I don’t mean to offend any mothers or anyone born of a woman who is reading this, but my mother is the best. I don’t mean to sound cocky, but I’m just stating fact. I mean…it’s science. C’mon.


But seriously her love, fun-ness, and faith make our family strong and intimate. She is the guiding light that has directed us when it was hard to see, the comforting blanket that has warmed our hearts when it was hard to face the world, and the strengthening bond that keeps us close even as distances grow. We love her.

Almost as if I was a member to a special club called America, I continue to the short line for nationals and present my special credentials. And almost as though Tina at the counter had been anticipating my arrival since the day I left, she says, “Welcome Home Sir”

It is always a great feeling to come home. From any distance whether it is from months overseas or from a weekend getaway, the feeling of familiarity and picking up where you left off is priceless. In my situation, I found it especially comforting. After months of becoming content with lingual inferiority, I strolled through Atlanta International with my chin up and a smile as that special feeling came back….ahhhh, yesssss….competence. And although I was not lost, I had a tremendous urge to ask people for directions just so that I could demonstrate how well I could speak the native tongue.

Although I was close to exhausted from a month of new experiences and sleeping in moving chairs…followed by a sleepless night of writing and packing…followed by a transatlantic flight, no break was allowed. And thus, I mounted the 300 horses with Abbey and Sam en route to Colorado. Sam and I drove through the night and Abbey had perhaps an even tougher job of co-piloting for both of us. We took a 30 min nap in Wal-Mart’s parking lot and then went straight to the slopes.

Over the next three days we had some pretty good skiing. One day of sticky powder, one of dry powder, and one of sun. Our condo was perfect for the 5 of us, Travis, Mary, Sam, Abbey, and I. Ski-in Ski out and near the Breckenridge village. It was also fun to cook meals together after each exhausting day of skiing. It may sound strange, but exhaustion, when done correctly, is actually a refreshing break.

It was great to see Sam, and while on one of the lifts, Abs and I asked him to be a part of our wedding. He has been a great friend to us, even though we are rarely in the same city.

Travis, Mary, and Sam had the place booked for a week, but Abs and I could only stay for 3 nights. So early on Tuesday morning we set a course for the rising sun and spent a wonderful 14 hours together. We talked, we laughed, and we sat in a comfortable silence as we rolled across the great American Plains.


And for whatever its worth, I will shoot cowpies at you with a three-man slingshot from close range if you say that driving across Kansas is boring. I guess it is fine to say if you are under the impression that spending 8 hours in a car is boring. But if you claim that it is boring to drive through because it is flat, then you just claimed a stupid thing, and this strange fate mentioned above awaits you. And I am even going to go out on a limb and suggest that there are few better states to spend 8 hours driving through than Kansas (or eastern Colorado).


My grandparents made a special effort to come down to St. Louis while I was home. It was really special to see them and it always means so much when they make the 9 hour trek down the Avenue of the Saints just to spend time with us. It was great to talk to them about traveling, seeing as they have been to just about every place I visited and more.

Another highlight of the trip was getting to see Heidi and Andy’s son Tate’s Baptism. I have never seen the baptism of a baby that I know and it was nice to be a part of such a special event in his life. Furthermore it was wonderful to see all of Abbey’s family at the reception.

Yet another highlight. While home my brother and I went camping in Illinois. Talking with him by the fire makes me wish we could be in touch more often, and hopefully that will be easier in the upcoming year. But as for now I asked David to be my best man. Beyond being my brother, he is an example of courage and perseverance to me and he is the one I want standing next to me as I make this unparalleled commitment in my life.

12 hours after the round earth gave up its last glimpse of America, my parents and I touched down in Switzerland. Not since the time I was 1 year old have I had an opportunity to spend a consecutive week alone with both my parents. And in a time when I am living and studying an ocean away from the place where I grew up, feeling independent, I was afforded a unique gift. I felt like for a week, time granted me a free pass to go back to the days where I learned daily from interaction with my parents. Except in many ways it was better than those other times. My brain has developed (so I would like to think) beyond the days of dirty dipers and blankies. And my impression of my parents is significantly different from the time of my teens when I once knew everything. So in a way, this unique week in my life takes the best of it all and throws it into the setting of a vacation in Italy. We spent the days seeing new sights together and the evenings just sitting and talking in Swiss and Italian restaurants.

