Amsterdayumn (Or Bob Marley on Loop)

So once upon a time Jennifer Richard (from high school who’s teaching in Strasbourg through the same program) asked me what I was doing for the upcoming holiday and I told her I didn’t believe that there was a holiday and that I thought she was lying to me so that I’d miss school and have to make up the hours so that it wouldn’t be reflected in my paycheck.  Then I went to Lyon to visit Katelin and found out that it was the truth.  So, that Sunday night, I booked my EasyJet flights to and from Amsterdam.  Since it’s easiest to go from Geneva, I made arrangements to go from that airport (crossing my fingers that the grève, which I believe is still ongoing, wouldn’t interrupt anything aka the train schedule).  My flight would leave at about 6:30 in the morning on Thursday, which would be impossible to access were I to sleep in Belley Wednesday.  (We’re not in London anymore where transport at any time of day/night is plus ou moins a dream.)

            So, I emailed Flo to ask if I could lay my head down on Wednesday night and then on Saturday night (since my flight would get back at 8pm).  I didn’t hear back until Tuesday afternoon just after I had started looking up hostels to crash at for the night before.  Luckily, Flo called just after I had started looking at the first one and told me that she had been diving in Egypt and had just arrived back home, but would be delighted to have me stay for those days.  Sweet, sweet success.

            And so I found a train to get me to Geneva around 7pm on Thursday night.  I took the bus to the train station and was surprised to find the station closed at 4pm on a Wednesday.  I shouldn’t have been, though.  I looked at the opening hours for the gare and found that it’s closed far more often than it is open.  I actually doubt that I’ll see it open again before the close of this year.  So, I had to wait outside from 4:20 until 5:56 until my train arrived.  Naturally, as always happens when I am waiting at Virieu le Grand, a small troupe of philandering teenage boys showed up to do whatever it is that they do for a while.  What it is they do is smoke and, this time (because I was in for a holiday treat) was pee on the platform.  I guess it was alright since it had been raining so you couldn’t tell what liquid was what.  But I’ll know forevermore. 

            5:56 rolled around and no train.  Tick tock tick tock until 6:56 when the train decides to show up.  But since it’s so late at this point, I don’t know if it’s the train I want to Genève or the train that everyone else on the platform wants to Chambéry.  I frantically asked someone coming off and he told me it was Geneva.  Hopped on and let the show begin.  I looked at the display once on the train and saw that it said that the train was en route to Annemasse.  Hmmm.  Not right.  So I asked what about Geneva and some lady was like, way way way at the front of the train.  So I walked to the very front of the car and it still said Annemasse.  I stopped some people sitting on the train to ask what the dealio was and they said it was the first car of the train.  Naturally, I was antsy because, who knew where the trains would diverge?  So at the next stop (Culoz), I hot-footed it to the next car up in the train, where one of the controlleurs was looking at me like I was a hot mess, which I was.  He asked where I was going and I told him and he said I could make the real switcheroo at Bellegarde.  Which was good since I had gotten on one of the middle cars, which was going to Évian.  And so I waited 2 more stops and switched at Bellegarde.  Foolishly, I switched to the car with the rowdy French teenagers including the boy who answered every phone call with, “Oui, chèrie?”  At one point, he was outraged that the girl on the other end of the call said she had found one of his mates more attractive.  Or attractive in general.  Of course I wasn’t eavesdropping, though, so I didn’t get the full histoire (story). 

            Did I mention that I had wanted to buy a ticket at Virieu before getting on the train?  Well, since the station wasn’t open, obvio I was foiled.  So I was riding to Geneva in fear of being found out.  I got off no problem at the downtown Geneva stop, following a group of Model UN Americans where one girl was bragging about having been “here” before.  I don’t usually brag about having been at train stations before, but that’s just me.  So I bought a ticket to the airport in Geneva (because it’s closer to Flo’s) and thought the price of 10CHF was a little steep, but since Livia had been telling me how expensive everything in Switzerland is, I took it in stride. 

            It wasn’t until I got off the train and into Flo’s car that I found out that there is actually a 3CHF ticket that would have taken me betwixt the two stops.  Lesson learned.  Flo asked which flight I was taking back to Geneva from Amsterdam because she thought that her sisters (Véro and Marionne) would be on the same flight.  We would be.  We got back to her place and had a lovely meal with Gregoire, Antoine, and Marionne (who stays with Flo on Wednesdays).  Marionne informed me that she and Véro had been planning on going into Amsterdam for three months now.  Because they are half Dutch (mixed!), they miss some of the foods and so occasionally go shopping in Amsterdam.  They’d be on the first flight to Amsterdam and the last flight back.  Can you imagine?  Gotta love Europe. 

            After dinner, we watched La France a Un Incroyable Talent.

The next morning, Olivier drove me to the airport bright and early before he was off to go swimming.  I got in and on the plane without issue (except when security took my lotion because it was 200mL, even though I’ve been traveling with that bottle for about 2 years now.  So sad I nearly cried.  You think I’m joking, but I’m not.).  I took the first available seat I saw, which is the real trick with Southwest-style boarding.  I don’t know why people always want to sit in the back.  It means being on the plane longer.  This fellow asked to sit next to me IN FRENCH.  I denied him.  Jokes.  Do people do that?  Deny someone the seat next to them because of looks?  Something to ponder.  Anyway, on EasyJet, they say everything in 2-3 languages.  When I laughed at the joke made in English, dude totally double-took me (double-taked me?) because he thought I was French.  Ooooh yeah.

            Anyway, I closed my eyes and when I opened them, we were about to land.  After years of flying back and forth between St. Louis, it is such a treat to constantly have 1-1.5 hour flights here.  I got off the plane to see this:

Too soon.

            I then took the train to the main station in Amsterdam where dear Jen met me.  We walked around on the way to the hostel to get some grub.  She got a chocolate muffin while I got some apple thing.  I got apple because I know that apples are big in German dishes so I decided to make a huge generalization and guess that they were important to Dutch dessert culture (because dessert culture is the only kind that matters to me.)  Then we went back to the hostel so I could drop off my junk and so that we could pick up Jen’s friend, Sarah, with whom she had come to Amsterdam.

            We set off nearly immediately to Anne Frank’s House.  Or, as its called in Dutch, “Anne Frank Huis.”  On the way over, Jen and I recounted the story of Anne Frank to Sarah, who didn’t recall it.  It was a really lovely museum, set up in the actual house where she and her family lived for nearly 2 years.  Sadly, photos aren’t allowed, so you’ll have to find time to get there on your own.  In one room, though, they have a model of the secret annex and its layout.  It looks quite large and you kind of think, “Yeah, two years is long and all, but it doesn’t look too turrible.”  Then you get into the actual rooms and realize, “Holy moly.  This is tiny.”  It was quite unbelievable how small everything was and how many people lived there for so long without anyone knowing it.  The museum also has pages from her journals and letters from her father while he was searching for signs of his family after being released from the concentration camp.  It’s really heartbreaking, but it’s so wonderful that Otto Frank was able to do something so beautiful with the remains of those two years.  There was a video of him, taken 50 years ago where he’s talking about how he felt after he received her saved diary from Miep Gies.  In it, he talks about how surprised he was to see her self-doubt; the clip ends with him saying, “You never really know your children.” 

After going through the house and the front business rooms, you see pieces from the history of the Huis.  Bill Gates wrote a letter that made him sound quite pompous—shock?  He basically said how he recently visited with a sculptor friend and was moved.  Then his last line was something like, “You might be interested to know that my this friend’s aunt did the English translation of the Diary of Anne Frank.”  Way to make this all about you, Bill.  I was touched to see that Otto Frank replied to every piece of mail sent to the museum.

After Anne Frank’s, we went down the road to a pancake place that calls itself the most famous pancake place in Amsterdam.  Jen and Sarah split a caprese pancake complete with mozzarella, mushrooms, tomato, and basil.  Forget that.  I got the Autumn Special with poached pears, chocolate, whipped cream, sliced almonds, and (most importantly) cinnamon ice cream.  

They helped me finish it.

When we went outside, it was naturally raining super hard and the wind was blowing like it was going out of style.  Jennifer broke an umbrella.  I honestly wish I had taken a picture of her hunched underneath her umbrella that still only worked on one half.  The other flap, she was using to try to shield her face.  I swear that I tried to take a picture, but I was laughing too hard.

Afterwards we stopped into a coffeeshop to satiate certain people’s habits.  Because some people go to Amsterdam for the culture and some go for the lifestyle.  ‘Nuff said.

            We hustled to the Van Gogh museum, which Flo had recommended to me.  Even though we’d only have about 1.5 hours at it, we made our way over.  It really is a lovely museum, full of paintings by Van Gogh as well as those who inspired him.  I didn’t take any pictures because I wasn’t really sure if I was allowed to or not.  As the museum closed, we bounced and went to the market to get dinner: bread and cheese.  I got Oude while Jen and Sarah stuck with camembert and brie.  (French amateurs.)  This is where this traveler fails: we went upstairs to have a bit of a lie in (before going out) around 8:30.  Then we fell asleep and didn’t wake up until 11 the next morning.

