Paris, Je t'aime

So. Tis my last day in lovely Paris.

I've been quite busy this last week with exams, papers, shopping, and checking the final things off my bucket list, but mentally and emotionally I really don't know what to do with myself.  Thursday night was our farewell dinner, where all of ISA gathered to say official goodbyes, and indeed, the majority of the people here I will probably never see again- great people that I didn't have classes with, or weren't in my particular program, people I liked but didn't cross paths with much.  It's sad to say goodbye to them- you think, if only I'd had another month, maybe we could have hung out...a lot of coulda woulda shoulda's this week.  At least with my close friends here, I know we will stay in each other's lives.  We said goodbye to dear Austin that night as well- that was no fun, but I am thrilled and delighted to have met her, so we tried to keep it positive. As I've said goodbye to everyone, one by one, it's been, "I WILL see you later, I promise," and not goodbye.  Its necessary to keep from crying continually.  Roadtrips are planned, but we won't ever be here like this again, and that's really sad. I don't want to talk about it anymore.

Most other people in my program leave today unless they're staying another month or doing more travelling, so we've all been busy packing and studying for exams this week.  I spent most of my free weekend switching between packing, doing my last souvenir shopping, and spending as much time with my friends as possible.  Aubrey's family is here for a week before they whisk her off to Italy, and being around a family with a similar dynamic as mine makes me anxious to be home.  The only thing that makes saying goodbye bearable is thinking of all the hellos I'll get to say soon.

Leaving is very bittersweet now.  A month ago, I would've said you would have to drag me out of Europe kicking and screaming, and that's still partly true; I can't believe this experience is ending, and that this fairy tale life will return to normal in a week.  I am of course incredibly grateful for this opportunity, and while I don't want it to end in theory, in reality... I miss my family. I miss my friends. And I'm excited for the new things in my life, that's becoming more like the life of a real grown up person and less of a kid.  I always like to have something new coming, and my summer is already booked solid, with a new internship, one sister moving out to college and the other moving out to a kick-ass new job, and then moving into my very own townhouse with some of my best friends in the fall.  Life moves on, and it's exciting.  I'm going to try and give myself one week to mourn, and then on to the next adventure.  After all, I know I'll be back.

So of course, to cope, I've made a list.  Two, in fact; the things I will and won't miss about France.  Here:

Things That I Will Not Miss About Paris After Racking My Brains Because Honestly I Really Like It Here:

• The showers.  I cannot wait to get my own shower back, where I don't have to hold the stupid thing and it stays firmly attached to the wall, as it should be.
• The smell of the Metro, which is even more fragrant now as it starts to heat up, and the hordes of tourists move in slow herds, and of course Europeans apparently don't believe in deodorant.  
• Cigarette smoke. Cigarette butts. And the smell of smoke in my clothes and hair, every day, all the time.
• The homeless/beggar/pickpocket population.  I know that's more of a city problem in general, but still.  It'll be nice to not have to be quite so conscious of everything all the time just to be safe.
• Small water glasses.  Really. They're tiny.  It's so ineffective. And ice, or the lack thereof.  
• Tourists. (ignoring the irony, whatever)
• Using cash for everything.  It's nice to not have tax or tip, but nicer still to use my magic card.  And the cost of living can have a HUGE place on this list- it'll nice not to feel poor anymore.
• Everything closing after 8pm and nothing being open on Sundays.  

Things I Will Miss, Off The Top Of My Head Because A Real List Would Take Too Long:

• Food. Oh my god, the food.  I could have a whole separate list of food stuffs here, but honestly, it would make me too depressed and I don't want to think too hard about it. 
• My host family and apartment.  I love Laurence and Mathilde- they were one of if not the best part about living in Paris, and my beautiful little apartment is in such a nice location.  I will probably never be able to afford to live in this neighborhood ever again.  
• The ease of the Metro.  I really do love it, smell notwithstanding.  It's the easiest, most convenient thing in the world, and gave me so much independence.
• Being legal to do everything. Sigh. Just a few more months til 21, I guess.
• City living in general; bars, museums, beautiful parks and monuments, being able to walk to the store, casually living next to the Eiffel Tower, etc.
• The smell of the boulangeries in the morning.  Top five easily.  
• My friends.
• Speaking French, now that it's really starting to flow and come easily. Of course, it's time to leave.
• Doing something new everyday, travelling to other countries, exploring
• Pretty much everything.

I would definitely return to Paris to live.  It's as much a part of me as any other place I've lived- even more so because it's the first city I've ever lived in, and the first place I've ever moved to by myself, and the first that wasn't my parents home or my university.  Lots of firsts here.

I want to end on some deep philosophical note, but mostly, I just want to thank the cosmos for this semester, and to thank you all for reading this- it was a lot of fun for me.  I've kind of gotten used to jotting my thoughts down, and I know I'll have better memories from reading it in the future.

I hope I see you soon!

Au revoir, 

Rebecca

SBXII Bruges

Whew.  Back on the train now, this time first class through a stroke of luck, so I'm writing this in style.  Bruges was a perfect ending to this crazy trip.  A small, quaint, cobble stoned town in Belgium, Bruges looked and felt more like a theme park than anywhere else we've been.  The city is small, and enclosed by narrow picturesque canals.  Every building was a different color, with matching windowsills and doors and flowerbeds.  Horse drawn carriages giving city tours trotted around every corner, and with the bright sunshine and delicious street food, it felt as if I was in one of the countries out of Epcott. There's only a little over 200,000 people living in Bruges, so on some weekends the tourists outnumber the residents walking around.  I'm pretty sure the only native Bruges(ians?) we saw were working in the shops and the restaurants.  Every menu is translated unto Flemish, French and English, and everyone spoke perfect English, and I'm sure they spoke perfect French as well.

But for all of its touristy nature, Bruges didn't lose any of its charm.  The main square, called the Markt (that's not a typo) boasted the Belfry and many restaurants, but exploring any of the little side streets led you to little pockets of pedestrian walks full of additional treasures, and in one case, a small street fair.  Our hostel was located just off the Markt.  While being over a bar is a good location it wasn't the most conducive for a peaceful sleep, it was a good location, and we spent most of our time in Bruges just being in Bruges, wandering the streets, stopping in random stores and taking pictures along the canals with the swans.
Now, I don't know if you know anything about Belgium, but I was told exactly four things about Bruges; waffles, chocolate, fries, and beer.  I'm proud to say that we successfully explored all four in great detail.

The first, waffles, is probably the first thing everyone thinks of when they hear Belgium, but these waffles aren't really breakfast food.  They are to Belgium, or at least Bruges, what crepes are to Paris, served with powdered sugar, melted chocolate, whipped cream, or all three.  Being a classical kind of girl, I usually stuck with chocolate, and was never disappointed- the goo was freshly melted Belgian chocolate, which takes me to specialty number two.  Belgians have long figured out what people want when they come to Bruges, and chocolate is number one on that list.  There are more chocolatiers in Bruges to the square foot (or metre) than boulangeries in Paris, all with cases and cases of individual chocolates and candies.  We even saw them making candy one day, stretching this bizarre plastic looking sugar into lollipops straight out of Willy Wonka's Factory.

The next, and a special favorite of my group, was the fries.  They are suprisingly enough considered a large point of pride in Bruges, to the point of a Fry War at the foot of the Belfry.  There are two inconspicous, identical looking fry sheds that are in fierce competition, serving fries piping hot with a dizzying choice of sauce.  The thing in Europe is mayonnaise on fries, or maybe mustard- ketchup gives you away as American.  (In fact, my host mother is still bemused by our ketchup consumption.  She never quite figured out the rhyme or reason to what we eat ketchup on- she knows potatoes and eggs, but still sometimes asks if we want it with our rice or tuna.)  I have become quite the mayo fan here (cue gagging, I know) but it's delicious, and not your American whipped fat.  It's usually homemade and well seasoned.  To be honest, we didn't taste much difference between the two fry shops, but I would say it's still well worth comparing the competition.

Lastly, the beer.  One of the big touristy things we actually knew to do in Bruges was the brewery tour, where we had the best tour guide I think I've ever had for anything.  This little man looked like the guy on the Pringles can, and bounded around like a monkey, cracking joke after joke in between the history.  He told us about the burning process of the grains, and how each batch had to be cooked just the right amount in order to get the proper taste and color.  He recounted how once three drunk Irish brewers fell asleep on the job, only to wake up and find the grains burned black.  Rather than throw away the whole load, they decided to just continue and pretend nothing had happened, and that's how Guinness was created.  Curious to see if the anti-Heineken mindset continued outside of the Netherlands, I asked him about it.  He jokes that after horses drink Guinness, what comes out is Heineken.  He then told me seriously that the problem with the beer was that they use the same recipe for all the factories around the world without accounting for the differences in the local ingrediants.  For example,  his brewery filtered/imported all their water, because the local water was full of iron from the North Sea, which made it too hard.  This particular brewery, Half Moon, prided itself on four beers- one for breakfast, one for lunch, one for dinner, and after dinner.  It's the only brewery in the world to have four beers in the Top 25, and all the beer they sell all over the world is brewed and bottled in that factory (with special pasteurized beer for America.)

