I'm home!
My flight from France was delayed two hours, which I found out after having taken the three-hour train from Nantes to Paris early Saturday morning. That meant I would miss my connection in Chicago and have to take a later one, meaning I'd be spending the night in Seattle and getting to Spokane midday Sunday instead of Saturday as planned. Bummed that I wouldn't be sleeping in my own bed as I had been looking forward to, I sent out a frantic email to the powers that be saying what had happened and providing potential housing options in Seattle, hoping that they'd all communicate with each other and there'd be something in the works by the time I got off my nine hour flight between continents.
As I had hoped, by the time I landed at O'Hare, family friends (Glen and Carol) were all caught up on my story and willing to pick me up and give me a bed when I rolled in bleary-eyed and saggy-tailed to Seattle around 11pm, which I was very thankful for. That all worked out as planned (for once) and I caught my little sardine jet from Seattle to Spokane this morning, walking through the airport wearing a huge grin to see my mom and Grambo (my dad's mom) there by baggage claim awaiting my arrival.
Despite frustration and many times waking up mid-flight to a my mouth gaping open and some drool involved, my journey home was successful, and relatively easily ammended considering the many airports that are now delaying, canceling flights or even shutting down completely in Europe. I don't know what I would have done if I couldn't have been home for Christmas.
These past three and a half months have been full of challenges, memories, exciting experiences, unforgettable travels, and times with friends that will last long after our return to the states. I'm so glad to be home and to have done a semester abroad in France, and I can't believe how fast it went and how different I feel about myself and the world because of it.
Thanks for taking an interest in my life this semester and spending hours following my adventures and ramblings! Without you I... would have a much less often visited blog. Have a happy Christmas and enjoy 2011!
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Quiero Barcelona
Last trip of my semester abroad! And it was fantastic. Abigail, whose 21st birthday was December 4th, wanted to do something special for her birthday when thinking about it back in November and had wanted to go to Barcelona for some time, so Preston, Amy and I got tickets and started planning the best birthday trip ever!
We were a little worried the day before leaving because a large portion of flights leaving Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris had been canceled due to snow and we were worried a) our flight the following day would be canceled or b) our flight the following day wouldn't be canceled but we wouldn't be able to get back to Paris on Sunday and would be stuck in Barcelona the week leading up to finals. In the end, after polling our respective host parents, taking a deep breath and going for it, we took the train to Paris on Friday and arrived in warm, sunny (not hot but much much warmer than frigid France) Barcelona at about 4 p.m. After checking into our awesome hostel (somehow I didn't take any pictures of it but it was very cheap and very nice; the best deal I've encountered this semester), we went out to explore.
We saw the Torre Agbar, which I've seen in numerous architecture books, and which towers over Barcelona as one of its tallest, most uniquely shaped buildings. After walking around admiring Christmas decorations and lights for a while, we decided we were too hungry to ignore food anymore but it was still too early to go to dinner (gotta wait til about 9 p.m. to do that) so we stopped in a little side café to get a snack to tide us over. Hearing nothing but Spanish or Catalan, of which we understand nothing, is one thing. It's entirely different to decide on what you want based on the illustrated menu outside and to walk in and realize you don't know how to say anything past "hello". The woman at the café didn't know much English either but we played a game of charades and somehow ended up sitting at a table eating what we had each wanted. When it came time to pay at the counter before leaving, I realized again just how helpless you feel trying to get some idea across and having absolutely no idea how to do so. I didn't even know what the thing I ate was called because what I asked for had been out and so I had pointed at something in the glass case like a mime and had gotten it after receiving a "si, muy bien" and a friendly nod from our waitress helper. When it came my turn to tell the cashier what I had eaten, I uttered a weak whimpering sound and walked to the end of the counter to point at the remains of the quiche-type food I'd eaten to get the idea across.
At the very least, such an experience made us realize how grateful we are to know French so well at this point. There are still plenty of times when we don't know a vocab word, but in the worst case scenario that just means that a conversation ends up taking longer than it needs to because you spend half of it playing a game of Taboo explaining your way around mystery words. In Spanish, we didn't even know how to say, "sorry, I don't know the word for this."
We ate at a Spanish restaurant where Amy and Abigail got seafood paëlla (spiced-up sauced-up rice with tons of cooked swimming critters in it), I got pasta, Preston got something else that is yummy but I can't remember and we all got a pitcher of yummy sangria.
After a good day of browsing H&Ms (there was a huge amount of them everywhere we went),
wandering the city and eating yummy food, we headed back to our comfy hostel, mingled in the hostel bar (mostly with ourselves, given that most of the population was boy scouts or full-grown adults) and called it a day, falling asleep in our record-breakingly comfortable hostel beds.
The next morning was Abigail's 21st birthday! We walked to
La Sagrada Familia, a large Roman Catholic church designed
by Gaudi and built around the end of the 19th century. It was
so amazing and bizarre; aside from the appearance of part of
it melting, the baskets of gigantic statue fruit perched atop its
spires, the square-headed Jesus and various disciples
inhabiting the opposite side of the building and about
everything else about it, the church is completely normal. That
is to say, it's the opposite of normal. We didn't go inside
because we didn't want to spend our birthday girl's birthday
standing in line, but it was a very cool sight to see.
After visiting the Sagrada Familia, we made our way up to the
top of Park Güell, an area that climbs steeply to the top of a
tall hill and overlooks Barcelona, with lots of Gaudi buildings
at its entrance and sprinkled throughout the park itself. We
went into it a back way without realizing it, which turned out
for the best because we climbed up to the top and got the view first, then worked our way down and saw more and more Gaudi buildings as we went along, finally ending up at the entrance to the park which is this spectacular collection of buildings and patios and coverings and walls all covered in gorgeous intricate tile work, equipped with artists and musicians everywhere you look. You are never out of earshot of music and the sun shining down on hundreds of happy, relaxed people made the place even better than we had imagined. We chilled there for a while, just drinking it all in, and then worked our way back into the city to tour some more buildings and wander around.
We struggled our way through ordering some delicious pizza at a hole-in-the-wall place that some English local recommended to us after hearing us discussing lunch options on a quiet street. Later in the afternoon we did as the Spanish do and took a siesta before preparing for a birthday dinner and night on the town. We planned to meet up with Amy's friend from Bates College in Maine who was studying in Barcelona this semester. Finally, we would have a translator!
After our siesta we went out to dinner at La Rosa Negra, a Mexican restaurant, where we took full advantage of the foods our beloved Mexican cuisine has to offer that we've been missing in France. After a birthday dessert that couldn't be beat, we headed downtown to meet up with Jack, Amy's friend. We shared a drink with him for a while killing time catching up between our late dinner and our later birthday festivities.
He gave us some tips for bars and clubs to go to and we were astonished to hear that many clubs in Barcelona don't really get started until 3 a.m. I guess those siestas sure do the trick for those guys. We went to another little hole-in-the-wall bar that we never would have found without his suggestion and, wallets clutched close and holding hands, found ourselves a table and four sangrias through the bustling crowd and had a great birthday evening (I even got a five-euro souvenir t-shirt!) and headed back to the hostel "early" compared to our local counterparts.
Sunday, before going to the airport to catch our flight back, we went to a park downtown where there stood a giant elephant statue just begging for a photo shoot, a huge elaborate fountain palace, an arboretum of sorts, seemingly exotic birds flying overhead, and many people playing with their dogs.
We went from there to the Barcelona beach to breathe fresh air and touch ocean water in December. A little chilly at this point to go swimming, but the sand was so soft and the weather temperate enough that if the sun had peeked out from the clouds we would have stripped down and gone tanning.
We went back to the hostel, checked out, said goodbye to Preston (he was staying an extra day) and caught the train to the Barcelona airport, where we found out our flight was delayed about a half hour.
Then began the real drama of the weekend.
Knowing that we had left ample time to get from Charles de Gaulle airport to Montparnasse train station, we hadn't been worried about the transition before. Taking thirty minutes off of that time made our eyes widen a little at the prospect of running through the Paris metro station and arriving at our train's platform just in time to see it pulling away to head off to Nantes without us. While visions of RER and metro transitions danced in our minds, we buckled down and slept like it was our job until landing in Paris, when it was Go Time.
Grabbing our backpacks and tightening our scarves around our now-chilly necks, we edged our way to the front of the crowd and speed walked from one end of CDG airport to the other to catch the RER, a special train that goes from downtown Paris to the outskirts of zone 3. Having bought return RER tickets before leaving Paris on our way to Barcelona days earlier, we caught the train minutes before its rolling out of the station, happy that our legs were not only long, but all alike in that trait. Now was not a convenient time to wait up on slow walkers. Our legs twitched the entire train ride as we kept muttering to each other, "we can still make it... we can still make it..." at each train stop that lasted for an eternity.
