TravelStream™ news feed for member gracielastanley on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/gracielastanley en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Thu, 21 May 2009 06:54:04 -0400 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gracielastanley/preparations/1123694400/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gracielastanley/preparations/1123694400/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gracielastanley/preparations/1123694400/tpod.html Thu, 21 May 2009 06:54:04 -0400 AROUND THE WORLD

Jump to the full
entry & travel map

Still in the U.S, Kansas, United States

O.K guys, this is kind of a test run to see if I can figure this website out! And also to give you a brief summary of my travel plans, etc.
Today is August 10th. I leave in 6 days! My first night will be spent in Miami unfortunately, that was a must in order to save substantially on the airfare. I will leave Miami for Costa Rica on August 17 very, very early in the morning. As most of you know I spent about 9 years of my life in Costa Rica so this will be a nice easy beginning to what I anticipate will not be an "easy" trip. I will spend just under 2 weeks in Costa Rica and from there I will continue to Peru where I plan to be for about 3 weeks. My estimated list of countries to visit goes as follows: Costa Rica, Peru, Bolivia, Chile, Argentina, Brazil, Portugal, Spain, Morocco, Malta, Egypt, South Africa, Zambia, Botswana, Tanzania, India, Thailand, Malaysia, Cambodia, Australia (yes, again), New Zealand, and Tahiti. I will take just under 10 months to do all this. This is only a rough itinerary although some of those places are a definite must, Brazil, South Africa, New Zealand. Some may come off the list, and other countries may be added. That's part of the allure for me, the UNKNOWN.
Some of you may be thinking, "wow, how nice, wish I could take 10 months off from work and travel the world." Well, yes, it is nice but is has taken 3 years of diligent saving. I started saving for this trip while working at Truman Medical Center in January of 2003 and have put money away every month since. A couple of snags along the way, a foot surgery, a one-year reign as Miss Latina U.S 2004 (a little unexpected), lack of funds, etc. In other words, I planned on leaving about 6 months ago. But all things happen for a reason and now I feel as prepared as I'm ever gonna be, well financially at least. Hard to really feel "ready" mentally...ever. This seems to be one of those things you just say "I'm gonna do it" and you kind of go into auto pilot mode. And that is precisely what it has been for me. And now that I find myself less than a week away, I'm thinking..."What the *%#@* am I thinking?!" But there's no turning back folks! I'm too cheap to do that if for no other reason!
Truth be told, despite my complete and utter mess of emotions right now, I am excited beyond belief, scared (terrified really), anxious, eager, sad, happy, and so many more things I can't put into words. I hope that this will be a life changing experience (in a good way, of course) and I fully expect it to be. I can't possibly return the same Graciela that I am today and I look forward to that. I am one of those sappy fools who cries at the sight of beautiful things and whose heart beats noticeably faster when I am gazing upon one of the many incredibly beautiful things God has put on this earth. I have specifically selected places that I believe will inspire me in many ways and I have consciously picked developing nations almost entirely rather than more developed countries such as in Western Europe and such. Of course, I'm sure I will have those stamps on my passport sometime in the future as well!
I want to thank everyone who has encouraged me, helped me in so many ways to make this dream a reality, and who has stood by me despite their understandable reservations about this Journey, especially my parents. I know they will struggle to stay sane while I am gone and I will do my best to help them do just that by keeping this little travel log active on a frequent basis.
I love you all and WISH ME LUCK!

Graciela
Chela
G-Dog
Gabriella
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gracielastanley/6/1239405480/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gracielastanley/6/1239405480/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gracielastanley/6/1239405480/tpod.html Mon, 11 May 2009 13:19:56 -0400 TURKEY

Jump to the full
entry & travel map

Istanbul, Turkey

From Paris Bonnie and I headed to Istanbul. The trip was off to a real good start thanks to Swiss Air who feeds you on every flight no matter how short, offers free liquor (U.S. airlines should get a clue) and is generous with their famous Swiss Chocolate. Needless to say, we were in hog heaven (no pun intended) even in midair. 

Arrived in Istanbul in the late afternoon and began our series of transportation stints heading to the house of our Turkish host, Hakan. Found Hakan on the couch-surfing site a few weeks prior and arranged our stay in Istanbul with him. His directions were great and after a nice bus ride through the city, a walk around Takim Square and a metro ride to Levent 4 we were standing in front of Bambinos waiting for our host. He arrived a few minutes late, all apologetic about his tardiness and then took off toward home as we followed behind. That night we were treated to Turkish Ravioli (which his mother had sent him from his home town hundreds of miles away). The stuff was pretty darn good except for that it was swimming in some kind of sour yogurt which we would later learn was definitely a Turkish favorite. 

Hakan is 36 years old and an attorney. He speaks Turkish, English, Persian, Uzbek and dabbles in German in French. He is a voracious reader and a very inquisitive person. I found conversations with him were always interesting and educational. He loves hosting people from other countries and has hosted dozens of folks. So we were in good hands. 

We spent 5 days in Istanbul and I have to say that if we had to do it all over again I would have done less of Istanbul. I don't think everyone would agree but I was a little bit disenchanted with the city myself. Mostly because it suffers from the same drawbacks all large cities do...waaayyyyyy too many people (16 million in its case), pollution, dirt, traffic, insane driving habits, etc. Having said that Istanbul is also very unique for obvious reasons, being the gateway between Asia and Europe. Crossing the Bosphorus strait you can actually say you have gone from Europe to Asia in a matter of minutes. The fact that it is a Muslim country with a secular government also made Turkey a new and unique experience for us. There are many contradictions and surprises. While many women preserve traditional dress and behavior many others are more western in their lifestyle. We would see groups of girls walking down the streets together, some covered from head to toe and their friends wearing tight-fitting designer jeans and heavy make-up. It seems Turks are very tolerant for the most part and that of course made our time there a bit easier than perhaps it had been in Morocco or Egypt as two single western women traveling alone. In fact, despite the call to prayer (heard anywhere and everywhere no matter how isolated you may think you are), and obvious signs of religion and ancient tradition throughout, Turks are amazingly tolerant of non-Muslims. In fact, it seemed to be that it was more taboo to criticize Ataturk than to behave as a non-Muslim. I don't think it is an exaggeration to say that Ataturk is idolized in Turkey. He is of course responsible for secularizing Turkey's government. He is considered responsible for the fact that there is a "Turkey" at all. He had a vision to see his country among the modern nations of Europe. He is considered an enlightened despot. I was careful when asking questions about him as I immediately sensed that it was offensive to question his powers or benevolence. Indeed, I believe it is illegal in Turkey to criticize him. He definitely succeeded in bringing Turkey closer to the west as he is responsible for giving the nation the Gregorian calendar (different from other countries in the Middle East), adopting the Roman alphabet as opposed to Arabic script and also ordered that Turks use surnames which was something that had not done before. There are pictures of him in every shop, restaurant, home, etc. His face is on money, stamps, statues, you name it. In a Muslim country where idolization of any figure, especially in written/picture form is prohibited I couldn't help but find it a tad ironic. 

The old part of Istanbul, the part that tourists frequent, is called Sultanhamet. It is in this part of the city where you can find the world known Blue Mosque, Aya Sofya, Topkapi Palace, the Grand Bazaar and others. These were the ones that we chose to see and I would argue the most visited places in Istanbul. I was especially impressed with Aya Sofya, which is now known as a museum but over the course of history has been a religious temple both for Christians as well as Muslims. It was completed in 537 (created by the Emperor Justinian) and was once known as the greatest church in Christendom. Mehmet the Conquerer converted it into a mosque in 1453 and the infamous Ataturk declared it a museum in 1935. The interior of this place is spectacular and architecturally incomprehensible. Taking pictures inside was something like trying to take a good picture of an enormous mountain and it not fitting in the frame in the slightest, thus not doing the subject any justice. I was duly impressed. Aya Sofya is the most famous monument in Istanbul. The Blue Mosque and Topkapi Palace were also beautiful.  However, once again, our time in Istanbul was spent mostly in anticipation of leaving the city. We realized not long after our arrival that we were ready to move on and see some of Turkey's natural beauty, thus we weren't terribly energetic or enthusiastic in Istanbul, probably also due in part to our 7 days of nonstop tourist activity with mom and dad prior to our arrival in the ancient city. 

From Istanbul we headed to the unspectacular town of Denizli on a 10 hour bus ride that left Istanbul at 10p.m. on a Friday night. The reason for going to Denizli is that it is the base point from which to visit a very famous place called Pamukkale. We met our next Turkish host, Gokhan, at the bus terminal in Denizli. On our way "home" we stopped at a Turkish bakery where they bake this bread that I dubbed "circle bread" which you see all over the place. We bought fresh circle bread and headed home where Gokhan prepared us a delicious traditional Turkish breakfast of circle bread, tomatoes in olive oil and some kind of white cheese also unique to Turkey. It was delicious. We spent our first day in Denizli mostly napping as our 10 hour bus ride was less than pleasant (shocker), partly because we didn't sleep a wink, partly because the Turks LOVE LOVE LOVE their heaters and we were on the verge of passing out from heat exhaustion and partly because for some strange reason we were of utmost interest to the passengers around us as well as the "bus boy" who had absolutely no qualms about staring at us unblinkingly for hours on end two feet from our face. It was the strangest thing. The woman in front of us would literally turn her torso so as to shove her face in the space between the two seats and just STARE. She would occasionally talk to us in Turkish which she continued to do throughout the ride despite our obvious inability to comprehend a word she was saying. The woman behind us, an elderly Muslim woman in traditional dress (layers and layers of cloth covering her body and I swear it was 96 degrees Fahrenheit in that bus) moaned and cried for most of the ride. I have no idea what the cause of her pain was but needless to say she shared it with me and the other passengers. 

So a day of rest in Denizli was in order. When we finally woke up from our nap we spent some time getting to know our second host and I just couldn't get over how smart and warm and friendly these people were! Gokhan is a civil activist. He studied International Relations and works in conflict zones throughout the region. He had recently returned from Armenia, a country Turkey has a conflicted history with and told us about his work. I can pretty much attest that Gokhan does almost exactly what I dream of doing when I think of a dream job (other than being a host on a television travel series of course). He speaks Turkish, English and some Russian. He is humble beyond need and gracious and generous. I don't know if Bonnie and I just got lucky as we seem to tend to do, or if Turkish people all around are as kind and generous as our hosts were. 

Gokhan and his friend Umut drove us to Pamukkale the following morning. Pamukkale, which appears on the list of World Heritage UNESCO sites, is a beautiful and bizarre landscape of natural springs. There are calcium rich pools all over the hillside and unique formations called travertines that are created when warm mineral water cascades over the ledge of the pools and deposits its calcium. The hillside of turquoise spring waters in white calcium pools is beautiful enough but the region is also covered in beautiful red, yellow and white flowers, not to mention that it is the site of the ancient city of Hierapolis. Guidebooks tell you that the city was mostly destroyed by earthquakes, particularly a major one in 1334 which was the cause of the locals finally packing up and abandoning the city. However, I was impressed with the remains and I thought they were complete enough to evoke a vivid image of life in the ancient city. It was founded in 190 BC and became a cure center (the natural spring waters were said to possess many healing powers) and was an important city to the Romans and later the Byzantines. There are many, many graves, a Roman theater that held 12,000 spectators, a church, an antique pool (remodeled today of course for tourists to swim in). Negligent tourism practices have rendered the travertines nearly dry and it is now prohibited to swim in the natural waters though there are parts where you can take your shoes off and walk through the pools. Many people say Pamukkale is not what it used to be and it seems that the Turks are making a big effort to restore it. Having said that, Bonnie and I thought the place was magnificent and we spent the entire day with our fingers pressed on our shutter buttons or lying in the flower fields or wading through the calcium rich waters (or drinking beer by the pool) while our gracious hosts sat back from a distance and just let us soak it all in...

Our time with Gokhan in Denizli/Pamukkale was short but thanks to Gokhan we took an unplanned trip to a wonderful place called Butterfly Valley on the southwestern Turkish coast, near a city called Oludeniz. Butterfly Valley is secret valley hidden between two large mountains and inaccessible by land. The only way to reach it is by boat as by foot it requires a serious hike that no one does. For this reason it is a quiet place and one we had nearly all to ourselves for three days. Apparently in the summer it is invaded by young partyers and hippies alike which I can't imagine because it really isn't very big and the accommodations are modest to say the least. Lucky for us we were there in low season and aside from the very first night which we shared with three really cool Spanish folks, we had the valley to ourselves. We spent three days hiking, sunbathing, reading, hanging out in our tree house (no electricity and water only in the outhouse a hundred feet away). At night the place became downright primal and I swear I have never heard so many animal/critter/bug/monster noises in my life. I felt like I was in the heart of the jungle. When the critters would finally settle down for the night (or we became used to the noises) all we could hear was the sound of the waves crashing on the beach mere feet away, the sound amplified I believe due to the fact that we were in a narrow valley. At night I would brush my teeth with spiders and frogs and stare up at a sky sprinkled with stars. It was rough living but we were grateful for the peacefulness and the sun. On our third day, the day we should have left, we got sidetracked on our way to the bus station to catch a bus to head up north. We were packed and ready, had taken our boat ride to shore at Oludeniz and decided that we just had to paraglide in this beautiful place (Gokhan had strongly suggested we do this). Being as it was that the last bus left at 1p.m. in the afternoon and we were cutting it close, our paragliding adventure forced us to stay in the Valley yet another day (secretly, I had NO problem with this but it did cost us a visit to another ancient city in Turkey). Our paragliding adventure was absolutely beautiful. Heading up the mountain (to well over 1,000 feet) on a narrow dirt road driven by an overly confident and excited Turk, us in the back with a strange mix of pumped up Turks, Germans, Russians and who knows what else, we climbed up the mountainside occasionally catching a glimpse of the ever shrinking coast below while these crazy paragliders worked themselves into a frenzy with their portable boom-box that was blaring hardcore electronic tunes. One had the feeling we were about to hop on a motorcycle and ride like mad in one of those large spheres or something the way these guys were acting. Bonnie and I kept glancing at each other with worried expressions having an entire conversation with one another without saying one word ...  I can't believe I let you get me into yet another one of these situations (Bonnie) and me retorting I swear this was a really peaceful experience the last time I did it...

