Spring Break:Part 2

Ack!  So much has been going on that I have not had sufficient time to write.

So, anyway, spring break was pretty awesome.  I left France to go to the Netherlands.  Amsterdam was one of the most interesting cities I've ever visited.  All the people I met were very friendly and accepting.  In fact, acceptance of others' differences seems to be the national attitude.  They pretty much don't care what you do as long as you don't require that they do it too.  I went on a walking tour of the city and actually learned a lot about the city of Amsterdam and Dutch history in general.  It is such a culture-rich city, and I went to a few museums including a Van Gogh museum holding over 200 of his works and an "underground" Catholic church from the reformation.  Anne Franks house is there, too.  I didn't get to go in, but I did take a picture.

One major struggle I had in Amsterdam was orienting myself.  The city grid is laid out in a semi circle, so if you walk straight along a street you don't always end up going the direction you want to.  It also doesn't help that every street has a canal going down it and all the bridges are green, so essentially everything looks the same.  It was also very bizarre to walk down the streets and smell pot wafting out of every third doorway, and of course the red-light district was fairly scandalous.  We were warned to not take pictures of the girls who display themselves there at risk of being chased down by them and having our cameras smashed.

I couch surfed with my roommate Raquelle for the 3 nights in Amsterdam and then she went on to Prague and I went to Eindhoven to await my flight to Norway the following day.
Eindhoven was good times.  I stayed with a woman named Kim and she had some friends over for dinner.  They were very kind and spoke in English for the most part.  When every they started to speak Dutch I just kind of smiled and nodded and had no idea what was going on.  The guests were appalled that A) I was only in Eindhoven for one night and B) that I had no plans to go out.  So, they took me out for a couple drinks.  Unfortunately it was a Wednesday night, so the Salsa bar and the Karaoke bar were both closed.  I was bummed, so was Ronald.  Alas I did not get to grace them with my mad karaoke skills.  However, we did play truth or dare, which I'm pretty sure I have not done since I was 13.

But, the best part of the night was definitely riding on the back of a bicycle.  Mildly terrifying, but much faster than walking.  Plus, it was a new experience!

Pictured below are poffertjes.  They are both my new favorite food and my new favorite word to say.  Thus, I am determined to find out how to make them so I can eat them and say their name on a fairly regular basis.

Spring Break: Part 1

I am only half way through my spring break, but I think it would be best to start recounting what has happened thus far lest I forget before I get back to Aix.

Paris
On March 31 I left for Paris to meet up with some friends from Luther.  Obviously I cannot travel without something going wrong, so naturally, both of my trains were delayed and I got to Paris an hour later than planned.  Although, everyone was asleep at the hostel (at 8:00pm) so it wasn't really a big deal.  Allison, Camille, and I headed out soon after that to meet up with Erik, who is studying there.  We walked around for a couple hours and got a drink and some frites.  It was pretty chill. Literally. I had only brought a light jacket and t-shirts with me.  Not good.  Especially since my travels were going to continue further and further north.

The next day we walked from our hostel to Montmartre to the Eiffel Tower, which was somewhere around 6 miles.  Oi.  But, it was a beautiful day to be outside in the sunshine.  Camille and I had already climbed the Eiffel Tower, so Allison and Steph did that while Camille and I sat at the Parc du Champs de Mars and awaited a friend of mine who was on tour with his university band and was supposed to be performing sometime that afternoon.  The band never arrived.  So, when Steph and Allison found us, we all made our way to the metro and returned to the hostel to crash.

That night we just hung out in the hostel with some people we met there.  We shared some stories and some wine and had an overall grand time of it.

On Friday we went to Versailles.  I had visited there during my travels in high school, but my roll of film from the gardens (yes, back in the dark ages before I had a digital camera) was the only roll that did not turn out when it got developed.  So, I opted to walk around the gardens while the other girls went into the chateau.  Unfortunately the weather was terrible so I spent my 2 hours in the gardens in the cold and the wind and the rain.  Also, I (in my infinite wisdom I of course was wearing a t-shirt and a light, non-waterproof jacket because they were the warmest clothes I had packed).  Fortunately I did get get to see the fountains on, which is something I had not seen before.  However, the gardens are much prettier in late June than in early April, so I will have to go back some summer and try for the third time to get decent pictures.
(Also, totally saw a kid in a Packers jacket and got a picture with him. Win!)

