I'm Not Dead! : EuroTrip #2

Hello! For those of you who kept up with this blog one year ago, the inexplicable recurrence of what was surely a source of unending joy must come as a shock.  You probably dismissed me as either dead or heartless, the victim of some British kidnapping plot (yes, yes, I know I never wrote about the London adventures), a fugitive from the IRA, or maybe just a forgetful, silly American college girl who stopped writing once her European adventures drew to a close.  While I cannot give credence to any of these rumors, I can now proudly say I am back, fueled by a new burst of European experiences.  Here are the things that have happened since May 15, 2013 (the day of my last post):

       - I had a lovely time in London

   

Buckingham Palace!

      

      - I arrived home safely, spent about two minutes with my family, and rushed off to my internship for the summer

       - I returned to school expecting everything to be the same, but somehow everything had changed. It was rather a rough year, but I made lots of new friends and learned a lot. I suppose the best lessons are the hardest ones (that's what I keep telling myself, at any rate)

   

       - Over winter break, several of my Cornell friends proposed a short vacation to Puerto Rico. I gladly joined in, and took part in many adventures that I may write about after the EuroTrip #2 Chronicles are finished

       - I graduated!

       - I embarked on a 3-week, all-expenses-paid (Ha! I wish) trip to Europe with one of my best friends, Aashika. We went to Geneva, Naples, Bruges, Brussels, and all over Portugal together, and then I split off and visited Barcelona and Madrid by myself.

       - Three days after arriving back home, a cruel man pulled out all my teeth. Well, just my wisdom teeth. But I've spent the past week at home, alternatively being dazed on painkillers or moaning about the pain and my not-so-glamorous face. My new nickname is "Jabba the Hut" because of the fantastic jowls the recovery process has given me

      - I start full-time work in two days! You're catching me at the end of an era; I suppose I must begin Real Life now. But before I do, allow me to reflect on my adventures abroad....

     I began to plan this trip with Aashika months before, in late March/ early April. We agreed upon an ideal itinerary--we'd travel around Greece for about a week, go to Portugal, maybe stop in Milan for awhile, perhaps visit to the south of France.  It took us a very long time to agree on this itinerary, and the decision-making process involved a complicated system of rankings, weightings, and exclusions that only two math-happy engineers could ever come up with.  We happily settled down and bought our tickets to and from Europe.

       When we looked into buying our inter-European tickets, however, we soon realized that the low-budget airlines did not, unfortunately, comply with our plan.  All the tickets we wanted were prohibitively expensive, so we decided to plan our journey one leg at a time. Our internal destinations didn't matter as much as long as we made it to Portugal, where we planned to rendezvous with Aashika's study abroad friends.  Thus our original plan was completely demolished, and a somewhat haphazard plan fell into place. Our destinations make no sense geographically; we bounce all around the continent with no apparent regard for reason or convenience. If you look at ticket prices, however, it all works out.

Like I said, it makes no sense. But it was affordable!

       Anyway, here I was, a freshly graduated Cornell alumni with one week at home to prepare for the journey. So I did what any self-respecting member of my family would do: I procrastinated. I hung out with my family, read books, even watched a movie or two, hoping that the daunting challenge of packing for 3 weeks would diminish. Sadly, it did not.  In fact, it only got worse: I had originally thought that I would get 1 free carry-on and 1 free personal item (ie a purse), like most reasonable airlines allow. However, the ultra-cheap airlines we booked charge the equivalent of $50 and up for such rookie errors--you are allowed exactly one carry-on, subject to very specific dimensions.  We'll talk more about these crazy airlines later.  My sole luggage was limited to a backpack. 1 backpack for 3 weeks. I never thought I could do it.

      I did eventually manage this great feat. If you are not in awe of my prodigious packing skills, you will be after hearing that I almost didn't have to re-wear anything. I managed this feat by filling my backpack to bursting; I almost couldn't zipper it closed., and travel-sized shampoos and makeups spewed out of its side pockets like a vomity child.

