Almost Enough to Make Me Believe in Karma...

Bonjour! J'ai passe' un week-end tellement merveilleux a Paris! That translated, "I had an absolutely wonderful weekend in Paris!"

So, I went to visit the wonderful Lala who is studying abroad in the City of Lights, and needless to say, best weekend ever. However, before I get into the events of this weekend, I must remark that on Friday as the taxi was bearing me through the misty Edinburgh morning to the airport, I was gripped with such a feeling of love for this city, I could hardly stand the thought that I was leaving it.

Bruntsfield Commons, a view which I see on my way to Church!

"The Meadows", with Edinburgh Castle in the background.

After all, who would want to leave someplace like this? The only thing that got me through it was the thought of seeing Lala, and then it struck me that I was going to Paris. Paris, where I can kinda speak the language. Those prospects made me happy, as the last countries I have flown to (Spain, Denmark, Germany) I have not been able to speak the language, or speak it upon arrival.

"French, a language that makes sense."

Friday afternoon, Lala came to meet me at the airport, and all that was wrong in the world was righted again because I was with one of my closest friends, and together we fought our way through the hordes of French people streaming in and out of Châtelet. Châtelet is indeed a nightmare of a station, as after we had disembarked the train from the airport, we realized that we needed the metro ticket to get out of the station. Silly me, I was too preoccupied with my baggage and extra clothing items to look after my ticket - there were ticket booths on the other side of the barriers, but no way to get to them. However, disaster was averted when I found my ticket in my purse, and then we proceeded out of Châtelet to fight the streaming hordes of Saint-Lazare.

After dropping off my bags at Lala's host family's home in Asnières (which is absolutely picture-perfect and so beautiful in a way that is so French-country-home-finding-itself-in-the-suburbs-of-Paris kind of way), we ran down to the local boutiques and bought some flowers and real French bread. La made me take a bite of the piping hot bread - I would find it no chore to live the rest of my days on warm French bread.

Next, we took the Metro back into the center and found ourselves right beneath the Tour Jacques across from Notre Dame. We had our first croque-monsieurs and walked along the Seine, watching the Tour Eiffel flash its little search light every now and again. We even walked across one of the footbridges across the Seine, where there were tons of "jeunes Parisiens" sitting, eating, drinking, and talking on the bridge. What else were we to do but join them?

La in front of a band performing on the bridge.

Oh right, we also walked to the Louvre at night, and through the archway that is on the other side of the Louvre.

Internally reliving my first trip to Paris.

After wandering the streets of central Paris for a while, we turned around, headed home, and had a good night's rest. Saturday morning we had a real French breakfast of bread, honey, marmalade, and hot chocolate. La wasn't kidding when she said that all French people eat is bread. It is truly a staple here.

Lala had to go to a meeting for one of her classes in the Musee D'Orsay, and I had never been to that museum before, so I came along for the journey. It was a glorious hour and a half spent by myself while Lala did her headphoned, guided walking tour with her class. I saw some real beauties, but for the sake of my reader's patience, I won't post them here.

After the museum, we made our way to the artist area around Montmartre, bought ourselves some fougasses, and then ate them on the steps below the Sacre-Couer. At Montmartre, I had my first taste of French ice cream: vanilla and strawberry, the perfect combination for the sweetness of French ice cream.

After Montmartre, we passed through the cemetery nearby for a few minutes, and then were on our way to the center again to go to the Saint-Chapelle.

Lala in the Saint-Chapelle

Us in front of the Saint-Chapelle and the Palais de Justice.

To finish the day off, we took a boat tour at that beautiful time when it's not quite afternoon, not quite evening, and saw the major sites of Paris, including the most recognizable attractions in the country, the Tour Eiffel:

After the boat tour, when dusk was just setting in, we went back to Asnières, got some food from the local grocery store, had a wonderful dinner of stir-fry halibut, soup, bread, and the most delicious store-bought fondant chocolat you could imagine (if what I bought was even a fondant). We read a bit, and made an early evening of Saturday night.

