So when I was told to produce less dirty laundry, I began thinking...what is the source of me having to use clean clothes and take showers? Then I realized, there are 2 reasons or causes. The first is society. People don't like smelly people, and that's sort of like a half fact, but we'll say it's closer to fact than unfact. Fact just lost meaning to me, but I noticed that it has the word "fat" in it, which brings me to my next point: food. If I didn't eat (and excessively, at that), I wouldn't sweat. If this were the case, I would be less smelly as a person (and perhaps more likeable) and never have to take showers. Without showers, I wouldn't have to change into clean clothes, barring a mustard stain or spilling of ice cream onto my pants. But since I'm not eating in this scenario, that wouldn't be a problem.
If I stopped eating, I would probably not have much energy, so it would be best to stay indoors. I wouldn't need internet or a computer or a phone because I would have no desire to interact with the outside world. Cause: lack of energy. Of course, as a totally unsmelly person, the world would want to interact with me, but that's beside the point. I could lie in bed all day and pretty much just sleep. Close the blinds and sleep into non-existence.
Additionally, this would be resource efficient. The rest of the world would have the food available that I didn't eat, the electricity that I didn't consume, the clean water that I didn't use, etc. Furthermore, resources would be through the roof if we all followed this example. In fact, we wouldn't even need resources. We could also throw ambition and desire for anything out the window, which I think is a good idea. We wouldn't have even constructed windows, because, well, we never would have the energy to fabricate that. Thus, ambition and desire and all that could just sort of sublimate and float toward the heavens through the holes in the walls that wouldn't exist, and we could all be happy without having to worry about goals and the future and such.
To illustrate my point- in the time it has taken me to write this, I have begun sweating. However, this probably wouldn't have happened had I not eaten breakfast this morning, right? I'm going to go take a shower.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Monday, January 26, 2009
Taste Update
Sorry to be overbose (overly verbose- it's a new word), but I just had something awesome. Recently I purchased a jar of Marshmallow fluff and discovered that you could put this on one half of a piece of bread, nutella on the other side, fold it over, heat it for about 10 seconds and have a miniature sandwich of delicious. Even better with some whipped cream on top. Tonight, I did the same, but replacing fluff with peanut butter (and sans whipped cream, which could only add to the awesomeness). Upon the first bite, I immediately regretted ever eating these things without their respective complements. Furthermore, I regretted ever eating anything that wasn't this. How delicious.
Keeping you in the dark
And so it all begins. Here's an account of what's happened thus far in zee new yearrhh...
I came back to Toulouse, landlord (hereafter referred to as propriétaire...i.e. lady who lives in this apartment, to whom I pay rent) was pleased enough with how I cleaned my room and shoved everything aside over the Christmas holidays to make it look like I was never there (as she wanted, so she could clean), but apparently I hadn't cleaned the shower enough, so I got to hear her whine about how it took her 2 hours to clean it. Could have saved me the time of hearing this and told me to do it myself. Anywho, spent the most boring birthday yet (which is really saying something) studying french vocabulary in my room. Don't really know what to do when the weather stinks and you can't have people over, but oh well.
Weekend comes, I went to visit Leila and her aunt in Marseille. I'd heard bad things about the city, but it turned out to be pretty cool. It was fun hanging out with her and her aunt and uncle. Her uncle is from Peru and we walked around all day on Saturday while the females worked. Ironic, but maybe we should take a lesson from this experience? Kidding. I think. Anywho, Uncle Ruddy speaks French with a hilarious Peruvian accent, and I speak with a hilarious American accent, so that was a pretty interesting and fun experience, some charades included. We also saw a large protest in favor of Palestine with regards to the mess between Israel-Palestine. I like watching large protests of any kind, and I like Arab quarters of town that sell huge pizzas for 4 euros, so this amused me.
On Sunday the 4 of us took a cool bike trip through the city to the coast and to a skate park. Eventually we all got pretty hungry, returned to the apt to eat and then walked around Marseille before my train left. We said a long goodbye, and I hope to be able to see them again. Leila leaves for ze Bresil on 5 February, but talks of a possible Texas visit either late summer or fall. Master Pasternak, take note, we have to hold her to that.
Next week I think I put in a good 8 hours or so of work because of people being sick and whatnot at the middle school. However, one teacher asked me to give her son English conversation classes once a week. That started last week and thus far it's been good. I tried to watch television one time at my apartment and my propriétaire got mad because she doesn't want me to go into the room where laundry is done. Not even when no one's in there. You don't want to ruin the chi of a laundry room, after all. Things could dry uncomfortably. As a result, I watch TV at the Mediatheque library with the unemployed. One lady saw me watching something about Obama on a French network and asked me something...incomprehensible. "Huh?" After some struggles, she understood that I was American. This should not have been hard, but this was one of those people that you just can't understand. Anywho, she sits down next to me and starts talking about how Bush made the States a Boucherie (a butchery, in French). Hehe, I liked the humor in that, but then she kept talking about it. Eventually we got to the usual, "so what do you do?" and I gave my usual spiel, and then I reciprocate, only to receive "I don't work, I am on permanent vacation." Oh, hmm, okay, well, is that because you just can't find a job in tough economic times? "No." Oh. Voluntary unemployment? Yes we can.
On the 17th, a friend from the engineering days at UT named Colin came through, as he was doing a month-long tour de France. Twas really good to see him and walk around, just chatting. That night we went out with Livan and another friend, saw a Frank Miller movie called The Spirit, which I enjoyed more than I anticipated. We then went and had some post-dinner wine by the river and spun on some merry-go-round type things near the main plaza in Toulouse - a guaranteed good time. The next day, Colin headed out for a nearby castle town.
Last week, schedule change at the high school. I only have 10 hours of work there now, but that could get bumped up to 12. I don't mind either way, but I'm happy that my students in some of the new classes are at higher levels than some of the previous ones.
This weekend, we had 90ish mph winds, which can be pretty sweet when it's not resulting in death. The buses were stopped, but by afternoon on Saturday it was okay to walk around, you just had to avoid tree branches everywhere. However, this has interrupted trains in the region, and I'm supposed to go skiing with Livan and the roommates on Wednesday in the Pyrenees, so we'll see. I think the prospect of a couple guys from Madasgascar and a Texan going to an environment that's completely unnatural for them could be pretty funny. We should probably take swimsuits and nothing else (save maybe large hats) to fit stereotypes.
Last night my propriétaire got mad at me for having too much laundry to do. In 15 years of housing people, she's never had this much to do, even from girls. I think it probably results from all the clothes accumulated over Christmas travels, as well as the fact that my friends brought me some clothes from my parents. As the French say, she makes me "chier," and I'm kind of tired of it here. Kind of is my preferred word selection, by the way. Everywhere I've traveled, people have opened up and said "make yourself at home," even people I met on that day. That's some crazy generosity, and as a result of this, I make an effort to do the same when hosting someone. At home, however, there is no making yourself at home. It's moreso making an effort to not see the people you live with and stay out of their way. Livan's leaving his apartment soon, but I'd have to break my contract, so I don't know what the best option is at the moment. I can, however, find another family, so I might do that. I've been talking alot lately with my Chilean friend, Maria, and we've noted that French women past about 40 years old seem to be crazy and stressed and borderline abrasive. Maybe this is an unfair evaluation, but it's been our experience. My joking proposal to Maria has been that all women are crazy, or at least go crazy at some point. I think the true issue, however, is that young people living with older people often is not that good of an idea. They're less open-minded and accepting, more nagging, and usually set in their ways. This distaste for age difference was humorously expressed when Pete Townshend once said (before later expressing regret) "I hope I die before I get old." Nearly 30 years later, Dave Grohl said "I hope I die before I become Pete Townshend."
I came back to Toulouse, landlord (hereafter referred to as propriétaire...i.e. lady who lives in this apartment, to whom I pay rent) was pleased enough with how I cleaned my room and shoved everything aside over the Christmas holidays to make it look like I was never there (as she wanted, so she could clean), but apparently I hadn't cleaned the shower enough, so I got to hear her whine about how it took her 2 hours to clean it. Could have saved me the time of hearing this and told me to do it myself. Anywho, spent the most boring birthday yet (which is really saying something) studying french vocabulary in my room. Don't really know what to do when the weather stinks and you can't have people over, but oh well.
