Frozen feet happy hearts

Backpacking is something that I genuinely love doing, but not something that I do nearly as much as it seems. I once had someone come up to me and say, "I love following you on facebook and social media- you just seem like you have the coolest life ever. You're always on some mountain."

Let's clarify. It may seem like I'm always on mountains, because whenever I go (once every month or so), I take pictures. If I posted pictures of my every day life, you would not be impressed. This is  the beauty of social media, we can brand ourselves however we want, and people buy it.

So anyways, last fall break I chose to go backpacking because I desperately wanted to. Is backpacking relaxing? No, not for me at least. But in the midst of the semester from hell, I knew I needed to do something that made me feel alive and happy to be young. Which is exactly what backpacking is for me.

So I gathered my things with one of my good but new friends Martha, her friend who I hadn't met named Erin, and we hit the road. Erin had never backpacked before, and Martha had done a NOLS trip when she was 16. And I was, you know, fairly experienced but mostly good at pretending.

We mapped out a two night three day loop that was the perfect combination of relaxing and beautiful. When we got to the road that took us to our starting point, we found it was closed.
What why? It was only November.
Turns out a freak snow storm had some through a few days before and the Blue Ridge Parkway was covered with snow.
Blast.
No fear! We pulled out our map and quickly made a new not as beautiful but would get the job done route. About a mile in we realized, "Oh. This place is covered with snow."
For some reason it didn't occur to us that the snow that was covering the main road would be covering the trail as well. So we started hiking through about 3 feet of snow. This would probably have been fine if:
a) we had waterproof shoes b)we brought tons of socks c)we were at all prepared for snow.

We decided to set camp up early when we came to our first big clearing because we were freezing.  I ended up taking off my soaking wet shoes and just wearing plastic bags over my feet that night. So we made delicious soup and packed up camp by 6pm. At six my shoe laces were already frozen. We knew it would be long cold night.

After we packed up our food, it was time to do the dreaded bear hang. Backpackers are always so casual about bear hangs (making a pulley system to hang your food in trees so bears don't eat it). But its seriously one of the hardest things I've ever done. Usually I end up cursing the branches that catch my terrible throws and storming away. When we first set up camp we just kinda decided there were trees nearby to hang the food. Come 6pm with imminent sundown, we realized there weren't. So with completely frozen feet we walked right 100 meters looking for a tree, nothing. Left 100 meters. Then right 100 meters and we threw our food into a bush at about eye level.

Its embarrassing. So incredibly incorrect. But we were cold. And bears were hibernating right? Because of snow?

So we said a prayer over our bear food and crawled into our two person tent right as the sun was setting. Around 6:15. At that point I was so cold that I was shaking uncontrollably, which is a sign that I needed to get warm. So I took off my wet clothes and wiggled into my sleeping bag and waited for the magic to happen. About thirty minutes later I was warm. Warm-er.

Around 7pm we decided that instead of two nights we should just make it this one. We could hike all of tomorrow and just go back to my cabin to spend our last night. After all, its our fall break and we wanted it to be fun.

The thing was, that night was one of the best nights of my life. I was honestly afraid of freezing to death that night. Logically I knew it wasn't going to happen because I had scientifically proper insulation and gear, but none the less I was so so cold. So we prayed that God would send heat to that tent. Sure enough, and 3 in the morning I woke up sweating.

But that's not what made that night so fun. That night I got to talk to Martha for hours and hours. I realized we would be friends for life. I got to know Erin who is one of the most interesting and beautiful people I've ever met. We were so happy that night, because the entire thing was so ridiculous.
In many ways we were probably trying to prove ourselves to be tough. To our friends at school who took trips to the beach that weekend.
More than that we three operated on a similar wavelength. Our love for adventure pushed us into the wilderness that weekend, as well as our knowledge getting out of our comfort zones is a vital part of living life to its fullest.

We laughed until our sides hurt because we were cold. And we were the only people on the mountain that evening, because nobody did what we did. We laughed because a bear could have been eating our food, we laughed because we didn't care. We realized that night that life is horribly fun. And we were in many ways horribly dumb, which is also funny.

