Switzerland: Interlaken and Zurich

I spent my first weekend as a resident of Florence in Switzerland. I climbed onto the bus with the Bus2Alps crew, nestling myself in amongst the drunken students who felt it was necessary/beneficial to "pre game" for the 8 hour bus ride that was ahead of us. I sat quietly, wringing my hands, trying not to become angry.

I had discussed the concept of anger a few days prior to my departure, with the Lorenzo de'Medici counselor, Mac. I scheduled an appointment, walked in, sat in the chair adjacent to him, and looked down at my hands in my lap. I then looked up, with tears in my eyes, and said, "I'm angry."

I wouldn't say that anger is something I've every really struggled with before. Sure, there have been times I've been cranky or irritable. But rarely is it long-lasting, and it can usually be attributed to a bad-hair day, an anxiety attack, etc. But here I was, blessed beyond belief to be living in the most beautiful country on earth, and I was angry.

I was angry at all the students who are just here to get drunk and eat gluten. That's all they seem to be here for. Not for personal development, religious enrichment, cultural exposure. They want cheap booze and Italian pizza. And they shovel these things into their loud, obnoxious, American mouths, without regard to whether it is detrimental to their health. They stumble down the streets in fits of intoxication, shouting obscenities to locals, offending those who have invited us into their country, without regard to how they are representing their country.

And it pisses me off.

Which is how I found myself at the rest stop in the middle of our trek to Switzerland, clenching my jaw as students behind me in line scoffed at the fact that, while they were purchasing Swiss chocolate, beer, and vodka, I had the only brand of gluten free chocolate in the entire store and a 3-pound bag of Arborio rice.

It was on sale. And I needed rice. And it was on sale.

We arrived in Switzerland at 4 in the morning, and stumbled into Balmer's Hostel. Everyone on the bus was excited to be staying in Balmer's due to its "prime location" (on top of a club). I was just excited to have found somewhere cheap to stay.

My roommate from Italy and I were the only two in our hostel room, which was a blessing. However, the curse was that the walls were paper-thin (actually, I think paper could have blocked out sound better than those walls).

We awoke 4 hours later, got dressed in our layers, and went to check out the "included breakfast" highlighted by our tour group.
It was bread. And butter.
So, I ate half a chocolate bar, and we headed out to the activity I was looking forward to most: paragliding.

As we stepped out of the front door of our hostel, I was shocked by what I saw. Having arrived late the previous night, I had not yet seen the breathtaking surroundings. Interlaken was nestled in a valley of sorts, walled in by towering, pine tree-covered mountains.

I had been to Lake Tahoe, the mountains of California, and Yosemite National Park. But I had never seen anything like this. The snow-capped mountains were impossible to take in, and are even more impossible to describe.

We met the bus that would take us to the launch site for paragliding, and put on neon-colored snowsuits for warmth and protection. We piled into the van, signed a waiver (I cringed a bit as I scrawled out my name), and headed up to the mountaintop. During the ride, we interacted with the pilots who would be guiding our tour; mine's name was Kurt.

After a 15-minute drive to a nauseatingly high altitude, we exited the van and hiked an additional 10 minutes upward. From the top of the mountain, one could see clear blue skies poking through the clouds and fog. At the launch site, parachutes blanketed the snow-covered ground. Anxious students were being hitched to the front and running off the edge of the cliff, disappearing into the fog. It was quite an eerie sight.

I didn't even have time to be nervous, as I was so taken aback by the view. My hands, although gloved, already felt numb, and Kurt situated me in a warm hat, sunglasses, and a helmet to ensure the wind wouldn't hurt my face too much during our descent (I don't know how much this really helped).

Before I knew it, I was strapped in, with Kurt right behind me. He leaned forward and yelled in my ear, "Now all you have to do is run straight forward and off the edge."

Yeah, just run off the edge of this cliff. That's all you have to do.

It actually was quite simple. There was no fear; no adrenaline rush. I just ran until my feet were no longer touching the ground. And then it was like Soarin' Over California. Except if I fell out I would die. But I didn't think on that too much.

It was absolutely incredible to see the snow-capped trees passing below me. Trees, hills, and rocks, all around me. I was just flying slowly through the air, and I can see why the word "gliding" is in the title. It truly was the most relaxing thing. All the while, I could not possibly look around enough. Kurt kept trying to take pictures with his selfie stick (they sell the pictures to you for 40 franc afterwards, and I was not about to pay that--although they did look pretty phenomenal). He kept saying, "Say cheese!"

