I hate the phone. I really do. Not because of some anarchist, anti-consumer philosophy. I just hate talking on the phone, for the most part. I will email until my fingers fall off to avoid a phone conversation with someone I don't really feel like talking to. This aversion is multiplied by about 1000 in French. Which is just silly because every time I've had to have phone conversations in French (with Ikea, the bank, my inspectrice) it's really no big deal. I much prefer to talk to someone face-to-face in French, if only so they can see my face when I stumble and realize that French isn't my first language and I'm flustered, not a moron. Sigh.
Anyway, I called MICEFA today to make an appointment with the resident director to get all my classes approved, and while I was on the phone with Barbara, I asked her about Nanterre registration. She gave me the office hours of M. Louys, the crazy man who lets you take level 4 classes if you test into 2. I also got the new location and tentative start date for my MICEFA class. One easy phone call, maybe 5 minutes, and I am almost totally at ease with the transition to second semester. Why do I avoid phone calls?
Anyway, this week started out lamely because as I was walking to the metro yesterday morning, I realized that the 100 songs I downloaded onto my ipod the night before hadn't updated. I am usually not about the ipod while commuting, if only because I'm paranoid about disabling one of my senses in public. But after my winter break travels and the hours spent in airports and on buses, I've rediscovered the practicality of the ipod. If only because it gives me a boost when I'm on the train at 6:45 in the morning, drinking coffee from my theromos (much to the disgust of the French people around me -- why can't this bitch drink a tiny cup of coffee at home like the rest of us?). Speaking of my commute. I've been meaning to write something about this but I always forget (maybe because I'm exhausted at the end of every work day).
So after about a month of this bullshit 7:18 train, in the pitch black, twice a week, one day I realized that between La Defense and St. Cloud, about, when the train goes parallel to the west side of Paris, I can see the Eiffel Tower. Okay, I can see the band of lights on the second floor that they leave on after they turn off the main lights sometime during the night. So I started sitting on the left side of the train (or right side on the way home, though it's usually foggy in the evening and I can't see it anymore) every morning so I could see the little band of lights and slight outline of the tower and remember that I'm in Paris. Well a couple weeks ago I was watching the tower and my eyes drifted northwest. What do you know, there was the Arc de Triomphe! I had no idea how tall it was, or that it stayed lit up all night, but it's there and it gives me a little boost every morning now. The real treat of the commute is some evenings when I'm coming home and it's clear enough to see Sacre Coeur way in the distance. Paris is really small, the monuments are really tall, and the buildings are really short. Between sleeping in my tiny studio and commuting out to this little town, or to Nanterre, I forget that I live in the tourism capital of the world.
On a totally different note, my paycheck just cleared in my bank account, so today I'm going to head to the lovely lavender store to buy some dresses, maybe a hat and a scarf (although the scarf I liked once upon a time hasn't been restocked). I am totally OCD about clothes and if I only have one of something, I can never deem it a special enough day to wear it. So I find something I like, then buy it in several colors and styles. Then it becomes normal and I can wear it to class or work. There is also a gorgeous store down the street (Nina Kendosa, for the neighborhood peeps) and I will probably stop by there to check if anything is still on sale. The signs at the mall have gone from 2nd markdown to last markdown, so now's the time to strike, if there's anything good left.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Friday, January 25, 2008
Born freeeeeeee
Well I took my last final last night. 3 and a half pages of bullshitty glory. Frankly, I can't take all of the blame for that because we just did not get very in-depth in that class. We just kind of took notes, read a boring textbook, watched some awful exposés. Anyway, at least it's over. And my final on Wednesday was biiiizarre. We sat down, the professor read this article to us three times, we answered 5 multiple choice questions, and BAM. Dunzo. Under 20 minutes. I think I did really well but even if I didn't, I have a 16 (out of 20, but a 12 is a B -- it's a whole thing, this fucked up French grading) in that class. Soooo school is officially out for a couple weeks, but next task is to figure out where and when to sign up for my classes. I'm not sure I want to take FETE (French as a foreign language) classes again, but that means I have to run around to every department to find the class listings and then sign up for them. Although I've heard being in MICEFA helps and I can just cry ignorance or something. Good insurance policy? We'll find out.
Yesterday was a little weird. I did the usual commute in the morning, did my regular two classes in the morning, then luckily got into the second school. No one was in the teacher's lounge to buzz me in, so I had to bang on the front door and yell at one of my students so he'd get his teacher to let me in. I made some photocopies, drank a cup of tea, and taught an extremely rowdy class. But for whatever reason, it doesn't really bug me when they're hard to control. But now they are all certain of the meaning of "shut up," I'm sure. Afterward I went home on the RER (fuckin' hate that crap) and took a quasi-nap. I say quasi because one of my neighbors was running up and down the stairs, then stomping around in his apartment upstairs. I nearly threw open my door and yelled "DOUCEMENT!" into the stairwell, but I couldn't be bothered (Hi Matt, if you're reading this).
My trip to Rome is starting to take shape as well. I was planning to take EasyJet and the flights were gonna be like 130 euro, but RyanAir is doing fun fun penny flights right now, so I could get there for about 50 euro. The only problem is that I have to go to Beauvais (26 euros in shuttle fees, not SUCH a big deal), and the flight into Rome lands at 11:40 pm. Hey Laurennnnnn. If you meet me at the airport, I'll pay for the cab to get us baaaack. Ha. Then there's the issue of accommodation. Lauren can't have guests for some silly Italian rule, Mike offered but he was drunk and jet-lagged at the time, and the hostels in the area all have lockout for cleaning, which is just the silliest fucking concept ever. I'm really supposed to get up and out before 11 am so you can sweep the floor? Fuck off. Plus they all require check in before 6 pm or they'll give up my invitation. Maybe I can crash somewhere the first night and check in the next morning? That's an idea I suppose. Anyway, it's balls. I think these hostels are all owned by the same douche bags.
Yesterday was a little weird. I did the usual commute in the morning, did my regular two classes in the morning, then luckily got into the second school. No one was in the teacher's lounge to buzz me in, so I had to bang on the front door and yell at one of my students so he'd get his teacher to let me in. I made some photocopies, drank a cup of tea, and taught an extremely rowdy class. But for whatever reason, it doesn't really bug me when they're hard to control. But now they are all certain of the meaning of "shut up," I'm sure. Afterward I went home on the RER (fuckin' hate that crap) and took a quasi-nap. I say quasi because one of my neighbors was running up and down the stairs, then stomping around in his apartment upstairs. I nearly threw open my door and yelled "DOUCEMENT!" into the stairwell, but I couldn't be bothered (Hi Matt, if you're reading this).
