Vegas, European Style

Anyone who’s ever taken a trip with me knows that I hate being a tourist. I don’t like appearing as though I’m an outsider no matter how foreign I actually am, obvious or not, and my recent trip to Amsterdam was no different.

I’ve come to the conclusion that I can’t believe that I’m getting to experience the wonderful things that I’ve always wanted to experience, so my mind defaults to seeing the cities and wondrous places through someone else’s eyes, through the eyes of someone who’s seen it all before and still has a pristine appreciation for what is all around them. By allowing myself to do this, I think I appreciate everything on a much more personally meaningful level than if I were to try to cram every tourist activity into an amount of time that will never be able to do justice to any city, except for a little hick town of which I have no interest in visiting in the first place.

My trip to Amsterdam consisted of walking the city streets until my feet began to curse at me, picnicking alongside a lovely canal on a beautiful spring day, strolling through the red light district as the playmates posed in their windows, dinner with a few Belgian guys, perching on a park bench to watch the sun set, a couple local indulgences, and of course, shopping.

All of the sights I took in were breath taking, all of the people I met were fascinating, and all of the places I went were magnificent. I’ve never been anywhere more fit for the spring season, and I don’t know if I’ll ever find anywhere so inclined to glimmer so beautifully in the sun, creating expectations for the city that I didn’t even know that I had. Granted the food was a bit heavy and flavorless, but I’m certain the locals don’t mind and the visitors are distracted by the lure of the Vegas of Europe to complain. I myself found that I could be kept quite happy on ice-ream and stroopwaffles alone.

The Netherlands have not seen the last of me.

Enchanté

I’m in love with Paris. No it’s not some juvenile affair, some lusty hypnotism, or indigestion. It’s true passion and adoration for a magnificent city. Actually being in Paris rekindled all of the reeling daydreams in which I used to indulge even before the days of French language study three times a week. The clothes, the food, the smells, and of course, the architecture. For all of my creativities, architecture is among my most persuasive of muses. Somehow it breathes new life into me and re-awakens my senses. One glance at the Eiffel tower glittering then glowing on the brink of morning and I was a puddle of romance on the pebble laden path below me, but I suppose I’m jumping ahead of myself.

Cait and I met at Kings cross three hours before our 20:05 train was scheduled to depart. We quickly rushed by the longest Champaign bar in Europe; grabbed a disgustingly British sandwich, a cookie and a blossomy beverage that seemed to be supersaturated in sucrose and headed down to wait for our security queue to open. When it opened, we shuffled through and waited below the platforms for our train to arrive. We boarded and departed on time – me with a childish giddiness that was a bit bigger than my organic shell. Unbeknownst to me, I would have a long, strenuous 10 additional hours on the train for that excitement to build, die, and be reborn several times over.

Yes, the chunnel, approximated to take 2 hours and some change took a gruelling 12 hours due to numerous complications, delays, and train changes in the middle of the night, wee hours, and proper morning. I’m not sure if I had more fun contorting my body in attempt to coax it to sleep in a 2^nd class coach seat or tripping over people’s feet and luggage at five in the morning as we trudged down the carriages, baggage and all toward the forward end of the train only to board yet another Eurostar for an exciting complimentary item-free journey through countryside nowhere France.

9 AM, we arrive, crumpled, sore, and starving. We are greeted by a mob of Parisian press who interviewed me as though I had just witnessed a plane crash, and then we were off. We found the hotel, dropped off our things and set out on a walking venture to find French perfume, ballet slippers, timeless pieces of clothing with Parisian flair, and a patisserie where we could eat our weight in French carbohydrates which are less pretentious than American carbohydrates though far superior indeed. We found an adorable little café where we spent a fraction of our disintegrating afternoon outside watching people pass on their bikes and in their awkward black European shoes. We made it over to the shopping area in time for the soles of our feet to be worn off completely, and thought it best to catch a 17:00 metro back, and fall asleep promptly at 18:00 after grabbing a lovely tuna baguette which ever so graciously gave me food poisoning that set in around 23:00.

