There is a world elsewhere

Arrival in Montreal (Day 2)

2011-08-10T15:14:00.000-07:00

The second day of our latest and greatest roadtrip adventure saw the party of 10 split into two parts. My parents took the scenic route up Highway 2 through the islands of Lake Champlain, and everyone else took the more direct freeway into Canada. Through unplanned but excellent timing, we all met up at the rest area just north of the border, where we were confronted by this conundrum.

It does seem rather counterintuitive, does it not? Confusingly played, Canada.

We found our way into Montréal after taking the wrong highway/road/bridge a time or two, checked into the charmingly named L'Auberge Hôtel de Montréal Manoir Ville-Marie, our little inn located inside an old post office. Definitely not a typical hotel, it leans toward a B&B with its mismatched furnishings and quaint vibe. Voilà, le bureau de poste.

In French, "auberge" means "inn." In my head, auberge and aubergine are interchangeable. Here is a picture of our eggplant.

We all got back in the car to go downtown. We passed this delightful place (Mr. Fix-it) with the most endearing sign I think I've ever seen: "Nous restaurons tout - sauf les cœurs brisés!" or "We restore everything - except broken hearts!"

Too bad the only needing fixing IS my heart...

My sister-in-law did the driving. My brother did the navigating. I'm pretty sure neither of them particularly appreciated how entertaining I found this, but... storytime.

Steering-wheel-white-knuckle-clench-map-of-white-hot-rage

My SIL and I are the only people in the family with what might generously be referred to as a working knowledge of the French language. I have been to France twice, and although my comprehension isn't the greatest, I can generally get around on my own, read a fair bit, and order food. Naturally, French is the primary language of Québec. As my brother was trying to navigate the streets of Montréal, he read the maps to his wife phonetically, and she corrected him under her breath by muttering the proper pronunciation of whichever streetname/attraction/exit he'd just named. This ongoing exchange (which lasted the entire stay in Canada) did not help us get anywhere faster, but it sure was funny from the backseat.

Allez poutine!

2011-06-11T23:59:00.000-07:00

I have never been to French Canada before. Also, I get as excited about trying local food as my brother does about local beer. In Québec, naturally I was all about poutine.


Really... what could be better? Poutine and beer! For the uninitiated: poutine is French fries served with heaps of cheese curds and brown gravy (and occasionally additional toppings, such as smoked meat for my brother in Montréal). It's served everywhere from restaurants to street carts, and I think it's delightful.

Lil brother ready to chow down on poutine with smoked meat

This one was special because we tried it at Maison du Bifthèque Main Deli in Montréal. The city is famous for its Hebraic delis, or charcuteries. Some of us quite literally ate piles of smoked meat for dinner, others sandwiches, and Isaac had it with poutine.

So I was really excited. Don't judge.

It may be 5000kcal per serving (or any other number someone has made up to scare people), but I climbed to the top of a waterfall for this. A big waterfall.

Poutine at the top of Chute-Montmorency

Certainly not the only thing we ate in Québec, but I think it deserves a post of its own.

If you find yourself curious about other culinary bastardizations in French Canada, I recommend EpicMealTime. Hilarious, based in Montréal and pretty much awesome in every way.

Vermont (Day 1)

2011-06-08T22:04:00.000-07:00

The first day of my glorious, whirlwind North American adventure deposited my brother and me in Burlington, Vermont. We flew in on a plane full of marathoners ready to run the Vermont City Marathon, and we were nonplussed because, after all, we were awake at ungodly hours sitting on the floor of JFK Intl., hoping that the loudspeaker would just stop squawking. Not to mention the fact that running anything more than five miles sounds like torture to me.

We were collected by my college friend and co-wreaker-of-havoc from my Hawaii/NZ trip, Mel. Sam and I were both in the sleep-deprived travel haze, so Mel took us downtown and fed us lunch at a little deli. It's a bad state to be in, because I turn into a little robot and pretty much do what I'm told, as long as it doesn't require thinking or strenuous activity on my part. Then we walked the flooded shores of Lake Champlain (no sign of Champ) and Mel took us on a driving tour of Shelburne Farms until it was time to...

WATCH BARCELONA DESTORY MANCHESTER UNITED IN THE CHAMPIONS LEAGUE FINAL!!!!

We found an Irish pub stuffed to the gills with people decked out in jerseys and scarves (and not just clothing supporting FCB and MUFC either, but Welsh and Portuguese and all other sorts). We drank some beer, harassed the local Man U fans, and I screamed until my voice was hoarse. Barcelona 3-Manchester United 1.

Just the way I like it. :)

Eventually the family showed up and we had dinner together at the Vermont Pub & Brewery, which is the place that my brother and the internets tell me black IPA was invented. Delicious beer, delicious food.

After dinner we took the ferry across Lake Champlain to New York. It was cold and a little misty and we were not attacked by pirates (still no sign of Champ). We stayed in Plattsburgh, New York. We may or may not have bounced on the beds.

*I don't have pictures of this day because Sam hoarded the camera and we're both dumb when we're tired k.

Airport lounges are great for people watching

2011-05-28T04:31:00.000-07:00

I am sitting in JFK International right now. It's 4:30am Oregon time.

I have decided that I am sufficiently well-traveled by now to say that I hate flying east. I think it's stupid when you board a red-eye and less than five hours later, your obnoxious seatmate is melting your retinas because apparently he just has to peer into the murky grey depths of Hudson

I get to be cranky. I had four hours of interrupted, creaky sleep in the middle seat and they didn't feed me.

My brother and I were deposited at the airport last night by the fabulous B of DB Photography, but only after an evening spent at my favorite Portland biercafé, Belmont Station. As a friend once commented, "It's a little overwhelming at first, then you accept it and sink into giddy joy." Indeed. The beer there is awesome.

Our family vacation this year is to collect my sister from her school near Toronto and toodle around the east coast together for a few days. We are convening in Vermont today and crossing the border tomorrow. It will be my first time in Québec. I can't wait to try my French out on people again... it's been nearly two years. I'm hoping that I get enough time every day to blog this trip on the fly, but then, I realize I'm notoriously horrible at doing that. I blame my perfectionist nature.

Lest we forget. ANZAC Day, Monday 25 April.

2011-04-25T00:00:00.000-07:00

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old;

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun, and in the morning, we will remember them.

-- from Laurence Binyon’s “For the Fallen”

ANZAC stands for Australian and New Zealand Army Corps. The soldiers in those forces quickly became known as ANZACs, and the pride they took in that name endures to this day.

Why is this day special to Australians?

When war broke out in 1914, Australia had been a federal commonwealth for only 13 years. The new national government was eager to establish its reputation among the nations of the world. In 1915 Australian and New Zealand soldiers formed part of the allied expedition that set out to capture the Gallipoli peninsula in order to open the Dardanelles to the allied navies. The ultimate objective was to capture Constantinople (now Istanbul in Turkey), the capital of the Ottoman Empire, an ally of Germany.

The Australian and New Zealand forces landed on Gallipoli on 25 April, meeting fierce resistance from the Ottoman Turkish defenders. What had been planned as a bold stroke to knock Turkey out of the war quickly became a stalemate, and the campaign dragged on for eight months. At the end of 1915 the allied forces were evacuated, after both sides had suffered heavy casualties and endured great hardships. Over 8,000 Australian soldiers had been killed. News of the landing on Gallipoli had made a profound impact on Australians at home, and 25 April soon became the day on which Australians remembered the sacrifice of those who had died in the war.

Although the Gallipoli campaign failed in its military objectives, the Australian and New Zealand actions during the campaign left us all a powerful legacy. The creation of what became known as the “ANZAC legend” became an important part of the identity of both nations, shaping the ways they viewed both their past and their future.

(Borrowed from Australian War Memorial)

This video is one of my favorite songs. It tells the story of the Gallipoli campaign from a survivor's point of view... heartbreaking and poignant. Aussie John Williamson does this version.

These photos are from my own trip to Australia last summer. The Great War may be far from living memory, but it left its mark.

WWI nurse and wounded soldier monument in Brisbane

Walking stick palms in Queensland's Tamborine Rainforest. So called because of their size and the handy root bulb. Amputees would uproot these palms, strip off the leaves and use them as walking sticks after returning home from the war.

So this 25th April, I'm raising a beer to the fallen sons of our greatest allies, so 'when the young people ask "what are they marching for?",' these men will not be forgotten heroes of a forgotten war.We remember not only those who fought at Gallipoli, but all ANZACs.

Have the doorman let you in

2011-02-02T21:34:00.000-08:00

It's difficult to maintain a blog and go to nursing school at the same time, but due to the relative mellowness of this term, I'm planning to infuse this place with some fresh content. This means, of course, that I intend to wrap up the diary of my 2008 Europe trip, write up my 2009 Europe adventures, and then blog about my Australian summer. Ambitious, yes, but only because going through the pictures takes time.

Speaking of Australia, between the floods of southern Queensland in January and the ridiculously massive Cyclone Yasi that just tore through northern Queensland today, the state is in a world of hurt right now. If there's anything I know about Aussies, it is that they are resilient, but my thoughts are with them. Aus has a special place in my heart.

Fun fact: Oregon and Queensland became states the same year, 1859.

Time is the fire in which we burn

2010-12-30T01:11:00.000-08:00

...as a wise man (Delmore Schwartz) once said.

I keep a list of stuff I want to do before I die. It helps keep me motivated and out of the rut I find myself in sometimes. It was a really busy year for me thanks to nursing school, so I'm proud of what I was able to experience this year. My brother and sister and I had planned to go to Ireland in the summer and Australia just sort of happened instead, which was absolutely thrilling and the highlight of my year. These are the list items I accomplished in 2010.

4. Snorkel the Great Barrier Reef (Cairns Australia, 08/14/10)

We were too busy snorkelling and soaking up the sun to bother much with cameras on the reef trip, not to mention it was a little windy and we sacrificed a towel to the Coral Sea, but I got this shot of our first destination: Michaelmas Cay. Lovely little sand island, but it's a bird refuge so the boats anchor just offshore and you can swim in if you like. I did for a tiny moment to adjust my fins, but it smelt like bird poo and the water was feathery, so back out to the reef for me.

29. Volunteer at a USO or at a VA hospital (June/July 2010)
Technically, it wasn't really volunteering, but I think it counts. I learned more than I expected.

32. Go ice-skating (Portland OR, 12/15/10)
It's really sad I've never done this before, but my very good friend took pity on me and we went out on a "Holidate" (get it?) and I skated for two hours without ever falling down. Darn straight I just high-fived myself!

53. Jump off a waterfall (Columbia Gorge OR, 09/09/10)
My Dutch friend came to town on her trip around the world. I took her on a hike (in the rain, don't worry, we brought beer) in the beautiful Columbia Gorge and convinced her and two other poor shivering hikers to jump off a waterfall with me. We chose the 15-foot smaller waterfall because we didn't wish to die. Worth the icy water. She still has all the pictures.

92. Participate in a flash mob event (Portland OR, 12/04/10)
Simple, really, meet a bunch of strangers, do something random and crazy in public together, then disappear. We sang carols and did a 5-minute freeze one Saturday at a mall. Next you'll see me gluing fake eyeballs on trees. Or something.

113. Learn to sandboard (Moreton Island Australia/Florence OR)

Obviously a work in progress, but I discovered the awesomeness that is sandboarding in Australia and was ecstatic when I learned I can do it on pretty much any dune anywhere. Took my Dutchie sandboarding in Florence in September, then dragged my family in November (wouldn't recommend it after rain...the sand is sticky and you go slow and fall harder). My parents tried it. For the win!

One goal I know I'm crossing off in 2011 is #22: Graduate nursing school. Can't wait! :)

When people say they want to eat your baby, beware.

2010-09-21T20:46:00.000-07:00

Australians really don't mess around with naming things. They call it like it is, even when it comes to their food labels. Or should I say especially when it comes to food? We went grocery shopping for lunch one afternoon and found tasty cheese, extra tasty cheese, and Australia's tastiest cheese. When faced with choices such as these, how is one to choose?

Tasty cheese... or extra tasty cheese?

Australia's tastiest cheese!

All the cheese we tasted was delicious, by the way. I think it was mostly aged (white) cheddar.

They also have strange taste in candy there. When I'm craving a sweet snack, the first thing I grab is my handy dandy bag of squirty crazy babies. Or my jelly babies. We thought it was hilarious, but then, we readily admit that our humor is a little twisted.

Ha! they eat babies in Australia!

Little black babies and Sambo

Of course, if the fruity babies aren't your favorite, you can always chow down on some chewy black babies. Mmmmmm.

More on funny food later.

I could really go for a TimTam or a Lamington right now.

West coast represent, now put your hands up

2010-09-04T20:52:00.000-07:00

It’s hard to go from finals to Australia back to studying in less than four weeks. Not the Australia part… the return to the head games of nursing school. Sometimes, when I find a place that is special to me, I get homesick for it after I leave. I say this at risk of sounding like I would rather be anywhere else in the world at any given time, but the wanderlust is a part of my soul and I fell in love with Australia. It’s such a lovely, fascinating, wild country.

I miss the gum trees and the weird, dangerous animals. I miss TimTams and Lamingtons and ginger beer and Vegemite. I miss the obvious system of naming things (examples of dangerous snakes to watch out for: the green tree snake (green and lives in trees) and the red-bellied black snake (black with a red belly, go figure)). I miss being called “lovely” and “sweets” and “doll.” I miss the rainforests and the clear blue water and the accents.

Gum tree in Queensland's Tamborine Rainforest

Once upon a time, I was not a fan of the music of Katy Perry. Bear with me, for a moment. The average Australian has no idea where Oregon is. When they ask where you’re from, they prefer you to be more specific than “I’m American” in the unlikely event that you’re from either California or New York. We found that the handiest description is “the state just north of California*,” since everyone know where that is, and they usually respond with “ohhhhhh… west coast!” Whereupon we teach them the gangsta sign for west coast and the Katy Perry song “California Gurls” comes on the radio. On our trip to Moreton Island, the scenario I have just described took place, and when our tour guide’s iPod shuffled to California Gurls, he took special pride in pointing it out to us. I like to think that from now on, when that song plays, the Aussies I met will think of me. Katy Perry says we're unforgettable. Not that I'm from Cali, but I did live there for awhile...

Bridge in Brisbane

*Once in awhile, we’d just ask if they’d ever played the computer game Oregon Trail, and usually someone had heard of it. Or we’d talk about cowboys and Indians and the gold rush.

Sand toboganning in The Desert

2010-09-01T17:30:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite days in Australia was a trip to Moreton Island off the coast near Brisbane. It's the second largest sand island in the world and home to the largest free-standing sand dunes. Among the many things we did that day was sandboarding (like snowboarding, but on sand dunes) and sand toboganning in "The Desert."

This video is my spectacular wipeout*, followed by my little brother's. Little sister was nice enough to video and laugh hysterically.

*Doesn't hurt... SO MUCH FUN. Seriously. Go do this immediately.

Headfirst gets you down the fastest, but you can ride sitting like a normal toboggan, or even double.

Stand up boards take the most skill. Our guide, Josh, told us "Put 40 percent of your weight on the front foot and 60 on the back" and after we all wiped out over and over, his critique was "I told you 60-40. You're like, 100 on the back foot. Of course you're falling down." It was hysterical.

Abridged Schedule of Events in the Land of Oz

2010-08-28T14:55:00.000-07:00

Day 1/2: Day of flights from hell (PDX-LAX-Auckland-Brisbane)
Day 3: Raining in Brissie. Botanical Gardens, shopping.
Day 4: Lone Pine Koala Sanctuary, Brisbane Art Gallery
Day 5: Flight to Cairns
Day 6: Sunbathing. Shopping. Bats in trees.
Day 7: Fitzroy Island... hiking and swimming on the coral beaches of paradise
Day 8: Great Barrier Reef trip on the Passions of Paradise catamaran. Mind blown.
Day 9: Markets, bungy jumping at AJ Hackett Cairns - 50 meters. Backwards.
Day 10: Sleeping in, shopping, sunbathing
Day 11: Trinity Beach north of Cairns, party party party
Day 12: Hanging out with new friends at hostel, return to Brisbane
Day 13: Walking tour of dowtown Brisbane, Southbank and Kangaroo Point, pub crawl
Day 14: Friends, pub crawl
Day 15: Dinner with Sam's friends
Day 16: Tamborine rainforest trip + beer, cheese and wine tasting
Day 17: Brisbane Museum
Day 18: Moreton Island trip + FWDing, sandboarding and snorkelling shipwrecks
Day 19: Surfers Paradise on the Gold Coast
Day 20/21: Day of flights from hell.

Going to Oz to see the Wizard about a brain

2010-08-07T01:27:00.001-07:00

Off to Queensland, Australia for a blissful three weeks!

Maybe I'll send you a didgeridoo.

