tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85829563306983768172024-03-19T13:20:42.871+01:00Chateau-LapompeI go to Bordeaux, I ramble about it. Or presumably that's what will be happening.
This experience might be something like water instead of wine being served with a meal, which is what Chateau-Lapompe supposedly means - according to my french slang dictionary. I probably shouldn't trust it because I'm pretty sure "slang" and "dictionary" are practically oxymorons.Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08218116517555498644noreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8582956330698376817.post-16754062469445228492011-01-02T22:01:00.000+01:002011-01-02T22:01:08.649+01:00SNOW- okay, it might be slightly in convenient, or TBC is trying to ruin my life<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TSDmAkP-0JI/AAAAAAAAA0U/_xrh2en6FlA/s1600/IMG_4061.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TSDmAkP-0JI/AAAAAAAAA0U/_xrh2en6FlA/s320/IMG_4061.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One morning I woke up to this- I was thrilled</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal">(This was mostly written right after that day it snowed, which was like erm, more <strike>2</strike> 4 weeks ago)</div><div class="MsoNormal">Last night, I did what I do every night – after dinner I head into Bordeaux and hang out with Tristan at MacDo (the internet was broken though, it was tragic). </div><div class="MsoNormal">Anyway, at around 11:45, I was going to head back home. As we approached the tram stop I noticed something was off. Then I could read “service terminé” (I don’t need to translate, do I?). So my first reaction is to be like: did I lose track of time and miss the last tram? But that didn’t make any sense because it was Thursday and the last tram leaves the terminus at 1 am. And the sign stated quite clearly that it was 11:48 or so. Then it switches and shows an announcement, which we eventually translated as saying “the tram service is stopped after 10 pm because snow is predicted”). </div><div class="MsoNormal">This made (and makes) no sense for two reasons:</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-left: 0.75in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span><span>1)<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>There was NO snow; it had mostly melted away during the day. </div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: 0.75in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span><span>2)<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>It had snowed that morning, quite a lot, actually, and the tram was running THEN. </div><div class="MsoNormal">So Tristan and I stood there in utter bafflement. (Tristan lives by this stop, so this only REALLY affected me- but he isn’t a jerk so he didn’t ditch me).</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m not sure why, but we stood there for like 10 minutes. I think we were certain that there must have been some mistake. In fact, the tram was still running in the opposite direction.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Finally, I was like okay, this sucks, but there is also a bus that goes to Pessac (and that is actually faster) (I discovered this bus when I was stupid and missed the last tram- even though I knew when it was leaving). So we walk to the bus stop. When we arrive, a totally random man sitting there tells us that the bus service was also stopped. So now I’m all: great, I’m stranded in Bordeaux. </div><div class="MsoNormal">We went back to the tram as if we expected something to have changed. And I spent my time exclaiming “THIS MAKES NO SENSE. THERE IS NO SNOW!” etc.</div><div class="MsoNormal">In fact, I’m pretty sure this is why this happened.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Three TBC workers are sitting in the break room eating lunch. One is on his I-phone.</div><div class="MsoNormal">TBC 1: You know what sucks?</div><div class="MsoNormal">TBC 2: What?</div><div class="MsoNormal">TBC 1: Working. 30 hr weeks are too hard. I think we need to work less.</div><div class="MsoNormal">TBC 2: I agree work sucks. </div><div class="MsoNormal">TBC 1 & TBC 2: *pout*</div><div class="MsoNormal">TBC 3: Hey guys, it might snow tonight!</div><div class="MsoNormal">TBC 1: SO? It does that sometimes.</div><div class="MsoNormal">TBC 3: No, you don’t understand</div><div class="MsoNormal">TBC 2: DUDE, it’s not that complicated: white stuff falls from the sky. Happens every winter.</div><div class="MsoNormal">TBC 3: YES! I know- you see, snow is DANGEROUS. Especially for public transit.</div><div class="MsoNormal">TBC 2: No it’s not, STUPID. </div><div class="MsoNormal">TBC 3: You don’t get it- There is NO way we could keep providing public transit. It’s too dangerous.</div><div class="MsoNormal">TBC 1: Oooh!</div><div class="MsoNormal">TBC 2: I still don’t get it…</div><div class="MsoNormal">TBC 3: Let’s take the night off</div><div class="MsoNormal">All: YES</div><div class="MsoNormal">Anyway, I stood at the tram for a bit, waiting in vain and considered my options</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-left: 0.75in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span><span>a)<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Walk for an hour and a half by myself after midnight in just above freezing weather.</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.75in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span><span>b)<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Attempt to procure a bike (the TBC has a nifty thing called Vcub where you can take a bike from one station to any other), however, this is likely to fail because it requires a European credit card- which I don’t have. </div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.75in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span><span>c)<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Nick Johnson it (ie party it up until the trams start running again at 5 am)</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.75in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span><span>d)<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Call host family (hahaha NO)</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: 0.75in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span><span>e)<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Take a taxi</div><div class="MsoNormal">Taking a taxi seemed like the best option, so we walked off in search of a taxi. We found a taxi stand, and I was lucky enough to share a ride with some others headed to Pessac, so I only had to pay 6 euro instead of 18, yay. Our cab driver was bit of a jerk though: “this isn’t a bus”. So I got off with the others, and walked the rest of the way (a bit farther than usual, but not much), and just as I turned on to my street the predicted snow began to fall softly. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">…</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">Then, as a going away present, the TBC went on strike for my last two days in Bordeaux (canceling almost everything, particularly anything that could be useful to me). They probably did this to spite me for laughing at their earlier strike (“I have to wait 10 minutes instead of<span> </span>6? OH NOES”). Therefore I had to take an actual train to get into Bordeaux, which was annoying, but not awful because I totally didn’t pay for it (they owe me—remember the 40 extra I shelled out because you wouldn’t print out my ticket, SNCF? I want it back). Then on Sunday, they canceled the one tram that was still running (the one Tristan was using to get to the train station), but it was kind of a legitimate cancelage, what with everything being icy and dangerous to WALK on. So I ended up walking halfish way to Tristan’s house, and then back to the train station with him. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">THANKS FOR NOTHING ,TBC.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">I<strike>’m going to</strike> miss you <span style="font-family: Wingdings;"><span>:(</span></span> I love(d) that tram. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08218116517555498644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8582956330698376817.post-644225971753005252011-01-02T21:53:00.000+01:002011-01-02T21:53:07.683+01:00It’s been a more than a month since I was there, but I’ll try to explain why Bulgaria was so awesome<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/> <w:DontVertAlignCellWithSp/> <w:DontBreakConstrainedForcedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> <w:Word11KerningPairs/> <w:CachedColBalance/> </w:Compatibility> <m:mathPr> <m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/> <m:brkBin m:val="before"/> <m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/> <m:smallFrac m:val="off"/> <m:dispDef/> <m:lMargin m:val="0"/> <m:rMargin m:val="0"/> <m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/> <m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/> <m:intLim m:val="subSup"/> <m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<div class="MsoNormal">Our plane landed and we took the most terrifying taxi ride ever to our hostel. Our taxi driver actually cut off a cop, and got away with it- you can’t make this stuff up. In between being slightly convinced that I might die, I got really excited about all the Cyrillic everywhere. It was like signs had become an awesome puzzle- what initially looks like complete gibberish becomes something you understand if you just sound it out. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TSDhkaCoV7I/AAAAAAAAAzc/Ehd1-3esous/s1600/IMG_3882.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TSDhkaCoV7I/AAAAAAAAAzc/Ehd1-3esous/s320/IMG_3882.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">For example: g-a-r-a-j</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span> </span>We arrived at our hostel, and checked in.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TSDhri1qTNI/AAAAAAAAAzg/z8-ymxhhYqY/s1600/IMG_3887.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TSDhri1qTNI/AAAAAAAAAzg/z8-ymxhhYqY/s320/IMG_3887.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hostel and Kitty</td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span> </span>Then we went off in search of food. We were planning on eating at a place that the hostel had recommended to us. A random American we met at the atm by our hostel joined us. But she ended up being ridiculously pretentious: </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">Her:<span> </span>I teach english in Istanbul- I HATE English.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">Us: (later, after she was gone) That first part is really cool, but the second part, not so much. Also, if you hate it so much, why do you teach it?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">And then she bailed on us at a random pizza place that we later frequented. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TSDiXm9ivtI/AAAAAAAAAzk/iWQ0OL8mEzE/s1600/IMG_3888.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TSDiXm9ivtI/AAAAAAAAAzk/iWQ0OL8mEzE/s320/IMG_3888.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">The food at our restaurant was good a ridiculously cheap. It was awesome. </div><div class="MsoNormal">The next morning we had planned to join a walking tour of the city, but it ended up being canceled. Therefore we took ourselves on the walking tour (which was conveniently labeled on our map). </div><div class="MsoNormal">I saw my first mosque looking mosque I’ve seen:</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TSDhKehKvjI/AAAAAAAAAzY/KW2_DhNkktc/s1600/IMG_3718.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TSDhKehKvjI/AAAAAAAAAzY/KW2_DhNkktc/s320/IMG_3718.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It kind of pales in comparison to the mosques I saw later in Istanbul...</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>Sofia was a city of dogs, inexpensiveness, and awesome broken downess. The company was great, and the city was great. And I suppose that’s all that’s necessary for awesome. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TSDjeNIAaVI/AAAAAAAAAz4/PfZXWZJ8G0M/s1600/IMG_3827.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TSDjeNIAaVI/AAAAAAAAAz4/PfZXWZJ8G0M/s200/IMG_3827.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TSDi4nyenqI/AAAAAAAAAzw/vMxGyyWgoTY/s1600/IMG_3771.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TSDi4nyenqI/AAAAAAAAAzw/vMxGyyWgoTY/s200/IMG_3771.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TSDizmSdy0I/AAAAAAAAAzo/WLP0dw4kD-M/s1600/IMG_3797.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TSDizmSdy0I/AAAAAAAAAzo/WLP0dw4kD-M/s200/IMG_3797.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TSDi_9QkSwI/AAAAAAAAAz0/gmFdjfcdJk0/s1600/IMG_3687.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TSDi_9QkSwI/AAAAAAAAAz0/gmFdjfcdJk0/s200/IMG_3687.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>We saw the bathes, which were closed, and then we went into an appliance/ electronics store. Then we continued towards the former building of the communist party. This required us to do a rather large loop because they were blocking off a section of road inexplicably. So we saw lots of pretty things- I am quite fond of yellow buildings. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TSDj8zHze6I/AAAAAAAAA0A/5TwZwLhD8I8/s1600/IMG_3759.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TSDj8zHze6I/AAAAAAAAA0A/5TwZwLhD8I8/s320/IMG_3759.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>Then we saw this: </span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TSDjrd1fhZI/AAAAAAAAAz8/efK_q5TlHQs/s1600/IMG_3789.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TSDjrd1fhZI/AAAAAAAAAz8/efK_q5TlHQs/s320/IMG_3789.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Orthodox cathedral...</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>Which is the main attraction of Sofia, I guess. There was a huge line to get in the whole time we were there. But the people who were in line weren’t necessarily touristy type people.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>In fact, Sofia was very untouristy. I get the impression that the touristy parts of Bulgaria are the countryside and the coast which feature beautiful nature, and possibly resorts. Sofia was not a resort. But I thought it was beautiful, even if lots of it was falling apart. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>We visited a mall on the out skirts of the map (our map didn’t show all of Sofia, just the main city center, we kind of felt that this implied that if you go off the map you might die/ be abducted by aliens or other creatures.) Then we sat on a grassy knoll and talked and admired doggies. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>Then we headed back to the hostel for a nap. When we arrived in our room it was empty except for one girl, sitting in her bed watching something on her iphone. It was around 3 o’clock.<span> </span>We left a few hours later to get dinner – the girl was still sitting there with her iphone. We ate pizza at the place pretentious girl abandoned us at (1.60 lev, or 0.80 euro cents per gigantic slice). And then headed to bar that the hostel had recommended. We spent the most of the evening there just hanging out. Later we stopped at another bar for one drink, and then we came back to the hostel. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>We made friends with a Dutch girl and New Zealander guy who met in Peru, and accidently insulted a girl from Georgia. And we talked to a guy who wanted to drive down the coast of California, which led to Tristan and I arguing about whether or not the 1 goes all the way to San Diego (I WON) during which the guy walked away which was funny. We also talked to a guy who was teaching English somewhere in eastern Europe, which I think sounds really awesome. So all in all we had a fantastic first day. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>The next day we had considered getting up early and taking a train to another Bulgarian city, but we ended up being up until around 3 (the girl was still sitting in her bed watching her iphone) so we decided that getting up early would not lead to happiness. So we wandered around Sofia again, and took pictures to prove that we were actually there. Then we came back and took naps- but they were unfortunately fail naps due to our newly acquired French roommate. When we entered the room we found him wearing just underwear- so we both figured he had just gotten out of the shower or something and we had caught him at an unfortunate time. So we get in bed. Then I hear grunting/ heaving breathing, which turned out to be because he was in the middle of out room still wearing just underwear doing sit ups. Weird- no?<span> </span>So I put on my ipod and turn it up. Enter two more new roommates- French Canadians. Underwear guy scoots to the side and continues his sit ups while conversing with them in French. This displeases me, but I’m not willing to give up my nap yet. Then I feel a presence near my bed, and I look to find that this man, still wearing only his underwear, is using the top bunk to stretch- ie his foot is by Tristan’s head, despite the fact that there were three other vacant bunks, one of which was his. Thus, we quickly gave up on the nap because this was hella uncomfortable making. We went into the common room and lounged about- Tristan watched a soccer game and I fell asleep. Nothing much happened this night, except that we went to sleep earlyish, and then got up for a midnight snack at 3 am. Yeah. (I’m not sure why I wrote yeah here, but I’m leaving it.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>The next day we had some time to kill before our flight. So we walked to the train station. This walk took us through some less nice areas of Sofia, but they still looked better than Bordeaux 3. The train station itself was kind of epic- especially the subterranean store area which was completely abandoned except a few dogs. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TSDlLEqBQXI/AAAAAAAAA0I/mRXBHaaPUko/s1600/IMG_3901.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TSDlLEqBQXI/AAAAAAAAA0I/mRXBHaaPUko/s320/IMG_3901.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TSDlNX9mHOI/AAAAAAAAA0M/YDsQ0WBJK8g/s1600/IMG_3902.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TSDlNX9mHOI/AAAAAAAAA0M/YDsQ0WBJK8g/s320/IMG_3902.