Finally... pictures!

The new links at Cork and Lismore, Rome I and II, Capri, and Dublin!

My Case of the Flu

Wednesday was our sight seeing day in Dublin. Although we saw the city lights Tuesday night in Dublin when Kevin and Kit (essentially, Karinne’s cousins—too much family tree-age to explain) took us out, we wanted to see more than the interior of pubs and clubs.

To say the least, we were tired. We danced until the bars shut down at 3:00 in the morning Tuesday, and arrived home in time for bed at 4:00. Karinne came into my room Wednesday morning at 9:30 and asked if I was ready to see Dublin. I angrily grumbled/coughed “Yessssss” while attempting to throw a pillow at her.

But, despite a severe case of the yawns and my persistent cold that I caught in Rome, the city was great. We saw the beautiful campus at Trinity College, shopped Grafton Street, and attempted to listen to nightsong at Christ Church (it was cancelled due to the spring holidays).

When we signed up for a tour of Dublin Castle, my cough had reached annoying heights. I was diagnosed with asthma in eighth grade when I got a cold that never seemed to wane, and ever since then, my cough has taken on a distinct seal-like quality. Anyone who has ever heard water go down my wrong pipe knows what I am talking about. It is loud and barking.

We were touring around the castle, and I was trying to stifle the noise of my coughs in my coat sleeve when I heard the lady next to me murmur to her traveling companion, “That girl definitely has the swine flu.”

I giggled when I heard this, and Karinne smiled at me as well, as we both know that my cough simply sounds worse than it is. But this lady was convinced. Every time I coughed during the hour-long tour, she visibly winced, then covered her face in an attempt to block her mouth from my supposedly swiney germs. She even made a point to stand as far away from me as possible, even leaning away from me despite the twenty feet that stood between us.

After the tour, I decided a stop at the pharmacy was possibly a necessary thing to do, and after I took some medicine, my cough was much improved and much less frightening to the other tourists around me.

We made tomato soup and grilled cheese for dinner in Clontarf (my favorite sick food), and I took some cough medicine that completely knocked me out. I slept deeply and dreamed of rolling hills, grazing cows, and seemingly endless expanses of green.

Karinne's Family Tree

I think I need to explain our reason for visiting Ireland, as we had originally planned to skip over to Greece after Italy and tour Athens and Santorini. But, while traveling in Europe is cheap, we didn’t factor in the costs of museums (why can’t they all be free like in England?), eating at least two times a day (we can always skip breakfast or have Linner/Dunch), and the souvenir must-haves that seem to come with every trip (I think I really do need that pencil shaped like a baguette after all). After looking at the cost of traveling to Greece, we decided to give Eileen a call.

Eileen is Karinne’s grandmother. She immigrated to California from Ireland when she was 18, leaving her two sisters, Cait (pronounced like Cotch) and Anne, as well the rest of her family.

Fast-forward fifty years, and Cait still lives in Dublin. Her daughter, Eleanor, lives around the corner from her mother and is married with two boys.

When Eileen heard that Karinne and her friends (that would be me and Haley) were looking for a place to go on a budget, she suggested we visit her family in Ireland. We, of course, immediately took her up on the offer (I remember us jumping up and down together in my kitchen, screaming “Ireland, here we come!!!”), and Eileen arranged everything for us.

We stayed in Cait’s house in Dublin, as she was away on holiday to New Zealand visiting her son, daughter-in-law, and granddaughter who live there. It was a lovely home in a charming district of Dublin called Clontarf. We felt so grand staying in our very own Irish home and making delicious Irish brown bread buttered with you-could-eat-it-with-a-spoon Irish butter every morning before catching the bus into Dublin.

Karinne’s family was spectacular. Eleanor not only picked us up from the airport, but also stocked Cait’s house with food and cooked us lunches and breakfasts. She arranged our bus to Cork (more details to come), and had champagne and tarts to bid us farewell when we left Saturday.

Karinne’s Irish family felt like my Irish family, and truly made me appreciate the small, but tremendously welcoming country.

