A Prologue and a Plea for Ideas

The shrill screech shattered the tense silence induced by the division quiz in room 210. Necks cricked and pencils hit the floor as the collective focus of twenty-six 9-year-olds was completely diverted to the back left corner of the room. 

It was impossible to tell which of the four students seated at table 3 had uttered such a shriek; each face wore an identical look of shock, and as any elementary school teacher will tell you, pre-pubescent boys are just as prone to high-pitched screams as girls. 

Strong start, right? I'm happy with it.

The problem is, the first couple of sentences sprang into my head fully-formed, and the rest of the story hasn't followed. So anyone reading this is invited to throw some ideas my way...I'll keep working on this piece, but I wanted to get down what I had so far because ya girl was in the mood to write this morning!

A Bit of a Brain Dump and a Resolution

Hi. I know I kind of dropped off the face of the blogiverse...sorry. The school year started, over two months ago, actually, and life got busy.

...I know. Excuses, excuses.

I don't really have any new content to share today, travel-wise anyway, but I wanted to write something anyway.

See, I've been watching Jane the Virgin. It's my guilty-pleasure TV show. But I don't have to justify that to you. I enjoy watching it and that's all that really matters.

I'll be the first to admit that it's not the greatest TV show out there--it's basically a telenovela with some comedic aspects--but the thing about the show that's really been sticking with me even after I log off Netflix isn't all the dramatic happenings of the show (which have included love triangles, secret identical twins, and numerous other soap-opera clichés). In fact, the thing that's been sticking with me probably the least exciting aspect of this show.

Jane is a writer. And she just doesn't stop writing. She's a single mom, and a student, and her life is a complete and utter mess 95% of the time. But still, she always finds the time to write, because it's what she loves.

I love to write. Always have. But I haven't been making time for it. And what I'm learning now that I'm adulting full-time is that you're never going to find time for anything. You have to make time for the things that matter to you. And writing does matter to me; that's one of the reasons why I started this blog.

So this is me resolving to make time for my writing. I'm publishing this post because it'll help me hold myself accountable.

I'm starting small; just two posts a month. No promises about what the content might be...could be flashbacks to my travels or funny teaching stories, could be poetry or prose, fiction or non-fiction.

If that doesn't interest you, no hard feelings. I'm doing this for me.

That being said, I would welcome any constructive feedback y'all would care to offer. But if you're just down to read and not comment, or not read and not comment, that's fine too.

Anyway. That's all for now...thanks for reading this post.

Cinque Terre è Bellissimo

Here's what you need to know about Cinque Terre (or at least what I knew before I went there):

• It's freaking gorgeous.
• Cinque Terre is a collection of five fishing villages that have since become adorable beach towns: Monterosso, Vernazza, Corniglia, Manarola, and Riomaggiore.
• All five villages are connected by trains and by hiking trails. Cars are all but outlawed, which makes sense, considering that the vast majority of the "streets" in Cinque Terre look like this:

• The towns are along a very cliff-like coastline, which means incredible views of the Tyrrhenian Sea. It also means rather steep streets and hiking trails. 

I don't remember the first time that I heard of Cinque Terre, but I do remember that as soon as I saw pictures of the string of 5 colorful seaside towns along the Italian Riviera, I knew I HAD to go there.

I mean, just look at it!

So after one last cappuccino in Rome, Lauren and I parted ways at the train station; she heading northeast to Parma, and me heading northwest to Cinque Terre.

After a very scenic train ride along the coast, I arrived in Vernazza, the 2nd-northernmost of the five towns in Cinque Terre. My Airbnb host met me at the train station and showed me to the cutest little room that was to be my home base for the next two nights.

Most adorable Airbnb yet!

Vernazza is a teeny little beach town; the main road leads right from the train station to the small beach, which doubles as the town's harbor. I spent most of the afternoon wandering up and down the streets, just getting oriented to the town and snagging some spectacular views before hitting the beach to soak up some sun.

It was really starting to feel like I was on vacation.

