Last Days in Paris.

After getting back into town after vacation, Sarah and I went to one of my favorite stretches of Paris: Ile St. Louis, smack dab in the middle of the Seine. We peeked into the shop windows, but I was discouraged as the nice cozy atmosphere that I usually relish here was diminished by the vast numbers of tourists, and lack of anyone French. Even my favorite little romantic accessories shop had replaced its wares with the gaudy baubles only the Red Hat Society could adore. Bummer.

We crossed the river, and just around the corner from the Hotel de Ville, by Metro 7 stop Pont Marie, is a sweet vine-covered and blooming passage that leads to some good frips [second-hand vintage stores] that I explored once with my friend Kitty and loved. Unfortunately for us, Paris weather is fairly fickle and it was cold and raining on us [we hadn't had umbrellas as the weather forecast we checked before leaving the house predicted sunshine at 73 degrees].

Saturday evening after a lovely sushi and sashimi dinner at home, Sarah and I went to another of my favorite parts of town, St. Germain des Pres, which just lights up and is bustling every night of the week with a good mix of hipster and classy clientele. We sat at a terrace bar and sipped our red and rose wines while watching passersby for my last Saturday evening out in Paris.

Today I had my last lazy Sunday, which commenced at 10:30am with my rolling out bed to immediately make my newly coined 'pink pancakes' [pancakes with mashed raspberries]. I spent the afternoon with Sarah at the Musee de l'Orangerie, where the famous curved-wall Monet murals are housed. We went to the Petit Palais afterward, as I have been meaning to get out there to check out the retrospective Yves St.Laurent exhibit before my departure. Unfortunately, it seems that August 15th is Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary, so it was closed. Instead, we sought shelter from the continuous rain and drizzle at a street-side cafe for some cafe creme and a plate of fries - undoubtedly some of the best I have experienced this year.

By the way - French french fries really are better.

Two Weeks in Provence.

On the road again...

Jennifer, Sarah [next year's au pair who will be replacing me], Sebastian, Luke and I made our trek down the Autoroute 6 in the trusty Volvo on Friday, July 30th. Luis and Alexandra had the fortunate task of arriving by train, which takes roughly 2.5 hours and 0% heartache.

The first day of our journey, getting to Lyon, was pretty smooth sailing. Not a lot of traffic congestion on the highways, kids didn't scream much, and pulling into Lyon, we actually got a parking spot for our car right outside the hotel - which basically never happens in France! [To the hotel's credit, they did have a parking garage, but with our car-top carrier, we didn't even come close to fitting.]

We had a good roam around Lyon, and a nice Cote de Veau dinner, and after some profiteroles [for me] and mousse au chocolat [for Sarah], we dropped off a sleeping baby Luke back to Jen at the hotel. Upon recommendations of a friend from high school now living in Lyon, Sarah and I enjoyed a stroll along the river and around the cobbled streets of Vieux Lyon, the old district filled with lovely buildings, cool bars and lounges. The next morning, we took Sebastian for a tour around, ending up at a playground for an hour or so before hitting the market. Jen bought us sausages and cheese, plums, figs and prunes for the picnic-style lunch in the car for the rest of our south-bound journey.

Among the unchecked items from my bucket list, navigating and driving throuhg backroads of French country still remained. Fortunately for me, The Autoroute 7 was at a standstill, what traffic radio 107.7 called a 'journee noire' or level black traveling day... so we elected to navigate the sometimes perilous, but often picturesque small roads through the south of France. We passed through vineyards and fields of sunflowers, and stopped in a couple of small towns along the way to stretch our legs, for Jen to nurse Luke, and to refold the map.

Six hours later, four of those driving, we made it to the house! I can now claim success as a navigator through the French countryside, and check that one off of my bucket list for this year in France. The small hitch though, was that the last half hour of our journey was spent in circles about a block away from our destination, as unfortunately, all of our directions said to turn left, when apparently we actually needed to turn to the right. None of the addresses down there seem to have numbers, so we were desperately searching for one with a green gate and white shutters. However, with Luis and Alexandra waiting patiently in the road to flag us down upon our arrival, we eventually pulled into our very own old stone 'mas', a french farmhouse. The grounds were nicely landscaped, providing nice patches of smooth grass that would allow for games of tag and hide and seek for the next two weeks. To the west of the house was a small orchard, from which we enjoyed tart green plums, small red prunes and sweet peaches. To the east of the house was the swimming pool, in which we spent every morning and afternoon with or without the kiddies. Sarah and I shared a room on the west side, that was apparently originally the place where the pigs were kept! It had since been converted to a nice retreat, where we had a separate entrance [not at all connected to the house accept for sharing a wall], bathroom and beds. With the windows closed it was silent in the morning - a nice anomaly from having lived with toddlers and an infant for a year! We rented the place with a French family, the Aprils, who have three children of their own: a six year-old named Stanislas, a four year-old named Capucine, and a two month-old named Valentine.

I spent most of my time inside in the kitchen, and had the chance to put my cooking skills from the past year and my cooking class to use. Laurence even mentioned that I should set up shop as a traiteur, a caterer/chef, which was a lovely boost to my ego. : )

Sunday, Jen, Sarah, Luke and I ventured to Isle-Sur-la-Sorgue, a small island on the river Sorgue that is famous for its incredible markets and antiques brocantes. We found parts of the town enchanting, but the market was so touristy and the day so oppressively hot, we sought shelter at a riverside cafe under some grapevines and then made for home.

Unfortunately 'home' was plagues by wasps. So much so in fact, that Claude, the burly Provencal father of the owner lumbered on over to check the pH balance and add more anti-wasp chemicals to the pool just about every other day. The wasp problem culminated in a visit from the local pompiers [firefighters] who climbed to the roof and smoked out the three nests they found there. The kids loved the pin-pon of the classic French firetrucks, and after Stan, Sebastian and I had been stung, we were all grateful for the removal of the things.

A welcome retreat at the end of the first week, Sarah and I borrowed the car to travel off of the compound, our term of endearment for the fenced house and yard that we had not left for 6 days. Saturday night we went to Goult, tiny town, population: 900, for a jazz festival featuring a trio by the name of New Orleans that was enjoyable, save the slightly chilled air courtesy of the Mistral winds that blow through Provence from Siberia. [I kid you not, the winds actually are from Siberia...brrr.] Sunday we traveled to Gordes, from where there was a beautiful outlook across the valleys, vineyards and farmlands, a crumbling old chateau, and some lovely cobbled streets that did a number on my sandals and ankles. We sipped iced tea on the veranda of a five star cliff-side hotel, La Bastide, before departing for Bonnieux. Bonnieux was enchanting with its beautiful winding [uphill streets] and great views. We cooled off with a tasty treat in the form of gelati on a shaded terrace. We then went to Oppede le Vieux, where another crumbling castle from the 13th century marks the territory of the bloodthirsty Baron Oppede, who murdered and ransacked much of the land and population of the area.

Monday evening I went with Jen, Luis and all of the kids to the Guignol. Guignol is the traditional french puppet show featuring a hard-up puppet who at first you think is the bad guy, but is apparently the good guy, someone stealing food because they have no other means to live and a happy ending. I didn't catch much throughout, but was at least glad to find that neither did Jen, Luis, nor francophones Francois and Laurence, due to the heavy Provencal accent. [Think Eliza before and after Professor Higgins has finished with her.]

