Today has been okay.

Sometimes when I'm riding my bike at odd hours--like I've been doing for the past couple nights--it strikes me as kind of crazy that this is how we get around here: we just hook our purses over the handlebars and switch on our lamps and pedal off into the night. I could feel the ice crystals that had formed on my seat for the past three and a half hours seeping into my jeans and the wind flying into my face and up the sleeves of my not-entirely-fastened winter coat was COLD. Boston cold. It surprised me, and it got me thinking.

Orientation thus far has been a series of similarly sweaty, semi-awkward late nights fueled by Grolsch and European techno. My mentoring group, with whom I've toured the campus and shared chili con carne--you heard it here first--is comprised of a whole bunch of cheerful Europeans as well as a red meat-eating, football-playing fellow American. Thank. God. I love America and everyone in it for no other reason other than its familiarity, and I see nothing wrong with this affection.



This afternoon, washed in the golden, foggy rays of a Netherlands sunset, we saw the campus and the library and the meditation room (!) and the sports center and its zillions of rail-thin, self-assured, cute-boot-wearing students and I felt filled with possibility. But I didn't feel that possibility on the bike ride home tonight. I just felt my bones shivering and was acutely aware that if I just pedaled a little faster, I might be able to catch my family on Skype...for the second time in four hours.

I wish I could say that I'm happy right now. I really, really, desperately do. All the stars are aligning and everyone around me is laughing and the beer is flowing. There doesn't seem to be any earthly reason for me to be unhappy. Which makes me think that maybe I'm intentionally trying to make this not be the fantastic Eurotrip that it has the potential to be...in which case it's highly likely that my entire life thus far is the result of a concerted effort to make everything seem awful so that when it does suck, I won't be surprised.

And how I logicked myself into that conclusion, I will never truly know. Jesus.



It seems like the more I surround myself with incredible, awe-inspiring, new, different, exciting things, the more that I only want what I already have. Great friends. A loving, supportive family. A school where, for the first time in over two years, I feel like I finally fit. Who would ever give that up, no matter the possible gains?

I need to stop writing. I need to go to sleep and wake up in the morning and talk and see and move so much that I don't start thinking again. I need class to start. I need to get my brain moving. I need to plan trips. I need to distract myself from myself.

I don't speak Dutch. Oops.

I arrived in Nijmegen on Thursday afternoon, so I'm alive and all that good stuff.

Other than that, being here is incredibly lonely. I forgot how scary it is to be completely and totally on my own, and not knowing a word of Dutch isn't helping. I got here early thinking that I'd want to have that extra time to acclimate myself, but right now, the days of absolute nothingness are making me crazy. All I can think about are the things I'm missing: BC, Langhorne, friends, English, Cheerios.

Nijmegen is the oldest city in the Netherlands (it's over 2000 years old) and accordingly, its streets are winding and oddly organized and are therefore kind of difficult to navigate. Nearly everyone has a bike here. There is, of course, traffic, but not nearly as much as you'd expect in a small city. I did manage to find a grocery store, a cell phone, and bed sheets via the bike that was so graciously left for me by Kacey (who went to Nijmegen last spring). This makes life considerably easier.

I'll probably have more to say in a few days, once the culture shock wears off.

Paris, part II

(Note: this was written on the train from Paris to Amsterdam. From Amsterdam, I took another train to Nijmegen and then a bus (well, two buses because I screwed up the first time) from Centraal to Heyendaal, where the university's located. There was a lot of walking with the heavy heavy suitcases. In the rain. I pretty much wanted to kill myself. But now I'm here and I have to go to the city center to find linens. Awesome. Anyway...)



To recap the last couple days:

I attempted to go to the Louvre. I was really amped. I got up early (9h) and walked there, only to be greeted by a sign (and accompanying burly guard) informing me that the museum is closed on Tuesdays. So I didn't go to the Louvre. But still:



So I wandered for the rest of the day. My first stop was the Tuileries. I guess some could consider it a bit depressing when all the trees are bare, but it's really an incredible place regardless. Which brings me to another point: the concept of space in Paris is really, really strange. You have this absolutely huge places (the Tuileries, the Louvre, the giant sidewalks on the Champs-Elysees) and then you go to a restaurant or bar and you're hanging out in your neighbor's food. Interesting.

Other touristy things: the Musee Rodin (and yes, dear family, I did some exploring and found the site of the "poussez" incident), the Champs-Elysees, the Tour Eiffel, and just simply wandering. I stumbled upon a beautiful little (well, little by Parisian standards) church called l'Eglise de Ste-Clotilde. My pictures didn't come out that well because I was being hella surreptitious with my camera, but the light at that point in the afternoon was just...fantastic.


