European Food Culture

I’ll never forget the way my 8^th grade French teacher described the relationship the French have with food. She explained the shopping experience as a list of errands, stopping from shop to shop for one special item. Every time she spoke of how everyone would zip around with a baguette in their hands, everyone looked at that woman like she was a nut. However, after my first European adventure, I have to apologize to Madame Koehler, because everyone really does have a baguette in their hands! After learning more about the French food culture in writing my feature story, I learned that the French admire the ideal of “farm to fork," as one vendor at the market described to me. I pondered what happened to the United States when we decided to pump everything with genetically modified organisms. Sure, we can’t find anything wrong with it…yet. I’ll never forget when the press officer at the US Embassy in France described the lack of Genetically Modified Organisms as a fear of “Frankenfood” in European society. After learning more about food regulations, and their lack of fake products, I became increasingly jealous of the difference in quality of food here in the US to that of Europe, and dream of a day were Americans can appreciate real food again and leave the “Frankenfood” behind us.

aww the end has arrive

When we arrived back in the United States after our long 9 hour flight I couldn't think about anything but relaxation from the past couple weeks constantly traveling, not to mention finally getting over this illness I acquired over the trip. Boy, was I wrong about the relaxation and the sickness (which I still have as I write this final blog). I spent the past 3 days scrambling over all of my footage and notes trying to come up with something to turn in for our final projects. Granted what I turned in wasn't my greatest achievement but what I found on my camera hard drive was all worth it. At the time I didn't think so, but I took some awesome footage of the Pere-Lachaise Cemetery and the Catacombs. I didn't turn it in as a project, but I managed to put together two 2-minutes segments of the two. I know for certain that my two favorite things in Paris were in fact these places, morbid much? I find it all too interesting. The Cemetery, for instance, was one of the most beautiful places I've been to in years. When you think of cemetery's you don't think of beautiful but this particular cemetery was magnificent in every angle. As for the Catacombs, creepy and scary are the two descriptions that come to mind. If I were down there alone, I'd freak... The footage I got is in all filmed in night vision which adds to the essence of the atmosphere. Enough describing, check out the videos below!!

(Teachers, these really are my vidoes.. I filmed them and edited them together, I just put them up on youtube to make it easier to upload onto the blog. Enjo

y!)

PS. To all of you that were so worried about my lost shoes, Wyatt made it up to me this afternoon by taking me to SteveMadden to buy me a new pair. Wyatt... you're the best!

Not as cute as the ones I bought in Paris, obvi, but it's the thought that counts.

My Parisian Day Trip

Unfortunately, having missed group departure, I found myself thrilled at the thought of adventuring in Paris with my roommate. We began our day at the Parisian Flee markets. Walking up and down the bustling roads, the masses bartered for their steals. The street smelled of éclairs and other delectable French pastries, and I quickly made my way to the first bakery on the strip. You see, my grandmother and I share a passionate love for French pastries, and I had to experience it for the both of us. Much like my day already, the éclair was a sweet hazy dream. As I continued on, excitement overran me at the thought of successfully purchasing my long overdue Christmas presents in one swoop.

As I left the market I crossed the street, as the gaudy Cathedral beckoned me over to its park area. The park was filled with green lazy trees and sculptures, furnished quite similarly to many of the other parks in Paris. As I sat on the bench watching the children run around, I found myself pleased to find the sun had come up, a first in a grey rainy week. Despite Paris’ colossal beauty, I found the weather to be bleak and a guaranteed burden to anyone with seasonal depression.

As I sat on the park bench I noticed a women in a full Burka, with only her face exposed. In a time when France is declaring this to be against the law, this moment was moving to me.Witnessing a women in Paris who shared a mutual relationship with her French citizenship, and her religious roots and the outcome of her public battle I found deeply moving. What a privilege to experience a moment of such liberation and controversy.

As I hopped on the metro I thought of the angry letter I would write to the Chicago Transit Authority outlining changes that should be made in order to be as sufficient as the metro in Paris, and cringed at the idea of waiting 20 minutes in the damp underground blue line station when I return home.

On my way home down the cobblestone street, I finally tried the creperie across from Hotel Leveque. It was as if I had died and gone to cheese heaven. One of the many things I could get used to in Paris is the heavy consumption of cheese.

After my daily Parisian cheese fix Jen, Elizabeth and I rented bikes and took Paris by storm as the three of us attempted to learn the efficient and intricate bike routes of the city. Riding along the Seine River, I found myself nearly on the verge of tears that such a place even exists. As a child, you dream of the city of lights, and as an adult I can rightfully say that Paris lived up to my dreams and beyond.

We rode to the park in the middle of the city where from one end you can see the giant white Ferris wheel, and if you look to the other end of the park the famous pyramid sits in front of the Louvre. I quickly recognized this spot from the black and whites of the picnic tables and umbrellas that I drooled over as child. As we walked more into the park I was thrilled to see that adorable French children really do race wooden boats, and determined at that moment that I would only raise adorable French children.

As the sun set on what will always be one of the best days of my life, I ended it the only way possible: a nighttime boat ride down the Seine. Somebody pinch me, please.

Brussels you’re like an ex boyfriend.

Hey Brussels, what's up?

I hope you’re doing well because I want to have a few words with you. Not to upset you, Brussels but you really need to up your game. Don’t get me wrong the hotel we stayed at was a million times better than the one we survived in Paris but still. So you have a peeing kid, so what? Let me take you to the daycare that was downstairs from my old apartment, there are like 5 kids peeing there right now!

