tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22731860078336599512024-03-13T00:40:26.465-07:00wanderlustBEAUTY IS EVERYWHERE, YOU JUST NEED TO LOOKflutterbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11605465966633047198noreply@blogger.comBlogger74125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273186007833659951.post-65065627641103251662013-07-07T18:06:00.000-07:002013-12-25T19:49:00.729-08:00Park City, Utah: The Best Sushi<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'm Asian. I love noodles, I love tofu, I love stir-fry. My love for the "authentic" flavors that I have grown up with means that I'm usually quite picky about my food. Therefore, it was with great reluctance that I allowed my mother to drag me to what she claimed to be the best sushi she had ever tasted. While we were surrounded by the mountains. In Utah. Which happens to have a desert, with desiccated plants and cacti.<br />
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“Sushi” conjures up images of Chef Jiro, of Japanese backgrounds and of colorful fish wrapped in seaweed. “Sushi”
does not usually conjure up the image of a cheerful, inventive
American. Except when it's used in the case of Scott Benson, sushi
chef at Lespri in Park City, Utah.<br />
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Lespri is a hotel, spa and restaurant,
located not on Main Street, but instead on the residential Sidewinder
Avenue. The area is calm and quiet; in fact, we almost drove past it. The building shares a parking lot with a few other stores, including a 7-Eleven. The sign is done in beautiful, almost-cursive lettering and painted white.<br />
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Behind a sushi bar that seats four
people, Chef Benson freely admits that he “doesn't like recipes.”
After graduating high school at 15, Benson landed his first job in a
kitchen. While the kitchen was fascinating to learn in, it lacked
the personal interactions with clients that he preferred.</div>
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He serves us the first course: a beautiful interpretation of a tostada, covered with tuna, soy, cucumber and maguro, instead of the usual beef or pork. The shell crunches and the sauce is sticky sweet, with a bit of spice and savory richness. Of course, it gets a little messy near the end, when there is just a bit of shell and toppings falling over it. I refrain from licking the sauce off my thumb, but barely.<br />
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Meanwhile, with only my mother and I at the bar, Benson continues to tell us his story. Once he started learning how to make
sushi, it was yet again another struggle. Sushi chefs are notorious
for keeping secrets, about the process of making sushi, about where they get their supplies, about how they serve their food. However, he does not share the same reticence.<br />
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Scott Benson continues with a second dish: hamachi nigiri. He happily explains his goal to find suppliers who will allow him to serve sustainable sushi, that is both flavorful and fresh. His goal starting at as a sushi chef was to learn as much as possible. But when your teachers hide secrets, sometimes the best way is to improvise. Benson ended up improvising: he made his own sauces, tried out different rolls and styles, and even mixed his cuisines (like the tostade-inspired dish).<br />
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The third dish is served up as soon as he finishes his story. This time, it is a sushi roll, with salmon. Salmon from Scotland. I feel my eyebrow raise up as he explains calmly: the season is not right for sushi from Alaska, that the salmon for Scotland are more eco-friendly and that the method that his supplier uses is highly sustainable. Regardless, the sushi roll is delicious.<br />
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Finally, as my stomach sighs and stretches, there is one last dish: a martini glass, filled with one of the most colorful concoctions that I can imagine. Tuna, covered with avocado, mixed with cucumber, on a bed of seaweed.<br />
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At the very end, Scott Benson deserves his own category of sushi chef. He was remarkably engaging the entire time and absolutely courteous (he even tried to convince us to eat dessert!). All in all, the cost was less than 40 dollars, my mother earned her "I-told-you-so" (and wore it with aplomb), and I will be dreaming of more sushi.</div>
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flutterbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11605465966633047198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273186007833659951.post-61386128080347969072013-07-01T02:01:00.000-07:002013-12-25T19:48:28.244-08:00Texas Roadtripping: Houston, San Antonio, Austin, Galveston<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I stretch out my hand and want to laugh. The windows are down, the radio is turned up, and there is a feeling of pure freedom. It's a classic image: a car zooms by on an open stretch of road, sun shines down, and the people inside are smiling<br />
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I've just gotten back from Europe and am now on a road trip through Texas (my mother's idea). It's a graduation present of sorts. <br />
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The plan: my mother and I are going to Houston, San Antonio and Austin.<br />
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What ends up happening is this: in Houston, we get lost on the highway because the GPS decides to conveniently put us on the beltway, which is the same as the tollway, but we don't know that. I end up meeting up with an old friend and a new friend that night. We talk of old times and new times, smoke hookah, drink smoothies (an odd combination that works very well).<br />
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The next day, it is a three-hour drive to San Antonio. Along the way, we stop to meet one of my mother's friends. At this point, I realize that I've developed an "allergy" to American soda: I can't drink the soda without breaking out in hives (this is still ongoing).<br />
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In between my hives, my mother getting lost, and a sudden rainstorm we end somehow make it to San Antonio before the evening. <br />
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We walk around the area. There's lunch at Schilo's Deli (rye bread, split pea soup, homemade root beer which triggers another round of hives), I take a picture with an adorable military man (whose name I don't know) and somehow convince my mother to get a margarita on the River Walk. We walk around The Alamo, I find canned armadillo meat and armadillo milk, my mother decides to take an old-time-y black-and-white WANTED poster picture.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I wish that I'd gotten his name. But he was very sweet.</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>There was a statue in the middle of town, and a group of people fighting and screaming on the sidewalk in front of it.</i></td></tr>
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After San Antonio, we head to Austin. There, we wanted to watch bats swoop out from under the Congress Avenue bridge. No go that day (we ended up getting turned around with the GPS and couldn't find a nearby place to park). However, we did get a chance to try the famed Franklin's Barbecue. There's a Chase credit card commercial (look up "Chef Nobu in Austin"). My mother, who despises red meat, ended up loving it!<br />
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On a whim, my mother wants to go to the Mexican border and I want to go to Galveston. So we drive. We drive through a five-mile stretch of road filled with butterflies. We drive up to a roadside stand selling turkey jerky, alligator jerky and elk jerky. We drive up to the bridge that crosses into Mexico. And then we drive some more. We drive even when TripAdvisor tells us to stop and see this sight or that attraction, when I am so tired that we have to get ice cream, when there's almost no gas.<br />
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When we end up in Galveston, it's the afternoon. There are clouds covering the sun and everything is this hazy mix of humidity, sunshine, and clouds. Disclaimer: the beach at Galveston smells disgusting. The air is thick and rancid, but the view is pretty nice.<br />
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We end up back in Houston after a week of sun, Spanish and siestas. I don't have a sudden understanding about Texas, but given what I did learn, I like it a bit more.<br />
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flutterbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11605465966633047198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273186007833659951.post-47783205960454928112013-06-16T22:47:00.000-07:002013-12-25T19:47:46.371-08:00Viva Las Vegas: What One Week in "Sin City" Has Taught Me<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Vegas, Vegas, Vegas.<br />
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I've got nothing against the place, except that it's not the most friendly if you're wandering around by yourself, and that most people are drunk. There are drunks every hour of every day, and Lady Luck doesn't like it when I play anything but blackjack. VIP lists can be a mile long and you get shunted if you're alone.<br />
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At the same time... I'm having a blast. I know how to walk around people (thank you New York), I love the fact that I can choose to do what I want (within legal limits), and the sight of open containers with public drinking, while technically not legal, is almost heart-warming (it reminds me of Belgium).<br />
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I get to do the Freemont Street Experience (even though I felt my heart stop when I ate the deep-fried Oreo). At the same time, I decide that I don't really want to go zip lining above people's heads. I somehow get to go to an Offspring concert. I even get my mother to call the cops and report me missing (NOTE: the cell phone reception is horrible inside of casinos. You better make sure that you call well outside the walls, otherwise, someone might think you have been kidnapped)!<br />
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I walk up and down the Strip. I get shanghai-ed by a sales man, eat at a Rainforest Cafe for the first time ever, and play test audience for a new television show. I visit a tourist attraction featuring the Mob and play along, even though I have no idea what to expect (ultimately I get made into the family!). I even have an alcoholic popsicle.<br />
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My experience did NOT turn into anything remotely from the <i>Hangover</i> franchise. But... In the end, I would like to leave you with this list of amusing, entertaining and bizarre comments from Las Vegas:<br />
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1. "You got that Asian persuasion."<br />
2. "Your hands look like they can win some money." (insert pause) "Want a job?"<br />
3. "Girl, it's hot out here, but you just made it hotter."<br />
4. "Oooohhhh, so that's what single and willing to mingle means."<br />
5. "Just so you know, I got laid on that club crawl, which means it was probably the best 30 bucks I spent last night."<br />
6. "Three-some means: you some, me some, we some."<br />
7. "What happens in Vegas stays on YouTube."<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Funny thing: she was wearing five inch heels and I was wearing flats. <br />We were the same height!</i></td></tr>
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flutterbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11605465966633047198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273186007833659951.post-56950330439639642972013-05-28T14:14:00.000-07:002013-12-25T19:50:19.774-08:00Bruxelles, Fin.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The last two weeks of Brussels was ... intense. How do you say goodbye to a place that you've been a part of, and apart from, for the last few months? Part of my sadness also came the fact that I was graduating. What am I, a 22 year old Psychology-Communications double-major, qualified to do? How am I to survive in the real world?<br />
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Still, there were great moments. I met up with a cool guy, I made friends with a former Italian study abroad (wish I'd met her earlier), I finally danced on table tops. I laughed until I cried, I showed Brussels to people I'd met in Berlin, I said goodbye to Madame Dufrasne.<br />
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~*~</div>
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~*~</div>
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While I was getting ready to leave, I made a short list of ridiculous things I heard in Brussels:<br />
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1. It looks like a hairy caterpillar... Let's eat it! -- R. K.<br />
2. Do ducks have cold feet? -- E. G.<br />
3. Scrabble is a great... euphemism. There are many kinds of Scrabble, especially with the international boards. -- C. E.<br />
4. Yeah, I did (basically equate women to cats and men to dogs). -- C. E.<br />
5. I don't know about you, but I'm feeling twenty-two! -- R. K.<br />
6. Few things are more frustrating that short bread in tall toasters. -- M. B.<br />
7. (About Grand Place) It's kinda like Costco! -- R.K.<br />
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The things I'll miss: a quick beer, waiting for the lights at Grand Place, speaking in Franglish because I can. I'll miss the grocer's down the street, being able to walk or take the bus (even though I always refused to run for them), ending up in the weird areas of town because Google Maps sucks at times. I'll miss taking the train or airplane to a different country for the weekend.<br />
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The day before I left, I finally went to Antwerp. Not because I had to, but because I wanted to. I wanted to get away from Brussels (if only for a moment) because I didn't want to think about leaving. I wanted to pretend that it was just another weekend getaway.<br />
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~*~</div>
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~*~</div>
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I think Dr. Seuss said it best "Remember me and smile, for it is better to forget, than to remember me and cry."<br />
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flutterbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11605465966633047198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273186007833659951.post-1335582848612937662013-05-27T13:02:00.000-07:002013-12-25T19:52:15.647-08:00"Ich Bin Ein Berliner": My Trip to Berlin<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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My friend, who shall be known as Margarita, and I are giggling as we walk through BRU, Brussels National Airport. We have decided, on a whim, to fly out to Berlin. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL_cuPd3_Hg4-Z1Di3yc30R8c8pIywju6XC4Q83ev3LbBeRndtRefIBDXLBqID_YQxquoJF-qqduI8b6uLJb7_uqOh5ywrmSuHEXTcj7v2WS1PZGZc6RUNTAA_V8FlyGXkXzX5TBvb44I/s1600/IMG217.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL_cuPd3_Hg4-Z1Di3yc30R8c8pIywju6XC4Q83ev3LbBeRndtRefIBDXLBqID_YQxquoJF-qqduI8b6uLJb7_uqOh5ywrmSuHEXTcj7v2WS1PZGZc6RUNTAA_V8FlyGXkXzX5TBvb44I/s320/IMG217.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>As we left the airport, we noticed a little Coke machine. Images on it include the Atomium, fries, Mannekin Pis and the Belgian flag.</i></td></tr>
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We are quite lucky. The plane ticket and hostel cost us (at most) around 300 euros, including getting to and from the airports. The hostel (look up The Circus Hostel) was fantastic and fun: enter the main building by walking through a lion's mouth, and go up an elevator located between the legs of a ringmaster. The first night, we end up having dinner across the street from our hostel: greasy, cheap "Chinese" food (I use the quotation marks because I've had real Chinese food, and fake Americanized Chinese food).<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6mx6ziH9Jiz2RN-iNnvntVlN_QsXKvDGk5paurv4VQcb_sOyzRzsMJRD-HTk1R55d7oZIPMJRB0cBE3f4LYQQhkejj9dFuDZHcIhQaTT2F1mRwMoYSsmxdt0qz0ju9GyEzyybGzag4U8/s1600/IMG219.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6mx6ziH9Jiz2RN-iNnvntVlN_QsXKvDGk5paurv4VQcb_sOyzRzsMJRD-HTk1R55d7oZIPMJRB0cBE3f4LYQQhkejj9dFuDZHcIhQaTT2F1mRwMoYSsmxdt0qz0ju9GyEzyybGzag4U8/s320/IMG219.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The fact of the matter was we had been unable to find Chinese food in Brussels under 40 euros, when in Berlin, we found stir-fry noodles for under 3 euros!</i></td></tr>
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That night, we didn't do much. At first, the front desk recommended we go to a bar, but of course, we didn't find it. So, in the end, we went to the 24 hour store across the street, tried some drinks, and went to sleep.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOelxEPZ6plXgd5560Y3PsAUTaXPgYJ2f6LctC_2P4OMSgwBHws7uFtj2QsIJ0-X2KgK0f4yDmt2B4hrgEYM6exiQPxPvo_3QwqFu4qyazlLfBh-eZZwSPKbnKpJuATWe1VpTnPWvhR0E/s1600/IMG229.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOelxEPZ6plXgd5560Y3PsAUTaXPgYJ2f6LctC_2P4OMSgwBHws7uFtj2QsIJ0-X2KgK0f4yDmt2B4hrgEYM6exiQPxPvo_3QwqFu4qyazlLfBh-eZZwSPKbnKpJuATWe1VpTnPWvhR0E/s320/IMG229.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I thought it was a light German beer with the label "Scaredy Cat"... Turns out it was wine!</i></td></tr>
