This is a very hard post for me to write. This Saturday, I will leave one of my favorite cities in the world and the country that I have called home for almost the last year. But I’m departing on a good note.

If you had asked me at the beginning of this year (or even right before I moved to Paris) how I felt about living in France, I probably didn’t give the most enthusiastic response. But the last three months in Paris have proven that I made the right decision to stay past the end of my term with the Assistantship Program…and it’s even piqued my interest in returning to live and work in France. (The caveat is that it must be Paris. Only Paris.)

My second real séjour in Paris (not counting a few vacations here) got off to a slow start as I only knew less than a handful of people when I arrived in May. But in the last three months, I feel like I’ve met more people in Paris than I have in a year in New York City. Between taking a class at Alliance Française and joining the American Expat group on Meetup.com, I’ve met so many different characters from France, the U.S. and all over the world. While I probably won’t see most of these acquaintances ever again, there are definitely many friends I have made in the last few months that I hope I can keep in touch with and visit in Paris again soon.

It’s difficult (if not impossible) to recap all of my favorite Parisian moments this summer, but here’s a quick list of some of the highlights:

• Visiting Chez Louis Vuitton and Café des Deux Moulins (the Amelie café) in the same evening
• Dinner at Chez Jim Haynes
• Watching World Cup 2010 matches at Miller’s, The Thistle, Anna’s apartment and the huge FIFA big screen at Trocadéro
• Hot chocolate at Angelina and eating frog legs with Yvonne (Y: “Why does every street begin with the word ‘Rue?’”)
• Château de Fontainebleau and Parc Disneyland with Rylan
• Fourth of July picnic and kickball at Bois de Boulogne
• Bal des Pompiers on both July 13 and 14 (the one in the 1eme was the best!)
• Staying at Café Oz until 5AM in the morning (Where did the time go??)
• Listening to Katia & Kyliemac podcasts (not so much a moment as something that added to the Parisian experience)
• Many relaxing afternoons at Parc Montsouris
• Many, many nights at The Thistle and La Perle

I’m sure I’ve even missed a few, but I have to shine the spotlight on celebrating my 26th birthday in Paris. This wasn’t the first time I had celebrated my birthday in the City of Light, but it was certainly the best. When I studied abroad here in 2004, I turned 20 – and it was probably the worst birthday of my life. To simplify things, I wanted to watch the Tour de France on the Champs-Élysées. (It was one of the years that Lance won, but I can’t remember which one.) We got there early and waited all day, I got a bad sunburn, some girl knocked me over thinking I stole her spot (when I didn’t), and no one knew it was my birthday. I ended up going to bed at 8PM.

Not so this year. Mon anniversaire vingt-six was more of a weekend event, starting with my last free trip to the Louvre. (All EU residents under 26 get into most museums for free, and that includes me and my work visa!) To clarify, I have been to the Louvre many, many times, but I love the building and it’s fun to roam the emptier halls of the palace. That was followed by a party at the Great Canadian Bar on the Seine next to Saint-Michel on Saturday night. I invited friends from many different groups, but everyone mingled so well!

While I had planned a picnic at Parc Montsouris for my actual birthday on Sunday, it was a bit too cloudy, so we went to The Thistle pub and ordered pizza there. All in all, a lovely and fun weekend with friends, and it was definitely one of my favorite birthdays ever.

I had originally planned to make more use of my Carte 12-25 (discount rail pass for ages 12-25) and go on some weekend excursions. I’m still dying to go to Mont-Saint-Michel, as well as the Loire Valley, Champagne, Strasbourg, and Perpignan – among many, many other places. But there’s always more to be seen in France, and even in Paris, which gives me plenty of reasons to return as frequently as possible.

It’s not a conclusion, but a final note for this time: I love you, Paris, and you have no idea how much I’ll miss you.

Bisous.

The last few days in Paris have been very hot and humid, with temperatures hovering around 90 F/30-33 C. I live on the sixth (and top) floor of the building without air conditioning or even a fan. So it is unbearable to sleep, let alone breathe, without keeping the windows to my bedroom open.

There is a small plastic gutter outside of my window that extends the length of the building. I had seen my petite neighbor try to enter my living room window once before a few weeks ago. I was simply watching a World Cup match on my TV (can’t remember who now), and all of a sudden, two big blue eyes were peering in at me. Taken aback, I immediately shooed her away from the window, without realizing I shouldn’t scare her too much as we are on the sixth floor. I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to her. I also felt bad as she kept meowing, as if looking for a friend. If I had some milk or cat food, I might have let her come inside, but I don’t exactly have a litter box here, so I don’t want to be responsible for cleaning up after someone else’s cat.

Since then, I keep the windows closed when I’m not home, but I have to open them again as soon as I return. Last night, I got home at about 2:30 AM, but with the heat, I must not have fallen asleep for at least an hour and a half. After drifting off into a sweet dream land (Ugly Betty was there, and that’s all I remember), I was awaken with a start when I heard a soft thump on the floor.

There was the same cat, looking around my room. The alarm clock read 6:01 AM, but miraculously my head wasn’t throbbing terribly. I got up from the bed and tried to point her back towards the window. She didn’t seem as interested in me as taking a look around her new surroundings, rubbing up against the drawers and stretching on the carpet. Again, if it weren’t for the litter box issue, I’d let her stay as she is pretty harmless. I tried picking her up,  yet she clawed into the rough carpet making it impossible for me to lift her. However, the cat didn’t growl or hiss at me.

