Italia: Venice and Rome

Italy has been, by far, my favorite country to visit. Kathleen and I were the only two to go, and we gladly missed our last 2 days of school for it. In addition to how amazing our trip was, we only paid about 125 Euros for 5 one way flights! So I guess that’s where the adventure began…Cheap airfare with Ryanair. We left early in the morning (ie 5 am) on the airport bus to catch our morning flight and had a layover for about 6 hours in Barcelona. Then we caught our first flight intooooooo VENICE! Venice is absolutely stunning. There isn’t a whole lot to do but eat amazing food, drink wonderfully cheap wine, and admire breathtaking scenery every time you turn a corner, so I guess I can see why Venice is a city for lovers. However, as wonderful as it may be for all of the couples, I can not think of anyone better to visit Venice with than Kathleen. As usual, we tore Italy apart. We arrive night one, Thursday night, and checked into our hostel. The hostel experience in itself requires a full novel to do its hilarity justice, but I’ll give the abbreviated version. We check in, and there is a guy with shaggy hair, glasses and a purple puffy jacket on. He asks me to pay the remaining balance for the room, which I did, and for my change he whipped out his own personal wallet. Okay so not that funny, but people would never do that in the states while running a business! Then he tells me he doesn’t have change, and asks whether I’d like him to owe me or me to owe him. Obviously I chose the latter, but it was at this moment when I realized this guy wasn’t Italian and was probably the biggest stoner I’d ever meet in my life. His name? Gustavo, from Costa Rica. He ended up in Italy because he attended Italian culinary school for 2 years when he decided restaurants were too stressful. He’s just about the most laid back, hilarious character I’ve ever met. After checking into our room, which had purple walls, pink lace curtains and 2 playboy bunny posters, Kathleen and I headed out for dinner. We asked Gustavo for his recommendations, which we didn’t take, and thanked him for offering to cook for us. There is a sign in the hostel that says dinner upon request for 10 Euro. We figured we could do better than that. We crossed a few canals, said about a million “oh my god’s” and commented on the beauty of Venice by the time we arrived at our dinner destination. Chosen for its moderate prices and warm dinning area. Kathleen and I sat down and ordered brochette, which became tradition for every meal we ate our entire trip, lasagna and chicken to split. We chose not to order water when we found out you couldn’t have tap and opted for a bottle of wine when an English lady behind us offered us her bottle of water because she was eating alone and couldn’t finish it. We gladly accepted and finished out our meal with the waiter hating us for splitting even though 5 minutes earlier he couldn’t say princess enough. The pasta melted in your mouth. It literally didn’t require chewing, and the brochette was a variety of 3, one having mushrooms and artichoke! The meal was a bit pricy, but well worth it. After that we tucked ourselves in to our playmates room. (haha). The next morning we woke up and decided to roam the city with the 2 other girls who were staying in our room who were backpacking all through Europe for as long as their money lasted and they were only 18!!! Anyhow, we literally walked all over the city and saw more than most tourists probably catch in 2 visits. However, it was freezing, and raining with puddles everywhere because just 3 days before, Venice witnessed it’s worst flood in 20 years. Before heading in to the hostel, the other 2 girls in my room and I caught an over priced gondola ride (Kathleen didn’t join because it cost too much) that was completely worth it. We went past the house of Marco Polo, then the house of his family, under the main bridge in Venice, past an old fish market from the 1500’s and a political building that had a jail cel on the first floor. I found this to be hilarious because Venetians don’t use their first floors in case of flooding, it’s simply an entry way. We had a great photo shoot and our gondolier loved us. After that we decided to cook dinner at our hostel with our other 2 room mates. The four of us ate for less than 10 Euros with a 2 liter bottle of “vino fizzante,” or fizz wine. Somehow I ended up doing the cooking and surprised myself. I always crave veggies here in Europe, so I bought a yellow pepper, tomato and zucchini and grilled them and then added them to the tortellini. I think I now have a passion for cooking because I can’t wait to get home and experiment. First thing I’m going to make is fresh brochette. As we were eating, Gustavo looked like he’d been slapped. He asked us why we didn’t have him cook, and we explained we didn’t want to spend that much, to which he responded, that sign (that says 10 euros for dinner) is just what I’m supposed to do. With that he offered Kathleen and I some of the best brochette I’ve ever had and some pasta carbonara. Slightly buzzed, but more exhausted from touring, we all went to bed. However, it was so cold, I had to ask Gustavo to turn on the heater to which he agreed with, “Iyy knowwwww. Itz like Dicember, itz like one degree” (sound it out to catch on to his accent). Haha. Then he brought us a floor heater and we all slept like babies. We woke pretty early the next and Kathleen and I hopped onto a waterbus out to the island of Murano, which is famous for it’s glass blowing. If you’ve ever bought a piece of Venetian-blown glass, it’s from Murano. We watched part of a glass blowing show from an outside window, so we wouldn’t have to pay, shopped and explored the island, then headed back to the main part of Venice to catch our bus to the airport for our next flight to Rome. We got back to the main island and had nothing to do so we bought a snack and headed back to the hostel, that we were already checked out of but were allowed to leave our luggage in, just to eat Nutella and crackers for free and hang out. Again, nowhere in the states would you be able to do this. We just opened the cupboards and snacked away and chatted with Gustavo! Time to leave: we caught our bus to the airport where we met a group of about 5 American boys studying in Sweden and chatted with them the entire bus ride. None of them were passing their classes, and collectively, they only knew one word of Swedish! I love America! They razzed me like the guys back home, they didn’t hit on me and act all greasy like the Europeans. One of them was super cute! We ended up hanging out with them later that night in Rome, but a LOT happens between then. So we get to Rome and have to go to a different hostel than the one I booked, because of “renovations,” but they emailed me ahead of time so it wasn’t a big deal. As we’re checking in, the guy, who happened to also be from south America, offered us a beer, which we politely declined, when he said, “No, you’re going to need it. Take a beer.” To that we obeyed, waited 10 minutes for him to tell us that they’d overbooked and we didn’t have a room. He told us he’d find us a place to stay and not to worry, but he looked like he was going to cry! Kathleen and I started busting up with laughter at our luck. All he could say after that was how happy he was we were in a good mood. She and I went to get some dinner while he sorted out our stay and returned to his beaming face that he’d found someplace. He and his partner walked us all the way to our other hostel and couldn’t have been any nicer. He even invited us to go out with them that night to, “the best place in Rome” but we already had plans with the Americans. We drop off our stuff and meet up with the guys at a huge church, but as we’re waiting the sweetest 2 Italian boys stopped and asked Kathleen and I to go to a club with them. The one who did most of the talking got frustrated when he couldn’t think of a word in English and was just a doll. We declined that also, and waited for the guys. They showed up and we did what ever good American does and went to a pub for a casual drink. Throughout all of Europe there are always guys walking around through bars and restaurants selling roses or trinkets, and in Rome, this guy was selling singing stuffed animals. Well 2 of the guys in the group were ripped and found it thoroughly amusing to bargain with these Moroccan/African guys. They ended up with the dumb little figurines, they got 5 for the price of one, then they tried to sell them back to the next guys who came around selling things! We he declined the offer to repurchase them, one of the guys told him he’d buy the singing stuffed animal for 6 Euro if the Moroccan man could get it’s sunglasses off. Yes I know this sounds cruel, but something about it was beyond hilarious! We closed the bar down and 2 of the American guys walked Kathleen and I back to our hostel, no moves, no awkward moments, nothing…Just good ole American boys. So refreshing. We woke up the next morning, changed hostels, and headed out to tour by foot, and on my way out I met a guy who plays baseball for the University of Redlands and knows Brenden! It couldn’t help but grin when he double checked with me that Brenden was my EX boyfriend! Then he asked me where I was from and introduced me to a guy he goes to school with who’s from Bakersfield! It really is a small world! That day Kathleen and I hit the Coliseum, ruins of Augustus Cesar, saw the Pantheon, Trevi fountain and lord knows what else! We then had a great dinner with a bottle of wine and a 10% discount coupon from our hostel that we forgot to use. We called it a semi-early night and woke up early the next morning for…..The POPE! Monday December 8 is a Catholic holiday for the “Immaculate Conception of Mary” and the Pope comes out in his Pope mobile. Because of this, the Vatican was closed but we got to see the Pope. He was literally within 5 feet of me! This all took part at the Spanish steps so we killed 2 birds with one stone, and crossed off another monument. After that we saw the Basilica and the outside wall of Vatican City. That night we went to a restaurant, recommended by Kathleen’s friend who studied in Rome this summer and had a wonderful last meal and took a picture with a sign that said, “we love you Chris,” which he loved! On our way there we stumbled upon some ancient ruins, which is no big deal in Rome, and had to practically run home after dinner because we missed the metro. We crawled into bed only to wake up at 3 am to catch our bus to the airport and wind down to wrap up our time in Spain. All in all, Italy was my favorite country to visit, and during my trip I realized just how amazing the people are you encounter across the world. I could never have written the story of Gustavo the surfer, toker, Costa Rican, Italian chef, or the other hostel guy who almost cried because Kathleen and I didn’t have a room. You learn so much more when traveling than just the history of a city, the culture of a country, or a few phrases in a foreign language. You learn about the diversity and sheer amazing personalities of human beings. My experiences have been priceless, so with that thought in mind, I wrap up my last few days in Granada.

