So this one time, I walked up and down a London road with every intention of getting to the grocery and back home without issue... And then I realized (at the store) that I'd left my wallet at the house. 

Fail.

Duly embarrassed, I ditch the kit, hike back home and then... Yup. Back to the store. I grant you that Hammersmith is only a mile down the road from my humble abode. Still! After all the giddy joy of walking back to the store, re-shopping, and actually paying this time... I took the bus. All four stops.

The only thing I can think, though, is that my feet thank me for investing in a travelpass, a most wonderful invention. Lazy or not, I'm back home now, making dinner and drinking tea. Like a boss.

Bonus: Cheever, the gigantic Newfoundland we live with, loves carrots. Loves them. He was all sorts of crazy happy when I lugged in a kilo of them for him. Messy carrot-guts now adorn not only Cheever but a good portion of my jeans (that dog can slobber!) and yet, it was a good day. Now, time to crack down on submissions and get working again. 

After dinner. 

Sitting in Caffé Nero...

A post that saved, instead of posting. From a good week ago, actually. Oooops... Spending money to use the free wifi, but who cares. It's faster and better than the student's union. Bunch of pretentious... I gave up on propriety and took off my shoes. They've been soaked through for hours now, and my feet are so cold I can't feel my toes. I figure if anyone has a problem, I'll refer them to my toes. They're Brits, though. They'll put up with a lot before they complain. Had overpriced ramen for lunch, and overpriced (though quite tasty) hot chocolate to try to warm up, and to buy my way onto the wifi. I like Caffé Nero much more than Starshmucks. Probably because I can get just about anything for almost a pound less than Shmucks. That and they've always been super nice, really friendly, and they've got better lattes.

Just saying "Hi!" because I've been remarkably lax in picture taking (And really recording and blogging and all of it really...)

Aaaaand:

Life, The Universe, and Whatever Else There Is.

Hello world!

We've been stuck in a hostel with super slow, very iffy wifi, and pretty much no space to be quiet and actually work. Today we'll be headed into the city to look at yet more places to live; and Ariel to orientation. This week is the official start of my tenure as a graduate student.

(Oh goodness...)

I'll figure it all out eventually. I still need to get down to Kingston to talk to the foreign languages department about Italian courses... I think it would be a great opportunity to stretch my Italian skills back out after such disuse. On that note, I've had great practical application in the last few days! There has been an influx of Italian people, who I assume are here because of some bank holiday or something. I've been listening covertly on the Tube and in the hostel as they converse. I find I can get at least the gist of it when they speak slowly enough, or use phrases I remember. I figure that's a start!

Well, it's cold and rainy. Very cold and rather rainy. Even the Brits are admitting that it's a titch nippy now.

(Oh... I can smell this guy (Nigerian? Algerian? One of them, I'm fairly certain) from across the bar. For the love of all that's good PLEASE SHOWER. Or use some kind of deodorant. YOU. SMELL. RANK. I think he's been wearing the same suit for at least the three days I've been in and out of this place. It is, frankly, distressing.)

We've got the greater part of our baggage collection in a storage locker because we've got zero space here. Eventually though, we will have to go back just because we will run out of the necessities long before we find a place. (That's not entirely true, that's just the soul-crushing feeling that this whole hunt for a flat has been causing.)

I think it is patently ridiculous to ask for references in order to rent a flat. I take it back, it makes a decent amount of sense in certain situations and in certain ways. However, three? A previous landlord, a previous or current teacher/professional, and a character reference. THIS ISN'T A JOB, it's a place to live. I'd understand a credit check, and I definitely agree that having a photocopy of my passport page is good, but jeeze.

I know; I understand; I get it. Choose any, choose all. I still think it's really ridiculous.

I've been trying all morning to figure out what, exactly, my school schedule is. It has been remarkably hard to pin it down; then again all of my professors are artists, computers aren't their thing. Aside from writing programs that is! They already said it, and I'm going to quote it.

I'm trying to figure out how I'm supposed to afford books, housing, and food for another two weeks until I get my loans disbursement. The school, as ever, has been completely useless, aside from Peter in FinAid. He got the letter drafted that got me a bank account, so at least the disbursement can go through without having to wait yet another week for a cheque. I think its hilarious, in a sad way, that the whole "starving" thing will come before the "artist" part gets to take off.

That's part of the joy of living abroad, though. Right?

Well, ADVENTURE AWAITS!

Okay, Okay. I've heard that you lot think I've died. Well, I haven't, but I have been busy running hither-and-yon trying to work everything out. Housing is a nightmare and trying to get enrolled... I'll start on that later! Safe to say though, that after listening to the cogs and gears at work in the school bemoan the new system, I don't feel quite so left-in-the-rain. I definitely sent them an email with that as the closing. Peter (the cog) told me he was absolutely sorry to hear that circumstances were such for so many internationals, but that the new system had just been put in place and was causing nightmares all around. Apparently another London school had to tell 2,600 of it's brand-new Internationals that their visas were invalid unless they found a new school in less than one week; I'm alright with having to hoop-jump if it means not being deported for my school's mistakes! All in all I feel I've been fairly mistreated in the entire adventure, but it is getting better. Tomorrow is the Globe Theatre for "The Taming of the Shrew" and then Thursday is... duhn duhn duhn! Ariel! I'll go ahead and use first names this time. Too confusing otherwise, what with both our names starting with "A". I miss you all, but I'll be getting on just fine I think. Happy travels!

