The Bahama Blunder

It’s been a little while since I’ve told one of those stories.

One of what stories, you may ask?

Oh, you know, the kind where I suffered in a foreign country and you laugh and says “Wow, better you than me!”

Well, good news, I have a new one.

I went to the Bahamas 2 years ago on a very short trip.

My mother and I were actually visiting my grandmother in South Beach, Miami, when we were offered a two day vacation to the Bahamas.

It was all quite impromptu, but the plan was that we'd drive out to the dock in the Everglades, get on this big ship that doubled as a casino and booze cruise for college kids, and head off.

On the way there, I met this really cool little guy named Carlos, but he did not have much to say, considering his snout was taped shut.

We were soon on our way to a tiny, tiny, tiny island called Freeport.

So, we boarded this huge ship and it was quite luxurious. Large casino stands, rowdy young adults, the works, it was fun.

About 45 minutes into the ride, though, everything was quiet. Why?

Well, here’s the thing about the Florida straits. They’re really, really, wavy.

Imagine a ship full of 250 seasick people. Including yours truly, I might add sheepishly.

Seriously, had I not been dying, the whole situation would have seemed pretty funny.

Baby strollers, carts, and other debris were rolling around the ship with no one there to catch them. At one point, I went into the bathroom and there was a guy (in the ladies bathroom) in a half-puking/half delirious state, just laying across the sinks with his face in the last one.

We eventually arrived safely, albeit queasily, and found that the island was deserted.

It was quite nice, we had this tiny house to ourselves, and there was essentially no one on the beaches or at the pool.

But, before I knew it, it was time to return. We were informed by the program director that, due to unforeseen circumstances, we would be taking a different boat back to Florida.

An all-night boat.  

Well, if you recall a certain Peruvian all night bus ride I took, you’d think I had learned my lesson and would be wary of all-night boat rides, too.  

I was, and I had a right to be.

So, why would this trek take all night? Because it was a mail boat.

Literally, a boat designed to ship mail across the bumpy straits between Florida and the Caribbean islands. I repeat, not meant for human cargo.

So, we board this ancient ship and are greeted by rows and rows of cold, plastic benches. AKA our sleeping quarters.

Keep in mind, we had only packed for a one night stay in a tropical place, so we were not exactly equipped with enough clothing to cushion the hard seats and warm ourselves against the overly air conditioned atmosphere.

It was a long, uncomfortable night and, after the lights went out and my ipod died, there was not much to pass the time except dreams of sleep and the tropical air.

But, we made it back to Florida and thawed, thus completing another dysfunctional story.  

Pompei and its Erotica Fatale

This week I’ll be writing about an ancient city that we all studied and were fascinated by at some point in middle school.

Pompei!

For this day trip, my mother and I took a train from Rome and, if you recall one of my blog posts from last semester, it was dreadfully hot.

Anyway, our train traveled very slowly, thus giving us ample time to see the sights. One such “sight” that comes to my mind is Naples.

Now, everyone always thinks that anything Italian is just inherently better. Italy is paradise, and everything there is chic and awesome. Right?

Wrong. Naples more than disproved that.

From our train window, we saw the black sand beaches baking under the oppressive sun and kids swimming amongst garbage piles... This was a major wake up call for me and my fantastical visions of Italy.

With two hours until our train to Pompeii, however, we decided to go into Naples, looking for The Secret Museum.

Now, if you don’t what the Secret Museum is, that’s good... It means the secret is being kept. Ha. ha.

Anyway, the Secret Museum is a collection of erotic art that was found in the ruins of Pompeii itself.  

Considered obscene by various Italian leaders, including Benito Mussolini, the collection was hidden away for almost 100 years.

After being exhibited to the public briefly in the 1960’s, it was closed again and just reopened in the year 2000.

Upon exiting the train station, however, we were faced with a busy street full of very hostile-looking people.

I kid you not, we did not walk 20 yards down said street before we decided it was a better idea to turn around and bide our time in the train station.

We read later that that was a dangerous little excursion, considering that part of Naples is actually the murder capital of Italy.  

I still regret not seeing the museum, though, so I plan on returning with a plan to find it and become privy to its secrets.

Anyway, we arrived in Pompeii unmelted only to realize that it is a huge city and, to see it, one has to walk 6 hours… a day...for two days. And that’s just to walk the perimeter of it. Did I mention it was really hot?

