Well I can't really remember why I was so crazy about coming here because I know nothing about this city but I find myself here now and I'm pretty happy about that. Heartbroken that Claire has gone home but excited about something new.
I left Paris at 9am and got into Berlin at 5:30pm. The train was easy. I'm not sure why but long day trains induce in me the greatest state of sleepiness. I got a full nights rest last night but still found myself dozing off every ten minutes. And not just that but I could not keep my eyes open. The only reason I kept waking up was that I thought I heard people speaking English but that was just my brain pretending to understand German (even though I don't, not even a little bit).
I was only vaguely sure of where to go once I got off the train but a few lucky guess and generous Germans' finger points led me to the door of the All in Hostel. The staff were really nice when I got to there which was a relief after our last hostel where they were about as pleasant as diarrhea. I dropped my stuff off in the dorm (a 6 bed all girls dorm) (for the record 3 nights in Berlin is roughly equivalent to one night in Paris) and then came back into the main area to do some interwebbing. I only had a big bill and they didn't have much change. So, to make my 1 euro purchase less of an inconvenience, I decided to buy a beer from them. It was that same monks beer Claire and I had tried and enjoyed greatly in France. The cool thing was though that the receptionist told me that it was supposed to be drunk out of a glass. He said I could borrow one from the breakfast area. So he took me upstairs to the kitchen and showed me how to pour that specific type of beer which a Monk on the label(it has a higher yeast content or something) He explained that all the monks have to do is pray so to ward off boredom they drink a lot of beer. I have to tell you that drinking it out of a glass and pouring it in that specific way made it 10x tastier. I've only been here two hours but I already get the feeling that good things are going to happen in Berlin:)
Friday, July 30, 2010
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Paris Je T'aime
I get it. Now I see why everyone loves Europe so much. Lisbon? Amazing. Paris? Enchanting. Nice? I don't even have time to tell you because I'm already at the beach.
Claire and I met up in the Charles de Gaulle. It was a hilarious reunion because we both arrived sleep deprived, hungry, and were both overjoyed at the sight of each other. We immediately recounted stories of our journeys: falling asleep of the Portuguese man in the seat next to us, language barriers, mistaken drink orders, nearly missed flights, etc. By the time we finished I was laughing so hard I was crying. If it had been a movie you would have seen, perhaps from an areal view, that as Claire and I warmly embraced and exchanged laughter we were in a sea of very happy but laughless French people. It would come to be a theme of our trip. We find ourselves doubled over laughing, laughing so loud it echos off the wall and down the street (only at outdoor cafes) or just chuckling at a funny something. But it is as if we are the only ones who know how to laugh. It's true that sometimes I see people laughing at us, but I don't think that counts. Really though, I have yet to see a stranger on this vacation laugh of his or her own accord. It would make more sense to me if the stereotype about French people being rude held true, but it doesn't so it doesn't.
I've always been told that the French were rude. Fact of life just like the fact that the sky is blue and Shakira is awesome- no way around it. But, on the contrary, I have found the French to be an utterly delightful bunch. Kind, helpful, very much French speaking (they almost always respond to us in French if we start in French). My mom told me something she'd heard years back which was that the better your French accent is the nice the French are to you. False. As long as you're trying, they're happy.
"How do you say this word?" We pointed to the check.
"L'addition"
"La dissition!" I said confidently.
"L'addition!"
"La dissition." I said this time more unclear of what she was saying.
This went back and fourth three times until she smiled, shrugged, and wrote it on our paper menu.
"Ohhh why thank you cute French waitress"
Claire and I met up in the Charles de Gaulle. It was a hilarious reunion because we both arrived sleep deprived, hungry, and were both overjoyed at the sight of each other. We immediately recounted stories of our journeys: falling asleep of the Portuguese man in the seat next to us, language barriers, mistaken drink orders, nearly missed flights, etc. By the time we finished I was laughing so hard I was crying. If it had been a movie you would have seen, perhaps from an areal view, that as Claire and I warmly embraced and exchanged laughter we were in a sea of very happy but laughless French people. It would come to be a theme of our trip. We find ourselves doubled over laughing, laughing so loud it echos off the wall and down the street (only at outdoor cafes) or just chuckling at a funny something. But it is as if we are the only ones who know how to laugh. It's true that sometimes I see people laughing at us, but I don't think that counts. Really though, I have yet to see a stranger on this vacation laugh of his or her own accord. It would make more sense to me if the stereotype about French people being rude held true, but it doesn't so it doesn't.
