Madrid

February 25, 2013:
My first impression of Madrid was the metro system. I was within a rather uncomfortable proximity to my fellow riders and at certain points was wedged between people as they entered and exited the metro cars. I bought a two-day metro pass which I soon realized was a waste of money. You can get anywhere in the city by foot pretty easily. I liked that the city seemed less organized than Barcelona. Where Barcelona's blocks were all square and even, Madrid had winding roads and it felt much easier to get lost.

I checked into the hostel, dropped by bags in my room, popped out for a second to do something and when I got back I couldn't figure out how to unlock the door. My key was saying that the room was unlocked, but the door handle still wouldn't open. I knew that there was someone already sleeping, so I felt bad for fiddling with it. I just waited. Eventually, I was rescued by a guy staying in the room who didn't say a word to me (or anyone else in the room) the entire time I was there. I was concerned that I wouldn't meet anyone. There was also a group of 5 American girls who came in and they were sleeping in the five bunks around mine, but they didn't even say hi to me.

Lucky for me, several minutes later, two French girls came through the door. I took a deep breath and asked them in French where they were from (Nantes)... I was delighted when they asked me if I was also French. Yessss! Hélène, Margot and I decided to participate in the free salsa lessons at the hostel together later that night. Another of our roommates joined us, Emmanuel, who is originally Italian, but studied in Spain for a while so he also spoke Spanish, and who currently works in Malta, where he speaks English. I ended up being the go-between because the girls were not that comfortable in English and he didn't speak French. Our salsa instructor was Venezuelan and he taught our lesson in French and Spanish. His accent and his enthusiasm when he spoke French made me giggle. It was strange to be learning in two languages that I speak (sort of, when it comes to Spanish) but that are not my mother tongue. Emmanuel invited one of his friends to come (or he would have been the only dancer) and there was another French girl from Montpellier who ended up joining us all for dinner.

I thought that since we had a local with us, we might be in for some insider information concerning restaurant choice, but we had no such luck. We stopped at a place down the street that offered a reasonably priced menu. I ordered garlic chicken -- I don't know if I've ever eaten a meal with so much garlic in it. For dessert, I ordered the chocolate mousse.

Classy.

There was abar next door called "Cher's Bar" advertising "laser karaoke". I've sinced looked up the translation of "laser", but it means the same in English as it does in Spanish. I am still perplexed as to what the difference is between laser karaoke and regular karaoke. Regardless, we thought it would be hilarious to do some Spanish karaoke, until upon entering the bar we remembered that karaoke means there is no singer accompanying you incase you make a mistake. There didn't appear to be many English songs (and I don't really know any French songs). The gentlemen in the bar were thrilled to meet "French" people and one in particular kept saying "Bonjour" and "Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?" How original.

While we were perusing the book of song choices, there were a number of incredibly talented locals who took the stage and intimidated us even more. Finally, after about an hour, I realized there was a special section in the back of the book with an English song list. Although I'd like to claim that this meant I jumped right up there, the waiting list had become a half-hour long and Emmanuel needed to get back to bed because he had to leave at 5am the next morning for his flight. We said goodnight to him and opted instead to join the hostel pub crawl.

I've had some questions about what exactly a pub crawl consists of. Basically, it is a night out planned by the hostel. You pay one price to the hostel who gives you a wristband which gives you free entry into the bars/clubs included in the pub crawl as well as one drink at each location. You go to and leave each bar/club as a group, directed by a member of the staff from the hostel. Afterward, you're welcome to return to one of the bars that were on the tour if you liked it, and you still get in for free. All of the bars on the circuit we did were pretty cool. The music was great, the girls were hilarious (teaching me ridiculous French songs and dancing up a storm), and we ran into about a million Québécois. I exaggerate. I think we ran into one, who took a fancy to our friend from Montpellier. He was originally excited when he heard I was Canadian, but blew me off immediately when he found out I was from English Canada. Typical.

The last club we went to was a blast, but it was quite late and a lot of the men were too drunk. We amused ourselves by dancing in the middle of the dance circles that always seemed to form, but then we'd spend the next half-hour trying to avoid some creep who thought that our proclivity for dancing meant we wanted to dance with them. Not the case. When it started getting a bit scary how persistent they were, we left. We tried to tuck ourselves in to our beds as quietly as we could and I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

February 26, 2013:
I woke up around noon, kicking myself for wasting so much of my day, but actually, the Spanish are more like night owls than early birds, so I fit in quite well.

I had been given a list by my friend Max of places that I should see, and it was the same as the recommendations made by the hostel. Plaza Mayor was the first stop.

 I didn't really understand the purpose or the historical importance of the square at the time. According to Wikipedia, it has been the site of "markets, bullfights, soccer games, public executions, and, during the Spanish Inquisition, autos-da-fé against supposed heretics and the executions of those condemned to death." What I found interesting was the presence of Puss in Boots and Minnie Mouse asking for money if you took a picture of or with them. I found Spongebob and Patrick in another square. Disney inspired tourism.