Avignon was a bit of a bummer, one of the towns that is kind of a city, but with no real vibe of its own, so it falls flat into the lump of towns that aren't as cool as Paris. However, Sarah and I went to market day in St. Remy on Wednesday, and perused linens, quilts, baby olive trees, lavender anything and everything, fresh produce and all of the other sweet offerings of a Provencal market. That was a truly wonderful day away from everything in a sweet town with blooming flowers, bubbling fountains and passageways that felt like secret gardens.

Friday we packed back into the car with the intention of missing most of the traffic which would block up the auto-routes, as apparently the entire nation tends to do their road trippin' on Saturdays. It was a good plan, and with the exception of 30 minutes traffic caused by construction on the right lane, we breezed back north and were able to be in Paris, and then at home by nightfall [total: 11 hours in the car, 8 spent driving].

Pulling into Paris, seeing the skyline which included the Eiffel Tower, Sacre Coeur, and Invalides, I realized just how much I am going to miss this beautiful city and the life that I have built here over the last year. I spoke with Becca on the phone that same evening, and she told me how much she missed it here and that sentiment was seconded by Jenna, and probably all of my other Paris girlfriends. So though it will be sad to leave the beauty and fun memories of this year here in Paris, I am so thankful to have been blessed with this opportunity and learning experience.

God has spent this year teaching me humility, servitude, patience and perseverance, love, gentleness, patience, kindness, and how to be a better, more faithful follower of Christ. I am wizened a little bit, cultured I hope, stronger in the face of snobbery, and maybe a tad more fashionable to boot.

Thank you for sticking in there with me, and for listening to me whine, prattle and romanticize.

Île de Ré.

For one glorious week in the middle of July, I was fortunate enough to be whisked away to a lovely old house right next to a port, behind a bakery, at the beach. Île de Ré is an island on the Atlantic coast of France, with six or seven ports around both the north and south shores. It has been a go-to for ages apparently, and has been fending off English battleships and tourists alike since the 1100's.

The house that Jennifer and Luis procured for us was old in all the right places. Fully updated baths and kitchens, but still with exposed original beams and floors; arched doorways and heavy wooden doors. My bedroom and bathroom must have been designed by a genius with a heart for either the single aunt, au pair or nanny. To access, one had to walk down a hall [with a door to close], through the laundry room [with a door to close], and into my suite [with another door to close]! What a wonderful sound barrier from a 3 month-old, 2 year old and 3.5 year old! The room was decorated with a good combination of lilac, lavender, pink, red, and blue; and the tub was wonderful for each and every soak that I took in it every night! When at the house, we all basically lived int he courtyard: eating breakfast, lunch and dinner there, playing on a huge orange outdoor cushion, and attempting to keep Alexandra from biting Sebastian, Sebastian from poking Luke in the eyes, and Luke from wailing all the live-long day.

Saturday, our drive down, consisted of 9 looooong hours in the car [a Volvo SUV] packed to the extreme. Alexandra watched no less than 6 Dora the Explorer episodes on the in-car DVD player, and at least 2 Little Einsteins, 1 Handy Manny and 1 Backyardigans on Jennifer's iPhone. Sebastian enjoyed the shows as well, and slept for an hour and a half [unfortunately, this was before the long lunch break]. We stopped and stopped and stopped for those road-side potty stops that I remember from my childhood, and stopped again for gas, lunch and nursing the baby...

Sunday was a great day for me, with having it off, I slept in, ate fresh pastries from our bakery neighbors on the sunlit but shaded courtyard and went to the beach for 6 hours with a good book and some found Elles and Vogues. I spent each morning with the kids for a couple of hours, and then just with the baby, Luke, while Jen and Luis took the older two to some fun sporting adventure. Lunch, then I was off. I alternated my afternoons either napping and reading at the beach, or napping and reading in my fabulously tucked away bed.

I had two delicious dinners out, Sunday evening and Friday evening. The first, at a tasty little restaurant at the port-side, Le Belem. I had a pot of mussels steamed in Charente creamy suace [basically cream. butter, white wine, maybe some lemon grass], a vegetable plate with broccoli, potatoes and stuffed tomatoes, and a nice local rose wine. The second, at Le Skipper [I almost didn't go due to the grade-A dorky name] I enjoyed another local rose wine, a yummy fish bisque, a platter of assorted fish on pickled cabbage, and a lovely frozen tiramisu.

The car ride back to Paris the following week consisted of one screaming infant, one screaming toddler and one major detour in which the appropriate highway exit was forgotten once, and forgone another. We made it back in 6 collective pieces [that's one for each parent, child, and yours truly].

Since returning, I have moved completely out of the bedroom I have called mine for the past year and packed all but two weeks of clothing and toiletries into those huge checked bags that can no longer weigh more than 23 kilos, and the second costs me 44€ at that. What a whirlwind it is going to be! Packing has been really overwhelming and stressful. I am having to ship an 11-lb. box back home, as I don't have space for the clothes that it contains. This is all after donating 3 garbage bags full of clothes and shoes, mind you. I have wayyy too much stuff! But to me, at this simplified point after the donation runs, everything I am keeping is 'that cute top from Paris' or 'that dress that I can where to work [from Paris]' or housewares and investments that I plan to enjoy until I have daughters, nieces, and granddaughters to give them to. With my three packed suitcases, I am now in the guest room for the next four nights before our vacation to Provence, and three nights after.

Sarah, the au pair for 2010-2011, arrives tomorrow evening! I am looking forward to meeting her, helping her to get settled, showing her around and walking her through logistical steps that I had to navigate on my own way back in September of '09.

More to come after Provence!

Recommended reading: A Year in Provence by Peter Mayle.

Lisbon.

I have picked up a cool trick since moving here: when I travel I now make sure to read before and/or during my travel a historical fiction novel set in the location which I am visiting. I highly reccomend it; you come to associate elements of your story's plot with what you are getting to see in front of you and it helps to piece back together those fragments of history that you would not otherwise really comprehend.

I think that a little fighting ation, treason, plotting, romance and conspiracy very much add up to a much better touristic experience. For example, in visiting London, I read The Other Boleyn Girl, about King Henry VIII and his court. It gave recognition to the Tower, where Anne Boleyn was beheaded, and perespective to the palaces in and around the city.

I was really fortunate to get to spend this last weekend in Lisbon, Portugal and so I read a book called The Last Kabbalist of Lisbon. It was about the expulsion of Jews from Lisbon and the giant massacre that took place at the turn of the 16th century. The focus of the story is on a man who is murdered at the time of these riots, but actually removed from the rioting and massacre itself. His nephew, the protagonist, seeks to solve the mystery set in the famous historical locations around Lisbon. It really created a vantage point for me in tihs instance, since there isn't much that i knew about Lisbon and its history prior to my visit and reading of this novel.

I arrived in Lisbon Saturday morning, from where I took the local bus into town. My only grievance with this entire trip was that the bus stops [and tram stops] were not at all clearly marked. Some weren't marked at all! The general idea is that you board this bus, mostly with locals, that does not have a site map or a list of stops that the bus will make. Thus, even if you know which stop you were at last, you have no way of knowing which one comes next! I was fortunate that the stop I needed, Picoas [pronounced pee-co-osh] was labeled. albeit in Times New Roman size 12...

I was able to find my hostel, Unreal Hostel, and get settled in to my bunk in an 8-person dorm. From my reconnaisance, at least 2 roommates were guys [judging by shoes] and I guessed one was either old or military, in that his bed was made to a T. I ate some PB&J I had brought from Paris, secured some maps from the front desk and headed out.