My trusty companion. You can't tell, but this backpack held practically a complete wardrobe, and didn't explode. I say it performed quite admirably given its unsuitability for the task.

      My first destination was Geneva, but I had quite a journey before me.  The $300 tickets I had booked included an overnight stop in Iceland, which sounds fun until you hear that it spans the hours of midnight and 6am--my first night in an airport.  My flight to Reykjavik was uneventful but sleepless; I took advantage of the in-flight entertainment system and watched old movies to my heart's content.  Marilyn Monroe taught me everything I needed to know in How to Marry a Millionaire.  I also met my first European on the flight over, a nice, intelligent French boy who was leaving a Harvard teaching post to try for a position as a French ambassador.

       I disembarked from the plane, weirdly excited for my first night sleeping in an airport. This was my christening as an official Traveller of the World--the experience everyone needs in order to legitimately complain about airports! The enterprise seemed doubly thrilling from its supposed illegality; most reports I had looked up beforehand reinforced the strict Reykjavik airport "no-spending-the-night" principle. I found my way to the main lobby, grabbed some food ("pizza Americano"--I couldn't resist), and found a bench with a few other criminal nappers. There was safety in numbers, I supposed, and I was not about to get robbed by some Icelandic thug. In spite of my fears and somewhat to my disappointment, I did not get harassed by Reykjavik airport employees.

       Partly from excitement and partly from the blinding lights and unforgiving metal bench, I barely slept at all that night. The frequent rattling from store cages as they closed (only to be re-opened three hours later) also didn't help.  I slept from 1am to 4:30am, when I was woken by curious children started to pass me and ask their parents who the hobo was.  I went to the ladies' room to brush my teeth and almost didn't recognize myself.  See my transformation from normal girl to hideous creature of death below.

 Left to right: Lauren is excited to begin her journey. Lauren is excited for her journey! Lauren is tired but happy after the flight to Iceland.  Lauren is a ghoul after spending the night in the Reykjavik airport.

      It was after this venture that I began to realize some of the oddities of the Icelandic airport (and European airports in general, as I was soon to discover). First, there were no water fountains, so I canvassed the airport cafes, asking for water refills that I promptly sucked down and then had to stalk for new, unsuspecting cafe workers.   

       Around this time I also began to notice the blatant Icelandic propaganda sprinkled throughout the airport.  Posters hung everywhere proclaiming the beauty and glory of Iceland, but the truth was barely veiled.  A barren wasteland became a "vast uncharted territory for YOU to explore!"  A bleak plot of snow morphed into a "tranquil place for perfect views of the Northern Lights!"  Not even the airplane was left untouched; the seatbacks sported embroidered Icelandic phrases with their English counterparts. The free airplane blanket had bits of Icelandic poetry prominently stitched onto the front. Half of the in-flight shows were documentaries about Iceland or movies made by Icelandic producers.  However, their most effective marketing technique was their choice of employee--every single flight attendant was a gorgeous woman: tall, blonde, buxom, and wearing very sexy heels.

     My flight to Zurich was forty minutes late but otherwise uneventful.  At this point I was completely exhausted. I had had 2 1/2 hours of sleep in the past 24, and only an act of God would push me through until I'd get my next time in a real bed (another 36 hours away).  Thankfully, the Man Upstairs had mercy on my poor soul and kept me awake for the next three hours, which were my own version of the Comedy of Errors.

      I arrived in Zurich and barreled through the airport, hoping to catch the train to Geneva that left in a mere 10 minutes. I was going to meet Aashika and my Cornell friend George who was then studying abroad in Geneva. Unfortunately, the Zurich airport is set up like a maze, with a thousand shops strategically placed in the exit route.  I knocked down dozens of elderly Swiss people in vain--I did not make the train. It left as I ran down the stairs. I spent the next fifteen minutes frantically trying to find free WiFi (hint: nothing is free in Switzerland) with which to communicate with George, then paid an exorbitant price for a power converter when I realized my iPod had died, then realized there were no outlets.  I finally boarded the train, twenty-eight euros lighter but still unable to tell George that I'd be late. One station later, the loudspeakers announced that the tracks were broken later on in the route, and the train would no longer stop in Geneva. I got off, boarded the next train almost in tears, and was shepherded by a nice Swiss Rails employee who informed me that I'd have to change trains 3 times. The schedule then changed two more times, and finally it was settled that my new train would in fact go to Geneva.

