So I tried at least to write a more serious and inquisitive post about my time at the Caen Memorial Museum, but that being said, I also wanted to take a moment to regale you with the more light-hearted tale of my journey there. I’ll be honest, I probably could have done more research. However, the websites aren’t the easiest to navigate for the region, I had limited time between me getting back from Italy/London and leaving for Paris (like barely 48 hours), and the hostel wifi in Paris wasn’t a) the best or b) that easy to use for looking at tour times and stuff on just my phone. Between these factors, my plan ended up being that I would just get to Caen and see what happened. Since the D-Day landing is basically the biggest thing that happened there, I figured there would be a significant amount of tourist information that could lead me to either the battlefields or the tours from the main train station.
I was… not quite right. I got to Caen around 11:30 I think, and there was maybe a tour leaving from the museum of the beaches around 1pm. I figured it would be easy to find the museum, but alas, it was not marked on the town map at all, not even under the list of cultural sites. After studying the tram map for several minutes and failing to see how it lined up with the screenshots I had saved on Googlemaps, I decided to just strike off on foot. It was only supposed to take 30 or 40 minutes, and my pace is normally faster than that of the average person. I did, however, fail to account for the lack of street names I had saved, and the map picture I had taken was kind of zoomed out. Miraculously, Google Maps had kind of saved the map of Caen, but I was afraid to type in the actual address for the Memorial and mess it up in case it tried to connect to non-existent wifi. Instead, I just followed the road signs for the Museum, and checked that my little dot seemed to be moving in the same direction of what I had screenshotted… Doing this, I walked by a massive canal (or maybe it was a river) and some people trying to row crew. I also went by Caen’s other main attraction -- a castle from the age of Guillaume the Conqueror. About this point I started to feel hungry, and I went into the bakery there and bought one pain au chocolate. I’m not sure if it was some sort of promotion, or if the lady working was just the nicest person ever, but I opened the bag as I continued my quest and discovered that the lady had put in a butter croissant and this little chocolatey twisty pastry as well, which greatly brightened my morning. Following the road signs was going pretty well, until it seemed to be turning into a four lane highway. I wasn’t sure if there would be space to walk along the edge, so I consulted Google, and it looked like I could probably cut across this park and hopefully find this trail that would lead me the museum. I cut through this random development and then set off blindly through a frisbee golf park, completely soaking my sneakers in the dewy grass. Hearing a road near the one side (and again, consulting my map) I then clambered through brush up this embankment, then had to fight every German instinct I’ve ever accumulated and jaywalk this four lane highway (don’t worry, Mom, there was an island in the middle at least). I then found a bike trail, which led me to a hospital… and then, I spotted some tour buses in a parking lot, and ran to find the museum! Leaving the museum was kind of a similar experience. I asked if there was a bus that could take me back to the train station at the info desk of the museum, and they gave me pretty helpful instructions. I ran to get on one bus, and then was told to get on the other one, which nicely waited for me. I didn’t, however, know which stop to get off of, and despite my hopes, we didn’t go near any that seemed close to the train station). Eventually, we came to the end of the line, the bus driver stopped, and looked at me when she realized I was still on the bus. “I’m trying to go to the train station,” I told her (although by this time I had missed the train I had intended to catch back to Paris… luckily I hadn’t paid for my return ticket yet). She told me a stop to get off of, then took her smoking break, and then we set off again. I wasn’t quite sure what stop she had said though, because several seemed like they could have been the correct answer… and also my new train didn’t come for over an hour and I was starving… so I eventually, sheepishly just hopped off near the Innenstadt. I wandered down through the quaint city center and ordered some tea and a fresh crêpe at a restaurant there, which also made waffles. After enjoying my meal (though not for nearly as long as a French person would have), I wandered slightly through town, past some sort of Pride festival and some World War One memorials, and then found my way back to the train station by again following road signs. So all’s well that ends well.
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"Reflection upon the ways of history and of memory has become essential to our knowledge and understanding of the past -- particularly with regard to the fashion in which nations and memories of times past make history their own and put it to their own ends." - Caen Memorial Haha welllll it looks like I'm eating dinner in Normandy. Which tbh. I'm not too upset about (as long as I find something good). I went to Caen for the day with the hoping of visiting either the memorial there, or the Normandy beaches, or both, and the plan to return tonight. There's an overwhelming amount of material to reflect on from this journey. I ended up spending the entirety of my day at the Caen Memorial, which is a museum mainly about the Second World War, although it does have a wing about the Cold War as well. The museum was one of the most powerful I have visited, right up there with both the Holocaust Memorial in DC and the Apartheid Museum in