So, I am actually leaving Paris this time, today. I had an amazing day yesterday-- instead of doing a walking tour or scrambling together more funds to see this or that, I simply walked back to Montmartre and spent a good 2 and 1/2 hours walking around the graveyard and reading my book. I think it may be the most beautiful place in Paris, actually. And it was the first time I felt at peace in Europe...strange, but true. Haha.
Then I went back up to the steps of the Sacre Cours and sat there, reding, writing, and listening to music for hours.
A very good day.
Now for where to go.
I think I may attempt to walk to Poitier:
I have 19 days to get there. It's only 184 miles...
I realised I had come here for adventure, and all I was doing was going from place to place, miserable, as though my life could end at any moment. Life must be lived full of adventure or it is not living, I think. All I have done is spent money on buses and hostles. But I am carrying a very heavy tent on my back for a reason, and if I wanted the buses, I should have stayed home on the greyhound...after all, I came here for the countryside, did I not?
The other choice is to take the bus down to Aix-en-Provence (if it's even possible, I don't think Eurolines lets you go from city to city within a country, but we'll see today) and walk to Marseille (a mere 33 kilometers away) and then spend a few days one the beach...or go to Barcelona and then to Poitier...
...Or I could just be random about it and go to Germany (a language I actually speak moderately well) or to the Czech Republic...
OR.......................... ?
Well, we'll see. I'm off to the bus and train stations again. Let's see where the road goes, and I'll do my best to follow it...
...or go the other way. ;)
Maybe it's just time for an adventure...eh?
...Who knows when we shall speak again, but all my love,
~ Genevieve
9/25/08
9/23/08
Maybe I'm getting old in my young age...
I am still in Paris. Yep. I'm still here.
I checked on line. There was a bus to Bologna. I was supposed to be on it. The was a bus to Bologna. Departing tonight. At 5pm. Tonight. I checked.
...Online.
But in reality, it apparently only runs every other day.
So here I am.
I spent the entire day, miserable, wandering in the rain. Going from subway station to subway staion. Excuse me, "metro". Asking and re-asking the prices, times, and dates of buses trains, etc.
Crying when I was tired and wet and cold. Searching hotel after hotel when it was apparent I would have to stay the night.
...I won't bore with the details, but eventually I made it back to the hostel I stayed at before-- tonight I will be sharing a room with two lovely girls from Melborne, and pity them having to deal with my cough all night...hope I don't alienate them too much-- and have been happy ever since.
I'm not going to go to Bologna. Not yet.
Since I began my journey, all these relatively aweful, but manageable things have been happening. I have been in a constant state of panic and frustration and homesickness; waiting and holding my breath to MOVE ON to the next place.
I think the world is telling me to slow down.
After all, if I'm not enjoying myself here...than why am I here? I didn't leave a job in the US so that I could just get up and work in Europe...and for no money...did I? Or did I?
When is my vacation?
Growing up, it was always such a foreign concept to me. We didn't really have vacations. We couldn't afford them or there wasn't time, or maybe the fact that my parents were doing what they love the most meant they didn't need a vacation as much...I don't know.
But I want one.
I have decided, that unless something huge changes, I will be going home when my ticket returns on December 2nd, mostly because I have realized something I never thought: I love my friends and my family. Now that sounds harsh and awkward and is not meant to be so, but perhaps what I really mean is that I didn't realise how MUCH I love them.
Until I saw a whole beautiful world and realised none of them were there to share it with.
I like being alone...no, I don't, but it seems to be a preference of sorts and I do value alone time, and NEED it-- it is something I have not had in a while. But I saw the Eiffel Tower last night, and I couldn't point to it and look at Annie and see the smile on her face. I couldn't kiss Michael on the lover's bridge or talk about how we'd love to sing in the Sacre Cour one day with Jenny, or squabble with my sister over who gets the bigger piece of Gateau...
I need these people. I would fight for and hold close all these people who are my friends and family.
Sorry to get mushy, but it has been a bit of a huge revelation.
...in any case, I am staying in Paris. For 2 more days.
I am going to stay in the hostle and pay the 21 Euro per night-- an incredibly cheap price by the way, but still huge for me...if I weren't "on vacation" or on a journey or...me.
I couldn't wait to get out of the city.
So it's time to stay.
And then I'm heading south.
We'll see where the road begins...
Sweet dreams to everyone. I'm thinking of you. All.
...not like Big Brother...
I checked on line. There was a bus to Bologna. I was supposed to be on it. The was a bus to Bologna. Departing tonight. At 5pm. Tonight. I checked.
...Online.
But in reality, it apparently only runs every other day.
So here I am.
I spent the entire day, miserable, wandering in the rain. Going from subway station to subway staion. Excuse me, "metro". Asking and re-asking the prices, times, and dates of buses trains, etc.
Crying when I was tired and wet and cold. Searching hotel after hotel when it was apparent I would have to stay the night.
...I won't bore with the details, but eventually I made it back to the hostel I stayed at before-- tonight I will be sharing a room with two lovely girls from Melborne, and pity them having to deal with my cough all night...hope I don't alienate them too much-- and have been happy ever since.
I'm not going to go to Bologna. Not yet.
Since I began my journey, all these relatively aweful, but manageable things have been happening. I have been in a constant state of panic and frustration and homesickness; waiting and holding my breath to MOVE ON to the next place.
I think the world is telling me to slow down.
After all, if I'm not enjoying myself here...than why am I here? I didn't leave a job in the US so that I could just get up and work in Europe...and for no money...did I? Or did I?
When is my vacation?
Growing up, it was always such a foreign concept to me. We didn't really have vacations. We couldn't afford them or there wasn't time, or maybe the fact that my parents were doing what they love the most meant they didn't need a vacation as much...I don't know.
But I want one.
I have decided, that unless something huge changes, I will be going home when my ticket returns on December 2nd, mostly because I have realized something I never thought: I love my friends and my family. Now that sounds harsh and awkward and is not meant to be so, but perhaps what I really mean is that I didn't realise how MUCH I love them.
Until I saw a whole beautiful world and realised none of them were there to share it with.
I like being alone...no, I don't, but it seems to be a preference of sorts and I do value alone time, and NEED it-- it is something I have not had in a while. But I saw the Eiffel Tower last night, and I couldn't point to it and look at Annie and see the smile on her face. I couldn't kiss Michael on the lover's bridge or talk about how we'd love to sing in the Sacre Cour one day with Jenny, or squabble with my sister over who gets the bigger piece of Gateau...
I need these people. I would fight for and hold close all these people who are my friends and family.
Sorry to get mushy, but it has been a bit of a huge revelation.
...in any case, I am staying in Paris. For 2 more days.
I am going to stay in the hostle and pay the 21 Euro per night-- an incredibly cheap price by the way, but still huge for me...if I weren't "on vacation" or on a journey or...me.
I couldn't wait to get out of the city.
So it's time to stay.
And then I'm heading south.
We'll see where the road begins...
Sweet dreams to everyone. I'm thinking of you. All.
...not like Big Brother...
9/22/08
A list of things to note in Paris...France...Europe.
1. Note that when you are in Paris you will spend an exorbitent amount of cash. If you don't you are stupid. Forget the sightseeing ploys for cash. Just wander the streets and eat: Tarts and Quiches and things you will never in you life be able to pronounce. Try everything. I have spent the equivelant of 2 weeks money in 2 days of sightseeing. And I regret none of it...instead I walk.
2. Remember this, ladies: you can wear men's clothing and dress yourself to look like a big puffy no-shape marshmellow and hide all your hair under a hat and attempt to look as relatively celibate and unnatractive as possible. They will still hit on you. But if you are in a tight spot, you cannot run in heels, and you can only fight in them if you train first in Hollywood.
3. The idea for the musical Urinetown came about when one of the writers was in Europe and had the choice between using his last money to use the toilet or buying something to eat. In Europe, you have to pay to pee. You may not like it; protest all you like. It is how it is done here. Now, I have found however, there is a fast-food chain here called Quick (red sign, big white letters). Often their bathrooms are unlocked and unattended. Don't even try McDonald's there is always a guard dog.
