Category: Europe

Categories
Europe Outdoor

Snowmobiling During a Blizzard on Langjökull Glacier

Despite my gigantor size list of things to see in Iceland, I figured I’d wait to see what my friends were up for before making any definite plans. Turns out they weren’t nearly as inclined to conquer the Icelandic wilderness as I was.

This left me scrambling to figure out what I could realistically do and what would have to wait until next time. But how do you choose between hiking across volcanoes and glaciers, and snowmobiling across endless snowy terrains? Or walking through lava fields and ice caves, licking glaciers at Jökulsárlón, or photographing black sand beaches, Landmannalaugar, and Eyjafjallajökull (the difficult, but not impossible to pronounce volcano that shut down European air travel back in 2010)?

Every small tour I came across required at least two people to book. Even though it’s something I commonly encounter as a solo traveler, I started getting angry that I was spending time inside looking for things to do when I should be out exploring. So I booked the first one I found that allowed a single passenger.

When the bus arrived in the pitch black, pouring rain at 830AM, it wasn’t a 6-8 person SUV. It was an entire busload of tourists. And we were going to the ultra-touristy Golden Circle. But there was snowmobiling on a glacier so I was happy.

I’ll post more about the Golden Circle later because well, you can read about that pretty much anywhere. And making the trip on a rainy day with a busload of tourists isn’t exactly the most intimately fascinating experience as you can imagine.

Just to be clear, this day was supposed to be epic. And snowmobiling on a glacier was supposed to give me excellent footage on my first adventure with my new GoPro camera.

About 35 of us hopped off the bus and packed into a freezing cold truck to head out to the snowmobiling site. There wasn’t exactly a road to follow, just a few yellow markers sticking up from the snow. The further we got out the more the wind and snow picked up and the more I started to wonder if my three layers and snowboarding pants and coat wouldn’t be enough. Then I looked around the bus to see what everyone else was wearing and noticed two girls dressed in skinny jeans and pea coats and I was reassured, though I couldn’t help but wonder if they got on the wrong bus.

 

The bus
Boarding the bus to go out to the snowmobile site.
Despite that animal on my head, here I am freezing as we sat for 20 mins waiting to drive out to the middle of nowhere.

 

When we reached the cabin to layer on our snowsuits the wind really started to pick up. So much that it was actually hard to stand upright. After about 45 minutes spent suiting up and a quick weather-related safety lesson we set out on our way.

 

Getting ready to snowmobile on Langjökull Glacier from Just Visiting on Vimeo.

Suit up
That’s me in there, feeling warm, fat, and indestructible.

 

Finally we set out in a single file, the wind and sleet blowing at our backs and pounding against our helmets. I strapped my GoPro to my head, turned that bitch on, and took off, ready to face this storm that was just waiting to welcome us. The first 10 minutes were pretty uneventful, lots of stop and go followed by complete white-outs until everyone got used to driving a snowmobile. Unfortunately this was about the time that my GoPro randomly shut off. (Still trying to figure out if that was weather related or hardware/software related.)

Oh, and remember the girls I said looked like they were dressed for a completely different tour? They were right ahead of me and must’ve missed the part about leaning against the snowmobile because I saw them hit a hill, go flying in the air and fall on their side, landing on the driver’s leg. In all fairness you couldn’t tell where the hills were and it was literally impossible to see ANYTHING unless you flipped your visor up and suffered the ice pellets attacking your eyeballs. I probably should’ve stopped to make sure they were okay, but that’s what the tour guides are for right? So I kept going with some fearless Asian kid up further ahead who kind of tested out the path ahead so I was free to speed up and have some fun.

Needless to say the video sucks, but just in case you’ve ever wondered what it’s like to snowmobile on a sheet of white paper, wonder no more. All I can say is it’s similar to flying an airplane through the clouds. Once you lose sight of the person in front of you, you somehow lose all sense of direction and have no idea which way is up, down, left, or right, which is probably the weirdest feeling I’ve ever experienced.

 

Snowmobiling on Langjökull Glacier from Just Visiting on Vimeo.

The blizzard went on for about 35 minutes, then once it let up we made our way to a resting point behind a mountain for a quick break before heading back against the wind. I managed to snap a few iPhone pics while we were stopped, but the GoPro was still unresponsive. Ugh.

 

Like a bawse
Like a bawse.

