Amsterdam

Notes from the travel journal, 3.21.08-3.24.08


March 21, 2008 Hey Brownie Lady, I like the jive you speak.

We've left Berlin, and now we make the relatively short and independent journey to Amsterdam and tulips.

My suitcase from the infamous InStore is completely dead--the rolly handle snaped in half, and I've resorted to wheeling it by the handle. The first order of business in Amsterdam tomorrow: buy a new, LEGIT, suitcase. Jesus, I'm ridiculous. I should've just pacled light and brought the little one ("coordinate," as one of the London bitches said), or, better yet, I should've just sucked it up and brought a backpack. Wait, never. NEVER. I can deal with it. Guess I'm just going to get STACKED!

***

Robbie informed me that he's now nervous about the whole adventure since we're on our own--no tour guide, not even an extremely frazzled one; not even the entire group anymore. And that is a bit scary. But I see it just as it is: an adventure, a chance to be adults. I think we'll be able to do it fairly easily.

I hope so, at least.

***

We're in Amsterdam, tired, so tired, but happy to be grounded once more. Hotel Bellington definitely isn't worth the €450 we had to pay for 3 nights, but it has charm, and, if anything, at least it's an adventure.

Hungry when we arrived, we went to the Hard Rock Cafe because it is close to our hotel, and it was midnight, too late to go find a place anywhere other than down the street. Getting pretty delusional, we laughed all through dinner at the fact that we were in Amsterdam to see a freaking tulip festival. Ridiculous, indeed.

I'm really happy to travel with Robbie; we're a good fit. And I don't think we annoy each other too much. So 3 nights in Amsterdam should be entertaining and interesting.

Tulips, here we come.

March 22, 2008 Sex Show? Yes please!

Awoke to sunshine in Amsterdam this morning, and I threw open the curtains, waking Robbie up with a thud, as he thought something was exploding.

After breakfast, attempting to use wireless internet, showering and mapping out our day, we set out to explore and get to know Amsterdam. Plan for the day:

1. Rijksmuseum, the main art museum in Amsterdam

2. Anne Frank House/Museum

3. Photography Museum, and, possibly

4. Van Gogh Museum, as well as new luggage, hash brownies and buying tulip tickets.

Well, of that list, we managed to accomplish #1. Unfortunately, though the weather was pleasant when we first left the hotel, it quickly turned for the worst--it started raining and the rain turned to snow that falls sporadically. I swear, we can't get rid of it.

So it appears our Amsterdam is turning into a relaxing 3-night visit, rather than a cultural experience extraordinaire.

Which is perfectly fine. Robbie and I keep joking about getting stuck in Amsterdam--could've spent more time in Italy!!--but, honestly, the city really is beautiful and interesting. So whatever. Once again, at least it's an experience...(which incindentally seems to becoming a recurring theme)

We wandered into the city centre to find the Rijksmuseum, only to realize, after properly consulting our map, that Hostelworld wasn't lying; our hotel really IS in the middle of the Museum District, and the Rijksmuseum is only one street over. Good to know.

We toured through the museum, which is only filled with Dutch artists--Rembrandt, Vermeer, etc. Vermeer is one of my favorite artists, so seeing his work again (I saw some pieces at the Met last year in NYC) was amazing. Also, all of the Rembrandt pieces were wonderful. The Rijksmuseum houses The Night Watch, which is one of Rembrandt's most famous works. It's an example of group paintins in motion, which Rembrandt was the first artist to really paint. The museum was also really well laid out, but, much to our dismay, there was a lot of renovation going on, so we only got to see a small portion of the museum.

We ate lunch at a nice cafe on the canal and roamed around the city for hours, stopping in stores to search for luggage and other goodies, running into Mike Ressuegue, and trying to stay warm. Robbie and I actually made it all around the cities--museums to Red Light District--and it was fairly simple. Brenna told me a while ago that she got to know Amsterdam in a weekend, and I guess I already have, too!

Luckily, I found an adequate suitcase-replacement, which I'll buy tomorrow. Gosh, Amsterdam is turning out to be an expensive adventure!

***

Kyle texted me whle Robbie and I were eating lunch; I guess he and Maddie Rockstar made it to Amsterdam after all. We made plans to see a sex show in the Red Light District, so after dinner, and in the snow once more, we trekked downtown again.

And sex shows are expensive--€30 per person--but extremely entertaining. I have to admit, I really admire the men and women who work at these shows, in the sense that they are obviously proud of the way the look and are confident enough with themselves to parade around in the nude in front of a couple hundred people. Either that or they really need the money. And I'm sure it's probably the latter.

March 23, 2008 Me, Ophelia.

Well, Robbie and I decided last night that we would forego the tulips; we'll just have to come back here on our real honeymoon (ha) and see them some day. I feel a bit like a failure. I mean, I should've known that it would be too cold to see them right now, particularly since the festival just opened AND it was snowing in both Prague and Berlin. But I actually thought it was going to work out. We made such a big deal about not going to Budapest and seeing the world's largest garden instead. Hmmm, really blew that one, I guess. Maybe there will be time for me to come back before I head back to the States...

In any case, we still had a fairly productive day. We went to the Van Gogh Museum, which houses more than 200 of the artist's paintings. After wandering around the museum for almost 3 hours, I have such a greater appreciation for his work. Van Gogh's continued use of yellow is vibrant and mesmerizing, and the fat that he produced such an extensive body of work in such a short career--only 10 years--is practically unheard of.

An exhibition of John Everett Millais's work was also on display at the Van Gogh Museum. I recognized a few of his paintings, but he too produced a massive body of work, and his pieces are absolutely breathtaking. I don't think I've ever seen a better portraitist--his figures are so life-like and emotional. My favorites were A Huguenot, Mariana and Ophelia, a painting modeled after the tragic heroine of Hamlet. Ophelia is such an emotional, peaceful piece of art--true, Ophelia has just drowned, her innocence wasted because her love, Hamlet, has literally driven her to her death. However, Millais's Ophelia looks exquisite, lying in a pond draped with brightly-colored flowers and surrounded by the beauty of nature. Opheli, when, looks one with nature, at peace with her environment. I think, in some ways, I've been trying to find the same sort of peace and balance, to feel like I belong, even though, inevitably, I probably won't. I think only time will tell if this experience, and all of the others, will give me peace of mind.

***

Once we finished at the art museum, we set out with several initiatives: luggage, postcards, post office, strupwaffle. Luckily, save for finding a post office to ship a few goodies home (Venie, here we come), we were pretty successful. I found an amazing Nike duffel on wheels--different than the suitcase I found yesterday because the luggage store was closed (damn Easter Sunday), but I actually like this one more; it's sleeker, bigger, better all around. I've never been more excited to pack in my life.

