Facebook is just a stupid reminder that all my friends are far away

That is the kind of day it is.

Beautiful weather. Beautiful.

And lonely.

I got 10 Euros for a whole bag full of books that I sold to the used book store in town. My shelf is still way too full and I'm going to have to sacrifice another round of stories, but I still have a month left and some have not yet been read.

This afternoon I was at the Brulerie drinking some tea and the lady asked me how things were going now that the girls are all gone. She proceeded to ask me if I hadn't met anyone else in town, and then gave me my tea for free. All super nice gestures, except that they forced me to accept that what I consider to be my "independence and awesome ability to be " as "loneliness."

Nico leaves tomorrow for Spain, so I am going to see the boys tonight in town for a drink, which will be fantastic! I wish I had gotten to know them all better before the girls all left, because now they are all who remain, and we are still kind of strangers. Drinking is usually a good way to solve that problem, however. So let's hope it works.

I have a headache like an iceburg, that is burrowing its way down to my knees. I am so desperate that I actually took a dissolvable asprin.

Grandma K Memories

A good friend of mine did a really good friend thing, which is to say that he took interest in my life.

I responded to a forwarded e-mail entitled "Waste of time. Here you go," which was a survey like the many others that my AWP friends pass around from time to time. Question #50 was a stupid question.

50. Salty or sweet?

And I answered, "Both; one after the other. My grandma used to keep PLANTERS CHEESE PUFFS and Hershey's kisses on her stairs leading to the attic so now if I eat a cheesy thing, I immediately crave chocolate."

Most people would either not really read it, or read it and not care. But not Derek.

He writes me back and says, in his very Derek way, "I'm immensely curious about the cheetos and hershey kisses on the stairs to the attic. Is there an awesome story behind that? perhaps involving some form of ninjas?"

D,

Here is the story. My great grandmother lived in Redford, Michigan near Beech Daily St... I don't know if you've heard of it, but it's on the outskirts of Detroit so it's kind of ugly, unremarkable, and old. All of the houses look pretty much the same -- ranch-style faded brick houses with one or two small bedrooms, complete with milk door on the side near the driveway and a small staircase leading up to the attic. There was also a small shed/garage at the end of the cracked cement drive, behind which my grandmother had a perfect climbing tree with a thick low branch, and a bunch of raspberry and blackberry bushes. She didn't like us scraping our knees whilst climbing, so she would bring a blanket out and drape it over the branch for us as we stained our mouths and stuffed our faces with berries. Her house always smelled of food and noxema face cream and must, and she wore thick glasses split in two and faded flowered dresses that hugged her fleshy body like a blanket. I think her ears weren't pierced; but she always had classy costume jewelry with just a hint of sass and glam.

When I was little, my mom would take my sister and I over to her house once a week while my older brother was at school. (I think it was usually Wednesdays). She would sometimes make us indulgent lunches that would have easily fed the neighborhood, and I vividly remember the taste of her chicken soup with its thin, curly noodles and sweet, hot taste of the stuffed peppers and buttered dumplings. Other days she would feed us sandwiches, carefully displaying deli meats and cheeses in delicate crystal serving dishes, folding the ham like origami forms and offering at least three kinds of bread.

After lunch, we would sit on the yellow-carpeted floor and watch Sesame Street while my mom and Grandma K played cards at her shaky kitchen table. I don't remember if she would invite us or if we just helped ourselves, but we always found without fail, just to the right of the small teal blue-tiled bathroom, behind the door leading to the carpeted attic stairs, a giant can of Planter's Cheese Puffs and a crisp package of perfect Hershey's Kisses, each with a thin paper ribbon wrapped around, popping out of the tinfoil tops.

Once we got our fill of chocolate and salt, we liked to explore the ancient artifacts hidden in trunks, chests and boxes scattered around the attic. I was little and my memory is bad, but I do remember finding pictures, dresses, and a small television, which might have been broken.

In the front of her house, there was a small lima-bean shaped flower garden defined by a series of melon-sized storm gray stones. The story goes that she hid silver coins beneath these rocks at one time -- either to hide them from her husband or to keep safe during times of depression. Maybe both. I'm not sure.