So, that said, I’ll give a quick run through of the trip. Lucerne, Switzerland: set against the Alps, charming, expensive. On to Venice, no one lives there, just tourists, but still really cool. Florence: Ive written enough on Florence, and I like the city more every time I go, not to mention Tuscany is one of the best spots in the world. Rome: old, fast, and beyond interesting.


So being with my parents is great, but it has to be said that being with my parents in Switzerland is super great. Switzerland is ridiculously expensive…ridiculously charming and rugged and swiss and yes…ridiculously expensive.

As I woke up on the good Friday, I walked to the third story window to get a sense for the day. I look down the alley and there where the alley meets the cobbled street is Jesus carrying his cross. I watch for a while longer as the scene plays out and then decide I have to keep getting ready. It was a passion play. Nevertheless, as the mailman rode his bike passed Jesus and as the couple walking their dog bypassed the scene, and as I decided I had to go and wash my hair, I couldn’t help but be taken by the irony of the situation. Christ gave his life for us, but so often we allow that beautiful act of love and all that it implies to become minimalized by things, and stuff, and activities. At times I have put myself first, perceiving him as merely a part of the background in a theatrical performance staring me.

(Now I am not saying that I should have thrown on my shoes and run to the street to watch the rest of the passion play, I’m just saying that the picture that I observed was an ironic snapshot and seemed to carry a lot of truth)

Venice was watery.

Anticipating huge crowds and long lines, my dad and I woke up at 6:30am to go to the Easter service in San Marco. We got there about 30 minutes early and were greeted by something I though I might never see. A totally empty Pizza San Marco. Aside from the empty wine bottles and pigeons it was without people, astonishingly. This was really a sight to see and it gave me a great appreaciation for the Piazza. And as far as the original assumption about a packed church and long lines…well… we were wrong. As we meandered into the empty church of gold and marble we were practically alone. Before the service ended there were probably about 50 people, but it really was a surprise to us that there were so few people in such a famous landmark of Roman Catholicism.

The feeling I get when getting off the train in Florence is one of fondness and familiarity, a feeling of connection. As my foot lands on the gray concrete of the platform, a vague map marked with monuments and memories makes its way yet again to the front of my thoughts. I imagine the streets of the city and the dome that defines it. I imagine leaving the trainstaion guided by my best friend who looked like a turtle. I imagine John Denver, gelato, and a bridge. Florence is a special place to me.

But as I visited it with my parents, that feeling of connection with the city grew even more. On one evening I walked my parents about 2 miles up hill to the Pizza Michelangelo. Despite the climb, we were rewarded with an incredible view of the city. They agreed, it was worth the hike. Once there, we sat on the steps, looking out over the harmonious red roofs and the giant Duomo. The sun gradually silhouetted the Cyprus-laden hillside in the distance until green turned to dark. The buildings faded from golden and our bottle of wine became just that. Actually, my dad spilled a glass. But as we sat there, I remembered why this city meant so much to me; it was the wonderful people I have been there with. As we got up to leave, this Piazza in Florence became yet another important mark on that map of memories and monuments that helps me find my way down the narrow streets.

The next day was the best day of the trip. I think we would all agree on that part. We rented a car. No, we rented a Panda, and drove to the Chianti region in Tuscany. It is possibly one of the most beautiful places in the world, well at least as far as I am concerned. We drove the winding roads until we saw a saw the first sign for a winery. So we pulled in down the dirt road and drove through the vineyards until we came to what seemed like a house, actually, it was a house, but, it was also a winery. They have this strange notion in Italy that a winery is where you make wine. I have trouble finding the source of this misconception. But it was interesting to contrast going to these Italian wineries with my idea of going to a winery where having seating and serving the people who come to taste the wine is a priority. Perhaps this example will clarify what I am trying to communicate. Going to these Italian wineries is kind of like going to a farm to drink milk. Sure its great, definitely memorable; they may even have a place where you can sample some, but lets be honest, the big activity on the farm is squeezing milk out of those utters, not serving people that milk.

