Gozo

We (tinny (pronounced teeny (she's a couchsurfer from china, I like her))) took a ferry from our small island to an even smaller island in the Mediterranean, called Gozo. It looked like a humble sprout floating in the sweet blue water, a little greener than the more inhabited island of Malta.

We stayed in an interesting, ridiculously giant house converted into a hostel, with caged exotic birds and a fireplace and a courtyard and tons and tons of Jesus paraphernalia.

It would have been pleasant if the house was better lit and some of the notices weren't so dog-eared, maybe the terrace would be rate magnificent if there hadn't been a small herd of unused wheelchairs leaning quietly to the side.

After we picked up some food in the market and made a quick trip to the backyard where they had their own organic orange trees, tinny mentioned me, as I sliced tomatoes in the kitchen, that it reminded her of The Shining.

Between our rickety little beds, shining on the wall was a caricature of the virgin Mary, of which I am certain could have been litten up at some point, like a Halloween ornament, but uncomical.

Gozo was peaceful, which translates to dead.

Although I have to admit, I'm enjoying my European reprieve more than a normal angsty American teen should. The Hungarians are teaching me all about living in the Now, the Baha'i faith, and eating vegetables. I'm learning Hungarian to speak o the baby, who has the biggest bluest eyes in the whole wide world.