Single words

Days in Beijing are spent with the LSAT, nights with the World Cup and early morning hours with a used copy of Middlesex from Moe's. Jeffrey Eugenides is a master with words. I'll resist the temptation to expound on the merits of his prose with metaphors that would pale against his own and let his writing speak for itself instead.

'Emotions, in my experience, aren't covered by single words. I don't believe in "sadness," "joy," or "regret." Maybe the best proof that the language is patriarchal is that it oversimplifies feeling. I'd like to have at my disposal complicated hybrid emotions, Germanic train-car constructions like, say, "the happiness that attends disaster." Or: "the disappointment of sleeping with one's fantasy." I'd like to show how "intimations of mortality brought on by aging family members" connects with "the hatred of mirrors that begins in middle age." I'd like to have a word for "the sadness inspired by failing restaurants as well as for "the excitement of getting a room with a minibar." I've never had the right words to describe my life, and now that I've entered my story, I need them more than ever. I can't just sit back and watch from a distance anymore. From here on in, everything I'll tell you is colored by the subjective experience of being part of events. Here's where my story splits, divides, undergoes meiosis. Already the world feels heavier, now I'm a part of it. I'm talking about bandages and sopped cotton, the smell of mildew in movie theaters, and of all the lousy cats and their stinking litter boxes, of rain on city streets when the dust comes up and the old Italian men take their folding chairs inside. Up until now it hasn't been my world. Not my America. But here we are, at last.'

Favorite Turkish Pick-up Lines

Hey lady, where you from? China? I like the Chinese and Japanese girls. You know why? Because the eyes like this (pulls up corners of his eyes).

Hello lady! Can I harass you?

Hello, excuse me! You have Facebook? No, wait! Just for friends!

Kelly and I take turns freaking out on the road

Renting a car in Greece: Jesus Christ most terrifying experience of my life. We were going to get ATVs but it ended up raining in Naxos 2/3 of the days we were there, so we rented a car instead. Bit of advice: DRIVING IN GREECE IS SUICIDE NEVER DO IT.

Live Blogging 24 Hours in Rome Fiumicino Airport

May 30, 2010 - Kelly and I had an 11 AM flight from Rome to Athens, and we were staying at our couchsurfer Lorenzo's, which was a bit out of the way. Wanting to give us plenty of time to get to the airport, I set my alarm for 8 AM...OR SO I THOUGHT. Because somehow, 8 AM became 8 PM, and Kelly woke me up in a panic a little after 9. After speedwalking through the metro, running through the train station an sprinting through the airport with our fifty pounds of luggage, we made it to the easyJet counter just 20 minutes late. "It's too late - " the attendant said, tapping her watch with little sympathy. It was also the only easyJet flight to Athens that day. After walking around another couple hours trying to find a cheap flight with another airline, we gave up and booked the easyJet flight for the next day. Not wanting to spend the 30 euro round trip train fare back to the city, we had the BRILLIANT PLAN of spending 24 hours in the airport. Icing on the cake - we had planned to spend the next night in the Athens airport, so that made two vagabond nights in a row. No internet, but plenty of books...here's a live (b)log from my journal.

1:30 P.M.

AFter running around the airport for almost two hours looking for a flight tonight to Athens, we caved and paid the 67 euors for an easyJet flight tomorrow morning at 11. Here's to the next 24 hours.

3 P.M.

Bookstore purchases: Glamour UK magazine, large fries from McDonalds, and Il Gladiatore.

7 P.M.

Dinner: Big sphere of buffalo mozarella with cured prosciutto, green salad with artichockes. Kelly's eating the same salad and a calamari gnocchi. Not too shabby for cafeteria food.

Kelly: AND BEER!

Lisa: We also have this ridiculous setup going on so we can watch Gladiator while eating. Epic.

8:15 P.M.

A waiter just kicked us out of Ciao, and we traipsed around the entire terminal looking for an outlet. The only one we found was in a hidden nook next to the AirBerlin ticketing counter. We're sitting on the marble counter and maybe spending the rest of the night here; awesome. Also, still drinking my open can of beer in the airport terminal. Awesomer.

9 P.M.

Are you not entertained? ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?! This movie is fucking epic and making this experience infinitely more bearable.

9:30 P.M.

It is actually kind of amazing watching the scenes in the Colosseum and seeing the CGI recreation of ancient Rome after having walked through the ruins. Seeing the dilapidated columns and brick walls, it's hard to picture the splendor of ancient Rome, so this is some welcome assistance to my imagination.

10:30 P.M.

Relocation #3: now hanging out next to some Russian ladies upstairs in the seated area. We just moved two rows of seats so we can prop our legs up. This is starting to look more promising.

10:30 P.M.