We bought a couple of bottles from the elderly Italian man (he didn’t speak a word of English, but was very good at pointing and smiling) who had stopped his work to let us sample a couple of their wines. After this first winery, we continued on to stop at several more. It is hard to communicate how enjoyable it was to be with my parents, driving through the pleasantly hazy countryside just talking about life.

We had sampled many different wines but the best one, ironically was the last. What is ironic is not that it was last, but it was the one place that Abbey and I visited when we came to the region.

While we were there, an Italian man helped us sample some of the wines in their sampling room. He was fun and I have to tell you this quick story about him. His English was not very good but he could speak well enough to communicate with us. He also liked laughing, especially after he said something. He poured us some Chardonnay, which although it is definitely not a famous grape within the region, was surprisingly good. Wondering why they would produce a chardonnay in this region where the ground takes so well to Sangiovese grapes my dad primitively asks, “Why….(turns his palms up and raises his shoulders)…Chardonnay….. (points to bottle)….here ….(points to vineyards)?”. Our Italian wine producer wanting to be sure we were asking ‘why’ says “why?” My dad “Yes…yes…why” The man thinks for a second and then says, “Why no?” He immediately roared with laughter at the simplicity of his response. Of course we got a kick out of it too but he never actually did tell us why, I guess he was satisfied with his answer. He was a fun person and it was very nice of him to take the time to explain their wines to us. So, I have told several ‘you had to be there’ story and this one is probably at the top of the ‘you had to be there list’, but I know my parents are enjoying the sound clips that are undoubtedly playing in their head as they read this part.

The day was closed out perfectly at an outdoor restaurant, with hazy shades of purple and green rolling toward the horizon. Our waiter was from Romania and was also a lot of fun. His most memorable comment was this, and you have to read this slowly and imagine a Romanian accent, “No…no.. I have never been to America—mmm....but… I do know that you can not say ‘ni***r’ there.”

Like I said, Rome was fast and Rome was old. We had a private tour guide the first day. And I could write for many paragraphs about the ancient ruins, even with my very limited knowledge and experience, but the bottom line is they were unbelievably interesting. And I always love getting to see something in person about which I have learned. So instead of writing pounds of paragraphs, I’ll just post a couple pictures.

I do have to share this though. The first restaurant that I went to with my parents was the best. It was near the top of the Spanish steps and looked out from a shallow angle at the cityscape. But best of all, and I mean, this was awesome, we were seated next to a turtle fountain; In other words, a fountain with turtles in it. Now, in some ways when you go to a foreign country you are an ambassador for your own. I like to think about it like that. And so, I have to say that when the turtles started making love in the fountain, and we laughed uncontrollably and took a video, I was quite proud. And so, when European-American relations improve in a significant and unexplainable way over the next month, well, lets just say, you can thank us later.

Actually the best, part was the dance the turtles did, before mating, I got it on video and I will try and post it if possible.

Ok, even though this part is at the end, it actually happened before we even boarded the plane to Switzerland. You see, my dad suffers from a disease, it is called, “I can’t keep my eyes open in a picture for the life of me.” Although he has suffered minimally in the past, on this day in April, we diagnosed him irrefutably as a severe case. The pictures that you are about to see, have not been altered in any way. The original order of this shot sequence has been preserved and no pictures have been removed. Basically, we were just trying to get a decent picture. And folks, don’t laugh at him, he was really trying his best. Prepare to be amazed.

I finally arrived in Athens. This was a nice change of pace. The hostel made a big difference. It was the kind of place that sets up activities for you and has a bar in the hostel. These two things combine to make it easy to meet to people. I dont mean to sound like a bummer and perhaps it is my fault since I decided to let the last 10 days of my trip pile up as far a writing goes. And maybe I will come back soon and edit this entry but I am tired and I dont want to write any more. Athens was awsome. I went on a day trip to Nafpoli, went bungee jumping, saw the acropolis, went to thesseloniki wandered the city took a day trip to a beach town and joined in the marketplace to pick up a few gifts. Then I flew back to Germany. While revisions are in question, I will write a synopsis of my trip soon enough, as soon as my head stops spinning.

I had to catch a ferry to greece so I traveled to mainland italy and spent the day in Bari. The only problem was that Russian president Vladimir Putin decided to do the same. Everywhere I tried to go, guess what, it was closed so taht Putin could visit it privately.

