Episode 4: "Jumbo means hello"

Finally in our rooms at Plus Camping Roma, Matt, Beata, Aimée, Lisa, Caitlin, and I began to relax and settle in a bit. The rooms weren't bad at all, roomy even for the price. The six of us plop down on beds and chairs and floorspace and begin to snack and chat. I think I was getting ready to dip the end of a baguette into my nutella jar when we heard a knock at the door and saw the security guard peek in. (Oh hot damn! The po'po'!) He told us that we might wanna keep it down so we wouldn't disturb any other guests at the campground. Oh, I guess we had been talking kinda loudly. The security guard was nice enough and actually stayed for a while to chat. He was pretty pleasant but after a minute or two said he should probably get back to work. He stuck his head out of our doorway, looked right, looked left, and returned. All was safe at Plus Camping Roma as far as he was concerned. This was Jumbo.

I forgot where Jumbo was from, but he spoke great English and Italian. I figured he was from a Swahili-speaking area or close to one. His nickname "Jumbo" means "hello" in Swahili. With all the strife our group had experienced in trying to get to Plus camping and looking for our room, basically meeting and talking to Jumbo rectified our experience. Though he was currently the coolest security guard at the Plus Camping Roma site, he had come to Italy as an actor. Jumbo spent a year touring Europe with a Shakespearean acting company and had done well for himself. He was now in a transition period until he could find his next acting job.

During what turned into at least a hour-long conversation, the six of us got to know Jumbo better. We laughed and joked about interactions between men and women "I know you have your studies and all, but do you want to be my wife?" We discussed pop culture and the future of humanity. We chatted about world cultures and world cuisine. We conversed about Easter at the Vatican and the campground bar. I can't for the life of me understand why I did not jot down some of the quotes from that night. There were definitely a few which are worth noting.

Jumbo made an impact on all of us. Besides just being a gregarious, affable man, he seemed so insightful, a product of the conversation we'd had. He was an example of a person who had suffered a few setbacks in life, some self-imposed, but was managing, surviving, and even living with what seemed to be a great amount of self-awareness. He was a good example.

Before we left the campground 3 days later, every article we owned completely soaked, we made sure to track down Jumbo and say goodbye. He gave Matt his facebook information. Due to the longest friendhip pending status and a lack of a picture, forays into his actual identity are currently inconclusive. It looks like we're gonna have to count on serendipity. The next time I'm in Roma, or watching a European Shakespeare company, embarking on a ridiculously expensively unnecessary Roman holiday...

Episode 3: Home sweet Rome

I am off the train and in the heart of Rome. Save the dozens of trains that pass through it, Termini more resembles a large mall than a train station. Gimpy and I are trying to spot each other next to a Bata store. I notice him before he sees me and start walking towards him. Either he’s not that excited or he doesn’t recognize me right away. I am only a few feet away from him before he realizes it’s me. We have our “Oh I haven’t seen you in so long!” and “How did you go the wrong direction?” exchanges before we head towards the Archie residence. We’ve got to take a bus to get there. Before we get to the stop, Gimpy educates me about Roman public transportation.

The busses are always crowded; there is no way to get around that. You can enter through any open door; everyone else will. You can’t buy tickets on the bus; you have to buy one before you get on. There are several machines on the bus where you must validate your ticket, which you already bought before you got on the bus. If you fail to validate your ticket or even, heaven forbid, if you didn’t buy one and are discovered by a comptroller, you are charged with a stiff 50euro fine. The fine is payable right then and there on the bus, though there may be a higher fee if you need to pay it later or something; this area is blurry. Also, in all the time Gimpy has been in Rome, the comptrollers have only checked for tickets once, and that was on his way to Termini today. He had been there since the fall. It was now March… Ticketless, careless, and couthless, we stroll onto a bus. It’s Easter season and the transportation office is stepping up their game to discourage visitors from riding free. After a few minutes sans announced stops or marked streets, Gimpy and I hop off the bus. I stride with the gait of a wanted criminal who knows she will never be caught.

