An American Girl in Avignon
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Je kiffe la life!
May 15th Who would have thought that something as simple as going to the grocery store could make me feel so good. When Sakinah and I were on our little afternoon shopping excursion, we thought it would be a good idea to buy something to eat for lunch during our excursion to the Pont du Guard. While browsing the aisles, we were attempting to speak all in French with each other (not only because Katy and Christophe were standing right there, but because we wanted to practice more amongst ourselves). As we were glancing over the different types of cheeses, a man and his son overheard us talking, and recognized our accents (I thought it was funny that some of my French friends think I speak with a Southern American accent…but I really wouldn’t know). This is inevitable. I heard him say to his son, “Je pense qu’elles sont américaines.” (I think that they are Americans). He caught me looking up at him and asked us if we were from England or America. We got to talking for awhile, and after a few minutes, he paused and said that he just wanted to tell us, “Vous parlez très bien le français.” (You speak French very well). It literally made my day!! :) I love it when a native French speaker comments us, because it encourages me and makes me realize that I am improving, whether I realize it or not. Sometimes a compliment is all one really needs as a confidence booster: as if to say, “Keep going, you can do this!” I was in a great mood for the rest of the evening.
Tonight, we all went to Red Sky to meet up with the Australians whom Sakinah, John, Adam, and Katie met in Barcelona the weekend before I went there. The girls were spending four days in Avignon in their whirl-wind European tour after their international internships. Meeting them and a boy from Canada, who had done Foreign Service work in Ireland for six years and had been here for the last two, made me realize that I should go after what I want: an international job. If they can do it, then so can I. I think for me it took meeting someone who works in an international field to realize that people do have these “fantasy jobs,” and if you work hard enough, so can you. I love studying abroad! You meet all kinds of people from all over the world and experience so many things. This time in France is so hard to put into words: it’s indescribably incredible. Again, “So Mom and Dad, do you guys mind if I stay over here for a little while longer?” Excursion to the Pont tomorrow and La Nuit des Musées!
Tonight, we all went to Red Sky to meet up with the Australians whom Sakinah, John, Adam, and Katie met in Barcelona the weekend before I went there. The girls were spending four days in Avignon in their whirl-wind European tour after their international internships. Meeting them and a boy from Canada, who had done Foreign Service work in Ireland for six years and had been here for the last two, made me realize that I should go after what I want: an international job. If they can do it, then so can I. I think for me it took meeting someone who works in an international field to realize that people do have these “fantasy jobs,” and if you work hard enough, so can you. I love studying abroad! You meet all kinds of people from all over the world and experience so many things. This time in France is so hard to put into words: it’s indescribably incredible. Again, “So Mom and Dad, do you guys mind if I stay over here for a little while longer?” Excursion to the Pont tomorrow and La Nuit des Musées!
XXX! À bientôt!
So, tu ne parles pas anglais?
May 14 For the day of the ascension, which is next Thursday, we were supposed to have a four day weekend. But for one reason or another, our four day weekend turned into no classes on Thursday about a week ago…after everyone had already made plans and bought their tickets to skip town. Unfortunately, I hadn’t done this, but I did have plans. The one annoying thing about Europe is that it is almost necessary to know your exact travel plans a month before you go to avoid getting overcharged – even with a student discount card like the douze vingt-cinq.
Since I wanted to save my money to spend in Barcelona, I waited to buy my ticket until yesterday, this meant that the already expensive ticket to and from Normandy of 110 euros would now cost me 145 euros. I would have just said “forget it” and gone elsewhere with some of my other friends, but the tour, as well as the hostel, had already been booked (and I have always wanted to go to Normandy :)). Be sure to plan ahead all those planning on taking trains over here, and buy your tickets ASAP!
One thing I love about France is how fascinated the French are with American students (and vice-versa), whether or not they speak English. Thankfully our French skills are enough to help us have a decent conversation with them. I love meeting students who don’t know any English more than anything here, because it forces you to speak French and use other words that you know to work around what you want to say – even if you don’t know all of the vocabulary. No cheating involved. Since around 95 percent of the students here taken English as one of their two required languages, it’s hard to run into students who don’t at least know some of the basics.
It must have Sakinah’s and my lucky night my moving day celebration. To celebrate my new home and roomies, we all went out to Red Sky Tuesday night. After going to the discothèque afterwards, we met a few French students who didn’t speak any English. We took a particular liking to one named Kevin. He met us yesterday for coffee and wants to keep hanging out with us. Since he works at the Avignon ice rink, I think we are going to go ice-skating Sunday afternoon. Hopefully, I won’t fall…I used to take lessons, but anything I learned, I know I have forgotten…and falling on hard, cold ice is not fun! Should be a good time though.
