Immigrant - some kind of pointless word

Out of my country, I am an immigrant.

But in my country I am no more an immigrant!

In your country, I am an immigrant,

but in MY country YOU are an immigrant!

But what is a country.

Do all people from the same country are the same?

Do people from other countries are different from us?

Who designed those borders?

Who gave those names?

Under which logic has the world been divided into countries?

On one day a client at work shouts “for fuck's sake, is there anyone here who speaks proper German?”. She was talking to me before saying it. A co-worker tells her “what? She was talking in German to you” she said that was “shit German”. I am sorry for not being Goethe, but that's kind of the price you pay when you know more than 5 languages, you cannot know them all good, and she tells her husband “oh, immigrants”.

Immigrant? This word makes no sense. Who is an immigrant? Someone who is not in his homecountry. Ok, so what's the definition of “homecountry”? The country where I am at home? Well I felt at home in many countries! Oh, homecountry is where you were born. But I never felt home there so how can it possibly be my home-country if it never felt home to me? I didn't get a chance to decide where to get born! And what about “immigrant”, you called me immigrant cause I'm out of my homecountry, but if you ever step out of “your” country wouldn't you also be an immigrant? No one is an immigrant, cause it just depends on the point of view! I felt stranger in the city where I was born, and I felt at home in some cities where I was just staying for a short time.

Are countries a strict definition? When you walk off your country is everything so different? And when you're walking in “your” country is everything the same? Everything is taylor-made for you?

Fuck no!

And after all, immigration was my path in my studies and carrier (or at least the carrier I am trying to get). I imagine I interest myself for migrations because it is so fascinating and unfortunatelly underrated. How come do you see an immigrant like an enemy, a danger, a tornado who will destroy everything that's yours? An immigrant is just someone who's getting rich. In culture and in his mind. He gets to know new people new cultures and he learns from it...he becomes a better person.

Why are immigrants so underrated? Jealousy? Fear? The fear of the unknow is perhaps the strongest fear but why does an immigrant represent the unknown? Why should anyhow someone be different from us just because he was born/raised somewhere far from us? 

Do we take for granted that people who grew up in the same place as we did are similar and friends of us, while people who did far away are complete strangers who are always weird and wrong? Why their languages/food/habits/holidays are shit if we don't even know them? I have great friends who grew up on the other side of the world, and we get along way more than so many other people who grew up in the same place. I celebrated holidays and traditions which I even though were more interesting than the ones of “my” country. And backwarts.

And who ever said “immigrants come and take our jobs and women”? If you are good enough you will get the job. Foreigner or not! And women, well perhaps they are more interested in people who are more open and cultured than you.

It is really pathetic to discriminate. Once, in “my” homecountry I met a girl who studied “our” language, and was ready to study her whole degree in this country. She was denied accomodation for not being a local (few people rent only to locals), and she was always sent to her embassy because no one at government offices spoke anything but their own language. Scared and disappointed she travelled back home. She put so much effort/money in learning “our” culture and “we” sent her away for being a “foreigner”. She loved this country and now she hates it.

Locals, should we be more open and understand that “immigrants” are interesting people who can teach us amazing things?

Immigrants, should we be understanding that unfortunatelly not everyone is smart enough to understand how to behave? Should we unfortunatelly close one eye, be exemplar and be the ones to make the first move to friendship and better integration?

Wander-lust. Joyes of travelling.

Hey you,

I can tell, in 2012 I have been to 9 different countries.
Austria, Slovakia, Czech Republic, Hungary, Portugal, UK, Spain, Italy and...Vatican if you like to call it country.
I had basically no money, stayed at friend's places, or 8€ per night hostels, had endless rides on cheap night trains or 20 € flights. (And I don't even eat that much...)
I spoke languages I knew, and had a shot at speaking Portuguese and Czech. I was kind of ridicolous but it felt great and made people smile.

Is there anything better than travelling? Is there something that makes you feel so alive, like the way you feel when you're talking to someone from some hundred-tousend-miles away countries as if they were close friends of yours, learning a local language, counting local money, facing a local dish you have no idea what is in, walking alone getting lost in the city with a map in your hand having no clue if the place where you are at is in the map, listening the voice in the metro calling the next stop in a whole different way that you thought? Not for me.
Oh, that was the best year ever. :')

And you, what feelings make your travel best? What gives you the joy of travelling?

Vienna – words of a (very melancholic) insider

Wake up and get down to the center, it's my first time alone in Vienna. I get off at Herrengasse, the smell of horses and their... “product” confirms to me that I am in the city center. Just a couple steps away is the Hof, regular residence of the emperor, and after crossing it I'm at the Volksgarten – amazing for spring/summer pic nics- and the Burgring. Straight ahead is Maria-Theresien-Platz, nice green square surrounded by museums (Nature and Arts), while on the right there is the Parlament, City Hall (stunning and always hosting events in the square in front of it), Opera and the University.  

But I cross Maria-Theresien-Platz, and I am at Museumsquartier, one of the biggest cultural areas in the world: sorrounded by art museums people sit and relax with a cup of coffee at day time, and with a beer/cocktail during the night. Definitely my favorite place in Vienna.

(Museumsquartier. Source: Wikipedia)

Vienna is THE city of art, home of Hundertwasser, the singular artist, father of the Hunderwasserhaus/Kunst Haus (Untere Weißgerberstraße 13 – U Bahn Landstraße-) a must that cannot be missed. Can't leave Vienna without seeing it! 

(I have a few pictures but I decided not to upload them, as they don't really impress as much as the house seen live)

What I love about Vienna is that, even if being a very modern and up-to-date city, it gives you the feeling of living in the Habsburg times, thanks to its historical buildings. At least two must be mentioned: Belvedere, baroque palace and summer residence, and Schönbrunn, the amazing palace surrounded by stunning gardens. You might not have time to get inside, but gardens and Thriuphtur Gloriette are a must. From the Gloriette you get a breathtaking panorama of the whole city.

(Gloriette Hill, picture of mine)

Keen on having a walk up the hills? Kahlenberg is your place. Highest place in Vienna. Amazing panoramic view assured.

Amusement park? Then Prater.

(Prater Riesenrad, picture of mine)

Walk in the green? Stadtpark (city park with lake, flower art and Strauss golden statue).

Chic drinks and stunning panorama? Hotel Sofitel at Schwedenplatz. Schwedenplatz itself is quite chic with its many small bars, all of them located near each other. This party area is also called „Bermuda Triangle“.

Shopping? Stephansplatz and surroundings (Kärntner Straße). And check Stephansdom as well, the cathedral is one of the symbles of the city.

Chill out on the river? Praterinsel.

Vienna has so much to offer. And what about nightlife?

