Excusez-Moi

I interrupt this irregular blogging to bring you an important news update. I have found, and am staying in, the most quaint hotel possible. It absolutely oozes European charm and class.

Let me give you an idea of what I'm talking about.

It's something out of a Jane Austen novel. Simply remarkable. Let me quote the book that is in each room describing the hotel, "surrounded by the quiet beauty of our 5-acre park, the hotel offers our guests the comfort of personalized rooms, 24 in all...leisure facilities include bicycles and canoe-kayaks for rent as well as fishing equipment. Spa services including massage, special treatments, and fitness are available for health of body and mind..."According to my sister, it sounds much better in French. Though, most things sound prettier in French, it's the vowel sounds. 

The park and gardens surrounding the hotel do live up to the hype. Well, the "quiet beauty" part of it. Not including the guy with the chainsaw, cutting apart logs that had fallen in the river, while in a canoe.  That's some mighty talent if you ask me. My mother, sister, and I took a leisurely stroll around the surrounding gardens, trying to pretend we fit in with the French natives. We are, unfortunately, complete failures at such an act, by oohing and ahh-ing at every flower, tree, and bend in the river and managing to take at least a hundred photos between us.

Granted, a large portion of those pictures were trying to get my mom to use the "continuous" function on my dad's fancy Nikon to take a jumping picture of me and my sister. Most of those pictures are of the upper region of my chest, which I will not share for the public to view. We were, however, successful after a while, but this photo is probably my favorite, our landing poses. Two new dance moves anyone?

Too add to the serene quality of the hotel, there is a fountain just outside our window that mixes with the sound of the small river to create an entirely naturalistic sound of continuous flowing water. Oh, and as if it couldn't get any more charming, there are doves cooing and birds twittering all around. (This, I find much more annoying and potentially terrifying than peaceful. My family disagrees.) 

The room itself is wonderful. I have taken several pictures to showcase its glory and to make you jealous. There is a small nook off to the side, a beautiful view out a large window, and bathrobes and slippers were provided. The tub, I would like to point out, is probably one of the most excellent pieces of the room.

We drove to town for dinner, ate at a small restaurant, and returned to find our covers turned down, the shades pulled close, a small lamp lit (nice mood lighting, actually) and chocolates for us to taste. My things I had left on the floor and to the side of the room were picked up and neatly arranged on top of my bag or on the small chest. A little awkward, but a kind gesture nonetheless.

Oh, our bathroom also includes a bidet. I was generally unaware of these until I noticed them around Europe. If you do not know what they are or how they are used, this Wiki article details the process quite clearly. How to use a Bidet

Anyway, I do quite enjoy this hotel. My mother said it was a little much for her, but I find the care and general quality to be rather refreshing and appreciated. Apparently, I am a four-star kind of hotel goer. 

In final notes, during the many attempts at a jumping picture, this gem showed up. I think it shows the quintessential summer, don't you? 

Sorry about picture formatting, I still don't quite get it. 

A Story

Let me recount for you, an incident that perfectly describes my first week in France.

It is seven in the evening, the sun is still shining brightly and keeping the air a balmy 75 degrees, the wind rustles through the cherry trees and the pollen is attacking my face full force. As is customary for family dinners in France, we are gathered around an outdoor table to have a drink and snack just before dinner. Strawberry beers are opened and the family is lounging around, laughing and conversing in an incoherent stream of nasally vowel sounds.

I sit, gripping my tissue ready to once again wipe and blow my nose, when a beer is opened. Previously shaken, the beer acts as beer does and overflows over the bottle onto the table. 

Looking directly into my eyes, as if eye contact can surpass language barriers (let me tell you, it cannot) something is yelled in French. The far end of the table is lifted up pushing the spilled beer into a central location, keeping it from falling to the ground to only become an ant colony. I believe it is my duty to lift up my end of the table if the beer comes drifting my direction.

Apparently, I was wrong.

My role in that situation was to lift the table to pour the beer off the end, which I later discovered after the initial frenzy quieted down.

Nick, comical soul that he is, described the whole scenario briefly; “Jessica! Do something in French!”

Third Wheeling a Meet the Extended Family

My advice: don’t do it.

If someone offers you a mostly paid for trip to a foreign country where you don’t speak the language with your sister and her boyfriend, especially if that country is known for being a place all about love, smile, say “thanks for the offer,” and turn around and run away. The exercise is good for you.

The trip started out great, my sister and I flew together across the United States and the Atlantic. We got to the airport and could see the floofy red hair of Nick across the baggage claim. And then, everything got worse.

We're on a plane!

Grandma, who only speaks French

Throughout the trip we met Nick’s extended family, his aunts and uncles, cousins, and grandmother. Wonderful people. They were smiling, laughing, serving great food and desserts, and speaking in a language that I could never understand. I know a total of seven French phrases and they are as follows:

“bonjour” hello

“je m’appelle Jessica” My name is Jessica

“oui” yes

“merci” thank you

“bonne nuit”  good night

“je ne sais pas”  I don’t know

“tais-toi” shut up

“je suis une vache grosse” I am a fat cow

Somehow, I was never able to use that last phrase. A pure shame.

We started in Paris. The city of love.  Yes, love must be in italics when you write about Paris, it’s that sappy. Now, my sister and her boyfriend have been a couple for practically three years. They already have a three-year plan for their future, which I heard more than once while travelling (I barely have a three-month plan for my future.) I think they are more of a publicly cuddly couple than most.

Dancing in Versailles

Canoodling in a park

Paris was a sappy montage of scenes from a romance movie made for single middle-aged women who mourn the loss of their college-aged love. Barf.

