Let the travels begin

Monday morning I checked out of my room at 7:30 AM (after staying up until 3:30 AM cleaning.) For all the care I took scrubbing the tiles, it took the cleaning lady barely five minutes to confirm that I could leave without any difficulties. I had been very stressed because I needed to catch a certain train in Paris in order to arrive in Stuttgart in time to meet Louisa. However, the fact that the Secretary had the day off, which had sent me into a mild panick the night before, because I absolutely had to be out of the residence by 9:15 at the latest, worked to my advantage. I did not have to wait for the Secretary office to open at 8:30; the cleaning lady had already been given my check-out sheet. So I got to the train station in Lille at 8:15, traded in my ticket to paris for an earlier one, and arrived in Paris with two hours in which to get to my next train in the other station, instead of 24 minutes. I would never have made it. As it turns out, I had a rediculous amount of luggage. it was an unexpected grace, to be there early.
I met Louisa, as planned, and as planned we got to Konstanz at 7:00 PM, and were picked up in the car by Miriam. So that is the story of my unstressful journey.

It's lovely being here. It's relaxing, and beautiful, and wonderful. Let it be known that there are at least five chests full of different kinds of dilectable cookies sitting on the balcony. Still, I miss all my family, I send them my love, and whish everyone a Merry Christmas.

We, the writers and editors of this blog, regret to inform you that there will be no further pictures posted for a while. Hanna absolutely refuses to carry her computer around Europe. What a dinosaur. Haha. :P

Two for One Deal: PARIS TRIPS

Since I am horribly behind on my blog, I decided to merge my two Paris visits into one super-blog. It will include pictures from both trips, as well as a list memorable Paris experiences.

Bethany and I decided on the non-stressful two-day Paris experience. Rather than rushing around trying to see everything and make every minute count, we took a survey tour.

We went to the Eifel tower and looked up at it (which feels inappropriately like looking up a respectable woman’s skirt.) We did not climb it. We took time to sit in cafes and eat crepes.

We visited the Ile de la Cite and Notre Dame. We tried to visit the Muse d’Orsay, but as it turns out, it is closed just on Mondays.

We walked along the Seine.

We went to the Louvre, but where too overwhelmed to go inside. I'm reluctant to post a picture of myself from my trip with Bethany, because I don't look like that anymore. But if requested, I can still do that.

Bethany, I'm so sad we did not go to Shakespeare and Company. I didn't know it exists, but know you would love it. It is basically a bookstore in a house. There is still some furniture, a sink, and the rooms are all just regular-shaped. Really cool.

Being in Paris with Louisa was different. First, as much as I love Paris, the real point of the journey was hanging out with Louisa in Paris. Since we’d both been in Paris before, we had to be a little more creative with activities; we could not just hit up the biggest attractions. We did quite a bit of walking. Also, unlike last time I was there, IT IS FREEZING IN PARIS RIGHT NOW. I was so cold, all the time we were not in coffee shops. I actually decided I need to buy a real winter coat.

Saturday night we went down the Champs Elysees. Right now it is decorated for Christmas, buzzing with activity, and be-eautiful.

On Sunday we walked a lot, but I think my favorite part was visiting the Arc de Triumph.
I guess I snobbishly try to avoid the biggest tourist destinations, but it is so cool. That is when it really sunk in that we were in Paris. I would definitely recommend going there first.




Paris Impressions
-Paris is "plain" (look the french word up) of Monuments that are to intimidatingly huge and impossible to photograph in entirety.
-Paris is a city of music. The first time I got on the metro, a Spanish song was playing. Only, the metro system is old, and does not have an intercom. I noticed after a while that there was a man standing on the metro with a guitar, and amp, and a microphone. I don’t know about other people, but I am thrilled the street musicians follow you onto the metro, more so when they are actually good. And even if you are on a non-musical metro, you may well here Jazz saxophone, or trumpet when the doors open at the next station.
-As horrible as it sounds, one of my favorite moments was watching all the street sellers running from the police at Monmartre. Apparently the blankets on which they lay their wares have drawstrings, because it takes them about two seconds to pick everything up. I was sorry for the ones that got caught, but several outran the police, and that carrying huge bundles. One man jumped over the fence, hid his wares in the bushes, then casually strolled and mingled with the crowd.
-At the lower end of the Champs Elysees there is currently a Christmas Market. In front of a booth blaring hip hop music, Santa was standing on a barrel, brakin’ it down. It was one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen.
-There was a street musician in one petro station, playing a Bach fugue on the Godfather of all accordions. It was really, really good.