It's the most wonderful time of the year

2010-07-10T14:33:00.000-07:00

Pre-final article round-up time. Click the links. They are funny. And short.

Pulpo Paul was correct in predicting the Germans would beat Uruguay to take third place (3-2 final), but it was an entertaining match and the Uruguayans led for a fair portion. How Paul the Octopus ruined Germany's Cup dream.

In regard to the absurd number of handballs that have changed results this cup, what would happen if FIFA applied Sharia law. In my opinion, France would not have been in the Cup at all but for Henry's double handball to send them through over Ireland, but I don't think Suarez's handball against Ghana would be talked about still had Gyan put away his penalty instead of bouncing it off the bar. To be fair to Suarez, any other professional in his place would have done exactly as he did.

Rafael van der Vaart of the Netherlands reflects on his teammate Wesley Sneijder's success this Cup. "I suspect he (Sneijder) has a gold vuvuzela in his pants."

Finally, an article that pretty much describes why I'm supporting Spain over Holland for the final, even though I love them both. La Furia Roja, Pulpo Paul thinks you have what it takes and so do I.

vuvuzela fever

2010-07-07T23:04:00.000-07:00

School break came just in time for the World Cup semifinals... the last day of break is the final. Spain and the Netherlands are playing for the title. Not only do I adore both teams, but there will be a new World Cup Champion. There have been only 7 winners in 18 cups. I love the World Cup. My life is consumed by soccer for 64 games of bliss. I watch it in class. I watch it in pubs. I watch it at hospital. It is my heart.

And I want a vuvuzela.

Hey look! I'm trendy!

2010-04-20T16:22:00.000-07:00

Dear blog traffic,

If you got here by googling "Sergio Ramos," I feel that your needs could be better served by clicking the link on the right under "footy." Or just go here: Kickette.com. Stalk away, my darlings. :)

I swear I referenced a picture Sergio only once. Yoann Gourcuff is my footballer du jour. On that note, Sergio and Joan say hello. (AP)

Americana: Life in Color

2010-04-17T16:29:00.001-07:00

I inherited my wanderlust from my parents. My dad loves to hike and explore nature for hours on end, and while my mom enjoys that, she usually leans more toward educational/historical attractions. Naturally, my family loves to roadtrip since everybody gets a little piece of their favorite activity.

Our last family roadtrip was in the summer of 2007. My mom and youngest siblings drove from Oregon to Wisconsin to collect my middle sister from school, then headed south. My dad, brother and I flew into Ohio to meet them. We drove all the way to like the third Florida Key and back to Oregon (9000 miles, if you were counting). To my family, this is not crazy. This is Adventure. Of course, if you were to ask them what it's like to travel with five of their six children, plus a friend of my sister's, they would tell you it's annoying. I'm pretty sure that's a lie, though, cuz I'm super-fun. Obviously. Especially in constricted living quarters.

Here's a few of my favorite pictures from the trip.

Hannah and Sam playing on the edge of the Cherohala Skyway in North Carolina

Imposing lady figure on some important building in Savannah, Georgia

For those of you familiar with Pirates of the Caribbean, this is my sister recreating the scene in which Tia Dalma casts the crustacean claws to divine the location of the Flying Dutchman. "A touch... of DESTINY!"

We were in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, eating bouillabaisse and other cajun delights.

A fishing pier in Ft. de Soto, Florida. My first sugar sand beach. :)

The sibs in front of a piece of the Berlin wall in Eureka Springs, Arkansas. Home to the huge concrete Jesus.

I love going places. I hate being trapped in the city by nursing school. Most of the time. Nursing school is exciting. :)

This program is brought to you by caffeine and the voices in my head

2010-04-13T00:43:00.000-07:00

I'm down to the last two weeks of my first semester of nursing school. It's my poor excuse for my lack of posting, but if you're really curious about what my life is like now, go check out my parallel universe at http://la-futbolista.blogspot.com/. I'm keeping the nursing school stuff separate for all of you who don't like blood, needles, and stories about poop and crazy people... as well as for me, because sometimes I just need a happy place.

Please excuse me while I go study my brains out.

My life is not the movies.

2010-03-27T21:53:00.000-07:00

I watched Taken for the first time last night. It was intense, so I'm glad I didn't watch it before my trip to France last summer, and as it was, pre-departure conversations went like this:

"You're going where? Paris? OMG YOU'RE GONNA GET TAKEN!"

Not that I get into taxis with strangers. Or even take taxis, for that matter.

More ironic is the U2 European tour connection. If you've seen the movie, you know that the two girls who are taken headed to Europe to follow U2 on tour for the summer. When I was in Barcelona, we couldn't go into Camp Nou (FC Barcelona's soccer stadium) because U2 was warming up for a concert. We took some pictures with some cute Italian guys, but nothing too wild.

We traveled smart ...most of the time. We didn't get taken.

oh, the places you ...should be... going!

2010-03-20T11:51:00.000-07:00

Lately, no one lets me talk about my trips except to beg for my secrets. Which is fine. Everyone should travel!

Brussels: the center of the universe

How I Traveled Europe (relatively) Cheaply:

Buy a EuRail pass!
Don't eat out a lot... shop at grocery stores. I found a 3€ bottle of wine that was sold for 16€ in a restaurant.
Stay with friends if you have them conveniently located, otherwise hostels or small hotels are your best bet.
Skip the major tourist attractions if you're not absolutely dying to go... in Paris, I went to the Louvre but climbed up Montmartre for a view instead of the Eiffel Tower.
Allow spontaneity. The best times are rarely planned.
If you get the opportunity to go someplace, take it.

My uncle was recently nonplussed when I confessed I did not know the price of beer in Belgium.

I can unscrew the stars

2010-03-04T21:32:00.000-08:00

It's spring break!

Alas, there will be none of this.

La Playa Badalona, Barcelona

I'll be building up my brain muscles instead. Such is the life of the nursing student.

So... about those beers, we bought them in a little shop while we were walking to the beach, but it was so hot (July in Spain, go figure) that the beers were warm by the time we got there. In less than 10 minutes. Gross.

Caffeine Addict

2010-02-09T22:40:00.000-08:00

Coffee around the World

USA

They call coffee “Finnish plasma,” therefore, it must be in my blood. I remember being a little girl and staring in fascination at my dad’s morning mug, wondering when I’d be old enough to drink it. When my parents let me have my own cup of coffee, I was stubborn enough to forego milk and sugar and drink it black, just like my dad.

I became a barista just after turning 17, and I spent the next three years of life honing my coffee snobbery to a fine point. It helped having been raised in the Pacific Northwest, birthplace to Starbucks and all its caffeine competitors. My parents owned an independent coffee shop for awhile, and they sold beans from a micro-roaster in Boise, ID, whose personal mission was to make sure the quality of their coffee matched their quality of service. Dawson Taylor has the best coffee I’ve ever tasted in this country. The end.

One thing I’ve discovered while exploring is that no matter the prevalence of coffee in a nation’s culture, it will probably never reach the to-go paper cup status it is in America. Everywhere else I’ve been, even if they don’t drink that much of it, it’s usually a sit-down affair.

ITALY

Haven’t spent that much time in Italy (yet), but espresso bars make my heart go pitter-pat. In the train station in Milan, men in pin-striped business suits stood around the espresso bar counters, ignoring their morning newspapers and the pigeons flapping overhead under the lofty ceiling, gesticulating and chattering and sipping delicately out of tiny white cups full of rich, dark deliciousness.

On the train, a man in an apron pushed a cappuccino cart up and down the narrow aisle, I tested my barista (pronounced bah-ree-sta, none of that short I business) lingo on him because I was desperate for a caffeine fix. It worked! However, should you find yourself attempting rail travel in Italy, go to the train station espresso bars. The coffee is much better.

NETHERLANDS

I love Holland. I spent a few days in Amsterdam and then wandered up north to visit a friend and spend several rather glorious days with her. In my experience, Dutch hospitality is “would you like something to drink?” upon moments of meeting. If it’s after 11am, this means beer. If it’s still morning, it means cappuccino. Cappuccino is a rather loose term here, unlike Italian beverages of mostly espresso and milk foam, Dutch cappuccinos are more like an American latte. Served in a huge cup with plenty of raw sugar to stir in, they are one of the best reasons to go out in grey, drizzly mornings. Sometimes you even get a koekje.

Note: Dutch purveyors of delightful caffeinated beverages should not be confused with the more distinctive "coffee shops", distinguishable in passing by the delicate aroma of marijuana lingering oppressively in the air.

ENGLAND

I just drank tea. And beer and cider. : )

FRANCE

While I drank quite a lot of coffee in France, I suspect my hosts took pity on me and mostly just made it for me. The French have all the fancy liqueurs to put it, though. My favorite was served at the wedding I attended. At first, the waiters came around with their fancy little pots and tiny paper tubes of sugar. They caught on quickly though, and soon brought out the big one. I was seated at a table full of young adults, furthest from the kitchen, and we were seeking a solution to the wine we’d already consumed and we were getting ready to dance the night away. It was bitter, hot and pungent. It was perfect.

NEW ZEALAND

I don’t remember how much coffee the Kiwis consume, or what’s special about theirs, apart from my first morning in New Zealand. We were taken to a McDonalds Café for breakfast (who said anything about trying new things??) where there was plenty of American-style breakfast pastries and latte. Later on the trip, my friend Mel and I found a tiny walk-up coffee cart in a small town on the North Island called Bulls. It was just like an average American drive-thru coffee shop, but much tinier, and they sold apricot fudge. I think the coffee was pretty good. Honestly, I think by that point my caffeine withdrawals were just happy to be soothed (my professor kept trying to feed me instant coffee *le sigh*).

I’ve also tried the tiny cupfuls of Colombian coffee that are so rich and dark it’s like drinking syrup. I can’t wait to go to Finland to check out the coffee and sauna culture there… my dad, grandfather and uncle went to visit family there a couple of years ago.

And my dirty little secret… Dunkin’ Donuts French vanilla coffee with milk and sugar got me through my year of college in Boston. What can I say? It was only a dollar and change, and the store was open all night. I think happy though when I get to the baggage claim at Logan airport and I can smell it. Don't judge.

Cheers all, and have a cuppa. Of the good stuff.

Also, if you miss me, check out my other corner of the web in which I rant about being a nursing student. ;)

*First two images courtesy of Google.

season of looooooove

2010-01-30T02:44:00.000-08:00

One of the most annoying aspects of my life is people writing me off as soon as they hear I've been somewhere awesome. Anywhere other than the states that bound Oregon. Which is a grand total of four, if you were counting.

The problem with this is that my travel defines me.

For example, one day I felt beautiful:

It was a sunny July day in Barcelona. B and I were walking back to our hostel from the beach, our hair damp, our skin tanned by the Riviera rays. We were walking through Badalona and a man stepped out of a shop. He was lighting up a cigarette, but he was entirely still for a moment as he looked at me. I was salty from the Mediterranean, but I wore no makeup. He looked like Sergio Ramos.

I think that what sticks with me is that he made me feel beautiful without ever uttering a word. He was in a hurry, but not so much that he didn't notice me.

I don't have to be pretty all the time. Being appreciated is nice. And let me say that I miss Spain once in awhile.

Sometimes people are embarassed by me

2010-01-21T00:03:00.000-08:00

Keep in mind that these pictures are from my New Zealand/Hawaii trip three years and I have honed my skills* since then. ;) I also ditched the bangs. Which you can't see in these pictures (I win again!)

We had a bunch of picky eaters along for the ride. That was just too bad for them in New Zealand, but during our two days on O'ahu, we were taken to the Ala Moana mall and told to fend for ourselves. The first time I ate Hawaiian food, the second... well, we decided to wander off to the beach and sneak back before our meet-up time.

I met this palm tree. It could not withstand my super powers.

Then we went to the Big Island. We were taken to the Halema'uma'u Crater and lectured on volcano trivia. I tried to take notes, but I was swallowed by the earth.

At Akaka Falls State Park, since I hike more than some people on the trip, I was back in the parking lot following the waterfalls loop hike sooner than they were. This picture is just good location and timing and the sneakiness of my friend Jeff.

Apropos, n'est-ce pas?

Now do you see why some people pretend not to know me?

I also recently learned that the more random a file name I use for a photo, the more ridiculous the search is that leads people to this blog. Things that have absolutely nothing to do with what this blog is about. It's a sort of poetic justice, I would say. Hello, random Google readers! Please don't be scared!

*Said skills include wildly erratic behavior and making my mother pretend she doesn't know me.

Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing.

2010-01-16T23:27:00.000-08:00

Something that's been close to my heart for awhile now is about to go big. I began following The Buried Life after I read an interview with them in brass magazine in February 2008. The Buried Life is four young men who decided that life is more than a rat race, made a list of thing they wanted to do before they died, and set about accomplishing those things. Now they travel the country asking strangers "What do YOU want to do before you die?" and they've partnered with MTV to share their exploits with the world. The Buried Life premieres Monday, January 18th at 10.

Part of the awesomeness of it all is that for everything they cross off on their list, they help a stranger with theirs. For what it's worth, here's mine.

1. Sing 'Waltzing Matilda' at an Australian rugby match
2. Go to a World Cup soccer game
3. Spend a summer volunteering in a third world country
4. Dive and snorkel the Great Barrier Reef
5. Drive a bobsled
6. Learn to surf big waves
7. Ride in a bulldozer scoop
8. Write down my grandfather's story and the story of the SS Star of Oregon
9. Live in another country
10. Become fluent in at least one other language
11. Skydive
12. Fly a helicopter
13. Go rock-climbing
14. Go on an Athletes in Action soccer mission trip
15. Learn to salsa dance
16. Roadtrip down the Pacific Coast Highway in a convertible with a friend
17. Marry the man of my dreams
18. Wear a really big hat to the Kentucky Derby
19. See the running of the bulls in Pamplona and drink sangria at a bullfight
20. ~~Learn basic car maintenance~~
21. Be a Soldier's Angel
22. Graduate nursing school
23. Owe nothing to anyone by 2020
24. Learn to listen like I'm the only other person alive
25. Hike the Patagonia
26. Mine for rubies
27. Climb Denali
28. Design, make and sell a line of clothing
29. Volunteer at a USO or a VA hospital
30. Date a professional soccer player
31. Jump a horse on a cross-country course
32. Go ice-skating
33. Get a tattoo
34. Grant a child's wish
35. Go back to Queenstown and do the Nevis Highwire Bungy
36. Interview a soccer player for publication
37. Visit the Devil's Swimming Pool at the top of Victoria Falls
38. Walk all the way around an island
39. Go waterskiing/wakeboarding
40. Work on a Hollywood film
41. ~~Attend a major sporting event~~ (TOUR DE FRANCE)
42. Touch the World Cup
43. Celebrate Carnaval in Brasil
44. Cruise the Mediterranean on a sailing ship
45. Learn to snowboard have a go at heli-boarding
46. Party with rockstars
47. Kiss Ben Barnes
48. Find a way to help provide underprivileged kids with soccer opportunities
49. Own a pair of Christian Louboutins
50. Write a book for my future children
51. Publish a photograph
52. Learn ballroom dancing
53. Jump off a waterfall
54. Give the commencement address at a graduation
55. Take a boat trip down the Nile
56. Drive the 007 car really fast ...the Aston Martin Vanquish
57. Visit Alaska, Kentucky, Maryland and Delaware... the four states I have yet to see
58. Re-enact LIFE magazine's picture of the sailor kissing the nurse on V-J Day 1945
59. Visit every continent
60. Go backstage at a big concert
61. Ride in a hot-air balloon
62. Model on a runway
63. Learn to play an instrument
64. Drive a tank
65. See the new Seven Wonders of the World
66. Help build a house... even if it's just painting
67. Taste Dom Pérignon
68. See a Shakespeare play at the Globe
69. Ride a (really big) roller coaster
70. Do a back handspring
71. Hang glide
72. Stay in a hotel on stilts over water (Bora Bora or the Maldives)
73. Learn to read and write Arabic
74. Attend a fashion show in Milan, Paris or New York
75. Dance with a celebrity
76. Take up archery
77. Sponsor a needy child
78. Help someone out through Make-a-Wish
79. Go four-wheeling on sand dunes with my brothers
80. Help put my two youngest siblings through college
81. Commit random acts of kindness every day for a month
82. Feel the heat on my face from a space shuttle launch
83. Stand in each of the world's major seas
84. Spend a summer in Spain and Portugal with Melanie
85. ~~Adopt a "grandparent" in a nursing home~~
86. Ride a motorcycle
87. ~~Start and maintain a travel blog~~
88. ~~Yodel in the Alps~~
89. Fly a fighter jet in Cape Town, South Africa
90. Talk to a politician in Pig Latin
91. Spend a night in the Ice Hotel in Sweden
92. Participate in a flash mob event
93. Read all the way through Shakespeare's canon
94. Get my carry permit
95. ~~Backpack Europe on my own~~
96. Get over my fear of public singing
97. Learn capoeira
98. Contribute to research on breathing disorders/kick asthma's butt
99. Play paintball
100. Meet a Medal of Honor winner
101. Call Jake Owen
102. Convince a local Italian boy to take me on a moped tour of his town
103. Participate in a hash
104. Go the Oberammergau Passion Play
105. Play swamp soccer in Finland

What do you want to do before you die? Wanna help me with my list? I'll return the favor. Anyway, check 'em out on Facebook. They're cool.

days in the sun

2009-12-13T00:37:00.000-08:00

It's kinda hard to update without pictures. My old computer was eaten by viruses and will hopefully be resurrected over the Christmas holidays. I hope. So, to make it entertaining here until that happens, I stole a bunch of pictures of my roomie's Flickr.

