I-ah Speak-ah Engleeeesh very goood!

Ohh, where to begin?... So I left Haarlem, the Netherlands on Wednesday instead of Tuesday, for Paris, which according to Anastasia, "holds the key to your heart", land of all things that I absolutely cannot pronounce (just in case german and Dutch weren't difficult enough). The woman at the Amsterdam train station informed me that the high-speed, nonstop train to paris from Rotterdam Centraal was completely full. She helped me plan a route that consisted of 4 trains that all were free with my eurail pass, but that took 3 and a half hours longer. But I made it safely to Paris.
I wouldn't say it holds the key to my heart, but it was nice that the metro was so easy to figure out there. It's basically impossible to get lost in paris. I went to Louvre Museum, which is super huge. I left right about the time they were closing it. Then I went down the Champs Elysees, which was totally decked out for Christmas, and to the Arc de Triomphe. Saw the Eiffel Tower and Sacre Cour and Montmarte. I loved Notre Dame. I've been in lots of gorgeous cathedrals while I've been in Europe, but I think that Norte Dame was my fave. The Saint Chappelle was gorgeous too. Somehow I managed to get myself confused for a good 20 minutes or so standing right in front of it. Apparently it's kind of inside the area where France has its Supreme Court or something and I was staring at the map going, "Ok, so Saint Chappelle should be right in front of my face, but this says it's the Justice Building... Hmmm." Eventually I figured it out. Well, at least the metro is idiot-proof.
I also got to spend some time with my cousin Becca while I was in Paris. It was so good to get to sit down and talk to her about life and get a few hints about Paris. She had been really helpful in letting me know what I should see while I was there and how I should get there. I don't know what I would have done without her.
I left paris on a night train headed for Milan. In my couchette compartment was a South African, a Pakistani, 2 Frenchmen, and an old Itaalian woman who kept insisting that she "speak Engleesh very gooood." (Half the time I couldn't communicate with her, but she was so sweet and I'm super glad she was there.) Anyway, these 2 suspicious looking French guys didn't have passports, so the conductor told them that they were going to have to talk to the police when we crossed the border. Sure enough, shortly after 1am, the police came banging on our compartment door, yelling in Italian and English about who didn't have a passport. It turned out to be those 2 guys and they didn't really understand what the policemen were asking them. They searched their bags and one of the other passenger's bags, and then took them out of the compartment. They never came back, so I guess they got thrown off or something. I didn't realize it was such a big deal. Even on international trains, I show them my eurail pass aka ticket and they've never asked me for my passport before, except that night trian.
So I got to Milano Centrale at 5:40 in the morning, got a reservation for a train to Firenze Santa Maria Novella station, paid 50 euro cents (75 dollar cents) to go to the bathroom, sat around on the floor like a hobo for 2 hours, and finally left to go back to Florence. :) I love Florence.
It really is home. I left SMN and followed my familiar path to the bus stop, got on #16, and rode out to Scandicci. My next task was climbing the hill to the villa with my backpack, whcih is difficult, but wasn't so bad. I think I'm gonna miss that hill. Anyway, I was the first person back and no one was there, so I sat outside the villa with good ol' Zeus to keep me company until Kyle got out of church and showed up to let me in. Let me tell you, I got right in the shower, and it was a good thing too. I smelled like trains, cigarette smoke, and nasty French people. Icky.
Optional villa stay was fun. For the most part, for like I whole day I was feeling really crappy, but trying to seem happy and I know it wasn't working. I think it was a relapse of what was bothering me in the Netherlands, which is probably just because I'm so exhausted and have been forgetting to take my allergy meds. Anywho, the first day, we went back to San Gimignano aka San Jimmy-John-o. It is definitley one of my fave places. Just a cool little town. I got to spend some more time in Florence, relax and plan some more free travel, and print off something like 30 pages worth of maps, buss maps, and directions. (Thank-you Harding University!) It was cool, because we pretty much ate out for every meal, unless the ladies were cooking, and I never had to buy a thing.
And so this morning, I got up after everybody except one other person had already left, said "ciao" to Sandro, walked down the Via Triozzi hill, and said good-by eto the villa, Scandicci, and Florence. It was hard, because this time, I don't know when or if I'll be back. Hopefully I'll make it back one day, but I'm not promised that. I'm not even promised to make it home. It's a crazy thought. I'm really not in control of my life, which kinda scares me. But honestly, I think I trust the One who is to do better things with it than I could do for myself, so I know I'm better off. It's like they say, "I don't know what the future holds, but I know Who holds the future." Hmm, that's comforting.
I wasn't bawling this time when I left...It was different. Yeah I love the villa, but it wasn't the same. As frustrated as I got this semester with some of my classmates and as stressed out as I seemed to be, happiness is something you remember, and I remember it as it was before. It was actually kinds creepy being so empty. The max number of us that were there this week was 7. Compared to 32. Yeah, it was weird.
Ok, I did cry a little on the train though when it left Florence. And here's what's dumb...I do have to go back through that trian station on my way to Venice on Saturday. But it won't be the same.
So now I'm in Assisi, home of good ol' St. Francis, St. Clare, and the Italian people that run my hotel and don't speak English. Like at all. The only word the guy knew in English was "Engleesh?" But I knew enough Italian to communicate with him. Which made me really happy. I have learned a little something worthwhile.
It's way colder here than it was in Florence, and it was so foggy for most of hte afternoon that I could hardly see the church I was standing right in front of.I went to the Duomo of San Rufino and the Basilica of St. Francis. My hotel is right by the Duomo, but they seriously hide the most important church building in the whole town. San Francesco took me FOREVER to find...and there are a bajillion signs that point towards it. I finally got here and went in after looking at the awesome nativity they have outside of it (Europeans LOVE Christmas)... apparently St. Francis was there when Jesus was born. lol. Anyway, I went and saw his tomb and people were like crying and praying, kinda like they were at Pope John Paul's tomb in the vatican. I wish I knoew just a little bit more about Catholicism. I've been living in the middle of it for 3 months and I still feel clueless. I don't even think I spelled it right.
Anyway so I went upstairs to see Giotto's frescoes of the life of St. Francis (I hate that I even know what a fresco is...or who Giotto is...Ok, I actually love it; it makes me feel smart.) I'm looking around and there are like 12 monks standing in a circle at the front of the room, and this policeman looking guy comes up and says something to me in Italian. All I get is "Santa Messe". Which is weird b/c besides that securit guard and all those creepy monks (who were giving me creepy hellish looks) I was the only other person in the church. I think 5 o'clock mass is actually held downstairs...maybe the monks stand around and pray during mass; who knows? So I left. It was dark adn foggy, so here I am. Sitting at my hotel with a package or Ringos (Italian Oreos) and a liter and a half of Pesca Estathe (the most delicious peach tea you'll ever have!) and writing a blog. Story of my life. Heehee.
So tomorrow I was thinking I would try to go to the Hermitage up on the mountain, but I might not want to walk 4 kilometers uphill and I'm seriously creeped out by friars now. htey are way creepier than they sound. No joke. I think they knew I wasn't Catholic and were trying to put the fear-of-God in me. Anyway, 2 weeks from today, I'll be home. Well, actually a little over 2 weeks from today... By the time I land in Georgia, it will be 11 pm on my body's timer and by the time I land at DFW, it will be 3:30am. Whew.