Grandma K died when I was seven and I remember at the funeral, the first I had ever been to, I didn't cry until I was outside. And then it was like a nuclear explosion. My grandma (Grandma K's daughter-in-law) took me by the hand and we went to see the small pond just around the corner, and I remember laughing at the ducks, thinking even at the age of 7 that it was weird to be so happy after being so sad.

She had spent the end of her life in a nursing home, after falling on some ice at the end of her driveway and breaking her hip. While in the nursing home, she contracted pneumonia and then tuberculosis (which I believe she had had earlier in her life and was dormant until then, reactivated by the sickness surrounding her). The whole family had to go get tested, as we had spent a lot of time with her, and I reacted positively to the skin test. Although the x-rays showed no signs of infection, I had to take medecine for 9 months (enormous, chalky, sea-foam green capsules, once in the morning and once at night) and will forever test positive for TB skin tests. I also can't give blood, or I can, but it would be pointless because the TB test would turn out positive & they would just throw it away.

Useless blood haha. :)

But also some kind of bond, forever connected to the PLANTERS CHEESE PUFFS & chocolate lady. (ok KB?)

As they say, "No rain, no whisky"

This morning, I woke up to a room full of sweet sunshine and went for a useless run through St. Germain LaPrade. My foot hurt; the tongue of my pink and grey running shoes rubs against my ankle and I could feel the scab shredding apart. I surrendered to a side cramp four minutes early and walked the end of the loop, stretched on the porch and took a shower using the organic French honey body wash that the family gave me for my birthday, which always makes me think of chicken nuggets. And bees.


Only a short six days ago, I was waking up to the insistent chiming of my cell phone, with the obnoxiously sunny message, "C'est l'heure!" (exclamation point included) flashing on the screen. It was 3:00 and the city was quiet and cold. I devoured a semi-stale pain au chocolat for breakfast and triple-checked my bag to ensure I had all of the essentials, gathered up my nerves and called the one working taxi in town then waited outside on the wall, swinging my legs like a little girl on a swing, waiting, waiting, waiting.


The train wound its way through the volcanoes of Auvergne, stopped in the metropolis of Lyon, and sped north toward Paris. I had just enough time to say "bonjour" to La Tour Eiffel, snap a few pictures, and then take the bus out to Beauvais Airport. A short hour and a half later, our plane landed gracefully and I was facing the stoic Scottish customs agent, whose skepticism over my solo journey to a country where I knew no one and had never been before made me hyper-aware of my own anxiety over the same exact things.


But it was fine; she let me pass through into the land of whisky, sheep and kilts; my excitement overtook my doubt, and I forgot about being afraid.


I got some money from the ATM and laughed out of genuine surprise at the size of the money in Scotland! The train to central Glasgow arrived in the rain, and I found myself a place next to two French families -- one couple on their way to visit their son, and another family with two elementary-aged students who, evidently, had never been to Scotland before. The controller came through and asked for 4 pounds 50 pence and I paid, surpressing the French that tried to come out of my mouth and replacing it with beautiful, easy English.


I had a bit of an adventure finding my hostel (the BlueSky hostel, which I would never recommend to anyone ever) but eventually I got there, and met my first friend of the trip within ten minutes. Anna from Montreal was intently studying her guide book when I walked into the "Trainspotting-themed" room and started settling in. We walked around Glasgow for a while then went to the local grocery store and bought some deliciously inexpensive dinner, which we ate back at the hostel. I still can't believe I did this, but when a bunch of Irish boys invited me out to a pub with them, I said NO (shocked right?) because I was soooo tired. I slept for what felt like about five minutes that night, and then woke up bright and early for my first full day in Scotland!


I got up at 7 am, which is usually ungodly early for people staying at a hostel, and which usually ensures uninterrupted, unhurried use of the shower and hot water. Haha not at BlueSky! The water was SO COLD that I employed the duck-splash method, and washed my hair while mimicking a hand-stand like pose. I wasn't too excited about already having an adventure at this obnoxious early hour, mais bon. I simply inner-monologued a great Scottish stream of curses and angry sentiments, and went downstairs for my cornflake & sugary tea breakfast.


