Holy Trinity Church in Skipton

“A journey is best measured in friends, not in miles.” – Tim Cahill

My final morning in Yorkshire brings me more villages, castles, and books.

After our day in York, we said farewell to Kirsty as she jumped on a train back to Manchester, so Becca and I ventured off alone on my last day in Yorkshire. I packed in the morning, so we could enjoy the day up until the moment I had to check-in for my flight to Germany later in the afternoon.

We head to another lovely town, Splitwick… or maybe it was Flitwick. Wait.. Skipton! (thank goodness for my trust notes!) I love the names of so many British towns. Some of my favorite are: Bastardstown (where some of my exes might be from), Westward Ho, Nasty, No Place,  and wait for it… Butthole Lane. Yes, you heard correctly.

Well, back in Skipton, it’s market day; everyone is out selling their wares. Everything from flowers to clothing to DVDs is available as we wander through, en route to another bookstore. I know, I know… but we really find this to be a great way to spend time!

Skipton Castle

Inside the outer wall of Skipton Castle

We do head up to check out Skipton Castle for a bit before grabbing lunch. Skipton Castle  is an impressively preserved castle from the Middle Ages.  Built in 1090. 900 years ago?! Wow.

At lunch I finally, for the first time, opt to enjoy some fish & chips. We much our lunch on a wall as we wrap up the morning. Soon we’re back in the car and I’m back at the airport (where I’ll spend an hour on the runway waiting for winds to die down) on my way to Düsseldorf to catch an overnight train to Berlin.

I fell in love with Northern England and am so lucky to have a friend like Becca to show me so many lovely places. She took time out of her schedule to not only show me around, but she planned out places based on my interests and what I loved most. Thank you again… so much Bex. I cannot wait to visit you again and enjoy more of the charms of Yorkshire!

York Signage

“I learned to change my accent; in England, your accent identifies you very strongly with a class, and I did not want to be held back.” – Sting

Ahhh… I’ve just enjoyed the best night of sleep I’ve had my entire trip; cozy in the fluffy down comforters of Becca’s guestroom. I finally feel rested for the first time in weeks.  I meet the girls in the kitchen where we spend a leisurely morning eating breakfast, drinking coffee, and discussing books. Dave is unlucky enough to be with us and I’m convinced he must find us all crazy. When I say as much, he responds that he’s relieved that his wife has like-minded (book-obsessed) people around and perhaps she’s not so crazy after all, but at the same time mildly scared that there are more of us out there.

Soon we’re back in the car headed to spend the day in York. Besides driving on the opposite side of the car and street, the motorway reminds me a bit of California. You know, when you take away the lovely rolling hills, the medieval cottage-like houses dotting the hills… and of course, the stone walls. We arrive in York and I discover it’s a walled city. Still! Today! Here I go again – transported back in time. It’s amazing how easy that is for me to do here in England. I don’t think I even had that ‘back in time’ feeling this much in Italy. Thoughtful of our interest in history, Becca leads us through York en route to Jorvik. Jorvik is a Viking Centre that holds real excavations and objects from the 1,000 year old town. Jorvik=York in Viking Speak (aka Norse). I have no idea what to expect inside and am wow’d. There are excavated layers of the old Viking village encased below the glass floor we walk over. We go on to learn more about the famous 1976 Coppergate dig that accidentally uncovered the thousand-year old homes, impressively preserved thanks to the layers being “moist and peaty.” Long story short… an impressive and rare find!

Jorvik Centre

The exhibit is filled with artifacts including clothing, jewelry, pottery weapons, and even a full skeleton giving archeologist a picture of what the people of Jorvik ate and wore and how they spent their time. After the exhibits there is a fun “Disneyland-like” ride that transports us back to ancient Jorvik. The little car takes us through the recreated village, complete with speaking robot/wax people and animals that are incredibly lifelike. There are background sounds and smells to really create the illusion. The people are so lifelike, it’s almost unsettling when they look at you and speak! Fascinating. We ride through houses and down streets, hearing the old Norse language. Even better than the ride, is the Viking dressed staff member at the end of the ride. Becca asks him a couple of questions, that turn into a 30 minute lesson on Vikings. Were all completely sucked into the history as he is clearly passionate about his subject. I’ve learned, not only about the Vikings themselves, but also that so much of what we think are myths. Most notably that their helmets certainly didn’t have horns on the side, as a hard hit to the head would be concentrated rather than sliding off a smooth helmet. Sounds logical. On our way out of the Jorvik Centre, we all instantly look for books to purchase or order, newly intrigued to learn more about this time in history.

