Thursday, March 29, 2012

Ode to My Backpack

Time for some updates & I have a headache!

Oh, such exciting things you get to hear about.

I'm about to begin a pretty epic endeavor. Spring break has snuck up upon us. 10 days. 1 backpack. First of all, I would just like to say that although it's really impressive when you can live out of a backpack, it's not nearly as romantic as it sounds. The backpack I'm backpacking across Europe with is an all-black Jansport that I had a pretty brilliant idea to have my friends decorate with silver Sharpies when I was a sophmore in high school. It used to be my school backpack (for all of one year, so it's in great shape) and now it gets me around the world. The best part of it though is when you're tired and angsty sitting at the airport all hungry and out of it, you look down at your backpack and it has all the lyrics from the Sailor Moon theme song written on it, along with all kinds of drawings and signatures. It makes me endlessly happy. I'm glad I went through a phase of buying all black things and then having people draw on them at rehearsals and school. I have this black corduroy messenger bag I used to carry, and on the inside lining Evan has written all over it and it says things like "E to the V to the A L I C I O U S..." and "You are H.O.T! That spells sexy!" These things make me smile on airplanes or in math class. This backpack has all kinds of wonderful things on it that I just rediscovered. Of course it says I <3 Kaila huge across the top. There's also a strap that reads, "Life's easy, FLUTE'S hard." Trisha, Tara, and Siena by the names of the girls from the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants.


Tomorrow afternoon I leave for Barcelona, where I am meeting up with Mel for a few days before we go onto Lisbon. I have no idea what we're going to do in Lisbon, BUT! All the adventures are sure to follow. On Wednesday I am taking 2 plans and a train to Strasbourg where I will meet up with the lovely Evan Revak once again, so stay tuned! Pictures and stories (always stories) to come.

Tuesday, March 27, 2012

Hiking in the Esterels

(Photo creds to Savannah)
So AIFS took us on a hiking excursion to the Esterels on Sunday, and as Aude put it, "AIFS adventures!!" The Esterels are these hills along the sea, near Mandelieu, and they are incredibly beautiful. Very reminiscent (in my mind at least) of Utah or Arizona. It was a lot of fun to go hiking, and good to just like...be in nature again. I blistered up my feet really painfully, but it was more than worth it and I enjoyed every minute of it. Hot and sunny. Real vegetation and trees and rocks and dust...and it felt a little bit like being home. Sometimes you really just need to get back to nature. Sometimes very much so.

Saturday, March 24, 2012

Paris - Part Two

The saga of Paris continues!


Saturday began with a most Parisian endeavor: climbing to the top of the Eiffel Tower.


First of all, I would like to say two things about the Eiffel Tower. #1- It is huge. #2- If you are afraid of heights, this will definitely contribute. We waited in line for a very long time under the tower before finally cramming ourselves into the first of two tiny elevators. The elevators were not unlike the elevators that take you to the top of mountains, and you basically have to cram in like sardines while you stare out the window as you ASCEND TO YOUR DEATH. I happened to be next to someone who also was similarly feeling like we were on Tower of Terror and were waiting for the drop the whole time. (I really didn't use to be afraid of heights until recently. I think I actually blame Tower of Terror. As some of you know, every time I go on Tower of Terror it gets worse and worse, and the last time I went it was really bad and I practically hyperventilated and almost burst into tears. I can feel the dropping feeling while you're just sitting there...UGH UGH UGH IT'S SO MISERABLE I HATE IT!! UGHHHH.)

Alas there was no drop, and we made it to the middle floor easily enough. The view was already stellar, and then we went on yet another elevator up to the top top floor, and agh the view!!

This would be unbelievable at night, I'm sure, so that's one of the Paris things I've yet to do and must do at some point in my lifetime. That and the Musee d'Orsay are on the list immediately coming to mind. At the top of the tower you can sort of walk around on the (incredibly windy) top deck and they also sell champagne! ...For 10 euros.
This brought on much much debate about if you proposed to someone if they'd give you free champagne. I think it must happen so often probably you'd just get a discount.

[*One thing I just want to do all the time is just get fake-proposed-to to cause a scene and get VIP treatment and free stuff and in general just be ridiculous, not just in France. Everywhere. I'm not kidding about this. PLEASE do this with me. Let's make it happen.]

