Powermonkeys, Humidifiers and Bheesties...oh my!

           I hate being sick. Almost as much as I hate being pale. And I hate being pale. Not that paleness doesn’t look good on some people. For those of you pull it off, kudos. But I just simply don’t feel like a human unless I’m tan. Something about the healthy glow you get, the vitamin D, or the feeling that the sun is baking all disease out of your body. I admit it; I am a total sun worshipper. And I’m okay with that. I have resigned myself to the fact that I will have to live in a tropical location for the rest of my life in order to stay sane. Moving to Alsace, where I have yet to actually see the sun, does not do wonders for one’s complexion; let me tell you that. In fact, the sun shines so little in this glorious corner of France, that we must all take vitamin D supplements. Go figure.

Way cooler than the one I have.

            But back to my main point. I despise being sick. Why do I bring this up? Because I am, at this precise moment, a complete and total incubus of viral plague. For over 5 days now my body has been battling some nasty, unknown virus that is hell-bent on destroying me. I can’t even summon the energy to change my clothes (most of which, at this point, are probably covered with VapoRub and Robitussin). If I get up to make a cup of tea, by the time I’m finished, I’m too exhausted to even drink it. But it wasn’t all so bad until I aged myself about 60 years. How did I manage this feat, you ask? Well, as I write this, I am staring into the face of the humidifier hard at work in my room, trying to give me back some semblance of humanity. Now maybe you all have different views on who uses a humidifier, but in my experience, I’ve noticed that it’s pretty much all 80-year-old men. Good thing I’m 22.

            However, amidst the piles of tissues, empty bottles of cough medicine, Vaporub containers, and countless Tylenol PM pills on my bed, there is some incredibly exciting travel paraphernalia. And that, my friends, is what I have decided to write about this week on my blog.

First, I must apologize. I know that I promised to write all throughout this vacation, and I have not. I planned to originally, but my little stint with disease has put quite the kink in my plans. Second, I am going to stop complaining right now and move on to bigger and better things (like maybe down to the couch). Either way, the following is a list of simply the coolest travel gear available to you this holiday season. Some of this stuff I own, some of it I covet, but nonetheless, it is all pretty sweet.

The Bheest.

       1.     The Bheestie Bag: By far the coolest travel accessory I found amongst my Christmas presents. This ingenious invention removes moisture from your electronics and restores them back to life. So for example, let’s say you are a giant klutz (like me), and you happen to drop your digital camera into a mug of beer at Oktoberfest (believe me, these things do happen). All you need to do is take your camera, place it in the Bheestie bag, seal the bag tight, and leave the camera in there for 1-3 days. Afterwards, you take the camera out, and it should be completely resuscitated. Apparently this Bheestie bag has revived cell phones, watches, ipods, pdas and cameras that have gone swimming, taken a spin through the washing machine, or been soaked by rain. The way it works is by using powerful, water-absorbing beads that are enclosed inside a pouch within the bag. http://www.bheestie.com/

Despite its size, gives off great sound.

       2.     Macally Podwave Portable Stereo Speakers for iPod: For all you music lovers out there, this travel gadget is pretty cool. These tiny, portable, battery-operated speakers allow you to enjoy your iPod music anytime, anywhere, with anyone. Weighing less than 3 ounces, they are incredibly portable, and give off great sound. They plug right into the headphone jack of your iPod or mp3 player, and are operated by one AA battery. According to Macally, these babies can play continually for up to 8 hours, so there’s no longer any need to stifle that soundtrack to your life. If you find yourself bored in a train station, or in a bleak hotel room, just pop the speakers in, and you’ll be jamming with friends in no time. http://www.macally.com/en/product/ArticleShow.asp?ArticleID=128

      3.     Universal Power Adapter: As any frequent traveler knows, a power adapter is an important accessory. There’s nothing worse than arriving to your hotel and realizing you won’t be able to charge your Blackberry during the entire trip because you don’t have the right plug. With this gadget, you will be able to plug into British, European, Japanese, and Australasian outlets. That pretty much covers everywhere in the world…right down to Nauru (I didn’t even know this was a place), the Channel Islands, and Malawi. And yes, not to worry, it will also work on your frequent trips to Pakistan. For the complete list of countries, check out the website: http://www.thinkgeek.com/gadgets/travelpower/9751/#tabs, it is quite impressive.

Quite possibly the coolest invention ever.

      4.     Powermonkey Portable Charger: Okay now this is seriously cool. And if you don’t covet this item after I tell you all about it, you’re seriously weird. Anyway, I find that generally the way the world seems to work is that we are never near an outlet when our gadgets run out of battery. Even if you have your handy universal power adapter, if you can’t find an outlet, you are in trouble. Well not anymore! This is where the Powermonkey portable charger comes in. This handy little device gets charged up from a normal AC power outlet, and then you can stash it to use on the go. It can hold a standby charge for up to one year, and comes with a range of add-on adaptors to fit a variety of electronic devices (including iPods and Blackberrys…score!). It’s very small, lightweight, and great for any trip that outlasts the stamina of your electronic devices (i.e. transatlantic plane flights). Basically, when your iPod, cell phone, or anything else runs out of battery, plug it into the Powermonkey charger, and it will charge it back up. With this, you can have power anywhere you are in the world. Perhaps I’ll test it in the middle of the Sahara, just for kicks. https://www.thinkgeek.com/gadgets/travelpower/917b/#tabs

Now the following are not exactly gadgets, but nonetheless, they are great travel gear no traveler should leave home without.