Finally, I managed to grab her (gently) before she could clench to the carpet, and I set her back outside the window on to the gutter so she could go home. I feigned closing the windows by drawing the curtains, but when I peeked back out, I saw her glassy blue eyes shining back at me, with a sadness and loneliness that made me feel horrible for abandoning her. Still, I was exhausted, so I went back to bed.

Originally, I was planning to hold off on mailing in my new passport until I returned to the U.S. when it wasn’t as vital to my everyday life anymore. But when I read that passport fees will be raised on July 13 and that the fee for additional visa pages would skyrocket from free to $82, I realized it might be best to act now.

After taking a look at the U.S. Embassy’s site for France, it turned out I could go in person with my passport to have the pages added since I live in Paris. Anywhere else, you have to mail it to the Embassy or the closest consulate (only Marseille and Strasbourg now). However, I still wasn’t sure if I had to buy the specified envelope mentioned on the website. Along with an application form that I did print out (but turned out to be available in bulk at the Embassy), it stipulated to buy a “Chronopost” envelope from La Poste (translation: an express mail envelope from the post office). But these cost 20€ minimum. Betting on the slim hope that either I wouldn’t need it or it would be available at the Embassy, I walked out of post office without one.

Getting in for my appointment was even easier than making one. Normally, if you stroll in without an appointment (i.e. maybe your passport was lost), you’ll have to wait hours on end. When I arrived this morning, the waiting room must have been packed with nearly a hundred people already, and the second waiting room was already starting to fill. Interestingly, I heard many more French voices than American ones.

But with an appointment, I pretty much bypassed everyone in line, at security and was in front of a teller window with an agent all within 10 minutes. It was like I worked for the State Department in D.C. again – except this time I had to turn in my iPhone and then retrieve it with a yellow ticket upon leaving. (Note: Don’t ever bring your laptop here. Security won’t allow them in, and they won’t keep them at the holding spot for you).

The one thing I did notice while walking past everyone was that they were all holding a blue and orange Chronopost envelope in their hands already. I got nervous. The worst case scenario was that I’d have to do this all over again. No, the worst case scenario would be not only would I have to do all of this again, but that La Poste would go on strike, lose my passport and I’d be stuck in France until I could get a new one. Of course, this thought ran through my head repeatedly.

But my worries were soon put to rest as the friendly agent highlighted my name and passport number printed on the application, gave me another form to turn in at another window and said my passport would be ready shortly. Just like that! Same day service! And within just an hour, my passport was much fatter with those blank new pages filled with historic landmarks and purple mountain majesty. After a year of nightmarish paperwork experiences, it was refreshing and astounding to get such good service so quickly.

[Image via Wikipedia]

I’ve been living in Paris for over two months now, and with only four weeks left to go in France, I figured I should update. Some of my many adventurous endeavors in France have involved food. Up until a few years ago, I used to be quite picky when it came to my meals. But now I’m open to trying more things. In Finland this past April, I gave reindeer heart a chance.

And two weeks ago, I caved and ordered…frog legs.

It all happened when my lovely friend and colleague from Columbia J-School, Yvonne, passed through Paris on her European vacation. As she had never been to Paris (let alone France) before, I wanted to take her to some of my favorite spots and show her some of the best of French cuisine. This ranged from savory and sweet crêpes near Saint-Germain-des-Prés to Moroccan food in the Latin Quarter to fine hot chocolate at Angelina on Rue du Rivoli, which once attracted the likes of Coco Chanel and Audrey Hepburn.

Yvonne mentioned that she had never tried fondue before. Obviously, this is a Swiss national dish rather than French. But considering how close Paris is in proximity to Switzerland and how many Swiss nationals there are in France, delicious fondue is easy to come by around these parts.

At a small Swiss restaurant in the 6th arrondissement, we found well-priced prix fixe menu that included an appetizer, main dish and dessert. While my eyes (and my stomach) were immediately drawn to the onion soup first (it was a bit of a rainy day), I noticed something else: les cuisses de grenouille. Translation: Frog legs. I don’t actually see this on menus as often as one might expect. Escargots (snails) are far more common on a typical French fare menu.

I’ve tried many new things in France, some dishes that I’ve liked and some not so much. Rabbit is actually quite tender, and I’ve really grown to love mussels with fries. (This coming from someone who hates seafood.) Paté reminds me of what the inside of a hot dog tastes like, and while I can’t stand how it is made, foie gras isn’t terrible. (But, seriously? How does someone come up with an idea of making a “delicacy” like that?)

Thinking I might not have many more opportunities to give this one a chance (and that I needed a witness to prove I did this), I proudly told the waiter that I would try the frog legs. When they arrived, the legs were much smaller than I imagined, and there was hardly any meat on the bone. The meat itself tasted a bit like chicken. Unfortunately, it was smothered in a less-than-appetizing cream sauce, which was actually the worst part of the taste. I would have preferred it dry. While the experience wasn’t horrible and didn’t send me running to the bathroom, the frog legs might have been the worst thing I’ve ever eaten - or at least second to the time that my brother tricked me into eating eel at a Japanese restaurant in San Francisco.

Above two photo credits belong to Yvonne (pictured below with me at Place Vendôme). Merci beaucoup!

Thankfully, the one-hour flight from Stockholm to Helsinki was relatively smooth and didn’t involve any time travel. (While that might seem fun, 1930s/1940s Europe is somewhere I’d want to avoid.) However, given the delays and the one hour jump in time, I was now running behind schedule as I was planning to meet my friend/former Mansueto Ventures co-intern Laura in downtown Helsinki for dinner.

