best Christmas Ever

I was fairly certain my week in Washington would contain a proposal, and I knew I would be staying in a giant Italian villa, so I was excited. But I had no idea just how awesome it would be.
As soon as I had walked in the door, Christian's nieces and nephew came to meet and greet me, including hugs. It was just the first taste of how welcoming his family would be. In fact, they started to feel just like family to me in only a couple of days, even before Christian asked me (officially) to be a part of it. Then they eagerly led me on a whirlwind tour of the house, though it still took me a while to learn how to get to my bedroom. Christian's sister offered to tape little fishies on the wall leading to my room so that I wouldn't get lost. It was such a beautiful house.


And who wouldn't want to stay in a house with someone like this cooking for you?


But, like I said, what I was most excited for was the proposal. Christian had mentioned that there was a beautiful park where he wanted to take me for a walk. So when we were walking in this incredible, snowy, enchanted park, I thought it just might be time.


I wasn't too worried when it didn't happen. I just figured that all his hints about my shiny little Christmas present meant that he would pop the question on Christmas day, and decided to be patient just a few more days.

On Christmas Eve, I was in the middle of crochet/knitting lessons with his oldest nieces when Christian asked me if I wanted to go for a ride. I almost said no because I was in the middle of something, but decided to go. His Dad loaded us into the bucket of his tractor and carried us across the field to an incline with a gap in the trees that was perfectly positioned to watch the sunset.


As we sat there watching the beautiful sunset and listening to Christmas music, my suspicions were once again aroused. At one point Christian pulled his phone out of his pocket and I was sure it was going to be a ring instead. But then Bruce started to back up the tractor and we headed back toward the house. "It's OK, I told myself. Tomorrow." But we didn't head toward the house. We headed instead toward a grove of trees on the edge of their property, and Bruce dropped us off for a walk. I thought maybe he just thought we'd enjoy it or maybe he had business to do with his tractor and needed us out. Then, as we turned a corner on the path, this is what I saw.


Candles and hot chocolate and fancy German Christmas cookies. I asked Christian what were in the cookies, to which he slyly answered that it was a "secret recipe". Turned out the secret recipe contained traces of tree nuts, to which I am allergic. For a moment, I think Christian thought he had poisoned me and thereby botched the whole thing. But it was only a trace so I was OK, and Christian literally threw my cookie away, just to be safe.

See that red box with the green ribbon? This is what was inside.


When we went inside, his sister asked if I would be her sister as she hugged me. I said yes, but really I felt like I already was. We then feasted on a fancy prime rib dinner and enjoyed a wonderful pageant put on by the little ones.



Christmas morning was equally delightful, with more presents than I had ever seen under one tree, gleeful children, and being showered with unexpected gifts from my new family.


In short, it was a Christmas filled with everything that makes Christmas wonderful to me. Family (especially children), delicious food and goodies, remembering the Savior, and presents. I got the best Christmas gift of all this year, and it was definitely the best Christmas ever.

P.S. Our date is April 7th, in the Manti, UT temple!

beauty

There is a saying that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I think I had to hear that saying a few (billion) times to really understand what it means, that everyone has a different standard or definition of beauty, a different idea of what qualifies as beautiful. The world is busy contradicting this bit of tried wisdom by convincing you that there is only one beauty ideal and that every woman should strive and sweat and starve and spend in order to approach this ideal. Unfortunately, the ideal presented in the media is not only unrealistic (plastic surgery, make-up artists, air brushing), it's unhealthy. Those "beautiful" models you see in the media, the ones who are 6'2" and 120 lbs.-- are underweight.

Generally, health and beauty go hand in hand. Shiny hair, soft skin, and white teeth, for example. It's natural selection. So why have we let the media separate them? And what sense does it make to put beauty before health in our list of priorities? I fully support America's getting in shape. I support exercise and healthy eating habits. I support losing weight when needed. But I DO NOT support the media inflicting body image issues and self-hatred on women and girls by lying to them about what the perfect body looks like.

Now, I want to be beautiful as much as the next girl, but, according to this adage, I cannot be beautiful to everyone. So who do I want to be beautiful for? Do I want to be beautiful to all the shameless gawkers at the gym? Do I want to be beautiful to the men that spend their time drooling over Victoria Secret catalogs? Do I want to be beautiful to someone who buys into the media's lies and thinks that all women should look the same? No, of course not.

I once heard a DJ commenting on how one new movie made so much more than another new movie. "Of course more people wanted to see [movie A]. Why would you want to see a cute brunette in [movie B] when you can see a hot blonde in [movie A]?" Personally, I am proud of not being beautiful to him.

First and foremost, I want to be beautiful to me. I want to look in the mirror and feel good about the way I look. I want to feel good about my strong, healthy body and everything I can accomplish with it. Secondly, I want to be beautiful to people who see more in me that a pretty face. If someone thinks you are not good for anything but to be looked at, to be seen and not heard, to be an object--why in heaven's name should you care what they think about the way you look?

Take back your health. Take back your positive body image. Take back your confidence. Take back everything that you can do and be that has nothing to do with your dress size. Take back everything that the media's lies have stolen. And help the women in your life do the same. For help doing this, check out my new favorite website, http://www.beautyredefined.net/

a blanket apology

As I have already boasted many times, I have the best job in the world. However, I have recently become aware of an occupational hazard that, I'm afraid, is affecting the people around me. For that, I would like to apologize.

In order to effectively communicate with my Spanish 106 students, I find it necessary to adapt my speech in several ways. For example, I have to talk a little bit slower than natural, I incorporate charades at every opportunity, and I frequently repeat myself. Last week I was talking to a co-worker who speaks Spanish better than I do and I used the word correr, which means to run. I felt more than a little bit silly when I realized that I was unnecessarily running in place in the middle of the hall. On a later occasion, I found myself speaking rather slow Spanish to my supervisor who, once again, speaks better Spanish than I do.

So, if on any occasion you have felt that I was insulting your intelligence by talking down to you, by insinuating that you needed help to understand the simplest of words, I'm terribly sorry. Force of habit. If you would be so kind as to point it out to me, I would be more than happy to put my hands in my pockets and speak more quickly and with more intellectual words.

Now I'm scared to see what happens to my communication skills if/when I become a stay-at-home mother of small children...

things I don't understand: part 1

I consider myself to be a relatively smart person, and people frequently tell me that I'm right about that. In spite of my....shall we say thoroughly adequate intellect, there are many things in this world that I don't understand.
For example, the current Cinnamon Toast Crunch commercial. It has no human actors, it just portrays two cartoonized cereal pieces. The first one licks the other and is then eaten entirely by the other. So, what? The cereal is so delicious that it eats itself? Moreover, the commercial announcer starts off by saying, "Hey, ladies!" Like men don't watch TV or like Cinnamon Toast Crunch? Or maybe because cannibalistic cereal somehow appeals more to women? I'm skeptical.
Or the billboard by Carl"s Jr. "Alcohol does to a teen's brain what weather does to billboards." But you are an adult and your brain is therefore invincible (not to mention your liver) so feel free to become inebriated whenever you like. If a substance can destroy your brain at any stage in your mortal development, wouldn't you rather just avoid it altogether?
Or the facebook poke. I mean, consider the possible messages a poke could convey. it could be one step more annoying than "I'm not touching you!" It could be an effective self defense maneuver of poking someone in the eye. It could be the infuriating "iron finger" my dad thrusts into my ribs when things get too quiet and he really wants a purple nurple. A poke could be something that one does to ascertain whether or not someone is dead. So when you facebook poke me, are you virtually checking my pulse?
Or those people who don't hold hands, they just interlock pinkies. Really? At EFY when hand holding was scandalous but your undying love required some form of PDA, maybe the interlocking pinkies made sense. You are a university student now.
Or how they decided to tear up all of Provo for construction right when school started and Provo's population skyrocketed.
Or BYU girls who still think leggings are pants.
I don't know. Maybe I'm not as smart as I thought.