Quick Update

This is not a real entry, just a quick update:
-I will soon be posting pictures of Paris, I promise.
-Most of this week my (expensive) internet has been out, so I have been unable to do much online.
-I'm spending this weekend in Paris with Louisa.
-I got my Advent Package, and it's wonderful. Thank you, thank you.
-I got my Christmas Package today, so stop worrying Mommy. THANK YOU.
-I'm moving out of my Residence before Christmas, so don't send me anything more.
-I'm spending the end of December and beginning of January traveling.
-I miss you all a lot, and am excited to come home.
Love, Hanna

The (belated) Paris Story

I had the option of taking an earlier train to Paris. Indeed, common sense dictated that I should take the early train, to arrive at the airport before Bethany got there. But I had a distinct sense that I should just take the one that arrived in Paris 10 minutes before Bethany’s plane, and not to worry about it. Having had recent experiences in this area, I resisted common sense and took the later train.
I became more worried when I discovered that the airport was not, as I had supposed, connected to the train station by a mere shuttle. No, I had to take a thirty minute train ride to the edge of the city. But still, a sense of relaxation.

At the airport I inquired after Bethany’s plane at the information desk. The very unhelpful lady simply said, “Oh that plane doesn’t get here until tomorrow.” Then followed several minutes of panic, because if I had gotten the day wrong, that meant I was alone in Paris with no place to stay. And the Paris Airport is NOT a place in which it seems safe to overnight.

I also have a general mistrust of the information people give me. I’m sorry if it has ever bothered you when I have double-checked information you gave me. Anyway, after a fruitless attempt to access the internet, I took myself back to the information counter. The more helpful man explained that the scheduled plane had technical difficulties, and the flight had been rescheduled for the next day. Obviously this was not good news. But it did mean that I had not mistaken the day, and that I did have accommodations. So I went and found my hostel.

From there I was able to access the internet, and found an explanatory email from one of Bethany’s friends. I cancelled Bethany’s bed for the night; I paid for mine; I put my luggage in “storage” (i.e. set anything I wouldn’t mind having stolen in the hallway with the other bags). On facebook I found my friend Dustin, who was in Paris, but had been too lazy to go out in the rain. So we agreed to meet and go to an International Chocolate Exposition (Which is kind of a big deal. It only goes to huge cities like Paris, New York, and Tokyo). And I guess at that point I couldn’t say that I was any longer “Alone in Paris.”

I was extremely fortunate that the other two people who stayed in my room that night were both women. That had been my biggest worry. The next morning I even managed to arrange it so Bethany got the empty bed in the same room. (I think I made a good impression on the concierge by inadvertently wearing Argentinean colors. I guess everyone gets homesick. Anyway, he told me not to worry about anything, and even left his daytime replacement a note.)

I had a good day. The next morning I met Bethany, and was REALLY not alone in Paris anymore.

Frankfurt: Part 2 (Pictures)

The rest of my time in Frankfurt was fantastic. I got to see friends, hang out with Louisa, and I even had a morning just to walk around and take pictures. Which I am now sharing.

Is that the Dome peaking over the edge of the museum?

This is the first visit where I have really appreciated the amazing Frankfurt skyline.

The Romerberg turns out to be a lot smaller than I remembered. (Just imagine the umlaute over the "o.")

Notice the two men in the background who are casually working on the facade of the church without helmets or any sort of safety belt.

Not a track that is often used, I gather.

Anyone need a bath?

Yeah, still have not gotten over my habit of climbing on ancient Roman ruins...

The most alien Madonna I have ever seen. (Please someone tell me if that is offensive, and I will delete it.)

Frankfurt: Part 1 (A Disaster of Epic Proportions)

Let me preface this story by saying that I had a distinctly bad feeling about going to Frankfurt as I was preparing to leave on Monday. I often “get a feeling” about things, and tend to think of it as Divine guidance. The thing is that it is easy to follow the feeling when it concerns something small, like going down a particular alleyway, or entering a cool-looking building. That is how I have found some of my favorite places in Lille (like the book market). I also always regret it when I don’t follow the feeling. (Foreshadowing.) But with larger plans, it’s much harder. It just seems so silly to cancel a trip because of “just a feeling.”
So I went.

