Frankly My Dear, I Don't Give an Amsterdam.

Amsterdam has been on my bucket list for a while now, with its beautiful canals and vivid history. I expected this side trip to be something more peaceful and relaxing, as the city is notoriously peaceful. But things have been going wrong all day. I'm a firm believer in signs and since I've been having a run of bad luck on my road trips (I got mugged in London), I'm beginning to think I should have never ventured out of Paris. At Gare Du Nord -AKA the scariest station in Paris- I was approached not once, not twice, but FIVE times for people asking me for money. I love to try to help people in need if I can, but this was ridiculous and most were clearly the work of scam artists. It was uncomfortable. And I think one of them was a pick pocket as I discovered my suitcase partially unzipped after I turned her away. Thankfully I made it onto the train without further incident. Having been spoiled by the peace of the Belgian country side, I made it to the city. I sat next to an Amercan/Dutch citizen who couldn't have been more than 20 (he's a student in the Haag) and he filled me in on the things that I should do. And as much fun as "smoking until I'm sick" sounds, I'm sort of past that age. I have been spoiled by Paris's metropolitan underground system and EVER present taxis. Because as soon as I stepped out of the Amsterdam Centraal, I entered in to CHAOS. I stepped outside and looked at a confusing tram system and taxi setup and roamed around. There were NO taxis in sight. I caught the eye of a few dutchman who realized I was probably almost close to tears. (I promise that's not like me. I can usually go with the flow, but in a city where I don't speak the language, I felt afraid and overwhelmed). The Dutchman advised me to "go with the flow and be patient", but I waited for almost half an hour and no taxis came. So I started following the flow of people, figuring that if they were all going in the same direction, I should probably go that way too. I ended up on top of a barge, surrounded by an eclectic group of people in Star Trek costumes. I assume there's a convention on. And were I not so ill-humored, I would have snapped a photo. We ended up down town and I managed to find a cab, which ended up costing me 40 Euros. Bummer. I made it to the hotel where I was told that they would charge me the whole amount for the room even though I had made an initial deposit of 112 euros earlier this month. "Oh that'll be reinversed next month." I managed to remain calm until I climbed the incredibly steep staircase to my room and then I had a good old fashioned cry. Some may accuse me of being an awful,pouty American tourist, but we all ride the crazy train now and then and I am broke, in a city where I don't speak the language, and it's very cold right now. No apologies. Finally, I managed to come down from the pity fest and I managed to regroup. I decided to take a walk in the daylight hours (or what was left). I circled the block and saw my first beautiful canal that the city is famous for. I managed to find some food that was slightly more substantial than the espresso and half pain au chocolat that I had shared with my dutch friend on the train. And I got a Heineken (when in Amsterdam) The beer helped and I went back up to my room. I don't have wifi there (I have to come to the lobby) but thankfully I had a season of MTV's Awkward on my computer and I watched it. It was very fun to be distracted and relax tonight, knowing I can start my adventures tomorrow with hopefully a clean slate. For now, I'll just say "Dag"

Paris, When it Drizzles

There's something odd about rainy whether in the city. It's always unexpected and when it hits, it hits hard and then the water is sucked right back up into the sky. I got caught in the rain the Sunday before last, while visiting the Musée d'Orsay and had to spend 12 euros on an umbrella. Of course, by the time I got the umbrella over my head , the rain had stopped.
I managed to break it out again today. The sky was overcast and the weather lends itself a little bit more towards sleep than being an active listener. We're all out of it and all the café au lait in the world couldn't snap me out of this fog I'm walking around in.
The job front is coming along. I have a few offers of interest, but when working abroad the job is the least of your problems. It becomes an issue of age (OMG EU! I am 28. that is not old) and who can and will sponsor you for a Visa I want to stay in France, but it's becoming increasingly difficult without marrying a frenchman. (No! Unless you are Jean Dujardin. Then call me)
I have an offer in London, which is leading me there this weekend. I've never been particularly amorous of anglophilia. Except for the Spice Girls. I love them. Ever since the closing ceremony of the Olympics.


But, I will go where I can get a job. I guess as a Ratliff (bastardized variant of Radcliffe, like Daniel or Governor James of Pocahontas fame) it will be like going home. I'm excited that I get to do both London AND Amsterdam.
I promise that once I find a USB cord for my camera, I will post more detailed updates of how I while away the hours here. Including an entry on how the first time I ate snails.