The reason I say you’re like an ex-boyfriend though is because, in my journey with you, we had many ups and downs. One up I already mentioned, the hotel. That was my first exposure to you, when I entered the room I think I might have literally said, “oh my gosh! No way!” just like I might say meeting a cute guy for the first time who makes a Lost reference. In other words we were on good terms. Then later that night we all had dinner as a group together and the beer was good but I’m not gonna lie the food wasn’t all that great, sorry. Here’s the thing though, I know it’s not fair to compare you to Paris, my love before you, but I’m gonna do it anyway and I’m just saying Paris knocked you out of the park as far as food is concerned. (Although it’s not your fault that I chose to have Quick while I was there but I did and it didn’t help your case.) But the people were very friendly which I was oh so thankful for. I was beginning to worry about the human race while in France but you made me feel good, Belgium. People smile in your country!!! At this point you were like a boyfriend who apologized after a fight by buying me Manchester Orchestra tickets or taking me to see a Robert Downey Jr. movie, we were cool for the moment but still a bit shaky.

The next day though, I went to do a little shopping, it was raining so that was an unfortunate strike against you but I tried to make the best of it. Long story short though I walked away after 2 1/2 hours of shopping with nothing in hand and I really wanted to buy something BRUSSELS! (yes capital letters, I am yelling at you.) I was very disappointed at this point, no cute British actor in the lobby of our hotel could make up for it either. (Shout out to Tia) So I went back to my room and sulked by my lonesome. Were you really going to do this to me Brussels? After everything? But wait! There was hope. Just then Emma knocked on my door, she said we should go out that night. Fast forward to hours later and to the thing that bailed you out of the dog house – Delirium Café. A bar in Brussels with over 2000 beers and that’s not a typo either. When we walked in we all had smiles on our faces, this place had 3 floors and tons of people. It was exactly what I needed, Brussels…why were you trying to hide it from me? We went to all the floors and got drinks and we were all such happy campers. But you know what happens at Delirium stays at Delirium so all I’m gonna say is it was definitely a highlight of the trip for me and yes I owe it all to you Brussels. So here’s the thing, our time together ended up on a positive note so where does that put us my dear? Just like my real life relationships, I have no idea. But stay safe Brussels I have a feeling we’re gonna keep in touch.

Ps. Your Metro sucks, step up the game on that too.

Thanks for listening,
Lisa

French Ideals

Written January 20, 2011

When I first came back from Europe, I felt like I didn’t have enough time to absorb my surroundings and experiences. But after writing my stories and reviewing my thoughts and feelings I recorded while abroad, I realized that sometimes you do have to step back to appreciate a masterpiece.
Writing my stories has shown me not only all that I have been fortunate to experience abroad but I also now feel that I did it the right way and that I took full advantage of the resources offered to me.
Studying abroad and learning about global topics gave me a different view of journalism and the world at that. In America, it feels like we are focused so much on our own issues and don’t have the time or necessarily the interest to focus on other global issues, but being able to understand global issues can change opinions in national ones as I have learned
For instance, my story on France’s policy of separation of church and state. In America we feel that we have a distinct separation of the two, so people are free to practice their religion in the public eye and are not allowed to be discriminated against. However in France, it is just the opposite. Everybody is allowed to practice their religion but only in the home because to the outside world they must be French and not associated by their religion. Americans may feel that is socialist where as French feel it is equality.
On a cultural level, while in France many of us felt slightly discriminated against as Americans due to comments made from by passers. Perhaps this was due to the same French ideals that the social structure is built off of.

Greater Than the Barrier Reef-The French Language Barrier

Laïcité is the French word for the notion of separation of church and state.

And when these people say “separation,” they aren’t kidding around.

Americans, too, fight about this concept-prayer in public schools, teachers who must be careful to say Happy Holidays instead of Merry Christmas-but let’s face it, at the end of the day it says “In God We Trust” all over those good old American greenbacks.

In that case, I imagine the French saying,

“Give me Euros or give me death.”

When writing my laïcité article, I encountered roadblocks both mental and physical. My American mentality made it difficult for me not to immediately equate this French notion of absolute separation of church and state with a (not very) disguised form of racism or prejudice against the Muslims who this legislation seems to most target.

Other than these cultural challenges, I discovered that it is also difficult to work on a story that deals with international affairs when you are looking at your laptop in Chicago, Illinois.

For instance, I found a reference to a group of young French Muslim women who have a more relaxed stance about wearing the headscarf, but when I tried to look at their website it was (of course) in French. I used Google’s Translator tool, but at times the translation seemed inconsistent and I found this frustrating because I have no real way of knowing how accurate the information is.

Getting in touch with sources was another issue along these lines. Here in the states, it is actually relatively easy (with a combination of perseverance and luck) to get a hold of aldermen, CEOs, and even senators. However, contacting someone in France is difficult twofold: there is both a potential language barrier and the problem of time-3pm in the States becomes 10pm in Paris.

I sent out two emails: One to Khiari Bariza, one of the only Muslim French senators, and one to the group I mentioned previously.

So far, I have not heard back from either.

But there is still time. Maybe these French will ultimately understand my transatlantic attempt to reach out to them.

Or, like our countries’ different attitudes towards religion, maybe the cultural gap is too wide to effectively cross.

