I know, I know, it's been forever...

... and I can't promise that this will be a good update either. With Italy's Cinque Terre adventures, France's high class south, and Spain's hopping Barcelona and now unexpected Madrid... let's just say I have A LOT to catch up on and very little energy to actually go through with the task.

Alas.

It's about 3:40 am here and Alex (Phillips) and I just returned from a night out in Madrid as part of the Pride Week that's been going on here since Monday. Little did we know we'd be arriving just when things climaxed, and it was an exciting surprise to find out that the whole city would be out celebrating (gay pride here is more like everyone celebrating the matter, not as exclusive as it can get in the US... according to Alex's friend Jesse, with whom we're staying for a night, a San Jose/Madrid co-native who's here for the summer). Intense sangrias, amazingly real Mexican food (with true Mexican cooks and servers, a real treat for my Mexican food-deprived self of the past semester), and crowds mingling at every curbside, the night began late (we didn't leave until at least 10:30) and ended earlier than anticipated. Jesse's still out, probably till six am or so. Alex and I however, gave up early. Somehow, the whole getting-up-at-8-am-for-our-train (which we missed because the metro broke down momentarily), followed by travelling the whole day doesn't bode well for a long night out on the town...

However Madrid is safe and bustling at all hours, and we managed to make it back to the apartment on our own, without a Madrid map and slightly tipsy at that. Exhaustion is kicking in, so I'll leave off here. Perhaps some true Spanish tapas, churros and hot chocolate, an anniversary Picasso exhibit, and the royal grounds are in the looming future of the next two days here... but we'lll see how long the 'day-life-along-side-night-life' concept will keep up... I mean, that's what siesta's for, right?

More to come... promises!

Till then... ciao until I find more free or at least cheap internet rates...

siena... it feels right here.

This is the first time I've really felt like I've been "on vacation", not just travelling. Given, my wallet's taken a beating for it... all the hostels in town were filled, and after a night out on the town's extremities that took 2 hours of bus confusion to reach, we decided to 'splurge' on a one-star hotel in the town center. For a luxurious 3 nights. Originally, we were planning to head to florence for a day and a night, but, as life tends to bring up unexpected opportunities, we've decided to stay another night in Siena and splurge once again... on a Tuscan cooking class. We're crossing our fingers that it won't turn out to be a huge tourist gimick for the price of a damn good cooking class back home (Gretch assured me that cooking classes tend to run high, after my initial gawk at the price). But if it proves worth it, we will come back with some Tuscan techniques in our apron pockets! Considering this gastronomic trend seems to be working well, we figured another relaxing day in this beautiful city with an evening full of yumminess and learning would outway a stressful day-trip to Florence that would include having to search for a place to stay. Thus... saving Florence for next time... (gotta say there'll be a next time always...)

So why has Siena made such an impression? Well, sitting on top of a Tuscan hill, it it remains a walled-in city with a special pedestrian charm, as cars are very much prohibited from rolling within the city walls save for luggage drop-offs, deliveries, taxis, and occasional buses. The city's a university town (how much would i love to come study here??) and thus has a youthful vibe, not to mention a plethora of internet points. Delicious fresh pasta, 'torte rustica' - an oversized savory muffin filled with yummy ham bits and wonderfully spiced - and one of the most impressing cathedrals i've seen yet... smaller than the others, but filled with a busy, colorful, marbled interior that got through the i've-seen-too-many-cathedrals wall i'd begun to construct.

Our first day here we managed to get there in time for mass, and enjoyed a who-knows-what-they're-saying service, lead by an expressive and personality-filled priest, and accompanied by a casually dressed and youthful choir with a pair of guitars adding to the organ. As gretch later commented, it gave it a community feeling, even though we're sitting in the city's most famous cathedral. Yesterday I went back and paid the 3 euro non-mass tourist price to go back and in a really explore the cathedral, with some help from rick steves' descriptions. Not quite as cozy when it was bustling with tourists, but still 'impressionant' as the french would say.

Our first night at the out-of-town hostel helped us meet Emma, an english girl travelling italy for six weeks on her own, who've we've actually met up with a few times for meals and evening people watching on the main plaza, even though we left the hostel. It's fun to have a third person, new energy, even though I'm also quite impressed at how well Gretchen and I seem to be travelling together.

Yesterday we decided to try and take in a bit of tuscan countryside... on foot. So we picked what looked like a good route out to some castle marked on our map, and began to walk. Turned out we were side-of-the-road trekking for a good two hours, but it was still nice to get out into some of the surrounding neighborhoods, past vineyards and such. On our way back, we looped around a side route, only to meet some very jovial italian guys working on the restoration of a country house who used their limited english to explain that they were making the dump of a house into a real beauty and that we were 'beautiful girls' and what were we doing tonight, how long were we staying in siena? Of course there was the usual jaw-drop when we said we were from California. Alas, though the stereotype doesn't exactly fit us, the name still draws awes. Still not sure how i feel about that one... But it was fun to try and have a conversation.

Currently, siena is only lacking two major things on my perfect-city spectrum, the first being a large body of water nearby (even a river would be nice! i've been soo spoiled...) and the second being a nice loungable park. The main el campo is great for people watching and rendez-vouing, but the concrete just doesn't do it like some nice grass would. Otherwise, though, the city has won a place in my heart...