You know that Rufus Wainwright song, "Complainte de la Butte"? Well, it's kind of crazy, but I think that if Montmartre could sing, it would sound like that. If you get the chance, please go there. I was only there for a few hours and skipped the touristy stuff like the Moulin Rouge, but the view from the Sacre-Coeur and the light at dusk are like nothing I've ever seen.



For family and BC people: the people in this picture are Marina and my good friend from high school, Fish (who goes to Middlebury with Marina). They were among the members of the group that gathered at Carr's Irish Pub--no, I'm not kidding--to watch the inauguration ceremony. What a speech. In addition to the requisite American majority, there were also a good number of EU people up in there. The French seem to adore the Obamas: they were on virtually every newspaper and magazine cover and metro advertisement.

It was so moving to see a) a truly respectable politician take office, and b) see the tsunami-like wave of international positive feeling that accompanied his inauguration. I have never been so proud to be an American. I'm talking lump-in-the-throat, tears-welling-up kind of patriotism. And to conclude what is quickly becoming an epic post:


FINALLY.

Paris

Coming at you liiiive from Paris!

The travel wasn't as bad as expected; I actually arrived early at CDG and my luggage was the first off the plane. But as of today, I've managed to a) be struck by panic and ask the incredulous attendants at Charles de Gaulle if I forgot to go through customs (no, not kidding) and b) forget to hook up my blow dryer to the converter and have it go WHOA EUROPEAN VOLTAGE and turn orange and all but blow up. I guess I've failed Study Abroad 101, but other than that, life is awesome.

I'm renting a room at the Foyer International des Etudiants on the Rue de Saint-Michel--pretty much standard European hostel fare (plain, slightly sketchy), but the location is...unbelievable. I have a balcony:


And that view of la Tour Eiffel that you see at the top? Yeah, I can see that from the solarium (similar to a study lounge).

Paris is so beautiful that it doesn't even try to be beautiful or acknowledge that it's beautiful. It's got gorgeous, absolutely baffling roads and beautiful people with small, precocious children. Against logic and the best interests of the people I deal with in day-to-day business, being here makes you want to speak French.

Adventures thus far: a cheap panini (in Paris, cheap is 3.9 euros, which is equal to about $5.10), looking at fantastic art until my eyes fell out at the Musee d'Orsay, watching the Eagles embarrass themselves yet again at a Canadian pub, learning the hard way that my cellphone alarm doesn't function overseas, and figuring out the getting-to-Nijmegen situation at the Gare d'Austerlitz.

Up for tomorrow: a day at the Louvre, looking at awesome art until my eyes fall out, and then bar-hopping in honor of our newest president. And hopefully Montmartre and the Musee Rodin on Wednesday.

Hope all is well. Bises from France!

Tomorrow

...and packing is FINITO. Praise Allah.

I leave Philly tomorrow at 12:30, followed by an endless layover in Chi-town, and will hopefully arrive at Paris-CDG at the bright and shiny hour of 9:30 AM. I'm excited and nervous and I really hope that my luggage doesn't get lost and that my rusty, rusty French holds up.

Until then, I'll be hanging out in my hot tub and watching all the crappy reality TV I can handle. U-S-A! U-S-A!

Dutch Word of the Day

peperduur - literally, "as expensive as pepper"; used to describe something that's extraordinarily expensive.

When you repeat this word over and over with what I hope is vaguely related to the actual pronunciation, it kind of sounds like hopping on a pogo stick.

The clock is ticking...

Despite the fact that I'm now not leaving the States until the 17th, thereby buying myself a whole lot of time, it seems like every wrench has been thrown into the gears of trying to plan this damn trip. I have a rapidly growing list of grievances as follows:

1) Searching for a bank in Nijmegen. Which doesn't seem to be all that hard, but the vast majority of sites are in Dutch or only have an office in Amsterdam. May I simply bike across the German border every couple of weeks to go to an ATM? Customs will probably say no. May I open an account in a Dutch bank? Larry the advisor says that Homeland Security doesn't let that fly. Will I have to resort to selling the Vicodin left over from the wisdom-teeth fiasco in order to prevent starvation? I hope not, but it's highly possible.

2) I don't know where I'm living, how I get there, or how to pay for it. Cool.

3) Since I can't do anything about my visa (well, it's actually not a visa, but a residence permit) until I get there, I'm a little worried that I'm going to forget something and get deported. The best part: I need to wire the residence permit fee from a bank. Immediately upon my arrival. Please refer to grievance #1.

4) €1 = $1.36. Yikes.

But despite the grievances, the fact remains that I, Girl Who Has Never Left America Except For Two Brief and Unsatisfying Trips to Canada and Eight Hours in Mexico, will be gallivanting around Paris in roughly ten days.

Can I get an a-MEN?