Like Apples and Oranges.

French fries and Freedom fries.

Heading Out

January 18, 2011

While flying over Greenland it was clear to me why I felt the way I did about America when I looked at the small Starbucks cup sitting on my tray. We loved to make a name for ourselves. Something that everyone wanted. Only it came tasting more terrible then any coffee you could get around the world and it costed twice the price.

The quality of life at home is grand. But when you got down to the brass tacks you could see that it was made fast and not to last. Empires where built in days. But a legacy was hard to come by anymore.

When I was walking around the gardens of Versailles I saw just how much detail and passion was put in to every stone, picture, and flower. They build a legacy for a reason. To honor what was in the past and make sure that the future understood that an empire could take hundreds of years to make perfect.

We are a young nation. And if I’ve learned anything over the past few years is that when your young you think you know everything. When people that have been around much longer then you say, “this sounds fun now but in a few years you might regret it,” I didn’t want to listen. Just like many parts of the world have told my home to take it slow.

Watching the news in Brussels made me see our country changing. There’s tugging from all corners. Little tares and snags here and there, 9/11, Iraq War, healthcare, The Dream Act, immigration, Tea Party’s, global warming, gangs, poverty, and a high unemployment rate. The thing is little tares and snags slowly wither away the fabric that held us all together in the first place.

I think we need to slow down. Sit down, hell breath. We might have a lot of money to help people all over the world but right on our own soil, people need something to once again make sure that the life they are living can one day be seen as a legacy, not just a number 2 on a quick menu.

I enjoyed going down a street and seeing different kinds of business run by all kinds of people. Seeing and shopping for different things around every comer. Not just a Target, Kmart, Wal-Mart, or Whole Foods. I liked knowing the man who made my crepe and where he got his mushrooms and why he opened his shop. It was more like a home then walking into a Starbucks that are on almost every street corner in Chicago. With the same pictures, hung in the same spots, and a credit card from the corporation to top it.

In a few hundred years maybe we’ll learn. Learn that we have all the time in the world, and if that we personally don’t then the people around us will. I’m not naïve, I know that we need money to make the world go round, but we can at least spend it wisely. Some how we keep running out of it in the U.S. only to all the sudden find more. Like the White House has this giant couch, that they keep finding change under the cushions, every time they turned the channel and people where unhappy with the way things where going.

It’s not left or right, white or black that should guide us, but it ultimately our passion to make a place we can call home.

The more I see the more I think that America is not quit ripe enough for me. We have not been thru our mid-life crises or down on our luck yet. And it’s not up to one person to decide when that is to happen or why.

I learned something….you just gotta let happen……

Red Light

January 16, 2011

It wasn’t the slip of money….or the knock on her small red door that was so surreal to watch. It was the awkward exchange of glances that led to a few minutes of tension and release.

She stood in her black bra and panties guarding her tiny 3 by 7 foot red room. A mirror on her left where she peered to steal a few glances, making sure the product was up to par.

The door cracked open and the glances started.

He shrugged to see if she was open, she scrunched her face together as to say he better pay well if he was going to come into her one room home.

He said a price, she lifted her eyebrow, and he dropped twenty more.

The velvet curtain closed….

Another women has just opened her curtain with a look on her face as if it was time for a coffee break.

The man put himself together they chatted about…well I can’t imagine….not about another date, or a drive-in, probably not even a phone number.

She gently opened her door as to say, “Thank-you for the business.”

I always wanted to know how this human need in us blooms into an urge so bad we go window-shopping for a quickie. When did the laughing group of teenage boys turn into the well-educated men of the night?

Did she feel happy here? The girls from Chicago didn’t seem to think so. I questioned whether she was forced or willing to sell her body. I thought how crazy she must be if she wanted this for a life. Then I thought people would do anything to survive. It was a game of cat and mouse played in my head the whole night.

To me it was very sad. Sad that a woman had to sell the one thing in this world that is truly hers. Sad that many girls didn’t have a choice. Sad that people need the sensation so bad.

I needed to see more. Next time. It’s not hard to find…..it’s all over the world.

ICC

January 17, 2011

For three years I waited to sit in this seat. To look into the eyes of a person that was in a long list of criminals I wanted to personally understand more.

He sat behind the glass but only 20 feet away, and next to me his mother.

The image of a woman watching her son go thru the International Court tried as a murder and rapist is something I never would have imagined seeing about until today. As much as I wanted to pound the thick sheet glass and ask him why he directed so many men in the wrong direction, his mother was standing in the way.

She put a human note on a situation I thought only people who where inhuman could be involved in.

The woman hidden behind the witness protection blinds is telling her story how three men raped her and stole her things. How she was held down by one man and violated by another, and like a ride they took turns. We couldn’t see her or hear her voice in its natural state. She was a voice for the thousands of women taken advantage everyday in the Central African Republic. Her story was sad but I know that other victems stories can be one hundred times more tragic then hers. The judges spoke to her with such care. They made sure she felt safe when her murders commander sat only 10 feet away. Bembe couldn’t see her. In fact he slept.

I was finally in a place I had dreamed of seeing for years. Confirming that this was the kind of work I wanted to do. Finding what made people human, both the good and bad side. It feels like it will be an endless search for me. Something that I will never stop looking for. A drive for one answer that is in constant passing.

