"I <3 Roma"

Since I have two weeks off from classes, I wanted to travel outside of Paris, especially since I'd be guiding my parents around for more than all of my second week. Originally, I'd planned to go to Italy to visit Bethany and Emily, but Bethany already had plans to go to Spain, and Emily was looking into traveling to Greece. Emily offered to let me tag along to Greece, but the flights, etc. were really expensive, so that idea was nixed. I toyed with the idea of going to Rome, but was stressed about finding a flight and a hostel at the last minute. Talking it over with some AYA friends and Adena's friend Ben, Ben suddenly cocked his head and said,

--Wait, you'd be going this weekend? Not to be creepy, but... I have a private room with two beds already reserved, but it's just me, the other bed's empty...
--Abuh? Really?
--Yeah, if we split it, it'd only be about 20 euro a night...
--Really? I'll definitely have to consider that...
--...it might be nice to have company...

My goal a seeming a bit more attainable, I bought a ticket that night. I'd have a 9 hour overnight layover in the Vienna airport, but that shouldn't be too bad... also, it was the only way for less than $600 that I could catch a plane back from Rome at a reasonable time. I sent a message to Ben to ask if his hostel offer still stood. From the moment he responded, "I sent a message to the Camping Tiber people to ask..." I was suspicious of the location...

He sent me a link to the "hostel's" website. Camping Tiber is a campground that also has trailer lodging and two "dorms" which are more like regular hostel rooms, I think. Ben had reserved a "Bungalow," i.e. half of one trailer with two twin beds and a private bathroom. The only downside was that the campground is located about 30 minutes by train and 5 minutes by campground shuttle outside of Rome. Also, the last train out of Rome leaves around 10:30, but not exactly, so the last shuttle to the campground is at 11. This shouldn't have be too big of a problem, right? I'd just have to watch the time and head back early each night.

My flight to Vienna was fine, the Starbucks people didn't mind that I slept in one of their armchairs for 4 hours until I woke up around 4:15. They didn't even mind that I could barely communicate "Tall Vanilla Latte, please," an hour later in any language, German, English, or otherwise. I was surrounded by Germans, but the guy addressed me in English and I was still operating in French, but trying to read as much of my Italian phrasebook as possible, in short lost with words. My flight left Vienna at 7:30 am and I got to the airport outside Rome and somehow managed to meet up with Emily in the city by 10:30. When Emily and I met Ben, he asked, "So, what are we doing?" Emily and I didn't really have any specific plans, and but Ben had a reservation for 2 at a museum because two of his friends weren't able to go... but that would have meant leaving Emily after just meeting her... so Ben went alone. Emily and I did a general tour of the city, had some awesome pizza, went to Piazza del Popolo and the park there, the Pantheon, ate some gelato...

I had told Ben I'd like to go back to the hostel at the same time as him since he'd already been there one night, but he called to say he was going back when I was out to dinner with Emily, so I would have to find my way back alone. We ordered a liter of wine, which came in a pitcher and is a LOT of wine, I think we each had four FULL glasses or so. For dessert, we ordered the " Surprise" to be adventurous and the "mini" size to be prudent, as opposed to "media" or "monstre" (?) Our confusion dissapated when the waiter presented to us a large plate with a penis and two balls drizzled with chocolate, and a bit of whipped cream on the end for effect. Made out of a pie-crust-type pastry and filled with Nutella, it was friggen delicious, but we were glad we'd chosen "mini" because it was still a bit big for two people. In terms of getting back, I didn't think I'd have too much difficulty; I had researched the Roman transportation system pretty extensively, I thought... Emily decided it would be easiest to send me to Termini, the central station in Rome, and I could catch the metro to the train from there.

The bus ended up taking about 45 minutes to arrive, which meant I got to the station at 10:50. I knew the trains would be done for the night, but Ben had said something about buses to the campground, so I called to ask him which ones. He knew the bus numbers, but not where he had gotten on, or where he had transferred. "You know what direction to walk in when you get to the station, right?" Apparently I would be walking about a mile from the bus stop at Prima Porta to the campground, alone, at night. I frantically searched through the buses, but saw none that said to Prima Porta, or the even the numbers that Ben had taken. Also, the station was basically empty since public transportation would be shutting down for the evening. Ben called again to ask when my birthday was and what city I was born in so reception would let me in when I finally arrived.

I tried to ask a man in uniform passing by for help, "Mi scusi, parla inglese?" He looked miffed and replied in short, "No," and continued on. I burst into tears because I had no idea how to get back on my own without the metro and was scared out of my mind. At that moment, a girl came up behind me, "Do you need help?" She looked worried, too. I tried to respond but only managed to nod. She asked where I was going, but she'd never heard of Prima Porta and it wasn't even on my map, this damn station is so far away. She stayed with me while her boyfriend went to ask someone for directions for me. They told me to take the bus to Mancini and showed me which one it was, but I was still unsure how that would get me to Prima Porta, but I had no choice and they seemed relatively sure this was the right bus. I thanked them and got on the bus still crying and angry at Ben for not being more helpful, or waiting for me or something.

When I got to Mancini, I immediately found a bus to Prima Porta and thanked God (when in Rome for Easter weekend...) for sending that girl to help me. Navigating from Prima Porta was another thing. The buses don't announce each stop, and it wasn't until the LED sign at the front of the bus switched from PRIMA PORTA to DEPOSITO that I realized that the driver and I were the only ones on the bus. I ran up to the front and asked, "Mi scusi, Dov'e Via Tibernia?" He asked something in Italian I couldn't understand, and I asked if he spoke English. No soap, then I realized what he'd asked. "Camping Tiber? SI! Camping Tiber!" He mimed that he'd show me the way and I could walk. He pulled out of the bus depot, turned and went up the street a ways, then stopped and opened the door. He motioned toward me and moved his arms straight ahead like an air traffic controlman. "Via Tibernia." Gratzie, gratzie! I got off and started walking. At first it was fine, I passed a few restaurants... Then civilization petered out and I was walking alone passed run down houses, an old factory, across the road from what looked like woods, I could hear dogs barking and howling in the distance... This final leg of my trip took about half an hour, but I finally saw the main entrance at the end of a dirt road and almost started crying again.

