The days are beginning to blur.

I'm not sure if that is due to speed or monotony.

Probably both.

Time is flying by. People told me it would. "Yeah, I know," I would reply half-heartedly. But their words ring truer than I could have even imagined. November is upon us. Where did October go? September even? The first month or so here was an eternity, since then, the time has gone by in the blink of an eye.

I'll be home soon. One more blink.

Fast Forward

Ireland happened and was perfect. The 4 day weekend known as, "Castle Quest '09!" was epic. We visited 5 castles. Kissed the Blarney Stone. Drank at pubs. Saw a leprechaun. Got lost on Irish roads. Stayed at hostels of varying degrees of comfort. And we were surrounded by green. Rolling hills and fields of the brightest, lushest green anyone has ever seen.

My mother came to visit. For a detailed story of her time here, feel free to visit her blog; http://marybethr.blogspot.com/
For me, the best thing about her trip was having her with me. We did so much, but the key thing was that is was "we", she and I, doing those things together.

But now. Today is October 7th, and I am alone in France. My roommate, best friend, and partner in crime has flown back to America.
Half of my bedroom is empty. I moved to the other side of the room. It's a better side, plus, now, the empty side isn't Sarah's. It is the side formerly known as Emily's.

I have to say though, even though it is sad she had to leave, her last few nights here were absolutely legendary. Knowing she was leaving, sleep was a waste of time for us. Why waste hours sleeping when we could be adventuring?
The first night of fun started with art projects. The poster Sarah drew for me of Ariel is on my wall now, forever reminding me of our good times. At about 2 am, Sarah made a proclamation that a trip to Roly Poly Hill was necessary. We headed off to Roly Poly Lake and spent an hour or so rolling ourselves down the hill under the brightest full moon of the year. Once we felt too dizzy to continue, we layed on the hill, gazing at the stars and talking about life. Sleep, not necessary.
We spent Sarah's last day in France at Disneyland, running around, visiting friends, taking it all in. I was seeing the park through her eyes, it felt like I was saying goodbye to it too.
Time for her farewell fun. We went to Billy Bob's and watched the French line dancers. Anyone who says all the French hate America need to go to Billy Bob's and they'll see plenty of French people doing America proud. Back to Boiserie for one last hopping night for Sarah at 4613. The entire evening revolved around "Le capsule de temps," our time capsule. We (a bunch of Americans and a Dutch) filled an empty wine bottle with treasures and memories.

The burial.

Anyone who thinks that burying a relatively large item in the hard French ground at 3 am with nothing but spoons and ladles is easy is wrong. We ran around, trying to find an appropriate location. Too many roots, too exposed, too hard, too close to security. Finally, we found the perfect spot and the digging began. More than one spoon was broken and mud was strewn everywhere, but the activity was a success. Our memories are buried at the Boiserie, and in 5 years, we'll be back to re-live them.

The next day, we said goodbye. I held it in, and I gave Sarah the goodbye I knew she wanted. The second she was out of my sight though, I lost it. Praise God for the Dutch. Back to 4613, to say goodbye to Maggie who was moving out to stay her last week with her family. And now it's empty. Today, my day off, feels different than any other day off I've ever had. Because there is no one to come home later. Right now, 12:30 in the afternoon, is lonely in the exact same way it will be in 5, 6, 7 hours.

Little Bits

I love cemetaries. To truly know a place, you've got to visit their graveyards. I am a firm believer of this. As such, I was in heaven at Père Lachaise, the world renowned Parisian cemetary.

I don't even know if "cemetary" is the right word to use. It's more like a city. A city of tombs and graves. New and old, famous and unknown, intermingling in tranquil harmony. We spent our time wandering it's streets and still only experienced a small portion. We visited such famous residents as Yves Montand (my personal favorite), Frédéric Chopin, Collette, Oscar Wilde, and Jim Morrison. Edith Piaf eluded us, we searched and searched but couldn't seem to find her exact location. Despite this failure, the day was perfect and beautiful. The old trees gave us a feeling of having left the city behind, but in reality, we had just found our own little oasis right in the middle of all the hustle and bustle. It just happened to be full of dead people.