It was a picturesque walk from my hostel: really cool building with murals that stretched for their entire sides, the Murano mansion, and the Marques Pombal memorial statue. I turned down Avenida da Liberdade, which guidebooks called comparable to the Champs Elysees of Paris. Well, I beg to differ - the two streets have nothing in common! Champs Elysees is pretentious and touristy; whereas Avenida da Liberdade had tree lined pathways wide enough for groups to pass one another, fountains and some cafes and shops. Obviously, I much preferred the avenida.

I walked and walked and walked, and ended up on the Baixa Chiado, a cool 'lower' neighborhood. There are 7 giant hills that make up Lisbon, and though I am still a bit sketchy on the details of the topography of Lisbon, I am pretty sure this means that this neighborhood is on the side or at the bottom of a hill, versus atop one. I chose a cool cafe with a lovely terrace to enjoy a Coca Lite [I NEVER liked diet Coke at home, but here for some reason I do... weird]. After sitting and reading and people watching for a while, I strolled further on until coming across the main port, Cais do Sodre. I walked along the port for a bit, and then up to the Centre Comerical, where I found a cool market. I thought about buying a cool platter from an old lady that was hand painted in a marbled way, but I wasn't really into many of her color schemes, unfortunately. I have a vision of serving some fabulous hors d'oeurves on a lovely platter from somewhere exotic, but I guess it won't be from Lisbon.

Then I found the Se Cathedral, and jumped on the tram after a quick tour. I knew this was the tram I neded to be on to get ot the 5th century castle atop the tallest hill in Lisbon. But have I mentioned yet how bus and tram stops are not at all marked? We pulled up to a beautiful lookout point where bougainevillas [flowers] crested a wall which framed a stunning view of the sea below. I should have folowed my instinct to get off here, at least to take photos at this view, but alas, i stayed aboard the good ship Lollipop in assumption that a huge tourist spot such as the castle would be marked, and this one was clearly not. I was wrong.

I finally alighted from the blasted tram at the foot of the hill upon whihch sits the castle. I was not about to retry the tram system so I settled in to a nice uphill hike. About an hour later, completely drenched with sweat, my feet aching [it's ok - I carry ibuprofen at all times now], I made it! On the path though, I stumbled upon a gregarious group of German tourists who decided that I knew what I was doing, and that of all smart ieas, they should follow me to the castle! At first they were covert, following me around corners, then stopping for photos until they saw another turn which I was about to take. It made it more fun though; and eventually I asked them if they too were attempting to find the castle, and together we just walked up and up until eventualy we couldn't walk up anymore, and lo and behold there was the castle!

Afterwards, I was so pooped all I could focus on was the forthcoming shower that I needed to scrub off the grime of the city, eight layers of dried sweat and airplane germs from the morning. Arrving back at my hostel, I met the first of my roommates, Flaurent, and could barely compose myself to speak in French - that's how focused on showering I had become!

Clean and refreshed, I was able to now conduct a decent conversation with my French dorm-mate. He is a airplane mechanic in the French Air Force, and we had a good chat. It was also nice getting to know him, since he then took me out for dinner, and together we explored the Bairro Alto, famous for its night life and bar scene.

Sunday I explored Belem, where the Tower of Belem and the Mosteiro [Monastery] dot the famous landscape here. It was really neat to see, and the architecture of the monastery was stunning. I also really enjoyed the gardens there and the Archeological Museum. Though I do think that one of my very favorite things about being in Europe is the happenstance markets that seem to pop up everywhere! I love finding these, and the one I stumbled upon this morning was a treasure trove for the beautiful hand-painted tiles rescued from demolition projects around the city.

Sunday afternoon was a lazy one spent at the beach, of course after a minor ticket-office fiasco, and generally I enjoyed myself amongst the bajillion other sunbathers and teens playing soccer and volleyball, and the kids hooting on vuvuzelas and running by and kicking sand on my face. : )

All in all, I am grateful for a weekend away, and I give Lisbon a genuine gig'em!

Brocante.

Yesterday, [Sunday, 27 Juin] was the Bi-annual Brocante in Le Vesinet. A brocante is a city-wide garage sale and food/antiques fair; and according to preliminary research, is called one of the best flea markets in Paris to hit up. I guess this is based on the principle that the wealthy live in Le Ves, and to be able to pick their things from the street is getting the golden ticket.

Walking around town with Eliza and Kitty, both au pairs here, I came to realize how much I did not want to accumulate so much stuff like this. I know in most cases things are necessary, at least for a time being. But this was truly overwhelming to see - shoes, clothes, collections, antiques, games, junk, and more. I am glad I was able to see it, but it started off a renewed vow to not buy any more stuff while I am here.

And it also incited a bit of a panic to begin organizing for packing - which of course I am procrastinating about.

Fête de la Musique.

Monday, June 21st was summer solstice. Yeehaw! I being, so far north, am now closer to the sun than ever before! This means the sun rises at about 5:30am and sets at 10pm - the sun is bigger in the sky, and I have been soaking it up after a winter bundled in 18 layers.

To celebrate, about 25 years ago, the French Ministry of Culture decided to organize a free, outdoor musical extravaganza. It has now spread and is all over the world!

I went with a friend Kitty, and we toured mostly the 5th and 6th arrondisements. We started at the islands [there are two islands in the Seine that house Notre Dame and the count as the epicenter of downtown], had a plastic cup of shared wine on the river quai and then headed on. These arrondisements are the Latin Quarter and St. Germain de Pres, respectively. The Latin Quarter is where all of the universities are, and thus home to a large artsy-frenchy student population. Here we saw a couple of 20-something rockers playing Iron Man [ACDC], some Latin Flava jiving, and a Beatles/Rolling Stones cover band of 50-somethings. Over in the 6th we saw a great Rockabilly 3-piece band; and man am I sucker for the stand-up bass. I love it! They played Johnny Cash and a couple doo-wops.

It was definitely a great experience, even for someone like me who enjoys music, but is definitely not an officionado. It just brings to mind people like my sister, Pamela, and brother-in-law, Kyle, who really are musical officionados - and how much MORE fun it could have been with such cool folks.

All-night Art Festivals [think back to October with Nuit Blanche] and Music Festivals like this one really do strike me as having become a Parisian. [To a degree: I know my way around - I ditched carrying a map in May, but I am not exactly as surly as necessary to fool some Parisians.] But truly, THIS is culture. This is what makes it Paris, and I am so blessed and so grateful for such awesome memories to keep and to share.

Thanks for reading.



http://www.fetedelamusique.culture.fr/site-2010

Le Cote d'Azur.

This past weekend, I had the fabulous opportunity to travel with a good friend, Amber. After about three weeks of saying we were going to travel this weekend, and procrastinating actually booking a trip, we got together Monday at McDonald’s – free wifi throughout Paris – to plan. However, it was not until Tuesday that I actually booked our trains, and Thursday until we found somewhere to sleep!

I really enjoy last minute travel; a go by the seat of your pants excursion always makes me feel accomplished and excited. Granted, lack of planning in Costa Rica [really my only other intranational or international travel experience] didn’t require much anyway. There, you went to one of 2 bus stops, bags in hand, to buy a ticket. I never once booked a hostel beforehand; often times we just walked the road until one looked nice enough and was within our $10 a night budget! Europe is quite different; but nonetheless exhilarating.