Off to my first italian museum this afternoon(i know, i know, i've been in italy a week and STILL haven't visited a museum??), targetted towards siennese art... and tonight, the cooking adventure begins!

tomorrow we head to cinque terre and are considering sleeping out under the stars to balance costs... but we'll see.

ciao!

Idiosyncrasies of travel: or, why Melia has learned (maybe too successfully) not to stress…

Traveling. Things are bound to go wrong, right? And yet… just as the venerable rick steve’s recommends getting lost, often the biggest “wrongs” turn into simply awesome experiences that out weigh the original plan by millions.

Example. Yesterday, trying to return from lake Maggiore, I unknowingly got on the train coming FROM Milan, not going TO Milan (that was me trying to understand the Italian announcement, hearing something about ‘Milan’ and hurriedly boarding, afraid to miss the train…). And somehow, absorbed as I was in my French Hercule Poirot mystery, I didn’t seem to notice that the landscape started to look quite different than the ride over… nor that all the station names were different. Hence, half an hour later, when we arrived in Domodossola, I looked out at the station with great surprise, high-tailed my way off the train, and onto the train opposite, ready to head of to Milan… an hour later than planned. Annoyed with myself and mad that I had misheard the announcement, I plopped down in the new train and reached for my Poirot. In the process, however, the train began to move, and I glanced out the window. And nearly gasped aloud. Somehow, I had found way to the very border of Italy and Switzerland and was basking in the beauty of THE ALPS!!! My nose was eagerly glued to the window for the next 15 or 20 minutes back to Lake Maggiore, taking in the incredible view I had somehow missed on my wrong-way transit. Little Italian mountain towns with an old-school feel passed by, and I could see little communes high up in the trees. I was in awe. And decided, then and there, that even though Switzerland is not on my stopping itinerary, it simply needs to be in my day-time train transit itinerary. Because… my god. Perhaps it was because I simply wasn’t expecting it. But what a treat!

However…

This is nothing compared to last Tuesday’s train (mis)adventure. One that taught me just how amazing ‘going with the flow’ can be…

So. Gretch and I were all set to leave Budapest at 9 am on Wednesday, for a three hour trip to Vienna, where we would spend the afternoon and evening before catching a night train to Venice. All the schedules were printed, Alf (our awesomely eccentric german host that I will definitely describe in detail to come) came with us to the station to see us off and help decipher the train schedules, and with a good-bye hug and a cute-as-ever ‘Oooh, I’ll never forget you girls!’ from Alf, we were off. We only had a 15 minutes transit before we needed to change trains to head out of Hungary and into Austria. Simple simple, right?

Or not. Somehow, even though we knew the ride was only 15 minutes, we had set all our stuff down and proceeded to start a rather involved conversation. Which meant that when the train stopped, it took us a couple minutes to realize it was our station. And, seeing as how trains only stop for a couple minutes… by the time we had our backpacks on, the wheels had begun to roll again (did I mention that this also happened to us back in denmark, trying to get to the Viking camp?). A look between us and you could tell the exasperation was starting to mount, the i-want-to-blame-someone desire, the okay-WTF-do-we-do-now? And of course it was at this moment that the Magyar-only train attendants came by to check tickets and seemed perplexed by our eurrail passes and the explanation we tried to give that we should have gotten off at the last stop… At this point, the entire train car, filled with locals (it was a small regional train), was staring at us. One older man was nice enough to come over and serve as our translator, through which we were made to understand that, as the train slowed to a stop, we should get off at this next station and wait for a train going back in the opposite direction. So, packs on our backs, we step out of the train, eyes and a bit of laughter following us onto the platform, at which point we realized we were the ONLY ones to get off. And that the station was no more than a tiny strip of cement with a tiny little station and a reclining station attendant sitting on a bench out front.

Oy. Vey.

We started to laugh. You know, the only thing you can really do in those situations to avoid biting each other’s heads off for something without a true source of blame. I think Gretch was more exasperated than I was (as I mentioned, I think I’ve become almost too good at not worrying…) and she sat down on the bench with a sigh… I took a picture, to document our fateful situation. Walking over to the station attendant, we asked if he spoke any English. “No problem!” he replied, heavy with accent.

“Where do we wait for the train back to the previous station?”

“Yes, yes. Here. The train… here.”

“Okay… thanks.”

And I sit down next to gretch.

“Well… at least we have some good books!”

“But can we get to Vienna? We don’t even know if there’s another train there today…”

Luckily, the eurrail pass comes with a generic listing of main train routes, and we figured out that another train to Vienna would be leaving at… 1:30 pm. i.e. in four hours. Leaving us four hours actually IN Vienna before our night train to Venice. Aie. But no, no, it’s still worth it… we’ll just go back to Budapest, grab some lunch, and hang out in town before the next train. No problem….

The only question was, when was the next train back to Budapest? Can’t be that long, right? So I ask the station attendant, who had come out again to assess our situation. It seems he was alone and didn’t have much else to do, thus being eager to help out… and show us that, oh, yeah, no train back to Budapest that would stop at this little Podunk station for another… 2.5 hours. So I might as well take off my backpack and relax, he motioned with a knowing smile.

Gretch and I looked around. We were in the middle of nowhere hungary. Or, more precisely, we were a mere 15 minutes from our desired station. But the sun was hot, we had huge packs, and that was 15 minutes BY TRAIN. Hence… we had a long wait ahead of us.

“We’ll just have to make friends with the station attendant” I joked, wondering if we could get up the umph to have a conversation with him. He was young, friendly… no doubt bored…

But we couldn’t have guessed.