Have a drink at Museumsquartier (you can also take your own. Actually, most of people do so!) and be ready to go. My favorite bar is definitely Travel Shack, backpacker bar owned by Australian guys in the nearbyes of Westbahnhof. Good/cheap beer, “interesting” shots, up-to-date music (rock, pop). You never leave Travel Shack without having met a new friend!

For rock music I suggest Chelsea and CharlieP's, student parties at Loco and RideClub and last but not least, the legendary Praterdome. I am a withness, I walked in and everytime I did I was given a ticket for 10€ free drinks. No jokes. Well they actually give you a card which you return when you get off the club, if you consumed more than 10€ you pay the rest, otherwise you're just fine. Don't lose the card, it will be an endless tragedy to get out of there. And don't mix it up with your friends, on the card there is your picture registered.

I heard they made some changes in 2013, so they might have eliminated the 10 € free drinks card. I will be happy to hear updates.

U4 club also has to be mentioned, as they build up pretty good parties with different types of music.

Attention! In Austria it is legal to smoke inside of clubs. It was so annoying for me. Thumbs down, Austria. :(

Hungry? Try Apfelstrudel, Apfelstreusskuchen, Sachertorte (they all say this: too much chocolate! But it's delicious). Just enjoy Viennese pastry, it's all good!

Vienna is very easy for vegetarians/vegans, you can find tofu/soy products in many supermarket, and there a few vegan restaurants. My favorites are Loving Hut (there are two in the city).

What do Viennese people drink? BIER! Ottakringer, Egger, Gösser, Stiegl (I love it!), Puntigamer, Villacher, Zipfer... And also tones of wines, mainly dry ones.

(Picture from http://www.kingoli.net/blog/wp-content/uploads/2012/03/austria_biere.jpg)

Further tips if you have a little time:

Karlsplatz and its baroque church, Zentralfriedhof the huge monumental cemetary (important history/culture characters are buried there), Albertina Museum (one of the biggest painting collections of the world).

Have I forgotten something? Maybe. If I did please let me know your tips :) 

I left Vienna 24 months ago and I am still stunned/touched everytime I think about it.

Quando parli con un tedesco...

Ti senti sfortunato. Ti rassegni davanti all'idea che la tua gioventù è stata una merda in confronto alla sua.

Un tedesco ha passato gli anni in una scuola con la palestra, piscina, campi da calcio, basket, pallavolo, attività extrascolastiche tipo lingue e sport. Tu invece andavi in una scuola dove in classe ti tenevi la giaccia perché i termosifoni non funzionavano e le finestre erano rotte, la tua scuola non aveva palestra, la prof di storia ti raccontava la sua versione ed i prof di lingua non parlavano che italiano.

Una volta all'università il tedesco non paga nessuna retta (nella maggior parte dei Land, anche se ora pare che le rette stiano vendendo abolite ovunque), ha l'opportità di trovare un minijob (450 € lordi e netti perché non soggetti a tasse, di 40 ore al mese), o un lavoro a tempo parziale che non gli impedisca di studiare e che gli permetta di sostenersi economicamente durante il tempo degli studi, che, nella maggior parte dei casi, può permettersi di fare in una città diversa da quella in cui è cresciuto. Può creare lui stesso il suo corso di studi, e può far coincidere due percorsi differenti insieme (Hauptfach, Nebenfach). Nella maggior parte dei casi non compra molti libri, studia su e-learning e su fotocopie provvedute dai docenti.

In Italia invece le rette le paghi ovunque, puoi essere esentato solamente se presenti domanda per tempo. Ma i soldi della borsa di studio arrivano con un anno di ritardo. Studi nell'università più vicina a te, non studi ciò che ti piace, ma studi la cosa che, tra l'offerta formativa limitata a quell'università, ti conviene di più. E per recarti all'università più vicina a te continui a vivere a casa dei tuoi, e prendi il trasporto pubblico tutti i giorni. Non arrivi mai in orario, sei lì sempre troppo presto o troppo tardi. A volte neanche arrivi, perché il tuo treno/bus si è rotto nel bel mezzo del nulla.

Lavori mentre studi, ma fai troppe ore e non riesci a concentrarti. E i soldi che guadagni non riescono a coprire tutte le spese. O ti trasferisci in una città lontana per studiare, chiedendo aiuto a genitori/parenti/doppi lavori/santi protettori che ti aiutino a coprire le spese.

Non capisci perché una stanza a Roma periferia costi come un monolocale in centro a Berlino.

I corsi che segui spesso non sono quelli che ti appassionano di più, sono semplicemente gli unici che ancora non sono stati chiusi per mancanza di denaro/docenti/dignità. Alcuni dei tuoi professori ti chiederanno di procurarti libri del 1600 scritti in norreno dei quali sono presenti solo 6 esemplari che si trovano attualmente nelle isole Fær Øer. Dovrai metterti in contatto con la casa editrice e convincerli a spedirtelo. Al più presto possibile. Al modico prezzo di 400 corone + 300 di spese di spedizione. Pagabili solo in contanti. Tramite un pinguino viaggiatore.

Il tedesco prende varie lauree, perché l'università è fica e lo coinvolge in interessanti progetti di ricerca. RETRIBUITI.

L'italiano si laurea in fretta e passa il suo primo mese da laureato in un centro di disintossicazione dal caffè riflettendo a come poter applicare la sua laurea nell'ambito lavorativo.

Il tedesco a questo punto prosegue la sua carriera artistica/sportiva la quale non ha dovuto abbandonare durante gli anni di studio, ma anzi, ha potuto coltivare senza problemi (palestre gratuite per studenti, abbonamenti a club sportivi a prezzi vantaggiosissimi).

L'italiano può dedicarsi all'arte e allo sport solo nel tempo libero dalla ricerca del lavoro. Ovvero mai. O 5 minuti al mese.

L'ingresso al mercato del lavoro di un tedesco avviene per telefonata. Ma non si tratta della telefonata di quello zio padre di tuo cugino di secondo grado che lavora al comune in cui lo esorti a darti la sua benedetta raccomandazione. No. È una grande azienda, un ente governativo, un qualcuno che ti offre un posto perché ha letto la tua tesi o ha parlato con un tuo professore universitario.

Il giovane tedesco è dubbioso, non sa se accettare la proposta di junior manager della BMW, remunerato 2000€ al mese, o se unirsi alla squadra di ingenieri che lavorano per il più grande centro di ricerca della Germania, remunerato 1800 €.

