Teaching English!

There’s 47% youth unemployment in Spain right now, but I officially have a job here! A girl on my program was teaching English to two boys, age 5 and 6, but she is leaving after this semester so she offered the job to me. Since I spent about half my childhood forcing my mom and sister to act as my students while I played with my whiteboard and shouted at them for disrupting my fake classroom, it seems only natural that I finally have real students to teach.

The kids are very cute. Their names are Eduar (not a typo) and Alejandro. The first day I met them they were dressed in matching Argyle sweaters, starting the typical metro European fashion early. They’re more interested in telling me long stories about trips to the mountains or recess at school rather than learning English, but this is universal in young children, not just ones who have no clue what I’m saying when I greet them with, “Hi boys! How are you today?”

I’ve been uncovering my arts-n-crafts side these past few days, inventing various games and activities to help teach them. I’ve decided to write and illustrate my own storybook so I can pick and choose what vocabulary to focus on. I encountered my first language dilemma while writing one story, “Ben’s Birthday,” in which Ben receives several presents, including a soccer ball. While coloring the ball I spent about 10 minutes deciding whether to call it a soccer ball or a football. I am American, but these kids will probably encounter British English the majority of their lives. After contemplating for too long, I realized that it really doesn’t matter since they’ll probably forget the word anyway. In the end I stayed patriotic and represented my American roots. Haters can be haters, but this will avoid any possible confusion if Ben receives a football (American football, that is) for his next birthday.

I got out a basic English vocabulary book from the library here, and once again I was faced with a predicament, as it was clearly written in British English. Some of the translations sound simply ridiculous to my American ears. Stove is translated as “cooker,” trash can as “rubbish bin,” underwear as “knickers.” Saltshaker is translated as “saltcellar,” which in my mind would be a closet-type room filled to the ceiling with grains of salt., and can I ask what the hell is an “Eiderdown?” Apparently it’s a comforter, which I only deduced after entering the Spanish word into an online translator. Apparently sometimes the Motherland’s dialect is just as foreign to me as Spanish. Needless to say, these kids might grow up to sound like American hicks, but at least they won’t be saying such ridiculous things as “Mother, it’s chilly in here, would you mind placing a thicker eiderdown on my bed?”

  

Then there’s the problem of book-English versus street-English. It’s funny how you don’t even think about the simplest things until you have to teach them. For instance, do I instruct them to answer my question, “How are you today?” with “I am good” or “I am well?” And when we embark on body parts, do I follow the book’s definition of “bottom,” or do I teach them “butt?” Is it better to have manners but speak like an 80-year-old British woman, or be a bit crude but be the first among your five-year-old peers to start making butt jokes?

For our first lesson today I played a game that I remember from my first year of learning Spanish. I would say a verb and perform the action that goes along with it, and the boys would mimic me. So by the end we were walking, sitting, dancing, laughing, hugging, and jumping all over the house. After we repeated the actions a bunch of times, each boy got a turn to be the teacher, and would call out the word for me to perform. It was apparent that “jump” was the verb that most stuck with them, because I feel like I did little else than hop up and down for the last 10 minutes. 

Towards the end of our lesson I read them the story I created. Never have I felt so validated! The older one kept commenting things like, “Wow, you drew this?” “What cool drawings!” When we got to the page with the birthday cake, they both said, “Qué tarta más chula!” (What a cool cake!). They both seemed to really like the story. It’s always impressive how captivated little kids can be by the most boring things, as “Ben’s Birthday” can hardly be called a Penguin Classic. It essentially reads, “This is Ben. Today Ben turns five. Cool! He get's a new pair of sneakers! . . . " (There's that damn dilemma again! They're going to hear "trainers" from all of their friends with British tutors!)

I feel like this could be an all-around winning experience. I get to hang out with little kids (win), be in a mostly Spanish environment since they don’t yet know enough English (win), prep for lessons by doing arts and crafts (win), and get paid (win win). (Is it sad that I calculate all my earnings in terms of tapas I could buy? One hour equals ten rounds!) Even the fact that I have to walk 40 minutes each way to their house could be considered a win, since joining a gym here in November doesn’t mean that I actually go to it!

The fact that I have a job (and without being an EU citizen, at that!) when the rest of the country doesn’t reinforces my desire to learn languages. Speaking English suddenly gives me value here, so it’s my hope that knowing Spanish in California will make up for spending four years of college taking classes like “Introduction to Alternative World Healing” and “Gender Studies in the Balkans.” 

