Signing off

I’m writing this wrap-up blog post on the plane home.  Somehow the plane movie (a poorly acted drama about that one-armed surfer girl) just isn’t doing it for me.  I was supposed to have my own screen and therefore my choice of movies, but yesterday US Airways switched our aircraft so instead of being on the giant, nice overseas plane we’re on an old, crappy plane that you’d be bummed if you only had to take it across the United States. Plus they messed up everyone’s seats and infuriated a whole plane of people – who pretty much all banded together against the nasty flight attendant who was yelling at everyone and rearranged seats so they could sit with the people they had originally booked seats with. Plus there’s a 50-50 chance we’re going to miss our connection because we were an hour late taking off. You’ll get an [angry] update if that happens…

Update: we didn’t miss the flight but we were this close to doing so. We had an extremely stressful day.

First things first: Copenhagen.  We had atrocious weather the whole time we were there. We didn’t even glimpse the sun – though judging by the color of the Danes’ skin, they don’t see the sun much either.  I was also a bit underwhelmed by Copenhagen.   The city didn’t have the character that the other cities had.  Amsterdam was by far my favorite, and Mark’s favorite was Brussels – but Copenhagen was a bit blah compared to the rest.  However, we still did some pretty sweet stuff, and I had a good time.

The first day we were there we walked down the main pedestrian shopping street (Lego store! I even wore my earrings!) and explored a bit.  In the town hall there’s an old, elaborate clock that measures everything from the time to the hours of daylight to the rotation of the solar system – pretty amazing.  The highlight of the day though was a giant tower (there are lots of giant towers to climb in Copenhagen) in the center of the city.  Apparently however many centuries back there was a king who was too lazy to climb stairs to go up to his observatory.  So he had a tower constructed that was a giant spiraling ramp so he could ride his horse to the top; unfortunately, the tower is no longer historically accurate, as we had to walk up the ramp rather than ride horses.  Afterward we found a couple really nice parks and then went to see the famous statue of the Little Mermaid, which is in Copenhagen because Hans Christian Andersen lived there – also, Copenhagen won’t let you forget this, as there are statues of him all over the place. Every time we saw a statue of a man in the distance I guessed that it was Andersen. I was right most of the time.

If you’ve ever seen a picture of Copenhagen, it’s probably a canal with bright-colored building and docked sailboats. That’s what one street in Copenhagen looks like. The rest does not look like that at all; it’s mostly plain buildings and few canals.  But we ate on that street for dinner (where Mark was served a whole fish, lungs and eyeballs included).  It’s so chilly and icky in this city that almost all restaurants (outdoor and indoor) come equipped with blankets for the customers. No joke.  There are usually two blankets per table.

The next day the weather was worse, but we went and saw the changing of the guard at the royal palace, tried Copenhagen’s specialty for lunch (an open-faced sandwich of all different varieties that is called a smo-something but is not called a smorgasbord – but that’s what I kept calling it, despite being reminded by Mark that that’s Swedish), climbed up another tower which had a spiral staircase on the outside of the tower (one of the only times I’ve gotten shaky knees climbing a tower), and went to Christiana.  Christiana is the area in the city that was set up in the 60s by some hippies who didn’t want to follow the law.  Basically weed is legal in the area and it’s separate from the rest of the city – but open to tourists, as long as they don’t take pictures.  Despite the fact that there were tons of tourists and we were there in the middle of the day, I was not a fan of this area. We didn’t stay long.

Overall, Copenhagen had some cool and pretty attractions – it simply wasn’t my favorite, and probably wouldn’t be somewhere I’d recommend that people visit.  Plus, despite how beautiful and blond all the Danes are, they aren’t nearly as friendly as the Dutch.

Sunday we went back to Paris for one last day.  It was also the last day of the Tour de France, aka my favorite sporting event besides NFL playoffs and the Super Bowl, so we went down to the Champs-Elysees to watch the last leg of the Tour. We – and several thousand Frenchman and tourists standing around us – saw the bikers go by. We were at the end of the Champs-Elysees, by the Arc du Triomphe and had a great view of them as they made the U-turn in from of the Arc.  I’m really glad I got to see that.  That evening I went with Mark and his family (who he was meeting up with in Paris since he is going to travel with them for another week) to meet some relatives in Paris that he didn’t know he had, and then he and I went to dinner with Emily and her brother to catch up.  I headed to the airport with Emily and her brother this morning – and that’s a wrap on Europe!

Do blogs need conclusions? I’ve got to sign off in some way.  There are a million more things I could say about Lyon and my weekend trips and this last excursion, but you probably wouldn’t want to hear all million of them.  I’m so glad I got to study in France, despite the fact that I now need a break from the French for awhile, and I loved all the people I made friends with.  And my trip at the end was awesome – I can’t even complain about the hostels too much. J

So thanks for reading!

"If you hear the bell, run like hell."

This was sound advice from our tour guide in Amsterdam. Like I said before, there are a lot of bikes in Amsterdam, and they do not like to stop for anyone, particularly anyone with a map. We took a free tour (well, we tipped her a lot at the end) of the city - which was actually a really awesome tour. There's a company that runs free tours in a lot of major cities in Europe, and our guide was really great. We learned a ton about Amsterdam that we wouldn't have known otherwise, and saw a lot - particularly because the tour was three hours long.