I went up to the reception desk and explained who I was, he gave me a map of the campground and circled which "Bungalow" we were staying in, then circled the restaurant to say Ben might be waiting for me there. I passed the restaurant on my way to the bungalow, but saw no sign of my "travel buddy" so I just went to the trailer. I knocked, but no answer. I tried to call Ben, no answer. Back to the restaurant. Not there. Back to the trailer. Knock, no answer. Call, no answer. Back to the restaurant... At 12:30 I finally texted him, "Where are you?" No response. I walked back to reception, "Non e la." The guy looked confused, something in Italian like, "You didn't see him in the restaurant?" "No... Do you have another key?" He pulled a large ring of keys out of a drawer in the desk and found an empty keychain that he wrote "105" on and handed to me. I made my final trip back to the trailer, unlocked the door and stepped inside. Someone stirred in the darkness and I could just make out Ben's silhouette sitting up from the bed closest to the door:

--Jen?
WTF.
"Ya."
"Welcome." He stretched out his arms to present the room to me and laid back down to sleep.
I could have punched him in his face.

But I was too tired and fell asleep instead. The next day he left early, he had a ticket to attend the St Peter's mass, but said I could text him around 1 to see if it was over yet so we could meet up. I suggested he call me when he was done, since I'd have no way of knowing... He agreed that made more sense and warned me that there was no hot water in the shower. I was already cold because there was shit for insulation in this place, but Ben had told me the day before it was cold at night, so it wasn't a surprise. I tried to take a shower regardless, but it was way too fricken cold. I ended up standing in the shower in my towel and holding the showerhead so that just my hair got wet. This half worked, mostly because I could turn the water off to vigorously rub my head to try and warm it back up between shampooings. On the bright side, I realized we had a small heater right between our beds, and it worked pretty well if you aimed it at yourself, I couldn't believe Ben found this thing right in the middle of the room... In any case, I left with wet, half frozen hair and went to meet Emily at the Pantheon. Two of her roomates came, and we saw the mass there together which was cool, despite the cold breeze coming from the hole in the Pantheon's dome. I felt worse for Emily and her friends because they had actually dressed up for the service, so they were in skirts and flats, whereas I had two layers of shirts under my sweater and coat, though my wet hair didn't help anything.

After the mass we went to get lunch since there was no word from Ben, and ended up running into another Bard girl! She came up while we were eating pizza on the steps of some monument, and said, "Jenn? Do you remember me?" Holy crap, it's Rebecca! "I'm Rebecca..." "Yeah! Omg, how are you?" She's apparently studying in Barcelona and was in Rome for the weekend (like me!) and recognized me and Emily as she was passing by. We shared our respective stories about study abroad, university strikes (Paris is not alone, although the Barcelona one sounded much smaller in scale), trying to find housing around Bard but not on-campus, tried to take a picture together to commemorate the occasion of our meeting...and then, since there was still no word from Ben, we wished Rebecca safe travels and headed to the Castle of San Angelo, the castle that King... Paul? inhabited during his reign. Emily explained the process of fresco painting to me as we walked through room after room of painted walls and we got a nice view of the city from the roof of the castle. On our way back down, two guys approached us, alternately speaking Italian, then French, then some English: "Que bella, tu aimes?" and then "Ciao, you want to take photo?" as he pretended to pose with Emily so I would take their picture.

Our last stop before dinner (still no Ben, I figured he'd met up with his friends) was the ruins of a huge Roman bathhouse from back in the day. We tried to get a student discount on the entrance fee, but the guy wasn't having it. "What country are you from? The discount is only for European Union citizens." Lame. All of Rome is that way, apparently. France has those discounts too, but also for anyone under age 25 regardless of citizenship. The 6 euro was worth it anyway because the place was MASSIVE and all around pretty cool. The place had to be at least 100 feet tall, and all the walls were made up of thin bricks and about 3 feet thick. From the arched passages above, you could tell the original building had several storeys, but none have survived, just doorways leading to open air.

When I finally heard from Ben, it was to say that he wanted to head back early again, so I'd be traveling alone back to the bungalow again. I actually ended up going back earlier than I'd planned because Emily and I were both exhausted. I found the train without any problems and was about 2/3 of the way to Prima Porta when Ben walked up to me from the far side of the car. I asked how his day had gone, he said it was fine, he'd tried to call me but for some reason his call wouldn't go through. "Oh, weird... but I got your text tonight." "...Yeah. I guess I could have tried texting earlier, huh?" On the shuttle to the campground two guys he'd met the first night came over to say Hi, a guy from Finland and one from Mexico who'd run into a crazy woman from Pennsylvania in the Forum trying to give private guided tours of the area, talking to herself and walls as she searched for takers who weren't 1)Ignorant, 2) Tourists (in the forum?? the Romans don't really hang out there, or speak English...) or 3) American, and therefore ignorant tourists, she'd said. Then they asked where we were staying, how's the bungalow? Fine, Ben said, just no hot water and cold at night. "But there's a space heater," I pointed out. "Yeah, Tomaz agreed, "that works pretty well." "Yeah, it does, but I decided it was a little too bright for me to be able to sleep," Ben argued. So he DID know about it... and would rather freeze than have light in the room.

Given how pleasant the ride back had been, it was only fitting that something go wrong when we got back to the trailer. "Um..." Ben started, looking from the door to the wall next to his bed, "We have an ant problem." It was true, there were about 50 ants lining the wall from the door to the corner of the room, and even a few stragglers among Ben's sheets. He killed most of them with a flip flop using a squish and smear technique on the floor, and I followed him with a soapy wad of toilet paper to try and wash away their scent so no more would follow their path. We tried to block off the hole in the wall that they were going to as well, and saw that we weren't the first to try, there was already a wad jammed in the corner from former travellers. Blocking the door was a bigger problem since there as about a 1 inch gap between the door and the frame. Awesome. Once the ant army on the floor, we attacked Ben's sheets. He gave his blankets a brief once over and put them on my bed while we checked his sheets. We found about three and carried the sheets outside to shake them out. We had remade his bed, slid it away from the wall into the middle of the room, and turned off the lights when he decided to check if the wall was still ant-free. They were already coming back.