Upon reaching our transition stop, we ran toward the metro entrance, using our RER/Metro inclusive tickets to hurriedly swipe through the gates before catching our last connection to Montparnasse. Amy and Abigail went through without a problem and I inserted my ticket and ran SMACK into the unyielding metal barrier.
This was not only one of those obnoxious rotating bar gates, but one of those obnoxious rotating bar gates followed by an imposing metal hinging door as tall as me, all of which was stubbornly resisting my frantic efforts to pass through.
Amy and Abigail out of sight, my mind raced with solutions. My ticket didn't work for some reason, although theirs had and they were the same type and price as mine had been. It was too late now to go all the way back and find where a machine might be, let alone select the right ticket and dig through my wallet to find the appropriate change to purchase it. There was no way. As a man passed by me on my right, I slipped in behind him hoping to subtly get a two-for-one deal. Not happening – that guy's ticket didn't work either, for some unknown reason. Refusing to dwell on our shared failure, I turned and my eyes locked on a little old man inserting his ticket into the evil Metro machine two gates down. I leaped after him, reaching forward with one arm to hold open the metal door after he passed while my other arm supported my adrenaline-filled body to leap over the stubborn one-pass-policy metal bar barrier.
Seeing my friends' frantically wide-eyed faces change to sudden looks of horrified relief, I sprinted to catch up with Amy and Abigail and we ran, taking two, three steps at a time, to catch the next Metro train to Montparnasse.
Torture was defined in that seemingly never-ending three-stop Metro ride.
We edged to the door as our stop approached. Pulling the metal door trigger before the Metro came to a complete stop, we leaped onto the platform and all out sprinted. We had three minutes to make the ten-minute walking trip from the metro part of Montparnasse to the train platforms part. We would have to look up at the board to see which platform the Nantes train was leaving from, and we would have to get there before our train pulled away without us. At this point, there was no looking back. We had to make it. All systems go, we hauled ourselves full sprint up the multiple flights of stairs out of the Metro, around the corner, almost slipping on the slick concrete floor, breathlessly blurting, "Pardon! Excusez-moi! Pardon!" to every startled French person we flew past, clipping their shoulder. Legs aching, we continued to run full speed across slick floors to the next set of stairs, taking them two at a time and trying to convince our burning lungs that they would eventually recover from this. We hurtled down the hallway to the train station one by one, Abigail's eyes finding the platform announcements board first and thrusting an open palm at Amy and me behind her, breathlessly mouthing the word "FIVE!" with a look of panic on her face. We quickly realized that we were at platform 9 and our minds whirred as we considered the fleeting possibility of our not making it. We approached platform 5 as the loud final warning alarm filled our ears. We hurled ourselves inside the first car's door as an SNCF employee urged us on, saying "Allez-y! Vite! Vite!"
Inside, we squished in as the last passengers among other people who had been running late. They didn't know the meaning of running late. Panting, lungs heaving, legs threatening to collapse, we edged our way down the now-moving train's corridors to our seats and sat down, still too high on adrenaline to reflect on what had just happened.
But we made it.
And we got to Nantes safe and sound.
And now the countdown 'til home reads 10 days.
We were a little worried the day before leaving because a large portion of flights leaving Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris had been canceled due to snow and we were worried a) our flight the following day would be canceled or b) our flight the following day wouldn't be canceled but we wouldn't be able to get back to Paris on Sunday and would be stuck in Barcelona the week leading up to finals. In the end, after polling our respective host parents, taking a deep breath and going for it, we took the train to Paris on Friday and arrived in warm, sunny (not hot but much much warmer than frigid France) Barcelona at about 4 p.m. After checking into our awesome hostel (somehow I didn't take any pictures of it but it was very cheap and very nice; the best deal I've encountered this semester), we went out to explore.
We saw the Torre Agbar, which I've seen in numerous architecture books, and which towers over Barcelona as one of its tallest, most uniquely shaped buildings. After walking around admiring Christmas decorations and lights for a while, we decided we were too hungry to ignore food anymore but it was still too early to go to dinner (gotta wait til about 9 p.m. to do that) so we stopped in a little side café to get a snack to tide us over. Hearing nothing but Spanish or Catalan, of which we understand nothing, is one thing. It's entirely different to decide on what you want based on the illustrated menu outside and to walk in and realize you don't know how to say anything past "hello". The woman at the café didn't know much English either but we played a game of charades and somehow ended up sitting at a table eating what we had each wanted. When it came time to pay at the counter before leaving, I realized again just how helpless you feel trying to get some idea across and having absolutely no idea how to do so. I didn't even know what the thing I ate was called because what I asked for had been out and so I had pointed at something in the glass case like a mime and had gotten it after receiving a "si, muy bien" and a friendly nod from our waitress helper. When it came my turn to tell the cashier what I had eaten, I uttered a weak whimpering sound and walked to the end of the counter to point at the remains of the quiche-type food I'd eaten to get the idea across.
At the very least, such an experience made us realize how grateful we are to know French so well at this point. There are still plenty of times when we don't know a vocab word, but in the worst case scenario that just means that a conversation ends up taking longer than it needs to because you spend half of it playing a game of Taboo explaining your way around mystery words. In Spanish, we didn't even know how to say, "sorry, I don't know the word for this."
We ate at a Spanish restaurant where Amy and Abigail got seafood paëlla (spiced-up sauced-up rice with tons of cooked swimming critters in it), I got pasta, Preston got something else that is yummy but I can't remember and we all got a pitcher of yummy sangria.
 |
| Seafood paëlla arriving at our table of anxious eaters |
 | |||
| Quickly emptied Sangria pitcher. |
wandering the city and eating yummy food, we headed back to our comfy hostel, mingled in the hostel bar (mostly with ourselves, given that most of the population was boy scouts or full-grown adults) and called it a day, falling asleep in our record-breakingly comfortable hostel beds.
 |
| Sagrada Familia melting part |
La Sagrada Familia, a large Roman Catholic church designed
by Gaudi and built around the end of the 19th century. It was
so amazing and bizarre; aside from the appearance of part of
it melting, the baskets of gigantic statue fruit perched atop its
spires, the square-headed Jesus and various disciples
inhabiting the opposite side of the building and about
everything else about it, the church is completely normal. That
is to say, it's the opposite of normal. We didn't go inside
because we didn't want to spend our birthday girl's birthday
standing in line, but it was a very cool sight to see.
After visiting the Sagrada Familia, we made our way up to the
top of Park Güell, an area that climbs steeply to the top of a
tall hill and overlooks Barcelona, with lots of Gaudi buildings
at its entrance and sprinkled throughout the park itself. We
went into it a back way without realizing it, which turned out
for the best because we climbed up to the top and got the view first, then worked our way down and saw more and more Gaudi buildings as we went along, finally ending up at the entrance to the park which is this spectacular collection of buildings and patios and coverings and walls all covered in gorgeous intricate tile work, equipped with artists and musicians everywhere you look. You are never out of earshot of music and the sun shining down on hundreds of happy, relaxed people made the place even better than we had imagined. We chilled there for a while, just drinking it all in, and then worked our way back into the city to tour some more buildings and wander around.
 |
| Yeaahhh, the view was aight. (You can see the Torre Agbar sticking out like a... sore thumb? in the distance) |
 |
| Dr. Seuss City Extravaganzaaaa! |
 |
| Preston's and my "ohhhh my god it's beautiful!" face |
After our siesta we went out to dinner at La Rosa Negra, a Mexican restaurant, where we took full advantage of the foods our beloved Mexican cuisine has to offer that we've been missing in France. After a birthday dessert that couldn't be beat, we headed downtown to meet up with Jack, Amy's friend. We shared a drink with him for a while killing time catching up between our late dinner and our later birthday festivities.
He gave us some tips for bars and clubs to go to and we were astonished to hear that many clubs in Barcelona don't really get started until 3 a.m. I guess those siestas sure do the trick for those guys. We went to another little hole-in-the-wall bar that we never would have found without his suggestion and, wallets clutched close and holding hands, found ourselves a table and four sangrias through the bustling crowd and had a great birthday evening (I even got a five-euro souvenir t-shirt!) and headed back to the hostel "early" compared to our local counterparts.
 |
| Our oversized friend (shhh, he's sensitive about his weight) |
We went from there to the Barcelona beach to breathe fresh air and touch ocean water in December. A little chilly at this point to go swimming, but the sand was so soft and the weather temperate enough that if the sun had peeked out from the clouds we would have stripped down and gone tanning.
 |
| Who says sunny is always better? Clouds aren't all bad. |
Then began the real drama of the weekend.