Between the bus stop and the Archie building, Gimpy acts as my tour guide. A monument erected for a king, a plaza marked with artists’ rivalries, the tomb of a famous painter… and an even more famous ninja turtle. Everything in Rome is a sight worth seeing as long as you have the story to go along with it. I hang out with Gimpy and reunite with some of the long-lost archies for a while. A gelato and a couple hours later, we get ready to meet Caitlin. Caitlin is studying in Austria and this trip is the one point in spring where our lines will cross. If only we could get them to cross. Gimpy and I are walking from nondescript landmark to nondescript landmark trying to find Caitlin in the city. After a series of very expensive phone calls and a significant darkening of the sky we finally track each other down. Everyone is happy. But alas, everyone is hungry.

Caitlin and I grab dinner with Gimpy. My first real Italian meal. I order a pizza margherita. The waitress returns with a plate the size my belly would be after I finished it; large. We converse and we eat and soon it is time for us to part. Caitlin and I will be going to our hostel to meet the other four students in our group and Gimpy will be going back to the Archie studio, maybe to do some of that work he had traded for an afternoon of reminiscing and eating gelato.

Caitlin and I are back at Termini station. We have very precise directions to our hostel. It’s not in the city center, but it was significantly less costly than other decisions and seemed like a fun choice. It’s around 11pm. As night blankets Rome with unforgiving darkness, the reality of our excursion slowly becomes bright as day. We are in a country where neither of us speaks the language, we are two women slightly confused out late at night, and public transportation quits running at about 10 o’clock. Failed attempts to find a cheaper option coupled with fatigue lead us to succumb to the expensive cab ride to our far-away hostel. Our cab driver might know where he’s going. We can’t be sure until we get there. We’re mostly going off vibes and body language right now. 40 euro, several minutes of confusion, and a prostitution sighting later (I don’t know what else you could be doing dressed like that at the outside of the city…) we arrive.

At the security gate we are told, by the security guard that would later remedy every interaction we’d have with the hostel, that our friends are already checked in and have gone to the bar up the hill on the property. I guess they got started right away. We trade our passports for entrance to our rooms, sketchy I know, and join up with Matt, Lisa, Beata, and Aimée. Sarah Burch happens to be in our hostel. Caitlin and I walk in on everybody chilling at some tables. The bar is pretty decent, but we are tired. We head to our bungalows (camping village term for pretty nice trailer) and all commune in one to chat before bed. Our chatter is getting a bit loud and we hear a knock on the door. The security guard pops his head in and lets us know that we should quiet down to keep from bothering other patrons. He gives a look back and forth outside the door and then turns his gaze back to us. This task was supposed to take him about 30 seconds, but it would turn into an hour and a half quite easily.

Jumbo is a 33 year-old African actor who speaks wonderful English. He toured Italy with a Shakespeare company and is ready for his next job. For now he is working at Plus Roma, and dropping knowledge on us like woah.

Waffles, Chocolate, Family, and the EU

So last weekend I spent a little time in the lovely nation that is a Belgium. I was a little nervous, as this was only my second time outside of France, but everything went so well. I only have good memories about this trip.

I woke up early on Thursday to do my hair before I left. I wanted to make a good impression. 20 minutes into it, I already knew it was a stupid idea, but I eventually finished the daunting task and headed off to the train station. May 1st is a national holiday in much of Europe. No buses were running. I made it to the station in about 40 minutes and got set for the ride.

All together including switching stations and riding the metro in Paris, the whole trip was about 4 hours. Not bad considering it takes 10 hours to even get out of Texas if you're traveling on the ground.

My family met me at the station. It was a happy reunion. I hadn't seen Lisette since I lived in Arizona. She is the daughter of the cousin of my father... I think that's how we're related. In any case, we're cousins to make things easy. Lisette, my aunt Georgette, and niece Tyana took me back to the house. The family lives in Waterloo, a city just a short train/bus/tram ride away from Brussels. During my time there I mostly hung out with Lisette and Pamela. Pamela is finishing her last year of college right now. As I was helping her with an English paper Saturday night, I realized how much I really suck at English now aiaiai. The oldest sister, Blondine, has two kids, Tyana (3) and Cain (1 and a half). It took me about 3 and a half days for the babies to start liking me. Tyana didn't talk to me the first day, and she didn't talk to me happily until Sunday. Cain didn't let me hold him until about Friday night I think. And even as I left the house he seemed a bit méfiant.

