I've been scraping cement out of my mouth throughout the day today. This is a consequence of one of the most trying and scary experiences I've had here since my glorious beginning in Germany.
As the result of about 10,000 Haribo gummy bears, 543 Cliff bars, and 50 Schnitznel, my crown came loose and fell off a few weeks ago. I've been avoiding getting it fixed for a few reasons: One, I could just stick it back in there and it would stay, unless I ate gummy bears. Secondly, the dentist is just never a place you search out when in a foreign country.
But I'm just not the kind of girl who would sacrifice gummy bear consumption for the sake of a crown (who is...?) So I had to go, and everything started out easily enough. It was definitely a euro-dentist. A tiny little receiving area with an extremely nice receptionist, then a waiting room with a coat rack and about 50 chairs shoved into the space for 10. I was feeling pretty confident. All of the sounds were familiar to me...shrill drills and chatty Cathies cleaning peoples' teeth. But then I sat in the chair...
The little bib thing they gave me was literally a paper napkin. Like the kind of thing you might see in a local pizza joint. This should have given me warning of what was to come...
The dentist was like a Chevy Chase character. He sat down with a huge grin and a nice golden tan in the German Winter, then he tilted my head back like they do in cartoons. After shoving his hand into my mouth and commenting on the beauty of my “american” teeth, he went straight to work with the drill. He drilled a little everywhere around my missing tooth, just doing a little archeological work, I guess. I was then instructed to “swish”, but NOT “swallow” some concoction that I saw the nurse pour out of the same kind of brown glass container that I pored hydrochloric acid out of in Chem class. (In case you were wondering, “swish”, “swallow”, and “highly poisonous” are not vocab words that are commonly taught in German classes.) This took a few times for me to understand and then finally I was ready for the GLUE.
Right before that, the doctor told me I would feel a coldness in my mouth, then he continued to swab my tooth with a liquid that smelled identical to nail polish remover. He then argued with the nurse a little about whether the glue looked good enough to use, slapped some on my tooth, then threw the crown in there. After a few bite-fittings, he decided that the crown didn't fit so he drilled the hell out of it for about a minute (whoops, there goes 1,500 for a beautiful porcelain crown) and was content with his job. Finally, he took a tube labeled “TOOTH POLISH” in a cartoon-ish red and green and “polished”. After this I had to “swish” the polish for about 5 minutes until my mouth was no longer red.
Now I understand that there are bad dentists everywhere, which is why I insist on going to my one guy in Charlotte who has memory foam pads and Light 104.9 playing while he does his work. But this guy was especially bad...its not a lie, we've got the good ones over the across the pond. Even though you might only be able to get appointments 4 days a week and pay astronomical prices for a cleaning, you can be glad that you don't have to pick tooth glue out of your mouth for days after a simple procedure.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Monday, February 8, 2010
Food for thought (more like Food Poisoning)
Daily life here has been about status quo. I went to an American party at a friend's house this weekend. It was good to see friends and listen to music loudly while dancing. It reminded me of the freedom of spirit I still have somewhere inside.
Otherwise, life is a bit dull from the outside. Little is happening in school...either the predictable Stuhl der Einsamkeit or the nerve-wrecking suicide mission of standing in front of a group of people expecting the worst. It becomes difficult to succeed when everyone is betting against you.
These kind of things make me contemplate my position as an "American ambassador", as Fulbright describes it, here. I was reading through the text book that the 13th grade English teachers teach from. The unit is called "USA Myth and Reality". I am almost at a loss of words. How do I address the ignorance that I am forced to meet every day with a clueless American smile? This tsunami of hatred and disdain for the United States faces me on a daily basis, and the best I can do as a noble "ambassador" is to not respond with the equivalent emotion with which they meet me. The following is a poem published without an author in my book:
The Contrapuntal Civilization*
I have died
in Vietnam
But I have walked
the face of the moon.
I have befouled the waters
and tainted the air of a
magnificent land. But I have
made it safe from disease.
I have flown through the
sky faster than the sun.
But I have idled in the streets
made ugly with traffic.
I have littered the land
with garbage.
But I have built upon it
a hundred million homes.
I have divided schools
with my prejudice
But I have sent armies
to unite them.
I have beat down my enemies
with clubs.
But I have built courtrooms
to keep them free.
I have built a bomb
to destroy the world.
But I have used it
to light a light.