Another item on my list was to find a bar described thus- "No one just stumbles across De Garre; if you find it, it was meant to be."  It's claim to fame is the house beer, brewed only for the restaurant and boasting an alcohol content of 13% or something.  Very strong.  So we searched, walking in circles around the main streets of Bruges, all three of them.  Going by the map we had which didn't even show the street, De Garre was down an alley off a road we'd already walked half a dozen times and wasn't very long.  None of us had noticed anything before, and as we looked we joked about tapping bricks like for Diagon Alley.  On our second lap, we finally noticed a small gap between two buildings, and as it was the only opening, we decided to try it.  Squeezing through, literally single file, we almost passed the three steps cut into the wall next to some trash cans, that led to a door labeled De Garre.  We had found it.  Walking inside, we left the tourists behind.  Inside were locals, filled to the brim at 2 in the afternoon, and we found a table on the tiny top floor and quickly ordered the first round (they only let you order three in one sitting.) Feeling joyous and triumphant, we drank to our victory, to good friends, and to Bruges.

Our last morning we climbed the Belfry in Markt, the most famous landmark in Bruges, for the full aerial view, before gathering our belongings and catching the bus back to the train station.  And so there I sat, watching the minutes tick down until I would be back in Paris again, thinking about how good it would feel to be entering a city not as a tourist, but as a resident.  Not to mention a hot shower, my own bed, and clothes that haven't been artfully stuffed packed and worn over and over again in the last two weeks.  It's May now, and the last month of city living.  Paris, it's good to be home.

SBXII Amsterdam

Touching down in Amsterdam airport, we took a train into the city, stepping out at basically the very center of the city.  Amsterdam is kind of, very loosely, shaped like an upside down rainbow, with the Red Light District forming half of the center oval, and the canals create horseshoe rings around it.  Look it up.  Our hostel was in the heart of the Red Light District, purely for it's central location, I assure you.  You probably have some, um preconceived ideas about the "cultural activities" in Amsterdam, so let me just preface with this disclaimer 1) I didn't do anything illegal and 2) Nothing is illegal in Amsterdam.  Just so we're clear. Hi, Mom.

Anyway.  The Red Light District is just what you'd think it would be like, the smell alone was enough to let you know where you were.  If I didn't know what pot smelled like before, there's no forgetting it now.  It was just a whiff here and there, it was the pervading smell of the neighborhood.  Coffee shops advertised their wares in the windows, both the smoking and edible kind, and in a variety of different flavors.  Outside the RL District, Amsterdam becomes the city of postcards, full of narrow houses lining canals filled with sightseeing and house boats.  Our first sightseeing objective was Anne Frank's house.  The house was stripped of furniture, but pictures and excerpts from Anne's diary were mounted on the walls.  I could see it, an World War 2 version of my sister's Pinterest, so that nearly did me in.  I really lost it in the next room, where it details Otto Frank's search for his family, and his recovery of Anne's diary.  A video playing showed an interview with him, explaining how he felt reading his daughter's journal, and how he thinks no parent can really know the depth of their children's thoughts.  Now, I know I'm not being pursued by Nazi's or anything here, but I am keeping something of a journal here and I know my father is reading it, and there are far more details and personal thoughts here than I would include just casually retelling it.  Reading and listening to Otto's mission to get his daughter's journal published, all I could think of was how sad it would be , my dad without his wife or daughters, and, well, I had trouble keeping it together for the rest of the tour.  It was nice to see at the end that Anne's dreams did come true even after her death, and The Diary of Anne Frank is the tenth most read book in the world.  (Following, for your information, The Bible, Harry Potter, and Twilight, among others.)

The same day, craving something a little more lighthearted, we went to the Heineken Experience, a long tour that documents the history and brewing of Heineken beer.  Now, apart from being a huge part of the Dutch economy and known all over the world, Heineken is apparently not very well regarded in the Netherlands, or at least not in Amsterdam.  In fact, when we asked for some at the bar below our hostel on the first day, the bartender fixed us with a steely glare and said, "We only sell real beer here."  Nevertheless, the H.E. was  colorful and interesting, and we learned that the foam on top of the beer acts as a protective coating to keep the oxygen from mixing with the drink.  (I like foam.  Apparently that's weird, but I do.)

One of my favorite afternoons in Amsterdam came after conflicting desires split the group, and I wandered down to a huge market in the south of town.  I really do love markets, and I bought a chocolate waffle, dried fruit, and other delicious things for a filling and cheap lunch while wandering over the the Van Gogh Museum and the I AMSTERDAM letters a few streets away.  I didn't go to the museum, but just sat on the lawns and people watched, enjoying the nice weather.  When one map I passed highlighted a nearby street as the fashion district, obviously I had to go explore.  The street I found was the stores of 5th Avenue in NYC and the Champs-Elysees combined.  Every brand name I'd ever heard of and every one I hadn't stood side by side on this otherwise normal looking street in a normal looking part of Amsterdam.  The salespeople taking their smoke breaks all wore suits that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe, and suddenly my jeans, wet hair (it had rained earlier) and coat-with-paint-splatters-that-I-couldn't-quite-get-off had me feeling quite out of place, so I detoured to take refuge in Vondell Park.  A bit like Central Park, Vondell is then largest green area around, and also showcased one of the biggest differences between Amsterdam and every other city I've ever been to, ever.  The bikes.

I'm sure you've heard the thing about bikes, yeah? They're everywhere.  But really guys. Everywhere.  Like, all over the place, all the time!  I promise, in the park there were more people riding than walking, and on the street more peddlers than pedestrians.  All the train stations had huge parking lots for bikes, and every thing nailed down on the street had someones bike chained to it.  And the bikes belonged to all types as well.  Kids, teenagers, moms with the grocery shopping, business men in their suits, and grandmas, not to mention the streams of tourists on bike tours around the city.  One thing that I didn't have time to do that I would have loved is a bike tour, to really get a feel for the city.  One tour we did do though was a canal tour- we clambered into a low flat boat with a glass roof and quietly motored our way through the winding waterways.

At the end of the main street our hotel was a small street fair, complete with a haunted house and carnival rides, including one of those large swing things that twirl you around up high like a giant mushroom with tentacles.  (Ok, maybe that's not the best description, but you know what I mean.)  This one went up like 12 stories or something ridiculous, but my fear of heights was temporarily overcome enough by peer pressure and the need to carpe diem.... for as long as it took to strap me in to the street.  The wind was wicked, but as we rose up above the rooftops of Amsterdam, I could unscrew my eyes long enough to get a magnificent view of the city, spreading out underneath us.  There's a few memories that get recreated in each city that define the city in my mind better than any other, and seeing the shape and colors of the buildings and streets below me is one of them.  It was gorgeous.

Amsterdam was probably the number one city that I would go back to, just because I feel like we saw such a small part of such a big city.  Much like Paris, Rome or London, some cities are just too overwhelming and  diverse to get a good feel for them in three days.  On our last day, we had an early train to catch, so we woke up early  overslept, scrambled to throw our stuff together, and made our way through the rain back to the train station to catch our train to Brussels, and then on to Bruges!

Last leg is next, and then my goodbye to Paris- I leave Sunday!  See you soon! For real this time!

The Countdown Begins

OK, so here's the promised interruption of spring break a Paris post... one might ask, why not just type of those posts you already have written because it would be so easy, and then go back to regular stuff?

BECAUSE.  Um. I probably should, and I will. Someday. Soon.

But other things are HAPPENING here, because of course my life is not dull for even a moment in this fantastic city, and so I want to share before it all goes away.  After all, it's May 15 today.  Even after all my grandiose plans of traveling after my semester ends, it predictably turns out that I am not.  I choose to believe that it's not because of my astonishing lack of funds, but rather because I officially have an internship(!) to return for, at a consulting firm in Old Town Alexandria.  So the countdown has officially begun, and I add finish writing blog posts to my ever increasing lists of things to accomplish before I leave.

Let's catch you up on some current world events, shall we? As you may or may not be aware, France just elected a new President.  It turned out to be a fantastic time for me to be here, because this semester encapsulated the whole of the Presidential campaigns and election, giving us all a unique insight into the French political system as we're learning about it in the classroom.  Now, I just barely remember Sarkozy (the last President) getting elected- he was elected in 2007, when I was a freshman in high school. (Shut up. How can that really be half a decade ago?)  I wasn't really up on my current affairs, but I do remember that.  Which means that almost my entire knowledge of France as a world player has been under Sarkozy, he's been President as long as I've been paying attention to the world outside my high school.  So it was incredibly exciting for me, after weeks of campaigning and speculation, when Sarkozy was defeated by Francois Hollande on May 6th.  Some background- Hollande was the Socialist candidate, and Sarkozy was a member of the UMP, which is more right wing.  The French people haven't been happy with Sarkozy for a while now- his approval rating before the start of the campaign was lower than GW at his lowest, but we still waited all Sunday for the announcement at 8 pm sharp. When Hollande was announced, my friend Aubrey and I all but abandoned our plates of pizza to run to the nearest metro to get to Bastille.  There are always big parties after elections here, in different parts of the city- Hollande was to be in Bastille, a more youth oriented space, whereas Sarkozy's victory party was to be at Place de la Concorde, in a ritzier part of town.    (for those who slept through the French Revolution in history class, Bastille is where Bastille prison once stood, before disgruntled peasants stormed it and destroyed it.)

