I Went to Berlin

(This building is cleverly title ‘The Old Museum’)

From what I learned during my time in Berlin, the Germans are very logical people and enjoy giving things very logical names.  I therefore titled this blog in the appropriate German fashion to clearly state exactly where I was. I suppose the extended German title would be ‘I was in Berlin, where I walked around a lot, took pictures of important historical sights, bought some peanut butter, ate paella, and got rained on.

The End.

Just Kidding.

This snarkiness must be a rebellious outburst after dealing with so much German strictness.  Just kidding, again.

So, now onto actual blogging.  I left Dublin after an amazing breakfast of brown bread toast (it’s even better warm!) and jetted off to Berlin.  I arrived in the evening and made my way to the hostel, navigating the not-incredibly clearly marked U-Bahn and S-Bahn to get there.  I stayed at the Circus Hostel in Rosenthaler Platz and it was really nice.  It was centrally located and big and clean, with a good and cheap breakfast.  It actually felt more like a hotel than a hostel.  While I wouldn’t want to stay in hostels like this all the time, this one had nothing on the atmosphere of my hostel in Belfast, it was nice to have a plush place to hang for a bit.  Although my guidebook said that food in Berlin was cheap (and it was), none of the suggestions it gave sounded very stellar (bratwurst anyone?) So I headed to a grocery store to grab some supplies for dinner.  I may have mentioned before that I absolutely love going to grocery stores in other countries, it’s so much fun to see the types of things they carry.  I popped into Bio Company, an organic grocery store, and was delighted at what I found.  Rows upon rows of organic yogurt, nut butters, produce, and cereals (muesli heaven, why has muesli not caught on in the states?!).  Already stoked on the German grocery store scene I grabbed some ingredients and enjoyed dinner back at my hostel.

The next morning I was ready to tackle Berlin.  I’d read about the main sights in my book, knew what I wanted to see, and had done my usual pre-excursion map overview to get my bearings.  After walking for all of thirty minutes I realized that I wasn’t going to understand this city on my own (or at least without whipping out my guidebook every half-block) and returned to my hostel to join the free walking tour.  I’d taken one of these in Amsterdam and it was awesome, so I had high hopes for this tour as well, and was not disappointed.  The tour was given by a young English-German woman who had been doing them for nine years.  We walked for about three and a half hours and saw and learned the history of all the main sights: Brandenburg gate, the Reichstag, Hitler’s bunker, the memorial of the murdered Jews, etc.  This tour was awesome because not only did I learn about all the history of the buildings and the events that had occurred in Berlin, I also learned some of the lesser known facts and surprises of the city as well.  For example, what now stands at checkpoint Charlie is one hundred percent not historical.  It’s simply a tourist attraction that bears zero resemblance to the actual checkpoint.  In front of the checkpoint there’s a big sign of and American soldier informing you that you’re entering the American sector.  In the photo he’s all decked out in a full military uniform, complete with a gulf war medal…  There’s also people dressed up as American soldiers who will pose with you for photographs (for five Euros) and will then stamp your passport with a ‘checkpoint Charlie’ stamp (for another five Euros), which promptly invalidates your passport.  The best part of this all?  The people who pose for the photos and stamp your passport are actually strippers.  Oh the things you learn from talking to locals.

Other interesting parts of the tour included seeing Hitler’s Bunker, it’s actually a car park now with only a tiny plaque to show his dying place, and visiting the memorial to the murdered Jews.  This iconic sight was certainly more impressive in person and the design really makes you think.

During the tour I had chatted with some of the other solo travelers and made dinner plans with an Australian girl.  We stumbled upon a little tapas bar and had an absolutely delicious dinner of cheese, olives, peppers, crusty doughy bread, paella loaded with shrimp, and two pitchers of sangria, all for thirteen Euros each.  Dear Lonely Planet, you may want to include this restaurant in your guidebook.

The next morning I headed off on a good long walk to see the East Side gallery.  This gallery is a collection of street-art-esque murals, painted by local and international artists, directly on the largest part of the Berlin wall that’s left in tact, 1.3 kilometers I believe.  It was awesome!  The art was beautiful, plentiful, thought provoking, and certainly my favorite sight in Berlin.

Now, you may have thought/hoped/begged that I left discussing bread at great length in Ireland, but alas, I did not!  Ha!  I’d actually heard great things about German bread (much more than Irish bread), so I was, of course, determined to try it out.  I stopped at a bakery during my rainy trek to the wall and grabbed two fresh rolls, both of the whole-wheat variety, one with seeds, one without.  I topped them with swiss cheese and a crunchy apple and had two nice little sandwiches.  So, what did I think of the bread?  Honestly, it was fine, it was good, but I could have found it at home, at least in Oregon where we’ve got good bakeries a plenty!

Writing this post, I realize it feels different than how I wrote about Paris or Ireland.  It felt much more methodical and without a lot of emotion (insert joke about the German temperament here).  I think that’s because while I liked Berlin, I didn’t fall in love with it.  In fact, and I heard this from other people I talked to as well, I had trouble figuring it out.  The city lacks a true city center, it’s a grid of grey buildings, harsh and hastily rebuilt, confused between modernism and brutalism.