The way down was much less eventful, and after taking staircase after staircase and two elevators, we made it back down to the earth, which was incredibly welcome.

Greetings from the top of the Eiffel Tower!


Next stop, Versailles! Now you get to hear about what was probably one of the most defining moments of my life in terms of "I Can Die Now" things. When I was younger, like probably from ages 7-10, I was OBSESSED with Marie Antoinette and the Baroque period in general. Almost to a ridiculous level, and here I am, finally going to Versailles. My child-self was just freaking out so much the entire time, but first...getting there.


To get from downtown Paris to Versailles you have to take a train. A few stops down the ticket guy came and checked us and said we had to buy an extension at the next stop. As we pulled up to the next stop, everyone was taking their sweet ass time to get to the door, and I was like, "Come on!! It's going to close!" And everyone was right behind me, so I jumped off the train onto the platform, turned around---and the doors shut behind me. We tried to get the doors open to no avail, and the train started to pull away...with me alone on the platform. If you can imagine this, these four horrified faces of my companions pressed against the door window staring at me as the train pulled away, and then me just laughing as I went to buy the fucking extension! I didn't get left alone at a random train station in the cold to not buy the ticket I leapt off the train to buy! I got the ticket with no trouble, got on the next train which left in 10 minutes, and met up with my very distraught friends at the station in Versailles. Adventurressss...

We had lunch at a restaurant (that featured decor that mainly consisted of state license plates from the US! how foreign!) and then embarked upon the massive expanse that is the Palace of Versailles.


Versailles is HUGE. And everything is covered in gold, and it's just about how you'd imagine it to be. I ended up walking most of the tour on my own at my own pace, because I just needed to take it in my own way and let myself just indulge in this bucket-list experience of the highest caliber. Versailles, like the Louvre, is something I have way way too many pictures of to post here, but you should definitely look at them all on Facebook, because it was extraordinary.

Oh hey.

Marie Antoinette's bed.

View out the window into the gardens.

Private Chapel in the palace.

The Hall of Mirrors.

It was pretty much a religious experience going to Versailles, and I hit up the gift shop hardcore afterwards. I have a beautiful little doll-ornament of Marie Antoinette that is now hanging above my desk, and I treasure it. Even after we left we just took a second to sit and look through all of the gorgeous pictures in a book someone bought and just sort of reveled in it. My child-self was extremely happy. It was of course necessary on the way back to indulge in expensive Paris-Starbucks, where the spelling was even worse, but the drinks even better. We managed to all get on and off the train together this time too. Great success!

That evening, Jenn and Karnig and I decided to embark what turned out to be a really long quest for, drumroll please...MEXICAN FOOD! There was a place not far from our hotel, so we walked all the way there only to find out it was full. Then we took the metro, called, made reservations, walked and walked and walked and took yet another metro, and it was quite the adventure. The night was beautiful though and the food was more than worth it.

The next morning we got all packed up and stored our luggage at the hotel (after much drama at the tiny breakfast buffet, get it together, Hotel Bastille!) and headed for the Arc de Triomphe!


We climbed up what seemed to be endless spiral staircases, and there's a museum and a gift shop inside! Quel surprise.. From the top there was a great view of Paris too, and we wandered and enjoyed it in the cold before heading back down to search for food. Had lunch, metro-ed it back in time, and bid farewell to the Bastille and headed back to Cannes.


It was a beautiful, glorious intense weekend, and we all had a blast, but we were practically kissing the ground when we got back to Nice. Back to the calm and beautiful and quiet. Back to the Riviera. And what a wonderful weekend it was to be back from.


The Hair Dye Adventure

I had one mission today, and that was TO GET MY EFFING HAIR DYED.

If you know me well, you know there is little in this world that matters more to me than my hair being adequately red, and when it is time to dye it, it is time.

This has been a project I've been working on all week--to find a hair salon where they A) Know what they're doing, and B) Speak enough English that I can communicate, in no uncertain terms, what I want done. Practicing French at local businesses is all well and good, and a very important part of learning a language. I'll order at restaurants in French, buy other things in French, but when it comes to dying my hair? YOU'RE GOING TO SPEAK ENGLISH TO ME AND YOU'RE GOING TO UNDERSTAND.