Three Simple Reasons to Visit Italy

I didn’t want to leave. Haley and I dragged ourselves to the train station Tuesday morning, wanting to soak up every glorious Italian minute before we departed for Ireland. The weather mimicked our mood, and the sky opened up and thoroughly drenched the Roman landscape on our bus ride to the airport.

I can’t exactly explain why I fell in love with Italy, but here is an attempt. The three reasons I loved Italy:

3. The People

2. The Food

1. The People

You have to go. Skip Venice—as it is hooky in comparison. See Florence, see Naples, see Pompeii, see Capri, see Rome. They are more than my feeble words can try to explain.

The List: Rome's Top 10

As I couldn’t bring myself to do anything more than lay on my squeaky bunk bed and repeatedly exclaim to Haley, “Is it really possible for anyone’s feet to hurt this bad?!”, I didn’t keep up on the blog while in Rome. So, as the Irish sun sets, bringing more clouds and more rain to keep this country eternally green, I’m going to recount my entirely different Roman adventures with a top 10 list.

10. The Roman Forum and Palatine Hill

After Pompeii, the ruins in Rome were a bit of a let down. The sprawling city with loudly honking car horns and souvenir stands selling Arch of Titus napkin holders also prevented me from taking a large step back a few thousand years in time and imagining how the Romans lived.

But, it was still worth the visit.

9. The Pantheon

Haley and I suddenly stumbled upon this treasure while wandering the old quarter of the city in the pouring rain. Maybe I liked it because it put a roof over my head and gave my umbrella some time to recover, but whatever the case, it was cool.

8. The Trevi Fountain

Crowded, but an unexpected treat in the midst of the city. We threw pennies over our shoulders and made wishes. I won’t tell you what I wished for, as it might spoil the wish, but it has to do with Europe and time and sadness.

7. Colosseum

Although a forty-year-old Roman tried to put the moves on me while I was admiring the exhibit on the Flavian family (“You think history is interesting? I know all about history—we could go discuss it over a coffee if you would like.”), the Colosseum was still spectacular.

The amazement came in imagining the gruesome gladiator fights and animal slayings that took place thousands of years ago, and Haley and I made several circles around the arena in silence as our imaginations raged with thoughts of ancient Rome.

6. Gelato

Any stand. Any store. Any flavor. Always delicious. Mom—the coconut tastes exactly like Mice’s coconut cake. I got it three times.

5. The Spanish Steps

I could have sat all day and admired the Piazza de Spagna while inhaling the fresh spring smell of the azaleas. Although it was packed with tourists doing the same thing I was (taking pictures of themselves climbing the infamous steps), I still really enjoyed taking a break from the walking and watching chic Italian women stroll by carrying shopping bags with labels like Chanel and Dolce and Gabanna, as the upscale shopping district is in the piazza.

4. The Sistine Chapel

It was beautiful. I wish I could have spread out a blanket in the midst of the crowd, laid down, and simply stared. I could have looked for hours and not grown tired. I could have looked for hours and continued to appreciate new scenes and new subtleties in Michelangelo’s work.

Pictures weren’t allowed, so naturally, I would quickly pull my camera out of a pocket, snap a quick photo, than discreetly replaced the forbidden device before a guard came to tell me off.

3. St. Peter’s Basilica

Mouth Open. Neck tilted ninety degrees. Repeated “Woooowwwww.”

It truly is unlike any Basilica I have visited before because of the unmistakable grandeur. It is as if you can feel the influence of the Catholic Church over the centuries in the gold leafing and bronze statues and enormous dome and the sheer size of the place.

Michelangelo’s Pieta was breath taking. I pushed my way to the barrier, and commenced to plant myself directly in front of the masterpiece and soak it up while countless tourists took pictures around me. Their camera flashes didn’t distract me though, as I was completely absorbed.

2. Its Small!

Cities on a map always look so much more daunting than they actually are. Rome is walkable, and learning that a city that I have learned so much about in school is not as big in space as it is in reputation was nice.