the Shambles

We continue our day in York, heading next to the Shambles; the oldest, original street in York. There are old stacked houses learning out into the street at different distances. No smooth, lateral housing here on this fairytale street. Along the stroll, I learned about Guy Fawkes. This is notable to me, because I knew nothing about him… and have since noticed him or the day referenced in multiple novels. Fancy that. I actually learned a lot about social differences, language differences (and we thought we all spoke “English”), and historical trivia. Becca and Kirsty are fantastic travel partners. We all while away the rest of the afternoon chatting and popping into shops and bookstores. We’ve gone into so many bookstores! I’ve continue to add to my list of books to buy later when I’m not limited by the size of my luggage.

After lunch, we make our way to the gem of York… the York Minster; a wonderful, gorgeous, towering cathedral. As we’re about to enter, courtesy of a 10 minutes sprinkle, we notice the most vibrant rainbow I’ve ever seen! This double rainbow, actually appears to glow. I only wish I could capture the vivid colors on film. I’ll have to store this one in the memory bank.
Entering the momentarily forgotten Minster, I experience the classic awe that always accompanies my visits to European churches. The size, the plethora of gorgeous stained glass windows, the peacefulness.

Classic tourist pose at York Minster

Before we leave for the day, it’s decided that I must enjoy the quintessential English experience and have a spot o’ tea at Betty’s Tea Room. This popular spot in York is old-fashioned and Victorian and lovely, complete with appropriately old-fashioned dressed waitresses and tableware. I order tea and a lemon curd tart that’s delivered with a thousand tools; tea trays, tea-pot, cup, saucer, strainer, strainer holder (yes the strainer has a special holder!), sugar, lemon, milk, and multiple spoons. This is just for the tea. Just for MY tea. Blimey! By this time I’m feeling mildly posh and intimidated and wishing I was in a crowded coffee bar in Italy sipping an espresso. I know how to do that properly…. And there is only a tiny cup and saucer involved. I learn that “tea time” is actually the Northern English way of saying dinner. (Like ‘supper’ in the Midwest) I think back to conversations that suddenly make more sense knowing this tidbit. I’ve learned many of the differences between Southerners (Londoners) and Northerners, most obviously their difference in accent. Though I’ll stick to my opinion that they all sound posh and I adore them. I know, how unique… loving British accents. Surely I’m the only person to think so.

So, back to my tea ‘equipment’, I grab my strainer to pour a second cup o’tea, but it gets stuck in the ‘holder’, which of course drops… right into my tea… splashing me in the process. Right, so proper, Tisha. I clearly belong here. We all enjoy a laugh; American’s don’t belong in tea rooms, at least not this American, and at least not tea rooms with 3-tiered pastry platters and live piano players.

I’ll stick with my Starbucks cafes I suppose.

Haworth Village, West Yorkshire

“I’ve dreamt in my life dreams that have stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas; they’ve gone through and through me, like wine through water, and altered the colour of my mind.” – Emily Brontë

After picking Kirsty up at the station, we drive to Haworth village in West Yorkshire, home to the Brontë sisters. It is a very picturesque village of brown stone homes and cobblestone streets. The quaint shops lining the main road down a hill add to the charm, reminding me of a small theme park village or a movie set. It’s hard to believe a village this pictorial exists. Naturally… its set atop a hill overlooking long stretches of countryside, or the Pennine moors to be exact, with houses spotted about in the distance. Naturally. Unsurprisingly, we three bibliophiles spend a good amount of time in a small book shop we come across, than grab a quick lunch. The server has difficulty understanding my request for water; I’m told it’s because my pronunciation uses a ‘d’ instead of the very British ‘t.’ Wadder vs. Wah-tah. How common of me. After eventually receiving my beverage, I opt to order the Yorkshire pudding. When in Yorkshire… and all. I actually have no idea what Yorkshire pudding is and the girls both can’t really explain it, stating they’ve never actually been asked that question! They state, “Everyone just knows what it is.” When the server returns with the dish, I see it’s a bit like an open-faced potpie. A pastry crust bowl, with beef and brown gravy… and it’s very tasty!

