August 9
Home again! It was so good to hear the Texas accents in the airport and on the radio. I immediately took a bubble bath while listening to country music.... a perfect evening.
I just don't know what to do with myself now that I don't have a million sights to see or trains to catch!

August 8
Before I went to Spain I was supposed to go to Chicago to go visit Poppie. He hadn't been doing well, so we moved him to a nursing home in March. I hadn't seen him since December. It was his 88th birthday, and he wasn't doing well then either.
I can't remember what the last thing he said to me was, but I'm sure it was something to the effect of "I'm an old man," or "I'm dying... Erica...Diane..." and maybe he even eventually came up with my name. But it didn't matter. I didn't care what he called me.
It was hard those last few years, because we all wanted to enjoy what little time we had left with him, but he never wanted to go anywhere or do anything... even talk. He was happy if he had "The Wheel" and "The Sox" on the TV in front of him. My last really good memory of him was when the White Sox won the world series. I had never heard him so happy before! For the whole week after they won, he would answer the phone, "THE WHITE SOX ARE THE CHAMPIONS OF THE WORLD!!!" hehehe. And Nonnie told me that the best part was that his memory was so bad, he would forget they won, and so when he'd hear it on the TV every five or 10 minutes, he would get to relive the victory each time! How great would that be-- getting to relish in your happiest moment over and over again?

Sometimes I get jealous because my earliest memories of Poppie are when he was in his 70s. My other cousins are older, so they remember him from his better days-- when the hard-working, proud Italian in him made him a genuinely good man. To think that he took his family out of the slums of down-town Chicago's mafia-driven little Italy and into the suburbs is impressive. They left everything they knew and started with nothing. And he did it for his kids... for their future. When he got older he would always brag about how they turned out...
"My daughter graduated high school at 16. My son's an engineer and started his own business. My other daughter married a doctor. And my other son is a vice president of Pitney Bowes," he would boast.
He was so proud of all of them, even though my Auntie Gracie would get a little upset that her claim-to-fame was based on who she married.

I'm so glad I was able to come back the states a little early so that I could be with my family during all of this. Even though I missed the funeral, I got to Chicago in time for the reception that night and the picnic the next day. Poppie died Wednesday night/Thursday morning... officially August 3rd. But I didn't find out until late on the night of the 4th and I was on a plane the next morning. It all happened so fast. It's as if Poppie knew it was a good time to go, because our annual family picnic was scheduled for Sunday the 6th, so everyone was already coming in town. And he gave us all day Thursday and Friday to make the funeral arrangements.

Like I said, I was supposed to go visit him before I went to Spain, but I decided to wait until after, and I have a plane ticket to come to Chicago on August 25th. I prayed he would make it until then, but by mid-July I knew in my heart he wouldn't. It's probably better, though, that my last memories are from when he was still himself. Everyone says that in the end it was like being with a stranger, as he was so dissoriented and ashamed of his childlike state.

The night he died I was in Venice. I bought him and Nonnie souveniers. Cookies for Poppie... because that's all he ever like to eat. (I think I get my sweet-tooth from him.) I talked to my mom and told her what souveniers I got for everyone... even what I got for Nonnie... but something in me kept me from telling her about the cookies I got Poppie. It was as if I knew he was dying, but I didn't want to know. And if I told her about the cookies, she would confirm what I dreaded-- Maybe not even with words,but I would be able to tell just by the sound of her voice in her response.

The other moment that really hit me hard was watching the slide show my cousin Cissy made of Poppie's life. He had four granddaughters. Cissy, Laura, Erica and me. Like I said, I am the baby of the family. Four of the pictures in the slide show were, in this order: Poppie dancing with Ciss at her wedding, Poppie dancing with Laura at her wedding, Poppie dancing with Erica at her wedding, and Poppie dancing with me at Erica's wedding. All of our lives, Poppie has told each of us, "Save me a dance at your wedding." he loved to dance... especially to Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Bing Crosby, etc.... but in the end he would tell me, "Oh I wish I would be there to dance with you at your wedding, Ann." I would always say, "You will, Pop, I'll save you a dance." But even I knew then he wouldn't make it. What killed me during the slideshow, though, was realizing that I was the only granddaughter who wouldn't get to dance with Poppie at my wedding. My husband won't have even known Poppie. But even still, I will save him a dance. One of his favorite songs. And I will dance to "That's Amore" in honor of him.

