My Year in Europe

My visit to Turkey was one of the most memorable of my time overseas. My first time in a Muslim country as well as the continent of Asia (although the peninsula of Turkey is known as Asia minor). This is the land of the ancient Trojans, of Mount Ararat from Genesis, the homeland of Jacob and Esau, of the early Christians and apostles--Paul, John the Evangelist, Luke; it is a land of sultans, hookah, Turkish Delight, the Orient Express, the Silk Road, and Byzantium. Our word for "meander" comes from the winding Meandros river; the tomb of King Mausolos is the origin for "mausoleum." The Anatolian peninsula, Turkey's geographical name, came from the word for mother-goddesses, and places such as Ephesus was the home of the famed Amazons. The musical terms "Ionian" "Lydian" "Dorian" "Phrygian" and other modal names originate in the provinces of Anatolia. Turkey exports the finest silk, dried apricots, tea, wool, and coffee. Turkey invented coffee, and when the Ottoman Turks invaded Vienna, the Viennese adopted the drink and introduced it to the rest of Europe. When the Viennese drove out the Turks, inspired by the moon symbols on the Turkish flag, they invented a crescent-shaped pastry to celebrate the victory--the croissant.

Thus, a visit to this culturally and historically dense land left me only wanting more. I spent three days soaking in just a tiny fragment of all that this place has to offer:

Our flight from Rome to Istanbul on Turkish airlines was a fun experience. On a mere 2 hour flight they served us a really tasty lunch; the music when we entered the plane was something akin to "arabian nights." All of our eyes lit up, and for the rest of the trip, the girls would frequently break out into songs from Disney's Aladdin. When we landed in Istanbul, I received a Turkish visa to stick in my passport as well as a neat stamp. We then took a short flight to Izmir, then boarded a boat to Kuşadası, a resort town where we would spend the night. The town was situated in a little cove overlooking the Aegean Sea. A fat golden moon rose over the horizon as we made our way to the hotel. The next morning, we had a very Turkish breakfast of tea, bread, feta cheese, olives, and sweetened sour cherry jam. We were going to visit the two locations of the town of Ephesus, situated on a ridge surrounding a flat plain that had once been the Aegean Sea. Now several miles away, the Aegean used to lap up to the docks of Ephesus, but since then the river has silted the land and created a wide delta. The first location was where we would find the remains of the Temple of Artemis, one of the seven wonders of the ancient world. Nearly all of the marble was carted away to create the Basilica of St. John by the Byzantines, but a few columns have been reconstructed to give an idea of the scope of the temple. The temple to Artemis is an indicator of the peoples who first occupied Ephesus--the Amazons, worshipers of mother-goddesses. In fact, Ephesus' name comes from an Amazon queen.

As I was snapping some photos of the temple, my classmates and I noticed a small herd of sheep grazing on a hill above the temple. Abandoning the historically significant ruins of an ancient wonder, we excitedly took photos of the baby lambs instead, until the annoyed mothers herded the little ones down the hill.

Our next stop was the second location of Ephesus, the city where Paul lived, worked, and preached, where John the Evangelist brought Mary to live out the rest of her days, and where the Emperor Ceslus built the third-largest library of the ancient world. The highlight of the visit, besides all the friendly cats, was seeing the Odeion theater from Acts 19, the only Roman theater mentioned in the New Testament. This massive open-air theater is carved into a cliff and sat up to 25,000 spectators, and was a place where gladiators fought, speeches were given, plays performed, and other public events held. It was chilling to stand on the very stones were Paul was the subject of a riot by the silversmiths of Ephesus, who were being put out of the business of idol-making due to Paul's evangelizing.

In the old location of Ephesus, the Basilica of St. John stands as a monument to the very place where John the Evangelist wrote and died. Built by the Emperor Justinian and his wife Theodora, the Basilica is in ruins due to an earthquake, but still contains some precious frescoes and an old baptistery. Built with two exits and a central font, the person to be baptized would enter from the West, symbolizing pagan Rome, and after baptism, would exit to the East, symbolizing sunrise and the New Jerusalem. There is a marble plaque near the high alter marking the tomb of St. John, who wrote his Revelation while in exile on the nearby island of Patmos. Sadly, his remains were removed in the Crusades and now sit in some unknown reliquary in Christendom. While we were in the Basilica, a group of Korean tourists sat down and had a worship service. They sang some of the old Church of Christ tunes, including "It is well with my soul." Though I don't know if they were in fact Church of Christ, seeing and hearing these believers from so far away in the land of the New Testament was an experience I won't soon forget.