One of the best recommendations Max gave me was to go to the Chocolatería San Ginés. When I walked in, I placed my order in Spanish and sat down to soak in the atmosphere. The walls were a rich dark green covered with framed black and white photos or famous Spanish clients. My hot chocolate and churros were delivered by a man who wore a white uniform as if he was some sort of specialist. I tried to be casual as I snuck a photo of my churros, and was relieved to see that all of the tourists around me were doing the same thing.

Accidentally in Love played as I dipped my first churro into the hot chocolate and took a bite. It was heavenly. The slighty salty churro was perfectly balanced by the melted dark chocolate. I ate slowly, savouring every bite, and entertained myself by eavesdropping on the Québécois couple sitting next to me.

My next stop was the Puerta del Sol. In my head, the name which means "Gate of the Sun" implied a circular space, but it was vaguely oval and too large to remark the shape. The lack of sun also didn't mesh with my imagination. I had really failed in terms of researching the importance of these tourist destinations, and so again I was left wondering what the attraction of this particular space was. Wikipedia once again provides me with interesting answers:

"The Puerta del Sol originated as one of the gates in the city wall that surrounded Madrid in the 15th century. Outside the wall, medieval suburbs began to grow around the Christian Wall of the 12th century. The name of the gate came from the rising sun which decorated the entry, since the gate was oriented to the east.
Between the 17th and 19th centuries, the area was an important meeting place: as the goal for the couriers coming from abroad and other parts of Spain to the Post Office, it was visited by those eager for the latest news. The stairs to the Saint Philip church at the square were known as the Gradas de San Felipe, and were among the most prolific mentideros de la Corte (this Spanish idiom sounds as "lie-spreaders of the Court", but it is related with the verb mentar, "to say about someone", not mentir, "to lie", so it is more appropriately translated as "places of the City where people buzz about other people")."

Apparently the President of Madrid also works at one of the buildings in this square.

I also managed to miss the most important photo op for a tourist in this city. The statue of the bear and the Madroño Tree  which is apparently the heraldic symbol of Madrid found in the Puerta del Sol. I later noticed it on postcards and magnets and wondered where it was located, only to realize I had already passed it by.

The Plaza de España was striking. There was an enormous fountain and some smaller ones surrounded by a park where a market had been set up.

I walked along the main road, Gran via, and succeeded in buying postcards and stamps in Spanish. I couldn't find a magnet that I really liked. Perusing the postcards gave me a few more options of places to visit throughout the day, so I stopped at the Puerta de Alcala:

 And the Plaza de Cibeles:

Up until this point, I had yet to use my metro pass. In an attempt to make use of the money I'd spent, I took the metro out to Las Ventas, the site of the bullfighting ring. I was too late for one tour and had 45 minutes until the next so I stopped for lunch at an American-style restaurant that promised "Comido con el sello americano Mother Quality Guarantee"... Food with the "Mother Quality Guarantee" American stamp. I don't know about all that, but the food was decent. Unfortunately, it took a little longer than I'd hoped and I missed that tour as well.

I decided to spend the remainder of my day out at the Parque del Retiro which used to be the Royal Park, but is now open to the public. It was beautiful.

 

There was an outdoor public work-out playground. Since discovering this one, I've learned we have one in Lyon at the Berges du Rhône section of the river. When I first saw it, I was confused that there were no children playing on it, but I slowly realized that there were personal trainers or something giving people advice about what to do and that all the adults were dressed in work-out clothing. It is a seriously cool idea, but it was a bit bizarre. I don't know if I would be comfortable working out in public like that.

 

My plan at this point was to visit the Prado museum during the hours when it is free for students, but instead I fell asleep in the hostel for a few hours. Late nights and lots of walking tired me out!

 

I had dinner with Margot and Hélène while the rest of the city watched the soccer match between Madrid and Barcelona (Madrid won 3-1) where I tried, and shockingly liked, baked salmon before bed. I had an early flight to Porto the next morning.

Back to Barcelona, part 2

February 24, 2013:
It was a fairly cold but sunny day so I opted to start by doing a bit more aimless wandering in La Rambla. This led me back to the bridge to Barceloneta and the beaches where I found people lounging in the sand wearing winter clothing and an excellent band.

I couldn't decide if I like their music better, or the fact that they used a suitcase as a drum and were all dressed hipster chic. They're called Gadio and apparently they play quite frequently here (they're practically a tourist attraction).

While waiting in line to take the Teleferic over the harbour in Barcelona to Montjuïc castle, I met Max, an exchange student from North Carolina, studying in Madrid. He had planned to come to Barcelona with a friend for the weekend, but his friend cancelled at the last minute and he decided to come anyway. He is a linguistics major and we had plenty of things to talk about in terms of language differences and cultural differences between North America and the European countries where we currently live. We also talked about the education systems between the US and Canada (and education in general).

One of the most ironic moments for me was this:
Max - So, in the US we have this stereotype about all French people being arogant...
Me - In France, they have some pretty interesting stereotypes about Americans as well.