 

Five minute break to play in the snow

 

It was almost infuriating to think about how beautiful the landscape must be around me on a clear day. But then again, snowmobiling through a blizzard is probably something to remember too, right? The coolest thing that I wish I could’ve gotten a picture of was the bright blue glacial ice beneath the snow once the weather cleared up a bit, which was a very refreshing yet surreal color among such a stark white setting.

Searching for those landscape shots didn’t quite turn out as I’d hoped in Iceland, but I guess that just means I’ll have to go back in the summer when there are 24 hours of daylight and I can explore as much as humanly possible. Who’s with me?

Categories
Europe

How to Flush a UK Toilet & Things I’m Getting Used To

After getting my order I realized crumpets weren't what I thought they were. Turns out, they're like a much fresher/yummier "English Muffin" as known in the states.

I’m officially one week into my three months here in London and already I feel like I’ve been here for years. It probably has a lot to do with the fact that I’m working at the same company, with the same partner I’ve worked with for almost two years. Or maybe it’s because of how similar London and New York really are (especially since I work in a British office and live with a Brit back home). Or possibly because I’ve already been out with friends both new and old four nights. Or maybe even because the girl whose apartment I’m staying in left me a handmade guidebook to her place and neighborhood, and labeled everything with post-its.

 

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Yes I ate that entire Cadbury bar for dinner my first day in London. Thanks Elena!

 

Post-it guide to the wardrobe

 

Whatever the reason, I’m glad I’ve settled in so easily and there’s no shortage of things to keep me busy. Especially the TV in my bedroom that keeps me cozy indoors on these rainy days we’ve been having.

But there are a few things I’m still trying to get used to.

1. Why does flushing a toilet require so much work for some of us Americans? Most of the pubs I’ve been to have a simple button, thank God, but in the flat and at work I just couldn’t get the hang of these flush handles my first two days here. I literally had to Google “how to flush a British toilet.” So for anyone else who’s been dumbfounded by these insufficient flushers, here’s some help:

— Make sure you apply just the right amount of assertive pressure on the handle in one swift, decisive movement that’s not too fast and not too slow. So let’s say like, a half second.

— If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again, but not too quickly or immediately. Doing that over and over again won’t help speed up the unimpressive water pressure, but will in fact [probably] break the toilet.

— Once you succeed at seeing more than a teaspoon of water flow into the bowl just remember that you’re not done yet! Hold the handle down for a few seconds until you’re confident you’ve done the toilet’s work for it.

It really is weird. Once you get the hang of it it’s like “why was I struggling with this in the first place, it’s really not that different from what I’m used to in the US?” But hey, shit happens.

2. Staying in the bathroom world, I’m gonna go all female now so you men reading this may want to skip down to number three. TAMPON DISPOSAL. I’ve been told over and over not to flush tampons in England, which to me is just flat out disgusting. Once used, those things should have minimal exposure to anything. Not sit wrapped in layers of super-absorbent toilet paper in the trash can for days. They should flush down the toilet effortlessly and magically disappear into the most disgusting realm of the underworld, never to be seen again. But after seeing the struggle these toilets have just getting rid of a few sheets of toilet paper after a simple pee, I decided I better not be the one who clogs up the toilet with a clunge sponge. Apparently the old pipes of London can’t handle modern day proper hygiene, so it’s forcing us ladies to be all gross and stuff. Barf.

3. Actually, I guess all of my unpleasantries are bathroom related here, so please forgive me for the lack of photos. It’s only been a week and I’ve already realized that it definitely sucks being a raging drunk with a baby bladder. I mean really, the tube stops running around MIDNIGHT? I understand that the buses run 24 hours, but if I’m already cutting it close sprinting from the tube station to the flat with my legs crossed while holding my crotch, you can bet your ass I’m going to piss myself on a bus that takes twice as long to get home. I guess on the plus side this 1130 cutoff time has kept my drunken mistakes in check.

But in all reality London is great and it should be a very comfortable three months living here. I’ll just need to find some more localized watering holes to spend my weekends before I end up napping under a bridge along the Thames. And maybe take an extra pair of underwear just in case.

Categories
Europe Iceland

Black Out Like a Local in Reykjavik

In a city where the sun doesn’t even wake up until 10AM, it’s no surprise that the party rages well into the wee hours of the morning. I can’t even imagine what it’s like in the summer when daylight lasts 24 hours.

