Avignon, a place in which I could totally live

The train ride from Paris to Avignon was beautiful. The countryside was breathtaking. I assume. I slept through it all, even having to be physically woken up by the conductor so he could check my ticket. Once I got to the city, it was no easy task to get to my hostel, but I managed it, wheezing in the 90 degree heat under the weight of my backpack. Man, every time I complain I sound like a really terrible person, don’t I? Poor me, in southern France. Anyway, I had previously decided that Avignon would be the perfect way for me to recover from Paris, so I checked in to my hostel, beautifully situated right on the Rhone river, and took a 3 hour nap. Once I was up, I flailed around in the heat for a while but failed to accomplish much, except possibly the most refreshing raspberry sorbet I have ever had.

The next day I woke up bright and early at 8:30, had a delicious petit dejeuner complete with croissant and hot chocolate, and took a bus to the Benedictine Monastery I had so ineffectively attempted to walk to the previous day. It was beautiful. I had gotten so used to the havoc wreaked on Abbeys and Nunneries by Henry VIII, that I had forgotten that religious houses could be more or less intact. It was beautiful and serene. I think I love nothing more than walking the cloisters of a deserted monastery.

I took a walking tour later that included a visit to the Pope’s Palace, which was very informative and interesting. The papacy was in Avignon for a while in some medieval century or other, and during that time the Pope had this palace built. It is now the largest Gothic palace in Europe, so well done Pope. The most entertaining part of the tour, I felt, was the way that all of the 60 and 70 year old men and women on the tour kept volunteering useless and/or inaccurate information, as if to prove themselves to the rest of the group. Like eager children, they would finish her sentences when she paused, as if to say, “harrumph, these many years of mine have been spent in pursuit of knowledge, harrumph.” How strange, that these elderly people should resort to strategies that young children use to impress people. 

I spent a couple hours in the evening sitting by the river with my kindle and my journal, just enjoying the French evening. I slightly envied the groups of jovial French people picnicking, but for the most part I was content to be alone. I consulted the Avignon skyline for confirmation, and decided yes. I could definitely live here. If I learnt French. And had a lot of money. I could buy the monastery!

Land of the Lost

Hello lords and ladies. It is beautiful and sunburn-worthy out there, and I am sitting in my room staring at this screen. I hope you appreciate the sacrifices I make for you. Actually that was a lie just then, its 11pm. I did get sunburnt in Paris, but it’s okay, because I’m from southern California, so I’m immune to UV Rays. That is also a lie, but it keeps me from thinking about how any one of my freckles could kill me some day. Anyway, the point of this blog post is Paris.

Well I got there on time and found my hostel really easily, strangely enough. It was after that that the problems began. I went off in search of Sacre Coeur. In typical Hannah style, I ignored the fact that this hugerific church was actually visible from the street adjacent, and set off in the complete opposite direction. After walking in a circle or two, I finally got up the courage to ask someone for help. That mostly consisted of me standing in front of a woman and sort of shrugging and looking generally helpless. “Where are you trying to go?” She asked me. She spoke English. Of course she did. She was from Texas. Luckily, she knew where Sacre Coeur was (I think I was the only one in the city who didn’t) and she even walked me most of the way there. Seriously the thing is massive, and it basically overlooks the whole city. Well, such is life. When you are me.

I mean its pretty easy to miss...

After this fiasco I did not even try to find Moulin Rouge. Instead I went to the Musee d’Orsay, easy to find because the metro drops you off almost within sight of the building. I was exhausted after spending all night in the Dublin airport, and possibly not in the best mood for appreciating art. Would I be a terrible person if I mostly wanted to see the Van Goghs, and that mostly for reasons of a Doctor Who nature? They are beautiful and striking works of art...but also the Doctor. I think if I had been less delirious it would have been much more meaningful. As it was, I went through the museum mentally storing works of art so that I could appreciate them when everything was less woozy. However because of said wooziness my retention was much reduced.

*Insert nap time here* Next quest of the day was to find the Jewish Quarter and go to Le Palais De Thes for my dad, and the falafel place for Inbar (and myself). Refer to the title of this blog post if you have any doubts as to how this turned out. I had failed to look up directions to the tea shop, and I couldn’t find the street that the falafel place was supposedly on. “So much for that,” I thought, munching my baguette avec jambon et gruyere. “My life is still pretty awesome,” was my next thought.

