Day Trips, Cousins, and Various Excuses

Hello internet! It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Travel blogging is really not my thing, huh? More on that later. Today I am going to talk about what I’ve been doing for about the last month or so, including things that I have not yet written a blog post about (which I will not be going over in detail in this post because that’s just too much – they’ll get their own post in hopefully not too long).

So, first of all, last month was Shona and Tristan’s final school break, and we took that opportunity, as we are wont to do, to go travelling! This is the part I’m not covering in detail right now – we went to Paris for a few days, then Edinburgh, and then London for a whole week, and that is just a lot of stuff and I still haven’t even sorted through my pictures yet, so it’ll be covered later. Suffice to say it was very exciting and very lovely, I really want to visit Edinburgh again, and I took over 1,200 photos, which is more than I have ever taken in the span of two weeks, ever. Some of those will be up on Facebook when I can finally force myself to sort through them.

So! There was a two week vacation. But there have been two weeks since then! So what have I been doing?

Well, first of all, my lovely cousin Emily is here. She’s been visiting for the past week, and will remain until next Sunday. We haven’t been doing a lot of intense stuff, and she’s been going out with Shona more often than she has with me, but it has been good! I’ve shown her around the city a bit, and we went to visit the big parks (twice, in fact, because she wanted to come back) and we saw lots of strange and hilarious birds and ate delicious pizza and wandered around markets and various other cousinly things.

Speaking of cousins, my mom’s cousin Kara and her husband, Steve, are currently in town as well! They’re only here for a few days, and they’re staying in a hotel, but we’ve been seeing them and they’ve already been over for dinner twice. Yesterday, Kara, Steve, mom, me, Shona, Tristan, and Emily all piled into a rented van (and European vans are smaller than the typical North American minivan – sure, it had seven seats, but damn was it crowded) and went off on an adventure to visit Albi, which is more or less the next decent-sized town to the north. In typical organized fashion we managed to time our arrival for exactly when both places we wanted to visit were closed for their lunch break, so we tracked down a decently-priced restaurant and ate pasta (except for Kara, who decided to be adventurous and order cassoulet off the menu du jour). Dessert was spectacular as well.

Once we’d finished up at the restaurant – and stalled enough that the places we wanted to visit were open again – we went to visit the Cathedral of St. Cecilia, which is the most massive, fortress-like church I have ever seen in my life. It was built up partly as a defensive fortification by various bishops who were unpopular/threatened/paranoid, but also as a reminder after the Cathar crusades that the Catholic church was all powerful, damn it, and that these Catholics weren’t gonna take any of your heretic shit. They were clamping the fuck down, and St. Cecilia’s is there to prove it. It is very beautiful on the inside, though, despite the almost military look of the exterior – and there are a good deal of interesting murals and walls decorated with various 3D designs and other exercises in perspective. A little odd for a church, but definitely interesting.

It’s also positively cavernous inside. I’m not even kidding, I didn’t think it was possible to build a building that tall and that open inside out of brick and not have it collapse around your ears – especially not in the 1200s.

After the church we went around the corner and down some stairs to another part of what used to be the cathedral complex to visit the Toulouse-Lautrec museum. Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec was a famous French painter, born in Albi, who worked in Paris painting scenes of the decadent theatre culture, most famous for his poster work and paintings of the daily life of the prostitutes and showgirls who worked at the Moulin Rouge – and, aside from anything else, is also the namesake of Toulouse, the orange kitten in Disney’s Aristocats. The museum was very interesting, if small, and I loved looking at the poster work he did, but I was also very tired by this point and ended up falling asleep in the auditorium while watching a film about his life. Unfortunately I missed all the scandalous details.

After the museum, we went to look at a riverside garden and get a nice view of the river and the bridge; then we went back to the car, ate some chocolate, piled in, and were on our way. We took an alternate route home, driving through Cordes Sur Ciel (see July’s blog posts) and a gorge in a mountainous area that is known for having a lot of old castles and such built on hills (I swear, go anywhere in France and if you see a hill chances are some lord or bishop or knight or local minstrel has built something on top of it). I spent most of the drive listening to music and staring out the window; I’d forgotten just how pretty the French countryside is.

All in all, yesterday was a very enjoyable day and I am pleased to have finally seen Albi, and I figured I would write it up now before I forgot and put it off again just like everything else I seem to write about in this blog. The problem, as I stated earlier, is that I’m just not very good at travel blogs. I don’t really enjoy writing reports too much (though I am going to continue updating the Wanderer Chronicles – sporadically – until I get home in July, rest assured). I am most likely going to try to find a slightly more enjoyable format to write in, or, failing that, I’ll just grin and bear it.

However, I do like having a blog to write things in – and to that end I have set up another one, a more general sort of blog, called the Pen and the Sword! This one I intend to keep as my longterm blog for more or less the rest of my time occupying the “blogosphere,” so if you are interested in reading my ramblings I suggest you bookmark it and/or add it to your RSS. For the next couple of months or so I will be updating both the Pen and the Sword and the Wanderer Chronicles, but I expect by the time I return to Canada I will be switched over to the Pen and the Sword pretty much completely.

In the meantime, I will try to make myself go through the twelve hundred photos I took on vacation, and maybe get a blog post up sometime before the end of the decade. Thanks for bearing with me, despite my flaky sort of attitude towards this thing, and I hope you’ll enjoy my new blog. Tchy out!

Of Visits, Too Much Food, Trains, and Dreams

Hello internet! How are things with you? I am doing well, and currently coming at you live from an apartment in Madrid (the Spanish, apparently, are much better at putting internet access in their short-term rental apartments than the Italians – we had it in Barcelona, too). Today, I am going to talk about the last week or so of excitement in my life.

As I mentioned in my last post, Nami came to France to visit me over her reading week. Aside from some issues with her flight (her planes kept getting delayed and she ended up arriving at about 8:40 pm instead of 11:30 am like she was supposed to), the week was just as amazing as I expected. On top of seeing Nami for the first time in seven months, which was lovely and wonderful, it was also nice just to show someone around my city – guiding them through it and letting them see it through my eyes. And Toulouse truly is my city now – the same way Kingston is my town and Ottawa will be my city in the future. Granted, I may not know the streets as well as I know the streets in Kingston, but I know about everything I care about. And I love it so much.

By the time Nami got in on Saturday evening, it was already too late (and she was too tired and hungry) to do anything, so the adventure started the next day when we went out on a little tour of the downtown. I took her to the main points of interest, including the Pont Neuf (the “new” bridge, not the nine bridge), the Daurade (a sort of park/dock on a lower level than the street, on the Garonne), Place du Capitole in front of the city hall, two of the biggest and most famous churches (les Jacobins and St. Sernin), Place Wilson with the merry-go-round, St. Etienne (my favourite church) and les Augustins (the fine arts museum). I also showed her where some of the shops were that I liked, but it was Sunday and everything is closed on Sundays so we couldn’t go shopping. That night we also finalized our plans with my friend Rodrigue and his boyfriend, Stéphane, who was also coming to visit. More on that later.