Kelly: Lisa chugs her flat beer. The man asleep next to us snores in his sleep. OLAA

Lisa: "I don't get it, hola?"

'Editor's note (lol):' seriously does anyone get it?

10:40 P.M.

For about 90% of the people still chillin in this airport, I can't tell if they're waiting for a flight or homeless. Fairly confident that the same confusion will apply to ourselves in about 4 hours.

KF and I have this thing where we both look haggard as well while traveling - running shoes, sweats, unwashed hair in a messy bun. We decided that our one glamorous airport arrival would be into Athens...that one didn't quite work out. IRONY. WE HAS IT.

circa 3 A.M.

My ass hurts, these chairs are NOT adequately cushioned, and this Russian lady keeps staring at me with judgement in her eyes. I'd stick a sweatshirt under my butt but Kelly's got her legs wrapped around my suitcase. Hers is right by me though...maybe I can find something suitable to fix this problem.

A little later...

Now using Kelly's cheetah PJ pants as an ass cushion. RAWR.

6:30 A.M.

Most uncomfortable night's sleep of my entire life. Kelly is seemingly passed out but keeps shifting around once in a while, which makes me think she's actually awake...Here's my dilemma, do I leave her with all our shit and go to the bathroom, or do I wait until she's more awake? Also, I cannot imagine doing this AGAIN tomorrow.

6:37 A.M.

Went to the bathroom. Shit's still here. Sigh of relief. Most of our night-dwelling compatriots are gone, so people watching is less fun - especially when the people you're watching seem a lot less miserable than yourself. Resenting everyone who looks put-together and well-rested.

6:45 A.M.

Kelly just woke up and kind of looks like death (don't hurt me when you read this Kelly).

Anthem

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7pKrVB5f2W0

Alors on danse - Stromae

This song is getting airplay all over Europe. Dancing to it one last time to night on Paradise Beach in Mykonos.

I like the barrrrrrrrrtender

Tonight we went to Fira, the capital of Santorini (unbeknownst to me, Santorini is actually made up of multiple cities). We were just walking along these steps on a hill above the sea and suddenly, there was the most beautiful sight I have ever seen in my entire life. Beyond the crescent coastline was the Aegean sea, interrupted by black islands and a few scattered cruise ships. The sun was not quite setting, hidden behind large, rolling clouds - and its rays were radiating out all around, hitting the rocks and the sea. I can say without a doubt that it was the single most spectacular things I have ever witnessed. Which is fantastic, EXCEPT I FUCKING LEFT MY MEMORY CARD IN THE HOSTEL SO I COULDN'T TAKE A FUCKING PICTURE. So. Upset. Thankfully Kelly had her camera and was able to capture the moment. I'm still recovering from that whole experience though.

Speaking of gorgeous sights, Kelly and I are in agreement that one of the best things about Santorini is Nikolas...our bartender at The Beach Bar, right on Parissa beach (one of the most famous beaches of Santorini and 200m from our hostel). I am going to miss this Greek man almost as much as I'll miss the sunsets. We came to this bar tonight and yesterday, and he was so nice to us tonight even though I shamelessly embarrassed myself (and Kelly) the night before...not putting the story on this blog (hello relatives from China potentially reading this), but it involves strawberries and waving and long islands and me being completely obnoxious, as per usual.

Heading to Naxos on a ferry tomorrow afternoon (15 euro, takes 2 hours). Excited to explore a new island!

Santorini...

...is the most beautiful place on earth. Click for full size.

Today was an absolutely perfect day on Santorini, probably one of my favorite days on this trip so far. We started with a hike up a still-active volcano in the middle of the island (the Minoan eruption of the volcano occurred in the 1600's and completely changed the geography of the island), which offered amazing views of the main part of Santorini, the crescent. Then we took a boat to the hot springs, an area too shallow for the boat to dock in. Solution: WE DIVED INTO THE AEGEAN FROM A BOAT and swam to the hot springs. One of the most amazing things I've ever done. Then we docked on the island of Thirassia and had an amazing lunch of squid, lobster, and shrimp skewers. And finally the best part: watching the sunset over Oia, the most picturesque city in Santorini (and responsible for the above three shots). Oia (pronounced Ia) is the most beautiful place I have ever been. Ever since high school, when I first saw pictures of Santorini's white-washed houses and bright blue domes, houses set into cliffs and beaches fading into the bluest sea, I've wanted to come here. This was the #1 place on my bucket list, and it has turned out to be everything I expected and more. It seems impossible that something like this exists in real life. The beauty here is breathtaking; I never want to leave.

Special shoutout to Nicole for all your help and amazing recommendations!

Videos from Europe

Transatlantic sunrise on our flight from Philly to Frankfurt

Beautiful hike through the hills of Switzerland

To Kaitlin from Rome!