El dia de la acion de gracias (Thanksgiving)

To be completely honest…Thanksgiving Day was welcomed from the pub on Wednesday night by me and other Americans fearing the emotions that may come with the holiday away from home. Therefore, as may be assumed, Thanksgiving morning started off hung over. I got my act together though and made it to class, as I always do – exactly opposite of my room mate who NEVER goes. I’d decided I was going to do EVERYTHING I enjoyed to assure a good holiday, so I bought a coffee before class, ditched my second immediately when I heard the professor wouldn’t be there (normally I stick around to find out for myself, but being that it was “MY” holiday, I jammed!). Yes, this is very typical of me, but I skipped class to go for a long, long run and then hit the tanning bed. If you’re curious, I started tanning because I have NEVER been this pasty white in my life, nor this gross fatty feeling. And since my staple food is bread “pan” (in Spanish) and lentils, with some alcohol thrown in here and there, I can’t seem to get the fat problem under control. I figure if I’m gonna be fat and can help my color, I’d might as well not be fat AND pasty. So I proceed to burn myself an itch for 3 days after. Anyway, I was feeling pretty good after my run and tan sesh, so I headed home to get ready, more like brace myself, for the Thanksgiving dinner to come. I was extremely surprised with the time and effort put into our dinner…until, I tasted my turkey. It was such a tease, we had little miniature wedge salads and tomatoes in some sort of sauce, bread with oil and vinegar (which was in a bottle filled with bugs that looked like gnats) and wine. Sounds good right? I thought so too. Then they served the turkey and mashed potatoes!!! The potatoes were orange, but I didn’t let the color discourage me. I dove right in to find that they were yams, and the turkey was prepared like meat loaf. I don’t even know how else to explain it…It was meat loaf turkey! I didn’t mind – I just remember myself looking around the room and thinking how amazingly lucky I was to be celebrating Thanksgiving with a huge group of Americans – all of whom I admire for studying abroad because I know all of the ups and downs the experience beholds. While I was doing okay from the get go, I was nervously sipping on my wine for the moment I feared I would break down, and I constantly watched my cel phone waiting for a call from home. Finally it came…both of them…The phone call and the inevitable break down! Haha. I saw that phone light up and sprinted for the bathroom because I knew all too well that Franklins pass the phone around and I was going to feel slight devastation. The call started out strong with mom, then Grandma, then Jules. Jules is normally the weeper, and since she left for college for the first time, every time she cries, I cry, and sure enough she did, and so did I! Then the phone went to Ian, to whom I was only able to say, “Hey Tiny, (which is what I call him) guess what I have now? Boobs! I’m so fat, I finally have boobs!” He laughed, we said our I love you’s and then passed the phone off again. It finally made it to my dad. I guess to fully understand the moment, you’d have to understand my relationship with my dad. My dad is literally my Knight in shinning armor, he is the apple of my eye, he’s hung the moon, and can literally fix anything. My dad is very much my hero and I have so much appreciation for the things he does for me, like paying for college tuition and getting me to Spain, so there’s something especially heartbreaking about being away from him on the holidays. He was super chipper, as always, so I tried to parallel his tone even though I was crying, so I chose a light subject, like my dinner. I tried to describe how much effort my program had put into our Thanksgiving dinner and wanted to joke about the mashed potatoes being orange, but I couldn’t quite keep it together, so when I told him about the meal, it came out as more of a wail of pain than a joke. Of course he thought this was pretty funny. He knows nobody’s cooking will ever compare to his and I couldn’t have wished for it more at that moment. I concluded my phone call, wiped my eyes, gathered my friends and we all went to the “Chupiteria” which translates to shot bar – as in shots of alcohol. I know…clearly I wasn’t the only down and out American kid that night. We all had a few shots and herded to the pub where I ran into my friend Jordan who was with her family who was visiting. Well…Miss Jordan was ripped and at one point put her leg up on the bar, almost fell backward, then did it again so we could get a picture! This girl is in no way trashy though. I absolutely adore her – we say we live parallel lives because we have so many things in common. We drive the same exact car, but on opposite coasts of the US and we have plans to move to New York together for law school. That explains the photo with a complete random stranger in an “I love NY” shirt. After we closed the pub down at 3am, we headed next door for a shwarma, which is a type of Middle Eastern food that I will explain in a later blog. Basically, they’re delicious and the only thing available to eat at 3 am. So Jordan leaves the shwarma place literally 5 or 6 times with her brother and his wife but keeps coming back with her tanked sister in law to tell us how much she loved us. I got in really good with the sister in law when I stole a poster for a party the next night from the bar – it was all she could talk to me about! After the schwarm, as we call it for short, I caught a taxi home, completely ignored my computer as I didn’t really want to be taunted by everyone with their families and went to bed. I woke up the next day and felt 1 million times better just knowing it wasn’t an American holiday that I was missing! I pranced my little self into town and bought a chocolate croissant and bought the absolute COOLEST pair of shoes I’ve ever seen as my Thanksgiving treat and wrapped up the one and only holiday I’ll ever be away from home. Although I’ve wrapped up that holiday, I haven’t forgotten how thankful I am to have my family at home. I always try to thank God at the beginning of my prayers at night, but I took a lot of extra time on Thanksgiving to get down to the nitty-gritty, and want to end this blog by listing the majority that I can remember. Here it goes: OBVIOUSLY my family; I’m thankful I’m my mom’s Minnie me, and that we are such good friends, I’m thankful to have a father that is going to be impossible to match when I get married, a little brother who is more like a big brother and has to threaten boys 5 years older than him for me, my sister who has played such an important role in forming the person that I am with an amazing husband who also is also a tough example for my future husband to live up to. I thank God for the Franklin family and the unity and closeness we have for such a huge and diverse group, Grandma Martha’s help and all of the work, actually it’s more like magic, she has performed in order to give all of us the lives we have, America (sounds funny, but you leave the country for 3 months and you’ll agree), American food, health, warm sheets, heaters in the house, UCLA, my friends, my support systems (ie family again), Julie and Ian’s marriage, my doggies and sooooo much more. As much as I missed home, I’m not sure I would have realized just how THANKFUL I am for all things, big and small, had I been home, participating in the usual festivities.

