Back to the Old

On the off chance that you have found this blog without being directed here by my other blog, you should perhaps be aware that this blog is now officially done. I have returned to my other blog, Sail Away, which originally chronicled my my first year in Italy and served as my Gilman Scholarship Follow-On Project. I originally wanted to keep my follow-on project separate from my later time in Italy, but Sail Away, and the time it documented is so much apart of who I became after I left Italy, that it felt wrong to leave it abandoned.

I'm in the process of pulling blog posts from this blog over to my old one, and hopefully will (eventually) consolidate all of the posts onto my old (current) blog. If you're interested in keeping up with my current shenanigans, you can take the link below.

http://awayfromthesafeharbor.blogspot.com

Happy Reading!

suspension of disbelief.

 I am a Disney fanatic. There, I said it. I love Disney in an unhealthily intense way, particularly Walt Disney World. I haven't been back to Disney in about three years, but I follow blogs, trip reports, and pinterest boards. Every three months or so I try to convince one of my parents, my friends, or my cousins, to go to Disney World with me. With my family I always get the same response: Don't you want to go somewhere else? Yes. I want to go somewhere else. I want to go to all the somewhere elses there are in the world. And I also want to go to Disney. If I had my way I would spend two months of the year in Texas, 4 months in Florence, 2 weeks in Disney World, and the rest traveling all over the world.

And yes, I understand that Disney is a huge corporation which uses ethically questionable practices to support its bottom line. I realize that touring the World Showcase is nothing like touring the actual world. I know that the princesses are really just girls in wigs and shiny dresses.

But listen, I am also a lover of books. And books ask of us the same thing that Disney does: to forget, for a time, the realities of science, the world, and our own lives for the sake of stories and imagination. In literary terms this is called suspension of disbelief.

pumpkin carving.

My eternally awesome roommate is a Halloween lover. In fact, she's a general holiday lover, which goes swimmingly with my attitude towards life. Our door would win any decorating contest in the building. In fact, our whole (tiny) apartment is completely covered in Halloween decorations (soon to be replaced with Thanksgiving decorations).

I digress. My roommate carves pumpkins every year. I assume this was a family tradition, as it is with many families. My family carving traditions stopped when my brother and I hit the double digits and we've had plain pumpkins ever since. Which is fine. There's nothing wrong with a good plain pumpkin. Plain pumpkins make the world go round. But it means I haven't carved a pumpkin in a good ten years.

Last Sunday we took it upon ourselves to turn our living room into a Pumpkin Carving Workshop. We laid out trash bags and butchered our poor pumpkins into something resembling faces, using normal knives (college students have no money), mixing bowls, and lots of paper towels.

This was the result. Roommate's pumpkin is the cool one. Can you see she's had lots of practice? I went for a more traditional carving. With a gap tooth. Gotta have a good gap tooth.

I apologize for the quality of the pictures this week. As it turns out it's not so easy to use a camera with pumpkin guts all over your hands. And the last picture was taken with my camera phone. I have no excuses except laziness.

Sleepy Hollow Hotels: Tarrytown House

The name of this post is a bit of a misnomer. As far as I can tell, Sleepy Hollow itself has no hotels. Seems like a bit of an oversight, but whatever. The neighboring town, Tarrytown, has plenty to choose from. Last weekend we got the chance to stay at Tarrytown House Estate, a beautiful hotel on the grounds of what was once two separate estates belonging to the Biddle and King families.

All of the families' old buildings appear to have been kept more or less intact, providing a wide variety of rooms for guests to choose from. That said, affordability is a factor, the normal guest rooms range from about $250-500 per night (give or take) and the guest rooms in the original buildings cost considerably more than those in the recent additions. Not being Rockefellers, we chose one of the newer buildings, which was a pretty standard hotel room. However, if you're willing to spend the money you can stay in King's House (white mansion), the cottage, or one of the other pricier options.