L'italiano intanto non ci pensa due volte di fronte all'offerta per lavorare al chioschetto al mare, pagato 900 € al mese. In nero. Novecento euro sono tanti. Ma un quarto di questi soldi verrano impiegati in benzina per raggiungere quel chioschetto in culo alla luna. Ed una volta finita l'estate, il giovane laureato torna a buttarsi a letto, esasperato, e con 200 € di risparmi nel cassetto. Magari se ne andrà in un altro paese, dove sarà considerato una nullità, perché non domina la lingua, non conosce la legislazione, non ha amici e farà un lavoro considerato inferiore dove guadagnerà uno stipendio che i locali vedono inferiore, ma che paragonato con i 900€ al nero è come una vincita al lotto. E magari incontrerà un tedesco, metteranno a confronto le loro esperienze e lui, come me adesso, si domanderà: “perché cazzo sono dovuto nascere io in Italia?”.

Pfand, c'est quoi? (français)

Cet article vient d'une événement qui m'a passé hier. Au bulot trois espagnoles s'approchent à moi en portant un ticket. Ils me demandent: “ce mot là, c'est quoi? Pfand? Peut il être qu'ils ont nous arnaqué comme que nous sommes des extrangeurs?”. Moi, je souris parce que j'ai pensé ça moi aussi la première fois que j'ai decouvert le pfand. Je n'était pas en Allemagne, j'était en Danemarque, ou ça s'appelle...boef, je ne sais pas, j'ai l'oublie. Je rapportais la bouteille au magasin, dehors il y avait une machine comme ceci:

J'introduisis la bouteille et j'imprimai le ticket. Je pensais que la machine aurait me laissé directement l'argent, mais non, c'est pas comme ça. La machine te laisse une ticket, et la procédure est comme ça: il faut apporter le ticket à la caisse où ils te redonneront ton argent. L'idée du pfand c'est l'idée du recyclage forcé: en quelques pays on marche entouré par les ordures (pensons, depuis d'un concert...), ici si tu as été bon y as reporté la bouteille, ils te redonnet l'argent. Sinon tu l'as perdu. C'est un otage...

Ne t'enquiète pas si tu as la sensation d'avoir payé plus de ce que tu as pensé, regarde le ticket, il ya le mot “Pfand”...

les bouteilles et les canettes ont ce marque:

a machine reconnait le marque et imprime une ticket qui a un code-barres qu'il faut apporter à la caisse.

Quelques articules sont diferents, ils ont l'écrit “Mehrwegflasche”. Dans ce cas il faut les apporter directement à la caisse.

Je crois que ce système fonctionne plutot bien, dans la rue je n'ai jamais vu des bouteilles.

Probablement elles ont toutes collectionées des Pfandsammlern, gens qui, au lieu de menier, collectionent les bouteilles dans la rue et les apportent aux magasins pour en faire un peu d'argent. C'est comme une coopération implicite: en recuperant les bouteilles ils gardent la ville propre, et pour ça ils gagnent 25 cents par bouteille.

Ce système fonctionne même pour les Becher (verres de plastique por les boissons à la pression) et les chopes de bière. Apparemment la bière est plus chère, mais quand on reporte la chope, ils on retournent un euro. Parfois les gens ne reportent les chopes, c'est comment les acheter par 1 euro. Je ne suis pas vraiment sure si ça est vu comme voler une chope que coûte plus qu'un euro, ou si c'est accepté comme qu'ils ne vont pas a reçoire sa caution. C'est une question pour les locaux, et

il peut être qu'ils mêmes aient des opinions en contraste.

Moi, je suis d'accord avec le système du pfand, je crois que c'est une très bonne idée. Et vous, qu'est ce que vous pensez?

En fin, payez attention quand vous êtes dans un pays de pfand, parce que ces bouteilles que vous avez jeté aux ordures peuvent valoir un peu d'argent (25 cents chaque articule, et n'oubliez pas que dans les pays nordiques le prix de la bière est entre 30-90 cents...). Maintendez les yeux ouverts!

Pfand, what is that? (english)

Yesterday I decided to write an article about pfand after meeting at work three Spaniards who asked me, showing me a receipt “what does this word mean? Pfand? Is it that they saw that we are foreigner and they ripped us off?”. I smiled, because it was actually the same thing I thought when I had to deal with pfand. I was not in Germany, I was in Denmark where it is actually called....... well I don't know, I cannot remember now. I took the bottle back to the store where there was such machine:

I pushed the bottle in and printed a receipt. I was actually believing that the machine would give me money straight back, but no, it was not so. The machine can just print a receipt which has a barcode on, and the procedure is like this: you basically just need to bring to the receipt to the cashier, and they will give you your money back. The idea behind pfand is of course the forced recycling: while in some countries you might end up walking among the trash (think when you are walking away from a concert...) here, if you will be good and take the bottle back, they give you money. Or better: you pay a deposit on each bottle, so if you take the bottle back you will get the money, otherwise you lost them. It is a hostage....

Don't panic if you are paying more tha what you expected to, take a look at the receipt and you will read the word “Pfand”:

bottles and cans have this mark:

the machine will recognise it and print a receipt with a barcode on that has to be brought to the cashier.

Some are a little different, “Mehrwegflasche” is written on them. In this case you just have to take them directly to the cashier.

I believe that this system is working pretty well, on the streets I have never seen any bottle. Probably they have all been collected by the Pfandsammlern, people who, instead of panhandling, collect the bottles and take them to the stores to make some money out of them. It is a sort of implicit cooperation: collecting bottles they keep the city clean, and for that they earn 25 cents per bottle.

This system also works for Becher (cups for tap drinks) and beer mugs. Beer is aparently more expensive, but when you bring the cup back, they give you 1 euro. Sometimes people don't bring mugs back, like as if they were buying it just for one euro. I am not really sure about how this thing is seen, I don't know if they see it as if they were stealing a mug whose price is more than one euro, or if it's accepted since the people will not get their deposit back. That's a question for the locals, and perhaps they will also have contrasting opinions...

Personally, I like the pfand-system, I think it's a good idea. What do you think?

So, pay attention when you are in a pfand country, cause those bottles you've thrown in the trashbin are worth a little money (25 cents each, don't forget that in nordic countries beer's price is around 30-90 cents...). Keep your eyes open!  

Pfand, cioè? (italiano)

Questo articolo nasce da un accaduto di ieri. A lavoro tre spagnoli mi si avvicinano con uno scontrino, mi chiedono “cosa significa questa parola? Pfand? Non sarà mica che ci hanno fregato vedendo che siamo stranieri?”. Sorrido perché anche io l'ho pensato la prima volta che ho avuto a che fare col pfand. Non mi trovavo in Germania, ma in Danimarca dove si chiama.........non lo so, non me lo ricordo. Riportai la bottiglia del succo d'arancia al negozio, fuori c'era una macchinetta così

misi la bottiglia dentro e stampai lo scontrino. Io pensavo che la macchinetta mi avrebbe dato direttamente il denaro, ma apparentemente no, non era così. La macchinetta ti lascia uno scontrino dotato di codice a barre, la procedura da seguire è facile, basta portare lo scontrino alla cassa del negozio, e ti danno i soldi in dietro. Il pfand nasce dall'idea del riciclo forzato: mentre in alcuni Paesi si cammina tra i rifiuti (pensiamo alle montagne di bottiglie che rimangono a terra dopo un concerto) qui, se fai il bravo e riporti l'involucro, ti ridanno i soldi. Anzi, per dirla meglio, tu paghi una cauzione su quella bottiglia, se la riporti ti ritornano i soldi, sennò li hai persi. È una presa in ostaggio.