Prior to last week I’d never heard about this world-famous Reykjavik nightlife. And coming from New York I wasn’t convinced that it would even leave much of an impression on me. Of course this was all before the weekend hit and the bar culture left me feeling a bit more buzzed than the alcohol.

I’ve read and heard that Iceland is a culture where people don’t really frequent the bar during the week, but on the weekends they party. Hard. So we ducked into Ob La Di Ob La Da for a beer on a Wednesday and found ourselves in a room full of men intensely watching the Arsenal v Liverpool match in almost complete silence. It was a little intimidating, but just as the final whistle blew 90% of the place cleared out. The three of us finished our beers to some shitty American pop music and nonstop yawning while discussing our plan to call it an early night. While we were finishing off our beers a group of drunken Canadians came bursting in and within 10 seconds the lights went out, strobes came on, a disco ball started spinning, and Bon Jovi lyrics were on the screen. It was the quickest transformation from a sports dive to a karaoke haven I’ve ever seen. And it was certainly enough to keep us around until being kicked out when the lights came on at 1AM.

Sober as a tree
Sober as a tree: When you need to prove you’re not as drunk as people think you are, stand on one leg and hold both arms out to the side, and tell them you’re “sober as a tree.” If you don’t fall, you’re not too drunk. Keep drinking.

 

We went out again on Friday night and this time the bar—and every bar on Laugavegur—was filled with locals. So we kicked off the night with a traditional Icelandic shot of Brennevin, though the Premium version, which put up a pretty impressive battle all the way down my throat before [very] slowly finding its way into my stomach. It fought hard to make its way back out, and the beer chaser did absolutely nothing but amplify the disgusting burn. We were informed that Brennevin is a traditional Icelandic liquor made from fermented potato and flavored with things like cumin and caraway. They say it’s similar-ish to vodka, but I think it was pretty comparable to hell. I’ll stick to my shots of whiskey.

When I arrived at the pub around 11pm I was amazed at how sloppy people were. They weren’t just drinking to be social, the entire bar was drinking to forget the horrible decisions they were about to make. It was as if the entire city was on a mission to get blackout drunk (and in a rare turn of events, I didn’t feel like joining them). Stumbling, leaning on walls, rambling the worst pick-up lines ever mumbled in an attempt to take somebody, anybody home. And the men didn’t take the polite brush-off or the downright bitchy cold shoulder very well. In fact, one guy tried to tickle my sideboob when I rejected his drunken slurs and didn’t understand why I was appalled.

 

Icelandic beer
Delicious Icelandic beer

 

Despite the frigid weather causing my inability to dress in anything more fancy than the sweater, fat jeans, and “boots with the fur” I wore every night we went out, locals were dressed rather sharp and on the prowl. But as soon as I noticed how wrecked everybody else was, my desire to get wasted and party down completely diminished.  I knew I wouldn’t be in good hands and the outcome of the evening could be downright scary given such a potently drunk surrounding. So I made my way home and to bed by 1am partially because I had to be up at 730 for an all day excursion and snowmobiling trip.

Iceland was fantastic but I think I appreciated it much more for the nature outside of Reykjavik, not so much the inter-city nightlife. But there’s still a strong part of me that feels like this was fate, discovering an entire country of people who black out as naturally as I do, almost as though it’s just another ordinary night. Could this possibly be a place where I could go about my business and not get judged? Or perhaps it would just be a giant shit show where I’d end up stranded with other blacked-out alcoholics, frostbitten and stuck to a glacier when the sun comes up at 10.

I guess I’ll have to give Reykjavik nightlife a second shot when I’ve prepared myself for nonstop partying. Maybe I’ll go back in the summer and pull some all-nighters.

Categories
Europe Outdoor

The Hunt for the Northern Lights in Iceland

Dressed and ready to sit in the cold for 4 hours

When I booked my flight to Reykjavik I had one goal: to see the Northern Lights. But after stalking the solar activity and weather forecast the week prior to jetting off, I wasn’t too convinced we’d get to see them. Our first night in town was cloudy, but we woke up to clear skies on Wednesday. So we called up Volcano tours and arranged for the three of us to set out on a hunt for the Northern Lights just outside of Reykjavik.