Annnnd to Dow and Raina from Rome :)

Oh herro.

Okay...Lorenzo is kind of amazing. COUCHSURFING IS NOT A DATING SERVICE. COUCHSURFING IS NOT A DATING SERVICE. COUCHSURFING IS NOT A DATING SERVICE. NOTE TO SELF.

Roman Holiday

Kelly and I have just spent our third day in Rome and it has been an absolute whirlwind. I can't believe we've already been to four countries! I'm cheating a little bit because I'm counting Vatican city, but still - Switzerland, France, Italy, Vatican City...all in the past 6 days. It's shocking to write that - six days - when it feels like we've been traveling for weeks and weeks. Everything has been wonderful, but traveling is just as exhausting as I remember. I have to say that I'm looking forward to relaxing on sandy beaches in the Greek isles and not worrying about what landmark I want to see next.

One of the best things about traveling with Kelly is that her Art History/Poli Sci background give a lot of good context to the stuff we've seen. Despite years of humanties, AcDec, and random history and art classes, it seems that I've forgotten almost everything. Especially in a city as rich in culture and history as Rome, monuments get so much cooler when you actually know what the hell they are.

We're in Roma for two more days before heading to Athens and then the Greek Isles. We've already stayed in two hostels here (The Yellow and Alessandro Palace and Bar - I highly recommend the latter for better safety and newer facilities, as well as cool staff), and we're going to couchsurf for the next two nights! We're heading to our couchsurfers place tonight and I can't wait to meet him. His name is Lorenzo, he's 29, and all his recommendations make him sound awesome.

For anyone who isn't familiar with Couchsurfing (http://www.couchsurfing.org/), it's an online community of travelers around the world who offer up their couches for free for a few days for anyone who's traveling to their city. Not everyone has to offer up their couch in order to stay with someone else. I was kind of sketched out by the concept at first, but the verification and recommendations system makes it so that it's easy to see if a person is trustworthy. This will be my first time couchsurfing, but all my friends who have done it in the past have had absolutely amazing experiences. In fact, we tagged onto someone else's couchsurfing host in Rome: in the middle of climing the 330 spiral steps (yes that is as difficult as it sounds) to the top of the cupola of St. Peter's Basilica (7€ to take the elevator then walk, 5€ to do the entire thing on foot), I met a girl from Montreal who is studying in Lyon and traveling through Italy. Her name was Andrea and she's couchsurfing alone all over Italy. Girl's got balls. Either way, we decided to meet up the next night, and she invited us to a party that her couchsurfing host Domenico was attending. It ended up being a SCHOOL-SPONSORED party thrown by the college of Chemical Engineering of the University of Rome and we had a blast. In conclusion...couchsurfing rocks. Will let you all know what our experience turns out to be after we meet our host.

Alright, internet is running out at this cybercafe/laundromat (wtf is right), so until next time...Ciao!

IN SWITZERLAND BITCHES

Blog entry from six days ago that I never got around to publishing because Alex's internet died:

Currently sitting in Alex's BEAUTIFUL apartment in Nyon, Switzerland, a tiny town half an hour outside of Geneva. Check out the view from her awesome balcony:

Across that lake is FRANCE! We're going there in two days to Yvoire, a cute little coastal town.

Alex and Arezu enjoying a baguette for breakfast

I am in shock that we're here. It really didn't hit me until we landed in Geneva, and then I started bouncing up and down and yelling about how excited I was to a very concerned looking Kelly. The flight was long but smooth; two short stopovers in Philly and Frankfurt later and here we are! Things of note:

- Free and delicious espresso in the Frankfurt airport = instantly my favorite airport ever

- Everything in Europe is just so easy and un-wasteful and efficient

- Sunrises make 7 hour flights infinitely better

- I MISSED SPEAKING FRENCH SO MUCH...even though I have a lot to catch up on

Exercises in nostalgia

Tonight, instead of finishing my French reading, I:

- looked through the entirety of Tiffany's and my wall-to-wall dating back to 2007

- looked through SAO albums of a couple of alums from Freshman year

- looked through my Skype chat history with Emily and did a search for the words "ridiculous" and "drunk" (there were a lot of results)

- scanned a bunch of old high school photos

Am I alone in this? I feel like I am truly predisposed to feelings of nostalgia, like I was somehow born handicapped by my inability to ever live in the moment. Even my hobbies of choice either hearken to the past (art history, anything vintage) or distance myself from the present. Photography is counterintuitive in that way. In theory the click of a shutter freezes a moment in time, and what could be more immediate than that? But my mindset before I take every single photo is that I'm capturing this moment so that I can look back on it in the future. Every second it takes to frame a picture through a lens is a second I'm not seeing the world in its raw form. Same goes for blogging. Web 2.0 buzzwords and instantaneous communication aside, every word I write is to preserve some state of mind I know I'll want to remember, and any blogger knows that after writing for a while, a funny event starts to almost immediately transform itself into a swirl of words to be included as a witty anecdote in your next entry.