Lisette took me around to see so a lot of stuff in Brussels. We went to Grand Place and an African neighborhood the first day. I made many unexpected hair product purchases. The next day went to see the Automium and mini Europe. Look them both up on wikipedia. On my last day I went to the actual waterloo battlefield with Lisette. There was a hill, there was a lion, Napoleon was involved. That was all I understood about what had happened until I read this. And even then...

Saturday night I met up with other students at Mary Kate Mannix's house. She's a student who lives in the city. We found out my family and hers actually live about 20 minutes from each other. After filling us with Belgian booze and barbecued goodness the family let us off for the hostel. A few of us stayed up late comparing views on life and such.

Monday morning we set out for the European Union in Bruxelles. It was not quite what I imagined before the visit. As we were walking towards the building James and I saw a sign leading us to a dinosaur museum. I am happy to say it was a better decision to go to the EU, by the time I got to take it all in anyway.

I sat in on parliament. On the agenda today, the Millennium Development goals and Europe’s obligation. Oh yeah, special guest speaker: Jeffrey Sachs. I can’t even say how much of an eye-opening experience the EU was. I talked to Francis quite a bit about an internship position. Conditions look favorable and he seemed very interested in having an intern who was interested in the Philanthropy of the EU.

The day ended with Lisa and I meeting Jeffrey Sachs outside the EU and me forgetting to retrieve my pocket knife from the ashtray I hid it in before the metal detectors. I’ll have to check on it next time.

So last weekend I spent a little time in the lovely nation that is a Belgium. I was a little nervous, as this was only my second time outside of France, but everything went so well. I only have good memories about this trip.

I woke up early on Thursday to do my hair before I left. I wanted to make a good impression. 20 minutes into it, I already knew it was a stupid idea, but I eventually finished the daunting task and headed off to the train station. May 1st is a national holiday in much of Europe. No buses were running. I made it to the station in about 40 minutes and got set for the ride.

All together including switching stations and riding the metro in Paris, the whole trip was about 4 hours. Not bad considering it takes 10 hours to even get out of Texas if you're traveling on the ground.

My family met me at the station. It was a happy reunion. I hadn't seen Lisette since I lived in Arizona. She is the daughter of the cousin of my father... I think that's how we're related. In any case, we're cousins to make things easy. Lisette, my aunt Georgette, and niece Tyana took me back to the house. The family lives in Waterloo, a city just a short train/bus/tram ride away from Brussels. During my time there I mostly hung out with Lisette and Pamela. Pamela is finishing her last year of college right now. As I was helping her with an English paper Saturday night, I realized how much I really suck at English now aiaiai. The oldest sister, Blondine, has two kids, Tyana (3) and Cain (1 and a half). It took me about 3 and a half days for the babies to start liking me. Tyana didn't talk to me the first day, and she didn't talk to me happily until Sunday. Cain didn't let me hold him until about Friday night I think. And even as I left the house he seemed a bit méfiant.

Lisette took me around to see so a lot of stuff in Brussels. We went to Grand Place and an African neighborhood the first day. I made many unexpected hair product purchases. The next day went to see the Automium and mini Europe. Look them both up on wikipedia. On my last day I went to the actual waterloo battlefield with Lisette. There was a hill, there was a lion, Napoleon was involved. That was all I understood about what had happened until I read this. And even then...

Saturday night I met up with other students at Mary Kate Mannix's house. She's a student who lives in the city. We found out my family and hers actually live about 20 minutes from each other. After filling us with Belgian booze and barbecued goodness the family let us off for the hostel. A few of us stayed up late comparing views on life and such.

Monday morning we set out for the European Union in Bruxelles. It was not quite what I imagined before the visit. As we were walking towards the building James and I saw a sign leading us to a dinosaur museum. I am happy to say it was a better decision to go to the EU, by the time I got to take it all in anyway.

I sat in on parliament. On the agenda today, the Millennium Development goals and Europe’s obligation. Oh yeah, special guest speaker: Jeffrey Sachs. I can’t even say how much of an eye-opening experience the EU was. I talked to Francis quite a bit about an internship position. Conditions look favorable and he seemed very interested in having an intern who was interested in the Philanthropy of the EU.

The day ended with Lisa and I meeting Jeffrey Sachs outside the EU and me forgetting to retrieve my pocket knife from the ashtray I hid it in before the metal detectors. I’ll have to check on it next time.