Johannesburg, and I found myself moved to tears for several portions. Where to start... First of all, it's always important and interesting to consider the physical design of the museum, because in good museums, it has been intentionally structured as part of the rhetoric to augment the story of the museum. This one was no exception; you begin the visit with a timeline of events from the end of WWI leading to the outbreak of WWII, and you examine these events, which are spread along the wall, while traversing an ever downward spiraling ramp -- you physically represent the world spiraling out of control and into conflict. At the bottom you enter into this room covered by a dark dome, with a bridge like walkway crossing over a dark space. The only thing in the dome is a video playing of Nazi troops marching in parade, and all around you echoes the sound of Nazi salutes and cheering crowds. As you're making your way down the spiraling ramp, you can also hear the Nazi salutes, so that again enforces the eerie feeling that you're sailing into the inevitable outbreak of war as you read about the roaring twenties and the rise of fascism and economic collapses. There are innumerable books and pieces of texts that harp on this narrative of the Second World War being an inevitable outcome of the First World War, and while the Caen Memorial too presented this conclusion, I was happy because they did show one of my favorite (well, favorite is perhaps not quite the right word) angles to consider, which is often glossed over: the fact that countless survivors of the First World War, who had to live through a traumatizing struggle unlike anything the world has ever seen, attaining peaks of uncertainty in the meaning of life, all for the goal of "a war to end all wars" -- all had the added bonus of watching that supposedly positive outcome of the First World War crumble away too as they or their children were once again dragged into the void. The audio guide told a firsthand account of one soldier whose father had fought in the First World War, who remarked when his son left for the second: "it's awfully short, 20 years of peace." One of the other most striking aspects of the Caen Memorial, which I greatly appreciated even as it took my breath away, was the clarity of all of the film and photos they presented. The photos were remarkably clear and sharp, and those that had been recolored had been done so with such care and precision that they looked like they could have been taken today. I've never seen photos from World War Two in such high quality, and it really helped me process the idea of the reality of these events. Another aspect which really struck me at the museum were the clothing artifacts. Now, displaying clothing is nothing new; I've certainly been in plenty of museums before which did so. Consequently, I've tried to wrap my head around the idea that the actual people from these events wore this clothing, but it has never sunk in more powerfully than today. One section of the museum detailed the mass executions of civilians on the eastern front. I was reading the plaques and examine the articles in the wall, when a wedding ring caught my attention. There was nothing particularly extraordinary about it -- it was a plain gold band, a bit worn. The plaque by it states that it had probably been taken off and thrown into the pit before its owner was executed. I think the wedding ring struck me because it's just such an emotional object with an intentional history. Whoever had worn it had been married, and with that came a story. There had to have been dinners together, and watchful parents, and walks at dusk with held hands, and a wedding where the ring was exchanged, parting afterwards between families and perhaps a splurge on some fancier champagne for the event... And rows, too, nights perhaps when it was removed in anger and tears before bed, and common place days where the hand wearing it cooked dinners or raised children... There was a whole life to be summarized in that golden band, and could the owner have ever anticipated, through so many commonplace events, that one day they would be removing it and hurling it over the precipice into a cauldron of corpses as they stood waiting to be killed? With this shocking epiphany I reevaluated the other articles I had passed in the museum -- a doll left behind by one of the Jewish families of Caen, which had been completely eradicated; the Nazi uniforms and concentration camp prisoner garb, in which both had had real, actual people from these events sweat and suffer. Finally, two months after I had seen, the weight of the show room in the Holocaust Memorial Museum truly struck me. I think my time abroad has also helped me to begin to grasp the geographical scope of the war. Of course I've seen map after map of borders which changed or read about different events happening in different towns. I understand that the majority of Europe was impacted (and plenty of other countries and people across the globe that are often glossed over because of an overt western-centric focus). However, it's one thing to see places named on a map, and another to put memories and images from my own life to those names and events. Mussolini posed before the coliseum just as o did last week, and Hitler gathering with officers before the Eiffel Tower as I did last night; German soldiers celebrating at a jazz club in Montmartre that Cara pointed out to me yesterday; D-Day bombings of the streets I had wandered this morning following planning in DC, where I just was this March; these mad, spiraling events stirring into the specter of national socialism back in the halls of the beer hall in Munich, gripping all of Germany in its terror as I thought of the Nazi party members of Köln, posed so casually as my friends and I had for our own club pictures, as the moment spread through the seemingly sleepy and reserved streets of