By the grace of the airline gods, my purse turned up on the conveyor belt quickly with everything in tact. I proceeded to take a 30-minute bus ride into the city and then transferred to the tramway at the Central Railway Station (or as Laura described, the building with the four guys and glass balls). It turned out that my hostel for one night was conveniently located in the city’s design district, which reminded me quite a bit of either SoHo for New Yorkers (but less commercial) or Valencia Street in San Francisco. Unfortunately, it was not nearly as nice as the hostel in Stockholm, but then again, it was only for one night.

Jyväskylä, Finland. April 10, 2010.

After dropping my stuff off and not getting to shower, I met Laura in front of my hostel. It was definitely good to see a friend again. She took me to a very trendy restaurant that specializes in Finnish tapas. Given that I’ve never eaten Finnish food before, I was definitely up for some experimentation. I was certainly put to the test when I sampled reindeer heart, which actually wasn’t so bad. It tasted more like smoked ham that one would eat at Christmastime…except then you remember what you were eating.

We had to call it a night after dinner, as we were getting up early the next morning to meet at the train station to go to Jyväskylä up in central Finland, about three hours away from Helsinki. There were only three other guests in my hostel room. The first one I met was a very nice German girl traveling with her brother staying in another room. The second was a French girl living in London, who was nice but very talkative. The third I didn’t really meet, since she came in after we were all asleep already and I saw her when I was leaving early the next morning.

I was blessed with good weather in Helsinki. While it was definitely a few degrees cooler than in Stockholm, it still wasn’t too bad and I didn’t need to wear my big wool coat. Not to mention, it was quite sunny starting on Saturday. When I arrived on Friday, it was fairly overcast, and combined with the sullen/communist-block architecture I saw on the way from the airport, I wondered if I was behind the Iron Curtain – which is weird considering Finland never was.

Jyväskylä, Finland. April 10, 2010.

The train system in Finland is set-up very well. While not as high-speed as the trains in France or Spain, they still moved at a good pace (better than Amtrak). The only downside was the price. But that wasn’t going to stop us from going to Jyväskylä, which when pronounced sounded like a bit like a disease, making both Laura and I giggle. But the town is lovely. Surrounding a river and framed by mountains (some of which was still frozen over), Jyväskylä is a lively college town. It’s also the farthest north in the world that I’ve ever been.

Jyväskylä, Finland. April 10, 2010.

We were staying with Laura’s boyfriend, Matti, who kindly let me (a complete stranger from America) stay on his couch for the evening. And then he even drove us to a small ranch nearby where Laura and I went on a pony safari. While it didn’t involve much trekking into actual wilderness, the ride was quite picturesque.

The last time I rode a pony was when I was eight or nine years old somewhere near Pacifica, Calif. Like almost everyone in Finland, the instructor spoke English fluently, and she was happy to give me a crash course (and we even taught her that expression).  I was paired up with a Finnish pony (seen in the photo) while Laura took a slightly more daring partner in an Icelandic pony (this was pre-volcano). Unfortunately, given that my Canon 1000D is prone to an “Error 99″ problem (even after I installed a firmware update that was supposed to correct that), none of the photos that the instructor took of me actually riding the horse actually came out. Nonetheless, I still had a great time. I got a little nervous when trotting, as I almost lost my balance. I can also see why female equestrians suffer from reproductive issues. But once in a while, it’s fun activity. And the settings were absolutely beautiful, with the landscape still blanketed in snow but shimmering from the sunlight. It was also very remote, so there was no one else around. Just peaceful and relaxing. It must have been one of the most fun things I’ve done in Europe and/or on vacation ever.

Helsinki, Finland. April 12, 2010.

To continue my Scandinavian adventure, Laura and her friends took me to a restaurant reminiscent of The Rainforest Café, but instead with a Viking theme. I really wish I could have worn the hat. After sampling reindeer heart and reindeer cheese (basically something like cheddar with bits of reindeer in it), it was only natural to sample some reindeer sausage, which was the clear winner. Also surprising was that cocktails are really good in Finland. Not only did we have some good ones at the Viking restaurant, but also at another trendy bar around the corner. The best were the smoothies. (It’s been so long since I’ve had a smoothie! France needs a Jamba Juice.)

Most of the evening was filled with sharing travel stories, inappropriate stories and Laura throwing herself against a poster of Taylor Lautner in between bars. (Note: She likes him, not Twilight. She has taste in movies.) Kindly, Laura and her friends all spoke in English throughout the evening for my benefit, or else I would have been totally lost. While Swedish is a wee bit like English (at least on paper), Finnish is something completely different. Although I did learn how to say hello, goodbye and thank you, like usual.

Helsinki Cathedral. April 12, 2010.

The second miracle of the weekend was that I didn’t wake up with a hangover. Although, I don’t think the same could be said for Laura. Nonetheless, we took the three-hour train ride back to Helsinki on Sunday afternoon, followed promptly by a stop at McDonald’s. There are three reasons that I am thankful for McD’s all over the world: 1. Hangover food. 2. Open on Sundays everywhere. 3. Free Wi-Fi.

Helsinki, Finland. April 12, 2010.

We didn’t eat all that much as we had already planned to make tacos for dinner. We bought everything at the grocery store and took the bus back to Laura’s fabulous house on an island that I can’t remember the name of. But it’s quite near Nokia HQ, and the most hilarious part about Laura’s house is that she’s right next to the Mexican Embassy. So Californian. I learned a lot about Scandinavian houses this weekend, namely the showers are quite different. Rather than doors or a tub, there’s just a nozzle in the wall with a drain in the floor itself, and you can square off the shower area with a curtain. Everyone also keeps a squeegee-looking mop in the bathroom for clean-up afterwards. I also learned that Finnish houses have heated floors, which must be necessary in the winter when it gets -20*C.

