Toulouse!

My friend, Visylia, and I took a trip north and west to Toulouse. It was only a couple hours by train and there was someone I learned about in college with that name (Toulouse-Lautrec). So we went. 

First thing we did there was eat lunch.

It was epic.

The first course (l'entree) was a board of various, thin sliced meat products. A couple different, um, sausages? Like pepperoni in different flavors. All quite delicious and served with pickles and butter (I have no idea why. The water plopped down a jar of pickles and I was like, what am I supposed to do with this? So I ate a couple. I think that was right).  

The main course (le plat) was absolutely heavenly. Chicken (poulet) with a balsamic sauce that was quite sweet. Then a salad and some pumpkin puree. The puree was *ohmygoodness* so good. Creamy and buttery with delicate seasoning that enhanced its naturally nutty flavor.

Dessert was a raspberry tart. The crust was dense and crumbly pastry. The cream, delicious, and the raspberries (framboise) perfectly ripe.

Ahhhh....

Then we decided to visit the rest of Toulouse. 

Toulouse is known for its red brick. It is unique in all of France (all the French insist that it is indeed very different and original). It is called La Ville en Rose. 

After looking around a couple streets we stopped in a sweet shop.

Absolutely magnificent. Biscuits and marshmallows and jellies and nougat and violets. Ah, heaven.

Here is the Capital, the biggest red brick building and the center of the city. It was a nice warm weekend and a lot of people were getting married. We saw 4 brides I think while we were there, all getting married in the capital. 

Inside was an absolute stunning collection of murals. The artwork was fantastic and of the topmost quality. I had no idea it existed but we got to see it (and for free!)

Here is some ceiling. 

This is supposed to be Comedy and Tragedy, but I think it looks like John Lennon and a muppet. 

 

Me, there.

Sometimes French names don't translate.

Glorious center of the main hall.

Once we got out I ate one of the cookies from the sweet shop. Toulouse is also known for its violets, so everything is violet flavored. I got a violet flavored biscuit, and I will say violet is a decent but not preferable flavor in a baked good. 

On Saturday we went to the churches (because churches are closed to the public on Sundays)

Also a very decent mural job. This church (Basilique St. Sernin) was on the way to St. John's Basilica in Spain. So pilgrims would come and stay at the monasteries and churches in town and for payment they would leave a seashell--the symbol of St. John. 

The church is quite old (foundation laid in 1060 or something crazy) and the artwork is dazzling. So much detail!

Here is a miniature of the Basilica (a church for ants). It was just hanging from the ceiling. (The real church was 3x this size)

Afterwards we went to a tea shop that was darling.

They had a 7 page tea menu, but I just went with the hot chocolate. It was thick and cocoa-y and I got to use this darling tea cup.

Next we went to the Jacobins Convent. It is known for its "palm tree" ceiling. 

See? We didn't stay too long because there was a wedding going on. It was a little weird. They left the door open and everything and you walk in and there in the middle some lady is chanting Latin into a microphone and the wedding couple is up on a dais. It was like, whoa, are we allowed to be here? *look around nervously. Nobody stops us* Ok I guess we can, uh... look around. So we left pretty quick. Other tourists stayed, wandering around, with their camera around their neck and scooting around the wedding guests. Odd.

In honor of all the weddings I took a picture of this wedding dress store. Very beautiful, very expensive. 

The view from Pont Neuf. Voila, Toulouse. 

And of course we had to have dinner.

Walnut salad, veal, and a cantaloupe soup for dessert. We also had the region special, the cassoulet. Vis and I were a bit nervous to try it because we had some at Carcassonne and it was not good, just oily and heavy with waaaaay too many white beans. 

We almost went with something else and the waitress was like I don't think you want that. It is very good, but it is an acquired taste, and if you're not used to it... Turns out it was squid testicles or something. We told her why we were hesitant to eat the cassoulet but she assured us their cassoulet was very good, they took pride in it. Plus our teacher had told us we had to try, so we did it. We ordered the cassoulet.

During the meal the waitress stopped by, then the other waiter, and then the chef, all to see of we liked the food! It added pressure to the meal, definitely. Luckily their cassoulet was decidedly better than Carcassonne's. The entire staff rejoiced in the good news. The waiter (about 42 y. o.) did a victory dance and the waitress (about 55 y. o.) cheered. The chef (I think the husband of the waitress) came over and gave us a 101 on the cultural importance of the cassoulet. He also explained that it takes about 3 days to make because you season the duck for a day, smoke the sausage, and cook it in 4 hour increments. At least, that's what I got from it. 