stories to tell

A new group of friends that I've acquired has inspired me to acquire a new skill: storytelling. They all have such great stories to tell and do it with flare.
I have had an awesome life, and I feel like I have great stories to share. There was that summer that I was repeatedly asked out by a schizophrenic, once by a married man, and proposed to by a monolingual Mongolian. There was the time I was mistaken for a Slovenian prostitute or the time I accidentally stumbled upon a nude beach with no turning back. There was the time I committed a felony on the way to the temple and was kissed on the cheek by an apostle once I got there. There was the guy in his briefs trying to help get something out of my eye, or the time I choked on the sacrament water (not even the bread, the water), or the time I walked into a drug bust in Brazil or an illegal gun sale in Latvia, or the time I had a gun cocked and pointed at my face, or the time I was threatened with a knife and didn't notice, or the time I was briefly tortured on a carnival ride for the sick pleasure of those watching, or the time an Italian bribed me to do "the nasty" with him on his gondola, or the time I almost ran into a moose on a four wheeler, or that time I was sure the garbage men were going to kidnap me when I was lost at night in down town Sao Paulo, or the time I thought I was going to get arrested in Croatia, or the time I laughed at the movie Charly and was afraid of being attacked with torches and pitchforks, or the time I chased a fainting goat around with my umbrella, or the time I ate a guinea pig (in Provo), or the time I made snow angels on the roof in my wet swim suit in the middle of the night.
Holy cow, I love my life, such great memories. Now I just need to practice the flare. And the sound effects...

just for the record

Dear Provo-ites that crossed my path tonight,
I am sorry about tonight and feel the need to explain myself. I don't like you thinking ill of me, especially when that is based on a false assumption.
True, it is partially my fault. I should have known better. My body never reacts well to running out of doors, but I had so much energy and the stupid gym closes at 9:00 on Saturdays. True, I probably shouldn't have been pushing myself when I was already under the weather. True, I should have seen the signs; I could have prevented this whole thing. I was blind and foolish.
Two miles into it, I was rejoicing at how great I felt, especially at the lack of knee pain, even though I was running on concrete, which is never a good idea for me. I maybe shouldn't have gotten cocky, but it surely didn't last long.
So, as I stumbled the last mile home, zig-zagging slightly from the dizziness and clutching my head in pain, just barely peeking through the cracks between fingers and moaning slightly, it was from a migraine, not because I was drunk. Just for the record.

best. job. ever.

Having slept in dirty hostels or on the floor for the past several months, I have adapted and now find it rather difficult to sleep in real beds. They're just too comfortable, and somehow I can't waste such luxury on unconsciousness so I toss and turn all night. Fortunately the couch in my new apartment gets me to sleep; in fact it might do too good of a job since it renders homework rather difficult. For several nights in a row, I haven't even tried the bed, which has become nothing more than a storage area.
But before I discovered this about my new couch, I had a rough couple of days of exhaustion. Add to that the postnasal drip inherited from my roommate, a couple of headaches from my heavy hair that I was too lazy to straighten, and a literature class worse than death, and I wasn't exactly excited about life. 
Luckily for me, I have the best job in the world, a job that cures headaches better than Tylenol, cheers me up more than ice cream, and gets me more excited about life than really attractive young men. OK, maybe that last part was  little bit of an exaggeration, but I sure do love my job. Invariably, I leave having completely forgotten all my woes.
I love my job so much that I petitioned to make it my calling as well. The gospel teaching chair readily gave me the calling of Sunday School teacher when I asked, saying I was an answer to prayer since he didn't know who to call and was on a deadline. But I was prepared to beg and bribe. And it would have been worth it. I can't wait to teach tomorrow!

my pilgrimage

Every year as summer progresses a little voice starts to haunt my consciousness. "Ashlee," it seems to whisper, "come and hike me." Timpanogos looms over me day and night, I can never hide from it, I can never escape its call. It almost feels like I have to go pay homage to the nature I was taught to love as a child but find little time for as an adult. I well remember being trapped in the MTC, in the shadow of my mountain, during prime hiking season. I apologized to the mountain every time I saw it. Still, not understanding my situation, the mountain continued to call me. On Friday night I finally answered that call for this year.
Most people like to do a sunrise hike. I am not most people. Call me crazy, but I much prefer to be asleep between the hours of 2 and 6 am. So we went with the obviously superior alternative, a sunset hike. It was magnificent. We had the mountain essentially all to ourselves, and the sunset was a peculiar blood-red color that I have never seen before. Then, while it was still fairly light, the lights in the valley started to come on, and it looked to be like someone had sprinkled gold glitter over the valley floor. I highly recommend the sunset option.
In all my past experience with Timp, the hike down the mountain always seems to diminish the sense of accomplishment that I feel upon reaching the summit. Coming down goes so much faster that I have trouble believing how strenuous the path up seemed to be at the time. Not so with the sunset hike. Our journey back to Minerva (my minivan) was in the dark, making the dicey parts all the more dangerous and the snowy parts seem all the more slippery. Even the smallest rock cast a long and treacherous looking shadow in the harsh light of our flashlights, and every shadow from every bush and boulder looked fit to hide the most dangerous creatures of the night. In the darkness, when we lost the trail, it was more difficult to find again. And, in the darkness, it was difficult to measure our progress, so the path seemed to continue on endlessly. Yes, the hike down proved our accomplishment to be great indeed.
A giant thanks to Andrea and Sarah for accompanying me and allowing me to answer the nagging of the mountain and for helping me accomplish my goal of watching the sunset from one of my favorite places on earth. Although I was, surprisingly, not very sore the next day, I think that my next pilgrimage will wait until next year when again the mountain calls to me.

the way to a man's heart

Today at institute we were talking about how men can respect and support women in a courtship setting. One girl mentioned the quote by a former president of the Church that a kiss should be innocent, like one between a mother and son or father and daughter. Far be it from me to disagree with a prophet of God but...I disagree, at least with the wording. So I decided to share with the blogging world my theory.
Many have said that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. False. If you aim for the stomach, you have looked beyond the mark. The way to a man's stomach is most definitely through his mouth. The confusion is understandable, since the taste buds do play a role. It is a truth universally accepted that men love food, especially good food and especially free food. Who doesn't? But it is only half of the picture.
A kiss communicates a lot. The very fact that you are kissing might mean different things to different people. To me, it communicates exclusiveness. But the type of kiss also communicates things. I agree that our covenants dictate that our kisses should not communicate lust, I do believe that they should convey attraction. I surely don't want my men kissing me the same way as they would their mother, in a way that communicates, "thanks for giving birth to me and changing my diapers." I want to be kissed in a way that communicates "you are so beautiful and fun to be around and I admire you so much that I'm not interested in other girls right now and I'd really like to spend a fair amount of time with you to get to know you better because I think this relationship might have long-term potential," which is too much information to pack into a quick, tight-lipped peck.
Baked goods are important and helpful. But you also need to kiss in a way that says, "I like kissing." Trust me, that is the way to to a man's heart.