4. Every once a month or so the museums here are free. Plan accordingly. I did not.
5. For the cheapest (relatively-- nothing is cheap in Europe) and strongest drinks, go to an Irish pub. They are everywhere and almost always friendly. For the cheapest most filling food, go to the store or go to the Chinatown-- every great city has one. Chinese food is cheap and good.
6. Remember when you journey on a tiny budget that you came to enjoy yourself. It's easy to forget. Oh, and be that person that tips.
7. Everywhere you go in Paris you will see the young people drinking something that is almost a neon red clour in a beer stein. It is a Monaco. It is delicious, cheap, and very sweet, but will not get you drunk. try it anyway. Why not? It's pretty!
8. Everywhere you go there will always be stands serving fresh hot crepes. They are not like the ones in America. They are better.
Until we meet again--
~ Genevieve
2. Remember this, ladies: you can wear men's clothing and dress yourself to look like a big puffy no-shape marshmellow and hide all your hair under a hat and attempt to look as relatively celibate and unnatractive as possible. They will still hit on you. But if you are in a tight spot, you cannot run in heels, and you can only fight in them if you train first in Hollywood.
3. The idea for the musical Urinetown came about when one of the writers was in Europe and had the choice between using his last money to use the toilet or buying something to eat. In Europe, you have to pay to pee. You may not like it; protest all you like. It is how it is done here. Now, I have found however, there is a fast-food chain here called Quick (red sign, big white letters). Often their bathrooms are unlocked and unattended. Don't even try McDonald's there is always a guard dog.
4. Every once a month or so the museums here are free. Plan accordingly. I did not.
5. For the cheapest (relatively-- nothing is cheap in Europe) and strongest drinks, go to an Irish pub. They are everywhere and almost always friendly. For the cheapest most filling food, go to the store or go to the Chinatown-- every great city has one. Chinese food is cheap and good.
6. Remember when you journey on a tiny budget that you came to enjoy yourself. It's easy to forget. Oh, and be that person that tips.
7. Everywhere you go in Paris you will see the young people drinking something that is almost a neon red clour in a beer stein. It is a Monaco. It is delicious, cheap, and very sweet, but will not get you drunk. try it anyway. Why not? It's pretty!
8. Everywhere you go there will always be stands serving fresh hot crepes. They are not like the ones in America. They are better.
Until we meet again--
~ Genevieve
I finally found it...
Well, the couple I stayed with did indeed convince me to stay in the hostle and I am truly glad of it. I have decided to buy the bus ticket tomorrow to Bologna...it is only for a week, but what of that? This was supposed to be a trip for pleasure and discovery, was it not? And as Christian, the gentleman whos family I stayed with for the last few days, pointed out in broken English mingled with French, "I think, you do not come here to stay at home and walk these childrens to schools, Non?"
And it is so.
I am glad he took me to this hostle where the sights of Paris are only a 15 walk away, because today, for the first time, I really was IN Paris. Not just in body, but HERE was I. Since I arrived in Europe, I had noticed the beautiful architechture, the amazing tastes and look of these wonderful cities, but all through a fog of homesick and loneliness and...boredom? No, not boredom, but something just as suffocating and mute.
But today I found it. Today I came home.
I had forgotten that St. Genevieve is the patron saint of Paris.
Today I found Montmartre...and my heart found it's resting place. I wandered the streets to Montmartre until I came to the cemitary, and suddenly I was walking with a song in my mouth. Of course I came too late to go in, and thought for a moment how funny it was that most everyone else in the world was trying to avoid ending up in a cemmetary, while I was desperatly searching for the door... I climbed street after street as the sun began to set, warming the beautiful buildings, the streets you dream of when you think of far away France, reminding me just a bit of the hills of San Francisco, but so much more beautiful. I was determined to find a cafe and have one good drink with my book, but I passed by cafe after cafe, the climb itself urging me to climb farther. At one point I almost turned back, but the little voice in my head said-- no, no. You do not want to do that. It is good, but it could be better-- so much better. CGo on and climb the stairs to the upper streets where you might see the sun really setting. And I did.
Somehow, following winding streets and the tops of towers in the distance, i rounded a corner and again, like when I discovered Hyde Park, I came upon the Sacre Cour. Now, they may tell you that Notre Dame is beautiful. It is noisy, advertised, and full of tourists. The Louvre? I went down inside, bought 2 postcards and turned around and went back up, preffering the streets. But this building was truly made for God. And the view from the top of the hill, is more beautiful than you could ever imagine.
People lined the steps below where a man with a guitar was singing Wonderwall with all his heart. I stared at Mother Mary trying desperately not to cough. I wandered more and stared at the Eiffel tower in all it's splendor.
Today I found Paris.
Today I came home.
And it is so.
I am glad he took me to this hostle where the sights of Paris are only a 15 walk away, because today, for the first time, I really was IN Paris. Not just in body, but HERE was I. Since I arrived in Europe, I had noticed the beautiful architechture, the amazing tastes and look of these wonderful cities, but all through a fog of homesick and loneliness and...boredom? No, not boredom, but something just as suffocating and mute.
But today I found it. Today I came home.
I had forgotten that St. Genevieve is the patron saint of Paris.
Today I found Montmartre...and my heart found it's resting place. I wandered the streets to Montmartre until I came to the cemitary, and suddenly I was walking with a song in my mouth. Of course I came too late to go in, and thought for a moment how funny it was that most everyone else in the world was trying to avoid ending up in a cemmetary, while I was desperatly searching for the door... I climbed street after street as the sun began to set, warming the beautiful buildings, the streets you dream of when you think of far away France, reminding me just a bit of the hills of San Francisco, but so much more beautiful. I was determined to find a cafe and have one good drink with my book, but I passed by cafe after cafe, the climb itself urging me to climb farther. At one point I almost turned back, but the little voice in my head said-- no, no. You do not want to do that. It is good, but it could be better-- so much better. CGo on and climb the stairs to the upper streets where you might see the sun really setting. And I did.
Somehow, following winding streets and the tops of towers in the distance, i rounded a corner and again, like when I discovered Hyde Park, I came upon the Sacre Cour. Now, they may tell you that Notre Dame is beautiful. It is noisy, advertised, and full of tourists. The Louvre? I went down inside, bought 2 postcards and turned around and went back up, preffering the streets. But this building was truly made for God. And the view from the top of the hill, is more beautiful than you could ever imagine.
People lined the steps below where a man with a guitar was singing Wonderwall with all his heart. I stared at Mother Mary trying desperately not to cough. I wandered more and stared at the Eiffel tower in all it's splendor.
Today I found Paris.
Today I came home.
Bologna... or walk?
I was picked up at an Autostoppe, running away from a kindly, though not all well-meaning Turk. Outside a shop, I stopped to ask a gentleman for directions to Paris, and he just stared at me like I was crazy. The Turk had told me I was in Paris, but in reality I was in Neuilly-Plaisance, a tiny town on the outskirts of Paris, approximately 18 kilometers away.
Eventuallty after some argument over the idea of me walking there, he and his wife invitred me to stay the night. And then the next few nights, so I have been seeing Paris by day, and spending the evenings with an amazingly generous family, with two of the most adorable little girls I have ever met. The children and their Grandmother speak no English and the parents a bit, and I of course speak only a tiny bit of French, but somehow we manage to have amazing conversations together. The Mother, Abigaïl, even went so far as to buy me soy (or soja) milk and yoghurt-- some of the best stuff I have ever tasted! If they could only have stuff like this in America, perhaps I never would have left.
I am very sick now, but we went to the store and, would you believe, medicine here is only the equivelant of $6??? I hope we get Universal healthcare, is all I can say. It would make things soooooo much better!
Today I leave. I was all set to pack my bag and follow train tracks to... wherever, but Abbi and her husband are intent on me staying at least one more night in the city, at a hostel that her husband used to work for. He is going to show me and intends to get me a discount, I think. I don't understand a hundred percent, but we all make due.
