Okay, I left off with us making it to our hostel in the sketch, red-light district of Athens. Cool. No, really, it wasn't that bad. We were told to keep our bags/purses in front of us at all times to discourage pick-pockets, and to tell anyone who asked that we were Canadian or Australian, for safety's sake. I gotta admit, that made my skin prickle a little. Why could I not just say I was American? Are we that despised all over the world? Makes you think.
The next day we hit the big stuff, almost by accident. We headed off early to see the Acropolis, but we ended up wandering around (as usual, because, though we like maps, we tend to like our own instincts better, and they usually lead us into adventures) and stumbled upon Hadrian's Gate and the Temple of Olympian Zeus, where supposedly the first Olympic games were held. The weather was a tad chilly, but any degree warmer was better than London! The grounds of the temple were so rustic and deserted, covered with lush green and these tiny daisy-like flowers that seemed to give their blessing upon the site. In a strange way, the vastness and the quiet, open air made it very spiritual. I circled the temple with its towering, crumbling columns and felt so peaceful.
We moved in the general direction of the Acropolis, stopping into random shops along the way. We finally found it, and, on that day, it was free admission! We saw the Theatre of Dionysus, the Parthenon, and the other temples whose names escape me that also are on the Acropolis hill. The view was beautiful, but the wind was brutal. There was a Greek flag waving on the topmost part of the hill—I got some good pictures of it as the wind held it straight out. Eventually, our stomachs growled, and we hurried down the hill to search for a place to eat that wasn't too expensive. In the process, we learned something very interesting about Greece (and Italy, for that matter). Restaurant waiters/managers will stand outside their establishments and will vocally try to entice you inside for "just a cup of coffee and dessert, special price just for you!" So when they spot you glancing at their menu to get an idea of prices, they pounce. Our little group got snagged into eating at a pricey sit-down restaurant, but Emily and I blatantly got up from the table (after scouring the menu for anything cheap, and finding nothing) and declared that we were walking down the road to a little creperie I saw earler. It tasted better and was cheaper. We had to wait for the other group to finish eating, so we wandered into a little jewelry shop next door to the creperie. And that's when we met George.
George owned the jewelry shop, and he claimed to have made by hand all the jewelry. I was skeptical, and later I saw some of the same pieces in other shops. His prices were better, though. Emily and I, still green to the tactics of shop owners, fell into conversation with them. He spoke very good English and was very genial. He asked us where we were from. Before I even thought, I spouted off, "Canada." Where in Canada? I don't answer. Emily blurts, "Montreal," the first thing she thought of.
George starts speaking French.
Crap. We should have done our Canada homework.
We laugh it off, and Emily says she's from the part of Montreal that doesn't speak French. I don't think he really believed we were from Canada. Pretty much everyone in Canada speaks or understands French. I could feel my neck getting hot, but the conversation moved on quickly, as we talked of studying in London, being on holiday in Greece, blah, blah, blah. George talked of how great Canada was, and how bad the U.S. was (it was just a sales tactic), and he constantly pulled out piece after piece of jewelry for us to examine. I wasn't really going to buy anything, though he had some nice stuff, but then he asks us if we want something to drink. ??? Another sales tactic I've never had pulled on me. We say no, he moves on, comes back to it. "No," we say. "We're totally fine."
He waves his hands at us and furrows his brow. "I don't like this 'no'," he says. That was it. No room for argument. I said Coke, and Emily said Sprite. Get this--he leaves the shop, goes next door to the creperie we were just in, and buys us both drinks. And that sealed it. We both felt so bad that he bought us drinks that we felt compelled to buy something. Never again will I fall for that.
We talked a bit more (it was actually a really long conversation), and Emily and I both bought inexpensive pieces out of courtesy (but I really did like mine, and it was truly a good price). We tore ourselves away with the excuse that our friends were waiting for us and we had to get going. We practically ran from the shop and died laughing. We'd learned a lesson. No more Georges.
We met up with our group (who had long finished eating) and did a bit of shopping before we headed back to the hostel. Emily, Caris, and I found a small grocery store and bought stuff to make spaghetti (of sorts) in the hostel’s kitchen. We thought we were buying ground beef for the sauce, but it was really like ham, or bacon, as the English would say. We chopped it up into small pieces, added tomato sauce and some random spices we found in the kitchen, boiled noodles, topped it with fresh Parmesan (I swear, there is nothing better), and paired it with this really crispy Greek bread. It was surprisingly really good. I was proud of us.
Saturday, we woke up with big plans to see the Olympic Stadium, climb Lycabettus (a big hill in the middle of Athens), and then find the coast and visit Poseidon’s Temple. I was navigating, and we got on the metro in the direction I thought the Olympic Stadium was, and I was right. But on the metro map, the five Olympic rings hovered over another stop waaaay down the line in the opposite direction. We argued for a bit, and I lost. So we went the long way, got a bit lost, jumped on a bus, and finally ended up not at the true Olympic Stadium (where the opening ceremony was held), but at the Olympic grounds, where the swimming pools, basketball courts, etc. were located. It was still pretty cool, though. First thing I noticed—it was completely deserted. Desolate. It looked as if we had fast-forwarded in time and come upon it fifty years later. The grass was dead, small bit of trash floated across the sidewalk. No one was there. For some reason, I expected more people would want to visit, and they’d keep the place up. All the buildings were locked and most of the windows blacked out. The swimming arena was still open and in use for younger swimmers and their coaches. We watched a youth swim meet for a while in the indoor pool. Otherwise, the whole place was quiet, eerie, lonely. It was saddening, really.
Afterward, we found lunch, and then tried to decide what to do. It was already later in the day, and I knew that getting to the coast would take hours at least. Kaytee wanted to see Poseidon’s Temple, and though it sounded interesting, climbing Lycabettus sounded more appealing to me. So we split up—Kevin and Kaytee headed toward the coast, and Emily, Kristen, Caris, and I hiked toward Lycabettus.
We could see it from the main street we were standing on, but we had no idea how to get to it. So, we just kind of walked toward it, through random little Athenian streets and up lots of stairs. We made sure we kept heading upwards, and we knew eventually we’d have to hit it. All of the sudden, we found some woods. A forest, growing in the middle of all these houses and buildings. Random? Yes. But we found it! So… we kept going up. We hiked path-less up through the random woods for a long while—so much fun! And then we stumbled on a path, or more like a worn place that looked like a path. So we followed it. I love being spontaneous and somewhat lost! And we found a paved path, so we followed that. We kept going up. And kept going up. Every time we looked out behind us, the view kept on getting better and better. It was unbelievable. We realized as we got to the top that there were two “peaks,” or top points, of Lycabettus, and we weren’t on the one we thought, but the view was amazing. See my pictures. There was this massive modern amphitheatre (that they still use apparently) built into the side of the hill. We saw the other “peak,” upon which rested this lovely white stone church, and decided to walk towards that. We’re walking down random paths, with fearless Caris leading, me right behind her. We round a bend, and she suddenly does a 180 and speeds back toward me saying quietly and hurriedly, “Turn around. Walk. Just turn around. Go.” Without question, I swing around in the opposite direction, gently prodding Kristen and Emily backwards down the path. I had been afraid of this, with the top of the hill being so quiet and isolated…
Caris had seen four or five young guys sitting on the peak shooting up. Good! Drugs! Just what we need! So we high-tailed it in the opposite direction for a while, found another path, and made a big circle around them. That could’ve been awkward and probably bad. God was really watching out for us—thank goodness for Caris’ alert eyes. Fun times in Greece, right?