My first change in plans came in Paris, where I discovered that the train I had intended to take was all First Class. And even though I told the man at the ticket booth I would take it, he gave me the later ticket instead. This resulted in a five hour wait in the freezing train station. (I didn’t want to get lost in Paris, so I did not venture further than the nearest internet café.) I wrote Louisa an email to let her know of the change.

When I got to the train station at 11:00 PM, Louisa was not there. Now, anyone who has lived in Frankfurt knows that as a young woman, the main train station is probably not a place you want to get stranded in alone in the middle of the night. And though I waited, Louisa did not come. Somewhat reluctantly, I called her house number. No one answered. (I probably cut one to many numbers off, when I took off the country code, because I am told people were awake.) Finally I rechecked the email I had written her. (I kept having to buy cheap things from the McDonalds to get change for the phone and internet.)

One of my least favorite features of French keyboards is that you have to hit Shift to access the numbers. Apparently I had not held down the shift key long enough, because instead of writing “23 Uhr” as I intended, I had written “2” Uhr.” No wonder Louisa was not there. So I wrote Louisa another email. Then I got on facebook, and chatted with Bethany. She called my parents, to get Katie’s number, and Katie gave her numbers for me to try. No one I called picked up. At 1:00 AM I took a train to the Frankfurt International Airport, because I figured it would be safer there, and maybe I could get some sleep. It was. It was toasty warm, there were many non-creepy people, and I slept intermittently wrapped around my luggage for about 5 and a half hours.

The next morning there was an email from Louisa in my inbox, written from the train station, where she went to meet me at 2:00 AM. It contained directions to her house. So I found my way there and went to sleep in her bed until she got back.

Those of you who are very observant will have noticed that most of this could have been avoided with better organization: Pre-ordered tickets, getting Louisa’s address (I could have taken a taxi), so many details. But I’m going to take some other lessons from this instead.

First, yes I do need to follow the “feelings” or promptings, especially in the big things. I still think it was worth it to see Louisa, but I should have done what I unreasonably knew was the better option.

Secondly, I learned that I can keep my head in a crisis. Maybe not my cool, because I was definitely not cool, I was hassled, and close to tears. But I did not panic, I did not cry, I tried things, and I figured out a safe, warm place to go. Perhaps I should have waited ‘till 2:00 AM, but really, I didn’t know if someone was coming.

Thirdly, I will always answer my phone, even if it is late. Make that especially if it is late.

Maybe this disaster is less epic than it seemed, and I have blown it out of proportion. But at the time it definitely felt awful, so awful I would almost [not quite] call it a fiasco.

Coming Soon:

From the person who brought you "Hanna alone in Lille" come two sequels. Attendez "Hanna alone in Frankfurt" et "Hanna alone in Paris." Coming soon on a computer near you. (In both cases it was only for a little while, and don't worry about me. Lot's of character was built.)

My "Creative" Wardrobe

As some of you know, I did not have much luggage space coming over here, due to the fact that I decided to bring my Viola. (On a side note: I don’t actually play it that much, surprise, surprise, but I’m still glad I brought it. I know I would whish I had it with me if I didn’t.) Therefore my wardrobe choices are rather limited. There are really only two choice: expand or come up with new combinations. I am unwilling to add monumentally to my possessions in general, one because I have to take them back with me, and two because I’m not made of money. So far I’ve stuck to purchasing some scarves, a top, a shockingly short dress (to be worn with leggings :P) and a killer pair of boots. Too cool even to describe. I might buy a jacket. But most of the time I stick to what I already have, and try to find new combinations.
I would like to take this moment to destroy any illusions anyone might have about how fashionable and “European” I have become. I pretty much wear what I would wear at home, plus scarves. When I first got here I felt insecure about blending in, but then I realized that I felt far more comfortable in my normal, slightly weird clothes. Perhaps I have gone a little bit weirder. Sometimes I go to University in an outfit I liked that morning, but that I later decide not to repeat. For the most part it works out well. With slight alterations (tights instead of leggings for example), I surprisingly do blend in. What do we learn from this? Why, just be yourselves kids.
Normal garb: My boots, legwarmers, scarves, skinny jeans, leggings or tights with a skirt, other jeans, my new bracelet, I don’t know. Whatever I feel good in pretty much. I am choosing to believe that as a student I can get away with it.