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The first day, we decided on walking by ourselves. At the same time, we found out that our hostel was hosting a visit to the Topography of Terror Museum, so we ended up tagging along.<br />
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There's something decidedly depressing about the location. The museum is located where the former Nazi party police was headquartered. This includes the SS and Gestapo.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG31i8e2DVjNVPyNCUOf94OQFjDA6K2ClXnnbumuPK5baATdVvGNBZZRuRp9Xvzfsb9ddu0oWDAiwOA1nf9DdoRiUYTvivQU5Ja9gpTeoX7Mb0v3VCOLKt9dvPwGA961CJhirCS898YhI/s1600/IMG_1257.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG31i8e2DVjNVPyNCUOf94OQFjDA6K2ClXnnbumuPK5baATdVvGNBZZRuRp9Xvzfsb9ddu0oWDAiwOA1nf9DdoRiUYTvivQU5Ja9gpTeoX7Mb0v3VCOLKt9dvPwGA961CJhirCS898YhI/s320/IMG_1257.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>There's a wall, each square with a name and crimes committed. The few raised squares are those that have had charges brought against them, or have been found guilty of crimes.</i></td></tr>
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Somehow, afterwards, we walked to Checkpoint Charlie and visited quite a few random points. There's a lot of parts of the old wall, which artists have simply taken over. I mentioned that I wanted to see the East Side Gallery and Margarita was excited.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilyvIaVPwtxgx54bWKhJW3GcwGR_J0Z98gdoZNElCCYQOcM6XODkbze1E-KV463XRzlQvS2EMbT0P_6rVp8uNDJUUbIH2F-XfrKzTsXfjM9KTk27qel5zT1K6_NLH52zCKcpDSFwZo3Ts/s1600/IMG_1260.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilyvIaVPwtxgx54bWKhJW3GcwGR_J0Z98gdoZNElCCYQOcM6XODkbze1E-KV463XRzlQvS2EMbT0P_6rVp8uNDJUUbIH2F-XfrKzTsXfjM9KTk27qel5zT1K6_NLH52zCKcpDSFwZo3Ts/s320/IMG_1260.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>There is some much great graffiti and art. What stands out is this set of "More Walls to Tear Down" which is aimed at dictators and oppressive rulers.</i></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4-rRR_waHowyDymdaKSzZ-nrKlSsxgyfhh2q07BDqJRpZLcAEWyibXhsjBhL12cqruHbF_7rdPl0LO7sFuKnTd4RQpFclosogBwTAoStlCyKqP3IEtawvSpgpgcy1JA9T16fmb8kVWgo/s1600/IMG248.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4-rRR_waHowyDymdaKSzZ-nrKlSsxgyfhh2q07BDqJRpZLcAEWyibXhsjBhL12cqruHbF_7rdPl0LO7sFuKnTd4RQpFclosogBwTAoStlCyKqP3IEtawvSpgpgcy1JA9T16fmb8kVWgo/s320/IMG248.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I loved how this wall was right in front of an advertisement that said "You are entering the non-profit sector."</i></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLeDH7pMjmzXAYLodWJFtihMOqIGnGejNzG2lVn6RLOhuDAxKV2t3rDoLlqLcywADhORlvadTiCa1U4ogmdZuma0kQVVtMyok5OmU98NL4x_kK-WYtIQuawkWTwx0z2O13DbupjQhSqVg/s1600/IMG268.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLeDH7pMjmzXAYLodWJFtihMOqIGnGejNzG2lVn6RLOhuDAxKV2t3rDoLlqLcywADhORlvadTiCa1U4ogmdZuma0kQVVtMyok5OmU98NL4x_kK-WYtIQuawkWTwx0z2O13DbupjQhSqVg/s320/IMG268.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Margarita decided that the bear needed a high-five. </i></td></tr>
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Unfortunately, we had to take a train and unfortunately, there were clouds. We end up in the rain, and decide to find shelter. We ducked into an artist's workshop, which had three installations, and quite a few busy artists. There was even a working bar!<br />
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Outside was intense. A metal sculpture was in front of the building. The whole area was covered in graffiti, and we even saw someone in the process of tagging.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkUR-iFafUkht1CY57SDPfd16pjizfN6k5BHNatORzZpz1HTIvnsgl4Q74w8SjKLBOYAtGeFI66FIb8H91pxZXRhntU0jzmENMhI1slJs5h3vBjaIHjoR7jfQ0O2cgEFWW6jfqLDM7-Nc/s1024/IMG_20130509_185304.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkUR-iFafUkht1CY57SDPfd16pjizfN6k5BHNatORzZpz1HTIvnsgl4Q74w8SjKLBOYAtGeFI66FIb8H91pxZXRhntU0jzmENMhI1slJs5h3vBjaIHjoR7jfQ0O2cgEFWW6jfqLDM7-Nc/s320/IMG_20130509_185304.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I decided that Instagram was the perfect forum for a few pictures I took.</i></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGsNOriZtFSHKL3wTRrV63bfLZZFV2xhSZIytYadA2DhDW-gPO2U47JEDglY1_IgMng9JZHBmKuYK_VBrCQ3Ez-Yg65cyzIsLf8OAfjiPxqW-9PRWHsN_eGOpd7rXmRSetn4uEphloje8/s1024/IMG_20130702_001525+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGsNOriZtFSHKL3wTRrV63bfLZZFV2xhSZIytYadA2DhDW-gPO2U47JEDglY1_IgMng9JZHBmKuYK_VBrCQ3Ez-Yg65cyzIsLf8OAfjiPxqW-9PRWHsN_eGOpd7rXmRSetn4uEphloje8/s320/IMG_20130702_001525+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>"Pourquoi Pas?"</i></td></tr>
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Further down the street, the rain started up again. This time, we found shelter in a little coffee shop (unlike the ones in Amsterdam, this one sold only coffee and food). Margarita opted for a coffee and I chose to try the "Berliner." To be honest, I wasn't even sure what a jelly doughnut was.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Jm2IATs8aTL9ZJmyv7rGuspawB7g7IVI0gCfgSW_NNqGFKacyY0a_0_nx8hM7n0PLMgz8wQk9k2tm6dF8WV1mRJiOo0N5o9ud3dRHUObcid8OS6tIByGsZ7yQpmNjWs2dsmf8jOGzlQ/s1600/IMG298.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Jm2IATs8aTL9ZJmyv7rGuspawB7g7IVI0gCfgSW_NNqGFKacyY0a_0_nx8hM7n0PLMgz8wQk9k2tm6dF8WV1mRJiOo0N5o9ud3dRHUObcid8OS6tIByGsZ7yQpmNjWs2dsmf8jOGzlQ/s320/IMG298.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The "Berliner" (jelly doughnut") was a little disappointing: not enough jelly, and too much powdered sugar. Oh well.</i></td></tr>
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Once the rain paused, there was another mad dash, this time going back towards the bridges that we'd left earlier. We were trying to find the East Side Gallery. Eventually, we found it. Over a mile of the old wall, covered in different artists and art works.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaTD4tuiQyOcfH3Xv8Jtm_edphPJZGrtbjZADjwQuYs6KWEiTV4J0LFkZSLV1NhZnZD6vakg7gD3y_spw53wA1jUMPxbOkme_UlZVaUXZwIC0y90wBxBFuHQnQ4BSYto-Up7nqOMrgdog/s1600/IMG305.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaTD4tuiQyOcfH3Xv8Jtm_edphPJZGrtbjZADjwQuYs6KWEiTV4J0LFkZSLV1NhZnZD6vakg7gD3y_spw53wA1jUMPxbOkme_UlZVaUXZwIC0y90wBxBFuHQnQ4BSYto-Up7nqOMrgdog/s320/IMG305.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I thought this highly appropriate, especially at the start of the gallery.</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKpW4qEsOvOFGJjisM4ELTFHZXmmZ4ETNUkR-XvkoCjGl4z3rWuzSw252BHfTP9aUoEbao0ZXpphYBZcASYRzxS64FSZafmFrVYOfZgIbLijaDMjGDJkzFk9NJDyvlcqTogRGvNt2NC_Q/s1600/IMG316.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKpW4qEsOvOFGJjisM4ELTFHZXmmZ4ETNUkR-XvkoCjGl4z3rWuzSw252BHfTP9aUoEbao0ZXpphYBZcASYRzxS64FSZafmFrVYOfZgIbLijaDMjGDJkzFk9NJDyvlcqTogRGvNt2NC_Q/s320/IMG316.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I think he needed a ride.</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeR5HnzUbU3L3SJnOmuDDDFvPb5oC5CcZJoJhYJMGAve2SLaHqymL5oWlKSER7vsPOJe_hX15epyc0_RXAlr552h6TYRs4E-Fgf_b1hXkJAe8GbfywN9iJwy47gmWmiK08J47hT1s0GCk/s1600/964951_10152897706280564_536005645_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeR5HnzUbU3L3SJnOmuDDDFvPb5oC5CcZJoJhYJMGAve2SLaHqymL5oWlKSER7vsPOJe_hX15epyc0_RXAlr552h6TYRs4E-Fgf_b1hXkJAe8GbfywN9iJwy47gmWmiK08J47hT1s0GCk/s320/964951_10152897706280564_536005645_o.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I tried currywurst... Not bad, but it's not my favorite.</i></td></tr>
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That night, we hear about this place called Cookie Club. Granted, it's supposedly the "best" (and only) club open on a Tuesday. While a few of us decide to go to Cookie Club, Margarita and I make plans to also have brunch with two lovely gals.</div>
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Cookie Club is surprisingly silent on a Tuesday. I say surprising because everyone had been talking it up. Instead, there is a two story empty space, with less than 70 people. There is also a bed on the lower floor. Eventually, we make it back to the hostel, despite trying (and unsuccessfully at that) to find food.</div>
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The next day, Margarita lay in bed while I went off to the aforementioned brunch/breakfast. To be fair, I was operating on less than four hours of sleep, so I was not at my best. Breakfast was a very fun affair with Kat and Lauren, talking about our lives and how we got to Berlin. There was also coffee.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVPIUzFpcoVk8QzLjSOmG2Nk5rweW2ADZ8Jv51VUmGGQ9G1FdzI6zDeGr8s9Yj_D59DiXkXKZM6hs0WPJvGuz4qhiXBnmy7881CanlMxmzCc9y_ftguXF5FKv9SHhbM2w_BLAJOt7NpBY/s1296/472303_10151593110398703_989317462_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVPIUzFpcoVk8QzLjSOmG2Nk5rweW2ADZ8Jv51VUmGGQ9G1FdzI6zDeGr8s9Yj_D59DiXkXKZM6hs0WPJvGuz4qhiXBnmy7881CanlMxmzCc9y_ftguXF5FKv9SHhbM2w_BLAJOt7NpBY/s320/472303_10151593110398703_989317462_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Absolutely divine, no? There were currants, so many types of cheese, museli, and lots of meat!</i></td></tr>
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Our food takes forever to arrive (nearly an hour), but we still make it back in time for the afternoon walking tour. We visit Museum Island, the square where they burned books, the hotel where Michael Jackson dangled his baby out the window. We go back to Checkpoint Charlie and the Topography of Terrors. We sit, stand, squat over the remains of Adolf Hitler's underground bunker.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjjVhBXZeDq6B_6FThyFeRnPuutmp-xJfh_bzCnw4HbG3_p1YM7V7K0LkV04DmBofPVDOvoKIQch5xsGYZ6wkV-dMQdZXJDV7zyb4zNMQIXK9W9F1BPjtp6DrhzwsL4QjVkiWip_jHl10/s1600/IMG_1265.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjjVhBXZeDq6B_6FThyFeRnPuutmp-xJfh_bzCnw4HbG3_p1YM7V7K0LkV04DmBofPVDOvoKIQch5xsGYZ6wkV-dMQdZXJDV7zyb4zNMQIXK9W9F1BPjtp6DrhzwsL4QjVkiWip_jHl10/s320/IMG_1265.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The memorial of a mother weeping over a soldier. The light always falls to illuminate their faces just so...</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2OCRvlwPmUXbt9Xr9TLKPtJUSLR1b3t2gWHHQYy9TL0E1zA6JhRX0J1ozqE24_jfJqNxsp2HOTB6nZ7p9AKTTsV-qW1DRDOcRg_llc1OFH2vaa_n9VLblbXEyAEekzpceZw_RtomVm7s/s1600/IMG370.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2OCRvlwPmUXbt9Xr9TLKPtJUSLR1b3t2gWHHQYy9TL0E1zA6JhRX0J1ozqE24_jfJqNxsp2HOTB6nZ7p9AKTTsV-qW1DRDOcRg_llc1OFH2vaa_n9VLblbXEyAEekzpceZw_RtomVm7s/s320/IMG370.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>This was on the steps of the main building at Museum Island, also the building where Hitler would give his speeches.</i></td></tr>
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That night, it's decided that we'll go out with a bang. After all, it's our last night in Berlin, and the next day is a holiday, which means that public transportation will be slower, so we have to leave nearly an hour earlier, just to make out flight.</div>
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Margarita and I, along with a group of five other hostel friends, head towards Tresor. Our hostel happily gave us half-off entry tickets. Tresor is a factory club, a warehouse club. The outside is shiny steel and mirrored lights. They ask for ID and I smack myself mentally. Of course I forget it. But they wave me in anyways. </div>
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Inside, it's smoke, beer bottle caps on the ground, bricks and music. There are little booths where people can hide and there are slats inside those booths, that support the body weight of three or four people (we tested this out). There are red lights, cute guys, a long hallway that seems to go on endlessly.</div>
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It's a little before five in the morning when we finally stumble into the hostel. We grab our bags, hungrily munch on Chinese food. We take the underground metro line, hop onto the bus and wearily wait in the airport. Margarita dozed off now and again, while I stayed up to make sure that we didn't miss the bus or the flight.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMio-LCDxQ0WwU8aMPfdEzIOtmeMeFvDDF9kKnCn7d-avynmpGtW2byuOLk-U-sWdGa88-BMpDzvkxYJE5L3XejD1ilqUaLVPPT9qhP5KBYiGFxSXaReZsjqp9EviyG_cJ_fKQNhrtCsc/s1600/IMG385.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMio-LCDxQ0WwU8aMPfdEzIOtmeMeFvDDF9kKnCn7d-avynmpGtW2byuOLk-U-sWdGa88-BMpDzvkxYJE5L3XejD1ilqUaLVPPT9qhP5KBYiGFxSXaReZsjqp9EviyG_cJ_fKQNhrtCsc/s320/IMG385.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Part of me is as sad as this man. The other half looks forward to returning to Brussels.</i></td></tr>
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The trip from Brussels Airport back to the city... is another exhausting saga on its own (turns out, we forgot that it was a national holiday in Brussels too)...</div>
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In the end, I learned:</div>
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- Margarita and I did not look like tourists (we were approached to donate blood or something, because we looked local).<br />
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- You can't buy a lot of things in a pharmacy without a prescription (including antiseptic things like Neosporin).</div>
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- The Ritter Sport store's wholesale prices equal 1USD. While Ritter Sport in the States is priced at nearly double that amount.</div>
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Oh, and it turns out that JFK was actually grammatically correct by saying "Ich Bin Ein Berliner".</div>
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flutterbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11605465966633047198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273186007833659951.post-25023430187717020172013-05-26T16:37:00.000-07:002013-12-25T19:52:00.980-08:00Bruxelles, Easter Break: Part 3<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The second day of Krakow, I signed up for a tour of Auschwitz and Birkenau, as well as the Wieliczka Salt Mines.<br />
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What can I say about Auschwitz? What can I add to years of humility, of sadness, of regret, of shame? Nothing, except my agreement that Primo Levi was absolutely right with the quote "I am constantly amazed by man's inhumanity to man."<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;"><i>The gate at Auschwitz needs no translation.</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4373z1YB_6h5-1Vvzaa1cIA0RcuyDV3EWkcw5Hyh-sbZEKkKgQNU9ruT9x4u9IqrVijNsMWrfeFlLTgmKLVHUjdYKQzKYfrzFKDVkEa-gWDPShHFBAHzsR2cAzx249zS8yWZoW7ySip4/s1600/IMG_1131.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4373z1YB_6h5-1Vvzaa1cIA0RcuyDV3EWkcw5Hyh-sbZEKkKgQNU9ruT9x4u9IqrVijNsMWrfeFlLTgmKLVHUjdYKQzKYfrzFKDVkEa-gWDPShHFBAHzsR2cAzx249zS8yWZoW7ySip4/s320/IMG_1131.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;"><i>At Birkenau, the vast emptiness and the endless snow made the day even more solemn.</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt8aJWGX1C2kwPNNiEKxwsSXTE69wqUJ5fkdLxwRk-RaocF18k0XPAX28yOMv1SJdze_0C27rsX3XfCW2HZunXV2NNVLwlJL1AYTD7nNPsi8Tk62pTkgawyilUYawjdv1vN-sqJLRc928/s1600/IMG_1126.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt8aJWGX1C2kwPNNiEKxwsSXTE69wqUJ5fkdLxwRk-RaocF18k0XPAX28yOMv1SJdze_0C27rsX3XfCW2HZunXV2NNVLwlJL1AYTD7nNPsi8Tk62pTkgawyilUYawjdv1vN-sqJLRc928/s320/IMG_1126.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;"><i>One figure is a woman, one figure is a man, and one figure is a child. </i></td></tr>
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After the sadness of Auschwitz, the beauty and silliness of the salt mines are a welcome relief. Our tour guide is a happy blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl, with an easy smile and impeccable English. She tells us jokes about other tour groups (One bachelor party brought a bottle of tequila and a bag of cut-up limes, and would periodically do shots on the tour, using the salt on the walls. They were drunk at the end.), asks us our opinion about the mine ("What is the best mine in the world? And please remember, I am the only one who knows the way out of here!") and tells us that breathing in deeply or singing inside of the mine is meant to improve your physical health (I end up singing a refrain of the Seven Dwarfs).</div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD1zb3pYXgzuG5S8JNbj7hz6wEAWmgocJztAz3eyZFLX-TnuSHLA44ILULeJHRMttENhs7h9CrpkPjCZz488wnDBRBiCl2NYJaw92VqzwESmpNTeHm_2UyIinCLG0vMhzFQNAkiybVzIQ/s1600/IMG_1138.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD1zb3pYXgzuG5S8JNbj7hz6wEAWmgocJztAz3eyZFLX-TnuSHLA44ILULeJHRMttENhs7h9CrpkPjCZz488wnDBRBiCl2NYJaw92VqzwESmpNTeHm_2UyIinCLG0vMhzFQNAkiybVzIQ/s320/IMG_1138.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;"><i>The salt has warped in places, where your hand can fit perfectly!</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKKHxCYEDdoLCd6qkeQNZYqIAIcqajDUKlxEo8ssiFw95_GmlahlNtPVIvNIO_LsEvvBw1BftJPLj2mtuHto0QymrhWOc1lUvfUX9eu6w0r53JTjrCTaDUCT2OdnU-1BCYtnrlfOtloqQ/s1600/IMG_1154.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKKHxCYEDdoLCd6qkeQNZYqIAIcqajDUKlxEo8ssiFw95_GmlahlNtPVIvNIO_LsEvvBw1BftJPLj2mtuHto0QymrhWOc1lUvfUX9eu6w0r53JTjrCTaDUCT2OdnU-1BCYtnrlfOtloqQ/s320/IMG_1154.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;"><i>I try the salt, but am without tequila or limes.</i></td></tr>