I've always been told that the French were rude. Fact of life just like the fact that the sky is blue and Shakira is awesome- no way around it. But, on the contrary, I have found the French to be an utterly delightful bunch. Kind, helpful, very much French speaking (they almost always respond to us in French if we start in French). My mom told me something she'd heard years back which was that the better your French accent is the nice the French are to you. False. As long as you're trying, they're happy.
"How do you say this word?" We pointed to the check.
"L'addition"
"La dissition!" I said confidently.
"L'addition!"
"La dissition." I said this time more unclear of what she was saying.
This went back and fourth three times until she smiled, shrugged, and wrote it on our paper menu.
"Ohhh why thank you cute French waitress"
Saturday, July 10, 2010
The City of Red Roofs
Well there is just no way to describe exactly how much I love Lisbon. This city is incredible. The people, the buildings, the trees, the nightlife, everything.
I was a little worried when I first arrived because the directions to the hostal were written by someone who spoke English as a second language. It had no explicit directions like ªturn right at this sign.ª Instead it said things like ªRight on left side Tattoo shopª and ªThe road splits keep going.ª So I decided that I would just try and worst case I would hail a cab. Cleverly, the directions mentioned nothing about the giant hill it was located on top of. So I climbed and climbed and climbed. Luckily scaling the hill was easier because I was so distracted looking for landmarks. Just when I was about to give up and go back I saw it. I booked my hostal the night before I got on the plane to come to Portugal and it was the cheapest one so I wasnºt expecting much. To my surprise though it has been delightful- one of the best hostals Iºve ever stayed in. The staff is so kind and helpful and I met some amazing people. Not to mention it has a view that looks out over the whole city and a balcony from which we can sit and admire it.
Generally in life there is not a whole lot I am 100% certain of. I have my opions about things but I generally feel that true facts are hard to come by. I can say though, as a fact, that Lisbon is the most beautiful city Iºve ever seen. Usually when Iºm in the city, even though I feel invigorated by it, I canºt help but view every median incasing grass or trees as trapping the nature (that would occur naturally if we hadnºt created all these buildings) instead of fostering it. But in Lisbon I donºt see it that way. Thereºs just as much cement but somehow the city seems more like a work of art to me than a nature trap. I was stunned to note as I flew in that, almost without fail, every building in the city has a pitched, orangey-red roof. Every building is either painted a striking color or is covered (I mean from top to bottom) in bright, breautiful, intricate tiles. I canºt even get over it. It never gets old looking at these three story buildings that are totally adorned in four inch by four inch tiles. Itºs breathtaking (or maybe thatºs just the hills I was climbing up while admiring the buildings...). And if all that werenºt enough, every building as the quaintest little balconies. Itºs like something out of a dream.
I soon found out that hills like the one that leads to the hostal are common. In that way Lisbon is like San Fransico because itºs bumpy as the back of a stegosaurus. Except for the main roads, every road and sidewalk I walked on was coblestone. It is beautiful but maddeningly slipperly. About three times a day my feet would take me for a ride as we slipped down a hill. I am tempted to say that I have yet to fall, but I donºt want to jinks is because I still have one more day. In the five days Iºve been here Iºve seen someone cleaning the sidewalk or street somewhere. The first day I passed a worker using what looked like a jackhammer. It was hooked up to a little metal cart that was buzzing with the words ªGUM BUSTERSª across the side of it in big red letters. I laughed out loud. While I appreciate the thought, I almost wish there were more gum on the sidewalk so I wouldnºt slip so often!
Now the people here are something else. Keep in mind that I flew in from Boston, a city of nice but very surly people, into a city where the people have a warmth Iºve never quite experienced before. I was delighted to find how kind the people were in Chile but in Lisbon itºs something else. When I talked to someone they would look me in the eye, even if we only exchanged a one word greeting. And most of the time it felt like they were really looking at me, really seeing me. I canºt remember the last time I felt that in the states. It filled me with warmth like a big cup of coco. Today when I was as the post office, after I had waited in line a half hour, the cashier informed me that they didnºt accept foreign cards. I was somewhat crushed and I let out a sigh like I had been literally crushed by the ceiling. I shrugged and was about to walk away when she told me, ªIºll wait. Go to the bank around the corner and I will wait.ª I turned around and dashed through the crowd of ten people waiting to mail stuff. I went as fast as I could which meant of course that I messed up my pin twice and punched in the wrong amount once. When I came back in she was waiting for me with my pile of postcards and stamps ready to go.