Sandrine, our resident director, recommended a place to me that speaks English called "Helsinki Coiffure." I called the woman, who spoke very good English, and apparently she runs the salon alone and told me to come by for a consultation. I was incredibly proud of myself for looking up the directions and finding it on my own, but as soon as I walk in, she sort of pulls at my hair and looks very doubtful. I explained to her what it was I wanted (just to dye all of it red, with permanent dye, protecting the blonde streaks) and she was like, "No, no, It's not possible. I can't do it. I have regular clients and even with an appointment I think no...Ugh, it will be too long and very messy process. Go find another salon." And shooed me out!! I was furious, and had a true moment of "I-hate-France" culture shock at its finest. No fucking women's hair salon in America would tell you your hair was too long to dye ONE COLOR. Bristling, I stormed off and was like, You know what? Fine. I'll go to the Croisette and I will find a hair salon that will do my hair and will gladly accept my money. Today.

I had heard tell of a salon on the Croisette (the very fancy street where all the fashion houses are) that spoke English, but I thought it might be too expensive to bother, but at this point that seemed like what needed to happen. I passed by one salon that was RIDICULOUSLY overpriced (and charged 10 euros extra if your hair was long, no matter what the procedure, like really?) and then I sort of stumbled upon one that looked like how a nice, trendy hair salon should look. Artistic overhead lamp and white floors and black stations, leather couch and attractive stylists, good music, and at this point I was so frustrated that I walked in and was just like, "Bonjour. Anglais?" And the owner was like, yeah! And I noticed on the door it said "English, Italian, and Arabic all spoken here." It was a sign. The owner was incredibly enthusiastic and welcoming and competent and it was a huge and well-staffed salon. Redken brand, Keratase...it was legit. My stylist was named Julian and was probably one of the most beautiful and fabulous men I've ever seen in my entire life. They permanently dyed my whole head and deep conditioned for less than 100 euros, and blow dried it all kinds of perfectly. Well done and very worth it.

I have a great sense of accomplishment right now, and I rest comforted in the fact that if there's one thing I can trust myself to do on my own it's get my hair done properly at a great salon.

Little victories.


Friday, March 23, 2012

Paris - Part One

So, I went to Paris two weeks ago?



I was back at the College for a grand total of 2 1/2 days before leaving again for Amsterdam, so it's been on the backlog of shit to do, but it was epic and beautiful and definitely deserves a post! It's probably good that I waited too, because it was 4 days of crazy and now I'll only remember the highlights, which is the only part you care about anyway! IT WORKS OUT FOR EVERYONE.

Thursday, March 8th, AIFS got us up at an ungodly hour, by some miracle, packed and dressed. Packing for Paris was exciting, because it's Paris! You have to wear cute clothes and be stylish and oh wait...I only have like 3 outfits and it's going to be freezing cold. Shakira's "Waka Waka This Time for Africa" was our pre-Paris jam, and that's all you really need to know about that. The morning that we left they herded us all onto a large charter bus, the kind where the back row is raised like a foot higher than everything else, which of course was where Jenn, Karnig, and I sat and gave loud decrees upon our thrones, "AS QUEEN OF THIS BUS...." Much to the incessant and unwavering joy of our fellow classmates.

We flew out of Nice to Paris Orly via Air France (fancy fancy..they gave us coconut cookies as a snack, like really), and upon arrival began a charter bus tour of Paris (as a very roundabout way to get to the hotel). Our guide was probably the most hysterical tour guide I've ever had, and spent most of the time telling us about the different ways in which Parisians are awful (he himself included) and also helpful tips for traveling:

"Do not lose your passport, or you will not be able to return to your country and will have to become a bus driver or a tour guide of Paris. That's what happened to me. I was from Wisconsin, a cheesehead, a redneck, I knew nothing of the world..."

One of the other things he informed us of during our very long tour (yay traffic..) was that, as some of you may know, Paris is separated into Districts. Our hotel, in the Bastille, was in District 12. NOT A BIG DEAL GUYS. NOT A BIG DEAL. This was not lost on the other Hunger Games fans on the bus, and in case you are wondering, no, I have not seen it yet, it's only out in French with English subtitles and that's not acceptable because the lines will be changed. Alas, a tragedy. The odds are not ever in our favor.