Well folks, I've made it to London. Might have gotten a bit turned about (make that a lot turned about) but I made it. I'll add more later, but I just thought you'd like to know. I know I was glad to know...

Hello, World! Nice to be a part of you once more. For all those who don't know, A. and I are heading to London for a year. A year! A year of not being home, of meeting new people and certainly new foods. Perhaps even eating said foods! I am leaving the 10th of September for this grand adventure, and I have every intention of updating the blog on a far (far) more consistent basis. Perhaps every week at least. (One can try.) I'm probably going to do a joint blog venture with A, wherein we'll be doing a Vlog as well. That means that all of those playing the home game can participate in our merry band of adventurism, whether you like it or not. So there. I'm going to be hell-for-leather for the next few weeks, but I am really, really excited about this. Terrified, thrilled, and truly ready to start something new. Adventure Awaits!

Do you know what I miss?

I miss dinners in Italy. I've traveled to Italy three times, each for greater than a week. I miss the tables filled with laughter and good food. Even when the tables weren't filled with laughter, or even half-decent food, dinner was the get-together time. In Italy, dinner is the meal of the day when everyone comes together to talk and relax.

Siena was the first study abroad I did (with A, which was the start of a wonderful travel-buddy system) and the first time I'd left the country. I spoke a little Italian, and had more on my mind than just speaking it, what with the classes every day and sightseeing and the general amazement and exhaustion which comes with travel. A and I shared a host-mom, Fulvia. Fulvia was, we think, a vegetarian who ate a lot of zucchini and "melanzane", which we later found out meant eggplant. Fulvia was a great cook, though. Everything you'd imagine an Italian grandma to be, and when we went home after school, Fulvia would have dinner almost ready. Usually some pasta, some salad, and some kind of bigger dish, usually vegetable in nature, sometimes meat-related. Dinner was when we would put our new speaking skills to work. "Noi abbiamo" is probably the biggest thing I picked up from that experience. I was a horrible speaker at that point (let's be honest, I got really good and now could probably limp my way through another conversation. Maybe.) and so it was a slightly embarrassing but ultimately enjoyable way to learn the language. The three of us would talk for a long time, Fulvia would help us with our homework (oh those worksheets were brutal sometimes) and our pronunciation. All of this, though, surrounded dinner. It was dinner when we recounted our days in Italian (Fulvia being unable to understand English, it was a real learning curve!). I'll never forget the warmth and happiness, and to be honest a bit of embarrassment and consternation.

In Montepulciano, my second study abroad in another Tuscan town not far from Siena, dinner was a whole different animal. With 30 people in a restaurant, things can get loud and close, but it was still nice to get everyone together for a meal. To just sit and talk, split "un bottiglia di vino rosso" (the house red, made in the restaurant owner's family vineyards outside the city) and good bread. The food wasn't always good, I'll firmly state that. For being a restaurant, they did a good job of feeding 30 people every weekday. We had to feed ourselves breakfast and lunch, and dinner too on the weekends, but dinner was gathering time. We got announcements, saw the people with whom you did not share an apartment with. (I had 7 roommates. All girls. OH THE HUMANITY.) For some of us, it was a chance to practice our Italian as well. The owner more than once came to talk to myself and the other three more fluent students. For all of the people and the mediocre food, it was still the meal everyone was loathe to miss, not only for the fact that you'd already paid for it (in the tuition) but for the sense of solidarity it brought. Each night, full up with food, desert, and wine, we'd stumble off to our apartments and resume our small scale wars (I will never live with artists again, I swear it.) But for a while at least, the world focused on food and talk.

My third trip, this past summer's adventure, had me in the ups-and-downs of dinner in Italy. First few nights in Salerno with A, we had pathetic sandwiches, fruit, and nutella covered something for desert. Dinner was more of a signal to slow down and talk, to stop walking and just enjoy a few moments of rest. When we joined up with C and T at C's grandparent's house, dinner was more like it was with Fulvia. Wonderful food and wonderful conversation (in English mostly, but there were a few dinners held at least partly in Italian) all of which would last for hours at times. We talked about any and everything, over home made meatballs and pasta, or a spread of dishes, with each of us encouraged to eat more, since we were all obviously too skinny. The classic Italian Grandma routine. Which, I must say, is a wonderful thing to be on the receiving end of once in a while.

Dinner in Italy brings up so many images, so many feelings of happiness and warmth that I can't help but miss the closeness of it. In my house, more often than not dinner is a lonesome affair. Unless otherwise informed, everyone does their own thing, and sometimes we might not even see each other in the evenings. Dinners with friends are nice, but usually entail sitting on a couch or something similar, never really at a table. We tend to have interesting conversations, but as with the family, not everyone is eating at the same time.

I guess I just miss the camaraderie which dinner can bring, but I do miss the food like mad. ITALIAN FOOD IS AWESOME AND I'D EAT IT EVERY DAY (AGAIN) IF I COULD.

Rocks. Croatian Rocks.

