Yesterday, I peed in a hole in the ground...

and yes, it was a public restroom. Does this sound strange? Well then obviously you need to take a trip to picturesque Eastern Europe, where the only thing hotter than your face after you accidentially piddle on your shoe is the fashion:

Kiev, a cool city? I had no idea. I didn't even know two weeks before that I would be coming to this Ukranian locale of colored revolutions and poisoned politicians. Only that it would be an easy stop on a route taking me across Europe and ending up back in Italy. Also, that it was incredibly affordable to take an overnight train from Moscow, where I squeaked by just 3 hours before my visa would expire and I would have ended up in Russian incarceration upon being caught by border guards. My bouquet of Russian experiences is vast, but I can do without that one...


Stepping off of the train with my enormously heavy suitcase (but Russian elephants make excellent souviniers!) I had little choice as I was hounded by men to help me with my bags and give me a taxi ride. I let one take it as he already had it to the third step towards the exit by the time my hand came detached from it and paid him entirely too much as he threw it into the trunk of another middle aged, overweight man who nicely told me in Russian that he would happily take rubles if I did not have any grieven to offer for the taxi fare. I bet you will.

He drove me to an address that I had from Marina. To be honest, I had no clue where I was going, simply that it was close to a metro station and that Marina and Valentine think the world of this couple who would take me in. Once again, I threw myself into the unknown in search of a new experience. Once again, I was plesantly surprised by the blessings which have been mine since embarking on this adventure.

Eventually.

At first, I found myself waiting outside their door. No answer. Damn. Maybe I am at the wrong address? Well, not much I can do now... off to the world of Ian Flemming. Oh Goldfinger, what misadventure are you trying now? I know you will end up decaptiated or blown to bits...

Thankfully, the couple showed up about half an hour later, rambling apologies, and oblivious to the fact that James Bond just woke up on a plane- Goldfinger had tricked him again! Oh no! Well, I would have to wait to see how Mr. Bond got himself out of this predicament, on to meet the family.

Natasha and Peter had wed when Natasha was only 16. One can sense immediately both her total love and devotion for her husband and family and also her longing something more... all the while not finding the two irreconcilible, which is why I think she finds so much solace in God and also takes in adventurous travelers. Peter got his master's degree in business and now the two of them run a remodeling business from the house. Peter works from his car and is gone until very late in the evening. Natasha works for the church in additon to keeping Peter's books. They have a wonderful 11 year old son, Bogdan, who is lazy about his English studies and both loved and hated all the attention I gave him.

They saw their apartment as humble but by my standards was rather spacious for the region. Their kitchen was large with plenty of counter space and a full sized fridge, and their son's room, which was vacated for my stay, was almost as big as their room. Bonus- I got to share my living space with a small box turtle! This situation was rather agreeable to me. Then it got better. Natasha is fiercely proud of her nation's customs (they're not Russian!), especially the cuisine. Soon after their return home a great meal was placed before me. Fish, chicken, vegetables, potatoes, and to top it off, Ukranian chocolate, made by ... The company makes chocolate that could compete with the Swiss if only they could master export marketing...

Ah well, the city was wonderful, easy to get around, and rather revealing. Sales reflected the crisis-ridden economy while the caliber of the stores exposed how much Ukriane had westernized before their economy went belly-up. The ice cream is less than a dollar, and comes in the form of creamy soft serve in traditional chocolate and vanilla, but also chocolate mixed with orange or vanilla and blueberry. It is divine and they are even kind enough to dip it in chocolate if you would like before placing the cone on a scale and charging by the gram.

Their metro systems is not as large as Moscow's, but then neither is the city. Metro gets one wherever he or she wants to go, boasting many communist sculptures and arched ceilings. Entrance is attained with a blue plastic token that is placed in what can only be described as a recycled cheezy slot machine.

When I returned home one night, I was offered a cup of coffee and some chocolate. I never refuse, as it always made Natasha's face drop and no one wants that. Expecting a cup of Nescafe instant sludge to appear before me, my shock was apparent when she placed a tiny cup approximately 18 inches from my eyes. No, it was not the distance, it was truly a tiny cup... an ESPRESSO cup? Could it be true? REAL coffee??? How had I missed it before? Behind Natasha sat an espresso/cappuccino machine. Oh heavnly glory! Real coffee! I sipped it as slowly as possible, wanting it to last.

If you want to knwo how the Kiev folk feel abuot Russia, well look no further than the stature commemorating Russo-Ukranian unity. That giant distraction you see is a jumbo screen squat in front of the statue, blaring Ukranian advertisements and stealing the thunder of the good comrades shaking hands and bringing together their neighboring lands into one nation. How'd that turn out for you?

The Chernobyl museum also displays lingering bitterness at the Soviet Union. It is both a commemoration of those who died and the courageous individuals who saved lives, and a searing attack on the government that enabled its occurance and payed so little mind to it afterwards in both press accounts and in acknowleging the full effects of the disaster which still affect (like that grammar?) Ukranians today and have rendered a portion of their land uninhabitable.

Like Moscow, Kiev has a World War II memorial that trumps anything we could make in the US. Until your men have been killed on your own soil and you have watched yoru children starve, I don't think any country can appreciate the ravages of war enough to put the passion into their statues that these countries' artists display. The pain in the images and the pride at victiory is palpable as speakers play victory music for visitors. It's an interesting phenomenon to bring both extreme grief together with great triumph and the impressions these memorials make on one do not leave one's memory.

