Conquering the streets of Paris on my bike

Some people are living a dream. I'm living a song. By Queen. And it goes like this...

Bicycle bicycle bicycle
I want to ride my bicycle bicycle bicycle

I want to ride my bicycle
I want to ride my bike
I want to ride my bicycle
I want to ride it where I like

Life has been absolutely crazy and exhausting since arriving to Paris just over a week ago. I think about what I knew about the city then, and that in just a few hours I'm giving my first solo tour to some unsuspecting tourists and it seems like I've been here for ages. Fat Tire gets us street-ready by going on 9 training tours and a logistical tour with just the Fat Tire team. Learning the French history of the stops on the tour was the easy part. The complication of this job is found in the details. On bike tours, I have a group of 23 tourists riding mindlessly behind me so I have to not only know the route through busy streets, but learn the timing of stoplights, where bus lanes collide with bike lanes, where we perform Advanced Traffic Maneuvers (ATMs) which are clearly a violation of many traffic laws! For Segway tours we stay mostly on the sidewalks, but have to know where are the ramps, where are the polls, where are the bumps - all things that have people flying off their Segways. Literally. I have already seen some gnarly Segway falls. I *think* I have it all down but will find out in a few hours.

This really may be the coolest job in the world. It pays somewhere just below poverty level, so it's a good thing it is an absolute blast! Most of the people who take Fat Tire tours are a lot of fun to talk to (although I'm giving a Segway tour to a non-English speaking group of Germans tomorrow, eek). An average work week is about 50 hours and a whole lot of miles. On the day tours we stop and eat in a cafe in the colorful Tulleries Garden outside the Lourve. At night we stop and have delicious ice cream and take an hour boat ride down the Seine where we drink wine and watch the Eiffel Tower sparkle. So I get paid to eat ice cream, drink wine, absorb a beautiful city and hear myself talk. Maybe I am living a dream!

I love my flat. It's in the 11th arrondissement which is on the right bank on the east side of town. When anyone asks me where I live and I tell them the 11th they say something like - ohhh, trendy. Except I've been working so much I have no idea where are the trendy stuff is - I do pass a McDonalds right down the street but I don't think that's it. When I haven't been working 16 hour days I've squeezed in some fun. I meandered through a street market and bought fresh fruit, cheese and perfectly baked baguettes (crispy on the outside, soft on the inside). Last week I joined guides at a picnic on the quay (pathway along the river Seine) and drank red wine and ate soft garlicy cheese that made me fall in love with France all over again. Last night eight of us went to a fondue restaurant in Montmarte. I think I have three pounds of cheesy bread stuck in my stomach at this very moment. Then we hiked up to Sacré-Coeur Basilica and sat on the steps soaking up the view over Paris rooftops at night. It was at that moment last night I had a 'wow' moment. I'm so blessed to have this opportunity to spend a few months in Paris making new friends and a wonderful (albeit exhausting) job where I get to share my love of travel and Paris with people every day.

It won't surprise anyone who knows me well that I've been here nine days and have yet to unpack my suitcase. So I'm going to make me a café au lait I made with fresh grounds I picked up yesterday and get to unpacking. 

Travelology

I have been conducting very serious field research as I travel around the world. Through a blend of participant observation, data collection and surveys I have compiled a list of the results. I'm sure the impact of my study will be far-reaching and I just may be the next Jane Goodall.

There is a dead possum every .8km on the side of the highway in New Zealand - this is the highest per capita in the world.

After a stranger takes your photograph and you look at it, 72% of the time you smile, thank them, then hit your camera's delete button.  

Increase the odds you like your photo by instead taking a selfie!

Australia is the only country that eats its national symbol.  

* this one could possibly true and is courtesy of my new friend Annabel from Oz.

The international price index to pee is about $0.28. At this price, nearly 1% of my total trip cost went to visiting public potties. I miss American - land of the free (pee).

