Winter Vacation: Part 2

Okay, now that I am well settled back in Aix I can finish recounting my travels in the British Isles.

I feel as though I did not give a sufficient account of my time in Nottingham.  Getting there, though terrible, was by far the worst part and it was more than compensated for with the time I spent there.  I had such a wonderful time with my friends there and I even made some new ones.  Everyone was more than hospitable and I really didn't want to leave.  I was also there with 3 of the 5 girls I will be living with next year and it was really great for the four of us to spend some time together.

Ireland:
On Tuesday night Camille and I flew from Nottingham to Dublin and then took a bus to Galway. We had zero complications and it was glorious.  Upon arriving at her apartment, her roommate Chelsea gave me a freshly made grilled cheese sandwich.  It was heavenly.  Camille also lives there with Katie, who is her best friend from high school and Katie's boyfriend Jack was also visiting, so we had quite the fun group of people in the the apartment.
On Wednesday Jack and I went to class with Camille and Katie and then we walked around city center for a while.  We made breakfast for dinner and then watched (500) Days of Summer, which I loved.

On Thursday we went to Cork.  Naturally the city bus was running 15 minutes late, so we missed our coach and had to wait for 2 hours until the next one left.  We got to Cork in the middle of the afternoon and checked into our hostel before we went exploring.  We walked around for a while and grabbed some lunch at a place called Abrakebabra.  Pretty much the best name an fast food restaurant has ever had.  After have such a busy day of mostly sitting around and not really doing anything, we were in dire need of a nap, which we partook in with much enthusiasm and vigor.  Except for Jack. Who slept for about 15 minutes.

We had intended to get drinks and desert that evening, but the restaurants nearby were full and we were impatient.  So, we went into the first pub we found and asked if the kitchen was still open.  It wasn't, but the bartender said we could go get food and bring it in - which we did.  Across the street was a place called Mike's.  I was in the mood for some chips (aka fries) and they had them on the menu.  I ordered a large order for about 3 or 4 euros, expecting a typical-ish order of fries.  Lo and behold I got an order of chips approximately the size of a small child.  I was initially horrified at what I had just ordered and then stoked because of the great value and then very daunted at the thought of the task that was before me: eating this massive order of chips.  Luckily, I had help and we managed to polish them off and then roll ourselves back to the hostel and go to bed.

On Friday morning we went to Blarney Castle.  It was a pretty standard medieval Irish castle, but the grounds were really beautiful  it was kind of muddy, but we walked around the area for a few hours.  There was one area called Rock Close that has very much druid history and fairy folklore associated with it.  Next to a waterfall, there was one particularly slippery set of stairs known as the wishing stairs.  But, in order for your wish to be granted you have to focus on your wish as you walk down the stairs and then back up with your eyes closed the whole time.  Naturally I risked life and limb to complete this task (and I'll give you a dollar if you can guess what I wished for).  Also, I did not kiss the Blarney stone.  Getting herpes was not on my Ireland to-do list.

Our return to Galway was uneventful and I left the following morning for Paris.

Paris:

I thankfully had no travel mishaps on this leg of my trip either. (Unless you count the city bus being extremely late and me having to walk 45 minutes to the Galway coach station, getting there just before the bus left).  But, my bus to Shannon was fine as was my flight to Paris and my bus ride from the airport to the city.  I even managed to successfully navigate the Metro and find my hostel.  The hostel wasn't that great, but it was cheap and had a bed and free breakfast.  My train to Aix didn't leave till noon on Sunday, so I left my hostel before 8 and walked to the train station.

There is something very romantic and liberating about walking through the streets of Paris alone.  The sky was gray and the weather was mild.  The streets were fairly empty until 9:30.  I walked passed Les Invalides and across the Seine via the Pont Alexandre III I saw the obelisk and the Musée D'Orsay.  It broke my heart to walk by and not go inside, but I really didn't have the time that the museum deserves.  I also walked passed the Louvre.  Upon inspection I have to agree with Louis XIV;  it is definitely a sub-par residence.  Cramped, ugly, terrible location, not majestic or regal in the least.*

The last sight I visited on my way to the train station was Notre Dame.  I visited there when I was in Paris 5 years ago, but was not allowed in because they were ordaining priests that day.  This time I was so excited to finally go inside.  And, I approached, I realized it was sunday morning and I would be able to sit through a mass in the Notre Dame de Paris.  I was ecstatic.  Until I walked up to the door with my duffel bag and saw a sign saying luggage was not allowed into the cathedral.  For the second time, I was turned away.  But, I am determined that the next time I go there, I will not fail.