What sets Tarrytown House apart from a normal hotel is the details. Of course, the property is beautiful, but it's pieces like the exquisite statues and interesting old telephones that make it special. All meals are served in the Biddle Mansion (top photo), which provides huge windows and spectacular vistas. There are a variety of activities outdoors and a heated indoor pool to enjoy on colder days.

scenes from the weekend: trees

I've always had an odd fascination with trees. I used to draw them all the time and when I was nine I realized that if I kept splitting each branch in my drawings over and over, they would start to look a bit like the live oaks which had so long been the sturdy playhouse for my imagination. Even now when my hands reach for the pencil they start to draw whirling and splitting branches in the same patterns they've been making for over a decade.

This weekend my family came to visit me and we got out of the city, traveling via train up the Hudson to where the leaves have started to change. We picked apples, wandered cemeteries, ate the last ice cream before winter, and all the time my camera was constantly at hand, ready to snap pictures of new trees.

Florence Eating: Le Bertucce

During my last semester in Italy I lived in an apartment on a tiny street called Via Sant'Elisabetta. The Medieval and Renaissance streets of  Florence's historic center are all tiny--meant to accommodate carts and horses instead of cars--but Via Sant'Elisabetta is especially so. As a tiny off street near Piazza del Duomo, it escapes a great deal of tourist foot traffic.

Our little apartment's kitchen window opened out onto the street, right across from a little pizzeria called Le Bertucce. In the evenings we would call down to our favorite server, Ricardo, the other girls testing their first Italian sentences, while I translated the conversation for them. We threw paper airplanes, attempted to share our s'mores, and ate a hell of a lot of pizza.

Le Bertucce itself is a small little restaurant serving pizza by the pie or the slice, calzoni, and panini to order. A favorite of locals, it is home to some of the best pizza in the city center. The lines are long during lunch hours (but worth it) and almost non-existent the rest of the day. All the pizzas are made in a stone pizza oven, and slices are often reheated in the same place. (If they try to put it in the toaster oven, ask for the pizza oven instead, it's much better.) If you're stuck making your choice, try the Pizza ai Quattro Formaggi, which is by far their best option.

Pizza is 2 euro a slice or 6 euro for a personal pizza. Calzones are 2.50 and panini depend on the ingredients.

Le Bertucce
+39 055 285595
Via Sant'Elisabetta/ Via delle Oche


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twenty two.

I recently had my 22nd birthday. It's my last birthday as a student and yes, in case you were wondering, I am freaking out. And no, Aunt/Uncle/Parent's Friend/Random Person, I don't really know what I'm going to do when I get out of college.

Despite paralyzing fears about my future and stress about getting through this semester, I've been trying to take some time to be grateful for all the experiences I've had in the last 22 years. Because I have to say they've been a pretty excellent set of years. I'm lucky to have thoughtful people in my life who remember my birthday, and here are a few of the lovely things I've been enjoying.

The print was sent to me by my best friend. I had posted it on Facebook about a year ago and she bookmarked it to get me for my birthday. Isn't in lovely? The artist is Stella Im Hultberg, who is incredible. (You can find her here.)

bloglovin'

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the inspiration board.

A new school year is starting. Tomorrow will be my last first day of school. It's one of those crazy things that jumbles your head around for no particular reason. So, instead of dwelling on it I've decided to put together a list of things that are making me joyful recently. For example:

The last gifts of the fading season. A bit battered and over ripe, but delicious nonetheless.

Reminders of all the little pleasures autumn has in store. And soft leather notebooks with clean, empty pages ready for an eager hand.

Old costume jewelry given new life.

And old favorites, waiting for the first chill of winter to be read by a fire with hot chocolate and slippers.

anywherebuthereitis

Lately I've been suffering from a strong case of what I like to call anywhere-but-here-itis. Being in one place for four months is seriously wearing on my sanity, which is bothersome and worrisome and many other somes I have yet to identify. But mostly I'm just scared. I have one more year of college left and after that things seem very final. Pick a career, pick a city, pick an apartment, and stay put. I'm afraid of being stuck, and I'm afraid of making the wrong decision, and more than anything I'm afraid that I'll never be able to find a home if I keep wandering. But I suppose it will all turn out in the end.