Monday, January 10, 2011

Monday, January 10, 2011

Sitting in the quant hotel lobby at three am working. Watching my fellow students roll in from a night out on the soggy streets. Some had a great night and some had wished for a better outcome.

It was rainy. The first stop was a small little bar straight and then a right. We walking in with sponges for shoes and ready to dance.

French reggae music played in the background like a friendly reminder that somewhere 6,000 miles away people in my hometown where sharing a common beat.

A weird vibe had settled into the group tonight. Everyone wanted to drink together but be alone. Explore this beautiful city with a close friend and not attached to dislikes or sick stomachs.

Somehow the group fizzled out across town and left me with three lovely ladies looking for a good old slumber party.

A trip to the small grocery and six different cheeses later we where sneaking food into one of our rooms. Also, since eating and drinking was a sin in the hotel we had no knives, but we managed to key up a great solution.

It was warm. It was like I was 10 again. Whispering so no one could hear us thru the paper-thin walls, digging into Nutella, and sharing secrets about boys that surprisingly turned out to be of a different breed.

And now I sit in the quant hotel lobby. Dried out and more willing to work then I have in months. There was something about this town that made me feel like I was home again. A feeling that I had only really felt in summer’s spent with my family in Poland. I am genuinely happy…and wish that the one I love could join me.

To Carmen and Sofia

While on the train trying to find the black part of Paris, which technically doesn’t exist because everyone is French, Tia and I met Carmen and Sofia.
We asked how do we get to Saint-Denis and they showed us on the train map and as we conversed more they said “we will just take you there.”
Once we got off the train to transfer, we began to talk for about half an hour as we waited for the delayed train. What kind of music do you guys listen to we asked, they replied with Kanye, T.I, Beyonce’, Jasmine Sullivan and much more. We knew music was a universal language, but to talk to young adults who listen to what we love and much more was a bit surprising.
After talking about the University’s in Paris and the differences between American Universities we found our way to Saint-Denis. The little sunlight that we had early had disappeared, neon lights, hair salons, and barbershops is what we sought after.
Tia and I didn’t find what we were actually looking for so we decided to catch food. Quick, similar to Mc Donald’s or Burger King, but a European version was a suitable choice. Sofia and Carmen were amazing to us, I couldn’t have asked for the universe to grant me any other two to share those few hours in Paris with. I will never forget their kindness when so many others had not acted in love and understanding. We laughed, sang, and learned about how we are so different but yet the same…I love Paris because of you two.

With much regard

Brandon Graham

Ann Frank

When I first heard we were going to the Ann Frank house, I will admit I wasn't the most excited person in the world. I thought to myself just great another boring tour of another place I prefer not to see. Not that I didn't want to learn more but because I has spent my whole trip walking around touring and at this point I had just had it. At this point i just wanted to enjoy the remainder of my trip all ready. It didn't really register in my head how meaningful Ann Frank really was. However standing outside her house waiting my turn to go in i was very nonchalant, However all that changed when I entered the house and started reading her story and listening to the documentaries... That's when everything started to get REAL! Places in my hurt were touched and sadden by all that took place in the house I stood in. I was in awe and disbelief of the activities that happened in each room i stood in. The fact that Ann Frank endured so much she was still able to keep a positive perspective on her situation while having forgiveness in her heart. Knowing that made me look at the inner me and think about how I treat people and the words of choice I use with them. The Ann Frank house is a historical spot that everyone she visit once to feel the power that comes from it. Touring at this house has made me loo at things in a different light and was really an eye opening experience. I am truly grateful that i received the chance to visit it because it really was a life changing experience.

Travel, Idealism and Perspective

Every day I battle with a desire to simply observe life, or to experience it.

I am torn between wanting to be an impassionate spectator -- an audience member enjoying the drama that is life -- and wanting to be a player in that drama. This duality creates a problem for me as a journalist.

On one hand, I don't mind chronicling the struggles and triumphs of other people. On the other, I want to join in the fights, lick my wounds or savor a victory.

For years, I've held on to the idea that to be a good journalist I must be removed, I must be objective in relation to the subjects I am covering. I still think striving for objectivity is paramount to being a trustworthy journalist, but I realize that I don't always have to be a journalist.

Traveling overseas and speaking with so many professionals, like the PR people at NATO, who were at one time journalists, has given me a broader idea of what my life can be.

The eight-hour flight to Paris afforded me an opportunity to talk candidly with our instructor Rose. Here is an excerpt from my journal that evening:

"Talking with Rose opened me to some revelations tonight. Rose told me about how Hemingway and Twain both worked as journalists early in their careers. Perhaps I am on a similar path, or at least maybe I am attracted to similar things as those great men. I hope I keep pushing myself to write better and faster. I hope I keep seeking out new experiences."

It's a bit lofty, I know. But anticipating a trip to places like Paris and Amsterdam can really bring out the idealist in a person.

After I spent one evening covering a protest in Paris, it dawned on me that, even as a journalist, I am still participating in life. By telling other people's stories I am giving structure, background and sometimes even meaning to the actions of others.

If there is one overarching lesson I learned from this trip, it is this: Whether I am a career journalist, a teacher or a couch potato, I am going to be part of the great story of humanity, but I am free to choose my role.