Pocket full o' leaves

      5.     Sea-to-Summit Trek and Travel Pocket Shampoo with Conditioner: I must pay homage to my sister for finding this incredible invention. These tiny packs contain 50 dry leaves of shampoo and conditioner combined. TSA-friendly because they are non-liquid, the leaves are also 100% biodegradable, and super lightweight. Upon getting wet, they transform into shampoo. Overall, they make your shower supplies a lot easier to bring along… http://www.racingtheplanet.com/store/gear/camping-hiking/personal-care/sea-to-summit-trek-and-travel-pocket-shampoo-with-conditioner.html

      6.     Sleep Mask and Earplugs: You can get these from basically any store in a variety of shapes, textures, patterns, and colors. Some people like the sleep masks with all the frills; you know, the ones that promote REM sleep and have special grooves for your eyes...If that’s your thing, more power to you, but all I was looking for when I shopped for these was something that blocked out light and sound so I wouldn’t be bothered if I didn’t want to be. And you can pretty much find my kind anywhere. I would just say bring them with you when you’re staying in hostels or campsites, or needing to catch some shut-eye on the plane because people can often be loud, annoying, and obnoxious when you’re trying to sleep. http://www.amazon.com/Dream-Essentials-Dreams-Contoured-Earplugs/dp/B000CCI4YU/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1293740017&sr=8-1

If someone finds these tags in real life,
please send them my way.

       7.  Luggage id tags: Another must-have that you can practically pick up anywhere, luggage id tags are great gift ideas for any traveler. Just this Christmas I found 4 in my stocking, and they are already filled out, attached to my suitcases, and ready to go back to France. The ones that are crazy and colorful might be a good idea as a way to distinguish your otherwise boring black suitcase. http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_0_12?url=search-alias%3Dapparel&field-keywords=luggage+tags&x=0&y=0&sprefix=luggage+tags

      8.     Everything in miniature: And I mean everything. Looking at the pile of miniature stuff on my bed, I am astounded companies even make things this small. Here’s a sample of the things I got this Christmas, all in mini size: deodorant, face wash, body wash, shampoo, conditioner, makeup remover, Tums, mouthwash, body lotion, face lotion, eye cream, toothpaste, Tide, cotton balls, Q-tips, sewing kit, Airbone, and bugspray. All designed to fit inside that Ziploc bag for any plane flight.

 So, as you plan for your next big adventure, I hope you’ll keep this list in mind. There certainly are some clever gadgets available to make all your traveling dreams come true. And now, since my humidifier is running low on water, and it is practically my only lifeline, I must leave you all to go re-fill it, and return to my life of tea, soup, electric blankets, VapoRub, Robitussin, Tylenol PM, and humidity.

Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Happy New Year! 

More to come from Europe in 2011…

Lyon, France: Liberty and Her 4 Horses on LSD

           I must admit I am getting quite used to the incredibly long journeys I have so frequently been making across the European continent. Over the past 3 weekends, I have spent a whopping 30 hours in trains. London and back? 10 hours. Brussels and back? 10 hours. Lyon and back? That’s right, 10 hours. Add that to the number of hours I spend on the train during the week, and I could swear I am the European rail system’s best and most frequent traveler. So, by the time my train pulled into Lyon Perrache at 11:30pm last Friday night, I was no longer phased by the fact that I was probably not fit to be seen in public.

Fête des Lumières in Lyon

            Let me backtrack here one second here. The entire purpose of this trip to Lyon was for yet another miniature UVa reunion. (You might be surprised at how many there are of us over here!) Victoria and I were to go down for the weekend to visit our friend Alix, who currently studies at SciencesPo in Lyon, but who had studied abroad at UVa last year. She lives with another French girl, Elodie, who also spent last year in Charlottesville. In turn, Elodie had another friend, Kristina, yet another Cavalier, coming in from Paris as well.

As my day at school on Friday wound down, excitement began to build that I would soon escape Alsace and spend a weekend with my college friends. Naturally my train from work was late, and I found myself sprinting through the Strasbourg train station in an effort to catch my train. Luckily I hopped on just as the train was pulling away, red in the face, and totally out of breath (reminder: working out in Alsace is not possible unless you own sub-zero temperature running gear and a pair of snowshoes). I settled down in my seat, and proceeded to pass the time catching up on administrative tasks: writing cover letters, applying for jobs, crafting lesson plans, and of course, watching old episodes of Friends. Thank God for these long train rides, or I would probably never get anything done.

Alix and I

I met Alix in the station and we quickly went back to her apartment to get ready for a night out in Lyon. My visit coincided with the Fête des Lumières (Festival of Lights), Lyon’s annual tradition of paying tribute to Mary through various displays of light all over the city. Starting on December 8^th and continuing through the evening of the 11^th, the Fête de Lumières attracts thousands of tourists from all over the world each year. It was our mission to get ready, head to a friend’s birthday party for a bit, and then explore town and see the lights. By 1am, Alix, Elodie, Kristina, and I were ready for a night on the town. Unfortunately, Victoria had gotten sick, and was unable to come, so it was just us 4 girls for the weekend. We made our way to Etoile, a trendy bar not far from Alix’s apartment. There, two of her friends were celebrating their birthdays amidst copious amounts of cake and alcohol. Don’t mind if I do!

Much to my surprise, most everyone spoke English (Note: not a common occurrence in Alsace). The second they heard I was American, they wanted to speak in English, talk about life in the US, etc. But it was not only English-speakers I found at the bar, but actual Americans as well. We seriously are everywhere, it’s not a joke. I happened to meet a boy from Alexandria, on his study abroad in Lyon, and after a few minutes of talking, found out we have multiple friends in common. Small, small world.

Lights on the Basilique

We left the bar after a bit to go and see the lights. Only problem was that in an effort to conserve energy, Lyon had shut off all the lights (how green of you, France). Our plans thus thwarted, we decided to head into the “vielle ville”, or old town, and poke around in a few bars. We settled on the Look Bar, one of Alix’s favorite haunts. This bar, established in the 1960s, has not changed a bit since it’s creation. You walk inside, and it is like being transported back in time 50 years. The booths are covered with red velvet, and the musty smell of old cigarettes and marijuana is pungent. Even the bartenders are the same (about 70 or 80 years old by now, no joke). While at the Look Bar, we also encountered more of Alix’s friends who had studied abroad in the US. These three, who spent a year at UPenn, were all too keen to tell me why Penn was better than UVa (it seems that even those who study abroad at Ivy League schools adopt the “we are better than you” mentality…just kidding...) One, who I must say looked like a homeless lumberjack, even pulled out his Penn student ID card on more than one occasion to prove that he did, indeed, go to Penn. This same lumberjack, who spoke English with a New Zealand accent, also decided that he was in love with me, and informed he “would like a place to stay upon coming to Washington, DC in February”. Gotta love the French. Around 5am we wondered home, hoping that the city of Lyon might decide on an impromptu light show for late-night clubbers and the like. No such luck.

