Bruxelles, Fin.

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?

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.

~*~

~*~

While I was getting ready to leave, I made a short list of ridiculous things I heard in Brussels:

1. It looks like a hairy caterpillar... Let's eat it! -- R. K.
2. Do ducks have cold feet? -- E. G.
3. Scrabble is a great... euphemism.  There are many kinds of Scrabble, especially with the international boards. -- C. E.
4. Yeah, I did (basically equate women to cats and men to dogs). -- C. E.
5. I don't know about you, but I'm feeling twenty-two! -- R. K.
6. Few things are more frustrating that short bread in tall toasters. -- M. B.
7. (About Grand Place) It's kinda like Costco! -- R.K.

~*~

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.

~*~ 

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.

~*~

~*~

I think Dr. Seuss said it best "Remember me and smile, for it is better to forget, than to remember me and cry."

Oh Boy, I'm Seeing Green [Or, Saint Patrick's Day in Ireland]

Saint Patrick's Day was originally going to be a very chill, calm, quiet --

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.

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.

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."

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.

Gabby, it turns out, is on the other side of the barrier, slowly laughing at us.

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.

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).

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.

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.

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.

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.

Colorful and fantastic!

Oscar Wilde was only one famous person I "saw": there was Mary Malone and Bram Stoker too!

Starbucks in Ireland: Earl Grey tea, marshmallow swizzle, chocolate chili and dark forest cakes.

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...

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.

I met a few great guys on the pub crawl and kept stealing Sven's hat. 

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.

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.

I got a perfect pint of Guinness.  In case you didn't know, Guinness has a two-step pour.

The wall of history: also known as every Guinness bottle ever.

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."

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! 

Everywhere, people piled onto monuments, on top of electrical boxes, and on balconies.

I laughed at the random Disney characters mixed in with Saint Patrick's Day balloons.

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.  

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.  

I end up in Brussels, torn between being awake and annoyed, while I go to class.

À Bientôt Bruxelles [My Weekend in Amsterdam]

“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.” 

-- John Green

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!

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!

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."

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!"

Of course, guess who chose to walk up at that moment in time... Re.

She had to buy gloves because she forgot hers.  At least they were cute souvenirs!

Anyways, our nights and days were filled with a serious of strange events:

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?

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.

Two of the friendly Dutch men we met!

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.

In front of the My Dream exhibition sign, I couldn't stop grinning.

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!

The House of Bols is the house of the oldest alcoholic drink: genever.

Even if I didn't go on the Heineken Experience, I saw the boat!

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...

This is also the most stereotypical photo of Amsterdam I took, minus the cannabis!

Bruxelles, Voici Onze [One Day, Three Countries]

Europe is quite small.  In one day, we had lunch in Germany, coffee in the Netherlands, and dinner back in Belgium.

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.

First stop was Monschau, Germany.  Google it. It LITERALLY looks like Belle's village in the Disney movie (Beauty and the Beast, the Little Town song).  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).

But... Here are a few pictures!

I'm at the border of Germany, and cold.

Flatmates in Germany! 

Like I said, Belle's village...

...with "Tradition".

We had a nice lunch inside a hotel, which had an adorable little French Bulldog... 

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!  

We got to the Netherlands, which for a first impression weren't particularly awesome.  It's kinda just... flat.  

I'm still cold. 

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.

On the plus side, I'm in three countries at once!

Afterwards, I fell asleep on the ride back and just stayed in.  Which means: video montage!

Brussels Random Video, Part 2

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."

Which leads to us doing this:

And this:

This is what my flatmate and I do with our lives.