Notre Dame
Anyway, during our welcome-to-Paris tour, we stopped at the Notre Dame to take pictures and take a tour inside. Within the first 5 minutes Aude (one of our RDs, who I would not fuck with) got into a screaming fight with a street vendor while Sandrine (the other RD) just sort of
looked on and sighed. Aude won, of course, then just rolled her eyes and lit a cigarette. Like a boss. Notre Dame is unbelievably beautiful, from all angles. The front with the square towers reminded me of Florence a little bit, and the rest of it was just breathtaking. That is what Paris was, by the way. Breathtaking. But I'll continue to go into that later.
(We were taking stupid pictures outside of the front and Aude and Sandrine took this picture of us. AIFS brochure here we come...) I just love that idea because I'd be the most ironic face ever of study abroad. Notre Dame is beautiful from the inside too, although very roped-off and tourist oriented. Regardless, it's quite a thing to behold. After that we moved onto the Ponte des Arts over the Seine, famous for being covered in "love-locks." The idea is that a couple writes their names on the lock, locks it onto the bridge, and then throws the key into the river.


Our hotel was located in the Bastille, and once we got there we basically crashed for the afternoon. I wandered around and explored a little by myself, and Paris is..very stimulating. A bit overwhelming, but truly one can just walk around and take things in. The term flanneur was coined by the Impressionists to describe one who wanders the streets just taking things in and as they come to them, like a child. Evan calls it "flanning." Regardless, it's very French, and in Paris sort of what you have to do. Paris is one of those things that you can't really overhype in a certain sense. It's less romantic than it's made out to be, but oh, is it beautiful. I have never seen such a beautiful city in all of my life. It does the soul good to see such beautiful things in such abundance, and I know that sounds ridiculous, but it's really true. All the art, the architecture, even just in the details...Paris worked hard to be so pretty and all the beauty is completely intentional, but oh does it work. It's magnificent.

That night AIFS took us on a dinner cruise on the Seine, which was lovely. We had good food and looked nice, and the seats were such that you were looking out windows to the banks of the Seine. It was beautiful, but the real magic of it came later. They called us all out to the roof all of a sudden, and there we were, right in front of the Eiffel Tower at night. It was, really and truly, probably one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen in my life.

The next morning we went to the Musee Orangerie, famously home to Manet's Water Lilies. We've been studying this in Art History, and as our teacher said, it's kind of a religious experience. The paintings are so huge, against the white of the walls...god it's something. I spent the next bit walking around the Champs-Elysees and had lunch at a little cafe. Obligatory.
We took the Metro to Montmartre, where the entire group was meeting up again for a tour. Oh wait, did I mention it was IN FRONT OF THE MOULIN ROUGE.
This was supremely exciting for me, although the Moulin Rouge is much more exciting in the movies than in real life. I don't even care. Montmartre is incredibly famous for being where all the bohemian artists hung out, and we hiked all around and got shown where various painters worked, famous cabarets like the Lapin Agile, and ultimately up to the top of the hill where the Sacre-Coeur is.
The Sacre-Coeur is a gorgeous cathedral, and from the hill you can see a great view of Paris.

Jenn, Karnig and I made our way slowly down, stopping at the Place du Tertre, where all the crazy artists are, to eat at a cafe before eventually getting on the Metro and going to...the Louvre.

The Louvre -or- Strug Life:
In Which Michaela, Jenn, and Karnig Go to the Louvre for Free and are Unable to Walk and End Up Alone in Napoleon's Apartments

I bet you didn't know that the Louvre is free for students after 6PM on Fridays. Well, guess what, it is, and to preface this story, it must be understood that throughout all the hiking through Montmartre, Jenn was wearing very high-heeled wedge boots, Karnig has a back problem, and I have flat feet. Our tale begins.

They say that if you were to spend 30 seconds in front of every piece of art in the Louvre, it would take you 3 months to see all of it. Well let's say you had about an hour and a half. And you were going to see as much art as you possibly can.