I don't want to say cheese. I want to look at the world flying beneath my feet. I looked for signs of wildlife, but only saw a few birds. However, even seeing those tiny creatures around me truly put some perspective on how large these trees below me were.

I got to sit back in my halter and relax during the flight. I didn't have to hold myself up or worry about anything. Kurt steered and kept us safe (at least to my knowledge).

During our final descent, we had the opportunity to request some more adventurous twists and turns. Of course, I did, and we began winding through the air at a rapid face, weaving furiously as the air slapped my face. As we approached the earth, I realized that they had not yet briefed us on the logistics of landing. Kurt just yelled in my ear, "Now just stand and run when we land."

Land on my feet? Jokes.

Oddly enough, I did it without falling. Which I consider a huge accomplishment.

After the paragliding, I didn't really know what we were to do. Other students went off to ski, which cost an additional pretty penny. I was all about conserving my money, but suddenly found myself with two more days in Interlaken with nothing to do.

We went back to the hostel, rested up a bit and looked at our "before" and "after" pictures, and I did some more research on gluten free food options in Switzerland. Not a lot of options.

We finally decided to head to the downtown area, look through some shops, and inquire about the ingredients used in a chocolate-making workshop that was being offered.

We went back outside, and crossed the street to head back to town. I liked crossing the street in Switzerland much better than crossing the street in Italy. In Switzerland, if you are exiting the corner grocery store and a car is approximately 3 blocks away, they will assume you are planning on crossing eventually, will stop approximately 700 feet back, and wait patiently for you to make sure you didn't leave any bags in the grocery store, close the door of the store, approach the curb, and cross. And, while you cross, they will smile and wave at you. (In Italy, if a car is turning right and you are crossing the street to their left, they will purposely not turn right and turn left just so they can hit you. 100 points for an American).

As we left, I couldn't help but take pictures of every building, be it store, home, or hotel, we saw. They all looked so...Swiss. It truly looked like something straight out of Disneyland. Or, rather, Disneyland looked just like Switzerland. I suppose that's the correct way of wording it.

We accidentally took a wrong turn and ended up walking for approximately half an hour away from the city center. We walked and talked about our lives, and it was a truly bonding moment for us. We found ourselves in the snow-blanketed farmlands, with old tumbling wooden barns filled with sturdy Clydesdales.

We finally turned around and backtracked, finally finding our way to the city center. My roommate wanted to use a map, while I wanted to be more adventurous and find our way without it. After all, it was Interlaken. There are only so many wrong turns you can make in Interlaken.

After arriving in the downtown area, we went to a chocolate store to inquire with the chef regarding which ingredients were used in the chocolate making workshop. I asked if the workshop was safe for Celiacs, and she looked confused.

"It all has gluten," she said rudely.

"Oh, okay. Thank you," I said, prepared to leave.

The man she had been talking with, who was sipping a Lindt hot chocolate (glutenous!) at the bar, said, "Why would you think any of it was gluten free? It's all milk based."

I turned back; now I was the one who was confused. "Celiac," I said. "Not lactose intolerance."

"Celiac means you can't have milk," the woman said stubbornly. Apparently she knew more than me. 

"I'm trying to see if there is gluten in the chocolate," I said. "As in wheat protein from barley, malt, etc."

She looked at me as if I was speaking gibberish.

"Can I see the ingredient list for the chocolate?" I asked, sensing her confusion. She refused. At least, she would not tell me what ingredients were in the chocolate until I agreed to sign up for a one hour-session She took out her book and, pen in hand, demanded, "When would you like to sign up?"

I stuttered, explaining I had to check with my roommate, whom I was traveling with, and see when she was available to sign up.

"Then why are you here?" she asked, frustrated.

I started over. "I want to talk with my roommate about possibly signing up, but I need to know what is in the food and if I can even participate," I explained.

"Well, if you don't sign up right now, I'm not going to go back in the kitchen and get the ingredient list. I don't want to waste my time on you," she said.

I tried one more time. "Can I just see the ingredient list, please?" I asked. She looked at me like I was the largest inconvenience in her life, and grabbed a bag of chocolate (apparently the 'chocolate workshop' is just melting the chocolate down and putting it in a tray to form it into cool shapes). 

I instantly saw "barley" printed amongst the ingredients, and said, "Okay, it has gluten, so unfortunately I can't do it. Thank you for letting me check!"  

She didn't say another word as I left. 

