quasi la fine

I absolutely cannot believe that at this time in two weeks, I will be on a plane headed to New York. That just feels very, very weird.

William Eggleston

I miss my bike, weird funky gear-shifting sounds and all. That being said, riding a mountain bike through Chianti, the wine-producing area of Tuscany, was indeed quite fun. I don’t really think I have to say much – bicycle, wine, ridiculous view, pesto pasta lunch. Use your imagination(s) and go from there. Needless to say, I loved it. My favorite part was when we got to the only real hill of the ride, which our Scottish bike guide referred to as a monster. Only three people attempted to conquer this beast. While I was unable to ride my bike up the whole monster, I am fairly sure I sweated out all the pasta I had just consumed. When I couldn’t ride, I walked. Even though the other bike guide kept offering to take us up in the van. The words of my childhood mantra echo on: “No such thing as ‘I can’t.’” (Thanks, Mom and Dad.)

Normal way to start off a bike ride, right?

Halfway through The Monster.

I went to a Passover seder at the main temple (orthodox) here in Florence on Saturday night. I kept thinking about the incredible/hilarious/thought-provoking coincidence that I spent last weekend surrounded by Christians, and this weekend surrounded by Jews. I think my poor little brain/soul is feeling a little overwhelmed by so much commitment to religion. I am utterly inundated with different perspectives. Sometimes it feels like I have a few too many ideas swirling around in my head. Maybe this is part of growing up, this desire to know with conviction what I think. I suppose I’ll get there one day. I’ll let you know.

For some reason I’m really struggling to write this post. Maybe it’s because I feel distracted. I suppose that now that I am so close to going home, my mind is inevitably racing towards the future. Suffice it to say that the seder was unlike any seder I’ve ever been to; it was this sort of crazy competition between the two tables, based on which table could read the most from the hagaddah. Whoever started singing first got to continue reading. When two people started singing at the same time, both would just sing even louder, in an attempt to drown out the other person (makes sense, right?). For me, seders usually have this gift of seeming to last for hundreds of hours. During this seder, I was startled so often by an energetic clap or an impromptu cheer that it passed incredibly quickly. Needless to say, four cups of wine later, the claps and cheers were even more enthusiastic, though admittedly less coordinated.

That’s all for now!

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