(The most beautiful building in Berlin is the train station, with an impressive view of the Reichstag.)

However, that being said, I did like Berlin, I would happily move there in fact.  I think that there is something going on there that I just haven’t quite figured out.  There’s a definite coolness to it.  It’s clean, but with touches of edginess, surprising pops of color from impressive street art, juxtaposed against the grey walls and grey sky.  It reminds me a bit of Portland actually, with bikes galore, great recycling, and a certain hipness.

(The wall falls to Euros – interesting!)

Here’s where I can praise Berlin with absolute certainly, and perhaps this is a better complement than being seduced by the sights of Paris or the tastes of Ireland.  If I were to have children, I would not want to raise them in France and I would not want to raise them in Ireland, but it would be a privilege to raise them in Berlin.  Just from observing the city, the families, the young people, the daily goings on, I was struck by the fact that Berlin was a friendly city, an honest city, and a happy city, and with all the struggles that Berlin has faced in the past century, having these attributes is pretty darn impressive.

Belfast

As a last-minute addition to my trip I decided to head to Belfast, Northern Ireland for a quick visit.  This was more out of a desire to simply have gone to Belfast, rather than an assumption that the city would be cool (I hadn’t heard many thrilling reviews), but I’m so glad I did go, because Belfast proved to be not only historically (and presently) fascinating, but was also simply a really awesome town where I stayed in what turned out to be my absolute favorite hostel to date!

A long day of countryside train traveling brought me from Galway to Belfast and I arrived in a very intense rainstorm.  Being from the Pacific North West, I’m no stranger to heavy rain, but this downpour had me running to the nearest taxi where I hitched a quick and cheap ride to my hostel.  As far as budget travel goes, sometimes you have to weigh your options; shelling out 4 pounds for a taxi is worth it when the alternative is a twenty-minute drenching walk.  During my travels, I’ve stayed in a fair amount of hostels.  In fact, I was thinking about it on the train and figured that by the end of this trip I’ll have visited about thirty different hostels, but I found a real winner in little ‘ol Belfast.  The Vagabonds hostel is small and unassuming, but has received stellar ratings on hostelworld (my preferred hostel booking database).  Other than the standard good stuff (clean beds and bathrooms, cheap prices, free breakfast) the hostel had a great common room, good overall vibe, and an incredibly friendly staff.  There was something really refreshing about this hostel, this sentiment that the people there wanted you to have a good time simply to have a good time and experience a new city, and not necessarily to profit the hostel in anyway.

(In front of the Peace Wall, thought I’d take a spin on the wrong side of the road)

With the rain pouring down I (and most of the hostel guests) decided to spend a cozy night in around the fire.  As there was a good deal of Americans present (okay just four, but ya know, we’re proud Americans), it was deemed necessary to introduce the uninformed non-Americans to the camping favorite, s’mores (using chocolate covered digestive cookies and pink marshmallows), and other wholesome American games of the red cup and ping pong ball variety.  I think I was sold on the hostel at this point.

I only had one full day in Belfast so I knew I really had to pack the day.  Luckily the rain had mostly subsided so I was able to get lots of walking in.  I started off the day (sans guidebook or map due to the last minute nature of this stop) with a walk into the city center and around the town.  Belfast has more of an industrial feel than Dublin, but coupled with a sort of Boston charm due to lots of brick.  Union Jack flags fly frequently, and the pound sterling is the currency of choice, remember this is the United Kingdom, not Ireland!

(City Hall)

(Pounds coins are my absolute favorite)

Though I was in a different country than Ireland, I was still greeted with incredible friendliness, an even stronger accent, and more brown bread, yes!  I also felt the same loving sentiment that I’d felt in Dublin, this attachment to Ireland that seriously made me want to dance around in the streets, really I had to restrain myself.  Other highlights were finding a shop that made beautiful hand-knit scarves and blankets (Avoca) and the amount of times the word ‘lovely’ was volleyed around as I bought a pair of pants.

(St. George’s Market and Avoca Brown Bread)

After checking out the commercial parts of the city center I wandered past city hall (note that they are proud Olympic-hosting Brits), around the Titanic quarter, through Queens University, the botanical gardens, and into the free Ulster museum.  I’m a very pick museum-goer and I generally only enjoy art museums.  However, as it was raining and I’d heard good things about this one (and as it was free) I decided to check it out, and was impressed.  Although I blazed through it pretty quickly, I was fascinated by this collection of butterflies (the colors are unreal!) and was happy to see a nod to my favorite Northern Irish golfer.  Unfortunately I did not come across the real life version of Rory Mcilroy while in Belfast, as I had hoped to.

(The launching point of the Titanic)

After the museum, I embarked on what was by far the most interesting part of my time in Belfast.  I generally shy away from tours, but at the serious recommendations of others, decided to take the ‘Black Cab tour of Belfast.’  This tour, known as the nitty gritty tour of Belfast, takes you through the historically and currently divided sites of ‘the troubles,’ Northern Ireland’s bloody clashes between its Protestant and Catholic communities.  All the tours are given by men, both Catholic and Protestant, who lived through, or were active in, the troubles, and who can give you a personal account of what actually happened.  Our guide, Tom, a Catholic, took us into the Catholic and Protestant neighborhoods, to the murals, the giant wall separating the two sides, and to the newly created ‘peace wall.’  My exact sentiments are difficult to describe, but I was really shocked by what I saw.  The communities are very separated, the murals are incredibly harsh, and the whole issue is so much fresher than I imagined.  Although, as Tom said, the situation has improved a million times in the last fourteen years (when the troubles were deemed over), it is clear that there is still hatred between the two communities, and a lot of tradition and rituals that keep separation and hatred alive.