My roommate and I then headed to Coop, the large grocery store. I browsed all the chocolate bars, finding 1 gluten free brand in the store (and it wasn't even Swiss). We then went to a charming looking cafe on a street corner, with delicious looking desserts in the window. We walked in, and I asked the lady working if anything was gluten free. She pointed to a strange looking dessert; it had the appearance of a cupcake made with chocolate spaghetti.

"This is gluten free," she said without hesitation. 

I didn't know what it was, and it cost an arm and a leg, but I bought it. I was hungry, and who doesn't like dessert for lunch?

My friend and I sat at a table and dug in to our desserts. Mine was okay; it was rather flavorless. That is, until I got to the pastry in the center at the very bottom...at the end. 

I felt sick to my stomach, poking this biscuit in the middle of my "gluten free" dessert with my fork. I couldn't believe that I had been told this was gluten free, and yet here I was eating something completely immersed in gluten. (I was sick for a good 4 days after this incident). 

We walked through a few more chocolate shops, sampling truffles (sure, it was risky, but the damage was already done at this point. I took a similar approach with the Florence Chocolate Festival a few days later upon my return. That chocolate-dipped strawberry cup topped with whipped cream...). We then went to Coop, the grocery store, and purchased some inexpensive yogurts and salads to eat for the remainder of the weekend, as everyone else was spending $50 and upwards a night on fondue. We also stopped in a bio store, where I found the largest selection of gluten free foods known to man. I purchased bread and granola. It was the most exciting moment, aside from paragliding.

We went back to the room to rest and do homework. I was rapidly writing a research proposal, as I wanted to conduct an independent research study in which I could eat at and review gluten free restaurants in Italy with funding from the school, and produce an analysis of Celiac and eating as a part of Italian society. My roommate had homework as well, so we sat in silence as we typed furiously, listening to the (frankly, downright dumb) conversations the other hostel residents were having as they prepared to go out for the night. 

We then went out after eating our salads, to the outdoor ice skating rink. It was more like a maze, with several rinks connected by small pathways. The ice was by no means smooth, and we each fell. Luckily, I used a small 'skating assistant' (a traffic cone decorated as a panda bear), which enabled me to coast a little faster. There was an adjoining bar and line of bratwurst and cider-selling canvas tents, and we listened as we skated under the disco lights to an Elvis impersonator performing next door. 

After about an hour, we were so cold that we were forced to retire. We had seen earlier that a bar next to the hostel was offering a "Ladies Night," with buy one get one free drinks. We stopped there, to discover that the two drinks offered were 1) a glass of wine or 2) a fruity beer. I wanted wine; my friend wanted beer. As we went to order, the waitress informed us that we had to get the same thing for the deal. The beer had gluten, so our only options were to either both get wine or get our respective drinks without the deal. My roommate consented to the wine, although she grumbled about it to a degree I was unhappy with. My stomach was churning from the pastry earlier that day, but a part of me was also hungry. So, I looked through the menu, to find that they had gluten free buffalo wings--a rare find. I ordered some, and (upon reflecting on my earlier mishap), asked the waitress if they were truly gluten free (meaning they were fried in a separate fryer). She went to the back to check, and returned with the answer: no, they shared a fryer with the breaded products. 

Well then they're not gluten free, are they?

So, we returned to our hostel after I finished my wine (my roommate didn't like hers and complained about it, leaving it barely touched). I didn't know what to tell her...I'm sorry you didn't get the beer? You could have gotten it if you wanted to. She was rude to me for the rest of the trip, and barely talked to me. I don't know. After returning to the hostel room, I ate another chocolate bar and the rest of my bag of gummy bears (I lived off of candy this weekend...it was my only option). 

We had not originally signed up for the bus to Zurich the next day, anticipating staying in Interlaken. However, since we had looked at all Interlaken had to offer by that point, we opted to go to Zurich the next day. 

Our bus dropped us off at a Starbucks in the middle of nowhere, and everyone looked at each other with a quizzical expression. We all had the same question on our minds: Now what? 

The group went in one direction, towards what looked like the shopping district. My roommate and I went in the other direction, towards the tall steeples, where we had seen a museum on our way in and heard about a large church (St. Peter's) with Europe's largest clock face. 

For a while, it seemed like we were headed nowhere. Then, we suddenly turned into these cobblestoned, winding streets, as if stepping back in time. The city was still asleep, it seemed, but slowly people started filling the streets. We browsed the shops, taking our time strolling through a two-story cookware store, which I particularly enjoyed. 

We walked into several churches, searching for the one that was St. Peter's. Each church was so different, and so beautiful in its own way. I loved looking at the towering organ pipes plastered against the back walls in the choir lofts. Most people look to the altars. I look to the organ. 

