Three or so, days ago I returned from Belgium and Amsterdam.
Best week's vacation ever.
Thursday, Macca knocks thuddingly on my door and we grin as we hug each other. It's good to see a familiar face. He's pretty dirty looking, but it's acceptable as he's come on a bus all the way from London.
He examines my walls decorated with mementos of things past, things I'd like to see and other aesthetically pleasing things. I grin again. We exchange well-beings and he tells me of his adventures, read luxury lifestyle, while his mother was visiting him in England.
While he showers, I double check the Lamington ingredients for tonight's international dinner and email the parentals again to let them know that I'm going to try to be as unsafe as possible and that I'll try to rent one of the windows in Amsterdam's red light district.
SoonBen and his friend from Aus., S. arrive. Ben is super excited to compare notes with Ian: he adores the fact that they left within days of each other. I watch on bemused and ask the instructions for the Lams.
I leave to purchase my Erasmus a Paris ticket for Amsterdam so that I can join them there in a weeks time. Ian and I have an interesting time trying to find Mouss (
l'organisateur) near Grands Boulevards metro. Turns out he is in the nearest Quick; It's a fast-food chain.
We run back, to find that all the Lams are done and that they have also helpfully consumed 8 in the process. We have fun on the ride even though I forget to get off at the connecting station Belleville.
Such a plethora of food, it's a shame that my eyes are bigger than my stomach.
"A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk"... although Zombie Shuffle is closer to it because Cafe Censier was packed.
I ended up cutting myself on some glass (Paris Glass Accident no #4) by brushing the underside of my annoyingly crunchy boots. Remind me not to do that again. I tried to ask for tweezers at the bar using the words
pinceaux. I later realised at home that they looked confused because that actually means 'paintbrushes'.
I was going to crash a party with my
belle italiane near Montparnasse, but I realised that I would be even more tired for my 9am class the next day (Mythology- worst class ever).
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Rising for class the next day was struggletown as I was trying to be really quiet. Unfortunately, I made a huge rackett trying to find my metro pass, which had fallen behind my bed.
After class, I gobbled my 3,50EUR lunch, photocopied my passeport and then hurried to
La Fontaine St. Michel jusqu'a quelques pas de la Notre Dame au centre de Paris to meet Ian for the English-Speaking tour. It was super, super-interesting.
We left early, and while I packed, I-dog cooked the eggs and
lardons (french bacon cubes) in my
frigo.
Galleini metro stop was our next port of call.
Being typically French, the ticket-guy questioned our non-printed out copy of our E-TICKETS!?
N'avez-vous pas la capacite de comprendre le sens de E-TICKET?! Another W.T.F. (Welcome to France) moment.
Maccarena and I snacked on green-beans, tomatoes and apples on our way there, chatting
like two ducks in a pond.
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REVELATION: When you live in Paris, it's like the world doesn't exist. But when you leave, you realise that there is so much to discover.
It's easier (more elegant) to express this sentiment in French.
Quand vous habitez a Paris, il est comme le monde n'existe pas. Mais quand vous sortez de Paris, il y a bien un monde.
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Gent or
Gant is beautiful. I love the coloured brick buildings with their canals and the quaint triangular frontages (
s'il l'expression existe). Gent, Gent, I would like to raise children there so that they too, might be adorable and quaint.
We laughed at all the Dutch words and were particularly amused with one type of food available (you must ask me about it next time we talk). The map we had was useful if you weren't actually trying to find any of the highlights marked on it. It was a bit more like a cryptic crossword.
"So the Chocolate and Books shop is shown here on Leidenzjeilstraat!"
"Ahhh, that must means that you take two lefts at Grinjeilstraat, then turn 180 degrees at the Apotheek, give thanks to the Mystic Lamb (no joke, this exists) and then it will be directly opposite Rembrandtplein, just past the sewing bar."
We bought a 2EUR block of chocolade, and sat down contemplating the active brownie scouts in the square who were screaming at harmonic intervals. We concluded that they were anti-rape calls (although nobody was paying them any attention, so slightly ineffectual).
We re-pursued our search for the above attraction and in two minutes were sat down to sickeningly sweet Belgian hot chocolate and complimentary brownie bits at the back of the cozy parlor. Macca tinkled out the Australian National Anthem on the pianny there, and was promptly approached by a waitress who sweetly informed him that he was giving her a headache and would he kindly stop?
As we left, I laughing, he sheepish, we cursed them in yiddish and re-examined our map. The cheap bastards that we are we tried to find the Town Hall and the acclaimed Huge Lollipop also on our curious map. The Town Hall was inaccessible; the Huge Lollipop, a cruel lie destined to disappoint highly erudite culture-samplers like ourselves. We contented ourselves with finding a street full of shoes strung up over a high power-line and wondered how many Gent-ians were now walking around bare-footed because of it.
After exhausting most of the town's fine charms, such as a castle not far from our hostel which looked like those plastic Fischer-Price ones, we made the 1.5km journey over cobblestones (my shitty case amused itself by overturning at every opportunity) to the Train Station south of the city.
After observing a true Fat Controller who was a wearing a uniform that really accentuated his abundant sweaty curves we shot off to Brugges.
To be continued...