We finally made it to the second peak. The hike had been so much fun and provided so many great pictures. By the time we made it, the sun was just starting to descend, and the air was getting cooler. We snapped a few pictures, congratulated ourselves for hiking all that way without any sort of direction, and laughed about our adventures before we headed down. Caris fell on the way down (it definitely hurt, but she was okay) and almost fell a second time. It was hilarious… but I guess you had to be there. HA! :)
I forget what we did the rest of the day. I think we went back to the hostel. That was such an amazing adventure.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Sunday, March 15, 2009
5:19 PM: Greece/Italy '09... define "adventure."
"An exciting or very unusual experience," according to Dictionary.com. Yeah, that was it. And I don't mean that in a sarcastic or bad way. My time in Greece and Italy was exciting and unusual. I loved every second of it.
(Oh, p.s. I'm going to try to blog about this in little sections, because knocking it out in one sitting requires a bit more energy than I have right now. I've been up since 3:00 am Italian time, 2:00 am London time. My eyelids are finding it a bit difficult to stay up... we'll see how I do.)
So, I did a bad thing and skipped my beloved Cont. Brit. Fict. class on Thursday to make the flight to Athens. Athens. That would be in Greece, mind you. Greece. Just saying it made me freak out in excitement! There were lots of us going--Caris and Kristen (my across-the-hall friends), Emily, Kaytee, Jessie, and Lilly (other Webster girls), and Julia (my roomie) and her friend Becky. Julia and Becky only stayed in Athens with the rest of us for a few days, until Monday, when they headed off on a cruise of the Greek islands. But the rest of us stayed together in Athens. . . . which was definitely different than I expected. Or at least at the beginning. The metro is really nice. And that was my impression of the first night--the metro is nice. HA.
Our little hostel was located in Omonia Square, which Athenians openly consider to be the "sketch" part of Athens. Pick-pocketing is huge in Athens, and we were kind of in the hub of it. So we clutched our bags as we walked in the general direction of our hostel. We finally found it, walked a million flights of stairs, died at the top, and checked in. The two guys who run it were hilarious, or I thought they were. Ben, an Asian man (definitely not Greek) who worked the front desk, was precious and loved to show us how everything worked. And Joey, who was the manager (I think), was awesome. He gave us tons of advice (for instance, keep your purses close, especially on the metro and on buses), and, that night, because it was late and we were starving, he took us (like, walked with us) to this amazing, fairly cheap restaurant that was open late. The hostel wasn't the Ritz, but we had a place to stay, shower, and cook if we wanted (it had a kitchen, so we made spaghetti one night to save money), and that was enough.
And that's enough for right now. Until I have a bit more energy... you'll have to wait for adventures in Greece.
(Oh, p.s. I'm going to try to blog about this in little sections, because knocking it out in one sitting requires a bit more energy than I have right now. I've been up since 3:00 am Italian time, 2:00 am London time. My eyelids are finding it a bit difficult to stay up... we'll see how I do.)
So, I did a bad thing and skipped my beloved Cont. Brit. Fict. class on Thursday to make the flight to Athens. Athens. That would be in Greece, mind you. Greece. Just saying it made me freak out in excitement! There were lots of us going--Caris and Kristen (my across-the-hall friends), Emily, Kaytee, Jessie, and Lilly (other Webster girls), and Julia (my roomie) and her friend Becky. Julia and Becky only stayed in Athens with the rest of us for a few days, until Monday, when they headed off on a cruise of the Greek islands. But the rest of us stayed together in Athens. . . . which was definitely different than I expected. Or at least at the beginning. The metro is really nice. And that was my impression of the first night--the metro is nice. HA.
Our little hostel was located in Omonia Square, which Athenians openly consider to be the "sketch" part of Athens. Pick-pocketing is huge in Athens, and we were kind of in the hub of it. So we clutched our bags as we walked in the general direction of our hostel. We finally found it, walked a million flights of stairs, died at the top, and checked in. The two guys who run it were hilarious, or I thought they were. Ben, an Asian man (definitely not Greek) who worked the front desk, was precious and loved to show us how everything worked. And Joey, who was the manager (I think), was awesome. He gave us tons of advice (for instance, keep your purses close, especially on the metro and on buses), and, that night, because it was late and we were starving, he took us (like, walked with us) to this amazing, fairly cheap restaurant that was open late. The hostel wasn't the Ritz, but we had a place to stay, shower, and cook if we wanted (it had a kitchen, so we made spaghetti one night to save money), and that was enough.
And that's enough for right now. Until I have a bit more energy... you'll have to wait for adventures in Greece.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
10:50 AM: I leave in 1 hour and 10 minutes.
But I said that I was going to blog about Scotland before I left, so here I go blogging about Scotland.
Hoh. Lee. Mack'rel. Scotland has some of the most beautiful countryside I've ever seen in my entire life. So many mountains crowned with snowy peaks, deep gray lochs that seem to stretch on forever, and the trees. Even the trees are awesome--some look like the belong in the African savanna, with really long skinny trunks and wide branches that spread almost horizontally parallel to the ground, but most are these pine trees that look like perfect Christmas trees, and they grow all clumped together in massive groves, like they're trying to keep warm. I love the trees in Scotland.
Scotland is the United Kingdom's Deep South. People are incredibly friendly, will stop and give you directions without you having to ask, and will talk to you in the check-out line (i.e. on the last night, Caris and I went to a nearby grocery store and bought a few... okay, four... tubs of ice cream. We think of it as our form of alcohol. As we walked up to the counter, the dude at the register smiled really big and asked, "So is this your pint?" and then asked if we were having a girl's night in, which we were. You wouldn't find that kind of thing anywhere in London). The accent can be a bit hard to understand, but it's so beautifully rough. On Saturday, when we took our tour of Loch Ness, Glencoe, and the Highlands, our guide would said "loch" with this deep, guttural sound on the "ch," like "lokggghhh." It was amazing. We mimicked (not mocked) him for the rest of the day because we thought we sounded cool.
