MacDo

Or, “Why the French all Think that all Americans are Fat.”

People of America, I have an announcement: the children of France are being indoctrinated. They are being indoctrinated that Americans are fat, junk-food-loving people who are out for world domination through the means of McDonald's restaurants. Every class that I've been in has had a “junk food” unit. Every class that I've been in has talked about the obesity epidemic in the United States. Perhaps this is the way for the French to turn their young people against their fantasies of moving to America and embracing American “culture.” Perhaps. Whatever the reason, these French children all think that we are fat.

I think they have a point, though. I am an American. I love French food. It. Is. So. Good. But I can't help it: I often find myself wishing I could eat a juicy, fattening, All-American burger. Maybe it's because I don't often buy myself meat, maybe it's because we talk about it almost every day in school, but I will crave McDonald's. I mean, I watched Super-Size Me, and I came away from it wanting to go buy a burger – that's the opposite effect that film is supposed to have on the viewer. Fail, Sandra... fail.

The biggest thing I do miss though, is being able to buy any size soda for a dollar, and then having unlimited refills. I don't know how many times I would stop by the restaurant or the drive-through at home or on a road trip and just order a dollar Diet Coke (without ice – it's cold anyway and you get more pop without the ice). To my knowledge, French fast-food restaurants (except KFC, which is not in my town) don't offer free refills. And their “medium” is smaller yet more expensive than our small. And Coca Light is NOT the same thing as Diet Coke. It tastes funny.

I don't know what to do with myself.

Update: All week I've been looking forwards to going to “Quick” in Grenoble as I think it is better than MacDo, but it is not available in my town. Like, every time I was about to do something unhealthy, I thought, “No, I'm treating myself to fast food this week.”

I ordered a chicken sandwich and a salad. What the heck. Where's the beef, Sandra? Where's the beef??

(Also: I wrote this blog two months ago. I have no idea why I never posted it.)  

I Spoke too Soon. As I Tend to Do.

Why I love Trains.

Or why, believe it or not, trains are not the worst form of transportation known to mankind.

Or, "Why I almost titled this blog "Why I love Trains." 

(Written January First. In real-time.) 

I am back on a train again. I was at the station an hour before the train took off. I am headed back to France. I am surrounded by people speaking not only Italian but also French, and it feels good. I never thought that I would be so happy to be on a train in my life but ladies and gentlemen, there is an even worse form of transportation: the bus.

We took four different bus rides during our trip: an eleven-hour over-night bus, two 6-hour buses, and a sixteen-hour overnight bus. Today I am taking a train for the distance that probably would be comparable to an eleven-hour bus ride, but it's only going to take about four hours. And I have a seat that is big enough to fit my butt and the girl next to me has enough room for her butt as well. It's a beautiful thing. The tray is big enough to fit my obviously huge mini-netbook, and the cupholder fits a bottle of water. There are no smelly older Czech guys sitting next to me throwing back beer after beer, or staring intently into my face while speaking a language that I swear is made-up.

Side note: have you even seen written Czech? It looks like someone just kept banging their head on the keyboard and them embellished it with a bunch of funny accents. I am thankful to be heading back to a country where I understand the native language and don't have to feel like an idiot when I don't know how to order McDonalds in Italian or German or Czech.

Anyways, overnight buses are the devil. The only advantage that they have to them is that they are cheaper than traveling by train. And I've never had a “bus delay” which screwed up half my vacation. The first bus, from Geneva to Prague, had the grumpiest men working on it who would get annoyed if you were the last one out the bathroom at a rest-stop and would yell at you for not realizing that they had moved your luggage when you weren't looking. I was seated with Mia, who wouldn't trade her window seat for my aisle seat, and then proceeded to put her legs in my legspace the entire time she was sleeping because there was no where else for her to stretch out her six-foot-tall frame. Needless to say, I hardly slept that night. The bus was also showing American movies dubbed in Czech. But it wasn't normal dubbing... it was more like one man was translating the script as the movie played and read for all the parts. It was the most annoying thing ever... I doubt the Czechs even enjoyed it.

Oops I may have spoken too soon... the train I'm on is supposed to be heading to Paris, but they're making a switch in Chambery because of technical difficulties. But... ha, train gods! Chambery is my stop anyway! You can't get me this time!Also, we got stopped and controlled by the police. That was fun. I had forgotten that I left my passport in my bag with my dirty clothes... I figured if anyone rummaged through my stuff, they wouldn't want to pick through my dirty socks to try to find valuables.