After that disappointment I comforted myself with un café et un pain au chocolat before making my way to the Gare de Lyon and returning to Aix.  I was so thankful to get back to this town that I have come to know and love.  I think I was more homesick for France during my 10 days abroad than I have been for America during the 5 weeks that I have been in Europe.  I feel settled here.  And I love it.




*Note: sarcasm

Winter Vacation: Part 1

So, I just got back from my week long winter vacation which was actually 11 days...because I'm awesome.  I went to visit friends from Luther in England and Ireland and had an absolutely wonderful time.  In an attempt to not overwhelm my audience, I will be recounting my travels in multiple entries.

England:
I left for Nottingham from Aix at around 7:30am on Thursday 11 February.  I made it to the train station and to Lille without much excitement, however my voyages this semester are destined to be plagued by stressful travel mishaps.  To provide some background,  I had to take a bus from London to Nottingham.  There was one at 3:30 and one at 5:00.  My train was supposed to get into London at 2:30, so I intended to take the 3:30 bus, but figured if it took me longer than an hour to navigate my way across London, I could hang out for an extra hour and a half and take the later bus.  Unfortunately, my train was delayed and I did not get into St. Pancras Station until 4:05.  At which point I had to(1) find the tube,(2) find an ATM, (3) buy a subway ticket, (4) go to the incorrect line (5) run to catch the correct train, (6) get my purse caught as I jumped through the closing train door, (7) be told I was disgusting by a stranger who witnessed said jump and subsequent purse ensnarement, (8) panic because it was already 4:25 and I had no idea where I was going (9) follow the bus signs out of victoria station and onto a street with no bus station and no signs (10) get pointed in the wrong direction by a passer-by (11) get pointed in the right direction by a cab driver, (12) walk for several blocks searching frantically for the coach station (13) find the coach station and search for the ticket windows (14) wait in line for 10 minutes holding back tears (15)contemplate the prospect of spending a lonely night in London with no way to contact my friends in Nottingham (16) buy a coach ticket at 4:55, and (16) run to gate 14 and board the bus to Nottingham at 4:59pm Greenwich time.  I really wish I was making that more dramatic than it really was.

Upon my arrival in Nottingham, there was no one waiting for me.  I arrived at 8:45 and I had told my friends I wouldn't be there till 9:00, so I decided to give it till 9:15 before I caught a cab.  I waited outside the station on a bench, supposing I would see anyone who would enter the station.  I stuck my head back in once and looked around, but saw no one.  At 9:20 I hailed a cab.  Another good story. We will call it, "Lizzi takes a taxi"

I open the cab door and tell the driver the address as I am sitting down. "67 Homefield Road"
"What?"
"67 Homefield road"
"What?"
I have the street address along with the postal code written on a post-it note, so I hand it to him.
"Oh! 67 Homefield road"
"yeah"
"What area is that in?"
"What?"
"What area?"
"I don't know.  I don't live here I'm visiting a friend."

He sees that my friends number is also on the post-it and decides that he should call her. I hear her confused voice on the line.

"Hello?"
"Where are you?"
"What?"
"I have your friend.  I need to know what area you are in."
"I think you have the wrong number."

He also thinks he has the wrong number.  I am the only person who kind of knows what is going on, but I am too upset and tired to notice or comment (or to see the hilarity of the situation) so I sit back as he pulls away from the curb. He assures me he has figured out where he is going now.  I was told it would be about a 6 pound fare so as the meter mounts, I suspect we are approaching our destination.  He is driving slowly down a dead end road and ends up turning around and calling my friend once more.  This time I tell him that her name is Lauren and I instruct him to tell her that he has her friend Lizzi in the car.  He does this and she begins to understand the situation. I can only hear his side of the conversation this time.

"Are you Lauren?"  " yeahyeahyeah, I have your friend Lizzi in the cab. where are  you?"  "What area are you in?" "yeahyeahyeah I have the postal code, but that is no good I need to know the area"  "Where are you? I can come pick you up in 5 minutes."  "Stay where you are and I will pick you up."    "Aspley?!?! It's by Aspley?!?  That's in a completely different part of town." "Okay"

I am now thoroughly confused and getting kind of angry.  It has been a very long day and England especially has been a chore to deal with. I watch the meter run all the way back to the bus station (where we started) where it now reads 10.40, and he takes a road leading in a different direction.  All this time he is assuring me that he really does know where he is going now and lecturing me that Nottingham is a big city and an address is not enough I really should have known the area and my friends should have known better than to just give me an address and a postal code because that's just not good enough.  We do not pick up Lauren anywhere.