My trip to Rome is starting to take shape as well. I was planning to take EasyJet and the flights were gonna be like 130 euro, but RyanAir is doing fun fun penny flights right now, so I could get there for about 50 euro. The only problem is that I have to go to Beauvais (26 euros in shuttle fees, not SUCH a big deal), and the flight into Rome lands at 11:40 pm. Hey Laurennnnnn. If you meet me at the airport, I'll pay for the cab to get us baaaack. Ha. Then there's the issue of accommodation. Lauren can't have guests for some silly Italian rule, Mike offered but he was drunk and jet-lagged at the time, and the hostels in the area all have lockout for cleaning, which is just the silliest fucking concept ever. I'm really supposed to get up and out before 11 am so you can sweep the floor? Fuck off. Plus they all require check in before 6 pm or they'll give up my invitation. Maybe I can crash somewhere the first night and check in the next morning? That's an idea I suppose. Anyway, it's balls. I think these hostels are all owned by the same douche bags.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
This week. . .
Is not a great one.
Monday was decent. I could not sleep at all Sunday night. For whatever reason, the nights before I work, I just can't sleep. I've been at this for almost four months now, I've never overslept, I try to go to bed early-ish and get 8 hours of sleep. But still, I toss and turn and I wake up twenty minutes early. At least it's only two days a week? I dunno. Tuesday was not a lot of fun. I woke up early and did my laundry while re-reading a book for French class. And I took a final on the book in the afternoon, which was pretty intense. A big grammar section, then pages of commentary on the book, then a mini-essay using subjonctif. And I am proud to say that after three years (since French III, the first time I saw it), I have finally comprehended subjonctif. Next step will be to master when to use it. Last night, not so hot. I don't really want to talk about it. Today I went to Histoire de Paris and only three of us showed up. Whoops. And after Keisha and I hit up Franprix, then I browsed some shops on Mouffetard. It was a weird feeling because there was lots of stuff I liked, but I couldn't figure out whether I wanted to shop because of sales, because I love shopping, to self-medicate...and then I didn't want to buy anything. Maybe because I didn't need it, I need to save money for plane tickets and hotels, or because I'm depressed. This afternoon is another final, and then I will finish my Franco-American assignments.
Tomorrow there is a teacher's strike, but unfortunately 3 out of my 6 teachers aren't striking, so I will go to work at the same time and leave at lunch time. Fine. Actually it works out nicely because the classes I will teach tomorrow are all behind in some way or another, whether it's because we couldn't meet a couple times, or in the case of my class from hell, because they are a bunch of little assholes and I can't teach them. Ha. And then my Franco-American final. Finals finals finals. And then the mentally debilitating task of signing up for classes. And this time I have to go to several different departments to find schedules. Crap. It's not just a good time right now.
Monday was decent. I could not sleep at all Sunday night. For whatever reason, the nights before I work, I just can't sleep. I've been at this for almost four months now, I've never overslept, I try to go to bed early-ish and get 8 hours of sleep. But still, I toss and turn and I wake up twenty minutes early. At least it's only two days a week? I dunno. Tuesday was not a lot of fun. I woke up early and did my laundry while re-reading a book for French class. And I took a final on the book in the afternoon, which was pretty intense. A big grammar section, then pages of commentary on the book, then a mini-essay using subjonctif. And I am proud to say that after three years (since French III, the first time I saw it), I have finally comprehended subjonctif. Next step will be to master when to use it. Last night, not so hot. I don't really want to talk about it. Today I went to Histoire de Paris and only three of us showed up. Whoops. And after Keisha and I hit up Franprix, then I browsed some shops on Mouffetard. It was a weird feeling because there was lots of stuff I liked, but I couldn't figure out whether I wanted to shop because of sales, because I love shopping, to self-medicate...and then I didn't want to buy anything. Maybe because I didn't need it, I need to save money for plane tickets and hotels, or because I'm depressed. This afternoon is another final, and then I will finish my Franco-American assignments.
Tomorrow there is a teacher's strike, but unfortunately 3 out of my 6 teachers aren't striking, so I will go to work at the same time and leave at lunch time. Fine. Actually it works out nicely because the classes I will teach tomorrow are all behind in some way or another, whether it's because we couldn't meet a couple times, or in the case of my class from hell, because they are a bunch of little assholes and I can't teach them. Ha. And then my Franco-American final. Finals finals finals. And then the mentally debilitating task of signing up for classes. And this time I have to go to several different departments to find schedules. Crap. It's not just a good time right now.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Vacation, all I ever wanted (pt. 2)
Okay so I'm finally getting off my ass and finishing my travel blogs.
So where did I leave off? The flight to London, yes. I love EasyJet, just let me say. I could do without all of the fucking orange, but overall it's a lovely experience. After a quick flight to London which I honestly don't remember at all, Matt and I landed in Stansted and made our way over to the Easy Bus kiosk-thinger. I pulled out our confirmation sheet to ask the woman where we were supposed to catch the bus, and she was just like, "next bus leaves at such and such a time." So I was like....okay. Fine. Matt and I got some breakfast at Costa and then went back to the kiosk. The time had changed on the board. So I was like, "does it just keep getting delayed? I was supposed to be on the 10:50 bus." And the woman goes, "whaaaaat? You had a reservation? Well the bus is gone. You had a seat reserved, you can't go on another bus." And I was like, "waaaaait a minute lady, I handed you my reservation and you didn't even look at it, you just told me the next but was leaving at 11:20." And I was pissed. So Matt tried to be diplomatic, and we went out to the coach station anyway and got a bus and it was fine. But man, what a dumb bitch.
Anyway, we got in contact with Matt Williams, our host, and took the tube from our drop-off at Baker Street out to Matt's lovely townhouse in Swiss Cottage. Almost immediately after meeting him and PJ, we went (in a car! Yayyy cars!) out to Hampstead Heath to take a cold, winter's walk in the park. And then we went to a friggin crepe stand, which was just so hilarious, but delicious of course. Matt and I took a nap while Matt took PJ to meet his grandparents. That evening Matt W. made us some pasta, which we ate with his fabulous brother Tom (who reminds me of someone but I can't figure out who), before we went on a big gay bar crawl in Soho. Me and like 6 gay guys, all in a day's work. After a few bars and a few skinny bitches (vodka and diet coke), we went to Heaven, a big fat club. We had some fun metal detecting and purse searching. Matt had to put his Tylenol PM (little blue pills with moons...ecstasy?) and sudafed in the "Drug Amnesty Box." Hardy har har. There was lots of techno at first, but luckily the club had a few levels and there was better music upstairs. We left around 2 am, sadly, because we had to do the fun night bus trek back home. So we sat on the top, in the front, like big fat Americans and had one of many linguistic discussions that characterize every trip to England. Yes, we speak the same language, but nottttt really. For instance, do you know what it means to "take the piss out" of someone? Ask me how!
So we went to bed around 4, and then Matt W. brought in the wake-up call at 8. We showered and jumped in the car for a fun times road trip to the Isle of Wight. M Dub (as he will be referred to from now on) has a friend from high school whose family just moved there, and Matt has a friend from Oxford, so we went to visit our respective friends. Two hours in the car and a ferry ride later, Aisha picked us up at the port and drove us to her house. We set our stuff down and then went for a giant ride around the whole island while Aisha tried to find some place that I still can't identify. We went out to the beach though and saw some intense cliffs and lots of cows that apparently fling themselves into the sea from time to time. After all this running around Matt and I just wanted to veg, so we went back to casa Aisha and had a classic English snack -- fried eggs and cheesy toast. They have no right to call Americans fat asses -- all they eat is fried, buttery, sausagey crap. Anyway, we then ate about a pound of left over Christmas chocolate and walked Shrek 3, which was surprisingly a lot better than I would have guessed. And that night we did some face masks and watched The Notebook. It made me miss Chelsea. Luckily Matt is in a mushy relationship right now so he appreciated it.