At least he recognized it was a stereotype.

The castle boasted some excellent views just before the sun was about to set and we walked down the mountain toward the Plaza d'Espanya stopping at several different miradores (look-outs) on the way.

Max told me that once the sun set, the Plaza d'Espanya was generally known for putting on a light show in the fountain. It's known as the Magic Fountain. It was starting to get cold, and the time when it was scheduled to start came and went with no sign of a show (or a crowd, which is generally a good indication) so we opted instead for some hot chocolate and churros, a Spanish specialty. The cafe we found was a bit sketchy and the chocolate, which is generally just melted chocolate, ressembled real hot chocolate. Even I could tell it was not a specimen worthy of representing the tradition, but Max gave me the name of a chocolate and churros restaurant in Madrid before we parted ways. I returned to the hostel and settled in to do some homework.

February 25, 2013:
I had a few hours before my flight to Madrid after check-out from the hostel so I set out to find the remaining Gaudí architectural sites: Casa Batlló and Casa Milà (known locally as La Padrera which maens the Quarry). The line to get in to Casa Batlló was long and I wasn't sure if I wanted to pay to get into both buildings, so I took some photos and continued up the road.

I was soon realize what a seriously cool dude Gaudí really is. I spent the rest of my time at La Padrera, deciding to actually go in, and recognizing the incredible vision he had when he constructed buildings. He focussed his work around the practical things, like ventilation and lighting and functionality and then made things more interesting.

 These were the chimneys located on the roof.

The outer walls of the building were not required for supporting the structure of the building, which mean that walls could be put in more interesting places (rooms could be shaped based on the needs of the people living there and they could be moved around) and that the outer wall of the building could be built however he wanted.

Every aspect of the building was done for aesthetic as well as functional reasons. For the family that commissioned in the building (the Milà family), he even designed new furniture. Overall, I'm glad I went in.
I stopped for lunch before catching my plane to Madrid.

Exams at the ENS

Back in December, before my adventures in the British Isles, I had to "validate" my courses. Often in France, there are no mid-term exams or assignments throughout the semester. You only get one mark for the entire course and it is based on your performance for one task.

This system has some obvious pros and cons.
Pros:
- you only have one assignment/essay/exam/presentation to worry about per course
- you could not attend class all semester and just do the course validation
- you could equally do no work all semester aside from that validation

Cons:
- you don't get to know your professor, what they expect from your work or the way that they mark
- you don't get to choose what that validation will be (you could be terrible at oral presentations or exam taking)
- most of the validations happen in the same week
- if you didn't attend class all semester and didn't do any other work for the course, you will most likely not pass
- French professors are notorious for being hard markers

The French students at the ENS are also notorious for having an awe-inspiring work ethic. They are rarely assigned readings on a weekly basis; they direct their own homework based on what they think will be relevant. All of them also had the additional stress of preparing their Masters memoire (between 50-100 page assignment due in June) on top of their regular classes. I admire the autonomy these students have cultivated and wonder why there is such a difference between French students and Canadian students.

At home, I was used to my professors assigning us pages to read for the following class for whatever novel we happened to be studying at the time. In that way, I had become used to reading approximately 25 novels in French per school year in addition to my education classes and French linguistic classes without a problem. I read relevant articles when they were assigned by the prof for that week's reading and I did extra research when I wrote my final essay or did a presentation.

In France, there was no syllabus at the beginning of the semester (maybe an outline of what each class session would focus on, if I was lucky), and the bibliography of recommended texts for the course was online, if the professor felt like giving one. Many times, I went into the class having no inkling of what we would be covering and no idea how to prepare for it. The course that was the best-prepared was a comparative literature class where half of the texts we read were in English, and the texts themselves ended up having no connection to my final presentation. In another course, we were essentially expected to read a novel a week, most of which were rare and all of which were supposedly found in the library. (I'll be honest: I never checked to see if they were there).

My course validations consisted of the 20 minute oral presentation mentioned above, exploring the history of African diaspora in Canada through poetry; an essay discussing the presence of anachronism and spectrality in Anne Hébert's Kamouraska; a transcription of a 40 minute interview in French with a French student who had previously been on exchange and an analysis of her experience based on principles learned in class; a beginner Spanish exam; and an exam consisting of a commentary of a poem that compares and contrasts its poet with the other poets studied in class.

None of the professors gave an outline of what they expected for the assignement or of what would be on the exam and it seemed to be only the international students who went to them after class to clarify the parameters of the tasks. In any case, everything went quite well apart from one small incident.

Let me preface by briefly outlining the process for writing an exam at Brock University. Weeks before the exam, there are posters everywhere reminding us not to bring backpacks or purses or coats (if we can avoid them) to the exam if we can manage without them. Often students bring these things anyway, but they are required to tuck them under their chair or to hang them on the back of their seat until they have turned in the exam. All you are allowed are your writing utensils, your student card and occasionally a dictionary if the professor allows it. For literature exams or other long answer responses, students are giving standard booklets to write in. You are not to talk to anyone except the professor or teaching assistants during the exam period. It is usually held in a gymnasium or a classroom set aside during the exam period.