Helsinki, Finland. April 12, 2010.

Monday was my last real full day of vacation in Scandinavia, which I was quite sad about. (And maybe if I had planned to leave on Wednesday of that week rather than Tuesday, I could have stayed for a lot longer!) As Laura had work all day, I spent the day roaming Helsinki. Again, it was a perfect day to be outside and walk around. One thing that is really great in Helsinki that most tourists might not realize is how great the shopping is. Helsinki’s Design District is very up-and-coming, full of mid- to high-end designers of fashion, furniture, art and other unique items.

I got a bit lost, however, when trying to find the “church in the rock” which is literally what it means when translated into English. (The Finns are right to the point when they speak and name things.) After checking out the Helsinki Cathedral, I tried looking for the church, but I got a little turned around by my map, which is unusual for me since I have a good sense of direction. However, I only got lost for about five minutes, and then I was well on my way. After seeing the cathedrals and other sites that Conan O’Brien visited when here (he really is popular there still), I did a bit of shopping before meeting up with Laura for dinner. My farewell dinner was delicious. It’s quite rare that I get to eat anything but French food in France, so I definitely wanted something more spicy. We went to a Nepalese restaurant, which did the trick for me. We were both stuffed by the end of the meal, and then hopped on the bus back to the island while the sunset on the water surrounding the city. It was a little bittersweet, since I didn’t want my trip to end. I had such a good time in Scandinavia. It might be more expensive than France, but it still has very nice people and beautiful sights.

I had to get on the bus to the train station early, as my flight was at 10AM. This time, I remembered to take my Swiss Army knife out of my bag, especially since I had to change planes – coincidentally in Switzerland. I got through security alright at this airport, and I actually slept most of the 2.5-hour flight from Helsinki to Zürich. The seats next to me on both flights that day were empty. I’m sure that’s quite a different scene than one week later on European flights – or even right now still. My ticket was a great price considering I was going through four different airports (London Heathrow, Stockholm, Helsinki and Paris), and I only had to change planes once – this time in Zürich. Yet the layover was four hours. I ate, shopped and had a drink for the first 90 minutes…and then I was quite bored after that. I was even too lazy to write this post then.

But eventually it came time to board my Swiss Air flight to Paris-CDG, which felt like France as soon as I stepped onto the plane as the flight attendants greeted in me in French. It was like I was already home! Not only was most of the plane empty, we even got free beverages. On a 55-minute flight. At one point, the flight attendant tapped me, and I was a little surprised, especially when she held out a packaged muffin…for free. I couldn’t believe it. Maybe I had traveled through time! Flying was fun again!

Zürich, Switzerland. April 13, 2010.

As this is my second to last night in Nord-Pas de Calais, I’m sharing a bit about my favorite places that I’ve visited in Lille in the last few months. They’re not in any particular order, and I’ve probably forgotten quite a bit. But here’s my top 12, at least according to Four Square (so please pardon the informal punctuation and formatting. I’ve included photos where I’ve remembered to take them.

1. @ Hotel Le Moulin d’Or: Favorite hotel in Lille. Very affordable for singles/doubles with bath. In Centre-Ville and right next to the train stations (which is actually a safe area). Also includes free Wi-Fi and cable TV!

2. @ L’Empire: Cheap lunch menu and nice outdoor seating during the summer months. They also have a sign that says “Here We Speak English.”

3. @ Gare Lille Europe: Eurostar/TGV station…basically the connection to the rest of Europe. Do not confuse this with Gare Lille Flandres.

La Piscine

4. @ La Piscine, Roubaix: One of my five fave museums in the world. The art-deco building itself is prob even more stunning than the collections. Formerly a bath house in the 1930s, now a modern art museum.

Palais des Beaux Arts de Lille

5. @ Palais des Beaux Arts de Lille: Beautiful on the outside, and the interior itself is nice as well. The collection isn’t bad, but a bit on the gory side. See if you can go on a free admission day.

6. Palais de la Bière: Excellent Welsh Complet and Carbonnade Flamande (both Ch’ti favorites). Service is a bit slow, but ambiance is nice. Plus they serve food ALL DAY, which is rare in Lille.

Aux Moules

7. @ Aux Moules: Best restaurant to bring visitors. They also have a large variety of mussels. (See the name…)

O'Scotland et L'Irlandais

8. @ O’Scotland/L’Irlandais: Two of the most lively bars on Rue Solferino. Just don’t get on the bouncer’s bad side…

Le Furet du Nord

9. @ Le Furet du Nord: Best major bookstore in Lille. Huge selection of BDs, cookbooks, paper products and much larger English-language section than FNAC.

Grand Place (Le Furet et McDo)

10. @ McDonalds Grand Place: Free Wi-Fi and plenty of electrical sockets. Enough said.

Grand Place (Kokoa is cut off on right side)

11. @ Kokoa: The milkshakes are amazing. There are over two dozen flavors that can be served as either ice cream or milkshakes. Plenty of other yummy desserts at this modern ice cream parlor as well.

12. @ La Citadelle: Beautiful parks and lovely settings for a picnic or kicking around a football on Sundays.

A museum curator in Stockholm told me that Sweden’s capital is sometimes referred to as the “Venice of the North,” as it is a city built on a collection of islands. Despite the cold, I prefer Stockholm to Venice.

Actually, it wasn’t even that cold – or at least it didn’t give that impression in comparison with the high winds in Normandy. After a train trek via Paris to Lille and then later to London for four days, I packed up my things from the flat we were staying in (near Buckingham Palace!) for Heathrow. It’s funny writing this now – a few days after the European skies have reopened to air traffic – as the day I left London for Stockholm, it was a relatively normal travel day. I certainly got lucky with my flights over all…although I wouldn’t have minded missing a few more days of work back in France.