We hauled ass through that museum. And it was amazing. We saw the Mona Lisa, Venus de Milo, painting after painting after statue...the Louvre is gigantic, and we spent a lot of time just stopping and staring at the galleries...also because Jenn's feet started to hurt, then Karnig's back and leg went, and then my knee, and then it was a strugglin, painin mess.
BUT WE HAD ART TO SEE AND SO WE DID. Stumbling and limping we finally got to the French collection, the Egypt collection, and then they started to give the closing announcements around 8...but it closed at 9:30. They were going to have to kick us out of the Louvre.
We saw the Sphinx, we saw Hammurabi's Code, and best of all...Napoleon's apartments. There were only two other people there, Canadians, and they told us it was pretty much the luckiest thing in the world that we were there by ourselves. I have never in my life seen anything so beautifully lavish, embellished, ridiculously beautiful and detailed as these rooms. Even in Versailles it wasn't like this.

Napoleon's Salon (Photo creds to Jenn)
I wish I could include more pictures here, but look at my albums on Facebook for more photos of all of this! Eventually, once we were lost in more statues and that beautiful open room, the museum staff started slowly herding us out, and we made our way, slowly and luxuriously and full of art and limping, out of the Louvre. Everything all lit up at night outside was just exquisite as we hobbled to a taxi, and then we went back to the hotel. Went out to dinner at a lovely French restaurant called Grandes Marches, got back at midnight, and crashed.

Stay tuned for Part II.


Sunday, March 18, 2012

AmsterDAMN!

Oh, hey. Look who I found in Holland.


So, this is the story of how Michaela and Evan went to Amsterdam for St. Patrick's Day Weekend, slept in an airport, drank beer and stared at prostitutes, went to several gay clubs, saw the Anne Frank house and other museums, and watched a man dressed as a giant banana skip rope for money.

And you thought there might be a slight possibility that this would be boring.


Our tale begins on Wednesday night, when I flew out of Nice to the Basel-Mulhouse-Freiburg airport, where I met up with Evan at around 10PM. We had not seen each other for six months, and it was a most joyous reunion. One that lasted for several hours at that, because, as Evan put it so eloquently, "Now we're just getting to the really fun part, where we have to spend the night in this airport."

Here are things they do at airports in the middle of the night: Jackhammer stuff.

Our flight left for Amsterdam at 6AM, so this was the cheapest and most efficient way to do it. (Or at least the cheapest way.) We slept on a bench in front of creepy children's coin operated rides. If you're going to sleep in an airport, that's not a bad place to do it, as there was pretty much no one else there and we were relatively undisturbed, if not hot messes to behold the next morning. You haven't really lived until you've slept in an airport. You're not really proud of yourself, but at the same time there's a great sense of accomplishment in having done so.

Alas, we slept for the whole flight to Amsterdam, took the train from Schiphol to the Amsterdam Centraal Station, and then the tram to our hostel.
As you can see, this shit was confusing as fuck.

Our hostel was run by charming Middle Eastern men, and also featured the world's steepest staircase. Our room had two bunk beds, and we met our roommates later--two boys from Boston studying abroad in London. I believe, if I heard correctly last night, that one of them hired a prostitute, and "it" (whatever "it" involved) lasted 6 minutes. So there's that. The nice things about having stoners for roommates is that they're tremendously chill and easygoing, and are also often not there, choosing instead to frequent Amsterdam's "coffeeshops" (fine
dispensaries of that "marijuana" drug the kids are using these days). We spent the first day just walking around Amsterdam and exploring and struggling with the trams. Amsterdam is like a little fairytale village, with lots of pretty bridges and rivers and cobblestone streets, colorful things and lovely architecture. I spent much time just walking around and going, oh wow, this is so pretty! Despite it's collection of weed and whores, there isn't a vice-like air about the city. At night it just feels like Halloween. We found the gay bars. And some swans. And made
some videos about the swans. We wandered around some more, had pizza in the square, and then went back to the hostel and slept and slept and slept until dinner. Our hostel directed us to this little
Mediterranean restaurant which was cheap and excellent, and had a blessed blessed thing France has been lacking--FLAVORS AND SPICES IN THE FOOD! Oh it was glorious.

