FlorenciA

Ciao friends and family!!!

So for my final farewell to a life of 'would you like salted or unsalted peanuts' and 'how the heck do you say toilet in Catalan?' I chose to visit the one and only Ali Karsant in Firenze, the city of exploited male body parts from a certain statue and undesirable men chanting at you in their best version of an american dialect. Also the city where you can drop serious money on a designer purse and still not be sure as to its authenticity. While I had already been here before my memory resembles whatever the opposite of an elephant is, so it was like seeing it for the first time. Unfortunately I did something to piss mother nature off and apparently the universe in general because upon arrival the cobblestone streets were morbidly dark and taken over my rain. The beautiful blend of this unfortunate weather combined with both Ali and I's accumulation of the cold resulted in sleeping hours never before seen on a normal weekend vacation and a morning routine that played out like a day in the life of Paula Abdul in terms of drug consumption. I apologize if I'm a bit rowdy ( yes I did just spell check the word rowdy in my head with the sing along version acquired from LCHS cheer) today I'm hopped up on a large dosage of caffeine for finals and have spent the last few hours studying from the omniscient words of Chelsea Handler's "Are You There Vodka, It's Me Chelsea".

ANYWAYS I digress, so illness and drug habits aside Ali and I were reunited in Florence and were like two ADD children at Chuck E Cheese. Seriously, no thought or sentence was ever finished before another thought bubble burst the previous and I still don't know how Ali ended up sleeping on a stranger's couch two floors above her own loft. We played such commonplace games as 'Which country was your favorite?' and 'How far are you will to go for a Euro because I am flat broke'... everyday questions the average joe ponders. Assuming I could behave as I always have as her roommate and simply live off of her wardrobe closet that rivals the one in Narnia, I packed next to nothing and ended up wearing the same pink sweatshirt that will forever haunt me in every single photo... it quite literally looks like I was there for one day. Hey, at least i was comfy. Oh and note to self: riding boots are not the same as rain boots ... one is water repellant, the other is not. Lesson learned. Due to the weather which terminated all plans for Cinque Terre the Italian coast that will make even the most adamant atheist a God loving Christian, we turned the trip into a walking and eating tour of Florence, vegetarian style. Apparently Florence is famous for their steak? We wouldn't know. We passed by the Duomo on a regular basis seeing as it was practically in Ali's backyard ( if Florence had back yards) and I forced myself to try to focus on the importance of where I was, which proved rather difficult with the man behind me trying to sell me a device that both lights up and flies straight into the air. After passing by enough gelato shops to make any cardiologist wanna kill themselves and ironically climbing enough to stairs to make any human being cry for water we made it to a lookout of all of Florence whose name I forget already but whose view I will remember. Naturally we ran into a number of Ali's classmates exercising carpe diem by gorging themselves with cheap wine and taking in the view. We spent the end of the day meeting other study abroad students and bonding over wine pong ( messy and dangerous) a few floors down from Ali's place. I met a boy from San Marino who goes to NYU and couldn't help but admire the irony of being in a different country holding a conversation about LC v San Marino baseball with a complete stranger.

Ali and I along with her roommates Alexa and Sarah took a stroll over to the Roberto Cavalli cafe and let me tell you... not only is he good with animal prints but he makes a MEAN cappuccino. Seconds were ordered as we took in the scene of framed pictures of famous females donned in his pricey garments. After this we made our way to the Boboli Gardens ( not the Bambino as I deem it in the YouTube video, i really am shattering that American stupidity stereotype aren't I) which I only realized I had already been about ten minutes into the tour. The palace was home to the Medici family who had more money Bill Gates, Oprah, and the Trump combined with some left over to use as tissue. You basically just walk around the endless gardens and see the view that makes you want to work to have oodles of money some day. On the excursion home we crossed the Ponte Vecchio which looks like a pirate unloaded his loot of gold in the form of miniature shops and purchase two friendship bracelets mainly due to the silver tongued English speaking shop owner who assured us that she sells these to Nieman Marcus for triple the price. Mine lasted two days before it broke in my Art History class. RIP cheaply made but adorable red bracelet. Felling a bit like we needed to go somewhere outside of the two mile circumference we had been walking within we took a 25 minute bus ride up the hill to a neighboring city whose name we didn't have a shot at pronouncing correctly. The view was BEAUTIFUL at night only it took us until the bus departed on top of the hill for us to remember we had not a clue where we were and even less where to eat. We spotted an Italian place across the street that could have easily been located 25 minutes at the bottom of the hill nearer to where we were staying but went anyway. The food was delicious ( although they don't use salt in bread and I think that a travesty because thus is tastes not unlike cardboard) and it was even more fun teasing about our flighty waiter and anxiously awaiting what he would bring us and whether or not we ordered it. Ali and I made a superbed that night and it felt like Syc n Shaf ( which her roommates confused with the words Syc n Safe giving it a whole new meaning) all over again. I departed the following morning with no complication from that pesky Volcano Tlakdsfkjsdflksfdnsdlkfasdfkhlskdf or whatever that make believe name they gave it is.