            For breakfast, we had more bread and cheese.  We set off to walk around because, shock, the weather was actually nice.  So we went to the national monument in Dam Square, which was just a short walk from our hostel:

The national monument was erected in 1956 in memory of the World War II veterans.  As we stood in its shadow, I looked up, and I swear to Bob it looked like it was going to fall over and crush us!  It was kind of trippy.  I’m guessing it’s because of the particular angle at which I looked at it and because of the clouds moving behind it?  I’m not a scientist, just a girl with a dream.

            We stopped to take pictures in a shoe:

A shoe too big for even my pa!

On our way to take a canal cruise, I insisted that we stop at Oude Kerk, which is Amsterdam’s oldest parish church.  Erected in 1306, and now it’s the church of the red-light district.  We paid the 3€ to get in (quite a bargain in Amsterdam!) and were surprised to see that it wasn’t an ordinary church inside.

Massive organ?  I took a picture of a woman wearing a fur coat under it. 

Pretty inside with wooden roof.

              We happened to catch it on the day people were setting up for a modern art show that would be taking place on Saturday evening.

Art from junk mail.  One man's trash.... Same man's treasure!

Still, it’s quite a lovely church. 

         After we left, we stopped for a drink (I got Strongbow—Chav 4 Lyfe!) before going to the canal cruise.  Sadly, the boat was nearly full by the time we arrived and so we were facing the wrong way, which was a bit of a bust.  But, really, my main problem with the cruise was that the commentary was in 3 languages: Dutch, German, and English.  This isn’t really a problem except for it’s quite tiring when you’re listening to the two languages you don’t understand.  It essentially made everyone on the boat quite tired.  Anyway, we went past the bike hotel that houses 50,000 bikes, because didn’t you know that there are over 400,000 cyclists in Amsterdam?

            The cruise also showed us the “unique” view of the 7 canals in Amsterdam.  I’m not sure what that means, but the boat paused, so I took a photo:

            We left and went to dinner (bread and cheese.  Haven’t you seen noticed the pattern?  Actually, I also bought some yogurt.).  Then Jen and I went out while Sarah went to bed with a migraine.  I asked Jen to take me through the Red Light District since we had seen it in the daylight and there wasn’t much going on.  At night, different story.  Each girl has her own door, with lights around it.  What’s remarkable are the varying interest levels of the girls.  Some are totes trying to make some action (or please the tourists?) whereas others are sitting on their phones.  This is my pathetic photo: 

Roxanne, put on the reeeed light!

            After wandering about for a hit, Jen and I managed to find Escape, the club we were looking for.  (It seemed like everyone/all tourists were going there as we heard several people mention it at the hostel.)  We were walking towards the line when someone came out the back door, so I said we should just go on inside through that door.  I’m such a rebel.  But it didn’t matter since you paid once you were inside the building to get into the “club” part.  Bummerde.  Blah blah blah danced for a bit and went home.

            The next day, we schlepped our bags downstairs to pick up after we walked about for a bit.  We went across the street to get waffles and smoothies for breakfast.  I got mine with dulce de leche.  Jen got powdered sugar.  Sarah got plain.  Quite good.  We walked basically wherever the street signs with arrows pointed us, so we passed the stock market, saw some open air markets (one with a guy that was an orange juice making MACHINE), some graffiti, and eventually arrived at Waterlooplein, which is Amsterdam’s oldest market with over 300 stands.

            After perusing for a bit, I made my way across town to Begijnhof.  (Please note that I have no idea how to say 98% of the names of any places in Amsterdam.)  But not without stopping to take some photos:

Falling houses!

Perfect for seeing all modes of transport in Amsterdam!  (I'm clever.)

            Begijnhof is this square that’s essentially untouched from olden days.  Beguines were pious Catholic single women who performed good works but did not want to live in a convent and so did not take vows, and so this courtyard is surrounded by homes for these women.  Great fires destroyed the original houses in 1421 and 1452, so the remaining courtyard dates from the 1600s and 1700s.  There’s one house still standing (“Houten Huys”/Wooden House) that was built in the second half of the 15^th century.

Even though Roman Catholics weren’t allowed to practice openly for just over 200 years in Amsterdam, the Beguines were left in peace.  The last Beguine passed away in 1971, but all of the courtyard’s residents are still women.  It was very peaceful and totally quiet.

            Until outside there was this crazy intermittent drumming and whistling.  I thought it was a parade except that it never really went away.  So I went outside to investigate and take video:

       Then I walked back (basically) to where I had just been by Waterlooplein to go to Rembrandt’s house since I didn’t think I had enough time before having to get to the airport for my flight to go to the Rembrandt Museum.  It was an alright museum, but I wouldn’t have felt bad for missing it.  I should have known since the audio tour told me first thing, “You are in a special place.”  Anyway, here’s Rembrandt’s collection of stuff that he’d use for inspiration and whatnot:

Also, here is Rembrandt’s bed:

People in those times slept in box beds sitting up because they thought blood would rush to your head and you’d DIE if you slept lying down.  Makes sense, right?

            I missed a demonstration of how Rembrandt made prints.  But I didn't miss the prints hanging to dry:

            I watched a man make paint:

            Then I hot-footed it to the hostel to get my bag and leave.  But certainly not before stopping to take photos of the man making massive bubbles outside of the museum:

            I made it onto the train no problem.  Except that I stuck my arm out trying to open the doors for these two other guys and, newsflash, the doors on the Amsterdam trains are not motion sensitive.  So when I stuck my arm out, the doors kept closing.  They closed with my hand still waving outside.  I managed to squeeze my hand back through, but the metal part of the bracelet my mom had brought me back from Aruba was caught in between the rubber door jam.  So I rode along with my arm attached to the doors hoping that the next stop would have that side’s doors opening again.  But alas!  (And alack.)  They didn’t.  So when we got to my stop, I had to maneuver the bracelet out.  Good thing it’s made out of elastic.  So now it’s a bit stretched out.  But it’s still in France with me!

            When I got to the airport, I went to the supermarket that’s inside, which is totally crazy crazy.  I mean, it sells a ton of stuff like Pop Tarts, cake mix(!!), and many other treasures.  I got a banana and chocolate covered ginger.  Then I realized I had accidentally gotten to the airport about 40 minutes too early for my flight.  So I went through to wait, but only after being patted down in a manner that I can really only describe as "intimately." 

            I was reading my book when Véro and Marion showed up.  We got on the flight all together and went back to Flo’s to unload all of their Dutch goodies and enjoy some cheese and bread.  The next morning, Olivier took me to the train station, but since I was running a tad bit late and so didn’t have time to get a ticket before getting on the train.  Since I was only taking it one stop before changing in Geneva downtown, I figured I’d be able to get by no problem.  Mistake!  I got on and went upstairs and sat down.  Immediately after, the train woman came up to ask me for my ticket.  I told her I didn’t have enough time to get one and she was all, “Do you realize you’re in first class?”  Naturally, I didn’t.  She asked if I was going just to Geneva.  I said no since I was going to Virieu.  Then she asked for my destination.  It didn’t come up on her machine since it’s in France.  Then she asked again, “Just to Geneva?” and I still was saying no no no.  Then she clarified that I was just on that specific train until Geneva.  Then she charged me 15CHF for the ticket, which she said wasn’t a first class price since she’d let me slide, but I need to open my big fat eyes when I’m walking around.  Not exactly what she said, but maybe similar.

            Then I got off in Geneva and went to buy a ticket.  I waited patiently in line only to find out that I was at the help desk and not in the ticket line.  When I went to the ticket line, I had about 4 minutes left until my train was leaving.  So I didn’t get in it and figured I’d wing it again.  (Some people never learn.)  I was super nerveuse as I went through the “To France” entrance to get to my voie/platform because it says to have your ticket ready as you go through customs.  I just smiled and sailed through without anyone stopping me.  I tensely sat on the train the whole way to my stop.  SNCF (the train company) men walked up and down the train, but didn’t stop to see my ticket at all.  As they announced Culoz (the stop before mine), the controlleur entered my car.  I freaked out until we pulled into Virieu, when the controlleur was literally 3 people away from asking for my ticket.  Got off and waited 2 hours for my bus to come for me.  Then flounced back to my dorm where the heat had been turned off.

By the skin of my teeth,

Jess

FINALLY

I was finally able to get the now two month old video tour of my housing up.  Watch at your own risk:

There's a smile on my face,
Jess

Listful. (The opposite of listless.)

It sometimes seems as though I do an insufferable amount of complaining on this blawg.  So, I’ll just give a little list (I've got a little list<-that's for my pa) of things around here that have made me smile of have a chuckle. 