an entertaining disaster

I should have known that this road trip was doomed from the beginning. It was originally supposed to be a family trip, but most people bailed, leaving me and my sister Cassity. I was disappointed, but felt pressure to make the most of it, since the hotels, gas, and tickets were paid for, since my Mom had planned the trip (I'm pretty sure) to help me with my post-Europe blues, since Cassity had already scheduled her days off, and since any break from my currently-boring life is much appreciated.
So Monday morning we hit the road, me full of faith that Cassity knew where we were going and Cassity sure that I would tell her where to get off the freeway. So, we took the long way to our hotel in Bluffdale, Utah, and got a speeding ticket on the way, and very nearly ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere. Needless to say, we were relieved to finally arrive at the Recapture Lodge. The hostess asked us upon checking us into our room what we were going to do there, and we cheerfully and excitedly told her that we were planning on hiking the narrows. "What narrows?" she asked, looking quite confused. My mom had somehow, quite on accident, booked us a hotel hours away from what we where we thought we were going. To make ourselves feel better about the rough start of our trip, we watched a lightning storm from the pool. (Don't worry, we got out before it got close.)
Tuesday morning, we cheerfully and determinedly decided to make the most of our situation, changed our plans, and headed for Natural Bridges. Cassity thought she had a big water bottle in the car, but when we parked for the hike, she couldn't find it. My handy Camelbak holds enough water for me to make it to the top of Timp and back, so I told her I had plenty to share. Turns out, I didn't. Shortly after running out of water, we lost the trail and couldn't see any cairns anywhere, and hadn't seen another living soul in hours. We did eventually successfully drag ourselves back to the car, and when we got to the visitor's center, we both made ourselves sick drinking gulping down all the water our stomachs could hold.
I asked the ranger at Natural Bridges if we had time to make it to Mesa Verde. "Oh, sure," she said, "just take the highway into Cortez and follow the signs. There will be signs everywhere". Sounds easy enough. In Cortez we stopped for a burger and asked for directions, just to clarify. The burger lady didn't have a clue. So we continued on that same highway through Cortez. Just before reaching 4 Corners, we knew something was wrong and asked a construction worker who told us we were going in the wrong direction, that upon entering Cortez we were supposed to take a sharp left. There had not been any signs. By the time we made it to Mesa Verde, paid our $15 entrance fee, and made it to the visitor's center, we were too late for the cliff palace tour and, again, out of gas. The rangers said they could not help us until our car stalled on the road, then they could give us a gallon or two to make it to a gas station. The problem is, there is no side of the road. There is the road and then a couple thousand foot fall to certain death. So we crossed our fingers and made a run to the gas station. We went to THREE different gas stations and NONE of them worked, even though we saw someone get gas right before us at the first one. They kept telling me to "Please See Cashier". But there was no cashier. I count it no small miracle that Cassity's little Lancer made it to gas station number 4 after having driven 50 miles with the gas light on. By this time Mesa Verde was closed and we had seen nothing. We had driven all day and through two different states and paid $15 for absolutely nothing. With some gas station comfort food, we headed back to our hotel. The pool was again the best part of the day as bats swooped around me, inches from my head. I thought it was super cool; Cassity hid in the hot tub while I laughed at her. She didn't understand how I wasn't scared of the bats. But on our way out a beetle attacked me and I screamed like a little girl while she laughed at me, so we are even.
Wednesday it was off to Vegas, where our troubles were finally behind us. We made it to Vegas without incident and had time for a good nap and a great dinner before seeing Lion King: the Musical. I was skeptical, even though everyone I know who has seen it says they like it. I enjoyed the creative and elaborate costumes, and loved Rafiki. Some of the music was great, other parts I thought so-so. Overall, I enjoyed it, but it will never be my favorite musical because the plot is so.....Disney. I much prefer Les Mis with its deeper, more complex themes and thicker plot.
The only plans we had for Thursday were to drive home, but we delayed that in favor of the Shark Reef aquarium, roaming the strip, getting henna tattoos, and lounging about the Cesar's Palace pool. They didn't ask us if we were actual guests of that hotel, and we didn't bother to tell them that we weren't. We just grabbed towels from the pool boy and walked in like we owned the joint.
It was so nice to have Vegas at least be stress free. And, even through the stressful and disappointing times I had fun. I was glad to be with Cassity for those parts, because we just laughed them off and had fun anyway. And I was glad to have some bonding time with my crazy hysterical sister. A lot about his vacation was a disaster, but at least with her it was an entertaining disaster.

the right questions

I watched the movie Just Like Heaven the other day (don't judge me). In that movie, Jon Heder's character tells Mark Ruffalo's (oh baby, oh baby) character that he couldn't solve his problems because he wasn't asking the right questions. Shortly after watching it, I learned personally how true that is.
I haven't really been myself since I got home from Europe. I don't think many would judge me for thinking that leaving that absolute freedom, the adventure, the fulfilling of lifelong dreams on a daily basis, the exquisite beauty, for familiar old Utah Valley was kind of a downer. Especially when they know that returning also meant sleeping on the floor all alone in an unfurnished house, spending every day in the library, and re-realizing that some of my favorite people have gone away. Add to these things some other miscellaneous...misfortunes... that welcomed me home, and I was more than a little depressed.
I missed me. I missed having people ask me how I was doing and being able to answer, in all honesty and as was my habit, "Super!" I missed the me that got excited about the littlest thing, the me that only needed to see the sunshine shining through the leaves with blue sky as a backdrop or one good laugh to call it a great day. I do believe that our emotions are a choice we make, but no matter how many times I decided to be happy about life, the decision just wouldn't stick.
Then one night I prayed. Well, I mean, I pray every night, but this particular prayer happened a few nights ago. I said something to this extent. "Heavenly Father, I know we're supposed to pray in the name of Christ, but I just don't know how right now." As per the Bible Dictionary, praying in the name of Christ means praying for what He wants us to pray for. And on that point, as on many points in my life, I was stumped.
And then it came to me. The right question. And as soon as I learned to ask the right questions, Heavenly Father gave me the right answer. I woke up the next morning, overjoyed to be me again. I was so excited about life in general, and not just the Harry Potter midnight premier, as exciting as that was. (BTW, HP 7:2 was amazing!). I love Heavenly Father so much, He is so good to me!
So go a head, I dare you. Ask me how I'm doing. Well, I'll tell you
SUPER!!

accountability

One thing that they try to drill into your head as a missionary is the principle of accountability, especially in the sense that you report on your goals to your leaders and to Heavenly Father. I currently live alone, if you don't count the large population of spiders that also dwell there. I'm pretty sure they're HOBO spiders too. But they're not very good listeners Probably because I kill them on sight, so I guess it's not their fault. But I digress. Anyway, that leaves very few people to report to, so consider this my report.
Academically- I have been in the library studying for hours each day, six out of the past seven days. As far as my specialty exam status goes, I have successfully upgraded from "Oh my gosh I'm going to die, I'll never learn all this stuff!" to "OK, I'm on track, and I can do this, even though I'd really rather not". I am proud of this improvement.
Physically- One of my 101 goals was to go to the gym six days a week for a month. Today marks one week down, three to go. It also marks the realization of what awful planning I have, since next week I'm going on vacation with the fam and will be unable to attend the gym and will have to start all over. Oh, well, good thing I enjoy the gym.
Nutritionally- today I had Greek yogurt for breakfast. I realize that sounds more healthy than it actually is, but I discovered this new kind (Greek God Honey flavor) that is like heroine in yogurt form. I'm not making that comparison from experience, merely to prove a point. I think I'll go home now and have some more. Then I ate an apple and some fresh snow peas for lunch. Then I had an XXL Grilled Stuffed Burrito for dinner. So, there's still some room for improvement I suppose. I'll do better tomorrow....maybe.