Now you know where to look if you ever want to rob me. Oops.

A couple hours later:

Well. Yeah. The train that I was on earlier ended up sitting almost two hours in the station before being able to move. Meanwhile, I waited for my connection. I went down the road to Quick and ate lunch, came back, and waited for the platform to show up for my train. For a while, it seemed like it was never going to show up because the whole station was full of people staring at the board, waiting for that magical number. Finally about 5 minutes before the train was supposed to depart, Voie E flashed on the screen. There was a mad rush to the platform – and I was elated when the train stopped with the door right in front of me. Talk about miracles.

But then an odd thing happened.

The door didn't open.

None of the doors opened. And we were told there would be a five minute... ten minute... fifteen minute delay. And we stood there around the un-opening doors like a drone of ants gathering around picnic crumbs, just waiting for the doors to magically slide open so we could knock down the people around us to ensure a seat. Twenty minutes of waiting later, an announcement came over the loudspeaker... the train had been canceled. We were to board another train to Aix les Bains which was leaving immediately, or wait an hour until the next train departed.

Problem: Neither of those trains stopped at La Tour-de-Pin.

But then another train, with only two cars, pulled up behind the sealed-shut train, and we were told that it was going to Lyon. Yay! So a bunch of us crammed onto that train, got situated... only to be told that the train in front of us was unable to move, so we all had to disembark.

Can you use “disembark” when referring to trains? Whatever. I just did.

So, as I do, I went to the magical yellow machine inside the station to check train times... and the next train to LTDP wasn't for another two hours. Sigh.

I bought myself a kit-kat and a coffee from the vending machines and settled myself in the waiting area. I had just pulled out my computer to type away my frustrations when an urgent announcement came over the loudspeaker... The canceled train had a replacement! It was departing immediately!

I and many, many other sprang up from our seat and went running through the station to Voie B... the train pulled in... stopped... and the doors opened! What magic!

So then here I am. On a train. With a seat. And still thankful to not be crammed into a bus with smelly, old, drunk Czech men. Even if the train gods hate me.  

A Rather Accurate Review of Sofytel Hostel in Milan, Italy

Otherwise titled, "Why you should always read all of the reviews before booking a hostel."

In Milan, we stayed in Sofytel Hostel, because Mia and Chels found it on hostelbookers and it was cheap. It turns out that it was a brand new hostel that had just opened in late September/early October. We booked in November so there weren't that many reviews for it yet. Well... we didn't recheck the reviews before coming on the trip. My review would go something like this:

My initial thought upon entering this hostel was that it was a trap to lure in young girls to be “taken” as we have all seen in the movies. I walked into the main room of the hostel which was advertised as a lounge and bar area. I suppose the lounge was the one long red couch and the bar was the table on the side of the room that housed several empty beer bottles and four unwashed plastic champagne flutes. There were many people just standing or sitting around, and I had no idea who was in charge. But once I met who I assume was the owner, he was very pleasant and helped the four of us with our luggage (as there is no lift). As he thought I was in charge, he showed me the dorm room we had paid for, which had two sets of bunk beds and a shared bathroom, and then showed me a private room with a bathroom ensuite and said we could have it for no extra charge - we just had to wait an hour for it to be cleaned. Bingo. But then we were instructed to leave our luggage sitting out in the middle of the lounge area and he said he would look over it. With all the people around, this made us very uneasy. Nothing was stolen, but the whole atmosphere seemed very unsafe. The room itself, though, was very nice – the beds, bedding, and towels were all in great condition. The bathroom was clean, and the shower only flooded because *some* girls in the room were idiots and didn't know how to use a shower curtain effectively (though I really shouldn't complain because I only recently learned the art of using a shower curtain so that you don't flood the bathroom). I guess our great flood leaked through to the floor below, though, because we had to leave our one and only room key with the owner so that he could deep clean the bathroom while we were gone for the day.