Milan Kundera said it best in L'Ignorance (props to Tiffany for introducing me to this novel that has spoken to me more than nearly anything else I've ever read): "Le retour, en grec, se dit nostos. Algos signifie souffrance. La nostalgie est donc la souffrance causée par le désir inassouvi de retourner."

In English: "The return, in Greek, is called nostos. Algos means suffering. Nostalgia, then, is suffering caused by the unquenched desire to return."

When I'm asked if I'm excited to graduate, the words sound ludicrous. At least this week, when everything draws to a close, looking forward is an impossibility. One year ago, I had just gotten back to Bordeaux from a 10-day trip to London, Prague, Vienna, and Budapest. One year from now, I'll be a corporate drone typing Excel formulas and proofreading powerpoints.

I've got an unquenched desire to return, and given the options, I'd rather look back.

--

On an unrelated note, I miss this blog. I decided to quit it after returning to this side of the Atlantic, because it was intended to be a travel blog and that wasn't my life anymore. Still, unaccustomed earth has interpretations beyond the literal, so I think I'd like to start up again. Just seems so self-indulgent to blog about something as mundane as college life when tens of thousands around me are living the same thing. Eurotrip this summer with Kelly may be the perfect excuse for me to revisit this baby though, and to be honest I'm looking forward to it almost as much as the trip itself.

Our home and native land

[Publishing this via email (damn you great firewall of China), so please excuse any weird formatting or messed up hyperlinks.]

The New York Times published a wonderful opinion comlumn on June 30 in honor of Canada day, which falls on the first of July. Several high-profile expat Canadians living in the United States write about what they miss about that beautiful country in the north. Here's the link:

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/07/01/opinion/01canadaday.html?pagewanted=1&em

I'm no Malcolm Gladwell or A. C. Newman, but here is my own:

Every year when the calendar read October and summer breezes turned refreshingly nippy, my parents would plop me in our used white Mazada and set off across the Ottawa River towards Gatineau Park in Quebec. Gatineau, crowded with elegant maple forests and miles (or should I say kilometers?) of earthy hills, was the best place to watch the leaves change colors (or should I say colours?) in the autumn. After hiking for hours, stepping over clear creeks and freezing in front of startled deer, we would finally arrive at the peak of a mountain and stay there for hours, looking out over endless rows of red, orange, and gold.

I've always associated a loss of innocence with my move to the United States. I suppose it's not Texas's fault that I landed there just shy of twleve years old, unleashing unwarranted teenage angst and crushes on scrawny high school boys. Still, when I think of Canada, one scene always plays in my mind: against a blue sky so bright it hurts your eyes, my mother is bending over to collect fallen crimson leaves. Her hair is still long. She glances up for a second, just long enough to grin into my dad's waiting camera lens, before she gets back to adding colors to the generous bunch clutched in her hand. I watch from a nearby picnic bench, giggling and swinging my legs in the air as Canadian geese soar by overhead.

Forecast: Thunderstorms with a chance of what the hell?!

It is thunderstorming in Beijing. And when I say thunderstorming, I mean it. I have never seen a storm like this in my life. The sky is jet black. It looks like it's midnight, even though it's barely noon. The lightning looks like it's hitting right between this office builidng and the one next door, and the thunder is rumbling barely half a second after the flashes of light. I glanced outside the window of my office builidng and stopped in my tracks because for a second I thought I was dreaming, or that I had once again messed up my alarm clock and accidentally showed up to work at 4 in the morning. Except then I heard fax machines droning and looked around at everyone else in suits walking around, and realized that it was just freak weather...

Scary.

Adventures in Brittany

Because my sojourn in France was extended a week thanks to my friends at the Chinese consulate, I decided to take a trip to Brittany to see the northern coast of France. After painstaking research (read: glancing at Wikipedia pages and blindly trusting passing comments of friends), I decided to spend two nights in Saint-Malo and take a day trip to Mont Saint-Michel. The main things to see at Saint-Malo are the intra-muros, the walled-in historical old town, and the numerous defense forts on surrounding islands. Mont Saint-Michel is a city constructed on a small tidal island, whose main attraction is the monastic abbey crowning the mount.

Pros:

- Mont St-Michel is possibly the coolest place I have ever been. I was seriously awestruck.

- Gorgeous views of the coast from the walls of Saint-Malo.

- Walking along the beach at sunset.