Coolest Tandem Partners EVER

I’m not sure if I have tried to explain my Tandem class before, but I might as well again. Tandem is a language practice class that matches up a native English speaker learning French with a French student learning English. We are required to spend ten one-and-a-half hour sessions together, speaking both English and French. The idea is that it is less intimidating and more fun to speak a foreign language with someone your own age, you don’t have divide your time speaking with 20 other people, and you make a friend. (And making friends with French people without this is difficult, because they already have their own groups of friends. Unless you count those sleazy French guys who are always happy to talk to any girl, and I don’t.) The process of matching students up is completely random, so I am just very lucky to have been matched up with Morgane Fovelle.

Morgane’s best friend Elodie has an apartment in Vieux Lille, and on Friday Night they invited me and Rosie (one of my friends and Elodie’s Tandem Partner) over for dinner. Raclette. I actually spent a good portion of Friday whishing I brought my camera, and I am sad that I don’t have pictures. Descriptions will have to do.

Elodie lives in a one-room, cellar apartment on one of the most scenic alleyways in Vieux Lille. In fact, just that afternoon some of my friends were taking pictures of the alleyway, and I have often gone down it without knowing that they live there. The room is large and has an arched brick ceiling. The dining table is at one end; at the other is Elodie’s bed, a desk, bookshelves, and window. In between are some couches. It is pretty much the coolest apartment I have ever seen.

Raclette, for those of you that don’t know, is a meal where there is a sort of grill-oven thing in the middle of the table. You melt cheese on tiny trays and pour it over potatoes (which sit warming on top of the oven). You can also add meat, eggs, veggies, pretty much whatever. It’s a great meal, because everyone gets to eat more or less what she wants.

Over our meal and afterwards we had all sorts of interesting conversations concerning various cultural differences, as well as less serious topics. (You can’t really put four girls together and not have them talk about boys, can you now?) Among other things, we learned that there will be a Christmas Market in the Center of Lille in a few months. This is a little surprising, since France is so secular, but I’m not complaining. It also seems that Northern France is rather different from the South in many of its traditions. It’s more Flemmish than anything.

Perhaps my favorite part of the evening was when Rosie and Elodie started playing guitar, and we tried to sing together. It reminded me of hanging out with my music-nerd friends this summer. We all love the Beatles (who doesn’t), Elodie and Morgane don’t know Joni Mitchell, but seem to like the sound of her songs, and they sang us a tune in French. Then we discussed various different artists. Really, just like home.

Sorry this blog is long, rambling, and picture-less, but I hope you like it anyway. Also, if my grammar seems to be disintegrating, it’s difficult speaking well in two languages all the time. (Sometimes three.) When Elodie posts the pictures she took on facebook, I’ll be sure to put some up. As Rosie and I walked to the metro, she said, “We have the coolest Tandem Partners ever.” So true.

11/10/08 (or 10/11/08 whichever you prefer)

Today two friends and I took a daytrip to Boulogne sur Mer. It’s the first time I have left Lille since my arrival here. On the way there the train was definitely taking the scenic route, which I did not mind at all, becayse it is indeed very scenic. Driving by the beautiful little red-roofed villages and haphazard farms reminded me of the things I love about Europe. As did the man fishing on the canal and the herds of fewer than ten cows. (You don’t seem to see those much in the United States.) It was a good time to reflect.

And after we got to Boulogne it became a good time to walk barefoot in the sand and wade along the edge of the ocean.
I made a special point of getting some pictures of myself. Normally there are none.
I had a good Legolas moment walking on top of sand that looked as if it should be soft and sinking. I also enjoyed the sound the sand made when I skimmed my toes over it. Following our picnic on the beach we found our way to Centre Ville. (A very small Centre Ville.)



After scoping out the cafes, we settled on one with some potentially interesting-looking music equipment set up. We sat down inside, and were shortly joined by the café’s dog, who remained with us nearly the whole time. Ivana and Cait were delighted.

