Oktoberfest - Ja!

Thursday :

4:40 AM -

Roll out of bed, try to find something in the kitchen to eat, throw the last of what I need to take with me. Then look over Rachel's itinerary to see when and where to meet, and find that we're arriving at two different train stations...Mind you, neither of us have a working phone. So I wake her up, as I run out the door I say something to the effect of - "There's a big old church near Oktoberfest, we'll meet there.." Right, I just described every square & city in Europe, that shouldn't be confusing.

5:00 AM -

I headed out the door of the Chateau to catch a train to Munich.

As I walked to the bus stop I couldn't help but notice the strong aroma of pastries that filled, literally, the entire town. It was fantastic.

By now I've realized that I know no German, have no basic phrases book, and should have set-up my cell phone by now.

6:00 AM -

Arrive at the train station - mumble some sort of coherent statement to the cashier about

wanting tea & a pain au chocolat - she got the gist of what I wanted...

6:53 AM -

Time to leave Strasbourg for a 4 hour train rain to Munich.

11:15 AM -

My train arrives in Munich. I step off the train and everything smells like sausage...I've made it to Germany! I scramble around the train station until I find the Tourism Office and get a map. Find the previously mentioned church - hopefully it's the correct one - circle it and spend about 30 minutes trying to figure out where the U-Bahn train is that I need.

12:00 PM -

Alright, now I've got three hours to wait on Rachel...what to do? Follow the lederhosen! I walk through the Oktoberfest grounds, having the greatest time giggling to myself as I see everyone in lederhosen. No one is too cool for lederhosen, there was so many variations, everyone trying to make it there own. There were hipster lederhosen, frat-boy lederhosen, goth lederhosen, slutty lederhosen, traditional lederhosen, jock lederhosen. You name it, it was there.

3:30 PM -

Rachel finally arrived, at the same church! What a miracle! Seriously, though...I wasn't really sure what we were going to do if we couldn't find each other... We head to the hostel to check-in, arrive and see that it literally is just a campsite with 4 large tents and bathrooms and a cafeteria. But it was kind of the greatest place ever...very cultish- communal living, but no weird rituals that I was aware of.

4:30 PM -

We finally make our way to Oktoberfest together. Go in eat a bratwurst, awkwardly walk in and out of beer tents unable to find a place to sit, and finally stumble upon an outdoor area for beer drinking. We order our litre beer, sit there for a good hour and walk around a bit more, watching people eat and drink, as we eat and drink. Everything after the first litre of beer becomes mostly centered around alcohol, so I'll just let you imagine how the rest of the night went. If it makes anyone feel better, we did end up at our hostel by the end of the night.

Friday :

7:00 AM -

I wake up from being too cold to sleep any longer. The campsite, was quiet and clean, which would not be the case when every woke up around 10 and used the bathrooms for hangover purposes...

12:00 PM

Our plan was to go back to Oktoberfest drink a little bit more before we left that night, but all we really wanted to do was lay down and sleep. And not move. So we found the nearest park layed there for awhile walked around for a bit and finally went back to the train station around 4:00 to catch our train back. Friday had to be a recovery day...

I know what you're thinking... "you went all the way to Munich and didn't see anything, but Oktoberfest??" Before you chastise me, we have plans of going back, and we only had really 24 hours to stay. We were unable to find transportation for a later day, so that we could stay longer.

To conclude, my time in Munich was short, but totally worth it. From what people said of Oktoberfest before I went I was expecting mostly tourists and annoying Americans falling down drunk - which sure I saw that, but it wasn't all that was there. There were just people, in lederhosen having an amazing time with friends and family. All coming together, around a litre of beer - which cost €9. It was definitely an experience worth having, it was sort of a cross between the state fair, Bonnaroo and a renaissance festival, if you can imagine.