And they all had very bad teeth. Yellow or missing. But the cassoulet was good.

Lunch the next day was brunch. Sunday was brunch day. Every restaurant only offered brunch. So we got brunch

It was the most random assortment of food. Quiche, salad, muffin, carrots, tomatoes, cous cous, hummus, smoked salmon, ham, and applesauce. All on the same plate. It was like someone was trying to clean out the fridge before Monday.

A portion of the tea selection.

This was the Bomberg Foundation. Lots and Lots of cool art.

Imposing figures like this trying to call people to repentance. 

And Mr. Darcy.

Baby Herculese killing snakes. That kid has the sweetest head of hair. 

 View from inside.

Epic painting of the conquerer of Jerusalem. 

Cupid, being creepy and shooting people to make them like each other.

 After a while I started mocking the artwork.

 This one's out of order, but it's a bunch of chubby cherubs fighting over apples.

 Wasn't sure if the one on the right is a dude wearing a dress or a lady with a beard.

Fig. 108: Greek youth displaying the preferred coiffure of his century. Such a sultry look made the gladiators kill each other in envy. The winner got a hair cut.

 Outside of the next museum was a flee market. We went and it was like DI on the streets. People's used stuff, but not even in good condition. Lots and lots of electronic cords, mostly for things from the 90's (walkmans--walkmen? Robo puppy, cassette recorders, and etc.) 

It was the Arab quarter, I believe, and a few random French natives and one American (me!) who wondered where they took the wrong turn because no one was speaking French anymore.

The smallest museum we went to has 2 rooms and 3 paintings. It was the Occitan Cultural museum.

Occitan in a language spoken in the south west of France and the north east of Spain. It's dying but some people try to keep it alive.

That book in the middle is The Little Prince in Occitan. If the store had been open I totally would have bought that shiz. 

 The next museum was a clock museum and it was crazy to see what people could make in the 1600's. Some truly ingenious and beautiful stuff. Coolest was this autamaton. When wound up the bird sings a rather complex song and the fancy person (man? woman? sultan? sultress?) looks at it and nods then looks to the parasol holder and nods. The parasol holder nods back (I think he's trying to convince the fancy person that that giant tassel is actually a parasol). It's crazy because it's like 500 years old, and still works.

Final stop: The boulangerie! It was full of rising bread, croissants, and these mini loaves of different flavors. Adorable.

French Toilets (a dissertation)

In the beginning, I knew that European bathrooms are smaller than American ones. I knew that they are not always nice, frequently dirty, and used for suspicious activity associated with other parts of the body. 

In short, I thought I could handle it, being aware as I was. 

Then, upon entering my host's house and receiving the (short) tour of the place, I noticed that the toilet was in a room by itself, and the rest of the bathroom was elsewhere. Odd, certainly. Weird. But easily overcome, especially because the toilet paper looked like this: 

 Purplish pink and smaller than average. The perfect thing for Barbie's dream mansion. But then my host mom told me that the plumbing in the house is very old and small. Therefore you put your (used) toilet paper into a garbage can right next to the toilet... Horror is an accurate description of my sentiments at that moment. 

So OK, you do what you got to do. I went about it delicately because of the shifting toilet seat and the paper thin walls. I have yet to master the art of the Silent Pee, and I'm pretty sure you can hear what's going down in any part of the house. It's awkward.

 I decided that in the heart of town would be better. I'd wait for the prosperous school building before releasing my bowels. It seemed like a sturdier way to see a man about a wallaby. I dreamt of a large toilet, one you could sit on without fear of breaking. Of a sink in the same room. Of thicker walls and a fan so other people can't hear you do your business.

Then I got to school.

 There are at least 40-60 students there during class and there is one bathroom for each sex. Fear began to settle. Here is the layout: 

To top it off they had a large sign explaining in 3 languages that the trash is for used toilet paper, absolutely no paper is to be flushed. The risk of clogging only women's toilet was too great. No flushing paper.

Sadness filled my soul. 

But I had to go. And when you have to go... you have to go.

Thus:

I survived the experience and even after washing my hands three times in the wallet-sized sink this was all I could think: 

I began a search for the best toilets in town and there are none. That is to say they are all on the same level. Short, fragile toilets, cramped spacing and close proximity to others. The most improvement I've seen is a little sanitary bag to put your paper in before putting it into the trash. But that bathroom cost $0.75 a go. 

I began to fear the bathroom experience, to dread it's coming. I would hold off, and when I felt the need I tried to delay it. As if that would improve the situation. 

