When in Rome, do as the Romans do … and eat as much pizza and gelato as possible.

A month later, it was time to brush up on my (non-existent) Italian as Sarah and I flew to Rome for several days to visit our friend Sarah Warren (to my surprisingly numerous group of friends named Sarah: can I please pick exotic nicknames for you, so that it’s easier to tell you apart in my blog? Just kidding, sort of.) Flying low over the bright green and yellow Italian countryside, I realized with a thrill that this marked my first-ever trip to the Continent. After skipping along through Customs, we gamely set out to find Sarah’s apartment, located in Rome’s lovely Trastevere neighborhood. There are several activities that, until experienced, render life only half-lived – things like skydiving, eating snails, and finding yourself on a random bus in a foreign country, with nothing but a rough hand-sketched “map,” vague sense of words that may or may not be street names, and naively pathetic tourist aura to propel you forward.

Luckily Sarah was soon on hand to meet us and, later, awesome hostess that she is, take us on our own personal tour of Rome! This city is like no other in its colorful blend of modern, old, and ancient; after the ornate gray marble of London, its yellow buildings, rough cobblestones, and dark green trees gave off a distinctly Mediterranean flavor that absolutely charmed me. Life seems to move at a different pace here – while mopeds roar past, people stand in their doorways beneath colorful flower vines to chat with neighbors, or sit alongside the narrow, winding streets to sip a glass of wine. I particularly loved Sarah’s 14th-century apartment – her window opened onto the next-door wall, not more than two feet away, and I looked down on lines of hanging laundry below. Of course, the city’s incredible history certainly doesn’t diminish its charm, either: I watched the sun set over the Roman Forum and Coliseum before venturing down to stand amongst these monumental ruins the next day. Walking in the footsteps of Julius Caesar and the gladiators provided numerous chill-inducing moments as I attempted to comprehend the rich layers of human experience before me.

I can also now state with pride that I’ve climbed every step of the world’s tallest dome.

St. Peter’s Basilica is truly breathtaking in its majestic height and richly decorated walls, and standing in the Sistine Chapel was probably one of the most surreal moments of my life. You read about Michaelangelo’s ceiling for years in textbooks, but no words can really do justice to its vast scale and surprisingly vivid colors; my neck now has a permanent crick from standing for fifteen minutes straight in silent awe. The Basilica itself is, of course, similarly spectacular – why aren’t today’s churches built like this anymore? Also, in case anyone was ever curious about this, sitting on the floor of the Basilica is strictly prohibited. Sarah and I hadn’t quite recovered from galavanting around at heights no architect should ever be able to achieve, so we sank down in the corner against a large pillar. Two minutes later, a pair of shiny black boots clicked together smartly in our faces; the guard’s disapproving scowl dragged us once again to our feet and back into the throng of frenzied, camera-wielding tourists clamoring for a view of La Pieta. Ah, the joys of mass travel!

The beauty of places like St. Peter’s may offer a little glimpse of Heaven, but this glimpse is substantially widened by things like … vanilla caramel gelato, hand-made fresh each day. America really needs to get with it – seriously, burgers and fries? Hot dogs? Come on. Even apple pie and cherry cobbler as national desserts don’t even begin to measure up. We visited a tiny, out-of-the-way gelato shop twice on our trip, and after multiple cups of vanilla caramel and strawberry deliciousness, my life will never be the same. Ditto with Italian pizza (which I finally learned to order by myself, in Italian – small victories, Rebecca, small victories).

And so I left Rome three days after arriving, considerably richer in calories and an appreciation for man’s stunning architectural and artistic capabilities. I enjoyed this city even more than I thought I would – from its tasty cuisine to the lights shimmering on the Tiber River, from the rich tapestries of Raphael to gypsies panhandling along the Piazza Navona, Rome has more atmosphere than any place I’ve been to yet. Many thanks to Sarah for making it such a wonderful trip!

Surprise! Rebecca really isn’t dead, she was only pretending …

Hello, blog friends! I realize, of course, that I may not have any left since I’ve been so horrible about keeping this updated – unfortunately this study abroad semester has included a bit more emphasis on the “study” than I originally hoped for. But I’ve still been able to go on a number of short, yet spectacular, side trips, all of which have left me with way too many memories and pictures to fit into my scrapbook. I had originally intended to summarize them all in one entry, but as I’ve gotten to writing, the stories absolutely refuse to whittle themselves down to a respectable blog length. Thus, this shall now be the first in a series of travel tales, riveting or otherwise. So without further ado, I invite you to sit back, relax, and be entertained by my various (mis)adventures!