Monday was shopping day, and it was a very exciting thing. Me being the sort of person who loves to spoil my girlfriend rotten, I had saved a fair bit of money for her visit (most of it for Christmas/birthday gifts, as I wanted to buy her clothes and she needed to try things on). We ran around to all my favourite shops (35eme Rue, Wap Doo Wap, Kara Kool, Kilostock, Groucho Vintage – unfortunately Intrepid was closed) and bought things for her (most of them flouncy and adorable) and ate crepes from the crepe stand and generally had a rather excellent day. Lots of walking, but you get used to that in Europe.

Tuesday was fairly quiet, at least for the morning. But in the late afternoon we got ourselves all fancied up and went out for dinner at a rather fancy restaurant called L’arsenal – they are wonderful, the food is wonderful, the place is wonderful, and if you’re ever in Toulouse with a bit of cash to burn I highly recommend it. Nami discovered tartiflette (potatoes, cheese, lardon), I ate delicious fish appetizers and duck, and we both went crazy over the potato medallions, which was one of my side dishes. And, of course, dinners in France being a long and late sort of affair, we got there around 8:00 and left at about 10:30. It was awesome.

On Wednesday, we went out to the market at Capitole just to wander around for a while, and then came back to the house for a bit to relax. That evening, we went out with Stéphane and Rodrigue – this was the double date we had organized. We ate at the Crêperie St. Georges, and none of us managed to finish our food except Stéphane (to be fair, the salad I ordered was on a plate about ten inches around, spilling to the edges, and piled several inches high, on top of being full of potato chunks and bits of lardon), but we did order two banana splits to share. It was a rather excellent moment, in fact, as Nami and I had been looking at it and debating on whether it was too much when Rodrigue and Stéphane slapped down their menu and declared that they were getting a banana split to share. Grins were exchanged, banana splits were consumed, the bill was paid, and we adventured off towards the Cinéma ABC – Stéphane dancing and mumbling his way through Singing in the Rain – to see Were the World Mine. It is a thoroughly excellent and slightly camp musical comedy, and if you are a fan of Shakespeare or gay films or both, see if you can get your hands on a copy and watch it, because it’s wonderful.

The main event on Thursday was actually not especially French in nature: Nami and I went out to Biotek, which is a piercing and tattoo parlour. She bought a new spiral ring for her upper ear and had her old ring replaced, and I took the jump and shelled out sixty euros for an industrial piercing – for those who are uncertain, this is two holes in the top part of the ear cartilage, with a bar going through both of them and capped on the outside with two balls. This, by the way, is a pretty good price, as the piercing place back home charges $120 – about eighty-five euros. And, if you’re curious, it’s in my left ear.

Friday! The main excitement of Friday was running around the city with Nami’s camera, taking pictures of everything. It was pretty great, and we were out for a couple of hours. Tristan also got a second piercing done (another one in his left lobe) while we were off running around. So now there are two of us with new holes poked in ourselves.

Nami’s last afternoon in Toulouse was spent with a decent-sized crowd at Jules et Julies, the local LGBT group I hang out with every second Saturday. They are pretty awesome and generally rather energetic, and food (mostly cookies, everyone was bringing cookies) and good times were had by all! We drew some of our characters on our fingertips for fun, and then drew another one on someone else when he asked, Nami sketched in my sketchbook, I ate a lot of cookies, and we tried very hard to keep up with all the French (sometimes succeeding). That evening, the whole family (plus Nami) went out to dinner at a little local restaurant called La Gouaille (for my Kingston readers, turn the Jungle into a restaurant and combine it with the Sleepless Goat and Tir Nan Og and you might have a decent idea of what La Gouaille is like). I ate way too much but it was so worth it and also blackberry flavoured Kir is amazing.

Sunday morning involved both Nami and I getting up far earlier than should be allowed in order to get her out to the airport. We rode the shuttle bus (this will become important later) and got her checked in using the automatic machines (after moving to a second one when the first one just sat there not reading her passport). I stuck with her through the start of the security line, then ducked out when I couldn’t go any farther. I don’t really want to talk about that part though because it made me sad. I got on the bus, came home, and holed up in my room for a while.

I hate having to say goodbye.

That afternoon, we were catching a flight from Toulouse to Madrid, so by that afternoon we’d got all packed up and got on the bus again, and headed out to the airport. At this point I was starting to get a little annoyed with the shuttle, but we got off it and all was well – until we walked up to the check-in counter and were informed that our flight was cancelled.

Yep. Just gone. Something to do with crucial crew members being ill and not being able to find replacements. And they had no replacement for us until Wednesday. Brilliant, EasyJet. Seeing as we were supposed to be flying from Madrid to Lisbon on Thursday, this seemed like a particularly stupid idea.

Back on the bus we went. For the fourth time that day.

Our plans derailed somewhat, we scrambled a bit to find a solution. Air Iberia could fly us – at a ridiculously inflated price. Planes were out. At this point we started looking at trains. We couldn’t get an affordable one for an overnight, unfortunately, but we could travel the next day – so, this morning, we got up at 6:00 am, took the metro out to the train station, and got on a train from Toulouse to Narbonne, where we would transfer to a train to Barcelona, and then finally go from there to Madrid. It was time consuming, but oddly relaxing – I am swiftly discovering a pronounced fondness for travelling by train.

So now I am sitting in our rented apartment in Madrid, on the twin bed in the open balcony “room” that looks over the main kitchen and living room, hiding out behind the privacy screens and listening to my parents cook. It’s nice after such a hectic day, and good to smooth away the strain of yesterday. I’m looking forward to exploring the city tomorrow. Spain is gorgeous and exciting.

I had a moment of perfect peace on the train this morning. Thanks to my first trip on a train, where I got to watch the must spectacular sunrise of my life come up over the French countryside, I have already linked trains with a dreamlike surreality and spirituality, but after this trip the two will forever be tangled in my mind.

On the train from Narbonne to Barcelona, I fell asleep for a little while, and dreamed that I was on my next train – from Barcelona to Madrid. I was sitting in a window seat on the left side of the car, looking out over a terrain of flat fields with scrub bushes and grapevines, with reddish-yellow dirt like you see in the Spanish countryside. Nami was sitting in my lap, and it was like we weren’t really there, or no one else could see us. We were in our own little world.

“Hey,” she said, snuggling into me and leaning back. I smiled.

“How are you doing, baby?” I asked, kissing her shoulder.

“Pretty great dream,” she replied.

“Yeah,” I said. And we sat there in silence, watching the Spanish sun spill golden yellow over the landscape as I enjoyed the most physically real dream I’ve ever experienced in my life.

I love trains.

The Whirlwind Tour

What would a cruise be without the shore excursions? There were a lot of them. I’m going to try to go through them all as best I can, in point form, because it more or less all sticks in my mind as bullet points. You’ll probably see why by the time I’m through with it.