Britta took this photo at the Loire Valley wedding we went to. It was 2am, maybe 3, when the waiters gave up on refilling our wine glasses individually and just left the bottles to our mercy. Of course, it was also about that time that the beer and champagne started flowing.

In Gennes

Fact: the French can moonwalk much better than the average American

After our side trip to Monaco, our new friend Thor took us to the popular yachtee bar The Hop Store in Antibes. The beers were large, the company was great, and I will never forget that awesome, spontaneous, beautiful night in a tiny town on the Riviera.

In AntibesYeah, we know we're cuter with beer

Can't have a trip to France without crêpes. We stuffed our faces with deliciousness on Montmartre.

In Paris
The sheer brilliance of the crêpe is underestimated

Anyway, my comment box is lonely. Please help it stop feeling self-conscious? You know you want to .

it's the most wonderful time of the year

2009-12-04T11:50:00.000-08:00

Nothing brings the world together like the World Cup.

OMG so shiny!

The World Cup draw was held today in Capetown, South Africa. Results:

Group A: South Africa, Mexico, Uruguay, France
Group B: Argentina, Nigeria, South Korea, Greece
Group C: England, USA, Algeria, Slovenia
Group D: Germany, Australia, Serbia, Ghana
Group E: Holland, Denmark, Japan, Cameroon
Group F: Italy, Paraguay, New Zealand, Slovakia
Group G: Brazil, Korea DPR, Ivory Coast, Portugal
Group H: Spain, Switzerland, Honduras, Chile

I'm so excited. We're not in the Group of Death (G). I think Group A will be the most interesting to watch. While South Africa (who qualified by hosting) is possibly the weakest team in the tournament, historically the host team has never failed to advance to the second round. France is very controversial now, partly due to Henry's qualifying handball, and partly to their abysmal performance this past year. If they want it enough, they could easily go through. Mexico... I just hope they don't advance. The archnemesis of American soccer. Slovenia I don't know much about. In summary: never underestimate the host team, no matter how much you write them off outside of the Cup. Mexico, France and Slovenia depend on who wants it the most and who can use handballs and dirty hack behavior (*cough*Thierry Henry*cough*Rafa Marquez*cough*)to advance.

I just want to see the US pull a 1950 World Cup manuever on England. :)

ETA: Soccernet's draw analysis.

'Tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers.

2009-11-16T16:04:00.000-08:00

(Romeo and Juliet, Act IV scene ii)

Q: What do you get when you cross a foodie with a nerd?
A: My brother.

He's the one that write Acute Politics, which is updated less frequently these days, but now he's started a new blog wherein he divulges his delicious recipes for neo-gourmet food and beer. Go forth and fatten yourselves. Acute Cuisine.

cold weather food

2009-11-07T18:56:00.000-08:00

November is here, and so gone are the days of Indian summer, replaced by cold, hard rain, wood fires and early dark.

It's time for comfort food. One of my favorites is stamppot, or Dutch mash pot. It's usually potatoes mixed with some other winter vegetable either cooked (carrots, onions, pumpkin, winter squash) or uncooked (endive, kale), and occasionally bacon or sausage.

The lovely Lark and I tried stamppot in Amsterdam in the middle of August last year. We bypassed all the restaurants lining the streets advertising fancy foreign cuisine in favor of a little Dutch restaurant. We had stamppot with endive, and a television was showing the Olympics above Lark's head. I was watching it and commenting on the action, so she twisted round to look, and was promptly told by the proprietor that she should be focusing on our conversation and not on the television. Haha.

It's easy to make and delicious. I don't cook with recipes very often, and I think the best part is just throwing whatever you happen to have on hand in the pot and mashing it all up together.

Tonight's version looks like this:

8 medium potatoes, cubed
1 very small pumpkin, cubed
2 large carrots, thickly sliced
1 onion, chopped
Butter, salt, pepper

Peel and cut up vegetables. Put in pot, cover with water. Boil for 20-25 minutes, or until all vegetables are tender. Drain. Mash. Add butter, salt and pepper to taste. If you're using endive or other winter greens, add it after you've mashed the potatoes and stir.

Optionally, you can broil, grill or boil sausage, slice it up and serve it on the side. It's what the cool kids do.

See? It's pretty simple. Googling 'stamppot' will find you all sorts of recipes, some more complicated than others, but some like this one have some fun Dutch food trivia. So crank up the Dutch music, open up a Heineken*, and indulge yourself. :)

At a pub in Groningen, Nederlands August 2008

Hup Holland hup!

*Yes, I know Heineken is the Dutch equivalent of Bud Lite, but what can ya do? Sometimes you just don't have fancy imports on hand. And it still beats Bud by a mile.

the taste of summer

2009-10-16T22:33:00.000-07:00

While Britta and I were in France this summer, many things were offered to us flavored with sirop.

Water.

Beer.

Panaché (beer mixed with lemonade).

Pretty much anything liquid. Doesn't matter.

Lots of flavors, too. I liked blood orange the best. Strawberry was also good.

I came home and started wondering why we don't do that. After all, the water tastes much better after you drag it around for a few hours in the heat than it might without the sirop.

So, now I make ginger syrup. It's not the same, but it tastes fabulous in milk and is a great cocktail mixer. I got the recipe from an Asian food cookbook and it's super easy and keeps forever. It's just simple syrup with a kick, really.

1 cup water
1 cup sugar
2/3 cup roughly chopped, unpeeled fresh ginger

Put it all in a pot, stir, bring to a boil. Reduce heat and let simmer for 15-20 minutes or until slightly thickened.

I keep mine in a glass bottle in the fridge. It's delicious. I think I'm going to go have some right now.

Obviously France is full of deliciousness.

Please note that the escargot are wearing tiny hats.

Travelers aren't always sweaty

2009-09-23T20:33:00.000-07:00

Just for giggles, here's a picture of my typical day in France.

Bonus points if you can name the city.

Thanks for the pic, B!

City of Light

2009-09-07T01:49:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I get lonely for places I've been. Tonight, I miss Paris.

I miss eating crêpes on Montmartre and watching dusk fall over the city.

(click)

I miss the casual warm evenings spent people-watching on the Seine.

I miss how the city and the water light up at night.

I miss gargoyles.

I love gargoyles.

Two months ago, I was in Paris. Two months seems like forever.

La Futbolista

2009-09-06T00:29:00.000-07:00

It's that time again.

You should recognize the signs. I get really intense. Maybe a little crazy. Very competitive. Passionate.

WORLD CUP QUALIFYING!

Today my USMNT Yanks beat El Salvador to stay on top of CONCACAF. This makes me very happy indeed. Better yet, my boy Clint Dempsey scored the first goal. :)

In honor of my good mood, our win, and the world's game, here's a pic from when I played soccer with French boys.

The bride's brother bringing a new meaning to "step-over"

They told me I was very good... "for a girl." Haha. In France, soccer is a boy's game, so that means a lot.

Things that make you question your own sanity

2009-08-31T00:38:00.000-07:00

You know how some people are very particular about the over/under placement of the free end of the toilet roll? Take Mel, for example. I'm not very territorial about the powder room, myself, but my vote is with the over group. Not that it matters.

Now in France, they dispense with all debate and provide a very specific picture tutorial on the toilet roll holder. If the picture isn't clear enough, all you silly Americans who spool it backwards at home, it says "yes" under the proper way and "no" under the wrong way.

TP tutorial in the can in Cannes

To be fair, I found this in Cannes, where they obviously experience high volumes of Hollywood traffic every year and some of those people clearly aren't to be trusted with simple verbal instructions.

In Paris, we saw this crustacean street tile art. What, pray tell, is the meaning of "I crab Paris"?

Oh yeah? Well, I <3 crab cakes!

The world may never know.

Les Chats de France

2009-08-21T00:53:00.000-07:00

Cats live the good life in France... or at least, they do in Angers. In America, cats are mostly indoor pets, but their very nature makes them so much more entertaining in public than dogs.

This cat was scoping out the street foot traffic from perch on a second-floor balcony. I imagine he waited for an unassuming prospect aimlessly wandering down the sidewalk, then pounced like a furry ninja from on high. Fight to the death and all. Either that or he dropped his lunch.

High dive kitty contemplates the plunge

We also saw more than one person walking around town with their kitty on a leash, or perched on their shoulder like a pirate with an alibi for their secret catnip habit.

Fur epaulet

If taking your cat out on walks and letting them people-watch isn't enough, by all means, buy them some kitty-drugs. My cat's personal highly annoying habit is eating vegetation... potted plants, bouquets in vases, dried flowers and grass. When she sees this picture she'll probably kill me in my sleep for not hooking her up with a pot.

I think the hostile cartoon kitty on the pot inserts adds a special touch.

I think our strangest animal encounter goes to the camels in the château moat, however.

Even the French drink boxed wine.

2009-07-23T17:50:00.000-07:00

And whiskey.

Oregon is beautiful

2009-07-14T11:01:00.000-07:00

Britta and I stayed with her parents the night before we left, since they live conveniently closer to the airport than we do. This is vital when you take as long to get ready to go anywhere as Britta does.

We woke up bright and early for our flight. Dragged Britta out of the house, tried to check in at American Airlines even though we were flying United. Finally got on the plane, looked out the window, and saw our beloved Pacific Northwest whitecaps.

(L-R) Mount St. Helens, Mt. Adams, Mt. Hood

On the way back, we flew through 14 hours of daylight, and when we reached the Portland area in the early evening, we passed so close to Mt. Hood it felt like we could touch it. Britta took this picture with her blackberry as it fell behind.

I want to climb this mountain.

I love the Ring of Fire.

Because my friends know people...

2009-07-09T23:44:00.000-07:00

I'm back.

Very strongly considered not getting on the flight home. Then I almost missed the flight home, which actually turned out to not be my fault, but United's... but calling in to work from Paris wouldn't have been so bad. ;)

I'm editing my plethora of pictures. It'll take awhile.

I went to a wedding in the Loire Valley. The groom is an ex-footballer, and he has a friend who played Ligue 1 football (highest professional soccer division in France) for Caen. He transferred to AS Monaco during the summer, but when a heart murmur was discovered during a physical at his new club this week, he was forced into early retirement. Very sad.

But he has a nice car.

Obviously.

God bless Spain and their almost-English keyboards!

2009-07-01T16:17:00.000-07:00

Hola! I'm in Barcelona!

I'm lisping my S's and ignoring all marriage proposals.

I also swam in the Mediterranean today. You know you're jealous.

I don't think I'm coming home. If I don't blog again and say I'm in Nice or Paris, you know where to find me. In a tapas bar. Or bullfighting.

Salut from France!

2009-06-30T05:57:00.000-07:00

We left Bordeaux this morning, and now we're on a southbound train, destination Barcelona. We enjoyed a fantastic week in the beautiful Loire Valley with some old friends of Britta's. The wedding was like none other that I have seen... a 48-hour party and so much fun. I'll say more about it when I'm not updating via Crackberry.

So. Barcelona for three days and then the south of France. Catch you on the flip side!

Going to Paris. Be back soon.

2009-06-21T20:51:00.001-07:00

All right y'all, Britta and I are hopping on a plane bright and freakin' early in the morning and heading to Paris.

From Paris we spend a week in the Loire Valley, then maybe Bordeaux, then three days in Barcelona, then the Riviera, and finally back to Paris. And then home... unless of course we find a more alluring prospect (Parisian male models or footy stars- hello Yoann Gourcuff!).

Maybe we'll blog from abroad. Maybe not. Oh the wonders of international service on my roomie's Crackberry, I cannot wait to experience you!

Au revoir!

Paris in August! Can you imagine?

2009-06-17T20:37:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite sculptures in the Louvre: 'Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss' by Antonio Canova

We arrived at the catacombs just half an hour after it opened, but the line was already wrapped around the block. We entertained ourselves by prepping for our upcoming Amsterdam excursion and watching three men lay cobblestones in the street. Our fellow queuers (No, it's not a word, I made it up. It means "one who queues") entertained themselves by pulling their lunches out of their bags and backpacks, ripping the food into pieces, and sprinkling it on the concrete for the pigeons. The pigeons billed and cooed and showed their appreciation by pooping on people's shoes.

Disgusting creatures.

Queue at the catacombs

It took a really long time, but finally we got to enter the Halls of the Dead.

A long time ago (late 18th century), the cemeteries of Paris were overflowing and contaminating the fair city through mass graves and improper burial. The medieval cemeteries were condemned and the millions of inhabitants were moved to underground caves and tunnels by night.

Entrée de l'ossuaire: "Stop! This is the Empire of the Dead."

As an anatomy student, I found it interesting that the skulls, femurs, tibias, and humeri (head, thigh, shin, arm) were stacked in patterns. Behind this virtual walls of bones were piled the collections of less-decorative skeletal parts, like phalanges and scapulae (fingers, toes, shoulder blades).

At the exit, a bored-looking security guard searched your bag to make sure you hadn't stashed anything you were not supposed to stash.

Graverobbers denied

Actually, it made me really mad that people tried to take bones away with them as souvenirs at all. Have some respect for the dead.

After we found ourselves back in the sunshine at the unassuming back door to the catacombs, Lark headed back home to run errands and sent me to the Louvre on my own.

Bet the Egyptians wish they'd thought of this!

Meet the cover of my Western Literature book: the Winged Victory. She's pretty cool.

Fought the waves of crazy tourists, saw La Giaconda, then spent the next two hours getting lost in the twists and turns and false stairwells of the Louvre (which was clearly never intended for museum purposes), but I did find the Code of Hammurabi, the bulls from Sargon's palace, and nifty things that weren't marked on the map of highlights. I like Dutch art the best. And I found it. But then I got lost in a courtyard full of statues and art students. I climbed up the wall and went to visit this pretty lady. She's my favorite.

Venus de Milo

Look at this ridiculous opulence. No wonder the peasants decided to revolt.

While I appreciated the immense amount of beauty and history in the Louvre, the big mistake was going alone. I got more frustrated by large groups of shoving, grabby tourists than I would have if I'd had company. Thus, I was never more excited to find this sign and its three languages of promise and hope.

So I went to the children's gift shop and played with toys by myself before leaving. Don't judge.

Lark and I went to dinner with her Parisian friend, Victor, who tried to make me order my own dinner at the restaurant. Suddenly overcome by shyness, I made him do it. He got us Kir apéritifs. I had lapin (rabbit), he had gizzards (which he made me try...not bad at all), and Lark had French onion soup. Victor ordered us a bottle of Muscadet to share ...at a ridiculous markup. I saw it in a grocery store for three Euros, but I guess that's Paris cuisine for you.

And then we broke the crust on the crème brûlée with our spoons.

On our walk home, we stopped at a little bar and Lark intorduced me to the most divine cocktail in the history of the world: the caipirinha. It's Brazilian, made with limes and cachaça (the Brazilian national liquor, made from sugar cane juice).

This concluded my last day in Paris. We headed to Belgium in the morning.

She said

2009-05-29T10:34:00.000-07:00

I'm a lazy blogger, I admit it. But:

The plans for France are moving slowly forward.

I say slowly because, for the first time, I have to "co-plan" a trip and the roommate works and does ...other things. Like school. She, however, gave me a list of about three things she wants to see in France, and the rest of the two weeks will be mine to drag her wherever I please. This may or may not include a vineyard for "ambience."

(Imagine that if I were reading this aloud, I would pause before each word enclosed in quotation marks and waggle my eyebrows or something. It makes reading more fun, I promise. The same also applies to children's stories.)

Less than three weeks before I embark upon my Second French Adventure, and I haven't yet finished blogging about the last one. Hmmm. Maybe I'll just post all the cool pictures and caption them, for my own benefit.

Because all posts are better with pictures, here's a pretty Frenchman laying cobblestones outside the catacombs.

Homme

I need your help!

2009-05-15T23:11:00.000-07:00

This is for all friends/followers/lurkers/blog-stumble-upon-ers who see this:

Please help. Aidez-moi.