***

Our last night in Amsterdam, and we spent it pretty tamely--a couple space cakes, some episodes of The Office and then bed. Sure, probably sounds sufficiently lame, but I really just haven't been in the mood to rage lately. I felt lame in Prague and (somewhat) in Berlin, but I really just can't be motivated to stay out late when it's so cold.

Tomorrow I begin my long journey to Venice, where I'll reunite with Bob and teh adventure that was supposed to be GREEEEEEEEEECE shall commence.

I hope the weather's nice.

March 24, 2008 Southward Bound.

Onward once more, and, this time, south towards Italy, and hopefully better weather, more motivation, and interesting and hilarious experiences.

I'm so excited to see Bob again; she and I have only been apart for 3 days, btut this is completely unaccpetable. And now I see how difficult leaving Leicester and going home will be. I said goodbye to Robbie today for only a week or so, but that seems like a lifetime.

Of my close friends at Leicester, I know Robbie's the person I'm most likely to actually hang out with on a regular basis back at KU. I would love to say I'll see the rest of the fam all of the time, but Spence has his frater business and Bob is one popular little gal. Robbie and I know a lot fo the same people, we have similar interests and we're both Honors kids (so it's surprising we haven't run into each other before). I hope for the best--I really really want to stay as close as I've become with everyone. But I also kow that this experience isn't really reality, and soon we'll have to return to the real lives we were living at home and to try to fit in once again.

But I can't dwell on that right now. I'm going to Italy for almost two weeks with the people I lvoe. That's all that matters.

***

Reasons why I will most likely NEVER take a night train again (but funny occurrences nonetheless)

1. Limited Storage Space. Not conducive for a 25 kilo duffel bag. Luckily, I had some kooky German fellows to help me lift it up to the racks. Ridiculous.

2. Italian-Asian couples who think they're the shit. I swear, the wife of this Italian man was judgmental, annoying, and a strangely unattractive trophy wife. She was watching How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days and squealing with giggly delight the whole night. God, I hope I'm never a trophy wife like that (marriage of convenience--not so convenient anymore!!)

3. Unless you have a sleeper car, you are going to be uncomfortable on the train. Unfortunately, a whole gaggle of European middle schoolers were in Munich for some field trip or something and heading back to Italy, so there were no sleeper cars left on my train, and I was forced to reserve only a seat. This is going to be the longest night ever.

Berlin

Notes from the travel journal, 3/18-3/20

March 18, 2008 I have a problem with authority, so I never eat the last bite.

Leaving Praha, early in the morning, and riding the train out in my first snow while being on the continent. Complete with my new fur hat and a crusty baguette, I sit on this train, attempting to be productive and take in the beautiful Czech scenery at the same time. I wonder what Berlin holds for me. There’s so much painful history in this city, and I’m worried about what I will find and what I will feel while I’m there. Another city and a completely different outlook on life.

***

The train ride here went very well—I was fairly productive, ate too much and had a nice conversation with Robbie in the dining car. We arrived in Berlin, spent a little bit of time sorting out tickets and destinations, and proceeded to our hotel in Eat Berlin. Already, I had a different feeling in Germany. Unlike Prague, Berlin is more cosmopolitan, more urban, less historic and well-preserved. Buildings are covered in graffiti and industrialization fills the air. And, already, I have a feeling of rebuilding and renewal.

Regardless of these feelings, Berlin is completely fascinating. Simon took us on a walking tour of several areas of Berlin—Museum Island, which is home to the Pergamon Museum and a place I’ll surely visit again; past old Nazi headquarters and Holburne (?) University, named after a famous geographer; and ending up at Brandenburg Gate and the Reichstag.

Seeing the Gate and the postcards Simon showed us of the entire area completely desolated, save for the gate, up until a few decades ago (and reconstruction is still going on) brought back my earlier feelings—Berlin was completely devastated by war and Communist rule, two separate issues that I think I’ve sometimes lumped together into one long span of oppression.

Being in Berlin makes World War II, the Cold War, Hitler, fascism, communism—all of it—once again seem more real to me than these ideas and events and people have ever been before. I think as Americans we often (OFTEN) forget that there are horrible, horrible things happening around the world, even though they aren’t happening to us. We feel immune to it all; we all think we’re completely invincible, which couldn’t be further from the truth. I think some people may say that studying abroad in the UK/Europe is leas of an eye-opening experience than studying in an African or South American country, for instance. However, I completely disagree; after being on the European continent for less than a week, my perspectives about myself, my country, my surroundings, have widened so much. And I don’t think this would’ve been possible without these opportunities, like seeing a photo of a Russian soldier hoisting the Soviet flag over an obliterated Reichstag building, and then seeing the same building rebuilt today.
These experiences of seeing the effects of war and all of the history in these European cities.

***

After Brandenburg, Kelsey, Robbie and I had hot chocolate at the Hotel Adlon (where Michael Jackson very famously dangled his child out off the balcony of his hotel room) before meeting up again for dinner. Simon came into the hotel for hot chocolate as well, so we had a really great time talking, sipping €11 drinks and staring at the ridiculously good-looking wait-staff at the hotel. Getting to know Simon, we asked him what he was like when he was our age, what regrets, if any he had, what he would do over. He told us the only regret he ever had was worrying about money too much and depriving himself of experiences he could’ve relished in purely because he didn’t want to spend the money. And this is probably the best advice we could’ve received on this trip, where we are all so conscious of how much money we’re spending, particularly since the dollar keeps getting shittier and shittier. Granted, it isn’t really my money I’ve been spending, but I feel like I can’t worry so much about paying a few euros to have the experience of a lifetime. And, though I still need to be careful and plan on it, I can’t worry so much about it; the time for doing things is now, when I’m young and free enough to experiment and appreciate. The time is now.

***

Dinner was a delicious German meal: pumpkin soup; roasted pork, sauerkraut and potatoes; and warm cherries and ice cream. I went home with Spence and the other boys, but of course Bob and Robbie, who stopped to get chocolate-covered strawberries, beat us home because the imbeciles and I got lost on the trains for a bit—it turns out we were at the right station all along, just needed to go downstairs to the U-bahn.

Though terribly exhausted, a bunch of us decided to rally and go out—MISTAKE! I got all dolled up, got a little tipsy, and we discovered that (apparently) Berliners don’t go out on Tuesday nights. Ha—lesson learned. Tomorrow, we try again.

March 19, 2008 Do you speak English?

Woke up in Berlin and went running around the area near our hotel. Tomorrow I’ll definitely try to find a prettier jogging route—East Berlin isn’t very picturesque where we’re situated.

We departed Unter Den Linden station once again and walked through Brandenburg Gate, admiring the Victory Tower (which was built to commemorate Prussian victory and not Hitler’s reign, although it has since become a symbol synonymous with the Nazi regime) and the Tiergarten, a park that Simon said would be a good place for us to go running in the mornings. Mental note made.

