It is Monday morning. I am on the bus, overhearing conversations in Italian. I am holding onto the overhead bar for dear life as the bus speedily whips around the sharp corner up the hill. We pass small cars, historic buildings, and apartments with laundry hanging from the balcony. I am still groggy from the lack of sleep since my body hasn’t adjusted to the new time zone yet. But at the same time, I am jittery and excited; the espresso I drank that morning along with adrenaline are coursing through my veins. I can see light just peeking up over the horizon as we approach our stop. When I step off the bus, my jaw drops at what I see. The sun is rising up over the water and the cliff-side homes, casting the entire city in a warm yellow and pink glow. I hear the sounds of waves crashing against the rocks below and scooters zooming by as people are headed off to work. Everyone in my group pulls out their phones to take pictures. Our site manager is finally able to draw our attention away from the spectacular view to tell us to turn around. As we do, we see towering stained-glass windows covering the front of the building and palm trees lining the path that goes up towards the top of the hill beyond the front gates. We were staring at the hospital we would be commuting to every morning for three weeks. This was how my mornings went while I studied abroad in Genoa, Italy this past winter.