Studying? That Exists Here?

Spain’s double personality is killing me right now. I’ve gotten so used to thinking life is all smiles here—three days of class, constant tapas and coffee dates with friends, and everyone eagerly anticipating immensely fun and tiring weekends. Then all of a sudden students come back from their Christmas breaks and start acting like 4^th-year Grad students—a.k.a. studying. All. The. Time. I always hate finals at UCSB because no one ever wants to do anything but camp out in Davison Library and drink 14 cups of coffee a day. But finals there are a week, maybe two weeks tops of studying. Here, finals run throughout the month of February, which means all of January is the equivalent of “Dead Week.” No one is kidding about that name, and I feel like I’m slowly dying along with it. My Spanish friends, who sometimes go out four nights a week, are glued to their textbooks. It’s impossible to find a spot to sit in any of the billions of libraries here. Professors are canceling the last days of class so their students can study. (Well, I guess canceled class is nothing new. . . .) And suddenly, after thinking that my work level in Spain is a bed of roses, I find myself having to write several 20-page papers in Spanish (I think the longest paper I’ve ever written was ten pages, and that was in English), and study for a test in a class where I’m still convinced we haven’t actually learned anything over these past four months.

Here’s a theory: If students actually ever showed up to class, they wouldn’t have to spend a month and a half cramming their brains with borrowed notes in order to pass their tests. But maybe four months of bliss is worth one month of Hell?

To keep myself from going crazy and getting a bit down on being here at the moment, I’ve buried myself in trip planning. Since my finals are spread out, I have a chunk of time in February completely free. Instead of spending more nights surrounded by stressed-out students in Granada, I’m hopping over to Barcelona for five days to visit some friends. Then, at the end of February, I figured I’d celebrate the end of finals with a week-long trip to Italy! Visiting friends there, turning 21 in Venice, and eating pizza that isn’t Spain-itized with corn and carrot toppings is helping me get through this oh-too-studious time.

A Bit Nostalgic

January is always a downer month, no matter where you are in the world. The holidays are over, your pants don’t fit so great anymore, it gets dark earlier, it’s cold and you are inevitably sick for at least half the month. So I’m going to formally document the little things I miss about home, only because it’s January and not because I’ve stopped loving it here.

1. Mexican food. Yes, it’s on the list before friends or family. You try living five months without it.
2. Friends and family (Duh, I’m not dead inside).
3. My dog Button, who’s 14 ½ and who has lived two years longer than most dogs his size. He’s still as cute on Skype as he was when I left him, and I do have to say I’m sort of glad I’m not around to see him going blind and deaf.
4. America-sized coffees. Our population might be obese, but at least we serve drinks that aren’t polished off in one sip.
5. UCSB. I really thought I wouldn’t miss it this year since I definitely needed a break, but no one goes to school on the beach without getting pretty nostalgic while they’re away.
6. Thrifty Ice-Cream runs with Maddy. Get a triple-cone of Cookie’s N Cream for me!
7. Using public restrooms with the luxury of knowing you’ll be able to complete the job with some toilet paper.
8. Trader Joe's everything. Who knew one could feel such affinity for a grocery store?
9. Carpet floors. Tile floors make January even more cold and depressing.
10. I miss the general attitude at UCSB that it’s not necessary for girls to wear heels when going out. My foot bones weren’t made for this.
11. Breakfasts. I want to be able to stop at a café on my way home from school and order something other than toast and coffee.
12. Being intelligent. My IQ drops about 50 points when I try to get my point across in Spanish.

My list about things I love here would be 10 times as long, but that one will come out when I don’t have a hacking cough, it’s not raining and final exams are not swiftly approaching. 

God how good does that look???

Holidays in New Homes

I celebrated Christmas with Anna in her apartment this year. It was the most low-key Christmas I’ve ever had, which was in some ways depressing but in some ways DELICIOUS because we made stuffed bell peppers and persimmon crisp. I will say that Christmas Eve was probably the first day I felt actually homesick since being in Spain, but that’s expected around the holidays.

The day after Christmas I forced myself out of bed at 8:30—four hours earlier than usual on my vacation days—and caught a bus to Partaloa, where my friend Amalia and her family spend their holidays. Partaloa is a tiny town of about 400 people in the very Eastern part of Andalucía. I spent two days there doing the very best things—eating, sleeping in, lounging, baking, and spending time with various members of her very large and extended Spanish family. Since I couldn’t be with my own family during the holidays, I enjoyed my time with hers even more. Amalia and her mom, dad, sister, and all sorts of uncles and aunts and cousins are so welcoming and generous, and I felt so lucky to be taken in by such fun and friendly people! (And I’m not just sucking up here because Amalia reads my blog.)