Much earlier this spring I ventured to the rugged and mysterious coast of North Wales with my IFSA-Butler group. Prior to the trip, I fell victim to a temporary state of madness and signed up for hiking and mountain biking, all in the same day. I say temporary – twenty four hours later I found myself sitting in my room, very much aware of the fact that I’d never been mountain biking in my life and was now about to tackle the tallest peak in Wales. The situation didn’t appear to be improving any by the time I actually climbed onto my bike, but I tried to stay positive – after all, I thought, what’s so bad about a little wind, rain, and steep gradients? Never mind the fact that I’m standing in the middle of a group of guys who all look like they play professional rugby on the side and could probably cycle up the mountain without even breaking a sweat.

However, as is often the case with new things we don’t necessarily want to do, this particular challenge turned out to be one of my favorite times of the entire semester! Yes, the hills were steep, but I had no trouble keeping up, and the subsequent views more than made up for my burning muscles – which miraculously didn’t bother me with any soreness the next day. Clearly Wales possesses some sort of magic. As I stood looking out over the rocky hills and stone-gray lake below, I tried to savor the feeling of complete and silent solitude, save for the wind’s lonely whistling and blank stares of Welsh sheep, a number of whom enjoyed crossing the road in front of my bike. Over here in Britain, traffic jams aren’t caused by cars or ducks, but sheep; while the lambs create some positivity with their cuteness factor, their parents just stand there with a “why are you looking at me?” sort of expression. They also refuse to cooperate when it comes to taking pictures – as soon as you take a step towards them, they trot off in the opposite direction, and the resulting gap in the picture only makes it look like you’re scared of them, instead of the other way around.

Indifferent sheep aside, my short stay in Wales remains one of my favorite memories from this semester. Not only did I win a chocolate bunny with the rest of my team on Quiz Night, but the beautiful mountain views and lonely castles along the hillside presented me with a sort of natural beauty I’d never have found back home. And what’s more, as I’ve come to find, this only forms the tip of the iceberg when it comes to breathtaking European landscapes.

Could it be ... snow??

Hello, all! If any of you have been reading the news lately, you'll have noticed that London (and southern England in general) received quite a surprise from good ol' Mother Nature this week, consequently throwing the universe into a state of shock and the transportation system into mayhem and madness. This turned out to be a good thing for Royal Holloway students, as all Monday classes and several others throughout the week were cancelled so as to allow for participation in new activities like snowball fights, snowman-building, and massive consumption of hot chocolate (there may have been more practical reasons for the class cancellation, but we'd like to think our professors have a sense of humor).

The fun started Sunday night, when I looked outside the window to see snowflakes dancing through the air and a dusty white covering on the ground. Sarah and I decided that in the grand scheme of things, snow means more than homework, so we ran out to join in the general frolic (as it turns out, the British students were just as excited as we were since it snows so rarely here; in fact, the only ones not heartily impressed were other Americans from northern areas of the country, as well as my friend from Switerzland). After making snow-angels in the parking lot behind my flat, we relocated to upper campus in search of new snow patches unsullied by footsteps ...





Also, note to future self: When it comes to snow, don't be an idiot - balancing shenanigans of any kind will only leave you sprawled on the ground, in pain and feeling sheepish (kudos to Sarah for managing to capture me on film in mid-slide):

Thankfully, the rest of the night continued relatively spill-free, and the next morning I awoke to find a campus transformed by snow and ice into what can only be described as the most magical of wintry fairylands. It's really incredible how snow changes a forest landscape - no longer green and lively, it becomes a mysterious place of white-laden brances and absolute stillness. Here's what I saw as I made my way to class:



While walking past the lamp-post I kept expecting Mr. Tumnus (as portrayed by James McAvoy, of course) to step up with his umbrella and invite me over for tea; unfortunately, despite the woods' Narnia-esque appearance, he didn't comply. But no matter - it was eleven in the morning and I was standing in the snow, class-free and ready to play. Sarah and I had fun making deep footprints in the parking lot before settling down to the most important task of the day: constructing a snowman. Lame Texans that we are, we had some trouble rolling the snow into a ball (oh all right, laugh - there you go, get it out of your systems now ...), but eventually we managed to get the job done. Meet Emo Bob, snowman of the 21st century - while you may be tempted to classify him as a bunny rabbit, he's actually rather avant-garde and stands complete with mohawk and pipe:

That afternoon we walked back up to upper campus, getting pelted with snowballs all the way (apparently it's nice to attack random people as they walk by). Meanwhile, just to spite the weatherman's sunny reassurances of clear skies later in the day, it started to snow even harder. Woo hoo! I realized that technically this is only the third time I've seen snow in my life, and certainly the most of it, so celebratory antics were kind of inevitable:

It's Friday evening now and most of the snow has already melted, although it's continued to come down in flurries throughout the week. I've also made the acquaintance of snow's evil twin, slush, and found that it really is just as brown, icy and irritating as my friends from the north claim. I had planned on going into London tonight for a concert, but alas, the weather decided to deteriorate throughout the day and my friends and I chose not to risk it (as interesting as Waterloo Station is, spending the night there on account of halted transportation just doesn't really appeal to me). However, I'm long overdue for a cozy evening in front of my window with a book (albeit one for school, but we'll just overlook that) and a cup of tea, so I don't mind too much. Hope you all back home are having as much fun as I am this winter, and I look forward to regaling you with more stories in the near future (London reports coming soon!) Cheerio from merry England!

Well, it's just after midnight here and I really should be reading the hundreds of pages I have due this week, but let's face it - I'm in Europe, and frankly homework just doesn't compare. I've also finally gotten around to taking some pictures of Royal Holloway and Egham, as today provided some rare moments of sunshine, and so I thought I'd post them so you all can gain a somewhat clearer sense of just where exactly I am (why, in the land of scones and tea, of course!)

I'm now in my second week of classes here at Royal Holloway, and the British system of teaching (one lecture, one seminar, and altogether too many hours of independent study per course) is starting to feel more comfortable, with just one minor glitch: my mind finds views such as the one on the left considerably more attractive to study than the Labour party's rise to power in 1924 or medieval French literature. I mean, really. Stuffy old knights who have nothing better to do than run around stabbing other knights and making long-winded, puffed-up speeches about said exploits don't hold a candle to the regal Victorian towers I have the privilege of walking past each day. This is the Founder's Building, and it occupies the main center of campus. I wish I could take pictures of the library inside, which reminds me of Hogwarts and, consequently, results in my peeking around musty old bookshelf corners with the expectation of meeting a certain bespectacled boy with messy black hair and green eyes. Ahh, if only they offered classes in Transfiguration or the Dark Arts - I'd never lose focus again!

All right, where were we ... I've done so much the last few days that I'm having trouble synthesizing it into a cohesive blog entry. I suppose I'll just start with today and work my way backwards. Two of my American friends and I decided we've eaten way too little Mexican food since coming here (um, okay, make that no Mexican food), so in honor of the inauguration we planned the ultimate feast, complete with rice and fajitas (and completely dysfunctional chocolate chip cookies, but that's besides the point). Since I'm the only one without any Tuesday afternoon classes, I was elected to walk into Egham and pick up groceries at Tesco's, the local grocery store here. Just to give you some background: Royal Holloway sits on a hill, of sorts, about a mile (more or less) from the small village of Egham. As I walked down the main road I tried to take a few pictures which I'll post here - you should really thank me because I suffered through plenty of awkward stares from the locals, who probably aren't used to cameras as the town is rather ordinary and not a tourist hot spot in the least.

You're looking on the main driving thoroughfare into Egham - it's not ususally this crowded, but we had some construction going on today that caused a bit of a pile-up. It's a nice walk, past old English cottages and modern new complexes lined up next to one another.

Unfortunately for me, I come from the land of "wrong" driving (so say the British friends I've met), so crossing the street continues to present the most substantial danger here in Egham. It's not fair - from the time you're three, your mother drills into you the correct way of approaching an intersection on foot, and then you land in a foreign country only to find that they've completely changed it up on you. My ingrained sense of direction is now utterly ruined and will probably never recover. Besides that, it'll be a miracle if I make it through this study abroad experience without being flattened by a truck coming from the right when I was, in fact, expecting it from the left. Gahhh.

