Highlight of my time in Bologna: riding into the sunset through an Italian city on the back of a Vespa. Cross THAT off my life list! Unfortunately the driver of said Vespa was not my steamy Italian lover (I’m still holding out hope) but my wonderful host Alberto, who was incredibly sweet and welcoming and a great friend, and really made my visit worth it. But, you know, he’s still no steamy Italian lover. SIGH.

After five months of traveling, I have learned about myself that my favorite sightseeing activity is going to the tops of things. Anything in my guidebook with the descriptor “fantastic views” immediately gets circled. The oddest part about this is that I never had any interest in finding tall buildings or hills in order to climb up them until I thought back on my favorite experiences of the last five months. Sacre-Coeur Basilica, Acrocorinth, Mystras, the TV Tower. Despite my terrible fear of heights, the days with the best views are the ones that stick in my mind. I guess I just like getting high. (Haha, JOKE, Mom and Dad!)

And then something like this happens, and it feels like maybe my life is picturesque and romantic after all.

(Yes, my abiding love for street performers is still alive and kicking.)

My arrival in Venice was not romantic or picturesque. The city demands a cinematic entrance; in the movie version of my life, I step out into the sunshine in a colorful dress and big sunglasses, one hand on my extravagantly wide-brimmed white sun hat and the other covering my mouth in astonishment. Two brawny men tote my heavy bags behind me.

This is not how it went.

A few train stops before I arrived in Venice I realized I had completely forgotten to write down the name and address of my hostel. I knew it was on the mainland — I hadn’t been able to find a couch or a reasonably priced hostel in the city — but I had no clue how to get there. This, paired with the overwhelming feeling that I had taken the wrong train (even though I had checked, re-checked, tripled checked, and the ticket guy had punched my reservation ticket without comment) made the last bit of my journey quite uneasy.

But I arrived (at the right station, in the right city) without incident and immediately set to figure out where the hell I was staying. Called home — no answer (turns out a storm took out the home phone weeks ago). Opened my laptop — no wireless. So after asking the nice lady at the tourist counter where the nearest internet cafe was, I stumbled out into the sunshine in a sweat-stained tank top and a wrinkled maxi skirt, my heavy bags cutting into my shoulders, and I burst out laughing.

Everything was so unbelievably, ridiculously, over-the-top Venetian! If you had told me that I wasn’t in Venice at all but had been transported to a new Venice-themed Disney theme park, I would have believed you. It was too Venice-y to actually be Venice — gondoliers stood smoking by the canal in their striped shirts and straw hats; an elegantly arching bridge offered views of the narrow, labyrinthine streets capped with red tiled roofs; and sure enough, a vendor right outside the train station was selling extravagantly wide-brimmed white sun hats (I came so close to buying one).

Walking through the city was surreal. Every picture I took looked like a postcard. I was a little sad to leave after only two days, but since I hadn’t found a couch I was staying in a really shitty hostel that I couldn’t afford so I was ready to move on.

Why, why, did I decide to skip Austria on this trip? The train ride from Munich to Venice was absolutely beautiful. In fact, one train station (Jenbach, Austria: population 6897) was so adorable and perfect I almost stopped there instead of going to Venice. My heart said this is why you have a Eurail flexipass but my head said where are you going to sleep? I can be spontaneous, but not that spontaneous. Ohhh well.

My day in Munich was quite lovely but my camera battery died just as I arrived so I didn’t get a single picture there, and thus by internet logic it didn’t happen. A quick summary: I saw the mechanical clock tower people dance at the stroke of 5, I drank a large Bavarian beer while large Bavarian men played large Bavarian music, and I saw graffiti that said “We ♥ Cops,” once again proving that Germany is the Canada of Europe.

Soundtrack to my train ride from Amsterdam to Munich. Notable events along the way:

• I saw a rottweiler sporting a pair of Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses.
• I had an extremely civilized dinner (baked potato, mmm) in the plush, wood paneled dining car and then got chastised by the large Bavarian waitress for not eating my salad.
• I stopped in a metro station that looks like it hosts 90s raves on weekends. It had a mirrored ceiling, neon green walls, and bright blue tiled pillars lit from the inside.

Goodness gracious, this month has flown by. I feel like I haven’t even had time to breathe – my internship had me booked pretty much every minute. German classes in the morning, writing workshop in the afternoon, research for the guide in the evening, and drinks writing at night. But I had a blast, and met a lot of awesome people. It’s hard to believe it’s over already. I have no idea where to begin blogging, so I’ll just give a totally hodge-podge collection of greatest hits.

Sitting in the Athens airport, getting ready to peace out to Berlin. But don’t worry Greece, OUR FRIENDSHIP IS VERY IMPORTANT TO ME.

(Updates to follow on my week in Naxos … probably)

It struck me first when I caught sight of the man selling giant whirligigs in the park. I saw him there often, hawking umbrellas in the rain and these same vibrant, shimmering whirligigs on bright breezy days like today. As I watched his oversized wares spin under the brilliant Athenian sun, looking down quickly as he caught sight of me and tried to engage a potential customer, I realized in a moment of odd joyful pain how much I would miss this place.

Or no, I think I noticed it first earlier that day as I read through the reading comprehension section on my Greek final exam. My professor had written a story in Greek about Christina and her boyfriend going to a taverna for dinner. “The taverna plays good music,” the story went, “and when they like a song they get up and dance. Sometimes Christina stays at her seat, but she always sings along, and so do all the people in the taverna. For so it is in Greece: everyone knows the songs and everyone sings along with the band.” I felt my stomach twist and closed my eyes for a second before moving on quickly to the next paragraph.

Or perhaps it started earlier, when I went out to dinner with my entire Attic Tragedy class and my professor made us laugh so hard I thought I would choke on my tsatsiki and bread. Or even before that, as I sat in the National Gardens discussing poetry and watching the shifting patterns of light on the ground made by the swaying trees. All I know is sometime between hating finals, wishing the program were just over already and today, I began to rediscover the brilliance of this city, this country, this amazing experience I’ve had all semester. I started to realize how much I enjoy the friends I’ve made here, and how hard it is to say goodbye to them. And as excited as I am for my summer to start, I’m beginning to recognize just how sad I am to leave.