On Sunday morning, we had a bit of toast, and Lala was so gracious as to accompany me to the worship service of Church, which was really cool. I thought we were going to miss it, but the Lord was on our side. Afterwards, we spent some time at the Centre Georges Pompidou and explored a Catholic cathedral nearby. Lala knew of a good falafel shop in the Jewish Quarter, and so we went over there for lunch, and I got myself a delicious French-Jewish latke, which tasted like heaven on earth. If I lived in Paris, the Jewish Quarter would be my favourite haunt because of the shops and ambiance of conviviality.

At this point, we turned towards home and Asnières, as I still needed to pack and then be on my merry way to Charles de Gaulle airport. There was a bit of work to be done on the train line direct to the airport, so I had to take a little detour, but all was well, and I'm now safely back in my little corner of the world in Edinburgh.

Mom and Dad, I didn't even have to ask what courgettes were; I already knew.

Irn Bru - Scotland in a Soft Drink

Today's mini-topic is the sugary, shock-orange soda called "Irn Bru."

So apparently, as I found out in St Andrews on Saturday, the drink "Irn Bru" is not in fact pronounced "Rrrn Bruuu" in a deep, guttural Scots accent like they lead you to believe on the can, but "Iron Brew." If they wanted people to say "Iron Brew," why didn't they just call it that?

"Rrrrn Brruu" is so much more fun to say. Imagine running around the Highlands in a kilt and facepaint with some of your friends, holding of these babies in your hands, shouting "Rrrrn Brru!" No one would know what you were saying - they would think it's some sort of way cry. Never would they guess that all these charging, be-skirted Scotsmen were really just ecstatic about their soft drink.

Long live Irn Bru!!! Which, although sugary, isn't all that great, which, as some Scots might tell you, is typical of their wonderful and beautiful country. (The prime example is football, or soccer for you really American-type readers.) Orange Fanta still beats it by the Royal Mile.

Images found on scotclans.com and gulfbusiness.tradeholding.com, of all places.

This Week’s Bane of My Existence is Not Contact Solution

When I flew to Spain from the United States, I brought a supply of toiletries with me, such as toothpaste, deodorant, and contact solution. I didn’t bother bringing soap and shampoo here because they’re abundantly available, and the toothpaste I restocked a long time ago. However, my supplies of deodorant and contact solution are running low, and on Thursday I went to the Alcampo (better European version of Target) near my work. I easily found a suitable deodorant in the personal hygiene section – I was tempted to buy one of the oddly-shaped Garnier ones – and then resumed my search for contact solution.

I am amused.

Ten minutes later, after scoping all four of the aisles, I had nothing. I thought it ironic that it was easier to find appropriate protection and body-firming lotions rather than contact solution, but people want easy access to their products.

Finally, I approached one of the sales clerks and tentatively asked “¿Vendes tú el solucion de las lentillas?” I didn’t know if I had the right words, and she certainly didn’t understand me. She replied, “No se, no se.”

I shrugged and proceeded to purchase the other treasures of the day. Later that evening, I went to the local farmacia near my Spanish class, but I saw no contact solution. Admittedly I did not ask – I wasn’t sure how asking for something in the farmacia worked. I think you have to go in and ask them for what you want specifically. (I needed some sunscreen anyway, so I asked for that. I know, I know, I should’ve just asked for the contact solution in the best Spanish I could, but it’s hard and scary asking for things in a foreign language.)

Yesterday (Friday), as half my co-workers and I were going to the local Alcampo to pick up some food for lunch, I asked my Spanish co-worker how to say “contact solution” and where you can purchase it. First of all, he said that the correct word is “liquido de lentillas” ("solucion" means either a solution to a problem or a chemical solution) and that the farmacia should have some. He also told me that there was a farmacia at the other end of Alcampo, and he offered to go pick some up with me. I was a little chagrined at that – I felt that I was perfectly capable of asking “¿Vendes tú el liquido de lentillas?” but I also like company, and he made the decision by saying "Let's go!" So we walked over to the farmacia together, and he helped me purchase more contact solution.

It was almost disappointingly simple. As such, I have been deprived of a four- or five-day quest and more material to write about.

However, yesterday the strap broke on one of my favorite walking sandals. I can still wear it, but it looks like I’ll need to get some other comfy sandals pretty soon – which is a feat in Spain, as Magi and I learned earlier this afternoon while perusing some of the shopping malls in downtown Madrid. No Mephistos, Birkenstocks, or Eccos for me today.

