Fact: smoking hash and pot in 'coffeeshops' in Amsterdam is legal.
Fact: you can buy joints or bags or seeds.
Fact: you can buy mushrooms and herbal drugs in things called 'smart shops.'
All of these places are names in English. This is not only because the Dutch all speak English and want to spread their knowledge, it's because Amsterdam's coffee shops and smart shops are so successful because of English, because of tourism, because I met a handful of Dutchmen who told me point blank that few people really smokes pot after the age of 20, because apparently it loses its edge. So kids, if you thought everyone in Amsterdam was a pot head or still on that long acid trip, you thought wrong. Sure, coffeeshops have to do well enough to survive without tourism, but it is hardly the culture I expected. Overall, it was just a more liberal city, but then again any place where foreigners can come to party and hire a prostitute would have to be. People might have been trashed but I think it was more drunken debauchery than anything else.
The other thing is, people in Amsterdam are just nice. Aside from the guys I met at one bar (leave it to me to find the arrogant assholes even in Holland), everyone was so excited to help us and tell us where to go, even our cab driver. Needless to say, we took suggestions from them and from the little Lonely Planet guide I bought - both of which proved overwhelmingly helpful in terms of navigating a city where every street can really start to look the same and to help find some delicious eats. Every meal was amazing and I definitely wasn't close to high for most of them. We had delicious pancakes, steak, street waffles with chocolate, stroop waffles, frites, and even quiche. A successful eating tour, if I do say so myself.
Side note: people in Europe do not dance at concerts or in clubs as much as we do in America. I suppose we really do do everything in excess. So lame, Europe.
I got to see the Van Gogh Museum and the Rijksmuseum (the national gallery), and Sunday we managed to squeeze in the Anne Frank house before catching our train back to Paris. Overall, I don't feel like I missed out on too much and didn't really feel right trying all those crazy mushrooms, because I like being alive and didn't trust myself in a foreign city doing that kind of shit. I also didn't want to be that kid who goes to Amsterdam, loses her wallet, passport, all major lifelines, and is potentially raped or dead on the street. It's a grim image, so I decided to avoid it. However, I may put in some orders with people who are going again soon... We will see.
All of this traveling just makes me miss Paris and I am so glad to be here and to be back to reality. Now homework awaits me. Meh.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Escargots, more like escarNO.
This weekend, paid by in full by your favorite bureaucracy at NYU, I traveled to Bourgogne, a small region southwest of Paris, located in the center of the Country, because anything that is not the south or on a border is simply considered central. Totally the midwest of Paris, but with better food, less cornfields, and probably an equal number of cows. The cows, by the way, were not the black spotted ones we see upstate or in Amish country, nor were they even brown. These babies were pure white but had muddy feet so they looked like the wore little shoes... very cute, very country, and definitely not Parisian.
We arrived in a little town called Beaune, where one could find the Hospices de Beaune, a hospital set up during the medieval period by the Duc de Bourgogne (Duke of Burgundy, for those of you not willing to say that outloud and figure it out), to provide medical services and care for the hundreds of poor people living in his duchy (province/region/land that he reigned over). I took this tour in french and wanted to die. The guide was smart, but not really funny, and thought I understood his french, it was so easy to ignore him. The hospital was gorgeous but cold, because in case anyone in the States didn't know, it gets cold in France, which I didn't know, so I spent the better half of my time trying to get warm. After this I tried boeuf bourgignon, at a traditional Bourgogne restaurant/café, which claimed to have all the traditional dishes. I had discovered this specific dish by watching Julie and Julia in the states but what I got did NOT look like what came out of Amy Adam's oven, and it did NOT taste like it should have... So I am going to try to find this dish in Paris again, so that I can taste Amy Adam's and not have my dreams crushed. Moreover, I have been talking about eating this freaking dish SINCE I SAW THE MOVIE. So I will find it and I will eat it and it will be (or better be) delicious.
Next part of the trip takes me to these really really intense, amazing, and prehistoric caves called the Grottes d'Arcy (http://www.grottes-arcy.net/visite.html). Like Lascaux caves, but MORE LEGIT. Our tour guide, whose English was adorable and who was extremely sassy, completely bashed Lascaux and said that the drawings you see there are artificial and constantly retouched, whereas hers were not, and were preserved by natural elements, like caltite or calcite or both. Apparently, according to the Lascaux site, the original cave is just closed to the public so they created a replica. Just imagine seeing a hand that was painted 28,000 years ago and seeing it on the wall of a cave. Imagine seeing an outline of a lion and an outline of a deer that incorporates the natural contours of the cave to create artistic dimension and perception. Really amazing stuff.