I would totally live there if I was a peasant

Day two of Paris was set-aside for my visit to Versailles! I arrived at the magnificent palace, and magnificently used my expired student visa to get in for free! The palace itself was amazing and gaudy and completely what I had expected, but in the best of ways. The gardens were fantastic and expansive. Did you hear that bell? That’s right, its time for Hannah to get lost again! (Your clue was the word ‘expansive’) I made my way all the way to the other side of the estate to Marie Antoinette’s “Hamlet” which, by the way, is about the same type of Hamlet as Kenneth Branaugh, in that they are both somewhat unnecessarily and inexplicably grandiose. The queen had this Hamlet built so that she could play peasant without having to actually come into contact with commoners. Basically imagine thatched roof mansions everywhere, complete with a lake strewn with lily pads, a play farm, and a fantasy lighthouse. So now comes the part I was telling you about, the part when I get lost. I tried to get back to the actual chateau of Versailles and somehow ended up on some sort of actual farm. Luckily I ran away before anyone could attempt to ascertain what the heck I was doing there. I went all the way back to the Hamlet and creepily followed some other people back to the chateau. But hey, I got out, and before long I was eating a nutella and banana crepe in the city center.  Sidenote: I had Doctor Who/Madame Du Pompadour related fun at Versailles as well.

To wind up the day, I went and rested my aching feet with an hour on a bench in the Tuileries Garden, just sitting and reading in the shade. Man it is good to be alive and me right now.  Before I went to sleep that night I made a list of all of the things I had yet to do in Paris.

Last crusades, anyone?

The next morning I woke up bright and early with my list and got to the Catacombs before it opened, because they only let in 200 people per day. I was somewhere around 150, and I was there 15 minutes before opening. It was a very interesting experience. Down in the semi-darkness, surrounded by bones and skulls, you expect and even want to feel a morbid spookiness. Personally, due to the noise of the other tourists around me, all I could feel was an interest in the construction and artistic design. The way the bones are arranged, it is nearly impossible to think of them as having once been humans. That being said, it was completely awesome and I felt like Indiana Jones.

Next I went to the Musee du Moyen Age, or the medieval museum, which was built around the ruins of Paris’s only Roman ruins, an ancient Bath. Being a huge medieval history nerd, I really enjoyed this museum.

After that, following my list I popped into Notre Dame, the Shakespeare and Co. bookstore, gave myself a little breather lying on the grass in front of the Eiffel Tower, saw the Arc de Triumphe and walked down the Champs de Elysees. When I got back to my hostel I took a rest, and then some friends and I (I met some really awesome people at this hostel) went to the Eiffel Tower at 11 to see the light show. It was spectacular, and it felt really nice to be surrounded by friendly English speaking faces. The wine didn’t hurt.

So that is a logistic summary of my time in Paris. Mentally I was even more all over the place. This being the first city I’ve seen on my own in my European tour, it really made an impact on me. At first  I felt like I could not enjoy myself as much all alone, but by the second day I was loving the ability to set my own schedule, and reveling in my independence. By the third day I had made friends in my hostel and was no longer alone. I expect the rest of the trip will be variations on those three themes.  Mostly I just feel extremely lucky, and I believe I will continue to feel that way until my money runs out.

Land of 1,000 pubs

So you may have noticed that I have not said anything about leaving Bath and saying goodbye to the city and all of the friends I had fallen so deeply in love with this past semester. That is because it did not happen. They are still there, I'm sure, just waiting for me to come back. Moving on.

I arrived in Dublin on Saturday at around 9:30. I walked most of the way to Dylan's apartment, and then naturally got completely lost on his street, trying to find his apartment complex. After wandering back and forth on the street and realizing my phone wouldn't make the international call to Dylan's phone, I wandered into a doctor's office and used their phone. Since I was on his street, it took Dylan all of five minutes to come find me, and I was quickly shown the error of my ways. I had at one point, been directly across the street from his place. Of course I had. This whole trip could be a catalog of Hannah makes stupid directional decisions if I decided to take that route. In order to save myself from embarrassment, and you from having to read an entire novel, I have decided to just leave those out.