That night we slept until about noon which was fan-bloody-tastic as it had been way too long since that had happened. Aisha drove us back to the port and we met up with M Dub and PJ to drive back to London town. That night was New Year's so we split up throughout the house to get ready. I was straightening my hair when Joe showed up so he sat and told me about the 4 hour train ride from Edinburgh while I burned myself repeatedly. Let me tell you about Joe. He's awesome. The end. Just keep in mind that he is brilliant. In the English sense, probably the American one too. Anyway, we did a little internet research for some events that Tom had suggested. M Dub and PJ finagled their way in to a party at Westminster Abbey (M Dub knows the daughter of the dean and so it was like her house party) so we were left to our own devices. The parties were either booked up or chavvy (this is English slang that means something close to white trash, but clearly not the American version of it. I imagine kids with those fucked up mullet-hawks and indecipherable accents. The term "chav" was invoked quite often by these posh prep-school types I was hanging out with). Anyway, we decided to wing it. First we went to Miriam's apartment (READ: DORM ROOM) in King's Cross, where we'd be spending the next two nights. If I had only known what was in store, I would've never left that lovely bed in M Dub's lovely house. Anyway, we then met up with Hannah and Jimmy at Leicester Square (but not before stopping to get some alcohol) and ended up eating a huge dinner at this great Indian restaurant. Hannah is a big foodie so she order these giant tasting menus and we all shared. And she picked the wine. And there were crackers! Not food, not white people. They are basically big party poppers with toys inside. Matt got a lock that he is keeping on his belt (for chastity?). I got a green measuring tape. Haha. Anyway, we ate and I had perhaps a little too much wine because I spent half the night telling Joe how much Americans suck. Whoooops.
Afterwards we made our best efforts to get to Parliament Square as it was dangerously close to midnight. Well, we didn't make it there. We stood on a median on some big street while all of humanity walked by. We counted down, we saw the glow of fireworks in the clouds. And we drank. I don't even know when I got so drunk but suddenly it was like BOOM. So Miriam and I fiercely defended Matt and Joe's right to grope and play tonsil hockey in public, i.e. every chav who walked by and made comments got an ear full of our "FUCK YOU!!!!!"s. One guy stole Joe's almost empty bottle of JD right out his hand. And one guy tried to steal Jimmy's hat. It was warfare. But it was awesome. At one point a group of Hari Krishnas marched by, so we joined them and chanted for about half a block before returning to our spot. We didn't really "do" anything but somehow it was one of the best New Year's I'll probably ever have. After the mayhem died down, we found a good bar to spend the rest of the night in. I was already pretty hammered, but Joe can't help buying drinks for people apparently. So two vodka-cranberries later I was about to pummel this guy and girl who were making faces and snickering at Joe and Matt. There are such haters in the world, man. I don't quite recall the trek home, but I know the tube was open and free all night. We got to Miriam's and I remember attempting to sleep on her bookshelf. But then I settled for the floor under three coats. It is a good thing I was so drunk because I didn't realize how uncomfortable I was.
Soooo the next morning we woke up whenever, showered, and tried to find some breakfast. Joe insisted that we have a proper English breakfast. We found a couple places where they serve just that, but both were totally full. And anyway, do you have any idea what an English breakfast is? Cheese on toast, fries, baked beans, bacon, sausage, fried eggs, half a tomato (why?). The second restaurant we found had a board with pictures of all of their meals. I don't know if looking at something has ever made me so nauseated. Anyway, after walking for blocks and blocks and finding nothing but Subway, McDonald's and Starbucks open (thanks America!), we settled on Starbucks. A muffin and a coffee later and I was feeling much better. Afterward we went back to Miriam's for some naps, and thankfully I got to borrow a sleeping bag for the floor. That evening we got up, straightened ourselves out, and headed back to Chez M Dub for a New Year's kick-back (it's been a long time since I used that term). Anyway, we drank some mulled wine, ate some mince pies, the usual. Fun fact: mince meant -- not meat. Spicy, chopped up fruit paste. It's worth a try but I wouldn't eat it every day. We made it a pretty early night, but for me it sucked some major ass because this time I was on the floor, scarf under my head, two coats covering me, and 100% sober. Needless to say, I did not sleep real fabulously and I was thrilled when everyone woke up so we could get the hell out of there. That morning we did have a real English breakfast (for 2 quid!), albeit a mini-version because, well, we're not eating world champions.
We left that day around 2:30 to catch the Stansted Express to the airport. And here's where my troubles began. Matt and I got to King's Cross tube and he realized he had forgotten his passport at Miriam's. No big. So while he went back, I bought my tube ticket. I dug around in my purse a bit before realizing I had a 5 pound note I had taken out and put in my pocket before we left, so I wouldn't have to get out my wallet. So I bought my ticket and waited for Matt. For whatever reason I looked through my purse for my wallet, and oh shit -- it was gone. I called Matt and told him it must be at Miriam's and to go look for it. Apparently it wasn't there. So somewhere between Miriam's and the tube ticket machine, my wallet disappeared. Whether I dropped it, someone pick-pocketed it...I don't know. As far as I know, it was in my purse under a book and a scarf, but apparently not. I freaked out a little on the phone and attracted a bit of attention to myself, so a tube agent guy chatted with me for a while. He offered to get my a ticket to Heathrow (except I wasn't going to Heathrow and I already had my tube ticket) and then wrote his phone number on my hand so I could call when him when I "found the wallet in my luggage." I'm glad he was so sure, cuz I was just as sure that it wasn't in there. Then he asked me if I studied psychology because I was so calm. No use crying over spilled milk. All I had in there was a student ID, credit cards, and cash. Biggest deal was that I really like that little wallet. But we had a flight to make, so I brushed it off and waited for Matt to get back.
We got to the Stansted Express, and lovely, it wasn't running. So we took some random trains with a bazillion other people and finally got there. Checked in, on time, no big deal. Then came the security. Hannah's bag beaped, so did mine. So I stood there while the woman took everything out and looked at it. She found my pepper spray. Whoops. Although I don't think that's what set off the machine, or it would have done the same thing in Amsterdam. Whatever, I said, take it away. But no. She holds it up and goes, "I'm really sorry, but this is illegal in the UK. It's considered a firearm." So naturally, I did what anyone would do -- I put my head down on the table and tooooootally lost my shit. Then she was bitchy and told me to pull it together so the cops could talk to me. I'm sorry, lady, my wallet was just stolen and now I'm going to miss my flight. And not just me, but the two friends I have with me right now. Anyway, I took a deep breath and went over to the little police stand thinger. They took my info, no problem. Then they were like, we need to interview you. What?! Fiiiiine. So I went in the little room with the two very nice and goofy policemen and they wrote down my answers to questions like "what is this? why do you have it? do you know that it's illegal?" Blah blah blah. Then a mugshot, a DNA swab, and some fingerprinting later (typing this right now makes me nauseous), I was done. Hannah had waited for me outside while she texted Matt to find out about our flight (which was delayed half an hour, GLORY HALLELUJAH), so we ran to the gate and boarding was just starting. I collapsed on the ground.
