V for Vendetta

I'm convinced that Italy has some sort of vendetta against me. After the first headache at Christmas, and now my most recent run-in with my pasta-loving neighbors, it's clear to me that there's something telling me that maybe we're not meant to be.

I left Paris at 12.35 PM Friday afternoon and arrived in Florence at 10.30 PM later that evening. You might be asking yourself, "why did it take him that long to get there?" and comme d'hab, there's a story behind it. So I made it to Rome in one piece, only to be greeted by a two hour layover. Not a problem, I'd come prepared with food and book. I boarded the plane to Florence, and besides it being a half hour late, everything went smoothly. That was until about 2 minutes before we were supposed to land. Wheels were out and 30 seconds later we would have been on the tarmac, when all of a sudden we shoot back up! All the passengers are nervously looking around at one another, asking questions in Italian, French, English, Japanese, because it wasn't until five minutes later that the captain gave us any news. "The airport is closed to us because of high winds. We are now en route to Bologna." Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat!

Eavesdropping on my neighbors' conversations, one Italian woman said that Bologna is about an hour and a half bus ride away, without traffic, and that it's a difficult route because it goes through the mountains. Awesome. She then proceeds to say that "Well, I'd rather be alive in Bologna than burning in Florence. Let me tell you, the runway there is very short." Nice.

Once we landed in Bologna, I immediately headed up to the Alitalia office to see if and how Alitalia was going to make this right and if I'd be getting to Florence anytime in the near future. The woman at the Alitalia counter was very nice, but unfortunately her news wasn't. She called 40 minutes before we'd landed to try and get a bus to take us to Florence, and at the time no one had returned her call. Perfect. Next question: "Is there a train station nearby, and if so, how do I get there?"

Fortunately there is a train station in Bologna, conveniently linked to an airport shuttle (only problem being I had no idea what stop it would be). I got on the bus and heard nothing but Italian as I made my way to the back. When I sat down the girls behind me were speaking in French so I asked them if this was, in fact, the bus to the station and what stop I'd have to get off at. Yes, and the same one as us. Boom. Problem solved.

Merci Dieu that there's an English option on the ticket machines, because I had six minutes to buy a ticket and find my platform. Doing that awkward "gotta go, gotta go, gotta go right now" speed walk, I made it with a minute to spare, only to be surrounded by a mass of Greek kids. It wasn't exactly the most pleasant of train rides, mostly because I couldn't move and I had no idea where and when I'd be getting off, but finally almost three hours later I made it into Santa Maria Novella Stazione in Florence. Now the next trick was finding my cousin Allison's apartment. In the dark.

Usually I have no problems with Google Maps getting me where I have to go, but under these circumstances I needed some extra help. After successfully making my way out of the station and through the first three steps of my directions, I figured it'd be best if I stopped somewhere to ask. Nighttime in an unfamiliar country where I don't know the language and I've got a massive backpack...not exactly the best time to be wandering around. The receptionist at the hotel was very friendly and gave me a map, but unfortunately her "it's that way" hand gesture didn't cut it. After I walked down one street for 10 minutes with no luck, I backtracked to the hotel and took a different route. The right one.

Relieved, I made my way up to Allison's apartment and only after pressing most of the buttons next to the door did I realize that there was a note on the knocker. They'd gone for dinner and would be back afterwards. Merde. I had no choice but to wait, because if I went for food and they came back, I wouldn't know and then I might not get in, I'd get kidnapped by gypsys, be accosted by homeless people, etc.

Once they came back, Katie carried my bag up and I went and got a pizza and inhaled it. The next morning Katie and I got up early to see the sights before the rest of the Americans got to it. I feel like it wouldn't be an exaggeration to call Florence "Little America" because honestly I heard more Americans speaking than I did Italians. The Italians probably just try to avoid us at all costs. We walked along the Arno, across the Ponte Vecchio, and around Palazzo della Signoria before taking a tour of the Duomo. This tour was probably the best 15 € I ever spent, our guide was excellent and really made it an excellent visit. In addition to being able to visit the roped off areas of the cathedral, we were able to walk up and around the dome, as well as on the terraces. The views were spectacular; I said to Katie when we were on top of the dome, "is this real life?" Honestly, it was just so perfect that it felt like it couldn't possibly be real.