In Croatia there were rocks. Lots and lots of rocks. Rocky beaches, bluffs, cliffs, boulders and pieces of ragged concrete, all making up not only a country, but an experience. Two rocks in particular have insinuated themselves into my memory and will, with any luck, always be able to pull me back into those times, those little slices of life.

The first is the jumping rock we found at the beach in Lokva Rogoznica, the one we had to climb, crawl, and swim to reach. We stood at the top of what had to be seven or so feet above the sea, and took deep breaths, and when we leapt, it was free fall for a blissful moment, before the slightly stingy portion of the dive. The current was strong, the water crisp, the air turning cold as the sun disappeared behind clouds and a mountain. We went up and down that rock a dozen times at least, though it was always a little different. I managed some flips and Air even got some back-flip air action. We climbed and scrabbled and swam, shoes in hand and the underwater camera ready to shoot.

I can feel the cold spray of the ocean, smell the salty tang in the air, can feel that thrum of adrenaline telling you, you’re alive! Alive! A precious memory, a feeling of contentment and joy, and perhaps some exasperation about the climbing bit.

The second rock is what we termed our “couch” rock. One night we were walking along the beach, talking about everything and nothing, observations on the clear sky, the bad music from the bar down the way, and the happiness we had at just being in such a beautiful place. We wanted to find a perching place to sit and watch the stars for a while, so we clambered up some boulders and lo and behold, the biggest rock had what seemed to be the perfect couch indentation taken out of it. I remember my feet dangling over the water and looking at that inky darkness below, amazed by the transformation from the bright, sunny shore we had been to just that morning.

We spent a good hour or two on that rock that night, and came back several times before we left Lokva for good. That rock, the couch rock, is cold beneath my imaginary hands, but firm and solid and real, it was slick from the slight mist, and the full moon above gave the shadows deeper recesses. I guess you could say that Croatia is one of my favorite places we visited not only for the fun and sun, the beaches and the people. Lokva and Dubrovnik were both wonderful places filled with pains and gains, friends well met and friends reaffirmed.

Some of Croatia was not too awesome, (though we really made some interesting food while we were there, poor though it was nutritionally, I’m sure) but overall, I think it is a place I would visit again in a heartbeat, if only to see the rocky beaches and breathtaking beauty of the place.

Thank you, couch- and jumping-rocks, for making a great trip even greater.

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There will be time, there will be time.

I remember things in snapshots of time; not just flashes of places, disconnected and disjointed, but pieces of emotion, of sensations.

I remember clearly in some places, hazily in others. I can barely remember what we did in Cork, but I remember clearly the way that Salzburg felt, how it tasted and smelled. I remember the nights from traveler’s hell, remember the heat, the cold. I remember the crazy showers and disgusting toilets; the smell of Paris and the grit of Prague. I remember the name of the hostel where we stayed in Berlin. I remember watching the World Cup in Germany and Ireland; Paris, Brussels, Bruges, Amsterdam. I remember crowded pubs and long lines.

Not only do I remember these things from these past travels but when one thought leads to another, I remember other dreams and half-imagined fantasies. My two trips to Italy, the trip to the UK. I wonder, sometimes, as I go through everyday life, whether or not the traveling was real. It seems a fanciful dream at times, so achingly real and yet so distant and dreamlike. In a heartbeat, though, I would give up every possession I have except what I carry with me. I would, in a heartbeat, drop everything and go.

Some of you might think that’s crazy and half-cocked and that I should probably get my head checked. Others might think, “Sounds like fun, but the logistics would be a nightmare…” All I know is that for a taste of what I had these past few summers, I would gladly and readily set aside “normal” life for a wandering one.

For the moment, at least, I would get up and go back. Back to shitty hostels and bad food; pasta and bread and not enough protein or green veg. Back to a different city every week, a different language, a different culture. The chance to see what I only dream of, what I’ve already dreamt that I’ve seen.

I remember Versailles with its oppressive heat and crowds, and I remember a night in the Brigg train station, freezing and hungry and tired. I remember anger and frustration and sheer panic at times. I remember running harder and faster than ever in my life whilst carrying 50 pounds of kit. I remember sketchy busses and awkward seat-mates. Trying to figure out what the label on the can says in the grocery store. Figuring out what money you need today, and whether or not you’ll be coming back to spend any extra. Nights in and nights out, pub crawls and concerts. I remember new friends and fast enemies. I remember long waits and longer trains. Kotna Hora and the Eiffel tower. The cliffs of Moher and the beauty of the Spanish countryside. A Spanish hospital and Dachau camp.

I’ve not gotten to all the adventures we had, and I hate having to pick and choose what to talk about, what to leave behind. I know you’re waiting for the rest of the trip, but so am I. Writing about what happened this summer, this adventure into the great wide world, is both pleasure and pain. I love to tell the stories, but it hurts to think of them for too long because I know that, at least at the moment, there are only the adventures I can write about. There are plenty of them awaiting me, out there somewhere. Until then, I only have the wonderful and painful memories of good times, and those not-so-great ones too. Here in my blog I can relate to you stories of only the good, or selective pieces of the bad. I can leave you with any story and leave out all the rest; in my mind, though, I replay each moment to its end, following the narrative as only a dreamer, a writer, an artist can.