Any day I don’t make mention of was a sea day, and therefore we were on the boat. (It’s worth mentioning that we spent all of Christmas at sea, and on Christmas morning we convened in mom and dad’s room to open presents under the vaguely-tree-shaped-green-Christmas-shirt.)

Also, because we are cheap-asses, we didn’t buy shore excursions anywhere except Egypt (where it’s more or less a necessity) and even when we did, we didn’t get the super expensive packages from the cruise. So most shore days we spent doing our own thing, wherever we ended up.

Shona and Tristan in front of a church in Civitavecchia.

December 22nd: Civitavecchia, Italy

Civitavecchia, aside from being incredibly annoying to spell right, is the port city at the mouth of the Tiber River, and is therefore the gateway to Rome. It was about an hour drive into Rome, so we elected to wander the city we hadn’t been to yet.

It was rainy. That kind of put a damper on things.

Shona seems to be very good at talking Tristan into giving her a piggyback. Occasionally this combines with the rain in undesirable ways (i.e.: he slips on a metal grate and crashes down to one knee, leaving an impressive bruise).

My family really likes markets. “Wandering around in a market for an hour or two” quickly seems to be becoming a theme.

Also, Italians really like their churches.

“Church of the Japanese Martyrs” is perhaps the best name for anything ever. Even if the church itself is just a regular church with some Japanese-style paintings of religious figures.

We didn’t really spend too much time in Civitavecchia. It wasn’t really a great day, and there wasn’t too much we wanted to see (or much to see, to be honest). We wandered around and looked at stuff for a couple hours, then wandered back to the boat.

December 23rd: Naples, Italy

We’ve been here already! It’s almost like coming home. It was even comparable weather to when we were there back in October. Sunny, beautiful, and in the mid teens.

Italians apparently aren’t used to these temperatures, because they keep asking me if I’m cold while I wander around in my sleeveless shirt.

I have discovered the eleventh commandment: “And the LORD said, in Naples, to ensure thy survival, thou shalt form a pack of pedestrians, for together, thou art mighty, and the tide of cars shall part before thee.” We have got this pedestrian-in-Naples business down.

Those guys with the knockoff bags are still everywhere. They’re still ridiculously flirtatious, too. Even with my hair buzzed to an inch long. “Ciao, bella!” starts to lose its impact after the fifth time.

We wandered up through some of the shopping areas to get to this street where they sell nativity scenes and the supplies to make them. These are seriously detailed things, too. Like dollhouse miniatures. They make whole scenes for it.

We visited the castle, too, the one we hadn’t got to last time we were in Naples. Chapel, statues, stateroom, art museum upstairs, fairly standard – except for the Roman crypts that were discovered underneath the castle. Seriously cool stuff. They had glass floors installed and you could look down to see the bones underneath you.

Paintings of pretty girls are made infinitely more awesome when the top layer of paint has peeled off and they seem to have a smooth layer of skin where one of their eyes used to be.

Mom and dad wandered through a bit more of the art museum than I did. I went back to the boat to watch Up. Because Up is awesome.

December 26th and 27th: At port in Alexandria, Egypt. Visiting Cairo.

Egypt is probably the dirtiest, noisiest, smelliest, and most exciting place I’ve ever been to. Also, the most dangerous. Because of Egypt’s history of political terrorism, some of which has been directed against tourists, all tour groups are required by law to have an armed guard with them. Dad said ours had a fully automatic gun. I didn’t see, and wouldn’t have been able to identify it anyway.

So there was us, a couple, and another family with two younger girls, our tour leader, a guide, avery stoic armed guard, and a driver who didn’t speak English, all hangin’ out in this little van-bus for a couple of days. It was hella fun.

Tour got off to a slow start because it was insanely foggy that morning – too dangerous to drive. We were supposed to leave at 8:30, ended up on the road by 11:30. But hey, at least I was awake by then.

There do not seem to be many traffic laws in Egypt. See: family in the flatbed of a pickup on the highway; three men on one motorcycle; camels apparently count as vehicles and can walk around on the roads; ditto for donkeys loaded down with clover; ditto also for horse or donkey pulled buggies. Also, there are guys biking around delivering giant platters of bread, which they get from place to place by tying them to their heads and balancing them there.

Egypt was the first country I’ve ever been to where the majority of women had their hair, and often their whole bodies, covered in the Muslim style. Different, but interesting.

The Great Pyramid of Khufu, as seen from the base.

Most of Cairo has this odd look, like it’s starting to crumble before they’ve even finished the buildings. We discovered that this is because, if a house remains “under construction,” you don’t have to pay tax on it – so Egyptians never seem to both putting roofs on their houses.

If the apocalypse hit now and everything was destroyed, Cairo would be the city and culture that would spring up from the ruins. Amazing, and very lovely, in its own way.

The pyramids are huge. End of discussion. They don’t look that big in photos, and when you compare them to all the taller buildings we’ve made now, they don’t seem so impressive – then you get out of the bus and go stand beside them. Those blocks of stone that look like bricks in the picture? Yeah, they’re the size of a car. These things are massive, solid, enormous piles of stone.

The Sphinx, too, is massive and impressive. There’s a lot of romanticism and mystique attached to it. All those hokey ideas don’t really do it justice. People always try to paint it as the almighty guardian, most trusted of the Pharaohs, the watcher who will remain long after civilization has crumbled – and I guess it is, or was, at least, at one point, but the Pharaohs are gone, there’s nothing left for it to guard anymore, and its civilization has already fallen. It looks more lonely to me.

Camels are ridiculous. Also, I no more trust them than I trust llamas. They’re great to take photos of, though. As long as you avoid stepping in the camel dung.

Guided tours are more or less giant tourist traps, but there isn’t much of another way to get around Egypt (see: laws regarding tourists and armed guards). I did buy a couple of things, but not nearly as much as they tried to foist off on me. And what I did get was entirely worth the money I spent.

This is why I just want to take pictures of camels forever.

The Sound and Light show is not nearly as impressive as it’s billed as. I also didn’t get much out of it, since I pretty much knew every bit of historical and mythological information they supplied. Ditto for what the guide said – but she was more interesting than the show. Her name was Rehab (REH-hab), and she was an absolute sweetheart.

Nile dinner cruise would be more impressive if we could have seen anything outside the windows. The shows were pretty cool, though, even if the bellydancer did have some weird non-authentic moves (according to my mother) and wore a bra top that made her chest look freakishly large. The whirling dervish dancer was amazing, though.

Mom and dad told us it was probably a bad idea to eat anything uncooked while in Egypt, due to the risk of contamination and the fact that the germs there are different. This made buffets difficult. I wanted salad and fruit, but had to content myself with potatoes and cooked carrots.

No pork anything at any of the buffets. Most noticeable at breakfast. Tristan missed the bacon. I, however, was pleased enough with the hibiscus juice that the loss didn’t bother me.