We ran to the Metro, excited, thinking no matter who had one, the parties would be the place to be.  And boy, were we right.  As we changed trains to get to Bastille, the metro was suddenly PACKED, more crowded than I'd ever seen it.  People were laughing and singing and chanting fiercely, "Le changement, c'est maintenat!" which translates to "The change is now!", Hollande's campaign slogan.  As we pushed our way in, we stood literally nose to nose among the crowds, joining in with our own Vive La France!, and singing what we could of the national anthem.  I wasn't holding on to anything, and I didn't move the entire ride, we were literally packed like sardines, but it only heightened the atmosphere.  Champagne corks were popped, faces were painted, and some very dirty songs about Sarkozy seems to be composed on the spot.  It was all we could do to not burst out laughing at the antics of the joyous French, their enthusiasm was contagious.
We all spilled out at the Bastille station, and you didn't have to wonder which direction the party was at, you didn't have a choice- the crowd swept us along.  As noisemakers blew and the French danced through the tunnels, the rows of police lining the hallways didn't escape my attention- there must have been three dozen just in the metro alone.  It didn't distract me for long though, because as we traveled underground, we could hear the roars of the crowd above us.  AS we climbed into the fading sunlight, the noise crashed over us like a tidal wave.  I don't think I've ever been in a place with that many people.  They filled the huge traffic circle, and had climbed the Bastille monument to sit at its base.  There were people on roofs, on cars, and even on top of street lights.  Joining hands, we wormed our way as close to the center as we could, just in time to see the new President's inauguration address in his home town of Tours projected on the screen.  Not understanding much, I followed the crowds reactions, and when Holland had finished, the party began.  A band started playing music, and the streets transformed into a huge club as night fell, full of Parisians celebrating their new President.

Today, Hollande was sworn in.  They move fast here in France, there's no lame duck session.  It should be interesting to see how France changes in the next five years under Holland- I'm rather chuffed to say I was here to see the change, and that I stormed the Bastille like a true Parisian.

Alright, what else?  My friend Aubrey turned 21 last week as well, which was especially exciting because her father, a pilot, flew into Paris to surprise her.  I picked him up at the metro stop, and we walked down to the Eiffel Tower, where unsuspecting Aubrey was waiting with our other friends.  She was suitable astonished, and then the group of us climbed to the top of the Eiffel Tower for some celebratory champagne.  We climbed just as the sun was setting, so the hot pinks of the sky gave us some incredible views, and as we reached the top, the Tower lit up and began to sparkle, as it does for about ten minutes on the hour.  I'd seen the sparkling just about every night since I'd arrived in Paris, and to be at the very top as it flashed like a disco, I couldn't believe my dumb, dumb luck that is my life.  All of Paris was looking at us.  It was a perfect night, but also a solid check to the heart that our time here really was ending.  It seemed incredibly cruel to me, standing at the top with my champagne and these amazing friends, to live here just long enough to fall in love with this city before I had to leave.  But I guess I expected that to happen.

Now, in the light of day, it's a little easier to handle.  I have friends and family waiting for me at home, people that I'm dying to see, and a fantastic internship awaiting me, giving me something to throw myself into as homesickness for Paris sets in.  I could live here for another semester easily, but with just over a week left, the stresses of saying goodbye is making me eager to be finished with it all, not to mention finished with my final exams.  I have enough homework and studying to do to keep me busy, not to mention a Parisian Bucket List to finish and a birthday surprise to execute.  I won't possibly have time to dwell on my dwindling days.

So, back to work!  I have the rest of spring break to post, so I should get those up before I leave, and then that's it!  Thanks for hanging in here with me, and hopefully I'll see you soon!

SBXII Prague

The next installment of Spring Break adventures! This series will probably be interrupted in a post or two to fill you in on what I'm doing during my last month of Paris perfection, but here's the next bit!


Ok, so we landed (thankfully) in Prague around 9:30, grabbed a cab, and soon were speeding our way towards the hostel.  It wasn't until we were discussing how many crowns we should use for the cab that I identified the heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach that had settled there sometime during the flight- I was seriously nervous about the Czech Republic.  This would be the first time I would be in a city where I couldn't communicate at all in the local language except for Morocco, where we had a large group with many experienced guides.  This was two girls alone at night, already two hours late to reconnect with their group and with no working phones, and I was... not scared exactly, but definitely grim at the prospect, and facing the challenge with a certain amount of trepidation.  It wasn't until the highway turned into cobblestone streets that I relaxed my vigilance and started peering around.  Once I could do that, I could really start to enjoy the ride.  I've enjoyed almost every cab ride I've taken- I love the whirlwind tour of new cities, white knuckles notwithstanding.

We arrived at the hostel, checked in, and unpacked amid our other friends meeting us there- Aubrey and Austin, along with Shihan and Jodi from Barcelona.  We had a room to ourselves on the top floor, six beds nestled together under slanted oak beams with skylights letting in the sunlight and sounds of Prague.  For those who know Prague, we were located just off of Old Town Square, prime real estate.  We could walk to anything we wanted to see, and felt very safe doing so.  The first night, most of us were ready to explore the city (or at least the nightlife) so we navigated the twisting streets to get to the river that divided the city center in half.  Along the river side there was a five story club that was our target for the night- we were told we had to try it, and with good reason.  Each level of the club had a different theme- the first was dance music, the second was oldies, the third techno, and so on, each with their own bar.  And we had entered the land of beer; the Czech consume more on beer on average per person than any other country in the world, unsurprisingly because its usually cheaper than anything else on the menu, including the water.  A 20-30 Czech crown beer is around a euro and a have. (24 Crowns for every Euro- have I been talking too much about drink prices in this blog?  Sorry, but when you live in Paris, these are the kinds of things that are worth mentioning).  When one floor got too hot or crowded, we went up to the next one, or up to the top floor that had couches and the air conditioning blasting.  It was a perfect start to Prague.

The first morning we got and ready fairly early, not easy for six girls sharing one mirror.  We walked out, and suddenly we were in Prague.  It gets me every time, sitting inside, laughing and talking, and I forget that I am sitting in a foreign city in Central Europe, where I have never been and don't know three words.  Czech isn't like French, German, Spanish or Italian, where I know the basics of hello, goodbye, please and thank you's from just general life knowledge, but I can't even begin to pronounce the street sign here- the words won't even stick in my mind, and I even learned of a letter (sound?) that I physically can't pronounce with my lazy English tongue.

The first order of the day was, pretty typically, food, so we walked through Old Town Square, past huge churches, statues, and the Astronomical Clock Tower, trying to get away from the hordes of tourists.  We found a small restaurant off a back side street, eager to try our first Czech meal.  Now, I had decided to start trying the local delicacies even if it kills me, I went in bravely, but my confidence got checked at the Czech door.  In case you didn't know, Czech food means pork.  Pork rib, shoulder, and especially knee.  There's also a lot of rabbit and duck, goulash, which is a kind of stew, dumplings that are mostly slices of doughy bread, and steamed vegetables- potatoes, cabbage, and spinach.  Not really my usual fare.  I eased my way into the culture with potato soup and house beer, the Czech brewed Pilsner.  Both were very good.
After lunch we we made our way back to the square to start our walking tour of Prague.  I definitely recommend doing some kind of tour wherever you travel if you have the time- it shows the highlights of the city, gives you some history, and orients you, which is critical in a city like Prague.  Our guide was great, telling us stories and legends as we walked.  One of the biggest tourist attractions is the Astronomical Clock Tower; legend says that the town leaders were so concerned with keeping the design of the building in Prague that they gouged the designer's eyes out.  He then retaliated by pitching himself into the gears of the clock, which messed it up enough that no one could fix it for decades.  We also passed the old Jewish cemetery, the only one they were allowed back in the day, so bodies are stacked on top of each other, sometimes 12 deep.  

They weren't all sad stories by a long shot, but there's definitely a presence of history in Prague.  The only other city I've felt had a similar weight was Berlin.  Our guide talked about the Czech people and their culture, how it changed as they went from oppressor to oppressor, and how even today they are still struggling to define what it means to be Czech.  For so many decades, their culture had to exist under the wing of a foreign occupation.  It makes me think of what my own culture consists of, now that I'm always defined as an American.  What were you before? you ask. Put your snark away.  I doubt you answer that way when asked, unless ironically, "I'm AmMUURICAN!"  You say, I'm from Virginia, or the South, or Ireland.  When I think of American culture, hazy images of flags and apple pie come to mind, but being abroad is sharpening that knowledge, and I can better outline in my mind what feels American opposed to what feels French.  Anyway, I digress.

The city itself is beautiful- we were told it looked like a fairy tale, and it's true.  Take away the cars and blue jeans, and you can imagine what the city might've looked and felt like 50 or even 100 years ago.  The inner city is beautiful, and well worth exploring, especially away from the crowds of tourists.  Like most cities I've been too, the best way to get a feel for it is to walk around and look.  I think living in Paris has made me a better traveler, at least in regards to knowing what's authentic and what's not.  (Hint: If there's people outside  trying to coax you in, you won't find any locals there.  Learned that real quick my first week.)  After the walking tour, we stopped for a highly anticipated event- an Ice Bar.  None of us really knew what to expect, except for, you know, ice.  Possibly in the shape of a bar.  We went into a waiting room, dressed in big puffy jackets, and the entered the ice room.  Guys. It was all ice.  The floor was covered in rubber mats, and one wall was mostly mirrors, but other than that the chairs, tables, and bar was all blocks of carved ice.  Our brightly colored drinks came in little hollowed out ice cubes, there were glass bottles of beer frozen into the walls, and an ice sculpture you could take shots out of.  We had twenty minutes to drink, giggle, take pictures, and freeze our toes off, and then we left, gushing excitedly while we tried to rub warmth back in our fingers.

