French Kiss (NOT): Forever alone-ing in the city of Love (Real Life Eponine Chronicles)

BONJOUR! 

Oui, c'est moi, le Geordie mexicaine... en utilisant Google translate! #lifeskillz

It was only after being in France that I realized how lame I have been my entire life for refusing to learn "that stupid language"-- in my defense, I didn't think I would ever, ever need it! Who would have thought that I would ever roam the streets of Paris with only a few bucks in my pockets and guard my bag from the gypsies and pickpockets?! Dreams come true, after all.

Shall I tell you all about it?

1. I arrived in Paris north station after a couple hours in a Belgian train. Sure, I had been to Brussels and other cities, but nothing had prepared me for Paris: people, people, and more people!

I went to the Tourist Info kiosk and asked for a free map of the city. The nice tourist helper was not happy about this. He was not nice.

those skinny bastards...

What did I do, you ask? I ran to the nearest McDonald's. Ah, yes, the solace of an American institution. This is American territory, this is like the embassy, right? Well, I hate McDee's food, so I just sat there, using their internet. I saw all kinds of people, including a cool bro with a surfing board. But then the employees started eyeing me suspiciously, so I actually had to buy food. Meh. It's better in France than in the States, ya'll, but it ain't Burger Boy.

2. After a while, I took my heavy things and embarked in my first day adventure. Yes, because of my....shall we say, accommodation arrangements, I had to carry my stuff around with me all day until 7pm that day, when I was to meet my friend Clement. This meant I looked like a backpacker, or a gypsy, or a homeless person, however you want to look at it. Moreover, Paris was HOT... and we all know what happens to me when it's hot...

Streams and streams, endless.... gosh, it was awful. But hey, you know what? I walked around for 6 hours, 15 miles that day, and with my map I saw a good chunk of the city.

the Bastille

 I took a lot more photos but I'm just giving you the best of the best. I wandered around until I could no longer find any landmarks, which was indication enough that I was nearing the outskirts of central Paris. After almost being ran over by a bunch of cars when one of my bags broke and fell as I was crossing the street, I decided it was best to use the metro to go up to the north side of the city. The nice (not) metro man with broken English helped me figure out how to purchase a metro ticket (and by that I mean I spent 10 minutes looking at the self-service machine until I figured out on my own).

Anyway, I culminated my walk that day with the most beautiful sight in Paris:

It absolutely takes your breath away. It is the most magnificent thing, and its standing at the top of a very high hill just gives it an even bigger wow factor. Did I almost faint going up those stairs? Sure! I clutched my crucifix with whatever strength was left in me and I made my way up those steps. And I got in just in time for mass here, at Sacre Coeur, where they have perpetual exposition of the blessed sacrament.

After that I waited for Clement outside the church... and was harassed by several ambulant vendors and disgusted by the fact that beer is sold right on the steps leading up to the basilica. UNBELIEVABLE.

Anyway, we went to Clem's hipster apartment and he made me dinner and it was like a little piece of heaven. Then I basically fell in a comma of exhaustion.

3. AH, IT'S A NEW DAY--and I was feeling like I was ran over by an 18-wheeler. I set off much later than I would have liked, but honestly I was lucky enough to be able to move after the killer previous day.

THIS WAS THE DAY OF THE LOUVRE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You guys, it's so massive. It's like the Mall of America of museums. DANG. I'd like to tell you that I saw the whole thing, but I can't lie to you--my time limit in a museum is 3 hours. After that, I stop being able to tell between a Botticelli and a Picasso.

that's the best photo one can aspire to when asking people who don't give a crap about one's photos to snap one.

It was amazeballs, even though I was already tired because I had been walking for 3 or 4 hours before I got there. And I know you are all wondering one thing---did I see it? Here:

4. What the ACTUAL f*ck? Mona Lisa has got to be the most overrated thing in the world. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? WHAT IS THAT? I WANT MY MONEY BACKKKKKKKKK!!! CRAP, CRAP, CRAPPEDY CRAP!

Yes, there will be a rant.

First, don't get me started about the size.

another brilliantly taken photo by a douchebag American who thought his "I'm going to beat that bald guy" joke was funny.... DOUCHE.