So pardon me as I step back into the various pieces of my travels, as I relate to you the echoes of those masterpieces. There will be more to read, I promise. I just ask that you be patient, and that you read and enjoy these posts as much as I love to write them and to share my experiences.

Aaah, back to England. I love this rather dismal, rainy land. We're in Bath for tomorrow, and then London for the last 4 days of the trip. I can't even believe that it has come to an end so fast... I can't imagine the world outside of this trip, but I also can't wait to get home to the new kittens, my sweet kitties, and as ever, the family.

I have a song to polish, and I'll post it here for your amusement.

A little bit of Barcelona

My favorite thing of the day was listening to a street performer singing "The Girl from Ipanema" and watching Air and Danielle's faces as they looked at the staggering view afforded those who take the time to get to Gaudi Parc. Otherwise, I manages to sprain my knee and we've collected Air's cousin for the next week and a half. She's so excited it just becomes infectious! I'll post more later, and I know that in my neglect of my blog I've let you all down a bit, but it's my vacation and I'll do as I please ;P

the first two weeks of August are Europe's vacation weeks. There are just so many people travelling right now that it boggles the mind.

Dubrovnik again

Well, back to Dobrovnik and then off to Spain tomorrow. It is nice to be moving once more, I think we got a bit stir crazy at the end, despite a desire to kick back and relax. But now we will have Danielle to shake things up, and only 20 more days. How did the time pass by as fast as it did? I seem to not remember the days just whizzing by, but that is how it seems now. I can look back at all the crazy things we have done and said and eaten and laugh and sigh and I can already feel myself missing all this. Maybe I can come out again next year (but I wont hold my breath...)

I know, I know....

How rude of me to be so spotty and inconsistent with my postings, but it can not be helped. And this kezboard is so strange, the z is a y and the y a z. Oi. But, mine followers, I just wanted to update you in the affairs of CroatiaČ mostly, reading. Reading and lazing about on the beaches. Wećve gone snorkeling and found some interesting seashells and such. Even an urchin shell!

As for updates, I have a few I have written up but I need to get wireless to get them to you, so donćt hold your breath for it. I think the next place with wireless is Barcelone, another 5 days out. However, dont despair! I will drown your sorrows with a flood of information you never knew you wanted!

Now, there is a pizza with my name on it...

More Croatia

Well, we decided to stay in Croatia instead of going to Greece- slightly a travesty, but honestly, more beach time is probably going to be more fun and better for us than the stress of hopping around Greece. And cheaper. We're planning on stocking green stuff for the next week, real food and good for us, as opposed to the rather thin fare we've had as of late. Or as of most of the trip, really.

It'll be nice, I think. Give me time to write and we'll probably read till our eyes bleed! I think it'll be fantastic.

Croatia, July 20-26

I like Croatia, as I might have said in a previous post. The people are, for the most part, fairly friendly and helpful, the air is clear and the weather is fantastic. We flew from Amsterdam to Split, a much easier way to get here than our previous ideas (some of which involved two to four hops). Our plane was supposed to leave at 6:40, but as per EasyJet (and the massive storm system over London) that was a joke. We ended up sitting in the waiting area for two hours longer than we expected, just sat there, staring at the board. We even had to get food while we were there, expensive airport McDonalds. The burger was eh (there was something I can only describe as bacon-flavored mayonnaise/thousand island weird sauce on it) but the fries were hot and delicious, and I got a coke with (gasp!) ice in it. *Ice*. Like heaven in a cup. So we waited and waited and waited, and finally we got to our gate and then we waited some more. The flight was about two hours, and I mostly slept for that time, but the lady next to me ordered a coffee, and Air was listening to music on the other side of me, so it might have been more of a "don't talk to me, I'm not happy right now" thing than sleeping...
We got in at 11pm, and we tried to figure out if there was a late bus headed out to the place we needed to go. First though, was the Croatian passport control. Now, for the most part (unless you're France, see the France post) this takes a little patience, but it goes pretty quick. This went quick as well, but it was kind of scary to be stared down by a very large Croatian woman in uniform. I shudder to think of what a Croatian jail would be like if they all looked as intimidating as that one woman. Anywho, Air and I were happy to get more passport stamps (which you only get by flying nowadays, they don't even check your passport on pan-EU trains) and we hauled butt to get our bags and find a bus. It turns out that there's only one bus that runs at that hour from the airport to Split proper, and from there only one bus that passes through Split headed in the right direction. The first bus had us in Split by 12, and the next one wasn't until 1:30, so we killed time staring at the harbor and plotting out some more of the trip. When the bus came by, it was a real hassle trying to figure it out. The bus was headed (fairly non-stop) to Dubrovnik or somewhere, and we had to pay a little extra to have it stop in the pipqueak place we needed, but it was well worth the 25 kuna to not pay for a taxi ride out. Interestingly, there are generally two operators on the bus: the driver and the ticket guy. Now, it was 1:30 am and the ticket guy took our money and bid the driver goodnight, while we were moving. Then he took off his shoes and disappeared. Turns out there's a tiny berth under the seats for long hauls like that, and they take turns getting sleep while they drive through. That was entertaining though, trying to figure out where the tiny man had stashed himself. The driver was nice, though, and made sure we got off in the right place, even got our bags out for us. By then it was 2:30ish and we had to find our hostel in this tiny place in the dark. The most amazing sky was overhead, though, you could even see the milky way it was so dark and clear out that night.
We ended up finding the place, but (as seems to be the trend here) there wasn't any type of reception, and we were unsure as to where to find someone to let us in. The doors to the floors of rooms were open, and the kitchen was too (the kitchen was on the bottom floor, and there were two stories of rooms) but no sign of anyone to greet us. Just as we were resigning ourselves to a night in the yard, the woman came out and greeted us, and showed us the facilities and told us to check in properly in the morning. So, exhausted by then, we fell into the king-size bed in our private room (a huge, wonderful bonus) and slept like the dead until 11. Then we checked in and went to the beach! We stayed there for hours, soaking up the sun and swimming until we felt ready to collapse from exhaustion. The beaches here are rocky, not sandy, but the water is clear and there were fewer people in Lokva Rogoznica than there were on the beaches of Split. The next day we went to Split to use the interwebs to book flights and hostels and such, and we wandered around Diocletian's palace- a place that is now mostly little shops and a few museum bits. We didn't take any tours or pay to see the museum bits, but we did look around and wander through the winding nooks and crannies. We bought masks and a snorkel for the beach, and then spent the rest of the evening reading and relaxing by the beach. We spent the next two days doing much the same, and it was just an absolutely gorgeous, wonderful time.
The trip to Dubrovnik, however, sucked. I woke up sick (Air had done the same two days before that) and was all sorts of not happy to be stuck on buses for 5 hours. Thankfully it was mostly just a headache by that point and the rest of me was fine, but it made for snappish times trying to find our hostel. The directions to it were bad, and when we got here we were not too impressed. Mattresses on the floor and a single bathroom for the lot of us, but there's a pool and the beach is just a few minutes walk away. It rained something fierce last night (apparently; I slept straight through, after the long day of being sick on the bus) and it's kinda cloudy and chilly today, but we're headed to Old Town and whatnot in a bit.