1. Chianti Hostel

I know—its silly for a hostel, a word that congers up images of cold showers, crowded rooms with snoring boys, and a constant babbling of foreign languages, to have been my favorite part of Rome, but me and Haley’s hostel was phenomenal. The staff was unbelievably kind, and planned our days out for us so we could see it all. They cooked us dinner and really tried to get to know us. I think I will always remember Igor (from Russia) and Scott (from Britain).

Bella Roma

I have come down with a cold, so instead of forcing myself to write about my beautiful Roman adventures while sneezing, sniffling, and making those around me flinch everytime I so much as look like I'm going to cough, I'm just going to say that Rome is everything I wanted it to be.

Now, I'm going to eat my soup.

Pictures to come.

I know I don't sound ethused, but I am.

Capri is for Me

I am currently luxuriated in roomy bliss on a high-speed train to Rome. Haley and I left Naples this morning, and once again, I was sad to say “Ciao!”.

I have loved every city I have visited in Europe in different ways. I loved Amsterdam for its museums. I loved Barcelona for Gaudi. But I have loved the Italian cities on this trip in a new way. I was always ready to leave and get back to Aix on previous trips, but I have never felt like I needed that something more like I have felt when leaving Florence, and now Naples. I want to stay longer. I want to see everything. I want to have local places and get to know every nook and cranny of artsy, vibrant Florence and dirty, but oh-so-charming Naples.

Yesterday, Haley and I took a ferry to Capri. We had heard the island was expensive, but a little piece of Mediterranean heaven. Expense or no expense—Capri is a must see.

Our first stop on the island was the Blue Grotto. I had read about it in a book, and it had been built up to giant, romanticized proportions in my book lovin’ mind.

We approached the cave-like opening in the cliff, and a man in a tiny rowboat plucked us four at a time from our “big” boat to his smaller one. We had to duck as we entered the grotto, and as my eyes adjusted to the dim light, an explosion of the purest blue erupted in every direction.

It was beautiful, but it was more of the feeling that settled over me that made it such an unforgettable experience. I felt as if I was alone in the world, and the blue was my comforting balm. I felt as if something like this exists, than anything is possible. It was wonderfully reassuring. It was as if time chose not to move once inside the grotto, as the blue will simply go on eternally in all directions, never waning in its beauty.

Once we returned to the mainland, Haley and I dipped our toes in the clear blue Mediterranean, and then headed up the hill to Capritown. Stores like Gucci and Roberto Cavalli ostentatiously presented themselves on Capritown’s winding streets, and we dared to enter some and chose to window-shop others.

We were windswept and sunburned on our ferry ride back, and mastered Naples confusing bus system to collapse on our beds at our hostel.

We finally managed to scrape the energy to go get some pizza, and we ate it from the box at our hostel with some Brits who shared a room with us. Charlotte, or Charlie, and Ollie, are from Northern England and are taking a gap year to travel Europe. It was lovely to nibble on my Neapolitan pizza and to discuss the healthcare system in England and what they were doing the day Princess Diana died. One of my favorite parts of this trip has been meeting other travelers, sharing common experiences, and learning what life is like for them back home. They were fascinated by Wal-Mart and laughed when I used the word “crosswalk”. I giggled when they repeatedly used the word “bloody”, and think that the word would make a fine addition to my vocabulary (only in an English accent, of course).

We are almost in Rome. I can’t wait.

Pictures! Pictures!

Check it out! Florence AND Naples AND Pompeii!

"Is that steam coming from Vesuvius?"

It is pouring buckets outside our hotel room. Thunder accompanies the ever present honking of hours (you can't get a hotel room for 55 euro a night and not expect one tiny, but loud flaw), but I don't care-- as I saw Pompeii today, and couldn't be more exhilirated.

My imagination went wild the entire time. What was the person in this house doing when they heard the volcano ominously preparing to erupt? Is this counter with a hole a storage space, or a toilet? Where in town would I have lived if I happened to be a resident of the doomed city thousands of years ago? Would I have been one of these poor souls forever immortalized in plaster casts that the tourist public now gawks at?