We finally decided to climb the Grossmunster, the double tower that would provide a panoramic view of the city. As we reached the very top, every steeple in all of Zurich struck 12:00. It was a phenomenal experience to be up there and hear the resounding echoes of what seemed like 50 bell towers, signaling the middle of a gorgeous day in Zurich. 

After arriving back on the ground, we walked through a few shops, and stopped so my roommate could eat lunch. I discreetly ate my peanut butter and jelly sandwich under the table. We then wandered back towards the center of the town, where we went into the Swiss National Museum. We spent the remainder of our time there, reading about the Protestant Reformation, various wars fought in Switzerland (not many; they truly are neutral!), and wandered through exhibits on Swiss furniture. Finally, there was a special temporary exhibit on paper cutting, an art I had not yet heard of. The work was truly exquisite and breathtaking; I had never seen such detailed cutting work! The framed papers looked like intricate, multidimensional lace designs, and I was awestruck.

We returned to the Starbucks meeting point, and took the bus ride back to Interlaken, where we ate our leftover salad in the hostel room and settled in for another sleepless night (it was some kind of Korean Appreciation/Celebration Week, and a group of Koreans decided that the hallway outside our door was the prime location for a 5 am conference. Also, some guys who wanted to go to the casino were mad at their friend Jessie, who wanted to go to the next-door club. So they decided the most effective way of expressing their displeasure was by yelling at him at the base of the stairs adjacent to our room). 

My friend and I decided that on our last day in Switzerland, in order to escape the cold, we would treat ourselves to a relaxing afternoon in a spa tucked away in the corner of Interlaken. For only 28 francs, you could rent a swimsuit (gross, I know) and have full access to the indoor whirlpool, swimming pool, and sauna.

The jacuzzi took up almost an entire room, and was encased in glass so as to provide a panoramic view of the Swiss mountains. It was breathtaking, and upon walking into the room, I could see myself turning into a prune sitting there all day long just gazing up at the unbelievable surroundings.

After becoming quite prune-y, my friend and I decided to take a bit of time in the sauna. As we approached, we saw a sign on the door in German, with an English translation underneath: "Nakedness Zone."

We looked at each other, not sure what to do.

"Do we really have to be naked?" I asked her.

"Well, I don't know," she said. "I mean, in America, clothes would be mandated, but even in a nude 

sauna they are optional. Otherwise you'll have law suits for perverse behavior and such."

"Yeah," I agreed. "In America you would at least have an option. Anyways, who are we hurting by keeping our swimsuits on?

"Maybe it's a warning," she said. "Like, if you go in there, be prepared to see naked people?"

I thought about it. "Well, there's no one in there, so let's just go in."

We stepped inside, and our lungs were instantly hit with the overwhelming menthol steam. We took our seats along the side wall, and allowed ourselves to sit back and relax.

A few moments later, the door opened. In walked a rather overweight nude German man, who nodded to us and waddled over beside us to plop down in a seat.

And then, another German man.

And then, another.

And then, another.

And then, a German man and his girlfriend.

And then, another German man.

And then, another.

I sat there, surrounded by nakedness.

"Do you ever feel," I whispered to my friend, "that you go to a party and are extremely overdressed?"

She clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. We looked at each other, not needing to say how insanely awkward this was. We decided to enjoy ourselves, however, and continued to relax in the awkward silence that surrounded us.

Then, the silence was broken by the sound of the door opening once again. A spa employee poked his head in and, motioning to my friend and I, said, "You two. Out. Now."

We looked at each other, shrugged, and got up. Upon exiting the sauna, the employee closed the door, 

crossed his arms, and turned to look at us disapprovingly.

"Do you see the sign?" he said, pointing to the "Nakedness Zone" sign.

We nodded, looking at him. It was silent. He looked us up and down, waiting for us to say something. To explain ourselves.

Finally, he broke the silence again.

"It means you naked!" he yelled, in broken English. "You no naked, you no in! You no naked!"

"Oh, uh, okay, sorry," I stuttered.

So, we were kicked out of the sauna for breaking a cultural norm. Perhaps we were perceived as disrespectful by not complying with the norms. Nevertheless, as embarrassing and uncomfortable as it was, it is one of those stories that will remain engrained in my memory for quite some time (whether I would like it to or not).

I returned to the jacuzzi, where I sat and watched as a patch of blue sky increased in size, illuminating the peak of one of the largest mountains. The mountain literally shone. I obviously couldn't capture it, as I didn't have a camera at my disposal (that would not bode well in a "Nakedness Zone"). Nevertheless, I will never forget what a difference a burst of sunshine made when it cut through the clouds and hit the crest of the mountain.