There's still some catching up to do, but I think that I've gotten you caught up for the most part ;)

Amsterdam, July 11-20

I know, what a long time in Amsterdam. To be fair, we had to extend our stay because our flight wasn't on the 17th like we thought it was, it was the 20th. Great job, EasyJet. So, Amsterdam.
Our train was PACKED to the brim going to Amsterdam. Everyone wanted to get there for the finals, and there were many a vuvuzela blast to be heard, and there were even guys dressed in milkmaid outfits drawing flags on everyone's cheeks. The city was just one big, happy, excited party. It was also wall-to-wall orange, and as we walked around trying to find the right trams and our hostel, we agreed that we needed to find something orange and quick! The tram ride into the outskirts, where our hostel was, was absolutely horrendously packed. There were so many people on the trams that we, with our big bags and lack of pride colors, were very much unwelcome for the time being. We got lost, got on and off trams, and finally, as we were really losing our tempers at each other, a nice random Netherlander biker gave us directions to the road our hostel was on. The two obviously lost backpackers we were, it was so nice of him to stop and help, especially on such a big day.
We wandered into the city for the game, and food. Every bar, every house, even the boats in the canals had tvs on and people crowded around in a sea of Orange. We found some food and wandered around from tv to tv. We couldn't understand the language, so it was more the people we wanted to watch than the game. Our hostel was just seconds away from the main showing, Museumplein, where they had six screens and over 20,000 people crammed into every available space. We wandered that was towards the end of the game, but we left pretty quick when the mood turned sour, hoofing it back to the safety of the hostel. There was a balcony in our room, so we watched the people stream away after their defeat, and the sirens and shouting carried on well into the night.
The next day, when we wandered past the now-empty square, we found it piled high with rows and rows of trash. People were using leaf blowers to pile it up for cleaning, just so much trash. We were over there for the grocery store, which was hilariously hidden underground, but it was one of the better grocers we'd been to in a long time.
Not that day but the next they had the screens still up, and we found out that the team was coming home, so the whole city was pretty much shutdown and back at museumplein to welcome their team back. The mood was happy, even through defeat, because hey, how can you be mad you lost when at least you made it to the final? That party lasted well into the evening as well.
The next few days were spent wandering the city from museums to parks to interesting little eccentric shops. We had fun trying to take a nap in every park in Amsterdam, it was like a game. There were three days of rain, cold, grey, heavy rain which had us inside reading or playing cards with the hostel people. We had a lot of fun wandering around with the people we met as well; we went to museums and churches, and we even had fun going to chip shops and falafel.
We visited the Van Gogh museum (crowded but cool) and walked past the Anne Frank house (too crowded and expensive for us to go into, but it was so small to see, and it really struck a chord in everyone, I think, to see how small a space it really was for them to be hiding in). There were huge cathedrals as well, most of which were free to enter.
The best (and most frustrating) part of Amsterdam were the canals. Great because they're so beautiful (for the most part) especially the ones in the outer city. Quiet little residential "streets", they had ducks and geese and lots of families who took evening boat trips just like evening car trips. The real setback to the canals is that you could so easily get lost because they all look the same! All the architecture resembles itself, so finding your way was really more like discovering a place you'd been lost in before.
Only once did we have anything big happen, that was when clumsy Air decided to bite it on a tram track. We were walking past this tram stop, and a biker(the bikers in Amsterdam are vicious, vicious creatures who take pleasure in knocking over tourists and unwary locals alike) whizzed past us too close, tripping up Air and knocking her over. She kissed the bike curb with both knees, skinned 'em up good. But otherwise we cam out with no injuries. We lost the only other platypus water bottle, though. Someone stole it when we accidentally walked out of the kitchen without it. I cam back down not 30 minutes later and it had disappeared. I was pissed, asked the reception guy if he had it, or who took it, and to no avail. I'm really unhappy about losing that bottle! Three of them, all int his trip!
And then came the flight to Croatia...