So suck on that until I have the strength to write about Barcelona.
So where did I leave off? The flight to London, yes. I love EasyJet, just let me say. I could do without all of the fucking orange, but overall it's a lovely experience. After a quick flight to London which I honestly don't remember at all, Matt and I landed in Stansted and made our way over to the Easy Bus kiosk-thinger. I pulled out our confirmation sheet to ask the woman where we were supposed to catch the bus, and she was just like, "next bus leaves at such and such a time." So I was like....okay. Fine. Matt and I got some breakfast at Costa and then went back to the kiosk. The time had changed on the board. So I was like, "does it just keep getting delayed? I was supposed to be on the 10:50 bus." And the woman goes, "whaaaaat? You had a reservation? Well the bus is gone. You had a seat reserved, you can't go on another bus." And I was like, "waaaaait a minute lady, I handed you my reservation and you didn't even look at it, you just told me the next but was leaving at 11:20." And I was pissed. So Matt tried to be diplomatic, and we went out to the coach station anyway and got a bus and it was fine. But man, what a dumb bitch.
Anyway, we got in contact with Matt Williams, our host, and took the tube from our drop-off at Baker Street out to Matt's lovely townhouse in Swiss Cottage. Almost immediately after meeting him and PJ, we went (in a car! Yayyy cars!) out to Hampstead Heath to take a cold, winter's walk in the park. And then we went to a friggin crepe stand, which was just so hilarious, but delicious of course. Matt and I took a nap while Matt took PJ to meet his grandparents. That evening Matt W. made us some pasta, which we ate with his fabulous brother Tom (who reminds me of someone but I can't figure out who), before we went on a big gay bar crawl in Soho. Me and like 6 gay guys, all in a day's work. After a few bars and a few skinny bitches (vodka and diet coke), we went to Heaven, a big fat club. We had some fun metal detecting and purse searching. Matt had to put his Tylenol PM (little blue pills with moons...ecstasy?) and sudafed in the "Drug Amnesty Box." Hardy har har. There was lots of techno at first, but luckily the club had a few levels and there was better music upstairs. We left around 2 am, sadly, because we had to do the fun night bus trek back home. So we sat on the top, in the front, like big fat Americans and had one of many linguistic discussions that characterize every trip to England. Yes, we speak the same language, but nottttt really. For instance, do you know what it means to "take the piss out" of someone? Ask me how!
So we went to bed around 4, and then Matt W. brought in the wake-up call at 8. We showered and jumped in the car for a fun times road trip to the Isle of Wight. M Dub (as he will be referred to from now on) has a friend from high school whose family just moved there, and Matt has a friend from Oxford, so we went to visit our respective friends. Two hours in the car and a ferry ride later, Aisha picked us up at the port and drove us to her house. We set our stuff down and then went for a giant ride around the whole island while Aisha tried to find some place that I still can't identify. We went out to the beach though and saw some intense cliffs and lots of cows that apparently fling themselves into the sea from time to time. After all this running around Matt and I just wanted to veg, so we went back to casa Aisha and had a classic English snack -- fried eggs and cheesy toast. They have no right to call Americans fat asses -- all they eat is fried, buttery, sausagey crap. Anyway, we then ate about a pound of left over Christmas chocolate and walked Shrek 3, which was surprisingly a lot better than I would have guessed. And that night we did some face masks and watched The Notebook. It made me miss Chelsea. Luckily Matt is in a mushy relationship right now so he appreciated it.
That night we slept until about noon which was fan-bloody-tastic as it had been way too long since that had happened. Aisha drove us back to the port and we met up with M Dub and PJ to drive back to London town. That night was New Year's so we split up throughout the house to get ready. I was straightening my hair when Joe showed up so he sat and told me about the 4 hour train ride from Edinburgh while I burned myself repeatedly. Let me tell you about Joe. He's awesome. The end. Just keep in mind that he is brilliant. In the English sense, probably the American one too. Anyway, we did a little internet research for some events that Tom had suggested. M Dub and PJ finagled their way in to a party at Westminster Abbey (M Dub knows the daughter of the dean and so it was like her house party) so we were left to our own devices. The parties were either booked up or chavvy (this is English slang that means something close to white trash, but clearly not the American version of it. I imagine kids with those fucked up mullet-hawks and indecipherable accents. The term "chav" was invoked quite often by these posh prep-school types I was hanging out with). Anyway, we decided to wing it. First we went to Miriam's apartment (READ: DORM ROOM) in King's Cross, where we'd be spending the next two nights. If I had only known what was in store, I would've never left that lovely bed in M Dub's lovely house. Anyway, we then met up with Hannah and Jimmy at Leicester Square (but not before stopping to get some alcohol) and ended up eating a huge dinner at this great Indian restaurant. Hannah is a big foodie so she order these giant tasting menus and we all shared. And she picked the wine. And there were crackers! Not food, not white people. They are basically big party poppers with toys inside. Matt got a lock that he is keeping on his belt (for chastity?). I got a green measuring tape. Haha. Anyway, we ate and I had perhaps a little too much wine because I spent half the night telling Joe how much Americans suck. Whoooops.
Afterwards we made our best efforts to get to Parliament Square as it was dangerously close to midnight. Well, we didn't make it there. We stood on a median on some big street while all of humanity walked by. We counted down, we saw the glow of fireworks in the clouds. And we drank. I don't even know when I got so drunk but suddenly it was like BOOM. So Miriam and I fiercely defended Matt and Joe's right to grope and play tonsil hockey in public, i.e. every chav who walked by and made comments got an ear full of our "FUCK YOU!!!!!"s. One guy stole Joe's almost empty bottle of JD right out his hand. And one guy tried to steal Jimmy's hat. It was warfare. But it was awesome. At one point a group of Hari Krishnas marched by, so we joined them and chanted for about half a block before returning to our spot. We didn't really "do" anything but somehow it was one of the best New Year's I'll probably ever have. After the mayhem died down, we found a good bar to spend the rest of the night in. I was already pretty hammered, but Joe can't help buying drinks for people apparently. So two vodka-cranberries later I was about to pummel this guy and girl who were making faces and snickering at Joe and Matt. There are such haters in the world, man. I don't quite recall the trek home, but I know the tube was open and free all night. We got to Miriam's and I remember attempting to sleep on her bookshelf. But then I settled for the floor under three coats. It is a good thing I was so drunk because I didn't realize how uncomfortable I was.