We drove about 30 minutes outside of Reykjavik to escape the city lights before pulling into a desolate area on top of a hill that I’m pretty sure I’ve seen in a horror film. There were two abandoned houses and no signs of civilization for miles, but luckily I had enough layers on to survive for at least a week in the wild. Cameras and tripods in tow, we got out, set up our shots, and waited. For about two hours.

Lights of Reykjavik
The lights of Reykjavik while awaiting the Northern Lights

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Waiting…

At one point the tour guide started pointing at this glow in the sky, thinking it may be the start of some solar activity. Negative. So we sipped hot chocolate and waited some more.

False alarm.

Then out of nowhere he started pointing at a glow that was invisible to my naked eye, but sure enough it showed up on camera!

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IT STARTS.

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It only took a few minutes for the colors to intensify, and for me to jump up and down screaming like a little girl who just got a pony for Christmas. And for the next two hours the lights continued swaying across the night sky as we snapped photo after photo. Mostly green, but a bit or red and purple worked its way in there too. It was definitely one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever witnessed in my life, and the fact that it lasted well into the night was incredible luck on our part.

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Marcus peeing out the Northern Lights

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Proof that I was there, thanks to Marcus's photography skills
Proof that I didn’t just Google and repost all of these Northern Lights shots, thanks to Marcus’s photography skills

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Categories
Europe Living Abroad

My First Living Abroad Experience

So my next big trip is coming up super soon—just TWO WEEKS from today to be exact!

I work at an ad agency that offers this program called a life swap. Basically, it’s exactly what it sounds like. You swap lives with someone who works your same position in another one of our offices around the world. You keep paying your own bills, live in each other’s apartments, work each other’s jobs, and essentially just live each other’s lives for up to three months.

After a bit of begging planning, my Art Director partner Marcus and I have been lucky enough to have the opportunity arise to swap with a creative team in London starting February 4th!

This is my first extended stay in another country and I’m a little bit worried that I won’t want to come back. Right now it kind of feels like my semester abroad that I never had the opportunity to do in school. I’m already planning many, many, (perhaps too many) weekend trips to catch up with friends all over Europe, and I’ve even got my mom (who swore she’d never leave the country) coming to visit for about ten days in March, where we’ll also be spending a long weekend in Paris!

But perhaps the best part (do I sound like a late night TV ad yet?) is the two weeks of actual vacation I’m taking on the tail end of this trip. I’ve been saving up for a while now so I should be able to have a proper end to this incredible opportunity. I’m not positive where I’ll go, but I’m pretty sure it’ll be a good mix of adventure, tourism, and relaxing on some beaches if the weather cooperates. Regardless of where I end up, I’m hoping to spend my final night meeting the girls we’ve swapped with face to face in London to exchange stories.

So we’re kicking off this journey on January 29th by spending four nights in Reykjavik, Iceland, where with any luck we’ll see the Northern Lights! Fingers crossed!

I’d say I’m starting off 2013 the right way, and if everything goes according to plan it’s going to be an amazing, unforgettable three months that I can’t wait to share with everyone!

PS. I told you I’d be back, London.

Categories
Europe

The Art and Royalty of France

I could’ve easily spent my entire time in Paris strolling through the extensive world class museums with my rainy day mix playing through my headphones. But I hardly even scratched the surface because the weather was too perfect not to be getting lost outside. Oh and that whole “I have no money” thing was a minor factor. But I did make it a point to check out the Louvre and Musée Rodin, and make the trek out to the Palace of Versailles.

The Louvre was majestic. The perfect architecture was complemented by the perfect landscaping. The interior was like a fairytale palace adorned with pieces only fabled in the art history books of my college years.

Really, the Louvre was just Louvrely. Okay I apologize for the cheese. I’m done writing. Forever. Actually no, that’s a total lie. But I’ll spare you the lame puns and share some pics.

What a Louvrely tree!
I want to slide down that glass so bad
Oh this interior garden area was disgustingly ugly, clearly
When I build a house I’m going to make the front entrance like this
Cupid’s Kiss (aka second base)
Turning the corner and seeing this literally took my breath away. Without a doubt my favorite piece I’ve ever seen in any museum, ever.
So beautiful
Size doesn’t matter in the art world
Finally pushed my way to the front for a pic
A semi-awkward pic of me outside of the Louvre

On my last day in Paris we were trying to dodge the intermittent showers by hiding out in museums so we bought a pass for admission to the Rodin Museum and the Marmottan Monet Museum. I just wish we hadn’t stopped for cheese and whiskey in between because we ended up getting to the Monet Museum four minutes after the last admission. And there was no refund. Fail.