We went and walked around the Red Light District at night, and you might think you're prepared for it, but you are not. I didn't realize the girls were on street level, and they're just all up in the windows, life-size next to you, with red lights around the windows and blacklights illuminating their bikinis and lingerie (or lackthereof). Evan and I walked around and stared at them and had a wonderfully hilariously ironically profound discussion about women's rights and heteronormativity.

This is the thing about the prostitutes in Amsterdam. They are, for the most part, surprisingly really hot and fairly young. I'd guess most of them were around Evan's and my age. My feelings regarding legalized prostitution in theory are that women should have the right to choose what to do with their bodies. However, at least in America, it is very rare that they actually choose that decision as opposed with being faced with coercion or lack of other options. I don't know how this works in Amsterdam, and one of the topics of our ironic conversation was how much we'd love to hire a prostitute and just interview them about what it's like and how they decided to do it. Hear stories. Sex workers are people too! A lot of them looked really bored, and they'd be shaking their ass or touching their boobs and also texting. I laughed pretty hard at that. One of them was wearing glasses like mine. The incongruence of that was also hilarious, and I laughed and smiled at her and was like, fuck yeah! in solidarity! I don't think she appreciated it necessarily. She was probably mad I was stealing all that business (namely--Evan) from her. I was really hoping one of them would aggressively try to get his attention so that I could slap him in jealousy and be like DO YOU THINK SHE'S PRETTIER THAN ME??? If only.

The next morning we went out for pancakes at a restaurant called, shockingly, "Pancakes!" which was terribly good. The Dutch are famous for their pancakes. We went to the Anne Frank house, where who should we bump into but Jenn and Karnig! This was not particularly a surprise, as they were spending the weekend in Brussels/Hassel and were spending Friday in
Amsterdam. The Anne Frank house was honestly kind of underwhelming due to much of it
being re-created, other than the things Anne glued to the walls, which is crazy, but still fantastic to get to see and say I've been there. We parted ways with Jenn and Karnig and got fries covered in mayonnaise, (a specialty of the Netherlands, Friday was our Traditional Food Day) before strolling through the park to the "I amsterdam" sign. For the most part it's against our religion to take too many touristy pictures (a doctrine mostly instated over there only being two of us, so it's not even possible) but with the sign it's rather obligatory.

Fuck yeah, initials.

We went to the Van Gogh museum, which was really cool. Spent quite a bit of time walking around there and reading everything and staring at paintings. I feel like I appreciate museums even moreso now in Europe. The things they have are so cool and things you've heard about a million times but then right there it's the sunflowers!! And you just stare at it like, holy shit. This was it. He touched it. This is the painting. This happens at each museum with famous paintings and it's really outstandingly remarkable and profound. Also I saw a Keeshond. I got really excited. I forgot they're the national dog of the Netherlands! And of my heart. Just kidding. Not really. Here is the one I saw.

In case you did not know him, my family also owned a Keeshond named Teddy for much of my life, who was the most beautiful and also dumbest dog in history.
Teddy. <3
We went out to dinner at traditional hole-in-the-wall Dutch place, where I had croquettes that were UNBELIEVABLY DELICIOUS (thank you LonelyPlanet!) and spent the evening exploring the debauchery of Amsterdam. We went out to several gay clubs, including one called the Queen's Head, which DESPITE BEING OWNED BY A DRAG QUEEN was sufficiently lacking in them, ran into Jenn and Karnig on the tram and then at a club called Montmartre (which was not unlike if the Rainforest Cafe was a tiny, bumpin gay bar) which was terribly fun, and Karnig requested Toxic, and that was that. We also stopped into an Irish pub briefly to welcome in the midnight-becoming of St. Patrick's Day! Kiss me I'm Scottish.

The next morning, Evan and I slept till noon and I did not wear green and pinched myself. We then had a substantial lunch at only the finest of Dutch restaurants.
Spent the afternoon wandering through the streets and then settling outside a pub in the Red Light District, where we had beers and watched the prostitutes (not the A-team during the day, I have to say) and people partying in the street, including a man dressed as a banana. He was quite popular with the drunken crowds.

