I'm Back!

And almost ready for action.

I realized just now that we've been home from our travels for almost two weeks, and I am just about decompressed. I think I need one more night of catching up on 30 Rock, The Office, and the other goodies saved for us by our thoughtful DVR while we were gone. Then I'm ready to catch you up on all we've done and are doing!

Promise!

The Five Stages of No Internet Access

Even though I am in Amsterdam, possibly my favorite city in the whole world, I have been suffering dearly due to the fact that we have no internet access.

Seriously, it's been freaking me out far more than I would have ever thought. But the uncontrollable shaking only lasted the first day or so.

The only way I am posting this is that we are camping out in the hotel room of my friend Lara and her husband Christian, who are also visiting Amsterdam and who not only have internet, but it's FREE! I just never knew how much I rely on the internet for JUST ABOUT EVERYTHING. I catch myself about ten or more times a day saying to myself "Oh, I'll just go and look that up online....DOH!" And yes, I have gone through all the stages, and the most pathetic part of the story is that not only have we resigned ourselves to watching TV, but watching TV in Dutch. Which I don't speak or comprehend. At all. It may be an all time low.

But the good news is that we are living in a lovely apartment in an even lovelier part of Amsterdam, eating good food that actually has flavor (and fiber) as well as a lot of chocolate from Puccini (more on that later), playing in the park, and sleeping well.

Not a bad way to end our four months in Europe.

So, I guess you all will have to wait for the nitty gritty details of our travels in England and Amsterdam. But hey, look at it this way, at least I'll have something to blog about when I get home.

On my 24/7 super speedy internet. God Bless America!

Twiglets & Ginger Beer

Well, as you may have guessed from by brief hiatus, I am no longer in Paris, but have spent the last week in London, which I love, love, love. It feels like being home since Steve and I lived here about 10 years ago, and I have been sleeping, eating, and enjoying traveling without those pesky 18 college students to worry about (even though I love you guys).

And as I have come back to my hotel every afternoon, thinking I should be writing on the blog but instead mindlessly surfing the Internet, I have been indulging myself in one of my favorite UK snacks, Twiglets & Ginger Beer.

If you're scratching your head, you're not alone. I put "Twiglets & Ginger Beer" on my Facebook status update and have yet to get one comment, so either people are totally stumped, or they think I'm totally lame.

Anyway, first let's start with Twiglets. Really, these things are totally bizarre, and when they were first introduced to me by our friends Tim & Alison I thought they were kidding. They are these whole wheat, pretzely-like snacky food that are coated in the equivalent of Marmite, which is Vegemite, which is that stuff that Men at Work talk about in "A Land Down Under," which is that stuff made of nasty tasting yeast that Aussies, for some reason, think tastes great on just about everything. When I first tried them I was repulsed, and said "Ewwww," but after chewing and swallowing I stopped and said "wait a minute, give me another one of those things...," and thus, an addiction was born.

The Twiglets are totally pungent, so what better to match it with but Old Jamaica Ginger Beer. It's a little like ginger ale, but then again, nothing like ginger ale. It's a soda, but tastes like real ginger instead of the syrupy, nasty flavor in ginger ale. It can be really strong and almost hot tasting, but I find the Old Jamaica is just right. And it comes in diet. Score.

I don't know what it is, but there's something about that nasty yeasty taste and that sharp ginger taste that makes up for all the bland, heavy, French food I've had over the last few months. I know, I know, Marie-Laure, but I just never did completely get it. What can I say? I'm an ugly American.

So, here I am, having my afternoon snack, writing about my afternoon snack. I know, it's a little less ambitious than most of my blog posts of late.

But come on. I'm on a vacation here!

Locks of Love

Well, Icelandic volcano or no, my time in Paris is quickly coming to an end. And our time with the students, although most are still in Paris, has already finished. It really was an amazing experience to get to know them each, and I can truly say that each of them taught me many important things during our time together.

We've been getting together each Monday night for FHE, and we wanted our last meeting to be one to remember. Then I was reading my friend Reba's blog and learned about the tradition that has been going on for years where couples put a lock with their names up on some of the pedestrian bridges across the Seine and then throw the key in the river to symbolize their everlasting love. I wanted to do it for the family, but I thought of the student's time here in Paris, and how I am sure this experience has changed each of them. So, I thought it might be a nice idea for them each to put their own lock on the Passerelle Léopold-Sédar Senghor to symbolize that they are leaving a little part of them in Paris that will be here forever.