Within 15 minutes, he was out of his office with chair in hand, coming over to join us in the shade with a confident shrug of the shoulders, as if to say, “Now that you’re here, let’s be friends!” And for the next 2.5 hours, I couldn’t wipe the disbelieving/loving it smile of my face.

With his minimal English and our expressive hand motions, we managed to establish that he was Istvan, age 31, and had been working at this same out-of-the-way station for 10 years (yikes!) and reffed football (soccer) games on the weekends. When conversation started getting a little more difficult (those deep philosophical conversations are somehow more difficult when one doesn’t even know the word ‘think’ in the other’s language), Gretchen came through with the solution, pulling out of her bag one of the many quintessential universal languages, one that can cross all vocal barriers in this day and age… the language of cards.

Oh yes. For the next 2 hours, we sat down with a cardboard box standing on end as a table, pistachio shells found on the ground as betting chips, and played some mean games of poker and blackjack with a laughing and horrible-poker-faced Istvan. Every 10 or so minutes we’d here a computerized “toot toooot!” coming from his office and he’d get up, don his special train hat, and head to the tracks to wave at a passing conductor or give a train the “go” signal. And then he’d be back, ready to deal, ready to pose for pics, ready to show off his office… proud and sheepish, he brought us into the little office that was very obviously his own, complete with desk, computer, sink, fridge, and various train contraptions, which he tried to explain via motion… like showing us how he switched the tracks back and forth. Then his friend/collegue called and he had Gretchen on the line, obviously showing off that he had two Americans, CALIFORNIANS no less, in his office, hanging out with him for the afternoon… man, he was proud. And we were stoked. We posed holding the red old-school phone and wearing his special hat. He looked up our connection to Vienna and assured us we’d get there just fine… eventually. He gave us a bar of divine apricot-filling chocolate… and then we played more blackjack, learning how to count to 21 in Magyar, so we could announce our score each time. EGY, KETTO, HAROM, NEGY, OT… etc.

When it was nearly time to leave, we exchanged emails so we could send him the pics (and later, I realized that was really all we’d be able to do, seeing as how it’s not so easy to relate via email without a common language…). He proudly introduced us to some of his passing collegues, with whom we could only stand, smiling the i-don’t-know-what-else-to-do-because-i-can’t-understand-you foreigner’s smile, until they went back to work. I went back to his office one last time to refill my water bottle and see if I couldn’t catch a glimpse of all the naked girly pics Gretchen claimed were plastering the wall of the adjacent filing cabinet room (“Really?? I didn’t even notice! God… really?” and Grech’s response “Well… what else is he going to do all day? But now he’ll have pics of us to put up…” “Gretch!!!”)

Finally, our train was set to come. And we said our gesture-filled goodbye’s, thanking Istvan for an enjoyable, unexpected layover, and him saying “Fantastic day!” over and over and telling us we needed to wave at a collegue of his 1 kilometer down the tracks in a little house as the train passed. Supposedly this was the guy we’d talked to on the phone (‘talked to’ being used quite loosely here).

Boarding the train, we were filled with smiles and head-shaking laughter, and positioned ourselves at the window, starting to wave so that we wouldn’t miss whoever it was. Sure enough, 3 minutes down the line, we see another station attendant in another hut, scanning the train windows to see these “American girls” that his collegue had no doubt been bragging about. When he saw us, his entire face lit up and he started waving back enthusiastically, as Gretchen and I burst into a fit of laughter. At this point, we didn’t care if the rest of the train laughed at us. We’d just had an afternoon that no Rick Steve’s book could boast.

So many other little randomnities have come up during our travels, and I feel like each one fuels me with smiles and laughter… like when we arrived in Vienna at 4 pm and made our way to the big basilica only to see three afroed guys in sparkly outfits get up on a stage in front of the church and proceed to sing ‘Mah Mah Mah My Corona!’, surrounded by deck chairs and window displays of ACTUAL PEOPLE paid to lounge or stand for some sort of fashion event…Brilliant day, it was. Simply brilliant.

And man, what a luxury not to HAVE to stress… I’ll have to find a way to translate this ‘flow’ mentality to regimented, time-constrained life back home…

On that note… I’m frickin exhausted. Late nights and early mornings, with days in the sun is enough to make me wilt! Adventures with Alf and his Bobett (now you-ll have to wonder…) will have to wait till next time.

Arrivederci!

Whew… exhaustion is hitting hard.

Milano… a city of… what? Beautiful sights? Not really… unless you count all the model-types running around. But that’s not really my style… So. Why am I here? Well, besides my wonderful solitary day at Lake Maggiore, at the foot of the Italian alps (more details to come), I have aptly taken advantage of Milano’s stereotype as a fast-paced and efficient city to ‘take care of business’, if you will. Bought a new mole-skin journal to continue my daily scribblings… added a new book to my luggage with Ian McEwan’s Saturday (since Poirot in French is almost finished and will soon be left behind)… got the photos developed from my disposable camera (for a whopping 30 euro because I tried to do the entire transaction in broken Spanish-trying-to-be-italian and thus accidently chose a humongous picture size and didn’t understand the doubles literally cost double)… and finally, after seeing the grainy, could-have-been-awesome photos taken by the cheap disposable… I purchased a new camera. Dun-da-dun!