     1.     The Carrefour Dangereux sign that I pass when I’m on my way to the Carrefour market.  Each time I go by I think it’s funny and wonder if my Carrefour is perhaps the one in the bad part of town.  Like at Wash U if you bought booze with a fake ID, people would say that they got it at the “ghetto Schnucks.”  Also, since it's in front of this abandoned building, it kind of would make sense for my mistaken interpretation to be the correct one.

2.     The baby sized toilet in the Macdo.  What’s really funny about this is that it’s in the same stall as the normal sized toilet in the handicap stall.  So tiny.  But so mighty.

3.     Fall.  This arrangement of autumn leaves was on the side of one of the buildings on my walk to and from the center of town.

4.     The thin-lipped woman who’s always in the teacher’s lounge when I go in there and, inevitably, will stop talking and stare at me while I walk around the room.  Not actually.  This makes me paranoid.  Just testing you.

5.     Seeing “Bébé à bord” stickers in people’s car windows.  Anyone who has ever driven in a car with me knows how dearly I love these stickers in English.  Knowing they’re in France too is really just a treat.

6.     This creepy collection of stuffed animals in the backseat of this car that is nearly always parked in front of the post office.  In the same parking spot.  Sometimes I think someone lives in the car.  But I've never seen anyone get in or out of it.  The mysteries of Belley are many.

The rest of this list is without pictures because it would be odd to take them.

1.     French people wearing crocs.  I don’t understand them as a shoe, in general.  Funnily, at the Amsterdam airport, which has a baby shopping mall inside, they have a genuine Crocs store.  I didn’t realize that was something you’d have a true need for in Amsterdam.  I stand corrected?

2.     French people in these weird jean-like Aladdin pants.  I saw them on a few different girls in the same week.  Generally only Aladdin, Jasmine, the Sultan, and MC Hammer can rock that look.  But A+ for effort.

3.     The woman at work who wears this pair of flooding pleather (though maybe they’re real leather?) pants nearly every day.  I only say “nearly” because I don’t go in on Fridays, so it’s possible that she mixes it up before the weekend.

4.     Walking around the school (or Belley, really, since I stick out like a sore thumb) and having students say “Hello” to me.  They say it with this grin like they’re pulling a fast one on me or something.  Honestly, they’re just so proud of “hello” that it warms my heart.  This is in direct contrast to Katelin’s (in Lyon) experience whenever she’s walking down the street speaking English to someone.  She says whenever a French person hears it, they manage to say “Fuck you” to her.  I got a chance to know the magic as we walked towards the tram stop and someone said, “Hello.  My name is Fuck you.”  She actually stopped and asked him why he said it and told him it’s not a nice thing to say.  Set ‘em straight.

And now to summarize last last week…  Not much to report back.  Notably, this is what the view from my window looked like nearly every morning.  Imagine my surprise!

On Monday, one of Marc’s students asked me again how old I was.  I said 22.  And she said, “Wow.  That’s really young.”  I could just repeat it back to her, agreeing that it is really young.  I generally have no idea what I’m doing.  And I’m so lucky that the students blindly do what I tell them because I probs couldn’t control a rowdy bunch.

            Later in the same class, we were talking about McDonalds (for a lesson on globalization) and I asked what kind of changes the company would make.  Tituon said they don’t have Dr. Pepper in France.  This got everyone a bit riled because apparently you have to drive to Paris (or maybe Geneva too?) to fill that prescription.  (Get that joke?  Stretch.)  So I asked what they do drink.  Lisa said they have Coke and Sprite.  Tituon said, “Shit.” 

            In the afternoon, after we finished talking about some cartoons, I decided to mix it up and play a song for the class and to have them fill in the blanks.  After consulting Maryse, I decided to play “Home” by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros.  We were sure I’d end up with a class full of hipsters.  Dominate.  Welp, too bad the song seemed to be massively too fast and we made it through about 75% of it.  I also don’t think they appreciated the song as much as I had anticipated. 

            The next day, I went to Sandra’s class.  They were giving presentations of “adverts” (because they learn UK English) they had made, slogans included.  Here are some stand-out lines:

For an anti-cigarette campaign: “Do you want an early death?”

                                                       “Smoking is a pact with the devil.”

For a Blackberry ad: “Choose a blackberry than a boyfriend.”

For screws: “Don’t get screwed up.  Buy our screws.

--Reasoning for buying these screws: Can be put in soup so you get enough iron.  Can also be used as earrings.

At the end she had me introduce myself.  When I said I was from Los Angeles, it got the same response of shock but I was surprised to see that even the student whom I thought was an exchange student was impressed.  I really need to do more research on this kid.  He dresses French, though, so I don’t know.  Oddly intrigued by his mastery of English combined with French fashion sensibilities.  Anyway, she asked the students to give me suggestions as to what to do in Belley. 

They came up with 3 suggestions:

1)   Drink wine

2)   Go hunting and fishing

3)   Garden

If I take their advice, I’ll definitely be the next Calamity Jane.  (That was an excuse to put in more Doris Day.  You can never have enough.)

            Then I spent an hour subbing for Nicole as she was at CERN en Suisse (in Switzerland) because her class is reading Angels and Demons.  So I stepped in and they’re doing a unit on what appears to be the American black experience as she had them looking at Ray; listening to blues, jazz, gospel, and soul (she wanted them to do without actual samples.  I wouldn’t stand for it so I brought in some Sam Cooke, Aretha Franklin, Duke Ellington, and Bessie Smith); slavery; Toni Morrison; and some other stuff.  I guess you can encapsulate the struggle with all that?  But it’s totally out of order.  Like, we started with Ray, then discussed the music types, then slavery, then they’re doing Morrison.  Mess.  Oh well. 

For Sandra’s next class, I had to prepare a lesson on the dangers of the Internet.  So, naturally, I played Gym Class Heroes’s “New Friend Request.”  Then we talked about it, had them come up with some lists, and we reviewed some vocab with Hangman.  At the end, the only student I knew already, Jonathan (pronounced Jaw-nah-tah.  Those 2 as are like the a in “tan.”) came up to me and said, “You’re a really good teacher.”

Only fail of the week: Sandra asked me if I wanted to eat with her at lunch.  OBVIO.  But I had left my meal card in my room.  So I went back to get it.  Then I waited in line.  When I got to the front of the line, I realized I had brought my library card with me.  So I went back to get the real card.  Then I had to wait in line again.  So I didn’t get to the cantine until about an hour into lunch.  Don’t worry, though, as I walked in with my tray, I saw Sandra and Marc walking out.  So I ate solo.  Ain’t no thang but a chicken wang.  I took the apple yogurt home with me, so I feel good about that.

(Mostly) Dominating,

Jess

I Ain't Lyin'--I Was in Lyon.

As mentioned before, my interwebs don’t work so on Friday (Nov. 5?) I decided to do somethin' about it.  Britney style.  So I made my way to the Carrefour et centre commercial (shopping center) to chat up my dear friends at the Telecom booth.  It took nearly an hour to buy a USB internet thingy.  I came out excited at my newfound information superhighway freedom.  I then went around the roundabout to get to the Macdo so that I could take care of some business such as uploading photos to dis blawg, checking Facebook, and purchasing train tickets to Paris for Thanksgiving.  Went off without hitch.

            I then booked it back up the hill to get to Belley center in order to purchase some cheese (Brillat-Savarin, as I had tasted at the food festival last month) and some pastries from the patisserie because, oh my, I had been invited to a dinner party in Lyon.  This came about rather suddenly, actually.  In my pathetic attempts to make friendships out of nothing, I had decided to email one of the girls I met during the stage at Bourg-en-Bresse.  Wouldn’t you know she was considering planning a dinner party for this past weekend.  Naturally, I encouraged her to do it as it would mean an excuse to get into Lyon (where she lives) for the weekend.  I do everything selfishly.  And so she invited people.  I mentioned to Carine that this fête (party) was a possibility but that I had not yet seen anyone respond positively or negatively to the email invitation and she insisted—insisted!—that I ask Katelin if I could come anyway.  This being France, I was less hesitant to impose myself that if I had been in Uhmerrica.  So I emailed and because everyone wants to hang out with me, she agreed.  Carine also offered me a free ride to Lyon and so I accepted because I’m not made out of money.  Carine said we would leave at 5.

            So, having left the Macdo at 3:30, I was a bit nervous about being ready on time.  Well, everything turned out fine and at 5, I was sitting patiently with my bags packed.  Around 5:17, I got nervous and thought that Carine had left without me.  So I started looking around the halls, but obvio no one was there because it was Friday after 5.  So I texted Katelin that I had potentially been left behind.  I went downstairs to do—I actually didn’t have a plan.  I suppose I thought that I would go to the teacher’s lounge and see if anyone was in there or if Carine had already left.  As I was walking to the main yard, though, I saw who I guessed to be Carine walking back with Camille (another prof boarder) to the building.  My paranoia abated and I nearly clicked my heels as I ran back to the building to pretend that I had nonchalantly been waiting in my room.  Even though I had been totally chalant.