I have outraged my brothers
in the alleys of the ghetto.
But I have transplanted
a human heart.
I have scribbled out
filth and pornography.
But I have elevated
the philosophy of man.
I have watched children
starve from my golden towers.
But I have fed
half the earth.
I was raised
in a grotesque slum.
But I am surfeited by
the silver spoon of opulence.
I live in the greatest country
in the world in the greatest time
in history. But I scorn the ground
I stand upon.
I am ashamed.
But I am proud.
I am an American.
This is just a small sample of the attitude I face on a daily basis here. These kinds of things are part of the state-sanctioned literature for students to read. And I, as an individual, am expected to face this front, to dive into the wave, so to say. I often feel lost and alone in this place. Things like "benefit of the doubt" and "open mindedness" are not expected of the students here. In my experience with my school, I have witnessed the teachings of fear. The teachings that America is a world of contradictions, where we say one thing, but the reality is different. Rather than allowing individual assessment of a culture, a dogma of doubt is on the lesson plan.
I get exhausted after just a few hours of school here. I rarely teach, however I am still constantly standing on a platform like a pig at a county fair. My ability to withstand these types of criticisms without volatile reactions defines my success here. I create connections by defying the types of stereotypes put forth in that poem. I have a whole list of published works to fight against, but it is my hope that simple patience and confidence will allow me to complete my task gracefully.
I can only hope that one day in lives of these students, they will remember the constancy that the Americans who visited here had. That we were able to teach the good and the bad about our country, and that we were able to display confidence in the principles of our nation in the face of a nation of doubt.
*Poem from: The New Summit, published by Schoeningh in 2007.
Otherwise, life is a bit dull from the outside. Little is happening in school...either the predictable Stuhl der Einsamkeit or the nerve-wrecking suicide mission of standing in front of a group of people expecting the worst. It becomes difficult to succeed when everyone is betting against you.
These kind of things make me contemplate my position as an "American ambassador", as Fulbright describes it, here. I was reading through the text book that the 13th grade English teachers teach from. The unit is called "USA Myth and Reality". I am almost at a loss of words. How do I address the ignorance that I am forced to meet every day with a clueless American smile? This tsunami of hatred and disdain for the United States faces me on a daily basis, and the best I can do as a noble "ambassador" is to not respond with the equivalent emotion with which they meet me. The following is a poem published without an author in my book:
The Contrapuntal Civilization*
I have died
in Vietnam
But I have walked
the face of the moon.
I have befouled the waters
and tainted the air of a
magnificent land. But I have
made it safe from disease.
I have flown through the
sky faster than the sun.
But I have idled in the streets
made ugly with traffic.
I have littered the land
with garbage.
But I have built upon it
a hundred million homes.
I have divided schools
with my prejudice
But I have sent armies
to unite them.
I have beat down my enemies
with clubs.
But I have built courtrooms
to keep them free.
I have built a bomb
to destroy the world.
But I have used it
to light a light.
I have outraged my brothers
in the alleys of the ghetto.
But I have transplanted
a human heart.
I have scribbled out
filth and pornography.
But I have elevated
the philosophy of man.
I have watched children
starve from my golden towers.
But I have fed
half the earth.
I was raised
in a grotesque slum.
But I am surfeited by
the silver spoon of opulence.
I live in the greatest country
in the world in the greatest time
in history. But I scorn the ground
I stand upon.
I am ashamed.
But I am proud.
I am an American.
This is just a small sample of the attitude I face on a daily basis here. These kinds of things are part of the state-sanctioned literature for students to read. And I, as an individual, am expected to face this front, to dive into the wave, so to say. I often feel lost and alone in this place. Things like "benefit of the doubt" and "open mindedness" are not expected of the students here. In my experience with my school, I have witnessed the teachings of fear. The teachings that America is a world of contradictions, where we say one thing, but the reality is different. Rather than allowing individual assessment of a culture, a dogma of doubt is on the lesson plan.
I get exhausted after just a few hours of school here. I rarely teach, however I am still constantly standing on a platform like a pig at a county fair. My ability to withstand these types of criticisms without volatile reactions defines my success here. I create connections by defying the types of stereotypes put forth in that poem. I have a whole list of published works to fight against, but it is my hope that simple patience and confidence will allow me to complete my task gracefully.