Erik came over to the hostel and we all spent the night just hanging out and having a good time.

[By the by, DO NOT STAY AT JULES FERRY HOSTEL.  And spread the word.  We had some issues with a drunk employee and the management stood idly by when help was requested.]

I left early the next morning to catch a train to Caen and the next part of my travels!


Normandy
I met my friends Maddie and Will at the Caen Train station and we headed off to Bayeux and then the American cemetery at Omaha Beach.  It's hard to describe the feeling there.  It feels uniquely American, like I could have been walking around Washington D.C.   It was the first place I had felt completely comfortable and justified in speaking English.
There was a museum devoted to the D-Day operation and then we took a walking tour of the graves.  We saw the graves of the Teddy Roosevelt's sons (one died in WWI the other in WWII).  We also saw the graves of the 2 Niland brothers who died in WWII.  These are 2 of the 4 brothers that the film Saving Private Ryan was about.  Turns out the 3rd brother didn't actually die in combat, but he was MIA and presumed dead.  Sites like this are always fascinating and haunting and tragic.  I'm never really sure how I'm supposed to feel or react in situations like that.  Sorrow, pride, curiosity. We also went down to the beach and saw some half-exploded German bunkers.  I think that one of the best parts was that I went there with 2 people who also have such a high level of interest and knowledge of WWII.

After the cemetery visit we went back to Bayeux and saw the Tapisserie de la Reine Mathilde, which is a tapestry depicting the triumph of William the Conqueror in battling for the British crown.  His queen, Mathilde, made the tapestry about a thousand years ago and it is still in pretty good condition. It is 70 meters long and very elaborate.  Very impressive.  The next day we also went to William the Conqueror's castle in Caen and walked around there for a while before catching our train to Amsterdam.

to be continued...

P.S.
This trip has also brought with it my first couchsurfing experiences.  Couchsurfing, I've decided, is the only way to go.  All the people I've met and stayed with have been wonderful, kind and generous.  It's a great way to meet people who know the area.  So great!

La Camargue

Two weekends ago I went to an area of Provence called La Camargue.  It is essentially one big wildlife preserve in the Rhône River delta. It is famous for its flamingos, its ponies, and its bulls.  I experienced all three.

The flamingos were kind of a surprise.  I pretty much exclusively think of Florida when pondering natural flamingo habitats.  There weren't as many as usual because some of them migrate to Africa during the winter.  Again, for some reason I never really though of Africa as Flamingo-town.

On Saturday we went horse-back riding through the marshes of Camargue.  In pricinple it should have been a really fun adventure, and in retrospect it was, but while it was going on it was kind of miserable.  It was cold and windy and cloudy.  We were riding through mud and water which made the whole experience rather wet and dirty.  My friend Brittany's horse got spooked as we were leaving the ranch and it threw her in the mud.  She got up and got on a different horse and was really none the worse for wear.  Since she is an experienced rider she declared that she was thankful it had happened to her instead of someone else because she knew  how to handle it.  My horse had difficulties staying on the trail and had a tendency to walk out into the middle of the marsh, and it took a lot of coaxing to make him return to the ranks his name was Plan-plan (sp?).  Other than that, two of the other horses decided to sit down and roll over with riders on their back; one of them did so in knee-deep water.  And, I was so terrified of dropping my camera in the water that I did not take any pictures of this particular outing.  So, you will just have to imagine my atop a white pony, freezing cold and caked in mud.

Later that afternoon we went to the cathedral in the village Saintes-Maries de la Mer.  The legend of this town is that a few close friends/followers were put into a small boat with no oars and were left to float out in the Mediterranean.  The boat came ashore at the modern site of Saintes-Maries de la Mer and it is believed that Lazarus, Mary Magdalene, Martha, and perhaps some other disciples left to settle elsewhere, butMary Salomé and Mary Jacobé (sister of the Virgin) stayed there with their servant Sarah who has come to be know as Sarah la Kali or the Black Sarah and is the patron saint of the gypsies.  There is a shrine to her in the crypt of the cathedral.

