Last Thursday night I found myself leaving the Florentine offices very close to dinner time. My usual walk home from my internship is one that usually involves at least two to three impulse buys, walking past street vendors and always discovering a few new shops along the way. As I walk past il Duomo and restaurants filled with tourists mark my path I begin to plot my first purchase. Oil Shoppe. Meatball hero. And I can't wait for it. I had forgotten my wallet on that particular day but had not yet become too discouraged... since all of the euro change I have lying around usually adds up to a significant and surprising amount (something I have come to really love about Europe ). I pull out whatever I can find and count it out... 50 cents, 20, another 20, 10... I only need 3.50 more... come on euro change! But my bag has stopped jingling with the sound of change, and I'm left only with what I've gathered in my hand. One euro. No food back at the apartment. The Oil Shoppe sandwich so close yet so far. I can't believe my bad luck,or my stupidity for having left home without my wallet. What I wouldn't GIVE for the Wendy's dollar menu at a time like this...

As I walk past the Oil Shoppe I decide that I am going to take this stroke of bad luck as a challenge. I am going to make a one euro dinner, and it is going to be better than any four euro panini. Well... maybe. I walk into La Standa and begin to check out prices. Heading immediately for the fresh vegetables, I remember that the string beans I made the other night fed me and all three of my roommates (as a side dish, granted) for only 41 cents. I begin picking string beans, being very selective about which ones I choose because I am going to eat every single one. I head over to weigh them and get a price, and my main dish turns out to be 27 cents, leaving me with a whole 73 cents to go crazy with. As I scan the aisles, I'm shocked looking at prices. The one euro and seventy cent bag of mozz has never looked so expensive or out of reach. I realize that I've been pretty ungrateful for the fact that at any other time I'd shopped here I'd been able to throw anything that looked appetizing into the cart (Important tip: never go food shopping hungry. You most likely don not need those three jars of nutella). I continue on with my challenge and something for 40 cents catches my eye. Chocolate pudding. Now usually I'm not someone who would trust the last forty cent cup of pudding towards the back of the fridge, but I wasn't about to ask questions. 33 cents left. I head back to the vegetables and bag a red pepper, crossing my fingers as I weigh it and wait for the price. Forty three whole cents?! I guess I'm not gonna be eating pepper tonight. I look to the other side of the aisle and spot the bananas, convincing myself that one would give my meal good variety, and would have to be less than that ridiculous forty three cent pepper (which I had bought three of the last time I was here, amazed at how cheap they were, but that's besides the point.) I bring my purchases to the counter and wait for my grand total. My dinner came to a whole 91 cents, leaving me with 9 cents, and a great feeling of achievement.

Back at my apartment, I boiled my green beans just like my Grandma taught me this summer and added browned garlic and olive oil (Is that cheating? We'll just say I used 9 cents worth of garlic and olive oil... right.) The banana and pudding proved to be the perfect dessert, and even though this 91 cent meal may not have been the best I've had thusfar in Florence , it was definitely one of the most satisfying.

Moral of the story: Try not to leave home without your wallet. But if you do, I challenge you all to make a one euro dinner... and let me know how it turns out.

 (Check out that Oil Shoppe meatball sub too!)

When you are about to be thrown out of a miniscule plane in the middle of the Swiss Alps from 13,000 ft, strapped to a guy who has recently chugged two cans of Red Bull who, along with a piece of fabric some like to call a parachute, is in charge of your life, what is going through your mind?  Personally, I thought of words that, if strung together in a coherent sentence, I could never speak in front of my mother (And, no, she did not approve of this adventure).  But the moment my feet left the solidity of the plane’s dirty floor, my mind went blank, save for one thought: I am skydiving in .  Amazing.

My skydiving escapade began back in Florence when my new roommates—I recently moved to Florence to study abroad—suggested that we go to the “Extreme Sport Capital of Europe:” Interlocken, .  Eager to impress my new friends with my calm, cool, Colorado manner, I immediately said, “Yeah, that would be sweet.”  So with vague plan in mind, we hopped an eight hour train to that weekend.

Arriving into the train station, I knew we had stepped into a different country.  With clean, crisp mountain air, a blue sky colored by various parachutes, and a snow capped crag, my adrenaline immediately began pumping.  We trekked to our hostel, Balmer’s (which I highly recommend), where the friendly, English speaking staff helped us make our reservation for skydiving: 3:30 the following day.  I did not sleep soundly that night.  Anticipation and excitement prevented me from even dreaming about skydiving.

With time to kill the next morning, we ventured to a nearby mountain town, Lauterbrunen, a ten minute train ride away.  In the village, there are three gigantic waterfalls, one of which you can climb behind.  After huffing up a small, winding hill (the most physical activity I had done since leaving home), you reach a long, bunker-like tunnel, and proceed to climb up a rocky, wet tunnel.  The path eventually opened up to the waterfall.  Excuse my romanticism, but from behind the frame of the falling water, the world looked magical.  The sun sparkled through each individual droplet, creating three rainbows as they fell into the stream below.  The snowcapped peak looked like something only Monet would be able to capture.  We were in a fairytale.  We were in a dream.

