Across the universe

My dear friend Jamie once described me as not having a "filter" like most people do. He said that sad events seemed to make me really sad, while I could get indescribably happy over little things. Everything appeared to affect me a bit more than maybe it should, which can be a good and bad thing. I loved this description, and think about it often.

Yesterday, I had one of those unfiltered moments. I decided to walk to Enfield Town, which is about a mile away. Along the way, I passed kids getting off the bus from school, mothers pushing stollers, and neighbors chatting like old friends. It was all so normal. I made it into town and found that the outdoor market was open ("Enfield Market -- Now in it's 700th year"). I immediately gravitated to a book stall, stocked with a wonderful selection of old books. Each one was extremely cheap -- 60 pence for The Hours, one of my favorite books -- and I wound up buying four novels for just £2. I then took my purchases to a cozy coffeeshop and read for a while. Before heading back, I stopped in a cute jewelry shop and treated myself to a cheap pair of earrings to wear that evening.

Anyway, I haven't even gotten to the unfiltered moment yet. After such a lovely afternoon in town, I felt extremely content and blissful walking back to campus. Again, I passed cute townhouses and families doing everyday things. I looked up at the sky and it seemed particularly expansive and wondrous. It was at that moment -- when I was in your average English neighborhood, rather than in the middle of exciting London -- that it fully hit me that I was living here, albeit for a short time. I thought about the fact that this was techincally my third visit to London, and that I've been in England a combined four weeks. I realized that I was walking around without worrying about maps or getting lost. I felt like I could cry, I felt so fortunate and happy.

To top off such a great day, I had an even better night. One of the things on my to-do list for London was to go to a jazz club. Now I've added another item to the list: Go to as many jazz clubs as possible. Jason, a British film student whom I get along fantastically with, and I went to the Jazz Café in Camden. We met up with Nick, a jazz student who's also at Middlesex. The band was good, although a tad bit "commercial," and the atmosphere was great. The place was crowded but not packed, and the crowd was amazing -- obviously made up of jazz enthusiasts. An evening out with friends at a cool jazz club with a good mixed drink is my idea of a perfect night. I'm beyond pleased that I've found people who feel the same way.

Tomorrow, I'm going to Stonehenge and Bath. Pictures to come.

Frost and the Ripper

Last night everyone from the CEA program went on a Jack the Ripper walking tour. It started off outside the Tower of London and ended in a dark alleyway outside an old synagogue. We walked past murder sites, "in the footsteps" of the killer himself, and through some really interesting culturally-diverse neighborhoods located in the East End. I expected it to be cheesy, but our tour guide was really engaging and had an apparent passion for the mystery and intriguing stories surrounding the infamous killer.

Our guide began the tour by commenting that "winter arrived today." He wasn't exaggerating. Although the official start of winter is months from now, yesterday felt like it. It was 9 degrees Celcius (or about 48 degrees Fahrenheit) and drizzling. I took the train home and it started to pour. Needless to say, after listening to gruesome accounts of prostitutes being murdered, it was a bit unnerving to walk back alone from the station in the dark and the rain.

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One of the best side effects of traveling for me is the rush of motivation and inspiration I get. I don't feel like I've wasted a day since I've been here. We're required to read "Politics and the English Language," an essay by George Orwell, for my journalism course. I decided to buy the collection of essays that it's published in because it inspired me so much.

Orwell's title essay, "Why I Write," holds universal truths known to anyone who's ever been inspired to express themselves through words. Many of the thoughts and feelings he writes about were ones that I naïvely assumed I was alone in having. Of course, he expresses his feelings a bit better than I did: "I think from the very start my literary ambitions were mixed up with the feeling of being isolated and undervalued," (Orwell) versus "I guess all writers are meant to be lonely" (me). A little melodramatic, Katie.

Anyway, it's cool and very inspiring to be able to relate to a great author's thoughts on writing. Maybe I'll actually attempt to write something of substance while I'm here, not just blog entries and mandatory papers for school.

Video killed the radio star

One of the mundane things that I was looking forward to during my semester here was having virtually no access to television. Ironically, that's going to turn out to be a problem.

