The Acropolis, Orange Trees, and Greek Children

Believe it or not, there's more to Greece then good food and shopping. There's also these big collections of old rocks. I think they're famous or something? 

 

On Saturday, while the rest of my family was exploring the market, Clare and I ventured to the Acropolis, which was conveniently located down the street from our apartment. We stopped at Hadrian's Arch on our way to the Acropolis. 

Hadrian’s Arch was constructed in 131 AD by the Roman Emperor Hadrian as part of a wall separating the old and new cities of Athens. On the side of the arch facing the Acropolis is the inscription, “This is Athens, the former city of Theseus” while the other side reads, “This is the city of Hadrian and not of Theseus”. The 18 meters (59ft) gate was made of marble from nearby Mount Petelikon and decorated in the Corinthian order. Hadrian was known for his peaceful reign and for being an extensive builder. He was very fond of Greek learning and had traveled in Archaea. He also rebuilt the fortification wall around Athens which had been torn down by Sulla and changed the Acropolis into a fort which it had been before. Athens became somewhat of a second capital during Hadrian’s reign. You will find Hadrian’s arch at Amallias Avenue at the entrance of the site of the Temple of Olympian Zeus, just south of the National Gardens.

At the Acropolis, Clare and I both got in free, me because I am a student, and Clare because she's under 19. The view was absolutely incredible, even before we got to the very top. It took a half hour to get to the very top, because we had to keep stopping every five minutes. I stopped to take pictures, Clare stopped to re-tie her shoes. 

At the top was the Parthenon, and I made Clare take a lot of obnoxious pictures in front of it. We weren't the only tourists there though. There was a guy who was attempting to take a jumping picture, attempts which resulted in him making a complete fool of himself by jumping up and down in front of everyone. I felt for the guy, especially because we discovered (through evesdropping) that he had only just met his camera woman, who clearly had no idea what she was doing or what he wanted. I almost offered to help, but it amused me to watch him jump around like a fool.

After we were done with the touristy pictures, we headed back down to the main area to find something to eat. On our way down, I saw a cluster of orange trees. By the way, there are orange trees in Athens. Whowouldathunkit?? For some reason I was totally fascinated by this, and wanted a picture of me picking an orange. Clare and I had a little photoshoot in front of the trees, just us joking around and being silly. I picked an orange and showed it off, but she went the next step and actually climbed the tree. 

With our oranges in hand, we headed back to the market to get something to eat before we had to meet the rest of the fam. I had just gotten a new watch the day before, and I was entertaining Clare by constantly telling her the time in Dutch. She loved it. She loved it so much that she wanted me to tell her every five minutes. So of course I did. I also taught my whole family the Sinterklaas song, and one of the first Dutch songs we learned. They all loved them too. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aJv4Rs-euGM&feature=related

We stopped in a little bakery for a quick snack, and ate our pastries outside. I got a pizza-type thing, and Clare got a chocolate croissant. We were looking at the pictures on Clare's camera when the bakery owner came outside, and warned us to keep our valuables in our bags. He said that there are people who will steal them right off the table. A few minutes later, a little girl and her younger sister came over to us, playing the accordion and singing in Greek. I knew they wanted money but I didn't have anything to give them, so I just shook my head politely and turned away, assuming they would get the hint and leave. Nope, Greek kids are stubborn, and the girls got really close to us, almost touching my arm, tapping on the table and singing in my ear. The bakery owner was still outside, and he tried to gently push the older girl away. While my head was turned, the younger girl grabbed my half-eaten sandwich off my plate, and ran away. I whipped around, completely shocked. The bakery owner admonished me, saying "I told you to not leave anything on the table." Well I'm sorry, but I didn't think that anyone would take my food off my plate! I wasn't angry, because that little girl needed the sandwich much more than I did. The owner was more upset than I was, and started yelling at the girls in Greek (the older girl was still by our table, playing the accordion and the younger girl was a few feet away, smirking at me as she ate my food). Clare and I decided to leave, to avoid causing more problems. 

We met up with the rest of the fam, and got accosted by desperate restaurant owners, promising us a 10% discount if we ate in their restaurant. I had grilled octopus and my dad ordered moussaka. Alaza branched out, and got calamari instead of a hamburger. We split up after dinner, because I was on a quest for postcards (which I could not find, not because there weren't endless souvenir shops, but because I'm too picky and couldn't find ones that I liked) so my mom, Clare and I wandered around Athens for a bit, before getting hopelessly lost and almost eaten by vicious street cats. There was one street that was full of them, waiting along each side of the road, taunting unsuspecting tourists to walk through and become their next meal. We eventually got home, and spent the rest of the night packing and eating the rest of our leftovers. My flight was at 8:30 the next morning, so we had to leave the apartment at 6am. I got two hours of sleep that night, and I was able to sleep more on the plane back to Leuven.

Only in Greece

Athens reminds me a lot of New York City; rude, pushy people, no traffic laws, and aggressive homeless. Growing up in a small town in Pennsylvania and even in Leuven, I’ve never been exposed to these types of things that are characteristic of a large city. It was definitely an interesting experience. I already talked about my adventures getting to Greece, so let’s go on to the rest of my trip.

Thursday was my first day to really explore Greece. So after I woke up from my first good night’s sleep in three (drie in Dutch) weeks, I let my family show me around Athens a little. We walked the ten zillion miles to the open market, passing the Olympic Stadium, the National Gardens, and a whole lot of scary Greek politie. As we walked by the National Gardens, my mom told me that the day before, my dad had decided to take charge and take my family to the National Gardens. As they were walking through the gardens, my mom, a professional garden designer and complete snob, couldn’t help but criticize. “Um, Dan, I don’t know if we’re in the right garden . . . It smells like dog crap. Like really bad.” My poor dad tried to defend himself for a few minutes, until my youngest sister pointed out a sign that said “Athens Dog Park”. Needless to say, that was the last time my dad was allowed to lead the pack.