For my poem commentary exam, we had not been explicitly told where the exam would be held, so we verified and it was going to be held in our regular classroom. The professor also told us we would be allowed a dictionary of our choice (French-English or standard French dictionary, based on what we wanted to bring). I had to borrow mine from the library.. which is not normally allowed, but I promised the librarian I would bring it back immediately following the exam.

I brought my student card, my pencils and my pens to the exam in my coat pocket. I live right next to the building where my classes are held so I felt no need to bring a bag with me. When I arrived, I waited patiently for the professor to distribute the question sheets and the cahiers (as we call them in Canada) out to the students. The exam was meant to start at 9am. It started at 9:20am after all the students who had opted to do a different assignment in place of the exam handed their work in. The professor went around handing out the question sheet. She didn't tell us when to begin so eventually I recognized that it was time to start (no formal announcement necessary). As I waited for her to hand out the work booklets, I started looking over the poem in question and making notes. After about 15 minutes, I glanced up and noticed she wasn't distributing them yet. I glanced around and realized all of the other students were writing on their own paper.

I panicked. I hadn't brought any paper with me, because why would I need any? I couldn't talk to anyone to ask for some or I would get my exam taken away from me. The only thing I could think of was writing my entire commentary on the back side of the question sheet in miniscule handwriting. I was so shocked by my own cultural assumption that I was too humiliated to put my hand up and ask for help and so I sat there continuing to analyse the poem while desperately trying to think of a solution.

Luckily, the professor came around the class to take attendance. I tried to discreetly explain that I had never considered that I would need to bring paper with me to the exam. She looked concerned and asked me if I still hadn't found any. As if I had been asking around to see if anyone would lend me some. Of course it would permitted to talk to your peers during exams.... what?!?! I could only blush and tell her no, that she had handed out the exam before I realized I would need any. She interrupted the class and explained to them that one of their colleagues didn't have any paper and asked if anyone had extra. I stared a hole in my desk by the time she handed it to me and then turned redder because I didn't know who to thank for having given it to me. All in all, it wasn't the greatest start, but I had exactly the right amount of paper for my commentary and those eight pages ended up being worth my highest mark for the semester.

The moral of this story is that you should establish the expectations of your professor before you hand in an assignment, whether that be what font you should use for your assignment (I have one who required Arial 10) and whether it should be double-spaced or what materials you will need to bring to your exam. I highly recommend using specific questions such as "Will I need to bring my own paper to the exam?" or "Should I use subtitles in my paper?" because the professors are just as likely to have cultural assumptions about what is standard procedure as you do.

Back to Barcelona, part 1

February 22, 2013:
Thankfully, this time around I didn't miss my plane. I accredit this to the fact that I avoided Pizza Hut like the plague. I arrived in Barcelona gracefully (I like to think). I even made it to the hostel, Sant Jordi Sagrada Familia, without getting lost thanks to the excellent directions they provided. I dropped off my bag and decided to get properly lost with the help of my city map.

My first stop was a gorgeous park called the Parc del Clot.

It had water pouring from stone walls, kids playing basketball and lots of trees. *Sigh*. I continued to the Plaza de Glories where there is giant multi-coloured tower that sticks out on the city skyline like a sore thumb.

Further along the horizon, I realized I could see the Sagrada Familia. I continued to ramble along in that general direction. I knew I was getting close when I saw this:

I thought for a minute that it might be more entertaining to just watch my fellow tourists than to actually have a look at the cathedral, but luckily for me, I was to be doubly entertained. The cathedral is stunning. Personally, the most interesting thing about it is that it is still under construction.  Construction started in 1882, and Antoni Gaudí took over in 1883. In 1926, when he died because he was hit by a tram while crossing the street (I apologize. I realize this information is unnecessary, but for some reason I feel compelled to share it) less than a quarter of the project was completed. I read somewhere that it is expected to be finished in 2026. Gaudí is quoted as having said "My clint is not in a hurry" when asked about the lengthy construction period for the church. Aside from being interrupted by the Spanish Civil War, construction was generally slow because the project was funded by private donations in the beginning (I don't know if this is still the case).

I have been to a fair few churches throughout my European travels and this is by far the most interesting. However, I was too cheap and impatient to bother waititing in line to go inside. I'm sure the interior is just as impressive. I decided instead to buy my Barcelona magnet. The guy behind the counter kept giving me the creepiest looks, but I pulled off the whole transaction in Spanish. Yesss!!!