The Thinker
Roses in the gardens at the Rodin Museum


The Gates of Hell
Really awesome use of mirrors here
I can almost hear a scream
Monet!
These expressions are mildly frightening but fully awesome
Looks like more than just a kiss to me…
The Thinker

One particularly warm day we jumped on the RER and headed out to Versailles. The palace was almost overwhelming with its elegance. It was ridiculously ornate and as expected, absolutely gorgeous. After touring the inside I highly recommend renting a bicycle and biking the gravel pathways for the afternoon. Just don’t do it in a short dress like I did.

For a second I questioned whether or not I was actually dead and standing at the gates of Heaven
Laying in the grass after a sweaty bikeride
The pristine landscaping at the Palace of Versailles
Endless windows and plenty of natural light, no big deal
A little bummed that we didn’t catch a fountain show
Wardrobe malfunction
These made me hungry for BBQ ribs
The massively gawdy yet beautiful Hall of Mirrors
Chandelier in the Hall of Mirrors

Categories
Europe

An American Tourist in Paris

I’ve heard tons of stories from my friends who’ve supposedly gone to Paris and lived off wine and bread for something ridiculous like $3 a day. So even with the shitty USD to Euro conversion rate I wasn’t too worried about going to Paris without much more than a Sub Club card in my wallet. Well I’d like to know where the hell they were getting their wine and bread, because it definitely wasn’t that cheap for me.

To say I was on a tight budget would be an understatement. I had no budget. Technically I couldn’t afford to spend a single dollar so the majority of my trip was spent touring the city by foot. I didn’t get to experience nearly as much food as I’d wanted, and the one time I did “splurge” on a steak dinner it tasted like a freezer burnt patty of mystery meat. Fail. Breakfast was almost always a pain au chocolat and orange juice. Lunch was a ham and cheese sandwich or Croque Monsieur, and dinner was usually a bottle glass of red wine and a banana and Nutella crepe. Yes, I missed out on the perfectly prepared fish, steamed mussels and endless cheese plates. But that just gives me a reason to go back!

Mmm Croque Monsieur
I don’t think the French take home leftovers. Thankfully the waiter was able to dig up this container for my broke, fat ass
A mediocre cheese plate that was made worse by pairing it with an Irish Whiskey
Sidewalk wine
My last meal, au revoir Paris!

I never even thought twice about hitting the pavement from sunup to well past sundown because I could literally spend days on end gawking at the architecture around Paris. Everywhere you look, gothic style. Flying buttresses. Pointed arches. Prime photographic opportunities. No matter which way you turn there’s something to look at.

I want to live here
Beauty of epic proportions

I was completely content with just playing tourist the entire time I was in Paris. Notre Dame, The Louvre, Champs-Élysées, the Seine River, biking at Versailles. Every day was filled with gorgeous sites. I won’t bore you with the tourist info that you can find on just about any other site, but I will say that even the most touristy sites in Paris still maintain a touch of class. Take note, USA!

Couples. Everywhere.
I couldn’t figure out how to dodge past that constant flow of traffic to get to the Arc de Triomphe…
Autumn in Paris. And the infamous metro signs.
The lovely Luxembourg Gardens. Give me a good book and I could stay here all day. Like this guy.
Strolling down the brick road along the Seine River
I would be honored to live under this bridge
I felt like I was in an Adele video
The view was totally worth the climb up the spiral staircase of Notre Dame
How can you not love this city?
Sacré Coeur at night
Moulin Rouge
I’d also be plenty happy living right here too

I had an epiphany in Paris. I realized that I absolutely love Gargoyles. Seeing them keeping a watchful eye on the city from the top of Notre Dame was mystifying. Their faces are oddly realistic and they give off this vibe like they’re about to jump to life and start shrieking in a Tales From the Crypt manor.