Knowing that we had left ample time to get from Charles de Gaulle airport to Montparnasse train station, we hadn't been worried about the transition before. Taking thirty minutes off of that time made our eyes widen a little at the prospect of running through the Paris metro station and arriving at our train's platform just in time to see it pulling away to head off to Nantes without us. While visions of RER and metro transitions danced in our minds, we buckled down and slept like it was our job until landing in Paris, when it was Go Time.
Grabbing our backpacks and tightening our scarves around our now-chilly necks, we edged our way to the front of the crowd and speed walked from one end of CDG airport to the other to catch the RER, a special train that goes from downtown Paris to the outskirts of zone 3. Having bought return RER tickets before leaving Paris on our way to Barcelona days earlier, we caught the train minutes before its rolling out of the station, happy that our legs were not only long, but all alike in that trait. Now was not a convenient time to wait up on slow walkers. Our legs twitched the entire train ride as we kept muttering to each other, "we can still make it... we can still make it..." at each train stop that lasted for an eternity.
Upon reaching our transition stop, we ran toward the metro entrance, using our RER/Metro inclusive tickets to hurriedly swipe through the gates before catching our last connection to Montparnasse. Amy and Abigail went through without a problem and I inserted my ticket and ran SMACK into the unyielding metal barrier.
This was not only one of those obnoxious rotating bar gates, but one of those obnoxious rotating bar gates followed by an imposing metal hinging door as tall as me, all of which was stubbornly resisting my frantic efforts to pass through.
Amy and Abigail out of sight, my mind raced with solutions. My ticket didn't work for some reason, although theirs had and they were the same type and price as mine had been. It was too late now to go all the way back and find where a machine might be, let alone select the right ticket and dig through my wallet to find the appropriate change to purchase it. There was no way. As a man passed by me on my right, I slipped in behind him hoping to subtly get a two-for-one deal. Not happening – that guy's ticket didn't work either, for some unknown reason. Refusing to dwell on our shared failure, I turned and my eyes locked on a little old man inserting his ticket into the evil Metro machine two gates down. I leaped after him, reaching forward with one arm to hold open the metal door after he passed while my other arm supported my adrenaline-filled body to leap over the stubborn one-pass-policy metal bar barrier.
Seeing my friends' frantically wide-eyed faces change to sudden looks of horrified relief, I sprinted to catch up with Amy and Abigail and we ran, taking two, three steps at a time, to catch the next Metro train to Montparnasse.
Torture was defined in that seemingly never-ending three-stop Metro ride.
We edged to the door as our stop approached. Pulling the metal door trigger before the Metro came to a complete stop, we leaped onto the platform and all out sprinted. We had three minutes to make the ten-minute walking trip from the metro part of Montparnasse to the train platforms part. We would have to look up at the board to see which platform the Nantes train was leaving from, and we would have to get there before our train pulled away without us. At this point, there was no looking back. We had to make it. All systems go, we hauled ourselves full sprint up the multiple flights of stairs out of the Metro, around the corner, almost slipping on the slick concrete floor, breathlessly blurting, "Pardon! Excusez-moi! Pardon!" to every startled French person we flew past, clipping their shoulder. Legs aching, we continued to run full speed across slick floors to the next set of stairs, taking them two at a time and trying to convince our burning lungs that they would eventually recover from this. We hurtled down the hallway to the train station one by one, Abigail's eyes finding the platform announcements board first and thrusting an open palm at Amy and me behind her, breathlessly mouthing the word "FIVE!" with a look of panic on her face. We quickly realized that we were at platform 9 and our minds whirred as we considered the fleeting possibility of our not making it. We approached platform 5 as the loud final warning alarm filled our ears. We hurled ourselves inside the first car's door as an SNCF employee urged us on, saying "Allez-y! Vite! Vite!"
Inside, we squished in as the last passengers among other people who had been running late. They didn't know the meaning of running late. Panting, lungs heaving, legs threatening to collapse, we edged our way down the now-moving train's corridors to our seats and sat down, still too high on adrenaline to reflect on what had just happened.
But we made it.
And we got to Nantes safe and sound.
And now the countdown 'til home reads 10 days.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Baby's first x-ray
Well first I gotta tell y'all that I saw Harry Potter over the weekend. So good! I can't wait to see the final one in April! It was dubbed into French, which was a little annoying because the voice actors sounded different (I so associate Hermione, Ron and Harry with their respective voices) and Snape, for example, sounded like a regular french businessman as opposed to the creepy, scratchy-voiced slimy character that he is. But as far as comprehension goes I got it all; I may have missed a couple jokes along the way but I fully understood the plot even though I read the last book only once and remember approximately nothing of what happened in it. So that was fun!
Tomorrow morning I have to go to the doctor's office for an OFII appointment as part of my long-stay student visa. Even though I'm only here for not even another three weeks, I hafta let them make sure I'm safe and sound in health and that I don't have TB. (If I do, or if I have any other deadly infectious diseases... sorry, french population, for spreading it to you over these past three months...) They test for TB by giving you an x-ray, which I've never had before and would rather not have if I can avoid it, but I guess if the french government wants to make sure I'm not spreading diseases to her population 18 days before I leave for home, I'll just go along with it.
Meanwhile, with devoirs à la maison done and over with, my three best friends (Abigail, Amy and Preston) and I are gearing up to go to Barcelona this weekend to celebrate Abigail's 21st birthday. We leave on Friday morning and come back Sunday night. It will be interesting again to be in a place where I know about zero of the language, but again it's an international city so I have no doubt we'll have a blast. Just don't yell things in English... keep your friends close and your wallets closer... stay outta dark alleyways and agree on a price before accepting a service... I think we'll be fine.
Tomorrow morning I have to go to the doctor's office for an OFII appointment as part of my long-stay student visa. Even though I'm only here for not even another three weeks, I hafta let them make sure I'm safe and sound in health and that I don't have TB. (If I do, or if I have any other deadly infectious diseases... sorry, french population, for spreading it to you over these past three months...) They test for TB by giving you an x-ray, which I've never had before and would rather not have if I can avoid it, but I guess if the french government wants to make sure I'm not spreading diseases to her population 18 days before I leave for home, I'll just go along with it.
 | |
| So that's what free time looks like... also defense against the bad guys |
Friday, November 26, 2010
Le Monstre
Hoo boy I haven’t updated my blog in approximately 11 years. Just kidding, it’s been more like a couple weeks. But still, I’m outta the habit. So much to catch up on! Since I last was here, I’ve been inexplicably pointed at by my first Nantes homeless person, I’ve accidentally sat down on someone on a bus when it turned unexpectedly, I have hung out in Paris for the fourth time, I have been to Rome, I have taken my second and final Grammar midterm with Madame de Pous, and I have written seventeen pages worth of “devoirs à la maison,” otherwise known as big project papers in French. (It’s nice to be able to write this in English.)
Now it’s Thanksgiving and I just finished my morning classes of Construction of a European Union and Contemporary French Society and I’m sipping some Apple Cinnamon tea and eating Muesli with strawberry yogurt, sitting in the study room my friends and I have marked as our own (by always being in here and leaving our stuff in here and drawing pictures to pin on the blank white walls, not peeing in the corners. Gross.) and a pigeon just tried to fly in the window which is open a crack. I’m sitting in here alone so I’m glad it didn’t succeed in entering the room. Although the company would be appreciated.
When I sat down to write this it seemed like a pretty big feat given that A) there was a lot to say solely about Rome immediately after I got back, B) there is now even more to say because I waited a week and a half to update my blog, and 3) I have a horrible memory. I don’t even remember how I started this sentence nor how to
So anyway, I’m gonna do my best to recall everything that I’ve done since Geneva. Most emphasis is on Rome. I couldn’t decide what to call this blog post so I just sat down and made a list of possibilities.
“When in Rome”
“Rome sweet Rome”
“RAH RAH-A-a-aah Roma Roma-maah” (it's a song reference, Grandma, don't worry about it)
“Gaga for Roma”
“Grazie, Roma”
“Rome is where the heart is”
“Rome is where the pasta is”
“Rome, Rome on the raange”
“Romeward Bound”
“Just Rome-in’ Around”
“Rome and Coke”
“Row, Row, Roman Trip, this is dumb theme, merrily merrily merrily merrily, life is but a dream.”
“Why is everyone calling me Chowbella? Do they want to hear my Chewbacca impression?”