Lucky for us our Turkish pilots were very professional and we had nothing to worry about. I was first to run off the mountainside with my Turkish fellow strapped behind and once airborne it was the most wonderful feeling. Our flights were relatively short as the wind wasn't cooperating but they were beautiful and our views of the coast were stunning. We both had smooth landings after which we hopped back on the dingy to go back to our Butterfly Valley for one more night of critter bonding. 

From Butterfly Valley we caught a bus north to the city of Izmir, a very modern city on the upper west coast of Turkey. We were only there one night and we spent it at Gokhan's brother's house. When Gokhan heard that we'd be in Izmir for a night he immediately offered his brother's home (he did not tell his brother, however, that he would have two guests and so when we showed up at his front door with our backpacks, Gokhan's brother had no idea we'd be staying the night!). Something like this might seem strange to us but everyone just went with the flow and it seemed we were graciously welcomed once again. Took our first real shower in four days and slept in a warm, comfortable bed in a room where you COULD NOT hear the roosters crow like mad at 4a.m. It was wonderful. 

Next day we boarded a flight in Izmir headed for the city of Kayseri in central Turkey. At the airport we managed to talk a reluctant American couple into letting us ride with them in their rental car to the town of Goreme which is where we were all headed (overheard them talking to the car rental folks and figured we'd try to bum a ride with them). They accepted though not enthusiastically and they also accepted the money we offered them upon our arrival in Goreme. No comment...

Goreme is one of the most unique little towns I have every been to in my life. Bonnie called it Bedrock which I found very appropriate. It is a small village in the heart of the Cappadocia region in central Turkey. The landscapes are otherworldly with entire villages cut out of or burrowed into the rocky cliff sides among valleys covered in the most bizarre rock formations you'd swear could never have formed naturally. Apparently the region was discovered by the Hittites as far back as 1800 BC. After the Hittites Cappadocia was also home to the Persians, the Romans and early Christians who built hundreds of eccentric little churches and monasteries. We must have visited several dozen tiny churches that were literally caves. It was one of the oddest things I'd ever seen.  Goreme itself is a town of fairy chimneys. Picture honeycomb mountains and homes carved out of the cliff sides, valleys covered in huge rocks shaped like magicians hats that also serve as homes and today as hotels. Our own hotel in Goreme was a cave, a room carved out of a mountain. We had four days to explore Cappadocia which we mostly spent on foot, hiking throughout the valleys with our little guide map. We hiked through valleys with names like Pigeon Valley, Love Valley, Rose Valley, Red Valley and also rented a car one day (yes, we actually rented a car and drove in Turkey!) and visited the underground city of Derinkuyu as well as Ilhara Valley. Got a little lost for 3 or 4 hours but no harm done, beautiful scenery to gaze upon and wide open two-lane highway to whip along on...

We flew back to Istanbul from Kayseri and spent our last night with our friend Hakan once again, watched a movie, ate a wonderful meal and on our last morning in Istanbul we made our way to the airport to head back to France. It is worth mentioning that on the day of our departure our main man Mr. Obama was in Istanbul which meant that the entire city was up-heaved. What should have been a 45 minute bus ride to the airport was a 2 hour tram, trolley, subway ordeal but we also got to see the normally packed city of Istanbul in a very different light. The entire area of Sultanhamet was a ghost town (our trolley rode through it without making its usual stop to let people off there), thousands of policemen with shields lined the major streets and our president took a little tour of the temples Bonnie and I had stood in days earlier. Upon our arrival at Ataturk Airport we watched live news coverage of Barack gazing at the spectacular dome of Aya Sofya and we couldn't help but smile...

Turkey is not only rich in history and culture which is no secret but also unimaginably diverse, surprising and very beautiful. Minus the expected hassle or two in the big cities, its people were some of the most warm and generous I have encountered. Two whole weeks in the country and I don't think we barely scratched the surface. 
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gracielastanley/5/1237199640/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gracielastanley/5/1237199640/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gracielastanley/5/1237199640/tpod.html Sun, 12 Apr 2009 13:56:12 -0400 LA FRANCE

Jump to the full
entry & travel map

Paris, Île-de-France, France

I remember sometime in mid January sitting around the kitchen table with my folks in KC during my visit home for the holidays. Many of our conversations revolved around my time in France, my parents' eminent move to the United Arab Emirates, Wes' job quest on the West coast and also a possible trip to France for my parents to visit me on their way to Abu Dhabi. It was so much fun to daydream about their coming to visit me here, seeing my home away from home and mom realizing a life-long dream as well to visit France. 

How cool it is when daydreams and travel plans actually materialize and one day you find yourself at Montpellier St. Roch (Montpellier's humble little train station) at 9 o'clock on a Sunday night and your mom and dad come stepping off the train carrying an impressively light load (awful proud of you both for that one), your best friend is at your side sharing in your excitement and you have time to think to yourself as you walk them out of the station... "Wow. They're here. Mom and Dad, and Bonnie, they're all here, in Montpellier...with me." I am not exaggerating when I say that this was truly a dream come true for me. 

We had three nights planned in Montpellier before heading north to finish our trip in Paris. Upon their arrival we headed to their hotel, a place I procured 15 minutes from my house, to drop off the luggage and then to my home to introduce mom and dad to my French family. Darine also had her boyfriend, Yann, visiting from Paris so we had quite the house-full with Bonnie, Yann, mom and dad, and the three of us. Mom and dad sat down to a fine meal that Darine had prepared earlier that night and a welcome glass of French Red. Bien sur.

Day two was reserved for walking around the city of Montpellier. We woke up to beautiful weather and after breakfast took a walk into town. The interesting part of Montpellier is its historic, pedestrian center. Montpellier is one of the few cities in southern France without a Roman heritage. It is host to the oldest medical school in Europe, founded in the 12th century. The city has purposely been designed so as to discourage automobile use which in my opinion is one of its greatest features. A very handy tram system (basically an above-ground metro line) runs Montpellier's length and when it is raining or I'm just too tired it is also my means of transportation as there is a stop three minutes from my house. My goal was to ease mom and dad into some sort of steady walking routine as I knew that the week ahead held plenty of exercise for my ill accustomed parentals (though I hear they are doing quite well now in Dubai!). Montpellier was very handy for this training as it is relatively small (at least the city center) and also quite picturesque with beautiful boutiques, créperies, cafés, pubs, and restaurants. There are plenty of cobblestone streets and fountains and I discover new little nooks and tiny alleyways all the time, even after almost nine months here. 

Tuesday we took a drive to the medievil city of Carcassonne. I had been wanting to visit Carcassonne for some time and even turned down several invites from friends going there so as to reserve it for mom and dad's visit. Our day trip to the small city also marked the beginning--and I'm happy to report,  my continued--driving of Mounir's car here in France. I had taken the car out a couple of times before with Bonnie as my passenger for moral support and taking mom and dad to Carcassonne would be a true test as to my skills and ability, or lack thereof, to navigate my way around here. French driving is notoriously aggressive and the Montpellier's streets are equally confusing... in my humble opinion. But I did just fine... in my humble opinion.

The interesting part of Carcassonne is its old city, La Cité, which is an old walled city that sits atop a hill and from afar looks like a giant medievil castle. It is one of Europe's largest city fortifications with 52 stone towers. Once inside the city you find it is pretty much a huge tourist trap, but a charming one nonetheless. We spent a couple of hours walking the maze-like alleyways, the girls making frequent shop stops and dad taking advantage of this to rest his weary knees. We managed to buy a fair bit of pastries which were intended for our coffee break back home that evening but I believe only a few morsels actually made it that far into the day. That night we were treated to another wonderful, home-made meal by Mounir. Candied duck, green beans, wine and bread. With Yann, Darine, and Bonnie there were 7 of us in all and it was a wonderful night. The only mishap--our house cat Dawa, took a 6 story fall from our terrace balcony that night, a fact we discovered late into the evening when we finally noticed his absence (this cat is a very PRESENT creature otherwise, it is much more canine-like than felineish, always bothering, hovering, playing, darting, scratching, vocalizing, annoying, and irritating). We would find out days later (when mom, dad, Bonnie and I were in Paris) that Dawa had indeed fallen from the balcony. He is normally a very sharp cat and like all cats very skilled at climbing and tight-rope walking (a necessary talent to negotiate parts of our balcony) but on that particular day Dawa had had his manhood chopped off and was still suffering the stupefying effects of anesthesia, which of course, must have been the reason he tumbled off the side of our 6th floor apartment into the jungle gardens down below. Yann and Darine apparently spent the next couple of days searching for the lost cat, eventually finding him in a trash bin with two broken legs and one dislocated foot. At the risk of sounding callous (because I'm sure I haven't thus far) I was really glad to be missing the cat drama here in Montpellier. Suffice it to say that Dawa is a very important being in Darine's life and I can only imagine the hullabaloo around his condition in the days and weeks that ensued. Thankfullyyyyyyy, we found him like new upon our return to France just a few days ago...

We left Montpellier Wednesday morning on a train bound for Paris. Arriving around 2 o'clock in the afternoon with a fair load of crap (Bonnie and I packed for Turkey and mom and dad with their suitcases), we proceeded to make our way to our apartment. I had found an apartment in the 18th arrondissement, specifically in the beautiful and very hilly district of Montmartre. We had our very own apartment for five days in one of the most beautiful areas of Paris with Sacre Coeur and the Moulin Rouge just around the corner. We eased into our first night in Paris with a short walk to Sacre Coeur (Cathedral of Sacred Heart) which is perched atop the Butte of Montmartre (Montmartre Hill). The basilica dates back to 1873 and from it you have one of the most beautiful and expansive views of Paris (save of course, the view from the top of the Eiffel Tower). Montmartre also happens to be very touristy and some say charmless due to this fact but I think the four of us would beg to differ. Its windy, steep cobblestone streets and ivy-covered houses, chocolate shops, cheese shops, bakeries, restaurants, pubs, art galleries and overall pretty buildings make it quite the neighborhood to base yourself out of if exploring Paris. Compared to other arrondissements in Paris (districts, or sections of which Paris is divided into 20) it is not easy on the legs or knees as you cannot get from any one place to another without enduring steep, long stair climbs (a feat mom and dad unsuccessfully tried to conquer by taking one street instead of another when headed to our Metro stop). 

Our second day in Paris was probably our biggest day. We got an early start, took the Metro into the heart of the city and began our self-guided walking tour at Jardin des Plantes, a huge botanical garden that was founded in 1626, created as a medicinal herb garden for King Louis XIII. Our plan was to rent city bikes at a station there and continue our tour of the city by bike. There are hundreds of bike stations throughout the city and dad had found an article in an airline magazine about how extensive, impressive and user-friendly Paris' bike system is so we were excited to try it out for ourselves. It might well be impressive and extensive but we certainly did not find it to be user friendly. We must have stopped at 4 such stations, pushed buttons, inserted credit cards, cussed at and pounded the machine, wiggled the bicycles in an attempt to lodge them loose from their locks, and bothered busy Parisians, before finally giving up and walking. 

Most of our walk was along the river Seine which divides Paris into Rive Droite (Right Bank) and Rive Gauche (Left Bank). Most of the highlights (or tourist attractions) can be found within a relatively small area in central Paris not far from the river. I'm not sure mom and dad would agree, but we covered a lot of ground that day and after the Jardin des Plantes we made our way to the Cathédrale de Notre Dame de Paris, the most visited site in Paris. The Cathedral is said to have been the most important Catholic center in Paris for seven centuries. Its construction was begun in 1163 and it was completed in the mid 14th century. It is truly an exceptional cathedral. Bonnie and were hoping to climb the 387 spiraling steps to its dome but it was closed on the day of our visit. After the cathedral, and another bike attempt, we had lunch and then headed toward the Louvre which we found especially difficult to find for some reason. Finally broke down and bought an overpriced city map and walked right to it. I think we were winding down by this point, especially when mom literally whizzed across the 400 foot plaza that contains the world-recognized glass pyramid on her mad dash quest to find a bathroom without so much as glancing at the blinding structure. She was all business and I'm not sure she even really saw the pyramid though she could have tripped on it on her way to the toilette. (We skipped visiting the interior of the museum, my second skip as it said to require hours to even begin to appreciate its contents. Me not being a museum buff, I don't know that I'll ever actually enter the Louvre). 

From the Louvre we made our way to the Eiffel Tower and arrived in the late afternoon to the usual 2 hour long queue. After standing in the line for a good 20 minutes mom announced that she had no intention of actually going up the tower which was followed by dad's announcement that he no longer planned to if she didn't. So mom and dad headed over to a café for some coffee and Bonnie and I stayed in the line. An hour and a half later, now almost at the ticket office and through the security point I noticed a sign saying that the 3rd and highest level of the tower was closed for repair. Begrudgingly I bought two tickets for the lousy 2nd level only to turn around 3 seconds later and see a sign saying the 3rd level would reopen in two days (and we still had a few days left in Paris) so Bonnie and I decided to get our money back, which we were lucky to accomplish, and proceeded to make our way out of the insanely long line, and finally to the café where mom and dad were quite cozily drinking wine and eating pastries. We never went back. 

Exhausted we headed home to our apartment and had sandwiches for dinner which we ended up doing often and finding almost more enjoyable than eating out at Paris' fine restaurants. Bread and cheese and fresh produce are so ridiculously good in France that a homemade sandwich is a damn delight. 