Weekend comes, I went to visit Leila and her aunt in Marseille. I'd heard bad things about the city, but it turned out to be pretty cool. It was fun hanging out with her and her aunt and uncle. Her uncle is from Peru and we walked around all day on Saturday while the females worked. Ironic, but maybe we should take a lesson from this experience? Kidding. I think. Anywho, Uncle Ruddy speaks French with a hilarious Peruvian accent, and I speak with a hilarious American accent, so that was a pretty interesting and fun experience, some charades included. We also saw a large protest in favor of Palestine with regards to the mess between Israel-Palestine. I like watching large protests of any kind, and I like Arab quarters of town that sell huge pizzas for 4 euros, so this amused me.
On Sunday the 4 of us took a cool bike trip through the city to the coast and to a skate park. Eventually we all got pretty hungry, returned to the apt to eat and then walked around Marseille before my train left. We said a long goodbye, and I hope to be able to see them again. Leila leaves for ze Bresil on 5 February, but talks of a possible Texas visit either late summer or fall. Master Pasternak, take note, we have to hold her to that.
Next week I think I put in a good 8 hours or so of work because of people being sick and whatnot at the middle school. However, one teacher asked me to give her son English conversation classes once a week. That started last week and thus far it's been good. I tried to watch television one time at my apartment and my propriétaire got mad because she doesn't want me to go into the room where laundry is done. Not even when no one's in there. You don't want to ruin the chi of a laundry room, after all. Things could dry uncomfortably. As a result, I watch TV at the Mediatheque library with the unemployed. One lady saw me watching something about Obama on a French network and asked me something...incomprehensible. "Huh?" After some struggles, she understood that I was American. This should not have been hard, but this was one of those people that you just can't understand. Anywho, she sits down next to me and starts talking about how Bush made the States a Boucherie (a butchery, in French). Hehe, I liked the humor in that, but then she kept talking about it. Eventually we got to the usual, "so what do you do?" and I gave my usual spiel, and then I reciprocate, only to receive "I don't work, I am on permanent vacation." Oh, hmm, okay, well, is that because you just can't find a job in tough economic times? "No." Oh. Voluntary unemployment? Yes we can.
On the 17th, a friend from the engineering days at UT named Colin came through, as he was doing a month-long tour de France. Twas really good to see him and walk around, just chatting. That night we went out with Livan and another friend, saw a Frank Miller movie called The Spirit, which I enjoyed more than I anticipated. We then went and had some post-dinner wine by the river and spun on some merry-go-round type things near the main plaza in Toulouse - a guaranteed good time. The next day, Colin headed out for a nearby castle town.
Last week, schedule change at the high school. I only have 10 hours of work there now, but that could get bumped up to 12. I don't mind either way, but I'm happy that my students in some of the new classes are at higher levels than some of the previous ones.
This weekend, we had 90ish mph winds, which can be pretty sweet when it's not resulting in death. The buses were stopped, but by afternoon on Saturday it was okay to walk around, you just had to avoid tree branches everywhere. However, this has interrupted trains in the region, and I'm supposed to go skiing with Livan and the roommates on Wednesday in the Pyrenees, so we'll see. I think the prospect of a couple guys from Madasgascar and a Texan going to an environment that's completely unnatural for them could be pretty funny. We should probably take swimsuits and nothing else (save maybe large hats) to fit stereotypes.
Last night my propriétaire got mad at me for having too much laundry to do. In 15 years of housing people, she's never had this much to do, even from girls. I think it probably results from all the clothes accumulated over Christmas travels, as well as the fact that my friends brought me some clothes from my parents. As the French say, she makes me "chier," and I'm kind of tired of it here. Kind of is my preferred word selection, by the way. Everywhere I've traveled, people have opened up and said "make yourself at home," even people I met on that day. That's some crazy generosity, and as a result of this, I make an effort to do the same when hosting someone. At home, however, there is no making yourself at home. It's moreso making an effort to not see the people you live with and stay out of their way. Livan's leaving his apartment soon, but I'd have to break my contract, so I don't know what the best option is at the moment. I can, however, find another family, so I might do that. I've been talking alot lately with my Chilean friend, Maria, and we've noted that French women past about 40 years old seem to be crazy and stressed and borderline abrasive. Maybe this is an unfair evaluation, but it's been our experience. My joking proposal to Maria has been that all women are crazy, or at least go crazy at some point. I think the true issue, however, is that young people living with older people often is not that good of an idea. They're less open-minded and accepting, more nagging, and usually set in their ways. This distaste for age difference was humorously expressed when Pete Townshend once said (before later expressing regret) "I hope I die before I get old." Nearly 30 years later, Dave Grohl said "I hope I die before I become Pete Townshend."
Thursday, January 15, 2009
...and a Happy New Year!
Monday, December 31:
Woke up, read while my friend Thomas spent a few hours doing some sort of verbal exam for an internship application. After he finished, he wasn't too happy about how he thought it went, and we proceeded to have a good, long talk about standardized tests, the working world, and life in general, which was quite enjoyable. Eventually, we went to the famous Parisian cemetery Père-Lachaise, where we saw the grave of Oscar Wilde (covered, indeed, by lipstick marks), Jean-Baptiste Molière and the adjacent Jean de La Fontaine. It was a pretty cool place to go, and Thomas told me it sort of gave him a new view of his neighborhood, as he was seeing the place for the first time.
Afterwards, Thomas and I headed to the store to buy some champagne for the evenings festivities and went to the apartment of his friend Cecile. I ate foie gras for (I think) the first time, and it was decent, although I'm generally not a fan of the paté texture.
After a bit, more people showed up, and the party was themed Macs et Putes. Few males were dressed as macs, but there were a couple putes (teupus). It was quite fun being amongst that many French people, and I saw a few familiar faces from the last time I was in Paris. When midnight finally hit, the champagne began popping, "Bonne Année" was flying left and right, and everybody was giving the bis. Although I've never cheek kissed that many people in my life, it was a good time.
Eventually, around 4 or 5 we all tired and decided to head out. Metro was open (and free) all night, so we took that back toward Thomas's digs, but it was pretty packed. Recognizing an opportunity when it presents itself, I decided to remind Thomas's roommate, Manu, of our ongoing joke about dancing Tecktonik. So, as we were crammed in the metro at 5am, I turned to the poor girl who happened to be next to me (a stranger, of course) and politely said in my best French, "Excuse me, miss. My friend and I have a bet to see who can dance Tecktonik better, and I would like to know if you could decide for us?" I commenced my best dance in about 1 square foot of space while the girl stared at me as if I'd just gone into a bank and tried to deposit a wad of dirty socks. Manu, too ashamed to Teck' it in publique (as all French people seem to be), immediately gave up and proclaimed me the winner of our bet.
Shortly thereafter, we descended from the train and, of course, paid attention to our step in doing so ("Attention a la marche en descendant du train"). When everyone had left our platform, I stayed back with one of our friends and, noting that the other platform was completely full, decided to display some mad skill. So, there I was, 5 hours into 2009, dancing Tecktonik all by myself across the rails from a ton of strangers in line 9 of the Paris metro (at Voltaire, should you care to recreate this yourself). This left me thinking...sometimes you gotta ask yourself what your life has come to and how you've fallen from such great heights. Sometimes, you gotta sit back and ask yourself "How I get so good, dawg? How I get so good?"
Tuesday, January 1:
I wake up around 11 to my phone ringing. "Oui? Hallo?"
"Oui, yes, Mr. Robert Cenzon? We are waiting for you outside Terminal A Gate 2E."
"En fait, this is his friend. Shall I tell this to Robert?"
"Yes."
Call Bert, no response. Turns out his phone isn't working. Great...I know at this point that Robby's going through the usual hell of arriving in a foreign country with all of your luggage. His phone doesn't work, the shuttle provided by the school can't find him, and he's got enough in his suitcases to live in Paris for 2 years (he's returned to the City of Lights to do a Master's). Eventually, I get another call from the company, they can't find him. Great. I try calling him, texting, whatever, nothing works. I give up, hose the smell of French cigarette smoke off of me from last night's party, and begin the waiting game.
After quite a debacle of having to run across Charles de Gaulle aeroport 2 times, Bert couldn't find his shuttle, gave up and took a taxi. Exhausted. Welcome back to France, my friend.