We capped off a day with a visit to an archaeological museum with relics from Ephesus, then went to a Turkish rug-making business. Turkey is known for having some of the world's finest silk due to its white mulberry trees (white mulberries help the silkworms make extremely white silk), and is famous for its silk carpets. After seeing how silk is extracted, we were shown how the rugs are knotted on a loom and served Turkish apple tea. After the demonstration, the owner had rug after rug rolled out onto the floor for us to kneel/roll/lay/step on to admire the craftsmanship. Apparently, a rug's value is not only determined by its make and material, but also how used it its; the more used = more valuable, so the owner was all too happy for us to lay on them. The silk rugs, which can be up to a hundred or more thousand dollars in value, were some of the most beautiful objects I've ever seen/felt. Incredibly intricate, the tightly knotted silk fibers change shade depending on how the rug hits the light, thus a bright apple red can turn into the deepest garnet when the rug is turned upside down.

After the rug shop we visited a tile factory, where my mouth watered at some gorgeous blue ceramics, and then we loaded up the bus to return to the Izmir airport to fly back to Istanbul. We boarded another bus in Istanbul and drove to our hotel in the historical district on the European side. Istanbul is a city famed for spanning two continents, Asia and Europe being divided by the Bosphorous strait. Our hotel sat on a hill over the Golden Horn, which is the wide harbor before the strait begins, and had an amazing view of the Topkapi Palace and Blue Mosque lit up by floodlights at night. My hotel room came with some great complimentary items, and on the top shelf of the wardrobe I found a prayer rug, you know, in case I was a good devout Muslim and needed to pray while on vacation.

The next morning our bus took us to the church of the Holy Savior of Chora to admire some Byzantine mosaics. Like most Byzantine churches in Turkey, when the Turks invaded, it was converted into a mosque, the mosaics plastered over and a minaret and prayer niche added to indicate the direction of Mecca. Now, the Church is a museum and the mosaics have been restored.

We also visited the Hippodrome, now a park, which was once the Roman arena where chariot races were held. Nothing of it remains today except for a tall granite Egyptian obelisk, but many famous statues were once here, including the four bronze horses that now sit in St. Mark's Basilica in Venice. These horses date back to the time of Alexander the Great, and were taken from Constantinople to Venice, then were removed to France by Napoleon, then returned to Venice.

The Hippodrome sits right by the Blue Mosque, which was our next visit. The mosque was easily more impressive than any church I have ever visited, with its blue slate domes stacked one on top of the other, golden spires rising from the massive top dome and the famed six minarets. It was incredibly elegant, a feat of Muslim architecture. I had to take off my shoes upon entering the mosque, and my feet sank into soft carpet as I craned my neck, looking up at the amazing intricate tile work and frescoes of vines, leaves, and flowers, decorating the ceiling and walls. Low-hung candelabras with glass globes of light gave the whole place a very ethereal glow.

We next saw the Hagia Sophia, the Byzantine church-turned-mosque-turned-museum. Besides the gorgeous domed architecture and marble craftsmanship, the Hagia Sophia was mostly a bizarre mix of Byzantine Christian and Muslim iconography. While inside, Tommy and Jaclynn devised a plan to grab attention--typical. These two are merely good friends and partners in crime, but would be a cute couple if they actually were together; both are blond and possess a preppy fashion sense. Inspired by a marriage proposal in the Uffizi that grabbed the attention of everyone in the Botticelli room, they decided to fake a marriage proposal in the Hagia Sophia. We were all informed of this plan, but were going to act as if it were a surprise. In front of the former high altar, Tommy gave Jaclynn a cheesy romantic smile, knelt in front of her, and proposed marriage. Jaclynn, suppressing giggles (which worked because it looked like she was emotional) said yes, then Tommy kissed her cheek and they shared a hug--but by this time, were aware that their plan was foiled, because the other tourists paid them little attention. They merely turned around to see what was going on, shrugged, then continued taking pictures. Oh well, it made a good video.