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That night, I debate going out again. I feel exhausted, both mentally and physically, while my stomach growls in hunger and my wallet winces from paying the 70 euros for the tour. In the end, I am won over by my persistent dorm-mates: two college students attending university in Krakow. They take me to several bars, including on where you have to climb through a wardrobe to get to the other, much quieter side (it is essentially <i>The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe)</i>. </div>
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Afterwards, I head back to the hostel and am exhausted. There is a large group of Irish students who are celebrating their last night in Poland, before they return to Ireland. Between drinking, singing and being told that the hostel's neighbors have called the police, we end up at a Krakow club. There are three floors of music, of reggae and hip-hop, of electronic, of pop. </div>
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The night ends at 3am, with some of us girls eating in the kitchen, laughing at the night.</div>
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flutterbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11605465966633047198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273186007833659951.post-32187637172172547362013-05-25T14:02:00.000-07:002013-12-25T19:51:42.615-08:00Bruxelles, Easter Break: Part 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>"Poland is not a very large country, but it's not a very small country."</i></div>
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<i>- Donald Trusk, Prime Minister of Poland</i></div>
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My fingers shiver a little, as I munch on a chocolate chip energy bar, and my boots squish just a bit. It's early in the morning in Krakow, Poland.<br />
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I stumbled out of the train, still half-asleep, and walked through the station. Not yet 8 in the morning, but I've already made a silly mistake: I stood in front of the "Transportation" window for fifteen minutes, hoping that they can explain to me how to buy a transport ticket in the city, only to be told by a kindly old man that the window is meant for people with issues buying a train ticket LEAVING Poland. As if that wasn't enough, the visitor's office that he sends me to is closed, until 9 AM.<br />
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There is little else to do, but walk around the old town.<br />
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It's silent. Not entirely silent, but just enough that the sound of my camera shutter <i>CLICK</i>-ing travels through alleyways, that I hear a car drive over cobblestones two streets away, that the sound of a metal tent being set up in the square rings clear through. As if my sleep deprivation wasn't enough, there's a thick oppressive layer of fog and the sky, despite being grey, is still bright.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir9pFCXFmfm2ObOCG3-hS-7Zdupo1Y97bmde0fIr1CdAy5TENv2mYyBO3RmKrnIecUm88Jpd766kHOrhm11aQfRtp2t22cNLLWCQysvUqumtYnOU2yCM6J5s6xS_2qFMEUGbchzjc5z8Q/s1600/IMG_1022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir9pFCXFmfm2ObOCG3-hS-7Zdupo1Y97bmde0fIr1CdAy5TENv2mYyBO3RmKrnIecUm88Jpd766kHOrhm11aQfRtp2t22cNLLWCQysvUqumtYnOU2yCM6J5s6xS_2qFMEUGbchzjc5z8Q/s320/IMG_1022.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The square in the middle of Old Town Krakow is nearly deserted...</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2o5vZd5QW9dRkREWSMbu1vwQDyryrc229UdOZ3sRBgnCseaxMa0Myz67iFdZx4cboxeJrU5HFhEXcgyqWfIdAZjoA_E-8zYhicGNSAX37cFA5tuTe0OmTCTCINabYaabVHpNugNvk3dQ/s1600/IMG_1028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2o5vZd5QW9dRkREWSMbu1vwQDyryrc229UdOZ3sRBgnCseaxMa0Myz67iFdZx4cboxeJrU5HFhEXcgyqWfIdAZjoA_E-8zYhicGNSAX37cFA5tuTe0OmTCTCINabYaabVHpNugNvk3dQ/s320/IMG_1028.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>...except for flower vendors...</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsJY45u6h_tRkJYoP7SkeevOYmJeIUhFKxteTyuRReDliD3ZTsPaNQwuXorxOLnrNn17tyFip8z_xqTwFEQRfbczaBITAbcZkajvjdl5raML4URhenghAFFvQU37cvczJzfYkZIkG4VX8/s1600/IMG_1035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsJY45u6h_tRkJYoP7SkeevOYmJeIUhFKxteTyuRReDliD3ZTsPaNQwuXorxOLnrNn17tyFip8z_xqTwFEQRfbczaBITAbcZkajvjdl5raML4URhenghAFFvQU37cvczJzfYkZIkG4VX8/s320/IMG_1035.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>...old women selling baked goods for 1 zloty, 1 zloty 50...</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKxm5xEwFEi3necdYZdtF2IAbLkaruTTxwdr_JXw5U2wQ01qddo7MOwwxi-ZRka4GIGOdTObjbOZQhnzMwCHdvc8yLepEtEX0OfYVkewDfqlipCZ0SRO6JeZSec2B2zqQ0nOSoQ_xttjg/s1600/IMG_1068.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKxm5xEwFEi3necdYZdtF2IAbLkaruTTxwdr_JXw5U2wQ01qddo7MOwwxi-ZRka4GIGOdTObjbOZQhnzMwCHdvc8yLepEtEX0OfYVkewDfqlipCZ0SRO6JeZSec2B2zqQ0nOSoQ_xttjg/s320/IMG_1068.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>...and vendors setting up a toy stand.</i></td></tr>
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I wander around, my backpack heavy, my stomach rumbling, and an insistent need for coffee. I somehow find my way into the Wawel Royal Castle. I pay a ridiculously cheap entrance fee to look at Leonardo da Vinci's painting titled <i>Lady with an Ermine</i>. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ZgKETKu32orXm1e-V2TKxsDH0uAL7zF3nzPyXgyzMWopXdI5503VrLAW4EU1SaiBSROurtuqXJIlQbS10QtOZ70JcWswjhFkx3amIrqXvm6WmnizNRIVtJ6Lmo1o-Fb6Ey7hY1ZDXtE/s1600/IMG_1079.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ZgKETKu32orXm1e-V2TKxsDH0uAL7zF3nzPyXgyzMWopXdI5503VrLAW4EU1SaiBSROurtuqXJIlQbS10QtOZ70JcWswjhFkx3amIrqXvm6WmnizNRIVtJ6Lmo1o-Fb6Ey7hY1ZDXtE/s320/IMG_1079.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The castle's green dome and red brick stand out against a grey sky and lonely trees.</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR1J5e3fKoLxl2WtZpPZE16n57jzFFwyyiA9Lx7tG2miTKlf2NdFcDPJRhlH5YciFok3NSKd5lLGoA_M4e_YMSsliIXRvcfQ6Fj4UMdBmK608UvmcCoh6noFxEJmP78Uix8bYpKcdN-Wk/s1600/IMG_1084.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR1J5e3fKoLxl2WtZpPZE16n57jzFFwyyiA9Lx7tG2miTKlf2NdFcDPJRhlH5YciFok3NSKd5lLGoA_M4e_YMSsliIXRvcfQ6Fj4UMdBmK608UvmcCoh6noFxEJmP78Uix8bYpKcdN-Wk/s320/IMG_1084.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Along the back of the castle, the river runs, almost silently.</i></td></tr>
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Finally, once the tourist office opens, I get directions for a divine restaurant in the Jewish quarter. I have coffee, with cinnamon and sweetened with honey. There are little breakfast pierogis (Polish dumplings), things that look like pigs-in-a-blanket, a buckwheat porridge with cream and fruit (I don't even know what buckwheat is).<br />
<br />
Afterwards, I continue to walk. I go to Oskar Schindler's ceramics factory (the same Schindler from the movie <i>Schindler's List</i>, directed by Steven Speilberg). Next door is a modern art museum which I happily visit. I walk into a showing of the Bodies exhibition. There's an outdoor market with fourteen different tents, selling everything from cuckoo clocks to secondhand cookbooks.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidRErBiSw5IHRet5smrc7_qdywEvkRK2RWH-LUdhqbhvr1vPA9ovU7fir6TbnyI6pW-nfZYSnejRuTFsEABhcO61N7JeN7_3Lc8SzgbMbShd0D7J5ZSEJaKKsjtaPtnE1LEn34n4RrzRU/s1600/IMG_1104.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidRErBiSw5IHRet5smrc7_qdywEvkRK2RWH-LUdhqbhvr1vPA9ovU7fir6TbnyI6pW-nfZYSnejRuTFsEABhcO61N7JeN7_3Lc8SzgbMbShd0D7J5ZSEJaKKsjtaPtnE1LEn34n4RrzRU/s320/IMG_1104.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I even walk across a bridge covered in padlocks and undying declarations of love.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Finally, I head towards the hostel I have booked. But disaster strikes. When I arrive, the house looks empty, no one answers the doorbell and the phone number is out of service. Then it starts to rain. A neighbor comes by and tells me that the hostel has been closed for nearly a month. <br />
<br />
I almost cry, since I have no map (I didn't think to pick one up from the tourist office), and my cell phone has run out of credits.<br />
<br />
Then, a knight in shining armor arrives. Well, more like a businessman in a BMW. His name is Stefan, he is born and raised Cracovian, and he asks if I need help. Once I explain the situation, he calls his office and asks one of the ladies working to give him a list of hostels.<br />
<br />
He then proceeds to drive me to one of the hostels and pay for my first night, simply because he feels very bad for me. That was my first experience with Polish generosity, but by no means my last.<br />
<br />
After that experience, I am exhausted. However, I hear two magical words "PUB CRAWL" and, after taking a shower, am suddenly rejuvenated.<br />
<br />
The rest of the night is a blur of silliness and laughter:<br />
<br />
I meet a group of guys from the UK, a street magician amazes and dazes me with several tricks, there's dancing on top of a bar, several people get lost, I am introduced to a shot affectionately called "Mad Dog" (vodka, fruit syrup and Tabasco sauce).<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJQBBPqxqFScnhEVvsTvT2C6wLwVoF54hYjmcqi-NEEWV9lzZ7CCIQ4Z0X6P9XzG_hJ3clGAGBGIJqPvlvEUlH_o442rOs4UHqKBhRkTNGKYxP3sGVF-_xhBW6DcCCcWgK4naXcU86Zic/s1600/529316_10151334842816373_1700604997_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJQBBPqxqFScnhEVvsTvT2C6wLwVoF54hYjmcqi-NEEWV9lzZ7CCIQ4Z0X6P9XzG_hJ3clGAGBGIJqPvlvEUlH_o442rOs4UHqKBhRkTNGKYxP3sGVF-_xhBW6DcCCcWgK4naXcU86Zic/s320/529316_10151334842816373_1700604997_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I am even introduced to the game of "flip cup" and my team wins!</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
I don't get back to my hostel until 5 in the morning, the next day.<br />
<br /></div>
flutterbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11605465966633047198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273186007833659951.post-53526694726111299172013-05-24T12:42:00.000-07:002013-05-24T12:42:07.577-07:00Bruxelles, Easter Break: Part 1<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It started with a simple "Why not": why not visit Vienna, another country? Why not use my Easter break to have fun? Why not travel and treat myself to a short European whirlwind tour?<br />
<br />
With that idea, a few hastily discussed suggestions, and a credit card, I booked a flight to Vienna. From Vienna, I would theoretically be shown around by a friend, travel through Poland, Budapest, and Prague. Then, I would go to Berlin before finishing my time on vacation.<br />
<br />
Of course, the best laid plans consistently go to waste.<br />
<br />
I arrive at 10pm, and confidently stroll out, my backpack slung onto my back. I'm sure that my friend is going to be there, that I'll meet her parents, and we'll exchange pleasantries. At the same time, I'm sure that we'll both be ready to fall asleep almost immediately.<br />
<br />
Instead, once I stroll out, I end up waiting. I spend the night in the airport, waiting to hear from my friend. I spend the next day, waiting and wandering through Vienna. I spend a good hour, waiting to hear from the police once I've been pick-pocketed. I spend another hour, waiting to see if I can get a train ticket reissued and to see how many ways I can plead with the bank to give me some money when all I can find is my credit card. I wonder how I am going to enjoy this vacation.<br />
<br />
<i>In short, I spend my first 24 hours suspended in a state that Voltaire described as "waiting in the expectation of living."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Afterwards though, I decide to enjoy my vacation. I still call and message and text my friend, worried since I don't hear from her.<br />
<br />
I found a hostel, called Meninger, which made my stay a bit easier to handle: I now had a bed to rest in, a place to stay. Hip hip hooray!<br />
<br />
Over the next few days, I decided to enjoy Vienna. I took a walking tour. I visited a bar that had a clothesline covered with *a-hem* donated bras. I ate Viennese violet candies.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLBD2Z8IA4qA45uONFGmaL9LIY5Gshbx5nLMJ_styGYIDRlCyQkdw8GySdOpFdrJtKfXzawwOkcjhwS1r7YWvn-TbDewBMMnqrWkleEtxWFYaBQPEjU24nqLxwxeLO2AiPPNsLMz32haE/s1600/IMG_0907.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLBD2Z8IA4qA45uONFGmaL9LIY5Gshbx5nLMJ_styGYIDRlCyQkdw8GySdOpFdrJtKfXzawwOkcjhwS1r7YWvn-TbDewBMMnqrWkleEtxWFYaBQPEjU24nqLxwxeLO2AiPPNsLMz32haE/s320/IMG_0907.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Inside the Albertina museum. It reads: "Wherever man hopes to take the mysteries of nature by surprise, he finds only his own image reflected in the mirror. No diver knows, before he goes down, what he is going to bring up." The quote is in English and German, courtesy of Max Ernst."</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYLUhfgSgC2xmo1BjQYrvLLh9UlDRnIUAna_GIh_1rEJqK_dCNilj8QhKdawaK9zRG4_hApN3uHvN4d1ugA7eO7wgEXwkgtoxRyb-n-21jyKkZCty3F1YjvldzUJpTrAJxdgt0m7s9KMA/s1600/IMG_0911.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYLUhfgSgC2xmo1BjQYrvLLh9UlDRnIUAna_GIh_1rEJqK_dCNilj8QhKdawaK9zRG4_hApN3uHvN4d1ugA7eO7wgEXwkgtoxRyb-n-21jyKkZCty3F1YjvldzUJpTrAJxdgt0m7s9KMA/s320/IMG_0911.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Manner shop is filled with different things: neopolitan liquer, cookies, chocolates.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfoVIZLoEBz_riQaTvKc3GBzWVhLYtpeYAUDfV-jyoiu3rMv9Y0kaMHe1g-sZsDP1ed7NLK3SwwaC-FGrn6akxwEvqUgoZ8zL_v2QuNed0r3wKjRTVlJf4xgYCd3h5ljvIOGwZJ-HgLmo/s1600/IMG_0952.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfoVIZLoEBz_riQaTvKc3GBzWVhLYtpeYAUDfV-jyoiu3rMv9Y0kaMHe1g-sZsDP1ed7NLK3SwwaC-FGrn6akxwEvqUgoZ8zL_v2QuNed0r3wKjRTVlJf4xgYCd3h5ljvIOGwZJ-HgLmo/s320/IMG_0952.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>This delightful store is where I also tried Viennese violets.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
I stared at Gustav Klimt's painting of <i>The Kiss</i>, ate sachertorte in Vienna, sat on the huge spinning Ferris Wheel. I drink Almdudler (a popular soda), listen to a street-performer play the accordion, and try Wienerwurst.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0M0-f1uaP5_L2YmlBmgI7pnnucYZn9KYG_3gAa83AtEktPmtVlc9fe6KuKzAlcMK9bU_h6DMh5utPUDv2BRRN1sEtgRZyzU0zOOdWohPeG5oRMMQDc92uIlcuXOyUMujNB2_oKaSlD5E/s1600/IMG_0989.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0M0-f1uaP5_L2YmlBmgI7pnnucYZn9KYG_3gAa83AtEktPmtVlc9fe6KuKzAlcMK9bU_h6DMh5utPUDv2BRRN1sEtgRZyzU0zOOdWohPeG5oRMMQDc92uIlcuXOyUMujNB2_oKaSlD5E/s320/IMG_0989.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyYeVZjfJAEZHmmPYkt6coplBKSnkA7nTtxA7HTiHwhUgPZldyx_aKaLdviu7QWVHouKFeEYyo3DYXe9NIJxABIQCML6M3wG1hnnOm6fPVqolkzuscqekYCMleY7wK6DczciTrlwnIzNQ/s1600/IMG_0997.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyYeVZjfJAEZHmmPYkt6coplBKSnkA7nTtxA7HTiHwhUgPZldyx_aKaLdviu7QWVHouKFeEYyo3DYXe9NIJxABIQCML6M3wG1hnnOm6fPVqolkzuscqekYCMleY7wK6DczciTrlwnIzNQ/s320/IMG_0997.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtlq6L27sjuJLUi3QWrXaFRliFegiABsxusb3Jqeu8CgVaCe24Tg_YbDxrHZ-L9Sb8CAj3AgFGXcRlipaPbptnV3F8XqdsjlnWnkul-r23-u20YuK0tpeq7uRSSkCq_ZsgqVt-b5Ijxc8/s1600/IMG_1003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtlq6L27sjuJLUi3QWrXaFRliFegiABsxusb3Jqeu8CgVaCe24Tg_YbDxrHZ-L9Sb8CAj3AgFGXcRlipaPbptnV3F8XqdsjlnWnkul-r23-u20YuK0tpeq7uRSSkCq_ZsgqVt-b5Ijxc8/s320/IMG_1003.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I walk around the Vienna Central Cemetery. I go through the Museum Square. I stop at the House of Music.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiATHqveXHmLBcMNpm9ywEB-QDPI-iR4Eu2v0XWuEVKZsy7yeclLKNQqhowZDsUXeyVovGx-F25pzf0T1d90bl6nE_HkgHcxUM1D_QGmV70PRfvJRQxluxc1LM4K-LvDCz1IPx5ke9FXRU/s1600/IMG_0961.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiATHqveXHmLBcMNpm9ywEB-QDPI-iR4Eu2v0XWuEVKZsy7yeclLKNQqhowZDsUXeyVovGx-F25pzf0T1d90bl6nE_HkgHcxUM1D_QGmV70PRfvJRQxluxc1LM4K-LvDCz1IPx5ke9FXRU/s320/IMG_0961.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQDLJR-BQyhz0IALQw1dw02mA-Wy_xB84VWB4ASLRk3_F8-UIEQaoNArAxuC0mmBrL3rY9JGtde8OyuF6lOJnWjRZI02Bt6FkRu5oi4U-cHYrz4hOb0cYFglrGhyphenhyphengbt4VarAc_A-wKP8w/s1600/IMG_0963.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQDLJR-BQyhz0IALQw1dw02mA-Wy_xB84VWB4ASLRk3_F8-UIEQaoNArAxuC0mmBrL3rY9JGtde8OyuF6lOJnWjRZI02Bt6FkRu5oi4U-cHYrz4hOb0cYFglrGhyphenhyphengbt4VarAc_A-wKP8w/s320/IMG_0963.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVBPy-Y1S5l3KL-FZ7M1VUgTVmWp7TX_ZKMGmscNer06919eYxzooaJPBUSqpQ27Ngg9UnDfnudiJXznz0YPEtzMlPdPelMHf14ZFydu8endCT4IjHQj-xYwt2RzpsRgr4eiYDeG2BG-Y/s1600/IMG_0985.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVBPy-Y1S5l3KL-FZ7M1VUgTVmWp7TX_ZKMGmscNer06919eYxzooaJPBUSqpQ27Ngg9UnDfnudiJXznz0YPEtzMlPdPelMHf14ZFydu8endCT4IjHQj-xYwt2RzpsRgr4eiYDeG2BG-Y/s320/IMG_0985.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
Then I leave. After three days, I leave for Poland, for Krakow, for Warsaw. I sit on an overnight train and try to sleep as my cot (one of six) rattles against chains that metal frames. I toss and turn. And wake up in another country.</div>
flutterbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11605465966633047198noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273186007833659951.post-32926063638384140302013-05-10T06:35:00.001-07:002013-05-10T06:35:34.451-07:00Poetic License<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif;">I'll be updating my blog later on, but due to technical difficulties (my camera seems to be broken, and my smartphone is uploading photographs quite slowly), enjoy a written piece of work for now!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";">Vous m'avez dit,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";"> </span></i><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";">(we