With it being New Year's Eve, we came back to discover two things: One, he had removed my bed (the top bunk above an unusable lower bunk that didn't even leave enough space between the two beds to sit upright) – this would have been fine had he warned me that he was removing the extra bed – buuuut he didn't warn me and instead just moved all my stuff and I hate, hate, hate when people touch my stuff – espcially strangers. The second thing was a bottle of white wine with a note attached that read “Happy New Year Crazyyyyy This night Get very Drunken But Please not wack up the people” (The previous night we had gotten a little loud playing cards and I guess woke up the downstairs neighbors. Good thing that night I didn't get "Drunken" nor did I "wack up" the people). But rather than let us enjoy the wine alone in our room as we got ready for the evening, he soon knocked on our door and urged us to come out to the lounge, where he had already poured us more drinks. While I'm sure it was all a nice New Year's Eve gesture, it came off super, super creepy. One girl refused to drink what he had poured because she was afraid of not only an ingredient that she was allergic to, but also fearful that he had put pills in the drinks and she wanted to make sure we didn't die. Clearly, we are still alive, but that was the sort of atmosphere that this hostel has. It seemed that he was trying to create a "party hostel" but just knew no way to a) run a business or b) talk to female guests appropriately. 

(Side note: a weird, drunk Japanese guy apparently thought that since I (and the other girls) took a picture with him, I wanted to make out with him. Never have I so aggressively pushed someone away. I guess it should have been an indicator of how the rest of the night was going to go. Oh, to be a natural blonde in Italy.)

Furthermore, we overheard an argument between one of the two owners and a girl in one of the dorm rooms our first night there. Apparently, he had knocked on the door, she told him not to come in, but he came in anyway to find her changing clothes. She was extremely upset, but he just yelled that she shouldn't be changing in the rooms anyway, since they were only for resting. They also argued about the amount of noise she was making, even though there were people in the lounge making much more noise. He told her that if she continued to argue, she would be given her money back and be forced to leave. The other owner shortly came to apologize, but it was still an uncomfortable thing to overhear. The walls are very thin, as are the floors (afraid of getting kicked out, we were trying to maintain indoor voices yet still got a noise complaint from downstairs), so everything you say or do is overheard.

I arose early New Year's Day to catch my train, but no one was at the front desk to check out with or to buzz me out - so another guest let me out of the front gate. This was another major inconvenience of the hostel: the website boasted 24 hour desk service, but this was only because guests were not given a key to the front gate. Instead, we had to be buzzed in by someone upstairs in the hostel each and every time we left or came back to the property. Also, "24 hour service" meant that whoever was on duty slept on the couch and showered in the shared bathroom. Did these guys not have a place of their own? I think they inherited a large apartment and thought "I'll bet that we could turn this into a hostel and make money!" 

Overall, I would summarize my experience with this hostel as: nice beds, creepy atmosphere.  

At least we didn't get taken! 

Lyon Part Deux

or, "Why I need to get out more." 

Due to my sister's urgings, I am writing another blog. I have half a dozen unfinished blog entries sitting in my documents folder, but I just don't seem to have the strength to finish them. Nevermind the endless hours I spend sitting alone in my room on any given day, never mind the weekends I spend shut away like some paranoid recluse - I like to spend my time doing constructive things. Like watching hours upon hours of Sex and the City, Smallville, and Friends on French television every day after school. The weather has been chilly and rainy, thus offering no temptation to leave my warm, if claustraphobia-inducing, haven. I reason that I'm spending a fortune on Christmas vacation (true) and can't afford to travel (true). I reason that I have no friends in town (also, sadly, true). I reason that my French is improving by watching French-dubbed American TV shows (possibly true). But when it comes down to it... I just plain don't get out much. 

This weekend, however, was one of those blessed occasions where I left La Tour du Pin - again, for a visit to the wonderful Lyon. This weekend was a special weekend in Lyon - called the fête des lumières. The whole city was lit up by beautiful Christmas decorations and punctuated by dazzling light shows. The Christmas markets were open and the scent of fresh vin chaud wafted through the air. Despite the lack of snow, it felt like Christmas was finally coming. 