I can only hope that one day in lives of these students, they will remember the constancy that the Americans who visited here had. That we were able to teach the good and the bad about our country, and that we were able to display confidence in the principles of our nation in the face of a nation of doubt.
*Poem from: The New Summit, published by Schoeningh in 2007.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Paris Part Two
Now the story of the unsweetened crepe. The sticky, doughy, uneven part of my trip to Paris that was as displeasing as German tacos.
Euro Road Trip:
For us, Paris was an 8 hour trip away. It should have taken only 6 hours, but these people did not know how to road trip. We stopped for a half an hour every hour and a half. Let me start by saying that this was an official school trip, with teachers and rules and permission slips...just like we do. Except, let me tell you, the Americans have the whole "school trip" concept mastered, whereas this school still has some stuff to figure out. The reason we stopped so often was not to use the bathroom, but to let the students who smoke have cigarette breaks. I was completely surprised when I got off the bus to see more than half of the students huddled in a group inhaling smoke, and stinking themselves up before they got back on the bus.
So we finally arrived in Paris and looked for the exit for the hotel for about an hour. The whole time we could see it, but the bus driver didn't know how to get off the highway to get to it. I was wondering why he didn't really know how to get there when this was his job, but then I learned that it was just someone's dad who had learned to drive a bus in his free time. So really, he had no idea what he was doing.
Under the highway and through the trash to the metro station we go...
The hotel was on the edge of Paris, right next to a metro station. Actually, a short walk along the dump (yes, we were right next to a city dump!), past the half destroyed buildings, and over the piles of trash got you to the metro station. Oh, did I mention the club right next to the hotel where I saw at least three men walking away with ladies for whose attention they paid...? Needless to say, the area where we stayed was completely unsafe and not anywhere I would ever recommend for anyone, even on a budget. In fact, I would lend someone money to go to Paris just so they wouldn't have to stay in that hotel.
Public Disturbances:
The kids I went with were all in the 12th grade. They are all around 18 years old, and legally adults in Germany. That being said, the teachers felt that it would be inappropriate to discipline them in any way or expect them to be respectful to the teachers, me, or any Parisians they might come across. This resulted in 40 kids acting shamelessly: yelling at each other in the Metro, pushing old people out of the way on the stairs, and pointing and staring at people who looked differently. These things are real: as I yelled at a boy who pushed an old lady who had trouble walking out of his way on the metro stairs, the female student next to me said "Well that old lady is in the middle of the stairs! If she doesn't want to get pushed, she shouldn't stand in the way!" I had no reply to this; sometimes its better to admit that you've lost the battle. Things like this happened all weekend. People pointed out (like screaming and literally pointing with their fingers) minorities of all types, either simply stating that they are different, or using the diversity in Paris as a reason to call the city dangerous.
I tried my hardest not to be associated with the group, as I saw in the faces of the locals in the subway, museums, and everywhere else that they were as annoyed as I was. The group was excellent at being in the way as much as possible, making random stops at the top of stairs, clogging the way for every other human trying to get through. They also refused to eat the French food, finding themselves at McDonalds often, or eating out of the squirrel's stock of food they had in their bags. Or, if in french restaurants, ordering only a potato, due to their distaste for the rest of the French food (which, of course, they made clear).
Adult Behavior:
The most striking this about this whole trip was the experience I had on Saturday night. The ~30 year old male teacher found a club with a live band that we were able to take the students to. Now, being a super conservative American, I pictured the scene going as follows: two young teachers (me and Tom) take the students to a club, sit in the back and make sure everything goes OK as the students have a few drinks and enjoy the French scene. What really happened? The teacher, Tom, found an old friend, went into a different part of the club with him and left the students completely unattended for three hours. Half of them were completely wasted, like the kind of wasted where you can barely walk, and then Tom appeared from his meeting and said it was time to go home. It took almost an hour to get the kids out of the club, and we had to walk to the metro with 15 completely drunk, rude, loud, and lude kids running through the streets of Paris. Also, during this whole time, I was treated as if I was non-relevant. Anyway, one of the girls got sick on the way home and had to get off the train to throw up. Half of us had to make it home with out Tom (also unable to speak French), and the other half got off to take care of the drunk student. We walked home to that unsafe, nasty hotel and went to bed. The girl, of course, saw no punishment. Well, she is an adult and all.