That night we had soupe de poisson (a traditional proveçale dish), some delicious chicken, some sort of divine mousse/cake item and altogether too much wine...which was followed by a few more drinks at a nice local pub and a shot of whiskey in a particularly sketchy establishment.  The music was so loud we couldn't hear anything else, it had the atmosphere of a dance club/sports bar hybrid, and all of the women looked like they hated life and all of the men had glitter on their faces.
A few of us went back to the hotel via the beach and walked on the rocks and well out into the Mediterranean on a man-made water break.  It was very peaceful, and that sea has always enchanted me.

The next day we went to a ranch where taureaux are raised.  These are the bulls that are used in French bull-fighting... which is really more like bull-counting-
coup.  The bulls are released into the ring and have threads and tassels on each horn and strung between them a rosette (a small fake flower).  There are about 10-15 men in the ring who try to snag these items in order (rosette, tassels, threads) of the face of the bull without getting gored.  It was pretty exciting, especially the acrobatics that the men did to escape the charging bull.  I pretty much spent the entire two hours being tense and super stressed, which has brought me to the conclusion that if I ever had to watch a Spanish bullfight where they are actually trying to kill the bull, I might throw up...or cry...or both, really.

On that note, for lunch we had daube camarguaise.  Daube is essentially the Provence version of boeuf bourguignon (French beef stew) and the variety made in Carmargue is made with taureau instead of regular beef.  It was amazing.  The meal also included Camargue rice, paté, chèvre, apple tarte, lots of bread, and altogether too much wine.  Although, the longer I am here, the more I am coming to accept that there really is no such thing as too much wine.  Dionysus and I are pretty much besties.



I leave for Spring Break tomorrow.  I will be going to Paris to see Luther friends and then to Normandy and Amsterdam and then to Lillehammer to see Styx (!!!) and then to Brussels and back to Paris to meet up with my parents on the 15th.   I will try to blog along the way since it will be a lot to remember by the time I get back.  Wish me luck!




In other news, my mandatory medical visit for my visa is going to be on May 12th.  Which is my last day of class, and the day before I leave France.  But, if I don't go I may be denied future French visas .
Dear French bureaucracy,
I hate you.  A lot.
The end.

Ummm...Hi again?

Wow, I am officially the worst.  For the first month I was here I was totally on top of this whole blog thing and now it has officially been more than a month since the last time I wrote.  Okay, that's not entirely true.  I have attempted to write several times, but after all the craziness and excitement of getting here and traveling, my settled life didn't seem very noteworthy.  My mother apparently thinks that anything happening in France, no matter how mundane is more exciting than daily life in the states simply by virtue of occurring in an exotic place.  This is probably true, but sometimes it's hard to see that when I'm just sitting in the sun drinking coffee.

I do feel very settled here now, and my life isn't exactly boring, but I just have a hard time considering it newsworthy.

So, here's a rundown of the past month in Aix.

Mont Sainte-Victoire
 A few days after my return from the emerald isle, I wet hiking in the foothills of Mont Sainte-Victoire, our resident mountain.  It was a beautiful sunny day and a very light-paced hike.  I enjoyed some nice conversation and fun facts about the area.  For example, there used to be a river that ran through the valley that dinosaurs would lay their eggs in and now the dry river bed is one of the most plentiful archaeological sites at which to find fossilized eggs.  Also, there are warning signs to stay away from the dig sites, but I didn't see any legit barriers.  I love the French.

