Zees ees not Hamburg, zees ees Harrrrburg

Paris Square

Where Michael Jackson casually dangled baby Blanket out the window

Holocaust Memorial

Berlin Wall (ugly side)

Checkpoint Charlie

Best frozen yogurt this side of the Mississippi/Berlin Wall

berlin hot dog=weiner in bread. yum.

segway nudists

spotted: lady gaga in Berlin

Sachsenhausen Concentration Camp

creepiest place i've ever been to

if only America had train station food like this....

4 hour train from Munster to Berlin

            Thursday was our last day in France- HALLELUJAH PRAISE DA LAWD- and we definitely went out with a bang. We finally found the dance club we’ve been planning to go to and it was crayzaayyyy. We haven’t made it there before because one of the French kids in our dorm kept telling us it was really expensive to get in/far away/etc…well we come to find it’s around the corner from the Australian bar we’ve been going to every time we go out, and it’s 3 euros -_- really Thomas (pronounced Toe-ma). We ended up at the “goblin doors” after as usual, which- if I haven’t already mentioned- is literally a set of doors to what looks like a basement on the street, but Will found to be a bakery that serves freshly baked goodies from 2am till they open in the morning. That was a really bad run-on sentence but this is my blog and I’ll run on if I want to.

            Bright and early the next day, 7am, we were on the bus to Munster, Germany. SEE YA NEVER BYE DIJON. It was a 10 hour drive but I slept 90% of the time so it really didn’t feel too long (used to these drives anyway from CT to Tech).  Once we got to the dorms, I knew this place was going to be a million times better than Dijon (which, at first, doesn’t say much). Our rooms here are big and spacey and not only do we have our own stoves but we have our own bathrooms wooohooooo. The only problem is that we are all scattered across the buildings here. I didn’t think I’d be as scared as I was going to sleep that night but every noise I heard was turned into the rattling of someone trying to open my door in my head. I barely slept that night.

            The next day we were up early again to catch a train to Berlin where we were staying for the 3 day weekend. We asked the woman at the station the day before if we needed to reserve seats or anything like that and she insisted that we didn’t. Of course, we end up missing the 9am train and get on the 10am- an ICE train that needs reservations. We sit on the floor for 2 hours. Some German ticket lady with bleach blonde hair and scary piercings tries to tell us we have to get off at the Hann station and take a different train to Berlin because this one is too full. So we nodded and got off at Hann where we passed her on the platform and then proceeded to get back on the train at a different car. We end up sitting on the floor again and as I nod off with my head in my hands apparently she walks by and Jen makes eye contact just before shutting her eyes to pretend like she was sleeping too. This is a really pointless story. We’re just bad asses.

            We end up getting off at Hamburg where we need to change trains. We’re a little confused when we see how small of a station it is, and we can’t find track 5. We walk up to the information desk and ask the man where the train to Berlin is. He looks at us blankly and then begins to laugh, “Zees ees not Hamburg, Zees ees Harrrrburg”. We are literally the worst world travelers. We don’t plan anything and we cannot for the life of us follow directions correctly. Mind you, 2 of the girls are not with us at the moment because they forgot their passports and need them for our German rail passes. Luckily we all make it to our hostel at the same time, which is conveniently located in the center of Berlin AND is only 40 euros for 2 nights AND includes breakfast AND is actually pretty clean.

            After we get there we immediately start the search for the things we’ve written down out of the book on Steph’s kindle “Let’s Go Europe”.  We found a cool wine bar that we read gave unlimited glasses of wine for the price of: whatever you felt like paying.  As broke-and-getting-worse college students, this was our calling. It was a really cozy little café but we were a little early- apparently the wine deal didn’t start till after 8. I got a Montepulciano D’ Abruzzo that was hands-down the best glass of red I’ve ever had. When I went back to ask for the exact name (you went up to a counter to order, there weren’t waiters) the bottle was gone, meaning they had replaced it with a different red for the hour. I still have the label in my head and I WILL find it one day.