In six short weeks, the roommate and I will

(fly)

(France)

Part of the trip is planned. Part of the trip is not. This is where you come in. We have 16 delicious days to explore as much of the country as we can.

We need ideas!

If you have ever been to, or dream of going to France, let me know! We'll be starting and ending in Paris, and while there is a Loire Valley wedding to attend, we also intend to pay a visit to Provence and Côte d'Azur. France is a big country and while two Eurail passes may get us around it, we definitely want to experience the best it has to offer.

Outdo Elle. You know you want to.

P.S. We will be in PARIS for FASHION WEEK 2009 (haute couture fall/winter 2009/10)

Oui. We shall be vogue. Commentaire, s'il vous plaît.

.

Destination: Boston, part deux

2009-05-12T20:25:00.000-07:00

In March, I flew across the country for spring break. The highlights:

Well, this, obviously.

Ok, ok. Arrived in Boston on St. Patty's Day. I drank some Guinness. It seemed like the thing to do.

St. Patty's Day carnage

Met up with my good friend Mel for some good old-fashioned fun for a week. In Boston, we rely on the trusty MBTA to get us around, affectionately known as the T. When I first moved to Boston, my dad got a huge kick of singing the old Kingston Trio song "Charlie on the M.T.A." to me. Something about being "lost under the streets of Boston" and how I'd "never return." Not to be outdone, the Dropkick Murphys remixed/updated the song and came up with "Skinhead on the MBTA." Don't think my dad knows that version.

The next red line train is now arriving. Please stand clear of the doors...

Mel and her man took me to Davis Square (red line stop of the same name), which is really the convergence of six streets in downtown Somerville, so the term "square" is misleading and the area can be confusing. We hit up J.P. Licks for some delicious seasonal ice cream (apparently March is the month for flavoring everything like alcohol (stout, Irish coffee, Bailey's)... who knew?), then it was on to Magpie, an awesome quirky little store chock-full of offbeat stuff.

Davis Square, Somerville, MA

Only a little further down the street was possibly the coolest store in the existence of the world, Kickass Cupcakes (Mom, I didn't name the store, I'm just telling it like it is). Novelty cupcakes in flavors like Mojito and Cinnamon Chai Pecan Sticky are the kinds of food that we'll probably find in heaven. Nom.

As if the cupcakes weren't enough, they have awesome signs as well.

Kickass Cupcakes kick ass. Really.

We returned to downtown Boston and wandered through the Common and the Public Gardens, paying a visit to the duck statues. Robert McCloskey's children's books were family favorites as kids (and secretly still some of my mom's favorites), ergo a must-see. Plus the kiddies with accents and corduroy pants playing on them were pretty cute.

Make way for the duckling

The direction we didn't walk in

Mel and I spent an afternoon shopping on Beacon Hill, browsing all the antique stores, quirky little shops and delightful boutiques like the fabulous Koo de Kir to our hearts' content. We wrapped up our day's adventure by tossing bits of our Chinatown purple taro pastry to the ducks in the Charles River and eating Thai food at the King & I restaurant on Charles St.

With Mel on the Charles

Among other highlights from a weekend spent with Melanie were taro boba tea in Chinatown, the Trojan Cow in South Station (really), and a visit to some friends in Marshfield. I don't have pictures from that day, but it was a beautiful drive through hardwood forests with old stone boundary walls, cranberry bogs and harbor towns for a night of Cary Grant, old friends, and J's good cookin'.

Another day was spent with two other friends indulging in sushi and high-end shopping on Newbury Street. I also taught Jia (below) what a consignment store was. Haha.

On Newbury Street

I ♥ Boston.

Part 1

Destination: Boston

2009-05-03T18:49:00.000-07:00

Last month, I went to Boston for spring break. Therefore, we're taking a tiny break from visiting Paris to see Boston. This is a post in two parts: Then and Now.

Background: I went to college on Boston's south shore for a little over a year, before transferring back to my native Northwest. I played DIII soccer for the school (during which I experienced most of greater New England by chartered coach), became acquainted with Nor'easters, and made a trip to Hawaii and New Zealand with the biology department.

I love this city.

---THEN-------------------------------------------------------------------------

When my mom went to Boston with me for the very first time, in January 2006, we spent our free hours drinking in the city. We walked the Freedom Trail (that handy brick path that wends its way to all the important historical sites, like the Old North Church and really old burial grounds), chowed down on seafood, and shopped at Faneuil Hall and Quincy Market.

After getting familiar with the MBTA (this did not happen to me, obviously haha), it was all about the museums, the sports venues, and the Italian food in the North End.

Museums-

I love the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Back Bay. It's a huge house with an enclosed courtyard turned solarium, full of original art and correspondence from celebrities of centuries past.
The MFA rocks my world. Free admission for students always does! Besides the immense collection of perennial art, the changing exhibitions are awesome. I went to the Fashion Show: Paris Collections 2006. I love clothes. I love style. I love seeing Valentino and Christian Dior and Viktor & Rolf creations up close.
Would have loved to spend more time in the Museum of Science. As it was, L (same one I visited in Paris) and I went to see Body Worlds 2. Amazing. Anatomy student heaven.
Visited the Harvard Museum of Natural History for a biology class assignment. While strolling through said museum, I noticed a photograph that looked oddly familiar. As it turned out, the subject was a gravel shed from my hometown, 3000+ miles away in Oregon. Small world. There were also a plethora of blown glass botanics and lots of taxidermy. Sweet.

Home at Harvard!

Big bones in the HMNH

Sports-

Bypassing Fenway and TD Banknorth Garden (everyone knows those names) in favor of...
New England Revolution soccer! L and I met and bonded over this team. She had extra tickets, and I a quiet desperation to see them play. She drove all the way to my school to pick me up, and we rocked out to the Dropkick Murphys (locals gotta represent!) all the way out to Gillette Stadium and back. Our first game was in cold, pouring rain, but we sang our lungs out with the Midnight Riders and I bought my first MLS gear. Later on, we made banners urging the club to "Free Clint" and now I support his London club, Fulham FC. While I am a self-described equal opportunity footy enthusiast, it's so great having a local team.

Drenched, hypothermic, and exhilarated

Other highlights of my time in Boston include-

The Christmas tree lighting in Boston Commons. December 2006 was unseasonably warm... we went downtown in t-shirts and ate ice cream after the fireworks and the crowds dissipated. We met the nutcracker, Clara, and the Mouse King from the Boston Ballet.

I missed the chance to hit him with my shoe.

A soccer friend, Brittany, and I made an excursion to the New England Aquarium. The NEAQ is all right, but the one in Oregon is much better. While Boston's is a hot date spot, I can think of much more creative places to go. ;) The NEAQ does have a huge central tank with turtles and sharks and occasional SCUBA divers in it, which is awesome, as well as oversize penguins stalking the entrance.

Brittany and I getting some Pengzilla lovin'

That was three years ago. While I still love all these things about Boston, I've changed so much in my time back home. For example, I'm a big girl now! Tune in next time to see me write about my return trip and all the cool stuff I did this time. :)

Apologies for the lack of pictures. Many of my old Beantown photos were swallowed during the Great Computer Crash of 2007.

Part 2

J'ai deux billets pour Paris!

2009-04-29T00:51:00.000-07:00

Y'all, it's happening.

On June 22, my fabulous roommate and I fly into Paris and together take France by storm for 16 days.

First to the Loire Valley (Angers) for a wedding, on south, and then back to Paris.

I never thought I'd be back within 10 months. I cannot wait to see the things I felt like I missed out on (like being too sick to go in Notre Dame).

Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

The Seventh Arr.

2009-04-13T01:37:00.000-07:00

The afternoon of my first full day in Paris with L, we commenced sightseeing in our very best manner. We went to the seventh arrondissement and then crossed the Seine. Here's the highlights, aka More Things I Love About Paris.

See the shiny gold dome in the distance? Les Invalides- the final resting place of Napoleon.

I wanted to go to the Musée de l’Armée

I have to admit that I didn't find it necessary to wait in line to go up the Eiffel Tower, which is actually celebrating its 120th birthday this year. The view from Montmartre is fantastic and therefore satisfied my Parisian panoramic needs, so I pocketed my 10€. We skirted the mass of tourists huddled beneath it and entered the seventh arrondissement to take this picture. Pretty.

La Tour Eiffel

The natural continuation of this path led us across the Seine, where we stopped at the unofficial memorial to Princess Diana above the tunnel on the bank of the river. The torch is a copy of the Statue of Liberty's, and is officially a tribute to French-American friendships. People scrawl loving messages to Princess Di on the concrete with whatever they have on hand, even nail polish.

Memorial to Princess Diana

On, on.

L'Arc de Triomphe (or, if you ask Dave Barry, The Lark of Triumph)

L'Arc de Triomphe- oh, one of my favorite things in Paris. Belonging to a military family has given me an intense appreciation for things militaristic in nature, and this especially. Patriotism was intensified by an enormous French flag displayed alongside an EU flag inside the arch, due to the EU headquarters moving to Paris.

It's in the middle of the scary traffic circle, known as Place Charles de Gaulle, which feeds no less than 12 streets, all named for famous military leaders. Traffic accidents inside the circle are equal fault of drivers involved- damages are split 50-50. A tourist enters the arch by way of damp underground tunnel, and is protected from said traffic by means of a flimsy chain strung round the monument. One tourist actually stepped over this barrier and out into traffic to take a photo of her group. She was quickly herded back by French policemen, but this sort of behavior is surely what prompted Dave Barry to write:

"Another well-known Paris landmark is the Arc de Triomphe, a moving monument to the many brave men and women who have died trying to visit it, which we do not recommend because it’s located in the middle of La Place de la Traffic coming from All Directions at 114 Miles Per Hour."

L and I spent some time reading the plaques and dedications inside the arch, which can be a difficult task since most are set into the ground and most tourists ignored us and walked over them while we stood there apparently concentrating on their migratory patterns. Not that I'm bitter.

Tomb of the unknown soldier

The Arch and the grave reminded me of one of the greatest scenes in the movie Casablanca:

Liberté, Liberté chérie, Combats avec tes défenseurs!

Avenue des Champs-Élysées, replete with gawking tourists such as myself

We needed food, so we left L'Arc de Triomphe via the Champs-Élysées and the Métro and went back to the fifth arrondissement.

Fontaine Saint-Michel in Quartier Latin

In the cities of Europe, there are so many restaurants that most establishments have developed a gimmick to attract customers. Some send out attractive men to verbally woo the ladies inside (creepier than it sounds), some have entertainers like musicians and jugglers outside to grab attention. This man was smashing crockery on the sidewalk.

We stopped to eat at a little crêperie (fancy French word for tasty pancake) near St-Michel that L knows and loves. It's called La Crêperie des Pêcheurs* (crêperie of the fishermen) and it looks like a ship's interior, complete with figureheads and fishing nets. The place is tiny. L and I were next to the door at a little table for two that was so small it was hinged to let me in to sit against the wall. It faced the open kitchen, and our pre-dinner entertainment were the masses of hungry tourists pausing mere steps away to consider the menu and have a peep at the atmosphere (naturally, us.) They serve both savory crêpes (salées) and sucrées (dessert), with le cidre, the traditional companion of a crêpe. I had something delicious with mushrooms and tomato, L and I shared a bottle of cidre, and then we ordered dessert. We chose the Grand Marnier crêpe flambé, which is served wreathed in blue fire and accompanied by a dish heaped with whipped cream and is very, very tasty.

*French punctuation makes this funny: a pêcheur (note the accent circumflex) is a fisherman. This word is but a mark away from being a pécheur (accent aigu), which is a sinner.

After dinner we stopped into a little English bookshop on the left bank of Seine called Shakespeare & Company. It's one of the 10 or so English-speaking bookshops in the city and is really a lovely little place. J'aime les librairies.

Maybe the next post will be less talk, more see. It's hard to write about places when the pictures make you miss it intensely, but hope remains! Possibly more on that later.

France in pictures

2009-04-06T01:51:00.000-07:00

On ne voit bien qu'avec le cœur.

L'essential est invisible pour les yeux.
-Le Petit Prince

Un pour tous, tous pour un

2009-03-25T23:56:00.000-07:00

*With apologies to Dumas and all the Google users who have found this page by searching for the Musketeers' battle cry. Salut, by the way.

Tuesday, 12 August 2008.

Welcome to Paris. Quoi de neuf?

Basilique du Sacré Cœur

L and I made a leisurely start to the morning...there must have been coffee...before taking the Métro to a station under Montmartre, the highest hill in central Paris. We climbed a lot of stairs up to Sacré Cœur. It was almost unbearably hot that morning and I was wearing shorts, so I was unable to get more than a few steps inside the basilica because there was a service going on. I would have worn pants had I known we were going straight to church. Ladies, take note, don't wear shorts in Europe. It was actually quite funny: we joined the crowd pushing to enter the church, and there was a funny little man standing off to one side of the entrance. He wouldn't look straight at anyone, but when I came near, he started growling "Nooooooooo shorrrrrrrrrtz."

We walked across to look out over Paris. We could see all the landmarks: the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe, the Louvre. L says the view from Montmartre is better than from the Eiffel Tower. We went into the Espace Dalí, a little Salvadore Dalí museum. I didn't have much appreciation for Dalí (or any surrealism) previously, but now I understand. My favorite was the 12 Tribes of Israel, thirteen etchings he did for the 25th anniversary of the State of Israel in 1972.

View from Montmartre

After we left the museum, L pointed out the neighborhood from the film Amélie, including the little market she visits. It was chock-full of Amélie postcards.

Au Marche de la Butte - the market from the film Amélie

We headed down from the hill to continue our walking tour of Paris. That is to say, we went down to old Moulin Rouge and strutted our stuff on the street.

Le Bal du Moulin Rouge

Just kidding. We only walked past and took pictures of the revue that gave us the only French phrase known to most of my generation (and if you don't know what I'm talking about, you clearly haven't seen the film), mocking all the high school students that were so intrigued by it and the sex shops in the vicinity.

From there we went to the Jardin du Luxembourg. It's like most of the gardens I saw in France and Belgium: trees grow in straight lines in bare, sandy soil, statues poke out from the trees like Robin Hood's band of merry men, and there are always lots of sunbathers draped around the fountains. Sometimes there's even grass in the parks.

La Statue

Piscine reverse peristalsis in Jardin du Luxembourg

Not far from the Jardin du Luxembourg is the Panthéon, the resting place of grands hommes Voltaire, Rousseau, Hugo, Dumas, Braille; and grand femme Marie Curie. C'est magnifique.

The Panthéon

Our next stop was L's Roman ampitheatre, the Arènes de Lutèce in the Latin Quarter. It's a 15,000 seat arena was built in the first century, destroyed in the third, and filled in during the thirteenth. It was rediscovered in the 1860s and Victor Hugo campaigned to preserve it. It was fully excavated at the end of the first World War, and now it's a public park and garden. You can walk around it and check out the stage, the niches, and the barred animal cages. Naturally, kids love to play in the arena, and L brought a friend once who sat in the stands and shouted commentary: "Boo! Send out the lions!" and "12 denarii on the dwarf!"

In the Arènes de Lutèce

We took our books and laid out on the grass in the arena for an hour or two. There were two guys near us who apparently created a public disturbance, because they were approached and patted down by five policemen for about 15 minutes. We couldn't imagine how a good time and a bottle of booze could warrant that, but the policemen left them alone after a bit and they carried on as though nothing had happened.

One thing I love about Paris: it's divided into twenty neighborhoods, or arrondissements. L lives in the fifth arrondissement. The arrondissement is usually noted on the side of the buildings, so you know where you are, however, it is abbreviated. Thus, L lives in the Fifth Arr. of Paris. How very piratey.

And it's ok if I'm the only person who laughs about that.

Between Bretagne, Normandie and the sea

2009-03-03T23:24:00.000-08:00

Monday, 11 August 2008

Abbaye du Mont-Saint-Michel

European Adventure Travel Day 9
Le Mont-Saint-Michel, France

The train from Rennes to Pontorson was much smaller than the high-speed trains, and as it turns out the station is near the end of the line and has only one track. At the station, I jumped on a big bus with a sign in the window for the abbey (2 euro). The bus careened around the bends in the narrow road out toward the coast, and we passed a windmill that one of the Americans sitting in front of me defined as a "pointy building with a big fan." I think she was joking...

First look at the abbey

The sheer number of people out at the abbey was overwhelming. Never go anywhere in August! Tourists had pretty much taken over a field with their cars, buses and campers. People were walking in the narrow road and didn't even seem to notice when the bus lurched by, mere inches from their bodies. Sometimes, a fellow tourist would pull another one out of the way.