"That's Amore" is definately one of my strongest memories of Poppie. How he loved to dance with anyone and everyone singing that song... waitresses, girls on my cheerleading squad, flight attendants, me. And whenever I would walk into the room he would start to sing... "Here she comes... Miss America!" He also called me Miss Coppell. My mom, to him, was Mrs. Coppell. I have so many vivid memories of Poppie. It's funny how you don't think you do, until he's gone, and then they all come flooding back. Pizzels-- Solatiare-- Wheel of Fortune-- Da Bears-- The Bear-- painting projects-- my doodling artwork-- lottery tickets-- how's the weather?-- now you're (enter age) now, huh-- How tall are you now? 5'3", 5'4"? -- chili-- cookies-- ah, that woman!-- Son of a biscuit-- where are we going? -- i don't look too bad for (enter age) -- same old jokes -- Brishk -- cheating and the mischevious smile that came with it -- cheapest man I ever knew -- banned from the grocery store -- the wave -- the teeth -- the driving-- "I take him down for physical therapy early because he gets kind of loud and scares the other patients. Did you know your father is a little stubborn?" -- Ice cream -- 3 seconds on the phone -- it's all commericals-- the Christmas tree -- the house in Brookfield -- what the hell's wrong with you -- pasta -- the zoo -- little kids and the slap on the hand -- and best of all, "That's Amore."

I decided that's what we should put on his headstone. The one that Nonnie and he will share when she dies. It sums up everything about both of their lives. Even the times they fought or punished their children, it was all out of love... and that's amore.

August 3
Venice: what a dissapointment.
I always pictured it like it is in the movies. A romantic little seaside villiage. But no, Venice is hardly romantic considering the murkyness of the canals, the rats you can see crawling through them at night, the water buses and taxis that go zooming by, leaving only their polluting stench behind... it all adds up to a not-so-lovely scene.
Smelly, busy, touristy, dirty, boring and over-rated. That is how I would describe the picturesque town I was expecting.
But I am glad I can now say I have been there, floated down the canals and seen the famous bridges, blown glass and gondolas.

August 1
Today we went to Dachau concentration camp... well, former camp, now memorial. I found it so strange that it didn't really rain anywhere I was for the last 5 weeks, but it was cold and rainy the entire time we were at the camp.
I was expecting the campgrounds to be very disturbing. I thought the remains of what happened there so many years ago would create a certain feeling about the place and would still be present today. Everything did seem dead, like I expected, but the cruel way in which everyone and everything had died seemed to have been buried too.
If it weren't for the audio tour and museum, I wouldn't have been able to truly picture the horror of it all. I find it somewhat admirable that the country created memorials in places like Dachau. It seems like it would be so hard to accept.

Now I am on a train on my way to Venice. German trains are so much nicer than Italian trains, so when I saw I was going to be on a German train I was so excited... well of course my seat is in is in the very back car. I keep walking and walking until I reach the very end. My car is the absolute last one and the ONLY Italian car on the whole train! Now I am cramped and sweaty on the only small, un-airconditioned car in the whole trian.
But it's better than my train from Paris to Munich, where there weren't enough seats so I was stuck in the accordian connector area between cars sitting on my suitcase with 4 other people in the stale heat for 6 hours. That was the worste!

July 31
Munich is amazing... mainly because of its beer. But also because of the brautwusrt you can eat after you've already drank a lot of beer.

No really, it is a beautiful and vibrant city altogether, full of history and passion that makes you want to stay and explore some more.

July 28: our last night in Barca =(
Tonight we went to dinner and went out dancing. It was a tragically good time... because it was so hard to say goodbye to everyone. I even cried. I just have such a hard time becoming such close friends with people in only a month, and then saying goodbye so quickly!

July 26
Tonight was another lovely night. We went to the oldest bar in Barcelona. The drinks were amazing, but not as great as the company.

ps- tragic reality: 2.5 more days in my beloved Barca

July 23
La Costa Brava= beautiful.
Monjuic Fountain Show= beautiful
Getting pickpocked= really sucky

A pickpocket stole B's camara from my purse. It was a terrible end to an amazing weekend.

July 18
My Birthday: 1) Foodballs for dinner. Yes, balls of food. I had two balls for my birthday dinner. Very interesting, somewhat tasty... (see pics)
2) Dancing at a discotecha in Barcelona. Fabulous. Just fabulous.

One of the things I love about Europe is the discotechas. It's not like in America where people are anxious and worried about their dancing skills. Nobody judges you. Nobody cares. You just dance and have a good time. And it is a good time!

July 17
It's my birthday... 21... hopefully it will be a good one!
ps- going to school/ doing ungoldy amount of homework here definately puts a damper on the whole exciting European vacation idea.