Soooo the next morning we woke up whenever, showered, and tried to find some breakfast. Joe insisted that we have a proper English breakfast. We found a couple places where they serve just that, but both were totally full. And anyway, do you have any idea what an English breakfast is? Cheese on toast, fries, baked beans, bacon, sausage, fried eggs, half a tomato (why?). The second restaurant we found had a board with pictures of all of their meals. I don't know if looking at something has ever made me so nauseated. Anyway, after walking for blocks and blocks and finding nothing but Subway, McDonald's and Starbucks open (thanks America!), we settled on Starbucks. A muffin and a coffee later and I was feeling much better. Afterward we went back to Miriam's for some naps, and thankfully I got to borrow a sleeping bag for the floor. That evening we got up, straightened ourselves out, and headed back to Chez M Dub for a New Year's kick-back (it's been a long time since I used that term). Anyway, we drank some mulled wine, ate some mince pies, the usual. Fun fact: mince meant -- not meat. Spicy, chopped up fruit paste. It's worth a try but I wouldn't eat it every day. We made it a pretty early night, but for me it sucked some major ass because this time I was on the floor, scarf under my head, two coats covering me, and 100% sober. Needless to say, I did not sleep real fabulously and I was thrilled when everyone woke up so we could get the hell out of there. That morning we did have a real English breakfast (for 2 quid!), albeit a mini-version because, well, we're not eating world champions.
We left that day around 2:30 to catch the Stansted Express to the airport. And here's where my troubles began. Matt and I got to King's Cross tube and he realized he had forgotten his passport at Miriam's. No big. So while he went back, I bought my tube ticket. I dug around in my purse a bit before realizing I had a 5 pound note I had taken out and put in my pocket before we left, so I wouldn't have to get out my wallet. So I bought my ticket and waited for Matt. For whatever reason I looked through my purse for my wallet, and oh shit -- it was gone. I called Matt and told him it must be at Miriam's and to go look for it. Apparently it wasn't there. So somewhere between Miriam's and the tube ticket machine, my wallet disappeared. Whether I dropped it, someone pick-pocketed it...I don't know. As far as I know, it was in my purse under a book and a scarf, but apparently not. I freaked out a little on the phone and attracted a bit of attention to myself, so a tube agent guy chatted with me for a while. He offered to get my a ticket to Heathrow (except I wasn't going to Heathrow and I already had my tube ticket) and then wrote his phone number on my hand so I could call when him when I "found the wallet in my luggage." I'm glad he was so sure, cuz I was just as sure that it wasn't in there. Then he asked me if I studied psychology because I was so calm. No use crying over spilled milk. All I had in there was a student ID, credit cards, and cash. Biggest deal was that I really like that little wallet. But we had a flight to make, so I brushed it off and waited for Matt to get back.
We got to the Stansted Express, and lovely, it wasn't running. So we took some random trains with a bazillion other people and finally got there. Checked in, on time, no big deal. Then came the security. Hannah's bag beaped, so did mine. So I stood there while the woman took everything out and looked at it. She found my pepper spray. Whoops. Although I don't think that's what set off the machine, or it would have done the same thing in Amsterdam. Whatever, I said, take it away. But no. She holds it up and goes, "I'm really sorry, but this is illegal in the UK. It's considered a firearm." So naturally, I did what anyone would do -- I put my head down on the table and tooooootally lost my shit. Then she was bitchy and told me to pull it together so the cops could talk to me. I'm sorry, lady, my wallet was just stolen and now I'm going to miss my flight. And not just me, but the two friends I have with me right now. Anyway, I took a deep breath and went over to the little police stand thinger. They took my info, no problem. Then they were like, we need to interview you. What?! Fiiiiine. So I went in the little room with the two very nice and goofy policemen and they wrote down my answers to questions like "what is this? why do you have it? do you know that it's illegal?" Blah blah blah. Then a mugshot, a DNA swab, and some fingerprinting later (typing this right now makes me nauseous), I was done. Hannah had waited for me outside while she texted Matt to find out about our flight (which was delayed half an hour, GLORY HALLELUJAH), so we ran to the gate and boarding was just starting. I collapsed on the ground.
So suck on that until I have the strength to write about Barcelona.
Back on planet Earth
Coming back from vacations sucks. There's really no way around it. Especially because I extended my winter break by ditching work and spending the whole weekend in England. This past week was -- exhausting. I was basically jet-lagged after missing an entire night of sleep on the way home from Barcelona, and then this past weekend, which lacked sleep and was heavy on the hard liquor. Tee. Anyway, I tried to make up for it by sleeping 12 hours on Monday night, but it wasn't really enough. So I blew off oral on Wednesday and look a nap. Still not enough. Not to mention the fact that I stayed up until almost midnight on Wednesday doing that funking Charles De Gaulle paper, then woke up at 6, worked 8 hours, then went to class for another two. So Thursday night I went to bed at 11 and didn't wake up until about 12:30 yesterday. It. was. awesome. There's nothing like some good, old-fashioned sleep.
So yesterday I set out to finally pick up my new debit card. I received the letter saying it was ready last weekend, but this whole week I never had time or the inclination to go. So yesterday I walked in and handed the letter to the guy at the front desk, always the same guy. Who always asks me if I'm Irish (because of my name?). And always wants to talk about California. There are two kinds of French people: the kind who go "American? Hm." and the kind who ask what state, what city, and then tell me about the time they went there or their family members who live there. This time I learned that the agent has family in Murrietta. I thought better of telling him that Murrietta is a shithole.
Anyway, after my second full night of sleep, I'm being productive today. Mostly with travel plans (shhhh) but I also need to write my internship diary. As soon as Lauren makes an appearance on the webs, I'm booking my flights for Rome. And then we need to narrow down some dates and times for Nice and Greece. Since I'm no longer going to Oxford during my first spring-ish break, I wanted to do some kind of snow trip but I don't think it's going to work out. It's a little too soon and it might be better if I saved the money. I'm fucking amped, though. For warm weather and flip flops and the beach.
So yesterday I set out to finally pick up my new debit card. I received the letter saying it was ready last weekend, but this whole week I never had time or the inclination to go. So yesterday I walked in and handed the letter to the guy at the front desk, always the same guy. Who always asks me if I'm Irish (because of my name?). And always wants to talk about California. There are two kinds of French people: the kind who go "American? Hm." and the kind who ask what state, what city, and then tell me about the time they went there or their family members who live there. This time I learned that the agent has family in Murrietta. I thought better of telling him that Murrietta is a shithole.
Anyway, after my second full night of sleep, I'm being productive today. Mostly with travel plans (shhhh) but I also need to write my internship diary. As soon as Lauren makes an appearance on the webs, I'm booking my flights for Rome. And then we need to narrow down some dates and times for Nice and Greece. Since I'm no longer going to Oxford during my first spring-ish break, I wanted to do some kind of snow trip but I don't think it's going to work out. It's a little too soon and it might be better if I saved the money. I'm fucking amped, though. For warm weather and flip flops and the beach.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Spice up your life
Here's to another immense weekend in England. I'm even sporting a few unexplainable bruises (one baseball-sized on my leg), so you know it was good.