Thomas and peeps peace out for a lunch chez Cecile, while Bert and I hang around and rest for a bit. Eventually we walked around and ate at a Chinese place with a 5 euro menu. Bert remarked that it was strange to be back, but that it also felt like he'd never left. I can sort of imagine the feeling he had. It'd been a year and a half for him, and 2 years before he'd welcomed me to Paris. The tables had turned, and we went wandering to Buttes Chaumont (a pretty park). To combat the cold, I bought this sweet piece of chocolate cake with chocolate chips (for some reason, a pastry I've rarely seen in France), and it was ankle-spraining delicioso. Bert and I proceeded to have a seat on a park bench and play the role of two longtime friends who have grown to be old men and spend their days talking and playing pétanque in the park. I don't know if it's funny or not, but I almost feel like this could happen later down the line. Robby and I often think about our elementary school days and question how we ended up where we are, and if we ever could have imagined our current experiences at a point in time 5 years before. Often, the answers are 1) not sure and 2) no way.
Eventually we returned, and dinner that night was with Thomas and co. at an Indian restaurant in the 10th arrondissement, near Matt Damon's favorite train station, Gare du Nord.
Happy New Year, from Robert, Thomas, and Greg.
Wednesday, January 2: (prepositions will be misused, determination of meaning is up to the reader)
I wake down early in the morning, and it's time to greet Kevin and Scott as they arrive below Paris except a crazy one day tour since the city. We meet across Gare du Nord, along which the Jason Bourne/Paris tour begins.
We head north against Montmartre and mount the hill between Sacre Coeur. We battle the snow/ice after the ground and enjoy the view underneath the city.
We then go see Moulin Rouge and the dirty establishments before the 18th.
Afterwards, we walk south behind Opera and eventually arrive out of the Louvre/Jardin des Tuileries. We walk above that and meet Bert off Notre Dame. See the church, make a circle like it, get hungry, eat a kebab just south, upon St. Michel area.
Later, we see the Louvre and walk about Tuileries, where we have some good "leisure" time. Behind what I remember, Robby "out-leised" us all. He also offered me 1 million euros to pee in the middle of a fountain and catch a bird into my bare hands. I did not get rich on January 2, 2009.
We met our friend Meadow (fellow language assistant, lives in Paris, also studied with Robby in Paris) down Place Concorde. *This was quite a moment of crazy coincidences, the 3 of us being in Paris together, and it was rather good.*
The 5 Americans in Paris then walked the Champs Elysées, stopping toward McDonald's. I had a cheeseburger and milk shake. Following this, Meadz peaced in, and for us it was Arc de Triomphe time, but no one wanted to cross the Place d'Etoile on top of foot before me, which was disappointing.
We headed south to see Trocadero and Eiffel tower, but line was too long for Eiffel, so Scott and Kevin didn't go beside it. I lost my French phone, but fortunately an honest Frenchman had picked it through, and I was able to use Kevin's phone to find him and retrieve it (about a short bit of confusion).
Eventually, we left, ate dinner, 10th arrondissement, Italian. I had pizza. Kevin and Scott bought wine post-dinner and Bert and I bid them adieu, Gare du Nord. :( Won't see them Jan-May.
Helped Bert move things, chez Meadow. Went sleep.
That was really hard. I hate prepositions.
Million Dollar Bird
La Tour St. Jacques
Thursday, January 3:
I wake up, train it to Firminy (tiny town next to St. Etienne), where Leila's smiling face greets me. We go to her mom's apartment in Firminy and hang out there. I think we talked with her mom for a really long time (I made them taste the deliciousness of Jif brand American peanut butter, which Scott generously brought me), then went to the store and bought some chocolates. Hung out and talked some more, watched a French/Moroccan comedian that I love, Gad Elmaleh, and then started watching a French movie, but I fell asleep on the couch.
Friday, January 4:
Wake up, Leila claims I snore like crazy. I am proud to follow in my father's footsteps.
We hang out and talk, eventually I go with her brother to McDonald's and get lunch. First time I've ever eaten 2 Big-Macs in one sitting, along with fries. Guys, they think we do that regularly. In terms of eating habits, I am a total lardo compared to a lot of Americans, and they're like...you people don't do that all the time? I'm trying to perpetuate (by example) the stereotype that Americans are all grossly obese, but geez, Europeans have damn near impossible expectations for us.
Anywho, we hang out the rest of the day inside b/c it's kinda cold. Evening arrives and Leila takes me to the train station to catch my night train, and we say goodbye for what might be a long time. She encourages me to meet her next weekend in Marseille, where she'll be visiting her aunt. That's for another entry.
Leila's little half brother, Wahil
Leila, always looking chipper
Also, Scott and Kevin came bearing gifts that my parents had sent along for Christmas, which was very kind of them. Thank you, 'rents. I appreciate it.
At the end of the voyage, my parents informed me by email that I had a $995 phone bill. Umm, merde? Seeing as how I hadn't used my American phone in weeks, this was surprising. All of the calls originated from Spain, so apparently I lost it in the Madrid airport, but I don't know how this happened. Regardless, we're in a waiting game, but hoping that we won't have to pay this bill.
In the Rome hostel, someone left some body wash, a long sleeve shirt, and some foot cream. The latter would appear to be a good cure for Kevin and Scott's foot-Celcius. However, all 3 products now belong to me.
In the end, the 18 day voyage was a great experience. I saw a lot of friends (and sort of got homesick for the States for the first time in a long time), saw lots of cool things, learned some things about myself, ate way too much, and spent way too much money. Many, many thanks to all involved (either by making it possible or simply adding to the experience by showing up with a glowing face)...parents, Marta, Scott, Kevin, Thomas, Hélène, Robert, Meadow, and Leila.
Woke up, read while my friend Thomas spent a few hours doing some sort of verbal exam for an internship application. After he finished, he wasn't too happy about how he thought it went, and we proceeded to have a good, long talk about standardized tests, the working world, and life in general, which was quite enjoyable. Eventually, we went to the famous Parisian cemetery Père-Lachaise, where we saw the grave of Oscar Wilde (covered, indeed, by lipstick marks), Jean-Baptiste Molière and the adjacent Jean de La Fontaine. It was a pretty cool place to go, and Thomas told me it sort of gave him a new view of his neighborhood, as he was seeing the place for the first time.
Afterwards, Thomas and I headed to the store to buy some champagne for the evenings festivities and went to the apartment of his friend Cecile. I ate foie gras for (I think) the first time, and it was decent, although I'm generally not a fan of the paté texture.
After a bit, more people showed up, and the party was themed Macs et Putes. Few males were dressed as macs, but there were a couple putes (teupus). It was quite fun being amongst that many French people, and I saw a few familiar faces from the last time I was in Paris. When midnight finally hit, the champagne began popping, "Bonne Année" was flying left and right, and everybody was giving the bis. Although I've never cheek kissed that many people in my life, it was a good time.
Eventually, around 4 or 5 we all tired and decided to head out. Metro was open (and free) all night, so we took that back toward Thomas's digs, but it was pretty packed. Recognizing an opportunity when it presents itself, I decided to remind Thomas's roommate, Manu, of our ongoing joke about dancing Tecktonik. So, as we were crammed in the metro at 5am, I turned to the poor girl who happened to be next to me (a stranger, of course) and politely said in my best French, "Excuse me, miss. My friend and I have a bet to see who can dance Tecktonik better, and I would like to know if you could decide for us?" I commenced my best dance in about 1 square foot of space while the girl stared at me as if I'd just gone into a bank and tried to deposit a wad of dirty socks. Manu, too ashamed to Teck' it in publique (as all French people seem to be), immediately gave up and proclaimed me the winner of our bet.
Shortly thereafter, we descended from the train and, of course, paid attention to our step in doing so ("Attention a la marche en descendant du train"). When everyone had left our platform, I stayed back with one of our friends and, noting that the other platform was completely full, decided to display some mad skill. So, there I was, 5 hours into 2009, dancing Tecktonik all by myself across the rails from a ton of strangers in line 9 of the Paris metro (at Voltaire, should you care to recreate this yourself). This left me thinking...sometimes you gotta ask yourself what your life has come to and how you've fallen from such great heights. Sometimes, you gotta sit back and ask yourself "How I get so good, dawg? How I get so good?"
Tuesday, January 1:
I wake up around 11 to my phone ringing. "Oui? Hallo?"
"Oui, yes, Mr. Robert Cenzon? We are waiting for you outside Terminal A Gate 2E."