So… what is the name of this new baby of mine? The bigger brother to my sunken camera: Canon Powershot A700. Not what I was planning to get. But frankly, camera-shopping gets me so worked up, so stressed out, so indecisive… that it’s no wonder that I went for what I knew. Even though the price tag was *gulp* quite painful. In euros. I don’t even want to multiply it by 1.25 to find out the US cost. Let’s just say, within the last six months, my two camera purchases could have added up to by me a fine digital SLR. But alas. This will save me the time agonizing over the decision, searching for another camera in a more picturesque and sight-filled city, lamenting the inability to snap 50 pictures of a random rock that caught my eye… in other words, I am back in the game!

Luckily, Gretchen’s camera was working decently well in Hungary, Vienna, and Venice (more updates to come!), thus we do have a considerable amount of photos. And my disposable did do SOME justice… particular to a very cute picture of log cabin building Romain during the mountain party, which I am quite happy about. Not that I’ll be flashing around the picture to show off the attractive mountain man I spent three days with in the Vosges… really…

So that’s that.

Oh… and the other thing Milan is good for? Random encounters with the likes of Ariana!!! Yes, indeed, I found myself sitting in the Duomo today, totally by chance that I chose that exact moment to enter and take a seat looking up at the ceiling, when all of a sudden I heard a disbelieving and yet familiar voice… “MeLIa TICHenor… oh my god!!” And I look up to see Ariana and her mother coming towards me with wide eyes and smiles.

The world, it seems, is indeed small. Or perhaps Europe’s top visitable locations are what’s small. But Milan? In the Duomo on a Thursday afternoon, soon before Ariana and her mom would catch a train to Florence and I would move my stuff to my new host’s place… it was rather unbelievable. And after being alone and tired in Milan for the morning, it was nice to have some fresh energy (and a yummy sandwich that they treated me to… thanks again, ariana!) and a familiar friend, even if only for about an hour. I do, however, leave for Siena tomorrow to meet back up with Gretchen, and we are planning a day trip to Florence… so it’s possible that I’ll see the likes of Ms. Denney again, who I think is rather eager to spend some touristy time with peer company as opposed to her mother’s…

As for my company these past few days… I must say, Laura, our Italian neighbor and family friend from back in Albany, has some mighty cool friends here! And mighty generous as well for letting me stay with them (thanks to Laura’s asking… greately appreciated!). I stayed Wednesday and Thursday night with Simonetta, a high school friend of Laura’s who lives in a town just outside of Milan. She was more than accommodating, setting me up on her (super comfortable!) futon couch, offering a late dinner, breakfast, directions, train timetables, suggestions… everything! Including a night out for a true pizza dinner with some of her friends, two of whom spoke English, one of whom didn’t beyond some simple words, which made for an interesting bilingual night.

Being here, I can’t help but be confused by how similar Italian sounds to Spanish. While I guess I knew this before hand, I never knew to what extent… hence, I feel like I should kind of understand and kind of be able to speak the language (due to my one semester of intensive Spanish back in freshman year…), and yet, it’s just that much different to throw me off. When getting my photos developed, I managed to use just enough broken Spanish with a ‘ciao’ and ‘arrivaderci’ (sp?) thrown in to be able to go through with the transaction (though I obviously missed a good deal of what the woman was saying to me… hence the $30 bill). But it’s frustrating! Almost more so than in Hungary, where there was simply no way to understand the language, hence I didn’t stress myself out trying.

And then there’s my never-ending impulse to speak French whenever I find myself in a foreign situation/country. Every time anyone bumps into me, I still say “pardon” the French way. Took me long enough to get into the habit, and now it seems it’s here to stay! And what’s more… I miss French. I’ve been gone, what, a week? And I’m already missing speaking the language every day… missing my persona that goes with the language… the situations in which I would speak French. While these two months of traveling are probably a good way to ween myself of the past semester, I still know it’s going to be TOUGH to come back and leave the daily use of this beloved language behind… took a long time before I felt like I was really improving, but suddenly, right before I’m set to leave, something clicks, and I realize how comfortable I am inside French. If that makes sense. Sure, I’ll always be in a bit of a bubble, a now-translucent wall of bubbleness separating me from the ability to truly live in French on a fluent level. But I do feel like the bubble’s walls were stretched and reduced during this past semester, even though it was a struggle that often left me feeling like I was getting worse, if anything. But now… *sigh* It seems I’ve gotten off topic…

Okay, enough babble for now. New entry to come regarding some of the amazing flukes of the past week. The kinds of circumstances/happenings/situations that just make you laugh and shake your head and wonder why anyone would want to live a logical life…

Hungary? I am...

cSo, thus winds down our third day of BIG ADVENTURE installement 1: Budapest, the land of paprika, sweet wine, and... well, a big-city vibe kind of like any other. Except for the woman with her skirt hiked up, shitting at the entrance of the metro as we walked out of the train station for the first time. That was a little bit different...

But other than that, Budapest is... a city. It's got some great sights, some obvious nuances, and is filled with a finnougraic (spelling?) language that sounds not in the least bit familiar (Magyar)... but it's also got its Mickey D's (macdonalds), burger king, electronics stores (with over-priced digicams, so i think i'll be waiting a while for my new purchase...). When we asked Paul, our muscular, half french, half hungarian, hangs-out-in-his-boxers-all-day hospitality club host how we could escape the tourist trap and see a bit of the 'real' deal, he said we couldn't. That if we wanted to really see what hungarian's do, don't go to tourist things... just do regular city stuff. This, of course, was after we told him that we'd gotten tickets to see one of the 'traditional hungarian folk dance' performances for our first night there. He laughs... 'hungarians NEVER go to those things... and would never pay that price to see outsiders come in and dance their dances. It's the hungarians outside of hungary that keep the culture alive' Ah well. It was a good show nonetheless, with a violin orchestra featuring rivaling lead violinists and lots of vested, jumping, boot-slapping dancers...