            It’s possible that Carine and Camille saw my chalance because Carine said something to me after she returned, but it was honestly too difficult to understand so I just said something between a yes and a no and laughed.  That’s my default answer in many situations.  Unless they look at me quizzically and then I ask them to repetez (repeat for the second plural, vous.  As in Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?  Ce soir?)  Anyway, the three of us walked to Carine’s car (for she and Camille just started carpooling or covoiturage) and set off.  Not much to report about the car ride to Lyon except I felt kind of sick riding in the backseat.  Oh well.  It was fo frizzle.

            Blahblahblah an hour and a half later, I was deposited at the Clinique Tonkin bus stop to meet Katelin.  But since I was to meet her at the Clinique Tonkin tram stop, I waited until Carine drove away and then walked to the tram stop.  Katelin and I made our way to her apartment, which she shares with a 55 (or 75—she’s not sure) year old woman from the Congo.  She’s uncertain of the woman’s age because the woman has not been living there and will not arrive until December 10.  She’s on vacation.  Love France’s schedule.  So Katelin has a real apartment.  With washing machine, dryer, dishwasher, oven.  It’s maaagic.  On the other hand, though, she has an hour-long commute and generally doesn’t finish work on Fridays until 9pm.  So, there’s that.  She was en train de (in the process of) eating dinner when I arrived, so I ate the quiche au fromage (cheese quiche) I had gotten from the boulangerie downstairs.  We had a few glasses of wine before we headed over to her friends’ apartment.

           These friends are three gentlemen from Brazil whom Katelin had met while staying at the hostel when she first moved to Lyon.  Helder, Andre, and Ivo are studying film at one of the universities in the city.  They’re delightful and incredibly accommodating.  They offered us pasta as soon as we came in as well as bread and pesto.  Katelin recently introduced them to pesto, and they seem to think it goes with everything: pasta, bread, spicy barbecue potato chips.  The five of us spent the evening listening to music, drinking wine, and chatting.  Did I mention that all of this happened IN FRENCH?  Because I obvio don’t speak Brazilian Portuguese, and their English was better than my Portuguese, but not great.  They did manage to teach me two words: bottom=fundo and I miss you=saudade.  Isn’t that lovely?  A word to summarize being without someone.  English and French are lacking. 

            I honestly could have listened to their speaking Portuguese all night, though.  It’s such a beautiful language.  My next project?  Mayhaps.  We listened to some samba and it reminded me of some songs that marked my childhood.  Here’s one that has one of the buzzwords from above.  Around 5 am, once the trains and buses and trams had started running again, Katelin and I left for some shuteye. 

            The next morning afternoon, we got up when Livia called to say she had arrived from Bellegarde, another small town where they’ve placed assistants.  Though hers has a train station.  So we went down to pick her up from the train station.  We sat in Katelin’s apartment for a bit, trading stories of assistantship, before Livia and I went to do the tourist thing while Katelin stayed behind to go for a run and tidy up.  We walked towards the Fourvière, which is a famous cathedral of which I had never heard.  On the way, though, we stopped to peruse a street sale of old French books and postcards (with writing still on the back!).

Naturally, nearby, there were men playing pétanque (boules).  Since Livia takes about 500 photos of each place that she goes, we stopped for photos quite a bit.  One of the men playing pétanque posed for Livia.  It was endearing.

             We walked along the river.  Pretty, right?

Please take note of the graffiti.  I loves it.

We were nearing the bridge we intended to cross when we realized it might be a tad difficult.  Why?  Well, naturally, the grève continues and so there were hundreds of people crossing in protest.  Smoke, flares, flags, signs, and the like included.  (Though none of the signs were as great as the ones at the protests to Restore Sanity and/or Fear.)  

But it was certainly a spectacle.  I don’t know if they do this every weekend or not.  Or if it’s like only the first weekends of the months in which they protest.  By the turnout, it would seem like it’s not a weekly occurrence.  But by the French attitude, it could easily happen every day.  I really have no idea.  On the other side of the bridge, they all stopped and this woman sitting on top of a car seemed to be leading the whole thing while people waved different colored flags about.

Livia and I couldn’t be too mussed, though.  So we went through it to this giant flower tree that Livia’s been following around (or its following her around) the world.  There’s one in Shanghai, one in Singapore, and one in Lyon.  One of those is an imposter, but it’s not the one in Lyon.  I can’t recall just now.  Forgiveness?

            So we took the tram up to the Fourvière because Livia’s not too keen on hills.  It’s quite lovely.

    We went into the crypt where they have some statues and paintings.  For example, they have a BLACK Mary.

Livia then informed me that she was dying for a wee and so I finished the crypt while she went in search of a toilet.  I then went outside where nightfall was quickly approaching to take some more photos and wait for her.  Near the Fourvière is this Eiffel Tower imposter that seems to be covered in satellites.

I don’t know if it’s meant to be artistic or functional, but isn’t it delicious that they’ve combined the two?  Livia honestly seemed to be taking ages to come out so I started to do some tap, which has become my custom whenever I’m standing around.  Then these Italian tourists offered me money.  JOKES.  Wouldn’t that be kind of hilarious, though?  (And lucrative.)  But seriously, I considered peacing out because she must have fallen in.  But then she came around the corner raving about the fantastic panoramic view that was at the other side of the church.  So I went to take some photos but naturally, but this point, the lighting was awful and it looked like any other city at night.

          So we went inside the church itself and saw a bit of a French mass.  Sadly, though they weren’t at the one part in which I could have participated, the Our Father.  They were offering each other peace.  I still snuck some photos of the interior, though.  Since it was dark when we left, Livia and I decided to head back to Katelin’s straight away instead of going night-sightseeing.  We stopped to pick up a loaf of bread, some vegetables for les pâtes (pasta), and a bottle of wine (which I decided to get—even though Livia doesn’t drink because of Asian glow.  I’m not kidding.  She basically said she doesn’t drink because she feels like she’s on fire.  And mentioned that it specifically afflicts Asians.  Aka Asian glow.—because it was on sale).  We had a lovely pasta dinner, preceded by the Brillat Savarin cheese I had brought and followed by the pastries I had offered.  Prepare for Belley domination!

            The next day, we got up around 11.  I’m not sure why, but Livia peaced out almost immediately to check into her hotel for the second night because Katelin couldn’t host her Sunday night due to an early Monday morning.  So she left straight away, but Katelin and I went for a walk about Lyon.  We walked through the Parc de la Tête d’Or (bonus if you remember that that was where the assistant picnic had been) and stumbled upon a baby wildebeest drinking from mama.  

Please note that this is probs not actually a wildebeest.  I'm not a zoologist.  

 We were headed to Place des Terreaux and came upon a pavilion with modern art sculptures, including this fountain: 

It reads Permets m'Amour penser quelque folies. oooor "Allow me, Love, to imagine some follies."

Katelin and I crossed the street to find ourselves between the Lyon Opera and the Hotel de Ville, which each place in France has.  

Even Belley.  Hotel de Ville is city hall.  We went to the other side of the building where there’s an open square (actually, Lyon’s quite like Florence and its piazzas) with a giant fountain with horses whose noses sometimes spew smoke and that’s enclosed by the Hotel de Ville, Musée des Beaux Arts, and a shopping mall.  We could see that there seemed to be a small garden inside the Musée, so we went inside.  It was lovely and private.  

Just a small square, but really teeming with art.  It’s spectacular how much art is just lying around France. 

NBD or anything, but that green statue  not on prominent display is RODIN.  Also, note French girl smoking.  As usje.

            Katelin and I then went up to get a better view of the city.  I can honestly say that I was not disappointed. 

            Then we walked about this little carnival where Katelin got roasted chestnuts.  Her first time.  I had had them in York with Kawai and Greg while studying abroad, so I only had a few of hers.  Delightful and meaty and warm.  This carnival had some crazy prizes, though.  Like, iPads, cell phones, televisions.  It was a little ridiculous. 

            We then went back down to the main bit of Lyon and stopped for a pot of tea.  (Katelin had a glass of rosé.)  Naturally, stopping here made me miss my train back to Belley.  No bigs, though.  We went back to Katelin’s and I had a glass of wine and some cheese before getting on the later train.  Marc picked me up from Virieu and dropped me off chez moi.  And what was the best part about the weekend?  Probably when I got back to my room and realized that heat hadn’t been shut off.

Warmly,
Jess

Don't Step on the Cracks Because of the Bears

I arrived in London at Waterloo Station and was picked up by Jen from my study abroad days/daze and her friend Debs (no relation to Debs from Life As We Know It--thank god) who was visiting from Wales.  We went back to Jen's and dropped off my bag and Debs's backpack and headed to Borough.

We walked around it a few times taking in the sights and smells and stealing free samples.  Had some lovely fresh made Indian pesto.  

It feels appropriate to have my first photo back in London be of Borough Market.