Our hotel was super ritzy, what the heck. Unfortunately we were too tired and out of there too fast to really enjoy it. It was seriously nice, though. Beautiful construction, and a gorgeous courtyard. Also, I think the floors were marble.

A lantern at our fancy hotel in the misty morning.

Morning arrives! It is extremely misty, for the second day in a row. Rehab apologized – she said it was really abnormal weather for Egypt, and she was sorry we had to come on bad days.

By the time we got to the Citadel of Saladin, it was mostly burned off, though. We went inside the Citadel to visit the Alabaster Mosque, which is very pretty – a lot more decorated than is typical for mosques. We took our shoes off. This is the rule in mosques.

There were guys standing outside selling these little plastic bags people could put over their shoes if they didn’t want to take them off. They also had these big draping robes for people (mostly women) not covered up well enough. I saw a woman in high heels, with the shoe-bags on, putting one of the robes over her short, sleeveless sundress. I wanted to laugh at her. Give it up, lady. Stop trying to look glamorous while you’re a tourist, in a Muslim country, no less.

After this we went to the Egyptian Archeological Museum. I wasn’t allowed to bring my camera in, but we ran around looking at things. We saw the mask of King Tutankhamon, and most of the other things that were found in his tomb – beautiful stuff. The room with the mask and the other important artifacts was so crowded. We literally spent five minutes jammed shoulder to shoulder with people trying to inch our way out of the room. Shona didn’t come in, because she was sick. She spent the museum time sleeping on the bus. In the Tutankhamon room, I was grateful. She would have been miserable.

The most amazing moment in the museum, for me, was when I spotted a statue of three gods – Horus, a Pharaoh being crowned, and Set. Set. He’s my favourite of the Egyptian gods, as well as being my star sign and associated god in Egyptian astrology. Because he was painted as the aggressor and the villain in some of the most well-known Egyptian myths, there isn’t much art of him around. But I saw a statue of him. I stood right in front of it. I think this is a moment I will carry in my heart for the rest of my life.

A woman making flatbread. Delicious, delicious flatbread.

After the museum, we went out to Memphis. We saw the giant statue of King Ramses II, the famous one, and we saw the Step Pyramid, which I’ve always loved – more so even than the Great Pyramid and the associated pyramids of Khafre and Menkaure. Picked up a package of postcards, too – I’ll probably save a few to give to people.

I really, really like Egyptian flatbread. It is delicious. We had a bunch of it with our lunch, which we picked up at a restaurant and ate in the bus on the way back to Alexandria. There were musicians playing outside, and mom danced with them for a bit. Also, women at these big stone and clay ovens, cooking the bread for the restaurant. I took a few pictures.

All in all, Egypt was amazing and exciting, and I would love to go back to visit again – but I very much doubt I would ever want to live there.

December 28th: Rhodes, Greece

We were supposed to stop in Rhodes, but it was too windy and the port was closed. We were at sea instead, heading to Izmir. Shona was sick; I don’t remember what I did specifically.

December 29th: Izmir, Turkey

Where do I even start? Izmir is beautiful. Especially after the dirty brokenness of Cairo. The streets are clean, the buildings and architecture are amazing, the port is beautiful, and there’s lots and lots of green. The weather was amazing, too. Not a cloud in the sky.

Remember what I said about markets? Yeah, pretty much the whole time in Izmir was spent in a market. In our defence, the market is enormous and historic. Also, full of shiny things.

We got lost for a while. It was actually ridiculously entertaining. We ended up getting led to the caravanserai, the oldest part of the bazaar, and showed into a shop, which we left almost immediately. We found our own way back to the bit of the market we were interested in.

The Turks (and the Greeks, as well, but especially the Turks), sell all kinds of things with the symbol of the evil eye on it – it’s supposed to protect you from malicious things. It’s normally a round thing, often done in glass. The main body of it is dark blue, with a ring of white, then a smaller ring of light blue, and a dot of black at the centre. Sometimes it has yellow in it, too. They also sell it in loads of other colours, but blue is the most traditional.

I was going crazy for a pomegranate all day. We got one just before getting a taxi back to the port (taxi, in Turkish, is apparently spelled “taksi,” by the way). I ate the whole thing. My hands and my face were absolutely covered in juice. GLORIOUS.

The Turks are apparently very big on rings. Shiny, shiny rings. There were a lot of shiny things there. Pretty much anything you could imagine in a bazaar was there, and many things you couldn’t. I would love to go back to visit again – five hours is not enough.

Pillars on the Acropolis.

December 30th: Athens, Greece

Athens is not as pretty as Izmir, but it is quite nice, and is much cleaner than Cairo. Not to mention safer. So, bonus all around. Even though apparently the taxi drivers are brats. We tried to get a taxi from the port to the train station (five minute drive, half-hour walk), and the taxi driver decided he’d rather keep his place at the port and get a bigger fare – so he told us it was only ten minutes away. We believed him, until we’d been walking twenty minutes and weren’t there yet.

Metro in Athens is crowded! Dad got pickpocketed – bye bye iTouch. Luckily he had his data backed up, along with several spares. Still, not a cool way to start the day. At least it wasn’t his wallet.

We got off downtown and went wandering up towards the Acropolis. It was not very well signed, but we figured it out eventually. They gave us this big long string of tickets to get into a bunch of different things. Ultimately I think we only used two or three.

Fresh-squeezed orange juice is amazing. There is absolutely no contest about this. I don’t much like the stuff from concentrate (i.e.: anything you can buy in a store) but give it to me fresh and I just can’t get enough of it. My. God.

There seems to be a trend of us visiting monuments while things are being restored. The Parthenon is much less impressive when half of it is covered in scaffolding. That’s okay though! It was still really cool. And the view from the Acropolis is astounding.

At the foot of the Acropolis, looking up.

They say of the Acropolis where the Parthenon is… is still the funniest thing I’ve ever seen on Youtube.

After we wandered around a bunch of ruins and saw lots of ancient Greek buildings, we headed up into downtown to do some shopping. Lots of tacky tourist shops but lots of cool things, too. Also, a shirt that says “Oedipus: the ORIGINAL motherfucker.” No way you can lose with this.

Encountered a street vendor selling chocolate and vanilla coconut sticks, coconut juice, and fresh coconut. Fresh coconut is yummy. Om nom nom nom.

Biggest Christmas tree I’ve ever seen: in the square in front of one of the metro stations in Athens, Greece. Who’d have guessed?

Metro still crowded on the way back. Most taxi drivers still jerks. One of them heard where we wanted to go and just drove off with no explanation. We managed to flag down another one and it turned out he was fluent in English – lived in North America for a while. Made it back to the port safely – even though dad decided he was going to walk, while the rest of us drove. Silly man.

The view off the back of the Palace of Knossos.

December 31st: Iraklion, Crete, Greece

It just figures that New Year’s Eve would be the sunniest and most beautiful day on the whole trip. Visiting Iraklion was absolutely lovely that day.