I checked into the hostel and was pleasantly surprised to receive a bear hug from the receptionist, a Brazilian, who told me I was his first check-in on the new system. I love hugs, so everyone was happy and it felt like a good omen for my trip. The best way I can describe the hostel is that it was really cool: the locks to the lockers were automatic and linked to the room key and your bed number so if you lost your key they could tell you exactly which bed you were staying in (ok so yes, this happened to me). The common area had bean bag chairs and a big screen TV and all the computers were free. The only complaint I had was that Barcelona was pretty cold and they only gave us a thin blanket each. And I hadn't had a chance to check the weather before I left so I had stupidly packed excessive numbers of summer shirts and only one sweater. I feel a sense of camaraderie with that sweater.

For "lunch", I ate at a Ukranian restaurant they had suggested on the map and listed as typically Spanish food. I got a free beer out of the deal, but the only typically Spanish food they had was paella and I'm still not sure how I feel about seafood. The meal was a bit sketchy and served with ketchup. It was about 3pm, so I was the only patron in the restaurant, but I couldn't remember how a typical day in Spain was supposed to be structured. I know they don't generally eat dinner until 10pm, but when do they eat lunch?! These were the questions I asked myself (and Hattie, because I wrote her a postcard to avoid the potential awkwardness of eating alone).

I returned to La Rambla, my former haunt, and decided to buy a Spanish-English phrasebook. Originally, I was torn. I learn Spanish in French, if you see what I mean, so I wasn't sure if I should get a Spanish-French phrasebook or a Spanish-English. It turns out I probably should have gotten the former because my brain is sort of trained to recall words that way, but I reasoned that when I get back to Canada, I will be learning in an English classroom. Probably. We'll have to wait and see if I made the right choice. I also picked up a pocket guidebook to Barcelona.

Anyway, the weather was a bit grim, but I went down to the beach and had a quick look around, wondering what to do for dinner. I think I found the student streets because there was some really cool-looking places on Carrer d'en Gignas, but it was much too early to stop and eat and I decided instead to take a nap before the hostel dinner at 9:30pm. Unfortunately, I never woke up for this dinner. I ended up sleeping straight through until morning. Barcelona tuckered me right out (after a late night Downton Abbey session after an Olympique Lyonnais-Tottenham "football" match until 2am the night before... oops!).

February 23, 2012:
I picked up some breakfast in the supermarket and managed to buy stamps for my postcards all in Spanish. Yessss! My phrasebook even came in handy: "Quisiera dos sellos internacionales, por favor." I felt like a boss. When I got off the metro at Vallcarca, the rain stopped and I had SUNSHINE for the rest of the day. Also a boss-like occurrence.

Parc Güell was my first stop of the day. I spent three hours marvelling at it. It was bizarre because the nature looked artificial and by comparison the construction and architecture seemed to be more natural in most areas of the park.

The further up I climbed, the more snow there was. Melted snow dripped from the trees. It felt a bit like hanging out in a giant playground. The views from here were also breathtaking and in order to appease my parents by getting some photos of myself, I offered to take photos of tourists whenever they seemed to want a group shot.

It was an effective approach. Exploring the park at my own pace was relaxing. The three hours I spent there passed in the blink of an eye, but eventually I got hungry. My favourite moment, perhaps, was listening to someone play the piano while I looked out over Barcelona from beneath one of the viaducts.

For lunch, I stopped at the Mercat de Boquiero at a food stand called Puerto Latino. I decided to get a taco and opted to try ordering in castellano (the most common dialect of Spanish). Since Barcelona is located in the region of Catalunya, with a people very proud of their language (catalan) and with attitudes ressembling those of Québécois separatists, speaking castellano  is a gamble. However, the reaction of the man serving me was still unexpected. He began speaking to me in French! Unfortunately, he was too busy to help me at that moment and passed me off to another girl who worked at the counter. I wanted to try to order in castellano again, but she spoke to me in English before I could get started. A few moments later, he came back and began to apologize to me in French and everyone became very confused. Me especially, as I was trying to think in 3 languages. Eventually everyone understood what was going on and I laughed to myself as I ate my taco on a bench and people-watched on La Rambla.

Apparently, I was in the mood for the outdoors because I chose to visit the Parc del Ciutadella next (the parliament buildings for Catalunya are located here). There were tons of locals picnicing, throwing frisbees around and reading under the trees.

As I admired this beautiful fountain, my fear of birds was vindicated. A flock of pidgeons flew over me. I imagine that they play a game where they attempt to hit humans with their excrements. I wonder how many points the bird that hit me was awarded. I really ought to carry a package of tissues around with me at all times, but alas, I was unprepared. The only solution was to go back to the hostel, clean off my coat and spend a few hours doing reading homework to regenerate the feeling in my legs. I had done a lot of walking already.

That night, I decided to try to make some friends by joining the nightly pub crawl. I met two Dutch guys who were 18 and 20, two Scottish girls who were closer to my age, a pair really cool Argentian sisters (22 and 16) and a smattering of other nationalities including a Portuguese guy who told me in English that Lisbon has areas that are not so "touristical". I couldn't bring myself to correct him. It honestly sounds like something I would say.

