So I know that the last time I wrote an entry in this lil blog o' mine, I said I would write about the concentration camps. Truthfully, I don't know if that's going to happen. It was an extremely personal experience that I will remember for the rest of my life. I can assure you though, that it was beyond terrifying to be there, but incredibly powerful too.
Updates, shall we?
My first time in England
Last weekend I went to England to visit Becky. For those of you who may not know, Becky is my best friend of over 20 years. We met in pre-school, and from there it's history. So, Becky is living in England with her boyfriend Chris, who is awesome, as she works on independent research of prison arts programs. Interesting stuff, eh? So, I took the train from Reims to Paris, Paris to London. I have to say, the trip was surprisingly smooth, with no hiccups whatsoever. I arrive in London, and then managed to figure out the "underground/tube"/whatever they call their metro, to get to a Paddington Station (like the bear!), where I then hopped on a train to Oxford. 45 minutes later, I'm off the train and maneuvering my way through Oxford. As I walk along the sidewalk, I realize how odd it is to be someplace where English is spoken. I speak English all the time with my friends here in Reims, but when it comes to something like asking a stranger for the time, I've trained myself to think in French. So, I'm walking down the street and from a distance I see a very familiar face. Indeed, it was Becky approaching. Seeing her was just such a sigh of relief. While I have developed amazing friendships with people in my program, they are in no way comparable to seeing an old friend. Becky might as well be family to me. Without trying to sound sappy and exorbitantly cliché, my heart literally filled with warmth. We walked throughout part of downtown Oxford to find the right bus stop to go to her house. The town was alive with students. People were drinking, laughing, enjoying themselves. We passed bar after bar after bar, all of which teemed with life and energy. We eventually found our bus, and went back to her apartment. I made myself a cozy little bed of arranged couch cushions and blankets, and passed out.
I can't remember what we did on a day to day basis, but I thoroughly enjoyed myself there. Oxford is a great town. The architecture is incredible- all of the buildings looked like mini-castles and medieval manors. We went to a fabulous natural history museum, went to her friend's lecture on higher education in prison facilities, had tea, walked around, bought tons used books (in English! jackpot!), did a little thrift shopping, went to Friday night services at a synagogue, saw Harry Potter 7 (which was awesome because HP is filmed in Oxford at Christ Church), went to Christ Church, went inside ridiculous libraries (I went in one that claims to have ever book ever published, or something like that... The Oldest Round library, perhaps), walked around more, invited friends over for dinner, and went to a bar. The bar itself was quite cool. It was in the middle of nowhere, literally, right on the Thames river. We had to take random footpaths and cross very old bridges to get there. It was a restored boathouse and if someone didn't tell you about it, you would never go there. It was quite nice to sit back and enjoy a pint. Going to Shabbat services was also really great. It was so nice to be in a Jewish community that had similar traditions (from experience, the Jews in Reims are mostly Sephardic), and to be with Jewish students my own age. The weekend in Oxford was really incredible. Being with Becky is exactly what I needed. I honestly cannot wait to go back and visit.
Thanksgiving: Thanksgiving arrived, and it was just an absolutely, no good, very bad day. I was working on a huge group project and things just really weren't going my way at all. It's weird to be someplace for a holiday such as Thanksgiving where no one celebrates it, let alone knows what it's all about. The day itself was just awful. I ended up in tears, sobbing to my dad on the phone, homesick. Boo hoo. However, Saturday approached. I had been organizing a huge Thanksgiving dinner at my house with all of the Americans from the grade below mine, and also some of my good non-American friends. Saturday came, and I organized all of the tables and desks in the apartment to form one, giant table to fit at least 15 people. I went grocery shopping, purchased my ingredients, and began to cook. I made a baked macaroni and cheese, meatloaf, 5 liters of mulled wine, and apple crisp. Guests began arriving with a dish that they prepared, and soon enough we had a table covered with assorted dishes. In addition to my meatloaf and mac n cheese (which, sorry if I'm being biased were the STARS of the show), we had parsnip and carrot mash, Shepards pie, cauliflower/broccoli with cheese sauce, turkey (cutlets, not a whole turkey), stuffing, mashed potatoes, a rotisserie chicken (symbolic... in lieu of having a whole turkey), green beans, and corn bread. It was truly an incredible spread of food. We gathered round the table, and took turns saying what we were thankful for. We ate ourselves stupid, drank hot wine from a pot, and laughed so hard we cried. All in all, it was a really, really great day.
School:
I know this will come as a shocker, but yet again school is kicking my ass. I just finished the last of my group projects today, and now its T-7 days until exams. I have 9 exams to take in the course of only 3 days. I wonder how many I'll pass... Speaking of studying, I really need to get back to that... and by "get back to that" I actually mean "start"
On a side note... HAPPY HANUKKAH!
Funny story-- the other day I went to the grocery store to raid the "kosher" section to see if they sold any Hanukkah candles. Turns out, they actually replaced the "kosher section" with Christmas stuff... and left 7 boxes of Matzo meal. This year, I actually made my own menorah (out of clay, naturally). It may not be the best looking menorah around, but by darn it gets the job done!
Hi ho, hi ho, it's back to work I go.
Thanks for reading :)
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Monday, November 15, 2010
Ein wochenende in München!
My lovely friend Carole emailed me last week asking if I was interested in a student trip to Munich... What kind of question is that?! Of course I am! The group organizing the trip is in charge of student life of one of the schools within my school. I said to myself, is there a better way to meet new people AND experience a new city AND accomplish a goal of visiting a concentration camp other than this? Nope! I signed up, paid my deposit, and eagerly awaited the date of departure.
The students planning the trip organized pre-drinks at their apartment, followed by an 11pm departure time by bus. The idea: have a few drinks, enjoy a nice long bus ride (8 hours), and arrive in Munich by morning. Wednesday evening at around 9 pm, Carole and I headed over to the apartment of one of the students in charge where we met all the other people with whom we were to be going to Munich with. It was an interesting situation, walking into an apartment with room full of people that you don't know, but would soon know quite well. We put our bags down in a bedroom, and braved into the crowd. We successfully socialized for a while, and soon it was time for us to board the bus. As soon as everyone was aboard, we were given cocktails, a theme which seemed to set the tone of the weekend. It was interesting being on a bus with kids my own age and no adult supervisor other than the driver who was there only to drive. It felt like being on a field trip without the teacher. The experience was liberating. We sipped our drinks, danced in the aisles, and got to know one another. By the wee hours of the morn, our bodies had contorted to fit the width of the bus seats as we slept in the most comfortable positions we could think of. The bus was chilled with the frozen air of dawn, and I shivered, awake in my seat, thinking about the adventures that were to be had. The sun slowly crept above the hilly landscape as we drove across the countryside just outside of Munich.
We arrived at the hostel at 9 am. Most of us climbed off the bus disoriented with fatigue, a few fumbling drunkenly down the stairs. Unfortunately the hostel was not ready for us, and we chose to wait for an hour while they cleaned. I found a spot on the floor and tried to re-energize myself for the day to come. After a while, we were finally given the keys to our rooms. Carole and I buddied up with two girls, and together we headed to our suite. The corridor of the hostel smelled like beer, with a faint twinge of vomit. The walls were decorated with graffiti and spray-paint swirls in tones of orange and blue. We found our room, 18, and entered our new lair. There was 3 sets of metal framed bunk beds, with crisp, starchy linens folded neatly upon foam mattresses. We claimed our respective territories, made our beds, and collapsed, rotating taking turns showering. Refreshed and partially rested, we met back with the rest of the group in the main lobby. Once gathered, we set by foot towards downtown Munich. Carole and I found great pleasure in attempting to read the street sides and store names, all of which obviously were in German, a language that neither of us speak. Walking along, I noticed how different the architecture was to that of France- large, boxy, and intimidating. I like it! We followed the route of the tram, eventually reaching Marienplatz, the most popular part of the city that boasts an impressive, cathedral-like city hall. It actually reminded me a bit of downtown Prague. It was there that the group split- half wanting to eat lunch at Burger King, half downright refusing the idea. There is no Burger King in France, so I can sort of understand the desire of many to eat there. That having been said... ew. Clearly I headed away from the Whopper in search of something a bit more appetizing. We ended up at a cafe directly in front of the city hall, where I ordered an amazing omelet made with morsels of fresh pumpkin and veggies, and sat warmly in a wicker chair as I covered my legs with a fleece blanket that they provided. We ate, filling our stomachs with warm happiness.
After lunch, both parties of the group, the Burger Kings and the rest of us, met and headed off to the BMW museum. We ended up in one of the buildings of the museum that is used mostly for functions and presentation, not the museum itself. We spent a decent amount of time there. I guess I could say it was cool, but I realized that cars just aren't really my thing, as shiny and expensive as they are. We didn't even go into the real museum. Instead, we exited the building and walked through a park, leading us to the Olympic Park from the 70s. I was truly impressed by the Olympic compound. We didn't stay there long, as there wasn't much we could actually besides walk around. By that point, the sun was setting and it was quite chilly. We took some pictures, peeked into a few buildings, and called it a day. Noteworthy point: I saw a bobsled! I'm not exactly sure what was going on, but all of a sudden I saw a crew of 5 people pushing a bobsled (on a dolly) across the road. Très cool. We headed back towards the metro and back into the city. We headed back to the hostel to get changed for dinner and a night out. Showered, dressed, and made-up, we headed back to Marienplatz in search of a beer-garden. Never in my life have I been in such an establishment. We walked in to a building that fits hundreds of hundreds of people. Massive painted ceilings, waitstaff in lederhosen and traditional garb carrying glass liter steins of beer, restaurant go-ers in funny hats and traditional garb, a live "oomp-pa-pa" band (as I call it... tubas, accordions, harps, yodelers), the works. The place was beyond packed as people combined up and down the aisles for a free spot at one of the hundreds of giant, wooden picnic tables. Carole and I ordered a liter of beer each, and decided to split a main-course. We had a delicious roasted half-chicken and potatoes, while others chomped on various types of sausage. I'm sorry, but I really don't get all the hype about sausages. They're really bad for you and they don't look appetizing at all. I'm just saying. We drank and ate, and then drank some more. At around 10:30 or 11 we finished dinner, and moved on to a cocktail bar that offers a liter for 6 euro. Having just drank a liter of beer, I was a bit full. I waited for a while, and then ordered a small margarita. Note to self- ritas in Germany aren't the best. We all hung out for a while, chatting and singing along to music. Slowly, the group became smaller and smaller as people began to head back to the hostel. Carole and a few guys were far from tired, and they were off in search of a nightclub. I never separate from a friend if we go out together, so along I went. We ended up at what looked like an industrial complex, but was in fact a complex called KultFabric of 6 different clubs. It was a pretty dead night, but we had a great time nonetheless.
The next morning, I woke up feeling awful. Sure, sure you think that I had had too much to drink. Alas, this was not the case. I'm not sure exactly what happened, but I think I ate something that didn't agree with me. I had such a stomach ache that day, and felt somewhat sick for the rest of the trip. Finally able to crawl out of bed at around lunch time, we headed to the Pinakoteka, a very famous art museum in Munich. The Pinakoteka is actually 3 different museums, with amazing collections of ancient, classic, and modern art. Having lived in Paris for 6 months, I've become quite spoiled in terms of art museums. I wanted to see something new and refreshing, not just portraits of dead, rich people. And so it was that Carole and I went to see some modern art. I am so glad we did! The collection of art amassed in the museum was unbelievable. There was sculpture, art deco, cubist paintings, movies, everything. I managed to make this cultural outing into an amazing photography session. We spent a solid 3 hours there. After finishing our tour with some Picasso, we were both just absolutely drained. We met up with the group of us that had gone to the museums, and went back to the hostel to rest for a little. I was still feeling quite queezy, so it was great to lie down for a bit. It was finally time to go for dinner. The options were the same beergarden, or sushi. I figured that some miso soup and plain white rice would be easier on my stomach, so sushi it was. It was an interesting experience communicating with our Vietnamese waitstaff in German and English, both of which didn't seem to work out. Somehow, everyone got what they ordered, and we had us some deeelish Japanese food. The soup was absolutely fantastic. Afterwards, we headed back to the same cocktail bar as before. I wasn't too keen on the idea, because I think that it's better to try something new. Feeling like crap and clearly not drinking, I wasn't one to oppose. The bar seemed to have transformed from the night prior. Apparently, Friday nights are THE night to go out. The bar was PACKED. Everyone ordered their cocktails, and I opted for a Coke (remembering that Coke helps with stomach aches). I think they gave me Pepsi instead, because after about 20 minutes I started to feel very, very sick. I told Carole that I was going to head back, and she volunteered to come with me. We both agreed that we would need all of our energy for tomorrow. We got back to the hostel by midnight, climbed into our foam bunkbeds, and fell into a deep sleep.
The next morning I woke up feeling loads better. I took a nice hot shower, packed up my bags, and headed down for breakfast. I feasted upon a doughy roll, the first solid food I'd had in quite some time. After, I collected my bag and put it in the undercarriage of the bus. We waited for everyone to make their way outside. From the looks of it, the majority of people seemed to have had a great rest of the night. Once together, we set out to find the train to bring us to the Dachau concentration camp. I am going to write about my experience at the camp in a different post because it does not seem fitting here.
After Dachau, we had an hour or two to explore Munich as we wanted to. We then headed back to the bus, and started the 8 hour journey back to Reims. The trip was a really strange, but great adventure. I met new people, made new friends, and experienced a different city. Overall, I really liked Munich. I'd highly recommend it, and would love to go back- but I couldn't live there. It's just not quite my style.
Tschüs!
The students planning the trip organized pre-drinks at their apartment, followed by an 11pm departure time by bus. The idea: have a few drinks, enjoy a nice long bus ride (8 hours), and arrive in Munich by morning. Wednesday evening at around 9 pm, Carole and I headed over to the apartment of one of the students in charge where we met all the other people with whom we were to be going to Munich with. It was an interesting situation, walking into an apartment with room full of people that you don't know, but would soon know quite well. We put our bags down in a bedroom, and braved into the crowd. We successfully socialized for a while, and soon it was time for us to board the bus. As soon as everyone was aboard, we were given cocktails, a theme which seemed to set the tone of the weekend. It was interesting being on a bus with kids my own age and no adult supervisor other than the driver who was there only to drive. It felt like being on a field trip without the teacher. The experience was liberating. We sipped our drinks, danced in the aisles, and got to know one another. By the wee hours of the morn, our bodies had contorted to fit the width of the bus seats as we slept in the most comfortable positions we could think of. The bus was chilled with the frozen air of dawn, and I shivered, awake in my seat, thinking about the adventures that were to be had. The sun slowly crept above the hilly landscape as we drove across the countryside just outside of Munich.
We arrived at the hostel at 9 am. Most of us climbed off the bus disoriented with fatigue, a few fumbling drunkenly down the stairs. Unfortunately the hostel was not ready for us, and we chose to wait for an hour while they cleaned. I found a spot on the floor and tried to re-energize myself for the day to come. After a while, we were finally given the keys to our rooms. Carole and I buddied up with two girls, and together we headed to our suite. The corridor of the hostel smelled like beer, with a faint twinge of vomit. The walls were decorated with graffiti and spray-paint swirls in tones of orange and blue. We found our room, 18, and entered our new lair. There was 3 sets of metal framed bunk beds, with crisp, starchy linens folded neatly upon foam mattresses. We claimed our respective territories, made our beds, and collapsed, rotating taking turns showering. Refreshed and partially rested, we met back with the rest of the group in the main lobby. Once gathered, we set by foot towards downtown Munich. Carole and I found great pleasure in attempting to read the street sides and store names, all of which obviously were in German, a language that neither of us speak. Walking along, I noticed how different the architecture was to that of France- large, boxy, and intimidating. I like it! We followed the route of the tram, eventually reaching Marienplatz, the most popular part of the city that boasts an impressive, cathedral-like city hall. It actually reminded me a bit of downtown Prague. It was there that the group split- half wanting to eat lunch at Burger King, half downright refusing the idea. There is no Burger King in France, so I can sort of understand the desire of many to eat there. That having been said... ew. Clearly I headed away from the Whopper in search of something a bit more appetizing. We ended up at a cafe directly in front of the city hall, where I ordered an amazing omelet made with morsels of fresh pumpkin and veggies, and sat warmly in a wicker chair as I covered my legs with a fleece blanket that they provided. We ate, filling our stomachs with warm happiness.
After lunch, both parties of the group, the Burger Kings and the rest of us, met and headed off to the BMW museum. We ended up in one of the buildings of the museum that is used mostly for functions and presentation, not the museum itself. We spent a decent amount of time there. I guess I could say it was cool, but I realized that cars just aren't really my thing, as shiny and expensive as they are. We didn't even go into the real museum. Instead, we exited the building and walked through a park, leading us to the Olympic Park from the 70s. I was truly impressed by the Olympic compound. We didn't stay there long, as there wasn't much we could actually besides walk around. By that point, the sun was setting and it was quite chilly. We took some pictures, peeked into a few buildings, and called it a day. Noteworthy point: I saw a bobsled! I'm not exactly sure what was going on, but all of a sudden I saw a crew of 5 people pushing a bobsled (on a dolly) across the road. Très cool. We headed back towards the metro and back into the city. We headed back to the hostel to get changed for dinner and a night out. Showered, dressed, and made-up, we headed back to Marienplatz in search of a beer-garden. Never in my life have I been in such an establishment. We walked in to a building that fits hundreds of hundreds of people. Massive painted ceilings, waitstaff in lederhosen and traditional garb carrying glass liter steins of beer, restaurant go-ers in funny hats and traditional garb, a live "oomp-pa-pa" band (as I call it... tubas, accordions, harps, yodelers), the works. The place was beyond packed as people combined up and down the aisles for a free spot at one of the hundreds of giant, wooden picnic tables. Carole and I ordered a liter of beer each, and decided to split a main-course. We had a delicious roasted half-chicken and potatoes, while others chomped on various types of sausage. I'm sorry, but I really don't get all the hype about sausages. They're really bad for you and they don't look appetizing at all. I'm just saying. We drank and ate, and then drank some more. At around 10:30 or 11 we finished dinner, and moved on to a cocktail bar that offers a liter for 6 euro. Having just drank a liter of beer, I was a bit full. I waited for a while, and then ordered a small margarita. Note to self- ritas in Germany aren't the best. We all hung out for a while, chatting and singing along to music. Slowly, the group became smaller and smaller as people began to head back to the hostel. Carole and a few guys were far from tired, and they were off in search of a nightclub. I never separate from a friend if we go out together, so along I went. We ended up at what looked like an industrial complex, but was in fact a complex called KultFabric of 6 different clubs. It was a pretty dead night, but we had a great time nonetheless.