After our tour we ate pancakes (yum- though it made me reminiscent of the Tavern and this supposed "close" of it which is going to happen in December) and went through the Anne Frank house. The house/museum is extremely well done and very sad, of course. Since bad weather has been our thing on this trip, it was raining when we left the museum, so we went and saw Bridesmaids. I was thwarted from seeing Harry Potter again. Apparently Amsterdam sells movie tickets like you would sell concert tickets, as in selling assigned seats. So they didn't have any seats together for the showing of un-3D Harry Potter. What the heck, Holland? But Bridesmaids was a good replacement!

We finally went out that evening; we had to go out if we were in Amsterdam! We went to our hostel bar and then decided to follow a pub crawl that was leaving the bar. We followed them through the Red Light District (which is an alien place, let me tell you - more on that later), discovered we'd need wristbands to get into their next bar, and went and sat in a different bar instead. Then we found another pub crawl, followed them, got into a bar and managed to swing two rounds of free drinks from them. This was entertaining, since we went to the bar to buy drinks and the bartender asked if we were with the pub crawl. I shook my head but Mark said, "What if I said we were?" and she shrugged and handed us the drinks (test tubes of Jaegermeister) they were handing out to the pub crawlers. Then as we were walking out of the bar with the group, they were filling everyone's test tubes with a drink, so we just held our test tubes out and got another round. Success!

The Red Light District really is bizarre. During the day it's fairly quiet, and all you see are sex shops and coffee shops (where you can smoke pot) and shops selling cannabis lollipops and energy drinks (ironic much?). And day and night there are lots of people smoking pot and there are literally prostitutes in windows everywhere - plus there are no open-container laws. But at night the streets are packed with people, and nobody is angry or out-of-control, they're just milling about and hanging out with friends, so it doesn't feel unsafe. Very strange. It was an experience, to say the least. And one night going out was probably enough, but we definitely had a good time.

Though here's another piece of advice from the tour guide: don't take pictures of the prostitutes. They will push open their windows, chase you down, grab your camera, and break it. Or they will throw a cup of piss at you, which they conveniently keep in the window for just such a purpose. No joke.

Anyway, the next day we had some time in Amsterdam, so we milled around, bought some souvenirs, and did a canal tour on a big touristy boat. Then we had to take a plane to Copenhagen (NOT FUN because it had propellers and it was sooo bumpy landing in Copenhagen - No, Mom, I am not exaggerating) which got majorly delayed, blah blah blah, and we didn't get into our hostel until after midnight. Ick. I am also thoroughly sick of hostels. But at least I can say I did it, since I guess anyone who travels in college is supposed to stay in hostels! Though I'm really looking forward to a normal hotel in Paris...

A last thought on Amsterdam: the parts that aren't the Red Light District are really nice - and not a prostitute for be found! The architecture is gorgeous and strange (all the houses lean in funny directions because, hello, they built their city on a swamp) and the canals are pretty. There are really cool house boats on a lot of the canals and everyone is amazingly friendly - and knows English! Amsterdam has definitely been my favorite city so far.

I'll do the Copenhagen updates tomorrow. This is bordering on the "too-long-of-a-post" zone. Bye!

Here we (Van) Go(gh)

It's updatin' time! I hope I can remember everything I've done in the last few days. We're in Amsterdam now - pretty much smack on the edge of the Red Light District, meaning there are lots of weed and sex shops specializing in designer condoms and dildos close by. Mark wondered aloud today if the Dutch of the colonial era would be pissed if they could see what happened to Amsterdam, which was once an important and moderately successful colonial power. Past Amsterdam: sophisticated trading center. Current Amsterdam: Mardi Gras on steroids year-round. Yeah, they'd probably be pretty angry. At least they're nice and green here, because aside from loving pot (which is also green), the Amsterdamians (?) really love bikes. They're everywhere!

I'm getting sidetracked though. I need to start with Brussels, Day 2: We started at a flea market and Mark bought a one euro Belgian beer glass. Later we walked around the "European quarter" of Brussels, the area where all the EU buildings are. It was maaaybe a wee bit long, but I had to be nice because I broke Mark's beer glass during it (note: I subsequently replaced said beer glass in Bruges). And the building that houses the EU Parliament is enormous and really cool - and closed on Saturdays. Overall, Brussels was cool and very unique; all the areas of the city are different.

We took a train to Bruges, a medieval city north of Brussels, that afternoon. I announced our presence to all of Bruges with my rolling suitcase and cobble stone streets combination. The weather in Bruges was pretty bad too - chilly and damp and rainy, which our waiter at dinner assured us was highly unusual. We wandered, bought some different types of Belgian beer, and decided that the Belgians are decisively nicer than the French. Bruges is a really gorgeous little town. We wandered again the next morning, checked out the French fry museum and the chocolate museum, and then bought both fries and chocolate. We didn't necessarily do a ton in Bruges, but, like I said, it's a really neat town, and I would highly recommend it to anyone visiting Belgium. The city is so old that they can turn buildings from 1500 into fry museums and not worry about a thing.