My sociology course, Popular Culture and the Media, focuses entirely on television. What's more, it focuses on British television. I guess this makes sense, and I guess I can't complain about a class being aimed towards British students when I've chosen to study abroad, but I'm at a major disadvantage. First off, my knowledge of British television extends no further than some old Mr. Bean episodes, The Office, and the occassional Coupling. Secondly, as I mentioned before, I have no access to television! We're expected to write a 2,000-something-word essay on a certain issue involving television and British society and each student must present a seminar to the class on some issue (i.e. violence and TV) citing examples from shows and showing clips, if needed.

As someone who isn't a big fan of television in the first place -- I voluntarily decided to give up TV for Lent one year, even though I'm not Catholic, and didn't watch it much after Easter came and went -- I would stress a little about this class if it was in the States. Thus, a class devoted to British television is going to be unecissarily stressful. I could see the importance if I were a film student, or interested in writing about TV, or maybe even looking to go into broadcast journalism, but I'm not sure how it's going to benefit me.

My professor was okay with the idea of writing and presenting on American television shows if they're aired over here, but we have to focus on how they impact British audiences. I can do that, I think. Actually, I'm toying around with the idea of how Sex and the City's ideals affect Brisith women. I knew watching every single episode would pay off somehow.

Actually, I've been ludicrously positive about things lately. I see things like this class as a challenge and thus a way to test myself. I'm open to wherever life takes me. Right now, I feel like I could be happy if I'm in London next semester, or at another school, or even back at Georgia State. There are benefits to new situations, no matter which ones you wind up in. I'm realizing that one of my greatest fears about getting older is feeling stuck in one place. I don't want to be living somewhere where I'm not happy, with an unfulfilling job, and a family that requires I stay in said place. I'm not saying that settling down and having a family is a bad thing or that it won't make me happy, I just want to put myself in that situation when I want to be and when it will make me most content.

So, in the meantime, I want to see and experience as much as possible. Traveling and living in new places, having different jobs, meeting new people ... it all teaches you an endless amount about yourself and what you like and don't like. Good or bad, every new experience is positive because it makes you that much more self-aware and closer to reaching a point in life where you're satisfied and happy. I feel like some people reach a point where they feel like this is it and are, at that moment, fully content with their life. Maybe that feeling doesn't really exist -- I don't know -- but I'm going to keep searching for it regardless.

I told you I've been ludicrously positive.

Fall is here, hear the yell

So today was the first day of school. It seems like it's been a long time coming. Friends back home are beginning to think about midterms, and I've been wandering for the past month. Responsibility is good though -- I don't feel right if I don't have some organization and directed motivation in my life. I have classes on Monday (lecture and seminar for my Feature Writing course), Tuesday, and Thursday (both Sociology courses). I'm done with class by 11:30 Thursday, which gives me a nice, long weekend and enough time to travel some. Seminars don't start until next week, so I was done with class by 10:30 today.

I decided to head into London instead of going back to the dorms. I wandered around Covent Garden, ate lunch in Hyde Park, got lost, and finally made my way to Oxford Street. My goal was to buy a book of essays by George Orwell that is required for my journalism module. Since Oxford Street is world-famous for shopping, I figured it wouldn't be too difficult.

I found two small bookstores farily quickly, but neither carried the title. The further down the street I went, the more crowded it got and the stores got bigger and more expensive. I tried another promising shop -- Books, etc. -- but it didn't have the title either. Just as I was about to give up, someone with an American accent yelled my name. In front of me was Mark, one of the students who lives in the flat below me. We were both excited to run into each other so randomly, especially in such a busy part of town. I was frustrated and told him I was having trouble finding a bookstore. He laughed and pointed -- there was a 3-story Waterstone's right next to us. They had the book I was looking for and I now had someone to join me on the ride home.

There wasn't much point in sharing that, except that it felt awesome to run into someone in a city with a population of more than 7 million people. I know it's dumb, seeing as I haven't been here long and haven't even begun classes yet, but I'm already dreading leaving London. I want a city like this to feel like home, not just a cool place I visit. I want to know the best places to eat, the cool spots to catch live music ... I want to be able to get around without getting lost ... I want to be part of this amazing, vibrant city and more than just a visiting student ... I want to pay far too much for a too-small flat ... I want to finally comprehend why I'm so strongly drawn to London. I think that's part of the reason I'm reluctant to come home and return to my "normal" life. I don't want to accept that this will end, nor do I want to take the chance that I'll never return.