Non spaventatevi se pagate più del previsto, dando un'occhiata allo scontrino apparirà la scritta pfand:

E le bottiglie (o lattine) presentano questo marchio:

che verrà poi riconosciuto dalla macchinetta dove si stampa il buono con codice a barre per farsi ridare i soldi alla cassa.

Alcune sono un po' bastarde e presentano la scritta "Mehrwegflasche"

in questo caso la macchinetta non le riconosce, bisogna riportare direttamente all'impiegato del negozio, che ti ridarà i soldi.

Direi che il sistema funziona e che per strada non ci sono bottiglie orfane. Probabilmente sono state tutte raccolte dai famosi Pfandsammler, gente che invece di mendicare raccoglie i pfand dimenticati e li porta al negozio per farne un po' di soldi. È una specie di collaborazione implicita: togliendo le bottiglie tengono la città pulita, e in cambio si aggiudicano i 25 centesimi cada bottiglia.

Questo sistema si estende anche ai Becher (bicchieri per le bevande alla spina) e i boccali di birra. La birra costa di più, ma se porti indietro il bicchiere, ti viene restituito 1 €. A volte il bicchiere non viene restituito volontariamente, e la persona si compra il bicchiere/boccale al prezzo di un euro. Non so esattamente come venga vista la la cosa, non so se viene recepita come rubare un bicchiere che a volte vale più di un euro, o se viene accettata visto che comunque almeno un euro lo hai pagato. Questo va chiesto a una persona del posto, e chissà che anche loro abbiano opinioni discordanti.

Credo che il sistema pfand sia una buona idea, mi piace. E voi che ne pensate?

Occhi aperti la prossima volta che andate in un Paese dove esiste il pfand, le bottiglie che buttate nella spazzatura potrebbero valervi un bel po' di spicci (mediamente ogni oggetto vale 25 centesimi, e non è da dimenticare che nei paesi nordici il prezzo della birra è tra i 30-90 centesimi....).  Occhi aperti!

From 10 to 0 and from 0 to 500.

Tired. That's the right word to describe me during my post-graduation period. And I am not talking about physical tiredness- I am talking about exhaustion, I am talking about when you just cannot take it anymore. I cannot stand this people, this society, these rules, this time, this everything. I do not feel like living, I rather stay in bed avoiding any type of contact to the society.

Then on one day I decide that I cannot stand this way of not living anymore, this wasting of days away. Pretty sure of my skills I get on a plane, heading north to an indefinite place. For a few days the place is Vienna where I have some embarassing work interviews (resuming my life in 5 minutes and in 2 languages in front of an audience, role playing, culture tests). Vienna means to me such an incredibly happy past that unfortunatelly will never ever be back. Erasmus is just one, you do it, it ends and does not come back but still it keeps living inside of you in every moment, forever. Each single corner of Vienna reminds me of the past, but that's not what I am looking for. I am looking for the future. I get on a train to Munich, my suitcase is so heavy, it almost breaks. I am thinking about my departure, again. Well, it was so short I cannot remember much, it's just me in Rome Fiumicino, a short waiting and a short flight. A goodbye to my parents without any clue abou when I was going to see them again, a suitcase with some winter clothes, but also summer clothes. Stuff that would be ok in the north, but also in the south. I didn't know where I was going to end up, heading north, then down, then east, the west, it will all depend on the place where I will be able to get a job and pick up the chance to start again depending completely on myself.

I arrive in Munich, I buy a sandwich and the clerk doesn't really get my German, I feel demotivated. I look for my hostel, Goetheplatz. I have been reading Goethe since I was 16, and now I am at his square...

At the hostel, the receptionist is a young Italian girl, this gives me some hope! But there's no internet in the hostel, that's really bad as it forces to me to go to the near McDonald, aparently for a coffee, but actually to use 40 minute free internet for my house hunting. I visit flats and get a room in one for one month. One month that will be spent having work interviews and feeling quite alone. Entire days sending my CVs and chatting with my friends. Small trial periods at work, successfully payed, but still insuccessfully unemployed. My German improves, and I start to get to know people. Erasmus and local people. Many compatriots too. Mostly people who came and went, friends that you quickly switch, names on your telephone list who you are looking at now and cannot recall who the hell they are.

The first month is finished and I am packing. I am not leaving, I have only a little money left but thinking about the desolation waiting for me at home I prefer to move to another flat, one more month here in Munich. When you don't have a job you cannot aspire to a longer rent. However, I feel that I am not going to leave Munich, I feel that here I have quite a few chances to make it. I compare my dialy work interviews to my daily long sleeps of when I lived at my parents' house. Yes, I definitely have quite a few chances here.

A look to the calendar, it has been a month and one week since I moved here, that's a lot. I think about leaving Munich but that's not what I really want to. I still haven't got to know the city, I cannot leave now. I send my CV to a place where I already did as I arrived in Germany. I don't really care if they told me they're interested and they will let me know as soon as possible... After 10 minutes I get an invitation from them to an interview. I am angry, I just had an interview at the Best Western where two girls refused me for not having the skills I claimed I had. I could accept such critics from someone much more skilled than me, but two idiots who barely speak their native language and some school level English are not permitted to do that to me. I guess that people take my silence as an inability of speaking. But I am just a quite person instead.

At my next work interview, instead, I speak to the owner, impressed by CV he just lets me speak, he does not ask the typical shit I was used to be asked (your pros and cons, how would a friend describe you in 5 words, do you believe in true love). I think that the main problem with these work interviews is that people just don't know how to analyze people. Why are you asking me so much bullshit instead of discussing my skills, experiences and ideas?

The interview seemed to me quite good, he says he will call me tomorrow. Tomorrow he doesn't call me, in the night he sends me an e-mail telling me I am hired. I am not going back home as a loser, yay. Happiness.

A new flat, money, bank account and contracts. I suddenly feel old, too many responsabolities, all of them at the same time, I feel that a crisis is approaching me. I feel in chains. This bureacracy does not let me stay free, I cannot have free days if I haven't communicated that in advance, I only have 24 day holidays per year, I work in the weekends when everyone else is having fun. I also work on the 1^st of May. That hurts!

Less freedom, and slaved by my work. And it rains all the time. But I do have fun at work, I get to know people, I make friends, and then they're quickly gone. A costant feature which accompanies my life since the very beginning. The happines generated by the new life has to face the chains setted by my work. Some days I feel so tired (physically, this time) that I just sleep, work and eat.