We took an overnight train to Nice, which is on the Cote d’Azur [Mediterranean] of France. As Amber aptly described this experience in her facebook photo album, this was the longest night of our lives! We were fortunate to book first class seats, as they were only 7 euros more than regular seats. So we did get a few more inches to each side and a few more options as to where to try to squish our bodies into a horizontal position. I am not sure what I was expecting. I knew when I chose our seats that they were in fact chairs and not beds, like on some sleeper trains. However, I guess I anticipated having some sort LazyBoy-esque recliner with footrest. And probably provided mini-pillows and blankets in plastic, like on airplanes. No such luck. It was literally negative two degrees in that train compartment! I had packed for the beach, what was I supposed to do? I put on slacks under my dress, a sweater over it and used a jacket to cover up with. I contemplated using another beachy cover-up I had brought to wrap around my feet as mock socks… but couldn’t find the motivation to move from the fetal position that provided the most warmth I could muster.

Meh.

Getting into Nice was great though, and all in all it was worth a sleepless night to arrive at destination at 8:30am and have the full day ahead! Amber fabulously booked us a four-star hotel on lastminute.fr [.com for all of you stateside] that had been reduced to 50% off, making it cheaper than or as cheap as all of the hostels we had looked at. But instead of a hostel, we got a pool, Jacuzzi, sauna, gym, and complimentary bathrobes and slippers! Heck yes! We went to brunch while they finished preparing our room, and then after a quick clean up, headed back to the train station to figure out how to get to Monaco! 5 euros, people. It cost 5 euros to get to the most fabulous place I have encountered in a long while! Yachts five stories high! Ornate architecture and sunlit pathways; a statuesque tropical garden in honor of Grace Kelly, and historic Roman ruins. Lunch on terrace with white couches and umbrellas, gelati and the Monte Carlo casino! Ferraris everywhere, Porsches in abundance… it was opulence to a degree I have never seen before. And though I loved visiting for the day, my friend I am here to witness to you how glad I am that wealth is not one of my ambitions. I hope to pay bills and be responsible and have enough to be a little care-free, it’s true – but I also genuinely hope I never find myself in such a fashion that I have so much money and spend it on things like five-story yachts and Ferraris and Porsches. For it is harder for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven than to pass a camel through the eye of a needle. [That’s scripture, y’all – Mark 10:25, Luke 18:25, AND Matthew 19:24.]

That evening we had dinner in a large pedestrian square, the Place Garibaldi, and had one of the best salads ever. I promise to duplicate it for you when I am on my visiting tour back in the states!

Sunday morning, we woke up ridiculously early and headed out to find the port [which we discovered the previous night, for before finding our dinner restaurant, we toured the beaches and monuments on the coast in Nice] from where we would be taking our cruise to St. Tropez.

I almost don’t even want to describe the next hour for you… physically and emotionally too painful! [Mostly just physically.]

1. I realize that I grabbed the map of Monaco and not the map of Nice we needed to find the port in a timely manner. [Don’t judge harshly – have you ever accumulated the ‘travel purse’? It’s hideous and includes about 35 pamphlets and 17 maps; business cards, menus and ticket stubs.]
   
2. We don’t find the port in a timely manner.
   
3. I am gaining blisters on the soles of my feet due to walking quickly and so far [we turned 15 minutes into 45] in impractical shoes. [Again, don’t judge harshly – I was planning on sipping mimosas on a cruise to St. Tropez and then loafing on a beach or at a lounge bar, ok?]
   

We made it to the port eventually, with about 10 minutes before they untied the boat from the dock. Thank you Lord, again, for providing us with locals to give us directions!

The cruise was a fun time. It was a bit chilly as the morning air had not yet warmed and the clouds were fairly dense still. But it was definitely worth the goose bumps to sit on top of the boat to see humongous mansions built into the cliffs and sides of Nice. We sailed out to St. Marguerite island, and saw the prison in which the Man in the Iron Mask was held… creepy. We viewed Cannes and its incredible sealine architecture, and stopped to let further tourists aboard. Then on to St. Tropez!

We docked, saw the beach, some ruins, laid out on the ruins – remember the early morning I mentioned? Totally led to both Amber and I snoring on a seawall behind a Rolex event. Awesome! We shopped a little, walked up the docks in hopes of a yachting invite [didn’t happen: ( ], had a drink, dipped into the Mediterranean and hopped back on our cruise. Once back and cleaned up we hit up gelati [for dinner…yikes] and then strolled the Promenade des Anglais, on which can be found the Belle Epoque hotels, including the Negresco. The Negresco is a beautiful hotel with gilded edges and a green and pink domed roof; unfortunately for us it was completely under construction.

I have been settling back into Paris nicely, and enjoying no longer being the palest I have been since I was 14. Although the explosion of suitcase on my floor is just waiting for that opportune moment when I will be productive… might as well be now, right?

Chateau de Vincennes and Parc Floral de Paris.

The 10th of June I went to Chateau de Vincennes on the East Side of Paris with ladies from my Bible Study. We went to a tea room for some coffee and tea, and I couldn’t resist a raspberry pistache tart – mom good. The castle itself was so interesting to visit! It was constructed in the 14th century as the main fortressed palace for Paris. It was all fashioned in such a military style completely in opposition when juxtaposed with the Palais Royal [connected to the Louvre], the luxurious and opulent palace of Versailles, and even the hunting Chateau right next to where I live in St. Germain-en-Laye. It was also neat to me, because as I have been reading a lot of historical fiction lately, I was able to more fully grasp the style of the people in the 1200’s and 1300s of which I am currently reading. [I should post a booklist of all the books I have been reading… but then again, I should have written them all down, because though I remember the stories well, I am always so hazy on author and title!]

Just behind the Chateau was the Parc Floral de Paris, and it was absolutely stunning! Gorgeous blooms, wonderful scents, and we even got to see a peacock display for a passing female! We had a good lunch, though mine was the worst hamburger I have had in France. Bummer, too, as I was really looking forward to a gourmet burger with medium rare minced sirloin and some fancy stinky cheese with some fancy spicy mustard… yum. What I got: sesame seed bun, waaayyyy past well-done beef, with a slice of I KID YOU NOT American cheese. DISAPPOINTING! But it was still fun, and even the most mature of the ladies in our group, probably at 60, was the youngest in the entire café of blue-hairs!

What a neat part of town that is, and it's been on my list to check out for the longest time! Plus, upon discovery of the outdoor ampitheatre in the Park, I will definitely be headed out for some after work free concerts!

Workin' Hard for the Money.

With having a newborn around, we have definitely had our work cut out for us around the house. Jennifer is recovering from having an unexpected cesarean, and that is hitting Sebastian hard. Unfortunately, she is unable to lift him or hold him, as he is too heavy and she could further injure her internal organs, and rip stitches! Poor kid, though, he is so upset these days – not that he has a new baby brother [he is quite ecstatic about that] but just because he doesn’t get why Mommy can’t pick him up. It really is pretty heart breaking.

Goodness gracious, though. That boy is sooo mischievous! Terrible twos, for sure. Jen asked if I could possibly take on a few more hours, as she is not sure about handling Sebastian and Luke at home on her own – especially when she isn’t physically 100% yet! So I am now working 12hours on Fridays – 8am to 8pm with only naptime for a break. It’s definitely like I am a mom, and let me tell ya – toddlers are rough. I have a new found respect for those beautiful people in my life like my Mom and one Miss Alyssa Kreutter who have managed multiple two and three year-olds in preschool. Thank you and now I get what a lot of your stories meant!