The next morning, I woke up feeling awful. Sure, sure you think that I had had too much to drink. Alas, this was not the case. I'm not sure exactly what happened, but I think I ate something that didn't agree with me. I had such a stomach ache that day, and felt somewhat sick for the rest of the trip. Finally able to crawl out of bed at around lunch time, we headed to the Pinakoteka, a very famous art museum in Munich. The Pinakoteka is actually 3 different museums, with amazing collections of ancient, classic, and modern art. Having lived in Paris for 6 months, I've become quite spoiled in terms of art museums. I wanted to see something new and refreshing, not just portraits of dead, rich people. And so it was that Carole and I went to see some modern art. I am so glad we did! The collection of art amassed in the museum was unbelievable. There was sculpture, art deco, cubist paintings, movies, everything. I managed to make this cultural outing into an amazing photography session. We spent a solid 3 hours there. After finishing our tour with some Picasso, we were both just absolutely drained. We met up with the group of us that had gone to the museums, and went back to the hostel to rest for a little. I was still feeling quite queezy, so it was great to lie down for a bit. It was finally time to go for dinner. The options were the same beergarden, or sushi. I figured that some miso soup and plain white rice would be easier on my stomach, so sushi it was. It was an interesting experience communicating with our Vietnamese waitstaff in German and English, both of which didn't seem to work out. Somehow, everyone got what they ordered, and we had us some deeelish Japanese food. The soup was absolutely fantastic. Afterwards, we headed back to the same cocktail bar as before. I wasn't too keen on the idea, because I think that it's better to try something new. Feeling like crap and clearly not drinking, I wasn't one to oppose. The bar seemed to have transformed from the night prior. Apparently, Friday nights are THE night to go out. The bar was PACKED. Everyone ordered their cocktails, and I opted for a Coke (remembering that Coke helps with stomach aches). I think they gave me Pepsi instead, because after about 20 minutes I started to feel very, very sick. I told Carole that I was going to head back, and she volunteered to come with me. We both agreed that we would need all of our energy for tomorrow. We got back to the hostel by midnight, climbed into our foam bunkbeds, and fell into a deep sleep.
The next morning I woke up feeling loads better. I took a nice hot shower, packed up my bags, and headed down for breakfast. I feasted upon a doughy roll, the first solid food I'd had in quite some time. After, I collected my bag and put it in the undercarriage of the bus. We waited for everyone to make their way outside. From the looks of it, the majority of people seemed to have had a great rest of the night. Once together, we set out to find the train to bring us to the Dachau concentration camp. I am going to write about my experience at the camp in a different post because it does not seem fitting here.
After Dachau, we had an hour or two to explore Munich as we wanted to. We then headed back to the bus, and started the 8 hour journey back to Reims. The trip was a really strange, but great adventure. I met new people, made new friends, and experienced a different city. Overall, I really liked Munich. I'd highly recommend it, and would love to go back- but I couldn't live there. It's just not quite my style.
Tschüs!
Monday, November 1, 2010
Living in France.. again
Welcome back to an exciting new year of blogging! Yes, ladies and gents, I have continued my noble quest to speak French and live abroad. I landed about a month ago-- clearly it has taken a bit of time to get settled and simmer down. Now, let's try for a quick recap of the past four weeks!
I landed in Charles de Gaulle airport, maneuvered my way to the train station where I was to board a direct train to Reims, saving me time and agonizing frustration by avoiding having to enter Paris. I then receive a phone call from my roommate, Victoria, who is from Spain. She lets me know that there has been a change of plans-- she was supposed to have arrived before me, bringing with her the keys to our apartment. Due to medical reasons she needed to staying at home for a week... in Madrid. So, I landed and had no keys to my apartment. She arranged plans for me to stay with a friend of ours from school, Sebastien, until she arrived. I dragged my stuff to the platform where the train was supposed to be, only to be evacuated 2 minutes later because of a bomb-threat. Nice. I eventually got on a train, and headed back to my (cough.. cough) city of Reims. The next day, I was headed back to Paris to pick up my visa. Having mastered the Reims-Paris trip a while ago, having an excellent knowledge of the metro, and having gone to the immigration building countless times, the trip was easy. Picking up my visa was beyond simple, the process taking no more than 10 minutes. I had a lovely lunch date with my friend Pia, and then headed back to Reims, leaving my beloved Paris behind. The next day, I went to the Reims immigration building to change my address, finding out that it's impossible to just update an address because I moved from Paris to Reims, and thus to a different department of France... so I would need to reapply and do the entire visa renewal process over again. I don't even know why I was surprised to hear this for after all, this is France we're talking about, a country known for democracy and Napoleon... not efficiency or logic. Perhaps the next day, Victoria arrived to Reims, yet as our apartment was completely unfurnished (not even a refrigerator) we decided to stay at Sebas' place until things got settled. We ended up living there for another week, and finally moved into our new place. Interesting sidenote-- the real estate agency only had one set of keys for us. We had to make our own copies, even though there are three people signed on the lease. Idiots.
Quick, fun stories:
1. Having rented furnished apartments all of last year, I had to buy lots of furniture. I ended up going to Ikea with Victoria, Michael and his roommate. Long story short, we got a bit lost, ended up quite far away from Ikea, and caught in a downpour. We ended up hitch-hiking to Ikea with a lovely French couple who graciously made two separate trips as we couldn't all fit in their car. We spent hours there, and found most everything we needed. We purchased our things, and made our way to the counter to rent a van. It turns out that van rentals needed to be done earlier in the day, as the vans must be returned to Ikea before a certain time. Naturally, we wouldn't be able to make it. So, we then decide that we must get our things delivered by Ikea. Funny thing- Ikea delivery only will ship things in boxes. Therefor, anything wrapped in plastic (including tables) is classified as "undeliverable." Essentially, we could only have a few things delivered, leaving us with carriages upon carriages of utensils, chairs, bedding, the works. We scrambled to call everyone we knew that might have a car. A few amazing friends dropped what they were doing, drove out to Ikea, packed their cars with our stuff, and drove back into town. Witnessing this fiasco must've been hilarious. I think the entire Ikea ordeal gave me a few gray hairs, and a deep hatred for Swedish furniture. A few days later, I haven't even opened the box of my 39 euro wood bed when I learned that 4 of my friends who had bought the same model ended up on the floor because the bed broke and collapsed. Great. I managed to plan a return trip to Ikea with my friend who has a car. We arrived before the store opened, walked a few laps around the parking lot, and eventually returned my bed-frame. When asked by the cashier the reason why I wanted to return the bed-frame, I answered quite simply "Because it's cheap and worthless." She must hear this response quite often because she didn't even question it.
2. I successfully finished my 20 page paper about my internship! What a nightmare! I'm really proud of myself though.
3. The strikes-- hate em! Hate hate hate em. France, I love you dearly, but this striking nonsense has to end. You look foolish, and everything is inefficient. To the idiot highschool students that were striking for over a week about the retirement age being bumped up from 60 years old to 62: you're stupid. Instead of missing tons of classes, why not study a bit harder, do better on your exams, get into a great school, get a great job that pays well and set your own retirement age! Please explain to me how throwing road barriers in the middle of the street, tipping garbage cans, and walking in front of city buses and thus blocking traffic in ANY WAY helps your cause? In fact, doing these juvenile things and harassing people detracts from the seriousness of the issue. Stop worrying about your retirement when you don't even know how to behave like an adult. And come on, 62?? It's not like the government is making you work until you die. 62 is a very young age for retirement. Stop being brats. And as for the transportation strikes, don't even get me started... I'm just saying, if the workers want more benefits and money, maybe the solution is to NOT increase losses by preventing willing passengers from buying tickets. Transportation strikes not only annoy me because they prevent me from going to where I want to go, but also because the companies/government lose SO much money. Inefficient and stupid to the max!
4. Remember that visa that I absolutely had to change my address within 8 days? Remember the urgency of this process, and how I had to renew the entire visa because French bureaucracy is stupid? Well, it's been over a month and they still haven't mailed me the receipt to pick up my new one.
5. Guess who's going to Morocco in December?!?! Mwahaha
So, I'll try to keep up with my blogging. School is pretty intense, and I find myself either not having enough time to blog, or being so tired that all I want to do is lay in bed and not think about anything.
It's exciting being back in France. As small of a town as Reims is, I find myself easily being able to have fun. It's definitely nowhere near as incredible as Paris, but it's not as bad as I remember it.
Continue reading-- I promise there will be more to come!
I landed in Charles de Gaulle airport, maneuvered my way to the train station where I was to board a direct train to Reims, saving me time and agonizing frustration by avoiding having to enter Paris. I then receive a phone call from my roommate, Victoria, who is from Spain. She lets me know that there has been a change of plans-- she was supposed to have arrived before me, bringing with her the keys to our apartment. Due to medical reasons she needed to staying at home for a week... in Madrid. So, I landed and had no keys to my apartment. She arranged plans for me to stay with a friend of ours from school, Sebastien, until she arrived. I dragged my stuff to the platform where the train was supposed to be, only to be evacuated 2 minutes later because of a bomb-threat. Nice. I eventually got on a train, and headed back to my (cough.. cough) city of Reims. The next day, I was headed back to Paris to pick up my visa. Having mastered the Reims-Paris trip a while ago, having an excellent knowledge of the metro, and having gone to the immigration building countless times, the trip was easy. Picking up my visa was beyond simple, the process taking no more than 10 minutes. I had a lovely lunch date with my friend Pia, and then headed back to Reims, leaving my beloved Paris behind. The next day, I went to the Reims immigration building to change my address, finding out that it's impossible to just update an address because I moved from Paris to Reims, and thus to a different department of France... so I would need to reapply and do the entire visa renewal process over again. I don't even know why I was surprised to hear this for after all, this is France we're talking about, a country known for democracy and Napoleon... not efficiency or logic. Perhaps the next day, Victoria arrived to Reims, yet as our apartment was completely unfurnished (not even a refrigerator) we decided to stay at Sebas' place until things got settled. We ended up living there for another week, and finally moved into our new place. Interesting sidenote-- the real estate agency only had one set of keys for us. We had to make our own copies, even though there are three people signed on the lease. Idiots.
Quick, fun stories:
1. Having rented furnished apartments all of last year, I had to buy lots of furniture. I ended up going to Ikea with Victoria, Michael and his roommate. Long story short, we got a bit lost, ended up quite far away from Ikea, and caught in a downpour. We ended up hitch-hiking to Ikea with a lovely French couple who graciously made two separate trips as we couldn't all fit in their car. We spent hours there, and found most everything we needed. We purchased our things, and made our way to the counter to rent a van. It turns out that van rentals needed to be done earlier in the day, as the vans must be returned to Ikea before a certain time. Naturally, we wouldn't be able to make it. So, we then decide that we must get our things delivered by Ikea. Funny thing- Ikea delivery only will ship things in boxes. Therefor, anything wrapped in plastic (including tables) is classified as "undeliverable." Essentially, we could only have a few things delivered, leaving us with carriages upon carriages of utensils, chairs, bedding, the works. We scrambled to call everyone we knew that might have a car. A few amazing friends dropped what they were doing, drove out to Ikea, packed their cars with our stuff, and drove back into town. Witnessing this fiasco must've been hilarious. I think the entire Ikea ordeal gave me a few gray hairs, and a deep hatred for Swedish furniture. A few days later, I haven't even opened the box of my 39 euro wood bed when I learned that 4 of my friends who had bought the same model ended up on the floor because the bed broke and collapsed. Great. I managed to plan a return trip to Ikea with my friend who has a car. We arrived before the store opened, walked a few laps around the parking lot, and eventually returned my bed-frame. When asked by the cashier the reason why I wanted to return the bed-frame, I answered quite simply "Because it's cheap and worthless." She must hear this response quite often because she didn't even question it.
2. I successfully finished my 20 page paper about my internship! What a nightmare! I'm really proud of myself though.
3. The strikes-- hate em! Hate hate hate em. France, I love you dearly, but this striking nonsense has to end. You look foolish, and everything is inefficient. To the idiot highschool students that were striking for over a week about the retirement age being bumped up from 60 years old to 62: you're stupid. Instead of missing tons of classes, why not study a bit harder, do better on your exams, get into a great school, get a great job that pays well and set your own retirement age! Please explain to me how throwing road barriers in the middle of the street, tipping garbage cans, and walking in front of city buses and thus blocking traffic in ANY WAY helps your cause? In fact, doing these juvenile things and harassing people detracts from the seriousness of the issue. Stop worrying about your retirement when you don't even know how to behave like an adult. And come on, 62?? It's not like the government is making you work until you die. 62 is a very young age for retirement. Stop being brats. And as for the transportation strikes, don't even get me started... I'm just saying, if the workers want more benefits and money, maybe the solution is to NOT increase losses by preventing willing passengers from buying tickets. Transportation strikes not only annoy me because they prevent me from going to where I want to go, but also because the companies/government lose SO much money. Inefficient and stupid to the max!
4. Remember that visa that I absolutely had to change my address within 8 days? Remember the urgency of this process, and how I had to renew the entire visa because French bureaucracy is stupid? Well, it's been over a month and they still haven't mailed me the receipt to pick up my new one.
5. Guess who's going to Morocco in December?!?! Mwahaha
So, I'll try to keep up with my blogging. School is pretty intense, and I find myself either not having enough time to blog, or being so tired that all I want to do is lay in bed and not think about anything.
It's exciting being back in France. As small of a town as Reims is, I find myself easily being able to have fun. It's definitely nowhere near as incredible as Paris, but it's not as bad as I remember it.
Continue reading-- I promise there will be more to come!
Monday, August 16, 2010
A surreal moment
Folks, I'm having a moment. It's a chilly, gray, rainy day in Paris. I'm sitting in my office, listening to Julie London perform a jazz rendition of Light My Fire. Perhaps it's the melancholy atmosphere that surrounds me that has caused this moment to happen. Perhaps it's that the lack of seemingly constant stress on my shoulders has been lifted. I am not sure. This moment for me is surreal. I have just realized that the title of my blog is no longer accurate. I have been writing entries on this blog for almost an entire year of my life.
At the time when I started this blog, I had moved to France. At that point in my life, I had simply moved from one place to another. Now, after nearly a year, I feel as though I live here. My name is signed on another lease for an apartment. I have a receipt issued by French government allowing me to collect my national ID card in September. I have a bank account here. I have only a French cellphone number now. I have favorite restaurants. I actually live in France. I didn't just move my belongings here, but rather my entire life.
I have evolved. I have progressed. In France, one of the most famous comedians is named Gad Elmaleh. I remember one night in the beginning of October, one of my French friends and I watched some of his stand-up. He was laughing hysterically, but I mostly chuckled along with audience and smiled, not really understanding what was being said. Yesterday, I watched some of his stand-up again for the first time since October. This time I actually laughed, and not just because the audience was laughing.
I am proud of myself.
True life: Imoved to live in France.
At the time when I started this blog, I had moved to France. At that point in my life, I had simply moved from one place to another. Now, after nearly a year, I feel as though I live here. My name is signed on another lease for an apartment. I have a receipt issued by French government allowing me to collect my national ID card in September. I have a bank account here. I have only a French cellphone number now. I have favorite restaurants. I actually live in France. I didn't just move my belongings here, but rather my entire life.
I have evolved. I have progressed. In France, one of the most famous comedians is named Gad Elmaleh. I remember one night in the beginning of October, one of my French friends and I watched some of his stand-up. He was laughing hysterically, but I mostly chuckled along with audience and smiled, not really understanding what was being said. Yesterday, I watched some of his stand-up again for the first time since October. This time I actually laughed, and not just because the audience was laughing.
I am proud of myself.
True life: I
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Real life updates
After having just read a few of my own blog posts, as I have ample time that could be used productively but is instead wasted on meaningless activities such as reading my own posts, I have come to the realization that I have been writing about traveling... and only traveling. Little be known, I'm actually doing much more than just traveling... and here is what I've been up to:
Work
I'm still a full-time intern at a magazine company. Due to some internal conflicts, things in my department have been slowing down significantly. I have a few projects that I'm working on, one of which is quite interesting. Essentially, I am responsible for doing an entire marketing presentation to propose a new magazine. Is it the content that is particularly interesting? No, not particularly. What really has grabbed me about this project is that I directly apply what I have learned in school as a marketing major. I'm doing market and industry research, developing positioning strategies, product development, and using impressive sounding jargon like "the 4 Ps", "SWOT analysis", and "brand mission statements." It's not that these terms are particularly difficult to understand, and they seem rather banal after having taken countless marketing classes... but had someone used them in conversation while I was in high school, I would have absolutely no clue as to what language they were even speaking. I'm also working on writing my "rapport de stage," a 20 page paper about my company, internship mission, and self-evaluation... entirely in French. Lord, help me. That's about it in terms of the "work" section of my life.
Apartment hunting
After having received written confirmation that I would be able to stay in France this upcoming year, it was time to find an apartment. Awful, awful experience, let me tell ya! I'm going to be living with two of my Spanish friends, and so we needed to find a 3 bedroom apartment. One of my friends and I started looking months ago and found THE perfect place. We try to reserve it, but the agency tells us that we need a French guarantor. Naturally. It took us a long time to find one, but we did. The guarantor was a family friend of one of the girls. He tried calling the agency 10 times a day for a week, but no one answered. He then had to leave the country for his 2 week vacation. The agency said we could reserve the apartment and have 6 days to give them all the paper. My friend and I go to Reims exactly 4 days before his expected return and immediately visit the agency. They say the apartment is still free, but apparently the landlord didn't want to lease to students. We had previously had an agent confirm that they landlord would be okay with renting to students, but because she was an idiot, she didn't write down this confirmation. So, the agency tells us that they need to speak with the landlord. Fine. She calls him, but no one answers. She takes our phone number and says she will call back as soon as she hears something. Perfect. My friend and I leave, and make our way to the first of our appointments to view apartments.
We had made 11 appointments for the afternoon. The afternoon was awful. We only ended up having 3 actual appointments because apparently the 8 other apartments had already been rented out and nobody told us. Professional, right? So, we saw 3 apartments... all of which were inhabitable. Mind you, my standards aren't particularly high, but these apartments were filthy, atrocious, and expensive. After that major disappointment, we receive a phone call from the agency with the apartment we really want and have been trying to get for a month and a half. They say that the landlord agreed to rent to students, and it's great that we found a French guarantor, but the NIGHT BEFORE we came, three other girls reserved it. Really? Why would you even tell us that the apartment is still available? I found it very difficult to believe they were telling the truth. We walked back to that agency and pleaded for a solution. We talked with the same woman we met with earlier that day, and also the girl that had initially showed us the apartment and knew the situation perfectly. She just stood there, literally smirking at us. I was so close to slapping her in the face, but I held my cool. They were extremely unhelpful and highly inefficient.Word of advice- don't use Sergic real estate.
We left the agency in close to tears. We headed back towards the train station, but since we had about an hour to kill, we tried one last time to find an apartment. We stopped in a random agency and asked if they had anything that fit our criteria. They had one place to show us. The agent grabbed the keys and off we went. We walked and walked away from the city center, past the train station, and a little further down. As we continued walking, we became less and less thrilled. We wanted to live closer to the center. We finally got to the apartment and it was great... except for the fact that there was only two bedrooms. Fail. At that point we really were tearing up, when all of a sudden the agent remembered that there was a three bedroom apartment in the same building! Apparently it wasn't even listed yet. He described it for us, and I was ready to sign on the spot without having seen it. Unfortunately, we had a train to catch back to Paris in 15 minutes. He told us to run and change the tickets. We literally ran to the train station, arriving just in time, sweaty and panting. We changed our tickets, and walked back to the apartment where he was waiting for us. He showed us the flat, and it was truly perfect. High ceilings, well-lit rooms, two bathrooms, three separate bedrooms, a huge living room.. completely renovated and at a perfect price. Sold.