I was shocked at the number of homeless people that lined the streets, some of them just children. At one point, I saw a group of four kids playing the accordion and tambourine along the side of the shopping street. It was really sad to see that and acknowledge the fact that there are some people who are really down on their luck, and begging is the only way for them to survive. There were also some very aggressive people. One woman walked up to my sisters and handed them each a rose. Then she hounded my mom for payment for the flowers, repeating “mama” and touching her lips. My mom gave her what spare change she had on her, and when the woman complained, politely handed back the flowers and walked away. There were also stray cats and dogs everywhere, minding their own business and sleeping on the sidewalk. Clare made eye-contact with one of the dogs, and it followed us almost all the way home. Alleyah named him Ruffles, and I think she would have tried to sneak him up into the apartment if my mom didn't shoo him away. 

As I’m sure everyone has heard, there have been some issues in Greece. Walking along the sidewalk, we saw an armed officer every few feet. The politie themselves weren’t too intimidating, but the massive weapons they were casually holding were terrifying. There were large trucks filled with officers, and they all held the clear riot shields, protecting the city from the protesters. Luckily, there were no problems while we were there, and my dad reassured us that the worst was over. That didn't stop me from convincing my sister that the rioters were after American girls named Alaza. Don’t judge, it’s part of the job requirements of being the older sister. Gotta keep them in line!

We finally made it to the outdoor market, where we lasted for about .5 seconds before Alaza was bored and tired and hungry and cold and just wanted to go home “because I have to talk to my man! My man misses me! He has to tell me all about Elizabethtown and what’s happening there and I have to rush home from touring Greece so I can sit in the apartment by my computer.” (I know, judging, and I know, I can’t do that because I was just like that when I was her age. Didn't take advantage of the opportunities presented to me, just focused on my own little world of myspace and the SIMS and the internet.)

We stopped at McDonalds so that the youngest two could eat their American food, and then Clare, my mom, my dad and I went to a gyro place across the street from our apartment. The tzatziki sauce was fantastic. It’s always my favorite part of the gyro, the delicious cucumber sauce. The gyro was pretty good too, but it was an odd mixture of pork and other meats, instead of just lamb. Gyros are my favorite Greek food, so I was glad to be able to have one in Greece, even if it wasn’t completely perfect. The meat was cut from a large, turning triangular slab, so that was pretty cool. It’s all about the experience, and I got to eat an authentic Greek gyro. The rest of the evening was pretty uneventful, with us just snacking on the most delicious humus and olives I’ve ever tasted. The point of our Greece vacation was to just relax, and that’s what we did. I knew that I still had plenty of time for touristy things, and I just wanted to relax with my family.  

The next day Clare and I walked down to the market again, so we could do some serious souvenir shopping. On our way there, we got distracted by a huge street market selling all sorts of food, and a man selling rugs out of his van. Nothing sketchy and weird about that.

We had some good sisterly bonding time and I got a lot of great homemade souvenirs. I didn’t want a t-shirt that said I Heart Athens on it. I wanted the authentic Greek jewelry. We left the market in the late afternoon, and went out for dinner that night at a little restaurant called Meta’s. Alaza complained the whole time about how gross the food was, and Alleyah got a plate full of mashed potatoes, but it was a good meal. I got homemade gnocchi, potatoes in tomato sauce, and my dad got a Greek salad. We chose Meta’s because my dad didn’t have any cash on him, and it was the first place that took credit cards. Unfortunately, their credit card machine wasn’t working. The owner was fantastic, and told my dad that he could come back in the morning to pay the bill. Then he gave us a free slice of rum-raisin cake to make up for the inconvenience. Only in Greece!

The whole time, I was wearing a sweater, my going-out clothes, and ripped tights

Thanksgiving. A holiday where American families gather together, eat a lot of great food, and talk about how thankful they are for each other. This year, I flew to Athens to meet my family for Thanksgiving. We got an apartment, because my family doesn’t do well in hotels. We’re too crazy to be contained like that. I’m the oldest of four, and if we are cramped up in a small hotel room for five days, we would kill each other. Literally.

 My family

Top picture: (from left) Alleyah 17, Alaza 15, and my mom 

Left picture: my dad Dan and my mom Frances (yes, she is trying to escape)

Right picture: Clare 19 and I in front of the Parthenon

My flight was at 9:50am on Wednesday morning, so I had to catch the train from Leuven to Brussel at 7. So it only made sense that I went out Tuesday night, ran home, grabbed my stuff, threw on a sweater, and headed out to the train station. Hear me out. On an average night, I go to bed about 12:30, 1ish. Then I would be tossing and turning all night, worried that I forgot something, panicking, not being able to sleep. And if I could eventually fall asleep, it wouldn’t be a deep sleep. And I’d have to wake up by 5 anyway, so I could double check my belongings and walk over to the train station. So I would only be getting 4 hours of sleep, at the most. Not even worth it right? Plus my friends are the worst peer pressure-ers in the world, always convincing me to go out when I know I really shouldn’t. But I always do, and I always have a fantastic time. So Tuesday night, I stayed out until 5am, then went home, made three Speculoos sandwiches, and left for the airport. I didn’t really get tired until I was sitting on the train on the way to Brussels. I awkwardly half-slept for the 20 minute ride, then followed the crowd of people up to the airport. Once I got there, I was directed to the counter, then my gate. The airport was surprisingly crowded for 8am, but I had no problems getting through security or finding my gate. There was a heart-stopping moment when I arrived at my gate and it was closed, but I stuck it out until I saw the electronic sign for Athens pop up. I snoozed on and off for the hour before boarding, waking up when I felt like the entire airport was staring at me. Of course no one was. 