By the time he drops me off on the wrong street the meter reads 14.80.  He offers me a deal of 12 pounds which I do not accept based on my calculations of base fare plus the actual meter from the bus station to where he dropped me off, I figure I owe about 6.50.  I offer him 10 because a) I didn't have anything smaller and b) I didn't think he would give me change.  We argue and argue and argue, and it comes down to me saying ten or nothing and starting to leave the cab.  He took the ten.  I then had to walk to the correct street and hunt down the elusive apartment which was apparently located above a church.  I later found out that Lauren had been waiting at the bus-stop since 8:50 and that any cabbie worth his salt would be able to locate an address based on a postal code.

My next five days there were wonderful.  I drank a lot of tea and spent a lot of time catching up with my friends who I had not seen since last summer.  I went to the university on Friday, Camille arrived Saturday and I may have witnessed the playing of a certain game that I don't talk about, and we went to Newstead Abbey on Sunday.  Monday I went to a class on Islam and then had sushi off a conveyor belt (a much more satisfying experience than my first European encounter with sushi).  On Tuesday evening Camille and I left for Ireland.  But that is a story for another day.

Barthelona

I am sitting here writing this blog and feeling as though death is encroaching upon me at an ever increasing rate.  My weekend in Barcelona was phenomenal, but is was one night of little sleep bookended by two long and sleepless overnight bus rides.  I apologize in advance; this narrative may be a little long.

Departure and Arrival
I left for Barcelona from Aix at 10PM Friday night with four other girls from my program.  As I was standing at the bus-stop I looked over my bus tickets that I had printed earlier that day and noticed something slightly awry.  I was supposed to be coming back in time for class at 8AM Monday, February 8, but my return trip was booked for the overnight bus on the 9th rather than the 7th.  Not good.  My ticket was amendable, so I tried not to worry about it too much.
We boarded the bus and I spent the next eight hours trying to sleep in spite of the numerous stops, the constant chatter of the women behind me, and the fact that I was freezing cold. Despite my best efforts, I got maybe 3 hours of uncomfortable shut-eye during the voyage.  Upon our arrival to the Barcelona Sants station, we immediately sought out coffee and waited around until we could go check into the hostel at 7 and clean up before facing the day.

Day 1: Gaudí, Gelato, y Gringas
During the taxi ride to the hostel I made conversation with the driver in my very limited Spanish. Our conversation went more or less as follows:

Me: Como estas señor?
Him: airhaiuf muy sueño argavenrv.
Me: Tu trabajas todo la noche?
Him: No aieufa seis sorumoi todo la día awoeub noche navomio.
Me: Ah, bueno.

It was a magnificent success.
Upon arrival at the hostel, we were told we could not check in until one.  So much for getting an early start on the day.  We hung around for about an hour and had some breakfast.  As we were leaving, the man at the desk decided we could check in early, so we did and got out on the town not too long after 8.  We didn't have any set plans, so we just wandered around the city for a while.  Before too long, we agreed that it would be easier to split into two groups, so Brittany and I took off on our own.  The first thing we did was walk to Casa Batlló, and architectural masterpiece designed by Antoní Gaudí (facade above).  There really are no words to effectively describe it.  Ingenious, magnificent, breathtaking, they all fall short.  There is not a single straight line in the entire house and all the designs are based on formations and structures found in nature, from mushrooms, to whales and everything in-between.  The colors, the detail, the form.  Beautiful. 

While trying to readjust our senses to the real world, Brittany and I got tapas for lunch and then sat by a fountain eating gelato.  Barcelona is a very big and touristy city.  After working so hard all the time to blend into the Aixois community, it was nice to be able to accept my role as an american outsider.  We took pictures (I busted out the chacos), we investigated the artisans who were set up in their tents on the main drag and headed back to the hostel for an afternoon nap.  When we arrived around 3 o'clock and the other girls were already passed out in  their bunks.  I intended to join them, but first I had to figure out my return ticket situation.