The process of getting an apartment as a foreigner is painstaking. They wanted a French guarantor, but then said that an international guarantor would suffice. The criteria is that the guarantor must either rent or own property, and earn three times the rent of the apartment per month. Unfortunately, my father doesn't fit that criteria as he lives with his fiancé at her house, thus disqualifying him. His fiancé generously agreed to sign for me. She and my dad worked super fast and emailed me all of the necessary documents. Communicating with the agency was difficult because the woman who is processing all of the paperwork is extremely busy. It then turns out that because we have international guarantors, we need to do something known as a Caution Bancaire. Essentially, we would each have to put the entire years worth of rent, 4000 euros, into a bank account that we wouldn't be able to access at all for an entire year. This money can't be used for paying rent or bills or anything. This means that I would need to have 8000 euros just for an apartment, completely excluding all other expenses like food, phone bills, entertainment, and travel. Absurd! After weeks of frustrating communication, we just found out that evidently we don't need to do a Caution Bancaire. Thank the good Lord! This weekend two of us are moving our stuff into the new place, but we still can't keep the keys because we need to do an inspection of the apartment and sign documents, and naturally the agency can't do it on Saturday. This means I'll probably have to go back to Reims just to get the keys before I leave. Blech. Whatever, at least we definitely have an apartment to call home for the upcoming year.
Renewing my visa
Appointment this Friday. Super scared. I just know something won't be right and I won't get my renewed visa.... I am certain. I'm already starting to formulate a game plan as to how I could possibly renew my visa in the States just in case... I'm really really worried.
Other stuff
I still LOVE Paris. Parts of French culture really bother me, like anything requiring paperwork... but I love this city. I'm constantly discovering new places to go, new historical facts to learn. There are so many stories in this city that I want to know. It's going to be a difficult transition loving back to Reims. I'm starting to think about what I am going to do once I graduate... Could I see myself living abroad? Could I see myself moving back to the States? One thing is for sure- I need to get a job. My pockets are pinched, that's for sure.
I come back to the States on September 1st. I am sooo excited. Words truly cannot express it. I can't wait to see my family, and hopefully some friends. My future Spanish roommate Victoria is coming to visit. We're planning a super mini road-trip. We haven't figured out the dates yet, because unfortunately the Jewish holidays fall smack in the middle of everything. Speaking of which, I am SO happy that I'll be home for the holidays. It makes me think about my experiences last year in France, when I felt truly removed from everything and everyone I knew. I can't wait to be comfortable... to not struggle for just a little bit... to understand the temperature outside (I still don't understand Celsius)... I can't wait to be home :)
Aiiiiiiiiiiiiight, back to work I go. I've got proposals to draft, essays to write. No big deal.
Work
I'm still a full-time intern at a magazine company. Due to some internal conflicts, things in my department have been slowing down significantly. I have a few projects that I'm working on, one of which is quite interesting. Essentially, I am responsible for doing an entire marketing presentation to propose a new magazine. Is it the content that is particularly interesting? No, not particularly. What really has grabbed me about this project is that I directly apply what I have learned in school as a marketing major. I'm doing market and industry research, developing positioning strategies, product development, and using impressive sounding jargon like "the 4 Ps", "SWOT analysis", and "brand mission statements." It's not that these terms are particularly difficult to understand, and they seem rather banal after having taken countless marketing classes... but had someone used them in conversation while I was in high school, I would have absolutely no clue as to what language they were even speaking. I'm also working on writing my "rapport de stage," a 20 page paper about my company, internship mission, and self-evaluation... entirely in French. Lord, help me. That's about it in terms of the "work" section of my life.
Apartment hunting
After having received written confirmation that I would be able to stay in France this upcoming year, it was time to find an apartment. Awful, awful experience, let me tell ya! I'm going to be living with two of my Spanish friends, and so we needed to find a 3 bedroom apartment. One of my friends and I started looking months ago and found THE perfect place. We try to reserve it, but the agency tells us that we need a French guarantor. Naturally. It took us a long time to find one, but we did. The guarantor was a family friend of one of the girls. He tried calling the agency 10 times a day for a week, but no one answered. He then had to leave the country for his 2 week vacation. The agency said we could reserve the apartment and have 6 days to give them all the paper. My friend and I go to Reims exactly 4 days before his expected return and immediately visit the agency. They say the apartment is still free, but apparently the landlord didn't want to lease to students. We had previously had an agent confirm that they landlord would be okay with renting to students, but because she was an idiot, she didn't write down this confirmation. So, the agency tells us that they need to speak with the landlord. Fine. She calls him, but no one answers. She takes our phone number and says she will call back as soon as she hears something. Perfect. My friend and I leave, and make our way to the first of our appointments to view apartments.
We had made 11 appointments for the afternoon. The afternoon was awful. We only ended up having 3 actual appointments because apparently the 8 other apartments had already been rented out and nobody told us. Professional, right? So, we saw 3 apartments... all of which were inhabitable. Mind you, my standards aren't particularly high, but these apartments were filthy, atrocious, and expensive. After that major disappointment, we receive a phone call from the agency with the apartment we really want and have been trying to get for a month and a half. They say that the landlord agreed to rent to students, and it's great that we found a French guarantor, but the NIGHT BEFORE we came, three other girls reserved it. Really? Why would you even tell us that the apartment is still available? I found it very difficult to believe they were telling the truth. We walked back to that agency and pleaded for a solution. We talked with the same woman we met with earlier that day, and also the girl that had initially showed us the apartment and knew the situation perfectly. She just stood there, literally smirking at us. I was so close to slapping her in the face, but I held my cool. They were extremely unhelpful and highly inefficient.Word of advice- don't use Sergic real estate.
We left the agency in close to tears. We headed back towards the train station, but since we had about an hour to kill, we tried one last time to find an apartment. We stopped in a random agency and asked if they had anything that fit our criteria. They had one place to show us. The agent grabbed the keys and off we went. We walked and walked away from the city center, past the train station, and a little further down. As we continued walking, we became less and less thrilled. We wanted to live closer to the center. We finally got to the apartment and it was great... except for the fact that there was only two bedrooms. Fail. At that point we really were tearing up, when all of a sudden the agent remembered that there was a three bedroom apartment in the same building! Apparently it wasn't even listed yet. He described it for us, and I was ready to sign on the spot without having seen it. Unfortunately, we had a train to catch back to Paris in 15 minutes. He told us to run and change the tickets. We literally ran to the train station, arriving just in time, sweaty and panting. We changed our tickets, and walked back to the apartment where he was waiting for us. He showed us the flat, and it was truly perfect. High ceilings, well-lit rooms, two bathrooms, three separate bedrooms, a huge living room.. completely renovated and at a perfect price. Sold.
The process of getting an apartment as a foreigner is painstaking. They wanted a French guarantor, but then said that an international guarantor would suffice. The criteria is that the guarantor must either rent or own property, and earn three times the rent of the apartment per month. Unfortunately, my father doesn't fit that criteria as he lives with his fiancé at her house, thus disqualifying him. His fiancé generously agreed to sign for me. She and my dad worked super fast and emailed me all of the necessary documents. Communicating with the agency was difficult because the woman who is processing all of the paperwork is extremely busy. It then turns out that because we have international guarantors, we need to do something known as a Caution Bancaire. Essentially, we would each have to put the entire years worth of rent, 4000 euros, into a bank account that we wouldn't be able to access at all for an entire year. This money can't be used for paying rent or bills or anything. This means that I would need to have 8000 euros just for an apartment, completely excluding all other expenses like food, phone bills, entertainment, and travel. Absurd! After weeks of frustrating communication, we just found out that evidently we don't need to do a Caution Bancaire. Thank the good Lord! This weekend two of us are moving our stuff into the new place, but we still can't keep the keys because we need to do an inspection of the apartment and sign documents, and naturally the agency can't do it on Saturday. This means I'll probably have to go back to Reims just to get the keys before I leave. Blech. Whatever, at least we definitely have an apartment to call home for the upcoming year.
Renewing my visa
Appointment this Friday. Super scared. I just know something won't be right and I won't get my renewed visa.... I am certain. I'm already starting to formulate a game plan as to how I could possibly renew my visa in the States just in case... I'm really really worried.
Other stuff
I still LOVE Paris. Parts of French culture really bother me, like anything requiring paperwork... but I love this city. I'm constantly discovering new places to go, new historical facts to learn. There are so many stories in this city that I want to know. It's going to be a difficult transition loving back to Reims. I'm starting to think about what I am going to do once I graduate... Could I see myself living abroad? Could I see myself moving back to the States? One thing is for sure- I need to get a job. My pockets are pinched, that's for sure.
I come back to the States on September 1st. I am sooo excited. Words truly cannot express it. I can't wait to see my family, and hopefully some friends. My future Spanish roommate Victoria is coming to visit. We're planning a super mini road-trip. We haven't figured out the dates yet, because unfortunately the Jewish holidays fall smack in the middle of everything. Speaking of which, I am SO happy that I'll be home for the holidays. It makes me think about my experiences last year in France, when I felt truly removed from everything and everyone I knew. I can't wait to be comfortable... to not struggle for just a little bit... to understand the temperature outside (I still don't understand Celsius)... I can't wait to be home :)
Aiiiiiiiiiiiiight, back to work I go. I've got proposals to draft, essays to write. No big deal.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Milan... meh
I once read somewhere that the more experienced and worldly one is, the less satisfied one becomes. You see more and more, try new things, and have new experiences in a place, and you find yourself comparing them to what you've already seen. I found myself doing that this past weekend- and it makes me feel spoiled or unappreciative. This past weekend I was lucky enough to be able to go to Milan. Perhaps I didn't spend enough time there, or learn the real ins and outs of the city... but after 2 days I was ready to leave. There was a beautiful cathedral- il Duomo. There were monuments and statues, a castle and countless museums. We ate pasta and gelatto, navigated the subway system, and saw noteworthy attractions. I don't regret going to Milan, and I did enjoy myself there... but it's just not a city that really made an impression on me. I don't think I would go back. I would say that the trip was particularly fun because I was surrounded by good company. Michael, my fabulous roommate, flew with me. Once there, we met up with Mira, a dear family friend since ever. She had been living in Israel, and flew in for the weekend to join us. It was great seeing her! Other than that, I don't have much to say about my weekend in Milan. I could describe all of the things we saw and did, but it would be merely a description. I honestly feel no attachment to the city or any strong desire to return. I had been to Italy previously, and experienced Rome, Florence and Venice. I loved Rome and Florence, but Venice was a little too Disneyfied for me. So, I guess Italy is really a hit-or-miss country for me. I loved two of the cities that I've seen, and was left unstirred by two. I hope I'm not becoming spoiled from all of my adventures. I don't think I am... I really think it was just that I didn't particularly like Milan. That's ok, isn't it?
Thursday, August 5, 2010
It's official: Berlin is the best city. Ever.
After having lived in Europe for close to one year, I finally made it to Berlin. I had been wanting to go there for quite some time. I always read fashion blogs (mostly "urban" style fashion) and Berlin always in mentioned. Well, alas, I made it.
We arrived at around 10 pm on Friday night. On the bus ride from the airport to downtown, I noticed instantly how the architecture and city layout was different from the other cities in Europe to which I've been. The buildings are huge and very square. The streets are wide. There seemed to be only apartment buildings and no houses. We rode on the bus and eventually made it to Alexanderplatz, one of the main areas of Berlin. From there, we hopped on the subway and made it to the hostel. We dropped off our belongings, met up with friend who was joining us on the adventure for the weekend, and together we headed out to enjoy Berlin on a Friday night. We walked back towards the direction of Alexanderplotz. There were a lot of people out and about, but the city is so spatially large that it seemed empty. We were in search of a bar/club called Weekend that all of our German friends had recommended. We walked around for a bit, but didn't find it. We finally asked someone, and they pointed in the direction of one of the skyscrapers with a large, neon lit sign that said Sharp (the brand). We had figured that it was an office building. In Boston, you wouldn't ever find a club in the State Street building.. but I guess I'm not in Boston anymore. We get to the 20 story building and walk right past some bouncers and into the lobby. We paid our fee, and then were ushered towards the elevator. We had no idea where to go. Just at that moment, the elevator opened and there was a bouncer standing inside to escort everyone up and down to and from the club. Up the elevator we went until we reached the 15th floor. The elevator doors open and heavy bass and rhythm fills our ears. We walk into the club, and countless people are dancing and drinking. The entire ceiling is covered in lights that are synchronized with the beat of the music. There was a big dance-floor, and raised double layer bench-like structures that stretched on every wall of the room. We hung out there for a little, trying to soak up the overall vibe of the club. We then found another door that lead to a staircase. People were walking up and down, so we decided to follow suit. We climbed three or four floors and arrived to a massive rooftop patio. There were couches and ottomans which people lounged on, draping themselves in the blankets that were provided. There was a bar that stretched almost the entire length of the side of the building. We each got a drink, and made our way towards the glass barriers that encompassed the entire rooftop. It was an incredible view of the city on a perfect, clear night. After our drink, we headed back downstairs to dance.. and enjoy another drink. The music was great, and it was easy to get lost in the beat. I very quickly noticed the German boys. Not only did they have absolutely incredible style, but they were so tall. I've come to realize that I haven't been around tall guys in quite some time. In general, French guys are short.. my height or shorter. It was just one of those funny things that caught me a bit off guard... that and the sea of blond hair that bobbed along to the music. Anyways, we had a great time at the club, and would highly recommend it to anyone.
We walked back to the hostel. Just before arriving there, I noticed something very peculiar. Just across from our hostel, there was a lot. It didn't look vacant, but there weren't any buildings in it either. There was, however, some sort of structure. It took me some time to figure out what it was, and why light was coming out, but as soon as I did, Berlin quickly became one of the coolest places ever. It was three cargo bodies (those massive, mega, metal boxes that are on tractor-trailers and 18 wheelers) that were stacked on top of each other. On one side, the metal had been removed and replaced with a giant giant piece of glass or plastic to act as a window. On the other side, within the fences of the lot, you could see this giant metal structure and staircases leading to each of the three apartments. It was the coolest thing I've seen. Talk about recycling!
The next day we awoke and got ready. It was beautiful and sunny outside- a perfect day for exploring a fantastic city. We walked back to Alexanderplatz to catch the subway to Potsdamer Platz, an area of town with an impressive history. At the end of WW2, every single building had suffered significant damage/was destoryed. Then, the square was literally divided in two with the construction of the Berlin wall. Now it is a beautiful, clean square surrounded by impressive buildings and expensive hotels. In the square, there were several enormous pillars with round mirrors on the top, angled down. Pretty cool. We then went into a giant, red brick skyscraper. This building has the fastest elevator in Europe. We paid an entrance fee, and then went on a little elevator ride. We went up 100 meters to the 24th floor in only 11 seconds. It was crazy. We made it to the top floor and outside, where there was a sort of mini museum that went around the entire circumference of the building. The history of the square was fascinating. We had a 360 degree view of Berlin, and were able to spot all of the attractions that we wanted to see. After our panoramic viewing, we rocketed back down in the elevator to the ground level and headed towards the Brandenburg Gate and the Reichstag (the German parliament building that was used so famously in Nazi propaganda). On the walk there, we passed by an incredible Holocaust memorial of different sized concrete blocks that looked similar to coffins but had varying heights. We stopped alongside a tour group and learned this interesting piece of information:
Shortly after the creation of this memorial, there was a lot of neo-Nazi graffiti sprayed all over the concrete blocks. They managed to get it all off, and then sprayed each of the blocks to make them graffiti resistant. This was quite expensive, but they city needed to protect the monument. They got about half way done spraying all of the concrete blocks, when it was leaked out that the chemical company that produced this protective spray was the same company that produced and supplied Zyklon B which was the poisonous gas used to exterminate the Jews during the Holocaust. Outrageous, right? The city couldn't throw away the blocks that were already sprayed because it would have cost millions upon millions of dollars that they couldn't afford. The Jewish community discussed it for a while and I guess now the same company still sprays the protective spray once a year for basically no cost if not for free. There's a lot of scandal involved with the story, and I think there is more to it than what I wrote.
After seeing the Brandenburg Gate, we walked to have some lunch. I had some pretty good sushi. Yum! Afterwards, we walked to see the Reichstag. We didn't go inside, but the outside was hauntingly impressive. From there, we walked down towards the river and alongside it. We then entered the Berlin train station which is by far the largest station I've ever seen. We hopped on a train and headed over to the East Side Gallery. The East Side Gallery is not your typical gallery. It is a huge stretch of the Berlin Wall that is covered with incredible murals and art. It's amazing to think that something so significant in history is so incredibly relevant. Granted, I was too young to remember the fall of the Wall, but it is still so so recent. We admired the wall for a while, and then found an open gate. We walked through it and onto the other side which ran literally along the river. There was snack shops and restaurants, and the entire surface of the ground was covered in beach sand. Lounge/jazz music played at the perfect volume over the loud speakers. Beach chairs were set up everywhere. We made our way across the sand, found some lounge chairs, and relaxed for a little while. It was so ironic to think of what I was doing at the time, whereas 20 years ago people were dreaming about the demise of the wall behind me that I so easily walked across. After a while, we headed back towards the train to go to see Checkpoint Charlie. I got into a bit of a verbal tiff with two Germans that were dressed in American uniform and holding American flags, attempting to lure in tourists and charge a few Euros to have their pictures taken. They said that Americans were heartless and were killing everyone in Afghanistan, and that the country is stupid. And then they made fun of Bush. Of course, Bush wasn't the brightest bulb, but he's not even the president anymore! And to call the Americans heartless because the US army is currently in Afghanistan is pretty hypocritical considering the extent to which the history of their country and the treatment of their own people was beyond atrocious.All I'm saying is, you can't talk shit about my country if you aren't even from there, you are uniformed, your dressed up in US Military uniforms AND holding an American flag. There's a time and a place for a friendly political discussion... and that wasn't it... nor was it friendly. That kind of ruined my experience at Checkpoint Charlie. After that, we walked to the Jewish museum which was incredible! It was a very strange experience for me because I kept thinking... imagine what people would have thought about this 70 years ago. It would never have happened! There was one room in memorial of people who were killed in the Holocaust. It's hard to explain it, but there were thousands of steel shapes with faces cut out covering the entire floor. When you walked across them, the clinking of metal was amplified by the shape and material of the walls, and creating a chilling melody. It was a very emotional experience for me.