Over coffee, he talked with us about living in Avignon, France, his work, living the French life, and even taught us a few slang and those unspoken-of bad words you don’t learn in class. It was really funny. One thing that always strikes me about the French is how eager they are to visit America. It’s the same feeling we as Americans have about coming to Europe. However, most of what they think of America is what they get off of television shows like Gossip Girl, Desperate Housewives, and the French favorite: Dr. House. When they think of the USA, they think of New York City and LA. Much like when we think of France, we think of Paris, cheese, and wine. Yet, there is so much more to France than Paris, and so much more to America and New York. He told us he would love to live in America someday, which was funny to us, because we want to live in Europe for a short period of time, if possible. I guess it’s the phenomenon of always wanting what you don’t have, and thinking that the grass is greener on the other side – or the desire to experience a new way of life, a different culture, see things the way others do. It really broadens your perspective! I can’t believe my time here is coming to a quick end. I thought I would be ready to go home by now, but after moving to my new host family, and finally seeing some of the benefits of my time here, I know I am not ready to leave yet. I feel like I just got here and am starting to learn things and grow to understand some others: look at situations in a new light – and it’s almost time to leave. I’m just going to have to try my best to make the most of the time I have left here. Time is a fleeting thing, but if used wisely, I know I will get the most out of my last month if I keep an open heart, mind, and don’t stop trying. Bisous! À plus tard! XXX
Since I wanted to save my money to spend in Barcelona, I waited to buy my ticket until yesterday, this meant that the already expensive ticket to and from Normandy of 110 euros would now cost me 145 euros. I would have just said “forget it” and gone elsewhere with some of my other friends, but the tour, as well as the hostel, had already been booked (and I have always wanted to go to Normandy :)). Be sure to plan ahead all those planning on taking trains over here, and buy your tickets ASAP!
One thing I love about France is how fascinated the French are with American students (and vice-versa), whether or not they speak English. Thankfully our French skills are enough to help us have a decent conversation with them. I love meeting students who don’t know any English more than anything here, because it forces you to speak French and use other words that you know to work around what you want to say – even if you don’t know all of the vocabulary. No cheating involved. Since around 95 percent of the students here taken English as one of their two required languages, it’s hard to run into students who don’t at least know some of the basics.
It must have Sakinah’s and my lucky night my moving day celebration. To celebrate my new home and roomies, we all went out to Red Sky Tuesday night. After going to the discothèque afterwards, we met a few French students who didn’t speak any English. We took a particular liking to one named Kevin. He met us yesterday for coffee and wants to keep hanging out with us. Since he works at the Avignon ice rink, I think we are going to go ice-skating Sunday afternoon. Hopefully, I won’t fall…I used to take lessons, but anything I learned, I know I have forgotten…and falling on hard, cold ice is not fun! Should be a good time though.
Over coffee, he talked with us about living in Avignon, France, his work, living the French life, and even taught us a few slang and those unspoken-of bad words you don’t learn in class. It was really funny. One thing that always strikes me about the French is how eager they are to visit America. It’s the same feeling we as Americans have about coming to Europe. However, most of what they think of America is what they get off of television shows like Gossip Girl, Desperate Housewives, and the French favorite: Dr. House. When they think of the USA, they think of New York City and LA. Much like when we think of France, we think of Paris, cheese, and wine. Yet, there is so much more to France than Paris, and so much more to America and New York. He told us he would love to live in America someday, which was funny to us, because we want to live in Europe for a short period of time, if possible. I guess it’s the phenomenon of always wanting what you don’t have, and thinking that the grass is greener on the other side – or the desire to experience a new way of life, a different culture, see things the way others do. It really broadens your perspective! I can’t believe my time here is coming to a quick end. I thought I would be ready to go home by now, but after moving to my new host family, and finally seeing some of the benefits of my time here, I know I am not ready to leave yet. I feel like I just got here and am starting to learn things and grow to understand some others: look at situations in a new light – and it’s almost time to leave. I’m just going to have to try my best to make the most of the time I have left here. Time is a fleeting thing, but if used wisely, I know I will get the most out of my last month if I keep an open heart, mind, and don’t stop trying. Bisous! À plus tard! XXX
A lot can happen a in week
May 13th Well, another long period of time has gone by without me writing in my blog…again. But, that’s okay, because I have been busy enjoying France and attempting (this is a key word) to get some work done. I can’t believe it is already week seven. Where has the time gone? Spring quarter is almost over, and I feel like I just got to France. I am not ready to leave yet! I keep changing my mind. I had some sort of a revelation when I was in Barcelona: I don’t want to leave this place yet; I’m not ready. (Hey mom and dad, can I just stay here the rest of the summer…thanks :)) I thought I would be by now, and who knows how I will feel in four weeks, but I feel like I am starting to get attached. My language skills are slowly coming along, and I am feeling at home.