Once Inbar had gotten over her delight and amazement at seeing me in Dublin (I told her I would be in Paris so that we could surprise her), the three of us set off on a tour of Trinity College. It is a really impressive sight, I must say. We were very amused by Dylan's disgust for the bell in the center of the square, which only rings ten minutes before finals. After seeing the Book of Kells (for free, NBD), we went to the Chester Beatty library, another literary location. This library is more of a museum, an amazing assortment of rare and old books from all parts of the world. I especially enjoyed the oriental scrolls and books, because as much as I enjoy a good illuminated manuscript, these beautiful works were all new to me, as I am racist. (Disclaimer: I'm not actually racist, I just happen to prefer European history) The Chester Beatty library is really wonderful, because its contents are fascinating, but it is off-the-beaten-track enough to make it a peaceful quiet place.

Our next destination would be less peaceful and quiet. The Old Jameson Distillery. We arrived just in time to be greeted by my advisor from Denison University, Dr. Snay. So that is a thing that happened. The distillery tour itself was really fun. I was expecting that touring a place where alcohol was made would make me feel like an adult, but in fact I experienced the opposite. Being led around, shown models of things and getting a treat at the end of it all made me feel rather childish. Free whiskey though, so I'm not complaining. A tour guide on one of our day trips would tell us that the Guinness storehouse was a complete tourist trap and absolutely not worth the money, while the Jameson distillery definitely was, and I felt justified in my decision to skip the Guinness.

After a makeshift dinner of deviled eggs and cheese sandwiches, we hit the pubs so that Dylan could show us his local spots. We started out at the Bleeding Horse, and were met by a bunch of his friends. From there we all migrated to Flannery's (or something else similarly Irish) and were generally boisterous there until we headed home for the night.

The next morning we were up early for our day trip to Glendalough Monastery. Our tour guide was named Michael, and he was hilarious and Irish and great. First we made a stop for tea, and then we wound our way through the gorgeous Wicklow mountains. We made several stops at the most notable views, including a lake known as Guinnes Lake. Its owner decided to create a white sand beach along one side, and because the water is such a dark color, from above it now looks just like a foamy pint of Guinness. It was at this stop that our driver brought out the Jameson. At this point I am starting to realize that the stereotype of Irish drinking habits, well, it may be an understatement. Thankfully, the Jameson was for the tourists, and it was a welcome treat, although some of us may have indulged more than others *cough and pointed look*. After this we arrived at our final destination. Dylan prefaced this trip with repeated declarations of love for Glendalough, and I was slightly skeptical, due to a knowledge of his general dramatic nature. In this case, I can say for certain he did not once over exaggerate. The beauty of Glendalough, which as he told me means "the valley of two lakes," was absolutely breathtaking. The monastery itself was merely a small percentage of the attraction. Following a path through a slightly wooded area, you will come to a lake. It is a relatively small lake, but absolutely peaceful and beautiful. It is the kind of lake that you could stare at comfortably for a while, appreciating both its beauty and its manageable size. Then you keep walking, and you get to the second lake, and everything stops. Set between two mountains, this lake and its surroundings are absolutely the most beautiful thing I have ever personally seen. Indescribable.

To prevent myself from spewing such nonsense for the next ten minutes, I will force myself on to the literary pub crawl that we took that night once we were home.

There is not too much to say about this, except for that it was a rollicking good time, and we all enjoyed ourselves very much. We visited four pubs, and after that we stopped off at one more that Dylan wanted to show us on the way back. Still, we were home by 11:30, realizing that we had to get up early the next morning for another day trip. However, we did not count on the fact that we were three members of Team Kenny reunited, and of course we stayed up talking until about 1:30, when we realized that we had managed to ensure that we would sleep through absolutely everything our tour guide told us on the bus the next day.

Like zombies we loaded onto the bus at 8:30 for our trip to Newgrange, the Hill of Tara, and Monasterboice. Newgrange is a Neolithic burying mound older than Stonehenge and the Pyramids of Giza, and large enough to walk into, which we did eagerly. It was much more impressive than I had anticipated, and like much else I had seen and done in Ireland, it was completely unlike anything I had experienced before. The Hill was very historically important, but really, it is just a hill. The fairy tree, where people tie ribbons in hope of good health, was very cool though. Monasterboice is a graveyard dotted with beautifully decorated tall celtic crosses telling various biblical stories. Walking around was very fun and interesting, despite some morbid contemplation of death that was unavoidable. After this we made our way back to Dylan's apartment for some delicious vegetarian chilli, and I completely repacked so that I could fit my backpack into RyanAir's tiny carry on box one more time. We left about two hours before I had to catch my bus to the airport so that, yes, you guess it, we could visit a couple more pubs. This time we went to the Bernard Shaw, a super hipster pub complete with double decker bus in the beer garden. Then we went to the Porterhouse, which is a micro-brewery, so that was cool for people who like beer (Dylan and Inbar).  Too soon it was time for me to say goodbye to Dublin and to my wonderful friends. Now here I sit, in the Dublin airport at 1:30am, waiting for my 6:00am flight to Paris.