I smell an upcoming post about sandals.

(Also today - an over-tanned American tourist asked me and Magi in a loud American voice, "Do you speak English?" My desire to speak with another American overcame my dislike of tourists from my country, and I said yes. She pointed to the awesome pants I was wearing and asked where she could get a pair. We were on the Calle de Goya and spent a few minutes explaining how to get to the Goya Metro station where only a few hours before we had seen the exact same pants I was wearing. 

I suggested getting there via Metro because it is my fifth love, and the woman said she had been in Madrid three days and hadn't used the Metro yet [or found a pair of awesome pants - they're literally everywhere here]. Seriously? Anyway, after we had given her directions and Magi and I were walking away, Magi told me that I'm no longer a tourist because I gave someone directions. Upon reflection, I guess that's true. Yeah, I'm no longer a tourist.)

From whirling-dervish.com. Not quite the pants that I was wearing at the time, but I hope it gives you an idea of the type of pants I like. Also: my pants are not see-through.

Also, the photo of the Garnier deodorant was taken from Primp and Preen from her blog,  http://sheprimpsandpreens.blogspot.com/. She hasn't approved it yet, which I hope she will soon...

This Week's Bane of My Existence

Stamps. I have been on the lookout for them ever since my second week in Spain, thinking that I will go and purchase them if I happen to pass by an estanco, or tabaqueria, which sells them. (I realized too late that I could purchase stamps at the place I registered for my Metro pass. I was right there, in the same shop.) 

Anyway, I have some long-overdue postcards to send, and my project on Tuesday was to find a place where I could buy stamps. That day was also my find-a-book-in-English day, so I was pretty busy. After going to the bookstore, I stopped off at Sol to get some more postcards and look for an estanco, but it was getting late, I was tired, and I let myself off the hook because I felt so accomplished for having bought not one but two books in English earlier that day.

Wednesday was the match, and so I gave myself off that day, too.

Thursday we had a barbecue after work, so I went to that instead.

Friday I found an estanco on GoogleMaps, and I thought I had the right bus station. At about 8:45 p.m., I hopped on a bus, but it was the wrong bus because it didn’t take me where I wanted to go. I got off, looked around for an estanco, didn’t find one, and then spent twenty minutes waiting for the right bus to come and pick me up. (Public transportation failure – four other buses came before mine did.) At this point, it was almost 9:30 p.m., and I still had to buy food from the local grocery store (Lidl), which closes at 10 p.m.

My stamps would have to wait for another day.

And that day was today. I have been to the Estrella supermercado a few times, and across the street is a tabaqueria. To make sure that there really was a tabaqueria there, I looked at the street view on GoogleMaps. (Despite my best efforts, I can’t figure out how to take a screen shot on my computer or find a picture on the internet, but I'm trying to show you what it looks like. To compensate for my lack of computer skillz, just imagine a maroon-and-yellow T hanging above a shop door.) I found the tabaqueria and was on my way. I got lost a little bit, because I pick a direction before thinking about the best way to get somewhere – I want to look like I know where I am going, but such a desire causes me more trouble than it’s worth. However, that is neither here nor there, and I arrived at the tabaqueria with little incident.

I joined the line, which was about four people deep. As other people bought their cigarettes, and I kept thinking that this is place couldn’t possibly have stamps to send my postcards to the U.S. By the time it came to me, I asked the sentence I had prepared in my head: “¿Vendes los sellos para los Estados Unidos?”

To my surprise, and gratification, she said “Si.”

She took her time finding them, and she asked me if I wanted one. Ha ha. No, I wanted eighteen. Granted, I don’t have eighteen postcards to send – right now – but it took me this long to figure out how to get stamps, and I wanted to make sure that I had enough for the next round. She got my eighteen stamps, I paid for them, and then I went on my merry way.

I now have eleven postcards, written, addressed, and stamped. I forgot to put them in the mailbox today. I won’t forget to put them in the mailbox, though, because unlike post offices (which don’t sell stamps anyway, or so I’ve heard) and tabaquerias, post boxes really are everywhere. To prove this, there is one just outside my apartment building. It looks like this:

This isn't my "correo" box. Mine has graffiti on it. It gives it extra personality, I think.