“Romeo and Juliet (just kidding, it’s me, Laura)”
“Welcome to my humble Rome”
“700,000 men and countless animals were brutally killed here... now that is what I call family entertainment!”
“I ruh roo, Rome.”
“How do you say ‘check please?’”
“We no speak Italiano”
“Hopefully they think I’m french...”
“SCUZIE!”
“Io prendo pizza?”
“Bonjourno, Michelangelo!”
“Sistene Chapel times 3. No, but actually.”
So to start, my week between Geneva and Rome was only three days of school, which consisted mostly of frantic room-cleaning, unpacking and repacking for my next trip. Thursday morning I got to the train station in Nantes as my train (carrying all my Romeward bound friends) left. I had allowed plenty of time to get there a half hour early from my house, but I didn’t realize that the trams were on vacation schedule and so my first one didn’t come until about fifteen minutes after I thought it would, and the second one about twenty minutes later. The soggy, sad, tired lump of nervously-shaking disappointedness that I was paid the twenty euros to switch to the next train to Paris, texted my friends to let them know I hadn’t made it on and I’d catch up with them later in the day, and went for a walk in the rain outside because after the ordeal of missing my train I just couldn’t handle sitting still.
Two hours later I was getting on my train in a much better mood with another friend that was headed to Paris. Once we arrived, I called my friends and, sans umbrella, traversed Paris via metro and foot, asking directions a few times, to catch up with them in the Musée d’Orangérie in the Tuileries to check out a Monet exhibit, which was very cool. I love impressionist painting so that mixed with seeing the faces of people I had just wanted to be with all day improved my mood immensely. Sharing broken umbrellas, being showered with torrential rains and walking against some surprisingly biting winds, we made a quick loop of some tourist sites in Paris (just quickly cause, I mean, been there done that) and ended up in a warm crêperie in a little side street. There, drenched from head to two and wearing boots of 80% water, I cheered up my tummy by eating a ham, cheese and potato galette.
My only must-do goal for Paris, even before leaving Nantes, was to get a Nutella-banane crêpe on the street (Nantes doesn’t have this glorious aspect of french cuisine, all of our crêperies are sit-in restaurants and let’s be honest, I am rarely prepared for that amount of commitment). So that’s exactly what we did for dessert and it was everything I had needed and more. Mmmm, heaven in a napkin. And sometimes you bite a little bit of the napkin they serve it to you in... it’s all part of the beautiful experience.
That night three of our group stayed at our hotel to blow dry their socks and cuddle up under the blankets while my friend Preston and I went back into Paris (our hotel was way out of town, near Orly airport because we were flying to Rome early the next morning). There we struggled through the complicated maze that is the Paris metro system until we finally managed to meet up with Guilhem Peruchietti (brother Ben’s old rotary exchange buddy) and his girlfriend for dinner. We went to a really good and really tiny hole-in-the-wall Thai restaurant where we ate very interesting and authentic (and yummy!) food and had loverly conversation that was about 85% in french. It was really fun because the last time I saw Guilhem in person I was not near as comfortable speaking French as I am now, nor could I understand what he was saying in normal conversation at all, so it added a whole level to our interaction. The bad news is we forgot to take a picture of us, so you’ll just have to imagine us having a grand old time eating rice/coconut/almond(?) desserts wrapped in seaweed while sitting at a table we literally took minutes trying to get into cause it was so tiny.
Early Friday morning we hopped dulled-eyed and damp-tailed onto our plane to Rome and fell asleep immediately.
We knew before arriving in Rome that none of us spoke Italian, save the few words everyone knows: grazie, bienvenuti, ciao bella, bonjourno... It was bizarre to walk around for the first time since I visited France when I was little hearing everyone speak the same language to each other and not being able to understand any of it. Intently listening to a woman talking on the phone by me on the metro, I could pick out maybe three words that resembled what I knew in French or Spanish. Even though most people there speak English, I felt absolutely incompetent not even being able to start out speaking butchered Italian to them; in a café choosing what we wanted to eat for lunch, my friends and I kept pointing at things and saying, “ça?” (“that?” in French) because it just seemed better than saying “that?” in English. We were in “speak foreign language” mode but the only foreign language we know is French and that came to our brains very readily.
So Friday during the day we walked around Rome and saw the Forum of Peace which was built between 71 and 75 AD by Vespasian. Nope, didn’t leave out any digits there. Those numbers are in the TENS. It absolutely blew our minds to be standing outside of something that has stood there for one thousand and nine hundred years. I was thinking back to when I was little and would take long walks through the woods with my golden retriever Gabe. I was obsessed with the idea that it was not unlikely that I was the first person in the history of the world to step foot on the ground where I was walking. This blew my mind in the opposite way, trying to fathom the millions of different people who had walked exactly where I had walked and had seen what I was seeing. We went to the Colosseum and took a tour through it, learning that 700,000 men died there, they used to have fights between women and midgets, they would import and proceed to flaunt and then kill or put in battle hundreds of kinds of exotic animals. There was one door through which the dead only passed, leaving the arena. The only living who walked through the arc were slaves carrying dead bodies. There were 28 trap doors in the floor through which men would fall or starved, abused animals would be raised to attack awaiting men. “Arena” comes from the Greek word for sand, which covered the floor of the, well, arena, to soak up all the blood spilled on a daily basis. Needless to say, we learned a lot. The tour was fascinating and I’m really glad we took it.
Our tour took us next to the top of Palatine Hill, where we heard the story of Romulus and Remus and their shewolf (but actually prostitute) adopted mother. The view of the Roman Forum from the top of the hill was beautiful and, again, fascinating to contemplate all that it has seen.
After our tour, we headed to Piazza Nevona to people-watch, art-regard and gelato-eat. It was a good time to rest seeing that it was but the first day in Rome and our feet were already dying.
Then we explored around a bit more, and ultimately met up with a free walking tour that started at the bottom of the Spanish Steps and went for a couple hours (our feet were throbbing but so were our minds full of new knowledge! ) We ate dinner at a restaurant near the Pantheon. After we asked if we could get tap water, the waiter told us they weren’t allowed to serve tap water and we should get the water on the menu (that cost three euros! No way.) We had just finished the walking tour that taught us about how there are water spouts/fountains throughout the city, the water of which is monitored daily and very clean (we had also tasted it and it was really good) so we knew he was tryin’ ta pull a fast one on us. We said we wouldn’t get water then, and he ended up bringing us a carafe of tap water with our meals but told us not to tell anyone. Passed Rome’s first test.
Saturday was our Vatican City day. We had gotten tickets online beforehand thanks to Amelia’s tip (she was in Rome days before I was) so we got to skip lines and go right through the Vatican museums and the Sistine Chapel. It was amazing not only seeing Michelangelo’s ceiling on which there are numerous paintings I’ve seen in school since the beginning of ninth grade, but looking at the pieces by other artists on the walls, it’s just breathtaking to see the amount of detail and imagine that famous, unmatched painters were not only in that same room for endless hours upon hours, but they left behind masterpieces that have been cherished for centuries by millions and will continue to be for who knows how long.
Our necks were sore from gaping at it, trying to soak in all we could. Then, trying to find a specific exhibit, we walked back through the Sistine Chapel because we thought we had passed it. We had, and we found it, but then we went back through the Sistine Chapel for the third time to find an exit. So I’ve been in the Sistine Chapel three times... how many people can say that, right? After the Vatican we walked to the Spanish steps, got some lunch, made a wish and took plenty of pictures at the Trevi Fountain.
Saturday night we went to a free choir concert in a gorgeous cathedral that Hannah (a girl in our group) had discovered. Almost everyone in our group had been in a choir at some point in school, so it was a common interest and we all loved the concert. The choir was from California besides, so although we didn’t get a chance to talk to them we had a little connection to home with them. After the concert we went back to our hostel and Preston and I stayed up (the others went back to their hostel and the girl who was with us in ours went to bed) and went to the hostel bar to meet new friends. We succeeded! We sat down with some kids who turned out to be from the Netherlands and were really cool! They were our age and studying medicine somewhere else in Italy so were visiting Rome for a weekend just like us. We’re now facebook friends and if ever I’m headed to Amsterdam or they’re headed to Idaho (or Iowa, or Texas) we can call each other up and have a little reunion. While I’ve heard some sketchy stories about hostels, all of my experiences have been great and it’s a really fun place to meet other kids who are our age and doing similar things. Plus they’re way cheaper and young people-friendly than hotels are.
