Blogging on the road

This is going to be quick because I'm using the hostel computer and I don't want to be obnoxious. I'm now in Prague. Tiffany is sleeping upstairs, Alexa, Laura and Emily are out getting Czech beer. I was dead tired a while ago but now wide awake, so here I am - blogging.

London was amazing, even though we had entirely too little time there. I'd been there before though, so we took a day trip to Stonehenge and Bath. Bath was beautiful; Stonehenge was a pile of rocks. A mysterious pile of rocks, yes...but still a pile of rocks. It took a while to get used to the fact that I could go up to strangers and speak English to them without seeming obnoxious.

Being in Prague is something else entirely. We arrived late in the evening and it took us a while to get downtown with public transportation. By the time we got to Old Town Square it was already dark out, but I'm glad we got a chance to see the nightscape because the architecture here is stunning. There are so many different styles right next to each other, it's dizzying. We're definitely in the touristy heart of things but I'm looking forward to venturing off the beaten path after we find our way around a bit.

It's extremely exciting being in a city where you don't understand anything. Even though almost everyone here speaks English (helpful but disconcerting), there's still something very novel about being in a place where you can't read any of the signs and where you have to figure out everything on your own as you go along. I've learned the words for "Hello," "Speak English?" and "Thank you," and am hoping I'll have enough balls to bust them out once in a while instead of just hopping straight to English. Everyone I'm on this trip with has traveled a lot in the past, but this is my first time staying in a hostel, one of my first times out of France (if you don't count St. Sebastian, which is right on the border). I'm thrilled to be out in the world, finding things out for myself.

This was probably totally incoherent but I don't care. Life is wonderful.

Is it still called nostalgia if you haven't even left yet?

It seems to me that Bordeaux has blossomed overnight. I first noticed it stepping out of my host family's car a week ago. We had just gotten back from Garorock; it was two in the morning on Sunday night, pitch black. I was already half-asleep, clutching a backpack full of beer-stained clothes, and suddenly there it was - the scent of lilacs in the air. In the dead of night, I couldn't tell where it was coming from; a mystery, but unmistakable nonetheless. It wasn't until the next morning that I saw the piles of cut flowering branches stacked on the living room table, lavender petals tumbling to the floor. 

A few days later trees along my street started to explode with clusters of loose pink petals.

Yesterday, during Easter lunch, I noticed for the first time that the garden was green. The glass door to the yard facing the table was thrown wide open, letting in the midday light. Anna was traipsing through the grass with two small English children, friends of the family, showing them how to make wildflower bouquets from daisies that have sprung up in the lawn. Sarah was perched on the sun-warmed steps, an English version of Harry Potter clutched in her hands. I looked up and saw green leaves spreading from the giant tree in the yard without a clue as to when they appeared.

As idyllic as spring in Bordeaux is, it also serves as a reminder of all the time that has already passed, and the precious few weeks that remain. I am not even close to being ready to leave. French people generally seem surprised when I tell them that I have no desire to go back to the States, but I honestly feel like I could stay here forever. There are certainly things I miss about the US (like education, for example...), but it's not enough to tempt me back. A while ago I had a dream that I was back in America. Nothing was happening in this dream other than the extreme consciousness that my time in France had ended, and the pang of nostalgia I felt toward this country that I've come to love.

On the train from San Sebastian to Hendaye in Pays Basque, Tiff and I had a conversation about the possibility that to our host families, we're just one of many lodgers passing through. Even though I feel that I've truly bonded with my host sisters and my host mom, I'm still only one of four (and most likely more in the future) Californian girls who have stayed here. And while this has been a formative experience for me, I know that I can't expect to have the same impact on everyone I've met these past few months. Still, I can't help hoping that I won't sink away to the land of 5-second anecdotes about "that one American girl, la Californienne." If I leave even a fraction of the impression on the French people I've met here as they've left on me, I'll be happy.  That's really all I can ask for.

Garorock, il me tard

I will be more or less unreachable over the next three days, as I'll be at Garorock, a 3 day musical festival an hour away from Bordeaux. I'm bringing my camera and will do my best to document every moment.

Unwashed hair, French rap, and dead brain cells - here I come!