I recently celebrated my 21st birthday here in Paris. It was a perfect day, beginning with a Skype birthday party with all my friends back home. Later, my roommates and I took a bottle of champagne, baguettes, jam, and chocolate to the Eiffel Tower and picnicked by it's sparkling glory. Wandering the city with a bouquet of flowers, I was wished a "bon anniversaire!" by many a local frenchman informed of the day's significance. I really did feel like the city was mine, and everyone in it was there to celebrate for me. I'm not sure what I've done to deserve such attention, but nevertheless, it was mine. A truly unforgettable day.

I feel like I've hit a bit of a wall with my french. I've learned as much as I can as long as I am keeping conversations to a one minute-two minute maximum. I can ask your name, your age, who your favorite disney princess is, how your day has been, tell you how beautiful you look, and ask for a kiss. However, I may desire to speak to someone over the age of 8 someday, and as such, I've got some work to do. I've recently acquired a French pen pal ; ), so that has inspired me to pick up a book and actually study. I have a lot to re-learn, it's amazing how much french I've forgotten since I moved to France.

I have been neglecting this site, and I apologize. Life has been a whirlwind of parades. Now that the summer season has ended, I hope to have more free time. But then again, we're starting rehearsals for Halloween soon. Never a dull moment.

Upcoming Events: Next weekend...Ireland. After that...visit from mama.

The Land of the Scots

Metro, bus, customs, security, we had made it. We, 3 young Americans, were sitting on an airplane about to leave France for the rolling green hills of Scotland. Suddenly, a voice begins speaking over the intercom. We looked at each other and immediately began laughing. The moment we realized we were going to have a harder time understanding the Scottish than we do the French was the moment the laughter started, and it didn't stop for 2 straight days.

Brian, Scott, and I were a mess.
Anytime we were unsure where we were going or what to do, we'd look at each other anxiously. "Somebody should ask somebody"....The only problem was, we'd ask, get an answer, nod our heads, and walk away just as ignorant as we walked up, seeing as how none of us understood the response. "Which track for Edinburgh?" "querlkjsann stroiuseet stlakjdin" "Oh. aaaaaalright."

The worst part of it all was our inability to refrain from laughing every time this happened. Brian trying to get out an "Excuse me?" without giggling in the train conductor's face was priceless.

But we finally did arrive in Edinburgh. A lovely, comfortable, clean train drove us past lush fields and quaint towns until we arrived in one of the most beautiful cities I have ever seen. A friendly, helpful taxi driver took us our hotel where the kindly man at the receptionist desk told us he had a hotel full of Americans thanks to some Texan wedding and he was all the happier for it. (Please take note of all the adjectives I use to describe the various Scotsmen we met. Friendly, helpul, kindly, etc.)

We were starving.

The Pub Hunt began.

Up and down the streets of Edinburgh we traipsed, begging Brian to settle on a pub. He had his idea of a "true Scottish pub" so deeply ingrained in his psyche, he would settle on nothing less. We finally settled on "Dirty Dick's," one of the first pubs we passed, came back to, passed, came back to. It turned out to be the perfect pub. Unique, quaint, good food, good drinks, aaaand, they were playing Belle & Sebastian, which delighted me to no end.

Pub hopping commenced, the highlight being stumbling upon a live musician and a pub full of people clapping and singing along (we, of course, didn't understand a word). We jumped in with the clapping and did our best to mumble with the best of 'em.

After another sweet taxi driver took us to the hotel (with a momentary detour at a chip shop. chipshopchipshopchipshop) and we crashed.

We rose very early, an hour earlier than we planned or realized, thanks to Scott forgetting we weren't on France time. That was fine however, because it gave us the opportunity to eat a true Scottish breakfast, black pudding included. Scott, ignorant to the ingredients in black pudding, ate away in ignorant bliss. Brian and I didn't feel the need to spoil Scott's breakfast, but avoided our black pudding as if it were the black plague.

Initially, our plan was to try and book a bus tour up to Loch Ness, but everything was booked, so instead we took in the sights of Edinburgh. Edinurgh Castle, J.K. Rowling themed-landmarks, the Queen's retired yacht 'The Britannia', it was all magical. Brian and Scott did a special whiskey tour while I treated myself to a 3-course Thai meal. The boys bought kilts, I bought boxers with a dragon on the front/back, and we met Tom. Tom will be 90 years old next year, May 12th exactly. For thirty years he has stood on the streets of Edinburgh in his full Scottish regalia, kilt and all, raising money for sick children. Love him.