Our visit that afternoon took us to the Topkapi Palace, where the Ottoman sultans ruled their empire in fabulous luxury. Everything was marble, lapis lazuli, gilt, and silk rugs. We toured the Harem, marveling at the opulence in which the concubines and wives lived. It was like stepping into the palace from Aladdin. The windows were shaped into arabic arches, and low couches, glittering crystal, and intricate designs were everywhere. Every room had a fountain; when water flowed through the copper taps, it would create white noise so that the sultan and his favorite could converse unheard. We learned that the Sultan's mother would have a personal gossip reporter. With so many women in one area with little male interaction, all of them sleeping with one man, the gossip would have been off the scale compared to our soap operas. We also toured an exhibit with examples from the sultan's treasury. I have never seen so many rubies, diamonds, and emeralds plastered onto things. There was a gilt box full of hundreds of emeralds, as well as an 86 carat diamond. We saw a suit of Turkish armor that was solid gold and stuck with so many jewels that I imagine the wearer would be barely able to move.

Our bus then dropped us off at the famed Grand Bazaar. This covered shopping extravaganza covers 65 streets and has over 3300 shops, all of them selling the best counterfeit designer bags I have ever seen, brass oil lamps, ceramics, silk and cashmere scarves, leather jackets, silver jewelry, perfumes, and other items from the Orient. It is a disorienting maze of shops, all the streets branching off from the wide golden road, which is lined with jewelery shops. The colors drip from the walls in the form of beaded strings, frescoed arches, lamps with colored glass panels, and Turkish flags. I had a mere hour and a half to explore this maze and haggle with the very pushy shop owners. They were full of phrases to shout at as I walked past them (all of the shop owners were men). I was the recipient of such slogans from the mild persistent "Excuse me? Lady?" to "Buy one get me free!" or "Oh, can I have your eyes?" (Turkish people like blue eyes A LOT) "Oh, hello, spice girls?" or "Hello, angel, come see Louis Vitton?" to "How about a date, can I have your number?" I literally heard these phrases hundreds of times, simply because each and every shop owner stands outside their shop and shouts these, and there are hundreds of shops.

Exhausted from the long day of sightseeing, many of us had signed up to have a Turkish bath. These bathhouses were once centers of socializing for the couped-up Muslim women and business talk for Muslin men. Since the Muslim faith demands great cleanliness from its believers before entering mosque, the baths were significant religiously. Turkish baths also became extremely popular in England during the Victorian era. Nowadays, it is a spa-like atmosphere and a great way to draw out the toxins in your skin. We were separated by gender into the bathhouses, and given keys to lockers to deposit our clothes as well as a large cloth sarong. The girls were nervous, since Turkish baths are traditionally done nude (well, it is a bath). I won't say here what I did, but most of our girls went topless, a few completely au natural. The necessity for this was explained when we entered the steam room. A large heated marble slab took up most of the circular room, and on top of it lay women either warming themselves or being scrubbed down by a big Turkish woman. She first used a rough cloth to buff away the dead skin, then used a net to lather up a huge ball of suds from olive soap, then poured them over you and rubbed you down. Then, there are little alcoves off the main room where small shallow fountains are filled with taps of cold and hot water. You dip water out with a tin bowl and wash off the suds, then the bath ladies wash your hair, dumping more water all over you. There is no actual washing in a bath tub or pool like a Roman bath. It was so refreshing to be pampered and cleaned in a such a manner, and all of us girls had some quality bonding time.

Our last day in Turkey began with a visit to the Egyptian Spice Bazaar. This market is much smaller than the Grand Bazaar, and features shops selling spices from all over the Orient, including precious Iranian saffron. There are all kinds of teas, herbs, essential oils, dried fruits, and nuts. Turkey is the main exporter of hazelnuts. The spices are piled into miniature mountains of yellow, rusty orange, dull green, black, and deep crimson. Cubes of sugary Turkish Delight, or lokum, are stacked in front of sweet shops along with boxes of apple tea and homeopathic cures. Gleaming hookah water pipes and the sweetened, flavored tobacco, called Tumbâk, accompanied them in colorful boxes outside herb shops. I ended up buying a bag full of aromatic teas, some curry, chili, and barbecue spice, as well as a rather expensive 3 grams of Iranian saffron.