I would just like to say a huge thank you to Dylan for planning this whole thing so well, for Glendalough, and for not getting angry at me when I needed him to help me find the exit to the pub I had just entered (this happened multiple times). Also for feeding me. That was nice too.

Denial, thy name is Hannah

Hi fellas,

As I wrap up my time in Bath, I am desperately scrabbling to check things off of my list, and I thought I would share with you some of the things I have managed to get done.

Last Sunday a couple friends and I finally went on the Skyline Walk, which is a 6-mile hike around Bath, keeping the skyline in view almost the whole time. We brought a picnic, and had a very lovely time. At one point we found ourselves at one of Bath's silliest landmarks, Sham Castle.

View from the front

View from the back

The story goes that when Bath was at its height in the Georgian period, a wealthy man wanted to improve the view from his estate, so he built himself this 'folly.'



There were also a lot of cows. All up in our faces. Except when we tried to touch them. Then they ran away. Cows are adorable.

After the Skyline Walk we found out about this cider festival going on in a pub called the Bell Inn. We ran over and tried a bunch of different kinds of cider and we got to use an old-fashioned apple press to make fresh apple juice! I felt just like a pioneer. That's how the pioneers felt, right?

Anne Hathaway's rather large cottage

On Tuesday my entire program went to Stratford-Upon-Avon for three days. We stayed in bed and breakfasts, and I must say waking up to a full English breakfast is something I am completely OK with. We spent our days visiting various Shakespeare related properties and drinking milkshakes and calculating the percentage of boys that were brought to the yard. My favorite property was Anne Hathaway's cottage, with its adorable thatched roof, and gazebo that plays sonnets when you push a button. My favorite milkshake was oreo, and it brought 85%-90% of the boys to the yard.

We say a play each night: Comedy of Errors, Twelfth Night, and Richard III. Comedy of Errors received a very mixed reaction from the group, as did Twelfth Night. They were both done by the same cast, as part of a special presentation of Shakespeare's three 'shipwreck plays.' The third of this arbitrary category was the Tempest which we did not see.  My favorite play was Richard III, which I had never seen or read before, but now absolutely love. Fun fact: Richard III is the 2nd longest role in Shakespeare. Hamlet is the longest role, as well as the longest play. I have to say that I have more opinions and knowledge about various Shakespeare plays at this moment than I ever have before and probably ever will again. Certainly more than I need.

On the way back from Stratford we went to Kenilworth Castle, which was really cool. It was the perfect balance of ruin and castle, so there was plenty to wander around and climb on, but it still felt like a centuries-old ruin.

The day after we got back, I had my very last study trip. We went to Montacute house, one of the best remaining examples of Tudor architecture. It was a lovely day, and the house and the gardens were beautiful. I found a swing in the middle of a peaceful lawn, and sat on it for about ten minutes watching the tourists pass me by, eating my packed lunch.
It didn't hurt that ASE bought us tea and scones either. 

Saturday, just a few days ago was my last trip to the organic garden. I left them with my email address and my thanks. I could not think of a more welcoming and wonderful group of people, and I am so glad that I got up the courage to go that first time.

Also on Saturday I also went to my last Bath farmer's market, and the man who sells the delicious pies and tarts made me this: 

Because some people are just the best people. I will never forget you pie guy!

People Might Notice When I Leave

Today I was confronted with a difficult fact, for the second time. The first time it was when I left Footprint Publishing for the last time. That fact was that I am not only leaving behind places and things that I have grown to love, but also people, who might actually think about me once or twice when they notice I am not where I usually am at a particular time.

This morning I went to the farmer's market, as I do every Saturday morning because I am occasionally a housewife. I went to have a chat with the man who sells the most delicious tarts and pies, as I have a few times previously, and was startled to see he seemed to greet me with a smile, as if he was expecting me. I mentioned that next weekend would be my last farmer's market in Bath, and he told me to "come 'round next week" and he might have something for me.  This simple gesture and the cheerful way he always talks to me moved me quite a large amount.  I was struck by how nice people in Bath are, and how easy it is to get free pie.

