I have officially finished my first week back from my whirlwind travels, and am spending the first weekend in SIX WEEKS (count 'em) at my house.
I've been super tired all week and I'm seriously hoping it's not because I have a parasite from that crazy Portugese mystery meat. I'm HOPING it's because of all of the time I've been spending in the sun (it was 17*C yesterday!) and because of how exhausting it is to teach when you have no idea what you're doing & it's more like a crazy free-for-all than an actual class. I've also had such a hard time sleeping lately, so maybe that's it?
Je n'en sais rien. But it's 9:20 on a Friday night and I'm going to bed.
Bon nuit
27 February 2009
24 February 2009
European Love Affair
I am in love, and I'd like everyone to know.
I am in love with EUROPE. And with being young, being free, being single, being reckless, being responsible for no one but myself, and being in a world sooooooooo full of possibilities, it's ridiculous. And with meeting new people, having great friends and with the brilliant invention known as RyanAir, which allowed me to fly to three fantastic cities for less than 200 Euros.
My trip began with four last-minute, random days in Paris with Lizzie, Kevin and his roommate Ravi. We stayed in this fantastic, crumbling, gem of a hostel in Le Marais district (kind of near the Gare de Lyon). In the obnoxious way that it usually happens on vacations, especially ones in Paris, the list of things we saw is enormous including (but probably not limited to): Le Louvre, l'Arc de Triomphe, La Tour Eiffel, the catacombs, Notre Dame, L'Eglise Madeleine, Le Basillique de Sacre Coeur, Le Musee d'Histoire Naturelle, Les Tuileries and Le Grand Palais. We walked pretty much everywhere, despite the snow/rain/wind/cold, and it was fantastic to see what Paris is like ABOVE GROUND. It's so convenient to use the Metro, and last time that I was there, I spent most of my time sous la terre, as they say here, "doing the mole." My Christmas kicks got some good use there. Best moments of the trip: sharing Lizzie's iPod and navigating the narrow streets, whilst dancing to "Jenny, Don't Be Hasty" by Paolo Nutini, playing our make-shift version of Apples-to-Apples, eating tomato & mozarella paninis with our red & white cans of Coke outside of Le Musee Cluny in the sunshine, learning Spanish on my last day in Paris, analyzing the creepy formaldahyde-preserved animal and human parts in the natural history museum, and observing part of the evening service at Notre Dame.
On Tuesday, Feb 10 I met up with Jules and Alex (my favorite Austrian of all time) and we flew to Barcelona. We got into the Girona airport at midnight, and then had to take a bus into the center of Barcelona, then a taxi to our hostel. This was the first time I have ever been in a situation where I couldn't speak the language at ALL (except the few hours of fantastic Spanish I learned in Paris) and that was a really mind-blowing thing. The cab driver pointed out a huge statue of Christopher Colombus to us, pointing toward "America" and made fun of the Arc de Triomf in town, saying, "Paris. NOT Barcelona!" We were told later that Senor Colomb is actually pointing to Italy, not to America, because the Spanish people hated him so much that they wanted him to return to his homeland in Italy. I'm not for sure if it makes sense to build a statue for someone you hate... but maybe the line between love and hate is finer than I thought. Or maybe this is all just false and we naively believed our Scottish tour guide. He was charming, older, beautiful, introduced himself as "Alistair MacKay of the MacKays," and knew the Robbie Burns toasts that our family says. So basically, I saw no reason not to believe him.
During our time in Barcelona we saw some amazing things, met some incredible people and learned a bit more Spanish. The BEST thing I saw was the Temple Expiatori de la Sagrada Familia, dreamed up and started by Antoni Gaudi. Knowing nothing about this before going there, I was completely blown away when we got off of the Metro, walked up the stairs and were face-to-face with this towering multi-turreted, anamoly that seemed to be melting into itself. The more we looked at it, the less we understood -- and the more that I NEEDED to go inside and learn about it. I had to do some major convincing to get my friends to go in -- it was almost 10 Euros to enter, and another 4 for the audio tour -- but this is probably the most valuable 10 Euros I spent the whole trip.
Gaudi was a man of religion, but he worshipped what he called the Great Book of Nature. He believed that all of the things worthy of admiration could be found in Nature, and wanted to pay homage to that in the way that he designed his cathedrale. He spent YEARS working out the mathematical equations to construct the elements just as they could be found in nature; the supporting columns in the central section look like tree trunks, and he meticulously designed the windows and ceiling to look like tree tops. When the light comes through, it looks like the forest floor. His use of color in the stained glass windows is shocking, daring and breath-taking; being inside of this cathedrale could make anyone a believer in SOMETHING.