For a week I am back to my hometown, and everything is “foreign” to me, I really want to be back in Munich as soon as possible. And I'm back to Munich, working and barely having time to take a stroll along the city. In 2013 there's aparently no summer, and the radiators are still on, it doesn't matter if it's already June.

After all, what hurts more is the fact that I am not integrated. I live in a bubble which no matter the helpfulness and friendship of people cannot break, I live the city only during small breaks I take from work, these chains are tight and they hurt a lot.

Nevertheless I think that a period of non integration (and fear of everlasting non integration) is a phase that you have to get through. It just has to happen. I guess everyday I'm going to integrate better, improving the language and using my spare time for social and cultural aims.

Apart from this heavy non integration stone, the story sounds perfect, and I really got what I wanted. Some commitment, enthusiasm and will make it possible to change your own life and reach your goals. I made it, and I ain't particularly a genious, therefore I guess anyone can.

Cheers.

Da 10 a 0 e da 0 a 500.

Stanca. In una parola riassumerei il mio periodo di scrittura tesi/post laurea cosi. Ma non sto parlando di stanchezza fisica. Stanca nel senso esasperata, quando proprio non ce la fai più. Basta con questa gente, basta con questa società,basta con queste regole, basta con questo tempo basta con tutto. Non ho voglia di vivere, rimango a letto ed evito il contatto con la società.

Poi un  giorno dico basta anche a questo non vivere, questo buttare le giornate, sicura delle mie capacità prendo un aereo verso il nord, verso un posto indefinito. Per un paio di giorni è Vienna dove faccio un paio di colloqui imbarazzanti (riassumere la mia vita in 5 minuti e in 2 lingue davanti al pubblico, giochi di ruolo, test di cultura generale). Vienna rappresenta per me un passato infinitamente felice, che però non tornerà. Mai. L´erasmus è uno, lo fai, finisce e anche se non torna ti ha cambiata, te lo porti dietro per sempre. Ogni angolo di Vienna mi ricorda il passato, non è questo che cerco. Sto cercando il futuro. Prendo un treno per Monaco di Baviera, il mio bagaglio pesa e quasi si rompe. Ripenso alla mia partenza da Roma Fiumicino, in realtà non è che me la ricordo molto bene, una breve attesa e un volo corto. Salutare i miei genitori senza avere la minima idea di quando li avrei rivisti, portare una valigia con roba invernale, roba estiva, roba che va bene nell'estremo nord, ma che va anche bene giù al sud. Non sapevo dove sarei finita, salgo, scendo, mi muovo verso est, verso ovest,tutto dipenderà da dove troverò lavoro e un occasione per ricominciare dipendendo completamente da me.

Arrivo a Monaco, compro velocemente un panino e la commessa fatica a capirmi in tedesco, questo non mi incoraggia... Cerco il mio ostello, Goetheplatz. Receptionist giovane ed italiana, nuove speranze per me! Internet si paga all'ostello, che schifo. Quindi vado al McDonald, apparentemente per un caffè, effettivamente per l´internet gratuito, e uso quei 40 minuti di internet gratuito per cercare casa. Vado nelle case e trovo un appartamento condiviso per un mese. Un mese di colloqui di lavoro e solitudine. Giornate intere mandando curriculum e chattando con gli amici. Prove di lavoro a volte, pagate ma non ripagate. Il tedesco migliora, e conosco le prime persone. Erasmus e locali. Tanti compatrioti anche. Soprattutto gente che viene e che va, gente che cerca gente e che si vede con gente solo perché vuole stare con gente. Sono amici che cambi velocemente, sono nomi nella rubrica che adesso guardi e non ricordi chi sono.

Il primo mese finisce e fai le valige. Non per andartene, ti rimangono pochi soldi ma pensi alla desolazione che ti aspetta a casa quindi rimani dove sei e cambi casa, per un altro mese. Se non hai lavoro non puoi ambire ad affitti più lunghi. Io comunque sento che non lascerò monaco, sento che qui le possibilità ce le ho. Paragono i colloqui di lavoro che faccio regolarmente ogni giorno alla quotidianità passata a letto a casa della mia famiglia... Sì, di opportunità qui ce ne ho. 

Guardo il calendario ed è passato un mese e una settimana, è tanto. Penso a lasciare Monaco ma non voglio, ancora non ho conosciuto la città, non posso lasciarla adesso. Mando il mio curriculum a un posto dove già lo avevo mandato, non me ne frega un cazzo se il mese scorso mi avevano risposto "ti chiameremo noi presto". Dopo 10 minuti mi arriva il loro invito ad un colloquio. Sono arrabbiata, ho appena avuto un colloquio al Best Western dove due ragazze mi avevano invitato a uscire per mancanza di competenze linguistiche. Accetto la critica se è un poliglotto a farmela, ma se sono due tedesche che parlano solo un po' di inglese no. Oltretutto, come fai a giudicare le mie competenze se tu stessa noi hai i mezzi per saperle valutare? Ho l´impressione che la gente scambi il mio silenzio (tipico della mia personalità tranquilla) con l'incapacità di parlare...

Al colloquio seguente invece parlo direttamente col proprietario, impressionato dal mio curriculum mi lascia parlare, non mi fa domande del cazzo tipo: i miei punti di forza, i miei punti deboli, come mi descriverebbe un amico in cinque parole, e se credo nel vero amore. Riflettendoci credo che sia questo il problema dei colloqui di lavoro, certa gente non è proprio capace ad analizzare le persone. Perché chiedere tante stronzate invece di parlare delle proprie capacità, esperienze ed idee?

Il colloquio sembra andare bene, dice che mi chiamerà domani. Domani non mi chiama, mi manda un´email e mi dice che sono assunta. Non tornerà a casa da perdente, evviva. Felicità.

Appartamento nuovo, soldi nel conto corrente, contratti. Improvvisamente mi sento vecchia, troppe responsabilità e tutte insieme, sento che una crisi si avvicina. Mi sento in catene. Questa burocrazia non mi lascia libera, non posso avere giorni liberi se non lo comunico per tempo, ho solo 24 giorni di vacanze all'anno, lavoro nel fine settimana quando tutti gli altri si divertono. Lavoro addirittura il primo maggio. Che dolore!

La libertà si ristringe, il lavoro mi schiavizza. E piove. Al lavoro però è divertente, conosco molte persone, ci faccio amicizia...ed ecco che se ne vanno. Una costante che continua a ripetersi da sempre. La felicità della nuova vita si scontra con le catene che ti pone il lavoro. Ci sono giorni in cui stanca (fisicamente stavolta) dormi e lavori, a limite mangi.