Baden Baden which quaked with antisemitic rallying, and concluding in these streets, and in the streets of Berlin which I had wandered on a previous trip, deep in a bunker where Hitler proclaimed to the world that yes the Jews had again been the been the downfall of Germany, but at least this time he had made them pay for it. The audio guide noted something along the lines that "when Primo Levi came to Auschwitz he was given the horrifying statement that here there is no why. In the next few room we attempt to ensure this why no longer goes unanswered as we examine how humans perpetuates mass violence throughout the course of the war." I know I was struck by this idea -- this seemingly insurmountable attempt by a museum to endeavor to explain the why of the Holocaust. I don't think it can ever been truly done, or understood, and I think the "why" of this violence, and how it transpired, is a question that humanity as a race will and should continue to ask our selves. However, as far as examining the violence from the war, the museum did chillingly remark upon the unparalleled heights reached during the Second World War. While I knew that the term crimes against humanity had been coined during the Nuremberg trials to define the actions of the Nazi leaders, I did not know that the word "genocide" literally had to be invented in order to describe the Holocaust. Such a cruel, systematic event has never before transpired until World War Two literally created the need for a word to describe such an atrocity - and genocide, from "cide" for "killing" and "gen" from "genus" (Greek for race) for Hitler's ambition to eliminate an entire race of people, was the result. Furthermore, even at the Holocaust Memorial, I don't remember ever before being struck by the number of children murdered. 9/10 of children in the Holocaust died. As one plaque chillingly noted, there were entire villages in Eastern Europe that, after it, had no children. And how would they have lived? Knowing the gritty, gruesome, back breaking conditions of the holocaust even at a surface level from reading memoirs like Night or Maus or Survival in Auschwitz, it's unthinkable to imagine any children at all surviving such events. Also this idea of entire annihilation. It really struck me at the Holocaust Museum, as I read accounts of how the Nazis wiped out entire villages in Eastern Europe and razed them, so no one would know they even existed. That they even existed! I guess this idea of total, complete annihilation is just gruesomely amazing because normally sides in war would relish such victories for propaganda purposes, to add to the myth of their superiority, but the Nazis were so religiously committed to their own myth of the need for complete erasure of people that they literally succeeded in wiping entire towns, villages, communities, histories, from the map for decades. Also. This idea of an entire village being annihilated really impacted me after seeing Pompeii. At Pompeii I witnessed first hand the scope of an entire community being level by a powerful force of nature, and now mere mortals recreated the effect driven by a powerful hatred. In addition to the exhibitions, the museum was built on top of the location of the Nazi bunker in Caen, which you were able to tour afterwards. Entering the tunnel into the face of the large rock cliff, I shuddered at the thought of the atrocities which had been defended here, and I will be honest, I was glad to round the corner and find that I was not alone in the bunker. Before leaving the museum, I also visited the American memorial garden outside. Below the upper pool of water, there was a wall with plaques from each of the states dedicated to the troops from there. It took me a while to find Pennsylvania's, so much so that I begin to fear that ours was either the faded, gaudily painted stone, or to worry that we hadn't contributed at all, but when I found it, I was deeply touched. Pennsylvania's plaque was made out of granite from the Gettysburg battlefield, and it was incredibly moving -- but also extremely sad -- to remember think that the sacrifices of these men in France would be memorialized and dedicated from the ground that "we cannot dedicate -- we cannot consecrate -- we cannot hallow," that generations before had consecrated "far above our poor power to add or detract." There are plenty of things that I want to applaud this museum for, but one certainly would be the dimension of objectivity it achieved. Aside from a stronger focus on the impact of France being occupied and the work of French resistance fighters, it generally would have been difficult to tell where this museum was located. While it detailed the Holocaust explicitly, affording it the proper attention that such a travesty indubitably warrants, the museum also noted the indiscriminate bombing of Dresden and other Allied attacks on civilians. The museum did close, however, with this statement, which I found fitting: We set off on day 3 with the plan to go to Pompeii, seeing as several museums in Rome close on Mondays. We got to the train station too late to catch the 10:10 train to Naples, and were evaluating our options, when this pushy Italian guy that didn't seem to work for the train service came over and exasperatedly explained to us (without us asking) the best way to get to Pompeii. He even went through on the ticket machine and picked out all the tickets we should get, and explained in detail where to go for more tickets at the Naples train station. Although initially we were pretty sure he was going to try and pickpocket us, he eventually left us alone, having done nothing except agitatedly inform us that we should wait until tomorrow to go to Pompeii. Confused by his motivations but ultimately agreeing that he was right, we then set off to accomplish the lengthy sightseeing agenda that we had drawn up the night before for our other free day in