Salade Lyonnaise

We woke up at 1pm on Saturday, and decided to go straight out for a gourmet Lyon experience. While in the “capitale de la gastronomie”, we were going to make no joke of our eating experience. Most restaurants had prix fixe menus, as it was easier to handle the volume of tourists with a set menu. We ended up at Le Comptoir des Marroniers, we were took the “Fête des Lumières” menu. My first of three courses was a salade lyonnaise, complete with lettuce, croutons, lardons, and egg. Lardons – doesn’t that sound appetizing? For those of you who speak French, try this word with an American accent: lard-onz. One would think it was small pieces of lard cut up into your salad. In actuality, I’m not entirely sure how to describe it. It’s not exactly bacon, but it kind of resembles small pieces of bacon chopped up into tiny pieces (but with much better flavor, as most things have in France). However, I quite think the word lardons is amusing, so I’ll continue to use that. After my enormous salad came round two, a very typical Lyonnais dish of sausage, potatoes au gratin, and grilled vegetables. It was to die for. The sausage was succulent and juicy, and when mixed with a bit of the potatoes and sauce from the vegetables, it was truly heavenly. I wanted to finish it all, but just didn’t have the stomach capacity. And then came course three. A demi St. Marcellin (cheese) served with walnuts. Total decadence. After about two bites, I had to put my fork down and wave my little white flag, je n’en pouvais plus. As our lunch stretched out over 3 hours, I began to feel completely French. Long lunches followed by coffee, bottles of wine in the middle of the day, 3 course meals that don’t break the bank…I could live here. Oh wait! I already do. But Alsace is a different story.

View of Lyon from Basilique Notre-Dame de Fourvière

We practically waddled out of the restaurant around 4pm, and decided it was time to do a bit of sightseeing. We hiked up (working off lunch, course by course) to the Basilique Notre-Dame de Fourvière, a beautiful church that sits on a hill above the city. Opting to sweat instead of take the funicular (who I am kidding, there was a long line for the funicular), we reached the top just as the sun was setting (generally before 5pm in France these days…depressing). We could see the entire city of Lyon, all aglow with festival lights as the sun went down. After spending time at the church, we opted to take the funicular back down because sub-zero temperatures were commencing. By the time we got down, the city lights were in full swing, and tourists began to swarm the streets. From down by the river, I glanced back up at the basilica. Every few minutes it was lit up in a different color: purple, green, blue, red. It was really beautiful. We crossed the river and explored more of the famous light displays in the city. On the façade of one cathedral, there was a light show depicting jungle scenes. It was even accompanied by themed music.

Liberty and Her Four Horses (on LSD)

As we made our way through the streets (and by this I mean, as I stood and waited for people to jostle me in the correction direction), we happened upon more light shows: a balloon installation with the colors of the French flag, a spinning disco ball of light outside a shop, a building awash in a certain color. We finally reached the Place des Terreaux, one of the biggest open areas in the city, and home to the famous Fontaine Bartholdi (the same Bartholdi who made the Statue of Liberty). The fountain shows France as a woman seated on a chariot, controlling four wildly rearing horses, each representing one of the four great rivers of France (the Seine, Rhône, Loire and Garonne). As Alix and I approached the statue, she told me that it was called “Liberty and Her 4 Horses”; but this was no ordinary Liberty, this was Liberty on LSD. The array of vibrant colors on the statue was astounding. I could not believe that the kaleidoscope was done only with light…some of it had to have been painted! But it was pure light. Neon blues, greens, purples, pinks, yellows, oranges, all of these colors alternated through in various intricate designs, enough to make even a sober person emit sounds of bewilderment and awe.

We left the square around 7pm, so we could run a few errands and make it home in time to set up for the “L” party the girls were hosting that night. Come wearing anything that starts with L, lycra, lame, lace, leather, leopard, and you were golden. Around 11pm their guests started to arrive, each outfit better than the next. I had not been under the impression that French people liked to dress up…guess I was wrong on that front. After an hour or two, their apartment was full to the brim with people, and they were all incredibly interesting. Most in the SciencesPo international relations program with Alix and Elodie, they were all internationally minded, spoke English, and had just returned from a (mandatory) year abroad. They had been to China, Japan, Australia, the US, Canada, the UK, and more, and were eager to talk about my travel experiences and where I had been. To be honest, it was the first night I’ve been in France that I’ve spent an entire evening just speaking French. The whole atmosphere was just incredible, and it really made me fall in love with France all over again. I remembered why I love it here so much, and why I love the people. Compared to the German mentality they have up here in Alsace, Lyon was laid back, welcoming, and fun.

leather and leopard

We again ended our night around 5am, luckily for some partiers, as the tram system was just beginning to run again! The next day, our plans for a fondu lunch put aside due to inability to move, we relaxed in the apartment until my train home at 2pm. Another 5 hours ahead of me, but I knew I could handle it…at that point, my French home was mere hours away, and my real home, only a few days.

So tomorrow marks the last day of my first semester in France. My plan for my lessons? Bribe the children with Christmas candy so they behave. Ha, just kidding…maybe. But fear not, just because my vacation is starting, it does not mean a 3-week vacation from my blog. So while you all will be relishing in your vacation time, sitting on your sofas drinking hot chocolate and watching movies, I will be hard at work sharing stories of my holiday jaunt to the US of A. Merry Christmas to you! I will keep up with my blog and you can read all about how many gingerbread cookies I bake with my mom.