It was the last time I ever saw a rose

I am thoroughly displeased with the selection fonts available on this blog. I need something that can properly convey my post-teen angst, my first-world woes. Meh, I'll just have to settle for "Trebuchet". For a font named after a twelfth century catapult, it doesn't have much attack. I need a font that cuts like a knife, as opposed to pushing like two four year old school girls fighting over a Barbie doll. Seriously though. How am I to philosophize with such a matter-of-fact, weak font. Maybe a change of color will aid me in channeling my conscience. There we go. It is the closest I could get to the color of dried blood on my white down pillow. I feel much better now.

I will not talk of my trip to Paris. In the wise words of my friend David, "It is best to just put bad experiences behind you, and move forward."

As of late, I found found myself in dire need of distractions. I have immersed myself in "wholesome", "family" activities, as a means of beguilement: Bike rides, ice-breaker games, pizza and ice-cream nights. Movie night is on Thursday! Oh joy! I even went "shopping" with Caroline at Homme de Fer, an experience worth noting.

We arrived at the tram station at about 4:00pm. As typical of a tourist hub such as Strasbourg on a week day, the streets were packed with your typical day-trippers and sight-seers. We went first to a bookstore adjacent to Place Kleber, as I informed Caroline that I was looking for a science fiction novel that a friend had recommended to me. Even though I was positive that they wouldn't have it, I walked into the little librarie with a hopeful heart. After about five minutes of leisurely browsing, I found it. The Diamond Age by Neil Stephenson. Perhaps it wasn't simply my friend's persuasive urgings that led me to buy the book. It may have also had something to do with my reading the first few pages prior to purchase, pages which contained subtle pertinence to my own life. The Diamond Age centers around a girl named Nell, a young orphan living in a futuristic society in which technology dominates all aspects of life: A world in which a nano-implant can make you muscly and vascular, where a pill can exponentially increase your brain power, where money can most certainly buy happiness. I found myself wondering if such a world was made for me: One who is constantly vexed by his own inefficiencies, idiosyncrasies, and shortcomings, someone who is tired of searching for that things that make him happy and who has an insatiable appetite for instant gratification.

Long story short, I bought the book and we made our way to the most deplorable of places. I'm talking about a place where only the most despicable, vapid, repugnant individuals dare to venture: A place where lost souls go to get their fix, where zombies that refuse to live go to die. This place was Louis Vuitton. Upon entering the wretched store, I felt the eyes of the bourgeois searing at my back like molten steel. How could eyes so cold, so empty, burn so hot; Eyes, that lionize the purposeless and close at night, yielding only sweet, untumultuous sleep. The price tags of these seemingly normal articles of clothing stared me in the face with such disdain. I did not belong there. No one did. This place was a drain stopper at best. What holes were these people trying to fill? Resisting the urge to burn this establishment to the ground, I left. And Where did we go next? La Galleries Lafayette: Perhaps the only venue that could one up Louis with its lack of purpose. "Stitched together into this beautiful monster...It is just a skull full of chlorine in the septic tank". Oh yes, I forgot to mention that on the tram ride back, I was fortunate enough to see a young child (couldn't have been more than one and a half years old) fall several feet directly onto her head, due to the negligence of her mother. This child's care taker had carelessly positioned her daughter in the seat across from her, so that she could hold what was truly important in her own arms: shopping bags. And of course, when the tram took the slightest turn, the little girl went tumbling. What an ironic end to a superficial day!

On a more positive note, I went on a wonderful bike ride with Jim, Jan, Macy, Tyler, and Rachael yesterday. We trekked throughout the city center of Strasbourg, passing the Cathedral, Le Rue de Freres and Le Petite France, just to name a few locations. The weather was absolutely perfect. The sun did not bear down on my skin as it usually does in this city, the breeze was impeccable, and the tourists were either on their planes home or in bed. The mood was jovial, and the ride leisurely yet informative. We would stop every so often so that Jim and Jan could tell us various facts and stories about the districts and places that were were traversing. I was grateful to have them as guides, to distract me from my own thoughts and unpleasant musings with their edifying anecdotes and amiable conversation.