July 16
The fountain show is absolutely brilliant!
I am sitting here drinking my sangria and soaking it all in. We usually all come on Thursdays, but I wanted to come again tonight so this time I am by myself. It is so nice to finally have some quiet time. And the music, the colors, the power yet the grace of the water... it is so pacifying. I think this is one of only a few places in Barcelona that I find truly beautiful. Don't get me wrong though, I still love Barca. In fact, it is really growing on me.
Now that we've been here for two weeks we have kind of a routine and it really makes it feel like home.
I go to mass at Sagrada Familia three or four times a week. I love going to a little backery by our flat for breakfast. Every Tuesday we go to this restaurant called the Attick for dinner. On Thursdays we bring a sheet to sit on and some wine and bread and cheese to watch the fountain show.
It's pretty much fabulous. Even Brittany is getting along ok. I try to do everything I can to make her feel at home. Like the first day of school here, I decided to go grocery shopping while she was in class, thinking that if I buy her favorite foods maybe she'll stay for at least a few more days.
But I didn't think about the fact that I don't have a car and I would have to carry it all home. So as I'm checking out with my entire cart full, the woman asks me... in Spanish.. how I am going to get all the groceries home. I just started cracking up and told her I have no idea. So she tells me I can borrow the grocery cart! So there I am, walking down the streets of Barcelona, pushing a full-sized grocery cart. I then wheeled it into our building, into the elevator, and up to our flat. Brittany got home a few minutes later to find me, in the kitchen, unloading a grocery cart! It made her laugh though... and she stayed!
Eventually I brought it back, but I totally started a trend because I saw two of my roommates doing the same thing a week later!
Well, the fountain show is starting again and I think I am going to use it for poetic inspiration.
but ps- today when I was walking through the metro, I wasn't paying attention and accidently kicked a homeless accordian player's coin cup about 30 feet down the tunnel! I had to run after it and chase all of his five or so coins that went spinning different directions! Cause they had to all go different directions, of course. He never even stopped playing for a second, though! So I felt bad and gave him some of my change too.

July 15
Just got back from San Sabastian, and let me just say a little about the trip...
1) The bus on the way there was so miserably small that I had bruises on my knees by the time we got there from being pressed up so hard against the seat in front of me.
2) We took a tour of this hill/mountain top, and while I was sitting on the edge overlooking the cliff, letting my feet dangle, I thought "I should take my flip-flops off so they won't fall over the edge!"
So I took them off, only when I was turning to stand up I went to grab my shoes, and I don't really know what happened... it was all so fast. But I knocked one flip-flop over the edge of the cliff!
For some reason everyone else seemed to find this very funny. I tried to laugh about it, but I was the one walking around the whole town half-barefoot for the rest of the tour!
I didn't have any other shoes in San Sabastian so Brittany let me wear her flip flops (the other shoes the brought... high heel wedges... were too small for me). So yes, she wore high heels to the beach and everything the next day just for me!
3) Friday night, me, another girl named Annie, and two guys on our trip decided to go the beach. Instead of taking the stairs down, we jumped onto a rock about 6 or 7 feet below us and then climbed the rest of the way down. Well Brittany's flip-flops - that i was wearing- didn't hold up and when i hit, my feet slipped out from under me, and i landed on my butt, HARD. When I woke up this morning, my tailbone was so bruised I culdn't sit down!!! It hasn't gotten better... and needless to say the bus ride back was just as miserable as the one there.
4) Also at the beach, I was SO paranoid about having my purse stolen again, that I refused to leave it in the sand while we went in the water. I insisted on holding it over my head as I went splashing through the waves! Everyone thought I was rediculous but I kept telling them, "My dad always tells me: Trick me once, shame on you. Trick me twice, shame on me!"
I'm so cool.

July 13
Barcelona smells aweful. If you breath in through your nose, you smell the filth and then if you blow your nose, brown dirt comes out. But if you breath in through your mouth you taste the filth and after an hour you feel like you need to brush your teeth again.
It really makes me miss my sweet-smelling, air-conditioned suburban America.
So I went to KFC.
Luckily we leave for the beautiful coastal town of San Sebastian in the morning, and it will literally be a breath of fresh air.