- Amazing seafood. Brittany oysters are delicious.

- Met an awesome Korean girl studying in Paris in my hostel. Both traveling alone, we decided to spend my last day exploring the city together. Long conversations about religion, racism, food. We spoke French the whole time, our only common language. We woke each other up in the middle of the night because we both talk in our sleep; me in English, her in Korean.

- Solitude.

Cons:

- The SHITTY SHITTY WEATHER. It rained almost the entire time and was freezing cold. And when I say rain, I mean pouring, pants drenched, shoes squeaking.

- Saint-Malo was cool, but it's very small and two nights ended up being a little long. Then again, I could easily have spent three days lying on the beach if it weren't raining the whole time...

- Solitude.

Also because I am lazy, here is an excerpt from my journal dated 6/9/09:

It's almost 8:30 and I'm waiting for the sun to set, armed with Kundera and my favorite Cal sweatshirt and my Nikon. The skies aren't quite clear - Mont Saint-Michel was beautiful today, but Saint-Malo continues to be grey and overcast. Still, in the distance, sunlight is pouring into the ocean through an oculous in the clouds. The diagonals of light are so beautiful that I think they must be the product of some sorcery. The beaches have cleared; just an hour ago the stone pathway above the sand was filled with joggers, families, skipping dogs. It must be dinnertime.

Mont Saint-Michel was stunning. I'd seen plenty of photos and postcards, but on the bus approaching the island, I gasped when I caught sight of it. The abbey spires tower over rows and rows of stone walls, like an Atlantis before its sinking. What a mystery that something like this exists in nature, and what a miracle that man constructed a city on top of it.

I was worried I wouldn't have enough time to properly explore it, having only four hours between buses. It turned out to be plenty of time - the island is small and the uphill paths are well-guided - but I still wish I had been able to stay long enough to see the city lit up at night.

Much of Mont Saint-Michel was extremely touristy. The main avenue was lined with souvenir shops, almost all of them toting signs in Japanese (not for naught - throngs of Asian tourists with cameras around their necks crowded the streets). Still, I was able to find a few peaceful moments away from the crowds, some with astonishing views.

(The beach is quite deserted now, the tide almost swallowing the cliff of rocks I was sitting on just an hour before. I keep putting away and taking out my camera because the scene before me is changing every minute to something more beautiful than the one before).

The view from the top of the abbey at MSM was so breathtaking partly because there were so many different landscapes to look at - the muddy bay with streams of sea water fingering their way through the dense, grey sand, the green pastures littered with rows of leafy trees, low white clouds hanging in a straight line just barely above, and then the ocean, wide and expansive, Normandy cliffs barely visible in the distance.

The abbey itself was formidable. I'm not generally a fan of Romanesque architecture, it all feels so heavy and oppressive, but I couldn't help being impressed by the massive stone columns in the crypts holding up wide, vaulted ceilings. The cloisters were beautiful too, turning their way around a garden planted with roses.

(The clouds are receding towards the ocean now, and patches of clear blue sky are finally visible under the clouds. This sunset will be beautiful).

Perhaps the most interesting part of the day was walking through the bay. Despite the warning signs about quicksand and death, groups of children running around it reassured me that there wouldn't be a problem. For the most part my trek was fine save for a few spots of mud splattering on my feet. Towards the end, though, I hit a patch of wet sand and there was no way around but through. So I stepped in...ankle deep. And then another step. And another. My feet and shoes were covered in mud by the time I made my way out, and I had no water to rinse them off with. Let's just say...awkward bus ride home with a lot of weird stares.

Still, there were magical moments on the bay. The sun kept playing hide and seek behind the clouds, and at one point was making its reappearance after a particularly long absence. Across the flatness of the bay and the fields beyond it, shadows of the fleeing clouds scampered swiftly away, chased by the wind. I felt like I was watching an episode of Planet Earth on high speed. The flatness of the land meant that I could trace the shadows of the clouds that were once above my head all the way to the horizon.

I think I almost prefer this semi-dreary, quasi-tumultuous, often-grey type of beach town in Brittany to the sunny Californian variety, all filled with palm trees and girls in skittle-colored bikinis. Other than the rainstorms, which I could do without, I love everything about it - the sad cries of seagulls overhead, the scent of seaweed and crustaceans in the air, the waves crashing without pause onto an empty beach, the steadfast fortresses and silent stone walls coldly standing guard against the ocean.

(The sky is almost completely blue now. By the time the sun dips below the horizon there will be nothing between us).

Farewell Bordeaux; Bitch-slapped by Paris

This is the weirdest place I have ever blogged.