After feeding me some of Ukraine's most traditional dishes, taking me to a historical outdoor museum showing 17th century Ukranian agrarian lifestyles, and bonding with me on a level I never thought possible with people who don't speak English, Natasha, Peter and Bogdan took me to the train station and saw me off as I continued my journey. Five days with them was not enough and I will forever be grateful to this beautiful family. Beautiful, friendly, and historical Kiev captured my imagination. The train ride from there would be 25 hours... in a cabin shared with only one other person... this could be interesting...

Contact Information

New Cell Phone Number: (+1) 717 451 4045

Current Mailing Address:

62 Baltimore Street
Spring Grove, PA 17362 (And no comments about how Jefferson is too small to have postal delivery...)

Mailing/Street Address After September 1:

1713 D Street, N.E.
Washington, D.C. 20002

Yes, this is the same as before! Vinnie and I are moving back into the old place.

"There are places I'll remember...

all my life, though some have changed..."

In what seems like an eternity ago, (but truly was only 5.5 years... maybe i am getting dimensia), someone special mailed me a mixed cd while I was living in southern Germany. This person did not stop with the normal 18-ish tracks but instead took head on the challenge that mp3 format provides and put over a hundered songs on said disk. I popped it into my broken laptop that could only handle two tasks: playing music and solitaire (I seem to have a knack for destroying laptops whenever I go to Europe...) and was awestruck as song after song took me to new places, inspired me, sometimes made me just want to stare at a wall. I realized that this was probably the best mixed disk anyone would ever create for me, each song placed intentionally upon the shiny surface it just for me. This person really knew me, heart and soul, inside and out. I was humbled.

But just because something is perfect for a moment of your life does not mean you keep it forever... and like the beautiful southern German city that had become my home, like the friends I returned to, like so many things in this amazing life, I left behind the person who created and sent me the disk, but did so with a full heart, knowing that one does not have to hold on to everything but can take pieces of it with them always as they chart new courses.

So as I rode to work for my last time on the old yellop number 142 marshootka, the Beatles created the soundtrack for my thoughts as I prepared to leave Moscow. I smiled as I relfected on the past month:

On Marina and Valentine who had become my weekend warriers, who would take me in that last weekend and host me in their one room home, as we watched the simpsons together, debated gender roles in marriage, and shared our dreams of houses with gardens and nice kitchens.

On my amazing job. The chances I took by coming to Moscow for an internship I had created with a director who no longer worked at Big Brothers Big Sisters (a place that had even had an intern before), well distasterous could have been the outcome. On the contrary, I got to work under a great businessman who gave up his earning potential and prestigous job to work in a nonprofit, but kept his clear head and business savvy attitude, skills that are desperately needed in this up and coming Russian NGO sector. He gave me projects, deadlines, and most importantly, he made me use all that stuff I have been studying, not just to write papers, but to have meetings with him where we would both just throw ideas at each other, yell at each other, and just get excited about where the young organization would go under his leadership and with the work of his team.

Usually I spend July 4 with family, poolside at Aunt Lydia's enjoying a bbq... but year, I think I actually had more fun as I spent that Saturday bouncing around like a 10 year old on Red Bull and pixy stix and, giving out flags, and trying to charm people into becoming volunteers for BBBS

And my hosts. What words do you have for people who have no idea who you are but are willing to take you in, to share their culture, their hopes and concerns, their time and their laughter. I know I leave this country with friends.

Sergei who loves American cars, Italian women (part of the reason they took me in, haha! it was an American who was just living in Italy!), and providing for his family. (For the record, he was pretty relieved when I showed up and was not 500 lbs and refrained from eating everything in their house... ah stereotypes- not to worry, I retalliated by shaking my head in utter disbelief when he told me he doesn't like vodka, telling him he actually did but just doesn't remember)

Nadia- her free flowing laughter eminated her warm soul; a humble yet beautiful woman who prepares such simple food every day with so much love you think you are being spoiled every time you eat. Not a dream enters her head that doesn't involve a better life for her children and husband yet she is grateful for the blessings they currently appreciate and wants for little.

Dear little Pasha, who is unsure we can get married when he is older because I may be a little too old, but for now is fine with being friends.



And Katya, my little girl who calls me her aunt.

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Sitting outside Moscow's world famous metro line, trying out one a cigarrette marketed towards women. They are very slim, and have pink flowers on them. (No no, I am not a smoker, but I do like to experience as fully the culture as possible. Plus, how often can you get fancy smokies that cost less than a dollar a pack?) Dressed in a mini skirt and nice blouse, I sat there getting my picture taken and decided I felt wonderfully girly. So this is why Russian women dress this way, smoke special cigs, wear crazy heels... you can't help but love embracing your feminity any way you can in a city that often forgets the virtues of chivalry...
Moscow, Moscow, you never seem to completely release me from your strangely provacative grip. I will return.

i know i'll never lose affection for people and things that went before. I know i'll often stop and think about them...

In my life, I've loved them all.

Moscow Mods?

That's right, Turns out Moscow, which has prettymuch everything you want in a big city, also has an underground Mod scene. The Vespa-worshipping, suit and dress clad hipsters take over clubs like Sixteen Tons and get old Mod revival bands travel from the other side of the iron curtain to provide the soundtrack for forgetting about everything and dancing your little booty off. Sixteen Tons is an amazing destination because its record collection is expansive and includes tons of rare vinyls whose music you'll never download on I-Tunes. DJ's here actually still spin records, and the crowd is small but energetic.

