How It Felt to Fall: The Sequel …

I felt the intolerable heat grip my lungs. I felt the heat consume me with every heavy breath. No matter my efforts, I knew it was futile. My fate was sealed. 

The sun beamed brighter than it ever had as if heaven was burning me and my people alive itself. Or perhaps it was just me. Perhaps heaven just wanted for me to burn, to let me know They had been watching me this entire time and already knew what I had done… My head was losing awareness. My bare feet were losing its war against gravity. My walk swayed. 

My existence felt sloppy. Heaven and Hell and my people were all watching me in silence. They were watching my life be taken from my body.

I reached out to the bodies to hold myself up as they just stood and watched. My eyelids felt like a thousand gold bricks. The desert and sky and jewels all reflected wild lights across my body, which all blended together into a consuming iridescent madness of all the sins that I knew were taking me to Hell just then. 

They say you see your whole life flash before your eyes right before you die and it is true- I saw my whole life flash before my unfocused, blurred eyes that were struggling to hold on, to stay open. I saw all the struggles of growing up and all the choices I made while I was still in the light and I saw the moment when it all broke. I saw the moment I broke Heaven’s heart. I saw the moment when I laid before the light and still gave my body over to the dark, with no shame too. I saw the moment when the darkness took my bare body and I saw how much it loved me- the darkness loved me. Hell loved me. Lucifer loved me. And I was shameless in letting it happen, in enjoying the unholiness of it all.

My existence felt sloppy. Whorish. I was adorned by these people, I was adorned by God and the Angels, I was adorned by Satan, and yet they all watched emotionlessly as I died before them. They loved me and yet they would let me die. Like a lovesick lover. As if I had laid with them all and broke all their hearts. So they let me die as a result of their own devices colliding with their love of me..

Finally, my ankles gave out. And they caught me. My people. Suddenly they all wanted to touch me, carry me, raise me up just as I felt my soul began to leave this first vessel. Then, they all broke their silence, and in unison, they began to sinisterly chant in a monophonic, monotone singular voice:

“THE QUEEN IS DEAD. THE QUEEN IS DEAD. THE QUEEN IS DEAD.”

And just like that, my eyes slowly closed for a final time, though not before I saw the shadow of wings fly over. 

Goodbye, my almost lover. Goodbye, cruel world. Hello, Hell.

                        ***

Gasping for air, I shot my limp body up to catch my breath. I noticed the marble was freezing beneath me as I looked around to get a bearing on where I was, who I was, and what had happened. Why had I just felt like I had I just taken my first fresh breath of life?

Angels all stood surrounding my naked limp body on the ice floor. They were starring at me. They were staring with the same indifference as the people that had starred at me as I gasped for air as I died. This time it was angels who were staring at me as I gasped for air as I was brought back to life.

Then, I remembered. I remembered my mortal life. Furthermore, I had remembered beyond that. I had remembered my life prior to my first human life. I remembered my original sin, the crime that had landed me my punishment of never-ending human incarnations with my flame.

It was in this moment I had realized the magnitude of my first life’s sin. A divine comedy it was in the throne room of all places that my first human sin mirrored my soul’s original sin, both forbidden loves. The cosmic irony of having fallen in love with the Prince of Heaven as an angel and then the King of Hell as a human.

I shuddered in disgust of how far I had truly fallen this time. I shuddered in disgust of it all. My head started to spin…

I did the only thing I knew I could do—speak not a word and kneel before the Throne. And so I did. I bowed my head in silence as Heaven broke into a beautiful riot around me about what to do with my damned, forsaken soul. For that is what forever I shall be now, one of the damned… So, I just waited, head down, kneeled, ready for my final death… But, it never came. No, Heaven had much more terrible plans for me…

I closed my eyes trying to imagine my perfect Angel still on earth finishing his first life as I heard my punishment bellow.

My sweet Angel, I am so sorry. Forgive me for I know not what I do whilst encased in the human vessel. My sweet Angel please forgive me in this life and the next. Amen.

Xoxo,

J

27 Nov 2020 Approx. 2am EST

Dark, strong, and proud forever she is

Older, wiser, and tired—now—she is 

Now, nostalgic, and full of tears, she remembered the past

She told me of a question a woman had recently asked

Since she knew how it felt to have loved and lost

The woman had asked her, “My heart it feels embossed

By his love’s crest, so tell me, while I revel in this pain,

Woman-to-woman, will I ever love again? Will I regain?”

Dark, strong, and proud forever she is

Older, wiser, and tired—now—she is 

Then, nostalgic, and full of tears, she recognized herself on my face

She had told me then in the back of a colorful, crowded place

Since I alas knew how it felt to have loved and lost

She told me of the many loves we will, by the end, have crossed

“But” she said, “We only have one, great love in each life,

And I think you met yours,” Those words had cut me like a knife 

And for the first time in my life, I saw her soul, for me, fracture

As she remembered her one, great love, her heart’s contracture

Like glass breaking in a white marble room, her voice broke

Years ago, but I will never forget those words she spoke

Dark, strong, and proud forever she is

Older, wiser, and tired—now—she is 

Now, nostalgic, and full of tears, she reminisced her past

She told me of her one, great love who did not last

“Will I ever love again?” was the woman’s desperate question

A tear fell as she remembered the woman, in deep reflection

Since she knew how it felt to have loved and lost and its cost

She told the woman, “You will endure the holocaust 

Of her soul first, but yes, you will love again. You will.” 

