Air France is a huge dong. You wanted angry Adam because that means good blogging, right? Well, here I shall unravel a tale of travel that will make your pants soggy… gross. Sorry. Pretty much everything that can go wrong with traveling went wrong and I’m still only in Boston. But at least I’m in America. Gotta take ‘em as they come, right?
Where shall we start? The beginning! FIRENZE. Slept for about 4 hours because I was just too excited to get on a plane and come home! Ahahahaha! Naivite! As we say in France. But I refuse to speak French any more cause why? Cause Air France is a huge dong. Ok, so with very little sleep, I show up to the aiport with the parentals two hours early only to learn that the flight from Paris yesterday never made it to Florence because of snow. So our flight was cancelled and they had already rebooked the parentals through Amsterdam, Seattle and finally to Portland. They booked me separately because I had purchased my tickets through a group travel ticket agency long ago where I should have traveled home with the rest of the students from my program. So, they booked me separately with Lufthansa on a full flight. At this point, you might ask yourselves, “why would you book someone on a full flight when really any flight to any other European city would probably be fine.” It doesn’t make any sense. So after trying several times on several Lufthansa flights, they sent me to Alitalia and I got on a flight to Rome about ten minutes before it left. At this point the proposed journey was FIRENZE – ROMA – BOSTON – SAN FRANCISCO. “But wait! (you may find yourself saying) Adam, you don’t live in San Francisco.” You’re right! Well whoop-di freaking do! I can get to San Francisco just in time to miss the last Alaska Air flight to Portland! But at this point, I was taking things one step at a time and got on my flight to Rome.
ROME, I need to get my boarding pass to Boston here from someone who works with Alitalia. Who knows how long that is going to take. I see a reader board with all the flights, but the flight to Boston that the Air France ppl told me about is not here. I look over and over again. I then see the sign that says Leonardo Da Vinci Airport. The piece of paper with my itinerary says go to Fiumicino aeroporto. Those are not the same thing. Panicked, I find an Alitalia desk, plop down and in English, start explaining to the woman that I think I’m in the wrong airport. She assures me that of course Da Vinci and Fiumicino are the same airport. Now that’s just stupid. I’m sorry. Pick a name for your airport and don’t put up signs that say other things. The reason I hadn’t seen the flight on the board was because it was in a separate terminal. I transferred terminals, found my flight and was on my way. Here I had time to think about the end of the trip issue. I was probably going to be somehow stranded in San Francisco. Which, for those keeping track at home, is not Portland. I scrounged up all the euro cents I had left in my pocket and paid for two and a half minutes of internet time to try to track down my friend, Cristine’s phone number who lives in Berekeley, California. I came up with numbers of two other people who might have her number, so I could figure that out once I was back in the states. Got on the plane, met a nice fellow from Northern California who is supposed to be on the same flight to San Fran with me. We chatted and had a nice time.
BOSTON, home of the self-described “Mass-holes.” I was worried. I got in, knew I was searching for a United Airlines flight to San Fran around 5:58. I had to go through customs first. Let me tell you, customs are much less of a hassle if you don’t have any bags! Hooray! Hooray for no bags! Helpful! Myself, along with around 50 other people were missing bags. I assumed mine didn’t make it from Firenze because of the short amount of time I had. Whatever. I’m going home. I don’t need my bags for awhile. After that, I went to the wrong terminal and got yelled at by a bitchy US airways woman because I thought that United was the same thing as US airways. That was probably the sleep deprivation speaking. After that, I found the actual United Terminal, talked to a lovely series of woman about my issues trying to get to Portland and we found a flight from San Fran to Portland with United instead of Alaska. I already had the Alaska ticket paid for, but since they’re so helpful, they decided that they were going to charge me $100 to change my flight and still not be able to get me out until the next morning. How do you say NOT HELPFUL, A-HOLES in Italian? I ended up just buying a ticket from San Fran to Portland for $220-ish. Basically, I paid $120 to not have to sleep on the floor of the San Francisco airport/ call on Cristine at 10pm on a Tuesday asking for a place to crash for the night. I got to security and they inform me that the airline flagged me for an extra special security search. Awesome, huh? Just as everything was going swimmingly with United, they think I’m a t*****ist. (I’m in an airport right now: Homeland Security will probably be tackling me to the floor in a couples of seconds.) They patted me down and then tested my belongings for explosive residue. Not a big deal, but funny nevertheless. At the United ticket counter I got yelled at by another bitchy airline worker (Boston, right?) because I was imploring (perhaps a little too much) about how to get my lost bags from San Francisco to Portland. She had a very short fuse, and I was being very polite but she yelled at me anyway. That’s fine. She can go F herself. AMERICA! Land of the free! Grumble grumble. No, it’s cool. I’m stoked to be back. It’s 11:20pm Italy time. I’ve been in airports/airplanes for 18 hours. Only about 10 more to go. This is supposed to be all over when I get into Portland at around 11:30. That’s just 11 more hours. I’m ready! Game time! I’ll let you know how this all pans out.
AJC
Plane update: we were delayed. We are supposed to get in to San Francisco 10 minutes prior to when my plane to Portland boards. A little close for me. Grumble grumble.
AJC
Well that was a series of adventures. On the plane I watched some terrible movies and television because I didn’t have anything better to do. Everyone out there should check out City of Ember with Bill Murray and the dude from Shawshank redemption who isn’t Morgan Freeman. Pretty terrible, like a Tim Rice movie on crack with worse gaudy lighting effects and a bunch of children actors. There were giant moles with tentacles on their faces, it was a blast. Now, I believe my body is shutting down on me. As I was sprinting through the San Francisco airport, my throat was tightening and I couldn’t swallow or produce saliva! Huzzah! I felt kinda like Rocky, but I smell kinda like a garbage can. I was not going to miss that flight and if there was anything I could do to avoid that, I was going to. I now am at cruising altitude somewhere above Northern California. Cristine will never know that I was so close to begging to sleep on her floor. Until I tell her in the next few days. I’ve been on planes or in airports for 27 hours now. That’s a long time. I probably slept for about three hours in that time and I’m writing this to try to stay awake to get back on schedule. Why, it’s 11 pm here! Almost bed time! Please forgive my lack of big words (loquacity). It’s been a long time. The moral of the story is to never fly Air France again. I’m scheduled to get in sometime around 12:30 am and my papa and Luis are coming to get me. I just hope I get my suitcases before I head back to Walla Walla. 2 weeks, come on Alitalia, I have faith in you! Not really. I also just beat Minesweeper on difficult in 637 seconds! Boo yah! Luck turning around? Back in the states, I can almost smell Portland! Love to the NW, baby!