We bypassed the Reichstag and headed towards the Holocaust Memorial, which spans the length of two football (soccer) pitches and sits right in the middle of the city to constantly remind Berliners of the great crimes against humanity committed during World War II. The memorial is a labyrinth of concrete blocks, different sizes and placed at different levels because the ground slopes; when going through the maze, you get lost in some senses, and you can’t tell who’s around you, where everyone else. You have the same experience as the Jewish victims in interment camps whom the memorial commemorates.

Which is part of the controversy of the monument: it only remembers the Jews, but what about the millions of others persecuted and murdered by the Nazis? Walking through the monument, I couldn’t help be ponder this question. From elementary school on, we always learned about Anne Frank, Hitler’s extermination of the Jews, etc, but it was never really until later that we learned about the gypsies, homosexuals, and disabled people, among other groups, whom he had killed. But I still don’t agree with the arguments surrounding the memorial; Simon said more memorials to honor other victims are being planned, so maybe the debates will subside soon.

What I found more interesting was the creation of this memorial. The city government had a contest to decide what sort of memorial to do—one idea was to have bus tour around the city..? But the current monument was chosen and erected. To assure the concrete blocks wouldn’t be vandalized, they were sprayed with an anti-graffiti layer. However, apparently, when the chemical used comes in contact with air, it gives of toxic, gaseous fumes. It turns out the anti-graffiti spray was developed/manufactures by the same company that created Hitler’s gas chambers!!! So there was an extreme uproar about this as well. The blocks had already been sprayed, so it couldn’t be reversed. I guess, though, that this company was also the first group to take responsibility for its actions following the war, apologizing and offering reparations to families of victims of concentration camps, which appeased the situation a bit. And, now, the monument is falling apart—some of the concrete blocks are cracking—about only five years after it was finished. So a lot of problems surrounding the Holocaust Memorial, I guess…

We next made our way over to the Berlin Wall and Checkpoint Charlie, both remnants of Communist Germany. Standing across from the Berlin Wall, and having our God damned photo taken in front of it was one of the most mind-boggling experiences of my life.
1. I cannot believe this wall once caged East Berliners in the Communist Sector like animals, and, when my dad was in college, Berlin was a divided city. When I was born, Berlin was a divided city. Surreal.
2. I cannot BELIEVE I posed for a fucking group photo in front of the Berlin Wall. Honestly, how are you supposed to handle a situation like that? Smile? Look somber? I felt as awkward as those people I see at museums, posing in front of the Mona Lisas and Last Suppers. It just cheapens the entire experience and the significance of the event. Never again.

***

After Checkpoint Charlie, we broke for lunch and a visit to a delicious chocolate store the first of a couple instances where I chose to do something frivolous rather than see something historic. But after two hours of wandering with Bob and Robbie, I met up with Simon and the group and went to Museum Island to visit the Pergamon Museum.

And Pergamon was AMAZING. I learned about the altar at Pergamon in HA150, but seeing it in person was such a different experience than seeing it in a textbook. Firstly, it seemed smaller than I had imagined, though the friezes were imposing and magnificent. Also, I thought that more of the altar had been preserved, but it was beautiful nonetheless.

We then had plans to visit the National Gallery and climb the Reichstag, but late afternoon snow, though mystical, ruined our morale. A quick peak into H&M, searching for the coveted yellow jacket and badly needed duffel bag, and we headed home, though not without receiving a bit of bad news beforehand: Athens, Greece, had broken out in horrible riots, ruining Bob’s and my plans to go there next week. So we had to spend the next couple of hours re-planning our trip, which actually turned out for the best. Now we’re spending almost two weeks in Italy! I hope it’s warm…:)

Around 9 PM, we decided to go to dinner, but I suddenly started feeling really sick, so I skipped foodies and went downstairs to bed, only to be woken up by Bob and Robbie a little while later, and they came bearing leftovers. I thought maybe I’d be able rally, but when Robbie, and later Bob and Robbie, came bombarding back in to get me, I absolutely refused.

I guess my whole second day in Berlin turned out to be a bit of a failure in some respects. I didn’t see as much as I wanted, or should have, and I didn’t even go out. I keep thinking that I’m not taking enough away from these experiences. I’ve been given the opportunity to travel Europe for five weeks, but am I getting everything out of it I possibly can? It would be one thing if I had spent the afternoon walking around without going in anywhere, or even at a café people-watching. But, instead, I let myself get sick and angry because people wouldn’t respect my wished and leave me to my bed in peace. Two more days—well, only one, really, and it’s to be spent in Potsdam—to correct the mistakes I’ve obviously been making. Two more days.

March 20, 2008 This is only the foothills of a mountain of shame that is unraveling before you.

Day trip to Potsdam, the palaces of the last Prussian emperors, today, and it was like being in France; I’m so excited to visit Versailles!!

The palace at Sans Soucci (French for “without worry”) was built by Friedrich the Great, the greatest Prussian king, and was absolutely immaculate. However, we didn’t tour this castle; instead, we went in the much larger New Palace, which is only a short distance from Sans Soucci, both of which lie on beautiful grounds, filled with a windmill, picture galleries, Chinese tea garden, and more.

New Palace was absolutely grand and well-preserved. Our extremely knowledgeable tour guide, Dagmar, gave us a two-hour tour, which ended with a private showing through the castle.

To preserve the palace, we had to wear these giant slippers that fit over our shoes and allowed us to slide across the marble floors like ice skaters. We only saw a few rooms, including one large ballroom decorated entirely with seashells, but the impression left by Potsdam was everlasting.

However, the day was a bit difficult to get through, particularly because most of our group had grown a bit tour happy and were actually acting really immature and rude to Simon. I couldn’t help but feel like I was on a middle-school field trip to the aquarium with some of the antics that were being pulled, and it only made me more excited to break away from this group and travel around Europe in a smaller bunch, although it looks like, because of the troubles in Athens, my travel group will be larger than desired.

Dinner at a Medieval restaurant was our last outing as a complete group, and it was absolutely amazing. Dinner was long and delicious and FILLING—four courses, but you could have as much of each course as you wanted. Needless to say, Robbie and I ate about 30 loaves of bread. And the entertainment was hilarious: a minstrel between courses who sounded suspiciously like the Swedish chef from the Muppets; a knight in shining armor who kissed Maddie Rockstar; and a VERY drunk Simon Law, our tour guide!

I knew Simon was going to rage with us on the last night because he told us about past Prague and Berlin trips when we were with him in London. However, I didn’t think the night would be quite this out of control and hilarious!! Images of Simon drinking from a giant beer stein, shakily attempting to translate German while “thinking of virgins,” and continually apologizing because he thought we weren’t having a fun time once the group left the restaurant will forever be burned in my memory.