"En fait, this is his friend. Shall I tell this to Robert?"
"Yes."
Call Bert, no response. Turns out his phone isn't working. Great...I know at this point that Robby's going through the usual hell of arriving in a foreign country with all of your luggage. His phone doesn't work, the shuttle provided by the school can't find him, and he's got enough in his suitcases to live in Paris for 2 years (he's returned to the City of Lights to do a Master's). Eventually, I get another call from the company, they can't find him. Great. I try calling him, texting, whatever, nothing works. I give up, hose the smell of French cigarette smoke off of me from last night's party, and begin the waiting game.
After quite a debacle of having to run across Charles de Gaulle aeroport 2 times, Bert couldn't find his shuttle, gave up and took a taxi. Exhausted. Welcome back to France, my friend.
Thomas and peeps peace out for a lunch chez Cecile, while Bert and I hang around and rest for a bit. Eventually we walked around and ate at a Chinese place with a 5 euro menu. Bert remarked that it was strange to be back, but that it also felt like he'd never left. I can sort of imagine the feeling he had. It'd been a year and a half for him, and 2 years before he'd welcomed me to Paris. The tables had turned, and we went wandering to Buttes Chaumont (a pretty park). To combat the cold, I bought this sweet piece of chocolate cake with chocolate chips (for some reason, a pastry I've rarely seen in France), and it was ankle-spraining delicioso. Bert and I proceeded to have a seat on a park bench and play the role of two longtime friends who have grown to be old men and spend their days talking and playing pétanque in the park. I don't know if it's funny or not, but I almost feel like this could happen later down the line. Robby and I often think about our elementary school days and question how we ended up where we are, and if we ever could have imagined our current experiences at a point in time 5 years before. Often, the answers are 1) not sure and 2) no way.
Eventually we returned, and dinner that night was with Thomas and co. at an Indian restaurant in the 10th arrondissement, near Matt Damon's favorite train station, Gare du Nord.
Happy New Year, from Robert, Thomas, and Greg.
Wednesday, January 2: (prepositions will be misused, determination of meaning is up to the reader)
I wake down early in the morning, and it's time to greet Kevin and Scott as they arrive below Paris except a crazy one day tour since the city. We meet across Gare du Nord, along which the Jason Bourne/Paris tour begins.
We head north against Montmartre and mount the hill between Sacre Coeur. We battle the snow/ice after the ground and enjoy the view underneath the city.
We then go see Moulin Rouge and the dirty establishments before the 18th.
Afterwards, we walk south behind Opera and eventually arrive out of the Louvre/Jardin des Tuileries. We walk above that and meet Bert off Notre Dame. See the church, make a circle like it, get hungry, eat a kebab just south, upon St. Michel area.
Later, we see the Louvre and walk about Tuileries, where we have some good "leisure" time. Behind what I remember, Robby "out-leised" us all. He also offered me 1 million euros to pee in the middle of a fountain and catch a bird into my bare hands. I did not get rich on January 2, 2009.
We met our friend Meadow (fellow language assistant, lives in Paris, also studied with Robby in Paris) down Place Concorde. *This was quite a moment of crazy coincidences, the 3 of us being in Paris together, and it was rather good.*
The 5 Americans in Paris then walked the Champs Elysées, stopping toward McDonald's. I had a cheeseburger and milk shake. Following this, Meadz peaced in, and for us it was Arc de Triomphe time, but no one wanted to cross the Place d'Etoile on top of foot before me, which was disappointing.
We headed south to see Trocadero and Eiffel tower, but line was too long for Eiffel, so Scott and Kevin didn't go beside it. I lost my French phone, but fortunately an honest Frenchman had picked it through, and I was able to use Kevin's phone to find him and retrieve it (about a short bit of confusion).
Eventually, we left, ate dinner, 10th arrondissement, Italian. I had pizza. Kevin and Scott bought wine post-dinner and Bert and I bid them adieu, Gare du Nord. :( Won't see them Jan-May.
Helped Bert move things, chez Meadow. Went sleep.
That was really hard. I hate prepositions.
Million Dollar Bird
La Tour St. Jacques
Thursday, January 3:
I wake up, train it to Firminy (tiny town next to St. Etienne), where Leila's smiling face greets me. We go to her mom's apartment in Firminy and hang out there. I think we talked with her mom for a really long time (I made them taste the deliciousness of Jif brand American peanut butter, which Scott generously brought me), then went to the store and bought some chocolates. Hung out and talked some more, watched a French/Moroccan comedian that I love, Gad Elmaleh, and then started watching a French movie, but I fell asleep on the couch.
Friday, January 4:
Wake up, Leila claims I snore like crazy. I am proud to follow in my father's footsteps.
We hang out and talk, eventually I go with her brother to McDonald's and get lunch. First time I've ever eaten 2 Big-Macs in one sitting, along with fries. Guys, they think we do that regularly. In terms of eating habits, I am a total lardo compared to a lot of Americans, and they're like...you people don't do that all the time? I'm trying to perpetuate (by example) the stereotype that Americans are all grossly obese, but geez, Europeans have damn near impossible expectations for us.
Anywho, we hang out the rest of the day inside b/c it's kinda cold. Evening arrives and Leila takes me to the train station to catch my night train, and we say goodbye for what might be a long time. She encourages me to meet her next weekend in Marseille, where she'll be visiting her aunt. That's for another entry.
Leila's little half brother, Wahil
Leila, always looking chipper
Also, Scott and Kevin came bearing gifts that my parents had sent along for Christmas, which was very kind of them. Thank you, 'rents. I appreciate it.
At the end of the voyage, my parents informed me by email that I had a $995 phone bill. Umm, merde? Seeing as how I hadn't used my American phone in weeks, this was surprising. All of the calls originated from Spain, so apparently I lost it in the Madrid airport, but I don't know how this happened. Regardless, we're in a waiting game, but hoping that we won't have to pay this bill.
In the Rome hostel, someone left some body wash, a long sleeve shirt, and some foot cream. The latter would appear to be a good cure for Kevin and Scott's foot-Celcius. However, all 3 products now belong to me.
In the end, the 18 day voyage was a great experience. I saw a lot of friends (and sort of got homesick for the States for the first time in a long time), saw lots of cool things, learned some things about myself, ate way too much, and spent way too much money. Many, many thanks to all involved (either by making it possible or simply adding to the experience by showing up with a glowing face)...parents, Marta, Scott, Kevin, Thomas, Hélène, Robert, Meadow, and Leila.
Merry Christmas...
Thursday, December 25th:
Merry Christmas. We go and walk down the Spanish steps, head north and eventually had a sweet picnic at Piazza del Popolo. Afterwards, we walked down south and saw the Pantheon, the huge fountain that I never know the name of, and various little things. Eventually, we came back and had a free dinner/wine and champagne party hosted by the strange Indian hostel owner. Dude was crazy, but whatever. It was a good time, followed up by a half hour visit to a nearby bar before retiring early for the next day's flight.
Fun at Piazza del Popolo, Texas style
Pantheon...unfortunately we couldn't go inside
Aforementioned fountain
Friday, December 26th:
Head to Rome Fiumcino airport. I eat some strange ham panini and potato chips in the airport (useful information, I tell you!). Get on the plane, we're all separate. I don't know what to speak to the couple next to me, until I found out the lady is a Californian and the man is from the Parisian suburbs. Huh? Turns out the dude is 6'8", a pro b-baller in Euroland that's just been traded from an Italian team to a team in Athens. He also played back in the day (age 16-18) on the French team with Tony P and Boris Diaw. Sweet.
Anywho, we get there and say goodbye, me and the boys go to our Athens hostel, where we have a room to ourselves. Weather totally stinks, as it's cold and rainy. We go and find some sweet food, where I had some delicious chicken brochette, Kevin hit some gyro, and Scott lamb chopped. Afterwards, we walked back but slid by this pastry shop we'd seen. I got this AMAZING chocolate ball thing that was like several crepes wrapped up and filled with two different forms of chocolate cream inside, and then covered with chocolate sprinkles on the outside. Geezamother, it was awesome. Also, we walked around and Scott got some good nightshots of the Acropolis. Meanwhile, I was dancing Tecktonik and Kevin was busy spotting, as he called it, "The Grail." What this means is that they sold gelato, the love of Kevin's life, and pastries, the love of my life. We went in and did our thang, I ended up with some piece of cake that was pretty good. No chocolate ball, though. Then more Tecktonik.