When our flight was called, I showed the woman my boarding pass, and saw the sign that said you could only take one bag. I tried to hide my second bag behind my back, but the woman didn’t even say a word. We got on a bus that drove us to our plane, and I stood next to an assassin. There is no way that that man was anything other than a hired hit man. I was slightly terrified yet fascinated at the same time. I figured that of all things, I was pretty safe next to him. I lost him once we got on board, and I passed out the second my seatbelt clicked. I didn’t even stay awake to hear the safety instructions. I woke up an hour later, teeth chattering, and very disoriented. The flight attendant was walking by with drinks, and, noticing that I was finally awake, asked if I had eaten yet. When I said I hadn’t, he went to the back and got me a little breakfast burrito and waffle, along with a coke. What a wonderful thing to wake up to! He also saw that I was shivering, and got me a blanket. Which I may or may not have shoved into my bag . . .

The rest of the flight was uneventful, and I arrived in Athens at 2pm. My mom had told me that she wouldn’t be able to pick me up from the airport, so I was supposed to look for a Greek man named Nikolas who had a sign with my name on it. I found him easily enough, and he threw my stuff into his cab, and we were off. About five minutes into the car ride he called my parents to tell them that he had picked me up, and that’s when things got really sketchy. This is how the phone call went:

Nikolas: “Ahh, hello, this is Nikolas. You don’t know me, but I have your daughter.”

Who had my parents sent to get me?!?! Luckily, I was completely exhausted and not thinking straight, because I saw nothing wrong with the situation. Nikolas also brought me back to my Loyola days, driving with the crazy cabbies. He got at least nine thousand phone calls during the 20 minute drive to our apartment, was swerving in and out of traffic, and attempted to make awkward small talk with me. I played along until he agreed that my name was “weird”, and then I got quiet. Luckily, we were at our apartment, where my dad and youngest sister were waiting. It was so good to see them! I didn’t realize how much I missed my family until this trip. Sure, they drive me crazy, but I really do love them.

My first day was spent unpacking and resting before we went out for dinner. I have three sisters, all younger, and the youngest two (15 and 17) are at the age where they refuse to eat anything but hamburgers and chicken fingers. My youngest sister Alaza was ignoring all of us until she saw a couple making out in the booth next to us. That freaked her out so much that it was all she could talk about for the rest of the meal. "They're making a porno!" "Why don't they just expose themselves already??" "Eww is that tongue?" She moved seats to come sit by me, so it helped to break her shell. My second youngest sister is Alleyah, and she's 17. She got a hamburger. That's pretty much all she eats. I feel like sometimes she gets pushed to the side, because Alaza demands so much attention. I made it a point during the trip to try and spend more time with her. It was a little difficult when she was glued to the computer the entire time, but I tried my best. My third sister is Clare, and she will be 19 on December 3rd. My dad was honestly so surprised to find out that she was only 18. Love him, slightly clueless. So that's my family. Four girls, from 21 down to 15. We're a mess, loud and obnoxious, we fight constantly, and I know we're an extreme embarrassment. My first meal in Greece was spent at the TGI Fridays in the mall across the street from our apartment. Not even an attempt at Greek food. Such is a day in the life of my family.

Amsterdam Adventures

I'm not sure if I've mentioned this, but I love Leuven. Hands down, we have the best program at Loyola in terms of traveling around Europe. When we first arrived in Leuven, we were whisked away on a week long trip to France, completely paid for by Loyola. We have a Loyola sponsored trip in the Spring where we go to Rome and Florence for Easter, and this past weekend we went to Amsterdam. It started off with a few of us going on a NATO open-house, where I paid 10 euro for a nap.

The second we got off the bus at NATO, I was regretting my decision to come. The only reason why I signed up is because I'm trying to be more politically educated. It was awful. First of all, I was exhausted, and when I'm exhausted, I tend to get a little cranky. Second of all, it was cold, and when I'm cold, I tend to get a little cranky. Third of all, I was hungry, and when I'm hungry . . . you got it, I get cranky. Also, I think the guy in charge of the session and "tour" (I use the word "tour" loosely, because we weren't allowed to go beyond the main area, where there was an ATM, a gift shop, and a post office. Wooo. Exciting. I've never seen any of those things before,) went through his staff, and chose the least charismatic person to give the speech. And he told her on the morning of the session. She was a fiesty woman who clearly hated her life, refused to speak into the microphone and didn't care about NATO or our entertainment. I fell asleep within the first 5 minutes, after I saw our director Elke dozing off. My whole row was snoozing. It was an informational speech about things that I could have easily read in a text book. After my expensive nap, we boarded the bus back to Leuven, and grabbed our bags for Amsterdam.

Amsterdam is the one place so far that I've felt it necessary to put on my to-do list in the spring. It was a city with an identity crisis, one block a beautiful, historic place with elegant architecture and picturesque bridges, and the next street full of coffeehouses, street performers and graffiti. The disorganized and chaotic nature of Amsterdam made it all the more interesting. It's much different than I thought it would be, but in a good way. I only envisioned the sleazy part, but it was actually quite lovely. Our hotel was called Hotel Nadia, and our director Dr. Hughes had warned us about the deadly staircase. It literally went straight up, but luckily, my room was on the second floor, so I didn't have to go very far. I roomed with Steffi and Katie, but we weren't in our room very much. We spent our time exploring the city, going to places like the Rijksmuseum, the Van Gogh Museum, the Anne Frank House, and a hidden church called "Our Lord in the Attic".

Dr. Hughes gave us an art assignment before we arrived in Amsterdam, so we could prepare for it during our excursion through the different museums. We have to find two paintings, one from the Rijksmuseum and one from the Van Gogh Museum that we would like to hang in our house. We have to explain why we chose these paintings, and the historical relevance behind them. I think that this assignment really helped me focus more during the museums, because I was forced to carefully examine the paintings, and take note of the ones that really stood out. It made my experience more enjoyable. In between the museums we walked around the city, checking out the cheesy souvenir shops and peeking into the Red Light District. We may have only seen part of it, but the Red Light District was surprisingly disappointing. We saw the sex shops and peep show advertisements, along with the girls in the windows.