I think the bartenders must be the owners as well, and it was fun watching them greeting and chatting with locals who came in, some obviously friends and regulars.
Nor were we disappointed musically. The (English speaking) musician put on a show that set the saleswoman in the shop across the way dancing.

Here is Ivana’s paparazzi shot of the musician.

It was a good day.

Vieux Lille

One afternoon in my first two weeks I was in the downtown shopping district with two friends. In a music shop I asked the salesman if they sold transformers. (It seemed like a reasonable question with all the aps and cables around, and besides I was quite desperate at this point.) He said no, but his friend’s shop sold them. And then he whisked me out the door and around the corner to that friend’s electronic shop. I got my transformer, but back at the music shop my friends had left (in search of me, as it turned out).

Feeling neither hurt nor disoriented to be left alone in a foreign city, I set out on my own explorations. The first place I stumbled upon, and which may have to be the subject of a future blog because it is presently my favorite place in Lille, was the book market inside the historic bank building.
Then, confidently “following after my nose,” I accidentally wandered into Old Lille, yet another district.



So far, my favorite. Vieux Lille has narrow, cobbled roads and delightful alleyways. As in most of Lille, the Christmas lights stay up year round, and I can imagine them lit up at Christmas, with everything decorated. It is going to be beautiful. The main “road” is lined with classy, but very expensive shops. At least they do not disfigure the old architecture. Following my new motto, “As long as I can find out where I am, I’m not actually lost,” I wandered at random, and covered quite a bit of ground. Much to my present advantage. I found that there is no metro stop (my number one plan for finding out where I was).



In the spirit of spontaneity I went down a sunny alleyway, and found the artists.



Jewelry makers have their wares spread out on tables. (How much would you pay for a bracelet made out of a fork?) American music blaring out of open windows, and you can see the artist painting right in his chaotic studio. Paintings for sale leaning right against the wall in the alleyway. And a charming looking restaurant.

If you go down a branching alleyway, you will find yourself at the Cathedral.



Most of it is old and gothic and be-gargoyled. For reasons that are unknown to me, however, it had a modern front. My timing that day was impeccable, and I stepped into the Cathedral to the sound of live organ music. It was incredible. An accurate description of the inside of the Cathedral would be both wordy and impossible, so I will skip that part.



Sunday I was in Vieux Lille again, and down a street from the Cathedral I ran into friends sitting in a cozy-looking café. I noted the address. My plan is to fill in my map with the good spots I might not find in a travel book.
That first day I headed down a street further to the left. I found the Park of the Citadel, which will also have to be the subject of a future post. Unfortunately there is a big fair taking up part of the park. Since I hate fairs, I only walked once around in the hope of finding Rosie and Dustin, and then turned around and went back the way I came.

I’m still not sure when, where or how I gained my sense of direction, but at no point would I say I was truly “lost.” I always had a general direction of the direction from which I came. And, there are always signs pointing toward the city center, and thus the main train station, the metro, and ultimately home.

Musings

-Does knowing you care about people enough to miss them ever actually make up for missing them?
-When you arrive in a place and it is not quite what you expected, or just feels foreign, the thing to do is to find things to love. If you can find enough of them, maybe eventually it will start to feel like home. Spokane took eight years. I guess in the end, Whitworth made it easy. I loved it there from the beginning, and running in the back forty this summer made me really appreciate the wild beauty of Spokane for the first time.
-I heard singing from the mosque across the street last night. I wonder when Ramadan starts. And if they stay all night, why not the Christians? Where are the voices of monks raised in song through the watches of the night? (I wrote this last week. Ramadan is over now.)-What is up with the United States postal system: “Neither rain, wind, sleet, snow…Except on Sundays.”

A Guide Book Tour of Wazemmes

To reach the market at Wazemmes, take the metro to either Gambetta station, or even Wazemmes station. Once there, simply follow the flow of people with empty shopping trolleys, and large bags. (Not to be confused with the stream people coming the other way, from the market, carrying whole plants, veggies, pillows, whatever.)

The market at Wazemmes takes place every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, though Sunday is the biggest. I find it interesting for several reasons.



First, you can buy literally anything, from fresh produce, to beauty products, flowers, shoes, cooked chicken, baked goods, and clothes for all ages. No live animals though.