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>Then we took a taxi to the airport and arrived WAY early. This led to me buying some Bulgaria playing cards with a different picture on each cards (and some postcards). And then we played an EPIC game of war, using the jokers as gods who pawn everyone else. One of the gods was quite fickle and he kept switching sides. The other stayed loyal to Tristan almost to the end, however, he eventually jumped ship, leaving me the undisputed winner. Unfortunately, these cards have disappeared of the face of the planet, which is sad because they were kind of awesome. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>We flew to Paris, stayed over night in a hotel, and left early the next morning on a train for Bordeaux. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>And that is why Bulgaria was awesome.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08218116517555498644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8582956330698376817.post-82746427567878146162011-01-02T21:29:00.000+01:002011-01-02T21:29:03.430+01:00I think I might want to move to Bulgaria (a prologue)<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/> <w:DontVertAlignCellWithSp/> <w:DontBreakConstrainedForcedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> <w:Word11KerningPairs/> <w:CachedColBalance/> </w:Compatibility> <m:mathPr> <m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/> <m:brkBin m:val="before"/> <m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/> <m:smallFrac m:val="off"/> <m:dispDef/> <m:lMargin m:val="0"/> <m:rMargin m:val="0"/> <m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/> <m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/> <m:intLim m:val="subSup"/> <m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<div class="MsoNormal">I was back in Bordeaux for only four days before my next trip. In this time that I had lost my credit cards came back to haunt me with a vengeance. First off, I had bought my train tickets online using my cards weeks ago (our plane was to leave from Paris), but somehow instead of being able to print them myself, the option to have them printed at the station had been selected. This required me to show my credit card- which I didn’t have. The first women I spoke to was completely unhelpful. Basically she was like “sucks to be you, now go away” (only in French). This kind of shocked me, so I got out of the way to consider. I got back in line, got another lady and asked her if she could speak English. And she said she couldn’t but told me to go down to one of the first windows, and that they could. So I did that, and the women there informed me that she couldn’t speak English either, but that she would try to help me anyway. I explained my problem, and she spent some time fixing it as best she could (by canceling my tickets and buying me new ones). Only one of my tickets could be canceled, however, so I ended up having to pay an extra 40 euro. *sigh*.<span> </span>So that was an unpleasant hour or so. By this time I was beginning to get concerned because I needed my parents to wire me money to pay rent, and it was after 5 pm, on a holiday (Armistice/ Veteran’s Day), in France. It turned out that there was only one place still open, I made it there an hour and half or so later. It was dark and raining. Everything in this strip mallish thing was closed except one sandwich place. As I approached it, I was talking to my mom on the phone. I walked by a car full of totally sketchy youngish men. And the sandwich place was swarming with them. The sandwich place didn’t seem to have a western union, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to get close enough to find out. In fact, I was pretty sure that if it did happen to have one, I would get mugged on my way out anyway. Then the sketchy guys started calling me out, which mostly consisted of them saying “English”. So, I gave up on getting money. I got out of there as quickly as possible. </div><div class="MsoNormal">I spent most of dinner staring at my placemat, hoping that somehow my host family hadn’t noticed that I was there. Unfortunately they did, and I received a 15 minute lecture on what an awful human being/ host student I am, etc. It sucked. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Early the next morning, I left for the Pessac train station. Only when /I arrived there the sign said that the next train would be coming at 11 or so. I was more than 15 minutes early for more train, so I was certain I hadn’t missed it. Furthermore, this train is kind of a commuter line, and it runs every hour or so. There is no one else by the tracks (this is a tiny station), and the station was completely closed, so there was no one I could ask about it. So I start to get a bit nervous. I consider my options: I have 45 or so minutes to get to the other train station – which is only possible on public transit if I get extremely lucky, or I can wait here and hope that a train gets there. But I WOULD get to Paris, I was determined. About 3 minutes later some other people showed up, looked at the sign and joined the freak out party. Fortunately, all of our freaking out was for naught, and a train showed up about 3 minutes later. I got on it even though it didn’t think it was technically the train I booked (it takes about 6 minutes to get the other train station, 5 minutes of which are spent pulling into the station- so they have no time to check tickets anyway). I got on my train to Paris with Tristan without further event, THANK GOD. </div><div class="MsoNormal">When we arrived in Paris, I stopped at a western union on my way out of the train station to pick up my money. Then we had a few hours to kill before getting to our bus stop to go to the airport. Firstly, we had to print out a confirmation for a taxi in Bulgaria we had booked with our airline. This led us to decide to go towards Sacré Coeur, because it’s in a less classy neighborhood, and therefore more likely to have internet cafés about. It took us a bit to find an internet café of the appropriate sketchiness (selling probably stolen jewelry on a bright red faux velvet window display is a no-no).</div><div class="MsoNormal">Since we near there, we went to Sacré Coeur, and laughed because we were surrounded by tourists who were like “OMG PARIS” and we were like “*shrug* we’re just here because our plane leaves from here, what’s all the fuss?” Then we got attacked by gypsies, which basically consisted of them attempting to get us to sign something us, and us having none of it, and them surrounding us and trying to corner us. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Eventually we made our way to the bus stop, where we would take a bus to “Paris-Beauvais Airport”. We paid FIFTEEN euro, one way. And then sat on the bus for 90 minutes or so, to go to an airport that would have been more aptly named “Middle-of-nowhere Airport”, but I suppose that isn’t very catchy. </div>Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08218116517555498644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8582956330698376817.post-2477113164769584752010-12-09T15:32:00.000+01:002010-12-09T15:32:45.681+01:00Conversations with my host father or why I am glad I have less than 2 weeks living with these people<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TQDnj7df_DI/AAAAAAAAAy0/33CHHO3DPLI/s1600/IMG_3676.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TQDnj7df_DI/AAAAAAAAAy0/33CHHO3DPLI/s320/IMG_3676.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I like this picture because it has Hungarian on it, but also because it pretty much sums up France</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal">(this was actually written the day I after got back from hungry- I’m super behind)…</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">Tonight’s dinner, the first after a week and a half of freedom from awkward dinner conversation, was as annoying as it promised to be. YAY.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span> </span>Unlike the last two meals I ate with them, during which not a single question was directed towards me, they decided they would ask me some questions. (translated, except when I didn’t have to)</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">HF: Did you speak French much on your trip</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">Me: No, not much.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">HF: Probably not at all.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">Me.: *considers*</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">HF: <i>strong stuffy accented English</i> Not … at … all</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span> </span>So, I’m annoyed, but I let it go because I think my host father is a bit of a show off and likes to show off his “amazing” English vocab once and a while. Everyone knows that “pas de tout” is nothing at all like “not at all” except that it is an EXACT translation of the two common words plus a preposition. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">HF: Did you see the Berlin wall?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">Me: *finishes chewing-*</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">HF: <i>SSAE </i>wall</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">So now I’m fairly annoyed, but I answer the question. I tell them I visited the East Side Gallery and tell them about it. My host father then informs me that they saw it on television in suh a superior way that I had to suppress a laugh. They saw it on TV- how dare I suggest that going there is cool? You can’t make this stuff up.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">The meal continues.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">HF: Did you know there was just an election in California?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">Me: Err- DUH (more literally: “Bien sur” (of course))</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">HF: You know, not for president, but for other things. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">Me: NO WAY! (“oui”)</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">HF: Really? Because there is more than one kind of election in the US.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">Me: Oh, never mind! It’s not as if I’m the American here. Clearly you know the way my country works better than I do. (“Yes, I know. That’s how it works.”)</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">HF: They voted on the legalization of marijuana. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">Me: yeah, I know.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">HF: It didn’t pass</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">Me: …</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">This is not the first time, and probably won’t be the last that they have asked me questions that imply that they think Americans, or possibly just me in particular to be completely moronic. Others include “Did you know in America that North Korea is basically a closed state” and after a completely biased report on the French news about people in America who have lost everything because of the economy: “Did you know this happens in America?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">Me: *face palm*</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">(I have now officially posted everything I've written so far, I guess this means I have to go home and type some more :) ) </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div>Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08218116517555498644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8582956330698376817.post-1468931815367895962010-12-09T15:24:00.003+01:002011-03-15T20:37:07.580+01:00Are you hungry? No, but I’m IN Hungary! And other adventures.<div class="MsoNormal">At the airport, Lisa and I found the saddest panda in the world, and then we played Every Word (given letters you have to find “every word”, particularly the longest word) on my kindle.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TQDeOei4SwI/AAAAAAAAAx0/22AlCzW6ulA/s1600/IMG_3441.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TQDeOei4SwI/AAAAAAAAAx0/22AlCzW6ulA/s320/IMG_3441.JPG" width="240" /></a></div></div><div class="MsoNormal">We arrived in Budapest without event and found our hostel, “The Goat Hostel”, located in a nondescript building. We buzzed up. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Me: This is a pretty nifty windy stair case.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Lisa: Your FACE is a nifty windy staircase</div><div class="MsoNormal">Me: HEY!</div><div class="MsoNormal">Lisa: Would you rather your face was a boring staircase? </div><div class="MsoNormal">Me: I suppose you have a point there</div><div class="MsoNormal">Hostel keeper at the top of the stairs: …</div><div class="MsoNormal">Then we went off in quest for food. </div><div class="MsoNormal">To our glee, everything in hungry is pretty cheap because of the 260 Forints: 1 euro exchange rate. We were so excited that we ordered food until our meal cost about 9 euros each anyway. I had chicken wrapped in bacon with broccoli and corn, a fairly strange crepe (that they called a pancake on the menu) filled with cottage cheese and apples, and a strawberry colada. Lisa had spaghetti noodles, a fruit tart, and a cocktail of some kind. Then we did math for fun. Conversion math. It was surprisingly entertaining. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Food + cocktails + math = fun </div><div class="MsoNormal">Don’t you love math? </div><div class="MsoNormal">Then we wandered around a bit and met up with Tristan and his girlfriend, Reka. And together we went to a Scotland themed bar, and then a bar in which you can get 10 beers for the equivalent of $10 (this seems extra amazing if you have only ever been to a bar in a country in which one beer costs 6 euro). They were not large beers, probably more like half pints, but still. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Then we walked around with plans of seeing the pretty things, but it turned out they were no longer lit. So we went home, it was around 2:30. </div><div class="MsoNormal">The next morning we had plans to meet Reka and Tristan at the Museum of Terror at around 11. On the way, we walked by a billion “Antiqukonivm” (used book stores), in one of which I bought Harry Potter és a Bölcsek Köve. Which brings me glee despite the fact that I can’t really read very much of it/ any of it. </div><div class="MsoNormal">In the end we ended up splitting with Tristan and Reka, as they had some specific things they wanted to see, and we wanted to see the main things because we only had one day. We went to this gigantic park and saw some really beautiful things:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TQDhzWN48RI/AAAAAAAAAyA/4nTB39-LOjQ/s1600/IMG_3472.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TQDhzWN48RI/AAAAAAAAAyA/4nTB39-LOjQ/s320/IMG_3472.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TQDh6_MpcDI/AAAAAAAAAyI/B9hYoQl7Uyg/s1600/IMG_3484.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TQDh6_MpcDI/AAAAAAAAAyI/B9hYoQl7Uyg/s320/IMG_3484.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TQDh5GoftSI/AAAAAAAAAyE/qcgH4eO9VV0/s1600/IMG_3478.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TQDh5GoftSI/AAAAAAAAAyE/qcgH4eO9VV0/s320/IMG_3478.JPG" width="320" /></a></div></div><div class="MsoNormal">And I found my favorite bridge in all the world. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TQDiAZOOQ7I/AAAAAAAAAyM/3AWUIGtPIMo/s1600/favorite+bridge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TQDiAZOOQ7I/AAAAAAAAAyM/3AWUIGtPIMo/s320/favorite+bridge.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>And we explored to the sound of “native American” music which was slightly confusing. </div><div class="MsoNormal">I climbed in a fountain in order to put my teddy bear in it.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TQDjqR77t-I/AAAAAAAAAyU/f2cGMNgr-qY/s1600/150322_496194236413_553916413_7107875_1889516_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TQDjqR77t-I/AAAAAAAAAyU/f2cGMNgr-qY/s320/150322_496194236413_553916413_7107875_1889516_n.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">Then we wandered aimlessly and saw a girl riding a pony through the awesome Hungarian park and we were extremely jealous. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TQDj8IxwwRI/AAAAAAAAAyY/7Bqe67BNC-o/s1600/IMG_3495.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TQDj8IxwwRI/AAAAAAAAAyY/7Bqe67BNC-o/s320/IMG_3495.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We became peckish (word just automatically corrected this to be “puckish”. What does that word even mean?!) and tried to wander out of the park to somewhere that might have food. Tristan called us and asked us if we wanted to meet for Mexican food. Did we ever?!</div><div class="MsoNormal">It took us about 45 minutes to get there as we had walked quite far away, but the quesadilla was totally worth it. </div><div class="MsoNormal">After that, I had to convert more money and Lisa discovered that her money had mysteriously multiplied- I was jealous. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Then we headed over to Buda Castle. On our way we stopped for coffee because we were pretty tired (or at least I was). We had been walking/ standing for basically 6 hours, so when we reached the hill we took the tramy (/funicular) thing to the top for 800 Ft = $4 each. It was totally worth it.</div><div class="MsoNormal">We admired the most beautiful, epic parliament in the world. FACT not opinion. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TQDkQHpr-tI/AAAAAAAAAyc/c1IauVeWOsw/s1600/IMG_3549.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TQDkQHpr-tI/AAAAAAAAAyc/c1IauVeWOsw/s320/IMG_3549.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I am a bad photographer</td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">That’s when viola man attacked. </div><div class="MsoNormal">VM: *is suspiciously eager* I take picture for you.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Us: Err, no thank you. </div><div class="MsoNormal">VM: Here, I take camera and take picture of you. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Us: No, thanks</div><div class="MsoNormal">VM: It be very nice. Pretty view. Largest parliament in the world.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Us: No, we’re good. Thanks</div><div class="MsoNormal">VM: Okay, you hold my viola and I take funny picture. *shoves viola at us*</div><div class="MsoNormal">Us: No, thank you</div><div class="MsoNormal">VM: It will be really funny!