Rome. First, though, we had a very important stop to make. I am ashamed to say, that, despite having been in Italy for almost 48 hours, and our solemn vow to do a gelato crawl, we had had absolutely none of it, a situation which needed to be immediately remedied. I had, however, read this article by this person warning the horrors of eating anything but authentic gelato, so we were a bit paranoid about how we could find the real thing. All we knew was that bright colors and overt fluffiness were to be avoided. We -- and that blogger -- were not the only ones to take this seriously, however; apparently there's a whole EU code of law detailing what constitutes real gelato and how it can be prepared. We gave in, however, at what was decidedly a fake shop (but still tasty) vowing to find the real thing later, following a lead from one of Cara's IES classmates. Sites: #1. The secret Malta club thing part 2. Unfortunately the doors were locked this time, so we couldn't venture inside. #2. Trajan's Column, which apparently details the story of Rome. Ingeniously the pictures get bigger as they go up the column, so you can read those at the top as well. #3. This Obelisk and fountain. Beautiful, right? #4. The Pantheon. Once a Roman temple, it's now a basilica dedicated to the martyrs. Understandably the classics major in rose was bummed about the transformation, hoping to see statues of the Roman gods, but it was still pretty cool. One of the most intriguing aspects of it was that there was a giant opening in the roof, so water could pour straight in, but the floor wasn't notably sloped or anything, so it was amazing to consider how the engineering must allow it to drain when confronted with days like, say, yesterday. #5 the Trevi Fountain. Okay, so. This place gets a lot of hype. Basically everyone we had talked to while here asked if we had seen it yet, and we weren't sure why... Frankly, I'm still not exactly sure why as far as historical importance, but the fountain is gargantuan and beautiful, so that was reason enough for me to consider it worth my while. Yes, it was an obvious tourist trap, with everyone fighting for a turn to sit along the wall and throw coins in, but you know? Sometimes things are popular for a good reason, and I think this is one of those times. #6. The Spanish steps. Okay, again, not exactly sure what the hype is about... Although one of the lists of "stuff to do in Rome at night" that I googled suggested we come sit here and write poetry like a bunch of other famous poets such as Shelley and Hemingway. So I know there's a connection there, but I'm just not sure if that's all of it. In any case, they were under construction, so we could only walk down one part of them, but really I'm not sure that we missed out on much. There was this really cool fountain at the bottom that was shaped like a boat and spouted water you could drink, as do many fountains in Rome, actually. By this time we were starving though, but on our search for food, we stumbled upon our next point of interest though... #7 SMOM HQ. so yeah. The temple club thing was really cool, but we weren't sure if it would count for us getting the flag since it wasn't one of the two places that were designated in the official rules for the flag cup competition. We had planned to google the location for the palazzo whateverio (magistrale) when we had wifi at lunch, but I happened to notice as we reversed direction down the street that the building we needed was right there. Check mark! Lunch break -- I'll be honest, we all found that lunch was like. Aight. But not rave worthy. I did get to see my brother's prom pics though, with the help of the wifi, so that was exciting. But otherwise not noteworthy. Moving on. #8 we tried to go to this Medici house / art museum but it was closed because Monday. Cara and I had a nice nap on this wall though, then Cara did a backbend, then Rose tried to do a backbend and fell on the ground, and basically we got a lot of judgment. Also these street hawkers tried for the 4 millionth time to sell us roses and selfie sticks, and I really just wanted to be like "Sir. You just saw me say no to your friend five feet ago. What on earth do you think is more convincing about your marketing strategy than his? If you can answer me this convincingly, I will actually buy this from you." #8 the weirdest gallery of street art ever. Just take a looksie. Rose moved one piece that had fallen and this eccentric old man rushed over and replaced it. #9 this peace altar, Ara Pacis. Rose explained to us that this entire thing was basically a massive piece of propaganda that Augustus had used to remind the people why he should be in power for 40ish years... Instead of the customary 2. Whoops. It was amazingly well preserved, and because it's a less well known site, it was relatively empty -- always a great combination. We were able to examine the altar at our own leisure, and I was highly amused with a sign talking about the impressive "vegetable scroll" on it. #10 my personal favorite site of the day: Castel St. Angelo. So I had randomly found this site when I googled things to see in Rome, but I knew I had to go there. Basically it's the fortress that used to defend the Vatican and that the pope would go to walk up in in times of trouble, and let me tell you, it did not disappoint. It was easily one of the coolest castle fortress structures I've ever been in (even better than the one I lived in). We got to see this secret passage to the Vatican that some of the Borgias popes used. It also had these really cool bastions and arrow holes and canyons and the entire inner round structure just was really massive and cool. To get out of it we walked all the way down this long spiral ramp cutting through the core that led to this chamber with the ruins of Hadrian's mausoleum. So yeah. This was my favorite highlight of the day site-wise. #11 the coolest bridge