Secondly, even though the Market is right next to a Christian Church, Wazemmes has become a heavily Muslim neighborhood. Thus, the market presents an interesting mix of cultures. Many of the vendors are of Middle Eastern origin, and there are booths that sell beautiful cloth, and matching jewelry. On a hunt for “traditional regional foods,” two classmates and I instead found traditional baked goods for Ramadan. By the way, that “treasure hunt” and the subsequent class presentation is the main reason for all the pictures.





Thirdly, Wazemmes is both an authentic market, and a popular tourist destination. Local people go there regularly to get groceries. I hope to become one of them, not only because it will help me reach the very cool state of sustainability, but also because the produce is fresh and the prices fantastic. At the same time, walking around you are as likely to hear they people behind you speaking in an London accent, as in French. And there are enough cameras in sight that I don’t feel awkward taking pictures. But watch yours purse! It’s just a big crowd.

Whilst walking about, a mélange of sounds will reach your ears. The multilingual babble is supplemented by the vendors yelling over the din, “Tomates, tomates,…” “Un euro, uneuro, uneurouneurouner…” “UN EURO CINQ. UN EURO CINQ.” Different smells also issue from various directions: Roast chicken, oriental spices, pickled peppers, as well as several I do not whish to identify.

So far, I have bought:
-2 scarves, 3 euro each
-2 nail polishes, 1 euro each (green and black)
-an apple sauce filled pastry, 1 euro, delicious and probably overpriced
-a lifetime supply of green beans. I wasn’t sure what the sign said, so I just asked for 1 euro’s worth. At 80 cents I said stop, but it’s still a ridiculous amount, But they are fresh and delicious, so I don’t mind.
-1 pair of shoes, 5 euro (cute black flats)
-NO goat cheese. Even though that is apparently the regional specialty.

Really just a lot of complaining. You would be better off skipping it and waiting until the next blog is posted.

Dear Katie (and please keep reading even if that is not your name),
I decided to respond to your comment about frustration with cultural differences by posting the following, most of which I wrote two or three days after arriving here. Clearly I am already way into that stage of culture shock. Also, responding via blog just makes this whole thing so much more fun and interactive.

When I register for classes at my home university, it can be a little stressful. The past two weeks puts all that into perspective. Here, registering is not done by the click of a button. In fact most of the registry process is done on paper. (So much paper.) Each department prints its own course guide, which is the size of a small book. Each year. The earth is weeping.

To the credit of the University, they do their best to help out foreign, and especially American students, as much as possible. The ISEP coordinator arranged a special breakfast with the eight Americain students, so she could talk us through some of the academic process.

Basically, there is very little coordination between departments, and there is no University-wide online registration process. This is not a problem for French students. They go into a specialization from the beginning and are obligated to take specific blocks of classes each semester. As an exchange student I can pick and choose and take just a few classes out of a block. Which is both nice, and exceedingly complicated. Here is what I have to do to register:
- First I had an appointment with Isabelle, the ISEP coordinator. Some classes (like translation) I know I want, so she wrote them down on a semi-official looking piece of paper. For other classes we searched though the course catalogues. I’m still not sure how you find specific information in them, but it may involve the Lille3 website in some way. Which has also proven quite difficult to navigate. Isabelle was able to find them, and I ended up with a most of my courses written down by hand. Sound complicated enough yet? Not nearly. Much as the faculty did not vote on the dates for this school year until June, the times and locations of different lectures are not posted until a few days before classes start. Posted, I might add, on lists that are not at all in obvious locations around campus. I would never have found them without a guide. So there is still a chance my classes could overlap, and I would have to make substitutions on my own. In fact, I spent quite a bit of time looking between course guides and lists to fill up my schedule. Also, the first few weeks are basically survey for me. If I don’t like a class, I can choose another. When I finally decide what I actually want to take, I go to the exchange students coordinator, and she will register me. Oh, and the classrooms are completely impossible to find.