The two-hour flight on Scandinavian Airlines was relatively routine, but I got into the city rather late (jumping ahead an hour again) at about 10PM. I just made it to the baby bullet train from Arlanda Airport to the city center by a hair as an English woman in front of me could not figure out the ticket machine.

Stockholm, Sweden. April 6, 2010.

Normally, when I disembark from a plane, I’m quite hot and don’t notice cold temperatures so quickly. So when I exited the central train station in Stockholm, I thought it might not have been warm as it felt. Granted, I was wearing a long wool coat and gloves, but I really only needed the latter for the rest of the trip. I was quite fine with my short leather jacket and a couple of long-sleeve shirts throughout my jaunt in Scandinavia.

Swedish Parliament. April 6, 2010.

This was also the first time I stayed in a hostel by myself. The City Backpackers Hostel was very easy to find, being only five minutes walking distance from the station. It wasn’t as spectacular as the Lisbon Living Lounge, but then again I don’t think any other hostel is. This one was quite nice nonetheless, and it hosted a mélange of guests. Over my four days in the hostel, I met people from Norway, Germany, England, Australia, Spain, Chile, France, Belgium and a handful of fellow Americans. The common language at the hostel was English, as it was almost everywhere in Scandinavia, which was incredibly helpful. I always try to learn at least four words in the native language of whatever country I visit: the equivalents of “hello,” “yes,” “no,” and “thank you.”

I was exceptionally lucky that the weather was pleasant all week, especially the first day. I decided I better take advantage of my good luck and situate myself at the same time by taking a day tour. Like most things in Sweden, it was a bit pricey, but I saw quite a bit in two hours. I don’t like feeling lost, so it also gave me a better sense of where everything was, especially the sites I wanted to re-visit later in the week.

Falafel burger, Max Hamburgers. April 6, 2010

Two of those sites were the Vasa Museum and the Nordic Museum. Conveniently, they’re right next to each other and the latter is free after 4PM on Wednesdays, so I hit them both up at once. Two very informative museums in one day can be a bit exhausting (and it’s usually my limit), but it was well worth the trip.

After having to switch between a couple of buses unexpectedly due to construction, I finally made it to the Vasa Museum. It’s the home of a Viking ship that sunk on her maiden voyage in Stockholm harbor in 1628. Talk about fail. But thanks to some modern engineering, it was resurrected in 1987. The ship was massive. There were several miniatures on hand to represent what the ship looked like before centuries of decay underwater, and it was quite colorful once upon a time. Now it’s just a dark wooden brown that shins from the little available light in the museum.

The Vasa. April 7, 2010.

The Nordic Museum surprised me more. From the outside, the building looked well enough. But inside, it looked like a palace, reminiscent of the Danish palace from Kenneth Branagh’s version of Hamlet. And even though it bears the name “Nordic” Museum, it’s really only about Sweden. Starting from the fourth floor down, it houses exhibits on Swedish history, culture, architecture, photography, fashion and an exhibit about the Sapmi, the native tribes of Scandinavia. There’s even a short exhibition on Swedish doll houses. But what surprised me most (and maybe it shouldn’t have) was the exhibit on modern Swedish furniture. I always thought that Ikea’s popularity stemmed from the fact that their designs are so basic that they can work in most countries around the world. But I didn’t realize that they’re actually a reflection of how Swedish homes have been decorated for the last fifty years. So either Swedish style is extremely basic…or they’re trying to take over the world from INSIDE the home. And you thought McDonalds was too much of a cultural influence.

One of the highlights of staying in the hostel was meeting people from many different countries and backgrounds. On my third night in the hostel, I went on a bar crawl with several other guests in the hostel. The crawl was a bit short with three bars total – four if you went to the karaoke bar, but I don’t sing. I met two other assistants, except they teach Spanish and French in England. And given that all three of us knew at least some of each language, it was pretty fun discussing the intricacies of the languages and our experiences living in foreign countries. My proudest accomplishment was teaching them typical American phrases, especially, “I know, right?”

Most of my last day I spent shopping, which apparently the Swedes really love to do. Stockholm goes right up there in the list of great shopper’s paradises like Paris and Tokyo. Although, it’s not exactly cheap. But there certainly is an H&M on almost every corner, and I nearly got lost in the shopping mall, so I left after 10 minutes. I didn’t feel like spending anymore money in another foreign currency when I could buy the exact same thing in Finland in Euros.

Absolut Icebar Stockholm. April 8, 2010.

On my last night in Stockholm, me and the other assistant girls plus one of my 12 roommates visited the Absolut Icebar. Being that I’m from California, the two girls were from France and Spain and the fourth guy was from Chile, a bar made out of ice was extraordinary. Stockholm’s is the world’s first location, with others in London, New York and Barcelona. While we were all bundled up already, we were all given thick blue capes with white woolen lining. The girls and I joked that we looked like Belle from Beauty and the Beast in that winter scene, but I felt more like Violet Beauregarde from Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory when she blows up into a blueberry.

As it’s the first location, it’s quite small and tucked inside of a hotel near the train station. It was packed when we got there, but as we managed for 40 minutes in there, the number slowly dwindled. The temperature inside was -5 degrees C (23*F). It actually didn’t feel that cold, and my theory rests on the fact that there was no wind, which is common when it’s very cold outside. But we were also bundled up plus the furry ponchos. I can’t even imagine visiting the one in Barcelona, as it would probably be warm inside, so all you’d have to protect you from the cold is the cape given to you on the way in. All of the drinks are served in glasses made out of local ice as well. Apparently they last very long – although not forever as a group of German guys brought their ice goblets back to the hostel the night before and they were a puddle in the morning.