From the snippits of information I learned about Simon’s life on this trip, I really hope this week won’t be our last encounter with him. He’s such an interesting, intelligent and funny man, a bit overwhelming, but in a good way. For some reason, I sometimes feel sorry for him—probably because the London bitches treat him like SHIT—but it’s not like he needs my sympathy. I get the impression that he’s never really grown up—something he told us himself—and I think that’s refreshing and great. He very obviously enjoys his job, and he’s awesome at it, even if he does get a bit confused sometimes. I hope someday I can enjoy my life as much as he does and in a similar nonchalant, worry-free, albeit very aware, way.

***

I leave Berlin tomorrow, heading west towards Amsterdam and to an expensive hotel and what will most likely be two VERY different takes on being an Amsterdam tourist.

Week one is over.

Praha

Unfortunately, since internet access is limited throughout my travels, I won't be able to update as frequently as I'd like to (although I guess I haven't really been doing a good job of that lately anyhow...ha). However, I am keeping a travel journal, blue pen and lamp-shade notebook, which I am writing in every day. So I will do my best to put up the entries from each country in a single entry, separated by the dates on which I've written.



Notes from the travel journal, March 15-17, 2008



3.15.2008 Leaving. Again.

Wow, sitting at Birmingham International Airport, eating Italian food with Bob and Robbie, and awaiting a European adventure that is sure to be grand. Birmingham Airport is surprisingly larger and more active than I'd imagined. Where are these people going? Are their travels going to be as far-reaching and surreal as my own?

I wonder how adventurous I'll really be these five weeks. Will I get a chance to roam by myself? Will I run and travel and investigate and learn these cities? I hope so. I'd rather be a loval than a tourist, but I know that isn't really a possibility. I guess I'll take what I can get, and I'm certain I will get so much.

Prague is supposed to be one of the most beautiful cities in the world, and I look forward to relishing in the beauty. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd wind up in Europe, let alone the Czech Republic. I guess it's only fitting that I visit there, considering my heritage.

But I'm also excited for more of a unique travel experience. I could've easily chosen Rome, with its ancient, widespread history; beautiful architecture AND weather; and yummy food. I feel, though, that choosing Prague and Berlin was such a better choice because I don't know if I'll ever really go back there again. So, hopefully, I will be able to say I've made the right choice.

***

I'm in Prague! Is this really happening?! Airport signs in Czech, street signs in Czech, a decidedly Eastern European feel. Oh my goodness, I'm in Prague. Dorothy, you really aren't in Kansas anymore.

3.16.2008 Czechs are the most non-religious people in the world, and yet we have more saints than the Spaniards.

To recount the beauty of the last thirty hours would take years.

We landed in Prague after a short (2 hours) flight. Imagine: in less than the time it takes me to fly from Atlanta to Kansas City, I flew from England, over Amsterdam, Germany and more, and arrived in Prague, an entirely different world than the UK. We arrived at the bustling Czech airport, made it through customs with ease--mostly, because I got stuck behind a foreign diplomat who bickered with the customs agent about something I couldn't quite make out--collected our baggage (which, unfortunately, for me is a medium-sized rolly suitcase that's bright blue and fully stuffed), and emerged on Prague, plus three more students: three girls going to school in London and one of who attends GA Tech.

After piling into two shuttle vans (ours literally had a trailer/wagon hitched on the back to hold our luggage. Maddie Rockstar kept her carry-on with her in the trailer fell off...), we took a short car ride to our botel. That's right, it's not a hotel, it's a BOTEL. A hotel on a boat on the river--SO amazing! My roomie Liz, who I know from Leicester, and I luckily got a room with a view of the river, beautiful morning scenes for sure.

We dropped our belongings quickly at the botel and were then off again with Simon, our trusty tour guide and friend from London Orientation ("Jack the Ripper..."). Before our traditional Czech dinner, Simon showed us New Town and Old Town by night. And all I can remember thinking as we ascended Muzeum station was who if this city is so breathtaking at night, I cannot possibly fathom it by day. Prague truly is one of the most beautiful cities in the world and probably THE most beautiful (well, besides Las Vegas...) city I've ever seen in my life.

As I've thought while in London and in Paris, it's amazing and astonishing to realize how affected (or unaffected) cities were during World War II. Prague, fortunately, remained almost completely untouched during the war--the Germans didn't bomb it beacuase the city, and the rest of Czechoslovakia, was under its control; and the Allies didn't touch it because it was an occupied territor. In fact, it's so surreal to remember that these cities are hundreds of years older thn the country I come from...

Which can be seen in the absolutely exquisite architecture around Old Town--Tyn Cathedral, the Jewish Quarter, the astronimcal clock, and Prague Castle. The lights on Tyn Cathedral illumnate the sky: orange twinkles peaking out from jet-black spires. Simon told us a bit about what surrounds the town square but, seeing that we were all starving, we went to the restaurant for our traditional Czech meal, complete with roasted duck, sweet and sour cabbage, and bread AND potato dumplings.

Eating Czech food without my family was a strange experience, to say the least. I know practially nothing about my heritage, but, last night, I continually felt the need to let it be know I am Czech and have indeed tasted Czech food on numerous occasions. I'm beginning to think that Prague is making me want to know my relatives and where I come from more than I do. In the same way I can hardly fathom the amount of history in this and other European countries compared to my own country, it is both difficult and painful for me to think about the amount of suffering other Czechs have gone through compared to me. Granted, I don't in any wya think I've had a hard life. I'm studying abroad, for God's sake. But, as I've learned yesterday and today, the Czechs have been persecuted so much--by Austrians, Germans, Russians, etc.--continually through their long history, and I wonder if this discrimination has had any impact on the way I've been raised and the way I view life at all...

After dinner, we went back out to Old Town and to the Jewish Quarter, where we saw the oldest synagogue in Europe and heard stories about a misbehaving Golem. The cemetery in the Jewish Quarter was completely eerie: so many people have been buried there that the ground is rising above the wall that surrounds the graveyard. Standing there, outside the graveyard on a somewhat abandoned street, I immediately thought of my failed attempts to visit Pere Lachaise. Hopefully I’ll have a chance to go back to this cemetery as well as the one at Pere Lachaise. For some reason, the dead are so fascinating to me.

Today was another long day: attempts to wake up early ad run (no running, but at least I got up), a surprisingly delicious breakfast and then collected by Simon to head back to Old Town. Simon really is an amazing tour guide, although a bit frazzled; we were unable to buy metro tickets at the station, forcing Simon to have to run, literally, back to the hotel and buy them from the front desk, but allowing us to wander around the small market stands set up, full of colorfully painted Easter eggs and wooden flying men.