Getting to from the airport to the hostel was pretty easy. Sadly, Scotland decided to welcome us with rain (okay, a slight drizzle). Our hostel, the "Blue Sky Hostel," was okay... not the cleanest, but, hey, I had a place to sleep, and that was enough. We ate dinner at the pub literally next door because we didn't want to walk any further in the rain/drizzle. They had live music from a band called "Acoustic Butterfly," and they were actually really good (it was so "P.S. I Love You," but that was definitely in Ireland). I tried my first mixed drink ever with Caris--it was a raspberry-flavored vodka something with lemonade (which is like Sprite in the UK). It was really good.
Day Two, I woke up before everyone else and was just lying there for a bit, thinking. I pulled out the brochure for the tour we were going to do Saturday and was reading over it. I was looking at another tour, which was going to visit Stirling Castle... "home of the Stewart dynasty," it said. My eyes widened--Caris' last name is Stewart, she's Scottish, and she traces her line back to the royal Stewart dynasty (Mary, Queen of Scots... that sort of thing). It was her castle! So, when some of the girls were up, I proposed hopping on a train to see the castle for the day. And we did. We shopped in Glasgow for a bit, ate lunch, got on a train to Stirling, explored Stirling, and toured the castle. It was AMAZING! While we were there at the castle, which is up on a tall hill, we could see all the land around us. The sun decided at that moment to push its way through the clouds, and the whole valley sparkled. It was so gorgeous. The wind was blowing as I was standing on the outer battlements (or whatever they're actually called, the tall walls that protect the castle), and I felt very fiercely proud to be Scottish. Maybe it was something in the air.
Our tour the next day was so beautiful. Like I said about the mountains already, the countryside is very natural and rugged, completely untouched. Even the inhabited areas seem to blend right in to the landscape. I'll put up a video I took from the bus window--we passed huge lochs and towering mountains. We passed through Glencoe, where Ewan McGregor is from (every girl wanted to stop and look for him, but we were told that he spends most of his time in, TA-DA, London! Caris turned to me and said we'd go look for him when we got back). Loch Ness was a tad under-whelming... a lot like the other lochs we saw, except bigger. Still beautiful though. The touristy shops and stuff detracted from the mystery. They had big plastic statues of Nessie and crap. While the rest of the people on the tour went on a boat cruise around the loch that cost 10 pounds, Caris, Kristen, and I found this woodland path beside the gift shop. It led up these hills beside the loch, and we got the best views for pictures. There was no one around, so when we got to the top of the hill... we re-enacted Mel Gibson in Braveheart. Yes, I took a video of it, and, yes, I'll post it on Facebook.
I thought the tour was worth it--seeing the Highlands alone was enough for me--but I wish we could have stopped more often to get out, breathe Scottish air, and just take in the moment. Not for pictures, necessarily, but to just be there. It doesn't feel the same in a bus. On our way back, we stopped at a little restaurant for dinner, and Kaytee got haggis. She said it was awesome. I didn't try it because it was so expensive (at least at the restaurant we were at), but I hope to. One thing I've learned about myself since being here (among the many) is that I will eat pretty much anything. I will definitely try anything at least once. So I'll probably like haggis... as long as I don't think about what it's made of. If the Scottish like it, I have to like it, right? Right.
One more alcohol story: I tried whisky for the first time. Scotland is famous for it. We got little sample bottles on our tour, and so Caris and I tried it for the first time in our hostel that night (and... I got a video of it). I really wasn't expecting the sweet taste, but I was expecting the burn. It wasn't as bad as beer (blech), but I probably won't drink it again. Afterwards, we ate the four tubs of ice cream to wash it down. HA!
I loved, loved, loved Scotland. My one souvenir was a big Scottish flag, which I will hang in my dorm. I'm so incredibly proud of my heritage! WAHOO SCOTLAND!
Next up, in less than an hour now, is Greece, and then Italy. Holy moly. I can't wait. Please pray for safe travel, non-sketchy hostels/hotels, no pick-pockets, and nice people to help us when, not if, we get lost. I'll take millions of pictures.
Onward to Athens!
Hoh. Lee. Mack'rel. Scotland has some of the most beautiful countryside I've ever seen in my entire life. So many mountains crowned with snowy peaks, deep gray lochs that seem to stretch on forever, and the trees. Even the trees are awesome--some look like the belong in the African savanna, with really long skinny trunks and wide branches that spread almost horizontally parallel to the ground, but most are these pine trees that look like perfect Christmas trees, and they grow all clumped together in massive groves, like they're trying to keep warm. I love the trees in Scotland.
Scotland is the United Kingdom's Deep South. People are incredibly friendly, will stop and give you directions without you having to ask, and will talk to you in the check-out line (i.e. on the last night, Caris and I went to a nearby grocery store and bought a few... okay, four... tubs of ice cream. We think of it as our form of alcohol. As we walked up to the counter, the dude at the register smiled really big and asked, "So is this your pint?" and then asked if we were having a girl's night in, which we were. You wouldn't find that kind of thing anywhere in London). The accent can be a bit hard to understand, but it's so beautifully rough. On Saturday, when we took our tour of Loch Ness, Glencoe, and the Highlands, our guide would said "loch" with this deep, guttural sound on the "ch," like "lokggghhh." It was amazing. We mimicked (not mocked) him for the rest of the day because we thought we sounded cool.
Getting to from the airport to the hostel was pretty easy. Sadly, Scotland decided to welcome us with rain (okay, a slight drizzle). Our hostel, the "Blue Sky Hostel," was okay... not the cleanest, but, hey, I had a place to sleep, and that was enough. We ate dinner at the pub literally next door because we didn't want to walk any further in the rain/drizzle. They had live music from a band called "Acoustic Butterfly," and they were actually really good (it was so "P.S. I Love You," but that was definitely in Ireland). I tried my first mixed drink ever with Caris--it was a raspberry-flavored vodka something with lemonade (which is like Sprite in the UK). It was really good.
Day Two, I woke up before everyone else and was just lying there for a bit, thinking. I pulled out the brochure for the tour we were going to do Saturday and was reading over it. I was looking at another tour, which was going to visit Stirling Castle... "home of the Stewart dynasty," it said. My eyes widened--Caris' last name is Stewart, she's Scottish, and she traces her line back to the royal Stewart dynasty (Mary, Queen of Scots... that sort of thing). It was her castle! So, when some of the girls were up, I proposed hopping on a train to see the castle for the day. And we did. We shopped in Glasgow for a bit, ate lunch, got on a train to Stirling, explored Stirling, and toured the castle. It was AMAZING! While we were there at the castle, which is up on a tall hill, we could see all the land around us. The sun decided at that moment to push its way through the clouds, and the whole valley sparkled. It was so gorgeous. The wind was blowing as I was standing on the outer battlements (or whatever they're actually called, the tall walls that protect the castle), and I felt very fiercely proud to be Scottish. Maybe it was something in the air.