The Embassy

We showed up at the embassy "En advance". We were early. Maybe that explains the semi-rude treatment we received. Everyone at security and even our contact acted like we were some extreme burden. I guess I was expecting a smiling face and a warm American greeting. Not even americans working the gate, where are the soldiers? Maybe i've seen too many Jason Bourne/ action movies but I expected my passport to be my key to an American haven. For example, if I was on the run from secret french spy/police types it was my understanding that I could run to the embassy and rushed through the gates to escape persecution. Thats not the case. In reality, I would probably need an appointment to even approach the sidewalk.

Once we got inside, we were "shhhhhed" through the lobby as pictures of Obama, Biden, and Clinton looked on. We were then ushered down a hallway lined with portraits of former presidents, into a big regal conference room. We met our contact, a deputy spokesperson for the embassy. I could be sensitive, but everyone treated us like we were a naive tour group of 3rd-graders. As an adult, a member of the press, and just a fellow human being I expect a certain level of pleasantness and respect not received at the embassy. Despite our host saying "I don't think our relationship (French-American) has been this good since WWII"... I don't see it.

Writers Note: This entry was written in real time at the embassy. You may have noticed that the tone is a little bitter. As an update i'd like to add that our speaker did eventually warm up (a little.) So although it was not the reception I had hoped for, I do appreciate the time that the embassy took to answer our questions.

Constructive Criticism

Dear Paris

There are some things that I need clarity on. When I visited your beautiful streets I was unable to understand a few of your ways. The way I see it, you have some inconsistencies that need fixing. Please don’t raise your voice, you are still a wonderful city. It’s not you, it’s me? Don’t storm out, these are just some constructive notes on how to improve your appeal.

1.) The doors. Can you please decide if you want me to pull or push when I’m entering. I can’t tell you how many times I yanked or thrusted the wrong direction gaining everyone inside’s attention and making me look foolish. I will be okay with what ever you decide, I’m just looking for some uniformity,

2.) Are you expensive or cheap? Too many times I was left digging in my pockets searching for more money because I underestimated the price. This would seem like an easy fix, that I should just anticipate a hefty total but it’s not that simple. Sometimes, sweet Paris, you were incredibly affordable. I could spend 2 Euros on an elegant sandwich and be completely satisfied. The next day in a different part of town I would order what I thought was a similar sandwich and be expected to play 8 Euro! What’s up with that? Don’t even get me started on alcohol... okay too late. The grocery store down the street would provide me two bottles of fine french wine and a 10-pack of beer for under 5 Euros (a steal of a deal.) When I was at bars, sometimes I could get a beer for around 2 Euro, while other places would give me the same beer for around 7! I can’t take the inconsistency.

3.) When I talk to you, should I attempt to used my broken french? or start off by asking you if you speak english? “Est-ce que tu parle anglais?” I tried both methods and each of them yielded their fair share of eye rolls. What do you want me to do?

4.) I’m ready to admit. Paris, you have the best public transit in the world. The metro easy to use, absurdly frequent, and very clean. Why then, I ask, do you shut it down so early? As the world’s premier subway I believe you would only expand your supremacy by offering late night or even all night service. I couldn’t even figure out when the trains stopped. Some told me midnight, others said as late as 1:30, but there was always the threat of being stranded. Please, figure this out so that I can enjoy your late night treasures worry free.

Paris, you are my newest love, I want to make that clear. These are just some slight adjustments that I would like to see addressed before my next visit. Thanks.

Your Pal,

Wyatt Danz

French Culture

Written January 8th, 2011

Today we discovered the cultural and historical side of Paris. I was a little tired starting the day since we had experienced the night life of Paris the night before but it was definitely worth waking up early. We started at Versailles, the old palace for King Louis XV and the infamous Queen Marie Antoinette which Kristin Dunst did an excellent role of portraying the late princess. The palace was beautiful with the entire original interior, history was brought to life. I was really intrigued by the usage of secret passages. That’s an element of history that American architecture is lacking. The compelling part of secret passages is that each individual passage comes with its own story. For the story of Versailles passages is one of love. Kings and queens were never married for love but rather treaties between countries. Therefore in this scenario, mistresses were acceptable for they were not one of a physical affair, but in most instances, a true love affair enduring with a blind eye from the courts people. Secret passage ways were built to allow the king to see his love without the knowledge of the disapproving courts. Unfortunately, I contradict myself finding this purpose sweet being that this was only permitted in the matters of the king, not the queen.
After Versailles and some lunch we headed to the Eiffel tower. It really is as magnificent in person as through other visuals. In the summer I went to the top of the Chicago sears tower and was breath taken by the beauty of Chicago and the city’s layout. Although my heart resides in Chicago, Paris made Chicago look like an amateur (which it is). There was no point that the city ended. A mix of modern and historical architecture decorated the landscape all the way until the horizon. Taken into account the Eiffel tower is about 81 stories where as the Sears tower is around 110 stories, I was still enamored.
Following the Eiffel tower we went to the Louvre. Before coming to Paris I saw Versailles in the media as well as the Eiffel tower but going to the Louvre was an entirely different element. The fact that it is Paris’ oldest castles structure is impressive but even more I think it has to do with what is inside of the Louvre. Art is a subject that a person is introduced to even before education and that is where many people passion for history roots from. Going to the Louvre and seeing the Mona Lisa, The Wedding Feast at Cana and The Coronation of Napoleon, I feel like I have seen it all.
I am a person in love with the act of learning and taking advantage of the power of learning fully utilizing my education and the tools that I have accessible to me. I must say though as a first time European traveler, I feel so privileged. This is the best type of learning, and definitely won’t be forgotten after the quiz.

notch in the belt

Breakfast, I usually do not eat breakfast, but this French expression I could not pass on. Focusing less on: bacon, eggs, and toast we turned to coffee, baguette and croissants. With a twist on condiments that did not include: mixed-berry jam or Country Crock butter there was something better! We were offered butter that tasted as if it could warm your heart, apricot jam sweet enough to make you pucker and little packets of nutella that paired perfectly with cafe latte. The croissants were so butter and flakey, just slightly undone inside, mouth watering...