Next I went to the Organic Garden, as I do mostly every week. I visited the onions I had planted so long ago, and I weeded them carefully. We are all trying to help the garden look its best for the Open Day coming up. No less than three people came up to me and, remembering I had been sick the week before, asked me how I was feeling. The thing was, they did not just ask. They actually cared. I was so extremely touched to see that I had made some true friends here in Bath without even trying. Somehow, while I was weeding and watering, bonds had sprung up between my fellow gardeners and I.  These people do not live with me, they do not have classes with me, many of them were not born in the same decade as me. They did not need to be nice to me, or even know my name, much less care about how I was feeling. But they did, simply and completely. Faith in humanity stronger than ever. I can't wait to go to the Open Day at the Organic Garden on Monday, and take advantage of the time I have left with these amazing people.

Going backwards for a moment, I should mention that last Tuesday I had my last internship day, and last Wednesday I had my last meeting with the Footprint people. Amongst all my freaking out in the last post I forgot to mention that I was actually really sad to leave behind the people at Footprint. Way more sad than I thought I would be. It turns out I had really been looking forward to chatting with the people around me about weekend plans and the best places to go for fish n' chips. It was with much regret and a heavy heart that I left MY office for the final time that Wednesday, even though I had gotten such good news only a few minutes before. I really hope that I can keep in touch with my coworkers and friends, and I do not mean that only in a "please help me get a job" way. I absolutely will miss you guys.

Man this is just going to get sadder as I get closer to leaving, isn't it?

A day.

I was going to call this post "The Best Day Ever," but as you may come to see, there was a little bit of sadness in it too. Let me count the ways.

1. Today my sister flew to Florida. She and the rest of the UC Santa Cruz water polo team are off to national championships, and I am so proud of her! Good luck Lauren!

2. Today was a food money day, which means I went from having no money, to having money!

3. I was very productive today working on my last big assignment, my portfolio for my internship. 4700 words written out of 6000, a big weight off of my mind as I began the day with only 3000 words, and it is due Friday.

4. I finally caved to my dad and bought myself a money belt for my European adventure. As lame as it will feel and look, I know it will keep my important belongings safe.

5. I got a big guidebook to Rome as well as a pop-up map, from my fabulous co-workers and friends at Footprint publishing.

6. I have a chance to write a column in a big British newspaper called The Independent. Oh I'm sorry, what was that? You want to know more? Are you sure? Well I will tell you. I mentioned in my final internship meeting that I would be keeping a journal as I travel through Europe.  My boss, a wonderful human being, who could be reading this very blog at this very moment, told me that if I write something good enough while I'm in Rome or Venice, there is a chance that he can get it into a column that Footprint runs every couple of weeks in the travel section. I am sure he knows exactly how big of a deal this is to me, as I almost leapt out of my chair I was so excited.  One step closer to living my dream of being a female Bill Bryson!  I am trying to keep this understated, you see, because like I said, he could be reading this, so shhhhh. I am completely calm and sane and no need to worry about me officer!
Edit: I am now freaking out that I was way too optimistic about this, and so if it doesn't happen, pretend like I never freaked out about it? Like that thing where you tell everyone the date and time of your driver's test, and then if you fail...everyone has to know?

7. Getting home, I was far too excited about life to stay inside, so I took my kindle, and I went for a walk along the canal. I know mom and dad, I'm not supposed to read while I am walking in public places, but I am 20 now, and A REBEL.  I soon realized it was best to focus on my book, because every time I looked up, I was greeted by a scene of such calm, simple, natural, overwhelming, simultaneously-every-adjective beauty, that I felt a pain in my stomach at the thought of leaving. Bath has found its way into my heart completely and utterly. I want to stay, so badly I want to stay. Before today, I have made the outwardly appropriate responses, the trappings and the suits of woe, if you will, but today for the first time along that canal I  felt real despair at the idea of leaving. I looked around me and felt absolutely that I could stay in this place for the rest of my life. This city is beautiful everywhere, and the love I feel for it truly cannot be expressed in words. I will miss you Bath. Maybe I'll be back sooner than you think?

Goodbye Bath