Episode 2 : L'atterrissage

As the plane was landing I looked out the window. Rome was colorful. The sun was shining. I began to psyche myself up. I’ve gotta make sure I’m present for this entire trip. I don’t want to waste a single minute. Getting excited before I actually got into the heart of Rome would save me time.

Ciampino, or at least in my experience, wasn’t so much of an airport as on long and winding path from planes to a public transportation circus. I was part of a herd of travelers. We made our way outside the terminal and were faced with too many options for how to get from this block of concrete to the heart of the city. Businessmen peddle modes of transport. Door one: Terravision. All you need is 5euro and a valid boarding pass stub. Door two: navigating the metro, bus, and train. I see it as a way to see the city and save a couple euro. Door three: taxi. The price of admission is 40euro or so plus that horrible feeling of knowing you could have bought 15 gelatos, or 5 pizzas, or two and a half nights in out hostel… I pick public transport. I’m an independent girl, but above all, I am curious and cheap. I buy a train and bus ticket and head out to catch the next bus. During all of this Gimpy and I have been trying with mediocre success to text or talk to each other.

Andrew Gim is studying in Rome with all the Notre Dame Architecture students. By default, he knows how to get around, a good amount of Italian, and where to find the best gelato. I gotta admit he’s not bad company either. Because of this, it troubled me when I couldn’t get in good touch with him. But we had a pretty central meeting spot. It seemed everyone on my plane was headed to Termini Station. I’d be fine.

Waiting for the shuttle I met a mother and daughter from South America, or so I assume. The mother was maybe in her late 50s and the daughter late 20s or so. The mother only spoke Spanish, but the daughter spoke decent English. I don’t know if we exchanged names. We only talked a little bit, but we helped each other to figure out the right shuttle to take. We were going to the same place. It was nice to already be meeting people from different place than I, but then again I was still only a stone’s throw from an international airport.

The shuttle was easy enough. I found my train which was just about to depart. I should have had about 5 to 7 minutes between arrival and departure at the station, but I guess things were running off schedule. I accidentally didn’t compost my ticket. So long as I didn’t run into any comptrollers, it was fine with me. The train was a little different from the French ones but still very indicative of the euro lifestyle. It wasn’t too packed. I found myself a seat next to a stranger who had no idea who I was or where I was from or what I was going to do. We made no polite conversation. Our eyes never once met. He or she forgot my face and my existence just as fast as I forgot them. I looked out the window at the landscape passing by. The houses were so colorful. The land was pretty beautiful in this naked kinda way. It wasn’t spoiled like so many old cities tend to be. It was just left alone save a strawberry colored apartment building or a kiwi duplex, like concrete flowers up and down the hills. It was all too pure and too pretty. I was on that train for about 10 minutes before I realized I was going in the wrong direction. Damn! And I was supposed to meet Gimpy in 30 minutes. I got off at the next stop and got ready to catch the train in the other direction.

The sky had turned a bit grey and it began to drizzle. The stop was just that. The train simply stopped for about 30 seconds as a half dozen of us got off. I stepped on something that resembled a platform and faced a large hill and wire fence. There was one sign signifying that my comrades and I were on platform 2. We were exposed to the rain which had now turned to sleet; or hail. I couldn’t tell. I was dumbfounded. The train had not yet pulled away and I saw no kind of building or pathway to other platforms. One of the other former passengers began to walk towards the fence and continued on through a hole and past it. The others were just standing facing the train as if they could win this staring contest. The train pulled away and a building appeared behind it. A large dog appeared out of nowhere. It was pretty docile and I assumed it belonged to one of the other former passengers. In what I thought was a gesture of disregard for safety in the absence of any other option, we all crossed two or three pairs of tracks and entered the building.

This white, brick box had two rooms and a ticket window. One room had about a dozen chairs and a simple rectangular table. It was about 15 feet by 12 feet. The other room housed a garbage can and I guess the large dog I had seen before. Both rooms were decorated with unimpressive graffiti in varying degrees of vulgarity and just as much of a variety of languages. Almost immediately most of the people there with me left through the back door. They had made prior arrangements and were apparently at the correct stop. I was left there with a man in his early thirties carrying a large backpack. The large dog seemed to be a friend of his and the both of them appeared to be waiting for someone. I looked up at the screen to find out when my train was coming back.