Joyeux Noël!

36 Hours in Brussels

          You can’t really do much in 36 hours in one city, right? It’s so whirlwind that it’s practically not even worth going? Wrong. This past weekend I spent a grand total of 36 hours in Brussels. Counting time for sleeping. However, I was not going to let my time constraints deter me. I had things I wanted to do, and by God, I was going to get them done! Here’s how:

            I arrived in Brussels around 11pm Friday night, after a 5-hour long, grueling train ride. Now do me a favor and please look on a map – Strasbourg to Brussels is really not that far. So why five hours? Well, when you are traveling on a budget and trying to scout the cheapest tickets available, they tend to be on the slowest forms of transportation in the world. Obvious hint from me to you. Upon my arrival, I was supposed to me Caity, my friend and roommate from UVA, who is studying for her masters in Cambridge. Caity’s sister, Cammie, had also flown over from the US to meet us in Brussels for the weekend before continuing on to London. However, the whole little plan we had dreamt up started to go incredibly awry when it decided to blizzard all over Europe.

Grand Place lightshow!

            Cammie arrived in Brussels early on Friday morning with no travel problems, but by the end of the work day, with snow piling up all over the continent, Caity and I began to worry that our trains might not be able to make it to Belgium. However, when I arrived into Strasbourg from work, I noticed that my train was on time and in the station. I had, just for a moment, forgotten that I am lucky enough to live in a land where blizzards are somewhat common, so all forms of transportation are used to this kind of weather. This would be one of those rare occasions where I am glad I live in Alsace, where, evidently, they know how to deal with snow. Up in the UK, the inclement weather proved to be a bit more of a problem. Taking the Eurostar from London, Caity was meant to arrive around 9pm. But this was not to happen. Eurostar canceled 3 of its trains to Brussels on Friday, including Caity’s. Their ingenious solution to this problem? Make all other trains still running go on standby. This means that all trains were first come, first serve, even if you had a ticket. After Caity’s train was canceled, so were the next two. She waited in the train station for a good 4 hours, until her “standby” status was finally converted to a ticket. She hopped on the train to Lille, and though running a little behind, she still felt that she was at least on the way to a weekend in Brussels. But God had other things planned. Upon arrival in Lille, the little Eurostar train decided to break down. It was 11:30pm. They waited for an hour before the French rail company got its act together and decided to move them to a TGV (high-speed French train), which is better equipped to handle the snow. Not having eaten anything since 6:30am, she was starving. Her Blackberry was dying, and she was completely alone. She wandered up to the café car to try and get some food. Of course, on this particular train, it was “out of order”.

Caity and I in front of the Grand Place
Christmas Tree

            In the mean time, I had arrived in Brussels exactly on time. Congratulations to the SNCF. However, when I got off the train at Brussels Midi, the station was practically deserted. And, as I have found in practically every European country so far, the signs in the station were about as much help as deodorant for the French population; i.e. not. Who reads Flemish anyway? No one. I wandered my way around the station for about 20 minutes attempting to find some sort of access to public transportation. There was none. So I poked around outside for a bit and finally found the bus stop…and a person! Thank God for the fact that I speak French. I asked this lovely girl how in the world I was supposed to make it to Place Rogier (where our hotel was). Not only did she give me directions on which bus to take, she got on the bus (it was hers as well, but still), took me to the correct metro station, took me to the platform for the line I was supposed to take, and told me to get off in four stops. Couldn’t have been easier. If she was not there, I’m not entirely sure I would have made it all.

            Down in the Brussels metro I was transported to the subway system in New York. Well, not literally. But I so wish I had those kinds of magic powers. Anyway, for those of you who have taken the subway in New York, you know what I mean. The overwhelming smell of pee and general disgusting state of life down there is appalling. Not one of the city’s strong points. And indeed, not for Brussels either (and for that matter, neither are the busses). I honestly felt like dumping an entire jar of Purel on my head in an effort to stay sanitary. After hopping off the metro at stop Rogier, I made my way through a long hallway with pee-stained walls, up an escalator, and finally out into air I could actually breathe. Much to my surprise and happiness, I could see the hotel from the metro stop. I never re-entered that sketchy metro again.

"Biscuit World": I have no idea what the
actual name of the store is...

            I met Cammie in the lobby, and we spent a good amount of time chatting and catching up. When we realized that Caity was not going to be arriving any time soon, we went up to the room. As we awaited news of Caity’s transportation nightmares, I showered the filth of Brussels off my body. Then we got the message from Caity that her train had broken down, they were waiting for a new one, and she had no idea when she would be in. 3 hours later, at 2:30am, she finally walked through the door of the hotel room. Poor thing. However, Saturday promised to be a new day with plenty of exciting Belgian treats to explore.

            All exhausted from traveling the day before, we slept until late morning. Not exactly ideal when you only have 36 hours in a city, but that is neither here nor there. We bundled up against the cold, but what awaited us when we stepped outside was not something we were prepared for – a legitimate blizzard. It was not only cold and snowy, but also the wind whipped around those little flakes like tiny darts attacking all exposed parts of your body. My face was not happy. To take breaks from the extreme weather outside, we popped in and out of shops along the way to our first landmark: the Grand Place. We sampled chocolates at boutique chocolatiers, experienced the Brussels Christmas market, and even ducked into a shop that was filled floor-to-ceiling with biscuits. After leaving what Caity so humorously dubbed “biscuit world”, we arrived at the Grand Place. I had read that this was the most majestic of Europe’s “places”, but I was unprepared for the beauty I experienced. Despite the blizzard, my jaw dropped open as I walked into the space. The gilded buildings on all four sides gleamed in a snowy haze. The hotel de ville and palais du roi (king’s palace) towered loftily above this market square, with facades that rival all of what I have seen in Europe. The giant Christmas tree in the center twinkled as tourists milled about snapping photos and consuming hot chocolate. It truly was majestic.