Before returning to the hostel to prepare for our departure, I dragged my roommate over to two beautiful looking churches on one side of Interlaken that I had been admiring. They looked stunning from the outside, with brick-covered facades and beautiful, sharp, distinctive steeples. We approached the first, a medieval-looking church, and the large wooden doors swung open automatically. I laughed out loud. It was such a contrast; the old look of the church, with these historic doors, and they swung open as if we were entering a mall. I imagined a robotic voice on an intercom saying in a deep voice, "Welcome to the house of God." We walked in, and I must say, it was the ugliest church interior I have seen in my life thus far. The walls were a plain white, with contemporary-looking artwork and stained glass. It looked like a confused artist's studio rather than a church. The church next-door looked much the same, and I was glad I didn't budge too much time to tour the churches. 

All in all, it was a good trip. I consumed 4 large chocolate bars, 2 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, a bag of gummy worms, 2 small 3-franc salads, and a glutenous pastry. I was in agony on the bus ride home, but whenever I closed my eyes, I could see the image of the trees swooping below me as I was paragliding. And I felt happier. 

The sunset on the drive home was beautiful, and even those who were drunk on the bus (literally everyone on the bus; the guy sitting across from me finished an entire bottle of wine in the first 2 hours) had to stop and admire the brilliantly rich orange and purple hues against the alps. 

As I have taken advantage of an opportunity to be a student journalist for a Florentine database (where I can write articles reviewing theatre shows I get to see for free), I was able to write an article on my travels from this weekend. It can be viewed here:

http://www.flonthego.com/2015/lifestyle/02-10/switzerland/

My Last Day as a 20-Year-Old

   I've made it this far. 

   I have culminated a rather long list of extracurricular involvements, fostered countless litters of kittens, felt the happiness of performing onstage, lived in several houses, and ingested well over 200 tacos in these past 20 years.

   But, more importantly, I have learned the overwhelming power of love (thanks to an incredible family), knelt at the feet of Jesus in countless church services, and felt the incomparable comfort of feeling "at home" with those I love. 

   It is a strange feeling to be so far away from my family in my final hours as a 20-year-old. It is a strange feeling to know that in a few hours, I will be celebrating my 21st birthday in Florence, Italy. I am truly blessed to have the friends I do here, who have planned some sort of mysterious get-together tomorrow night, and are traveling to the hillsides of Tuscany with me this Saturday for a horseback ride and wine tasting (not a bad way to celebrate a birthday!)

   I spent my last day as a 20-year-old bouncing from class to church to grocery store to homework session to bible study dinner. It was a busy day, but one full of many blessings!

   Every other week, our bible study group meets for a communal dinner. This week, I invited Sarah (my new gondola friend from Venice) to join, as I had talked with her briefly about faith during our trip this weekend. She and I walked together across town, as I wolfed down an artichoke, pesto, and mozzarella panini I had made in anticipation for a glutenous menu. 

   However, upon arrival at the restaurant, the server told me he would happily make me a gluten free pasta--his recommendation was the penne vodka. I took his advice, and enjoyed a delicious gluten free pasta (the best texture I have had yet) and several glasses of red wine with my friends. Don Mario approached me during dinner, smiled, and made his usual comment about the fact that I was indeed more Catholic than Methodist based on the glass of wine sitting in front of me. I laughed, and he put his hand on my shoulder, whispering, "If you have any questions about the Catholic faith, I am here to answer them."

   This sparked a discussion with the girls sitting around me, and they patiently answered my questions about the Catholic faith. We exchanged laughs, stories, and before we knew it, our complimentary dessert was being served. They gave me a special dessert of my own: a creamy coffee-flavored gelato. 

   As Sarah and I walked home (we live on the same side of town; finally someone to walk with me down the scary street!), we talked about adjusting to our new lives in Florence, and how wonderful it is to have a group of people who can gather and have a great time and talk about God openly. 

   Last night, Sarah, Megan, Renee, and I (the gondola crew) had met at Tijuana (the Florentine Mexican restaurant, which in my opinion has very delicious nachos!). I had to arrive late due to a yoga class, and they were kind enough to order my peach margarita for me in order to ensure I got the happy hour deal. As I took my seat, they beamed, saying, "We ordered you the "extra grande" size!" I looked at them, silent for a moment. 

   "What?" I asked, taken aback.