Cheap bus tickets out to historical sites are a win. We went to visit the Palace of Knossos, the ancient palace of Crete, where the legend of the Minotaur supposedly took place. We didn’t get to go into the labyrinth, though. There’s still some debate over whether it even actually exists. Palace was pretty cool, though. A lot of it was reconstructed – apparently the archeologist who worked on it was big on that.

Nice little cafe outside the palace. Delicious baklava and fresh orange juice is a brilliant lunch. Don’t let anyone ever tell you differently.

Saw a cat just wandering around the grounds. There pretty much always seem to be strays at every major historical site we’ve been to. I can’t remember one where I didn’t see at least a stray dog.

Went back into the city via the same bus, but got off before the port to go wandering around downtown and – you guessed it – into a market area. I bought an excellent new messenger bag to replace my somewhat too large one that’s kind of dying anyway. The woman who sold it to me was very careful to stress that it was “original, made in Greece, no imitation.” I guess they have a problem with a lot of people doing knockoffs of big brands.

A reconstructed part of the palace.

Our map was written with Anglicized Greek names on it. The street signs are all in Greek letters. Lucky for us, dad spent some time in Greece before I was born, and knows how to read most Greek letters. Otherwise we would have been hopelessly lost.

The city is nice. Similar atmosphere to Athens, but a bit calmer, less touristy, and smaller. Also, less likely to pick your pockets. It was almost depressing to leave. Our last shore excursion of an amazing trip. Still if things had to end, it was a good way to end them.

The Alternate Reality of Cruise Ships

Here I go, finally updating you all on my winter break – now that I’m well-rested, relaxed, not sick and (the greatest factor in my delay) not distracted. I’m horrible at regular updates, I know. I’m sorry? In any case, here we go!

We got up at a ridiculously unreasonable hour on the morning of Sunday the 20th of December to go to the train station. The metro workers were on strike (of course – this is France, someone is always on strike), so we had to walk, very briskly, dragging heavy suitcases, to the train station – not all that awesome on an empty stomach. There were some other people wandering the streets of Toulouse. All of them were saying “good evening.” Clearly, they had not gone to bed yet. I would rather have been one of them than have to drag my ass out of bed in the morning.

The train ride itself was pretty uneventful. We changed trains in Narbonne, and our connection was delayed, but we had hot chocolate and coffee and all was well. I stared out the window a lot, thought about early morning trains and dreams, napped, and listened to Coldplay. It was very relaxing, while it lasted.

We arrived in Barcelona by early afternoon, got a taxi, made it to the port, and wound our way through the lineup to get onto the boat. I spotted a guy who looked about my age with an amazing hand-painted Cheshire Cat backpack. I was impressed, and told him so. Then there was a bit of hullabaloo at the check-in desk, due to us wanting to pay for both of our rooms on my dad’s credit card, even though one of them was registered under my mom’s name – but we got that cleared up, and got our room key cards, which also double as ID. By the time we finally got checked in, it was well past three in the afternoon, and we were starving, so we went down to the buffet (the Garden Cafe) to eat.

At this point I should probably explain how the food thing works onboard the boat. Our cruise ship, the Norwegian Jade, had about ten or eleven restaurants, some of which were pre-paid and included in the cost of the rooms, the others of which charged cover. We, being cheap, only ate at the pre-paid restaurants, which included the buffet (the Garden Cafe), the two dining rooms (Alizar, the casual one, and the Grand Pacific, the fancy formal one), and the 24-hour cafe (the Blue Lagoon). The Blue Lagoon, in particular, will become significant later.

So, after our meal, we went exploring. Shona and Tristan went off to check out the teen club, and mom and dad and I wandered around looking at things. Then I went back to my room for a while and did a bit of writing. We met up later that evening for dinner, and were then released to do our own thing as the boat left the harbour. Shona and Tristan disappeared to the teen club again, and I ended up wandering up to the Spinnaker Lounge and bar to see if there was any interesting dance music playing and whether or not the 20s and 30s mixer would get me anywhere or if I would have to resign myself to not knowing anyone on this boat. Needless to say, that did not happen.

At the bar, I ran into the guy I’d seen earlier with the Cheshire Cat backpack. I informed him of my plight and begged him to save me from boredom, and he performed quite admirably. He dragged me over to his little circle, and they introduced themselves: Jason, with the backpack, who I had initially thought was only a couple of years older than me, was in fact 26; his roommate, who he had come on vacation with, Louie, had just turned 21 that day and was celebrating by getting drunk; Tara, who had the room directly above theirs, was 22; and her younger brother John, sharing with her, was 16, but easily tall enough to be mistaken for my age or older. We ended up standing around talking for more than an hour, dancing until a ridiculous hour of the morning, and then wound up at the Blue Lagoon at 2:30 (minus John, who had left). We stayed there for the next hour. It was while there that I discovered Jason more or less makes friends with every person he talks to, since everyone we met that night became a regular face in our little group. By the time everyone else had drifted off, we had all talked ourselves into going back to Jason and Louie’s room to watch Inglourious Basterds, which we did. Tara went back to bed halfway through, but I stuck it out until the end. I ended up in bed around six am.

It’s after that point that the days start to blur together. I spent a lot of time in Jason and Louie’s room, which was dubbed both “Jason’s Cave,” reflecting the number of afternoons he spent holed up in there sleeping, and “Party Central,” since it became the meeting and gathering point from that day on. Shona decided the teen club was lame after the first night, and ended up hanging out with us instead. In addition to me, her, Jason, Louie, Tara, and John, we also added a second Jon, a girl named Alessandra, her brother Allan, and a guy named Daniel to our semi-regular collection; then there were loads more people who we would meet almost nightly in Spinnaker’s.

Some nights we’d go to dinner on our own, or with our friends; others, especially special occasions, we’d go to Alizar’s with the family, or get dressed up and go to the Grand Pacific. There were nights both late (five am) and “early” (generally around midnight), days spent in the pool and hot tub and days when I tucked myself away in the book room to write or play games; evenings spent talking or evenings spent dancing. Several movies were watched, many drinks were consumed (most of them not by me), Jason and I tried to salsa (we did get progressively better after the first night, which included me tripping over my own feet and falling on my ass), everyone bought souvenirs, Jason, Louie and Tara smuggled bottles of alcohol onto the ship (they didn’t want us bringing in other alcohol because then they couldn’t sell us their overpriced drinks), Daniel and I spent a couple of hours talking about ancient history and mythology, five different people spilled drinks on me on New Year’s, Jason lost $100 playing craps in the casino, I ran out of shirts and washed them in the bathroom sink, everyone ate far too much spinach and artichoke dip at the Blue Lagoon, nobody got enough sleep, several people hooked up, I gave two brief lessons on Canadian politics, there was a ship-wide Jason hunt when he disappeared one morning (he turned up later after having taken a nap in one of the private rooms off one of the dance clubs) and everyone wrote their contact information on my hands in sharpie on the last night of the cruise. It was mind-blowing.