Day three we left the apartment after a fresh fruit breakfast and headed out for Versailles. Versailles is not actually in Paris but about 20km outside the city. So we took a train and arrived around noon, apparently a bad time to arrive though I'm not sure there would ever be a day this place didn't have 2 million people buzzing about it. Again another long line and some confusion as to which way to head in the swarms of people. Finally found an entrance and began a 2 hour walk through the splendid halls, rooms, dining rooms, and chapel of this fantastically exuberant castle. It is the grandest castle in France, an easy-to-see fact once you lay eyes on it for yourself. It was built in the mid 17th century and served as the center of French political power for over a century. It was from the Chateau de Versailles that Louis XVI and Marie-Antoinette were dragged to their deaths by beheading. It took 30,000 workers to complete and nearly bankrupted the kingdom's treasury. 

I could go on and on, but frankly, I was just over it. I think we all were. Being a tourist is exhausting and by the 3rd day, arriving at jam-packed Versailles was too much to bear. We forced ourselves to do the cursory tour of the most important parts and then got back on a train to Paris. That night Bonnie and I treated mom and dad to a dinner of Tapas right outside our front door and then walked them over to their Friday night surprise... a fabulous Parisian cabaret show at the Moulin Rouge. This is, once again, a very touristy thing to do. From what I understand the French don't go but everyone else sure does!  I fully expected to be a little let down but the show was great and full of surprises. It included the expected topless ladies and scantily clad male dancers but also had awesome intermission acts including a contortionist couple that made you think you were dreaming, a really funny ventriloquist, and the most shocking if slightly disturbing, mermaid woman who is carried out on stage supine by two or three beefy men and then dropped into an enormous aquarium that rises up out of the floor where the stage had been just seconds before. Only the aquarium that this mermaid woman is tossed into didn't end up being filled with aquatic animals like one would expect but snakes. HUGE LONG SNAKES. Dozens of them. The mermaid (topless, of course) woman begins an underwater love dance with these serpents, grabbing one enormous serpent, rolling herself around so as to have it coil around her, quickly spinning out of its grasp and then reaching for the next one. She only paused occasionally to come up for air and the whole crowd was just stunned into silence. That was definitely an unexpected surprise at the Moulin Rouge. We had a great night and the four of us were duly impressed. 

Saturday was our day of "rest"... from each other that was. For the sake of giving mom and dad a break from so much walking and Bonnie and I a break from so much waiting we decided to go our separate ways that day. Bonnie and I went to visit the Catacombes. I don't think too many people know about the Catacombes in Paris. I had heard about them from Ryan and read a little in my guide book about them and it sounded interesting so off we went. The entrance to this underground ossuary is inconspicuous and unspectacular to say the least. You're greeted by a small plaque that warns people with heart problems, claustrophobia, or those of a "nervous disposition" to beware. Curiosity peaked, we payed our 7 euros and headed in/down. From street level you descend 130 steps and find yourself in a damp, dimly lit underground ocean of bones. In 1785, the city decided to solve its then horrid hygiene problem by exhuming the bones of the city's cemeteries and transferring them to its then not-in-use quarries. The result--The Catacombes. Several kilometers of corridors and chambers walled with the bones of MILLIONS of Parisians, all neatly stacked. During WWII this place also served as headquarters for the French Resistance. Creepy it certainly was but also really interesting. There were many inscriptions on plates and each section marked the cemetery that the bones had come from and the year they were transferred. I believe we saw some dating as far back as 1787. We read that priests use to push the carts of bones through the city streets at night on their way to the quarry, chanting prayers all the way. I highly recommend visiting this little known historical sight. Having said that, I think mom and dad were better off at the Champs-Élysées where they ended up which they accomplished entirely on their own, navigating Paris' complex Metro system like pros. It must be said that mom also surprised and impressed me with her French! For not having spoken the language since her teenage years at the Alliance Francaise in Costa Rica she does amazingly well and was told so by a few French folks as well. 

Our final day together was spent in the small village of Chartres 80 miles outside of Paris. If it hadn't been for mom I'd never heard of, much less visited, this tiny town. But mom had always dreamed of visiting a beautiful cathedral there she had learned about in school and heard about from her aunts growing up. It is not surprising that she would have learned about his place in school. This cathedral is magnificent, in my opinion perhaps more impressive than Notre Dame. It was built in the 13th century and is uniquely crowned by two very different spires, one in the Gothic style and the other Roman. Mom and dad got a treat when they realized they'd be able to attend mass inside that afternoon and Bonnie and I got a treat when we were FINALLY able to climb the spiral steps to the top of a cathedral, something we tried to do in each one leading up to Chartres and were never able to do. The long, skinny stairway takes you up 340 feet to the Clocher Neuf (New Bell Tower) and offers a vertigo-inducing, splendid view of the city of Chartres. It was awesome! You could walk the circumference of the tower the whole 360 degrees along the rim with nothing but a 3 and half foot, 200-year-old wall separating you from the abyss. We had a nice lunch and walk around the beautifully preserved center of the city before heading back to Paris on another train. 

Our wonderful week together ended sadly with the inevitable goodbye as we saw mom and dad off at the airport Monday morning. They, of course, continued on their course toward their new home in the U.A.E and Bonnie and were were beginning our adventure in Turkey that same day. We parted ways at Terminal 2 and I sobbed like a baby. So did Bonnie. Even after many international moves and long separations I couldn't wrap my head around the idea of this goodbye. This truly marked the beginning of a new chapter in the lives of the Stanley Four. We have lived together (minus dad's absences for work in Louisiana and abroad, my trips, and Wes' recent jobs on the west coast) for the last 13 years since leaving Costa Rica. Mom and dad begin a life of unknowns in the Middle East, Wes a life of his own pursuing his interests in Anthropology on the west coast, and I, after France is over HAVE NO IDEA...

Despite the tough farewell, we had a wonderful time. Mom and dad's visit exceeded my expectations. It was wonderful to have Bonnie along. Wes was sorely missed, of course. But he is holding down the fort in KC until I arrive. 
So Paris behind us, Bonnie and I marched (or flew) eastward toward Istanbul...
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gracielastanley/5/1236976500/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gracielastanley/5/1236976500/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gracielastanley/5/1236976500/tpod.html Fri, 27 Mar 2009 05:46:29 -0400 LA FRANCE

Jump to the full
entry & travel map

La Grave, Midi-Pyrénées, France

Not surprisingly, a recent trip to the French Alps has totally reinvigorated and inspired me. It's amazing what nature can do for the soul, for the spirit. Four days in the Alps and I am a new woman.

Bonnie used to work in a little town called Hope in Alaska. She was there for four summers in a row and made wonderful friends, some of whom I came to know as well. One of those friends is Jay, an American guy originally from Iowa, now living in Sunrise, Alaska who owns a white water rafting company and spends his winters skiing 7 days a week. For the last 20 years Jay has been coming to the tiny town of La Grave in the French Alps to ski its world-class mountains. This place draws serious skiers. I mean S-E-R-I-O-U-S skiers. These mountains aren't for beginners folks! But that didn't stop us of course...

As lucky chance has it Jay's visit to France coincided with Bonnie's and we planned a visit to the small town in the high Alps to do some skiing ourselves. As an added bonus, two other friends of Bonnie's happened to be visiting Jay at the same time that we were so we were 5 in the tiny one-bedroom apartment in La Grave. But we were a hell of a group! Dave and Lana are also fellow Alaskans and die-hard skiers. They're married and I don't know that I've seen many couples who are as good together as these two are. It's sick. Anyway, I digress...

Getting to La Grave from Montpellier involves a series of bus and train rides which take you through some beautiful country. I have to admit that as the last bus took us into the town itself, winding around sharp turns in the high Alps I couldn't stop thinking...."What the hell have I gotten myself into? I'm going to attempt to ski in these mountains???" Let me point out that I am NOT a skier. I had only been once in my life, in Colorado about nine years ago and the little resort we went to back then was cake-meal compared to these massive peaks. I soon realized why a Welsh friend of mine asked me a few weeks ago, "The Alps? Have you skied before, Graciela?" when I told him where I was headed for the second ski experience of my life...

Anyway, first night was easy enough. Arrived at Jay's apartment right on time and they were waiting to take us to a wonderful Indian dinner just 10 steps from our front door. Our first night in La Grave was spent feasting on wonderful Indian food, French red wine, and a local liquor called Génépi that feels like paint thinner running down the esophagus as it goes down. It was everywhere and no one takes non for an answer so you will likely find yourself imbibing lots of Génépi in the French Alps. At least it serves to warm your internal organs...

Since Jay has been going to La Grave for more than 20 years he knows the locals well and has all kinds of connections. Bonnie and I each had all the gear we needed...for free. It was awesome. Got up on Tuesday morning, had breakfast and then headed over to Chazlet, the "beginner" resort. Jay was kind enough to give up one of his priceless skiing days to come over with us and give me a lesson, help get us going. Thank God for his help. Chazlet was a great place for me to start out. Still a lot bigger and more intimidating than anything I saw in Colorado but doable I guess. It was very painful in the beginning. I think both Jay and Bonnie thought I was a lost cause. It took me 30 minutes and 30 falls to make it to the first lift! In my defense, the stupid catwalk to get to this lift is treacherous! It's a steep, narrow, ice-packed slope. I hadn't worn skis in 9 years and it showed! What a clown. If I'm honest I really didn't think I was going to be able to hack it. I was terrified. I mean TERRIFIED. Once at the lift I managed to get on and off successfully and then I really hit my stride. About an hour into my first ski experience in 9 years I was skiing! Jay and Bonnie were pretty impressed I think with my progress, especially considering how sketchy I was in beginning. Of course, I continued to pound the mountain with each butt cheek and sometimes face cheeks (did one really good face plant) but I got much more daring as the hours went by and I felt mighty proud of myself. Not as much for my skiing skills as for my courage. It really took everything I had to will myself down those mountains.

Our first day of skiing was a success. Apparently I was paralleling and turning well. We were all in pretty good spirits by the end of our day. The little cafe at the top of the mountain had something to do with that as well as it offered us plenty of wine, beer, and pizza.

It was Tuesday night,however, that I truly felt on top of the world. Jay had dinner plans at some French friends' house that evening. There were about 10 people invited and they were kind enough to have Bonnie and I over as well. The beautiful home belonged to a lovely French couple, Fanny and Reji. Our menu included pork pate, pork head (no joke, everything but the brain ground into a sort of paste), some kind of potato pastry that is deep-fried and a local specialty as well as lamb and wine galore. Everyone there was a skier of course and I spent most of the evening conversing in French with Fanny and another girl from Quebec. Several times throughout the evening I heard Fanny tell her sons that I spoke French, English and Spanish and she remarked on how good my French was. I had one of those epiphanies that night in which I realized that indeed I was sitting at a dinner table at a French person's home in the high Alps, having great conversation in a language I have dreamed of speaking for years. I'm doing it! I'm meeting great people who I otherwise never would have if I didn't speak their language! I couldn't stop grinning that evening as I contemplated it all. I was on top of the world...

The second day of skiing was even better...

We took the lift up to the top of La Meije. Oh la la...La Meije. It is the most technical lift-served mountain in the world so no secret why we were graced with the presence of truly fantastic, crazy skiers. This 7,000 foot mountain sits directly in front of our apartment in La Grave. Bonnie and I got up early and accompanied Jay up the mountain. We were the only two people there NOT wearing skis and I know I must have been dribbling out the mouth because my jaw was agape THE ENTIRE TIME I WAS ON THAT MOUNTAIN. The lift itself is super cool. A good 25 minute ride with the skiers and sometimes their dogs too. Once at the top we stared in awe at the skiers. I couldn't´t get over the fact that those crazy people were all about to fly down that mountain on their skis. I don´t know how steep it´s slopes are but riding up the lift I just couldn't´t believe people were actually skiing down it. Looked a like a beautiful death wish to me. Even more amazing was seeing several ladies in their 50s and one kid that couldn't´t have been older than 8. Wow. Bonnie and I being the adrenaline junkies that we are opted for a bowl of soup and some red wine. So what if it was only 11 o´clock in the morning???

After our visit to La Meije we headed back to Chazlet for a little skiing that was more our speed. Had a nice tranquil afternoon on my little slope with the 3 year olds and the 60 year olds. At least I was the fastest among them...well, not really actually. Some of the kids were whizzing past me.

That night Bonnie and I cooked dinner for our roommates, chicken and spinach curry and we ate and talked late into the night. A lot of the conversation was about corn (the term for frozen hard snow that is thawed on the surface by the sun so that it´s sort of slushy), or mashed potatoes (deep slush which is good unless it gets too deep), or skiing trees (skiing at 90 miles an hour through forest), or pow pow (powdered snow, unskied, deep, fresh snow), or hard pack (also known as boiler plate. Frozen hard snow, no edging, if you fall you´re going down a long, long ways). But we also talked about our views on life, travel, the human experience... I felt so happy to be surrounded by these wonderful, full-of-life people who feel the way that I do about travel and standard of living and what matters in life. Sometimes it just feels good to be surrounded by people who share a unique world view and a true passion for life. Another beautiful night with wonderful food and even better people...

Our last day in La Grave we all got in the car and headed to the town of Briançon, about an hour and half drive from La Grave. Jay has an American friend, Jane, who lives there with her French husband, Pierre and their two kids. Apparently they divide their time between the French Alps for one half of the year and British Colombia, Canada for the other. Must be rough. Jane´s house is spectacular. We went there to pick her up and hop in her car to go have one of the best meals I have had in France yet. And that is saying something. We dined on candied duck, mushroom gnocchi, French red wine and some of the most amazing desert I have ever had the pleasure of indulging in. Our view was of skiers coming down the mountainside, snow covered peaks encircling us. Briançon is the highest city in the Alps. We took a quick tour of the city and when Jane had to leave to meet her kids who were coming home from school, the four of us drove up to an old abandoned military fort somewhere in the mountains. Ignoring DO NOT ENTER and TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED signs, we made our way into the old fort and discovered abandoned barracks, graffiti covering the walls where soldiers had written messages as far back as WWI. It was spooky but really, really cool. We felt like kids running around and hiding behind walls when we thought we heard noises and finding bullet casings and hidden coves and dark stairways. I wish I had a better idea of how far back this fort dated but I know it was at least a century old, probably much older.