I barely slept at all Thursday night. Perhaps it was anticipation or maybe the fact that I was up until 3 am looking at flights and hostels to this semester's travel plans. In any case, 11 am came way too quickly. I got ready, went downstairs to print boarding passes and ticket confirmations, and arrived at the RER at 11:55, where I caught a direct train to CDG. Perfection. I was early, I had already checked in -- EasyJet is the new Southwest. Anyway, the flight was a short 1 hour, or actually 15 minutes if you count the time difference. Was pillaged by fees for changing 100 euros into pounds (um yeah guys, don't let your debit cards get stolen -- cash in pointless). Took the EasyBus to the Marble Arch, then the tube to meet Matt and Notting Hill Gate. Basically I'm pro London skills now. We met with his friend Maddie who lives in London, ate some dinner, went to a pub. But we didn't stay long because we had to get back on the tube and head over the Spice Girls concert. Eeeee. It was everything you would expect and even a little more. And aside from a few moms and their little kids, everyone there wasn't any younger than 18 I would say. Which certainly makes me feel old, but ya know.
Afterward, we met up with Maddie again, plus Jimmy and his sister to do a little bar hopping. After walking in the rain and incredible wind, we made it to The Rocket, definitely one of the best bars I've ever been to. I drank to bottles of pear cider (haha) and we danced and yelled and all that good stuff. Plus this gorgeous Australian boy bummed some cigarettes off of Kat, so I was her drunken wingwoman later on when she wanted to give him her phone number. The bar closed at 2 (London is lame that way) so Matt and I headed back to Oxford. Apparently I was pretty drunk because I fell on some cobblestones at Exeter. I have a lovely bruise on my forearm to prove it. Most people were sleeping after finishing up their tests that day so it was a quiet night. But Matt stayed with Joe so I got a beddy bye all to myself.
Next morning we woke up perfectly late and were planning to go to hall (more on this later) for breakfast, but Matt's friends suggested we go for a "pub lunch," whatever the fuck that is. We were unsuccessful in any case. So instead we got some sandwiches and a few of us ate ours on a bench in some grassy area while Matt did impressions of the rector. Of course by this time it was about 4 pm (whoops!), so I read some Vanity Fair and napped while Matt did some stuff on the computer.
We ended up going to hall for dinner that night, and the teriyaki chicken and sheisty risotto was just so reminiscent of the days back in the DC. Dorm life really was awesome. Anyway, it was very Gilmore Girls, this dining hall. Except there were paintings of funny men in robes all over the walls.
So now to the real point of my sojourn to Oxford -- the bop. Which is like a party I guess? Anyway, it was Alice in Wonderland themed, so Matt and I went as the White Rabbit and the Cheshire Cat. We got some alcohol at Sainsbury's and I had my first real pre-gaming sesh in a while. Five shots of vodka (chased with Dr. Pepper, yayyyy!) in quick succession and I was good to go. Went to the bop, which was in the college bar, and rocked out like maniacs. Lovely little Joseph bought Matt and I some drinks (vodka for me, whiskey for Matt), but there was just no way I could drink more. Matt had the bartender put some Sprite in it for me, but even then I couldn't drink it. Nevermind the fact that I poured a bunch of it down my shirt exactly three times before I handed it off to someone. Anyway, there was lots of loud music and dancing some more, and of course I had to threaten another homophobe with bodily harm. It just wouldn't be a trip to England without it, I suppose. After the bop was over I did some mortifying drunk-Skyping, whoops. At some point during the night this guy threw my cat ears out the window and then locked me out of the room when I went down to get them. And then threw some bran flakes in my eyes when he finally opened the door. I'm still not clear on why all of that happened.
Anyway, suddenly everyone was gone except Matt, Joe, and Matt's roommate Seb. Naturally Matt and Joe were all over each other, so Seb played Jack's Mannequin and I danced around the room, simultaneously sipping water and throwing a rubber ball in the air. Man, who knows. But I definitely felt like a freshman again and it was lovely. Life was much less complicated in the dorms. No psycho roommates (only psycho neighbors), taking shots, and dancing our asses off.
Unfortunately, unlike in the dorms, there was no Sunday breakfast of custom egg white omelettes and Belgian waffles. Instead, I woke up at 10 and threw myself in the shower to fight off that terrible hangover feeling, like static in my veins. Matt took me to the bus stop and saw me off on the National Express, which took me to Luton Airport. I was excited to snooze on the comfy bus, but apparently I was really hungover because I was just nauseated the whole time. I've never scheduled anything big the day after heavy drinking, and now I know why. So I drank some water and ate some Tums, but then of course I had to pee like a mother. But we finally got there, I changed my pounds back into euros, and then sat in the lounge for funking ever because I was early. Slept on the plane, took the RER straight home, and here I am.
Dreading going to work. But only because it's been such a long time since I was there. But I've got my lesson planned out, and it should be fine. Of course what I'm really dreading -- and what put a dark cloud of my weekend -- is my stupid Franco-American relations paper.
I barely slept at all Thursday night. Perhaps it was anticipation or maybe the fact that I was up until 3 am looking at flights and hostels to this semester's travel plans. In any case, 11 am came way too quickly. I got ready, went downstairs to print boarding passes and ticket confirmations, and arrived at the RER at 11:55, where I caught a direct train to CDG. Perfection. I was early, I had already checked in -- EasyJet is the new Southwest. Anyway, the flight was a short 1 hour, or actually 15 minutes if you count the time difference. Was pillaged by fees for changing 100 euros into pounds (um yeah guys, don't let your debit cards get stolen -- cash in pointless). Took the EasyBus to the Marble Arch, then the tube to meet Matt and Notting Hill Gate. Basically I'm pro London skills now. We met with his friend Maddie who lives in London, ate some dinner, went to a pub. But we didn't stay long because we had to get back on the tube and head over the Spice Girls concert. Eeeee. It was everything you would expect and even a little more. And aside from a few moms and their little kids, everyone there wasn't any younger than 18 I would say. Which certainly makes me feel old, but ya know.
Afterward, we met up with Maddie again, plus Jimmy and his sister to do a little bar hopping. After walking in the rain and incredible wind, we made it to The Rocket, definitely one of the best bars I've ever been to. I drank to bottles of pear cider (haha) and we danced and yelled and all that good stuff. Plus this gorgeous Australian boy bummed some cigarettes off of Kat, so I was her drunken wingwoman later on when she wanted to give him her phone number. The bar closed at 2 (London is lame that way) so Matt and I headed back to Oxford. Apparently I was pretty drunk because I fell on some cobblestones at Exeter. I have a lovely bruise on my forearm to prove it. Most people were sleeping after finishing up their tests that day so it was a quiet night. But Matt stayed with Joe so I got a beddy bye all to myself.
Next morning we woke up perfectly late and were planning to go to hall (more on this later) for breakfast, but Matt's friends suggested we go for a "pub lunch," whatever the fuck that is. We were unsuccessful in any case. So instead we got some sandwiches and a few of us ate ours on a bench in some grassy area while Matt did impressions of the rector. Of course by this time it was about 4 pm (whoops!), so I read some Vanity Fair and napped while Matt did some stuff on the computer.