Coastal parking lot

The history of Mont-Saint-Michel is interesting. It began as a shrine to the archangel Michael in 708, and became a site of pilgrimage. As it evolved over the centuries into more than a sanctuary, the abbey was built wrapped around the hill and crowned with the abbey church. The Benedictines settled in the abbey in the 10th century, and after that a village began to grow below its walls, extending all the way to the foot of the rock by the 14th century. It was a stronghold during the Hundred Years War, then a prison from the revolution until 1863. People of the middle ages regarded the abbey as a representation of the heavenly Jerusalem on earth, Paradise.

To get to the abbey, you have to walk up the steep, winding streets, just wide enough for four people to stand abreast. Of course, in August, there are about four lines of people trying to go down and two lines pushing their way up, so progress is very slow. The streets are lined with shops full of postcards and ice cream, and the beer is as cheap as water.

Enochlophobes, beware!

After climbing up to the actual abbey, there was a line to stand in for tickets (8.5 euro). The five Americans from the bus and I noticed each other scrutinizing the time tables for the train, so we started talking. It turned out that we were all headed back to Paris, and we needed to catch the last train out of Pontorson about seven o'clock. By this time, it was late afternoon and we knew we didn't have time to dawdle along with the audio tour, so I sort of joined up with them to see the place.

The abbey is magnificent. It's cool and dim inside, especially in the huge rooms with vaulted Gothic ceilings and massive pillars. There are rose windows set in round the top, so light streams down from above, casting strange shadows on the floor. There was a an international art exhibit going on as well, so we would pass the altars and crucifixes in alcoves and come out by the photographs of China and the Serengeti. I wish I could have seen the abbey without anyone in it. The arrows pointed us our through a little door, and we emerged in a flagstone courtyard, with a wall overlooking the Bretagne coast. People were on the beach below scrawling all sorts of things in the sand and waving at everyone who would look down.

Vive le libre!

Inside one of the galleries are a set of models, depicting the different building stages in the history of the abbey, literally from the ground up. The statue atop the belfry was designed at the end of the 19th century, and was cleaned and restored to its postition -via helicopter- in 1987.

That's St. Michael up at the top

Aware that we were running out of time, we pushed our way down the streets to the bottom of the hill. Half the group made it to the bus stop on time, but let the bus go because the others were late. The next bus came an hour late, so Brent-from-Texas and I left the others and took a walk around the base of the hill. This little chapel is built on an outcropping of rock and is reached by stone steps. The wind kicked up all of a sudden, blowing sand in our eyes. This picture makes me laugh... it looks like the tourists have chucked one of their own over the side and are telling him "Spain will be on your left in a bit!"

Man overboard at the chapel!

Brent-from-Texas was quite nice, and smart. We got back around to the others, but decided worrying about the bus coming on time wouldn't help anything, so we sat and talked. As it turned out, the bus came on time, but that parking lot full of cars was emptying onto the road when we pulled out, so it took an agonizing 36 minutes to get back to the station, during which the two girls kept an eye out for hotel vacancy signs. We pulled up to the station with one minute to spare. We could see the train coming toward us, so we literally bailed off the bus and dashed through the tiny station. The conductor was standing on the other side of the tracks, hollering for us to jump because the train was coming (because it's a one track station, Paris-bound train board on the far side so you have to walk across the tracks).

I wish you could have seen how utterly ridiculous we were... hot, sweaty, desperate tourists madly sprinting through a building and flinging ourselves across the tracks. The station master must have had a good laugh after our train pulled away!

Said goodbye to the other Americans when we changed trains in Rennes, went to the ticket counter and asked, in French, for un billet pour Paris.

Got back to L's flat long after dark, found her a little bit worried by my tardiness, and quickly settled in to exchange my tales of bomb threats and mad dashes for hers of the Tunisian sun. She made me a Tunisian royale (Tunisian fig liqueur and champagne) and my Paris adventure started in earnest.

It's a mad world

2009-02-26T00:21:00.000-08:00

Monday, 11 August 2008

European Adventure Travel Day 9
Paris to Rennes, France

I was woken around six am by crashing and banging in the street. I thought it was the garbage man, but in actuality it was the little grocery store across the road getting the morning bread delivery. Went back to sleep for an hour and a half and then got ready to hit the road for Rennes, where I could make a connection to take me out to the coast to see le Mont-Saint-Michel. Left L a note saying I'd be back before dark.

First adventure of the day: buying a Metro pass. At the station I entered, tickets are only available at the kiosk, not at the help desk. I asked the man at information for assistance because I couldn't read enough French to actually make the purchase, so he came grumpily around the barrier and pushed all the buttons to make the machine spit out the little slip of paper that matched the plethora of white bits littering the ground.

I got through the metro to the Paris Montparnasse station without further incident. Gare* Montparnasse is the Paris station that serves Brittany and the Atlantic coast all the way down to Spain. Upon arrival, I booked a ticket to Rennes, but as I've mentioned before, book early on French trains or you'll spend all day in the train station. With my EuRail pass, I only had to pay the reservation fee.

As I waited in the station, I began to notice an increased number of French soldiers milling about the platforms. They were eventually joined by the police, who cordoned off the platforms with yellow tape. A crowd quickly grew on our side of the tape, and in short order people were asking each other what was going on. They even asked me, but I just shrugged and said "sais pas**" and "aucune idée***" like everyone else (pardonnez-moi all you formal French-speakers... confusion promotes slangy tendencies).

*Train station
** Dunno
*** No idea

All of a sudden, the bomb squad pushed their way through the crowd and disappeared near the tracks. All was quiet for about 10 minutes, and then there was the sound of an explosion, like a muffled gunshot. Soon afterward, the soldiers, the police and the bomb squad reappeared, removed the tape and went on their way. L told me later that it was probably a piece of abandoned luggage that the bomb squad blew up, but it was very exciting.

Uneventful train ride to Rennes, where I had to wait another couple of hours. After I bludgeoned my way through the language barrier, I obtained a ticket to Pontorson/Mont-Saint-Michel. Sometimes the French can understand my French, but sometimes they can't, but this is hardly a recent phenomenon. Mark Twain wrote in The Innocents Abroad:

"In Paris they just simply opened their eyes and stared when
we spoke to them in French! We never did succeed in making
those idiots understand their own language."

I adore Mark Twain. I was, however, able to finally make myself understood. My trouble was not in buying the ticket, but in figuring out in which tiny little hamlet I should get off the train.

Gare de Rennes

Two hours to explore Rennes, the home of Stade Rennais Football Club of the top French soccer division Ligue 1. This is important because the club is the current home of American defender Carlos Bocanegra. And yes, he transferred to the club mere weeks before I was in the city. Shhh.

Wide, shady cobbled streets with big building and trees whose branches intertwine in a leafy strip. Not very many people about, except in the cafés. The Rennes canals are quiet and lined with arrangements of red, white and blue flowers.

Rennes canal

This café made me laugh. It just seems so... earnest.

(click)

Café le Peanut's

Bought deliciously greasy olive bread for lunch and got on the train to the coast.

To be continued.

Mercredi sans mots

2009-02-25T15:31:00.000-08:00

...that's wordless Wednesday to you.

Why TV is not cooler than real life

2009-02-18T21:07:00.000-08:00

While I'm posting, I would just like to mention that I watched Monday night's episode of The Bachelor. Not because I enjoy watching girls compete for affection in an arena as public as a national broadcasting network, but because the top three were taken to one of my favorite places in the world: Queenstown, New Zealand. One of the three fantasy dates was tandem bungy jumping at Kawarau Bridge Bungy, the oldest bungy site in the world. I would just like to state for the record that I jumped off that bridge. January 11, 2007 was the big day. It was raining, and I didn't need to be talked down off the ledge. I've also never experienced such a huge adrenaline rush.

Wheeeeeeee!

I would do it again in a heartbeat, but next time I'm going for the big one , and 134m compared to Kawarau Bridge's 43m.

=D

Pardonnez-moi, parle vous coquine?

2009-02-18T01:18:00.000-08:00

Sunday, 10 August 2008

European Adventure Travel Day 8
Paris, France

I was pretty sick my first day in Paris. However, recognizing that I was, in fact, in Paris, and not wishing to bring upon myself the shame that accompanies staying indoors all day on one's first day in Paris, I spent the morning napping and then struggled out into the August heat, down the street in the direction of the pointy spire visible above the apartment buildings.

Said spire belonged to this building:

Notre Dame de Paris

Didn't want to face the multitudes alone while ill, so I wandered around the booths of the street vendors hawking everything from miniature statues of Parisian landmarks to postcard knock-offs of famous artwork. I sat in the sun on the stone walls banking the Seine for a bit and watched the riverboats chock-full of tourists pass under the bridges connecting Île de la Cité to the rest of Paris, listening to people chatter in a host of languages.

I like the back of Notre Dame the best. I love the flying buttresses, and even though I understand that the front is both majestic and imposing in the tight visual frame that it was designed to fill, the back is much more graceful and pretty. I also adore gargoyles.

Since it's confession time, here's another: I didn't know I was going to love Paris. I lived in Boston for a year and liked it, but I'm not fond of New York. Since New York is the quintessential American destination city, I assumed that Paris was the French equivalent: dare I say it? overrated. Far from it. However, I know from experience that how much you enjoy a place is greatly influenced by who you experience it with.

I really didn't do much that first day, except soak up the atmosphere of the city. After a week of hardcore sightseeing, it was an absolutely relaxing, perfect day. Except for being sick.

Border Crossing

2009-02-14T01:20:00.000-08:00

Saturday, 9 August 2008

European Adventure Travel Day 7
Lausanne, Switzerland to Paris, France

Y'all need another train pic. Breaking train rules (not allowed to put feets on seats! shhhhh) and giving J the stink-eye. Probably sweaty and gross from climbing unnecessary stairs.

What?

S dropped J and me off at the train station in Lausanne; J to catch a train to Zurich and her flight back home, and me to Paris. After a week spending every moment with someone, it's a strange thing to be alone. Fortunately the ride from Lausanne back to Geneva is short, and I had a three-hour wait at Geneva's La Gare de Cornavin until my train left for Paris. Loads of people were milling about the station, and there were many eager young people with coolers hanging from straps about their shoulders foisting small cartons of ice cream on passers-by. Didn't mind a bit.

I wandered around downtown Geneva for a bit, but there was a festival going on and it was very crowded. Believe it or not, I have very few pictures of Geneva. However, I present to you La Cité du Temps, which of course means the City of Time, an exhibition center focused on time. It's located at Pont de la Machine 1, which may be the best street name ever... well, bridge really. Pont de la Machine has been a Geneva landmark since the 1840s, when it was built to supply water to the public fountains. That's it in the center, behind the bridge. I know it's a terrible picture, but it was really bright that day. I needed that ice cream in the train station!

If you want a better look, just google "Cité du Temps," but I can't promise any other bloggers will have my scintillating wit. ;)

I never saw blue like that before... on the Pont de la Machine

I bought a Swatch watch. It's really big... I think even Sabit would be impressed (Yes, it has been six months and I still haven't reset it to PST. I'm running on Parisian time. Don't judge.).

FINALLY the train came to take me to PARIS!

A word to the wise: if you go to France or travel by train in France, BOOK EARLY! They fill up fast and then you get terrible seats. I took TGV from Geneva to Paris (TGV stands for train à grande vitesse, which is just fancy talk for "high-speed train," top speed of 200 mph) and it was much more claustrophobic than the Swiss trains. I had a seat to myself until just over the border, when I got myself a seatmate, a Senegalese naturalized Swiss by the name of Ace.

Ace kept me company. For awhile I tried to read, but Ace talked to me about Switzerland, Paris, Senegal, America, prices of things in all four places, and anything else he thought about. We were on a night train that was due in Paris around 11pm, so the view wasn't much, but as we drew closer I began to get nervous about navigating the Paris metro to my friend L's flat. She wasn't due back from her Tunisian vacation for two days yet, but she had given me detailed instructions to find her place from five different train stations in Paris. Not included in this list was our destination of Gare de Lyon. I'd heard the Paris subways closed at midnight, (which is not true) so I was really worried about not making it there in time, so Ace started talking me through it. An Indian man across the aisle was sitting by himself, and perked up his ears when I started talking about Boston. By the time we'd moved on to my fear of the Paris metro, he was obviously interested in our conversation, then surprised us both by pulling out a metro map and handing it to me.

Do you see now why this was daunting?

As it turned out, Ace walked me into the metro, helped me buy a ticket, then guided me to the 14 line (purple) in the direction of Châtelet, where I was to change to the 7 line (pink). He made sure I'd be fine on my own before he caught the 14 in the opposite direction.

Oh, the kindness of strangers.

For the record, the metro only looks scary on a map. Very easy to get around in, even if you don't speak French. I had the added challenge of being alone, under Paris at night, on the verge of being sick, but I made it to The Aubergine. A bit of fumbling with the strangely shaped key, wiped my feet on the Chelsea mat(haha), then fell into bed.

In Paris!

Song of the Alps

2009-02-08T02:59:00.000-08:00

Saturday, 9 August 2008

European Adventure Travel Day 7
Gruyères, Switzerland

After our visit to Broc and the chocolate factory, we ignored the imploring of the GPS lady and headed to the nearby town of Gruyères. When we arrived at the foot of the hill on which the town is built, we were directed by policemen to park in a large, green field. We got out of the car and found these tandem skis just lying about. Looks like fun, yeah?

Those who play together die together... right?

We walked up the hill and continued on through the gate and into the center of town, which was absolutely filled with people. We'd stumbled into a festival highlighting the very best Switzerland has to offer--an introduction to the authentic world of Spyri's Heidi.

There were ladies in straw hats behind tables of bread, cheese, cured meat, fondue and cold drinks. Groups of musicians made music in the street, and one man even played a saw. Woodcarvers and wheat threshers demonstrated their crafts, and folk dancers whirled and clapped at the far end of the square.

The activities were interrupted now and again by herds of cows and goats led through the square, all decked out with flowers and bells. The goats especially were popular with the crowds of tourists, and one billy goat made a beeline for the nearest cheese table as soon as his herder was distracted. The cows were better behaved.

Cowherd

Moo.

The cowbells looked large on the cows, with good reason, but then a cowbell choir marched out, ringing the massive bells with their knees as they walked. In the center of the town, they set them down and let children try to lift bells half their size and ring them.

I need more cowbell!

I love this picture. This man was clutching the flag and yodelling, which is much more beautiful than one might suppose. Yodelling has been stereotyped into something harsh and loud, but it's low and melodic and lovely.

Finally we came upon the highlight of the festival: the Alphorns. Have a wee listen.

Unbelievably cool. I've had the privilege of hearing a single alphorn played when I was younger, but an alphorn concert was really special. I wish I could describe to you how wonderful it was to spend my last day in Switzerland experiencing the way things once were, from the food to the clothes to the lifestyle. It wasn't a display of stereotypes, just an homage to the past. It couldn't have been better if we had planned it, but it was a complete surprise, and a nifty way to remember our time in country. I finally got to try fondue (fabulous!), and I ate Gruyère in Gruyères. =D

One of my favorite photos of the mountain men

Bit of a let-down to get back in the car and head in the direction of Lausanne after that. It amazes me how the unplanned experiences are often the ones that capture your heart.

Swiss Chocolate

2009-02-02T02:09:00.000-08:00

Saturday, 9 August 2008

European Adventure Travel Day 7
Broc, Switzerland

I know everybody has been dying to know. Switzerland is famous for their chocolate, right? I couldn't possibly have satisfied my cravings with grocery store brands, right?

You're right.

Even though they sell really good chocolate in the grocery stores...

My last day in Switzerland, Joy's friend S took the two of us to Broc, home of the oldest chocolate factory in Switzerland, the Cailler-Nestlè Factory. Nestlè is made in many other factories around the world, but Cailler is unique to Broc. Nestlè and Cailler merged in 1929, but Cailler continued to make chocolate in the traditional way, using fresh Gruyère milk, unlike the Nestlè products that use milk powder. And yes, it is true that the Swiss keep the best for themselves. Wouldn't you? :)

The beautiful Saane Valley, with the Château de Gruyères on the hill

Getting to Broc was highly entertaining. We took S's car, and she argued with the GPS lady most of the way there. The drive was beautiful. We took the road around Lake Geneva, past the hills around the lake where every inch was vineyard, and out to the Savoy Alps. In the Saane Valley, it was warm and absolutely smelled like sunshine.

And then we came upon the chocolate factory. Please excuse the guardrail. Look at the cute little châteaux on the right!

That long white building is where Willy Wonka lives

It was so quiet that day that we thought the factory was closed, but happily, we were wrong. We got to take a tour, beginning in the movie theatre and watching a whimsical film about a girl in candyland, and then another in French about the making of chocolate. Then we went for a tour of the factory- looking at vintage advertisements for chocolate, tasting from great bags of roasted cacao beans, examining the machinery used in the process of creating edible art.

Who ate all the chocolate?

