Life of a Perma-Tourist

Day 2

2013-04-02T18:18:00.000-07:00

Today was spent finalizing our "Wealthy Tide Pools" education program at the tide pools at first. Then our boss took Meagan, Hannah, Stephanie and I to Super Oscar's Mexican Restaurant. That was all well and good.

Then...

We went to the Hatfield Marine Science Center and got a special class and look at marine life with an up close and personal session:

A live Sand Dollar. Silly echinoderms.

Then we headed to the Oregon Coast Aquarium to discuss education standards, techniques and other things I can't seem to recall at the moment. By the time we're finished with this week-two week long training session, all us interns will need is the Associate's in Education diploma. If there is anything that is going to prepare me for having kids of my own, it's this internship. Truthfully, I really enjoy exploring with children. It's babies I have the issues with.

So. Much. Information.

We're headed back next week apparently for a Behind the Scenes tour of the OCA.

P.S. There are geocaches inside the aquarium. For my fellow cachers, you know what I'm talking about.

Yaquina Head Outstanding Natural Area and the BLM

2013-04-01T19:02:00.000-07:00

Hey all!

I figured I'd fire up my blog again considering I've moved yet again, this time to Newport, OR. After Day 1 of my new internship/apprenticeship with the Bureau of Land Management at Yaquina Head, some things had to be shared.

I spent two hours playing and learning in tide pools. Yeah. Tide pools.

Tomorrow I get a private tour of the Hatfield Marine Science Center and get to visit the Oregon Coast Aquarium, including a behind the scenes tour. There is also time to wander around.

I'm within walking distance (or as a supervisor says: within crawling distance) of the Rogue Brewery HQ. The best chowder in the world is located at The Chowder Bowl in town. Did I mention my boss is taking the interns out for Mexican food for lunch tomorrow?

Today I saw countless seals, a pair of peregrine falcons, touched anemones, chitons, sea stars, and worked with quadrats in the tide pools.

My roommates are also pretty swell, I think it's going to be a great 3 months.

Yeah, my internship/job is pretty awesome.

Vibram Five Fingers

2012-10-09T12:38:00.001-07:00

WARNING: Shameless advertising

I've been getting stopped a lot on the street lately about my unique (read: awesome) shoes. I purchased a pair of Vibram Five Fingers at the beginning of this year.
Now, I'm not a normal girl when it comes to shoes. I wear them out constantly and don't see any point in spending hundreds of dollars for a pair of high heels that I would only wear once in a while and could potentially be ruined by a host of things (like getting chewed up by a dog). $30-$40 is what I like to keep my budget around but in this case, I had to break my rule.

These shoes may seem unorthodox but I use them for everything. Going to the gym? Vibrams. Rafting the river? Vibrams. Walking around campus? Vibrams. They're super light so it makes running easier, washable and flexible just like water shoes, and force the alignment of your toes and feet all while promoting correct foot movement.

To put it simply, Vibrams are the shit.

Mine still are in great condition and these things have been through Hell and back. I've taken them in the river, on the beach, to the gym, on campus, and on road trips. If they get dirty or messy, I just throw them in the washing machine. You heard right, in the washing machine.

And by the way, you don't need socks. That's always a plus. I can't count how many times I've tried to find socks before heading off to the gym.

These are the kind I have, but they come in a variety of styles:
Vibram Five Fingers Komodo Sport LS for Women - Black In Size: 39 (Google Affiliate Ad)

Okay, shameless advertising over.

"Well I'd like to talk to your manager!"

2012-08-27T12:54:00.001-07:00

Disclaimer: This blog entry is merely airing my grievances about what I run into almost every day at work....

Yes, I am a woman. Yes I am 21. I am not however, stupid. If I don't know an answer about one specific product out of the 50,000 products in the store, I am more than capable than finding the answer out. Do not treat me like I am stupid because your question is off the wall and I have not had the opportunity to find it out.

More frequently than I care to admit, customers feel as though they can treat me like I am below them. I have been called stupid, a liar, uninformed, and talked down to (mostly by older men but you'd be surprised how many women look down their nose at me) because I apparently can't know much about anything for a variety of reasons. An innumerable amount of times people ask me a question and then I watch them as they go directly to a man (older or younger) and ask the same exact question. It is hard to believe for some people that I know my way around a tractor, or can lift bark mulch or bricks.
"The customer is always right" has gone so far that it allows people to come in to any store and treat the employee like garbage because the employee has to put up with it - or else "I want to speak to your manager" enters the conversation. Many come in looking for a fight and are just waiting for the employee to say something back so the customer can continue to get the employee in trouble.

While I know there are plenty of employees in any store that can be the north end of a southbound horse, I am privileged to know many at the place that I work that bend over backwards to go above and beyond for the customer. And I'll tell you this much, if something does go wrong, I promise you that it isn't the store or employee that is trying to screw you over.

What about you? What are your experiences with people being rude?

"We're going to camp, damnit."

2012-08-16T22:15:00.001-07:00

Do you know how hard it is to find a single tent site to camp in for just one night on the Oregon coast in the summer? On top of that, do you know how hard it is to photograph whales on a moving boat from 100 yards away when the whale is being one lazy S.O.B? I do.

This is on Driftwood Beach, and I'm a foot from the water if you'd believe it.

Brian Simshauser (the boyfriend) and I decided to get away and take a jaunt up the Oregon coast to Depoe Bay, our northernmost destination. Taking Wednesday evening and most of Thursday, we had the chance to adventure up and down the coastline, taking in the gorgeous sites (when the fog wasn't so thick you could cut it with a steak knife).

Although it was a fantastic trip, it had it's share of, shall we say.... mishaps? Finding a single tent site in any state campground was damn near impossible. Don't get me wrong, I'm not one to turn my nose up at a motel, but after not being able to camp as much as we wanted on our California trip, we were going to find a campground damnit and pitch a tent. It was the principle of the thing, you know? After passing by at least three campgrounds that were full, I finally pulled into Beverly Beach State Park to just ask the kind gentleman at the registration desk if he knew of any nearby grounds that still had availability. After inquiring and being pointed out on a map the only campground the man knew of that was open, he apparently decided to double check his reservations....

" Oh, wait a minute..." I bat my eyelashes. "...looks like I have one hook-up spot left if you want it."