After drinks, we headed for Max, Sweden’s version of McDonald’s. For some unknown reason, I’m really intrigued by other countries’ equivalents of America’s famous burger chain. For example, I find Quick in France to be deplorable, but Jollibee’s in the Philippines to be satisfactory. But Max beats out McD’s. My favorite item off their menu was the falafel burger, which didn’t feel greasy at all. Plus, the restaurant was immaculately clean (even being inside a train station), and there was free tea and coffee.

Overall, I really loved Stockholm. Everyone I met was really friendly, and it was quite easy to communicate with locals if I ever needed help since most everyone was fluent in English. I’m very impressed by the nations of northern Europe by how bilingual they all seem to be. I wish that trait was common in the United States – and France as well, for that matter. It doesn’t have to be English – but just something else!

Unfortunately, getting out of Stockholm was not quite so easy. After reading daily about the experiences of stranded travelers all over the world due to that pesky Icelandic volcanic ash cloud, I feel a little bad about complaining. But it was just one of those days where everything seemed to go wrong – precisely because I woke up a few minutes later than I had planned. Thus, I seemed to be thrown off and on edge for the rest of the day. While I caught the train to Arlanda quite easily and everything went smoothly at the SAS check-in counter as I checked my bag for Helsinki, something still felt wrong. And by the time I was about to leave the security checkpoint, I realized what it was.

When the inspector pulled me and my purse aside, I couldn’t figure out the problem. Then he said it, “Miss, do you have a small knife in your bag?” I groaned. I forgot that my Swiss Army knife was still in my purse and I had forgotten to pack it away in my suitcase. Given that I bought it in Brussels and spent quite a bit of money on it, I wasn’t willing to just throw it away. He suggested I go back to the check-in counter to see if I could get my bag, and in vain, I tried that. But the clerk said no, offering me two options. One, I could mail it back to myself. Or two, for free, I could check my purse. My purse. I didn’t really know what to do, but for some reason, I went with checking my purse, removing my wallet, passport and my camera, but then filling it with items to fill out the bag that I didn’t mind losing (all that much), such as my scarf and a water bottle. Then I had to bring it to the “Special Luggage” counter, where I handed it to a very amused gentlemen who handled the purse like it was going to explode.

Finally, I went back to security, where I got another funny look from the man who scanned my boarding card and said in an Indiana Jones-movie villain type way, “You’ve been here before, haven’t you?” I said yes, and not really bothered by hearing my explanation, he waived me through. On top of it all, my one-hour flight to Helsinki was two hours delayed, which isn’t helped by the fact that Finland is one hour ahead on Eastern European time. At some point that day, I finally boarded a plane from the tarmac itself given it was a tiny plane with two seats on each side of the aisle and only about 10 rows long. I hate tiny planes. And on top of it all, I was right next to the external propeller. PROPELLER! Apparently, instead of Helsinki, I was traveling to the 1930s.

After a month of solitude in a tiny village near La Manche, I finally broke out for three weeks, starting with two days in Paris when my brother came to visit France for the first time at the end of March. But it was our trip to Normandy, a site I’ve longed to visit for some time now, that I was looking forward to the most.

My brother and I boarded the train to Bayeux in Basse-Normandie (lower Normandy) from Paris’ Gare St.-Lazare. Despite it being a local train (and not TGV), it was only a two-hour long ride as there was only one stop (Caen) in between Paris and our destination. And it didn’t take long to notice the sharp differences in landscape and terrain in Normandy than that of Nord-Pas de Calais, which was surprising since it’s only a few hours away by car.

Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Bayeux. March 29, 2010.

By 8PM, it was already dusk and there wasn’t anyone else really on the platform when I we disembarked in Bayeux. Yet, with two platforms and electronic screens, I knew this town was already a step above Montreuil-Sur-Mer. After about a 10 minute walk from the station to the town, we found our quaint and uniquely named hotel, Le Bayeux. At first, it looked like we were the only occupants in the hotel, given that all the room doors were open, revealing neatly made but empty rooms. Being in the countryside, this was a little spooky. But by the time we returned from dinner, there were several dozen English teenage boys causing a ruckus in the halls while in Normandy for a class trip.

Our main objective was to visit the beaches invaded on June 6, 1944. However, I failed to realize that spring (even early spring) might be a busy time, and I didn’t secure tickets in advance. So when we called to see what was available that morning, none of the tours had open seats. We ended up settling on reserving two spots on a full day-tour the following day, which in hindsight was the best plan possible.

But first, we spent the day (which was half rainy, half sunny) touring Bayeux, notably with a visit to the Musée Memorial de la Bataille de Normandie (the Museum of the Battle of Normandy). The museum was quite well done, laying out all of the information clearly, both chronologically and by subject. It was informative, but not an overload. It was also one of the first spots where I began to notice the presence of more American tourists, some of whom I can pick out in Paris, but I hardly ever see in Northern France.

Bayeux, Basse-Normandie. March 30, 2010.

One of the aspects of visiting Normandy is sampling Norman cuisine. While we tried another restaurant or two, my brother and I ended up eating dinner at the same place for three nights in a row because it was just so delicious and had something that most other French restaurants don’t have: good and attentive customer service. L’Assiette Normande (The Norman Plate) is located just opposite the gorgeous Gothic cathedral (pictured above).