Now, finally, compare this story to my next story, and then I'm done ranting. Yesterday, a boy was 5 minutes late for a bus. He was publicly humiliated and shamed. The second he walked onto the bus, all three teachers started yelling at him at once. The teachers told him he put all of our lives in danger, called him irresponsible, and the leading teacher actually announced over the loud speakers "Well there's an asshole in every group" as he made his way back to his seat. I guess adults in Germany can do everything they want, except be late for the bus.
Lessons Learned:
I am not sure why I thought that being in a different country with these people would make them easier to be around. I mean, they do run through the school hallways and push people out of the way, expect to get everything they want in class, and treat me like an idiot when in Germany. I am glad I survived the experience, but I am deeply disappointed that my first experience in Paris was dampened by this group of people. I have to say that not every student was openly rude and disrespectful, but I can really only think of one or two people who I wasn't embarrassed to stand beside. I certainly learned some important lessons during this trying adventure. One, firstly, that I will never be embarrassed to be an American tourist again. Even though we are infamous for not knowing languages, I still think we have are considerate of others, would have helped that old lady on the stairs, and are eager to experience new cultures (instead of, for example, refusing to drink or eat anything French.) The other important lesson? Don't be late for the bus.
Euro Road Trip:
For us, Paris was an 8 hour trip away. It should have taken only 6 hours, but these people did not know how to road trip. We stopped for a half an hour every hour and a half. Let me start by saying that this was an official school trip, with teachers and rules and permission slips...just like we do. Except, let me tell you, the Americans have the whole "school trip" concept mastered, whereas this school still has some stuff to figure out. The reason we stopped so often was not to use the bathroom, but to let the students who smoke have cigarette breaks. I was completely surprised when I got off the bus to see more than half of the students huddled in a group inhaling smoke, and stinking themselves up before they got back on the bus.
So we finally arrived in Paris and looked for the exit for the hotel for about an hour. The whole time we could see it, but the bus driver didn't know how to get off the highway to get to it. I was wondering why he didn't really know how to get there when this was his job, but then I learned that it was just someone's dad who had learned to drive a bus in his free time. So really, he had no idea what he was doing.
Under the highway and through the trash to the metro station we go...
The hotel was on the edge of Paris, right next to a metro station. Actually, a short walk along the dump (yes, we were right next to a city dump!), past the half destroyed buildings, and over the piles of trash got you to the metro station. Oh, did I mention the club right next to the hotel where I saw at least three men walking away with ladies for whose attention they paid...? Needless to say, the area where we stayed was completely unsafe and not anywhere I would ever recommend for anyone, even on a budget. In fact, I would lend someone money to go to Paris just so they wouldn't have to stay in that hotel.
Public Disturbances:
The kids I went with were all in the 12th grade. They are all around 18 years old, and legally adults in Germany. That being said, the teachers felt that it would be inappropriate to discipline them in any way or expect them to be respectful to the teachers, me, or any Parisians they might come across. This resulted in 40 kids acting shamelessly: yelling at each other in the Metro, pushing old people out of the way on the stairs, and pointing and staring at people who looked differently. These things are real: as I yelled at a boy who pushed an old lady who had trouble walking out of his way on the metro stairs, the female student next to me said "Well that old lady is in the middle of the stairs! If she doesn't want to get pushed, she shouldn't stand in the way!" I had no reply to this; sometimes its better to admit that you've lost the battle. Things like this happened all weekend. People pointed out (like screaming and literally pointing with their fingers) minorities of all types, either simply stating that they are different, or using the diversity in Paris as a reason to call the city dangerous.
I tried my hardest not to be associated with the group, as I saw in the faces of the locals in the subway, museums, and everywhere else that they were as annoyed as I was. The group was excellent at being in the way as much as possible, making random stops at the top of stairs, clogging the way for every other human trying to get through. They also refused to eat the French food, finding themselves at McDonalds often, or eating out of the squirrel's stock of food they had in their bags. Or, if in french restaurants, ordering only a potato, due to their distaste for the rest of the French food (which, of course, they made clear).