I think we also went to an internet cafe that night.
Acropolis at night
THE Dessert
Dancing with lights!
Saturday, December 27th:
We wake up to our cold room, eat our "breadfast," as we decided to call our morning meal consisting of little more than sliced baguette, and head out to see the Acropolis. We preceeded this with a frantic search for Scott's debit card, which was apparently left in an ATM, never to be found again. Fortunately, however, no charges had been placed upon it, and he was able to cancel it.
It was a pretty cool walk up the hill to the Acropolis with a nice view of the city. Once we got there, we got tickets to see the Parthenon, Temple of Nike, and some other things that were up there. While the setting itself was really impressive, I think we were all a little disappointed in the significant construction ocurring on the buildings. The damn things last from 400 BC until the 1800s with no renovations, but we're now on our third renovation in the past 200 years. Anyone else get the feeling we might be doing something wrong?
Anywho, we take pictures and "flanons sur la colline" until the cold and rain become unbearable, which means....lunch time! After what was to become our daily struggle to find nourishment (and a stroll by EVERY motorcycle/car shop in Athens), we enter a resto and have another amazing meal...I had a gyro with some sort of sausage, and a double portion of tzaziki sauce, as scott didn't want his. Afterwards, I think we went back to the hostel for a bit and took a siesta to dry off/rest. (I am owning this French keyboard at the library, by the way. The slashes are in retarded places, but I've already overcome and have it mastered.)
We eventually woke up and left, and then found the tourist office closed about 10 mins before we got there. Blast. Thus, we decided to go by the old olympic stadium, which was kinda cool. After that, we walked up to some huge hill (the BFH, as Kevin called it) to get a view of the city. We took a funicular to the top and Scott went wild with pictures, as it provided a pretty incredible view of Athens. Rain got unbearable, so we eventually left and found a grocery store. Dinner for 3 was provided by 2 bags of potato chips, a pack of butter cookies, about 3 bars of chocolate, and 3 bottles of wine (they foolishly chose Greek wines, while I went with my trusty French Beaujolais Nouveau). We went back to the hostel and dined this dinner of homeless kings, then made a return to our favorite internet cafe.
At about 11pm, we leave en route to our hostel, but I spot a pastry shop...with a large selection of goodies. I don't know who buys pastries at 11pm, but I went in and did my normal long look-around at each available product while the girl behind the counter did the normal 'greet and wait until the food-crazed American decides which product is likely to stop his heart first, unless of course his heart stops in the long process of analysis.' I finally spot something that appears to have an absurd amount of chocolate in the form of a log surrounded by powdered sugar. I ask in broken English (so that vendor can understand, of course) what this particular pastry contains. "Honey," she replies. Oh? That doesn't look like honey from here...Being stubborn and perhaps slightly feeling the remaining effects of dinner, I doubt the person selling me the item and buy it anyway, because that's a lot of chocolate. Well, as it turns out, that's not chocolate. That's honey. And that's not powdered sugar. That tastes like flour. WHO puts a log of honey around a few nuts and covers this with flour? In disbelief, I took a few bites before getting disgusted. A few bites later (to really confirm, you know, that this is honey and not chocolate), I get totally disgusted. As one of the most expensive pastries I've ever bought (3 euros), this is also one of the most disappointing. It is now January 14, and said pastry remains in my room in Toulouse, as a reminder that sometimes gold turns out to be fool's gold, and sometimes chocolate turns out to be honey.
Parthenon. Construction.
Delicious lunch gyro
Athens from hill at night
Bad idea
Sunday, December 28th:
We wake up and I'm still mad about biting into a log of honey. To spite the stupid thing, I smear some of it on my morning breadfast.
I think this day began a long wild goose chase trying to find a train station. Eventually, we end up just walking around the city and in this plaza where loud music/speaking is occuring, lots of cops are walking around, and hand-written banners are hanging from buildings. As this seems like a probable location for one of those protests and/or riots we've been reading about, we decide it's best not to be there for too long. We leave and walk through this street with tons of markets, and possibly the largest meat market you've ever seen. Eventually, we arrive back to our area of Athens. The difficult food search ended with us stopping in a little bakery. The boys got sandwiches, and I got some sort of Calzone type thing and I think a cheese-filled thing of some sort. We ate them in a little square outside, which was kinda cool.
Eventually, we take the local tram for 45 minutes for a visit to the coast. I talked for a bit to some Belgian woman who didn't like the Francophones in Brussels. Scott decided he didn't like her because she made some comment that made it sound like she didn't like Texas. Anyhizzle, we arrive to see the Agean Sea and a cool little town and say goodbye to Belgium. As it's Sunday, not much is happening, however. Also, the beach, I believe we decided, was, well, less impressive than Galveston, Texas. Nonetheless, we walked around and enjoyed ourselves. Eventually, we were....HUNGER-STRUCK (cue AC/DC).
We enter the one place we found open and we all get gyros, again lol. Again, delicious. Also, we had some wine with our meal that was surprisingly cheap but tasty. Afterwards, we pass a pastry shop. Having sworn off pastries out of anger, I said I would buy nothing. I think Scott wanted to enter, so, shaking the hand of the devil, I walk in, and guess who ends up buying pastries? Not Scott. Kevin and Greg. The latter 2, however, were blown away by some sort of solid chocolate shell with this thick chocolate mousse/cream inside. Before leaving, I inquired about an interesting-looking closed pastry that appeared to be filled. The answer regarding the filling, however, neither intrigued nor amused me. I think you can guess what it was.
We trammed to the other terminus, where we found the 2004 Olympic stadiums. Those being less than impressive, we headed back to our hostel.
Monday, December 29th:
Day trip to Delphi. Get to bus station by taxi, I buy some baked goody filled with feta cheese, as well as a cucumber and ham sandwich and butter cookies to have as lunch. We had a sweet bus ride through the mountains, although some dude showed up late into it and appeared to not have showered in a while. He stood right next to me and raised his arms to hold onto the bus supports. Kevin and I gasped for unstenched air, he by covering his nose, me by asking him to burp into my face after he ate a few pringles.
Anywho, we arrive in Delphi, which is this tiny little town with a beautiful view of the mountains and a lake down below. We were rather impressed, and the view sort of reminded me of Geneva and Luzerne, Switzerland (the town wasn't really much, though).
We entered some of the ancient ruins and walked around some more for a bit. We also saw some priests having a footrace at the location of the ancient gymnasium. Twas a pretty humorous sight, as they were being cheered on by some seminarians. We talked to them for a few mins, and they were all living in Rome but were retracing the path of St. Paul from the north to the south of Greece, which was pretty cool.
After hanging out there for most of the day, we peaced out in the evening on the bus, which became extremely crowded on the way back. I sat Spaniard style (holler, Marta!)...on the floor. Eventually we got back to our neighborhood, and Kevin happened to find the souvenir bottle of Absinth he was looking for. We went by our favorite pastry shop to find it was closed, so we retired for the evening after Kevin and Scott had a rather girly pillow-fight in our hostel room.
Tuesday, December 30th:
I get up early and go to airport, talking to a pretty cool dude from Lebanon on the way. Find out my flight to Paris is delayed (ice in France), so I goof around on the free internet at the airport for a bit. Flight eventually leaves, although I thought I might be going to Spain, as it seemed like Spanish and Greek were all I heard at the terminal.
I go to my friend Thomas's apartment, but go to meet my friend Hélène (whom I met over summer at Air Liquide) for dinner with her friends. We had some sweet Laotian and Vietnamese food, and then we headed to Hotel de Ville to see the ice-skating rink. Unfortunately, it had just closed, so we met up with her Canadian friend who turned out to be hilarious. We all went to an Irish pub, had a beer and played some billiards. Apparently billiards aren't popular here, so the Canadian and I had a hilarious time watching our French friend hehe. Eventually it got late and we all headed out. Said goodbye to Hélène, as she was leaving Paris the next day to spend some time in Nice.
Merry Christmas. We go and walk down the Spanish steps, head north and eventually had a sweet picnic at Piazza del Popolo. Afterwards, we walked down south and saw the Pantheon, the huge fountain that I never know the name of, and various little things. Eventually, we came back and had a free dinner/wine and champagne party hosted by the strange Indian hostel owner. Dude was crazy, but whatever. It was a good time, followed up by a half hour visit to a nearby bar before retiring early for the next day's flight.
