Poppin' Champagne

I wish my "carry on" luggage, carrying all my necessities, I bought for 69 euro to save me 31 euro from shipping, didn't have to be forcibly checked for 160 euros. Because if I had my "carry on", I'd have my camera. And if I had my camera, I would be able to capture the business lounge I am currently sitting in. Yes, delays and cancellations and overcharges have their perks. I am sitting in a plush leather chair, sipping champagne and eating smoked salmon as I await to board my 7-hour business class flight to Denver. I cannot complain. I got to spend a day in Germany with my insta-bestie in a 4-star hotel with a well-stocked mini fridge and a delicious buffet dinner... Lufthansa, I love you.

Yesterday began at 4:30 am. Claire had to leave early to catch her flight right as I finished a REM cycle (knowledge courtesy of Al) leaving me wide awake. After an episode of How I Met Your Mother, I packed my stuff, checked out of Hotel Botticelli and took my luggage outside to wait for a taxi. My taxi driver was around 70 years old. In his first attempt to load my bags, he hit his head on the rear hatch, fell backwards onto the ground, as my large green duffle (nearly the size of this man) clocked him in the chin. I tried to help him up, but he swatted my hands and repeatedly pointed to the car until I got in, leaving him to load the rest of my baggage. While I have always had a soft spot for little old Italian men, I don't think I tickled his fancy. The average cab ride to the airport is 15-20 euros. Mine was 27.

I got to the airport at 6:45 am. My flight didn't leave until 10. This usually gives a girl more than enough time. FALSE.

Electricity goes out. once. twice. three times! Check in doesn't start until 8:55. One woman is working. When I finally make it to the checkin desk, it is 9:10. Boarding starts at 9:30. She tells me I have to check my carry-on and that one of my bags is overweight. She gives me a slip to pay for my extra bag and sends me to another line to wait in. 9:45- pay for my bags and go back to the counter. She tells me to wait 20 minutes and come back because the conveyor belt isn't working. I tell her I have 15 minutes to make it on my flight. 9:48- the conveyor belt starts working. I race to security. 3 out of the 7 stations are open. 9:50- they let me cut the line. 9:55- I get to the gate, but the attendant tells me the last bus to the  plane has left. 10:09- the plane takes off. I'm sitting in 11D. success.

I get to Frankfurt, concourse A. I have 20 minutes to make it to the Denver flight at gate C15. I make it, and of course it hasn't even started loading. As I move in between the flustered crowd, I see the ghost of Alison Panza. For those of you who know her, she is loud, energetic, and when she's not talking about the club Space, she is usually very happy. I find Al, expressionless, starring at the ground, shoulders shrugged, completely still. However, it only took a high-pitched "AL!!!" to wake her out of misery. Reunited, everything became ok. We didn't make the flight that day. obviously. But Al got a confirmed flight from Frankfurt to JFK to Phoenix to Denver  the following day (now today). I somehow got a direct business-class flight to Denver. Don't ask me how, the lady at Lufthansa in Frankfurt didn't even understand how it happened. I'm not complaining. But I would like to make it home. Cross your fingers!

CIAO

Careful what you wish for...

Well as the saying goes...
I wanted snow fall in Florence. I wasn't ready to leave.
 LUCKY ME. WISH GRANTED.-In fact we got the most snow Florence has seen in 15 years. It was a wonderful gift on our last night....not so much for our last morning.
Envision roughly 2,000 study abroad students crammed together in the tiny checkin area of the CLOSED Florence airport. Sliding doors open, gusts of snow-flaked wind rushing into the tiny area. Literally could see my breath. Now imagine that scene for 8 hours. Enjoying 7 1/2 of them without any idea of how I was getting home or what line I was even in...mainly because there were none. Just flocks of sardine-packed students, each surrounded by their multiple over-sized suitcases.
At about 5 hours into the mayhem, a woman, obviously fresh one the scene, politely came up to me and asked where the line for Air France was. I tried to best not to scoff.
There were 2 people manning the desks as hundreds of sleep deprived students, who stayed up the night before, saying their goodbyes and expecting to crash on the plane, overcrowded personal space, begging for an alternative option. People were being shoved by the 100's onto buses to Rome, in hopes of having better luck.
After a lifetime of confusion and frigid exhaustion, I was given my new travel plans: Guaranteed flight from Florence to Frankfurt on Sunday @ 10 am (aka TOMORROW). Wait standby in Frankfurt in hopes of somehow getting ahead of hundreds of other students to board a flight to Denver. If denied, I receive 4-star accommodations and guaranteed booking for Monday's flight.....SELFISH. How dare I ask for a longer stay. And snow? Who am I? I was headed to the world's greatest winter wonderland.  Nevertheless, let's be honest. Florence may not have expected these adverse weather conditions, but what airport doesn't even keep a shovel for safe keeping? That was literally their dilemma. They had no means of clearing the runway. Come on Italia...