Busy busy day.

Time to head to our "hostel" near the airport. Train to Glasgow, dinner at T.G.I. Friday's, and a train out to the airport. We found the Free Phone (labeled as such) which was a direct line to our "hostel" and a woman in a Range Rover came to pick us up. As we drove through a suburban neighborhood, we started to feel a little bit confused. I was just waiting for her to pull into a driveway and declare us there. Somewhere amidst all the houses though, there was a hotel. "The Manor Park Hotel," is NOT a hostel. It is a beautiful hotel with a giant bar and lovely accomodations. As we pulled up, walked inside, and looked around, we were so confused. We thought we had to be in the wrong place. Then we started to worry we'd been brought out into the middle of nowhere to this nice hotel only to have something horrible happen to us. How Scott managed to book us a room in this sweet hotel for the price of a hostel room, I still don't know, but after we finally accepted that it was legitimate and we weren't going to be murdered in our sleep, we enjoyed ourselves immensely. Storytime in Kilts was the highlight of that night, without a doubt.

The next morning it was back to France, where we at least have the excuse of not knowing the language when we don't comprehend. We were quite sad to leave though. The people in Scotland were some of the nicest, friendliest people. I felt quite bad in fact, that half the time I couldn't understand the help they were trying to give me.......

Londontown

“I’m driving to London Tuesday to meet up with my parents, wanna come?”

And so it all began.

English Emma took me and Sarah (my American roommate) on the best, spontaneous, whirlwind of a road trip we may ever experience.
I’m not sure how to describe the exhilaration Sarah and I felt after getting in that car and setting off. We were in a car, number one (even if it was a backwards English one), and number two, we were leaving France. LEAVING FRANCE. Leaving the Disney bubble. This in itself was pleasure enough. Knowing we were driving towards a country where everyone speaks English sent shivers of excitement down our spines. England, here we were on our way.

First things first! We had to get there.

You may be confused. “Isn’t there a huge body of water between England and France?” If that is what you are thinking, yes, you are correct. If you weren’t thinking that, you may need to consult a map. After you have done that, come back. You’re sure to be thinking it now. Do not worry friends, the Eurotunnel exists! Water cannot stop us with the Eurotunnel around.
The Eurotunnel goes under the Channel. Magic, I know. Its things like this that make me sure the wizarding world exists. After driving through the UK Border check (You do WHAT in France?) we drove onto the train which was going to zip us under the English Channel. This was a bit nerve-wracking, driving onto a train, knowing we were essentially trapped. A bit of knitting took our mind off things however, and we were in England 30 minutes later.

Wrong side of the road. Weird. ‘nuff said.

About 2 hours later we arrived in the city of London. Our hotel however, was just outside of London. OH our hotel.
The Rossmore Hotel, room 45. This room will go down in history as the shadiest room 3 young girls ever stayed in. The multitude of mirrors. My goodness. A plethora of reflective surfaces overwhelmed us upon our entry. My favorite was the mirrored headboard. The large bathtub in the corner of the room (surrounded by mirrors of course)was quite awkward, especially when Sarah tried to take a private shower but was foiled, seeing as how we could see her reflection on every wall in the room no matter how she cleverly tried to arrange the small shower curtain. It provided us will a place to sleep though, for which we are very grateful.

Wednesday morning found us on the Underground, making our way into the city center. Emma took us to the theatre in Leicester Square where many big movie premieres take place, including Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince just a week earlier! After that we wandered around Covent Gardens a bit, then we met up with Emma’s parents, one of the loveliest British couples I have had the pleasure of spending the day with. Seeing as how they are Northern Englanders, every few minutes we were informed that “in the North…” things are done a bit differently. I plan to visit them soon to find out for myself.
The big event of the day was a visit to Madame Tussauds wax museum. We spent the day taking pictures with celebrities, movie characters, and political figures. I really enjoyed running away from a giant disco ball with Indiana Jones, and of course, meeting the Queen. What trip to London would be complete without a private audience with Her Majesty?