Adult Behavior:
The most striking this about this whole trip was the experience I had on Saturday night. The ~30 year old male teacher found a club with a live band that we were able to take the students to. Now, being a super conservative American, I pictured the scene going as follows: two young teachers (me and Tom) take the students to a club, sit in the back and make sure everything goes OK as the students have a few drinks and enjoy the French scene. What really happened? The teacher, Tom, found an old friend, went into a different part of the club with him and left the students completely unattended for three hours. Half of them were completely wasted, like the kind of wasted where you can barely walk, and then Tom appeared from his meeting and said it was time to go home. It took almost an hour to get the kids out of the club, and we had to walk to the metro with 15 completely drunk, rude, loud, and lude kids running through the streets of Paris. Also, during this whole time, I was treated as if I was non-relevant. Anyway, one of the girls got sick on the way home and had to get off the train to throw up. Half of us had to make it home with out Tom (also unable to speak French), and the other half got off to take care of the drunk student. We walked home to that unsafe, nasty hotel and went to bed. The girl, of course, saw no punishment. Well, she is an adult and all.
Now, finally, compare this story to my next story, and then I'm done ranting. Yesterday, a boy was 5 minutes late for a bus. He was publicly humiliated and shamed. The second he walked onto the bus, all three teachers started yelling at him at once. The teachers told him he put all of our lives in danger, called him irresponsible, and the leading teacher actually announced over the loud speakers "Well there's an asshole in every group" as he made his way back to his seat. I guess adults in Germany can do everything they want, except be late for the bus.
Lessons Learned:
I am not sure why I thought that being in a different country with these people would make them easier to be around. I mean, they do run through the school hallways and push people out of the way, expect to get everything they want in class, and treat me like an idiot when in Germany. I am glad I survived the experience, but I am deeply disappointed that my first experience in Paris was dampened by this group of people. I have to say that not every student was openly rude and disrespectful, but I can really only think of one or two people who I wasn't embarrassed to stand beside. I certainly learned some important lessons during this trying adventure. One, firstly, that I will never be embarrassed to be an American tourist again. Even though we are infamous for not knowing languages, I still think we have are considerate of others, would have helped that old lady on the stairs, and are eager to experience new cultures (instead of, for example, refusing to drink or eat anything French.) The other important lesson? Don't be late for the bus.
Paris Part One
I just arrived in Germany again from Paris not 12 hours ago. Oh what stories I have to tell. I have determined it necessary to split this post into two parts for reasons that will become obvious. Just a warning, if you care to keep your romantic ideals of Paris as the city of lights, love, and shopping, then I suggest you read this post only, as Part 2 of the Parisian saga has much less sugar on it.
Ohh the joys of living in Europe! It was only a 8 hour road trip down to one of the most famous cities in the world for us; when I think about it, it takes me 8 hours to get to Denison from North Carolina...these lucky ducks over here. We had only an extended weekend in the city of lights, but I was able to see most of the sights. The most wonderful, amazing part of this trip was the fact that I actually saw all of those things that you hear about existing. I honestly never predicted that I would be running around that city, looking at the real Eiffel Tower, gazing deeply into Mona Lisa's eyes, and finding myself lost in a sea of Monet's lilies. It was magical!
My favorite part of the city, location wise, must have been Montmarte, a hilly part of Paris that used to be its own little village. The cobblestone roads that wind and curve around the contours of the land made me feel safe and secure as I looked out on the vista of Paris at night. There were plenty of places to eat, buy clothes, and simply be in Paris. This area had quite a few tourists, but I felt that it was here that Paris simply existed, versus other parts of the city where Paris jumped and screamed to make itself known (for example, Champs Elysees.)
I was also overjoyed to see the type of diversity that I am used to seeing in the United States. I don't exactly come from the most diverse part of the world, however, in my town in Germany, diversity means wearing black pants instead of jeans. Otherwise everyone looks and dresses just alike and is just fine with that. (Please reference the post about schools, where the German kids were completely flabbergasted that Parisian students had to attend school with immigrants.) There were all sorts of people in Paris! And everyone had interesting outfits, lots of fur, and REALLY cute bags. I also felt at home as I saw the colors red, white, and blue everywhere. The French fly their flag with pride all over the city. And, in my mind, they really do have something to be proud of!
Finally, the food. We actually didn't really have a chance to eat like Americans do on their vacas. I was expecting the typical three meals a day...but I forgot that Germans only eat like one real meal a day and then have bread for the rest of it. (By the way, all of the Germans brought their own water...like 4 liters or more!...and their own snacks for the entire 4 days) But when I did eat, it was so yummy! The mashed potatoes I had...just imagine the best you've ever had in the US, then add a cup of butter (eat your heart out, Paula Deen!). And, oh wow! Have you ever had an eclair?? Have you ever had one in Paris from an amazing bakery!?!? I was just in heaven eating that thing.