in the world. Cara and Rose and I spotted this really awesome bridge adorned with all of the statues from the one bastion, and we swooned over it, and they took some really artsy photos of it through the arrowhole which I am going to presently mooch. When we got down to ground level we took some more photos in front of it and perhaps over enthusiastically recommended to this couple that asked if we could take their photo that they, too, take a photo in front of it. After that, we set off on a journey which would irrevocably alter the course of history. Two days earlier, Cara had posted in her IES Facebook group, asking for any recommendations for Rome, and these two girls had named a pizza place in Trastevere not far from the Vatican. Although we were starving now (see #6 and also our inadequate lunch): our entirely inadequate lunch) we now set off to find this restaurant. Infamously Cara did comment that "we don't have to go there!" but I myself had become overly invested in this idea after hearing the words "ricotta Nutella calzone." Little did I know that this comment was a gateway drug to a full-fledged addiction. We wandered along the river, down through some winding side streets, and, after exploring a secret garden, finally found the alley that cradles the temple which is Dar Poeta. We sat down innocently outside and decided to order three pizzas to split and a bottle of wine. I honestly cannot tell you much about what transpired Over the next hour? Or so. There are few, precious instances, where everyone at a table is so fully consumed with the act of consuming, but this was one of them. We languidly indulged in each piece of pizza, entirely focused on the explosion of flavors, and the only conversation which we dared allow to break up our communion with this mind blowing meal were comments extolling its virtues. As I told a friend later, "I had a spiritual experience in Rome, and it was not visiting the Vatican." "Italy has ruined us! We can never eat real pizza again!" We moaned. "Order Dominos? More like cry alone in my room!" exclaimed Cara. These two people at the table beside us were served two massive salads. "Why. On earth. Did they not get pizza?" Rose growled. "Do you think you're better than us?" Cara interjected almost in their direction. The restaurant soon drew a crowd as we dipped further into the dinner hour, and whenever any potential customers peeled away, deeming the wait too long, we lamented that they were making the biggest mistake of their lives. Our sorrow at finishing our pizza was only alleviated by the arrival of dessert. Cara's friends had told us to "get the ricotta Nutella calzone, think of them, and cry," and as I stated, "I think I'm weeping more for this than I will for my first born child." Rose, always the thoughtful one, felt bad for the kids who were clearly waiting for a table while we sat here eating dessert, but I had no room for sympathy, and Cara replied, "welcome to the real world kids!" To which I replied "and this woman is going to be a teacher one day." Now, during the course of this dinner, as we raved and moaned about it, we also had discussed our duty to spread the good news of Dar Poeta to the world. Our first test came as we were still sitting there when an American girl maybe a bit older than us approached the table. "Excuse me but should I eat here? Is it worth it?" "YESS!" We exclaimed, perhaps overwhelmingly enthusiastically, I myself noodling vigorously. She looked slightly taken aback, but decided to continue to converse with us. "And like, should I get the dessert?" Us: YES Her: is it really good Us *practically in a crazed frenzy*: YES Her: is it better than a crêpe?" "YES," I answered immediately. Cara, who is perhaps a tad biased after having spent the semester in Paris, took a moment longer to consider before responding, "yeah it's pretty good." And then. The girl pressed on. With perhaps the most questionable statement of all time. "But... Like... Is it better than a donut?" My immediate thought was "what the fuck. Kind of question. Is that." Luckily I was diplomatic enough not to say this aloud, and neither did Cara or Rose, but I made eye contact with Cara at this precise moment, and she was clearly thinking this as well. Let me just elaborate. This woman's statement was flawed for many reasons. First and foremost: when is a donut the standard of great desserts? Yes, donuts are tasty, but they are far from the benchmark by which to judge all other tasty things. 2) In the hierarchy of dessert foods, how on earth does a donut ever rank above a crêpe? 3) how dare you. 4) no but seriously. Ma'am I understand that you have not yet tastes the life changing mouth watering delicacy that is Dar Poeta but how on earth could you even insinuate such a thing? I am almost prepared to deem you unworthy of Dar Poeta and send you on your way, but who am I to speak ill of this restaurant or judge the worthy from the unworthy? I don't remember what Cara said as a reply, because i was too shocked contemplating this phrase. I do hope for this woman's sake that she needed our advice... And also reevaluated her culinary standards. Finally, sadly, the amount of dessert on our plates dwindled to none, and after we had scraped the last amount of socially acceptable powdered sugar and Nutella from them, we departed. We wandered around this neighborhood a bit more, finishing a really cool square (but perhaps not the "greatest square ever" as Cara has deemed one in Freiburg), and very convincingly pretended we were going to buy pastries at this one shop in order to use their bathroom. Rose basically has a whole plot line for our dialogue of how "yeah these ones looked nice but maybe they weren't quite right for breakfast? Didn't you say you were hungry for this other thing?" (This is why she's the playwright). At long last we skipped home, loudly singing Les Mis and probably seeming both