We ended up going to hall for dinner that night, and the teriyaki chicken and sheisty risotto was just so reminiscent of the days back in the DC. Dorm life really was awesome. Anyway, it was very Gilmore Girls, this dining hall. Except there were paintings of funny men in robes all over the walls.
So now to the real point of my sojourn to Oxford -- the bop. Which is like a party I guess? Anyway, it was Alice in Wonderland themed, so Matt and I went as the White Rabbit and the Cheshire Cat. We got some alcohol at Sainsbury's and I had my first real pre-gaming sesh in a while. Five shots of vodka (chased with Dr. Pepper, yayyyy!) in quick succession and I was good to go. Went to the bop, which was in the college bar, and rocked out like maniacs. Lovely little Joseph bought Matt and I some drinks (vodka for me, whiskey for Matt), but there was just no way I could drink more. Matt had the bartender put some Sprite in it for me, but even then I couldn't drink it. Nevermind the fact that I poured a bunch of it down my shirt exactly three times before I handed it off to someone. Anyway, there was lots of loud music and dancing some more, and of course I had to threaten another homophobe with bodily harm. It just wouldn't be a trip to England without it, I suppose. After the bop was over I did some mortifying drunk-Skyping, whoops. At some point during the night this guy threw my cat ears out the window and then locked me out of the room when I went down to get them. And then threw some bran flakes in my eyes when he finally opened the door. I'm still not clear on why all of that happened.
Anyway, suddenly everyone was gone except Matt, Joe, and Matt's roommate Seb. Naturally Matt and Joe were all over each other, so Seb played Jack's Mannequin and I danced around the room, simultaneously sipping water and throwing a rubber ball in the air. Man, who knows. But I definitely felt like a freshman again and it was lovely. Life was much less complicated in the dorms. No psycho roommates (only psycho neighbors), taking shots, and dancing our asses off.
Unfortunately, unlike in the dorms, there was no Sunday breakfast of custom egg white omelettes and Belgian waffles. Instead, I woke up at 10 and threw myself in the shower to fight off that terrible hangover feeling, like static in my veins. Matt took me to the bus stop and saw me off on the National Express, which took me to Luton Airport. I was excited to snooze on the comfy bus, but apparently I was really hungover because I was just nauseated the whole time. I've never scheduled anything big the day after heavy drinking, and now I know why. So I drank some water and ate some Tums, but then of course I had to pee like a mother. But we finally got there, I changed my pounds back into euros, and then sat in the lounge for funking ever because I was early. Slept on the plane, took the RER straight home, and here I am.
Dreading going to work. But only because it's been such a long time since I was there. But I've got my lesson planned out, and it should be fine. Of course what I'm really dreading -- and what put a dark cloud of my weekend -- is my stupid Franco-American relations paper.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Gluttony
Wellll I didn't go to work again today. I dunno, I just felt like I needed more vacation. And I needed to hit up some sales today. Actually, on all of Mouffetard and Italie 2, I only bought two things -- a pair of shoes for 15 euros marked down from 45, and newsprint umbrella (that I am obsessed with now). In fact, I bought it at this cheapie souvenir store and the woman had her little assistant-guy show me how to use it so I could get my "permit de parapluie" (umbrella license). It was bizarre but funny at the same time. I saw some stuff I liked on Mouffetard but none of it was on sale, so it can wait. Basically I just want a hat, another scarf, and a short, semi-lightweight jacket for the Spring. I kept meaning to get one during the fall but I had no money and by the time I got around to it, it was winter. But this week has been like 50 degrees everyday. I can't believe I consider that warm now. Any time I can go outside with two layers on is a miracle.
In other indulgence news, I have extended my 24 jaunt to London for the Spice Girls...to the whole weekend. Tee. So instead of waking up early on Saturday to fly home, I changed my flight to Sunday afternoon so I can go back to Oxford with Matt. This also means I'll be missing some time to write my De Gaulle paper, but Matt has suggested doing research at the Exeter library on Saturday. Yeah, we'll see how that goes.
Anyway, it is beyond time to go to bed. A bientôt, Paris!
In other indulgence news, I have extended my 24 jaunt to London for the Spice Girls...to the whole weekend. Tee. So instead of waking up early on Saturday to fly home, I changed my flight to Sunday afternoon so I can go back to Oxford with Matt. This also means I'll be missing some time to write my De Gaulle paper, but Matt has suggested doing research at the Exeter library on Saturday. Yeah, we'll see how that goes.
Anyway, it is beyond time to go to bed. A bientôt, Paris!
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Intermission
Yeah sorry, I know I'm supposed to writing my vacation memoirs, but I'm taking a small break.
Anyway, my first couple days back in the Republic have been pretty good. As much as I was planning to go to work yesterday, my mom called on Sunday night and I decided to fuck it and sleep in. After getting up around 1 pm and finally getting moving around 3, I went to the bank to withdraw some money. So now I have all of this cash on me and I'm trying not to blow it all. Especially because all of Paris is on sale right now. Yeesh.
I had my first class back today, which was pretty blah as usual. I'm not excited for finals. Or the 10 page paper I'm supposed to be writing about Charles de Gaulle. Which I'm sure I won't start until Sunday. Oy. I'm too focused on getting back to normal here and too excited about THE SPICE GIRLS this weekend to work. That's right, I'm jet-setting back to London for about 24 hours. I'm psyched.
Aside from the work, I really am happy to be back in Paris. I actually missed French when I was traveling. Especially in Spain because my Spanish is limited to things like "cayate puta" and "no tango dinero," but even in England. I was actually kind of exhilarated when I was running on two hours sleep, tromping down Mouffetard to pick Puck up from Keisha's. I will not be excited to leave in June, I'm pretty sure. But, what I didn't miss about Paris...the smells. Piss, dog poop, BO. I never realized how many unpleasant odors abound here.
Anyway, my first couple days back in the Republic have been pretty good. As much as I was planning to go to work yesterday, my mom called on Sunday night and I decided to fuck it and sleep in. After getting up around 1 pm and finally getting moving around 3, I went to the bank to withdraw some money. So now I have all of this cash on me and I'm trying not to blow it all. Especially because all of Paris is on sale right now. Yeesh.
I had my first class back today, which was pretty blah as usual. I'm not excited for finals. Or the 10 page paper I'm supposed to be writing about Charles de Gaulle. Which I'm sure I won't start until Sunday. Oy. I'm too focused on getting back to normal here and too excited about THE SPICE GIRLS this weekend to work. That's right, I'm jet-setting back to London for about 24 hours. I'm psyched.
Aside from the work, I really am happy to be back in Paris. I actually missed French when I was traveling. Especially in Spain because my Spanish is limited to things like "cayate puta" and "no tango dinero," but even in England. I was actually kind of exhilarated when I was running on two hours sleep, tromping down Mouffetard to pick Puck up from Keisha's. I will not be excited to leave in June, I'm pretty sure. But, what I didn't miss about Paris...the smells. Piss, dog poop, BO. I never realized how many unpleasant odors abound here.