Beside me at the table in the hostel, I overheard a Québécoise girl speaking to a non-native French speaker. I wanted really badly to join the conversation and verify that she was Canadian, but I wasn't sure if she'd be as excited to meet me as I was to meet her. I think it would have been better as a Canadian not to speak any French at all than to speak French with an accent from France. I contented myself to apty listening to the way she spoke. It is remarkable how different the pronunciation is.

The tour group went out to a bar called Lincoln and I met a girl from Ohio who was bold enough to ask our god-like bartender what he was doing after work or tomorrow. She ended up with his name and an invitation to add him on Facebook. I was impressed. We did a shot of tequila together (salt, lemon and all) and I have to say it is one of the smoothest tequila shots I have ever done. I think mostly because it was in Spain. Although, I've never done a tequila shot in Mexico. We went to the bathroom together and our hostel group left for the nightclub, Otto Zanz, without us. It was just next door, so she didn't seem too concerned until I pointed out that we might not be able to get in without them. Sure enough, there was an enormous line to get in to the club and our hostel group was nowhere to be seen.

This story turns out to be anecdote of the differences between Canadians and Americans (maybe). My solutions were the following: 1) explain to the bouncers that we had been left behind by our hostel group and ask to be let in; 2) go to the end of the line and wait to get in; 3) go home. When we heard that cover was going to be 20 euros, I was leaning toward the last option. My friends solutions differed slightly. For her, explaining to the bouncer didn't seem like a good idea. As she was more proficient in Spanish than I am, she attempted to lie to him by saying that we were on the guest list, instead. We were not on the guest list. Or if she gave a fake name, it did not work out. He sent us to the back of the line. Her next idea was to try to flirt with boys near the front to let us in. This, for me, was humiliating, especially considering there were men whose job it was to prevent this from happening. Finally, she managed to strike up a conversation with some people further along in the line who had also missed their hostel group and we "stealthily" stepped in behind them. I was sure we would be kicked out when we got to the door because everyone would recognize us as the obnoxious girls who thought we were better than everyone else in the line. She appeased the people behind us by flirting with them. This paid off in the end. All of the people who had missed their hostel got into the bar on the guest list of one of the guys behind us who happened to be VIP. None of us paid to get in. I don't know if there is something to be learned from her (ie. keep asking for what you want), but I'm still mostly uncomfortable with the way things went down.

Once in the bar, the guy leading the hostel group was relieved to find us, but we quickly lost him and went upstairs to what she thought was the VIP section of the bar. She made out with one of the guys from Barcelona while I awkwardly danced next to them and then next to the group of guys who had gotten us in and then decided to get a drink. When I got back, they were gone and I was relieved to have the opportunity to look for the rest of the hostel. I found the Argentinian sisters, Sofia and Miluna, and had an excellent time because they were in the room with the best music in the club. The only drawback was that they could speak castellano, and I could not. We made it back to the hostel, had a glass of water and tucked ourselves into bed at around 5am. ZzzzZzzzzzzzzz.

Talaira Visits Lyon

Even though I finished my account of my trip with Talaira around Ireland, England and Scotland over the winter break, I felt like it was missing some sort of conclusion. Talaira kept a journal while we were travelling, and I thought it would be interesting to revisit Lyon from the perspective of someone who hasn't now been living here for almost 7 months. It is my pleasure to introduce Talaira as a guest writer, describing the real end to our trip. -- Tess

I couldn’t believe I was already in Lyon. It only felt like yesterday that I had left Brampton to start this amazing trip. Being in Lyon was bitter sweet for me. It was sad because it meant that I only had 6 days left of my trip, and I didn’t want to leave and go back to the real world where I had to work and worry about paying back my OSAP. But I was also a bit happy because it meant that in 6 days I would be going home. I missed my family and friends way more than I expected. When I arrived in Ireland by myself I missed my family. I’d been sitting in the common room of our hostel and started tearing up. I was on Facebook with my sister and at one point I remember telling her that if Tessa didn’t get there soon I was packing up my bags and coming home (if you remember Tessa got lost so I was waiting anxiously for her arrival…thank goodness she did make it cause I would have missed out on an amazing time and experience). This was the longest time I’ve been away from home so I was glad that I would be back soon.

January 13, 2013:

The train from Paris to Lyon was a double decker train! At the time I was so surprised because I’ve never seen one, but then I remembered that the GO trains here are double decker, silly me. There were a lot of discrepancies on the train because people kept getting into the wrong cabin and would ask the people already sitting in their seats that they had to move. This happened more than once, believe it or not. Everyone in our cabin was laughing, and even though I didn’t understand everything they were saying, I understood what was happening so I got to laugh along without it seeming like I was just laughing for the sake of laughing with everyone else.

I had started reading Life of Pi on our trip and fell in love with the book from the minute I started reading it. When we started to leave the station I pulled it out and started reading, only to realize that I had almost finished it, but I was so in love with the book, that rather than finish it I would put it down and sleep instead. I’m not one to be able to sleep comfortably on any transportation but I fell asleep fast, and woke up to drool on my jacket (I never drool!).