How did I stumble upon this Jewel? I have a friend who always seems to find the coolest people and the best music in any city.

Nope, you can't get away from SAIS'ers, we're everywhere and can't seem to stay away from one another. So George, Hodur and I found ourselves hanging out before going to the club, meeting locals and drinking beer in the park like everyone does on a Saturday night... Lets cut the niceties, I can't pretend it's only weekends that this takes place. This way to kill time and braincells occurs perpetually here and is not limited to nighttime, especially since it doesn't get dark here until like 11:00.
But after dinner in a cafe without a sign on the door (you have to 'just know'), 30 cent ice cream cones, and a good amount of cheap Baltika, or Redds on my part (the girly Russian beer that you have to have the proper chromosomes to drink), we went back in time as we stepped into the club, being offered free cigarettes from the good people at Lucky, and expanding our definition of good music as Secret Affair showed us that they can still rock a crowd.

If you want to know how I got home (safely, no less!!!!), ask me personally, some things would scare readers of this blog who have a tendancy to worry...

Still without good computer access!

Still having issues with finding a computer that I can successfully type on, probably on Saturday I will be able to write more. For now, here is a quintessential photo of any Eastern Europe journey. I do love Trabbis...

Traveling across Eastern Europe via train on my way back to Italia to see the parts I was too studyriffic to see before... Naples and Pompeii ahoy!

The laptop died so I will have to wait for my arrival to Italia and depend on a friends computer to construct long blathering posts about my past few adventures. I am writing on a Hungarian keyboard now... the y and z are switched and all the special characters are very hard to find...

Off to explore before I hop on another train!

All aboard!!!!!!!!!

In case you didn't know...

You can click on any of the photos to see bigger versions of them. I hesitate to post this because now it will be all too clear how often I really have my eyes shut...

When the cat's away...

You know the rest... the saying exists in Russia too, where the cat came in the form of my great boss, Roman, who was nice enough to go on a week long trip to Toronto to attend the international BBBS conference.

He got some amazing ideas of how to better market the BBBS brand here in Russia and how to improve employee and board of directors standards.
I got to be the excuse for the "mice" to skip out of work early many days in order to make sure I was getting a proper "Russian experience" during my internship.

Monday saw us riding on boats on the Moscow river:

On Thursday, I found myself rollerskating in a beautiful park with the usual suspects (Marina and Ilena):




Valentine opted for 2 wheels instead of 8





We were determined not to let a few ominous grey clouds ruin our plans for a good time. Even when the thunder roared angrily, we skated with as much reckless abandon as one can manage when dominated by thoughts of keeping one's balance.

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Then the rain hit.

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This was no pedestrian, vanilla summer shower. Moscow was once again telling me that I should never taunt it (ask me personally about the multiple slices of humble pie I've been served in this city during this and my last visit). We sought shelter in one of the many Shashlik (meat on a skewer- oh yeah) stands, underneath a tarp that provided just enough shelter from the blowing rain. We huddled around the umbrella post in the middle to get as far away as possible from the angry, horizontal drops. Not satisfied, the clouds unleashed the hail, threatening to destroy our flimsy covering and clogging the drains. This resulted in our serious consideration of the possibilities of finding Noah as the level began to rise...

and rise... oh dear. We were huddled on the pedestal of the umbrella, a good 4 inches off of the ground, and were even higher due to our skates, but the water crept up and threatened our dry toes.
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After it ended, we said a little prayer of gratitude and, realizing that my hour of skate rental had just rolled over into two, took full advantage of the additional time to enjoy the much less crowded park. Ilena's second time ever on rollerblades was successful and we all left the park dry, tired, and without a single spill between us. The only strange occurrence was the rental location's insistence that I take their socks to wear. I had perfectly good rainbow striped socks to enhance my appearance and wore them instead (life's always better with funny socks, thanks for teaching me that, Grandma :). In communist Russia, socks wear you! No no, I didn't just do that, did I? Mi Dispiace!

When we realized we had about five minutes to return my rentals and were on the other side of the park, we got crafty and I got the fastest blading experience of my life.











Thanks Valentine!






Friday was a day to get out of the city, to see Russia as the majority of its residents experience it every day. I got a very old sense of deja vu as I turned off my conscious mind and let my "spidey senses" guide me to my meeting spot with Marina at Savelovskaya, the metro line I used to use each day as I traveled to my internship at Kidsave, Intl. From there, we purchased tickets and rode for an hour and a half on the big lumbering green metal train that groaned in protest as Newon's laws were demonstrated at each stop and start. We hopped off at Marozki, the village where Marina grew up. Its bordered on the west by a manmade canal, said to be "built on bones" because during Stalin's reign, many prisoners lost their lives digging it and were buried in the ground as other worked around them.


We walked to the local preschool where her mom was about to get off of work. From there we went to her apartment where Marina and her mom had lived together until she got married last year. The simple two room apartment had the smallest kitchen I had ever viewed. Marina's bedroom was covered with Beatles posters, and decorations from all kinds of American bands. The paper on walls of the aging flat were ripped almost to shreds by one very naughty but charming individual named Thomas (aptly named so since he used one of two pets, sharing the living space with a rat named Jerry):



Her mother, anticipating our arrival, had purchased "Confetti" which are the delicious individually wrapped chocolate or taffy based candies that one can purchase so inexpensively in bulk at almost any store or metro station. The varieties are infinite- tender marshmallow covered in dark chocolate, rich nut truffles, soft toffees enrobed in chocolate, fruit cordials, wafers with cream... awesomeness, individually wrapped.