Torno poi una settimana nella mia città natale e tutto mi sembra 'straniero', ho voglia di tornare subito a Monaco. E di nuovo a casa a Monaco, lavorando e passeggiando raramente per la città. Nel 2013 l'estate non arriva mai e io a giugno ho i termosifoni accesi.

Oltretutto sono totalmente non integrata. Vivo in una bolla che nonostante la disponibilità e l'amicizia delle persone non riesce a rompersi, vivo la città solo nei momenti di pausa dal lavoro, sono catene che stringono e fanno male.

Ma dopo tutto trovo che il periodo di non integrazione sia una fase che va passata, una cosa normale che succede perché deve succedere. Probabilmente ogni giorno che passa riuscirò ad integrarmi meglio, conoscendo sempre di più la lingua e cercando di usare il tempo libero per scopi sociali e culturali.

Mettendo da parte il masso della non integrazione, la storia suona perfetta, ed era proprio ciò che io volevo. Volevo dimostrare che basta solo l'impegno e la volontà per cambiare la propria vita e raggiungere ciò che si vuole. E se ce la posso fare io, che non sono particolarmente un genio, ce la può fare sostanzialmente chiunque.

Cheers.

Distance relation. (aka how to make fun about your desperate state)

No, I'm not going to be romantic and talk about love and feelings, and I'm neither going to spread rumors about me or my friends. But I must write about it, especially in a traveller blog, because all of “international” people know pretty well what I am talking about.

N.B. This post has been written while I was waiting for him to log into skype. Typical behaviour of a person who's into a distance relation.

I will introduce the topic translating from uncyclopedia:

http://nonciclopedia.wikia.com/wiki/Relazione_a_distanza

She “hug me, honey”

He “okay, I'll catch the plane”

“A distance relation is a very dangerous virus able to turn its victims into weak and submissive. The ill person drives himself to selfdestruction until the moment when he will be able to meet his partner. In the meantime his life goes on by the force of habit and he feeds himself with the minimum required to stay alive and moisturized in oder to be able to have a pleasant phone call. A 12 hours long phone call.

Distance relations have both pros and cons. Pros are reciprocate trust, and cons the absence of a physical contact (therefore sexual absitence). Its effects could be loss of weight, erectile disfunction, insomnia, night howling, loss of any reasonable human activity, rise of phone calls, sms, emails, and use of psycotropic drugs.

When a person starts a distance relation, his life changes relentlessly: in just 72 hours he can learn by heart all arrival/departure times of trains, planes, submarines which could in some way take him close to his partner.

The social life of this unfortunate guy dies completely, while his closest relation is with his phone (which, in the moments of highest usage reaches 72°C, warping). Other sad point: economy, the cheapest phone bill can reach more or less 16'000 € per month. He will comfortably pay by 2'000 $ installments per day. All of this, for the love of his distance partner.”

-------------

I have many friends who are in a distance relation. Some have been into it for more than a year.

Before being myself into one, I used to think that it was somehow beautiful, because yes you are alone, but you know that there is someone there for you, someone who loves you, who cares, who wants to know all about your day, your thoughts... The person is not by your side, but still, he's always with you.

Furthermore, I grew up watching beautiful blond Germans on holidays in Italy, as a very young girl I dreamed about having a relation with someone like that...

A distance relation is surely impossible to avoid when you live abroad for a while: you meet a lot of people, you expect to have relations. But, perhaps, you expect to have meaningless relations, because you know it will be limited to the time that you will spend in that country. You convince yourself that it's going to be meaningless, and when you'll change country you will say goodbye to him and tell him he was just a very good friend, we had a great time and we will remember the things we've done with a smile on our face. Oh you can come visit me whenever you want, it will be nice to see you again, you were a very good friend. OH PLEASE.

Most of people who are “out” of the situation, they think so. And this is what they told me. I imagined myself saying “you were a very good friend, we had a...”and I wanted to kill myself just because I imagined that shit.

But really, I thought I could manage it, the world is full of people, and love does not exist, kiss goodbye and I hope you'll have a nice life. Step towards to him, he's looking at you, in the eyes. His look is enough: you're not gonna tell him. Maybe tomorrow.

You spend an awful night, full of thoughts. What if I, what if you, and what was my model of a perfect man, doesn't it match you? You wake up, confused. Eventually hiding your face because you're crying. You're helping him to carry his bag to the train that will take him to the airport. You look at the railway, the bags, the timetable, and something bigger than you takes possession. You're crying and you cannot control that. You watch your story like a movie, when we met, the time we spent together, and the spider you killed in my room this morning. You look at him and you want to tell him that you will meet again soon, whatever happens I don't care, I just want you. But his train is there, and he's giving you a goodbye kiss. Your mind is blank and no words come out of your mouth. You look at him getting in the train, your eyes are wide open, the train goes and he fades away.

So you look at the pavement, and hide your face among your hair. Back home you're in the shower, crying like insane. You think he doesn't want to be in a relation with you, he thinks you don't want to be in a relation with him.

One of the two makes a move, they both tease each other until someone says “I can leave it all, to be with you” and an endless planning has just begun.

Here the most common words when in a distance relation:

• Ryanair/Easyjet flight;
• Sorry my internet fell;
• Will you be online later?
• Can you hear/see me? (skype)
• What does it mean? (most of distance relation also mean different languages)

Very common is also “misunderstanding”. Two people are communicating while they are listening to music/watching a movie/feeding their cat/talking with their grandma in a language that one of them doesn't know... Misunderstanding is unevitable.

If you were someone who used the social networks just once a day to check your emails, you quickly turn into a facebook-addict with your eyes on the chat waiting for the green traffic light to appear close to his name. If your partner's name is Nick, expect to contact Mary, Olli, Natalia and anyone who's close to his name by mistake.

- “Hey darling! Last night I dreamed we had such a wild sex...”

- “Hey, it's Natalia, your classmate from elementary school...”

- “Ops. Sorry.”

Yes, you will be online anytime it's possible, you will install any existing social network on your computer, on your mobile, on your mp3-player. Most of the time you will be talking shit with your partner, but that shit often makes your day.

Some old friend could invite you to a party, but you have a skype-date.

Your mother could call you in the kitchen, but you are too busy writing him all about your plans for the future.

You basically share your life between 2 different universes, real life, and virtual life. Everybody starts thinking you have become a nerd, your computer melts, for its high temperature you carry some hamburger and cook them on it. Your keyboard starts missworking because of the food crumbs...

Your webcam is always on. Oh look my dog is here. Oh look my new t-shirt. Oh look my new hair. Your parents/flatmates will come multiple times asking you about your mental health and if you were talking to your own self.