When we got into Lyon it was dark so I didn’t get to see exactly what Tessa had fallen in love with right away. Tessa told me that her friend Hattie was coming in at the same time as we were so we waited. I was looking around for Hattie, only to realize I had no idea what Hattie looks like so there was no point in me really looking. We finally found her (we were standing across from each other the whole time), bought my tickets for the metro and we were off. Of course the metro was packed and if you saw how big my backpack was you’d understand how being on a packed metro can make this difficult...

Well I can’t really say it was difficult for me because Tessa and I had switched bags and she was the one carrying mine, the poor thing. After hitting a couple people who were getting on and squishing together we finally made it to our stop.

Tessa’s friend Danielle and Olga were meeting us at Tessa’s place to have dinner and then go out to a friend of Danielle’s restaurant and then drinks after that. I showered quickly and got ready. Dinner was so good: I had about 4 bowls of pasta, and like a million pieces of bread. Bread in France is nothing like bread here…it’s like 10 times better. So fresh, so good. There’s actually someone that bakes bread ALL day…that’s their job, to constantly make bread. I wish we had that here…but then I’d probably be fat.

After dinner we had this dessert that Hattie brought over. After a few minutes, I bit into something: “There’s a man in my dessert!” and in my dessert there was an Avengers toy. Everyone laughed and Danielle explained to us the French tradition on why there was a toy in my desert. This also meant that I had to wear the crown that came with the dessert.

We headed to the Mexican restaurant that Danielle’s friend works at and we ate MORE. They made us nachos and they were so good. After that we headed to a club. I’ve started to become an old lady and it was already about midnight and I was exhausted. The club that we went to was so packed we could barely move. At this point I was so tired and so grumpy that I was just ready to go and wasn’t enjoying myself at all. I felt bad for being a Debbie Downer but I was so tired. Tessa and I left and walked back to her residence and even though it was dark out, I was slowly realizing why Tessa had fallen in love with Lyon.
January 14, 2013:
Danielle and Olga had spent the night at Tessa's as well. The next morning we got up and we went to Frites Alors! for lunch, which is actually a restaurant from Québec. I had a veggie burger, a salad and French fries. I’ve learned that in France, it is very hard to be a vegetarian, especially when you’re a picky vegetarian who doesn’t really like fish. After lunch, we all parted ways and Tessa and I went back home and caught up on Miranda and Glee.

For dinner we made a stir fry with Tessa’s roommates Alex and Morgane. It was delicious! I think I had like 4 plates…not even kidding. The three of them all talked in French, and I can pick up on some French but they talk SO fast so it was a bit hard. They did include me in the conversation at times which was good. Alex had a blow up mattress which he lent me so I didn’t have to sleep on the floor in a sleeping bag which was really nice of him. Before bed (since Tessa had class in the morning), we watched Les Misérables. It was so good. If you haven’t seen it, I highly recommend it.

January 15, 2013:
I slept in for a bit while Tessa was in class and then showered and got ready because Liz and Tim were coming to Lyon from Greece! I looked outside and what do I see? … SNOW! We didn’t get any snow our whole trip and finally Lyon gave me the joys of snow.

We met Liz and Tim in Ireland on our bus tour and we hit it off immediately. We met up with them around noon and walked around looking for a place to eat because we were all hungry and we finally found a crêpe place. The waitress wasn’t the friendliest, probably because instead of looking through our menus we were all just catching up and laughing. We finally ordered savoury crepes which were so good. Mine was tuna and potato. I’ve never actually had a savoury crepe before and it’s definitely another thing I wish we had in Canada. After we were done, Liz, Tessa and I shared a sweet crêpe and Tim had his own crêpe. When we were waiting for our bill I realized the time and told Tessa that she had just missed her class, oh well!

We walked around Lyon a bit and saw some sites. We all headed back to Tessa’s place. On our way home we stopped at the grocery store and bought stuff to make stuffed peppers with. When we got home we had some tea and watched funny Youtube videos.

Tessa had a dance class she had to get to so we started making dinner, only to realize that there wouldn’t be enough time to eat them, so we left them in the oven and went to Tessa’s dance class. It was for a dance style called Rock. It was really cool. Hattie and I were partners, and I’m the worst coordinated person ever, so I’m sure I made the worst partner (though Hattie says differently but I’m sure that’s just to spare my feelings).

After Rock was done, we went back to Tessa’s and ate the stuffed peppers and watched more Youtube videos.

We then walked Liz and Tim to the metro so they could get back to their hostel and when we got back to Tessa’s, Hattie, Tessa and I watched Life of Pi because I had finished the book. It was excellent, another movie AND book I highly recommend.
January 16, 2013:
Liz and Tim came back to Tessa’s in the morning and we went for lunch. We went to a real Lyonnaise restaurant (called a bouchon) for lunch and I had fish! It was called coalfish and it wasn’t bad. After lunch we took the metro up a hill to the Basilique de Fourvière. It was under construction so we weren’t allowed in but we went and saw the crypts.