a "brief" encounter

The other day I was just about to leave the restroom, when I was suddenly incapacitated by some horrifically painful foreign object that found its way into my eye. No amount of rinsing or searching seemed to help. I soon became a pitiable sight, with one red eye with water and tears turned black with my mascara smeared all over my face. It was awful. Many a girl looked at me sympathetically before going about her merry life.
As it turns out, the restroom in this hostel is co-ed, something I have never had to deal with before. One young man had apparently become quite comfortable with the idea, and entered the bathroom in only his briefs. As he washed his hands next to me, he again gave me a look of sincere sympathy, but unlike all the fully clothed people that pitied me in the bathroom that day, he insisted on helping me. Part of me wanted to run away, part of me wanted to be scandalized by the company I was keeping. Part of me wanted to hold on to Provo me, rejecting the idea the Europe has desensitized me. But I was in no position to deny help. The searing pain in my left eye threatened to undo all the good that LASIK has done for me, so I consented. Besides, I was half blind at the moment anyway.
When we saw eachother in the restroom this morning he was again in his briefs, and greeted me warmly.
Oh, hostel life.

you win some, you lose some

Yesterday was funny. Upon arriving in Lisbon, I reverted to my pre-Spain self, the self that wants to run around like a chicken with its head cut off, frantically seeing all that a city has to offer in the seemingly short amount of time that I have. I was told that Sintra, a 45 minute train ride away was a "must". And, you can see why people might say that.


So we willingly paid the €4 for the train ride there and back. Upon arriving in Sintra, we felt compelled to pay the €5 for the train ride to and from the castle, and upon arriving at the castle, we had no choice but to pay €12 to get in to see it. Wow. That was the fastest I'd spent €20 my whole trip, and had I known, I wouldn't have even bothered. Then they wanted €2 for a trolly up the mountain to the castle, but we begrudgingly huffed and puffed our own way up instead.
The Quita da Regaleira, a fancy house with really cool gardens and even some secret doors and spooky tunnels was "only" €4.





It was a neat day, but not worth all the money they milked from me, and I couldn't help but feel a little sheepish for being so easily suckered out of so much money.
Later, though, we went with Ben to an institute activity. I was just beginning to pride myself on how well I was understanding Portuguese, even with this weird continental accent, when the sweet senior missionary sister started her lesson. I caught about one word in three using all of my powers of concentration. But then the youth (including some Brazilians! <3) started to share their testimonies about the temple. I had to force myself to look concerned durring the sad parts of their stories, because the rest of the time I had a big silly grin on my face. It felt so good to have organized religion in my life, to hear others' testimonies, to talk about the temple, and to hear Brazilian Portuguese.
Today, Ben took us out to Belem, where I did amazing things like see the tomb of my favorite poet, the uber famous Camões and eat the uber famous pasteis de Belem. And, today being a holiday, they let us into everything for free! Then he took us to some other pleasant and beautiful places he has discovered around Lisbon. In comparing the past two days, I thought to myself, "you win some, you lose some" but I quickly realized that I win lots more than I lose. Thanks again, Ben!





I love it here in Lisbon. Of all my travels, I think I could live in Granada or Ljublana, or Lisbon.

my backyard

Thus far, I have justified my diet of pizza, kebabs, yogurt, fresh fruit, gelato, and chocolate by the amount of walking that I have been doing. In Spain and now in Portugal my amount of walking has decreased by almost half, while my kebab and gelato consumption continue unchanged. I have started to feel a slight twinge of guilt—not enough to change anything, of course—but then I remind myself that in a week I will go back to my spinach smoothies and gym membership, so that makes me feel better. Until then…
The past few hostels have been so great—decently priced, clean, free laundry and breakfast, and great locations. This was our backyard in Sevilla:


On our last night there Ariel and I sat on the balcony and admired the view as the sun set and these buildings became lit up for the night. I love my life.
On Monday Ariel and I met up with Ben in Lagos on the southern coast of Portugal. We went swimming here, again, practically in our backyard:


Apparently, we weren’t supposed to swim through all those caves and arches, something about waves and rocks and danger—I didn’t really get it. Ben told me afterwards that there were lots of signs saying so, but I’m going to claim ignorance and in this case, ignorance was bliss. While we were swimming there, Ben kept saying, “This is so awesome!” And, although he had teased me somewhat for my method of choosing where I wanted to go (Google image search), he admitted that in this case, it worked well. I’ve been to amazing places and done amazing things for seven weeks, and still, I couldn’t believe I was actually there.
Now we are in Lisbon, and after a kebab (of course) we bought some pasteis de nata to eat here, again, practically in our backyard:


It has been super nice having Ben around. I don’t have to think about where we are going, I can just follow him and his “male sense of direction.” Although that has proved to be less than infallible, it lead to some fun adventures scrambling through the brush along the cliffs. And I love having three of us. I sometimes just like to be quiet and by myself, which is why traveling by myself has been so awesome. So, I can just let Ben and Ariel entertain themselves when I don’t feel like talking, and join in the group and conversation when I do. It’s perfect.
Ben asked me today how I feel about going home in a week and I told him the truth, “I have no idea.” I have a pretty awesome life all around and lots to miss and look forward to in the U.S. (I even look forward to a good spinach smoothie), but once I’m home I’m really going to miss feeling like the world is my backyard.
Quote of the day:
Ben: You know in the movies how they say “she’s not like other girls”? That’s you.
Thanks, Ben.