In the meantime I dream of far away places.

Mostly when I dream I dream of Florence. Florence with its little cars and cobbled roads and Italian sunsets.

But who knows? After all, life's a mystery.

norway.

About a year ago now, my brother and I set off on our Norwegian journey. Now, some people might think it's crazy to travel with only a sibling for company. I have to say there were a few times I wanted to take his head off, and I'm sure he felt similarly inclined, but it was an amazing trip.

It's true what they say about blood running thicker than water. I don't mean that in the distinction between loyalty for family as opposed to friends. It's just that the almost eerie similarities in our personalities makes us good co-travelers.

Then again, who wouldn't be a good co-traveler when every day you wake up to this:

Seems like yesterday, feels like a decade. Isn't that the way of things.

the essence of dreams: past, present, and future.

It's been ages since I've posted my little letters to nowhere, and much has changed. But we won't talk about that today. It seems the best way to get back into things is to dive right in, so here it goes.

I like to reread things, in fact I can revisit any story I love about a thousand times without getting tired of it. I'm pretty sure my mom regret to the this day showing me the Colin Firth version of Pride and Prejudice: five hours of sweet bliss that I watched about once a month when I was ten.

I like to revisit the stories that are special to me, particularly those from my childhood. And since I wanted to be Laura Ingalls when I was little, it's not surprising that I'm rather attached to her Little House series.

 

 I revisit these books every year, and the glue of their paperback bindings have slowly come apart until each must be replaced. In turn the older ones are moved to a different shelf, to be handled delicately and cherished as constant reminders of well-loved books. And I buy a new copy, crack a brand new spine, and look forward to the day when this one too bears the mark that comes with love.

Usually sometime as the weather turns cold and the wind starts to slip through my sweaters I find myself seeking warmth in a lonely log house in the forests of Wisconsin. Because it's true what Laura says: "Their shadowy outlines drew her with the lure of far places. They were the essence of a dream."

Time Capsule//Shells, Familiar Shores

It is an unimpressive place, significant only to those 

who have collected memories on its shores.

Perhaps if I lined up the shells of my childhood 

you could read in them the things my unkempt 

words can never say. 

ties to places

1.Think of a place that is significant to you.

2. Find a piece of string, ribbon, shoelace, rope, etc. Something long enough to be tied around an object.

3. Cut a rectangle out of a piece of paper. On it write your first name (or the name you go by), a date, and a noun that relates

to the significance of your location.

4. Take a picture of your label.

5. Put a hole in the paper and put it on your string.

6. Go to your location, and tie the ribbon to something there.

7. Take a picture of your completed project.

if you tilt your head a little to the right and squint . . .

 . . . you can almost see it. Autumn is coming.

siena.

As much as I love Florence (and I do love it dearly) there are times when a wanderer feels a bit claustrophobic. After all, even remarkable cities are cities. Walking the same streets in my tiny pixel of existence everyday can make me forget how lucky I am to be here. At such times one needs a bit of what the world likes to call perspective. For me that means getting my ass out of Florence. ASAP.

One of the lovely things about this city is how easy it is to get away. There are countless little towns all around. Some are nestled in mountains, some laze by the sea, Siena is tucked in the hills. Its sights are those of Tuscan postcards: uneven land rising like rounded waves and the tall cypress trees that proudly guard their villas. Even the view from a highway tells the character of this land.

Then there is Siena itself. Like many of the cities here, it was once an autonomous city-state. A solid wall surrounds it, to keep out those pesky Florentines, and to hide the treasures within. It seems that the early Tuscans took "hiding your valuables" seriously. My friend and I spent our day visiting the museums and and cathedral, getting a workout climbing steps, and (for me) enjoying a last summer peach. And when we got home at the end of the day, I felt my city was itself again. As beautiful as Siena is, I know where I belong.

Because Florence changes me; the essence of who I am is shifting here. If I don't look too closely, I can see it.

italy

Follow the link to the blog I kept my first year in Italy (Sept. 2011-May 2012).