Rick Steves: My new spirit animal

(Andddd going back in time to April 10th...)

Since this is our last break of the year, we decided to take a quick day trip to Bruges—a very pretty city in Belgium about an hour and a half away. While trying to decide what to do in our six-hour trip, I remembered that Cathy left her Rick Steve’s Belgium Travel Guide at our place in February. I’ll admit to being extremely skeptical about Rick Steves—as I am about any old guy who looks like an ex-Brady Bunch extra travel guide salesman—but now I see that I made a grave error in judgment.

When I opened the book, I saw that he classified the importance of activities with triangles—only things marked with three triangles are a “must-do.” My first reaction to this system was: now I will feel obligated to do things, CURSE YOU, STEVES; but, after a quick skim, I realized there was only one item with three triangles: drinking beer. 

So, our travel day started as they generally do—with Carson unable to find something imperative to leaving; me freaking out and assuming all is doomed; and finally Carson sprinting to the location of our departure, somehow making it on time with the imperative item.

Luckily, the rest of the day went by without issue. We immediately started Rick Steves' walking tour, which lead us through the very, very beautiful Minnewater Park and ultimately to the center of the city. 

Minnewater Park

More Minnewater Park

Us with my new BFF

Random swans!

Canal!

Everything really was painfully quaint

We were sort of hungry after our walk, so we stopped by a friterie that offered a seemingly great deal: 1.50 euros for a small cone of fries. Brilliant! We went in and ordered.

Cashier: That’s 1.50. Do you want sauce?

Us: Obviously... Yes.

Cashier: Okay then that’ll be 2.40 actually. What kind?

Us: Who the hell orders a plain cone of fries...Mayonnaise.

Cashier: Okay then that’ll be 2.50.

The mayo was not garnished with gold flakes as I reasonably
expected, but it was amazing nonetheless. 

After eating our fries and doing a noble job of glancing at several Steves-suggested-monuments, we immediately went to a Steves-suggested-bar called 2be. I actually read about it before picking up his guide, so it’s almost definitely one of the most touristy/popular bars in Bruges. This would usually be sort of off-putting, but sometimes places are super famous because they are just super awesome. This bar definitely falls into that category—the wall was covered with all the Belgium beers and their specific glasses, the menus were suspended on strings from the ceiling, the beer selection was awesome/very, very reasonably priced, and it had a lovely patio directly on the canal. We ended up getting a spot in the sun and sampled Belgian beers for about two hours.

The first of the day

Carson's glass was admittedly cooler than mine

And another!

When it was officially lunchtime, we made our way to the adorable Market Square and sat outside at a random café. The square is very similar in design to...every European square ever...but it did seem extra old/well-maintained and was a perfect place to people watch. The next items on the list were two Steves-approved places: a beer bottle shop—where we bought nothing due to the obscene prices but was very interesting to see—and a chocolatier called Dumon. We got a 250g-sampler box and I don’t think we’ve ever made a more worthy mutual purchase.

Carson probably has a record breaking collection of city center panos
at this point

At lunch 

We ended our day with another patio beer at 2be and then walked very slowly back to the train station.

So to summarize: Bruges is a fantastic place to spend a lazy day trip and I don’t know how I have ever done anything without Rick Steves ever.

Other than our day trip, we’ve pretty much just been hanging out. Mike and Kels get here on Monday and we’re very, very excited to see them. Though we will never live up to Rick’s tour guide prowess, we have some really neat stuff planned and will do our best to channel his essence while showing them around Lille. 

Spring, Steph, and Spongebob

After a week or so of rainy, freezing weather, spring is finally here...ish (it’s been super sunny everyday/slightly over fifty degrees...so, close enough). We’ve been able to hang out on the terrace everyday without looking like the Michelin man and even went ahead and bought all necessary ingredients for bière pêche.

Other than the lovely weather, there’s nothing huge to report. Stephanie (one of our favorite humans from UNC/Montpellier) and one of her friends from high school came for a short visit last week, which was super fun. The weather continued to be awesome and, most importantly, I was able to catch up with the wonderful lady that is Steph Tepps.