I thought frequently of my unit on Transcendentalism that I taught to my 10th graders last year, and wished so fervently that I could bring them here. If you think you aren't affected by nature, and that there isn't something inexplicable and sacred ABOUT nature, you need to see la Sagrada Familia and then we'll have a discussion. It's bizzare the way that a man-made structure designed to reflect nature can make a person consider natural beauty in a whole new way.
Other highlights of our trip included: eating the BEST paella on the entire surface of the earth; attending a classical guitar concert during the encore of which two people were playing the same guitar at the same time; a Flamenco concert and Tapas dinner, at which we had the best Sangria in the world, and were guided by the delightful but potentially untrustworthy Scotsman; a visit to Le Mercat de la Boqueria, a huge outdoor market where we bought fantastic fruit and then stumbled upon a parade happening on La Rambla, the main pedestrian street in Barcelona; a fantastic Tapas meal during which I actually ate a baby octopus -- or, what I could stomache of it anyway; an afternoon spent in El Poble Espanyol de Montjuic, a village that was constructed for the Olympics that features architectural elements characteristic of different regions of Spain and also includes a fantastic free modern-art gallery, and glass-blowing demonstrations (during this afternoon, I ate rabbit for the first time in my paella -- it was delicious); a quick visit to the Olympic stadium; and, of course, a few minutes at the beach, after we bought some ultimate knock-off Spanish shades. We were watching a group of street musicians when we saw probably twenty men walk by carrying big cloth sacs. We soon discovered that these were, in fact, blankets with strings tied at the corners that could be quickly unrolled to display a spread of goods, and equally as quickly rolled back up at the first alert of "La Policia!" Juliana almost accidentally away with one guy's mirror, as he frantically took off right after accepting payment for her Risky Business sunglasses.
On Saturday, Feb 14th we totally forgot about Valentine's Day and flew to Madrid, none of us knowing that we all would find a little bit of romance in the capital of Spain. We arrived, once again, late in the evening (flights are much cheaper if you fly while most people are sleeping) and found our hostel. The staff was less than impressed by our inability to speak Spanish and decided that since they were soon changing shifts, we could wait 30 minutes before checking in. Luckily, they had a bar downstairs so we found the 2,50 Euro sangria and enjoyed a complimentary plate of paella. This bar and the ultimate cheap Sangria ended up being pretty much the only good things about the hostel... aside from our Italian roommate Matteo and the cool people we met in that bar. Haha okay, so there were some good things. But the room had 14 beds, 10 of which were usually occupied by insanely inconsiderate people, and as a result, we rarely slept. (We also found the nightlife in Madrid to be pretty much exceptional, so honestly we didn't sleep all that much anyway... but still.)
We spent a lot of time going in search of a few things: jewelry, Nun cookies, Picasso paintings and fun. Happily, we found everything we were seeking. Previously the owner of maybe 3 pairs of earrings TOTAL, I came back with a whopping 4 NEW pairs, all of which I bought for about the same price as my plane ticket to Barcelona (15 Euros) and all of which I totally treasure.
The Nun cookies were Juliana's contribution. In an episode of "Passport to Europe" on the Travel Channel, she had learned of a place somewhere in Madrid that you could go, buzz in with a magic word, and then obtain delicious cookies made from Spanish nuns that would never see you face to face. Supposedly, there would be a turnstyle in which you would place your money and then from the other side a box of cookies would appear. No where could we find exact directions for how to get there, nor could we find anyone who personally had ever done this, so we weren't for sure if this wasn't just a search for fool's gold.
In fact, the quest was legit and we found our buried treasure! The super-expensive cookies tasted like black licorice, but looked like they should taste like lemon bars. My brain didn't quite know what to do with the intersection of these seemingly contradictory things, and I found that I didn't actually like the taste until after I had eaten the cookie. So I would eat another, think, "Oh, this is gross" and then immediately want another.
We found the ultra-famous Picasso painting "Guernica" in a modern art museum called the Reina Sofia, which might be a good and worthwhile museum, but which we found pretty much insultingly useless. I should say that what we found useless was the first exhibit we saw, a temporary gallery of -- of COURSE -- a crappy American artist called Paul Thek. Two things of value came from the few rooms full of his junk: 1) a painting I could have made with my left hand called "Self-Portrait as a Hot Potato" and 2) a quotation of him saying something like, "I feel like I am no longer contributing to society, and am merely creating stranger and stranger objects" to which I felt a little bit relieved that at least he had a SENSE of the pointlessness of his "art" and/or life. His art was obnoxiously self-indulgent and pretentious. It made me resent every centime of the 3 Euros I paid.