(This Protestant ‘protector’ follows you with his gun no matter where you view the mural from)

(A bonfire being built to celebrate Orangefest on July 12, a remembrance of Protestant Victory.  Out of tradition, there are hundreds of Protestant marches on this day, including into the Catholic communities, and this is when most of the current clashes take place)

Often when I’m at sights of tragic historical significance I feel less impacted than I expected to.  For example, when I went to the Anne Frank House in Amsterdam I was expecting to feel the intense sadness and the fear that others had told me they had felt there.  However, smooshed amongst other tourists and reading historical placards about the features of the house, I really only felt the ‘historical significance’ of the sight, rather than the horrors that had taken place there.  The wall in Belfast really differs from something like Anne Frank’s House because it is not being preserved as a historical sight or a tourist spot (in fact I saw no other tourists there), it is still there very much to serve its purpose, the gates between the communities still close on schedule to protect the Catholics from the Protestants and vice verse.  Because of this I think I was impacted more than at any other sight of hardship that I’ve visited.

(Signing the wall.  My name is now beside the Clintons, the Dalai Lama, Beyonce, and U2)

Tom, the guide, did a great job.  He was funny and informative, and also had very serious stories to share with us about being fired at and searched by British soldiers, finding a bomb in the store where he worked, and about the people he had known who’d lost their lives or been imprisoned during the troubles.  As he described it, he’d been growing up in a warzone without even knowing it.  Not a day went by when there wasn’t a bomb threat, shots fired, or a military chopper circling the sky.  I’ve heard that the guides of these tours generally do a good job of presenting the history in an unbiased way, and I think Tom, for the most part, did a fair job.  That being said, I would have really enjoyed taking the tour with a Protestant guide as well.  Although it’s clear that both Protestants and Catholics committed atrocities and suffered greatly during the troubles, I found myself sympathizing with the Catholics.  I wasn’t sure if this was because of tom’s possible bias, simply because the Catholics were the minority who were being treated poorly in the first place, or because a lot of my close family are Catholic.  It was very hard not to think of them when Tom would tell us how Protestant assassins would go into the houses of Catholic families and murder the daughters simply so they couldn’t have any catholic children.

(The Crown Bar, across from the Europa Hotel, the most bombed building in the world)

So clearly there is a roughness to Belfast, however, there’s also a lot of peace and a lot of areas where the conflict is not visible, nor apparently, considered.  Had I not gone on the taxi tour I probably wouldn’t have even stumbled into the neighborhoods that show that Belfast is a split city.

Honestly, most people in the world probably don’t know the difference between Protestantism and Catholicism, they probably don’t know there are differences.  It just makes you wonder why, when our similarities outweigh our differences ten to one, we allow those few differences to push us to the point of killing each other.  These people, who live on opposing sides of the wall look the same, they sound the same, they eat the same gosh darn brown bread.  This conflict is mirrored, small and large, a thousand times around the world, is any of it really necessary?

Lovin’ Dublin

I often do this thing when I visit a new city where I instantly fall in love with it, and decide that this time I have found my favorite city, that one city that is all mine that I love more than others and that I have a special connection with.  Sometimes the enchantment fades away by the end of the day (Geneva), sometimes it’s gone when I return (New York), and sometimes it really does stick around and keeps me coming back for more (Paris).  Three days here and I love Dublin, it’s fantastic, it’s awesome, and so we will wait and see what I think when I come back in a few days…

(Christ Church Cathedral)

Another thing I do when I visit a city is compare it to other cities and countries.  What does it remind me of, what is it a mix of?  Toulouse is Paris and Rome (but nowhere near as cool as either), Lisbon is Spain and Morocco, Istanbul has its own uniqueness, not quite like anywhere I’d ever been.  Dublin, I think, is a definite mix of London and Amsterdam.  Similar to London there’s a defined accent, rainy weather, a feeling of cozyness, and lots of tea drinking.  From Amsterdam, there’s buildings squashed together, a main canal, a coffeeshop culture (except here it’s pub life), a national beer (swap Guinness for Heineken), and most importantly an abundance of friendly people, and a feeling that anyone can call Dublin their home, or that anyone can travel through the city without standing out or provoking overt curiosity about their ‘tourist-ness.’

Needless to say, after Paris, Dublin was a breath of fresh air.  Dublin is real.  Life here is slower, people are smiling, fashion is average, food is fantastic, but honest, and people from all walks of life live and exist here in comfort.  Though friendliness and generosity permeate the city, it is also clear that this country has, and still faces, hardships.  There are a lot of young men homeless on the street (but still smiling and wishing you a “pleasant day, love”), a block-long queue of people out the social welfare office, a hefty national debt, and a pension to face these troubles through alcoholism.  But the city is beautiful nonetheless.  Little cobblestone streets and brightly painted pubs makeup the city center, and there are fantastic street musicians, playing everything from traditional Irish music to Johnny Cash, on every corner.