" Really? Gosh, luck sure seems to be on my side tonight. Thank you so much!"

"No problem at all, that'll be twenty-six dollars, miss. You'll be on lot H12. Oh, and that's one of the nice big ones!"

"Thanks again for everything, have a great night!"

And this is why I'm glad I have boobs.

Back in the car....

I return to the car with the assigned site and hand over the map to Brian.

" And that's why you're the brains of the operation, Sam..."

With a smooth equitable division of the responsibilities, we now have a tent set up and blankets/sleeping bags all unrolled. It's 9:30 pm.

" I'm hungry."

A seafood restaurant that is quaint, has Discovery Channel (with Shark Week to boot?) on the big screen and serves some decent clam chowder that's open 24 hours? Sign me up.

We got back to camp after fetching firewood and spent the better part of an hour trying to harness some sort of heat in order to make s'mores. As Brian was tending to the infernal thing (pun intended), I made us both a s'more. They were delicious, but I'm still on the fence as to whether the five minutes of gooey heaven was worth all the swearing, jumping out of the way of sparks, and thumb carpal tunnel from the lighter.
I woke up the next morning and made a sizable fire within five to ten minutes including time spent searching for smaller sticks to use as kindling. At that point I felt like I should be grunting in success like I imagine the neanderthals did at the first sight of flames. Brian packed up the tent while I did general clean up and sleeping bag duty. I initiated the Simshauser camping rule for the first time: Each person picks up ten pieces of trash from the campsite after all of your personal trash has already been collected. Leave it cleaner than you found it. As I sat down after finding my ten pieces, I noticed Brian looking at me with a small grin on his face. Figuring he must have realized what I was doing, I chastised, "Don't you smile at me".

Do you know how hard it is to photograph a gray whale when the ocean, boat, and whale aren't cooperating? This difficult:

Thar she blows!

I can see how sailors could mistake whales for sea serpents. Strangely, I didn't hear as many "ooh"s and "aahhh"s as I did "C'mon! Get that tail up! Oh come on you lazy whale!" from the skipper. All things considered, whale watching has definitely been one of the favorite things I have ever done. Scratch that off my bucket list.

I hadn't been to the Sea Lion Caves outside of Florence since I was little so we decided to stop by and take a look. It hadn't changed much from what I remember of it (which I can't say is spectacularly clear) - but I don't remember as many rude German tourists that cut lines, shoved their way through crowds, cut people off, and intruded on multiple peoples' photo ops. I wish I knew German better, I would have told them politely (read: not so politely) that they should take a long walk off a short pier.

I was hugging the sea lion...

....Brian was molesting it.

On the way home, I apparently fell asleep for quite some minutes and my dignity failed me. My jaw slackened to (what I can only imagine to be) the floor. So there I was, a snoring venus fly trap all the while Brian was trying to contain his laughter.

" (hahahaha) No, Sam. You looked so adorable! (hahahaha) You seriously (hahaha) looked ridiculously cute.(hahaha)"

" If by 'cute' you mean 'stupid' then yeah, I agree."

Catch up and Travels

2012-07-02T12:24:00.000-07:00

It's been so long since I've written on here, and I have my sister to thank for inspiring me to get back on. So much has happened since my last post. I left France, went back to school, got a job, and am now trying to enjoy my time off during the summer.

My flight out of Paris was of course the only one delayed, but I ended up cutting my flight down to only one connection, which is both good and bad. I managed to get the phone number of some young man that went out of his way to help me with my baggage at the airport (That's always nice isn't it?).

I got a job at Lowe's in Roseburg, which I'm enjoying to the fullest. I love the people I work with and the job allows me to go to school during the week. I've been working there since the end of February, and it's been a blast.

This last term I managed to pull of straight A's; how I managed that, I don't know. I was spending the weekends working, and going to school during the week. It still surprises me that I managed to get all my assignments done.

Summer has now begun and my first trip was to Arkansas, Missouri, and Tennessee. Regardless of the reason, I was anxious to travel again and this provided the perfect opportunity. I geocached in 3 more states, and got to revisit Beale Street. My mother, father and I traveled to St. Louis as well (it was either that, or Memphis again). The Gateway Arch gave us a beautiful view of St. Louis just as the sun was setting. The Anheuser-Busch Factory and the St. Louis Zoo were our two main stops. I got to see the famous Budweiser Clydesdales and braved the heat to have a great day at the zoo. In Arkansas, a lake house provided relief from the heat outside as well as water fun. My flight plans there were Portland --> Salt Lake City --> Atlanta --> Little Rock. By the time they lay me in the ground, I'm going to have Salt Lake City's airport down pat. It's where I always end up on a trip. Here are some photos of the adventures down South...

Downtown Hardy, Arkansas

Mum and Dad!

Great Aunt Pearly and Great Uncle Luther

Aunt Marlene and Cousin (once removed) David

Meramec Caverns - hiding place of Jesse James

St Louis!

View from atop the Arch

A hippo. Underwater.

Those penguins were splashing everyone!

My mom's favorite

Jake

What is it?

2011-11-08T02:28:00.000-08:00

I have to wonder what it is about France that constantly forces me to maintain some state of illness. Currently I am sitting in bed with a small lake in my lungs (delicious, no?). This situation makes it fairly hard to function in class, let alone travel like I want to.

Regardless, I am headed to Paris this weekend and come Hell or high water, I will be getting on a train Friday. Traveling to or through Paris has been a common theme throughout my time here in the fabulous land of cathedrals and crêpes.

1. Paris weekend
2. Montparnasse/Gare du Nord transfer. Destination: London
3. Gare du Nord/Montparnasse transfer. Destination: Poitiers
4. Montparnasse/Gare du Nord transfer. Destination: Maastricht
5. Gare du Nord/Montparnasse transfer. Destination: Poitiers.

Needless to say, I'm well versed in the metro system and the line destinations by now.

I'm looking forward to my hostel location. It's at the foot of the Sacre Coeur and near Moulin Rouge, right in the heart of Montmartre. The metro station is close by (ligne 12) and it's unbelievably easy to buy an all access pass for the weekend. There are plenty of cafes around and it's simple to drop by some of Paris' most spectacular landmarks at the drop of a hat. I have fallen in love with this city. The only thing better would be to have my boyfriend and my flighty mistress, Paris, at the same time.