Starting out our experience of the museum like this just doomed us... everything else that we saw was just begging us to challenge it, and except for a few Dali pieces and an actually pretty nice collection of Picassos, I won every battle.
The fun mostly revolved around our evenings in Madrid, when we went out dancing with various people from our hostel and proceeded to meet more people (including the most adorable part of my two week adventure who is probably never to be seen again). We were officially out the latest I have ever been, returning to our comfy hostel beds at exactly 11am and waking in time for a 12:30 lunch of a Spanish version of a croque-madame (hot ham and cheese sandwich with an egg on top) and an enormous glass of Coke.
We spent the rest of that day taking a bus trip out to see the Monasterio el Escorial, which is situated 45 km outside of Madrid. The bus trip itself was worthwhile doing -- we were able to see some of the mountainous scenery outside of the city center, which we wouldn't have otherwise seen. The monastery itself was impressive on the outside, but conversely a little boring on the inside. As it is one of the most famous Spanish monuments (according to my travel book) it was worthwhile seeing, if only for the sake of being able to say that I have been there.
We left Madrid on Wednesday the 18th early in the morning and discovered that there is a time difference in Porto, Portugal as we contemplated the "15 minute flight" taking actually an hour and 15 minutes and still arriving 10 minutes ahead of schedule. Our hostel was hard to find as a result of an on-going battle with the government over whether or not they can put a sign out front; currently, all that distinguishes the hidden gem of a hostel is a bright red door and a green piece of paper the size of a business card contact papered onto the buzzer with the hostel's name printed on it. The place is pretty much brand new and super nice -- we all slept in beds like clouds with pristine white IKEA sheets and duvet covers. The only problem we had was that we had to share the room with a few ants, but after the no-sleep and the rude staff in Madrid, we gladly welcomed the silent company and the dream-filled sleep.
The first meal in Madrid proved to be the biggest mistake I made during the whole trip/my whole life. I decided to try the "traditional" Portugese dish described as having various meats, vegetables and potatoes. SUCH A BAD IDEA. I don't know for sure what kind of meat was in it, and I also don't know if everything was cooked. I probably shouldn't have actually eaten it, but I felt like I had been so adventurous and brave all during the trip, and I wanted to experience the culture -- so I tried it. I ate as much as I could, but it wasn't much. It was, however, enough to make me want to vomit any time I heard the word "meat," walked by a butcher shop or smelled anything like meat afterward, and caused us to actually eat McDonald's one night for dinner. I think I have to continue to work on developing my sense of gastronomical adventure... but anyone who wants to confront me needs only see the photograph of what I allowed to touch my esophogus. BERK.
This nightmarish adventure was followed up by a lovely boat ride down the Douro river. It was a nice introduction to the city, and gave us a chance to relax a little bit. The following day we decided to take a city tour on a bright red double-decker bus. We sat up on the top, soaking up the sunshine, where the headphones to the audio tour didn't work... so essentially, we drove past all of these historical-looking places, SAW them all, but had no clue what we were seeing. The brilliant part of all of this, however, is that the bus went to the BEACH.
We got off the bus and went straight to a cozy sea-side cafe where we had a nice bottle of red wine and some lunch. We basically repeated this pattern the rest of the time we spent in Porto, drinking fantastic wine, sitting in the sun and trying desperately to find the right words to precisely describe our levels of joy/contentment/bliss. (We never could say it exactly right).
In a few moments of activity, we also took a cave tour at the Sandeman Port Wine cellar (boasting the slogan "Famous for Pleasure") and taste-tested two different kinds of port wine that ranked equally in my mind with cough syrup and straight-up fire. We followed that up with a cheese plate at a restaurant across the street, but after ordering the cheese decided we needed some sangria. And when that was gone, we ordered another one -- just because we could.
I am in love with EUROPE. And with being young, being free, being single, being reckless, being responsible for no one but myself, and being in a world sooooooooo full of possibilities, it's ridiculous. And with meeting new people, having great friends and with the brilliant invention known as RyanAir, which allowed me to fly to three fantastic cities for less than 200 Euros.