Rose & Co. shop front

After lunch, we pop in and out of small shops, including a true Apothecary shop! I flash back in time. Rose & Co. is historically decorated and filled with small tins of balm, bottles of perfume and fancy soaps. Cosmetics and bath oils mingle beside vintage photos and board games. In the very back of the store is a “Sweets Shop” filled with old-fashioned candies in brown paper wrapping. I see a long wall lined with large tins of bath powder, and am very tempted to buy a bit of rose-water or patchouli. Too bad I have no room in my suitcase for many souvenirs; though I would certainly fill it with books if I did as I’ve already had to pass up quite a collection. I’ve instead noted all the titles for purchase later.

Back outside, we finally head to the Brontë home only to find it closed! We’ve spent so much time in the bookstore that we’ve completely missed the house! None of us seem to mind at all and share a good laugh about how typical of us to miss the main site in town for old books.

At least I got a picture of the outside...

After our lovely day, we returned to Becca’s gorgeous house in Wakefield, where I unpack in the guest room/library. I thought I had a lot of books, but Becca has greatly outdone me. What a lucky girl! Her husband, Dave, has prepared dinner for us and the four of us wind down the day around the table chatting and recapping our wonderful day.

I truly adore Yorkshire.

Countryside beyond Ripley Castle

Stepping down the stairs of the plane onto the runway of the small Leeds/Bradford airport, I smile to be back in England. My good, fellow book-loving friend, Becca, is there to meet me outside. In addition, our friend Kirsty will be taking the train over from Manchester to spend the next couple days with us. We have all been part of a lovely, little book club group of 16 over the last couple years, but seeing as how they’re here in Britain, we haven’t yet crossed paths. How wonderful to final meet them in person! All it takes is a mere hop across the Atlantic. Once at the car, I first attempt to jump in on the wrong side of the car, which is the right side, momentarily forgetting the English drive on the opposite side. This happens more than one during my short stay in Yorkshire.

Becca, the ultimate hostess, has prepared lovely plans for our day and spirits me away to enjoy a taste of my favorite things in England… grand manors and castles, cozy book shops, quaint villages, and the beautiful countryside. We accidentally take a long residential detour before Becca realizes she accidentally input the postcode for Wembley London instead of the castle in Harrogate. I had just been telling her about my recent travels to London and how I can’t wait to go back; perhaps she was trying to make it happen today!

Passing by the airport again, we’re soon driving through the oh-so lovely English Countryside. Green rolling hills, with houses and small clustered towns spread throughout. I notice the long stretches of stone walls, which naturally recalls the Robert Frost poem, “Mending Wall.” Kirsty later tells me about an ancient law that still exists mandating that you rebuild a stone wall if you knock it down. What’s interesting about the walls is the patterns are completely random and sporadic; they aren’t blocking off anything except open land. Not even livestock. After commenting, Becca tells me the landowners used to sell small plots of land, hence the walls. I find the random “higgledy-piggledy” (I finally got it right, Becca! No more ‘piggly wiggly’ for me. ) patterns are more charming than our square blocks of fields in America, but being a bit of an anglophile, I find charm in most things British.

"Good fences make good neighbors..."

After some driving, we arrive at the 700 year old Ripley Castle in Harrogate. 700 years old, and I’ve never heard of it… just another of the thousands of castles in Great Britain! Ripley Castle is and has always been home to the Ingilby family, dating back to the 15th century. It’s currently owned by Sir Thomas, of the 28th generation. Impressive! Imagine have a family history so easily traced back! We start by exploring the grounds. The sun is out, so it’s actually not freezing. Here I stand with a perfectly preserved castle behind me as I gaze across the lake to the endless plane of green dotted with trees and small pathways. Suddenly, images of British Period films and Victorian novels come to mind. I imagine noble ladies with parasols “taking the air” in the gardens. I have these thoughts a lot in England.

Becca and I hang out for a bit getting to know each other better while admiring the view. Despite being long-distance, I feel like I’ve known her for ages! We both share a passion for books, history and travel so there is much to talk about. We discuss the American melting-pot heritage; how so many of us are an assorted blend of European cultures. I’m English, Irish, German, and French on just my mother’s side. It’s hard to imagine the solid heritage of a country over five times as old as my own.

Eventually we stroll inside just as a gentleman is kicking-off a guided tour of the castle. He is so knowledgeable that I enjoy myself immensely! I learn the Ingilby family still lives in the upper section of the castle, leaving parts of the bottom open for visitors. The family has served British royalty, including the fascinating Henry VIII, Mary Tudor, and Elizabeth I. This castle has also hosted Oliver Cromwell… as an overnight prisoner! I could go on and on, but I’ll spare you my excited ramblings about the Tudors and British history in general. I did mention I was an anglophile, no?