From Bruges to Amsterdam. We were overwhelmed getting into the city at 9:30 (it takes all of two minutes before the smell of pot reaches your nostrils and all of five before you see the "Sex Museum") and stayed in for the evening. But today we got up and saw a lot of the city as we walked to the Heineken brewery - which was super fun and included lots of beer with the ticket price, plus Mark and I got to print a cheesy Heineken bottle label with our names on it - and then to the Van Gogh museum. Here's the thing about the Van Gogh museum: it has more than 200 Van Gogh paintings, including the Sunflowers one and the most famous self-portrait. Here's another thing about the Van Gogh museum: it does not have Starry Night. That's at the MoMA in New York. We're fairly certain Amsterdam is...bitter about this, to put it lightly. There is not a single reference to Starry Night in the museum or in the museum shop (which sells plenty of Van Gogh posters) - and it's arguably Van Gogh's most well-known work. Sorry, Netherlands. Or sorry, the Netherlands. The US beat you on that one.

Interestingly enough, there was also no reference of that whole chopping-off-his-ear thing. Hmmm...

And as a final note, one of our roommates in this hostel has a snore that is indescribable. But I'll try anyway. It starts with coughs, then has a burp, then a disgusting phlegm-sucking noise. If that sounds gross, too bad, cause you know what sounds even more gross? - the snore itself. I may not have slept too well last night.

I'm really not in Paris now.

I have (really good) free WiFi access at this first hostel, so why not capitalize on it and write a blog post?

Yesterday was the last day in France - tres triste! It was sad saying goodbye to everyone, particularly when Abena whipped out her ukelele and sang beautiful music to us during our farewell dinner. A bunch of us went out to one of our favorite bars, Flannigan's - an Irish pub, one last time and consequently got roughly three hours of sleep since a whole pack of us left the hotel at 7am this morning to get to the train station. Farewell, Lyon, you treated us well! Except for that whole hill thing.

Luckily I got to adventure on - and am currently in Brussels, Belgium! Upside of Brussels: waffles and french fries (they were invented here). Downside of Brussels: its weather hates us. Today was extremely dreary and rainy and chilly. I apparently did not have my brain on hand when I packed before I came to Europe; we are currently the farthest south we will be on our eight day trip - and I only have two pairs of pants. In my defense, I really could not have fit too much more in my suitcase, so I'm either going to be chilly in my skirts, or my pants are going to be real grimy by the time I get home.

Today we wandered around Brussels and saw their 15th century town hall, Manneken Pis (the fountain of the little boy who's peeing) who you would have guessed is three feet tall or so but is actually all of one foot, and other old stuff. Then we took the metro a ways to go to see a giant statue of an atom that was built for the World Fair in 1958. NERDS. Mark chose it, not me. It's an enormous structure that you can go inside of and can probably see much of Belgium from; we just saw a lot of Belgian fog and clouds. But there are also exhibits inside and a sweet gift shop where people's geeky boyfriends can buy shirts with pictures of the atom that say "Atomium" on them. Tonight we considered Harry Potter cause of the crappy weather, but the only showing was at 10, which is well past your bedtime when you've been up since 6.

Tomorrow is more Brussels, then off to Bruges. I hope I see some canals.

Oh no!

I am leaving Lyon tomorrow (bright and early at 7am!!) and right now am trying to finish up packing before I go out and see everyone one last time. I have internet at my first hostel, so I will try to write a wrap-up blog before I go gallavanting.

But thanks everyone for reading!! See you soon!

I could see Harry Potter before you...

        ...but I probably won't. The movie comes out here tonight at midnight but it's eleven euro for a ticket - to see the movie in 3-D. Um, no thank you. I hate 3-D movies, they make my brain hurt. Any of the showings not in 3-D are in French. That's another no-no. Alas, I will just have to wait until I get back to the States. But at least I get to drag out the Harry Potter era (aka the past 13 years of my life) a few weeks longer.
        I am so close to being done with my work, which is such a relief. I just have to do a presentation on a paper I wrote tomorrow in my culture class and crack out one last short paper for my history class. We had our last history class this morning. This is an extremely sad thing. Professor Douzou was easily one of the best teachers I have ever had. We bought delicious French pastries and had a little party during class and then took pictures with him at the end of the day. I told him I'm going to e-mail him over the course of next year as I write my thesis. He said, "Brilliant!" which is one of his favorite English phrases. I wish I could shrink him and stick him in my pocket and then take him out whenever I'm feeling down. Really. That's how great he is: I'm getting all stereotypically girly and talking about carrying him around. For those of you who have had Gallagher at UVA, Douzou is like a French version of him, only less sarcastic.
        It may be my last week in Lyon, but I don't really feel like I'm doing much of anything. It's hard when they pile the work on and we get stuck in our rooms with our abysmally slow internet trying to doing work. I'm going to try and get out some in the next few days, and Thursday is Bastille Day, so we'll be out and about then. We're all reminiscing about how we missed Fourth of July, so maybe Bastille Day will help a little - or it will just make us grumpier since it's French and not American.
        I'll end with a few random thoughts and observations about France since I don't have any interesting stories to recount:
1. I really miss CVS. The all-purpose drugstore/pharmacy does not exist here. And if you go to the pharmacy you have to describe your symptoms to the pharmacist and hope for the best. Luckily I've avoided that this trip...
2. People actually fight with police when they get pulled over here. And get away with it.
3. You can get sick of cheese. I'm not quite to that point yet, but I'm almost there. I am not, however, sick of quiche.
4. There is probably an underground source of Orangina that graces this country. There's just no way you could make that much of that drink otherwise.