We had some tea and munched on our snack while talking about her life growing up and the privatization process she was going through in order to "own" the apartment they had technically been leasing from the government since Soviet times. Like any change in policy, it is sold as a "free and easy" process. It's free if you have hours and hours to spend on paperwork, always returning to the same office only to be sent on another paper trail. Free also if you let an inspector come into your flat- paying for his taxi and using your own time during business hours to accompany him. Or, you can pay about ten grand to a lawyer who will have it done for you the next day. Skepticism is rampant here, one need to do little digging to understand why.




When her mom came home, we hit it off immediately. She really wanted to feed us but we had other plans, so she was satisfied with making sure I had one of every kind of Confetti she had bought to take with me and we said our goodbyes. Marina then took me on a walk around her beautiful little village where I could take in the houses displaying what is fast becoming one of my newest fascinations: old, pre-soviet Russian architecture.





This house is unique, typically the houses look like they come from a fairy tale... perhaps a very ancient fairy tale because they are largely dilapidated, but still have their steep pitched roofs, intricate mouldings around the trim with tiny cutouts, and pastel colored wood accents contrasting nicely against the darker wood that makes up the majority of the house. I think what makes these houses so appealing is that you can really still feel them when you look at them. These homes were made by hand, and were quite labor intensive. You can feel the energy that comes from someone putting their all into creating a dwelling that the family has used for generations. Most people live in large apartment complexes if they live in any kind of populated area, only those living in the tiniest villages live in houses. The majority of the apartments were constructed during Soviet times and are all about the same from the outside. They are worn on the outside, all stacked next to each other, but they all have playgrounds outside and inside are families who make the most of what they have. I think I had been brainwashed into thinking your mood can be heavily influenced by your houses appearance... I think I'd allowed Better Homes and Gardens and HGTV to convince me of that crap.




No, the families who live here do what they can to make the homes reflect who they are. The children are the same as anywhere, they love to play on the aging playground equipment and have no idea it's not state of the art. Kids chase each other, swing, play with slingshots, and get yelled at by their parents. The families are so hospitable when you enter their home, offering little confetti, tea, cakes, anything they have in their tiny kitchens (Stalin envisioned people eating in workplace cafeterias largely and having little need for expansive home kitchens or living rooms for that matter). Even with almost nothing (five children shared one bicycle!), Nadia told me her childhood was happy and loving. I'm humbled by the strength of these people, and sad at their pessimism about the future of their country and people.





So we hopped back on the train for another 20 minutes and got off in Dimitriov, or "Little Moscow" because it was also founded by Yuri Dolgoruki (Translates as Yuri Longarms). We had a fun time in this newly revamped city that boasted shops, restaurants, and a freshly built feel, something unusual for this country and rather out of place. Still, one can't argue with inexpensive but yummy sushi (ALWAYS prepared by Kazaks) available outside of Moscow or St. Pete. The business lunch deals make almost any restaurant affordable. I witnessed "hot rolls" for the first time, which are white fish fillets surrounding rice, wrapped in seaweed, and then deep fried. They are then cut into the familiar shape and topped with rich sauces. I stuck with the ones, but was amazed at the different varieties on my plate that I had never experienced before.We played in the old parks, shopped in the new stores, and actually bought the same shirt (different colors!), which indicated to us that we had been spending a wee bit too much time together.

The week ended too quickly, and Roman was back by Tuesday. I brought in cupcakes to welcome his return and give everyone a taste of proper baked goods, which never, ever come in shrink wrap.

I'd like to call this montage...

"Upon finding themselves stuck in the backseat, Katinka and Heather discover via the catalystic qualities of a camera, that they share an equal maturity level"

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I'm in the Land of Lenin!

I sang the words as I frolicked among decaying statues that adorned the park in which Marina, Valentine, and I spent part of our afternoon. Some of the statues which stood tall in the park were rescued after the fall of communism, parts of the park contain sculptures depicting the triumphs of their soldiers or great masters of the arts, and still other sculptures depict the horrors of Stalin's repression. Standing tall and proud behind it all is the enormous statue of Peter the Great...

err, or is it?

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The statue was originally a gift for America- it was Christopher Columbus discovering America (let's skip all the P.C. arguments about who actually discovered what, shall we? It's a paid holiday so I'll take it). Long story short, America took a gander at the Ogre-like creature in a boat nowhere near the ability to support his weight and said "thanks but no thanks." Oh well, in Russia, you don't waste anything. Old bread is eaten until it is literally inpalatable and thereafter made fermented into a popular beverage called Kvass. So they lobbed off ol' Chris's head and replaced it with the Euro-phile's and suddenly it is a statue of Peter the Great watching over Moscow.

Sound too far fetched to be true? This girl would agree, so she did some digging.

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First, look at the base of the statue: Three boats depicted at the bottom.

Second: Peter the Great would not have been gazing approvingly at Moscow. He established the capital at St. Petersburg because he saw it as Russia's "Window to the West" offering it easy access to what he fully believed was the more civilized part of the continent. Any statue this huge is misplaced (and abhorred by most of Moscow's locals)

Third: Even tour guides who have studied history have backed up the story. I got to talk to one firsthand after my boat ride on the Moscow River with coworkers. We got hooked up with a free watery tour because the tourguide, a historian, is a good friend of my coworker, Ilena.