whispered secrets when we were younger, but now)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";"> <i>le
monde n'existe que dans ma tête, sur mes rêves, sans
explications<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<i><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif;"> </span></i><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif;">(I wonder if the things we never said have a heavier weight)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif;"> <i>je ne vous ai pas cru<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<i><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif;"> </span></i><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif;">(as if they could hang
around our necks, impede us like a Pilgrim's Progress)<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<i><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif;">mais maintenant, j'ai tout
compris<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<i><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif;"> </span></i><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif;">(it is another's duty to
bring these words forth)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif;"> <i>bien que les </i>écrivains <i>ne
pourraient pas plus </i>être<i> plein
d'esprit<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<i><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif;"> </span></i><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif;">(after all, a pun of mei, mei, mei, means none, beautiful, every)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif;"> [<span lang="HI">没人</span>,
<span lang="HI">美人</span>, <span lang="HI">每人</span>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif;"> [no person, beautiful
person, every person]<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<i><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif;">les langues me moquent, et
j'ai rien compris.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<i><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif;"> </span></i><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif;">(I can imagine your lips
curled in some bizarre smirk)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif;"> [<span lang="HI">于是你和我</span>, <span lang="HI">语言和雨眼</span>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif;"> [yu shi ni he wo, yu yan he yu yan]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif;"> [therefore, it is you and me, language and
rainy eyes]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif;">(There is something
saddening when jokes only make sense in
the language of<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif;"> origin)<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif;">meanwhile,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";">If I could, then I would RISE<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";"> <i>(je
resterai en pointe)<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";"> </span></i><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";">on
tip-toe with fingers outstretched<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";"> (<i>dans
la direction du soleil)</i><b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: Book Antiqua, serif;">just so that </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";">I could wander</span></i><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";"> (in
wonder)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";"> <i>into
this building, with all the neat and tidy rows<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";"> </span></i><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";">(of
languages and fonts, too STILTED and NOT MY OWN)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";"> <i>of
baggage and luggage and crates<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";"> </span></i><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";">(they
look with disdain)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";"> <i>that
are stacked and loaded on slats half-broken<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";"> </span></i><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";">(I
have spoken too much, too soon, too loud)<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";">and reach forth, to grasp a hand(le)
and move onto another destination<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";"> </span></i><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";">(rules
and books can't prepare you for the unknown, when even they don't know)<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<br />
<br />
</div>
flutterbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11605465966633047198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273186007833659951.post-55014914961969367392013-03-31T09:53:00.002-07:002013-03-31T09:53:51.516-07:00Oh Boy, I'm Seeing Green [Or, Saint Patrick's Day in Ireland]<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Saint Patrick's Day was originally going to be a very chill, calm, quiet --<br />
<br />
Oh, who am I trying to kid? Saint Patrick's Day was going to be a party. I just happened to be in Dublin, Ireland.<br />
<br />
That's right! I checked off a big one: spending Saint Patrick's Day in Dublin, Ireland. And several things were made abundantly clear to me: I will NEVER be able to binge drink like some people I met, multiple pub crawls with Americans and Brazilians are an experience, I should not subside on candies and chips, and I definitely love staying in hostels.<br />
<br />
Let's recap. It starts with my body, still aching from Amsterdam, suddenly saying "Well, crap." It continues like this: I speak with my professor, stating that I have a plane to catch and could I leave 30 minutes before the end of class. He then proceeds to say, five minutes before I'm supposed to leave, " Since we have some students who are leaving at four, we'll take a moment of pause, so they can gather their things."<br />
<br />
It goes like this: my friend and I leave our class, giddy at the prospect of going to Ireland. We rush to the metro, where we're supposed to meet with another friend. Amanda, the first friend, starts circling the station, worried that we'll be late, that we'll miss Gabby, that we'll not make it to Ireland.<br />
<br />
Gabby, it turns out, is on the other side of the barrier, slowly laughing at us.<br />
<br />
We get to the South station, when Amanda spies Sbarro. Nothing can deter her, so we get pizza and head towards the bus. Instead, we are waylaid by taxi drivers who call out "Habiba" and tell us 13 euros, 30 minutes, much better than the bus. We take the taxi.<br />
<br />
We get there two hours early, our gate not even open. We end up having a beer as we wait for RyanAir. Amanda blows off steam once we make it past the security check (something was wrong with her visa, apparently).<br />
<br />
This is where I make an explicit statement: RyanAir, as an airline, terrifies me with bright yellow seats, cramped rows, and never-ending advertisements. It's freezing cold, people don't stop talking (ever) and the lights are always on. The landing is bumpy and terrifying long, but when people survive unscathed, the flight attendants play trumpet music.<br />
<br />
We land on shaky legs. Amanda and Gabby stumble towards a friend's apartment. I stumble towards Isaac's Hostel. It turns out to be on the North Side. The bus driver gives me directions, then tells me to be careful. I make it without incident, and then proceed to pass out.<br />
<br />
The next day, I go to join my friends on a free tour of Dublin. Of course, I forget about the time change coming over, meaning I'm a full hour early. I indulge in breakfast at Queen of Tarts, a pastry cafe shop that's fairly well known.<br />
<br />
The tour is phenomenal. We laugh at our tour guide's jokes, I learn some dirty Gaelic, and we get a pretty good idea of the town. Of course, this is in between rain and sunshine, jokes about Irish accents, and a desire to get somewhere warm. The rest of the afternoon is spent calming down and having some coffee. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXG0LEuK9wi37Cpbj9z-ZVj1sUxfYKAB40nq_80SexdQkxEzS2ijGpPiGjWgw7TNxaOE0RdXmHrKnLB48wCQMB5JFQSUhU6lJeyawsdhDPVNhSCbI3yITjChyphenhyphenOJCnLTAH_ah5DkZR1dlQ/s1600/IMG_0629.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXG0LEuK9wi37Cpbj9z-ZVj1sUxfYKAB40nq_80SexdQkxEzS2ijGpPiGjWgw7TNxaOE0RdXmHrKnLB48wCQMB5JFQSUhU6lJeyawsdhDPVNhSCbI3yITjChyphenhyphenOJCnLTAH_ah5DkZR1dlQ/s320/IMG_0629.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Colorful and fantastic!</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Oscar Wilde was only one famous person I "saw": there was Mary Malone and Bram Stoker too!</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEiCWrcEcguasMmKk8lOw_9ghNGErqoGlTyHsDy7xObALi_lvuL-L0CSeuX3rzpaIlGyumzUEEWN_QV6pZiQrE5Fo6eOZWbPtItf1a92joxo9BL177lIB4ACiDOToFHQ0JBFJbgL0kdSQ/s1600/IMG_0690.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEiCWrcEcguasMmKk8lOw_9ghNGErqoGlTyHsDy7xObALi_lvuL-L0CSeuX3rzpaIlGyumzUEEWN_QV6pZiQrE5Fo6eOZWbPtItf1a92joxo9BL177lIB4ACiDOToFHQ0JBFJbgL0kdSQ/s320/IMG_0690.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Starbucks in Ireland: Earl Grey tea, marshmallow swizzle, chocolate chili and dark forest cakes.</i></td></tr>
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<br />I meet up with Re (you'll remember her from my last post about Amsterdam). We end up going to Leo Burdock's: I get fish and chips, she gets chicken tenders and chips. We sit on the street, drinking cider and getting strange looks from locals. After that "last supper", I ended up subsisting mostly on crisps (potato chips) and candies in the hostel...<br />
<br />
That night, we go on a pub crawl. When I say "pub crawl", I mean a crawl. It involves Germans, Australians (who call me "American"), Irish guys and Spanish girls. It involves drinks at different bars, dancing through streets, and laughing hysterically at the cold air.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I met a few great guys on the pub crawl and kept stealing Sven's hat. </i></td></tr>
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<br />The next day, Re's left back to the States, her Euo-trip over. I go to the Guinness Storehouse, walking through run-down streets, watching markets where people sell odds and ends, even groceries. When the economic crisis in 2008 hit Ireland, it hit HARD. Banks went under and people are only now starting to see some minor changes in the economy. The area around the Guinness Storehouse is way outside of the center of town, and really shows the economic difficulties. Even though it's on the South side, which is supposed to be more affluent, a lot of people were definitely struggling.<br />
<br />
But going back to the Guinness Storehouse... It's massive. Huge. Five stories filled with boozy history, beer sampling and experiences, like learning how to pour the perfect pint of Guinness. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQAztwU_fr_pMIPEnQpeyhWP6nK3nEolc_UkAGvfHGsZTkGSCB7A94RApOlvsO-ZIFWP20CPulcOdNADNle2awLi9eVe0N3w465xQWpNdRBt496m6Q1F4V5oZis_VfRaF0BylvLImtvT8/s1600/IMG_0733.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQAztwU_fr_pMIPEnQpeyhWP6nK3nEolc_UkAGvfHGsZTkGSCB7A94RApOlvsO-ZIFWP20CPulcOdNADNle2awLi9eVe0N3w465xQWpNdRBt496m6Q1F4V5oZis_VfRaF0BylvLImtvT8/s320/IMG_0733.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I got a perfect pint of Guinness. In case you didn't know, Guinness has a two-step pour.</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWrpd_h9wytD_yGsCRaCBpir12IBCBqN7WFek1fu4DZ_Z6NJG4hubkS3H46-l0tyItUkzms6CvFUCcvAi06usVqCHW6kalpaXz5gjR4oh78TX-LPFah0tmT3irNhYobRa0pMRmxSiCKMM/s1600/IMG_0767.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWrpd_h9wytD_yGsCRaCBpir12IBCBqN7WFek1fu4DZ_Z6NJG4hubkS3H46-l0tyItUkzms6CvFUCcvAi06usVqCHW6kalpaXz5gjR4oh78TX-LPFah0tmT3irNhYobRa0pMRmxSiCKMM/s320/IMG_0767.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The wall of history: also known as every Guinness bottle ever.</i></td></tr>
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That night, I go on another pub crawl. Funny thing about Americans on pub crawls: they're always the loudest. And the ones playing beer pong. The guides say a few things that are definitely hysterical and true: "When you're upright, you're our problem. When you're at 45 [degrees], you're sort of our problem. When you're flat, you're NOT our problem."</div>
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The next day is Saint Patrick's Day. Rows of people, one after another, in green and green and more green. Apparently, I don't look like a tourist (even though I was wearing green tights and somebody's green hat): a police officer thinks I'm late for work and ushers me through a gap in the parade! </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Everywhere, people piled onto monuments, on top of electrical boxes, and on balconies.</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I laughed at the random Disney characters mixed in with Saint Patrick's Day balloons.</i></td></tr>
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The parade was a tad disappointing because I expected it to be like Macy's Thanksgiving... Not even close. But it was fun and a great time, even though I saw four fights and people get arrested. </div>
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My trip ended like this: stumbling into a taxi at 3:30 am, getting to the airport and having a full Irish breakfast, with three cups of coffee, before I wait at the gate. I watch four guys stretch out, asleep in sleeping bags, before I close my eyes. </div>
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I end up in Brussels, torn between being awake and annoyed, while I go to class.</div>
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flutterbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11605465966633047198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273186007833659951.post-63413749669606230912013-03-20T15:08:00.001-07:002013-03-20T15:11:38.411-07:00À Bientôt Bruxelles [My Weekend in Amsterdam]<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><i>“Some tourists think Amsterdam is a city of sin, but in truth it is a city of freedom. And in freedom, most people find sin.” </i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><i>-- John Green</i></span></div>
<br />
This blog post is from two weeks ago, but it's taken me awhile to upload. Mostly because of one word. Midterms. A term that inspires fear, shock and horror. But also much relief once it is over. For me, it also meant that I got to go to Amsterdam!<br />
<br />
I was going to Amsterdam for two reasons: one, I really wanted to see it; and two, my friend was visiting. The lovely Re and I became friends last semester while we were in Morocco together. Since it was her spring break, she decided to do a Euro-trip by herself. Pretty amazing, considering that she'd never left the country (except for Mexico) until she went to Morocco! <br />
<br />
Anyways, Amsterdam. The bus ride there was a bit horrible, but funny: I was quite exhausted and nauseous from the night before. However, I got to sit next to a few women from Morocco, and practice derija! Once I arrived, I walked over to the hostel. The place is called Heart of Amsterdam and is based on a box office/movie theater. The reception desk is called the box office, and each room is designed after a film. The room that I stayed in is called "The Wall."<br />
<br />
What happened was I waited two hours for Re, getting anxious to the point that I thought "I need to call the police and ask if they've found an American girl with amnesia!"<br />
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Of course, guess who chose to walk up at that moment in time... Re.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>She had to buy gloves because she forgot hers. At least they were cute souvenirs!</i></td></tr>
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Anyways, our nights and days were filled with a serious of strange events:<br />
<br />
We met a group of girls and guys who proceeded to show us around the Red Light District in Amsterdam. Speaking of the Red Light District, I would never be able to stay in Amsterdam, just because I feel like I would get desensitized to sex... If it's so in your face, all the time, wouldn't you get used to it?<br />
<br />
