12 Days of L'Eid

December 24, 2008

The 12 Days of L'Eid (Arab holiday)

On the 1st day of L'Eid, my Arab friend gave to me, "A special price just for you!"
On the 2nd day of L'Eid, my Arab friend gave to me, two camel rides.
On the 3rd day of L'Eid, my Arab friend gave to me, three couscous bowls.
On the 4th day of L'Eid, my Arab friend gave to me, four noisy sheep.
On the 5th day of L'Eid, my Arab friend gave to me, five cups of tea.
On the 6th day of L'Eid, my Arab friend gave to me, six mosques a calling.
On the 7th day of L'Eid, my Arab friend gave to me, seven guides a guiding.
On the 8th day of L'Eid, my Arab friend gave to me, eight Mohammeds staring.
On the 9th day of L'Eid, my Arab friend gave to me, nine Khadijas cooking.
On the 10th day of L'Eid, my Arab friend gave to me, ten Fatimas dancing.
On the 11th day of L'Eid, my Arab friend gave to me, eleven broken taxis.
On the 12th day of L'Eid, my Arab friend gave to me, twelve (hundred) inshallahs.

Merry Christmas from North Africa!!!

visiting the prefecture

December 15, 2008

Going to the prefecture (the office where one renews their visa to stay in the country) has never been a pleasant experience for me.  In Portugal, I used to call it, "The not nice place."  In Turkey and in the UAE, I simply had to leave the country and come back in.  No filling out paperwork and waiting for hours in an office where no one held the same values about hygiene as I do.

You may recall (or not), the time that Sue-Wee and I had to get in line at 4am in order to make an appointment to turn in our paperwork to apply to renew our visa.  I never did end up blogging about how it took four visits and a bunch of tears to pick up my new card back in May.  The prefecture that I had to go to in Paris, due to where I lived in Paris, is known for being the worst one in the whole country.  I've never gone and not watched a fight break out around me.  The workers there supposedly make the process as difficult as possible so that the immigrants who are coming applying to stay in France will give up and leave France.  That could be a rumor, but it seems about right to me!

So when I found out I was moving, I thought...I should just go down to Marseille and apply to renew my visa down there!  Then I can move some of my stuff AND avoid the most unpleasant place in all of France.  That's what I did back in November.  I went and got in line at 8:15am (so much better than 4am), and was out the door within an hour!  They gave me a sheet of paper listing what I needed to renew my visa and change my address, and a special envelope to put it all in.  Then, all I had to do was mail it back in.

WHAT?  Mail it back in?  I don't have to get an appointment to come turn it in?  I don't need to come back in to pick up my temporary card?  Nope...the nice little Marseille prefecture will mail me my temporary card with a date on it letting me know when my permanent card will be ready.  Wowzah.  That's way too easy.

So this week, when all my necessary paperwork had arrived in France that I needed, I put the application into the special envelope and mailed it off.  I was a little nervous that I didn't have all the necessary paperwork...but I'd doublechecked it a million times and the Chef had checked it too.  

That night, I was dead asleep in my bed when my eyes shot open.  Wide awake open.  While I had included all the necessary paperwork in the special envelope...I'd forgotten to include the duplicate copies.  They were still sitting on the desk in the office.  Stink.

I got up in the morning and made another copy of everything and went back over to the prefecture.  While in line, I noticed a sign that said that a valid passport must be shown at the beginning of the conversation with the person in the window.  I began digging for my passport and couldn't find it.  I ended up taking everything out of my purse and realized that I didn't have my passport.  WHERE IS MY BRAIN THESE DAYS!!!???  I prayed and asked God to give me double mercy, favor and grace at the window as (a) I didn't have my passport and (b) I had to explain that I'd messed up my renewal paperwork.

Before I go into how the conversation with the man behind the window went, let me say something about my French.  I speak manageable French.  That means that I can communicate pretty much whatever I need to communicate.  It might be filled with lots of the word for "thingamabob," and incorrect grammar, and it is certainly slighted with an American accent, but I can say what I need to say.  However, whenever I am in a conversation that is not a normal conversation for me, I tend to speak slowly.  Very punctuated, meaning that I say every single syllable and with no contractions or blending of words or anything like that.  I just haven't reached the point yet where I can speak quickly.  That means that whoever is listening to me has to be patient to let me get my sentence out.  So imagine the following conversation, where I am speaking slowly, the man behind the window is speaking rapidly (and with a Marseille accent, which is to this Parisian-trained ear what a Boston accent is to this Alabama ear), and behind a window with no microphone or sound hole in the glass for me to hear/speak through.  The Frenchman's words are in italics.

"Hello, how can I help you today?"

"Hello.  Yesterday I mailed in my application-"

"Do you have your passport?"

"Well, no, but I have my visa card.  Yesterday I mailed in my--"

"Are you applying for the first time or to renew?"

"To renew.  I actually already mailed it in yesterday--"

Looking at my visa card, "This is for a different region in France.  So you need to change your address?"

"Well, yes.  I need to renew and change my address.  Yesterday I mailed in my--"

"What do you need from me?"

A little exasperated that he won't let me finish a sentence, I start again, "Well, yesterday I mailed in my application--"

"You already mailed it in?"

"Yes, but I forgot--"

"You mailed in your application in the special envelope?"

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you, what?"

"You don't understand what I'm saying, okay."

"No, I understand you.  I just can't hear you."

"You mailed in your application in the special envelope?"

"Yes.  I mailed it in yesterday--"

"Then what do you want me to do for you?"

I looked at him for a moment and took a deep breath, and I think he realized...I'd been trying to tell him if he would have just let me finish my sentence.

"I realized I forgot to put my duplicate copy in the envelope.  I've brought two more copies with me today."

"All you forgot was your duplicate copy?"

"Yes."

"Oh, that's easy.  I'll go ahead and start an application folder for you now, and when your original copy arrives in the mail, I'll include it with this."

"That's all I need to do?"

"Yes, have a nice day."  In other words, get out of my window.

I was in and out in 30 minutes.  No fight broke out.  No one hit on me.  No one even smelled bad.  I'll take being cut off for every sentence I say anytime over the other prefecture that always left me in tears.  Now, I guess I just wait for that temporary card...

"I've never seen one before"

December 1, 2008

I went to Besancon, in eastern France, this past weekend to just get away and see some friends.  I had a great time.  (You can see the photos here, here, here, here, here, and here.)  While there, we went one afternoon to the Citadel that is the biggest tourist attraction in Besancon.  It is huge, and houses several museums and...a zoo!  It was a little bizarre to me, a zoo inside a citadel on top of a hill in eastern France.  

We arrived late, and so didn't have time to see everything the citadel has to offer.  I'm actually not a big fan of zoos (I don't think that God meant for lions and monkeys to be caged up for us to enjoy getting to see them), and I've been to a million museums in Paris.  So I wanted to just walk around the ramparts and enjoy seeing the views.  While we were doing just that, we heard the most strange sound.  I thought it was a baboon or some other large, scary monkey.

Everyone in that part of the citadel began walking quickly towards the sound to see what it was.  (Apparently, my dislike for seeing creatures who shouldn't be caged up went right over the ramparts of the citadel, because I wanted to see what was making that sound!  And boy did I ever hope it was caged up so it wouldn't get me!)  A whole bunch of us ended up in front of a glass staring at a lion that seemed to have a hairball.  You know that sound that cats and dogs make when they have a hairball?  Now magnify the sound because it's coming out of a much bigger cat.  That's what we heard.