Wouldn't it have been nice to have pictures of this beautiful event? Yeah, I thought so too. This is why I brought my camera with me. Apart from blogging, I also excel at sucking at remembering to take pictures of things. My trip to Lyon over the Toussaint holiday was the only well-documented adventure that I've been on, though I have indeed has several notable adventures. So I vowed I would be better. I brought my camera along, and at the first cool-looking thingee that we saw I whipped out my camera and started snapping pictures. But after the third picture, much to my horror, the words "internal memory full" flashed on the screen. I flipped open the battery hatch and saw that the brillant Sandra had left her memory card back in La Tour-du-Pin stuck in her computer. I had taken ONE measly picture of the sad, sad Christmas tree in the lobby of the foyer and left the stupid card in my computer, losing the chance to take hundreds of photos of the breathtaking sight in Lyon. Idiot. 

Well, here's a picture of the tree anyway: 

He's not as sad looking as he was when he first came in. And I'm pretty sure that I sacrificed my dignity taking this picture in the lobby at night (two guys were outside smoking and clearly laughing at me). 

Anyway, I don't want this to get too long, and I've already talked about enough non-important thingssssss ssssssooooooooo LIST! 

Sandra's sights and happening at the fête des lumières 2011: 

1. (Mom don't read this one!) A crazy drunk man pulled a knife out next to me!!! Creepiest thing to happen to me so far. I heard the click and woosh that i recognized to be that of a switchblade, and then Emma's bf pulled me away from the guy next to me... sure enough, he was hiding a knife in his hand, just wandering through the crowd. That made me a little nervous then whenever we were in really crowded places again (often) and also served as a good reminder that there are EFFING PSYCHO PEOPLE in this world. 'Nuff said. 

2; SO MANY PRETTY, AWESOME LIGHTS! Not like the way crazy Americans decorate their homes, but the whole city was lit up, and there were a lot of light shows too. My fave was this one (pic taken during the day because HEY I could only take 3 photos!) They danced and did karate to sweet music. 

3. SO MANY PEOPLE. Some of the light displays were kinda hard to see because you had to fight your way through the massive crowds of people to see them properly. That being said, it was totally worth the fight. 


4. Christmas Markets. Seriously, America. Where are all your Christmas markets? I could write an entire blog on how much I love Christmas markets. For realz. 


5. Vin chaud - my love for vin chaud (hot wine) is intertwined with my love for Christmas markets. It's wine. It's hot. It's spiced. Drinking it is like drinking Christmas.This is one Frenchie thing I will definitely bring back to the states, and you will try it and you will like it - even if you don't like wine (I'm not a huge fan of red wine but I LOVE vin chaud rouge!!) As my 2-year-old nephew would say - DEELISHUSS! Though he probably shouldn't be drinking vin chaud at his age. 


6. Hanging out with other assistants. Have I mentioned I don't get out much? 


Also, I've determined that in order to really learn French, I need a French boyfriend. That really seems to be the best way to learn the language. 


And finally... BALLOONS! All that I could think of was UP!!!! 

Lyon, Lion, Grrrrrr

or, "Why a spontaneous idea is sometimes always the best idea." 

Voila! Here I am on a train again.. thus, I am writing a blog entry. Never mind the fact that I spend most of my evenings sitting alone in my room, mindlessly browsing the great void which is the internetz, I seem to only feel motivated to begin to blog once I am on a train. I suppose a lot has happened since my last blog – I left my poor readers (my sister) after my return from Germany with no hopes for the near future but to lay on the floor in my room and writhe in pain until school started up again a week later.

Luckily, that is not how my vacation ended.

A Goodbye Kiss

Or, "Why being in France can make one feel rather lonely"

I find myself to be inspired by sitting on trains. I currently have four different windows open as a sudden surge of ideas came into my cranium... and I feel unable to write them all at once. So, as much as the French train system hates me, it often jump-starts the creative juices flowing in my brain, as well as letting me witness different things that I would not see, say, sitting alone in my room looking at pictures of cats with funny captions (I can haz cheezburger, I can haz YOUR SOUL). Today's image: the kiss goodbye.

Germany: The Quick-and-Dirty List Version

Maybe not so quick. Or very dirty.

My last couple entries were of the rather bitter, ranting, complaining nature… and I don’t want y’all to think that I’ve become a bitter, ranting, complaining fool over here. I do have fun, I am nice (most of the time), and I do rather love my life. And despite all of the setbacks and ailments of the weekend, I really did enjoy my time in Germany. For those of you who don’t know, I went to visit my friend Daniel, who was an exchange student last year at Hillsdale College;  he lives in Saarbrucken, Germany, which is not too far from the French border – so what better excuse to go see the country on my vacation?