How to make an international phone call
Thanks to this particular encounter, I am going to be constantly paranoid about improperly booking travel arrangements.
I went online to adjust my reservation and after several minutes of searching around the website, I discovered that I had to call the bus company to change the booking.  (Note: I hate talking on the phone to strangers.  I hate it even more when it involves a foreign language).  I had two cell phones with me: my American phone and my European phone.  When I tried to call the number provided on the website, I received a recorded message of a rapidly speaking Spanish woman and then the call disconnected.  No good.
Plan B: Find a pay phone.
I was directed down the street to a nearby internet/phone café.  I must have made over 20 calls before everything got figured out.  In that process I learned the following things:

1) You need to dial 00 before the country code when making international calls. (2 attempts)
2) The number I had found on the internet cannot be reached from outside France. (5 attempts)
3a) There is an emergency number to call from outside France, but emergency doesn't have the same connotation in French because they don't always answer the phone.
3b) The phone disconnects after ringing for one minute. (2 attempts in conjunction with 3a)
4) You have to push the little red button in order for the person on the other end to hear you speaking. (2 attempts)
5) One must change their bus reservation through the local office in the destination city (First successfully completed call)
6) You do not need to dial 00 before making local calls. (1 attempt)
7) The number given to me for the Barcelona office is not a valid number (4 attempts plus a call made by the man running the café)
8) The French really don't know the meaning of the word 'emergency.' (3 more attempts)
9) If the phone number doesn't work, then one must to go to the bus station and figure it out there.  But there is a second number I could try (Second successfully completed call)
10) Spelling ELIZABETH for a Spanish woman who knows limited English using the American alphabet results in I-L-A-C-E-I-I-T-H. (Third successfully completed phonecall)
11) Changing a ticket is as easy as providing the ticket number and telling them when you want to leave.

And then I went back to the hostel and took a nap.

Day 1 comes to a close
The rest of the evening was thankfully not too eventful.  We slept till 6 and then went out for tapas and sangria.  The meal was excellent.  I had lox with capers, shrimp with avocado puree and roasted eggplant and peppers with a vinegar marinade.  The sangria was wonderful, so we decided a second pitcher was in order.  After dinner we went back to the hostel and had yet another pitcher of sangria which was not nearly as good.  At that point Brittany and I went to meet up with my friend Allison and the other three went to a club.
We met Allison at a pub called El Bosc de les Fades.  It was pretty neat.  It kind of felt like we were hanging out in an enchanted forest.  But it was very small and very crowded.  And it closed at 2.  Lame.  So, Brittany and I went back to the hostel, looking forward to a moderately full night of stationary sleep, conveniently forgetting that the other 3 girls had yet to return.  Which they did at 5:30.  ouf.

Riding the metro
I woke up early on Sunday as I am wont to do most days.  After quietly getting dressed and going down to have breakfast, my anxiety about my ticket got the best of me.  I was not totally sure I had effectively communicated with the woman on the phone the previous day and I was dreading arriving at the bus station that evening only to find out I had re-booked my return trip incorrectly.  So at 8:30, while everyone else was sleeping, I left to go to the bus station and confirm that I would be returning to France that night.
I had never ridden a subway alone before, this promised to be an adventure.  I bought my ticket without much ado and proceeded down the stairs to await my train.  As I did so, I heard a series of high-pitched and very excited yelps.  When I reached the bottom of the stairs I noticed that on the other side of the tracks there were eight police with a very agitated, though muzzled, German Shepherd surrounding a man sitting on a bench.  The man appeared to be not fully functional as the cops forcibly body searched him  and then dragged him up the stairs and out of the scarcely populated metro station.
Upon arrival at the bus station I was told that everything was fine and that I was all set to get on the 10:00 bus that night.  Good. Excellent.  Deep sigh of relief.

Sagrada Familia and Park Güell
Brittany and I wanted an earlier start than the others, so we checked out and navigated our way to the Sagrada Familia via the metro (of which I was quickly becoming quite the expert).  The Sagrada Familia was Antoní Gaudí's final work and truly his finest masterpiece. This church has been a work in progress since 1882.  It is no where near finished, but the beauty of it's structure is beyond compare and it is truly amazing that the local/national/global community is still devoted to completing it.  People don't take hundreds of years to build cathedrals anymore.  It is a beautiful thing to see so much dedication to a project that will not come to fruition for generations.

True to all his work, Gaudí took all of his structural designs from structures found in nature.  Modeling the architecture after the works of the original architect make it impossible to be in that place and not feel the tangible presence of God.  "Wow. Just wow" was about all I could manage to say while there.  Human expression (including all of my photos) falls so short when presented with something so magnificent and beautiful and imposing and wonderful. 