I am on rue Washington in Paris, off of the Champs-Elysées, minutes from the Arc de Triomphe, in a line outside the Chinese consulate. It’s 8:40 in the morning and I’ve already been here an hour, and I’ve got another 50 minutes to go before the consulate opens at 9:30. I came here obscenely early because yesterday, the consulate ran out of numbers to issue at 9:50…a mere 20 minutes after they opened their doors. Thus I am braving sore feet and a chilly Parisian morning in a miniskirt, which is my genius wardrobe choice for the day and the only thing keeping me from plopping my exhausted self on the dirty ground. My laptop is propped up on a windowsill. People are staring.

My last day in Bordeaux was wonderful and heartbreaking. Alexa and I climbed 281 spiraled steps up la tour Pey Berland for the first time, a tower next to the central cathedral which offers amazing views of the city’s red tiled-roofs sprawling homogeneously beneath. We walked through the Miroir d’Eau in front of Place de la Bourse, dipping our feet in the water with children in swimsuits. My host mom made pommes de terre farsi for my last meal, potatoes topped with minced meat, one of my favorite dishes. As a parting gift, I gave her a potted plant of gerber daisies, four red blooms, and she told me that they were like her four daughters – her three real daughters, and me. She cried. I cried. “This house is yours, any time.” I had planned to say goodbye to some friends and get back at midnight to finish packing, but my host sister decided to throw a last minute goodbye party at the house. Her Facebook status announced that I was leaving at 5 in the morning and wouldn’t need to sleep that night. This was news to me…but I didn’t mind. Corona and Frenchies beat packing any day. After emotional goodbyes to Alexa and others in the wee hours of the morning, I headed to the train station. It was a strange feeling – even though my room was empty and white, as if I had never lived there at all, I still felt like I was going on vacation and would be back in a week. But watching the sun rise over the hilly countryside en route to Paris, I knew it was the last time I would be making that trip.

And then everything started to go wrong.

First of all, my train to Paris was overbooked. I had counted on one of the extra seats next to the doors, but by the time I made my way over they had already been filled. After awkwardly trying to sit on my uneven suitcase, my unsupported ass had had enough, and I tried to sit on the floor underneath a suitcase rack. Because God hates me, the rack was just short enough so that my head wouldn’t fit underneath. At this point I was exhausted, cranky, and depressed, so I decided to throw away what little dignity I had and lie down. On the floor. Of the TGV. Right next to the toilets (read: lots of people staring at me while waiting in line to take a piss). The best part was that there was another guy who decided to sleep on top of the rack right above me. The strap of his bag kept dropping through the cracks and whipping me in the face.

When we finally stop in Paris, the strap of my suitcase breaks in half the second it touches the platform.

[Tangent: someone is listening to “Everybody is Kung Fu Fighting” on their cell phone outside of the Chinese consulate…what the fuck.]

Next, the sole ATM in the train station was out of order, so I lug my 100 pounds of luggage into a mall to get money. Then I walk over a mile to find a taxi, only to happen upon the bitchiest driver of all time, who didn’t know any streets and whose only form of expression was yelling at me. I finally rush to the consulate to get my Chinese visa only to learn that they are no longer issuing expedited visas, which I had been counting on in order to make my flight to Beijing on Friday. I have no choice but to change my flight, which cost me a fortune.

I can safely say that that was the worst morning I have ever had in my life. So this is where things stand now: I am staying in Paris an extra week, up until next Friday, which I suppose is a blessing in disguise of a curse in disguise of a blessing. Let me explain. While I am grateful for this extra time in France, and especially in Paris, which is undeniably one of the most beautiful places I have been, I feel like I’m stuck in some sort of strange limbo. Maybe it’s my lack of spontaneity talking, but I would like to either be in Bordeaux, with my friends, or Beijing, with my family. I think I would be thrilled to be here alone under any other circumstances, but it gets a little difficult when you can’t stop looking back nostalgically on the last five months.

That being said, there has been no shortage of breathtaking moments in Paris. I’ll write about them next. Enough of the emo.

"I pre-apologize for the emo"

I can't explain this feeling. I don't know if I can put it into words. It feels absurd, ridiculous, laughable, incomprehensible that everything that was your life for five months is over. It's not the same as leaving high school for college, knowing that you'll see your parents and your friends in just a few months. It's not the same as simply leaving a geographical location, even one that you love and that you think you might never see again. What I left behind in Bordeaux can only ever exist in Bordeaux, France from January 5th 2009 to June 2nd 2009, with the Barry family and all their friends, with my soulmates of EAP Bordeaux Spring 2009. What I left behind was five months of my life. It's something that is definitively over, that no amount of reunions or visits can ever recapture. This all suddenly hit me in a wave when I was looking through one of my French friend's photo albums last night, laughing at their ridiculous pictures, imagining reflexively how I would tell Alexa about them the next time I saw her, picturing us making fun of the guys for them at the next French party. Except then I realized that the next time I saw Alexa would be in the fall, in California, and the next time we would both be at a French party might be in years, if ever.