I'm sure it will come as no surprise to you that I squeezed in two trips to the gelato shop before calling it a night.

The next day, I got an early start, and after a cappuccino and Nutella croissant--man, I could go for another one of those right about now--I headed south out of town along the hiking trail to Corniglia.

What should probably have only taken me an hour and a half turned out to be about a two hour hike, because I kept stopping to take in the mind-bogglingly beautiful views:

Eventually, I made it to Corniglia, where I cooled off--you guessed it--with some gelato as I meandered along the winding streets.

It was in Corniglia that I first discovered the appeal of the rocky beach. After following a very steep set of stone steps, I arrived here: 

 

SO. FREAKING> GORGEOUS.

Anyway. Major advantages of rocky beaches include:

1. Less crowded.
2. Sand doesn't get all up in yo bidness. 
3. The water is so flipping clear (no sand clouding it up). 
4. The aforementioned sand doesn't get all in your stuff. 
5. Way more interesting scenery; watching waves hit rocks is way better than watching waves hit the same smooth stretch of sand over and over again. 
6. No sand to stick all over you and your shiznit. (Have I mentioned this already?)

Being the dingus that I am, I didn't have my swimsuit in my daypack; I'd dressed for a day of hiking without considering the possibility of getting in the water. (I know, I know....like I said: dingus.) 

I consoled myself with some more gelato before heading south out of Corniglia toward Manarola, only to find that the trail was closed for maintenance. (Apparently there had been some flooding earlier in the year, and the trails from Corniglia to Manarola and from Manarola to Riomaggiore were both closed.)

I chose to interpret it as a sign from the universe to head back north, and after a brief stop back at my Airbnb in Vernazza to grab my swimsuit--see? I can learn from my mistakes!--I hiked an hour and a half north to Monterosso. 

I was almost to the town when I spotted a side path down toward the water. I say "side path." It was really more of a trace of a trail along a foot-wide ledge. 

I'm all about following whims when I travel, so I (very carefully) edged my way along the path until I arrived here: 

I spread out my towel on a large rock before scooching into the clearest water I've ever swam in outside of a swimming pool. After about an hour of soaking up the sun and sea, I watched as two guys climbed up to a ledge about 20 feet above a cave. After they spent 5 minutes debating how deep the water below them was, one of them belly-flopped off the ledge into the water. The other guy followed with a little more technique.

You already know this adrenaline junkie was next off that ledge.

It wasn't quite high enough for me to check cliff-jumping off my bucket list, but it was still pretty dang fun!

As the sun started to set, I toweled off and headed into the town of Monterosso in search of dinner.

I forgot to take a picture of my asparagus risotto (I was so hungry it was gone before it occurred to me to Instagram that shiz), but take my word for it, it was pretty darn tasty. A couple of glasses of wine later, I headed for the train back to Vernazza, stopping along the way for some gelato at a shop that was blasting 80's music.

I caught several of my fellow passengers eyeing my pistachio and dark chocolate cone jealously on the train.

On my last morning in Vernazza, I spent most of the morning lingering over a cappuccino and croissant with a view of the harbor, before catching my train to Venice. 

Cinque Terre, I'll be back! And until then, you'll be on my mind.

When in Rome...

If you talked to me at all before I left the States, you probably laughed when I told you that my basic itinerary for my Italian adventure was to consume as much gelato, pasta, and pizza as was humanly possible.

Joke's on you because that's exactly what I did.

Me, every day I was in Italy.

My trip to Italy began with a quiet train ride to Newark Airport and an astonishingly quick and painless jaunt through security. My spirits sagged a bit when I realized that I'd forgotten my snacks and would have to shell out for outrageously overpriced food in the airport to keep from getting hangry on my 8-hour flight. My mood was not improved by the airport fire alarm going off right as I was getting in line to board my flight.

Despite the inauspicious beginning of the flight, I did manage to grab a couple of hours of light sleep on the plane, but I was still a tad cranky in the passport control line the next day. The police officer who checked my passport must not have slept much the previous night either, because he didn't say a word to me, just stamped my passport and sent me on my way. But he stamped it, and that's what matters. One short train ride later, I was officially in Rome!