Even before I knew Putin was there, it was very clear that someone important was putting the city on lock down. It was reminiscent of when Bush came to Vienna.

So with no sights open to see, I decided to stick with the crowds and tried to get a glimpse of Putin. I was sucessful in getting abou 15 feet from him as he entered the Basilica of Saint iforget. Even more exciting I was pulled aside by the secret service type people in charge of the even, and they searched my portable library of tourist, novel, faith, and economics books. I guess I looked suspicious with a silly beard and brown eyes.

I boarded my 20 hour ferry in the evening. It seemed more like a cruise ship. It had several restaurants, a store, bar, disco, deck, pool, and sleeping rooms but as a eurailpass holder I had the choice of sleeping on the floor or in a chair. Although I have been perfecting the art of sleeping upright I chose to sleep on the floor. So the ferrie was a great experience and I would have taken it back to Italy if I had more time.

On to Sicily. Noone was there.

I meant to meet up with friends but as things unfolded, the time to meet up with them would only be a day, so I decided to do my own thing. This part of the trip will be refered to as the contemplative period. During the contemplative period, no tourist are in sicily. I had a 12 bedroom dorm all to my self. During the contemplative period no Sicilians speak english. Actually, scratch that, Sicilians never speak english, I have become to familiar with German society. During the contemplative period, only half the stores and restaurants are open and when open they are open half the time. During the contemplative period, one should contemplate. So I did.

I contemplated at dinner, I contemplated on the beach, I contemplated in the streets. I contemplated ontop of mountains with beads of rain pouring from the once innocent looking clouds.

I did get a break from my contemplations though. I met a jobless traveler early on my last day in Sicily. His name was Mauricio. And although neither of us could speak the others language, we could communicate enough to spend the whole day together on the beach. It was nice because I could ask him questions about Sicily using our common vocab (Sicilia, America, Italy, to have, to be, etc...) and hand signals and was able to get an interesting perspective about this island I had spent 4 days on. Ask me about it. I dont want to type any more.

Another overnight train and I was in Pisa and desperate for a shower since I had not been naken in 3 days. Our hotel was about 2 km from the city center of Pisa. and they gave us bikes to use for the day which proved to be quiet useful since the leaning tower and Duomo area was about the only sight to see. Because we had the bikes, we were able to swing by a couple smaller sights that migh tnot have been worth the worlk and then wee took some of the trail in the countryside.

The next day we went to florence or at least tried. I tprove rather difficutl since som epart of the Italian railway compayny was on strik. So we eventually made itthger and did the normal tourist thing. I had a blast but it really mad e me think of Ab. I suppose martin gto tired of me talking about it. "Oh, and that is wher we sat, and that is wher we had dinner one time. and on time in this Piazza...." You get the picture. Nevertheless, Martin didn't complain and probably even pretended to be interested.
We made a daytrip the following day to a small italian hilltown, surrounded by green vineyards and marked by medievaal towers. The main attraction ther was strolling through the streets that frame views of the Tuscan landscape, however we for some strang reason decided to go into a torture museum. While it wasn't boring, it was depressing and painful for your brain. Torture museum, Not recommended; buying cheese, bread, wine and eating it on the park ontop of the city, Recommended.

The description of my time with Martin would not be complete without an accurate description of Martin. Martin asked me what was my favorite country I have visited, I said Italy. I returned the question. He said America. While there are probably many people who think that, no one has told me that yet. But perhaps I should have expected it. Martin wears Cowboy boots with Jeans and a t-shirt. Martin is a business major who believe strongly in free market economics and its implications. When we went into a supermarket, I bought a bought Beck's, my favorite German beer, Martin bought Budweiser. Another first. But of all my favorite things about Martin, this one tops them all. When you speak with a foreign fluent english speaker, the topic of accents always comes up. I said I really like South African Accents. Martin then proceeded me to ask if I knew who Larry the Cable Guy was? Yes, Of course, the Blue Collar Comedy Tour...Well, I like the sound of that accent. Suprise, is an accurate word to describe my bittersweet joy and humor. Martin is one of a kind. But in all seriousness, Martin and I had a great time and I wish we could have traveled together longer.

I left my friends in Granda to meet another friend in Pisa. I made a short stop in Barcelona, I guess you could call it a 14 hour layover. I saw Picassos's collection of paintings, Gaudi's work in progress Cathedral, and had my hair cut by someone who didnt speak english. Barcelona is big, I was not really there.