An un-creative title: Annecy!

        It's time for another weekend update (nope - not like SNL).
        The entire trip went to Annecy, a town in the Alps, this weekend. Annecy might be the single most beautiful place I've ever been, and if not, it's certainly up there. It's situated on a giant crystal blue lake - Lake Annecy to be precise - and is surrounded by the Alps. My pictures don't nearly do it justice; all of us kept saying that we couldn't get sick of taking pictures of the lake and mountains. The city itself was very nice as well. It was also very small - the group spent most of today running into each other as we wandered around doing the typical "We are Americans and we don't know what to do when everything in France is closed on Sunday" thing that we've been doing this whole trip. But here's the day-by-day low down:
        We got there Friday and immediately headed over to the lake and rented paddle boats. Everyone jumped off the paddle boats into the (very cold Alpine) water, but since I'm not smart enough to remember to bring my bathing suit from Lyon, I stayed on the boat until it was too much to resist and I jumped in wearing my shorts and bra. (As Emily said, "You're so French." And as someone else said, "Nope, if she was French, she would have jumped in naked.") Afterward we touristed around taking pictures and checking out the town. The rest of the day was uneventful, though we learned that Annecy does really well with pizza; the restaurant where we ate dinner was like being in Italy.
        Saturday some of us went out on the lake again, but we rented a motor boat this time - and I borrowed a bathing suit from one of the girls. Figured I'd be classy this time, plus I was getting tired of the fact that some of my clothing was still soaking wet. Afterward we rented bikes and biked a ways around the lake, which can honestly only be described as "idyllic." I had a great conversation with the friendly owner of a sandwich shop where I bought lunch which I definitely needed. I go between feeling like I'm not very good at French and feeling like I'm a-okay, but this guy was impressed and we talked for awhile. I met up with Mark, who had jumped off a cliff while I was doing all this - safely, via paragliding, not suicidally - and we did the dinner thing.
        Today was kind of icky and rainy, but we found a cool outdoor market, though "found" is used loosely here, since the market had basically taken over most of the town, as markets do on Sundays in France. We went up to the castle that overlooks the town which has been turned into a museum...about fishing. It's a local museum about Annecy and the lake, and therefore has lots of information about fish and fisherman. I can't say it was too exciting, but students got in for 2.50, so it wasn't so bad. Then we spent the rest of the day wandering around and running into everyone else in the group while we killed time until our bus left at five. A highlight was a street performer doing cool stunts and juggling; after his show everyone was giving him money and a tiny French boy announced to the crowd of a couple hundred "Je donne les pièces!" which basically means "I'm giving money!"
        I cannot believe that this is my last week here. It feels like I've been here three days, not three weeks. Time flies when you're in France. Eek!

Think you're brave? Not compared to this guy.

Blogging is more fun than writing mini-research papers.

Today was an incredibly cool day. We went to the museum about the French Resistance this morning - which was cool in itself, as it used to be the headquarters of the Gestapo during the war. But after we went through the museum, we had an "interview" (it was more like a speech with follow-up questions) with a man who had been part of the Resistance movement during World War II. At age 16, in 1939, he joined the worker groups that were starting to move to resist the Nazis and the Vichy regime - the wartime French government that collaborated with the Nazis. He got deeper and deeper into the Resistance as the years went on - he even became close friends with Charles de Gaulle's nephew - until he was helping to blow up electrical lines and railroads that the Nazis were using. In 1944 he was arrested and tortured after being taken to the headquarters of the Gestapo (where we were today - literally the building in which he was giving the speech was the same in which he had been tortured more than 60 years before). He was tortured by Klaus Barbie, the head of the Gestapo, and he refused to speak, despite the fact that they used a technique similar to waterboarding and the tendons in his wrists were severed by the handcuffs he was hanging from as they beat him.  He was eventually deported to Buchenwald because he wouldn't talk and give the names of fellow Resistance members. The only reason he survived the trip in the cattle car to Buchenwald - during which many died of asphyxiation because it was so crowded and many others went mad - was because he pressed his face to crack in the car wall and managed to breathe enough air through it. He was later liberated from Buchenwald by American troops, and when he made it home to his family, his mother did not recognize him because he was so thin.

And through all this, when we asked him where his courage came from, he simply said, "I had to fight for my homeland. There wasn't a choice. Everyone was in danger and the Nazis and Vichy were wrong, so I had to resist." None of this was said in a boasting way. He was humble. It was simply a question of protecting everyone he could, because there was no other option.

Unbelievable.

Tomorrow we leave for Annecy, in the Alps. Should be a good trip - the whole program is going, so basically we're invading. There's nothing more conspicuous in France than a group of 40 American college students flooding off a bus.

Could my life get any more French right now?

Ever heard an accordion being played in reference to something French? Well somewhere outside my open window there is an accordion being played in the most stereotypical French style you could possibly imagine. Toss someone a beret and a baguette and they couldn't be more French than this moment.

Cheers, Jean-Luc, or whatever your name is out there. I'm glad you took up the accordion.

"Merci" en anglais

With all the homework I have to do for one class (dammit, Pierre!) and the cooking class I have to go to in about an hour (Lyon is the food capital of France), I don't have a whole lot of time to write a blog post...or put up pictures...or e-mail. But I'm going to try to crank this out at least because 1) I'm sure you're all just dying for an update (ha) and 2) if I don't write this soon, I'm not going to remember everything I did this past weekend!