            As we started to get hungry, we kindled again and found a whole-in-the-wall-type German restaurant, Berliner Marcus Brau. Char and I split something with saurkraut, sausage and potatoes and it was every element of tasty. Most delicious saurkraut of my life- sorry Nana! We finished it off with some of the restaurant’s home-brewed light beer. I'd show pictures but the food literally looks like poop/throw up on a plate (obviously the fault of the lighting not the photographer). That night we went out to one of the popular clubs the guys heard about. It ended up being 2 floors in an old warehouse, completed with strobe lights and house music all night. When we went to the basement, the combination of fog and strobe lights made me think I was having a seizure. When I looked around me, in between each flash of light, everyone else looked like they were seizing. The best part was when I found out the next day that even though I was the one probably foaming at the mouth, Claire had been asked by some random person if she was okay…meaning “you’re dancing like you’re having a seizure”. I couldn’t stop laughing.

            On Sunday morning we went on a walking tour of Berlin, where I learned more in 3 hours than I had in 6 years of history classes. For lunch the tour guide brought us to an Israeli café chain known as Aroma. There I ordered a hot dog but instead received some type of sausage with pickles, mustard and ketchup on hearty whole grain bread. While the pictures definitely do not do it justice, it was delicious to say the least. While we were waiting for our tour to begin again, we stopped by a frozen yogurt store where the woman behind the counter was in such a good mood she gave us some for free. It was finally frozen yogurt that tasted just like real plain yogurt- I loved it.

            That night I went on my first pub crawl. The crawl consisted of 4 bars and the last stop was free admission to a club. However, we were so tired from walking around all day that after the 4^th bar we just decided to take the metro back home. Apparently the club was also really confusing to get to and everyone had basically given up on finding it.

            The next day was our last day in Berlin, but because it was a holiday in Germany, many of the stores and museums were closed. The tours were still running so the 6 of us decided to go on the Concentration Camp tour. We knew it would be depressing but it was an opportunity many of us would never be able to pursue again. Looking back on the pictures of the camp now, I am reminded of the eery atmosphere I felt while being there. There was a certain silence that, with the rushing wind that came every so often, gave you uncomfortable chills. After going into one of the barracks I couldn’t hold back my tears. I think actually seeing the beds, the bathrooms and the living conditions made it more real than ever before. Reading from textbooks about something so horrific makes you somewhat immune to what the horror really is.

Mon Cheri, Paris

I’ve been super excited for this weekend for a while now- my dad completely surprised me when he said he was thinking of bringing my sister with him to Paris the weekend I was going. I honestly didn’t think the plan would actually follow through until I finally saw him this Friday. We got to Paris Thursday around 1pm, after waking up bright and early to leave at 8am. The girls and I made our way to our hostel which ended up being on the outskirts of town, but it was at least in a safe area. To be honest it reminded me a lot of Chinatown in New York, because every other restaurant was Asian, but it wasn’t dirty or sketch like Chinatown can be. Anyway after checking in (to the weirdest rooms ever- the end of my bed was literally right next to my toilet which was across from my 1x1ft shower) we decided to get ready for that night even though it was only 3 (so that we didn’t have to take the metro 20 minutes back to change later). Soon we were out the door and riding the Paris subway with ease (it’s so simple, I can’t even imagine how we made our NY subway so damn difficult). I had emailed my dad earlier to see if we could meet at the Arc De Triumph. I told the group to look for “a bald guy and skinny-legged, really loud girl” but after 30 minutes of circling the island, I gave up figuring Leah had gotten hungry (as she does every 28 minutes) and Dad had taken her somewhere to eat. As a group we all went down the Champs Elysees but decided to go back to one of the guys’ hotels and get dinner around there.

            We found a pretty well priced menu at a little French café around the corner from the hotel. I ordered escargot because I needed to break some of the girls’ snail-eating virginity and I was excited to have some again. For dinner Steph, Claire, Char and I tried to order the vegetarian salad (lettuce, tomatoes, haricot vert [green beans for all you nonfoodies], carrots, corn, red cabbage and oddly enough sliced, fried potatoes) with grilled salmon on top. The waiter said it would be 3 euros, which we all agreed to, and later came out with 2 giant salads topped with a nice, fishy smelling smoked salmon being its slimy self. Sorry, I’m the last person in the world to be called picky but I’m just not a fan of smoked salmon- and I especially hate when I don’t get what I pictured when I ordered. I guess it’s one of my pet peeves…along with long finger or toenails, guys with ponytails, and people with B.O. Which is funny now that I think about it because I just described 80% of the French.