There aren’t really any huge sights to see or big museums in Dublin, so I spent my time just wandering the streets.  I made my away around Trinity College, Grafton Street (the main pedestrian shopping area), St. Steven’s Green, Temple Bar, the Irish National Gallery, and to St. Patrick’s and Christ Church Cathedral.  I really enjoyed everywhere I went, everywhere was free except for the cathedrals, and those were well worth it.  I’ve seen my fair share of cathedrals at this point, but the intricacy of these two really impressed me.  The floors (rather than being plain stone) were made of beautifully printed tile and there was a lot of ornate wood carving near the alters.

(What a nice chunk o’ floor)

I certainly wasn’t expecting Ireland to be a culinary highlight of my trip.  I was expecting lots of heavy hearty dishes featuring lots of potatoes and meat, but as I was perusing my guidebook before arriving, I came across loads of vegetarian and organic restaurants and cafés, and a little side note about how Ireland has turned very vegetarian friendly in the last decade or so.  So I spent my eating time checking out all the cafés recommended by my book and was rewarded with warm soups, veggie sandwiches, organic salads, and fresh baked bread.  I can’t even explain how much I love this bread.  Irish brown soda bread is honestly the best bread I’ve ever had in my life and I could seriously see moving to Ireland just to have this bread readily available every day.  Why is the bread so great?  Imagine delicious seedy wheat bread mixed with a biscuit.  Okay, maybe that doesn’t actually sound great, but I promise it is.  The bread has that delicious sweetness from the baking soda in a biscuit, but without the heaviness of the butter, mixed with with the healthy heartyness of good wheat bread.  Sometimes covered in pumpkin seeds, sometimes just plain, I’m seriously in love with this bread and will be perfecting the recipe when I arrive home.  If I was leaving directly from Ireland I would fill my backpack with this stuff and give it to all of you when I got home just to demonstrate how amazing it is!

(My new reason for existence)

Other things to note in Dublin:  I replaced my Birkenstocks!  This pair wasn’t quite as cheap as the pair I bought in Amsterdam, but it was still less expensive than if I’d bought them in the States.  My shoes had gotten to the point where I could feel every pebble under the nonexistent heel, so I decided it was time to say goodbye.

Also, if it weren’t for these helpful messages on the street I would have been smooshed within my first five minutes in the city.  As hard as I’m trying, I’m utterly confused by this whole ‘driving on the other (wrong) side of the road’ thing.

By law, all signs in Ireland must be printed in both English and Irish. There is worry regarding the idea that if you lose your language you lose your culture, so the Irish are trying (and succeeding) to promote Irish speaking and to make students, who are required to study it in school, more excited about learning the traditional language.

After Dublin I headed to Galway on the West Coast of Ireland.  I’d heard rave reviews about “the most Irish of all towns” and was expecting great things.  However while I liked the town, I wasn’t quite as enthralled by it as I was with Dublin or Belfast (where I am now).  However I enjoyed walking around the little town, along the coast, catching some traditional Irish music on the streets, and especially, enjoying scone and tea time.  I’ve always been a scone person.  I’ll take a good scone over a donut, muffin, croissant, or any other type of pastry (or most other breakfast foods) any day!  So the brown scones (like the brown bread, except this time with the butter) and the plain buttermilk scones were a very satisfying treat!  Call me crazy, but I’d say the deliciousness level of Irish scones compared to American scones is higher than the deliciousness level of French pastries versus American pastries!  Did that make sense? Just another reason to come to Ireland!

I feel like I’ve barely scratched the surface as to why I love Ireland so much.  I guess the truth is that I can’t really figure it out.  It rains a lot, it’s got monetary hardships, the fashion and the attractiveness of the people doesn’t come close to what can be found in Paris or Amsterdam, but it’s just so lovely.  The countryside is green and rolling, the people are so darn friendly, the bread is (just kidding I won’t mention the bread anymore), and the tea and Guinness flow freely.  Whatever it is, and hopefully I can more adeptly describe it once I write about Belfast and Dublin part two, Ireland is beautiful and amazing and I will be very sad to leave!

Paris, the Decadent and Delicious.

Paris proved magical once again.  Magical and delicious and decadent!  On my one-day stopover to Paris before I left for Southern France I wasn’t as impressed with the city as I had been on previous visits.  I was afraid that maybe I had imagined the magic of Paris, that maybe all the movies and books had lied about what a wonderful city it is.  But upon my return, with just a quick stroll over the Île Saint-Louis and a nice evening espresso at a sidewalk café, the magic came back and I remembered just how much I love the city.