May the Fourth Be With You.

**Disclaimer: this is soooo old. I hadn’t realized my mistake of saving draft and not publishing. My heartfelt apologies to those who care! **

Have you heard that one? Apparently Star Wars nerds celebrate May 4th.... regardless, it makes me chuckle. : ) How is it already the middle of May? How is it that my mom's visit has already come and gone?! May in France is holiday-packed. May 1st is French Labor Day. Though it was a Saturday, which means offices and schools didn't close, it did definitely mean that everything else did. And boy, do I mean EVERYTHING closed. No boulangeries, no shopping, no movies even. May 8th marks the celebration of the end of World War II and the end of Gestapo presence in France. Parades were held Wednesday the 5th - Saturday the 8th; and again, everything was closed! Living abroad has become a piece of cake; there are still definitely arduous struggles with the kids, homesickness for drive-thrus and burritos and family and friends. But given the opportunity to share my life here with one of the most important people in my life really makes it that much better. When I came back from Costa Rica [double-07] I had a rough time with reverse culture shock. I thought that reverse culture shock meant that I wouldn't want to come back to the States, that I would hate American culture, etc. I am sure that is what it is for some people; but for me it was just an awful state of loneliness. I won't get into all of that, but what I realized was that the hardest part of returning was that everyone asked "how was Costa Rica?!" and expected "so great!" to be my entire answer. I am sure you know by reading this, and by your own experiences abroad, or just apart from your comfort zone, that there is always so much that is great, yet still a percentage that really blows. I felt like at that time I couldn't say that parts of it sucked, so I felt like no one could relate to this life-changing ordeal. Fortunately, this won’t be the case upon my return home this time. Having my mom, Mrs. S. Renee Stone come to visit has meant the world to me!
Friday I headed out to the airport to pick up Mom, and we proceeded to lug the bags across town via RER trains. Finally getting to the hotel and having had lunch, we took some naps and then came out to Le Vésinet where Mom wooed Alexandra, and got to meet Jen and her mom Betsy. Sebastian is ever shy and tends to turn away in that cute way where he is still eyeing you with the peripherals! Luke had just come home and he is cute even though he is very much in that squnched-up lizard stage. : )

The evening was spent in honor of the birth of one lovely Becca Hare; a full-out French appetizer dinner was served, and though delicious – 14 courses later, we were both in some serious pain. You just can’t refuse French hostesses – we truly tried!

Saturday we spent a wonderful lazy morning in the hotel eating breakfast and trying to get our pestering cleaning lady to leave us alone! [Only complaint of the week: the maid didn’t wait for us to put the tray out when we were finished, she knocked on the door on her own about30 minutes after delivery so there always seemed a pressure to eat quickly… yikes. We walked to the Arc de Triomphe and the Champs Elysees then went back to Le Vesinet to get some lunch and picnicked at Ibis, the park and lake at which I run, hang out, and play with the kids at the playground. We fed ducks and ducklings, geese and goslings. So much fun and completely reminiscent of my childhood in Carrollton spent at the park doing the same thing! [In fact, I am still getting chased by mean old swans!]

We went to St. Germain-en-Laye, and upon our exit from the RER tunnel, encountered a full-on Scottish bagpipe and drums band marching through the square. After a few performances we headed on to see the chateau, the gardens there, some cute shops the town has to offer, and upon stumbling upon the marche [market] area, we found an international festival and a German [lederhosen and all] band marching through! That night we went to dinner at one of the restaurants I really enjoy here, Suffren, in the 7th arrondisement – quite close to Eiffel Tower. Mom and I each had some fabulous food and a great time feeling ‘very French’ in it all. Our table-neighbors truly added to the ambience: imagine the most classically French old couple you can. Do you have a mental image? Does it look like a balding man in a suit with a pocket square who orders brings his dog to sit under the table? Is he ordering a platter of oysters and guzzling wine? Is his wife wearing a fur coat, with bushy hair and out-of-the-lines red lipstick? Well then, my friend, you are indeed spot-on. Giggles most definitely ensued.

Sunday we went to church and I got to show Mom off to my friends there! My typical Sundays include a slow breakfast and getting ready routine, maybe reading and doing some Bible study, church and then picnic at the Eiffel Tower… so that is what we did! We also visited Montmartre: the district which houses Sacre Coeur, an incredible basilica as well as Moulin Rouge and the other cabarets. Then we beat it out that part of town which is quite dodgy after dark!

Monday, we went to Notre Dame, and then to Ile St. Louis for some famous gelati. At 11am. You know that’s how we do! We had a blast checking out the shops on the island; I got some jewelry, Mom found some gifts and souvenirs, and we had fun with the comical oddities the French come up with as house wares! We had a good lunch in a corner café on St. Germain, a major street on the right bank that is lots of fun to stroll. It is also the beginning to the University area in the Latin Quarter. After lunch we walked by the Conciergerie [where the guillotine was famously held – the one which decapitated thousands of prisoners as well as Marie Antoinette, I believe.] We kept going after having crossed the river and saw the Hotel de Ville [City Hall] and its wonderful Manege [Carousel]. Then, to celebrate Mother’s Day, although a little late, we went to Bazaar Hotel de Ville [BHV] to get some Chanel lipstick. Fabulous, dah-ling. Fabulous. We shopped and hung out in the Marais, got a café and enjoyed some down time.

Tuesday we went to Bible Study and then Mom helped me with work! We picked up Alexandra at school, and tried desperately to find a parking spot in the rain for the library. After half an hour of futile efforts, I let Alexandra and Sebastian help with a tour of our favorite spots – Park Lorraine [affectionately referred to Boogly-Boogly Park, wherein lies the merry-go-round namesake, Boogly Boogly] and where we go to gymnastics twice a week. I packed up all of my coats and boots that could possible fit into a suitcase for Mom to take back for me, and after vacuum-sealing and having to sit on it to shut it, we carted it back across town.

Wednesday definitely more bitter than sweet. I had discussed with Mom the night before how much I would love if she could just stay here. If any of you comforting people could just be here with me! Her wise response, of course, was that if that were the case, then I would never actually be myself, and I would never be so independent. True words, and well spoken. Though I do miss you all sorely!

A New Member of the Dalrymple-Roth Family!

It has been such an interesting experience being an au pair. At first, I struggled with what my place was, how to get the kids to like and respect me. Then I got the hang of it, I bonded enough witht he kids, became a disciplinarian, and have become confident in surrendering some points of leadership to be a servant.

I have been humbled by the fine line that an au pair must walk: being comfortable in the house you are living in and taking care of, while at the same time acknowledging that it is not your own house. Being an influence in children's lives, but not expecting to get to enjoy the fun and sweet moments; I am here to help with the 'dirty work' so there are more sweet and fun moments for parents to enjoy.

There is a lot that goes into this position, and I have found out how extensive and intense that can be this week.

The matriarch, Jennifer, has given birth to a healthy baby boy, Luke! Yesterday at 9am, Luke was born and I am taking the kids to visit this afternoon. Betsy, Jen's mom, arrived Monday, and so she and I have been sharing the responsibility since Wednesday at 3am when Jen knocked on my door to let me know she and Luis were headed to the hospital.