She echoed, “It will be different, it will be different, but you still you will.”

xoxo,

J

P.S. Just a little poem about two conversations I have had with my mom. One was two years ago in a Torchy’s Tacos in Texas and the other was last week in my neon apartment in New York. I hadn’t seen my mom in over a year and a conversation we had struck me and was incredibly reminiscent of a conversation we had a few life times ago. I haven’t written poetry in years… Hope you enjoyed the read! xx

Vol. 1 No. 1

12. Nov. 2020. 3:08am


Dear New York,

Is it crazy to say that I miss you even though I am still here? Our love affair began two summers ago, and by the looks of it, I have two summers left with you. And it is already one of the biggest tragedies of my life. 

The past several nights have been consumed with thoughts of saying goodbye to you. It will be another great love of my life lost. Do I do this to myself on purpose though? Am I only capable of falling in love when I know the love is hopeless and fleeting? When my love cannot sustain the love of me?

You say you love me by sneaking into my bed in the Upper West Side in the mornings. You say you love me by listening to all the fickleness of my heart as I walk along the Hudson. You say you love me by waiting for me in Long Island patiently to return every time that I run away from you. You say you love me by finding me at a dive bar in Midtown East when I am alone trying to lose myself again. You say you love me without ever having said it. I know you cannot say it, so I will never ask you to, but I know you do.

I know you cannot leave. And you know I cannot stay. 

Still, can you love me like those two facts are lies? Can you find it in yourself to love me like we have forever and a day? Can you love me as if time has been on our side all along? Can we continue this love affair in perfect—false—bliss? Can we love each other like I had never loved him and you had never loved her before? Love me this little time we have left like the madman you truly are. Love me this little time we have left like we have endless mornings left together. Love me this little time we have left like you can spend the night with me and not have to go home and kiss goodnight other faces. Because two years seems like a lot of time, but we both know it will sneak up on us too quick. Love me like it is the most beautiful lie you ever told. Love me like a liar.

I do not know where life will take me after your love. You tell me it is Boston or D.C. that I am leaving you for. But the truth is this: I am not leaving you for anyone or because I want to… No, no one could ever compare. Sure, Boston was my first love, and D.C. my biggest crush, but you, New York, you are my greatest love. You have been, and will perhaps ever be, the only love to have never told me I am crazy or that I ruin everything I touch. Boston did that a lot, he broke my heart, as you know. D.C. and Houston, too. But you? You have always accepted me, nurtured me, taught me, and loved me without judgement, without haste. Even when I disappear, cry, go mad, or go silent, you have never not once told me I was crazy. Instead you celebrated my madness, said it was a tell to my genius—my future greatness. And for that, no one could ever compare. I will always come back to you, I promise.

I love you. That is all. I love you; I love you; I love you; I love you so.

You do not have to say it back ever, just promise me one thing? Keep sneaking into my bed in the mornings before I wake up, keep finding me at whole-in-the-wall dive bars with cheap whiskey shots, keep the reminder in your phone to check up on me in thirty years… 

Thirty years. I promise I will come back to you before thirty years, even when I am all changed, and you are not. Because that is who you are, isn’t it? You are here for people like me. You are the kind of people that stays in the same spot your entire life, never moving, too stubborn, too family-oriented. And I am the kind of people that leaves beautiful people like you, never stopping, too stubborn, too curious, too heartbroken, with too many dreams.  

So, shall we continue the greatest love affair that ever did exist? The forbidden affair between love, lust, and time. Yes, let’s have a balllll.

Always Yours,
The Other Woman

P.S. Wake me up with everything bagels Monday morning please—toasted with white American, fried (unpopped) eggs, fresh avocado, and lots of lox—just how I like it. 💋 XOXO

She started at the back of his feet—her assessment of him. He was on his knees—they were both on their knees. She was both trembling and peacefully still in her body and face as she began to take in all of him, starting at the white backs of his iridescent toes. She took her time with this. She took her time revisiting every inch of his body with her eyes, making sure she gave her mind its best shot at remembering him. 

Him. Her love of loves. Her king of kings. Her angel. Her death sentence. Though they both had heard the verdict of their crimes, and it was not death, she knew their fate was so much worse. At least in death, they would collapse into each other’s light—a brilliant, celestial explosion like a supernova. At least in death, they would know what they were dying for. At least in death, she would remember him and their forbidden love. 

Her eyes reached his hands. Each finger was calloused and covered in scars. She lingered on his hands. She loved his hands…

Her eyebrows crinkled inward as she struggled to understand their future. And as soon as her mind began to drift into an endless time construct of the past and future, his fingertips graced her right hip. And just like that, he brought her back.

She removed her right hand from behind her back to hold his hand. This was how she prayed. The way his hand held hers was a sight she never wanted to forget. So, she stared, and she prayed. 

An army of angels stood behind their kneeling bodies. An army of angels—their brothers and sisters—watched as they prayed to each other, even though God himself watched on. Her twin was who she prayed to, as she was who he prayed to. And this was their sin. 

Her gaze caught up to his collar bone. His beautiful, beautiful collar bone. Slowly, her eyes traced every line of his skin up to his neck. She followed the lines of his muscles and jaw and nose, all the way until her eyes gently met his. His angel eyes were strong and full of faith and were waiting for hers to catch up with his. As he watched her come to, his eyes told a story—the story of how he loved her without haste and reasons. His love for her was of the purest form, void of sin and that was his sin.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to take his hand and fly away and fight. But, she did none of these things for the same reason he didn’t—because their fate was sealed, and they rather spend their last moments staring at each other’s eyes than looking into the eyes of their enemies. 

So, instead she smiled with a level of grace and conviction heaven had never seen. And her love mirrored her. 