So... short update, but that’s about it.  Here are some fun things my students have said lately:

1. Right after break, I was teaching a class of about six girls that is always very enthusiastic about English. The whole time my stomach was weirdly itchy, and I guess I was touching it more than a normal amount, because at the end of class this happened:

Girl: Um...you...are baby?

Me: ...What?

Girl: Your stomach, you do baby?

Me: Do baby? Wha...are you asking me if I’m pregnant?

Girl: Ah, yes, pregnant!

Me: Do I look... rounder?

Girl: Ah, no, no! I am so sorry. You just touch stomach a lot! That is all! So sorry!

This girl continues to apologize profusely each time I pass her in the hallway.

2. I think I’ve mentioned before that whenever I play games I make them come up with team names. They frequently have to repeat what they’re saying because I can’t understand their accent or they’ve made up a ridiculous word. The other day a group of kids shouted what I thought was “Jew Squad.” People in France are WAY less concerned about being politically correct or offending people with words, but I still thought it was kind of weird.

Me: So, like...all six of you are Jewish?

Students: Staring blankly

Me: ....

Students: ....

Me: So.. Jew? Like JJJEEEEWWWW. Jew squad?

Students: Uh yes?... J-U-L squad. Jul Squad.

They’re so much more normal and innocent than I give them credit for.

3. I was bored one morning and decided to brighten my day by making the kids write me haikus. I gave them all themes to focus on, and the group who got Spongebob created this profound work of art:

Bob, sponge of the deep sea

Bob, the most square of sponges

Bob, yellow, it’s you

...Okay, so the first line is 6 syllables, but you can’t help but want to give that some snaps.

I’ll try to have some more interesting stories for the next blog. Hope everyone is having a lovely week!

Winter Break, Part 3: Reuniting in Lille

On Thursday night, we met up with Carson and his folks in Lille before going to dinner at an estaminet (traditional northern French restaurant that’s basically the equivalent of a mom and pop diner in the States but...French-ier) that specialized in duck. It was located on what is said to be the best estaminet street in Lille and was adorable in every way. As always, I was blown away by how many parts of a duck the French figured out you can eat. (But really did they figure this out through trial and error/who originally thought foie gras would be a cool plan?)

The next day I took mom on a brief walking tour before meeting up with Carson and his parents at the coolest galette restaurant ever. 

Classy underground crepe dungeon

We spent the rest of Friday walking around and shopping. I had been avoiding any sort of mall since I arrived (because poor) and, to the moms’ shared dismay, had no idea where people went to buy reasonably priced clothes. Luckily, we ended up finding a store called Zara, which like Forever 21 price-wise but H&M clothes quality-wise. (Also—now that I think about it—maybe Zara is something everyone already knew about other than me?) In any case, it was AWESOME and Carson and I both upgraded our wardrobes from five shirts to eight whole shirts.

After shopping, we situated ourselves in a nice little café on the Grand Place.

Brilliantly counteracting bad weather in a heated box with beer and
vin chaud

Eventually, we went back to the apartment for some pre-dinner bread, cheese, and wine and then headed to the same restaurant we took Ween and Daddy Jim on their last night in Lille. It was as awesome as the first time.

Unfortunately, Carson’s parents had to take off that night to catch an early flight out of Brussels. We were super sad to see them go but glad that we got to spend an awesome day/two awesome nights in their company. Touring around with Carson’s parents is super fun—Cathy’s drive to actually move and do things combined with Joel’s love of hanging out in cafés and drinking beer makes them probably the most perfect visitors ever.

On Mom’s final day in Lille, it was—to the great surprise of all—beautiful. I was very happy she got to see the city while not hiding under an umbrella. After showing her some of our favorite spots and the park, we had an awesome lunch of oysters, foie gras, prosecco, etc. on a lovely outdoor terrace.