My favorite memory from the trip is my short time alone as I went from dinner to the Eiffel tower. I rode the metro and saw the cafes and shops lit from inside. Passing through the city, I watched the tower grow larger and larger, just as my anticipation did. I jumped off the metro and almost skipped to a crepe stand where I got chocolate and banana. All the way to the tower I was beaming almost as bright as the tower was, eating my dessert with eyes aglow in the lights of the city. Despite the hawkers that are almost as annoying as mosquitoes in a North Carolina summer, standing under the structure was like no other feeling I've ever had. Just to understand the height of the thing, the way it reaches towards the sky like a hopeful beacon. I could have stayed there all night.
I already miss the city. It is almost like I was never there. I took tons of pictures, so I will be sure to post those within a year or so. It was hard to be there without friends or family to walk with through the streets, but I forgot I was alone sometimes, as I stood under the watchful gaze of Van Gogh and next to Degas' ballerinas. Those Parisians sure do know how to have a good time.
Ohh the joys of living in Europe! It was only a 8 hour road trip down to one of the most famous cities in the world for us; when I think about it, it takes me 8 hours to get to Denison from North Carolina...these lucky ducks over here. We had only an extended weekend in the city of lights, but I was able to see most of the sights. The most wonderful, amazing part of this trip was the fact that I actually saw all of those things that you hear about existing. I honestly never predicted that I would be running around that city, looking at the real Eiffel Tower, gazing deeply into Mona Lisa's eyes, and finding myself lost in a sea of Monet's lilies. It was magical!
My favorite part of the city, location wise, must have been Montmarte, a hilly part of Paris that used to be its own little village. The cobblestone roads that wind and curve around the contours of the land made me feel safe and secure as I looked out on the vista of Paris at night. There were plenty of places to eat, buy clothes, and simply be in Paris. This area had quite a few tourists, but I felt that it was here that Paris simply existed, versus other parts of the city where Paris jumped and screamed to make itself known (for example, Champs Elysees.)
I was also overjoyed to see the type of diversity that I am used to seeing in the United States. I don't exactly come from the most diverse part of the world, however, in my town in Germany, diversity means wearing black pants instead of jeans. Otherwise everyone looks and dresses just alike and is just fine with that. (Please reference the post about schools, where the German kids were completely flabbergasted that Parisian students had to attend school with immigrants.) There were all sorts of people in Paris! And everyone had interesting outfits, lots of fur, and REALLY cute bags. I also felt at home as I saw the colors red, white, and blue everywhere. The French fly their flag with pride all over the city. And, in my mind, they really do have something to be proud of!
Finally, the food. We actually didn't really have a chance to eat like Americans do on their vacas. I was expecting the typical three meals a day...but I forgot that Germans only eat like one real meal a day and then have bread for the rest of it. (By the way, all of the Germans brought their own water...like 4 liters or more!...and their own snacks for the entire 4 days) But when I did eat, it was so yummy! The mashed potatoes I had...just imagine the best you've ever had in the US, then add a cup of butter (eat your heart out, Paula Deen!). And, oh wow! Have you ever had an eclair?? Have you ever had one in Paris from an amazing bakery!?!? I was just in heaven eating that thing.
My favorite memory from the trip is my short time alone as I went from dinner to the Eiffel tower. I rode the metro and saw the cafes and shops lit from inside. Passing through the city, I watched the tower grow larger and larger, just as my anticipation did. I jumped off the metro and almost skipped to a crepe stand where I got chocolate and banana. All the way to the tower I was beaming almost as bright as the tower was, eating my dessert with eyes aglow in the lights of the city. Despite the hawkers that are almost as annoying as mosquitoes in a North Carolina summer, standing under the structure was like no other feeling I've ever had. Just to understand the height of the thing, the way it reaches towards the sky like a hopeful beacon. I could have stayed there all night.
I already miss the city. It is almost like I was never there. I took tons of pictures, so I will be sure to post those within a year or so. It was hard to be there without friends or family to walk with through the streets, but I forgot I was alone sometimes, as I stood under the watchful gaze of Van Gogh and next to Degas' ballerinas. Those Parisians sure do know how to have a good time.
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