After a moving experience at the museum of Judaism, we headed back to the hostel for a much needed nap. We woke about an hour or so later, got dressed, and headed out. We stopped at a great Korean restaurant called Yam Yam. I had amaaaazing dumplings, some spicy kimchi, and noodles. After filling our churning stomachs to the brim, we made our way to Hackescher Markt, an area brimming with nightlife. We met up with an Australian girl who graduated from our program last year, and her boyfriend. They were incredibly nice and we had a great time. We met them at this bar that had quite an interesting terrace set-up. There were countless tables, and around the periphery were these individual hammock-like, wicker basket seats. It was like a little cocoon that you could sit in and swing a little bit. It was a great concept, and as a huge lover of hammocks, I was in heaven. We had ourselves a nice cocktail, and then decided to go to another bar. We walked a little bit, and learned something quite interesting while walking. Something caught my eye. I saw bright pink pleather boots with clear platforms, fishnets, and then booty shorts. Low and behold, we had come across a hooker. I started to look at my surroundings, and the area was teaming with them. As it turns out, prostitution is legal in Germany. Who knew? So, we walked to another bar for round two. The interior was decorated with old velor couches, art deco lamps, and assorted posters that I won't describe for the sake of keeping this PG. We left the bar to head to the club. We piled in a taxi, and headed towards the other side of town. The drive itself was worth it, as we were able to get a taste of what Berlin nightlife would be like. There were bars and clubs everywhere. After driving alongside the Berlin Wall for a while, we arrived at our destination. This club was supposed to be one of the best in the city. Apparently, that is a well known fact, as the line stretched for at least (note that I am awful at estimating distances) a half a mile. I had never seen anything like it. It would take about 2 hours of waiting to even get into the club. Obviously none of us wanted to do that, so we told the driver to continue on to a different club. We looped around from where we had just driven alongside the Wall and came to a stop. There were taxis waiting there, and also a line of people against the Wall. The club was literally a part of the Berlin Wall. The music blared and the laser lights flashed just on the other side of where we stood.We waited in line for a while, inching slowly but surely to the entrance. Once at the entrance, the bouncer, a thin short haired woman wearing a top hat and plaid pants, pointed at us and told us to keep moving. Rejected. I have no reason why we were turned away. Evidently that sort of thing happens all the time. The Australian and her German boyfriend (from Berlin) had one more place for us to try out... To start off this story, I would just like to express how happy I am that we were turned away from the other club.
We hop back in a cab and head to a place called Arena. At that point I was getting quite tired, but was still eager for a great experience. The taxi drops us off in a rather industrial looking area. I was a little sketched out, but trusted the judgment of our friend who is from Berlin. We enter this huge brick warehouse complex that rather reminded me of the old jewelry factories in Providence and Central Falls. Already, the night was proving to be interesting. We enter through a large metal fence and walk on a sand path between to massive warehouses. I start hearing music. We round the corner of the warehouse only to see a massive plaza in the center of several huge brick warehouses. There was tons of people concentrated towards the opposite end of the plaza. I started to be able to feel the bass vibrate the sand that I stood on. It seemed that each warehouse, or factory, was a different club. From one building, Jamaican and African dance-hall, from another, European electro, so on and so forth. We walked towards all of the people to stand in line. We waited in a sea of drunk, pushy Germans who were anxious to get inside the fence. We eventually paid our entrance, and headed inside the fenced off area. The ground was made entirely of sand. It was like walking on a beach. We wobbled across to one of the buildings and pushed our way inside. I could feel the heavy bass in my hair. Inside was dimly lit. Colored lights were angled across the red brick walls. The ceiling was impossibly tall, and from which hung remnants of old link chains and rafters. We turned to the left and followed the crowd which let us to a foyer of sorts where they had set up a bar. We pushed through the crowd of thirsty party-goers and finally into the main dance room. The speakers were set so loud that I could feel the bass vibrate in my chest. The music was incredible. Sweaty, tipsy people surrounded us, dancing to the trance-like beat, memorized by the patterns and colors of the synchronized lights and lasers. I quickly assimilated, losing myself in the music and lights. After a little while, the Australian and her boyfriend told us to come upstairs. We climbed out of the dance pit, passed the bar, went through a narrow corridor, and up a set of bleacher-like stairs and onto a landing. The floor was tiled in transparent, frosted glass squares that were illuminated by bright blue and green lights below. Immediately in front of us was a massive steel structure that looked like a submarine. My guess was that it was a combustion chamber or something. We walked along it, and noticed that the circular end had been transformed into a door. We peered inside the steel cylinder and saw that they had placed cushions and candles inside. We climbed in and sat down in the makeshift lounge. It was, for lack of a better word, really friggin cool. It began to get stuffy inside, so we pulled ourselves out and walked to the edge of the landing that overlooked the entire dance floor. After a little while, we decided to try to find a taxi before they were all taken. After all, it was already approaching 4 AM.
We made our way out of the factory and back to the sandy plaza. Before leaving, we had to explore a little. We began hearing more music coming from the factory building directly in front of us. We each looked at each other, nodded, and without having to say a word walked into the building. This building was a wide open space that could easily fit an airplane or two. It was packed with people. Towards the front was a stage where you could see the silhouette of a DJ against a screen that had projected onto it bizarre animations and light displays. The music was incredible. People were dancing, clapping, and jumping everywhere as the lasers flashed different colors to the rhythm of the bass. It was like being at an electro music festival. After a little while, we decided that it was time to leave. We exited the building, and the sky had become much lighter- the break of dawn. We found ourselves standing on beach sand in the middle of a converted industrial complex. Admiring our surroundings, we headed in the opposite direction of the exit and towards the river. Once down a set of wooden stairs, we were there faced with what is pure glory. There was a giant wooden pier with tall wooden columns. About 30 hammocks were tied to each side of the columns, in which swung exhausted, inebriated partiers. We walked onto the massive pier and crossed it, reaching a lower level dock that was packed with beach lounge chairs. Just beyond that dock was an infinity pool filled with glowing blue water. The elevated pool with no ledges sat literally on the river, looking like a giant, blue luminous ice cube on a black glassy mirror. We absorbed the moment, trying to take in as much as possible. It was time to leave, but I was able to lay in a hammock for a few precious seconds. We finally walked past the fence, out from the complex of warehouses, and onto a silent street. There were no taxis to be found. Without much option, we set out on foot towards the direction of where we thought the subway would be. Every few minutes a cab would drive by, but it was always occupied. After walking for about 15 minutes, I managed to flag one down. Into the cab we went, and began the journey back to the hostel. We were all exhausted but tranquil as the sky turned from shades of purple to light pink and orange. At around 5 or 6, we finally were in our beds. I was so tired that I fell asleep without even getting under the covers.
We arose a few hours later, prepared our belongings, and checked out of the hostel. We had a few hours to kill before our departure, so we decided to head towards one of the larger parks in Berlin. As it may be, we actually ended up on the end where the zoo was. We walked a little bit, and then back to the subway. Just in front of the subway, however, was the Helmut Newton museum. He was an incredibly talented, famous fashion photographer. The exhibit was incredible. They also featured photographs by his wife who was known as Alice Springs. The whole museum was just truly an eye-opening collection of work. Afterward, we went back to the main train station in Berlin and hung out on the river bank for a little while. Soon, it was time to head to the airport and leave one of the most fantastic cities that I've ever been to.
I can't wait to go back to Berlin. It's such an incredible place with an amazing culture, unique style, and rich history. I think I may need to move there for a little while :)
Auf wiedersehen!
We arrived at around 10 pm on Friday night. On the bus ride from the airport to downtown, I noticed instantly how the architecture and city layout was different from the other cities in Europe to which I've been. The buildings are huge and very square. The streets are wide. There seemed to be only apartment buildings and no houses. We rode on the bus and eventually made it to Alexanderplatz, one of the main areas of Berlin. From there, we hopped on the subway and made it to the hostel. We dropped off our belongings, met up with friend who was joining us on the adventure for the weekend, and together we headed out to enjoy Berlin on a Friday night. We walked back towards the direction of Alexanderplotz. There were a lot of people out and about, but the city is so spatially large that it seemed empty. We were in search of a bar/club called Weekend that all of our German friends had recommended. We walked around for a bit, but didn't find it. We finally asked someone, and they pointed in the direction of one of the skyscrapers with a large, neon lit sign that said Sharp (the brand). We had figured that it was an office building. In Boston, you wouldn't ever find a club in the State Street building.. but I guess I'm not in Boston anymore. We get to the 20 story building and walk right past some bouncers and into the lobby. We paid our fee, and then were ushered towards the elevator. We had no idea where to go. Just at that moment, the elevator opened and there was a bouncer standing inside to escort everyone up and down to and from the club. Up the elevator we went until we reached the 15th floor. The elevator doors open and heavy bass and rhythm fills our ears. We walk into the club, and countless people are dancing and drinking. The entire ceiling is covered in lights that are synchronized with the beat of the music. There was a big dance-floor, and raised double layer bench-like structures that stretched on every wall of the room. We hung out there for a little, trying to soak up the overall vibe of the club. We then found another door that lead to a staircase. People were walking up and down, so we decided to follow suit. We climbed three or four floors and arrived to a massive rooftop patio. There were couches and ottomans which people lounged on, draping themselves in the blankets that were provided. There was a bar that stretched almost the entire length of the side of the building. We each got a drink, and made our way towards the glass barriers that encompassed the entire rooftop. It was an incredible view of the city on a perfect, clear night. After our drink, we headed back downstairs to dance.. and enjoy another drink. The music was great, and it was easy to get lost in the beat. I very quickly noticed the German boys. Not only did they have absolutely incredible style, but they were so tall. I've come to realize that I haven't been around tall guys in quite some time. In general, French guys are short.. my height or shorter. It was just one of those funny things that caught me a bit off guard... that and the sea of blond hair that bobbed along to the music. Anyways, we had a great time at the club, and would highly recommend it to anyone.
We walked back to the hostel. Just before arriving there, I noticed something very peculiar. Just across from our hostel, there was a lot. It didn't look vacant, but there weren't any buildings in it either. There was, however, some sort of structure. It took me some time to figure out what it was, and why light was coming out, but as soon as I did, Berlin quickly became one of the coolest places ever. It was three cargo bodies (those massive, mega, metal boxes that are on tractor-trailers and 18 wheelers) that were stacked on top of each other. On one side, the metal had been removed and replaced with a giant giant piece of glass or plastic to act as a window. On the other side, within the fences of the lot, you could see this giant metal structure and staircases leading to each of the three apartments. It was the coolest thing I've seen. Talk about recycling!
The next day we awoke and got ready. It was beautiful and sunny outside- a perfect day for exploring a fantastic city. We walked back to Alexanderplatz to catch the subway to Potsdamer Platz, an area of town with an impressive history. At the end of WW2, every single building had suffered significant damage/was destoryed. Then, the square was literally divided in two with the construction of the Berlin wall. Now it is a beautiful, clean square surrounded by impressive buildings and expensive hotels. In the square, there were several enormous pillars with round mirrors on the top, angled down. Pretty cool. We then went into a giant, red brick skyscraper. This building has the fastest elevator in Europe. We paid an entrance fee, and then went on a little elevator ride. We went up 100 meters to the 24th floor in only 11 seconds. It was crazy. We made it to the top floor and outside, where there was a sort of mini museum that went around the entire circumference of the building. The history of the square was fascinating. We had a 360 degree view of Berlin, and were able to spot all of the attractions that we wanted to see. After our panoramic viewing, we rocketed back down in the elevator to the ground level and headed towards the Brandenburg Gate and the Reichstag (the German parliament building that was used so famously in Nazi propaganda). On the walk there, we passed by an incredible Holocaust memorial of different sized concrete blocks that looked similar to coffins but had varying heights. We stopped alongside a tour group and learned this interesting piece of information:
Shortly after the creation of this memorial, there was a lot of neo-Nazi graffiti sprayed all over the concrete blocks. They managed to get it all off, and then sprayed each of the blocks to make them graffiti resistant. This was quite expensive, but they city needed to protect the monument. They got about half way done spraying all of the concrete blocks, when it was leaked out that the chemical company that produced this protective spray was the same company that produced and supplied Zyklon B which was the poisonous gas used to exterminate the Jews during the Holocaust. Outrageous, right? The city couldn't throw away the blocks that were already sprayed because it would have cost millions upon millions of dollars that they couldn't afford. The Jewish community discussed it for a while and I guess now the same company still sprays the protective spray once a year for basically no cost if not for free. There's a lot of scandal involved with the story, and I think there is more to it than what I wrote.
After seeing the Brandenburg Gate, we walked to have some lunch. I had some pretty good sushi. Yum! Afterwards, we walked to see the Reichstag. We didn't go inside, but the outside was hauntingly impressive. From there, we walked down towards the river and alongside it. We then entered the Berlin train station which is by far the largest station I've ever seen. We hopped on a train and headed over to the East Side Gallery. The East Side Gallery is not your typical gallery. It is a huge stretch of the Berlin Wall that is covered with incredible murals and art. It's amazing to think that something so significant in history is so incredibly relevant. Granted, I was too young to remember the fall of the Wall, but it is still so so recent. We admired the wall for a while, and then found an open gate. We walked through it and onto the other side which ran literally along the river. There was snack shops and restaurants, and the entire surface of the ground was covered in beach sand. Lounge/jazz music played at the perfect volume over the loud speakers. Beach chairs were set up everywhere. We made our way across the sand, found some lounge chairs, and relaxed for a little while. It was so ironic to think of what I was doing at the time, whereas 20 years ago people were dreaming about the demise of the wall behind me that I so easily walked across. After a while, we headed back towards the train to go to see Checkpoint Charlie. I got into a bit of a verbal tiff with two Germans that were dressed in American uniform and holding American flags, attempting to lure in tourists and charge a few Euros to have their pictures taken. They said that Americans were heartless and were killing everyone in Afghanistan, and that the country is stupid. And then they made fun of Bush. Of course, Bush wasn't the brightest bulb, but he's not even the president anymore! And to call the Americans heartless because the US army is currently in Afghanistan is pretty hypocritical considering the extent to which the history of their country and the treatment of their own people was beyond atrocious.All I'm saying is, you can't talk shit about my country if you aren't even from there, you are uniformed, your dressed up in US Military uniforms AND holding an American flag. There's a time and a place for a friendly political discussion... and that wasn't it... nor was it friendly. That kind of ruined my experience at Checkpoint Charlie. After that, we walked to the Jewish museum which was incredible! It was a very strange experience for me because I kept thinking... imagine what people would have thought about this 70 years ago. It would never have happened! There was one room in memorial of people who were killed in the Holocaust. It's hard to explain it, but there were thousands of steel shapes with faces cut out covering the entire floor. When you walked across them, the clinking of metal was amplified by the shape and material of the walls, and creating a chilling melody. It was a very emotional experience for me.
After a moving experience at the museum of Judaism, we headed back to the hostel for a much needed nap. We woke about an hour or so later, got dressed, and headed out. We stopped at a great Korean restaurant called Yam Yam. I had amaaaazing dumplings, some spicy kimchi, and noodles. After filling our churning stomachs to the brim, we made our way to Hackescher Markt, an area brimming with nightlife. We met up with an Australian girl who graduated from our program last year, and her boyfriend. They were incredibly nice and we had a great time. We met them at this bar that had quite an interesting terrace set-up. There were countless tables, and around the periphery were these individual hammock-like, wicker basket seats. It was like a little cocoon that you could sit in and swing a little bit. It was a great concept, and as a huge lover of hammocks, I was in heaven. We had ourselves a nice cocktail, and then decided to go to another bar. We walked a little bit, and learned something quite interesting while walking. Something caught my eye. I saw bright pink pleather boots with clear platforms, fishnets, and then booty shorts. Low and behold, we had come across a hooker. I started to look at my surroundings, and the area was teaming with them. As it turns out, prostitution is legal in Germany. Who knew? So, we walked to another bar for round two. The interior was decorated with old velor couches, art deco lamps, and assorted posters that I won't describe for the sake of keeping this PG. We left the bar to head to the club. We piled in a taxi, and headed towards the other side of town. The drive itself was worth it, as we were able to get a taste of what Berlin nightlife would be like. There were bars and clubs everywhere. After driving alongside the Berlin Wall for a while, we arrived at our destination. This club was supposed to be one of the best in the city. Apparently, that is a well known fact, as the line stretched for at least (note that I am awful at estimating distances) a half a mile. I had never seen anything like it. It would take about 2 hours of waiting to even get into the club. Obviously none of us wanted to do that, so we told the driver to continue on to a different club. We looped around from where we had just driven alongside the Wall and came to a stop. There were taxis waiting there, and also a line of people against the Wall. The club was literally a part of the Berlin Wall. The music blared and the laser lights flashed just on the other side of where we stood.We waited in line for a while, inching slowly but surely to the entrance. Once at the entrance, the bouncer, a thin short haired woman wearing a top hat and plaid pants, pointed at us and told us to keep moving. Rejected. I have no reason why we were turned away. Evidently that sort of thing happens all the time. The Australian and her German boyfriend (from Berlin) had one more place for us to try out... To start off this story, I would just like to express how happy I am that we were turned away from the other club.
We hop back in a cab and head to a place called Arena. At that point I was getting quite tired, but was still eager for a great experience. The taxi drops us off in a rather industrial looking area. I was a little sketched out, but trusted the judgment of our friend who is from Berlin. We enter this huge brick warehouse complex that rather reminded me of the old jewelry factories in Providence and Central Falls. Already, the night was proving to be interesting. We enter through a large metal fence and walk on a sand path between to massive warehouses. I start hearing music. We round the corner of the warehouse only to see a massive plaza in the center of several huge brick warehouses. There was tons of people concentrated towards the opposite end of the plaza. I started to be able to feel the bass vibrate the sand that I stood on. It seemed that each warehouse, or factory, was a different club. From one building, Jamaican and African dance-hall, from another, European electro, so on and so forth. We walked towards all of the people to stand in line. We waited in a sea of drunk, pushy Germans who were anxious to get inside the fence. We eventually paid our entrance, and headed inside the fenced off area. The ground was made entirely of sand. It was like walking on a beach. We wobbled across to one of the buildings and pushed our way inside. I could feel the heavy bass in my hair. Inside was dimly lit. Colored lights were angled across the red brick walls. The ceiling was impossibly tall, and from which hung remnants of old link chains and rafters. We turned to the left and followed the crowd which let us to a foyer of sorts where they had set up a bar. We pushed through the crowd of thirsty party-goers and finally into the main dance room. The speakers were set so loud that I could feel the bass vibrate in my chest. The music was incredible. Sweaty, tipsy people surrounded us, dancing to the trance-like beat, memorized by the patterns and colors of the synchronized lights and lasers. I quickly assimilated, losing myself in the music and lights. After a little while, the Australian and her boyfriend told us to come upstairs. We climbed out of the dance pit, passed the bar, went through a narrow corridor, and up a set of bleacher-like stairs and onto a landing. The floor was tiled in transparent, frosted glass squares that were illuminated by bright blue and green lights below. Immediately in front of us was a massive steel structure that looked like a submarine. My guess was that it was a combustion chamber or something. We walked along it, and noticed that the circular end had been transformed into a door. We peered inside the steel cylinder and saw that they had placed cushions and candles inside. We climbed in and sat down in the makeshift lounge. It was, for lack of a better word, really friggin cool. It began to get stuffy inside, so we pulled ourselves out and walked to the edge of the landing that overlooked the entire dance floor. After a little while, we decided to try to find a taxi before they were all taken. After all, it was already approaching 4 AM.