I can't do justice to how I feel with letters and grammar, so I'm going to stop writing now.

Email posting

I'm testing out this Blogger feature called "email posting." You create an email address linked to your blog, and all you have to do is send an email to it and it posts directly. The reason I'm trying out this feature is because unless things have changed in the last year, I believe Blogger is still entirely blocked in China, and this is the only way I'll be able to update. And I know that even after leaving Bordeaux, I won't be ready to leave this blog. Maybe it's just me trying to hold on to any connection I have to this city, but either way I still have tons of stories to tell and things to say about France, and considering that I will be living with my parents for two months with no friends in Beijing I think blogging would be a nice (read: necessary) outlet.

So, dear readers, I leave Tuesday morning on a 5 AM train to Paris, but this is not goodbye.

Photo Survey, Bordeaux Edition

Tiff sent me this amazing meme because she knew I couldn't resist doing it. Considering that this blog is "study abroad" themed, I'm going to try to confine all the photos to ones taken in Bordeaux. I added captions and explanations, which perhaps defeats the purpose, but nostalgia is making me verbose. Here goes:

1. a photo of you in your room

One of the only photos of me in my room in Bordeaux, taken the week after I broke my ankle when I was confined to my bed. The reason this photo exists is because I have friends who were amazing enough to come see me every day.

2. a photo of you with someone you don't actually like

This guy works in the cafe in San Sebastian where we stopped in to get churros con chocolate. In the middle of a photo whoring session, he motioned with his hand towards our camera. Turns out he didn't want to help take a picture of the group...he wanted to take a picture with me and Tiffany. While this photo is going on the entire cafe is staring and laughing. It was a little awkward.

3. a photo of you very drunk

We threw an "American" themed party at Laura's apartment, complete with beer pong, flip cup, and...Americans. This is us attempting (and failing) to shut everyone up so we can explain the rules of flip cup. Watching French people play beer pong for the first time and love it was probably one of the greatest feelings ever.

4. a picture of you on your birthday

Not my birthday, but Alexa's 21st at the Cock and Bull. Mickey, the manager and bartender, threw her a party complete with champagne, a chocolate cake, and drinks on the house all night for the entire group. 

5. the youngest photo you can find of yourself in digital form

The first picture tagged of me in Bordeaux, from the first weekend. This is at Boris and Piga's apartment, two close friends of my host sister. It was the first French party we ever went to, an epic one at that, where we met a ton of her friends. If it weren't for this party I might not have any French friends today. Still, the fact that this picture is of a cluster of Americans should tell you a bit about our comfort level with interacting with French people upon arrival.

6. a photo of you in one of your favorite outfits

Biarritz, Basque country. It was beautiful.

7. a photo of you making a goofy face

This is a French friend's bike helmet. I apparently have a huge head.

8. a photo you might have edited to make yourself more attractive

A photobooth collage from the first time I left the house after I broke my ankle. It was storming, I still wasn't used to my crutches, and I wasn't allowed to drink - but I didn't care. I went with these girls to quiz night at the Cock and Bull...the beginning of the beautiful thing.

9. a photo of a night you regret

This was the night I realized I have unstoppable, untreatable, and unrelenting verbal diarrhea.

10. a photo of you truly being yourself

Barefoot in the grass, camera in hand, sporting my favorite Texas t-shirt.

11. the most recent photo of you

4 AM. We are exhausted and trying to go to our friend's apartment to sleep. Problem is, they locked themselves out of the bolted front door. Attempted solutions included climbing the walls, ringing the neighbor's bell dozens of times, and trying to kick in the door. You wouldn't believe which one finally worked. The Americans were clearly contributing to these efforts. I believe what we were trying to do here was take a promotion picture for "The Real World: Bordeaux."

12. a photo of you being absolutely ridiculous

One of Erin's three nights in Bordeaux. 5 seconds after this picture was taken about 8 more people piled on the bed. "Ridiculous" would be appropriate here. 

13. a photo of you showing off your new haircut/color

Uhhh...there's no way around this one. I haven't gotten a haircut since last summer.

14. a photo of a time in your life that's over and you wish weren't

April vacation. We were together as a group for most of the time, but somehow we all ended up with different itineraries for returning to Bordeaux. This was our last night in Budapest together as a group. Instead of going out, we bought a handle of Bacardi, put on sweatshirts, and played 10 fingers. Best decision ever. I miss being with all of you together.

15. a photo of a time in your life that's over and you couldn't be more thankful

A broken ankle never stopped me from going out, but it sucked nonetheless. Plus my toes were always cold.