Lunch, Americans usually use lunch as a break from work. Or they grab a quick bite at the drive through. When our group had a lunch break and wanted to sit at a restaurant I quickly deferred. Knowing that Europeans in general take their time to eat, getting a meal at a restaurant was going to take at least an hour, maybe more. So grabbing some pomme frites-french fries, or a crepe was going to be our best bet. The pomme frites better known as the “fruit of the earth,” were incomparable to American french fries. Parisians usually opt for mayonnaise instead of catsup. Mayonnaise will usually make a health conscious American quiver. This mayonnaise is not greasy or heavy. This mayonnaise it fluffy, light and citrusy. I even bought a jar to take home with me, and I usually do not prefer mayonnaise on anything!

Would you like a crepe? One of France’s most famous crepes’ is crepes’ suzette. A thin pancake beautifully folded, topped with Grand Mariner and set on fire. A typical french dessert. Carts around the city provide a quick crepe fix with many filling options. For the sweet tooth: nutella, nutella and bananas, Grand Mariner and strawberries etc. For the savory: cheese, ham and cheese, egg and cheese etc. There are many options for the busy American tourist. Other quick options include; homemade quiche, pizza, tarts, painnis and all the fresh bread you could ever imagine. The French sure know what their doing when it comes to food. Walk it off by avoiding the metro, navigating your map and taking in the beauty of the city. After walking all those carbs and calories off, I sure was ready for a classic French dinner...

Paris-Day 1

When I think of Paris, I think of food. An ancient tradition that has been a labor of love never to be discontinued. My first day in Paris was a day I will never forget. Filing off the shuttle from the airport onto a street that had been so delicately embellished with cobblestones and sparkling lights. Trying to roll my suitcase to the Grand Leveque Hotel across the old cobblestone street posed quiet the challenge, it also echoed through the street, “the tourists are here!” Passing by famous brasseries, and beautiful outdoor vendors it was a fantasy world for food lovers all over the globe. Magical scents of: fresh fruit, aged cheeses, organic meats and crepes filled with nutella danced their way through my senses and instantly made me hungry.

I must not forget the wine, oh the wine. I myself am a lover of wine. When I can buy a bottle for less than two euros, and it tastes better than the Jewel-Osco special of the week I knew Paris and I were going to be friends forever. My first encounter with a grocery store in Paris was something out of a fantasy for me. On a mission for travel items I had forgotten at home, I stumbled upon the wonderland of a Parisian grocery store.

Unlike our typical American grocery stores where you can find anything in one visit. These grocery stores sincerely focus on the identity of food. In America we are so scared of diseases and sickness, that our laws do not allow for the types of food sold in France. Processed, treated, and medicated food is what we are all used to. From oranges to baguettes, eggs to croissants, everything just tasted better--fresher. Grabbing a few food items from the store: yogurt in a glass jar, pate with toasts, I had forgotten the travel items that I needed, and headed back to a hotel that did not allow outside food. Thank god the hotel served breakfast, another treasure to explore...

Our retired explorer

"Comment allez-vous ce soir? Je suis comme ci comme ca (c=cedilla but blogger does not support French accents, or I can't figure out how to type them in this forum anyway)." is the only French phrase I knew when the plane touched down at Charles De Gaulle Airport, thanks to the Weakerthans.

The phrase roughly translates to an apathetic "How are you? I'm okay" and also translates to my everyday prior to the trip.

In my opinion the Average American Adult Life is watered down by cell phones, the information superhighway, forty hour work weeks that for some extend beyond seventy and high fructose corn syrup. I saw myself in a death march toward the same fate. I was caught in the city rush, its train schedules, time and financial constraints. I was bogged down by work and enjoyed few moments alone and it began to show in my appearance and demeanor. Even an O'Hare security officer saw it, "Smile, you're going to France!" he ordered as he handed my passport and my boarding pass back to me. I didn't realize I was scowling.

After surviving the plane ride to Paris (a feat I had thought to be impossible) I resolved to enter the country with a clear head; to hell with the stress and obligations I had struggled with in the States.

Once adopting that attitude I found it easy to go with the flow (to "just let it happen"). Eating a crepe while walking around a Parisian neighborhood in the evening and sharing a bottle of wine after midnight at the Eiffel Tower became adventures I won't easily forget. Great friendships were developed in a matter of days.

I was able to find enjoyment in little things I would have taken for granted in the States. I became the starry eyed girl I once was and fell in love while standing on a street corner with my hands in my pockets.

Hopefully this post Europe glow doesn't fade quickly and I am able to carry this new lease on life years from now. Even if I become swept away in the Average American Adult Life somewhere down the road, at least for now I'm able to say with conviction "Je ne suis pa d'accord. Je suis merveilleux!"

Liberal Amsterdam!