These thoughts were often interrupted by Haley quietly asking, "Is that a cloud, or steam over there?" and "Did you know that the volcano is still active? Yikes!". She was funny, and I always reassured her that I was sure it was a meandering cloud, not the sign of another cataclysmic eruption.

The excavated village of Pompeii is huge. We walked from 11:00 when the site opened to 4:00 when we left, and we still didn't see everything, and probably couldn't have in one day. The ruins are amazingly intact-- from tiled mosaic floors to frescoed walls. The city boasts two amphitheatres, a large forum, baths, many temples dedicated to various gods, and countless dwellings.

I think my pictures will say more (and Haley, Karinne, and I might have taken some goofy ones as well). I'll have the link up as soon as I can.

Now, we are drying off before hitting the crowded city streets to find some dinner, which will surely blow my taste buds away, as this is what I am coming to expect of all Italian cuisine. Tomorrow is Capri for Haley and I, and Karinne is off to Paris to meet her mom. I'll pray to the gods that it doesn't continue to rain, and that Vesuvius keeps it cap.

Florence in the morning, Naples in the evening,

If you are ever in Florence, you must go to a restaurant called the Fox and the Lamb. Their balsamic vinegar could make dogs talk, pigs fly, and maybe even bring about world peace. It was heavenly. By the time my meal came, I was eating it by the spoonful, which elicited an odd look from the waiter. I just smacked my lips, smiled, and said, "This is really, REALLY good!" while pouring another spoonful.

After a wild night out on Florence town where at least three men called out to Haley, Kelly, and I as we were walking by, "Miss, Miss! You dropped something.... you dropped my heart on the ground!", we practically ran home to our beds to rest our throbbing feet, and awoke five hours later to a beautiful morning in Florence.

We hit up the Duomo, the local food markets, and the local leather markets. I was so very much content to lazily shop around, bargain with vendors, and soak up the city.

I shed a tear or two when Kelly walked away from us at the train station as I wasn't just saying goodbye to her, but to a new city that I now have an old love for.

Haley and I arrived in Naples, met up with Karinne (who was in Rome with another friend), and immediately went on the hunt for "the best pizza in Naples"-- or so said my guidebook.

Wow. Mon dieu! Was the guidebook ever right.

The place had two choices, margherita or marinara, in two sizes, normal or large. We all opted for the normal, and were shocked when three gigantic, steaming hot pizzas arrived at our table. It was fresh from the red brick oven, and tasted unlike any pizza I have ever eaten. The place was crowded with locals, making us feel as if we made the perfect decision for our first Napolitan pizza. The pizza was more than delicious, and I still can't put my finger on why exactly it tasted so wonderful. Light, but filling. Airy, but with the crisp from the oven on the crust.

I think we might be returning tonight.

The City of Katie

Florence. I’m absolutely and irrevocably in love.

If only I had chosen Italian over French that fateful day of registration my freshman year at OU when my counselor asked which language I would like to study, then I feel certain my path would have led me to Florence.

I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s the art, which seems to surge through every person, every building, and every feeling. Maybe it is the smile the Italians throw your way every time you enter a store and try to stumble out a decent “Ciao!”. Maybe it is the pasta, which is more than my taste buds could ever hope to discover in one sitting. Maybe it is the fact that I stood in line for three hours today to enter the Uffizi Museum, which houses the paintings of Michelangelo, da Vinci, Raphael, and Boticelli, and was so happy to do it because I heard the Italian lady next to me say, “This is definitely worth it.”. And it was.

After the museum, Haley and I hiked up to the Piazza del Michelangelo and marveled at the cityscape for almost an hour. The Duomo dominated the view, and the rolling hills of Tuscany provided the background for the countless red tiled roofs. We continued out hike up to the church at the peak of the hill, and listened to the monks there perform a traditional Gregorian chant. It was beautiful, but mournful. I felt somber, but culturally enriched as I wandered around the church’s graveyard and thought about all the great artists of Florence who have lived and died in this city of beauty as the chants replayed in my head.

