twozeroonetwo

The pressure of a new year looms like that little ticking type bar anticipating your first letter at the beginning of a word document.  It’s meaning…ambivalent.  It could go one of two ways.  You could create something utterly brilliant, something that will move you and touch others, a work of inspiration and motivation.  However, you could produce something chockfull of mistakes, errors made along the way that will affect the overall entity of the piece.  It’s intimidating to begin, isn’t it?

All week I’ve been trying to come up with a resolution that would guarantee success, happiness, gratification.  I want to find one that glimmers with hope, one that sticks with me and shines with possibility…and apparently, it sounds like I want it to sparkle…

Exercise.  Eat well.  Be happy.  Keep in touch with old friends.  Try new things.  God, all are so redundant of years passed and resolutions failed.  Who wants to start a new year off with something that they’ve already failed at?!  It’s a recipe for a let down and a half.

Then, just a few minutes ago, literally since I’ve been sitting here trying to come up with something to say about a new year and a new beginning, I was struck by an epiphany.  The reason that we so unsuccessfully make and break our resolutions is in fact because we can’t wipe our slates clean. It doesn’t matter if the clock reads 12:00 of a new year; an illusion has been created that January 1^st is a time to start over again.  Mistakes made, failed resolutions, promises broken, rules bent…these are all embedded in the people we are presently.  We have made these errors for a reason, and that is to learn from them.

I guess what I want to encourage you to do is to focus less on welcoming in the new year and all its uncertainties, but take the last day of 2011 to reflect on how much you’ve changed and grown since last December 31^st.  Gently cast away 2011 with warm memories of a year gone by; revel in the past for a moment to appreciate the person you’ve become.  That’s how you can make this year different…not by planning on how to change, but by celebrating how far you’ve come.

Paris, je t'aime

Accordions seem like ridiculous instruments.  When I think of them, I imagine an obese guy dressed in ill-fitting overalls with a cigar dangling from his mouth and a little monkey dancing around.  Or I'm reminded of a distant cousin who was forced to entertain us at family gatherings by dragging out the clumsy instrument and laboriously muddling through what roughly sounded like "Memories All Alone in the Moonlight"...

But in Paris, the cheesiness fades away.  I couldn't imagine a more fitting soundtrack for the city.  I realized that Paris is a romantic cliche for a reason.  The view of the Eiffel Tower sparkling from the hills of Montmartre will be an image that I will keep with me the rest of my life.  I will always remember my hair prickling on the back of my neck when the blue beam of light struck my eyes...

What I've discovered about traveling lately is the way a city can run through your veins.  Perhaps it was all the love in the air, but Paris had a unique warmth to it that kept me warm even when an unexpected gust blew my way.  The city itself is one big giant art show; even the subway stations are home to some of the most clever and unique pieces I've seen this semester.

French onion soup.  Macaroons.  Ice cream.  Crepes.  Croissants.  Omelettes.  Before I virutally induce you into a food coma, I'll just say the best two words to describe my weekend are "food orgy".  Every meal gave the same satisfaction as opening one Christmas present after another.  Each morsel was magnificent.

My favorite memory of Paris will be our evening spent at Les Refuge de Fondue, where wine is served in baby bottles, graffiti covers the walls from customers past, and people are packed elbow to elbow like sardines at the tiny tables awaiting their deeeeeliciously decadent fondue.  The evening was filled with laughter and reminiscing; we shut the place down with the owners at midnight.

The trip was all too short for my liking.  Paris, I'll be back for you...

Save a Horse, Ride a Camel

My weekend in Morocco sparked a flame within me unlike any other place ever has.  I have a newfound thirst for adventure, a desire to explore far-away and foreign lands that are different to anything I've ever experienced.  Marrakech was beyond unique.  The old city was a bustling, beautiful, utter chaos.  Bicycles, motorbikes, donkey carts barreled down the cobblestone with no sign of stopping; God help you if you didn't jump out of the way...oh ya, no sidewalks either.  Wafts of taijin floating from the tented marketplace at night were entwined with the rotting garbage piles scattered around the sides of streets.  Snake charmers, henna artists, and monkey tamers were in abundance and approached from what seemed like every direction at one time.  We quickly learned that the trick was to keep unpainted hands covered and to avoid using our cameras in order to dodge a charge for a picture with one of the animals.

The Koutoubia Mosque impressively towered above the rest of the old city, standing as a pillar of pride, integrity, and overall strength of Muslim faith.  Although we were prevented from taking a peek on the inside (only Muslims may enter at the time of prayer), I managed to snag a few photos.  The tile work that adorned the walls of the Palais El-Badi and Saadian Tombs reminded me so much of the beautiful work we saw in Istanbul; if only I could figure out to get one of these domed ceilings in my bedroom at home...