While staring at the lions, the BG's wife and I begin discussing the possibility that the lion had a hairball.  Some French teenagers were right near us, and they all gasped in shock to hear us speaking English.  (According to the BG's wife, she, the BG, and our other friend, Flower, are the only Americans/native English speakers in all of Besancon!)  So the teenagers begin whispering about us, not realizing that we speak French and can therefore understand them.

The BG's wife leaves to go get some pictures of the hacking lion, but I stay right where I am because I am so amused by these teenagers.  They're whispering things like, "Don't you take English?  You should take advantage of this opportunity and talk to her to practice."  Finally, one of them speaks up, and says in very slow, very punc.tu.at.ed en.glish--

"Are.  you.  A. mer. i. can. or. Brit. ish?"

I responded in French, "I am an American."

All six of them gasp in shock that I speak French.  I tried not to laugh out loud.

I continued, "But I live in Paris."

More gasps of shock.  I'm not sure why it was so shocking that I live in Paris.  Maybe they were shocked that an American would choose to live in France?  Or that someone would leave Paris to come to Besancon?  I don't know.  But they sure were shocked.

Three of them kept talking to me, them in English and me in French.  The other three, however, kept staring at the lion, two shy to try to practice English and still enthralled by the beauty of the lion.  (She'd quit hacking, by this point.)  The shy three had the following interchange, which might just be the funniest thing I've ever heard a French person say.

"I've never seen one before."

"What?  A lion or an American?"

"...well...neither!"

I hope that I left these teenagers with a good impression of Americans.  Because I can just hear them now, going home to their parents and saying, "Mom!  Dad!  We went to the zoo today and guess what we saw?!  AN AMERICAN!"  

Top 10 favorite things in Paris

November 24, 2008

I promised several top 10 lists a few weeks ago, and so I thought it might be time for another one for you.

My Top 10 Favorite Things in Paris (besides my friends)

10.  The Eiffel Tower dressed in blue, sparkling at night

9.  The towers of Notre Dame and their gargoyles

8.  The view from the Pont des Arts (a bridge) towards the Ile de la Cite (the island with Notre Dame on it, even though you can't really see Notre Dame from this bridge).

7.  Listening to live music in Place des Vosges.

6.  Reading in the Tuileries garden.

5.  Walking along the Seine.

4.  Eating cheesy chicken with Samurai sauce from my local Kurdish restaurant man.

3.  All the random surprises you can find on any given day in any part of the city that make it so interesting and fun and cool.

2.  Riding public transport.

1.  The Jewish quarter and everything in it: the falafel place, BIA (the American diner), the Red Wheelbarrow (an English bookstore with an awesome adolescent lit section), tiny streets, and bagels in the bakeries!

Top 10 Thanksgiving 2008

In no particular order, and especially since I already have several other Top 10 lists up this month, I'll keep this post short. This year, I am thankful for:

10. My dear sweet friend Kelly, and all the joy she brings into my life.

9. The trip to America: New York! Princess William! Seeing the Suits! Virginia!

8. Getting to go Lanola's wedding.

7. The whole summer in Marseille. SO THANKFUL.

6. That my Mom and Meme came to visit!!!

5. The growth that came out of Marseille in me.

4. The trip to Egypt. Wowzah!

3. The fall in Paris has helped bring some healing in my relationship with Paris.

2. That I'm getting to move to Marseille very soon.

1. It hasn't happened yet--but I'm very thankful that I'm going to get to go to Morocco for Christmas!

If you'd told me six months ago that I'd be staying in France another year, I never would have believed you! I mean, I sent trunks home with my Mom! But Marseille changed alot, and now here I am, sticking around for another year. And I truly am thankful for that.

Marseille

November 15, 2008

An hour before my train for Paris would pull out of Marseille, I ducked into the flower shop across the street from my apartment and grabbed a bouquet of roses for the Chef's family.  As the florist wrapped them up for me, he asked, "Why do you look so sad?"

I was surprised.  First, because I didn't realize I looked sad.  But mainly because that is not a normal statement for a French person to make to a stranger.  Well, at least not for a Parisian to make.  It's way too personal.  I don't know if it's just Parisians who are stand-offish or all French people...but in just three short weeks, I'll get to start learning what is French and what was Parisian, as I'll be living among non-Parisians.

I told the florist that I'm sick (which is true), so I wasn't sad so much as I'm sick.  He smiled and said that I am therefore fully justified to look like I do at the moment.  (Thanks, I think?)  I told him that I was also about to catch a train back up to Paris, and I always am sad to leave Marseille, because I love it there.  We began to chat and I told him I would be moving to Marseille soon.  He complimented my French (shocking, since my French is terrible!) and welcomed me to Marseille and said, "see you soon!" as I left with my roses.

My heart was warmed as I left yesterday.  I spent a sweet two days in the south...I'd gone to my favorite hamburger restaurant, and when I walked up to the window, the workers all saw me and their faces lit up in smiles.  "Hey, bettercountry!  It's been a long time!  How long are you in town for?"  That's the kind of service that'll bring a customer back over and over (that, and the best hamburger and fries for under 4 euros a girl could ever dream of)!

I walked from my apartment all the way across town to visit with some friends.  When I walked into their restaurant and they saw me, the wife said, "I don't believe it!"  After loading me up with kisses, she and her daughter called her husband and told him to come down to see who was there.  After a nice visit over tea, I walked all the way back across town to my apartment.  

Walking...not riding the metro.  Walking in the sun.  Walking because everything is close enough that I can.

I watched the sun set from my apartment balcony as I listened to the seagulls talk to one another and the churchbells announce that the end of the day had come.  The apartment felt insanely empty...without KO or Flower there (my roommates from the summer).  But my heart was full as I left on the train last night.  When I return in three weeks, the Chef and his family will be there.  Flower will be back at the end of the year.  I can eat at the hamburger place whenever I want.  I can visit the friendly florist.  I can walk across town.  I can go to the beach.  I can soak up the sun and watch it set from my balcony.  

I don't know why...but Marseille is home to me.  And I'm ready to come home.

Top 10 Things I'm looking forward to in Marseille

November 12, 2008

I'm headed down to Marseille today (until Friday) to go visit the prefecture about my visa.  I've been making some lists of things, so I figured today was a good day to post one of them.  Here you go...the top 10 things I'm looking forward to in Marseille.

10.  Living in a smaller city.

9.  Sleeping with the windows open.

8.  Having a balcony.

7.  The graffiti.  Marseille has some awesome stuff.

6.  The local cheap eats.  Oh, I can't even tell you.  There are four different restaurants I can think of right now, where the owners know me by name.  Happiness.

5.  The Arab market.  

4.  Hills.  I love em, and Marseille has em.  Yippee!

3.  Water.  Um, who doesn't want to live on a Mediterranean coast town?

2.  SUNSHINE!!!  WARMTH!!!  (need I say more?)

1.  Friends.  (Not that I don't have friends in Paris.  I do.  I'll miss them.  I'm trying to convince them to move to Marseille too.  But I'm excited to be near my friends down there...)

to prove it even further...

November 10, 2008

I said in my last post that I live a little bit in the ghetto.  And today it felt like it again.

Cause I watched a man snort cocaine on the metro.  He didn't even try to hide it.

i live a little bit in the ghetto

November 7, 2008

(This entry is dedicated to my mom.  She tells me I should blog about all the normal little daily things that happen to me.  There are many things I don't blog because I think it would make a mom nervous.  So mom...you wanted to know!)