WARNING: THE FOLLOWING GETS A BIT SENTIMENTAL AND SAPPY AND IS FOR MEMORY PURPOSES...


All in all my adventures have been so amazing even Rick Steve's would want to tag along. I am sooooo thankful for the experience and maturity ( if there has been any?) that has taken place over these past four months and as I go into finals eating the end of my pencil like it was chewing gum I will consider myself one of the luckiest people alive. I can't wait to return to my friends and family ( with gifts, don't worry) with perhaps a slightly tighter grasp on reality. I've never lived anywhere else or even moved houses before (Orange aside) so it's a weird feeling to consider Madrid like a home to me. I will miss the overly affectionate natives and the gross smell of the metro. The comfort of knowing a two euro glass of wine in just across the street and that world famous museums are a short stroll away. I will miss my roommates from Boston who are always down for anything even if you ask them if they wanted to get a tattoo of a hot pink dragon on your forehead. I will miss pretending to understand Veronica the residence mother for lack of any parental authority who I think half the times hates us for making so much noise and stealing bread from the kitchen. I will miss ordering my coffee with soy milk in Spanish rather than english and taking it to Retiro park only to sip it while being forced to watch overly PDA couples be too affectionate for anyone's comfort level. And I might even miss the idea that going out at 3 AM is considered early and getting up before 1 pm unthinkable. I've had the time of my life not to sound too much like a that guy from American Idol and in fifteen years I'm sure I will look back and think " didn't I go to Madrid at some point?". That's when the blog comes in handy.

¡BarCelOna!

¡HOLA!

I write to you from a computer lab full of students in denial that school continues beyond spring break. Phrases such as ´the paper is do WHEN?!´ and ´the coffee machine is back and running SCORE!´ echos the hallways of a very vacant campus. While homework load is plentiful and work accomplished scant, most of the student body boasts glowing tans that push them farther into the category of potential locals.

This past weekend I made the pilgrimage all the way to Barcelona ( it took me all of three John Mayer songs before the stewardess told me we were preparing for landing) to stay with Erika Gates a fellow Aphi and visit with Taylor O´Sullivan another phi bear abroad. Aside from the morning dose of emails I receive via cell regarding the need for additional Skit rehearsals or if anyone found the lost pair of Tory Burch sandals someone left at retreat I have been so removed from Alpha Phi that it was both surprising and astonishing how quickly I went back into ´the fraternity did WHAT at their formal?!´ alongside endless OMG accomanying squeels. My IQ likely dropped a few points but it was worth it to feel right at home in a very foreign country. Anyone who has ever made my acquaintence should be only to well aware of my affections for laying out and beach runs so when Erika promised the weather to be sunny and hot I all too quickly obliterated any previous schedule and directed us to the nearest beach. We spent the next two days tomabamos el sol and since my precious ghostly complexion had not be introduced to anything more than partly cloudy fine lines were drawn red against white. I looked like an american flag minus the blue. Each day after we faced hours of shameless vendors asking us if we would like 5 dollar massages, cerveca, or illegal substances we would make our way to the open market adjacent to Erika´s apartment. For one euro you could purchase a pineapple coconut smoothie that would change your life and if you didnt grope the fruit to see which ones were best ( i was scolded in many a foreign language) purchase a weeks groceries dirt cheap. This treasure along with the discovery of a raw nut vendor was etherial bliss in my book. We ended the day with a viewing of the Magic Fountain in front of the Royal Palace where time stood still as we waited for it to get dark enough to see the florescent colors cascading through the shooting water accompanied by an amusingly poor cut remix of songs from the 80s and early 90s including ¨I Gotta Get Through This¨ followed by ¨Bootylicious¨. Destiny´s Child is not dead in Spain.