Once back in La Grave we went and had pizza and then took a walk to the cathedral and gazed at the constellations before heading home for bed.

Friday morning Jay and Dave were off for one of their most daring ski attempts yet on a mountain whose name eludes me at the moment. Lana opted out and instead drove Bonnie and I to a nearby town where we would hitchhike to the larger town of Grenoble to begin our journey back to Montpellier. We got out of the car, said our goodbyes and stood on the side of the road, thumbs pointed skyward and prayed for a friendly French soul to come along quickly as we were on a time schedule. Our bus out of Grenoble was leaving at 2 o´clock that afternoon. Ten minutes hadn´t gone by when a woman in a tiny Cooper with her son pulled over and let us in. We crammed ourselves into the tiny backseat that was already filled with skis and other gear with our backpacks and took off. She and her son were headed home but their town was a good distance shy of Grenoble. She told us not to worry, that she would drop us off at a roundabout with plenty of traffic were people were used to hitchhikers and that two pretty girls like us would have no trouble at all..."Urrrr...isn´t that sort of the problem?" But she was so warm and friendly as was her son that we couldn't´t help but feel relaxed and optimistic. Twenty minutes later we were roadside again, thumbs out for less than 5 minutes when a fancy sedan driven by a white-haired Swiss looking fellow pulled up. We hopped in and sped off. Turns out Swiss-looking fellow was indeed Swiss, a medical doctor doing research on AIDS and Hepatitis who spoke 4 languages fluently (not uncommon for the Swiss) and had worked all over the world but is now living in Lyon, France. Luckily for us Mr. Swiss Doctor Man drove 200km per hour and we were out our bus stop in Grenoble with 15 minutes to spare.

I must mention that both of our drivers (who picked us up on the road) were friendly and warm as were all of the people we encountered in the mountains. I continue to see a pattern with "mountain folk" all over the world. There is a genuine generosity and hospitality they seem to possess from Bolivia to Peru to Brazil to Spain to France and beyond. This trip to the French Alps was so invigorating, refreshing and redeeming in terms of my impressions of French people. We were welcomed with kindness and generosity throughout our time in the Alps and the scenery and fresh air, the skiing all served to send back to Montpellier a new and revived Graciela.

And lucky for me because two days later we would begin a non-stop 3 week travel spurt beginning with mom and dad´s visit to France followed by 2 weeks in Turkey with the Bzdok...
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gracielastanley/5/1234442700/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gracielastanley/5/1234442700/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gracielastanley/5/1234442700/tpod.html Tue, 03 Mar 2009 10:52:05 -0500 LA FRANCE

Jump to the full
entry & travel map

Bordeaux, Aquitaine, France

Considérant que je suis depuis 4 mois en France je vais essayer d'écrire ce chapitre en Français. 

Apres mon magnifique voyage aux Etats-Unis, je suis revenue en France le 16 janvier. Le voyage était long et je suis arrivée très fatigue et un peu triste aussi. Franchement, c'était tellement dur pour moi de revenir en France. Je vais être honnête, les premiers mois de mon séjour n'étaient pas facile, mais pas du tout, et j'avais peur de rentrer. Mais bon...je l'ai fait. Je me suis rendue compte presque tout de suite que je ne
pourrais pas rester à la maison sans rien faire. C'est pour ça que j'ai décidé de retourner à l'école pour un mois.
C'était une bonne décision. A ma grande satisfaction, quand je suis arrivée a l'école le premier jour, ils m'ont mis dans le niveau le plus haut. C'est-a-dire, j'ai sauté du deuxième niveau au quatrième. Au niveau grammatical c'est stimulant. Mais au niveau oral je suis à l'aise. En fait, je dirais que je suis entre les plus forts des étudiantes à ce niveau là. Et aujourd'hui j'ai fait mon premier exposé en Français, le sujet, mon tour du monde. J'ai raconté à ma classe comment était mon voyage, les pays que  j'ai visité, et ensuite je les ai montré quelques photos. J'ai eu l'impression qu'ils ont aimé l'exposé. Je me suis sentie bien. 

Bientôt, il y aura Bonnie qui viendra me voir en France! Elle arrivera le 26 février et elle restera deux mois. Je suis très contente de la recevoir. Par contre, l'avoir ici avec moi, je parlerai beaucoup plus l'anglais que  le français, récemment j'ai décidé d'essayer quelque chose de nouveau pour continuer a améliorer mon Français.
Il y a à Montpellier, un Centre de langue dont le nom est Américain center où ils font, chaque mercredi, un échange des langues. Donc, il y a des Français qui vont pour retrouver des Anglophones pour qu'ils puissent pratiquer leur anglais et, bien sur, des Anglophones qui veulent pratiquer leur Français. Je suis allée la première fois il y a deux semaines et j'ai trouvé sa sympa. Le mieux c'est que j'ai fait la connaissance des gens très motivés à pratiquer leur anglais. On se voit souvent pour faire l'échange des langues. On va boire un
café et on parle, par exemple, une demi heure dans une langue, puis une demi heure dans l'autre. C'est bien parce qu'ils comprennent parfaitement comment on se sent quand on apprend une nouvelle langue et ils ont   beaucoup de patience. Je suis très contente de connaitre des gens comme eux et j'espere que ca m'aidera beaucoup a continuer de pratiquer la langue quand je n'irai plus a l'école. 

D'autres nouvelles intéressantes...j'attends la visite de ma copine Bonnie et de mes parents! En route à leur nouvelle ville d'Abu Dhabi ils passeront par la France. Je les attends vers le 15 mars à Montpellier. On
restera chez-moi deux ou trois jours et ensuite, on partira à Paris ou on y sera pour cinq jours. Je suis impatiente de leur arrivée. Je n'ai pas eu l'opportunité de bien voir Paris alors je vais  en profiter aussi pour l'explorer avec eux. On va rester dans un appartement à Montmartre, un des quartiers le plus jolie de Paris. Ensuite, le jour ou mes parents partiront, Bonnie et moi partirons dans la même direction qu'eux mais un peu plus au sud en Turquie! Ça fait longtemps que nous voulions y aller et on va en profiter puisque nous sommes pas loin et que nous sommes ensemble. On restera là-bas deux semaines. 

On a aussi prévu d'aller en Écosse en avril. Donc, comme d'habitude, avec Bonnie je voyagerai un peu. Bien sur qu'elle ne partira pas sans avoir bien vu un peu la France. On va aller faire du ski aux Alpes et on va voyager aux alentours de Montpellier. Je la ramènerai à mes rendez-vous d'échange de langue et comme ça elle pourra être mon Anglophone pour les Français et moi, je parlerai qu'en Français...

Le week-end dernier je suis allée à Bordeaux avec une amie Espagnol qui s'appelle Laura. Elle a une amie là-bas qui est Espagnol aussi, Lilian. Lilian travaille pour une Enterprise qui export du vin. Donc, elle connait bien les vins et on a bu de très bon vin! En plus, les deux filles sont vraiment sympa et je me suis régalée a fond! On a fait la fête... beaucoup! C'était super. Et en plus, j'ai eu l'opportunité de connaitre une autre ville en France. 

Quand je suis revenue en France, j'étais nerveuse mais maintenant je me sens mieux. Heureusement j'ai commencé à faire la connaissance des gens Français et ça va mieux. Bientôt, la météo s'ameliorera et on pourra faire du sport et aller a la plage. Récemment j'ai acheté des patins et j'ai trop envie de patiner, de faire du vélo et tout simplement d'être dehors! 

Et voila, voici mon premier chapitre en Français. A la prochaine...

ENGLISH

Back in France. 

Wasn't easy to make myself come back here. My visit home for Christmas and New Year's was wonderful. So good in fact I was seriously tempted to stay home! If I'm completely honest, the first half of my stay in France was very trying. More trying than I expected and I was tired in more ways than one when I went home last December. 

But I did in fact return and I am glad that I did. Montpellier was quiet and cold when I arrived. The winter here in southern France isn't quite as warm as one would expect. Most of my friends from school had already left France to return to their native countries. So it was lonely in the beginning. I decided to re-enroll in school for one month. Not as much for the French itself but to simply have something to do, a reason to get out of bed each morning. Much to my surprise I was placed in the highest level upon my return. There are four levels at the Alliance Francaise. When I finished last December I was in the second (the first level being for complete beginners and the fourth for the most advanced). I am now finishing that month of school and I can even say I find it to be a bit slow-paced for me, at least the oral part of the class. Our time in class is divided up each day between grammar for the first half with one teacher and oral practice for the second part with another teacher. The grammar continues to be very challenging. I don't know that I'd find it agreeable if I was French! Even the French themselves remark on its difficulty. So in that respect I am certainly challenged. The second half of the class, however, is actually boring. I am convinced that my living and interacting with French folks on a daily basis has really been an asset to my progress when it comes to speaking. I notice a huge difference in my fluency as compared to other students who have been here the same amount of time but who do not live with French folks. I am also very aware that knowing Spanish as well as English has helped me immensely. There are many similarities between Spanish and French in terms of verb conjugation and also gendering nouns and such. Tomorrow is my last day of school! 

We now have a new roommate. Much to my chagrin, Marie Odette, the young lady who was living here with us before, decided to move. I miss her. She was a great roommate and a cool girl. Though we stay in touch. This week our new roommate, Darine, arrived. She is French, moved to Montpellier from Paris and brought her cat...also much to my chagrin. 

She seems sweet. She is beautiful, the daughter of a Tunisian mother and an Egyptian father, she is exotic and quite striking in my opinion. She is also teeny tiny, like Marie Odette so I continue to be called La Grande (The Tall One).  Anyway, besides our new feline roommate-Dawa-I am happy to have her. The cat has also taken a liking to my room for some reason and I swear I may accidentally leave my window open one day (we are on the 6th floor of a condominium) and I can't be held responsible if Dawa takes a flight...

About the second week that I was back in France I had a small sort of epiphany in which I realized that I needed to make a drastic effort to make more friends here, particularly French ones (no small feat). And I set out to do just that. I have started going to a place called "The American Center" which sounds very official but is just a little school sort of place that helps foreigners find jobs as au pairs, language schools and also offers English classes to French folks and such. Every Wednesday I go spend a few hours there doing a "language exchange" where a few folks sit around and drink tea and practice French and English. French people who want to improve/practice their English and of course, those of us Anglophones hoping to improve/practice our French. It is pretty helpful. Sometimes it's a bit chaotic as you have a large group of people trying to communicate in a language that is not their own. Sometimes it is a downright riot. It's fun to see the French folks argue amongst themselves about a particular rule, or how to explain something to us and vice versa. There are many differences of opinion naturally. The British folks explain or translate things in ways sometimes that I wouldn't for example, since our English is different from time to time.  I have made a few language partners at the Center as well so I meet on a regular basis with a few of the French folks for coffee and we practice outside of Wednesdays at the center. My goal was to find French people to continue to practice with when school ended as I cannot afford anymore school! 

The other reason I will not continue going to school is that my best friend in the world, Bonnie, is arriving in one week! Bonnie will be here in France with me for 2 months. We are planning a trip to Turkey in late March for a few weeks and the rest of our time will be spent between Montpellier, my stomping grounds, and also hopefully some other parts of France. I am also anxiously awaiting a visit from my parents who are making a stop-over here in France on their way to their new home in the United Arab Emirates. If things go according to plan they will be here in mid March. We will spend a few days here in Montpellier and then 5 days in Paris. My folks then fly to their new home and Bonnie and I will be on a plane to Istanbul. We plan on spending a couple of weeks in Turkey and we are both very excited! Of course Bonnie won't leave without seeing some of France so hopefully we will have the time and money to travel around here a bit as well. As of now we do have a couple of trips planned, one being to the Alps for some skiing before the season ends very soon, which also means GOOD-BYE WINTER! Thank God. J'en ai mare!! Sick of it!
After Bonnie's departure I will only have about a month left here in France. 

All of a sudden I have that feeling that time is passing super fast. And in a blink, this sejour in France will be over. So far it's been a hell of learning experience, as per usual with travel. I feel a great sense of accomplishment. I think I am developing thicker skin! I don't know if that's a good thing or not but hell, won't hurt later in life I suspect. Always good to be humbled, to be reminded to keep you feet on the ground from time to time. 'Course, also good to let them lift off the ground from time to time and to soar in the clouds a while...to enjoy life a fond...C'est la vie. Elle n'est pas facile mais elle merite etre vecu...

Next installment should be a little more interesting I hope with stories from our upcoming trips...A Bientot! (Till very soon)P.S. Oh yea...took a wonderful weekend trip to the city of Bordeaux, a region well known for its wine. Spent the weekend with two AWESOME Spanish girls, one my friend Laura who is living here in Montpellier and the other Lilian who has been living and working in Bordeaux for a couple of years. Drank wonderful red wine and had a blast. 
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gracielastanley/5/1227530520/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gracielastanley/5/1227530520/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gracielastanley/5/1227530520/tpod.html Sun, 30 Nov 2008 11:02:36 -0500 LA FRANCE

Jump to the full
entry & travel map

Brussels, Belgium

One of the rare things that is cheaper in Europe than in the U.S. is air travel. Not always. But it is possible to fly very cheaply with discount airlines from country to country throughout Europe. One such airline is Ryanair and I recently took advantage of this and took a long weekend trip with friends to Belgium, Luxembourg and Amsterdam. A round-trip ticket from Montpellier to Brussels cost me less than 90 dollars!