I will go now. I need to do some research on prospective law schools and the LSAT, while simultaneously contemplating why exactly I want to be a lawyer. I would like to think that I want to help people, but the majority of my intentions remain selfish ones. To hell with it. I think I will abandon all virtue and pursue a job as a Louis Vuitton copyright lawyer, holding poor bootleggers on the streets of New York City monetarily accountable for their atrocious crimes against humanity.

-Tyler C.

Falling in love with the French architecture and falling out-of-love with the luck of a simple yet important basic human right!!

I do not seem to get enough of the French architecture, cobblestone streets and the small vanity stores all around Homme de Fer, Broglie and Place Kleber.  Everytime I visit these towns, I am walking with my head up, admiring the different half-timbered houses and Gothic spires, and in so doing, I am connecting to the French I have read in history books and seen in movies.

Growing up, I heard so much about the French, their culture and food, and reading about the French Revolution, I am yet to come across food I may say is truly French, other than the Baguette, which I have seen being sold in the open air market, I do not know yet what else is French food.  I am yet to experience the real French food, and I also want to blame the world of scientifically altering foods in the world, in that foods, especially vegetables that were traditionally American or African, are now easily available in other countries including France.  Since coming to France, I have not missed any vegetables that I like to eat back in Georgia, the supermarkets are well stocked with all brands of "our" vegetables, or shall say, the world's vegetables? 


One thing I have really enjoyed while window shopping around Homme de Fer and the neighboring towns, is that the stores are quite small, and not overly stocked like our stores back at home.  Even I was really surprised that Louis Vuitton is so small in size, yet France is its home base.  The only store that really reminds me of stores back home is the Galeries Lafayette.

Of course, not everything in France is all "glitters and gold", the most disappointing thing so far is that it appears to me that the French do not have a "right to a bathroom" in their Human Rights provision, unless you ask for a bathroom, most places they are not easily visible and yesterday, I had to ask several people in the Galeries Lafayette, where their bathrooms were, finally I was told "they" were on the 2nd Floor, do you believe that?  No bathroom on the ground floor, no bathroom on the first floor, except on the 2nd Floor?  Americans would be ready to sue somebody for this luck of provision of a basic Human Right.  The most disappointing thing was that after finally finding the bathrooms, to my utter shock and given size of the store and its expensive merchandise, it was only one, and very filthy, the clothe hand towel was all wet and running freely to the seemingly dirty floor, this took my love for shopping at the Galeries Lafayette.  If I knew good written french, this would be going down on the dailies all over France.  It is a shame, seriously for a store of this size to have a bathroom in such a state.   - Caroline

French Kiss?

So typically when you think of french kissing, what do you think? Random right.. or is it?

This has been just another week living in Frace. This weekend however there was a little twist, it was my birthday. It wasn't just any birthday, but my 21st. This is hilarious, it figures I woud turn 21 in a country where it doesn't matter.. haha If I have missed home, this would have been the weekend.

It was so different being away from home on my birthday. There are just some traditions, and rituals we do (my friends and family). It was kind of sad not being able to take part in that.

But with the help of my little chatoeu family, it was still a great birthday.

I love France because every where we went, if you tell them it's your day you get free stuff. Itwas a good time. I also keep receiving another gift, french kisses. Now prior to coming here I thought of the "french kiss," in totally differnt light than I do now.

It seems normal to see people greet by exchanging kisses on the cheeks. I consider those to be french kisses. Everyone would say Happy Birthday and give me a couple of those. By the end of the night it was normal to get a few pecks.

The cab ride home that evening proved to be very interesting. We were in there listening to music and chatting it up, having a good old time. I pulled the birthday card again in hopes of a discount, (it was worth a shot) haha. The cab driver goes, " Happyyy Birthday, 21 is a big deal in America. You need a kiss." Thinking he was referring to the cheek pecks, I was like ok. I turned my cheek. He said no and pointed to his mouth, he was trying to really "French kiss" me. I lost all composure. I worked my way out of that one. Now that's something I'll never forget!