So there just might be some truth to this story...

Anyway, one should not assume that the reminders of this land's Bolshevik uprising are confined to parks. Metro stations continue to boast their original decor. The wall of metro stateion Ploshad Ilichya, greets me with a giant profile of the Lenin man each morning as I swich lines. Stations boast names like "Proletariat Place," "Street of the year 1905," "Marksist Place," and the "Lenin Library." Not to mention Lenin's tomb, which continues to draw interested tourists, and aging pilgrims in droves.Let's not forget the great Moscow State University, the most prestigous institution of higher learning in the country, designed by Stalin himself and still boasting its original symbols

Further Communist fun:

A wet and icky first Saturday in Moscow didn't stop this girl from adventuring out into the city. My good friend, Marina, met me in the metro station and introduced me to her hustband, Valentine. He's half Ukranian, half Russian, and doesn't really fit into either category very well, although he prefers Kiev to Moscow and moved here just to marry dear Marina 9 months ago.

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We went to an expansive park that was formerly an exhibition area for all the Soviet Republics' grand accomplishments. Each Republic was represented by its own individually designed exhibiton hall. The buildings surrounded a sprawling park with fountains, statues, and Soviet rockets and airplanes. There is a sculpture to honor Yuri Gagarin- Marina: Because we were first, you know? Me: Yeah, I know, you guys sent the first dog into space! Poor Laika.

A wonderful fountain displays the different industries...



with Agriculture looking strangely like a certain Ukranian...
Timoshenko's great great grandmother???

Soviet stars and symbols are everywhere. You really can see firsthand the lengths the Party went to in maintaing the fascade they were always prosperous and building pride in its citizens.

We decided not to let the awful weather get us down and instead took advantage of globalization by means of German engineering of the "Wilde Maus"

In an appropriate end of the afternoon's stroll down USSR memory lane, we all enjoyed a late lunch at McDonald's. It's really where to eat when you want to live like a local, as each of the many locations are always teeming with Muscovites, anytime of the day, and almost all are open 24 hours. Plus, it's one of the few places one can afford to eat out on an non-profit organziation salary.

Here they have a cheese sauce you can get for your french fries, and actually you have a choice of classic Micky D's fries or potato wedges. While you have to pay for condiments, I have to say it's worth it for the solid mass that comes in a bbq sauce sized container and tastes like a mix between mayonaise and cheeze whiz. It's about the perfect accompanyment to your fried 'taters and reinforces my belief that Russians won't eat anything without either sour cream or mayo. While most prices are reasonable and/or comparable to the US, the 35 cent ice cream cones still reign strong as my favorite item on the menu!

I ended the evening at home, sampling Russian wine with Nadia and Sergei and then staying up way too late with Nadia talking about boys... some things you never outgrow :)

Pattymelts in Paradise...

My two weeks at home began ideally and never really stopped having a surreal air of pleasantness. Real breakfasts. Italians don't really fancy them. But a fresh omlette full of sauteed onions, ham, and melted cheese accompanied by rye toast let me know that I was back in the land of well... everything. I polished off my own and helped Mom with hers... I'm a good helper like that.

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The first day consisted of little major activity. I had a wonderful run around the town, enjoying the cool air on my skin, breathing it in as it almost intoxicated me with its clean aroma full of honeysuckle, freshly cut grass, I never really realized how amazing the air is in this small town, but after 3 years in D.C. and a year in an ancient (beautiful) city without plant life, the contrast smacked my olfactory senses and made my jaunt all feel all too short. The birds serenaded me and bullfrogs welcomed me back with their guttoral greetings. I never realized how big the cars were or how many pickup trucks and SUV's people own around here, and how few motorcycles and scooters, until that first day. I couldn't help but jump a bit when a loud Harley passed me!

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At beer o'clock, Mom and I headed out to her new backyard swing and I told her more stories about Italy and my adventures. She regaled me with tales of her activities and drama in her circle of friends. I enjoyed a blueberry ale from my favorite place in Maine and then took a nap, awaking to a splendid dinner with real, Idaho russet baked potatoes (completely absent in Europe).

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The next day, I got to see ol' Hanover again and sample some of its best features. After an amazing breakfast at Perkins, a trip to the Hanover Shoe Farm brought coos from Mom and me as we watched newly born horses struggling to stand on their wobbly legs and cautious mothers staying close. One of the horses had been born that morning and was clearly exhausted from the process. It stood only long enough to drink some milk and then tried clumbsily to fold its long, lanky legs under itself -how the heck do I work?- to lay comfortably.

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After this, we went to Snyders to pick up some local snacky goodness, (it's hard to live in a land of amazing fresh snack foods and then try to eat old packaged salty things away from there... it does incentivize healthy eating though...) and then did a very bad thing. We went to the enormous Giant supermarket. (I refer to the PA Giant, not those silly MD/VA ones which just can't compare)

And we said "Yes" to each other to EVERYTHING the two of us wanted. Hungry 5 year olds couldn't have done better than us...

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We returned home just before a big storm hit with a car full of 3 kinds of ice cream, oreos, tastee kakes (holla at ya, PA!), 4 boxes of cereal (but two were very healthy, I swear!) hot dogs, veggie burgers, fresh breads, Pennsylvania apples (still the best I've tasted)- oh the list goes on! Plus, there was a Dunkin Donuts stop on the way home (it's not fair! They lure you with cheap coffee and then expose you to dozens of fresh goodies!). Looking at the counter after we had unloaded the car, we just laughed as we rushed to get the ice cream to safety.