We had dinner at the delicious Italian restaurant below our hostel and the went out in search of this one particular club.  We didn't find it.  Prague by night is ten times more confusing than by day, which is saying something, and none of the streets seemed to line up, let alone form the same routes as on our map.  Day 2 started with another quest for lunch, this time to a place recommended by both my guide book and our guide. Set up cafeteria style, we took our plates and went up to the imposing people ready to serve behind the counter.  I was asked a lot of questions in very brisk Czech, to which I replied a very hesitant yes? to, had food plopped on my tray and sent on my way.  We had very innocent looking plates of goulash, fried cheese, pork and dumplings, but fifteen minutes in we were full to bursting and our plates looked barely touched.  We stumbled out into the sun, full and ready for adventure, and made our way to the Charles Bridge.  Charles 4th was one of the Czech Republic's favorite kings and a lot of the cool things in Prague were because of him, like the university and the bridge, which is one of Prague's most well known sights.  If you've ever see a picture of Prague, chances are it had the bridge in it.  A pedestrian bridge, the walkway was lined with portrait artists, musicians, and booths with jewelry and souvenirs.  One band we passed had a man playing the washboard with spoons and whisks.  The bridge also afforded the best views of the wide river and the castle rising high above the rest of the city.
After the bridge we crossed to make our way towards the John Lennon Wall.  Back in the Communist Era when western culture was banned, someone grafitied John's face on the wall, and it became a symbol of hope and peace.  Now, this otherwise inconspicuous wall is covered in paint, signatures, and Beatles quotes.  We all signed it, each finding a small clear space among the jumble of color to leave our mark on Prague.  I know my name is probably already covered up, but it's a nice feeling to know that my signature is added to the layers and generations before me, just like my sisters' and countless others, buried in its history.

On the way back over the bridge, I decided to have my portrait done.  I'd never really sat for a serious drawing, and I thought there would be no better place to sit than on the Charles Bridge.  I found an artist, a Czech Santa Claus, and took my seat facing everyone on the bridge.  The experience of sitting on that bridge was worth the money alone.  In the mad rush of these twenty days, here was twenty minutes where I had to sit down and shut up.  Walking past the other clients earlier that day, I of course had stopped to look at the drawings to judge their accuracy, but I had never thought about what that must feel like to the people being drawn.  It's an automatic spotlight; I sat there while the people and visitors of Prague filed passed.  Some just glanced and kept walking, and some stopped to watch for awhile.  I got thumbs-up, smiles, and once a burst of laughter (still not really sure how to take that).  Some people even took pictures, and its a very odd feeling to think that I might be in some random album on Facebook or printed out somewhere in the world.  The picture itself is rolled up under my bed- I've looked at it once since he rolled it up and gave it to me.  It's not the important memory for me, but I won't forget the feeling of being 20, traveling across Europe, and sitting on the most famous bridge in Prague.  To say my life has taken a surreal turn would be a massive understatement.

For our last night in Prague, we took advantage of our hostel's discounts and signed up for a pub crawl.  We walked the dark streets from bar to bar before ending back up at the 5 story club.  (On a side note, our cover story was to be Canadian, and I've now had several conversations about how beautiful Canada is, how the hockey season is going, and what it's like to live in Calgary.  It was one of my best acting performances).  For our last morning, we checked out of our room, ate breakfast in an adorable bakery, and then spent the rest of our time spending our remaining crowns at a little market down the street.  I never get bored going to markets, they're such a good snapshot of the city.  Plus, shopping is fun- gotta start thinking of decorating my house next fall.  I spent too much money, but then I always do, and I never (usually) regret it.  We said our goodbyes to Prague, rocketed to the airport in the most nauseating cab ride of my life, and boarded our last plane of the trip to Amsterdam.  Or as we would come to know it, Amster-DANMMMM. :)  More soon!  (haha, that line's getting old.  More soon-ish.)

SBXII Monaco, Corsica, and Lots of Airplanes

Hello again! I'm back in Paris now- my ability to post while on the road was cut short after Nice, because none of the other hostels had computers.  But I wrote everything down as we went, so I'll be posting those as quickly as I can type them up, because this is my last month in Paris and we've all decided to hit this month running, and I'm going to want to start posting about my normal life again!  I've got a couple things left on the bucket list to check of, and as of today I have 23 days left here, and I mean to make every one count.  So, back to the south of France! 

Today, we left Nice behind for Monaco!  The train takes about twenty minutes along the beautiful coast, and stops at a couple of the beach towns along the way. Now, the only thing I knew about Monte Carlo was from James Bond and I think one of the Iron Man movies, so I wasn't sure what to expect.  The city is built on a cliff, and everything is set on the hill, so looking up gives you the city framed by mountains, and looking down shows the drop-off to the water.

Number one give away for Monte Carlo?  The cars.  Every car on the street seemed nicer than usual, but then you reach the parking lot of the casino, and it just got ridiculous.  These cars aren't valeted away in some garage, they were on display.  I can't name all the different types, but I can name the big ones- Porsche, Maserati, BMW, Rolls Royce, Lamborghini, etc.  I'm pretty sure Batman's car was there too.  The bid Casino required a passport to get inside, so those lucky/wise enough to have brought them went in while the rest of us wandered and people-watched.  My friend Greg won something like 85 euros at roulette, but everyone else lost their gambling money.  We tried the slot machines, ate lunch,and made our way back to the train station.

The next day was Brianna and I's last day in Nice, so the four girls took advantage of the sunshine to shop and picnic up the hill with sandwiches, gelato cones and a bottle of wine.  We turned in early to catch our flight to Corsica in the morning.

It's not until we walk outside on the tarmac at the airport in Nice that we see what could only very charitably be called our plane.  To me, it looks like someone left their model out to dry.  It's the tiniest plane I've ever seen used in real life.  It seats 32 people, which I guess isn't that small, but come on, it has propellers.  For real.  However, all my qualms are squashed once we're up in the air, and suddenly we're crossing the Mediterranean on a gorgeous sunny day.  The plane stays pretty close to sea level, close enough to see the glint off the waves, and then it stays down as we pass over the mountains of Corsica- it feels like a helicopter   ride over the countryside.  It's definitely my favorite view out of plane ride ever.

Corsica as a whole was the perfect spring break relaxation week.  The town of Ajaccio, where Napolean Bonaparte was born, wraps around the coast, and our hotel was on the beach.  Brianna and I slept and lounged our way around the sleepy little town that hadn't quite woken up for tourist season yet.  The architecture and general feel of the city was a cross between southern French villa and Spanish... I don't remember the equivalent word.  Casa?  Whatever, spanish feel.  We sun bathed, walked in and around old town, and spent way way way way way too much money on extravagant dinners of lobster without really knowing what we were getting into and getting slightly tipsy off of a really good bottle of wine and shooting brandy afterwards because we didn't know what they had given us and hey, it looked like a shot glass to me.  Um. Yeah.  Anyway, Corsica was fun.

We left Corsica to fly back to Nice, where we spent our six hour layover on the beach, marveling at the three very distinct layers of blue in the water, and in my case, listening to a Sherlock Holmes audiobook and getting quite sunburned.  Luggage in tow, we grab another gelato cone (necessary) and shop a little, eating a leisurely lunch.  And we wait. We sleep on the beach, we eat, we wait, enjoying the day, and feeling like true backpackers, camped out with all of our bags.  I've always associated some kind of wayward youth romance to the idea of backpacking across Europe with only what I could carry, so it's been fun to play it out.  At the appointed time, we get back to the airport, off at a terminal, wander around, get back on a bus, go to the right terminal, and wait to board our Swiss International flight to Geneva, from where we will connect to Prague.  The flight is ten minutes late, and then when we finally do get seated, it was announced that there was a ventilation issue, and it would take about fifteen minutes to fix.  Being a general fan of ventilating, I wasn't much concerned and we soon took off into the clear blue skies, and treated to a full view of Nice as we headed towards Switzerland.  We landed between snow capped mountains under a heavy layer of gray clouds, traversed the small airport, and waited to board plane #3 of the day.... which was scheduled to be twenty minutes late.  Whatever, what's twenty minutes in air travel time, right?
Famous Last Words.

As Brianna and I waited to board, we saw our, ehm.... cute little airbus, and the low, ominous looking clouds that at this point blocked out most of the mountains.  We joked around a little- I bet it rains in Prague, oh I like a little turbulence, it adds excitement to the ride.  That was obviously our first mistake.
We took our seats, buckled in, and congratulated ourselves on making our connections without any major issues.  Our taxi to the runway took a little longer than usual, but no problem.  We hit the runway only about thirty minutes behind schedule.  The engines rev, we're pushed back into our seats as the plane gains speed, and then....it falters.  Just for a second though, and then we resume, on the runway about to take off, when we stop for a second time, and our Captain comes on the loudspeaker.  The message she delivers basically boils down to this, through her heavily accented English, "hey so, engine two's giving us some trouble, but no worries, because we're gonna get some guys from maintenance down here pronto and they're gonna check it out, so please keep your seats.
Now, I don't know about you, but I don't want to fly in an plane with an engine that even looks dirty, let alone with one that doesn't work at all.  I don't care that there are three others, I want all four in pristine condition, and I definitely don't want a couple "guys from maintenance" coming out in the rain poking around with a hammer or whatever.  But then the flight attendants brought around chocolate, so I was slightly appeased, and within 20 minutes the plane was pronounced good to go and we started for the runway.
As the lightening started.