Debs and Jen got paella (which I tried.  And which was better than the paella from the French market the previous Saturday.) while I got a grilled halloumi wrap.  It was just as delicious as I remembered.

As we continued to walk around, I stopped to take a photo of the olive booth.  This might seem unnecessary to some of you, but I have been searching for an olive stand anywhere close to comparable to the one at Borough.  No dice.  

    Afterwards, we stopped at the newsagents where in Wolfson Days (Wolfson House was where I lived in London, for those who are new to my life) we would go for last minute beverages (read booze) to get some Bigga, which is this ridiculous Jamaican soda that is practically fluorescent.  We had plans to play Kings later.  After we got off the bus to get back to Laura and Jen's apartment, we actually ran into Laura who was on her way back from lectures and we giddily ran to each other.  Tender.  Then we walked back to their flat and we all caught up for a bit before watching The In-Betweeners, because that's what real British people do.  And didn't you know I'm also British?  Anyway, we watched that while we ate some takeaway Chinese food.  They ordered some things that I'm willing to bet aren't Chinese, but then again, neither are a lot of things that we get.  But I'm fairly certain there's no Chinese dish called "pancakes" that are like tortillas.  But who knows?  (I don't mean to call anyone out, but I expect AmyXu's feedback on this one.  As she knows all about secret menus for Chinese people.)  We never did play Kings.

    The next day we had a bit of a late start, but we managed to make it to the Bloomsbury Festival, which was a festival in the Bloomsbury area of London.  Apparently, this area is marked by organic people and modern dance and adorable children.  The kind of people who wear Anthropologie basically.  Got an image?  Good.  Anyway, it was put on by UCL (University College London) and SOAS (School of Oriental and African Studies).  It had art in the trees, live world music performances, noms food, and crafts for sale.  It was really lovely and we had perfect weather for it.  
     We walked around for a bit and then stopped for lunch.  We all participated in the "Tree of Life," which had people writing their names on white paper doves and then clipping them to a net strung between some trees.  This is not environmentally friendly, but isn't it pretty to think so?  (That doesn't fit there, but I want it to.)  We also learned about microbes in a tent from UCL, made handprints, watched a flash mob of unaccompanied modern dancers, saw a Dickensian-clad character riding around on a Victorian bike, and marveled over the delicious hot apple cider.  For lunch, Jen and Debs got pork sandwiches pulled freshly from the roasting pork that was on site.  Laura and I got falafel.  noms.  We consulted a map of the festival and saw that there was “Hanging Out in the Park” not too far and so Jen, Debs, and I got cupcakes for the road. 
            Due to the description of the event, we started taking bets on what exactly “Hanging Out in the Park” would be.  Laura thought it would be a series of ropes so that we could swing from tree to tree like a ropes course for a team building exercise.  Kind of like this.  Or like Tarzan.  I knew that if that was the case, I would not be participating.  Jen thought it would be a giant swing stretched between trees.  Both were wrong!  Suckas!  It was home furniture hanging by ropes all the way around this tree.  Like a stationary carousel.  

Please note the mixed children in the front.

But it also had lamps hanging from it.  It was really cool to see, though often treacherous to make swing.  Some of the people were out of control and pounced on a particular chair as soon as it was available.  All in all, it was fun, though.  While we were “hanging out,” an a capella group came out of nowhere and started singing that “I’ll take the high road and you’ll take the low road” song out of nowhere.  Could there be anything more United Kingdom?  Probs not but I kept my snark to myself because I LOVE LONDON.

          We then wanted to go hear some music at yet another park, but when we arrived at the park gates, we were dismayed to see that we weren’t allowed inside.   In many parks in Britain, apparently, adults aren’t allowed in parks unless they are with a child.  So we turned back and found ourselves at the Foundling Museum, which is a museum that houses the remains of one of the Foundling Hospital, which was London’s first home for abandoned children that was around for over 200 years.  It was full of mementos from mothers who had abandoned their children on the doorsteps.  The women would often leave behind rings or notes or ribbons as keepsakes for the children.  Unfortunately, though, the people who ran the home would take the items in order to preserve the parents’ anonymity.  Isn’t that so sad?  So they have hundreds of books of lists of childrens’ names with the scrap of clothing included, but the orphans had no idea about any of it.  Some of the children came with notes saying the chosen names (one that stands out was about a child named Florella), but the place would rename the kids anyway.  (Random: they had a list of all the children’s names on one of the walls.  The place named one of the boys Thomas Africa.  Badass, right?)  When Debs stepped out for a smoke, we all decided to move on.  (Look, Alex.  Look how short that description of a museum was.  Now you can’t ever complain about my details again.  Mkthnxbi.)

            We started walking back towards the bus but it was a bit chilly (and a bit early) and so we stopped into a café for some coffee.  While we were chatting, Debs realized that she had spoken to Laura on the phone months before.  Debs is a personal assistant for British Waterways and Laura is currently writing her dissertation on the invasion of crawfish in one of the waterways in London.  This world is full of strange coincidences. 

            We then all set on our merry way because Debs had to catch her train, Laura had to get to the library, Jen had to get to babysitting, and I had to get to a surprise party.  No, it wasn’t for me.  The story of my decision to go to London goes like this: Once upon a time I knew I had a Toussaints vacation coming up and I had no idea what to do.  I had literally not looked up any flights or trains.  Then I went on Facebook while at Macdo with Kirsty (yes, it’s when she was still here) and saw that Adam was throwing a surprise birthday party for his girlfriend and my friend Laura.  (This Laura is pronounced like you would pronounce it in Spanish.  Or Portuguese, which is what she is.)  I was bummed because I thought it was ridiculous to get there for just a weekend for the cost.  But as I was walking back home, I realized that it was the first weekend of my Toussaints vacation and it seemed like a sign from God that that’s what I should be doing with my vacation.  And so I booked it.

            So I took the bus from Jen’s place to the stop she had told me to get off at and started looking around for Old Kent Road, which is the main street off of which Adam and Laura live.  I was looking at Jen’s A-Z when this Irish woman came up to me and asked if I knew where Old Kent Road was.  Obvio, I said I was looking for it, but that it had to be nearby because I had just gotten off the bus at the Old Kent Road/East Street stop and she said that some dude had just told her it was straight ahead, so we walked on together.  She’s a chef and had worked in Napa (and really all over the world) and was on her way to a Bolivian restaurant.  When we got to Old Kent Road, we parted. 

            I got to Adam’s no problem after that.  JJ (a friend from study abroad), though quite surprised to see me, let me in.  There was a tall blonde guy standing next to him and at first I was going to hug him because I thought maybe I knew him, but thank god I read his face quick enough to realize he had no clue who I was.  His name is Jupe.  He’s a new friend of Adam and the gang’s.  (“The gang” is physios—Adam, JJ, Laura.  Physios are people who study what I think is like physiotherapy.  Not gonna lie, I’m not entirely clear on what it is.  But it is medicine related.)

            We went into the living room where a massive number of people were waiting for Laura (who had been out since 12:30—mind you it was now 7:15).  Adam said everyone’s names and I tried to put them together.  Fail.  Since I didn’t really know anyone, I helped myself to some punch because that always helps to make friends.  Luckily, shortly thereafter, some people that I do know entered.  Jeev!  We chatted for a bit before playing balloon soccer for a few minutes.   Everyone passed around a book of nice thoughts to sign for Laura and Jeev did a masterful block lettering of “Happy Birthday.”  Seriously, though.  I should’ve taken a photo.  We waited for about 30 more minutes before Laura actually came in.  She was surprised.  Success! 

            There was cake.  Naturally, I tried it.  But I only had one bite because I swear it tasted like moist cornbread with chocolate frosting.  So I gave the rest of my piece to one of Adam’s friends from home, Jo, who had rapidly become my bestie for a few minutes.  She enjoyed it.  While everyone was jamming, Ruthie’s (another friend from Wolfson) boyfriend Paapa (new to the scene for me) asked if I wanted to join in Centurion with him, Jeev, and JJ.  Not knowing what it was and because I’m prête à tout, I agreed.  Do you know what Centurion is?  Do you know what a Power Hour is?  A Power Hour is one shot of beer for each minute of an hour.  A Centurion is the same idea for 100 minutes.  Having attempted a Power Hour before but knowing when to take 13 minute breaks, I figured why not?  Well, it apparently wasn’t even that serious because we had no way of keeping track of the minutes, and I think that by minute 17, we had all dropped out. 

            Then we were all suddenly going to The Big Chill, a bar/club in London and Adam was shooing everyone out the door.  Don’t worry, though.  Everyone just took their drinks with them to the bus stop.  Is this a student habit?  Yes.  Is it also way more acceptable to see British people carrying their drinks through the streets than it will ever be in America?  Yes.  You see why I love this place!?