      Just as I settled down to enjoy my long ride to Geneva, a family parked a baby carriage that must have been filled with dirty diapers right behind my chair.  The smell forced me to move across from a creepy guy who had been eyeing me the whole time.  At this point, I had started writing notes on my iPod chronicling what happened throughout the trip so that I could remember and write blog posts later (I'm looking at my notes right now).  For about the next two paragraphs of notes, I wrote a humorous but very detailed description of this strange man's character in the off-chance that he would whisk me off to be a sex slave in Tibet, and that description was the only thing that could lead to my rescue.  (It appears that the movie Taken had strongly influenced my impressions of Europeans.)

 

      I finally arrived in Geneva, sleep-deprived and weary, but ready for adventure.  I miraculously found Aashika and George at the train station, and we headed off into the sunset to have lovely adventures in Geneva. You'll hear all about that on the next post--this one is too long already.

Much love,

Lauren

Aran Islands

     After we came back from our European adventures, I knew it was time to get down to business and study for my two exams.  So I planned a trip to the Aran Islands for the next weekend.
     To be fair, I did study during the week, but I knew that two weeks was more than enough time to prepare for my finals.  So I planned for a few days in the Aran Islands, a group of three islands off the west coast of Ireland.  I arrived in Galway, a nearby city, to spend the night before taking the ferry over to Inis Moir, the largest island.  I stayed with a friend, and of course, spent all night talking instead of sleeping.  Waking up was just short of torture, but I managed to pass out in the ferry for a bit.
     When I finally arrived on the islands, I whipped out my camera to take some pictures, and realized to my horror that despite bringing three extra pairs of batteries, I had somehow forgotten the memory card. Brilliant.  I sighed and dragged myself to the hostel, where I met my new roommates--a Polish girl and a Russian girl, who were very involved in making a scarf into a hat (it was pretty cold and windy outside).  Once the lopsided turban was in place, they set off, and I rented a bike to explore Inis Moir.  Inis Moir is only six miles long, so the most common  method of transportation is by bicycle.  When I first heard about this scheme, I was delighted--biking? I can do this all day long!
     I was sadly misinformed about my own fitness. While I can bike all day long on flat ground, the hills of Inis Moir are specifically designed to decimate your thighs within the first half-hour.  Nonetheless, I persevered until I stumbled upon my roommates once again.  They invited me to join them, and I gladly accepted. They brought out a film camera, telling me that they were so blonde that they brought the memory card but forgot their actual camera.  No way. NO way.  It was a match made in heaven.  This sealed the bond and ensured that we would not leave each other's sides for the next two days.
    We decided to try and conquer the "Ring of Aran," a loop that contained some of the most famous sights on the island.  While we didn't make it to all of them, what follows is a smattering of pictures from what we did manage to find.

We did not find the Wormhole, a perfectly rectangular pit in the cliffside.  We did, however, find Mickey Mouse, which we figured was just as cool.

The map advertised a seal colony. Alas, we (or the seals) were misinformed.

Sitting on the edge of the cliff!

Maria, my Russian companion.

Seaside wanderings.

Famous old graveyard.

I laugh in the face of danger. Ha ha ha ha!

Just like the Cliffs of Moher, only more beautiful (and with fewer "Don't Commit Suicide" notices).

Seaweed :)

Le ladies.