However, I just received an e-mail from another host family in Bologna who needs help for a week or two with picking grapes-- this sounds perfect to me, however, the trains, buses, and airtickets are sooo expensive, I wonder if I should... the warmth would do me and my cold all the good in the world, howeevr, so I think there isn't much of a choice...we shall see.
All my love,
~ Genevieve
Eventuallty after some argument over the idea of me walking there, he and his wife invitred me to stay the night. And then the next few nights, so I have been seeing Paris by day, and spending the evenings with an amazingly generous family, with two of the most adorable little girls I have ever met. The children and their Grandmother speak no English and the parents a bit, and I of course speak only a tiny bit of French, but somehow we manage to have amazing conversations together. The Mother, Abigaïl, even went so far as to buy me soy (or soja) milk and yoghurt-- some of the best stuff I have ever tasted! If they could only have stuff like this in America, perhaps I never would have left.
I am very sick now, but we went to the store and, would you believe, medicine here is only the equivelant of $6??? I hope we get Universal healthcare, is all I can say. It would make things soooooo much better!
Today I leave. I was all set to pack my bag and follow train tracks to... wherever, but Abbi and her husband are intent on me staying at least one more night in the city, at a hostel that her husband used to work for. He is going to show me and intends to get me a discount, I think. I don't understand a hundred percent, but we all make due.
However, I just received an e-mail from another host family in Bologna who needs help for a week or two with picking grapes-- this sounds perfect to me, however, the trains, buses, and airtickets are sooo expensive, I wonder if I should... the warmth would do me and my cold all the good in the world, howeevr, so I think there isn't much of a choice...we shall see.
All my love,
~ Genevieve
9/18/08
Goodbye Jack, :( ...Bonjour Paris!
Hitchiking...
Hmmm...hitchiking...
Well, I've done it now. From Amsterdam to Paris: " cars and approximately &- hours (a unusual amount of traffic, so I am told). I am in Paris now.
Despite my previous desire to remain in Amsterdam, I decided it had a bit to much in the way of sex, drugs, and pink-frosted donuts for my taste...I am not a big partier, and I did not appreciate James the super-rasta on the top bunk batting at my covers all night and continually climbing down onto my bed to ask if I wanted a joint. At first I was a bit scared of what was going on... then I learned he had taken some ecstacy and could not sleep. I finally asked him if he wanted my bed. He stared at me a minute and then started to fall asleep on top of my left leg. That's when I moved to the otehr side of the room to sleep underneath Jack's bunk. James muttered something along the lines of, "thank you" and I watched for the next 1/2 hour as he would curl up like a cat and then frantically get up and move to the top bunk, and then repeat the process and moveback down to the bottom...what a night.
I did manage to acquire a minimum of sleep however, and this coupled with the soup from the night before did my throat quite a bit of good. The next morning (I had thought of several possibilities in the long sections of the previous night, when sleep was stolen from me) I had virtually made up my mind to find a road south and either hitch-hike or walk until I found something of interest, but just before check out, Gentleman-Jack (for so he will be hencefiorth knighted by me, proving himself the most gallant of gentleman) stopped me in the hall to enquire what my plans were after all. I told him, but he suggested that I try to sneak on the bus he was on and go to Marseille with him for the grape-picking. He had on more than one occasion (in the 32 hours of our acquantance) proved himself a friend and it was strong in my intuition that he could be trusted, so I said, why not. We spent the rest of the morning getting to know eachother better, but as the time got closer to the great attempt to sneak onto the bus without paying, we both became rather hesitant. I did not wish to get in trouble and preffered as well to keep my honor intact, though there was no possible way I could afford to pay for the ticket myself. He assured me that he had done it many times before and the worst that could befall me was to get kicked back off, but he felt some trepidation none the less, not wishing to get me into a tight spot. We formulated many plans and shared some food, which he kindly bougt for me, without my even asking, but to no avail. He said he would not leave me stranded, but was terrified when I told him my intentions of hitch-hiking were serious. I said he should come with me, as I did not wish to leqve the sqfety of his company and it would be a grand adventure. In the end, he waited with me by the side of the road, until a couple pulled over to give me a ride, just in time for him to run back to the station and catch his bus to Marseille.
I Spent the rest of my night holding my sign "Towards FRANCE, Dank U" and speaking incredible volumes in broken German, English, French, and a minimal amount of some Dutch and Turkish I have acquired in the past 2 days. Never a dull moment...
And today, I am in Paris...a bit faster than I thought, but health dictates where I go now. My choices: to wander/walk/hitch-hike all over France and perhaps Spain, camping where I can, until I meet my friends in Poitier in Octobre, or I can move right on to Marseille, and try to find Jack again, or learn to pick grapes on my own... if only we had exchanged e-mail. It saddens me to think I may never see such a good friend again, when we had only said hello, but that is the way of this life it seems to me-- the friends you make are fast and firm, but the world is always moving, and you must with it go...
Hmmm...hitchiking...
Well, I've done it now. From Amsterdam to Paris: " cars and approximately &- hours (a unusual amount of traffic, so I am told). I am in Paris now.
Despite my previous desire to remain in Amsterdam, I decided it had a bit to much in the way of sex, drugs, and pink-frosted donuts for my taste...I am not a big partier, and I did not appreciate James the super-rasta on the top bunk batting at my covers all night and continually climbing down onto my bed to ask if I wanted a joint. At first I was a bit scared of what was going on... then I learned he had taken some ecstacy and could not sleep. I finally asked him if he wanted my bed. He stared at me a minute and then started to fall asleep on top of my left leg. That's when I moved to the otehr side of the room to sleep underneath Jack's bunk. James muttered something along the lines of, "thank you" and I watched for the next 1/2 hour as he would curl up like a cat and then frantically get up and move to the top bunk, and then repeat the process and moveback down to the bottom...what a night.
I did manage to acquire a minimum of sleep however, and this coupled with the soup from the night before did my throat quite a bit of good. The next morning (I had thought of several possibilities in the long sections of the previous night, when sleep was stolen from me) I had virtually made up my mind to find a road south and either hitch-hike or walk until I found something of interest, but just before check out, Gentleman-Jack (for so he will be hencefiorth knighted by me, proving himself the most gallant of gentleman) stopped me in the hall to enquire what my plans were after all. I told him, but he suggested that I try to sneak on the bus he was on and go to Marseille with him for the grape-picking. He had on more than one occasion (in the 32 hours of our acquantance) proved himself a friend and it was strong in my intuition that he could be trusted, so I said, why not. We spent the rest of the morning getting to know eachother better, but as the time got closer to the great attempt to sneak onto the bus without paying, we both became rather hesitant. I did not wish to get in trouble and preffered as well to keep my honor intact, though there was no possible way I could afford to pay for the ticket myself. He assured me that he had done it many times before and the worst that could befall me was to get kicked back off, but he felt some trepidation none the less, not wishing to get me into a tight spot. We formulated many plans and shared some food, which he kindly bougt for me, without my even asking, but to no avail. He said he would not leave me stranded, but was terrified when I told him my intentions of hitch-hiking were serious. I said he should come with me, as I did not wish to leqve the sqfety of his company and it would be a grand adventure. In the end, he waited with me by the side of the road, until a couple pulled over to give me a ride, just in time for him to run back to the station and catch his bus to Marseille.
I Spent the rest of my night holding my sign "Towards FRANCE, Dank U" and speaking incredible volumes in broken German, English, French, and a minimal amount of some Dutch and Turkish I have acquired in the past 2 days. Never a dull moment...
And today, I am in Paris...a bit faster than I thought, but health dictates where I go now. My choices: to wander/walk/hitch-hike all over France and perhaps Spain, camping where I can, until I meet my friends in Poitier in Octobre, or I can move right on to Marseille, and try to find Jack again, or learn to pick grapes on my own... if only we had exchanged e-mail. It saddens me to think I may never see such a good friend again, when we had only said hello, but that is the way of this life it seems to me-- the friends you make are fast and firm, but the world is always moving, and you must with it go...