Fun at Piazza del Popolo, Texas style
Pantheon...unfortunately we couldn't go inside
Aforementioned fountain
Friday, December 26th:
Head to Rome Fiumcino airport. I eat some strange ham panini and potato chips in the airport (useful information, I tell you!). Get on the plane, we're all separate. I don't know what to speak to the couple next to me, until I found out the lady is a Californian and the man is from the Parisian suburbs. Huh? Turns out the dude is 6'8", a pro b-baller in Euroland that's just been traded from an Italian team to a team in Athens. He also played back in the day (age 16-18) on the French team with Tony P and Boris Diaw. Sweet.
Anywho, we get there and say goodbye, me and the boys go to our Athens hostel, where we have a room to ourselves. Weather totally stinks, as it's cold and rainy. We go and find some sweet food, where I had some delicious chicken brochette, Kevin hit some gyro, and Scott lamb chopped. Afterwards, we walked back but slid by this pastry shop we'd seen. I got this AMAZING chocolate ball thing that was like several crepes wrapped up and filled with two different forms of chocolate cream inside, and then covered with chocolate sprinkles on the outside. Geezamother, it was awesome. Also, we walked around and Scott got some good nightshots of the Acropolis. Meanwhile, I was dancing Tecktonik and Kevin was busy spotting, as he called it, "The Grail." What this means is that they sold gelato, the love of Kevin's life, and pastries, the love of my life. We went in and did our thang, I ended up with some piece of cake that was pretty good. No chocolate ball, though. Then more Tecktonik.
I think we also went to an internet cafe that night.
Acropolis at night
THE Dessert
Dancing with lights!
Saturday, December 27th:
We wake up to our cold room, eat our "breadfast," as we decided to call our morning meal consisting of little more than sliced baguette, and head out to see the Acropolis. We preceeded this with a frantic search for Scott's debit card, which was apparently left in an ATM, never to be found again. Fortunately, however, no charges had been placed upon it, and he was able to cancel it.
It was a pretty cool walk up the hill to the Acropolis with a nice view of the city. Once we got there, we got tickets to see the Parthenon, Temple of Nike, and some other things that were up there. While the setting itself was really impressive, I think we were all a little disappointed in the significant construction ocurring on the buildings. The damn things last from 400 BC until the 1800s with no renovations, but we're now on our third renovation in the past 200 years. Anyone else get the feeling we might be doing something wrong?
Anywho, we take pictures and "flanons sur la colline" until the cold and rain become unbearable, which means....lunch time! After what was to become our daily struggle to find nourishment (and a stroll by EVERY motorcycle/car shop in Athens), we enter a resto and have another amazing meal...I had a gyro with some sort of sausage, and a double portion of tzaziki sauce, as scott didn't want his. Afterwards, I think we went back to the hostel for a bit and took a siesta to dry off/rest. (I am owning this French keyboard at the library, by the way. The slashes are in retarded places, but I've already overcome and have it mastered.)
We eventually woke up and left, and then found the tourist office closed about 10 mins before we got there. Blast. Thus, we decided to go by the old olympic stadium, which was kinda cool. After that, we walked up to some huge hill (the BFH, as Kevin called it) to get a view of the city. We took a funicular to the top and Scott went wild with pictures, as it provided a pretty incredible view of Athens. Rain got unbearable, so we eventually left and found a grocery store. Dinner for 3 was provided by 2 bags of potato chips, a pack of butter cookies, about 3 bars of chocolate, and 3 bottles of wine (they foolishly chose Greek wines, while I went with my trusty French Beaujolais Nouveau). We went back to the hostel and dined this dinner of homeless kings, then made a return to our favorite internet cafe.
At about 11pm, we leave en route to our hostel, but I spot a pastry shop...with a large selection of goodies. I don't know who buys pastries at 11pm, but I went in and did my normal long look-around at each available product while the girl behind the counter did the normal 'greet and wait until the food-crazed American decides which product is likely to stop his heart first, unless of course his heart stops in the long process of analysis.' I finally spot something that appears to have an absurd amount of chocolate in the form of a log surrounded by powdered sugar. I ask in broken English (so that vendor can understand, of course) what this particular pastry contains. "Honey," she replies. Oh? That doesn't look like honey from here...Being stubborn and perhaps slightly feeling the remaining effects of dinner, I doubt the person selling me the item and buy it anyway, because that's a lot of chocolate. Well, as it turns out, that's not chocolate. That's honey. And that's not powdered sugar. That tastes like flour. WHO puts a log of honey around a few nuts and covers this with flour? In disbelief, I took a few bites before getting disgusted. A few bites later (to really confirm, you know, that this is honey and not chocolate), I get totally disgusted. As one of the most expensive pastries I've ever bought (3 euros), this is also one of the most disappointing. It is now January 14, and said pastry remains in my room in Toulouse, as a reminder that sometimes gold turns out to be fool's gold, and sometimes chocolate turns out to be honey.
Parthenon. Construction.
Delicious lunch gyro
Athens from hill at night
Bad idea
Sunday, December 28th:
We wake up and I'm still mad about biting into a log of honey. To spite the stupid thing, I smear some of it on my morning breadfast.
I think this day began a long wild goose chase trying to find a train station. Eventually, we end up just walking around the city and in this plaza where loud music/speaking is occuring, lots of cops are walking around, and hand-written banners are hanging from buildings. As this seems like a probable location for one of those protests and/or riots we've been reading about, we decide it's best not to be there for too long. We leave and walk through this street with tons of markets, and possibly the largest meat market you've ever seen. Eventually, we arrive back to our area of Athens. The difficult food search ended with us stopping in a little bakery. The boys got sandwiches, and I got some sort of Calzone type thing and I think a cheese-filled thing of some sort. We ate them in a little square outside, which was kinda cool.
Eventually, we take the local tram for 45 minutes for a visit to the coast. I talked for a bit to some Belgian woman who didn't like the Francophones in Brussels. Scott decided he didn't like her because she made some comment that made it sound like she didn't like Texas. Anyhizzle, we arrive to see the Agean Sea and a cool little town and say goodbye to Belgium. As it's Sunday, not much is happening, however. Also, the beach, I believe we decided, was, well, less impressive than Galveston, Texas. Nonetheless, we walked around and enjoyed ourselves. Eventually, we were....HUNGER-STRUCK (cue AC/DC).
We enter the one place we found open and we all get gyros, again lol. Again, delicious. Also, we had some wine with our meal that was surprisingly cheap but tasty. Afterwards, we pass a pastry shop. Having sworn off pastries out of anger, I said I would buy nothing. I think Scott wanted to enter, so, shaking the hand of the devil, I walk in, and guess who ends up buying pastries? Not Scott. Kevin and Greg. The latter 2, however, were blown away by some sort of solid chocolate shell with this thick chocolate mousse/cream inside. Before leaving, I inquired about an interesting-looking closed pastry that appeared to be filled. The answer regarding the filling, however, neither intrigued nor amused me. I think you can guess what it was.
We trammed to the other terminus, where we found the 2004 Olympic stadiums. Those being less than impressive, we headed back to our hostel.
Monday, December 29th:
Day trip to Delphi. Get to bus station by taxi, I buy some baked goody filled with feta cheese, as well as a cucumber and ham sandwich and butter cookies to have as lunch. We had a sweet bus ride through the mountains, although some dude showed up late into it and appeared to not have showered in a while. He stood right next to me and raised his arms to hold onto the bus supports. Kevin and I gasped for unstenched air, he by covering his nose, me by asking him to burp into my face after he ate a few pringles.
Anywho, we arrive in Delphi, which is this tiny little town with a beautiful view of the mountains and a lake down below. We were rather impressed, and the view sort of reminded me of Geneva and Luzerne, Switzerland (the town wasn't really much, though).
We entered some of the ancient ruins and walked around some more for a bit. We also saw some priests having a footrace at the location of the ancient gymnasium. Twas a pretty humorous sight, as they were being cheered on by some seminarians. We talked to them for a few mins, and they were all living in Rome but were retracing the path of St. Paul from the north to the south of Greece, which was pretty cool.
After hanging out there for most of the day, we peaced out in the evening on the bus, which became extremely crowded on the way back. I sat Spaniard style (holler, Marta!)...on the floor. Eventually we got back to our neighborhood, and Kevin happened to find the souvenir bottle of Absinth he was looking for. We went by our favorite pastry shop to find it was closed, so we retired for the evening after Kevin and Scott had a rather girly pillow-fight in our hostel room.