As Luis has been with Jen through such an incredible/arduous time, I have been starting my days at 6:30am when Sebastian first shouts through the quiet morning air. I feel more like a mom than ever. I get the kids, we do a potty trip, get a clean couche [diaper] for Sebastian, they play in the enclosed bedroom quietly while I lay on Alexandra's toddler bed for a half hour in an attempt to gain my wits. I don't really have a problem with the early rising so much as the alarm clock itself - waking up to a little boy screaming, rather than pleasantly babbling, or even a buzzing phone, is not ideal for me.

But, days at the park blowing bubbles, riding the manege [carousel] and picnicking have been great. I just can't imagine wanting to dabble in childcare again for a loooong time.

And so it goes.

It's Spring in Paris!

This weather report makes me SO happy!

http://www.weather.com/weather/hourbyhour/graph/FRXX0076#

You are my place-holder.

I recall having had conversations with folks before coming here in which I believed that I could love a city without knowing a soul in it. I thought that it didn't exactly matter to me who was in this new city, as long as I get a chance to meet the people already there.

This has been proven true and false. I hate how far away you loved ones are: my family and my sweet friends that I count as family. I wish you posted daily everything you have done accompanied by pictures, I miss you that much. I have come to realize that life really is about the people in your life; it's about love with people who love you back in addition to giving love to those people you don't know.

Paris has proven that I do find a city vibe and meld into it; I love perusing different cultures and I am thankful I get to have a whole year, and that it is only a year, to experience such a historically rich wolrdview that this place has to offer.

But I can't wait to come home. I just want the connection with you people back; we do our best to maintain relationships on the phone, skype and email, and a precious few visits. So this post is to let you know just how much I absolutely adore you. You may think that I am posting this to a lot of people, and therefore do not mean you, or that I don't mean it as much. Well, that's dumb.

I love you. I miss you. And if you are in anyway confused as to whether or not you are on the list of people that I care about, or if you just need some validation and encouragement, hit me up. Because you have been there for me while I am here. It's kind of like a place-holder or a bookmark, and I appreciate you for keeping my place warm.

Lovelovelovelovelovelove you.

Lenôtre.

A few of the things I wanted to do most in Paris when I decided to move here, was to somehow be in an art course and to take a French cooking class. After much research, neither of these options seemed truly viable, as they are fairly expensive, and tended to run into scheduling conflicts with French language courses and my work schedule.

Jen has taken a few cooking courses over the years, and as Luis' dad, Manfred, is a retired professional chef [who has worked in top restaurants all over the world], I have picked up a few sous chef talents since moving here. I was generally satisfied as I had learned proper knife-wielding technique, and some true-blue French recipes [crepes and quiches... I think there is a post somewhere in October about that].

However, I was very blessed to have received a very thoughtful and generous gift from my employers, Luis and Jennifer, for Christmas: a 'bon cadeau' or gift certificate for a cooking class of my choice at Lenôtre French Ateliers de Cuisine. Courses are offered in every way, shape, and form. They have pastry classes, which were very intriguing and tempting, but ultimately I decided that I wanted to learn to prepare a full French 'Menu Creatif.'

For three and a half hours this past Thursday afternoon, after some initial trepidation as I realized I have zero French kitchen jargon, I really enjoyed myself with this class. I was one of four pupils; two French women, one obviously a wife of leisure, and one Taiwanese tourist. Our chef professor was such fun, and patient with my accented French as I asked him repeatedly "how much of what?" that he wanted measured.

I can now successfully create a three course French meal [entrée, plat at dessert] consisting of: cannoli pasta stuffed with a crab and zucchini mixture with a citron herb sauce, back of rabbit stuffed with and olive and caper mixture with a white wine reduction sauce, and a balsamic strawberry pastry dessert.

Life is good.

Bar[th]elona.

This was the first time I have traveled quite so alone. What a truly incredible experience it was, too.

I have always wanted to go to Spain - since freshman year of college when I had to choose which Spanish-speaking area I would focus my studies on: Latin America or Spain. I chose Latin America, as it provided more variety in coursework and with the immigration patterns back home, I figured it made more sense. I do not regret in the least that decision; but I knew I wouldn't have much of a fighting chance of getting a study abroad trip to Spain included with college since it wasn't required.

It's so much better to have accomplished that goal on my own! Abuela and Opa, the paternal set of grandparents who live in Madrid are visiting our house this week, and as such I was blessed with the opportunity to take a long weekend. Unfortunately, not many of my au pair friends get time off on a random occasion, so there weren't many options as to whom I could convince to go with me. I am so thankful to Becca for convincing me that I could go on my own, and for the confidence that I am sure came as a result of prayer about it.

I booked my flight with RyanAir, the discount airline here which is similar to Southwest [but actually even cheaper] to get out to Barcelona. The only problem really with RyanAir is that in order to maintain such low costs, they fly in and out of small town airports, usually an hour or so out of the town you are trying to go to - oh, and they usually fly at odd times of the day where your arrival will put you into town at 2am. Instead, I chose to take the early flight, which had me arrive where I could still enjoy my first day in Barcelona, but that required me to get up at 4:30am to take the very first RER from my house at 5:08am, to connect to the metro, to get on the bus out to the airport for my flight. [That's right - 4 transportation methods.]

So, other than being incredibly sleepy, arrival was great. For accommodation I decided to do something which I had only recently heard of and was a bit skeptical of: Couch Surfing. CouchSurfing.com is an online community, basically of hippies, that allows travelers to find other travelers with an open-door free-couch mentality. I found two hostesses that were willing to have me as a temporary roommate, and in addition to meeting some quirky new friends, my Excel spreadsheet budget looks much nicer without the potential hostel expenses. This definitely added to the uniqueness of the experience in Barcelona – my first hostess, Elvira, is a native Barcelonan who has been hosting couch surfers nearly every week for the past two years, and had rave reviews. She was a wealth of information that was a great supplement to the guidebook that didn’t leave my purse, and was great for practicing my increasingly rusty Spanish with! My second hostess, Silvia, is a Slovakian English teacher who moved to Barcelona about the time that I moved to Paris, and was truly great. I met up with her Monday morning, and after dropping off my stuff we headed to the beach with a small picnic and had some good conversation. Silvia was raised in an Eastern Orthodox Christian household, which unfortunately I don’t know much about, except what she told me: that it is quite pretentious, stuffy, and showy. And not much about God’s love of people, or our love for people; consequently, Silvia relates more to principles and values of various religions, and has chosen a vague spiritual path for now. I am praying that she will find the fulfillment and profound joy that I have in knowing the grace that God has given me, and hope to maintain a friendship and good conversation with her.

My planning for this trip didn’t extend far; I figured I could lump attractions together by geographic proximity or relational correspondence, and for the most part that worked. I have never had an experience that was such a perfect blend of education, attractions, and relaxation. Living in Costa Rica, there were definitely touristy attractions to go see and do, but as soon as you got to the beach that is basically all there was to do. Which was wonderful; I have absolutely no complaints. Paris, with the exception of cafes, is really all about the going and doing and seeing. Barcelona has a fabulous blend of the two, in that it is a city founded by the Romans before Christ, and so is steeped in history. But, as it is a beach town, and a Latin culture, it is imperative to being a cultural tourist to take in the sights and the city and the people from a bench, or a beach blanket.