Brussels: Beer, Chocolate, Waffles, Fries, a Phallic Statue and my Girls...

Yet, again, I’ve had my ass kicked by another beer drinking country! Haha. I’m just kidding. Brussels is amazing…It’s the land of Beer (over 600 DIFFERENT types) waffles, chocolate, a peeing statue, and French fries with mayonnaise! Add in a few of your best friends and you’re bound to have an amazing time, which we did! Everywhere I go, I’m always shocked by the irony of the stigma of Americans. I don’t understand how the US is considered the fat country when all there is to do in a country like Belgium is eat crap food, that just so happens to taste wonderful and drink! Why aren’t they the fat ones in the world? Oh well. Our trip started out with a 5 hour bus ride to Madrid, a few subway stops and a night in the Madrid airport with a ton of other cheap travelers! The group consisted of me, Jordan, Avery (Chi O’s from North Carolina) and Lindsy (a Chi O from Arkansas). Lindsy, being crafty and adorable, made us all “Belgian Beer Books” so every time we tried a new beer we could record and describe it, more for fun the to actually remember the beers. Once we arrived in the airport and saw so many people sleeping on the floor, Jordan and I thought we’d start our beer books early, and we each had a beer so we could sleep – best idea I ever had. Had I not drank that beer I probably wouldn’t have slept at all. We woke up and checked in with our airline at 4:30 am!!! We checked in so early because we flew the shitty la bomba airline, Ryanair, who is notorious for overbooking and will find any excuse to kick you off of your flight or charge you extra money. Extra fees is where they make their money because their flights are so cheap, particularly with luggage that is too big or too heavy. It took us about 15 minutes to condense our luggage and smash it into this stupid metal box to show the lay checking us in that we were traveling with the right sized luggage, meanwhile all of security is busting up with laughter each time we tried to pull the bags out of the box – that was the real tricky part. Luckily we all got through with our bags, grabbed a piece pastry for breakfast, and went to the terminal. As we all lined up to board, there was a group of Spanish guys behind us passing a bottle of alcohol, completely wasted by 7 in the morning! I have to admit, they were pretty funny too. One guy kept letting out spastic shouts the entire 2 hour flight from the back of the plane. The weekend we went to Brussels there was a huge techno party there that tons of people were traveling to. Something probably close to 30-50,000 people in attendance. So another guy on the plane would randomly shout, “I love techno!” with his heave Spanish accent, and the plane would cheer. You’d think we were on a party bus. Somehow I managed to conk out and wake up as we were landing. The plane was bouncing on the runway. I felt like we were in the Snoop Dog music video where the plane has hydraulics. All the drunks cheered and clapped and we all rushed off of the flight, just to find Ryanair had screwed us yet again and flew us into an airport an hour outside of the city and owned a bus that we had to pay for to get there: Our options were Ryanair bus for 25 euros round trip, or a cab for 100 euros one way. Obviously we took the bus. We got there and walked through a complete ghetto looking for our hotel because the cab driver we hailed said it was too close for him to take us! After checking in we napped and headed out to explore. We stumbled upon our first beers and fries in a café which were wonderful compliments to the ham and cheese sandwiches that Jordan and I couldn’t finish, but saved and devoured two days later. (Gross, I know but I’m in college so I can). Our first beers were peach and tasted more like apple juice than beer! We stumbled upon city center where we continued our night tasting all sorts of beers and basking in the glory of our lives together. Friday night was an early one because Saturday was packed. We had free breakfast in the hotel Saturday morning and darted past the worlds sketchiest flee market near our hotel onto the subway. We toured the European Union headquarters and got to sit in the room where all of the nations gather for meetings. We learned all about the communication process through all the language barriers and had a great photo shoot with all of the flags affiliated with the EU. After we toured a chocolate museum and learned all about the different types of chocolate. For instance, white chocolate really isn’t chocolate, according to Belgians, because it doesn’t contain any cocoa, only cocoa butter. I also learned that candy bars are made with oils, like vegetable oil and not cocoa butter, or a lower amount of cocoa butter and is hence not as rich. Then we had a huge explanation on the difference between dark and light chocolate, a law that was passed by the European Union that allows candies made with cocoa powder and oil to be called chocolate, which the Belgians refuse to follow, and about a fashion show in Cuba where the models wore dresses decorated in chocolate in celebration of the opening of a new Cocoa bean plantation. After that we stumbled, literally, upon the statue of the peeing boy while we were looking for food. He was SOOOO small, and dressed in clothes supporting National Diabetes Day. People send outfits for him from all over the world and “the friends of (statues name)” change his clothes. Interesting and comical considering it’s a statue of a little boy peeing. We continued our beer tasting and headed out to do some shopping none of us could afford. I knew the minute my card was swiped at H&M it would be cut off, as I didn’t tell Bank of America I’d be in Brussels, and boy was I right. It is still currently deactivated! Haha. We finished the night off with Subway (if you haven’t noticed, we eat American food every chance we get), and a visit to O’Rielly’s pub, where I met the tallest Austrian guy I’ve ever seen in my life! (And of course I asked for a picture). We woke up the next morning and ran downstairs in our pj’s so we’d be able to eat in time and were sent back upstairs when some snotty European woman looked at us in disgust and the waitress tried to appease her. Okay, yes pj’s are tacky but let me break this down. We are in the shittiest of shitty in Brussels. The only thing around us is Shwarma and Kebab places, trash, and scary people! Not to mention, this hotel is just about the cheapest thing you could stay in without catching a disease and this grown woman and her husband are staying there! Give me a break and get your nose out of the air…If she did maybe she’d notice her European BO and shower! That being said we all ran upstairs and threw on our nicest clothes to piss her off – mission accomplished. We scarffed down breakfast and started our day with a tour of the only remaining family owned brewery in Brussels (or something special like that). The tour was awesome! We saw all the machinery and different stages of brewing beer, including bottling and then got a taste test! From there not much else happened besides eating, shopping and loving life. We toured St. Michaels Cathedral and sat in for part of a service, had our first Belgian hot chocolates, which are famous for a reason, and ended the night, yet again at O’Rielly’s. While it’s kind of cheating to go to Irish pubs because they’re not “authentic” you’re always guaranteed to meet English speakers from Ireland, England and all of Scandinavia. You’re also guaranteed to meet other nationalities who speak English and go to pubs because they know where to find all the white girls. Thank the lord the wake up call was loud the next morning because I was flying solo, literally, and had to be at the bus stop by 5:45. Fortunately, the concierge also called my taxi the night before like I’d asked so I didn’t have to trek through sketch-ville alone with my suit case. The cab driver’s first question was whether or not I’d had any problems staying in the area because it was that bad! The only problem we had, besides the usual cat calls, was surprisingly during the day. Two young guys, mid 20’s, slowed as they drove by and spoke French in a frenzy. We did as we were supposed to and ignored it (considering I don’t know how to tell him where to go and how to get there in French), when the driver whipped the car around the corner we were at, making the back of the car fish tale, partially blocking our paths. He threw it in park, hopped out and ran around the car. I literally thought, here we go, he’s going to try and put us in the car because he was moving so quickly and purposefully. The good thing is, my mind didn’t blank, I was completely ready and actually bracing myself to take this guy out. Luckily all he did was walk about 10 feet with us and speak French. His friend, who’d obviously gotten in the driver seat pulled up, he hopped in, and they were gone. That moment was probably the most scared I’ve ever been. All I could think about was the kidnappings in the movie “Man of Fire” in Mexico and South America. Luckily we had safety in numbers, a bit of ferocity in all of us, daylight, and guardian angels. I didn’t tell the cab driver this though as it was too early and I was completely hung over. I checked into my flight from Brussels to Madrid and laughed when I got to my terminal and saw that my flight was full of kids my age who were in similar, if not worse conditions, as they all were probably at the techno party. Needless to say it was a quiet flight until we landed and the little song of a horn that plays at the beginning of horse races blared and Ryanair announced we were on time and that they held the record for more on-time flights than any other European airline. I laughed…That shouldn’t be too hard with countries like Spain who do what