We finally arrived in the tasting room. It's a long room with a mirrored counter stretching from one end to the other, holding every kind of delicious, fresh Cailler chocolate imaginable. No limits. You could eat what you wanted. It's like a dream world.

You could eat AS MUCH AS YOU WANTED. For free!

Of course, after the tasting room was the gift shop (which is rumored to be full of people most of the time, but was empty for us, hooray!). I think I may have eaten too much chocolate at this point to be very tempted, but I did buy some to send home to my family. Joy bought many pounds of yummy-ness, but she only eats the kind without cacao.

For the record: WOW SWISS CHOCOLATE.

I'm sorry everyone, I'm officially a Euro-candy snob. We have much to learn.

Home of the UN and its Convention

2009-01-24T20:34:00.000-08:00

Friday, 8 August 2008

European Adventure Travel Day 7
Geneva/Genéve/Genf, Switzerland

J's Geneva-based friends were kind enough to include me in their invitation to visit, so after we'd seen all there was to see in Neuchâtel, we moved on to the city that sparkles in the sun.

There is ground glass in the streets. The sparkles were the first thing we noticed.

We crossed the street to Migro's to do some grocery shopping, as J planned to make dinner for the four of us. We quickly found everything we needed for her recipe, except the capers. We searched high and low for them, in three different locations logical for the location of small, pickled, unopened flower buds, but to no avail. We asked store employees for help, but none of them had any idea what "capers" were, almost as if we were speaking a foreign language.

As it turns out, the French word for capers is "câpres," about as close as you can get in French. *facepalm* Good thing I know how to ask for "du vin."

Here is where I admit that I was busy interacting socially and didn't take many pictures in Geneva. I think the grand total was four. Not even kidding. J's friend A picked us up from the bus stop and took us on a mini-tour of the city before taking us to their flat.

People who work in glass buildings should be aware of that fact on Casual Friday

Saw the Jet d'Eau out of the window... Europe's tallest fountain and icon of Geneva. It originated on the Rhône in 1886, and shortly afterwards its tourist attraction potential was recognized and it was moved to its present location in Lake Léman (or Lake Geneva, if you haven't yet realized that Switzerland has at least two names for everything). To summarize: big tall stream of water in a lake.

Debated the visual impact of the Broken Chair monument to anti-personnel mine victims at Place des Nations. General consensus: something other than a legless chair could have been symbolic, yet more poignant depiction of landmine casualties.

Upon arrival at the flat of A and S, J commenced cooking, and A made me espresso. Several times. Dinner was good, the company was fabulous, and searching for French hostels futile.

Observe me in my natural habitat

2009-01-17T09:51:00.000-08:00

This post is born of a combination of the self-portrait meme making the rounds and the entertainment I get from posting slightly-less-than-flattering pictures. They're funny.

J took this somewhere between Fribourg and Murten, probably. I think it's an appropriate expression for being deprived of my morning coffee.

I don't know her... she's a weirdy

Crazy eyes. Paused in the middle of scribbling something. On a train, which is my favorite method of transportation because the seats are usually comfy, you can stare out the windows, and the ability to jump on a train anytime, anywhere, satisfies my need for freedom and spontaneity. It appears that train even had a real table, not a silly little one that protrudes about six inches from the wall.

Sweet as.

Please direct your hilarity to the comments section. Thank you.

Pretty yellow city

2009-01-14T23:52:00.000-08:00

Friday, 8 August 2008

European Adventure Travel Day 7
Neuchâtel, Switzerland

Neuchâtel was a short train ride from Murten and Avenches. It's a town about 12km from the French border, and, like most Swiss cities, it's high on a hill overlooking a lake. Which means lots of climbing. In fact, the Swiss have an ancient battle strategy of building their cities so high in the mountains that potential attackers would march up, ponder the climb, and then surrender.

Actually, no, I made that last bit up.

...I did meet some Swiss soldiers though, and they were quite nice.

Anyway (because it's fun!), the first thing we did was climb up the biggest hill in town to see the château and cathedral. J had already been to the city before we meet up in Montreux, so she had already scoped out the sights. Most of the buildings in Neuchâtel are yellow, built from local yellow sandstone. Alexandre Dumas once described it as "like a toytown carved out of butter.”

We arrived at the wrong time for a tour of the château, but after the black-and-white avant-garde wedding was over in the cathedral, we went inside. Built in the 12th century, most of the art was removed during the protestant Reformation in the 16th century, but the beautiful rose window and pipe organ were still alive and well.

In the courtyard, we found this stone fellow.

Swiss reformer Guillaume Farel

For any of you sketchy on your Reformation history, Guillaume Farel is the man who convinced John Calvin (Jean Cauvin) to stay in Switzerland in 1536, after the French uprising against protestants.

After church, we headed off to prison.

Oh, and I wasn't kidding about the steepness of those city streets.

Acrophobic pigeon contemplating a move to Kansas

This is a typical road in the city. Unlike many Swiss towns, the old town center is NOT pedestrian only. This narrow cobblestone street is wide enough for a small European car. Not a small European car and two backpackers, if you catch my drift. Claustrophobes, take heed! That tall square tower is the old prison.

We each had to pay a franc to climb to the top (yeah, it's a new kind of torture... pay money to climb infinity stairs... oh Switzerland, how my quadriceps appreciate your quirks). The historical prison itself was a little disappointing -we climbed steep, narrow wooden stairs past two cell blocks that were labeled as prison cells- but the view at the top was particularly spectacular. One side overlooked the lake, and the other back up the hill toward the château and cathedral. The château has a pretty flowery pattern on the roof.

View from the prison: L'église Collégiale de Neuchâtel

After prison, we returned to solid ground, via the winding cobbled streets to the marketplace, where we ambled around the cafés in the square because I wanted to eat fondue. We found all sorts of fancy things, but not fondue. I think we may have been to close to France. ;)

Even gargoyles have to sneeze sometimes

We did find some fabulous pastry though. I bought something that was cone-shaped and filled with cream. It was delicious.

Some old bridge-like thingy

J and I rode the bus from the lakeshore to the top of the hill where the train station was. On the bus, there were several pretty men in uniform, and by that I mean members of the Swiss Armed Forces. At the top of the stairs in the train station, they were accosted by female volunteers of Amnesty International. It was pretty funny.

We left them there and boarded a train to Geneva/Genève/Genf.

A long time ago, people lived here and they had funny names

2009-01-10T00:45:00.000-08:00

Friday, 8 August 2008

European Adventure Travel Day 7
Murten and Avenches, Switzerland

To get to Murten on Friday morning, J and I had to endure a really long day on Thursday (map of adventure). After parts one, two and three ,we took a night train from Buchs through Bern to Fribourg. We stayed in a hostel tucked into the back of a hospital, where we were greeted by the sound of vigorous vomiting when we went to brush our teeth. Clean, tidy nice place though. It was pouring rain when we got into town.

Friday morning we took a train to Murten, another small, walled, old city not far from Fribourg, on the shores of Lake Murten. The town is famous for its defeat of Charles the Bold. Good name. Hereafter, I request to be addressed as Meagan the Bold. I digress. Murten has a 13th century castle, which is privately owned and not available for touring, but cool nonetheless.

Château de Murten

The town wall is different than that of Lucerne's. It's a narrow walk encircling the town, and you can almost reach out and touch the steep rooftops of the houses. We were there early in the morning and all was quiet, except for some laborers discussing the day's project down in the street. One of them saw us, so I waved at him and he nodded. All four of his friends immediately turned and waved at us.

The wall of Murten

Next we boarded a train for Avenches, which you must pronounce in a French accent (aaaahh-vonsh), or the ticket people will stare at you confusedly while you stammer and gesture. This is French Switzerland, after all... We got there and had to walk up a hill from the station to the old part of town (which is very common), but our ability to translate signs into actual directions was a bit off, so we wandered in circles for awhile before seeing anything that looked remotely ancient. the first thing happened to be the ampitheatre, around which scaffolding was being erected for the summer open-air rock festival. I'm sure Dionysius is proud.

Avenches was once Aventicum, the capital of Roman Helvetia, founded around 72 BC. Once a city of 20,000, it's now home to about 2600. The ruins at Avenches include the ampitheatre (which was actually of a respectable size- eventually enlarged to 16,000 seats, or half the size of the Colosseum), thermal baths, theatre, sanctuary, temple, walls and gate.

The Roman ampitheatre of Aventicum: once held gladiator battles, now holds rock and opera concerts

This is the Roman sanctuary, or rather, the column that remains. It's named for the storks that nested on it. A golden bust of the emperor Marcus Aurelius was found here.

Sanctuaire du Cigognier - Aventicum

Past the sanctuary was the theatre, where we spent the most time. Having never been to Rome, these are my first Roman ruins, and it's absolutely crazy to think that the yellow wildflowers have taken up residence on the stone steps that were filled with people laughing and talking and living two thousand years ago. Maybe it's because I'm from a "baby" country, but even the "1202" scratched on one of the stones gave us pause.

Roman theatre

I like history. I like big words, pompous language, and standing in places of importance. I think it's neat that Swiss money is called "CHF," which stands for Confederation Helvetica francs. However, standing on Roman ruins is one of the coolest things I've ever experienced. It amazes me that so much of the grandeur of days gone by has survived for us to see.

Foreground: Roman theatre. Background: Roman sanctuary and the town of Avenches

I just like this picture.

While J and I were trying to find the ruins, we were wandering the cobbled streets of the town in the wrong direction and we saw a cat. This cat was sunning itself on the street when it caught sight of a moth. At first, the cat ignored the moth while it fluttered and hovered, then the cat began idly batting at it. The cat got more and more into the game, catching the moth in its teeth and letting it go, then sitting on the moth and looking confused. Finally, the cat twirled and leaped after the moth down the street. We named him Gladiator Cat, in honor of the location and because of what he put that moth through. It was hysterical, though.

The people of Avenches are absolutely lovely and so helpful. I highly recommend a visit to this place.

Baggin' It

2009-01-05T13:39:00.000-08:00

J and I traveled in style. The Swiss trains were almost never full, except for rush hour trains between the largest cities, which meant we never had to make reservations. We'd just hop on a train, flash our Eurail passes and sit back. This also meant that our backpacks (close friends by this time) could sit with us, rather than languish, cold and lonely, on the luggage racks near the train doors.

I named my backpack "Fatty." Only because he was so heavy I had to put him on standing up or I'd topple over, I promise! I actually did topple over in the Amsterdam airport, but that's a story for another time. Haha. I took this picture on the train between Murten and Avenches, Switzerland.

That's Fatty on the left. J didn't name her bag. I think she didn't want to hurt its feelings.

Fatty looks like a dinosaur from the front. See the eyes on top, and the little hands? ...he's definitely eating something. Grarr!

Fatty and No-Name at Interlaken Ost

Switzerland was the easiest country to get around in by train. Stations are clearly marked, the arrivals/departures boards are easy to find and read, train announcements are in four languages, and there's almost always someone who speaks English if you're in desperation. French trains are very no-nonsense and you must always have a reservation, or else. Dutch train stations were fairly easy to get around, but it was hard to see the station signs when the train pulled in. Italian trains have the best cappucino carts.

In other news: I'm trying the three-column blog style on for size. Also, I have a totally sweet logo that shows up when you bookmark this page. I'm very excited about it. :)

*To paraphrase Mel, comments are like word crack. I just can't get enough. Please help!*

The Land of Sir Ulrich

2008-12-31T14:01:00.000-08:00

Thursday, 7 August 2008

European Adventure Travel Day 6
Part 3: Vaduz, Leichtenstein

Getting to Liechtenstein was an adventure. After arriving in Buchs by train, J and I had to catch the lime green bus that would take us over the border to Liechtenstein's capital city, Vaduz. We had to wait for the bus in the rain, and when we got on board, it was chock-full of people returning from a trip to the swimming pool and speaking a language we didn't recognize. Later we figured out that it was the fourth Swiss language, Romansch.

Fürstentum Liechtenstein

(Welcome to the Principality of Liechtenstein)

J and her handy-dandy guide book got us safely off the bus. Unsure where to begin our visit, the rain turned into a thunderstorm and decided for us. We ducked for cover inside this church. St. Florinskirche is a gothic cathedral where the members of the Liechtenstein royal family are married and baptized. It's beautiful... and huge.

St. Florin's Parish Church

After most of the lightning had subsided, we continued on down Staedtle Street towards the pedestrian town center. I was backed up against a wall trying to fit the whole of the Government Building in my frame (hence its former affectionate nickname "The Large House"), but finally gave up and settled for the coat of arms over the entrance.

The Government Building, once known as the "Large House," and Liechtenstein's princely coat of arms

I like national flags, but when you find a cow painted as the flag it's even more fun. Mooooo. I hope you know that I sacrificed my dignity to post this picture...

I never saw a purple cow. I never hope to see one... but red and blue cows are okay.

The storm picked up again, so J and I waited it out in the tourist center, where there were lots of stamp collectors wandering in and out. I'm not a philatelist, so J and I had our passports stamped instead. We also picked up loads of free stuff like stickers, postcards and candy. Also temporary tattoos. That's right... I have a Liechtenstein tattoo!

We moved on to the shops, where I could have purchased all manner of things to authenticate my time in-country, but being happy with my temporary tattoos, I decided to forego the steins and cuckoo clocks.

Castles are everywhere!

As we headed back toward the lime green bus stop, we came across this. Now, wikipedia claims that Liechtenstein is a capital of winter sport, so this was really funny. We stopped and watched for a bit. Didn't hurt that the guys were easy on the eyes.

One thing I never expected to see in a tiny mountain country:

an international beach volleyball tournament

We stopped at a grocery store for dinner (those Coop signs in the above picture are one of the two major grocery stores in this part of the world... Migros is the other) because that's what J and I do. The grocery stores over here sell lassis of all flavors to go. I picked out a chai lassi, and then, besides the usual assortment of fresh bread, cheese, meat (chorizo, this time), and chocolate, I found Guaraná Antarctica. Yes, I know it's Brazilian, but Vaduz is where I tried it for the first time. It is amazing. J was laughing at me because I went a little bit crazy in the store.

Vaduz, Liechtenstein, as seen from the Swiss countryside

A sign on the bus forbade the partaking of food and drink enroute, but J and I surreptitiously snacked on some candy called Maoam (fruit flavored chews similar to Laffy Taffy). Shhh, don't tell. We were soaked and starving, very bad combo. We did have a great view of the city on the way out, after the clouds had cleared off a bit. Vaduz is literally a mountainside city.

Painted cows, beach volleyball and an attack by lightning. All in a day's touring.

The world's language

2008-12-29T00:11:00.000-08:00

As you may or may not have noticed, soccer was my first love. My mother actually forced me to play when I was nine years old in September 1994, coincidentally just after the World Cup was held in the US. Since that summer, I reconciled myself to playing with boys and fell in love with the game. Of course, now that I've experienced all aspects of the game on multiple levels (and by "all" I mean playing, coaching, reffing, and watching it) I can be snobby and call it "football." I have stories about all the places I've experienced because of it, why I have so much passion for it, and how much the people I've met through it has changed my life. My sisters and I have even been on Brazilian television. No doubt eventually some of these stories will trickle out of me, but for one second I just have to be Super Excited.

Clint Dempsey is my favorite American player. I met him twice a couple of years ago; he's a really fantastic guy. He currently plays for Fulham FC in London as well as the US national team. Today, he scored the two goals that held Chelsea to a draw. Now, I'm not strictly a Fulham supporter--I follow the club for Dempsey--but I do love watching pretty football from any country. Anyway. Tying Chelsea is kind of a big deal. :) Up Fulham! Come on you Whites!

I can't think of any one thing more cosmopolitan and global than soccer. Therefore, sometimes I must natter on about it because it's one of those hard-to-explain passions that fills up my heart and it just spills over. It has something to do with the taste of sweat and grass, the intensity of living in the moment, and the way I made instant friends with a boy in a Dutch pub because I could name a few Nederlands footy stars. It has to do with my brother playing street soccer with urchins in Mexico, and with the drums in the stadium that never stop during a match. The whole world speaks this language. All you need is a ball.

Happy Christmas!

2008-12-25T23:55:00.000-08:00

Before it's over...

I just want to take a second and look past all the commercialism, the busyness, the stress, fights and tears that often accompany holidays, and the bad weather that cancelled plans all over the nation.

Christmas is for family and friends. It's for traditions and memories. It's for fellowship and giving. Most of all, it's to celebrate the birth of Jesus.

This is a lyric from one of my favorite Christmas songs, I Celebrate The Day, as done by Relient K:

And so this Christmas I'll compare
The things I've felt in prior years
To what this midnight made so clear
That you have come to meet me here

To look back
And think that
This baby would one day save me
And the hope that
That you give
That you were born so I might really live

Listen:

Happy birthday, Jesus.