To Brianna and I, every shake or groan was our gimpy engine stuttering to a halt, and every bump or rattle was a stroke of lightening.  The turbulence as we battles through what had become a full-fledged storm kept the seat belt sign on for a full 45 minutes, and that's after it took us more than half an hour to reach our cruising altitude, and we continued to be jostled.  Brianna is apologizing profusely to the sky gods for joking about turbulence earlier.  My reactions to severe circumstances tends to be a bit off in general, so I'm sitting there alternating between near hysterical giggling and exasperated eye-rolling as the bumps make the pen jump as I'm writing this down, like I apparently can't believe that weather would be so rude.  Mostly giggles though.  People are starting to shoot me concerned looks.

On the plus side, we eventually rise above the storm clouds, and the view from above is beautiful- these clouds look like mountains in themselves, and every so often we get a peek of an illuminated city far below.  I have no idea what cities they might be, but I continue to admire them, with Prague awaiting somewhere ahead.

SBXII Nice

Spring Break 2012, Part One- Nice

Goooood morning!  Sitting at breakfast at my hostel in Nice, I realize that if I'm going to remember all the amazing stuff we do over the next twenty days, I'm gonna need to write it down as it happens, cause obviously I suck at posting in a timely manner.  So hopefully, it's all going to get written down in my handy dandy notebook to be typed up later- that way I'll remember each day as it happens, and not as some long blur at the end of the trip.  Forewarning, I'm going to be way more detailed than anyone but me needs, but I want to remember it all.

So, Day 1.  Or really, Night Before Day 1, because my travel adventures always start with the inevitable packing/planning frenzy that happens due to strong procrastination skills and from being used to following Sandy's Packing Itinerary.  Whatever, I work best (only) under pressure.  I packed for our 20 day jaunt in a backpack and small rolling suitcase.  How?  Not because of my expertise- I forget things, which makes for a lighter packing load.  By the time I finish packing and organizing last minute plans, it's 1:30am, so I nap til 4 when the taxi comes to take me to the train station.  I meet my friend Austin, and we are the first people in the station when it opens at 4:30, ready to take the first train to CDG.

Now, usually, the French late policy works well for me.  "Fashionably late" is a way of life, and since I am perpetually ten minutes late, I'm usually on time.  It does not work for me, however, when the website says the first train is at 4:56, only to show up and have it be actually 5:30. We weren't the only ones stuck for a 7am flight- we met a nice Hungarian guy named Martin who blazed the trail for us as we ran from the train to security through CDG.  We were supposed to be at the gate by 6:30; we ran from the security line at 6:27.  I don't think we caught our breath until our seatbelts were fastened, but then we were golden.  We were on our way to Nice.

We arrived, met up with three of the guys from our program, and shared a cab to our hostel, marveling at the mountains, the water, the palm trees, everything.  After weeks of planning, waiting, and school work, the knowledge that we were finally on spring break, backpacking across Europe, was intoxicating.

Our hostel, Villa St. Exupery Beach, is consistently rated one of the top hostels in Europe, and it didn't disappoint.  I don't have a lot to compare it to, this being my first hostel experience, but it's cute, clean, has a ton of organized activities, friendly staff, amazingly comfortable beds,n and a killer happy hour.  We stowed our bags and hopped on a free walking tour of Nice, given by the hostel's manager.

Oh my gosh guys, Nice.  It's so nice (har har.  Insert bad Boyfriend joke, shudder, move on).  We walked through old cobblestone streets with high buildings, colorful walls, and terraces with plants spilling over the sides.  Nice has a varied history of rulers, first by the Greeks, then the Romans, and then finally the French, so city switches back and forth from contemporary French beach scene and old Italian villa.  The streets twist and turn depending on wind patterns, designed to help cool the city during the hot summer months.  There's old town, contained in old walls left over from some King's fortress, which contains the flower and spice market, much of the city's oldest architecture, and delicious gelato, and it's where we spent most of our time.  After our tour, we walked up through the city to climb a cliff up to an observation platform, which gave a fantastic view of the whole city, wrapping around the bay and spreading back across the mountains.  It was worth the trip to Nice all by itself.  We then walked down to sit along the rock beaches.  We were just so giddy and glad to be there.  Being outside of Paris, and outside of the structure of school and homestays, was a breath of fresh air that I didn't know I wanted til I got here.  We are absolutely free, with no one running the itinerary but ourselves.  For 20 days, we get to do whatever we want in some of the most amazing cities in the world.  So what did we do? After the beach, we headed back to the hostel to take a much needed nap, as we'd been up and running for just over 12 hours.  Afterwards, we headed back down to dinner at 6, which also happened to be the start of happy hour.

Now, I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but drinks (and everything) in Paris are expensive.  Shots are between 4-6€, beers between 5-7, and cocktails anywhere from 7-12.  This happy hour had 1€ pints 3.50 cocktails and shots, and dinner for 8, so we had a pretty good night for under fifteen euros, unheard of by Paris prices.  That included our trip to Fenocchio's, the best ice cream in Nice, boasting a mind-boggling 96 flavors.  It was like the Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans of ice cream.  You had the entire range, starting from the normal chocolate varieties, nutella, coffee, caramel, hazelnut, Irish coffee, and amaretto, to the fruity selection, pineapple, lemon, lime, orange, watermelon, blackberry, strawberry, coconut, etc., and then the section of really weird ones, like lavender, rose, cactus, guava, lychee, rhubarb, tomato-basil, and beer.  I'm going to include the link  here , because it's worth taking a look at, and a definite MUST if you're ever in Nice.  We returned several times throughout the trip, trying different combos.  My favorite was cacao with and salted caramel.

We woke up the next morning to complimentary breakfast and an uncharacteristically rainy day, so we walked through the downpour to get lunch.  We got large orders of moules-frites (mussels with fries), and then our group split to tackle the main museums, so I headed off to the modern art museum with Aubrey and Austin.  Guys, I don't think I get modern art.  The first floor was literally crates, barrels, and nets in the middle of the floor, like someone had forgotten to clean them up.  There was one wall entirely of butterfly nets that would have made Spongebob proud.  One floor had canvases painted blue and yellow, and then labelled "Blue" and "Yellow".  Thanks, got that part.  But even those were better than the random splashes of paint or design that were "Sans Titre" so I had absolutely no clues as to figuring out what it was supposed to be.  I think that kind of art is best viewed with someone who can explain it.  So we giggled through it, got some more ice cream and headed back to dry off to reunite with our group at the bar.  It's very cool to meet the other people in the hostel, who're from all over the world. Even the staff was a mix of backpackers and students who just didn't want to go home after their vacation was done, and stayed to work.  It's a very intriguing thought....

Oof, I write too much.  I'll stop this here, and finish off and Nice next time along with Corsica, where I am right now! Sorry if the switching tenses is throwing you off, but I'm writing them down as I'm living them, and then typing them up when time and WiFi allow.   I hope you all are enjoying April with lots of sunshine, and I'll be back soon!

A Week to Settle and Think About Life Things

So shocker, I didn't get this posted before I left, I'm currently sitting in a hostel in Nice!  Just pretend it's last week for me.  Silly time difference :)


I'm in the very middle of this crazy month now.  I've returned from Morocco, house hunted in Loire Valley, and resaw my city through my family's eyes.  There's nothing more grounding than after feeling so lofty, European, and just utterly sophisticated then to be put back among your family- where the most comfortable place to lean is wherever Daddy's standing, and to once again follow the direction of Mom and to share a room, clothes, and lipstick with three sisters (Kat  fit right in).

Though at first it was a struggle, I learned to let go and give in to the fact that my family was a group of tourists. And that's okay, but it's a very different lifestyle than the one I'm used to living.  Here, we strive every day to blend in, to become Parisian.  It's always a small victory when we can order something smoothly and be answered in French, or when navigating the Metro becomes second nature.  It tooks about 30 seconds to realize that mode was going to have to be tossed out the window for the week.

There's a certain liberty in being a tourist that my mother figured out long before I did.  You're excused your mistakes, your constant photography, and your American accent.  Once you're okay with relaxing into that category, your embarrassement in set aside to make way for the priority of knowing where you are and how to get where you're going.  And you know what I discovered this past week?  Touriusts are the happiest people in the city.  The Parisians are often criticized, by themselves as well as others as being, well, cirtical, and always complaining.  Viusitors are just delighted to be in the most beautiful city in the world.  For its inhabitants, the Paris skyline just becomes part of the background, but when we passed the Eiffel Tower sparkling at night, my family's heads, along with hundredsd of others, tipped back, open mouthed,m to see the show.  You can see them celebrating the city everywhere, marveling at the food, the buildings, taking pictures of themselves pinching the Eiffel Tower or being Hunchbacks in Notre Dame (wait, that's only my sisters? Shame).  I got to experience another first week in Paris with them, and got to do many of the typical tourist things that I had been saving to do with them.  And the French, for the most part, like their tourists.  They're proud of their city and like that you've chosen to come.