Finally boarded the train at Andél and rode two stops to Republicky, where we began our walk along the Royal Route, the path newly anointed kings would take up to Prague Castle. Once again, Prague is absolutely exquisite, full of baroque and gothic architecture mixed with surprising elements of Cubism (apparently Cubism started in Prague) and 20th century modernism. Discussions about absinth, Mozart’s organ at St. Nicholas’s Church, wandering around the grounds of Prague Castle, klebasa sausage and chocolate-covered strawberries, and back to the Botel for a little freshening up.

As the night wore on and grew a bit colder, people and things began getting a little testy. Robbie, Bob and I had tickets to Mozart Marionette (a puppet version of Mozart’s Don Giovanni) and plans to meet up with Canada Kelsey, who was in Prague with friends. On our way to get more chocolate strawberries, we saw Kelsey by the astronomical clock and called out to her excitedly. Just as excitedly, she ran over to us and, because coins were falling out of her pocket, turned around to grab them and tripped over the curb!!! She was obviously hurt—she couldn’t mover her foot—but she hobbled to the puppet theater, using Bob as a makeshift crutch. The show was bizarrely entertaining, but, sitting next to Kelsey, I could tell she was in pain. So, after the show, she informed us she needed to go to the hospital. A chocolate waffle cone from Haagen Daaz and a kind cabbie lifted our spirits, but, after seeing Kelsey off, it was apparent that we all needed to go home to bed.

The very tired experience of our second night here made me a bit worried to travel with Bob for the next few weeks. I absolutely love her and am so excited to spend time with her, but I know my own personality and I know how I handle other people when they or I am annoyed. Indecision and frustration drive me crazy, so we’ll see what happens.

March 17, 2008 Apple Bottom Jeans, boots with the hoods…
Awoke in a beautiful Praha once again and actually made it out my door to go running—didn’t make it out the lobby door, though…there’s no way I was running in the rain!

So a shower, some productivity, filling breakfast and off to climb Petrin Hill. A smaller version of the Eiffel Tower sits atop the hill, and Simon said he’d buy whoever climbed to the top a pint. Of course, we accepted his challenge, and, 299 steps later, like Rocky Balboa, victory was ours! After taking in the glorious views, we descended the tower and found ourselves in a hall of mirrors, where Bob and I turned into legitimate midgets—oompa loompas!

Having our fill of fun atop Petrin Hill, we decided to go back down to town and eat and explore before our boat tour. Rather than ride the tram down, I decided to walk, which allowed me a couple of badly needed hours to myself. Snapping photos of flowers and statures, wishing I had my book because of all of the benches scattered around the park, and making my way to Charles Bridge, I thought back to my original 5-week travel plans and, once again, my propensity for being alone. I think my first experience of being alone in a country where I don’t speak the language—Paris for my birthday—wasn’t really indicative of my ability to navigate cities alone. Walking around Prague, I felt at complete ease. I feel like these past two/three days, I’ve had a short fling with Prague: I’ve gotten to know this it as well as it could’ve allowed me with the short time we’ve been given, and, even if Prague has meant more to me than I’ve mean to it, this short trip has been one of the most amazing love affairs ever.

I strolled through Kampa Park before the boat tour, finding several unique statues and an interesting-looking modern art museum, but no John Lennon Wall, a wall that a bunch of Czech Hippies (and, subsequently, international tourists) graffitied after John Lennon’s death. Meeting up with the rest of the group, I found the wall, with a little help from Spence and Mike Ressegue. The wall was one of the most emotional works of “art” I’ve ever seen: the pain and suffering of the 1960s culminates on this wall, but the anger that the world felt at that time is also washed away by the love and hope that can be seen and read and heard in the Beatles lyrics written on the wall. From “Blackbird,” I wrote:

“You were only waiting for this moment to be free.”

I think that quote is as much about John Lennon’s death and the implications surrounding it as it is my own life. This entire experience has been a learning experience, for one, as well as an opportunity to set my soul free (and not in an extremely cliché way). Once again, I need to quit stifling myself and just let myself go, wholly and truly. Like the words of the Beatles, I’ve just been waiting for this moment to do it.

***

The boat tour was rather chill and relaxing, and afterwards we split off once more. Robbie and I wandered to the Jewish Quarter to see the cemetery, where over 100,000 Jews have been buried. Unfortunately, like Pere Lachaise, the cemetery was closed by the time we got there, but we were still able to see the mounds and mounds of gravestones in the yard. Next, we visited the Salvador Dali and Alphonse Mucha Exhibitions in Old Town. Both were amazing, though a bit bizarre since the works on display were numbered prints (or etched plates or woven rugs…) rather than the actual works. I definitely enjoyed the Mucha exhbit more, both because I love the style of Art Nouveau and because Mucha worked with lithographs, so his works fit better than Dali’s with the method of exhibition.

Staring at Mucha’s works, I came to the conclusion that, for my history minor, I am either going to concentrate in Art Nouveau or Art Deco. Both styles are absolutely exquisite—if I had to be immortalized in any art style (after film noir, of course), I would be ever remembered in one of these styles.

We finished at the art exhibitions and headed towards Charles Bridge to meet up with the Black Light Theatre group and collect our free pints from Simon. On the way to the bridge, I fulfilled all of my Russian czarina fantasies and bought a rabbit fur hat. Robbie says I look like the young, hot wife of a Russian oil tycoon. Perfect.

Then we broke off again, visited the Communist Museum which was (un)surprisingly full of anti-Communist propaganda, ironically. We watched a video of riots in St. Wenceslas Square during Communist rule—students being bludgeoned and hosed by the police as they protested Russian invasion. In 1968, a 21-year-old college student burnt himself to death in the same square in protest of the Communist regime. Reading about the lengths he went to for a cause he believed in made me realize how apathetic I and the majority of my generation are. I’ve had many conversations with professors and fellow students about the lack of action taken by college students (in general) to make some changes in today’s world. The more I try to educate myself about what’s going on in the world and how I can make a difference, the more I constantly have fear that there’s nothing I can do. Unless others start joining in, I feel like my efforts would be completely worthless.

***

We met up with the rest of the family, D. Schultz and Mike Ressegue and headed to Albert for train munchies for tomorrow before taking the train from Mustek to Andél, home. We had planned on eating Mexican food, but when we got to the restaurant, there wee no available tables. The boys were willing to wait, but Bob, Robbie and I were hungry and ready to eat. So after a few indecisive discussions, the three of us departed down the street, leaving the boys outside of Hombre and heading towards an Italian restaurant. Robbie and I operate a similar manner in that we absolutely cannot stand indecision. On the other hand, Bob, as she put it, “hates leaving people behind,” and Robbie and I both began to feel a little guilty about our reactions to and treatment of certain situations. I’ve always had an issue with indecision and being a burden on my surroundings/in the way. If something doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out, so there is no reason to try to make it work, particularly if you’ve been told several times that it isn’t possible. I can be as persuasive/pushy as the next person, but if it’s not worth it to continue pushing, you shouldn’t.