Before I decided to study abroad this quarter, I had been debating with myself as to whether or not I was going to have French as just a minor. I added a double major around half-way through fall quarter, but French was really stressing me out Winter Quarter, and I was ready to say: “Forget you, French,” and just get a minor…or not study abroad at all. But once you feel like you’ve hit rock bottom, the only way to go is up! After my time here, I feel like I can make I better decision. I am going to keep the double-degree. I know it is going to mean more work for me, but after all the time I’ve spent studying and living and France, I couldn’t possibly give up French! Every time I feel like quitting or when I get frustrated and question why on Earth I am trying to learn a second language, something just won’t let me give it up. What can I say? I have a love-hate relationship with French. I am so thankful that I am in France right now. This is unquestionably the best thing I have ever done. My time here has made me realize how much I really love France and French – all while learning more about myself. Yet, although I feel like I am learning something every day, I am nowhere near the level I would like to be. There’s still so much left to learn! I wish my stay here was longer so I could continue to learn and travel. Hmm, there is a study abroad program in Quebec during the summer. Maybe I’ll do that next year.
Speaking of feeling more at home, after a struggle and a very, very awkward goodbye (my host family didn’t bisous me, shake my hand, or anything…it was weird. I thanked them for my stay and tried to be as polite as possible and make an awkward situation less awkward, and I guess that’s all one can do), Kristina and I finally moved host families last week. (Side note: there is no literal translation for awkward in French. We were trying to explain awkward palm tree and awkward turtle to some French students last week, but of course, no one knew what we were talking about. The closest you will get is maladroit/e).
I had no idea I would be moving out until the day of. It was now or never (or I would have to wait). Well, there was no way I was going to do that, so as soon as I got the go-ahead, I ran, and I mean RAN to my house to throw my stuff in my bags and get the heck out of there! Haha. I didn’t stop to think about what I was packing where. I walked around the room, stuffed things in my suitcase without folding them, and shoved my belongings in any open pocket I could find. I think I am going to have to buy a new suitcase before coming home, because I could barely fit everything in there as is, and I have hardly bought anything here. C’est un problème, n’est-ce pas?
There was some new confusion as to how exactly I was getting to this new house. After dragging my bags down the stairs and setting them on the porch, anxiously waiting to be taken to my new home, I got a call saying to meet our program director outside. Apparently, he thought I had already spoken with my new host mom (which I hadn’t), and Sakinah and Katie were going to come help me move out. He left, thinking that everything was going to be fine. God’s timing is everything, because just as he was leaving, my new host mom pulled up in a little blue SAAB on my street, and hopped out – not knowing the address, only to find our director standing right in front of my old house.
Before I decided to study abroad this quarter, I had been debating with myself as to whether or not I was going to have French as just a minor. I added a double major around half-way through fall quarter, but French was really stressing me out Winter Quarter, and I was ready to say: “Forget you, French,” and just get a minor…or not study abroad at all. But once you feel like you’ve hit rock bottom, the only way to go is up! After my time here, I feel like I can make I better decision. I am going to keep the double-degree. I know it is going to mean more work for me, but after all the time I’ve spent studying and living and France, I couldn’t possibly give up French! Every time I feel like quitting or when I get frustrated and question why on Earth I am trying to learn a second language, something just won’t let me give it up. What can I say? I have a love-hate relationship with French. I am so thankful that I am in France right now. This is unquestionably the best thing I have ever done. My time here has made me realize how much I really love France and French – all while learning more about myself. Yet, although I feel like I am learning something every day, I am nowhere near the level I would like to be. There’s still so much left to learn! I wish my stay here was longer so I could continue to learn and travel. Hmm, there is a study abroad program in Quebec during the summer. Maybe I’ll do that next year.
Speaking of feeling more at home, after a struggle and a very, very awkward goodbye (my host family didn’t bisous me, shake my hand, or anything…it was weird. I thanked them for my stay and tried to be as polite as possible and make an awkward situation less awkward, and I guess that’s all one can do), Kristina and I finally moved host families last week. (Side note: there is no literal translation for awkward in French. We were trying to explain awkward palm tree and awkward turtle to some French students last week, but of course, no one knew what we were talking about. The closest you will get is maladroit/e).
I had no idea I would be moving out until the day of. It was now or never (or I would have to wait). Well, there was no way I was going to do that, so as soon as I got the go-ahead, I ran, and I mean RAN to my house to throw my stuff in my bags and get the heck out of there! Haha. I didn’t stop to think about what I was packing where. I walked around the room, stuffed things in my suitcase without folding them, and shoved my belongings in any open pocket I could find. I think I am going to have to buy a new suitcase before coming home, because I could barely fit everything in there as is, and I have hardly bought anything here. C’est un problème, n’est-ce pas?
There was some new confusion as to how exactly I was getting to this new house. After dragging my bags down the stairs and setting them on the porch, anxiously waiting to be taken to my new home, I got a call saying to meet our program director outside. Apparently, he thought I had already spoken with my new host mom (which I hadn’t), and Sakinah and Katie were going to come help me move out. He left, thinking that everything was going to be fine. God’s timing is everything, because just as he was leaving, my new host mom pulled up in a little blue SAAB on my street, and hopped out – not knowing the address, only to find our director standing right in front of my old house.