Sinterklaas Kapoentje

Sinterklaas is coming soon! Sinterklaas was a Spanish bishop who saved three children centuries ago, and was made a saint for his actions. The name Sinterklaas comes from Sint Niklaas, which is a variation of Sint Nikolaas (Saint Nicholas). On the evening of December 5th, all the children sing Sinterklaas songs, and put their shoe by the fireplace. In it, they put a letter or drawing for Sinterklaas, along with some carrots for his horse “witte schimmel”. During the night Sinterklaas and his helper “Zwarte Piet” ride over the rooftops, bringing gifts for the children who have been good. They enter the houses through the chimney, similar to the American Santa Claus. Sinterklaas and Santa Claus look alike as well. 

Sinterklaas is very old, with a long white beard, a red gown, and a long staff. Instead of elves, Sinterklaas’ helpers are black servants dressed in medieval clothing. The Zwarte Piet appearance is controversial and was a huge shock for me when I first saw them. They are men and women that have painted their faces black, and put bright red lipstick on their lips. It would be completely unacceptable in America. When the children wake up in the morning, they will find candy and other small presents in their shoe. I’m excited to get to experience this tradition this year, because I’ve never heard about it before. It reminds me of Santa Claus, but to a smaller degree. Just another Belgian tradition!

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0xJkzj9yMUc

Some Belgians in our huis told us that we have until December 5th to learn this Sinterklaas song. It's simple enough, and I almost have it completely memorized. I'm excited for Sinterklaas to come! 

I May or May Not be Writing This in Class . . .

Panic mode has officially set in. Finals are rapidly approaching, and I'm freaking out slightly. In Leuven, the finals are in January, after Christmas break, but it's still too close for comfort. I'm nervous because I know I'm probably not going to study over break. It's the first time I've been home in almost four months. I definitely don't want to spend my time indoors, studying. A few minutes ago, my Media Ethics professor (who's class I'm currently falling asleep in) reminded us about our final paper, which is to be 10 pages about the importance of ethos and the media's influence on this concept. This wouldn't be a problem if I had any clue what ethos was, or if I had paid better attention in class all these weeks, but I didn't, and now I'm panicking. I have the attention span of a flea (clearly, if I'm blogging during class) and I'm suddenly feeling extremely overwhelmed. I have this huge paper to write, plus two more 15 page papers, plus a group project for Anthropology, plus a Dutch final, plus an oral final for Persuasive Communication, and my Travel Reporting blog analysis. I have time, but it's all piling on at once, and I know that I have to get motivated to get things done. I'm the worst with procrastination. I'm that girl who will do absolutely anything to get out of studying or writing a paper, including cleaning the bathroom or watching paint dry.

On a positive note, talking about finals reminds me that I have six more beautiful months in Leuven to look forward to. When I first thought about studying abroad, I was a little apprehensive about being gone for an entire year. That's a long time to be away from home! I talked it over with my adviser, and Loyola Alumni who only had positive things to say. They all mentioned the fact that adjusting to a new country and culture takes time, and the problem with only staying for a semester is that by the time you finally get used to everything, it's time to go home to America. Lucky for us, we get six more months to play around Europe, where we don't have to worry about getting adjusted. Coming back to Leuven in the Spring will feel natural, and, while I'm sure there will be some adjustment issues, it will definitely be a lot easier than it was this semester.

This was just a quick little blog to vent for a moment, and make me feel like, in the midst of absolute chaos and stress, that I accomplished a little something. I'm going to go to my favorite little sandwich place after class, treat myself to my regular sandwich, and watch Pocahantas while writing my blog critiques. I have the rest of the day to myself, and I'm determined to get cracking on my endless to-do list. I might even call my mom today. It's been awhile.

A day in the life

Leuven. Leuven, Leuven, Leuven. If it's possible, each day I fall more and more in love with this quaint city, full of hidden gems. The Thailand kids come home today, and that's got my group talking a lot about the fact that we only have a few more weeks here. As excited as I am about coming home for Christmas, I can't wait to come back to Belgium. I've really connected with this city, and I consider it home. It's absolutely perfect. It's not big enough to be overwhelming, and it's not small enough to be boring. I'm always discovering new things, and, as cliche as this sounds, every day is an adventure. Even things as simple as spending a Saturday in the huis is different from Loyola and home and America. Yesterday I woke up at 2pm and went grocery shopping. This might sound like a normal activity, but the Belgians have to make it complicated.

Similar to my France complaint, stores here only stay open until about 7. I don't know why, maybe the winkliers have strict bedtimes or attention-demanding children, or secret second jobs or something. All I know is that it's something that I still haven't gotten used to, and I've found myself living off a loaf of bread for a few days. Oh yeah, and did I mention that everything is in Dutch? Occasionally I'll get lucky and English will be one of the four languages on the label, but more often than not, I'm stuck guessing. There was one embarrassing moment when I had to ask random customers whether or not this was butter. They nodded, and gave me a pitying look. I was mortified, but I knew if I didn't ask, I would be putting vegetable spread on my bread. Oh Leuven.

