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!]

La Greve. [The Strike.]

Today was an adventure.

So you may properly understand the scenario: I live in Le Vesinet, right next to the Le Vesinet-Le Pecq RER train stop. The RER is a suburban metro with the purpose of getting you actually to the metro lines in Paris. A typical day on the RER includes boarding on the :08, and arriving in Paris 20 minutes later. I can get to the major stops to transfer to various metros and consequently be pretty much anywhere in the city worth going to in 40 minutes. Not bad.

Today, the RER was on strike. Now, the French are known for striking, it's true. However, typically the metro lines strike, and they still actually run the lines, but maybe just 1 out of every four trains will run, so it makes you wait longer and makes you stuff into the metro car like sardines. But, still viable. Historically, the RER rarely strikes, and in the case that it does, will generally run one of each 2 or 3 trains. Today: the ran 1 of 2 trains from 7:30-9:30 a.m. and from 4:30-7:30 p.m. AND NONE IN BETWEEN!

I had made plans with a friend, Becca, to meet up and go to the movies. Then I had class to go to at 1:30, so I left the house and saw the RER pulling away from my stop (at 9:30 - assuming it was the 9:28 train); and I'd hop on the :38. NO.

After canceling plans with Becca, watching Glee to calm down, and eating a pain au chocolat, I spent some time in the French transportation website to figure this thing out. Was I even going to get to go to class? I really wanted to considering I quite like class, and had done my homework and everything!

My new route: Take Bus 19 from Le Vesinet - Le Pecq to the end of it's line. At that stop, Houilles de Carriers, there will be a regional SNCF train [services the entire Ile de France state] that I could take to Gare St. Lazare, to transfer to Metro Line 3 to transfer to Metro Line 2 in order to arrive at school at Place de Victor Hugo. O.K., here I go:

I get to my train/bus stop at 12:10, knowing that my bus leaves at 12:19 and another doesn't come through for half an hour. Turns out Bus 19 is the opposite side of the station. So, back down the road, up the stairs, over the bridge to the waiting Bus 19. 22 minutes later, I am at the end of the line where I follow the crowd to where the trains must be. Following signs, I make it to the correct platform. At this point, aside from trying to ignore the map of the aforementioned route in my head and it's huge inefficiencies, all is well. Lo and behold, an RER train pulls up, and everyone on the platform gets on. So do I. My reasoning skills tell me that since just the Poissy and St.Germain-en-Laye branches of the RER A are down, that it makes sense that the Cergy branch (where I now currently am) is running. Sure. Everybody else is doing it...

We pull into the stop, and I am confused. I had thought that because I was on the RER and obviously it was moving and other people were on it, that it would be following the course of the RER line. Thus, I believed that the stop in which everyone disembarked the train was Nanterre-Prefecture [I realize none of these location names mean a whole lot to you], and not my destination point, or really anywhere I knew how to navigate. Damn. [Pardon my French. : )]

My instinctive reaction was to get on the waiting train on the other side of the platform, go back to where I had just come from, and try again. Now, for a standardized test-type reading question: Do you know how I had screwed up? I had gotten on an RER train and not the SNCF regional train. That must be the problem, right?

Back at the Houilles de Carriers stop I had just come from, I had over to the platform where i had stood now 30 minutes before, and waited on the train I SHOULD have taken. Lesson learned: don't deviate from the plan when you have somewhere to be!

The correct train pulls up, but on the wrong tracks, which leads to my sprinting down stairs, around the corner, up the stairs to the [in]correct platform to board. Finally. Whew. "Hey, these are nice trains..."

We pull in to the exact stop I had just come from. Not the Houilles de Carriers one, Gare St. Lazare. Yeah, that one from the beginning of this blog post that was basically my 'home free' mark! I had taken the RER [train #1] to the correct stop, but didn't realize it, so took RER [train #2] back, and got on SNCF [train #3] to where I had already just been.

[Insert anxiety-induced perspiration here.]

Frustrated with my own stupidity, I got to metro line 3, which I took to Line 2, which I took to school, where I learned about ordering theatre tickets after 2 hours [normally a 40-minute trip] of "travel". I could have been in Germany or England by then!

Oh, yeah - and they're striking tomorrow, too.