Bruges, and the Cactus Festival, July 9 and 10

Bruges was, if anything, tinier and hotter than Brussels, which is saying a lot because Brussels isn't exactly large, though it was extremely toasty there. We took the train to Bruges from Brussels, all of 45 minutes, and we had a fun time hauling ourselves through the heat with our packs on. Sweating, stinking and sore, we finally found our hostel (conveniently located in the heart of Bruges, but still hot, and without good facilities, oi). We set up and set out fairly immediately, because we had to be at the festival by 5 and we got in around 2, so we wanted to catch a quick nap and some food. We made sandwiches by a canal and fed some ducks, then wandered our way to the main gates. Now, Bruges being so small this wasn't too hard, but the vistas while we were walking were fantastic. Green was everywhere, and the windmills were hilariously Dutch.
We ended up at the festival a little early, but we got in and (now we're legit euro-travelers) got our wrist bands. Now, I know most of you have seen the paper bands you get at concerts sometimes, but these are heavy-duty bands. Cloth bands that are crimped with metal and cut off to fit your wrist. Efficient and useful for the people who are there for the whole fest (3 days) and camping, but also a great memento. We still have them on :)
We got to see Air's band (the entire reason we even went to Belgium, let's be honest) "I Am Kloot" and they were actually pretty good. THree middle aged men singing as a kind of side0gig, they had a good set even though it was the first set of all. As they said, "Usually being the first to play at a festival is kind of crap, but we like to think of it as starting it off right." The only other band we wanted to hear was one I liked (and had no idea was going to be there) Regina Spektor. Unfortunately Regina's friend had died a day or two before that, so her set was short because she didn't really have the heart to sing, which I can understand. We left after her set, and wandered our way through the dark streets of Bruges, where you could see the stars really well.
The next morning Air was having a lazy day of talking to her family and friends and whatnot, but I wanted to go see stuff, so we parted ways for the day. I set off with no plan, a map, and a bottle of water, and found myself wandering all over the city. I found a great gelato shop, and wandered through many a store and even through a few free museum-esque places. The best parts were the parks and canals, places where I just sat and listen to music or wrote in my journal, taking time off from our usual ten-foot proximity. It was nice, and I hardly wanted to go back.
When I did head back, though, I got caught up in some kind of parade, and I followed it as it wound it's way towards the city center, and thus the hostel. When I got back, Air had a surprise for me, it was a birthday present! It was a box she decorated herself, and filled with puddings and a can of mixed fruit cocktail, and we sat in our room having desert and we watched a movie and just relaxed.
Every now and again, you just have to separate.
The next morning we set out for Amsterdam, and it was the day of the WC finals, in which the Netherlands were up against spain, and we were headed straight into Orange territory!

Brussels, July 7 and 8

Well, after our first few days alone in Paris, we took the train to Brussels, which, being very near the border of Belgium, was only about an hour away. Shortest train to another country we've taken yet. We had little trouble navigating our way to the hostel, and though it wasn't in the center of everything, it was a splendid little place, quiet and right next to a metro station, so easy to find our way home. Air and I had a four bed dorm to ourselves for the most part, and there was *space*, such a novel concept in hostels. We set out right after showers and food to see the sights. Brussels, whilst being the center of the EU inner workings, is a remarkably small and vaguely uninteresting place. We got lost everywhere we tried to go because the maps we had, while free, were utter shite about actual distances and where the things they were trying to point you to were. Eventually we gave up the ghost and settled down in the pub we were going to watch the game in (Germany v. Spain!). We wanted to watch downtown because it would be a lot more fun than the hostel would be. We met some interesting German girls who are interning in Brussels for school, and we had a long talk about the unfairness of their ability to just take an internship in another country so easily. Their schools and governments make it easy, they WANT them to get out and be socially and culturally aware, and to have better international skills. Whereas we don't really like to send our people out into the big wide world without no small hassle. Oh well.
Anywho, Germany supporters were on the bottom floor of the pub, and Spain on the top. It was a tense game, and while we were rooting for Germany, we were just as well with Spain winning. In the end of the game, things got ugly and we scarpered quick from the downtown area. We got turned around in the subway, and ended up coming out of the wrong station entrance. Air got us to the hostel though, she's like a homing pigeon when it comes to getting home.
As for what we saw while in Brussels, mostly we just walked around looking at the architecture. Though the Mr Falafel was a favorite, I must say. We visited twice because it was good, and because it was cheap. For 3.50 euro you got 3 balls of falafel and all the salad you wanted. OM NOM. The second day we went for falafel, he gave us an extra ball! I think it was a combination of our obvious enjoyment and praise the day before, and the fact that we were more than willing to come visit his shop again. We saw a lot of chocolatiers, and we even stopped in a few for free samples. We bought a couple of delicious truffles and savored them for desert over the two nights.
For my birthday we mostly stayed in, but there was a Moroccan market that was interesting and we had kebap for dinner along with waffles (yummy, yummy waffles) for desert. We wanted to do more, but we were broke and exhausted, so we figured we would do more later. After all, we went to the Cactus festival the day after, so I considered that to be a good way to celebrate.
That was Brussels, really.