Paris is set up pretty much the opposite of a typical city in the US--the city is where the upper class live and the suburbs (called the banlieue) is where the immigrants and not upper class live.  There are some banlieue that are well, more ghetto than others.  I live in a less-ghetto-ish neighborhood, but I go over to the more ghetto-ish areas quite often.  I really like the people in those neighborhoods.  

Last week, several of us were hanging out in one of those more rough-around-the-edges towns.  Swimmer and I were standing near a bus station when a man approached me and asked me a question.  As I was answering it, several more of his buddies came up quickly and surrounded me.  One of them grabbed my hand, pulled me really hard towards him, and leaned in to kiss me.  Not French-kiss-me-on-the-cheek kiss me, but what-Americans-think-French-kiss-on-the-mouth-is-like kiss me.  And he had open sores on his face and mouth.  I leaned back to get my face away from his, only to discover that one of the friends who had surrounded us what right behind me so that I could not lean back.

I ducked down and then did a 1980's breaking-dancing type head/shoulder roll to wedge my way out from the two guys and yanked my arm free from Mr.Grossman's grip.  I did not think to smack the man (as Mr.Chef from this summer advised me to do after this had happened twice).  Swimmer gave me some Purell for my hands, but she didn't have much for me to clean off the hibbie-jibbies that I felt all over.

We left and found M#1 of the MMTATI's.  He used to be a cop.  We feel pretty safe when he's around.  Swimmer said she thinks he could kill a man with just his hands...but I don't think he would do it even if he could do it.  But I do think he'd get a Mr.Grossman to get away from me.

Almost immediately, some crazy man comes up to me and starts going off about the best cigars in the world.  Seriously.  He had a book called, "The Best Cigars in the World," and he had a cigar in his mouth.  He began waving his book all around and well...I wasn't really listening, I was just thinking, "Why am I a magnet for crazy people?"

M#1 casually sauntered over to stand as a buffer between me, Swimmer, and the crazy man.  He was pretty cool and nonchalant about it.  Cigarman didn't know he was now going all crazy on a former cop!  Nothing exciting happened, to be honest...except that Cigarman talked crazy to M#1 for about 40 minutes.  Then we left.  Weird day.

The next day, I was hanging with the Teenage Genius, and while trying to get her back home, we had some ticket trouble at the train station.  Mainly, her ticket wouldn't work.  I had already scanned my electronic pass, so I exited, went to help her buy a new ticket and then came back to the scan machine realizing that I wouldn't be able to get back through for 15 minutes.  (They have it set up like that so that you can't scan your pass and then hand it to another person to scan and get in for free.)

Normally I would just jump over the turnstile and go right in without worrying about.  I don't think that is doing anything illegal because I've paid for pass for a year to ride as much as I want.  I hadn't handed my pass for someone else to use.  I wasn't cheating the system.  BUT...there were about 5 cops hanging out just in front of the turnstile.  Who wants to jump a turnstile with cops right there watching and then have to explain in a foreign (to me) language about why what you just did was not, actually, illegal?  I didn't.

So I told the Teenage Genius to be smooth, and I was going to push through the turnstile right behind her as she went through, instead of jumping OVER the turnstile.  The cops didn't seem to notice us.

But I noticed them...again and again and again.  It's not normal to see a group of cops in my little town.  Remember, it's not so ghetto-ish.  (The Teenage Genius' town?  OH-SO-GHETTO-ISH!)  But there were cops in my town.  Then, at Gare du Nord, a gazillion more cops.  Then, more of them in Noisy.  Then, back at my town, (when I came home), there were 15-20 of them!  They'd arrested several guys and looked like they were waiting to arrest a few more.  

I cleared out of the train station fast and got on home.  I don't know what was going down that day...but I didn't want to be around for any trouble!

THEN (oh yes, there's more)...yesterday.

I decided yesterday afternoon to go into Paris for a few hours to work on seeing some of the things on my list (see post a few down the page).  I wanted to get to a particular spot before sunset, so I could photograph it in daylight.  Trouble is, the sun is going down around rush-hour right now.

As I arrived to the train station, I had to sidestep a big group of gypsies just hanging out on the steps by the platform.  While gypsies in Paris are a very normal thing, seeing them in my little town is notsomuch.  As I stood waiting for the train, an announcement came on stating that (a) the train was late and (b) it wasn't going to go all the way to the end of the line, but to one stop earlier.  If you wanted to go to the end of the line, you would have to switch trains at the one-stop-earlier station.  

I stood there and thought...It's Friday evening at rush hour, and there are already problems with the train going INTO the city?  I'm not going to make it over there in time to get my photograph, I don't feel like dealing with crazy trains, I don't feel like dealing with gypsies for the whole train ride in, and I don't feel like dealing with all the crowds of people.  I've had enough crazy ghetto city experiences for the week.

I turned around and left the train station and went to the MMTATI's and held the baby for a few hours.  Sweet little A curled up in my lap and laid her head on my shoulder while I held baby I and that was so much better than going into the city on a Friday night.  I'm glad I left the crazy train station and went into a haven of normalcy.  :)

Catacombs

November 3, 2008

Last year, I read an article on Yahoo on Halloween about the 13 scariest (or creepiest?) places ON EARTH.  The Catacombs in Paris was listed as one of them!  So I thought it would be fun to go on Halloween...but I took a few friends with me since I'm such a big chicken.

There will more than likely be another video when the teenager finishes making hers (cause she had different videos on her camera).  Her video will probably be better than mine, since this was my first attempt ever at making one.

The informational brochure at the catacombs says this.

"The Catacombs ossuary was created at the end of the 18th century due to the closure in 1780 of the largest cemetery in Paris,...which the inhabitants (of the local district) believed was a danger to public health.  ... Bones from every cemetery in Paris were transferred to the site until 1860...  The Catacombs were opened to the public at the beginning of the 19th century, exciting a great deal of interest and attracting large crowds of visitors."

"Visitors walk among the remains of six million people stored in 780 meters of galleries.  The first bones to arrive were simply thrown in a heap.  It was only under Napoleon I...that the site was renovated.  Lone bones and skulls were arranged in neat rows to provide a wall behind which the rest of the bones were piled in a jumble."

I had a great time hanging out with my friends down there being silly and shooting videos and such.  I enjoyed watching Parker (who has studied Latin in the past) and Kaley (who is studying Latin now) reading the signs throughout the catacombs with reflective passages about life and death.  I wasn't scared or creeped out at all...however, if there had not been a million people there that day, and I hadn't been with a large group of friends, I would have been severely creeped out.  It was dark down there (if you can't tell from the video).  There were random doors with a metal locked gate in front of them--what's behind those doors, eh?  Trolls?

It was definitely not the typical tourist site in Paris, but I'm glad I went.  

cakes

November 1, 2008

For Reformation Day (yesterday), a bunch of us threw a Reformation Party, where all the food was named according to the theme...This was the Wittenburg Church Cake that I made...note that the candy corn nails are holding up the 95 Theses that Luther nailed to the door!  :)  

While I was making that cake, I went ahead and made another cake for the dinner party I'm going to tonight, where we will watch the Auburn/Ole Miss football game.  There will be 11 Auburn fans at that party, one Alabama fan (he's new here and we're still trying to educate him...), and one neutral person.  So I made this cake just for fun!  :)

moving!