Monica, Kelly and I flew from Montpellier a couple of weeks ago to Brussels where we picked up a rental car at the airport (VW Golf Plus, very nice car) and headed straight for Luxembourg City. I didn't know much about Luxembourg except for that it is tiny, shares borders with three other countries (France,Germany, Belgium) and that it is supposed to be freakishly clean. If I'm honest I have to say I still don't know much about Luxembourg except that it is populated mostly by French, that it's damn cold and that they actually have their own language called Luxembourgish. French and German are also official languages. Apparently Luxembourg has a highly developed economy with the second highest GDP per capita in the world.

More importantly--to me anyway--about Luxembourg is that it was the first place I ever tried "couch surfing:"

This is going to sound strange to some of you, I'm sure but it's one of the coolest things I've discovered lately! Couch surfing is a network of travelers on the Internet who create profiles and offer their homes/couches to other travelers who are traveling through their city. And...it's free. Sounds sketchy? Yeah, I thought so too but as it turns out it is a wonderful idea and I have heard nothing but wonderful stories from anyone who has ever done it. I learned about couch surfing from friends here in Montpellier who had tried it before. I went on the website, read about it and created a profile. Before heading to a city, you contact people who live in that city who are available to host you. Not everyone offers their home. You can also offer just a cup of coffee and a chat if you don't want to receive people in your home or you can't. You tell the host when you plan to be in their city and how many of you there are. We got very lucky and found hosts in both Luxembourg City and Brussels though we did not find a host in Amsterdam. There were four of us total (for part of the trip and three for another part). Three of us in Luxembourg City. People are encouraged to rate their stays and give people reviews so you can read others' accounts of their experiences with the person you are considering staying with. You can see pictures and of course also write a review about someone, good or bad.

So we hopped in the car in Brussels around three in the afternoon and took off but not without the help of a very important friend who was INDISPENSABLE throughout the roadtrip...Richard! Richard is the American male voice on our GPS. I know I'm going to sound a bit out-of-date to some of you but I had never used a GPS before this trip. Oh my God, it's incredible! Sitting in the parking lot at the airport in our little Golf we hooked Richard up, plugged in the address of the house we were headed to in Luxembourg City and off we went. He talks to you, tells you where to turn, what exit to take, when to turn around (this he did a lot). It was so much fun! It was about two hours to Luxembourg City from Brussels. When we arrived we were greeted by Yoann, a 28 year old French guy living in Luxembourg. As it turns out, Yoann had 6 other roommates, all French guys living and working in Luxembourg. We spent our first night eating pizza, drinking Belgian beer and hitting a local English pub (what else) in the city center. It was great fun. They were really nice guys and we were all impressed with the condition of that house considering it was occupied by 7 males! And one lady who never leaves her room, apparently. We stayed with them for 2 nights. Spent the following day walking all over the city. To be frank, I was very cranky and tired. It was VERY cold and I finally broke down and bought a coat. It is a very beautiful city. Luxembourg is tiny (only 52 miles across!) so we really only needed that day to see it. We headed back to Brussels on a Saturday morning with Richard's help. In Brussels our friend Juliana met us (she flew in 2 days after us) and explored Brussels for an afternoon.

Again, I had no idea what to expect. I knew nothing about Brussels. But like good tourists we sampled all of Belgium's best...the beer (very good), the waffles (yummmmm) and the chocolate (ohmygoddddddd good).
Our second couch surfing experience was had in a super nice apartment shared by a really sweet couple. He was Portuguese and she Hungarian. They cooked us a beautiful salmon dinner (for four strangers don't forget) and we drank wine and talked late into the evening.

The next morning it was off to another city in another country. Amsterdam. I was the most impressed with Amsterdam. I have always wanted to visit. After all, there is no city like Amsterdam I believe. My visions of Amsterdam were of a seedy city. Dirty, grungy, perhaps dangerous. Not at all! It is beautiful! Even the infamous Red Light District is actually pretty. Bizarre, yes. But so picturesque. The first thing I should mention about Amsterdam is that you SHOULD NEVER TAKE A CAR THERE. My God. Parking is a nightmare. I guess they are really trying to discourage vehicle use and they do a damn good job of it. Parking is nearly impossible to find and outrageously expensive. We spent most of our first afternoon looking for a place to park the damn Golf, all the while Richard yelling at me to turn around. Turn around. Turn around! I was ready to throw him out the window! Did I mention I was the sole driver? Not that I minded it at all. I loved it in fact but NOT IN AMSTERDAM. It cost us about 75 dollars to park our car for about 36 hours. Yeah. Amazing.

What Amsterdam does have plenty of is bicycles. Everywhere. Bicycle traffic like crazy. It is the primary mode of transportation. There are lanes for bikes, traffic lights for bikes. They are king on the roads of Amsterdam. We took a day tour of the city and hit all the major points like the Red Light District, the "coffee shops" and the canals. Our Canadian guide explained a bit about the history of the city, how it came to be so liberal. I am ashamed to say I don't remember too much. I was a bit cranky still. Yes, I was a bit cranky throughout the trip. I was tired! Pretty much there is a laissez-faire attitude on the part of the government about such things as drug use and prostitution. Soft drugs by the way. Marijuana and Hashish are actually not legal but they have been "decriminalized" thus, for all intensive purposes they are legal. You do smell it everywhere you go and there are nearly 200 "coffee shops" in Amsterdam. But things are discreet. And that is the name of the game in Amsterdam. Most anything is tolerated when done discreetly. The Canadian told a story about a friend of his who apparently found himself very inebriated one evening while out with friends. He decided to relieve himself on the street (this is not unusual in Amsterdam, there are little posts called "Urinoires" on the sidewalks so people-men rather-can relieve themselves) but this guy was three sheets to the wind and mistook a police patrol car for one of these Urinoires. He was taken to the station for urinating on the cop car. I guess the next day when he was released from jail, the police handed him back the contents of his pant pockets which he had had to empty the night before. "Here you go sir. Here are your keys, your wallet, oh and your pot." No joke!

Interestingly, the Canadian says that the coffee shops are mostly frequented by tourists, not so much by the Dutch. And Amsterdam is 7th on the list for the most marijuana use in Europe. Spain and France are at the top. So I guess it being "legal" doesn't encourage it as much as one would think.

So there's your European Drug education 101.

We spent our two nights in Amsterdam in a decent hotel that was centrally located. It was pretty nice except for that we heard rats or mice, I don't know which, all night. Or rather I heard them because apparently I am the only person on earth who never sleeps! Been struggling with some serious insomnia lately. Woke up at 4:15 on a Tuesday morning for the 4 hour drive back to Brussels where we boarded our plane back to Montpellier.

Despite how much I resist that sort of whirlwind travel we had a great time and I was pleasantly surprised by all three countries. I also really love driving on European highways, especially when I am driving a German made car. I don't think we could have made it without the GPS. Though at times it was a love/hate relationship with Richard I have to admit we would have been so lost without him!

It's hard to believe that I have traveled as much as I have and had never heard of couch surfing before. I will certainly continue to take advantage of this wonderful idea throughout future travels. I can't overstate how nice it was to have an actual home to return to at the end of an exhausting day of traipsing about a city seeing the sites. Not to mention the great opportunity to actually get to know someone who is local, who can tell you where you should go, what to be careful of, that sort thing. Couch surfing is done by people who love to travel so they appreciate other travelers and this makes for some awesome hosts. I really hope that someday I will be able to return the generosity of some of these people to other fellow travelers.

Next trip...Kansas City, for some good ol' family time. So looking forward to seeing my family, eating my mother's wonderful food and I hope stocking up on some much needed love so I can return to La France invigorated and ready to tackle the second part of my journey here!
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gracielastanley/5/1224523560/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gracielastanley/5/1224523560/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gracielastanley/5/1224523560/tpod.html Thu, 06 Nov 2008 17:07:42 -0500 LA FRANCE

Jump to the full
entry & travel map

Montpellier, Languedoc-Roussillon, France

The Stinkier the Cheese, the Better

A few weeks ago I took a trip to the small village of Roquefort a couple of hours northwest of Montpellier. I was invited by an unusually interesting American couple who are both students at my school. I met Julia in my first class, the beginner class. She and her husband Steve are here in Montpellier for a year, as Steve is working for the French government as a biologist doing research on what makes penguins sexy. Yeah...I know. In fact his work is not done in Montpellier but on an island somewhere not far from Antarctica that apparently belongs to France. Julia is an artist and after several hours in the car with them I learned that they are both former Fulbright Scholarship recipients, have traveled the world and are both university professors back in the states, she at Emery in Atlanta, he at a university in Alabama whose name escapes me.

The drive to Roquefort was gorgeous, quintessential rural France as one pictures it. Beautiful mountainous landscapes of limestone broken up by rolling hills of vineyards and farms scattered with tiny, tiny villages through which run a single road. You enter each village suddenly and unspectacularly on a narrow road in a tiny European car and 14 seconds later you've left it behind!

But I digress...STINKY CHEESE. So Roquefort cheese is essentially Blue Cheese but because they were the original creators only the cheese made IN ROQUEFORT earns the merit of the name. It is made in caves that were naturally created in the town millions of years ago when a mountainside basically collapsed creating naturally ventilated caves with a very specific temperature and humidity level essential for the acculturation of Roquefort cheese. Because production only takes place from December through June we were not treated to the all-powerful smell the village is said to possess when approaching it from the outside! We went on a tour through the caves which was of course in French (most the "tourists" where indeed French) and at the end we were given the opportunity to sample and, of course, purchase some Roquefort. I did not agree to the trip for the cheese's sake to be completely honest and I only put a morsel of the "mildest" one in my mouth out of sheer adventurous spirit. And it is one hell of an adventure. Bleck! It's rotten! I'm sorry Frenchies but it is!! Yuck.

French refrigerators stink. In my experience, all of them. Though I think I am being treated to an especially stinky "Intoxicator" as my friend Juliana calls the one here, chez-moi. Mounir, I am sorry. But he has been storing stinky cheese in the frig for some sort of party that I feel will never come. He told me weeks ago that the stinky cheese was for his stinky cheese party and I really wanted to say..."Serieusment Mounir, I will NOT go near your cheese." I don't know what kind of masochistic party the Frenchies are going to have but I hope I am never invited to a stinky cheese party. Good God. The entire house is filled with putrid fumes for ten minutes each time the intoxicator is opened!

Ahhhh...the Lack of Public Restrooms Coupled with French Rudeness...What a Combo!

This last Saturday Mounir, his daughter Ines, my friend Juliana and I took a little day trip to the coast. Specifically we went on a little hike guided by Mounir's friend Greg whose family comes from the region, a lovely biological reserve along the coast in a city called Villeneuve Le Maguelone. There were about 25 people and we all walked along the coast in this park type area. There is a cathedral and a small cafe surrounded by vineyards all belonging to the cathedral. The walk was lovely. Didn't understand merde that Greg said but enjoyed the ocean breeze and the French company, the family atmosphere, except that Juliana was not feeling too good. Nothing severe but a bit of a tummy ache. After a couple hours of walking we both needed a bathroom. I was not hopeful as we were in the middle of nowhere essentially and finding a bathroom even in the the city is a challenge. We walked into the cafe with Mounir while the group waited outside. I had a suspicion when I walked into the cafe that what actually unfolded would indeed unfold. I led the line and marched briskly toward our destination marked "Toilettes" at the back of the cafe, Juliana and Mounir following close behind. I was almost home free when the woman, presumably the owner (she was the only one working in the place), called out unpleasantly from the table where she was serving some drinks to a couple (the ONLY people in the entire place).

"Eh, eh, eh, where are you going? Where are you going?!"

Mounir answered for us, the obvious..."Au toilette", of course.

"Non. Non. Non. The bathrooms are for the customers," she asserted as she made her way toward me in case I dared ignore her.

Conasse.
(I should mention that I was relieved to find that the group outside found this as appalling as we did).

The Chinese Medicine Man

Travel is a great excuse to try new things, not just any ol' new things...but things you just think of doing at home...

Over dinner weeks ago Marie Audette and Mounir were discussing her studies in Chinese Medicine. This was a while back before I understood jack but I tried to follow nevertheless. Mounir was recounting a story to Marie Audette about his visits to a Chinese Medicine Doctor whom he now visits with some regularity after the first session was apparently a celestial event. I listened with curiosity as Marie Audette also explained a bit about the practices within the discipline, massage, acupuncture and "psychological assessment" we'll say.

To make a long story short, I agreed to go to Mounir's doctor, Christophe. I had completely forgot about this little rendez-vous until yesterday when Mounir reminded me that we had our appointments with the Medicine Man today. Did I mention that acupuncture is part of the deal?

So today after school I came home for a quick lunch after which Mounir and I hopped in the friend's old beater (Mounir's old beater is temperamental and only runs on certain days of the week) and headed to the town of St.Bauziere de Montmel to which we arrived in the manner that I described above, all of a sudden after 87 roundabouts, each separated by about a kilometer or two of narrow two-lane highway. I should also point out that during this 45 minute car ride the metropolitn area received the Amazon's annual rainfall. The Medicine Man's house is his office which I am under the impression is the norm in France, to go to the doctor really means to go to the doctor's (house).

I went first. I stepped inside the "consult" room and sat down at the doctor's desk. We talked for about 20 minutes about my medical history. He asked a lot of questions, mostly in his broken English and I answered in my totally broken French. This alone was interesting enough...you have to understand that the tone of the meeting was very emotional in nature. It seems that the doctor who practices Chinese medicine seeks to explain physical ailments as manifestations of an unbalance in good and bad energies within the person, of an emotional nature. Me, I wanna feel good. Healthy. I want my energies to be balanced. Hell, I'm listening, I thought as he spoke about things that I had never really considered before. Was interesting to say the least. Interesting soon turned to embarrassing as he invited me to step up onto the table where I should lay down, but not before taking my pants off.