they want, when they want. Instincts lead me through the subways of Madrid to the bus station, which had no name, and was a complete guess. I bought my 3 salad since I’ve been in Europe, and the first Cesar salad I’ve seen. I was so excited and then the lady handed me oil and vinegar to put on it! I was a little shocked, slightly bummed it wasn’t Cesar dressing, and laughed because I should have known. I made it onto my bus and home to Granada in once piece. This time I didn’t even realize I was traveling alone. There’s something slightly lonely but very empowering and exhilarating about traveling alone. It’s an automatic confidence booster when you look back and realize you just maneuvered without any doubt or complications from one country to another where neither spoke your native tongue. That being said, I’m so grateful to my parents, family and even co-workers who helped me get here. This is likely to be the best experience of my life. I’m getting a bit antsy to return to the states, which is not appeased at all by the Christmas decoration flying up everywhere throughout Europe as it’s their next holiday…no Thanksgiving. Last week, Kathleen’s mom and her best friend came to Spain and took us out to the best dinner I’ve had since being in the US, and she asked us our favorite part of being abroad. I’d like to share: Although I’m by no means a fluent Spanish speaker like I thought I’d be, and I have a LOT to learn, it is such a cool feeling to land in a Spanish airport after traveling somewhere in Europe and feeling immensely relieved to be surrounded by Spanish speakers. It’s pretty cool too when you meet people and you pray they speak Spanish, and are a complete chatterbox when you find that they do! It truly is my second language, and in that sense, I’ve accomplished what I came for, and sooooo much more! The second coolest thing is the opportunities that being abroad has brought. Particularly, the ability to move to New York. I’ve ALWAYS wanted to move to New York for a chapter of my life, but in the back of my head have always doubted my ability to leave home, but after being in Spain with expensive cel phones, a horrible time difference and a completely foreign culture, I have no doubts that I can survive and completely dominate any city in the US, and not feel completely removed from home. Now the 5.5 hour flight between New York and Cali seems like a cake walk. Anyways, while none of my plans are certain, I’m really lucky that my goals in life are quickly becoming reality and within near proximity. That being said thanks so much to everyone who’s gotten me here. I miss you all so much and can’t wait to be home for the Holidays!!!

Not quite the "Spain by day, Paris by night," like I'd thought...

Sorry I’ve taken so long to write…France was quite a wild ride and I needed time to recuperate. So here I sit, in a café drinking a café bombon (condensed milk and espresso), looking out the window at the first rays of sun we have seen in a while. Today is SUCH a beautiful day here. The weather has been really nasty and the mountains have gotten a TON of snow, which is really good because apparently Granada is always in drought. Anyhow, today is pretty chilly but it’s the first day I haven’t been in a heavy peacoat and boots. Back to France: France started out as this mature trip with my closest girlfriends to the sophisticated city of Paris. To be perfectly honest the only thing I knew about France previous to my trip is political tendencies/structure and a bit about society from a Political Science class I took at UCLA. I figured I’d learn a lot more actually experiencing the city and people first hand. So to start the experience, I left class early. It was my political science class here in which I have the coolest professor who winked at me as I left class after only 30 minutes! I immediately pranced to Zara which is a clothing store equivalent more or less to Express in the states. [Sidenote: I just got an American guys number whose name is “fishy.” I didn’t really want it, but I couldn’t be mean and say no. The study abroad crowd is definitely a breed of its own! Haha!] Seriously I’m going to focus on Paris now. So I pranced out of class early to Zara and purchased a few turtlenecks to prepare for the bitter cold of Paris. Then I proceeded to the bus stop and met Kathleen who was my travel buddy, thank god! She and I bussed over to the airport which is even smaller than the Bakersfield airport…It has a whopping 4 terminals so as you could imagine, we ran into so many friends traveling for the weekend. As we were waiting for our flight we made conversation with this girl who was clearly from the south, and really seriously looked like a beautiful southern bell even without make up. She was on her way to Barcelona to meet up with a friend and said she’d decided to stay in the airport over night instead of getting a room, so obviously when she left I said “Be Careful.” Youd’ve thought I’d said drop dead, I’m psychic and I know you’re going to die. She nearly had a heart attack, her face was filled with fear as she practically begged me to elaborate on my, “be careful” comment. She then had the audacity to ask me why…now our entire conversation I’d thought this girl was pretty stupid, but I tried to tell myself it was the stress of traveling alone. I could do nothing but just stare at her. Literally, my other friends had to answer for me. I thought it was understood, you’re a female, American, you have your passport and a good amount of money on you in a foreign land where she very clearly does not know the language, and you’re staying in an airport in the least stable part of the country…AT YOUR OWN WILL! After she departed I was still dumbfounded and said nothing. My girlfriends however, who tend to be more accepting than I, couldn’t get over how dumb this girl was, so I don’t feel so bad for being shocked. If they noticed then I know it had to be bad. I mean this girls eyes were literally glazed over. After that encounter Kathleen and I checked in for our flight and they made us out our suitcases through. I was pretty near furious because I had a bad feeling about it. Spain is the epitome of inefficiency, ie getting your luggage to the right spot. Whatever, I’m learning to pick and chose my battles so I delve into my book until our flight to Madrid. The flight is delayed, as should always be expected when in Spain. They take the saying “la prisa mata” and “tranquilla” very seriously. They don’t believe in stress and are NEVER pressed for time. We arrive in Madrid and sprint right to the McDonalds with all the other loyal and malnourished Americans and grin while we waited for our connecting gate. Eventually we learned our flight was postponed until the next morning. It only took us 4 laps trips to the information desk and 10 rounds running though the airport to find our airline. The Madrid airport is all glass so you can’t figure out where the doors are or how to get anywhere, I felt like a friggin hamster, and quite frankly I was NOT happy. We spoke with Iberia (our Spanish airline company) and they told us they wouldn’t give us our luggage that evening because it was easier to keep it at the airport and put it on the plane the next day. Right….As if I didn’t need a fresh pair of panties or a toothbrush. “Oh well,” I thought, “they’re putting us up in a four star hotel and we’re in a big city, there’s a good chance it’ll be nice.” Kathleen and I just laughed it off as we were shuttled to our hotel in what was probably the equivalent to Inglewood, Los Angels. The entrance was stunning. I thought the rooms would be equally nice. After climbing the stairs, passing a family of Orthodox Jews and following the line of tread worn carpet to our room, my expectations had lessened a bit, but not enough to prepare me for this room. Tada! The bathroom had evergreen colored tiles, a rusted bode (I have googled this word so many times and CAN NOT figure out how to spell it – I’m referring to the nasty European alternative to toilet paper that washes you instead of wiping) and because it would make too much sense to leave a toothbrush and body wash in the bathrooms, the hotel had a shoe shine and shampoo…no conditioner. I really hope this does not come off as cynical, because it is not at all. Literally, everyday I have to laugh at the customs of people here in Spain. Really, a shoe shine? Haha. Oh well, Kathleen and I went for dinner number two as it was on the airline. We killed the worst bottle of red wine I’ve ever had and called it a night. 5 am rolled around pretty quickly considering we giggled ourselves to sleep at the hilarity of the situation. Kathleen and I are very similar eaters so we both we ecstatic for our free breakfast. We ran downstairs ready to give Paris a second go and find horrible horrible coffee, orange juice that tasted like Sunny Delight and packaged muffins. We should have known. Whatever, we get on our flight where I received a free newspaper that was 56 pages and had more articles on the US, especially Obama than any other topics. (This was pre election time too). All of Spain, Europe and seriously the world LOVE Obama. Being the asshole that I am I always ask why and nobody knows why though. Haha. So I’m pretty entertained with my paper, we land in France and I’m ready to role. Well…My luggage didn’t arrive and neither did Kathleen’s. Thank god our friend Parissa who is studying in Paris for the year knows French. We find out that our luggage was sent to Charles de Gaule airport in Paris even though we were at Orly airport. After the whole crock I was fed in Spain about keeping my luggage overnight, I was pretty pissed. Parissa had our luggage sent to her apartment and we were off. One 10 euro rail pass (one way only) and about 30 minutes we were climbing the stairs to her apartment.