We made our way out of the factory and back to the sandy plaza. Before leaving, we had to explore a little. We began hearing more music coming from the factory building directly in front of us. We each looked at each other, nodded, and without having to say a word walked into the building. This building was a wide open space that could easily fit an airplane or two. It was packed with people. Towards the front was a stage where you could see the silhouette of a DJ against a screen that had projected onto it bizarre animations and light displays. The music was incredible. People were dancing, clapping, and jumping everywhere as the lasers flashed different colors to the rhythm of the bass. It was like being at an electro music festival. After a little while, we decided that it was time to leave. We exited the building, and the sky had become much lighter- the break of dawn. We found ourselves standing on beach sand in the middle of a converted industrial complex. Admiring our surroundings, we headed in the opposite direction of the exit and towards the river. Once down a set of wooden stairs, we were there faced with what is pure glory. There was a giant wooden pier with tall wooden columns. About 30 hammocks were tied to each side of the columns, in which swung exhausted, inebriated partiers. We walked onto the massive pier and crossed it, reaching a lower level dock that was packed with beach lounge chairs. Just beyond that dock was an infinity pool filled with glowing blue water. The elevated pool with no ledges sat literally on the river, looking like a giant, blue luminous ice cube on a black glassy mirror. We absorbed the moment, trying to take in as much as possible. It was time to leave, but I was able to lay in a hammock for a few precious seconds. We finally walked past the fence, out from the complex of warehouses, and onto a silent street. There were no taxis to be found. Without much option, we set out on foot towards the direction of where we thought the subway would be. Every few minutes a cab would drive by, but it was always occupied. After walking for about 15 minutes, I managed to flag one down. Into the cab we went, and began the journey back to the hostel. We were all exhausted but tranquil as the sky turned from shades of purple to light pink and orange. At around 5 or 6, we finally were in our beds. I was so tired that I fell asleep without even getting under the covers.
We arose a few hours later, prepared our belongings, and checked out of the hostel. We had a few hours to kill before our departure, so we decided to head towards one of the larger parks in Berlin. As it may be, we actually ended up on the end where the zoo was. We walked a little bit, and then back to the subway. Just in front of the subway, however, was the Helmut Newton museum. He was an incredibly talented, famous fashion photographer. The exhibit was incredible. They also featured photographs by his wife who was known as Alice Springs. The whole museum was just truly an eye-opening collection of work. Afterward, we went back to the main train station in Berlin and hung out on the river bank for a little while. Soon, it was time to head to the airport and leave one of the most fantastic cities that I've ever been to.
I can't wait to go back to Berlin. It's such an incredible place with an amazing culture, unique style, and rich history. I think I may need to move there for a little while :)
Auf wiedersehen!
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Summertime and the living's easy
Yikes- was my last blog posting really July 1st? I am slacking... big time! Updates upon updates:
4th o' July
July 4th, the American day of Independence (and subsequently one of my favorite holidays) was strange for me. I gathered up my American friends for a picnic in front of the Eiffel Tower. It was really nice- we drank lots of wine, ate lots of food, and I even managed to spit a few watermelon seeds (in the spirit of America, of course). There were other Americans out and celebrating, but I really lacked the festive energy that I am so accustomed to. It was fairly blasé. Fun, but uneventful.
Road-trip to the Netherlands
The following weekend, I went on a little roadtrip to the Netherlands with a group of 8 friends from school. We rented 2 cars, squished into them, and fled the city of Paris. We drove through France and into Belgium, stopping at a truck stop to refill the tank and our stomachs. I found a candybar for sale called Big Nuts. Naturally, I started laughing hysterically, yet no one followed suit. I then proceeded to explain the sexual innuendo to my French and Spanish friends/car-mates, and thus became a source of hours of amusement and joking. We piled back into the car and drove, finally arriving in the Netherlands sometime after midnight.We arrived in the small town of Tilburg where my Dutch friend Niki's cousin lives. We were to stay at his apartment studio, and sleep on whatever surface we could find. The 2nd car of friends finally arrived, and we all sat down for a drink. We quickly got changed, and out we went. We had an amazing night there- the music in the bars and clubs that we went to was amazing. Drinking ensued (not me though... I wasn't really in the mood) and everyone started to really... loosen up. We danced for hours and hours, literally shutting down the bar. We walked home at around 5 am, fell into our sleeping arrangements, and took a nap. I don't think you can consider it actually going to sleep, but we dozed off for a few hours.
We woke up at around 8 or 9, and the girls went on an exploration to the grocery store to buy goods for breakfast. We got a bit lost, and probably spent a bit too much time getting food, but eventually made our way back to the apartment. I have to say, that was the first time in my life that I've ever seen so many bicycles. There were bikes for as far as the eye could see. The roads and traffic were designed to accommodate this national biking phenomenon. It was unreal, truly unreal. So, we eat breakfast, pack our things, and smushed back into the two cars. We drive for about an hour or so until we reach the city of Utrecht where we met Niki's friend Mark. He graciously allowed us to stay at his apartment for the night. We dropped our stuff off, and headed out the door by foot. It was a beautiful yet quirky walk. Again, bicycles were everywhere. Gorgeous flowers were in bloom, ducks swam in the canals, and the color orange became incredibly apparent. There were orange flags and balloons all over the place as everyone was getting ready for the World Cup final match the next day. We continued our walk to the train station and stopped at a store to buy drinks. Niki bought a quart of what looked like an orange juice container but in fact was yogurt. So, for the remainder of our lovely walk on a sunny, 85° day, Niki drank his quart of yogurt with a smile on his face. Call me strange, but I found it to be hilarious. We arrived at the train station, bought our tickets, and raced to hop on the train to Amsterdam. It was a short train ride, and shortly we found ourselves in one of the most famous cities in the world, notorious for legal prostitution and marijuana. Of course we witnessed those things, but the city itself was beautiful! Everyone was biking, or puttering down the canals on small boats or rafts. It was quite Huck Finn actually. Everyone, and I do mean everyone, was dressed in some sort of orange garment. We explored the city, heard an amazing musician performing in the street, laid down in a park, and enjoyed having the freedom to do as we pleased. The afternoon passed by quickly, and it soon became night. The sky grew heavy and it began to pour. We raced for cover and ended up in a bar. We had a drink, but it became evident that we were all exhausted. I may or may not have fallen asleep on the table out of sheer exhaustion.We schleped to the station and hopped on a train back to Utrecht.
After an actual night of sleeping, we awoke feeling refreshed. We piled back in the cars and drove down to Breda, the city where Niki studied. If I had thought that everyone was wearing orange the previous day, I was mistaken. Now, everyone was really wearing orange and anxiously anticipating the big game. Breda was a cool town with many restaurants and a gorgeous park. We decided to take advantage of not having anything to do until gametime, and relaxed in the park for a few hours. It was wonderful. After a few hours, we headed off to meet with Niki's family that had driven to see him. It was great to see them again (I had met them prior and love them!). We had a bite to eat and then went to the main plaza in town where a giant screen was set up to watch the game. Unfortunately we arrived too late, and the plaza was already at capacity. We found another corner in town that was essentially a giant outdoor blockparty. There was orange everywhere (obviously) but to the extent of which it started to hurt my eyes! It's a harsh color. We packed in with the crowd and watched the game. It was fun being in a country that is in the midst of such an important event. Everyone was generally friendly, except for the Dutch girls. They were terrible. My back began to really really hurt at one point, and I needed to find someplace to sit. My friend and I made our way through the crowd and tried to get into the bar- the only people that gave us a hard time were the blond Dutch girls who literally were shoving us and giving us the stank eye. Not such a fan. We watched the game from inside the bar. I had warned my Spanish friend Victoria that she cannot root for Spain and must be very careful. She did a great job of containing her excitement when Spain won. It was quite depressing to be around all of the Dutch people though- but probably not as depressing as they felt at the time. The game ended later than expected, and we raced to our cars. We drove throughout the night, alternating drivers and people to keep the drivers awake. We arrived in Versailles at 5:30 am to drop off one of the girls. We slept for an hour at her house, and then hit the road back to Paris. It was brutal. We finally made it to the rental car agency at La Defense after having gotten lost, and refilling the car, at around 8:15 am. We paid, and then walked umbrella-less through the rain with all of our bags. It must have been quite a site to see us 5 girls carrying bags and air-mattresses, drenched and exhausted, while the businessmen raced to grab a croissant before heading into the office. I took the metro straight to work, arriving at 9:20AM with bigger bags under my eyes than in my hands. I couldn't keep my eyes open for the life of me, and my boss graciously let me go home before lunch. It was an amazing weekend that I won't ever forget.
Other news
I received all of my grades and letters of acceptance, and I am officially enrolled at RMS for my final year of undergraduate school. Now all I need to do is get an apartment (the story about that is so long and frustrating that I don't even have the energy to tell it again) and renew my visa (again, the story about this is so long and frustrating that... well, you get the drift). In two weeks I'm going to Berlin for the weekend, and I am SUPER excited. The weekend after that we head off to Milan where one of my oldest childhood friends will be meeting up with me on her way back to the States from having been living in Israel. My dad bought my tickets home yesterday, so I'll be in America the first two weeks of August.
I can't believe I really managed to do all of this... living, studying, and working in a foreign country by myself. I had a surrealistic moment yesterday morning while on the escalator to my metro. I really live in Paris. This is my life. I'm not just a tourist, or on a silly "study" abroad program for a few months. I'm in France. I did it. I really did it.
4th o' July
July 4th, the American day of Independence (and subsequently one of my favorite holidays) was strange for me. I gathered up my American friends for a picnic in front of the Eiffel Tower. It was really nice- we drank lots of wine, ate lots of food, and I even managed to spit a few watermelon seeds (in the spirit of America, of course). There were other Americans out and celebrating, but I really lacked the festive energy that I am so accustomed to. It was fairly blasé. Fun, but uneventful.
Road-trip to the Netherlands
The following weekend, I went on a little roadtrip to the Netherlands with a group of 8 friends from school. We rented 2 cars, squished into them, and fled the city of Paris. We drove through France and into Belgium, stopping at a truck stop to refill the tank and our stomachs. I found a candybar for sale called Big Nuts. Naturally, I started laughing hysterically, yet no one followed suit. I then proceeded to explain the sexual innuendo to my French and Spanish friends/car-mates, and thus became a source of hours of amusement and joking. We piled back into the car and drove, finally arriving in the Netherlands sometime after midnight.We arrived in the small town of Tilburg where my Dutch friend Niki's cousin lives. We were to stay at his apartment studio, and sleep on whatever surface we could find. The 2nd car of friends finally arrived, and we all sat down for a drink. We quickly got changed, and out we went. We had an amazing night there- the music in the bars and clubs that we went to was amazing. Drinking ensued (not me though... I wasn't really in the mood) and everyone started to really... loosen up. We danced for hours and hours, literally shutting down the bar. We walked home at around 5 am, fell into our sleeping arrangements, and took a nap. I don't think you can consider it actually going to sleep, but we dozed off for a few hours.
We woke up at around 8 or 9, and the girls went on an exploration to the grocery store to buy goods for breakfast. We got a bit lost, and probably spent a bit too much time getting food, but eventually made our way back to the apartment. I have to say, that was the first time in my life that I've ever seen so many bicycles. There were bikes for as far as the eye could see. The roads and traffic were designed to accommodate this national biking phenomenon. It was unreal, truly unreal. So, we eat breakfast, pack our things, and smushed back into the two cars. We drive for about an hour or so until we reach the city of Utrecht where we met Niki's friend Mark. He graciously allowed us to stay at his apartment for the night. We dropped our stuff off, and headed out the door by foot. It was a beautiful yet quirky walk. Again, bicycles were everywhere. Gorgeous flowers were in bloom, ducks swam in the canals, and the color orange became incredibly apparent. There were orange flags and balloons all over the place as everyone was getting ready for the World Cup final match the next day. We continued our walk to the train station and stopped at a store to buy drinks. Niki bought a quart of what looked like an orange juice container but in fact was yogurt. So, for the remainder of our lovely walk on a sunny, 85° day, Niki drank his quart of yogurt with a smile on his face. Call me strange, but I found it to be hilarious. We arrived at the train station, bought our tickets, and raced to hop on the train to Amsterdam. It was a short train ride, and shortly we found ourselves in one of the most famous cities in the world, notorious for legal prostitution and marijuana. Of course we witnessed those things, but the city itself was beautiful! Everyone was biking, or puttering down the canals on small boats or rafts. It was quite Huck Finn actually. Everyone, and I do mean everyone, was dressed in some sort of orange garment. We explored the city, heard an amazing musician performing in the street, laid down in a park, and enjoyed having the freedom to do as we pleased. The afternoon passed by quickly, and it soon became night. The sky grew heavy and it began to pour. We raced for cover and ended up in a bar. We had a drink, but it became evident that we were all exhausted. I may or may not have fallen asleep on the table out of sheer exhaustion.We schleped to the station and hopped on a train back to Utrecht.
After an actual night of sleeping, we awoke feeling refreshed. We piled back in the cars and drove down to Breda, the city where Niki studied. If I had thought that everyone was wearing orange the previous day, I was mistaken. Now, everyone was really wearing orange and anxiously anticipating the big game. Breda was a cool town with many restaurants and a gorgeous park. We decided to take advantage of not having anything to do until gametime, and relaxed in the park for a few hours. It was wonderful. After a few hours, we headed off to meet with Niki's family that had driven to see him. It was great to see them again (I had met them prior and love them!). We had a bite to eat and then went to the main plaza in town where a giant screen was set up to watch the game. Unfortunately we arrived too late, and the plaza was already at capacity. We found another corner in town that was essentially a giant outdoor blockparty. There was orange everywhere (obviously) but to the extent of which it started to hurt my eyes! It's a harsh color. We packed in with the crowd and watched the game. It was fun being in a country that is in the midst of such an important event. Everyone was generally friendly, except for the Dutch girls. They were terrible. My back began to really really hurt at one point, and I needed to find someplace to sit. My friend and I made our way through the crowd and tried to get into the bar- the only people that gave us a hard time were the blond Dutch girls who literally were shoving us and giving us the stank eye. Not such a fan. We watched the game from inside the bar. I had warned my Spanish friend Victoria that she cannot root for Spain and must be very careful. She did a great job of containing her excitement when Spain won. It was quite depressing to be around all of the Dutch people though- but probably not as depressing as they felt at the time. The game ended later than expected, and we raced to our cars. We drove throughout the night, alternating drivers and people to keep the drivers awake. We arrived in Versailles at 5:30 am to drop off one of the girls. We slept for an hour at her house, and then hit the road back to Paris. It was brutal. We finally made it to the rental car agency at La Defense after having gotten lost, and refilling the car, at around 8:15 am. We paid, and then walked umbrella-less through the rain with all of our bags. It must have been quite a site to see us 5 girls carrying bags and air-mattresses, drenched and exhausted, while the businessmen raced to grab a croissant before heading into the office. I took the metro straight to work, arriving at 9:20AM with bigger bags under my eyes than in my hands. I couldn't keep my eyes open for the life of me, and my boss graciously let me go home before lunch. It was an amazing weekend that I won't ever forget.
Other news
I received all of my grades and letters of acceptance, and I am officially enrolled at RMS for my final year of undergraduate school. Now all I need to do is get an apartment (the story about that is so long and frustrating that I don't even have the energy to tell it again) and renew my visa (again, the story about this is so long and frustrating that... well, you get the drift). In two weeks I'm going to Berlin for the weekend, and I am SUPER excited. The weekend after that we head off to Milan where one of my oldest childhood friends will be meeting up with me on her way back to the States from having been living in Israel. My dad bought my tickets home yesterday, so I'll be in America the first two weeks of August.
I can't believe I really managed to do all of this... living, studying, and working in a foreign country by myself. I had a surrealistic moment yesterday morning while on the escalator to my metro. I really live in Paris. This is my life. I'm not just a tourist, or on a silly "study" abroad program for a few months. I'm in France. I did it. I really did it.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Weevils and rose chafers
I've been having to translate this rather scientific article for one of the magazines at work, and let's just say my brain can't take it anymore! This article (in French) is written by a professional, French journalist and uses rather precise and scientific terms. Clearly there are many words that I just don't know, so I've been using online dictionaries as aid. The last few words I had to translate... well... let's just say they were the straw that broke the camels back. I'm dying of laughter! It's just all too ridiculous.
And these, my loyal readers, are the words that needed translating..
ténébrions- darklings
charançons- weevils
cétoines- rose chafers
what the what?!?!
ahahahhah weevils :)
Turns out these are all varieties of beetles... just so you know
And these, my loyal readers, are the words that needed translating..
ténébrions- darklings
charançons- weevils
cétoines- rose chafers
what the what?!?!
ahahahhah weevils :)
Turns out these are all varieties of beetles... just so you know
Hey, remember that time when I went to Boston for the weekend?
A few weeks ago, my dad and I pulled of an EXCELLENT surprise. And the story begins...
It was the weekend of June 11th as I recall. I had bought 16 euro tickets to Oslo weeks prior, but these tickets would go to waste. Shortly after my huge travel investment to Norway, I was skyping with my dearest father. As we talked about what he had done that day, he mentioned that he was extremely busy planning my sister's graduation party. I told him that I was upset that I missed the actual graduation, and that I wished I could come home and surprise her. He unexpectedly responded, "that would be such a good surprise... and I do love surprises. If you find a cheap flight, book it." Procrastination always tends to take over my life, but not in this case. I immediately began combing the internet for great deals, and found one within a few minutes. The tickets were booked immediately, and the planning began.
I talked to Hannah, my sister, countless times after having bought the tickets, and kept my lips sealed. In the meantime, I contacted her roommate to start scheming. I came up with a brilliant plan. Her roommate's parents own the condo they live in. Her roommate would "receive a call from her parents" saying that "a contractor is coming to appraise the vinyl siding on the house" and I would show up on her front steps. Flawless. Who would ever question that?
Well, the plan worked out pretty well...minus the fact that her doorbell was broken. My dad picked me up from the airport, and we drove on over to her house. I rang the bell... and again... and again... And then I started pounding on the door, screaming to the heavens in a thick, Bostonian accent, "HEYY HELLO? I'M A CONTRACTAH HEYA TO APPRAYZE DA SIYDIN ON YA APPAHTMENT." That didn't work either. Finally, my dad ended up calling her to say that he happened to be in the neighborhood, buying kosher cookies of course, decided to drop by, and was currently on her front porch. She said she'd come right down. I crouched behind my largely built father and hid. We waited for a few seconds, and then heard her schizophrenic dog, Molly, run down the stairs and start barking. Hannah followed suit (minus the barking) and opened the door. At that moment, I popped out from behind my dearest Pops and yelled, "CANDYGRAM!" (it's an old Saturday Night Live reference... Youtube 'LandShark')
Hannah's reaction was worth the many dollars...well... euros... and hours of traveling. Her jaw dropped to the floor like a Looney Toons character. She stood there, staring at me, for a few minutes as she attempted to process what was happening. When she finally realized that I was not a mirage, and was actually standing on her front porch, she started screaming. It wasn't so much screaming but rather a squeal/yelp/shout/cry/laugh. We hugged and hugged and hugged, cried a little, and laughed. It was great.
That night, I organized a bunch of my Boston friends to go out for drinks. We went to one of my favorite places for sangria, the Other Side. My truest and dearest friends from school came (except for Julie, who in all fairness is in South America), and we had ourselves a grand ol' time, as if it hadn't been over a year since we had last seen each other. It was a great night out. Unfortunately, jet lag quickly caught up with me, and the night ended around midnight.