That night I realized that attitudes make all the difference in the world. I realize I'm probably the 7 billionth human to realize this- but my time came eventually. What could have been the worst night of my life became hilarious and fun because I knew that God would take care of me, and I was with girls who radiated joy. I realized that the joy and peace in the tent that night came from someone greater than us, because every human part of me should have hated it.

I've carried that memory in the forefront of my mind this week- because I need to.

My host parents are on a week-long tenth anniversary trip this week. My birthday was on Tuesday, so that means I spent it alone. Ok not entirely. The neighborhood moms who I've gotten to know through church, playdates, and the park, decided to throw a picnic party for me. They brought a wonderful lunch and made a strawberry cheesecake and sang happy birthday. I felt incredibly loved, which is something I needed that day. But that night, I washed dishes, put the kids to bed, and cried.

I didn't cry because I was in despair or wanted to go home. Just growing pain tears. Like when you scrape your knee and you know you're going to be ok but it stings and you just need to get the tears out.

I cried because I wanted to drink beer with my friends and watching singing in the rain and skinny dip like I did on my last birthday. I miss my friends who make me cry laugh. I miss talking to my mom on the kitchen floor on my once a month visits. I miss being able to hop in my car and drive to Target if I feel like it.

But honestly, I wouldn't trade this experience for the world.
Just like shivering in my sleeping bag waiting to get warm, I need to stay put and realize that this adventure is far better than the small comforts I crave.
And I remember the joy I felt on that cold long night, and I am reminded that I can't create that myself. I have only to ask with an open heart.

So here is to braving through my first birthday alone, and to waking up every morning with little Maggie grinning and hopping in my bed to cuddle before we start the day with our trusty bread and Nutella.

Differences

I've decided to make a list of differences between Italian living vs. American. And this is not researched at all and probably not accurate, but completely based on my own experiences and observations.

1) Deodorant: they all use spray on and not roll on.

2) Cooking: I've noticed they simplify things. Recipes aren't very time consuming, and you don't have to spend an hour and a half making a casserole or the perfectly seasoned and marinated fish tacos. Pastas are simple, and the multiple courses eliminates the need to make all the food groups taste good together.

3) Work days: Nobody brings their lunch and they take actual lunch breaks in restaurants.

4) Food: This means that there are tons of restaurants. Food in restaurants (within reason) is way more affordable here.

5) Clothes are generally pretty pricy.

6) No super stores. I miss Target, I'll be real. But people shop with intention here. Instead of a store that carries everything under the sun, there are separate stores for everything. There is a craft store, a lawn mower store, a pan store, a gazillion perfume stores, a newspaper store that sells bus tickets, a post office that sells only certain types of postage, etc. This means that I don't accidentally spend money like I did in America. It also means I don't ever know if I'm in the right store to buy things. Or how to talk to the people that work in them.

7) They are more patient. If the man in front of you at the bank is taking 30 min, then you wait 30 min. I walked into the post office and waited for the only woman working there to talk on the phone for 20 min. about her vacation. And it seemed like that was normal.

8) The customer is not always right. Most of the restaurants I've been to have rude staff, and it doesn't put them out of business.

9) Bar beans cafe.

10) Cafe means coffee.

11) If you drink a cappuccino past 11, you're a weirdo. Aka an American.

12) The reputation of American girls here is: "Friendly, but naive." I'd agree with that.

13) Americans think everything is "awesome.' But I mean, it is. I don't necessarily see the shame in bringing wonder and awe to things to which Europeans have grown numb.

14) They think America is cool. By America I mean New York. And no, nobody wants to go to South Carolina. Too many guns there, they say. They aren't wrong.

15) They also think pancakes are the raddest thing in the world. I guess its our only authentically American food.

16) When you go hiking in the Alps there are functioning delicious restaurants every few Kilometers. You can also stay the night in these, so that eliminates the need for backpacking. I also noticed hikers wear button downs and semi nice hiking apparel.

I talk a lot about backpacking and the ridiculous things that have happened to me when camping. My host mom mentioned that people here don't really go out into the wild like that. They don't really open themselves to the unknown that you're forced into when you carry your life on your back and venture deep into the wilderness.

In some ways I can't blame them, its not apart of their culture and there is no real need. It also made me grateful to have a home (America) that is still relatively wild and in certain places, scarcely populated. They wigged out seeing a squirrel and a deer here. If I had a dollar for every time I've seen a deer or a squirrel, I could probably put a down payment on one of these ridiculously nice Ferraris I've seen.