This One Has Pictures

Picture time! I’m sorry I’ve been bad about posting them, but I’ve been working a lot. Instead of doing touristy things and gallivanting off somewhere every weekend, I’ve been staying put in Madrid and doing Madrileno things. I’m actually living in Madrid, and sometimes that means doing monotonous things like going to the grocery store and taking the Metro to the same stop every day, five days a week.

Last Monday, we went walking around the apartment because I hadn’t seen that part of town. I wanted exercise, too. Look below for some lövely pictures.

Las fuentes en frente del piso.

Belén being herself

What it looks like from a jogging path near the apartment.

On Tuesday, we went to the Temple of Debod. I thought it was a cheap knockoff of the Temple of Dendur in the Metropolitan in New York City. However, this is not the case. It’s a real temple given to Spain by Egypt during the 19th Century as a thank-you for helping them save some other temples. The Temple of Debod was outside in a beautiful little park. I am entitled to say that the Met keeps better care of their ancient Egyptian temple than Madrid does, and no one needs to point out that Madrid is in an arid clime which is more similar to Egypt than New York’s climate is.

Temple of Debod

Don Quixote y Sancho Panza

In the words of my brother, "Hewwo!"

After the Temple of Debod, we walked to the end of the park and saw this.

A blurry picture taken from the park near the Temple

A much better picture taken near the building

Palacio Real! I still haven’t been inside yet. That is a project for some other day.

On our little excursion to the Temple and the Palace, one thing really stood out to me: joggers. Joggers were everywhere! Mostly men who looked to be 35 or 40, but there were young women, old men, teenagers. In the space of one minute, I saw about six joggers. That's even more than the numbers of joggers and cyclists on Wasatch Boulevard back Home in the morning.

Casas and Spanish Dining Hours

Today was mostly filled with work, although there was a change of pace because I transitioned from research to actually writing about my topic. Also, I had a buddy working at the other desk in the same room! We didn’t talk much, however, because I think she is Italian and she was busy doing her own work. Our desks are in the front room of the company's building, a casa, near the kitchen and by the entryway. I get to see all the comings and goings of the company. It gets great light in there, too, and it has high ceilings which minimize how hot it gets.

The company is located in a decently-sized casa in an older part of Madrid. The casa is located on a quaint, one-way cobbled street, and the sidewalk is barely big enough to admit one person. It’s a little forbidding because all the casas have fences to mark the property, but a lot of them are lattice, which is great. I can see some of the houses and the lattice provides a great anchor for climbing plants, so vines and flowers hang over the fences while providing shade, too. No matter the time of day, the white cobblestone streets in that part of town always seems filled with light.

For lunch today, I navigated my way to the Alcampo. It is a big superstore similar to Target, but since it is European, it is naturally superior. I purchased some food and ate it in the office’s garden. Really, I am spoiled.

I feel like I move in half-time in Spain. Everything takes a lot longer than I think it will. Today, I got home from work around 8 p.m., went to the Lidl (a local, smaller grocery store) for some food and got back around 9 p.m., and didn’t have dinner until about 10:30 p.m. when the mother of the family had returned from work. A friend of the mother’s had come to chat and she stayed for dinner. Dinner lasted for almost two hours, yet it felt nowhere near that long. I can’t speak Spanish and the time passed amicably with the daughter translating what her mother and mother’s friend said. The later and later it became, the more pantomimes I did, the more relaxed I became, and the more comfortable I felt as I tried to communicate with the mother and friend, who do not speak English. These are people with whom I can really get along. And today, at least, it felt like my Spanish comprehension improved a little bit.

Tomorrow I have off – huzzah for Spanish holidays! I suppose I should invest some time to discover which holiday it is… But on more pressing matters, the family and I are going to spend the morning at the Madrid temple, and then we will be off to do something touristy. Oh, I am so excited! It’s my fourth day here and I have yet to visit Puerta del Sol or the Royal Palace or the Prado Museum. Also - special shoutout to my brother whose birthday it is today. I promise to get you something nice while I'm in Spain!

I like Spain.