Next stop: a homeopathic pharmacy!  We were lucky enough to receive a lecture from one of the pharmacists on all the traditional natural Moroccan remedies that have been used for centuries.  Hottest item?  I would have to say the perfume made from gazelle testicle.  Kidding aside, I did get some lovely smelling amber to remind me of the trip.

But I have to say the highlight of the trip was the two hour camel ride we took in the desert.  We were plopped in the middle of nowhere in a town whose main source of industry was the nearby palm grove, and we definitely raised a few eyebrows when the traditional robes and turbans were distributed...

Now I know what Moroccan women wear for maternity clothing.  Anyways, I fell in love with Madonna as soon as we were led to the camels.  We certainly made a great pair; she loved to be petted and was just a baby, only 3 years old!  Her eyelashes were lovely; I asked her what mascara she used but she claimed it was all natural ;).  Together, we made up the caboose and she seemed to really enjoy my musical stylings...strictly Madonna tunes, of course...

Our final afternoon was spent getting lost in the winding alleys of the endless souks, where I finished up my Christmas shopping for this year.  Can't wait to distribute the goodies from abroad. :)  Morocco, I'll be back...

Double Dutch

I can't say that I didn't have some prejudices against Amsterdam before heading there.  I was expecting the streets to be lined with prostitutes with clouds of smoke floating out of coffee shops that inhabited every other store front.  I spent the 50 minute plane ride trying to mentally prepare myself for public debauchery and seedy, unsavory characters.  Yet when I arrived, my preconceived notions floated away on those hypothetical clouds of smoke and I fell in love with the city.

Ahh, to pick a favorite part...it's just too hard.  Well, first of all, the city was all around charming.  Every block I walked down, I would pick out a new favorite house that I wanted to move into.  The architecture is full of quirks: all the buildings are crooked since the city was built on marsh land.  Even funnier, external pulley systems are used to haul furniture up the side of a house to an upper story since the houses are so narrow and the staircases are difficult to maneuver.  I had visions of Daffy Duck and Bugs Bunny trying to get a piano up there...the whole concept seemed a bit goofy, but hey, it's worked for a few centuries!

What really made our experience unique was our choice of room and board...we stayed on a docked boathouse next to the Nemo Museum!  Although our room was the size of a shoebox...

...the owner couldn't have been more pleasant or inviting.  We spent our evenings on the top deck playing cards and devouring kruidnoten, Dutch gingerbread made especially for Sinter Klaus.  At breakfast every morning, we sat cafeteria style and conversed with the other guests on the boat, particularly befriending an elderly gentleman from Australia who was an avid poet.  Gotta love the people you meet traveling.

To try and attempt to verbalize my experience in the Anne Frank House would nowhere near capture the impact it had on me.  Quotes from the journal were placed sporadically around the house, as if Anne was there whispering them as you wander through.  My bones felt as cold as if the blood surrounding them had been refrigerated, and no matter my attempt to prevent the tears from welling, they still managed to drip down my face.  Touching the magazines clippings Anne herself had selected to decorate her miniscule room, I felt like I was looking through a little peephole observing what life was like in the Annex.

Then there's the cheese.  The waffles.  The tulips.  All the things that Holland is known for.  Can't say I didn't indulge...

Next entry I'll inform you of how I rocked the kasbah in Morocco...

Nutshelling

School has gotten the best of me the past few weeks, it's true.  My fanny-pack wearing history teacher screwed up our syllabus so he's assigned us to do oral reports on random places for the rest of the semester.  Seriously...I'm giving a lecture on Antarctic culture next week.  Just call me Shackleton...

But I haven't posted anything about Greece, Vienna, or Salzburg.  So I'm gonna have to consolidate and use pictures to help me tell my story...

I arrived in Athens anticipating being faced with corruption, riots in the streets, utter chaos everywhere.  In actuality, the city appeared to be unaffected by what was going on federally.  Tourists were in abundance, music floated through the air on nearly every block from the friendly street performers' instruments, restaurants were cheerful and welcoming.  It's hard to pack in all the sites Athens has to offer in a mere 4 days, but we managed to do our best.  In total, we saw the Acropolis, visited both the New Acropolis Museum and the Archeological Museum, the Changing of the Guard Ceremony at Parliament, the Temple of Zeus, the Olympic Stadium, climbed Lykavittos Hill, and indulged in a sea side lunch before departing on the final day...

couldn't even fit the whole thing in the frame...

The Parthenon

we're obviously besties...

no pain no game...Athens Olympic Symbol

JUMP!  Temple of Zeus

the world is my oyster

My trip to Vienna and Salzburg were particularly special because I was lucky enough to have an Austrian adventure with my mom!  We embarked on a 12-hour day tour, visiting over 7 small lake villages, some of which date back to the 13th century.  In Salzburg, we oohed and ahhed as we frolicked about the various locations where "Sound of Music" was filmed.  I was absolutely floored to find out that most Austrians, including our tour guide, had never seen the movie nor had they even heard of the Von Trapp family; only recently has a stage production of the movie come to town.  I can't wait to return someday soon to the land of apple strudel, vast fields of green, and that grand 2,500 Schoenbrunn Palace:

Can You Ople Can You Pople...