AJC
PORTLAND
I’m writing this the morning after. We were scheduled to get into Portland 10 or so minutes early. The captain reported gusts of 30 mph blowing N/S while we were landing E/W, meaning there is a cross-wind. When we were coming in to land, the plane was wobbling drastically from side to side, so much so, that when we touched the ground, we had to take off again because they couldn’t land. We touched the ground and then went back up to circle around again. I can’t explain how terrifying that is. I thought we were going to crash. To see Portland, to touch the ground and then leave again… I was freaking out. I thought they were going to take us back to San Francisco or to Seattle or something because they couldn’t land. 5 minutes later, the captain finally tells us that they are going to circle around and try again. So, we tried again. Same amount of wobbling and lurching only this time, we touched down and stayed down. I’m not sure what it was, probably a combination of many things, but right then and there I started crying. So happy to be home, alive and done with airplanes and airports for at least the immediate future. 27 ½ hours later, I reached Portland. I am home, and right now we are having a giant windstorm (go figure).
Thanks to everyone for tuning in to my blog. With this, I sign off for the final time. Italy and Europe is behind me now. I’ve learned a lot about myself and about the ways of the world. Maybe I will start another blog some time in the future. Until then, friends, family, people I don’t like very much who read this because they’re bored and lonely, one final ciao. Arrivederci!
AJC
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Monday, December 8, 2008
Yargh
I left the blog on a sour note, but I would just like to take this moment to sit down and say a few nice things about the program before I continue my onslaught of disparagement.
I said it once and I’ll say it again. This home stay program is UNbelievable. I’ve heard one complaint about host families but that was from a psychotic, racist whore in my women’s studies class so her opinion doesn’t matter. The man in charge of student housing, Jim, is a wonderful fellow who is always willing to chat about anything. He loves me. He personally knows all the host families and even though the host families make fun of him about his poor Italian skills, they all like him a lot. My host Mama is amazing. She is the most genuinely kind, good-natured woman, who is full of love. When she gets excited, she uses all sorts of delightful hand gestures that I’ve never seen, but I unabashedly and unsuccessfully try to replicate later. She has been living alone for quite some time, yet she still does yard work and cleans the house with a little bit of help. Her cooking and her speaking with me has made this experience so much stronger. My speaking would be non-existent without this home stay with her.
Enough with the puppies and sunshine. After having spoken with two of my four professors about the afore-mentioned issues with classes, I’ve come to the conclusion that the problem lies more with the stupid, apathetic students than with the scatter-brained professors. These bambini are monsters. Little, slutty shit-for-brains monsters. In literally every class of the last two days, I’ve fought off the urge to get up and leave the classroom because I can’t handle the crap that goes down. Today, there was a girl giving a presentation in women’s studies. Her assignment was to read part of a book about Ganymede (young Trojan boy abducted and raped by Zeus who takes the form of an eagle) and present her findings to the class using a powerpoint presentation. I kept the lecture notes because I couldn’t believe it myself. She, of course, read straight from her lecture notes without ever looking up. The lecture notes are as follows:
Ganymedge portrayed [in art] in four ways;
1) the rapture of the pure human soul or intellect in the presence of divinity
2) The uplifting power of chaste earthly love
3) Delight of homosexuality
4) Disproval of homosexuality
So I can get on board with the last two, but the first two didn’t make any sense out of context like this. So my friend asked her what she meant by the uplifting power of chaste earthly love, she said “I don’t really know [stupid laugh]. That’s what it said in the book.” So I asked what # 1 meant to which she said basically the same thing.
Now where I come from, that is unacceptable. This is grounds for flunking at least the presentation, if not the entire class. It is plagiarism and it is F-ing stupid. She probably spent 2 hours on the presentation and I spent upwards of 20-25 hours. My presentation, albeit on a less interesting topic, (depictions of birth trays and wedding chests in mid 15th century Italy), required outside research and actually came to a conclusion. I was so close to screaming at her. How can you think it is acceptable to bring something like this in front of a class? She is from University of Colorado, Boulder. Enough said? There was another girl who was supposed to present on something today, but our professor forgot and she didn’t say anything, so I’m thinking she is just never going to present. I hate her so much. She is the afore-mentioned “psychotic, racist whore.” Today, we were joking around about giving a Benvenuto Cellini autobiography to our parents for a Christmas or Chanukah present. We all laughed because that would be kind of a lousy present. As the laughter was dying down, I did my best to prolong having to learn some more, so I threw out, “Or Kwanza” implying that this present would be an equally lovely gift for Christmas, Chanukah or Kwanza. This is the following dialogue. She will be referred to as PRW.
PRW: Kwanza isn’t a holiday.
Adam: I’m sorry?
PRW: Kwanza isn’t a holiday, they made it up in the 70s.
Adam: How can you say that? Are you kidding me? Just because it was created in the 70s doesn’t make it any less of a holiday
PRW: It’s a festival not a holiday
Adam: Chanukah is also a festival, does that make it any less of a holiday.
At this point, our professor cut us off so that I wouldn’t have to leap across the room and strangle her with my belt or any other piece of strangleable material (that’s a word, don’t worry). These are just a few examples of daily school life.
I’m going to Sicily this weekend. It’s going to be awesome. When I’m with my friends and not in class, life here is actually enjoyable. It is when I can distance myself from the crap of the world of the “academic side” of SUF.
All I’ve got is four more days of classes. Thank the lord! I can see the light. Then my mommy and daddy come! E fritello.
-AJC
I said it once and I’ll say it again. This home stay program is UNbelievable. I’ve heard one complaint about host families but that was from a psychotic, racist whore in my women’s studies class so her opinion doesn’t matter. The man in charge of student housing, Jim, is a wonderful fellow who is always willing to chat about anything. He loves me. He personally knows all the host families and even though the host families make fun of him about his poor Italian skills, they all like him a lot. My host Mama is amazing. She is the most genuinely kind, good-natured woman, who is full of love. When she gets excited, she uses all sorts of delightful hand gestures that I’ve never seen, but I unabashedly and unsuccessfully try to replicate later. She has been living alone for quite some time, yet she still does yard work and cleans the house with a little bit of help. Her cooking and her speaking with me has made this experience so much stronger. My speaking would be non-existent without this home stay with her.