I would have done the same thing, had I been in their shoes. I mean, it’s Paris, right?

Making out at the Eiffel Tower

From Paris, we travelled to Toulouse and Agme (there should be an accent over the e, but I can’t figure out how to do that.) The south of France is absolutely stunning and gorgeous. Rolling hills of vineyards and farmland, beautiful country cottages, bright flowers, and warm sunshine.

It is wonderful, I do say

It’s a killer on the allergies.

Now, when I say I don’t understand French, I mean when someone speaks French is sounds like someone hit the keyboard of a computer with their face several times and those are the words they are speaking.

For example: “g fbnyhd fghhbv gvbhn” would probably translate to Oh, don’t you just love music? I went to a concert last weekend and the soloist gave an award winning performance. In fact, I bought tickets to see her again this next weekend.

Or maybe, I like burgers. They have meat in them. MMMM….meat. Or maybe, Stick friend love smile for dinner. Happy.

My sister would try to translate for me. But, she’s still working on learning the language herself. She would listen and be able to give me a word that described the conversation before she started listening again. Her boyfriend (who is fluent) could probably have translated, but he was just so into talking with his family who he hadn’t seen for two years that he was a bit distracted.

I spent most of the week doing what I do best; I spent time over-analyzing and thinking in my head about pretty much anything. As I already spend most of my time in dream world, this was a chance to do pretty much solely focus on what was happening in my brain. It’s a bit of a mess up there, full of cobwebs and dusty old file cabinets and many pages of crumpled up manuscripts and poems that just weren’t good enough.  But the sun shines through the windows and it smells like fresh cut grass and pavement after the first summer rain, so I like it there. As people blabbered around me and I got one-word categories that described conversation I flirted around in that room and did some good thinking. Alienation can sometimes do a body and brain good.

Wondering things like, what makes French Fanta taste so damn good? 

Self indulgent picture of me

Returning from Agme, we spent a day at the beach on the coast, facing the Mediterranean Sea. I swam a bit, walked a bit, and turned half my body a fascinatingly vibrant shade of reddish pink. Suggestions number two: if a publicly cuddly couple invites you to the beach, avoid that too. It’s only awkward. Especially if making snarky comments makes your sister a little grouchy. (Or a lot grouchy.)

The Mediterranean meets France

Some French McDonalds, carrying a 40-pound bag up and down several flights of stairs, and a metro going the wrong way down the track later, I boarded a plane for good old jolly England and a land of people who spoke my language!

More photos to come as I go through them! 

Alaska Airlines

Timeliness: B+ (but it was Seattle's fault)
Service: D
Seats: A
Comments: We had to wait some extra time before we could actually take off in our University of Idaho Vandals emblem incrusted plane. This was because of some unfortunate construction being done in Seattle at the time. The seats were relatively comfortable, and since the flight was short, it didn't really matter much either way. Kailyn fell asleep almost immediately, so that speaks something for the seats. The service, however was terrible. I wouldn't want to be a flight attendant on such a short flight either, but the women were obviously annoyed with the whole ordeal. I was rather hungry and as they made their ways down the aisle offering a drink (short flight only has a few drink options - strangely enough they were: water, apple juice, beer, and wine) they only handed snacks to those who ordered drinks. As I had a bottle of water, had no desire for apple juice, and it was a bit too early to drink - no snacks were given to me. I had to wait until we reached the Seattle airport to satiate my hunger.

PDX

I will always love PDX as an airport, probably because my first excitement with flying originated in that building.

Throughout this blog, because I'll be travelling so much, I'm going to grade the different airports and flight services.

Overall Rating: A
Style/ Look: B+ (artwork is a plus)
Food/ Shopping: A (local options!)
WiFi: B (a little slow)
Flooring: C (I don't think its changed since the early 90s)
Navigability: A (easy to follow signs)
Restrooms: A
Seating: A (the chairs are actually rather comfortable)
Amenities: open areas for restaurants, seating, phones, vending machines, drinking fountains
Comments:  This was my first time going to terminal A in  PDX. This section of the airport is likened back to the old days when you would walk outside to get on the airplane. The seating was comfortable and open, and, as the flight was only 35 minutes to Seattle where we had a 3.5 hour layover (thanks, sister) it was nice place to rest and wait.

Why, hello!

I've started this blog, honestly, for slightly selfish purposes. As I begin this sort of whirlwind adventure through and around the globe, I want people to see what I'm doing. I also want to remember what has happened, what I thought, what I think I'll remember, and what seems to be the "defining" moments of this journey I am on.

I hope to be serious, humorous, friendly, relatable, honest, and really be able to share exactly what I'm thinking and feeling about as I explore. That being said, there is only so much I can say. This blog is about me, and while part of what I am doing is teaching young minds in New Zealand, I cannot write directly about that experience (thank you, FERPA).

You may be questioning the title of this blog. If you are, please stop now and go read The Fault in Our Stars by John Green. You will be glad you did, I promise.

A general reasoning, however, for those of you who have read this novel. Hazel states that some infinities are larger than others and continues to incorrectly state that there are a larger number of infinite numbers between zero and one than zero and two. While she may be incorrect on the math, what is truly remarkable is the knowledge that our lives are incomprehensibly infinite in different ways. This blog is simply me recording a little bit of my own infinity (whether I'm right or wrong in concept, I don't really care, I like the romanticism of the idea...and I don't really understand math.) In the same way, the tagline, "sometimes it seems the universe wants to be noticed," is an explanation of my reasoning. In some ways, I am noticing the universe. The universe has asked, and I have responded.