That weekend, some of my fellow students and I decided that it would be a good idea to hike to the top of the mountain.  It was supposed to be about 4 hours round trip and it's really not that big of a mountain.  Yeah, I almost died.  At least, that's what it felt like.  The mountain, though small for a mountain, was still a mountain.  The paths were very steep, narrow, and rocky.  For those of you who know me well, you know that anything more strenuous than a fast walk or climbing a flight of stairs is a struggle.  Well, I struggled.  I consistently brought up the back of the line and usually by a good margin.  And, then when the summit was within reach, I rolled my ankle.  Awesome.  As we started down the mountain via a different path it began to rain.  Even better.  Two young French men assisted the group of us down the path.  It continued to rain. Turns out that the the guys didn't actually know where they were going, so rather than just walking to the bus-stop, we walked all the way to the next town.  In the rain.

By the time i got back to Aix, I was cold and wet and exhausted.  I was alone for the weekend so, naturally I took a shower, made some hot chocolate, and went to bed at 6. Awesome.  But, seriously I kind of want to do it again when it isn't raining and when I'm feeling exceptionally motivated...or fat.




Daily life
My day-to-day life is very calm.  I have class Monday through Wednesday and very little homework.  And one of my professors has only shown up for 3 of 8 classes.  I wouldn't mind except that the class is 8am on Monday and I never find out till I get to school that he won't be there.

I spend at least 2 hours a day walking around town, unless it's raining.  On rainy days I walk to the British bookstore and have a pot of tea while I read.  On sunny days, I  sit outside at cafés and people-watch.  I am constantly amazed at the pace of life here. Everyone has a destination but is in no particular hurry to get wherever they are going.  Friends never pass in the street with a brief smile and a wave.  They always stop to 'faire les bises' and chat for a couple minutes before continuing on their way.  I like it, but for the first time in my entire life I feel as though I don't have enough to do.  I feel like I'm cheating the system somehow because there's no reason why my life should be so leisurely.

I am decidedly going to have a rough time readjusting to class and writing papers and work, cuz I don't really remember what that's like.  I remember that it involves a lot of stress and very little sleep, but it's mostly just an unpleasant blur.


Aix-ventures
I have participated in some fun community-type events as well.  On the first Sunday of every month  it is free to get into all the museums in Aix, so on March 7th I went to 4 museums and an organ concert.  Now, when I hear the word museum I typically think of the Louvre or the Field Museum of Natural history or the Smithsonian, but Aix museums aren't quite like that.  I went to 4 museums in 3 hours and looked at everything in all of them.  Musée Granet was an art museum that mostly consisted of sketches from the mid nineteenth century.  there was also one picasso and 2 (?) Cezannes and a rather nice sculpture gallery.  There was a museum of natural history devoted almost exclusively to dinosaurs except for a temporary exhibit on evolution.  Musée de Vieil Aix had literally 3 rooms.  It was a collection of fancy artifacts (furniture, dishes, trinkets) from the olden days.  Which, in France, are slightly older than in the US.  And finally, the Musée des Tapisseries was located in a very old and large and fancy-type mansion that I believe the bishops used to live in.  There was a set of tapestries depicting various scenes from Don Quixote and some other old stuff that was pretty cool.  (I don't really mean to sound crass, but it's late and I'm tired and it happened a long time ago.)

A couple weeks ago I went to a gastronomie at the local casino with a couple friends.  It was my first time actually being inside a casino and it was pretty neat...and about 100 degrees...Fahrenheit.  And no I did not gamble.   We paid five euros to get into an exhibition of all kinds of culinary specialties including wine, champagne, cognac, macaroons, chocolate, smoked fish, jams, and cooking utensils. We got to go around and get free samples of the foods and beverages (unfortunately they were not giving away kitchen gizmos).  There were actually a couple wines that I would have bought, but I had literally 2 euros with me, so that didn't happen.  Then (shame, shame, shame)  we went and got a little taste of home...but I'm not sure I can bring myself to actually publish where...

On the walk to my friend's apartment in the chilly pollen-thick spring air I developed a little bit of a cough, which I thought nothing of.  I then proceeded to spend an hour and a half smoking hookah.  In case any of you were wondering, smoking isn't actually an effective remedy for a hacking cough.  So, anyway, I have now had said cough for almost 2 weeks, and I have self-diagnosed it as allergies.  WOOT!  My favorite!

And this past weekend was so exciting!  I can't wait to tell you about it! Oh wait, yes I can.

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!