As soon as I arrived, I met up with my friend Lauren and checked into the hostel. I just dropped off my backpack before we headed right back out again; I'd booked on to a free walking tour for the evening in the hopes that an informative walk around the city would keep me from succumbing to the jet lag. When we arrived at the Spanish Steps at 4:55, however, we found that our 5:00 tour had left at 4:50.

Lauren and I chalked it up to divine intervention and set off in search of gelato.

We meandered aimlessly through the city with our cones until we found ourselves at the Tiber River. As we crossed a bridge, Lauren and I spotted some sort of festival setting up in tents along the water. Naturally, we had to check that out. We discovered that there were quite a few temporary restaurants with tables set up right on the water. So we parked ourselves at a table with a nice breeze and a pleasant view of what we decided was either a very rich person's house or a fancy hotel. (It turned out to be a hospital.)

At 6:30 in the evening, it was far too early for dinner by Roman standards, but most of the restaurants were serving drinks and appetizers. Lauren and I ordered some fried calamari and shrimp to go with our virgin cocktails (having decided that alcohol + jet-lag would be a bad combination), and lingered until the dinner crowd began to arrive.

We had a long walk back to our hostel, and decided upon our arrival that we had earned another gelato. Lauren took me to La Romana, a gelato place a couple of blocks from our hostel, where I ordered a chocolate-filled cone with dark chocolate and coffee flavored gelato. YUM. I also sampled Lauren's salted pistachio gelato, which opened up a whole new world for me. Double YUM.

After a solid 40 winks to shake off the jet-lag, it was time for attempt #2 of the Rome free walking tour. We arrived at the Spanish Steps, the meeting place for the start of the tour only to find that our tour guide was sick and that the tour would be delayed in leaving until a replacement tour guide arrived. We should've heeded this obvious sign from the universe, because the tour guide who turned up 45 minutes later delivered a rather snooze-worthy tour of about 5 square blocks of the city.

Way more excited for more gelato than for the walking tour.

The one thing that was kind of cool was realizing that a lot of Rome's history is literally buried underneath the city; Ancient Rome was about 20 feet lower than modern Rome. This is why Rome only has 2 subway lines...every time they try to make a new one, they run into something of archaeological/historical value and have to rework the route.

Near the end of the tour, we split off from the rest of the group (who were Vatican-bound), and made our way into Castel Sant Angelo, where we found spectacular views of the city and no crowds.

Photo-bombed by a seagull...sigh. 

We stopped by Vatican Square on our way to Trastevere neighborhood, just so we could say, "We went to the Vatican," and after a long and slightly sketchy walk along roads that were clearly not meant for pedestrians, let alone stupid American tourists like us--thanks, Google Maps--we stumbled upon the perfect place for a late lunch.

Fried artichoke appetizer

Seafood risotto (feat. Laruen's elbows as she Instagrams her food)

Lauren's shrimp and lemon linguine (feat. my elbows as I Instagram my food)

We meandered back in the general direction of our hostel, keeping our eyes peeled for a likely location to catch the World Cup semifinal game between France and Belgium. And (of course) we stopped for gelato along the way.

The next day, I took a day trip to see Pompeii and Mt. Vesuvius. It was a three-ish hour bus ride from Rome, but I made friends with a fellow American elementary school teacher, which helped pass the time.

#teacherswhotravel

The ruins were super interesting, and way more extensive than I'd expected. Pompeii wasn't just some small town; it was a full-blown city, with restaurants and spas and crosswalks and everything...featuring a big ol' volcano as part of its skyline.

One of the famous Pompeiian frescoes.
Apparently, many of the frescoes from Pompeii are extremely erotic,
which is why the city was reburied after its original discovery in 1599.
The frescoes have been in and out of museum exhibits
since the city's rediscovery in the 18th century. 

Archaeologists are still at work excavating Pompeii, as they have been since the mid-1700s. 

Bet you thought I was joking about the crosswalks.
Well, when the streets double as sewers, you've got to get creative!