Morning #2 "in Rome," still no hot water, even though Ben asked them about it the day before. Emily had work to do, so we'd agreed to meet in the afternoon, I'd have the morning to visit the Colosseum and the Forum on my own. Ben had already seen the Colosseum, but hadn't seen the Forum yet (Although the 12 euro ticket he'd bought for the Colosseum was good for both if you go the same day...) so when he asked if I wanted to get breakfast at the campground's restaurant I figured I could wait a little longer to head into the city if it meant I'd have company at the Forum. Once we had arrived in Rome about an hour later, Ben went to... somewhere else and I continued to the Colosseum and the Forum solo.

Wandering around the ruins for 3 hours or so, I was surprised how much I enjoyed the freedom of exploring on my own. I didn't have to react to anything or anyone, just me and my camera and the remnants of an ancient civilization... and tons of tourists, of course. I think what I liked most about being alone, though, was not feeling like I had to belong to one country or another. If you're with a group speaking French, you get labeled "French," in English, "American," but alone nobody knows where your from and just lets you be you without categorization. That's probably not entirely true, a blonde girl with a pink polkadot bag is probably not Japanese or Italian or even French... but it was nice all alone.

Emily met me at 1:30 and we wandered for a bit, past the Marcello theater up to the Piazza Navona, to the San Luigi dei Francesci church, to the Santa Maria Maggiore (soooo pretty! I was sad my camera battery had died). We were gonna try to see a movie, but didn't have time if I wanted to take the train back. Instead we got some gelato for dinner and ate on the steps of parliament, then walked up the Spanish steps and caught the tail end of the sunset over Rome. We hung out there for a while, just talking about being abroad, fitting in (or not) in foreign cities, going back to Bard... I decided to leave around 9:15 since Emily had class the next day and I'd have to get up at 6 to get a shuttle from the campground to the airport (at least the campground had a shuttle to Fiumicino airport, it had 1 redeeming quality!) so I wouldn't have to walk to Prima Porta even earlier to catch the train, a metro, and another train. I went to text Ben and realized he'd beaten me to it... by 4 hours. He'd sent me a message around 5 to say, "What are you up to this evening?" I sent an apologetic text back and said I was headed out but would wait for him at the Flaminio stop if he was ready to go, too. He replied that he was eating in the area but would meet me there. Emily and I said good-bye and I walked back up Via del Corso to the Flaminio train station.

It took me a little bit longer than I'd anticipated to get to Flaminio, but I looked for Ben when I got there and didn't see him, so I figured he was still eating. Just in case, I waited between the turnstiles and the train, and greeted him when he in. "When you said Flaminio, I thought you meant the metro stop, so I waited for you there, but you never showed up..." Shit, how is finding 1 person so difficult? I felt bad, but it wasn't quite my fault and it wasn't his fault... "I'm really sorry I only just got your text from earlier..." "It's ok..." On the train I joked about how Emily and I hadn't even eaten dinner, we'd just had ice cream, and he 1-upped me by saying he'd foregone finding an Italian restaurant and ended up eating at a nearby Burger King. Now I felt REALLY bad, but there was nothing I could really do.

The ants were back, of course, but fewer in number. I tried to pack most of my stuff that night so I wouldn't wake Ben up the next morning, but ended up having to repack anyway when I got up at 6 am. I went to catch the shuttle at 6:30, and was glad it hadn't left yet. Actually, it hadn't even arrived yet. Two other Americans would be taking the same shuttle to FCO, a boy and his girlfriend(?). Fifteen minutes later, they were getting worried about the time because their flight was at 9:00. "Is the shuttle coming?" they asked the guy at Reception. "It's COMING. Relax, it's not the guy's fault..." Tensions were high, but the cold morning air kept tempers cool, kind of. The driver rolled up at 3 minutes to 7 and we got on the bus. "Fiumicino?" "Yes, Fiumicino." It was a 45 minute drive, but felt longer as I watched the driver almost kill us time and time again. I've used the phone myself while driving, but I've never seen someone smoke and talk on the phone and drive at the same time. It was even worse when he finished his cigarette, because he decided to roll another one while we were on the highway...

Somehow we all made it there unharmed, and I said good-bye and thank you when I realized the other two were pulling out their wallets. For whatever reason, it had never occurred to me I'd have to pay for this service, crappy service though it was. "The website said 12 euro to go the the airport." We each pulled out 12 euro and offered it to the driver. He shook his head and said in English, "Two." We were confused. Two each? We tried that. Still wrong. He held up one finger and pulled out his phone to call Camping Tiber headquarters. He spoke to someone for about a minute, then passed me the phone. "Uh, hello?" "You are two together and there's a girl alone, right?" "No, I'm the girl alone, and the other two are here." "Okay, it's 50 euro per group, so you are 50 euro and they together are 50 euro." "50 euro PER GROUP?!" The guy with his girlfriend was visibly angry. The man on the other end of the line started talking again. "Yes, 50 per group. Here's what you do: You tell him you're together, then it's 60 for the three of you, so 20 each." (In retrospect, if it was 50 per group and we told him we were 1 group, that should have been 50/3, no?) I hung up and told the other two what he'd said. "No," the guy said, "It said 12 EACH online, that's all I'm paying. He tried to explain this to the driver, who caught the attention of some policemen standing nearby, they started in our direction. The American asked the driver to call again, and spoke to the guy himself. His side of the conversation went like this:

"Hello? We're not paying 20 euro, it says on the website 12 each to the airport, that's all we're paying. Are you kidding me? It was half an hour late! Yes, it says 12 euro online... That's to the OTHER airport? Well that's false advertising... Yes, it IS your problem!" Finally he hung up. "What do you want to do?" he asked me and his girlfriend.
"I mean... we have to pay him. We don't really have a choice, and you're going to miss your flight..." We handed over our 20 euro each and walked toward the terminal entrance. "Did you guys even have hot water in your room?"
"Not for the first three days," the girl told me.

I went to check in, but the woman at the Austrian Airlines counter said my flight had been overbooked, would I like to take a direct flight to Paris? Of course! ...when is it? There was a flight that would arrive in Paris at 12:30, but I'd have to come back at 9:45 to see if there was any room on the flight. My original flight was scheduled to leave at 10:30. I went back to the woman at 9:40 and she said, "5 more minutes." I gave her 7 and went back. She greeted me with a smile and said, "You can stay on our flight." This was disappointing, but it was also bad news since I now had less than 15 minutes to pass through security and get to my gate before my flight started boarding... I ran as soon as I had repacked my liquids and grabbed my coat from the plastic security bin, and got to gate B18 by 10:20. By 7pm, I was back "home" in Paris after just over 12 hours of travelling. Ploof!