November 1, 2008 (All Saints Day here in France)

Well, it's official.  I am moving to Marseille, probably within about a month or so.  I've known for about two weeks, but wasn't allowed to make the news public until today.  Sue-Wee left right around the time I found out, and so I went straight into exit mode as she was packing up and figuring out what things she wanted to do one last time/make sure to see before leaving Paris.

As I prepare to leave the city that has been my home for the last two years, expect several lists to pop up on the blog.  I love me some lists!  I feel like my leaving is a little different than hers, because (a) I'll still be in France and (b) I figure I'll be back to Paris many times for the rest of my life...so I don't feel compelled to do everything that I haven't gotten to do yet.  Save some for future trips...

So, here's the current list of things I still want to go do/see.  

1.  Museum of the Middle Ages (with audio guide)

2.  Jacquemart-Andre Museum (with audio guide) I'll get both of these done tomorrow, since it's free Sunday at the museums!

3.  Jewish Art and History Museum

4.  St. Sulpice on a Sunday morning to hear the organ concert

5.  Petit Palais (it's free!)

6.  View from Hotel Concorde-Lafayette (it's free!)

7.  Photograph the Porte Dauphine Metro

8.  #92 Champs-Elysees (Thomas Jefferson lived here!)

9.  Visit a store called 2 Mille et 1 Nuit on #13 Rue des Francs Bourgeois

10.  Climb the dome of Sacre Coeur

11.  Cafe le Procope at #13 rue de l'Ancienne Comedie

12.  Cafe Vagenande on St. Germain (for the Art Nouveau)

13.  Take a Fat Tire Bike Tour

14.  Go to Chartres

15.  Chateau de Fountainbleau

16.  La Defense

17.  Go to a ballet at the Opera Garnier

18.  Visit some of the award-winning bakeries (I have a list of about 15!)

19.  There are a few sculptures I want to go find

--of Les Halles in St. Eustache

--of the giant on rue de la Tombe-Issoire

--of people behind a wall on rue Quincampoix

20.  Compare the macaroons at Pierre Herme to Laduree's

--72 rue Bonaparte (6th)

21.  Eat at the Creperie Beauborg on the corner of Brisemiche and St.-Meri

22.  Buy some bagels at the Jewish bakery 

(Also--the list included going to the Catacombs, but I did that yesterday, on Halloween, and a video will be coming soon to show that little escapade!)

me? on candid camera?

October 28, 2008

So I walked out the bus stop today...and it wasn't there!  I stopped dead in my tracks and just stared for a minute.  Then I just kept spinning around looking in every direction...completely baffled.

I thought I was on one of those tv-camera-prank shows, and then would they feel ever-so-badly when the host came out to tell me it was a joke and found out I was an American, and well, it's just mean to pick on foreigners' cultural stupidities.

I stared at the spot where the bus stop used to be for a good 30 seconds and finally walked over to it.  (And when I say bus stop, I mean the kind that is about 5 feet long, with a covering and a bench!)  There was a sign taped to an electrical box that said to where it had been moved.  I walked over to that street, and sure enough...there was the bus stop!

I checked the route of the bus and sure enough...they'd changed that too.  This bus no longer went to where I needed it to go.  Stink.  I checked the route, pulled out my metro map and checked it, and finally figured out how I could get to my desired location.  And I only arrived 15 minutes late.

But seriously?  It was a little amusing to be do dumbfounded by a missing bus stop.

versailles videos

October 25, 2008

I've been wanting to go to Versailles for a few weeks now to see the gardens in the fall colors.  Both times I've gone out to Versailles, I've only gone to the chateau...and I think you faithful readers know how I feel about the chateau.  (If you don't know, well...let's just say that it is one of the few places in France that makes me scrunch my nose up in pure hatred.)  But the gardens...it's hard to hate gardens, right?  And gardens in fall--I thought it'd perfect.  I was pretty much right.  The bliss is better seen/heard than read...so watch away!

This first one is to all the Fairwood people out there...

This one is of me...

Okay, this next video...GAH!  It took me 18,374 attempts to upload it.  I seriously gave up 26 times.  I'm having uploading issues today.  But it finally came up.  This video (if the previous one didn't prove it already) shows just how much of a dork I truly am.  First, I mess up my French grammar while speaking in English by calling Versailles a "her."  Then, well, I just act silly.  Mainly cause I was so crazy about those fountains with the classical music playing on the beautiful autumn day.

dijon

October 25, 2008

I think that every person with wanderlust has little quirks about places they want to visit and why.  Some places make sense.  If you're a nomad, you must go see ____.  (You can fill in the blank.  The Pyramids.  The Great Wall of China.  The Eiffel Tower.  Etc.)  But then there are the little quirky ones that are different for every wanderer.  Two of my quirks are that I really want to go to Cambodia (I read a book about it once) and that I have zero desire to go to South America (sorry Ineedamarie).

When I found out I was moving to France, a new quirk developed.  I really wanted to go to Dijon, France, and discover mustard.  I wanted to go to a mustard museum.  (Surely, in the land of museums, Dijon would have a mustard museum.)  I wanted to go into huge, large mustard stores and get myself into a tilly over which mustard to buy.  I wanted to learn all about how mustard came about and why Maille is still considered the best there is and if Grey Poupon is really a French Dijon mustard or just an American thing with a really funny commercial.

So Zannah and I went to Dijon this month for a quick one day trip as a celebration of both our birthdays.  A little trick I've learned to do when traveling in France is to head straight to the Office of Tourism.  If anything, they give you a map of the city that you're in and unfamiliar with.  But usually, they give you all sorts of insider tips of what to see, sometimes some discounts, and...if there's nothing to see in town (they'll never say that straight out), they'll tell you about a bus tour through their surrounding region.  I did this with KO down in Provence and LOVED IT.

At the Office of Tourism, we obtained our map and started checking it out.  I couldn't find the Museum of Mustard, so I asked one of the workers where it was.

"It closed."

"Oh no," says I, "it's closed today?"  We were only in town for one day.

"No, it closed permanently.  Not enough people were going to it."

Well...it appears that I am the only traveler with the quirk of learning about mustard in Dijon.  SO SAD.  There is a mustard museum in some other town, but we didn't have a car to get out to it.  Can I just say that even now, I am pouting that I didn't get to learn all about mustard from some frenchman with a cute little accent?  That I didn't get to sample all the gloriously weird types of mustards that they make in Dijon?  That I didn't...okay, I'm over it.

Zannah and I decided that without a mustard museum, Dijon did not have enough to offer to keep us entertained all day, so we went ahead and signed ourselves up for a bus tour.  It would take us through the Bourgogne region of France (also known as Burgundy in English).  We had a couple of hours to kill before the tour started, so we went to see what Dijon had to offer.

First off was the Maille store.  Maille is the most famous mustard maker in France.  I already have learned about the yumminess of Maille mustard and have been enjoying it almost the entire time I have lived here.  (As a random sidenote: You can't buy pickle relish here, so I have to make mine myself.  I use a jar of Maille pickles because they have all kinds of other stuff in the jar that ends up making the best pickle relish!  I love Maille.)  Because I can buy Maille mustard in Paris, I wasn't so thrilled that this was my Dijon Mustard experience...going to a Maille store.  Let's pretend that the store I went to was the ORIGINAL Maille mustard store.  (It might have been...I didn't check.)