July 9
Early this morning I did something I never thought I could actually do... I ran with the bulls in Pamplona!
I wrote my column for The Daily about it... so here it is:

"Run. Run fast. Don’t look back – and get out as quick as you can."
This was the last bit of advice I received before the rocket sounded and the bulls were released.
Isn’t it funny how such a simple sentence can save your life?
The running of the bulls festival is a tradition in Pamplona, Spain dating back to the 13th century.
I ran last weekend.
You would think Americans like me would leave the running up to the experienced Spaniards, but there is something about this adventure that intrigues so many of us and unfortunately even kills a few.
The intensity begins about an hour before the bulls are actually released when all the participants are packed into a small town square and cheered on by fans sitting behind barricades and in balconies overlooking the square.
Each runner seemed to either be scared shitless or too drunk to know that they should be scared shitless. The police were supposed to remove the ones who were obliterated, but I came across a few the police must have missed.
During that hour of anticipation, I think I tried to remember all of the tips bystanders and other runners had given me that morning. But my mind was spinning and my heart was beating too fast to allow myself to think.
The first rocket that goes off signals a 10-minute warning, and the participants begin walking in a surprisingly orderly fashion. But when the second rocket sounds, signaling the release of the bulls, the sudden chaos is absolutely indescribable.
The words, “Run. Run fast. Don’t look back – and get out as quick as you can,” kept replaying in my mind, and I could feel the ground rumbling even though the bulls were still a quarter of a mile away.
I think I ran for about three seconds.
Well, I’m not sure it could actually be considered running. It was more like I was swept up by this British friend I’d made and practically flown through the crowd.
But after about three seconds of that, I spotted an open rail. “Get out as quick as you can,” I remembered, and the next thing I knew I was diving through the rails of the barricade.
Of course, I landed in a pile of bullshit – literally, but at least I was safe.
I had managed to escape before actually seeing any of the bulls, but the rumbling of the ground and fierceness of the other runners was enough to heighten my adrenaline for hours.
Plus, I then had a front-row seat for watching the rest of the race.
As the more courageous runners went by, barely escaping the ferocious bulls, I was so grateful for those last simple words of advice from my British life-saver.
From that I think I learned five things: Run. Run fast. Don’t look back. Get out as quick as you can – and most importantly, listen to the advice of people with more experience than you, because a simple sentence can save your life.

July 3
Last night was so much fun! We went to a bar calledd Chupitos where I met a group of people from Belgium.
It turns out one of the guys liked me, so they all started talking to me and trying to convince me to make the guy (Chris) my boyfriend for the night. Apparently he is a med school student/ aspiring novelist in his spare time. Impressive. (If it was true).
Well I turned my back for a second, and when I turned back around, all the guys in the group (there were about 8) were lined up about 20 feet in front of me. One of the girls explained that they were lining up for me, and I got to take my pick as to which one I wanted to make my boyfriend for the night! I had to eliminate them one by one, giving reasons for each elimination. I felt like I was on some television dating show!
But finally I eliminated all but Chris and they all took pictures of us as he kissed me on the cheek, and then they left us alone to walk down Las Ramblas holding hands- now I felt like i was in some cheezy chick-flick movie!
By this point the entire group I had come with had gone home so it was just me and the Belgians! And I had a really cute boyfriend for the evening!

July 6
Last night my purse got stolen. But the day didn't start out all that bad!

Yesterday we began the day by going to La Sagrada Familia and Casa Batllo. The two ended up being my favorite of all the sights I've seen in Europe at this point. At La Sagrada Familia, we ended up in the crypt where Gaudi is buried right as Mass was starting. It is said that Mass is Universal, but no service I have ever been to can compare to that one. Even though the Mass was said in Catalan, which is vastly different from Spanish, I could still sense the passion in their words. It didn't matter that I couldn't understand much of anything, because I understood the soul meaning of the words.

Casa Batllo was also an amazing experience. Unique for its time and even still today, the building encorporates the flowing curves of nature and colors of the earth to create a connection between civilization and nature. Gaudi's architectural genious instantly became my Spanish obession.

Later that night, though, we found our way to the the beach, which is always best at night. Unfortunately, I set my purse down while we went running into the water, and when I returned... both my purse and my friend Betsy's purse were long gone. As if that wasn't bad enough, Betsy had decided to go skinny dipping and had put all her clothes in her purse! So there was Betsy, running around in her underwear, sreaming that she is going to kill the bastard who took her favorite skirt. What a site!

I honestly felt bad for her, but oh how I was thankful that I kept my clothes on!

July 1
I absolutely love it here in Barcelona. Last night we had a welcome dinner and spent the rest of the evening exploring the city. There seems to be so many treasures here. I could spend all day wandering the narrow streets and taking in every intricate detail. Life here in Spain is different than anything I've experienced before, so liesurely and mellow. It seems as though there is something interesting or exciting to see in every corner of the city.

Anyway, we are about to go find out where we will be living for the next month... another highly anticipated activity! But my roommate Brittany keeps wandering off. And every time she is missing for more than five minutes, I know it's because she is trying to convince someone (her mom, the CEA people etc.) to let her go home to the states. I don't know how long she'll last here, but if it was up to her, she'd be back at the airport right now. I know what it's like to be homesick though, so I am trying to be supportive. I just don't want to miss out on all the adventures that await us!