I don't think the rest of the trip matters as much as my meals do. After bouef bourgignon being a bust, I was waiting to find something truly delicious and anxious for dinner. Well, folks, the wine at dinner was delicious, but once I saw that I actually was being served escargot I couldn't regain mental stability. First of all, those little suckers are black, and black is NEVER an appetizing color. Think burnt, wrinkly clams. I like to see my coquillages and understand what the hell I'm eating. First of two attempts to eat it was a fail. I got it in my mouth but immediately pulled it out. I couldn't get the image of a real life snail out of my head. For those of you who don't know, I am petrified of worms and snails. If anyone remembers the TV show Goosebumps from the 90s, you can thank them for my chronic fear of invertebraes. I wanted to cry. I probably drank more wine than anyone in that room to calm myself down. (which was actually amazing, because Bourgignon Pinot Noir is so smooth it's almost like drinking a hearty white wine.) Second attempt, I chewed 3 times and downed the little shit with wine and water. Now, I have been talking about trying escargot since arriving. I have been hoping to see it on a menu, or to see frogs legs, or something, and might even try pigeon. I couldn't separate the image. Michelle sat there eating them like it was her fucking job and I was just in shock. THANK GOD OUR MAIN DISH WAS CHICKEN. And dessert was this chocolate mousse milk thing, equally delicious, but no coffee was served, so I drank more wine... I had visions of the snail crawling around inside me and felt very ill so went to bed. No nightmares but the next morning I felt a severe fear that it would foam from my mouth if I ate anything too salty...
All in all, a good trip on NYU's tab. I saw some pretty cool stuff and ate some pretty disgusting stuff. I also caught up on sleep like no one's business and that brings me much joy. This week should be good because it's Adrienne's birthday so we have stuff to do for her, but will also be très triste because I have a ton of work, which I am going to start now, because I got a C on my first quiz for Vichy France because my professor obviously doesn't know that 1. NYU students don't get quizzes ever 2. the word for quiz means little test, not a 15 short answer exam to be completed in 20 minutes. Way to be a show off doctoral student. At least he's good to look at and equally as brilliant to listen to; he inspires me and helps me realize more and more that I should just go get my doctorate and teach college kids about things I love. (namely, Louis XIV.)
I hope that I figure out what I'm doing with myself sooner than later because it's getting close to LSAT time, and time to study for the LSATs and time to start deciding whether I will actually apply to grad school right out of college or hope to find a real job that doesn't involve nannying forever. My father told me there was a lot of money being a professional nanny. I asked him if he ever expected to be taken care of when he's old and sick... I think then he understood just how much more money there is everywhere else...
La prochaine fois: birthdays and Amsterdam.
bisous à tout le monde!
We arrived in a little town called Beaune, where one could find the Hospices de Beaune, a hospital set up during the medieval period by the Duc de Bourgogne (Duke of Burgundy, for those of you not willing to say that outloud and figure it out), to provide medical services and care for the hundreds of poor people living in his duchy (province/region/land that he reigned over). I took this tour in french and wanted to die. The guide was smart, but not really funny, and thought I understood his french, it was so easy to ignore him. The hospital was gorgeous but cold, because in case anyone in the States didn't know, it gets cold in France, which I didn't know, so I spent the better half of my time trying to get warm. After this I tried boeuf bourgignon, at a traditional Bourgogne restaurant/café, which claimed to have all the traditional dishes. I had discovered this specific dish by watching Julie and Julia in the states but what I got did NOT look like what came out of Amy Adam's oven, and it did NOT taste like it should have... So I am going to try to find this dish in Paris again, so that I can taste Amy Adam's and not have my dreams crushed. Moreover, I have been talking about eating this freaking dish SINCE I SAW THE MOVIE. So I will find it and I will eat it and it will be (or better be) delicious.
Next part of the trip takes me to these really really intense, amazing, and prehistoric caves called the Grottes d'Arcy (http://www.grottes-arcy.net/visite.html). Like Lascaux caves, but MORE LEGIT. Our tour guide, whose English was adorable and who was extremely sassy, completely bashed Lascaux and said that the drawings you see there are artificial and constantly retouched, whereas hers were not, and were preserved by natural elements, like caltite or calcite or both. Apparently, according to the Lascaux site, the original cave is just closed to the public so they created a replica. Just imagine seeing a hand that was painted 28,000 years ago and seeing it on the wall of a cave. Imagine seeing an outline of a lion and an outline of a deer that incorporates the natural contours of the cave to create artistic dimension and perception. Really amazing stuff.