All in all it was a thoroughly fantastic and fitting St. Patrick's Day weekend/weekend in Amsterdam, and now I am ready for a very hot shower and to sleep for about a million years. Bisous. xx


I Have A Lot of Things to Blog About

In the past 11 days, I have only spent two full days at the College. So eventually in this next week here I have MAJOR blogs to write about my adventures in Paris and Amsterdam, but I have to cut it up into sizeable chunks, so I will start with something small.

Tonight AIFS took us out to see "Rock the Ballet" at the Palais des Festivals, which is an epic dance show (ballet and modern/jazz) set to major pop songs. It had a predominately male cast (The Bad Boys of Dance, they were on SYTYCD once) that was SO EFFING ATTRACTIVE that after it ended (appropriately with "I'm Too Sexy for My Shirt" and accompanying removal of said shirts) all the girls were like fanning themselves. HOT. HOT MEN. It's a shame that I'm quite certain each and every one of them has never for a second been sexually attracted to a woman, but damn. It does the soul good to see such things every now and then.


Monday, March 5, 2012

My Life in Cannes. The End.


This is a pretty accurate portrayal of life in Room 100.

IT'S MY FAVORITE!!

How Alex Got Curb-Stomped in Rome: A Story I Wasn't Actually There For

This weekend, while we were partying in Monaco, a group of people went to Rome. I was not among them. However, they told me a fantastic story about it today at break, and I just feel the need to tell you, because it's really that great.

Alternative titles for this post included:
  • I Wasn't There When This Happened
  • Something that Happened in Rome (While I Was in France)
  • A Story I Heard During Repose at the Foyer
  • What Happened to the People who Went to Rome This Weekend
  • Meanwhile, in Rome...
Four girls from AIFS and Alex were in Rome, partying at a small club as part of a pub crawl. The girls got onstage to dance, and Alex managed to get up there too, even though guys weren't allowed onstage. The bouncer was trying unsuccessfully to get him offstage and lost it and lunged for him, but Alex like leapt off the stage and ran off into the crowd, the bouncer following him. The girls figured Alex had gotten away safely, so they stayed onstage to finish the song before going out to look for him. They couldn't find him, and thought he'd just gotten kicked out, so they went outside, and there was a huge group of people standing around Alex, who was laying in a pool of his own blood on the sidewalk.

It is not clear exactly how this came to be, but it is understood that the bouncer either punched him in the back of the head and he fell, or the bouncer grabbed him by the back of the head and slammed him into the sidewalk. The second one is the current operating theory. As we were told this, Karnig screeched, "You mean they CURB-STOMPED HIM???" Which is how this entry got its name. So, Alex is laying in a pool of his own blood, and as the girls explained to me, "Our personalities just came out magnified." One of them starts sobbing, two of them start laughing hysterically, and one of them goes up to him all in savior-mode and starts being like, "ALEX. DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM. DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOU ARE? WHAT YEAR IS IT?" and called an ambulance...and then proceeded to get out a camera and take pictures. (I feel like that would have been me in this situation.) And Alex is just laying there laughing, bleeding out his forehead, and eventually an ambulance came, and they fixed him up for free right there, and then the girls took him to the next pub, all soaked in blood, gave him a shot, and took him home. He's doing just fine.
THE END.

(Photo from Facebook)

Sunday, March 4, 2012

Nice Party Bus and Thoughts

Last night, we took a party bus to Monaco.

And it was ridiculous.

(La Brasserie in Monaco)
Now, a bunch of people ask me, "Well was it good-ridiculous or bad-ridiculous?" And my answer is, if you truly understood what ridiculous meant, you would know that ridiculous encompasses both good and bad, crazy, stupid, lame, awesome, fun. Just completely over the top. Ridiculous implies something so far from the average every day experience that it is neither good nor bad, just, well....ridiculous. You can love ridiculous or you can not love ridiculous. I am personally a huge huge fan.

Party buses sound more glamorous in theory than they are in practice, but are still immensely fun. But how did this come about??

Two weeks ago, my roommate Jenn met a guy at Baoli (the big fancy club in Cannes) who's a promoter for the "Nice Party Bus" (Nice, referring to the city in France) which is a large company and offered a special deal for those of us at the College International to attend this weekend. About 27 or so of us (23 girls, 4 boys, which is a pretty standard ratio for life at the College) signed up, and there we all were at 9:30PM last night, dressed to the nines waiting to get on a charter bus to take us to Nice.