After grocery shopping (where yes, I bought more bread and brie, don't judge me) we went across the street to STUK, a student center-type establishment with wi-fi. There's no wi-fi in the huis, and we have a limited percentage of downloads, so we use STUK's wi-fi to download shows and movies. That's right, the huis is old school and we have an internet cord that we plug into our computers. A cord. Leuven, get with it. It's 2011. Luckily, our wonderful director Dr. Hughes has reassured us that we are indeed getting wi-fi, hopefully by Christmas-ish. It's a slight hassle, but we're getting used to the inconceivable, and, to be honest, it's probably helped me in the long run. Without having endless download capabilities, I'm forced to socialize more with my huismates, American and International. Speaking of, quick update on Virginia, my Spanish roommate. New favorite person. Her family was here this weekend, and they were the nicest people! Virginia has gotten used to my terrible Spanish, and I've learned to talk slower around her, but her parents were completely overwhelmed. Virginia had to be our translator. They were really sweet people though. My friend Megan and I are hoping to go to Spain in the Spring after Rome, and possibly stay with Virginia's family. PS Mom, Virginia's coming home with me for the summer. Thanks!

What else haven't I mentioned? There are so many things that I do on a day-to-day basis that I tend to forget about, because they seem so normal now. It took me awhile to get adapted to Europe, but now it's second nature. One of the reasons I love Leuven so much is because it's just different enough to be interesting, but similar enough to America to be familiar. The majority of the people here speak English, and although Dutch can be frustrating, people are more than willing to switch to English or help me translate. Besides missing some major necessities (kraft mac and cheese, Hershey's chocolate,) the food is the same as home. I still eat a ton of pasta, but I've tried branching out a bit and adding some fruit to my diet.

This post was part procrastination, part homework, my way of filling you in on my daily life. We haven't gone on any major trips recently, so I wasn't sure what to blog about, but then I realized that I don't need a big event to write a post. My life is interesting enough on a daily basis that I can just write about whatever I want. I have a lot of work to do for this week, so expect another procrastination-post in the near future.

Tot ziens for now!

Dublin and Dutch; Ik ben Maeda, ik woon in Leuven

 Whoa, two posts in one day? I must be on fire! (Or the due-dates are rapidly approaching . . . )

Today a group of us got back from a three-day trip to Dublin, Ireland. No big deal, just went to Dublin for the weekend. I love being abroad! Instead of going to the Inner Harbor for the weekend, I get to fly to Ireland. (No offense Baltimore!) When I originally booked this trip, I had somewhat mixed feelings about it. My aunt got married in Ireland when I was 8, so I was hesitant to go to a country I had already visited. The wedding was in Adare, Ireland, so at least it wasn't the same place. And I figured traveling with my dysfunctional friends would be slightly different than traveling with my dysfunctional family, especially since I'm a few years older now. OH MY GOSHHHH what a difference! I was told to watch the movie PS I Love You before our trip, and between my large, alligator tears I managed to appreciate the accents and handsome, rugged Irishmen . . . uhhh, I mean the beautiful scenery and the culture. It got me much more pumped, but I still wasn't sure. Don't worry, I definitely changed my mind. Ireland was absolutely incredible.

First of all, our flight from Charleroi (Belgium) to Dublin was at 6:50am on Thursday morning, so we had to sleep in the airport on Wednesday night. That was an adventure all in itself, getting to the Leuven train station on time, biking like a maniac, my breath coming out in short spurts, my heart racing, trying to keep up with Nicole and Caroline, sprinting across the Brussels train station to try and catch the shuttle, and then a long, restless night attempting to sleep on the hard floor. It was like sleeping on a large, cold rock. A very uncomfortable rock. We sprawled out all over the floor, trying not to get in anyone’s way. I managed to get some shut eye, partially due to the large wool scarf I had covering my entire face, but most of the girls (and Steve and Dan, sorry for not mentioning you!) only got a half hour of sleep. It's all part of the experience right!

We arrived in Dublin around 10am, and, although we were exhausted, disgusting and grimy, we caught a free tour of Dublin and got to see the city. Our tour guide was hilarious (and not bad looking!) and his charisma and charm made the tour enjoyable. His beard was scruffy and orangy-red, while his hair was messy and light gray. He made gray handsome. He wore a jean shirt circa 1990, but somehow, it worked on him. His name was Ougen, pronounced Owen, and he started off his tour with jokes about his odd name. It was easy for him to laugh at himself, and he made others feel at ease. He had the carefree, I-just-woke-up-but-I-know-I’m-good-looking appeal going on. He had a different funny story for each place we stopped, and the three hours flew by. He was great. He knew tiny, seemingly insignificant facts about Dublin, and knew how to tell them in an amusing way. He was clever and charismatic, chatting about when Ireland’s poor contemplated eating babies and how a stuffed cat and mouse are more famous than the Vikings. I never knew that Dublin had so much rich history, and, although I’ve been on a zillion tours in the past month, none were as fun or interesting as this one.

We ended the tour at  O'Neils, a local pub that gave large discounts to tours. I was peer pressured into getting a HUGE helping of Irish beef stew (beef and Guinness, a surprisingly delicious combination) and getting a ticket for a pub crawl the next night. Aleska (Katie's Polish roommate) wasn't feeling very well, so Nicole and I went back to the hostel with her to freshen up (aka finally shower and become somewhat humanized) while the rest of the group went to the Guinness factory.

The next morning, we woke up early (I'm really not a morning person) for our Paddywagon Cliffs of Moher tour. Again, I had mixed feelings about this tour, but it was one of the best parts of Ireland. While I love Dublin, it was very American-ized, and not what I expected Ireland to look like. The tour was EXACTLY how I pictured Ireland, with the rolling hills and rock fences. When I finally woke up from my three hour snooze, I stared longingly out of the opaque window, completely and totally flabbergasted. A few miscellaneous raindrops trickled down, adding to the overall emotion of the scene. All of this is real. I’m actually in Ireland right now and the grass really is this vivid and intense. Our tour guide talked excitedly in his charming accent, but I'll admit, I wasn't really listening. All I could focus on was the endless hills of growth and life, mixed with the light slate of the rock walls. The tour guide explained that there was no cement or any other type of adhesive used in these fences, because it wasn't invented at the time. The harsh winds haven’t destroyed them, because there is just enough room between the rocks for the wind to whistle through. It was straight out of a movie. The Paddywagon tour bus stopped at our first stop, and I was more than eager to get off the humid, smelly bus. The scenery was even more beautiful in person, and I was immediately overwhelmed, taking pictures left and right. I couldn't get enough. In between camera clicks I felt raindrops. The rain started slowly, coming out of nowhere, but picked up quickly, large drops of liquid splashing on the ground. The countryside was breathtaking, and exactly what I needed. We got to see all the different parts of Ireland, from the city to the country to the pub scene that night.