The first supremely exciting thing that I did when we went to Paris on Friday was forget my rail pass. D'oh. I needed to have my rail pass in addition to my seat reservation ticket in order to get on the train to Paris. So Mark had to wait in line to change our tickets for a later train, and I had to take two metro trains back to the hotel and walk up the-worst-hill-in-the-history-of-hills so I could grab my pass, run down the hill, get back on the metro and get back to the train station. So that was fun.

But it worked out. We got a later train, made it to Paris, and somehow navigated the Parisian metro system. The metro stations in Paris are enormous. Makes you feel a bit like you're running around in giant hamster tubes or mouse mazes because there are so many halls; the Parisians have somewhere to hide (and live comfortably) if there's ever an apocalypse (2012 anyone?) and they're forced underground. We went to Centre Pompidou, the main modern art museum - which has a lot of creepy stuff but also a ton of Picassos and cool modern art, and then walked around the Notre Dame area. We headed over toward the Louvre but didn't go in (since we'd both been there before), rode an extremely over-priced ferris wheel ("One of the best views in Paris!" it was not), ate a fairly over-priced dinner (beware the tourist traps, my friends), and then walked up the Champs Elysees at night and checked out the Arc du Triomphe.

Saturday was Les Invalides, which was a hospital under Louis XIV and has since been turned into the museum of the French army and of warfare (cue French army/war jokes). It was really cool because it starts with armor and weapons from the 13th century or so, but after the 1000th suit of armor, I was starting to drag. Of course "dragging" in a museum means you're walking rapidly through each room toward the exit. Mark was still reading about all the guns and canons and helmets and uniforms until he realized I was sitting on every bench I found, so we finally headed to Napoleon's tomb, which is also in Les Invalides. Remember Napoleon? And how he had that complex about seeming a lot bigger and greater than he actually was (even if he did do some cool things)? Yeah, well, his tomb is exactly what he would have wanted. Huge sarcophagus under an elaborate dome surrounded by twelve giant statues of Lady Victory and stone frescoes of Napoleon doing various things - and looking very muscle-y as he did them. Stay tuned for pictures.

After Les Invalides was the sewer museum. Yes. Actually, it's pretty cool, because the Parisians have an extremely extensive network under the city and the history of it is really interesting. Of course the museum is also in the sewers, so it doesn't exactly smell like sunshine and flowers. And the unidentified muck in the water underneath the grates under your feet is probably exactly what you don't want it to be. But interesting nonetheless.

Bear with me, I know this is a long post: after a stop in a cafe with a fairly-Parisian (read: slightly grumpy until he realized we were only going to speak French with him) waiter, we went to the Eiffel Tower. In line at 7:30, up to the second floor by 9, in line again, up to the top floor in time for the sunset and then to watch the city light up. When the Eiffel Tower itself lit up and then did its little flashing light show, everyone on the ground cheered, which was really fun to hear from 1000 feet up. After waiting in several lines to get back down, we bought a bottle of champagne off a "vendor" (aka Dude Selling Champagne to Hapless Tourists), and sat on the Champs de Mars (Paris's version of the Mall) with hundreds of other people and watched the Tower light up again at midnight. Super cool.

Finally, Sunday we checked out he neighborhood our hotel was in. We were close to the Basilique du Sacre Coeur, so we walked up to the basilica (which was unbearably crowded) and around the neighborhood. It was a totally different area of Paris - a lot less touristy. I would definitely go back to wander around some more. We wanted to go to Les Galleries Lafayette, but they were closed - because everything in France is closed on Sundays, and I'm only exaggerating slightly. We sat in a cafe instead, and this time had very nice waiters. Take that, stereotypes.

The title of my post comes from an experience in the train station on the way home when I told a French family (in French) that the vending machine they wanted to use was broken. They thanked me and then the little seven year-old boy looked at his dad and said, "Papa, comment dit-on 'merci' en anglais?" (translation: "How do you say 'thank you' in English?") and then thanked me in English after he learned from his dad. Lesson learned: even little kids know you're American when you've said all but ten words. Second lesson learned: they can be adorably polite about it.

And that wraps up Paris!

Deodorant

What is the single greatest thing about American bars?

They don't smell like French bars. Like the no-shaving thing, I'm really unclear on the no-deodorant theme as well. It makes you just a teeeeeny bit more claustrophobic than usual on the dance floor.

I checked out les soldes yesterday and bought some sweet French clothing. Ability to be a snob when people ask me, "Where did you get that skirt?" by answering, "Oh, in France": check! Afterward, much to my chagrin, I went back to the hotel, tried to read for class, and fell asleep for two hours. Maybe it's being in France, but for some reason I was much less angry than I normally am after I nap. Good nap juju here.

Mark and I are going to Paris this weekend - and hopefully (cross your fingers and toes) Michelle will be coming down from Oxford to join before she goes home to the States next week. The first and only other time I've been to Paris was with Michelle, so I'm really hoping she'll be able to join us. I also hope that this time neither of us will be extremely ill with colds and Michelle will not practically hallucinate from the strange French cold medicine the pharmacist gives her. Also, a word to the wise: don't plan a trip to Paris in the middle of the summer only three days before you're planning on leaving. We had a hell of a time trying to find a "reasonably-priced" (read: nothing is reasonably-priced in Paris) hotel last night. But who cares? Cause I'll be in Paris this time in two days!