I’m not saying that I give up easily—I’m very stubborn, and I’ll work extremely hard to get what I want—but in many cases, it just isn’t an option to get your way, and you should just accept this. However, Bob also said that there’s no reason to rush people: if they need time, they need time. Once again, I guess there are certain aspects of my personality that aren’t conducive to agreeing with other people’s personalities. I think I am just too much like my mother—too independent, too unwilling to compromise (in some aspects). Maybe over the next 3 weeks, Bob’s and my ways of doing things will influence each other a little bit...

Which was another conclusion drawn from the dinner conversation, but one that comforted me rather than make me feel uneasy. After the day’s events, I came to the realization that it’s absolutely impossible for me to spend the next 5 weeks running around day in and day out—it just isn’t a possibility at all. Luckily, Bob fees the same way. So, our $14,000 European vacation will be spent relaxing and roaming as well as taking in actual sites, museums, etc. I have a feeling once I’m in Italy, I’ll want to see as much as possible, so when I get there, hopefully I’ll be able to narrow it to a few key attractions and so I can spend more time absorbing, taking it all in.

***

After dinner, Robbie and I decided to grab a night cap at the Admiral Botel bar before packing and calling it a night. All day, Robbie had been trying to e-mail the internship coordinator at Sotheby’s to set up his interview for this summer, but Bob’s Blackberry wouldn’t connect to the internet and our botel doesn’t have accessible wireless. So after many attempts, he called New York to explain the problem and orchestrate his interview date—and they started the interview right then!!

Robbie’s phone was about to die, so he rushed into his room—I asked if it had died and he mouthed, “I’m on the phone right now!” He plugged it into the charger, and Bob, John-Mark and I quickly realized he was in the middle of the interview; needless to say we went next door to Bob and Maddie Rockstar’s room to give him privacy. About 10 minutes later, Robbie came in as well…and told us he got the internship at SOTHEBY’S!!!! Bob and I immediately jumped up and started screaming; AH, I am so proud/jealous of him!!! Working at an auction house in New York is one of my many dream jobs, so hopefully I’ll visit him this summer and see the secret life of an NYC intern.

Of course, after that amazing news, drinks and celebrations were in order. The three of us went up to the Botel bar—which actually is quite tragic, empty and exuding the feel of a dying cruise ship. However, I found it absolutely fabulous and glamorous, and we ordered cocktails and tiramisu and sat for awhile. Spence, Mike and Dave joined us a little while later, and we all drank casually, me writing postcards from Prague, Bob in her pajamas, and everyone sleepy and content. Matt Cummings came up and drunkenly entertained us—it was his birthday and St. Patty’s day, so he was completely entitled.

And tomorrow I’ll leave Prague, early, and who knows if I’ll ever return to my Motherland of sorts. But it was beautiful while it lasted.

I just did this.

Packing again.

Only this time, instead of my room in Atlanta being a mess, my room here in England is. And I'm both excited and anxious once again.

We're going to Europe tomorrow. TOMORROW. EUROPE. Oh my God. In 24 hours I'll be on a coach to Birmingham to catch a 2:30 flight to Prague. The Czech Republic.

This whole experience has been completely surreal, to say the least. I've been here for 2 months, and yet I feel like it's not even real. Although I also feel like I've been here forever, and I could not imagine being anywhere else right now. At all.

Spencer had to go home last weekend for a few days, and he went up to Lawrence. Honestly, I think that is the biggest mistake he could've made; if I had to go home, I'd be there for 2 days, not tell anyone I was going to be home and get back here as soon as possible. The study abroad experience isn't meant to be disjointed like that. And now he talks about how it made him even more homesick. Honestly, though I love everyone and miss them terribly, I would never want to be home right now. And when I (am forced to) leave in May, I'll long for England, not be excited abou going back home. This place is absolutely mesmerizing.

So now I am leaving what I have come to consider my home, and I am really leaving. We have to move all of our stuff out and put in storage because the halls are used for conference housing over the break. Though I don't know who in their right mind would pay to stay in Digby Halls for a conference. I'm sure most people would rather sleep in their car than this trash hole. But it's my trash hole nonetheless.

I'm taking pictures off my walls, knowing full well that I won't put them back up when I get home. After 5 weeks in Europe, I'll only have 4 more at the University of Leicester. In 9 weeks, I'll be packing again, but it will be a lot easier because I will have sent a lot of junk home with my parents. And it will be a lot harder because I'll be going back to the States, not sure when I'll return here or if I'll ever see any of the friends I've made here again.

I'm not trying to sound depressing; I'm so unbelievably amped to be traveling around Europe for the next 5 weeks. Bob and I are going to have the most amazing time ever, soaking up sun, culture, and plain ol' visceral experience. But the thought of leaving is continually looming in my mind. And I don't want it there anymore.

Maybe I'm just feeling strange because the trip with Andy was completely botched, or maybe I just have travel jitters. But I can't get this feeling out of my mind.

And I hope it leaves before 2:30 tomorrow afternoon.

We're going to be drunk on the train ride back to Leicester, and I love it.

Oh, how I love the fashionista/random-events-finder in me: Last Thursday (yes, it's been awhile), Bob, Jer and I went to a GQ fashion show at Selfridge's in Birmingham, complete with the most gorgeous male models I've ever seen in my life, free drinks and an Armani watch won by Bob and stolen by Jer ("Bob, you're the last one. And you need to win...because I want that brown one." Oh, I don't think Joe would be too happy about that one!!)

The fashion show and events before and after were absolutely amazing--I'm so happy I randomly looked on the Selfridge's website to see what the hell it actually is and found out about the show. And Thursday night reminded me that I am still wandering and exploring, even though I don't always feel like I am and even though most of my attempts at doing so have been thwarted. Royally, royally thwarted. But traveling to Birmingham for the evening, getting drunk and eating yummy French pasta, sobering up before the train ride and heading home were all highly entertaining and very original. I mean, honestly, how many people can say they went to a fashion show while studying in England? Not too many.

And so I guess I'm not as worried about the next 5 weeks as I have been--they will be full of new adventures, sitting in cafes working on the essays I should've written 2 weeks ago, tooling around and taking artsy photos of Grecian villas, of course being out of control (in a very controlled manner, of course) with Bob, roaming in and out of countless museums, pondering the Sistine Chapel, testing out my Spanish, playing slots on a ferry from Greece to Italy, pretending I'm Gene Kelly and ending up in Montmartre again, and finally reuniting with my parents, but not before experiencing the magic that will be Disneyland Paris.

