I’m on the brink of tears, looking up at the hilltop town of Orvieto. The sun is hanging above the honey-colored houses. A large church juts up from the old center. And I’m in a medical parking lot in the valley below. 

I had driven 45 minutes to get here—my first time driving our stick-shift car alone, in Italy. I had traversed steep hills, downshifting and upshifting. I had gotten in and out of 5th gear and avoided the tiny Fiats whizzing past me on the highway. I had even figured out how to pay the tolls, and how to take off from a toll booth located on a slant, with the dreaded e-brake start. 

Admittedly, I had never heard of Italy’s Patron Saint Francis until a few days ago. 

The reason millions of pilgrims visit Assisi each year, Francis was the founder of the Franciscan Order, and a man who inspired thousands of followers to live a life of poverty, based on Jesus’s teachings. When he died in 1226, Pope Gregory IX quickly canonized him; and soon after, the Basilica of St. Francis (seen in the picture above) was erected in his honor. 

Since our arrival to Umbria, my husband has lovingly nicknamed me “The Mosquito Killer.” 

Armed with a spray bottle of vinegar in one hand and repellent in the other, I tip-toe around the apartment each night before bed. Eyes squinted, nose scrunched, I stare up at the ceilings. Could they be hiding in the 200-year-old tree trunk support beams? Are they perched in the crevices of the stone walls?

Most years, come August, I'm ready to go back to school. I've spent time with family and friends, caught up with hometown gossip, hugged my niece a thousand times, and even squeezed in a road trip or two. This August, however, things are different. No trip back home, no face-to-face catch-ups, no hugs. And despite an amazing road trip through northern Greece, the idea of hopping back on Zoom to teach teenagers has my skin crawling.

As we approached the Bulgarian/Greek border crossing checkpoint, I pinched the wire around my nose and tightened the mask’s loops around my ears. The border security guard walked from car to car, collecting passports and motioning for people to park or to join the socially-distanced queue to get tested for COVID-19. 

Luke and I held our breath as we handed him our registration, Romanian IDs and passports, strategically placing my American identification at the bottom of the pile. He gave us both a stern look and had us park next to the station. 

Before I moved to Romania, I had never heard of Veliko Târnovo. And to be honest, I probably wouldn't have  been able to point to Bulgaria on a map. Even though Eastern Europe is quickly becoming a popular tourist destination, Bulgaria (and Romania) is often skipped over, in favor of Hungary or the Czech Republic. I'm personally pretty happy about this fact, as it means my husband and I get to explore abandoned castles and fortified churches without waiting in lines, and are able to have picturesque medieval cities like Veliko Târnovo pretty much to ourselves. Since Veliko is only a 3-hour drive from Bucharest, Luke and I just went for the weekend, staying Saturday night and coming back Sunday. It was enough time to soak in some of the town's history and charm, but I would've liked another day or two. We'll be back. In the meantime, here's a look at what we did, where we stayed and, of course, where we ate.
croatia-sail-islandsWinter has arrived in Shanghai, and even while I'm typing this (indoors), I'm wearing a scarf and fuzzy slippers. So naturally, I'm thinking of warmer places and warmer times, like this summer. For six weeks, Luke and I traveled around Croatia, Italy and Slovenia, eating pizza, lots of gelato, and kicking back in the beautiful nature that surrounded us. We started our adventure in Croatia, deciding to cruise around the islands with Sail Croatia. I was actually hesitant to do something like this, as I hate organized group tours. Also, I had read reviews online about 30 and 40-somethings having to deal with all night parties and waking up to piles of puke outside their cabin doors.