Next thing I know I am supine on the table wearing nothing but a sweater and my underwear. Oooohhhhkayyyyyy...(side note: I had been told in advance that I would be in my skimpies but I'd conveniently forgotten that part. Strangely, though, the Medicine Man did not exit the room as I disrobed. He just typed away on his computer. Double side note: In France this is not terribly surprising. Nudity and the human body in general simply don't carry the sexual connotations they do back home. I mean to say that though this was uncomfortable for me I did not feel it was inappropriate in France).

He began at my feet with a quasi-massage, more like pressing real hard in certain key spots that provoked rather intense discomfort but I tried to close my eyes and breathe...because after the pressure pointing "massage" I heard the needle tin (side note: not to worry, sterile needles, one-time use only) and I crinkled my eyelids even tighter and braced myself whilst trying NOT to tense my muscles which I figured would only serve to make it worse. Each needle was placed in its specific place with assertive precision and to my relief was not really more than a very brief prick. It was the specific and somewhat delicate placing of the needles that was making my heart race. I did not look but I believe I counted a total of 10 needles on the first go-around, two in each foot, two somewhere below each knee and one in each wrist, the inner part, where the pulse is. The latter was the most unsettling for me. Something strange was happening in the left wrist the entire time. Something strange, though subtle, is felt when they are in place. A mild electric awareness if you will. I was doing O.K. except that I was dying to look but trying with all my might not to at the same time. While I lay there with my eyes closed to the tunes of Chinese Medicine music I suddenly heard Mounir in the hallway holler the Medicine Man's name rather urgently. He excused himself and headed out to the front hallway while I lay waiting on the table in my underwear with ten needles sticking out of my body. I stared at the ceiling and resisted the urge to laugh. Don't ask me why but I kept fighting the urge to burst out in cackles. I don't know if it was nervousness with the utter stillness or the absurdity of the situation in general but I really wanted to bust a gut. In fact I would have if not for mortal fear that the sudden tensing of my muscles might cause some fatal reaction and Christophe would return to find a stuck Costa Rican/American girl in her underwear lifeless on his table...

It was during this brief recess, while Christophe searched for pots and pans to catch the deluge that had begun to come through his roof in the other room, that I LOOKED. Only for a brief moment, maybe 3 seconds and only at my feet. Not my hands, just my feet. Sure enough, there they were, bigger than expected and quite erect all over my feet and lower legs.

Christophe returned, took the needles out, did some more pressure pointing and asked after each removal how I felt. Fine, I thought, and I wondered, what should I be feeling?

"I would like to work on your back, please," he said.
"Now you want to stick needles in my back then. Bon. Ca va."

I did as I was told, turned over on my back, took the sweater off and exposed the derriere side of my bright pink polka-dot underwear (side note: that is not a joke for added comic effect, it's the unfortunate truth). I received a nice massage and then more pricks.Again Christophe was beckoned outside and I lay there, this time more comfortably pondering the present. I had a sudden itch on my head. I tried hard not to scratch as I feared the effects of bringing my arm up from my side to my head. This would naturally flex the muscles in my back and I was trying really hard to be still as a cactus. I couldn't take it and I scratched. No pain but an unmistakable awareness that there were needles stuck in my back when I performed the required movement. This time when he removed the needles, he gasped with the removal of one in particular. He asked if I was alright, if it had hurt when he removed it.

"Nooooo...euhhh, should it?"
"No, but are you sure? You don't feel anything? Are you O.K.?"
"No, I really don't feel anything. Why? What happened back there?"

Apparently that muscle was very contorted and something had indicated to him that a lot of negative energy had been released with the removal of that particular needle. Hmmmm. Well, good. That's good. Get that crap out of me!!!

I'm going back in two weeks...

Grocery Shopping in France

...is a hell of a lot more exotic than I expected it would be. It's one of my favorite things to do in France (indeed shopping of any sort has been very satisfying). We have had two major grocery shopping trips since I've lived in my new home. Mounir and I get in the car with our 6 enormous plastic bags (you must buy grocery bags at the store if you do not have your own) and head to the store which is located in the middle of a shopping mall. I have to smile when we pick up our shopping cart in the parking lot outside and then wheel it half way across the shopping mall to the grocery store. I love stepping foot in that place! This last time around we started in the duck entrails section. No lie. I mean they don't call it that but that's what it is. Maybe I should say the aviary section. Freezers full of foie gras ( I only recently realized the hideous cruelty involved in making this culinary treat: apparently the duck is force-fed through a tube until the point it bursts and then we eat the liver!) I know. Sick. Though I have no doubt we do sick things to animals at home too before we eat them. Anyway...pate, foie gras, chicken feet, you name it, it's there.

The fruits and vegetables section is beautiful with every exotic plant you can dream of. I'm surprised to see things like carambolas and plantains and chayotes (sorry, don't know the English OR the French names of these things) but they come from the tropics and needless to say have the prices to prove it. But it's still fun to see them. The wine section of the store is enormous as you might expect and wonderful. That's the ONE cheap thing in France that is really good! The wine! For less than 6 bucks you can get a really good bottle of wine.

Currently, among the "normal" food items we also have in our intoxicator: frog legs, various duck parts, stinky cheeses, various pig parts in the shape of sickly sausages that are apparently a delicacy (called saucisson in French and actually very Spanish, the pig parts that is), goat's milk, duck meat swimming in duck fat (delicious).

I keep thinking about those frog legs. One of these fateful days...I'm going to be eating them for dinner.

I Was Invited to a Stinky Cheese Party

And I'm so glad that I was! Fourteen French people were our guests for dinner on a Friday night where the theme was stinky cheese and wine. The cause for celebration was the birthday of a close friend of Mounir, Caroline. We had champagne, wonderful wine, CHEESE, figs, grapes (needless to mention that grapes in France are amazing). Little did I know that I was being graded but apparently I passed the test with flying colors. The Frenchies were very impressed with the American who tried ALL the cheeses even when their very presence in the room made you nauseous...I later heard that some of the cheeses had been too strong even for them! That made me damn proud. It was a great evening and a wonderful insight into French culture and socializing.

I have since also attended a crepe party which was much less intimidating from a culinary standpoint and oh so much more gratifying...from a tastebud standpoint. Wonderful. I even helped with the preparation and must say I was a pro! Points scored with the Frenchies once again I was told. Not bad.

Entering my tenth week here in France.....
-I can comfortably encounter a French speaking person without fear of not being able to communicate.
-I have friends I will dearly miss when I leave this country.
-I have been blessed with the warm and extraordinarily generous person that is Mounir, my roommate.
-I continue to be overwhelmed with the lessons in self discovery and growth that traveling teaches.
-I am beginning to understand the complexity and wonder of living in another culture, and the very interesting chance it provides to examine, appreciate and study my own.
-Je suis vivant.

]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gracielastanley/5/1222784460/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gracielastanley/5/1222784460/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gracielastanley/5/1222784460/tpod.html Sun, 12 Oct 2008 03:19:35 -0400 LA FRANCE

Jump to the full
entry & travel map

Barcelona, Catalonia, Spain and Canary Islands

The last couple of weeks have brought many changes. Good ones, too!

I've waited so long to write it's hard to know where to start.

Trip to Barcelona. It was wonderful. Took off early on a Saturday morning with Assiel. Has to be at the train station around 7 in the morning for what would be a 5 hour trip across southern France and into northern Spain. The scenery along the coast was so beautiful. It didn't take long, even while still in France, to see the "Catalunian" influences as we neared the region of northern Spain. I had heard that Catalan is spoken in Barcelona, more in fact than Spanish, but that seemed strange to me. In fact it's true.

As per usual for me in France, this trip too got off to a rocky start. Approaching the Spanish border a group of "immigration officials" came around each car to check everyone's passports or other proper travel identification. Naturally, I did not worry as I had my passport with me and to my knowledge had not done anything illegal...yet.
But when the officer looked at my passport I could tell he wasn't finding what he was searching for. Finally after flipping through the pages several times he asked me where my stamp was. Great. I should have known. I had forgotten that in fact the man in customs at the airport in Paris had briefly looked at my passport and handed it right back. The whole exchange took about 6 seconds. I thought it strange that he did not stamp it but at the same time, European countries are funny this way and I believe (based on my limited experience thus far) inconsistent. Not wanting to create problems for myself or piss the Frenchie off I gladly took my passport and proceeded through the doors. You will remember that I had also just watched my Romanian/French airplane friend get pulled aside and her luggage disemboweled for all to see. I wanted no part of that hassle.

Anyway, I tried as best I could in toddler French to explain that I too thought it strange that I did not receive a stamp but in fact, as he could plainly see, I did not have it. By that point I was sort of over all this b.s. if you will. He kept insisting about the stamp and I finally said, "O.K., I don't have it. We both agree on that. So now what? What dammit? What do you want me to do?!" Faced with this question, a direct question demanding a direct answer, he finally quit nagging, handed me back my passport and said simply, "Good luck in Spain. I don't know if they will let you in."

You can imagine how pleasant the next hour and a half were waiting for the confrontation with the Spanish immigration men. I don't know if I got lucky, if the Frenchie was full of merde, but I had no trouble. Perhaps it helped that I finally SPOKE THE LANGUAGE! They noticed my Spanish name and didn't ask any questions. They were friendly, more than I can say for their colleague on the French side. I don't know what awaits me during future travel outside of France, however...

Anyway, didn't have much trouble finding the hostel which was centrally located in the city. Did discover, however, upon arrival that I may be getting too old for hostels. The lack of space (3 cubic feet in which to set your enormous backpack down, get dressed, get undressed, prepare for you shower, hang your wet towel to dry, and generally move without having to be lying down in your bed), the utter lack of privacy and most especially of comfort and cleanliness. Not that all hostels fit this description but this one did. The staff and fellow travelers where friendly, however, which makes a huge difference. I'm afraid I may have really put little Assiel out of her comfort zone. She had never stayed in a hostel before. In fact, her recent trip to France was her first experience outside of her country of Kazakhstan. I tried to explain, in toddler French, of course where we would be staying while in Barcelona. She certainly liked the sound of the price and so she eagerly agreed. When she realized that the people we'd be sharing our room with were of the opposite sex she seemed a bit overwhelmed but she took it in stride. In fact the only thing she complained about was the fact that we were sleeping on mattresses from 1952. I agreed. She was a good sport.

We spent part of our time in Barcelona with two French girls who had driven down (one of whom I know from here in Montpellier) and the rest of the time (the better time) just the two of us walking around the city, shopping and visiting the Parque Guell, crafted by the famous architect himself. It is a beautiful place, a hell of a hike to get there from the subway stop, but awesome. Had a great day there. Barcelona is beautiful, much bigger than I imagined and has the wonderful laid-back vibe characteristic of beach side cities. I hope to return as there is a lot we didn't have time to see, in particular the Sagrada Familia Cathedral which is said to be impressive.

The trip was short even though we played hookie and missed a day of school to go. Assiel has since left and I too, have moved!

In order to find another place to live I had joined a website here that connects people looking for roommates and apartments with people who offer both. For a couple of weeks I had no luck. The website is entirely in French which is very intimidating when navigating it while considering which humans to live with! Eventually I worked up the courage to actually send a few emails to a few people I thought looked promising. I believe I sent four. Only one responded. That is where I am living today and I couldn't be happier.

My roommates are two wonderfully interesting people. Mounir is 44, of Algerian origin and has lived in France for over 20 years. He is a university professor in Avignon and teaches human geography. He is working on a post-doctorate, speaks fluent Arabic and French, understands and speaks good English and some Spanish as well. He is divorced and twice a month his 10 year old daughter, Ines, is with us. She is 10 going on 20, very bright and sweet as can be. I have only met her once but I can tell she is a cool kid.

Marie Audette is 31, recently arrived to Montpellier from the north of France and studying Chinese Medicine at a school two blocks from where we live. She is laid-back, smart and very kind. Her parents emigrated to France from Portugal and she is bilingual, of course. She is pleasant and someone who I can tell is very easy to get along with.

The first time I met Mounir I brought a French friend named Olivier along to help me communicate and, just in case, be a bodyguard...you never know. I told him what I knew about Mounir from the website (I had learned a bit about him as people can post a profile about themselves on the site). Olivier thought the location was good and that it sounded promising. We visited with Mounir for well over an hour and when I left I knew in my heart that this was where I would be and beyond that--that it might well be because of this living situation/experience that I end up actually STAYING in France. Today, one week later, I am convinced of it.

They are both somewhat eccentric and very interesting. Mounir loves to cook, dance and travel. They both love conversation and we live as a family, not as strangers occupying the same space. I feel a collaboration and sharing of duties that I really enjoy. And the best part of all...the FRENCH. Nonstop, never ending, exhausting, brain-exercising, French all day, every day. I am forced to speak and to listen. I am amazed in a week (perhaps it's a product of the entire 5 weeks in France) how much more I am understanding. We have lively debates and daily conversations about our day and I am following more and more. If only my mouth could reproduce what my ears are starting to understand! There are days I feel I am moving backwards, like I have a knot under my tongue that's tied extra tight. Other days, for whatever reason, it flows--riddled with errors and mispronunciations--but it flows.

Learning another language as an adult is a challenge one can not truly appreciated until you experience it for yourself. My respects to anyone who does it. It is humbling, exasperating, exhausting and enlightening. I am discovering that I am here to learn many things, beyond French. This will most likely be the greatest lesson in patience and endurance that I have ever had. Not surprising at all that once again, a journey outside my own country and comfort-zone, has brought me so much more than what I expected and hoped for when I set off. Of course, the unexpected goes both ways...both bad and good things I never dreamed I'd encounter or experience. The fact that it has only just begun excites and terrifies me in the same breath. It has not been an easy 5 weeks. I have been challenged in more ways in 5 weeks in France than perhaps during months of travel in Africa or South America. I also know that in a wink this journey will be over and I must relish and appreciate it while it lasts...the bad times and the good.

