The St. Patty's Day to Remember

Among the many sites and cities I visited over the second travel week, from Budapest to Vienna to Prague to Salzburg, one of the memories I had no choice but to bring back with me, was St. Patrick's Day. After enjoying the beautiful city's castle, bridge and clock tower we went back to our hostel, had a rest and prepared to go out to an Irish Pub around the corner. After a few Irish drinks to get us in the spirit, my friends and I departed to a nearby club that was recommended to us.
In the dimly lit streets of Prague, I linked arms with my friend Molly and we strolled down the block with our hands in the pockets of our jackets. Before we could move, Molly tripped over the curb and flew me downward toward the concrete with her. She came up with a scrape on her chin and cheek as well as a bruise on her eyelid. I, however, was not so lucky.
I emerged from the concrete covered from head to toe in blood, not too sure what had happened. At first I was positive I had broken a tooth, but soon we eliminated that option as I flashed a her a big smile to be sure. Because I didn't have enough time to catch my fall as my hands were occupied, I landed right on my mouth where my tooth dug into my lip and I bit a chunk of the inside of my upper lip off. The blood continued to seep into the concrete below and crowds gathered but did nothing to help. All we could do was laugh, which only split my lip even more, but in those situations, really, what else can you do??
Molly quickly searched inside my purse for something, anything to help clean up the blood and took out the "piece of paper" from my purse to clean it up. That so-called piece of paper turned out to be our train tickets to Salzburg, our next destination, which had instantly been transformed into red tickets. It was an experience, to say the least, when we had to hand those tickets to the conductor of the train. He didn't really know how to react but seemed to be skeptically amused.
We had to move into the club, who obviously led us straight to their bathroom as my friends helped clean me up and I tried to calm down a hysterically crying Molly quite upset with guilt.
In the end, I returned to Paderno del Grappa not with souvineers, but with a slightly deformed lip on the outside and inside, bruised face and one heck of a story. Watch out for those Prague curbs...they'll get you.

The Roman Experience

Rome is a city I never knew much about, besides what I'd seen in magazines, movies and the Travel Channel. I had always been told it was a city of great history but I never fully realized the extent of that until I went there this weekend. The first thing I couldn't get over was how big everything was. The city itself you could walk around for days without a moment of boredom. Some parts were obviously more appealing then others, but my travel group mainly stuck to the tourist areas. We must have stood out like a sore thumb in some places now that I reflect. Taking 10 minutes to figure out how to purchase a train ticket, moving people aside to take pictures of passing monuments, and using our barely-there Italian to ask for directions...the list continues. I boarded the flight back to Venice with not one regret. I saw everything I wanted to, from the Roman Forum to Trevi Fountain, I'd call it a successful vacation. What impacted me the most was my experience at the Colloseum. Being told that only 8% of gladiators survived and then stepping into that same arena was mind blowing. It wasn't creepy like I expected but eye opening to how much society has changed today. Was I standing on the same ground as a man who was awaiting his death moments later? It was an indescribable feeling, but I really enjoyed the experience. Not to mention the shape the architecture is in today. I felt the same way when we saw the Sistene Chapel. Did these artists know that their work would be as incredible today as it was back then? Did they even think it would still exist? These are all questions I still left with unanswered but it was inspiring to see the magnitude of such works. I wonder where the motivation to do something so grand stems from.

The Flying Experience

After finishing a memorable short weekend in Amsterdam, I have returned with a newfound frustration and confusion for flying. Friday night we were able to take off from Venice Maro Polo on time before we had an hour layover in Munich. The flight went smoothly and we ventured throughout the airport laughing at the German words we picked out of the advertisements we passed and trying to find our gate. We stood in awe at the sight of free coffee machines, which we were in desperate need of if we were to meet our other friends in Amsterdam for a bar crawl in a few hours. Once at the gate, we realized there weren't any people around and shortly after we heard the worker announce "Last call for Lufthansa flight to Amsterdam." We sprinted toward her, giggling about almost missing our flight, although it was leaving very early. She quickly scanned our boarding passes and we walked down flights of stairs, hopped on a bus that was waiting, and finally arrived at the plane...which was not the one that matched our tickets. With the excitement built up for Amsterdam and partial delirium from lack of sleep, we boarded the plane trying not to look suspicious, and eventually took off. We did land in Amsterdam. We did get on the wrong flight. But most importantly, we didn't get caught. There was no one in our assigned seats, so we just went with it, and it all turned out okay...thank goodness!
Our flight leaving Amsterdam was a whole different experience. The plane was an hour late due to the storm that was brewing, and we were unaware of its magnitude at the time. We watched on CNN at our gate about the recent disastrous news regarding the earthquake in Chile and tsunami alerts in Japan. Was the legend of 2012 arriving a bit early? The flight to Frankfurt, the city of our layover, was a scary one with panicked stewardesses and pilots and drops that made us feel like we were on a rollercoaster...a potentially fatal one. Once at Frankfurt, 120 flight connections had been cancelled, including ours to Venice. All trains shut down due to weather alerts until morning. Any bus, cab or car would still make us late for our 8am classes and cost a fortune. News poured in about 45 people in France that had died because of floods or fallen trees. A boy in Portugal had just been killed because of powerful winds moving heavy objects. But we had to fly. After waiting nearly 3 hours to talk to our airline, we witnessed fights between Europeans and young Americans as our knees grew numb and patience faded. We finally got a flight out to Venice at 9:30pm which, as expected, ended up being delayed until midnight. However it did arrive and we were able to take off. By that time, there was no need to be scared of the flight ahead. We just wanted to get home. And we did, after a 150 euro cab ride later. Travelling is something I love, but getting there is a whole other story. This feels like one of the longest weekends of my life!