Treading carefully so as to recover from my weakness, we decided to go to Disneyland Paris as the morning escaped us completely. We jumped on the RER and set out for a lovely day among characters, patrons, attractions, and children (all which are more attractive through a Francophone filter).

As the crowd filed out of the closing park, I decided that I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t see the Eiffel tower lit in all of its glory, nor could I sleep at night without at least strolling by the Louvre, so we walked from God knows where to the Louvre and then the Eiffel tower in the pouring rain, and then, also in the pouring rain, three kilometres back to our hotel plus an additional kilometre in the wrong direction for good measure. Believe it or not, I had an amazing time on our glorious trek, in fact I was halfway skipping and halfway floating on a cloud, even if it had to be a rain cloud.

The next day we packed our belongings and made it to the front desk as the clock struck “check-out.” We boarded the metro, set off for city centre to snap a few shots of the sights in daylight, and set off for the Champs Elysees where we indulged in photo ops and a lovely French lunch that lasted all afternoon before heading back to the train station. We found that we had arrived three hours early once again and waltzed across the street to a lovely establishment whose signs promised café au lait. We sat there for a couple of hours as the maitre di attempted to persuade me to marry him and kept speaking to me in French, aggravating the already annoying Cait who has many bits and pieces of language under her belt, but unfortunately, French is not among them. As the hour aged on, we decided to make waves over to the train station once again to buy some Bordeaux and find our seats. As we boarded the train I couldn’t help but feel extremely sad that we were leaving.

I know, poor Jenny having to return to London, please don’t bruise her emotional frame with sarcastic slurs of sympathy hurled across the sea. I won’t complain, but I know that the city that holds my heart is out there, ringing with melodies of accordions and chimes, and I know that I have not had my fill.

Here I find myself

News, news, news.  I’ve officially been offered a position at the PR firm where I’m currently situated for the autumn season at least, and I’ve decided to take it.  I’m going to work it out to accumulate internship credit at MSU so I’ll still be enrolled while I figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life, but I’ll be getting paid in pounds and working in an amazing environment.  

I’m coming back for about a month or so over the summer to work out my visa situation, but them I’m high-tailing it back over here to work on my accounts and do the career thing for a bit.  I know that putting off school for another semester will in a way be excruciatingly frustrating, but I can’t hide the fact that I’m going to school to get a job exactly like the one that’s been placed in my lap, and I’m going to be getting paid more than I would in an entry level position with a degree simply because I’m apparently proving to be quite an asset.

I don’t know if I’m going to continue on over here after the six months expires, but I know that I’m not ready to leave at the present and that I would be incredibly bored, annoyed, and not motivated back at MSU, especially with all I have experienced over the past few months.  

My summer plans are to fly back to NYC on the 7th, spend about a week with my dearest Melissa, take a train down to either DC or PA, meet up with my mom while she’s on holiday, drive back with her, spend a couple-few weeks basking in the Missouri sun compliments of my backyard, and then once again zip through the aeronautical flotsam and jetsam of the Atlantic.  

It wasn’t easy - deciding whether to stay in London or play my hand with my previous plans, but in the end, I’ve been given no reason to invest much more time in Springfield.  I miss my family and friends greatly, my adorable little brother most of all, but I have more to learn about the world and myself and I’m not ready to end this lesson.

Country hopping like a March hare

Between travel, school, work, essays, and presentation, March has been an extraordinarily  busy month.  I have been the most horrible daughter/friend/niece/etc. and I must apologize to all.  So much has been going on, and I’m finally finished will ALL of my coursework for the semester and have an opportunity to breathe and write as much as I have been meaning to. A few of you are probably curious as to what I’ve been up to for he past month and a half, so I’ll do my best to fill you in....

I spent the opening of March in Edinburgh, Scotland amidst the wind, rain, and cold temperatures.  It was absolutely beautiful.  We visited the castle, several pubs and cafés, and a few museums.  I quite enjoyed merely walking around the city taking in all of the glorious views, though, which if you haven’t checked already, are captured and posted on flickr for your viewing pleasure.