Enough with the puppies and sunshine. After having spoken with two of my four professors about the afore-mentioned issues with classes, I’ve come to the conclusion that the problem lies more with the stupid, apathetic students than with the scatter-brained professors. These bambini are monsters. Little, slutty shit-for-brains monsters. In literally every class of the last two days, I’ve fought off the urge to get up and leave the classroom because I can’t handle the crap that goes down. Today, there was a girl giving a presentation in women’s studies. Her assignment was to read part of a book about Ganymede (young Trojan boy abducted and raped by Zeus who takes the form of an eagle) and present her findings to the class using a powerpoint presentation. I kept the lecture notes because I couldn’t believe it myself. She, of course, read straight from her lecture notes without ever looking up. The lecture notes are as follows:
Ganymedge portrayed [in art] in four ways;
1) the rapture of the pure human soul or intellect in the presence of divinity
2) The uplifting power of chaste earthly love
3) Delight of homosexuality
4) Disproval of homosexuality
So I can get on board with the last two, but the first two didn’t make any sense out of context like this. So my friend asked her what she meant by the uplifting power of chaste earthly love, she said “I don’t really know [stupid laugh]. That’s what it said in the book.” So I asked what # 1 meant to which she said basically the same thing.
Now where I come from, that is unacceptable. This is grounds for flunking at least the presentation, if not the entire class. It is plagiarism and it is F-ing stupid. She probably spent 2 hours on the presentation and I spent upwards of 20-25 hours. My presentation, albeit on a less interesting topic, (depictions of birth trays and wedding chests in mid 15th century Italy), required outside research and actually came to a conclusion. I was so close to screaming at her. How can you think it is acceptable to bring something like this in front of a class? She is from University of Colorado, Boulder. Enough said? There was another girl who was supposed to present on something today, but our professor forgot and she didn’t say anything, so I’m thinking she is just never going to present. I hate her so much. She is the afore-mentioned “psychotic, racist whore.” Today, we were joking around about giving a Benvenuto Cellini autobiography to our parents for a Christmas or Chanukah present. We all laughed because that would be kind of a lousy present. As the laughter was dying down, I did my best to prolong having to learn some more, so I threw out, “Or Kwanza” implying that this present would be an equally lovely gift for Christmas, Chanukah or Kwanza. This is the following dialogue. She will be referred to as PRW.
PRW: Kwanza isn’t a holiday.
Adam: I’m sorry?
PRW: Kwanza isn’t a holiday, they made it up in the 70s.
Adam: How can you say that? Are you kidding me? Just because it was created in the 70s doesn’t make it any less of a holiday
PRW: It’s a festival not a holiday
Adam: Chanukah is also a festival, does that make it any less of a holiday.
At this point, our professor cut us off so that I wouldn’t have to leap across the room and strangle her with my belt or any other piece of strangleable material (that’s a word, don’t worry). These are just a few examples of daily school life.
I’m going to Sicily this weekend. It’s going to be awesome. When I’m with my friends and not in class, life here is actually enjoyable. It is when I can distance myself from the crap of the world of the “academic side” of SUF.
All I’ve got is four more days of classes. Thank the lord! I can see the light. Then my mommy and daddy come! E fritello.
-AJC
Thursday, November 20, 2008
howl
I don’t know if everyone out there is familiar with Alan Ginsburg’s (sp?) Howl. It’s an amazing poem filled with clever rhetoric that he uses to comment on the atrocities of society in the 60s when he was a young Beatnik. Well, what I am about to give to you is a less poetic, less rhetorically demanding piece of “poetry” where in I comment not on the problems with society but on the problems with Syracuse University in Florence: SUF. Enjoy. Parental advisory is advised. Sensitive ears turn away.
I am fucking sick and tired of all this bullshit. It’s official, we have hit the one month remaining on the program and I regrettably find myself counting down the days because never in my life have I ever been so upset with an educational system. Before I begin, I just want to say that I didn’t come on this program to do homework with all of my spare time. No one in their right mind would want to do that with an entire semester living in a country abroad. No. But, I did expect some sort of mental stimulation. Sometime. I don’t think it’s too much to ask to go to class and be challenged. To sit down and have one of those amazing days where you are riveted because your mind is being blown and you have to sit and think out paradoxes or some other problem. But the fact that I feel that I haven’t gained any useful skills, and possessed but a small amount of extra knowledge gained is inexcusable. I have spent my last two years at Whitman College being bombarded with unbelievable amounts of stress and homework. I study for hours for exams and get Cs and Ds. I spend days on a paper, producing something I am so proud of, to find myself barely pulling through with a B. I have gotten used to finishing at the bottom of each of my classes because I am surrounded with students who WANT TO LEARN. Want to learn. Who would want to learn anything while studying abroad? That is the general attitude of the students and the classes match that attitude to the t. Students skip weeks of class on end and it doesn’t matter because they know that they don’t need the lecture material to succeed in the class. I know this too, but there is some scrap of, let’s call it self-motivation in me that prevents me from being able to skip classes and pour as much effort into a class as I can physically muster. It sucks. I wish I wasn’t that interested in my education, but I just can’t help it. I feel that since I am paying some exorbitant some of money to come learn here, I could at least be learning something. As it stands, I have lost a semester of my Whitman education by coming to Italy. On paper, it would appear that I could have some of my semester salvaged through my extra-curricular activities: basketball, soccer, the play. Well, I ended up having to stop playing basketball with the team because the play takes up too much of my time. This would be okay except the play is a godforsaken joke and the time I spend there is like having teeth pulled. And I feel terrible for saying that because our director is such a sweet man, he’s just terrible. He talks and talks and never lets us just act. He gives us line readings every two seconds and does everything they teach you in high school directing that you shouldn’t do. But he is a brilliant man (PHD from Yale!) and you can’t deny his passion for the theatre. It just needs to be re-assessed. School is terrible. This rehearsal process is gearing up to be the worst play I’ve ever been a part of (and I’ve been a part of some pretty shitty plays). The question is whether or not I have gained anything by being in Italy and living amongst Italians for two and a half months, and I think the answer is yes. Which is the only reason I’m not packing my bags and heading home. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, my favorite part of this experience so far is the home stay. My host mama makes some bomb-ass food. Incidentally, tonight was pizza night again and I almost passed out with joy and contentedness. My home stay and my seven amazing friends are what keep me going. But this monologular (that’s a word, don’t worry) complaint of mine is supposed to be completely negative, so let me keep ranting (you thought I was almost done, didn’t you? Suckas!)