Then I attempted to navigate the insane bus system, which seems to take a lot of direction from the bus system in Ireland. It makes absolutely NO sense to anyone who isn't a native of the city, there are no maps, and the bus drivers are nice enough but speak to you as if you are a total idiot for not knowing. Luckily, I found the nicest driver in the city who even actually left his little cage to let me know that I had reached my stop!


I explored the People's Palace and Gardens, a museum which paints a picture of daily life in Glasgow during the past 100 or so years. I found myself feeling ashamed of my snobbish frustration over a cold shower while reading about the horrifying living conditions that people supported for YEARS, having hardly any food and way too many people cramped in unsafe living quarters. I thought about the possibility of my ancestors living there, the possibility of seeing pictures of them and not knowing it, and it made the museum much more difficult and simultaneously meaningful. After leaving, I walked around the gardens for a bit, taking a stroll by the River Clyde and then following High Street up toward the sound of church bells.


I saw the tip of the Glasgow Cathedrale, but felt compelled toward the Necropolis which sprawled across a hill just behind it. There were a few people standing just inside the gate, behind a sign warning of a dog. As I passed by, glancing nervously at the sign, one of the men said to me, "See that sign? This is the dog!" pointing at a burnt-orange and white dust mote of a dog. We laughed and then I walked on, leaving the guardian behind.

The cathedrale was quite impressive with its high wooden roof and dark cherry benches.

Right nearby is St. Mungo's Museum of Religious Life and Art, a small but impressive collection of objects, photos and testimonies exploring the intersection of various world religions. I found this to be subsequently fascinating, horrifying, and moving -- and was sad to see that the bottom-floor cafe had far more patrons than the actual museum itself.

On my way back, I passed (and could not refuse) a BORDER'S -- yes! An enormous English book store!! I have no idea how long I was inside, but I managed to come out with only ONE book called Submarine by joe dunthorne, which I finished and loved, and bought mostly because it was reviewed as being "the sharpest, funniest, rudest account of a trouble teenager's coming-of-age since The Catcher in the Rye." I definitely laughed out loud on the train and on the plane, like a crazy person in the midst of quiet others.

In the evening I went in search of live Celtic music, spent a long time trying, and eventually gave up, ending up in a totally Americanized college bar where I got some dinner and cheap beer. I went back to the hostel planning to just crash for the night, but ended up going back to the bar for more cheap beer with a guy who was also staying at the craptastic hostel.

The following morning I headed off on a bus tour that would go to Loch Lomond, the Trossachs and Stirling Castle. Things I liked about this tour:

+they gave everyone a sample-sized bottle of whisky
+throughout the entire day I could hear the bottles clinking together every time we made a turn
+I saw a bunch of beautiful scenery
+Highland cows
+the French woman "Amélie"

Whilst standing near the sheep at the visitor's center where we had stopped for lunch, I asked the only other solo-traveler where she was from and probably completely freaked her out with my enthusiasm at discovering her French origins. (Opportunity to speak French? Oui, s'il vous plaît!) She was 32, a travel agent living in the banlieu of Paris, on a vacation for the first time in 12 years!

After the bus left the Stirling Castle, we talked the whole way back to Glasgow and then decided to go to dinner together, first stopping for an apératif at a chic bar near the main shopping street, and then going on a crazy quest to find a well-rated restaurant listed in the Lonely Planet guidebook. We finally found it, and it was well worth the search! Super classy, delicious food, with a French-speaking server en plus. C'était vraiment magnifique et ça m'a fait beaucoup plaisir de s'entendre bien avec quelqu'un de nouveau. First we were strangers and then we became friends.

Friday morning I woke up and made a new Canadian friend at breakfast, then went off to the station to catch a train to Edinburgh. Anna, the girl from Montreal, had insisted that I go on this "New Europe" free walking tour and had even drawn me a map explaining how to get there. So, I went.

The tour guide Liam was from London, a drama student with a passion for hyperbole, attention and Edinburgh. The stories he told made the city's history come to life! I think he would be a fantastic teacher/professor if ever his drama career does not take off.

After the tour I went to Edinburgh Castle, saw the Stone of Destiny (which is really the only reason I even went), ate some shortbread, watched the changing of the sexy kilt-wearing guards and then headed back into town with about 2 hours before my train was to leave for Glasgow.