Dishes incorporating camembert were obvious selections being that the smelly (but yummy) cheese hails from Normandy. My two favorite dishes were a tie between the tartiflette and the Norman salad, the latter being one of the few dishes I’ve found in France that includes corn. The waitress obviously remembered us, as on our third and final night in Normandy, we were treated with a few complimentary glasses of crément.

But it was our last full day in Normandy that was action-packed. Huddled into a mini-van seating nine, the Battlebus tour commenced at 8:30 AM, led by our very-knowledgeable and personable British guide, Dale. There were three groups of nine initially at the starting point, and it was broken down into two groups of Americans and a third group of Canadians. Our tour focused on most of the American-related points of interest before, on and after D-Day. 85€ per person might have seemed a lot to ask for a day tour, but in the end, it was worth every penny.

The first stop was a small church (in a tiny town of which I have forgotten the name and should have written down) that was used as a makeshift triage center/hospital on D-Day, staffed by only two American soldiers – both of whom survived the war. The church was more like the size of a chapel, and it was literally covered from wall to wall with injured soldiers, incidentally from both sides. But the church is kept up today solely by the funds of the local residents, including several expensive stained glass windows that were commissioned to commemorate the heroics of the Allies in liberating this village.

Sainte-Mère-Église, Basse-Normandie. March 31, 2010.

Stop two was in a larger town named Sainte-Mère-Église. The events of this town have been depicted in the film, The Longest Day. Being that I haven’t seen the film yet, hearing the story for the first time myself from the guide was quite exciting. It’s almost too bizarre to be true. In the wee hours of June 6, American paratroopers began landing in Basse-Normandie, farther inland from Utah Beach, some of whom landed in Sainte-Mère-Église. Unfortunately, at the exact same time, a house had caught on fire in the center of the village, drawing the attention of the town mayor, most of the residents and the German soldiers occupying the village. Upon seeing these paratroopers, the Germans opened fire, but a few managed to survive – one of whom had a parachute caught on the church steeple.

Just before lunch, we stopped at the first of the two beaches invaded by the Americans. The Allies took over a total of five beaches on D-Day, with the British at Sword and Gold, the Canadians at Juno and the Americans at Utah and Omaha beaches. While the pictures may look like it was a lovely day, it was brutally windy – so sharp that it could cut your face. I only pulled my scarf down from over my head and face to take the photo below. The guide remarked that I looked like a ninja. He also remarked that the weather on the day of our tour was similar to that of the climate on June 6, 1944. That would be sunny with mixed clouds, but very windy and a temperature around 7-8 degrees Celsius. I can’t imagine doing much outdoors in that weather, let alone fighting in one of the greatest battles in world history.

Utah Beach. March 31, 2010

After lunch in a local canteen owned by an English family, the next big stop was at Pointe du Hoc, a cliff top bombed repeatedly before D-Day by the Allies. It looked like the moon.

Omaha Beach was the second to last stop. What surprised me about Omaha Beach (and even Pointe du Hoc) is how these sites are depicted in films versus how they actually look. These are many steep cliffs, reminiscent of coastlines in California more so than two hours north in Pas de Calais where the coastline is pretty much flat.

But these beaches do not feel like anywhere you’d visit for some leisure time during the summer months. They are solemn, and you can instantly feel the heavy weight what took place on these sands just 66 years ago.

And only a kilometer or so away, you can instantly see just how much these soldiers sacrificed for their country and for the liberation of Europe. The American Cemetery in Normandy is the third military cemetery I’ve visited (after Manila and Arlington), and it struck me instantly how much this place looked like the other two. It was as if I had been instantly transported to the United States. There was a memorable but haunting scene in Saving Private Ryan that took place in this graveyard, which sparked in my mind while walking past thousands of white crosses. Many of those who died at the Battle of Normandy have actually been repatriated home, but so many still remain buried in France.

There isn’t really much one can say or think after visiting this cemetery or even the beaches invaded on that fateful summer day in 1944, except how thankful we should be to those who heroically fought and gave their lives to defend freedom and defeat tyranny.

Basse-Normandie is one of my favorite locations in France that I’ve visited so far, and I hope to go back and see more in the future.

I’ve found that geography words and names have proven to be a little sticky for my French high schoolers. Here’s a few examples over the last few months:

Me: Which U.S. state is President Obama from?
(no response)
Me: It begins with an H and there are islands.
Student: Haiti?

Me: Can you name some other cities in California (besides San Francisco)?
Student: San Diego, Los Angeles, Sacramento…
Another student: Chicago?
Third student: New Jersey?

Me: Can you name the largest state in the U.S.?
Student: Canada?

Only time will tell on the last one…

More restaurants need to stay open on Sundays in Europe. There, I said it. It’s one of the biggest frustrations that Americans seem to encounter when traveling in Europe, and it’s the only reason I’m thankful that there is a McDonald’s everywhere. There, I admitted that too.

We left Lisbon on a late Sunday afternoon, which also happened to be Valentine’s Day. We boarded a bus that was similar to Bolt Bus in both price and comfort, sans the free Wi-Fi. You can’t have it all. But Rede-Expressos is more like the equivalent of Greyhound, being a nationwide bus company…although that nation is a tad smaller. By the time we arrived in Porto, it was already nightfall and dinnertime. This time we had a map and found the hostel much easier this time, with the exception of taking a few dark back alleys that I would never enter again – especially not by myself.

Our second hostel was the Porto Poets Hostel, another hipster, boutique hostel. If it weren’t for the fact that we had arrived from the greatest hostel in the history of hostels, the Porto Poets would have been just lovely. This time, the room was much more cramped, there were more little fees here and there (i.e. towels) and there wasn’t a key for my locker, but Rachel was nice enough to let me share with her. Luckily, we both only had the teeny-tiny bags that we could carry on to Ryanair anyway.