It's dreary here today, so I'm going to go to class and then work on a project with my friend Karen. I think they have some couscous dinner planned for us tonight (either the French or the Lyonnais love couscous, because there is a lot of it here), and I'm hoping it happens because I neither feel like making pasta again nor like paying for dinner. Of course the couscous dinner comes out of our program fees, therefore it's not exactly free...so thanks, Mom and Dad!

I guess I understand why people get tired of blogging

        I'm not necessarily sick of my blog yet, but I've realized that it's difficult to be witty every entry. Particularly when you're just so tired from hiking up the stupid hill to the hotel everyday. You'd think that the hill would get easier the longer you've been here, but that's wrong. It gets worse. Particularly when you're lugging groceries and wine with you.
        One of my classes went to the American Consulate today to talk about cultural differences between the French and the Americans. It was actually pretty interesting. Then my history professor gave me a ton of book titles that I can use for my thesis; it's amazing how excited I am by this fact. That's probably a good sign considering how much time I have to devote to my thesis next year. And sorry if I've been bringing this up too much. Obviously it's on my mind, plus I can't get over how great this professor his. He's hilarious. Today when we wouldn't define the word "marivaudage" (flirting) for him he told us he was going to make us go out in the streets and witness marivaudage first-hand.
        In random news, while not everyone here dresses well, there are four-year-olds here who dress better than I do. It's disheartening. Though I will give every girl on this trip points for their shaved legs, because a really gorgeous and chic girl sat across from us on the train on the way to Arles...but her legs were definitely not shaved. But then all the boys on this trip get points for normal-length pants. Because you just can't say much about French men when they're wearing those strange capris.
        Cross your fingers that something interesting happens in the next day so I can write you an amusing story next time!

It doesn't matter how good you are at French

        Because there are some words that you will never be able to pronounce. Such as "Arles," the name of the city where Mark and I went this weekend. For those of you that speak (or at least pronounce) French, it doesn't look too bad, but believe me, you're saying it wrong. There's a crazy emphasis on the L, so it comes out sounding more like "ar-luh" rather than what you would expect, which is a one syllable word. However it may be impossible to say correctly if not a native speaker.
        But I'm getting ahead of myself. We don't have classes on Fridays (and I don't have classes on Thursdays - yay!) so I went up and explored the basilica that overlooks the city, one of the old cathedrals, and the general area of Vieux Lyon (Old Lyon, and that means really old). Minus the hike up the small mountain, it was pretty cool. There's a great view of Lyon from the basilica - and a great view of the eyesore that is the Radison smack dab in the middle of the newer part of town - and you can see for miles. Vieux Lyon is really great, too. We're in the Croix-Rousse neighborhood which was where all the silk makers lived in the 1800s and the buildings are fairly plain. Vieux Lyon is really the old Middle Ages area, with tiny streets and old buildings and the whole aura of "traditional Europe." Way more interesting than silk makers' houses, believe me.
        Friday evening we tried to go to the boat bars (all the big barges on the river are anchored and have been turned into bars and restaurants) which didn't work out so well. We found one that we got into right away - and promptly discovered we were the only people there...though it did fill up a decent amount with our group of 15. We bailed on that and considered the Australian bar, but apparently it is The Coolest Place in Lyon, judging by the line at the door, so we went home earlier than usual. But almost all bars in Lyon close at 1am anyway, which is strange if you think about it. The French don't eat until 8 often, and yet their bars close a whole lot earlier than American ones do. Either the French are better at partying cause it only takes them two hours to do it...or they just get sleepy from all the wine.
        Mark and I went to Arles from Saturday to Sunday. Arles is a town in the south of France that is full of Roman ruins, winding and confusing Medieval-era streets, and tourists. We heard more English (and Italian and German and Dutch) in Arles than we have in Lyon to date. We checked out the ruins - it was like a mini Rome - saw a garden that Van Gogh used to chill in, and wandered around a lot. We also saw what we think was a Gypsy wedding and made friends with our Polish/French waitress - random, I know. It was a neat little town, but also very quiet. All in all, a fun experience. The trip back to Lyon was not a fun experience: the train was super hot, we got on the wrong metro in Lyon and then when we got off at a station to go to the other platform there was no way to get across so we had to continue in the wrong direction and switch at the next station (seriously, France?), and then everyone was eating cheese when we got back and it was all gone. And I love cheese. But Ar-luh was fun!
        Tonight I'm reconciling myself to doing homework, something which is extremely tough in a foreign country during the summer. Luckily the reading I'm doing for one class is putting me ahead in my research for my thesis next semester. And I'm taking breaks by writing this and putting pictures on Facebook. Megan: 1. Homework: 0.

P.S. Since it's driving me crazy that there are [sometimes] giant spaces in between paragraphs (what the heck, blogspot, stop doing that!) I'm switching to good old paragraphs.
P.P.S. There are giant mutant flies in Lyon.

Necessary vocabulary for being a translator

I just received an e-mail from my professor that said: "Film La Haine : la projection (obligatoire) est ce soir à 19h20 à Villemanzy (nous aurons des pizzas!!! miam miam)"


Translation: "The movie La Haine: the mandatory showing of the movie is tonight at 7:20 at Villemanzy (we will have pizza!!! nom nom)"

Heated towel racks double as dryers!