Ripley Castle

I continue to be enthralled by the history that all happened where I’m standing. I love this about Europe, and never fail to experience awe when standing in places where endless history occurred, especially when it’s locations of my favorite periods of history. (Ancient Rome, the Renaissance, and Tudor England). I enjoy the rest of the tour and afterwards Becca and I troll the gardens and grab a cup of coffee until it’s time to pick up Kirsty at the train station.

We got bad instruction from the Informazione booth and waited endlessly (or 45 minutes… same thing) for the notorious Bus 102 (which I still have never seen around the city) that was supposedly arriving every 11 minutes. We eyeballed other people that we had decided must also be waiting for the same bus, but after losing ‘old man,’ ‘pink jacket,’ and ‘business man with flash briefcase,’ we gave up and re-explored our options. We learned we could actually catch a bus directly to Marsala… in 10 minutes.

By the time we found the correct ticket office out of the 6 or 7 stretched across multiple blocks, people were boarding the bus. I called for Jenn, who was across the way being gripped by an old Sicilian woman trying to ask her questions, and we decided she should hold the driver while I ran to get the tickets. Wasting valuable time in a line, I finally got to the window and was able to hurredly request the tickets… in very broken Italian. Of course, this is when two older women tornado in the office with some apparently more urgent request, thus I’m more delayed. Finally getting the price I’m waiting for the very slow computer and very slow printer to produce the much desired tickets… while time keeps ticking. Jenn suddenly sprints in the office like a sitcom character shouting, ‘Due minuti, due minuti!‘… throws a 20 euro note on the window and sprints out as fast as she arrived. Finally, the tickets print after the longest minute ever and I fly on to the bus with seconds to spare.

*Note to self – Research Cefalu’ departures before tomorrow.

2 1/2 hours through the Sicilian countryside and coastline and we’re in Marsala. It is a very unattractive town on a very unattractive harbor. It is not pretty, but it is home to multiple wineries and the region is known for its wine… that’s a good enough reason, no?

After a lunch, sampling the local aracino I’ve seen all over Palermo, which is essentially a lightly fried ball of risotto, prosciutto and cheese. We walk to the popular Cantine Florio, but the English tour isn’t for 2 hours so we make our way to another winery… that happens to be on the complete opposite side of town. A 30 minute stride, (where the town got more charming… but it was siesta time so everything was closed on the carless promenade) with a small departure around a few oddly placed, inflated igloos (we don’t know either) and a mini-stroll along a garden I can’t pass up… and we find ourselves entering the Pellegrino winery just in time to join a tour group. Literally… as they walked in. Timing is everything. We couldn’t have planned that if we tried. Our new elderly tour group of tourists from New Jersey and New York was soon joined by a small group of American students studying in Florence. We learn the students came to Marsala for the beach… the beach? I don’t think they Googled Marsala once, if they came for the beach.

Like we had all the time in the world...

We enjoyed the tour… and really enjoyed the wine tasting and we soon back at the bus station with minutes to spare before the next departure. Of course, minutes… do we expect anything else?

While we had to wait too long for the damned Bus 102… we really didn’t wait for anything following. I would’ve enjoyed not having that ‘we’re-going-to-be-late’ pace much of the day… but luckily… it worked out quite well each time.

Marsala redeemed itself… enough, and the sunset on the way home was beautiful.

Teatro Massimo

After the siesta, we were back on the streets… strolling along Via Roma to Teatro Massimo and then back to a classic shopping market. It was one of those long stretches of purses, clothing, sunglasses, perfumes and scarves that one always wanders down, but never seems to buy anything at. The same happened for us. We continued walking and found ourselves back at the same pastry shop from earlier in the afternoon, but stopped to enjoy an apertivo since it was early evening and to soon for dinner. Prosecco for Jenn and red wine for me. What was a perfectly relaxing evening, was almost ruined by incredibly bold pigeons that not only loomed, but were actually ready to hop on our table in hopes of snagging the nuts and chips on display. I blame the old man at the table next to us with his chips carelessly strewn about the table and at least four pigeons pecking away at them. Ew. I shudder just remembering. That’s so gross it makes me uncomfortable. I kept my cool fairly decently, but the fat, overfed creatures definitely bothered me.