16. a photo of you when you were anything but happy

Taken the day after my surgery when Alexa and Laura came to visit. I was still incredibly fucked up from the anaesthesia and whatever else they were dripping into my bloodstream. Plus at this point I thought my time in France was ruined. It's funny that now, sometimes I forget I even broke my ankle - everything else has made up for it.

17. a photo that you had no idea was being taken

Lunch in Prague. We are an attractive threesome. The beer you see on the bottom left is Kozel, the most delicious beer known to mankind. This restaurant was a huge tourist trap and ripped us off like crazy - we were charged for what we thought were complimentary pretzels sitting on the table, as well as an extra 15 koruna each as a charge for the "flavoring" of our dishes. WTF?!

18. a photo of when you were a different person than you are now

A tourist, not a resident.

19. a photo of you with someone you love

Thanks to that afternoon spent in a park in Vienna, we now know way too much about each other. But I wouldn't have it any other way. I love you Samuel.

20. a photo of how you'd like the world to see you

Lisa the happy photographer who takes creeper photos with her telezoom lens.

21. a photo of you in a cool place

We were pretty irreverant about Stonehenge. But it was still pretty cool.

22. a photo of a time when everything was changing

Emily's last day in Bordeaux. The beginning of the end.

23. a photo that makes your heart hurt

I have exactly the photo for this but no way it's going up on the blog.

24. a photo that makes your heart smile

The girls in the gardens of the Hapsburg Palace in Vienna. City hall towers in the background. Laugher all around.

25. a photo of one of the best nights of your life

Garorock, a three-day rock festival we went to with my host sisters, and their friends. Camping + amazing music + no sleep +toxic substances = shenanigans.

Départ imminent

I don't like to be dramatic here. That belongs to the realm of eighth-grade xanga entries or blogs with subjects more profound than a happy semester spent gallivanting in France. My writing has leaned more towards sarcasm, profanity, and flippant observations on earthly vices, with the occasional italicized French word thrown in. On those beautiful days when I am filled with love for this city, I write fragments decorated by a smattering of adjectives because complete sentences feel too affected somehow. But now, approaching the end, I am letting myself be a little self-indulgent. So here's a sentence for you:

The thought of leaving this place is painful. It feels like uprooting and all words associated with it: tearing, ripping, wresting, arracher.

I can already imagine the things that will remind me of France. They're little details, like the passing exhale of cigarette smoke or the decisive crunch of a knife cutting through the crust of a baguette. Removable showerheads will remind me of France, as will the bitterness of whiskey sticking to my tongue. I won't be able to make pasta without thinking of my host mom's sauce bolognaise, and every time I see a floor length skirt I will hear Anna swishing through the doorway. I already compare every park to Jardin Public and every bar to the Cock and Bull.

My friends who know me well know that I grow very attached to places. I blame it on all the moving. 3 countries, 7 cities, and 5 elementary schools make for a strange upbringing. I don't resent it; it's made me adaptable and given me a unique perspective on a variety of things, and it is of course an integral part of my identity. But at the same time, I feel constantly unsettled. The only thing that has ever been a constant is nostalgia. I cling to places because I no longer have a place I can truly call home. My parents currently work in China. We still own our house in Texas, but it's been rented out to strangers for the past year. So now more than ever, with no permanent address in the world, I find myself trying desperately to find a patch of earth to claim.

This is true for France, but with Bordeaux it was never just about geography. I haven't traveled much this semester, partly due to my broken ankle, partly due to time and budget constraints. Ultimately though, it's because I find it hard to tear myself away. In the beginning of the year I had made a list of places I wanted to visit - Stockholm, Zurich, Dublin, Lisbon, Santorini - and then a list of weekends I had left. I remember feeling so frustrated that I couldn't see everything I wanted in so little time. But when push comes to shove, I am so happy that I spent most of my time here. I would have missed football games, nights with French friends until sunrise, quiet afternoons spent picnicing by the river, taking photos of children running through the miroir d'eau. I can come back later to see the world, and I'm sure I will. But never again for the rest of my life will I be in the situation I'm in now: 20 years old, not a care in the world, living in a beautiful European city, a language I love flitting all around me, surrounded by amazing friends and French people my age who have taught me more about French and France than any textbook or lecture. This is a one-time intersection of time, place, and people that expires the second I step on an airplane. And while I'm enjoying every moment, it's the fact that this experience is so ephemeral and irreplaceable that makes it all the harder to leave.

All this has felt like a dream, the type you wake up from only to squeeze your eyes shut because you want it to keep going. The sad truth is that in less than two weeks, I'll be awake - and there's no falling back asleep. There will only be the memory of the sweetest five months of my life.

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Expect much more entries like this over the next week.