Dos dias en Espana

So, yeah. Barcelona was awesome. I took the metro to get to the bus to get me to Beauvais to take the plane to Spain, the bus to Barcelona... and met Emily! Thank god, too, or the weekend would have sucked. I went with 7 euro of credit on my phone and got back with only 2 because it took us so long to find each other (so long being all of 3 minutes... don't call foreign cell phones in Europe if you can avoid it... or just fly normal airlines to normal airports and avoid the confusion in the first place).

But apparently the world is smaller than it seems. I ended up in a row alone for the flight to Reus, across from an American girl and a young Spanish guy she was asking, "How do you say, 'Hello?' Oh, duh, Hola. How do you say, 'Thank you?'" I met her after the flight when she turned to me and asked, "Are you taking the bus to Barcelona, too?" Half stunned, I replied slowly, "Yes." "Oh, sorry... Do you speak English?" Lol there was half a doubt in her mind that I was foreign. "Yes, I do. I think we just go out this way and the bus is right there, I'm American." Turns out, she's from West Hartford and has heard of Plainville. She was meeting up with friends, too, "They're gonna be waiting in the station with a drink for me," and would be going back to Paris the same day as me.

Emily and I went to our hostel once we'd found each other (running hug, luggage in tow). Our hostel was hilarious, we had to pay in cash but they claimed not to have any change *_*? and the whole place had sort of a... glitzy industrial feel. For example, the stairwell was cement with silver pipes running throughout, and purple glitter on the walls. We spent the first night just kind of wandering up and down the main street, turning down all of the cans of beer people were trying to sell to us. After about 3 rounds of the block, we walked toward the ocean and found a mall... and about a hundred people headed in and up to what appeared to be a night club in the mall. Uninterested, we walked around until 1 or so before going to bed.

The next morning we said, "Ok... what do we want to do?" We didn't have much to start with; Emily wanted to see the Museu de Picasso, and I wanted to get to the Sagrada Familia church. The museum was within walking distance, and we'd be inside for a bit which would allow us to wait out the rain... which never really stopped, just paused and recommenced. It wasn't too bad on the walk to the museum, it was kind of nice actually because it made all of the colors of the buildings stand out more. I always feel like Paris is rows and rows of cream colored cement and gray roofs, but Barcelona seemed full of color. Part of this impression could have been the number of plants on the street and pouring down from their ceramic pots on balconies and windows, or maybe just my hyperattention because I was outside of Paris and eager to take everything in. Whatever it was, the whole city just seemed more vivid.

I was skeptical of the Picasso museum at first, just because I felt like I knew what he was about and didn't really get it, but I enjoyed the museum much more than I expected. Most surprising to me was his early work, where he was very realistic in his rendering of people, landscapes, still lifes. From what we overheard one tourguide say, Picasso started painting when he was 14 (15? Young.) and most of the realistic paintings were from that time when he was first starting out. When we went into the rooms with more abstract pieces, they tended to be in a series and it was really cool to see what features were identifyable in one rendering but not in another of the same image. Apart from the amazing artwork, we were entertained by an elderly couple (most notably the wife) who came up on both sides of us and pushed right past to examine the painting for themselves. This was funny because I'd just finished explaining about one tour guide I'd had at the Musee d'Orsay who hated the Japanese tourists because many of them would walk right in front of you to take a picture of some or another painting, and then these this couple appeared out of nowhere and pushed us out of the way. We moved on without argument and joined another group looking at a monochromatic portrait of a woman, when the elderly woman reappeared and passed in front of the group. Without stopping, she glanced at the painting, indicated it over her shoulder to her husband with her thumb, and observed, "This iss pahta th' BLOO peeriuhd," and continued on her course. Emily and I had to excuse ourselves from the room before bursting out laughing. We visited the rest of the museum without interuption, although we did hear her from across the room tell her husband, "This iss a good one," in the same manner as before. So now you know, there's at least one good one in the Museu de Picasso.

The Sagrada Familia was a less succesful excursion because 1) it cost 10 euro to get behind the gates, 2) there were already 200 people in line to get behind the gates, and 3) it was pouring. We managed to get a few pictures from the outside which was almost entirely under construction and quickly decided to cut out losses and find lunch. Looking at the map, we saw something called the History of Catalunya museum and made that our trajectory. Since we were students, we managed to get in free and wandered through the displays, ignoring the early history since that's pretty much the same everywhere - nomadic tribes, discovering fire, using the first tools - but had lost interest by the time we got to the most recent century and were just talking at that point.

I have a thing for old churches apparently, so we headed out in search of another church, Santa Maria or something like that, and found it after only 2 tries (I blame the map). This church was closed and locked, so we couldn't get in there, either. Discouraged, we agreed to investigate the "Museu de Xocolata" to see if it was what we hoped... And it was! Sort of, anyway. Entry is 3 something euro and comes with a dark chocolate bar to nibble on as you walk through the relatively small museum. The exhibits are brief explanations about chocolate production, mixed with encased chocolate sculptures of horse-drawn chariots, bull fights, and even Asterix and Obelix! They posted pictures of past sculptures, including a chocolate replica of the Sagrada Familia and the Olympic stadium and grounds from 1988 in Barcelona. Of course, there was a gift shop/cafe, so Emily and I had a chocolate milkshake (thick chocolate milk) and hot chocolate (literally. as in, a chocolate bar melted down in your mug with whipped cream... Muy delicioso!) We walked by the Arc de Triomf to see if it really existed and I think it's prettier than the French one, again because it's colorful and not just gray on gray.

Museu/iglisia-ed out, we returned to La Rambla to take an Opera tour, but at 6:30 we had missed the last tour by about 5 hours. Instead I dragged Emily into a series of souvenir shops in search of a cool mug (because I insist my souvenirs be functional). We were staring at one rack, just kind of looking them over, and a worker came over to help us. As we struggling to guess at how you'd say, "Just looking" in Catalan, the worker said in English, "Where are you from?" "America." He looked surprised. "You are the quietest blonde American girls I have EVER seen." He went on to imitate them with his Indian-accented English, "I kind of like this one?What do you think?Do you think my mom will like it?I don't know.Oh look!This one has a donkey...Why do American girls like donkeys so much?" We had no answer for him, but I bought a mug from his store. No donkeys.