Since then, however, we have managed to get outside of the tourist trap, despite Paul's insistance that we couldn't. Like yesterday's wine tasting festival... talk about divine! And filled with locals, going to get their fill on local wines and great hungarian cuisine. We bought our glasses, bought some tasting tickets, and proceeded to get our first glass of wine for free from an older winking wine-seller who rolled his eyes and then shook his head when we asked if he spoke english... but then dished us up two glasses of the famous hungarian sweet and fruity tokaji wine and waved us away without taking our drink tickets. 'So...' i turned to gretch 'do we look for all the stands with the gold-chained middle aged men behind them?' Of course the next place charged 5 drink tickets for a single taste, so our luck had run out... but what wine! Muscat with almond oil mixed in... like drinking dessert, right then and there!

The festival continued with the purchase of delicious stirfried veggies and chicken (cooked up in the biggest wok-type thing i'd ever seen), onion and chicken stew, a sausage (mmmm... sausage... Strasbourg has taught me well!), and a traditional sour cherry pastery, all eaten while listening to a hurdy-gurdy player pump out some incredible sounds accompanied by a reed-bending soprano saxophonist (sounded like a double-reed, though, and fit in perfecty), and a cello-type instrument that was plucked and hit with a stick instead of bowed. When i went over to try and ask the hurdyy-gurdy player how he got the buzzing rhythmic background in addition to the drone and the melody, it became obvious that the language barrier was going to prevent exstensive explanation... thus, he takes my hand and curls my fingers around the crank, with his hand on top, and makes me discover myself just how the sound is made! Then, right on cue, an american voice from behind me begins explaining 'the strings are resined and that's what makes the buzzing noise... it's a hurdy gurdy... I know because i collect antique instruments, and i have one at home... the two outter strings produce the buzzing against the cranked wheel...'

I proceed to start talking to the american voice, belonging to a middle aged woman from phoneix, arizona, who then offers to give me her email if i ever want to get a hold of her friend in Boulder that owns a renaissance instrument shop and sells hurdy gurdys... talking to dad on the phone later that day, he says he thinks mom may already have contacts at this very shop... So, essentially, the world is a small, small place.

After stuffing ourselves with delicious food, we decided to hit up the next place on our agenda... the baths! And considering we hadn't showered for a few days, it was a necessity as well as a luxury... after trying to decipher the various price boards (which seriously seemed like they were charging german speakers 400 forint less than those reading the english board (only 2 dollars, but still!), we changed into swim gear, left our stuff locked in the changing cubicle, and proceeded to delve into the baths.

After Baden-Baden's luxury, the initial mildewy smell caught us off guard... but it was there for a reason. Mineral baths... each room smelled slightly different... some rather rank, some almost yummy... and all in varying temperatures. Mmmmm...

Two and a half hours later, we walk out cleansed and better-smelling than before... and then it was back to Paul's bachelor pad apartment to chill and watch part of a world cup match before convincing ourself it was worth it to try and go out for drinks to experience a bit of budapest's night life.

Okay... time's running short and i didn't even get to today's adventures, which took us totally off the beaten tourist track, thanks to the fact that we got off the train at the wrong station trying to head to the cute but touristy town of Szentendre... and not realizing we weren't actually heading to Szentendre's town center, until we see a sign saying the town was still 7 kilometers away... but that's for another time.

Now we have to move our stuff over to our second host's place in the buda hills... an older german professor... we'll see how that goes.

Much love to all!

funny how first impressions sometimes belly-flop the second time around...

So... in the tales of melia's love life...Romain wins. By far. Or maybe second dates when one is ready to leave the country just aren't a good idea. But in any case, last night's hot rendez-vous with Xavier ended up being a rather eye-rolling, this-is-not-what-i-was-expecting kind of night. There was almost zero chemistry, in my opinion, we talked over each other, and -- god, i've been in france way too long -- when it came time for paying for the first set of drinks, then dinner, then the second set of drinks, he was very obtuse in explaining to the guy at the counter that we were most definitely paying separately. Which I totally don't mind, back in the states it would be assumed, but it was just the way in which he did it.

So... no chemistry, too much beer, no dancing and no music (that can make a date totally worthwhile even if on ne s'entend pas bien ensemble... even if you're not clicking) and then, my two WTF (what the fuck) moments of the night...

We're talking sports as we're walking back to his bike because he's really into the NBA, and he randomly brings up Dennis Rodman's rebounding skills. I mention that Dennis Rodman also has really good cross-dressing skills, and describe an MTV episode I saw back in the day about him in a wedding dress. No sooner do I finish with this than Xavier pulls me close to him to begin making out. Okay, I'm sorry, but perhaps I'm missing something... WHERE is the link between Dennis Rodman flouncing around in a dress and it being an opportune time to make-out??? If there's a connection there, perhaps I don't want to know.