So here's to America for being big, empty spaces with room to spread my inexperienced wings and make countless mistakes trying

African Pants

So these are the only pants I've purchased here. With them I bought a pair of red crocs. I know I know, Milan aka the fashion headquarters of the world is rubbing off on me. 

I bought these because A) they're ridiculous B)I love Africa and C) They would be a great conversation starter. I imagined it going, "Hey! You're pants are crazy. Where did you get them?" or, "Hey! You are wearing patchwork linen pants with African stuff of them, please tell us the story!"

I expected my story to be, "Well, I spent a month in Tuscany. I was shocked by how many African peddlers there were. In the first hour I was sitting on the beach, I had at least four people walk up to me and ask if I wanted anything from watches, to beach toys, to dresses. I felt terrible always saying no, because I realized these were kind people just trying to make a better life for themselves. These pants came from an open market stand that was set up every night. Yes, they're ridiculous but they make me think of my love for Africa and craziness. I decided I want to only buy things here that help me remember happy times."

Well, I could stop there. They is actually a whole other part of this of which I am not proud.
Lets rewind to Spring semester of my Junior year. I took a history of Africa class (just one), and I fell in love with the History of Africa. So basically, I'm like, and expert. It was the first time I realized A) how beautiful the continent is and B) How royally Europeans screwed it up beyond repair. I wish I could say "one day repair," but honestly I'm skeptical. For years until the present,  European and American people have helped themselves to exploiting any and all of African's resources that they can get their hands on. Which is a lot, because Europeans have very eager hands.

So I'm a passionate post grad idealist who believes that much needs to change about the way the world see's Africa, and I have no idea where to start.

In Tuscany:
My host dad came home one evening with a pair of these pants. Not the same, but similar. He said he got them for 20 Euro at the stand, and I should definitely go get a pair if I wanted them. He told me to talk them down though, because 20 was too much. The stores down the street were selling pants for 10 Euro.

Suddenly I had to have these pants. I don't know when it would be socially acceptable to ever wear them in the real not college world. Maybe dress up as your favorite continent day? Maybe if I become a teacher on the first day of an Africa lesson? Maybe to  a showing of the Lion King on Broadway? Ok not that I'm thinking about it there will be plenty of opportunities.

Fun fact about me: When I make up my mind to buy something, I usually have to do it that day.

My host family spent a lot of time telling me that I HAD to talk them down. In fact, it would be sinful to buy the pants for 20 Euro. I'll be honest- I've never haggled anyone in my life. But I went armed with two friends (The sweet teenage nieces of my host family), and only 10 Euro. Options were: bring 10, or pull out my 50 Euro bill after saying that I didn't have 20.

So I was looking at the pants, and the guy walked up to us. Now he didn't speak great Italian, and I speak none. But somehow we communicated that I wanted some pants. And that he wanted 25 Euro. And I only had ten. A moment of silence. Then he went down to 20. Then 18. Then more silence. Then 15. I kept saying the same thing because really, I only had 10. In my pocket. Then I started walking away, and he said "Ok, ok. Give me 10."
So I gave him 10, I got the pants, and I walked away.

Chiara (one of the nieces)- "Did you see his face?"
Ilaria- "He looked so sad."
Me: Yes I saw his face. He looked destroyed to sell the pants for 10 Euro. At that moment I realized I single handedly exploited Africa for my own benefit. I'm not saying that man represented all of the beauty of Africa. But I'll never forget looking at his disappointed face and thinking immediately of a destroyed rainforest for industrial palm oil extraction, King Leopold's Congo conquest, and all the current civil wars in Africa that are actually our fault.

I'm the worst I'm the worst I'm the worst.
That's what I kept thinking all night.

Well I went home, and tried the pants on. They didn't fit, they were way too small and awkward.
So I did what any self respecting guilty continent exploiter would do.
The next day I brought them back and exchanged them.
Aaaaand that's it. I didn't give him any more money. I did't deal with the terrible fit and view it as karma. I went back to get what I initially came for.

So that's really the end of this sad story. Oh and yes the guy remembered me and no he was not happy to see me but yes I got a pair of pants that are huge and comfy and a wonderful representation of going against your fresh university ideals.