Fun fact: the arena in Pompeii has been a concert venue since 1972. (Obviously it was used for performances before Vesuvius blew its top, but you know what I mean.) The first band to perform there? Pink Floyd.

There's a documentary about it and everything.

After the tour of the ruins, it was time for lunch: pizza. The real deal.

oh HECK YES

The concept of putting things on bread has been around basically as long as there has been bread, but modern pizza was invented in Naples in the 1800s. Margherita pizza (tomatoes, mozzarella, and basil) was actually named after the Queen of Italy at the time.

Another fun fact for ya: Europeans thought that tomatoes were poisonous for a long time after the fruits (or are the vegetables? 😆) first made their way over from the Americas. It took someone very brave--or maybe just very very hungry--to be the first to eat one, proving that they were not in fact deadly.

Anywho, after enjoying the bejesus out of my real Italian pizza, I was sufficiently carboloaded for a trek up Mt. Vesuvius.

Mt. Vesuvius is still an active volcano; it erupted most recently in 1944. However, my tour guide assured me that Vesuvius was "probably not going to erupt today." Very comforting.

Being the dingus that I am, I was wearing sandals that day; luckily they were sporty sandals I'd bought from REI, and they were more than up for the job of conquering a volcano. I tripped a fair bit on the hike, but I don't blame my footwear; I chalk that up to looking at the scenery instead of watching my feet. Can you blame me?

The crater

Naples!

When I arrived back in Rome a few hours later, my feet were still covered in volcanic ash, which didn't stop me from meeting Lauren at Mercado Centrale for dinner, and to catch the Croatia-England game.

dirty feet dirty feet dirty feet

Having worked up quite an appetite conquering a volcano, I felt no shame in stuffing my face with risotto balls, pasta, cannolis, and tiramisu while I watched Croatia's comeback win.

Spaghetti with pecorino cheese and black pepper. Keep it simple. 👌

Tiramisu! 😍

The next day, it was time to say Arrivederci to Rome and to Lauren...I had to catch a train to Cinque Terre! 

Did you get as hungry reading this blog post as I did writing it? 

Me, when I see gelato. 

Veni, vidi, comedi. 

I came, I saw, I ate. 

In Which Jess Does Some Crazy Shiznit

Well, since I last posted, I've been busy working on my bucket list. And as promised, I'm here to give you all the deets.

On Thursday, I checked off "get a tattoo:"

Extreme close-up.
(~3 minutes post-tat)

Why dandelions, you ask? (Or, if you're my mother, just "why?")

Well...

1. Dandelions are tough and stubborn, like me. 
2. Many people see dandelions as weeds, but to me, they've always been pretty flowers. My tattoo reminds me how much of a difference your mindset can make. 
3. The day after I made my tattoo appointment, my students brought me dandelions at recess for the first time, which melted my cold dead heart and reminded me that, even though they drive me completely batty at times (read: pretty much ALL the time), they are still sweet little humans at heart and they do love me. Hopefully my tattoo will help me remember that in upcoming school years as well. 

I've had this idea in my head for a while, and I'm so happy with how it turned out.

I was pretty nervous when the time came, though. I mean--I don't know if you're aware---a tattoo is PERMANENT. Even though I was sure that it was what I wanted, when it was actually time to walk in the door and do it, I was SHAKY. But as soon as the stencil was on my body, and I could actually see the design right there on my skin, I relaxed and was completely fine.

Whenever I talked to someone about my tattoo beforehand, and I told them where I planned to get it, they would wince and say, "Really? The ribs hurt pretty bad." Well, either they were overstating it, or I'm just super tough (and I like to think it's the latter), because I barely felt any pain. The biggest discomfort was when it was time to get up from the chair and look in the mirror; my arm had fallen asleep from holding it over my head for so long.  🤣

If you're in the HoCo area and looking to get a tattoo,
I totally recommend Casey Hart at Rose Red Tattoo...she did a fantastic job!