"TIA" is the most widely used acronym on the dark continent - This Is Africa. Its broad application is due to widespread corruption, breakdowns, and Africa just being a general cluster much of the time.  (but totally worth it!)  

 Supporting evidence: the border crossing into Zambia.

Baboons prefer power  bars over leaves 3:1 in a taste test.

 

An on-time train in eastern Europe is 30 minutes late.

There is a 22% chance that the monument/church/building you are most excited to see will be covered in scaffolding. 

The most accurate litmus test to determine if the city you're in has been westernized or not is one simple question: is there a Starbucks?

 

**These statistics are 100% inaccurate and completely fabricated by me. Not that there was any doubt, especially with my stellar math academic record...I can't even count how many times I enrolled and dropped statistics in college!

Scary Trains and a Rented Swimsuit, Welcome to Hungary.

It's 11:40am on Thursday as I type this. I haven't been to sleep yet. I am having a vanilla latte right now with skim milk which I was very excited about! (skim milk and flavored syrup are a rare find where I've been) I will do my best to write coherent sentences.

Last night I took another scary overnight train ride - this time from Belgrade, Serbia to Budapest. My last scary train ride was from Budapest to Brasov, Romania last week which is when I learned how dangerous night trains are in this part of the world. (I really liked Romania, by the way). Having taken many night trains in western Europe I hadn't thought much of it. My cabin on the midnight train to Romania had three locks - two of which could only be opened from the inside. I was given stern warnings about keeping them all locked because of the bandits and gypsies.

I got in my cabin in grungy Belgrade and to my dismay I only had one door lock. I was told by the cabin steward, " I must say you this. You must lock your door. Put your ladder in front of the door for extra protection. Put your head away from the door by the window so you can see the door. People will try to get in your room while you sleeping. Keep your passport and money on your body. I must say you." I was like, um, what about my lock? Can people still get in? Should I expect someone to come in? Holy crap what am I doing on a night train out of Serbia alone?!?


My weapons and I went undercover. Or rather, under the covers. I laid on my bed with my knife and my LED Defender flashlight in my hands. I made up my fake "throw down wallet" that I'd been advised to have in case I was robbed. I'm historically a quick draw on calling 911 at any perceived danger, so for someone like me this was very unsettling.


From 10:30pm - 2:30am I had a mix of police and border control agents pounding on my door then in my room  wondering why I was in Serbia to begin with....um, that makes two of us. At 2:30ish was the last time border control should have been there - and they always pound before they unlock your door. I got back on my bed and thought I really needed to get some sleep as my train arrives Budapest at 5am. The train is very creaky and squeaky...though as I was dozing in and out I heard a clanking noise on my lock at 3:45am. I opened my eyes to see that my door was cracked open and there seemed to be a person trying to peer in - and since no one had knocked so I knew it wasn't someone authorized to be doing that. I leaped out of bed and reached through the ladder rungs and slammed the door shut. It may very well be my fastest reflex reaction time to date, in my entire life. I heard footsteps and then the door at the end of my train car slam. So much for my weapons - they went flying on the floor as threw my blanket off so I'm glad I didn't need them! I was then too terrified to try to sleep so stayed awake until 5am when we reached Budapest.

Now if that wasn't enough excitement for one day...what on earth do you do in Budapest at 5am? Good question. I dropped my bag off at the hotel my cousin and I would be checking into later today and took the metro to a Hungarian thermal bath that opened at 6am. It wasn't until this morning that I realized I sent my swimsuit home. I did the unthinkable. I rented a swimsuit. I'm not sure there are many things in the world grosser than a rented Hungarian swimsuit that's about 5 sizes too big. I also rented a 'towel' that is actually a sheet. The bath facility felt more like an asylum and was a mix of creepy, disgusting and hilarious.