Saying goodbye to Emma’s parents was a sad moment. I think I may have been more emotional than Emma herself. It was so wonderful to be around a mother, and saying goodbye to her felt a bit like saying goodbye to my own mom. I can’t imagine when that day comes in September, in fact, I won’t even try. It’ll be bad enough when it happens.
After that we hit up an authentic English Pub for an authentic English tea. I had proper fish ‘n chips, they were well good (I’m learning more English than French here I swear). Satisfied with our meal, we hit up the glory that is Primark for some cheap shopping (boots for 8p? shirts for 5?!?). I just wish I had had more energy to take full advantage of the glory that is Primark. Next time, I’ll be prepared. We made sure to hit up Tesco’s (the big grocery/anything you need store) for some last minute English food items and best of all, books.

It was time to hop back onto the Eurotunnel, this time back towards France. It took us longer to get home then it took us to get there since Emma tried to avoid toll roads, but, sure enough, 36 hours after leaving France, we were back. I was lucky enough to sleep in the backseat all night while the girls drove seeing as how I had to work the next day and they both were off. Despite that, the next day I looked a bit like a zombie while heading off to work. But it was worth it. Well worth it. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
In fact, as soon as possible.

Fine Line

Have I been extremely busy? Or accomplished nothing?
Depends how you look at it.

Either way, I only have a moment for you, dear friends, to let you know that I'm here. Still here.

I'm tired, in more ways than one. But I'll be ok, and I'll be less cryptic as soon as time allows, I promise.

Spit Spot

Tuesday afternoon my roomie and I headed into the city. It was already 1 o'clock by the time we left our apartment, but we managed to have quite a few adventures before returning home.

Our adventures began before even leaving the metro station. As we walked through Nation on our way to switch trains, we passed a store filled with dresses. "Do you mind stopping?" Sarah asked. I didn't, and we both ended up buying quite a few things. I knew Paris was quite fashionable, but who knew you could find great clothes without even setting foot on the city's streets?

We continued on to Montmartre, visited Le Murs des Je T'aime, enjoyed a lovely vegetarian meal at a slightly hidden cafe, admired the artists and their works, were awed by Sacre Coeur, ran back to the cafe to retrieve my bag of train station-bought dresses I had left at our table, and then sauntered down the steps in front of Sacre Coeur, enjoying the people, the performers, and the beautiful weather. Crepes were purchased and consumed. We made plans to meet my dear friend Katie in the city, so headed to our favorite area (Notre Dame) to wait for her there. *see romantic moment below* After joyfully greeting Katie, we walked to L'as du Falafel, Lenny Kravitz's favorite falafel joint. That was pretty much it for our Parisian adventures. We wandered the city finishing our falafels and made our way back to the metro, parted ways with Katie, and took the good ol' A back to the wonderful world of Disney.

* romantic moment*

Sarah and I were taking the metro to Notre Dame. We stepped off the train onto the platform and began to walk toward the stairs. As we passed a few of the train cars, I looked over into the train and noticed an attractive guy. No big deal, if nothing else had happened it would have just been a moment of subconsciosly noticing a cute guy. However, as I was about to look away, he looked over his shoulder (I had just seen his profile) and caught my eye. He turned away, but then quickly turned back, almost a double take. As if that didn't take me by surprise enough, he gave me this big, beautiful smile. Now, I'm gonna be honest, this guy was very attractive. In the perfect, cool but not trying, clean and intelligent looking, kind of way. Almost as a reflex, I smiled back at him before we walked out of his line of sight. Kind of giggling to myself, I figured that was the end of that. However, before we reached the stairs, the train pulled away from station, and his train car passed by us once again. I looked up and he had turned to face the window and was standing there with one hand pressed against the glass,the other hand waving, flashing me that beautiful smile. Though he was smiling, the look on his face was slightly sad, yet a little hopeful.

It's the kind of romantic chance encounter that only happens in movies. The kind of moment that would make me roll my eyes and make a cynical remark. But it really happened to me, in Paris, in my French harem pants that are all the rage here.

In Disney news, hopefully soon I'll be spending some quality time as everyone's favorite English Nanny.