WHAT IN THE ACTUAL WORLD? Why is a tiny ass painting like that so popular? There are paintings in the Louvre that are as high as a two-level house. What's so special about this tiny portrait? I guess size wouldn't really matter if IT WAS ACTUALLY GOOD. Are you kidding me? 

AAAAAAAAAAAHAERKLJAGJKLAERGNERKLAERARGAGAERGAE. I look at that woman and I want to gently slap her out of her idiotic facial expression. Leonardo painted a handful of things better than this. Why, WHY, WHYYYYY? I don't get humanity's fascination. Any photoshopped version of La Gioconda is better than the original. Don't believe me?

English Mona Lisa

Mooooooooooona Lisa

Mona Fierce

La Legonda

Duck-face Mon' Liz

Biker Lisa

La Jackonda

But yes, I saw it. It totally sucks. Everything else was great, though!

After that, I walked through the gardens and then through Champs Elysee, taking in all the Parisian gorgeousness and feeling mind-blown at the fact that I was in Paris. Did I mention I saw the French president? Yeah, that happened. He was having a ceremony with some soldiers and other important looking people here:

I finished the evening with dinner with friends. I ate crepes, my new food spouse. Crepes for starters, crepes for entrees, crepes for dessert. A LIFE OF CREPES. I could do it, you know... I could eat crepes for the rest of my life. They are beautifully thin and stuffed with goodness. 

I could cry of happiness just looking at these pictures. Bacon, whipped cream, ice cream--oh, the loves of my life! 

After dinner, we wandered around Sacre Coeur again and looked at the Eiffel Tower from far away as it lighted up at midnight. 

look at this beauty

A good second day, and I equally died that night for 8 hours out of pure tiredness. 

5. OH GLORIOUS THIRD DAY!

I saved the best for last-- Eiffel, Notre Dame, and everything in between!

Sacre Coeur from the Tower

The Louvre from the Tower

Seine bank

It was here that a gypsy tried to take money from me by pretending to be fund-raising for a nameless non-profit organization that helps children in Africa. I think she might have put a curse on me, because she kissed her hand and rubbed it on my shoulder when I told her I was Mexican--don't look at me like that... I had to...

Gypsy sister of charity: do you speak English?
Me: No. Español.
UN Gypsy: OOOH, YO HABLO ESPAÑOL.
Me [inwardly]: dammit.
St. Gypsy of the African Children [in Spanish]: we are collecting signatures to help the children of Africa, would you sign?

SHE SAID SIGN, NOT DONATE? HOW WAS I SUPPOSE TO KNOW?

Me: Sure!
Esmeralda: eres de Mexico?
Me: Si...

[Does the whole creepy kiss thing, calls me beautiful... I thought it was a sign for some kind of sexual slavery ring to snatch me]

Then our selfless lady proceeds to ask for funds... to which I said "I got no money..."

Without saying a word, she walked away....

ANYWAY, PHOTOS:

Palace of Luxembourg 

Notre Dame

I finished this day with mass at Notre Dame. Wow, wow, wow. One of the most memorable days in my life. Oh, Paris, you are a magical, you are a dream.

Three days, 45 miles, dozens of sights seen. A map falling a part to prove it:

That night, I went to eat at a legit American dinner and then headed to the station for my overnight train to Lourdes! More to come!

C

"Small Triumphs, Gigantic Failures" is back!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hullo, cyberspace. I am having a rough night--dissertation blockage (that means whatever you want it to mean), boarder-line rage attack, and may or may not have kicked things. The writing will not be of the best quality, but my adrenaline is through the roof and I cannot sleep (and naturally cannot work on my dissertation), so write I must.

The sarcasm is running through my veins at the moment--I suspect I will have to book an appointment for confession soon. Don't worry, dear faithful reader, I am just experiencing difficulties with that beautiful, altruistic, kind, understanding,  God-fearing institution we all love: the American bank. In the best of Southern traditions I can only say this: oh dears, bless them!

Shall we start?

1. Small triumph

Finally got to go to see the "highest"***** waterfall in England.