But back to the students of this program. I have never seen such disrespectful, idiotic and scantily clad young people in my entire life. This makes me sound like an old man, I realize, but I am an old man at heart. There’s this problem with girls in leggings. Tights. That’s all they’ll wear on their bottom halves. With Uggz (a kind of expensive, fuzzy boot that is kind of like wearing rubber-soled socks) That is not clothing! You need to wear a pair of shorts or a dress or a skirt over leggings! Stick me in a red elephant costume and call me a conservative, but last time I checked it wasn’t a competition to see whose outfit would get ruined first in rain and wind storms (which, by the way, we do have here). They sacrifice comfort for proximity of visibility of genitals. Which is weird. You can’t wear that to school! Then they get surprised when they get a cold. Case study part I. There’s a girl in a class of mine, who personifies this above-mentioned fashion statement. We’ve been in class for two months now and she still can’t count to 10 in Italian. She can’t read Italian to save her life. She rocks the leggings senza pantaloni (as we say in Italia). I don’t want to go on because it’s starting to make me sad and angry again, but the point is, how can you NOT BE ABLE TO SAY ANYTHING OR UNDERSTAND ANYTHING IN ITALIAN AFTER TAKING A CLASS FOR 2 AND A HALF MONTHS. That is unforgivable. The worst part is that there are two other students roughly at her level of Italian and they never stop to ask questions because they don’t care. They don’t care at all about learning Italian! How!? How is that possible!?! Why are you here!? Leave! You don’t deserve to be here. Stop wasting everyone else’s time. The problem is, that is roughly half the students here. Half of the 280 students. They manifest their ignorance and rudeness in other ways too, which include rudely talking back to teachers, “going to the bathroom” three times in one class and just never going to class on Thursdays, among others. Everyone here sucks. This makes my small group of friends more special and more important in maintaining my sanity.
As I said before, it sucks that because of, in my eyes, a huge failure on the part of SUF, I want to go home. Maybe academics shouldn’t be that important on a study abroad program, but they are to me and I feel cheated. That’s the bottom line. If I was on a program where all the people there wanted to do more than go to Octoberfest and ride roller coasters drunk out of their minds, I may be enjoying myself better. As it stands, school here sucks.
That’s all I have to say. Reflect on my wisdom.
-AJC
I am fucking sick and tired of all this bullshit. It’s official, we have hit the one month remaining on the program and I regrettably find myself counting down the days because never in my life have I ever been so upset with an educational system. Before I begin, I just want to say that I didn’t come on this program to do homework with all of my spare time. No one in their right mind would want to do that with an entire semester living in a country abroad. No. But, I did expect some sort of mental stimulation. Sometime. I don’t think it’s too much to ask to go to class and be challenged. To sit down and have one of those amazing days where you are riveted because your mind is being blown and you have to sit and think out paradoxes or some other problem. But the fact that I feel that I haven’t gained any useful skills, and possessed but a small amount of extra knowledge gained is inexcusable. I have spent my last two years at Whitman College being bombarded with unbelievable amounts of stress and homework. I study for hours for exams and get Cs and Ds. I spend days on a paper, producing something I am so proud of, to find myself barely pulling through with a B. I have gotten used to finishing at the bottom of each of my classes because I am surrounded with students who WANT TO LEARN. Want to learn. Who would want to learn anything while studying abroad? That is the general attitude of the students and the classes match that attitude to the t. Students skip weeks of class on end and it doesn’t matter because they know that they don’t need the lecture material to succeed in the class. I know this too, but there is some scrap of, let’s call it self-motivation in me that prevents me from being able to skip classes and pour as much effort into a class as I can physically muster. It sucks. I wish I wasn’t that interested in my education, but I just can’t help it. I feel that since I am paying some exorbitant some of money to come learn here, I could at least be learning something. As it stands, I have lost a semester of my Whitman education by coming to Italy. On paper, it would appear that I could have some of my semester salvaged through my extra-curricular activities: basketball, soccer, the play. Well, I ended up having to stop playing basketball with the team because the play takes up too much of my time. This would be okay except the play is a godforsaken joke and the time I spend there is like having teeth pulled. And I feel terrible for saying that because our director is such a sweet man, he’s just terrible. He talks and talks and never lets us just act. He gives us line readings every two seconds and does everything they teach you in high school directing that you shouldn’t do. But he is a brilliant man (PHD from Yale!) and you can’t deny his passion for the theatre. It just needs to be re-assessed. School is terrible. This rehearsal process is gearing up to be the worst play I’ve ever been a part of (and I’ve been a part of some pretty shitty plays). The question is whether or not I have gained anything by being in Italy and living amongst Italians for two and a half months, and I think the answer is yes. Which is the only reason I’m not packing my bags and heading home. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, my favorite part of this experience so far is the home stay. My host mama makes some bomb-ass food. Incidentally, tonight was pizza night again and I almost passed out with joy and contentedness. My home stay and my seven amazing friends are what keep me going. But this monologular (that’s a word, don’t worry) complaint of mine is supposed to be completely negative, so let me keep ranting (you thought I was almost done, didn’t you? Suckas!)
But back to the students of this program. I have never seen such disrespectful, idiotic and scantily clad young people in my entire life. This makes me sound like an old man, I realize, but I am an old man at heart. There’s this problem with girls in leggings. Tights. That’s all they’ll wear on their bottom halves. With Uggz (a kind of expensive, fuzzy boot that is kind of like wearing rubber-soled socks) That is not clothing! You need to wear a pair of shorts or a dress or a skirt over leggings! Stick me in a red elephant costume and call me a conservative, but last time I checked it wasn’t a competition to see whose outfit would get ruined first in rain and wind storms (which, by the way, we do have here). They sacrifice comfort for proximity of visibility of genitals. Which is weird. You can’t wear that to school! Then they get surprised when they get a cold. Case study part I. There’s a girl in a class of mine, who personifies this above-mentioned fashion statement. We’ve been in class for two months now and she still can’t count to 10 in Italian. She can’t read Italian to save her life. She rocks the leggings senza pantaloni (as we say in Italia). I don’t want to go on because it’s starting to make me sad and angry again, but the point is, how can you NOT BE ABLE TO SAY ANYTHING OR UNDERSTAND ANYTHING IN ITALIAN AFTER TAKING A CLASS FOR 2 AND A HALF MONTHS. That is unforgivable. The worst part is that there are two other students roughly at her level of Italian and they never stop to ask questions because they don’t care. They don’t care at all about learning Italian! How!? How is that possible!?! Why are you here!? Leave! You don’t deserve to be here. Stop wasting everyone else’s time. The problem is, that is roughly half the students here. Half of the 280 students. They manifest their ignorance and rudeness in other ways too, which include rudely talking back to teachers, “going to the bathroom” three times in one class and just never going to class on Thursdays, among others. Everyone here sucks. This makes my small group of friends more special and more important in maintaining my sanity.