Santa has a sunburn

2008-12-24T01:22:00.000-08:00

I love Christmas. I usually spend it with my family, indulging in our holiday traditions both at church and at home, but two years ago was a little bit different. Four days after Christmas 2006, I was in Honolulu on the first leg of my South Pacific adventure with my school. It was a warm December in Boston, so there wasn't any snow when we flew out, but our arrival in Hawaii still made us feel like we'd flown from winter to summer. On our first day, we were turned loose to find food at the Ala Moana mall. Santa was on the roof!

You don't expect to see Santa in the land of palm trees and luaus.

Not even four days after Christmas.

(...I always knew there was a reason that my parents paid my brother and me in macadamia nuts for reciting Luke 2 at Christmastime when we were small)

Walking around downtown Honolulu, we, the group of students raised with all four seasons (and I, having spent my formative years in Oregon, formerly found a nor'easter to be a culture-shock!), were amused by people in flip-flops and bathing suits ambling past the light-up snowflakes and other festive paraphernalia decorating the palm trees. We rang in 2007 in the air over Hawaii, looking down on the fireworks exploding all over the island.

By the time we arrived in New Zealand, we were slightly more accustomed to our summer/winter paradox, even though the Christmas holidays being in the warm season still took some getting used to. I'm not the only one who feels that way, as I found when I recently saw a bit in the New Zealand Herald asking for Antipodean views on the best and worst Christmas carols. One commenter from New South Wales summed up general opinion: "worst: ...anything that mentions snow, sleighs, reindeer, winter wonderlands. It's summer, people!"

So this Christmas, whether you are wishing your loved ones a "Mele Kalikimaka!" or simply a Merry Christmas*, remember that it can be merry and bright, no matter the weather. Also, there's nearly two feet of snow where I am, so please stop singing White Christmas.

*Or if you're doing your wishing in any of the following languages-

Feliz Navidad (Spanish)
Vrolijk Kerstfeest (Dutch)
Hyvää joulua (Finnish)
Joyeux Noël (French)
Frohe Weihnachten (German)
Buon Natale (Italian)
Feliz Natal (Portuguese)

-then Merry Christmas to you, too!

Modern fairytales

2008-12-20T00:28:00.000-08:00

Thursday, 7 August 2008

European Adventure Travel Day 6
Part 2: Stein am Rhein, Switzerland

In the end, I'm not sure how we found this beautiful little town, but I think J read about it in her ever-present guidebook. I had a roommate who lived in Basel (due west along the Rhein) for a year, but she had never heard of this place. Too bad. She missed out. Stein am Rhein was one of the highlights of my trip.

We got off the train in the newer part of the city and followed the procession of bathing suits, inflatable rafts and picnic baskets down the street and around the corner to the river. Next to the bridge, which leads to the medieval town center, there's a lovely pushing-off point for boaters. Naturally, it being a gorgeous (and hot!) day, there were a plethora of ambitious paddlers crowding the area. We dodged them and continued across the river. You can't tell from the pictures, but the entire length of the bridge is bedecked with flowers, and all manner of boats displaying both Swiss and German flags move up and down the river with varying degrees of speed and jollity.

Looking from new to old, under the shadow of the castle: Burg Hohenklingen

As soon as we crossed over the Rhein, we figured out what gives the town the reputation of being one of the most beautiful cities in Switzerland. All the buildings are exquisitely painted, some have colorful shutters and trim, some are giant canvases for bright, fairytale-esque murals. Most have window boxes full of geraniums. The old city center is beyond picturesque... it's like stepping into another world. J describes it as 'Hans Christian Andersen.' The façade paintings on the building date back as far as the early 1500s. Stein am Rhein was bombed during the second World War, but all the pretty stuff made it through.

Medieval Stein am Rhein

In the middle of the square are all the tables that belong to the sidewalk cafés. We arrived at lunchtime, and most shops close for one hour around noon. The intense heat appeared to have little effect on the average appetite, as evidenced by the delicious smells we caught as we passed families carving into whole roast chickens and dipping into pots of fondue.

Even the streets fit the theme of the town. Saint George battles the dragon every ten feet or so. The ladies of the town must be so proud. But then again... it's not a very big dragon.

The fairytale town's own Knight in Shining Armor

One of the best things about Switzerland: public water fountains! They can be a lifesaver in August. I may have bought several large bottles of water and Rivella before I understood what they were. Most of them are pretty, some are plain, but all of them provide cold, fresh, running water for your hydration needs.

On a side note, Rivella is good. It's made from milk serum, but it tastes kind of citrus-y. J and I were not able to identify it satisfactorily, but yum. I love trying all the crazy foods in other countries that I can't get at home.

And you thought cats didn't like water!

Since most of the shops were temporarily closed for lunch, J and I ambled outside the north city gate to see this church. Its copper roof has turned as green as the Statue of Liberty from years of inclement weather. I love Swiss graveyards. Rather than grassy fields or bare church floors, the graves are turned into well-kept flowerbeds.

After lunch, J and I browsed a few shops in the town. One shop was four or five rooms absolutely filled with blown glass: vases, ornaments, jewelry, tiny animals... everything you can imagine. I was tempted by the glass animals, because my mother has collected them since childhood, but I thought it best not to chance it in the backpack for another three weeks. J, heading back home long before I would, bought the most adorable frog (which did make it back to the States in one piece).

After shopping we went down the to riverbank, where J tried to convince me not to jump in, pack and all. It was that hot. I compromised with my toes, then we walked away from the land of enchantment, back to the train station. We headed for Buchs, via Rorschach and Romanshorn. Not that you particularly needed to know that, but I think those are fantastic city names. :)

Next adventure, Liechtenstein!

Bumpy water and the world from on high

2008-12-09T21:46:00.000-08:00

Thursday, 7 August 2008

European Adventure Travel Day 6
Part 1: Neuhausen am Rheinfall and Schaffhausen, Switzerland

Neuhausen am Rheinfall and Schaffhausen are both towns in northern Switzerland, near the Swiss-German border. Neuhausen, obviously, boasts the majestic waterfalls of the Rhine River. But you knew that. We followed the yellow feetprints painted on the street from the train station to this:

First look at the Rheinfall. We're about to go over...

...a huge waterfall, sharp rocks at the bottom...

Bring it on.

Believe it or not, a little tour boat pulls right up to that middle rock so people can get a real close look at the power of the water. As impressive and beautiful as the Rheinfall is, despite the churning and the rainbows, I just couldn't help but think of a certain General George S. Patton in connection with the infamy of the Rhine. :)

This weird girl kept getting in all the pictures.

We walked up to the bus stop so we wouldn't have to climb all the way up the very steep hill. That's not cheating. That's taking advantage of the amenities at our disposal. J asked a lady to direct us to the Roman ruins, and she looked very confused and pointed to the Munot.

The Munot is a very-definitely-not-ruined medieval fortress on top of a (very tall) hill. It's the town symbol; a large, round, stone fortification built in the 16th century. The Munot is surrounded by a deep trench that might once have been a moat, and said trench is now home to a baby red deer. It smelled a little funny, so we crossed the little drawbridge and entered. Just inside, the Munot is gloriously dungeon-y and reminiscient of the underground caverns of the Dwarves in Lord of the Rings.

The Munot, medieval fortress of Schaffhausen: outside

and inside

I couldn't take a picture of the front because there was a river in the way. To get to the top of the fortress, you walk up a cobbled ramp that winds around and around, but it wide enough to move wheeled cannons up and down. On top of the Munot, there is a giant screen for projected movies under the stars. And some cannons. I like artillery.

Schaffhausen from the Munot

The Swiss don't waste an inch... the entire hill is banked with vineyards. Excellent drainage, I'm told.

Some awesome building with a hole in it

In my completely unbiased opinion, the Rheinfall was one of the coolest things I saw in Switzerland.

Day 6 to be continued in Stein am Rhein (aka the fairytale town) and Liechtenstein. :)

No wonder people are distressed by lifesize Orlando Bloom posters.

2008-12-07T13:06:00.000-08:00

Wednesday night, 6 August 2008
Zurich

We spent the night of the 6th in oldtown Zürich, in a little rock-n-roll inn called Zic Zac Rock Hotel.

Oldtown Zürich has narrow cobbled streets for pedestrians only, and the entrance to the Hotel is around the corner from the address given. This is because the Hotel begins on the second floor, and the address is to the building and the stairs are around the side. There is a bustling sidewalk cafe below the hotel. We arrived there after dark and bumbled about for a bit trying to decide exactly where we belonged, until a nice waiter took pity on us and led us around to the door.

Zic Zac Rock Hotel is a unique little place. Each of the rooms is named after a musical group or artist, designated by a little plaque on the door, and there are little guitars in the carpet and rock memorabilia on the walls. J and I were placed in the George Michael room (spelt "Georg" Michael on the door plate... he must be Austrian).

The Georg Michael room was quite a terrifying experience.

The proprietors must not have been able to find many George Michael mementoes, but we also didn't see inside any of the other rooms, so that is based purely on assumption. On one wall was hung a small photo of George Michael at a concert. On the wall next to my bed was a GIGANTIC MURAL of George Michael leering into the room. J made me sleep next to him.

I distracted myself from the prying eyes of the mural by tuning into one of the three television channels to watch some soccer. Bellinzona played FC Aarau in the Swiss Super League. Tragically, even my beloved footy couldn't take away the utter creepiness. Maybe it was the lock of painted hair falling suggestively on the painted forehead. Maybe it was because the entire room was a delicate yellow color. Maybe it was the creepy eyes that burned this image into my brain forever... actually yeah. I think that was it.

Our window opened above another sidewalk cafe, so the fabulous smells and the sound of laughter drifted up to us long after we fell asleep under the watchful eyes of Mr. George Michael. In the morning we took the tram back to Zurich Hoptbahnhof (main station) and caught the early train to Schaffhausen, away from Zurich and George Michael.

Why couldn't we have stayed in the "John Bon Jovi Room"?

Feedback feeds my soul

2008-12-01T21:29:00.000-08:00

There's something about long, chilly evenings that makes me want to tweak my blog layout. Or maybe it's the merlot...

Anyway.

Apologies for the infrequent postings. I have, however, edited 1300 of my 1500+ pictures... and yes, I did return from this trip three months ago. I ambitiously told my family that I would update from hostels along the way, but that definitely didn't happen. Surprise surprise.

I've had more blog traffic than I originally expected. I know sometimes commenting is scary, but writers loooove feedback. So, for you to feedback in a totally non-threatening way, I added another annoying little button at the bottom of every post. Read the post, and then click a reaction word*. Or not.

"Sweet as" is a colloquial New Zealand expression for good, cool, awesome, yeah, agreed, etc. Of course, in Kiwi vernacular children are called "sprogs," so take that as you will. There is a NZ restaurant called "Sweet As" though. When I go back, I will eat there. That is a threat AND a promise.

"Funny" and "interesting" are both words that have described me at one time or another during my life. Usually in the context of "funny peculiar" and "dear me, that is an... interesting... use of interpretive dance as an art form."

Just kidding. I express myself in other ways.

Let me know if you like clicking words. I might change the words. Or take them off. Whatever.

*subject to change according to whimsy

ETA: took 'em off. They annoyed me. And no, that is not how I deal with all my problems. ;)

He who falls in lake gets wet.

2008-11-21T19:26:00.000-08:00

Wednesday, 6 August 2008

European Adventure Travel Day 5
Part 2: Luzern to Lugano to Zurich, Switzerland

To help you get the idea of the ridiculousness of our travel, I made a map detailing our journey on August the sixth. Practicality? Pssssh, who needs it? Although we did feel a bit like we were leaving a trail like the kids in the Family Circus cartoons...

We made it to Lugano, so far south that the only thing distinguishing it from Actual Italy is paying with francs. And the uniforms of the police. Anyway, I think everything sounds prettier in the language it's meant to be said in, so I present to you Città di Lugano, the city of Lugano.

Lago di Lugano through some trees and a pointy thing

Italian Switzerland is very hot. The sun beats down on the lakes, and since I'm sure most of you had high school chemistry, you can imagine the humidity. So, the pictures are a little hazy. Sorry.

Inside the Cattedrale di San Lorenzo, Lugano, Switzerland

This church is high on the hill above the city. It's decorated inside with red and black marble, and there are old frescoes on the walls that are partially rubbed away by time. The ceilings and pillars look like they are inlaid, the wood is old, and all the grates are wrought-iron. There are all sorts of other delights hiding away in the dim recesses of the alcoves. It's absolutely beautiful.

Prayer Candles

Some things are newer than others. Some things don't change.

Steep streets in Lugano

After leaving the cathedral, we headed for the lake. The streets in Lugano are steep, as evidenced by the shallow steps in the 'sidewalk' in the above photo, but they're home to loads of sidewalk cafés, full of customers all day long. The tables don't tip. The physics defy me.

We stopped by a gelato stand on the lakeshore. J didn't want any, but I love the stuff. I hope they serve stracciatella gelato in heaven. Because greed does not apply to gelato, I also had the Fruita Esotica. :)

Mmm...gelato

For those of you who have never had the pleasure, gelato is Italian ice cream, but denser and lower in fat (but not in flavor!) than American ice cream. Stracciatella, also known as Romeo & Juliet, means 'torn apart' in Italian. Makes sense, right? Anyway, it's ~~made of amazing~~ vanilla with shaved chocolate. But if you're not into that, gelati comes in zillions of other flavors. Not even kidding.

The church bells were ringing, but I didn't go to service. Please don't tell my mother.

We continued around the lake for awhile, before facing the flight of several hundred stairs that took us back to the road the train station was on. We noticed an old trolley track next to the steps as we dragged ourselves up, but we figured that it had died of exhaustion long ago.

When we climbed, gasping, to the top of the hill where the train station was located (naturally), who did we see walking toward us but Sabit, the Turkish boy we got to know in Interlaken? His face was absolutely priceless as it morphed from recognition to shock to glee in just a few seconds. We told him where to go for good gelato, then hopped a train back to Zurich.

Lucerne is for Lovers

2008-11-03T17:29:00.000-08:00

Wednesday, 6 August 2008

European Adventure Travel Day 5
Part 1: Interlaken to Lucerne, Switzerland

A commentary on some pictures for you all. Lucerne was one of my favorite places in Switzerland.

This photograph was our last look at Interlaken, as the train rolled out around the eastern lake.

Brienzersee

Lucerne/Luzern is absolutely breathtaking. The city is built on the shores of Lake Lucerne, straddling the Reuss River. It has a medieval town center, two medieval bridges, and an old city wall, not to mention the awesome lion monument in my last post. We literally walked out of the train station and saw this:

Kapellbrücke - Chapel Bridge

J and I followed a map up to the top of this hill so we could check out the view from the city walls, which now divide the old city from the modern city. Hills get steeper when you take your 20kg backpack with you. And, the towers actually being quite old, the staircases inside them are steep and narrow, and sometimes the steps are really tall. We had shaky-leg syndrome by the time we reached the top.

City walls and watchtower of Lucerne

This man was on the roof of the watchtower. I may have been guilty of making a "manskirt" comment. Or two. He took them stoically.

Friend of the Roof Squirrels

The view is worth the climb, shaky legs and all. Idyllic. The lake, the mountains, all the beautiful old churches and bridges. Gorgeous.

Land of Yoghurt and other Dairy Delicacies

This fellow and some friends were grazing at the base of the wall. I love his horns. And the look on his face. My brothers give me that look sometimes. I'm sure I don't deserve it.

Moooooooo.

We had to return to the train station eventually. We went to the grocery store inside the station for lunch, and I found a rack of rolls shaped like animals for children. Let me tell you, if you've never had European bread, you are missing out. J and I ate a lot of bread and cheese on our trip, mostly because we didn't want anything else. Soooooo good.

Turtles can be bread, too!

If you don't know already, I am a soccer/football/footy fanatic. Thus, I was excited to see this sign hanging in the train station. If you sound out all the vowels in the word, it sounds just like the commentators say it on television (Gooooooooaaaaaaal, not abfahrten). The same in any language. :)

Train station sign with priorities

Just as Mark Twain found true of the city over a hundred years ago, there are still myriads of trinket shops. I bought Swiss Army knives for some of the men in my family.
I do wish that we'd had more time in Lucerne. We visited Hofkirche, a 16th-century church with huge, heavy doors that is just beautiful inside. There was an old man praying alone in a pew, and I felt sorry for him because a large group came in after us and weren't very respectful. He lit a candle and returned to the sunshine. We had to get back on a train to go south to Lugano (between Bellinzona and the Swiss-Italian border), and it's a three-hour ride.

The Lion of Lucerne

2008-10-22T23:16:00.000-07:00

Our next destination was Lucerne, but before I write about the city, I want to introduce you to my favorite monument, the Lion of Lucerne. In his book A Tramp Abroad, Mark Twain calls the Lion "the most mournful and moving piece of stone in the world."