Sunday morning Preston and I had breakfast at the hostel with our new(therlands) friends while the others in our group went to a market a ways away. When their plans fell through and our other plans didn’t line up with theirs, Preston and I ended up exploring the city. We decided to pick and eat an orange from one of the many orange trees lining the street. They were a little hard, so we figured they might be a little sour, but we had no idea what we were in store for. I have a video of us eating THE. MOST. SOUR. THING. EVER. It was unbelievable. My tongue felt like I had burned its taste buds off for literally days after. So after traumatizing our mouths, we went to a park to find lunch (everywhere is closed on Sundays in Europe...) There were kids with parents everywhere, carousels, balloons, games, and then, the best thing ever: we came across a sort of Rollerblade party where there were cones set up in lines and a group of people (all in a club or team or something) were doing CRAZY tricks around them. A bunch of people were watching them and there was good music playing and we had just gotten lunch, so we decided to sit and watch them for a bit.
Wellll, we ended up staying there watching and talking and laughing and people-watching for about a good two hours. (Don't worry, I took videos.) When we finally tore ourselves away it wasn’t too long ‘til dinner time, so we went back to the hostel (saw a killer sunset on our walk back) for a little cat nap and then met back up with our group and went to dinner at a yummy Italian restaurant across from the hostel.
Monday morning before our plane left for Paris we went to St. Peter’s Basilica because there had been too long of a line when we had visited Vatican City on Saturday. We saw the meridian line and Michelangelo's statue Pietà which I was using in my art history paper that was sitting at home in Nantes waiting for me to finish. Then we got gelato at Old Bridge (best, cheapest place. So yummy.) and headed off to the airport.
Paris was POURING DOWN RAIN when we landed and we had to run with our broken umbrellas again from awning to awning to get to the train station. The ride back to Nantes was again soggy and tired and sore, so it was very nice to get back to my house and snuggle back into my warm familiar bed.
Since then, I had the equivalent of Grinnell’s Hell Week (the week before finals when all classes have papers, presentations and projects due) in France. It was tough but I feel accomplished having written all of those papers, and now the time I have left here seems so short.
[It is now Friday and this is a monster blog update so I might as well tell you how Thanksgiving went last night]
Although it was different, Thanksgiving in France was fun. IES had a dinner for the students and their host parents and all the professors/directors/aids of IES. Dinner consisted of smoked salmon and green salad as an appetizer (I’ve never had that on Thanksgiving, but it was yummy...), cooked but unmashed potatoes, turkey with no gravy, chestnuts (also had never eaten them before arriving in France) and farce, which was supposed to be like stuffing but more resembled a foie gras meat loaf. With cranberries on top. So that was interesting. Dessert was also a franco-interpretation of pumpkin pie, and tasted like someone pureed pumpkin insides and put it in a yummy crust without any spices. I was skeptical after the first bite, but the more I ate it the more I liked it. It followed the theme of the night: not Thanksgiving, but good nonetheless. There was a talent show after dinner which consisted of hula dancers (we have a couple IES students from Hawaii) and some musical performances. Talent shows can be very awkward, let’s be honest, but this was actually good. All in all it was an enjoyable night, despite my missing family and my usual Thanksgiving in Minnesota. I bonded a lot with my parents who were able to come with; my host dad kept throwing a paper plane he had made at me when I wasn't looking, and making fun of my faces in response to the non-Thanksgiving foods that kept being set in front of me. My friends were obviously there too and sat by me, so my host parents could finally see that I can be a functional, fun human being that can make people laugh and maintain normal relationships instead of being this loner that makes the language mistakes of a six year old and sits in her bed a lot (it's where I do my homework and read and play on my computer... it's the only warm spot in the house!) and now I feel a bit closer to them. So that was good.
It has been getting colder and colder here, I’ve switched from wearing a sweatshirt and leather jacket to my pea coat and scarf, hat and gloves. No snow yet, but it’s supposed to come on Sunday so Amy, Preston and I are going to Abigail’s house to make sugar cookies and gingerbread, listen to Christmas music, and be huggy warm and happy! I can’t wait. All of Nantes has Christmas decorations up, there is a Christmas fair down in the main square all around the fountain, with a carousel and lots of red and green Christmas booths with everything from food to vin chaud (hot wine!) to presents and everything in between. We will be hitting that up this weekend and the weeks to come.
Now it’s Thanksgiving and I just finished my morning classes of Construction of a European Union and Contemporary French Society and I’m sipping some Apple Cinnamon tea and eating Muesli with strawberry yogurt, sitting in the study room my friends and I have marked as our own (by always being in here and leaving our stuff in here and drawing pictures to pin on the blank white walls, not peeing in the corners. Gross.) and a pigeon just tried to fly in the window which is open a crack. I’m sitting in here alone so I’m glad it didn’t succeed in entering the room. Although the company would be appreciated.
When I sat down to write this it seemed like a pretty big feat given that A) there was a lot to say solely about Rome immediately after I got back, B) there is now even more to say because I waited a week and a half to update my blog, and 3) I have a horrible memory. I don’t even remember how I started this sentence nor how to
So anyway, I’m gonna do my best to recall everything that I’ve done since Geneva. Most emphasis is on Rome. I couldn’t decide what to call this blog post so I just sat down and made a list of possibilities.
“When in Rome”
“Rome sweet Rome”
“RAH RAH-A-a-aah Roma Roma-maah” (it's a song reference, Grandma, don't worry about it)
“Gaga for Roma”
“Grazie, Roma”
“Rome is where the heart is”
“Rome is where the pasta is”
“Rome, Rome on the raange”
“Romeward Bound”
“Just Rome-in’ Around”
“Rome and Coke”
“Row, Row, Roman Trip, this is dumb theme, merrily merrily merrily merrily, life is but a dream.”
“Why is everyone calling me Chowbella? Do they want to hear my Chewbacca impression?”
“Romeo and Juliet (just kidding, it’s me, Laura)”
“Welcome to my humble Rome”
“700,000 men and countless animals were brutally killed here... now that is what I call family entertainment!”
“I ruh roo, Rome.”
“How do you say ‘check please?’”
“We no speak Italiano”
“Hopefully they think I’m french...”
“SCUZIE!”
“Io prendo pizza?”
“Bonjourno, Michelangelo!”
“Sistene Chapel times 3. No, but actually.”
So to start, my week between Geneva and Rome was only three days of school, which consisted mostly of frantic room-cleaning, unpacking and repacking for my next trip. Thursday morning I got to the train station in Nantes as my train (carrying all my Romeward bound friends) left. I had allowed plenty of time to get there a half hour early from my house, but I didn’t realize that the trams were on vacation schedule and so my first one didn’t come until about fifteen minutes after I thought it would, and the second one about twenty minutes later. The soggy, sad, tired lump of nervously-shaking disappointedness that I was paid the twenty euros to switch to the next train to Paris, texted my friends to let them know I hadn’t made it on and I’d catch up with them later in the day, and went for a walk in the rain outside because after the ordeal of missing my train I just couldn’t handle sitting still.
Two hours later I was getting on my train in a much better mood with another friend that was headed to Paris. Once we arrived, I called my friends and, sans umbrella, traversed Paris via metro and foot, asking directions a few times, to catch up with them in the Musée d’Orangérie in the Tuileries to check out a Monet exhibit, which was very cool. I love impressionist painting so that mixed with seeing the faces of people I had just wanted to be with all day improved my mood immensely. Sharing broken umbrellas, being showered with torrential rains and walking against some surprisingly biting winds, we made a quick loop of some tourist sites in Paris (just quickly cause, I mean, been there done that) and ended up in a warm crêperie in a little side street. There, drenched from head to two and wearing boots of 80% water, I cheered up my tummy by eating a ham, cheese and potato galette.
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| Idaho in Paris <3 |
That night three of our group stayed at our hotel to blow dry their socks and cuddle up under the blankets while my friend Preston and I went back into Paris (our hotel was way out of town, near Orly airport because we were flying to Rome early the next morning). There we struggled through the complicated maze that is the Paris metro system until we finally managed to meet up with Guilhem Peruchietti (brother Ben’s old rotary exchange buddy) and his girlfriend for dinner. We went to a really good and really tiny hole-in-the-wall Thai restaurant where we ate very interesting and authentic (and yummy!) food and had loverly conversation that was about 85% in french. It was really fun because the last time I saw Guilhem in person I was not near as comfortable speaking French as I am now, nor could I understand what he was saying in normal conversation at all, so it added a whole level to our interaction. The bad news is we forgot to take a picture of us, so you’ll just have to imagine us having a grand old time eating rice/coconut/almond(?) desserts wrapped in seaweed while sitting at a table we literally took minutes trying to get into cause it was so tiny.