In their final moment before the fall, she adjusted her head higher and a single, quiet tear fell from her eye while her love bowed his head to her. And suddenly—a blow to their backs sent them both plummeting over the edge of Heaven.

It all happened so quickly—the fall. His hand squeezed and yanked her underneath him as they made their initial descent into the unknown. Her arms and legs embraced his body as his wings embraced hers. She was cold from the wind, but his bare chest gave her warmth. She was happy. She was happy that their love, even if just for that moment, was finally free to be felt. She felt blessed falling in the sky against his body—his heart pounded in her ears more wildly than the wind and she was grateful for it. His heartbeat flooded her ears.

“I love you,” he whispered as his wings squeezed around her tighter, “See you soon.” 

The last thing she felt was his lips on her nose then it was as if the earth had swallowed them whole and the world went black. 

                    ***

There was a meteor that hit the desert thousands of years ago. The nearest civilization was called Sumer where two women, who were on opposite ends of the kingdom, gave birth. A woman to the north gave birth to a baby boy and a woman to the south gave birth to a baby girl—both just moments of each other.

The fall for love did not kill them, the fall gave them life.

xoxo,

J

(Hope you all enjoyed my first ever third-person narration and my first ever short story! I really enjoyed making this art with my pen… Happy Valentine’s Day weekend lovebugs.)

I wish I could say that I have been stuck on this truth since May, when I watched two of some of the most-influential people in my life, walk out. However, that would be a lie. The truth is this: I have written and edited four versions of this entry over the course of the past year. And the sadder truth is this: I had gone as far as publishing one, the third version, only to delete it minutes later. Thus, what you are reading here is the fifth draft of my manifesto, circa October 2019…

It all started a year ago, during this very month, when I lost a lot things, like family, friends, twenty-five pounds and love. A year ago, during this very month, I lost a lot of things, but I found me. In the following twelve months I would continue to loose more, like my car, my house, money, sleep, more friends, more family and even my dog. And each loss was countered by a greater sense of identity.

Sure, this year is the least I have traveled, in terms of airline miles, but that is not to be confused with the fact that: this year is the most I have traveled within myself than I have ever in any three-hundred-sixty-five days. Sure, I have not left the country, but I did leave home and everything and everyone I have ever known to move 1,657 miles and a timezone away all by myself. Sure, my feet did not touch the surfaces of new beaches or cobblestone-streets, but my hands did touch the warm, pale skin of my twin flame… Since last October I have met versions of myself I never knew were possible and said goodbye to versions of myself I had thought would never let me go.

Moreover, I think that has been the hardest lesson to learn and the headliner of my life this past year: letting go. It is not only the act of letting go though, that is valuable, because anyone can simply let go, but the distinction lies in learning to let go of things with nothing but love. Letting go, in this way, means governing oneself with self-control, patience, gracefulness, strategy and wisdom–traits not so easily acquired. It took the tribulations that transpired in my life not only this past year, but especially this past year, to learn the fundamentals of that teaching…

***

And suddenly, I am in a small, white room that is covered in a thin layer of dog hair and that has way too many mirrors, fans and white fluffy fabrics. I am in a fully-lit room in the middle of the night, with my fingers scurring across the keyboard like the leaves against my window, which are holding on for dear-life to thin-limbed trees in the cold outdoor wind. I am in my room. I am in New York City. I live in New York City now. And for the first time, in a very, very long time I do not feel the urge to ask the most tragic question in the human language: why?

I know why. We all know why.

“I am not afraid. I was born to do this.” -Joan of Arc

Listen to this coming season of life, may it be the season of summer in your life, or your umpteenth winter–just listen. Follow the call. And don’t ask why. You know why. We all know why. Let go, with love, and listen.

Let’s commence.

xoxo,

J

P.S. This blog will no longer be exclusively travel, in the literal sense, rather this blog will be a place where my writing journey is shared.

Not even twenty minutes after I finished the last post, Chloe’s car broke down. A travesty, but typical luck for Chloe and I… We ended up dragging two of her coworkers in the cold to help us. And after our fingers nearly got frostbite from pushing against her car’s frozen frame, we were able to jump her car battery. Hearing her car roar back to life, we were so relieved that we bought burgers to celebrate.

I ate two more burgers… So, in case you lost count, I ate three burgers in less than four hours. This was something I might have found myself impressed by, except I could not be, even if I tried, because my Gallbladder is about as useful as a bag of bones. I want to know why I would risk ending up in the hospital and being drugged up with morphine again, all for some burgers. I don’t know. Maybe it was because I was so in love with being in Fort Collins that I just did not care? Or, because Lent is weeks away and I always go vegetarian for the season? Nonetheless, those burgers were the first bits of red meat I had ingested in years and probably the last time for another couple of years.

While we on the topic of food, if you find yourself in Fort Collins, Colorado, I urge you all to try out these food places:

•The Waffle Lab: Located at 130 W Olive St D. This place makes my mouth water just remembering the brunch I devoured there. To no surprise, The Waffle Lab specializes in, you guessed it, waffles. They have the classic Chicken and Waffles, but they serve a bunch of waffle dishes, like waffle omelets and even waffle burgers. For my sweet and my savory friends reading this, there are plenty of delicious options for the both of you. I highly reccommend this spot when you’re headed out for a good breakfast or lunch. Their website is: http://thewafflelab.com

And this what three dishes look like. Mmmmmmm. Austin got a plain waffle with a side of bacon and two over-easy eggs (the top plate). Chloe got a vegetarian waffle omelet (right plate). And I got a waffle, topped with an over-easy egg, cheese, and avocado (bottom plate). Also, don’t be fooled, the size of these waffles are bigger than your hand. All-in-all, I’d rate this gem a 9.5/10, only because the waitress was not very attentive. (I drink water like crazy at restaurants).