It really only results in a panic when I finally get to the bathroom. All the layers to get through: the belt, the button, the zipper, pulling the pants down. It's a lot of stuff and when you gotta go it's like you're on Wipe Out or something. Major consequences if you mess up. Then I almost break the toilet seat sitting down so eagerly. 

By then there is no hope of a silent pee. By that point its like a geyser. And this is how I'm pretty sure it sounds to the rest of the house: I'M PEEING!! I AM PEEING. EVERYONE! I'M IN THE BATHROOM, PEEING... I'M STILL PEEING. STILL--WAIT....PEEING... OK I'M DONE! I AM DONE PEEING!

I think the only way to survive is to accept it. It is was it is, and I gotta go.

A la plage!

A friend and I took the train to the lovely Sète, a fishing town nearby. Today was a bank holiday, so we were free of classes and desperate to see the Mediterranean. 

We began our journey by heading to the top of the mountain to see the view. Here is a wonderful (shady) park we passed on our way up.

We had already thought we were half way up when we saw the stairs. Or rather we were hoping we were halfway up. It was a steep climb, resulting in much sweat and need of shade and water. The roads were dangerously steep. We joked that a biker would need an anchor, otherwise he would not be able to stop.

At last we gained our view. A gorgeous panorama of blue, sunny skies and the big blue sea.

Plus there was a breeze at the top, so that was a definite bonus.

The town erected this giant cross to lure more people to the top of their hill. Or in honor of all the bicyclists without anchors. I'm not sure which.

This is photographic proof that I was there. 

 On our way down we passed some very pretty houses and lots of beautiful flowers. The south of France has a rather Spanish feel to it. This is because nearby royalty married a Spanish princess, who had a great influence on the area.

Here is a cactus growing in France. For some reason I didn't think cacti grew in Europe. I'm not sure why I thought this. I suppose I always associated them with Mexico. But they exist in Europe, and my friend said you can eat the pods when they're ripe (apparently they turn orange).

This was an enchanting fence we passes. Trés charmant.  

After the long trek up and down the mountain we made it to the beach. That, my friends, is the luscious blue waters of the Mediterranean.  It was more brisk than I was expecting, but wonderfully refreshing. All the warnings had me worried, but there were only a handful of topless women. Though, the speedos were out in force, especially in the older generation.

 More photographic evidence that I'm not lying. You may notice something different about this picture. Well that would be:

This lovely towel I bought. Tis true, it's a towel that folds up inside itself and it even has straps. I thought it very necessary to my summer adventures here. 

The bus was too full and couldn't take any more passengers, so we ended up walking back to the train station. The view was pretty though.

I don't know what kind of tree this is but it's beautiful, so you should look at it.  

This is me trying to get into my own picture.  

Here is the center of town. A rather Venice feel to it, very close and fun.  

Probably my favorite boat in existence.  

A little Italian influence in the architecture.  

 This is me just so incredibly excited to be here. 

Another cool thing about this town is that they do boat jousting. Two boats each have a massive lance, then they row towards each other and try to knock each other over, into the water. I may have to come back for that.

Early Morning Wake Up Call

So southern France is pretty warm and moist, like sweat in a room after someone's been working out. In the apartment I'm in there is no air conditioning so it is absolutely vital to open the windows to try and catch a breeze. Otherwise you wake up in some sweaty knot gasping for breath.

Also, the garbage trucks come around at a ridiculously early hour, before it's light and ohmygosh they make so much noise, as if their job is so significant that they deem it their right to notify the world that they're doing their job, which they are very slow at. "Alright everybody! This is your garbage man, letting you know he is picking up your garbage, which he does, every week. Oh sorry, were you sleeping? Well I'm the garbage man, so..." *self-righteous laugh*

There also happen to be a great many musically talented birds. Some are very pretty and melodious. Others are like this tone-deaf owl that will not shut up even though the sun's been around for hours. The birds like to sing in a chorus too, just after the garbage men leave, and their sound gives "cacophony" a whole new meaning.  When I first heard it I thought I was delirious, just coming out of sleep, because nothing could be that loud with so much vocal variety. But it happens every morning, so I must conclude it is real. I can't shut out the sounds by closing my window because I would suffocate. I'm covered in mosquito bites, but the breeze is worth it.

Other discoveries: 

• We have a million brands in the US. Like, laundry detergent brands? We've got Downey, Tide, Oxy Clean, Arm & Hammer, Clorox, Melaluca, then all the off brands. Here, it's like 2-3 choices, if you're lucky. I found ONE bottle of stain remover. One. 
• Eight ounces of sunblock is at least 12 euros. 
• Germans speak English with an English accent, and it is adorable. 
• The French take their holidays very seriously. 
• The French do not like to stack things in their luke-warm fridge. 