            Anywho back to Paris- after dinner that night we spent happy hour at an Irish pub, bought some wine at a convenience store (quite convenient) and spent the night watching the Eiffel tower light up (quite romantic). And, even though we clearly already had a sufficient supply of wine, every 5 seconds we were interrupted by annoying merchants saying something along the lines of “wine, champagne 10 euro 10 euro” (which obviously gave me another flashback to Chinatown).

            The next day I met up with my Dad at his hotel by the Arc Du Triumph.  By the end of the weekend I made this trip so many times I can literally say I know the Paris metro system better than I know the roads in my hometown. Since they had already seen the Eiffel tower the day before, we decided to go see the Sacre Cour. After getting off at a really sketch metro stop and climbing really steep, non-tourist roads while clutching my purse for dear life (don’t wanna have those 10 euros stolen -_-) we made it to the church and the beautiful lookout of the city. Before I left for the study abroad I went through my old Paris/Barcelona goodies and found a business card from a restaurant I fell in love with at the bottom of the stairs from the Sacre Cour. I got so excited when I found it again that I told my Dad we had to eat there- he’d love it! I remembered Lori getting an insanely delicious Quiche Lorraine so my dad ordered that, I got my goat cheese salad that I had ordered 2 years ago and loved, and my sister got gazpacho (a cold, vegetable soup that my dad always makes in the summer).

 Cheers!

 Best quiche of my life

coconut, lemon and caramel macaroons (started eating them before i thought to take the pictures, oops)

grapefruit, orange and feta salad

proscuitto, tomato, mozzerella, arugula 

lemon and raspberry sorbet, lavender gelato

            That night I met up with the group back by the hostel and we went out to happy hour at the Irish Pub again. We were trying to figure out how to get one of the Seine boat cruises for at least an hour before we actually found one at 11pm. Luckily, we got lost on our way because we found an awesome Australian club that we stayed out till just before the metro closed at 1am.

            Saturday I spent the day with the family again. We went to the Musee Rodin and witnessed “The Thinker” in person. We ate lunch there and it was actually really good. I had a citrus salad of grapefruit, orange and feta cheese with a light vinaigrette, and my sister split a prosciutto, mozzerella and tomato baguette sandwich with my dad. Then we went to the Pompidou, which I always enjoy and thankfully the fam enjoyed it too. For dinner that night we got sushi at a little place off the Champs Elysees. It didn’t look expensive until we got our portions- instead of the normal 8 piece rolls they were only 4 pieces. It was still a good last meal but I was a little upset I didn’t get to show my sister how to eat escargot. My dad had been wanting to try Coq au Vin and Beef Burgundy too but somehow we never ended up at little French cafes (even when they are every 5 feet around here). 

A Letter to the Editor

As part of our grade in our French Culture class we were required to write a reflection on our experience here in Dijon. It was supposed to be in the format of a letter to a local newspaper.

To be honest, I never thought I’d be unsatisfied living abroad but I can say after a little over three weeks in Dijon, France, I cannot wait to leave. I came to France, Paris specifically, two years ago and maybe it was because I was so excited to be there that I never noticed any attitudes towards me. Or maybe it was because I was with someone who knew the area so we didn’t look like tourists, but either way being in Dijon now I have never before been exposed to such a rude culture. What is most mystifying to me is the fact that the French, or the majority, are arrogantly proud to be apart of this snotty stereotype.

I understand that as a group of American college students we can be a bit on the rowdy and obnoxious side, but at the same time, I have not felt an ounce of friendliness or welcoming from the French here. The best weekends I have had so far have occurred outside of Dijon- the first in Nice and the second in Interlaken, Switzerland. I will admit that in Nice people were friendlier, which I have heard is a result of the Southern French culture being a little bit different from the Northern. It could also be due to the fact that half of the people we interacted with were tourists themselves or simply people from different European countries.