9/16/08
Amsterdam, Chinese fodd, and the Red Light District...
Well, I made it to Amsterdam-- and acquired a number of new friends alond the way:
~ Alexandre, the beautiful Brazillian
~ Jack, the dark Englishman off to pick grapes in France
~ James, the Super-Rasta
~Tommy, the chivalrous and gentlemanly Chinese-Brit, with a few weeks off to do...whatever
~ Ugo, the French student with an appetite for Amsterdam and a love of Europe in it's entirity
~ Tandiwe, the elegant German student, also friends with Ugo, and an avid user of Couchsurfing.com
~Murphy, the feline owner of Hostel Tamara, and Taz the wonderful man who runs it for him, while simultaniously spouting amazing impersonations and history of every ethnicity and country of the world...
...It is so expensive here. I have a cold. My throat hurts. I miss home. I was feeling horrid after the bus ride-- I thought Greyhound was bad back at home, but people here are just plain rude, and shove each other and yell at and criticize the driver...we could not get any sleep... I really needed sleep.
However, after a shower, and a drink (kindly bought for me by Jack) and a walk around the canals with Tandiwe and Ugo, I am feeling much more at ease...
Amsterdam, no one I think can deny, is quite amazing, but at this point it looks as though I may be doomed to see the entirity at night, as I fell straight asleep once the hostel rooms were opened and a hot shower was mine.
The boys were quite gentlemanly: Alex had a reservation at the Flying Pig Hostle, but they were all filled, so the boys wandered around with me until we could find something we could all afford to stay at (I was the one with the super-low budget). At one point they even offered to pitch in a few Euros each to help, but we ended up at the Hostel Tamara, a wonderful little place. It was 20 Euro for the night, and did not include breakfast (still way more than I can really afford to spend) but I made the exception, because I knew that to camp out tonight in the health and state I was in when arriving would be a certain trip to the hospital, so I went to the bank and did what must be done.
Later in the evening, sitting on the canal while Ugo partook in the specialties of Amsterdam, and Tandi slowly enjoyed her hand-rolled cigarettes, I realised I had not eaten almost anything today. We ended up in Chinatown, and thinking back to a friends words on the best food to get when you are Vagabonding it on the road, I had a feeling that Chinese soup or noodles would be the only way to avoid spending more 3 or 4 Euros. And it was; we found a take-away shortly and my throat got what it needed, while my stomach was put at ease.
Jack thinks I should follow him down to Marseille where it is warmer to pick olives and grapes and earn a few Euros, (he is on a similar budget to myself) but I feel hesitant to do anything involving money that could be considered illegal. However warmth is sounding nicer, as my funds are quickly being spent and my health is not it's best...
Tandi says that I should become friends with the couchsurfing website, and Ugo thinks I should stay in Amsterdam longer to get a better feel for the city...my pocket doesn't agree, but my desires wish to saty, just for one day more...we shall see what we shall see... Unfortunately I tripped on a part of the street they were mending today, and fell hard on my body...and my camera. I will mend, my camera will not. Perhaps it is just as well...
I must remember to take my time...as it is, I am missing home, but slowly waking up...
Until we speak again,
~ Vieve
~ Alexandre, the beautiful Brazillian
~ Jack, the dark Englishman off to pick grapes in France
~ James, the Super-Rasta
~Tommy, the chivalrous and gentlemanly Chinese-Brit, with a few weeks off to do...whatever
~ Ugo, the French student with an appetite for Amsterdam and a love of Europe in it's entirity
~ Tandiwe, the elegant German student, also friends with Ugo, and an avid user of Couchsurfing.com
~Murphy, the feline owner of Hostel Tamara, and Taz the wonderful man who runs it for him, while simultaniously spouting amazing impersonations and history of every ethnicity and country of the world...
...It is so expensive here. I have a cold. My throat hurts. I miss home. I was feeling horrid after the bus ride-- I thought Greyhound was bad back at home, but people here are just plain rude, and shove each other and yell at and criticize the driver...we could not get any sleep... I really needed sleep.
However, after a shower, and a drink (kindly bought for me by Jack) and a walk around the canals with Tandiwe and Ugo, I am feeling much more at ease...
Amsterdam, no one I think can deny, is quite amazing, but at this point it looks as though I may be doomed to see the entirity at night, as I fell straight asleep once the hostel rooms were opened and a hot shower was mine.
The boys were quite gentlemanly: Alex had a reservation at the Flying Pig Hostle, but they were all filled, so the boys wandered around with me until we could find something we could all afford to stay at (I was the one with the super-low budget). At one point they even offered to pitch in a few Euros each to help, but we ended up at the Hostel Tamara, a wonderful little place. It was 20 Euro for the night, and did not include breakfast (still way more than I can really afford to spend) but I made the exception, because I knew that to camp out tonight in the health and state I was in when arriving would be a certain trip to the hospital, so I went to the bank and did what must be done.
Later in the evening, sitting on the canal while Ugo partook in the specialties of Amsterdam, and Tandi slowly enjoyed her hand-rolled cigarettes, I realised I had not eaten almost anything today. We ended up in Chinatown, and thinking back to a friends words on the best food to get when you are Vagabonding it on the road, I had a feeling that Chinese soup or noodles would be the only way to avoid spending more 3 or 4 Euros. And it was; we found a take-away shortly and my throat got what it needed, while my stomach was put at ease.
Jack thinks I should follow him down to Marseille where it is warmer to pick olives and grapes and earn a few Euros, (he is on a similar budget to myself) but I feel hesitant to do anything involving money that could be considered illegal. However warmth is sounding nicer, as my funds are quickly being spent and my health is not it's best...
Tandi says that I should become friends with the couchsurfing website, and Ugo thinks I should stay in Amsterdam longer to get a better feel for the city...my pocket doesn't agree, but my desires wish to saty, just for one day more...we shall see what we shall see... Unfortunately I tripped on a part of the street they were mending today, and fell hard on my body...and my camera. I will mend, my camera will not. Perhaps it is just as well...
I must remember to take my time...as it is, I am missing home, but slowly waking up...
Until we speak again,
~ Vieve
9/15/08
Moving On...
Well, i have not seen nearly as much of London as I should or as I would like, but the time has come to move on. I will have to make my way back to England (and London) and take my time with it again, but this stop has been more about recuperation and adjustment than anything.
I woke up this morning with the beginnings of a cold, and perhaps that is what has set this need for movement upon me. As much as I love all the people here, I cannot help but feel an imposition to them if I stay much longer, and all my body seems to want to do in this city is sleep. A 12 hour bus journey and ferry ride should cure me of that, and the need to take care of myself, rather than having everyone around caring for my every need, coupled with a sufficient decrease in heavy, warm, home-cooked meals should help in abating the sloth-like quality I have shrouded round myself.
My hosts are condemning me for all the things I haven't seen or done, and off I go, but I can't seem to get my feet here in London...and this city makes me lonesome and homesick in a way that is dangerous to my health...I need a distraction...I need Amsterdam.
Originally I had thought to go over to Ireland, but the fact that I am already sick from the cold and it isn't even winter yet, shows me that I need to move on to the mainland and save the best for last...though the thought surely does sadden me; every time i see or hear of Ireland, I feel a pull and a calling home...
...But home should be at the end of a journey, not at the beginning, and tonight at 8pm I board a bus for Dover, then a ferry across, then the ride up to Amsterdam. It only makes me sad that i will not be able to see in daylight the beautiful white cliffs of Dover, but traveling by day does not agree well with my head or my stomach, and it was a special they were having on the National Express (see Greyhound for an American equivalent). They call buses ''coaches'' here, so I am traveling by coach-- the cheapest way to go in any country-- and when I checked prices for all possible schedules, this particular time and route to Amsterdam had one ticket left at the ''Funfare'' price; meaning that all of it cost me only £22 including the insurance and fees, etc. more than half the price of the other tickets for the same route...