Our tour the next day was so beautiful. Like I said about the mountains already, the countryside is very natural and rugged, completely untouched. Even the inhabited areas seem to blend right in to the landscape. I'll put up a video I took from the bus window--we passed huge lochs and towering mountains. We passed through Glencoe, where Ewan McGregor is from (every girl wanted to stop and look for him, but we were told that he spends most of his time in, TA-DA, London! Caris turned to me and said we'd go look for him when we got back). Loch Ness was a tad under-whelming... a lot like the other lochs we saw, except bigger. Still beautiful though. The touristy shops and stuff detracted from the mystery. They had big plastic statues of Nessie and crap. While the rest of the people on the tour went on a boat cruise around the loch that cost 10 pounds, Caris, Kristen, and I found this woodland path beside the gift shop. It led up these hills beside the loch, and we got the best views for pictures. There was no one around, so when we got to the top of the hill... we re-enacted Mel Gibson in Braveheart. Yes, I took a video of it, and, yes, I'll post it on Facebook.
I thought the tour was worth it--seeing the Highlands alone was enough for me--but I wish we could have stopped more often to get out, breathe Scottish air, and just take in the moment. Not for pictures, necessarily, but to just be there. It doesn't feel the same in a bus. On our way back, we stopped at a little restaurant for dinner, and Kaytee got haggis. She said it was awesome. I didn't try it because it was so expensive (at least at the restaurant we were at), but I hope to. One thing I've learned about myself since being here (among the many) is that I will eat pretty much anything. I will definitely try anything at least once. So I'll probably like haggis... as long as I don't think about what it's made of. If the Scottish like it, I have to like it, right? Right.
One more alcohol story: I tried whisky for the first time. Scotland is famous for it. We got little sample bottles on our tour, and so Caris and I tried it for the first time in our hostel that night (and... I got a video of it). I really wasn't expecting the sweet taste, but I was expecting the burn. It wasn't as bad as beer (blech), but I probably won't drink it again. Afterwards, we ate the four tubs of ice cream to wash it down. HA!
I loved, loved, loved Scotland. My one souvenir was a big Scottish flag, which I will hang in my dorm. I'm so incredibly proud of my heritage! WAHOO SCOTLAND!
Next up, in less than an hour now, is Greece, and then Italy. Holy moly. I can't wait. Please pray for safe travel, non-sketchy hostels/hotels, no pick-pockets, and nice people to help us when, not if, we get lost. I'll take millions of pictures.
Onward to Athens!
Monday, March 2, 2009
10:32 AM: Little trip updates...
Okay, so, I've also been to West Malling in Kent, Hampton Court Palace, and Brighton.
West Malling: Caris and I went for a day to visit her stepfather's parents, Pam and Brian (her step-grandparents, I guess), in Kent. They are precious people, incredibly kind and generous, and possess so much wisdom. I loved them both. They drove us around the countryside, all the way to the amazing coast at Dungeness. We actually saw the ocean! It was wildly and ruggedly beautiful--the shore was made of rounded stones instead of sand, and the only people out on the beach were hardcore fisherman bundled up in coats and scarves. Oh my goodness, was it cold, but it was really the wind that made it bad. We stopped at a little place to get fish n' chips (which was excellent, the best I've had so far) and got back in the car to return home. At their little apartment, they served us really good tea (Brian can make a mean cup of tea) and little sandwiches before we drove over to see Pam's much younger sister and her husband. They were a lot of fun and asked Caris tons of questions about her--they're just getting to know her, really. It was wonderful that she was able to see them. They invited us back, and we plan to take them up on that.
Hampton Court: Amazing, as always. I've been before, but Caris hadn't. So, we went. It's about a 30 minute train ride from London, and the weather was soooooo gorgeous. We toured most of the rooms--some were blocked off for renovations for the celebration of Henry VIII's 500 year anniversary this year. Later in March, they'll put on jousting tournaments and big feasts for the celebration. The gardens were especially beautiful that day... look at my Facebook photos! We grabbed lunch at a crowded cafe that served incredible hot chocolate, and jumped on a train back to London. It was a relaxed but really fun day.
Brighton: Oh my goodness, what a fun weekend. We left on a Friday morning and arrived by bus around noon. We immediately bolted for the coast--so gorgeous! A long pier jutted out into the water and played host to a small amusement park, restaurants, and little cafes. We walked around for a long while, up and down the pier, up and down the coast, took tons of pictures, and found a restaurant for lunch. Afterwards, we headed for the Brighton Pavilion, a second Taj Mahal, to take a tour... but the cost was kind of ridiculous, so we opted to explore the outside instead. Wandering around, we found a free museum about Brighton's history, local artists, and world artists. We spent a lot of time there, playing with the interactive exhibits (just see my videos on Facebook), then we headed to the train station to meet Caris' friend Lissy, who we were staying with over the weekend. Her mom graciously made us dinner before we headed out with Lissy's youth group for a night of ice-skating. Being around 15-18-year-olds made me feel so incredibly old... but ice-skating was fun nonetheless. The next morning, we got up late and headed for "the Lanes," long, narrow streets of eclectic, one-of-a-kind shops. We bashed around there for a bit (but I didn't buy anything), and then turned back toward the coast to find Lissy's favorite ice-cream shop. We met her parents and their two little dogs there. That night, two of Lissy's/Caris' friends, Pete and Steve, came over for a fun night of games. We played Scattergories, Taboo, etc. and laughed our heads off. And Lissy, who is a hairdresser on the side of her singing career, cut both Caris' and my hair. Don't worry--it's not drastic. :) The next morning we went to Lissy's church, ate Sunday dinner with her family, Pete, and Lissy's other friend and singing partner Luke, and then caught a train home. Right before we left, Luke pulled out his acoustic guitar and sang for us... and it was amazing. Check him out on Facebook and MySpace: Luke Sital-Singh. Incredible. When we got back to London that night, we tuned in at 7 pm and heard him sing live on the radio.
I've done so many things, but I don't have any time to write about them. Sorry if these little blurbs are a bit below my usual excellent writing standard. I'm doing my best!
Look for updates about Scotland soon. Three words about that: Uh. Maze. Zing. I'll try to write about that before I leave for my spring break on Thursday to GREECE AND ITALY!!!!!!!!!!! AH! I can't wait! Pray for good weather!
Until later...