The next day, Hannah and I ran a few errands. I went to my favorite local sneaker store, Bodega. After a nice little visit and a bit of networking, Hannah and I left the Bean and drove back to Providence. That night we had a lovely dinner at my Dad's girlfriend's house. I was pretty delirious by that point, so I don't remember much. The next day we woke up bright and early, got dressed, and went out shopping! I forgot how much cheaper everything is in the States. Highlight of the shopping- Savers. Oh how I miss that store. Don't get me wrong, the thrift shops in Paris have great finds, but even a skirt still costs at least 10 euros! I got a great new blazer for 7 bucks, and a silk scarf for 2. For that night, I had organized a night out with my friends from Providence at a great brewery. I have to say, the turnout wasn't great. Essentially, only my best friends, cousins, and sister came out.
It was a small group of around 8 people. Don't get me wrong, it was amazing to spend time with them! It showed me how much these people really care about me and miss me. What really bummed me out was that over 25 people responded that they would come, and 30 said that they "might" come. For me, the evening was bittersweet. I was surrounded by people that loved me, but I couldn't help but feel hurt that the people that I've missed and have wanted to see for over 10 months couldn't make the effort to see me for just a few hours. As the evening ended, I came to the realization that perhaps my life in Providence is really over. High school ended years ago, and that perhaps all of my wonderful friendships won't last as long as I thought they would. That night was also a turning point for me because I realized that my doubts of staying in France shouldn't even exist. I have been worrying that by staying abroad for another year, I would lose even more friends at home, and that catching up would become more difficult. But, you know what? Why should I go home to rekindle old and dying friendships with people from my hometown when instead I could keep the relationships with my truest friends strong, and then make even more great friends here in France? The decision has been made. I don't want to come home. I'm not going to sacrifice this incredible experience to live in a foreign country because I miss people. The people that I miss don't necessarily miss me. The people that do miss me have already proven it to me in their own ways.. and not necessarily by coming out just that one night. I've been thinking about these things for a while now, but that night out acted as a catalyst for me to admit certain things to myself that I have been avoiding. I don't want to come home and feel lonely when I could stay here (even in a shitty town like Reims) surrounded by people that I already have great friendships with, and people who I have yet to become friends with.
The next day was Sunday- Hannah's graduation party. We woke up early and went to my favorite neighborhood breakfast joint, Ruffuls. It was fantastic! Actually, I lied... that may or may not have been on Saturday morning. I really don't remember. Anyhoo... Hannah's party was so great. I got to see almost all of my family and close family friends. It was difficult answering the question "so how do you like living in France?" I tried my best, but my answers really weren't that great. We all lounged, mingled, and shmoozed for a few wonderful hours. Hannah returned back to Boston after the party, and I hung out with my dad. I ended up passing out on the couch at around 9pm, and that was it for me.
So, all in all, my weekend back home was fantastic. I finally had my first Dunkin Donuts iced coffee of the year, spent quality time with family and friends, and discovered a few things about myself. I'm so glad I was able to surprise Hannah. The look on her face was worth every cent.
More posts to come... I've been super lazy about this. All this traveling is exhausting! I love it :)
It was the weekend of June 11th as I recall. I had bought 16 euro tickets to Oslo weeks prior, but these tickets would go to waste. Shortly after my huge travel investment to Norway, I was skyping with my dearest father. As we talked about what he had done that day, he mentioned that he was extremely busy planning my sister's graduation party. I told him that I was upset that I missed the actual graduation, and that I wished I could come home and surprise her. He unexpectedly responded, "that would be such a good surprise... and I do love surprises. If you find a cheap flight, book it." Procrastination always tends to take over my life, but not in this case. I immediately began combing the internet for great deals, and found one within a few minutes. The tickets were booked immediately, and the planning began.
I talked to Hannah, my sister, countless times after having bought the tickets, and kept my lips sealed. In the meantime, I contacted her roommate to start scheming. I came up with a brilliant plan. Her roommate's parents own the condo they live in. Her roommate would "receive a call from her parents" saying that "a contractor is coming to appraise the vinyl siding on the house" and I would show up on her front steps. Flawless. Who would ever question that?
Well, the plan worked out pretty well...minus the fact that her doorbell was broken. My dad picked me up from the airport, and we drove on over to her house. I rang the bell... and again... and again... And then I started pounding on the door, screaming to the heavens in a thick, Bostonian accent, "HEYY HELLO? I'M A CONTRACTAH HEYA TO APPRAYZE DA SIYDIN ON YA APPAHTMENT." That didn't work either. Finally, my dad ended up calling her to say that he happened to be in the neighborhood, buying kosher cookies of course, decided to drop by, and was currently on her front porch. She said she'd come right down. I crouched behind my largely built father and hid. We waited for a few seconds, and then heard her schizophrenic dog, Molly, run down the stairs and start barking. Hannah followed suit (minus the barking) and opened the door. At that moment, I popped out from behind my dearest Pops and yelled, "CANDYGRAM!" (it's an old Saturday Night Live reference... Youtube 'LandShark')
Hannah's reaction was worth the many dollars...well... euros... and hours of traveling. Her jaw dropped to the floor like a Looney Toons character. She stood there, staring at me, for a few minutes as she attempted to process what was happening. When she finally realized that I was not a mirage, and was actually standing on her front porch, she started screaming. It wasn't so much screaming but rather a squeal/yelp/shout/cry/laugh. We hugged and hugged and hugged, cried a little, and laughed. It was great.
That night, I organized a bunch of my Boston friends to go out for drinks. We went to one of my favorite places for sangria, the Other Side. My truest and dearest friends from school came (except for Julie, who in all fairness is in South America), and we had ourselves a grand ol' time, as if it hadn't been over a year since we had last seen each other. It was a great night out. Unfortunately, jet lag quickly caught up with me, and the night ended around midnight.
The next day, Hannah and I ran a few errands. I went to my favorite local sneaker store, Bodega. After a nice little visit and a bit of networking, Hannah and I left the Bean and drove back to Providence. That night we had a lovely dinner at my Dad's girlfriend's house. I was pretty delirious by that point, so I don't remember much. The next day we woke up bright and early, got dressed, and went out shopping! I forgot how much cheaper everything is in the States. Highlight of the shopping- Savers. Oh how I miss that store. Don't get me wrong, the thrift shops in Paris have great finds, but even a skirt still costs at least 10 euros! I got a great new blazer for 7 bucks, and a silk scarf for 2. For that night, I had organized a night out with my friends from Providence at a great brewery. I have to say, the turnout wasn't great. Essentially, only my best friends, cousins, and sister came out.
It was a small group of around 8 people. Don't get me wrong, it was amazing to spend time with them! It showed me how much these people really care about me and miss me. What really bummed me out was that over 25 people responded that they would come, and 30 said that they "might" come. For me, the evening was bittersweet. I was surrounded by people that loved me, but I couldn't help but feel hurt that the people that I've missed and have wanted to see for over 10 months couldn't make the effort to see me for just a few hours. As the evening ended, I came to the realization that perhaps my life in Providence is really over. High school ended years ago, and that perhaps all of my wonderful friendships won't last as long as I thought they would. That night was also a turning point for me because I realized that my doubts of staying in France shouldn't even exist. I have been worrying that by staying abroad for another year, I would lose even more friends at home, and that catching up would become more difficult. But, you know what? Why should I go home to rekindle old and dying friendships with people from my hometown when instead I could keep the relationships with my truest friends strong, and then make even more great friends here in France? The decision has been made. I don't want to come home. I'm not going to sacrifice this incredible experience to live in a foreign country because I miss people. The people that I miss don't necessarily miss me. The people that do miss me have already proven it to me in their own ways.. and not necessarily by coming out just that one night. I've been thinking about these things for a while now, but that night out acted as a catalyst for me to admit certain things to myself that I have been avoiding. I don't want to come home and feel lonely when I could stay here (even in a shitty town like Reims) surrounded by people that I already have great friendships with, and people who I have yet to become friends with.
The next day was Sunday- Hannah's graduation party. We woke up early and went to my favorite neighborhood breakfast joint, Ruffuls. It was fantastic! Actually, I lied... that may or may not have been on Saturday morning. I really don't remember. Anyhoo... Hannah's party was so great. I got to see almost all of my family and close family friends. It was difficult answering the question "so how do you like living in France?" I tried my best, but my answers really weren't that great. We all lounged, mingled, and shmoozed for a few wonderful hours. Hannah returned back to Boston after the party, and I hung out with my dad. I ended up passing out on the couch at around 9pm, and that was it for me.
So, all in all, my weekend back home was fantastic. I finally had my first Dunkin Donuts iced coffee of the year, spent quality time with family and friends, and discovered a few things about myself. I'm so glad I was able to surprise Hannah. The look on her face was worth every cent.
More posts to come... I've been super lazy about this. All this traveling is exhausting! I love it :)
Thursday, June 24, 2010
PLEASE VOTE!!
So this isn't an official blog post- I still have so many things to write about, like my trip to the States and to Portugal. BUT, I have a huuuuge favor to ask of you..
My dearest friends Victoria (who is going to be my roommate next year!) has entered a competition to win a years worth of free hotel nights in over 200 cities around the world. Instead of entering myself in the contest, I've decided that it would be more productive to rally people to vote for her so that way we don't cannibalize each other. So, in essence, I'm trying to win a years worth of free hotel rooms!!
PLEASE VOTE!
http://www.greatestholiday.radissonblu.com/victoria-mayor/850095/
My dearest friends Victoria (who is going to be my roommate next year!) has entered a competition to win a years worth of free hotel nights in over 200 cities around the world. Instead of entering myself in the contest, I've decided that it would be more productive to rally people to vote for her so that way we don't cannibalize each other. So, in essence, I'm trying to win a years worth of free hotel rooms!!
PLEASE VOTE!
http://www.greatestholiday.radissonblu.com/victoria-mayor/850095/
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Morocco, I love you.
Sorry about my recent lack of blogging. I was thinking that not a lot of people read this puppy, but after an enlightening trip to the US, I know better. There are many things to recap, so I'll take it day at a time. Basically, I forgot to write about my trip to Nice... so I'll sum it up by saying it was awesome, I love nature, and I got to see hybrid wolf-dogs on leashes. Baddaboom. And now, my journey to Mamma Afrika.
Thursday (not this past week, but the week prior) was a hustling bustling day at work. I didn't seem to really notice as I was daydreaming about my soon-to-come adventure to Morocco. After work, I went back to my apartment, packed up a duffel bag in lightning speed, and bolted out the door. After a series of metros, trains, and shuttles, I arrived at the Orly airport. There, I met up with 5 of my American friends who are in the same International Business program in France as me. We hung out for a little while, bought one bottle of duty free wine each, and boarded the plane. The flight took around 3.5-4 hours to Agadir, and went by relatively smoothly. We landed at around 12:40 am Friday morning, and breezed by security and customs.
The Start of the Adventure
We exited the airports and found a long queue of identical, 1980's Mercedes taxis. We split up into groups of 3, with each group having 2 girls and 1 boy. The taxi ride was a bit unreal. Our friendly cab driver was excited to speak in English with us, and might I say spoke very well. He drove like a maniac, swerving between cars and sometimes curbs, and knew only two speeds- fast and faster. We sped along, blaring Bob Marley on blown-out speakers, locals on pedal-bikes, and the occasional donkey pulled wagon. After an exhilarating 40 minutes of driving, we neared the small, beachfront surfing town of Taghazout. We had come to realize that none of us had an actual address of our destination, as the owner of the apartment that we were renting said "to just ask anyone and they'll know where to send you." We pulled over, the other taxi directly behind us, and asked a random guy if he knew where Surf-N-Stay was. He said that he had no idea, but could give us a great deal on rooms in his hotel. Great. Our taxi driver assured us that we'd find it, and pulled over to the side of the road directly in front of a random row of apartments, one with an outdoor light on. We all got out of the cabs and tried to figure out what to do. Here we were, 6 Americans in Taghazout Morocco at 2 in the morning, with not a single clue as to how to find the apartment we rented. After a few minutes of talking, this short guy comes out of the lit apartment and asks if he can help us.
We tell him what we are looking for, and he says "oh, yea, this is Surf-N-Stay." Amazing- we found it out of sheer luck. He leads us inside, down a few flights of stairs, and into an apartment where we are greeted by a white, British sounding girl. It turns out that she's in fact Irish, and her Dad, Chris, is the owner of the apartment rental service. We introduce ourselves, and she then goes to "try to find the key" to the apartment we are renting. Oh boy, not the greatest of signs. She eventually finds it, and we climb back up the few flights of stairs, go outside, and begin walking in the dark of night down dirt sidewalks and narrow alleys, accompanied by a few local stray dogs. As sketchy as this might sound, we all felt completely safe the entire time. After around 5 minutes of walking, we end up in an alleyway and stop in front of a painted, wooden front door. After stating that she hopes the key fits, she attempts to open the door. It opened without a problem. Good sign. We enter the apartment, not knowing what to expect.
In front of us was a hallway. To the right was the smallest bathroom known to man. It actually seemed like an indoor outhouse with plumbing. There was one toilet, and attached to the wall, a shower head. I don't know if it was physically possible to take a shower in that bathroom without sitting on the toilet. The next room over was the kitchen. The shelves were already stacked with miscellaneous teapots, mugs, and a random spatula. After the kitchen, still on the right side of the hallway, was a bedroom with a set of bunk beds. Looking down the hallway directly opposite the front door was another bedroom with 3 twin beds. After counting, I realized that there were only 5 beds... and 6 of us. Uh oh. I was wondering who would be willing to sleep upstairs in the living room, until out of the corner of my eye I see something on the wall. We all saw it. Wide-eyed in disgusted surprise, we all flinch a little bit. "Oh, it's just a cockroach," explains the daughter. "You'll get used to them." Ehh, that statement proved to be false. I used to be quite squeemish around cockroaches, but after having lived for a week in the lower-ninth ward of New Orleans in a dilapidated house, I got used to them. These cockroaches, however, were quite sizable. I think I draw the limit, however, when roaches exceed the length of the palm of my hand. This particular cockroach slithered down the wall, onto the pillow of one of the bed, and then disappeared underneath the sheets. Ew.
We exited that room and climbed up the stairs on the left side of the hallway. These stairs lead to a lobby, which lead to a common room. The room itself was not too bad. 3 Foam-topped, long wooden crates lined 3 of the red painted walls. In the far right-hand corner was a ceder chest filled with musty linens. Facing the threshold of the room was a set of French doors. These doors, when opened, led to a very narrow fire escape, which brought you up onto the roof. This rooftop patio with an ocean view, was by far the best, and only redeeming feature of the house. There was a glass-top dining table, chairs, a large outdoor sofa, a charcoal grill, and even a straw hut with dirty beach lounge chairs inside. After our hour long tour of the house (the girl stayed for a really long time), we began to settle down. Bottles of duty-free wine were brought up to the roof, uncorked, and drank. There was an incident in which two of the bottles fell off a table and broke, and I swiftly assembled a clean-up brigade, fearing that the red wine would stain the tiles by morning. After figuring out how to clean everything up, we decided to call it a night. Some decided to sleep outside on the roof. One kid went down into the bunkbed room. 2 other girls, and myself, decided to sleep in the upstairs lounge. We were quite scared of cockroaches climbing onto us while we slept. We had the grand idea to rearrange the furniture, and put the wooden crates next to each other to create a king-sized crate in the dead center of the room. It actually worked out quite well, aside from the fact that during the rearranging process we were super loud and it was 5 in the morning. The neighbors weren't too happy with us the next day, as it would turn out. We got everything settled, and went to bed. I quickly passed out, but was awoken (and startled) by the blaring of a voice over a loudspeaker. I opened my eyes and it was still dark outside. After piecing a few things together, I realized that this voice was that of the imam's, and he was calling all Muslims to pray. It was a hallow, haunting sound but much appreciated, as this was one of the first times in which I felt completely removed from Western, secular culture. I closed my eyes and fell back asleep.
Day 1-Fun in the Sun
After a few more hours of sleep, we collectively woke up and organized ourselves to go meet with Chris, the owner of the property. We trekked back over to his apartment and talked with him for a few minutes. He's an Irish guy that lives in Morocco full-time now. He explained the apartment, gave us a few pointers, and set-up a tour for us for the next day. He lead us downstairs and outside, directly onto the beach, where we climbed across rocks and sand. He brought us to a beachfront restaurant. When I say beachfront, I mean it in all literal senses. We sat on a patio that was carved out of the rocks. He told us to just order whatever we felt like, and they would make it. He bid us farewell, and there we sat. A friendly waiter came out and took our orders. We all got a Moroccan omlette, which came with tea, freshly squeezed orange juice, baguette, dishes of jams, honey and butter, and an omlette of tomato, onion, cilantro and possibly some other stuff. We all kind of zoned out for a while, waiting for our food, when Chris came back and introduced us to a young Moroccan named Morad who seemed to be our age, and would be our tour guide the following day. Morad hung out with us for a while during breakfast and we (the group) got to know him. After a scrumptious breakfast, we made plans with Morad to have a real Moroccan dinner of tagine and cousous. He left to go inform the restaurant, and we went down to the beach.
It was only 10:30 am or so, but the sun was already blaring. We went back to the apartment, got changed into our swimsuits, and collected what we needed for a day at the beach. We left our apartment, turned left, walked down a sandstone path passing the local fish market, and onto the sands of the beach. We found a nice spot further away from the odorous fish market, lathered up on sunscreen, and plopped down. We stayed on the beach all day, alternating sunbathing with swimming. At one point we saw someone zooming across the horizon on a jet-ski. He eventually came towards the shore and hopped off. As it would turn out, he worked for a jet-skiing company. We decided that jet-skiing needed to happen. We negotiated for a little while, and then organized ourselves into pairs. My friend Dan and I were first. Having never driven before, we agreed that Dan should drive first. We climbed on the beast, and off we went, knowing only one speed: full throttle. The wind literally whipped across my skin, and we flew over waves. It was such an adrenaline rush. We all took turns driving and riding the jet-ski for the next 45 minutes. Once our time was up, we went back to our spot on the beach to lay down. Two of my friends, Alina and Jason, had visited Morocco during Christmas break where they befriended their tour guide Abdul. They had stayed in contact with each other, and extended an invitation to Abdul to join us in Taghazout for the weekend. He took a 2 hour bus ride from where he lives, and met up with us on the beach. The group, now 7 of us, spent the rest of the afternoon on the beach, soaking up rays and swimming.
After a while, we grew hungry and were in dire need of some refreshing smoothies. We found a smoothie stand on the main road in town, and Abdul helped us order. He recommended a drink called "fruits secs," and without knowing what was in it, I ordered one too. It was amazing- a creamy avocado smoothie with almonds, dates and figs blended it. We all enjoyed our smoothies, and then took a little walk. We ended up at an outdoor market of sorts, where vendors sold jewelry on blankets on the floor, Berber music blared out of a tiny boom-box, and where you could buy all sorts of random crap. Abdul helped a few of the girls barter for lower prices, which is the norm in Morocco. After a bit of shopping, we found a dinky little restaurant and got a pot of tea. Moroccan tea is incredible- it's a strong mix of black tea, fresh mint, and 46 lbs of sugar. Tea is served in a silver pot, poured from a substantial height to create a foam, and into a small glass cup (much like a double shot-glass). We snacked on salted almonds and cashews, and sipped our tea. Afterward, we went back to the apartment to get cleaned up for dinner. We didn't actually clean up, but rather changed out of our bathing suits. In fact, none of us showered throughout the entire trip. When in Rome, right?