 

 

I was also really surprised to find that Mount Vesuvius...is not there.

Seriously, I thought there would be a huge volcano in the near distance, looming ominously and giving me goosebumps, but this place was flatter than State College.

What was really cool, though, was the museum full of relics from this ancient culture. Although I really liked the fact that it was air conditioned, that was not the only factor that came into play.

On display, without glass casings or any sort of barrier, were the calcified bodies of the villagers killed in the volcanic eruption.

 

 

At first I thought they were replicas of the real thing, but these were the real thing. Pretty creepy, really fascinating.

 

We only ended walking in the sun for an hour before eating gelato and heading back to Rome, but overall one could say it was a pretty interesting day.

Barsa, Barsa, Barcelona

Welcome back to Trappings!

 

So I was looking back on my last posts and I realized I completely left out a chapter in my Summer 2015 series. Spain!

After a month and a half in Europe, my father came to visit us. So he, my mother, and I went to Barcelona for a few days.

 

 

In case you haven't heard, a very famous architect named Antoni Gaudi built very cool buildings in this city, including La Sagrada Familia, a cathedral that has been under construction since 1882.

 

 

Apparently Antoni Gaudi lost his mind trying to finish this project, and he actually died trying, so it's still an unfinished project.

 

 

The inside of the cathedral there are these amazing stained glass windows that cast an array of different colors across the pews.

 

 

At one end of the cathedral is Jesus and at the other stands a dark, unmarked figure. I was really surprised to find this representation of the devil, and I found it very ominous.

 

Unfortunately, my mother was in charge of the camera when we visited and didn’t snag a picture.

 

So, more colors.

 

 

Gaudi had a very modern style, as can be seen in his architecture around the city.

 

 

These are apartment buildings, by the way... Not too shabby, right?

 

After two days in the city, we flew to a tiny coastal town southwest of Barcelona called Sitges.
 

A high school friend of mine, Ariadne, actually lives there, so we got to meet up and take some pretty seductive snapchats. (Don't ask me why she's wearing a scarf, I'm not entirely sure.)

 

Anyway, the beaches there were just gorgeous and it was so hot that the town was very quiet.

Also, don’t touch an octopus… This bad boy jumped up and tried to eat my face. I mean, not really, but I shrieked and it was embarrassing.

 

Anyway, when I started this blog last semester, I proposed that I would be describing trips I want to make in the future as well. Seeing as I kind of lost that idea somewhere along the way, I’ve decided to enliven it again.
 

Like I mentioned, I was only in Barcelona for four days total and, although we walked around the city and sightsaw as much as possible, I still didn’t get a feel for it because we were really only there for two days.
 

That being said, I think I want to go back for the National day of Catalonia. This national holiday commemorates the defeat of the Catalonians in the war of Spanish Succession.
 

Yes, you read that right, they celebrate the fact that they lost. How funny is that?

Photo credit

Anyway, it’s an all-day festival in which political protests and rallies are often held and everyone celebrates their culture and what their ancestors sacrificed for modern catalonian autonomy.

Photo credit

I really like the sense of nationalism Catalonians demonstrate, and it’s interesting that they separate themselves so vehemently from Spanish culture.

Also, does anyone want paella? Because I hear there are communal meals made up of paella cooked in pans 12 feet in diameter…

Photo credit

 

 

A Tribute: Is Paris Burning?

In light of what happened last Friday evening, I will dedicate my final passion blog post of this semester to Paris.

Considering this is the third time, you all are probably tired of reading about my trips to Paris, but I really can not help but reminisce and work out some thoughts about my favorite city.

So, I visited Paris for a few days last February, right after the January attacks on the satirical magazine, Charlie Hebdo.

I was invited by a friend of mine, an exchange student from Antibes who went to my high school, and we stayed for a few days in a small hotel just around the corner from where the Charlie Hebdo attacks happened.
 
"Don't distress. Don't panic. This is what terrorism wants," said my mother when I asked her if she was nervous about letting me go.

Our hotel room was about the size of a postage stamp, and only had one outlet in a far corner. Thus, my friend needed a specific phone charging stature.

This shrine, right outside of our hotel, was one of many around the city built as both a heartfelt memoir and a declaration of strength.

Although more than a few weeks had passed since the violent incident, it was evident that people were still heartbroken because there was always at least one person standing in front of or touching the shrine.

People were sad, but by no means subdued, as could be seen by the murals like this covering walls and buildings everywhere.