In Partaloa everyone lives within a five minutes walk of each other. There is one tiny convenience store, one bread shop (instead of one on every corner, like in Granada), and everyone greets each other when they’re walking down the street. As Amalia says, Partaloa is “España profunda” (deep Spain, i.e. the middle of nowhere), and it was so great to see this side of the country because as a tourist you normally only hit big cities or beach towns.

On the second day her dad took us to the town’s olive-oil plant. Here everyone can bring their harvested olives and make their own olive oil. The smell in there is amazing, and seeing as olive oil has become my new favorite food here—I might even consider it it’s own very important food group—I felt right at home there. I wanted to whip out a baguette and have a tostada picnic right there on the factory floor.

Straight FAT!! 

After Amalia’s it was on to Neivar’s house for New Years. The minute we got there we went to a huge barbecue at her friend Juan’s house, and all the friends I met on my previous visit were there. Fourteen hours of eating, drinking, dancing, and merriment—yep, sounds like Spain. On New Years Eve her family prepared a huge dinner and at midnight I participated in Spain’s version of the countdown—eating a grape with the twelve strikes of the clock. Eating twelve grapes in twelve seconds is no easy feat, but I’m happy to say I completed the task and should have luck in the New Year. If the grapes failed, though, I had some back-up luck: earlier that day Neivar’s mom passed me some bright red panties to wear under my dress! Apparently everyone must wear red underwear on New Year’s Eve, or else who knows what sort of horrible luck can strike in the coming year. . . .We then went out to Neivar’s friend Victor’s house to continue the celebrations, and later to a huge New Years Party in town.

Toasting my twelve grapes.

It was such a privilege to be able to spend the holidays with two amazing families, but after a week of cultural assimilation, partying, and speaking only in Spanish I was physically and mentally exhausted (In fact, I had my first definite dream in Spanish on New Year’s Eve—a sign that my brain was churning in Spanish way more than normal this trip), so I spent the last part of break enjoying Granada before school starts again. On one of these days Katie and I went to three towns in Las Alpujarras, which are tiny villages in the Sierra Nevada foothills. We hiked between three of them—sort of like  Granada’s version of Cinque Terre! They are beautiful rural villages, a nice break from a city feel, and we lucked out with 75 degree weather in January. As terrifying as climate change is, it’s helping me survive the Granada winter, that’s for sure.

  

Happy New Year everybody! My two resolutions: become fluent in Spanish and eat less bread here. We’ll see which is more easily attainable.

Pre-Christmas Ramblings

I haven’t updated in a while because I’ve been too busy watching Spanish-dubbed Grey’s Anatomy (only half kidding), but here are some exciting things that have happened in the past couple weeks:

My friends Cat and Sydney from Santa Barbara came to visit Claire and me! They were studying in Florence for the quarter and their program just ended, so they’re traveling a bit around Europe and the Middle East before heading back. It was great to see them and they absolutely loved Granada, which assured Claire and me even more that we chose the greatest city. We went out to a Paella lunch with them on Sunday (I’m actually relatively sure we were eating in a hospice home, since there were about 50 tables in the restaurant and they were all occupied by elderly couples—but this is beside the point.) It was delicious and one of the very few restaurant meals I’ve actually had here, since normally we just go out for tapas. I was very content with the food, but six hours later Claire and Sydney were not, as they got violently ill with food poisoning. I kept waiting for it to hit me but somehow I escaped it, even though I ate all the meat and seafood. I’m so glad Cat and Sydney came but I’m so sorry we took them to that restaurant! They had to catch a bus to Madrid while Sydney was still sick, and I hope their Granada experience wasn’t tainted too much….

This past week I was planning on cooking dinner with my friend Luc and his British housemate Emily, who is teaching English here in Granada. Luc told me a few hours before that there had been a change of plans—it turns out Emily’s boss is the Vice President of Granada’s Fútbol team, and was giving out tickets at her work! So that night we ended up seeing my first Spanish live fútbol match for free. Granada was playing a team from San Sebastian, and we won 2-1. However, we needed to win by three points to advance to the next round of the competition, so it was bitter sweet. The game itself was very exciting though, and we were sitting in front of three drunken Spaniards who inadvertently taught me more Spanish slang in 90 minutes than I’ve learned in 4 months here. There’s nothing like enthusiastic fútbol fans.