One weekend in Paris

        Last weekend, I was excited to travel to Paris for the first time. It was a lot of first for me, the first time traveling seven hours on a crowded stinky bus, the first time on a crowded stinky subway, the first time to in a uncrowded stinky hostel and so on and so forth with the normal things one would see when they go to Paris.  I found Paris to be a bit more accommodating than Strasbourg has been, the city is so used to tourists coming in and out that they must learn to speak English fluently to retain good business. Of course with as many tourist spots as there are in Paris it does not really surprise me. Also I believe that the Parisians have become so accustomed to the amount of tourism they receive that it makes immune to the traffic, however in Strasbourg you notice a subtle difference between those who live here to the Parisians. Where the Parisians are indifferent to the amount of tourists coming and going, those who live in Strasbourg seem to treat those of us who aren't local with a little bit more scorn. Knowing that we don't belong here and maybe imposing on their wonderful city. However, I believe that as long as we try to fit in and not be rude to them  with our lack of language skills then maybe we can receive a bit more respect as people more than merely unwanted tourists.

keeping up habits while abroad

After being here for nearly three weeks, I had finally decided to get my act together and go for a run. A small amount of stress over class scheduling, the beautiful weather, and slight homesickness had triggered this urge.

I've been running for several years now. It's something I did almost daily at home in Morgantown. Since it was such a constant piece of my life from home, I've found it to be very comforting while overseas for these past 4 months. I'd like to think of it as my "piece of American life". While others may have peanut butter and ice cubes, I'm happy to have my running shoes to make me feel at home.

Getting familiar with my natural surroundings is something that I'm a fan of whenever I'm in a new place. This topic is touched on in one of the chapters in "The Art of Travel". I felt that I could relate a little to what was being said, especially when it came to discussing the effects of surroundings on our souls. I do appreciate living near the park that surrounds the Chateau. Getting away from city life is sometimes crucial for me to keep my sanity. While in London this summer, I escaped to the nearest natural space, Hampstead Heath, daily for runs or picnics with friends. Moments that I savored the most were when I was able to find an open space on the Heath where I could not see another human. This was rare, but it felt significant and I was able to feel mentally at peace for a few moments.

But now I've traded the view from Parliament Hill and running on the left side of the path for the Rhine and the Nazi bunkers hidden in the forest. It's been a nice change of scene. Sometimes I've felt a bit too isolated. I spook myself easily, especially when I'm trying to figure out a new place and I haven't seen a person for 30+ minutes. The idea running across wild boars still makes me nervous as well!

I'm happy getting to know my home space before seeing more of Europe. I know I just need to keep up the habit (and perhaps buy some new shoes soon)!

-Maria

Being Taken vs. Being Lectured

I would like to understand French people. The only real problem I’ve encountered while in Strasbourg is the fact that I have yet to truly the complex French mind. I didn’t realize how big of a problem this was until I was out last night.  For example, at one particular club we were at, besides the group I was with, I spoke to two patrons who were also at the club.

The first individual gave me what seemed to be a 15 minute lecture that could basically be summed up in a couple sentences—rather than 15 minutes, like he made it out to be. The way I was dancing, was apparently not how people in French clubs danced. If I kept on doing it, it would only further embarrass me and my friends. This took me off guard—in America, no one in a club would ever think to reprimand someone for their behavior. They would just let them do their thing, even if it was out of place for the establishment.  Still, it was good to know. I thought that this lecture, as annoying and embarrassing as it was to get it, would help me understand the overall French psyche. Wrong.

Just when I decided that the French were just way more reserved than Americans when it came to partying, another individual began talking to me. This individual was not reserved at all. In fact, after a few minutes, it became clear to me that this individual was trying to have sex with me in a bathroom stall. After being saved from this horrible fate from friends, I was left even more confused about the French way of life.

Dancing in a certain way was looked down upon, but trying to have sex with random girls in bathroom stalls was normal? I was, and still am very confused. Surely there has to be a happy medium between getting lectured and getting taken.  I’d like to think what I experienced are just so bad examples of what the French are like when it comes to “partying” environments. I realize that confusion is supposed to happen when you’re living in a brand new environment. I guess I just have to accept my confused state and hopefully learn something from it by the end of the trip.