Intermediate For Life

Things have been going well here. I haven't done too many touristy things. I have been saving my money by alternating between jam and baguettes and ham and butter sandwiches. My students have been really wonderful and eager to learn and most of them speak English better at an intermediate level than most 40 year old southern Americans. But many times I feel sort of like a fraud. I have good days and bad days. I have a DEGREE in this language, but given my late start and overall apathy, my speech fluctuates. Somedays native speakers praise my French. I managed to get a haircut at Jean Louis David and hold a very funny conversation during the course of the process. The stylist praised my French. This was an accomplishment. A feat of independence. Fast forward to the girl asking me if I want sauce at the Kebab stand and I fall apart? Back to charades. When I relax, I sound French. When I am nervous or joking around I sound like Julia Child. Having seen and experienced first hand the difficulties of learning a foreign language at the ripe old age 28 (well, I started at 19 actually), I have a lot of compassion for my adult beginners. One in particular has just started learning English at 42. He's reinventing himself because he's a waiter and you can't be a waiter in Paris and not having working knowledge of at least one other language. So, I guess the empathy angle is good, but I want to know when it's going to click. When is everything going to become complete and utter instinct? I have moments of it, but they become overshadowed by my doubts. Fear is the biggest learning block in language. In life. Going to London this weekend. I'm the complete idiot who left her camera cord in the states. Sigh. I have a great blog planned on food. I've been doing enough eating for three people...but simultaneously have lost two pants sizes. What. What.

Practice makes perfect...ish

Let me address the broken foot issue. Yes. It HURTS. But I don't want to talk about it much because it makes me sound whiny. Stress fractures suck, especially in a city where no matter if you're taking a cab or the metro...EVENTUALLY, you have to walk. But last night I soaked my foot in epsom salts and rose water, slept with the windows open and feel almost like myself again. Probably shouldn't have gone to the catacombs yesterday, but whatever. Someone suggested going to Lourdes and washing it in the holy water and getting it blessed. I looked at Train tickets to Lourdes and they were running upwards of 100 Euros. Visiting Mother Mary and Jesus is expensive.

The day started with more Metro mishaps. Every time I try to get my Passe Navigo, something happens. Either their card maker isn't working, or the metro stop isn't working, or I get stuck in a turnstile. And what's screwing my life up the most is the RER. It's the train that connects most the suburbs, aiport and Versailles to Paris. it requires other tickets that are separate from the metro train. And you have to save your ticket to get OUT of the metro, or if you scan it once, it's rejected if you need to reenter.

I asked a few of ..whatever France's equivalent of TSA/NTSB agents are called...how to get the navigo. We spoke in French and told me I need to get back where I came from to buy the Navigo. The office was out of cards, gave me another location. Then, as I tried to get BACK to the train station, my RER ticket would not work. I refused to buy another ticket, but thankfully a guy with a P.N. saw what was going on, scanned his and let me out. Unfortunately when I got back up to the station, the exit was back where I came from. My stupid American confusion had the "NTSB" agents cracking up. But they were wonderfully nice about it, and finally let me out on the street. I hate the RER.

I have had this magical bit of luck here in Paris. Eventually I always end up exactly where I'm going, even with NO sense of direction. Paris is the city where I was meant to be lost, I guess.

The catacombs are not for the faint of heart, or those with a broken foot. They are the subterranean tunnels under the Paris city...with a two hour line. So after standing and meeting a wonderful Australian family (who enticed me to make AUS my next visit on my World Tour and after he told me there was a GIANT statue of shrimp in one city, I was sold), I eventually made it to the "Empire of the Dead". Not being dramatic. That is EXACTLY what the ancient carving on the walls says. They weren't kidding. There are at least 6 million different skeletons stacked on each other like Lincoln Logs. 6 million. There are 2 million people in Paris at any given time. There are more bodies below than above.

We found a skeletal head, with it's mouth open, as though speaking. "I wonder if he's got something to tell us." I whispered

"Oh that's definitely a 'she'." Said the Australian man behind me in line.

Thinking he had some sort of archeological/anatomical insight that I missed he flippantly responded "Oh it's a woman all right. Her mouth is open."

Not missing my chance, I threw out a "That's what she said" joke. They didn't respond. Instead the son said "What who said?"

Oh. God. Do they not have TWSS jokes in Australia. I asked if they had not seen The Office. They discussed back and forth between themselves before concluding that they had not. I lost a little desire to go to Australia.

I didn't feel disrespectful laughing and cracking jokes, but we got a few weird looks from some others down there. I know if I was a dead roman, cholera victim, or revolutionary victim whose remains were in a stack of others, I would be dying for a joke. Oh...already dead. Rude. Sorry.

But, in serious reflection the place was peaceful and lovely, a reminder that in the end we all end up as bone and should be nice to each other and try to make each other happier. SO STOP EATING CHIK-FIL-A!!!