And naturally by this point, we were very hungry. When we asked the front desk employee where we could find dinner. He looked at us blankly, saying that it’s Sunday so there wasn’t really anything open. But noticing the developing faces of frustration on the three of us, he said we had two options: a small restaurant nearby (that he sort of pointed to and couldn’t give us a name) or McDonald’s.

After dropping our bags off in the room, we ventured out into the very windy night to find an ATM and this small restaurant. We think we found it, but it didn’t look all that appealing at all. And that’s how we ended up at McDonald’s on Valentine’s Day. But it was definitely the nicest McDonald’s I’ve ever seen, with modern decor and the ambiance of an actual restaurant. Not to mention the value meal prices were much cheaper in Portugal than in France, where a value meal starts around 6€ ($8-9). The McD’s was also packed, mostly with what appeared to be locals considering it was the only thing open on Sundays.

Although that turned out to be untrue, as we found a lively café open right around the corner where we ordered a couple glasses of Port and called it an evening.

Given that there was still blustery weather outside when we woke up, it was time for more indoor activities, starting with the Lello bookstore (pictured, right). Filled with tourists speaking every sort of language and richly designed interior, it felt like a real-life Flourish and Blotts. (If you’re not a Harry Potter fan, look it up.) And we would never have happened upon it if it weren’t for the recommendation of our new German friend and roommate, Johan. Lello features a neo-Gothic facade and sells books in multiple languages, making it the most beautiful and cosmopolitan bookstore I’ve ever seen.

As noted before, Portugal is very affordable for the traveler on a budget. And apparently that doesn’t stop at taxi fares either, as Johan advised us. There was a special photography exhibit at a modern art museum just outside of town, and since it was rainy and windy and a bit of a journey, we hopped into a cab. And it only cost us 7€ total, each way. I could really get used to Portugal.

After the exhibit, some lunch (where I had something very similar to Poutine, which was delightful), and a trip to the riverfront (which was incredibly windy, not helping my bout of vertigo), it was time to look for Carnaval costumes. The hostel was hosting a Carnaval/Mardi Gras party, complete with a buffet of several courses, wine, caipirinhas and a costume contest. We stumbled into what must have been the only costume store for miles as it was lined from wall to wall with teenagers trying on sequined masks and tossing around tiaras and trinkets on the shelves.

Within 20 minutes, we had our costumes. Rachel was going to a bird with a very fine winged mask and blue feathered boa, Amy was going as a flapper with a silver and pink-feathered headband, and I chose to go as a princess with a tiara and Marie Antoinette-style mask, naturally.

There was one mishap that we ran into when we got back to the hostel. That morning, I had turned in my laundry with the girl at the front desk, and she said it would be on my bed by the time we returned that evening. That was at 11 AM. We got back after 6 PM. She hadn’t even started it yet. She mumbled something about being busy most of the afternoon, and she would start it then and it would be ready within two hours. But really, how long does it take to throw a small bag of clothes into a laundry machine? A few minutes. But as the laundry room was right outside of our bedroom, I noticed that she didn’t even put it into the laundry machine until an hour after I spoke to her. So when it rolled around to the middle of the party, I asked her about it, and she made a face realizing she forgot about it and still had to put it into the dryer. Given that I really wanted to pack before I went to bed, I was getting antsy and annoyed. But I said ok, and figured it would be ready by the end of the party.

The Carnaval party was a lot of fun, although not that many people dressed up. We met a bunch of other young people vacationing in Portugal…all of whom lived in France! Vacances d’Hiver really spreads us all out around Europe, I suppose. And because our costumes were just so lovely, we won a free bottle of Port wine! We considered bringing it home, but instead we just opened it then and drank it with other guests at the hostel, quite a number of whom were tuned to the TV, watching the long-track speed skating at the Olympics. Naturally, I joined them.

Some time after midnight, I went back to the room, hoping to see my laundry. It was not there. I went back down to the front desk, but the girl who was responsible for finishing my laundry had already gone home, and now there was a new girl on the night shift, stuck with fixing what the first girl didn’t do. Apparently all of my clothes were still wet. I was pretty angry on the inside, but I realized yelling wouldn’t do anything about it, especially considering it wasn’t this new girl’s fault. I told her I didn’t know what to do since I had to pack and we had to leave at 7 AM to catch our flight back to Lille. First, she gave me a refund (which I didn’t ask for, but I think I was due for one and definitely appeased me), and then she even offered to pack for me. Although I appreciated the offer, I turned it down as I really like to pack my things myself and know where everything is.

Thus, I had to get up much earlier than I planned or wanted to in order to collect my clothes and then figure out how to stuff them back into my Mary Poppins-esque bag all over again.

Our taxi ride to the airport was swift and cheap, plus the driver had picked a great station on radio. Noticing that we liked the songs and started singing along (we were way too chipper for that early in the morning), he turned the volume up and we all cheered. Porto’s airport was much more elegant and modern than we expected, and we were even there too early. (Again, I was picturing something from the movie Airplane!) And since our costumes were recently purchased and a bit delicate, we couldn’t really pack them. It was Carnaval anyway, so we just wore them at the airport, attracting a lot of looks and even a chuckle from the security agents at Rachel’s gold-sequined beak mask.

It was time to board our last Ryanair flight of the journey, and we even got first-class! (The front row.) Two short hours later, even spotting Paris outside the window on the journey north…shortly followed by a giant blanket of snow covering the North, we were back in Lille.