   "Well, you said the margaritas here were huge, so we ordered you one!" 

   "Their regular sized ones are huge!" I exclaimed, fearful of what they had ordered. 

   Sure, enough, they were monstrous. 12 euro worth of margarita per person. But, not to fear. They were basically fruit smoothies, with little to no alcohol in them. And, they were discounted. So, I wasn't too concerned! As we left, Meagan slipped a little bundle of yellow flowers sitting on the table center (all of Florence is covered in these bouquets in honor of International Women's Day) in her purse, as I had mentioned that I wished I had gotten some. She gave them to me later; I intend to keep them! 

   Today was a blessing indeed, full of wonderful people, great food, and time with God and appreciating the abundance of His gifts. I cannot believe that in a few hours I will be 21...I have already had a head start on the drinking, I suppose, but it was wine provided by a priest! So it's okay!

Venice and the Venetian Islands

This past weekend, the API team took students on a two-day excursion to Venice, Murano, and Burano. 

Part 1:

   The day began with a 5:45 alarm. I felt the all-too familiar pain in my stomach from some mysterious glutening. I made myself eat a banana on my way out the door, convinced that food would make me feel better—and everyone needs a little potassium! My roommates and I stumbled onto the bus, and I nestled in for the 5 hour bus ride that followed.

   I decided that, given the fact that our free time in Venice was limited, I would do my half hour of prayer on the bus ride (I have decided to do a half an hour of prayer in a church a day for Lent; my original plan was to give up chocolate, but I felt that the Lord had better plans for me. He would most definitely prefer that I not keep myself from any more food, and choose a more enriching sacrifice, such as time). The Tuscan hillsides seemed an appropriate backdrop for prayer, and it gave me something to meditate on. It was my most peaceful prayer time thus far. In order to block out the noise around me, I slipped my ear buds in and put Kristen Chenoweth’s “Just As I Am” on repeat, laid back in my chair, and started my conversation with God as the sun rose over a steeple outside my window.

   I drifted in and out of sleep throughout the prayer, feeling so calm being completely vulnerable with Him. After finishing about 15 minutes of my usual “I am not worthy of your love” routine, I decided to instead listen to “Just As I Am” one time through and actually pay attention to the lyrics.

   I had listened to this song on repeat approximately 5 times at this point in the prayer, but on the 6^th time through, I was finally struck with its meaning.

   I have somehow convinced myself that I am not worthy of God’s love, and that it is in God’s best interest not to help or love me because I am a sinner. Even if God offers His love, I believe that I am not ‘qualified’ to take it. This way of thinking must stop, because God does not expect me to come to Him in perfection. The beauty of God and His mercy is that He wants me now. God wants me to come to Him just as I am…in my mess, my confusion, and my anxieties. When I don’t know where to turn, God wants me to come to Him. Even if I have doubts; even if I am not as faithful to His will as I should be. He wants me to come and confess and draw myself closer to Him.

   As I prayed, I got the image of a shepherd calling to his sheep. A distraught and distracted sheep in the field sees the beckoning shepherd, and slowly walks over to the shepherd, fearful and unsure with every step he takes. The sheep looks around, hesitant and tempted, wanting to get to the shepherd for safety but unable to look away at all that is around him. As the sheep approaches the feet of the shepherd, the sheep has tears in its eyes, discouraged from the distracting journey.

   Yes, it is unfortunate that the sheep is distracted and feeling this emotional turmoil.

   But where is the sheep?

   Faithfully at the feet of its shepherd.

   Even though it was a struggle, even though there were distractions…the sheep is at the feet of the shepherd.

   Will the shepherd reprimand the sheep for coming to it despite the struggles it has endured? Will the shepherd hate the sheep because the sheep faced temptations and struggled with those temptations?

   No. The shepherd loves the sheep because of the sheep’s decision to obey, not in spite of it.

   To be God’s and offer myself to God as His sheep, I need to follow His bidding and dedicate what I do to Him. I need to present myself to Him as I am and accept His love and mercy with repentance and thanksgiving, but without question. I will struggle here on earth, but if I come to His feet, He will not judge the tears in my eyes, but will rather wipe them away lovingly. He doesn’t judge me because I am struggling. He sees that I am struggling and appreciate that I am kneeling at His feet.

   With these thoughts, I concluded my prayer time with the Father, and fell asleep feeling at peace.