Early Friday morning we hopped dulled-eyed and damp-tailed onto our plane to Rome and fell asleep immediately.
We knew before arriving in Rome that none of us spoke Italian, save the few words everyone knows: grazie, bienvenuti, ciao bella, bonjourno... It was bizarre to walk around for the first time since I visited France when I was little hearing everyone speak the same language to each other and not being able to understand any of it. Intently listening to a woman talking on the phone by me on the metro, I could pick out maybe three words that resembled what I knew in French or Spanish. Even though most people there speak English, I felt absolutely incompetent not even being able to start out speaking butchered Italian to them; in a café choosing what we wanted to eat for lunch, my friends and I kept pointing at things and saying, “ça?” (“that?” in French) because it just seemed better than saying “that?” in English. We were in “speak foreign language” mode but the only foreign language we know is French and that came to our brains very readily.
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| Smiling despite the gruesome Colosseum facts I just learned. |
So Friday during the day we walked around Rome and saw the Forum of Peace which was built between 71 and 75 AD by Vespasian. Nope, didn’t leave out any digits there. Those numbers are in the TENS. It absolutely blew our minds to be standing outside of something that has stood there for one thousand and nine hundred years. I was thinking back to when I was little and would take long walks through the woods with my golden retriever Gabe. I was obsessed with the idea that it was not unlikely that I was the first person in the history of the world to step foot on the ground where I was walking. This blew my mind in the opposite way, trying to fathom the millions of different people who had walked exactly where I had walked and had seen what I was seeing. We went to the Colosseum and took a tour through it, learning that 700,000 men died there, they used to have fights between women and midgets, they would import and proceed to flaunt and then kill or put in battle hundreds of kinds of exotic animals. There was one door through which the dead only passed, leaving the arena. The only living who walked through the arc were slaves carrying dead bodies. There were 28 trap doors in the floor through which men would fall or starved, abused animals would be raised to attack awaiting men. “Arena” comes from the Greek word for sand, which covered the floor of the, well, arena, to soak up all the blood spilled on a daily basis. Needless to say, we learned a lot. The tour was fascinating and I’m really glad we took it.
Our tour took us next to the top of Palatine Hill, where we heard the story of Romulus and Remus and their shewolf (but actually prostitute) adopted mother. The view of the Roman Forum from the top of the hill was beautiful and, again, fascinating to contemplate all that it has seen.
After our tour, we headed to Piazza Nevona to people-watch, art-regard and gelato-eat. It was a good time to rest seeing that it was but the first day in Rome and our feet were already dying.
Then we explored around a bit more, and ultimately met up with a free walking tour that started at the bottom of the Spanish Steps and went for a couple hours (our feet were throbbing but so were our minds full of new knowledge! ) We ate dinner at a restaurant near the Pantheon. After we asked if we could get tap water, the waiter told us they weren’t allowed to serve tap water and we should get the water on the menu (that cost three euros! No way.) We had just finished the walking tour that taught us about how there are water spouts/fountains throughout the city, the water of which is monitored daily and very clean (we had also tasted it and it was really good) so we knew he was tryin’ ta pull a fast one on us. We said we wouldn’t get water then, and he ended up bringing us a carafe of tap water with our meals but told us not to tell anyone. Passed Rome’s first test.
Saturday was our Vatican City day. We had gotten tickets online beforehand thanks to Amelia’s tip (she was in Rome days before I was) so we got to skip lines and go right through the Vatican museums and the Sistine Chapel. It was amazing not only seeing Michelangelo’s ceiling on which there are numerous paintings I’ve seen in school since the beginning of ninth grade, but looking at the pieces by other artists on the walls, it’s just breathtaking to see the amount of detail and imagine that famous, unmatched painters were not only in that same room for endless hours upon hours, but they left behind masterpieces that have been cherished for centuries by millions and will continue to be for who knows how long.
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| Preston, Lindsay and Elise at Trevi fountain |
Saturday night we went to a free choir concert in a gorgeous cathedral that Hannah (a girl in our group) had discovered. Almost everyone in our group had been in a choir at some point in school, so it was a common interest and we all loved the concert. The choir was from California besides, so although we didn’t get a chance to talk to them we had a little connection to home with them. After the concert we went back to our hostel and Preston and I stayed up (the others went back to their hostel and the girl who was with us in ours went to bed) and went to the hostel bar to meet new friends. We succeeded! We sat down with some kids who turned out to be from the Netherlands and were really cool! They were our age and studying medicine somewhere else in Italy so were visiting Rome for a weekend just like us. We’re now facebook friends and if ever I’m headed to Amsterdam or they’re headed to Idaho (or Iowa, or Texas) we can call each other up and have a little reunion. While I’ve heard some sketchy stories about hostels, all of my experiences have been great and it’s a really fun place to meet other kids who are our age and doing similar things. Plus they’re way cheaper and young people-friendly than hotels are.
Sunday morning Preston and I had breakfast at the hostel with our new(therlands) friends while the others in our group went to a market a ways away. When their plans fell through and our other plans didn’t line up with theirs, Preston and I ended up exploring the city. We decided to pick and eat an orange from one of the many orange trees lining the street. They were a little hard, so we figured they might be a little sour, but we had no idea what we were in store for. I have a video of us eating THE. MOST. SOUR. THING. EVER. It was unbelievable. My tongue felt like I had burned its taste buds off for literally days after. So after traumatizing our mouths, we went to a park to find lunch (everywhere is closed on Sundays in Europe...) There were kids with parents everywhere, carousels, balloons, games, and then, the best thing ever: we came across a sort of Rollerblade party where there were cones set up in lines and a group of people (all in a club or team or something) were doing CRAZY tricks around them. A bunch of people were watching them and there was good music playing and we had just gotten lunch, so we decided to sit and watch them for a bit.
Wellll, we ended up staying there watching and talking and laughing and people-watching for about a good two hours. (Don't worry, I took videos.) When we finally tore ourselves away it wasn’t too long ‘til dinner time, so we went back to the hostel (saw a killer sunset on our walk back) for a little cat nap and then met back up with our group and went to dinner at a yummy Italian restaurant across from the hostel.
Monday morning before our plane left for Paris we went to St. Peter’s Basilica because there had been too long of a line when we had visited Vatican City on Saturday. We saw the meridian line and Michelangelo's statue Pietà which I was using in my art history paper that was sitting at home in Nantes waiting for me to finish. Then we got gelato at Old Bridge (best, cheapest place. So yummy.) and headed off to the airport.
Paris was POURING DOWN RAIN when we landed and we had to run with our broken umbrellas again from awning to awning to get to the train station. The ride back to Nantes was again soggy and tired and sore, so it was very nice to get back to my house and snuggle back into my warm familiar bed.
Since then, I had the equivalent of Grinnell’s Hell Week (the week before finals when all classes have papers, presentations and projects due) in France. It was tough but I feel accomplished having written all of those papers, and now the time I have left here seems so short.
[It is now Friday and this is a monster blog update so I might as well tell you how Thanksgiving went last night]
Although it was different, Thanksgiving in France was fun. IES had a dinner for the students and their host parents and all the professors/directors/aids of IES. Dinner consisted of smoked salmon and green salad as an appetizer (I’ve never had that on Thanksgiving, but it was yummy...), cooked but unmashed potatoes, turkey with no gravy, chestnuts (also had never eaten them before arriving in France) and farce, which was supposed to be like stuffing but more resembled a foie gras meat loaf. With cranberries on top. So that was interesting. Dessert was also a franco-interpretation of pumpkin pie, and tasted like someone pureed pumpkin insides and put it in a yummy crust without any spices. I was skeptical after the first bite, but the more I ate it the more I liked it. It followed the theme of the night: not Thanksgiving, but good nonetheless. There was a talent show after dinner which consisted of hula dancers (we have a couple IES students from Hawaii) and some musical performances. Talent shows can be very awkward, let’s be honest, but this was actually good. All in all it was an enjoyable night, despite my missing family and my usual Thanksgiving in Minnesota. I bonded a lot with my parents who were able to come with; my host dad kept throwing a paper plane he had made at me when I wasn't looking, and making fun of my faces in response to the non-Thanksgiving foods that kept being set in front of me. My friends were obviously there too and sat by me, so my host parents could finally see that I can be a functional, fun human being that can make people laugh and maintain normal relationships instead of being this loner that makes the language mistakes of a six year old and sits in her bed a lot (it's where I do my homework and read and play on my computer... it's the only warm spot in the house!) and now I feel a bit closer to them. So that was good.