            The rest of the night was dancing and drinking and jokes nonstop.  I made more best friends with Adam’s friends from home so I view the evening as a success.  When it was time to go home, I took the bus with everyone to Elephant and Castle and then switched to get to Laura and Jen’s.  Because I was nervous I would miss the bus stop for their place I got off one stop before.  Totally on purpose.  (Not.)  Laura, being concerned for my well-being, had walked to the stop with their third roommate, Emma, to meet me.  I power-walked it up to them and then ate all of Laura’s fries from Chicken Cottage.  (There are chicken joints all over London: KFC, HFC, Chicken Cottage, and many more!) 

            The next day, Jen and Laura were at the library all day and so I basically stayed in.  Maybe that seems like a waste to you, but I really dislike being places with too many people, so I was happy to stay in bed and watch all the disks of The In-Betweeners.  For dinner, I met Laura and Jen at Giraffe on South Bank.  I don’t know how I did it, but I got lost for like 20 minutes even though I was only about 2 blocks from where we were meeting.  Mess.  As usual.  (Side note: Before I got on the bus, I had to top up my Oyster card and I found the receipt yesterday.  I topped up at Afroworld Super Store.  How ace is that?)

            On Monday, Jen, Laura, and I got up early to get to Primark, which is a crazy cheap store that’s like Forever 21 but less money.  And that is where the title of the blogpost comes from.  Across from the bus stop, there was a sign up that had all these little thoughts to make you smile or remember your youth—you know.  It was around a construction sight so that it was more becoming or something.  Anyway, I understood all of them except for “Don’t step on a crack because of the bears.”  You know how Americans say “Step on a crack, break your mother’s back”?  Apparently, in London, it’s “Don’t step on a crack or the bears will come and get you.”  Another reason I love London: Bears.  (And beets?)

            When we arrived at Primark, it was practically empty so we went to town.  Laura had to get a pair of boots because her toes were literally coming out of the pair on her feet.  I came out with red tights for my Halloween costume, two pairs of gloves, a plastic travel bag with bottles included, and devil ears.  All for £4!  Jen had to get to the library and so she hopped on the bus while I continued down Oxford Street (the main shopping road in London) and popped into some old faithfuls before getting to the British Museum. 

 

        Some of you might be thinking, did I just go to Jess’s old blog?  No!  I’m still in France.  But the British Museum is so pretty, I have to take a picture every time I can.  And you can also see how beautiful the weather was.  I’m spoiled.  I walked around inside for probably around 2 hours.  They have this cool exhibit where it’s the history of the world or something in 100 objects.  The problem, however, is that object 1 is in room 4 but then object 5 is in room 69 (Shout out to Bert Bernacchi.)  or something.  So I went to the wing that I wanted to see and made sure to see all the objects on my path.  As I was walking through the Roman exhibit, there was a woman giving a presentation where you could hold actual pieces from the museum’s collection.  Naturally, I stopped to hear Julie Goldberg (Stephi, do you know why I’m shouting you out?) talk about it.  That she was American was really just icing on the cake.  So, yeah, no big deal.  While I was in London, I held Roman money and flint tools that are 2000 years old.  Get on my level.  

       I continued through the museum.  I saw some Russian propaganda china (which was recently brought back), a suffreagette defaced penny, old writing tablets, the Rosetta Stone (which is SO mixed—because of all the different writings’ languages.  It's the first bilingual text, d00d.), and some clocks.  I mention the clocks specifically because there was one massive clock from 1589 that had been modeled on the cathedral in Strasbourg (big ups, JRich).  It said that at every hour it plays music by Martin Luther, “Vater Unser”/“Our Father.”  Well, it was only 12:35, so I figured I could wander around nearby rooms for 25 minutes to see some musical magic from over 400 years ago.  At 12:55, with camera poised to take some video for you lot, I joined a small group crowding around the clock to see magic.  At 1:02 it dinged.  At 1:05, I walked away and down the stairs, thoroughly disappointed.  When I was halfway down the stairs, I heard the tinkling melody of a musical clock.  I bolted back just in time to hear the music stop and watch the clock’s figures stop moving. 

      One of the last pieces I saw before I left was number 2 on the 100 Objects tour.  It was a chopping tool that’s the oldest human made object in the Museum’s collection.  That seemed important, so here’s a photo: (How they knew it was an object and not just a rock is beyond me.)

          I left the museum to continue my walk toward Trafalgar Square/the National Gallery.  I stopped for some chocolate honeycomb ice cream because I am obsessed with Crunchie bars, but I was disappointed.  I also got some lunch.  I’m healthy.  Don’t worry.  Instead of going to the National Gallery, I went into the National Portrait Gallery, which is just across the street and equally free.  I couldn’t possibly have looked at all of the portraits in there, so I decided to just look at the ones of women because their stories are more interested than dozens of men with the same story.  What up, Women, Gender, and Sexuality Studies? 

           They also had an interesting exhibit on of photographs of British people now living in America.  But the coolest portrait they had wasn’t painted at all.  It was “The Head of Isabella Blow” by Tim Noble and Sue Webster.

          I left around 4:15 to get to the Temple tube station by 5 to meet Laura so I could see her netball match.  Many of you probs aren’t familiar with netball.  If you are, congrats.  An award is in the mail.  This was my first experience with it.  It’s basically basketball with less momentum.  Anytime you catch the ball, you have to stop running.  You can’t dribble.  Each position can only occupy certain parts of the court.  If you’re shooting, no one can be within a meter of you.  Ridiculous.  But I thought it was important to my education as a British person as it’s the game that they make girls play since it’s apparently a girls-only sport.  Laura’s team lost: 11-25.

       The next day I started a bit slowly, but I made my way to the Museum of London, which Julie Goldberg had mentioned when talking about money the day before.  She said that someone had found something like 300 gold roman coins and donated them instead of asking for their worth in real dollaz/pounds.  She also said this was pre-economic crisis.  As soon as I walked in, I knew it was going to be a mistake.  Not because the museum would be uninteresting.  It was a museum specifically dedicated to the history of London from ancient times to today.  This museum was a mistake because it’s half term in most of Europe (obvio since that’s why I was on vacation there) and so it was crawling with children.  Throughout the museum, there were packs of young children in neon vests on field trip from a nursery or on leashes. 
 
What was really cool about this museum was that they had reconstructions of typical rooms of the period throughout.  So, when I walked by one room, which was essentially straw beds with a wooden post in the middle, there was a little girl trying to put everyone to sleep and a boy rabidly swishing a crude prop broom back and forth shouting, “Make it clean!  Make it clean!”  Ah, domesticity.

          I continued walking through time, until I saw a painting of medieval London that caught my eye.  This is the painting:

Now why should this be interesting?  First of all, it’s interesting to see what London looked like so many moons ago.  But upon closer inspection, it’s ridiculous to see that there are heads sticking out of that castle!  

Obvio it’s because the King would put heads of those who plotted against him on spikes as warnings to others, but still.  That these would be included in the painting is kind of grotesque.  Or sentimental?  You decide.  Walking walking walking until I stopped at the plague where they had samples of the scents that people would wear around their necks to ward off the disease.  Which would you choose:               

a) lavender

b) cloves

c) pomme d’ambre (a mixture of whale vomit, animal scents, and flowers sometimes threaded onto a string, or contained in an object called a Pomander)

        
I continued on to see the Great Fire.  It’s kind of ridiculous how much of the city was taken out by it.

When I later was discussing it with Adam, he said that they should have another fire so that London could start over.  Adam is always a ray of sunshine in my life. 

I zoom zoom zoomed through a bunch of stuff.  I stopped to take some pictures of this massive dollhouse that some little boy once owned.  Can you believe that those walls are hand-painted.  My Gpa once gave my sister and I a dollhouse, and I thought it was the bomb.com, and I still do.  But this house is ridiculous!

I walked into this recreation of an English Pleasure Garden, where people would get all dolled up and walk around the gardens.  This tradition lasted about 200 years.  Naturally, you had to pay.  You could see performances and buy prostitutes there.  It sounds like a smashing time.  In any event, I had just walked in when there was an announcement that there would be a performance in the Pleasure Garden.  Why not?  So I waited around while this performance of Mary Prince’s life happened.  Basically, it was this one woman talking about slavery.  Since it was suitable for ages 5 and up, it had a lot of audience participation built in.  She had the kids pretending to wash clothes, wash the floor, and the like.  She’d ask questions like, “Would you want to have to work all day without friends?” and invariably, one kid would say, “Yes.”  She had a few lay on a wooden plank and one kid said, “Not too bad.”  She talked about her escape and had everyone sing “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.”  Everyone joined in.  Next to me, a girl said, “Mum.  Stop.”  Gotta love it.

I buzzed through modern London and left to get to Kensington for some lunch and see the Natural History Museum.  I got off at High Street Kensington with the hope that this French boulangerie/restaurant would still be in business because they have a delicious mozzarella and tomato sandwich.  I think it also has oregano and pepper on it.  And Montparnasse was still there!  The sandwich was magnificent.  Better, even, than I remembered.  Next time you’re in London, go there!  I lingered a bit since it was raining.  When I heard everyone behind the counter speaking French, I basked in it.  When I paid and the fellow couldn’t understand what I was saying, I made a quick translation and said a “Bonne journée” and bounced. 