Iºve been trying to save money by not eating out but tonight I treated myself to a Portuguese meal for my last night. I decided on fish since that is Portugalºs specialty. I tried to ask the waiter what to order. He happy responded, only I didnºt understand a word he was saying. I opted for swordfish, something Iºve never tried. It came with a boiled potato and a small salad. It was absolutely delicious. In Portugal they bring you lots of treats before your meals starts but then whatever you eat they charge you for. Thankfully Iºd read about it in my guidebook otherwise I would have had to pay for cheese, bread, and a smattering of spreads. I didnºt feel bad about passing on the cheese because tomorrow Iºm going to Paris and I can only imagine what they have to offer me...
I was a little worried when I first arrived because the directions to the hostal were written by someone who spoke English as a second language. It had no explicit directions like ªturn right at this sign.ª Instead it said things like ªRight on left side Tattoo shopª and ªThe road splits keep going.ª So I decided that I would just try and worst case I would hail a cab. Cleverly, the directions mentioned nothing about the giant hill it was located on top of. So I climbed and climbed and climbed. Luckily scaling the hill was easier because I was so distracted looking for landmarks. Just when I was about to give up and go back I saw it. I booked my hostal the night before I got on the plane to come to Portugal and it was the cheapest one so I wasnºt expecting much. To my surprise though it has been delightful- one of the best hostals Iºve ever stayed in. The staff is so kind and helpful and I met some amazing people. Not to mention it has a view that looks out over the whole city and a balcony from which we can sit and admire it.
Generally in life there is not a whole lot I am 100% certain of. I have my opions about things but I generally feel that true facts are hard to come by. I can say though, as a fact, that Lisbon is the most beautiful city Iºve ever seen. Usually when Iºm in the city, even though I feel invigorated by it, I canºt help but view every median incasing grass or trees as trapping the nature (that would occur naturally if we hadnºt created all these buildings) instead of fostering it. But in Lisbon I donºt see it that way. Thereºs just as much cement but somehow the city seems more like a work of art to me than a nature trap. I was stunned to note as I flew in that, almost without fail, every building in the city has a pitched, orangey-red roof. Every building is either painted a striking color or is covered (I mean from top to bottom) in bright, breautiful, intricate tiles. I canºt even get over it. It never gets old looking at these three story buildings that are totally adorned in four inch by four inch tiles. Itºs breathtaking (or maybe thatºs just the hills I was climbing up while admiring the buildings...). And if all that werenºt enough, every building as the quaintest little balconies. Itºs like something out of a dream.
I soon found out that hills like the one that leads to the hostal are common. In that way Lisbon is like San Fransico because itºs bumpy as the back of a stegosaurus. Except for the main roads, every road and sidewalk I walked on was coblestone. It is beautiful but maddeningly slipperly. About three times a day my feet would take me for a ride as we slipped down a hill. I am tempted to say that I have yet to fall, but I donºt want to jinks is because I still have one more day. In the five days Iºve been here Iºve seen someone cleaning the sidewalk or street somewhere. The first day I passed a worker using what looked like a jackhammer. It was hooked up to a little metal cart that was buzzing with the words ªGUM BUSTERSª across the side of it in big red letters. I laughed out loud. While I appreciate the thought, I almost wish there were more gum on the sidewalk so I wouldnºt slip so often!
Now the people here are something else. Keep in mind that I flew in from Boston, a city of nice but very surly people, into a city where the people have a warmth Iºve never quite experienced before. I was delighted to find how kind the people were in Chile but in Lisbon itºs something else. When I talked to someone they would look me in the eye, even if we only exchanged a one word greeting. And most of the time it felt like they were really looking at me, really seeing me. I canºt remember the last time I felt that in the states. It filled me with warmth like a big cup of coco. Today when I was as the post office, after I had waited in line a half hour, the cashier informed me that they didnºt accept foreign cards. I was somewhat crushed and I let out a sigh like I had been literally crushed by the ceiling. I shrugged and was about to walk away when she told me, ªIºll wait. Go to the bank around the corner and I will wait.ª I turned around and dashed through the crowd of ten people waiting to mail stuff. I went as fast as I could which meant of course that I messed up my pin twice and punched in the wrong amount once. When I came back in she was waiting for me with my pile of postcards and stamps ready to go.