Lunch-ing

We sort of just chilled the rest of the afternoon. In this time, I noticed that Bloempot—the most famous restaurant in Lille that’s owned by some guy who was on Top Chef and located directly next to our apartment—had posted that they had 10 tables open for whoever arrived first that night. I was SO excited; I thought that they were a reservations-only place and they are entirely booked up forever. Like seriously, the calendar on the website just ends and there are no free nights.

Anyway, this place is awesome because the whole menu is fixed and secret and to get inside the restaurant you have to go through a giant blue gate that takes you down a passageway. It’s impossible to see from the street—in other words—and we were excited to unveil the mystery. It of course turned out to be amazing. I’m not totally sure how to describe the décor, but it was somewhere between rustic, homey cabin and a fancy gas station all at once.

So, on to the food...They pair wines with each plate and it’s sort of a tapas-like thing. Of the three menu options—6 plates, 7 plates, or 8—I opted for the 7 at first while Carson and Mom chose the more reasonable 6. But then, after the first plate, I asked the waiter to upgrade me to an 8 because I felt an uncontrollable need to try everything produced by this man’s hands. We all agreed it was one of the best meals of our lives and I am determined to try to go back with everyone else who comes to visit. Hopefully the first come first serve thing is a common occurrence.

Anyway, we’re just getting back into the swing of things and already excited for our April break/Spring weather to arrive. Hope everyone had a great first week of March!

Winter Break, Part 2: The Valentine's Day to end all Valentine's Days

Now onto what we actually did over the break...

My post-plane stress instantly disappeared when I arrived at our beautiful hotel on the beach. I only had a rolling suitcase, but the bellboy dressed inexplicably in German lederhosen insisted on carrying it the strenuous three feet to the hotel lobby. Upon entering, I was greeted by my mom and yet another ledhosen-ed bellboy carrying a platter of champagne glasses. All of these things seemed like very good omens, and indeed they were.

Awesome view from our balcony 

The first night, we went down to the jazz bar and very quickly befriended the bartender. I asked for a simple cava, but after he went on and on about how he could make me literally anything on the planet, I gave in and told him to surprise me. I was not expecting the extravagance that followed:

This also reminded me that it was Valentine's Day and
my mom and I were surrounded by a troop of
ancient British couples.  

See-what-ridiculous-drink-the-bartender-will-make-next turned out to be a really, really fun game. As we sat at the bar, I saw the guy make these:

The number of different vessels they had for serving
beverages was unreal

And these:

 

One of the million adorable British couples  

And also—this one I didn’t get a picture of—there was one drink that consisted of a laboriously crafted daiquiri, which was poured into a conch shell, which he proceeded to place into a treasure chest, which he then filled with dried fruit and a tea candle.

Before going to dinner, I requested an aperitif-type drink with a kick. This was a mistake, as after the guy poured my seemingly normal drink, he torched absinthe on top of it and sprinkled it with a handful of hashish...A very fun dinner followed.

My kind of art

After dinner we actually went back to the bar to watch some jazz, and the nice man made us a ridiculous beverage made with sake and then a desert drink garnished with chocolates.

Keeping with the theme after our sushi dinner 

Promise this is the last picture of a drinkable liquid 

At this point mom had told everyone that I write a blog, and these guys were convinced that I was an actual writer that had actual power to promote their bar. The rest of the stay they treated me like I was important, which often confused other bar patrons. For example: one time, both the couple next to me and I ordered a glass of cava. When our drinks came out, they had standard champagne glasses and a small bowl of nuts; whereas my drink was garnished with mint leaves, placed in a box filled with dried fruit, and accompanied by three bowls of varying snacks. So, now I know being a fake travel blogger is a fantastic career option.

The next day mom and I went down to the spa for a body scrub and a hot stone massage. I had never received a real massage, so I was interested to see what the hype was about. Turns out, I’m not very good at them.