I continue to go to class every day. I can't say I am always convinced of the efficacy of the school, their program and its methods, especially after one particular, truly unbelievably shocking encounter with its director, who I am now convinced is medically insane. That knowledge, which came to me in the form of an epiphany one fateful afternoon after class, has actually helped me cope much better with things that baffled and frustrated me before. I resist going into detail as I may become unpleasant, even violent. But suffice it to say that I attend an institution that is run by someone who may very well not be fit to live in society, let alone run a language school for foreigners.

I will stick with the courses until the end of November (unless perhaps said person discovers this website in which case you should all fear for my safety) and then, in early December I anxiously await a visit from Ryan!!! We will spend 10 days in France between Paris and Montpellier, maybe a bit more, time permitting, and then we will both fly back to the U.S. together. I am coming home for Christmas and New Years! I will return to Montpellier to finish out my time. How I will spend that time I do not know but I will have to find something to do with myself as living here, or anywhere for 5 months without working or studying will be painful. I'm sure I'll come up with something.

A tout a l'huere...
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gracielastanley/5/1220897220/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gracielastanley/5/1220897220/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gracielastanley/5/1220897220/tpod.html Mon, 15 Sep 2008 07:28:29 -0400 LA FRANCE

Jump to the full
entry & travel map

Montpellier, Languedoc-Roussillon, France

So I didn't quite get the welcome I was hoping for. I suppose I was off to a bad start when I barely and I mean barely made the train to Montpellier. Thought I gave myself plenty of time in Paris to get to Gare de Lyon, one of the major train stations in Paris. The problem was that once I got there, the ticket I had purchased online required that I queue (that's British for get in line) for about 30 minutes to get it printed. Just as I finally reached the counter literally 5 minutes before the train actually departed from platform 19 (about 200 yards away), the man tells me that I am at the wrong company's ticket counter.

"What?" I mean "Quoi?!!"

He made a big to-do about doing me the grand favor of printing it off anyway and then told me to run like mad. Which I did with all 50 pounds on my back (lucky for me I was traveling about 10 pounds lighter!). I ran like mad the whole length of the train while the train men cheered me on. I kept trying to sneak on a car (why not just get ON the damn thing and then walk back to my car) but oh non! NON. NON. NON. Not in France my friends! Finally, when the train actually began to roll, one of the train men waved me on. It's never taken me that long to catch my breath!

I had had the manager at the hostel in Paris phone the school director, Madame Le Roux, to have her tell the family that I would be arriving a day earlier than planned. However, no one was there to greet me when I got off the train. I wandered about like a desperate person and tried to make myself visible, exaggerating my lost look but...to no avail. I finally sat down outside in front of the main station and waited.

An hour later I realized I had to face another sad reality...my family was not coming. If they had come, somehow we'd missed each other. I tried to make phone calls with the useless phone card I had and finally walked up to a taxi driver, now not having to try at all to look desperate and pointed to the address on a piece of paper. I asked him how much the house. "Dix euros," he says. I pondered this a minute while he ran to another car and pulled out a map. He began to explain to me that it was not far, less than a kilometer. Another young taxi driver approached and they talked amongst themselves about how I was lost, that I spoke English, blah, blah, blah. Now, this is the part where usually I've been lucky in the past. This is when the taxi driver was supposed to say, "Hey, no problem, I'll take you. Let's make it 5. It is after all less than a kilometer away."

Clearly, it was not to be. Obviously I was incredibly naive to believe that one of these frogs might actually be so kind as to help a pathetic damsel in distress. As the first taxi driver continued on with his explanation of how to get to the house, I began to cry. Yep. Once again, France has stimulated my tear ducts like nowhere else!! I took the map from him and headed down the street, sobbing all the way. I didn't even care what I looked like to people. I just cried and cried as I walked, pausing at street lights to consult the map.

Luckily, it really wasn't too far. A couple of turns and fifteen minutes later I was there. Not that this mattered to me much at the time. I arrived at 22 Rue Marceau and stood in front of a huge, wooden double door on an enormous concrete building. The house is on one of those typically tiny European alleyways where only one car fits and others park on the sidewalk. Mind you, European cars. You'd never get an Expedition in these alleyways!
I looked at the doorbell, there were about 6 names and 2 of them had the last name I was looking for so I picked one and pressed the buzzer. A lady answered in French and I said "Allo, bonjour. C'est Graciela." She jabbered something else and buzzed me in. I actually had the right house.

Immediately I was in awe at how old this building was. But from the outside you would never know people actually live on the other side. The doors are enormous, 20 feet tall and solid wood. The locks are old, requiring one of those huge keys that look like toys nowadays. A petite blond woman, fiftyish, opened the door and just started yammering away. I knew it was the right house because she kept saying she had been at the train station. I told her when I had arrived and we went back and forth about it but to this day I'm not sure what the confusion was.

She began to give me the grand tour. An excited Golden Retriever with a sweater in his mouth followed us through the house. The house is huge. Every room has a minimum 20 foot ceiling. I can tell that at one time it was a grand maison. There is a courtyard off of the dining room, the equivalent of our "backyard." She showed me to my room and on the way I thought I might forget how to make my way back out. You must go down a very narrow stairway that has a dungeon-like feel. Then you make two turns, past a "rec" room with a pool table and a television (which I have never seen turned on) and another room that was to be the other student's and finally you are at my door. I was very pleased to step inside that room. It is quaint and cozy. The windows are open and toward the top of them (again the window frames are probably 8 feet tall by 3 feet wide) the outside is visible and sunlight pours through creating a very nice atmosphere in my room. There is a small desk with a lamp to do my homework and a walk-in closet with a dresser inside of it. Better than I expected. And most importantly, FINALLY, a place to unpack, settle-in and not be a "traveler."

Dinner is served at about 8p.m. each evening except for Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays when Catherine works until late and we eat at about 8:30 or 9:00p.m. Hell would freeze over before Mr.Verine would actually prepare dinner. Unlike the typical French mother/woman, I don't think Catherine is a fan of "le cuisine". She doesn't particularly like to cook. This, I'm told is unusual and according to the director of my school, Ms. Le Roux, my French mom is lucky to have a man that puts up with this. Lucky indeed!

Despite her lack of enthusiasm for the cuisine I am not displeased with the meals. They have all been good and dinner time is probably the best lesson in French culture that I get all day. I watch them carefully and try to mimic their etiquette which I assure you is no simple thing. When in doubt, I ask and I recieve enthusiastic instructions on the correct way to do things. For example, never put a piece of bread with cheese in your mouth that you would have to bite off. In other words, tear the piece into a ladylike bite size morsel and THEN place it in your mouth, no tearing off your bite with your teeth. Cheese and bread are served after the main course which I love. There are usually 3 or 4 to choose from on the platter. Some of are the special French sort that have been fermenting and percolating for months full of "aroma" and taste. I have not convinced my palette to appreciate these yet and usually stick to the safer, cleaner looking types. I do love the cheese. Red wine is served every evening although I notice that only Mr.Verine and I indulge in several glasses. Catherine always drinks water and a part of me senses perhaps she thinks I should too...Cognac is only for the men according to Frederic (you can imagine my thoughts on that) and fruit or yogurt follows the cheese course if you so choose. You never put cold food on the plate with hot food as we learned when Aciel dared to try to put tomato salad on her plate with her au gratin potatoes and sausage. This attempt brought a quick reaction from Mr. Verine who advised she should never "mix" the hot and cold foods on the plate. Okey dokey. I realize this probaby sounds a bit hoity toity and silly but I sort of enjoy their strict love of the art of eating. They don't take it lightly and being such a foody myself I sort of appreciate this deep "appreciation" if that makes any sense.

My family is old fashioned. They love classical music and it reverberates throughout the house on a daily basis. One day upon stepping out of the shower I thought I was hearing the radio tuned to a classical station. On my way to the courtyard where I was headed to sit in the sun and let my hair dry I passed the living room with Catherine seated at the piano playing away. I oohlala-ed a lot and told her I was impressed which I think pleased her. She told me she wants to quit her part time job because she would really like to practice 4 hours a day. That was not a joke.

There are some quirky contradictions, however, when it comes to all this etiquette and sophistication. France seems full of irony and contractions to me. Despite the fact that I must make my best effort not to touch the cheese with my hands when I am cutting it (this is not easy), Hudson freely pokes his jowels up on the table at every mealtime. This dog gets away with murder and his food plate along with Tweety's, the black cat, are washed and used in the same places as human plates. Not eating things in the right order is punishable by death but lighting up a cigarette at the dinner table and puffing away while non-smokers finish their meal is acceptable.

A woman would be seen as totally easy if she was to accept a man's advances the first time. She must make him try and try again to win her affection. Anything short of this is seen as unladylike behavior and strongly frowned upon. But extramarital affairs are supposedly extremely prevalent. That's not to say they are any less so in any other culture. But it's the "appearances" and their importance that strikes me here. Women on average are especially beautiful. They are always well dressed and much effort is put into what they wear and the way they look. It's the same for men...which is the part that's new to me. Men appear to actually enjoy shopping...even with and for women. It is not unusual to see a man in a lingerie shop, a shoe store, a women's clothing store. I've seen a dozen men buying femenine things and no, not for themselves.

First day of school involved a test to ascertain our level of French and place us accordingly. I knew within seconds of looking at this test that I would be placed in the lowest level possible. It was a purely written test and it asked that we write in the past and future tenses, both things I have completely forgotten. I finished rather quickly and sat for quite some time while other students who could actually perform the instructed exercises wrote and wrote. As expected I was placed in the very beginner class. There are students from all over the world, lots of South Americans which surprised me. A few Americans, thought not many.

By the second or third day of class it became apparent to me that I was a bit too advanced for the class and I think the teacher/director agreed. I have been transferred to the next level which is a bit challenging but I feel it will be better for me than the first class, even if I feel a bit exhausted trying to keep up. The entire class is conducted in French. No translation. This is actually a very good method of language instruction but it is challenging and tiresome.

Class is every day from 9:00a.m. to noon. Aciel and I leave the house at about 20 till and walk to class. I love starting the day with a brisk walk. Indeed school is probably the best part of my day. I am so anxious, if impatient to learn but at times I feel I am facing such a daunting task, even an impossible one. French is not an easy language to learn. It is immensely helpful that I speak both English and Spanish as both share many commonalities with French. I would be lost without the Spanish I think! But even so, it is very, very difficult. I have my doubts that I will be able to achieve the level I was hoping for in the amount of time I have allotted. Time will tell.

At the end of my first week here in Montpellier I have finally made some friends, and French ones to boot! Well, some British but some French as well. It's sort of a long story involving a chain of acquaintances but it all started with a young English bloke named Gareth that I met in Paris the first night I was there. He had a friend, Nick, who is living in Montpellier and through Nick I have met some local French people as well. Last Friday night I went out with a rather large group all of which were French people. This made me very happy. Most of them spoke English to a degree and a couple were kind enough to patiently speak to me in French and listen to my toddler babble. They were very nice people, young professionals and some students. My hopes that there are nice French people in France are slowly being redeemed!

This last Sunday I attended an enormous fair where there were stalls of all the associations/clubs/groups in the city that one might be interested in joining. I found information on yoga classes as well as a photographer's club. I was amazed at the size and variety of cultural activities and groups in the city. It was pretty cool. I am hoping that through a few of these I can also practice French and meet new people. I am also eager to find other activities to take up my time other than school, reading and napping. Nine months of that will get old really quick.

Alas, in the last few days I have started to feel some semblance of belonging. Well, that's pushing it, perhaps not "belonging" but at least not complete isolation.

In other imortant news, I have also decided that it is in my best interest to seek out another place to live as soon as I can. Fellow students and friends have been telling me all about the arduous process of finding what they call a "collocation", where a group of students/young people (younger than me usually) live together and rent out rooms in a house or apartment. It does not sound easy to accomplish but it does sound worthwhile. For one thing it will be much cheaper and I would prefer to live with young people. Though my family has been kind and I enjoy the family structure of dinners, it is pretty much only at dinner that I feel a part of the family. I feel more like a boarder than anything else. Perhaps my understanding of the cultural exchange was incorrect. From the sound of things, many people host a foreign student out of need, perhaps more than out of an interest in the cultural exchange aspect of it. Not what I had hoped for. With any luck I will move out in the next month or two. Have already made contact with a few people who might also be looking for "collocation" mates, now it's just a matter of finding a maison!

So my time in Montpellier has been good in comparison to my time in Paris. The city is very charming. I especially love it at night when there is still plenty of life buzzing in the cafes and restaurants if a little less hectic and fast paced than it is during the day. I feel as though I am staring into one big traffic circle that looks pretty fun but I am still on the outside wanting to jump in and be part of the flow. I sense that once I am, it might be very pleasurable indeed.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gracielastanley/5/1220457660/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gracielastanley/5/1220457660/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gracielastanley/5/1220457660/tpod.html Sat, 06 Sep 2008 15:33:02 -0400 LA FRANCE

Jump to the full
entry & travel map

Paris, France

Left Kansas City with a knot so big in my throat I truly felt asphyxiated. Leaving was especially hard this time. I think I was and am more nervous about this journey than I was before my trip around the world. Doesn't really make sense when one considers the complexity and size of that trip compared to this one. My journey around the world took me to twenty countries, most in the third world, often far from any means of communication with the "modern" world.

I can't explain the fear and anxiety I have had prior to this trip but I think it has something to do with the knowledge that this journey will require a true immersion into another culture which is so much more work than a fly by night visit to the touristy sights of a place. I knew that the language barrier would be a new challenge for me and one that I in particular, have never really experienced or truly appreciated. Someone has always spoken English or Spanish in almost every place I've been. In particular, I knew that this culture and its people, the FRENCH would present complexities and challenges unlike anywhere (save perhaps Morocco). I spoke to many people who had been to France, lived in France and I've been reading novels by expatriates who found themselves living in France. All of this planted a considerable bit of anxiety in me. How tough are the French going to be? Good God, is it really going to be that hard?

Well...I believe now, only three days here in Paris that indeed, IT IS.

