake, chocolate, wine, and French toast (complete with Nutella and fresh fruit). We laughed, sang, and talked about life and God, as we always do when we are together. I felt so blessed to be in their presence, and was truly touched that these ladies had gone to all the trouble to provide a gluten free feast for me.

I ended the evening with a much-needed Skype session back home.

My prayer time today in San Lorenzo was a special blessing. I got lost in my prayer, reflecting on every phase of my life and thanking God for the abundance of His blessings during each stage. No matter what phase of my life, He was there, providing health, happiness, a wonderful and loving family, and incredible people. I reflected on all those who drew me closer to Him and guided my walk with Him—Bradley, Taylor, my parents…I have been abundantly blessed to a degree which I do not deserve, and it makes me feel truly loved and overwhelmed when I look back on the past 21 years. As I looked at my daily devotion for the day, I was blown away by how perfectly it captured what I was feeling:

"I am with you. If you look over your life you will see how I was with you at every turn. I am not surprised by what you are facing. I am not shocked by your mistakes. I knew all along and I already planned your way out. You must see that I was with you then and I am with you now. I'm not going to leave you. There's nothing you can do to make me stop loving you. I was with you before you met that special someone, with you before you knew that person you admire, with you before I placed those people in your life. I was with you from the very beginning when you took your first breath and I Am With You Now."

He has been with me through all these glorious stages of my life, and He is with me now—what reason would He have for leaving? He is with me now just as much as then. He got me to where I am today, and I lift up my life to Him and will thank Him with every breath for what He has done thus far and what He will continue to do.

Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would be in Florence for my 21^st birthday, sipping wine and eating gluten free food with amazing women God drew me close to, but here I am—and I couldn’t feel more blessed.