Later, we went to a club, and several other places. Re and I, while freezing to death since it JUST HAD to start snowing while we were in the club, decided that Dutch people are super friendly, very bizarre, and just a bundle of fun all around. This was in between getting phone numbers from Italian guys, getting grabbed and kissed on our cheeks by some random guy, and getting photo-bombed by some guys from Amsterdam.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZrgIAl8AHIRLt6dUViaUmugHyi4-zapVmNoR_gm-HNHuyK8J7aQLL95KVSi-9jqylbZfvrE-Mst9lPJj8C9Ueirio_AoYHsugGQFZfVsKk9yY9le4p2R0Be2DesS1Nf5EqjQJE8vVDPY/s1600/IMG_0534.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZrgIAl8AHIRLt6dUViaUmugHyi4-zapVmNoR_gm-HNHuyK8J7aQLL95KVSi-9jqylbZfvrE-Mst9lPJj8C9Ueirio_AoYHsugGQFZfVsKk9yY9le4p2R0Be2DesS1Nf5EqjQJE8vVDPY/s320/IMG_0534.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Two of the friendly Dutch men we met!</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The next day, we also went to the Van Gogh experience, as well as the House of Bols. The Van Gogh experience was fantastic, since they also used 3D technology to recreate some of the paintings, so it felt as if you saw the painting step by step, and even felt as if you were part of the painting.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiykrh5pJxfGgr8y7_WpDy1f-tEbhY-ZgRB2WlpoKS_pFzjpdMzZHgiIeU3RI0tHaGGQcO0-YwlcOEm4iwIE1JS2jNN_bA21a9ykqT12Ocl9E5vjj26IV5sOpIb8tCKwk3XrOtWj3j-c5Y/s1600/IMG_0565.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiykrh5pJxfGgr8y7_WpDy1f-tEbhY-ZgRB2WlpoKS_pFzjpdMzZHgiIeU3RI0tHaGGQcO0-YwlcOEm4iwIE1JS2jNN_bA21a9ykqT12Ocl9E5vjj26IV5sOpIb8tCKwk3XrOtWj3j-c5Y/s320/IMG_0565.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>In front of the My Dream exhibition sign, I couldn't stop grinning.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Now, disclaimer, it did take us awhile to walk to the House of Bols. In fact, it took us about 30 plus minutes, since we got lost! But it was worth it: the place was fun, colorful and awesome. I even semi-flirted with the bartender! The place was more than worth the 12 euro ticket: we tried three drinks, got to learn about the history and even got our own drink recipes!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmR7kMfVRv197GB7CbTwBDlWXZSk1c6y3okix0ZZNmigLO9CnB550EwZ2z-XbyCH32u51te4TlvlWiF1DKmTFEcwUo_JXA6mbZmwCufb9NBuXBMLC6hWl6j842Do3pAgTk1e2PChDQKGs/s1600/IMG_0599.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmR7kMfVRv197GB7CbTwBDlWXZSk1c6y3okix0ZZNmigLO9CnB550EwZ2z-XbyCH32u51te4TlvlWiF1DKmTFEcwUo_JXA6mbZmwCufb9NBuXBMLC6hWl6j842Do3pAgTk1e2PChDQKGs/s320/IMG_0599.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The House of Bols is the house of the oldest alcoholic drink: genever.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0KvwkcFYxpmD2iK3GYFI9WfGrQM2lTRLAd5cDbpwKR-udfJzO5-QR506MXH6C328bTkD4lyiWU8Iwd1CnF8s58NmECXEjVy7BwCisbTAOFpVTi0xtUk6lHQkceR0Qj2fs-bshPVLC3xw/s1600/IMG_0612.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0KvwkcFYxpmD2iK3GYFI9WfGrQM2lTRLAd5cDbpwKR-udfJzO5-QR506MXH6C328bTkD4lyiWU8Iwd1CnF8s58NmECXEjVy7BwCisbTAOFpVTi0xtUk6lHQkceR0Qj2fs-bshPVLC3xw/s320/IMG_0612.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Even if I didn't go on the Heineken Experience, I saw the boat!</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
In the end, there were no space cakes for me, no baby bump shrooms, and no making out with Dutch guys. What I did end up loving was the people that I met, and the fact that Re came with me to experience Brussels! But that's a whole other blog post...<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoEwGav4BlfsOXp4goSyGTciNHZzk2midRjjmJqPOb9HvbAZnP8o1VJQ1e5jPAIV5sR_5l68kRyrebZ7bHgST7cgWPWlXZZb45iwa_bDTxLryeQfLnMRhafQ7P6WC8dk1jqOufMN3tyBo/s1600/IMG_0545.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoEwGav4BlfsOXp4goSyGTciNHZzk2midRjjmJqPOb9HvbAZnP8o1VJQ1e5jPAIV5sR_5l68kRyrebZ7bHgST7cgWPWlXZZb45iwa_bDTxLryeQfLnMRhafQ7P6WC8dk1jqOufMN3tyBo/s320/IMG_0545.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>This is also the most stereotypical photo of Amsterdam I took, minus the cannabis!</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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flutterbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11605465966633047198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273186007833659951.post-14336128681784464882013-03-04T01:21:00.002-08:002013-03-04T01:21:52.013-08:00Bruxelles M'a Dit: Joyeux Anniversaire, Bon Anniversaire [It's My Birthday!]<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My birthday in Europe. Oh wow, not what I was expecting.<br />
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I like celebrating my birthday with friends, I really do. But at the same time, it's a bit bizarre for me this semester. I'm studying abroad (one of the older study abroad students; I've only met one other senior and she's younger than me!) and without people that I usually hang out with.<br />
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But it was fantastic. It was nice. I got presents from people (especially sweet considering that I didn't expect any), had a delicious dinner (even though I made the dessert and there was a lot of suspicion over how the cupcakes would turn out), and got to dance in a national monument.<br />
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In the end, all I have to say is:<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 23.390625px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 23.390625px;">Merci à tout le monde! C’était un anniversaire bizarre, heureux et fantastique!</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlz-pY136GSp6KTIBohcanV2G0XzgztXCcBbQ38jz6t-87PPm3fLUterN-88LvTdB2sqoxk0jduLuBio5F18RL7l-QWSU1avoXtDSn0HGRl4Klm2Resxhb2QEB8t7LwyzPw7pXAB3tbCU/s1600/886121_10151472982878703_972041782_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlz-pY136GSp6KTIBohcanV2G0XzgztXCcBbQ38jz6t-87PPm3fLUterN-88LvTdB2sqoxk0jduLuBio5F18RL7l-QWSU1avoXtDSn0HGRl4Klm2Resxhb2QEB8t7LwyzPw7pXAB3tbCU/s320/886121_10151472982878703_972041782_o.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I got so lucky: new dress, sweet card, cookbook and some vino! </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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flutterbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11605465966633047198noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273186007833659951.post-40434238661298506302013-03-04T01:11:00.001-08:002013-03-04T01:12:59.854-08:00Bruxelles, C'est Douze [Luxembourg in a Day]<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Luxembourg. A very small, very rich, very hockey obsessed country. But seriously, when I walked out of the train station, almost everyone that I saw had hockey skates.<br />
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I went the 23rd of February, so I do apologize for the lateness of this post. Midterms and such have been driving me up a wall!<br />
<br />
Anyways, back to Luxembourg City, Luxembourg. Three hours on a train, filled with fun discussion and decision making. It was Rach, me and three of our guy friends. The guys got lucky when they bought their tickets: 87 euros for three (turns out there's a discount for groups of three or more traveling together, but you have to leave and return together). When we got to Luxembourg, the guys had to find their hotel (side note: it was... um... located across from a "gentleman's club"). Rach and I went with them, but we had already decided that we were only going to stay for the day.<br />
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After that, we had lunch. Take hungry girls and guys, who have different food preferences. Throw in wind and snow. Add a twenty minute walk to the center of town.<br />
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We had a nice lunch at Paul, then tried to go visit the casemates (underground tunnels that link the city together). Unfortunately, they're only open in the summer. There was still snow and wind when we found the tourist's office and grabbed a map.<br />
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We wandered through the shopping district (there was much excitement over the Gucci store), visited the Church of Notre Dame (there was a service in Luxembourgish, which is actually a language), and visited a bar called The Tube (it looked exactly like a Tube station in England, and there was a rugby match on).<br />
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It was an amusing day, even if we were told: "Well, yeah, that's basically all of Luxembourg."<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPeSN39Xo3K9TqJ8BTjD8OGfteT9HngoQTpIoVg2Ba_8WJIKfAREWscBKihMBhaGkbw8BLdZzgC6TGhbI1Id23uYdA7tV4LUjQaDHdZLH0gwb59qn2hYZOtXuVTQ7XW3nZDy94fqI1XXQ/s1600/IMG_0463.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPeSN39Xo3K9TqJ8BTjD8OGfteT9HngoQTpIoVg2Ba_8WJIKfAREWscBKihMBhaGkbw8BLdZzgC6TGhbI1Id23uYdA7tV4LUjQaDHdZLH0gwb59qn2hYZOtXuVTQ7XW3nZDy94fqI1XXQ/s320/IMG_0463.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Part of an art gallery that we wandered past.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxzcpIx-vsAoTjdQDDStZFycD8UsnosGhW8cyd3u6mvbLlnF72jUTjMHLW-pfwThcp7CEuKO86OYyIlDLVPI-1G94m1ZnqQrnZRoAc_4RkPbNwTRrIPITHEG9hYl4cvfgzPWpHfYauHyQ/s1600/IMG_0477.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxzcpIx-vsAoTjdQDDStZFycD8UsnosGhW8cyd3u6mvbLlnF72jUTjMHLW-pfwThcp7CEuKO86OYyIlDLVPI-1G94m1ZnqQrnZRoAc_4RkPbNwTRrIPITHEG9hYl4cvfgzPWpHfYauHyQ/s320/IMG_0477.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>There was quite a lot of graffiti!</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn3WkHiDYSyDOtUwMN-U6T3HSrbrZHmP_LOm1hsiI0rQiiP-k1AgxBEPRyjsCJrYb03iEWDVziXd9BH0wzJfInkyF3_YBwghL_MLxSHXFsuxfdtnY5S5CMFDk9lsYl-tjDnuZhcss-qHc/s1600/IMG_0491.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn3WkHiDYSyDOtUwMN-U6T3HSrbrZHmP_LOm1hsiI0rQiiP-k1AgxBEPRyjsCJrYb03iEWDVziXd9BH0wzJfInkyF3_YBwghL_MLxSHXFsuxfdtnY5S5CMFDk9lsYl-tjDnuZhcss-qHc/s320/IMG_0491.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Everyone was a goofball!</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje4YoxRBL9LGNLSd17i5FVQUop9JObZuwOrtKt9ZezAZjio9m0NHhRFgKSk78GlhiPCbIxPb35VJEH57acj3_jh0qy8jGNjGgdhleCw5x-BPxZJltoVBg2Rlj-PyMpKq-hfvlTGDvNdUY/s1600/IMG_0515.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje4YoxRBL9LGNLSd17i5FVQUop9JObZuwOrtKt9ZezAZjio9m0NHhRFgKSk78GlhiPCbIxPb35VJEH57acj3_jh0qy8jGNjGgdhleCw5x-BPxZJltoVBg2Rlj-PyMpKq-hfvlTGDvNdUY/s320/IMG_0515.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>In the shopping district, there was a green cow. How now?</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRhm70hczJ9M-T9F3YEyT6IZ12ADI1qnGXoYPqLWam1vxL5DIJ2OVPeNL_MPVqkISVRbwIZkD1yGT5IE4zUqQxrCLJhS15-3a8D6s-3lC0QNzj3_cOfJ2wAjZ_OjAWiNAuX97MHoQgOYQ/s1600/IMG_0516.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRhm70hczJ9M-T9F3YEyT6IZ12ADI1qnGXoYPqLWam1vxL5DIJ2OVPeNL_MPVqkISVRbwIZkD1yGT5IE4zUqQxrCLJhS15-3a8D6s-3lC0QNzj3_cOfJ2wAjZ_OjAWiNAuX97MHoQgOYQ/s320/IMG_0516.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The local beer that I tried was good. Not great, but good.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0mnwmo0bvgpZuWZ_LqUm7Y-STSoL9B5BeiiqOcDKdGUd6U89rEhbPCGxWhyYNrJAkEOgZy-T7n0ButQ5E53Hm4h8lcmqdqZZMa-3zGBtMbvrsrpXpH5XyYdRiOHxsKBG-I40Cu-O8BFY/s1600/IMG_0519.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0mnwmo0bvgpZuWZ_LqUm7Y-STSoL9B5BeiiqOcDKdGUd6U89rEhbPCGxWhyYNrJAkEOgZy-T7n0ButQ5E53Hm4h8lcmqdqZZMa-3zGBtMbvrsrpXpH5XyYdRiOHxsKBG-I40Cu-O8BFY/s320/IMG_0519.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The outside of the train station at night...</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVifjUva1aeGEwdCZoCiXaKQ12V66yPL9IkxKwUWYRsxr5LExdADeS6F55-NkB7FNxUT5YoNvBWQIADmQMHppe2yEhnzubkxx6XXYh3Ch3ofu4yHUO2MGuxsVg1_S_HWIDCwuVNJeko9A/s1600/IMG_0518.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVifjUva1aeGEwdCZoCiXaKQ12V66yPL9IkxKwUWYRsxr5LExdADeS6F55-NkB7FNxUT5YoNvBWQIADmQMHppe2yEhnzubkxx6XXYh3Ch3ofu4yHUO2MGuxsVg1_S_HWIDCwuVNJeko9A/s320/IMG_0518.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>...and the inside.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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flutterbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11605465966633047198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273186007833659951.post-55599130998990442882013-02-25T01:54:00.000-08:002013-02-25T01:57:35.101-08:00Bruxelles, Voici Onze [One Day, Three Countries]<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Europe is quite small. In one day, we had lunch in Germany, coffee in the Netherlands, and dinner back in Belgium.</div>
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Disclaimer: a great amount of what we did would have been impossible without the aid of a car. We got that covered by making friends with a very awesome, kinda nutty Belgian and an amazing Greek DJ.</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
First stop was Monschau, Germany. Google it. It LITERALLY looks like Belle's village in the Disney movie (Beauty and the Beast, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7WooyhAqViU" target="_blank">the Little Town song</a>). But it was good fun. The Beatles were blasted, there was some nice scenery and we even had a few crazy detours (thanks to GPS and traffic around Liege).</div>
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But... Here are a few pictures!</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrcSrYdgEuDkGJpMje1gW0NFXbjtybEEi_MkQkcxKJ3AmbnhqpIwRLYS3tCKaPFFghWoG2LRTTpk4oqOPjJy5V2X7V82T-ihDPqaDvNM95xIPEYxj0DiuftSXdEXnqxLx470wB2CnQVvo/s1600/IMG_0372.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrcSrYdgEuDkGJpMje1gW0NFXbjtybEEi_MkQkcxKJ3AmbnhqpIwRLYS3tCKaPFFghWoG2LRTTpk4oqOPjJy5V2X7V82T-ihDPqaDvNM95xIPEYxj0DiuftSXdEXnqxLx470wB2CnQVvo/s320/IMG_0372.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I'm at the border of Germany, and cold.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjooguZy8Q4MJueWuaHfVgr4IwygjbecwIakXQiNLWVPTZFMSYh40wazrozM8BTH_GANxM47IOGHtOPVx2C8eB_z6RpVndNLT0DgYJbqcEBKRC2Qmhdu2sAimcVMHYiKzYV81_jSCgTixQ/s1600/IMG_0399.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjooguZy8Q4MJueWuaHfVgr4IwygjbecwIakXQiNLWVPTZFMSYh40wazrozM8BTH_GANxM47IOGHtOPVx2C8eB_z6RpVndNLT0DgYJbqcEBKRC2Qmhdu2sAimcVMHYiKzYV81_jSCgTixQ/s320/IMG_0399.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Flatmates in Germany! </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnIb8y_bJ7eDorJXwzf3Clj8MUodBjWBR8IMwSv3Jwmphekt9GHeX5n-1IGiJF1E26qm1JsPvd8E5KMNu4C5l5hcENNytdxYuGza1JKAkkY2FhXqkcwiIACH90ectBpz4z0G99CN2AngM/s1600/IMG_0400.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnIb8y_bJ7eDorJXwzf3Clj8MUodBjWBR8IMwSv3Jwmphekt9GHeX5n-1IGiJF1E26qm1JsPvd8E5KMNu4C5l5hcENNytdxYuGza1JKAkkY2FhXqkcwiIACH90ectBpz4z0G99CN2AngM/s320/IMG_0400.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Like I said, Belle's village...</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimbL-evsyqkkFOEe0orG3xnSKgS60lH-gDMrT8JuvyIN4a87B78HsTZ1YpoDRGW73zwoIovqInWHq2VTxDnCtsCTGCmxaFesUCHyGBQv3TnMGz4AdSUL83mb-p75RXrSkMBEbvjCaSfkA/s1600/IMG_0379.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimbL-evsyqkkFOEe0orG3xnSKgS60lH-gDMrT8JuvyIN4a87B78HsTZ1YpoDRGW73zwoIovqInWHq2VTxDnCtsCTGCmxaFesUCHyGBQv3TnMGz4AdSUL83mb-p75RXrSkMBEbvjCaSfkA/s320/IMG_0379.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>...with "Tradition".</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
We had a nice lunch inside a hotel, which had an adorable little French Bulldog... </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
After that, we headed towards Aachen. Or rather, the plan was to drive to Aachen, but we changed course. Also, let it be noted that Rach and I were being teased for being tourists (and yes, I was walking at a snail's pace because I was taking pictures). However, the guys got in on the picture taking! </div>
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<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
We got to the Netherlands, which for a first impression weren't particularly awesome. It's kinda just... flat. </div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipVuFI6EeAD3YHbBnKVXlZ9722YTgm3ILUYlK_TXmB-Fl9l1Op78ISshMXTo0o12UwNR90QOZvUmD8QSBMEjiD6jx7wfoel273qgJOKYQLJxvV1jhFN1fofnS7jAdh8kBO0o2MI5oHqsw/s1600/IMG_0442.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipVuFI6EeAD3YHbBnKVXlZ9722YTgm3ILUYlK_TXmB-Fl9l1Op78ISshMXTo0o12UwNR90QOZvUmD8QSBMEjiD6jx7wfoel273qgJOKYQLJxvV1jhFN1fofnS7jAdh8kBO0o2MI5oHqsw/s320/IMG_0442.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I'm still cold. </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
We headed to a tourist spot, where Belgium, Germany and The Netherlands all meet. It was pretty cool, even if it was empty. Afterwards, the other three decide to let out their inner child on the playground.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMLZzm1U7COowsAZTGUv1XYLt0zHMCx8yNUk6AFdacd7u3LNpGQXQsPqFpkLIgdT1W9o_0ZPjzk_RSu_ZXfCB_1L0XwciH7JhG5ojorEdVrTQfb8HXJ9RnRVqDVy5_nRidx44R0h4N2Qs/s1600/IMG_0444.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMLZzm1U7COowsAZTGUv1XYLt0zHMCx8yNUk6AFdacd7u3LNpGQXQsPqFpkLIgdT1W9o_0ZPjzk_RSu_ZXfCB_1L0XwciH7JhG5ojorEdVrTQfb8HXJ9RnRVqDVy5_nRidx44R0h4N2Qs/s320/IMG_0444.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>On the plus side, I'm in three countries at once!</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Afterwards, I fell asleep on the ride back and just stayed in. Which means: video montage!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dx49GZiBVMDjdz049k_DoAKofIP95fkD17fjg9bLr8Lo5x3Zk7RIXTBIVE0m5Eoy5_YzlO8eFdkwv4YhD3-TQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />
<br /></div>
flutterbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11605465966633047198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273186007833659951.post-53624049927878270462013-02-24T07:01:00.000-08:002013-02-24T13:29:13.525-08:00Brussels Random Video, Part 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So... Our host mom, hostess, whatever you want to call her is amazing. Best woman EVER. One day, she decides to make us crepes, but since she doesn't know when Rach and I will be eating, she basically says something along the lines of "I trust you to NOT burn down the house, here's crepe batter, have fun."<br />
<br />
Which leads to us doing this:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyPhfkDu8qPuJnJkdLgcIX8WlbaI0L4Nj-yJWB_ovO0dfcdYhyXbFHrtI2vaZcA_7ewjua8RN179YW00Wn8Ag' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
And this:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dy2z0PjhcuAV-cnR3Rko370dYznvDQ4owZ7H48zQkLQ7p5cH3vM6il5K0BeuufY7ixCFlu2SafN3USSEvJO' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