    After a full day of biking, we raced back to town to return our bikes before 5pm.  I was the only successful party; the shysters who ran Maria and Karolina's place closed ten minutes early.  Thankfully, Maria put her Russian skills to the test the next morning and managed to convince the surly old man that they had been at the shop on time.
    That night, we wanted to have some midnight wanderings on the beach....after we ate dinner.  And after we hung out for a bit.  And after we cooked some more.  And after we took a nap.  By the time I woke up, it was 1am, and my feet were too immersed in sheets to ever want the sand again.  I resigned myself to spending some time at the beach the next day.
    We spent Sunday on foot, and covered the southern tip of the island. The whole place was pretty deserted, so we hopped a few cow fences and walked down towards the coast.  It was beautiful.  We spent the whole day walking along the coast, poking our heads over cliffs, and narrowly avoiding cow pies.  We ate our lunches while dangling our feet over the ocean.  We didn't see a soul for hours.

Dancing on the beach. Maria clearly has had training. I clearly have not.

She sells seashells down by the seashore. We spent so long collecting shells.

I never knew worm poops could be so pretty.

Workin' it.

I am not the only one with Top Model potential here!

Didn't see any people all day, but the donkey was enough for me :)

So glad I found two girls as silly as me.

    We made our way back to town just in time to wander around the overpriced sweater store and then catch the ferry home.  We decided to sit up top, and when it started raining we decided to tough it out.  We lasted about ten minutes until the indoor seats tempted us beyond our control.
    On the bus ride from the dock to Galway, Disney songs were on our mind, and I'll wager the whole bus knew it.  Despite all our singing, the driver did not crash, and we made it back to Galway with nary a broken part.  I parted ways with Karolina and Maria, and headed back to my friend's apartment to collapse until my train left for Dublin in the morning.



Current update: I am done with exams! I finished Monday, visited Bray (a seaside town south of Dublin) today, and am headed to London tomorrow.  Life is beautiful.

Bohemian Like You {A Few Days in Prague}

    Our final stop on the Grand European Adventure was Prague. We arrived in Prague after a 5-hour bus ride from Munich.  The bus was set up as almost an airline, with a hostess who brought you drinks and snacks (if you paid for them, of course), and the man across the aisle from me was taking full advantage of the service.  On our 5-hour bus ride, he had 6 beers; after the 3rd, even the hostess was giggling.  He would scratch his hairy beer belly as he drank, and after one too many accidental hairy-belly sightings I had to close my eyes and pretend to sleep.

   We finally arrived in Prague, completely exhausted despite the fact that we had done nothing but sit for the past 5 hours, and walked into the central station for train tickets.  The lady at the tourist information counter could not speak English, so instead yelled at me in Czech and gestured wildly when I tried to ask for directions.  Lady, I wanted to say, be nice to me. I fuel your economy here.  The least you could do would be to help me get to my hostel so I can spend some money.

   We did end up making it to our hostel, and essentially threw down our suitcases and headed out straight for dinner.  We had reservations for the Ice Bar afterwards, but the line was long and we wandered around the surrounding club.  Now, this club was advertised as pretty much the coolest place in Prague; 5 floors, with tons of different rooms and different styles of music, DJs, lighting effects, it sounded like The Place To Be.  And it would have been, if not for the 14-year-olds who inhabited it.  I do not know how so many preteens and high school freshmen got into the club that night, but we had accidentally stumbled upon Preteen Mecca.  It was ridiculous. I've never felt old, except in the club.

      We made a hasty exit from the club and finally found our way to the ice bar.  Our relatively expensive ticket allowed us only 20 minutes inside, so we had to make the most of it.  The ice bar is completely made out of ice--the floor, walls, counter, tables, cups, and everything is made out of ice.  They give you superwarm jackets before you go inside, along with gloves, so you don't completely freeze. It was pretty cool.

Our ice-barman.

The bar itself.

My drink was in an ice cube cup! So awesome.

   We hopped out of the ice bar satisfied with our night's excursions, and got back to our room just in time to hear the girl underneath my bunk bed throw up repeatedly right next door.  Needless to say, I was quite perturbed by this turn of events, and immediately switched to another, less vomity bunk bed.