These anonymous assertions of strength and outrage seemed louder than any violent revenge because they indicated that, although France was in a time of crisis, the French were still united and refused to be frightened.

I was especially glad to come across stuff on the internet that showed off French strength and anger at the violence.

For example, this song was written and posted the same day as the shootings. If you have the time, watch it, because it's powerful and it’s catchy.

I thought this was extremely inspirational, and I hope that this sentiment is still being fostered after the terrible massacre last weekend.

It seems, however, that the world is using this mass murder as a means by which to talk about other issues at hand because, lately, I’ve been reading more articles criticizing French foreign policy and world wide ignorance about the bombing in Lebanon than about standing strong against terrorism.

Why are people complaining about temporary Facebook profile pictures?

Why are we blaming gun laws in France?

But, hey, at least we stopped talking about Starbucks cups.

I recognize that this is a depressing note to end the semester on, but  I would love to hear anyone's thoughts about the issues surrounding Syria, ISIS, and Governor Wolf's recent decision to offer Pennsylvanian solace to refugees.

 

My thoughts and love go to the people in the world who will not be having a happy holiday season, and I am truly grateful to go home to a whole and happy family this weekend.

#prayforparis

 

Cartagena, Colombia: Statues deserve more respect than this

Have you ever taken a vacation that turned you into an Ivy Leaguer?

For the summer of 2014, I went to Colombia with my parents. This was a nice way to start off my senior year in high school because, every time I’d tell people I visited Colombia, they’d be very impressed and say “I didn’t know you applied to Columbia!”

Anyway, we stayed in a coastal town called Cartagena de Indias and, although it was supposed to be a beach town, the beaches weren’t exactly how you’d expect them to be.
 

Behold a regular swimmer and sun bather.

 

Considering how dangerous wild hogs are, we kept our distance and went to see the colonial ruins and Bolero statues that decorated the city.
 

Here we are in front of a fortress overlooking the ocean, designed to defend and alert the city of any incoming ships.

 

I am in a shoe.

 

 

No words.
 

 

After about 5 days, we ventured on a rickety boat to stay on a very tiny mangrove island called Baru. If you know anything about mangroves, you know that tiny hotels do not grow naturally within them.

Our hotel was essentially a series of cabins scattered and built into the roots of these tough plants, with bridges walking between the structures and a dug out, artificial beach.

The first day was novel, having the island to ourselves. The second day, we took a boat out and went snorkeling in the incredibly colored water.

 

 

The third day, we got bored. Curious as to why the hotel staff wouldn’t let us out onto the street through the back door, we insisted on taking a walk and exploring the island.
 

Eventually, we walked for 45 minutes in the blazing rainforest heat.
 

With hindsight, I realize how reckless this was. Any number of unspeakable things could have happened to us on that walk, or when we arrived to the town only to discover its immense poverty.

But the questionable decisions don’t stop there.

I didn’t mention that there were scads of boys no older than 13, presumably working for a local entrepreneur, zipping around on rusty motorbikes and offering us rides. Tired of walking, but unable to stay in town because it seemed a little dangerous, we took a ride offered by one of these kids.

Naturally, this was terribly frightening.

So, I’m seated behind the boy driving the dirt bike, and my mother is, in turn, behind me. As he starts up the bike, I timidly hold onto his shoulders because, naturally, he’ll drive slowly with three people on an old piece of machinery.

I realized immediately that he’s probably been driving this bumpy, dusty dirt road since he could operate this ancient motorbike, and had full intentions to get us back at the speed of light.

So, I held onto his waist for dear life, and tried not to look at the barbed wire guardrails coming dangerously close to my leg.

And Colombian fish is tasty and photogenic.

 

Part IV: France and the usual antics

Remember my roommate, Amelia, and our spontaneous weekend adventures? Well, we went to Paris for 4 days during July and we had insane fun.

We stayed in this tiny hostel in the 6th arrondissement, which was walking distance from Notre Dame, Les Jardins de Luxembourg, and La Sorbonne, so I made her walk until she gave me the silent treatment.

She forgave me only after a few (bags of) authentic chocolate rochers.

 

Anyway, our hostel was old, with thick wooden doors and old fashioned keys that stuck easily. On our last night, we returned at an absurdly late hour of the night only to find that we couldn’t turn the key. In my greatest feat of strength ever, I actually managed to break it in half.