On my way into town I found myself in the midst of a crazy rugby-kicking-contest involving tons of rugby players and tons of random people. I BELIEVE the goal was to kick the ball into an open window where a guy was standing maybe 5 or 6 floors up above a restaurant... but I'm not really for sure. The cheering mostly occured when someone who was not previously involved became involved (namely business suit-wearing, well-decorated, or old people). It made me terrified and delighted -- public displays of my uselessness at sports do not interest me so much, however, watching other people do this is something I find to be highly entertaining.

Once I finally got through that mess, I was at a literal and metaphorical fork in the road: I had 1h30 left before my train and I could either a) go right, towards the sea & try to find my way to the water b) go left and either do some shopping or just wander around the new part of town, which I hadn't yet seen or c) go into a Scottish pub from which live music was spilling out onto the street and delight in a refreshing beverage.

If you were me, what would you choose?

Exactly.

So in I went. I bought myself a tall Carlsberg from a delightfully charming Scottish bartender (seriously, it doesn't ever quit does it??) and then was approached by an old-ish looking Irish guy who offered me a corner of a table constructed from a giant keg for my beer. Before I knew it, I was deep in conversation (aka yelling in between bridges and choruses) with these four Irish guys who had come to Edinburgh for the rugby match. They were all somehow involved with the military and all work in Belgium.

The oldest looking guy is a look-alike of an apparently super-famous comedian called Roy Walker, so I heard many stories about his being mistaken for a celebrity, and actually saw that happen as he requested a song and the guitar player said, "Sure! Anything for Roy Walker." I also heard stories of how the one guy just broke the Guiness World Record for sitting in the most stadium seats in 48 hours or something? I couldn't hear very well but he said that his triceps hurt really badly after all of that pushing up (something I did not think of myself).

I requested "Ring of Fire" whilst this rowdy dancing group of boys requested something else, and the singer said, "Sorry -- you guys are fun and dancing, but she's prettier than you." Haha and then I danced with Roy Walker who has no sense of rhythm.

It was fun and absurd, and they were buying me beer & trying to convince me to stay for the game which I couldn't because I had to book it back to Glasgow, run to the hostel, grab my bag, run back to the train station, and get to my B & B before they closed check-in at 9:30. I knew this would take some time (1 hour to Glasgow, 1 hour of running around between hostel and train station, 1 hour to Prestwick) and had planned EXACTLY how I would do it.

However... I had not accounted for the beers. And as I was drinking them, I was not aware of how effective they were. But alas, there I was, drunk at the train station, having missed my train, feeling drunker every second and wondering how exactly that had happened. I fell asleep on the train and woke up PANICKED at the sound of the train conductor calling the final stop! Luckily, the final stop was Glasgow Queen Street so I lept off the train, sprinted to my hostel and back, and then had to face the ticket machine. I quickly punched in my destination and paid the 8 pounds even though I thought to myself, "This is crazy! I only paid 4 pounds to get here from Prestwick!" The train was leaving in TWO minutes so I was running all awkwardly like sometimes middle school kids with really big backpacks do, sprinting towards Platform 15, sweating, drunk and tired. I got in my seat and finally looked at what I had received from the ticket machine and realized, "Seriously? You dumb shit, you bought a round-trip ticket."

But alas, I made it okay, and despite the inconvenient expense of the B & B (which cost the same as four nights in the hostel) the comfort & class was HEAVENLY. I slept the whole night in a quiet, solitary room, and had a HOT HOT HOT shower after which I dried my hair with the provided amenity.

My trip back home was long but not that interesting -- there were no problems, the weather was fine, I slept a little and met no one. I am sad to think that maybe that was the last time I will see Paris before I leave for the US...

But like I say. You never know! I have 5.5 weeks left and will be paid twice more, which means a little bit of money and 6 weekends full of untapped potential!

Vacation Eve

HOORAY for vacation eves! LOVE them!

SOoo... in 5 hours, at 3 am sharp, I will be dragging myself out of bed (hopefully leaping out, rather) to begin my trek to Scotland! Land of Haggis and Bagpipes! Land of beautiful men, beautiful scenery and beautiful accents! Land of my ancestors! Land of "damn few and they're all deed!"