I met a very opinianated man at The Bulldog Café in Amsterdam, his name is Faroak. My multi-media story is on weed being legal in Amsterdam. I asked Faroak if I was able to interview on his opinion on the topic and I asked why he thought weed was legal in a place like Amsterdam and not the United States and he said that it was because Americans don’t let their people be free and that in a country like Amsterdam people are free, happy and can do whatever they want. He also said that Americans are too worried about their image and want to be portrayed as the perfect country. He told me that the United States feels like they should fix every other country’s problem so they can be the hero of the story. “As Europeans we think Americans are crazy.” I wonder if all Europeans think like that about Americans. After hearing in Paris like 100 times that the United States-Europe relationship has never been this good and that Europeans love Obama I am kind of confused as to who to believe; the people who try to make the United States look good in Europe or the guy who was high in an Amsterdam bar!?! I thought what he was saying and the way he was expressing himself was so intense he was so mad when he was telling me all these things it was kind of scary!

Take a Ride Thru Amsterdam

Strolling along the streets of Amsterdam one will hear the ringing of bicycle bells as a group of riders cycle by. If you are as absent minded as me you will hear many bells and shouts to move out of the way after stepping to the bike lane of the sidewalk once again.

It is a pretty good estimate that everyone in the city rides a bicycle. Driving by a school early in the morning we saw many cyclists riding up and parking their bikes before running into the building. The sidewalks are divided into three lanes, one for riders and one for pedestrians. Driving through the city you will spot hundreds of bikes locked up to every light pole, tree, and rack that can be found. Even in the winter months people get on their bikes every day and ride through the city at any time.

Amsterdam is a unique and liberating city that is ahead of its time. They are accepting of all different types of people. When we were touring the historic sites the other day our tour guide was showing where the first gay couple was married and a monument dedicated to those that are gay. There are street performers and artists everywhere that show their moves and drop some beats for any passerby. There is graffiti all over the city, but it is street art and not vandalism.

Amsterdam is a city ahead of its time, and we can only hope that one day other countries will be as accepting of all different people.

The heineken experience

If you've never been to the Heineken experience, you should, even if you don't drink. Heineken is such an integral part of Amsterdam, you can't walk through the streets of Amsterdam without seeing a Heineken sign on every corner. Not to mention, just driving into the town you have to pass the large brewery and one of the largest tourist attractions. The first thing you do when you walk into the brewery is learn about the history, the way Heineken has been a part of the town as it has grown and expanded. Then, you live the experience of being brewed, bottled and shipped out in a live 4d. Not to mention you get some free great tastes of Heineken and learn some fun facts from some of their crew. As one example, it's not the beer that makes you fat but it's all the food you consume as you drink the beer!


If that isn't enough, you get to see the Heineken horses and feel almost like you're in Willy Wonka as you walk through the brewery and view the different tools used to make it.

Just as Paris was about enjoying your meal with a great tasting wine to compliment the taste of the cuisine, Amsterdam is about the rugged beer you choose to go with the meal. It was probably one my my most favorite adventures in Amsterdam, and I'm not even a Heineken girl, but it's safe to say that I walked away one.

This is Brussels, and that is Amsterdam.

Brussels is one of the most beautiful towns I’ve ever stepped into and each building is uniquely different. My favorite thing about the town is the way the windows open up into the street that comes alive early in the morning. The people who own the stores below some of the buildings come out and kindly greet others who have stepped out of their store to open their doors. Then swiftly through the conversation a street train comes down the middle of the street and all you do from your window is take a deep breath of that morning air and smile into a town where all the buildings are quaint and filled with such beauty.




Then there is Amsterdam, and it’s gorgeous. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen in your life, or the way you picture it when everyone talks about it. Walking down some of the streets, in the next lane to you, you have to dodge a little to avoid the millions of bikes coming down the designated bike lane. Then the lane next to that is where the cars come, but you see far less cars then you do bikes. In the early morning, if you were to drive down the streets you get to see all the little kids with their parents biking them to school or the children hiking a ride with their friends by sitting on the back of the bike like they used to in America in the 1950s. Amsterdam is beautiful, the buildings and places in town goes through decades. You see historic buildings in one part then you view buildings from the 1970s in the next. Each part of the town is filled with character and runs neatly through a river that flows throughout the town. It’s really an accomplishment just to step on the sidewalk that perhaps Anne Frank stepped onto decades before into a building she hid for her life and to just see all of these buildings and history, it’s definitely gorgeous.

Aretha Franklin said it best: R-E-S-P-E-C-T

This post doesn’t need any pictures, because I don’t need to be reminded of “it.” And by “it”, I mean the Red Light District. What a depressing, tragic night. I can’t believe Amsterdam would disappoint me like that. The red lights and other florescent colors beaming out of the windows made me think I was at a Teletubby party, until I saw the girls with their bras and thongs anxiously awaiting a cuddle buddy I knew that this was no PG 13 party.

The moral of the story is that girls should respect their bodies because at the end of the day you can’t buy dignity for 75 euro an hour.

see ya later, Augustine

The click of my high-heeled shoes against the wet cobble stone cut through the still, afternoon air and announced our presence before our arrival as we walked down a narrow Brussels sidewalk. We made our way through the residential streets in a zigzag pattern, my comrades refused to admit we were lost, how could we be? We had a map.

We entered onto a more populated street lined with lower middle class businesses and empty store fronts and quickened our pace as a chill in the air gave way to scattered raindrops which increased in number and intensity as we neared our destination.