So was the start of my last (and what I think is going to be the best) month in France. This was what I had been missing!! My new host mom is so nice and a ton of fun. Honestly, I think the woman is super-human. She’s around 55 years old and has a more active social life than most college students. Each day she rises with the sun (radio blaring) at 6am, then goes to work at 8:00 at the Palais des Papes (conveniently located next to our house as well as the hot shopping and eateries in town…can you tell I love my new house?) until around 5 or 6 in the evening. On Tuesdays she has swimming lessons; on Wednesdays she sings at a local club; on Thursdays she plays poker with her friends; on Fridays she goes out; and out Saturdays she goes to les Halles to teach a cooking workshop (she is an excellent cook). Musical talent must run in the family, because she plays instruments and her daughter sings in the Paris opera. It seems like she never stops to take a breath. She talks quickly and appears to have a constant supply of energy. I have never seen anything like it in my life! She offers to help us with homework, does our laundry, helps us with French, asks us what we would like, and is welcoming in all manners. Friendly and accommodating: sounds exactly like what a host family/mom should be. She amazes me! I can’t wait to find out who is going to live with Martine next year. She is adorable! If only I had been living here in the first place…but it’s okay, because my last house was a learning experience, and I will end the program on a good note in the living situation department.
My room is in a three bedroom (Sakinah and Katie share the second bedroom) apartment on the fourth floor apartment building overlooking the courtyard by St. Peter’s église en ville. Since we live right next to the church, I am woken up each morning by a tolling bell tower. As stupid and cheesy as it sounds, I feel like I am living in some fairy-tale dream world. It’s as if reality left me when I boarded the plane. I often have to pause and ask myself, “Is this for real? Am I really in France?” Well, if I am dreaming, I don’t want to wake up anytime soon! I think waking up and looking out my window to see a Renaissance-style courtyard and the Palais des Papes, and hear tolling church bells adds to the fairy-tale feeling I get from living in Avignon.
My new house also came with an affectionate black and white cat with bright green eyes, whose name is Cat. Breakfast at Tiffany’s-inspired, peut-être? Normally, I am not a big fan of cats, but this one is different. The cat has slept on my bed for the past few nights, and constantly wants the attention on humans. You have to be careful, because if you’re not looking, Cat will plop himself in your lap and make himself at home. Cat hops tables, counters, beds, desks (anything he can find), and has a constant need for attention – which can be annoying after awhile. For now, I am content to have a nice home, welcoming host mom, awesome roomies, and a friendly cat. I know I am going to enjoy my last month here.
Beach Behavior/ I'll Be Back
May 10You meet some interesting people at the beach, especially when that beach is in Europe. It is not uncommon to see women with their tops off, men sporting speedos, and lots and lots of limit-pushing PDA. It’s a completely different world.
We decided to go to another beach today called Nova Icaria, because it was supposed to be less touristy. When we arrived in the early morning, hardly anyone was there. It felt like we had the place to ourselves. The feeling didn’t last long before the tourists and happy couples came flocking. While lying with my back to the sun, I was disturbed to see an old man completely exposing all of his goods behind us. We moved our sunning spot quickly. Ew. Nudity is taken lightly across the pond.
Yet men are the same everywhere. But it seems to me that American men have a different approach to getting women than the Europeans. One could perform a sociology or psychology experiment after a day at the beach. For example: two very, very loud American students with their tops off were approached by two American boys (he was wearing American flag swim trunks, and they were all talking loud enough for the whole beach to eavesdrop) using the classic line, “Would you like some sunscreen?” to the two girls bopping around sans bikini tops. They ended up pulling their towels next to each other not long after that. Ha. Amusing. At least it’s comforting to know that some things never change, even when you are thousands of miles away from home.
Well, I knew that we had spent way too much time in the sun, and fair skinned, freckle faced me had been reapplying sunscreen every hour, so I was happy to leave after our whole day at the beach. Although it was really relaxing, I feared I was burnt. Thankfully I wasn’t, but Elisse and Marie were a different story. We stopped at the pharmacy and mimed what we needed with the aid of our broken Spanish. As if walking to the metro wasn’t bad enough with our heavy duffels, try it with burnt shoulders, legs, backs, and tack on the fact that we were running late. Although we were behind schedule, none of us were too worried, since the bus had a record of being at least an hour late both times. However, we did start to worry when the metro was halted for twenty minutes and when we realized that we had taken the long way. Oops. We ran to the station, bags in hand, exhausted, sweaty, and gross from the beach that day, only to get there just as the bus was getting ready to leave. Figures that the time we are running late is the one time the bus is close to being on time.