After we walked over to the Roman Amphitheatre but it was also closed. France is not like Canada where we are used to snow, so just a little snow and everything closes.

We then headed to Zara because Liz had been looking for a jacket that she wanted and I found a dress for a wedding that I have in July, only to realize that the sequins were falling off. I had just done a huge shopping spree with Tessa a couple days before and spent a load of money at Zara. If you don’t know me, I have a little obsession with scarves, and I wanted to buy every scarf from Zara. But I manage to contain myself, only because I didn’t know how I was already going to bring home all the clothes and shoes I just bought.

Hattie invited us for dinner. She was making a vegetarian curry. We stopped at the grocery store on our way home and bought two loaves of bread and cheese. We ate one loaf of bread before we even went to Hattie’s because it’s just that good, we couldn’t wait. Tim made dhal and while we were waiting for it to be done we started watching My Big Fat Greek Wedding. We didn’t get a chance to finish it because we had to go to Hattie’s. Dinner was delicious and again I ate so much.

We met Hattie’s roommates who were very nice and very talkative, but that’s good cause we’re a talkative bunch, there was never a dhal moment (haha get it). We then invited Hattie back to Tessa’s to finish watching the movie with us. Liz and Tim left early to catch the last metro back to their hostel.

January 17, 2013:
Liz and Tim left today, and I was also leaving Lyon to go back to London to go home. They came over to Tessa’s around 10ish for tea before they took a train to Paris. It was so nice to get to spend a couple days with them. It felt like we had known them forever and that we were all old friends, not people who we had just meet a month ago.

After we said our goodbyes, I packed my backpack with all my stuff that I bought. I was very surprised that I managed to get everything in my bag; I thought for sure I was going to have to mail some things.

After I finished we got ready and met Danielle for lunch for dim sum. I had Coke from a bottle and I don’t know what it is, but it tastes so much better from a bottle. After lunch we walked around a bit and went to this café where I got a white chocolate brioche. I saved it for my flight because I knew I’d get hungry. When we got back to Tessa’s we watched New Girl.

We still had a bit of time before we had to leave to take the metro to the airport, so we walked to the post office so I could mail my post cards. We got back to Tessa’s place, grabbed my stuff and we made our way to the airport. When we got to the airport, we had to walk a million miles to get to Terminal 3. We got there a bit early, so we waited around until I was able to check in.

After I checked in Tessa walked me to the gate and we had a tearful goodbye. After not seeing your best friend for so long and then spending a whole month together, you’re bound to have a tearful goodbye. I made it onto my flight only to have sit in someone else’s seat because I read my seat number wrong but they said it was alright and I moved to my actual seat. It was smooth sailing from there to London.

January 18, 2013:
 I couldn’t believe that the day had come to finally go home! I had to be up early to catch my train to the airport since my flight was at 9:35am. After checking in, I went to duty free. There’s something about chocolate in England that taste WAY better than the chocolate here, I don’t know what it is. I ended up spending $50 on chocolate to bring home. I bought Miranda Hart’s book since I had finished all the books on my Kobo. Miranda Hart is probably the funniest person, people must have thought I was crazy, sitting there reading this book and laughing constantly.

I got onto the plane and I had a window seat which I loved. The flight wasn’t very full and I ended up not having anyone sitting beside me which was nice because I got to stretch out and watch TV.
About 4 hours into the flight, I heard the flight attendants talking (I was sitting at the back of the plane) and I didn’t want them to know I was listening so I took one of my headphones out and listened. I heard that some lady had tried to open the emergency exit while we were flying! They had restrained her and were bringing her to the back of the plane to sit. Before I learned all of this, I had seen this lady come to the back of the plane and she literally stood by my seat and stared at me until they asked her what she wanted and she said water. I thought to myself “That lady is crazy”…and it turns out she actually was!

I tend to blow things out of proportion and I thought for sure was going to die on this plane before I made it home. She kept taking the seat belt off and they kept putting her back in her seat. At one point she tried to talk to me in whatever language she spoke and I just pretended that I couldn’t hear her over my music. All I wanted to do was sleep on the plane but I was scared that she was going to steal my stuff…I know I was being paranoid but you never know!

If you’ve never been on a plane, they have these things over the top of the seat and she kept trying to flip them over. The lady in front of her was sleeping and she moved the lady’s head so that she could flip over this piece of material. Then she kept throwing all the books that are in the pouch in front of you. She was actually crazy!

I then thought that we would have to stop at the first airport to let her off because normally that’s what they do but we continued on our way. We made it safe and sound to Toronto (thank goodness). It made being home that much better because it meant she didn’t take over the plane and I was still alive.

When we were leaving, the lady whose head she had moved, said that her brother was the one that checked her in and she wasn’t supposed to travel alone because she actually was insane. We got off the plane and had to go through customs and I finally got to see my mum! What a happy sight! Even though I had the best time, it was so nice to finally be home. I can’t wait to find out what my next adventure will be.