Dinner: we went to a restaurant on the main road of town, essentially opposite of the smoothie stand. We sat down at a long table, now as a group of 8 as Morad had come to join us. We waited for our meal to arrive and soaked up the atmosphere. The sun had recently set, and it was a calm period of dusk just before nightfall. We sat around a large, plastic table, soaking in our surroundings. The voice of the imam began to blare over the speakers as flocks of men slowly drifted towards the mosque directly in front of us. We sipped our drinks, and alas the food arrived. We feasted on two tagines, one made of goat and the other of fresh fish that was caught that afternoon. A tagine is essentially the first ever crock-pot- throw a bunch of veggies, meat, and 35 different spices in a clay pot with a cone-like clay lid, place over a hot charcoals, and let her cook all day. I had never had goat meat before, but it was delicious. The meat fell right off the bone and didn't have a gamey taste as I had much heard about. This could be because of the fresh olives or lemon that were also cooked in the tagine, giving the dish an exciting, well-rounded flavor. We ate not with forks and knives, but rather our hands, scooping up each bite with freshly baked bread that much resembled pita.We then got an order of couscous. By that point, I had stuffed myself silly, but I still tried it anyways. I was taught how to properly eat couscous- with my hands. I reached in to the clay platter, placing my hand knuckle deep into the moist couscous. Then, I curled my fingers towards the palm of my hand against the wall of the dish to grab a small heap of coucous. After lifting my hand filled with couscous out of the dish, I began to roll the couscous around like those Chinese meditation balls, occasionally squeezing it in my hand to compress the grains. After a little while of this, the couscous formed a ball, much like a matzah ball (or for my non-jews, a dumpling), and popped it right into my mouth. And, that, my friends, is how to properly eat couscous. It was awesome! After dinner; we walked across the street and Abdul bought a giant watermelon off the back of a truck. We walked the watermelon home, sliced it up, and brought it to the roof. As we snacked, Abdul began to show us how to wrap a turban like the Saharans, as he leads tours throughout the Sahara by camel. We each took a turn, and Abdul wrapped his long scarf around each of our heads, one by one, to create the turban. It was insanely fun, and us Caucasian kids looked absolutely absurd. After a little while, we hit the sack as the next day required that we get a good nights sleep.
Day 2- A little trip to Paradise
We woke up at around 8:30 or so... Actually, I have no idea of what time we woke up, but that seems about right. We got dressed, wearing our bathing suits underneath our clothes. After a little coordination, we headed back towards Sonya's, our new favorite breakfast joint that sits literally on the beach. The waiter recognized us from the day before, and essentially remembered our orders. We ate leisurely, worrying about the cloudy sky, and upon finishing, headed back over to Chris's, the apartment owner, apartment where we met up with Morad. We piled into Chris's SUV, and I managed to get shotgun. The rest of the group crammed into the back two rows of seating, and off we went. We drove along a road which hugged the seaside, our eyes darting back and forth as to not miss anything. We saw camels from a distance, people sitting underneath palm trees, and more donkey-drawn carts. After only a few minutes, we pulled into a small tow called Banana City... or Banana Town... or Banana Ville.. Honestly I forget what the name was, but it definitely began with the word "banana." Stores displayed bunches upon bunches of green and yellow bananas hanging from rafters, piled on counters, and in the back of trucks. Morad parked the SUV and went in to a few stores to buy things for lunch while we waited in the car. He came back maybe 10 minutes later with several liter bottles of water, an entire shopping bag of fresh, flat bread, nuts, vegetables, raw chicken, and fruit. We loaded everything in the car, and off we drove.
As we continued driving, the terrain began to change. The land was no longer flat, but hilly, and then mountainous. We passed through small towns where the ghostlike outlines of women flowed across the dirt road with massive sacks of rice or grain perched carefully on their heads. There were less and less cars, and more and more donkeys. Eventually, the towns began to come fewer and fewer as we climbed the narrow, curving roads of mountains.We got to a fairly decent elevation when Morad pulled the SUV over into the lot of a roadside stand. This stand was actually more like a concrete hut that sold "millions of million year old fossils" most of which looked like nautiluses. A few of the girls bought some fossils and geodes, all while I climbed onto the roof to enjoy an incredible panoramic view. After roughly 15 minutes, our pit-stop came to an end, we said our goodbyes to the American loving store owner, and piled back into the SUV. We recommenced our journey, and the terrain began to change again. The mountains, dusty and dotted with dark desert trees, became smoother and rockier. We began to see streams and rivers, and palm trees and green plants.The sky had cleared up as we moved away from the coast, and now the sun was shining brightly. We reached an unpaved parking lot, parked the car, unloaded all of our lunch supplies, caked on a layer of sunscreen, and began our trek. We had reached Paradise Valley, where we would hike, cliff jump, and swim in freshwater lagoons. As we began walking, we quickly realized that the nature reserves name was extremely appropriate. Paradise Valley was indeed a slice of paradise. We walked (in flip-flops) up and down steep hills, crossed muddy river banks, hopped (and fell) across rocks to cross rivers, through dirt and across boulders. After crossing a river (which we managed to do thanks to Morad's help) we ended up at a muddy bank, shaded by tall palm trees. I look around for Abdul, but he is nowhere to be seen. I see something bright yellow out of the corner of my eye, and there is Abdul, climbing up a palm tree like a monkey. After a bit of "monkeying" around, we walked a few minutes more and came to a small stone house.
The house belonged to a friend of Morad, who greeted us with a big smile. We were invited to sit outside in his hut, man-made from bamboo, old woven carpets for walls, and palm leaves for the roof. The seats were rows of benches that lined the walls, with a low table in the middle. We watched him kindle a small fire in the small, stone pit that sat directly between his house and the hut. He put the kettle on, and invited us to relax as he prepared tea. On the table in front of us, he placed a plate of extremely fresh honey (with chunks of honeycomb swimming in the amber goop), a dish of fresh peanut sauce, and another dish of Argon oil. We dipped fresh bread into the sauces, and snacked on homemade fennel biscuits. He served us the sweet, strong minty black tea which I love so much, and we drank. After our mid-morning snack, we left the house to continue on with our hike, leaving the groceries to our new host. While we were gone, he would prepare a tagine for us for dinner.
Our hike was incredible. Flip-flops made the journey a bit difficult, but we managed. The first leg of the journey was to a sizeable, freshwater lagoon, where local boys were cliff-jumping and swimming around. We joined them, each taking turns jumping. I, of course, did not jump as I am moderately to significantly scared of heights. We swam, jumped, and bathed in the sun for a while. It must have been around noon time when a few of the local boys got out, found a quiet spot, and began to pray. At that moment, I realize how much I appreciate religion because it sometimes permits people to not get lost in daily commotion, and to take time in their lives to stop, breathe, and reflect. We spent a fair amount of time at the lagoon, and then continued on with our adventure. The next leg of the journey required us to climb up a cliff, which I did with the greatest of ease (sarcasm). Once up the cliff, we hiked up steep inclines, and down sharp drops of the narrow, dirt, mountain path. This path wandered up and down, left and right, hugging the natural curves of the gorge on our left. As we climbed higher, the gorge became deeper. At one point, the gorge must have been several hundred feet down, and I was sure to avoid it at all costs. Morad skipped along, leading the group, and I trailed in the back, my lungs heavy from months which lacked any real physical exercise. After 20 minutes or more (I really have no idea how long it took), we reached our second destination: lagoon number 2. This lagoon was much larger than the first, and in order to get to the water you had to climb down a small cliff. I think I began to feel the heat of the day, so I decided to perch myself on a wide cliff ledge under the shade of a dying tree. I watched my group climb down to the lagoon, jump off even steeper cliffs than before, and swim around. Naturally, because I am an old man, my back was seriously hurting, so I laid down on the scorching rocks and dozed off for a while.
We hung out at lagoon number 2 for a decent amount of time, and then carried on with the final leg of the hike. We trekked across sharp, hot rocks (my flip-flops breaking every 3 minutes), up and across boulders, through pools of waist high water (I almost had a heart attack out of fear of falling and dropping my super awesome, non-waterproof camera which I consider to be my child) across small valleys and gorge floors. A stray dog, which are everywhere, joined our group as we grew from 8 to 9. The hike was mostly enjoyable, and we noticed that the sun-bleached rocks became redder and more clay-like. We eventually reached a spot in the gorge where the walls and floor was clay, and there were pools of murky water. This was our destination. We were a bit unimpressed, until Morad said that this is where we should leave our stuff so that it doesn't get ruined, because in order to get to the real destination, we might get a bit muddy. One by one, we took off our clothes (obviously with bathing suits underneath!), left our valuables, and slipped into the cloudy pond. The pool was shallow, but the floor was of a slippery silt. It squished beneath my toes, and I'm not sure if it felt disgusting or awesome. Either way, it was quite the sensation. I swan across, using my hands to clear a path free of water spiders and other creepy-crawlers. We reached the other end of the pond, finagled our way up the slimy clay rock and onto dried-out clay banks. We hiked across, climbing and falling down boulders, until we reached the last lagoon, lagoon number 3. I'm not sure if lagoon number 3 was even a lagoon, or more so a grotto. The depths of this perfect round pool are unknown. People have tried to measure how deep it goes, but haven't been able to succeed. Needless to say, it was incredibly deep. Most of the group took turns jumping off a high, rocky ledge. I, however, carefully dipped my toes in, estimated the danger, looked around, and then dove right in. The water was colder than the other lagoons, as this grotto was completely in the shade. I was surprised when I looked down at the dark water and was able to see my entire leg- the water was the purest, cleanest water I've ever been in. I swam across the small lagoon to the wall which wrapped 3/4 around the pool's circumference. It was almost as if this grotto was a natural, really cold jacuzzi, as the center was fairly deep, and there sides all had ledges that you could either sit on, or perch yourself on so that your body was completely out of the water. I sat on the ledge for a little while, but then got a bit too cold, and began to perch. I looked around at the stone wall and noticed a clan of hundreds of the tiniest, mini-frogs that I've ever seen. They were adorable! Alas, we all became too cold, and decided that it was probably the time to leave to make it back to the hut in time for dinner. We exited the grotto/lagoon/pool, and walked across the caked-up clay, reaching the murky, mud pond. We tried a new approach of climbing alongside the steep banks of the pond, but were unsuccessful. One friend slipped, in slow motion, across the slick, dark clay, onto his butt, and into the murk-pond. Naturally, this event was hysterical, leading us to our big revelation of the day: covering ourselves in mud for a spa treatment. My friends covered themselves completely in the stuff, whereas I was more content with drawing a mustache and goatee on my face. I think someone drew a flower on my back too. After a while of our royal mud treatment and politically incorrect jokes, we went back to the clear water grotto to rinse off, and then back through the muddy pond where we promptly got dirty again.
We hiked back the way we'd came, my body sore from both the jet-skiing the day prior, and the physical activity of our day hiking. We trekked up and over rocks, through mud, up and down hills, alongside gorges and over flowing streams. We of course, towards the end of the hike back to the house, ran into Peace Corp volunteers from Seattle and California. We chatted with them for a while, who I think were happy to speak with other Americans for a bit. We approached the house, bid them farewell, and went into the bamboo hut. Our host graciously served us water, Coke, and some fruity, sugary soda beverage called Hawaii (which for some reason I thought was absolutely hilarious), and brought out the masterpiece: the tagine. We ate that thing like it was going out of style, and slopped up every morsel with bread. After devouring day's worth of hard work in merely 15-20 minutes, we were served dessert. It was delicious, fresh fruit. We ate honeydew and cantaloupe, fresh apricots and plums, bananas, apples and oranges. I wasn't even hungry, but the fruit was so delicious that I kept eating everything that was served to me. We lounged for a while, letting our bodies digest. The sun glowed gently by this point, and had just begun to set. We thanked our host, and he lead us outside his compound to show us the turtles that swim in the river in front of his house. After our great turtle observation portion of the day, we bid him farewell, and continued on the final leg of the hike, back to the car. Again, more rivers and streams were crossed, more hills were climbed up and down, more flip-flops broke. We reached the SUV and the sun became lower and lower, yet the sky was not dark. We piled inside the car and headed to Agadir city, zooming across narrow curving mountain roads, in search of buying some wine.
After a good 40 minutes of driving, we reached the modern city of Agadir, and it was a bit of a shock. It was so Westernized and modern compared to our tiny beach-town of Taghazout. We went to a "grocery" store which was in my opinion the equivalent of a Sam's Club or Costco. We were all sort of freaked out, as this was highly unexpected. I had begun to feel a bit sick- my throat was sore and I was losing my voice. I bought a liter of OJ and hoped that would fix me up.After an exciting trip to the store, we drove into Agadir to get smoothies. I got fresh squeezed OJ, hoping that it would miraculously cure me. It didn't, but it was mighty tasty. We left Agadir and drove back to Taghazout, having ourselves a mini dance party in the car. We reached our apartment, where we got changed, and headed out to Morad's apartment to hang out. It was really fun there. He had this massive flatscreen TV and was playing the movie Borat on mute, jamming out to music on an iPod, and also to drums and other instruments that his friends were playing. Abdul taught me how to play the drums (or attempted to, but I was a bit uncoordinated). We lounged on Morad's massive couches, talking, learning to play the instruments, and occasionally dancing. It was a fantastic night, but we were all exhausted from the day. And so, the night ended early and we all walked back to our apartment to pass out.
Day 3-The Adventure comes to an end
I woke up feeling as though the angel of death hit me in the face with a brick. I was officially sick with a nasty cold. We went back to Sonya's for our usual breakfast. I ate even though I didn't have much of an appetite, and immediately felt noxious afterward. This feeling stayed with me for a majority of the morning. We went to Chris's apartment, paid him, and organized our journey back to the airport. Along the way we were to stop at a Suk (much like an Israeli shuk, or a mega mega outdoor/indoor market of everything imaginable). I don't really remember the car ride to the suk as I nodded in and out of sleep. We reached the suk and my stomach started to feel better.We wandered around, Chris showing us where to go. Abdul helped up barter with the vendors, but I didn't buy anything. I kind of regret not buying a teapot, but at the time I just wasn't in the mood to be shopping. We didn't have much time there, and soon had to get back in the car to get to the airport on time. At the airport, we said goodbye to Chris, and a sincere goodbye to our new wonderful friend Abdul, and headed into the airport.
Morocco was absolutely incredible. It was one of the best weekends of my life. I can't wait to go back :)
Thursday (not this past week, but the week prior) was a hustling bustling day at work. I didn't seem to really notice as I was daydreaming about my soon-to-come adventure to Morocco. After work, I went back to my apartment, packed up a duffel bag in lightning speed, and bolted out the door. After a series of metros, trains, and shuttles, I arrived at the Orly airport. There, I met up with 5 of my American friends who are in the same International Business program in France as me. We hung out for a little while, bought one bottle of duty free wine each, and boarded the plane. The flight took around 3.5-4 hours to Agadir, and went by relatively smoothly. We landed at around 12:40 am Friday morning, and breezed by security and customs.
The Start of the Adventure
We exited the airports and found a long queue of identical, 1980's Mercedes taxis. We split up into groups of 3, with each group having 2 girls and 1 boy. The taxi ride was a bit unreal. Our friendly cab driver was excited to speak in English with us, and might I say spoke very well. He drove like a maniac, swerving between cars and sometimes curbs, and knew only two speeds- fast and faster. We sped along, blaring Bob Marley on blown-out speakers, locals on pedal-bikes, and the occasional donkey pulled wagon. After an exhilarating 40 minutes of driving, we neared the small, beachfront surfing town of Taghazout. We had come to realize that none of us had an actual address of our destination, as the owner of the apartment that we were renting said "to just ask anyone and they'll know where to send you." We pulled over, the other taxi directly behind us, and asked a random guy if he knew where Surf-N-Stay was. He said that he had no idea, but could give us a great deal on rooms in his hotel. Great. Our taxi driver assured us that we'd find it, and pulled over to the side of the road directly in front of a random row of apartments, one with an outdoor light on. We all got out of the cabs and tried to figure out what to do. Here we were, 6 Americans in Taghazout Morocco at 2 in the morning, with not a single clue as to how to find the apartment we rented. After a few minutes of talking, this short guy comes out of the lit apartment and asks if he can help us.
We tell him what we are looking for, and he says "oh, yea, this is Surf-N-Stay." Amazing- we found it out of sheer luck. He leads us inside, down a few flights of stairs, and into an apartment where we are greeted by a white, British sounding girl. It turns out that she's in fact Irish, and her Dad, Chris, is the owner of the apartment rental service. We introduce ourselves, and she then goes to "try to find the key" to the apartment we are renting. Oh boy, not the greatest of signs. She eventually finds it, and we climb back up the few flights of stairs, go outside, and begin walking in the dark of night down dirt sidewalks and narrow alleys, accompanied by a few local stray dogs. As sketchy as this might sound, we all felt completely safe the entire time. After around 5 minutes of walking, we end up in an alleyway and stop in front of a painted, wooden front door. After stating that she hopes the key fits, she attempts to open the door. It opened without a problem. Good sign. We enter the apartment, not knowing what to expect.
In front of us was a hallway. To the right was the smallest bathroom known to man. It actually seemed like an indoor outhouse with plumbing. There was one toilet, and attached to the wall, a shower head. I don't know if it was physically possible to take a shower in that bathroom without sitting on the toilet. The next room over was the kitchen. The shelves were already stacked with miscellaneous teapots, mugs, and a random spatula. After the kitchen, still on the right side of the hallway, was a bedroom with a set of bunk beds. Looking down the hallway directly opposite the front door was another bedroom with 3 twin beds. After counting, I realized that there were only 5 beds... and 6 of us. Uh oh. I was wondering who would be willing to sleep upstairs in the living room, until out of the corner of my eye I see something on the wall. We all saw it. Wide-eyed in disgusted surprise, we all flinch a little bit. "Oh, it's just a cockroach," explains the daughter. "You'll get used to them." Ehh, that statement proved to be false. I used to be quite squeemish around cockroaches, but after having lived for a week in the lower-ninth ward of New Orleans in a dilapidated house, I got used to them. These cockroaches, however, were quite sizable. I think I draw the limit, however, when roaches exceed the length of the palm of my hand. This particular cockroach slithered down the wall, onto the pillow of one of the bed, and then disappeared underneath the sheets. Ew.