I plopped myself down in the very back of the bus next to a bunch of French students who talked across me throughout most of the early morning journey. When we finally pulled into Avignon around 4:45 in the morning, I grabbed my bag, ran through the deserted city streets to my house to jump in the shower and try to lie down before class.
Don’t get me wrong, my trip to Barcelona was my favorite I have taken in Europe so far. The city had such a cool vibe. It’s hard to explain, but each city I have visited has a different feeling to it. London has a hip, rocker, masculine (and somewhat americanized) vibe…with a touch of royal historical flair. Paris has a very elegant, feminine, and romantic feeling. Barcelona was just plain fun. There was a laid-back beachy-bohemian feeling, mixed with some stylish Spanish flair for good measure. I can’t wait to come back here someday. Three days is nowhere near long enough to see all you want to. I’ll be back, Barcey!
We decided to go to another beach today called Nova Icaria, because it was supposed to be less touristy. When we arrived in the early morning, hardly anyone was there. It felt like we had the place to ourselves. The feeling didn’t last long before the tourists and happy couples came flocking. While lying with my back to the sun, I was disturbed to see an old man completely exposing all of his goods behind us. We moved our sunning spot quickly. Ew. Nudity is taken lightly across the pond.
Yet men are the same everywhere. But it seems to me that American men have a different approach to getting women than the Europeans. One could perform a sociology or psychology experiment after a day at the beach. For example: two very, very loud American students with their tops off were approached by two American boys (he was wearing American flag swim trunks, and they were all talking loud enough for the whole beach to eavesdrop) using the classic line, “Would you like some sunscreen?” to the two girls bopping around sans bikini tops. They ended up pulling their towels next to each other not long after that. Ha. Amusing. At least it’s comforting to know that some things never change, even when you are thousands of miles away from home.
Well, I knew that we had spent way too much time in the sun, and fair skinned, freckle faced me had been reapplying sunscreen every hour, so I was happy to leave after our whole day at the beach. Although it was really relaxing, I feared I was burnt. Thankfully I wasn’t, but Elisse and Marie were a different story. We stopped at the pharmacy and mimed what we needed with the aid of our broken Spanish. As if walking to the metro wasn’t bad enough with our heavy duffels, try it with burnt shoulders, legs, backs, and tack on the fact that we were running late. Although we were behind schedule, none of us were too worried, since the bus had a record of being at least an hour late both times. However, we did start to worry when the metro was halted for twenty minutes and when we realized that we had taken the long way. Oops. We ran to the station, bags in hand, exhausted, sweaty, and gross from the beach that day, only to get there just as the bus was getting ready to leave. Figures that the time we are running late is the one time the bus is close to being on time.
I plopped myself down in the very back of the bus next to a bunch of French students who talked across me throughout most of the early morning journey. When we finally pulled into Avignon around 4:45 in the morning, I grabbed my bag, ran through the deserted city streets to my house to jump in the shower and try to lie down before class.
Don’t get me wrong, my trip to Barcelona was my favorite I have taken in Europe so far. The city had such a cool vibe. It’s hard to explain, but each city I have visited has a different feeling to it. London has a hip, rocker, masculine (and somewhat americanized) vibe…with a touch of royal historical flair. Paris has a very elegant, feminine, and romantic feeling. Barcelona was just plain fun. There was a laid-back beachy-bohemian feeling, mixed with some stylish Spanish flair for good measure. I can’t wait to come back here someday. Three days is nowhere near long enough to see all you want to. I’ll be back, Barcey!
Je ne parle pas Espagnol (No Hablo Espanol?)
May 8-9Out of all the cities I have visited in Europe so far, Barcelona was my favorite. I didn’t really know what to expect before I went, but it met and exceed all that I had previously thought and heard. Beautiful city, with beautiful beaches, and beautiful people. We all took a vote and decided there was no questioning that Spain (or Barcelona at least) had the best looking men in what we have seen in Europe so far.
Although my minimal one year of Spanish was enough to get by, it would have been nice to be able to communicate more with the people here in their native language. However, most of the Barcelonans speak Catalonia, which is a different dialect of Spanish…so maybe not, but we could have tried.
When we first got there, we thought we would try walking to our hostel, which we estimated to be about an hour’s journey on foot. Bad idea. Thankfully, our fatigue told us this was a bad idea (which it was, because after we caught the taxi, we realized that number one: we would have never found our hostel, because even our taxi driver got lost. Number two: it would have taken around 2 hours to walking there carrying our duffel bags and dragging from our night of no sleep.) Although none of us knew enough Spanish to be very useful and he could have easily taken advantage of us, our taxi driver was nice enough to stop the clock on the way to the hostel when he got lost, so we wouldn’t get charged. The fourteen euro ride was a cheap price to pay for how long we had been driving…and when split four ways was dirt cheap.
