Elaine & Elizabeth do as the Romans do on an evening in Roma: Part I

The past two days at work I’ve been playing a game of “Where’s Waldo” with my 4-cyanophenylboronic acid I synthesized earlier this week. What should have taken yesterday morning took all of yesterday and today.

A million solvent extractions, drying operations, caramelizing crystals that looked edible (but were absolutely NOT), mousses forming on the rotovap, and many frustrations I learned two things:
1) Boronic Acids are tricky bastards- not to be trusted. Jean endorses my sentiments.
2) Not to doubt my calculations, let’s just say I got a comment about this, which was promptly retracted. No really, the other thing I learned was never to give up isolating pale yellow powders: they’re in there, you just have do the right coaxing to get them out.

With organic chemistry the reason why a reaction doesn’t go to plan could be anything from a degree difference in room temperature to you didn’t wear your hair right that day. We think that there was a leak that developed in my dropping funnel that ruined part of my lithiation, but it’s done.

Back to Rome, apologies for the delay. I felt really listless for the first part of this week, but I’m all rested now. Pas de problem.


Ryan Air: Wal-Mart of the skies

Strasbourg Train Station (Strasbourg La Gare): how you find your trains in France, the clear way.

On Friday I set out by train for Germany to catch my flight. There is an art to traveling Europe by train that I’m still perfecting. My first stop quickly became a minor challenge. I had about 15 minutes to change trains in Applewiser, Germany. I get off the train from Strasbourg, and go to check the boards at the station.

Problem #1: there was no station.

Problem #2: I don’t speak any German.

Handy Skill #1: I remember some words from last summer in Vienna.

Handy Skill #2: Follow other people with luggage

I managed to figure out that they were looking at posted schedules, and figured out which of the 6 platforms the train I needed would pretty much “swing by.” Got on, and headed to Baden-Baden, the German equivalent of Bath, England. I was supposed to spend the day in this small, literally “bath” spa town, but their tourist website was much better than the city (at least by foot.) After some walking, I just headed to the small airport.

Baden-Baden flowers discovered upon brief exploration.

Important lesson from my day in Baden-Baden: Germans, despite their notoriety as “engineering minded” or “practical” people, suck at maps and public transportation. So they had two busses that went from the bahnhof (train station) to the airport, and you buy your tickets at the machine.

Did that.

Well I go to get on the bus, and they want a euro more, because despite the fact that it goes the same place, this bus costs more. Yet another minor problem: all I had were some plastic cards and a 50 euro bill. I scrounged up some change and was about 20 cents short. That’s when this older couple sitting in front asked me what I needed and handed me the money.

I’m indebted to an elderly German couple who jetted off to somewhere in the world last weekend.

Got to the airport, had lunch, and read. It wasn’t bad at all, and I enjoyed the quiet. Honestly. Then I realize that since I’m only taking one backpack as a carry on, none of my toiletries were in the required zip lock bag.

As I passed the single security checkpoint they were tossing people’s toiletries left and right because this small airport had nothing better to do. Clearly if I were a terrorist, this would be the airport I’d choose. And I’d definitely want to fly a RyanAir jet…….not.

Then I just get pissed off.
1) I am dating a United States Marine Officer. I should not be treated like a blonde, terror of a terrorist. This makes logical sense to me: go with it.
2) I’m a chemist. 100 mL bottles don’t stop those who actually understand the components of TNT and work with hazardous chemicals all week long.

So I refused to buy one of their bags, which meant I transferred my granola cereal into the container I ate my salad in, and put my toiletries in there. Can you tell I’m stubborn and resourceful? I also realized my mini saline bottle was 118 mL; too large to go through.

Oh hell no. Bitch please.

I wrapped it up into my Victoria Secret flannel PJ pants, and put it in the middle of my backpack. Then I put my original toiletry bag that still had my deodorant in it, right above it. Decoy…..

I went through, got violated by a German women, because again, I’m a clear terrorist at Baden-Baden airpark. Apparently they saw my bottle going through security and decide to search my bag. They kept looking at the screen, digging in my bag, looking at the screen, looking at my toiletry bag, looking at the screen, looking at my deodorant, looking at the bottom of my bag, and so on.

I just stood there and acted very concerned and confused.

Finally she gave up and I’m still in possession of my travel saline since the Italian airport coming home could care less.

RyanAir = chaos. The fellow customers were very pushy, and it always makes me laugh when unsuspecting foreigners (well I suppose I’m the foreign one here) try to push into me OR cut me in line.

These short German women tried to push me on the way there – that ended in me glaring down at them with a look that said “no…. don’t touch me.”

Then these Italian men, also short, tried to get in front of me during check in on the way back – this scheme ended promptly with a look that said “what the hell do you think you’re doing?” and they backed off.

Sometimes I might appear like a pushover, but looks are deceiving. When traveling I adapt the phrase “move bitch, get out the way.”

Flying RyanAir was like climbing altitude in a Wal-Mart shopping cart. All of the overhead compartments had self-promoting neon ads, the seats had no padding, the ride/landing was very bumpy, there was one bathroom for the whole huge plane, and they are constantly on the intercom trying to sell things which include lottery tickets, alcohol, perfume, magazines, etc.

I’m also certain that they overestimate the time it takes to travel so you always arrive “on time.” We left Germany delayed, and Italy late because people can’t sit down yet arrived to both desinations strangely “on time” and early.

This is me NOT buying this.

I also sat next to the same couple on the way there and back. Apparently others had the same idea about a weekend in Roma. The couple was French, and the “younger” lady I think was either some sort of Euro-trash trophy wife, or they were having an affair. Couldn’t decide, but it kept me entertained on the flight.