Being on a cruise ship is kind of like living in an enclosed hotel compound – a hotel that includes two pools, four jacuzzis, a spa, eleven restaurants, a small gym, a casino, a full-sized theatre, two dance clubs, seven bars, free room service, and a 24-hour cafe. It feels like it goes on forever, and yet it feels like it passes in no time at all. Everyone is so cut off from the outside world – internet exists, but it’s ungodly expensive, and most people just don’t even bother. We barely even had any news. There was probably a news channel on the TVs, but hell if I ever paid any attention. You’re travelling with no sense of movement; you’ll wake up in a port one day, spend a few hours exploring, and then come back, and it’s like you just magically appear somewhere else. Shona and I took to calling our normal lives “real life” and the boat “fake life” – because that’s honestly what it feels like. It’s very surreal.

The psychedelic decorations probably didn’t help, either.

There will be more to follow about our shore excursions – I still need to go through all my photos and get everything sorted in my mind. Life on the ship itself was almost more important, in a way. That place was home for two weeks – a two weeks that lasted eternity.

Kakis and the Collection Thereof

Today, I decided, was a day ripe for early afternoon adventures. It was mostly sunny, and pleasantly cool, with a decided scent of fall in the air, and I hadn’t gone on an extended wandering for quite a while. And so, armed with a light sweater, my camera, and a bit of change in my pocket, I headed out to explore.

My first look at the kaki tree.

On the way, I bought one of my favourite chocolates at the chocolatier’s near my house (I’ll be making a post about them sometime soon), and so, happily nibbling, I made my way down towards St. Etienne, my favourite church (another future post). After wandering through the courtyard, I decided I was going to head down to the Grand Rond and the Jardin des Plantes, two large public parks just south of where I live. All was uneventful, save for the occasional photo opportunity, until I arrived in the Jardin des Plantes and was brought up short by the presence of a strange fruit-bearing tree.

These fruits, I thought at first, were peaches, but the longer I stared at them the more convinced I became that this was not quite right. There didn’t seem to be any on the ground, however, and the lowest branch was too high to hoist myself up onto, so at first I thought my curiosity would go unsatisfied. But while I contemplated the tree in perplexed confusion, a little old man, barely five feet tall, arrived with a rather dauntingly long stick, which he immediately began using to attempt to knock these fruits out of the tree. However, his stick was too crooked and too heavy, and he soon gave up, breaking it to pieces and throwing it in the bushes.

After a brief conversation with him, and a woman passing by, I learned that these fruits are called kakis in both French and Italian, but this led me no closer to discovering what they were in English. Determined to get one down, I set off around the park in the direction of what they said was another kaki tree in hopes that I would be able to climb this one and get one of the mysterious fruits down. In his, however, I was unsuccessful – this tree, like the other, had no branches low enough to climb onto. I spent a while balanced on the back of a park bench, shaking one of the lower branches in hopes of freeing one of the kakis, but to no avail. Still not willing to give up, I headed back to the first tree, where I discovered both the woman and the little old man had disappeared.

The construction of the kaki collecting stick.

Undaunted, I went looking in the bushes to find the pieces of the stick the old man had dropped there. I broke them into shorter pieces and amused myself lobbing them at the tree in hopes of knocking down a fruit or two to take home, but in this pursuit I was once again, quite literally, fruitless. However, amidst the amused passers-by, there was a ray of hope. The little old man had returned, this time carrying two shorter, lighter, and mostly straight sticks, which he then proceeded to bind together with three lengths of twine he apparently just happened to have in his pocket. Then, with what can only be described as the ease of long practice, he immediately set to work, using the little fork on the end of the stick to twist several kakis off the stem and down to the ground. I was awarded with two of them.

The kaki collecting stick in action.

I was told not to worry about the bruising on them, and to take them home and put them in my kitchen, sitting them on their stems, where I was to check on them every day. When they were soft, he said, they would be ready to be eaten, and they were not eaten in stews or as a cooked vegetable as I initially guessed – their texture is something like peppers, and the interiors of the few broken pieces I managed to find seemed somewhat pepper-like to me as well. No, I was told, they are fruits, which one eats raw, but only once they become soft, as before then they are not desirable. And so, now armed with two kakis and this newfound knowledge as well as everything else, I thanked him and went on my way, returning home in short order, where I washed the kakis, related the entire story to my mother, and put them on the counter, stems down, as I had been told.

One of the newly harvested kakis.

So did I ever discover what kakis actually are? Yes, in fact. While I finished washing them off, mom went to check the computer, whereupon we discovered that the kaki is a Japanese fruit that has spread across Europe and Asia, related to a fruit that grows right at home, in the northern United States.

What is it?

A persimmon.

The Joys of Social Interaction

Remember those clubs I was mentioning? They’ve finally started up, and life is good! I met a whole bunch of people at a GLBT organization, and had a great time trying to decipher the rapid-fire French. It was fun, though, and I plan to go back and hang out with people next chance I get – unfortunately I’m missing their meeting next Saturday due to being in Italy (although all things considered I think it’s worth it). One of the girls from that club, Audrey, also invited me out to dinner earlier this week, so I went out with her and her girlfriend (Lucy)  and we got shawarma and talked for several hours and I got home at something like eleven – also awesome.

Then there was also the conversation group I went to on Thursday. That was also rather fun, if an admirable exercise in mass chaos (the ‘tender at the bar forgot to reserve the tables he was supposed to so we ended up moving across the street to another place). I spent a while talking with some German students in English, then we moved over to the other table and I met an adorable Scottish girl named Morgan who was chatting in French, and then there were some more German people, this time who didn’t speak English and were working their way through French – and then Morgan and I and three of the French-speaking Germans went out to get crepes with a Persian guy named Reza (which made me extremely happy for reasons very few people will understand) who spoke both French and English. All in all, it was an excellent evening and I once again stayed out rather late (until ten, this time), and I now have several contacts and email addresses. Unfortunately that group doesn’t meet up very often, so I won’t be going out with them until next month, but hopefully I’ll be able to get together with some people.

There’s also a group my mom’s been going out with called English in Toulouse, and I think if I’m having a slow week or something, I’ll go out with her and see how that goes. Maybe if I’m out with her I can help her avoid getting beer spilled on her and/or managing to miss dinner hours so that all she has in her stomach is a few drinks. Still, she’s been having fun, so I guess that’s what counts. No one’s getting themselves into trouble at least.

So Toulouse has been decently entertaining now that I’ve managed to connect with some people. The city is as bustling as ever, but that’s just fine by me. When I want to be around people, I can slip outside and immerse myself in the chatter of the city – and when I want to be alone, I can wrap myself up in my housecoat and slippers with a mug of tea and one of my many projects. As far as I’m concerned, life is good.

