I Came, I Saw, I Conquered: The Family Vacation

We meet again.

 Maybe I'm belaboring on my vacation a bit too much -- you've already had to hear my lead-in to my vacation, then my recap on returning to London -- but if you've loyally read my insightful posts (I use both "loyally" and "insightful" loosely), then you probably noticed that I left out mentioning just over half of my trip...until now! A month later and I still wish I was back there. Blame it on Kinder Eggs withdrawal or maybe a nostalgia for a guilt-free binge on pizza, pasta and gelato, but my visit to Italy is still on my mind.

Unlike the first leg of my trip where I was travelling solo, hoping to spend my days leisurely enjoying old sights and friends, I went to Rome (and Florence!) to visit my brother, who had been studying there since January. Not only would I be seeing my brother for the first time in months, but my parents were going to meet me and my brother there as well. Talk about switching gears.

My days in London consisted of sleeping in, sporadically gorging myself on snacks and big meals, and trying to survive night after night in a different club. I knew that my trip to Rome would be a completely different pace, not only because of the cultural differences between the UK and Italy, but because, well, I was suddenly going from one-time-pseudo-local to obnoxious American tourist sans fanny-pack. Instead of being able to seamlessly hop from tube stop to tube stop, I'd be dragging around my camera and map, hoping not to annoy anyone as I tried to get the perfect picture in front of the Colosseum with the obligatory cheesy grin.

Oh, hello, Colosseum. Lookin' good for your age

Not only was I going from familiar to foreign, but this time, I had travel companions in tow: my family. This was not your typical family vacation of yore. I can remember, as a kid, going to places that were pretty kid-friendly: beach resorts, Cape houses, Disney World, etc. Those vacations were pretty heavily structured mainly because of the fact that, at eight years old, I could barely tie my shoes let alone have a sense of time management needed to move the vacation along. I was incapable not only of packing for myself, but basically figuring out how to manage in this new vacation zone. Heck, I passed out on a ferry en route to Disney World -- do you think that I was capable of providing any input aside from "I need to take a picture with Cinderella!?" Exactly.

This time, my brother and I not only had more say as to what we wanted to do and when, but we were more familiar with being abroad than my parents. Yes, my parents' travel experience may trump ours in terms of being prepared, but when it came down to interacting with locals, figuring out the best schedule for sightseeing and being aware of the nuances of travel abroad, our suggestions suddenly held some legitimate weight.

There was less of a divide between us and our parents . We were no longer helpless or relegated to strollers. My parents could safely take a picture without the fear that we would wander off. We could go into a bathroom alone, and my parents would be rest-assured that not only would we emerge unscathed, but we wouldn't get lost en route back to them. My brother and I had become travellers in our own right, capable of navigating, adapting to the cultural differences and able to problem-solve when needed. The pressure of needing to take care of my brother and me in addition to planning the day-to-day activities of travel could finally be taken off -- we can take care of ourselves, we can help figure out how to spend our time on the trip, and better yet, we can all enjoy and appreciate everything we were doing.

I'll admit, it isn't quite a family vacation without an argument, but for the most part, my family and I were able to enjoy all aspects of our time together. Not only did we bond over being able to visit the Colosseum or admire the Sistine Chapel together, but we could all recognize the overwhelming impressiveness of each of these historical, artistic and cultural sights. Seeing these things for the first time was something that we did together -- and whenever we think back on seeing Michelangelo's David or walking through Palatine Hill, we'll think of being together too. We were able to share an knowing appreciation for the sights as opposed to just checking off another item on the tourist to-do list.

I suppose you can see why, despite being firmly grounded here in Boston, my thoughts occasionally float back to my trip a mere month ago. The sights, the food, the lack of alarm clocks... It's amazing that I was even able to convince myself to return home. In the mean time, I look forward to the family trips of the future -- who knows where we'll all go next?!

Why Hello, Old Friend: Thoughts on Returning Abroad

Oh, hey girl.
(http://images.fineartamerica.com/images-medium-large/queen-e-pop-art-terry-collett.jpg)

I've had a case of the Fridays all day (is that a thing?) and all I've been able to do is look wistfully towards the weekend and my upcoming vacation in order to get me through the final afternoon slump. Freedom is on the horizon -- in the form of Saturday, Sunday and a ten-day getaway across the pond.

As I lose myself in daydreams, I realize that in returning to London and Rome (but especially, London) I will be reuniting with old stomping grounds. I visited Rome briefly for a few days during a college trip to Italy, but I spent an entire summer in London. How strange that a foreign city could seem so familiar, while remaining so geographically distant from my everyday life. I'm not sure how I'll react to landing back in Heathrow, riding the Tube and meandering through the same streets I explored just under two years ago. Will the city welcome me back or dismiss me as a once-tourist and now-stranger?

It's different from other vacations I've had where I've returned to the same place. Every year, my family skips out of suburbia and plops next to the beach in Cape Cod -- but that is a two-hour drive from home, littered with Boston-pride and New England's creature comforts. I have friends who live on Cape Cod and I'm not relegated to a once-a-year visit to Massachusetts' hook, or even once-every-so-many-years visit. London, on the other-hand, is obviously not so easily accessible from this side of the Atlantic. With a six to seven hour flight separating me from the the US's former frenemy (circa 1776), I wonder if I will seamlessly re-acquaint to the city or be overwhelmed by a surprising exoticism of it all. Is it just like riding a bike? Will I hop back on that metaphorical Schwinn only to find that I need training wheels? Or will I be able to pedal around the city, finely attuned to my place on the left side of the road?

My summer in London left me with an indelible affection and attachment to the city. Whenever I click through Facebook photos or peruse my old travel blog, the nostalgia inevitably resurfaces and I think back to everything I did there -- both the trivial and the anecdote-worthy. I'm obviously curious to be back there and perhaps even re-trace some of my old steps, to see if this nostalgia returns full-force and if I remember the same sights and smells. Some of my favorite memories are the least ostentatious or illustrious. I remember walking to Kings Cross in the morning to take the tube to work and just feeling like I was a part of it -- as though, I was one sort of minute piece of energy contributing to the overall life of the city. The air was fresh and crisp, the streets still wet from the morning rain, and yet, amid the serenity of climate, the people's vibrancy propelled me forward, invigorating me. I always felt a rush whenever I was diving into a different part of the city -- whether it was getting lost and then surprisingly stumbling upon my desired location or when I simply took the time to take in the people as I walked through the streets. I suppose this sort of sensation is not purely indicative of my experience of London, but of travel, in general, but because I had these inaugural feelings of developing familiarity with London, I now think of it as an old friend associated with a summer filled with memories.

I'm not quite sure what to expect, really. I'm hoping to fit in time to see some familiar faces, but also to  venture to corners of the city that were left unexplored while I was there.I'm sure this trip will not signify any sort of end to my love affair with the city. Instead, I'm almost certain it will rekindle it, as I feel as though once I am, again, caught up in London's energy, I will feel the overwhelming urge to ditch my flight, stay put, and peddle my way into some sort of Notting Hill apartment. 

If you don't hear from me in April, it's probably because I'm still there...