Our pastry shop

A couple of nervous encounters and great conversation later.. we made our way to a restaurant on the back alleys of the La Vucchira market area we were at before. It appears to be a sketchy area at night, but  walking down the steps you see it actually transforms into an outdoor bar of sorts. Floods of people spill out into the street since there isn’t actually enough space in the tiny bar. The streets ARE the bar. People chat and smoke, music plays, and it’s your standard Friday night scene on a warm spring night. We note that the restaurant doesn’t actually seem to be opened… or opened, but unlocked… it’s strange but we’re to hungry to linger and find our way to another spot where I decided to just guess at the translation on the menu and find myself with a seafood risotto… consisting of mussels, octopus, clams and shrimp.

I’m not a seafood aficionado by any far stretch of the word, but I’m on an island.. known for seafood… so I figure “When in Rome Palermo…”

Streets of Palermo

The next morning, well rested, I was finally able to take in my surroundings and get back in travel mode. Our B&B is very cute and complete with high ceilings and a little balcony. After a quick breakfast, we decided to spend the day wandering around Palermo and exploring the markets.

The street of Via Roma looks very different in the daylight. It’s a shopping street for sure and I’ve passed plenty of cute jackets, shoes, and tops, I would like to purchase. I’m not a big shopper when I travel though… perhaps that 1.41 conversion rate has something to do with it. Ugh! We stepped down into a side street that led us to La Vucciria, one of the oldest and most colorful street markets in Palermo. Passing the large hanging tuna fish, spices, olives and butcher and fruit stands, we spent a considerable amount of time debating if it was too early to purchase all of the cute, tasty looking jars of pesto. I never knew there were so many flavors of pesto! Do I really want to carry small, glass jars around Italy for the next three weeks though? Probably not yet.

Pistachios are a popular item in the region and I’ve noted one can find pistachio EVERYthing. Pastries, pesto, honey etc. I’ve also noted that pastries themselves are delicious here! While Jenn is on a mission to leave no pastry shop unexplored, I’ve been holding out for tasty cheeses.

Market

Unlike my former trip to Italy, here in Sicily it seems nobody speaks English. While I actually appreciate this… I should be forced to use the local language.. I am still very thankful that Jenn knows Italian, allowing me to refresh my spotty knowledge of basic conversational phrases. I keep coming up with Spanish words to communicate. Luckily it’s close and I’m sure I’ll pick up more and more as I continue.

We spent the rest of the afternoon strolling around, passing the Teatro Massimo (the largest theatres in Italy, 3rd largest in Europe, and apparently the location of a scene in Godfather III. No idea, never seen any of the Godfathers) Speaking of Godfather… nobody speaks of the mafia, nor should you. If I didn’t know, I certainly wouldn’t know this used to be the main hub for it. The city feels very safe, is actually quite fashionable around, and the people are incredibly friendly. I feel safer here than I did in Rome… or Los Angeles!

Passing through a small park across from the piazza, we noted the creepiest statue ever. At first glance it’s a smiling boy holding a jump rope, but upon closer inspection we realized it’s actually a very creepy boy with a grimace… or grin… and he’s holding a machete/scythe type weapon! I just asked Jenn how she would describe the smile and the response I got was, “I don’t know… let’s just never go back there again.” We’re a bit concerned about Children of the Corn type nightmares. Alarming statue… wonder the purpose. ??? Heading back to our room, we enjoyed a delicious spinach, ricotta lasagna with artichokes before siesta time when all the shops and restaurants close for a few hours.

Day 1 success. Happy to be traveling again. I quickly remembered why I crave it so much.

This is uncomfortable...

There was quite a build-up to my arrival this year. My 3 day work event in Los Angeles forced me to pack on Friday night and while I’m pleased that my bag is light… I feel like I might have under-packed! I’ve been so busy and distracted the days before my departure that I’ve barely had time to think about how excited I was to be going back to Italy that it snuck up on me. I honestly didn’t seem to really catch on until I walked out onto the streets of Palermo today!

It was a long… LONG… journey getting here. I boarded my flight at 5:30pm on March 29 from LAX and didn’t actually land here in Palermo until 11:00pm on March 31. 22 hours of travel that amounts to with the time difference. Nobody ever said it was easy to get to Sicily from the US… with no straights flights (via layover or not).

The journey amounted to:

5:35pm - Finally on the flight after 3 hours in the airport. Minus the pleasant body-scan… the checking in process was far faster than ever before. Good job LAX. On the flight, I was surrounded by a British military/parachute team that flies to California twice a year. This amounted to friendly conversation and a lot of overhearing standard guy banter consisting of inappropriate jokes and teasing.