I don't think the rest of the trip matters as much as my meals do. After bouef bourgignon being a bust, I was waiting to find something truly delicious and anxious for dinner. Well, folks, the wine at dinner was delicious, but once I saw that I actually was being served escargot I couldn't regain mental stability. First of all, those little suckers are black, and black is NEVER an appetizing color. Think burnt, wrinkly clams. I like to see my coquillages and understand what the hell I'm eating. First of two attempts to eat it was a fail. I got it in my mouth but immediately pulled it out. I couldn't get the image of a real life snail out of my head. For those of you who don't know, I am petrified of worms and snails. If anyone remembers the TV show Goosebumps from the 90s, you can thank them for my chronic fear of invertebraes. I wanted to cry. I probably drank more wine than anyone in that room to calm myself down. (which was actually amazing, because Bourgignon Pinot Noir is so smooth it's almost like drinking a hearty white wine.) Second attempt, I chewed 3 times and downed the little shit with wine and water. Now, I have been talking about trying escargot since arriving. I have been hoping to see it on a menu, or to see frogs legs, or something, and might even try pigeon. I couldn't separate the image. Michelle sat there eating them like it was her fucking job and I was just in shock. THANK GOD OUR MAIN DISH WAS CHICKEN. And dessert was this chocolate mousse milk thing, equally delicious, but no coffee was served, so I drank more wine... I had visions of the snail crawling around inside me and felt very ill so went to bed. No nightmares but the next morning I felt a severe fear that it would foam from my mouth if I ate anything too salty...
All in all, a good trip on NYU's tab. I saw some pretty cool stuff and ate some pretty disgusting stuff. I also caught up on sleep like no one's business and that brings me much joy. This week should be good because it's Adrienne's birthday so we have stuff to do for her, but will also be très triste because I have a ton of work, which I am going to start now, because I got a C on my first quiz for Vichy France because my professor obviously doesn't know that 1. NYU students don't get quizzes ever 2. the word for quiz means little test, not a 15 short answer exam to be completed in 20 minutes. Way to be a show off doctoral student. At least he's good to look at and equally as brilliant to listen to; he inspires me and helps me realize more and more that I should just go get my doctorate and teach college kids about things I love. (namely, Louis XIV.)
I hope that I figure out what I'm doing with myself sooner than later because it's getting close to LSAT time, and time to study for the LSATs and time to start deciding whether I will actually apply to grad school right out of college or hope to find a real job that doesn't involve nannying forever. My father told me there was a lot of money being a professional nanny. I asked him if he ever expected to be taken care of when he's old and sick... I think then he understood just how much more money there is everywhere else...
La prochaine fois: birthdays and Amsterdam.
bisous à tout le monde!
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Proseem? Prosím! Pivo!
So this weekend, Michelle and I traveled to Praha (Prague, for the unknowing) to visit some of my favorite babies. Kyle played an excellent tour guide and if I didn't have a heart I would have started calling him Tour Guide Kyle-Doll... Ok, that's a bit much. But seriously, most accommodating host and I hope to be the best hostess cupcake when he and Alexis come to visit in a month.
Prague is an, erm, interesting city. Parts of it are gorgeous, as in: The Charles Bridge, Prague Castle, Old Town, the astronomical/astrological clock (both names work, ok?!), and anything that is well, distinctly old. As a matter of fact, my favorite parts of Prague were buildings that were super old and probably older than many things I've seen here in Paris. However, with all beauty there is a downfall, that downfall being the Czech language. Now, there is nothing wrong with Czech, but there is something super wrong with it when you can't speak it. I have never felt so hopeless in all of my life. I mean these people are talking a million miles a minute in a language that just sounds funny. I can't blame them for it, but it just makes me realize what a huge Francophile I really am. Aside from funny speech, there are parts of Prague that made me feel like I was in a huge time warp. The transportation system seems to be stuck in the 80s, particularly with its decoration. It really is the city of red: red roofs and red metros. It is not distinctly Western, in the sense that fashion has really not come to this city and the women are not as preoccupied with beautifying themselves every morning as they are in Paris. That was a huge relief when I rolled out of bed at 7AM to catch my flight. Food in itself is so heavy and people drink beer with everything. Apparently you can get beer in the morning with breakfast. HOW ARE EUROPEANS SO THIN? This is all so mysterious to me... I finally got my Goulash and my spaetzel so I am a happy little expat in Paris.