Kelly, Haley’s friend from William & Mary, is studying art in Florence this semester, and graciously welcomed us plus our entirely-too-large suitcases into her apartment for two nights. Her love for Florence was apparent the second I saw her ear-to-ear smile when she greeted us at the train station. She absolutely loves it here. She practically skipped as she showed us around the city Monday evening, making me want to grab her and Haley by the hand and start to sing, “We’re off to see theartofMichelangelo, the wonderfulartofMichelangelo of FloRENCE!”.

Now, Haley and I are resting our throbbing feet (cobblestone can really take it out of you). It was a great, full day, and I wish we had more than a morning tomorrow to try and fit in all that we need to see. But, I am now more excited than ever to see more of Italy. Naples, here we come!

I've got the Easter blues.

I wish it weren't so, but I miss home.

Maybe I wouldn't if I had dyed Easter eggs last Sunday in keeping with my family's tradition. Molly and I always compete for the prize of the most creative egg. The French don't sell white eggs, only brown, so the PAAS dying kit my Dad sent me will go to waste.

Maybe I wouldn't if I had gone to a traditional Lutheran service where the organ belts and the congregation choruses "He has risen indeed, Alleluia!". Although the catholic mass I attended this morning was lovely, it was long, and in French. Church is often a battle with consciousness in the early morning, but add in a different language and unfamiliar songs, and it is downright impossible to enjoy, even on the joyous occasion of Easter.

Maybe I wouldn't Annie, Haley, Maggie, and mine's Easter feast today had been spiral ham with potato salad and rolls as per another family tradition. Our Easter lunch this afternoon was beautiful, and the pigs in a blanket, potato casserole, and lemon cake tasted of America, but maybe, that made me miss home even more.

Maybe I wouldn't if it would simply act like Provence and stop raining already. This is day number three without sunshine, and I have come to realize more and more that my mood is entirely dependent on whether or not the sun decides to show its face.

I know I'll feel better about things tomorrow, but for now, I'm going to snuggle up with a book and wish that my television would suddenly play American programs in English and that the brie cheese in my fridge would magically transform into simple American cheddar.

Bull fight!

I realize I took this video sideways, and I apologize, but you can get an idea of what the bull fight was like on Saturday.

Avignon: Rugh style

Today was a special, totally unexpected treat that I will surely revel in for some time with a not-so-secret smile on my face.

Finally... AVIGNON!

Haley's mom and sister arrived in Aix Thursday morning, surely disappointed by the rainy weather, but ready to venture out into the welcoming arms of southern France. Haley called me yesterday and asked if I wanted to join her and her girls for a day trip to Avignon, the one city in France I had heard nothing but awesome things about. Without hesitation, I sputtered out, "OF COURSE!", and my heart soared!

When I popped into the tiny, rented Clio this morning with Karinne and greeted Mrs. Rugh, Haley, and Corbin, I knew I was in for an adventure. Cars don't go with the France I have come to know and love because I haven't donned one's door since leaving America. Mrs. Rugh was chancing the odds, navigating the impossible French highways while driving an extremely loose clutch, and therefore becoming my personal Virginian super woman by taking me to Avignon adventures yet unknown. As Karinne and I buckled our seat belts, she turned to us and said, "I don't know what I'm doing, but we're going to figure this out, together!"

1.5 hours later, 5 Americans graciously stretched their legs in a parking garage in Avignon, reliving a view-filled, charming drive through the French countryside. No stall outs. No getting lost. Just a little cramped, as the backseat didn't even offer a seatbelt for a third party, but less butt room.

I would give you the history of the Pope history in Avignon, but just click the link if you want to learn more. I think it suffice's to say that the castle was grand, the bridge was neat, and overall, Avignon reminds me of Aix, just bigger, and with a wall.

Here are the pictures!

Tomorrow, I'm off to the Camargue to ride horses, marvel at flamingos, and watch a bull fight. Pictures and stories to come, I promise.

Pictures of Pays-Bas

Here are the pictures of Amsterdam!

Oh Amsterdam, my love!

I’m sitting on a Eurolines bus, reveling in the fact that at least for now, I have my own seat, which seems to gloriously stretch out from where I am seated at all directions, promising me, if not a great night’s sleep, at least a horizontal night’s sleep.