I arrived in Paris on Friday afternoon, had a little picnic next to Notre Dame and then strolled around the Latin Quarter before heading in early.  Since I’ve been to Paris before, I’ve crossed off most of the big tourists spots, and instead had a smaller list of things I hadn’t yet done (mostly food based) that I wanted to do this time around.  I woke up early on Saturday and grabbed an absurdly expensive café crème at a very cool café on the rue Rivoli (in Marais and near my hotel).  Paris will be the only place I stay in a hotel because the hostels I found with availabilities had abysmal reviews and were still very expensive.  So instead I stayed in Hotel Herse d’Or right near Bastille and it was perfect.  A very basic, but clean and practical, room in a fantastic location, just on the right bank and in walking distance from everything!

My initial plan for Saturday was to wander around Marais a bit and then head over to the Louvre area in the afternoon to hit up a museum.  But an interesting thing about the relationship I have with Paris, and perhaps one of the reasons I find it so enchanting, is that I have no sense of direction in the city!  For most people this might not be surprising, but I usually have an extremely good sense of direction.  Seriously, I just have to look at a map for about five minutes then walk around a city for half an hour and I have it completely down, for good.  But with Paris, I can be sure that I’m headed in one direction and will then find myself in a completely different area than I expected to end up.  The only time I’m really sure (besides when I’m on streets I know) is when I’m next to the river.  So anyway, I started walking around Marais, with Paris all mapped out in my head, sure I was heading towards Bastille and beyond, when all the sudden I turned a corner and I was at the Louvre!  Stunned, I just had to laugh and go with it.  So I strolled down the Jardin des Tuileries and headed to the Musée l’Orangerie, one I hadn’t yet been to.  The Orangerie houses Monet’s water lilies and a solid collection of other impressionist work.  The water lilies were wonderful.  They’re set up in a white oval room and the colors and shadows on the paintings change as you walk around the room, the scope is amazing!

After the museum, I was in a good place to walk down the Champs-Élysées (another Parisian experience I’d missed as most of my time has been spent on the left bank), so I headed along until I came to Ladurée, the very famous patisserie that produces macarons.  This is one of those Parisian attractions that attracts tourists and Parisians alike, in fact the French woman in front of me bought 70 euro worth of macaron cookies! Macarons are small sugar and almond-paste cookies with a chewy shell and a jam-like inside.  I got a bag of six and tried pistachio, coffee, dark chocolate, cherry blossom, caramel with salted butter, and orange blossom.  They were all delicious and I quickly munched them down.  However, I definitely preferred the savory flavors over the fruity flavors and actually thought that they were a bit too sweet.  Maybe it was just that I ate them for lunch, but I thought less sugar would allow the flavors to come through more.

When I travel to cities I like to walk absolutely everywhere.  Sure there is usually great public transportation that could save time, but I think you really get to know and appreciate a city by wandering through little streets and unknown neighborhoods, also all the walking allows you the freedom to do things such as eat six macarons for lunch!  So after Ladurée I continued up to the Arc de Triomphe and then over to the Eiffel tower just for a quick view (wouldn’t be a trip to Paris without it, would it?)  I then returned to the area of my hotel and had another coffee and a much needed rest as I watched the world go by.

The day was far from complete though, the sun began to shine (it had been raining most of the day and even though Midnight in Paris sings the praises of Paris in the rain, I was personally happy to see the sun), and there were plenty more Parisian activities to cross off the list!  I continued walking and headed over to the Latin Quarter and the Rue Mouffetard (my favorite in Paris) to grab a crêpe for dinner.  My crêpe had egg, tomatoes, mushrooms, and lettuce, and I would classify it as ‘good, not great.’  I decided to then walk some more (because I hadn’t done enough of that already) and strolled through the Jardin du Luxembourg, through St. Germain des Pres and back to the left bank of the Seine, right across from Notre Dame.  It was about ten and the sun was just setting, so I popped down at a café (one recommended by Lonely Planet so I promise it was cool even though it’s in a touristy area!) and enjoyed a beer as I soaked up the last rays of Parisian sun.  One thing about cafés or brasseries in Paris that takes some adjusting to is how long you have to wait.  It’s nice to have so much time to sit and observe without being bothered, but it can also be difficult for me to relax because I always convince myself that this time I’ve messed up and that really I need to go order up front before I just sit down.  But alas, that was never the case, and I came to enjoy the hour or so it would take to order, drink, and pay for a beer or coffee.

To conclude my perfect Parisian day, I watched the roller bladers outside of Notre Dame (they’re ridiculously awesome) and walked around the islands and by the river.  Whatever Paris may offer during the day, it is nothing compared to what it presents at nighttime.  Paris at night is beautiful and magical.  The city glows yellow, lights reflect in the indigo blue river, and everyone is out and walking around together. Once I’d had my fill of the enchantment that is midnight in Paris, I headed back to my hotel which had actually turned into a 20s jazz club full of famous authors and painters.  Okay, just kidding about that last part, but Paris really is magical at Midnight!

The fun and food continued the next day, Sunday definitely won for most unhealthy day of the trip!  I started off the day with a stop at a patisserie for a pain au chocolat and sugared brioche, both delicious.  The pure sugar and butter gave me the energy for the long hike from Marais to Montmartre, an area that I’d remembered liking previously.  Once I got there however, the place was swarming with tourists and I was very overwhelmed.  Basically I arrived, walked by Sacre Coeur, passed by the Moulin rouge, checked out a few side streets, and high-tailed it out of there, I don’t do well with crowds.