Dinner was amazing, we had huge skillets of paella, sangria, and dessert at a nice little restaurant, but by the time we'd finished we were both exhausted and Emily had to leave early the next day. We were going to go to the beach in the morning, but had forgotten about the time change and didn't account for the lost hour. Luckily, she made it to her train on time and I wandered around a little bit more before meeting the American girl in line again for the bus to Reus. They'd eaten at "this amazing Asian restaurant/bar" and almost slept in past check out time the next day. She asked if I'd gone out at all and I started to say, "Yeah, we went to the Picas-- oh, like nightlife go out? No, no we didn't do that." I was half surprised we had so little in common apart from travel plans, but it was nice to have some company, even if it was half-interested company who just wanted to cut in line to make it on the bus.

Quoi de Pont 9?

Last night was kind of exactly what I expected it to be when I heard, "Let's drink under the bridge!" It started out as a plan to drink in public, because it's allowed here. The facebook message went out thursday to get everyone together friday night, everyone being the rippon girls, Claire, Grace, and us bard girls, "the usual crowd," I guess. Oh, and this guy Lucy met on the bus one day. he was invited too (??). He was actually the one who suggested Pont Neuf in the first place and everyone was kind of like, whoo great idea, Joelo.

The evening was "Apportez Votre Propre Alcool," but I was kinda sketched out by the fact we were gonna be under a bridge and all, so Laura and I split a bottle of hard (but mild) cider. Since we still had our plastic champagne flutes from our picnic by the Eiffel Tower, we brought those to be classy. The bridge was the same one where we had our first "Activite Culturelle," a ride on the Seine tour boats which dock next to a little park where we'd waited for the next tour to start. When we left several hours later, after half of our group had peed in the bushes of said park, I thought about how everything comes 'round full circle, but not always under the same circumstances. Turns out, "under the bridge" actually refers to the park and surrounding "walkway" on a little island off the middle of the bridge. There had to be about 30+ other people already there, but we managed to scoot past them along the narrow walkway and settle along the edge by the willow tree. Among the groups of French people, most were drinking/had clearly been drinking, and two people were playing acoustic guitar into the night. One of the players started strumming what sounded like "Fade Out (Street Spirit)" and I got really excited, but he kept repeating the intro and never got to the lyrics.

Our group kind of kept to itself, the largest group of girls there + Joelo, who turned out to be pretty nice. Granted, I've been assuming the worst of people just to be cautious, so anyone who talks to me without first asking for my number or a "French kiss?" or immediately breaking the personal space rule, is "nice." Regardless, he's here in culinary school but leaving for America soon and actually did seem like a nice guy. We also met his friend, Aaron, who goes to the Cordon Bleu culinary school which is like, the best in the world, or something, and is right around the corner from my host home. He seemed pretty cool, too.

Laura, Claire, Grace and I took a break from the river to pick up more wine/the worst premixed vodka and orange drink you've ever tasted. The wine was pretty bad too, but that's what you get for 5 euro a bottle. When we got back, Amanda had just about finished her first bottle of Rose wine and we encouraged her away from the edge of the river which was a cobbled, 70 degree slope into the Seine ten feet below. Everybody else was pretty drunk, but I wasn't, nor did I want to be, plus I have this hellova cold which meant you could only hear every third syllable at normal volume when I spoke... I sounded like a choking chainsmoker. Anyway, it was around this time some guys came by looking for cigarettes. Joelo offered them his and they accepted, complained about his choice of brand, and offered to sell him pot. He declined, but the interaction encouraged others to come investigate our almost-all-girl party. Joelo turned to us and asked, "Do you know the word 'racaille?'" (trans: riffraff, hoodlum)

I only remember the name of one of the French guys we met because he was so impressed I could pronounce it (wasn't hard, but ok), and he was in white track pants, running sneakers, with a plaid cap offset on his closely-shaven head. I talked to him for a little bit, mostly in French although he kept testing out English every once in a while. He had Aaron translate, "I'm really fucked up right now," but got really scared when he heard Aaron say "fuck" because he didn't understand the context and didn't want me to get the wrong idea about him. In any case, I was standing next to Joelo when he came over again and started asking him about me, the translation of which follows:

-Hey, is she your girlfriend?
-No, no, a friend.
-You should try to make her your girlfriend, eh?
Joelo brushes it off.
-Why not? Look, she's so cute...
He motions toward me with puppydog eyes and looks back at Joelo.
-No, no, just friends.
I'm cracking up/hacking up a lung next to Joelo, he laughs too.
-But look! So cute, and outgoing... Me, I can't, but you have a chance, she's so cute...
More gesturing in my direction.
-You know, she speaks French really well. She understands everything you're saying...
Nino is a deer in the headlights,
-Oh, shit!

A while later, Nino and his friends decided they were gonna go get more booze, but Nino was worried about leaving us there, more in an overprotective way than because there was actual danger, our group nearly outnumbered the remaining French people at this point. "We're going to buy another bottle," he told me, indicating his empty handle of Jack, "but I'm going to have my friend stay here and protect you all, be careful, he will protect you!" But his friend wanted to go with them, though, and Nino pulled him back toward us twice before he finally let him tag along. It was just as well because it was late and some of the girls were worried about making the last metro before 2.

Sarah, Claire, Laura, Adena and I ended the night at a cafe on the other side of the river where we were horrified to look at the menu and go, "So, the cheapest items on the menu are... sugar crepes... and martinis..." The next cheapest thing was hot chocolate, so I paid 6,30 euro for that. We left around 3 and had to navigate the night bus from a new location. Adena and Sarah found their bus right away, Laura and Claire were traveling together, but I had to go south... I couldn't find the stop and was accosted by two people as I tried to find an N13/121/62 stop on the other side of the street. I crossed place St. Michel twice with no luck when a guy came up and threw himself on his knees before me, arms raised, I couldn't tell what he was saying, but I half-smiled and quickly walked away. He followed: (trans)
-Would you like me to accompany you?
-Non, non, merci... Laura!
Laura and Claire were across the street at the stop, still, but they were distracted by Nino's crew who had suddenly reappeared.
-Actually, I'm looking for the bus, but I don't know which...
-Oh, you speak English?
-Yes.
Suddenly he was embarassed and said in an Australian accent,
-Hey, I'm sorry about before, it was just a joke with my friend, I'm sorry.
-No worries...
-My friend says there's a station over at Chatelet, maybe you should go there? But I think you'd have to cross-
-Ya, cross back over the river...
I had negative motivation to go back across the river, alone, in the wrong direction.
The guy turned to his friend, "I think she knows more about this than we do..." Back to me:
-I'm sorry I can't help you, and I'm really sorry about before...
Finally they left and I decided I should follow Bvd St Michel until I found the right stop, and at least I'd be walking in the direction of home... it was 3:15. By traveling vaguely southwest, I managed to make my way from St Michel to Montparnasse where I knew the right buses passed, and that they'd be coming by soon, since they run on the 45s and it was almost that time. I was home by 4:15 or so and went to sleep.