Part 2

   After awaking in a large parking lot in Venice, we left our suitcases on the bus and boarded a private ferry to San Marco. I reunited with several friends I had made during the trip to Rome (Renee, Shea, and Taylor). The ferry ride (a little sickening at the very end when the boat started rocking) was gorgeous. The water was murky but a striking teal color—impossible to capture in photographs. We exited the boat 4 bridges away from San Marco Square, where we met with our tour guide.

   I usually love guided tours. I take notes on what the guides are saying and make a point to be attentive to every detail in order to soak in as much culture as possible. I don’t know if it was the tour guide’s monotonic voice, her strange European phrasing, or the fact that I was surrounded by gondolas and stands brimming with lace parasols and Venetian masks. But I could not focus on the tour. I know we walked by a palace, a jail of some sort, and to the church and clock tower in San Marco Square. But I will sadly never be able to recall the details of the architecture and the island’s history.

   But, I hope to be okay with that. I was overcome by the beauty of the place. The sky was a piercing, cloudless blue, and the beautiful narrow streets, canals, and steeples against the sky were just so beautiful. I could not look away.

   We watched as the clock tower struck midday. The large bronze statues at the top of the tower physically moved to make the bell sound, and the roman numerals signaling that it was 11:55 changed to 12:00. It looked strikingly similar to the fashion that “It’s A Small World” comes to life at the top of the hour, releasing dancing figures from within.

   I wanted to fill my water bottle during the tour at one of the fountains spouting natural spring water, but when we came across a street fountain, a yellow lab was having the time of his life drinking out of it. I couldn’t disrupt him.

   We stopped by a mask-making shop, where we were able to watch from outside as a man carved a large paper mache mask. The masks were abundant in this city, cluttering every storefront and kiosk.

   We also found an alley with not 1, but 2 cats—my first Italian cats, with the exception of one I saw inside a store in Florence the first month. The best moment of my life thus far.

   Shea and Taylor split away from the group halfway through, leaving Renee and I to finish the tour. We walked over to the other end of Venice overlooking the Grand Canal. There was a fish fry special in one of the squares, where 10 euro would buy a plate of fried fish and a glass of wine. I waited as the students lined up for their fish (a boisterous Italian man was working the line, shouting loudly to anyone who walked by). After waiting, Renee and I went to the waterside, where I cracked open my Tupperware container of leftover risotto.

   Following lunch, we went to the produce market, where we purchased dried fruit. I spent 1.10 on a few slices of dried kiwi, which we munched on as we walked, deciding what to do for the next 5 hours.

   The best way to get lost and explore in Venice, we decided, was to try to get back to the meeting point that was assigned for the end of the day. So, we chose the direction we thought was correct and headed forward, stopping in shops as we went to peruse the glass figurines, lace handkerchiefs, and Venetian masks.

   As we were taking pictures of our 20^th canal, a gondola driver approached us asking if we wanted a 30-minute ride for 60 euro. I wanted to find a larger group to split the ticket cost with, as it was 60 euro for one boat, which could fit up to 5 people. Sensing my hesitancy, the gondola man offered 50 euro for the two of us—25 each. I was still hesitant, but Renee was determined. The man directed us to a cash machine, and as we left, I prayed that we would catch someone else who was interested in splitting a gondola ride with us. Sure enough, as we made our way to the cash machine, I spotted two girls I had recalled seeing on the API bus. I yelled over to them, asking if they were with API and if they wanted to split a gondola with us.

   Their names were Meagan and Sarah, and as we piled into the gondola, we became instant friends. We spent the remainder of the day with them, walking through San Marco Square, into the basilica, and up to the high tower overlooking all of Venice.

   We watched the sunset from the ferry ride back to land, and made our way to the hotel (which was, thankfully, in the middle of nowhere, ensuring that no one could go out and get drunk. Our only option was to stay in—I was thrilled!).

   On the ride back, our chaperone informed us that dinner would be served in the hotel restaurant upon our arrival, and we would be treated to a three-course meal of pasta, chicken and vegetables, and cheesecake. As we exited the bus, I was handed an index card with a large red line on it, which I was to place on my plate at the hotel so the servers knew I was gluten intolerant. As she handed me my card, the chaperone whispered, “They have prepared you rice for dinner and fruit for dessert.” I was a little disappointed, but wanted to seem grateful.

   I received a surprise at dinner, however, as the restaurant changed their minds at the last minute and prepared gluten free pasta! I had my pasta as a first course, along with everyone else, and was served chicken, potatoes, and green beans as my second course (from a special serving dish that did not touch anything else). By the time the first two courses were completed, I was so full that I knew I could tolerate just having fruit for dessert.