We exited that room and climbed up the stairs on the left side of the hallway. These stairs lead to a lobby, which lead to a common room. The room itself was not too bad. 3 Foam-topped, long wooden crates lined 3 of the red painted walls. In the far right-hand corner was a ceder chest filled with musty linens. Facing the threshold of the room was a set of French doors. These doors, when opened, led to a very narrow fire escape, which brought you up onto the roof. This rooftop patio with an ocean view, was by far the best, and only redeeming feature of the house. There was a glass-top dining table, chairs, a large outdoor sofa, a charcoal grill, and even a straw hut with dirty beach lounge chairs inside. After our hour long tour of the house (the girl stayed for a really long time), we began to settle down. Bottles of duty-free wine were brought up to the roof, uncorked, and drank. There was an incident in which two of the bottles fell off a table and broke, and I swiftly assembled a clean-up brigade, fearing that the red wine would stain the tiles by morning. After figuring out how to clean everything up, we decided to call it a night. Some decided to sleep outside on the roof. One kid went down into the bunkbed room. 2 other girls, and myself, decided to sleep in the upstairs lounge. We were quite scared of cockroaches climbing onto us while we slept. We had the grand idea to rearrange the furniture, and put the wooden crates next to each other to create a king-sized crate in the dead center of the room. It actually worked out quite well, aside from the fact that during the rearranging process we were super loud and it was 5 in the morning. The neighbors weren't too happy with us the next day, as it would turn out. We got everything settled, and went to bed. I quickly passed out, but was awoken (and startled) by the blaring of a voice over a loudspeaker. I opened my eyes and it was still dark outside. After piecing a few things together, I realized that this voice was that of the imam's, and he was calling all Muslims to pray. It was a hallow, haunting sound but much appreciated, as this was one of the first times in which I felt completely removed from Western, secular culture. I closed my eyes and fell back asleep.
Day 1-Fun in the Sun
After a few more hours of sleep, we collectively woke up and organized ourselves to go meet with Chris, the owner of the property. We trekked back over to his apartment and talked with him for a few minutes. He's an Irish guy that lives in Morocco full-time now. He explained the apartment, gave us a few pointers, and set-up a tour for us for the next day. He lead us downstairs and outside, directly onto the beach, where we climbed across rocks and sand. He brought us to a beachfront restaurant. When I say beachfront, I mean it in all literal senses. We sat on a patio that was carved out of the rocks. He told us to just order whatever we felt like, and they would make it. He bid us farewell, and there we sat. A friendly waiter came out and took our orders. We all got a Moroccan omlette, which came with tea, freshly squeezed orange juice, baguette, dishes of jams, honey and butter, and an omlette of tomato, onion, cilantro and possibly some other stuff. We all kind of zoned out for a while, waiting for our food, when Chris came back and introduced us to a young Moroccan named Morad who seemed to be our age, and would be our tour guide the following day. Morad hung out with us for a while during breakfast and we (the group) got to know him. After a scrumptious breakfast, we made plans with Morad to have a real Moroccan dinner of tagine and cousous. He left to go inform the restaurant, and we went down to the beach.
It was only 10:30 am or so, but the sun was already blaring. We went back to the apartment, got changed into our swimsuits, and collected what we needed for a day at the beach. We left our apartment, turned left, walked down a sandstone path passing the local fish market, and onto the sands of the beach. We found a nice spot further away from the odorous fish market, lathered up on sunscreen, and plopped down. We stayed on the beach all day, alternating sunbathing with swimming. At one point we saw someone zooming across the horizon on a jet-ski. He eventually came towards the shore and hopped off. As it would turn out, he worked for a jet-skiing company. We decided that jet-skiing needed to happen. We negotiated for a little while, and then organized ourselves into pairs. My friend Dan and I were first. Having never driven before, we agreed that Dan should drive first. We climbed on the beast, and off we went, knowing only one speed: full throttle. The wind literally whipped across my skin, and we flew over waves. It was such an adrenaline rush. We all took turns driving and riding the jet-ski for the next 45 minutes. Once our time was up, we went back to our spot on the beach to lay down. Two of my friends, Alina and Jason, had visited Morocco during Christmas break where they befriended their tour guide Abdul. They had stayed in contact with each other, and extended an invitation to Abdul to join us in Taghazout for the weekend. He took a 2 hour bus ride from where he lives, and met up with us on the beach. The group, now 7 of us, spent the rest of the afternoon on the beach, soaking up rays and swimming.
After a while, we grew hungry and were in dire need of some refreshing smoothies. We found a smoothie stand on the main road in town, and Abdul helped us order. He recommended a drink called "fruits secs," and without knowing what was in it, I ordered one too. It was amazing- a creamy avocado smoothie with almonds, dates and figs blended it. We all enjoyed our smoothies, and then took a little walk. We ended up at an outdoor market of sorts, where vendors sold jewelry on blankets on the floor, Berber music blared out of a tiny boom-box, and where you could buy all sorts of random crap. Abdul helped a few of the girls barter for lower prices, which is the norm in Morocco. After a bit of shopping, we found a dinky little restaurant and got a pot of tea. Moroccan tea is incredible- it's a strong mix of black tea, fresh mint, and 46 lbs of sugar. Tea is served in a silver pot, poured from a substantial height to create a foam, and into a small glass cup (much like a double shot-glass). We snacked on salted almonds and cashews, and sipped our tea. Afterward, we went back to the apartment to get cleaned up for dinner. We didn't actually clean up, but rather changed out of our bathing suits. In fact, none of us showered throughout the entire trip. When in Rome, right?
Dinner: we went to a restaurant on the main road of town, essentially opposite of the smoothie stand. We sat down at a long table, now as a group of 8 as Morad had come to join us. We waited for our meal to arrive and soaked up the atmosphere. The sun had recently set, and it was a calm period of dusk just before nightfall. We sat around a large, plastic table, soaking in our surroundings. The voice of the imam began to blare over the speakers as flocks of men slowly drifted towards the mosque directly in front of us. We sipped our drinks, and alas the food arrived. We feasted on two tagines, one made of goat and the other of fresh fish that was caught that afternoon. A tagine is essentially the first ever crock-pot- throw a bunch of veggies, meat, and 35 different spices in a clay pot with a cone-like clay lid, place over a hot charcoals, and let her cook all day. I had never had goat meat before, but it was delicious. The meat fell right off the bone and didn't have a gamey taste as I had much heard about. This could be because of the fresh olives or lemon that were also cooked in the tagine, giving the dish an exciting, well-rounded flavor. We ate not with forks and knives, but rather our hands, scooping up each bite with freshly baked bread that much resembled pita.We then got an order of couscous. By that point, I had stuffed myself silly, but I still tried it anyways. I was taught how to properly eat couscous- with my hands. I reached in to the clay platter, placing my hand knuckle deep into the moist couscous. Then, I curled my fingers towards the palm of my hand against the wall of the dish to grab a small heap of coucous. After lifting my hand filled with couscous out of the dish, I began to roll the couscous around like those Chinese meditation balls, occasionally squeezing it in my hand to compress the grains. After a little while of this, the couscous formed a ball, much like a matzah ball (or for my non-jews, a dumpling), and popped it right into my mouth. And, that, my friends, is how to properly eat couscous. It was awesome! After dinner; we walked across the street and Abdul bought a giant watermelon off the back of a truck. We walked the watermelon home, sliced it up, and brought it to the roof. As we snacked, Abdul began to show us how to wrap a turban like the Saharans, as he leads tours throughout the Sahara by camel. We each took a turn, and Abdul wrapped his long scarf around each of our heads, one by one, to create the turban. It was insanely fun, and us Caucasian kids looked absolutely absurd. After a little while, we hit the sack as the next day required that we get a good nights sleep.
Day 2- A little trip to Paradise
We woke up at around 8:30 or so... Actually, I have no idea of what time we woke up, but that seems about right. We got dressed, wearing our bathing suits underneath our clothes. After a little coordination, we headed back towards Sonya's, our new favorite breakfast joint that sits literally on the beach. The waiter recognized us from the day before, and essentially remembered our orders. We ate leisurely, worrying about the cloudy sky, and upon finishing, headed back over to Chris's, the apartment owner, apartment where we met up with Morad. We piled into Chris's SUV, and I managed to get shotgun. The rest of the group crammed into the back two rows of seating, and off we went. We drove along a road which hugged the seaside, our eyes darting back and forth as to not miss anything. We saw camels from a distance, people sitting underneath palm trees, and more donkey-drawn carts. After only a few minutes, we pulled into a small tow called Banana City... or Banana Town... or Banana Ville.. Honestly I forget what the name was, but it definitely began with the word "banana." Stores displayed bunches upon bunches of green and yellow bananas hanging from rafters, piled on counters, and in the back of trucks. Morad parked the SUV and went in to a few stores to buy things for lunch while we waited in the car. He came back maybe 10 minutes later with several liter bottles of water, an entire shopping bag of fresh, flat bread, nuts, vegetables, raw chicken, and fruit. We loaded everything in the car, and off we drove.
As we continued driving, the terrain began to change. The land was no longer flat, but hilly, and then mountainous. We passed through small towns where the ghostlike outlines of women flowed across the dirt road with massive sacks of rice or grain perched carefully on their heads. There were less and less cars, and more and more donkeys. Eventually, the towns began to come fewer and fewer as we climbed the narrow, curving roads of mountains.We got to a fairly decent elevation when Morad pulled the SUV over into the lot of a roadside stand. This stand was actually more like a concrete hut that sold "millions of million year old fossils" most of which looked like nautiluses. A few of the girls bought some fossils and geodes, all while I climbed onto the roof to enjoy an incredible panoramic view. After roughly 15 minutes, our pit-stop came to an end, we said our goodbyes to the American loving store owner, and piled back into the SUV. We recommenced our journey, and the terrain began to change again. The mountains, dusty and dotted with dark desert trees, became smoother and rockier. We began to see streams and rivers, and palm trees and green plants.The sky had cleared up as we moved away from the coast, and now the sun was shining brightly. We reached an unpaved parking lot, parked the car, unloaded all of our lunch supplies, caked on a layer of sunscreen, and began our trek. We had reached Paradise Valley, where we would hike, cliff jump, and swim in freshwater lagoons. As we began walking, we quickly realized that the nature reserves name was extremely appropriate. Paradise Valley was indeed a slice of paradise. We walked (in flip-flops) up and down steep hills, crossed muddy river banks, hopped (and fell) across rocks to cross rivers, through dirt and across boulders. After crossing a river (which we managed to do thanks to Morad's help) we ended up at a muddy bank, shaded by tall palm trees. I look around for Abdul, but he is nowhere to be seen. I see something bright yellow out of the corner of my eye, and there is Abdul, climbing up a palm tree like a monkey. After a bit of "monkeying" around, we walked a few minutes more and came to a small stone house.
The house belonged to a friend of Morad, who greeted us with a big smile. We were invited to sit outside in his hut, man-made from bamboo, old woven carpets for walls, and palm leaves for the roof. The seats were rows of benches that lined the walls, with a low table in the middle. We watched him kindle a small fire in the small, stone pit that sat directly between his house and the hut. He put the kettle on, and invited us to relax as he prepared tea. On the table in front of us, he placed a plate of extremely fresh honey (with chunks of honeycomb swimming in the amber goop), a dish of fresh peanut sauce, and another dish of Argon oil. We dipped fresh bread into the sauces, and snacked on homemade fennel biscuits. He served us the sweet, strong minty black tea which I love so much, and we drank. After our mid-morning snack, we left the house to continue on with our hike, leaving the groceries to our new host. While we were gone, he would prepare a tagine for us for dinner.
Our hike was incredible. Flip-flops made the journey a bit difficult, but we managed. The first leg of the journey was to a sizeable, freshwater lagoon, where local boys were cliff-jumping and swimming around. We joined them, each taking turns jumping. I, of course, did not jump as I am moderately to significantly scared of heights. We swam, jumped, and bathed in the sun for a while. It must have been around noon time when a few of the local boys got out, found a quiet spot, and began to pray. At that moment, I realize how much I appreciate religion because it sometimes permits people to not get lost in daily commotion, and to take time in their lives to stop, breathe, and reflect. We spent a fair amount of time at the lagoon, and then continued on with our adventure. The next leg of the journey required us to climb up a cliff, which I did with the greatest of ease (sarcasm). Once up the cliff, we hiked up steep inclines, and down sharp drops of the narrow, dirt, mountain path. This path wandered up and down, left and right, hugging the natural curves of the gorge on our left. As we climbed higher, the gorge became deeper. At one point, the gorge must have been several hundred feet down, and I was sure to avoid it at all costs. Morad skipped along, leading the group, and I trailed in the back, my lungs heavy from months which lacked any real physical exercise. After 20 minutes or more (I really have no idea how long it took), we reached our second destination: lagoon number 2. This lagoon was much larger than the first, and in order to get to the water you had to climb down a small cliff. I think I began to feel the heat of the day, so I decided to perch myself on a wide cliff ledge under the shade of a dying tree. I watched my group climb down to the lagoon, jump off even steeper cliffs than before, and swim around. Naturally, because I am an old man, my back was seriously hurting, so I laid down on the scorching rocks and dozed off for a while.
We hung out at lagoon number 2 for a decent amount of time, and then carried on with the final leg of the hike. We trekked across sharp, hot rocks (my flip-flops breaking every 3 minutes), up and across boulders, through pools of waist high water (I almost had a heart attack out of fear of falling and dropping my super awesome, non-waterproof camera which I consider to be my child) across small valleys and gorge floors. A stray dog, which are everywhere, joined our group as we grew from 8 to 9. The hike was mostly enjoyable, and we noticed that the sun-bleached rocks became redder and more clay-like. We eventually reached a spot in the gorge where the walls and floor was clay, and there were pools of murky water. This was our destination. We were a bit unimpressed, until Morad said that this is where we should leave our stuff so that it doesn't get ruined, because in order to get to the real destination, we might get a bit muddy. One by one, we took off our clothes (obviously with bathing suits underneath!), left our valuables, and slipped into the cloudy pond. The pool was shallow, but the floor was of a slippery silt. It squished beneath my toes, and I'm not sure if it felt disgusting or awesome. Either way, it was quite the sensation. I swan across, using my hands to clear a path free of water spiders and other creepy-crawlers. We reached the other end of the pond, finagled our way up the slimy clay rock and onto dried-out clay banks. We hiked across, climbing and falling down boulders, until we reached the last lagoon, lagoon number 3. I'm not sure if lagoon number 3 was even a lagoon, or more so a grotto. The depths of this perfect round pool are unknown. People have tried to measure how deep it goes, but haven't been able to succeed. Needless to say, it was incredibly deep. Most of the group took turns jumping off a high, rocky ledge. I, however, carefully dipped my toes in, estimated the danger, looked around, and then dove right in. The water was colder than the other lagoons, as this grotto was completely in the shade. I was surprised when I looked down at the dark water and was able to see my entire leg- the water was the purest, cleanest water I've ever been in. I swam across the small lagoon to the wall which wrapped 3/4 around the pool's circumference. It was almost as if this grotto was a natural, really cold jacuzzi, as the center was fairly deep, and there sides all had ledges that you could either sit on, or perch yourself on so that your body was completely out of the water. I sat on the ledge for a little while, but then got a bit too cold, and began to perch. I looked around at the stone wall and noticed a clan of hundreds of the tiniest, mini-frogs that I've ever seen. They were adorable! Alas, we all became too cold, and decided that it was probably the time to leave to make it back to the hut in time for dinner. We exited the grotto/lagoon/pool, and walked across the caked-up clay, reaching the murky, mud pond. We tried a new approach of climbing alongside the steep banks of the pond, but were unsuccessful. One friend slipped, in slow motion, across the slick, dark clay, onto his butt, and into the murk-pond. Naturally, this event was hysterical, leading us to our big revelation of the day: covering ourselves in mud for a spa treatment. My friends covered themselves completely in the stuff, whereas I was more content with drawing a mustache and goatee on my face. I think someone drew a flower on my back too. After a while of our royal mud treatment and politically incorrect jokes, we went back to the clear water grotto to rinse off, and then back through the muddy pond where we promptly got dirty again.
We hiked back the way we'd came, my body sore from both the jet-skiing the day prior, and the physical activity of our day hiking. We trekked up and over rocks, through mud, up and down hills, alongside gorges and over flowing streams. We of course, towards the end of the hike back to the house, ran into Peace Corp volunteers from Seattle and California. We chatted with them for a while, who I think were happy to speak with other Americans for a bit. We approached the house, bid them farewell, and went into the bamboo hut. Our host graciously served us water, Coke, and some fruity, sugary soda beverage called Hawaii (which for some reason I thought was absolutely hilarious), and brought out the masterpiece: the tagine. We ate that thing like it was going out of style, and slopped up every morsel with bread. After devouring day's worth of hard work in merely 15-20 minutes, we were served dessert. It was delicious, fresh fruit. We ate honeydew and cantaloupe, fresh apricots and plums, bananas, apples and oranges. I wasn't even hungry, but the fruit was so delicious that I kept eating everything that was served to me. We lounged for a while, letting our bodies digest. The sun glowed gently by this point, and had just begun to set. We thanked our host, and he lead us outside his compound to show us the turtles that swim in the river in front of his house. After our great turtle observation portion of the day, we bid him farewell, and continued on the final leg of the hike, back to the car. Again, more rivers and streams were crossed, more hills were climbed up and down, more flip-flops broke. We reached the SUV and the sun became lower and lower, yet the sky was not dark. We piled inside the car and headed to Agadir city, zooming across narrow curving mountain roads, in search of buying some wine.
After a good 40 minutes of driving, we reached the modern city of Agadir, and it was a bit of a shock. It was so Westernized and modern compared to our tiny beach-town of Taghazout. We went to a "grocery" store which was in my opinion the equivalent of a Sam's Club or Costco. We were all sort of freaked out, as this was highly unexpected. I had begun to feel a bit sick- my throat was sore and I was losing my voice. I bought a liter of OJ and hoped that would fix me up.After an exciting trip to the store, we drove into Agadir to get smoothies. I got fresh squeezed OJ, hoping that it would miraculously cure me. It didn't, but it was mighty tasty. We left Agadir and drove back to Taghazout, having ourselves a mini dance party in the car. We reached our apartment, where we got changed, and headed out to Morad's apartment to hang out. It was really fun there. He had this massive flatscreen TV and was playing the movie Borat on mute, jamming out to music on an iPod, and also to drums and other instruments that his friends were playing. Abdul taught me how to play the drums (or attempted to, but I was a bit uncoordinated). We lounged on Morad's massive couches, talking, learning to play the instruments, and occasionally dancing. It was a fantastic night, but we were all exhausted from the day. And so, the night ended early and we all walked back to our apartment to pass out.
Day 3-The Adventure comes to an end
I woke up feeling as though the angel of death hit me in the face with a brick. I was officially sick with a nasty cold. We went back to Sonya's for our usual breakfast. I ate even though I didn't have much of an appetite, and immediately felt noxious afterward. This feeling stayed with me for a majority of the morning. We went to Chris's apartment, paid him, and organized our journey back to the airport. Along the way we were to stop at a Suk (much like an Israeli shuk, or a mega mega outdoor/indoor market of everything imaginable). I don't really remember the car ride to the suk as I nodded in and out of sleep. We reached the suk and my stomach started to feel better.We wandered around, Chris showing us where to go. Abdul helped up barter with the vendors, but I didn't buy anything. I kind of regret not buying a teapot, but at the time I just wasn't in the mood to be shopping. We didn't have much time there, and soon had to get back in the car to get to the airport on time. At the airport, we said goodbye to Chris, and a sincere goodbye to our new wonderful friend Abdul, and headed into the airport.
Morocco was absolutely incredible. It was one of the best weekends of my life. I can't wait to go back :)
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