Tuesday, December 30th:
I get up early and go to airport, talking to a pretty cool dude from Lebanon on the way. Find out my flight to Paris is delayed (ice in France), so I goof around on the free internet at the airport for a bit. Flight eventually leaves, although I thought I might be going to Spain, as it seemed like Spanish and Greek were all I heard at the terminal.
I go to my friend Thomas's apartment, but go to meet my friend Hélène (whom I met over summer at Air Liquide) for dinner with her friends. We had some sweet Laotian and Vietnamese food, and then we headed to Hotel de Ville to see the ice-skating rink. Unfortunately, it had just closed, so we met up with her Canadian friend who turned out to be hilarious. We all went to an Irish pub, had a beer and played some billiards. Apparently billiards aren't popular here, so the Canadian and I had a hilarious time watching our French friend hehe. Eventually it got late and we all headed out. Said goodbye to Hélène, as she was leaving Paris the next day to spend some time in Nice.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Back on top, like a toupée
Hello all,
I just got home from grocery shopping, and I was sitting there rather content with my piece of bread covered with nutella, coconut, and whipped cream when the daunting thought of another blog entry began haunting me. I have decided to cover in detail my past 18 days of travel, as much as a method of remembering for me as to inform you of what transpired. Of course, things that are important to me are often considered useless detail by others, but this is my blog, not yours, HA. This could include a 'grosse' amount of information about food, but that's one thing I really enjoy about traveling. For those of you who "give a damn," strap yourselves in for a long one. For those of you who don't, I ask that you "don't throw it up." When I get bored, some entries may be spiced up with abnormal English.
*After considering the length of the entry, this one will be split into 3 parts, presented on consecutive days.
Friday, December 19th:
Fly from Toulouse to Madrid. Quickly found that the low price of flying EasyJet comes with the pain of having to pay 18 euros to check my bag. Had to do this as well on the way to Rome and to Paris.
The ever-happy face of Marta greeted me at the airport- a welcome sight. We went to her apartment and flashed back to our summer days in Paris, eating pasta and drinking wine while hanging out with her roommates.
Saturday, December 20th:
Marta and I walk around Madrid, occasionally hitting up stores for her to finish Christmas shopping. We went in this pastry shop that her mother remembered from years ago, and I got this awesome cream type thing. We ate calamari and Spanish tortilla sandwiches, as well as French Fries covered in some sort of tabasco sauce, in the main square/plaza. Walked around a bit more and returned to her apt, then we went to an Asian restaurant and had some sort of brochettes, from what I recall. Followed this up with a delicious banana daiquiri in a bar and then returned Chez Marta. I had a surprisingly long conversation in BROKEN Spanish (the only kind I speak) with her roommate Rocio, who was quite cool. Exchanges were complicated even more by the fact that she speaks with this CRAZY accent from southern Spain, but we managed nonetheless. It was a fun challenge to communicate, and I just figured you gotta manage to conquer every obstacle, making possible, well, possible. That's because, even when winning’s illogical, losing's still far from optional [TI 2008].
Sunday, December 21th: (verb conjugation?)
Martizzle and Goyo wakes up early for churros con chocolate (delicious) and goes to El Escorial, a palace/monastery about 45 minutes by train outside Madrid. The place be really sweet, especially the crypt area, which had been included the tombs of over 4 centuries of Spanish monarchs, as well as their significant others. Impressed we was, as it done been the first time for both of us to see it. We went eat paella, pollo asado, and creme brulée type thing at this nearby restaurant (delicious, part 2). Marta always are a good time to hang out with, and we will walk through the surrounding park before catch train back to city. We relives memories from my previous trip to Madrid with walk through park with lake. Eventually we been returned Chez Marta and eated pizza. I says goodbyes and sleeps in airport for EARLY flight to Rome.
Voila, the Spanish gang.
Monday, December 22nd:
Catch another stupid EasyJet flight, land in Rome. Pain to get into the city, taking near 2 hours after I arrive to get bag, catch bus, fight traffic, and make it to hostel. I hit up a falafel joint across the street and am stunned to be greeted by an Italian pop news program talking all about TONY ROMO. What country am I in? Why is my quarterback so great? I finish and go check my email to find the Cowboys got owned by Baltimore. Why is my quarterback so terrible?
Anywho, I go and walk around Rome for the day till Scott and Kevbo arrive, hitting up this park near the Spanish steps that I hadn't explored the last time I was there. It was pretty sweet just walking around, eating my Muesli and exploring solo. After many an hour, however, I went to wait for Scott and Kevin, whom I'd been really looking forward to seeing for quite some time. They arrived at night after quite a bit of difficulty finding the hostel. I was incredibly happy to see them, and we began to search for food, eventually settling for a shady looking kebab with not so friendly appearing workers. It turned out to be delicious- a fitting introduction for Scott and Kevin to the wonderful world of shady, wonderful kebab joints.
Tuesday, December 23rd (Festivus. Rhymes to celebrate):
What it is, bruh, what it do mayyn? We go and hit up the Vatican (read: Vatikaaayyyyn), cuz thangs close the next day, and that's a damn shame. Ain't no line at the time so we go in fast, and I ain't lyin when I say it's as amazin this time as it was the last. We walkin and we seen paintins so pristine, then we go and finish with the Sistine. The place is nothin less than spectacular, Pope heads that hood cuz he speak the vernacular. Our faces in awe and you know our jaws done dropped, we finally go and done hit up the souvenir shop. We stop and we drop a few for them other dudes and they families, too.
Been thuggin all day, we deserve a break, and while it ain't steak, it ain't fake...you eat the pizza in Rome, where it known to be shown to be better than the rest, maybe better than the best. Different flavors, different toppins, maybe even one for Misses Mary Poppins. Get in line for some metal detectas, fortunately the aforementioned ain't brought no umb-uh-rellas. ella. ella. A. A.
We get in and enter St. Peter's Basilica, Kevin's mouth drops, dries like a packet of silica. You know, that stuff that come in yo shoes when they new and you know they ain't been wo'n by some other dude? It was just like that, bra, turn and you see the Pi...e....ta, and that ain't all, ya'll! Walk a little mo', a foot, or 3 or fo, statues like you never seeeeen befo! Stuck out there, they's totally unhid, and it be havin more Popes than the Great Schism did! Take your pictures, take your time, want confession? Get in line!
We get out and wanna head toward the heavens, so we sprint toward the cupola like our name was Dorsey Levens. Kevin whines cuz his knee hurt, piggyback ride offered but, to be curt, he says no, on we go. We reach the top and we ready to drop but it ain't that easy--there's even more! go out, turn right, and open the door. Go up, boys, and you keep climbin, till your face start to look like a ruby or a diamond. Finally we there, and it's an amazin view. Think you seen kilometers? Boy, I seen a few. Now I don't mean to be rude, and I don't like to be lewd, but my language at the top was no less than crude. Shocked by the city I seen, if only you knew what I mean, man. It was incredible, delectable, if panoramics was presidential, I might call it electable. But that's beside the point, and I've gotten derailed, so we peaced outta there, and down we sailed. That night was a time right just to go and find a bit more pizza, and while it ain't the Mona Lisa, it ain't a tower Pisa. We dine and the boys drink a little wine, and afterwards we all feelin just fine. We go on a search for another bottle, Kevin and I heads up, Scott's full throttle. Success be damned, the trails cold like a clam, Scott gives up, while me and Kevin find the right man. A stand on the street, I think that's fitting for me, we get ourselves a bottle and we drink it, all three. The night cut short by the need to sleep, else tomorrow we'll be nothin more than three heap....s. (Not sure, but I think this was the day I had these two sweet pastries- one cannoli and then some other creme filled thing.)
From cupola of St. Peter's
Wednesday, December 24th:
Christmas Eve. We head out early and see the Coliseum, as well as some Roman ruins. I'm really fighting the desire to rhyme as I write this. We ate lunch at this little Italian restaruant, where Kevin and I had some badout lasagna, and Scott I think went pizza again. For dessert, we had these creme-filled pastry things, and I ate mine and Scott's (because he was going to let it be thrown away). Afterwards, we saw some crazy huge monument to Victor Emmanuel and an unknown soldier. Then we walked along the Tiber to La Bocca della Verità, where Kevin, Scott, and I recreated a moment that I had a year and a half ago with my friends Jonah and David.