Amsterdam was great. Possibly, it has stolen the crown from Paris to become my favorite European city. Amsterdam seems to have a particular vibe about its many streets, canals, and bike baths. It is like the infamous coffee shops leak dopey smoke, intoxicating the people of the city into what I’m going to describe as “chillness”. All the Dutch people are chill. The Dutch restaurants are chill. Even walking down the main fare, called Rokin, as cars and the local buses whiz by (almost as fast as the bikers), the feeling in the air is still one of chill. The only thing not chill about Amsterdam is the Dutch language, which sounds more like throat gurgling and rasping than words.

So, here it is. Amsterdam’s top 7 (not 10—the city is too chill for 10 cool things to be seen and done)

7. Brown Bars and Heineken Beer

After dropping our bags at the hotel, we immediately ventured out to find some real, cannot-buy-it-on-a-Eurolines bus kind of food. Luckily, Greta, Karinne, Annie and I stumbled into a local brown bar where the walls were as “brown” as the smoke that made them that way.

After reading about the enticing, often fried, traditional Dutch fare in my guidebook, we immediately ordered homemade meatballs and pints of Heineken (after all, the brewery is located in Amsterdam). The meatballs were delicious, and the almost equivalent of an American hamburger, as they were served on freshly baked rolls with mustard and dill pickles. Locals surrounded us, chatting in their very strange foreign tongue. We had only been in the city for an hour, and I was loving it already.

6. The Scots

When I was booking the hotel in Amsterdam a few weeks ago, I was consternated to find that many of the cheaper hostels were already booked up, and I kept insisting that something must be happening in Amsterdam the weekend we planned to visit.

When we stepped off our bus, a sea of plaid kilts surrounded us, providing a strange welcome to the Dutch city.

“We didn’t hop over the pond on our bus, did we?” I asked as we stared open mouthed at the throngs of Scotsman, “I mean, it was a really, really long 20 hours.”

We didn’t make it to Scotland, but it sure felt like it. The throngs had come to Amsterdam for the Holland vs. Scotland soccer match, scheduled for 8:45 that night. We arrived around 1:00, but the celebration in preparation for the match had already begun, with lively drinking and singing in the streets.

After wandering through the seedy Red Light District that night, we found a bar with a big screen and settled in with our Heinekens for the match.

Holland 3. Scotland 0.

I was cheering for the home team, so I was happy with the results. The Scotsmen, were of course, very disappointed, and as we walked back to the hotel that night, we saw many with their heads and kilts dragging, bemoaning their disappointing loss to the team in bright orange.

5. Beware of Bikers

The “riiiiinnnnnnnnng-ring” of a bike bell in Amsterdam only means one thing: GET OUT OF MY WAY.

I learned this lesson the hard way after confusing a bike path with the pedestrian walkway and nearly being taken out.

If I had to gander, I would say that bikes outnumber cars in Amsterdam 3 to 1. With every street for cars, there is an accompanying path for bikes. I love that about Amsterdam, and if I could have done one more thing in the city, it would have been to rent a bike and explore the side streets of Amsterdam while hopefully scaring a few tourists.

4. “Dutch” fries

Although I’m fairly certain they are a specialty of Holland’s neighbor Belgium, the street fries of Amsterdam are to die for. You have to order them “special”, with mayonnaise, curry sauce, and onions. I know, it sounds gross, but it is oh-so-fatty in such a good way.

3. Van Gogh Museum

Just like the Picasso museum in Barcelona, I loved the Van Gogh museum because it is so much easier to appreciate art when you are witnessing an artist’s growth and changing style throughout the years of their life. This museum was so well done, and truly inspired me. I feel more connected to Van Gogh and his art than ever, as I have seen where he lived, worked, and walked in Arles, Paris, and Amsterdam.

I marveled at Starry Night again (I saw it once on a visit to the MoMa in NYC with Zach) on special exhibit as a part of the “colors of the night” display, documenting Van Gogh’s experimentation with the lights of the night.