When we pulled into our hostel, I had to pause and ask myself if we had the right address. At least from the looks of the outside and the lobby, it looked way too nice to have only cost 14 USD a night. But our judgment would be refuted after we had seen the rooms and bathrooms. You get what you pay for. We stored our bags in complimentary lockers and went walking in Gaudi Park. Walking around in the park made us all feel better after our bizarre and sleepless night. Barcelona is beautiful. The palm trees, architecture, and weather were everything one would expect and more. Before coming here, I didn’t know anything about Gaudi and his famous mosaic work in the park. There was a low wall encircling an open courtyard, covered in colorful artwork, in addition to a church and temple constructed in the same style. It was gorgeous.
We took a nap in our hostel’s front lawn (haha) before checking into our hotel to crash and head to Barcelonita Beach for the day. I only wish I had a euro for every time someone on the beach asked, “Massage?, Beer?, Henna Tattoo?, Coconut?, or Coke? Water? Fanta?” I felt like I was being harassed (but not really), but it was quite amusing and funny after awhile. You learn to just say “no, gracias” to anyone who comes near.
We had been warned by our program director that every year someone gets something stolen from Barcelona. (One girl last year lost her passport). I’m sure I looked really cool lying on the beach with one arm wrapped around my purse, but one can never be too cautious when traveling. Even though I was doing this, I began to fall asleep, face down in the sand, but could still hear the faint sound of someone encircling around our towels. I glanced up to see a man standing uncomfortably close to our beach towels. He walked away for a little bit, but then, I heard it again! One of the beach venders tapped me on the shoulder and told me to wake up and watch my stuff more carefully (even though I had my arm around it), because the man was trying to steal our bags. My second run-in with the many Barcelonon thieves was the next day at the market at Las Rambas. I saw a boy try to swipe a purse right off of some woman’s arm. Thankfully, she felt it, and turned around and slapped him. You definitely don’t want to let your guard down, even for a minute!
And I thought that the French ate dinner late. One of the cultural differences we noticed in Spain was how late everyone ate dinner. Usually around 9:30 and 10:00, and if it was later than this, no one would think anything of it. During the late afternoon, after their long siestas, they snack on a variety of tapas before their evening feasts. Another thing I loved was how much cheaper the food was here (not to mention that we all found it all delicious!) The Spanish cuisine was one of the best parts about Barcelona. Plus Sangria, a yummy tropical drink made with red wine, was really cheap: around 3 euro at a nice restaurant, but you can buy cartons at the grocery store for around one.
The next day, we went to the Familla Sangria (a big church designed by Gaudi himself). It was one of the most impressive and creative architectural structures I have ever seen. Done in a nouveau style, it was never completed, but is still breathtaking in spite of this fact. Browsing at Las Rambas was next and unintentional buying. There were performers who lined the shop-covered streets in costumes varying from beautiful to just plan bizarre or even scary. After our tiring day of shopping, we tried to take the metro to a different beach, but couldn’t find it, so we instead walked by the arc de triompe, saw a martial arts demonstration, and hung out in the park by the Barcelona zoo before going out that night.
Dinner in “Modern Barcelona” was excellent. Knowing that we would have to say goodbye to Zoey soon, we went out late to walk by the big dome that is supposed to light up at night (sadly, it didn’t), ran into a free soccer game, and then a concert. Wow…the Spanish are hilarious dancers. Boys were jumping on each others’ shoulders like a game of chicken in the pool. Everyone else twitched and bopped around like they were either doing the twist and shout or having a seizure. They do a mean salsa though.
We took the long metro ride to the gare and waited for an hour and a half more than supposed to for her bus under the chilly, drizzling rain. While waiting for her bus, we met a woman from Lyon and her friend. They had had their stuff stolen while walking to the gare, but thanks to Zoey’s trusty guidebook, we were able to help them. After her bus finally came and left, we met some girls from California, who were studying abroad in Italy. Since they had nowhere to stay for the night and knowing how panicked I would feel in their situation, we offered to take them back with them to our hostel and get them a room. It was now four thirty am, and our hostel kicks us out at 10 everyday. I didn’t get much sleep that night, but what a great day!
Although my minimal one year of Spanish was enough to get by, it would have been nice to be able to communicate more with the people here in their native language. However, most of the Barcelonans speak Catalonia, which is a different dialect of Spanish…so maybe not, but we could have tried.
When we first got there, we thought we would try walking to our hostel, which we estimated to be about an hour’s journey on foot. Bad idea. Thankfully, our fatigue told us this was a bad idea (which it was, because after we caught the taxi, we realized that number one: we would have never found our hostel, because even our taxi driver got lost. Number two: it would have taken around 2 hours to walking there carrying our duffel bags and dragging from our night of no sleep.) Although none of us knew enough Spanish to be very useful and he could have easily taken advantage of us, our taxi driver was nice enough to stop the clock on the way to the hostel when he got lost, so we wouldn’t get charged. The fourteen euro ride was a cheap price to pay for how long we had been driving…and when split four ways was dirt cheap.