Apparently there was some architect who went through and modernized the entire city of Paris except for one area, which is now the student/gay area of Paris and is ABSOLUTELY charming. We had to climb 5 flights of stairs to Parissa’s apartment, as there was no elevator and when we got to the top, it was the spitting image of the attic that “The Little Princess” was filmed in. Parissa’s room was up another flight of stairs and her ceiling was slanted into an a-frame as it was the roof. Right above her bed there is a skylight from which she can see the angel of the Bastille. Also upstairs is the only shower and laundry machine and rack to air dry the wash. Not only is air drying inconvenient and produces heavily wrinkled clothes, it takes forever in Europe because the weather is so cold! Therefore, I really admire the European’s for “going green” in this manner, as it would probably have been my last step to going green. The American idea of green laundry is a Laundromat that says they don’t use chemicals, or an energy efficient washer and dryer! You’ve got to love Americans. So anyhow, after a quick tour of the apartment, Parissa was off to class and Kathleen, Elise, and I set out for a café Parissa told us about called “American Breakfast” where we had breakfast burritos, scrambled eggs and chocolate chip pancakes! Not only were we ecstatic for food with flavor, my digestive system began to function immediately after. :) Then we set out to explore and wander the streets and wandered right past the Building of Justice, over the Seine River and onto the steps of Notre Dame. We then met up with Parissa, purchased Subway (another hallelujah) and picnicked in front of the Eiffel tower. After that we visited the Lourve where I saw the Mona Lisa, a Picasso exhibit and some Grecian statues that I studied in my art history class at UCLA! We then trekked home to an apartment full of Parisians dressed in costume for Halloween! Needless to say we partied all night. Kathleen and I, however, were the first to pass out from the exhausting travels we’d made so we hoped right in Parissa’s bed and listened to the rain hit the skylight that was so close I could reach out and touch it (remember the ceiling slanted down with the roof) and slept like babies. The next morning, my bed buddy (and room mate of two years in LA) and I hopped out of bed to go make purchases that we were positive would be charged to our airline. First on the list was clean undies. Kathleen gave in and bought a pack of 3 for 17 euro!!! I thought they were so ugly I’d rather wear my 3 day oldies than those, and boy was I right. Kathleen changed in the fitting room and made me come in there so we could laugh at how hyenas they were. They looked like the old fashioned bathing suits that make little sausages out of your upper thighs! We continued our shopping and after about 200 Euro each, which was literally one change of clothes, we ran back to the apartment to shower and change. It was here that we found out the airline still hadn’t gotten our luggage to us, which mind you was in the same city, and would only reimburse us 50 Euro for each 24 hours our luggage was missing because we made our lost luggage claims together. With that news we immediately showered, and returned everything but sweaters, shirts and undies because those were necessity and are still currently left with an unnecessarily expensive bill, but a story that is so worth the price! (I forgot to mention that the night before, during the Halloween party, another friend of ours, who is also in our sorority, and studying in Geneva, flew in, so there we were….5 Chi Omegas just tearing Paris a new one!) The day of hectic shopping and returns all 5 of us visited the Arc de Triumph, Champs Elysee (the equivalent to 5th avenue) had some lunch, saw the ways of Parissa as she showed us a few smaller things until it was time for the opera/violin concert held in a beautiful old Cathedral. The concert was in the upstairs portion so we climbed the most narrow, ancient feeling cement stairway that twisted on it’s way up until we reached this huge open room that has an entire wall of stained glass. At first I felt very cultured and really excited, but then I pulled a Steve Devers and started nodding off. A few times I’d close my eyes and try to imagine what the person singing very high soprano would look like and I always pictured a woman. I’d open my eyes and every time I’d be shocked to see the skinniest little man singing so high! As the show went on, my head fell forward for a quick doze and I was afraid the other 4 would see that my head wasn’t really in line with theirs (as we were all sitting in a row) and realize something was up. I tried chewing gum to stay awake and it did nothing so then I got strategic and slouched a little so no matter which way my head rolled they’d think it was from poor posture and not sleeping. Needless to say we were all relieved there was no encore and sprinted out of there to revisit the Eiffel Tower by night. Here we froze, had another photo shoot, as we now had Alissa (who is Chi O #5) and watched the tower light up. The tower normally lights up white but this time it lit up blue because the President of France is also the President of the European Union, so when you see my pictures and you see the circle of yellow/white stars and a blue tower you know why.