Walking over the Charles Bridge was like living a dream. Charlie bought me this poster a couple years ago that was of the Charles Bridge, when I started thinking that maybe I'd want to study in Prague (no way, no how), and so my only true hope for this weekend was to walk across the bridge at twilight. Mission Accomplished, thanks to Tour Guide Kyle and Michelle for depeching herself all over Praha with us. The view from the bridge made me understand why people consider Prague the Paris of the East, which is apparently geographically incorrect, as Kyle tells me Prague is actually central Europe. Anything past Germany is East to me... slash anything that was Communist is obvious East. As a European Studies student, I should probably be less shallow about the countries I visit and should probably refer to them based on where they are located. Anyway, it was magical, the lights from the city all came on around the same time, and the light was a golden, slightly fluorescent glow, similar to that from the view of Pont Des Arts, and that brought me much joy.
The other thing is at a certain point, you assume that every one in Europe speaks English. I assume everyone speaks either French or English, always hoping for the former so I can see how obvious my American accent is. The truth is, they don't. It's definitely a Western thing for people to speak English, and Western I think truly meaning France and Germany. People in Barcelona spoke English, but not the cab drivers. So much of it is a generation thing, and I feel so guilty going to countries and not even knowing the basics of the language. Like, in Barcelona, I forgot that Hola was "hello." Uh... it's not like my little sister doesn't watch Dora or Diego at home. I guess it is now my job to try to learn a couple other languages so I don't seem like such an American bigot.
This post is really erratic, but then again so is my life right now, as I describe pieces of art I don't understand and study for a test that on things in French history that I barely understand. Who knew the Vichy period didn't mean the part of France taken over by Germany? I know that now.
Other accomplishments this week: I ate at Les Deux Magots, tried beef carpaccio, tried fried cheese in Praha, didn't die or have a heart attack on the plane, made a relatively yummy dinner for Adrienne and myself, and have almost managed to upload everything off my external harddrive onto my computer. Three cheers for getting shit done.
Rock on.
Prague is an, erm, interesting city. Parts of it are gorgeous, as in: The Charles Bridge, Prague Castle, Old Town, the astronomical/astrological clock (both names work, ok?!), and anything that is well, distinctly old. As a matter of fact, my favorite parts of Prague were buildings that were super old and probably older than many things I've seen here in Paris. However, with all beauty there is a downfall, that downfall being the Czech language. Now, there is nothing wrong with Czech, but there is something super wrong with it when you can't speak it. I have never felt so hopeless in all of my life. I mean these people are talking a million miles a minute in a language that just sounds funny. I can't blame them for it, but it just makes me realize what a huge Francophile I really am. Aside from funny speech, there are parts of Prague that made me feel like I was in a huge time warp. The transportation system seems to be stuck in the 80s, particularly with its decoration. It really is the city of red: red roofs and red metros. It is not distinctly Western, in the sense that fashion has really not come to this city and the women are not as preoccupied with beautifying themselves every morning as they are in Paris. That was a huge relief when I rolled out of bed at 7AM to catch my flight. Food in itself is so heavy and people drink beer with everything. Apparently you can get beer in the morning with breakfast. HOW ARE EUROPEANS SO THIN? This is all so mysterious to me... I finally got my Goulash and my spaetzel so I am a happy little expat in Paris.
Walking over the Charles Bridge was like living a dream. Charlie bought me this poster a couple years ago that was of the Charles Bridge, when I started thinking that maybe I'd want to study in Prague (no way, no how), and so my only true hope for this weekend was to walk across the bridge at twilight. Mission Accomplished, thanks to Tour Guide Kyle and Michelle for depeching herself all over Praha with us. The view from the bridge made me understand why people consider Prague the Paris of the East, which is apparently geographically incorrect, as Kyle tells me Prague is actually central Europe. Anything past Germany is East to me... slash anything that was Communist is obvious East. As a European Studies student, I should probably be less shallow about the countries I visit and should probably refer to them based on where they are located. Anyway, it was magical, the lights from the city all came on around the same time, and the light was a golden, slightly fluorescent glow, similar to that from the view of Pont Des Arts, and that brought me much joy.