The graying sky matched the atmosphere of the city and my mood perfectly as the pinch in my arch painfully made itself known. I silently cursed myself for not opting to catch a cab back to the hotel.

Miserable, I trudged along; head down, shoulders slumped until I caught sight of a window that stopped me in my tracks.

Behind dusty glass was a deconstructed scene not far from photos I have seen of villages turned to rubble post WWII. Overturned and broken furniture sat on a platform of cracked concrete, half buried in dust and other debris. Less than a foot from the window rested an old chandelier half hidden in a pile of trash and dust.

The rusted, ugly fixture bore little resemblance to its cousins I had visited days prior in their grand Parisian settings as it glinted pitifully in the waning evening light. Despite its unsightliness, the old chandelier in the shop window held more honesty than the beauty and glory of those at Versailles and the Notre Dame Cathedral.

The juxtaposition of youth and beauty to old-age and wear on inanimate objects is easily relatable to the human condition. The faint glimmer of the rusted chandelier told me to keep on keeping on, to enjoy my youth, because I will grow old and my body will break.

The scene through the window spoke clearly: relish the moment, even if it takes place in a cold rain punctuated by foot pain.

Second Life Music

Almost Famous
"I always tell the girls, never take it seriously, if ya never take it seriously, ya never get hurt, ya never get hurt, ya always have fun, and if you ever get lonely, just go to the record store and visit your friends." -- Kate Hudson as Penny Lane in "Almost Famous"

Goal
One of the few goals I had for my Europe excursion was to find a record store and adopt a few vinyls. I planned to welcome them into my home with open arms and provide a loving environment. I could only hope they grew up to be pageant queens or lawyers.

Success
Luckily, on the last day of the trip, the Internet allowed me to discover Second Life Music. I made some of the best vinyl purchases of my career as a collector, and the salesman was nice enough to save me 11 euro by charging me 50 euro for 61 euros worth of records.

I'm glad I was able to find something familiar in this foreign land. I'm glad I was able to go to the record store and visit my friends. It's the first time I've felt "at home" in weeks.

The Secret ANNEx

“To build up the future you have to know the past.” Otto Frank

Today was moving. Why? Because, I had been counting down the days, hours, seconds to go to Anne Franks house. Before I left for Europe, I told EVERYONE including the mailman that I was going to be in the same exact place Anne wrote her diary. Of course no one will admit it, but I could feel the jealousy.

My excitement about Anne Frank came after reading The Diary of Anne Frank (the book) in high school. To me she wasn’t just the “girl with the diary”; she was brave, smart, strong, and hopeful- all the qualities you rarely find in an eight year old. Don’t get me wrong, I felt just as sad and mad walking through the house as I did when I watched the movie Selena- because in the end they both pass away. However, there should be some happiness to this story, because in a strange way her dream of being a famous writer came true. Millions of people died during the persecution, but it was Anne who wrote all her feelings and thoughts down. This led her father to tell Anne’s story, promote human rights and bring people together.

“I think it’s important that people shouldn’t go to the Anne Frank house to see the secret annex. They’ve also got to be encouraged to realize that even today, people are being prosecuted for their race.” Otto Frank Regardless what anyone says, to me she’s a hero. I’m amazed with her story, because she had the courage to write while in hiding. The walls in the museum had quotes from her diary and one impacted me the most: “I know what I want, I have a goal, I have opinions, a religion and love.”

Anne and her family moved in the building on the Prinsengracht in 1942. Shortly after Anne and the eight people in hiding were arrested and sent to Auschwitz extermination camp. From there, Anne became ill with typhus and died in Bergen-Belsen in 1945. Anne’s diary was published in the Netherlands in 1947, and has been translated into more than 65 languages. On May 3^rd 1960 the Anne Frank house opened to the public and is still one of the most popular places for tourists to visit in Amsterdam.

We weren’t able to take photos inside, but I did anyway mainly because I have to prove to my mailman that I was there. The Anne Frank house made me reflect on my own life and all the people that I couldn’t imagine living without. Just like Selena’s music, Anne’s story will live on forever.

I will conclude this with a magical moment I had after walking through the house: my bonding session with Wyatt Danz. The Anne Frank museum showed a kind, respectful side to this boy while I spoke to him about Anne and her secret annex. I think Mr. Frank would be proud to know that walking through his house helped bring me closer to one of my classmates.

P.S. My picture won't rotate!

Covering Europe

Paris in Review

No matter how much I travel or what corner of the world I'm in, I will always get homesick.

While some people are getting homesick for familiar surroundings, family and friends, I am missing my boyfriend the most.

Who can deny that Paris is one of the most romantic cities in the world? Beautiful people, beautiful language, beautiful food, beautiful music, beautiful clothes and beautiful art make for a breathtaking city. Who else but to share it with someone you love?

At first I was taken aback by the excessive PDA; I saw PDA on the trains, outside the Metro, at landmarks, in cafes, everywhere...but Paris has shown me that love is a beautiful thing.

While we were waiting in line for the lift at the Eiffel Tower, a few of us spotted an elderly couple in line and couldn't help but watch them hold hands and eat croissants together while patiently waiting amidst the chaos and noise coming from other tourists.

That simple moment made me realize that traveling is not a checklist of "been-there, done-that" or how many souvenirs I can fit into my suitcase, but it's about perseverance, patience, understanding, openness, and most importantly, love and the wisdom to seek knowledge and share knowledge.