****Highest uninterrupted falling body of water. So, yeah, whatevs.

High Force waterfall is a beautifully powerful sight to behold. Take a look:

Naturally, I had to get in the super cold water.

We spent a very nice, adventurous day at this location that included: jumping fences, opening gates, avoiding to step on sheep poop, walking, having a picnic on the rocks by the water, crossing a tiny waterfall to get to the other side of the rocks so that I could follow everyone else, getting completely soaked and finally deciding to dip in the water, going behind another tiny waterfall, more walking, being cold, having wrinkly feet, lots of yolo-ing, peeking down from the top of High Force (after jumping over a fence that wasn't supposed to be jumped), hearing two Indians who have zero love for the outdoors complaining that we should have brought the car, losing Krazy Konrad in the wilderness several times only to find him again holding some magical raspberries in his hand (they were just normal raspberries he found in the woods), Geordie-watching, seeing a baby wearing a Heinz's ketchup tee, etc. A good day, indeed!I tried not to get too dirty, but you know me...

My boots suffered the most, they were so wet they were actually squeaking. Nothing a week's sunshine can't fix, though!

2. Gigantic Failure

Desperately wanting to go swimming to the point of going to a store and buying a rather pricey swimsuit on a whim. BECAUSE WHO KNOWS, MAYBE TOMORROW IT WILL BE 30 DEGREES AND I CAN JUMP INTO THE FILTHY WATERS OF THE RIVER WEAR?!?!?!??!

Unlikely.

Let me explain: for a whole week, my room actually reached thirty degrees Celsius. Outside was fine, but, getting all the summer sun on my window and having poor ventilation, my room was a freaking oven. No air conditioning. Not even a tiny fan. So, yes, I was going insane, fantasizing about Galveston... FREAKING GALVESTON.

My mum scolded me for buying a stupid swimsuit, so the poor thing (the swimsuit, not my mum) is still in its plastic bag with the receipt. I don't have the heart to return it. Or the opportunity to wear it. BECAUSE I'M STUCK WITH THE ICY WATERS OF THE NORTHEAST OF ENGLAND.

3.  Small Triumph

In an act of desperation, I tried to make corn tortillas because I was dying, perishing slowly for lack of tacos. And guess what? Third time is the charm! I was able to make pseudo-tortillas. Oiling the crap out of everything, because the dough gets so very sticky that you can't even spread it or put it on the pan. They were too thick and kind of breaky, but they were tortillas, homies. I had four badass tacos and two quesadillas (and lots of nightmares because it was like 11 pm when I ate all that).

This calls for a celebratory Piojo-Goku GIF:

And also for a Selena cumbia:

And for the football fan with the penacho that goes to all the World Cups:

That was a pretty giant triumph, you guys.


4. Gigantic Failure

I will no longer fly back to the US. I will be put on the Atlantic ocean and float, like a buoy. Fatty Mcfatland is my new name. Eating one's feelings was never a good idea. And all the walking in England does not help when all one wants to eat is fried goods. And shortbread. That's basically all I do, eat shortbread.

Here's a picture of me right now "writing" this blog post:

I am fat, bald, and yellow. So yellow-- the English sun gives me no love.


5. Small triumph

Marta is back!!!!!!!!!!!! Which means I have a legitimate reason not to do any work--hey, don't look at me like that... I don't know when I will see my dear friend again, so I gotta take advantage of the situation, right? Today, for example, we went to the most beautiful place in Durham: Crook Hall and Gardens.

 If you are ever in Durham, this place is worth every penny. It has been around for around 800 years (though the medieval architecture is not visible in this photo). The gardens are stunning and the house is so quintessentially English that it will touch your cold, cold heart in the same way a good Jane Austen novel does. Photos, photos, and more photos:

okay, I'VE DONE IT ALL--WHERE THE F**** IS MY MR. DARCY?!?!?!!!

VIEW OF THE CATHEDRAL

obvs a pond always near-by

Wonderful day, indeed!

6. Gigantic Failure:

All my flatmates are leaving!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

First, Konrad has left. This not only leaves my heart empty, but also my kitchen, because most of our kitchen utensils were his. It is getting really bad:

And while he enjoys the stereotypical state of Georgia, U.S. of A, I am here trying to cut bread with a piece of wood. Shout-out to you, KK! We miss your quirky Englishness!