</div><div class="MsoNormal">Us: NO, I think we are okay.</div><div class="MsoNormal">VM: AMERICAN IDIOTE. *undecipherable yelling* You don’t even know what No, thank you means!</div><div class="MsoNormal">Us: *OMG, we made crazy man angry*</div><div class="MsoNormal">VM: *walks away to find next victim*</div><div class="MsoNormal">It took us like 15 minutes to recover. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Everything was beautiful. We admired and talked of wubbles and got more coffee. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Then we tried to get over to the hill to see “the sky worshipper.” We asked some threatening looking police officers. Unfortunately, their directions required us to walk through a gate in front of which stood scary viola man. DUN DUN DUN.</div><div class="MsoNormal">We waited for Viola man to be distracted by harassing others, and we ran for it. Seriously.</div><div class="MsoNormal">The directions turned out not to go where we wanted to go. So we walked down the hill via the sketchy path. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Once we reached the bottom, we sat on a wall above the street and talked. Every once in a while the cars would slow down as if they expected us to jump down.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Eventually, our feet stopped actively hating us and we walked to the other hill and climbed the badly lit path in the dark. As we got closer to the top, I tried to remember the four steps of self defense on the off chance we got attacked. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Step 1: Figure out what’s going on/ get in fighting stance</div><div class="MsoNormal">Step 2: Blow smoke, ie distract attacker by making loud noises or causing physical injury. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Step 3: get out</div><div class="MsoNormal">Step 4: run away/ prepare for a second attack</div><div class="MsoNormal">Only I couldn’t remember all of them then, so we probably would have been screwed if we had been attacked. *solemn nod* </div><div class="MsoNormal">Really my experience in Budapest can be summed up in one word: beautiful. </div><div class="MsoNormal">We walked down a different badly lit path with aching feet and empty stomachs. So we found a restraint in which to spend some time. We settled on an Italian place, and Lisa had pizza while I ordered of the Hungarian menu – ordering a meal of paprika chicken with dumplings. I was a little nervous because my whole life I’d thought I hated dumplings based on a vague early childhood memory. It’s weird how you can live by decisions you made more than a decade ago and NEVER question them. I liked the dumplings. </div><div class="MsoNormal">By this time it was getting late, and we were both exhausted (or at least I was). In one day we had managed to see all the main sites of Budapest. My flight left at 6 am the next morning, and my taxi was coming at around 2 am. Therefore, I had vaguely planed on staying up all night to enjoy the city and the company. Additionally we had vague plans of meeting up with Tristan and Reka again. </div><div class="MsoNormal">In the meantime, Lisa and I went back to the hostel and played Every Word on my kindle (by this time, we were getting pretty decent). </div><div class="MsoNormal">We decided that we wouldn’t meet up, after all. The commute was kind of ridiculous, and AWAY from the airport for them. So at 11:30, I decided to give up the staying up all night plan. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Lisa and I said a tearful goodbye and an eager desire for it to be time to go to Istanbul together. And then I went to sleep for a meager 2 hours.</div><div class="MsoNormal">At the airport my suitcase was completely unpacked by the security guy. I kept thinking he would stop, but then he’d keep going. I stood there and thought “Seriously? You better repack that” – he didn’t.</div><div class="MsoNormal">So I know what you are thinking- you’re on your flight now in this story, how could possibly have more to say You have no idea.</div><div class="MsoNormal">So you know how leg room is a problem on REGULAR airlines? Try flying budget. Furthermore, try flying budget with a total douche canoe sitting in front of you. I think we have established that by this time I was VERY TIRED, therefore I was attempting to sleep on my tray table. Even at the beginning of the flight, it was necessary to lie sort of diagonally – unfortunately this guy was determined to make it WORSE. Every ten minutes or so he would recline his chair MORE to my significant displeasure. The more he leaned back, the more diagonally I had to lie which resulted in me falling off the tray every time I fell asleep. By the end, folding over had become completely impossible and I had added another person to my list of people I will murder if all else fails and decide to pursue the rewarding career of serial killer. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Then we arrived in England. As we got off our plane they had all male persons show their passport and walked by a military person with a scary looking gun. Then we had to go through passport control which had the longest line I have waited in at an airport on these trips by FAR. Luckily, in this case, being a non-EU member worked to our advantage, and we got to cut everyone. MU HA HA. </div><div class="MsoNormal">TAKE THAT EU- AMERICA PWNS YOU ALL.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Then we had to walk back into the airport to check in, which was annoying. Only when we got there the guy was like: “Dude, here in England we tots don’t even pretend that we don’t do racial profiling. You are both white Americans, you didn’t have to come here to show your passports.” Only he sounded more british. </div><div class="MsoNormal">We pooled our money (my pounds and euros, and Tristan’s euros) and got starbucks for breakfast. </div><div class="MsoNormal">On our next flight, we once again had lamesauce people in front of us. This time they were climbing on the seat and leering out the window (I’m not sure if it is actually possible to “leer out a window,” but that is the best way to describe this guy’s behavior). They were both in their thirties, AT LEAST, and were the type of people you’d expect to see sleeping at the train station.</div><div class="MsoNormal">This is unlikely to mean anything to anyone else, but this hilarious conversation ensued:</div><div class="MsoNormal">Tristan: You know how there are supposedly less than 6 degrees of separation between every person. There are way less than 6 degrees of separation between these people and Nix.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Me: I bet they slept at the train station with someone who is friends with Nix.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Laugh, it would be hilarious if you knew what we were talking about. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Then: FRANCE</div><div class="MsoNormal">Much to my immense displeasure the zombies (my host family- I occasionally use this term, thanks to some wonderful advice from Devyn). Didn’t go on their Sunday excursion because of the rain <span style="font-family: Wingdings;">L</span> . And I had to wait for 30 minutes for my “short-cut” bus, because it was Sunday. </div><div class="MsoNormal">And it basically hasn’t stopped raining.</div><br />
<div bo="" class="separator"></div></div>Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08218116517555498644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8582956330698376817.post-11445841170802803432010-11-30T15:14:00.001+01:002010-11-30T15:17:33.195+01:00OMG BURITOS- or in which I visit Berlin<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">I was starving to death when I wrote this, that probably explains the title of this post and the amount of times it mentions food.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">I left my Edinburgh hostel four hours or so before my flight, mostly because I didn’t want to leave and then come back, because that just seemed silly. Because I am an addict, I made my first order of business returning to the Starbucks I had visited the day before for peppermint mocha, num num. (side bar: something is making a weird clicking noise, and it’s very distracting). The nifty thing about this Edinburgh Starbucks is the pricing. At the one I went to in Paris (there are none in Bordeaux :( ), the pricing is redonc. That is, if a tall peppermint mocha costs like $4 in the us, than it costs 4 euro there. Which is totally stupid because 4 euro is like $5.80. At this one Edinburgh, the price was more like 2.40 pounds which is something like $4. (side bar: word grammar is really irritating. I SPEAK ENGLISH BETTER THAN YOU COMPUTER.)</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">Anyway, then I failed at finding my bus stop a lot, and had a ten minute conversation with this Scottish man. And by conversation, I mean he talked a lot and I could only understand like 10% of the things he said, and so I mostly just made agreement sounds based on tone. “OH NO!”, “Really?!”, “Wow!”. It’s important to be enthusiastic, lest the other person realize you don’t have the slightest idea what they’re saying despite the fact that you both supposedly speak the same language fluently. Occasionally, he would ask a question that seemed like it might require an actual response, in which case I would have to say “what?” at least 5 times before getting the gist of the question. Finally, I escaped his clutches, found my bus, and paid 2 pounds to ride it the airport (remember this for comparison with the NEXT time I take an airport bus). <br />
Then some general travelly stuff happened. And I ate a prepackaged panini that they heated up for me, which was surprisingly good for being overpriced prepackaged food. OMG I’M STARVING. Then I sat on the plane for a bit and had Ryan Air try to sell me stuff to make up for the fact that I only paid like 15 euro for a ticket, and then I landed and Ryan Air played their unbelievably corny “we arrive on time!” sound effect. YAY, budget airlines. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">I exchanged my remaining pounds for euros on my way out of the airport, and I’m pretty sure that I got totally ripped off. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">Then I met Lisa, bought a tram pass of some girl for a 6 euro reduction, and then went places.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">She showed me her university, and this nifty memorial for all the books that were burned in its library, and most importantly DOLORES. Dolores is amazing. Dolores is my hero. Dolores is a California style burrito place that serves burritos that taste like they are supposed to- like joy in a tortilla. And I had a burrito which was amazing. AMAZING. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">I also met Lisa’s roommate, who is very nice, but who had a minor medical emergency that was completely harmless except that it resulted in her having a very unpleasant evening at the hospital, which wasn’t completely harmless. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">Lisa and I went back to her apartment which is on the fifth floor and has no elevator, and I dropped off my stuff. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">Then guess where we went…McDo. And we had mcflurries which were cheaper than the French ones, but also less amazing. Then we watched some Dr. Who, because it’s awesome. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">The next day after Lisa got back from class she took me to Kreutz burger which has authentic curly fries which they serve with not so authentic mysterious white substance that is possibly sour cream, and then she took me on a tour of parks in her neighborhood. Starting with this one which is in a graveyard:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TPUCdMMikFI/AAAAAAAAAws/TwlSeggGAnI/s1600/IMG_3294.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TPUCdMMikFI/AAAAAAAAAws/TwlSeggGAnI/s320/IMG_3294.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Graveyard</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TPUCXUyrNkI/AAAAAAAAAwo/CMQNBpkDQYY/s1600/IMG_3289.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TPUCXUyrNkI/AAAAAAAAAwo/CMQNBpkDQYY/s320/IMG_3289.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">park</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">(you know what Microsoft Word? Your FACE is a fragment. And no, I’m not going to capitalize you- just to SPITE you.)</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">In other news, it is possible that typing snarky notes to a computer program may be a first sign of insanity. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">Anyway, it’s most definitely fair to say that German parks pwn American ones, and that American parents need to chill out on the whole “OMG THIS WILL KILL MY CHILD” thing and realize how amazing these contraptions are. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">SERIOUSLY FUN STUFF.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">Then we went back to the apartment, after a quick stop at the grocery store. Then we did some stuff, I think. And then we made pizza, actually mostly Lisa made pizza, and I sat around and laughed at her. I am GOOD friend who performs irreplaceable moral support activities. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">The pizza was fantastic though. OMG, starving. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">The next day, Lisa didn’t have class, so I she took me to see all the Berlin touristy things:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TPUCtUfFcSI/AAAAAAAAAw0/BEPz-qa9Bws/s1600/IMG_3338.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TPUCtUfFcSI/AAAAAAAAAw0/BEPz-qa9Bws/s320/IMG_3338.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Straddling the Berlin wall, or where it was at least</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TPUCzsO_JbI/AAAAAAAAAw4/OnOmkqFXi78/s1600/IMG_3347.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TPUCzsO_JbI/AAAAAAAAAw4/OnOmkqFXi78/s320/IMG_3347.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">For being a bunch of rectangular blocks the Holocaust memorial was surprisingly effective and moving.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TPUC2h1W_sI/AAAAAAAAAw8/wbSAPsOR0rk/s1600/IMG_3356.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TPUC2h1W_sI/AAAAAAAAAw8/wbSAPsOR0rk/s320/IMG_3356.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The bunker in which Hitler killed himself was located under this parking lot. You wouldn't know...</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TPUC5kFRAqI/AAAAAAAAAxA/jSZFvQ1m-vo/s1600/IMG_3361.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TPUC5kFRAqI/AAAAAAAAAxA/jSZFvQ1m-vo/s320/IMG_3361.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the space ship of love = representing America it pretty much sums up the Global Stone project (which has a stone thing for each of the 5 continents 5 because German people are apparently unaware that there are actually 7). The male viewer is supposed to use his imagination a specific date to connect these rocks with their sister rocks in their continent of origin, thereby envisioning peace. OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT ...)</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">Then we ate amazing burritos at Dolores before going home for a nap (because it was cold and rainy and we were tired) after which “we would do more stuff”. (I want a burrito, SO BAD.) Only we didn’t actually do stuff because we were lazy and sleepy. Unless by *stuff* you mean watch Dr.Who, make yummy hamburgers, and invent mixed drinks (The Friendly Chipmunk: 1 part red orange vodka, 1 part Orangina). </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">The day we ate one final time at Dolores, and I attended a class with Lisa. I slept through most of it. Also, I drew an <a href="http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/04/alot-is-better-than-you-at-everything.html">ALOT</a> of German Confusion.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">Then we did some more touristy things in the rain:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TPUEq8-zMaI/AAAAAAAAAxI/Nak6Gs1RVbg/s1600/IMG_3392.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TPUEq8-zMaI/AAAAAAAAAxI/Nak6Gs1RVbg/s320/IMG_3392.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Check point Charlie</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TPUEuJ5J4pI/AAAAAAAAAxM/a1bhYTetn3w/s1600/IMG_3393.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TPUEuJ5J4pI/AAAAAAAAAxM/a1bhYTetn3w/s320/IMG_3393.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Giant ball of stuff (supposedly representing that which an immigrant brings and wishes to bring). The truth according to Lisa, Kathy, and Delilah is that it was originally designed for Toon Town but was rejected because, WTF?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TPUE0uhb-6I/AAAAAAAAAxQ/LckQ41heR0U/s1600/IMG_3436.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TPUE0uhb-6I/AAAAAAAAAxQ/LckQ41heR0U/s320/IMG_3436.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">pretty nifty art on the longest stretch of the Berlin wall that remains</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">Fantastic quesadillas were had for dinner. Our plane left 2pm the next day, so we left the apartment at 10 ish, and stopped for bagels. I got a coffee. And a “california bagel” which was like a Chinese chicken salad in a bagel, because that’s what they do in California, OBVIOUSLY. It was pretty tasty though.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">Word objects to the “like” in the last sentence. Please stop being prejudiced against my California dialect, Word.<br />