As I said before, it sucks that because of, in my eyes, a huge failure on the part of SUF, I want to go home. Maybe academics shouldn’t be that important on a study abroad program, but they are to me and I feel cheated. That’s the bottom line. If I was on a program where all the people there wanted to do more than go to Octoberfest and ride roller coasters drunk out of their minds, I may be enjoying myself better. As it stands, school here sucks.
That’s all I have to say. Reflect on my wisdom.
-AJC
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Parigi... I mean Paris - part II
The next day, Eve and Ian both had class, so I was on my own for most of the day. I headed straight to the Eiffel Tower to actually go up. After waiting in line for 30 minutes, I realized I was in the wrong line and went to go wait in another line for another 5 minutes to buy a ticket to walk up. The ascension was terrifying. I was clinging to the rail and walking very slowly the entire time. On each level, I was able to recover. I realize that I have no problem with heights as long as I can’t see down right next to me. I don’t like to be able to look straight down. I took the elevator to the top and crammed myself into the middle of all the people to get as far away from the edge as possible. The view was somewhat compromised by a low layer of fog, but it was beginning to clear up and the view was phenomenal. I can’t recall being able to see so much of a city at one time before. It was great. I was terrified, but it was great.
When I got down, I took the metro to the Maurais, the Jewish quarter and ate some of the best freaking falafel of my life. Really phenomenal. I then ate a giant Baklava and bought some challah. After wandering through various churches and parts of the city, I met up with Eve at the Louvre and we did our best to see as much as possible in four hours. Let me just say, the Louvre is the biggest freaking building I think I’ve ever seen. You could house a small country in that freaking building. Not to mention the park in front of it that we didn’t even go to. The building itself is enormous! I still can’t believe how extensive the art is there. They had everything from Egyptian Sarcophoguses to Italian Renaissance paintings to Hammurabi’s code of laws and an Easter Island head! One of the coolest parts was Napoleon III’s rooms. They re-created part of what his palace would have looked like. There were less people there, so it was sort of like a break from all the madness of the rest of the Louvre. Oh and the Mona Lisa, way more hype than it’s worth. Not that great of a painting.
After that exhausting experience, I got Kebab with Eve and had a drink with Ian before retiring for the evening. Early the next morning I left for Amsterdam. It was among the most exhausting two days I’ve ever spent in my life. But it was amazing. My French wasn’t terrible and kept getting better as the trip went on. It ruined my Italian, however, which I am still in the process of fixing. It’s cool though.
AJC
When I got down, I took the metro to the Maurais, the Jewish quarter and ate some of the best freaking falafel of my life. Really phenomenal. I then ate a giant Baklava and bought some challah. After wandering through various churches and parts of the city, I met up with Eve at the Louvre and we did our best to see as much as possible in four hours. Let me just say, the Louvre is the biggest freaking building I think I’ve ever seen. You could house a small country in that freaking building. Not to mention the park in front of it that we didn’t even go to. The building itself is enormous! I still can’t believe how extensive the art is there. They had everything from Egyptian Sarcophoguses to Italian Renaissance paintings to Hammurabi’s code of laws and an Easter Island head! One of the coolest parts was Napoleon III’s rooms. They re-created part of what his palace would have looked like. There were less people there, so it was sort of like a break from all the madness of the rest of the Louvre. Oh and the Mona Lisa, way more hype than it’s worth. Not that great of a painting.
After that exhausting experience, I got Kebab with Eve and had a drink with Ian before retiring for the evening. Early the next morning I left for Amsterdam. It was among the most exhausting two days I’ve ever spent in my life. But it was amazing. My French wasn’t terrible and kept getting better as the trip went on. It ruined my Italian, however, which I am still in the process of fixing. It’s cool though.
AJC
Parigi... I mean Paris - part I
Paris was fantastic. After all the failure with getting to the airport and getting on the plane, my internal pessimist was clawing its way out. I expected to have everything go wrong in Paris. In spite of the fact that my flight was delayed, my theatre major friend from Whitman, Ian, stuck with me and picked me up from the Metro station at around midnight. He hadn’t told me until our meeting there that he lived in a home stay, and that I’d be staying with his host family. On our program, that is strictly forbidden. But apparently it’s okay over there. I didn’t meet any of them until the next morning. I got a pullout bed from beneath Ian’s bed. It was sick.
The next morning, we woke up and got traditional French breakfast (pastry, toast, orange juice and coffee) at a little cafe and then Ian booked it to class. Meanwhile, I met up with my friend Eve whom I played with in France. We went EVERYWHERE! In the span of eight hours, we went to:
Notre Dame
The Pantheon
Sorbonne
Luxembourg Park
Champs-Elysees/ Arc de Triomphe
Eiffel tower
Les Invalides
And much much more !
They all had French names, so some haves slipped my mind. I won’t give you a break down of each individual place, but we saw some cool stuff. The line to climb Notre Dame and later, l’arc de Triomphe were too long, but I decided to go back and wait in the line for the Eiffel Tower the next day when I was by myself.
The next morning, I met Ian’s host mama. I tried to say “Thank you very much for letting me stay at your house.” What came out was pretty much a complete jumble of French and Italian that got my point across. She later told Ian she thought I was Italian! Ha! I’ll take that any day of the week. I tried to speak French with an Italian accent the rest of the trip. That first day, Eve and I saw the Pantheon (not to be confused with the Pantheon in Rome). It was full of all sorts of famous dead people, including the tombs of Marie and Pierre Curie, Voltaire, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Alexandre Dumas, Victor Hugo and Emil Zola. There was a temporary exhibit on Emil Zola there too (in French – go figure). All the dead people were in the crypts in the bottom. On the ground floor, is an enormous, central plan structure with a gorgeous mosaic that once served as a church. Most of the walls are covered in frescoes depicting various gallantry throughout French history (Joan of Arc, and some other folks). There was also a sweet pendulum in the middle. A truly gorgeous building that should have cost me 5 euro, but Eve used her powers of guile to tell the ticket woman that we were both students of art and architecture in Paris, so we got in for free. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned from my travels thus far, it’s that free things are always the best things.