That night we slept tightly and the 3 American-Spaniards shoved off early in the morning to catch our flight home. You’d better believe I kept my luggage with my for my flight home, and was all too happy when I set foot on Spanish soil, in a land where I can ACTUALLY communicate. When I got back to Spain I got the same feeling I used to get when I’d leave Spanish class where you think, “thank god, now I can get my point across.” That’s how I felt, so hopefully that means my speaking is picking up. The true test will be when I get back home and speak with Mexican-Spanish speakers, because here there is an extremely heavy accent. I guess it would be the equivalent to a hard core southern twang, but they drop the ends of their words and speak with a list. Apparently the reason for the lisp is that hundreds of years ago there was a king with a lisp that the people adopted so as not to be offensive in his presence, and it’s stuck ever since. Anyhow, I’m headed to Brussels, Belgium this Wednesday with 3 other girls in my program and I have my first 2 exams, so I’ve got a big week. I’m really going to try to be better about blogging so hang in there with me, and I can not wait to see everyone at Christmas! P.S. My trip to Paris, thus far, has been the thing to make me most home sick. Had my flight mishaps happened in Spain, or better yet, the US, I would’ve reamed someone. French might be in my next lifetime, but after German. :)

All American Girl

My past two nights have been completely polar opposite and, as usual, quite Molly. Two nights ago, Elise and I went with some friends to our favorite Irish pub. That night I decided my body needed a break as it has completely and continually takes a beating. (Lack of nutritious foods like veggies or meat, we eat mainly bread, too much alcohol, too little sleep, too much second hand smoke, too much coffee, Moroccan poops, lactose intolerance to the cow's milk that isn't refirgerated, etc. etc.) So anyhow, I decide not to drink. What a night...I always notice when guys make comments or cut eyes at you or whatever these Europeans think is appropriate, but without a glass of wine to, as we like to say, "round the edges," I was completely appalled! I've never felt like such a piece of ass in my life. And don't get me wrong, sometimes a cat whistle gives me a little extra perk in my step but for whatever reason, this night I thought I was gonna brawl! (which also isn't all that uncommon for me). After we go out drinking we always stop at these nasty ass Schwarma places and get food, which should only be eaten when drunk, it's that bad, but I chose to eat it sober anyway. It was okay but I couldn't get over the greasy schwarma man calling me a drunk because everybody else was....Guys just want to convince themselves you're drunk so they'll grow a pair and be able to tell you what they really want to say. Then I had this BEAUTIFUL, I mean BEAUTIFUL German guy talking to me at the bar. He is kind of a friend of a friend. Anyhow, I wrap up the conversation and go sit elsewhere with Elise and some of our closer friends. This German walks past me to the bathroom, and of course I act like I don't see him so I don't give myself away too quickly, and he did the same. In my head I just quickly thought, "bummer." Whatever. Then as he is walking back from the bathroom he completely hits on me, begs me to go to the club, asks me where I'll be the next night and kisses my cheek after I politely decline every offer of his. Once he is out of ear's reach, my friend Connor, Elise's Irishman, tells me he has a girlfriend back in Germany! I thought I was going to brawl with this boy....Who do you think you are to sweet talk someone when you've got a girlfriend! Ooooo just wait till I see that kid again! haha. I've reached a point where I just have to laugh at literally how low and plain stupid some people can be, especially foreigners! Between that, schwarma man, and all of the cat whistles it was a rough night. At the end of the night my friend Mark walked me home, completely Platonic, we refer to him as our big brother, and he tells me about this famous graffiti artist in Spain, who lives in Granada, and calls himself, "El nino de pinturas" or son of paintings. Apparently, he finds old shabby buildings, and at night goes spray paint these fascinating murals on them! I walked past a ton of them and they really are amazing. I can't believe he did them with spray paint. On top of that, Mark says he never takes a step back to see what it looks like, he just goes. Mark took me past his house and it is covered with amazing pieces of art...I felt like I was staking out batman's house or something! Anyways, that was my Wednesday night. Thursday night comes along, and with it comes my first club or "discoteca" experience. After one night of acting like an appalled, semi-inferior girl, I got back to my American self. Discoteca, here we go: we get to the discoteca at about 2am (which is early to arrive here in Spain). Kathleen and I prance on in to find that a group of Americans didn't make it in to celebrate our friend Chase's 21st birthday. They most likely didn't make it in because they weren't dressed cute enough, but the bouncers claimed it was because they were American. I didn't really think stuff like that happened, now I know. So anyway, we get into the club and they play mostly techno which you can't dance to, but when an American song comes on we all cut loose! A few American songs come on and all of the Spaniards just watch the American girls and guys go to town as they try to sing along. As the night approaches 4am, the club is so packed you can no longer dance, and the groping begins. I'd be standing as a group of guys would pass and I'd feel a hand graze my ass. I'm not sure what their thought process entails, but every guy that groped me seemed to think when he got my attention I'd look up and smile as though I was pleased. Well to their suprise, I'd let em have it, while all the other girls tried to ignore it...No way...I flipped one guy off and asked him if he knew what it meant. He looked like he'd just seen Satan. Another guy touched my but and as I looked up, he looked away. Again, I don't understand their thought process...Is it pleasing to get a load of fat in your hand? Do you enjoy grabbing buts and looking away? That just seems so foul! So I proceed to tap him on his shoulder. He is definately thinkin I liked the but grab...He probably thought he scored; then I ripped him a new one! My night seriously entailed reaming people, which I'm not going to lie, was kind of fun. Other guys grab at your wrist and they ALL say "que guapa" (how pretty) or "rubia" (blondie). I just wiggled one finger in front of their face indicating no and gave them the death stare, then left them with the "I will kill you," smile. After all of the greasy gropers, we meet up with some of our American guy friends. Well my friend Fabian, who also is also amazingly attractive and from New Orleans, so no wonder I'd find him attractive amongst all of these girly Spaniard men, give his number to some spaniard man in the club. I assumed it was a friend of some sort because Fabian has dual citizenship in Spain and the U.S. Then the guy comes up to me and says, "I-a-likey-you-friend-a-fabian." I laugh hysterically and tell him I do too. (not in a serious way, just like yeah he's my buddy). As the next two hours pass, this guy keeps coming up to Fabian and hits on him. Fabian, being the all American boy thought it was a joke, and as he realized it wasn't, was completely dumbfounded. Every time the gay guy came around Fabian would put his arm around me and act like I was his girlfriend (which I had NO problems going along with). That didn't phase the spaniard at all. He kept coming up to Fabian and even tried to kiss him! My family will appreciate this: Mom always used to tell me the funniest story about she and dad in New York at a club. Apparently my dad was hit on by some gay guys, which sent him into orbit and mom had to handle it. Well mom, I assumed the Sue Devers way once again. I looked at poor Fabian's face and he looked like a little kid who just could not understand why the big kids were being mean to him. Soooo, I turn around and tell this guy in spanish, "look, no more bothering my boyfriend." We proceed to have a conversation, and then he just starts to piss me off because he's not listening to me. I finally get him to leave and I raz Fabian a little bit for having to take care of him, but he got the coloring back in his face so I knew it was appreciated. I should have known that wasn't the last of this guy. He comes back and reaches around me (as I'm facing Fabian while we talk) and grabs Fabian's neck!!! Fabian pushed his arm off and he kept grabbing, so I push his arm off and give him the boyfriend talk again. He looks at Fabian, and in English, says he doesn't like me. haha! I honestly thought last night was going to be my opportunity for fullfilling my dream of fighting a boy. Eventually the club turned on the lights, signifying it was time to go, so Fabian snakes the line and gets Elise and my coat and we head outside. As we're sitting on the curb waiting for the rest of our group, guess who shows up? The gay Spaniard!!! This time Fabian repeatedly told him to "Get the fuck away" and to leave him the "fuck" alone. The guy, fully knowing what was being said, asked him in English to speak more slowly in a totally snotty/flirty voice. Fabian clearly had had enough as he told him "GET-THE-FUCK-AWAY means LEAVE-ME-ALONE." Anways, the night was hilarious as usual and ended at 6:30 am...I am now posting what happend, freezing in my host families house, smelling last nights disgusting second hand smoke in my hair and peacoat. Well, off to dinner, but more to come!