This is what my flatmate and I do with our lives.</div>
flutterbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11605465966633047198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273186007833659951.post-92208540945430811112013-02-24T04:32:00.003-08:002013-02-24T05:17:21.384-08:00Bruxelles [Clubbing and Bar Hopping, Oh Boy...]<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'm completely in love with Belgium right now. Brussels, Europe, it's basically a massive playground. And I want to stay here for a really long time. That's kind of why I'm looking for a job here.<br />
<br />
Apart from that, my days have been filled with homework and classes, the usual ho-hum doldrums of any uni student. Papers, a few presentations and group projects make me feel like I'm back in freshman year all over again, like I haven't done anything with my life.<br />
<br />
My weekends though...<br />
<br />
Let's just say that I've been having a blast.<br />
<br />
I've been to quite a few clubs, done my fair share of traveling, and have managed to let myself... relax.<br />
<br />
To be honest, I miss Morocco. I miss the constant call to prayer, the reminder throughout the day. I miss being able to walk by the ocean and on the beach. I miss the chaos of the medina and the taste of too-sweet mint tea.<br />
<br />
But I love the...freedom that I have here in Europe. <br />
<br />
I love going to crazy clubs and just talking to people. I love the student body government parties, where our UNIVERSITY DEAN basically provides a crap-ton of money for parties, and lets a few designated students basically buy tons of booze for people to enjoy. I love trying the new beers here and even trying things that sound like a bad idea (absinthe that comes in a "bong" or a drink called Pink Elephant, with seven kinds of alcohol).<br />
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One of the clubs is gorgeous. Spirito. It's inside an old church, which they basically just remodeled into a massive, beautiful (and freaking expensive) club. I got in because I knew someone who was joining a group of people who were going to celebrate a birthday party. They bought bottles. And booked tables. Oh boy.<br />
<br />
I think my favorite bar right now is one called Delirium. Yes, it's a huge tourist attraction. And yes, it's a bit pricey for beer. But honestly, where else would you get to try passion fruit beer, cactus beer and a beer called Pink Killer?<br />
<br />
I've gone out a couple times to a tiny club called avenue. And yes, it's avenue. I'm so official, I even have a member's card! But anyways, ladies' nights are 10 euro entrance and free drinks all night long. The guys have to pay 50 euros (sorry guys)!<br />
<br />
I went to a very awesome party with my flatmate. We were invited by these two guys that we met awhile back, for a birthday party. Basically, there was a masquerade in a gallery, in a monument, in a gorgeous park. Apparently, the guy just throws parties there when he feels like it.<br />
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There's also a great club called Gotha, which is similar to Spirito. We went a little too early (12:30 or 1 in the morning), but we still had a good time. The DJ's choice was... interesting. Side note: my flatmate and I were the ONLY girls wearing tights. And no heels. We were still taller than most girls.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTgUO3tY2ZJLB9m-zlXmfFQRKML9f2hOnnPjkAcES33828hTLWhOKI6scdtFN6h3gkElz9fbWb1yMAN4ERmqfoo_zJzms6eFN1RXW_HwDhsF_F6Em-zgpNPZ8oGcQsDvQtEE0OSCXZPWw/s1600/856232_268252669973969_618624516_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTgUO3tY2ZJLB9m-zlXmfFQRKML9f2hOnnPjkAcES33828hTLWhOKI6scdtFN6h3gkElz9fbWb1yMAN4ERmqfoo_zJzms6eFN1RXW_HwDhsF_F6Em-zgpNPZ8oGcQsDvQtEE0OSCXZPWw/s320/856232_268252669973969_618624516_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>We're also on the facebook page now? Mkay, cool.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
In short, with all of this going out experience, I've learned a few things:<br />
<br />
<ol style="text-align: left;">
<li>Beer pong and drinking games happen all the time, no matter what people think about Europeans being classy with their booze. I've played more drinking games than I should or have ever. King's Cup also seems to be a popular choice.</li>
<li>The bars around here are great. Really great. Fantastic even. You don't have to go to a club or anything like that when you could be perfectly content drinking a beer in a bar that has great music.</li>
<li>Most people don't really go out until late. Two in the morning is a great starting time. Pre-gaming is advised, especially since drinks in clubs can get pricey.</li>
<li>Going out is expensive (see 3). But if you go out, you GO OUT. I've seen more girls navigating the cobblestone roads in heels than I have seen in flats. It's crazy.</li>
<li>My tolerance is basically gone (two Belgian beers and I'm out of it), my wallet pretty much despises me, and I didn't bring the right clothes to party hard. Oops?</li>
</ol>
</div>
flutterbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11605465966633047198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273186007833659951.post-45927170211408387962013-02-19T16:16:00.000-08:002013-02-19T16:16:20.770-08:00Brussels Late Night Vid<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxT8bwXdKj_gDjLqk9JDZOE1kXe-7760ODXtxMf9rs5QYalnGEuD1KNKJ-eequiitVGK0Inn6MGVky0CoE5RA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
So, it's late (around one in the morning). I'm waiting on a skills test, and this is my life right now.</div>
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flutterbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11605465966633047198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273186007833659951.post-61308972160906803012013-02-18T14:15:00.003-08:002013-10-31T15:04:15.037-07:00Bruxelles: Welcome to the Carneval<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Carnival, Carnivale, Carneval is HUGE. Granted, the largest celebration is in Sydney, Australia (who knew, because I didn't) and most people think of Rio's huge party scene or Venice's masks.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQiG5FeabgayqUkkqGmhJnB71kZt38ObGWyRtcgy7Fgg_PONJpGPCT8hGo1ltMlIchhE6tVaNlTEj7VA4ilxTMsZ3u5WHEN2825T1TFjnOMYMfYnHz2DS6u_BHimEGkSu1LPZf5dtFvjA/s1600/IMG_0238.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQiG5FeabgayqUkkqGmhJnB71kZt38ObGWyRtcgy7Fgg_PONJpGPCT8hGo1ltMlIchhE6tVaNlTEj7VA4ilxTMsZ3u5WHEN2825T1TFjnOMYMfYnHz2DS6u_BHimEGkSu1LPZf5dtFvjA/s320/IMG_0238.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>There were also girls with Red Bull backpacks.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
But Binche (pronounced <i>buh-EHN-che</i>) is unique. Their carnivale celebration was named a UNESCO World Heritage Event in 2003. That essentially translates into two things: it's considered culturally significant, and there are going to be a lot of tourists.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoGDZVVyqVyh7aXlOzmsn9i0Mr4o4l5PsUAUJVLNtt0tPfCFwLQtFdmkHAFy8zEiFKQP4mf_KWUj-BAoP7R1VgNQboFmN56UFDa6ZonsH5Ei_vKpvtCGn9Key2BD62fZV_Sn_y7YAkBRs/s1600/IMG_0243.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoGDZVVyqVyh7aXlOzmsn9i0Mr4o4l5PsUAUJVLNtt0tPfCFwLQtFdmkHAFy8zEiFKQP4mf_KWUj-BAoP7R1VgNQboFmN56UFDa6ZonsH5Ei_vKpvtCGn9Key2BD62fZV_Sn_y7YAkBRs/s320/IMG_0243.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>At the tourism center, Rach was having fun.</i></td></tr>
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<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi57xjUyKyBEwvT4jRrA4gX4qfiDDI_1lQ9P-zGltTlNi2HXhLY5yWz5NN2zoWOZac1wZ5_zBnsZR9ytIZAZ-TwIZlCVxVNWDDN_H4ItJjRisHrsiWG_7552jjJLtMQW0fONbyPjsIGI4o/s1600/IMG_0244.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi57xjUyKyBEwvT4jRrA4gX4qfiDDI_1lQ9P-zGltTlNi2HXhLY5yWz5NN2zoWOZac1wZ5_zBnsZR9ytIZAZ-TwIZlCVxVNWDDN_H4ItJjRisHrsiWG_7552jjJLtMQW0fONbyPjsIGI4o/s320/IMG_0244.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I thought the one on my right was staring...</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
At the same time, it was fun and amazing to drink hot wine, watch the crowds, and have some very Belgium <i>frites. </i> We tried the ones with samourai sauce (a spicier version of the cocktail sauce we've been having).<br />
<i><br /></i>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHLdrHgxDJ9UrUUc8Tqcn1vTSbu3stq1msO6MVdxFQIyZXLWbDRrKqGIU7wUSoIncAyjoaz3cWksiCaUX30H7Rx0W1isjrsA1CB6aacYOyu61aMr9257aX-R6r3kMgIk9TmwU85JZVlaU/s1600/IMG_0248.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHLdrHgxDJ9UrUUc8Tqcn1vTSbu3stq1msO6MVdxFQIyZXLWbDRrKqGIU7wUSoIncAyjoaz3cWksiCaUX30H7Rx0W1isjrsA1CB6aacYOyu61aMr9257aX-R6r3kMgIk9TmwU85JZVlaU/s320/IMG_0248.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The costumes were adorable, especially on the kids.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6-zzgTNgoTyPh4E-jYLLJLRgXImRt7G0KXDOGek-m_m5gSPqy6Fhuau-OGH_cT3x7ENgVYm-Qts4oUJUvY87gCVgx56XxUTel0jDeZznC00MXygp-0Ylpa3j0vYs1csbxdw_ibBmtybE/s1600/IMG_0269.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6-zzgTNgoTyPh4E-jYLLJLRgXImRt7G0KXDOGek-m_m5gSPqy6Fhuau-OGH_cT3x7ENgVYm-Qts4oUJUvY87gCVgx56XxUTel0jDeZznC00MXygp-0Ylpa3j0vYs1csbxdw_ibBmtybE/s320/IMG_0269.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Even the balconies were packed.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPS6_gmXoVH7GJZzLazxkabClcCZpamyAAmMqI5RE4H40JtxcdVraiW_gdY0qBVyru4vM-lC48Q1cqS7bmkP2p-DNF2beI12vpQu5w4KBssv8blpeS-hnGJpRrMVjhkVfgOUjKhPMNjiw/s1600/IMG_0329.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPS6_gmXoVH7GJZzLazxkabClcCZpamyAAmMqI5RE4H40JtxcdVraiW_gdY0qBVyru4vM-lC48Q1cqS7bmkP2p-DNF2beI12vpQu5w4KBssv8blpeS-hnGJpRrMVjhkVfgOUjKhPMNjiw/s320/IMG_0329.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>How people wanted attention (and oranges)!</i><br />
<i>The white fluff is a hat that can ONLY be worn in Binche.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqZArwG_BLJrvHaqnxROyxZQDm6Vx_5-iMr4G6lHQD6P3kxYbCxFrtf7d1BiD2WCL_29iVFpo49ejBeLpP3kfktfJiYV6H31wdgpyjHpiqZqHOxeCaw4m2CvCly8ctfhzEiPrdtOFTy4Q/s1600/IMG_0330.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqZArwG_BLJrvHaqnxROyxZQDm6Vx_5-iMr4G6lHQD6P3kxYbCxFrtf7d1BiD2WCL_29iVFpo49ejBeLpP3kfktfJiYV6H31wdgpyjHpiqZqHOxeCaw4m2CvCly8ctfhzEiPrdtOFTy4Q/s320/IMG_0330.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Adults clamored for oranges <br />(and yes, that was an umbrella being used as a bucket).</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNt5U9S9Jii4bzbk8AwwIydpO8NIc-72vTQ_aiKbp9Jtr2kisp5ZeHJw0F1J5NjOjrjwMuTcVVKeLwmNEe12j95PiJAOo2eUxyNCLx-pq8xnZZCGxJLHJUvh4mardHfI6CNdPifcswpQ4/s1600/IMG_0338.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNt5U9S9Jii4bzbk8AwwIydpO8NIc-72vTQ_aiKbp9Jtr2kisp5ZeHJw0F1J5NjOjrjwMuTcVVKeLwmNEe12j95PiJAOo2eUxyNCLx-pq8xnZZCGxJLHJUvh4mardHfI6CNdPifcswpQ4/s320/IMG_0338.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Rach's bag was filled.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8-ttipzInRgTnKeEqSeInpj7RduupsM_RDFmYKGt9xlDS6IvT2CHQDAMBobRCWySlua7slf7oNLjhZ5Mmih3a7QgacOJEyVBCRvQ1eY5ifjZDwpYH10Lz7QrQsC2D9kgUn_rOhyphenhyphenH1_Q8/s1600/IMG_0342.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8-ttipzInRgTnKeEqSeInpj7RduupsM_RDFmYKGt9xlDS6IvT2CHQDAMBobRCWySlua7slf7oNLjhZ5Mmih3a7QgacOJEyVBCRvQ1eY5ifjZDwpYH10Lz7QrQsC2D9kgUn_rOhyphenhyphenH1_Q8/s320/IMG_0342.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Some of the orange porters got to take a rest during the parade.</i></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_SPFIdz8OxCuaX6ThDdfuT6-mWOrGj41IW2yKvGKeK_X0IrrB3vgw6d6xrPW4s_hI9LKG3sbiMZDcUWT-8Udn7TOwsR_TxsH4mzbkzRcsEzd3_5o4k18r8NlHhlLkH62yQj43QyjX_VI/s1600/IMG_0346.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_SPFIdz8OxCuaX6ThDdfuT6-mWOrGj41IW2yKvGKeK_X0IrrB3vgw6d6xrPW4s_hI9LKG3sbiMZDcUWT-8Udn7TOwsR_TxsH4mzbkzRcsEzd3_5o4k18r8NlHhlLkH62yQj43QyjX_VI/s320/IMG_0346.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>And it's not a party until someone gets arrested.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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And finally, a short video of the craziness I captured.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyxk1od7cxUjKkiTv6pCwXTxvlE4DpOuBT6XMAuMQwHvi1lb0GMM33vw8JumUDApGwMCzNI-HZv-yCpqqyT2A' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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flutterbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11605465966633047198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273186007833659951.post-55761884561171407252013-02-10T15:02:00.001-08:002013-02-11T00:54:24.337-08:00Bruxelles [Snapshot]<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Instead of an actual post, I give you a short slice-of-life post today.<br />
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<b><u>TOP FIVE REASONS I LOVE THE GRAND PLACE:</u></b></div>
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1. I love people watching, from the wedding shots, to the tourists who jump for their pictures.</div>
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2. It's right near the best fries (in my humble opinion) and a fun bar (Delirium Tremens, anyone?).</div>
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3. The guy who sells his artwork there lets me look, even if I don't buy.</div>
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4. There's always something happening: from the guy singing opera at eight at night, to the drunken Frenchmen at five in the morning.</div>
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5. It's just beautiful.</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyNpU7oPXkOZJzZdoALmGcMAqjK582IJB_fwIgNs6pmQeYzMy456u5cOJxGD0o8c2htDw9XRgk4B_PdSJHx' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<b><u>TOP FIVE AREAS OF BRUSSELS (INCLUDING PLACES I NEED TO GO):</u></b></div>
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1. Grand Place</div>
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2. Ixelles</div>
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3. Rogier (just because the City2 mall is located here)</div>
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4. Rue Dansaert (which is a huge party area)</div>
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5. Flagey</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwVBcM3Ca6uG7m5Nxh0pna9KY16YxwGrFwvk-HZoSc_EMD5cXuCl-Z41XNwKPi5RPkPk6tKYGAb0uq1S7uGbQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<b><u><br /></u></b></div>
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<b><u>TOP FIVE PARTY MOMENTS I REMEMBER:</u></b></div>
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1. Vesalius College hosted pub crawl: Granted, this was for the study abroad orientation, but it was still fun.</div>
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2. Two Manchester girls, four guys from the states, plus our little gang. And the party went until 7 am...</div>
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3. Going to a masquerade held inside a (temporarily) converted art gallery and drinking Moet champagne.</div>
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4. Learning how to play "Asshole" (a card game) while teaching people how to blow smoke bubbles with a hookah pipe.</div>
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5. One very special word: CARNIVAL. </div>
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flutterbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11605465966633047198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273186007833659951.post-2421014058136382252013-02-10T14:43:00.000-08:002013-02-11T00:55:34.180-08:00Bruxelles, Numero Sept [A Quiet Weekend]<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Last weekend, my flatmate and I decided that we would spend a quiet Sunday in town. The original plan was to go forth and find the comic strip museum. However, we ended up getting ridiculously lost. <br />
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Therefore, we wandered around Rue Dansaert, and ended up relaxing.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcoogdXRZNJoG8WANaXJFzD85nYinXoCY-0kvlFNmJorMqyKjO05cG7mNOK28S8r4Mszbf8m7E2DHMdp65YEq1JyURa8jzBtZ81wqcmkyfn4oof-y0jnY24Z2L3mNdVR4UofkJqo95zBU/s1600/IMG_0183.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcoogdXRZNJoG8WANaXJFzD85nYinXoCY-0kvlFNmJorMqyKjO05cG7mNOK28S8r4Mszbf8m7E2DHMdp65YEq1JyURa8jzBtZ81wqcmkyfn4oof-y0jnY24Z2L3mNdVR4UofkJqo95zBU/s320/IMG_0183.JPG" width="312" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I was amused by the appearance of a vintage Vespa...</i></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK2DGoYioco6O0oOtENB1UsUFIhjhAsJJQgbk4oqENN90DXavtGIVu0TLU-t3bPhQC-umPESYtfag9uc2RTFPwaTMXPg8I5odm6pAgZezntmzD3C8Dxpdg93IpYWD000OXs7eT6CfRQ8s/s1600/IMG_0184.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK2DGoYioco6O0oOtENB1UsUFIhjhAsJJQgbk4oqENN90DXavtGIVu0TLU-t3bPhQC-umPESYtfag9uc2RTFPwaTMXPg8I5odm6pAgZezntmzD3C8Dxpdg93IpYWD000OXs7eT6CfRQ8s/s320/IMG_0184.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>...and graffiti that read</i><i> "reach for the sky."</i></td></tr>