I did buy mustard, though, so that I could say I bought Dijon mustard in Dijon, France.  I bought three jars, actually:  Blackcurrent of Dijon, Gingerbread and Chataignier Honey, and Provencale.  Blackcurrents from Dijon are one of their main "exports" and I love blackcurrent, so I went with it...pink mustard.  Who knew?

Zannah and I had read online about this famous tower at the Ducal Palace and that climbing it was one of the things you are supposed to do when in Dijon.  The online article made it seem really cool--that you could see for miles and miles, and on a clear day--all the way to Mont Blanc!  We got over to the Ducal Palace and started laughing.  The "tower" was all of about 5 stories high.  How one could see far off was beyond us.  And the Palace was closed.  There was a museum open, (and free) so we took a quick tour of it.

All in all, we wandered around for about an hour and saw all that Dijon had to offer.  So sad for Dijon!  We did find a quiet little park covered in leaves and just sat there enjoying ourselves for about another hour.  Then it was time for our bus tour!

We thought that on a random Wednesday in October there wouldn't be anyone else on our tour.  We thought wrong.  There were two retired couples who were thrilled to see some young people were joining them for the day.  One of them sat next to me in the van for the first hour or so of the tour and drove me crazy, using a particular curse word in every sentence, and talked about all the different kinds of cattle there are in the world.  I think he and his wife figured out that I wasn't so keen on him, so they switched places the next time we climbed back into the van and it got a little better.  (And then he got hammered at the winery, which made him much more pleasant, but that's getting ahead of myself...)

The first stop was Flavigny-sur-Ozerain, where the movie Chocolat takes place.  We saw the window of the chocolate shop and the church that it is across from.  It was a cute town and all...but when we drove through a much cuter town later without stopping to get out, I thought, "Why'd we waste our time in the Chocolat town?  There wasn't even a real chocolate shop there..."

I can't remember now if the candy shop we went to was in the same town or not.  I don't think it was, I think the town was just Flavigny (and not Flavigny-sur-Ozerain).  But anyway...we went to a candy shop in an abbey that made the most famous kind of French candy called "Anis."  They are yummy little white balls made in different flavors.  Again, I had to decide which kind of flavor to get.  I went with blackcurrent again, as well as mandarine/tangerine.  Check out my next post that tells the pretty little love story about the Anis de Flavigny.

From there we went to a winery.  Honestly, I don't know the name at all.  I'll have to ask Zannah.  This whole experience was so amusing.  Zannah is Mormon, so she doesn't drink either.  We both start whispering about how we will get out of the wine tasting at the winery.  Maybe, because it's harvest season, they'll show us what they do with the grapes to make the wine, instead of showing us how to drink wine?

Nope.

They showed us how to drink wine.  Or tried to show us.  Zannah and I stood firm in our refusal to drink.  Our tour guide was very understanding.  The two couples were also understanding, especially because we kept giving the husbands our glasses of wine (which was how the two husbands ended up getting hammered).  The wine guide lady (vinedresser?) was not understanding.  

"You do not drink?!  DRINK!  DO IT!"  (Yes, she actually yelled at us to "do it!")  She then showed us the spit bucket where we could sip and spit without swallowing...and by that point it was a battle of wills and we were determined to come out on top.  We would not drink!  GAH!

The thing was, she was covered head to toe in grape juice.  The minute we left, we saw her go back out behind the winery to continue working with the grapes.  All six of us said that we would have enjoyed learning about the grapes-to-wine process then learning how to drink wine, because well...the older couples certainly already knew how to drink wine!  Oh well.  It really was a little amusing, and it got Mr. Cussing Man to mellow out a bit.

From there we went to a World Unesco Heritage Site called the Cistercian Abbaye de Fontenay.  It is no longer an active abbey but is privately owned.  It was much fun.  

The best part of the whole day, though, was probably when we saw some monks playing soccer in a field.  I took a video.  Here you go...

Then we got on the train and came home.  I had a good time.  I learned alot...

• The French import mustard seeds; they don't really grow mustard here.  Their mustard is famous because of the way it is made.
• The owl is the mascot of Dijon.  Much better than a salamander, the mascot of some town I went to.
• There is a famous kind of cow in Bourgogne called Charolais that makes a very different tasting beef.  I have not had any.  But I saw the cows!  They're white.

une belle histoire d'amour

A Beautiful Love Story

(copied from the pamphlet given to me at the Abbaye de Flavigny)

I am going to tell you a story about a small white sweet, a succulent sweet sweet...

Once upon a time, a long time ago, there was a shepherd who offered Anis de Flavigny to the one he loved...

It all began early one spring morning, in the secret garden of a beautiful young maiden.  Seated amongst the roses, embracing a large bouquet, she bowed her head and smiled, dreaming of loving and of being loved, just like the roses...

A young shepherd, alone and afar from the village, chewed on a liquorice stick whilst sitting under a stone arch.  A little light shining yonder, in the window of a house in the village kindled something deep inside his heard that was yearning to burn.  Was this the love of his dreams?  A great expanse of virgin snow separated them in the night.  A young ewe ventured out...The wolf was nearby.

In the forest shade, the young maiden had come to sit by the spring.  What joy to go barefoot and play with the water!  When she saw the shepherd coming, she hid behind a small rock, let him approach and stayed still.  She watched him without uttering a word.

He knelt down among the mint leaves, at the foot of the waterfall, and saw her reflection in the water.  Raising his head, he gave her a look full of gentleness.  The water trickled between his fingers while the youth of life danced in the light of their eyes.

Under the orange blossom, they met for their first encounter, side by side on a little bench.  Henceforth, they dreamed together: a long road in the light, climbing and winding, to be savoured at each step taking them to the village high up on the hill.  A road filled with exquisite orange blossoms!

The young shepherd made his move; daring to ask for her hand by offering her the succulent sweet sweet; Anis de Flavigny.  Would she accept?  Again she looked him straight in the eye: yes, she said yes!  The young shepherdess accepted the Anis de Flavigny!

A bouquet of violets conveyed their happiness and, modestly, hid their heart-to-heart.  A sweet moment just for them, hidden like an aniseed under its sugar coat.

---

Our beautiful story comes from the dawn of time.  If I could tell it to you, it would be...

About Flavien...

...a great Roman traveler who brought the green aniseed back from Syria.  Enchanted by a small hill upon his arrival in Gaul (early France), he founded his Gallo-Roman villa there.  Flavien left his name, "Flavigny," to the village as well as his knowledge of the aniseed.

About Widerard...

...a Burgundian chieftain, who was also charmed by the village of Flavigny and founded a Benedictine abbey there in the Middle Ages.  Was it the monks who first had the idea of coating the aniseed to make a sweet?  No one knows...

About the factory...

...which passes know-how about Anis down from generation to generation... For over 15 days, each green aniseed is patiently layered with liquid sugar, delicately blended with natural flavours.  There is one for everyone's taste: anise, orange, mint, liquorice, rose, violet.

in recent news...

October 23, 2008

Wowzah, I can't believe it's the end of October already!  Where did time get to?!  Yesterday I was telling someone

• in 2 months it'll be Christmas!
• in 4 months after that, it's time for the project again in Marseille!
• in 4 months after that, the project will be over!
• in 4 months after that, I'll be headed back to America!

That's crazy!  I really think the next 14 months are gonna fly, cause I know the last six sure have.  I can't believe it's already been two years since I was packing up to move to France.  What?  Sue-Wee left this week...her two years are already finished.  It seems like we just got here.  

So a slightly boring-to-read update for you...