So after being told to go back to Florence, Claire and I decided upon Hotel Botticelli, the hotel my mother simply ah-dored when she came to visit. Thank god for her, otherwise we'd have no idea of where to stay. Obviously fatigued, we checked in, got some pizza, bought some wine next store (where I went on a school field trip as well as with Susie and my mom. An awesome hole-in-the-wall winery on Via Taddea right next to Restaurant Za Za where you can purchase DOCG top-quality wine straight from the barracks for 1-5 euros thanks to their label-less bottles!!! DEFINITELY RECOMMEND!) watched Reefer Madness (a hilarious musical Claire obviously introduced me to) and indulged in a long hot shower. Wake up call at 6: check. Cab at 7: check. Home by 6? HOPEFULLY.

All in all, this entire story can be summed up in 3 tragic words:
I. GOT. MEAPED.
(please see previous posts for definition)
...Here's to hoping for a successful tomorrow.
CIAO
xx

Farewell Firenze

A little farewell to firenze! I will miss you.

Maria, Maria she remind me of West Side Story....

I love my roommates.
They let me play dress up, and help me pass my fashion photography class...even when one of them is in the class itself
The assignment: represent a time period or muse with a distinguished fashion trend
My idea: Carmen (as in the French opera by Georges Bizet)
The result: (here are a few of them)

THANKS MARIA! -xx

Close to Home

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I am currently writing a paper on Emilio  Pucci (who- exciting fun fact, was an Olympic ski racer, and begun designing after a photographer from Harper's Bazaar commented on his incredible skiwear he was wearing and confessed to designing) 


This is a map. Point A is my apartment. Point B is the Pucci fashion house. 10 MINUTE WALK PEOPLE.
Sufficient to say, this is one of the many reasons I love studying fashion in Florence.

J'adore!

While Paris started out with a meap*, it was more than worth it.
In order to save money, Claire and I (with our Eurail passes of course) planned on taking the train to Paris while the other girls went by plane. It was a smart and noble idea. Cost efficient to say the least..or so I thought.
Unbeknownst to us, all of Italy was also planning a weekend vaca in Parigi, thus overbooking all trains from Wednesday through Sunday. Claire and I had planned on leaving Thursday.


Convinced I was not going to Paris, ergo not spending any money over the weekend, I sought out self-medication in the form of retail therapy and found comfort in my favorite vintage shop near the Academia. In my opinion it holds the fastest recovery rate!


However, upon returning home, I found one-way flight from Rome to Paris for $200 (USD). Desperate to walk under the Christmas lights of the Champs-Elysees (Kaleigh absolutely insisted) and get some Gillie time in with Kim and Linda, I raced back to the train station, booked a train from Florence to Rome for Thursday and a train from Paris to Florence on Sunday (apparently the Italians were not concerned with returning to their homeland. All trains back to Florence were completely open), raced back to the apartment and booked my flight. I am still shocked that everything worked out the way it did. No luggage lost, no connections missed. Definitely a defining yet surprising experience.


Paris itself was incredible. Our Hostel, St. Christopher's Inn, is part of the "World's Famous Hostels" where you can "sleep with someone famous" (implying the hostel of course).  A waterfront view and cotton ball-filled pillows....Truly a magnificent juxtaposition if you ask me.


