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.