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I took the most exquisite run as the thunder roared and lightning illuminated the darkened sky just as twilight made its appearance. The air added to its bouquet the fresh rain smell and the froggies were excitedly chirping for the inevitable shower. A light spritz and a gentle breeze made the temperature simply perfect for a jog.

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I spent the next day, after having french toast that I actually liked for the first time in my life (Mom is magical- made it with a croissant and cooked it perfectly so it was crusted on the outside and custardy on the inside) catching up with my Aunt, cousin, and 4th grade teacher, Mrs. Hash, who I had not seen since I was in her class. Mom and I planned to swim in Aunt Lydia's pool, one of my favorite places to hang out since I moved to Stewartstown (when I was 5), but the cool day wouldn't allow for anything more than dipping in toes followed by shrieks. It certainly wasn't too cold for double chocolate brownie ice cream in fresh Snyder's pretzel cones though.

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The next day consisted of a run, some light housework, and after 12:000, nothing else. Mom insisted I needed a few "couch days" to rest up before jettisioning off to Russia and I was happy to comply. Dad brought barbeque from Chubby's to ensure we could spend the whole day being lazy nad not have to worry about cooking dinner. I made my way down to the playground to swing a bit, but other than that, my butt, the chaise, and occasionally a adorable black cat were united for the whole day.

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Friday, Dad worked from home while Mom and I ventured out in a rainstorm to get mani-pedi's from her awesome Sicilian hairdresser who made me miss my former home as she spoke to me in Italian and I told stories of my trip. After getting my hair trimmed for the first time in almost two years, I felt lovely despite the grey soggy exterior of the salon. Mom and I emerged two unstoppably gorgeous creatures. The rest of the day was another trip down memory lane as we went to Hoss's, the source of both my high school and college revenue and my desire never to procreate, and then to the movies at the West Manchester Mall. The wing with the theater had its unmistakeable characteristics- hoards of teenage boys in ill-fitting clothing and cliques of girls in equally badly sized clothing, albeit the other direction, endless chatter from the ticket queue accompanied by the bells and chimes of the arcade, and the most unusual combination of smells eminating from pizza, popcorn, and soft pretzels from all the food stands in the vicinity. I think there is no better way to spend a rainy day than in a theater escaping to another world. This time we all went to the Smithsonian and the personified Abe Lincoln made me long to get back to D.C... soon enough!

The weekend whizzed by, full of family I had missed seeing for many months. The pause in the workweek was dedicated to celebrating the Golden wedding anniversary of my amazing grandparents. We began the fun when Dave and Gillian arrived at our home with Turtle and the human family members all packed into one car to meet the rest of Mom's family at Alfred's Victorian, a great 19th centruy mansion which has been impressing the greater Harrisburg area's residents with its culinary creations for many years. Mom's dinner came with a free cookbook, makikng me green with envy when it turned out to be full of stories and recipies from my beloved northern Italy!

*The happy couple*

The next morning, bright and early, we went to Grandma and Grumps' church for the 9:00 am service, during which I probably was condemmed to Hell for laughing the whole time thanks to Rae. the minister began the ceremony for my granparents. They recited traditional vowes and then read their own, brining tears to our eyes. It was amazing to see the love that flows so strongly between them fifty years after they first promised their lives and souls to one another. The small reception in the church basement was catered by the sweet UMC ladies and after our snack, we headed into the great outdoors for eight hundred million family photos. After spending some time at the grandparent's house just visiting and sampling some snickerdoodle wedding cake, we all headed home to spend the remainder of the evening pooped on the couch (with pizza!).

*Heather loves her big brother!*

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On Tuesday of the following week, Mom and I went to Roots and I got to see one of my favorite amish markets in full bloom under the bright sun. So many fruits and vegetables grown right on the farms down the street. And amish women can bake! Their goods are just unbelievable- the cakes, danishes, breads, cookies, etc. are simply fantastic, all made by hand from scratch, and so fresh. The air there smells of freshly baked sweets, in other parts of the market, you get overwhelmed by the aroma of fresh flowers or fruits, and in still other parts, you smell smoked meats. It really is an experience. Also present is lots of handmade woodwork furniture that never ceases to impress me given my inability to mold playdough into anything recognizable.

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We exited with special catnipt toys for Vinnie, who had begun sleeping on my bed again in the same spot he used to when we lived in D.C, stickybuns fresh from the oven, lots of fresh produce, just-squeezed lemonade, and of course some whoopie pies. Plus, I scored two pair of sunglasses and a watch for under twenty bucks.

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The evenings usually concluded with a family dinner. Mom made one of my altime favorite comfort foods- her meatballs- which, although I don't particularly like hamburger all that much, must be made with ambrosia because they always taste sooooo scrumptious. She used hamburger chopped just for her from a cow the folks had purchased. She used the same meat to make pattymelts one night that almost made me faint. Also we had grilled veggies all the time, grilled chicken with homemade bbq sauce, twice baked potatoes, salads, all the wonderful American foods that I can't really say I missed (c'mon, I was living in Italy!) until I tasted them and remembered how much I loved them :)

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The day before my departure to Russia, I finally got to spend some grossly overdue time with my old man. We took a motorcycle ride, fulfilling one of my fundamental wishes for my short visit home, and visited the Nissley Winery, sampling the creations and meeting the doggies. Afterwards, we had ice cream for lunch at the Jigger Shop. What's a Jigger? If you've never had one, well it's hard to describe the dessert that has about twice the sugar of even the most child-friendly treat and tastes every bit as sweet as it really is. From their website:

Jigger - "Our Specialty"Two and a half scoops of vanilla ice cream made with your choice of chocolate or butterscotch topping, whipped marshmallow and our secret touch... Jigger Nuts!