It goes on. Normally classes are entirely lecture based, and then at the end there is a big, scary test that determines your grade. However, since we are not evaluated in this fashion at home, ISEP students are encouraged to ask their professors for an essay topic, and then hand in a final paper instead of taking the exam. Then we have to badger the prof to grade the paper and give us a final grade (physically hand us a hard copy) before we leave the country. Otherwise there is a high likelihood it will never happen
The French student who likes to tell me how horrible the American government is and has all sorts of conspiracy theories involving George Bush and 9/11, always manages to drag the fact that France is a welfare state and takes care of its people into any conversation. I respect that he supports his government, and it makes sense that he likes it because he personally really benefits from it. He is from a low-income family and thus receives a “burse” from the state so he can go to University for free, as well as receive other benefits. I would even go as far as to whish that people in the United State were better taken care of for Health Insurance and education.

But in my present annoyance, what I see is that this is a country where you have to stand in line to get the things you want. Where you have to do a load of paperwork for seemingly simple things. Where nothing is as effectively organized as it could be. In a word: Bureaucracy. My confusion is great, and my patience is running low. My goal was to figure out what is going on by today. I’m getting there.

I would also like to add that I am aware off some benefits to this very different system. But this blog entry is unfortunately too long already.

Small Compensations

I’m going to be honest and say that my first few days here, I was pretty homesick. Which is not something I expected. As a rule I don’t get homesick, because outside of my family, nowhere has felt like home in a long while. But lately places and people in Spokane have begun to feel like home, and I miss them. For the first time in my life (literally) I get to partake in this universal experience. Yay.
Worse than homesick, I’ve felt sort of numb and disoriented, which I am supposing is pretty normal. However, now that I have identified the various causes of my numbness, and started doing something about them, I have begun to thaw out a little.
There are also some small daily things that offer some compensation. Here is a list:
-Going grocery shopping
-Cooking for myself in my tiny pot. [I am thinking about writing a cook book for one-pot, small budget recipes. (Though they mostly seem pretty obvious.) Maybe I can sell it and buy another (larger) pot, and graduate to a larger budget.]
-My beautiful new blue bowl
-Using ingenuity to devise cups and decorations/home furnishings
-Going out with friends, or staying in with friends to watch a movie
-Being asked if I am French! (My French sounds so good?)
-Buying Fahrenheit 451 in French! Along with a book of really cool poetry.
-The Botticelli on my wall, also from the book sale
-Knowing I can take a metro to the book market in the center of the city
-Wazemmes
-Nutella, baguette, and dark chocolate
I really want to like it here, and be happy. It is such a fantastic thing to be able to live here. So I hope you are not offended to be temporarily replaced by new dishes and small domestic thrills.
I am also am really loving exploring the different sectors of Lille. Old Lille. Centre Lille. All the cheap clubs and pubs are near the Palais des Beaux Arts. Wazemmes has a wonderful market, where I bought a pair of shoes for 5 Euro. I think descriptions and pictures of these may provide several future posts. But I thought first I should write something about myself, rather than just my immediate and larger surroundings.

Sorry that all my post are so long

I think I am inherently longwinded.

Fives

Like many large European Cities, Lille is divided into different sections. Mine is called Fives, and is two metro stops from city center. Fives is … interesting.
For one thing, the mosque across the street means that there is a relatively high Islamic population. Which does not affect me most of the time. However, when I went to the grocery store yesterday a random man sitting in a car stopped me, started talking to me, and then asked me if I needed to be accompanied into the store. My defense: “I’m sorry, I just can’t understand what you are saying. Je ne comprend pas. Au revoir.”
Actually, middle-eastern styles are very “in” here. Women wear baggy pants that bunch at the ankles, and tunics are not uncommon, in cottons and bright colors.
Five also seems to have an unusually high population of crazy people. Like the old man who is always standing in his doorway when you come back from the metro station, and mumbling asks you for a cigarette as you pass. Every time. My new English friend Sarah has a theory that one of the houses down the street used to be a mental institution, and everyone escaped.
And finally, there are quite a number of stores that sell the most random assortment of goods possible, arranged in no order I can discern. It seems like each store I visit is stranger than the last. The Lidel down the street, besides groceries also sells select house-wares and gardening equipment. Le Croc has no food except candy, but most other things from underwear to dishes, to tiny figurines and toys. And finally, the weird store by the metro station whose name escapes me has firecrackers on the same shelf with Chinese fans and many other useless and semi-useful things. The problem is that none of these stores really has everything. Just selections of really random things. Thus it has taken me almost a week to find a transformer so I could plug in my computer. Ah well. This is where I live.