The premise of the party bus (that was told to Jenn) was that it stopped at 3 pubs on the way to a club called La Brasserie in Monaco. Immediately it was explained that there was a miscommunication. We would be stopping once, in Nice, to switch onto the actual "party bus" meet up with the other people who had signed up for the event. The first bus itself played loud music and strange music videos. We all were laughing and talking, but everyone was kind of wondering where the stripper pole was. This is a party bus, right? We went to two bars in Nice, one down the street from the other, that were kind of cramped and awkward, but there were
enough of us that it was fun. The second bus, the actual "party bus" was no more of a party bus than the first one except that it was double-decker, and it was...a party. They played bangin' music and gave us drinks and shit started to get a little hectic. The ride to Monaco was probably like 45 minutes, and I had an absolute blast. I sat next to this kid (pictured at right in that very unflattering photograph) who was very gay and very into Beyonce, and we were dancing and singing and being ridiculous. Foreign kids know how to party on a bus to Monaco, I'll just say that. Once we got to Monaco we arrived at the club, which was half indoor-half outdoor and very very crowded. We were technically "VIP" which really only meant we had guaranteed access to the club, but it was exciting to just walk in. The rest was pretty standard: too long line for the bathroom, deafening and for the most part good music. At one point we were up towards the front of the stage and were invited onstage to dance (there must have been like 12 of us). It was thoroughly not embarrassing (the big DJ had started his set and we just sort of there partying, it wasn't the "Booty Shaking Contest" that had happened earlier in the evening, which featured what may have been actual prostitutes. Who knows. It's Monaco. 0% crime rate.) The DJ was from America and had a lot of trouble trying to speak French to the crowd. It was pretty comical. Being onstage with everyone was incredibly exciting, and we saw everyone in the crowd and just....yeah. It was very very legit.

(The DJ stage where we were dancing)
Everyone's feet had started to hurt at that point, so Jenn and I crashed an empty VIP booth outside, and were slowly joined by various members of our party. Despite the waiter's brief protest that this "wasn't our table" (which obviously, it wasn't) he let us stay, and it was really chill and fun and someone took pictures which will probably surface in a slow and embarrassing way. If a good one comes up I'll add it to this entry. I was sitting next to Gill, the Beautiful Blonde Irish Girl from the College (I can't describe her any other way, she's very famous for this) who was very much into taking pictures, so there should be at least a few. The waiter brought a bottle of expensive champagne to the table, which he said wasn't for us and wasn't ordered by us, but he didn't know where the table's actual occupants were, so whatever, he wouldn't look if we so happened to drink it. Which we did. At that point though, it was getting to be 3AM, which, regardless of if you're at a club, is really late. We all started to get really tired around the table, just sort of waiting for the bus. There was some drama with the idiot promoter and then eventually, thank the lord, we all got on a bus back to the College, where we arrived, around 5, basically asleep. And today has been spent sleeping on and off, watching movies, and consuming large quantities of food, and that is what I did this weekend, thank you for reading. :)

The fun and craziness of last night was a well-needed respite from what has been the newest stage of culture shock here at the College, which is depression, and a desperate need to go home. We made it a month. Cool. Done with France now. One of the girls from our group is actually going home, which has been a weird thing for us, and it feels like this is a pivotal moment in our emotional studying abroad arc. After a month, you can't even pretend this is a vacation anymore. I feel like after this, if you survive out this weekend, this moment, this turning point, it's time to enter into a whole new phase of assimilation. We've built our little lives here, and now it's time to live them. I'm glad we could have such a bang this weekend to help ease this curb-rounding, and I'm very glad I'll be traveling more soon. It brings the adventure back, and seeing new things just sort of...refreshes you. AIFS is taking us to Paris next weekend for 4 days, which I'm very excited about. I imagine it shall be all at once crazy and beautiful and stressful. There is literally no other city in the world surrounded by such a romantic notion. I imagine, like with most things, Paris is a very glamorous theory and perhaps shall not be that much of one in practice.We shall see though! I'm very excited to go and to see it and discover for myself.

Missing you all tons and tons. Really. <3