After trekking up all the steps we were pretty hungry so we sat down to an amazing lunch. Simple, but again, absolutely perfect. Seafood salad and pesto pasta.

Later that afternoon Katie and I walked up to the Piazza Michelangelo where we got a panoramic view of the city. Before we went back to Allison's we stopped off at a gelateria. Whoever said money can't buy happiness clearly never had gelato. Wow.

The next day, I went to Siena with one of Allison's friends from school, Masood. After some issues with an overbooked bus, we finally made it. I really enjoyed Siena, not only because I'd never been there before, but also because it felt so much more authentic than Florence. I feel like the strong American presence in Florence detracts from the Tuscan charm. We only had a couple hours to spend there, but we saw quite a bit.

When I was leaving, of course there were no problems, except that I had the weirdest take-off experience ever: the captain held the parking brake, and while the engines were going at full speed (like they'd be when you are shooting down the runway) we were just sitting there. Then all of a sudden he lets off the brake and we shot up! I guess the Italian lady from the beginning wasn't lying when she said that the runway is short, otherwise I can't think why else they would have done that.

There's still quite a bit left to tell until you're completely up to speed; picnics, kayaking, Roland Garros, etc., but I'm heading back down to Lyon to see what I couldn't last time I was there because of the strikes. Il faut qu'on profite!

The Fair Isles Part 2

Apologies once again for the delay, but I'll start by picking up where I left off. After our Ulster fry we said goodbye to the Burns family and headed to the airport for our 30-some minute flight to London. Once we arrived at the airport, Jackie and I spent a half hour or so trying to get in touch with James who arrived just as our restlessness was starting to get out of hand. He picked us up, took us back to his place to drop our things off and once that was all said and done we hopped on the overground and headed into central London.

Our first stop: Leicester Square, where all the major movie premiers are held in London. Unfortunately, it was undergoing some renovations for the 2012 Olympics, so most of it was fenced off due to construction, but we still had a chance to see most of the major cinemas. We met up with Fiona and Caoimhlin and headed to Nando's for a bite to eat. After dinner, we went through Piccadilly Circus - basically the Times Square of New York - which was a lot smaller than I'd imagined it. When you see it in movies, you always get the sense that it is as impressive as Times Square, but definitely not the case.

The next stop was Hamleys one of the world's largest toy shops. Maybe I'm growing up, or America has just set some really high standards for what a toy shop should have, but I wasn't that impressed. Just typing this I feel old, but the selection wasn't that great and everything was ridiculously overpriced. For instance, anyone remember those kits for make your own balloons? They sold them at the dollar store and you'd get three or four tubes of the plastic stuff and the straws to blow it up with, but in Hamleys they acted like it was this great new toy that could be yours for only 15 £ (roughly $25)!

After Hamleys we headed up Carnaby Street, one of the main shopping streets in London, before taking the tube to Camden Town. Camden Town pretty much embodies everything that you'd expect a kitsch neighborhood to be. If I had to think of an American equivalent, I would suggest that you think of Cowtown as an actually community with buildings rather than stalls, add a heavy dose of punks, pubs and tattoo shops, and maybe you'd have something kind of close. What was probably most interesting about this neighborhood though was the fact that you saw people from all walks of life: everything from homeless people to rahs. We wanted to go into a bar to get a drink, but couldn't because they were carding and Jackie didn't have her ID. So, we ended up in a pub instead. Just sitting there with everyone people watching, I decided that I could live in London too.

The next day we did all of the touristy stuff - the London Eye, Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament, Westminster Abbey (which unfortunately was closed to visitors since it was Sunday), Buckingham Palace (where we were treated to an impromptu parade), Trafalgar Square, 10 Downing Street, Harrods, and the Natural History Museum all followed by dinner at Garfunkels.

Westminster Abbey

When the flag is raised the Queen is inside

Trafalgar Square - 2012 Olympics countdown clock in the background

Dinosaurs!

I can't forget to mention though, our amazing lunch at Wagamama. While I didn't sample any "typical" English food (besides fish and chips), from what I did taste, I'd honestly have to disagree with the stereotype that English people have terrible food. Case in point:

We spent our last full day in London walking alongside the Tower of London, across the Tower Bridge, over the Millennium Bridge, at Pizza Express and inside the Tate Modern. After a final round of drinks up in Camden Town, we said goodbye to Fiona and Caoimhlin and grabbed some sandwiches at Prêt-à-Manger and Marks & Spencer. When I finally returned to France, I went through some serious M & S withdraw, not only because of the amazing food, but also because of the convenience (doesn't close at 7.30 like every store in France).