The middle of March, chiefly my birthday through to St. Patrick’s Day was spent in Dublin, again amidst the wind, rain, and cold temperatures, but this time with a lot more alcohol consumption.  Travel to Dublin was a bit of a fiasco, unsurprisingly considering the fact that European transportation hates me, so my birthday was horrid until about 23:00.  I awoke that morning, got ready for work, grabbed my backpack and headed to work.  My bag was searched in the Baker Street tube station, making me late for the gloriously generous birthday breakfast that everyone in the office put together for me.  I was hoping that would be the worst of it, but no, it gets better.  Cait and I had communication difficulties and missed our first bus to the airport, so we jumped on the next one trying to look as though we were supposed to be there.  On the bus ride, Cait realized that she forgot her passport, so I, being the problem solver that I am told her to call someone and get them to bring it to her.  She called her friend and he jumped on a train to London Luton.  Long story short, he arrived 120 seconds after the check-in desk closed, and Cait had to pay 50 quid for a new ticket.  I was making sure that she was going to make it do Dublin that day, was assured she got a ticket and then joined the queue in security.  Another long story short, I missed my flight, so I had to go get another ticket, but the flight was booked, so I went on stand-by.  As we were eating loads of chocolate to erase the feelings of frustration and waiting for the flight to begin check-in to determine our so far grim-looking fate, the fire alarm sounded and we all had to evacuate and stand in the rain for 20 minutes while emergency vehicles flooded the scene. We finally made it back inside, found that we’d both make it to Dublin, and boarded the plane.  

We flew Ryanair, a cheap, internally caution-yellow airline that boasts low prices form offering no frills and no leg, arm, body, or luggage space.  And they don’t mess around when I comes to landing.  Whiplash all around, no extra charge.  On the flight we sat next to an annoyingly talkative American girl who’s studying in Italy, I was lucky enough to have my headphones to alleviate my pre-existing migraine, poor Cait was not so fortunate, but talking to strangers is her forte.

When we arrived in Dublin Cait’s debit card wouldn’t work, and our cabbie couldn’t find our hotel.  We finally arrived and everything turned around instantly.  The lad at the front desk was a darling Polish fellow who brought us free drinks for my birthday.  He ran the hotel’s 24 hour bar during the late hours, and he gave us loads of free drinks and made us the most wonderful sandwiches.  

The rest of the weekend was spent with more of the hotel staff, locals, and even a few Americans, two from our CIEE program and two from Florida who were in our hotel.  It was the most wonderful unproductive weekend that I’ve had in a long time, and it was spectacular.  There were two six nations rugby matches on Saturday, so upon my request we stayed in a pub for most of the afternoon watching England battle Ireland and France battle Wales among people from each country in a lovely Irish pub, me with an Irish coffee in my hand.  I think that was my favorite part of the entire weekend.  

Aside from traveling the world. I just been working hard, playing hard, and studying hard.  I’m working on building the Web site for my company, and doing heaps of new business stuff in preparation of it separating from it’s big corporate umbrella, but aside from that, nothing else too exciting.

There is an exhibit at the Imperial War Museum entitled “Weapons of Mass Communication” that looks amazing, so I’m going to try to indulge in the free museums over the next couple of months and I also hope to see Avenue Q soon.  I’m so glad that I’ll finally have a bit more time to take in the British pleasures that London is affording.

Presently, the future

The past couple weeks have all seemed to blur together in a swirl.  I’m not sure if it’s because I have more of a weekly routine than I did before or because I’ve done so much.  Either way, I would greatly appreciate if time would slow down and give me an opportunity to take everything in.  