On the second night I had the pleasure of accompanying Erika to one of her plethora of jobs as the shot girl at a local Irish Pub called George Paynes. Essentially I should receive compensation for that night because from the hours of 11 to 2 am i was Erika´s wingwoman in convincing barely english speaking customers that although they already had consumed numerous beers and had little idea what we were saying they should buy some unrecognizably labeled vodka. Erika did very well that night.

On my last day in the beautiful beach town we strolled around looking at the art of Gaudi in such locations as La Sagrada Familia. My only knowledge of the landscape and culture of the city came from a bad viewing of Woody Allen´s ´Vicky Cristina Barcelona´ in which both me and my friend Molly passed out leaving the ending a mystery and our highly acclaimed review two thumbs down. I´m sure if I saw it again I would pay attention this time because when youre not looking at the art through the eyes of Woody Allen and rather your own its quite breathtaking. The buildings resembled underground sand castles similar to those found in The Little Mermaid and scary Nightmare Before Christmaseque skeletal detailing that went up into the sky forever. We ended the night with a Rachael Ray impersonation of on my part, attempting a home cooked meal of veggies ( the only thing I can make) with barely any ingredients. Erika and the roommates devoured it but I think they were happy to see anything other than pasta on their plate. Even though I only had minimal time in the laid back culturally drenched city of art and music it wasn´t hard to see why people flip when they talk about visiting BarTHelona. Woody Allen didn´t do it justice.


The W Hotel



The Magic Fountain



La Sagrada Familia by Gaudi

FUNdon & PariS!

Bon Jour friends and family!!!