Examples:

1. Undressed when I wasn’t supposed to at least 3 times
2. Consistently misunderstood whether I was supposed to be under, over, inside of, making origami out of the towel
3. Never figured out how to position my face in the face hole
4. For some reason I thought that if I breathed in too deeply all the stones would roll off of me and burn something, so I ended up alternating between sort of holding my breath and then slowly letting it out and trying not to gasp for air

Also, since I’m not familiar with the process, I wasn’t sure when things were supposed to be painful. I just figured that the vicious scrubbing of my body with what I presume was sandpaper was supposed to be slightly uncomfortable because my skin felt wonderful afterward. I saw it as a “no pain no gain” type thing. Now I know that I just have absurdly sensitive skin and you are indeed allowed to voice opinions/preferences during a massage session. The more you learn...

Luckily, the next day when we had a facial, the same woman who did my massage greeted me at the door. Since she already knew I was awkward and uneducated in the nuances of spa-ing, she provided more explicit instructions and I was able to redeem myself. Jokes aside, everything was fantastically wonderful and I would go to a spa on a weekly basis if I had the time and money.

Also, the spa also included sauna rooms. I had never been in a sauna, so I was didn’t really know what to expect, but apparently they make me very tired. I haven’t napped in years, but every time after leaving that tiny heated box I instantly fell asleep. This might just be because I have not actually allowed myself to relax to that extent in years, but whatever the case, it was a cool discovery.

There was also also an indoor pool in the spa, where we did probably one of my favorite activities of the trip: a water aerobics class attended by a giant pack of eighty year old British grannies and led by a young Spanish woman who spoke no English and played very loud EDM music.

Honestly, watching old ladies swing noodles around with stern, concentrated expressions to the rhythm of obscure American EDM remixes was not just one of the high points of the trip, but probably of my existence.

I give these women a ton of credit, though. Going in, I arrogantly thought that I wouldn’t even break a sweat or feel a twinge. However, water aerobics can be kind of hard and I found myself having to force myself through the movements at the end so I wouldn’t look like a big loser in front of the Granny squad. 

But moving on...I think it was the next day that we walked into the town center. It was a lovely stroll along the coastline, and we had lunch at a place right on the water. It was fantastic and the super nice waiter even gave us a pitcher of sangria on the house. Spanish hospitality is the best.

Obligatory beach pic

This mountain was unavoidable and always looming in the background.
Like, even when on the other freaking side of the island it somehow
made it into all of my pictures. It's like the mountain equivalent of
Mona Lisa's eyes.

A different, less invasive mountain

Creeping on other tourists

Volcanic stuffs

Kite and wind surfing are a BIG deal and it looked super fun, but we
decided to stick with water aerobics

GET OUT OF MY PICTURES, MOUNTAIN

eeeeEGGHHH

In the adorable fishing village of Corralejo

I thought this guy came out of no where just to ruin my picture but really
he made it so much better

Fellow vacationers 

Intruding mountain's more inconspicuous twin 

I can't even build one successful drip castle and this guy made an entire
city of them 

Corralejo was 90% beachside restaurants 10% a port

This is more pictures of scenery than anyone could possibly caption

Photo bombed once again

Thankfully, even though Fuerteventura is sort of far from Spain, sangria is
still a big deal

Turns out cocktail sauce here is more or less thousand island dressing,
but this in no way detracts from the deliciousness

Mom got some AMAZING fried octopus topped with
an equally amazing green mystery sauce

Apparently peace signs are still a popular thing on isolated islands

Mom with some pretty flowers

Otherwise, we ate some of the best dinners I’ve ever consumed (seriously, these family visits have irreversibly spoiled me and my restaurant expectations) and had the greatest Valentine’s retreat I could imagine. Boyfriends have officially been rendered unnecessary; I would be entirely content to spend all romantic holidays henceforth with my mother.

Speaking of boyfriends...I’ll finish up the break and post about our time with Carson and his parents very, very soon!

Winter Break, Part 1: Discovering the extent of my flight anxiety

Sorry this is coming so late—I’ve been super busy getting back into school things/have been doing a lot more online work recently. This post will not be terribly informative about my actual break, as I wrote it two Saturdays ago on the cab ride to the hotel in the Canary Islands, but I promise that plenty of pictures/more relevant stories are on the way!