So I have clothes piled up on my bed, trying to discern what the weather will be like in Prague and Berlin, Greece and Italy, Spain, Amsterdam, Paris and then back (home) in England. I'm jealous that Stuart and his friends are planting themselves outside of Barcelona for 2 weeks, just soaking up the sun, and in many ways, I feel that the next 5 weeks are going to be the most exhausting of my life. But I am ready. I've got the plan right here next to me, and tonight, after International Girls Night, we are all going to sit down to figure out who will be where when and how we can possibly meet up. Because I think 5 weeks without a lot of these people is going to kill me.

So, to be productive today is the plan (and I'm quite proud of everything I've accomplished thus far). And to exercise my mind, and keep exploring. Thank you, GQ, complimentary vodka-orange juices, men with beautiful calves, and a beautiful dress from Zara that I will probably wear once but could never live without. Oh, the wonders of Birmingham, and it's only a convenient 45 minute train ride away.

Two Days in Paris: Notes on a Birthday

(This is the first entry I've written in a while, so I'll try to make it great :) )

(Also, parents, if you read this, don't fret. I am alive and well, and you are not bankrupt/going bankrupt. I swear.)

I think most people would agree that birthdays are the best holiday celebrations, for it's a day devoted completely to you, and the special birthday celebrator can mold his or her day into whatever is desired. While I think BP's notion of birthday week is a bit extreme (well, maybe next year...), I can safely say birthday weekend for me this year was a grade-A success. I'll admit I had lofty goals to accomplish in my 20th year--lose weight, be more productive, stop shopping so much, figure out a career path--none of which were completed (although I have high hopes for year 21), yet there is one goal I met, and that was bringing my last moment as a teenager to a close in Paris.

If you ask anyone (particularly Brenna), they could probably tell you that I'd been planning this celebration (literally) since the day I found out I was actually studying in England:

Brenna and I sat in the Underground for lunch, second semester, freshman year, and I had wonderful news--"I'm going to England!!" and the next words out of my mouth were exactly, "And we're spending my 20th birthday in Paris."

So when this weekend finally appeared, the visions I'd had in my head for a year were finally becoming a reality. However, because it's me, things, although they usually end up perfectly, never go too smoothly. Let me recap my (mis)adventure en Paris:

It began several weeks ago with the booking of my trip to Paris--coach tickets, hostel reservations, trains to and from London. I worked my trip out perfectly where I would only spend one night in a hostel because of the wonders of night buses, but I'd still have 2 full days in Paris. I e-mailed the plans to dear Brenna, and (God love her) she presented me with new ones, which included a trip to Angers to see her on Friday night and touring grand French castles on Saturday before heading back to Paris. I immediately vetoed this idea, as I had already booked my trip perfectly, and I felt it would all get too complicated.

Well, after much contemplation and a little bit of persuasion on Brenz's part, I decided I would head to Angers on Friday night, see the castles on Saturday and head back to Paris just in time to drink champagne underneath the Eiffel Tower and feel absolutely fabulous. It would only be £3 to amend my coach tickets, so no problem. Hmmm, well, then I looked at the prices of train tickets to Angers from Paris, and some of them ranged upwards of £70!!! Far too much for a poor college student like me to pay, so I told Brenna I wouldn't be coming to Angers after all...

Once again, though, after much contemplation, I decided that, if she were paying the money to come see me in Paris, I should have the decency to do the same and come see her at school. Plus, the castle trip sounded absolutely amazing, and, the more I thought about it, the more I realized her suggestions would only make the trip better. So I was all in.

But knowing me, things never stop at easy. So, after working out a very affordable trip to London the night before (because I had to check in at the bus station in London at 7 AM, and train ticket prices were all a bit unreasonable/the earliest coach would get there 20 minutes after check in and, at the time, I didn't know it this was allowable), I proceeded to work on my passage analysis for History of the English Language, which was due the Friday I was leaving and thus needed to be turned in on Thursday before I left for London in the afternoon. Hmmm, enter Sarah's typical procrastination scenario, one I swear will never be repeated and for some reason always is. Somehow, and it wasn't really that difficult, I'd say, I was persuaded to go out on Tuesday night rather than do work. No problem, I thought to myself, for I discovered that Oxford is home to one of the oldest public libraries on the world, and Robbie and I were daytripping to Oxford the next day, where I would meet up with Jenny Reeves and have an amazingly scholastic day, researching Early Modern English in the Bodleian. Once again, insert the portion where Sarah's plans go awry. Apparently, you have to be a member of the Bod to even set foot in there, and you have to order the books ahead of time because most of them are housed underground and in mine shafts across the country. Should've known extremely delicate books wouldn't be available for just any ol' Joe Smoe.

So, to make a long story short, I had to stay in Leicester (very pissed off because of my own stupidity, might I add) on Thursday rather than go to London because I needed to write my essay. Luckily, I finished it fairly early in the day, and turned it it on time, although I thought I was locked in Attenborough Tower for a few minutes---Att. Tower is SO eery at night, by the way (and thus began the eeriness of the entire birthday trip).

I needed to catch a 5 AM train to London St. Pancras on Friday morning in order to make the 7 AM check in at Victoria Station. ONCE again, me being the silly silly girl I am, I decided to WALK to the train station in Leicester at 4 AM rather than call a taxi because the busses don't run that early. To anyone who is reading this, don't worry. I will NEVER do that again. NEVER. Visions of Robbie's Big Foot in Omaha stories kept running through my mind as I wheeled my suitcase all the way down London Road, getting rather sweaty and tired because I left late, and I ended up missing my train. Well, no big deal really because there was one in 10 minutes, except now I wouldn't be arriving until 6:50, leaving me 10 minutes to get to Victoria.

Upon arrival to St. Pancras, I thought about saving myself a helluva a lot of stress and back pain and considered taking the Eurostar. However, I am glad I forewent that idea, for the Eurostar is the most price-inflated mode of transportation possible. And not worth it, I don't think. So off to Victoria I went. Fortunately enough, I didn't need to be there right at 7 to check in (wish I had known this earlier--could've save a ton of money and a ton of blood pressure points. Oh well, at least I know for next time, although who knows if there will ever be a next time after this experience...haha), and I (somehow!!) found myself on the coach to Paris. Amazing.

Well, turns out the stress level didn't dip there. Let me just say, French police scare the SHIT out of me. I don't know if that is just the ignorant American in me talking, but I serioulsy feared for my life while we had to stop before heading into Paris to do passport scans. My heart was racing as I stepped up and handed the man my passport, convinced something was going to go completely wrong and the men wearing combat boots and standing in front of me were going to start chewing my head off in French. Luckily, all of my credentials checked out, and I made it safely back on the bus.