Can you Constantinople?  I always remember my Uncle John uttering the limerick to me as a kid and I had no clue what he was talking about.  Granted, he also confused the hell out of me my holding up 4 fingers instead of 3 when counting; I was in the dark for the majority of his jokes.  Anyways, I never thought in my wildest dreams that I would one day travel to the ancient metropolis revamped as the modern city of Istanbul.  Yet sure enough, this past week, I indeed learned how to "Constantinople".

Istanbul.  I'm not sure I quite no where to begin.  It's one of the most indulgent cities from a sensory perspective.  The savory scent of spices wafting through the air of the Egyptian Bazaar, the stunning skyline illuminated by the pastel backdrop of the setting sun, the familiar and comforting honks of taxis passing, the twinkling of lanterns that hypnotized and dazzled the eye...

Topkapi Harem

Grand Bazaar

Hagia Sofia

"Love Tea" = hot Kool-Aid

While there were certain cultural differences that required some adjustment, the trip was overall amazing.  I don't know if I'd ever get used to the hovering waiters standing at the end of the table watching me take each and every bite of food, or the unwanted commentary and attention from Turkish men.  Some favorite lines include: "hey Spice Girl, Coca Cola!" "I see the deep ocean in your eyes, where do you come from, Paradise?" and the always effective "Follow me."  Traditions I could get used to?  The beautiful call to prayer heard throughout the day all over the city, and definitely, the breakfast.....mmmmmmmm......

In addition to seeing the sights the city had to offer, I wanted to think outside the box, push my limits, and experience something truly Turkish.  I opted for a trip to the Çemberlitaş Bath House, the premier bath house in all of Istanbul.  My friend and I were skeptical and nervous upon entering, but once we walked into the heated, domed room, we suspended all inhibitions and focused on the experience.  This is about to sound thuper nerdy (note the lisp), but it was awesome to be able to participate in an activity that has been going on for thousands of years; for crying out loud, Socrates did this!  I left feeling a little wiser, very clean, and pretty damn bad ass.


I almost feel like this trip to Istanbul was a tutorial lesson of Turkish culture, a precursor to future trips to Turkey and other Muslim countries.  I would like to revisit Istanbul someday and see what else the city has to offer.  While I felt on this trip that the city was the most foreign place I've ever visited, I think the second time around I will be more comfortable and know what to expect.  Finally, a shout out to my awesome cousin Leanne for showing us all such a marvelous time!  Many thanks and much love!

"I would say oh la la"

Bad news: I had to cancel my trip to Switzerland this weekend because of an overwhelming amount of essays and tests coming up this week.  Seriously, you should see me walking around; my backpack is so huge it might as well be a turtle shell.  Now I know how Quasimodo felt.

Good news: I was able to transfer my flight credit for a trip to PARIS the first weekend of December!  Not only will I be spending time in one of my favorite cities around my favorite time of year (Christmas, DUH), but that particular weekend all of the museums are free!  I can't imagine a better trip.  For this reason, my song of the week is:

She's so sassy I love it...modern day Janis Joplin, no?  Anyways, since I don't have much to report on in regards to travel, I thought I'd spend some time talking about the pub crawl me and the girls organized last Thursday.  We managed to make it to 5 pubs: Chequers, The Wheat Sheaf, Old Tom, Turf Tavern, and King's Arms...a new record!  We all a goal to make it to every pub in Oxford...mainly because we all have a poster that has drawings of all the pubs in Oxford that you're supposed to color in when you visit them.  I mean, how can we possibly leave here after 4 months and NOT make it to every single one??

Out of the ones I've visited so far, Turf Tavern is my favorite.  It's extremely difficult to find, hidden within tiny alleyways and passages one would normally walk by without even thinking twice.  The interior is cozy yet pretty sizeable, and they have my favorite cider on draft: Old Rosie.  It's rather hard to come by; only a few pubs in Oxford have it.  I half like it because the name reminds me of my brother's beloved dog and the other half is because it's so potent (nearly 9%) that I don't have to spend pounds and pounds on other drinks.  And it doesn't taste half bad either.

Hate to say it, but don't think I'll ever be visiting the Wheat Sheaf again.  Very questionable wall decoration:

Who names these pubs anyways?  What IS a wheat sheaf?  New project for this week: decide on the name of my pub.  Contenders: My Left Shoe, The Bendy Straw, The Suckling Pig, Crap I Found Under My Bed...