• I got my new computer and have pretty much transferred everything to it.  That's what I've been doing for nearly the last month.  I need to buy some cd's to move a little more music over, and then voila!  The PC will be handed over to the MMTATI's for good.  
• Oh yeah, that reminds me...the MMTAT's had a baby, so now they are the MMTATI's.  :)  
• Sue-Wee left and went back to America, so I am now roommate-less.  I have always enjoyed living by myself in the past, so I'm pretty cool with the no roommate thing, although I will miss Sue-Wee.
• I've had a million guests in the last month.  Some of you readers may know my most recent guest, Melissa.  I SO WISH I had a video of her face when she figured out that I was bettercountry, of blogging fame in the NorthEast.  She just thought I was Bria and Claire's random friend that lived in Paris.  It was pretty funny.  I thoroughly enjoyed her!  You Fairwood people are highly esteemed in my mind; I've met three of you and adored the three that I've met.  It's looking like March 2010 I'll be stopping by for a visit.  Mark your calendars!
• My Euro Disney year long pass expires today.  No more zipidee doo dah'ing for me.
• I made another quilt...this one was for Sue Wee.  

With my 2year mark approaching and Sue-Wee leaving (and thus talking about things she was excited about going back to), my brain has been wrapping around the idea that I've been gone from the US for almost two years...and when you add in the time in the UAE, I've been gone from the world-as-I-knew-it for 3 out of the 4 last years!  Here are some thoughts...

• I don't really miss any particular foods.  I mean, if you brought me a hot Krispy Kreme donut right now, I'd certainly eat it.  But I'm pretty good with all I can get in France, and man...the food is so good here that I don't miss much from the States.  Sorry.
• French q-tips are lousy.  REAL Q-tips is something I will always accept in a care package from the US.
• I have never seen a single episode of ANY of your favorite tv shows.  You name it, I haven't seen it.  In fact, I don't really watch tv at all anymore.  Just my dvd's.  I read more than anything, and I like it that way.
• I've been gone long enough I feel free to bask in my I-really-don't-care-about-sports mentality.  Football?  I don't care.  Baseball?  I don't care.  When I was in the states I tried to pay enough attention to join in conversations.  Last fall, I still tried to stay up on what was happening so I'd feel connected to that part of America's life.  This year...I just don't care.  And it feels great.
• I am SO GLAD that I am not there for the election.  I am joyfully avoiding all the internet hoopla about it.  I am thankful that I don't have to hear all the tv/radio/newspaper hoopla that Americans are having to hear about it.  I am voting (received my absentee ballot in the mail this week!), and feel like I've made an educated decision on who I will vote for without being persuaded by any headlines whatsoever.
• I don't feel connected to the US anymore.  People talk about the American dream of wanting a house and I feel a little shocked that I'm supposed to want to own a house.  I don't want to own a house.  I'm quite happy with a nice little apartment.  People complain about gas prices and I smile to myself because I'm so happy and content to ride the metro everyday.  People have jobs and homes and kids and I'm glad for them.  I just know that's not MY life.  My life is overseas and I'm glad for it.
• I do miss folks from time to time...but between how long I've been gone and the glory of webcams and the internet, I've gotten pretty used to not having my best friends and family anywhere near me.  Although...I do have days where I wish I could just pop over to Cookeville for a few hours.

That's about all for now.  A post about Dijon, France to come soon.  Stay tuned.

P.S.  I sure do like when yall leave comments.  It lets me know yall are still there with me...

tram dominoes

October 8, 2008

(I so wish there was a video to show the story of this blog.  I think it's something that maybe you just had to see...and something I wish I could have seen from an outsider's perspective.)

I had a problem transferring some of my filed from the old PC to the new MP ("My Precious"--the name for the new computer, which is not a PC), so I had taken both over to my friend's house for some help.  I had left a box of things there when I'd returned home from Marseille, so this evening, when I boarded the tram, I had two laptops, a purse, and a very heavy suitcase.  Since it was rush hour, it was standing room only on the tram.  I put my back against a wall and kept my balance that way.  Swimmer was with me, and she, like me, had her back against a pole instead of holding on to it.  Trams never go fast enough to ever lose your balance, so there wasn't much of a reason to hold on.

Or so we thought.

The tram driver suddenly SLAMMED on his brakes, and all 50-some people in the tram went flying forward.  In all my experience of public transport, I have never been aboard a bus/metro/train/tram/boat that slammed on its brakes like that.  I mean everyone went flying.  The people who were sitting didn't feel the affects like those of who were standing.

Well, Swimmer and I went flying the most.  Maybe it is because we weren't holding on.  Or maybe it is because we were so much taller than everyone else that the extra height sent us off balance more than others.  Or maybe it was some mean little devil was picking on us so that we would stand out more than we already did.

Or should I say, FALL OUT.

Because fall we did.  Flat on our faces.  And because we were pretty much thrown down from the gravity from the sudden stop, we were a force to be reckoned with.  We took everyone down with us.  The suitcase went down under me, and my arms went flapping around--not to catch something so I wouldn't hit the ground, but to My Precious to protect her.  And as I went down like a domino--my face was buffered by the backside of the little old lady in front of me, who, once I knew My Precious was safe, my hands went flapping back around to try and catch the little old lady so that I wouldn't take her down.  She somehow remained on her feet.

Her husband did not.  Swimmer got him.

Well, due to the suitcase underneath me and two laptop computers on top of my back, and my hands holding up the little old lady in front/above me, and the gazillion people just standing around me and Swimmer as if it were our faults that we fell, I couldn't get my feet on the ground or my hands onto anything to give myself leverage to get back up.  I was a pitiful sight.  I think maybe the people around me expected me to levitate or something to get myself out of that position.  I'm not sure really how I did end up getting off the ground.

I do know that everyone stared at us like we were idiots.  And we couldn't stop laughing once we did get up.  And that the little old lady YELLED AT ME when she got off the tram.  As if 

(a) it was my fault that we fell.

(b) I didn't try to stop her from falling as well.

(c) I could have stopped my face from hitting her backside as I was thrown through the air by gravity.

And I do know that I have some mighty fine bruises forming on my knees.  I do still wish that I could see on a video what it looked like when all 50-some people went flailing forward, and the two tallest girls on the tram took down a little old couple like a set of dominoes...

racial tensions on the train

October 5, 2008

Warning: this story is anti climatic, in my opinion.

I boarded my train in Amsterdam and got all settled in for the train ride home.  I'd taken a quilt with me (to work on, not to keep warm, although it did serve that alternate purpose), and had it in my lap.  Headphones on.  Zoned out.

What do we call the person who comes through and checks the validity of your tickets in English?  I honestly can't remember, so I keep Englishifying the French word: controller.  My experience with trains in Europe (and I've ridden them a bunch in the last two years anyway), is that the controller gets on and checks tickets while the train is moving.  The conductor does not wait for the controllers to finish making sure everyone is legal before pulling out of the station.  If you don't have a valid ticket--you get a fine.  It's a simple rule.  I would think it's a pretty universal rule.  

So I'm zoned out when the controller approaches me.  I see him and have to hit pause on my ipod, dig under the quilt into my bag to pull out my ticket, which he clicks and moves on to the person behind me.  I return to my zone.

After a few minutes, though, I notice that the train is not moving AND the controller has not moved either.  He is still behind me, talking to the passenger there, a non-white immigrant to France.  I hit pause on my ipod and begin to eavesdrop.  (Is that bad?)  