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When we got a bit parched, we came across a gorgeous tiny little tea shop. However, the small size meant that we had to wait for one of the six tables. But it was worth it!</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoW_9nUBSicLGXEppr8HXxZ-Gh8_hWybKEvFRkOg5q0LjCV_VDmWd2rB-b31COK6d6YY9NjRitknC7gTSWxLzARRsepxJHCBeSyQwwegpZbdO8Aub9jZJfeLJnFvJF2RJX4qG7pYcoxvw/s1600/IMG_0185.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoW_9nUBSicLGXEppr8HXxZ-Gh8_hWybKEvFRkOg5q0LjCV_VDmWd2rB-b31COK6d6YY9NjRitknC7gTSWxLzARRsepxJHCBeSyQwwegpZbdO8Aub9jZJfeLJnFvJF2RJX4qG7pYcoxvw/s320/IMG_0185.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>We ordered Earl Grey French Blue tea...</i></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDUtmlGOEW0225fhDZThKkEr_CRNlq7juzx35G7XnCFni4cY6BqxOABhqpMJGFrlRLN1_vkuOA6oykoIWgxGU4EO9M1roaeb10i7_IvWiFS9i3TiJaRB1oMxBLASJ4qur9RfUEk9PM7uY/s1600/IMG_0186.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDUtmlGOEW0225fhDZThKkEr_CRNlq7juzx35G7XnCFni4cY6BqxOABhqpMJGFrlRLN1_vkuOA6oykoIWgxGU4EO9M1roaeb10i7_IvWiFS9i3TiJaRB1oMxBLASJ4qur9RfUEk9PM7uY/s320/IMG_0186.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>...and the dessert sampler: rice cake, cheesecake, chocolate cake and apple cake!</i></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQjAbT0BDTGuZm-GRJ0kYmPmbNdzkCDk4YZ6Ullq5mYo56Oa1Ir8jtFWk0S62rTAKdDyeb-K1deb3-aKxtnrIyDh3eyb4n5xOKvp0ac_yGncGPyA9aJAq3cGFRvsRpONl25BdZx6My2PQ/s1600/IMG_0187.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQjAbT0BDTGuZm-GRJ0kYmPmbNdzkCDk4YZ6Ullq5mYo56Oa1Ir8jtFWk0S62rTAKdDyeb-K1deb3-aKxtnrIyDh3eyb4n5xOKvp0ac_yGncGPyA9aJAq3cGFRvsRpONl25BdZx6My2PQ/s320/IMG_0187.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>We also got a side serving of friendly, neighborhood dog.</i></td></tr>
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We continued along our little trek and found something unusual: escargot. Now, I've tried snails before. But never have I tried snails that came out of a food truck, named <i>Chez Jeff, </i>where the snails have apparently earned world-claim fame.<br />
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If you ever want to try them, head to the area around <i>La Bourse</i> at five or six in the evenings.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKi-3qCeMqi2L80hw2sISvc0mNxvE4_Ia3hKSsKAYp6mfeDOAhAHhyphenhyphenLLVDp2aql9dW13mQJk-V8eT-QGCo9bJnxeIj3gOIAB-R5-j3f7BLeppYV4MluzaPRWz6cnf5GPQkvjU2B1jbJuU/s1600/IMG_0188.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKi-3qCeMqi2L80hw2sISvc0mNxvE4_Ia3hKSsKAYp6mfeDOAhAHhyphenhyphenLLVDp2aql9dW13mQJk-V8eT-QGCo9bJnxeIj3gOIAB-R5-j3f7BLeppYV4MluzaPRWz6cnf5GPQkvjU2B1jbJuU/s320/IMG_0188.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>To be honest, my tongue was tingling afterwards. I'm not sure if that's good or bad.</i></td></tr>
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flutterbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11605465966633047198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273186007833659951.post-9239035506458410862013-02-05T03:22:00.001-08:002013-02-05T03:22:25.921-08:00Bruxelles [Flashes and Bits]<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ4mEecEhTHA8209eMe-g2ehTPzSBIybXGowyNvWyX3nDv7JCuEbERPaPKsCr35bpst8EFDNgBP1FlDa-WxmK6fDd6yNxy6lQMHzNQHdzoURiDzSpiBMKLddQVHz74Y-DvKmdpknAyhno/s1600/IMG_0003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ4mEecEhTHA8209eMe-g2ehTPzSBIybXGowyNvWyX3nDv7JCuEbERPaPKsCr35bpst8EFDNgBP1FlDa-WxmK6fDd6yNxy6lQMHzNQHdzoURiDzSpiBMKLddQVHz74Y-DvKmdpknAyhno/s320/IMG_0003.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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The first night, I arrive, all I can see are lights that seem too small, and a sky that's too dark. But it's beautiful.</div>
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~*~*~</div>
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Whoever told me that Brussels has mild winter weather is a liar. There's snow and salt and ice, even rain. I've already slipped three times, the soles on my brand-new (just bought a week before I arrived) boots are already peeling away, and my fingers are barely warm in my knit gloves.</div>
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But there's a calm in the morning when I look out for the kitchen window, with my coffee. I see pure white snow, branches that look frosted, and feel nothing of the frantic rush from my first week. I also see children, dogs, and little red sleds.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQGqCidZvqXczErULlQMK5QehdZJu67RZx8Op2C6jxsCEdoqIh8GhsBP8mmaBducPkUhNHHL8xakLCuU4TOtjstftnRQ_yIf3WNj3rvIDDyAgj2UOBtBP8e_yfbrAEkLnuoiPTH35Zmy4/s1600/IMG_0101.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQGqCidZvqXczErULlQMK5QehdZJu67RZx8Op2C6jxsCEdoqIh8GhsBP8mmaBducPkUhNHHL8xakLCuU4TOtjstftnRQ_yIf3WNj3rvIDDyAgj2UOBtBP8e_yfbrAEkLnuoiPTH35Zmy4/s640/IMG_0101.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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~*~*~</div>
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450. 535. 589. That's the final count of days that Belgium spent without a government in 2011. I think my jaw drops when I hear the number.</div>
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Wallonia. Flanders. Not French. Not Dutch. Brussels is its own little bubble of intense isolation: French-speaking in the middle of Dutch-speaking Flanders. The south (Walloons, Frenchmen-who-aren't-French) doesn't want Belgium to split. The north (Flemmish, Dutchmen-who-aren't-Dutch) couldn't care less; or rather, they're alright with the split.</div>
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I think of the Quebec-Canada situation. And I wonder: just what would drive someone to think that they can't get along with someone. Not even the "Well, I don't like her clothes" sort of dislike, but the "I can't stand you at all and I wish you were far away" sort of dislike. I think it's the sort of dislike that causes people to kill for something that's not truly tangible.</div>
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~*~*~</div>
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Renee Magritte. He is - or rather was - a famous Belgian surrealist painter. He said something, a quote, once: "If the dream is a translation of waking life, then waking life is also a translation of the dream."</div>
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My dream was to have fun. And I am. Too much fun. I've finally gone dancing, met people, have sixteen-seventeen-eighteen different phone numbers, and am laughing. But I'm also grinning because I'm about to go to Dublin.</div>
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There's also a beer festival this weekend in Bruges, a possible day trip to Waterloo and maybe a guided tour of the commune where I live, Schaerbeek. </div>
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~*~*~</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpZQeuTLocl_nO7dYQpfSmv3cVGzE5PMTWmRIOHEg0UVFW70cv_LpSPx0iulnQHraGaC6rXPv4qK_veFjUNfGZJHvC5P71DcIXy1er1GNKTx2JNRGUNYMrecp8s4q-Hb7E02X1N0LzXW0/s1600/IMG_0174.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpZQeuTLocl_nO7dYQpfSmv3cVGzE5PMTWmRIOHEg0UVFW70cv_LpSPx0iulnQHraGaC6rXPv4qK_veFjUNfGZJHvC5P71DcIXy1er1GNKTx2JNRGUNYMrecp8s4q-Hb7E02X1N0LzXW0/s320/IMG_0174.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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I'm still tragically driven to try all the ridiculous things I find: Bicky Burger Crisps, Heinz Tomato Ketchup crisps, avocaat (a liqueur made with eggs), a soda produced by a beer company, jams, teas, and more.<br />
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~*~*~</div>
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I feel frazzled and hassled. Shopping is usually fun, but it's completely different in Brussels. Apparently, there are sales only twice a year. Otherwise, a store can only have sales if it's going out of business.<br />
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I am on a mission to find a pair of boots, some tights and a small bag for when I go out. I find out that there is a store called Cameleon. It's the size of Costco, with throngs of people rushing into and away from the store. Still, things can be a bit pricey (150 euros for a sundress? I'll stick to the markets at Midi and Jeu de Balle, thank you.)</div>
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The end result is that I unfortunately end up sandwiched between mothers and aunts, daughters and sisters, even fathers and brothers who are looking for a good deal.<br />
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Rach and I emerge a few minutes later with empty arms. We decide we need a drink.<br />
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flutterbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11605465966633047198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273186007833659951.post-71506530289622552552013-01-28T02:40:00.000-08:002013-01-28T02:40:53.390-08:00Bruxelles, Cinquième [Bruges and Trips]<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Friday, the 25th, was fantastic. The thing that I like about student discounts? There are plenty of them. My roommate and I bought round trip train tickets to Bruges for 13 euros. We're going to get a GO Pass, which gives us 10 trips to anywhere in Belgium for 50 euros.<br />
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Back to Bruges. It was beautiful, but I'm going to have to go back in the spring. My impressions... So, maybe it was -2 degrees Celsius, maybe the wind was a bit nippy, and maybe I was feeling a bit under the weather. But still, it was amazing, to be able to day trip to Bruges.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin1krJnb3b-gPneSAi9hGHQOWeRkmQBNkuQspw8PEecHyKdNN2865MiUONcJr0VfFmS6R8aBQZmuggjmhlWnXZGb7yjeEmH3h00lkmFXLE_jNOGkwVGmXKGFdwq2mQVL2WH3yXrg_Eu1g/s1600/IMG_0132.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin1krJnb3b-gPneSAi9hGHQOWeRkmQBNkuQspw8PEecHyKdNN2865MiUONcJr0VfFmS6R8aBQZmuggjmhlWnXZGb7yjeEmH3h00lkmFXLE_jNOGkwVGmXKGFdwq2mQVL2WH3yXrg_Eu1g/s320/IMG_0132.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Arriving at the stationsplein (train station), you see Bruges, or Brugge.</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmSks8T-j2l929YDbI_RO5dA8w913C7-QACfQtAV9zJUy_dhuBdkncWv9yvb-NkXQnUPvU1CfTvQsEsE4SbzG_wapgen16IUoQ67PFF2mM3GSqfgm4tqFVtrjEyEKDL6RvDezpsTH_fgQ/s1600/IMG_0173.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmSks8T-j2l929YDbI_RO5dA8w913C7-QACfQtAV9zJUy_dhuBdkncWv9yvb-NkXQnUPvU1CfTvQsEsE4SbzG_wapgen16IUoQ67PFF2mM3GSqfgm4tqFVtrjEyEKDL6RvDezpsTH_fgQ/s320/IMG_0173.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>In the middle of town square, I just thought this would be a pretty picture!</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV3on-6-f3eblVlhO_EKn5R7r7mFQjhPs_P6KOBAQrR7Kg0W4eHgqWVeHpbjy5RjlnmzDUbw7ZQxWa_BkU_cFutx6hyphenhyphen9Y2IeeNSjqrdMKOfA1rl2-3EZ_XLr4MR8z5bRxX2oMH60tgJXA/s1600/IMG_0139.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV3on-6-f3eblVlhO_EKn5R7r7mFQjhPs_P6KOBAQrR7Kg0W4eHgqWVeHpbjy5RjlnmzDUbw7ZQxWa_BkU_cFutx6hyphenhyphen9Y2IeeNSjqrdMKOfA1rl2-3EZ_XLr4MR8z5bRxX2oMH60tgJXA/s320/IMG_0139.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Talk about an imposing organ in a church!</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYxaz_zTt285qbcVvXv0S9h6EdCGBy8IlEZg1OK0CgeISULUbXRjcATrZ5fxVkfPLkAljy49jdQL_Xka_gr4Qx1-m1x8enS88ev2wIahFZlR7BUlP0l63eOXWipB67tYCVnE2xdodk_O0/s1600/IMG_0141.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYxaz_zTt285qbcVvXv0S9h6EdCGBy8IlEZg1OK0CgeISULUbXRjcATrZ5fxVkfPLkAljy49jdQL_Xka_gr4Qx1-m1x8enS88ev2wIahFZlR7BUlP0l63eOXWipB67tYCVnE2xdodk_O0/s320/IMG_0141.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Cathedrals with sunlight streaming through stained glass windows are an essential part to Europe.</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSTT6KhXoKHE9hI-hOjlEUwT1mCGGp3RsFurNSBC7pvezov0gz-hBF_OcTes35dlMO5auXHJ8V7BkEy8aIioEoDawc5nUHv0vXbRTR_fT98Ot152ACHPM0EYw_3k4JKZCIIPUvO2iC5Xg/s1600/IMG_0135.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSTT6KhXoKHE9hI-hOjlEUwT1mCGGp3RsFurNSBC7pvezov0gz-hBF_OcTes35dlMO5auXHJ8V7BkEy8aIioEoDawc5nUHv0vXbRTR_fT98Ot152ACHPM0EYw_3k4JKZCIIPUvO2iC5Xg/s320/IMG_0135.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>While the snow stopped falling, it still looked beautiful.</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYOLf1hpA7dA5eaauPcFSXJADWMN9kwYgUDrJIPxjhLiEvhk_aQClxkQsArdtaxYl9c8CtbbE9gOv-Zf64n6PohqJoVgd2I_9DB-Ip8C1ZuyVYTlEZY_AxzyRJ86mX8xQbTlje4J2TjNI/s1600/IMG_0149.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYOLf1hpA7dA5eaauPcFSXJADWMN9kwYgUDrJIPxjhLiEvhk_aQClxkQsArdtaxYl9c8CtbbE9gOv-Zf64n6PohqJoVgd2I_9DB-Ip8C1ZuyVYTlEZY_AxzyRJ86mX8xQbTlje4J2TjNI/s320/IMG_0149.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Once the sunlight came out, it looked like a postcard.</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfelPbEnu4wx0ZymC4uzczmXCy7lWLAOQuy2_9LFGkvcam84eXYl3ZX6H_rmHeYfXKiPai1WPTnPAdb8fIrGFjiHkDJi8Dzvm9EIFuErbLiZlELvRwnYcOt-9um_Oxx08IdeoKTp_43pE/s1600/IMG_0154.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfelPbEnu4wx0ZymC4uzczmXCy7lWLAOQuy2_9LFGkvcam84eXYl3ZX6H_rmHeYfXKiPai1WPTnPAdb8fIrGFjiHkDJi8Dzvm9EIFuErbLiZlELvRwnYcOt-9um_Oxx08IdeoKTp_43pE/s320/IMG_0154.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Some of the canals had frozen enough that birds could hop around on top of them!</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8OZpSjrGt7girMOBlHwWdO9BFcy479M7dGgUiW73EBViDbH9hst2xGqSwWy_CIiLYCli2UGbu_s9NU03lm9FKdI2Oo3Y-isOQbHnu-OvoNtRWybhDg0RRHaz_bvBzQOQ6Dq-Yt162nOs/s1600/IMG_0155.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8OZpSjrGt7girMOBlHwWdO9BFcy479M7dGgUiW73EBViDbH9hst2xGqSwWy_CIiLYCli2UGbu_s9NU03lm9FKdI2Oo3Y-isOQbHnu-OvoNtRWybhDg0RRHaz_bvBzQOQ6Dq-Yt162nOs/s320/IMG_0155.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I'm not sure what a carved hummingbird is doing on a window shutter...</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKSd350OevpEGEv6VgCH-lIa2tKgGbNwcZYLA2rYwoBQRG-3c95-c315ne8kKrQtTIdAT_ZOtJ40mkMSdWUQAXeBA0uj_i9128JtIXggE_fAZykUoBztCv3Mby1WGgZ8bvOme9FQkU4wc/s1600/IMG_0171.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKSd350OevpEGEv6VgCH-lIa2tKgGbNwcZYLA2rYwoBQRG-3c95-c315ne8kKrQtTIdAT_ZOtJ40mkMSdWUQAXeBA0uj_i9128JtIXggE_fAZykUoBztCv3Mby1WGgZ8bvOme9FQkU4wc/s320/IMG_0171.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>...or why there are drunken chocolate snowmen in a display case.</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfIaI-TGGFh426p_2s0jTmdrZgTxiePWAJ2STsyjhpOJ6bojqOwbBuKylxeI3Oxvw3rh0ZPIz7b0FyOqdPA4v3TeKOkv-D_B6PZ54_zZiBUyWW9Ixim2CRJBrODKfHcycHy3c028Pyb2I/s1600/IMG_0162.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfIaI-TGGFh426p_2s0jTmdrZgTxiePWAJ2STsyjhpOJ6bojqOwbBuKylxeI3Oxvw3rh0ZPIz7b0FyOqdPA4v3TeKOkv-D_B6PZ54_zZiBUyWW9Ixim2CRJBrODKfHcycHy3c028Pyb2I/s320/IMG_0162.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>This is the infamous beer wall in Bruges. Look for it at 2BE , a shop on Wollenstraat.</i></td></tr>
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In between having a moka (basically, espresso) that fit in the palm of my hand, feeling sharp gusts of wind, and wandering around town, Rach and I decided that we weren't feeling up to climbing the belfry. Or, as Rach said, "I can already feel the muscle cramps!" We'll go back in spring, when the canals have unfrozen, to take a boat ride around, and to finally climb that belfry.<br />
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But this weekend, I might go to the Black Forest (even though it's a six-hour train ride), run off to Gent, or see diamonds in Antwerp. Luxembourg's definitely a possibility later on.<br />
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And I'm looking forward to Saint Patrick's Day in Dublin!</div>
flutterbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11605465966633047198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273186007833659951.post-4215512658193828572013-01-24T09:04:00.000-08:002013-01-24T09:06:57.953-08:00Bruxelles, Quatrième [Orientation, Pub Crawl, Travel Plans]<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>"Every memory was valuable, even the bad ones."</i></div>
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<i>- Cassandra Clare</i></div>
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It's hard for me to explain this. Most other study abroad people know what I mean: that feeling that somehow, you're in a dream. If you push too hard, pinch yourself a little too often, or embarrass yourself one times too many, then you'll wake up in your bed back at uni or college, five months later.<br />
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And that's kind where I'm at. Orientation is terrifying. For some awful reason, every single orientation reminds me of being in seventh grade, tenth grade, the new kid in a neighborhood.<br />
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Oh, I survived just fine, survived the first few days of confusion, staring at maps, and wondering how a campus of two (maybe three) blocks and eight buildings could seem so disconcertingly large.<br />
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And then it was Friday. Allow me to put forth a disclaimer: I've never (officially) been to a pub crawl before.<br />
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My lovely college that I attend in Brussels is a wealth of information. Rumors and stories of the last pub crawl (someone chipped a tooth, another passed out in a stranger's house, there was even mention of an ambulance), a few drinks, and a confused metro ride later (several people were locked inside the ticket booth, because those things didn't come with instructions), we ended up at our second bar.<br />
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Les Halles Saint-Gery. A former marketplace, that is the biggest vintage market on the first Sunday of every month, that is the occasional site of raves, that is next to a fantastic bar that I will go back to (Mezzo, a darkly lit bar, with a crowded dance floor, and blue lights), it serves up some good drinks.<br />