...so here I go again...wish me luck in Amsterdam...
...And for all of you who worry, don't be if I do not write for a bit, as I do not know when i will have a computer near me again...
I woke up this morning with the beginnings of a cold, and perhaps that is what has set this need for movement upon me. As much as I love all the people here, I cannot help but feel an imposition to them if I stay much longer, and all my body seems to want to do in this city is sleep. A 12 hour bus journey and ferry ride should cure me of that, and the need to take care of myself, rather than having everyone around caring for my every need, coupled with a sufficient decrease in heavy, warm, home-cooked meals should help in abating the sloth-like quality I have shrouded round myself.
My hosts are condemning me for all the things I haven't seen or done, and off I go, but I can't seem to get my feet here in London...and this city makes me lonesome and homesick in a way that is dangerous to my health...I need a distraction...I need Amsterdam.
Originally I had thought to go over to Ireland, but the fact that I am already sick from the cold and it isn't even winter yet, shows me that I need to move on to the mainland and save the best for last...though the thought surely does sadden me; every time i see or hear of Ireland, I feel a pull and a calling home...
...But home should be at the end of a journey, not at the beginning, and tonight at 8pm I board a bus for Dover, then a ferry across, then the ride up to Amsterdam. It only makes me sad that i will not be able to see in daylight the beautiful white cliffs of Dover, but traveling by day does not agree well with my head or my stomach, and it was a special they were having on the National Express (see Greyhound for an American equivalent). They call buses ''coaches'' here, so I am traveling by coach-- the cheapest way to go in any country-- and when I checked prices for all possible schedules, this particular time and route to Amsterdam had one ticket left at the ''Funfare'' price; meaning that all of it cost me only £22 including the insurance and fees, etc. more than half the price of the other tickets for the same route...
...so here I go again...wish me luck in Amsterdam...
...And for all of you who worry, don't be if I do not write for a bit, as I do not know when i will have a computer near me again...
9/14/08
Proms in the Park...
So, late starts being what they are, last night I went out for another walk, this time without quite the same intention of actually trying to get to a particular destination, in hopes that if I had no destination, I was less likely to get lost...
Donna had suggested I try the other direction (the direction I had accidentally sort of ended up in from the night before) and shoot for Hyde Park. I did. Wandering for a bit here and there, taking pictures, mostly of doors. I swear they are going to think I am a daft tourist, walking around taking picture after picture of entry ways and balconies, but I have fallen in love with London architecture...or, at least, its doors which seem to be an art form unto themselves.
Eventually, I wandered down a beautiful street, twisting and turning through the dark night, when all of a sudden it hit my ears: music... Opera flowed over me, and I was in heaven-- the perfect soundtrack to the perfect night...I had all but given up on Hyde park, and the beautiful voice was calling me so, that there was nothing to do for it but follow...I turned a corner, and-- lo and behold-- a stretch of green opened in front of me covered in trees and absolutely FILLED with music...Hyde Park.
Turned out the BBC was having the last night of what they called 'Proms in the Park' where all sorts of famous-- and not so famous-- musicians and singers and bands performed, both live and broadcast from all over Europe for us to hear, live on the screen. By the time I made my way up to the gate where a hundred people stood, watching and listening and camping from outside the fenced off concert, the diva had finished and they had moved on to an amazing gypsy violinist, someone by the name of, ''Garret...David Garret or...something'' according to the gentleman next to me. Next up were 3 songs performed right in front of us by the incomparable José Carreras! And on and on...amazing...
Eventually, I wandered off to hunt for the perfect British pub... I found it, although by the time I did they were all but closing again; I had myself a cider, which felt like it had no alcohol til you tried to stand up, and read a good 3 chapters of my book...the perfect evening...
.....So, now, finally, I am off to see the city (in daylight, for once). All government-owned British museums are free to the public, and rather than spending almost £20 for a tour bus, I am going to spend only £3.50 for the double decker bus all-day pass, and take the tour buses map with me to show myself around...we'll see how it goes this time around...
Until then,
~ Vieve
Donna had suggested I try the other direction (the direction I had accidentally sort of ended up in from the night before) and shoot for Hyde Park. I did. Wandering for a bit here and there, taking pictures, mostly of doors. I swear they are going to think I am a daft tourist, walking around taking picture after picture of entry ways and balconies, but I have fallen in love with London architecture...or, at least, its doors which seem to be an art form unto themselves.
Eventually, I wandered down a beautiful street, twisting and turning through the dark night, when all of a sudden it hit my ears: music... Opera flowed over me, and I was in heaven-- the perfect soundtrack to the perfect night...I had all but given up on Hyde park, and the beautiful voice was calling me so, that there was nothing to do for it but follow...I turned a corner, and-- lo and behold-- a stretch of green opened in front of me covered in trees and absolutely FILLED with music...Hyde Park.
Turned out the BBC was having the last night of what they called 'Proms in the Park' where all sorts of famous-- and not so famous-- musicians and singers and bands performed, both live and broadcast from all over Europe for us to hear, live on the screen. By the time I made my way up to the gate where a hundred people stood, watching and listening and camping from outside the fenced off concert, the diva had finished and they had moved on to an amazing gypsy violinist, someone by the name of, ''Garret...David Garret or...something'' according to the gentleman next to me. Next up were 3 songs performed right in front of us by the incomparable José Carreras! And on and on...amazing...
Eventually, I wandered off to hunt for the perfect British pub... I found it, although by the time I did they were all but closing again; I had myself a cider, which felt like it had no alcohol til you tried to stand up, and read a good 3 chapters of my book...the perfect evening...
.....So, now, finally, I am off to see the city (in daylight, for once). All government-owned British museums are free to the public, and rather than spending almost £20 for a tour bus, I am going to spend only £3.50 for the double decker bus all-day pass, and take the tour buses map with me to show myself around...we'll see how it goes this time around...
Until then,
~ Vieve
Rule No. 1 - Never take a shortcut in London
Well, darn it all if I did not sleep the day away again, yesterday...luckily my hosts did too. However, while they were all up partying til all hours again, I was wandering around the city...lost. I did manage to go for a heck of a walk, though...the lesson learned? Never take a shortcut in London. It won't work.
All in all I had a good time, I'd say-- never managed to find a pub, because, by the time I got un-lost and made my way to Piccadilly Circus, the pubs had all shut down, and what cafes and discos were open were literally covered in attractive, stylish youths dressed in their finest, drinking and making tons of noise...I didn't quite fit in. One guy on the street pointed at me as I passed, in my down vest and hoody, and heavy black pants and said, ''What, is she from Alaska, or something?''
(...It made me shudder to be even a state's reference closer to Sarah Palin, thank you, though I know very well he was only talking about my clothes).
In any case, not my crowd. So eventually I made it back to the 'home' area...4 hours later...and proceeded to wander in circles for an hour, before I finally asked a rickshaw driver to point me in the right direction and found the house that was mine...
Yes, it would appear I am still directionally challenged, though perhaps that may be of use to me on this journey...eventually.
In any case, I had been meaning to get to be at around 12am or sooner, but as it happened, I did not crawl in bed til well after 3am, and then proceeded to stay awake until light was coming through the windows again. So, 4pm comes round and, oh, no, not again!
All in all I had a good time, I'd say-- never managed to find a pub, because, by the time I got un-lost and made my way to Piccadilly Circus, the pubs had all shut down, and what cafes and discos were open were literally covered in attractive, stylish youths dressed in their finest, drinking and making tons of noise...I didn't quite fit in. One guy on the street pointed at me as I passed, in my down vest and hoody, and heavy black pants and said, ''What, is she from Alaska, or something?''
(...It made me shudder to be even a state's reference closer to Sarah Palin, thank you, though I know very well he was only talking about my clothes).
In any case, not my crowd. So eventually I made it back to the 'home' area...4 hours later...and proceeded to wander in circles for an hour, before I finally asked a rickshaw driver to point me in the right direction and found the house that was mine...