A good friend of mine who spent last summer in Paris recommended I check out a very well known restaurant called Angelina for what she titled “the best chocolat chaud (hot chocolate) you’ll ever have.”  Although I knew this place would be touristy, I decided its reputation was enough to merit checking it out and so I sat down in the elegant and grand tea salon (right by the Louvre) to enjoy a pitcher of thick and creamy liquid chocolate with a side pot of cream to cut the amazing sweetness of the chocolate, which was indeed the best I’d ever had.  Ridiculously full and sugared out, I spent the rest of the afternoon basking and strolling and soaking in the last moments of Paris.  I passed all these finches for sale and absolutely had to tear myself away from them.  I adore finches and wanted to buy all of these adorable little guys.

Around seven, I was absolutely craving some vitamins and protein, however, I still had plans to hit up an ice cream shop before calling my Paris dessert tour quits so I wanted something lighter for dinner.  I grabbed some fresh veggies and smoked salmon and ate it by the river before heading to Berthillon, the best know ice cream shop in Paris.  I hadn’t been before and deemed it essential this time.  I headed to the shop and consulted the very long list of flavors (around 70).  I decided on two boules, rhubarb and grand marnier (this is why I thought I’d like raw oysters, I always go for the odd flavors) and yes, they were amazing, sweet and creamy and magnificent, the grand marnier had candied orange in it!  However, the scoops were also very very small.  This place is known for the pettiness of its scoops, gotta keep those Parisians petite!  Having had a light dinner I was still hungry (and wanted to try a few more flavors) so even though I’d already had enough sugar that day to last me a few months, I went for round two!  Luckily, the ice cream is sold at more than one place on the Île Saint-Louis, so I was able to keep my gluttony a secret!  Round two brought fig and sea-salt caramel, just as delicious as the last, and this time my ice cream craving was properly satisfied!

As I was leaving Paris my heart was breaking a little, I love it.  It’s beautiful, it’s full of love and elegance.  It’s complicated as well though, it’s snobby, excessive, a place that can be difficult to feel comfortable if you’re not Parisian. But it’s Paris!  On my ride to the airport I realized I could stay if I wanted, that’s the beauty of this trip, I call the shots, there was nothing stopping me.  But I realized contentedly that I didn’t want to stay.  Paris is magical because it’s fleeting.  I wouldn’t want to spend every single day ambling the streets and eating ridiculous desserts, these things are beautiful because they are rare, because they don’t last, because you can’t enjoy them everyday.  The beginning of my travels turned out a little more decadent than I imagined, but I think that this was the perfect way to see and understand Paris.  So to finally conclude France – Paris, je t’aime and someday I will be back for another whirlwind tour of your beauty!

Poppies for Poppy

Note:  This post is best read while listening to this song.

(All the poppies I saw while in the Loire, none as lovely as my poppy)

A couple weeks ago I was talking with my parents and mentioned that it was Mother’s Day (La fête des Mères) in France.  This caused a little reminiscing over my mother’s day post which then segwayed into my dad saying that come father’s day, it would quickly become evident who was my favorite parent depending on what I wrote or even if I wrote something for my father.

Snarky comments like this are very common from my dad, but let it be known that I was always planning on writing a post for him as well (this is not out of obligation) and I do not have a favorite parent, I love them both so so much and they balance each other perfectly.  So, Joyeuse Fête des Pères!  It is in fact Father’s day in France as well.

Where to begin, my poppy (a title I bestowed upon him as a little one, and which he claims was my first word) is the most capable and inspirational person I know.  Growing up, I was amazed by all the skills he possed; he could fix anything, draw anything, cook anything, do anything and his presence I felt and still always feel very reassured, he’s the parent I chose to sit next to on airplanes, it seems as if just being next to him there’s less of a chance the plane will fall out of the sky.  My desire to travel was also inspired by mon papa.  Over the years I’ve heard many tales of eurail passes, travels through South America, and island living on Trinidad.  I think he’s still got about 20 countries on me, but watch out, I’m catching up!

I’m a much stronger, braver, more capable person thanks to my father.  He had a whole host of ridiculously annoying techniques he used to help me develop these qualities as I was growing up, but I’m so thankful he pushed me.  For example, when I was younger and said I was “trying” to do something (lift something heavy, solve a math problem, nail a golf shot), he would reply “don’t’ try, just do!”  This infuriated me when I was trying so hard, but it was a reminder that you can always try (or do) harder.  As a shyer and quieter kid, my dad would drive me to school, turn to me, and say “confidence” just before I got out of the car, he would also make me order my own food at restaurants even when I wanted my parents to order for me.  Again, two things that drove me crazy at one point, but I certainly don’t have any trouble ordering dinner anymore (in fact I’ve been doing it in French for the last month!).  One last thing I remember is when I was about five and a novice bike rider, my dad decided I should ride down a very steep hill in our neighborhood.  Though a little nervous, I gamely hopped aboard my bike (sans training wheels of course) and started whizzing down the hill.   Unfortunately about a quarter of the way down my feet slipped off the pedals and I had no way to break.  I panicked and somehow the bike flew out from under me and I landed right on my bum!  Once he had made certain my limbs were all still attached, my dad started laughing, picked my bike up, and sent me down the hill again.  Maybe a tough lesson at the time, but one that taught me to pick yourself up and try again and not to be afraid to take risks.