Looks so simple, doesn't it?

La Toussaint and French Meals

2011-11-01T09:40:00.000-07:00

La Toussaint is a festival translated as "All Saints Day" in France. People flock to cemeteries to adorn graves with copious amounts of flowers and sometimes candles, especially in other European countries. It's a national holiday and since this year it landed on a Tuesday, Monday was made an unofficial holiday as well. When a holiday lands on a Thursday or Tuesday, it's pointless in the minds of French people to have just one work day in between days off, so they faire le pont and automatically make the day in between a non-mandatory work day. Usually everyone takes advantage of this in order to have an extra long weekend holiday. Leave it to the French to make excuses to get the biggest amount of days off possible. Kudos to you, France. I wish the United States would follow suit. I can see this being possible with Veteran's Day. Unfortunately my blog and whimsical ideas will never be seen by The Man, so for now I'm left to wish.

After a weekend of trying my best to fight off sickness, I managed to avoid a dinner last night where I would have most certainly been ignored the entire time. With La Toussaint, it seems that there is an abundance of feasts associated with it. Last night there was a big meal with 13 other people in attendance, and today I was drug into a lunch with at least that many. I was under the impression that it would just be my host mother and I eating lunch, until I came downstairs. Holy crap, not again. I was starving, so I had no other choice. I didn't hear any cars drive up... confound it, they're sneaky.

I knew most of the people there, and even enjoyed their company. No thanks to my host mother, this meal was actually entertaining; I had a good time. Both the husbands in attendance loved to ask me questions about what Americans think of French and I begged them to tell me what they thought of when I said "The United States". We also discussed my love of music, riding horses, how many instruments I play, and what sort of animals are found on and around the farm/ranch I live on. Spiders and snakes were also conversation topics. Hmm, someone actually asking about my life and engaging in a French conversation with me about various topics? That's a first.

Interesting observation on French meals

I always expected to be on my best behavior during French meals, after all, the French are masters of eating and drawing meals out so I was only to assume it meant long, lavish meals with proper table settings, cloth napkins, "could you pass me the wine, good sir?" sort of speech. Although I have run into those once or twice, the vast majority are meals comprised of a mixture of things I would see as high class in the States with a free for all repas. l'Aperitif (pre-meal snack) is always served, but that's mainly where high class and savagery go their separate ways. The husbands, whom I've grown very fond of (and can never remember their names) provided excellent entertainment in the form of raucous laughter from idiotic jokes. Hands reached across tables, people poured for themselves, my host grandmother even smacked someone's hand and scolded another for not having dessert. It was all very familial. I loved it. At one point, I asked one dad to pass me the basket of bread. Without notice, a slice of baguette went sailing the length of the table. Cripes! I didn't know the man had an arm like a quarterback! Lucky I have lightning fast reflexes, heh.

I didn't mind the fact that the lunch took around 3 hours. I was engrossed in a french conversation about Sarkozy, Dominique StraussKahn (DSK), native animals to Europe, the fact that spiders are icky, and comparisons between French and Americans. I guess I just get along with dads more than women and preteens. Fine by me. We can all watch sports, go buy baguettes, and play squash together while the women gossip and the kids play video games.

I really should have had a host family with a father. My host mother doesn't make much of an effort to include me in anything and I think I would have thrived with a guy around the house. It's so unfortunate that I'm a female, sometimes.

Margraten, Netherlands

2011-10-27T13:22:00.001-07:00

This post, while it will cover the fact that I had train fiascos coming back and had to switch tickets and re-route myself (there, I covered it) I really want to focus on the reason I ventured to Holland for just one night.

My grandfather, William H. Starns, was killed in the Battle of the Bulge. Buried in The Netherlands American Cemetery and Memorial, none of my family has had the opportunity to visit his grave - until now.

The cemetery is hauntingly beautiful. Family of the deceased are treated differently. I was escorted to my grandfathers grave by the American in charge of overseeing the cemetery that day. He took a camera, and a bucket of sand and discussed my grandfather with me as we walked to plot B, row 18, grave 18. I had brought a bouquet of flowers and my guide carried an American flag and a special vase for the fall assembly of daisies, roses, and tulips, among others. As my escort placed the sand along the inscription of my grandfather's name, he explained to me that the sand was used to make the words more visible (for photos) and was brought from the beaches of Normandy specifically for this purpose.

As I placed the flowers in the vase, he inserted the flag just to the left into the ground and backed up to take a photo. Then, the guide left me alone with my thoughts. I sat down next to my grandfather's grave and started sharing my life with him. I talked about all I had done so far and how he'd be proud of me. I sat there for a good long time, hoping he could hear me somehow. Think of it as crazy or touching, your choice.

When I returned to the visitor's office, my helpful employee had several things ready for me. He had printed out the photo on a card with the row, plot, grave and other information. Also, he had researched more information about grandpa that I hadn't previously known and printed it out. On top of that, there was an elegant folder with more facts on the cemetery, and a DVD about the cemetery, including interviews and stories from relatives of the deceased. I thought it was going to be strictly about the cemetery, but when I began watching it while waiting for the train, elderly brothers were being interviewed about their oldest sibling who was buried in the cemetery. The old man's breath caught in his throat, and I began to cry. I cried a lot today.

Also in the folder was a pamphlet about adoption. Each grave in the cemetery (all 8,301) has been adopted and it has the strongest family/adopting family ties. I'm really interested in learning about the Dutch family who cares for my grandfather when we can't be there.

There are almost 2,000 graves of unknown soldiers. Names are marked on the wall near the entrance to the cemetery, and each individual grave reads: Here rests in honored glory, a comrade in arms, known but to God.

I love you, Grandpa.

Je t'aime

London

2011-10-26T05:23:00.000-07:00

I am currently on a train to Maastricht in the Netherlands, and I thought I had time to type a few notes on my trip to London (from which I just got back to Poitiers yesterday - I am way too familiar with the train stations of Paris).

I was so fortunate to have amazing hosts! Saail and his flatmates were accommodating, kind, and a blast to be around. While on the train, a fellow International Studies major and I bonded over similar interests. I mentioned I was involved in theatre and to my delight he said, "You know, Wicked is playing right now..."