Comment je suis contente! Tout va bien!

Haha if I add one more exclamation point I think my computer will crash. I've had now three people say to me, "T'es vraiment souriante" sounding nice on the surface but really meaning "Dude, you're totally not chic and French and unhappy -- what gives?" Haha I was like, "I'M GOING TO SCOTLAND. Ferme ta gueule s'il te plait." Non, je rigole! Je ne le dirais JAAMMMAAIIISSS... haha.

Anyway. The host mom said, super diplomatic, "je ne veux pas que tu reveilles The Host Dad parce que tu sais il sera juste venu et tout ca" so I said, "ah oui, bien sur, je comprends" and she said, "Can I give you a sandwich to take with you?" which was so cute that I said yes, even though I didn't it. And now my room smells like meat.

This is how I will see myself tomorrow:

independent, brave, worldy, and smelling like salami

:)

HELLO, SCOTLAND! Here je viens...!

Return from the Land of the Lederhosen

Bonjour, I'm back in France!

Vienna was wonderful! I was amazed by how clean, well-kept and vibrant the city was. The public transport is plentiful, reliable and runs pretty much all night (ahhh to be in a CITY) and having several universities and subsequently tons of young people gives a very charged feel to Vienna, like at any moment something totally spontaneous and out of the ordinary could happen to you. In addition, there are endless parks scattered around the city and it is amazingly easy to find solitude in such a busy, populated place.

Upon arrival Wednesday night, I had my first taste of incredible Viennese cuisine -- a DELICIOUS skillet of potatoes, dumplings and chicken with a radler to wash it down (a fantastic mix of beer and lemonade). I got the grand tour of my friend's apartment and met some of friends.

In a whirlwind four days, we saw the tiergarten (the zoo), the Schonbrunn castle & its gardens, ate Sacher Torte, went dancing, saw Gustav Klimt's "The Kiss" at Shloss Belvedere, ordered Chinese food, played cards, went to the Sigmund Freud museum, ate apfelstrudel, drank beer on the banks of the Danube, rode a ferris wheel, had champagne for brunch, ate home-made schnitzel and took a picture with a stranger wearing lederhosen! It was SUCH a fun week! :)

Adventure never ends upon departure, either. On my return trip home I flew into Paris, took the Metro to the Gare de Lyon to catch my train back home. I was hoping to meet up with a friend that I met in April in Venice, but my plane ended up arriving late, and in the middle of the chaos at the station, I didn't end up finding him.

When I finally got back here, a friend was waiting for me at the station... but his car wouldn't start! So we had to wait for someone else to come get us.

Oh, traveling! :)

I'm leaving for Scotland on Tuesday! Supposedly this is my last trip of the year... buuuttt we'll see.

ça y est! c'est parti! J'irai en Autriche!

I'm absolutely suspended on a pre-vacation high right now. Only a few short hours of sleep remain between me and my boarding the train to Paris. Then I will be on my way to Austria!

Oh, AUSTRIA. :)

Hooray!

Mais par contre...

Ok it's true. Yesterday I kind of got broken up with by a kind of French boyfriend. I was kind of pissed.

But the thing I realized is that we are both idiots. And we clearly are not meant for one another. And he is practically killing himself trying to apologize and make me not hate him.

So MAYBE for once in my life I will actually be friends with someone I dated.

Oh Là Là

I have impeccable taste in men (boys).

You know that "Lifeboat" game/job application test where you have a list of people and you have to decide who gets saved and who doesn't? My track record tells me that I would choose absolutely brilliantly. I imagine it would go something like this:

Me: I think we should choose this one. Stan.
Group: Why? He's been recently released from prison and is in a drug rehab program! Are you insane?
Me: No, no. I really think he shows some great potential.
Group: WHAT?
Me: Seriously. I mean, look how he is turning his life around! What personal strength it takes to check yourself into rehab. And come on -- people make mistakes, right?
Group: (Stares open-mouthed; speechless)
Me: And plus. His eyes just look so friendly. He probably gives great hugs.

Au secours! Quelle pagaille.