Grand Place: Blizzard

            We left the Grand Place and explored more chocolate shops on our way to see the Manneken Pis. Almost of all of them contained giant chocolate fountains with fresh fruit ready to be dipped in liquid heaven. We made a brief pitstop at Dandoy, a biscutier and chocolatier famous for its Belgian waffles and sinful hot cocoa. While Caity and Cammie dove into a real Belgian waffle, I drank hot chocolate that tasted like a melted bar of milk chocolate warmed to the perfect temperature. Fully thawed out, we ventured back out to find Manneken Pis. Some of you may be asking yourself, what in the world is Manneken Pis? Well, it is a fountain sculpture of a small naked boy urinating into the fountain basin. A famous Brussels landmark, Manneken Pis has several legends as to its origins. The one most often told to tourists, is that when a wealthy merchant came to the city, his young son went missing. He organized a citywide search party until the boy was finally found peeing in a small garden. There are many traditions that surround this statue, and in particular, his costume. He is dressed up in a different costume a few times every week, according to a publicly published scheduled. He has some 1000 different outfits, which, when they are not in use, are housed in the Brussels Museum. I encourage you to do a little Google research on this...When we arrived at the statue, we did not see a little boy peeing into a fountain, but rather a little boy dressed as the Pope at Christmas, peeing into the fountain. Caught totally off guard by this costume, Caity, Cammie, and I could barely stop laughing to snap the requisite photos. Kudos, Brussels, on a job well done.

Manneken Pis

            Having already crossed Belgian waffles and chocolate off of our culinary to-do list, we made our way across town to Delirium, a café that had come highly recommended by friends, to cross yet another item off that list: beer. Home to over 800 different kinds of beer, I could easily make Delirium my home for about the next three years, trying a new type of beer each day. Decorated with beer kegs as tables, beer trays adorning the ceilings, and beer posters on the walls, this grungy, belowground bar certainly screams, “come in and get drunk”. We spent a few hours at Delirium, trying different beers, chatting, and catching up. Problem is, most of the beers that came “highly recommended” by the bar tenders were 9% alcohol or more. Needless to say, I limited my consumption…By the time we left, around 5pm, we were starving. I had yet to eat anything that day, and we were hankering for yet another Belgian delicacy: fries. For those of you don’t know (like me prior to my trip to Belgium), the French fry is actually a Belgian invention. The misnomer came from American soldiers, who, during World War I, saw Belgian soldiers eating fries, while speaking French (one of their national languages). And the French fry was born.

At Delirium!

            After our bowls (yes, bowls) of French fries, we decided to make our way home to warm-up and change before heading back out into the night. By the time we had woken up from our naps (also not the best idea on a whirlwind city tour), it was 9:30pm. We went out for a late dinner (so European) at an amazing little neighborhood restaurant a 10-minute walk from the hotel. Babeko came highly recommended by our concierge, and it did not disappoint. The food was delicious and filling, and the atmosphere of the restaurant was distinctly Belgian. I could tell it was one of those neighborhood “gems” by the way the clients interacted with the staff. There was that old couple who you know probably comes in every night at the same time and orders the same thing off the menu. The woman holds the waitress's hand as she thanks her profusely for the meal, before she promptly walks back into the kitchen and kisses the chef for his delicious creations. Another thing I loved about this restaurant was how much people complimented me on my French. “But you are surely French!” the owner said, after our brief conversation. Ah, how those words warm my soul.

St. Michael and St. Gudula Cathedral

            Sunday morning we woke again to dreary Belgian winter weather: cold, windy, rainy, gross. But I was not to be discouraged. We still had one more must-see to cross off our to-do list. So again, we bundled up, and traipsed out into the freezing rain. A mere 10-minute walk from our hotel was the St. Michael and St. Gudula Cathedral. It is very rare that cathedrals will have two names, but the patron saints of this church, the archangel St. Michael and the martyr St. Gudula, are patron saints of the entire city of Brussels. It is a Gothic cathedral, but the foundation of the church was a chapel that was built in the 9^th century and dedicated to St. Michael. The relics of St. Gudula were later transferred here. Despite anything going on around them, including weather, cathedrals have an amazing power to move visitors to speechlessness. Every time I stand in front of one of these massive structures, and think about the time and effort it took to construct one, as well as the intricate artistry that went into its decoration, I am in awe. Perhaps that’s just the art history major in me, but I could swear it’s a pretty universal phenomenon…We happened to visit the cathedral on a Sunday, so we quietly gave ourselves a tour while services were being conducted. Living in Europe, I have never appreciated more the Medieval Art and Architecture class I took at UVA. When I walk into a cathedral (and there are a LOT in Europe), I feel that I know my way around. I know why certain things look the way they do and how certain aspects convey certain messages. They truly are remarkable buildings.

            Sadly the cathedral was the last stop we made before getting our respective trains home. I settled into my 5-hour journey with plenty of projects to do – including planning lessons, creating the itinerary for Caity’s Paris trip (I absolutely love doing this…yes, I’m a huge dork), and writing my newest article for Lost Girl’s World. Please be sure to check it out when it goes live on the site next Monday, December 13^th! http://www.lostgirlsworld.com. If you missed my last one, here’s the link as well: http://www.lostgirlsworld.com/2010/11/living-better-out-of-a-backpack/.

            After two more days of school this week, I am Lyon-bound for the Fête des Lumières (Festival of Lights) and a little UVA reunion. I can’t wait! After that, it’s only one week til home…how did these months fly by so fast??

Turkey Day, with a British twist!