We next boarded a little ferry and took a cruise down the Bosphorous strait. The houses and palaces surrounding the strait belied the richness of Istanbul during the Ottoman Empire. We sailed all the way to the opening of the strait into the Black Sea, able to view the two continents of Europe and Asia separated by an expanse of silver water. We had a long lunch in a fancy restaurant overlooking the strait (a meal that included caviar) and then took the bus across a bridge to the Asian side. It was raining and cold, and so instead of exploring the rather mundane Asian market, I sat in a cozy Starbucks and chatted with my classmates. I even met an American missionary who was living on the Asian side of Istanbul--he was from Arkansas and had moved with his wife to Istanbul two years previous. Turkey has only 5,000 Christians, being a Muslim country, and they felt called to help with church building there shortly after graduating from college. The missionary, Lee, was surprised to see so many American students on the Asian side, since few tourists ever leave the European side. The Starbucks workers were also astonished to see so many Americans there as well, and since so many of us had crowded into the cafe out of the cold rain, they offered us some small cups of french-pressed caffe-lattes and coffee cake. Not usually a coffee drinker, I took a latte and actually liked it, though I think I will stick with tea.

That evening, as our last event in Turkey, we walked to the Sirkeci Gar, the train station that served as the end of the Orient Express. It had some very arabic architecture and was an interesting location, but our purpose there was to see the Whirling Dervishes. The Dervishes are a dying sect of Islam, and whirl in circles as they pray, their long white skirts fanning out. They wear beehive-shaped hats on their head, symbolizing a tombstone for the death of the Ego. The Dervishes did not always allow outsiders to view this ritual, but since they need money badly as well as recruits, they now have exhibitions open to the public. It felt strange watching this ritualistic prayer, because it was obviously not something meant to be a spectacle.

After the Whirling Dervishes, we trooped back to our hotel for dinner and bed. I was exhausted by the end of the week from late nights and early mornings, but wanted a week more to explore this amazing city and country. I felt such a religious connection to this place, virtually the land where Christianity was born and began is spread to the West. The exotic nature of this land, a crossroads of European and Eastern culture, was addicting. It made me wish to see more--to explore the middle east, to see India, China, and other places where ancient cultures were born. I will never forget the colors, sights, and smells of Istanbul, nor the stones of Ephesus where so many events of the New Testament took place. This is one place everyone should try to visit in their life. As the Turks say, Şerefe!, or, "to your honor."

There is a reason they call Ireland the "Emerald Isle," obviously, because it's so GREEN. Thick, mossy green grass covers the marshy ground, green moss and vines creep up the bare winter trees. It even paints the sea cliffs into a verdant marvel. Add to that the deep green paint on most of the pub signs, the tourist shops full of green merchandise, and even the national trains shamrock-y logos, and you feel like you've stepped into the Emerald City from the Wizard of Oz.

Galway will have a special place in my heart for many reasons. Located on the far Western shore of Ireland, it is also the heart of Irish Gaelic and the town where the famous Claddagh ring was first made. Used as engagement and/or friendship rings, the hands clasping the crowned heart sign is everywhere, and you can buy beautifully crafted rings for reasonable prices, along with bracelets, necklaces, cufflinks, earrings, etc. The original Claddagh jewelry shop has a small museum inside that plays a 7 minute commentary on the history of the Claddagh, and features rings from the 1700's, and the world's smallest Claddagh. I received my first Claddagh from my friend Shannon for my Christmas/birthday present, and features a turquoise heart. When I was buying some rings from a shop here in Galway, the seller admired my ring, saying he'd never seen one with turquoise before, probably made in Mexico. I am now the proud owner of an authentic "made in Ireland" silver Claddagh, complete with stamped hallmark detailing who made it and the silver content. This hallmark is required by Irish law on all authentic Claddaghs.

Yesterday it was raining in Galway, and since we had missed the tour buses for that day, Shannon and I decided to shop around and explore the city. There is a small shopping mall next to our hostel, which is located right on Eyre Square in front of the train station. The mall had some shops with pretty cheap merchandise, and served as a good shortcut to the historical downtown. The clerk in the Claddagh shop recommended some pubs in the area, ones that played live, traditional Irish music in the evenings.

We also met some girls from the US who were sharing our room in our hostel. Ashley and Kate were seniors studying in London. Kate and I shared a bond in that she'd studied in Florence her sophomore year as well, at Lorenzo di'Medici. We shared some of our favorite places to eat, and talked about adventures in the market.