West Malling: Caris and I went for a day to visit her stepfather's parents, Pam and Brian (her step-grandparents, I guess), in Kent. They are precious people, incredibly kind and generous, and possess so much wisdom. I loved them both. They drove us around the countryside, all the way to the amazing coast at Dungeness. We actually saw the ocean! It was wildly and ruggedly beautiful--the shore was made of rounded stones instead of sand, and the only people out on the beach were hardcore fisherman bundled up in coats and scarves. Oh my goodness, was it cold, but it was really the wind that made it bad. We stopped at a little place to get fish n' chips (which was excellent, the best I've had so far) and got back in the car to return home. At their little apartment, they served us really good tea (Brian can make a mean cup of tea) and little sandwiches before we drove over to see Pam's much younger sister and her husband. They were a lot of fun and asked Caris tons of questions about her--they're just getting to know her, really. It was wonderful that she was able to see them. They invited us back, and we plan to take them up on that.
Hampton Court: Amazing, as always. I've been before, but Caris hadn't. So, we went. It's about a 30 minute train ride from London, and the weather was soooooo gorgeous. We toured most of the rooms--some were blocked off for renovations for the celebration of Henry VIII's 500 year anniversary this year. Later in March, they'll put on jousting tournaments and big feasts for the celebration. The gardens were especially beautiful that day... look at my Facebook photos! We grabbed lunch at a crowded cafe that served incredible hot chocolate, and jumped on a train back to London. It was a relaxed but really fun day.
Brighton: Oh my goodness, what a fun weekend. We left on a Friday morning and arrived by bus around noon. We immediately bolted for the coast--so gorgeous! A long pier jutted out into the water and played host to a small amusement park, restaurants, and little cafes. We walked around for a long while, up and down the pier, up and down the coast, took tons of pictures, and found a restaurant for lunch. Afterwards, we headed for the Brighton Pavilion, a second Taj Mahal, to take a tour... but the cost was kind of ridiculous, so we opted to explore the outside instead. Wandering around, we found a free museum about Brighton's history, local artists, and world artists. We spent a lot of time there, playing with the interactive exhibits (just see my videos on Facebook), then we headed to the train station to meet Caris' friend Lissy, who we were staying with over the weekend. Her mom graciously made us dinner before we headed out with Lissy's youth group for a night of ice-skating. Being around 15-18-year-olds made me feel so incredibly old... but ice-skating was fun nonetheless. The next morning, we got up late and headed for "the Lanes," long, narrow streets of eclectic, one-of-a-kind shops. We bashed around there for a bit (but I didn't buy anything), and then turned back toward the coast to find Lissy's favorite ice-cream shop. We met her parents and their two little dogs there. That night, two of Lissy's/Caris' friends, Pete and Steve, came over for a fun night of games. We played Scattergories, Taboo, etc. and laughed our heads off. And Lissy, who is a hairdresser on the side of her singing career, cut both Caris' and my hair. Don't worry--it's not drastic. :) The next morning we went to Lissy's church, ate Sunday dinner with her family, Pete, and Lissy's other friend and singing partner Luke, and then caught a train home. Right before we left, Luke pulled out his acoustic guitar and sang for us... and it was amazing. Check him out on Facebook and MySpace: Luke Sital-Singh. Incredible. When we got back to London that night, we tuned in at 7 pm and heard him sing live on the radio.
I've done so many things, but I don't have any time to write about them. Sorry if these little blurbs are a bit below my usual excellent writing standard. I'm doing my best!
Look for updates about Scotland soon. Three words about that: Uh. Maze. Zing. I'll try to write about that before I leave for my spring break on Thursday to GREECE AND ITALY!!!!!!!!!!! AH! I can't wait! Pray for good weather!
Until later...
9:48 AM: The Paris Blog, Part Deux
So, we left off at the Louvre, didn't we? Kristen and I were waiting around for Caris and Julia to return from finding Caris' sister-in-law, Julie, and we were occupied with the clear blue sky, the adamant sidewalk salesman trying to get us to buy Eiffel Tower keychains, and taking lots of pictures of the two big fountains around the Louvre. The three finally walked up, and we introduced ourselves to Julie, who instantly became one of our little group. We began walking down the Champs de Elysees toward the Arc du Triomphe, simply talking and taking in the beautiful atmosphere. Once we had made it to the main road of the city, we ducked into a Sephora for two minutes (by my request), and then headed to find an open cafe for a cup of something hot (my choice: hot chocolate. No coffee, thanks). When we headed back to the main road, we encountered a huge group of people surrounding three or four street performers dancing to electronic music. We're standing there watching them, and I happen to look over the faces in the crowd to see their reactions... and I see someone I know! Laura, a girl from my Cont. Brit. Fict. class, had told me she was going to Paris that weekend, but I never dreamed that I'd see her there, of all the great places in the city. I went over to talk to her, and she was just as surprised as I was. It really is a small world...
There was some more wandering and photo-taking and talking, and we finally made our way back to the Louvre, which was free for students on Fridays after 6 pm. We made our way inside, decided what we wanted to see the most, and took off in different directions. The one thing I wanted to see more than anything else was the marble white statue of Cupid and Psyche. I've done research on that myth in the past, but have only seen pictures of that glorious sculpture. To see it in person, to stand a mere foot away from it, was heaven. You're allowed to take pictures in the Louvre, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I felt that I'd be defiling it with modern technology. Is that weird? I simply took a mental picture--I stood there forever--and stored it away. I can look at it in my head whenever I like.
We saw the Mona Lisa (the most popular thing in the Museum), the statue of Aphrodite, amazing painted ceilings, more painting, more sculpture... tons of stuff, and we didn't even see all of it. Someone told us that it would take 365 days for you to really see everything in the Louvre, and we only stayed for 2 hours. Our feet ached from walking all day, so we opted to eat dinner and head back to the hotel for the night. We found a little restaurant that was still open, ate omelettes (which is what they were serving that was inexpensive, but still VERY good, as all French food is), and drank hot cups of tea. That night, we slept very, very soundly, all except Julie who had a pretty bad headcold.
The next day, Julia got up early to head for Disney World Paris for the day. The four of us--Julie, Caris, Kristen, and I--visited a little bakery for breakfast and jumped on the metro to head to Montmarte, the Sacre-Coeur Basilica, and the Moulin Rouge. The Sacre-Coeur, a huge church that looked remniscent of the Taj Mahal with its rounded tops that form little points, was gorgeous, but the weather outside was extremely cold, a big change from the day before. As we were walking down toward the city-center, trying to dodge the crafty salesmen who would bombard you with stupid, expensive gifts (no, really, they would come up to you and tie a bracelet, just a piece of colored string, around your wrist, but when you tried to refuse and walk away, they demanded that you paid for the bracelet around your wrist, which you took from them... and so you had to pay. Thankfully, Julie warned us about them, so we wrestled our way through them and emerged without the infamous bracelets), it started snowing. Really, snowing... in France. We thought we'd escaped it in England, but it found us in France! We walked down to see the Moulin Rouge--yeah, definitely anti-climactic. It looks nothing like I thought it would, but I wasn't expecting it to look like the movie... so I don't know what I was expecting.