For more pictures go<a href="http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=299650&id=720951263&l=56d9cee642"> here </a></div>Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08218116517555498644noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8582956330698376817.post-8744222925380714912010-11-30T14:50:00.001+01:002010-11-30T15:16:04.282+01:00Guess what’s fantastic… Money<m:smallfrac m:val="off"> <m:dispdef> <m:lmargin m:val="0"> <m:rmargin m:val="0"> <m:defjc m:val="centerGroup"> <m:wrapindent m:val="1440"> <m:intlim m:val="subSup"> <m:narylim m:val="undOvr"> </m:narylim></m:intlim> </m:wrapindent> </m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Because of my early bedtime and the falling back I was awake at 7 and out of bed by 7:45 and out of the hostel before 9. </div><div class="MsoNormal">The early morning was crisp, quiet, and beautiful. I hiked up to the Scottish memorial to admire the view and the strange structures there. It turns out that this project, built during the 1820s to honor victims of the Napoleonic Wars, is considered to be folly because it appears that the over ambitious project was never completed because of budget problems.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TPKgXRiAx5I/AAAAAAAAAwE/TkypBw3q6og/s1600/IMG_3195.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TPKgXRiAx5I/AAAAAAAAAwE/TkypBw3q6og/s320/IMG_3195.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TOP90BirdDI/AAAAAAAAAu0/zXNicIYbM60/s1600/IMG_3205.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TOP90BirdDI/AAAAAAAAAu0/zXNicIYbM60/s320/IMG_3205.JPG" width="320" /></a></div></div><div class="MsoNormal">The view from up there was gorgeous and the early morning lighting was perfect.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TOP9syi3hwI/AAAAAAAAAuw/UIIrCacOB3c/s1600/IMG_3183.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TOP9syi3hwI/AAAAAAAAAuw/UIIrCacOB3c/s320/IMG_3183.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div><div class="MsoNormal">Then I came down and stumbled upon this really awesome Giraffe sculpture. I really liked the poem encircling them and how the little giraffe gazes at the larger.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TOP9150-DZI/AAAAAAAAAu8/wL-PvBK7e7o/s1600/Edinburgh%2521.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TOP9150-DZI/AAAAAAAAAu8/wL-PvBK7e7o/s320/Edinburgh%2521.jpg" width="228" /></a></div></div><div class="MsoNormal">I took a picture for a couple and they took one for me in return. Then the woman asked to take a picture with me. So I did….<span id="goog_469862585"></span><span id="goog_469862586"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal">Then I did some shopping and bought some of the least intelligent things to buy when you are travelling light and 4 plane rides left before home, 7 if you count the ones to return to San Diego. But I’ve wanted galoshes for forever and I’m all about practical souvenirs. And also that tea shop was filled with AWESOME and inexpensive.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TOP_UomzX8I/AAAAAAAAAvg/r3kCaCweT2o/s1600/IMG_3276.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TOP_UomzX8I/AAAAAAAAAvg/r3kCaCweT2o/s320/IMG_3276.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is one of the best purchases I've ever made. It started raining as soon as I got back to Bordeaux and it basically hasn't stopped</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I would like you take a moment to ponder if I would go to Edinburgh without visiting “the birthplace of Harry Potter”… if you guessed “no”, you win.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TOP_Hr-eXUI/AAAAAAAAAvM/wgTREirx4aw/s1600/IMG_3230.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TOP_Hr-eXUI/AAAAAAAAAvM/wgTREirx4aw/s320/IMG_3230.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TOP_JXz4vDI/AAAAAAAAAvQ/L9ZF7bYQYjs/s1600/IMG_3234.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TOP_JXz4vDI/AAAAAAAAAvQ/L9ZF7bYQYjs/s320/IMG_3234.JPG" width="320" /></a></div></div><div class="MsoNormal">Also, they didn’t give me any napkins. How am I supposed to rags to riches without napkins on which to write my first novel? If I never make it big, I will always hold you responsible, Elephant House. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Then I went to Edinburgh Castle and admired it and the view from outside, because I wasn’t about to pay 13 pounds to go in.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TOP_OMbIZbI/AAAAAAAAAvY/Wo5SeNdTAxM/s1600/IMG_3245.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TOP_OMbIZbI/AAAAAAAAAvY/Wo5SeNdTAxM/s320/IMG_3245.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TOP_KBfeObI/AAAAAAAAAvU/M8egNaINRf4/s1600/IMG_3241.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TOP_KBfeObI/AAAAAAAAAvU/M8egNaINRf4/s320/IMG_3241.JPG" width="320" /></a></div></div><div class="MsoNormal">Then I walked down the hill, vaguely searching for the soldier’s dog cemetery I had heard about. But I didn’t ever find it. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Instead I found this graveyard in which the inventor of logarithms is supposedly buried. I couldn’t find his tomb stone. I can only assume this is because they were lying to me.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Then I made an awesome, yet somewhat offensive discovery:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TOP_PKZIXeI/AAAAAAAAAvc/VB_bhG9ZMG0/s1600/IMG_3262.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TOP_PKZIXeI/AAAAAAAAAvc/VB_bhG9ZMG0/s320/IMG_3262.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is a sculpture of Buddy, the beloved vagabond dog of San Diego. He was a gift from San Diego, as Edinburgh also has a beloved vagabond dog. I am offended because no one told me</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">For more pictures go <a href="http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=302825&id=720951263&l=41fa914e92">here</a></div>Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08218116517555498644noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8582956330698376817.post-14034990346400315392010-11-17T22:09:00.000+01:002010-11-17T22:09:44.240+01:00Pretty okay for a disaster<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">As far as non-life threatening travel tragedies go, I’m pretty sure losing your credit cards when you’re alone in a country that you don’t have any currency for yet ranks as among the worst. I discovered my cards were missing when I went to take them out to stick them in the ATM to get myself some pounds. It was midnight in Edinburgh, that is, one am Bordeaux time, and I had gotten up at 6:30 am in order to jump through the last visa getting hoop. In a moment I saw all the times I had unzipped my wallet since leaving Bordeaux- more than 5 times at least. And I had no idea at point they had disappeared. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">And that was the beginning of what proved to be a very long early morning. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">I left the airport at nearly 1:20 am on a night bus I couldn’t afford to pay for. I had explained my situation to the bus driver and told him my stop. Forty-five minutes later as everything started to get less city like I began to suspect I had missed my stop, and sure enough 5 minutes later we arrived at the terminus. The bus driver got off, had a smoke, clearly saw that I was still on the bus, and got back on. I thought surely this time he would tell me my stop (because a person with an American accent who was picked up at the airport, and who rode the whole bus line without getting off probably doesn’t know where to get off the bus since the announcement are turned off).</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">And so I watched everything go by in the opposite direction. At a stop next to a sign saying “Princes Mall” I wondered if this was my stop (“princes st”) but I wasn’t sure and I really thought he would tell me. I can’t explain why I didn’t get up and ask just that on a night that went on a scale from “cold, miserable, and tired” to <a href="http://thebloggess.com/?p=8621">“furiously happy”</a> I was much closer to the first at this time. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">We left the city again, and I started to regret intensely not getting off the bus, I didn’t even care if it might have been the wrong stop. I felt bus sick and wished that I had not left Bordeaux. We arrived at the airport. The bus driver asked me if I was going to get off, I said no and that I didn’t know which stop was mine. He said okay, he hadn’t known that and that he would be back in 10. I waited and we left the airport. When we got to town I decided I would ask him, lest I end up at the other terminus again. A large group of people got on the bus, and then I asked him before he pulled away. He said, “this is Princes St” and I was like, “Thanks for nothing!” only not out loud and got off the bus into the freezing cold.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">It was windy and past 3:30 am. My google directions told me to walk “east” on Princes St. which was absolutely useless to me at this hour in a city I had never been to before. I choose a direction that turned out to be west, which I discovered when I turned around and saw a bridge (I was looking for “north bridge”). After that I found the hostel without much difficulty. On my way there, a homeless woman asked me if I could spare any change, but like her I was penceless. The hostel, thankfully, didn’t turn me away. Although the guy was kind of a jerk- I was like: “Brrr, it’s cold” because it was and my feet were wet and literally numb. And he said in a you-stupid-tourist tone “Yeah, it get’s like that in Scotland”. I actually really regret being so nice about this comment.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">I woke up at 9 the next morning and was unable to sleep. I hoped I would be able to obtain money soon because I was starving. A couple hours later, after talking to a woman at the American Express office multiple times, attempting many calls with both my cellphone and also a payphone (none of which actually went through ) (do you have to pay to make toll free calls?) , and writing an email or two, I gave up my quest for money temporarily and adopted a furiously happy attitude, and decided to do my best to enjoy Scotland despite my hunger and exhaustion.<br />
I made a kitty friend:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TOP7KYlsUVI/AAAAAAAAAuU/zO6oopxbsto/s1600/IMG_3095.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TOP7KYlsUVI/AAAAAAAAAuU/zO6oopxbsto/s320/IMG_3095.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span id="goog_653213741"></span><span id="goog_653213742"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">Eventually I ended up in a park, and I swung on a swing and wondered why it is that adults give up this enjoyable pastime. Then I played doggy stalker and took a nap on a park bench because I was pretending to be a homeless person.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TOP7wkEA3lI/AAAAAAAAAuY/2gJZmcn_sgc/s1600/IMG_3123.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TOP7wkEA3lI/AAAAAAAAAuY/2gJZmcn_sgc/s320/IMG_3123.JPG" width="320" /></a></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">I spent some time window shopping and by the time I was finished I had a list of things I would buy if I had money with me, and of things I would buy if I was rich. It appears that I have a Scottish sense of style because the stores were filled with awesome things. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TOP7yIzlanI/AAAAAAAAAuc/vgvc7KICbFw/s1600/IMG_3132.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TOP7yIzlanI/AAAAAAAAAuc/vgvc7KICbFw/s320/IMG_3132.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">TEA COZIES</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
I headed back towards my hostel, but I got a bit turned about. I don’t want to say “lost”, let’s say “exploring” <br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TOP7y0_EV_I/AAAAAAAAAug/M7e3h8e1svg/s1600/IMG_3143.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TOP7y0_EV_I/AAAAAAAAAug/M7e3h8e1svg/s320/IMG_3143.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A cow is running into a building, weird</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">I finally got back to the hostel, where I hung out for like 10 minutes when my parents called me. Then I spent the next threeish hours waiting for the money to arrive. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">Then at 6ish, edinburgh time, a full 24 hours after I had eaten last, I feasted. I had amazing butternut squash and coconut soup and a not really amazing burger and it was fantastic. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">I obtained shampoo (the jerky French security people threw mine away because it was “too big”) that was also “too big” but it still made it out of Scotland and Germany. Then I showered and sent some emails and I went to sleep at 9 Edinburgh time.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">And that was day one in Edinburgh. It sounds kind of awful, but it actually wasn’t THAT bad. </div>Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08218116517555498644noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8582956330698376817.post-86742827130320306562010-10-21T23:25:00.000+02:002010-10-21T23:25:54.077+02:00Once upon a time, I went to St. Emilion<m:smallfrac m:val="off"> <m:dispdef> <m:lmargin m:val="0"> <m:rmargin m:val="0"> <m:defjc m:val="centerGroup"> <m:wrapindent m:val="1440"> <m:intlim m:val="subSup"> <m:narylim m:val="undOvr"> </m:narylim></m:intlim> </m:wrapindent> </m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Last Saturday (/a really long time ago, like 3 weeksish), I got to pretend that I’m one of the poor souls who lives 40 minutes away from the university, and got up at the awful early hour of 7 am. But unlike them, I did this to go to the train station, which I suppose beats going to the DEFLE. Because of this, for the first time since moving here, I ate breakfast with my host family, kind of. Honestly, I was beginning to suspect that they ate breakfast in the middle of the night, because all evidence of their breakfast eating (except two cold pieces of toast) has vanished by the time I go upstairs, no matter when I get up. My train left at “10ish” and the train station is about 1hr away by tram, and I hadn’t bought my ticket, and needed to go to an atm. Everything went smoothly, including a perfect of amount of time to get money from the atm before the next tram at my transfer, except it turned out that the train didn’t leave until 10:40, which isn’t really the same as “10ish”. I would blame Tristan for this, but really it’s my fault for always relying on him to know when things are. Also, he showed up way too early too, so I wasn’t waiting alone. At 10:40 all six of us were sitting on the train, and 45 minutes later we arrived in St. Emilion. </div><div class="MsoNormal">We started off the trip by eating at creperie, that had a beautiful patio that over looked the bottom part of St. Emilion. I had a crepe with jambon et fromage, and a delicious dessert crepe with mint chocolate filling, whipped cream, and mint chocolate chip ice cream.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TKcwZLFFu_I/AAAAAAAAArY/YFrM-a7Pz8k/s1600/IMG_2984.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TKcwZLFFu_I/AAAAAAAAArY/YFrM-a7Pz8k/s320/IMG_2984.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TKcwZXfgmvI/AAAAAAAAArc/2ne7alREWK4/s1600/IMG_2985.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TKcwZXfgmvI/AAAAAAAAArc/2ne7alREWK4/s320/IMG_2985.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TKcwWek6e1I/AAAAAAAAAq4/d6cZmgVeg_Y/s1600/IMG_2977.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TKcwWek6e1I/AAAAAAAAAq4/d6cZmgVeg_Y/s320/IMG_2977.JPG" width="320" /></a></div></div><div class="MsoNormal">St. Emilion, like most places around here, is famous for its wine production, but it is also home to the largest monolithic (For those of you who don’t speak Latin or know random architectural terms, monolithic means “one stone” or something like that- that is, this church is carved out of the mountain) church in Europe. St. Emilion supposedly was capable of healing people and performing other miracles, and it was his fame that led him to go to St. Emilion, where he hoped to live a more quiet life. He was buried in the catacombs at St. Emilion and rich people paid to be buried close to him. During the war between the protestants and catholics, however, his remains were thrown into a river. The catacombs at this church were reserved for those who were “pure” that is those who had never lived (still born babies), those who were important members of the church, and those who were rich enough. The church itself was dug out from the top down; it is believed to be modeled after monolithic churches that its builder saw during the crusades. Drainage pipes were dug underneath the church to prevent structural instability due to wet soil. These pipes worked fantastically until they were destroyed when rich people wanted to be buried right underneath the church. Over the years the water seeped into the stone, and today the churches pillars are held together by metal clamps, while scientists work on a way to restore the strength of the stone. Once a year they hold mass in this church, and this actually took place the weekend before we visited. </div><div class="MsoNormal">The last paragraph was brought to you by the 4 euro I paid to tour St. Emilion’s cave, the catacombs, and the church. These historical sites are privately owned, and therefore they cannot be toured independently. I don’t have any pictures of this, because the private owners are selfish jerks who want to be able to make as much money off of this stuff by selling pictures of it, or something like that. (rereading this post it comes off as very anti- wealthy people, huh…)<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TKcwaxJiuxI/AAAAAAAAAr0/Enwld4YzjxM/s320/IMG_2994.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">monolithic churches are more impressive from the inside</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TKcwaxJiuxI/AAAAAAAAAr0/Enwld4YzjxM/s1600/IMG_2994.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div></div><div class="MsoNormal">Later we visited a winery, and the caves in which they age their wine underneath it. The most fascinating part of this visit was the amazing silence of the caverns. If you were in one of the far corners and no one was walking around you the air was completely still – perfect silence. The winery offered free wine tasting, but they told us to come back in an hour, most of this time we spent at these ruins:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TKcwiRrRiAI/AAAAAAAAAr8/WPDeiCNcixQ/s1600/IMG_3003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XGhRbE8qsvM/TKcwiRrRiAI/AAAAAAAAAr8/WPDeiCNcixQ/s320/IMG_3003.JPG" width="320" /></a></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We sat on the wall surrounding the vineyard, and set a camera on self timer across the street in order to get a picture of all of us:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwdDr4Qy35iB5YDG6EeSGHpz0MmHtxBxa7OiPaZ6w-KmNLDgGosXjaPY-nWDJB9kafKmsVZs0UNzN4ke1nT_4jeudtF-XsG72VeBebtIJlnzIfaVbRx3hXhTz8mI1N5_iIBOiKKB26G2Hr/s1600/67678_438813571844_597096844_5445509_8078158_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwdDr4Qy35iB5YDG6EeSGHpz0MmHtxBxa7OiPaZ6w-KmNLDgGosXjaPY-nWDJB9kafKmsVZs0UNzN4ke1nT_4jeudtF-XsG72VeBebtIJlnzIfaVbRx3hXhTz8mI1N5_iIBOiKKB26G2Hr/s320/67678_438813571844_597096844_5445509_8078158_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></div>Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08218116517555498644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8582956330698376817.post-34660094008395778032010-10-21T23:12:00.000+02:002010-10-21T23:12:15.401+02:00I haven’t fallen off the planet or anything, it’s just that my computer broke, so actually I take that back- I’ve been off planet.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The good news is that I have successfully resurrected my computer to thanks to the guy at FNAC who didn’t speak english, my handy new portable hard drive SHINEY, and the handy system restore function. There isn’t any bad news, except that I haven’t been writing any posts, but you knew that already, so it’s not really “news” per see. <br />