And the icing on the cake? We're walking back down the Grand Rue, and suddenly Xavier's like 'aie, j'ai besoin de faire pee-pee' (yes, in france, you do indeed say 'i need to do pee-pee' no matter if you're 5 or 35 years old). I let the comment slide because I figure we're heading back anyway, but three seconds later, he's like 'pee-pee!' and leaves his bike for me to hold while he goes to relieve himself up against a store front. I nearly shook my head in disbelief as i stood there with his bike... true, since arriving in france, I have probably seen over 100 men with their backs turned, standing up against trees, walls, or the mountain air, emptying a full bladder. It's pretty standard here. But COME ON!!! We're on a fucking date, and you're peeing against a store front??? When he came back he was like 'desolé, desolé... sorry, that wasn't very gentleman of me'. All I could muster was a head-shaking 'no... no it wasn't'.

Closer to my place he starts the whole stop-in-mid-conversation-lower-the-eyelids- and-pull-you-in-for-a-random-kiss deal again... and nearer to my place he asked if i wanted to come to his place. No, no, gotta get home and pack for tomorrow, sorry...

Damn! I mean, the first night I did notice he talked a whole lot, but it was all stuff I agreed with, so the fact that i was sitting saying "oui oui oui" most of the night didn't bug me. But last night, though certainly not terrible, was just kind of null. Ah well. As Madame warned me, don't go falling in love with someone during your last week here... and there's definitely no fear of that now. I still have a pleasant lingering memory of Romain, so the slate hasn't totally been wiped clean, but now that 'romantic first kiss' has been replaced with the memory of Dennis Rodman in a dress sparking an excessive tongue make-out session.

Speaking of making out... both Xavier and Romain asked about this 'French Kiss' we have in America... both asked what it meant. 'Well... i just means tongue' I responded, both times. With Romain, I asked if in france they have a specific name for a tongue kiss as opposed to without. He thought for a second and was like, "no... i don't think so. Perhaps 'pelle roulante'? You know, that's what older brothers and sisters will explain when a younger sibling wants to know about how to do it" "pelle roulante? what's that?" and Romain proceeds to go through the motion of digging a hole a shovelling out dirt...

pelle roulant = rolling shovel.

I couldn't stop cracking up. So, if anyone ever asks you how to french kiss, just tell them it's easy... all you have to do move your tongue like you would a shovel digging a hole...

and you know? when Xavier got a little too into the tongue last night, i had an orchestra of shovels dancing through my thoughts...

------

In other news, I leave in two hours for Munich, where I'll meet up with Gretchen for a two hour layover before we head to Budapest. This time, i'm leaving for real... i'll be gone for a month and then only return to stras for a single night before heading on to see Martina (who i miss soooo much!) and then go up to ireland. It doesn't feel real, since I've been doing so much leaving and returning these last few weeks. But come this time tomorrow, i think it'll have sunk in.

Love to everyone!

Romantic adventures during my last Alsacian days...

Well... where to begin. And do I even have time to begin? I have so much floating around in my head... I was going to set aside a good couple hours to try and sort out my thoughts, sort out the events of the last week... but then gretchen was online and we had to sort out our budapest and italy itineraries. Looks like I'll be meeting her in munich tomorrow night and we'll be on the same night train to budapest. But back to Alsacian romance...

god, no, I don't have time to go into this right now. It's too complex, there's to many nuances, I can't make it a "quick" update. But suffice it to say, I have date tonight (hence the lack of time to sit in front of the computer and muse about my sudden love life). His name is Xavier, and he was my first true "french" kiss last thursday, after we went out for a good five hours of hookahs, conversation, worldy exchange, music talk, and dancing. Interested in the world, passionate about other cultures, a self-proclaimed cook of foods from around the world, he works in city planning here in stras and loves his job... trying to minimilize negative impacts on the environment during the building of roads, etc. He's travelled so many places, has friends in so many countries, has a life philosophy of open-mindedness and the importance of depth... he's a muscian of sorts, does electronic melanges and turntables, writes his own stuff and composes with his friend, a soulful singer. And he loves to dance, even if no one else is ("Who cares if no one's dancing? We can do what we want" Me: "Yeah, and it's not like we know anyone here" him: "and even if we did? what's stopping us?"). He even tried taking me to a gay bar (it ended up being closed), where often "the ambiance is better, people really know how to have fun"... (when ariana heard that, she was like "Oh my god, Melia, you need to marry this guy! He is totally your type!"). And the night ended with a romantic kiss in the petit france area, right by the canals...

BUT. There's also Romain. Who I met two days after at the mountain party. A totally unique, somewhat loner of a mountain man who says "putain" ("whore", their version of "fuck!") nearly every sentence, and yet who managed to charm me unexpectedly with all his various contradictery characteristics. Like his love of astrology, pointing out all the constellations when we were lying out on the edge of the Vosges, the first night... like the gentleness of his hands when we would cuddle up to keep warm on the windy mountain top... like the way he'd try and speak english and make all sorts of cute mistakes and then try and insert the word "fuck" like he would 'putain' and say things that didn't work at all... the fact that he makes log cabins for a living (really... think and loves his job more than anything... that his dream in life is to live out in the forest somewhere in a small log cabin, built by his own hands, by the edge of a lake, 20 minutes from the nearest village... the fact that he said he felt more comfortable with a chainsaw than with a pencil when it came to creativity... the fact that he swing danced for 8 years, even competing with various partners, until he got sick of being judged for something he would rather love to do just for fun... the fact that we danced in a colmar park, even though everyone was watching... his dry dry wit that gets you off guard but makes you crack up when you understand he's kidding... the fact that he took me out to a wonderful little alsacian restaurant and made me try foie gras while he described his dream cabin in english as best he could... the fact that he loves Yann Teirsen and the movie goodbye lenin because it's about the love between a mother and a son and reminds him of his relationship with his mom... that he put in the soundtrack to goodbye lenin when were driving through the winding streets leading to bonhomme and imagined the same "ideal place to listen to this song" as I did... that we cuddled for a good hour while listening to the entire Amelie soundtrack, sitting in his car in the darkness of midnight in the vosges, and he didn't try to kiss me, but was all about the curling up and tracing fingers until we nearly fell asleep... and the bus stop goodbye, with a final good wish on both our future lives...