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At some point, we went to Delirium. Oh Delirium, what a fantastic place. With a tequila bar next door, and an absinthe bar right across, where else do you need to go for your night of heavy boozing? <br />
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And there were embarrassing moments too. At some point in time, I tripped down stairs. when my heel caught on the stair (I know, wearing heels on a pub crawl is a bad idea). Everyone thought I was a drunk exchange student, from America who couldn't speak French.<br />
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They started talking about me. I could understand them. That was awkward.<br />
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And it made me want to run away, to go somewhere far away.<br />
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This now brings me to my next point. I'm in Europe. I want to sit on trains and watch places fly by. I want to eat curry-wurst and learn German. I want to sit on a RyanAir trip, be delighted over the cost, and then wonder why I thought a discount airline was a good idea. I want. <br />
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But my already bruised and heartbroken wallet says <u style="font-weight: bold;">NO</u>. It's the sort of no that you stayed away from as a kid, the kind of no that guarantees you a grounding. And maybe extra chores.<br />
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That doesn't mean I'm not going to travel. I mean, I'm goiing to Bruges tomorrow! You know, Bruges, as in that dark comedy called <u>In Bruges</u>, with Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleeson? I'm planning on climbing the belfry there, the one that cost Gleeson a few good euros. Hopefully, the negative-seven-degree-Celsius weather won't make it too horrible. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjId4297s9CYHNWmbMkfW8TRUlMs7ptRFcm2nwEH-CVzSULfdAWikA2g5r8mX-R5PGw6JBPj7PM86LP5gHmrJyO6qLYsjEtcuImmU41zG8FhtN_NXK9IPF2vYTqyBmHtn_SIEfmJIwn6cc/s1600/IMG_0126.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="152" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjId4297s9CYHNWmbMkfW8TRUlMs7ptRFcm2nwEH-CVzSULfdAWikA2g5r8mX-R5PGw6JBPj7PM86LP5gHmrJyO6qLYsjEtcuImmU41zG8FhtN_NXK9IPF2vYTqyBmHtn_SIEfmJIwn6cc/s320/IMG_0126.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>At last, I have a STIB metro card! </i></td></tr>
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flutterbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11605465966633047198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273186007833659951.post-65333888109184737672013-01-23T07:32:00.000-08:002013-01-23T07:32:48.674-08:00Bruxelles, Troisième [O, These Pretty Things]<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'm literally exploding at the seams. I love being in Europe, but my toes freeze when I walk in the snow, and the wind chaps my face. Classrooms are such a huge change after working in the field and my fingers twitch from the sharp incline in prices. I'm also having fun taking pictures!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXMlu3GsuIel0yJlmii2D_C4yfqLa6Xen9qT93Xs36OFg2I6hiJ9Rt3AtUzgfW0zU07LUqWU2ymudeVyz-xKM4ha7-lGzCvU0UqWAlgUKWwqlLE730128MjkYUpRnShKjv7oBSKyzHds4/s1600/IMG_0058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXMlu3GsuIel0yJlmii2D_C4yfqLa6Xen9qT93Xs36OFg2I6hiJ9Rt3AtUzgfW0zU07LUqWU2ymudeVyz-xKM4ha7-lGzCvU0UqWAlgUKWwqlLE730128MjkYUpRnShKjv7oBSKyzHds4/s320/IMG_0058.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Brooding Soldier is an interesting monument.</i></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHljHrlpPzCZCj-OgjB-NksteDJQdf7NqPlmsXTinVTga7_r0j1cRIbJnnCovCiJOdwHcrk13qmsaIWLgjF_wX0KJ_DhBZXTsl0swIH2JDL5KH5hFCM0KTOj_vKqK4qpyAsXvjNx6oWm8/s1600/IMG_0064.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHljHrlpPzCZCj-OgjB-NksteDJQdf7NqPlmsXTinVTga7_r0j1cRIbJnnCovCiJOdwHcrk13qmsaIWLgjF_wX0KJ_DhBZXTsl0swIH2JDL5KH5hFCM0KTOj_vKqK4qpyAsXvjNx6oWm8/s320/IMG_0064.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>It reads as unknown Cheshire, Australian, Yorkshire and Leicester soldiers.</i></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmvpLQV2MjQjI7lzK0rqEVF1X_ji8wWVl-TPke07hs_Wp5KWhNWDLaNu_RTAovBBj3pByz29LJV9JWM4PkmrOfJq2Rza6f1wkqYTrRQIcvUCwo12yp2WBo_-GgFyhnX2mBx9pYrZlXy5A/s1600/IMG_0099.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmvpLQV2MjQjI7lzK0rqEVF1X_ji8wWVl-TPke07hs_Wp5KWhNWDLaNu_RTAovBBj3pByz29LJV9JWM4PkmrOfJq2Rza6f1wkqYTrRQIcvUCwo12yp2WBo_-GgFyhnX2mBx9pYrZlXy5A/s320/IMG_0099.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Madame Dufrasne's delicious apple and raisin tart.</i></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBM-KV4MTPa7csz105DfNngObc937NZiUC_QAUqHQXUNjma7gjI9pwMpsyeHA09fTyMLlpqR5rOux4Daxom1zfmXLgkz87RqgczOet9lZLvDCCRnLYtUEI6LLfsPLFnkQdHOdj3CbEP74/s1600/IMG_0118.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBM-KV4MTPa7csz105DfNngObc937NZiUC_QAUqHQXUNjma7gjI9pwMpsyeHA09fTyMLlpqR5rOux4Daxom1zfmXLgkz87RqgczOet9lZLvDCCRnLYtUEI6LLfsPLFnkQdHOdj3CbEP74/s320/IMG_0118.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Louis, the cat, believes that the heaters were installed just for him.</i></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbIz8j-PO1ikYqhoh5SQqGRbE0y3gpfs8a4LEhrpDjdahJ48HvtRcQ0sUE0O0gzrq-s6GNaCU82NeehAvWfHrUuTTRTiTP_V8vVyqql2ZTzsiuEDL76JHAwyfdXubsqYFLU2_aQNx8I2Q/s1600/IMG_0111.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbIz8j-PO1ikYqhoh5SQqGRbE0y3gpfs8a4LEhrpDjdahJ48HvtRcQ0sUE0O0gzrq-s6GNaCU82NeehAvWfHrUuTTRTiTP_V8vVyqql2ZTzsiuEDL76JHAwyfdXubsqYFLU2_aQNx8I2Q/s320/IMG_0111.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>There's a little "Oriental Pastry" store, that sells sweets like those I had in Morocco.</i></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEmkX9AKW5tmcqHOAj5BkIwu798P-Eb7GS5l_jagXNxh2zK_tpZLnFHAbAZelnOWfDEWJcMQUhfvYKoEfzThrnXDyBqxBn1GCwhyQemC1TwoEi5zIifOvOzPGdqROQ6nvVW7ncDJp-jJM/s1600/IMG_0119.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEmkX9AKW5tmcqHOAj5BkIwu798P-Eb7GS5l_jagXNxh2zK_tpZLnFHAbAZelnOWfDEWJcMQUhfvYKoEfzThrnXDyBqxBn1GCwhyQemC1TwoEi5zIifOvOzPGdqROQ6nvVW7ncDJp-jJM/s320/IMG_0119.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Speculos ice cream is delicious. I'll have to buy currant sauce for when I go back.</i></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdawtmjdYMZbzvc2fiOoKSEI21Bd0yQbdP-h6yILhjhopFMmELJvRg1_DnFRPQ3TrDzR1oNkGlYvNuyLjH9Eb7bS_wmeMxKv4Jxkyo23hxTIzMRrBfsJu3irBVnL1SUXqr0zGYXkF3uyY/s1600/IMG_0121.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdawtmjdYMZbzvc2fiOoKSEI21Bd0yQbdP-h6yILhjhopFMmELJvRg1_DnFRPQ3TrDzR1oNkGlYvNuyLjH9Eb7bS_wmeMxKv4Jxkyo23hxTIzMRrBfsJu3irBVnL1SUXqr0zGYXkF3uyY/s320/IMG_0121.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Madame Dufrasne made croquettes du frommage, with a fryer she bought just for us!</i></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdHxa_QEhU3BVxt20iUedqRavHXe3dkFSB9qDOyITZn1vpPm_ozHZP5NaTLNP79vugtMmG54eTdsxNOveo4O72Pm3dxqVUZTb3vBhRrFS6RSWLZ0Ihy6sApISBJ5CH8YKGec7HcM9TWi8/s1600/IMG_0127.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdHxa_QEhU3BVxt20iUedqRavHXe3dkFSB9qDOyITZn1vpPm_ozHZP5NaTLNP79vugtMmG54eTdsxNOveo4O72Pm3dxqVUZTb3vBhRrFS6RSWLZ0Ihy6sApISBJ5CH8YKGec7HcM9TWi8/s320/IMG_0127.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>It's dreadfully foggy and overcast today, but still, I love the view.</i></td></tr>
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flutterbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11605465966633047198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273186007833659951.post-59589048294003142652013-01-15T15:13:00.001-08:002013-02-11T01:01:17.851-08:00Bruxelles, Deuxième. [The First Five Days]<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The air is still, except for sudden gusts of wind that blow snowflakes into my face. My toes are numb, I can barely feel my nose, and all I want to do is stop shivering. I'm standing in a graveyard, unable to hear anyone else. The sky is gray, the land is white, and there is an eerie silence everywhere.<br />
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It's been a whirlwind couple of days, five days to be exact.<br />
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~*~</div>
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<b>Friday, 11 January</b></div>
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<b>~*~</b></div>
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Arrival. My plane is ten minutes early, despite the fact that I landed at my last connection in London 30 minutes late and then had to run to make it to my gate. I got there just as they call out all passengers, final boarding.<br />
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The cab driver, Morvan, is very nice. He and I talk: he is Belgium, speaks no Dutch, has lived in Brussels all his life. He talks about the weather, how people can't drive in the snow and how accidents pile up on the street. He tells me about the NATO construction, how the area around BRU airport is all business building and no suburbs.<br />
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When I arrive, Madame Dufrasne is there. And so is my housemate, Rach, a sophomore girl from Los Angeles who could pass for a Swedish model, maybe Swiss. We chat a bit, eat a bit, and then exhaustion hits me.<br />
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I lay in bed, looking out of my window until I fall asleep.<br />
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~*~</div>
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<b><b>Saturday, 12 January</b></b></div>
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<b>~*~</b></div>
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The morning terrifies me. I woke up at 3am, fell back asleep for a bit and then laid awake until 7am. I fall back asleep, only to bolt upright at 9:16am and realize that I NEED to pack. The schedule is to meet the rest of the group at the Central Station, in less than an hour. I speed through it and Rach comes with me.</div>
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We take a city bus tour of Brussels, passing the Atomium, several churches, botanical gardens and the Royal Palace.</div>
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We meander through the Grote Markt, watch a boy pee while dressed in festive red (also known as a statue called Mannekin Pis), and stop at Delirium Tremens pub. Right across the street is Jannekin Pis (Mannekin's sister).</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjqFzfpEhCjKABRgIwcqikuwmdXAjajj9zeZCc0YzaYUP8_ocI6xRde9hyu3ye2EhQS7t2CNi_kucxUTk5z-DcueNPGlP0vTp9cW_JN0OUtpF3ee39x97CMlDr97aNoVY52Z_lHn2krPU/s1600/IMG_0041.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjqFzfpEhCjKABRgIwcqikuwmdXAjajj9zeZCc0YzaYUP8_ocI6xRde9hyu3ye2EhQS7t2CNi_kucxUTk5z-DcueNPGlP0vTp9cW_JN0OUtpF3ee39x97CMlDr97aNoVY52Z_lHn2krPU/s320/IMG_0041.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The pub is infamous for the world record of over 2500 beers. </i></td></tr>
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Our lunch is another Belgian classic: mussels, fries and beer. The place is Chez Leone, which we're told is a tourist institution (one MUST eat there as a tourist, otherwise, people ask what you've been doing with your time).</div>
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For dessert, I enjoy a Belgian waffle with speculos, a type of cookie based spread (think Biscoff spread). We have a talk about safety and then, well, we vanish.</div>
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Brussels gets tossed into the distance as we head to Ypres, Ieper, Vypers. The French spell it Ypres; the Dutch say Ieper; and when the Brits fought there, it became Vypers.</div>
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The first snowfall of the year starts on our drive north, and it continues well into the night.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgGAi35iVJH7PsN8d4QpHAwRUtXeG-ldGgU_knycQFVos2QAojDOFfYEpKyVYPLc18-PSB98TVClM3cMelmwW_iTI85iRB1E5OuddxooGW_HzBbQHEPHa1LGW4H7HgQSVRr3ZUCtlKj5k/s1600/IMG_0048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgGAi35iVJH7PsN8d4QpHAwRUtXeG-ldGgU_knycQFVos2QAojDOFfYEpKyVYPLc18-PSB98TVClM3cMelmwW_iTI85iRB1E5OuddxooGW_HzBbQHEPHa1LGW4H7HgQSVRr3ZUCtlKj5k/s320/IMG_0048.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Ieper at night, with snow against bright lights.</i></td></tr>
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~*~</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Sunday, 13 January</b></div>
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~*~</div>
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The hotel we're staying at is unique. Everything is based on World Wars I and II, from the trunk holding army blankets to the posters of war, and somehow, that makes it even more unsettling when we head to our tour.</div>
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We went to the Last Post at 8pm the night before, a very intense five minutes involving the dedication of a wreath and a moment of silence for those who fought in the wars.</div>
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And now, we're off to visit different sites. Salient Tours Ypres is well thought out, but a bit intense on a cold, dreary morning. For four hours, we think of war, talk of war, and take pictures of war. I tear up when I'm asked to read <i>In Flanders Fields,</i> because of the line "<i>Short days ago/we lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow/loved and were loved, and now we lie/in Flanders Fields."</i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc9T8YGSJ2h50ZCzCG52raMbOCwUQFSgMz1enSG9uHI4ekEiif0CbFXdms6WE5GoFoQl3NIj_TuetejC8U96OrrITN6o1qTpFez3rpSs3j6vESw94n0HO_26ALv6Rkv0eMvlBhsBdCf9s/s1600/IMG_0056.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc9T8YGSJ2h50ZCzCG52raMbOCwUQFSgMz1enSG9uHI4ekEiif0CbFXdms6WE5GoFoQl3NIj_TuetejC8U96OrrITN6o1qTpFez3rpSs3j6vESw94n0HO_26ALv6Rkv0eMvlBhsBdCf9s/s320/IMG_0056.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Taken at Essex Farm: Their name liveth for evermore.</i></td></tr>
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Once the four hours are up, we demand to be fed. We're taken to the Ramparts Museum for croques (ham-and-cheese sandwiches) with violently hot mustard.</div>
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We decide to walk the ramparts, the one that's left, all the way back to the Menin Gate. The sunshine takes the sting out of a morbid past.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlZOSLCo_lyKenb9z9uROJjN9_uNOTL3eZ8V6tn50Y1bo4Au5Rb0HZ_KNfsdcPiLDKHL0qvB9tlAm22K92qbnhXb2_oWK6SY1jYCVJPi-V1TnaNRztDfS6ZiQu9ZJMD52mG98xto1vhD4/s1600/IMG_0076.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlZOSLCo_lyKenb9z9uROJjN9_uNOTL3eZ8V6tn50Y1bo4Au5Rb0HZ_KNfsdcPiLDKHL0qvB9tlAm22K92qbnhXb2_oWK6SY1jYCVJPi-V1TnaNRztDfS6ZiQu9ZJMD52mG98xto1vhD4/s320/IMG_0076.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Once the snow settled, a sculptor got busy.</i></td></tr>
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~*~</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Monday, 14 January</b></div>
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~*~</div>
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I am in love. We've left Ypres to head even further north, to visit Newport. The beach town is different, but still so beautiful. </div>
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The six of us gather around to make lunch: spaghetti, salad, garlic bread, and put up our feet for a few hours of relaxation.</div>
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We even try to take a walk around the beach, but more snow and wind makes it difficult to even stay at the beach for five minutes.</div>
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We head back to our host families for dinner. Madame Dufrasne spoils Rach and me: soup that tastes creamy and divine, a dish with endives and salmon covered in cheese, a thick cake-like chocolate mousse.</div>
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Louie, the fat-black-and-white cat that reminds me of Sylvester, is very much content to let me come to him and pet him.</div>
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~*~</div>
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<b>Tuesday, 15 January</b></div>
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~*~</div>
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I am so very tempted to laze about. Oh, I try to get registered at my commune, try to go buy a monthly transportation pass, try to withdraw money. The operative word is "TRY" as I end up spending a day just relaxing with everyone. </div>
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We meet a few new people, who are housemates but will also attend Vesalius. We take them around, feeling oh so proud of the few hours that we spent in Brussels before we left.</div>
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In the evening, we head to a scheduled event: a dinner and movie showing at a home. The home is five stories of beautiful, historic property, across from a lake, in an area that reminds me of Manhattan or maybe Greenwich Village. Between quiche, thick chocolate cake and red wine, we talk. We also sit down to watch <i>War Horse</i>. I cry (even though I've seen this movie before).</div>
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~*~</div>
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Tomorrow, I go to orientation for Vesalius. Tomorrow, I cross my fingers, hoping that my boots won't continue to leak and let water in. Tomorrow, I'll have to get over jet lag.</div>
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flutterbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11605465966633047198noreply@blogger.com0