The rain in Lyon is a bit like regime change in French history. Neither can makes up its mind. Perhaps the French, after that whole Revolution thing, thought they'd stick as close to tradition as they could - at least in some way, since revolution kind of requires a "bite me, tradition!" attitude. What I mean by this is that the French took a look at the weather, and decided they would behave like the rain. One minute it's pouring, then it's not, then it's pouring, then drizzling, then the sun is coming out, then it's pouring again. So the French people went with monarchy, republic, empire, monarchy, monarchy, republic, empire, etc, etc.

This is what the weather has been doing most of day and what it did last night (during the outdoor music festival - zut!). We had our longest walk yet from the IEP (l'Institut d'Etudes Politiques - the Intitute of Political Sciences Studies at the University where we have our classes) today. It's two miles, and usually takes about 45ish minutes when you factor in the hills and crossing the river. Today it took well over an hour on account of the rain and the fact that there were eight of us and only four umbrellas. Needless to say, we were soaked by the time we got back to Hotel Villemanzy. We should probably figure out how to use the metro system.

Otherwise, there has not been a whole lot that has happened between now and my last post. There was an outdoor music festival last night which occurs all over France. There are musicians and groups in the streets and tons of people wandering, dancing, singing, etc. There probably would have been a lot more people had the weather not been intermittently pouring and not-pouring on us. We saw one group that took refuge in a metro station, just at the bottom of the stairs. This probably would not have flown in DC...but then again, the amount of PDA that occurs here wouldn't fly in DC either. You haven't seen PDA until you've seen it in France, which I'd forgotten - or at least repressed - since the last time I was here. C'est la vie, to use a very applicable cliche. To shelter from the rain for awhile (well, plus we were hungry) Mark and I got dinner at a pizza place. This was the first time on this trip that I actually felt like, oh crud, maybe I don't know French. We ordered a pizza that said it had chicken and beef on it, plus some veggies, and the word "merguez." We got a pizza with the veggies, a fried egg (yes, an egg), and some questionable-looking sausage on it. The questionable-looking sausage was also questionable-tasting, as it didn't taste like pork, but it definitely didn't taste like beef - and it didn't taste bad, just, well, questionable. I learned this morning that it was questionable-tasting because it was beef stuffed into lamb intestines. That's what "merguez" means. Yum.

I also tasted foie gras one day when we had a picnic. I thought I might as well take the "when in Rome" attitude and try something obscenely French. It tasted precisely like the jar that you keep grease in smells. So if I'm offered something like escargot, I might just go with my instincts and turn down the icky-food-turned-fancy-and-French next time.

Facts.

Things the French do right:
Wine - We've begun to whine (pun intended) when we have to pay more than three euro for a bottle of wine. And this doesn't taste like Barefoot. One day I'll splurge and buy a super nice bottle and spend all of ten euro. Additionally the Lyonnais have a joke that there are three rivers in Lyon: le Rhône (real river), la Saône (real river), et le Beaujolais (not real river). Le Beaujolais is the main type of wine here, and the Lyonnais joke that they drink so much that it's a river.
Markets - We went to a great outdoor market yesterday and I bought a TON of food that was delicious and fresh for barely anything. I bought an enormous head of lettuce (which I would show you, but for some reason I can't upload pictures to this blog right now) for 70 cents. Plus there was a man at a cheese stand selling me fromage who told me, "Joli accent!" (translation: "Hey, nice accent!") As if selling cheese doesn't make you enough of a hero in my book...he's an example of how I haven't had a single bad experience with the French yet.
My professors - I have two classes. One, a cultural class about what the French national identity, is with Pierre Dairon. All of the girls have already fallen in love with him; he's probably 30 and very charming and good-looking, etc, etc. And I can gush all I want about him since Mark has his own hot French professor to talk about. Win, win! My other professor is Laurent Douzou who is teaching my class about France during WWII. It's basically prepping me for the thesis I'm writing next year. And I pity everyone who isn't in his class. It was absolutely amazing today, and he was fantastique. He's a well-known scholar on WWII France, and he was so animated and so funny. Plus we barely have to do any work for him.
The French language - For some reason they're all really good at it. Go figure.


Things the French do wrong:
Showers - Ever wonder why there's that stereotype about French women not shaving? Because it sucks to shave when there is neither a door nor a curtain and you have to adjust the shower head so you're hopefully standing under it and not spraying the entire bathroom. It just doesn't seem worth it by the time you're done with one leg.
Showers - Seriously. Appreciate your curtains and non-detachable shower heads.
Showers - Plus the word for shower in French is "douche." Yikes.


Everything else is going well. My room is pretty nice; it's small, but has a loft which is where my bed and closet are. All the rooms are different because the hotel used to be a convent/multiple buildings, so no two rooms are exactly alike. Some people have nice views of the city and the river, but I look into a bush.


You have to walk ages to get to class, but it's a very nice walk around the river, and I can't complain. I can complain about the massive hill we have to walk up to get to the hotel (think San Francisco), but I won't! And it's really not so bad, just tiring when you're lugging groceries up it.


It's actually strange to sit down and write in English. I don't speak English at all during the day; I've only been speaking it at night when I'm with the other students - for instance when we went to a bar last night. Even when we're not with the professors, we speak in French. It's great, I actually feel like my French is improving. I never feel very confident in my speaking abilities, but I haven't felt too bad about them so far!