Over and out,
Molly "I'll ALWAYS tell you what I think / I'm not afraid to kick your ass" Devers

Morocco: Worse than Montezuma's revenge

Today was my the most glorious day back in Spain as it was my first day back from Morocco. I didn't notice the smell, dog poop on the ground, ample bread with sparce veggies, or anything else that used to bother me...Why? Because I experience first hand that it can ALWAYS be worse! That being said, Morocco was actually amazing. I have more or less a love hate relationship with it however. A group of about 60 students, mostly American, embarked for the African continent at 4 am Friday morning to cross the straight of Gibraltar 3 hours later. My roommate and I thought strategically that if we stayed out all night until it was time to leave then we'd sleep like babies during the long trip. Everything went to plan until the rain started as we boarded the ferry to cross the straight. The first few waves were fun, then our laughs got a little more nervous. My laugh altered into a silent sweat as I noticed everyone around me is sleeping peacefully from the dramamine that I failed to take. "Shit," I think to myself as I hear the glasses from the bar clash together. I practice my yoga breath until the boat takes on a wave so huge that as it goes down the other side there is a huge crashing noise that wakes EVERYONE. We complete the crossing and I refuse to throw up when we disembark...that was a success. We then reboard the bus (that crossed the ferry with us!) and continue to the Morocco boarder. Nothing exciting there except we weren't allowed to take pictures, so there's probably some sketch action going on there. After another 12 hours or so in a friggin tour bus we arrive at our hotel in Fes, Morocco. We ate like Vikings and went straight to bed because the next day we had a tour. I'm peacefully stretched out in my bed, middle of the night, when I hear this loud siren. "What the hell?" is all I can think. I lay still and it keeps going. I try to figure out what it is saying or if I'm completely hallusinating. It sort of sounds like an old school evacuation or a hurricane alert on the Hawaiian islands. Being the proactive individual that I am I get out of bed and go to the window, pull the curtain back, and realize I'm probably the only person in the world phased by whatever is going on as the rest of the city is completely peaceful. Whatever...I went back to bed. Day one: tour of fes and fes Medina (which I really still don't know what it is). Bus tour wasn't too exciting, we got to go to the gates of one of the kings palaces and see a view of fes Medina, which is only a sight to see if you're from a third world country (no offense to anyone). Meanwhile our tour guide is telling the bus that since 9/11 not many American's have visited, and that we're missing our second home and we're so welcome here and we'd want to retire in fes Medina after seeing it. He also said that the United States and Morocco have never had any problems....Probably because there are absolutely zero resources there (again don't be offended, you know it's true). Then he tells us when the Jews were expelled from Spain they fled to Morocco, and when Hitler wanted all Jews, the Moroccan government protected them: They too have a home in Fes. Sweet and pretty interesting, however, I felt like I was attending a church service for a church that was going bankrupt and asking for money by beating around the bush...Can't fool me...I'm an American! haha. Okay so we get into fes Medina, a small city with tons and tons of side streets, donkeys carrying everything you can think of, and an inescapable stench. We proceed through the streets with a Moroccan guide at the front and back of our group and ISA directors everywhere so we don't get lost. The first stop was a carpet dealer which was cool. The building that the store was in used to be the home of a man with many wives, each having their own room upstairs...yada yada. Sidenote: I have a pretty foul sense of humor and am very difficult to offend, but the Moroccan humor is all based around sex - normally funny, but NOT when you know it could be you as a heram! I was thoroughly disgusted by the jokes of what the rugs could be used for etc. and even more disgusted when they tried to sell me the "fact" that rugs were worth even more once they were used! We left the rug place and continued through the creepy streets of Morocco where I abandoned all relationship with friends and decided it was "every man for himself." I stayed right on the guides ass! I've never wished so badly for a huge smock dress to go over my pants and head gear to hide my blonde hair. Those of you who know me know that I'm not one to take comments from men on the street, I'll tell you where to go and what to do with yourself when you get there, however, in Morocco I put my sunglasses on, head down and made eye contact with NO BODY! I know when and where to be a badass...At one point I even grabbed one of the guys from my program and told him "I'm so sorry, I don't even know you, but I do not want to be traded for a camel." He laughed and said not to worry he'd been looking after me!!!! (Did I mention he was totally cute? More details to come!) Okay, then we make it to this leather good store. I already feel like I'm in my element as I see a bright yellow purse. I regain focus and follow my guide up a shitload of tiny strairs. On my way a man hands me a stem of some leaves...Don't really think I need them but whatever, when in Rome, do as the Romans do. THANK GOD I DID! we got to the rooftop to look over at these tiny pools where men are stretching, dying, scrubbing, conditioning (and anything else you can think of) camel and goat leather. The smell was indescribable. I completely missed whatever the guide said as I shoved mint leaves further up my nose and tried to contain my dry heaving/vomit. That made for some funny pictures and a light headed shopping excursion in the floors below, where I bought nothing. (probably subconciously punishing the leather men for making me smell that). After that tortue the group continued to a pharmacy. To my suprise it was the coolest place I'd been! Two men who were 5th generation pharmacists showed us a huge array of Moroccan medecines, spices, perfumes, all natural. Made a few fun purchases which I can't explain in further detail as they are presents, and then FINALLY got lunch. Lunch was Moroccan, but the coca-cola was SOOOO AMERICAN! I feel like no matter how horrible/un-edible the food it, coke is always there to save me. Later that night we went to a belly dancing show that was cultural. The women were far from attractive except for one who looked like she could have been part of the Chinese Olympic Gymnastics team she was so young. Next day we had an early start to a 12 hour trip to the desert. 10 hours in we get off of the bus in to old 4 x 4 jeeps. It is now dark, raining and lightening! The drivers take off in the dark, off roading! Elise and I held hands, the 6 of us in the jeep laughed, nearly cried at parts, and all lost our breath when the driver turned the headlights off just for fun. The hour long off roading was an experience that words will do no justice. We then got to camp where we had some food and got settled in our tents made of camel fur blankets. The rain picked up, as should be expected on a Molly trip, and soaked through the tents one drop at a time. The smell made us all light headed as we slept, so we wore sunglasses, layers of clothes, and what we referred to as a "punjab" more commanly referred to a a pashnima (scarf). We made it through the night, ate breakfast that consisted of assorted breads as usual, and got ready for our camel rides! Elise and I were paired on the first camel whom we immediately named Action. It is amazing how the sit, their back legs bend in one too many places, and when they stand they are incredibly tall! Kathleen got stuck with some guy, which she immediately turned into a negative situation and complained about. Anyhow, after a laughter filled ride we all ended at this GIGANTIC sand hill. There were local kids running up and sliding down. Now, because you can't see that hill, you'll never fully understand its enormity. It took about 10 minutes to climb up, and as I reached the top I looked down to see Elise being pulled up the hill by a little boy! On that note, throughout our entire stay in the desert natives from the area followed, watched, talked and helped us. The kids were the most precious little things I've ever seen. One little boy named Yusef stayed with Elise and I the entire camel ride and kept asking us if we were okay. Returning to the hill, once we got up there we could see sand dune as far as our eyes could see. It was amazing! And to get down I jumped straight out as far as I could, knowing that eventually I'd hit sand. It was so much fun! After that we proceeded into a little Bedowin town full of poverty and stench and precious children. We got a tour of a Bedowin carpet store where they explained that the carpets were made by women as messages to men seeking their hand in marriage. The women would stitch into the carpet things they felt and thought. For example, if a woman stitched in a cross with open space in it with an x on the inside she was saying she was okay with living inside the home with each of the other 3 wives, each prong on the cross being a room for each woman. We also learned that children are "insurance" in Moroccan culture as the more kids you have, the better chance you have of being taken care of when you're old. We were also shown the differences between a young girls carpet work and a grandmothers. When a grandmother reaches the point where she can no longer make carpets she makes on final carpet that is the most extravagent of them all and gives it as a gift to whomever will take care of her. All in all, Morocco was such an amazing, eye opening experience. I changed career plans at least 3 times on the bus ride to the desert as all I could think was, "It is only by pure dumb luck that I was born as me and not as one of these Moroccan kids." In addition, EVERY hotel we've stayed in, in Spain and Morocco, have a slot to insert your room key, and only when the key in the slot will your lights work. Everyone has water saving shower heads, and in both Morocco and the apartment complex that I live, you have to turn on a light in the hallway that stays on for about 3 minutes. Oh yeah! We had lunch, literally, in a tent in the middle of nowhere on our way out to the desert, and THEY HAD SOLAR PANELS! What the hell America? We need to get on that. I'm thinking a little less about law, a little more about the environment and other people...We'll see. All I know now is being on the African continent was a phenominal experience, but I am glad it's done. I always seem to have a hard time when I lose my ignorance about things - I'm always so disgusted, and Morocco was one of those moments: I am so disgusted at how lucky we all are and how much it is taken for granted. It's good to see though because now I'll never complain....I mean really, never complain. One more continent down on my quest to hit every continent (less Antarctica) before I graduate!