Truth

I missed church again today, and I mean "missed" in both senses of that word.
It surely wasn´t for lack of trying, either. Ariel and I woke up in time for 10:30 church, but couldn´t find it. We spent the whole morning in the heat (it was 101 today) trying to find it and asking many people for directions; each had something different to say, except that several agreed that they had no idea where that street was. And by 12:30, we gave up on finding it in time for the 11:50 meeting either. I was heartbroken. We had to settle for a religious discussion with some J-Dubs (which I excitedly flagged down, hoping they were church members and could point us in the right direction) and watching the Joseph Smith: Prophet of the Restoration movie on Ariel´s laptop.
I´m a little upset with Heavenly Father. Every week I look up the address to the church, research how to get there, ask people how to get there, try to leave with plenty of time, pray for His help in finding it, and every week something else comes up to keep me away. Ariel suggested that maybe the reason He doesn´t just help me get there is to help me appreciate what I have more. Maybe it´s working or maybe I´m just reacting to my conversation with the J-Dubs, but today I really felt my loss at missing church and felt such gratitude for for what I know. I even wanted to set up a profile on mormon.org, to present more eloquently the things I wanted to say to the J-Dubs today, but struggled because they aren´t the best listeners and because my church talk comes out in Russian. But I don´t have my membership number, so I´ll have to settle for blogging. Here´s what I know:
I know there is such a thing as truth. You can choose to look at in anyway you want; you can twist it to fit your opinions and call it "your" truth, but you are lying to yourself. You don´t get to pick what is real and what is not. I can choose to believe that junk food is good for me and eat it all the time, but I cannot change the truth that it is bad for me and the consequence is weight gain and decrease in health. I can choose to believe that the night will never come, but it is better to know the truth and be prepared than to learn it too late and be stuck in the dark.
I know that only God knows, really knows, what truth is. Not Google, not Wikipedia, and not even Dr. Turley. Shocking, I know. I am headstrong and a huge advocate of agency, so I will not accept anyone´s idea of "truth" except His. The only way to really know truth is to ask God. No one else can study or reason it out, no matter how logical their arguments are. Truth is worth seeking, but only comes from God, only by revelation through the Holy Ghost.
Having sought and recieved truth directly from the source, I know that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God; that God spoke to him and taught him Truth, including the truth that through the Atonement of Christ all people can have their mistakes completely erased and forgotten and recieve infinite and unspeakable happiness, but only on conditions of repentence.
I know that the Book of Mormon is true: it really was written by ancient prophets, it really does testify of Christ and it really has done more for me in bringing me closer to Christ than anything else in the world. For that reason it is the most important thing to me in the world.
I know that commandments were designed for the sole purpose of making us happy, of protecting us from ourselves and our underdeveloped desires. It´s just like a parent making rules for children who don´t really know what´s good for them. Commandments=recipe for happiness. End of story. For any of you that remember my religious musings, I found something that I obey not because I want to, but because I believe that Christ wants me to. Modesty. I would love to wear tank tops in the summer; I hate the heat and would love to have a less awkward tan line. But the great privilege of wearing garments and being temple worthy WAY outweighs the small sacrifice of putting up with sleeves. Still, I can see that modesty leads to happiness. That´s just how commandments work. Why else would He give us commandments? To make life more boring or difficult or for His own amusement or as a way to keep heaven a little less crowded? False, and if you believe any of those reasons, you don´t know God. Because I do know Him, and He is love.
I know that it´s really all about family, always has been, always will be. Eternal families are the end goal, and it´s my dearest, most anticipated, most cherished goal.
But don´t take my word for it, because I don´t decide what is true, I just testify of it. I got all this from the Source (God, not Wikipedia) and you can too, and it will bless you like it has me. I´m so grateful for Truth.


Other updates:
Sevilla was cool, but other than the Alcazar, which was almost as cool as the Alhambra, it didn´t have too many things to see. Tomorrow we are off to Lagos, Portugal to meet up with Ben for a day on the beautiful southern coast. We´re stoked!

walking on sunshine

I had such a happy surprise yesterday, I feel like I’m walking on sunshine (oh oh, and don’t it feel good?)
In budgeting my spending here in Europe, I have always gone for worst case scenario. I always rounded the exchange rate against my favor, planned on needing more than I really would, rounded up how much I had actually spent that day, planned on not being reimbursed for things not because I didn’t trust that person, just because that’s how I’ve been doing my budget. Well, yesterday I was reimbursed so I took a moment to re-evaluate my budget and I HAVE MONEY!! I’m not going to go on any spending sprees, and it’s still going to be a tight summer in Provo unless EFY comes to my rescue, but I have so much more to work with than I thought, so I guess Ben is off the hook.
Today, Ariel said goodbye to oh-so-perfect Granada to come to Sevilla. Our wanderings didn’t produce anything super amazing, but it is a pleasant enough sort of place, even though it is super hot. Granada was about 91 F, Sevilla is about 100 F. But it is a dry heat, so after Croatia and with the breezes here, it’s still not as bad as I had expected even though we had to walk an extra bus stop length hauling all our stuff to find our hostel.
After some tasty paella and gelato, we went to a bar (*gasp*) to watch a “free” flamenco show. We had to buy really expensive drinks (a juice and a coke, sheesh, what kind of a girl do you think I am?) for the privilege of being there, but it was such a great way to spend a Friday night IN SPAIN!!! I felt so grown-up and authentic. So, so far, Ariel and I have been to a bar and a nude beach. Yikes.
So now I have 10 days left. I know that because of redoing my budget and because I’m a little bit OCD when it comes to counting things, not because I’m “counting down the days.” I have such mixed feelings about it. Europe has been so good to me, everything I dreamed it would be with only about half the stress, I couldn’t have planned it any better if I had known then what I know now. But there are people and things that I miss in the states and other things in my life to look forward to. And for that, I count my blessings. So for now I’m going to try to forget how long I have left and enjoy every minute.

Also, here is the quote of the day:
Ariel: What's a day without a kebab and gelato?
Me: Pft. You might as well be in Provo.

thanks, Granada!

With absolutely no effort on my part, and with no outside influence to really explain it, my Spanish accent has naturally and mysteriously come out somewhat Spain-sounding. Now I know why. Because I was meant for Spain. I love the people here, they are so friendly. I can't seem to consult a map without some cute old person stopping and offering to help us and then walking us to our destination. They have drinking fountains here, something that I have always used as proof positive of America's superiority. The weather here is wonderful, hot and sunny but not miserable in the least. I haven't seen cuter kids anywhere in the world. They have the tastiest food: the best kebabs I've found, paella, and I love Spanish tortillas (more like omelettes). It smells divine, especially the streets where they sell a multitude of different teas by weight. The sidewalks are clean and beautiful, and it just feels good here. I'm even falling in love (dare I admit this?) with the theta. There, I said it. I like the theta!
Also, Spanish people are constantly making me laugh because they actually talk like they do in this youtube video that I was introduced to before coming.

Ariel and I will frequently hear someone talking just like that, give each other a knowing glance, and then burst into laughter. Good times.
Today we went to the Alhambra (which was SO AMAZING!), something that has been a life goal for the both of us. We mentioned that we need to come up with new life goals to replace the ones we are living out, and the Alhambra conveniently provided me with its own replacement. My new life goal is to one day own a house so I can turn the backyard into my own piece of Alhambra heaven complete with mosaics, a jasmine covered arch, roses, lavender, a pool with water lillies, and an intricate pebble walkway. If this backyard happens to be in Granada along with its inspiration...let's just say I wouldn't complain. This is the first place I've felt like I would be excited to live in long-term. Thanks, Granada!