Yesterday my very own son, Raja (a.k.a. Aladdin, Lampshade) left Durham forevermore. I ran after his train, in the stile of Mose.

My bearded child with hair three times as long as mine. My fellow drama queen, gossip girl, member of the sisterhood of the traveling pants (all jokes, my friend). My poor heart suffers, indeed--how does the heart get used to living with complete strangers and turns them into family in less than a year? I don't know, but I know that they won't leave that spot in my heart any time soon--or ever. The hubbie, the original jerk, Bhuna, is leaving on Friday. Divorce, at last. It's bittersweet. It's not easy to find someone to fight all the time.

My boys, I love them. The house--our home-- will be silent, cold, lifeless without them.

7. Small Triumph

Went to a party and, as I was left alone while everyone went to look for something to drink, a man of dreamy blue eyes approached me and said, drunkenly charming: "Why are you sitting here alone? Let's dance!"

8. Gigantic Failure

Eliot, the charming drunk, was not such a great dancer, however.

Moreover, Eliot was not at all happy with the answer to the question "where are you from?"

"WHAT? FROM THE U.S.? OH NO, GO SIT DOWN RIGHT NOW. NO, UGH, THE U.S.? WHY ARE YOU EVEN HERE?!!?!!?!?!!?"

To be fair, sometimes I like to experiment with people by telling them that I'm from the US instead of giving them the whole explanation of how the Mexican Geordie has come to be her amazing, larger-than-life self. Especially if the first thing I am asked--even before what my name is--is "where are you from?" because it feels like the listener is waiting to hear an explanation for the luscious brown(ish) skin, some exotic location to help account for the intriguing beauty.

Eliot started drifting away from me, and I asked him "WHERE ARE YOU GOING???" and he said "NOWHERE, I'M RIGHT HERE!" as he continued to move away and I continued moving along with him. Then, my entourage returns with drinks, and Eliot leaves me dancing by myself in the middle of the dance floor. What do I do, you ask? I seek eye contact and try to entice him to come back to me with that irresistible dance move where you use an imaginary rope and pull the person back to you? He shook his head and turned around.

The humiliation of the century, indeed. Laughed it off, like a champ though. But in reality...

Don't blame poor Eliot, he was very drunk. So drunk in fact that he came back about an hour later and asked me to dance again only to spin me around a couple times, high five me, then leave me mid-through the song. Again. It was a lovely, short-lived, drunken romance. And the second time I knew better and teased him aloud because he didn't seem to understand a word I was saying. "You are a really bad dancer", "this is just sad", "You are very, very drunk, aren't you?" "Ah, let's spin again, yes." In my little heart, I got even. Dear Eliot, you looked like a movie star. It was lovely while it lasted. All is well!

9. Small Triumph

Although dissertation is moving at a very leisurely pace... IT'S ACTUALLY MOVING. I wrote 5,000 words in one day (not sure about the quality, but the quantity is definitely there). And guess what? Less than a month to turn it in, which is terrifying, but it is reassuring to know that the academic nightmare will be over soon!

The last leg of the race, dudes! Next step: debt payment!

10. Gigantic failure

My family decides to go on a proper holiday the ONE year I'm not there. They went here:

Who says one cannot hate one's own family? Well, one can certainly strongly dislike them at times.

Oh, and every time I complained about it, the response was unanimous: YOU ARE IN FREAKING ENGLAND!!! As if that compensates from the fact that I am not swimming in warm waters, drinking a piña colada and getting an awesome tan. No people, it is not interchangeable! Sigh.

 They had a marvelous time. Good for them. I will work so hard until I can afford a revenge vacation. (LOVE YOU GUYS, GLAD YOU HAD FUN! BUT MY HEART STILL BROKEN ABOUT NOT BEING THERE).

11. Small Triumph

Shall we end on a good note? Sure!

Something nice will happen after dissertation madness is over. I won't give you many deets, but it will be definitely something interesting that you will find out eventually.NO, I AM NOT GETTING MARRIED. But be curious and be happy for me!