I really don't know what a "jigger nut" is, escept that it sounds kind of dirty and like an insult, but it is neither...

The frozen confection geniuses there freeze the ice cream in the sundae dishes so they are ready to go on the fly, and one can eat it as slowly as is necessary with something so overwhelming and it stays frozen until the last butterscotchy spoonful!

Me: Coffee! I need coffee!

Dad: Me too. Do you want anything in it.

Me: Black!!!!!!

I honestly believer you need a cup of bitter joe to make it through one of those sundaes. But we both conquered ours and then took a nice hike up to the Governor Dick (giggle) tower to take in the scenery. We then climbed the tower, and I got my ego handed to me as Dad beat me to the bottom. Any tower that provides 2 passageways so you can race is alright in my book! We then split some lovely, carb- free red wine (since one of us had used up his carbohydrate allowance for about a week on the aforementioned treat!) and chatted in the forest for a bit before heading home and spending the evening with Mom sharing our days and eating sushi.

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The next day passed in a blur as I quickly packed my bag and got ready to venture out again. Luckily, my bestie made it to the airport and I got to see her gorgeous face and hug my other half before venturing over the Iron Curtain. What adventures awaited me, I didn't know but I knew I would cherish the memories of all the family time and knew I was blessed to never have to question their support, no matter where this crazy life takes me... or I take it.

Mom's Kitchen: Where the only thing "Lite" is the soy sauce!

After the hugs came the first words each and every girl wants to hear upon returning home and seeing their parents after a year abroad, "You got your nose pierced!" Well, maybe not the words I was expecting, but a rational choice on their part.

The flight home was a bit unbearable, not due at all to the nice individual sitting next to me who only had to go to the bathroom once and spent the rest of the time keeping to himself or sleeping... if only all plane neighbors could be so perfect. Rather, it was because any flight over 4 hours by yourself turn from exciting to tedious rather quickly and half of my movies had problems iwth the audio, so I was limited as to the amount of mindless entertainment to which I was privy... I did succeed in losing a few brain cells to "Bride Wars" though so it wasn't a total loss. The customs line went on forever, but at least it was a definite line where one knew who was in front of them and where to go. America, while difficult to enter, is at least organized in its strictness.

My bag arrived, but unfortunately my best friend was late and couldn't make it to greet me. I was nothing short of exhausted since my body thought it was the middle of the night and all day I had eaten one airline meal along with a few tiny italian cookies for "breakfast." I didn't feel hungry but felt the crankiness threatening to come out.

In the parking lot of the airport, I jumped up and down three times and shook my head to rid myself of any lingering negative thoughts and made myself happy. Look around! You're in Virginia! You're about to get into your car and go HOME. You are with the two greatest people you know. You will soon see Vinnie again! It worked. Plus, I knew I wouldn't have to worry about being hungry again for at least two weeks and those pants, which I had to buy in Bologna because I was too skinny for my normal ones, well their days were numbered. I was going home!



A stop at Sheetz on the way home was the perfect way to get a taste of one of my favorite PA originated institutions. A mini pretzel melt, a hash brown, and a cream soda were happily consumed by the girl who can't get enough of her east coast goodies, no matter where she travels. I talked my parents' ears off the whole way home and when I returned, I was impressed with the home improvements they had made. Mom's garden was lush and expanded. The windows in the house were all new and the house's exterior looked made over.

I just couldn't help but giggle as I stood in the familliar kitchen, taking in the Kitchenaid appliances, the huge silver refrigerator, the awful tiled floor, the kitchen table that really is more a place for piling everything than a functional eating place, the operating yet broken dishwasher that was broken when I left, the strawberries picked that morning from the garden, oh it was all beautiful.

And then he was there before me. My Vinnie. Having suffered from a bout of depression at my absence, the poor guy no longer had his luch black coat that used to be his greates glory, at least the back half of him didn't. He was too skinny but none of that mattered. I knew he had spent the last 9 months being spoiled rotten by his "grandparents" and enjoying the nature channels available from the many windows that were always open. I petted the suspicious puddy tat and then he ran off. I knew I would have some groveling to do to get back in his good graces.
The pillows in my room had Reeses Big Cups on them... Mom knows how to make the little touches. We all stayed up too late chatting, and I fell asleep exhausted but smiling. I was home.

Phone Number

The country code here is 7. My mobile number is: 8-915-047-30-76.

If you need to call or send a text message (feel free!), I am 8 hours AHEAD of the east coast, and 2 hours ahead of most of Europe.

The Muscovite returns...

Day number five of the same clothes... and like yesterday and the day before, the airport tells me they will deliver it today.

Meh, I have clean underwear, my passport, and a toothbrush. I would say I'm set.

Back in Russia. It is a strange deja vu that hits me at times. I can honestly say I never thought I'd be back here so soon. Today, I took my old metro line to work and got on at my old station. Nostalga hit me almost as strongly as the aroma of body odor mixed with perfume and baked goods that innundate each metro station.
The people on the metro crowd in and stand so close that they can't smile... the only "personal space" they have is their introvertedness which they protect behind frowns and downward glances. Metro is only half of my voyage. I take a van called a "Marshootka" which is a minivan that operates kind of like a taxi or bus. Many of them run from the metro stations to all destinations- they're numbered but other than that, it just looks like a youth group rally with all the similiar vans (except the passengers are largely silent rather than singing about salvation). You pay the driver and he drives his route, stopping when you tell him. I can take either of two to two metro lines that will both get me to the office. The metro here is enormous but also is the population so the cars are always full during rush hours.