After my family departed, it was my first Easter without my family, but I spent it in the best way possible.  Having our large apartment for another night, my friends and I took advantage of the large space (it's rare to have people over to your apartment in Paris, they're just too small and seen as a private space.  Friends are for public spaces.) It's such an ordeal to coordinate restaurants and activities, and as a bunch of American girls raised on slumber parties, we were ready to chill.  Therefore, we had planned a party, but our American mindset betrayed us, and so we forgot that on Easter Sunday in France, everything but Chinese take out places and McDonalds would be closed.  So we hobbled together enough supplies from our various ahouses to spend the holiday in comfort if not in style, playing card games and other games and listening to music late in the night, and then spent the next morning cuddling in the bed before going out to forage for a truley excellent brunch.  I am very blessed to have these girls to share Paris with.

So one of my favorite weeks in Paris passed, and now I'm dropped into the harsh cold reality of not really having every detail of my 20 day spring break nailed down, which is kind of unacceptable since I leave Friday morning.  My head is torn in three places- back in the US, trying to settle internships, summer plans, and next semester's course schedule (don't EVEN get me started on how ridiculous it is that as an incoming Junior with a second day time slot I can't get into basic general education classes before they're full) elsewhere in Europe trying to figure out exactly how many days should be spent in Corsica or Nice, and then here in Paris freaking out that technically I only have three weekends left in Paris!!!  Afterwhich, I think I have two free weeks, which looks like will be spent gallivanting around Europe by myself, but anyways.

What else?  In case anyone was wondering, school is severely cramping my style.  I've always considered myself fairly committed to school, but as my old teachers will tell you, I can get distracted, and Paris must be one of the distracting places on the planet.  Never before have I appreciated going to school in a rural town, where school takes top priority.    In case you couldn't tell though, I definitly recommend the whole study abroad thing.  I've been jotting down other things as I think them, so I'll try to get them up here eventually.  Happy Easter!

Back to real life, where my time in Nice is almost up- I've been writing it all down, but I'm done making posting promises, since I break them all anyway.  I know the comments here are messed up/too complicated, but you can always facebook me or email me at lambre@dukes.jmu.edu!  Hopefully I'll be back soon :)

Morocco Part 2, in which there are camels

Finally, I get to our second part of Morocco.  I needed to write it down a long time ago, but life and my legendary skills of procrastination got in the way.  But it’s not something I want to forget, so I need to get it down, at least for me. 

Our desert leg started with picking up a truly noteworthy cold, with vocal cough that I’m sure delighted my roommates.  We woke up early in Fez and boarded the bus, blankets out and iPods charged, preparing ourselves for a long six hours in the bus getting ourselves from the northernish city of Fes to desert town of Erfoud.  Though my family is somewhat known for our long car trips (the month long cross country journey, the non-stop 16 hours to Florida, etc.)  I don’t think I’ve ever spent that long on a bus among people that weren’t related to me, and therefore obligated to tolerate my compulsive need for leg room and a window seat.  But my seat mate was an absolute dream, as were our amiable neighbors, and we passed the time with movies, music, an enthusiastic and bloody war against the numerous flies, and animated discussions of Meryl Streep’s acting career.  Every few minutes, our conversation would be punctuated by a “whoa” from somewhere on board, and we would all pause to stare out the window at some of the most impressive scenery I have ever seen.  Sheep and donkeys seeming to roam free across the wilderness, and the true-blue plateaus rising up sporadically across the rolling hills.  For the first few hours we headed to a mountain range that made one of my friends homesick for Colorado Rockies.  They peaked past the clouds, but we could see the snow.  Then we climbed, scaling peaks that make the Grand Canyon look like a creek bed.  It was during that time I became conscious of my own zen-like trust in our driver as he careened us at lightning speed along skinny roads that hugged the cliff face.  When I started paying attention, I literally thought we were going to die at any moment, that at some point we’d hurtle around a corner to find the road disappeared, and that since we were driving in the middle of the road, every oncoming vehicle was destined for a head-on collision.  So I stopped paying attention and went back to sleep or to staring out the window. 

We stopped for lunch at a fancy hotel literally in the middle of nowhere, where they served us chicken, lamb, rabbit…and camel.  So my list of weird foods I have eaten grows longer, the vegetarian voice inside my head dies a little more, and we moved on.

When we arrived in Erfoud, we were unloaded from the bus, stretching and sleepy, and promptly loaded back into several jeeps, our bags secured on top.  We drove through the city, which wasn’t so much a city as a bunch of buildings covered in sand, and we had to dodge as many mule carts and bicycles as cars.  Our American-ness was even more apparent here- it wasn’t as much as a tourist destination as Casablanca or Fes, so we got many waves and calls.  By some stroke of luck I got the passenger seat, where I rolled down the window and basically hung as much of myself outside as possible.  We were finally in the desert.

As we left the city limits, dusk was really upon us, and the light got fainter as we sped across the scrubland.  I had no idea how our drivers knew where they were going, for when night fell there was nothing to guide them- you couldn’t see past the headlights.  I learned later that they followed the stars. 

Our drivers were well practiced, and mine played music and pulled stunts, acting as if the car had run out of gas, and at one point even running alongside.  Once he had discovered my propensity  to …ahem…squeal… when going over hills and through bushes, he tried his hardest to get me to call out as much as possible, actions I strongly encouraged. 

We arrived after an hour or so at our campsite.  Which, quite literally, was eight or so tents arranged in a circle between two dunes.  And when I say tents, I mean heavy blankets strung over sticks.  There was no bottom, just heavy rugs over sand, and no zippers, which was really made apparent when one of the cats who begged for food at dinner came into nap on one of our beds in the middle of the night.  (Don’t ask me how they got out there, Moroccon cats are a different breed.) 

We slept on mattresses covered in blankets and ate in a large tent at tables and chairs, served by our guides.  After dinner came mint tea and music, and we stumbled into our tents to change and settle before the single light bulb in each tent was shut off for bed.

We woke early, ate breakfast of thick crepes with honey, eggs, orange juice and coffee, before spilling out to excitedly greet our rows of camels!  We were to ride to a large dune, and then to our spot for lunch.  The camel riding was wild.  Tied in a line of six, we wandered up and down the dunes, debating names for our mounts and finding it hilarious to end every sentence with “…I said, while riding a camel in the desert.”  We couldn’t believe our luck.  After much deliberation, (and not being sure of its gender) I settled on Fez for my camel, thinking it a proper Moroccan name and also because I like the hat, and had just announced it to the world when I was promptly told that no, my camel was named Michael Jackson.  And a more appropriate name could not be had, as MJ turned out to be quite the vocalist and a bit of a diva. 

The actual riding was fairly easy, as we just had to hang on, and when we arrived at the dune, we were able to stretch out our sore muscles in preparation for dune climbing. 

There were times, in my youth, when I was rather fit.  I could run bleachers, climb hills, do laps, whatever.  This dune laughed at that.  It sneered at my years of experience on North Carolina dunes.  It was all, you want to climb me you’re going to have to hack up a lung doing it.  My cold didn’t help matters, but I wasn’t the only one struggling.  It was a battle of wills, out in the hostile desert, and I’m proud to say that we prevailed. 

And then the seven year old with us ran up and down, fetching things and generally acting like his feet didn’t sink a foot into the ground with each step like the rest of us.  Oh well.

We huffed and puffed our way to the top, and then rested while taking in the view of endless dunes one way, and a line of trees framing the mountains down the other.  We ran down, and hopped back onto our trusty steeds to ride to lunch. 

When we disembarked, we followed our guides through what looked like a deserted village to a hotel with a pool, where we were able to chill and eat and generally relax.  A local woman and her daughter came to apply henna to our hands, after which we chatted and walked back to our camp for naps, dinner, and dancing. 

And then that night it rained.  Actually rained, such a rarity in the desert that nothing was waterproofed, so as it poured outside, a mine mist drifted down throughout tent.  So raincoats were arranged over bags, and with a blanket over my head, I stayed toasty and warm. 

The next morning we were packed back into the jeeps for the ride back across the desert.  In the daylight, it was even more isolated- for parts we followed a road, but then our driver would randomly turn off.  We arrived back in Erfoud and got back on the bus for an even longer bus ride than before to Meknes.  We arrived at our hotel int the city early enough to eat and take long, much-needed showers after three days of camping.  The more adventurous and resilient among us explored the hookah bar downstairs- I drank the rest of our wine with a friend and went to bed.

We had only an hour to explore the medina of Meknes before we were ushered back onto the bus for the drive to the Casablanca airport.  We said our goodbyes to Morocco and boarded the Air France flight.  The beautiful thing about Air France is that by the time they finish feeding you dinner, wine, and coffee, the four hour was drawing to a close, and I was back in my Parisian apartment by 11 pm, smelling of curry and tracking sand everywhere (those shoes STILL have sand in them). 

Phew! I think that’s the lot of it.  It was an exciting six days, and looking back now its like a little secret, which sounds weird.  No one would know by looking at me that I’ve been to Africa, and I feel much cooler for the experience.  There’s a quote I like, “I am not sure that I exist, actually. I am all the writers that I have read, all the people that I have met, all the women that I have loved; all the cities I have visited.”  It’s like another small piece of me has slid into place.  I can only hope my destinations are as amazing!

I have one more blog post, already written, that should go up tomorrow, because then I leave for break and it’s likely you won’t hear from me til May!  

The Loire Valley, and Lambs Take Paris

“-hopefully the next three days will be up here soon.  It depends on how much studying I get done. I’d like to get it up before Saturday so there’s nothing in the way of me posting the Loire Valley trip this weekend, which will be hard with the welcome distraction of my family!”