   After the second course, a waiter approached me and said, “Would you like fruit or tiramisu for dessert?” I looked at him, and said, “Huh?” He smiled and repeated, “Fruit or tiramisu?” I laughed, and said, “Um, tiramisu…please?”

   Is that even a question?
   It was my first one, and I loved it!

   I went to sleep full, happy, and sunburnt from a full day.

Part 3

   For our second day in Venice, we were traveling to Murano and Burano—the Venetian islands of glass and lace, respectively.

   The hotel breakfast consisted of bread, deli meats, yogurt, and granola—all things I could not eat.         

   There was a bowl of cut fruit, and I went to investigate, only to find it dotted with breadcrumbs, as it was positioned directly next to the deli station.

   I recognized my waiter from the previous night, Davide, and approached him. I pointed to the deli meats (figuring that was better than nothing), and said, “Safe for Celiac?”

   He shook his head, and motioned for me to wait as he studied and memorized my face. He then said, “Okay, you go sit down. I be back.”

   I sat down as my friends got their food. In a few moments, Davide appeared with two heaping plates of food—one full of prepackaged gluten free products I never splurge on in the grocery store, and another with fresh, uncontaminated deli meats and a steaming gluten free roll—the best bread I have ever had in my life.

   Apparently, the bread everyone else had was tasteless and the yogurt tasted funny. They were all looking at my plate, jealous. It’s ironic—I would have given anything to have not been a nuisance for these poor waiters and enjoy a huge bowl of yogurt and granola and some bread, and these students, who take food so much for granted, were dissatisfied and, for once, were jealous of me!

   After breakfast, the students (still complaining about their breakfast) boarded the bus, where we headed back to the ferry station. It was a 50-minute boat ride to Murano. I sat on the upper deck in order to admire the view. As the wind picked up, students in their tee shirts and leggings retreated to the interior of the boat downstairs. Pretty soon, I was sitting alone on the deck. I’m sure I looked ridiculous sitting up there alone (there was one other student huddled in the back corner with his ear buds in and a fixed stare). Yes, it was cold. But it was a ferry ride through the Venetian lagoon…I was not about to miss out.

   The ferry spit us out right at the back entrance of a glass blowing factory, or Fornace, called “Vetreria Artistica Emmedue.” Inside, we received a 10-minute demonstration in which a glass blowing expert made a gorgeous plate, as well as a horse figurine, with expert speed and accuracy. I was astonished by how a glowing ball on the end of a long pole, with a few spins and plucks of a tweezer, could become a gorgeous work of art in less than 5 minutes.

   I don’t like buying things. I am not a ‘souvenir’ type of girl. In all my travels on this trip (Rome, Austria, and Switzerland), I have only bought myself gluten free bread and granola found in the grocery stores at lower prices than in Florence. Bread is my souvenir.

   But I spent some money in that glass factory. I purchased my mother a gift, and treated myself to a fork-and-spoon bundle that will go in my hope chest and will be used as impressive serving utensils at future parties I host.

   We then boarded the ferry and headed to Burano, the famed island of brightly colored houses, narrow canals, and lace shops.

   I loved Burano—it was my favorite place I have visited so far. Probably because I had some “me time” on the island—which is so small that it is impossible to get lost. The minute we exited the boat, I wished that I was a professional photographer so I could capture everything I was seeing. The doors, framed with stained glass, were adorned with abstract shapes and unique doorknobs.

I walked through a few shops and a lace museum with Shae and Taylor, looking for a “something new” for Juli’s wedding (I can’t post what I eventually purchased, in case she peeks at the blog).       

   However, I separated from Shae and Taylor in order to allow them to sit in a café and eat. I took my peanut butter and jelly sandwich I had packed and walked along the canal, snapping pictures along the way.

   I stopped in various shops, meeting elderly women who showed me the lace butterflies they made by hand (I purchased one—who doesn’t need a lace butterfly?)

   Before I knew it, it was time to board the ferry, and I watched as the brilliantly colored houses sank into the lagoon behind us.

   As I began my 30 minutes of prayer on the bus ride back to Florence, I closed my eyes and tried to block out the sounds of the students around me. I prayed for a patient heart—being surrounded by 300 drunk study abroad students for an entire weekend took up most of my patience, and at this point in the trip I had grown bitter and judgmental.

   I looked out the window, and watched as the sun set over the fields. I thought of the prayer I had said just a day prior as I watched the sun rise. What a blessing it was to begin and end this gorgeous trip with silent time with my Father. I was truly blessed for wonderful friendships, stunning weather, and unforgettable views that a camera could not possibly capture.