(Clickable)

The Löwendenkmal - The Lion of Lucerne

The Swiss have been politically neutral for centuries. They also have a history of supplying mercenaries to foreign governments, and dignitaries trusted the Swiss Guards not to turn against them with shifting politics.

In 1792, after trying to escape the French Revolution, King Louis XVI, Marie-Antoinette and their children were hauled back to the Tuileries Palace in Paris, which was stormed by an angry mob of blood-thirsty Parisian revolutionaries. More than seven hundred Swiss officers and soldiers died there, unaware that the royal family was already gone.

The Lion of Lucerne was designed by Danish artist Bertel Thorvaldsen, and carved into the sandstone cliff of an old quarry in 1820 by Lucas Ahorn, a German stone-mason.

The Latin inscription HELVETIORUM FIDEI AC VIRTUTI means "To the loyalty and bravery of the Swiss". You'll also find the engraved names of the dead and of the saved officers of the Swiss guard, as well as the death toll among the Swiss soldiers (DCCLX = 760) and the number of surviving soldiers (CCCL = 350).

Because Mark Twain is more gifted with words than I, here is his description of the Lion:

"The Lion lies in his lair in the perpendicular face of a low cliff - for he is carved from the living rock of the cliff. His size is colossal, his attitude is noble. How head is bowed, the broken spear is sticking in his shoulder, his protecting paw rests upon the lilies of France. Vines hang down the cliff and wave in the wind, and a clear stream trickles from above and empties into a pond at the base, and in the smooth surface of the pond the lion is mirrored, among the water-lilies.

Around about are green trees and grass. The place is a sheltered, reposeful woodland nook, remote from noise and stir and confusion–and all this is fitting, for lions do die in such places, and not on granite pedestals in public squares fenced with fancy iron railings. The Lion of Lucerne would be impressive anywhere, but nowhere so impressive as where he is."

-Mark Twain, A Tramp Abroad, 1880

I think Twain is right. Somehow, standing before that pool of water in the unnatural stillness that is rarely found in the presence of a multitude of tourists, you can almost feel the lion's anguish. Because it touched me, I wanted to share it with you. And it doesn't have to be soldiers who died 200 years ago, but stop for a minute and remember those who have died defending others.

and there I met a boy with long eyelashes...

2008-10-14T13:32:00.001-07:00

Tuesday, 5 August 2008

European Adventure Travel Day 4:
Zermatt to Interlaken, Switzerland

Morning in Zermatt. J and I woke up and stumbled around our tiny room, trying to keep from waking the snoring mountaineers, then we went down to a real Swiss breakfast of muesli, yoghurt, bread, jam, cheese and cold cuts, with tea or juice. There were no tourists in the dining room. Everyone was dressed in hiking or mountain biking gear, showcasing their windburned faces and sunbleached hair. After we repacked our bags, we retraced our taxi ride by foot back to the center of town. This passed us on the way:

(All pics are clickable)

Zermatt electric car with concrete mixer

Because there are no cars allowed in this town -and therefore no heavy equipment- they have to transport stuff to building sites the hard way. After the concrete vat guy went past, he was followed by several loads of sand and gravel. We also met lots of people dressed to the nines in ski gear, walking up the street in ski boots with not a trace of snow in sight.

We caught our train to Interlaken, but the view was spoiled because most of the trip was through tunnels. When we pulled into the station, J pulled out her handy map that told us to "follow the brown signs to the hostel." As it turned out, the "brown" signs were really a mustardy-yellow.

View from my room

Balmer's Herberge is a famous European hostel, the oldest private hostel in Switzerland. We were on the second floor of the main building, right under the sign. There's an underground bar and the floors are creaky and old. It's been expanded until it resembles a maze. We ditched our stuff and walked around town for awhile. Interlaken is the country's adventure capital, offering canyoning, glacier climbing, skydiving, and whitewater rafting, among others.

Paragliders in Interlaken, Switzerland

Since it's not cheap to participate in any of the above, J and I explored the town and the shops for several hours. Eventually we came across the park where the tandem paragliders were landing. We watched them land, fold their chutes and stuff them back into the bags. I want a job where I can soar through the air all day so tourists can get their thrills!

Grounded paragliders

Back at the hostel with our picnic lunch, J and I met a Turkish boy named Sabit. He was on his own, so he ate lunch with us before having a go at whitewater rafting. After he came back that evening, J headed for bed, so he asked if I wanted to walk. Interlaken has an enforced noise curfew of 10pm (hence the bar being underground), so we wandered in the gathering dark until we met an elderly couple. Sabit asked which lake was prettier, so they pointed us east. We decided to go as far as the canal, so we walked to the place where there are steps down into the icy water.

Interlaken canal bridge

Then we went shopping. He was looking for a Swiss watch, so I picked out the biggest mens watch I could find and told him I wanted it. He looked confused and told me "is for male," so I amused both of us instead by trying on ridiculous orange sunglasses. We walked again under the trees with camoflage bark and leaves that cast shadows shaped like flowers in the light of the streetlamps, until he abruptly decided he was tired and we should go back. Before long neither of us recognized the area. He wanted to stop and ask directions (!) but I could see grass just down the street. It was the paraglider landing park, so I practically dragged him up the street and found our way home. He bought me Toffifay candy from a vending machine because there was a footballer on the package in honor of EuroCup 2008. Sabit speaks 5 or 6 languages, and he told me that Aussies sound like Americans. He gave me double kisses and the box of candy and said goodnight.

Sunrise in the Alps

Interlaken is beautiful. My one regret is not taking the train up to Gimmelwald and to Jungfraujoch, the "top of Europe." I understand it to be breathtaking there. J was exhausted, so we just stayed in Interlaken. We had a good time, even without the extreme sports. :)

Espresso, dungeons and chalets

2008-10-01T00:20:00.000-07:00

Monday, 4 August 2008

European Adventure Travel Day 3:
Milan, Italy to Zermatt, Switzerland

Have you ever tried making a call from a pay phone that is in another language? Harder than it sounds. I think it only took me 15 minutes to figure it out... I almost gave up twice, but I didn't think that the friend (J) I was scheduled to meet in Switzerland would appreciate my misplacing myself and not warning her, so I dug deep and found the extra determination necessary to defeat the Italian phone lines and leave her a message. Then, I reserved myself a seat on the next train headed in a north-easterly direction, and sat outside the station in the bright sun for two hours.

Best thing about Italian train stations: espresso bars. Men in expensive business suits standing around and sipping coffee out of tiny cups and reading newspapers and/or talking animatedly. Not to mention the amazing espresso and cappucinos. And gelato.

Worst thing about Italian train stations: terrible currency exchange rates. And pigeons indoors.

The train route took me back up through the Lake District and around Lago Maggiore, which is so beautiful that it was all I could do not to jump off the train and stay there for the day. The man with the cappucino cart and the knowledge of my call to J saved my sanity. I want to go back someday. Maggiore, Como, Lugano... each lake is unique, but all are breathtaking. Some call the Lake District the "best-kept secret of Italy." I'm inclined to agree.

---

On to Montreux, Switzerland. The train track curls around the northern edge of Lac Léman, otherwise known as Lake Geneva, and past the château; the hills and lakes of northern Italy having given way to the mountains and vineyards of southern Switzerland.

The train pulled into the station at Montreux, where J found me without further ado and herded me downstairs and across the street to the bus. Because there are perks that come with a Eurail pass, the château waived the 12CHF entrance fee. J rented an audio guide to share so we could learn Cool Stuff.

Château de Chillon

In the summer of 1816, Lord Byron and his buddy Percy Bysshe Shelley visited the Château de Chillon, taking an especial interest in the dungeons where the political prisoner François de Bonivard spent several years in captivity. Lord Byron was inspired by his story and, envisioning a path worn around the base of a pillar by years of Bonivard's pacing, carved his name in the pillar. He went on to compose his famous poem The Prisoner of Chillon in Bonivard's honor.

In Chillon's dungeons deep and old,
There are seven columns, massy and grey,
Dim with a dull imprison'd ray,
A sunbeam which hath lost its way

Contrary to the theme of the poem, however, the dungeons are not actually underwater, but right next to the water, and the sound of waves lapping at the shore is constantly heard. The château is built on and encompasses a small rocky island just off the shore of Lake Geneva. The island acted as natural protection and as a strategic location to control movement between the north and the south of Europe.

There are three major periods of the castle's history. The earliest mention of the castle dates back to 1150, during the Savoy period (12th century to 1536) when the Savoy family controlled the fortress and the lakeshore. Then the Bernese conquered the Vaud (Chillon being in the canton of Vaud) region, chased the Savoys out, and occupied Chillon in 1536. For the next 260 years the castle was used as a fortress, arsenal, and prison. The current period, the Vaudois era, began when the Bernese left Chillon at the time of the Vaud revolution in 1798.

Swans in the Chillon "moat"

The castle was originally whitewashed stone, but now the stone is bare because people thought that bare stone looked more "authentic" on a castle than whitewash. Silly people.

Windows in the great hall looking across to France

The dungeons are on the south side of the castle, looking across to France. They are built with huge vaulted Gothic ceilings, and on either side are rooms of convenience including food storage and execution chambers. Pleasant, I know. The upper levels are fortress on one side (including the keep and armories) and residential (chambers, halls and courtyards) on the other. This photograph is of a staircase between the lord's chambers and his chapel, worn away by centuries of use.

Chapel stairs

Once we had absorbed all the history we could, we returned to the train station to catch a train to Visp, where we boarded a little red mountain train bound for our evening's destination of Zermatt, under the shadow of the Matterhorn. The train's windows had knobs on them so you could pull them open. This picture may have been taken with the entirety of my upper body leaning precariously out of the train toward the glacial river...

Zermatt mountain train

As we climbed higher into the Swiss mountains, we began to pass tiny villages snug up to the tracks. At one station, I waved to a grandma in a rocking chair on the balcony of her chalet. She waved back until our train disappeared from sight. There were herds of cows with bells and donkeys grazing in fields of wildflowers. Further along, the tall mountain peaks dropped steeply away from the train tracks, into a river grey with rock flour.

Zermatt, Switzerland

We arrived in Zermatt after dark. Zermatt is a pedestrian-only town, the only vehicles being tiny electric taxis and trucks that whiz around the streets with little regard for pedestrians and bicyclists. We hailed a taxi for a ride up to our hostel due to our decidely un-adventurous desire to drop our packs and fall asleep. As it turned out, we were in a "mixed dorm" with one old man and three young men, the latter having hiked 160km through the mountains in the past 9 days. I slept like a baby and missed out on their snoring. :)

I took this photograph of a white cross on the hillside above the chalets by leaning out the window above one of said sleeping boys. It's a charming little town (with an intense shopping district for the wealthy ski clientele) but it's definitely expensive to get to. I wanted to ski!

J blogs her perspective of the day's adventure here.

One night in Italy

2008-09-18T12:05:00.000-07:00

Milan, Italy
3 August 2008

My hostel was hard to find. In the end, it took about three hours, a bus ticket I never found out if I actually needed, and four kind strangers who took pity on me.

The station I arrived at (Milano Centrale) is enormous. It has 24 platforms and serves about 120 million people per year. From the station, my directions said to board the 92 bus. The bus loop is out behind the station, through a park-like area, and across a street. An Italian boy (correctly assuming confusion) guided me onto the bus and off at the stop I needed. From the stop, it should have been a quick two-minute walk across the street and up the block, but I turned the wrong way and wandered for over an hour. For this I blame confusing Italian street names that sound like addresses.

Stazione Centrale di Milano

Italian summer nights are hot.

I may have been propositioned by an older gentleman from his car window, but what do I know? I don't speak Italian.

By the time I made it to my hostel, I was sweaty and digusting and tired from a very long day. I stayed at the Hotel America, home of this sign. It's actually a very nice, very clean place, and contrary to my earlier experiences, conveniently located.

In the common room, there were two lads from London, a girl from Australia, and a boy from Atlanta, Georgia (who looked and sounded just like James Dean!), who invited me to watch The Simpsons with them. We talked about our travels, about home, and about patriotism, and then we answered Rob's (from London) insane questions (he assured us that he was genuinely curious to know the answers).

I love staying in hostels because of the people you meet. In hotels, you rarely see anyone, but hostel-dwellers are a special breed of people that exude camaraderie. Hanging out with a multi-national group in a city where no one speaks the language is quite fun. It was a lovely wind-down to the day.

My balcony view in Milano

My return to the station in the morning was comical. At the bus stop, I asked if this was where the 92 bus stopped, but the English word for "92" is nothing like the Italian. A tiny elderly lady, who did not speak a word of English, tried her best to help me, but unfortunately for foreign language communication, speaking slowly and loudly in Italian is still speaking in a foreign language. She finally dragged some man off the street to assure me (also loudly) that "yes, bus 92 stop here, go to stazione."

I missed my train back to Switzerland by one minute, so I remained in Milan for two more hours, soaking up the sunshine and watching the goings-on in the home of my sister's "boyfriend," Pato, who plays for AC Milan. =)

I loved Italy.

Now we're talkin'!

2008-09-15T14:02:00.000-07:00

Comments are on! I promise I really do want to hear from y'all... Blogger wouldn't turn the comments on normally for some reason, so I did it manually. My frustration may be over.

Or maybe I'm just a loser.

Castles, cobblestones and confusion

2008-09-14T12:58:00.000-07:00

Sunday, 3 August 2008

European Adventure Travel Day 2:
Zurich, Switzerland to Milan, Italy

It's an exciting thing to look out of the window of a plane and know that the mountains you see sticking up through the clouds are the Alps.

I made it off the plane and through customs in good time, changed some money and collected my backpack. My first challenge was the train station. When traveling with a Eurail Pass, one must first have it validated, which I was able to do at the ticket window, where the lovely English-speaking ticket agent booked me a reservation to Bellinzona (pronounced with the Italian "tz"sound, not an English "zzz"), my first destination of the day. As I stepped away from the window, I realized I did not understand a word printed on the card, and unable to find an information booth, I decided to try my luck at the train tracks.

It took me 15 minutes to remember that "zug" means "train." It took another 5 to remember that I was already AT the "Zurich Flughafen," otherwise known as the airport.

The first person I asked for help was Russian, and she spoke about as much English as I do German, but we compared tickets and realized we needed the same train. We made it to the main Zurich station and found our connection to Bellinzona (for me) and Lugano (for her). On the train, I showed her pictures of Oregon and she played Russian music on her Mp3 player for me, and then she wrote a note for me in my journal.

I disembarked in the sunshine at Bellinzona, in the breathtakingly beautiful Ticino valley near the Italian border, which boasts three castles of its own, built to fortify the border defenses in the 14th and 15th centuries.

Bellinzona, Ticino Valley, Switzerland

In Switzerland, everything is carefully marked, so it was not hard to locate the first of the three castles. You can see them from the train station, but they look much further away than they actually are. I began at Castelgrande, a massive stone structure that sort of encompasses a hill.

Entrance to Castelgrande, Bellinzona, Switzerland

I climbed a few hundred stairs to reach the stone and grass courtyard (with my unwieldy 30k backpack, fun times) and looked around before returning to the center of town to summon my courage and strength of thigh to climb the hill opposite Castelgrande to the next castle, Castello di Montebello.

Castello di Montebello and Castello di Sasso Carbaro, Bellinzona

Castello di Montebello has two drawbridges, a wine press, and the tiniest closet toilet I've ever seen tucked inside the castle wall. You're able to walk along part of the old castle walls and look down into the valley. This castle was once a 13th century palace, expanded into a defensive structure over the following 200 years. Castles fascinate me.

Castelgrande from the windows of Castello di Montebello

After Castello di Montebello, I returned to the train station far too exhausted to continue up the hill to the third and final castle, and caught the train south toward Como, Italy. After an encounter with the Italian border police at Chiasso, I got off the train to find Lake Como (downhill and to the left from the stazione).

Stairs in Como

The lake is every bit as beautiful as they say.

Lago di Como, Italia

This particular evening, it was so hot and sunny that there was a haze over the lake. So many boats were out on the water. There was a small boy in an AC Milan jersey playing football (soccer) on the bumper boat dock. The steep, narrow streets are chock-full of sidewalk cafes. Multitudes of people were strolling around the lake, most eating gelato, window shopping and enjoying the lazy, humid Sunday afternoon. The atmosphere was one of indulgence.

Como, Italy

I wrapped up my day's journey in Milano, where after wandering around the city for nearly an hour, I was relieved to finally find my hostel. In Italy, what sounds like an address (Corso 22 Marzo) is actually an entire street. I wandered the wrong way up said street. Fortunately, Italian boys who learned to speak English (for, I am convinced, lost American tourists such as myself) were able to turn me around and help me find my way back. Grazie!