I don't have any funny and/or witty stories this afternoon, so I'm off to do the homework that I've already been assigned. Woo!

I'm in Lyon, but...

...read this first.

So I’m writing this on the TGV train from Paris to Lyon, and I’ll post it once I have internet service.  The flights from DC to Charlotte and Charlotte to Paris all went well.  We got to Paris by 6:50, and once we got through customs and found our baggage (the fastest I think anyone has ever found their baggage in the history of airports and suitcases and their long relationship together) and down to the train station it was only about 7:45. We spent 3.5 long hours sitting in the station listening to an unbelievably annoying alert noise whenever an announcement was made – so roughly every three to five minutes.

But the main reason that this blog post couldn’t wait is because Emily and I spent a good ten minutes giggling (perhaps more than necessary given the 22 hours we’ve been awake at this point) after a certain string of incidents occurred as we tried to board the train. First there was a good deal of confusion figuring out which coach was ours involving a French train attendant laughing at us and a panicked Asian lady frantically demanding (about half a dozen times) if we knew where she was supposed to go.  But the laughing French man finally dragged us onto the train and up to the second floor of the TGV.  We thought we were set.  But we were not.  Barreling down the train corridor into the compartment for luggage (where Emily and I were trying to heave our bags as another woman and her daughter tried the same) came an Australian family.  There was nowhere for them to go, but this did not stop Mummy from shoving her stroller through the automatic sliding glass door into our corridor – which is clearly blocked by four women with enormous suitcases.  Apparently sliding glass doors are not fans of strollers – or perhaps babies – and the door continuously began shutting on Baby Australia.  No one was fazed by this (Mummy simply kept shoving the doors back open every time they almost squished Baby), and the whole crew kept marching forward, into us where they promptly got stuck, because French train corridors seem not to be built to fit both strollers and Giant Emily Suitcases.  Meanwhile, Toddler Australia is being told to get behind his “Mummy” and Daddy Australia is huffing and puffing at everyone and the stroller is stuck and Mummy is telling Daddy, “I can’t move forward! The stroller is stuck on this bag!”

For some reason, our English with American accents was too much for Family Australia to handle because our repeated attempts to offer suggestions, such as, “Please back up and we will move our bags and we can all be merrily on our way” fell on deaf ears.  Their solution was to keep pushing, but in the meanwhile, stand directly in front of the only shelf where Emily and I needed to put our luggage so this whole situation could be ameliorated.  Remember that Simpsons episode when Marge is in Australia and orders a coffee over and over and the Australian bartender only hears her say “beer”? Well apparently when you say, “Please back up,” Australians hear, “KEEP COMING AT FULL SPEED AND WE WILL SOMEHOW ALL FIT IN THIS TINY SPACE AND THE SLIDING DOORS WILL ACTUALLY NOT SQUISH YOUR BABY AND PLEASE, PLACE YOUR TODDLER DIRECTLY UNDER MY 50lb SUITCASE AS I SWING IT UP ONTO THE SHELF ABOVE HIS HEAD.”

Also, the guy in front of us is reading a porn magazine.

Dearest Abena, you missed a lot when you stayed down on the first floor of Coach 5.

A formal apology

You don't realize until you're packing to leave the country for five-and-a-half weeks how many products are required to simply be female. I mean, honestly. If I were a guy, I could probably get away with a backpack and a tote bag for this whole trip. Then again, if I were a guy I wouldn't be using the words "tote bag," let alone the object itself. Either way, this is my chance to offer Jeff (one of my future roommates with whom I'm sharing a bathroom next year, in case you don't know) a formal apology. I am now realizing how much stuff I actually use - and need - everyday to maintain this whole girl thing. Sorry that I will be jeopardizing 90% of our bathroom storage.

Emily got here today, and we've spent much of the evening weighing our suitcases and unpacking and repacking them (she suffers from this same extreme-amount-of-product-and-clothing affliction that I do). We pretty much have everything in order at this point, and we've moved on to being relatively (or extremely) uneasy about tomorrow since we both hate flying. Cross your fingers for a smooth flight for us! We'll be crossing ours - and perhaps partaking in glasses of wine in an airport or on the plane.

For now I'll keep the blog posts short. Life is pretty uninteresting (though highly stressful) the day before you travel.

P.S. I bought my Tums.

The blogwagon

Is it bad that I've jumped on the blogwagon before I've left the country? Is it bad that I've jumped on the blogwagon (blagon?) at all?

And is four weeks really too short of a time period to write a blog? ...regardless of the fact that I am technically studying abroad - and therefore being a trendy college student and writing quirky posts about all things foreign? I've been told that by week four of your blog you're tired of updating it anyway (and I believe you, Patrick, considering your posts became mighty scarce as the semester wore on), so maybe I'm ahead of the crowd and have actually created the Perfect Storm of blogs: The Four Week Blog To Which the Blogger Is Fully Committed.

Either way, I'm headed to Lyon, France (also known as Not Paris, France) from June 17 to July 16, and then I'm off to travel for another week and a half! Here's to hoping my French improves, to drugging myself to sleep on the airplane with some Dramamine, and to finishing my packing in the next 36 hours.

...and to not forgetting anything vital. Like Tums.