When I return home, I am greeted by a beautiful blonde family. The parents are about my age- Nadia is 27 and Sergei is 32. The 7 year old boy, Pasha, has a buzz cut and a rat tail. He is a bit prococious- intelligent and wants to learn and read things. He also likes showing me photos of the family and telling me who everyone is and showing me his toys. Katya is 5, could be a child beauty queen, and is a fluttery little thing- always jumping around except when she is watching a dvd or has an ice cream. She loves to cuddle and will charm anyone within approximately 4 seconds.

They are a protestant family- not so common nor accepted in the land of Orthodoxy. They personify Christianity to a level by which I am humbled. I eat meals on tiny plates (nothing here is super sized!) with them after they say grace and the children never want to finish their meals. But they must eat everything on their plates and finish their Kompot (homemade juice) or hot cocoa before they may have dessert or leave the table.
Meals are simple but tasty. Yesterday, I had a bit of chicken cooked with shredded onions and carrots in oil and salted. It was served with noodles on the side and there were also tomato slices topped with cheese mixed with garlic. The adults have tea adn dessert together after dinner and the children play a bit before getting tucked into bed. Last night we had fresh strawberries :) Not as good as PA strawberries, but I never complain when strawberries appear before me!

The real treat was breakfast- we had blinchik (like a pancake, more like a crepe) rolled up with strawberry jam and served with sweet icing much like what comes with toaster streudles. We also had yogurt. I love european style yogurt- made with whole milk but about half the sugar of yogurt at home. The family eats very healthy food but doesn't eat "low fat" anything so I think I am in the right place!

This moment, I am sitting at my own dest at the office. Two employees are on a monthlong holiday so I get a great desk by a window. It is a small, cramped but friendly office (much like the one I left in D.C. except sunnier!). I will write more about my work later since this entry is getting a bit lengthy and I think I need to do some actual work to write about! Suffice it to say I really think I will like this internship. The work is so interesting and I love the projects they have given me so far.

I will soon write a post about things I have neglected to update, including my two weeks in America!

Paka!

Goodbye, Bologna

How does one begin to sum it all up? To put it all in perspective, to look at it from the outside and appreciate it as a whole… I simply can’t. I’m part of the whole. I can leave and try to start anew… but I am this past nine months and it is me. I will always be in Bologna and the city, SAIS, the people, the food, the laughter, tears, panics, and hopes will always reside within me.

There are more stories, pictures, experiences and lessons than I could ever cover in these silly postings.

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At the top of the tallest tower in Bologna
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So I try to give snapshots but in actuality I will always fall short. To all who read this, I wish you a period of your life when you forget all the rules, when you throw caution to the wind and see what happens, when you let yourself be absorbed by all Italy and its wonderful people offer. Find your Italy and it will stay with you all your days. I can’t but smile though my heart rips into pieces as I leave. I can’t but say thank you to God, to Italy, to SAIS and to each person who made each day brighter than the last. I had no idea life could be this good or that I could be this happy or that I would ever let myself be this happy but now all I can do is smile and know I have found peace.

I remember the girl who flew here so many months ago. She was lost and terrified of the super intelligent people she’d be among and all her habits that didn't fit into the Italian lifestyle.

She’s dead. I ate her.

Oh, and she’s still lost… but she’ll figure it out.

Il Presidente!

On my dad's birthday, I was on a train with 20 classmates at the crack of dawn in what felt very much like a middle school field trip. Our professors met us on the train platform, having ridden in first class, and led us through the streets of Rome. Twenty minutes later, we approached the Palazzo del Quilinale, passed through security, and entered the palace to be greeted by a garden boasting palm trees and other tropical plants. I was reminded why I love this city. Passing by guards who were never under 6'5" and who wore gold metal helmets with a horn on the top boasting a long black horsehair tail, we wound up a stairway to the private office area of the palace where we were granted a private meeting with the Italian President, Giorgio Napolitano. He is a balancing force in the government, being a very proud communist, to Prime Minister Berlusconi, and has a soft spot for John's Hopkins because our institution sponsored his travel visa to the United States when his communist affiliation barred him normal travel admittance. He spoke for only a few moments, all in Italian (thanks to our Director who told him we all understood!) and then shook our hands.

Hottie

Following the meeting, we got a tour of the beautiful palace, which was built for the pope in the 1500's. It is like many other palaces with walls ordained in silk upholstry, intricate chandieliers, beautiful moulding, and tons of beautiful furniture you can't sit on.

Here is the picture which is today on the homepage of the President's website. He's shaking Donatello's hand... mine is that blonde/foreheady bump in the background!

After this, Melissa and I scooted uptown to try to drop off visa applications at our respective embassys (Thai and Russian), only to find that they all close before noon! Oh well, we enjoyed seeing a new part of Rome and had a lovely lunch before heading back with the group on the 2:30 train.

Back to reality. I loved my little mid-week escape and felt refreshed to work on a paper, sitting on my desk so i could be right by my giant open window, before making strawberry shortcake to take to a potluck dinner that evening... can you tell someone has spring fever?