When I got up this morning at 11:30, I showered and went on my computer for a while before getting breakfast because I heard an unfamiliar voice and didn't the guests to see me getting breakfast at 1 in the afternoon. My host mother was in the kitchen and I tried to greet her, but my voice is absolutely gone today. "Ah, you have a life in Paris," (??) she said. I gave her a questioning look and she explained, "You go out late, you get back late, you sleep in...and now you're sick. You know, the weather's nice, but..." I felt really embarassed and guilty and sick.

Ok, we GET it, France only works so they can STRIKE

My life would be hilarious if I wasn't living it right now... I was really looking forward to our "Activite Culturelle" this evening, a vocal performance of Ravel's hhmohmfsj. I forget the name, but it was singing, and I was so excited... The director postponed the concert until ??? because of the strike. There's a huge demonstration planned for tomorrow with all of the teachers in France, even middle school and elementary teachers, NO ONE has class... On top of that, there's a "greve generale" which means half the metros and commuter trains will not be running. But the director canceled the concert because it would have been at the Sorbonne, and he was worried people would try to stay in the building overnight to demonstrate...

In other news, I'm going to Spain with Emily!! We're going to Barcelona next Friday, and I was able to find a flight that was less than $200! Of course, looking back at my itinerary this morning, I realized that my flight doesn't actually fly into Barcelona, it flies into Reus, a town 60 miles and an 1:30 minute bus ride out from Barcelona. If I go out that Thurs night like I've done the past two weeks, I'll get up for class the next morning, grab lunch on the way to the bus stop to get me to the Beauvais airport, check in, fly, take another bus to Barcelona, and have to find my way to the hostel to meet Emily in a stange land where I don't speak the language... PS, the cost of buses is going to make up the difference between my ticket and one that goes to a bigger airport (Reus is the smallest in Spain, apparently. They have shuttles lined up with flights from my carrier because they're the only ones that go there...). BUT I'll be in Spain for the weekend for under $400 which is what it would have cost me just to fly to Prague.

In other news, I don't see my host brother around much. He's almost never hear, and when he is I just see him in passing, long enough to say, "Bonjour," or "Salut, ca va?" and then he's off again or I'm headed out. At dinner today, my host mother mused about why. She said she'd talked to her friend who takes in foreign exchange students and who had 4 sons. "Is he in love?" "No," my host mother told her. "I don't think that's it..." "Then he's jealous." My host mother thinks this is the isssue. Since I'm here, they've had to take care of me like another child, in a sense. This takes attention away from him, so he's jealous, she says. In any case, he apparently told her when they were applying for the host family position, "If it's a girl, I won't live here anymore." They didn't specify a preference to my program and told their son, "Well, we have to wait and see." Poof! Girl arrives, son disappears. He doesn't come home because I'm in the next room.

I still have nowhere to go for Easter weekend, when I'm supposed to have alternative housing arrangements; it's part of my housing contract. So... I may try to go to Milan with another girl from my program cuz I kind of have my heart set on visiting Italy and apparently it's really cheap to get there. Dunno. Still up in the air, like everything. :)

Random news: Ian H friended me on facebook today. I was embarassed to ask myself, did he go to high school with us? Now that I think of it, wasn't he on the football team? I think I always thought that was funny because he was so petit... My last vivid memory of that kid was tricking him into following us into the ladies room during a cub scout pinewood derby... in elementary school. I mean, I do have other memories of him more recently than that, but for whatever reason that's the one that stands out the most. He looks the same now but taller. It's weird sort-of hearing from people you haven't talked to in... years. It just kind of brought me back to the Toffolon and MSP days...

Stringimi forte... E vola vola con me

Thursday was another late night at Mix: I was in bed by 5:10 and awake again at 8:30 for Translation. We saw a couple of the same people we'd met the last time which was fine, but one of them was this guy who had the worst BO and loved to dance with his arms above his head... He was also rather tall which put his pits right at the level of my nose... It was really loud, much louder than the last time we were there, I think, but that meant that when this guy tried to talk to us he screamed directly into our ears... "Us" was just me, Laura, Adena, and Claire this time, but it was just as much fun. This time we met (well, I met) a Moroccan guy studying to be a doctor. He asked for my number but I deflected with, "It's not my phone, it's my friend's...(Hey, I didn't exactly lie)...but maybe I'll see you here again some time?" He made his exit and the rest of us headed back to the dance floor. A few minutes, this guy I had never met came up and tapped me on the shoulder. I turned and he asked, "I know you're staying here in Paris with your friend. Can I have the number and I can call you sometime?" "Euh, no." I guess Re'da passed on the info and his friend figured he'd try his luck? Weirded me out. The only other really weird thing was the guy who came and stood behind me on one hip with his arms folded, like how dare we not introduce ourselves or something.

Friday, Laura and I took the train out to Deauville to meet Astrid and her two Korean friends for the Asian Film Festival. For 5 euro, we were able to buy a weekend pass to all the films, for 5 euro more, a brochure with descriptions of all the films in French and English! The first night, Laura and I opted out of going to see a Korean film, Breathless, to stroll on the beach/around town. Since there's a local stable, I actually saw people riding horses through the water like you see in movies... The next morning we woke up early to see Claustrophobia (Ch.) because we thought the others were going, but ended up having to walk to the theater, which was fine because it actually took less time on foot than by car and the film was really good. Unfortunately, we missed the first minute or so and the film started with the most recent scene and went back in time to the main characters connected... in effect we actually missed the "end" of the film. Later we met the others to see "Members of the Funeral" (Kor.) which was a bit dark, followed by another Kor. film, "My Dear Enemy." From the description, "A girl who sets out to find her ex..." I had low expectations, but it was actually really good.