Sign me up. That night, I braved the Tube (the underground metro for foreigners) and ventured into the heart of London. Needless to say, the play was spectacular and even better than the first time I saw it. I had a glass of wine, and sat in the front row. Can't get much better than that.

Day 2 consisted of mainly Portobello Rd. There was a train fiasco, which led me to meet another girl headed to the same market, Johanna. Originally from Finland, Johanna was working in London for schooling. Together, we managed to find our way to the market by taking a train, a bus, and walking our feet off. I must admit, a main reason I had such a desire to visit this attraction was because of the movie, Bedknobs and Broomsticks. Don't judge me. Johanna and I also made it to Big Ben, and Westminster Abbey.

Why spend the day in London when you can take a coach two hours outside and see something older than the Bible? I took advantage of a tour bus and headed west, near Salisbury to see one of the most astounding things I have ever had the pleasure of witnessing:

Yes, I took that photo myself. I was there, at Stonehenge. A Canadian student taking classes in Sweden was in London for the weekend and her and I both had the same idea afterwards: Tower Bridge. Continuing on our jaunt, Leceister Square was the next stop. Madonna had a movie premiere that night, so there was a lot of hubub about the square and roads were closed off. That night, after gazing at the countless advertisements in the Tube for plays, I said to myself, you're in London and you have another night. Why not go see another play? So I did.

Les Miserables happened to be playing just off Piccadilly Circus at Her Majesty's Theatre. I stopped by an Irish pub before and grabbed a pint to kill some time. Having never heard a mass amount of the music, I didn't know what to expect other than the basic premise of the play. I nearly cried at the end, and that's saying something to the magnificent work the actors and orchestra did.

Some things I learnt:

1. I would pick a French driver over a Brit any day. Although both are crazy drivers, the British have a propensity to run yellow/red lights. Constantly.

2. Stonehenge is noticeable from a ways away.

3. It's true: You can't understand Scottish people when they speak (and you're sober)

4. Platforms 9 and 10 at King's Cross Station are nowhere near each other. Sorry J.K. Rowling.

5. It's easy to tell when you're back in France: gothic and renaissance buildings dot the countryside.

The Loire Valley

2011-10-16T10:41:00.000-07:00

I spent the past weekend wandering around centuries old buildings that are teeming with history. But first, I got drunk...

Our very first stop was a visit to Marc Brédif wine caverns. I had told my friend I would try to drink some Loire Valley wine after he insisted that I do so. Little did I know I was going to do just that. Our site director apologized for the visit to the caves, since it was barely after 10 in the morning - she figured it would be difficult to drink wine in the morning, to which my friend JP said, "...hair of the dog, man". The caverns held over a million bottles of wine, some dating back to 1874. At the end of the tour, we were given wine glasses and encouraged to try a few different specialities. After roughly a glass and a half, pens and clipboards were distributed. I should listen to my intuition when it tells me that something is about to occur that might not end in the best way (or turn out hilarious at my expense). There were more empty glasses spread throughout the room at stations, where there were a total of five "drinking games" set up. We had to determine which wine was what from the options we had on our paper. One game consisted of trying to discern which wine was a Sauvignon and which was a Chenin. Another was a bit harder: guess the year of the wine, followed by 8 year options, all within the last 30 years or so. At one point, there was a disagreement among my group of which wine was which (this game consisted of 3 different wines) and they looked to me for my opinion. By that time, I had forgotten and after a pause, I uttered the words, "Crap, I'm going to have to drink more wine". We came in second place in the game, so I guess the hangover I received from the countless glasses served it's purpose. Regardless, I bought two bottles of wine that I had tried.

While perusing the town after the tour, I spied hot air balloons taking off a few fields away and rising over the ancient buildings of Amboise. Something overtook my fear of heights (vertige in French) and said, "Sam, you're going to go in a hot air balloon one of these days if it kills you." - it would have been right then if circumstances hadn't been so unfortunate.

Château d'Amboise

A beautiful castle atop a hill, and the resting place of none other than Leonardo Da Vinci. This is a combination of renaissance and gothic style architecture. My friend and I had wonderful kebabs for lunch before we ascended the stairs leading to the château. Our guide was amicable and kept the group entertained with fun facts about the history of the building. I never realized Da Vinci was buried in the chapel of the castle, and when I found out I immediately became gleeful. I'm a big fan of Leo. He's the bee's knees.

Château Chenonceau

The Ladies Castle. It housed 6 important women over time. Spanning the river Cher, it is flanked by two gardens, one of which was from Diane de Poitiers and the other from Catherine de Medicis. This has to be one of my favorite châteaux. It's gorgeous and has an intriguing history. After the death of her husband, Louise de Lorraine became incredibly upset and retreated to one room in the house. She locked herself in her bedroom and painted mourning symbols on the black walls. This lady (who might have been off her rocker, in my opinion) wore only white - the color of mourning for royalty. She was referred to as "The White Queen".

Loche

The medieval stronghold of Loche stands high above the centre ville. I was fortunate enough to visit the donjon or the keep as well as the torture room. They preferred to call it "la salle de la question". Among the torture methods, they forced anywhere from 9 to 18 litres of water down ones throat. My personal favorite was this: they put salt on the prisoner's feet, and had a goat lick off the salt. It tickled like hell, but after a while became painful because a goat tongue can be rough, not unlike a cats.

Enjoy some photos from the weekend, day two I had an amazing hairdo courtesy of Clara, a friend from Oregon.....

This looks photoshopped to me..

Note: My languages are starting to blur together. Some words that I know should be correct just don't look that way, and vice versa. I'm also becoming more fluent in oral comprehension (even surprising myself at how badass I am).

In Flanders Fields...

2011-10-13T06:50:00.000-07:00

Every day that I travel to the university, there are little things I notice. After countless hours staring out the window, one is bound to discover something new beyond the tempered glass.