The Nature of Loneliness

There are some things about this country that still strike me every time I step outside the door. The people are closer here – not emotionally, but literally, physically closer. It’s not uncommon to see two young men on the same motorcycle; girls walk down the streets with their arms linked; people are comfortable sitting three or four to a bench, their shoulders and hips in contact. Sometimes it’s hard to tell who are friends and who are couples. Sometimes it’s not. Kissing in public isn’t nearly so frowned upon here.

Maybe I wouldn’t be noticing this so much if I wasn’t missing the physical contact I’m still so used to in my daily life. It’s been two months – one month in the apartment already – and I haven’t yet made any friends. I want to join a club, find some people to meet who share my interests, but I don’t know how to look for access to university clubs and dad hasn’t been able to help me yet – regardless, I’m not sure they’ve even started up yet. I miss my friends. I miss my girl. I miss having people around who I can touch who aren’t members of my family.

I have met some people, sort of. I spent a while listening to an old homeless man who I’ve always seen alone. It was hard to understand him through his thick accent and rapid speech, but I thought it was more important to listen than to understand every word he said. He was sweet, and very hopeful for the future, both mine and his – but he’s not the kind of person I want to spend a Saturday afternoon hanging out with. Same goes for the university-aged people I’ve bumped into a few times who were shocked and astonished to learn that I was completely drug-free and didn’t sleep around. I’d never been offered marijuana before, and I’d really rather keep it out of my face in the future.

It’s easier for my siblings – they go outside, play at the park, find other kids their age. The kids my age are all starting their first year of preparatory school, and are working hard to do well; even if they weren’t, the type of people I generally like hanging out with aren’t the types to go outside to make their friends. Hopefully I’ll be able to find something to do, some people I actually want to hang out with. I’ll look for a club. There’s also a goth and electronica night in a couple of weeks… I’m still debating on whether or not to go, because it starts really late, but it might be a good idea, at least to try out. I don’t know. We’ll see.

I seem to be saying that a lot lately. Please come visit me.

The Week of Chaos

Hello, Canada! I am at last back in Toulouse, and what a crazy week it’s been! There are lots of pictures to see, some of which are already in the gallery, and several adventures to tell. We shall start last Thursday with the ascent to Cordes sur Ciel!

The church in Cordes sur Ciel.

Cordes sur Ciel – roughly translated to Cordes in the sky – is a bastide town (that is, a medieval town build for defence and generally situated on a ridge or a rather large hill) that was built on a small mountain. After the Cathar crusades, ending in 1218, the Comte de Toulouse, who was at that point in control of the entire Languedoc region, made the decision to have Cordes built – partly as a defence against the King of France, who was not, at that point, in control of this area, but largely to help bring economic power back to the region. Cordes was thus originally a merchant town, and that was where it got most of its wealth.

We started our day by parking the car in the lower – more modern – portion of the town and walking up the streets to the centre of the medieval city. It is important to note that this is not a leisurely undertaking; I have dubbed Cordes the city of “Gravity, My Master, Why Must You Be So Cruel?” and rightly so. Not only is the entire city centre paved with rather uneven cobblestones, but it is built on the top of a mountain. Granted, it is not a very high mountain, but it is a mountain nonetheless, and the sort of place you would be ill-advised to drive in, though we did see a few people attempting it. About ninety-five percent of the streets are on an incline, some of them quite steep, and the city as a whole involves a great deal of climbing up and down.

The view off the ramparts down into the surrounding valley.

Most of the day was spent wandering around the medieval city, poking our heads into various shops and occasionally reading from a guidebook with some historical and cultural information on the city. It is important to note that Cordes, while once a major city in the Languedoc region’s trade, now relies almost exclusively on tourism. It also seems to be a popular spot for artists and artisans; the city, overall, has a much more small-town and genuine feel than the obvious tourist lure of Carcassone, and is well worth a visit.

In the evening, after a very nice dinner in one of the town’s two flat plazas, we gathered in front of the church for a torchlit tour of Cordes sur Ciel, to learn more of the town’s history and to watch dramatically costumed figures yell about heretics, plague, lepers, prostitution, and attacking French armies. The tour was finished with a display of fire dancing and a show from some fire breathers, and then we went home, to arrive, very late and very tired, at the house to collapse in our borrowed beds.

On Friday, we were much too tired to go anywhere or do anything; on Saturday, however, we had some errands to do. Packing had to be accomplished for our forthcoming excursion to Barcelona, and then we went downtown to the library. I am now in possession of not just an International Student Card and a Pastel (the Tisseo Toulouse metro cards) but a library card as well, and have already used it to check out the last three Harry Potter books (mercifully, in English). Also while downtown, my siblings and I went to do some shopping; I picked up an excellent shirt, and a very awesome and even more cheap pair of Converse from a second-hand shop. Then we went back home and got a good rest – and the next morning, we were on the road by 10:30, headed for Barcelona.

The Spanish flag, on the left, is accompanied by the Catalonian flag in Barcelona.

So, what to say about Barcelona? Those who were in direct contact with me while I was there know that I initially found the city terrifying. It’s huge. With almost five million residents, the city is incredibly crowded. Add to that the fact that many of the streets I saw initially were large, several lane roads that clearly welcomed cars – and I a perpetual pedestrian – and is it any wonder I was terrified? And on top of that, not only was I the only member of my family who spoke even a little Spanish, and not only was that Spanish horribly out of practice, but Spanish isn’t even the mother tongue of the region. Yes, geographically speaking, Barcelona is in Spain, but the important thing to understand is that culturally, this is Catalonia. The main language is Catalan, and the people are fiercely proud of their heritage. They have a history of being oppressed by the Spanish people, and I found myself more than a little out of my element. Luckily for me, I suppose, Barcelona is very much a tourist city, and most people spoke a little English; if they didn’t, they were at least bilingual and spoke Spanish, so we could cobble together a limited understanding. I remember vividly an attempted conversation with a jewellery store employee where we moved through Spanish, English, and French before finally coming to a satisfactory conclusion and three euros changing hands. Still, I must admit that the city grew on me, despite being noisy and sometimes smelling of pee. I may never go back, but I am looking forward to visiting more of Spain.

On our bike tour, we stop in front of Barcelona's Arc de Triomphe.

We started our stay in Barcelona with a bike tour. It was held in English, and given by the rather wonderfully named Fat Tire Bike Tours company. Our guide was a hilarious British guy in his early twenties named Buster. He took us biking all over the city, showed us many gorgeous buildings, including the Palau de Musica and Gaudi’s last and greatest work, the Sagrada Familia. We also had an excellent snack and drink at a little beachside bar and cafe before returning to the city proper.

The next day, we headed out in the afternoon to take the cable car up Montjuïc to see the old castle on the top. It wasn’t all that impressive, and we didn’t go inside, because it’s been turned into a military museum, but the view was spectacular and the cable car was great fun.