At night, Laura and I agreed to see "Frozen Flowers" (Kor.) on a whim. The description said it was a historical film about a King who asks his good friend, the Korean "SWAT" leader, to sleep with the Queen and help him produce an "heir" since he can't. Turns out, good friend means gay lover... Anyway, it seems like it'll just be really pretty at the beginning, maybe a love story? Until the first action scene when you're like OMG I JUST SAW THAT GUY GET AN ARROW THROUGH THE HEAD, OMG THEY JUST TOOK THAT GUY'S ARM OFF, etc. Then there's the first bedroom scene, between the King and the Chief when you say, "Oh, they're gay." Then there's the first bedroom scene with the Queen and the Chief when you say, "Oh, this is...explicit," then they bust out the 69: "Oh, this is a porno..." Then the love story, then more action and blood, then conspiracy... Astrid was planning to leave halfway through to see a Japanese horror film, but stayed the full two hours because it was so damn suspenseful. We all kind of left going, WTF, why was that so AWESOME? We headed to the beach for some air and stumbled upon the director/main actor of "Breathless," his co-star, her brother, and an assistant/translator. Astrid got up the courage to ask him for an interview, but he didn't speak English or French, so her friends and his friends helped translate. It turned into a conversation between Astrid's Korean friends and the others, Astrid, Laura and I left standing there unable to understand anything that was going on... but it was still cool and before they left he gave his e-mail address to Astrid and gave us all buttons with the film title. The next day, his film won two awards, including "Best Film of the Festival." I need to see this movie.

Sunday, we went together to see "All Around Us," (Japn) a film about a guy who works as a court room sketch artist and his wife who falls into depression when their infant daughter dies. It was a little slow at first, but in the end it was so sweet and optimistic that it made the wait worth while. We split up for lunch but agreed to meet at 2:30 to see "Departures" (Japn). When Laura and I didn't see the others anywhere, we decided they must have already gone in. I sent Astrid a txt to let her know we were inside, she responded a few minutes later that they had gotten there 5 minutes late and weren't allowed entry. It was really too bad, too, because Laura and I really enjoyed the film. There was a lot of humor in the first part and it almost seemed Western in style... It had a faster pace even though it was just as long and I almost cried more than 5 times. Laura and I sat the last film out that the others went to and we left Deauville around 10:30, getting us back to Paris around 12:30. After dropping everybody off, Astrid and I were finally home at 1:30.

I want to be Lisa Loeb when I grow up

Guess what? The strike has been extended to March 18th! Who'd a thought...

On the bright side, my AYA courses have been bumped up to 3 credits a pop... 9 credits, baby! 3 shy of what I need to satisfy the Bard administration...who apparently knew nothing of the strike until yesterday when the mother of one of the girls in my program called them. Ha! I love how on top of things those guys are... I guess that means they don't care that I haven't faxed them proof of full-time-student status yet, not that I could if I wanted to (which I do!!). Hphm.

Monday sucked. And on top of Monday, the IRS had an issue with the account number I provided, which means they won't be autodepositing that check which means I won't have access to it until I get back... not that it was enough to make a huge difference in my quality of life, here, anyway. It was almost funny, though, cuz it was about the fifth piece of bad news in a row that day.

Tuesday, in contrast, was great. It was pouring. No class, but Adena and I met with our "Political Life and French Society" discussion teacher (and a few other students) in a cafe to discuss what we should do should classes start up in the middle of March. He suggested we do the work regardless, 10 page paper due March 31 included, oral presentation preparation included, although we'd have to do all of the research on our own since class is not happening. Awesome! I love researching unfamiliar subjects in foreign languages when I have no library access because the administration hasn't printed my student ID card yet... Heck, Adena doesn't even have the 105 pages double sided reading packet yet. The prof suggested she photocopy mine. He also said they may have to turn the two "review" classes into actual classes, extending my semester here by two mandatory weeks, oh, and they may take away vacation time. He did pay for our coffees, though, which was nice of him. I realize that sounds much less great that I made it appear it would be... the great part came next:

Since we didn't have class until Cinema at 4, we decided to go to a museum... then realized it was Tuesday and nothing we knew was open. Instead, I suggested we go to the Cinematheque at Bercy to see some 5 euro films. Turns out that was closed, too. We did find an organic make-your-own-sandwich shop which was delicious... and by the time we'd finished it had stopped raining and we tried to come up with something else to do. On a whim we decided to tour the Bercy gardens and fell absolutely in love with no exaggeration. I need to go back when it's in full bloom to get pictures... I kept kicking myself for not having my camera. First off, it was green, and there were flowers already (whaaaat? it's the beginning of March!), planted in carefully crafted waves leading up to an ivy-covered hobbit-like dome. Inside the dome was a semicircle bench around a concave tiled pool, into which dripped water a single drop at a time. Sun enters through a hole in the roof and glitters on the wet tiles that shimmer with each drop. The rest of the garden was equally amazing and "whaat?": There's a set of 20+ rectangles and a sign that indicates which of 60 (yeah, 60) species of rose grow in each rectangle. Also, there're these trellis-gates covered in flowering vines that flank a shallow cement pool. And there were curious greenhouses scattered around, one of which contained giant potted orange and palm trees. Adena was ecstatic, "They took southern California, and they put it in a box!... Why can't I get into the box??"

After touring the garden, we crossed this awesome bridge to get to the Bibliotheque Nationale and saw the Globe exhibit, basically two 8 m tall globeswith artistic representations of the Earth and sky as they knew it back in 16??... Upon exiting the library I realized what Adena meant by "sunken garden" -- basically a small forest growing at least 10 stories below street level. From above ground, it kind of reminded me of Jurassic Park, ancient-looking trees growing out of a gray cage of cement and steel... no raptors, thankfully. It took us a good 1/2 hr to successfully navigate the RER C station, but found the right platform on our fourth try. This wouldn't have been so embarrassing if the platforms didn't all run parallel on the same level. Basically, the same people waiting for their train got to see us come up to one platform, go down, come up on the next furthest platform, go down, come up... etc. I was gonna take a nap when I got back, but I walked in the door and my host mother said, "I'm baking a cake, does that interest you?" I think I love cake more than sleep. That's probably not healthy.