My poppy is a mix of goofy sarcasm and quiet contemplation.  He can tell a joke as well as he can help you get a handle on a big problem.  He’s quite stoic and I’ve never once heard him complain about anything (other than the inepititudes of waiters, but that’s a whole other story…).  When I think of him, I think of golf and wine and art and enchiladas and playing guitar and cycling and sitting outside and chatting during warm summer nights.  Writing this I realize I have so many fond memories of time we’ve spent together, golfing, canoeing, going to baseball games, and going to sushi, I think there’s some truth in the idea that “all daughters are daddy’s girls,” there really is something so special about spending time with your father.

As I was getting ready for the day after writing this post, I looked in the mirror and remembered something else I needed to include, my favorite Christmas gift!  This year for Christmas my dad designed this necklace for me.  He drew out the design and then brought it to the jeweler to be made.  It’s a little hiker since I absolutely love to hike and has a sapphire in it which is my birthstone.  It’s amazingly unique and special and I love it and love that it’s just for me.

It’s impossible to fit everything I want to say about my dad into one post, but I’ll conclude by saying that he’s absolutely amazing, I love him so much, and everyday I aspire to be like him and am inspired by him.

So pops, have a great day, go for a bike ride, order up some fish tacos and a margarita, and enjoy the view from the back patio.  Wish so much I could be there with you, but it’s also all thanks to you that I’m not there, you’ve made me brave enough to take off and see the world!

Lots about the Loire

Bonjour tout le monde, it has been a while!  I didn’t have wifi at my previous host so I was unable to post, but as I embark on these five weeks of solo traveling (I am in fact in the train station right now) I should have more frequent internet access and hope to return to a more normal posting schedule.

(Loire Valley seen from Saumur)

So, let me recap these past two weeks.  I left sunny Toulouse and headed north to the Loire Valley to a farm just outside a very small town called Baugé.  The family I stayed with consisted of a mom, dad, four kids, and an abundance of animals including horses, chickens, cows, goats, rabbits, bees, cats, turtles, and salamanders, so there was a lot goin’ on!  My daily duties were feeding the animals, gardening, yard work, babysitting the two year old, and helping with everyday chores such as washing (laundry and dishes) and cooking.  I baked some awesome oatmeal raisin cookies and a honey walnut cake, with most of the ingredients sourced from the farm!

(the petite maison where I stayed)

The family was a great example of sustainable living.  They composted and fed the chickens all food waste, reused anything possible, heated with solar, and grew their own veggies and herbs (including lettuce, cucumbers, zucchini, beans, tomatoes, potatoes, pumpkin, fennel, onions, and parsley to name a few), fruits (strawberries, raspberries, apples, cherries, pears, and kiwi), as well as honey, walnuts, grapes.  They got their milk and cheese from the neighbors, and made their own yogurt and jam as well!  Even though they weren’t selling any of the goods they produced, there was a lot to grow and take care of and I felt like I really got a taste of farm life.  It was amazing that almost everything on my plate was just outside the house.

For the most part, I really enjoyed my time with my second hosts.  These past two weeks were spent speaking, reading, and thinking entirely in French.  I was so happy to be able to immerse myself in the language and think that my French benefited from it.  I think I could say that it’s now at the ‘conversational-proficient’ level.  I can understand most everything, say anything I need to, and have extended conversations on most subjects.  That being said, no one is going to mistake me for a native French speaker, I still think I have a lot of work to do on my accent, grammar, and ease of speaking.

(le bébé)

Along with the great experiences such as delicious food and language practice, I was also served what my dad referred to as “a little slice of life.”  Staying with a family of four kids and two very busy parents, I was immersed in a very hectic lifestyle.  I, as an only child, took for granted the ease of living in a small household, and now fully appreciate the time that my parents had, and especially chose, to spend with me.

The Loire Valley was an interesting contrast to the Pyrenees and to Southern France.  It was much cooler, wetter, flatter, and vineyardie-er.  The buildings were all white stone instead of pink or tan, and the area reminded me somewhat of England.  I was able to go to a small vineyard for a wine tasting one day and also went on two day-trips, one to a small town called Saumur and the other to a larger city called Angers.  I really liked Angers, it was just the right size, lots of shops, restaurants, and people to give it a good city buzz, but not so much that it felt crowded or dirty.  While there, I wandered the streets, enjoyed a tarte à la tomate, and visited a nice cathedral and a big castle.  Truthfully, at this point in my life, I’m a bit castled out (I visited England and Scotland when I was younger and got my fair share), but I was really impressed by the gardens at this castle.  The roses smelled amazing and everything was perfectly groomed!