I started Saturday with heading to Las Ramblas, five connected streets that ramble on a path from Placa Catalunya down to the dock and Port of Barcelona. I checked out the market, walked on, had a bite, walked on, watched street performers, walked on, and found a sunny spot on some grass at the end by the boats to people-watch and read. After a bit I headed up to the architectural stunners by Antonio Gaudi, and saw his Casas in the north of Barcelona. They sit side-by-side, and form the Block of Discord, because of the clashing styles of the architecture. One evokes that ugly southwestern style rug that everyone’s aunt probably had at one point in time, with the stair-step configuration and sunset-like colors. The other, Casa Botllo, has a wavy façade and is covered in a rich mosaic of colored tiles and glasswork. Very impressive. Down a block or two is the Pedrera, the most famous of the casas built by Gaudi. It is wavy in stature too, and has incredible ironwork on each of its many balconies, windows and doorframes.

I also checked out the Museum of Contemporary Art. I thought I liked contemporary art. Apparently not, but the building was a cool structure, and the teenage hipster skater crowd seemed to agree. Great tapas polished off the evening.

Palm Sunday, I rang in Holy Week with a televised mass outside of the Sagrada Familia temple, the church the Gaudi began work in 1882 that is still under construction. There was a lot of palm-frond waving, but it was neat to see such crowds of believers gathered to celebrate. I ducked in a side entrance to a chapel where I stumbled across a much more intimate gathering, and enjoyed finishing up 2 Samuel[nothing much to do with Holy Week, but what I happened to be reading at the time]. When I finished with my two masses, I discovered that they had finally opened up the ticket counters for tourists to enter the temple, and thus I only waited in line long enough to polish off the sandwich I had packed and then I was in…

…To the most incredible architectural display I have seen. I have been blessed with opportunities for travel and exploration, and thus have seen some great displays of intricate architecture. But never before have I seen something so innovative and so intricate. I will have to go back in 2026 upon the estimated time of completion to see what it will look like without scaffolds, cranes and sheet plastic.

After five hours at La Sagrada Familia, I decided I should probably head on, so I went to the Picasso Museum and the Museum of Design. Both were notably awesome. After the beach with Silvia on Monday, I went to Park Guell, designed again by Gaudi, and enjoyed some cool views of Barcelona as well as some nice time with green space and not quite as many tourists. [Still a lot.] I saw the gothic cathedral of Barcelona and then went back to share a great dinner with Silvia. My last day in Barcelona, Tuesday, I went to the Museum of Catalan Music, as it has fabulous tile work, mosaic stained glass fixtures, and a stunning auditorium. The History of Barcelona museum is probably the greatest history museum I have ever seen. The museum is built into and on top of the original Roman city of Barcilo from before Christ, and allows you to tour the ruins of a wine production center, a garment production factory, several homes, and even the outer defensive wall, which you can see above ground as it makes up parts of the museum’s walls.

Then I headed to the beach and enjoyed calamari and sangria with seafood paella. A very perfect Spanish meal to round off my time in the sun before coming back to windy, rainy, cold Paris. But, it’s become home.

A Horrendous Metro Experience.

Disclaimer: this post does not follow chronological order. Sorry if that messes with your head.

On my way back from Barcelona two nights ago, I finally make it to the metro that will take me blissfully to my own bed. Upon boarding, and one stop into my train ride however, I find myself turning up the volume on my iPod speakers to full blast in an effort to drown out the disorderly and belligerent older drunken man on the train, sitting one row up and diagonally from me. Two stops later, but unfortunately for me still two stops away from my house, this man begins to yell louder - at me. I do not exaggerate here.

No one in France speaks much louder than an 'inside voice'; even when on the metro rumbling through a tunnel and screeching to a deafening halt. Thus, pitifully, every head in the metro car turns to stare at this man and I. He berates me in French for the next hellish minutes about what a princess I am, and how I should be doing more for him and his people. Then he proceeds to get in my face asking for money. And when another man comes aboard to sell sudoku books and magazines for his living [someone I usually contribute to helping out], the drunken man yells at me to buy books from this man.

You can imagine how red my face was at this point. Amanda Snyder can testify that for some reason, I now blush frequently. This blush is a result of humiliation as well as rage. Why out of the 30-some odd people in our train car decide that I am a princess? Especially when the girl four rows down is sporting designer everything?

I am forced to conclude that this is a God-sent experience. The whole time this man is yelling at me, I pray fervently - what should I do? What should I say? Where should I look - do I give this man eye contact and hopefully some assurance of dignity? Do I do nothing at all so as not to incite further blame? Do I know enough French to be a witness in this situation? Do I seek out the strapping young man to come to my rescue? [Oh wait, chivalry is dead in Paris...]

I went with the do-nothing-because-I-am-scared option. It ended uneventfully; someone else gave him some coins, and he exited the train before my stop.

Alghero!

Buongiorno. Buonasera. Dove e gelati? Parle Inglese? Grazie. Arrivederci.

This extent of my knowledge of Italian was extremely helpful in Alghero [small town], Sardinia [small island], Italy.


Yikes. What a trip - sort of a comedy of errors, but with great friends so all in all a great time!

First, we make the trek from Paris to Paris-Beauvais airport, which let me tell ya, is not Paris. One 14 euro, hour-and-20 minute bus ride later, we get to the airport, which is franchement a lot more like a warehouse. The Madrid flight was cancelled, so there is a stockpile of people who are all penny-pinchers, and thus nowhere to sit due to extensive picnics and cardgames.

An hour delayed, we make it to our hostel at midnight, and settle in. The next day... I don't know, is Wednesday the Sabbath in Italy? My word, everything was closed - no one was out, it was like a ghost town! And to top it off, everything shuts down from about 12:30pm-4pm for lunch and siesta. Not so good for the tourists who roll out of bed at 10am and only have an hour or so to get anything done. Whoops.

What a fun time though, exploring the docks and the Old Town. Alghero was a fishing village actually founded by the Spanish in the 16th century, so there is a lot of lasting architecture from that original period. For example, we went into a church that had been built in 1520! Comically, what we would recognize as a seawall, the original builders believed would be an impenetrable fortress to the Barbary pirates of the day. Unfortunately, they were proven wrong.

Then we found gelati!

The running joke of the trip seemed to be the discount grocery store, EuroSpin. Classy, right? With awful produce [either rotten or rock-hard unripe], and some hilarious beauty products, we ended up limited for hostel kitchenette dinners. However, gnocchi with pesto and cheap [i mean cheap] wine + Catchphrase made for some laughable quotes.


One of the main attractions of Alghero is the Grotto [marine caves] about 15 miles away. You can get there cheaply by bus, but in the off-season there is only one bus at 9:15am that returns promptly at noon. What's more, the caves are only open Monday-Thursday, so this was our one shot to make it out. We got up early bought our bus tickets, and got ready to go... too bad we were on the wrong bus. By our estimation, if we finished the route we were on it would have been roughly two hours to Sassari, another apparently cool old town. But, c'mon - two hours?! So we decided we should ask the driver, and ultimately wait at the bus stop for the next returning bus. Even though I prefaced our limited conversation with "Parla Inglese?" he flew off in Italian, to no viable result for us. What we got was uno e dieci [don't quote me on the spelling], which we took to mean there will either be a return bus in an hour in ten minutes [which would be 11am] or we would be waiting until 1:10pm. Hm, worth a shot, right?