Yes, it would appear I am still directionally challenged, though perhaps that may be of use to me on this journey...eventually.
In any case, I had been meaning to get to be at around 12am or sooner, but as it happened, I did not crawl in bed til well after 3am, and then proceeded to stay awake until light was coming through the windows again. So, 4pm comes round and, oh, no, not again!
9/12/08
Saturday morning, London, nearly 6:00am...
6:00am...I always say actions are better than words...
Hello London, goodbye Tube...yes, I am staying near Madonna & all sorts of other famous folks...like Sherlock Holmes...of course, he's busy right now...
Good morning, Jeeves...yes, I'll take my tea now.
(I want Jeeves on my computer)
(I want Jeeves on my computer)
...he winks at you too... ;)
London...doors are amazing here...
Window shopping in London is in-tents...(like camping, haha)...
Friday
Well, at this point I'm not sure what to do... The festivities of last night left us all sleeping in til all hours today; now the girls are going out, dressed to the 9's and reminding me of my days in Seattle when I used to go to the club with the boys, but their adventures are far too steep for my purse. I think, perhaps, I am a bit scared to go out too: I'll actually have to talk to people. Well, not have to, but spending £5 to go to the pub and sit there reading my book isn't the most exciting idea in the world. I wonder, though, why I feel I HAVE to g out and have the Euro-experience. I think if I have even 1 Guiness right now, I'll fall pat asleep. So, maybe a quiet night of a cup of tea somewheres and a few chapters of Game of Thrones could be just what I need. I don#t want to be out all night partying anyways, as I intend to rise early tomorrow, strap on my bags, and see the city (like I was planning on doing today, before we all had our fun last night, til 5 in the morning.
Apparently I eat meat again-- I'm not pleased about it, but in England it's a bit hard to get around it, it seems. And I don't want my hosts going to any more trouble than they already are for me. And Donna was right-- Irish sausages really do taste different. And their steak sauce here tastes a bit like Teryaki mixed with Worcestershire...good though.
When I look into the mirror, I can't help but notice, I think I'm starting to look like my Mother...it's the cheek bones. You can actually see them which means I must be losing weight, although I don't know how that possible with the amounts and kinds of amazing food everyone has been feeding me since I left home.
It's only my second day abroad, but the loneliness has settled in already...perhaps that's why i don't feel like leaving my room. I love all the accents here; I love listening to the way people speak...but there was a moment in the morning when I suddenly realized that I couldn't hear a voice that spoke like me...and I became frantic to hear it, for a second...I've already picked up some sort of British/Irish mix to my pronunciation; afraid to be an American, or just adapting to my surroundings; making others feel at ease...or myself. It's not on purpose. It just happens.
I am here. I am in Europe. What am I doing here?
...guess I'll have to find out. Guess I should go have a drink...and read my book. Guess I should go for a walk...
Apparently I eat meat again-- I'm not pleased about it, but in England it's a bit hard to get around it, it seems. And I don't want my hosts going to any more trouble than they already are for me. And Donna was right-- Irish sausages really do taste different. And their steak sauce here tastes a bit like Teryaki mixed with Worcestershire...good though.
When I look into the mirror, I can't help but notice, I think I'm starting to look like my Mother...it's the cheek bones. You can actually see them which means I must be losing weight, although I don't know how that possible with the amounts and kinds of amazing food everyone has been feeding me since I left home.
It's only my second day abroad, but the loneliness has settled in already...perhaps that's why i don't feel like leaving my room. I love all the accents here; I love listening to the way people speak...but there was a moment in the morning when I suddenly realized that I couldn't hear a voice that spoke like me...and I became frantic to hear it, for a second...I've already picked up some sort of British/Irish mix to my pronunciation; afraid to be an American, or just adapting to my surroundings; making others feel at ease...or myself. It's not on purpose. It just happens.
I am here. I am in Europe. What am I doing here?
...guess I'll have to find out. Guess I should go have a drink...and read my book. Guess I should go for a walk...
9/11/08
Good morning London!
London...I am in London. I am staying in a mansion flat, 3 blocks from where Madonna lives. I am tipsy. It is 11:47 at night here, and 3pm in Portland, Oregon and I am staying with 4 Irish women who are brilliantly amazing.
They are teaching me how to drink; my glass is never empty but it is full again; my plate is never finished but I am asked if I need something to nibble on. And I am in heaven. These are the women that truly run the world; these are the women that plays and books and the entire literary world was built upon. There is never an end to their jokes and Do you remembers and oh! hush! I was only joking! haha!
These are women who know you are family the moment you walk in the door.
They are teaching me to talk and be heard; they can always hear everything. You will say something barely audible, while 5 people are talking all at once haveing 3 different coversations, and 10 minutes later, Magella or Donna or Celine or Lorraine will turn to you and, without missing a bit, answer your remark and turn the conversation your way, while, simultaneously, another of them turns to you to start a new one...and amazingly enough, I can follow them all...
I am truly in awe of and in love with these women. I can only hope to be like them one day; they are fantastic and caring and it's just who they are!
They have explained to me that easygoing is an Irish word for...well, easygoing, but I still can't figure out what crack or cracked seems to be reffering to, but it is used quite often.
...I think I may move to Ireland... ;)
They are teaching me how to drink; my glass is never empty but it is full again; my plate is never finished but I am asked if I need something to nibble on. And I am in heaven. These are the women that truly run the world; these are the women that plays and books and the entire literary world was built upon. There is never an end to their jokes and Do you remembers and oh! hush! I was only joking! haha!
These are women who know you are family the moment you walk in the door.
They are teaching me to talk and be heard; they can always hear everything. You will say something barely audible, while 5 people are talking all at once haveing 3 different coversations, and 10 minutes later, Magella or Donna or Celine or Lorraine will turn to you and, without missing a bit, answer your remark and turn the conversation your way, while, simultaneously, another of them turns to you to start a new one...and amazingly enough, I can follow them all...
I am truly in awe of and in love with these women. I can only hope to be like them one day; they are fantastic and caring and it's just who they are!
They have explained to me that easygoing is an Irish word for...well, easygoing, but I still can't figure out what crack or cracked seems to be reffering to, but it is used quite often.
...I think I may move to Ireland... ;)
9/10/08
Some Substance for the Soul
ON A JOURNEY
"Don't be downcast, soon the night will come,
When we can see the cool moon laughing in secret
Over the faint countryside,
And we rest, hand in hand.
Don't be downcast, the time will soon come
When we can have rest.
Our small crosses will stand
On the bright edge of the road together,
And rain fall, and snow fall,
And the winds come and go."
~ Herman Hesse
9/9/08
New York, New York...
Despite all the turbulence - physical and otherwise - from our very long plane ride, the moment I stepped off, I felt...well, almost at ease. I was not, per say, smiling, but my fear of what would happen to me or being stuck in the rain or having my things stolen or murdered in a small alley left me. I felt a bit ridiculous, really.
JFK is just an airport. New York is just a city and every city has it's dangers. I had faith that I would be just fine. Actually, it's this sort of underlying knowledge that I will always be just fine that seems to keep me from really bad situations. Dogs smell fear. So do wasps. So do people. So be not afraid, and there is nothing to fear...sometimes.
In any case, after leaving the airport, I just kept asking more and more people where the streets were I was looking for and does the J train go to here or where does the Airtrain connect to the subway and eventually, I got where I needed to go.
My friend Wayne, who I had not seen since college in Seattle, was so welcoming. He and his roommates asked me about my plane ride and, while I took a shower, they made me some Ramen.