Pictures!

Here are the promised pictures of my travels. 

 This is my bedroom. Une chambre tres pleasante. The bed has wooden slats holding up the mattress and I totally broke it twice by sitting down to vigorously. It took me a minute to get the slats back into place. 

 This is the living room. 

 The kitchen. 

 The other wall of the living room. I love all the pictures around the house. My host mom has a great artistic eye. 

 Here is the terrace, aka the oven of death. It looks pleasant, but use caution when in direct light. You may not live to see another day. 

 I bought this box of cookies because they looked like bacon. 

Outside my hotel the first night. 

For class we took a tour around the historic town center. There are some cool buildings and hidden churches. Lots more to see for sure. I'm really excited to get to know this town. Plus I made a friend today! 

Interesting discoveries: 

• Lots of stores are closed on Mondays, because Sunday just wasn't enough. 
• Nail polish is ridiculously expensive, like 12,50 euros, which is like $17 for a bottle of OPI. 
• My room was so hot my chocolate bar was literally liquid when I went to eat it. 

Travel Diary: First 36 Hours in France

Here are some notes on my journey interspersed with RULES that I now think everyone ought to adopt when traveling abroad.

Part the First: Getting over there. 

I flew direct to Paris then took a connecting flight to Montpellier. I swear this is the LAST time I'm traveling with a backpack. I said that last time, but I ended up with one because I took a TON of stuff, and it just ended up that way. But really, no more. I hate backpacks, because I just stuff them so full that when I try to find something I have to empty the whole thing out and still not find it. Miserable. Things you don't have to actually carry, things with wheel, are much much better. Light bag for your arms and a wheeled carry on. Rule 1: No over-stuffed backpacks. 

Compression socks were a major plus. Your feet get seriously swollen and puffy. Neck pillow is a must (I couldn't find mine :(  Lost due to that stupid over-stuffed backpack). Also good, sleepy pills, like tylenol PM, Benadryl, or Dramamine. Lots of intermittent sleep on a long flight is good. When I landed I was able to stay up until 10pm and sleep through the night. Then today I had a 2 hour nap (because I was almost delirious with fatigue) and then went on a walk and am feeling good. The time difference between home and here is 8 hours so I wanted to minimize the jet lag as much as possible, and I've done pretty well. Rule 2: Be smart about your sleep schedule.

Part the Second: Finding your way. 

I took a cab from the airport (after a lot of wandering and confused misunderstood questions) because I had a lot of baggage (both physical and emotional, lol). The drive wasn't long, but then became longer because he wouldn't take credit cards (even though it was 31 Euros) and the bank offered no cash exchange. So he drove me around until we found an ATM. Rule 3: Arrive with at least $100 worth of currency, or arrive on a day when the banks are open and you can exchange. My cards work here because Rule 4: Inform bank and credit card companies of your travel plans. 

I got to my hotel and freshened up. The room was tiny tiny. Quite compressed. They did not offer free little shampoos, luckily I had brought some. After that, there was nothing to do but watch Pokemon in French. But I was hungry. Starving, in fact. So I ventured out...

It was scary, not gonna lie. First of all, I had no map and no idea what was out there. I had phone service, but no data. I followed the road to a train station (best possible choice) and found the city center. Rule 5: When lost, follow the public transport. It leads to all the big things and people, and always has maps posted.

What scared me the most was that EVERYONE was speaking French! I know this is rather obvious but it made it expected that I should speak French too. And no my way around. EEE! I was too scared to sit down someplace to eat, so I just got a pastry and a drink at some starbucks kind of place. Seriously, this city offers croissants every few feet. Delicious. They are, all of them, delicious.

I wandered around for quite a bit because I was looking for something very specific. Rule 6: Arrive in country with an adaptor. It was so hard to find, because what need do the French have for an American to French adaptor? None. It doesn't help that here the stores are typically small and quite specific. I finally found one at the train station. It cost a pretty penny, but it is totally universal. Anything to anything. It's pretty spiffy. Now I can use my computer freely.