My trip began with four last-minute, random days in Paris with Lizzie, Kevin and his roommate Ravi. We stayed in this fantastic, crumbling, gem of a hostel in Le Marais district (kind of near the Gare de Lyon). In the obnoxious way that it usually happens on vacations, especially ones in Paris, the list of things we saw is enormous including (but probably not limited to): Le Louvre, l'Arc de Triomphe, La Tour Eiffel, the catacombs, Notre Dame, L'Eglise Madeleine, Le Basillique de Sacre Coeur, Le Musee d'Histoire Naturelle, Les Tuileries and Le Grand Palais. We walked pretty much everywhere, despite the snow/rain/wind/cold, and it was fantastic to see what Paris is like ABOVE GROUND. It's so convenient to use the Metro, and last time that I was there, I spent most of my time sous la terre, as they say here, "doing the mole." My Christmas kicks got some good use there. Best moments of the trip: sharing Lizzie's iPod and navigating the narrow streets, whilst dancing to "Jenny, Don't Be Hasty" by Paolo Nutini, playing our make-shift version of Apples-to-Apples, eating tomato & mozarella paninis with our red & white cans of Coke outside of Le Musee Cluny in the sunshine, learning Spanish on my last day in Paris, analyzing the creepy formaldahyde-preserved animal and human parts in the natural history museum, and observing part of the evening service at Notre Dame.
On Tuesday, Feb 10 I met up with Jules and Alex (my favorite Austrian of all time) and we flew to Barcelona. We got into the Girona airport at midnight, and then had to take a bus into the center of Barcelona, then a taxi to our hostel. This was the first time I have ever been in a situation where I couldn't speak the language at ALL (except the few hours of fantastic Spanish I learned in Paris) and that was a really mind-blowing thing. The cab driver pointed out a huge statue of Christopher Colombus to us, pointing toward "America" and made fun of the Arc de Triomf in town, saying, "Paris. NOT Barcelona!" We were told later that Senor Colomb is actually pointing to Italy, not to America, because the Spanish people hated him so much that they wanted him to return to his homeland in Italy. I'm not for sure if it makes sense to build a statue for someone you hate... but maybe the line between love and hate is finer than I thought. Or maybe this is all just false and we naively believed our Scottish tour guide. He was charming, older, beautiful, introduced himself as "Alistair MacKay of the MacKays," and knew the Robbie Burns toasts that our family says. So basically, I saw no reason not to believe him.
During our time in Barcelona we saw some amazing things, met some incredible people and learned a bit more Spanish. The BEST thing I saw was the Temple Expiatori de la Sagrada Familia, dreamed up and started by Antoni Gaudi. Knowing nothing about this before going there, I was completely blown away when we got off of the Metro, walked up the stairs and were face-to-face with this towering multi-turreted, anamoly that seemed to be melting into itself. The more we looked at it, the less we understood -- and the more that I NEEDED to go inside and learn about it. I had to do some major convincing to get my friends to go in -- it was almost 10 Euros to enter, and another 4 for the audio tour -- but this is probably the most valuable 10 Euros I spent the whole trip.
Gaudi was a man of religion, but he worshipped what he called the Great Book of Nature. He believed that all of the things worthy of admiration could be found in Nature, and wanted to pay homage to that in the way that he designed his cathedrale. He spent YEARS working out the mathematical equations to construct the elements just as they could be found in nature; the supporting columns in the central section look like tree trunks, and he meticulously designed the windows and ceiling to look like tree tops. When the light comes through, it looks like the forest floor. His use of color in the stained glass windows is shocking, daring and breath-taking; being inside of this cathedrale could make anyone a believer in SOMETHING.
I thought frequently of my unit on Transcendentalism that I taught to my 10th graders last year, and wished so fervently that I could bring them here. If you think you aren't affected by nature, and that there isn't something inexplicable and sacred ABOUT nature, you need to see la Sagrada Familia and then we'll have a discussion. It's bizzare the way that a man-made structure designed to reflect nature can make a person consider natural beauty in a whole new way.
Other highlights of our trip included: eating the BEST paella on the entire surface of the earth; attending a classical guitar concert during the encore of which two people were playing the same guitar at the same time; a Flamenco concert and Tapas dinner, at which we had the best Sangria in the world, and were guided by the delightful but potentially untrustworthy Scotsman; a visit to Le Mercat de la Boqueria, a huge outdoor market where we bought fantastic fruit and then stumbled upon a parade happening on La Rambla, the main pedestrian street in Barcelona; a fantastic Tapas meal during which I actually ate a baby octopus -- or, what I could stomache of it anyway; an afternoon spent in El Poble Espanyol de Montjuic, a village that was constructed for the Olympics that features architectural elements characteristic of different regions of Spain and also includes a fantastic free modern-art gallery, and glass-blowing demonstrations (during this afternoon, I ate rabbit for the first time in my paella -- it was delicious); a quick visit to the Olympic stadium; and, of course, a few minutes at the beach, after we bought some ultimate knock-off Spanish shades. We were watching a group of street musicians when we saw probably twenty men walk by carrying big cloth sacs. We soon discovered that these were, in fact, blankets with strings tied at the corners that could be quickly unrolled to display a spread of goods, and equally as quickly rolled back up at the first alert of "La Policia!" Juliana almost accidentally away with one guy's mirror, as he frantically took off right after accepting payment for her Risky Business sunglasses.