At my home in Oregon, California poppies are plentiful and always a joy to see them mix in with the wild Camas that coats our fields in a blanket of violet with dashes of yellow and orange. It's a magnificent portrait. The one thing that I had yet to see in person until now are poppies - not California poppies, these are different. I see them on a small hill each and every day. Amongst the green are bursts of red. When I got closer, I came to realize that there were other smaller flowers surrounding the main thing that drew me. I have yet to see them anywhere else in or around Poitiers. Maintenance could mow the flowers, since they are in the middle of an area that should be groomed. But the poppies remain unharmed. I can only think that they left them there just to admire.

The only time I had glanced upon them before was in a poem I was shown before a Veteran's Day Concert tribute to service members, specifically local ones. The poem was entitled: In Flanders Fields..

On November 11th, poppies are worn in honor of Remembrance Day, Armistice Day, or Veterans Day. WWI ended officially on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month in 1918.

Darn you.

2011-10-01T10:19:00.000-07:00

I spent the majority of Thursday being sick and trying to put together the hardest 250 piece puzzle I have ever worked on. That probably didn't do much for my physical health, as it began to drive me crazy. The puzzle itself was attractive, but there was a significant lack in details and color variety, which any puzzle aficionado knows makes it difficult to piece together. To top it off, there was a note written on the back and in order to read it one must complete the puzzle. I spent the majority of day sweating over the damn thing, muttering "I'm going to beat him to within an inch of his life".

I did finish the puzzle, by the way.

This evening, my host mother is hosting (ha ha!) a dinner party. As I was helping her with groceries today, I noticed she had bought close to 10 bottles of wine. Welcome to France, Sam. I have seen this multiple times in the store with strangers. One would be tempting to throw around the word, "alcoholic" if someone purchased that much alcohol in The United States.

I've been constantly fighting of some sort of malady since I arrived in this country. There is an ever-present sore throat and I'm starting to develop some flu symptoms. Busy work is rampant in my schooling and it's driving me batty. The French education system is inefficient and unorganized, and that's putting it mildly. The professors cannot stand anyone with a different answer than their own and they have a nasty habit of making students look incredibly stupid. I plan on giving it another month or so, and if things show no improvement, I am seriously considering cutting my stay to just a semester. My site director will probably have something to say about it, for the pure reason that when I come to her with issues (which is what we were all instructed to do, of course) she always has something negative to retort ("What are your real reasons for wanting to move into an apartment?" - "Come back to me after you think more about it. You should really stay in a host family").

I absolutely cannot wait for my mother to send me peanut butter. Here's to hoping it gets here toute de suite!

An American in Paris

2011-09-25T10:01:00.000-07:00

My apologies in advance if this gets too lengthy, I'll try to keep it brief.....

Friday
Clara, Emily and I took the train from Poitiers to Paris. We got off at Montparnasse and proceeded to meander around until we found a church, and decided to investigate. Like almost all churches in France, this one was magnificent. Continuing on our walk (with our heavy backpacks that we ended up carrying around all day) we stumbled upon l'Hôtel des Invalides, and with our student cards, we ended up getting in for free and had the pleasure of seeing Napoleon's grave. From there the three of us walked over to the Eiffel Tower and the Trocadero. We ended up having lunch in the park just off the Trocadero with a beautiful view of the Eiffel Tower. In addition, I managed to snag a mean deal with one of the street venders who kept calling me "Lady Gaga". After we gave our feet a rest and filled our tummies, it was off to the Arc de Triomphe. After deciding it would be wiser to take the underground path instead of trying to forge our way through the hundreds of cars using the roundabout, we got to view the tomb of the unknown soldier. I provided the commentary on the history of the arc, as well as our next stop: Place de la Concord. We strolled down the Champs Elysees, where Emily had to stop and get Starbucks. From the Place de la Concord, we decided to meet up with the guy we were staying the night with, so our bags could be dropped off at his house outside the city. After taking the train and walking for 15 minutes, the house was in sight. Unfortunately, all of us were too fatigued to go back into the city that night.

I was the makeshift tour guide for the day, and the person in charge of making it safely through the metro, since I had been to Paris once before. The girls were slightly worried about pickpockets in the metro, as well as how to determine the correct train to board. After a demonstration of how to get to one place from another, they figured it out.

Saturday
7:00 wake-up call for me. I was interested in seeing Versailles and the Louvre, whereas the other two were content to wander around for the day. I navigated the train to Versailles, and managed to make it through 3/4 of the tour before I lost my mind. There was an abundance of ignorant Americans and just plain rude Chinese people. 10 tour buses full, at the very least. Bottlenecks at each doorway and droves of people who stop in the middle of hallways created a frustrating morning for me. The palace was absolutely stunning, and I wish I could have stayed longer, but my tolerance for stupid people was wearing thin. I also still had lots to see in Paris that day. Next stop: The Louvre. This was the location I was most excited to see. Having been there once before, I knew exactly where to go to see the popular artwork and then began to methodically make my way through the labyrinth. Combining both my visits, I believe I have seen almost every room, but not every piece of art. If one were to spend one minute at each piece of art and did this nonstop, they'd finish in four months. Not something I am planning on trying. This visit, I spent 5 hours awestruck in the museum and forced myself to leave because there was so much more of Paris to see. Other things occurred in the Louvre, but they shouldn't be written here due to the fact that I might get someone in trouble, or my face might end up on some paper where I wouldn't want it. Not to worry, I didn't break any rules that I'm aware of. I met back up with the group in front of Notre Dame and we headed to the Luxembourg Gardens. Ice cream and a band playing - can't get much better than that. One tip: do not under any circumstances sit on the grass in the gardens. We made the mistake of doing so and got told off by a police officer. St Michel fountain is beautiful, and I recommend seeing it. Dinner was near Montmartre at a charming restaurant that seemed to be pretty popular, Chartiers. Wanting to see the Eiffel Tower lit up at night, the group (that had grown to 10 people) took to the metro and found ourselves on the banks of the Seine, taking a touristic boat ride.

Sunday
After sleeping in a couple hours, the four of us (Damion - the host, Emily, Clara and I) enjoyed a nice breakfast outside. Lunch was had in the Latin Quarter sitting by a balcony window overlooking a quaint little street. From there we caught the metro to Montparnasse and headed home. I was lucky enough to sit by a girl about my age, and we bonded over sudoku puzzles.

Here are some photos from the trip, the whole Paris album can be found on my Facebook (all 200 photos):

It's the little things...