Romain made quite the impression on me, even though I could never quite read him, could never quite tell what he was thinking... when I got back on tuesday, I immediately set down to making a mix of music I'll send him with copies of the pics I took with the little disposable camera... and me making a mix for someone usually means there pretty special...

And yet I'll be seeing Xavier again tonight. And, now back in Stras, I'm reminded that, as intriguing and different as Romain was, it was a really a quick peak into a whole different world that I'd never really be able to grasp. When he wrote me a text message, he wished me well in my travels and return to "the United States of America" and then said "je vais rester dans mon petit pays." "I'm going to stay in my little country." which I read as his little corner of the world. A simple, but passionate life that got me thinking about what's truly important in one's day to day.

Xavier -- I think -- is more on my wave length, in terms of life's direction and thoughts. I'm not upset I'll be seeing him again tonight, since we had quite a fun time last weekend. It's just a little weird, this sudden influx of people - unique, intriguing, life-loving individuals - that are somehow coming into my life just at the very end of my stay here. I leave for budapest tomorrow night. And I have a date tonight.

Part of me feels like maybe that's the reason WHY this is all suddenly happening. I don't have to worry, I don't have to be afraid, I know I'm just going to be leaving, so why not take a chance? It was me who suggested to Xavier that we try and get together after we spent the evening talking at a bar during one of Martina's and my last nights out two weeks ago. And it was me who randomly started talking to Romain at the party, when I didn't feel comfortable starting up conversation with almost anyone else there (I'll save mountain party details for another entry). And me who suggested I stay on with him instead of going back to stras with Anisa Monday evening.

All semester I felt almost no connection, no interest in anyone. Didn't check people out, didn't feel the pull to have someone, to go on dates... didn't meet anyone with whom I felt like I clicked. And then... I don't know. Perhaps the little crush on Gaspard turned on the switch and suddenly the pheramons started to flow. I've NEVER gone on dates before... seriously, I've dated friends, I've had crushes, but this is all very new. In any case, it's been an interesting, thought-provoking week... and now I really need to catch a tram back to chez moi so I can take a shower and get to our rendez-vous spot by 7:30 to figure out dinner plans.

*whew* Okay, so I guess I was able to kind of summarize things. I've had ample reflection time to write extensive accounts of various moments, various days this past week, but perhaps it's best I leave off here.

tomorrow, a new life begins. Again. Every week is something different it seems. I think I'll be ready for something steady and enduring when I return home... like a bed I can call my own for more than a few days at a time. But until then... keep the adventures coming!

Yann Tiersen is a genius

"Soundtracks are the classical music of today" ~ Anisa, as we discussed the genius of Yann Tiersen last night, sitting out on the side of a Strasbourg canal during her last night.

I just got back from FNAC, one of the biggest electronics/audio/visual stores in the area, in the hopes to check out the digital camera selection... of course i got discouraged on that front pretty quickly and decided to get out of there and enjoy the beautiful sunny day (has summer FINALLY started??)... but not before I was just going to peak upstairs in the CD section.

Bad idea.

An hour and a half later, I was still in the store, having discovered the "scan the barcode" music stations where you can listen to 30 second clips of almost any cd's songs. I must’ve had a pile of about 12 cds that I was skimming through, rediscovering all the music I’d been introduced to at the original goat-party fête (Eric’s birthday party after my first visit to the farm), as well as some of the stuff we heard at thsi weekend’s mountain party. Funnily enough, I already recognized a good number of names thanks to a random french compliation CD sophia’s mom gave me back in highschool that turned out the be a bizarrely awesome mix of underground french rock.

And french rock... totally different genre than American rock. I mean, how often do we americans think to stick an accordian in the background as one of the principle instruments? And there are other details... a distinct feel, various styles meshed together (like La Phaze’s jungle and punk), vocals set very much at the front of the music, clear and expressive, some rap mixed in on occasion, electronic influences, big band back-ups, political and environmental issues woven in, absurd lyrics... and, despite how many people might laugh at french rap, despite the fact that Anisa thinks it "just doesn't work", I think it's frickin awesome... When used well, of course... take Java for example. It's rock/rap/something totally different... one song has people buzzing in the background with the lyrics "sad like an empty fridge"... Suffice it to say, I have two Java CDs on my list of must-haves, though I'm not about to pay 20 euros each at this point.