Oktoberfest

Oktoberfest is by far the most fun thing I've ever done in my life. I felt like I was on the Disney ride "It's a small world." I met people from nearly every country, and because of that, I can hit on anyone in almost any language! haha! More importantly, however, God was truely on mine and my friend Parissa's side...It very easily could have ended up as the worst trip in the world but everything fell into place. It was so perfect I was almost expecting to be shot or something, like it was God's last treat for me before my time. Luckily it wasn't though! So the trip started off with me waking up super early and walking out of my room in a towel Friday morning to take a shower, when I ran into the 22 year old son of my host family in the hallway wearing his super skimpy European boxer Briefs - akward moment number 1 - I promptly got in the shower and got ready, assuming wouldn't really get a good shower all weekend traveling via hostels. (Additional detail: Parissa and I had nowhere to stay Friday night so we were planning on crashing in the airport). After showering as best as you can in Europe I made the 40 minute run/walk to the bus stop to catch a ride to the airport. I stopped on the way for some cash and of course my bank card was not working...Great. I continue to the bus stop where the bust is 20 minutes early! Thank God I made it on time, considering the bus only ran on the hour and I'd have been too late for my flight. (Lucky moment 1 of at least 100). I was floored considering nothing in Spain ever starts on time...The Spanish are always late. I make it to the airport and try to call my bank on a payphone that won't work, my flight to Barcelona is delayed an hour, and I was already there too early so after 3 or 4 hours of nothing I get on my Lufthansa flight to find that Luftansa has a deal with Spanair (who recently had the runway crash that killed 45). "Great," I think, "first flight on my own and it's with the shitty la-bomba airline." I board and try to stay posetive and not scared until I go back in time about 2 decades when I get on the plane it's so old. Have you ever been on an old shaky Hawaiian hopper flight during turbulance and rain? This was 10 times worse! The wings on the plane were teeter tottering during landing! So I finally make it to Barcelona where I quickly proceed to buy a mini bottle of wine and a Toblerone chocolate bar. Healthy I know. Board my next flight to Germany and talk to some German people and some guys from Capri. I have never felt so ignorant as I did waiting to board that flight. Everybody speaks English, knows about our politics, hates bush etc, and I can't even tell you where their country is in the world or what form of government they have! I sat next to a German who actually studied abroad at UCLA so I quickly picked his brain about Germany and got lots of good info. I land and am so excited to meet my friend Parissa until I realize I don't know what airline she flew in from France! I run hot laps around the airport about 3 full times until we miraculously find eachother. We proceed to call some people who offered us to sleep on the floor of their hotel only to find their phone off. Okay, plan B, sleep in the airport, early start the next day. Until we are told the airport completely closes! We run over to a help desk where we decide we'll just have to pay 300 Euro, or about $500 on a room when the lady tells us she found room for 99euro with a shuttle and breakfast! We literally jumped up and town and screamed, accepted and were on our way. We got to the hotel and it was AMAZING! Pink pillows, a rubber duck in the bathroom, great food! You name it, we got it! We started out the nexy day with every intention to take a bike tour of Munich but it was TOO cold and we were too excited at the sight of everyone dressed up in liter hose and dresses! After tons of walking we find our way into Oktoberfest where a man is passed out at the entrance. A little scary but funny as the police were trying to pick him up. We weren't there but 5 minutes and decided the beer maid outfits were a necessity so we ran all over town via subway until we finally got some! We proceeded back to Oktoberfest and promptly started socializing. We met some Spaniard with whom I spoke Spanish and they were very nice. However, we'd finished our beers and were ready to move on, so we set a time to meet them later, as they weren't very cute but were VERY nice! We went on our way until we weasled our way into a beer garden, where upon entering, about 100 people cheered for us! We realized the Spaniards were there! It was hilarious! We met some of their friends and spent the rest of the day at that Graden. That was my first liter of beer! At one point I was standing on a table taking pictures with our newfound friends and I saw people taking pictures of my from across the garden. (Everyone thought I was German b/c of my dress and Blonde hair - I even had people speak to me in German!) I proceeded to take a picture of the people taking a picture of me when I noticed the man was wearing an LSU sweatshirt. I ran over to him and met a group of Americans who were SO cool! After a wild day Parissa and I made our way back to the hostel but stopped at McDonalds for some food and to hydrate! We get back to the hostel and sit in the lounge to watch people stumble in, and before you know it, I'm tanked because people keep buying me beers! I met a group of beautiful Itallians who begged me to go to the club, which I kindly declined, a german who also wanted to go to a club, whom I also declined, and a BEAUTIFUL "Kiwi" / New Zealander! He and his friend hung out with Parissa and I and this group of older guys (about 60-70 years old, who'd run every guy off that would talk to me! haha! everyone thought one of them was my dad). Anyway, the night was calm, few drinks and hit the hay for an early start. The next day we went all out to get ready and left the hotel before our designated meeting time with friends because we didn't want to be tied down. It was a beautiful day, and on our walk to the tents, we found a cafe with Chocolate Crossoints (which we had been craving an unable to find!) Another one of God's gifts. We quickly eat and sneak into a tent that is SUPER difficult to get into and take a seat with two American boys who go to UCSB! We all started chatting and having beers and had a great time. Then....The band started playing and everyone went WILD! It was like in the movies where people slosh their beers through the air and hoot and yell, but even better because it was real! People asked for pictures and of course we took them. At one point, a German police asked me for my passport and then just smiled and left. (that scared the shit out of me becuase I had no idea what he wanted). Then the German girl at my table said she was a lawyer and he wasn't allowed to do that! Oh well, I continued to have a blast until I swung my beer around to cheers with the table behind me and spilled all over a husky beer maids boobs. It was like the whole room stopped. My jaw dropped - I honestly thought she was going to hit me. Luckily she moved on and I continued to cheers. 12 noon rolls around and I say my good byes as I have to catch my 3:00 flight after I got back to the hostel to get my things and ride the train to the airport. Unfortunately, the 2 liters of beer I had in 3 hours (9am-12noon) hit me the second I sat in the cab...I made it to the train station and immediately puked which somehow caused me to miss my train and later my flight! I had to pay to get another flight, and because I was a little out of it, there were some American boys who also missed their flights who offered to help me - of course I did it on my own. However, I was not going to have to sleep over night in the Barcelona airport...That was hell! I was frozen and hung over and ready to get home. I made it through and got home safely, a full day late. The funny thing is, Parissa had an expired passport and she's studying in France for the year so we were worried she wouldn't get back in the country and I turned out to be the one with technical difficulties. Made it home safe and sound to find my room mate sick from too much to drink also! we swore off alcohol for at least a week until we found ourselves drinking the next night with all of our friends. That was 2 nights ago. I met a really sweet guy from England named Nick who is teaching English over here and is fluent in Spanish! Nothing serious, just another friend added to our group and another escort home! Anyhow, from one excursion to the next I shall go. I leave for Morocco @ 4am tomorrow morning for 5 days. As usual, more updates to come. Someone please call Grandma and read this to her so she it in the loop too! Love you all!
Moroccan Molly