        In France, the week leading up to Thanksgiving was anticlimactic, to say the least. For me, the day of Thanksgiving itself, proved to be somewhat of a nightmare. The 25^th of November arrived in France like any normal Thursday. I woke at 4:30am to take the two-and-a-half hour journey to work. I arrived in Saverne around 8am, and snugly bundled in my winter coat, I made my way to school, fighting the bitter cold that has recently settled over Alsace. The first of my six back-to-back classes progressed normally. It was probably the 16^th time I have taught my Thanksgiving lesson, which I believe at this point, I could teach with my eyes closed. Luckily for the French students, their books present an extremely romanticized version of the story: The pilgrims arrived in North America in 1620 trying to escape religious persecution in England. That winter many pilgrims died. In the spring, a Native American from the Wampanoag tribe, named Squanto, helped the pilgrims and taught them how to hunt, fish, and grow corn. When the harvest was good, the governor of the pilgrims decided to have a dinner to thank God. He invited 90 Native Americans, and they all celebrated for 3 days. Then they lived happily ever after, Amen. Generally my Thanksgiving lessons end with a game of “Thanksgiving Hangman”, during which the students attempt to recall any word they learned during the lesson, and use it in the game. I have now played “Thanksgiving Hangman” many more times than I would like to count. One thing I would like to know however, is why one student seemed to think that the word “fingerprint” had anything to do with Thanksgiving whatsoever. Far be it from me to understand the French. Ever.

First Thanksgiving...

            It was during class #2 that the day began to unravel. Not particularly strong by any means, this class had extreme difficulty understanding the lesson I had planned for that day. They had recently watched the movie The Holiday, which, if you have seen it, you will know, is very seasonally appropriate for this time of year. (If you haven’t, it is about two women, one American, and one British, who do a house swap during the Christmas holidays). The lesson I was meant to teach was on houses, and specifically American vs. French houses. Now this is just not fair. No offense, France, but the US seriously has you beat on houses. And house size for that matter. Nevertheless, I embarked on my attempt to teach the kids about what a “typical” American home looks like. I had floor plans printed out for each student, plus a giant one drawn up on the board. But for the life of them, they could not understand what I was trying to communicate. With no other tools at my disposal (I had already used pictures, floor plans, lists of common rooms – in both French and English), I was getting seriously frustrated. However, one thing that did cheer me up a little was an interchange I had with a student about the number of rooms in her house. “How is the American house in the picture different from yours? Does your house have many rooms? How many rooms do you have in your house?” Her answer? “Elf.” Ok. “You have elf rooms in your house?” “Yes.” Apparently, she has Santa’s helper number of rooms in her house. I honestly couldn’t help but laugh a little and offer the correct word, “Eleven?” I guessed. Ah, yes, it was lucky number 11.

            From this class, I went immediately on to class #3, which was not much better. After having read them the story of Thanksgiving, I tried to get them to do some exercises on comprehension. I read the story twice, incredibly slowly. Not a single one of them had any idea what the story was about. Not fun.

            Class #4 was quite possibly the worst of all. There is one boy in the class who makes it his life mission to make my life a living hell. Gotta love teenagers! Already on the verge of asking him to never come back in my classroom ever again, I decided I would give him one last chance. As it turns out, I should have trusted my initial instincts. After signing in as “Jean Valjean”, oh yes, he thought he was that clever, he proceeded to disrupt the class any time I attempted to speak. By the end of the class (during which he had also made fun of me the entire time), I kicked him out. I told him to never come back. I wonder if he will…

            So there I was, having had 3 pretty horrible classes, exhausted from an early wake-up, and seriously missing my family on the most important American holiday. I walked into the teachers’ lounge, collapsed in a corner, and succumbed to my emotions. Not sure what to do with a sobbing American teaching assistant, most of the other teachers stayed away. But one nice woman, who happens to be my fellow English teacher and favorite person at school, came over, gave me a hug and said, “Would you like a madeleine? Maybe not for now, but have it later…it will cheer you up!” Very sweet.

Galleries Lafayette in the snow

            I ended the day at school and made my way back to Strasbourg by train. My friend Andreja, who I always stay with when coming to the city, and I had planned to go out to dinner and have our own mini Thanksgiving. Not finding much of the American persuasion in terms of cuisine, we settled for Japanese. So yes, I had sushi on Thanksgiving. Afterwards, we opened a bottle of wine and watched old episodes of Friends, always a good cure for homesickness and a rough day. Planning to Skype my family at 10:30pm (4:30pm at home, just as they would all be sitting down to Thanksgiving dinner), I made my way down to McDonalds around ten, just to make sure I got there in enough time to set up my computer, connect to the wifi, and buy my requisite bottle of Evian, so it wouldn’t look like I was just thieving their wifi…(Andreja doesn’t have her internet set up yet). After a couple of mishaps and a 20-minute wait, I finally connected with my mom. When she took the computer into the dining room so I could say hello to everyone, the tears started falling yet again. I had promised myself I wouldn’t cry, but it was really hard seeing everyone together and around the table. Not really able to do anything other than wave, my cyber jaunt into the dining room was quite brief. After a quick chat, I didn’t want to interrupt anymore of Thanksgiving dinner (and the creepy homeless man sitting in the corner who had tried to give me phone directories was starting to freak me out), so I let my mom rejoin the table. I made my way home to Andreja’s and fell into a deep sleep. The only thing that stood in the way of my Thanksgiving weekend with all my friends in London was one short Friday at school.