Cait and I have planned a few trips for the up coming months, each will be quite exciting and will undoubtedly yield postcards for numerous parties.  CIEE is sponsoring our first trip two weekends from now.  We’ll be in Edinburgh, Scotland for the premier weekend in March, which I trust will be green, lovely and still bitterly cold as it is here, although mother nature is extremely deceptive in presentation - you can look out of your window, see sunlight, think to yourself that it’s a marvelously wonderful day, walk outside in a winter coat and regret not putting on about six layers more.  I’ve been keeping an eye on temperatures in the states, and although I’m comparatively lucky, the wind is bitter enough to be mentioned nonetheless.  

We’ll be given the entire weekend to roam about Edinburgh, so I’ll hopefully have dozens of pictures, etc.  On the 13th, Cait and I will be off to Dublin and will be staying until St. Patrick’s Day, when we unfortunately have to leave to return to work the following morning.  We plan to partake in the festivities regardless of the hour, though, so our flight and my tube ride home should be quite interesting to say the least.

The middle of April has the promise of Parisian sights and wonderful food with a hint of touristy indulgence and romantic language.  I’m rather looking forward to our long weekend in Paris since I have only seen the airport, the train station, and the inside of an unimpressive hotel.  I know that the lovely French city has far more to offer me, and I intend on not missing a beat.

 

Upon the arrival of May, we’ll be jet-setting off to Amsterdam to take in a bit of the Netherlands and once again be immersed in foreign atmosphere.  We’re trying to work a trip to Prague into the mix, but coordination is quite difficult since I don’t know when my final exams will be taking place; I only know that over the course of two months, I’ll be in class for two days, so I definitely need to plan an excursion of sorts.

Lately I’ve been taking in the museums; venturing out on tours; spending time with the boys on the Westminster rugby team; and hanging out with my absolutely fabulous Canadian flatmate, Meghan, and a few of her friends, so all in all it’s been quite the February.  I’m going up in the London Eye with a CIEE group on Tuesday, I might attend the rugby match on Wednesday, and I have the Jack the Ripper tour on Friday, so this week will unquestionably fly by just as the last few seem to have done.  It’s a same that the good times must fly by so quickly.

We learn to live, we live to die

I've just received word that my beloved cat with whom I had the pleasure of spending 19 glorious years, Mugsey, passed away on Thursday night.  

Although it rips my heart out, I know that he was loved immensely by many, myself above all, and has been and will forever continue to be greatly missed.

My darling, Mugsey, 1989 - 7 February 2008

Navigation

I spent the majority of my day walking about London and the most amazing thing (you probably won’t agree, but I thought it was interesting) happened.  On my way to Gloucester Road on the Bakerloo line, I sat across from a suavish looking guy in a black trench.  He was presumably of Brazilian descent and had a very sweet smile.  We made eye contact a couple of times by chance and then went our separate ways in the Picadilly Underground station.  I surfaced at Gloucester Road and walked around London according to my brilliant time-killing, exercising encouraging method of navigation featuring glancing at the tube map and using the stations as sign posts for where you are as opposed to properly mapping out walking routes.  I’ve found that this method allows me to do what I do best (reads: find neat things by pure chance and be pleasantly surprised and ultimately excited at the sight of said destinations) and is a wonderful way to spend a Sunday in London.  I wanted to get to St. Paul’s Cathedral, and I knew that it was a bit of a walk and that I had never actually been there on purpose before, so it would be a great venture to take on.  I walked from Gloucester Road up along Picadilly, up to Tottenham Court Road, over to Holborn, across to Russell Square, up to King’s Cross, down to St. Paul’s Cathedral, across the River Thames, along the northern edge of southern London over to Westminster, and finally to Victoria Station where I caught a tube home.  As I was walking around in Westminster, though, I came across the beautiful suavish stranger crossing a random street.  I immediately recognized his cute grin and Burberry scarf and thought to myself that it was all marvelously serendipitous.  Honestly, what are the odds?  Sweet coincidence is such a lovely thing.  

Okay.  Lame story.  I thought it was neat.

I’ve supplied a tube map if you’d like to applaud my city hike or plan your own for when you come to visit.  :)