From there, we saw Sorbonne (which is apparently a very prestigious and famous French University) and ate baguette sandwiches in Luxembourg Park. There were flowers in bloom and birds singing and children playing with toy sail boats in the fountain. It was like a scene from a painting. So very lovely. We then made our way to the Champs Elysees where we saw a gorgeous church and then walked the entire length of the Champs Elysees, stopping only for a Crepe with Nutella (gurgly, salivating noises) and to sneak a peak at a puppet show in a park. As we walked and tried to remember all the words to the famous song, we absorbed the atmosphere and took pictures. We finally got to the Arc de Triomphe, but couldn’t for the life of us figure out how to get from the sidewalk we were on to the actual arc itself. So like any level-headed, sophisticated people would do, we decided to wait for a good moment and make a mad dash across six lanes of traffic. It was great. We didn’t even get honked at. From there, we discovered there was a seemingly secret, but in actuality, decently well-marked underground passageway to get from the arch to the other side of the street. Good to know. Probably would have been less fun anyway…
We then took metro to the Eiffel Tower, and upon seeing the line, decided to admire it from the ground. We got pictures in front of it though. That’s half the battle. We then half-walked and half-ran to Les Invalides because the skies opened up and began to pour. Les Invalides, a war veteran’s hospital/inn-turned museum, was wonderful. There were a fair amount of stained glass or something similar windows that let in a fair amount of light, but since there was this lovely rain storm, the entire enormous structure was lit mostly by the eerie glow that I later realized was coming from Napoleon Bonaparte’s tomb area. His tomb is an enormous wooden sarcophagus, roughly the size of a small bus. No joke. Surrounding the tomb is a series of sculptures and reliefs depicting Napoleon as a great Roman ruler. The effect of the darkness mixed with the brightness of Napoleon’s tomb was awe-inspiring. We then went and had one of the most amazing dinners of my life.
Fondue. Not just fondue. French fondue. The way it was meant to be. Eve and I met up with Ian, and his girlfriend, Christina (also from Whitman). We paid 18 per person for:
-1 baby bottle full of wine (not exactly sure why, just roll with it) equivalent to 2 glasses
-1 glass of sweet black-current wine served with sugar on the rim of the glass and an orange slice
- 1 appetizer tray for our group of four
- 1 huge pot of fondue – enough to make us all fairly sick and still not be finished with unlimited bread
- a bowl of fruit, which we exchanged for a fancy desert at the price of just 2 more Euro
BTE. Best thing ever. We got there right as it opened. They crammed so many tables into the room that there was no space between tables and no space between the end tables and wall. Anyone sitting on the outside of the room had to step over the table. We then walked to the Moulin Rouge and the entire red light district. Very fun. From there, we parted ways and went to sleep. I was exhausted.
To be continued...
The next morning, we woke up and got traditional French breakfast (pastry, toast, orange juice and coffee) at a little cafe and then Ian booked it to class. Meanwhile, I met up with my friend Eve whom I played with in France. We went EVERYWHERE! In the span of eight hours, we went to:
Notre Dame
The Pantheon
Sorbonne
Luxembourg Park
Champs-Elysees/ Arc de Triomphe
Eiffel tower
Les Invalides
And much much more !
They all had French names, so some haves slipped my mind. I won’t give you a break down of each individual place, but we saw some cool stuff. The line to climb Notre Dame and later, l’arc de Triomphe were too long, but I decided to go back and wait in the line for the Eiffel Tower the next day when I was by myself.
The next morning, I met Ian’s host mama. I tried to say “Thank you very much for letting me stay at your house.” What came out was pretty much a complete jumble of French and Italian that got my point across. She later told Ian she thought I was Italian! Ha! I’ll take that any day of the week. I tried to speak French with an Italian accent the rest of the trip. That first day, Eve and I saw the Pantheon (not to be confused with the Pantheon in Rome). It was full of all sorts of famous dead people, including the tombs of Marie and Pierre Curie, Voltaire, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Alexandre Dumas, Victor Hugo and Emil Zola. There was a temporary exhibit on Emil Zola there too (in French – go figure). All the dead people were in the crypts in the bottom. On the ground floor, is an enormous, central plan structure with a gorgeous mosaic that once served as a church. Most of the walls are covered in frescoes depicting various gallantry throughout French history (Joan of Arc, and some other folks). There was also a sweet pendulum in the middle. A truly gorgeous building that should have cost me 5 euro, but Eve used her powers of guile to tell the ticket woman that we were both students of art and architecture in Paris, so we got in for free. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned from my travels thus far, it’s that free things are always the best things.
From there, we saw Sorbonne (which is apparently a very prestigious and famous French University) and ate baguette sandwiches in Luxembourg Park. There were flowers in bloom and birds singing and children playing with toy sail boats in the fountain. It was like a scene from a painting. So very lovely. We then made our way to the Champs Elysees where we saw a gorgeous church and then walked the entire length of the Champs Elysees, stopping only for a Crepe with Nutella (gurgly, salivating noises) and to sneak a peak at a puppet show in a park. As we walked and tried to remember all the words to the famous song, we absorbed the atmosphere and took pictures. We finally got to the Arc de Triomphe, but couldn’t for the life of us figure out how to get from the sidewalk we were on to the actual arc itself. So like any level-headed, sophisticated people would do, we decided to wait for a good moment and make a mad dash across six lanes of traffic. It was great. We didn’t even get honked at. From there, we discovered there was a seemingly secret, but in actuality, decently well-marked underground passageway to get from the arch to the other side of the street. Good to know. Probably would have been less fun anyway…
We then took metro to the Eiffel Tower, and upon seeing the line, decided to admire it from the ground. We got pictures in front of it though. That’s half the battle. We then half-walked and half-ran to Les Invalides because the skies opened up and began to pour. Les Invalides, a war veteran’s hospital/inn-turned museum, was wonderful. There were a fair amount of stained glass or something similar windows that let in a fair amount of light, but since there was this lovely rain storm, the entire enormous structure was lit mostly by the eerie glow that I later realized was coming from Napoleon Bonaparte’s tomb area. His tomb is an enormous wooden sarcophagus, roughly the size of a small bus. No joke. Surrounding the tomb is a series of sculptures and reliefs depicting Napoleon as a great Roman ruler. The effect of the darkness mixed with the brightness of Napoleon’s tomb was awe-inspiring. We then went and had one of the most amazing dinners of my life.