Mostly I haven’t really done anything though, except Lisa and I went to Paris which was AWESOME, and then she visited me which was AWESOME. Basically it was an amazingly FANTASTICALLY awesome week. I’m working on a post about Paris, but don’t get your hopes or anything because the jury’s still out on whether or not it sucks. I also might write a post about Lisa visiting, or making fun of French bureaucracy, or French strikes, or how they FINALLY gave me my appointment time to get my carte de sejour a mere 11 hours before I leave the country for more than a week (I’m going to Edinburgh, BERLIN, and Budapest) and how about a week before I got this letter the program advisors were all “what do you mean you can’t leave the country yet? You can go to any shenegan country!” and we were all “that is TOTALLY not what you said before *you mean we’ve been prisoners in france for a month and half because you gave us misinformation*” (basically I just told you all of that story *check*), anyway the possibilities are pretty much endless now that my computer is alive again, yay! </span>Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08218116517555498644noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8582956330698376817.post-31204782943877256922010-09-30T23:18:00.000+02:002010-09-30T23:18:04.109+02:00It turns out Bordeaux is really famous for wine: the title of this post has almost nothing to do with it, in keeping with the random<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">It’s probably going to take me five times longer to type this because my fingers have been corrupted by a week of only using French keyboards – that’s right folks, I haven’t used the internet on my computer for over a week- I know this for certain because my antivirus is throwing a hissy fit: “OH NO! I HAVEN’T UPDATED MY DEFINITIONS FOR OVER A WEEK”, antivirus can be quite the drama queen.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxDa-z3uKBhna6kpITWrugBiKGDrp3Pcg1JslGfYGvAyaPVgotBDz80DWKCWncE0DnaUbqMG2FbDFCaGv1ll5sj0lAtJd1aS7yJuDaPIi3Yf_uru_IUxsBHnBSN-z_frTJ_2wjVQk8CsPI/s320/IMG_2956.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is an example of my favorite kind of french books- the kind of french books intended to teach english to french people, more specifically those purporting to teach them how to speak "like an english speaker". These books are always hilarious, whether they're right about what english speakers would say, or not. This one is particularly awesome in that it claims, not to teach one english, but to make one's boss THINK one speaks english. I would have bought it if it hadn't been 12 euro. Or if I had remembered to bring 8 euro with me before leaving to go to E.Leclerc (=supermaket), where I found this book and where I was planing on purchasing body wash and fach wash (this actually worked out, just barely)</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxDa-z3uKBhna6kpITWrugBiKGDrp3Pcg1JslGfYGvAyaPVgotBDz80DWKCWncE0DnaUbqMG2FbDFCaGv1ll5sj0lAtJd1aS7yJuDaPIi3Yf_uru_IUxsBHnBSN-z_frTJ_2wjVQk8CsPI/s1600/IMG_2956.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxDa-z3uKBhna6kpITWrugBiKGDrp3Pcg1JslGfYGvAyaPVgotBDz80DWKCWncE0DnaUbqMG2FbDFCaGv1ll5sj0lAtJd1aS7yJuDaPIi3Yf_uru_IUxsBHnBSN-z_frTJ_2wjVQk8CsPI/s1600/IMG_2956.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Anyway, last week was pretty uneventful: I went to a bunch of DEFLE (have I explained DEFLE here yet? DEFLE = the department of French for foreign non-french speakers) classes that I’m not actually going to end up taking (maybe), I ate like 4 McFlurrys (French McFlurrys, like most “mac do” (pronounced “mac doe”) fare, are different than American McFlurrys – basically they are soft serve with a candy topping and “nappage” (which is like chocolate syrup or caramel, you actually have to pay extra for this, but it’s totally worth it :) ), I developed a habit of over using smilies and lol because of incessant texting, I read three books (they were short, okay!), and I started making a habit of going out at night (mostly this involved a lot of sitting at this monument and talking).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbeZBTaiZCoKtUEDuCkvk_BxSuUFa3T9fdZgnSvd4e-Hfh8EwjUtnHsO2IHOJiPLHIFfmi-wJQehQ4Z0-ox4czCh8mrUq8VoNI7NDAYun6YWR_OwAATT4twjfjmipNZ0agEDC0Xx6xk4Ir/s320/IMG_2762.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"this monument"</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbeZBTaiZCoKtUEDuCkvk_BxSuUFa3T9fdZgnSvd4e-Hfh8EwjUtnHsO2IHOJiPLHIFfmi-wJQehQ4Z0-ox4czCh8mrUq8VoNI7NDAYun6YWR_OwAATT4twjfjmipNZ0agEDC0Xx6xk4Ir/s1600/IMG_2762.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><br />
The weekend the before that, I spent my time being a cultured bordelaise because it was the weekend of Patrimoine, which is the weekend during which cool stuff in europe that isn’t normally opened is opened. I went to the Musee d’Aquataine (Aquataine= the region of france in which Bordeaux is located, this is a historical museum about its past (no kidding, right?)) - this is actually always open, we just happened to go. Then we walked through the Grand Theatre, which isn’t, “grand” that is. It was very pretty and cool to see, but large it was not. Tristan and I had a conversation while sitting in the theatre in which we pretended to be pretentious 19<sup>th</sup> century british bourgeois while we waited for Claire to catch up with us. That night we ate at Ed Wood Café which is like the Corvette diner only in France – yep, I traveled half-way around the world to go to an American 50’s style restaurant, go ahead and judge me. We had yummy milkshakes, and laughed at all the French people who ate their hamburgers with their forks. Then on Sunday we went to a free classical music concert in the Jardin Public. I don’t have pictures of any of this, I don’t know why.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwkXaeW7zBIpjejnhg5mHP5mRLyip7NkD1KEynCbmLgUYZSXXVV1ohK_OFlcIGWzN5TuCKYAw55PtOroPVIRSs05PrS5JPyhCHqIU60QfflPtlusVtfc-qN512LKIST2NKxdNp3dPSIM3n/s320/IMG_2961.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">CAT!</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwkXaeW7zBIpjejnhg5mHP5mRLyip7NkD1KEynCbmLgUYZSXXVV1ohK_OFlcIGWzN5TuCKYAw55PtOroPVIRSs05PrS5JPyhCHqIU60QfflPtlusVtfc-qN512LKIST2NKxdNp3dPSIM3n/s1600/IMG_2961.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div></div><div class="MsoNormal">Something I learned (or really was reminded of) in my “Bordeaux Art” DEFLE class (which would me more aptly named “random French vocabulary pertaining to Bordeaux- and by random I mean you probably don’t even know the English word for this stuff”) is how lucky I got when I picked the name of this blog. So, you know, “chateau” is a French word that generally means “castle”, or “really gigantic house”. But it is also used to name vineyards, after the presumably grand house that is part of them, in this way, wines are called “Chateau insert_name_of_house_here”. And this is the origin of the slang Chateau Lapompe, to mean water (la pompe meaning the pump). I more or less new all of that when I choose to use it as a name, what I didn’t know is that naming vineyards this way is actually a custom specific to Bordeaux. So, you win, me, you win. On the other hand I haven’t actually heard anyone call water anything other than l’eau.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAmRXdyUNf5TIPyRQQKhuTTImAZPbO-f9vhkNsnL4AgHqMiFtOJKBU_UvQH2zSHUupeQJ4_lUpen8H6a1QEH-fu2_5WgHYf1VbvdTIplh5D9SXuv2W_J97qBkEqu-uTrSs1q9i-aD30R_l/s320/IMG_2957.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look familiar? I found this in my 3rdish day in france, just before finding E.Leclerc. Until I stumbled upon it again, I believed it to be from Eureka, CA, which would have been really oddly specific- it turns out it just says Eurkea on it because it's, yah know, the state moto. It says Pessac Automobiles on the seal. So still random, but slightly less so.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAmRXdyUNf5TIPyRQQKhuTTImAZPbO-f9vhkNsnL4AgHqMiFtOJKBU_UvQH2zSHUupeQJ4_lUpen8H6a1QEH-fu2_5WgHYf1VbvdTIplh5D9SXuv2W_J97qBkEqu-uTrSs1q9i-aD30R_l/s1600/IMG_2957.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div></div>Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08218116517555498644noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8582956330698376817.post-37814612953076539452010-09-17T18:30:00.002+02:002010-09-17T18:33:21.212+02:00SPOILER ALERT: Spectuloos does not equal Peanut Butter<div class="MsoNormal">Wednesday, I walked all the way the home from downtown Bordeaux, despite the fact that there is perfectly good public transportation. I have no rational excuse for this. It was decidedly irrational behavior, though it started out slightly rational. After standing for about 5 minutes at the Musee d’Aquitaine tram stop, I was getting a bit impatient. This isn’t one of the nicest stops; it’s a bit dirty and some people around me were smoking (smoking, in general, by the way, is less prevalent and less bothersome than I expected). I wasn’t feeling super fantastic as I’ve had a bit of a rhume (cold) the last couple of days, and suddenly I wanted to be home immediately and began dreading the long tram ride (if you call 20 minutes long, sometimes it feels that way, other times it goes by in a flash. In any case it was sounding pretty long about then). So I looked at the sign which told me the tram wouldn’t be to the stop for 4 more minutes. I looked down the street and decided I certainly had enough time to walk to the next stop before the tram would get there, so I did. I easily beat the tram to Victoire, the next stop, but when I saw the crowd waiting for the tram and shortly after, how packed the tram was, I decided to keep walking. <br />
I reasoned that I would walk to Simply (a super marker whose slogan is “Be Happy, Be Simply”- that’s not a translation. Side note: Simply has some hilarious ads for itself in the windows, having customers say things like “I can shop here without being embarrassed!” (in french). I must be missing some sort of subtly or the necessary culture background, because I can’t imagine why anyone would be embarrassed to go to any super market.). Anyway, Simply is a fairly decent walk from Victoire, and about 3 stops off campus (there are 3 more stops on campus, before mine). But I thought a walk would be nice, as I hadn’t done anything all day excepting eating, sleeping, and enjoying the “authentic” designer UCLA shirt/ sweatshirts being sold at a store in Bordeaux (for more 40 euro and 90 euro respectively, and I thought the UCLA store was expensive), and I didn’t have anything else to do. Besides the tram would likely be less crowded by the time that it got to that stop, and I was going to go to Simply anyway to continue my quest for peanut butter which I had begun the day before. </div><div class="MsoNormal">I was thrilled to find that Simply did sell peanut butter, the only trouble was that it was tiny, tiny, tiny jar of Skippy and cost 3.75 euro. There was something that COULD have been peanut butter next to it, but I wasn’t sure. I decided to continue on to Casino (another grocery chain, and one I hadn’t been to yet) which I believed to be located one tram stop down, which OBVIOUSLY wasn’t worth the wait for the tram. <br />
It turned out to be two stops down, but I walked anyway. I found that they didn’t have anything that was DEFINITELY peanut butter, but they had the stuff that was next to the peanut butter at Simply. It looked like it could be peanut butter, and it came in crunchy and smooth. So, what else could it be? I was slightly uncertain, because there weren’t any peanuts on the jar, instead there was a picture of a shortbready kind of cookie, and the story of its invention written on the back didn’t seem to be correct. But peanut butter goes awesome on cookies, and maybe they wanted to frenchicize the story of invention. Besides, I really WANTED it to be peanut butter, and who was I to say that Spectuloos does not equal peanut butter? So I bought the jar (and two bananas, so I could make the peanut butter & banana sandwich I craved) on hope alone. After buying these things (which was a bit of a fiasco, because how was I supposed to know that I was supposed to weigh and print out a price tag for the bananas?), I opened the jar of what I was then certain was peanut butter. I found it to be the consistency of peanut butter, and was already beginning to celebrate victory when – umm, that’s not peanut butter, or else it’s really odd peanut butter. In fact, it tastes quite a lot like the cookies pictured on the front. I feel disappointed and disenchanted. I wonder what anyone would want with a substance that is the consistency of peanut butter, but that tastes like these cookie things. (If anyone has any suggestions, let me know, as I know am the proud owner of a jar of Spectuloos.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;">I put it back in my bag and continued to the tram stop. As I approached I considered walking the rest of the way, but I dismissed that as a crazy idea. But when I arrived and saw that it would be 12 minutes before the next tram arrived, I decided to keep walking to the next top, because it would be unbelievably ridiculous to walk this far because of a 4 minute wait, only to wait longer than that. And this logic carried me almost all the way home, and the belief that it would be ridiculous to take the tram at this point carried me the rest of the way.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">It was actually quite a pleasant way to spend the afternoon, and it was interesting to see the areas of Bordeaux which have been to me tram-over places at a slower pace. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> Also, I finally took a picture of something I’ve been meaning to capture since the beginning: </span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSS7Rt3O_9irLa0tg7YSmxegXz0abt1MSc_UWPjhTzvP1sVu94ML1QAddG5DKPwflLfgBe4tiK_boKBPBKsUZdEhh7KeNnf0HC3vbG68VWWwKRJlDnd-qcH_7gwjKkgQ2ozj_IfzwxP9p6/s320/IMG_2943.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is one of the university restaurants, I don't know why it's shaped like a boat. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSS7Rt3O_9irLa0tg7YSmxegXz0abt1MSc_UWPjhTzvP1sVu94ML1QAddG5DKPwflLfgBe4tiK_boKBPBKsUZdEhh7KeNnf0HC3vbG68VWWwKRJlDnd-qcH_7gwjKkgQ2ozj_IfzwxP9p6/s1600/IMG_2943.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08218116517555498644noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8582956330698376817.post-57045590465043155702010-09-17T18:19:00.000+02:002010-09-17T18:19:31.424+02:00Between the wild black berry picking, long walks and picnics, and the lack of easily accessible internet access my life is becoming increasingly like a Jane Austen novel.<style>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal">Last Friday I moved to my new home, it’s located in Pessac, about a ten minute walk from my old building, and the area of the university where I will be taking my classes. Though it’s a bit far from downtown Bordeaux, I’ve decided I prefer this set up to living in the city and having a 50 minute commute before morning classes. There are two parks within a couple blocks of the house, one of them quite large. On the other side of the smaller of the parks is Pessac town center, which boasts, among other things, a train station, a movie theatre (with free WiFi, which is cool, if a bit nonsensical), and a Carrefour (a grocery store chain). It’s also about 8 minutes away from the nearest, most practical tram stop, which makes getting downtown only a matter of sitting (or standing, as has become more common recently, do to the inexplicable Bordeaux population boom i.e. everyone came back from vacation) on the tram for 25 minutes or so. So all in all, it’s a fairly convenient location. The house itself it is pretty cute, it’s a split level kind of thing, with a bonus second floor. My room and bathroom are right at the entrance, the next kind of level features the laundry room, office, living room, dining room, and eat-in kitchen, the final kind of level has the master bedroom. The second floor has another bedroom, bathroom, and a game room. They have an awesome dog named Cali, and their/(my?) neighbor has a horse. There is nothing more foreign than hearing a horse whinny while eating your breakfast of corn flakes and non-refrigerated milk.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM-d6LiARySinueE07RjOis2mV9FFTmBnEjWixHq5NXckRUDt3nXduGtuJXQ5JvkMYnQWuPRgJKyoDebH1dvAIg9KQbqOXiiCcP9HPSDyessFSgmETBZiq_fCavkLWJTGgCO4Hy8nNGSRM/s320/IMG_2886.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
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</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM-d6LiARySinueE07RjOis2mV9FFTmBnEjWixHq5NXckRUDt3nXduGtuJXQ5JvkMYnQWuPRgJKyoDebH1dvAIg9KQbqOXiiCcP9HPSDyessFSgmETBZiq_fCavkLWJTGgCO4Hy8nNGSRM/s1600/IMG_2886.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFzttyGan4T2EqEXqXUp8PH3KbKOnk5Tc2jxSHZKEWSzT0tMK-Ffq3uGxLfiqr-DRtB3MdSwjLwsh91UVtgWacOS8Rqslx0ALOq3f51SntD4fkSNdPtw90ZgApQVW4BGUop0EVHYd6Gkw0/s320/IMG_2904.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes folks, that IS a toilet seat. Obviously my bathroom is quite the luxury suite :) <br />