On Saturday, Feb 14th we totally forgot about Valentine's Day and flew to Madrid, none of us knowing that we all would find a little bit of romance in the capital of Spain. We arrived, once again, late in the evening (flights are much cheaper if you fly while most people are sleeping) and found our hostel. The staff was less than impressed by our inability to speak Spanish and decided that since they were soon changing shifts, we could wait 30 minutes before checking in. Luckily, they had a bar downstairs so we found the 2,50 Euro sangria and enjoyed a complimentary plate of paella. This bar and the ultimate cheap Sangria ended up being pretty much the only good things about the hostel... aside from our Italian roommate Matteo and the cool people we met in that bar. Haha okay, so there were some good things. But the room had 14 beds, 10 of which were usually occupied by insanely inconsiderate people, and as a result, we rarely slept. (We also found the nightlife in Madrid to be pretty much exceptional, so honestly we didn't sleep all that much anyway... but still.)
We spent a lot of time going in search of a few things: jewelry, Nun cookies, Picasso paintings and fun. Happily, we found everything we were seeking. Previously the owner of maybe 3 pairs of earrings TOTAL, I came back with a whopping 4 NEW pairs, all of which I bought for about the same price as my plane ticket to Barcelona (15 Euros) and all of which I totally treasure.
The Nun cookies were Juliana's contribution. In an episode of "Passport to Europe" on the Travel Channel, she had learned of a place somewhere in Madrid that you could go, buzz in with a magic word, and then obtain delicious cookies made from Spanish nuns that would never see you face to face. Supposedly, there would be a turnstyle in which you would place your money and then from the other side a box of cookies would appear. No where could we find exact directions for how to get there, nor could we find anyone who personally had ever done this, so we weren't for sure if this wasn't just a search for fool's gold.
In fact, the quest was legit and we found our buried treasure! The super-expensive cookies tasted like black licorice, but looked like they should taste like lemon bars. My brain didn't quite know what to do with the intersection of these seemingly contradictory things, and I found that I didn't actually like the taste until after I had eaten the cookie. So I would eat another, think, "Oh, this is gross" and then immediately want another.
We found the ultra-famous Picasso painting "Guernica" in a modern art museum called the Reina Sofia, which might be a good and worthwhile museum, but which we found pretty much insultingly useless. I should say that what we found useless was the first exhibit we saw, a temporary gallery of -- of COURSE -- a crappy American artist called Paul Thek. Two things of value came from the few rooms full of his junk: 1) a painting I could have made with my left hand called "Self-Portrait as a Hot Potato" and 2) a quotation of him saying something like, "I feel like I am no longer contributing to society, and am merely creating stranger and stranger objects" to which I felt a little bit relieved that at least he had a SENSE of the pointlessness of his "art" and/or life. His art was obnoxiously self-indulgent and pretentious. It made me resent every centime of the 3 Euros I paid.
Starting out our experience of the museum like this just doomed us... everything else that we saw was just begging us to challenge it, and except for a few Dali pieces and an actually pretty nice collection of Picassos, I won every battle.
The fun mostly revolved around our evenings in Madrid, when we went out dancing with various people from our hostel and proceeded to meet more people (including the most adorable part of my two week adventure who is probably never to be seen again). We were officially out the latest I have ever been, returning to our comfy hostel beds at exactly 11am and waking in time for a 12:30 lunch of a Spanish version of a croque-madame (hot ham and cheese sandwich with an egg on top) and an enormous glass of Coke.
We spent the rest of that day taking a bus trip out to see the Monasterio el Escorial, which is situated 45 km outside of Madrid. The bus trip itself was worthwhile doing -- we were able to see some of the mountainous scenery outside of the city center, which we wouldn't have otherwise seen. The monastery itself was impressive on the outside, but conversely a little boring on the inside. As it is one of the most famous Spanish monuments (according to my travel book) it was worthwhile seeing, if only for the sake of being able to say that I have been there.
We left Madrid on Wednesday the 18th early in the morning and discovered that there is a time difference in Porto, Portugal as we contemplated the "15 minute flight" taking actually an hour and 15 minutes and still arriving 10 minutes ahead of schedule. Our hostel was hard to find as a result of an on-going battle with the government over whether or not they can put a sign out front; currently, all that distinguishes the hidden gem of a hostel is a bright red door and a green piece of paper the size of a business card contact papered onto the buzzer with the hostel's name printed on it. The place is pretty much brand new and super nice -- we all slept in beds like clouds with pristine white IKEA sheets and duvet covers. The only problem we had was that we had to share the room with a few ants, but after the no-sleep and the rude staff in Madrid, we gladly welcomed the silent company and the dream-filled sleep.