So now your favorite blogger is all inked up! Check that off the bucket list. 🗹

Friday morning dawned hot but clear; good weather for the next thing on my list of to-dos,  something that's been on my bucket list since my bucket list's very inception: skydiving.

I went to Skydive Delmarva, which I'd heard good things about from a friend who's working on his A-license. It was a bit of a hike (a 2-hour drive), but it was absolutely worth it.

I rolled up around 10:45am and proceeded to thoroughly read--and yet somehow still screw up on--the lengthy waiver. After signing my life away, I was introduced to my tandem skydiving instructor, Chris, a massive former Special Forces guy whose mere presence made me feel a whole lot safer about the whole jumping-out-of-a-plane thing, and my personal videographer, Ed, a 70-something-year-old with 2,000+ skydives under his belt. #goals

Fifteen minutes later, I was strapped into my harness and profusely sweating--from the 95° heat, not from nerves, I'll have you know--as the plane taxied into the loading zone.

Locked and loaded.

I realized as the plane lifted off that it was my first time in a small plane. I didn't have much time to dwell on that thought, though; I got distracted by the AC turning on. And by "AC turning on," I mean "the door opening at the back of the plane to get a cool breeze flowing through." I'd never been in a plane (large or small) with the door open mid-flight; I think most people can say the same.

Next thing I knew (really about 10 minutes later), Chris was quintuple-checking my harness and showing me the altimeter: 13,500ft. Time to go!

We were the last ones to leave the plane, but somehow I managed to blink and miss everyone else jumping out the door. All I remember is thinking "Holyshitholyshitholyshitholyshit" as we stood in the doorway, looking down at the ground oh-so-far below. And then suddenly we weren't in the plane anymore.

I don't really have the words to describe what it felt like--you've really got to experience it to understand it--but I'm going to try anyway.

After an initial moment of shock--"I just jumped out of a goddamn airplane!"--all I felt was exhilaration. Pure, unadulterated exhilaration. It was freaking AMAZING.

It all happened so fast, it was as though my brain got left behind and all that was left was pure sensation.

It didn't feel like falling...the air was pushing up on me so hard that it felt more like I was staying in one place while the ground was getting closer.

SO ALIVE

Before I knew it, Chris was pulling the ripcord and all the rushing in my ears abruptly ceased.

Once we were under the canopy and floating at a more sedate pace toward the earth, Chris asked how I felt. My brain still hadn't caught up to my body yet, and the first word I found was, "Cold."

About thirty seconds later, I was slightly more coherent--though even now I still don't have the words to fully express what it felt like--and I was able to tell him how completely mindblown I was, how alive I felt, what a freaking rush it was.

Chris pulled some crazy spins with the parachute on the way down, and we even went weightless for a moment or two, giving me the dropping sensation that I'd expected from the freefall.

I scored some sweet grass stains on my butt as, about 6 minutes after jumping out of a perfectly good airplane, we touched smoothly back down to earth.

Back on solid ground.

Back on the ground, I had no idea what to do with the rest of my day. Before skydiving, I'd had a notion that I might go to the beach, since I was most of the way there already. Post-jump, however, the idea seemed laughably lackluster.

I ended up hanging around, watching as other jumpers, both tandem and solo, came and went. I got to chatting with some of the staff and got a rundown of how the parachutes get packed, and how exactly they work when the ripcord is pulled.

Around 3:00, someone asked me if I wanted to do another tandem jump. My answer was something to the effect of, "Um, DUH!" I guess I hadn't realized that I had been waiting all day for someone to ask me that very question.

Since I didn't have a videographer for my second jump, Chris and I were free to do some crazy barrel rolls right out of the plane. So. Freaking. Fun.

There's nothing quite like looking up at the plane you've just leaped out of.

I got just as much of a rush from my second jump as I did from the first. God, it was fun! (See, I keep repeating myself because I just don't have the words!)

At the end of the video from my first jump, Ed (the videographer) asked me if I thought I'd do it again. I said, "Yeah, I think so." Guess there's no doubt left in anyone's mind now!

So...who's coming with me next time?