When we pulled into our hostel, I had to pause and ask myself if we had the right address. At least from the looks of the outside and the lobby, it looked way too nice to have only cost 14 USD a night. But our judgment would be refuted after we had seen the rooms and bathrooms. You get what you pay for. We stored our bags in complimentary lockers and went walking in Gaudi Park. Walking around in the park made us all feel better after our bizarre and sleepless night. Barcelona is beautiful. The palm trees, architecture, and weather were everything one would expect and more. Before coming here, I didn’t know anything about Gaudi and his famous mosaic work in the park. There was a low wall encircling an open courtyard, covered in colorful artwork, in addition to a church and temple constructed in the same style. It was gorgeous.
We took a nap in our hostel’s front lawn (haha) before checking into our hotel to crash and head to Barcelonita Beach for the day. I only wish I had a euro for every time someone on the beach asked, “Massage?, Beer?, Henna Tattoo?, Coconut?, or Coke? Water? Fanta?” I felt like I was being harassed (but not really), but it was quite amusing and funny after awhile. You learn to just say “no, gracias” to anyone who comes near.
We had been warned by our program director that every year someone gets something stolen from Barcelona. (One girl last year lost her passport). I’m sure I looked really cool lying on the beach with one arm wrapped around my purse, but one can never be too cautious when traveling. Even though I was doing this, I began to fall asleep, face down in the sand, but could still hear the faint sound of someone encircling around our towels. I glanced up to see a man standing uncomfortably close to our beach towels. He walked away for a little bit, but then, I heard it again! One of the beach venders tapped me on the shoulder and told me to wake up and watch my stuff more carefully (even though I had my arm around it), because the man was trying to steal our bags. My second run-in with the many Barcelonon thieves was the next day at the market at Las Rambas. I saw a boy try to swipe a purse right off of some woman’s arm. Thankfully, she felt it, and turned around and slapped him. You definitely don’t want to let your guard down, even for a minute!
And I thought that the French ate dinner late. One of the cultural differences we noticed in Spain was how late everyone ate dinner. Usually around 9:30 and 10:00, and if it was later than this, no one would think anything of it. During the late afternoon, after their long siestas, they snack on a variety of tapas before their evening feasts. Another thing I loved was how much cheaper the food was here (not to mention that we all found it all delicious!) The Spanish cuisine was one of the best parts about Barcelona. Plus Sangria, a yummy tropical drink made with red wine, was really cheap: around 3 euro at a nice restaurant, but you can buy cartons at the grocery store for around one.
The next day, we went to the Familla Sangria (a big church designed by Gaudi himself). It was one of the most impressive and creative architectural structures I have ever seen. Done in a nouveau style, it was never completed, but is still breathtaking in spite of this fact. Browsing at Las Rambas was next and unintentional buying. There were performers who lined the shop-covered streets in costumes varying from beautiful to just plan bizarre or even scary. After our tiring day of shopping, we tried to take the metro to a different beach, but couldn’t find it, so we instead walked by the arc de triompe, saw a martial arts demonstration, and hung out in the park by the Barcelona zoo before going out that night.
Dinner in “Modern Barcelona” was excellent. Knowing that we would have to say goodbye to Zoey soon, we went out late to walk by the big dome that is supposed to light up at night (sadly, it didn’t), ran into a free soccer game, and then a concert. Wow…the Spanish are hilarious dancers. Boys were jumping on each others’ shoulders like a game of chicken in the pool. Everyone else twitched and bopped around like they were either doing the twist and shout or having a seizure. They do a mean salsa though.
We took the long metro ride to the gare and waited for an hour and a half more than supposed to for her bus under the chilly, drizzling rain. While waiting for her bus, we met a woman from Lyon and her friend. They had had their stuff stolen while walking to the gare, but thanks to Zoey’s trusty guidebook, we were able to help them. After her bus finally came and left, we met some girls from California, who were studying abroad in Italy. Since they had nowhere to stay for the night and knowing how panicked I would feel in their situation, we offered to take them back with them to our hostel and get them a room. It was now four thirty am, and our hostel kicks us out at 10 everyday. I didn’t get much sleep that night, but what a great day!
Barcelona: My Bizarre Travels
5/7/09It all started Thursday afternoon. Zoey didn’t know if she was able to go to Barcelona, since she wasn’t able to buy her ticket until after Marie, Elisse, and I had already bought ours. Unfortunately, this meant that there was no room left on the bus we would be taking, but we decided to try and switch one of our tickets, so no one would have to ride home on the bus all alone (my bus got in at 4:30 in the morning on Monday before class…let’s just say I drank practically a liter of coffee beforehand, and Zoey’s was scheduled to get back Sunday morning around 8:00).
Zoey enlightened me on her theory on the way to the gare: she is convinced that we are all on a reality tv show. Meaning that the people and events we come across on a daily basis are placed to test us and keep the audience asking, “what would they do if…?” After all that has happened here (which of course, can’t all be mentioned in a blog), and my weekend, I am beginning to believe the theory too (not seriously, but man, I tell you what….it would get good ratings!)!