Last night was an adventure; Shannon and I were invited into a pub near the creperie we had raided for dessert by some Irish boys out for a smoke. A little wary but confident they were harmless, we stepped inside. We immediately befriended Jer (short for Jerod), Sean, Marc, Keith, and some boy who's name sounded like a cough. All ranging in ages from 19 to about 26. We were treated to a night of Guiness (Shannon and I split one, don't worry Dad), traditional Irish music (which the boys rather drunkenly riverdanced to) and funny stories in their thick Irish accents. Stuff like, "Me mudder dropped me on me 'ead," and calling Shannon an "estu'ry" (estuary) because her name comes from the Shannon river near Limerick. The pub filled up quickly as the night went on, full of university students celebrating the end of finals, as well as older locals and tourists in for a night of traditional Guiness and Celtic music. We even met a cowboy from Oklahoma, who said he preferred Texas, to my delight.

Today we explored the countryside and seacliffs around Galway on a bus tour. Our guide took us through some tiny farming villages, complete with wooly black-faced sheep and thick-furred cows. The Moher Cliffs, which reminded me forcefully of the "Cliffs of INSANITY" from The Princess Bride were absolutely breathtaking, plunging 600 feet into the blue-green Atlantic ocean. White birds drifted in currents of cold air around their nests in the cliffs, and the spray was so strong that it vaulted ocean water all the way up and over the cliffs and onto our heads.

We also visited a neolithic monument, a portal tomb remniscent of Stonehenge, aone amidst pastures and empty green land atop a strange formation of flat rocks divided by deep channels. We also drove amongst the rough, limestone hills of the Burren, and explored the Ailwee cave, complete with ancient bear bones (from 900 years ago, when the last bears left Ireland) and calcite formations. The caves in the Burren were carved by rushing underground rivers tunneling through the limestone to the sea. They still flood often, and even Ailwee, the most safe and heavily visited, had spectacular waterfalls plunging from the cave roof down to pools below our manmade walkway.

More when I have more computer time!
Ciao,
Leah

Hi everyone! I know my family and friends are anxious for some word from me, in my current nomadic state around Europe, so I'm taking a break in Pepperdine's London program house to update you all on what's been going on.
It's amazing how efficient you become, traveling. Whether or not I know the current language, you learn to take certain steps immediately, without even thinking. When I stepped off the train in Prague, in a rather sketchy-looking train station, I could understand nothing from the strange czech words, but right off the bat, I knew that I needed, 1. a map, 2. czech money, and 3. a way to get to my hostel. And within an hour, I had accomplished all three, depositing my bag and my life in a new city, with a strange language, eager to see what was in store for me. I had an amazing time in Prague. The city is like nothing I've ever encountered before, with the triangular towers rising to the sky, the sloping roofs, and a thriving tourism industry, which catered splendidly to the Christmas season; Prague was full of Christmas markets and, surprisingly, lots of Harry Potter references. The czech marionette shops always had a little Harry Potter puppet, sometimes a Ron one, and more rarely a Dumbledore.
My traveling partner, Samantha, and I stopped briefly in Berlin. We saw the Brandenburg Gate and Checkpoint Charlie, which was really cool, paying homage to the time not so long ago when Berlin was divided by communism. There was a great museum next to the checkpoint.
Copenhagen was rainy, and we spent most of our time resting in our cushy hotel room, having been exhausted by the three middle-of-the-night train changes it took to get there. I did see the Little Mermaid Statue, and was really fascinated by the Danish tradition of hanging big red hearts on their Christmas trees.
Now I'm in London, and loving it! Sam and I saw Chicago at the West End, visited the National Gallery and Fleet Street (where there are two old taverns but no sign of a demon barber...), and stepped inside Harrods, the world-famous department store. I'm currently in the London House, meeting up with old friends as well as encountering students from the Florence Program. It feelts like a big family reunion, seeing so many people you know in a place so far away from anything familiar. I'm content with where I am, yet looking forward to Ireland and Germany, then Italy with my mom. I wish I had more time in London, but I know that I have places to see, new people to meet, and new things to experience. I don't yet feel travel-worn, but I have a new wisdom about the world and the people in it. The Londoners are some of the nicest, most polite people I've ever met, and I feel very welcome here. I can't wait to see what tomorrow holds. And that's the exciting thing about traveling--waking up in a new city, seeing what's in store for you.
A very Merry Christmas to you all, and God Bless,
Leah

Thinking about the past few weeks, many things seem blurred; travels interspersed with tests, homework, Rock Band, planning, skype, and other various distractions. I've meant to keep a regular journal and blog going about all this confusion, but I often find myself exhausted after a weekend traveling, or too caught up worrying about midterms. My bed has become a very comforting place to nap, check emails on my laptop, or just veg in front of youtube videos for a few hours. I feel completely useless and unproductive, but I do think it's just my natural response to so many stimuli; after cramming for tests, taking pictures and uploading them (when I can), running errands, taking time to talk to people back home, plus looking up airline fares and hostels, the last thing I want to do is blog about it all, much less make any progress towards any other endeavor.