I came home to the roommate's boyfriend (a really cute French Film student named François) cooking. He made me put away my kebab, because Americans need MORE vegetables. And he made me green beans with garlic and poured me pomegranate juice. Amel has been very sisterly to me and she also makes me speak French, which is exactly what I need to get better-ish. It might frustrate some folks, but that stumbling through sentences, searching for words or verbs that you don't know is EXACTLY what makes you learn a language. And if you can't find a native who is patient AND can cook for you while you talk, then you can consider yourself lucky.

I certainly do.

François mentioned that he knows how to illegally break into the Catacombs so that we can tour the rest of them. Urban Exploring is tempting, but thinking of shimming down into century old quarries may not be suitable for someone with a limp and there is the little matter of it being illegal.
But then again, I've always loved that show "locked up abroad".

Today's Blog is a Video. Because I'm lazy!

Chez Moi

I get asked a lot of questions about my professional life. I suppose that comes with being 28 and living life as some sort of Bohemian Rhapsody. You know, "Any way the wind blows"...Some people like that about me, others find it challenging, even sort of sad. Today...or yesterday rather...started like any other day. Except I got on a plane. Well, actually I GOT BUMPED from my British Airways flight (apparently there's some sort of athletic event going on in London) and got on an American Airlines flight. After some seat switching, we ended up taking off and heading for Paris. I guess I must be spoiled, because I'm used to having those little screens on the back of my headrest. I like having my choice of bad 80s movies, but instead there were two or three 14 inch televisions. I don't remember the name of the film, I blacked out when I found out it had the Rock and Vanessa Hudgens in it. But it had something to do with a plane crash (appropriate choice) and landing on an island of Dinosaurs. About ten minutes into the film the audio broke. The flight attendant got on the speaker with the most APATHETIC tone I'd ever heard "Um. Ladies and Gentleman.We're having some audio issues and we're trying to fix it, but it's not looking good." But instead of STOPPING the film, they just let it run. Boredom set in and eventually, I began making up dialogue to go along with the obviously bizarre story line. Suddenly the two girls and guy next to me joined along. This killed one hour of the flight. There was no wi-fi, no tv and while some people can sleep on an aluminum tube flying through the air at break neck speeds, I am not one of them. So I tried to be positive. If Lucky Lindy can cross the Atlantic all by his lonesome...I could listen to some music. Then my iPod died. So I sat there. I carry a rosary with me on flights ever since I started flying. (I have an absolute phobia of flying, in case you couldn't tell. And I swear if one of you says "It's safer than driving" I will swim the Atlantic and come punch you) I was saying a little prayer to myself when we hit some INTENSE turbulence over the Atlantic and no sooner than the F-word dropped out of my mouth my rosary broke in half. I guess a religious artifact can only handle so many swear words. When we finally landed in Charles De Gaulle, my luggage was absent. As it turns out while I HAD been bumped to the other flight, my luggage got to stay on its original path. To London Heathrow. More F-words came out of my mouth. Thankfully, it wasn't far behind and I managed to make it to my apartment where I met my new roommates Amel and Thomas, Thomas is going to England so I am taking over his spot. Thankfully they both speak excellent English and seem to find my little Bachelor's degree in French charming or at least pretended to. But the other hilarious moment of the day came when I realized hat I, a person who has traveled many times in the past and knows the ins and outs of European electronic outlets...forgot to buy an adapter. What you might not ALSO know is that last week I broke two toes on my foot and fractured another bone. So, knowing my internet is the only way I can stay in touch with the people I adore, I headed out to Rue de Rivoli, one of the largest streets in France, in search of an Apple Store. I walked almost 20 blocks, limping when I finally found one in the Opera district. It was located in a historic building that had something to do with Napoleon Bonaparte. As I limped into the palace, seeing the familiar simple tables of iPads and MacBooks, I began to wonder if Napoleon would have been okay with corporate takeover of one of his residences. Then I remembered N.B was ALL about the takeover in his day. I deemed that he would approve, paid an exuberant 70 euros for the new adapter and limped back to Concorde. It would have been easy to have been frustrated today. But I was talking to a cab driver who took me back home for the evening. We were talking about the stonework on the buildings and how rare and beautiful it is for history to be so well preserved and as I hobbled up the stairs to soak my poor feet in epsom salts, I felt the love of the city rush over me. Yes. I had been stressed. Yes I was sore and had been awake for over 24 hours. But this city does something to me. Some people find peace in the mountains, on the beach, or even in their own living room. But I have trouble taking it all in and managed to stop limping for one moment. I turned around and saw the Eiffel Tower and the top of Napoleon's tomb in the distant skyline. I always remember the words of Gertrude Stein who once famously said "America is my country, but Paris is my hometown." Couldn't have said it better myself. How could anyone be frustrated in a city like this? Except for the pedestrians. PEOPLE CANNOT DRIVE HERE! But more on that later.