Ah, Milan. The final city of our two week trip. Although it was only for a day, my friends and I still found things to do in its modern streets. The towering buildings and fashionable citizens reminded me of the blazing streets of New York City. The beauty of Milan is its modernized infrastructures and ever climbing industry. Everywhere I turned there were name brand stores and model-like people using the side walk as their personal runways. The only touristy place was near Milan’s Duomo. The beautiful spires pierced the sky in their ivory brilliance. I was in awe leaving the subway. Much like my Rome experience with the Coliseum, I was instantly thrown into the grandeur, from dingy subways to the open square. It stood out like a castle. The building had carvings and intricate Gothic patterns on the walls and archways. I wish I could have afforded to go in, but I definitely took a closer look at the doors. They had carvings of what I believe to be Jesus’s life and death. The chronological story was tarnished green. Upon further inspection, it looked to have been made of copper. Jesus and Mary in one seen had shiny, brilliant legs. I wonder if it has the same back story as the pig in Florence? We also made sure to check out Milan’s food mecca, Luini’s. This place was like heaven in a hot pocket. They sell these marvelous turnovers named panzerotti. They carried anything from deep fried to dessert. I personally recommend the prosciutto and mozzarella. The first bites are something  I recommend you capture the moment by photo because the pure bliss is unable to be written down into words. The rest of the day I wandered through Milan’s department stores and stowed away in the confines of Franelli’s book store. Seeing the pages in Italian made me ache for my books at home. The romantic sounds of the Italian language still resound in my heart, but the ability to know the words on the page was something I missed. Although, I did enjoy seeing some of my favorite children’s books in a different light. To end this trip on a high note, I accompanied a cluster of girls to one last dinner. We spent the night enjoying the last of the Italian gourmet. I may have ate too many bread sticks… or carbs in general. But that’s okay. We had a rocking saxophone solo upon entry and a lovely walk through the warm evening. I took in the final sounds as my night came to a close. I hope I don’t forget how everything sounds, tastes, feels. I want to remember these memories as long as I live, but for now I hope the words I have written on here and in my moleskin will suffice.   Please ignore my terrible proportions while drawing the Italian couple. It’s hard to draw perfect people enough as it is. Also, can’t have a great post without highlighting the...

I am normally a person who would try to have a schedule, a predetermined place and plan. Yet, within the city of Bologna, I found myself wandering, experiencing, finding small things hidden behind the tourist facades. We started off walking as a class to the University of Bologna, the oldest university in Europe. There we saw the room the Mary Shelley was sparked with the content necessary to write Frankenstein. The old lecture hall creaked from the years of  age and use. There were statues protruding from the ceiling and a marble pedestal staged in the  center of the room. We also explored the building, losing ourselves in their original library. I wish I could have touched the spines of ancient knowledge. In smaller groups, some of us walked to find the medieval towers. They proudly rose above the city, almost kissing the sky. We decided to eat before hand. We found a marketplace to eat at but right outside the facility, there was a man playing the Cello. It was absolutely beautiful. He would close his eyes and would lose himself in the music. Eventually, he would look to Mary or me and smile, a trick I’m sure he learned to woe women, especially their purses. He played classics like Vivaldi ‘s Spring and Canon in D. He also brought out my inner nerd by playing bits fro the Lord of the Rings soundtrack and Game of Thrones. We all paid him for his skill and beauty and went to  grab lunch. Afterwards, we began to talk with him. I found out how he came to Italy after college in Brazil. After the death of his father’s death, he lost everything. Mary and I Asked why a man with a bachelors degree would be a street performer. With a bass toned voice, he explained that playing in an orchestra paid less than him performing on the street. He was still able to live comfortably and enjoy his passion for travel. I can’t imagine, after all his hard work, that a prestigious title of an orchestra performer is not enough for a living wage. I think of Italy as a prime supporter for the arts. It was a shame to hear. Luckily, we were able to hear him before he finished for the day. We also saw an artist who had a theme about cats. Each piece had a small black cat. I loved that he was kind enough to draw Mary a small portrait in her moleskin. These artists both had such great talent. I found it ironic that they were heading to Florence to show their craft once we were about to head home. We finished the day wandering into stores, acting like small children. We explored, played, and lived among the locals. We took in the scents of perfume stores, leaving the scents like a veil behind us. We were at ease. I wonder if I can apply this relaxation at home? I was able to be...