I arrived in Granada alone since my frinds rented a car. I roured the city by tfoot an dwa quie tired by the end of the day as it is a very hilly city. In the evening I met up with friends and went out for Tapas. The city was very interesting. There was a great deal of Arabic influence, from the archeitectuer to the ardends, to the food, and even to the music playing in the narrow and colorful streets. The Alhambra Palace almost lived up to all the hype that was given to it, which say a lot. Also the Capillo Real where Ferdinand and Isabella are buried was interesting. But the best thing by far was this

In Granada, it is a tradition that you get free tapas when you order somethg to drink. It was awsome. Awsome. Awsome. Awsome. Awsome. In the words of my brother on the night I got engaged, "awsome........that's awsome" Indeed. Now some places only do it because they have to, so they dont have the best ones, but other places give out really good Tapas. At one of the places they gave a fairly decent portion of fried octopus with our order or wine. It should also be said that the wine was 1.60 Euros. So it was beyond worth it. It was Awsome.

We all eventually arrive at our hostel in Sevilla. To start off with the hostel was really great. Good beds, free internet, and a roof top terrace witha small pool and all taht for 15 euros per night. They also organized events for the people staying there like a dinner on the rooftop with a good thee course meal and free Sangria. They also organize Tapas tours. S owhat are Tapas tours. In spain its a way of life, a pasttime (we are told) to go to a bar around 9 or 10 and oder Tapas, spanish appetizer, and a drink. Once you finish your Tapa dn drind, you make you way to the next Tapas Bar, our tour just lead us throughout town to twhat hte considered to be the best onees. At the end they took us to see Flemenco dancing. It was a more contemporary style with a small live band. I probably would do a poor job of describing it so I ll jus say t was really cool.

Another thing that was fun about Spain was seeing the different Patterns of daily life.

(Okay I need to pause here and make this statement. I have come to the conclusion that if you are traveling and you want to come away with a slightly clearer idea of the culture you experiencing compared to your own and others, you have to make broad and generalized conclusions based on a limited information. You need to take little occurences and turn them into representative actions of the entire city or region. This can be inaccurate and insulting but you must do it. Even as I have spent 7 months in Stuttgart and 3 months in Vienna, I feel that without these Stereotypes and generalizations based on limited personal experience and conversations, I would have nothing to say besides Stuttgart is clean and Vienna is Baroque...and some people would probably disagree with me in some way on those claims) if you have ever tried to get a sense for another culture before you know what i am talking about, if you say you dont, then you lie, liar.

So with that in mind. (Southern) Spaninsh people are not punctual. They are consistently late but through some strange paradox, the patterns of their daily life are as predictable as clockwork. All the stores open about 5 to 10 minutes after the time that they say they will. At this point, life begins. People slowly wander out in to the streets filling them to medium capacity. It stays this way until about 2 when the stores close and people make their ways to the restaurants. Its funny how some streets look totally empty at this time but when you come to a square, people are overflowing from the Taverns, standing and talking, eating and drinking, being very spanishy. After this siesta/superlonglunchbreak things slowly resume in a normal fashion. Then at about 7 or 8 something happens, people flood the streets; perhaps they're going to buy something, maybe they are walking to dinner, maybe they just want to look spanish so they go in the streets at this time and where a t-shirt that says, "I'm spanish, how could I not be, I'm in a busy pedestrian steet at 8 oclock". But after this something even more incredible happens, the stores close early and by 9:30 the streets look like a ghost town. A quiet wind howls and a lone newspaper tumbles out of sight. But dont fear, as if they had a town hall meeting concerning what to do about the empty streets and someone stood up and said, "we can solve this problem by eating dinner and going to tapas bars," the southern Spaniards flock in numbers to the districts that provide such services. After this period, reinforments are needed. The young people are then dispatched in sparkling regiments armed with mopeds and evening sunglassess to hold the city down until the morning when the old people wake up and take over. In the words of lambchops, "this is the song that never ends, yes, it goes on and on my freinds, some people started singing it not knowing what it was, and they'll continue sining it forever just because it is the song that doesn't end, yes, it goes........on.....and.......on........"