outrageously American and outrageously drunk* but honestly we were just overjoyed with life in general. We did return, to our horror, to find that we had a roommate... Who we were pretty sure was a guy... But since we were all tired from today and had to get up early the next day to go to Pompeii, we decided to deal with that later and hope he hadn't been too bothered by the fact that all of our stuff had been strewn haphazardly about the entire room on almost every surface. (Embarrassing, yes, but we were trying to dry a lot of it because, as you may recall, it had gotten "ein bisschen" wet). *no, Carver, we weren't actually. So, we once again interrupt our retelling of Rome for another moment of Marta being introspective. This past weekend, I visited Paris – more to come on that later, I promise. My visit happened (well, actually, it was planned) to coincide with Cara’s last few days in the city. For me, this seemed appropriate because I had already visited Paris and done most of the touristy things there (not of course, that anyone could ever be “done” exploring Paris) so I was interested in getting to experience it from Cara’s perspective as a resident there.
Of course, it being her last day or two there, things started to get emotional. While we initially avoided talking about it, the topic eventually did creep up at some point during our visit to Zango’s, and I thought about it since then. I don’t think any of us could quite contemplate the idea that in less than 24 hours, Cara would be on her way back to America, most of the way across the Atlantic. She would be back with her family soon. This crazy, emotional adventure that was study abroad would be finished forever. As I discussed with Cara, that was a crazy concept for me to process. We both talked about how we had both been planning to study abroad for, well, basically all of our mature lives. Ever since I started taking German in middle school, I was convinced that I would study in Germany for some part of my college career. I worked hard at German in high school so I could do so. I remember that when I left Hannover in 2013, I thought “well Europe, see you again in four years.” (Little did I know a thing called France would happen, so it’d be a bit shorter). When I entered college and had my first meeting with my advisor, we talked about it. I hit up many study abroad info fairs and talked to my favorite German professor and structured my college courses all around the assumption that I would be abroad this spring. It has been an integral focus, a central goal, of my plan for my Penn State experience, and, well, my life. I know it was much the same way for Cara (and Alice, and Rose, and Brad, and all my abroad friends). We had plenty of late night talks in the HUB. Cara and I especially had an in-depth one with some of our friends that lasted until at least four or five in the morning in the HUB last November, because, following the Paris attacks, her parents had been very torn about letting her go. So basically, it was surreal for both of us to think we had travelled all the way from that conversation, where it seemed almost certain she wouldn’t be studying abroad this spring, to this conversation in Paris, on her last day – the eve of her return. Because, well… what comes next? Sure. There are goals out there – graduate, for one. Get a substantial job, for another. But it was just strange, because for so long, study abroad had been a main goal, a central plan in life, and now Cara has checked that box off… and it’s unclear yet what the next great adventure will be. For me, it was also strange to contemplate that Cara would be back with her family soon, that even now (well, “now” being the time of us having this conversation) they were probably preparing, thinking about who would come with to the airport and maybe making cookies or who knew what, excited for her to return after months tomorrow. It made me think about my own homecoming, which both feels so close and so far. It just seemed crazy to me to think that Cara would get to see her own family tomorrow, whereas I’m still months away from mine. That’s another thing I’ve learned over the years; when the people you care about are in another countries, it is more relevant to measure the distance in time over geographical distance. For example, I have no idea off the top of my head the distance between the US and the Netherlands, but I would say I’m two years away from Julie. Cara and I also talked about how, well, it’s easy to lose track when you’re away from home that life elsewhere is real. For example, yeah these days it’s easier to talk to people at home or away with Skype, or emails, or snapchat, but still, it’s strange to paint the pictures of this other part of your life just through text and words entirely. And sure, you trust and you know that life goes on with the people you care about across the sea, but it’s still just hard to fathom that you exist in the same plane of reality, almost as strange as it is to try and picture what life will be like when I get back from Europe. It’s just weird to think that we could all exist just as casually in the US in the most ordinary of places like the HUB or Canyon Pizza or the fields outside of Beaver Stadium as we did in San Marino or Rome or Cologne; it’s comforting but amazing and mindblowing to think that the backdrop and the history and meaning of the landscape can alter so dramatically but the people you shared them with will remain constants in your life. I think that’s why I prefer travelling with other people more than travelling alone; alone it’s difficult to remain grounded or feel connected to the rest of your life; you just kind of exist in this big, questioning space of a reality relevant only to you. Sure, you might visit places that others have seen or told you about, but with no one else there to share it with, it’s easy to question how this venture