Julie knew of this amazingly huge and cheap market near Montmarte, so we decided to find and explore it... in the snow. Bad idea. The stuff we found was awesome, at great prices too (like boots for 15 Euro), but it was so terribly cold and snowy that we couldn't even feel our fingers. Eventually, we got so cold that we ducked into the first restaurant we saw and stayed there for about 2 hours eating lunch and talking. A big Italian man with his wife and another Italian couple sat at the table next to us, and he struck up a very interesting conversation--he hardly spoke any English and even less French, and he was wonderfully loud and boisterous. I liked that he scared the French. He told us about his company, Ferlandia, and how we all should come stay with him in Italy and that his wife would cook for us (at this, she vigorously shook her head "No," laughed, and punched her husband in the shoulder). He gave us a little sticker with the name of the company and the website on it... we looked it up when we got back to London, and our Italian turned out to be a Nazi supporter. We thought it was weird when he mentioned Mussolini and how Obama being black was bad... yeah, we won't be staying with him.
We made our way back to Paris and the Tour Eiffel. Caris, Julie and I were wiped out, cold, and didn't want to climb up the stairs to the Tour Eiffel. So, we dropped off Kristen and met her two friends who are studying in Geneva, and went back to the hotel. Caris and Julie ventured out to find cold medicine for Julie but returned with five types of cheeses and a bottle of red wine--a truly French tradition! We didn't have a table in our room, so we sat on the floor and sampled the cheese and wine. It was so much fun! When Julie, Kristen, and her two friends joined us later, we headed back to the little creperie we visited our first night and celebrated our last night in Paris.
I was so sad to leave the next morning. I had loved every second of my time there, even the snowy days and the aching feet parts. Getting on the plane and flying back to London was very hard, but it was nice to relax that afternoon at Regent's and recover from the wonderful trip. I pray I get to go back sometime in my life to lovely Paris.
And that is the end.
There was some more wandering and photo-taking and talking, and we finally made our way back to the Louvre, which was free for students on Fridays after 6 pm. We made our way inside, decided what we wanted to see the most, and took off in different directions. The one thing I wanted to see more than anything else was the marble white statue of Cupid and Psyche. I've done research on that myth in the past, but have only seen pictures of that glorious sculpture. To see it in person, to stand a mere foot away from it, was heaven. You're allowed to take pictures in the Louvre, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I felt that I'd be defiling it with modern technology. Is that weird? I simply took a mental picture--I stood there forever--and stored it away. I can look at it in my head whenever I like.
We saw the Mona Lisa (the most popular thing in the Museum), the statue of Aphrodite, amazing painted ceilings, more painting, more sculpture... tons of stuff, and we didn't even see all of it. Someone told us that it would take 365 days for you to really see everything in the Louvre, and we only stayed for 2 hours. Our feet ached from walking all day, so we opted to eat dinner and head back to the hotel for the night. We found a little restaurant that was still open, ate omelettes (which is what they were serving that was inexpensive, but still VERY good, as all French food is), and drank hot cups of tea. That night, we slept very, very soundly, all except Julie who had a pretty bad headcold.
The next day, Julia got up early to head for Disney World Paris for the day. The four of us--Julie, Caris, Kristen, and I--visited a little bakery for breakfast and jumped on the metro to head to Montmarte, the Sacre-Coeur Basilica, and the Moulin Rouge. The Sacre-Coeur, a huge church that looked remniscent of the Taj Mahal with its rounded tops that form little points, was gorgeous, but the weather outside was extremely cold, a big change from the day before. As we were walking down toward the city-center, trying to dodge the crafty salesmen who would bombard you with stupid, expensive gifts (no, really, they would come up to you and tie a bracelet, just a piece of colored string, around your wrist, but when you tried to refuse and walk away, they demanded that you paid for the bracelet around your wrist, which you took from them... and so you had to pay. Thankfully, Julie warned us about them, so we wrestled our way through them and emerged without the infamous bracelets), it started snowing. Really, snowing... in France. We thought we'd escaped it in England, but it found us in France! We walked down to see the Moulin Rouge--yeah, definitely anti-climactic. It looks nothing like I thought it would, but I wasn't expecting it to look like the movie... so I don't know what I was expecting.
Julie knew of this amazingly huge and cheap market near Montmarte, so we decided to find and explore it... in the snow. Bad idea. The stuff we found was awesome, at great prices too (like boots for 15 Euro), but it was so terribly cold and snowy that we couldn't even feel our fingers. Eventually, we got so cold that we ducked into the first restaurant we saw and stayed there for about 2 hours eating lunch and talking. A big Italian man with his wife and another Italian couple sat at the table next to us, and he struck up a very interesting conversation--he hardly spoke any English and even less French, and he was wonderfully loud and boisterous. I liked that he scared the French. He told us about his company, Ferlandia, and how we all should come stay with him in Italy and that his wife would cook for us (at this, she vigorously shook her head "No," laughed, and punched her husband in the shoulder). He gave us a little sticker with the name of the company and the website on it... we looked it up when we got back to London, and our Italian turned out to be a Nazi supporter. We thought it was weird when he mentioned Mussolini and how Obama being black was bad... yeah, we won't be staying with him.
We made our way back to Paris and the Tour Eiffel. Caris, Julie and I were wiped out, cold, and didn't want to climb up the stairs to the Tour Eiffel. So, we dropped off Kristen and met her two friends who are studying in Geneva, and went back to the hotel. Caris and Julie ventured out to find cold medicine for Julie but returned with five types of cheeses and a bottle of red wine--a truly French tradition! We didn't have a table in our room, so we sat on the floor and sampled the cheese and wine. It was so much fun! When Julie, Kristen, and her two friends joined us later, we headed back to the little creperie we visited our first night and celebrated our last night in Paris.
I was so sad to leave the next morning. I had loved every second of my time there, even the snowy days and the aching feet parts. Getting on the plane and flying back to London was very hard, but it was nice to relax that afternoon at Regent's and recover from the wonderful trip. I pray I get to go back sometime in my life to lovely Paris.
And that is the end.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
1:38 PM: This weekend...
I'm going to Scotland! To the home of my ancestors! To funny accents, weird food, and gorgeous countryside! To Glasgow, not Edinburgh (that's later, with Mom and Dad over Easter)! Can you tell that I'm excited about this?!?
(Oh, and I know it says I'm posting this 6 minutes after I posted my Paris blog. No, I didn't write that whole thing in 6 minutes. I wrote it sometime last week when I had some free time. This week... yeah, not so much. I have enough time to write a teeny blurb about this weekend, and then I'm off to classes yet again.)