On my list of to-gets:

- La Phaze, Fin de Cycle and Pungle Roads (this is the reggae/punk group I went to see with Gaspard and friends)

- Noir Désir, des visages des Figures

- Les hurlements d'leo, ouest terne

- Java, hawaï and Safari Croisière

- Manu Chao, Clandestino (with the song Bongo Bong, that I've danced to all semester when out salsaing)

- Mickey 3d, tu vas pas mourir de rire

- Raphael, caravan

- Le peuple de l'herbe, ph test/two

- Gotan Project

- Cafe del Mar

So what did I walk out with today? Well, considering there were sale CDs for 8.99 euros, I figured I'd limit myself to a few of those and wait to get the more expensive stuff until I'm back home and can find it through Amazon or something... but I did manage to walk out with some good finds: the new album from De Palmas, who I discovered during my first visit to france, and then two of Yann Tiersen's cds, one being the soundtrack to Goodbye Lenin. Haven't yet seen the movie (yet), but after listening to the CD in Romain's car monday (his favorite movie and Yann Tiersen his favorite musician), it became a necessary addition to my collection. For those who don't know Yann Tiersen, think Amélie. He did the entire soundtrack, and has those amazing piano, accordian, violin compositions that build and fill and tug at every part of your emotional comprehension.

it dawns on me that I haven't yet mentioned Romain, nor talked much about the mountain fete, or about the other various happenings of this past busy week. I feel it merits a post of its own, so I'll sign off on this topic and start a new post...

On a final note: If you don't have any Yann Tiersen, go out and get some now. I'm serious. He'll take you for an emotional rollercoaster. Which is all the better when you're sitting on top of the Vosges at midnight, intertwining fingers with a 24-year-old log-cabin-building mountain man...

http://www.yanntiersen.com/

last-minute dating...?

So somehow, my previously non-existant dating life in Strasbourg has come to life in suprising and multiple ways starting the night i got back from denmark... kind of late in the game, it seems, but maybe that's what it's all about... no fear, because I'll be leaving anyway, so why not take the chance? (or chances...?)

i have a long, convoluted entry on the surreality of the last week's happenings residing in the forefront of my mind... but currently, i'm late for dinner chez moi, so it will have to wait. the intrigue to come tomorrow...

The (probable) death of a good friend: water and electronics don't mix

So... my camera fell in the Baltic. As in Sea. As in my 6-month-old, expensive-at-the-time digital camera. As in... sigh. It won't turn on. And i didn't have a computer around to check online for quick suggestions for what to do to try and save it. One sight said re-submerge it in salt-water until you're ready to fix it... because otherwise the oxydization will kill the circuitry. I'm thinking that's what happened. The only photo place i found today was an electronics store and the woman just looked at it with pity, and shook her head. 'Do you have a warranty?' she asked? Perhaps, but not in france... Gaaaah!

I didn't freak out too badly when it happened and managed to really enjoy the rest of my 'day alone in denmark'. But now that i'm back in stras and tried my best to dry out the camera myself... i'm starting to feel the sting. My first instinct with electronics is that I should be able to find some way to fix them... not sure where I came up with this idea, seeing as how I'm not exactly an electronics wiz. But i did manage to fix mom's old computer, thus i have this curious confidence in my ability to 'find a way'...

However, i think the situation is pretty dreary this time around.

To add to the camera drama, Gretchen's camera starting taking pink-blur shots the day before my baltic spill... according to a text message from norway, it's not doing so well either. Hence, we can't settle for sharing a camera for the next month if neither work.

So essentially i'm in the market for a new camera, because I can't forsee two months in europe without. But it'll cramp my finances...already had to buy an unforseen pair of new sturdy and comfortable shoes, which, at $120, already seemed steep. And for a good digicam...? When i just invested in this last one less than six months ago?

I'm torn... on the one hand, it seems stupid to buy an el cheapo new camera because THIS is when i'd be wanting top shots, THIS is when i'll be using it the most. And god know I'm going to be extra careful around large bodies of water... (i blame it on the face that i was visiting hamlet's godforsaken castle at the time). But on the other hand...

Do i make-do with a disposable until Budapest and hope I can get better prices there? Do I suck it up and buy here where at least i can understand the language even though the euro is not exactly in my favor? And which one to buy?

oy. well, at least this makes the tentative decision to go to scotland for the finale of my trip easier... i'll save the extra plane fare towards new camera costs.

One girl on my trip broke her camera after falling down stairs drunkenly with a bottle of wine in her purse next to the camera which proceeded to break all over everything. At the time, I shook my head, sorry for her, but sure I'd never do anything like that. And then i go put my camera in a fairly lose pocket and reach for my open-faced sandwich while sitting on some rocks and enjoying the beauty of the baltic... and BLOP, it was half submerged, wedged between two seaweed-covered rocks. I think the fisherman down the way must have wondered at my solitary cries of panic.

In any case, I'll stop my rant there. I have a screwdriver and my curiousity may take the better of me tonight concerning the attempted drying of the inside of the camera...

As it is, Denmark was wonderful besides this accident... but I'm too wiped to really report on that. Besides, gotsta meet ariana for dinner, and then find the umph to go for drinks with a guy met last week when out with martina. shouldn't have said yes when he texted today, but seeing as how it was my idea last week, it seemed silly to be the hypocrite.

meanwhile, mountain party should start tomorrow, though plans are all up in the air and i made a fool out of my french trying to talk to gaspard on the phone. Not sure if maura will make it, if the temperature will get better (i swear it could have been hailing earlier today... so much for hot european summers...)... i guess i'm just kind of stressed and tired from the night train and not exactly in the best of spirits.

But things will look up. I know that much.

à plus tard!