The first meal in Madrid proved to be the biggest mistake I made during the whole trip/my whole life. I decided to try the "traditional" Portugese dish described as having various meats, vegetables and potatoes. SUCH A BAD IDEA. I don't know for sure what kind of meat was in it, and I also don't know if everything was cooked. I probably shouldn't have actually eaten it, but I felt like I had been so adventurous and brave all during the trip, and I wanted to experience the culture -- so I tried it. I ate as much as I could, but it wasn't much. It was, however, enough to make me want to vomit any time I heard the word "meat," walked by a butcher shop or smelled anything like meat afterward, and caused us to actually eat McDonald's one night for dinner. I think I have to continue to work on developing my sense of gastronomical adventure... but anyone who wants to confront me needs only see the photograph of what I allowed to touch my esophogus. BERK.
This nightmarish adventure was followed up by a lovely boat ride down the Douro river. It was a nice introduction to the city, and gave us a chance to relax a little bit. The following day we decided to take a city tour on a bright red double-decker bus. We sat up on the top, soaking up the sunshine, where the headphones to the audio tour didn't work... so essentially, we drove past all of these historical-looking places, SAW them all, but had no clue what we were seeing. The brilliant part of all of this, however, is that the bus went to the BEACH.
We got off the bus and went straight to a cozy sea-side cafe where we had a nice bottle of red wine and some lunch. We basically repeated this pattern the rest of the time we spent in Porto, drinking fantastic wine, sitting in the sun and trying desperately to find the right words to precisely describe our levels of joy/contentment/bliss. (We never could say it exactly right).
In a few moments of activity, we also took a cave tour at the Sandeman Port Wine cellar (boasting the slogan "Famous for Pleasure") and taste-tested two different kinds of port wine that ranked equally in my mind with cough syrup and straight-up fire. We followed that up with a cheese plate at a restaurant across the street, but after ordering the cheese decided we needed some sangria. And when that was gone, we ordered another one -- just because we could.
We had a picnic on the beach on our last day in Porto, after visiting the market and obtaining cheese, wine, bread and fruit (this was truly a success, as we knew less Portugese than we did Spanish and trying to convey the quantities we wanted required quite a bit of creativity). The rest of the afternoon, again, was spent at our favorite sea-side cafe with a new bottle of wine, the sunshine, and all of our fantastic memories of the previous week and a half. We spent the ENTIRE day doing absolutely nothing and loving it, ending our vacation the way a real vacation should be -- exactly what you want, when you want, without giving second thought to the reasons why not.
Saturday morning we woke up early and headed to the airport to begin our long journeys back to France. After taking the bus back from the Paris-Beauvais airport, we went in search of Kebabs which we found at the Chatelet metro stop, quickly scarfed down, and then headed our separate ways, Jules & Alex on the magenta line and me on the goldenrod, back to the organic heart of Auvergne.
05 February 2009
Spain & Portugal or Bust!
Tomorrow I leave right after school for my two-week adventure in Paris, Spain and Portugal! I have packed and re-packed already a million times, and I keep re-checking my list to make sure I haven't forgotten anything.
I'M SO EXCITED!!!
Haha je vous assure, after I get back there will be a serious post with tons of photos.
I'M SO EXCITED!!!
Haha je vous assure, after I get back there will be a serious post with tons of photos.
02 February 2009
Road Trip Numero Deux -- Adventures in Auvergne
Ever since I arrived in France and people have asked me how I like living here, I have been given the same advice: explore the region! See what there is around here!
And I finally did. With the Travel Trio, bien sur.
My weekend adventure began on Friday before I even met up with them. At the last second, I was invited to a work party for The Host Dad to celebrate his last day and to thank him for his hard work. He left his post as the director-type person of the newspaper, to go work as a sports writer/photographer in St. Etienne for the same paper.
At the party, I met this wonderful 90-year old man named Maurice who writes about basketball. He is amazingly technologically savy; he writes his articles on his own computer, puts them on a thumb drive, then walks to work and drops them off. Maurice gave me tons of unsolicited advice about life and encouraged me so much to continue my journey and take risks and travel, in the way that made him an instant friend. I felt like he was kindred. It made me so pleased.
Afterward, I met up with L-dizzle and Kevin, conquered an air mattress with a seemingly incomprehensible built-in foot pump, and almost instantly fell asleep.