2011-09-22T12:17:00.000-07:00

A short while ago, the clouds parted as I received one of the best gifts I probably could ever get from my host mother: American peanut butter. Skippy to be exact. I've been having it on bread every morning for breakfast, so I'm quickly running out. I need to buy in bulk and keep a huge stock in my room. You never know how much you miss American food until it isn't available - at all. I'm jonesing for Muchas Gracias something fierce.

I feel I should introduce a member of the family that I have grown quite fond of, Mica. Named after the singer, Mica is the family cat. Very spoiled and very used to getting her way, Mica has become a natural target for torment for Salomé and Mathis so she only chooses to give affection when the children are otherwise occupied (like when they eat, although Mica doesn't realize they have sharp utensils in their hands just waiting to be momentarily diverted from eating to poking the cat). If we drive anywhere, I can be rest assured that Mica will greet us at the door when we get back. In one morning, I have had to open the door for that darn cat a minimum of 7 times in order for her to go in and out of the house.

There is a certain professor that teaches several of my classes that, when we are silently working, prowls the aisles like Filch's cat. It's strikingly similar, how she moves in between the students. Another professor and I had a pleasant ten minute conversation about our mutual love of maps and about where all I have been in France.
Today I had the pleasure of buying a roundtrip train ticket to Paris for this weekend, as well as my first bottle of wine. Sometimes I'm amazed at how well I can function in another country without speaking one word of English. Some people, I'm convinced, don't even realize I'm foreign. Albeit I might not have lengthy conversations with them, but during a normal interaction at a store some people don't even slow down like many do when they realize they're speaking with a foreign student.

l'Hôtel de Ville at night

I'm quickly growing tired of staying in one place for long, so I'll be spending this weekend in Paris. Here's to hoping my stay in France becomes more bearable when I start to travel more. I can't wait to revisit the Louvre and admire more of the fine artwork. The forecast is shaping up to be in the low to mid 70's (Fahrenheit) and sunny, perfect weather for having a lunch in the park by the Eiffel Tower. I'm planning on taking a massive amount of photos, which will have to be labeled under a completely different photo album, not just "France", because let's face it, The Louvre alone could have it's own album.

Dinner

2011-09-18T12:35:00.000-07:00

A bit of complaining first...

Although I am invited to dinner with Laurence's (my host mother) friends, I really need to start being rude and not go. They spend hours talking and I can only understand 30% of the conversation, 50% at best. I am flattered that they thought enough to invite me, but once I'm there it's as if I stop existing. Dinners tend to take several hours and after dessert, more time is spent gossiping and discussing silly things. At some point during the evening, I have to fight the urge to say "screw politeness" and storm out of the house. By the end of last night, I had fallen asleep on my purse. It was well past midnight when everyone decided to say their farewells. La bise was at hand. After several sets of kissing (3 couples, 6 kids - you do the math) I had forgotten which people I had properly said goodbye to. I figured that if a person didn't lunge at my face, it was safe to say I had either given them la bise already or they just didn't care all that much, either of which was fine with me.

Many are entertained by the American accent and French people trying to speak like Americans. I can't count how many times during last night's dinner my host mother tried to correctly say an english word so that I could understand it through her heavy french accent. A big deal is made when a French person says something in English. If one didn't know a lick of French and was listening in on a conversation where someone spoke a word or two of English, you'd think someone just invented teleportation. When saying goodbye, multiple adults said "goodbye" or "see you later", to much applause from the other French people.

Another thing I've noticed in France, is that people comment on the way I eat. It's not really how I eat, but as in what and how much. At almost every meal, someone has noticed that I take small portions and at least twice I have been asked "Are you trying to lose weight?" - I find it ironic that they're commenting on how little an American eats.

I figure I probably should keep track of new foods I've tried while in France....
1. paté (at least 5 kinds)
2. caviar
3. goose
4. mussels
5. daurade
6. crab
7. gazpacho
8. countless wines
9. countless cheeses

There are others... I'll be adding more, I'm sure.

Although overall this hasn't been a pleasant experience yet, France has had it's moments. I'm hoping things get better and if they don't, I can always leave at the semester right?

On the photo: I was walking down a winding street in the centre ville one afternoon and saw this accordion player. I couldn't resist taking the photo, it was so French and the color contrast in the door and his bag really stood out to me.

Eggs

2011-09-14T12:10:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure how widely known my intolerance for eggs is, but I guess for those who are not aware, I'll need a preface.

Preface:
I love scrambled eggs, but over the past couple years, I've developed some sort of strange intolerance for them. If I eat scrambled eggs, over easy, sunny side up, etc. I become very ill afterwards. Why, I do not know. I am able to eat things that contain eggs, such as bread, cake, cookies, etc so this makes as much sense to me as it does you.

Now that the preface is out of the way, I'll begin at the beginning. Within my first few days, we had omelets one evening for dinner. I informed my host mother that I couldn't eat eggs because I had an allergy (because explaining what I just did in French is more complicated and not worth it). She said "okay" and left it at that. Over the past couple weeks, she slowly but surely tried to incorporate more eggs into the meals. With pasta dishes, she adds a raw egg or two. Now, I do not know this for sure, but I have been getting somewhat ill after I eat her pasta dishes (which are good, don't get me wrong). After tonight, I am even more suspicious that she does this - but I'll get to that shortly. I was asked this evening by my host brother whether I wanted eggs or cold sausage and chicken for dinner. I replied with the fact that I have an allergy, so I'll go with the sausage and chicken (I didn't like the sausage, but I figured it was better than an evening in the fetal position).
As I come downstairs, my mother notices I have the chicken and sausage instead of eggs. She comments. I say as a polite reminder, "Yes, I sort of have an allergy" to which she responds with "tu n'as pas une allergie". I look at her with a puzzled expression as she continues to tell me that I don't have an allergy because I ate eggs last night. Well, hmm. I don't remember eating eggs last night, the only thing we had was chicken and pasta. Pasta. That ~~bitch~~ evil woman tried to poison me. Now, because I hadn't mentioned I'd been getting sick after her pasta dishes, she must now think I am making the allergy up in order to get out of eating some sort of food I don't like. Fantastic.
For dessert she suggests I try this flan-like concoction. Then she "remembers" it contains whipped egg whites and informs me of this in a slightly exasperated manner. A sarcastic, passive-aggressive mother. Fabulous.