So who would have thought that finding a bus station would have been more difficult that pulling teeth? We asked around five different people, who all told us different things, and once we finally found the gare, we realized that we had walked past it three or four times. This was the start of my most bizarre yet wonderful weekend yet. After standing in line for around thirty minutes trying to get Zoey’s ticket changed (all while explaining this in our elementary French, of course), the woman behind the desk told us that a switch would not be possible after all. Zoey would have ride back on the late night bus alone.
Tired from walking around Avignon in search of the mysteriously camouflaged gare, I went back to my house to pack (which I waited to the last minute to do). As soon as I got up to my room, Kristina informed me that we would have to tell our host mom that we would be moving out the following week. Great. This was going to be awkward. “So, thanks for dinner. Oh, by the way, we are moving out. See you Monday, because I’m peacing-out for Barcelona tonight.” How bad does that look? But it was necessary that we tell them that night. The sooner, the better. We had to give them close to a week’s notice under contract anyway, so if we wanted to get out of there, we would just have to suck it up and say it. I prayed the whole way down the stairs after the usual “À table” was yelled.
Dinner was eerily silent. Kristina and I shot glances at each other from across the table and ate in complete silence, knowing what we had to do. The hardest part was starting the conversation. We both told her we wanted to talk with her for a few minutes after we put our dishes away, but began beating around the bush as to what we really wanted to talk about. Finally, someone had to spit it out. Thankfully, it was Kristina. Brave soul. Surprisingly, Madame M was cooler with it than we thought she was going to be. She said, “Well, if that’s how you feel, I respect it, and you can leave.” I think she was secretly happy to see us leave. The feeling is mutual. Of course after telling them this, the most ear-piercing silence started, so I started talking, and talking. I was trying to make the situation better by showing that we weren’t rude, spoiled Americans and were thankful for some of the things they had done for us. My nervousness caused me to keep talking. I didn’t know how exactly to end a conversation after I had just told them I would be leaving. Is there any appropriate way to do that? My experience there wasn’t all bad there, but after living with Martine for the past few days, I know that I am now experiencing what a host family is supposed to be: she does the job perfectly. I am so thankful to have the chance to live with her, even if there is only a month remaining in the program.
Running with my bag in hand, butterflies still in my stomach after speaking with the family, I ran to catch the bus at 11:30. Our tickets said to “check in” at 11, but when we reached the station, we all went into panic-mode, because it was closed. Thinking and praying that we weren’t out 60-some euros for our tickets, we decided to try a bus stop along the ride of the road. Bingo. It was the right spot. We weren’t late at all. In fact, the bus was an hour and a half late! That meant that we would be arriving in Barcey around 6 in the morning. Oh, this was going to be interesting. Knowing that I probably wouldn’t sleep, I mentally prepared myself for the long day ahead. Little did I know what weirdness was waiting for me in the second row…
Marie, Zoey, Elisse, and I were the last ones to board, so the only seats left were up front. I sat next to a Hispanic-looking man in his late fifties; Elisse sat across from me and next to a woman who snored like a bear the whole ride; Zoey sat right behind the driver, and Marie was in the back next to a bunch of loud students who played cards throughout the whole 5 or 6 (I really don’t know) hour-long bus ride to Spain.
About halfway through the uncomfortable journey, the man next to me started moaning, groaning, and flinging his arms around like a mummy. This was the WEIRDEST moment of my life so far! I wish someone would have had a camera with them, because we would have won some sort of odd-ness condoning award. He was having a night terror – right next to me at like 3 in the morning on a crowded, dark bus. Oh, my life…this would happen to me! It was so scary yet cry-worthy, roll-on-the floor laughable at the same time. He performed his moaning spells two times and began to go into seizure-mode before grabbing my leg in his dream-like state. I leapt out of my seat like a gazelle (probably jumped like 3 feet off the ground) - shocked that he had grabbed me - and yelled, “Excuse me!!!” Of course, he wouldn’t understand this – he didn’t speak English. His arms reached out for my back as Elisse pulled me into her lap (where I stayed for a good ten minutes until he calmed down). The man, who was sitting behind us, shook the moaning man to wake him up and ask if he was okay. Nodding his head and jerking-back as if suddenly startled, he began to regain consciousness, having no idea what he had just done. I felt bad for him, and I am sure that he was embarrassed. But it was really scary. Needless to say, there was NO WAY I was sleeping after that. I sat literally on the edge of my seat for the rest of the ride, legs in the aisle, back to the man, just in case he started to have another night terror. I ran off the bus when we pulled into the station, wanting to kiss the ground and thank God I had made it to Spain in one piece. What a way to start my weekend! I think I am starting to believe that reality tv theory now…(just kidding :))