But first, an unnecessary story that we are pretending I posted two weeks ago...

.....

Remember when I went to Israel? Well, to get there, we had to take a gigantic double-decker plane—if I had internet I would’ve looked up its official name and seemed super smart—but for our purposes we’ll just call it the flying titanic.

...Except for regardless of the number of lifeboats on the flying titanic, we would all be utterly screwed by the airborne version of a giant iceberg (Tall mountain in cloudy weather? Bigger-than-usual drone? Whatever. This metaphor needs more time...).

Immediately upon seeing this winged horror, I was not pleased. It was just too big to fly. My anxiety did not improve when we had an hour delay because the plane was too heavy and they needed to take off some luggage. Take me...Take my bag. Just please dear god if you insist on trying to make this thing fly do it with only passengers and no luggage at all...

Anyway, everyone thought I was paranoid and weird. They were right. The flight on the way over was pretty standard.

BUT. Fast-forward to the return flight—on the same plane—where I think I can fairly say we all had the most terrifying turbulence/landing experience of ever. Turbulence in a small plane, or in any reasonable one-level plane for that matter, is not really a big deal. Just kind of like...look at the plane resisting the forces of nature or whatever turbulence is...adorable.

But it doesn’t feel that way on Air-tanic. It feels like a freaking sky earthquake...like an Airquake.

Okay I’m done.

Bad metaphors aside, this more or less destroyed planes for me, so I really wasn’t looking forward to flying to France this past September. However, for whatever reason, it was totally fine. There was no turbulence, no weird landing...just a normal flight with normal reactions from all. Hoorah!

Which brings us to today, when I totally forgot that I had issues with planes. It was especially windy in Madrid, and upon our descent I decided within the first twenty seconds that death was imminent. I tried some deep breathing techniques, which were surprisingly successful...until they weren’t. The Spanish man next to me had just consumed more gross airplane food than I thought possible or recommendable, but I desperately wanted him to just hold my hand or something. I knew everything would feel better if this giant, who seemed anchored to the plane by sheer weight, allowed me to cling to him with a mighty force.

Accept my cling, ACCEPT IT. I inched my open palm toward him as my breathing became increasingly loud and difficult to ignore. Meanwhile, he was doing everything in his power to avoid my frantic gestures and general existence. This was impressive, as I think I was straddling the armrest at some point and eventually lost feeling in my wingers/started wiggling them spastically in front of us both. 

Sometime after all of this, the plane landed entirely without problem, at which point I redeemed my spastic behavior by pushing aside the gentleman in front of me and running off of the plane like an insane person.

There was no time for thinking: I was an hour late for my connecting flight and needed to find the gate while simultaneously making sure that my fingers were still attached to my body.  

I looked at the departure board: Tenerife. 15:00pm. C 48. The farthest terminal from me, and it was already boarding.

Oh...what is that, brain? That plane has a completely different number than the one on your ticket? Irrelevant! Nothing else makes sense but this.  

I sprinted through the airport until I realized people were looking at me like I was on fire. I didn’t even know if I was going in the right direction and something was telling me that I was making a gigantic mistake of some sort, so I looked again at the departure board.

Tenerife...

15:00pm...

Random flight number...

At least one of these things was wrong.

I verified my ticket for the millionth time, which helpfully reminded me that I’ve never heard of Tenerife and was in fact going to Fuerteventura.

Riiight.

So I found my actual gate—it was directly next to the gate of the plane I had just disembarked like a lunatic—and bought a ludicrously expensive coke from the vending machine to reward myself for not missing the plane. It exploded everywhere immediately upon opening. 

I then realized that when it comes to losing my cool, I don’t do it halfway.

Now, one flight and three hours later, I am almost to the hotel. Looking forward to being on dry land, seeing mom, and my bum hole finally fully unclenching. 

......

Will post more trip details/pictures very soon!