 

Amelia thought it was hilarious that I had to dig the other part of the key out of the lock and snapchatted the entire thing.

Anyway, when I visited again in August, I was with my mother, who knows about my predisposition for breaking things.

 

We actually stayed in the same area to visit her old college stomping grounds at La Sorbonne.

We walked, we ate heartily, and we got caught in the rain outside Notre Dame.

She actually insisted I bring that poncho to college with me, it's hanging on my door as I write this.

We also visited that bridge that everyone loves to share things on Facebook about. You know, where couples go and write their names on a lock and throw the key into the river and live happily ever after, yada, yada...

Just a single lady in a world made for two.
 

Things got really interesting, though, when we visited a friend of my mother’s in Amboise, about a 4 hour train ride from Paris.

When she told me he lived in a 16th century castle, I had a lot of things in mind. None of them involved a 16th century castle that had not been renovated since the 16th century.

This “castle” was a crumbling building built into the side of a cliff, overlooking the rest of town.

Oh yeah, The cliff? Not a cliff. The house was actually built into caves that dated as far back to prehistoric times.

Apparently Leonardo Da Vinci lived and grew old in this house, but this was honestly the creepiest place ever, chalked full of dusty medieval relics.

Note how the ceiling bows down, as if it's about to fall...

 

The basement, which was too dark to take quality photos, had these statues built into the walls carrying out orgies and murder scenes, there were spiders everywhere, and the plumbing was haphazard to say the least.

In order to flush the toilet, we had to pull these ropes that attached to the toilet basin...which was hanging on the wall overhead. I’m not sure which was more likely to tumble down, the toilet or the house.

I also swore to my mother that I would remain awake all night before touching the nasty, crumbling wall that was so full of bugs and so near my face.

She set out to catch me at a moment of weakness, in the throes of sleep, a bit too close for comfort.

Part III: Italy Brings the Heat

Where were we? Ah yes, my mother and I were leaving Switzerland and its controversial blog content behind. Where to next? Florence and Rome.

Since I had never been to Italy, I was excited when my mother told me she had to read at a Literature Conference in Florence. Overall, this city was beautiful, cultural, and...hot.

In fact, when we arrived, we decided to walk from the train station to our hostel and stopped in just about every open shop along the way for the sweet feel of air conditioning.

During our short stay there, we had to wake up around 8:00 in the morning to visit museums and walk around because the sun and the heat were absolutely intolerable from 11:00 in the morning to 3:00 in the afternoon.

We did, however, visit as many museums as we possibly could in the two days we had.

As you can see, I am extremely mature when it comes to fine art, and wouldn’t dare take a photo with a man’s bum if presented the chance.

 

Lets blame my stupidity on the heat, shall we?

 

Anyway, Florence was everything I expected and more. My one regret, however, is that I did not see the tall, stone cold, goat-eyed, demigod I’ve been reading about since my second grade art history unit.

Michelangelo’s David.

It was really irresponsible too, because we actually visited the Florence Academy of Fine Arts, but we were really drained from walking so much and decided to go eat margherita pizza.

The pizza was unbelievable, though, so I’ll regard this little fop as another reason to return to Florence.

On our third day, we took a very, very long day trip to Tuscany. After four towns and a wine and pasta tasting for lunch, it was a sweaty and delectable experience.

By the end of that infernal day, though, I was ready to sit in the dark for the rest of my life.

We also visited Pisa, at which point I took this intelligent picture of my mother.

 

Yes, she’s trying to hold up the leaning tower from the wrong side.  

The day after this adventure, we took a train to Rome which was, at first, an intimidating city. We warmed right up to it, so to speak, because it was hotter than Florence.

This didn’t stop us from waiting in line for three hours under the blazing sun to get into Saint Peter’s Basilica.

I think this was about an hour and a half in, so don’t judge me for looking kind of weird. That was the last of our water.

 

 

We eventually made it, though, and walked the 400 steps up the dome. We earned our celebratory selfie.

 

To wrap things up, we visited the Sistine Chapel the next day, which turned out to be surprisingly small. The pictures on the internet and in textbooks make it seem so huge, but it’s really a tiny room with a tall ceiling.

 

It is also forbidden to take pictures inside the chapel itself, but my mother fancies herself a rebel.

 

 

David attributed to:

http://images.dailytech.com/nimage/David_Head_Staring_at_Rome_Wide.jpg