I bought a matted print of one of Van Gogh’s sunflower paintings, on display at the museum, as sunflowers are my favorite flower, and Van Gogh’s sunflowers seem to say so much about happiness to me.

2. Rembrandt House

Our big tourist attraction for our last morning in Amsterdam, the Rembrandt House, was fantastic. Not only were we able to explore the famous artist’s bedroom, parlor, and studio, all furnished as they were when he lived there, we were also able to see a live demonstration of how Rembrandt created his famous prints.

A museum artist at the House gave Karinne, Annie, and I a private demonstration, walking us through the print making process. He demonstrated the three different techniques Rembrandt used to etch his impossibly intricate pictures into the copper plate coated with a wax-like mixture. He then filled the crevasses of the plate with thick, glutinous ink, which he then proceeded to scrape off tediously until only the quaint picture of a windmill remained. He then rolled the plate through the printing press, and removed a lovely, complete print. Rembrandt’s prints were so sought after during his lifetime, that it is rumored he had to pay the equivalent of $100 once in order to secure one of his own prints.

It was great. I wish we had had more time in Amsterdam to go to the museum that houses many of Rembrandt’s paintings, but two days isn’t nearly enough time to see all Amsterdam has to offer.

1. Anne Frank House

Museums in Amsterdam are so well done, and the Anne Frank House was no exception. It was as if I was walking through history as I explored the secret annex where Anne and her family hid for nearly 2 years, hoping to escape their inevitable fate in concentration camps simply for being Jews.

It was a powerful place. Seeing the actual journal that has reached so many millions of people was amazing. Although I know nothing of the suffering she endured, I do know she wanted to be a writer, sharing her stories with the world. In that way, I identify with her, and in that way, she gives me hope, as she is one of the most famous writers of history.

Oh, I loved it. Although another 21 hours remain before I am back home in Aix, I think I will survive just fine as I revel in my memories of Amsterdam.

Nimes and Pont du Gard

Here are the pictures! I didn't take too many (for once, I suppose).

After the relaxing 1.5 hour bus ride, during which I alternated reading and admiring the French countryside, we arrived in Nimes. George commenced to give us a brief walking tour of all city's attractions so we could pick and choose the places we really wanted to explore afterwards. First was the Temple of Diana in the Jardins de la Fontaine, then the Tour Magne, the Maison Carree in the old Roman forum, and finally the amphitheatre.

In true French fashion, instead of using our remaining 2 hours to further explore Nimes' Roman offerings, the Abroadco students and I went to a cafe to luxurate in the sunshine while eating lunch. It was perfect. We admired the idea of the amphitheatre (and marveled at how non-discreetly a woman was breastfeeding her child at the table next to us) while munching on salads and baguettes.

After returning to the bus and driving for another 30 minutes, we arrived at Pont du Gare. This ancient Roman aqueduct spans the Gard River, and is a popular tourist attraction in France because it is extremely well preserved for its 2,000 years. The French government invested a lot of money a few years ago to improve the UNESCO heritage site with a museum and walking trails.

It was a wonderful place really-- not at all pretentious with its grandeur-- but more subtle. I breathed in the fresh air with big gulps, sat on a rock that had been smoothed by years and years of strong Mistral winds, and awed at the Roman architecture. The structure is held together by nothing essentially, as no mortar was used in the aqueduct's construction. The stones were hand cut to perfectly piece together to form every graceful arch. There are still carvings made by the Roman builders that you can see on the rocks indicating outside and inside stones.

I was glad to escape the fierce wind when we returned to the bus for the ride back to Aix. As always, it felt like I was coming home when I saw the familair fountains and quaint streets of my French town. I loved Nimes and Pont du Gard, I simply love Aix more.

Day Trip to Arles

Today was Arles-tastic.

After an hour bus ride through the Provencal countryside, dotted with almond trees in spectacular white and pink bloom, we arrived in Arles. Famous for its ancient Roman ruins and once renowned, but now dilapidated cemetery, Vincent Van Gogh lived in Arles for two years and painted some of his most well-known works in the charming city.