The next day, Aleska, Nicole and I went to the Guinness factory to learn how to pour the perfect pint, and get our free pint of Guinness. I am now a certified pro, but I'm not a big fan of Guinness. It's too heavy for me, almost sludgy. I prefer Stella. (Mom, I can talk as much as I want to about drinking, because not only am I completely legal in all European countries, I am also legal in America.) We ended the night in another pub, and left around 11 for the airport. Our flight back to Brussels was 7:50am this morning, so we spent another wonderful night in the airport. Luckily, the Dublin airport was slightly more accommodating than the Charleroi airport in Belgium, so we got to sleep on the booths outside of McDonalds. It was definitely not 5-star, but it was decent.

Overall, Ireland was a huge success.

But that's not all for this post! I promised you some Dutch, so here it is. Better late than never, right?

I know I'm kinda going a little backwards here, but it makes sense in some crazy way, so just go with it. Now, I'm sure some of you noticed that part of my title is in Dutch. Lets just say that after a week of intensive Dutch class (5 hours a day) and four hours a week since then, I'm relatively fluent. Ik ben Maeda. Ik woon in Leuven. Ik ben geboren in Virginia. Ik ben student, en ik studeer communicatiewettenschappen. I'm not joking, that's Dutch. It means I am Maeda. I live in Leuven. I was born in Virginia. I am a student, and I study communications. If German and English had an awkward one-night stand resulting in an unwanted pregnancy that nobody loved, it would be Dutch. Dutch is the most ridiculous language, but as much as I rag on it, I can't say that I hate it. It's not too difficult, but I can't shake the feeling that some of it has to be made up. There's no way that dit, dat and dank u are real words. If that's true, then my 14 year old sister is fluent in Dutch.

OKTOBERFEST!

Imagine a world where drinking massive amounts of beer before 10am is not only accepted, but encouraged. Imagine a place where men and women, of all ages, some in t-shirts, some in heels, some in full-out lederhosen, can come together to enjoy the same activity. Imagine the most chaotic mess of people and beer and pretzels and laughter.

Imagine Oktoberfest, in Munich, Germany. It was completely different from what I expected, probably because I didn't really know what to expect. Unlike some of the other girls, I didn't do any research on Oktoberfest, and was semi-excited to go. This whole trip I've been very go-with-the flow, which is very unlike me. It's a new experience, and I'm definitely enjoying it. Anyway, back to Oktoberfest.

Oktoberfest is a month long celebration of binge drinking and crazy-good times. We planned our trip back in April; the only trip we planned so far in advance. It was extremely expensive, for both the flight and the hostel, but completely worth it. We arrived in Munich on Friday, September 30th around 2ish, and decided to check out Dachu, the first concentration camp in Germany. When I walked through the gates, my heart stopped. Obviously I had learned about the horrors of the Holocaust and the concentration camps in school, but it was completely different seeing it in real life. I believe in the good in everyone, that if you look hard enough, you can find that one good quality in all people. Seeing Dachu and how the Jews were treated made it hard for me to believe in that philosophy. Hitler was an evil man, and the way his men treated the people forced to live in the concentration camp makes me nauseous. They were treated like animals, humiliated and tortured on a daily basis. I'm struggling to find the words to accurately express how Dachu made me feel. It was a life-changing experience, and even though the trip was planned around Oktoberfest, I'm glad we stopped at Dachu.

After Dachu, we went to the hostel to check in. We booked with a company called Hostival, a traveling hostel company that specializes in large events like Oktoberfest. Again, I hadn't researched the place, but some of the girls had, and were very hesitant to spend the night there. They told me that people suggested bringing lots of layers, because it got really cold at night. It made sense when we saw Hostival, because the rooms were literally tarps placed over a platform. There were no real walls. Half the girls stopped dead when they saw the place, and refused to even walk inside to talk to the receptionist (a teenage girl dressed in a lowcut leopard-print dress, spike heels and scrubs). Katie and I were brave, and we checked in while the rest of the group frantically tried to contact the closes Marriott. Checking in was a hassle, because there were a bunch of drunk guests lounging around on the couch, yelling and stumbling around. I was a little taken aback when I realized the drunk idiots were part of the staff, but I kept thinking "it's all part of the experience". We decided to at least LOOK at our rooms before going to a hotel, and Katie and I managed to convince the other girls to try it out for the night. A good meal of authentic German food and a large pint of beer helped encourage everyone to try to be positive about our crappy situation, and we spent a restless and freezing cold night at the hostel. We slept two to a bed, partly for warmth, and partly for protection.

I woke up at 6 relatively well rested, ready to go get our spots at the beer tent. We waited in a line for about a half hour, and then literally flowed with the crowd inside the tent. It was a huge building crammed with benches, and we managed to snag one for our little group. Then the beers starting coming. It was 9:23am. Oktoberfest had officially begun. The rest of the morning was a blur of camera flashes and soft pretzels the size of my head, singing and chanting USA chants. It was an experience I'll never forget.

Ohhh yeahhh, France . . . Oops!

Okay, so it's been a few days since I've last written. Okay, so it's been like a few weeks. Okay okay, so it's been almost a month. Get over it, I'm a busy woman. There's a lot of Leuven-exploring and bar-hopping (sorry Mom) and Dublin-trip-planning and facebook-stalking to do. But I promised you the rest of France, and I'm sure you've all been waiting with baited breath, so here goes.