Monday, January 7, 2008
Vacation, all I ever wanted (pt. 1)
Well. I gotta say, this vacation was completely insane. Sometimes, you just can't write the shit that happens to me.
First day, December 27. After getting all of my affairs in order the previous day, I woke up around 7 and met Matt at the metro at 8. We were heading over to Gallieni bus terminal to catch a lovely 8 hour bus to Amsterdam (37 euro, can't beat it). Except that somehow, I got some TOTALLY WRONG directions to the bus stop. We couldn't find this street name so we looked on a community map and found it. Except that it was a DIFFERENT Jules Ferry (I later confirmed this). So we were lost. And not close to the bus station. And we missed it. There was lots of screaming and panic, which I'm sure the locals found very amusing. In the end, we made it to Gallieni, albeit over an hour late. I explained to the ticket agent that we missed our bus. He said the next available bus was leaving at 11 pm, which would deliver us to Amstel station at 7 am the next morning. I may have said "Fuck that," out loud. So I asked about stand by. Naturally, he put me on the list. How French -- it's all there as long as you can see through your stress-induced fog and be a little more pushy. We couldn't get on the next bus because only one ticket was left over in the end, but we did get on the 1:30 pm bus. After I was molested and nearly crushed in the stand-by line. All of these people had bought stand-by tickets but weren't on any list, and they just kept pushing me more and more against the ticket window. I felt kinda bad for the agent, except not because we wasn't so nice to me either. So after 3 hours of watching Gossip Girl on the floor of this bus station, Matt and I got the hell outta there and rolled our way to Amsterdam. Interesting bus ride. Mostly because there was a family of 5 sitting next to us, one member of which was 2 years old and car sick. Good thing he was so little, cuz I wouldn't have tolerated vomiting from anyone else.
Around 9:30 we landed (so to speak). I had spoken with our hostel (who had to move us to their other location, which was actually nicer so whatever) to get directions, so we set off on a metro and a tram, then arrived. Checked in, changed, went down to the Leide splein and bought two space cakes and a joint. That's right. After all of the crap that we went through, the easiest part of the day was buying drugs. The Dutch have it all figured out. So I ate my chocolate space cake, drank some Dr. Pepper (WHICH THEY SELL IN THE NETHERLANDS! What is wrong with France), and got stoned for the first time. Basically I was just immobilized, I dunno if I'd ever do it again.
The next day we slept in, bought some fatty, fried, cream-filled pastries from a street vendor, and went to the Anne Frank house. Gotta do something civilized, right? The last time I was there, I was 13, and I used their little interactive program as a base for a class I taught on tolerance (for a Girl Scout thing - don't ask). Anyway, they have a new one now, and it's not nearly as cool. You still get to vote on these little issues and news clippings, but the one from back then was visually and content-wise just much more moving. That night we ventured out to the Red Light District, and actually found some prostitutes! When I went with my mom we were just on the wrong track but this time, there they were -- sitting in the windows, red lights illuminated. We also got some pizza and BOMB WAFFLES. In my travels I've discovered that I love seeing what each city's street food is like. In Paris, it's crepes and paninis and shawarma. In Amsterdam, it was shawarma again (like everywhere I've seen), pizza, hot dog-things, and waffles. But the waffles were all dipped in chocolate and covered in something excellent. I got one with milk chocolate and these crunchy, chocolatey candies all over. Heavenly. That night we went to bed rather early because we had to catch a plane to London at 9:30 in the morning. But overall, Amsterdam was a nice kick-off to the trip, and more fun and beautiful than I remembered. I will be back.
Stay tuned for the next installment. By far, the most interesting.
First day, December 27. After getting all of my affairs in order the previous day, I woke up around 7 and met Matt at the metro at 8. We were heading over to Gallieni bus terminal to catch a lovely 8 hour bus to Amsterdam (37 euro, can't beat it). Except that somehow, I got some TOTALLY WRONG directions to the bus stop. We couldn't find this street name so we looked on a community map and found it. Except that it was a DIFFERENT Jules Ferry (I later confirmed this). So we were lost. And not close to the bus station. And we missed it. There was lots of screaming and panic, which I'm sure the locals found very amusing. In the end, we made it to Gallieni, albeit over an hour late. I explained to the ticket agent that we missed our bus. He said the next available bus was leaving at 11 pm, which would deliver us to Amstel station at 7 am the next morning. I may have said "Fuck that," out loud. So I asked about stand by. Naturally, he put me on the list. How French -- it's all there as long as you can see through your stress-induced fog and be a little more pushy. We couldn't get on the next bus because only one ticket was left over in the end, but we did get on the 1:30 pm bus. After I was molested and nearly crushed in the stand-by line. All of these people had bought stand-by tickets but weren't on any list, and they just kept pushing me more and more against the ticket window. I felt kinda bad for the agent, except not because we wasn't so nice to me either. So after 3 hours of watching Gossip Girl on the floor of this bus station, Matt and I got the hell outta there and rolled our way to Amsterdam. Interesting bus ride. Mostly because there was a family of 5 sitting next to us, one member of which was 2 years old and car sick. Good thing he was so little, cuz I wouldn't have tolerated vomiting from anyone else.
Around 9:30 we landed (so to speak). I had spoken with our hostel (who had to move us to their other location, which was actually nicer so whatever) to get directions, so we set off on a metro and a tram, then arrived. Checked in, changed, went down to the Leide splein and bought two space cakes and a joint. That's right. After all of the crap that we went through, the easiest part of the day was buying drugs. The Dutch have it all figured out. So I ate my chocolate space cake, drank some Dr. Pepper (WHICH THEY SELL IN THE NETHERLANDS! What is wrong with France), and got stoned for the first time. Basically I was just immobilized, I dunno if I'd ever do it again.
The next day we slept in, bought some fatty, fried, cream-filled pastries from a street vendor, and went to the Anne Frank house. Gotta do something civilized, right? The last time I was there, I was 13, and I used their little interactive program as a base for a class I taught on tolerance (for a Girl Scout thing - don't ask). Anyway, they have a new one now, and it's not nearly as cool. You still get to vote on these little issues and news clippings, but the one from back then was visually and content-wise just much more moving. That night we ventured out to the Red Light District, and actually found some prostitutes! When I went with my mom we were just on the wrong track but this time, there they were -- sitting in the windows, red lights illuminated. We also got some pizza and BOMB WAFFLES. In my travels I've discovered that I love seeing what each city's street food is like. In Paris, it's crepes and paninis and shawarma. In Amsterdam, it was shawarma again (like everywhere I've seen), pizza, hot dog-things, and waffles. But the waffles were all dipped in chocolate and covered in something excellent. I got one with milk chocolate and these crunchy, chocolatey candies all over. Heavenly. That night we went to bed rather early because we had to catch a plane to London at 9:30 in the morning. But overall, Amsterdam was a nice kick-off to the trip, and more fun and beautiful than I remembered. I will be back.
Stay tuned for the next installment. By far, the most interesting.
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