Thankfully, this time I managed to get lucky and make it across with limbs intact (picture on the left taken just after the moment of reckoning. That truck driver really hates me). This, as well as the photo below, shows High Street, Egham's main shopping road from which a few smaller lanes branch out. Halfway down the street
narrows to only pedestrian traffic, which makes for a very quaint shopping experience (one point of interest to note about stores in Egham: for some reason, there seems to be an unexpectedly large market for greeting cards in this area, because I passed at least three card stores along the way. I have no idea what this means - should I plan to increase my holiday mail-outs? Or are the ladies of Egham just so bored that they can't help but spend their days browsing through sappy card messages? Who knows.)

At any rate, I made it to Tesco's and proceeded to finish a successful shopping trip. British grocery stores provide considerable food for thought (ahahaha ... you know you want to laugh) on account of the interesting range of brands. Most are local, but a few familiar names have found their way onto the shelves as well, although in slightly altered forms. For example, I can't seem to find a single can of sour cream and onion Pringles, but prawn cocktail-flavored ones reside in abundance. Also: an entire shelf of Old El Paso products. How random can you get??

The rest of tonight can only be considered a success: our fajitas turned out beautifully and I enjoyed watching Obama's historic inauguration, although hearing our national anthem play gave me an unexpected twinge of homesickness. England has proven to be beautiful and charming and exciting and every other positive adjective the dictionary has to offer, but I've found I really do take pride in my country and could never call any other place home. (Of course, I've only spent one day in London, and I haven't even been up to Bronte country yet - I may just get lost in the moors and decide not to come back!)

A brief update on my previous days here: after settling in and recovering from the respiratory infection I had since arrival, the general state of things has improved tenfold. I love my room and the fact that it has a wardrobe and a radiator - I have a feeling we aren't in Texas anymore, Todo. (Oh, and another reason I'm obviously far from home: the other day I stepped outside and cried, "Oh, it feels so nice out here!" only to find that the temperature was, in fact, in the low forties. Unfortunately, this was downright balmy compared to the biting cold of several weeks ago, when I first stepped off the plane.) I include the obligatory room picture for all who are curious and continue to pester me for it:

I'm on the second floor and also have my own bathroom (hooray!) as well as share the kitchen down the hall with my five other flatmates. Cooking has proven to be unexpectedly enjoyable, especially since the Students' Union brings in a produce market each Tuesday that sells fruit and vegetables at amazingly cheap prices. Those of you who know my eating habits will be delighted to learn that I'm branching out from my pasta fix into more interesting dishes. However, I don't know many so I now take this opportunity to put forth an official plea: Help the cause! Donate recipes! Otherwise I may turn into a spaghetti noodle - and as good as Italian food is, I just don't think that would be enjoyable, in the long run.

What else? My first Saturday here, I took a day trip with the rest of the international students into Windsor, where we toured the castle and had fun poking around the old city. You have no idea how thrilling it was for me to walk into St. George's Chapel, which lies on the castle grounds, and stand by Henry VIII's tomb. Absolutely surreal!!! Knowing that I passed through rooms inhabited over the centuries by England's royalty felt like a dream, and even now I can hardly believe it. Yes, I'm a hopeless history nerd who revels in such mundane connections with the past as this, but I think anyone who finds themselves standing before a 600 year old set of chain mail or the doll once belonging to a real princess can't help but feel, if just a hint, some of the same excitement and sense of wonder.

And now I bring this blog to a close, friends, since you're probably bored out of your minds and I'm close to falling asleep. Check back soon for the next installment - I went into London this past weekend and experienced my first legitimate political protest, among other things (such as Big Ben and the East End, Jack-the-Ripper-style). So don't miss it. You're committed now, anyway, since it's my third blog and you know that secretly these entries represent the highest culmination of human experience and culture ... or something like that :) As always, thanks for reading, and hope everyone's having a wonderful week, wherever you may be. Cheers from the lovely land of the Queen!!

Greetings, blog friends! I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to post an entry from the UK, but I’ve been having some Internet connection issues (well, of course; this is me we’re talking about here … ahh, that was too cynical and pessimistic. Outlook switch … accomplished :)) Anyways, now that I actually have a connection, I hope to post much more frequently and thereby satiate the distracted queries entering your head at random points during the day as to whether or not I’m still alive.