•QDOBA Mexican Eats: Located at 1281 E Magnolia St Suite E. QDOBA is basically like a Chipotle, but since Chipotle is everywhere where I’m from, I decided to try this place in Fort Collins. I thought it was great, but I will be honest, I do prefer Chipotle. I say this be Chipotle’s salsas are superior. And we all know how a good salsa, or sauce, can change the whole meal. The rice was also harder than I’d like it to be; however, QDOBA takes the crown for best guacamole. My goodness, that is some of the best guacamole I’ve ever tasted. Oh, and the service was exceptional there! Unfortunately I did not take any photos, but this place has my rating at a solid 6/10. Their website is: https://locations.qdoba.com/us/co/fort-collins/250-e-harmony-rd.html?utm_source=Listings

•Cosmo’s Pizza: Located at 1401 W Elizabeth St. Whether you want New York style pizza or a late night snack, I reccomend this pizzeria! (They close at 2:30a.m.). I am extremely picky about my pizza and had this pizza twice in the three days I was in Fort Collins! For reference, my pizza preference is classic Northern Italian/ Grimaldi pizza, thin-crusted, cheesy, and preferably coal-ovened.

Yes, I had two slices. And if you’re wondering if I gained weight in Fort Collins? Yes, yes I did. I gained five pounds in three days… Anyways, their website is: http://cosmospizza.com And I have to give Cosmo’s a 7.5/10. The staff was great!

Concluding my time in Fort Collins, I have to admit that I absolutely loved it. Not only did I see my bestfriend of almost seven years, but I met such beautiful souls there too, souls I could never have imagined meeting in my wildest dreams… I always loved Colorado, but I’m in love with it now. Fort Collins had great people, great food, great views, and great times, what more could you ask of a place?

Speaking of places, these are some photos of Horse Tooth, that lake amongst the mountain peaks I talked about in my last blog entry.

Without snow.

With snow.

I reccommend seeing the magnificence of this place in person. Pictures never do sights like this justice. Along with this spot, you have to explore Old Town Fort Collins and if you’re ever out of ideas of where to go there, just walk up and down of West Elizabeth Street, I swear you’ll find something that fulfills your soul there, something you wouldn’t expect to find in a small college town…

Oh yes, I said college town. Colorado State University calls Fort Collins home. And yes, CSU parties are a good time. But if we are being honest, when are college fraternity parties not fun?

So, with a heavy heart, I am out of breath, and on a plane, looking out the window at the runways of the Denver Airport. (Not to get off on a tangent, but the conspiracy obsessed person in me is totally geeking out). But really, I am out of breath. Chloe dropped me off at the airport forty-five minutes before my flight was set to close its doors. I ran with my water bottle obnoxiously clanking against my backpack through terminal C. Everyone was staring, while a few people cheered me on. I was the last person to board, but I made it. A part of me wishes I missed my flight, so I can go back to Fort Collins. But, here I am on a plane that is about to leave the ground.

I am sad to leave my bestfriesnd, but the heartbreak is bearable because I know I will be back in less than five months. And next time for a much longer time. I’m ready to see Horse Tooth in the hot July sun, my bestfriend back on my snapchat stories, and make more (and sweeter) memories. See ya Fort Collins. See ya real soon…

I have been offline here for a bit, but fear not because I still have found myself on a new adventure to a different city once a month. Since my expedition to Switzerland and Italy last May, I have spent the summer in Massachusetts, danced for a whole weekend in Montreal, went to a music festival in New Orleans, ate pizza and hotdogs in New York City, two-stepped all night in Nashville, sang my heart away in Austin, and reunited with old friends in College Station. I even lost my voice to a weekend in Tuscaloosa, Alabama as I witnessed the 2018-19 Iron Bowl. This is not to mention all the sleepless nights and spontaneity in between like deciding in the dead of the night to drive an hour just so I can dip my toes in the ocean, or dragging my little cousin along to chase sunflower fields with me in the Texas Hill Country, or staying in creepy motels in nameless towns.

And where am I now? In a parking lot outside of a Five Guys in Fort Collins, Colorado. This is my first full day here in Fort Collins specifically, and all I have to say is, Why have I never eaten at Five Guys before?! I implore you all to sacrifice your Digestive System’s health for one night and eat a burger. I do not even eat red meat, but I had to make an exception. Knowing that I’ve had Gallstones before, this was practically a life-threatening risk. However, the aroma was what I imagined a Siren might smell like– this was a risk I was willing to take. Now, was it worth it? Stay tuned.

Chloe works at Five Guys. Chloe is a friend for life, and she is the reason I landed in Denver yesterday. (And yes, she encouraged the burger situation).

We spent the afternoon in Denver, and had a jam session the whole hour-long drive along the Rocky Mountains to Fort Collins. It was all beautiful and I felt like I was home with her in that blue car, singing at the top of our lungs to Lana Del Rey remixes. Once we arrived, she took me to a spot up in the mountains that tower over Fort Collins. I switched the song to ‘Rollin’ by Khalid as we zig-zagged up the mountain. We were both singing, per usual, with windows down, freezing, but happy. I had my head out the car, my hand tracing the icy wind as I was taking it all in. That’s when my breath caught.

The place she took me is called Horse Tooth and it’s a lake in between mountain peaks. It’s so vast that it looks like an ocean channel.

So, when the mountains opened up for us, and I saw the waves glisten in the golden sunset, thousands of miles up, my breath caught. It was so gorgeous my chest heaved with pain. It was that gorgeous.