It has been getting colder and colder here, I’ve switched from wearing a sweatshirt and leather jacket to my pea coat and scarf, hat and gloves. No snow yet, but it’s supposed to come on Sunday so Amy, Preston and I are going to Abigail’s house to make sugar cookies and gingerbread, listen to Christmas music, and be huggy warm and happy! I can’t wait. All of Nantes has Christmas decorations up, there is a Christmas fair down in the main square all around the fountain, with a carousel and lots of red and green Christmas booths with everything from food to vin chaud (hot wine!) to presents and everything in between. We will be hitting that up this weekend and the weeks to come.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Genève, Genf, Ginevra
This weekend, five friends and I went to Geneva! We left after class on Friday so we had that afternoon, all of Saturday and the morning of Sunday to enjoy Genève. Without knowing a lot about the city except that it isn't really known for having many famous monuments or exciting things to do, we started off the trip by finding dinner in a little Italian restaurant with an Italian waiter who had a crazy low croaky voice. We spoke French to him and he responded about 90% of the time in Italian which made the meal very enjoyable... and educational, considering that I'm leaving for Rome on Thursday. We ate yummy spaghetti and then wandered around the streets, heading in the general direction of our hostel. There were a lot of swans just hanging around in the lake interacting with each other and the ducks that were also there. We studied them for probably a longer amount of time than is socially acceptable. They were so fun to watch though!
The weather was beautiful on Saturday! The sun was shining, the water was clean... THE WATER WAS CLEAN! It was literally the cleanest clearest water I have ever seen. You could see so deep in it, even in the boat harbors where there's usually seaweed and oil and grossness in the water, here was just crystal clean beauty. I could have taken a glass of it!
We visited l'Organisation des Nations Unis, otherwise known as the UN, which was pretty cool to see; we intended to go on a tour but didn't realize until we got there that they weren't open on Saturday. So we didn't get to see the inside, but instead we explored around the building and the surrounding parks.
We went to the botanical gardens, where there were little animal exhibits (animal parks? They seem relatively common in Europe and I had never heard of them before in the states). We saw deer, goats and about every kind of bird in one cage (seriously: flamingos, geese, all kinds of ducks, swans, chickens, peacocks... it was hilarious.)
After perusing the parks, we walked down on the edge of the water and saw the Jet d'Eau, Geneva's world renowned 140 meter-high water fountain. It is obviously very simple idea and design... about as simplistic a fountain as one could have, but it is breathtaking to see across the lake with the sun shining through it... especially if you catch a rainbow in it. With a little breeze, the water sprays straight up and then drifts out a fair way and the effect is just gorgeous. We went to a grocery store to get food (Geneva is quite pricey) and had a picnic on the lake for lunch, watching the Jet d'Eau and listening to the Italian, German, French and some unrecognizable languages surrounding us. Later Saturday afternoon, some of us went on a boat tour of the city to see a lot of the landmarks and historical buildings on the edge of the water and the recording for each attraction spoke the information blurb in five (5!!) languages: French, English, German, Spanish, and finally Italian. It was crazy.
Saturday night we made picnic bagel sandwiches and hung out for a bit, then went out for a glass of wine in a popular (but relaxing) restaurant/bar near the Cathédrale Saint-Pierre that we had visited earlier in the day.
Sunday we woke up bright and early to have breakfast and check out of our hostel, grabbed some swiss hot chocolate and mochas for the road, and headed to the airport. It was pouring down rain and significantly colder than the day before; either Geneva was bawling that we were leaving, or it had shaped up and been as beautiful as it could possibly have been for us on Saturday and just couldn't hold it up any longer. No matter, we loaded on our plane and waved goodbye, reflecting on yet another fantastic weekend away from home away from home (Nantes). Returning to Nantes felt like getting home after a long trip; it was so good to hear only french and be able to understand everything after not knowing half of what was being said over the weekend... funny to think that I was so clueless as to what was going on when I first got here and was so thirsty to hear English. I'm at the point now that I can only be half-listening to a conversation in french and understand everything that is said. It will be odd to get back to Idaho in December and not hear any french anymore. I may have to watch movies in french every once in a while to make sure I still got it.
Speaking of movies in french, I have another one to recommend. We watched it last week in theaters for a class. It's a phenomenal film about a woman researching the story of a girl from the holocaust. Very depressing and certainly thought-provoking as all holocaust movies are, but this has little or nothing to do with direct German influences, so it was very interesting to have a new viewpoint on things. I had studied the Vichy government in France in history classes, etc. but had never internalized it until seeing this movie. It's called Elle s'Appelait Sarah, which means "her name was Sarah". I'm not sure if they change the title in the United states or if they keep the french title, but either way everyone reading this should keep the title in mind and watch if they get a chance. Really breathtaking.
I'm looking forward to Rome on Thursday, but in the mean time am trying to make headway on my big class papers due the week after I get back and some the week after that. From here on out my weekends are all accounted for... I have a feeling the rest of this semester is going to fly by even faster than it already has been.
The weather was beautiful on Saturday! The sun was shining, the water was clean... THE WATER WAS CLEAN! It was literally the cleanest clearest water I have ever seen. You could see so deep in it, even in the boat harbors where there's usually seaweed and oil and grossness in the water, here was just crystal clean beauty. I could have taken a glass of it!
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| Crystal clear eau de Genève |
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| Countries' flags lined up at the entrance to the UN building |
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| Autumn in Geneva! Sooo pretty. |
After perusing the parks, we walked down on the edge of the water and saw the Jet d'Eau, Geneva's world renowned 140 meter-high water fountain. It is obviously very simple idea and design... about as simplistic a fountain as one could have, but it is breathtaking to see across the lake with the sun shining through it... especially if you catch a rainbow in it. With a little breeze, the water sprays straight up and then drifts out a fair way and the effect is just gorgeous. We went to a grocery store to get food (Geneva is quite pricey) and had a picnic on the lake for lunch, watching the Jet d'Eau and listening to the Italian, German, French and some unrecognizable languages surrounding us. Later Saturday afternoon, some of us went on a boat tour of the city to see a lot of the landmarks and historical buildings on the edge of the water and the recording for each attraction spoke the information blurb in five (5!!) languages: French, English, German, Spanish, and finally Italian. It was crazy.
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| Five hundred liters (132 gallons) of water per second jetted to an altitude of 140 meters (459 feet) by two 500 kW pumps, operating at 2,400 V, consuming over one megawatt of electricity |
Sunday we woke up bright and early to have breakfast and check out of our hostel, grabbed some swiss hot chocolate and mochas for the road, and headed to the airport. It was pouring down rain and significantly colder than the day before; either Geneva was bawling that we were leaving, or it had shaped up and been as beautiful as it could possibly have been for us on Saturday and just couldn't hold it up any longer. No matter, we loaded on our plane and waved goodbye, reflecting on yet another fantastic weekend away from home away from home (Nantes). Returning to Nantes felt like getting home after a long trip; it was so good to hear only french and be able to understand everything after not knowing half of what was being said over the weekend... funny to think that I was so clueless as to what was going on when I first got here and was so thirsty to hear English. I'm at the point now that I can only be half-listening to a conversation in french and understand everything that is said. It will be odd to get back to Idaho in December and not hear any french anymore. I may have to watch movies in french every once in a while to make sure I still got it.
Speaking of movies in french, I have another one to recommend. We watched it last week in theaters for a class. It's a phenomenal film about a woman researching the story of a girl from the holocaust. Very depressing and certainly thought-provoking as all holocaust movies are, but this has little or nothing to do with direct German influences, so it was very interesting to have a new viewpoint on things. I had studied the Vichy government in France in history classes, etc. but had never internalized it until seeing this movie. It's called Elle s'Appelait Sarah, which means "her name was Sarah". I'm not sure if they change the title in the United states or if they keep the french title, but either way everyone reading this should keep the title in mind and watch if they get a chance. Really breathtaking.
I'm looking forward to Rome on Thursday, but in the mean time am trying to make headway on my big class papers due the week after I get back and some the week after that. From here on out my weekends are all accounted for... I have a feeling the rest of this semester is going to fly by even faster than it already has been.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Les Vacances
A lot of my friends headed off to exciting places (London, Berlin, Copenhagen) today because this weekend is our first of two four-day vacations this semester. Although I'm managing to get away for a startling number of weekends, I decided to stick around Nantes this time to have a laid-back four-day weekend of catching up on sleep, down time and fun time after a week of midterms. I also may get a jump start on my papers for some of my classes due in a few weeks, though that might be a little ambitious of me.
