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.