La Residence Robespierre

First and foremost, I would greatly appreciate help covering my very blank walls. If you have time, please send me a postcard. Any reasonable picture accepted! I just need something to look at. This is my address:
Hanna Griffing B322
Residence Universitaire “Robespierre”
1 Rue Lavoisier, Mons en Baroeul 59370
France

In France, the University system is very different. The University is made up of professors who have something to teach, and the lecture facilities. Student housing is really not part of the deal. Thus, my residence is not on, or even near the campus. I have to take the metro. Robespierre, primarily houses exchange students, not all from the same university. (Or Uni, as the English students say.) I am informed that I am very lucky to have a place in this residence. Quite a few exchange students have to stay in hostels until they find apartments. And though the exchange coordinator is helpful about sharing websites where apartments are posted, the students do have to do everything themselves. A lot of things seem to work like that. Students have more personal responsibility, and nothing happens automatically.
I would say that my housing is very – adequate. The Germans have a word for a room of my size: Wohn-klo. The best feature is of course that I don’t have to share my room with anyone I don’t know. I thought I might have a view if I took a room on the third floor, and I do. I can see directly into the music room of the school across the road, and out across the roof of the mosque next to it. Around 5:15 PM I can see a respectable number of men making their way towards the front doors of the mosque.
In addition to a bed, desk, shelf, and wardrobe (not made of wood), I have two burners, a refrigerator, and two sinks. One of the charming quirks of my room I discovered: if I turn on both burners, the power in my room goes out completely until I hit the right switch on the power box. Also, the community “bathrooms” (two toilet stalls, two shower stalls, no sinks) have a “bring your own toilet paper” policy. The great thing is that I did not have to search for a sketchy apartment after getting here. This is all a part of the experience. And now I am giving you too the opportunity to share the experience in these pictures.

The view from my window. Really not so bad, and quite interesting.

My bed. My window.

Right now I have so few things, I just try to leave as much of a mess on my desk as possible.

My tiny kitchen, and the edge of my second sink.

The other great thing is that there are many interesting people who live here. In general, the French system is so individualistic, that it can be hard to meet other students. Not so in this residence. Pictures may appear in future posts.

Ireland

Our trip began in Dublin, Republic of Ireland.
An important feature of Dublin, the River Liffey.



Behind Temple Bar in Dublin. How many pubs can one alleyway hold?

Our first look at the Monastery at Glendlough (Two Lakes) in County Wicklow.

Round Tower at Glendalough.
The Main Monastery’s Grounds have long been and continue to be used as a graveyard. The local consensus is that if you are buried on the grounds, you go straight up to Heaven. No questions asked. The old gravestones mix with the new, all facing East.

The banks of the Lower Lake.

The Upper Lake, near St. Kevin's Cave.

City Hall in the center of Belfast, Northern Ireland.

Belfast City Street.

Murals are a shocking and interesting characteristic of the most political neighborhoods in Belfast. This particular mural is found on the end of a housing block in a very loyalist neighborhood.

Celtic cross at the Milltown Cemetery, where most Republican and IRA martyrs are buried.

The vacation resort at Newcastle. Rather quiet in January, but obviously geared to welcome tourists.
It was a beautiful clear day, perfect for picture-taking.









A view of Newcastle from the other side of the harbor.

A day's excursion took us to the highly political city of Derry/
Londonderry. Looking down toward the city wall.

On the bridge that sepparates Catholic Derry from Protestant Londonderry. One city, two names.

Our Bus Tour along the coast to Giant's Causeway was an opportunity to really see the famous beauty of the Irish countryside.

Introduced by the bus driver as "One of our local beauty spots."



Perhaps one bay over.

Dunluce Castle was abandoned by its owners when it was struck by lightning during a feast and the kitchen slid into the ocean.

Later that day we had a chance to visit Dunluce and "play on the castle."

The coast line directly adjoining Giant's Causeway.

Giant's Causeway from the Shepherd's Path.

According to legend the giant Fionn mac Cumhaill built the Causeway as a bridge to Scotland.

With Global Warming it is estimated that Giant's Causeway could be covered within my lifetime. Already there are rock formations that used to be exposed at low tide, and are now always hidden beneath the waves.

A rare break in the clouds.