And on that note, I will leave our lastnight adventures up to your imagination. At least, for now.

I’ll keep you updated on places to eat, see, and explore here.

xoxo,

J

We woke up quite early considering the night we’d endured. Though, we did have an over-three hour train ride to catch to get to the Italian Riviera from where we were in Tuscany.

Arriving to Firenze Santa Maria Novella station was like being in a drama. It was utterly tragic for me. This is perhaps my favorite city/ region on earth, and I was saying goodbye to her. And not knowing the next time I’d walk these streets was a terrifying reality that I hadn’t prepared myself for. To be honest, I have never been okay with leaving this wonder of a place. I looked around one last time as Mick and I sped to our platform, trying to soak up any last details of Firenze.

Then, just like that, I was on to the next adventure… I was on a train to Cinque Terre. For those of you that do not know Cinque Terre translates to five lands. Essentially, Cinque Terre is split up into five, quite tiny, villages and each one unique in its own way. The village Mick and I were staying in is called Riomaggiore, which is the southernmost village, and the cheapest. Supposedly the more north the villages are, the more fancy they are too, in others words: expensive.

We passed through Pisa to get to the Riviera and, by looks of it, through the train’s window, the city seemed vastly underwhelming. Nonetheless, we finally arrived in La Spezia Centrale train station, where we then had to change trains to get on a much smaller, local one to get to Riomaggiore’s station.

On that final train, we met a girl who seemed to be self-imploding on her high-class mode of travel. She was American and I don’t remember her name, but she had a enormous suitcase and a short, blunt haircut. And all she could do was brag to Mick and I of her travels. It was a mind-numbing conversation that I could no longer partake in, so I looked out the window.

Suddenly, we were in darkness. Well, other than the dim lights lit inside of the train, we seemed to be darkness. Only, we were in a mountain, or rather a few of them. After a few moments, there it was. The blue brilliance below us was the Ligurian Sea. And my breath caught. Wow! I thought. It was beautiful.

The train left us in front of the magnificent view. This is what we saw:

Having shown you this, know that pictures have never, and could never, do Italy any justice, but there you go.

Continuing, Mick and I took a few wrong turns until we figured out where my hostel was… Oh, did I fail to mention that dilemma of ours? Yeah, Mick did not book the hostel when I told her to book it, thus leaving her to reserve a stay nearly twenty minutes away from me, in the mountains. And there was no way I wasn’t going to stay further from the sea than I needed to be, so we schemed to smuggle her into my corner of a twelve-person bunk room.

The hostel was called Mar-Mar but it was connected to a bar called Bar O’Netto. We walked not even twenty feet down the main street of Riomaggiore until I spotted the bar. It was there that I checked-in.

Cue the umpteenth spy operation of Mick and I: I met the owner, who was an absolute legend by the way. He walked me up to the apartment that is his hostel, and gave me the full run-down. We even made some friendly conversation and that was when he told me of all of his iconic travels back in his prime. Keep in mind, Mick was hiding downstairs around the corner during that process. And she stuck out like sore thumb because of her ginormous hiker’s backpack and Chaco sandals, looking American as ever.

I thought the coast was clear to signal her as he was walking out. But, he came back and nonchalantly questioned,

“Who is your friend?” Uh-oh. Our case could be blown. I played it cool and just explained to him that we were best friends traveling together and she tried to book this place but it was full, so she had to book a place in the mountains, in La Spezia. I continued to tell him that since Mar-Mar was in a better location and we would already be spending all two of our days there on the sea’s rocky coast, that we would dub Mar-Mar as our designated base camp. He nodded like it was no big deal, and assured me she was allowed in the apartment and didn’t need to be scared to hangout at the hostel or Bar O’Netto.

Whew. We made it. The operation was successful. And with that reassurance, we unpacked our things and settled in. This was when we discovered the balcony… The colorful buildings were stacked on top of eachother like legos amongst the cliffs.

After a dozen photos and long-sighs, we finally met our first roommates, some Kiwis. (Kiwi is another name for a New Zealander). And I love Kiwis. There’s a joke that there’s no one left on their island because they are all travelling. Seriously though, there’s only four-million Kiwis and, I swear, half of all backpackers are from New Zealand. I have concluded it is like a rite of passage, traveling the world, for Aussies and Kiwis.

Anyways, the Kiwis I met in Riomaggiore were Taegan and Hannah and what gems they were. All four of us, ended up going to the beach together, and while Mick and I swam a bit, the Kiwi girls sunbathed.

Ah, salt water, my first love. I don’t know what it is about the sea that makes me so incredibly happy but it just does it for me. The ocean, when swimming in it, makes me and my problems feel so small. There is nothing more humbling that nature herself giving it. Iridescent waves gleaming at my squinted-eyes and fish swimming around my feet, to the sound of seagulls singing in the breeze, with the sweet taste of salt on my sundried lips is my soul’s dearest aphrodisiac.

So understand that when I was standing waist-deep in the Riviera’s waters, I didn’t care that the water was freezing or that the rocks were cutting into my feet. I simply dove in, not thinking twice about it. For me, it was vital that Italy’s salty waters baptized me. While under the waves, I made sure my eyes stayed open, no matter the sting. And when I came up, I was in my childhood utopia, jagged cliffs being fought against the ocean.

Then, Mick zapped me back into reality, reminding me that I was wearing my watch still… I gasped and looked at it. Great. I just ruined my boyfriend’s Christmas gift to me.

After our swim, we all chitchatted; this is when I found out how insanely bold these Kiwi women were. They had been traveling for two months or so already and at the end of their travels, they would both move to different countries. Hannah was relocating to New York City and Taegan to Edinburgh. I found myself inspired and reenergized by their energy.