between the rocks and a hard place

What a strange few days it has been. Thursday I didn’t really eat anything, foolishly telling myself that I could eat once my train got to Zagreb. I forgot that my train was almost 6 hours, and that everything in Zagreb would be closed before I got there. So when I got to Zagreb, I stood there in the night rain, forlornly staring at all the closed stores and starving to death. Luckily I found an underground mall so I had my fill of junk food before waiting for my midnight train to Venice which turned out to be a 1 a.m. train and the seats didn’t recline. After a pleasant but not very exciting day in Venice I was off to the airport for my 11:00 p.m. plane, which also changed to a 1 a.m. plane.
Sleeping in the airport was interesting. I first tried the floor but it was so cold that I knew I’d be miserable, so I moved to the metal chairs with the obtrusive arm rests. I only got about an hour of sleep at a time before some numb appendage forced me to wake up and change positions, but I managed to make it through the night. But after two nearly sleepless nights in Split, one night sitting upright on a train, and one night sitting upright in an airport, I am SO excited to sleep in a REAL BED!
I noticed as I tried to find my Barcelona hostel (which was no easy feat this time) that I had limited mobility in my ankles. I thought that maybe my skin was just really dry or maybe my shin splints had just stiffened them up somehow. When I arrived and met up with Ariel and had a moment to rest, I looked closer and realized that it was actually elephantitis. OK,OK, it’s probably not really elephantitis, but for the life of me I can’t think of any other reason for both of my ankles to randomly swell up. They got a litttle better after soaking them in the Mediterranean for a while, but they’re swelling up again. They’re not really painful, other than the painful shock of waking up one day with cankles.
As I mentioned, Ariel and I went to the Mediterranean today, as she had never been to it before and we were both in the mood for a lazy day. The map showed the beach to be a simple enough walk, but roads and walkways would randomly just end in fields and trees. Ariel hurt her foot previously and I had my cankles to deal with, and it was rough enough going without the added frustration of being able to see the sea at almost every turn, but never actually being able to get there. We finally did manage to get to the coast and had to walk along it for a way on extremely unstable, golf ball sized rocks with our feet in less than ideal condition and both of us in flip-flops. As we hobbled along on our poor legs, we both laughed at what a fine pair we were. We rejoiced when we finally got to a sandy beach, but alas, our rejoicings were short lived, as we soon discovered it to be a nude beach. I was offended not so much by all the naked people (heaven knows I saw enough of that in Florence!), but by the lack of signs or warnings. This beach was also right next to the train tracks, so any innocent traveler looking out the window might have been scared for life. We were left with a tough decision: retrace our painful steps over the rocks and risk not being able to find another beach, or traverse the nude beach in hopes that the people on the next beach over would be wearing bathing suits, however skimpy they might be. With our eyes conveniently seaward, we chose the latter option, and to our great relief, no one at the next beach was nude. Crisis averted. Now I just hope my first decent night’s sleep this week won’t be marred by nightmares of endless nude beaches!

EPILOGUE
Today my ankles were back to normal and we went around to see all the Gaudi architecture that I’ve dreamed of seeing for so long. Too bad they wanted like a billion euros to actually go inside. Good thing the Parc Guell was free!

fortunately, unfortunately

In fourth grade Mrs. Louder read us a story called Fortunately, Unfortunately, in which those two words alternately started sentences to describe the unlikely adventure of a young boy. We, then, were supposed to write our own version. I'm not sure why I remember that particular assignment so well, maybe because, to a fourth grader, using a five syllable word is a momentous occasion. I'll not try your patience (or my own) by repeatedly typing those words, but you will see how today reminded me of that story.
After talking to my lovely roommate Rose, she reminded me of another national park here in Croatia that I had somehow forgotten about. So I got on the early bus to go there, hoping to avoid a rerun of Plitvice. It was a bit overcast when the bus left, but no fog. But as the bus progressed, the clouds gathered in thicker and stronger and then, simultaneously with a huge streak of lightning, the pouring rain began. At one point it looked like there could be some real flooding as we drove through a lake fed by a river gushing down another street into the intersection. Then my sleepless night met the side effects of dramamine and I was suddenly and deeply asleep.
I woke with a start. I didn't know where I was, and had no idea what my bus stop would look like, but an old man nearby assured me that I hadn't missed my stop and told me where to get off. The next connecting bus wasn't for over an hour, leaving me wishing I hadn't gotten up so early. But at least the weather was clearing. But I checked myself immediately. I dared not hope for good weather, fearing that my optimism would be a self-destructing prophesy and immediately summon a blinding fog.
I'm going to abridge this next part, but know that the weather kept changing back and forth rapidly, and slow boats and slow people kept getting in my way with me not having much time and not knowing how much time I would need for the park. Also, the signs were terrible. One sign to the free ferry into the park lead me into a line of, solid, immovable, and very un-ferry-like buildings. On the way back I saw one sign that said to get to Split you had to go straight, while the sign right below it said that Split was to the right. Luckily that was for the bus driver to deal with.
Anyway, this is where I went swimming today.


It was awesome.
On the first bus out of the park, I forgot to take my dramamine because I was so wrapped up in reading Dracula, and the reading hastened and exacerbated my motion sickness. The second bus was to come to platform 5,6, OR 7, according to the ticket. So, around the time of my bus, there was only one bus on those platforms, and since it said Split in the window (my destination), I jumped in. A few minutes into the drive they came to check my ticket and the man shook his head, "Oh, no. You go Split" (he points at the back of the bus), "this bus opposite" (he points at the front of the bus). He persuaded the unwilling driver to pull over and let me out, whereupon I began to book it back to the bus station. This was made difficult by my flip flops, my huge purse, the narrow, crowded sidewalks, poor directions from people, and my dramamine induced, zombie-like trance, but facilitated greatly by the fact that it was all downhill. I arrived back at the bus stop not more that two minutes after my scheduled bus, so had it been there, I should have seen it pulling away. As it turns out, I had to change my ticket for the next bus (only fifteen minutes later) and only had to pay an extra three kuna (about $0.65). That bus was ten minutes late, and, although it was also supposed to be on platform 5,6, OR 7, and although all of those platforms were empty, it pulled into platform 8 for the sole purpose, it seemed, of giving me grief.
But fortunately I got to see and go swimming in paradise after all.
Croatia is like one of those girls who, thanks to their stunning and exotic beauty, can be fickle, demanding, and petulant, and still win everybody's heart. She sure has won mine.
I can't believe I'll soon be moving on to the last chapter of my amazing trip. It's like reading an awesome book; you can't stop reading, but at the same time you don't want it to end
Chapter 1: The Mish- amazing.
Chapter 2: Prague and Budapest, flying solo- wonderful
Chapter 3: Italy with Robyn - So. Much. Fun.
Chapter 4: Slovenia and Croata, solo- unbelievable
Chapter 5: Spain and Portugal w/ BYU buddies- I can't wait.
But that's it. I can't believe it!

religious musings

Slovenia and Croatia have marked a stark change in my travels. I love architecture. I know nothing about it, I just like to look at really old buildings and say, "OOOOO, Pretty!", which I got to do quite frequently in Prague, Budapest, and throughout Italy. But Slovenia and Croatia have been all about nature. Yesterday as I was swimming in the Adriatic sea, I got to contemplating the temple ceremony when it talks about the creation. Jesus really did a great job, from everything that I've seen, and I feel so privileged to be able to see so much of it. But it made me long for the temple in a way I haven't done since my mission when I didn't get to go for over a year.
The other day a girl asked me why I don't drink, and my first response was that it was a religious conviction. But that got me thinking again about something I've been contemplating for a while. Am I really a disciple of Christ, or do I live this way because I find it more appealing? Do I follow Christ out of love and gratitude and awe and humility, or do I do it selfishly, since that is the kind of life that appeals to me? I think cigarettes and alcohol are vile, smelly things, and have never had the slightest inkling to try them. I have seen far too much misery caused by not living the law of chastity to ever feel like the law of chastity is asking too much, and I want a stable and long-lasting relationship for myself that I know can only come through obedience to that law. I miss going to church when I don't get to, and I really miss the temple. And, when I think about it, there isn't anything that I am commanded to do that I don't enjoy, or at least see the wisdom in obeying. If Heavenly Father ever asked me to do something I didn't feel inclined to do, or that I didn't understand as well as I understand the commandments by which I now live, would I be as obedient as I am? What if I were commanded not to eat ice cream or not to play pinochle or not to travel? How would I take it?
Or is that just how God works? Is that just the nature of commandments, that those with eyes to see will see how they lead to happiness, that that is their only purpose? I keep wracking my brain for a time when the gospel was hard to live, but the only difficulties I can remember in living the gospel were the consequences of my not living it, and then having to change. Maybe it only makes sense that I can think of no instances of the gospel being difficult. As it says in Alma 41:11, "and they have gone contrary to the nature of God; therefore, they are in a state contrary to the nature of happiness." And then in Matt 11:30 "For my yoke is easy and my burden light."
Though I haven't got this satisfactorily settled in my mind, there is one thing that seems certain to me. The gospel of Jesus Christ as found in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints makes sense and makes people happy. Even if it didn't make so much sense, I would still know of its truthfulness. Indeed, there were parts that made little sense to me at all when I received that first, strong witness from the Holy Ghost of its truthfulness. But I'm super grateful that, even when it doesn't make sense, it makes me happy.