Sometimes you go out with your friends, and you see couples. You think that they don't know how lucky they are to be together so much time. At the same time, your friends call you lucky because you don't need to shave/make up/have good hair when your partner is on the other side of the sea/planet. Some call you lucky because you can cheat anytime and nobody will see. In fact, you will meet tones of guys who will remind you that if you sleep with them he will never never know. They will also kindly convince you that, because of the distance, he probably has already cheated on you multiple times.

For such situation there are two ways:

1- a kind goodbye ;

2- a warm fuck off .

When you have a distance relation, your favorite websites are ryanair, railways, skyscanner (not to mention facebook, g+, twitter, blablabla), you're continously planning a trip.

You make your bag and depart, or he does. You meet him at the airport and you are like a dead person. Stunned. You drive him home and you can't look at the street because you're still looking at him, stunned, you never saw him in your car, you never saw him in your house, in you city, you are 24 hours stunned. One of the two will be so stunned to the point to look the other person while sleeping, this person will wake up and shout for the fright.

You have a great time, you finally experience life together again, and when you look at yourself in the mirror, satisfied by what you did, he's already putting his bag into your car. You drive him to the airport, and the motherfucking radio plays songs like “Always” by Bon Jovy... You drive slowly, you take wrong streets, you enter the airport hoping that the flight is hopelessly canceled. He walks to the gate, you remember when he first left, you remember he was there just temporary, and you realise that you haven't been on facebook 1 whole week, and you know it will be the first thing you'll check when you'll be back home.

He's gone, and you're driving like crazy, 130 km/h with your car which is no Ferrary, it looks more like a tampax-box.

At home your room looks so big for one person only. It really looks empty. The most beautiful piece of the room has gone away. You check facebook, to see if he is back home, and you, moved by an unknown force, are buying a plane ticket to his country. Missing him one hour is already a good reason to spend 50€ for a flight.

Months of facebook, videocalls, misunderstandings, postcards and finally you have a job. He can move with you. You plan everything down to details, even if he's actually coming in 4 months, you already know what you will be wearing, what you will eat and how the weather will be like that day. You are actually able to stop the rain, if necessary.

You are so happy, that you still cannot believe in it. Therefore, everyday you will ask “so, when are you coming? And is it for real?”.

Then the day arrives, he's at your door, and he opens it with his keys. All those months of missing each other, feeling alone, feeling lost, melting 4 computers and spending 500€ on your phone are just a memory. The waiting is finished. You are a normal couple.

Maybe not really “normal”.

You appreciate more the times together, and most of all you have way more trust and you are really determined to stay together.

Because nobody is in a distance relation “for the freedom of cheating/not having to shave”. People who are in a distance relation get crazy and fight for their relation because they really want to be together, and even if they are surrounded by a million people they don't care and they want to be with that one person. Because that person is the only one who's worth.

I don't mind waiting, going crazy, spending whole days at the computer, and I don't mind missing that person. I know it's temporary and finally in one month I'm going to get the best prize I can get.

Therefore all I can advice is to follow your dreams if you really care, and not give up just because of some tousand kilometers. Distance is only temporary, while true happiness could last longer. This is the way to be invincible Muse - Invincible .

And what happens next? I don't know yet! But I'm pretty sure that soon in the mailbox ther will be cards from Facebook/Skype/Ryanair asking where have you gone and how bad their business goes now that the couple is finally united. ;D

I'm on my way. Or I'm all wrong.

Starting a new life is always unpredictable, it depends on how many sources of help you have in the new place where you go. In some places you might have relatives, friends, your partner, or “support networks” (like ESN for Erasmus Students).

Fitting in in Austria was easy, as a student it is always easier, you get to know people in the class, people in the student residence, you're in contact with people of your same age, same interests (if same studies!). I was alone for 1 day only, afterwards I started meeting people at ESN events, in my student residence, in classes, and I felt at home. Completely happy. Although my best friends were abroad, I really started a new life with new friends, new experiences and a new mentality.

I was given a lot of help, when I was an exchange student.

Now, let's consider the case of a person who's new in the city. As an experienced exchange student the first thing I would do is searching for international student help, ESN, foreign student office, language exchange meeting, student parties... No, stop here. You're not a student, what are you going to show them when they will ask for your student pass?

That is like a knife in the back.

Not a student anymore.

Time ran so fast and I didn't even realise of it.

When you finish your studies, your social status changes from student to work seeker (or unemployed, frankly said...). So yes, now I am a work seeker. Is there a network for international work seekers? Parties? Residences? None of this.

Oh please, I felt like getting 10 years older in just 2 months.

But what is it like, this work seeker life?

I'm getting some experience in it.

Wake up late, look for work advertisements, send your CV and enclose a motivation letter (be very creative in it once, and then forever copy and paste), check your email waiting for answers, get a shower and go to a work interview, answer their crazy questions and get back home when they tell you “we will let you know”.

What I often think about is how much does my nationality matter in their decision. Well, it's not really a matter of nationality, more a language matter I would say. They can understand you, but your grammar is not perfect, therefore they will always chose some native speaker. You have to really be special, in oder to be chosen before than a local. And I am a none, I am nothing special, thanks for drowning my self-esteem so down Sirs.

I see where is the problem: we automatically become work seekers, but are we really wanting to get a job? Think for yourself, but my answer is no. I do not want to work. I am asked million times a day “in which field would you like to work” and my answer is none!

I really want to live without working. But how do I survive without money? Let's get down to a compromise: I'm gonna have 2 thirds of my time for my own pleasure, and 1 third of my time will be given to work. But, if we consider that I need 8 hours of sleep, I'm equally sharing my life in 3 parts: work, sleep, enjoy. But time to get to work and come back has to be taken in account. And time to look for housing, shopping, washing up, it is all included in “enjoy”. The net time of enjoy ends up being 2 hours per day. It's not the life I want, but I think it's probably the life I'm going to get. And in all of this I shouldn't forget that once I'm dead I will not be able to come back ever again. It sounds pretty bad. How am I going to deal with it?

Here is where I say I don't know. It looks like when we get born we sign a contract with this capitalist world where we promise we'll get involved into work. It's like a catholic baptism, I was too young, I could not decide! Someone else decided for me, and if I ever meet this asshole, I promise I'll beat him/her.

I can see why we drink so much alcohol, it has become necessary to escape this world. I haven't been drinking anything since I came to Germany, and this full immersion in the stark reality is giving me the creeps.

Unfortunatelly, I am not special, so I still cannot figure out a way to move on happily without working. I guess I will have to keep the compromise, working but enjoying every single moment when I'm not at work. Perhaps.

This is how it feels sometimes, the beginning of a new life: lost, alone, drowning in bureaucracy, missing your partner and friends (always inviting them for cheap holidays at your place), and a little hopeless I would say. But with the convinction of never giving up/going back home.

I have come here to enjoy a new place, and make new experiences, get to know new people and all I hear/talk about is money.