We decided to walk back and get lunch, but not before we stole some breathtaking pictures of the harbor.

After, we headed into Riomaggiore’s main street for some bruschetta and a round of Spritz. We talked for hours until Mick felt sick and headed back to the hostel to lay down. Meanwhile, the Kiwis and I had another round of laughs and Spritz. Soon it became brisk, so we decided to head in for a change of clothes. I checked on Mick, but she still wasn’t feeling up to par with the festivities my new friends and I were up for, which was more food.

The Kiwis and I went to dinner at a spot on main street and immediately started ordering. I had crab spaghetti which was good, but the French Riviera definitely had better, according to my memory. Nonetheless, Hannah ordered us a bottle of wine.

Now, when it comes to wines, I am a Pino Noir/ Cabernet Sauvignon kind of gal, so whites were always off the menu. As for rosé? Well, it was uncharted territory. On the other hand, this was Hannah’s drink of choice. Naturally, she was nervous about picking the right bottle for me to loose my rosé virginity to. This was important to her and I appreciated her for it. The pressure was on when the bottle go to the table. And Hannah made sure to conduct the taste test herself before I touched a glass. She had to make sure it was great, and she did. She nodded to the Italian server, giving him the okay to pour us our first glasses. Watching as I lifted my glass to my lips, Teagan and Hannah anxiously waited to hear my verdict of the wine. I took a sip. Mmmmm. I could get used to this. I smiled, in acceptance for rosé. Hannah sighed in relief. I was officially on the rosé train. This is not to be confused with my love of my deep red wines.

Taking the cork, I asked the Kiwis for a pen while I wrote the date, location, and the moment down on the cork. I explained to them both that I collect wine bottle corks and do this ritual with every single cork added. Hannah and Taegan thought it was charming.

We decided to get the tab and head back to hostel, to meet more people. (I checked on Mick again, but she was sound asleep). We had a lot of new roommates. A list that included three guys from Toronto, two guys from Alabama, and others, but they didn’t seem too keen on making friends. The guys wanted to go out to bar, and so we did.

Bar O’Netto was great. I tried my first Gin and Tonic there, which I loved! And Taegan and I shared a bottle of Cabernet. But, mostly we all just talked and laughed and talked some more. This is when I found out that Taegan was coming to Houston just three weeks later! We made plans to meet up and I told her I’d take her to Torchy’s Tacos. (She absolutely needed to try the queso, which would be her first-ever queso experience mind you). And for the first time ever, I let someone else write on my cork collection. Taegan wrote the memory portion for the cork, of the bottle of red we were sharing. It was a note to me, telling me she would see me in Houston.

I’ve said it before and I will say it again, I love Kiwis.

We ended the night by going to the harbor. Sitting on the edge of the cliff with the Kiwis and Alabamians was hilarious at first. Soon I felt myself resort into myself. I was detaching. As I stared at the glorious moon and the midnight waters, I felt my mind leave. I was hypnotized by the beauty of the night sky and dark ocean once again. It was one of those moments where silence was needed, to soak in the solitude of contentment, alone. I wished Mick was there, just her and I, because she understands me when I get lost in my thoughts. She understands the solace of silence. And feels it with me. Suddenly, I needed to leave. So I did just that. I wasn’t mad, I was just in a trance induced by Italy’s wonder.

Eventually, I found myself back at the hostel. I tiptoed alone across the tile floor, slipped into the little corner of bed Mick had left me, and went fast asleep.

What a first day in the Italian Riviera… Ciao!

xoxo,

J

Footsteps. Tom’s soft footsteps are what I woke up to. And as I shuffled in the sheets silently with sleep still in my eyes, I saw him slowly folding his own sheets. He looked like he’d gone mad, the way he folded the blankets and pillow cases with the blankest of stares upon his face. What was he staring at? I looked. And it was nothing, at least nothing in particular.

I watched with my ears, listening to his movements. Until I felt too awkward to even do that, so I had to face my back to him because I simply couldn’t bare peeking anymore. It was not even ten minutes after I had done this that the ever-mysterious Tom walked outside the room down the hall… to his clothes… drying on the drying rack… that Mick had broken just hours before in a drunken indulgence.

I knew Mick was up too, because after he walked out, I lifted myself up a bit to get a look at her, then we made eye contact and telepathically told eachother OH EM GEE both with my wide eyes. Then, quickly getting in sleeping position again, I heard him begin to unclip his clothes, then CLANK CLANK! The entire drying rack collapsed to the floor and not even a second later, I heard the Mick’s muffled squeals of laughter. You know those moments when you aren’t allowed to laugh and it only makes it funnier? Yeah, well this was one for us.

Eventually, Tom was all packed and gone. Even when we had seen him in the common room while we were checking out, it was as if he was already gone. He simply didn’t acknowledge either Mick or I’s existence. It was only on his official and final walkout did he peep through his shadowed cap at me. Then, like a ghost, he was gone forever and Mick was devastated… I didn’t understand it either.

Before the trek back into Florence, Mick had to have us ride bikes in the countryside. And to no one’s surprise but hers, did we only make it to the end of the hostel’s property before she tapped out. So, there we were. Speed walking to catch at least one my coveted views of the area. I wish I had a grander reveal to Mick of the impeccable view, but instead it was more like just me announcing that we had to cross this particular street and bush in order to see it. And wa-la! I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it everytime, but no amount of pictures or video, or even how great the camera is, will ever do this place justice! And that in itself should be a crime. Naturally, we spent more time than we had there, so we were forced to speed walk up all of those rolling Tuscan hills, and hope we weren’t going to miss our bus. Though, mostly I was just hoping the Italians would do what they do, and be twenty minutes (or more) late to everything. Yes, I know. This is my kind of country. Thank goodness the bus driver was thirty-one minutes late. Lucky.