I know, I know, it doesn't really follow the rules, but rules were made to be broken, right?

So we all got together and shared what we had each learned personally during our time in Paris, and then put our locks on the bridge. It was a great evening, and truly one of the highlights of our time here for me. Here's some photos.

The students decorating their locks to attach to the bridge.

Then on to dinner.

Steve got the Boeuf Tartare. Why? I have absolutely no idea, although I do know that he often likes to eat food that's based on a dare.

Finding a home for our locks.

I knew we were in trouble the day before we went to the bridge and I told the boys about the tradition and let them decorate and put their name on their own locks. Jack lovingly decorated both the lock and the key, and then cried like he had lost his best friend when we attached it to the bridge and he realized it wasn't coming home with him. Luckily one of the students didn't make it, so he inherited his lock to stop the sobbing. He's already been back to visit his lock once and wants to see it again before we leave Paris on Friday.

Throwing the keys into the Seine.

Lots of locks. The row is some of the students, and ours is the large one in the middle with Max's and Jack's attached.

And, luckily, someone was smart enough to make a key for you to find your lock again when you return. Ours is in section 23A.

I really have loved my time in Paris, and I have to admit that it has thrilled me, humbled me, inspired me, and kicked my butt on more than one occasion.

It truly has been everything at once.

And, as I am spending my last couple of days here, I am starting to realize that leaving that little part of me here in Paris is really going to hurt.

And Just When I Thought It Was Time To Come Home...

BAM!

The good news is now I have time to catch up on the blog.

Today I Felt Like A True Parisian

Was it because I got swept away by the art and architecture? Was it because I had a fantastic French meal? Was it because I spoke perfect French all day?

Non.

It was because I yelled at some American tourists who were pushing on the metro.

I think this means it's time to come home.

J'adore: Shopping In Paris

And no, not the kind of shopping you might think, although I have done my fair share of that kind too. No, the shopping I'm taking about it grocery shopping. And to be completely honest, it's been a bit of a love hate relationship. Things don't always taste just right, sometimes I have bought the wrong thing completely (like the day I used the kind of sugar you only use for jam in brownies and they ended up very sour), and, you know, everything on the groceries is written in FRENCH.

The nerve.

But today I did what I am guessing will probably be my last "big" shopping trip, one where I have to take the trolley and get a major work out getting up the stairs because it's close to overflowing. And it made me a bit sad. I do not for one instant miss my car and driving to do my errands, and I have to say that is probably the thing that I will miss most from living here: the self reliance of walking everywhere, or even taking the metro. I do have to admit that I have a really nice grocery store right across the street and another good one around the corner, so there is no slogging the groceries on the metro like I had to do on the tube in London when we lived there. So I am spoiled that way, and it takes a ton less time to walk and do my errands (even when I pick up bread at the bakery and fresh veggies on Rue Cler) than it does when I drive at home. And I will miss Rue Cler; it is beautiful.

But really, I just hate cars. And I am lucky enough to have a good one that's fairly new and in good shape. But I love briskly walking the neighborhood with my ugly, hunter green trolley with electrical tape on the handle, keeping up with all the amazingly beautiful, impeccably dressed French women pulling their (not so shabby) trolleys to do their errands. It makes me feel like one with Paris, and I feel the pulse of the city around me. I feel alive when I run my errands here, and at home it just seems like a blur of turn signals and stop lights and looking forward to getting it over.

I will miss the Carrefour City. And it's theme song that plays as you're shopping "Carrefour, Ci-tay." Although it does come in second to the theme song at the Franprix around the corner "Franprix, votre grocery préfere, Franprix." And I love that the Carrefour is open from 7 AM to 11:45 PM. And on Sundays from 9 AM until whenever they feel like closing (which is probably about 1PM). I'm not kidding. I love and hate that about the French: they are very protective of their downtime.

So it was with a heavy heart today I carried my heavy shopping trolley up the steep, winding staircase to our apartment.

But hey, I'm looking at the bright side. At least I can sing along to my iPod when I run my errands avec car at home. Believe you me, the French would not like it one little bit if I walked down Rue Cler singing Feist at the top of my lungs.

The nerve.