Lights in front of Strasbourg Cathedral

            And whoa did Friday fly by! My classes were fun and talkative (not normal for a Friday), so I arrived back in Strasbourg in high spirits. As I left the station, the first snow of the season started to fall. It blanketed the trees in the city with a beautiful snowy dust, and made the lights that decorated the buildings cast a romantic glow into the streets. Around 7pm, Andreja and I left her apartment to walk around the city and enjoy the opening night of the Christmas Markets, Strasbourg’s world-famous Christmastime tradition. Or so we thought. We waltzed into Place Kleber, the main “place” in the city, and encountered the giant Christmas tree and nativity scene that had been set up. We saw a large group of people gathering around the tree, and decided we would join them to see what all the fuss was about. Supposedly, the opening of the markets and the lighting of the tree was to happen any second. So we waited, and we waited, and we waited. Half an hour later (in the freezing cold), we learned that the lighting of the tree (and the opening of the markets) was actually the next night (so typical). So we bundled up, and moved on to explore the city’s decorations. After wandering through all the tiny side streets, admiring the decorations and Christmas window displays, we ended up around what we thought was a giant protest. Not wanting to take part in some political scheme on the eve of the Christmas Markets, we turned around to walk home, when the large gathering spontaneously burst into song. We immediately turned around, and weaseled our way to front of the crowd. Not sure what we had walked into, we looked around to try to get a clue about what was going on. After a heart-warming rendition of “Imagine” by what felt like was the entire city, everyone started a countdown. Still not sure of what was going on, we joined in anyway. 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1! And all of the Christmas lights in the entire city came on at the exact same time. It was beautiful. A giant archway made of lights proclaiming, “Strasbourg, capitale de Noël”, stretched over one of the main thoroughfares of the city. All of the wreaths and stars that had been designed out of Christmas lights illuminated the cobblestone streets of this old, medieval city. It was awe-inspiring, and definitely took my breath away.

Capitale de Noël

            Freezing cold and aware of the fact that I had a 6:15am train to London the next morning, we made our way back to Andreja’s to eat a late dinner and go to bed. Too excited to sleep, I got a total of one hour of sleep before I made my way to train station in the morning darkness. But I didn’t care. I was off to London to see some of my best friends from UVA and have my own European version of Thanksgiving.

            As my early-morning TGV train careened through northeastern France on the way to Lille, I could see that everything was already blanketed with deep snowfall. After three-and-a-half hours, we arrived. It was sub-zero temperatures. With about an hour to kill before my Eurostar train to London, I turned on my ipod and huddled next to one of the many heaters decorating the arrivals hall in Lille. About half an hour before my train was to depart, all the passengers were to line up at Immigration and Customs. I had no idea this was the case. I figured there would be some kind of passport-stamping extravaganza, but this was intense! I had my passport stamped by French authorities, had to fill out a landing card for the UK, again had my passport stamped, then made my way through customs and security. Thank god my carte de sejour for France was recently validated! While waiting for the train on the platform, I realized my desperate and serious need for thermal socks. France is COLD. I was only outside for 15 minutes, and even with two pairs of socks on, my feet were frozen solid. After about 30 minutes on the train (and my feet finally thawed out), we abruptly came upon the Chunnel. Now, taking the Chunnel was a new experience for me. Much like the Amsterdam Red Light District, I fully expected signs to warn me of what I was about to encounter. Some “Chunnel ahead!” signs adorning the sides of the tracks would have been nice. But there were none. However, I did have some of my wits about me as we plunged into the sea, and managed to time our journey underwater. A whopping 23 minutes and 5 ear pops later, I was in the United Kingdom. Pretty fast crossing of the English Channel, eh?

            I got off the train about 1pm, and sailed through St. Pancras International (thanks to Eliza’s lovely directions) down to the tube. I hopped on the Picadilly line going southbound, and before I knew it, I was only two blocks away from Eliza’s apartment. The minute I stepped out onto the street from Gloucester Road station, I remembered how much I love this city. It felt especially nice to see my own language on the signs, and recognize familiar brands and companies in the window displays of stores. I arrived at Eliza’s apartment and was greeted by her roommate, Hannah, and another weekend visitor, Pat. Rebecca, Eliza’s roommate from 3^rd year, is Pat’s girlfriend. Studying abroad over in Vienna, Pat also made the trek to London for a down-home American Thanksgiving. Small world though. Turns out, Pat is good friends with the little brother of one of my good friends from high school. The whole 6-degrees of separation thing never ceases to amaze me. Eliza returned from store mere moments after my arrival and I felt immediately like I was home. There is no feeling like that of seeing old friends.

Our Thanksgiving "spread"

            As I said, it was about 1pm, and we had 4 hours until people were going to start to arrive for Thanksgiving. Hannah and Pat left to run errands, and Eliza and I set to work on prepping Thanksgiving dinner. Three words to describe this experience: tiny kitchen defumigation. Eliza had put the turkey in the oven about 2 hours prior to my arrival. All that remained to be done were the mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole, roasted vegetables and intermittent turkey basting. As the first timer went off, indicating it was the hour for basting the turkey, we were in for a rude awakening. We opened the oven door and a rush of smoke greeted us and the tiny kitchen (and I mean tiny, it’s about five square feet). I rushed to calm down the smoke detector as Eliza threw open the window and started shooing out the smoke. After about 5 minutes in the kitchen, we had to stick our heads out the window, breathe some fresh air, and start the process over again. This happened about 7 times during the preparation of the turkey. By the end of four hours, our eyes were watering, we smelled like smoke, I was a pro at stopping the smoke detector alarm, and we had a routine for how to get fresh air while defumigating the oven. Yet, it was so much fun! I’ve never laughed so hard. In between our bouts with the turkey, we were peeling, chopping, and boiling potatoes, catching up, and having a Glee sing-along (be jealous).

Happy Thanksgiving!

            At about 5:30pm, the first guests started to arrive. Still in the midst of prepping the dinner, Eliza and I were hard at work mashing potatoes and cooking the sweet potato casserole. Thanks to a few extra hands, we managed to get all the food out on the table by 6:30pm. And it was a TON of food (And pretty gorgeous food at that). While we ate, I mingled with friends I hadn’t seen in ages. Nea, a friend of Eliza’s from high school and a friend of mine from Semester at Sea, was there, along with a ton of UVA kids I hadn’t seen since graduation. After a few rounds of bourbon cider, many platefuls of food, and a birthday celebration for our friend Tom, it was time for a game of charades (my absolute favorite). As people later trickled out and the party died down, my lack of sleep from the night before started to catch up with me. Luckily for me, I fell asleep just as the cleanup brigade started its work…

            When we woke up on Sunday afternoon, it was Thanksgiving leftovers for breakfast (yum!). Nothing beats a next-day Thanksgiving sandwich. A couple of hours later, still nursing (food) hangovers, we made our way out into the world for some coffee, a late lunch, and some socialization. After our Byron burgers Eliza, Pat, and I moseyed on to the movies to see…you guessed it! Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1. For those of you who don’t know me well enough, you will now learn that I am a Harry Potter fanatic (probably not as much as Eliza, but she’s a tough one to beat). I have read every single book multiple times, own all the movies, and have even dressed up as a character on more than one occasion (ridicule me if you will). I refused to see this HP movie when it came out in France because it only came out dubbed in this beautiful land of cheese. So, indulging my need for Harry Potter, Eliza and Pat went to see it yet again. (And yes, it was soooo good!)