First things’ first: the obligatory travel nightmare story. And believe me, I have a story. I find it highly ironic that Houston, a city with absolutely no cause for delays, would sit at the root of all my flight problems – as opposed to, say, Charlotte or New York (places you’d expect to present some obstacles in January). Nevertheless, this is where all the fun started. I include the following hypothetical (and somewhat whiny) letter to introduce my tale of woe:

Dear U.S. Airways,
I boycott you and all your “ladies and gentlemen, this flight has been overbooked” and “ladies and gentlemen, this flight is encountering several maintenance issues and will be delayed about ten minutes … ten minutes that will actually be stretched into three hours because we’re so incredibly slow and uncoordinated.” Never again will I use your airline. Also, for goodness’ sake, turn on your air conditioning so that I don’t have to sweat next to European businessmen in ill-fitting suits, with even more ill-fitting senses of humor.
Yours sincerely, Rebecca Dietz

Mmmm, the joys of air travel. To make a long story short, my delayed flight to Charlotte resulted in a missed connection to the JFK airport, at which point I had hoped to meet my study abroad group so we could all fly overseas together. After a frantic dash through the airport and drawn-out argument with the ticket agent (who knew I could be so pushy?), I was crowned the loser and ended up spending an extra night in Charlotte. Thank goodness Sarah was right there with me (for those of you who don’t know, my good friend Sarah Miller and I are attending the same program, and thankfully we decided to travel to New York together). The next morning, having become crossword puzzle masters in the meantime, we arrived at JFK in a considerably more rumpled state than our itinerary originally called for. Our IFSA-Butler group had already made it to the UK, having flown off on schedule the night before, so we hung around the airport all day like a couple of hoboes and waited for the next Virgin Atlantic flight. Takeoff that evening presented considerable cause for celebration; we were finally off! [On a random side note, thanks to the Virgin Atlantic flight attendants: not only did your supremely posh British accents make me smile, but your patience also helped a pathetic unseasoned traveler feel better about her unfortunate case of airsickness (yes, I realize this is the second time I’ve directly addressed an airline throughout the course of this blog; I shall try to keep all future correspondence to my own head so as not to worry you with questions concerning my sanity).]

Arrival time at Heathrow Airport: approximately 6:30am. Victory! Fortunately, British Customs felt my appearance sufficiently removed from that of a terrorist and decided let me into their country, and Sarah and I crammed all our overstuffed luggage into a tiny black taxicab and set out for London. What a lovely city to catch a first glimpse of at sunrise! Excitement pushed through despite my exhaustion and queasy stomach as we jostled alongside the other commuters (on the wrong side of the road. Bah!). My initial impression of England: narrow lanes. I’ll admit this to be a random and rather strange thing to note, for a first observation, but it’s what continues to stick in my travel-wearied mind. Drivers zip through, no problem, but I looked down to see my white knuckles clutching the seat for dear life. Kudos to anyone who dares to rent a car in a foreign country.

Unfortunately, I have nothing of interest to note about my first few days in London: just before leaving the U.S., I caught a pretty horrible respiratory infection and spent the majority of my orientation (when not in lectures) curled up in bed with a high fever and a box of Kleenex. Brilliant. I did foolishly venture out one night to take the world’s worst picture of Buckingham Palace, which I’ve posted for your viewing (non)pleasure:



The Queen was being smart that night and decided not to stay in the city (hence a very limp Union Jack) – London was experiencing a rather severe cold snap that amazingly caused the fountains at Trafalgar Square to freeze over into chunks of ice. It was cold, guv’nor! (yes, for those of you keeping tabs so that you can laugh at me later, that was a horribly lame use of British lingo.) Needless to say, I stayed in after that so as to recover quickly. And, for the most part, *hacking cough* I have. :)

This about wraps up my travel saga for now. I do realize this post carries a considerable amount of disgruntled traveler within it, but keep following – tomorrow or the next day I promise to regale you with delightful little tales of my trip to Windsor, the first day of class and pictures of my room (complete with wardrobe and coat rack. Am I at college or tucked away within some country estate? Either way, things are looking up :))

Hope everyone is warm and well back at home, and for those of you starting a new semester this week, best of luck!!

Cheerio from Egham and Royal Holloway!!