The bus ride was as beautiful as ever, and also bittersweet. It was bittersweet because I knew it needed to be savored. Every moment. Every hill. Needed to be savored. Because Lord only knows the next time I will see this sight. Hopefully not too long, I cannot stay away from Italy for too long or else I’d probably die or something dramatic like that.

We had the same issue, but not as intense, when we arrived back in the city of Firenze. Rain and not knowing where we were exactly going. But we caught some gelato! It was Mick’s first experience to which she had no comment on the dish.

Plus Florence Hostel was big and had everything you could think of from a spa, to bar, to pool, everything. They had everything except for a receptionist that knew how to do her job. We had to make three trips up and down a flight of three stairs because she didn’t tell us how to access the room, told us a wrong room number, then didn’t tell us that the room card is what powers the room… Frustrating.

That afternoon we spent trying to see the David, only the line looked four hours long and we just didn’t have the daylight on our side to invest that much time with 4% batteries. Instead, we saw the Duomo. It hit me like a flashback, seeing it again reminded me if the first time I laid eyes on its intricacy, detail, and opulence. And my breath caught. Mick was a victim to its beauty too. We sat at a cafe and stared at it, while also drinking Spritz and people-watching in much more likeable weather.

After an hour or so, I decided we had to see the view of the entirety of the city. And since the Duomo was booked for the next two days, our only option was the Bell Tower. I was happy for the trek because I knew the view was well worth the climb. Mick on the other hand, was not. The climb was nearly 500 steps. And let me clear about this and make this distinct differentiation: Italian steps are not normal steps. These steps are steep, tiny, uneven, and ancient. In other words, the trek ended up feeling like a thousand. Reaching the peak, made it all worth it. There’s a reason they call it the City of Red and so many household names have roamed these cobblestone streets. Lucky for us, the way down was easier, but definitely scarier because we are both certified clutzs. We made it eventually by holding each wall and taking an eternity for each step. We didn’t feel like getting sent to the hospital for tripping down centuries-old stairs that day.

Well, both of our phones died. We had no way of knowing or going back to where the hostel was except the old fashioned way, and that is going off of sheer gut instinct, intuition, and a good old map. We did good looking like iconic list tourists on our search throughout the city. It took us until nearly nightfall to find the hostel….

Luckily that evening was a ball. Truly, it was. We got dressed and decided we were gonna spend a night out on the town. Except, we were two young foreign girls in Italy and I was not about to put Mick and I in that position. So, I opted to have us go to the hostel’s bar first to formulate a squad so that we could go out on the city in a little safety net. And that’s where we met Tiana and Diana. These ladies were from California and they were beyond hilarious. Seriously, especially Tiana she was the single friend and she had us all rolling on the floor laugh. And to top this all off? The bartender liked me so he got me discounted drinks and a free round of shots for the girls. Oh, it doesn’t even end there. We heard all about Diana’s love story and saw her inspiring wedding pictures, then this guy who we named Cody did his dance. I don’t know how to explain this dance without be offensive so I’m not even going to bother, just trust me, it was free comedy! And he was all over Tiana.

Unfortunately, the bar closed a lot earlier than expected and no one was ready to submit to the night. So we didn’t. A crowd of foreigners, us in the middle, parading through the streets of Florence just trying to not let the night go wasted was a blast. Our army of fun eventually found the perfect place to take up camp, an Irish Pub. God, I love the Irish. I must go.

Anyways the night ended in blur. A blur of wandering the streets, sipping drinks, ordering more drinks, and saying stupid drunken things (Mick).

Stumbling to the room at night, a wave of emotion overcame me. I missed my boyfriend. While videochating him in the hall, I was crying hormonal tears or drunken tears, neither of us could pinpoint it. Lol. And to be quite honest with you, I don’t remember how I had gotten into bed after that, I only knew the next morning I woke up with makeup wipes all around me.

Thank you Florence. It was fun. You never disappoint. Ciao bella Firenze!

xoxo,

J

Waking up, in the bottom bunk of a hostel to Mick saying,

“Let’s go to a coffee shop so I can journal and you can type.” Then checking the time and realizing our train was nearly three hours away, immediately sent me back into a slumber. Until about thirty minutes later when I decided I should take advantage of some free breakfast from the hostel. But first, I had to watch goodmorning snapchats from my love to wake me up like coffee, better than coffee actually (if I’m being honest).

The breakfast was actually great at the Madama Hostel. There was an array of cheeses, meats, breads to toast, jellies, juices, cereals, yogurts, they had it all! And it was damn good for being free. While eating, Sam came to say goodbye and wish me good on my future travels. It’s always a bittersweet moment when you realize you might never see those wandering souls in your stories ever again… I carried on eating, but this time just in silence, thinking.

And because I ate breakfast, Mick and I did not get the chance to go to a coffee shop and catch up on some writing. Instead, it was us somewhat rushing to check out and call for a taxi to Milano Centrale.

Ah, goodbye Milano. You were pretty, but I cannot say I’d rather stay longer than go to Tuscany…

Firenze Santa Maria Novella Station. Sure, it is a weed in sidewalk cracks compared to Milano Centrale, but it’s the first thing many people see of Florence, and it was the first I saw of the city. So, the Firenze SMN station holds special significance for me. It means that Chianti is just a SITA bus ride away… My heart is just a 45-minute ride across the river.