Alas, we had to leave Lauterbraunen to make our way back to Interlocken for our appointment.  We asked the train attendant when the next train was leaving.  It was not for another thirty minutes, which meant we would miss our ride.  I immediately found my way back to reality.  Luckily for us, we arrived during the Jungfrau marathon—a grueling 26.2 mile run through the Swiss Alps beginning in Interlocken—which meant an extra train was running that day.  We would make our appointment with potential death.  I couldn’t have been more excited.

We met the driver and three other jumpers at our hostel.  Within two minutes, we were on our way to the hanger where the company, Scen!cAir, was located.  The ride was ridiculously short.  Before I knew it, I was suited up in a jumpsuit and harness.  Our formal training consisted of lying on our stomachs and arching our backs: the quintessential position for skydiving.  Then we were off in the tiniest plane imaginable; somehow, we fit ten people into a cabin the size of a Fiat.  The instructors were very happy.

Thanks to the pilot’s vigorous flying skills—he decided it would be fun to dive and swerve through the air—I hardly had time to soak in the beauty of the Alps before the airplane’s door was thrown open and my friend was sucked out of the plane.  She literally disappeared from sight.  If Houdini had known about skydiving, he probably would have abandoned his straightjackets for parachutes.

All of a sudden, I was being dragged to the door by my partner, Mick.  He threw us out of the plane before I could say wait.  The sensation was indescribable.  The clouds were rushing toward me; the wind was rushing through me, pushing my cheeks back into my ears; and the mountains were rushing past me.  I think I started laughing uncontrollably, but who knows?  Just as we were about to dive through the clouds, Mick pulled the chute and we glided through them.  After the 45 second freefall, the parachute descent seemed like afternoon tea.  As soon as I landed on the ground, I ran around screaming like a two-year-old child.  My first words?  “That was out of control.  I am getting certified right now!”  And I was serious about it.  I still am.  My new life plan is to work at Balmer’s and skydive.  And no, my parents aren’t too crazy about that either.

The trip was worth every penny, and believe me, there were a ton of pennies.  Skydiving, when you think about it, is one of the most absurd activities a human can do. But isn’t absurdity is the spice of life?  I think about life differently now.  I cannot explain it.  All I can say is go to .  Go Skydiving. Go live.  My mind is still up in the sky.  Lost.  13,000 ft in the air.

has long been known as a fashion capital… but generally, when one thinks of fashion and , they think of Milan. I’m here to tell you, however, there’s a whole lot of fashion a Firenze.

After telling everyone I would be living in Firenze for the next four months, I was heavily warned to “Bring walking shoes!” but I figured, I live in New York City, and I do a hell of a lot of walking, in my stilettos, why should Firenze be any different? Some part of me demanded that I remain true to my upbringing though, and listen to those older and wiser than myself, so I brought along 13 pairs of wedges and kitty heels, and only one pair of stilettos- Kudos for me!

Florentines are lax about a lot of things, and I’ve loved assimilating into their laid back ways- but I was shocked to discover that I can’t wear slippers to dinner and to see women wearing pumps as they rode their mopeds. More shocking still was that I, the so-called fashionista, was having trouble walking in my kitty heels!

“I’m wearing flats...” my friends often say when we go out, “you should too.”

Never! I say to myself. If they can do stilettos on this cobblestone I can certainly do wedges, and before I leave here I will have worked my way up to stilettos!

When in Rome you do as the Romans do, and when in Firenze… well, you get the idea.

I spent the weekend in Sorrento which was an amazingly relaxing experience.  It was nice to get out of the city of Florence and get out to the coast and chill out.  The highlight of the weekend was the boat trip that I took with a few friends to Capri.  I use the word ‘tour’ loosely because the whole day felt like a nice day out with good friends.  We met this guy Salvatore; who was born in , moved to New York at 17 and worked there for 35 years, then moved back to and now takes people out to Capri.  He has his own boat and took myself, two friends of mine, and four other people who were staying at our hostel out.  We arrived at the harbor on Capri around 11 and dropped the four others off and then headed out to throw the anchor down off the island.  The water was crystal clear and the temperature was perfect.  We swam and lay out on the boat till around three.  I really enjoyed the sense of leaving all of my responsibilities and troubles back on the mainland.  I highly recommend everyone goes and see the island.  The good weather for the tour is quickly fading away so get down to Capri as soon as possible.  Anyway, at three we picked up the others and headed out around the island on a tour of all the grottos.  They were so beautiful and we did even more swimming!  The blue grotto is a must see (you can get in for free after 5pm).  It’s a cave that you can swim into and once you’re in and turn around there is this fantastical blue glow from the water that is unlike anything I’ve ever seen.  We returned to Sorrento around seven and ate a wonderful dinner.  The whole day was tiring, with all the swimming and all; but totally worth the 50 euro I spent on the boat trip.