After grabbing a quick cafe, Pam walked us through the weekly Saturday market to the outskirts of town, where we stumbled upon Alyscamps, an ancient, tragically beautiful Roman necropolis. Situated away from the main city center, as the Romans believed in separated spaces for the land of the living and the dead, the cemetery was once enormous and housed nearly 80 generations in its acres. Hundreds of years ago, people would send their deceased down the Rhone river to Arles, where a man would take a coin out of the deceased's mouth as payment for his burial services. Due to modernization of the 19th century, Alyscamps is now much smaller, but still has many of its original stone tombs and a Medieval church on its grounds.

It was an almost unsettling place-- especially the cave-like, dark and dank church where the cooing of pigeons echoing off the stone walls was magnified nearly ten times and sent chills down my spine.

Les Alyscamps according to Van Gogh.

After a quick run through of the everything market (food, clothes, fabric, jewelry, books, paintings, flowers, dishwear, knick-knacks) and a bite to eat, we hit up the Roman ampitheatre, then theatre.

Julius Ceasar rewarded Arles by officially "Romanizing" it in 80 A.D. This included building the 20,000 seater ampitheatre, public theatre for dramas, and baths. Today, the ampitheatre is still in use as a lively site for bull fights, and was used in the Middle Ages as a fortified city with nearly 200 houses and 2 churches. When we arrived, Pam led us into the arena, explained the history, then let us climb to the top of an old watch tower to take in the amazing views.

When Pam led us into the open-air theatre in the shape of a semi-circle next to the ampitheatre, she began explaining the significance of some columns behind the stage, and her voice echoed throughout the space just as the design intended it to. After wandering around a bit, we found ourselves simply lounging about on the stone seats, trying to think of lines from various monologues that we could dramatically preform (if we dared) on stage. "Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears!" and "Four score and seven years ago..." were thrown around a lot, but no one could bring themselves to move as the sun had sedated us into a brief spell of laziness.

After a quick dip below the ground to an old storehouse/place for cult worship (archeologists haven't quite decided) below the old Roman forum, we went to the hospital where Van Gogh was treated after her cut off his ear.

The story goes that Van Gogh was fighting with Gauguin, another artist living and painting in Arles, and tensions rose between the two. After stalking Gauguin with a razor, Van Gogh chopped of his own ear lobe and gave it to a prostitute named Rachel, wrapping it in a newspaper and telling her to "keep this object carefully". Upon discovering what the object was, Rachel promptly screamed (I imagine at least!), then notified the police, who found Van Gogh almost dead on his apartment floor from loss of blood.

A self-portrait of Van Gogh sans one ear lobe.

And that was Arles. It was lovely to walk around and soak up a place that is without tourist pretension. The perfect day trip.

Pictures here! Click Arles at the top.

London Photos

Pictures! Click London at the top.

There will be more of the second half of London, so just click on this link again and see if I have added a London 2-- I plan to ASAP!

Day of Departure

I’m sitting on the TGV from Paris to Aix now. I’m feeling very emotional and sad about leaving my Mom. It’s probably because we woke up at 2:45 this morning for our 6:15 departure from Heathrow. It was a tad early, and we ended up sitting in the airport contemplating which chairs looked the most bed-like while waiting for check-in and security to open. So, I’m probably just sleep deprived. I started crying when I quickly rushed off to my gate for the train in Paris, and I’m crying a bit now (Much to the disdain of the lady sitting next to me [after writing that sentence, I hope she isn't reading my screen or doesn't speak English])

It was just such a great trip, and seeing my Mom and Aunt reminded me of home. You start to forget in Aix, as everything is so new and different and challenging day in and day out. But hearing my Mom talk about the lake house, Tucker and Abraham, and Molly and my Dad made me remember why I’m only studying here for a semester. I’m a homebody. Don’t get me wrong, I’m so, so glad my parents have given me the opportunity to study abroad. I think it is one of the best things I will do with my life. I’m just homesick, and I’m sure these feelings will vanish the second the Parisian fog clears and I see my sun-soaked, quaint Provencal town.

Zach comes in a week. I can’t believe he is coming. I’m so looking forward to showing someone my life in Aix.