And then the bus got into a pod of sorts, and we moved through the Chunnel, which I experienced half asleep and half awake, so it must not have been too exciting. We popped out in France shortly after, and I proceeded for the next few hours to dose in and out of views of beautiful French countryside, the side of France that you don't often see. It was breathtaking.

When we reached the Euroline station, I was completely excited and a little bit frantic, once more, for the are we were pulling into looked a bit sketchy and not at all close to any of the landmarks I recognized from photographs and movies. Sarah panic attack, number 476. I spent the next 35-40 minutes trying to figure out what Metro lines to take in order to get to Montparnasse or Charles de Gaulle Airport to get to the TGV and Brenna in Angers. I figured I would go to Charles de Gaulle because it's an airport and they are used to dealing with foreigners, plus I thought I'd be able to find an ATM, because apparently Paris doesn't like automated teller machines, and I had had no time to exchange for euros before I left England. Mistake number 3214 on my part.

SO I found the correct (or so I thought) route to Charles de Gaulle Airport, got a little side-tracked when I didn't know where to switch trains, but luckily a very helpful and friendly French woman helped me out (the first of several generous people to help both me and Brenna find our way). After a little while on the Metro (because it's super efficient and reliable!), I arrived at Charles de Gaulle Etoille...only to realize that this was nowhere near the airport. At this point, though I hate to admit it, I seriously considered going home-I was tired, I was sweaty, and I had no way of getting in contact with Brenna, not only because I didn't have any euros to use a payphone but also because I had the wrong number saved in my cell phone, and I'm pretty sure Sarah from Corsica, whose number I DID have, was sick of hearing from me.

Venturing out of the station to see if I could even remotely find the airport, I found something even better right in front of my eyes: the Champs Elysee and the Arc de Triomphe. I walked right out to them and, in the distance, the Eiffel Tower as well. And suddenly, I found the motivation and determination I'd been missing and proceeded to the other station, Montparnasse, to catch the train to Angers.

Eventually, I did in fact make it to Angers, much to my own amazement and much to the ease of Brenna's worries; I found her number written down somewhere and was able to call her when she was about 5 minutes away, no less. And so the hellish first experience that was Paris wasn't so hellish after all, although I did feel a bit defeated at some points. As the rest of the trip would prove, I would definitely overcome this defeat.


Angers is absolutely amazing. I'm so jealous that Brenna gets to study in such a beautiful place, complete with its own massive chateau, and I'm so happy she's making a wonderful life there. We wandered around the city centre looking for something to eat, as I had had nothing but an apple and an orange juice and I'd been awake since 3:30 AM. We finally found a small kebab-pizza-crepe-everything restaurant still open, and we had delicious French crepes and caught up with each other. Then it was off to Falstaff to meet her new friends and have a drink or two. Unfortunately, I was absolutely wiped, so we called it a night shortly before 1 and headed back to her home, where Brenna lives with her roommate Kitty under the roof of a wondeful host mom, Annik. Brenna and Kitty are definitely lucky, for Annik lets them use the kitchen whenever they want and enjoys having vegetarians--perfect for Brenna, even if the house is out in the Boonies! :)

The next morning, we awoke SUPER early to hit up the beautiful chateaus--3 in one day, including Chambord, which is rather famous. Brenna and I were talking, and we decided, though it is obviously crucial to feed your people, the kings responsible for "wasting" money on these beautiful palaces really can't be blamed for their decadence--they're all so absolutely gorgeous!!

And then, as quickly as we were on our way to the first castle, we were finished (but still seeing chateaus out of the coach window--"Don't go to sleep! You will be woken up by me, and that will be very unfortunate.") and on our way to Tours. Thankfully, the program director said it wouldn't be a problem to drop us off before Angers because there is no way we would've made the last train into Paris, and, actually, we were dropped off in a magical place known as Blois (like BLAH), which is even closer to Paris.

The moments in Blois were absolutely surreal--scurry off the bus; stand on a street corner, overlooking a portion of the Loir River, trying to determine in which direction to head; and happen to look up at the bus and see EVERYONE pointing to our right. Magical. Of course, their directions to the right weren't completely effective, and we were in need of directions, so Brenna asked a very chic-looking woman where to go for the Gare de Blois. Rather then tell us, she took us there. Up hills, past one of the largest chateaus in France, and all while lugging a suitcase behind me--the very chic woman said I was a super woman for carrying it. Once at the Gare, we purchased out tickets, visited France's version of ASDA--Inner Marche--to get food stores and champagne, and, just as easily as we had done everything all day, we got on the train to Paris!

In Paris, we had such a better experience than my first go-round the city. I think that my little mishap the previous night prepared me for Saturday--I easily figured my way around, and that's why I've decided Paris is easily navigated. We arrived at the hostel--in the perfect location in Montmartre, the Art District of Paris, and, after dropping our bags and prettying up, immediately headed to the Eiffel Tower for my vision to be completed.

And, standing in front of the Tower, it was realized. I don't care what anyone says--the Eiffel Tower is a thing of beauty and wonder, and I am so happy I spend the last moments of my teenage years watching it amidst so many other people and having it begin to sparkle at midnight, right as my photos were being taken. Complete success, and complete magic.

The next day only added to the beauty of my dream--Sacre Couer, which we actually had a view of from our hostel window!!; wandering around Montmartre, having my picture drawn by a street artist--Mona Lisa! Mona Lisa, please let me draw you--and seeing the France I wanted so desperately to see, like Gene Kelly in An American in Paris (I'll build a Stairway to Paradise...); off to lunch in the Jardins outside of the Louvre and then roaming the museum for 3 hours, being mesmerized by the Nike de Samothrace and Cupid and Psyche, and a bit disappointed by Venus de Milo and others; then out to Pere Lachaise, although the cemetery was closed when we got there, and our attempts to live like Oscar Wilde were thwarted this time; Arc de Triomphe and Champs Elysee, fairwells to Brenna; and then, to end my night, mosying over to the Eiffel Tower for once last glimpse before the long coach-ride home to Leicester.

Alone, outside of the Eiffel Tower, I realized why so many people come to Paris to fall in love; it truly is the city of love, despite the cliches and all of the tourists. Like Paris Je'taime, feelings of truth and love and wonder overcame me, and, even though I wasn't sharing that moment with someone, I felt love all around me.


Brenna and I had a long conversation about how it was so easy for us to transition to coming out here and wondering why this was true. I think for me, it was easy because I really don't think I belong anywhere--I fit in perfectly and can meander in and out with ease, but I don't think that I'll ever completely find my place anywhere. And I like it this way. As I realized in Paris, and have before, I feel love all around me, and I don't think I'll ever need to settle down in order to continue finding this love in my life.

Some day, when I look back on my life, I'll see these feelings and feel them all again, as if for the first beautiful time.

Paris, je'taime.

Paris, I love you.