Fondue. Not just fondue. French fondue. The way it was meant to be. Eve and I met up with Ian, and his girlfriend, Christina (also from Whitman). We paid 18 per person for:
-1 baby bottle full of wine (not exactly sure why, just roll with it) equivalent to 2 glasses
-1 glass of sweet black-current wine served with sugar on the rim of the glass and an orange slice
- 1 appetizer tray for our group of four
- 1 huge pot of fondue – enough to make us all fairly sick and still not be finished with unlimited bread
- a bowl of fruit, which we exchanged for a fancy desert at the price of just 2 more Euro
BTE. Best thing ever. We got there right as it opened. They crammed so many tables into the room that there was no space between tables and no space between the end tables and wall. Anyone sitting on the outside of the room had to step over the table. We then walked to the Moulin Rouge and the entire red light district. Very fun. From there, we parted ways and went to sleep. I was exhausted.
To be continued...
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
London town
Yo whaddup. Fall break part I. Commence.
My fall break began with waking up at the lovely hour of 5:15am so I could catch the second bus of the morning to the train station. I bought my train ticket to Pisa and barely caught the train. I sat next to some obnoxious, dumb, loud, still drunk, and ultimately unattractive American girls. I was able to pass out though, so life was good. After a plane ride, a bus ride and a tube ride, I finally made it to the flat I was staying at in London.
Those modes of transportation for that day were:
Bus
Train
Airplane
Bus shuttle
London Underground
I stayed with my lovely friends Sam and Alex who were both girls I met this summer while interning in Pittsfield, MA. They go to Ithaca and they graciously offered their hospitality to me way back in August even though I didn’t really know them super well. As it turned out, I even got to sleep in Sam’s bed because she was dating one of her flatmates, so they shared a bed and let me take hers. It was very sweet. Sam and Alex took me sight-seeing for a few hours that afternoon. We saw the enormous National Theatre and the Globe and we got gelato (British style – not so good, but cute anyway). Sam made dinner that first night and we went out for drinks where their other flatmates bought me drinks (Pims and Lemonade – odd yet delicious – like if a mojito and a hard iced tea had a lovechild). Then we went clubbing where I wasted a whole bunch of money on expensive, bad beer and then we all went home early. Sounds bad, but it was pretty fun. It was a wonderful night and I still can’t believe the unyielding extent to their gracious hospitality. Their 3 bedroom flat was small, but they welcomed me and I felt very much at home by the end of my three days in London. One of the flatmates is a magician (theatre major, gotta have a second profession, right?) and he kept doing all sorts of magic tricks for me, that I got endless enjoyment out of.
Day 2 began with sleeping in till around 10 and meeting my other friends, Max and Eve. I had met both of them on the Oregon Shakespeare Festival’s Summer Seminar for High School Juniors way back in 2005. It was lovely to see them: we did some wandering and then checked out the National Gallery and played on the giant lions in Trafalgar Square. After that, I met my ex-girlfriend Kristan and we had dinner and went to see “Six Characters in Search of an Author” (we studied it in our dramatic lit class in the spring – a truly brilliant play that everyone should see if the chance arises). We had front row seats and it was amaaaaaaaaaaaaaaazing! We then met up with Max and Eve for 9 pound cocktails at a really ritzy, loud, packed bar. The cocktails were delicious, but the atmosphere was stressful.The evening ended with falling asleep at Max’s flat.
Day 3 was probably the best day of break. It became daylight savings time and after enjoying a mostly drool-free night in Max’s supermodel roomamte’s bed, (she was away on a photoshoot – no joke) we realized we still had a chance to catch the changing of the guard because of daylight savings time. We arrived slightly late, but it was raining so we were sad, wet pandas, and the royal band wasn’t playing on account of the rain. But we saw the fuzzy hat men walking. The next part was one of the coolest things I’ve ever done. Max is part of a “Gentlemen’s Club.” Not the traditional American meaning of the word, Gentlemen’s Club, but an actual Gentlemen’s club where you sit around and drink classy drinks and smoke and play billiards. We went for lunch and I needed to bring a suit. But I didn’t have one, so I borrowed Max’s. Now, my friend Max is about 6’3” and had just recently lost a fair amount of weight. So, rolling up my pants legs, jacket sleeves and cinching up my belt (size 37 pants – I wear 31-32), we headed out and had smoked salmon club sandwiches and Darjeeling tea in the lady’s drawing room (the only room Eve was allowed in on account of her being a woman). After that, we played in the ancient library and read about silly British sports like Cricket. Then we drank Scotch in the bar and had an amazing time. Next in the amazing day, I met up with Kristan again and she had graciously waited in line at 10 am to get more theatre tickets. This time for Tom Stoppard’s original adaptation of Chekhov’s Ivanov starring Kenneth Brannagh and Johnny Depp’s 1st mate from Pirates of the Caribbean. We had standing room tickets, and we were about a mile and a half away, but it was amazing! Horribly depressingly Chekhov, but brilliant. Kenneth Brannagh is amazing. Both plays were just 10 pounds a piece. One was from the front row and one from the back row. That evening we hung out and drank a few beers with Max’s British friends. Quite fun.
The next morning, I woke up, and had traditional British breakfast with Sam and Alex, spent the morning playing in the Natural History Museum (dinosaurs are awesome) and had lunch in a cemetery with Kristan. The events that followed were among the worst of my life. I scribbled on the back of a piece of paper on my bus shuttle to the airport because I was so caught up with emotion. It reads as follows:
Dear blog,
I am writing to you on the back of my god-forsaken EasyBus Ticket. I just spent the last 45 minutes sprinting around the Marble Arch area of London with my luggage trying to chase down various godforsaken easybuses. My GFS easybus ticket says the street name (Oxford) and the tube stop (Marble Arch). I arrive with 20 minutes until departure, only to find that there are roughly 1- stops on Oxford Street that say marble Arch and about 10 mores tops on sides treets in the surroudnig area. So I started wlaking, 10 minutes passed, I started power-walking, 5 more minutes passed, I started running. I passed the same places over and over and over again: still no GFS EasyBus! I’m running in circles, adrenaline coursing through my veins, sweat pouring down my face. I was going to miss my flight! I saw three GFS easybuses that wouldn’t stop for me. I literally almost started crying. [I tried to call the phone number they gave me on the ticket, but all I got was a recording saying various traffic reports around London.] Then finally I found a bigger bus that was stopped at one of the Marble Arch bus stops [not on Oxford Street] that said Luton Airport! Apparently they work with GFS EasyBus, so my ticket was still good. All in all, that only made me 25 minutes late to the Luton airport. I think I’ll be ok, but we’ll see. I may be in any of a number of places in any number of countries. We’ll see.
It turned out that when I got to the airport, my flight was delayed 2 hours, so all of a sudden, all that worry was for nothing. I had never felt so helpless in my life though. I had no phone number to call, no internet access, no one who knew the area and time was ticking. I asked a guy who worked at the tube, two bus drivers, and a parking ticket cop. They all pointed me in different directions, none of which is where I actually ended up catching the bus! I hate stupidity!