Iºve been trying to save money by not eating out but tonight I treated myself to a Portuguese meal for my last night. I decided on fish since that is Portugalºs specialty. I tried to ask the waiter what to order. He happy responded, only I didnºt understand a word he was saying. I opted for swordfish, something Iºve never tried. It came with a boiled potato and a small salad. It was absolutely delicious. In Portugal they bring you lots of treats before your meals starts but then whatever you eat they charge you for. Thankfully Iºd read about it in my guidebook otherwise I would have had to pay for cheese, bread, and a smattering of spreads. I didnºt feel bad about passing on the cheese because tomorrow Iºm going to Paris and I can only imagine what they have to offer me...
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
And We're Off!!
My trip officially began on Saturday when I flew to Chicago to spend one night with my sister. We had a delightful timing doing all sorts of sisterly things. We had as much sisterly bonding as you can possibly do in 23 hours. Then, a split second later I was back at the airport catching a flight to Boston. It was a similar story but it was friend bonding and instead of just meeting one friend like I expected I got to see four! One of my friends was visiting Boston from Philadelphia and then three of my friends came down from Montreal. I knew they were coming to the states for the 4th but I thought I wasn’t going to be able to see them. Lucky me they surprised me moments after I arrived at the house where I was staying. I shared my surprise with them by screaming. A lot. In fact, I think the whole neighborhood shared my surprise. What can I say though? It’s always exciting to see people you like. Unfortunately I wasn’t for long because by 3 the next day I was schlepping my bags to the airport to get to Lisbon via Amsterdam. A word of advice, when traveling by plane it helps to know what airlines you’re flying, where your layover is, and to be early. I however did not stick to those basic guidelines and so a mild panic ensued.
“Hi can you help me? I don’t see my flight on the board”
“Where are you flying today?” she generously responds when I half expected her to tell me she was busy.
“Lisbon”
“Oooo” she made the noise that people make when they watch someone on TV get hurt. “There are no flights to Lisbon today”
“Ha. Haha. Hahaha.” I laughed like a crazy person. I momentarily considered if I were a crazy person and if I’d made it all up. My rapid mental crazy scan came back negative and I tried again.
“Umm but I’m flying to Lisbon. I’m making a connection, could that be why it’s not on the board?”
“Yes, where are you connecting? She cocks her head at me like she were looking at a rare South American frog.
“Ha. Haha. Haha” More crazy person laughter escapes my mouth. I do a mental scan this time looking not for craziness but for flight information. Lisbon? Duh, no. Paris? Nope. Frankfurt? Close but no cigar. Dublin? Yes, yes! I looked at quite a few flights that flew through Dublin! But alas no, I purchased none of those tickets. Then it dawned on me. It was so simple, like the answer was hiding in plain sight. “Amsterdam” I threw my words at her like Steve Carrell. Like projectile vomit.
A few busy clicks and finger taps later and she was redirecting me to the other side of the airport. Terminal A. The first place the shuttle had stopped twenty minutes earlier. Uhhhhh I harumfed. I thanked her for my time and sped off as fast as my feet could go with the weight of my back pack acting like an anchor. I felt like a turtle going full speed. Halfway there my feet began to hurt. “No!” I shouted internally “I feel no pain! Feet? What feet? Pain? What pain? I AM A WARRIOR. Ahhh!” I charged ahead. That chant has gotten me through a surprising amount this year. When I would get groceries in Montreal and be walking home with two huge bags in either arm I could feel my arms going slightly numb the closer I got to home. I’d see people in cars and scoff at them. “Really?” I’d want to ask them, “you need to drive your groceries home? La-ame” I would tell them in a sing song-y voice. Thankfully, I was able to distract myself with visions of being a warrior long enough to make it to the check-in counter. Wahoo!
Well now I’ve finally made it to Amsterdam but unfortunately I’m only a half-life. I was exhausted when I entered the plane to come here but sleep, unlike focused and interrogative stewards who frequented the aisles, was hard to find. When I would dose off for a second in a neck cramping position, I would soon awake with a start to questions about juices, peanuts, and pasta or chicken? By the time the food came I was resigned to the fact that I would not be sleeping for a while and instead distracted myself with a little telly. I’m not even 100% sure that the British call it that but my aim is to pick up as much European English as possible. For instance, the next time I see a line I will inquire, “is this the queue?” or perhaps, “are we queueing here?” When I enter a short line I will say chummily to the person next to me, “I’m sure glad we’re in the short queue. I’d hate to wait in that queue” gesturing to the longest queue in the world. Yes, I think I’ve got this whole “European English” down.
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