---Here I will interject myself. I have been trying to play catch-up (not the red kind) on this blog for some days now. San Francisco happened days ago, as did my arrival in NYC. But there seems to be so much to do and so little time to do it in, that re-counting every move I make is not working very well, nor, I think, wise. So, the gist of it is, I had an amazing time with Wayne and Jason and Brett and Andrew, all of whom I have not seen since my Seattle days. I eventually found my Uncle Stephen and Aunt Rebecca (my Godparents) and have had a wonderful time, and yesterday I was able to meet with the 'King of Backpackers,' Captain-pirate extraordinaire, Wade from vagabondsong.com. These major events aside, I am now forced to consolidate my NY adventures into the following list of points:
JFK is just an airport. New York is just a city and every city has it's dangers. I had faith that I would be just fine. Actually, it's this sort of underlying knowledge that I will always be just fine that seems to keep me from really bad situations. Dogs smell fear. So do wasps. So do people. So be not afraid, and there is nothing to fear...sometimes.
In any case, after leaving the airport, I just kept asking more and more people where the streets were I was looking for and does the J train go to here or where does the Airtrain connect to the subway and eventually, I got where I needed to go.
My friend Wayne, who I had not seen since college in Seattle, was so welcoming. He and his roommates asked me about my plane ride and, while I took a shower, they made me some Ramen.
---Here I will interject myself. I have been trying to play catch-up (not the red kind) on this blog for some days now. San Francisco happened days ago, as did my arrival in NYC. But there seems to be so much to do and so little time to do it in, that re-counting every move I make is not working very well, nor, I think, wise. So, the gist of it is, I had an amazing time with Wayne and Jason and Brett and Andrew, all of whom I have not seen since my Seattle days. I eventually found my Uncle Stephen and Aunt Rebecca (my Godparents) and have had a wonderful time, and yesterday I was able to meet with the 'King of Backpackers,' Captain-pirate extraordinaire, Wade from vagabondsong.com. These major events aside, I am now forced to consolidate my NY adventures into the following list of points:
THINGS I LEARNED IN NEW YORK
1. Strawberries, brown sugar, and sour cream may be the best breakfast in the history of the world.
2. A Beard Papa is not an old immigrant man with white hair waiting for Christmas holidays to come so he can play Santa Claus, but rather a fresh cream puff that they fill with vanilla custard the moment you order it. And they are good.
3. No matter how many times you've asked, or how many people at the many branches of your bank have assured you that your debit card is on the way, it is not going to be there until you have canceled your old card. Your bank likes your money. Why would they want you to go around spending it, hmmm?
4. Fedex overnight really is overnight. Good job fedex. Thank you Michael.
5. I am now an official Princess of backpackers and rock-pirate of Central Park.
6. No matter how old you are, your Godparents will always treat you like a Princess.
7. My metal water bottle makes me feel safe at nigh walking down dark streets.
8. Never try to change a $50 bill in Brooklyn. It won't happen. Not even if you try to buy stuff.
9. If the word "exit" is printed anywhere on the sign for the subway line you want, you actually do have to exit. It will not change tracks just for you...hmmmm...
10. My metal water bottle can hold an entire bottle of wine or Cava and looks inconspicuous when walking through parks.
11. My metal water bottle keeps beer cold.
12. Don't let your friends put alcohol in your water bottle, unless you want to smell and taste it for days thereafter.
13. There is a bar in Brooklyn where, on Sundays, if you buy a drink, they will give you a poker chip, and you can eat for free at the BBQ in the back. They even have veggie burgers there. Yay for me!
14. You can survive on a very small budget here, if you are willing to eat fresh bagels and cream cheese (or tofu cream cheese) every day.
15. Hummus only costs $2.50 per container here-- wow! .....Crackers cost $5.00 a box...damn.
16. The Brooklyn bridge may be my new favorite place, ever, in the world. ...and I actually kind of like the subway...don't judge. (Not the tunnels, just the train).
17. Yes, the accents really do sound like that. It's not just the movies.
18. Yes, Hassidic Jewish men really do wear long black coats and large-brimmed hats, and have the curly-que hairs And abound in NYC. It's not just the movies. (And, apparently, the women shave their heads and wear amazingly convincing wigs instead).
19. Anywhere else in the USA is a muted and washed out version of some section of New York.
and last, but not least...
20. New Yorkers are some of the friendliest and most interesting people I have ever met. If you ask, they will help.
...I thought I would hate New York, it's smells, and loud noise, and dark tunnels and alley ways...but I think, one day, I may actually have to call it home. There is something so beautiful about this city, specifically because of all it is...However, tonight I leave for England...and a whole new adventure begins...
9/8/08
Stormy Weather...
"Don't know why
There's no sun up in the sky;
Stormy weather.
Since my man and I ain't together,
It's rainin' all the time..."
Shortly after boarding, we were told we would be taking off momentarily.
Two minutes later, the engines died. The pilot came on the loudspeaker and informed us we were to stay where we were and wait for the next 40 minutes, as the the weather in NYC was very dangerous at the moment and they had a no go.
Two minutes later, the engines died. The pilot came on the loudspeaker and informed us we were to stay where we were and wait for the next 40 minutes, as the the weather in NYC was very dangerous at the moment and they had a no go.
We waited. Everyone on the flight, despite the captain's request, wanted to get off the plane, let their children run rampant, screaming up and down the aisles, and complain. (This was a theme that continued through the duration of the flight, to the point that I thought our stewardess was going to have a hernia).
Eventually we took off and, despite some bouts of turbulance, the smell of the toilets whafting over the back wall to my seat (nw I know why people really don't like to sit in the back of the plane), and a woman who insisted on standing every time the seatbelt sign came on or one of the staff made an announcement to stay in our seats, it went alright. Even enjoyable-- I had two lovely women next to me who were eager to share their magazines, gum, and starburst candies with me at every turn. That is, until we got past Lake Eerie.
Suddenly there were clouds-- LOTS of clouds. It was quite beautiful, really: a thick cover above us, like a cieling, the blue of the sky next to us, and below, tier after teir of cloud raining onto one another. Amazing. And then the pilot came on.
"Folks, we've just got word that the hurricane has not exactly subsided in New York. We ave been asked to hold a flight pattern here above the ground. Now, we have plenty of fuel to get us through this, but it may take up to 40 minutes or more...We'll let you know if anything changes."
And so, I proceeded to watch on our aerial map as our plane went round and round in circles for a good hour and a half; sun bursting out when we turned back westward, and clouds and turbulance the closer we got to the East, until...
"Folks, we are running rather dangerously out of fuel, now. Now, I understand that things are clearing up a bit around JFK, but, unfortunately, we do not have wnough fuel to get there, so we will be diverting this flight to Syracuse, where we will re-fuel, and try to get you there as soon as possible. Thanks."
Chaos.
Eventually, after our landing in Suracuse, with the plane skidding and leaning dangerously to the leftm over and over, we DID re-fuel, and proceeded to wait for about another 1/2 hour. When we finally got back in the air, no one wanted to stay in their seats. We flew for another hour, once having toi go past JFK, to let other planes in line ahead of us, get their turn to land. While everyone mumbled, and the stewardesses yelled, I fell asleep again. And tried not to think of the fact that I would now be arriving in NYC in the dark. With possibly nowhere to go. I figured, if worst came to worst, I would stay at the airport.
Eventually we landed; everyone applauded, and filed out. I found my bag (thank you, it WAS on the same flight) and found a pay phone. Wayne answered, and after a few hang-ups due to insufficient funds, the New York subway system and I bacme well aquainted.
Brooklyn. Oh, Brooklyn. How dark and dank and frightening you are;p but I know you now, and I am not afraid of you. (Ha. Ha. What a lie). But I am not afraid to survive in you, and I suppose that is who I am. New York-- Brooklyn at night, in particular, is a terrifying thing and with good reason. But there are other cities, just as dangerous-- perhaps more so becasue no one realises that the are. And, eventually, I found friends, and all was quite well. I am continually impressed by the kindness of friends and strangers. I am also amazed by the ignorance of people, and the fear I am learning to notice that lies behind so many of us and our choices in life. Much of New York is not beautiful: It smells, it is stained, it is dark and violent and harsh and ugly... but I don't have to be anyone here. I can melt into the pavement, and somehow I feel at home. Free, even. I think I may be falling in love with the things I thought I hated most. New York disgusts me...and I want more.