I signed up for a massage at 7am. The asylum workers made me put on the gargantuan one piece swimsuit and took me into my massage room. Before arriving I had visions of the Four Seasons spa in my head, not the Motel 6 spa. I lie down on the table in the bright light. No sheet covering me, no padding, and my Hungarian male masseuse pulls my swimsuit down to around my waist. As he rubbed my back it occurred to me that he may also plan to rub my front. This was all I could think about, then I began to giggle. I'm exhausted, in Hungary in a rented partially-on swimsuit on a table getting a rub down and growing certain that I'm about to get a massage to remember. It turned out I was partly right, I'll leave it at that. After the massage I got in the indoor thermal pools. Dozens of old geezers in speedos, and me. The men either had gigantic bellies, or looked emaciated. Trimming male nipple hair is not in common practice here. One man even wore whitie tighties and a shower cap. I hope that someday the mental images of what I saw this morning fade away.





I'm one hour away from getting into the hotel room - which means a shower and a nap. My cousin gets here from Dallas this afternoon and I'm so so so excited to see her! I'm sure she'll be very disappointed when I tell her what she missed out on this morning.

Portugal - I love it when a no-plan comes together!

I like fortunate accidents. Most of the time for me, accidents are not so fortunate (and often include me hitting a stationary object with my car). I did not plan to come to Portugal this week; nor did I plan to visit medieval castles, sip on port or take a morning stroll around 11th century fortified walls that encircle a charming tiny town. Being in Portugal has been delightfully accidental.

Lisbon is situated right on the Tagus river and is built of hilly cobblestone streets that wind around colorful facades. Its principle sites are standard European fare: castle, cathedral, monastery, piazzas and sidewalk cafes. Not far from Lisbon lies Sintra which is a UNESCO World Heritage Site on account of its 19th century Romantic architecture.

I didn't buy a proper Portugal travel book but saw one on display in a bookstore. I went in and had a quick glance at Frommer's recommended excursions and decided Obidos sounded like a nice place to visit. The next day I left my big bag at my pension in Lisbon and headed to the train station to buy a ticket. I was informed that the bus was easier, so I took the metro to the north part of the city then walked to the bus station. This sort of traveler confusion doesn't bother me. I'm not in a rush and since I have no rhythm on the dance floor, I'm used to moving off-tempo!

I got off the bus in Obidos and thought wow - these towns are the reason I love western Europe. I ambled down the narrow streets going in the local art shops and sampling port and local cherry liqueur out of edible chocolate cups.

The town reminded me of places in Italy I visited with my mom and our friend Lea. Having gone to Europe with my mom three times, it seemed unnatural she wasnt there with me. My mom collected nativity scenes from our travels and in one of the shops I saw a unique handmade ceramic nativity set and had a fleeting thought that I should get it for my mom. And then I started to cry. The poor shopkeeper wasn't sure what was going on, perhaps he thought I was really moved by his merchandise! I ache for my mom most all the time. Sometimes I go a few hours forgeting she died, and those are a welcomed reprieve. But it's in these unexpected insignificant moments that only she would understand that I miss her the most. I can prepare myself to miss her on holidays or birthdays; I cannot prepare myself for the moments like I had looking at a nativity set in Portugal on a Wednesday afternoon. I've said this is my year of healing after last being a year blanketed with loss. And since I do a terrible job talking about icky things like feelings, I decided I would go off-topic and write about it.

Back to Portugal. I only offer up two criticisms of the country. One: the "smoking kills" message has not made it through Portuguese customs. I would like to expedite the message's visa because smoky cafes are gross. Two: takeaway coffee is hard to find. The to-go concept abounds in the rest of Europe these days but not yet here. And since there are many non-English speaking baristas I learned that my charades impression of getting a cup and then taking it with me needs some work!

I don't hear much about Portugal as a place to visit when I'm in the US....perhaps part of its charm is that it isn't overloaded with American tourists (as an American tourist I can say that!). I could have easily filled up several more days in Portugal so I'll definitely be back.