I wandered over to the Natural History Museum, which wasn’t too far. As I passed the outdoor area in front, which is a large garden, I was shocked at the serpentine line filling the space.  It was like people were waiting in line for a roller coaster.  I almost didn’t go in.  But, I smartly walked around the corner to the much shorter line and got in within 10 minutes.  Dominate.

Several people had recommended the Natural History Museum to me, and it certainly didn’t disappoint.  Sadly, I went into the ecology portion of the museum first, which was a complete downer.  I already know that everything I’ve ever done is ruining the Earth, but there’s only so much I can do!  So I kind of hurried through there.  I went through the rest, looking at the inside of a plant cell, tons of taxidermy animals from people’s personal collections, skeletons, rocks, and on and on and on.  Here is the giant ground sloth that lived in the grasslands of South America until about 10,000 years ago.  Its scientific name, Megatherium, means “big animal” (I heart straightforwardness).  Of course, since it had no natural enemies its extinction is linked to the first arrival of humans in South America.  Way to go, guys.  Dodo birds and ground sloths:  Check.

I went into the main hall and was basically overwhelmed by the number of people.  This is the dinosaur skeleton that is set up in there:

Look at its baby head!  But, srsly, look at how many people are in this museum.  No wonder as I walked through, there was a kid lying face-down on the floor and crying.  (I didn’t go into the dinosaur area of the museum, though, because there was a 45 minute wait to get inside.  Forgive me?)  In the main hall, they also have a cutout of a giant redwood’s trunk.  They talk about how long they can live and all the things that happened during the tree’s lifetime [including Joan of Arc (my Confirmation name), Columbus, pilgrims, the discovery of gravity].  But it doesn’t matter because, as usje, humans chopped it down.  I also looked at some glow in the dark minerals and the museum’s vault for jewels.  You know, just shopping around. 

            I was about to leave when I realized I hadn’t seen the life-size whale that they have hanging.  So I turned around and made myself part of the throng of people pushing through the corridor to reach the room.  This room basically has all the riffraff animals to whom the museum didn’t give a hallway.  Like giraffes, rhinos, whales, dolphins, lions.  I don’t know how they group these things, but here’s a photo that kind of gives a sense of how large whales are?

I booked it out of there as quickly as possible since I wanted to put something in the post before heading back.  Naturally, though, since I was in Kensington, I stopped by Buttercup Bakery to pick up some sweets for my hostesses.  This place has the best cupcakes in London.  Well, at least the best that I found after trying cakes from at least 4 places.  (I’m serious about cake.)  They’re the bomb, baby.  Bomb, baby.  Then I headed back to Laura and Jen’s.

            The next day I got up and made some banana bread for them.  I only had some of the crust, but it was noms.  I was supposed to be at Adam’s around 10:30, so naturally, I showed up at 11:50.  I set down my stuff, he gave me a tour of his house (which he shares with 5 girls—sorority style), and we peaced out.  We walked through Guy’s Campus (the science part of King’s) and he showed me the new café as we walked towards the South Bank.  It felt good to be back on my old stomping grounds.    We walked essentially from Elephant and Castle to Waterloo.  We lunched in the food court of the hospital that’s by Waterloo Bridge.  

We stopped in at this art exhibit at the South Bank Centre that featured art by convicts and psych ward patients.  It was very interesting.

We started walking back towards Adam’s because we had about an hour and a half left before we were to go to the theater.  We were by Millennium Bridge when we realized that there was really no sense in going back because by the time we would arrive at Adam’s we’d have to turn back.  So we stopped into Caffè Nero and got some hot chocolates before heading back. 

            Laura met us at the theater just in time to get inside.  We saw Men Should Weep at the National Theater for £10.  It was a Scottish play, so it was sometimes difficult to understand.  The elderly American couple sitting next to me agreed.  How do I know?  Twice during the show, the gentleman leaned over to the lady and said, “I can’t understand a thing.”  She didn’t answer both times.  Then he waited a few minutes and leaned over again, whispering gruffly, “Can you understand anything?”  She quickly responded, “No.”  A few times, he would as her a question and she would summarize the scene for him.  I found it endearing but hilarious.  We took the bus home and had some pizza for dinner while watching 30 Rock. 

           The next day, Adam went to class for a bit so I made cookies.  When he got back, we watched some movies.  We started with Milk, then watched Shaun of the Dead.  Milk was excellent.  I nearly cried.  But then didn’t because Adam ridicules me constantly.  Shaun of the Dead was far less so.  With dinner we watched The Shawshank Redemption.  I thought of my pa as Red (Morgan Freeman—always a good choice) said, “Get busy livin’ or get busy dyin’.”  Really quality filmmaking.  Jupe had joined us somewhere along the line and so Laura, Jupe, Adam, and I went to the cinema to see The Social Network, which has not yet made it to Belley’s cinéma.

            On Friday, we had a late start due to the late evening.  I got up early, enjoyed unrestricted interwebs for a bit and then around eleven, Jupe woke up Laura and Adam so we could go to Borough Market.  Because once is never enough.  Jupe went off to the hospital while Laura, Adam, and I continued on.  We wandered around for a bit while looking for Jeev and Tom (another Wolfson character).  Jeev had brought his lunch, but the rest of us hadn’t.  So, naturally, we decided to partake in one of the more exotic meals available at Borough: ostrich burgers!  They were really good, actually.  I got mine with cranberry sauce and carmelized onions.  They tasted like beef burgers.  But maybe moister?  I don’t know.  I recommend trying them since I was too scurred to try them the whole time I lived in London.  Grow up.

            We goofed off for a bit before Jeev went home, Tom went to the gym, and I took the tube to King’s Cross to catch a train up to Leeds for the weekend.  Had no problem getting up.  On the train, though, there was a small girl who had a toy that recorded and repeated everything she said.  So whenever she shrieked at delight at its ability to record and repeat everything she said, I was sure to hear it repeated back in recording.  After we got to the first stop, the (American!) host came on the speaker and reminded people that the bar car was open and “It is Friday, so why not have a G&T?”  Not that anyone needed encouragement since there was a group of about 5 men who pulled out their 6 packs as soon at the train left King’s Cross.

            I got off the train at nearly 5 pm to meet Greg, Kawai’s boyfriend.  Yes, this is the same Kawai of Alex’s childhood and, therefore, also mine.  We quickly got on another train to head to the ‘burbs to pick up their dog, Winston Taro Kennedy, from Greg’s parents’ home.  While there, we also picked up massive amounts of Halloween costumes and miscellany such as pumpkin cups, skeleton mugs, and you get the picture.  Greg’s pops then gave us a lift back to Greg and Kawai’s.

            When we got back, Kawai was just starting dinner: an asian stirfry.  She asked me, “Is it stereotypical for us to be having a stirfry because I’m asian?”  I assured her that of course it was.  While I chopped up a storm, she mixed, and Greg scooped the bits out of a pumpkin to make us homemade pumpkin pie for dessert.  When dinner was ready, we sat down to watch some of this British series, The IT Crowd, but it wasn’t my favorite.  Then we flipped around channels for a bit, stopping to watch Come Dine with Me, which is awesome and catty.  It’s a group of four people and each day, the group goes to one person’s house for a homemade meal.  The winner gets £1000.  The commentaries are really stunning, and the narrator takes the piss out of each person.  (I feel totally comfortable using “take/taking the piss” now.  It means “making fun of.”)  It’s a pretty ridiculous show, and during one episode a guy came out in his underwear during the dinner party and put on a mask while singing this song so that he could see into the future.  So great.  Kawai also signed the two of us up to take an exercise class at their gym called “Body Attack.”  I went to bed frightened.

The next day, we got up around 8:30 to be at the gym by 10 because first we had to get to the Laundromat.  For breakfast, we had protein shakes.  We set off for the Laundromat and deposited everything in a machine before driving a few blocks away to go for a walk in the woods with Winston.  Kawai is trying to get back into photography, so she often stopped to take a photo.  But, usually, they were of Winston.  We hurried back to the clothes to change them to the dryer.  We waited and I watched the news since it was the weekend of the printer cartridges in the cargo planes.  We got the clothes and scooted back to Kawai and Greg’s to get changed for the gym.  Naturally, I hadn’t brought any exercise clothes or shoes, so I borrowed from Kawai (Her feet are a size 10.  I’m an 8.5 but no matter.) and when I had gotten dressed, Greg said I looked like “mini Kawai.”  Dreams can come true!