My parents sent me a package for Christmas at the very beginning of December, and since Spanish mail is less than efficient, it got here just a few days ago. Also, Spain has started charging exorbitant prices to collect packages sent from outside the EU, so to add some Christmas cheer all the UC kids have been having to shell out about 40 euros each time they collect their gifts from home. Spanish bureaucracy aside, though, I have to express in my blog how adorable this Christmas present from my family is! They made me an advent calendar with a present to open each day of December (meaning I got to open about 20 presents in one day, thanks to the mail delay). So cute and creative! Even in this holiday season I really haven’t been homesick at all, but it’s amazing how unwrapping things like peanut butter cups and chocolate pretzels makes me ache for the simple pleasures of home. Spain needs to amp up their importing a bit and bring more of these American treats overseas.

Tomorrow I’m celebrating Christmas with Anna by baking our sorrows away all day, and then it’s off for some travel throughout Spain! FELIZ NAVIDAD EVERYONE!!

Belgium

In the morning Claire and Rachel flew back to Spain and Anna and I caught a bus to Belgium for the second half of our trip. On the bus ride we met such a nice Canadian couple, and planned to meet up with them again but in the end our phones didn’t work. You sad fact of the matter is you can never truly count on Yoigo. Where is Verizon when you need it?

Whereas Paris was more about seeing the city and the famous cites, Belgium was more memorable for the experiences we had there. Since Anna and I were very conscious of our draining bank accounts, we decided to couchsurf every night in Belgium. Couchsurfing is a website where strangers all over the world offer their couch or extra bed to travelers for free. It is awesome because not only do you not have to pay for housing, but you also get a chance to meet locals who know the city and who can potentially become new friends.

The two places we intended to visit in Belgium were Bruges and Brussels, but because someone offered to host us in Ghent, we also made a stop there. Ghent turned out to be our favorite spot in Belgium, and our host told us that according to Lonely Planet, it’s the hidden gem! It’s such a charming town with a river flowing in and out of the city, gorgeous old buildings, and a lively feel because it has a university. We met our host Stefan at a bar near his house. Immediately he bought Anna and me a round of beers, and we chatted in the bar for two hours getting to know him. He’s a pretty cool guy, and retains a youthful vibe at age 41. We dropped off our stuff in his apartment and went with him and a friend to the local Christmas market, where there was outdoor ice skating, a Ferris wheel, and lots and lots of warm drinks. Stefan and Evelyn (his friend) bought Anna and I some mulled wine and then a round of hot chocolate and Bailey’s, and we hung out with them for a while and bought the next round. (When it’s winter in Northern Europe can you really do much else than drink mulled wine?)

Ghent

Couchsurfing!

With a name like "Ho Garden," we had to try it. I liked it, Anna didn't.

The next day we headed to Bruges, supposedly a fairytale town. It was cute but a little overrated. There was a chocolate shop every two feet, which was delicious but tedious. The old women running most of the chocolate stores also sort of seemed like they hated their lives—they’ve probably seen one too many tourist entering their shop for free samples. In Bruges we tried our first of many Belgian waffles, which definitely do live up to their hype. Even better than French crepes, in my opinion. Bruges was so freezing that we only stayed a couple of hours there, not to mention the place is tiny so that is all we really needed to see every square foot of the town.

Ok, Bruges is pretty quaint.

Mmmmm Belgian chocolates!

We came back to Gent and I took a long nap. The greatest thing about this trip is that we had so much downtime—even in Paris we would sleep in till 10 or 10:30 most days. Since we were only seeing two countries in ten days we didn’t feel the need to race around or wake up at dawn to see the sights. Also, since we weren’t paying for housing in Belgium, we didn’t feel guilty about lounging a lot.

When Stefan got home from work he asked us, “So, are you ready for mussels?” It turns out that he was going to make us a massive feast for our last night!! I can’t believe how generous some people are. Anna has been a vegetarian for seven years, and made a valiant decision to eat the seafood in order to be gracious. But not just a mussel or two—that girl and I each crammed down three servings. It was my first time ever having mussels, and I have to say I won’t be ordering them any time soon in a restaurant, but they were pretty interesting.

The next day we took the train to Brussels and met our next couchsurfing host, Hetram. It was definitely not as great a situation as in Ghent, but still preferable to paying for hostels! He was sort of awkward and timid, but still very generous. He even let us sleep in his bed both nights while he took the couch, and he showed us all around the city the first day.