After Paris was Normandy. On our way there, we visited a church, and got a tour by the cutest old man tour guide in the world. We each had special headsets that were somehow magically connected to his microphone, so when he talked quietly, we could all hear it loudly in our ears. His English was rough, but he clearly loved the church, and kept making awkward jokes that only he would laugh at. And I don't think he understood the correct definition of "bitches", because he used it as a synonym for "prostitutes". Twice. I listened intently to his words, but I found out later that about 5 seconds into the recorded tour, Tissy found a way to switch channels to the Chinese tour, and spent her time changing everyone elses'. After the Cathedral of Chartres we left for Sant Malo, our first beach town. Unfortunately, it was like 50 degrees out, so swimming wasn't really an option. But the town was quaint, and we got some free time to walk the streets and do some shopping.

(Quick side note. While the Europeans have no problem staying out clubbing until 6am, apparently all the shopkeepers or winkliers have a strict, old-lady bedtime of 7:30, and close every store and restaurant at 7. It's quite inconvenient.)

Sant Malo was fun, but it definitely was not a bar town. That night we all decided to go out to this little Irish pub around the corner, but when we got there, it was dead. Our modest group of 17 outnumbered the patrons by 17 to 1. Including the bartender. So we walked up to the high wall surrounding the entire town, and looked out at the tide. The next day we went to le Mont-Saint-Michel, which is a (you guessed it, another church) that was pretty much built in the middle of a swamp. With quicksand. Dr. Hughes actually warned us against going out into the sand/swamp area, because people have gotten sucked up by quicksand. Hmm, cool.

In order to get to the cathedral, we had to climb 10 zillion stairs and hike up an uncomfortably narrow path. The cathedral was beautiful and the tour itself was interesting, but our dragon-lady tour guide was the best part. She warned us in the very beginning "If you speak, you die" in a very thick French accent. She looked right at our group when she said it, even though there were other people on her tour. After that warning, Tissy made it a point to stay in the back of the group and talked the entire time. After Mont-Saint-Michel we went back to Sant Malo, where we did more shopping and exploring of the town. It was nice to have a lot of free time, but it was frustrating because we got back so late in the afternoon that everything was closed.

The next day was our last day in France, and we woke up at the crack of dawn for breakfast and left for Bayaux. (Another side note: free breakfasts are awesome. Great perk, especially for someone, like me, who doesn't normally eat breakfast. When it's free, I'll eat it. Plus France always has croissants for breakfast. Heavenly.) Bayaux is home to the Bayaux Tapestry, a 70 meter long tapestry portraying the Norman invasion. I really liked this part, and I thought it was amazing that someone was able to stitch every little detail in the tapestry. The tour was good too, because it was individual headsets telling the story in the tapestry piece by piece. I could go at my own pace, and pause the recording when I wanted to spend time just looking. Sometimes I feel rushed on these tours, and I don't get the chance to just stop and look. I understand that we want to see a lot in a short amount of time, but sometimes I just want to walk at my own pace, and see things my way.

After the Bayaux Tapestry we went to Arromanches, where the D-Day Invasion Beach and Museum was. We started at Pointe du Hoc, a high cliff, where German soldiers set up base during World War II. shooting down at the Army's 2nd Ranger Battalion landed at a beach below. A few weeks before I left for Belgium, I had been flipping channels, and landed on the History Channel. They were doing a story about Pointe du Hoc, and I was sucked in. It was a fascinating story. The Germans thought that they were safe up on the cliff, because it was so high that it seemed impossible to climb. But the Americans were determined and a little crazy, because they charged the cliffs anyway, even while enemy fire rained down on them. American ships helped a little, by bombing the top of the cliff. We saw the huge craters that the bombs left. It was incredible. We got to walk inside a German bunker, and saw what was left of the guns. I was walking on history.

After Pointe du Hoc we went to Omaha Beach and saw the American Cemetery there. The cemetery went on for days, just rows and rows of white crosses. Although I don't know of any relatives that fought in World War II, my heart went out to the thousands of soldiers who lost their lives fighting for freedom.

The Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial in France is located on the site of the temporary    American St. Laurent Cemetery, established by the U.S. First Army on June 8, 1944 and the first American cemetery on European soil in World War II. The cemetery site, at the north end of its ½ mile access road, covers 172.5 acres and contains the graves of 9,387 of our military dead, most of whom lost their lives in the D-Day landings and ensuing operations. On the Walls of the Missing in a semicircular garden on the east side of the memorial are inscribed 1,557 names. Rosettes mark the names of those since recovered and identified.
 
The memorial consists of a semicircular colonnade with a loggia at each end containing large maps and narratives of the military operations; at the center is the bronze statue, "Spirit of American Youth." An orientation table overlooking the beach depicts the landings in Normandy. Facing west at the memorial, one sees in the foreground the reflecting pool; beyond is the burial area with a circular chapel and, at the far end, granite statues representing the U.S. and France.

The cemetery is open to the public daily except on December 25 and January 1. Hours of operation are 9 a.m. to 6 p.m. from April 15 to September 15, and 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. the rest of the year. It is open on host country holidays. When the cemetery is open to the public, staff members are on duty in the Visitor Center to answer questions and escort relatives to grave and memorial sites.

That night we had our second dinner paid for by Loyola, and the food was fantastic. I had salad and fish and an apple pastry for dessert. And all the wine we could drink. It was nice to be able to relax with good food and great company, and it was the perfect ending to our France trip. The next morning we packed up our belongings and headed home to Belgium.

That awkward moment when . . .

 . . . you realize you probably should've taken French instead of Spanish in High School. We just returned from a week long trip to Paris, Brittany, and Normandy France, and, even with the slight language barrier, it was an amazing trip. The trip started off great; we had to be downstairs, ready to leave by 8:10, and my alarm decides to not go off. So I jolt awake at 7:59, and run around like a madwoman gathering last minute things and trying to look somewhat presentable. After a zillion hour bus ride, (I think it was only about 6 hours, but we were told it would be 4) we finally made it to Paris. And then everything was worth it.