Though, admittedly, the water pressure leaves quite a lot to be desired</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFzttyGan4T2EqEXqXUp8PH3KbKOnk5Tc2jxSHZKEWSzT0tMK-Ffq3uGxLfiqr-DRtB3MdSwjLwsh91UVtgWacOS8Rqslx0ALOq3f51SntD4fkSNdPtw90ZgApQVW4BGUop0EVHYd6Gkw0/s1600/IMG_2904.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6gzU3LdxBsQc-RA1FjvlOoJxmnjLSWFtJeEFobFNN9ytvVCeXBh9VR4Uk-dal4rHBAQ9keOutyvurJvAUzH5eJ1ag3YwmIUKX-4iUvKVT_bf_F1-BggStKnJQAAI2Mfg11a2lzuGqOoMx/s320/IMG_2948.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You can't see anything in this picture? That's the POINT. Isn't it glorious? They have these fantastic thing in france called "le voile" or something like that, it's like outdoor blinds, and this is the effect they have. This photo was taken, by the way, at 8:30 am. Granted it was raining this day, but I promise that when I woke at 10 am the day before (which was sunny) I could hardly believe it was that late and still this dark</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6gzU3LdxBsQc-RA1FjvlOoJxmnjLSWFtJeEFobFNN9ytvVCeXBh9VR4Uk-dal4rHBAQ9keOutyvurJvAUzH5eJ1ag3YwmIUKX-4iUvKVT_bf_F1-BggStKnJQAAI2Mfg11a2lzuGqOoMx/s1600/IMG_2948.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFprUBq4duyvVVUtkl22TmvKCAMROhcfQWjkK8gUD1baPKjLuTEX_4YxVYy5M4xAB7AAybEyeBmAarn2XtZrHzgrfnAUPZrgFizovBGNcp0kI7nEn_hCcA5Rf4lNcQRttY8KxGJZQq-2VT/s320/IMG_2946.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These, as we call them, "bomb shelter blinds" can also double as a full length mirror when you turn on the light</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFprUBq4duyvVVUtkl22TmvKCAMROhcfQWjkK8gUD1baPKjLuTEX_4YxVYy5M4xAB7AAybEyeBmAarn2XtZrHzgrfnAUPZrgFizovBGNcp0kI7nEn_hCcA5Rf4lNcQRttY8KxGJZQq-2VT/s1600/IMG_2946.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfYx6JsCafsGuFAGs3iszzGpWv2zpjMHlRGCvP7iFzZ8jsglx3ltqDEOsVxibbjRdluib-iMEsBI5yY81PiI1TrYvBZTGhb2EnskM5gQd_HurNxC_lb9a8D2G_Gf8ZOZKzR7i7kauqyflO/s320/IMG_2928.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is a picture they have of Cali in their kitchen. Their last exchange student was also from San Diego, so she's with a sign that says: San Diego Si Vous Plait </td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfYx6JsCafsGuFAGs3iszzGpWv2zpjMHlRGCvP7iFzZ8jsglx3ltqDEOsVxibbjRdluib-iMEsBI5yY81PiI1TrYvBZTGhb2EnskM5gQd_HurNxC_lb9a8D2G_Gf8ZOZKzR7i7kauqyflO/s1600/IMG_2928.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzUatM_T-izJZJriV5p91mRbXvdNOofkpfmmATUnNAL26JH-fUjoZxRH3Gtn3Oz_5W2SfS_yjYaJUuN7PNWNPofGlxN1zHZVXHSLjNsjT1CvPVfFPWhyphenhyphen9zdYIqw2b5hINCPjz83DvwVunW/s320/IMG_2935.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is a statue in the smaller of the two parks</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzUatM_T-izJZJriV5p91mRbXvdNOofkpfmmATUnNAL26JH-fUjoZxRH3Gtn3Oz_5W2SfS_yjYaJUuN7PNWNPofGlxN1zHZVXHSLjNsjT1CvPVfFPWhyphenhyphen9zdYIqw2b5hINCPjz83DvwVunW/s1600/IMG_2935.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3UYO_I3TCheNsFtmSRj5scwiB_BhjfFgb57IU9ZfcchPA9Amn_QbD62PBCBdy5Hf8EJxKEYy4Opo072ATfPdzjkz2eOHU-FJ4Ru4B5Q3tSEuDb23imshHFfaOhDMmT1Zwls2FWgqjqDjg/s320/IMG_2953.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And this is the park</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3UYO_I3TCheNsFtmSRj5scwiB_BhjfFgb57IU9ZfcchPA9Amn_QbD62PBCBdy5Hf8EJxKEYy4Opo072ATfPdzjkz2eOHU-FJ4Ru4B5Q3tSEuDb23imshHFfaOhDMmT1Zwls2FWgqjqDjg/s1600/IMG_2953.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div></div><div class="MsoNormal">On Sunday, my family took me back to the Bay of Arcachon (where the oyster place, the big pile of sand, and beach are located) in order to walk and picnic. It’s my understanding that they do something like this every Sunday. Their youngest son (21) came down from wherever he goes to school and joined us for the day. Up until this point I understood more or less everything my host family said, however, the conversations of the three of them were considerably more difficult to follow. I ended up tuning out for most of the ride there, because I’m not so interested in apartments in Paris as to try to follow their conversation. Cali came with us and she seemed to really love running about. We walked on a trail along the side of the bay (this bay has an incredibly large tide, that is, the water goes WAY out, so we were pretty far from the water most of the time). Looking across the bay, though, feels very similar to looking across mission bay from the Sea World parking lot. Then we picnicked in a nice field, under some trees. My host mothers cooking is fantastic, and her meals are always multiple courses. This picnic began with rice/vegetable dish with tomatoes (have I mentioned that tomatoes are all super fantastic here?), palm shoots (the family held a little conference to determine the English word for what we were eating because I didn’t know the French one, it was hilarious), and maybe something else. Then we ate something that was kind of like a pizza, but with a sweeter crust, and possibly egg, I have no idea what it was, but it was pretty decent. Then we had cheese, meat, and bread. Then these things that kind of looked like miny rice cakes, but were the texture of cheese, I think. We finished the picnic with a delicious desert of grilled chocolate and peach sandwiches. They were delicious. All the meals we eat here are like this, although dessert is usually yogurt (I usually take their homemade (!) plain yogurt, with apple & some foreign fruit stuff in it. It’s pretty fantastic, and the homemade yogurt is more creamy and less sour than regular plain yogurt). On the way back, we had some trouble getting back to the trail, but we ended up finding it. And we stopped along the way to pick wild black berries (!), which my host mother later made into jam. They were incredibly sweet. All in all, we were out picnicking for 6 hours, and when we got back my host mother had crepes with sugar and or honey prepared for a snack. Their son begged is mother for some of his favorite jams and “comptes”, and teased is mother about being short (which I thought was a bit funny, as I’m a bit taller than he is), and then he headed back out. It was quite a pleasant day. </div><div class="MsoNormal">And I’ve managed to do fairly well with the internet issue. Kindles make awesome email writing devices. :)</div>Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08218116517555498644noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8582956330698376817.post-35121776123948927032010-09-14T12:08:00.000+02:002010-09-14T12:08:00.386+02:00If it made sense, it wouldn’t be French, and other storiesLast Thursday, I went to the post office to mail in paper work in order to begin the process of completing my visa. This required me to mail in an OFII form (which requires a permanent french address), copies of my passport, visa, and stamp from entering the country to the immigration office; one week after receiving my paperwork, they will notify me that they received it, and one month after that I will be given a doctor’s appointment and be forced to pay 55 euro or some ridiculous sum for a “stamp”, until then I am prisoner to france, because if I leave they won’t let me back into the country unless I get a special visa from “the proper authorities”. This is annoying and pointless for many reasons:<br />
1) What is the point of examining the health of a person 2 months after they entered your country? They’ve had plenty of time to spread around all their nasty foreign diseases.<br />
2) I’ve already paid money for my visa, TWICE. 75$ for the completely pointless “Campus France”, and 55$ for what I believed at the time to be my visa.<br />
3) Why shouldn’t I be able to leave the country in the mean time, isn’t the point of a visa that it gives you the right to BE in a country, not the right to leave it? How does this make sense?<br />
4) I don’t actually have a fourth reason, but the first 3 were good.<br />
This event and many others led to the now quite popular slogan, “If it made sense it wouldn’t be French”.<br />
<br />
Why is everything closed on Sunday, despite the fact that most people have weekends off and might want to use that time to buy stuff, otherwise amuse themselves?<br />
Why print stamps on envelopes? Wait, that actually kind of makes sense- BUT- Why should you have to fill out a mailing label form to mail a letter a certain kind of way, but still have to write the address of the envelope? <br />
Why should one have to wait in line to procure said envelope and form, and again when one has filled them out?<br />
What do the following have to do with each other: the erosion of beaches, the evolution of whales, feel good times in Madagascar (i.e. journaliste holds newborn baby, dances with children), and searching for a Mexican island that may have disappeared or maybe just never existed at all?Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08218116517555498644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8582956330698376817.post-76103294874119128612010-09-14T12:01:00.000+02:002010-09-14T12:01:50.722+02:00Good-bye Sketchy Dorm Rooms: an ode (or a bad poem about a decrepit building)Your bathrooms had no toilet seats,<br />
Nor did they have handwashing sinks. <br />
When anyone else turned on the water,<br />
Ice cold or scalding hot you would sputter.<br />
<br />
One day I came home and turned on the light,<br />
Brightly it shown, then suddenly night.<br />
For this and “gettons”, the next day, I waited.<br />
Two hours passed before this task was completed.<br />
<br />
With “gettons” in hand, I went to the room of laundry.<br />
It failed not to live up to your decrepit legacy.<br />
Of washers, there were three, of dryers, two<br />
And you remember how many worked, don’t you?<br />
<br />
There were other incidents as well,<br />
A broken glass door, always locked,<br />
A run through the rain filled dark, I did not take<br />
But these stories perhaps another time I shall tell.<br />
<br />
What needs to be said, I shall now say.<br />
Good bye janky, sketchtastic dorm rooms,<br />
I shant ever forget your green shudders,<br />
Nor the grungy interior they long to keep from displayKathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08218116517555498644noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8582956330698376817.post-48798940972130271982010-09-07T17:09:00.000+02:002010-09-07T17:09:07.604+02:00I tasted really expensive wine, but I’m not going to lie I was more excited about the dog.<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">Last Thursday class ended half an hour early (YES! Although, I actually I should talk about that at some point, because Thomas (my teacher) is awesome. All the other classes have actual work, like presentations, etc.; we have games in which two people get up in front of the class and one of them can only say “oui” and the other can only say “non”. Which is 1) surprisingly entertaining and 2) the least stressful performance to have to give. And I still actually feel like I’m learning stuff (though not necessarily from the oui/non game, nor the porquoi?/parce-que game), which is pretty nifty.) I didn’t actually intend to go on that long tangent.<br />
ANYWAYS, where was I? Oh right, we got out of class, and had a provided “pique-nique” which consisted of hardboiled eggs, cheese, lettuce, and tomato on a baguette (this is kind of disgusting, but less so than the one I had the day before that had tuna instead of the cheese), and an individually wrapped brownie. Unlike the last picnic, we actually ate this one outside. Then we got on our buses and went to a vineyard, where the property owner gave us a long speech about grapes and making wine, presumably, I wouldn’t know because it was really hot and I couldn’t bring myself to care about either of those things enough to listen close enough to understand. Basically all I got out of it was that he said “champingon” a lot, which to my knowledge meant mushroom which made absolutely no sense. When I found out it can also mean fungus it started to make more sense. Basically the fungus is actually desired to concentrate the sugar in the grapes, to make a good wine, or something like that.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF_r-3RcsgN8TsGzkXgAPfILV5KQsXnvMgh3PiyJrjnJqt1Jo21yh65Sdrms9jE37M35vdiM5hIKqX18Qq8Iwdh28jWcKxu519NQ27JQrpCUOwGSaV_8pIA9rP5If1yPrIqqbxmiqBtvW3/s1600/IMG_2804.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF_r-3RcsgN8TsGzkXgAPfILV5KQsXnvMgh3PiyJrjnJqt1Jo21yh65Sdrms9jE37M35vdiM5hIKqX18Qq8Iwdh28jWcKxu519NQ27JQrpCUOwGSaV_8pIA9rP5If1yPrIqqbxmiqBtvW3/s320/IMG_2804.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is across the street from the most famous Bordelais vineyard whose name I have forgotten. We didn't go there because it's too expensive</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYArAkyy9xmu1QWVApirMqXasWjMm5ZhpqiD8zfUGncWoqeWFwvhl0p8J2I6YQNUB_061otP7HKa64abIykOfO8GRgKX4idRsmKSwYzaQsEzak_DW2szI-yHMfslXBHb6AFZEO76PtLXeE/s1600/IMG_2806.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYArAkyy9xmu1QWVApirMqXasWjMm5ZhpqiD8zfUGncWoqeWFwvhl0p8J2I6YQNUB_061otP7HKa64abIykOfO8GRgKX4idRsmKSwYzaQsEzak_DW2szI-yHMfslXBHb6AFZEO76PtLXeE/s320/IMG_2806.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">OMG! GRAPES! WITH CHAMPIGNON! *yawn*</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
He showed us his garden, and talked some more during that, I didn’t listen at all because I was distracted by the fact that he had PEACOCKS (and also black swans, which totally don’t exist, guys).<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4hUUiPjalVlXfVJCy_hyK2BAnQ1YFQSZxzVYkZOFToM0CekpAyjC5-Nm5ZcOc-5Mp3qegNO3sZFsNxMqbSA988mExEfzK5_4gfhoXHU7iOkD7rjemCHQkx_kBTs7w5Li62RX1L4b_Fut6/s1600/IMG_2815.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4hUUiPjalVlXfVJCy_hyK2BAnQ1YFQSZxzVYkZOFToM0CekpAyjC5-Nm5ZcOc-5Mp3qegNO3sZFsNxMqbSA988mExEfzK5_4gfhoXHU7iOkD7rjemCHQkx_kBTs7w5Li62RX1L4b_Fut6/s320/IMG_2815.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yep, that's Peacock. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcvd3H252POb7EnuD38-rgTgh8xbaSS3urb6Ps_gGtPj1QEi72PVHfxsd1P6vuAXrqRt776liHRZI5EcW_gIAcmI_iY9CbC-Nr24Gk9e5tQgDXQelMKYpv7z1NAz3Gp4PteYy1r9Dt8nO3/s1600/IMG_2819.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcvd3H252POb7EnuD38-rgTgh8xbaSS3urb6Ps_gGtPj1QEi72PVHfxsd1P6vuAXrqRt776liHRZI5EcW_gIAcmI_iY9CbC-Nr24Gk9e5tQgDXQelMKYpv7z1NAz3Gp4PteYy1r9Dt8nO3/s320/IMG_2819.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elusive black swan is elusive</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Then we went inside, where it was cooler but not quite cool enough, and tasted the wine which was pretty good, if not a bit too sweet. Then he took us into the wine cellar, where at last we found respite from the heat, and he bragged about how expensive his wine is and how he has the audacity to charge more for the wine that’s sold with a picture on the seal than for the wine without the picture.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH-UKuKqteDZSE3EuANuGiqRPdsyWt3lCsUhHUGiUHHJga_SRLQhA6XyzXN_AnZlwGSxcvMAbeq8ATuZwqudaK9DBrc43OO4FrbCUBinWbAjA1BaeJ85voK-MQWTU1g1IHLmVQF355kGwb/s1600/IMG_2833.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH-UKuKqteDZSE3EuANuGiqRPdsyWt3lCsUhHUGiUHHJga_SRLQhA6XyzXN_AnZlwGSxcvMAbeq8ATuZwqudaK9DBrc43OO4FrbCUBinWbAjA1BaeJ85voK-MQWTU1g1IHLmVQF355kGwb/s320/IMG_2833.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Demon-eyed vineyard owner, and celar</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
And then the tour was over, except we walked back towards the bus by his front yard where his FANTASTIQUE dog was hanging out. So all the decent people got really excited and petted the awesome dog through the fence, and the dog very kindly spread his awesome doggieness around. He was a really awesome dog.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDpMV328-dr99XVQ4-LyMxuLm3B4VA2bSXP417GnVOGr65nOLh1xYStD6kbT-yqzGrDqPWLbwxWcQQ7_jRhjMsEHWiJQrTf5MfWgQ6jTHPkkUbxmLPBpAzc4yrpcW1Sz-wStiCf5-3_mnF/s1600/IMG_2840.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDpMV328-dr99XVQ4-LyMxuLm3B4VA2bSXP417GnVOGr65nOLh1xYStD6kbT-yqzGrDqPWLbwxWcQQ7_jRhjMsEHWiJQrTf5MfWgQ6jTHPkkUbxmLPBpAzc4yrpcW1Sz-wStiCf5-3_mnF/s320/IMG_2840.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_0C6e29UMGIpIlr3FDB-r1O780zZj_g7pCB8voDLBsPk5vNXY6c-YrEeRHX5m7D2eObqv7lRTv9G0FGlgSs5J1nugAlX5HKgrAATeZ7fO1uGT674XE0xMwKxdBlozB-yHPdfunxfEt3gr/s1600/IMG_2839.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_0C6e29UMGIpIlr3FDB-r1O780zZj_g7pCB8voDLBsPk5vNXY6c-YrEeRHX5m7D2eObqv7lRTv9G0FGlgSs5J1nugAlX5HKgrAATeZ7fO1uGT674XE0xMwKxdBlozB-yHPdfunxfEt3gr/s320/IMG_2839.JPG" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZF2I_Nq3nizIBUTBUWrluTna49sqErPiMFzfHFhStAdxaMUbboZqHh3odldSgKLn8OvAUCISVP9e-0d54CIKZhOT4qPb1nZ8Xu8yJpQn5qdPhtuDzSvWJorUsCOW25COt8N2b4zX1chfj/s1600/IMG_2836.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZF2I_Nq3nizIBUTBUWrluTna49sqErPiMFzfHFhStAdxaMUbboZqHh3odldSgKLn8OvAUCISVP9e-0d54CIKZhOT4qPb1nZ8Xu8yJpQn5qdPhtuDzSvWJorUsCOW25COt8N2b4zX1chfj/s320/IMG_2836.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Awesome dog is awesome</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDC2KIMJG_heN5hfAjt41dm1zFHcD68r1y5qhrDkdvAsduNlFmQ4z5vNyrpX4EqeDHl17W8PSQVXns9xYgb9MD34ghAQrgovbTFtCKwU-90bMTQtEGgcc9kj1DOeTPt5DtEmhksepPl8cR/s1600/IMG_2841.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDC2KIMJG_heN5hfAjt41dm1zFHcD68r1y5qhrDkdvAsduNlFmQ4z5vNyrpX4EqeDHl17W8PSQVXns9xYgb9MD34ghAQrgovbTFtCKwU-90bMTQtEGgcc9kj1DOeTPt5DtEmhksepPl8cR/s320/IMG_2841.JPG" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbdIUMwt4y6bydVB7iUhKvoiIWgd-W_rdNlLoDR9PjGb1T0I3khtO_Wy5W8Mr_mnYw2YkZMo_lw8k4XLxsCm2sB99u1txvDPJeeWnq_hyphenhyphenmIacUzRfs5cygvQ0jsGKTARvY-MlH-06wgK5j/s1600/IMG_2842.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbdIUMwt4y6bydVB7iUhKvoiIWgd-W_rdNlLoDR9PjGb1T0I3khtO_Wy5W8Mr_mnYw2YkZMo_lw8k4XLxsCm2sB99u1txvDPJeeWnq_hyphenhyphenmIacUzRfs5cygvQ0jsGKTARvY-MlH-06wgK5j/s320/IMG_2842.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Obviously, the awesomeness of the outside of the house pales in comparison with the dog, but it was still pretty</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">Then we continued on to Malagar, the country home of Francois something-or-other (the author who lived part of his childhood in that one house in Bordeaux). On the way, we passed by a city that had a really pretty cathedral by a river.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFRresWfX7l-RvoTblkNs5ZWx5j5NyfcHNFoZfCIGROMp4tjL1PXGAdlEP5VbGdgiZXMCEdWkHXYloV7aUobUeMUxV5PDn_1yOZ7PcnH7_1G-U75VMM_9csnIrcBSqYlCYdMhYAKy7domz/s1600/IMG_2859.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFRresWfX7l-RvoTblkNs5ZWx5j5NyfcHNFoZfCIGROMp4tjL1PXGAdlEP5VbGdgiZXMCEdWkHXYloV7aUobUeMUxV5PDn_1yOZ7PcnH7_1G-U75VMM_9csnIrcBSqYlCYdMhYAKy7domz/s320/IMG_2859.JPG" /></a></div><br />