Harrods!

            We left the movie and went straight to Eliza’s friend Ralph’s (pronounced Rafe) for their group of friends’ weekly Sunday dinner. It was really lovely and so dignified. No wonder British people are often touted as the epitome of class. I must institute these once I enter some semblance of the real world. Stuffed from dinner, Hannah, Pat, Eliza and I rolled ourselves home to chill out a bit before bed.

            Monday morning we awoke bright and early to do some sightseeing. Stop #1: HARRODS! Yes, Harrods. Quite possibly one of the most amazing (and gigantic) stores of all time. Basically a labyrinth of different departments and stores, Harrods is incredibly easy to get lost in. Don’t worry, we did. However, we did happen to stumble upon Pet World, the Toy Kingdom, and of course, the giant Food Hall. Not having been to London, and Harrods for that matter, in about 4 years, I thoroughly enjoyed the displays of retched excess. Who could possibly need a Roberto Cavalli outfit for their miniature poodle? Well someone, surely. I will admit however, that I did succumb to my weaker instincts and do a tiny bit of shopping. Lucky people on my Christmas list…

UCL

            After Harrods we rode one of the double-decker London city busses (classic, gotta love it) to a traditional American establishment for lunch. The only one outside of the US (until next May when they build one in Montmartre), the London Chipotle is a beacon of filling Mexican food for all hungry American travelers in the land of Bangers and Mash. Afterwards, Eliza and I took a small tour of her school, the University College of London, where she’s studying to get her masters in art history. Currently having a sit-in to protest educational budget cuts, the students of UCL had written “RIP Education” all over the walls of the school. One of them had even created a mock gravesite for education. Oh how I love Europe. In one of the halls, Eliza showed me the figure of a one Jeremy Baltham, one of the founders of UCL. His SKELETON sits inside a display box, covered with normal clothes, and topped by a wax face (his real head lies in the UCL safe). How bizarre. I don’t think the security guard was too happy that I laughed…

            Upon leaving UCL, we walked onto the campus of the University of London, home to SOAS (School of Oriental and African Studies). Why, you might ask, was I traipsing around the SOAS campus? Well, SOAS happens to have a highly regarded masters program in African studies that I am seriously contemplating for next year. So, Eliza and I, thinking we could just walk in and have a look around, entered the school, only to find that we did not have the proper security badges. Sent into the “Prospective Students” office, I had to fill out a form as to why I was there, sign in for security clearance, get issued a day pass, and then APPLY to enter the SOAS library. Absurd. Why on earth is the library closed to the public? You don’t see the Alderman circulation desk at UVA turning people away because they don’t have the proper security clearance. England is weird. When we finally did get our library passes, we had to spend at least half an hour pretending that we were looking at something worthwhile. This is how I came to spend 30 minutes looking at books on contemporary Chinese art in the SOAS library at the University of London. Weirder things have happened, believe me.

London by night

            In serious need of retail therapy after spending so much time with books, Eliza and I went to Zara, John Lewis, and Partridge’s before our bags got so heavy we could barely drag them home. We grabbed another bus and sped through the city, beautifully decorated with Christmas lights, which made everything come alive! Finally home around 7pm, and way too lazy to re-enter the arctic temperatures engulfing London, we ordered dinner and sat down to play with Eliza’s newest and most favorite possession: Harry Potter Cluedo. After a few beers and some amazing Dobby impressions by Pat, I was well on my way to an evening filled with tons of laughter. While Pat did Dobby and Hagrid impressions, I chimed in with my BBC newscaster impressions (which are really quite good, if I don’t say so myself), and we had yet another night of Harry Potter, Sam Adams, and good friends.

            Unfortunately Tuesday came too soon, and I found myself up early in the morning packing to leave. However, when I threw open the blinds, I saw that the city was soon to be covered in snow. What a romantic site: London in snowfall (However I must admit, I am getting quite sick of the snow nowadays – I can’t even walk around in my village because none of the sidewalks or roads have been cleared of the 3 feet of snow that fell while I was gone). I raced off from Eliza’s at about 11:30am, to meet a friend of hers for a quick lunch before taking my train back to France. Archie, Eliza’s friend who attends SOAS, was kind enough to sit with me and answer all of the questions I could throw his way about his program, his school, and the like. After an incredibly convincing hour-long lunch, I am seriously considering this program…woe is me because now I really have no idea what I want to do with my life. However, plenty of time to contemplate, so I must not worry!

            I grabbed the train at 2:30, and finally arrived back to a snow-covered Strasbourg at 10pm last night. Let’s just say the next time I go to London, I will be flying. I am back in France for a mere two days before I leave again Friday night for a weekend in Brussels. Lucky enough to be meeting another one of my good friends from UVA, I know this coming weekend will bring as much joy as the last!

So, I hope everyone had as enjoyable a Thanksgiving as I did. And as a quick end before I leave you all, I just wanted to say, Eliza - thank you for an amazing weekend! It made me remember everything that I have to be thankful for: good friends, a loving family, and an amazing opportunity to live in Europe! You are an incredible friend and a wonderful host…counting down the six weeks until my return! 

P.S. For those of you who don't already know, I am now working as a travel writer for an American women's travel website! The site is called Lost Girls World. Please check out my latest published article at http://www.lostgirlsworld.com/2010/11/living-better-out-of-a-backpack/ and look for new articles by me every other Monday!