I hope we could all disintoxicate ourselves from money-mentality, because when we do, we might probably find out what is it that is so important for us in life.

14^th day in Germany. 0 friends, some people say hi, 2 job offers, 20 jobs denied, some more German vocaboulary acquainted, 0 parties, 1 monument seen, so much snow, so much money gone away for bills and rent.

Here are the downs, I am waiting for the ups.

And I'm sure they will come, after so much struggle.

Steh auf wenn du am Boden bist!

"Steh auf wenn du am Boden bist" is a German say. It means "get up if you're on the floor". And me... yes I have spent way too much time on the floor...
I have always been the one who told to people not to worry, if they really wanted something they could get it if they were ready to fight for it... And now I say it to myself again. I finished my erasmus, I finished my studies, I finished my work contract and I finished my amazing winter holidays in Spain. I sat on the plane to fly back home, and in that moment I realised that my future is empty.
I had exams, I had to work, I had to travel... Now there's nothing I have to. Yes I could look for a job, but why should I? I cannot think of myself here, in my hometown, bored as shit, working 8 hours per day and spending all of the money travelling away from here.
I will just get out of here.
I want to take back the happiness that I left Vienna.
I want, I want, we all want so many things, but most of the time we want it while we lye on our bed, or while we're having a chat with a friend. Gandhi said that "the difference between what we do and what we are capable of doing would suffice to solve most of the world's problems", and I've never read a quote that was so right.

After 15 days made of 15 hours sleep 2 hours eat 6 hours chat with my friends and browse all airline websites I decided that I really had to do something, I must get myself out of here, I want to live my life! I want to wake up near the person I love, stand up and see that out of my window there is an amazing city to discover, a city full of chances: new people, new work, new language, new friends, new activities..well, a new life!

So, I stood up from the floor and wrote down what I wanted to do. I was a bit scared, because the plan ended up like "I'm gonna collect as many job interview as possible and I am going to Munich for them. They will hire me: perfect. They will not hire me: I'll keep searching. I am ready to 'throw' myself, and I'd do anyhing in order to achieve the goals I set".

But it took time to click on the botton "buy". Then I thought about something! I actually spent a lot of time in my life tring to become more German, more Scandinavian, but actually the very lucky events of my life have made me more Andalucian... Therefore I questioned myself "ey, ¿no hay huevos?" and I bought the ticket straight away...
I explain: asking "¿no hay huevos?" is truely challenging, it literally means "got no balls?" and when someone says it to you, you're practically bound to do what has been said to do.

Now, I am pretty proud of myself. Hay huevos, and I am moving to make a change in my life. I think it is something normal to do, but many of us are scared, they're scared of the unknown, they should just let go and think that most of the time in the unknown there are the most precious things we can meet. We should never afraid of the adventure, our own life should be a masterpiece (yes, Oscar Wilde) and if it's not us working on it, who should? God? Bha, he has never been seen, as far as I know.

I have seen my grandmothers telling me that life should go like study->get married->have kids->take care of them->teach them how to live their life according to the standads->wait to die, and I've see those women very unhappy at age 50 when their kids were gone, I've seen them realising that they lived their life wrong because they haven't thought about their own happiness, they just adapted to the standards and did what they were told to.

We must be different.

Being happy is so easy, you just have to try all, until you understand what is it that you like, and then you just have to chase the things you like.
I've heard of a book called "Into the wild", its writer says:
"So many people live within unhappy circumstances and yet will not take the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to a life of security, conformity, and conservatism, all of which may appear to give one peace of mind, but in reality nothing is more dangerous to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future. The very basic core of a man's living spirit is his passion for adventure. The joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun."
and I agree with him.

I could be a living proof that this lifestyle is pretty good.
We never know, unless we try.
I'm leaving in 2 days.

And my latest post was one year ago...

By chance I ran into my blog which I totally forgot of. My first and last post is dated 15 january 2012. I started a blog because I wanted to write about my travels, and spread to other people the marks that those travels left on me. But then it all suddenly changed.
I was that king of girl who doesn't go out at weekends because she has nothing interesting to do out there, the girl that no one really called, someone considered me a ghost, who appears once in a while, tells everything about her crazy plans and then disappears again for months.

My life was boring but quite ok until in September 2011, when I was emailed by Ludwig Maximilians University of Munich. One week before erasmus they wrote me that my learning agreement was not accepted and I could not take any course. All my dreams crashed. Life's a shit because I am so close to such an important thing which could have been the point where I could start a new life. I can never have a joy. I'm such a failure. Yes, ok, I faced it, I felt bad about it and I didn't even tell anyone I was not departing anymore. I spent 5 months in my hometown when most of people believed I was in Munich. Nobody seemed to be bothered.

But when we're desperate, we discover that we're strong: I applied for another erasmus, one day before the deadline, inventing a new learning agreement and collecting all required documents in one day. I was told it was not possible, but I got the scholarship in the end anyway.
Because I never stop saying to myself that if I want something, I am definitely going to get it.

29 february 2012. Beginning of a new life.
I took most of my exams in january/february, packed 60 kg of luggage and took a train straight to Vienna, it was a hell of journey, 14 hours, snow, cold, loud people on the train, my mp3 out of battery, but as I stepped off the train I felt so good as I never did before, the air was fresh, and it smelled like new life.

I thought I had time for blogging, I didn't know anyone in Vienna. I was so wrong, I made more friends in 2 weeks in Vienna than 20 years in my hometown. When you are alone and enthusiastic about life, you make friends a lot easily.

In Vienna I had no time to blog, no time to study, no time to read, I was always outside, meeting people and experiencing new things. The life that I had in 5 months is way more interesting than the other 20 years of life I had before.
I met people from all over the world, I was in the metro at 3 in the morning, I slept in my clothes (+shoes + bag), slept in front of my house door, sang songs I hated, danced disgusting music with a smile on my face, woke up with someone I couldn't remember of, spoke 6 different languages in one night, cooked what I want, lost kilos, gained happiness, fell in love, cried looking at the person I loved fading away as the train left to the airport, opened my fridge in order to study inside of it when the weather was 40°. I did so many things I can't remember of. Some where shameful, some were epic, and after all I had the time of my life.

When we come back from erasmus, we become foreigners in our own countries. So many people forgot us, so many people hate us because we changed, and some are happy to see us again. But we look ourselves in mirros and cannot recognise our face in that environment. We miss our friends, we miss the life we got used to. We go back to our university, which looks like shit to us, we hang out in our hometowns, which look so empty. Some people can actually deal with it, and come back to the life they had before. But I have never met any. Most of us start searching new ways to leave the homecountry again, Erasmus placement, Leonardo, we travel all around Europe to meet our friends again, and we spend ours videocalling us via skype, or writing KMs containing all updates about our lives.
Erasmus scholarship can finish, but Erasmus spirit cannot.