            Sadly, we arrived at the gym at 10:05, making us too late to waltz into Body Attack.  Jokes.  I was elated because I was scurred.  Since I obvio haven’t been running in Belley, I didn’t want to embarrass Kawai at her gym with my pathetic-ness.  So we all just went into the cardio/weights room and I was happy to get back on the elliptical, which I wasn’t expecting to see at all while I’m in Europe.  After doing about 30 minutes, Greg and Kawai said that they were ready to go.  So I don’t know how she had planned on us doing the workout class, which would have attacked our bodies for a full hour.  We went back for showers and went off to lunch at Kawai’s favorite restaurant, Gusto.  Kawai got a salad, Greg got a seafood pizza, and I got a pizza with goat cheese, pesto, pine nuts, arugula, and kalamata olives.  Then we headed back to Kawai and Greg’s to pick up Winston before heading into Leeds for the market where Kawai assured me we would see a ton of chavs, which are basically white trash.

            Leeds Kirkgate Market is the largest covered market in Europe.  It’s both outside and inside with stalls for fabric, baby carriages, suitcases, underwear, socks, shoe repair (where Kawai got some boots fixed), candies, hot dogs, jewelry, fish and chips, exotic fruits, watch repair, basically everything.  Kawai and Greg had promised me some chavs, so I was kind of disappointed when they didn’t really show me any.  (Our code word was to be “salami.”)  We left to look at this building that’s hundreds of years old and where traders used to sell things back in the day.  It’s been totally fancified and it’s full of shops and a restaurant now.  Afterwards, we walked down the main shopping street that was absolutely overflowing with people.  The way people were out and from the decorations, you’d think that Christmas was next weekend.  (Srsly, though.  In France they had put out the Christmas candies before I even left for my vacation.  Pure disgrace.)  Anyway, we went into some shops, including Harvey Nichols, which is on a scale of department store poshness from Primark to Harrods, just below Harrods.  It was nice but quite narrow actually.  What was really cool to me were the decorations they had put up below the escalators on the bottom floor.  It was this small triangular space that could easily go unnoticed, but Harvey Nichols had put Ken to good use:

Good to see he's finally doing something since Barbie was the one with all the jobs.  Feminism much?

We then went to Costco where Kawai and Greg stocked up on beers on ciders (for the holiday season?) and Halloween candy because Kawai was certain that they would be getting minimum 150 trick-or-treaters.  At Costco, they pointed out the first salamis of the day and then mentioned their concern for where Costco as a company was headed due to its clientele.  Overzealous, I thought.

            When we got back, Greg and I carved the two pumpkins that they had bought while Kawai started to get ready to go out since we were to be meeting up with some of their friends for an engagement party at a Mexican restaurant that Kawai had told me was as Mexican as it gets in Leeds.  Greg dressed up as an American football player to match Kawai’s cheerleader.  I was a poor excuse for a devil, but whatever.  I did my best.  We were the only three people dressed up in the restaurant.  No surprises. 

            This Mexican food was less than Mexican.  I ordered a quesadilla.  It tasted like a quesadilla I could have made in my microwave.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but srsly.  Kawai got a salad with a side of beans.  I honestly don’t know what kind of beans they were.  They were white-ish and cold.  Kawai thinks they were covered in sour cream, which is entirely possible.  All I know is that they were definitely not refried.  I looked into the kitchen to see if there were any actual Mexican people working there.  At first sight, it seemed like a no.  But, it’s possible they were mixed or I was mistaken.  Kawai agreed with me on the negative, but we considered the possibility that the lack of sun makes everyone pale.  (Be aware that I know this is all probs totes politically incorrect.  But that’s who I am.)  When we paid, there was some extra money (which rarely happens at large group dinners) so someone ordered a round of tequila shots for everyone.  It wasn’t even José. 

            We went to a bar afterwards where a few people were dressed up but nothing to write home about.  Kawai and I got some elderflower and lime ciders that I found delightful.  (Earlier, she and Greg had informed me that Strongbow is the chav cider.  OOPS.  I adore that stuff.  Put some blackcurrant syrup in some Strongbow for me and I’m a happy camper.)  Anyway, we danced and did all the normal going out stuff.  I can’t tell you how many times we heard “Ghostbusters” played.  I’m so disappointed and embarrassed to tell you that it wasn’t until after midnight that we heard “Thriller” played for the first time.  I can’t explain it.  After a bit, Kawai and I headed home to eat mountains of food and watch TV while Greg went into the city to continue the merriment.

            The next day we basically spent all day in pajamas.  Kawai and I made cornbread muffins after breakfast.  Each of us ate one and then Greg accidentally knocked all of them to the floor.  Kawai and I went to market to go food shopping.  When we got back, we had a cheese plate and salad while watching Kindergarten Cop.  Greg has a theory that putting Arnold Schwarzenegger in any movie would improve it.  An interesting hypothesis.  I suggested that we watch Addams Family Values since it celebrates Halloween while ushering us into Thanksgiving.  And so we did.  In the afternoon, I made cookies.  When the trick-or-treaters started arriving, Kawai basically stood outside and called to them to make them come to the house.  She was giving them 3 candies each and then realized there would be too many and so she and Greg went to the gas station to get some more sweets.  It was for the children, after all.  When there was a lull in the kids, we watched Scott Pilgrim vs. The World, which I hadn’t realized was the perfect movie for people with ADD.  It’s visually and aurally great.  Story-wise, probs a bit weak.  Then we enjoyed some Jersey Shore. 

            The next morning, Kawai dropped Greg and I off at the train station where I waited for my train and Greg caught his bus to work.  But before we left, I made them take this family portrait:

I got off the train in London and made my way to Goodge Street stop (central London by UCL) to meet a friend from high school who’s currently attending UCL for some lunch.  Since I was an hour early, I wandered around looking for an ATM and a market at which to buy a Crunchie bar.  Success.  But I was still about 20 minutes early and had my bag so I couldn’t just walk aimlessly.  So I went for a cup of tea at the nearby Caffè Nero.  (There’s actually 3 of them within about 2 blocks from the Goodge Street stop.  Insanity.)  So I read some of The Talented Mr. Ripley (which is memorable.  This song has layers.  Think about it.  Identity theft... "Doing the American.") and waited for Cristina to arrive.  She made it and we walked to get some grub at Eat..  It was great to see and catch up with Cristina since I hadn’t seen her since I was studying abroad.  She had actually just finished her year abroad in Lyon (she’s a French and Italian major) and she’s teaching a TEFL course right now so we had a lot to talk about. 

Around 3:30 we parted and I headed to London Bridge to meet up with Jen.  I had left a pair of jeans chez elle and she had lent me her towel.  Traded.  Then I went back to Adam’s.  When Adam and Jupe got back from lectures, we went to the market to get some food for dinner and more ingredients for cookies.  So, we came back and set to putting the kitchen into a frenzy.  We ate and watched 30 Rock until probably too late before going to bed.  Since I’d have to be out the door at 5:15 the next morning to get to London Bridge for the train to London Gatwick Airport.  (Sidenote: Gatwick has the nicest restrooms of any airport.  They have those scent sticks so it doesn’t smell like a public restroom and that has made all the difference.)

Travel out of London was easy peasy.  I landed easily in Geneva and went to the train station that’s adjoining the airport and bought a ticket to Virieu Le Grand Belley, but it wouldn’t leave until 2 pm.  It was currently 11.  So I ate a very leisurely lunch before catching my train.  I had to change trains in Ambérieu after an hour wait and so I did.  Then I got the bus from Virieu to Belley.  I was back in my room at 5:33 pm.  That’s right.  It only took me about 11 hours to get back to Belley from London. 

Naturally, the heat hadn’t been on for the entire break, so I basically froze my ass off.  I called the emergency number in the elevator to ask if they could please turn on the chauffage.  The guy on the other end of the third number that I called said, “Malheureusement, non.”  (Unfortunately, no.)  So, I sat in the kitchen with water boiling for about 2 hours before I went to bed with two pairs of socks, a hoodie, and gloves on. 

The next morning, even though I probs needed to I didn’t shower because the heat still wasn’t on.  So at 7 I dragged myself out of bed to get to school on time.  I got to the teacher’s lounge and as the bell rang, I realized that I had left my ipod in my room even though I was planning on playing a song from it for my first class.  I ran back to my room and straight to the classroom to get there about 10 minutes late.  Naturally, the room was empty.  But I don’t just mean that there weren’t any students.  I mean that there were also not any chairs or desks.  I waited about 15 minutes before heading back down to the teacher’s lounge to wait until my next class.  I tried to log into my email because over the break, they changed the internet server so I no longer have access to my email, certain blogs, online banking, purchasing train tickets, and facebook.  No dice in the main building either, so I futzed around for 40 minutes until I went to my next class.  Of course, no one showed up.  I went downstairs and ran into Sabine in the teacher’s lounge.  I was super confused because I was supposed to be meeting her students at that very moment.  So I sidled up to her and asked, “Are you not sending your students to me at this time?”  And she informed me that even though it was Wednesday, they were running the Friday schedule.  Which means that I didn’t have any work because I have Fridays off.  So I went home.

Da end.

Long-windedly,

Yessica

P.S. I hear my blog is difficult to read.  On the eyes, I mean.  Truth?  Gimmeh feedback!