While in Angers I also made quite the gastronomic discovery while perusing the grocery store.  I was surveying the meager peanut butter selection (as I’ve become in the habit of doing) when I came across a curious spread called Speculoos.  After further investigation I realized that it was speculoos cookie spread.  For those of you not familiar with them, speculoos are Dutch windmill shaped cookies that are spice flavored and usually eaten around Christmas time, I personally love them so I knew I had to try the spread.  It was good.  Like really really really good.  It tasted like cookie dough and butter and everything unhealthy and had the consistency of peanut butter.  I snacked on it throughout the day (straight spoonfuls from the jar), and then bid it farewell when I left Angers.  Although I still had most of the jar left, I could tell that speculoos spread is one of those really ‘unhealthy but delicious’ things that’s best enjoyed infrequently!

Along with speculoos spread, I also tried raw oysters for the first time.  I’m also up to try something new and generally like interesting food, so I always imagined I’d love raw oysters.  I’ve heard Anthony Bourdain wax poetic about them, I’ve read they pair beautifully with white wine, and I always had an image of myself at the French seaside, wearing a nice striped french shirt, and slurping down raw oysters with delight.   However, It turns out that I do not love raw oysters, not at all, in fact I would go as far as to say that they are degoulasse.  A few adjectives I would use to describe them would be slimy and chewy and gooey and salty and gritty and briny and sandy and gross.

And have now arrived in Paris and it is raining (think Midnight in Paris) and I’ve already got loads to say about this beautiful city, but I think I will conclude here for now and wait to sing the praises of winding alleyways, french doors, and macaron cookies until tomorrow.  À Bientôt!

Toulousin’ My Mind

Don’t worry, the title of this post actually has nothing to do with the content of my day other than the fact that it was spent in Toulouse!

(Au Revoir Pyrenees!)

My time in St. Girons ended as quickly as it started.  The highlights of my last few days included a trip to Foix (a small town with a cool castle), the unfortunate peeling of my sunburn, more dirt shoveling (the bed is now leveled!), and more delicious food (why did I wait until my last morning to try the local honey!).  I really enjoyed my first helpex experience.  I think I was introduced to more English and New Zealand culture than French culture, and the work was harder than I expected, but I came to really appreciate both those things.  I honestly (and I know this will sound weird) really enjoyed shoveling and raking dirt for hours on end, there’s a rhythm to it that allows for prime thinking time, like being on a train, and I definitely got stronger which makes carrying my giant pack easier.  As far as the English culture part goes, I’m now fully on board with the whole tea time thing and I’m hooked on a few English comedy shows that I’m going to have to figure out how to watch when I get back to the states.

(Rooftops of Foix)

I’m now in Toulouse for a brief stopover (two nights, one full day) on my way to my next help exchange hosts in the Loire Valley.  This is a big deal because I consider it my first day of real solo traveling.  Yes, I realize I managed to get myself to Paris and to St. Girons and have been traveling ‘solo’ for two weeks now, however, this is my first night alone in a hostel, so it feels more ‘solo’ than anything I’ve done thus far.

I rolled into Toulouse by bus at around noon yesterday.  I managed to find my hostel fairly easily though I was quite the show as I lugged my giant backpack along the twenty-minute walk from the train station.  By the time I checked in it was pretty late so I decided to head out and grab lunch quickly.  I’ve decided that in cities where grocery stores are readily available I should take advantage of them and try to just buy ingredients to make simple meals, which should be cheaper than always buying food out.  As I walked to the grocery store, stomach a grumblin’, I passed restaurant upon restaurant of what looked like delicious food; salads, fish, bread, white table cloths, and sparkling wine glasses, and I had to remind myself that just because I’m on a trip, doesn’t mean I can act like I’m on vacation.

I managed to find the grocery store and put together a nice lunch of baby carrots, cherry tomatoes, a peach, trail mix, and goat’s milk yogurt (a first for me – I really enjoyed it!).  After buying my food I wandered around looking for a place to eat and fortuitously stumbled upon the ‘jardin des plantes,’ a lovely park and the perfect place for my picnic.

I spent the rest of the day just wandering the city and enjoyed another picnic in the park for dinner.  Toulouse is known as ‘la ville en rose’ or ‘the pink city’ because all the buildings are brick or pink stucco.  It has a big city feel, but is very compact, a mix of Parisian elegance and Mediterranean aspects of Rome.  It’s a nice city, I can’t say I’ve fallen in love with it (and I do fall in love with most cities), but I’m enjoying my visit.

I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night as there was a lot of noise from people partying in the street until the wee hours of the night.  A few of my roommates (five boys) were also quite the snorers.  I probably could have drowned out the noise from the street, but it’s amazing how incredibly annoying snoring is.  My first mission this morning was therefore to find some caffeine and I enjoyed a café crème and a very expensive jus d’orange (fresh squeezed) with my leftovers from last night’s dinner (baguette and goat cheese).

(Place du Capitole)

(Église Saint-Sernin)

I wandered all over the city today taking pictures as I went, along the shopping streets (it seems most that these make up most of Toulouse) and into two old cathedrals, Église Saint-Sernin and Église Saint-Augustine, both of which were quite beautiful.  After another lunch picnic in the park (this one with a lot of nutella and apple), I finally decided to beat the heat (it’s 85 degrees F) and headed back to the hostel to cool off and write this post.

Traveling solo has so far been an interesting, and mostly enjoyable experience.  I’ve already got lots to say on the subject, so I’ll wait and give it its own proper post soon.

À Bientôt!