We started off strong, by walking/taking the Metro (awful experience, more details later) to Napoleon's Tomb, and then this gorgeous fountain (with small children actually swimming in it!) and then to the Eiffel Tower. It didn't quite hit me until I saw the famous monument that we were in Paris. Paris. Like, Paris, Paris. It was unreal. The Eiffel Tower took my breath away, it was so gorgeous. I couldn't take enough pictures of it, and we started off far away, all snapping pics like crazy, even though our director Dr. Hughes reassured us that we would eventually be getting closer. We were acting like it would disappear if we didn't take half a million pics every two feet. After a long day of walking, we stopped by the hotel (which had wi-fi! Yay wi-fi!) and then left for dinner. We had reservations at this charming little restaurant just up the street from our hotel (which was in Paris) and we had a limited menu to order from. I ordered escargot for my appetizer. While in France right? It didn't taste too bad actually, nice and garlicky, but a little too chewy for my taste. After about the third one, I remembered that I was eating snails, and got a little freaked out.

Our second day started super early again, with us all gathering in the lobby for an 8:30 mass at Notre Dame. Which, if you didn't know, is in Paris. The mass was boring (sorry God) and all in French, but the church was beautiful, so I entertained myself by looking at the details in the stained glass and watching the people around me. Afterwards we visited the Archeological Crypte, Ste Chapelle, Musée de Cluny and Musée d'Orsay. The Crypte was a little dull, but the chapel was beautiful, with huge stained glass windows. The only downside about the museums was that I felt a little rushed. I understand that we were on a tight schedule and the museums were very large, but it would have been nice to be able to wander a little bit. Two of my favorite pieces of artwork were in both Musée de Cluny and Musée d'Orsay. In Musée de Cluny there was an entire room filled with large tapestries of unicorns and lions and queens. It's much more beautiful then it sounds, almost child-like. It was pretty cool. In Musée d'Orsay there was a collection of Monet paintings, and my favorite was a painting of a woman with a parasol standing in a field. Its simplicity made it beautiful.

After our museum tours we had some free time, and a bunch of us went to this adorable little Greek restaurant for dinner. It was delicious. Then we met up with the rest of the group for a boat tour on the Seine. We saw the Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame all lit up and beautiful. It was absolutely amazing.

On Monday we got to sleep in a little bit, and met with our group at 9:45. We took the metro (again) and headed for the Louvre. In Paris. Alright, let me explain why I hate the metro. First of all, it's dirty. Our director gave us tickets, but they were so complicated! Half the time they didn't work in the ticket booth, so someone would have to awkwardly crawl under the booth or sneak in with someone else, and you had to have them when you got off the train too. That was stressful, trying to remember where I put my nine thousandth metro ticket and which one was valid and which ones were used. And that was just the process of getting on and off the train! Once we got on to the metro it wasn't bad, except when it got crowded. I swear, one man chose MY pole to hold on to, even though there were plenty of other poles. He touched me. I was silently freaking out for the entire five minute journey. It was traumatizing. Anyway, Louvre.

There was a common phrase repeated throughout our group for the whole day we went to the Louvre; if you went to the Louvre and spent three seconds looking at every piece of artwork, it would take you three months, night and day. The Louvre was huge! We were rushed through to look at select pieces, including Venus de Milo and, my girl, Mona. We had been warned that the Mona Lisa picture was actually pretty small, and it was enclosed in thick bulletproof glass and surrounded by tourists. It wasn't very hard for us to sneak up to the front of the line, but it was a very small, plain-looking picture. We took our pictures and then were shoved out of the way by really mean tourists. (You all know the kind I mean . . . ) This was a common occurrence throughout our visit to France. There were many of these certain types of tourists huddling in groups, taking obnoxious pictures with certain poses, blocking everyone else from seeing the sights . . .

After the Louvre we went to the Arc de Triomphe and climbed 284 steps to the very top. There we saw a birds-eye view of Paris, and it took my breath away. You could see for miles, and I became mesmerized by the beauty of Paris. I was jerked out of my daydream by an extremely rude woman who said "Move!" and then literally pushed me away. I was so shocked that someone had actually just pushed me out of the way that I didn't have time to react, I just slowly moved to the side. After I told all my friends and we all agreed that she was a cranky old woman and I did nothing wrong and I was just perfect, we walked down the
Champs-Elysées to see all of the fashionable yet ridiculously expensive Parisian stores. We had a few disagreements along the way, but that was only because we were tired and cranky and starving. We sat out in a little park and drank wine and champagne and just talked. It was really relaxing and definitely needed.

Afterwards I was dragged against my will to yet another church with yet another beautiful view of Paris. I know you think I'm being sarcastic (and you'd be half right) but I was so hungry and when I get hungry I get really cranky. Later, whenever I would mention being hungry, people would rush to give me food. I didn't think I was THAT bad . . .

The day after was a free day, and we decided to take advantage of Paris and check out the Catacombs and Versailles. The Catacombs were really cool, but really scary at the same time. I was glad I saw them, but the low ceilings and dimly lit environment, plus the walls and walls of bones and skulls were definitely freaking me out a little bit. Versailles was incredible, and we separated into smaller groups and went on our own little tour. This was where I narrowly escaped being crushed to death as a huge swarm of "certain tourists" came rushing towards me, eager to see up close and personal the Queen's bed. I barely made it out alive. I don't want to talk about that tragic experience.

 

That day concluded our last day in Paris, and we left for Brittany the next morning. I don't want to overwhelm everyone with this super long blog post, so I'll save our last three days in France for another post. Plus, I'm just really tired of writing.

Ciao for now!