Saturday morning we had a croissant and orange juice breakfast and headed off to Aurillac in our amazingly ritzy rental car. Kevin called it the "assassin" car, because it was seriously decked out with a fancy sound system, built-in GPS and crazy mirrors that folded inward when the car was locked/turned off. There was also this parking aide that would make noise when you were getting too close to something... it was crazy. And huge for being in Europe.
We took this crazy drive up to see Puy Mary and then the road was blocked because of ice and snow. So we basically went back the way we came, stopping at a crazy rastafarian ski shack for a hot chocolate, and then had lunch at the only open place in this almost-deserted random town, which happened to be showing a horse race and then a rugby match which made us wonder why there aren't more women who watch rugby. It's like watching a bunch of roman gods running around. WOW.
The journey continued north-ward to Clermont-Ferrand, where we drove up to see Le Puy-de-Dome. On the way we made the mandatory rest stop, and I bought the mandatory Toblerone bar and bottle of Coke. We went on an incredible hike to what seemed like a moon crater; it was the cone of a dormant volanco, and it was all filled with snow. Night fell during our hike, and the moon was present and beautiful, and all I wanted to do was make a snow angel in the French moon crater, staring up at the highest volcanic peak in France, and being so happy for EVERYTHING.
On the walk back, Lizzie hated us and clutched the flashlight, walking at her New York Speed while Kevin and I tried to scare her and laughed about every possible bad thing that could happen. Karma is seriously A FORCE -- the only bad thing that did happen was when we got back to the car, my greatest fear awaited me: a dog. I thought for sure I would die.
And then Kevin got his turn when we fell prey to the demands of the GPS and decided to make a U-turn where it was not humanly possible. We ended up getting stuck in the snow! Since Kevin is the only one who can drive a manual, Lizzie and I got out to push -- but seriously? Cars are kind of heavy. So our efforts amounted to nothing and all of a sudden there were probably 5 or 6 cars lined up behind us, and men just started streaming out of their cars to help us. There were two teenage boys who were just BEAMING at the prospect of helping, which was basically adorable. That clearly made their night. I love the kindness of strangers.
We decided to drive to Lyon on Saturday night after a long discussion of pros vs. cons and a ton of time spent typing and re-typing destinations into the GPS. It was a wonderful decision because we ate at an Italian restaurant called Lolo Something and drank fantastic wine and -- my personal favorite -- the "apératif maison" which had champagne, orange juice, cointreau and grenadine! I didn't know you could drink a MimosaEtc. at NIGHT TIME! Oh, but you can. I also navigated a potentially tragic situation when Lizzie hated her 15 Euro meal. I don't even know if this HAPPENS in France, but I told the waiter the situation and he kind of stared at me, then talked to someone else and when the other guy came back I just asked if there was a problem and suddenly Lizzie had a new plate. Tada! They probably were like, "Ugh stupid Americans" but by then I had consumed 3 glasses of wine, and I didn't care.
That also became slightly problematic because we didn't have anywhere to stay yet. We ended up going to a hotel down the street from the train station, which was perfect and cheap. I fell asleep immediately, despite our plan to play pennies and discover one another's deepest, darkest secrets and figure out the complexities of our still relatively new friendships.
Sunday morning we went to Villefranche-Sur-Saone to see the Fete des Conscrits, which we discovered had actually happened the weekend before. That was seriously disappointing but also absurd -- we kept reading "the last Sunday of the month" on websites and in travel books, but we didn't THINK that it was February 1st. So we had breakfast at an Irish pub and then bought a ton of food for our picnic. We went up to the Sommet St. Bonnet and hiked up to the top of this volcano/mountain and ate turkey, tomato and cheese sandwiches with rosé wine and tons of pastries for dessert. Kevin and I drank the whole bottle ourselves basically, since Lizzie was kind of car sick, so the hike afterward through the vineyards was hilarious and difficult for me. The views were incredible, despite the fog that filled the valleys below, and the whole thing -- the food, the new friends, the VIEWS, the fact that I'M HERE -- just made feel so sure that I'm finally on the right path. Who knows where I'm going, but I feel right about how I'm getting there, at least.
And my map has a bunch more places highlighted. :)
France, I'm getting to know you a little better all of the time.
And I finally did. With the Travel Trio, bien sur.
My weekend adventure began on Friday before I even met up with them. At the last second, I was invited to a work party for The Host Dad to celebrate his last day and to thank him for his hard work. He left his post as the director-type person of the newspaper, to go work as a sports writer/photographer in St. Etienne for the same paper.