There had to be something I didn’t understand. I looked around for a map of the train line. I found all kinds of interesting line drawings and tables with numbers and such, but not a single map. It took me a good ten minutes to find out the name of the station in which I was becoming discouraged about my navigation skills. I called Gimpy to let him know what had happened. I have already accepted that this weekend would eat away at my cell phone credit, but I figure I don’t buy the minutes because they’re pretty to look at. The next train would not be coming for another hour and a half. I asked Gimpy if he could direct me another way. He told me that he could not. He had never taken the train in the wrong direction before. I think I’ve taken every form of transportation in the wrong direction before, save an airplane of course. (Only, in retrospect, the trip from Paris to Rome was a voyage heading in completely the wrong direction. I would not rectify my mistake for four days.)

I prepared myself for the wait. Since I walked into the O’Hare terminal that would bring me to France, I had become a pro at letting time pass. I can daydream in bouts of up to 20 minutes. I create little tasks for myself and afford to each of them the kind of importance that one might give to the completion of a professional résumé or income tax declaration. The most meaningless of responsibilities becomes my sole purpose for the time allotted. (You see when you are pressed to finish something, the time you have never seems to be enough. Minutes fall out of the sky and you only catch a few out of every 10 or 15. This phenomenon is catastrophic when dealing with matters of true consequence: preparing for the birth of a child, studying for standardized tests, finding all the heart pieces in a Zelda game. But I was dealing with matters of false consequence. If I could not complete them, I would immediately make it my next mission to forget about them. I am very good at that one. I have never failed.)

I walked slowly around the room, becoming familiar with my surroundings. This was my first task. I gave myself 5 minutes to complete it. The large dog and the man were still in the other room, waiting. I studied the screen and all the posters on the walls. They helped me to practice some Italian pronunciation. When you have no time to learn a language, it is best to have very expressive eyes and to at least know how to pronounce the words. This way you could take a word like “Pâques”, for example, and know that in Italian it’s “Pasqua”. I was studying the graffiti when the man and dog left. In forty minutes I had already gotten 5 tasks out of the way. My trip to Rome had so far been more productive than my last week of finals at ND.

I sat down to finish off a very important bag of chips and surf the radio stations on my phone. In the middle of my work, a couple entered through the back door. They appeared to be having an argument. I barely looked up at them. I think it’s best to give people their privacy. Then I remembered that they were in a public train stop and I turned down the volume on my radio. If anything, I would catch a few Italian words to add to my vocabulary. Eavesdropping is a very good way to learn colloquial terms and tune your ears to the melodies of a foreign language.

I found myself able to understand the conversation and I was deeply disappointed. I think they were speaking English because of me. I don’t know where I looked like I was from, but it was obvious that English was their second or third language. The irony of the attempt to have a “private” argument in my presence was amusing to me. As they walked on through the door to my right I credited the situation to my extraordinary ability to blend in to any culture. I convinced myself that due to my gift espionage was still a viable career path. I gave myself the next 15 minutes to think about my future and daydream about the life of a spy.

I was disguised as a waitress, bugging my target with an elaborate monitoring device as he accepted the bill I graciously handed him when three people came through the back door. Two girls in their early teen years were traveling with their mother or aunt. They were Italian and were waiting for the same train as I. I had about 20 minutes left in my wait. I had eaten my chips, rearranged my backpack, learned some Italian, walked through the two rooms, decided against a life of espionage, and “feng-shuied” the room. I was done with all my important tasks for the time being. It’s a good idea only to plan up until about the last 10 or 20 minutes of a long wait as I never like to lose out on the integrity of waiting. There should always be some time where you let yourself be aware of the situation or else you won’t remember that you assessed the comfort of the establishment’s accommodations when you look back, but that you spent 10 minutes going from one chair to another and deciding that although they were more or less the same, one in particular was best for the most subjective and forgettable of reasons. It’s good to remember oneself in the proper light.

The door opened and closed several times letting cold air in as future passengers came in and out. They were as anxious for this train as I was. I checked my backpack straps to make sure they had not been cut in the knife-fight. I had had some intense daydreams. It was possible. I walked outside.