After a fast paced portion of travel, I didn’t expect the quiet tranquility nestled in the Tuscan hillside. The small medieval town sits stationary on a mountainous hill, looking out onto the glowing hills and green fields. The speckling of houses imprinted the lush greenery alongside fields of grapes and olives. Poppies were in full bloom, a blemish too beautiful for words. I absolutely loved Florence, but there is something about the countryside that claims my heart. This portion of our adventure resided in the castles of the area. The tall towers of the 1200s still guard the mysteries of their predecessors. We took a hike to Castela de Romena. There a family owns own of the very castles used in Dante ‘s Inferno. The distance was further than anticipated but the view from the top was magnificent. The houses and cars became plastic models from above. The roads were scribbles on green paper. The flowers became shaded into the earth. The castle in Poppi was no different. This one was more preserved, protected by the two wall barrier of the town. This one was important to me. This housed a collection greater to me than any antique or jewelry. It contained books., volumes and volumes of books. Some dated as far back as the 1400s. Tucked away in a small, unimposing town was hundreds of books from Monks and multiple copies of Dante’s Inferno. I felt a swelling of emotion from each hand-bound book placed before me. I don’t know if it was allergies or the books but there may have been tears involved. This is my gospel, hundred of great minds conversing on paper. Sorry to the nuns who took care of us because, if I had to choose, these books would become my new religion. Also, I’ve continued my love affair with the Italian language. The town was so small that it required a healthy education in Italian. We had lovely tour guides that made it a point to speak to us first in Italian, before having it translated for us. We were almost fully immersed in the simplistic culture of the town. I am amazed to find myself now ordering and shopping in complete Italian. I’m not sure when it fully clicked but now I can’t help but cherish the way the words roll of the tongue, how it makes everything beautiful. Like the poppies on the hillsides, I dot my brain with new words. I cling to it to form a blanket. Because words are beautiful. Poppi is beautiful. My renditions of the amazing countryside and the lovely flower of my heart.

There are always moments in your life where you realizes who you are, where you are. There is this beautiful experience that is only tangible in a small moment. It flashes before your very eyes and you ache for it again. You cling to the tendrils of what you knew and realizes that you have to experience the moment. That sliver of humanity is what keeps us moving. We are forever searching for the time where you felt the most alive. The most whole. The most awake. Awake is the key to my experience. It is key to Rome. I wonder if I can ever recreate the first moments here in Italy. Swooping down from a 9 hour flight, I crash landed into the culture. Vespas roaring down the street, daunting, waiting to strike you down for daring to cross their path. The smell of pasta and bread pour out from the open bistros in the piazzas.  The buildings echo the sounds of Rome’s past and its present self. My eyes are open, taking in the brilliance of sunlight on stucco walls and marble facades. The first thing my feet touch in the city are marble sidewalks. The fissures under the smooth surface whirl me into a stupor. I am here. I am in Rome. This is my first taste of the energy bubbling inside me. I came here to find something within myself. I want that sensation of knowing where I stand in the world, and to myself. I found myself drawn to the old structures of Rome. They sit in the middle of the city, surrounded by busy foot traffic and roads that stretch as connective tissue between our present world and the world of the old. What better way to find myself, then to look at the ancients for answers. We started our trip off with the ancient dome of the Pantheon. It was indescribable. The structure towered over my head. I can see where the whispered the sounds of God. I wanted to lay under the center of the dome and watch the clouds roll by, telling the secrets of Rome.  We ventured to the Trevi Fountian and found ourselves savoring the gelato at Giolitti’s. It is amazing that you can experience so much in one day, that you forget where you are. It wasn’t until the second day where I felt the sensation of being in another country. We were heading to the Coliseum, taking the dark and musty smelling metro to get there. Being from the middle of no where. I never believed I would be comfortably traveling the graffiti infested trains. When we got off at the right station, we climbed the stairs. My feet touched the concrete and I felt the sun beat down on me from above. When I decided to look up from my shoe, I was blown away by the magnificent beauty of the Coliseum. It was like walking from from darkness into light, death into life. I felt my chest...