Day 1 was spend with Kim and Linda. We roamed around Sacred Coeur, snacked on baguettes and pastries and spent some quality time with our new love Youri. If by some change you happen to google Youri-music and find yourself watching an awkward music video attempt reminiscent of Enrique Iglesias meets daytime TV cheese, please do not judge him. His live performances are quite impressive. After Sacre Coeur, we entered the festive christmas market on the Champs-Elysees, drinking hot wine and getting the greatest head massages of my life....a gadget I bought the following day. As we made our way past the stores, we ambitiously climbed the 284 steps up Arc de Triomphe to watch the Eiffel Tower light show. AH-mazing. Even more so, when I found out Maria, Al and Katie were the Eiffel Tower at that moment, hating life. 




Day 2, Hilliary and I soaked up Paris and roamed around the Marais district. We peeked in some vintage stores, found a My Berry, (died! SO good. Definitely awoke need for Frog Berry. Counting down the days....sort of) inadvertently ventured into Passage Du Desir (a "love" shop we thought was a little knick-knack store from the window-front), and even had an awkward conversation with the artist/designer of an art gallery/apparel boutique. While the artist mainly did screen-printing on canvas,  including a collage detailing with scraps from magazine and newspaper clippings, he also had a rack of screen-printed shirts. After telling us he was moving to Denmark for his girlfriend, he informed us that he was having a last call sale. SO I bought a pop culture collage shirt which featured Edie Sedgwick three times. (So I didn't really have any other choice BUT to purchase it) Our brief and semi-uncomfortable conversation with the artist went as follows


Hil: Oh so you're moving to Denmark
Artist: Yep. My girlfriend's sick of Paris
Hil: Do you have a website? We really love your work.
Artist: No. Not anymore.
Hil: Oh...
Artist: Blank stare
....
Me: (looking at a canvas) Your work is incredible. I wish I lived in Paris. Its so sad finding such beautiful things here. 
Artist: why?
Me: I don't know, I guess mainly because shipping something so big is so expensive. It is, isn't it?
Artist: Well no. (insulted) The artwork is expensive. The shipping is not. Its not just some decoration. I ship all the time to the States.
Me: Oh...
Artist: Blank stare


The plan for the evening was dinner at La Refuge Des Fondue and clubbing at Queen....we didn't make it past dinner. La Refuge Des Fondue is a magical experience from the community seating, to the wine served in baby bottles. The 5 of us shared an oil fondue for the meat and potatoes, and a cheese fondue. After befriending our neighbors down the table, the plan was to all reconnect up at Queen. However, 2 baby bottles of wine really can get to a girl. Upon returning to the hostel to change and go out, Al came up with the wonderful idea of taking a quick nap. A foolish idea (or so Katie thought) at 11 PM. Therefore our wine and "quick nap" turned into a obvious nightcap. It was not until 2 AM that I awoke to Hilliary. "Jenna. Jenna. Jenna." "Ya?" "It's 2 AM. We overslept".
Truth be told, it was probably for the best. Sunday would have been a tragic attempt at life, had we stayed out till 6 in the morning.




Day 3 was a peaceful exploration back up to Sacred Coeur, where we all indulged (minus Al with her green soup) in French onion soup. The greatest soup I've ever had in my life. I literally had a dream about it on the train ride home, which speaking of, was very enjoyable. I stayed in a little 6 bed-nook, befriending 3 very friendly and lively Austrialians. Completely forgetting to grab food for the 8-hour ride, my new friends shared both their picnic as well as some in-depth life stories. Very entertaining to say the least.


All in all, it was a wonderful weekend. While the trip itself broke the bank, in the end it was definitely worth it.... in fact I think I'm ready to go back.


REFERENCE:

*Meap |mēp|
verb ( past or past part. Meaped |mēpt|or meapt |mept|)
The act of getting owned by a European transportation system. 

(Thank you Katie for making our coined phrase so official)