The next afternoon, after a quick stop at Platform 9 3/4 (although not the same one used in the first Harry Potter movie because they're renovating that part of the station), Jackie and I boarded the Eurostar back to Paris. Strangely enough, while at the station I was more comfortable speaking in French to the people working there rather than in English, since American English would give me away instantly as being a foreigner.

Like I mentioned before, I had no expectations at all of what the UK would be like, but after such a memorable experience I can easily picture myself living there, even if it does rain all the time and they drive on the wrong side of the road.

The Fair Isles Part 1

So I’ll start up again where I last left off. My trip to Paris with the exchange students from Southampton was interesting to say the least. The day started with me almost missing the bus and an introduction to the staff and students going on the trip. When I met Bob, the teacher in charge, he asked me where I was from, to which I replied “Philadelphia.” “Philadelphia,” he said, “hm. So what kind of big cities does Philadelphia have?” Right. Queue 15 second pause and look of incredulity. “Um, Philadelphia is a city, in the state of Pennsylvania.” Granted it was 8.00 in the morning, but I took back the “get out of jail for free” card I'd given him after he introduced me to the rest of the kids.

“Good morning everyone! So today we have a guest with us, Matt, with us who works at the collège teaching English. Matt is from Philadelphia, does anyone know anything about Philadelphia?”

*Crickets*

“CHEESE!”

What this genius was referring to was Philadelphia cream cheese. That’s the only thing they can think of when they hear “Philadelphia.” No Liberty Bell, Ben Franklin, Declaration of Independence, Constitution, former capital of the United States…nothing. One even asked me, after they realized that I was American and not French, if Philadelphia was on the West coast. Fail.

Their teacher Amélie, a French expat living in England, told me that they’re not very concerned with geography, languages or world culture. Even though they were supposed to be the best and the brightest from their school, the happenings of the day would prove otherwise. Most of them threw out the bag lunches that their family packed for them (they didn’t even drink the Orangina!) and opted for Subway and Starbucks, while others boasted about how they barely spoke any French with their host families and how they had to try so many different foods at last nights’ dinner. I must be getting old.

After taking a tour of Notre Dame (Fun Fact: I never realized that the door on the far left was different from the other two, but apparently it was made that way because the church believed that nothing could be perfect, except God) we headed to Beaubourg where Amélie, Matt and I sat at a café while the kids had some free time.

The afternoon was spent touring the Stade de France, the biggest stadium in France where they have rugby, soccer, track and field, cycling and motocross as well as concerts and operas. Our guide was really good, but I felt terrible for him because of some of the questions that the kids asked him i.e. How many people died and/or killed themselves here? What’s the most serious accident you’ve had here? The stadium is 900 years old. The light color in this area is wrong, it should be red since it’s closer to the fire station. Forget questions like “has so and so performed here?” or “how many goals have been scored here?” etc.

The Stade de France seats 80,000 spectators, and the Jumbo-trons are as big as a tennis court.

Two days later on Wednesday I left for Belfast to visit my friend Sarah before heading to London to do the same with another friend, James. Going into this trip I had no expectations at all; not even the slightest inkling of what either Ireland or England would be like. Both places, however, were nicer than I ever could have imagined and I had a fantastic time. In both countries we were kept so busy that every night we were exhausted. Only two things were missing from the trip, a proper night out and a pint of Guinness. Otherwise pretty much everything got checked off the list.

Right, so first stop: Belfast. Sarah met Jackie and I at the airport and we did a mini walking tour of Belfast, making a quick stop to see the oldest pub in the city before heading to Victoria Square for some Peri-Peri chicken at Nando’s. The British assistants raved about this place (they serve Portuguese food) and honestly, their praise was justified. Awesome. If anyone wants to make a killing stateside, open one of these restaurants. I’m convinced it would slaughter Moe’s or Panera Bread.
We walked around a little bit more after dinner and did a tour of the waterfront along the River Lagan (they switch the word order for some reason) before Sarah’s dad picked us up and we headed back to her place.