I write to you from Madrid still in denial that my much anticipated desperately needed wonderfully glorious two week spring break is over and I have to attend that school thing tomorrow. Let's not talk about it, it seems less real that way. While spring break generally induces thoughts of tan lines, margaritas in the sand, and questionably safe trips to Mexico, I chose the less tradition more rain prone route. While you ordered that second Pina Colada asking the bartender if they could turn the air conditioning up, I dedicated a solid outdoor fifteen minutes trying to figure out how to reverse my umbrella after the wind storm had made it a casualty. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't trade places for the world.
Call me a product of my grandmother but when it comes to flying there is no such thing as arriving to the airport too early. Unfortunately the day I flew to London I found out there is. After breezing through security and check in I found myself so early that even the departure gate wouldn't tell me where i was going. Two and a half hours and two almost boarded flights to London ( not my airline) and Ireland ( still not sure how that one happened) later I made it safely on the flight and was greeted upon arrival with a dozen red roses-- always so dramatic-- by the one and only Patrick Strapazon. For those of you who don't know Pat there isn't a description to save my life that could do his ridiculous personality justice. All I can say is hope you havn't just chugged a few liters of water during a two hour plane flight because you very well might pee yourself from laughter. One unpaid for train trip and a pricey taxi later we arrived at his "flat" number 18 on Bloomsbury street. I was Julia Roberts in Notting Hill already, minus Hugh Grant and add a pack of USC students. Naturally we finished off the night reciting lines to Legally Blonde and dissecting Reece Witherspoons love life. The following day I had two choices: attend a three hour lecture at Pat's school or venture the neighborhood with the Disneyland wannabe map mother had given me. Seeing as I had already slept a decent amount of hours I passed on the presumable snoozefest and true to form located the nearest Starbucks. Not trying to figure out how to translate " what direction is the closest Urban Outfitters" from Spanish to English I already felt right at home. The entire city looked like a more accurate version of the Universal Studios back lot, it was adorable. Cute parks, quaint book stores, this was the least manly city I had ever been to. My first stop was to commemorate the trip with London Flag boxers and unnecessary souvenirs that friends from home will look at and then toss off only to find again in about ten years. The majority of the day was spent leaving various clothing stores with a look of disgust at the current conversion rate and trying to figure out how to use my scarf as a head umbrella without looking like a Russian grandmother.
The sloths have nothing on Pat, the kid can sleep like it was his major. So at the crack of 3 in the afternoon the following day we made it to the London Eye, a national landmark I kept referring to as the Red Eye or " the big carnival ride". Unlike its amusement park counterpart however, this thing moves at the same rate I do when getting ready in the morning. Pat was making a documentary of decade long event for a class of his, interviewing me on my knowledge ( lack there of) about London and I have no doubt I will make a FABULOUS gag reel. Unaware that I wouldn't be able to afford a pencil at the decadent department store, we made our way to Harrods. Now why anyone would ever want to spend 300 pounds on a dog collar is beyond me but I guess when you just dropped 700 big ones on Chloe baby jumper its a small price to pay for man's best friend. You know you're in the big leagues when the 1st floor is entirely dedicated to the art of tea and chocolate. It was a diabetic's nightmare, I spent the majority of my time on this floor wiping up my drool. Pat and I danced our way through the pistachio gelato and plethora of Godiva to land on sampling my first Dim Sum. Why wouldn't there be an elegant sit down Chinese Dim Sum bar among the edible paradise? The little boiled bags of deliciousness put me over the edge and Pat was forced to gurney me out of the infamous department store. We ended the day with a late run to Pizza Express with the Curtis twins Melissa and Lauren, a perfect La Canada reunion in London. It's the simple things in life like being able to order without pointing to the option on the menu that I relish now. We reminisced on scandals of our teen years reporting break ups and expulsions like it was the front cover of US weekly and Lauren drank her first foreignly legal red wine.
If you are thinking this post is revolving entirely too much around food you would be right that seemed to be the glue that held the entire trip together and thus I continue... the following day Lauren, Melissa, Pat, and I scoped out Borough Market. This puts any previous farmer's market I have been to to SHAME with cheese from france, homemade pesto from heaven, and a vegetarian and nut stand that should be retitled " Chrissy's idea of perfection". Sampling was free so basically lunch was on the house. I don't think it can be called sampling after one comes back four or five times but what the vendor doesn't know won't kill them. Pat purchased some Turkish Delight, a dessert I thought only existed in the world of Narnia. To me it tasted like a plant and I was forced to find the nearest trash can. Melissa, Lauren, and I continued on a walking cliche, signing in the rain with our umbrellas all the way to Big Ben, Parliament, Westminster Abbey, and Trafalgar Square. Gravity pulled us to London's Topshop after a long day of sightseeing, a four story haven for any grunge or vintage aficionado where you could leave with nails done perfectly and eyebrows threaded to perfection. Few stores can boast that much.
I apologize that this blog is turning out to be longer than the Civil War, I'm very long winded. So I quite literally ran into my family at the airport looking scarier than Morticia Adams from my lack of sleep or makeup, I could tell by the look on their faces that ' wow you've let yourself go' was running through their heads... they welcomed me with prolonged hugs and kisses anyway, gotta love family. A run to the hospital to check for broken ribs is not at all uncalled for given the strength my dad used to hug me. We settled into our hotel in Madrid and mom spent the majority of the night commenting on the opulent chandeliers she coveted and if we had confused our hotel with the royal palace. They did have a Rolex store in the lobby and a gigantic stain-glass dome in the dining area... understated elegance. I focused my energy on a shower that didn't result in internal bruising from storage of space to move and hot water that didn't revert to its opposite after the extended duration of five minutes. Having lived in Madrid for some time now it took some arm twisting to get me to leave the hotel room. I spent the following day showing them around the Palacio Real, Parque del Retiro, Sol, and other tourist hot spots where there are no shortage of pickpockets and bizarre street performers. Mother held onto her purse like it was her child and dad walked two feet behind at all times to scope for potential suspects.. it was great. I wasn't embarrassed at all. Judging by their shock at how beautiful they found Madrid the clearly thought I was living in some dump in the middle of no where. I took them to my favorite tapas at Lateral for dinner where dad's disgust of the surrounding smokers could be seen miles away and ordering in english provided a challenge. We determined not telling dad what he was eating and force feeding him with a spoon was the best way to go. Blake stuck to chicken being the adventurous eater he is.