On top of that little gem to finish off my ~~shitty~~ less than spectacular ~~3 weeks~~ day, the guy I gave my number to in order to "practice english" has been calling me nonstop today. My phone is on silent, so when I checked my missed calls today, I saw that he had called me a minimum of 4 times since 2pm today.

To fill you in: I ate lunch alone yesterday in the Rabelais. Correction: I ate lunch alone for 5 minutes. The guy sitting across from me suggested that we should talk because it was a waste to sit by each other and not converse. Okay, I'll give him that. So we chatted for a few minutes, after which he asked for my phone number, adding "to practice my english" hastily to the end of the statement. I don't know what the international rules are for asking for a girl's number, but I'm now fairly sure he didn't just have "practicing english" on his mind.

I Hate Seafood

2011-09-11T11:14:00.000-07:00

It was a beautiful day at the ocean (The Bay of Biscay) in La Rochelle. The town is quaint, has lots of shops, and has great weather. We stayed in a wonderful house owned by my mother's friends. The interior was stone, nautical, and very artsy. The wife does a lot of sculpting. On our way to the beach, I asked my mom if there were any places to change at the beach because I hadn't slipped on my bathing suit underneath my street clothes. After a brief pause, she said, "non". She and my host sister went on to tell me that I would just change on the beach. Hmm. Is this a nude beach? Turns out, no. But unlike the United States, everyone is very comfortable with....... everything. Louise (friend's daughter) and I used a towel which wasn't too effective, while everyone else just stripped down to their bares. I'm starting to wonder if the French drink too much wine. Such a significant lack of modesty. Well, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

I really do hate seafood.

After having to try les moules and not liking them, I assumed that the trip to La Rochelle (on the coast) would be nice and my family would try to allow me to avoid seafood as much as possible.

For dinner on the night we were there, we went to a seafood restaurant. Now, I stupidly thought that there would be at least something on the menu that wasn't caught in a net. I thought wrong. After trying to figure out what sort of fish things were (anything with a shell is automatically off the table - no pun intended), I decided on daraude. It is a white fish that is "delicious" as my mother's friend said. I didn't know what I was expecting when the food came to the table, but I certainly was not expecting to be making eye contact with what I was about to consume. The damn thing was still fully intact. My mouth fell open and I couldn't say anything except "I'm sorry, fishy". After sensing hesitation, my host mother decapitated the poor victim. I was asked if I wanted wine. I wasn't going to pass that up at this point. Any wine would have been fine, but this wine was actually very good. I'm definitely going to keep an eye out for it from now on.

I wasn't able to finish the fish (maybe the eyes, scales, bones, and the fact the fish could look at me as I was devouring it tainted my appetite), and was partially mesmerized and partially mortified at the fact that my host mother was tearing apart a crab like a barbarian. The others were just as bad, prying things from their shells using all sorts of vile tools. One crab was obviously a female, and my host mother pried open her cache of eggs to many "oohhhhh"s and "ahhhhh"s from the rest of the table (except me, my mouth seemed to have fallen slack again). At this point, I was tipsy enough to not realize I was staring. All of the adults promised me that they'd stop disturbing me with seafood after tonight. I was relieved, I didn't have the heart to tell them I would never eat seafood again. Ever.

So for lunch the next day I had seafood.

I have developed this interest in taking photos of doors, since each one is unique. I thought I'd share some from La Rochelle....

The door to the house we stayed in...

Where Were You?

2011-09-11T03:17:00.000-07:00

In honor of September 11th, I thought I would post some songs that I feel are appropriate for the 10 year anniversary....

Amazing

2011-09-04T11:50:00.000-07:00

So, I stumbled upon a cool, interesting, and jealousy-inducing fact about my house and it's contents the other day.....

My host brother has a bloody Narnia wardrobe.....

I overrode a lock....

2011-09-04T01:36:00.000-07:00

Quick update.....

I can now say I have gotten locked inside a school. Just because I stayed after class, and no one was smart enough to peruse the hallways before giving the janitor the 'all clear'. Good to know my school is being run by capable human beings.

I, of course, had to check all the doors before deciding to yell and scream while pounding on the glass doors like some wild ape in a zoo. I still don't have a phone at this time (but that will be rectified tomorrow.... when all the shops are open) so I was debating on commandeering some pamphlets to make an S.O.S. sign. A smoke signal even crossed my mind. I had my computer so I managed to get online and notify a couple people of my predicament. I asked for the site director's number, although I doubt she could have done much. I tried a button that read ouvert porte but I apparently didn't press it long enough the first time. So I continued to bang on the doors like a savage. After running around parts of the building where I suspected people might still be, I went back to try the button again. After the click, I thought I might as well give the door another try. The button was just far enough away to make it awkward to open the door and hold down the button at the same time. It took me a couple tries to get the timing right, but in the end I managed to escape relatively unharmed (except for maybe psychologically). I say I overrode the lock. Much cooler than, " I pressed a button and opened a door".

I never knew my study abroad experience in France would include trying to free myself from a form of prison that many students see school as. France, you are full of surprises.

Sean Penn

2011-09-02T23:32:00.000-07:00

Happenings of last night....

I ended up going out to a movie with my host mom and her friend. I have found my crowd. I spoke better French with them than I had all that day. We went to see a Sean Penn movie called "This Must be the Place" which was debuted at the Cannes Film Festival. It was a cross between Edward Scissorhands and Into The Wild somehow.

Now, before the film, we sat down to dinner and I had to ask the question, were we taking the bus or driving? Driving it was. Great. Following le diner I rushed upstairs to get my oh-so-favorite pair of nude pumps. I had a specific outfit in mind and wasn't going to waste a perfectly good opportunity to look put together. When I came downstairs, the friend (whose name escapes me) mentioned that we weren't going for a walk on the Champs-Elysee. She commented that I looked like one of those "young, what are they? Celebr - movie stars?".
Afterwards, we all went out for drinks (as if my mom's friend doesn't drive crazy enough). It was nice to sit and relax in the centre ville late at night - so beautiful. Following our stint at the cafe, the ladies decided to take me up to a lookout that has a beautiful view of the entire city. I finally managed to get home at around 1:30am and got up at 6am for my final day of class. One more day.