The passion facade

From there we went to Park Güell.  Although it was a beautiful park, and the Gaudí works were impressive, it was not really capable of competing on the same level as the majesty of the Segrada Familia.  The best part of the park was that there were several people just hanging out playing Spanish guitar. There really is something mystical and enchanting about that style of guitar playing.  Park Güell is the kind of place that I would love to go and sit for hours eating gelato and people watching while soaking up the sun and listening to the music, but we just didn't have the time available to do that.

Home sweet home
We met back up with the others for dinner and then went to the bus station to embark on yet another long and sleepless bus ride back to Aix.  This was my first voyage outside of France since I arrived and it made me appreciate how well I am getting to know Aix.  I no longer need to consult a map to get around town and I don't feel as 'other' as I did when I got here.  I am so thankful to be back in a place where I know I can communicate with the general population, and it has finally started to sink in that I live here.  I live in France, in Aix.  For the remainder of my time in Europe, this is my home.  It's a very nice feeling.



Dissappointments about my trip to Barcelona:
1) I was sick with a cold, so the flavors of all of the magnificent Spanish food were severely muted.

2) I did not have a romantic encounter with Javier Bardem.

3) It only lasted 2 days.




P.S. Barcelona has a hodag!

Olives and Truffles and Sheep, Oh My!

I had intended to include the events of Sunday in my last post, but the recounting of the sushi debacle was more draining  and lengthy than expected.  Sunday was a truly wonderful day (which I needed after Saturday night).

I went on a day trip with four other people to experience some of the local traditions in small provençal villages.  The first town we visited was St. Martin de Crau.  We went there for their annual Fête des Bergers (fesitval of the shepherds).  All the people involved get dressed up in traditional costumes which include such things as the Berger (shepherd) and the Lady of Arles costumes.  At mass, the first lambs of the spring are blessed and then the whole town marches down to the city hall for cookies and cider.  The parade includes a flock of sheep, provençal cowboys, donkeys, and of course all the elaborately costumed villagers.  It was a lovely little festival and I think the 5 of us that traveled there from Aix were the only non-locals.  Bonus:  We got to hold the blessed lamb, and I'm pretty sure that comes with an extra dose of grace. 

Next, we went to Pelissane to the Fête des truffes et de l'huile d'olive (festival of truffles and olive oil).  There I ate my first truffle.  I partook of it in the form of brouillards (scrambled eggs).  Did you know that scrambled eggs could be divine?  As in actually endowed with divinity?  Neither did I.  But, it is so.  They were absolutely amazing.  I'm not sure I could ever justify buying a truffle, but if I could, I would serve it in scrambled eggs. C'est magnifique!

First bite of truffle ever!

We also got to do an olive oil testing, which was very enlightening.  Apparently it is possible (though very uncommon) to make olive oil out of a single variety of olives.  Most producers don't do this because it's five times as much work, but the difference is really astonishing.  We tried four different single-variety olive oils, and just like wines made of different grapes, they all had their own unique qualities.  However, the most interesting thing (for me) was the woman who made the oil.  She was from Wisconsin.  She had grown up in the Milwaukee area and lived in Brookfield all her married life until she and her French husband moved to France in 2004 and bought an olive farm.  She heard a couple of us speaking English and insisted on making friends.  She was very...earthy.  I liked her a lot.


Thursday, I went to a liquoristrie near Aix.  They make absinthe there.  We took a tour of the very small distillerie and did a tasting of a couple varieties of alcohol: a melon aperatif, versinthe (the absinthe made there) and a thyme flower disgestif.  Absinthe is essentially pastis.  It is smoother than other anise alcohols I've tried.  It's good, but it's not my favorite. (Chocolat, anyone?)  Plus, they apparently don't make it with wormwood anymore since it causes people to go crazy, so there is no longer the benefit of hallucination that goes with over-consumption.  No lie, I was slightly disappointed to learn this.


Fun Tidbits of my life in France:

1) I cannot speak French or English very well at this point.  Even writing this blog is somewhat of a challenge.  I have decided to focus my energy on speaking fluent franglais.

2)  I kind of love relative time.   Classes, buses, meetings, are never on time.  Even when I'm late, I'm early.

3) While reading a French magazine I learned that Dr. McDreamy and Dr. McSteamy are Dr. Mamour and Dr. Glamour in French.  Awesome.  (If you don't know what I'm talking about, don't worry about it).

4)  I am going to Barcelona for the weekend So excited!