So, Scotland. I'm going with Caris, Kristen, and the three musketeers: Kaytee, Lily, and Jesse. They're are so much fun. We're staying in one big room in a hostel. I foresee some fun, memorable times, possibly involving haggis...
Anyway, details to follow. I'll post the rest of the Paris blog (I got about halfway, I think), smallish blurbs about Brighton, Kent, and Hampton Court Palace, and then a fairly hefty blog about Scotland. I wonder what it's going to feel like. When I step off the plane onto Scottish soil, will I feel like I've returned home? Will I understand the accents better than most? Will I relate to the Scottish and the way they live? All these questions I've been wondering about for years... are about to be answered. Wow.
We'll see if I have any time tomorrow to write. Unlikely, but still, I hope...
(Oh, and I know it says I'm posting this 6 minutes after I posted my Paris blog. No, I didn't write that whole thing in 6 minutes. I wrote it sometime last week when I had some free time. This week... yeah, not so much. I have enough time to write a teeny blurb about this weekend, and then I'm off to classes yet again.)
So, Scotland. I'm going with Caris, Kristen, and the three musketeers: Kaytee, Lily, and Jesse. They're are so much fun. We're staying in one big room in a hostel. I foresee some fun, memorable times, possibly involving haggis...
Anyway, details to follow. I'll post the rest of the Paris blog (I got about halfway, I think), smallish blurbs about Brighton, Kent, and Hampton Court Palace, and then a fairly hefty blog about Scotland. I wonder what it's going to feel like. When I step off the plane onto Scottish soil, will I feel like I've returned home? Will I understand the accents better than most? Will I relate to the Scottish and the way they live? All these questions I've been wondering about for years... are about to be answered. Wow.
We'll see if I have any time tomorrow to write. Unlikely, but still, I hope...
1:32 PM: The Paris Blog, Part Un
All right. I promised. And I'm going to deliver. Here's the best blog about Paris you will ever read. I'm including the highlights and little bits and pieces of wonderful things I remember. Let me say right off that...
I love Paris.
I love Paris. No, really. Several people told me in the past that I shouldn't go to Paris, that it wasn't worth my time, that it smelled bad, that the people were unkind, that the metro system was really difficult to figure out, and that Paris was completely and utterly overrated.
Obviously, they have never been to Paris. Or they had ridiculously rotten attitudes when they were there. I thought Paris was unbelievable beautiful and historic (um, hello, the Louvre?) and totally worth every penny/pence I spent to get there. And no, I didn't smell bad. In fact, in most of the places I walked, especially down little alleyways with many cafes or markets, things smelled wonderful. I am a firm believer that the French make the best food in the world. No joke. I would fly back to Paris for one French crepe. I am not kidding. And the people are not at all unkind. The night that we got in, we had to take a train to Gare du Nord to take the metro to our hotel. It was pretty late, around 8 or 8:30 pm, and not many people were on the train. Several announcements came over the speakers, but they were in French, and none of us understood them. We stopped at a station maybe one or two stops away from Gare du Nord. A random Frenchman had noticed that we were speaking English and probably didn't understand the announcements, so he came over to us and asked if we had understood. He then explained, in very cute, broken English, that the train was stopping, and that everyone had to get off and use alternate transportation to get to where they we were going. He even told us what platform to go to next to catch a train. It was very kind of him... he didn't have to do that at all, but he did because he wanted to be helpful. And that was our first impression of the French people. Pretty awesome, I thought.
Even when we met people who didn't speak English, like little shopkeepers or restaurant waiters, they were very patient with us, and we communicated with what little we knew, hand gestures, and lots of laughing. Never once were we snubbed or treated badly. I'm a firm believer that our attitudes helped quite a bit too--we were friendly, smiled a lot, and used whatever French we knew, even if the pronunciation was terrible. We were trying, and we enjoyed it. I learned so much French, but I'm far from fluent.
Once we got off at the train station because we couldn't go any farther, we ended up exactly where we need to be anyway, and we jumped on the metro to our hotel. And, p.s., the metro isn't that hard at all. It's a bit more complicated than the tube, but if you get the tube, you'll easily get the metro. It's really not that hard. Anyway, we got off at "Oberkampf," the closest stop to our hotel, which was about 100 feet from the metro. How convenient! Our little hotel, the "Hotel Voltaire Republique," was fantastic. It seemed like a tiny hole in the wall kind of place, but the room was very clean, fairly spacious, the beds were surprisingly comfortable, and there were two balconies overlooking the street. Lovely. Truly lovely. The staff of the hotel added the cherry on top--when we checked in, we met Samuel, who works the desk at night, and he was this olive-skinned, possibly Spanish-origined Frenchman who spoke English quite well. He was very kind, very funny, and extremely helpful when we were planning out our sight-seeing days. He immediately whipped out a map and started highlighting in green all the great places to go, how to get from place to place, and when the best times to go were. It was amazing. We followed all his advice with wonderful results. Sadly, he didn't work at the desk the rest of the time we were there, so we never saw him again.
On Thursday night after we arrived, we were all very hungry, and Samuel pointed us to a little street off the Place de Republique, which was lined with little cafes and creperies that were open late and served cheap, but excellent, food. We wandered down the street, taking in casual, French atmosphere (and a great deal of cigarette smoke, like in London), until we found a small creperie with a smiling young Frenchman willing to take our orders. Like I said, the food, no matter what you get, tastes unbelievably good. I got a simple cheese and mushroom crepe. I am still craving another one. Ordering food was an adventure, but we worked it out, and everyone was happy.
We woke up early on Friday to start our French adventure (ha, that kind of rhymes...). Our first stop: Notre Dame. We rode the metro and walked the rest of the way, in time to see the sun push out from the clouds and bathe Paris in glittering sunlight. Look at my pictures on my Facebook page--you'll see what I mean. Notre Dame was much bigger than I expected, since, of course, I'm drawing what I know about it from Disney's The Hunchback of Notre Dame. The windows were explosions of colour, and the ceilings seemed to stretch up and up and up forever. I have a soft spot in my heart for big cathedrals and churches. They make my breathing slow and calm, and give me reassuring little goosebumps.
Next was the part of Paris Samuel had suggested... it's the older part that not many tourists seek out because they don't really know it's there. Samuel said that these parts were "really French." And he was right. We wandered around looking at the beautiful buildings and interesting little shops, but everything was still closed. It was after 10 AM, but the French are so relaxed that they don't open anything until 11 AM. Hardly anyone was on the streets or driving cars, but the sun was up. So, we joined the sun and meandered through all the little streets until we found Samuel's "favorite street" called Rue Mouffetard. I don't even know how to describe it. It's this really, really long street that goes uphill, and there are lights strung from building to building over the top of it (it would have been lovely at night, but we were too tired to go back that late), and amazing smells from the tons and tons of little cafes, creperies, markets, sweet shops, and fruit stands made the senses go crazy. We hardly spoke at all as we walked first down the street, then turned around and went all the way up again on the other side. And Samuel was right: it was very, very French. I loved it.