That’s all for London. Stay tuned for Paris. Or should I say, “On continue attendre pour la deuxieme blog“.
AJC
My fall break began with waking up at the lovely hour of 5:15am so I could catch the second bus of the morning to the train station. I bought my train ticket to Pisa and barely caught the train. I sat next to some obnoxious, dumb, loud, still drunk, and ultimately unattractive American girls. I was able to pass out though, so life was good. After a plane ride, a bus ride and a tube ride, I finally made it to the flat I was staying at in London.
Those modes of transportation for that day were:
Bus
Train
Airplane
Bus shuttle
London Underground
I stayed with my lovely friends Sam and Alex who were both girls I met this summer while interning in Pittsfield, MA. They go to Ithaca and they graciously offered their hospitality to me way back in August even though I didn’t really know them super well. As it turned out, I even got to sleep in Sam’s bed because she was dating one of her flatmates, so they shared a bed and let me take hers. It was very sweet. Sam and Alex took me sight-seeing for a few hours that afternoon. We saw the enormous National Theatre and the Globe and we got gelato (British style – not so good, but cute anyway). Sam made dinner that first night and we went out for drinks where their other flatmates bought me drinks (Pims and Lemonade – odd yet delicious – like if a mojito and a hard iced tea had a lovechild). Then we went clubbing where I wasted a whole bunch of money on expensive, bad beer and then we all went home early. Sounds bad, but it was pretty fun. It was a wonderful night and I still can’t believe the unyielding extent to their gracious hospitality. Their 3 bedroom flat was small, but they welcomed me and I felt very much at home by the end of my three days in London. One of the flatmates is a magician (theatre major, gotta have a second profession, right?) and he kept doing all sorts of magic tricks for me, that I got endless enjoyment out of.
Day 2 began with sleeping in till around 10 and meeting my other friends, Max and Eve. I had met both of them on the Oregon Shakespeare Festival’s Summer Seminar for High School Juniors way back in 2005. It was lovely to see them: we did some wandering and then checked out the National Gallery and played on the giant lions in Trafalgar Square. After that, I met my ex-girlfriend Kristan and we had dinner and went to see “Six Characters in Search of an Author” (we studied it in our dramatic lit class in the spring – a truly brilliant play that everyone should see if the chance arises). We had front row seats and it was amaaaaaaaaaaaaaaazing! We then met up with Max and Eve for 9 pound cocktails at a really ritzy, loud, packed bar. The cocktails were delicious, but the atmosphere was stressful.The evening ended with falling asleep at Max’s flat.
Day 3 was probably the best day of break. It became daylight savings time and after enjoying a mostly drool-free night in Max’s supermodel roomamte’s bed, (she was away on a photoshoot – no joke) we realized we still had a chance to catch the changing of the guard because of daylight savings time. We arrived slightly late, but it was raining so we were sad, wet pandas, and the royal band wasn’t playing on account of the rain. But we saw the fuzzy hat men walking. The next part was one of the coolest things I’ve ever done. Max is part of a “Gentlemen’s Club.” Not the traditional American meaning of the word, Gentlemen’s Club, but an actual Gentlemen’s club where you sit around and drink classy drinks and smoke and play billiards. We went for lunch and I needed to bring a suit. But I didn’t have one, so I borrowed Max’s. Now, my friend Max is about 6’3” and had just recently lost a fair amount of weight. So, rolling up my pants legs, jacket sleeves and cinching up my belt (size 37 pants – I wear 31-32), we headed out and had smoked salmon club sandwiches and Darjeeling tea in the lady’s drawing room (the only room Eve was allowed in on account of her being a woman). After that, we played in the ancient library and read about silly British sports like Cricket. Then we drank Scotch in the bar and had an amazing time. Next in the amazing day, I met up with Kristan again and she had graciously waited in line at 10 am to get more theatre tickets. This time for Tom Stoppard’s original adaptation of Chekhov’s Ivanov starring Kenneth Brannagh and Johnny Depp’s 1st mate from Pirates of the Caribbean. We had standing room tickets, and we were about a mile and a half away, but it was amazing! Horribly depressingly Chekhov, but brilliant. Kenneth Brannagh is amazing. Both plays were just 10 pounds a piece. One was from the front row and one from the back row. That evening we hung out and drank a few beers with Max’s British friends. Quite fun.
The next morning, I woke up, and had traditional British breakfast with Sam and Alex, spent the morning playing in the Natural History Museum (dinosaurs are awesome) and had lunch in a cemetery with Kristan. The events that followed were among the worst of my life. I scribbled on the back of a piece of paper on my bus shuttle to the airport because I was so caught up with emotion. It reads as follows:
Dear blog,
I am writing to you on the back of my god-forsaken EasyBus Ticket. I just spent the last 45 minutes sprinting around the Marble Arch area of London with my luggage trying to chase down various godforsaken easybuses. My GFS easybus ticket says the street name (Oxford) and the tube stop (Marble Arch). I arrive with 20 minutes until departure, only to find that there are roughly 1- stops on Oxford Street that say marble Arch and about 10 mores tops on sides treets in the surroudnig area. So I started wlaking, 10 minutes passed, I started power-walking, 5 more minutes passed, I started running. I passed the same places over and over and over again: still no GFS EasyBus! I’m running in circles, adrenaline coursing through my veins, sweat pouring down my face. I was going to miss my flight! I saw three GFS easybuses that wouldn’t stop for me. I literally almost started crying. [I tried to call the phone number they gave me on the ticket, but all I got was a recording saying various traffic reports around London.] Then finally I found a bigger bus that was stopped at one of the Marble Arch bus stops [not on Oxford Street] that said Luton Airport! Apparently they work with GFS EasyBus, so my ticket was still good. All in all, that only made me 25 minutes late to the Luton airport. I think I’ll be ok, but we’ll see. I may be in any of a number of places in any number of countries. We’ll see.
It turned out that when I got to the airport, my flight was delayed 2 hours, so all of a sudden, all that worry was for nothing. I had never felt so helpless in my life though. I had no phone number to call, no internet access, no one who knew the area and time was ticking. I asked a guy who worked at the tube, two bus drivers, and a parking ticket cop. They all pointed me in different directions, none of which is where I actually ended up catching the bus! I hate stupidity!
That’s all for London. Stay tuned for Paris. Or should I say, “On continue attendre pour la deuxieme blog“.
AJC
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