I hear the train and in 9 seconds I will be able to see it. I make the decision now that I will not validate my ticket. I tell myself I’m sticking it to the man, though it has already been paid for. Unsubstantiated or not, I only feel pride as I rebel and walk onto the train, a criminal in the eyes of the Roman penal code. I place myself in a seat with the self-confidence and swagger of someone other than myself as if I hadn’t just had to wait almost two hours because I took the train towards the countryside. There is music coming through my headphone. It provides a lovely break from what I find to be the whiny voice of Italian DJs. Leona Lewis is crooning about that bleeding heart of hers and I’m looking out the window seeing the same movie as before in reverse.

I ready myself to swallow Rome whole. “I don’t care what they say. I’m in love with you. They try to pull me away, but I know that it’s true… you cut me open and I keep bleeding keep keep bleeding…” Leona, this does not sound like the best of relationships to be fighting for. But we’ll have to chat about it later, I am about to discover Roma.

Degustation of the French Nation

I have gotten so used to French daily life. The concept of my current environment has become so ordinary to me. It's a little bit strange. I don't think that I would have thought when I was 10 or 12... or 18 that a trip to Paris would be considered just a little trip. If I shell out 35-40euro I can be in Paris in 90 minutes. One of my old housemates lives there now. I'm gonna be taking a trip probably at the end of the month to visit. I'm really looking forward to going back. For a city with so much hype, Paris really lives up to it. And I've barely seen it yet.

I went to Nantes last week. I could see myself living there for a while. I could see myself living in France for a while actually It's a little more expensive than I am used to. Everything is either a bit more expensive or the same price... but in euro. I think one of the only exceptions is booze, certain kinds anyway. You can get decent wine for 2 euro, good wine for 4 or 5 euro and amazing wine around 8 and up. I've not done much wine purchasing in the states, but I feel pretty confident that I'm right on this. Buying clothes in France is a lesson in price inflation. They don't do sales as often as Americans like to and when they do, it's not too much to get excited about, unless you do some hunting. One of the stores in this mall is having a sold right now... 2 pairs of jeans for 70euro?!?! I could go to Paris, eat a nice meal, see a movie and buy a scarf (or comparable accessory) for that price! So on sale, these jeans are still over 50 bucks each. Silly frenchies!

I've gotten myself mixed in French habitudes. For example as soon as I get done with this, I'm gonna buy myself a baguette and prolly some cheese. (I am runnin low on Brie) I've also developed a taste for red wine (with the help of my host family) Sometimes when I'm walking home and I see snails on a pathway near my house, I think to myself... I've eaten your friends. And I like it. So mostly France has affected me where it counts, where food is concerned. French cuisine is so adventurous. I don't remember the last time I ate something that required me to remove it's head... before biting in. And all this fancy unpasteurized cheese! The french have a very different view of how dairy should exist in your life. They say the smellier the better, an dI have learned how right they are. And terrine and pate! I'm not a big fois gras fan, but if the US caught on to this spreaddable meat thing, sandwich making would get so much faster... perhaps.
I cannot begin to imagine the kinds of withdrawals to come when I can't get my hands on camembert, or a cheap baguette, or a 750g jar of delicious hazelnut spread. Oh man, europe has only inflated my addiction to the good stuff.

There are some things I'll be happy to go back to though. Like cheap deli meat. A life outside the boundaries of the euro. A return to real deodorant. (Only once have I encountered real French BO, but once was quite enough!) Good music. (France likes to play a lotta random spanish or english songs and occasionally makes its own music. About 12% of the time, the french stuff is pretty good. About 80% of the time, it crazy dance music. Though the two are not mutally exclusive, I have not yet come across a good french dance song.)

Ok my tummy's grumbling, which is my cue to go get myself some pain.
Peace

Roma : Décollage (episode 1)

Hey everyone

So I promised an account of my time in Rome. My trip to Rome began much in the same way it ended: I was cold, alone, bored, and poor... Okay, so it didn't begin or end that way but...

I flew into Rome from Lyon. I was the only one going this way as a result of planning my trip very very very late into the month. I spent about 9 hours in the Lyon airport waiting to board my plane. I panicked when I got there late at night and didn't see my flight on the screen (Which had flights from that night all the way to the next afternoon.) I texted Matt who revealed to me that there are two airports in Lyon. Somehow, my easyJet booking made no distinction between the two. I found an information desk and was relieved to discover that my flight was leaving from that same airport. The man gave me directions to the easyJet terminal. He may as well have given me directions to Narnia. I had seen the voie earlier when I was exploring the airport, but now that I was looking for it, I couldn't find it. Finally, I got to terminal three (You had to go subterranean rise up through the east side of the building, traverse "construction" and go through a makeshift tunnel to get to there) I decided, due to it's deserted state and my desire to wander, that I would return about 2 hours before my flight. I went back to the main building and resolved myself to take advantage of the lax airport security at that time of night.