OK, so much for those grand plans.  At the moment, I am sitting in one of the dark bedrooms of our apartment, waiting for everyone wake-up.  The Lamb family reunited last night, and we’ve planned out the week as only Sandy Lamb can do- we have a full itinerary, with not a moment to spare.  Expecting that I’ll not have a whole lot of time this week, I thought I would take a few minutes to jot down some stuff, and hopefully have the second part of Morocco up sometime this week, but we’ll see. 

I’ve just returned from the Loire Valley excursion this weekend, to see some of the Chateaux of southern France.  The trip started in a flurry, as the night before I had accidentally set my alarm for 6:30 PM instead of AM, and woke in a tizzy at 7:46, exactly 11 minutes past the rendezvous time.  Brianna and I moved like lightening, or something, calling our guides and scrambling to throw ourselves together, run downstairs, grab a cab, and rush off. Thankfully, they waited for us, and we were soon on our way south,

Now, over the past year or so, my family via my mother has gotten very into a show called House Hunters International.  For those of you not familiar, the show follows a person or family who are planning to move to a new country.  A real estate agent shows them three properties that meet their wish list, and then they choose. It’s kind of a cool way to explore different cities, and the game is to guess which house they’ll choose.  So it was with that in mind that we started our tour in the Chateau in Blois. 

House Number One was smaller as chateaux go; it sits rather inconspicuously in the city center, with the town bustling around it.  Several of its subsequent owners added to it, so the buildings don’t quite match, but there’s a room inside with detailed carvings, some of which hide secret cubbies for the King’s treasures.  All in all, a charming little castle, but I was somewhat put off by the abundance of porcupine’s carved into every surface, as it was the symbol of the first resident King. 

Then off to Chateau Chenonceau, a beautiful castle sitting over the Loire river.  You walk down a long driveway lined with huge trees to wide open grass garden and the river, and then carefully manicured gardens and the castle across the bridge.  It was an absolutely gorgeous day.

After the second castle, we went to a small local winery, where we learned about the distillation and making of wine.  The Loire Valley is known for their wine, goat cheese, and terrine, a meat spread.  We got to taste all three at the winery, trying roses, whites, reds and a champagne (it wasn’t called champagne, because it can only be called champagne if it’s made in the Champagne region of France, but it was basically the same thing).   I also learned how to tell which region of France a wine comes from by looking solely at the shape of a bottle- the very long, slender bottles are from Alsace, the northern region up by Germany, Bordeaux have defined shoulders, and wines from Val d’Loire have a more feminine shape. 

The next day started with breakfast at the hotel (really, French continental breakfasts are so much better than any other kind of breakfast), and then our third castle, one of the most famous in the country, Chateau Chambord.  Chambord is huge- we couldn’t decide if it was the Beast’s castle from Beauty and the Beast, or Beauxbatons, the French girls’ wizarding school from Harry Potter.  The highlighted feature of the Chateau was the double staircases, engineered so that the King could send his Mistress down one stair while the Queen came up the other.  The top of the castle gave amazing views, but the wind drove us inside, the explore more than 200 rooms inside.  Our guide told us about this French King  that would travel the country, never staying more than a week in any village or town.  At first, that didn’t seem very long, but when you think that it took approximately a month to travel from Paris to Lyon and that the King travelled with upwards of 2000 men, its not as shocking.  Afterwards, we went to the biscuiterie at Chambord for a cookie tasting, as well as my first kir- an aperitif made from Chambord liquor and white wine, which was surprisingly delicious. 

Unsurprisingly, in the time it’s taken me to write this, the week has passed.  My family left me this morning, after a packed week of sightseeing and tourism.  It was incredibly fun to show my family around my city, though exhausting being the translator for six people.  After two months of playing native, it was a totally different lifestyle being a tourist.  There were no lazy mornings- we were up at eight or earlier every day, trying to fit in as much as possible around my classes.  Orchestrating six people’s wishlist’s was exhausting, but I think we did a pretty good job- our weekly adventures included the Eiffel Tower (all the way to the top!), the Arc d’Triomphe, Notre Dame, the Hop-On Hop-Off bus tour of Paris,  the Luxembourg Gardens and the Senate, Rues Mouffetard and Cler, the Catacombs, the Louvre, Musee d’Orsay, and of course, crepes, gelato, and fondue.  One night, my family hosted some of my fabulous new friends at our apartment, crowded around pizza, wine, and chips and salsa, a little taste of home.  IT was wonderful showing them off to everyone- they really are the greatest people, and I’m so lucky to be here with them.  We also had lunch with my host mother at a local creperie, and I think it eased my mother’s worries a little to meet her and commiserate over my lack of domestic skills. 

My mother also bonded with the vendor from the local fromagerie (cheese shop), taking home two or three different types of cheese each night to eat with our bread and wine, everyone took turns running down to the boulangerie each morning for fresh baguettes, and I still have the remanats of our jar of Nutella and strawberry jam for my lonely little croissant this morning. 

It’s very sad to see them all leave this morning- this whole time, I’ve staved off any feelings of homesickness with the thought that they would be here soon, and I could show them everything I was doing and seeing.  Now all my new discoveries will be my own until the next time we’re in Paris.  Jenna turns 18 today, by the way- we celebrated with champagne last night, but if you’re going to see her soon, give her a hug and a kiss from me (and admire her new Longchamp purse- they’re all the rage in Paris).  It seems weird to me that my little baby can be all grown up, and leads to remember that I’m halfway to 21 (shudder. Old old old.)  I’m so glad she could be in France this week with me, and it makes me wonder where I will be on my future birthdays. Someday, I hope it’s as fabulous as Paris. 

            But, time waits for no girl, and apparently I can sleep when I’m dead, because I leave this next Friday for spring break, which is twenty days long. Twenty DAYS.  I’ve been planning an epic backpacking-across-Europe tour since before I can remember, and now it’s finally happening; I start in Nice for a week, then to Corsica, then to Prague, Amsterdam, and Bruges!!  All with only a carry on suitcase?!?  My mother is horrified.  Oh well! You’re only young once! Carpe Diem, YOLO, and everything else!  

Morocco, Part 1

Hello everyone!  Sorry it’s been so long, but I have good reason- I spent the last week in Morocco!  If you’re friends with me on Facebook, you might’ve already seen the pictures or video, so perhaps you already know how gorgeous it is.  I had a fantastic time.

            Now, I have a fairly busy week ahead of me.  Tomorrow my parents arrive in France, and on Saturday I leave for the Loire Valley, and then the whole following week it’s the Lambs Take Paris show.  But I wanted to get as much down about Morocco as I could, because I never want to forget it. 

            Our trip started bright and early- or rather dark and early, as the shuttle for the airport picked me up at 4 am outside our apartment.  We wound our way through the dark streets of Paris to Charles de Gaulle airport, through a quick security and chocolate croissant to board our Air France flight at 7:15 am.  I think at this point that the allure and excitement of flying has been worn out of me, because I promptly fell asleep, waking only for breakfast and landing.  And suddenly, we were in Africa. 

            It didn’t look like Africa at first.  Outside there were palm trees, and all airports look the same, so except for the Arabic writing on all the signs it could’ve easily been Florida.  Then, slowly, as we made our way through the airport and security, it started to sink in.  I think that when I go through security or customs, the fact that I am a perfectly legal American citizen with a valid visa goes straight out the window, and for the short time standing at the booth waiting for the stamp I am convinced that I have somehow become a drug mule with a fake passport and a highly visible criminal nature.  The guards, in what looked like mull military dress and stern faces weren’t helping.  But then I got the stamp and everything was fine, and we thirty Americans were ushered through the doors into the sunlight of Casablanca. 

            Our charter bus, fully equipped with driver and bodyguard, took us from the airport into the city proper and Morocco came upon us.  Casablanca is on the coast, so the landscape was flat, and dryer than I expected.  The whole trip felt less like the Africa in my head and more like a Middle Eastern country.  We rode into the city, stopping for kebabs at lunch and continuing to the beaches of Casablanca, and then to the Mosque. 

            It was gorgeous, and slightly surreal to look up at this huge tower against the blue of the sky and the sea, but inside was even more magnificent.  I had been to Versailles and Notre Dame, so I’m familiar with the French style of grandeur inside the church and out, but this was remarkable.  (I don’t know about you, but the Disney movie makes Notre Dame look huge.  It’s big, but not that big- the people of Paris could’ve definitgley seen Quasimodo swinging around up there, and you could probably shout up to him.  No way Esmerelda gets out of there without being seen, guards or no.  The Mosque is more what I imagined, with impossibly high ceilings and open floors.  Being in there alone would swallow you up, and truly feel like a glorious prison.)  It was all intricate carvings the marble floor gave me the urge to run, slide, and cartwheel, especially while in bare feet. 

            After, we had a quick tour of the medina in Casablanca, but it was really just a teaser, a tiny taste of what we would find in Fes.  Then the bus took us away to our hotel in Fes. 

            I took many pictures of beautiful things, but one thing I did not take pictures of was the garbage.  Casablanca was by no means the only place with litter, but being the first stop it surprised me the most.  Trash was everywhere.  Think of the worst highway litter you’ve ever seen, and multiply that by ten or twenty.  Every inch of the gutters, in every grassy median and piled around every tree.  Even out on the road, where there would be stretches of road with no other buildings for miles that would be absolutely covered by paper plastic, and glass, like someone had upended a dumpster every ten feet and spread it around.  There aren’t trash services there- people just throw it out the windows.  It’s a real shame, because my American sensitivity had a hard time seeing past it, especially at first.  But I didn’t have time to dwell on it for long,  because the next day I woke up in Fes!