This concludes my experiences with RyanAir.

Arriving in Rome

Then I got off the plane to Roma.

I hadn’t seen the sun in a week, and it was gorgeous. I called Elizabeth and we set on meeting at the McDonalds by __forgot the name, my bad_____. Though I may never forgive LeM, Italian McDonalds were OKed by me because of their restroom facilities. They also provide handy meeting points in large cities.

To put it simply into words: seeing Elizabeth was wonderful. I out of the dingy subway and there she was, sitting in bright colors and sunglasses at a table outside McDonalds. We ran up to each other and said “It’s so good to see you…….[paraphrasing for publishing diplomacy: the people on this trip are nothing like Oxford] ….I can’t believe we’re in Rome!” in complete unison. Seriously -- word for word unison. Then we both laughed like two blissfully happy American girls in front of a Roman McDonalds.


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Q: Who is Elizabeth again? Do you call her Liz?

A: No! She goes by Elizabeth, not Liz! We met last summer on the Oxford trip and took several weekend trips to Wales, Edinburgh, etc. and since then met up for Texas lunches, coffees, and a few tea times for nostalgia. Elizabeth just graduated from UT as an English major and is on a Maymester (what I did in Vienna last May) in Rome until the end of June.

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It was also exciting to have someone to take funny photos with… and no questions asked!

After a few moments and some “oh my God we’re in Rome” ‘s we went in search of dinner. Before I left the lab on Thursday, Jean had recommended a small restaurant called “Restaurant Colors” so we decided to go for it our first night. It was down this alley frequented only by the occasional charging motor bike and the occasional pedestrian.

At first we chose to be seated outside, but were then informed in polite, but broken English that the people who lived upstairs watered their window boxes of flowers about this time -- so it would be in our best interest to move. We did. Sitting in the pillow lined candlelit lounge was no concession.

The only thing that surpassed the Modern/Mediterranean Italian cuisine was the conversation. Elizabeth and I wasted no time catching up.

I cannot remember the name of this type of pasta, but I give it two forks up. Novel: at least to me. There’s a souvenir to whoever can tell me what type it was.


Unlike France – who closes up shop at the onset of dusk – Rome livens up. Instead of “Tour Guide Barbie,” I’m going to refer to Elizabeth as “Tour Guide Disney Princess” because of her infamous part time job as a Disney Princess for little girl birthday parties.

Elizabeth whisked me away to start seeing the sites, which were beautiful illuminated at night. In Roma your eyes cannot take in enough of the piazzas, churches, and scenic views. Visually, the experience borderlines on overwhelm. I think we just kept repeating to ourselves, we’re in Rome!!!!

To get somewhat steady night pictures, I use a technique only I can pull off. I put the camera on my head and use my noggen (sp?) as a tripod. That's why night pictures come off a bit random, and I look like a freaky tourist. It works decently.....

Tour guide Disney Princess made the most of my weekend, especially considering that she herself was new to the city. She made sure I saw all the key sites (some of which I’m sure to neglect here, or not remember the name of) so that when someone asked me if I saw _____[insert famous ancient place here]____ I’d be able to exclaim “why yes! I did on my weekend in Roma!”

First stop was the Trevi Fountain to make a wish, and seal the deal on a return trip to Rome.

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Fast Fact: You are supposed to throw in TWO coins. One to make a wish, the other for a return trip to Rome. You are supposed to throw it over your right shoulder with your right hand.

Reader's Secret: We only threw one because we hadn’t read this yet, and then while writing this blog I opened the wikipedia page which says you throw with your right hand over your left shoulder, and if you throw three coins it’s either lucky means you’ll be getting a divorce. By contrast if you throw two coins you get good luck and are soon to be married.

Bottom Line: I threw a coin in with Elizabeth (she gave me the penny, so there’s inherent luck with that I suppose), and we spent the weekend traveling Rome. Lucky enough for me.

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Afterwards we stumbled upon one of the most famous gelato places in all of Rome. I don’t remember the name, my bad, but Elizabeth knew this to be true. We got our gelato, and I got some type of chocolate and a chocolate chip/vanilla meringue upon the recommendation of a very cheerful African server. I’d never had gelato with meringue in it, but it was good. Small bursts of sugar among the cream.

Just typing this makes me want some….NOW. Dangerously serious. I want it real bad.


I’m going to try and not be so hot and bothered….

Not the classy place with our gelato, just a festive visual from our walk.

With indulging in our gelato, we headed off for the Spanish steps.

We walked to the top and enjoyed a view of the Vatican and some drifting music from an on looking balcony restaurant. We talked for awhile here and then went to go window shop at some discount stores….Gucci, Prada, and the likes.

Louis Vuitton wins the prize for window displays with their innovative light show that turned some white stairs into our entertainment for about 10 minutes.


After more walking, we came across the Pantheon at night, which was again, just beautiful. Saw a few more famous piazzas, then headed back to Elizabeth’s apartment. The bus ride was wild. Seriously. They are NOT kidding, hang on. I thought the E-bus on campus got crazy….haha no. That was the fastest, roughest bus ride of my life. It was fun.

Did I forget to mention Elizabeth’s apartment is across the street to one of the guarded entrances to the Vatican? That’s right, her door is physically manned by the police during the day, and it’s about 5 steps from her doorway to the walls of Vatican City. And I thought I was hot stuff in Strasbourg for living 2 minutes away from the European Parliament.

Ok blog readers, I’m exhausted. This is going to be posted as part 1. Je suis desolee.


Thank you for your patience.

Part II to follow, hope you’re still intrigued…. If not, you’ll be sorry.