For an hour and ten minutes we enjoyed one stray cat, one tractor, and one bar in Tottubella. Where is Tottubella, you ask? Well, you ask the wrong girl. Surrounded by jungle and vineyards, we were officially lost in the middle of Italy. And then! Oh, and then! The bus - the exact same bus with the exact same driver - picks us up. Yes, we should have been patient and stayed on the bus to Sassari [apparently 35 minutes away, not two hours] to have at least accomplished something other than sitting on a curb with our morning.


A little disheartened, we hang out at the hostel while the rest of the siesta and head out for some gelati. Becca and Jenna went on a bike ride, and Amber and I set off on a hike. Shortly thereafter we met an Italian friend who accompanied us to no less than five closed or "no gelati till may" gelaterias. Disgruntled, we meet back up with the other girls and have to wait until 4pm to return to our one previously found gelati shop.


That night we went to dinner at Poco Loco, home of the meter-long pizza and bowling! The pizza was great, though unfortunately a group of twenty 12 year-olds stopped us from pursuing the bowling alley. We had asked a bartender at a restaurant previously where the happening bars are, and he pointed out a few on a map for us. Jazzed and full of pizza at 9:30pm on a Thursday night, we figure we will hit up the Irish pub. Not a soul was there save the bartender. Thus, another night of Catchphrase and the good ole' card game Bullshit ensued.

Friday we made it onto the correct bus and headed to Porto Conte, where there were some acclaimed ruins and beaches. After walking about 20 minutes and seeing literally no one [the tourist office was gated closed] we finally spotted some gardeners cleaning up a soccer field. After asking for directions, we find out that the ruins we are looking for are about 30 minutes away up 'that mountain'. Why not?

Ten minutes later and nowhere near 'that mountain' our gardeners pull up next to us to inform us that we are going in the wrong direction - but only a five minute drive, if we are willing to hang out in the back of a white window-less van with a lawnmower, rake and grass clippings in the back. Again, why not?


Oh, by the way, the ruins were not up any mountain, apparently they were just in the direction of said mountain.


We make it to the ruins, and they really are spectacular. in 1200 B.C. the people living there had constructed a village in the Nuraghe formation, which consisted of a large tower in the center, a meeting area, and small ten-foot in diameter huts surrounding. To imagine people having lived in these structures almost 3000 years ago is beyond me.

We hiked down the road, and onto an interesting looking path, to stumble across a sweet little meadow and then the beach of a bay of the Mediterranean Sea! I did dip my toes in, but yowza that water was cold!

Getting back to Alghero, we vowed not to even leave for dinner until 9pm, hopefully doing it the local way. We found a fabulous swanky restaurant, and determined that sea urchin is thus far the only seafood I don't like. However, it was incredibly fun to order the set course menu, where everything is brought to you in succession and includes the perfectly paired wine. Definitely a very "particular to Alghero" choice, as our waitress repeatedly mentioned to us.

Saturday was a fun time of exploring more of the town, and then traveling back to good ole' Paris, which was cold, windy and rainy upon our arrival.

February One & Only.

I feel kinda bad that I didn't blog at all this month, but I think I have gotten to chat with everybody who may read this thing anyway.

Month of February:

• Snowed a lot. I fell again. I got pretty hurt on this fall, and had a humongous haematoma on my leg, which if you wikipedia haematoma, looked just like the guy's in the picture.
• The weirdest job interview experience I have ever had. I had a phone interview scheduled originally for 1/27, then again for 2/1 [got stood up], rescheduled for 2/4, rescheduled for 2/8, finally happened 2/10. It was anticlimactic - not a bad interview, but they won't know what they have open in September until September, so check back later.
• Good Bible study on living in and with Grace.
• Went to a theatre performance at the Louvre. Imagined it would be actors on stage, turns out it was a montage of silent films about the history of feminism in France. With a weird DJ.
• Made some Valentines for sweet ladies back home. Spent Valentine's single in the most romantic city in the world... in bed all day with chocolate I bought myself.
• Learned to bake bread.
• Received illicit socialized medecine.

Today, and rounding out the last week of February I will be in Alghero, Sardinia [Italy].

I'll post back after!

Daily living...?

The Lord continues to teach me about the power of prayer in the my life and in the lives of friends and family. What a blessing to have hurdles overcome, and to be presented with big new questions, like whether or not to expand a family unit in an unconventional way, what service your heart is pulled to, and where you fit into everything.

I have been praying for a lot lately. I have been praying for an ongoing legal struggle my parents finally won, for friends and their transitions into workplaces, married lives, classrooms. I have been overwhelmed by the need for everyday prayer just to get through the daily things in my life here - great fellowship, the desire for fulfillment, pursuit of employment for the next couple of years, and homesickness that lurks around the corner when I just want some lazy days, but feel kind of uncomfortable in my own skin when taking them. What a conundrum.

Last week I started attending a Bible study and coffee group through the Women of the American Church. These women comprise such an individual organization, and I think that meeting people in such dynamic circumstances - different from my own and from where they thought they would be right now, has taught me a lot about expectations.

You see, I have many too many expectations right now. Is it misunderstanding God's will to keep expectations? To pray for the desired outcome in order to realize those aspirations? Should I throw up my arms in defeat at trying to control my own game, as well as in praise? How much am I trying to read too much into what God is trying to show me? A smart friend said something interesting the other week: "Even 'I don't know' is a sign sometimes."

I am not very good at walking in snow.

Today I fell all the way down the stairs at the entrance to the train by my house. It's okay - nobody saw me fall, but they did see me taking off my coat to wipe off the various stages of frozen water and sand meant to keep people like me from falling on my butt. Oh, my poor new jeans. I was going to try really hard to keep them fairly pristine; and away from the jaws of the European washer and dryer that apparently boil your clothes and then blast them dry with temperatures from the Arabian desserts in July or something. [Enough hyperbole?]

I skinned up my ankle, have a bruise on my calf and my pride, and had to worry about my wet pants not only drying, but also not turning into a popsicle as I continued my venture to hit the sales in Paris. Yuck.

...Update.

Baggage received at 10:45p.m.

Phew!

Back in France...

After a quick hiatus to the motherland, I have made it back to Le Vesinet. However, I am short one piece of baggage, and bummed [though fresh-faced] because that bag contains my makeup, my new Christmas boots, a pack of clothes, my warmest coat, and all of my tights. Boo Air France. It was supposed to be delivered today between 4-8pm, but as it is now 10:15pm and customer service said "he's just running a little bit late," we'll see if it even gets sent tomorrow!

Vacation was much-needed and much-appreciated. I travelled with the family to Boca Grande, Florida where a few family member own homes and where the whole family congregates for Christmas. It seems to be a smart system, as everyone is located all over the country, and we're located half-way around the world; everyone has to travel, which I guess makes it fair. [And though spread out, everyone lives in cold climates so I think they all look forward to a warm-weather break.] Spending a week there was nice, and I did appreciate the pool + beach + book equation, but I was antsy to get home!

Thank you again Mom and Dad for being such sweet hosts, and for being such incredible and supportive parents. Pam, Kyle & Lois - thanks for being great friends and support [and comic relief]. Alyssa, Amanda and Hayley - I am so glad to have gotten to visit and catch up and I love you all very much. Other great friends - I am sorry I was only home a week and didn't have enough time to catch up. However, what if we threw a "Homecoming" reunion for sometime in autumn? [I typed fall, but then realized upon not knowing whether to capitalize it or not, I like the word autumn and it is so under-used!]