I think a lot of my newfound hostility comes from receiving a ticket after riding the public bus to our business trip to Zenith. I had two blank tickets in my purse but had forgotten my stamped one from that week in my backpack. When I tried to explain to the “ticket police” about my situation, the first acted like he had never heard the English language before and repeatedly interrupted and spoke over me in French. At one point, the second “officer” intervened and began to speak English, as if he had suddenly gained the ability to speak such a “disgusting” language. I could feel my blood begin to boil. Even though I was obviously not familiar with the rules of the bus system here, and I was with a group of six girls who all had tickets stamped at the exact same time, and I had clearly bought a book of weekly bus tickets previously, the “officers” would not budge. I knew I was in an uphill battle and the less French words I could think of to explain myself, the more the odds were against me. I should’ve kept my mouth closed and never uttered a word of English. At one point, I couldn’t fight any longer- I gave in and handed them their 30 Euros.

Ten minutes later, the rest of the group got off the bus and was walking towards us. I watched as the officers checked for stamped tickets again and could see certain people being pulled aside, just as I had. As they walked towards us, I heard two people had forgotten their tickets, but were not fined. My head almost exploded. I quickly told our French director my situation and brought her over to speak with the so-called “officers”.  I honestly thought I had been scammed. After watching them speak back and forth in French, she told me he had basically stated he has the right to fine whoever he wants. I literally could not comprehend the situation. I had not done anything wrong, other than committing an act of carelessness and forgetting my stamped bus ticket, but I have never been treated with such disrespect before.

To conclude, I don’t mean to add myself to the stereotypical group of complaining/spoiled Americans, but I have always lived my life by the Golden Rule, “Do unto others as you would have done unto you”. I believe people should be treated with kindness and respect unless they deserve otherwise. I thought at one point I would grow on the residents of Dijon, or they might grow unto me, but even after countless hours of practicing French, giving my best effort to pronounce every syllable properly, they still stick their nose up. Nevertheless, I will keep trying because instead of fighting fire with fire, I’d rather kill with kindness.

As soon as I finished writing this paper, I killed an army of bugs swarming in the corner of my room...with my culture class notes. At least they were good for something.

Why Dijon Reminds Me of a Third-World Country

(do not take this too seriously- i'm really not this spoiled/ignorant/annoying i just can't wait to leave Dijon)

1. We never have an internet connection
2. We don't have phones
3. We walk everywhere
4. I have to wash my clothes in my sink
5. I have to dry my clothes out my window/scatter them across my room
6. I have to buy gallons of water at the convenience store and bring them here to drink (compare to carrying water from the watering hole)
7. People here smell terrible (don't wear deodorant)
8. People here don't shower often (see above)
9. There's no toilet paper in the bathrooms
10. Air conditioning is non-existant

10a. there's no soap in the bathrooms
10b. i had to pay .50 euros to use a bathroom at the train station in Paris
10c. bathrooms at rest stops are literally holes in the ground (picture the outhouse scene in slumdog millionaire)

i think now i know why no one ever smiles here

Pardon My French

Our first weekend trip was to Nice, France- just a short 10 hour bus ride away. But it's fine because it was worth it. It was really touristy so at least people spoke English there and we went to an awesome bar called Wayne's the first night. Everyone was British and there was a live brit rock band playing that made my life.
I spent the entire day at the beach, i didn't want to do anything else. It had no sand, but big, smooth stones like they use in massages. The water was pretty cold but really refreshing and super clear.
For lunch we went to a little cafe and ate pizza outside. I got a veggie (4 saison=4 season) pizza that had hearts of palm, red peppers, string beans, zucchini and really strong olives with pits on it. All the pizzas here are thin crust and they don't cut them so i probably looked even more American when i started cutting it into triangle slices, with the butter knife they provided me with. Anywho it was f---ing delicious (pardon my french..or don't i don't really care). I ate as much as i could before i'd look like a beached whale in a bathing suit and since we had a feeling the french don't do to-go boxes i had to leave about half of it :(

oh we also saw mj resurrected

The day after we basically hiked to the top of a lookout point before we had to come back to lameass Dijon (here don't pardon my french please). As usual i wished we had more time there but i have a feeling i'll be back in this lifetime. I want to take the train from Nice to Cannes too for the famous film festival (which was this weekend too btw but we didn't have time/didn't know where the train was haha). Don't worry Jude Law, we'll run into each other eventually.