Along my walks I have come to the conclusion that Rule 7: Do not trust men that are a) shirtless b) in a park and talking to you c) smiling too much d) offering to help when they don't know what you need. This rule is because, once upon a time I forgot a brush and toothpaste on a really long trip and so needed to find a store that sold such things. I had the roads names in my head and a decent idea of direction. I decided to walk through the park because, hey it's a park, where I was instantly accosted by a young man without a shirt. Naturally I was suspicious, but really, there's only so much you can do when they come up right to your side and start talking very quickly and very directly. I didn't understand him, avoided eye contact and when he touched my shoulder I told him (in French) to not touch me. He backed off slightly but was persistent in his questions.

So, I had to talk, I didn't know how to ignore him when he kept walking in front of me. So I said a little bit, I am in town studying, looking for the convenient store, little things. And he kept talking to me and I kept trying to get a way. Finally he hailed his friend-at-arms, another shirtless, sweat-pants wearing no-good, one who could speak a little English. They chatted quickly then his friend turned to me and said.
     "He want to fuck you, no, with you. You want?"
     I had a horrified pause and gave a laugh. "No."
    "You sure? It this big. You want?"
     Another little laugh and a definite "No."
    And they both left immediately, not even a backward glance. I was all, Hey, I still need to find the store! You're not going to try to work it, at all? Jeeze. 

But worry not. I found the store, got my brush and toothpaste, and avoided the park on the way back. Really, it was a little frightening. I saw that both of those no-goods particularly noticed my hand over the zipper on my purse and the way I kept backing away from them. Also all the other people at the park (AKA old fellas and moms & kids) said nothing and avoided us, even though we were very obvious. No one came to my rescue, but I didn't need to be rescued. The backup plan was the knife in my purse. Here's what I would say about it. Rule 8: Be definite, defensive, and don't let anyone get too close. 

Other than that all I have to say is that it is HOT. Tres chaud. I walked to the train station today and holy cow, so much sweat all over my body. So much sun. If I stayed still for just a minute, I would have stuck to the baking brick and would have had to have my leathery carcass scraped off. No AC either. We're all sitting here, just waiting for the dark.

Pictures up next.

Really quick Rule 9: Bring a bag you can carry up a flight of stairs.
And Rule 10: Bring some small activity that doesn't need electricity or internet to work, like a book or ukulele. It helps pass the time.
Rule 11: Snacks and water are always a good thing to have on hand. 

Nexplanon and Things You Shouldn't Tell Your Coworkers

My mom was worried that I was being too vocal about my uterus and the pains it gives me. I was trying (inadequately) to describe the hilarity of my uterus post and she obviously failed to see the genius of my observations. She lowered her brows and gave me that "concerned parent" look and asked quite intently, "Why are you talking about your uterus? On the internet?" I told her she missed the point (the point being I'm hilarious) but she would not follow. 

I must carry on without her. 

A couple days ago I got this Nexplanon thing put in my arm. After *le horreur* of the Nuvaring I'm strictly off lab-manufactured estrogen. That left me with a swelling 2 options, and the Nex looked like the best because I don't have to take it as a pill. The doc made a little incision and slid a plastic little toothpick thing up my arm that should *hopefully* make me pain and baby free for the next three years. Hey! What a bargain! 

The Nex did give me a bruise (tis true, my beauteous flesh is temporarily tainted with the foul splotching of broken blood vessels). It was also hard to use my left arm the day after. But fret not. I am on the mend. At work I was supposed to be doing a great deal of typing and such but my left arm was being a baby and didn't want to work anymore. Actually all of me didn't want to work anymore, but I had agreed I would do all this typing in exchange for money that would allow me to buy some really great camera bag. So I had to stay, typing. 

I thought it would be better to make my coworker aware of the condition of my fragile left arm. So I proceeded to tell him that I got the Nex put in, and he was all "Oh, yeah. Ok." But it wasn't enough of a reaction. I wanted him to at least widen his eyes at the sight of my gorgeous limb all battered and bruised. 

So I proceeded to explain WHY I opted to have a plastic toothpick thing inserted under my skin. I used phrases like "killer uterus" and "felt like labor" and "pregnancy is gonna suck". It took me a moment to discern his shifty stance and his sweaty brow. As soon as I paused for breath he jumped right in almost in panic, "Yeah! Well, we still got... Here, why don't you go order the CD's in person??? Yeah, It's kind of a drive, but it's alright. You can grab lunch on your way back." 

It was only coming back from lunch that I realized there may have been a boundary I crossed. I could just picture my mom's "concerned parent" look and suddenly felt that maybe the uterus isn't something you should talk about with your unmarried, male coworkers. 

But I shrugged it off and finished my sandwich. 

PS Thus far the Nex is great! Not even a headache. I'll let my coworker know first thing in the morning.