Brussels also has amazing Christmas markets. I’m so glad we visited these countries in December, because in California I never get a very strong Christmas vibe. We walked around the city a ton and saw some beautiful buildings, but there is definitely less to do in Brussels than in a city like Paris. We spent a good amount of time hopping from chocolate shop to chocolate shop, filling up on samples and buying chocolate gifts. We also saw Mannekin Pis, the peeing boy statue that is oh so famous in Belgium. It’s like the Mona Lisa—everyone is obsessed with seeing it and then it turns out to be about 12 inches tall. Also the question must be asked, why do the Belgians worship a figure of a toddler going to the bathroom? It’s beyond me, but the statue is right next to a one-euro waffle place so of course I was content.

Kind of awkward if you ask me.

You know it's a great country when this is what they're famous for.

On Saturday we left with ample time to get to the airport and catch our plane. We asked the attendant at the train station the best way to get to the airport, and he told us the exact platform and train to take. Easy as pie. We boarded the train, but after an hour we were both wondering when the stop would be, since the airport is theoretically a 45-minute ride. But there were no conductors for a while and no one on the train seemed to know our destination, which made us even more worried. After a bit longer a conductor finally came to punch our ticket, and told us we were on the wrong train. I still have no idea how this happened, since the train platform had our destination and time written correctly. Anyway, we were forced to stay on the train until it turned around, since none of the subsequent stops had connecting trains to the airport. We literally rode it into France before it switched directions. We eventually caught another train that delivered us to the airport town no less than 20 minutes before our flight departed. We still clung to a one-percent hope that we could possible make our flight, but it turns out that the bus that runs from the train station to the airport only leaves every hour, and we missed it by five minutes. Just our luck! We arrived at the airport at 6, one hour after our flight left. It was the first time in my life that I missed a flight. If this had happened a few years ago I would be panicking, but I’m proud to say that I was pretty relaxed about the whole thing. I guess the Spanish pace of life is getting to me!

We went to the Ryanair ticket window and explained our situation, and we each had to pay 110 euros in cash to change our flight. Luckily there was a flight at 8:15 pm to Madrid that still had room. When we returned to the ticket window after withdrawing cash from an ATM, the attendant said to us, “Actually, there’s a little problem. You only have one hour from your previous flight’s departure time to change your ticket.” It was 6:09 p.m, nine minutes too late. I wish someone had taken a picture of our expressions. That was all we needed after missing trains, then buses, then planes. We basically begged the guy to pity us, but it was hard to be cute and pity-able when both of us hadn’t showered in about 3 days and looked beyond haggard. Then I came up with our bargaining tool: when we first approached the ticket window before we went to the ATM, it was probably before 6! The guy called his supervisor and probably lied a bit in our favor, and eventually we were able to change our tickets instead of buying completely new ones, which would have cost way more than 110 euros. Finally some silver lining!

Our beloved euros thrown down the drain. 

When we landed in Madrid we tried to catch an 11:30 pm bus heading to Granada, so we wouldn’t have to wait 2 more hours for the 1:30 a.m. bus. I felt like we were on The Amazing Race. We were sprinting with our bulky backpacks through the airport, racing through metro stations, and panting like crazy. (I also randomly ran into a college friend on the Madrid Metro—such a small world!) At 11:29 we reached the metro stop at the bus station, and I swear to God the run through the tunnels and up the escalator was like a life-or death situation, not a matter of waiting 2 hours in a bus station. We ran to buy our tickets, sweating and breathing way too hard, and the woman behind the window informed us that the 11:30 bus never existed, there was only the 1:30 a.m. one. Absolutely great! We ate away our depression at a kebab restaurant, and it felt good to at least be back in Spain. We knew we were out of Belgium when the restaurant workers didn’t even start making Anna’s falafel until the fútbol game between Madrid and Barcelona (playing on all TVs in the restaurant) was over, a sure sign that we were indeed in Spain again. Then, when it seemed like the restaurant was closing so Anna and I started packing up our half-eaten kebabs, I heard that beloved Spanish phrase, “Tranquila, tranquila! No pasa nada!” Basically, “eat in peace.” No pasa nada was like music to my ears after a day of so many roadblocks. 

We finally arrived back in Granada at 6:30 a.m., and as I was walking back to my piso the streets were filled with people just leaving the discotecas. Paris and Belgium were great, but oh, Spain, how I missed     you.