After standing at the baggage carousel for what felt like an hour my red backpack finally made an appearance causing an audible sigh of relief from me as I was beginning to wonder if it would. I met a Romanian/French lady on the flight who I forced to be my friend. She would be the first French encounter I would have. A bit dry but genuinely kind, she slowly came around to take an interest in my well-being, or so I have told myself. She kindly offered her cell phone and told me that even though she lived outside the city, I was welcome to call if I needed anything at all. "Cool. I have one Frenchie's phone number and I haven't even touched ground!" I thought.

Excitedly hurtling my stupidly heavy backpack onto my back and then expertly maneuvering the second pack onto my chest, adjusting the straps so as to distribute the 60 pounds as comfortably as possible, I headed toward Customs. Suddenly, out of nowhere my new French friend was at my side, remarking on the "scant" size of my load compared to hers, "Look. You have such leetle. Me, I have too much and I only holiday for tree weeks."
I wanted to say,
"Yes, but you probably have nice French man to pick you up outside and drive you to your chateau where he will kindly unload your golf clubs and numerous bags and duty-free items (of which you purchased enough for an army) and I am about to attempt a formidable journey of subway rides and changes in Paris' huge metro system after which I must follow some rather complex instructions to walk to my hostel."

Just as we were making our way out through Customs a man in uniform calls her over to inspect her things, I supposed. I hesitated for a second or two and then thought, hell we're not that good of friends. I better mosey on before they ask to tear through my things which let me just say are not quickly rearranged once they've been sorted through in my complex backpack. I smiled at the customs lady who stared coldly back at me and made my way to the automatic doors and out into the receiving area where dozens of people waited for loved ones.

Since my French friend had made an effort to wait for me back at the luggage carousel I decided I should do the same and wait for her. Maybe, if the Gods are smiling on me today, she would even offer a lift or at the very least some help with finding the right subway line to head into the city, something I have been anxious about for weeks.

I planted myself in a spot by the doors where I could see her inside whenever airport personnel stepped through a side door. I could not see very well but could tell that little by little with each each new opening of the door that the poor woman's things were being taken out of her bags and spread out on a table. I felt bad for her. I felt worse for me as the weight so carefully distributed on my shoulders and back was beginning to make me light headed.

I waited for nearly an hour. When it became apparent that my flight friend was not going to be emerging from the grand automatic doors anytime soon, I reluctantly decided it was time for me to continue on with the inevitable, finding my way to the Metro and getting on the RER B toward Paris.

After about 30 minutes of walking around in circles and generally touring all levels of the airport I worked up the courage to utter my first toddler-like words to a bored looking airport official to ask where the hell freaking RER B was?!!

Apparently it was in the complete opposite direction of where I had been going. Perfect. A mile later I found the RER line and fumbled with the ticket machines while an impatient French man behind me kept asking me if I was going to be done buying my ticket anytime soon. Jerk. As if I was purposefully taking my time exploring the many ticket options or something. Damn machine wouldn't take my Visa card!

Finally with my 11 Euro ticket in hand I found my way to RER B and boarded. About half an hour later (during which I was stared down by some hip-hop wannabe chick who caught me inadvertently looking at her while she screamed into her phone at someone I felt deeply sorry for) I got off and boarded my second train which would deposit me at exit Laumiere where I could finally begin my walk.

I accomplished all this and actually walked, or rather tiredly stumbled, into St. Christopher's a little past noon. Nearly three hours after touching down qt Charles de Gaulle I was at my hostel, my home for the next five days, a place to relax, to unpack, to sleep and finally, above all TAKE THE DAMN BACKPACKS OFF MY BACK!!!

But ohhhh non. Non. Non. Non. It was not to be. Hostel policy-NO EARLY CHECK-INS. The little blond at reception informed me I was welcome to put my backpack downstairs and check in at 2p.m. "Where should I take my backpack?" I asked not seeing any "downstairs."

A bored and "I can't be bothered with the likes of you," look on her face, she wordlessly pointed. A little stunned and frankly hurt by her attitude I turned in the direction of the finger and found the stairs. I pushed open a heavy door and found myself inside a dark basement with about ten snoring backpackers sprawled out on benches obviously waiting for the same thing I was...2 o'clock.

I dropped my packs on the floor next to the only open bench area between someone's grubby socks and another's head and lay down. As if I had been waiting for this opportunity for hours and finally found the silence and "solitude" to do it I began to cry. Hard. I cried and I cried. Why? I don't know. Mostly thinking I could be home with people who love me, who wouldn't snap at me and give me dirty looks. Where I wouldn't have to carry my essentials on my back and where if I chose, I could cry in my own bed without smelly feet stranger right next to me.

Hours later, checked in and showered I realized my bed, bunk H, did not have an outlet or a reading light as did the other 7 in my room. This was unacceptable. I was excited to take advantage of the free Wi-fi and of course knew I needed that light at night so that I could read, my only source of comfort wherever I go in the world...my books. Reluctantly, I headed back down to reception to face blondie. I was given a new room, 108. Walked into 108 and found myself in an empty room with 8 beds! Wonderful. Unpacked, called home, called Ryan, got online. I was delighted. EXHAUSTED but delighted. Skpye is a wonderful internet tool that lets you make international calls for next to nothing. I was so pleased to have my computer with me (normally, I never travel with expensive electronics) and my music, the net.

Day two in Paris. Tuesday. I decided to join the free walking tour offered by a company in the city who sends guides to Parisian hostels to pick all of us "youngins" up and take us on a tour of the city. The tour was led by an Aussie named Peter, a wonderful tour guide as it turns out. We spent the afternoon, about forty of us, following Peter around from site to site. Standing outside places like Notre Dame, Pont Neuf, Champs Elysees and the Grand Palace among others we listened to Peter tell stories about their past and importance. He was enthusiastic and knowledgeable and I truly enjoyed listening to him. I stayed close to him as I wanted to be able to hear well and found out that he had moved to Paris, following his Vietnamese girlfriend so that she could pursue her studies in Fashion Design. Peter had been working in Vietnam in counter-human trafficking and was working on a Masters in International Development. Naturally I was very interested in hearing about his experiences.

After the tour was over and we all tipped Peter (the catch of course, not really "free") I headed off toward the Eiffel Tower with a Chilean kid and two Brazilian guys I had been trying to "interpret" the tour for. We walked endlessly it seemed to reach the mighty tower. We arrived, took some pics and I had to be on my way as I was meeting someone on the Pont des Artes at 4p.m.

Hadley is a girl from Kansas City who is studying Art and Fashion in Paris. I got in contact with her because my lovely hair dresser, Amber, gave me her number just before I left the States. I had spoken to Hadley the day before and she kindly invited me to join her and her fellow students for a little orientation they were doing on the bridge. Apparently, in Paris, a school orientation involves a meeting aboard a beautiful old bridge straddling the river Seine with Champagne. I was nearly an hour late but found a group of folks huddled on the bridge speaking in English. I stopped and stared like a crazy person hoping one of them, namely Hadley, would spot this strange girl, without a glass of Champagne in her hand, and suddenly yell, "Graciela!" No one of course did this so I finally tapped someone on the shoulder and asked if Hadley was among the group. She pointed, Hadley saw me. I wanted to hug her and cry as if she was a long lost friend but managed to keep my composure. A few minutes later, Champagne in hand, Hadley and I were sitting on the bridge chatting. We talked about our love of travel, she about her love of Paris, its difficulties and many idiosyncrasies. I told her about my not-so-friendly encounters thus far and my feelings about how hard it seemed to understand the people and feel if not accepted, at least not despised. She smiled empathetically and assured me all foreigners feel this way. Give it time. It will get better. Paris is a wonderful city.

Beautiful it certainly is. I was in jaw gaping awe walking the streets earlier that day. It felt like one gigantic outdoor museum. Not only are the historical buildings and sights beautiful but everything is. The tiny cafes, boulangeries, the endless secret alleyways, the shop fronts, the lampposts, the very chic women and men confidently scurrying about the streets or on their motor bikes. It feels as if one is an extra on a movie set. It's painfully romantic, not a place to experience alone I might add. It was truly thrilling to find myself standing in front of such iconic and world recognized buildings, the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre, images I have seen all my life in pictures and books and now I behold them in the flesh.

Hadley had to continue her apartment search and I was exhausted and anxious to return to the hostel, particularly to pee. Public restrooms are not a dime a dozen in these parts. I made it to the Metro and headed back. On my way I thought about the city, my first day here and felt rather accomplished. It had not been easy, far from it, but I was here on the subway (the right one) and things were looking up.

My room is on Level 1 of the hostel which is actually Level 2. As I walked down the hallway I noticed a young girl sitting outside my door on the floor. Great, I thought. Lock is still broken. The handle to our room had not been working properly since I arrived the day before. There is a key card to get into each room. You wave the key in front of the metal piece above the handle and then turn it. The key worked but the handle had slowly been deteriorating since I arrived as each person to come in jiggled and jimmied it like mad trying to get in.

"Door still broken," I said.
"Someone is on their way up to fix it," she replied.

I told her it had been a bit of a problem since I arrived. We chatted for a little while until the repair man came around with his tools. When we were finally in I turned toward my locker, a cage like contraption under each bed which each person had their stuff in, preferably under padlock. Pretty standard in hostels. On the floor I noticed some random articles of mine, small things, an earring, a hair pin. I thought it was strange but only when I looked directly at my padlock or rather where my padlock should have been did the dreadful, sick feeling creep up from my stomach and through my chest and throat. Padlock--gone. I hurriedly pulled the cage out from under the bed and knew immediately that I had been robbed.

Five minutes of OHMYGODing later I was sobbing, my hands on my head. I felt truly ill, my ears were ringing, my heart pounding, my knees felt weak. For the second time in little more than 24 hours I was crying helplessly. The repairman was trying to talk to me in French but I couldn't even hear him over the ringing in my ears. He left and was back with a girl from reception. Other girls from the room trickled in and one by one began to find they too had their padlocks broken.

I have told this story now so many times I am sick of it, quite literally, so in a nutshell...

Our door had been broken for some time. Several of the us in the room, including myself, had mentioned it to the staff but nothing had been done about it. Because the bathroom is not inside of the room one needs to go in and out with some frequency and this required that we leave the door propped open with a little brick, which looking back on it had always been there, an indication that this problem was older than we thought.

At around 1:30p.m. two men walked in off the street and found their way onto the first floor, a Female Only floor. They struck gold when they found one of the 12 doors propped open with a small brick. They went inside our room armed with some contraption that allowed them to break open our padlocks. It appears that they started with mine and also took their largest loot from my locker. My laptop, my iPod, money, camera, computer accessories, the smaller of the two backpacks and some clothes. The only other person to have lost substantial things was Stephanie, a young girl from Australia traveling with her friend, Lei Lei, also from Australia. Stephanie lost her passport and her U.S. visa which she would need soon to enter the U.S. to study in Santa Barbara. I lost the most, nearly 3,000 dollars worth and of most concern to me all of the sensitive information on my computer as well as pics I can never recover.

I spent the next two days dealing with this matter. We had a heated meeting with the hostel director the next morning in which I clearly explained my expectation to be reimbursed for my loss as it was the responsibility of the hostel to keep us and our belongings safe, something they failed to do. I was not encouraged when the meeting was over. The director, a French man, was not particularly apologetic. He mostly seemed concerned for himself and worried about the personal repercussions. I spent Tuesday evening at the police station making a report with the help of a lovely Irish girl who works at the hostel who translated. It was surreal to be sitting there at the station being interpreted for rather than doing the interpreting myself. The woman who made the report and the people at the station in general were the kindest I had come across since my arrival. That was also ironic and strange to me.

I was reimbursed for my five nights, of course. I did not pay for another meal at the bar that was part of the hostel. I was moved to my own private room with a working door and eventually, after some negotiation, was given over 1,500 euros (over 2,000 dollars) for my stolen things. I became something of a celebrity at the hostel and the staff treated me with pity and kindness. I think they were hoping I would keep my mouth shut about the incident and not go scaring the other backpackers. Last I heard Stephanie was making trips to the Australian and American consulates to try to get her travel papers in order. I don't know why but they looked over my passport and driver's license. I had both of credit/debit cards on me (in a stroke of luck). We know that it was two men because the hostel has surveillance cameras in the hallways. I actually saw these men which was eerie and upsetting. Side note--the American consulate is real piece of work.

Despite the fact that I have traveled the world, mostly in third world countries and have never been robbed before, I feel fortunate. Though I never saw this coming, much less in France, a modern European country, I know it could have gone much worse. I was not robbed in person, thank God. And the hostel certainly did not have to do any of what did. They were, for the most part, gracious and helpful beyond what they needed to be.

The next couple of days in Paris were enjoyable if uneventful which was fine by me. I spent the evenings with two girls, one from Melbourne, the other living in Brighton, England. Was nice to have the company and someone to share dinners with. The food in France has been good and I haven't had a bad glass of wine. However, as expected, it is VERY expensive, especially in Paris. A trip to the Eiffel Tower by night was just amazing. It is lit and every hour on the hour there is a light show during which the entire structure comes alive with dazzling blinking lights. We went to the highest level allowed and I must admit I was very uncomfortable. It felt like being on a mountaintop with the cold wind and drizzle, only it was less reassuring than a mountaintop since it swayed slightly in the wind (they say it sways up to 7 feet at the top. I swear I felt it). I missed Ryan terribly during that visit to the tower. Next time...with Ryan. Definitely.

I awoke yesterday morning, September fifth and boarded a train to Montpellier a day earlier than planned. To be frank, I was quite ready to leave Paris. I do not have any grudge against the city per se and I am excited to revisit it and see its wonders in depth but for now, something smaller, perhaps less intimidating and impersonal is in order. So at 11a.m. I am on a fast train to the city that I will call home for the next few months, Montpellier. Fingers and toes crossed for some better luck and anxious to meet the people I will call family I set off for the next phase of the journey...living and studying in France.
]]>