When we returned home, we took a brief break, then my sister and I went out to explore the medieval city. We only made it a few blocks around our apartment, but there was loads to look at and we did a bit of shopping; I bought some buttons and some jewellery, and she finally found a place to buy an old key like she’s been looking for to put on a necklace. While we were out, we realized the great truth to Spain’s new reputation for widespread acceptance of homosexuality; we saw at least three signs for different gay and lesbian events, openly gay couples in the streets, and some gay-themed buttons (which, yes, I will admit, I bought). It was an interesting contrast to France, where being gay seems to be the sort of thing that most people just don’t talk about, and where some people will take it as a reason to target you.

The next day, we went out again, attempting to visit the Picasso museum, but, upon discovering a line-up that stretched down a full block, we decided to give it up and just went wandering around the city, exploring stores, looking at fountains, and heading down La Rambla to look at street performers. Then we headed out to the beach, where we spent a very enjoyable day swimming in the Mediterranean (much better than the last attempt, I can certainly say), where I did not get a sunburn, and from where we proceeded to an excellent seafood restaurant just off the beach which served very good paella and which was probably a bit too classy for us.

Yesterday, we got up, packed up all of our stuff, and headed out to retrieve our poor abandoned car. Then we piled in and came home, after a very long and somewhat irritating four-hour trip. Today is not set to be particularly eventful, but tomorrow we officially move into our new apartment, and as of then I will likely have zero internet access for a couple of weeks. There may be more chaos in there as well, if we decide to rent a car for the day and go out somewhere; or I might just spend those weeks exploring Toulouse on my own and working on my own projects. I don’t know. I’m having a bit of trouble seeing beyond tomorrow, to be honest. It feels like it’s been a lot more than three weeks.

Wish me luck, and I’ll be in touch when I get my internet back! I miss you all dearly, but soon I will be set up in my own room, and from then things should start going more quickly. Until then, my loves!

The Crèperie

Bon appetit!

If you’re ever in Toulouse, take the time to visit Place de Saint Georges. There you will find the Crèperie, a wonderful little restaurant with patios spread across two street corners. If you’re really lucky, you’ll get Michael (“Mi-kay-el”) as your waiter. We’ve been there twice and had him waiting our table both times. He’s such a character, and he never stops joking. He also speaks decent English, which is great for those who don’t have the best French.

The crèpes are wonderful, too. They also do meal salads – I recommend the salade Sacre Coeur, which has a delicious dressing and tops a conventional salad with little cubes of fried potato and lardon, which is like bacon only thicker and less crispy. And then there’s desert…

Possibly my favourite thing about being served by Michael is that he has the same attitude as my character Luca. It makes me incredibly happy and sometimes it’s hard not to giggle. When I took a photo of him, I told him he reminded me of a friend – which is true, sort of, but in actuality it’s much more awesome than that.

Bienvenue à Toulouse!

Hello, Canada! I am now in Toulouse! It is full of awesome and I have lots to talk about. Just a warning, though, my internet usage may be spotty for the next little bit since the hotel’s internet connection fails half the time.

Some things about flying:

Entry to an airport with ten pieces of luggage, five carry-on suitcases, and five personal carry-ons is an exercise of precisely organized chaos.

I always see a lot of pretty or interesting people when I’m travelling and it frustrates me to no end that I can’t just stand around and take pictures of them. African ladies in awesome clothes especially.

Flying is always more fun on no sleep! I got up at 9:30 EST, got on a 5:30 flight, arrived at 8:20 local time, and went to bed at 10:00 that night. That’s 4:00 PM in my home time zone – meaning that I was up for about thirty hours, with only an hour of napping in the afternoon.

Exhibit A!

The French are awesome. I have come to this highly scientific conclusion based solely on the fact that their airplane food doesn’t suck. Also: watching Slumdog Millionaire on the airplane with my mother – most epic thing ever.

France – at least the bit of it that we flew over – is covered in fields. Fields everywhere! It’s insane. Also: Paris? Ridiculously large.

Some things about Toulouse:

I love this city! Like, what the heck, it’s awesome! Beautiful and full of the coolest architecture I’ve ever seen. It’s kind of gritty, but, me being me, that just makes me love it more.

So many awesome shops! We found a sweet vintage store, a thrift shop with a wall of Converse, two amazing goth stores – one of them very loli-goth, it was so cute – an awesome market, a manga store… The awesomeness is slightly offset by everything being more expensive here, but oh my god. So cool! New project: get a map of the city centre and start noting the cool shops.

Restaurants are brilliant, too. All so unique, full of delicious food, and, bonus – all the prices are tax and tip included. Also: patios!

The French are strange and eat dinner at like 8:00. This means that they basically go to bed right after dinner. They take like two hours at dinner, though, so that’s okay.

A lot of things are weird, really. The plumbing is odd. The electricity is weird. Everything is, really. Not unusable, but still. Very weird. Like that bathroom that was mixed-sex, but had urinals right out in the open, and the guy from the restaurant who came in while Shona and I were there and just started peeing.

Streets are narrow. Sidewalks are narrower. Some of them have cobblestones – most of those the pedestrian-only streets – and there are fountains and churches everywhere. Half the buildings are made of this pink stone that is apparently really common around here – Toulouse is la Ville Rose. Also, lots of parks and huge old trees.

The Rivière Garonne cuts through the city. There are also canals. It’s really pretty, but I wouldn’t want to swim in it. Lots of bridges, too – my favourite is the Pont Neuf, which is the last of the old stone bridges in the city – a name I find delightfully ironic, as all the others are newer than it.

French people smoke a lot! Will have to adjust to this. There don’t seem to be any laws about smoking in public places – or drinking in public, either. Apparently people also pee on the streets sometimes, since public toilets cost money.

Lots of universities means lots of students, which means lots of awesome things happening in the parks – like that group who had instruments out and were playing French reggae. Bob Marley’s face was everywhere at the market we went to.

French boys: apparently not shy about flirting. Ever. People keep looking and smiling at me, someone blew my mother and I a kiss, and someone else has already asked my sister for her number. The best part? Even if she wanted to, we don’t have a number to give out.

Lots of hot girls and pretty boys. If I’m not careful, they’re going to start spawning into characters. Also, people here are very flamboyant in their dress – lots of strange outfits. I don’t feel out of place. Not quite sure how to feel about this.

French people will buy sandwiches, panini, or flatbread for lunch and just wander over to the nearest park to eat it. It’s awesome.

Toulouse is a crowded city. Lots of cars, lots of crowds, lots of people – and all of them are shopping.

SEE WHAT I MEAN.

Lots of graffiti. I think it’s something of a local art form. Walls are covered – sometimes with layers and layers of tags, sometimes with gorgeous murals. We saw one commemorating Michael Jackson.

There are lots of cool cars here. Cars that don’t exist in Canada. Some of them are covered in graffiti.

Can’t wait until we move into our apartment downtown. Must brush up on my French.

More updates will follow as we continue our adventures! Hopefully my internet will remain stable. Hope everyone is having a good time in Canada. À bientot!