Oh Pa-ree

Ten days traveling is a lot to capture in a blog, but I’ll do my best. Claire, Rachel, Anna and I flew from Malaga to Paris on Thursday afternoon, and checked into a small apartment that we were renting for 5 nights. It was a great location right near the Bastille, and also it was nice to have our own little living space instead of sharing a hostel for so many nights.

On Friday morning we met up with my high school friend Isabel. It was so great to see her! We got lunch and then she walked around with us throughout the city. We saw the Louvre (only the outside), had warm drinks at a famous restaurant called Angelina’s, walked through a huge Christmas market, strolled along Champs-Elysee, and saw the Arc de Triomphe. It was so fun to catch up with Isabel and hear all about her life in Paris. We then walked all the way back to our apartment, so in total that day we walked about seven miles! (Even more impressive when you say it in kilometers.) Although we were exhausted we still managed to go out that night. We went to a “stockmarket” bar, where the price of the drink depends on how popular it is that night. It was fun although I will say the bar scene didn’t quite compare to Spain’s level of fiesta, which is probably a good thing since we were exhausted travelers.

Isabel and me at the Christmas market

On Saturday we spent a depressing amount of time in search of Chipotle, since it is a mission of every trip outside of Spain to get a burrito, but it turns out Mexican food is slow to come to France as well, and Chipotle wasn’t built yet. At the address that Google Maps gave us was a pile of rubble. So we ate some sandwiches and then Anna and I walked up to Sacre Coure, which is a huge church that overlooks the entire city. It was stunning, as was the view, and the area of Montmarte was very cute and festive for Christmas. We drank hot cocoa and ate macaroons and were merry. This man and his stall exemplify the atmosphere very well:

I randomly ran into another high school friend, Nick, three times in Paris. He is studying in Prague but was visiting friends, so we hang out that night. It was great catching up with him too!

On Sunday we went to a huge outdoor market which was fun to see, and I salivated at rows and rows of fresh cheese, fruits, and crepes (although not so much at the stalls of gooey octopi and bloody meat tissue). Then we went to the old Jewish quarters, called Le Marais, where I had the most delicious falafel of my life (apparently the falafel is famous in this area). Since it was Sunday and all the museums were free we then decided to visit Musee d’Orsay, which has impressionist paintings. My mom and dad will be proud to hear me say that for the first time in my life I fully enjoyed a museum. It had so many works of some of my favorite artists, including George Seurat and Monet. I loved seeing all the art, and the best part was the museum was small so we were in and out in an hour and a half. (I didn’t enter the Louvre, however, because it would take about 24 hours to see all the art in there.)

All of us on by the Seine River

Then Claire and Rachel went shopping on Champs-Elysee so Anna and I went to explore another district of the city, Mount Parnasse. We had a very leisurely time walking through the neighborhoods, and then we ordered a delicious crepe. Ok, two.

On Monday I met up with Isabel again. I still had yet to try a plain Parisian baguette, so I got some artisan cheese and some bread for breakfast. I do have to say that the bread in France didn’t quite live up to its hype (although Isabel and Anna might kill me for saying this), but it was good nonetheless. We then walked to Luxembourg gardens and Notre Dame, which was very impressive. After that we saw the Eiffel Tower during the day, although it was way too cold so none of us were too thrilled to be there. It was Rachel’s birthday the next day so we went out to a nice French restaurant to celebrate, and the food was delicious. Then we saw the Eiffel Tower one more time at night, and it was so beautifully lit up and sparkly.

Anna and me at the delicious French dinner

Hey Mom and Dad, want to buy me a camera for Christmas that can take pictures at night??

As a quick sidenote, it’s hitting me that I’m talking about all these landmarks very casually—then we went to Notre Dame, and it was awesome, and then it was on to see the Eiffel Tower. Oh and then a Louis Vuitton representative gave me a personal tour through the famous department store and at the end of the trip I shook Nicolas Sarkozy’s hand. I hope I’m not getting too blasé about all my traveling. I barely thought about this trip until the day I was packing, whereas if I had booked my tickets in California I would have been shaking with anticipation for weeks. Damn Ryanair, it’s as if traveling has become too simple!! But seriously, I’m loving every minute of it even if I can’t convey enormous excitement in my blog. Paris was a beautiful city and hopefully someday I’ll be back, although preferably on my parents’ or rich future husband’s dime. 

A great last night in Paris!