The next day we got on the train and went to Dublin. It was a beautiful city that reminded me of Boston, which makes sense I guess considering that so many Irish immigrants settled there. We had a nice 15 minute walk or so into the center of town and after signing up for an afternoon Viking tour we went for a stroll through the grounds of Trinity College before heading to lunch. Again, I was treated to an incredible meal at Elephant & Castle, a New York style sandwich shop that was anything but. According to Sarah’s mom they’re a chain too like Nando’s; and again if anyone is looking for an investment opportunity, here’s another one for you.

After lunch we went on a Viking tour of Dublin. A Viking tour is basically the same thing as a Duck Tour that you’d take in Philly or Boston, except you wear Viking helmets and yell at people walking along the street as you drive by. I’ll admit that at first, I thought it was going to be kind of cheesy, but the driver was hilarious and I had a really good time. It was difficult to get photos of the sights, but we did manage to see a lot in the hour and a half that we were on board.

If only there was enough time...

U2 Recording studios.

That night Sarah’s mom and sister had cooked for us: Shepherd’s pie (no veggie in between the beef and potatoes though) with some Irish sausages for dinner and pavlova for dessert. After dinner we all hung out together talking and drinking for a while.

The next morning  after we finished our bus tour of Belfast, one of Sarah's friends, Lucy, and her boyfriend Nathan drove us up to the Giant's Causeway - an area of about 40,000 interlocking basalt columns, the result of an ancient volcanic eruption. After a hearty bowl of Irish lamb stew, Sarah, Jackie and I made the treck down to the Causeway, where this was waiting for us:

The drive home was filled with even more beautiful scenery. I thought Normandy was green, but Ireland takes it to a whole different level.

The next morning after an incredible Ulster fry made by Sarah's dad, we set off for the airport and on to London. Unfortunately for those of you reading this, you'll have to wait a bit longer, as I'm getting ready to go to Florence tomorrow morning. Just think, when I get back (and eventually update) you'll have London and Italy to look forward to. Ciao for now though!

Adieu?

I’ve always been one to really appreciate the little things in life, but with the departure of probably the nicest neighbor I’ll ever have, I’ve realized just how big of a difference those little things make in a person’s life. This week for the first time in eight months when I woke up, there was no more Qunxing, smiling and ever-cheerful to greet me with an enthusiastic “Bonjour!” or “Salut Matt!” No more happy scuttle and right-up-in-your-face conversations; she’s just completed her three-day trek back to her home in central China.

Monday and Tuesday were filled with lasts for her, and I have no idea how she held it together. It was our last meal together, her last time at Sylviane and Jean-François’ house, and her goodbye to Sylviane. I was watching them as they were hugging and seriously I don’t know how she did it. I’m not one to start blubbering when I know I’ll see the person again, but with her I’m pretty sure none of us will be taking a 15 hour train ride from Hong Kong into Wuhan to visit.

Even though she’s only two years older than me, I’ve learned some (what I think anyway are) really important life lessons from her. Lesson one: A smile is the most powerful tool you possess and it’s almost impossible to abuse its power. Lesson two: Smile, laugh, and always appreciate the person next to you because regardless of who they are, you can’t know the impact you’ll have on their life (or they’ll have on yours) until they’re gone. And lastly, while it’s not exactly my definition for the indefinable, the meaning of life is to make a difference in somebody else’s.

Right, so now that you’ve had a healthy dose of Asian sagesse, I’ll recap the week. Things have slowed down a lot here, and when I say a lot I mean it because I’m not one to get bored easily. Usually if I have a book or nice weather or something I can amuse myself, but now that all of the assistants but one are gone, my contract is up, and I have a month and a half until my next “job” over here starts, I’m going a little stir crazy. I’m glad my room gets the morning sun, because otherwise I probably wouldn’t get up until after noon.

There are two words that sum up this week: dinner and walking. Walking because I’ve done tons of it, just as something to get me out of the school and to explore all those roads I’ve always wanted to go down, but never took the time to explore because I was going somewhere else. Dinner because I ate more meals out this week than I did at home; dinner at Sylviane’s, dinner with Qunxing, dinner with one of my teachers Tatiana who made an amazing lapin provençale, and then just last night dinner with some of my students who are graduating this year.

For the foreseeable future I think the cabin fever will be held at bay – tomorrow I’m going to Paris with 40-some British 8th graders on exchange with my collègiens, then Wednesday I leave for my week long adventure to Ireland and England. It pays to know people.