The other thing is at a certain point, you assume that every one in Europe speaks English. I assume everyone speaks either French or English, always hoping for the former so I can see how obvious my American accent is. The truth is, they don't. It's definitely a Western thing for people to speak English, and Western I think truly meaning France and Germany. People in Barcelona spoke English, but not the cab drivers. So much of it is a generation thing, and I feel so guilty going to countries and not even knowing the basics of the language. Like, in Barcelona, I forgot that Hola was "hello." Uh... it's not like my little sister doesn't watch Dora or Diego at home. I guess it is now my job to try to learn a couple other languages so I don't seem like such an American bigot.
This post is really erratic, but then again so is my life right now, as I describe pieces of art I don't understand and study for a test that on things in French history that I barely understand. Who knew the Vichy period didn't mean the part of France taken over by Germany? I know that now.
Other accomplishments this week: I ate at Les Deux Magots, tried beef carpaccio, tried fried cheese in Praha, didn't die or have a heart attack on the plane, made a relatively yummy dinner for Adrienne and myself, and have almost managed to upload everything off my external harddrive onto my computer. Three cheers for getting shit done.
Rock on.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Bar-they-lone-ahhh
This weekend I went to Barcelona, which is not really pronounced how it looks, because all Catalans have lisps. No, really, and they have a lot of freaky X's in their words that make no sense and for all practical purposes, should not exist because they are neither phonetic nor are they pretty. All of this made me come to appreciate French even more than I ever have because it is pretty and more often than not makes sense in terms of pronunciation. (even if you disagree, Kyle.)
I spent the weekend with my two best friends from NYU and all I can really say about it is the three of us really understand the importance of eating. I mean I have never seen so much freaking food. Tasting menus are intense. How much freaking food can a person eat in one meal AND how can a meal last 3 hours? Thank god we were good company because I would be gnawing on my fork if I wasn't with Kyle, Alex, and her parents... BUT the food was fabulous, the wine even better, so maybe I would have been fine... or just drunk.
For those of you who haven't been to Barcelona, you should go just to see the Gaudi Sagrada Familia cathedral. It was gorgeous, and definitely one of the most intricately designed buildings I have ever seen in my life. It beats anything that I have here in Paris, and that is saying a lot, because I typically prefer classic, baroque, or gothic buildings, many of which I can find just around the corner. The cathedral is insane. I could have just seen that and gotten back on the plane. Or, rather, seen that, drank more Spanish wine, taken another shower in the hotel suite, and than returned chez de Ribiers.
Busy week in Paris this week: two class trips to two different museums on Wednesday (Cluny and the Louvre) which will both be fantastic and overly educational with a side of intense because those classes are held entirely in French. Mon Dieu. I also have family dinner on Weds which is always fantastic. Madame de Ribier grows increasingly impressed with my French and that brings me so much joy.
Pictures from Barcelona can be found on Facebook. Nothing else to report except apparently Adrienne ran into the British boy that I plan on marrying so maybe I should try to call him again.
Bisous.
I spent the weekend with my two best friends from NYU and all I can really say about it is the three of us really understand the importance of eating. I mean I have never seen so much freaking food. Tasting menus are intense. How much freaking food can a person eat in one meal AND how can a meal last 3 hours? Thank god we were good company because I would be gnawing on my fork if I wasn't with Kyle, Alex, and her parents... BUT the food was fabulous, the wine even better, so maybe I would have been fine... or just drunk.
For those of you who haven't been to Barcelona, you should go just to see the Gaudi Sagrada Familia cathedral. It was gorgeous, and definitely one of the most intricately designed buildings I have ever seen in my life. It beats anything that I have here in Paris, and that is saying a lot, because I typically prefer classic, baroque, or gothic buildings, many of which I can find just around the corner. The cathedral is insane. I could have just seen that and gotten back on the plane. Or, rather, seen that, drank more Spanish wine, taken another shower in the hotel suite, and than returned chez de Ribiers.
Busy week in Paris this week: two class trips to two different museums on Wednesday (Cluny and the Louvre) which will both be fantastic and overly educational with a side of intense because those classes are held entirely in French. Mon Dieu. I also have family dinner on Weds which is always fantastic. Madame de Ribier grows increasingly impressed with my French and that brings me so much joy.
Pictures from Barcelona can be found on Facebook. Nothing else to report except apparently Adrienne ran into the British boy that I plan on marrying so maybe I should try to call him again.
Bisous.
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