            I was probably the most excited for Fes and its legendary medina, it’s been on my bucket list ever since Rory Gilmore said she wanted to go.  I knew medina meant market, and that it was supposed to be huge, but I never quite realized that the walled city of Fes was the medina.  Entering through the gate, our guide led us through what looked like a sketchy, nondescript alley way between two inconspicuous building, and after many twists and turns, we were in the medina.  The medina is set up within the alleys, stalls built into the sides of buildings and in the scarce open spaces, all under the windows of the residents.  If you ever have the chance to go, you’d better have a strong stomach and even stronger shoes, because hygiene wasn’t the priority.  Slabs of meat hung from hooks above shops, fish were laid out on sawdust, and countless animals sqwaked and called from their cages, if they were in cages at all.  The only mode for transporting goods was by horse, mule,  or donkey, so every so often someone would yell “Balak!” or “Attencion!” (“Watch out!”)  and we would flatten ourselves against the walls to allow a heavily laden animal and his owner through.  Cats would their way around stalls, eating anything that fell to the ground.  These were serious felines- they made my kitties look like fat lazy slobs.  These cats would eat my babies. 

            Now, I believe our tour through the medina was set up by the hotel, and it was quite clear what their intentions were.  Suck the Americans dry.  Every stop we made to see something educational or cultural was followed by a sales pitch and an expert team of barterers.  Our first stop was a carpet shop set up in a house within the medina.  (If anyone seen the House Hunter’s International episode for Fes, it was just like that.)  Many beautiful carpets were rolled out, mint tea was served, and they went to work.  That first stop was a learning experience in the art of saying no- half of our group walked out with an expensive rug, and spent the next few days staring at it, saying “Why?!?”  Twenty year olds don’t have much call for a 300 euro rug.  I escaped unscathed, luckily, but I couldn’t stay superior for very long.

            Our next stop was for scarves, my own brand of kryptonite.  We saw them being woven in front of us, and when all the pretty colors came out, I just couldn’t resist.  I bought four.

            After that, we were off to a Moroccon organic pharmacy, where we learned about the different herbs and spices that could cure every ill, including bad temperament and snoring.  There was also a range of make-up available, eyeliner made of kohl, lipstick that changed color depending on your natural tone, and miracle oil for every possible use.  I bought it all, because it was just so fun, as well as some sweet curry for my host mom, which is now what all my suitcase and clothes smell like. 

            Then was lunch, a glorious activity in any country.  Like France, bread is always served, and the first course was many small plates.  The conversation  revolved mostly around, “What is that?” “I don’t know, but it tastes good.”  “Ok, pass it over.”  Then came the traditional meal that we would become very familiar with- couscous under some meat, usually chicken, under large cooked vegetables. 

            The water was dangerous, much like Mexico- we were not even to brush our teeth with anything but bottled water.  This also meant no fresh fruits or vegetables unless they  could be peeled, which led for a massive craving by the end of the week, quite unusual for me. 

            After lunch we went to the largest tannery in Africa, which smelled like it.  They gave us sprigs of mint to breathe in, and then we were tempted by the most beautiful leather jackets.  I had to constantly remind myself that I didn’t need anything 100% camel. 

            Last was the ceramics factory, just outside the city limits, where the most amazing things were the views of the city, built into the rolling hills.  Exhausted, we were taken back to our hotel for dinner and sleep, for the next day we were off to the desert!

            That’s all for right now I think- hopefully the next three days will be up here soon.  It depends on how much studying I get done. I’d like to get it up before Saturday so there’s nothing in the way of me posting the Loire Valley trip this weekend, which will be hard with the welcome distraction of my family! 

            Feel free to leave questions, comments, or opinions in the comments here or on Facebook.  I like the feedback, and it’s nice to know that someone else is reading this.  It makes me more motivated!

            I hope you’re all enjoying this beautiful weather! A tout a l’heure!

Cailin in Paris

Hello all! A shorter one today, but more coming soon!

First, and most importantly, I need to tell you that my host mom pulled a sausage out tonight, as she sometimes does, and began slicing some for herself, and I asked what type it was, expecting the brand name or something. 

            But no.  She turned to me and somewhat sheepishly said, “I don’t dare tell you.”

I tried to continue my meal, but the bait was set. I had to know.  She didn’t know the word in English, so in French she said, “C’est l’âne.”

            Donkey.  She was eating donkey sausage.  This is the world I am living in.

            Anyway, moving on.  My cousin Cailin was here this week!  She studied abroad in Switzerland during college and has been to France many times, and speaks much better French than I do.  Because she has done most of the touristy things around Paris, we were able to explore the city away from the big ticket items.  Which, as it turned out, consisted mainly of us eating our way from one side of Paris to the other.  The first night we met up for dinner and I took her to St. Michel, a student/international area with lots of cheap food, both on the streets and in restaurants.  Being next to Notre Dame, they cater mostly to tourists, but you can get three courses for fifteen euro or less- and many have men outside offering free drinks to entice customers inside.  It’s perfect for a large group of poor American students on their way out for the night, or who want a crepe on their way home from school. 

            The next day, we met for lunch, got an appetizer crepe, and walked across the river to the 4^th (Marais) which I hadn’t explored yet.  We lingered outside restaurants by the Centre Pompidou, one of the bigger modern art museums, and had a delicious meal before I had to run to class.  Cailin and I have both recently read a book called Lunch in Paris about an American girl who married a Frenchman, and she gives a few restaurant recommendations, so we spent much of our time trekking around finding those, as well as the sites in my guidebook that I haven’t gotten too.

            We traipsed all over, looking for boulangeries and herbs and open markets- one day we bought bread, two different types of cheese, fruit, and half of a roasted chicken at a market and had a picnic in a park.  For as much as I have been living in Paris, I spend a lot of time with Americans in very international parts of the city, but this weekend we went to places where very little English was spoken, if at all. It was a perfect Parisian weekend.

            I very much enjoy living here.  I know, big surprise, but there is something incredibly relaxing about being one of the city’s million of inhabitants, of having a routine, and the pleasure of having quiet days where I can sleep in, go to class, maybe wander around a bit and then go home to my beautiful little family for a leisurely dinner.  Brianna and I are are making our way movies with French subtitles, or well known movies dubbed in French. 

            On the other hand, I am living in Paris.  I can’t let myself get too complacent.  Having Cailin here showed me how much of the city I have yet to explore.  People in my group often lament the same thing, and we have already made plans to start being proper residents and getting outside our comfort zones, for time is slipping away!  It’s already mid- March.  I’ve been here a whole month already, too fast, too fast!  This next month is already booked up.  This Saturday is St. Patrick’s day….so this weekend  is booked, and then on Tuesday I leave for Morocco! (Did I tell you guys I was going to Morocco? How cool is that?!?)  I come back the following Sunday, then the next weekend I’m off to the Loire Valley, and then my family is here for the whole first week of April!  The weekend after that is spring break, which is going to be wild, including Nice, Corsica, Prague, Amsterdam, and Bruges, and then back on May 1^st, and all of a sudden I have three weeks left in Europe!  There is so much more I want to see here, my list is long and always growing!  London, Dublin, Switzerland, Vienna, Copenhagen, Lisbon, Greece, Croatia, Italy, not to mention the rest of France!  Some will have to wait, either because I’ve been before or I know I’ll be back (Great Britain, I’m coming for you).  I think France will win, and my last long weekend will be spent in Provence, Bordeaux, Alsace, or Champagne.  I know, it’s a hard life.

            Part of how I know I’m entering the world of adults, silly as this sounds, is that I have to pay for things.  It’s been a long time since I collected any allowance, and then the only things I spent that on were nights out with friends and books.  At school, everything comes off my magic JAC card, and even shopping of campus was a simple swipe of my debit card. 

            France is a cash economy. People don’t have credit cards like we do in the States, there’s no such thing as a credit score. Many places don’t take cards, or at least require a minimum charge. Everything is done in cash here, and in coins no less.  There are no 1 dollar bills, just 1 and 2 euro coins, and I still find it very bizarre to pay for 2 euro crepe with a tenner and get back a handful of coins.  At first I didn’t like it at all- in the States, coins are just annoying, and I usually pick out the quarters and dump the rest in a tip jar.  Here, exact change is appreciated, and that same handful could pay for your meal.  IT took some getting used to, but now I check my coin purse first before the bills.  Using cash also makes me painfully aware of how much I am forking over every day.  There are ATM’s on every corner, and for the first time I am exceedingly conscious of how much is on my card.  I’ve grown quite attached to it.  I keep imagining these big machines grabbing my little card and sucking it dry until I can return the poor thing to the safety and comfort of my wallet.

            Looking at both my bank account and my calendar, I’m putting out an open call; if anyone knows any connections in pretty much any European country, please let me know!  If anyone feels like taking a May trip, I will meet you in the city of your choice.  Right now, my plane ticket back to the States is for May 26^th , the day after classes end.  Please, please, please give me a reason to postpone it.  I don’t know when I’ll be here again, and I want to see everything!  Barring that, I’ll settle for everything I can possibly manage. 

Maybe this is the one month panic, I don’t know.