fits in to the grand scheme of your life. Wow. See. I told you this was going to get introspective. On the bus ride home from Paris (and it was one heck of a bus ride), there was one point, near the end, where we began to slow just so that I thought I was back in State College. Whenever I was younger and we’d be coming back from my grandparents, there was always this one part when we just started to enter town again where the car slowed a bit and I normally began to wake up and recognize the sites around me… and I had the same sensation this past Sunday. I allowed myself to indulge in it for a few minutes, and remembered the feeling of turning down my street in the night, going over the signature bump in our driveway which means we are finally, officially home… and I tried to thin about how that will feel when I get back from this trip. When we disembarked the bus, an elderly couple was waiting, and they excitedly greeted this girl, about my age, as she got off the bus. I smiled and thought about how good it is to come back to people that care about you. Sleepily Kendra and I climbed up the stairs to the Stühlingsbrücke over the train tracks and got on the tram, and I felt myself smile because it wasn’t the Paris metro, and the doors wouldn’t whine and indiscriminately close on me while I’m halfway through them. No, Freiburg isn’t quite home, but there is a certain rightness, a certain comfort, in coming back to it these days after each journey, und das gefällt mir. Day 2 in Roma...Sunday we woke up in time to indulge in the hostel's tasty breakfast of basically the equivalent of Italian twinkles and some questionably prepared coffee... Well, perhaps the preparation was adequate but the delivered product was questionable. Our host asked if we wanted a cappuccino or a coffee, and Cara and I order one of each, but what we got instead was one light brown coffee clearly with some type of milk and one shot glass of coffee (so I guess basically espresso). I volunteered to do the espresso shot, since it almost brought me back to Sarah and my daily espresso in Paris (although not quiteee as quality) and then we were on our way. We decided to continue our explanation of Rome where we left off: with the Colosseum. While there had been fairly many sightseers last night, it was teeming with people today. We slowly rounded the massive structure, hunting for the end of the line. "Oh that's not so bad," I remarked, immediately jinxing us, as the dip I had taken for the end of the line was maybe the halfway point. Maybe. We finally found our place behind 26736383638615272 million other tourists and almost immediately, a guide for a tour company approached us. "English tour leaving in half an hour." "How much does that cost?" "Thirty euros." "What do we see?" "It's an hour and half with three parts... 45 minutes in the Colosseum, 45 minutes on Palatine Hill, and 15 minutes in the Roman Forum..." Seeing that we were still not convinced, the guide persisted. "If you stand here, you wait for three maybe four hours, and that's just to get to security. If you come with me we go in half an hour." Cara and Rose and I looked at each other. Three or four hours was an immense amount of time to stand in this one line. That would take us up to 2 or 3 o'clock, something we didn't really want to do... But also, we weren't really in the mood to drop 30 euros #studentlyfe. "Okay we will think about it," Cara told the tour guide emphatically enough that she left us alone. In privacy we critiqued the offer more. Okay yeah, we really didn't want to wait that long in line... But also, for the size of this line, it seemed to be moving at a pretty good clip (famous last words, right?). But also, we were confused about the time allotments of this tour because first of all, even though we are all in liberal arts, we were pretty sure that 45 min + 45 min + 15 min didn't equal an hour and a half, and furthermore, why were we only spending 15 min in the Forum when it's massive? Just about then another guide approached us. "English tour in half an hour?" "How much?" Cara asked. "25 euros?" 25 euros? We eyed each other. "And what all do we see?" The guide gave us the same list and general time allotments as the other tour. "Okay we will consider it. Can we think some more?" He, too, left us. "So let's just keep shopping around. Maybe if we get an offer under 20 euros we will take it." At this point the line did a confusing split thing, but luckily since there were three of us, we were able to have one branch off into each line and one person (me) go ahead and scout out the signage. After determining it was egal which line you were in, we moved into the shorter one. We made it inside the Colosseum after only an hour of waiting (four hours my foot) and booked a tour for I think 7 euros (sadly we couldn't do the underground one because they were doing renovations or something. Oh well. Another day.) we had a few moments before the tour so we admired the arena from the ground level. It really was incredible in scope. I had expected the floor to be sand, but instead you could see all these structures for tunnels and pathways that would have been the under part, since actually the sandy floor was kind of like a stage. Our tour was a pretty solid one, as our guide showed us the lamps that would have been used in the tunnels, explained the pulley system to bring people up to the stage, detailed the seating arrangements (basically important people on the bottom, and the scum of society and women in the top rows), and also talked a bit about some of the influential emperors. After the Colosseum we decided to get lunch before continuing our adventure at the Forum and Palatine Hill. We ventured a few blocks in a halfway promising direction, then started to sit down at this restaurant which supposedly had a deal on a pizza or pasta and drink combo, but then we found out you could only get