They are speaking English, and he says, "Madame, it's very simple.  You can exit the train and purchase a ticket for 3.50 or I can write you a fine for 50 euros."

Her:  "Yes, but if I get off the train, I will miss my connecting train in the Hague."

Him:  "Madame, that is not my problem.  You cannot ride this train without a ticket.  You can exit the train and purchase a ticket for 3.50 or I can write you a fine for 50 euros."

Her:  "Why can't YOU just sell me the 3.50 ticket?"

Him:  "Madame, I don't sell tickets, I write them.  They are called fines.  I write them for 50 euros, but I am offering you the chance to purchase a cheaper ticket, for 3.50...by exiting the train."

She gets up, storms off the train and the controller moves on to the next passenger.  Less than two minutes later, however, she returns, and takes her seat back.  The controller spots her, comes up, and asks (as if they had not had any interaction before), "Ticket please."

"I have no ticket."

He leaves and returns with another worker.  Worker #2 greets her in Dutch.  She bellows (very forcefully and rudely), "PARLEZ AVEC MOI EN FRANCAIS!"  (Speak to me in French!)

Worker #1 says (in English), "No, Madame.  You are in the Netherlands.  We will speak to you in our language, Dutch, or as a courtesy, we will speak to you in English.  We do not speak French here."

She says, "Je parle pas l'Anglais."  (I don't speak English.)  To which all the English speaking people in the car scoffed, because we'd listened to her have the entire previous conversation with the first worker in English.

Worker #2 puts his hand on his coworker's shoulder to get him to calm down, and says, (in French), "Oui, madame.  Your ticket, please?"

Woman (in French): "I have no ticket."

Worker #2 (in French): "Would you like to buy a ticket?  It costs 3.50."

They go back and forth in French, having the same conversation she'd had with the first worker.  All of us who speak French in the car are translating the conversation into whispered English for the Dutch speakers.  Whenever Worker #1 speaks now, he only does so in Dutch, which the Dutch speakers are translating into whispered English for all the French speakers.  (The man next to me was an Indian-origin Dutchman.)

I'm sitting there a bit dumbfounded.  I can't believe they have let this situation go on this long.  If I were a controller, I might be nice enough to give someone the chance to exit the train to buy a ticket one time.  I would not offer them that chance continually for 15 minutes.  I mean, it was clear that she was not going to exit the train...so write her the fine already and let us get on our way.

She continues on about how if the train were in France, they would not be treating her this way.  In France they...Worker #2 interrupts her and comments that the Dutch are no different than any other country in the world.  If you board a train without a valid ticket, you get a fine.  Then he politely says, (in French), "Madame, you are being very rude."

She screams at him, (in French), "No!  It is YOU who is being very rude!"

Well, all the French people exhaled an "oh la la" in disbelief, because these two controllers have been beyond gracious.  She has been nothing but rude and difficult to them.  They both leave and get the police, who come and escort the woman off the train.

As they are leading her off, she screams that she is being treated this way because she is the only non-white person in the car.  Worker #1 says something in Dutch, to which all the Dutch people laugh, except for the man next to me.  I ask him what the controller said, and he said, "He said that she was being treated that way because she did not have a ticket, and that all the white people in the car are righteous."

I asked if he meant, "in the right," because we all have our tickets and she did not.  (In French, the word "juste" can mean "just, righteous, fair, in the right," etc...so I thought maybe he was making a translation error by saying righteous.)  He responded, "No, he said righteous.  He was making a rude play on words towards us."  He was clearly offended.

So apparently...there are the same racial tensions in the Netherlands that exist here in France with the immigrants.  He stayed in a foul mood for the rest of his journey, cussing in English about how her shenanigans were making us late.  Sure enough, I checked the clock...and I was going to have to run to make my connecting train in Brussels.  I just kept thinking over and over, "I do NOT want to spend the night in Brussels!"  I ran for my life there and barely jumped on the train before it pulled out for Paris.

And so I made it home all fine with no exciting story to tell about having to spend a night in Brussels.  See, I told you.  Anti climatic.  

a summary of my time in the netherlands

October 2, 2008

When I was 25 years old, I decided to celebrate my birthday by going to Prague for a few days. It was such a fun treat that this year I thought it was time for another such treat. I've got some friends who live in the Netherlands, and since I've never been...why not head there?

Lanola asked me a few days before I went if I was excited. She figured: new place, another country, something different; surely I would be looking forward to the trip. I responded that I was looking forward to the train ride (I love riding the high-speed trains in Europe), and to seeing my friends, but as for the Netherlands, I wasn't super excited. I've been around Europe enough now that I sort of feel like everything new-to-me looks like something I've already seen.

And I'd heard all sorts of bad things about Amsterdam. Its red-light district is something the city is most well-known for. Drugs are legal there and can be smoked right in the cafes. It rains nearly all the time. Well, those three things make it a city that I just really didn't want to visit. I figured, even if I didn't see any of those things, it would be filled with irritating (to me) people who enjoy those sorts of things (sex and drugs, not rain).

Well, I owe Amsterdam an apology. It was completely not what I expected in almost any way! The red-light district is contained in one small area and does not spill out of there into the rest of the city. I never saw (in Amsterdam anyway) any sex-related anything. I never saw any drugs whatsoever. All the irritating (to me) people were nowhere to be found (by me). I only encountered extremely pleasant Dutch people.

The weather was incredible. And I mean INCREDIBLE. (It seems all of Europe is talking this week about how amazing the weather was this past weekend. I've heard from people all over, and well...it was pretty much the perfect weekend. Sunshine, low 70's, and the leaves on trees being an array of gorgeous colors.) I spent all of Saturday just wandering around Amsterdam taking pictures. I feel like all the pictures look the same: water, boats, bicycles, and pretty buildings.

The one expectation that Amsterdam did sort of meet for me was that it did look like somewhere I'd already been: Venice. Some call it the Venice of the North. I had no idea, however, that it would look like Venice--I only found out later that some call it that. I was so surprised by all the canals running all the way through the city, and how every single street was on the water. And since I loved Venice, I don't mind that another city looked like it!

I was also incredibly surprised by all the bicyclists! I knew that Dutch love to ride bikes, but I thought it would be equivalent to how the Parisians ride their bikes. Um, the Dutch love bikes like how fish love water. I have never in all my life seen so many bikes and people on them. It was amazing. A cool result of the bikes is that the city is so peacefully QUIET. While there are cars, people just don't drive them much, and when they do, they can't go fast due to (a) the narrow one-way streets lining the canals and (b) all the bicyclists everywhere who rule the road. So no traffic noise. That made this chickadee happy.

The city is also remarkably clean! I thought Paris was a clean city, but compared to Amsterdam...not so much. It seemed there was no trash anywhere! The buildings were clean. (Is that a result of all the rain or the lower amounts of traffic--no car exhaust dirtying up the buildings? I don't know, maybe both or something else entirely.) So clean and quiet and quaint...adds up for a great city, in my opinion.

I didn't get a chance to do much touristy stuff. On Saturday, it was so beautiful, and I thought I would still have Sunday to be a tourist, so I just wandered around enjoying the streets and the water. I did got to the Rijks Musuem, which is the Dutch art museum. I saw alot of Rembrandt, and two amazing dollhouses. (Click the word 'dollhouses' to go to the website and see them!) I had planned on Sunday to go to the Anne Frank House and the Van Gogh Museum, but Sunday had a different plan for me.