At the party, I met this wonderful 90-year old man named Maurice who writes about basketball. He is amazingly technologically savy; he writes his articles on his own computer, puts them on a thumb drive, then walks to work and drops them off. Maurice gave me tons of unsolicited advice about life and encouraged me so much to continue my journey and take risks and travel, in the way that made him an instant friend. I felt like he was kindred. It made me so pleased.
Afterward, I met up with L-dizzle and Kevin, conquered an air mattress with a seemingly incomprehensible built-in foot pump, and almost instantly fell asleep.
Saturday morning we had a croissant and orange juice breakfast and headed off to Aurillac in our amazingly ritzy rental car. Kevin called it the "assassin" car, because it was seriously decked out with a fancy sound system, built-in GPS and crazy mirrors that folded inward when the car was locked/turned off. There was also this parking aide that would make noise when you were getting too close to something... it was crazy. And huge for being in Europe.
We took this crazy drive up to see Puy Mary and then the road was blocked because of ice and snow. So we basically went back the way we came, stopping at a crazy rastafarian ski shack for a hot chocolate, and then had lunch at the only open place in this almost-deserted random town, which happened to be showing a horse race and then a rugby match which made us wonder why there aren't more women who watch rugby. It's like watching a bunch of roman gods running around. WOW.
The journey continued north-ward to Clermont-Ferrand, where we drove up to see Le Puy-de-Dome. On the way we made the mandatory rest stop, and I bought the mandatory Toblerone bar and bottle of Coke. We went on an incredible hike to what seemed like a moon crater; it was the cone of a dormant volanco, and it was all filled with snow. Night fell during our hike, and the moon was present and beautiful, and all I wanted to do was make a snow angel in the French moon crater, staring up at the highest volcanic peak in France, and being so happy for EVERYTHING.
On the walk back, Lizzie hated us and clutched the flashlight, walking at her New York Speed while Kevin and I tried to scare her and laughed about every possible bad thing that could happen. Karma is seriously A FORCE -- the only bad thing that did happen was when we got back to the car, my greatest fear awaited me: a dog. I thought for sure I would die.
And then Kevin got his turn when we fell prey to the demands of the GPS and decided to make a U-turn where it was not humanly possible. We ended up getting stuck in the snow! Since Kevin is the only one who can drive a manual, Lizzie and I got out to push -- but seriously? Cars are kind of heavy. So our efforts amounted to nothing and all of a sudden there were probably 5 or 6 cars lined up behind us, and men just started streaming out of their cars to help us. There were two teenage boys who were just BEAMING at the prospect of helping, which was basically adorable. That clearly made their night. I love the kindness of strangers.
We decided to drive to Lyon on Saturday night after a long discussion of pros vs. cons and a ton of time spent typing and re-typing destinations into the GPS. It was a wonderful decision because we ate at an Italian restaurant called Lolo Something and drank fantastic wine and -- my personal favorite -- the "apératif maison" which had champagne, orange juice, cointreau and grenadine! I didn't know you could drink a MimosaEtc. at NIGHT TIME! Oh, but you can. I also navigated a potentially tragic situation when Lizzie hated her 15 Euro meal. I don't even know if this HAPPENS in France, but I told the waiter the situation and he kind of stared at me, then talked to someone else and when the other guy came back I just asked if there was a problem and suddenly Lizzie had a new plate. Tada! They probably were like, "Ugh stupid Americans" but by then I had consumed 3 glasses of wine, and I didn't care.
That also became slightly problematic because we didn't have anywhere to stay yet. We ended up going to a hotel down the street from the train station, which was perfect and cheap. I fell asleep immediately, despite our plan to play pennies and discover one another's deepest, darkest secrets and figure out the complexities of our still relatively new friendships.
Sunday morning we went to Villefranche-Sur-Saone to see the Fete des Conscrits, which we discovered had actually happened the weekend before. That was seriously disappointing but also absurd -- we kept reading "the last Sunday of the month" on websites and in travel books, but we didn't THINK that it was February 1st. So we had breakfast at an Irish pub and then bought a ton of food for our picnic. We went up to the Sommet St. Bonnet and hiked up to the top of this volcano/mountain and ate turkey, tomato and cheese sandwiches with rosé wine and tons of pastries for dessert. Kevin and I drank the whole bottle ourselves basically, since Lizzie was kind of car sick, so the hike afterward through the vineyards was hilarious and difficult for me. The views were incredible, despite the fog that filled the valleys below, and the whole thing -- the food, the new friends, the VIEWS, the fact that I'M HERE -- just made feel so sure that I'm finally on the right path. Who knows where I'm going, but I feel right about how I'm getting there, at least.
And my map has a bunch more places highlighted. :)
France, I'm getting to know you a little better all of the time.
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