I am sick, but if I don’t move, I can enjoy the afternoon sun coming through the windows of my room and gentle breeze. There is even a dove walking around on the balcony, assuring me that I’m not going to die, that this thing is going to pass. Maybe I’ll be able to eat solid food again soon. And with my recently aquired obsession for food, the most frustrating part of having my entire digestive tract attacked is not being able to think about eating without feeling nauseous. No, I have decided that a lifetime’s worth of raw cookie dough would not be worth another 24 hours of this. And I didn’t even get to eat the cookie dough this time.

But life is truly good. In my bout of loneliness after Corfu, I asked my parents to help me — there was no way I was going to get through a month traveling through Italy with my sanity unscathed. So they did the best thing ever, and booked an apartment in Spain (thank you Julianne and Dr. Osborne!). That means I get to see my family so much sooner than I expected, and Italy will just have to be one more thing I share with Thomas. It can be hard to be away from the people I love most in the world for so long, but anticipation makes the missing just a little bit sweet.

Knowing that I need a surrogate family wherever I go alone, I made sure to book my Orthodox Easter trip to Naxos and Santorini with so-called pensions or domatia. No more than a half-hour after reserving two nights at Windmill Naxos, in fact, the owner emailed me to ask what time my ferry got in — so he could pick me up! And Nadia, CYA student advisor extraordinaire, hooked me up with another family-run place on Santorini where they make their own bread. I almost had to cancel this little getaway since the ferries were almost full, but in the end the travel agent found me a spot. With everything taken care of, and ferry tickets burning a hole in my desk drawer, my trip to two of the most beautiful Aegean Islands promises to entirely pleasant.

As soon as I feel better, I will upload my photos of Greek Independence Day and Thessoloniki. Last weekend was filled with Byzantine hymns, seaside cafes, the longest bus ride ever, a man named Vladimir who insisted his accent was Cockney, stolen buffet food, and a roadside stop that will make my guy friends drool (it will suffice to say: This… is… Sparta!).