9pm - Somewhere over the US… excited that Virgin Atlantic has LOADS of movie choices. I started with Love & Other Drugs. *thoughts* Jake Gyllenhaal in this movie looks eerily similar to someone I know. Also, Anne Hathaway really does have cartoon eyes. Also, non-stop or not… 10 1/2 hours is too long to sit in one seat.

12pm - London time. I spent the longest layover of my life at Heathrow and napped alot. *thoughts* I wonder if I could be one of those people that sleep with their luggage on a bench at the airport.  ……   Yes, yes I can be. *thoughts an hour later* This is soooooo long! Why don’t I have a phone? Or a jacket?!

5:30pm – Finally board plane number 2 en route to Milan… where I have the shortest layover in history (just long enough to get to the next gate) *only thoughts.* Ohhh, Milan looks so pretty at night… I’m finally back in Italy! … I can’t believe I still have another flight! … I’m so tired!

5:35pm – (or so it felt) Board plane number 3 en route to Palermo… finally! *thoughts after man says a simple ‘buongiorno’* Crap. Why haven’t I been practicing Italian? Why is my Italian dictionary in my checked luggage… I could have used all this travel time productively. Why am I so ill-prepared?!

Right now - I made it. That’s the good news. I’m back in Italy for the next 3 weeks. Whoo hoo!

**More later – It’s siesta time, but the shops and restaurants are about to open back up so I need to wake up Jenn.

Yep, it's time.

It’s been about a year.. so true to form, I’m getting antsy.

I feel like I never get a day off work; because I try to save my vacation time up for a long trip. I feel like I’m losing balance… getting pulled in too many directions and when it rains it pours. I feel like I can’t possibly do another spreadsheet or plan another event without losing my mind to the routine. I feel like if I get re-asked another question I’ve already answered one… more… time… my head actually might explode. I feel like I need to be on the move. I feel like I need a change of scene. I feel like I need to experience something new. I feel like I need history, and culture, and art, and unexpected moments!

When all of this starts happening, I have learned to recognize it’s often because I’m overdue for a change of pace, a breath of fresh air, another trip abroad. In 2 or 3 short years, travel has evolved from something I dreamt of, to something I adored, to something that’s necessary. I’m glad I found it; it’s made me more content in my city; my home. I no longer feel like when I get stagnant or maybe even bored… that I need to move away… or change careers… or some other drastic measure in search of something invigorating. My short stint away from everyday responsibilities and from all that is familiar or routine refreshes me. Maybe sometimes I need to step away from all that I love so much, so I can come back and re-appreciate it all over again like it’s brand new. In a nutshell…it’s morphed into something I not only crave, but require.

So… my next trip is on deck. It snuck up on me this year. This year has brought about a new level of “busy” I wasn’t prepared for and it resulted in me going through the motions of planning a trip, but not really having time to sit down and think about it… to get excited about it. Now it’s a couple of days away. It’s here… almost without me noticing! I have a short business event in Los Angeles tomorrow that lasts a few days, and then I’m jumping on a plane to Sicily (via London & Milan because Sicily is not easy to get into from the States)… and won’t return for a month.

Despite everything I’ve said, I’m leaving in a content state of mind. In the past, I’ve left in a state of overflowing excitement and if someone would have asked about this trip me a week or two ago, I would have had a very different response. I would have been fleeing! I would have been escaping everything I didn’t want to deal with (or couldn’t)… but in the last few days multiple stresses have been resolved, magically? with a significant amount of energy and effort, leaving me with not only peace, but… ahhh…. contentment. My constant search for contentment… (Perhaps, I’m now leaving with even a teensy, tiny, microscopic amount of bittersweet. *shhhh*)

So off I go, to explore some of my favorite cities again; to see the things I missed and experience, again, all the things I loved so much the first time. I’m going back to Italy. I’m going to revel in my love for all things Italian… and top it off with a short stay in London on my way home.

Arrivederci!

"Live and let live" is one of Amsterdam's favourite sayings.

* I love french fries with mayonnaise!

* I’ll never actually get used to almost-naked girls in windows looking at you… whether seductively, expectedly, or bored.

*I learned that liberal does work. Decriminalize ‘problems’ and it’s not so taboo, thus readily ‘abused.’ Also, talk about going green with all the bikes!

*Holland is a part of the Netherlands… not just the old name. (Note to self – back off of Italy, France and England and start reading more about the Netherlands)

*Americans can always be found at the NY Pizza shop.