   The next morning we awoke and set off for our official walking tour of Prague.  Our guide was ridiculously tall and also ridiculously entertaining, and we spent the morning learning about some of the history of Prague and seeing some of the most beautiful places.  We walked around the Jewish Quarter, saw statues of Franz Kafka, learned about the astronomical clock...

Apparently, Prague is The City to get married in.  Here we have 15 brides getting married at once in the Old Town Square; I saw at least 19 total for the whole day.

The Astronomical Clock! Still ticking after 600+ years.  The story goes that the city was so pleased with its  clock that they blinded and cut the tongue out of its creator, so that he could never produce another one like it.  He got his revenge, though, by sticking his hand into the machinery and messing up the clock for 100 years.

Old Town Square.

Part of the Jewish Quarter.

Statue of Franz Kafka riding on the shoulders of a body-less suit. The story goes that Kafka always had nightmares about this empty suit chasing him, until in one of his dreams he turned around and faced it, and it picked him up and put him on his shoulders so he could see better.

The entrance to the Charles Bridge.

Gardens!

     Directly after our three-hour walking tour, we decided to be crazy and hopped on another tour, this time of the Prague Castle, a huge complex of buildings that are all part of the castle.  This time our guide was a born-and-bred American Southerner, complete with a George accent and the attitude to go with it.  Let's just say he wasn't the most sensitive of guides.  Nevertheless, we learned even more Czech history, and got to see lots of the castle as well.

If you've seen the movie Amadeus, this is the outside of Mozart's house!

The cathedral in the center of the castle.

Golden Lane. Kafka lived in #22.

   We arrived back in the center of town completely exhausted, and wanted to get some dinner.  We found a restaurant that our guide had recommended, and sat down to eat.  By the time we noticed that they charged for water, it was too late; we were stuck at this tourist trap, whether we liked it or not.  We had water bottles and did not much feel like paying, so we took turns sneaking to the bathroom to drink from our water bottles like fugitives.  I'm sure the waiters knew exactly what we were doing, and were immensely entertained by it.

I felt left out of all the beer pictures, so I borrowed Breanna's beer and took a picture with it.  I realize this is pathetic.

   That night we decided to be adventurous, and went to an absinthe bar.  Absinthe is a type of alcohol that supposedly makes you hallucinate, but is actually just hyped-up normal alcohol.   We all had a drink and were completely fine, and felt mildly cheated out of a legal hallucinatory experience.  Oh well.

    The next morning, Breanna and I headed out to a modern art museum.  Some of the stuff was interesting.  Some of the stuff was....art.

Stairway to heaven?

Wow, look at that. So inspiring.

Ditto.

Ooh. This is cool.

It's my family!

    I spent the rest of the day wandering around and buying hippie jewelry.  That night, though, we had something special planned: the opera.  It turns out that Czech opera tickets can be extraordinarily cheap if you get bad seats, so we capitalized on the opportunity and made our way to the State Opera House to see La Boheme.  The Opera House was gorgeous, and the opera itself was lovely.  I wasn't expecting much, since I usually don't like too much vibrato, but it really was beautiful.  We were also surprised to see how similar the plot was to the Broadway show Rent; they paralleled each other almost exactly.

The State Opera House in Prague.

     Our final morning in Prague, we walked across the Charles River Bridge and bought more hippie jewelry.  Then we headed back to the airport and found our way back to Dublin.

Google'd picture of the Charles River Bridge.  There were too many tourists for me to really get a good shot.

    And thus our EuroTrip ended. Those were the best three weeks of my life, and ones I won't forget for a long time. I will probably never have the chance again to travel for such an extended period, and I'm really glad I took advantage of it. There's still so much more to do and see, though--I have a list a mile long of cities I want to visit.  But for now, our lineup--Paris, Amsterdam, Berlin, Munich, Prague--was an excellent one, and there's not a thing I would change.

Current update: I am in exam mode!  I've been studying for the past few weeks for my two exams.  I had one today, and my last one is Monday.  Despite my pressing need to study, I visited the Aran Islands last weekend, and next week (after my exams), I'm going to London.  Living it up while I still can!