We found a little indoor cafe for lunch and sat next to two old, French ladies who were eating exotic looking foods and chattering away in flowing French. I love French--such a beautiful language. After lunch, we did some more wandering and eventually made it over to the front of the Louvre. If you stand in front of it looking toward the Arc du Triomphe in the distance, the view is breathtaking, especially when the sky is radiant, sapphire blue and the sun is joyfully throwing light everywhere. About that time, Caris' brother's girlfriend (as of last Saturday, fiance) Julie had arrived on a train from her university in Angers, and Caris and Julia went to go meet her. Kristen and I walked around, stalked some American bicycling tourists, took some photos of the distance Tour Eiffel, and walked around the outside of the Louvre.
And this is the end of Part One... at least until I'm done with classes.
I love Paris.
I love Paris. No, really. Several people told me in the past that I shouldn't go to Paris, that it wasn't worth my time, that it smelled bad, that the people were unkind, that the metro system was really difficult to figure out, and that Paris was completely and utterly overrated.
Obviously, they have never been to Paris. Or they had ridiculously rotten attitudes when they were there. I thought Paris was unbelievable beautiful and historic (um, hello, the Louvre?) and totally worth every penny/pence I spent to get there. And no, I didn't smell bad. In fact, in most of the places I walked, especially down little alleyways with many cafes or markets, things smelled wonderful. I am a firm believer that the French make the best food in the world. No joke. I would fly back to Paris for one French crepe. I am not kidding. And the people are not at all unkind. The night that we got in, we had to take a train to Gare du Nord to take the metro to our hotel. It was pretty late, around 8 or 8:30 pm, and not many people were on the train. Several announcements came over the speakers, but they were in French, and none of us understood them. We stopped at a station maybe one or two stops away from Gare du Nord. A random Frenchman had noticed that we were speaking English and probably didn't understand the announcements, so he came over to us and asked if we had understood. He then explained, in very cute, broken English, that the train was stopping, and that everyone had to get off and use alternate transportation to get to where they we were going. He even told us what platform to go to next to catch a train. It was very kind of him... he didn't have to do that at all, but he did because he wanted to be helpful. And that was our first impression of the French people. Pretty awesome, I thought.
Even when we met people who didn't speak English, like little shopkeepers or restaurant waiters, they were very patient with us, and we communicated with what little we knew, hand gestures, and lots of laughing. Never once were we snubbed or treated badly. I'm a firm believer that our attitudes helped quite a bit too--we were friendly, smiled a lot, and used whatever French we knew, even if the pronunciation was terrible. We were trying, and we enjoyed it. I learned so much French, but I'm far from fluent.
Once we got off at the train station because we couldn't go any farther, we ended up exactly where we need to be anyway, and we jumped on the metro to our hotel. And, p.s., the metro isn't that hard at all. It's a bit more complicated than the tube, but if you get the tube, you'll easily get the metro. It's really not that hard. Anyway, we got off at "Oberkampf," the closest stop to our hotel, which was about 100 feet from the metro. How convenient! Our little hotel, the "Hotel Voltaire Republique," was fantastic. It seemed like a tiny hole in the wall kind of place, but the room was very clean, fairly spacious, the beds were surprisingly comfortable, and there were two balconies overlooking the street. Lovely. Truly lovely. The staff of the hotel added the cherry on top--when we checked in, we met Samuel, who works the desk at night, and he was this olive-skinned, possibly Spanish-origined Frenchman who spoke English quite well. He was very kind, very funny, and extremely helpful when we were planning out our sight-seeing days. He immediately whipped out a map and started highlighting in green all the great places to go, how to get from place to place, and when the best times to go were. It was amazing. We followed all his advice with wonderful results. Sadly, he didn't work at the desk the rest of the time we were there, so we never saw him again.
On Thursday night after we arrived, we were all very hungry, and Samuel pointed us to a little street off the Place de Republique, which was lined with little cafes and creperies that were open late and served cheap, but excellent, food. We wandered down the street, taking in casual, French atmosphere (and a great deal of cigarette smoke, like in London), until we found a small creperie with a smiling young Frenchman willing to take our orders. Like I said, the food, no matter what you get, tastes unbelievably good. I got a simple cheese and mushroom crepe. I am still craving another one. Ordering food was an adventure, but we worked it out, and everyone was happy.
We woke up early on Friday to start our French adventure (ha, that kind of rhymes...). Our first stop: Notre Dame. We rode the metro and walked the rest of the way, in time to see the sun push out from the clouds and bathe Paris in glittering sunlight. Look at my pictures on my Facebook page--you'll see what I mean. Notre Dame was much bigger than I expected, since, of course, I'm drawing what I know about it from Disney's The Hunchback of Notre Dame. The windows were explosions of colour, and the ceilings seemed to stretch up and up and up forever. I have a soft spot in my heart for big cathedrals and churches. They make my breathing slow and calm, and give me reassuring little goosebumps.
Next was the part of Paris Samuel had suggested... it's the older part that not many tourists seek out because they don't really know it's there. Samuel said that these parts were "really French." And he was right. We wandered around looking at the beautiful buildings and interesting little shops, but everything was still closed. It was after 10 AM, but the French are so relaxed that they don't open anything until 11 AM. Hardly anyone was on the streets or driving cars, but the sun was up. So, we joined the sun and meandered through all the little streets until we found Samuel's "favorite street" called Rue Mouffetard. I don't even know how to describe it. It's this really, really long street that goes uphill, and there are lights strung from building to building over the top of it (it would have been lovely at night, but we were too tired to go back that late), and amazing smells from the tons and tons of little cafes, creperies, markets, sweet shops, and fruit stands made the senses go crazy. We hardly spoke at all as we walked first down the street, then turned around and went all the way up again on the other side. And Samuel was right: it was very, very French. I loved it.
We found a little indoor cafe for lunch and sat next to two old, French ladies who were eating exotic looking foods and chattering away in flowing French. I love French--such a beautiful language. After lunch, we did some more wandering and eventually made it over to the front of the Louvre. If you stand in front of it looking toward the Arc du Triomphe in the distance, the view is breathtaking, especially when the sky is radiant, sapphire blue and the sun is joyfully throwing light everywhere. About that time, Caris' brother's girlfriend (as of last Saturday, fiance) Julie had arrived on a train from her university in Angers, and Caris and Julia went to go meet her. Kristen and I walked around, stalked some American bicycling tourists, took some photos of the distance Tour Eiffel, and walked around the outside of the Louvre.
And this is the end of Part One... at least until I'm done with classes.
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