My friends live in a quaint little Dutch village about 15 minutes (by train) from Amsterdam. When I got up Sunday morning, they asked if I would like to take a walk through their village to see it. When I hear village, I think "small town that consists of one main street, one church, and a local market." I had no idea that their little village would be so cute! It was bigger than what I'd expected, and so quiet and peaceful. I decided to spend the rest of the day there. (After all, I do live in a major European city, which means I can go see city stuff any day I want. I cannot go sit in a village and stare at windmills across a canal for hours on end whenever I want.) So I didn't go back to Amsterdam--except to catch my train home. I guess I'll have to return again to see Anne Frank and Corrie Ten Boom's houses, and go to the Van Gogh Museum, and ride a bike, and see what Amsterdam looks like on a normal day--in the rain.

I had a mini-adventure on the way home, which I'll write about soon. Until then, stay tuned to the photoblog for pictures from the Netherlands.

Egypt table of contents

August 31, 2008

Just click on the title below to go to the post you would like to read. Some of them have links within them to their corresponding photos on my photoblog, and some of them also have links to other websites for more info.

1. Arriving in Egypt
2. First morning in Cairo--going to Alex
3. A spiritual excavation
4. The Nile River
5. Death Cab for Cutie
6. Al-Azhar Park
7. The Pyramids!!!
8. Garbage City
9. "I no bush you buy!"
10. Red Sea Rising

Arriving in Egypt

A few days before I left Marseille, I made a confession to KO over dinner: despite my having had traveled the world over and living in two Muslim countries, I was nervous about arriving in Cairo by myself. Add all the terrible stories about Egyptian taxi drivers to my notorious ability to land myself in sticky situations time and again...it seemed like a recipe for disaster when traveling through Cairo by myself in a taxi to arrive at KO's apartment.

She laughed and assured me that I would be fine. She'd ordered a meet-n-greet service to pick me up right at the gate in the airport, get me through passport control, and drive me straight to her place. They'd proven themselves reliable many times over, and she trusted them to treat me with respect.

"You'll be fine." It never crossed our minds to worry about HER.

Two days later, she flew from Marseille to Rome to Cairo. That same day, I was stuck on a TGV train that was supposed to take three hours to return to Paris and instead took six. My normal "trouble finds me" self was not surprised. I figured it was a precursor of what was to come the next day, when I would fly from Paris to Cairo.

I woke up the next morning to my cell phone shrilling me out of my first good night's sleep in weeks...it wasn't even 7am. When I saw who was calling and at what time, I thought something might be wrong.

"bettercountry--it's the Chef. (My leader from the summer.) Have you heard from KO?"
"No, why?" Fearful butterflies in the stomach.
"She didn't show up in Cairo. No one has heard from her."

He proceeded to ask me questions as my mind shot through how many hours had passed since she was supposed to have arrived, all the possibilities of what could have happened, and that I was supposed to be boarding a plane in a few short hours to go BE with her. I was sure that she had fallen aslep during her layover in Rome and missed her connecting flight...we'd both been so utterly exhausted beyond being coherent, and she had not slept at all during her last two nights in Marseille.

Two hours later, the Chef called me back to let me know she'd shown up at the American Embassy in Cairo and she was safe. It was all he knew, so it was all he told me. I would have to wait until that night when I arrived myself to hear the whole story. Needless to say, my fears about arriving in Cairo by myself were not eased. I knew my nerves would not calm down until I could see KO and hug her neck, knowing that we were both fully safe and together again.

Just as she had assured me, the meet-n-greet was there at the gate, holding a sign with my name completely misspelled. It made me smile. Mohammed spoke English and was very polite, guiding me straight over to the passport control area. I eyed the long lines and thought, "Great...another hour tacked on until I see KO." Mohammed asked for my passport, showed it to some police, and breezed us past all the lines to a window that had no line extending from it. I paid my money, they put in the visa sticker and we walked on through. I'd hardly had time to blink.

Mohammed still leading the way, we went over to baggage claim. I pointed out my suitcase and he reached down and picked it up for me, pulling it along so I just had to follow him like a shadow as he walked over to a money exchange. He had quietly placed me into a taxi van before I had any time to feel nervous or excited about being in Egypt. Within less than a half an hour, I was hugging KO's weary little neck.

We plopped down on the couches and she proceeded to tell me about her ordeal. She'd arranged for the meet-n-greet to pick me up...something no one had done for her. Her bosses assumed that she knew her way around Cairo and she'd be fine to get herself home. She assumed that someone had always picked her up before and surely, since she was arriving at 2:30am, no one would expect a single woman to get herself home alone at that hour in Cairo. Two bad assumptions equaled a bad night for KO.

With no meet-n-greet to whisk her to the front of the line at passport control, she had to wait the hour that it took for the herds to move through it. When she'd finally gotten her visa and her luggage, it was past 3:30am...and no one was there to pick her up. She sat in the airport and waited an hour while annoying taxi men were ickyflirty with her. After an hour, she decided to get some Egyptian money from the ATM, pick the least flirty taxi driver, and make her way towards a friend's house.

While standing at the ATM, some guy ran by, grabbed her card from her hand and ran off. She was so exhausted--remember, she's on her third night straight of no sleep--that she didn't react quick enough to stop him. She looked down at the 20 pounds ($5) in her hands and hoped it'd be enough to get her a taxi to a friend's house.

She pondered through which friend's house to go to. She'd never been to the apartment she and I would be staying at for our two weeks there, and she didn't even have the address for it written down. Several of her friends had moved in the year she had been gone and she didn't know how to get to their new places. The only friend she could remember how to get to was Foxy. Foxy's it was.

When she arrived to Foxy's, the driver threw a fit that KO had only given him 20 pounds, even though that's the price she'd told him before she'd gotten into the taxi. He kept screaming at her for her to give him 30, and she--KO, who never shows a negative emotion ever--declared that she didn't have 30, she'd been robbed. She didn't have any more money. She walked away to him screaming at her.

Poor KO. She banged on Foxy's door with all her might, to no avail, there was no answer. It was 6am, she hadn't slept in three days, she knew people had to be worried about her, and she had no money to get anywhere else. She had no money or phone to call anyone. And all she wanted to do was curl up on the floor and sleep. Instead, she went outside, sat on the curb and began to sob.

Some taxi drivers eyed her for awhile, this poor little red-haired, white skinned, blue eyed foreign woman in Cairo, sobbing on a curb at 6am. I think even the creepiest of taxi drivers couldn't have been ickyflirty to her at that moment. They asked her what was wrong and she told them her whole story.

"You should go to the American embassy. They'll help you."
"I DON'T HAVE ANY MONEY!!!" She exclaimed, frustrated that she had no way to get to the place they had suggested that could help her. She must have been truly pitiful at that moment, because they offered to take her for free.

And so KO ended up at the American embassy, where they sent an email out for her to let people know where she was and to please come pick her up.

Well...while I could imagine that happening to me, I'd never imagined KO going through it. She's so sweet and pleasant natured that it really didn't phase her at all. After a good bit of sleep, she was able to laugh at the whole thing. I sat on the couch, looking at her, thinking about the next 10 days to come in Egypt.

Would it all be as exciting as simply arriving had been? Hopefully not as traumatic, causing people in four different countries to go into a panic. Turns out, it did involve some more Mohammeds, some more scary taxi drivers as well as some nice ones, more getting lost, but also some of the most memorable moments of my life, with one of my dearest friends. Stayed tuned...