Paris, 4-6 July

Paris!

Well, the French are, in a word, French. Spiky, annoying and, well, very French. We flew into Paris (Beauville, not De Gaulle) arriving (as seems to be our trend) late.

First, we left Galway on the 3.30am bus. Sounds like it should have been a quiet trip, about an hour or so long at 3 in the a.m. Seems like it wouldn't be that bad, right? It was interesting, that's a good way to put it. It was Saturday night in Galway, the largest small city in the area, and all the locals from the itty bitty towns in the vicinity came out to party in Galway. Well, we took the last bus out, and so did they. A drunken, singing, stinking bus that echoed with pub songs and laughter. As the drunks slowly filtered out, it got quiet and we fell back into standby mode, but it was an interesting start to our journey. We got to Shannon airport around 5, and said our goodbyes to C, he was headed home and Air and I were off to our last half of the trip. Hard to believe it went by so fast! Well, as per our usual, the flight (a 6-something travesty) didn't leave the ground till like 8 or 9, and we got into Paris about noon.
(Funny sidestory: We fly into Paris and the first thing we have to do is passport control, just like every other country we've flown into. Sometimes, like Italy, they just wave you past. Others, like Ireland, they question you about what you're there for and how long. Or, if you're Parisian, you make the non-EU line wait 20 minutes while you finish your cell phone conversation, without even acknowledging the 70 people waiting for you to hurry up and let us go. Thanks, French border patrolman.) We managed the metro and even made it to the hostel with little harm. We were exhausted from no sleep, and all we wanted was a shower, but we got into the hostel before check in. So, being that it was France and all, we had to drop our bags and wander about until after 3. We decided to walk to the Lourve (not all that far, but a healthy hike) and when we got there, we were confused for a few minutes as to how to get in, and how to get tickets. We tried to ask the guy standing at the tours entrance (for the huge guided tours), and he just told us to go on in. We were baffled, but pleased. And then we found out that entrance was free that day. We were no longer confused! The first Sunday of the month? Why, the museums are free on that one day! Yay!

So we toured the Lourve. We made mistake numero uno by not grabbing a map, and the next one was not planning what we wanted to see at all. We got lost in the Medieval Lourve exhibit for a while, and then we got turned around in Dutch Painters. Oh, and Napolean's rooms. Those were about as opulent as it gets, and we were so hot and lost that we just kind of stormed through. It was kind of like Howth last year, where the heat had us all going around taking half hearted pics saying "It's fucking beautiful, can we go yet?" In the end, at the end of our endurance at any rate, we picked up a guide and found our way to the only two things I had really wanted to see. "Winged Victory" and the Mona Lisa (we *were* in the Lourve after all). We even took funny photos. Probably I should have been more, "oooh, art!" but after a while you look at museums in the same way: ooh, ahh, that's artsy. Unless you have an art fetish, museums can be the bane of your travels, they can bog you down in groups and they can set friend against freind when it comes to lines and waiting. It was pretty awesome none the less.

After we found our tired way to the hostel, got a room and took showers, we had to wander back out for food. Always an interesting conundrum in foreign cities: how late are your stores open, and can we actually buy food there? In small places things usually close around 6. Larger cities, 8. And in some urban ceters, a whopping 9pm is the limit. Sometimes I miss my consumerist identity.

With food in hand we went to find the advertised "guest kitchen" which included a vending machine for coffee, one for pastries, and a microwave. Oh, and a tiny sink. Unimpressed, we took our sandwich makings upstairs and had a slightly less than glamorous meal. We did find out that breakfast was included, and that you got tokens for the vending machines for that breakfast. Actually, it was better than some we've run across, but overall that hostel was about the WORST we'd had to stay in. In a six bed female dorm we had one window, a shower and sink. One toilet, ONE, for the whole floor. That was about 7 rooms, and at, say, 4-6 per room? Yeah. You do the math. We ran into a few cool people there though, so not a total loss.

Day two had us taking a walking tour of Paris, New Europe again, and it was fabulous. We spent the morning wandering all over Paris learning tidbits of history and getting oriented. We walked from Notre Dame to Champs-Elysse, then after that Air and I went on our own tour/adventure. We started somewhere below the Arc d'triumph, and we walked up the Champs-Elysse to the Arc. It was, as far as Arcs go, fairly impressive. Though the more entertaining (and impressive) thing was the eight lane roundabout that goes around the base of the Arc. An accident occurs there (on average) every twenty minutes, and your collision insurance doesn't apply if you get in an accident there. Oh, you Frenchie French people. We saw a fender bender, but nothing crazy. After that we wandered over to the Eiffel Tower (which is painted in three different colors so that it always appears against any backdrop) and did the tourist pictures and gawping. We also took pictured of the guys who were painting the tower-- they had to hang off of it in harnesses and swab paint on with long poles.