We finally made it to Paris and our hotel next to the Tuilleries gardens, as usual Blake and I received the more spacious of the two rooms so the parents took to relaxing at our place often. We went to lunch at a local brasserie that mom and dad had come to on their last trip to Paris and died over the cheese plate and bread. It took about 30 minutes into the lunch for them to realize that we were not in the same place the came to but being too lazy to move, we stayed. We walked around the Tuilleries gardens and Place de la Concorde and even under a comatose of tired the city was incomprehensibly beautiful. There could be lightening and hail and the architecture and landscaping would still take your breath away. For dinner we went to Le Coup Chou which was a redone hole in the wall former residence so authentic France the waiter didn't understand a thing I was saying. There were drapes, fire places, book shelves, and winding stairs that were a health risk to walk down, it was GREAT. Before coming to Paris I thought I had tasted good food... I was wrong. Maybe it was part sustaining off of power bars and coffee all day but every plate we ordered was the meal you would want if you had one day to live. I hadn't the slightest notion of what I ordered, only that i was meat free. The appetizer was a tomato and garlic number with.. wait for it.. whipped cream ( i took it off, I'm not that crazy) on top. Call me old fashioned but I don't combine my meal with my dessert. In overtly American behavior the four of us could be found delving over plates to sample each others dinners and ordering bread baskets like it was water. We left full and with the acquired knowledge of how to say "how delicious" in french.... I think.
To work off some of the food intake I unknowingly was recruited to a FOUR HOUR bike tour of the city starting at Notre Dame and end, well I won't know where because... well I'll get to that. Blake, Mom, and Dad had done this same bike tour in previous years so they knew the guide better than I know some of my closest friends. On a first name basis, I quickly learned all about Christian, where he lived, his daughter, and where he grew up. Mom makes friends easily and treats them like family even easier. Penguins could have waddled by at any moment the tour was so frigid but thank goodness I was easily distracted by the beauty of the various arrondissements. We biked the river Seine and Christian repeatedly wounded us with phrases like " when it gets warm..". Unfortunately Blake felt the need to go and injure himself on the tour by removing one of this fingernails and a whole bunch of gross I don't want to know about. The Penidos ditched the tour early in search of an American Hospital and some painkillers. After bbming Nick with this news he responded with sincere concern " man he's a bad traveler". Dad flipped into paramedic mode and took Blake to go get stitched, x-rayed, and injected while mom and I took our minds off the accident with some retail therapy while the male's couldn't complain. I saw the extravagant Opera House as we proceeded into department stores of endless levels and stain- glass ceilings complete with corinthian columns. Shopping back home will never be the same. After returning to the hotel to find Blake heavily sedated and Dad watching him like if breathed wrong he was going to call the ambulance, mom and I were on our own for the Louvre tour. My previous awareness of the Louvre was what I had seen of a glass triangle in The Da Vinci Code so I was blithely unaware of the MASSIVE size of the previous home to the royals. Mom and I got lost so many times that I think we past the egyptian art section at least seven times. We made it to the Mona Lisa who looks more like a man that I had ever imagined. Everyone and their mother surrounded it so I didn't get a great look but from where I was, I was thinking 'thats a dude in a dress with a wig'. We saw Napoleon's crown-- man did he have a small head-- and numerous jewels all of which I was tempted to take off their hands. Mom and I stopped by a brasserie on the way home for some traditional French food and wound up at Welcome Cafe where hot dogs came right before crepes on the menu and nothing but American classics played in the background.
In attempts to salvage the food we brought home for an unconscious Blake we took drinks out of the overpriced minibar and shoved the steak in. This is without prior knowledge that each item has a sensor on it and is considered purchased upon lift. It took some time to explain to the concierge what we had done and how we didn't want to pay the hundreds of euros we had racked up on our bill. My bad. Our first day without injury and all of us in tow we set out for Notre Dame, the Arc de Triomphe, the Champs-Elysee, Luxembourg Gardens, and the Eiffel Tower. The Eiffel remains one of my favorites despite the fact that upon reaching the top I dropped a souvenir in the gift shop, breaking part of it, and I am entirely convinced that If we were not as high up as we were the store lady would have thrown me out. I won't be going back any time soon. The whole city was like a movie, I honestly couldn't find a piece of trash or unmanicured tree anywhere. I don't care if the French are snobs, as they should be. For dinner we went to Le Fontaine de Mars a French place mom had been talking up for months thanks to the Obama's visit there during their stay in Paris. Naturally I was obscenely overdressed but did not let this stop me from pretending cocktail attire was the order of attire. I think my dress was a bit too short seeing as a borderline homeless man grunted ' ahhhh sexxxyyyy' with a heavy french accent later that night. My family was beaming over dinner I had no idea that all it took was was nice red wine and very expensive french food to make them ecstatic. They ordered a roasted Daffy Duck for dinner and I opted for some fish I couldn't pronounce. If I'm giving out awards here this one takes the cake, no competition. The cost of the plane flight to Paris would be worth it just to try one of their green beans. Again maybe the power bars came into play but really the French are just so much better than us in every way. I even like their accent more. We sat for hours and talked about grown up things, I played along. If only Nick and Holly had been there it would have been a Penido vacation to rival all those Chevy Chase family vacation films. We booked it out of there to catch the end of the Eiffel Tower light show which looked like a real life version of every girls desire to glitter and bejewel the world. So basically the city of lights stole my heart and I plan on taking up residence there as soon as possible. I promise I'll write...


MISS YOU ALL!!!!!!!

xoxo

Chrissy

p.s. I will be SHOCKED if anyone gets through all of that