the normal type of pizza... And the drink was only coffee... And the cafe next door had the exact same deal price wise but also offered water and let you do any type of pizza or pasta... So then we somewhat guiltily switched restaurants to the one next door... But also come on. Literally what kind of marketing strategy was that. We had a lengthy lunch there in which I ate a tasty Napoli pizza and laughed hysterically because the latte art on my coffee came out beautifully while Cara's was a complete blob, and then we set off to tour the Forum. We were about halfway up this one hill when Cara realized she didn't have her phone. We raced back to the restaurant and luckily the waitstaff had collected it for safekeeping. As an added bonus from our fortunate retracing of steps, i happened to spot the UN flag rising above the trees across the road, and thus was able to tick another UN building off of Alice and my new pseudo competition.
We meandered the long way around to the Forum door, which logistically turned out to be a mistake but was perfectly find for wandering. We took some memorable photos in front of this one really fancy government building and more looking over the Forum... And then it started to rain... And to quote Fall Out Boy (and plenty of other people) "when it rains it pours" We put on our raincoats but just kind of stood in the street for a moment accepting our fate, until this kindly group of Belgian tourists huddling under a random overhang called us over and shared their umbrellas with us. We stood with them for a while, but then, deciding that the rain wasn't going to let up anytime soon, and wanting to make sure we saw the Forum before it closed (because our ticket was only good today) we bid our rescuers adieu and set off once more into the downpour. While I have had many drenched city experiences (New York, Paris, Philadelphia) this was certainly up there in the running for the top, particularly because the rain poured so fiercely for such a long time that my raincoat soaked entirely through. This skirts of Cara, Rose, and my dresses were stretching out with the weight of all the water they had soaked in, and we attempted to wring them out several times. The security guards for the Forum looked particularly amused as, sopping wet, we produced tickets from our drenched bags and headed in. Hey, at least there was no queue. Comparatively there was only a small handful of tourists in the Forum, and many were huddled under various buildings instead of touring about, so we were able to wade our way through the muddy streets with only the gushing streams as obstacles. We did our best to rally out stamina and read the signs for different buildings, even though every inch of my clothing was soaked and clinging unpleasantly to my skin, and, because I had falsely believed it was slowing at one point, I had prematurely put down my hood. We still managed to laugh our way up the hill, even Rose, whose shoes were being down right beastly to her that day, and I took some pictures, including of signs for us to reflect on at a later, drier time. By the time we got to the top of the hill, the rain had almost stopped. We continued up Palatine Hill, and by the time we got to this really lovely garden up there, it had stopped entirely so I I peeled off my rain coat and wrung out my dress more. In addition to more ruins, we also saw maybe the biggest bunny of my life. We were surveying the upper regions of this hill when all of a sudden a loud announcement went off "ATTENTION. THE FORUM IS CLOSING. PLEASE PROCEED TO THE NEAREST EXIT. GOODBYE." Well. That was ominous. The announcement continued in different languages, and we attempt to slowly meander to the exit the long way in order to see some last few parts of the Forum, but were hastened on our way by a security guard. Shivering and still soaked at this point, we proceeded as quickly as possible all the way back to our hostel, then promptly stripped, showered to get off all the street grime, and changed. As I unpacked my bag, I let out a shriek of anguish, startling Cara and Rose. "What's wrong?" "My umbrella. Was in my backpack. The whole time." I lowkey wept as they mocked me. By this time it had started to rain. Again. But we needed food. But we also had absolutely no desire to traverse through the streets again. "Roman Order Up would be so clutch right now," I commented. Opening up Yelp, I discovered that there was an inexpensive, well-reviewed restaurant... Directly under us. I made Cara and Rose both look at the map they provided as well in case I was reading something extremely wrong, and then we decided to brave the outside, go to this restaurant if it was immediately visible, or go to the one with the waiter who helped us find the hostel as a second and last resort. Cara and Rose dawned their raincoats and I produced my umbrella (finally) and then we darted outside. Thankfully, the restaurant Il Tempo di Minerva really was just two doors down. "Table for three?" We asked the waiter. "Sorry we only have tables for four, five, and six." He answered, then quickly noted that it was a joke, probably taking in our broken faces. "Just a minute." As we stood there, I cursed. "Darn. If I wanted to be smooth af, I should have been like 'well then I guess you'll have to join us' when he said we needed a table of four." "AHHH WHY DIDNT YOU SAY THAT!" Cara and Rose chastised me. "I don't know! I never think of these things until too late!" "I feel ya. I'm the same way," Rose sympathized with me. Dinner was phenomenal. We all got different types of pasta (I had gnocchi and Rose's plate came in a little smiley face) and this wine that the waiter recommended, and we were there until after midnight. The staff were entirely nonplused by this, having sat down to their own dinner at a table across from us. With that, Day 2 was fast fini. |
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