(As I am writing this, there is a cat caterwaling outside another apartment, and I am being laughed at for replying. I'm just being polite, the poor thing wants attention.)

After the Tower, we got lost. Very hot, sweaty, hungry and painfully lost. We persevered though, and after lunch (a box of profiteroles om nom delicious nom) we managed to find Notre Dame again. We hadn't actually seen it at all, aside from afar and even then it was misty and early. So, it's about 5 and we get in line to go inside the church. Let me tell you about Notre Dame. When you walk up to it, at first you think two things: how small it seems from the ground, and how detailed and absolutely impressive it is anyways. Notre Dame was constucted to hold the entriety of Paris' population (standing) when it was built in the 1200s. The statues look down at you from their pedestals, long necked and stern, they seem to point at you and reproach you for not grovelling in abject fear and awe. They aren't kind faces, but they do seem to have a kind of stern honor and, in the right light, they almost look like they could smile. The gargoyles, a notable feature, are entertaining. They have different faces, each a little comical or frightening in their own ways. We stood in the shadow of her towers, and Notre Dame, Our Lady, gave us sweet, blessed relief from the sun and heat. We walked inside and tried to find the best vantage point to see the rosette windows, but there were seats roped off at the best point, so we had to make do with what we got. Still, what an impressive sight, the eveining light filtering through the rosy glass. The other windows aren't to be laughed at, the artwork and detail on them is exquisite.

Thus ended that day, and we made a feast of baguette and leftover penaut butter and honey. Mmm.

The next morning we set out for Versailles, and it was FANTABULOUS. We set out to the trains, and had to switch twice, buy new tickets, and it was a royal wank. We found a whole gaggle of people, though, who, like us, were waiting for the train at the wrong binario. We managed to catch the train and, frankly, when we got off the train I kind of went, "well, where is this awesomeness?" We wandered, looking for an atm of all things, and just stumbled on a view of Versailles. Opulent isn't enough to describe this palace. Pictures do it justice, to a degree, but we stood in the courtyard for two hours for tickets, and believe you me, the thing is just impressive. For a crazy king, the guy certainly had no taste and was all for the over-indulgence form of decor.

It was probably 100 degrees in the brick-lined courtyard, and only about 87 in the rest of the area. Hot, hot, and more hot. Air and I weren't really prepared for the wait in the shadeless nightmare of the line. I took my scarf and wrapped my head with it, and Air took her overshirt and did the same. We have pictures. We were hungry, and didn't have anything with us to eat, so I volunteered to go scouting. It took about 40 minutes to scramble to the city center and back, and I never once saw a grocery store. But there was a fresh market closing up in the streets, so I bought a bunch of apples and some bread and hoofed it back. Also, I ordered in Italian, and the guy talked to me in French, but we both knew what was being said. Weird.

I got back and Air hadn't moved too far in the line, so I switched, put the scarf (which I had taken off and given to her for the wait) on my head and set about eating an apple and waiting. And waiting. And some more waiting. It took almost two hours to get tickets, and then another few minutes to get through the line to get in. Once we were in though, it was like a whole new experience. The Hall of Mirrors, the King's and Queen's chambers... "When in doubt," said Air, "gold gilt. It brightens anything." That's a good summation of the decor. It *was* beautiful though, and after a few hours of wandering, we finally made it to the gardens. Which, if anything, were more amazing than the palace itself. Acres of sweeping green, a canal and plenty of side gardens for all your royal shenanigan needs. We ended up slumbering for a bit under the cool shade of the trees planted along the Grand Canal. Then we watched people throw other people into the canal and laughed. It took almost a half an hour to walk the two miles, TWO MILES, of gardens back to the Palace. After that we managed to get seats on the train headed back to Paris (as all the signs say in English, all trains go to Paris from here, just take any of them!) which was fortunate because it was packed. We had to decide between going home and seeing Monmarte after dark, or going to Montmartre and not eating until we got back. We chose Montmartre before dark... The red-light in Paris is kind of scary, even in the daylight.

I was not happy with the walk up the hill, which was more of a trudge really. Monmarte is the artist's sector at the top of the tallest bit of Paris they could find. Air postulates that it was because they wanted to be left alone; I say that they were a bunch of drugies and drunks, and just wanted to be left alone from the coppers, so they took the bit no one wanted. Then it became artsy, and we all know the eventual progression of any art movement is that it starts off shunned, then it gets noticed by the "cool" people, then it gets noticed for being noticed, then it's all so old and uncool that everyone who wasn't ever even related to the word "cool" goes there now and the "cool" people have buggered off. Whew.

The very top of the hill is the church, the Sacre Cuore (Sacred Heart?) and it, for all it's odd architecture, is fairly amazing when the sunset hits the white marble. It lights up a dimly reflective pink and the whole square is left in a dim twilight as the sun sinks. The stairs of Montmartre are popular venues for street performers, hawkers, and the occasional wedding proposal. We sat there at the top of Paris, eating ice cream and watching the sun dip below Paris. You could see Notre Dame in the distance, and if you looked just right, the Eiffel Tower as well. A good ending to a whirlwind trip through Paris.