Sunday is Halloween! I'm missing dressing up with school friends and having a super good excuse to buy a lot of candy and eat a lot of candy (although I'm not one to get too hung up on a lack of excuse for eating candy) because most of France doesn't celebrate Halloween. Apparently it has become a more and more popular fad in the past few years, but it is still perceived as very American and not enough people celebrate it that a person could go trick-or-treating; I think the only celebration is mostly a costume party here or there. Needless to say, my friends and I will not be dressing up like cowboys and indians and getting free candy around here. Shame. In lieu of that, we're gonna try to find fixin's for making a Mexican feast (there are no burritos or the like to be found around this place, I swear) and going out on the town for a more subtle observance of the fantastic American holiday we're missing out on.
The strikes persist; this week was pretty crazy with cut tram lines due to manifestations, burning trash, trash piles in general (garbage collection was apparently on strike as well), marching masses through the streets, lots of yelling, and chairs, tables and other objects blockading the entrances to university and other school buildings. Unfair for students, I think, and it was pretty frustrating when our class went to the theater to watch "Elle s'appelait Sarah" (a movie about the Holocaust that I was pretty psyched for) and couldn't get in because protesters were blocking entry to the cinema. The excitement and initial novelty of the strikes has worn off and now I'm used enough to them that it's just kind of a drag. Especially since there's nothing I can do to agree disagree with them; I have no say in what happens as a result of their "perturbations" on the tram and in the centre-ville every other day, but I'm still supposed to put up with them. All part of the experience, I suppose.
My family was out of town this whole week because the kids are on vacation from school and my host parents, whose jobs both have to do with school, were also off the hook. They took off to visit cousins (they invited me, but I wanted to stay,) leaving me to hold down the fort until their return. I love my kids and coming home to a family and a prepared dinner is all well and nice, but hooo boy am I enjoying the single life. I can eat dinner at six o'clock instead of waiting til almost 8, I can walk around the house belting out American songs I'm listening to, I can nap without being made fun of, eat chocolate without being called a fatty, do my homework in the living room without havingmonkeys children climb all over me, and best of all I can sleep in in the morning and wake up peacefully to the sun shining in my window or my body's subtle "wake up, it's breakfast time!" alarm instead of screaming and yelling children and host mom directly outside my bedroom door. Aaahh, tranquility. That said, it will be nice to have them back on Monday. I must say I am beginning to miss Timothé walking majestically around the house saying in his very strong little french accent, "I love me, I love me I love meee!" and Jeanne's request to french-braid her hair every night.
Sunday is Halloween! I'm missing dressing up with school friends and having a super good excuse to buy a lot of candy and eat a lot of candy (although I'm not one to get too hung up on a lack of excuse for eating candy) because most of France doesn't celebrate Halloween. Apparently it has become a more and more popular fad in the past few years, but it is still perceived as very American and not enough people celebrate it that a person could go trick-or-treating; I think the only celebration is mostly a costume party here or there. Needless to say, my friends and I will not be dressing up like cowboys and indians and getting free candy around here. Shame. In lieu of that, we're gonna try to find fixin's for making a Mexican feast (there are no burritos or the like to be found around this place, I swear) and going out on the town for a more subtle observance of the fantastic American holiday we're missing out on.
The strikes persist; this week was pretty crazy with cut tram lines due to manifestations, burning trash, trash piles in general (garbage collection was apparently on strike as well), marching masses through the streets, lots of yelling, and chairs, tables and other objects blockading the entrances to university and other school buildings. Unfair for students, I think, and it was pretty frustrating when our class went to the theater to watch "Elle s'appelait Sarah" (a movie about the Holocaust that I was pretty psyched for) and couldn't get in because protesters were blocking entry to the cinema. The excitement and initial novelty of the strikes has worn off and now I'm used enough to them that it's just kind of a drag. Especially since there's nothing I can do to agree disagree with them; I have no say in what happens as a result of their "perturbations" on the tram and in the centre-ville every other day, but I'm still supposed to put up with them. All part of the experience, I suppose.
My family was out of town this whole week because the kids are on vacation from school and my host parents, whose jobs both have to do with school, were also off the hook. They took off to visit cousins (they invited me, but I wanted to stay,) leaving me to hold down the fort until their return. I love my kids and coming home to a family and a prepared dinner is all well and nice, but hooo boy am I enjoying the single life. I can eat dinner at six o'clock instead of waiting til almost 8, I can walk around the house belting out American songs I'm listening to, I can nap without being made fun of, eat chocolate without being called a fatty, do my homework in the living room without having
Monday, October 18, 2010
Dooblin, Oyerlind
Friday morning five friends and I left Nantes on a plane to Dublin. We were really excited but we had no idea how much fun we were in store for! When we first arrived, we took a bus from the airport to downtown and checked in to our globetrotters hostel, which was awesome. It had chandeliers and an Irish breakfast to look forward to in the morning. Then we dropped off our stuff for the weekend and left the hostel to grab some lunch and explore around the city.
We went shopping and visited Trinity College and saw a bunch of street performers (painted people, fake statues, musicians, sand artists) which is where we met this lil guy...
And walked around some more and saw St. Patrick's Cathedral!
Then we headed over to the Guinness Storehouse. After going through the self-guided tour and learning about the history, making, and serving of Guinness, we got a free pint each to drink at the highest bar in Dublin, Gravity bar. It's at the top of the storehouse and looks out over the city.
After the storehouse, we all went to Temple Bar, the happenin' street in downtown Dublin with all the pubs and street musicians at night. We had to wait for a while to get into the restaurant, but dinner was yummy and we got to hear some great music while we were wandering around.
Saturday morning we woke up bright and early to eat our hostel's Irish breakfast (yum!) and catch our tour bus that was going to take us on a day-long tour of the Irish countryside, stopping for a bit in Glendalough and Killkenny. We drove right by where the movies P.S. I Love You and Braveheart were filmed! At Glendalough (Irish for "valley of two lakes," yeah, I listened to our bus driver), there was an old Monastic city and graveyard and a trail that went around the little lake there. The fall colors made the Irish countryside even prettier and the walk through the crisp air with our new Australian friend Milly (we met her on the tour bus, she's an au pair in Amsterdam this year) was very nice.
Finally we went to Killkenny and had a genuine Irish lunch in a pub there (I had the best beef and potato stew ever) and took a picture of us and Milly at the Killkenny cathedral.
There was a castle in Killkenny too, but living in France the novelty of castles has worn off a bit; our conversation went something like this: "Do you guys want to go inside the castle?" "Uhh, well I guess if we're right here anyway... or maybe we can just go into that little court area right inside and take some picture. Then we can go GET LUNCH!"
When we got back to Dublin, we ate dinner and went to the pubs again to listen to live music and enjoy each other's company. At about quarter til 11p.m., we headed off to the airport, where we made a fort out of Starbucks lounge chairs and slept in a pile until our earrrly a.m. flight the next morning. I slept all day Sunday.
Now I'm back in Nantes gearing up for midterms and looking forward to Geneva and Rome, not too far off now!
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| View of Dublin from a bridge. I liked the tipsy tower over there. |
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| Our Irish friend |
And walked around some more and saw St. Patrick's Cathedral!
Then we headed over to the Guinness Storehouse. After going through the self-guided tour and learning about the history, making, and serving of Guinness, we got a free pint each to drink at the highest bar in Dublin, Gravity bar. It's at the top of the storehouse and looks out over the city.
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| Preston and I celebrated our first pint of Guinness until the foam was gone... then it was kind of chore. |
Saturday morning we woke up bright and early to eat our hostel's Irish breakfast (yum!) and catch our tour bus that was going to take us on a day-long tour of the Irish countryside, stopping for a bit in Glendalough and Killkenny. We drove right by where the movies P.S. I Love You and Braveheart were filmed! At Glendalough (Irish for "valley of two lakes," yeah, I listened to our bus driver), there was an old Monastic city and graveyard and a trail that went around the little lake there. The fall colors made the Irish countryside even prettier and the walk through the crisp air with our new Australian friend Milly (we met her on the tour bus, she's an au pair in Amsterdam this year) was very nice.
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| Monastic graveyard |
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| Irish countryside, Irish girly... |
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| The trail went around this pretty lake |
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| Me, Preston, Kelsei-Kei, Elise and Milly |
When we got back to Dublin, we ate dinner and went to the pubs again to listen to live music and enjoy each other's company. At about quarter til 11p.m., we headed off to the airport, where we made a fort out of Starbucks lounge chairs and slept in a pile until our earrrly a.m. flight the next morning. I slept all day Sunday.
Now I'm back in Nantes gearing up for midterms and looking forward to Geneva and Rome, not too far off now!
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