Hi everyone! So the following is a guest blog appearance from Tasha Anderson. For those of you that don't know her, she is my best friend from New Hampshire/Boston/Sam Francisco. She is extremely bright, youI'll be able to tell from her writing. Her guest blog will be describing our first night's adventure in Capri, where she met me for a weekend get a way from her study abroad class in Florence. I will continue the stories of the weekend In another post to come. I would also like to say to the adults- don't be alarmed, we were safe and responsible, although it may not seem like it. I also want to point out that our travel days included some of the worst experiences, thus giving us a need for the many drinks we consumed. (My ferry included a women next to me puking into a bag, giving me nauseous for the hour boat ride from Napoli to capri. And Tasha's ferry arrived at the dock and couldn't unload the passengers for an entire extra hour on the rocking and heated boat--due to a reason we still don't know. #italians). These experiences left us thirsty for some wine! Enjoy: Those of you who donāt know me naturally will not know how much I enjoy a good mystery. Be it a mystery solved by a sociopathic British genius and his dullard companion or one solved by a gang of meddling kids and their gluttonous dog, it makes no difference to me-- I love them all. Given this enthusiasm, hopefully you can begin to understand how it was that I greeted the enormity of this morningās hangover with mixed feelings rather than pure dread. Did I feel like I was going to throw up and was my vision blury? Sure. But so was memory: I was presented with a mystery! What had happened the night before? I turned to Ari who was sleeping next to me in our pullout bed . I sung out a hardy āGoodmorning!ā She rolled over, telling me to go back to sleep. The mystery would have to wait a few more hours to be solved... When we got up at 10:30 the struggle was very real. I had lost most of my zest for sleuthing -along with most of my zest for life- by the time it was Ariās turn to wake me up. We had made an itinerary before our night had gone black, and this she balanced on my butt. āWe have activities to do.ā She tried to sound enthusiastic. I knew that tone: It would be useless to fight against such determined cheeriness in my feeble state. Wincingly we assured each other that we were barely hungover as we combined our arsenals of medication. 4 tylenol, 4 tums, 2 pepto bismal chewables and 2 liters of water-- ājust in caseā -- and we were up, mostly dressed, and out the door; ready to begin our projected activities. We were hardly two steps out of our little house when we noticed a barrier that we didnāt remember traversing the day before. We stood puzzling at the upside down flower pot and mound of dirt and flowers that blocked our way up the stairs. āNo...ā Ari supposed after a few minutes reflection, āI donāt think it was like that yesterday...ā The bloodhound in me awoke. My mind was turning. Several few silent beats later, I thought I had it. āI think we mustāve done that last night.ā A few more thoughtful seconds and we looked at each other: In a rush we remembered. Bent over from the exhaustion of recollecting, Ari casually mentioned that she might be a little hungover. āMe too, but just a little...ā I assured her. After a ten minute walk we finally reached the village of Annacapri where, according to our itinerary, we were to breakfast before hopping on the public bus that would take us to the beach. We wandered through the tiny streets, inspecting the tiny shops - meandering along with our ātinyā hangovers and the vague hope that we might stumble upon a very large coffee. Suddenly something hit me hard in the stomach. It was Ari. She was pointing and tapping on the window of one of the tiny shops. Bottles and bottles of lemoncello were displayed in the window of one of these tiny shops. Again we made eye contact and remembered... It was late. The restaurant had closed and all but our table had been rolled inside for the night. The square that we sat it in was completely empty but we were surrounded. Both waiters, a chef and the bus boy stood hovering over us, distributing lemoncello's. Empty jiggers surrounded the empty bottle of rose that stood on the red and white checked table cloth. I gesticulated wildly with my vodka tonic. We cheered āSaluteā for the upteenth time. Our Italian was getting good... As the day wore on we encountered clue after clue that helped us peice together our night. We smelled cigarette smoke: āI think we mustāve done that last night...ā Casually we had accepted the cigarettes that had been offered to us. We had delighted in playing Grace Kelly, ashing the majority and choking on the rest. We were sure that our new friends suspected nothing. Finally it was time to go, to head to the discotech with our authentic italian tour guides. As we rose to leave, we realized that something wasnāt quite right-- that is to say, we werenāt quite right. It was imperative that we lose none of our suavitĆ© in the eyes of our italian friends. Acting on this impulse, we made a swift exit. We sprinted home, zig zagging in our heels through the narrow maze of lanes until finally we crashed-- First into the potted plant, and then into our beds... We will never know exactly what happened that night. In spite of what Ari may suggest, we can never really know exactly which one of ate all 18 cookies or why it was that we didnāt realize free limoncello has just as much alcohol in it as limoncello youāve bought... As we lay side by side in our lounge chairs, two pesky kids looking out over the crashing waves of the Tyrrhenian Sea I realized that some mysteries donāt need to be solved, some just need to be appreciated. I will never know how I got so lucky to have a friend like Ari, how I could be luckier still and able to travel to around the world with her, how I havenāt murdered her even though she persists in sleeping pantless and spoons me in the night regardless of what country we are in ... Itās those mysteries that need not be solved, itās those mysteries that just need to be appreciated and itās those mysteries that are my absolute favorite. I write from our little sunken garden, looking fondly upon the little bit of soil still visible on our steps, the only remaining evidence of our night of debauchery. As this day and that mystery come to a natural close, another one presents itself: What will we do for dinner tonight? -Tasha Anderson Many clues were still continuing to be found throughout the weekend. I will tell you ,ore of our sober adventures soon!

