Sacré Coeur in the distance
My favorite juxtaposition
The scariest Gargoyle of them all

For the first half of my trip I was paying $50/night for a room in an apartment that I found on airbnb. It was in the trendy sixth arrondissement, and there was another New Yorker, Mike, renting out a second bedroom in the same apartment. One night we went out on Rue des Canettes, a small side street where you can get drunk and fill up on pizza and crêpes without walking more than 10 steps. Does it get any better than that? We went into Comptoir des Canettes for a glass of wine and to check out the cave-like windowless basement, but left before dying of suffocation. We did a bit of bar hopping after that, everything from pubs to dance clubs, meeting tons of locals and toursits along the way. I don’t know what I expected, but it was almost weird how natural it felt to be in these establishments.

This was right before I was scolded for taking wine outside
Mike and I taking a break at some super loud club. I felt old
This Parisian Jerome and I suffered severe language barriers

That was Paris in a nutshell this time around, but I can’t wait to go back. Until then, enjoy some architecture porn for the Eiffel Tower lovers out there.

Categories
Europe

My Date with a French Man in the Capital of Romance

“Aimer et être aimé sera la grande affaire de toute notre vie.” -Rousseau

Paris. The city of romance. My first day in Paris started out just like a fairytale. A newly single, blonde American girl sits down at a sidewalk cafe. Within minutes, straight out of your favorite “that doesn’t happen in real-life” romantic comedy, there’s a glass of red wine on the table from the dark-haired French man inside. Before you know it he’s sitting beside her at the cozy, romantic table for two, as she listens to the deep tones of the romance language infused with broken English. That free glass turns into an entire bottle, then another, while gazing out at the Eiffel Tower. Sounds romantic doesn’t it?

Hardly.

The man who’d sent me a drink wasn’t exactly a Ryan Gosling or Ryan Reynolds look-alike. Or even a “more my type” David Duchovny or Jon Hamm look alike.

My uninvited date

Now I don’t speak much French, but the language of creep is internationally understood. And there was nothing romantic about having absolutely no idea what the hell he was saying since he didn’t speak a word of English. Especially since he couldn’t understand the fact that I had no idea what the hell he was saying. He looked like he was involved in a serious conversation of head nods with my simple attempt at stringing together “Je suis désolé, je ne sais pas” and “Je parle anglais.” Each time I tried to excuse myself the glass was refilled, and I’m not one to say no to free red wine. So I ate dinner, drank wine, and feigned interest in deciphering francophone tongue (no, not the good kind/making out).

My simple but delicious early dinner

Once the bottle was empty I managed to escape with a respectable buzz. I’d planned on spending this perfect Parisian date night with myself, the Eiffel Tower, and some good music so I raced back to the lawn. I staked my ground to the tune of Eric Clapton and watched the light of the sky disappear behind the glow of the Eiffel Tower in a moment of pure drunken happiness.

I didn’t know the Eiffel Tower could get any more beautiful—until the lights turned on


It wasn’t long until I was cursing my afternoon alcohol binge. Drinking would be so much better if it didn’t have to seek revenge on your bladder. My heart wanted to stay on that lawn all night. But unfortunately my shotglass-sized bladder would only allow me to do so with wet pants. So I gathered my things and started making my way back to the apartment before realizing two things: 1- I would never make it all the way to the apartment with dry underwear, and 2- I had absolutely no idea where the apartment was. So I set out to relieve the more imminent problem at the nearest café. Everything was closed.

I made my way back to the place I had lunch and thankfully they were still inside closing up. Apparently the guy who’d been giving me free drinks was a friend of the bartender so there was a group of 5 men slamming some after hour cocktails. I banged on the door in panic and luckily they remembered me. The bartender opened the door and the creepy fellas offered me their drinks. I tried a combination of using the word “bain” and holding my crotch while crossing my legs to convey the urgency of my need to pee. It worked, and I went in the back to take the most amazing urination ever experienced by mankind.

When I came out the drunk men tried getting me to stay for a drink. I told them no and thanked them for letting me use the bathroom. But they insisted. When I tried to walk away they pulled me back and handed me a drink. I set it down and turned away once again. One guy got in my way and offered me another drink. They weren’t at all forceful, but rather cheerful and well, wasted. But I’m not a fan of large men trying to hold me somewhere against my will. The bartender sensed this, smacked two of the mens’ arms out of the way and escorted me out with a smile on his face. I waved goodbye, and navigated my way back to the apartment rather successfully.

L’Hôtel national des Invalides on my journey back to the apartment


I’m not gonna lie. There was a brief moment inside that bar where I was wishing that my dad was Liam Neeson. But that moment of concern passed quickly when I remembered that I had finally seen the Eiffel Tower.