Eventually we headed back to the hostel and bought some supplies for the next day's picnic. After a bit, we ate again at our shady, unfriendly, delicious kebab before heading to midnight mass. Freezing cold, we watched the proceedings from outside in St. Peter's Square. We left at about 1:15 because we didn't quite understand the language and we had a 45 minute walk back. Twas, however, worth the experience.
Coliseum
Freezing at Midnight Mass in St. Peter's square
I just got home from grocery shopping, and I was sitting there rather content with my piece of bread covered with nutella, coconut, and whipped cream when the daunting thought of another blog entry began haunting me. I have decided to cover in detail my past 18 days of travel, as much as a method of remembering for me as to inform you of what transpired. Of course, things that are important to me are often considered useless detail by others, but this is my blog, not yours, HA. This could include a 'grosse' amount of information about food, but that's one thing I really enjoy about traveling. For those of you who "give a damn," strap yourselves in for a long one. For those of you who don't, I ask that you "don't throw it up." When I get bored, some entries may be spiced up with abnormal English.
*After considering the length of the entry, this one will be split into 3 parts, presented on consecutive days.
Friday, December 19th:
Fly from Toulouse to Madrid. Quickly found that the low price of flying EasyJet comes with the pain of having to pay 18 euros to check my bag. Had to do this as well on the way to Rome and to Paris.
The ever-happy face of Marta greeted me at the airport- a welcome sight. We went to her apartment and flashed back to our summer days in Paris, eating pasta and drinking wine while hanging out with her roommates.
Saturday, December 20th:
Marta and I walk around Madrid, occasionally hitting up stores for her to finish Christmas shopping. We went in this pastry shop that her mother remembered from years ago, and I got this awesome cream type thing. We ate calamari and Spanish tortilla sandwiches, as well as French Fries covered in some sort of tabasco sauce, in the main square/plaza. Walked around a bit more and returned to her apt, then we went to an Asian restaurant and had some sort of brochettes, from what I recall. Followed this up with a delicious banana daiquiri in a bar and then returned Chez Marta. I had a surprisingly long conversation in BROKEN Spanish (the only kind I speak) with her roommate Rocio, who was quite cool. Exchanges were complicated even more by the fact that she speaks with this CRAZY accent from southern Spain, but we managed nonetheless. It was a fun challenge to communicate, and I just figured you gotta manage to conquer every obstacle, making possible, well, possible. That's because, even when winning’s illogical, losing's still far from optional [TI 2008].
Sunday, December 21th: (verb conjugation?)
Martizzle and Goyo wakes up early for churros con chocolate (delicious) and goes to El Escorial, a palace/monastery about 45 minutes by train outside Madrid. The place be really sweet, especially the crypt area, which had been included the tombs of over 4 centuries of Spanish monarchs, as well as their significant others. Impressed we was, as it done been the first time for both of us to see it. We went eat paella, pollo asado, and creme brulée type thing at this nearby restaurant (delicious, part 2). Marta always are a good time to hang out with, and we will walk through the surrounding park before catch train back to city. We relives memories from my previous trip to Madrid with walk through park with lake. Eventually we been returned Chez Marta and eated pizza. I says goodbyes and sleeps in airport for EARLY flight to Rome.
Voila, the Spanish gang.
Monday, December 22nd:
Catch another stupid EasyJet flight, land in Rome. Pain to get into the city, taking near 2 hours after I arrive to get bag, catch bus, fight traffic, and make it to hostel. I hit up a falafel joint across the street and am stunned to be greeted by an Italian pop news program talking all about TONY ROMO. What country am I in? Why is my quarterback so great? I finish and go check my email to find the Cowboys got owned by Baltimore. Why is my quarterback so terrible?
Anywho, I go and walk around Rome for the day till Scott and Kevbo arrive, hitting up this park near the Spanish steps that I hadn't explored the last time I was there. It was pretty sweet just walking around, eating my Muesli and exploring solo. After many an hour, however, I went to wait for Scott and Kevin, whom I'd been really looking forward to seeing for quite some time. They arrived at night after quite a bit of difficulty finding the hostel. I was incredibly happy to see them, and we began to search for food, eventually settling for a shady looking kebab with not so friendly appearing workers. It turned out to be delicious- a fitting introduction for Scott and Kevin to the wonderful world of shady, wonderful kebab joints.
Tuesday, December 23rd (Festivus. Rhymes to celebrate):
What it is, bruh, what it do mayyn? We go and hit up the Vatican (read: Vatikaaayyyyn), cuz thangs close the next day, and that's a damn shame. Ain't no line at the time so we go in fast, and I ain't lyin when I say it's as amazin this time as it was the last. We walkin and we seen paintins so pristine, then we go and finish with the Sistine. The place is nothin less than spectacular, Pope heads that hood cuz he speak the vernacular. Our faces in awe and you know our jaws done dropped, we finally go and done hit up the souvenir shop. We stop and we drop a few for them other dudes and they families, too.
Been thuggin all day, we deserve a break, and while it ain't steak, it ain't fake...you eat the pizza in Rome, where it known to be shown to be better than the rest, maybe better than the best. Different flavors, different toppins, maybe even one for Misses Mary Poppins. Get in line for some metal detectas, fortunately the aforementioned ain't brought no umb-uh-rellas. ella. ella. A. A.
We get in and enter St. Peter's Basilica, Kevin's mouth drops, dries like a packet of silica. You know, that stuff that come in yo shoes when they new and you know they ain't been wo'n by some other dude? It was just like that, bra, turn and you see the Pi...e....ta, and that ain't all, ya'll! Walk a little mo', a foot, or 3 or fo, statues like you never seeeeen befo! Stuck out there, they's totally unhid, and it be havin more Popes than the Great Schism did! Take your pictures, take your time, want confession? Get in line!
We get out and wanna head toward the heavens, so we sprint toward the cupola like our name was Dorsey Levens. Kevin whines cuz his knee hurt, piggyback ride offered but, to be curt, he says no, on we go. We reach the top and we ready to drop but it ain't that easy--there's even more! go out, turn right, and open the door. Go up, boys, and you keep climbin, till your face start to look like a ruby or a diamond. Finally we there, and it's an amazin view. Think you seen kilometers? Boy, I seen a few. Now I don't mean to be rude, and I don't like to be lewd, but my language at the top was no less than crude. Shocked by the city I seen, if only you knew what I mean, man. It was incredible, delectable, if panoramics was presidential, I might call it electable. But that's beside the point, and I've gotten derailed, so we peaced outta there, and down we sailed. That night was a time right just to go and find a bit more pizza, and while it ain't the Mona Lisa, it ain't a tower Pisa. We dine and the boys drink a little wine, and afterwards we all feelin just fine. We go on a search for another bottle, Kevin and I heads up, Scott's full throttle. Success be damned, the trails cold like a clam, Scott gives up, while me and Kevin find the right man. A stand on the street, I think that's fitting for me, we get ourselves a bottle and we drink it, all three. The night cut short by the need to sleep, else tomorrow we'll be nothin more than three heap....s. (Not sure, but I think this was the day I had these two sweet pastries- one cannoli and then some other creme filled thing.)
From cupola of St. Peter's
Wednesday, December 24th:
Christmas Eve. We head out early and see the Coliseum, as well as some Roman ruins. I'm really fighting the desire to rhyme as I write this. We ate lunch at this little Italian restaruant, where Kevin and I had some badout lasagna, and Scott I think went pizza again. For dessert, we had these creme-filled pastry things, and I ate mine and Scott's (because he was going to let it be thrown away). Afterwards, we saw some crazy huge monument to Victor Emmanuel and an unknown soldier. Then we walked along the Tiber to La Bocca della Verità, where Kevin, Scott, and I recreated a moment that I had a year and a half ago with my friends Jonah and David.
Eventually we headed back to the hostel and bought some supplies for the next day's picnic. After a bit, we ate again at our shady, unfriendly, delicious kebab before heading to midnight mass. Freezing cold, we watched the proceedings from outside in St. Peter's Square. We left at about 1:15 because we didn't quite understand the language and we had a 45 minute walk back. Twas, however, worth the experience.
Coliseum
Freezing at Midnight Mass in St. Peter's square
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