paradise lost

This is where I went two days ago:


And I couldn't see anything but FOG!!

I wouldn't have complained about the rain. I wouldn't have complained about all the tourists, not even the old ones. I wouldn't have complained about slipping and squelching in the deep mud, up and down the hills in my flip flops, which fipped mud all over my legs until I looked like the creature from the black lagoon. I would even have laughed good-naturedly at the looks of condescending pity and outright superiority from the people who were outraged by my unsuitable footwear. But I was pretty mad about the fog.

I was unaffected by the bad weather in Rome and in Daugavpils. When I lost my rings, I was disappointed, but I quickly got over it. When I lost my shoes in Florence, I laughed and called it typical. But I was pretty mad about the fog.

The Plitvice lakes were supposed to be the highlight of my trip, the one day above all others that I was looking forward to. That is the picture I would show people to try to convince them to come to Croatia with me, and as I looked around me at all the gray fog, I couldn't help feeling that that I lost my chance to see paradise. It cost so much to get there that there is almost no way I can afford to go again on this trip, and who goes to Croatia twice in one life time?

I found myself thinking that it was an unnecessarily cruel way of teaching me to deal with disappointment, but then it occurred to me that it wouldn't be disappointing if it weren't something that is important to me, would it? And believing, as I strongly do, that our emotions are a choice completely within our agency, I set about to overcome my bitterness. It was not easy, but I feel better now. It was only one day in the midst of the trip of a lifetime. Daugavpils, Prague, Cinque Terre, and Bled have all been their own kinds of paradise, and I dare say I've seen a good deal more wonderful places like that than many, many people. And maybe one day when I'm rich, I'll come back to this area of the world to visit Turkey and can take another shot at Plitvice Lakes.


P.S. Today is Sunday, and there are no branches that meet in this area, so this is week 2 with no church attendance. I guess that technically makes me less active this month. Ooops.

I am NOT a PROSTITUTE!!!!

The past couple of days have been so weird.
For the most part, I have been left alone on my trip. I've gotten some weird looks (especially in Budapest) and a few cat calls, but nothing major. But not the past couple of days.
It all started when I was sitting in the train station in Ljubljana, Slovenia. There I was, half in my pajamas since my laundry hadn't finished drying, with a couple pairs of pants spread out over my back pack in hopes that they would dry before my train came. My hair was up in a librarian, no fun and no nonsense style bun, and I had, as has become my custom on this trip, very little make-up on. Who do I have to impress here anyway? In short, there was nothing about my appearance that would suggest that I was in any mood for any monkey business.
Anyway, I must have inadvertently made some hand signal that means "Hey! I'm a prostitute! Come and get it!" Because I was suddenly approached by a man. I didn't understand Slovenian enough to know exactly what he was saying, but enough to know that he was trying to strike up a conversation, not just asking the time or something. I smiled and sweetly explained that I didn't speak his language, but that did not discourage him. I then ignored him and read my Nook for a while before he finally gave up and walked away.
Just then, a little boy who couldn't have been more than 14 sat down beside me. He started muttering to me, with his eyes cast down. At first I thought he was apologizing for the creepy man who had just left, but he just kept going. Again, I tried to explain that I didn't speak that language, and went back to my Nook. The muttering continued until I looked over and asked, "Are you talking to me?" I couldn't be sure, since he wasn't looking at me. That's when I saw the vile hand gestures he was making at me, and I stuffed my still-moist pants into my bag and left to go get some lunch.
When I came back, I sat on the other side of train station, and for some reason that little pervert was still there, and somehow he found me. He started his creepy muttering and tried to grab my butt, so the pants went back in my bag and I left again. Creeper.
In my "flustration", as my dad would say, I'm ashamed to admit that I got on a train going the wrong way. But that's another story.
Then today, I was again innocently sitting in front of a church when a sweet old man came and sat next to me on the bench and started talking to me. Again, I smiled and sweetly tried to explain that I don't speak Croatian. My Russian skills might have made a short conversation possible, but I just wasn't in the mood. He persisted. "What the heck," I thought, "why won't people just stop talking to me when they find out we don't speak the same language." I tried ignoring him and pulling out my Nook to read a bit, and he kept talking. Then he put his arm around me.
Could somebody please tell me what I am doing that makes people think I am a prostitute? Because I'd really like to stop doing it.
And what made any of them think that they could afford me is beyond me.

P.S. When I showed up at my hostel here in Zagreb (a few hours late because of my train-going-the-wrong-way adventure), the girl was showing me up to my room, when out of the next room came a bunch of girls that I had met in Austria. We greeted each other warmly, and the hostel girl gave me the weirdest look. It was as if she were saying, "So, you just walk into a hostel in Zagreb, Croatia, and you know people here?" It was awesome.

a lazy day at the lake

Today I had shin splints (something I haven't really suffered from since my lacrosse days) from my sorry attempt at hiking yesterday, and was feeling a little....not sick, but not 100%. So, I took a "vacation" day. I took a leisurely (but long) stroll from the train station to the lake, and, as I am learning is typical of Slovenia, I hardly saw a soul. It was great. I just walked along in the most beautiful of nature, listened to the birds sing, and sang a little myself. I've missed singing, since I can't sing in the hostels like I do when I'm at home, and if I sang on the trains the way I do when I'm alone in the car, I'd probably be sent to the crazy bin.
Once I reached the lake, I meandered around it, stunned at the beauty of the place, and the wonderful (and surprising) solitude that it offers. Having Robyn in Italy was perfect, I would have been super lonely there alone and we had a blast. But enjoying Slovenia alone, (completely and utterly alone) has been so wonderful. Anyway, I found a clean dock and read for a while, with my feet in the water that, even this early in the year, was the perfect, cool temperature. Never have I seen a lake with water this color (the picture below is no exaggeration), it is stunning, and it is FULL of trout. They are everywhere. Lake Bled must be one of the most beautiful, calm, quiet, peaceful places left in the world.
I love sLOVEnia!!