Categories
Europe

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways

The Eiffel Tower. One of the most iconic structures in the world. To some it’s a symbol of romance, to others a structural eyesore. To me, well, I’d been waiting for longer than I can remember to see the iron beauty. I’ve had a longstanding fascination with bridges so Eiffel’s bridge-building influence in creating this glorious tower is the kind of design I love. I could stare at the thing all day long. And I did.

For years I’d tried planning my first international trip to Paris. But as life goes, things kept happening and the trip never happened. So I promised myself that as soon as I got my first real job the first place I was going on vacation would be Paris. So for years I’ve had these reoccurring dreams where I’d travel to Paris but right when I’d turn a corner to get a peak at the Eiffel Tower, something would happen. Either I’d wake up, the helicopter I was in would crash, the city would blow up, someone continuously averted my attention in some other direction, or I just couldn’t find it. I never once got to see the Eiffel Tower in my dreams. I always took this as a sign that I may never see the Eiffel Tower in real life.

On September 6th I took a morning train into Gare du Nord from London. I was determined to keep my eyes glued to the scenery of the French countryside until the Eiffel Tower appeared in the distance. That way just in case I was murdered or “taken” (cue Liam Neeson) on the way to the place I was staying, or a nuclear bomb was dropped on the city, I would have at least died after seeing the Eiffel Tower. I couldn’t bare the thought that I would have traveled all the way to Paris only to have it end just like my dreams. But since I’m like an infant aboard any moving vehicle, I fell asleep on the train and missed the entire ride.

I woke up at Gare du Nord and made my way to the metro, jumping on for a short ride to the place I was staying on Rue de Grenelle. It was only about 4pm so I dropped my bags off and immediately set out for an evening with one simple yet daunting goal in mind: see the Eiffel Tower.

I walked down Rue de Grenelle and up Rue Des Saints-Pères before running into the oh-so-romantic Seine River. With no GPS and too excited to plan ahead, I wasn’t entirely positive where I was going, but I took an educated guess and started walking E/NE. About 20 minutes later I was freaking out. Why could I not see the Eiffel Tower standing out above the rest of the city? Had it spontaneously combusted while I was on my journey? Was I much further away from it than I thought?

Then, it appeared. The tip of the Eiffel Tower. It was unreal. That moment of seeing it for the first time and just walking towards it as more and more of it emerged, until finally I was at the base, staring up.

So here’s my ode to the Eiffel Tower. A series of photographs I took of the beauty herself. No more words are necessary.

And switching it up a bit, the gorgeous view from the tower.


Categories
Europe

My First Football Match: Ghana v Brazil in London

Who would’ve thought that my favorite part of London would have absolutely nothing to do with the city itself? On my last night in town we went to a Ghana and Brazil football match at the Fulham Football Club.

I’ve been to my fair share of concerts. That’s pretty much all I did from age 14-19. I’ve been in the mosh pits trying to prove that girls are just as tough as guys. I’ve spent sizzling afternoons squished against the front row barricades and sweaty, overweight, BO-reaking men in the 100+ degree heat at Ozzfest in the middle of July. I’ve been pushed to my knees and had my face squeezed against a barricade through an entire four-minute song. I’ve been squeezed into the crowd at a Rage Against The Machine reunion tour so tight that you think you actually start to feel your ribs cracking one by one (which is weird consideirng there’s no room to take a proper breath large enough to expand your lungs and snap your ribs in the first place). Well the crowd OUTSIDE of the arena waiting to get in for this Ghana vs. Brazil match was even worse. I was 5’2” in a sea of 6’+ men stemming from Africa (I’d assume since we were on the Ghana side).

The game was intense. That’s a huge reason why I love football, the passion. The fans were constantly roaring and stomping their feet to the point where I started to question how sturdy the seats were.

We had pretty good seats, I just wish I had a better lens. That’s something I need to invest in soon. Right after I take [another] photography class to learn how to use my camera a little bit better.

The view from our seats
I should’ve gone streaking

In the end Brazil took the 1-0 win, making me wish I were on the other side with all the celebrating fans and Latin men. The overall experience was comparable to a hockey game, and only solidified my feelings that I need to move to a country that appreciates football a bit more than the USofA.

Brazil!