This past weekend, for instance, I traveled to Naples, Sorrento, and Capri. After missing our early train to Naples, my traveling partner, Samantha, and I, finally managed to get to our hostel around 3 pm on Friday. We had to take a metro from Naples, the Circumvesuviana line, to the little touristy town of Sorrento. We stayed in a very Ikea-esque hotel room in an apartment-type hostel called "Emily Suites." We had a little LCD TV, a hot pot, and a clean, modern bathroom, everything in the room either white or the same shade of robin's-egg blue (thank you, Crayola). Fighting the sunset, we made it to Pompeii in time to walk around and take pictures for about an hour before returning to Sorrento when the sun slipped behind the mountains. That night, we walked around the shops, bought some of the leather sandals that are sold exclusively in the Amalfi coast area, and fought our temptation to buy out a store that sold all kinds of lemon products, from lemon-infused chocolate to the famed liqueur lemoncello.

Saturday we shelled out 30 euro each, cut in front of a whole queue of elderly British tourists, and boarded a ferry to Capri. After arriving the Grand Marina, we bought a map and decided to climb up a steep hill for thirty minutes to the centro of Capri proper. As we emerged up the stairs, sweating and huffing, I saw a line of pillars overlooking a vista of the island--it was the picture I'd painted this summer! Sam and I walked around Capri for a little while, then took a bus to Anacapri, which, in my opinion, was a much more attractive town. We then decided to follow our map down a winding road to the Blue Grotto. What we didn't realize was that we were in for about an hour and a half hike down a road, with no restaurants, stores, anything on either side, but residential neighborhoods. We finally arrived at the bottom of the hill, famished, and paid too much money for a rather mediocre meal. After lunch, Sam and I changed into our swimsuits and hopped in the ocean. Unfortunately, though the water was beautiful and clear and refreshing, I got stung on the shoulder by a jellyfish, and thus got out rather promptly.

The next leg of our journey, the one home, is far too exhausting to relay in detail, but just know that it involved a six hour train ride in a squished compartment from Naples to Firenze's Campo di Marti station. Upon arriving in Campo di Marti, Sam and I stayed where we were, not wanting to get off at this particular station as it is rather far from the house, and it was two in the morning. The next stop the train made was in Bologna, where we waited for another hour and a half for a train going to Firenze Santa Maria Novella. I collapsed in bed around 7 thirty that morning, thoroughly sick of public transit.

This week has been fraught with tests and preparations for more tests. Wednesday, however, despite rain and general gloom, our entire house went to a soccer game! Fiorentia vs. Inter Milan. We all bought purple Fiorentina jerseys, scarves, etc., and cheered our team for the full two hour match, though no one scored. Italians are literally crazy about soccer (calcio). There was more spirit expressed here than in any football game I've been to in America. Everyone was wearing the team colors, carrying flags, cheering and singing in unison, rudely gesturing to the Inter supporters (who were safe to retort just as rudely behind their cramped section in bulletproof glass). Kate and I painted gold florentine lilies on our cheeks, and garnered the attention of some male fans behind us. I suppose we were amusing, American girls at a soccer game where the fans were mostly Italian men, yelling just as loud as them.

This weekend, I'm trying to plan out my fall break in Paris, as well as working on my paper over Via Maggio in the Oltr'Arno, and thinking about studying for the massive humanities midterm on Tuesday. The gray skies currently dumping rain over Florence are not very motivating, however. Maybe I'll take another nap.

Pace.

Our first educational field trip of the year brings me to the lovely island of Sicily, or Sicilia, the "ball" that the boot of Italy is "kicking." We began our journey with a flight from Florence to Palermo. Still bleary-eyed from a four a.m. wake-up call, we were bused from the airport along the coast, the blue Mediterranean Sea shining in the morning light. In the distance I could see the Isola di Fiemme, with is ruined tower rising from its center. According to legend, this island is where the Arab settlers on Sicily would leave their women when on military campaign, trapped for their own protection and so they couldn't run away from the men.