I’ve hyped it up quite a bit for Mick. And I still didn’t think I did the place justice by bragging enough. But, when we arrived at the station, it was raining with such ferocity I thought it’d take us. I was semi-okay with the rain because I am infatuated with storms and the city of Firenze, but also because I had a water-resistant coat… And Mick did not. We saw where we needed to go, it was to the other side of the ginormous street. I mean, honestly, the street could not have been bigger.

This is when some Jamaicans began pressing her to buy an umbrella. First, she said no, then logic advised her otherwise. She needed the umbrella. So, she bought it for €5! The girl did not even try to bargain with him. And with that she sealed her fate, which was an inevitable scam. She popped the umbrella, while I made sure to put my jacket over my backpack and we started running through the monsoon.

Until I realized that I was leading us the wrong way, then Mick got out her phone and we began running the other way. That’s when things went from bad to worse for Mick. The wimpy umbrella was simply no match for the rain and it flipped inside out. Even then, she was determined to work with the umbrella because a bad umbrella was still better than no umbrella. That’s when it happened. I saw her left ankle buckle like a baby deer learning to walk, and she went down from there. In front of everyone. On one of the busiest streets of Florence. And before immediately helping her, I had to scream in laughter for a solid moment before I could do so, the laughter just overtook me. It was free comedy. Finally, helping Mick up from the pool of water, that was the street, we discovered the sorry-excuse-for-an-umbrella was caught in her hair. Great timing to detangle a girl’s hair.

Afterwards and a sprint later, we reached the SITA bus station and caught a bus to a village in 45 minutes out in my favorite region. The ride was just as I remembered it. In every way, was Tuscany magical.

Brief Disclaimer: I will not be posting this particular location onto my blog because it is fairly, easily accessible and yet nobody knows about it. There is virtually no tourism here and I want to preserve this place on earth and keep it as authentic as it is. It would break my heart to see this place filled with foreigners. Having said that, if you would like to know the location of this secret place, contact me.

Continuing with the blog, we finally arrived to the Tuscan village. Completely starved, we simply couldn’t wait to check-in then eat. So, on the way we stopped by my favorite restaurant for bruschetta and lasagna. Oh! How that cheese just melts in your mouth. No Olive Garden could ever to this place justice, not even in their dreams. And while I ordered a glass of the local red, Mick took a Spritz. (She had fallen madly in love with the cocktail and I am the one to blame for it).

Finally, checking into the hostel, we walked into our room to find our roommate Tom. Tom was an Aussie who had some Japanese in him and he was rather… dark. But, that didn’t stop Mick from forming a crush and talking about zodiac tarot readings for the next 24-hours. And Lord help this girl, because Tom grew to hate us that night. I personally think he contemplated and maybe even conspired to kill us the next morning. But that comes after dinner…

We had time to kill because we arrived in the village at around 4pm. So, naturally, we decided we’d take a little cat nap before riding bikes in the countryside and eating dinner at my even-more-secret restaurant that’s in a castle village with a view that should kill you, it’s so breathtaking. Except that’s not what happened at all because in Mick and I fashion, our 40-minute nap turned into five hours! Panicked and starved we headed for the castle village, at nearly 10pm.

You see, this walk is one of my favorite walks ever. And as if the views couldn’t get better for me, as we walked along the road and cypress trees, we saw them. Fireflies! I had never see the pinch-worthy bugs in the flesh before. They were brilliant. The way they lit up the blacked-out brush like the night sky above us was breathtaking. It added to the whole ambiance of the village that is my love and I was glowing.

Hiking up the cobblestone hill to enter the castle village, I saw the restaurant lights. Then hope sparked in my chest at the thought that they might be open. They were! The owner recognized me from last June when I took limoncello shots with him and a dear backpacker named Madeleine. And because he remembered me, he reopened his closing restaurant for Mick and I, and rolled out the red carpet for an old friend. It was great.

I asked him what he recommended and I guess that signalled to him the greenlight to order all the food for us. Because he did just that. We started out with most the three most amazing antipastis with a bottle of the local red that was smoother than any wine you’d ever taste, then had lasagna and ravioli for first and second entrees, and finished off with tiramisu and limoncello.

“MAMAMIA!” I believe the owner put it. And goodness, was he right. The meal was classic Italian and my senses were buzzing from it all. And the song Cara Italia came on they were on fire. I loved it all. I was so full.

When Mick and I deemed it time to head back, it was raining again. So, the owner was nice enough to give us a lift. And being back at the hostel was when things got interesting.

Mick was drunk. She had underestimated limoncello’s innocent taste. And because of this, Tom suffered. I felt bad because we proved the obnoxious American stereotype true that night. We went from wrestling, to laughing, and simply acting fools. Then, Mick wouldn’t quit with the zodiac predicament. So to keep her quiet, we made a deal, a deal she failed to uphold, but I had to ask him his birthday. Poor Tom woken up for the sake of astrology. How insane and how us. Haha.

Calling my boyfriend to update him on the situation was hilarious. He lectured the hell out of us, and rightly so. I missed him. He was the only thing missing. I needed to bring him to my favorite place on earth and experience both of my loves together.

Anyways, we said our i-love-you’s and goodnights and then Mick and I were supposed to got to bed. Supposed to. But, before we entered the room, we spotted Tom’s clothes drying on the rack and broke the drying rack, and all his socks and things fell to the cold floor. It was hilarious, but I knew I couldn’t entertain her. Even though I did. Forcing her to pick it up and promising me to be quiet when we entered the room, we finally realized how exhausted we were. We hit the sheets silently and fast, ready for another day of adventure.

xoxo,

J