The house itself and the tour was a bit less than interesting to me, which probably had a lot to with the heat and the fact that I had no idea that there was an author named Francois something-or-other until a week ago let alone anything about his books. As I am sure you can tell, I was a little less than enthusiastic about this trip (EXCEPT THE DOG) for which I blame the heat. But it’s undeniable that the grounds were pretty.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6637KmNn38FoFipkul-V6Mm951XC9jEwiKsEIxYfhxksFR3RmcuKhaNo3arlASprYgTJ17JTYKsrCoCkA_Zb5qSpMTJ17br3PeyfoGZh_Qnmye4_N2r0jJBvjABs0HOk-OsfH4EL5EXj0/s1600/IMG_2868.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6637KmNn38FoFipkul-V6Mm951XC9jEwiKsEIxYfhxksFR3RmcuKhaNo3arlASprYgTJ17JTYKsrCoCkA_Zb5qSpMTJ17br3PeyfoGZh_Qnmye4_N2r0jJBvjABs0HOk-OsfH4EL5EXj0/s320/IMG_2868.JPG" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4pObCcpgc-9RVOZbGfub7gB409JzNWyUvwv8-rgd1lqoo0qeq19jmvY3vUidRe_vyIKLi-g0FnHxSyPouWrSJ8ui3_27LjXV6Uadv9yMiAlTl2v2zxsSZeqpAwAoBA43YDghermlWoMxa/s1600/IMG_2879.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4pObCcpgc-9RVOZbGfub7gB409JzNWyUvwv8-rgd1lqoo0qeq19jmvY3vUidRe_vyIKLi-g0FnHxSyPouWrSJ8ui3_27LjXV6Uadv9yMiAlTl2v2zxsSZeqpAwAoBA43YDghermlWoMxa/s320/IMG_2879.JPG" /></a></div></div>Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08218116517555498644noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8582956330698376817.post-30255172625839312822010-09-06T15:12:00.000+02:002010-09-06T15:12:08.262+02:00Things look different in the dark<div class="MsoNormal">A couple of nights ago, after a dinner at “Flunch” a restaurant who’s décor and food style made it disconcertingly American-like, I walked around the city with two of my friends from the program. We walked to the Palais du Justice (the very modern building I made fun of for clashing with the other architecture). As we stood between this palace and the castle built in the 15<sup>th</sup> century, Tristan made witty comment about not being able to take justice seriously when it is administered in an ice cream cone shaped auditorium. Claire noticed that there was a bridge that connected the two, and Tristan, the history nerd among us, was very pleased with the symbolism that suggested. Something about the juxtaposition of these two buildings, and perhaps the dark and stillness of the night made the age of this castle more comprehensible. We walked up the wall, and I understood why peasants 600 years ago would have found this castle impressive. I was impressed. Standing next to the wall of the fortress looking up, I felt small and insignificant. When we continued on to the cathedral, I felt the same way about this ancient building. The intricate detail that still survives today, and the tall spires are still considered beautiful today. It was one of those times when you feel transported back in time and able to see things as people saw them hundreds of years before. <br />
The history here is amazing. The 600 year old cathedral sits across from a 500 hundred year old fortress which is across the street from centuries old buildings in front of which runs a 4 year old trolley, while behind the fortress a modern building shows us how far we have come. </div>Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08218116517555498644noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8582956330698376817.post-90765743942562757582010-09-05T22:59:00.000+02:002010-09-05T22:59:07.166+02:00This other thing I did<a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/102027401967206651414/GujanMestraDuneDuPylaAndPereire?authkey=Gv1sRgCKWh1rnfzJnl9AE&feat=email#5512359685768368642">Here are some pictures of an excursion thing I went on last weekend</a>Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08218116517555498644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8582956330698376817.post-65676603565842257512010-09-05T22:28:00.000+02:002010-09-05T22:28:52.241+02:00I'm beggining to suspect that Bordeaux is actually a thinly disguised Disneyland<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkNO8Z6hSnrLgNZtvhax2exwniQZDgMeMJgVvRzqKhA3APiqkD5JHnhBsU9t-6DvewnQS4GynVqg5QKkwxF83PesuHWHZ61sNVYxxaT9mcVXGROzENVD2H3GwJubu9IGpQmdbOgqDOE2Pr/s1600/IMG_2882.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkNO8Z6hSnrLgNZtvhax2exwniQZDgMeMJgVvRzqKhA3APiqkD5JHnhBsU9t-6DvewnQS4GynVqg5QKkwxF83PesuHWHZ61sNVYxxaT9mcVXGROzENVD2H3GwJubu9IGpQmdbOgqDOE2Pr/s320/IMG_2882.JPG" /></a></div>Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08218116517555498644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8582956330698376817.post-50261840066339378792010-08-29T21:06:00.000+02:002010-08-29T21:06:10.986+02:00“There ARE ugly places in France; most of them are universities”<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">The above quote is from the head coordinator of EAP in France, he went on to say that he wouldn’t name names, and we all laughed because we knew what he meant. I didn’t want to write this post first because I don’t want to sound like I’m not enjoying it here, or that I’m surrounded by a hideous landscape. There are many beautiful things here: the trees which were the first thing I noticed when I arrived, downtown Bordeaux and its historic buildings, Pessac and it’s French countryside charm. Bordeaux University cannot be listed among these. It is overgrown (which is beautiful, in a way), and it’s building are in various stages of disrepair. There are some buildings which are actually quite nice, there are some new more modern buildings at Bordeaux 1 and a building in downtown Bordeaux . But the buildings of Bordeaux 3 (where D.E.F.L.E (The Foreign Students Department) is located, and the area in which we are staying) do not fall into this category. They can be categorized more effectively using the scale “a bit worse than south campus” to “is paint really THAT expensive”. Really, I’m not complaining, I’m stating facts and I have pictures to prove it. <br />
This is my dorm:</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkPgGvO90j6VXlkImEiGHYcFnW-81Qszg7Sf2K9EVXQOne31lsCcD8CX31-R48jipkFbZOrqTiyrEfT5Yzn7Yx5PFMsnyatezEnlCgqj0NYP04z44ZowJ8pc02mCzGMoF6AQzw2ICzUQds/s1600/IMG_2544.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkPgGvO90j6VXlkImEiGHYcFnW-81Qszg7Sf2K9EVXQOne31lsCcD8CX31-R48jipkFbZOrqTiyrEfT5Yzn7Yx5PFMsnyatezEnlCgqj0NYP04z44ZowJ8pc02mCzGMoF6AQzw2ICzUQds/s320/IMG_2544.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who doesn't love green shudders?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
It’s a bit better on the inside: </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2UbQ2oxQyLTdw1yezqymKzFPoNZozADZflnKOCeMs4o1jX3QhfS-JBmaNn_IRvprqI1dt85nPbHf1WtzPARkfU9AfC9eh2jKcvKCqKSOCIJ1dRjsHDP00noOIbJP2_SgKgfiUNCV_pyrj/s1600/IMG_2526.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2UbQ2oxQyLTdw1yezqymKzFPoNZozADZflnKOCeMs4o1jX3QhfS-JBmaNn_IRvprqI1dt85nPbHf1WtzPARkfU9AfC9eh2jKcvKCqKSOCIJ1dRjsHDP00noOIbJP2_SgKgfiUNCV_pyrj/s320/IMG_2526.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">this is the sink/mirrior/closet area</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlI2xWdQzp_LQeOiwDMCGqpEy349u-SGLK7u_iMSkdjya6ltTDObcbXtEXUnaQ5nfju4Xk7IJxo3UXOqQQ9Ubh9d22q-r2HA_pF3yXEGiKw3p6M86QXjaFeA_RmMlrzvX6jsW7-QZT7wSh/s1600/IMG_2522.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlI2xWdQzp_LQeOiwDMCGqpEy349u-SGLK7u_iMSkdjya6ltTDObcbXtEXUnaQ5nfju4Xk7IJxo3UXOqQQ9Ubh9d22q-r2HA_pF3yXEGiKw3p6M86QXjaFeA_RmMlrzvX6jsW7-QZT7wSh/s320/IMG_2522.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As you can see I took this right when I moved in</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQIECWM8fQnU45y6DKxd8AM4SMtBOK_HChyL8t78jFOm0FzmzKnjgp71IFc-OrELawr91fNqc0eD-IE6g1OycuAMFMBao7JULszDRbf1QVLr4Tlv4pHgv4krx05GAopnGGC3I-gL863ABX/s1600/IMG_2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQIECWM8fQnU45y6DKxd8AM4SMtBOK_HChyL8t78jFOm0FzmzKnjgp71IFc-OrELawr91fNqc0eD-IE6g1OycuAMFMBao7JULszDRbf1QVLr4Tlv4pHgv4krx05GAopnGGC3I-gL863ABX/s320/IMG_2529.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is a little garden area outside, someone lives down there</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But only because you can't tell with pictures that there is only one plug (that has to be used if you want light because the other light is burnt out), and because I haven’t shown you the bathrooms. Specifically the toilets. Seriously, you don’t want to know. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Okay fine, I’ll tell you. You know how in America our toilets have seats? Apparently we’re living like kings because they’re totally unnecessary. There is also a final stall which just has hole and a button for flush (no, seriously), I’m assuming this is intended for the guy’s only (the bathrooms are co-ed). There aren't any sinks in the bathroom, you have to go back to your room to wash your hands. Then this morning the handle for hot water fell off when I was in the shower, and hit my ankle. It hurt. And then I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to get it turn off, but it turned off easier than I feared (that was bit anti-climactic, wasn’t it?) </div><div class="MsoNormal">Here’s an ugly building (and believe you me, be glad I don’t have a picture of the alphabet building):</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhilZOvE5SjSuRRoA34bxD-kjQ-lzBYuqtM1VF1DQYRJ7oMmVFtoohokrnwA36rFQLDWtYkiS9UhG0r7lH1eO3kglg612mHDjYrGBiwEip32KJcAcsdYFy0RRmiDmseROc8Ei7ZwlS2xgZO/s1600/IMG_2540.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhilZOvE5SjSuRRoA34bxD-kjQ-lzBYuqtM1VF1DQYRJ7oMmVFtoohokrnwA36rFQLDWtYkiS9UhG0r7lH1eO3kglg612mHDjYrGBiwEip32KJcAcsdYFy0RRmiDmseROc8Ei7ZwlS2xgZO/s320/IMG_2540.JPG" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And some over grown empty space (they’re a big fan of empty space at this university, it’s like they had this gigantic (and I mean GIGANTIC) piece of land and were like “let’s build something!” and they couldn’t think of anything else to build so they just used the whole thing for a university):<br />
<br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEGS6e5A2H4WWdXHaTQ016ny8l2R1-bXJZ9XPj8HqVVtF41MeDEf4X1co-MtROwqqdX95JSlY_sk5LJeh_OE65LwtpbHLIgeTtsPKoB9jMjwHjAEhnsfUQXMnw6RJ6ePh6gPAFu2BJv00E/s1600/IMG_2543.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEGS6e5A2H4WWdXHaTQ016ny8l2R1-bXJZ9XPj8HqVVtF41MeDEf4X1co-MtROwqqdX95JSlY_sk5LJeh_OE65LwtpbHLIgeTtsPKoB9jMjwHjAEhnsfUQXMnw6RJ6ePh6gPAFu2BJv00E/s320/IMG_2543.JPG" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">So I guess it’s bit of a culture shock coming from UCLA to this. But I can’t say I was ever truly horrified, mostly I would classify my reaction to the dorm as closer to “vaguely amused” (this may have had to do with being up for more than 24 hours, that makes EVERYTHING, vaguely amusing) and my reaction to everything else as “not quite what I expected, maybe it’s just because it’s deserted?" </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div>Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08218116517555498644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8582956330698376817.post-4141567263241636932010-08-26T22:23:00.000+02:002010-08-26T22:23:54.572+02:00Bordeaux, the tour<style>
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</style><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Today was my second full day in Bordeaux. In the morning there were informational meeting for both of the groups here (Language and Culture, and Immersion), and at 14:00 (as they say here) we had a tour of Bordeaux. <br />
Although I’ve gone down to Bordeaux before and also to Pessac (which is actually closer to this side of the university in the opposite direction), this was the most extensive look at my surroundings that I’ve gotten. It also took me to the nicest parts of Bordeaux, apparently I hadn’t gone quite far enough the first time. <br />
Mostly this part of Bordeaux reminded me of Disneyland (probably New Orleans Square?) . Our guide was really fantastic and said everything in French AND English. Which was nice because even though I understood most everything she said, it was nice to have the time to process the French words (and make sure you got their meaning right). <br />
The first place we saw was le Grand Théâtre, which was built at the site of a roman temple (I think). The architect wanted to honor the muses but there are only 9 of them and 12 columns, so he also added the goddess Juno, Venus, and another one that I can’t remember. To see the tour <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/102027401967206651414/BordeauxTheTour?authkey=Gv1sRgCOC0_qr4-M2L7AE&feat=email#">cliquez ici.</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">I captioned it and EVERYTHING. Just think of me as your personal tour guide, who isn't actually sure if this is the best way to go about giving a photo tour but figures it will work. </span>Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08218116517555498644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8582956330698376817.post-22294442632205006602010-08-25T21:59:00.001+02:002010-08-26T12:31:09.879+02:00At least you weren't traveling with a crying baby: an epic<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><i>Note: most of this was written at Charles de Gaulle Airport and is probably badly in need of editing but my battery is dying and it's either computer or light (there's only one plug in here!) </i></span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><b>edit: this is me editing it. yay! </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">This morning/ yesterday morning, I’m not really sure which, I got up at 4am, and left for the airport 30 minutes later. The sky was a dark purplish grayish blue and the full moon was low in the western sky. The world was silent, and the hills of San Diego were shadows against the darkened sky. One dedicated biker rode through the predawn calm. I arrived at the airport, checked my bags, hugged my dad, and then went through security which for once in the history of ever moved a bit too quickly for my taste. Since I had an hour to kill until boarding I got myself some coffee, a cinnamon twist, and a bottle of water. I downloaded a book for my kindle, utilized the awesome free wifi to read twitter and watch some youtube videos, and admired a beautiful Labrador retriever service doggy. I even took a picture of my beautiful city as the sun rose. (I’m kind of having an everything is beautiful and amazing day, bear with me through this perhaps over-the-top chipperness).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZnhK6moRd8yKoJkbEscllY_WxZz-Tdoq_QGFxeFdZi38RZSTNOSNKC9onaLFw_e-aOKGt0SbXAs8uwObpb1znRQw0c-KtH6v-FO4k2UlzZf3iU8_7N15X7wYA6r59WrRz7PdzGI7ubtRh/s1600/IMG_2508.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZnhK6moRd8yKoJkbEscllY_WxZz-Tdoq_QGFxeFdZi38RZSTNOSNKC9onaLFw_e-aOKGt0SbXAs8uwObpb1znRQw0c-KtH6v-FO4k2UlzZf3iU8_7N15X7wYA6r59WrRz7PdzGI7ubtRh/s320/IMG_2508.JPG" /></a><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> </span>As my plane took off, I admired the ocean and then the wonderful dimpled landscape that is San Diego. I watch Cowle’s Mountain recede into the distance. I even enjoyed the desert that followed (see, I told you). Then I watched my first movie of the day: “Just Wright”. Which wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good either. The most interesting thing about it to me was the fact that most of the main characters were African-American which made me realize how most movies feature mostly people of much lighter skin. This isn’t exactly breaking news, but it’s interesting how a silly movie about *spoiler alert* a physical therapist who falls in love with her basket ball player patient, can make you think about things you’ve never bother to think about before. I was amused by the polka-dotted landscape of somewhere rural America, with its circles of watered land. Then I wrote an email, watched my neighbors watch the new star trek movie on their ipad, and then I read. <br />
As we descended through the clouds into New York, some strange effect from what I don’t know made the Atlantic appear to be rainbow striped in one area and beautiful shade of light purplish blue everywhere else. We landed and it took a remarkable amount of time (during which I discovered that instead of printing my second ticket, I had printed the first one, twice) to taxi in. <br />
While I made my way to my next gate which was conveniently located on the opposite side of the terminal, I talked to my mom. I got my ticket printed out without a hitch and went in search of food because I was STARVING. I ended up getting a tuna salad salad which didn’t live up to my dreams of grandeur which were completely unfounded because it didn’t look that awesome (though the price (9$!) suggested otherwise). And the tuna tasted too much like fish, which made me sad. AND JFK didn’t have free internet because it’s a jerk. <br />
Then I got on my plane to Paris. Me and the young woman (saying it like that makes me sound so formal! But she wasn't a "girl", and woman makes me think middle aged, and she was really about my age, maybe a few years older) traded seats with two children so they could be next to their family, which put us on the right, instead of the left side, and one more row back. This ended up being totally worth it (it being not really anything at all), because this family had fussy baby and while I pity them I was glad I wasn’t sitting right in front of the crying child. We then sat in the plane for an hour before taking off because of traffic control, the baby wailed through most of it. And I had to sit there doing more or less nothing because about 20 min before take-off they told us to turn off all electronic devices, and my book is electronic! #firstworldproblems<br />
During this flight I watched two movies (How to Train a Dragon which was cute, and 27 dresses, which I had seen before), an episode of the office, and the majority of an episode of 30 rock (the sound stopped working 5 minutes before the end, thanks a lot, American Airlines). I also ate a dinner of chicken with penne pasta, three crackers, and a brownie, and tried to sleep (and failed because HELLO. I may have gotten up at 4 in the morning but that doesn’t mean I capable of falling asleep sitting up in a not completely dark plane at 6pm, or 7, or 8). A couple hours later I ate a “breakfast” of a warm croissant, orange juice, and disappointing coffee. I wanted to point out to them that by my time it was 9pm and that they should stop pretending that we had a real night on this flight. <br />