I wove in and out of every information desk. I explored and examined every restroom in that place. I found that if I wanted to I could take a shower, shave, change diapers, and even get a facial in the airport. I walked into the airport chapel. There were accommodations for Muslim's Christians, and Jewish people. Atheists may feel left out... but there were benches where you could stare into nothingness if you so desired. In one corner of the airport I found a group of lounge chairs facing a glass wall. I watched planes land and take off for about 45 minutes. The baggage handlers here are pretty skilled at handling that luggage. One cart-driver seems to always drop a bag or two, but it's okay, the bags make it back on the cart and hopefully to their owners.

I continue on like this analyzing my surroundings and recognizing the other people in the airport waiting until 5am, 6am, 7am, to take their flight. Two Chinese students have taken up shop in a lounge that is closed for the night. A group of 4 or 5 European guys take some of the lounge chairs to another part of the airport and are hanging out. About an hour later, I see airport security take the chairs back.

Between 3 and 5am I start to get bored. I brought my journal, but I can't find a pen. I brought Jen de Florette with me. My host mom lent me the book, because I enjoyed different Marcel Pagnol movies so much and I like Gerard Depardieu. The language level is a bit high for me, and I can only read 3 or 4 pages at a time with mild difficulty. I explore the same parts of the airport I have have already seen. I make the trip to and from terminal 3 twice more before I finally settle there at 5am. Between my terminal and my voie is the above-ground tunnel. The door beyond it is locked. The tunnel an the locked door separate me from Rome. From 6:00 to 7am I make the trip between terminal and locked door 3 times. On the fourth try I notice a Mexican family waiting at the door. Around 7:20am the door opens. My flight is scheduled to begin check-in in 15 minutes. After checking in I finish off the last of my bag of pain au chocolat. That turned out to be a good purchase all the way back in Angers.

I make my way through airport security and learn that they don't take off their shoes here. This is evident by the look of confusion in a woman's eyes as she waves me through. I wait at the gate for 30 minutes. Once it opens there is a mad rush to our plane. Group A. Group B. Group C. It's all the same. It comes down to who is doing the most elbowing and displaying the least couth. I sit down and read the safety precautions, just in case they are different in France. Mesdammes et Mesieurs, bienvenue sur easyJet...

A suivre.

To Roma I Go

Hi everyone,

So I am headed to Rome on Thursday and I am going to be there until Monday morning. Just in case I don't come back with an interesting stories or something like that, I figured I'd share some small anecdotes that have thus far been overlooked in my correspondances.

1.Montserau and my poor knee

The weekend before last, our group had an excursion to a couple of castles in the area. We got up early, beared the 2 hour bus ride, giant kit kat bars in hand, and made it to our first stop. It was a castle museum on the Loire. Our "guide" got us all into pairs and gave us pieces of parchement paper. For the next 2 hours we ran through this castle searching out clues and sabotaging other teams. It felt like Legends of the Hidden Temple. I was quite amused.
When the treasure hunt was done, they served us champagne (because the french like to drink at noon) and saw us off to our resaurant. We had a very hearty... and boozy french meal before we headed out for the Abbye.

Spirits high for the second half of the day, everyone was pretty excited. For some reason or another Beata ended up giving me a piggy back ride for about 50 meters. And then for what seems to be, in hindsight, no reason at all, I decide to give her a piggyback ride. And I decide that on the bumpy pierres, I need to run with her on my back. This worked for about 5 seconds and then, in slow motion, I noticed the ground coming up to meet my face. My hand shot out as I plied into the fall.

It wasn't until about 5 or six minutes later that I realized I was bleeding. I was more sad for my déchired jeans. It wasn't until about 5 minutes after I discovered my injured knee that I saw the monstrosity that was my hand. I basically had a 5-6 mm hole in my hand and a little piece of my pinkie sliced. It was greusome, but I did not discover just how bad until I changed the bandages we got from the museum the next day.