Vitalis

2011-09-02T01:49:00.000-07:00

I have now seen thunder storms from 35,000 feet and while in France. I had the opportunity to sit out on my two foot wide window sill and watch the storm. Magnificent. Then the rain came, and you could hear distinctly how far away it was as it traveled.

The one evening I decided to have dinner with my family in my PJ's, the attractive cousin stops by for a visit. The story of my life.

Yesterday, while skype video chatting with my boyfriend, a worker at the university was constantly flirting with me and eventually asked me out for drinks at the Tomate Blanche. I tried to be polite and say I was tired, but he then started suggesting other days we could go. I finally gave him a "maybe". He commented that he'd see me tomorrow..... oh boy.

In other news, I got paid 10 euros to talk English to French high school kids for an hour during lunch. In France, an hour and a half is a typical lunch. My high school had exactly 32 minutes. It was surprising how long that had been speaking French, yet their level was less than I expected. At certain points I started rambling in French, trying to get my point across. As my boyfriend would say, "whoops a doodle".

I have been introduced to a strange creature called ALF - I can't say much more than that but I am sure I will be forced to learn more in the future. I can't wait. My excitement is overflowing. There really needs to be a sarcasm font, I am convinced.

Oh my... we are pulling out cigarettes in class at the moment in order to prove a point (what point, I don't know). This whole week has been tiring and somewhat bizarre. My French is getting better and I am understanding more, which I am ecstatic about. France is known for their accurate and reliable transportation. Apparently yesterday was their day off. My bus (the system is called "Vitalis") was 20 minutes late and I also had to deal with a bunch of lost women making the driver stop the bus in order to figure out where they were headed. I was a bit late for dinner, which is at 8pm, but when I got home I found the house empty. I had been left a note saying they were at grandma's and that I should help myself to dinner. Well, because of the fact that the only thing my family has is raw ingredients and I didn't want to waste pots and pans for cooking, I had a banana.

I am currently jonesing for a ham sandwich on a baguette with mayo, butter, and cheese. Very French. Very delicious. I think I am going to find one of those (along with a stop at the crèpe shop) when I go downtown during lunch. This afternoon is going to consist of a French educational version of a scavenger hunt around the Centre Ville. From what I understand, we have to stop random people on the street. Because that isn't out of normal French culture at all. Again, sarcasm font.

Take and eat first....

2011-08-30T23:21:00.000-07:00

Well, the time has come to talk of other things....

Mainly: food.

This is my mantra now: Take and eat first,..... well, you know the rest. Last night I had the most unfortunate encounter with les moules - still in shell. Of course, I took a healthy helping, not wanting to offend anyone. My host mom asked me if I liked les fruits de la mer and I commented I had never been a fan of seafood. On top of the rubbery texture, salty/fishy taste, and the fact that they looked yucky - I still had this image in my head where they were still alive somehow although I had seen my mother boil them into oblivion. The face I was making as I tried to pry one out of it's shell must have been priceless, because I had the whole table laughing. I tasted it, gave it a chew, and slowly worked it down my throat. My mom assumed I didn't like it, and asked to reassure her assumption. She was dead on. I said I was incredibly sorry and felt guilty as she told me just to put my plateful of ~~crap~~ mussels back into the pot. She gave me, instead, a package of sliced meat that (I deduced from the smell and taste) was also some sort of seafood. I later found out after I ate it that it was indeed seafood. Crab. My mother is becoming a grandmaster at hiding potentially repulsive facts until after I have consumed it. Kudos.

Today marks Day 2 of the stage. I was sufficiently worn out yesterday and had to complete homework on top of that. I thought the French barely ever had homework. I've been deceived.

I am currently chatting with my boyfriend and good friend on skype. They happen to be sitting in the same room, so it is slightly weird because I am talking to one via video chat, but sometimes I ask questions via the video chat to the one I am only type chatting with. If that makes any sense whatsoever.

Accent Goggles

2011-08-30T01:42:00.000-07:00

I am currently sitting in what will be my classroom for the entire week. I feel like a child.

What might make things easier (or should I say, who) is Shay. I have met my first Brit, and I fancy him if I do say so myself. It might make this week slightly more bearable sitting next to him. With each other's help, we managed to make it through a "petite quiz" on France that wasn't so "petite".

Yesterday, I had the most amazing glass of beer and chocolate ice cream at an outdoor cafe. Simply perfection. I then proceeded to flirt with a restaurant employee to get him to help me get on the internet using the free Wi-Fi (it wasn't working at first). It wasn't necessary to flirt, I know, but I figured if it helped in getting my internet to work then I was all for it.

It's quite odd using the term "boyfriend". I haven't had one in so long, it almost felt wrong saying it. I had a conversation with a fellow American about how her boyfriend was back stateside as well and the story evolved into us telling each other cute things that the boyfriends had done, so of course I had to relay the story about my hike to Shadow Falls. I received an "awwwwwwwwww" every 5 sentences or so.

Postcards sent yesterday. While Mathis was showing me where to mail them, I had to ask if his mom was annoyed by my computer use (what else are younger, more impressionable host siblings for than to get inside information?). I ended up finding out that she was discussing me with a friend on the phone (where I heard from upstairs "Samantha" "l'internet" "l'ordinateur" and "wi-fi" but not much else) about possibly installing wi-fi so I could use my computer in my bedroom. Apparently she doesn't hate me after all, that's a relief.

Last night, during dinner, I had to take a step back and think "holy crap, I must look super badass talking so fast with this French family". Of course, that would appear so to only those who are rusty with their French, or have no skills in that department whatsoever. Although, I have to admit that for how long I have been here, my French has improved quite a bit. I was having a solid conversation at the dinner table with my host family. I even managed to get in a few funny one-liners that made everyone laugh.

I now know where I can access wi-fi, so Skyping (or as my father so eloquently puts it: "syping") is now a must with anyone who is available. This week, I can skype after 4:30 pm my time, or I can get up early and head to the school around 7am-ish my time. For Oregon residents, that would be roughly 7:30am or 10pm, not ideal, but doable if you really miss me :)

I am just waiting on my USB cable to come in the mail, and then photos will pop up like daisies.