Gone...gone...gone...
"Life has got a habit of not standing hitched.
You got to ride it like you find it.
You got to change with it."
~ Woody Guthrie
Well, it has been quite a while since I have written, and not a moment has been dull. It seems that the fates want me to get where I am going, safely, but are intent on letting me know it will not be easy. Where to begin?
Well...first there was the incident with the bus: Michael was supposed to meet me on the bus in Medford to continue on down to San Francisco. The schedules matched. It should have worked. It didn't. I waved goodbye to my Mother, said, "I love you," one last time, and stepped on board. No Michael. He had called me to say he was boarding the bus, earlier that evening, so he should have been there, but he wasn't. I panicked. What if he bought his ticket for San Francisco instead of Vallejo? What if he got the times wrong? What if he got on the wrong bus, or was 2 minutes too late?! ...I spent most of the rest of the drive from Medford to Redding consumed by these thoughts, with no music, no book to take me out of myself, next to a half passed-out gentleman in the window seat next to me smelling distinctly of alcohol, the aftermath of cheap food having been processed, and old and possibly not yet realised vomit. I mercilessly fell asleep for a 1/2 hour and awoke covered in sweat with the gentleman resting on my shoulder. I was afraid if I took off my down jacket and vest they would come back with little bits of extra attached, so I stayed in my seat, and tried not to cry...In the meantime, the bus driver seemed intent on devouring every morsel of the road at a speed I should have relished, given my present state, but when it came to going down mountainsides and around corners bordered by cliffs in the almost total darkness (I knew this part of the road well), I could only shudder and convince myself that if it was my time to die, I hoped everyone knew that I loved them.
...When we arrived in Redding, we were informed we were about 1/2 an hour early. (Oooh! Big surprise). And as I got off, I asked if there was a pay ohone in the area. Unfortunately, I had no change and nothing was open. A very nice gentleman named Leo, whom I and my Mother had shared some good conversation with while waiting to enter the bus, came round and, after explaing my plight, he assured me that there were probably two busses on the same route, and one way or the other I would find Michael, at some point. I went to our driver, and Leo's theory proved to be correct. The other bus, however, was known for being late and so would not show up for some time. I asked if I might be able to transfer to the bus my boyfriend was most assuredly on, but the new bus driver coming on duty said I should wait to make sure he was there, which, indeed, he was. However, when I asked to have my bags transfered with my person, I was greeted with a short, "Sacramento. You'll get it in Sacramento."
I didn't like it. Apparently my bag didn't either. In the long and short of it, after MUCH, MUCH questiong in Sacramento, (but no bag-- the other bus driver had already come and gone) I was assured it would arrive with me in Vallejo, so Michael and I spent the interim, waiting to change busses, eating Candy Corn & Chips w/ hummus; him teaching me how to play Sudoku-- a new fettish of mine, now.
But of course, we arrived in Vallejo, with no bag in sight.
I was tired. I was frusterated, and very dehydrated. And I was freaking out. The woman behind the counter proceeded to tell me there was nothing they could do, not even call Sacramento to see if my bag was still there, while the young man next to her proceeded to pull out his cell phone and start texting, while answering the other phone. I got angry. So I lied.
I told them what had happend. I told them, I knew it was not their fault, but I was frusterated. And then I told them that I had medication in my bag, and if I didn't get it within the next 4 to 6 hours, I would be in the hospital. I said that I would sue them. Now, undserstand, I don't like lieing. But I have worked in the service industry, in many forms, for almost my entire life. And I know when people don't care. I know when someone hates their job. But I also know that when the words, "hospital," "sue," and "your company" are heard, people pay attention. And it worked. It still took a number of phone calls, some not-so alligator tears, and having to tell them that, no, I would not go home and wait for them to call me, I was staying here until either my bag showed up or they had to call an ambulance (hoping that the former would happen soon before my 6 hours were up). Eventually they tracked my bag to Oakland-- Michael had thought ahead and asked them to contact the next possible stops for all the buses on this route as well as the previous ones-- and someone, somewhere switched it to go back to Vallejo. It arrived intact, and only slightly bruised. I gave them my Dogoba choclate bar as thank you for the phone calls (and the text messages and online game-time we had cost them). When someone works hard for you, you must learn to say thank you, and mean it. I meant every bit of it.
Eventually we met up with y best friend, Becky; were showered with hugs, orange juice, hot showers (haha), and clean clothes, and went on to see my family.
I had forgotten California. I had forgotten the pace. When you think the transit system in Portland is efficient, boy-o go to the Bay Area. Your mind will be blown. Here they dont follow the streets, they go above them; faster than freeways, and just as expensive: $5.05 got us a one-way ticket to Fremont from Pleasant Hill. Where we spent some wonderful time with Uncles and Aunts; Granma and ity-bits who are not so ity any more. Good food. Good talk. Wonderful, wondeful to see family.
The following night, we were thrown a party by my dearest friends, the Weiss family. We had stayed with and were generously hosted by Evan, their son (and a great friend from my middle school years) and Becky, my bestest (also since middle school), who are now love birds, nesting in a gorgeous little town house in Pleasnt Hill-- (a future I predicted way back when I was 14, and I am glad it has come to fruition). Evan's mother, father, and sister have been like a second family to me, and I was so blessed to be able to see them all again, along with so many other friends and loved ones. Unfortunately, only one night was alloted us, and we soon had to pack up again and rise early in the morning, when I was to depart for the Big Apple...alone.
I had no idea where in New York I was going to go. I had only once or twice been able to connect with my friends who I was supposed to stay with while my Godfather was out of town, and had no address, no phone, and no idea of where I was going or if I could even stay there...but I was going to arrive in New York City at 6:00 at night...and I was terrified.
Thank God for hurricanes, eh? (ha.Ha.)
9/1/08
Moving, slowly, Southward...
" 'Tis but a banging of the door behind you, a blithesome step forward, and you are out of the old life and into the new! Then some day, some day long hence, jog home here if you will, when the cup has been drained and the play has been played, and sit down by your quiet river with a store of goodly memories for company. "
~ Kenneth Grahame,
The Wind in the Willows
...I am peaceful. I have not felt so free or happy in a very long time. In the back of the head and the pit of the stomach, there is still the ever-constant flutter, reminding me that the excitement is not done yet; this is the quiet before the storm, if anything. But, sitting in my Mother's house, staring out the glass doors at the multitude of chaotic and will overgrowth that is the backyard, I am so much at peace, I cannot help but smile, continually.
I have felt this same sort of peace and safety on days when my father has invited me to his house to sit in the backyard or read a book, and breathe-- everything just sort of stops, and listens. A safe-haven from the rushing and seeming-dangers and urgency of everyday life. I am wondering, now, how much of it is the peace of my Mother's house, and the love and tender care of my Mother, and how much of this will become my new state of living: always the flutter of excitement and adventure, coupled with a relaxed peace...
But for now, we are just happy to see eachother and hug each otehr often, and take in the time with each other, and the beautiful, beautiful scenery...
~ Kenneth Grahame,
The Wind in the Willows
...I am peaceful. I have not felt so free or happy in a very long time. In the back of the head and the pit of the stomach, there is still the ever-constant flutter, reminding me that the excitement is not done yet; this is the quiet before the storm, if anything. But, sitting in my Mother's house, staring out the glass doors at the multitude of chaotic and will overgrowth that is the backyard, I am so much at peace, I cannot help but smile, continually.
I have felt this same sort of peace and safety on days when my father has invited me to his house to sit in the backyard or read a book, and breathe-- everything just sort of stops, and listens. A safe-haven from the rushing and seeming-dangers and urgency of everyday life. I am wondering, now, how much of it is the peace of my Mother's house, and the love and tender care of my Mother, and how much of this will become my new state of living: always the flutter of excitement and adventure, coupled with a relaxed peace...
But for now, we are just happy to see eachother and hug each otehr often, and take in the time with each other, and the beautiful, beautiful scenery...
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