Rocking that *International* Paradise

I did a lot of planning before I packed my bag for our month in Europe.  I read online articles, I made a list, and I edited it.  (And yet somehow it was my sister who got made fun of for planning too much!  Ha!)  But even so, once we got to Europe, though I was glad of packing some things, there were also several things I wished I had, and several things I didn’t really need.  If you’re interested, here’s my personal run-down. I was glad I had: -A summer scarf.  Fashionable addition to a tank-top, but also could keep me warm if the morning were just a bit chilly.  Easy to tie it to my purse strap when I wasn’t wearing it.  -My ipod.  I considered not bringing it, but I really enjoyed being able to listen to familiar music on some of the long train rides. -A purse (with a long shoulder strap) big enough to fit a water bottle, my wallet, my camera, a small journal, and a sandwich if need be.  -My sleep mask.  Not essential, but there was a night or two when I went to bed be

I learned a lot about traveling while backpacking through Europe.  And the month Liz and I spent in Europe ended up being exactly what I hoped it would be—a compilation of amazing experiences and entertaining stories.  We got the chance to interact with tons of people, both locals and travelers, and we did a lot—more than just visiting historic city centers, that’s for sure.  So if you’re planning a backpacking trip, here’s my advice.   Plan ahead, and book hostels for the major cities ahead of time, but leave a window for flexibility.   Liz and I didn’t really have this, and it did work out fine for us, although I think we’d both agree we would have liked to extend our stay in Gryon, Switzerland for another day or two if we’d had the chance.   But we met plenty of people who booked hostels only a few days or a week ahead, thereby giving themselves a great deal of flexibility to get to a city, decide how long they wanted to spend there, and then figure out where to move on fr

**Note: this was written in an Icelandic airport on July 16, 2013.  I'm a bit slow to post, is all.** I’m spending 16 hours in an airport today.  In Iceland.  Liz and I had a very long layover on our way home.  Originally, we planned to sleep in the airport after arriving at midnight, then leave early in the morning and take the bus into town to sightsee until our flight left in the afternoon.  But when Liz checked the Reyjkavik forecast yesterday, the prediction was a cold and rainy day.  We did cold and rainy one day in Switzerland, and it’s not much fun when you don’t have a car or destination in mind to escape the rain.  And the prospect of returning to the airport and having to sit through a 6 hour flight being wet and soggy really didn’t appeal at all.  So rather than chance it, we opted to stay in the airport, save some money on bus fare, and hopefully create our own fun.  The first five hours sucked.  They wouldn’t check us in all the way through to our final d

I have taught the play The Diary of Anne Frank to my 8 th graders for the past three years now, and I know the story by heart and have many of the quotes used in the play, online exhibitions, and movie that I use to teach it memorized.  So naturally, a trip to Europe would not have been complete for me without a stop in Amsterdam and a visit to the Anne Frank house.  I may have even chosen our Amsterdam hostel because it was located really close to the house. Sunday morning, we joined the line for entry to the house before the museum opened at 9am.  But the line moved quickly, and soon, we were inside. We saw a sign that said no photographs, and I respected that, though it pained me to do so.  There were plenty of things I wish I could have photographed, and no guards to catch me if I’d done so, but it was a place that deserves a lot of respect, and so I followed the flow of the crowd solemnly taking in each room and each exhibit.  The exhibits started with quote

The Dutch don't always brag about their food.  In fact, if you ask them to define their food, they may tell you it's nothing special, or that there are no Dutch delicacies (at least none that weren't first stolen and improved from other cultures).  And our first day and a half in The Netherlands, spent in Amsterdam on our own, we didn't really sample Dutch foods.  Of course, we didn't mind that.  We didn't know what we were missing, after all!  After a rushed and exhausting two days in Paris, we found ourselves in Amsterdam, where everyone is friendly and welcoming to tourists, most people speak English, the city is really beautiful but not in that “we have so much history and it only makes sense you felt the need to travel across the world to see it” way that Paris is, and the whole vibe is relaxed and liberal and environmentally friendly, somehow.  We spent a day and a half enjoying the city on our own (helped the first day by a fireball redheaded tour guide

Today was great.  All of it.  Liz and I spent the day with Fuse and her friend Ines touring the Alsace, a really picturesque region in northeastern France.  We visited Strasbourg and the tiny village of Riquewihr, then had a stereotypical “French picnic” on the shore of a river in Kaysersberg—a baguette, a wheel of brie, grapes, and French wine, and we were set.  In a word, perfection. But it wouldn’t be a true adventure if everything went right all day long.  So as we were coming home over the mountains of the Vosges, we ran into car trouble.  Thankfully it happened going down the mountain, rather than up it, because suddenly Fuse found that she was unable to put the car in gear…any gear.  We were just coasting down the hill.  So when the road leveled out, we pulled over and started making phone calls.  First a call to Fuse’s dad in the States.  After a description of the problem, it became pretty clear that the clutch had gone out.  Then a call to Guillaume, of course, and f

In Nancy, France, we are visiting our friend Fuse (pardon the nickname) from college.  She studied abroad here, met someone, and after graduation, returned to get her master’s degree in Mathematics (taking all of her classes in French, which was her other major for undergrad).  We have the pleasure of staying with her boyfriend Guillaume’s parents.  It’s perfect.  Once again, we are experiencing the authentic France.  Danielle and Michel’s home is beautiful , and to me, it (and they) embody everything I define in my head as “French.”  The décor, the architecture, the beautiful patio and garden with roses and an elegant weeping willow.  Danielle makes delightful French food, much of it made with fresh ingredients.  We were greeted upon arrival Saturday night with a glass of champagne and yummy little cheesy puff biscuits (which I cannot remember the French name of).   Dinner consisted of vegetable soup, followed by quiche Lorraine, a cheese course which included goat cheese, came

Before Liz and I left, and even on our Europe travels, we often heard how crazy and/or brave we were when we told people we planned to try couchsurfing.  For those of you who don't know, couchsurfing is made possible through an online community.  People create profiles describing themselves and then offer up their couches or spare bedrooms to travelers--complete strangers--free of charge.  Surfers and hosts review each other, so you hopefully read the reviews and get an idea of who's a creep and who's not. All my friends who had tried it assured me it was a fantastic experience and a change to get to know a local. And of course, being free doesn't hurt.  So, we went for it. Liz found us a host in Geneva, Switzerland (one of the most expensive cities we'd be visiting).  He is an Italian born physicist working at CERN, which we planned on visiting, so the match seemed like a good one.  And now, at the end of our stay in Geneva, I can give my take on the entire cou

Con famiglia…say it with a thick Italian accent if you can; it sounds infinitely more loving and welcoming.  The words were never said out loud last weekend, “Relax, you’re with family now,” (perhaps because we’re not actually related by blood), but I have felt them.  Liz and I have spent the last two days with Heidi and Fausto and their two children, Nikolai and Rafael, in their beautiful home in Trento, in Northern Italy.  The story of how our families met is an interesting one, but to read it you’ll have to ask another time, as I want to focus on the present.  Suffice it to say our families are linked because of Heidi’s father and my grandmother and great uncle, and have kept in touch for at least 50 years now.  Heidi will be quick to tell you that Trento is not much of a place to visit, but she’s selling her city short, as most people tend to do.  (Think a minute: how would you describe the city you’re from to someone from Europe? I bet you undersell it.)  Heidi and Fausto