As we approached the coast of France we flew over clouds that reminded me of slightly damaged cotton batting. Soon after the sun rose, or perhaps we flew into it, and I saw dawn for the second time in less than 24 hours. <br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyM4inpLBZUJqHrsNde3TGA0nlMP0NLpfX0b5Q-JsKBmgDb02LMJdnQN7oJhQv4g-b00xcowEgbfM-wNcUqwPcNb89Uq4AtiOzNM8wbTSh_Yw37zd8_I7u6PK3W4K8Anf1EAagILvUQjJU/s1600/IMG_2513.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyM4inpLBZUJqHrsNde3TGA0nlMP0NLpfX0b5Q-JsKBmgDb02LMJdnQN7oJhQv4g-b00xcowEgbfM-wNcUqwPcNb89Uq4AtiOzNM8wbTSh_Yw37zd8_I7u6PK3W4K8Anf1EAagILvUQjJU/s320/IMG_2513.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">if you are really awesome and use your imagination a little, you can see france beneath the clouds</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The French countryside looked more or less like rural America from the sky, but I felt the plots of land were more square and orderly in America. The French countryside was like a crazy quilt with plots of land cut every which way. There weren’t very many circular plots though, silly water inefficient french. Every once in a while there were small clusters of suburbia speckled in the fields. There were also forests; clusters of tall trees in the midst of flat farm land. As we got closer to Paris the suburbs became larger and more frequent. <br />
Once we landed, I had to navigate my way through the almost deserted maze of Charles de Gaulle Airport. Along the way there were many guides, most of which immediately addressed me in English, which struck me as odd, but I guess I was giving off a bewildered-american vibe. Ultimately I was glad for this because my brain decided it had been awake for long enough and was not working quite normally. I got through customs in a flash, in fact, it wasn’t even clear that it WAS customs. Mostly it was just a one bored looking guy sitting in a booth. He looked over my passport and visa and gave me a stamp. He didn’t ask to see my bag; he never even spoke to me. I don’t know where the other people on my plane went, but they didn’t follow me. I saw only one or two other non-employee people in this area of the airport.<br />
The annoying thing about Charles de Gaulle is that they check everything over and over and over. After I picked up my ticket, for which I had to show my passport, I went to the entrance of security, where I had to show my ticket and my passport; I then put these things back in my bag because I figured they had checked it enough and continued to the security check point. The worker was truly awful. He said almost nothing, perhaps because he thought I would not be able to understand his French, there were no signs, and no one else going through to copy. He also required me to dig out my passport. My stuff came through and I put my passport away. Then I had to go over to a bag check area (apparently checking bags with xray isn’t enough? I don’t know) and had to show my passport and ticket AGAIN. This lady, however, was kind and was the first airport employee to address me in French, which to my pleasure I understood perfectly. I went up the stairs, and I have to say I have never been more glad to see people bustling about. Yes! Civilization. I walked out of the artificially lit inner belly of Charles de Gaulle and into the glass ceilinged center of activity. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My first task was to find a restroom to wash my face and brush my teeth, it was there that I made my first culturally inspired mistake. The sink had two faucets (or so it appeared), I couldn’t imagine the reason for this so I went for the one that I could easily see how to turn on. It was a soap dispenser. I dispensed soap onto my tooth brush. I took a picture so I could show everyone how much it looked like a faucet.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzvx8QmH7ebrnuHCAFg5q3DtiEmBt5k206sojlw7ksZYsnRYYDtU-81h7O7Hz_tszn62laoGbxgG_dxH-lw1uRkHBa3dOqZ2ZzDk8rsGdcE5wZi-8m2kY8vUTQFfypnMYE0TDkke9kW3o1/s1600/IMG_2516.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzvx8QmH7ebrnuHCAFg5q3DtiEmBt5k206sojlw7ksZYsnRYYDtU-81h7O7Hz_tszn62laoGbxgG_dxH-lw1uRkHBa3dOqZ2ZzDk8rsGdcE5wZi-8m2kY8vUTQFfypnMYE0TDkke9kW3o1/s320/IMG_2516.JPG" /></a></div><br />
What’s funny about this picture is that it shows that there are pictures clearly indicating how to use the sink and it’s many faucets, I don’t know how I missed that. <br />
Then I went to “Paul” and ordered an apple turn-over and a Café au lait, only what they gave me was definitely a latté, which is not as yummy, and I was sad. And there was no free internet, which also made me sad. So sad that I spent my wait writing this epic. <br />
The plane was boarded more chaotically then in the US, it wasn’t done in groups, but perhaps this was because, as I would soon find out, the plane was on the other side of the tarmac and we had to be bused to it. We then had to show our ticket and passport to get into the tunnel thing to go the bus, then to get on the bus, then to get on the plane. I stupidly put these things away after every single time. <br />
This plane also took an hour to be given the all clear for take-off, I spent this time reading the air magazine, which was in French, and doing some French exercises in my workbook. I spent most of the flight reading. I was one of the last people off the plane because the old woman sitting next to me walked with a cane and didn’t want to get trampled or rushed, I think she may have had Parkinson’s because her hands were shaking. This meant I didn’t have to wait at all for my luggage, which was nice. I left the luggage collection area, and sat on a bench. I found the internet which was good because I had forgotten to look up where I was going once I got to Bordeaux. Opps. <br />
My taxi driver spoke to me in English, but I persisted in speaking mostly French to him. The fare was 25 euros, so I gave him 30 and told him to keep the change because I wasn’t sure if one is supposed to tip taxi drivers and if one was how much one should give. This seemed to please him immensely, and he helped me carry my luggage in the office.<br />
Like when Gilgamesh returns and sees the wall of Uruk my epic journey had finished. <br />
I can’t believe I just wrote that. </div>Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08218116517555498644noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8582956330698376817.post-91879806310949966802010-08-19T20:25:00.000+02:002010-08-19T20:25:29.695+02:00The Suitcase is Half-EmptyIn three days I will be sitting in a plane half-way across the country; in four days I will be arriving in Bordeaux. This is both terrifying and exciting. I've been waiting all summer for this day. A week ago, I wished that I could just GO. Now I feel more conflicted, I WANT to go, but I also want to stay home. I want to hang out in my comfy bed, with my pillows, my dog, and book to keep me company. At the same time I want to get up and DO something, have an adventure. But the adventure is coming too fast.<br />
How am I going to get a taxi? What will I say to the taxi driver? What if they won't let me through customs? What if I can't remember a single word of French? How am I going to fit my life into my suitcase?<br />
All the same, I know it will be okay. I will survive, and hopefully have a fantastic time. I haven't even started and still I feel that when it's over I will wish for more time. Then again, perhaps I will feel differently when I have started.<br />
<div style="text-align: left;"></div>So far packing has gone better then expected, but I suspect that as the time to leave draws near, the temptation to over-pack will consume the rest of the space in my suitcase.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNVd8yROvZFgn1YUAcK7T9VKCdfJt6-RZ5rx6Xu9XAYgVr_NdtTSooSPGcCoSK8j2fAVNP4UsbuYo65kiDjTGHKtXdzjufsUR41Ws2Vc1IvSzc3JTwQezepCbZVwhmvhrLe3EU3JbLXwRg/s1600/IMG_2499.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNVd8yROvZFgn1YUAcK7T9VKCdfJt6-RZ5rx6Xu9XAYgVr_NdtTSooSPGcCoSK8j2fAVNP4UsbuYo65kiDjTGHKtXdzjufsUR41Ws2Vc1IvSzc3JTwQezepCbZVwhmvhrLe3EU3JbLXwRg/s320/IMG_2499.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Optimists insist this suitcase is "half-empty"<br />
Pessimists point out that sweatshirts, coats, and jackets are likely to make it more than "half-full"</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisEiDhU02KilsZT2_wORJAe7DA0_dOS2x0WWy3julXyvWLTi7x3mgTIUTqy4Il0a-Cic2z91RxQTPF8PTXb8iivwGmxX6c07WOV1XmRzd71VCtOsDYgdvwXRK3zCqldmVtDnZHVPkYy23d/s1600/IMG_2497.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisEiDhU02KilsZT2_wORJAe7DA0_dOS2x0WWy3julXyvWLTi7x3mgTIUTqy4Il0a-Cic2z91RxQTPF8PTXb8iivwGmxX6c07WOV1XmRzd71VCtOsDYgdvwXRK3zCqldmVtDnZHVPkYy23d/s320/IMG_2497.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meanwhile, Zoee and I try to figure out how to fit her in the suitcase</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08218116517555498644noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8582956330698376817.post-41271261006751706042010-08-12T22:29:00.002+02:002010-08-26T12:33:06.884+02:00Bordeaux is googlese for dog<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Yeterday, I was sitting at my computer trying to think of a brilliant excuse to get out of studying for my final (which was today) for as long as possible, and I thought "I''m moving to a country half way around the world in less than two weeks and I know very little about the city I'm going to be living in." Seriously, I know like three things: 1. They have vineyards somewhere, 2. It's by a large river, 3. My dad's french coworker described it as a) like Santa Barbara and b) bourgeois (my dad had to come home and ask me what this means).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div>So I look at their tourism website, but really I just want to look at pictures and they don't seems to have a bunch of them collected in one area. Then I look at the weather, which is AWESOME by the way. Apparently, it gets hot there mostly in July, and by August it has a wonderful average temperature of 75*F. YES!<br />
So then I decide to image search Bordeaux, this is the first page of results: <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvfZMaqalGeViPcsk_uVb_chKS1BRxw4BXL_GI6ol-xUXuZvcGBNXRSYeIle437RTwwcAOYiZs50I9K_8I6twZlORzbwQLKw8lgPqrzREBqS8YFu0HlQ8pdT6uutnXc1dOSD8RYh535a20/s1600/bordeaux+is+like+a+dog.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvfZMaqalGeViPcsk_uVb_chKS1BRxw4BXL_GI6ol-xUXuZvcGBNXRSYeIle437RTwwcAOYiZs50I9K_8I6twZlORzbwQLKw8lgPqrzREBqS8YFu0HlQ8pdT6uutnXc1dOSD8RYh535a20/s640/bordeaux+is+like+a+dog.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: purple;">You know what's annoying? When X-large is WAY big and large is way small.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">(Isn't the new google images thingy nifty?)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So I'm all: Google, I'm fairly certain that I am going to a city, not to a dog. And google's all: I'm not taking back my results. </div>So I scroll down and there are more dogs including this one: <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKPOa8JV2EQQIPcFZgRgwV_a6IfxXfqUM3r_fR7c2Ypvf9pMXpcDjPXtiOfEMT-Hr6DoYV87w3PGoPlt03jf2_9oj62UbBK_WS8f6wlzjF0jP_X1j1Vqdw_xX6lglhnrQ1v9goc9enOuVK/s1600/crazy+dog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKPOa8JV2EQQIPcFZgRgwV_a6IfxXfqUM3r_fR7c2Ypvf9pMXpcDjPXtiOfEMT-Hr6DoYV87w3PGoPlt03jf2_9oj62UbBK_WS8f6wlzjF0jP_X1j1Vqdw_xX6lglhnrQ1v9goc9enOuVK/s320/crazy+dog.jpg" /></a><br />
This dog is cute in the most disturbing way possible, is he not? <br />
<br />
<br />
I am so disturbed that I am forced to research these dogs, all of which turn out to be of the breed <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dogue_de_Bordeaux">"Dogue de Bordeaux"</a>. Which sounded to me like the stupidest anglicism ever. Further research however indicates that "dogue" is french for mastiff. So I guess I can forgive whoever named these dogs.<br />
<br />
I still know next to nothing about Bordeaux, but I did find some really awesome pictures which make me really excited to be going. <br />
Also:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0KFNOGBnmQ3SyI8VN76bIGv7IFMaMt6LAZfzQmxQdKLdwy08Kcr5oJSO1Drl4vowomU8bJdwNR3zQ6wTU7LFpXXZwv44ZuFY93iw8ExewpKsAfIcr0xEzyZpNazi_0J0mo4A1RvGqQsb-/s1600/lobster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0KFNOGBnmQ3SyI8VN76bIGv7IFMaMt6LAZfzQmxQdKLdwy08Kcr5oJSO1Drl4vowomU8bJdwNR3zQ6wTU7LFpXXZwv44ZuFY93iw8ExewpKsAfIcr0xEzyZpNazi_0J0mo4A1RvGqQsb-/s320/lobster.jpg" /></a></div>Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08218116517555498644noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8582956330698376817.post-69845691259159024642010-08-04T23:57:00.002+02:002010-08-05T00:04:32.422+02:00The Consulate Disaster"Disaster" might be a slight exaggeration, but this way it sounds like a bad action movie. <br />
Really it more of an "ordeal", or an experience that can only be described as "terribly annoying" and "kind of stressful". <br />
From the beginning the process of applying for a visa was decidedly un-fun. The french government in all it's glory and cunning came up with this evil thing called "Campus- France" which SOUNDS fairly innocuous but is not. The whole thing is designed to make you pay them 75$ to make you cry. Of course I didn't fall into THIS trap (*LIAR*). <br />
Then 5 or 6 weeks later I was forced to prepare all my materials at the last minute (seriously, the french government sent a secret agent to make sure I procrastinated, it was terrifying!) and then drive 5 hours round trip for what was SUPPOSED to be a 15 minute appointment. <br />
Because of the whole french secret agent thing, I had to pick up my transcript at UCLA, before going to my appointment at the consulate, and my mom (who insisted on coming with, despite the fact that I repeatedly told her that she didn't have to, and it wouldn't be any fun, and they wouldn't even let her in the consulate. She thought she SHOULD. Because obviously LA is big and scary, and it's not as if I live 15 minutes from the consulate for two thirds of the year, or as if I'm moving half way across the world in a couple weeks). Anyway, I arrived there at 9:00am and picked up my transcript, leaving plenty of time to make my 9:45 appointment. (haha! Take that french secret agent!).<br />
Unfortunately, he caught up with me and convinced me that I knew my way around well enough to take a "short cut". Which resulted in me being completely incapable to find Santa Monica Blvd, which I'm certain was a remarkable feat. Fifty minutes later, and 5 minutes late, I arrived at the consulate. <br />
There are about 6 people standing outside the door, so I ask the woman standing next to me what's going on. She isn't particularly vocal, but I gather that I'm supposed to wait for the guard to come out to let us in. <br />
About 10 very nervous minutes later, the security guard comes out, he asks us all when are appointments are and when I say 9:45 he gives me an "uh-oh" sort of look, but doesn't tell me to go away. <br />
So I wait another half an hour during which I realize that the secret agent made me forget the transcript in the car. However, expecting the cunning of the secret agent, I had brought my high school diploma as back up. <br />
Finally, I'm allowed in, and when it's my turn I go up to the window, and hand my papers to the french accented guy.<br />
Him: Do you have your campus france receipt?<br />
Me: Yeah, I think I handed it to you. <br />
Him: It's not here. <br />
Me: Really? I was sure I gave it to you.<br />
Him: This is not your receipt, you were supposed to click here to print it out.<br />
Me: Oh (*crap, crap, crap*) <br />
Him: I will give you pass to go upstairs and print it out on our computer.<br />
I takes the pass and go upstairs. I follow the link on their homepage to campus france and try to log in. I type something like "kqtherine,byn" and which point it becomes obvious that something is weird. I look at the keyboard, on which many of the keys are in the wrong place. The q is where the a should be, and the a is where the 1 should be, and there are keys with accented letters on them, and the period is where the apostrophe should be. I am baffled, and unable to figure out how to the access the @ symbol which is still on the 2 key but which shares it will at least 2 other symbols for at least a minute. Then I type in my password which like all good passwords has a number in it, I am careful, but apparently not careful enough because you HAVE TO PRESS SHIFT TO GET THE NUMBERS. After way too long, with my receipt back in hand, I return to the consulate and sit in the waiting room. I wait, and wait, and wait, and WAIT.<br />
For some reason, (probably because it makes more sense) they've taken to calling people up to the windows instead of allowing it to be a free for all, but presumably they've passed my name long ago because they aren't calling it, and are calling names of people who arrived after I arrived back in the waiting room. I listen to the other french consulate lady interrogate a man about his job (professional artist), watch people who think that for electronic finger scanners to work you must press your fingers down as hard as possible (even if you have to permanently damage your finger to do so), and stare at the tv which is turned all the way down and set to the french channel. Finally, he stops calling names which makes it my turn despite what anyone else in the waiting room might think. I go up to the window, and have apparently managed to bring all the proper documents despite the best efforts of mr.ninja agent. They take my finger scan, during which I preformed like the pro I am except for putting my fingers "too much like Spock" (which totally wasn't my fault, because there was a picture of Spock doing the vulcun salute right by the finger thing, and how was I supposed to know I wasn't supposed to give my very best vulcun salute?). Fifteen minutes later they finally call me up and allow me to leave. It's 11:30. <br />
Apparently, I passed the ninja spy test, because I received my visa and will presumably be allowed into france. TAKE THAT NINJAS!<br />
(Editors note: the switch from past to present tense half way through was totally a purposeful stylistic decision, duh)Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08218116517555498644noreply@blogger.com1