Bonding

I was sitting at the kitchen table with my host sister, casually slurping some soup while my host mother finished cooking dinner when my host sister turned to me and said, "Teach me how to swear in English." " What?" I glanced nervously around to her mom ten feet away, oblivious to her daughter's request. My host sister laughed and insisted, "What do you say in English?" "Like what?... um... we say "Shit" a lot... "Damn..."fuck..." um..." My host mother sat down at the table and wanted to be in on the conversation: "What are you talking about?" "Swears in English," her daughter replied. She seemed unphased and they both continued to pose questions, "How do you say "putain? Vas te faire foutre?" When would you say that? What do you say when you do something stupid, like, eh, putain!" This continued through dinner, my host mother was impressed with my understanding of French cursewords, and we headed to the living room to watch "Ghost Dog," a movie starring Forest Whitaker as a modern-day samurai versus the mafia. The movie was ok, kind of weird, but there was pretty strong language, most of which didn't make it into the French subtitles. The best part by far, though, was hearing my host mother sitting cross-legged on a cushioned, 18th century-style chair in her glasses with a blanket across her lap, hands folded thereupon, remark, "Oh, they translate "fuh-cking" as "putain." "

The next night the AYA girls and I went out to Mix Club for their student night, and actually got in before midnight this time (woot!). We got in with no problems except me who got stopped and asked, "Attendez, vous avez quel age?" "21." "...Ok." Once in, we had to check all coats, sweaters and large bags seperately which meant getting in actually cost between 2 and 8 euro. The music was your basic techno, nothing we recognized but everyone else whooped at the beginning of a couple different songs... I guess Mix has a lot of regulars. Thankfully we weren't hassled too much as a group of 7 or so girls, although I did get to practice shooting people down, not for my own sake but for C's one time. I was dancing with someone when I looked over to our group to make sure they were still there and I saw C trying to push this 6' something big guy away, and he kept trying to pull her back into him. He seemed determined but she did not look into it at all, so I stepped away from the guy I was dancing with and told the guy in French, "Hey, leave her alone." He said I should mind my own business and my own dance partner. "Cassez-vous! (Get lost, at least I'm pretty sure that's the closest translation.)" at which point he told me to vas te faire foutre (go fuck yourself), and I responded, "Vous!" and pushed him gently on the sternum. He was pretty mad at this point and got up in my face a little more, "You understand what I'm saying? FRENCH ANGRY AHH" but I didn't break eye contact or back down so he gave up on me and turned to my dance partner (Oh, shit, what did I do, I'm gonna get this guy killed and he doesn't even speak this language...) who probably would have been helpless compared to this collosus of a guy, so I put my arm out and stepped in front of him protectively (clearly, I had a better shot in a fight, right?...) but luckily the guy gave up and stormed away. My dance partner asked in heavily accented English, "Is everything ok?" I winced and made a so-so gesture which he seemed to understand and went back to dancing, but I pretty much felt like a bamf. The rest of the night was pretty uneventful, we met a few pretty nice people, actually, including this one guy who said to A in French, "Eh, you're russe like me," russe meaning a red-head. She responded, "No, I'm Scottish," thinking he'd meant russe as in the feminin form of "Russian." This continued for a few minutes because it was loud and Adena couldn't hear me explaining, "HE'S TALKING ABOUT YOUR HAIR." We left around 3:30, which got me home by 4, just in time to catch 4.5 hours of sleep before our translation class the next morning...

When I got back from class, my host mother and sister were upstairs in the studio with a famous harpsicordist from Ohio, apparently. She taught for over 30 years at the Conservatory at Oberlin, but is not retired and spends half the year in the US and half the year in Paris. My host sister was interviewing her about the metaphor of the Bach piece's structure as a tree. My host mother was trying to take a portrait shot of her, but the woman was very nervous and kept breaking into laughter or making a strained, surprised-smile face. They asked me to talk with her in English to help her relax. She asked where I was from, she said her daughter had gone to Yale and was now teaching yadayadayada... My host mother stopped her, I needed to talk to her, she needed to talk less. Ok, the harpsicordist asked me about my school, what I was studying in France, well, so far not much because of the strike... Stopped again, could I talk about something more happy? Don't talk about the strike or sad things... Eventually my host sister had her do some theater exercises, look away, turn back slowly, slightly surprised, then smile, come back to center, close your eyes, and smile again... fold over your knees and let your arms hang, come back up slowly and think about your corps... I laughed, my host mother and the harpsicordist laughed, my host sister didn't understand why. "Why, what means "corps" in English?" She meant "body," but didn't realize the French word was a false cognate... "Cadavre,"
my host mother and I said in unison. More slightly nervous laughter ensued.

At 6:00 yesterday I was still waiting for one of my friends to say they'd go to the free Bastien Lucas concert with me at 7:30. It was at Theatre du Chatelet, which meant it would take me half an hour by metro to get there, I'd have to leave before 7. At 6:45, I was still waiting for a response, 6:50, 6:55, 7... Did I want to go by myself? Going to the concert meant skipping dinner chez my host family, meant buying dinner and spending cash elsewhere... He's performing again on Tuesday, but the location is a club in the 18th... If I'm going to go to a concert alone, better at this theater than at that club... So I went alone, and it was great. It was in the foyer of the theater, essentially the formal side room on the third floor of the theater where classy people hang out during intermissions... And it was just this guy and a grand steinway piano and his acoustic guitar. I'd read on his site that Radiohead is one of his main influences, but he played much more classical-style stuff at this concert, my favorite introduction he gave before a song was, "And this is Beethoven, for the guitar, yes, he loved to compose for the guitar, he made great breakthroughs with electronic music as well... but I'm going to play the acoustic version..." After that concert I met up with A and C and Lu to see another group perform at a jazz bar. We noticed there was a sign that said "Consommation obligatoire," basically you're required to order at least one drink. Which would have been fine of the cheapest thing on the menu wasn't juice for 6,20 euro. We hid the menus under a sweater until the band started playing. The singer was awful, a swooping, nasal-toned American(?) girl, and the waiter came by, asked for our order, we hesitated, he indicated the sign on the wall and then pointed to the door. We had a brief discussion of whether or not to stick it out... and unanimously grabbed our stuff and peaced. Once outside, we reaffirmed how much we'd all wanted to leave, didn't like the singer, didn't want to pay for a drink, etc. With nothing else to do, we wandered around for a few hours and then headed home to sleep, finally.