As we drove into Palermo, steep cliffs came into sight, hedging in the colorful city like a giant's arms. We climbed into the foothills of one of these mountains to our first stop of Monreale, the town left over from the Norman conquest of Sicily. Besides having a wide, sweeping view of the valley and city, Monreale was plagued with tourist traps, emigrant Tunisians holding up cloth maps of Sicily, yelling, "One euro only, good price!" or draped with gaudy beaded necklaces all over their necks and arms, proffering them to passing women. There also seemed to be a lot of cats sunning themselves on the warm stones, or cleaning their fur in the shade. In Monreale we visited a cathedral covered in gold mosaics, some Byzantine and some later orthodox ones, and with small tribute to the Arabs with nature designs around the lower walls. The cathedral in Monreale was a royal church, built for the remission of the sins of the great conquerers. William the I and II were buried here, as well as some of their family. The cloisters in the rear of the church were almost Alhambra-like. A square courtyard, ringed with a corridor of pointed arched windows, all centered around a green garden with flowers and fruit trees, a fountain babbling quietly in the corner.

We saw some more churches in Palermo, including the duomo with its fortress-like appearance, before at last driving to our first hotel, situated right on the shore in the outskirts of the city.

On Thursday, my feet touched stones carved from the earth, dragged six miles, then assembled by the ancient Greeks. Our primary destination was Agrigento, the Valley of the Temples. The temples we viewed, climbed amongst, and occasionally jumped off, were dedicated to Hera, Concord, Hercules, Zeus, and shrines to Castor and Pollux, Demeter and Persephone. Our guide, Giuseppe "Pipo" was amazing. Light would shine in his eyes as he told of the temples and peoples that built them, changed them, and restored them. "Come along, my brave soldiers of culture!" Pipo would say. I could see how proud he was of being Sicilian, and therefore of a long heritage of cultures dating back thousands of years: Phoenicians, Greeks, Carthaginians, Romans, Arabs, Christians, Jews, Normans, Spanish... Sicily has been since people occupied Europe the cross hairs of the Mediterranean.

The baaing of sheep in the distance brought back the sounds that have been a part of Sicily for ages. Acanthus flower (the scrolling petals of which are seen in the capitals of Corinthian columns) olive and almond trees, and caper flowers all made up the ancient garden of these temples, and are persisting symbols of the old world.

Saturday morning I got some extra sleep, since we didn't have to leave our hotel until almost 11. After a late breakfast, I packed my bags and snagged the seat on the bus with the best view--because I was going travel to a volcano, Sicily's Mt. Etna! We had a winding drive up the mountain side, running switchbacks through trees and increasingly black, desolate expanses. Halfway up, we parked the bus, bundled up against the cool mountain breezes, and got a bite to eat. Then, it was a short ride up the ski gondola up to another checkpoint. When it is snow covered in winter, Mt. Etna offers some fantastic skiing! No trees, just snow and the piping vents at the cone of the volcano. At the lodge near the top, we boarded buses with huge, jeep-style tires designed for powering up the crumbling volcanic sand.

Thick, wisping clouds touched the crests around me, mingling with the faint steam that rose from the volcano's warm flanks, as if it were a sleeping dragon. At the top, I snapped some photos of the smoking peaks of the top crater, its sides streaked with white ash, yellow sulfur, and red oxidized iron. When everyone in our group had mae it up the mountain, our guide took u down a sliding black hill to one of the craters, the one created by the eruption of 2002. At the bottom of the inverted cone, steam billowed out, the 300 centigrade vent reacting with the cold, damp air.

As we hiked around the narrow rim of the crater I got a view of the black plain leading up to the peak, the lighter gray of the bus path snaking through it like an adder's trail. Unfortunately, though the volcano is currently erupting as of May 2008, the lava was on the north side, inaccessible to regular tourists on the south face. Oh, well, I have finally visited a volcano, and an active one at that!

Later that night, as our plane departed from Catania for Florence, it climbed, and I could faintly see Etna, a dark shape in the background of the city at night. Then, the plane banked, and then, right below us, the fiery stream of Etna's lava flow, glowing red in the night. It illuminated the smoke and steam emanating above the cone, a spectacular display of light and color. My trip was officially complete!