Tomorrow I leave for Croatia, and am suddenly plagued by mixed feelings. Slovenia and Croatia are the parts of my trip that I looked forward to the most (and Slovenia surely hasn't disappointed those hopes), but then...all I have left is Spain and Portugal. In Spain, I must briefly return to real life and responsibility in order to get some work done for my thesis, and then Portugal and then...IT'S ALL OVER!
What the devil (as James would say), where did the time go?

sLOVEnia

My first day in Slovenia was, as I have mentioned, very slow and relaxed. I arrived on a Sunday, and due to some poor planning on my part, didn't get to go to church. When I asked the receptionist at my hostel to give me directions to the nearest grocery store, she looked at me like I was crazy for a second and then told me it was closed, because it was Sunday. "Wow, that's neat," I thought. "A place that respects the Sabbath." Then, I went out for an evening stroll up to the castle and through a park or two. At first, it was almost eerie to see the absolutely deserted streets and hear the almost deafening church bells. Nothing was open and no one was there. Later in the evening people came out for walks, and luckily for me the kebab (gyro) places were open on Sunday. I honestly don't know what I'll do when I have to go back to the states and can't eat a Doner Kebab every day. I need to petition to have one put into the Cougareat or something.
Today was also pretty chill, it it's own, exhausting way. I jumped on a train this morning, only about 70% percent sure that it would take me where I wanted to go. It did. After a short bus ride, I asked for directions to Vintgar Gorge. "Up the hill to the left," she said. This is where I ended up:

Not a bad destination, to be sure, but not what I was aiming for. Someone there gave me new directions, "Leave the castle and go left.It's not very far." But the next person I asked said, in his very British accent, "It's at a terrible distance. Too far to walk, I'm afraid. We took a coach." "Yes, well," I wanted to say, "you are old and rich; I am young and poor and very stubborn. I'll walk." He insisted that I needed his map more than he did, which was probably true, so with that in hand, I headed off again for my destination. It was quite a walk, but quite a pleasant one, because the scenery was to die for.

But my destination would have been worth a much longer walk through much less pleasant territory. This is where I ended up today.


After the gorge, most people exit the same way they came in. I am not most people, and went for the road less traveled by. It was great. I got lost in the Slovenian woods for a good 30 minutes without ever seeing a soul, and it lead to just the right amount of hiking--about all that my weary legs and flip-flop-laden feet could handle.
I love, love, love sLOVEnia!

just what I needed

The last couple of days have been, as the title of this post would suggest, just what I needed. Yesterday we met up with a friend of Robyn's, Loredona. Loredona was an exchange student in Spanish Fork ten years ago, and that's the last time they saw each other. When they heard we were coming to Italy, Loredona and her boyfriend decided to treat us to a wonderful day in Venice.
First, we went to the Natural History Museum, which for some reason was free that day. It was fascinating, and reminded me of when I was a kid and how I wanted to be a zoologist or a marine biologist. Alas, I can't study everything.
Then they bought us a "mixed seafood platter". First, they wanted me to try the calamari, which I've eaten before, but it wasn't my favorite. I liked it more when I ate it at the Chinese New Year party at BYU, but still it isn't something I'd ever order. Then they wanted me to eat a fish about the size of my thumb--eyes, fins, bones, and all. It wasn't at all appetizing, but I had to be able to say that I tried it, kind of like the cucumber and feta gelato. And who knew, I might end up enjoying it as much, too. I didn't. The spines of the fins poked my tongue and the bones were crunchy...ick. Good thing they also bought me a diet Coke to wash it down with.
Later they bought us dinner at the cutest, most picturesque little cafe. We ate in the back courtyard with ivy over all the walls, and the menu completely in Italian, and it was just the sort of place you imagine when you think of Italy. It was fabulous. Then they wanted to buy us T-shirts that said Ciao Bella in the cursive writing typical of Coca Cola. I wanted one really bad, I have since I first saw them in Rome, but they had spent enough money on us as it was. But thanks, Loredona and boyfriend. A day of not spending any money like that was exactly what my budget needed.
Then, I finally got to talk to Danny, and later I found out that our hostel was about half as cheap as I had planned on, again, just what my budget needed.
And today I am here in Ljublana, Slovenia. It has been a very slow, relaxing day. Which, if you haven't guessed it, is exactly what I needed. I knew this trip would be exhausting, but I don't think I fully understood just how much. I'm just about at the half-way mark, and every morning when I get out of bed, my legs seem to say, "Really? You're still going? You're going to do this to us AGAIN?" And I say, "Yes, legs. I'm the boss, and we're in Europe, so get a move on." And they obey, although they protest for a while in the morning and when I sit down at night.
But it's worth it. Because this trip has been just what I needed.

roaming the "streets" of Venice

So our hostel here in Venice is awesome. Robyn and I have a private room and a private bathroom. We have an AC unit and a fridge, and it's the cheapest I could find. The downside? It's not actually in Venice. I guess that makes sense, since Venice is so small and...watery...and it's not that hard to get to, so I don't mind. But this morning when we finally decided to get out of bed, we ended up waiting at the bus stop for over an hour. We were told that there was some sort of strike, that the bridges into Venice were inaccessible, and that even the pricey shuttle from the hostel to Venice wasn't going. Luckily, it finally came.
Venice is super neat. It's like Prague, in that you want to take a picture every time you turn a corner, and there aren't too many people here. It's so cool that the "streets" are actually water ways as often as not. They even have "water taxis" which I would love to have an excuse (and the money) to take. One guy, dressed in the traditional garb of black slacks and a horizontally striped shirt, tried to talk us into a gondola ride. It breaks my heart to be here in Venice, probably for the only time in my life, and not take a gondola ride. So, just for curiosity's sake, I asked how much. €80! I replied, "I wish!" Then, he offered me a free gondola ride. All I had to do was kiss him. He wasn't that old, so I might have even considered the offer, except that he followed it up by saying, "We could make love on the water." Thanks, but no thanks.

Can life get better? I submit that it CANNOT!!

Today we went to the Uffizi Galeria. We saw works of art by Michelangelo, Rembrandt, and da Vinci. You know, the usual.
You are all going to think that I am uncultured, that I am unworthy of this trip, of being in this beautiful city. You are all going to look down your noses at me as an uneducated, silly girl. You may even shake your head at me, because the Uffizi was not the highlight of my day. Cool, yes. Highlight, no.
The highlight of my day was when I found out that Florence is the birthplace of gelato, and in honor of that fact, they are holding a gelato festival, which just happens to be on the days that I will be in Florence. We stumbled upon it quite by accident today, and, as many of you can imagine, I was pretty excited.
So the deal was you bought a gelato card and that entitled you to five "samples", which were about a full scoop. Robyn and I tried three together: advocado (which was good), cucumber and feta cheese (which was D-lish), and lemon and basil (which Robyn and I labeled a "slap in the face" of flavor, but after the initial slap, it was pretty good.) With our remaining two flavors, we each got one of our own. Robyn (crazy) got mushroom flavor, while I went with the safe bet of cinnamon cream to finish it off. It is entirely possible that we will go back again tomorrow before heading off to Venice.
But how cool is that, that of all the days of my trip that I could have ended up in this city, I, a gelato fanatic, just happen to be here for the gelato festival. I left my walking/hiking shoes on the train from La Spezia (typical), and have had no success in searching for them. I was so looking forward to hiking in Slovenia (and Timp when I get back for that matter) and after walking around in my beloved Havaianas on cobblestones for two days, my feet are...not happy. I was a little frustrated this morning when we went all the way across town to the agency we were told would have them and they weren't there,but after the gelato festival, I once again feel assured that Heavenly Father must really love me. Just, do me a favor, and pray for me to find my shoes too, OK?