And, oh yeah, my class was fine; it was a basic introduction day, not much different than the States. I feel like I may be a bit ahead of some of my peers in terms of journalism experience, but definitely behind in comprehension and knowledge of current events in the UK. Similar to Dr. Teel, my professor is adamant about her students keeping up with current events and is planning on quizzing us at the beginning of each class. I couldn't answer any of the questions today except for who is involved with a big cocaine scandal -- Kate Moss. Good to see I'm keeping track of important and life-changing events. Looks like I'll need to brush up on news over here.

The Thames

I love the River Thames. I remember the first time I really paid attention to it was during my senior year of high school, when we were reading "Heart of Darkness" in A.P. English. Many students, including me, initially mispronounced it and few people knew where the river actually was.

Anyway, I remember that Joseph Conrad described it really beautifully. Although most of the book takes place on the Congo river, Conrad wrote about the winding, twisting Thames in such a way that it stuck with me. The historical and cultural importance of the Thames and what it means to London is outstanding. Last December, when I first came to London, the plane had to circle around a few times before landing and I had a great view of London from above. The Thames dominated the landscape, and the city spread in all directions from the water.

Last night, we went on a cruise of the Thames. Although I wasn't in the mood to dance to the same bad pop music I've been listening to all week, I thoroughly enjoyed sitting on the deck and enjoying the view. Peter, Nick and I shared a bottle of red wine and made it a classy affair.

One of the best parts of the trip was crossing the Greenwich Mean Time line. At night, they mark the imaginary line with a super-strong green lazer that stretches across the sky. Of course-- similar to when midnight hits on New Year's Eve--nothing happened when we crossed, but it was cool nonetheless.

Pitcures: (1) Nick secretly enjoys hanging out with me, he's just too tough to show it; (2) the view was amazing; (3) Peter and I always seem to have a good time together; (4) crossing under the Tower Bridge was my favorite part.

Hard to Believe ...

So, I left Atlanta for London on August 23, exactly one month ago. In the past month, I have done the following: visited three countries and seven major cities, seen a countless number of masterpieces in world-class museums, made friendships with more people than I’ve met in all of college, visited two of the three biggest cathedrals in the world, spent time with my family, spoken three different languages (however unsuccessfully), had a picnic dinner by the Eiffel Tower, decided I want to stay here a year, spent a substantial amount of time with Kerry—whom I never get to see, cried from pure joy, started to figure out things with Alex, went to the National Gallery three times, ate escargot, read three books total and a newspaper nearly every day, discovered that I can travel alone and enjoy it, and pinched myself on a number of occasions just to make sure that this is reality.

In addition to the best month of my life coming to an end, I have loads to look forward to: school begins Monday, I have plans to see at least two football games, I bought a ridiculously-cheap 20-pound ticket to Rome for November, I’m going to see Pride and Prejudice and eat sushi this weekend with the macho army brat who lives downstairs and has a weakness for Jane Austen, Alex and I are going to see the Decemberists in two months, Middlesex is taking us on a night cruise of the Thames tonight, a Brit named Jason is escorting me to a jazz club, I’ll be heading to Bath and Stonehenge next weekend, Amsterdam and Prague are on my list of must-see places, there are at least two people from Georgia visiting me … and that’s just what I can think of at the moment.

I am lucky. I am blessed. I’m pretty sure I’m undeserving of all of this. Kerry and I have battled with the same issue—we love traveling and enjoying such incredible experiences like studying abroad, but it’s unclear what we have done to deserve such greatness. Some days, I come back to my room bursting with excitement about my life right now and I want to write about it or call someone and share my happiness. Then I think about how I would feel if I were at Georgia State instead, and a friend called me from overseas. Sure, I’d be happy for them, but part of me would also automatically compare my life to theirs and get down about it. And it makes me wonder: can we control how great our lives are? I mean, I chose to come over here. I decided to travel on my own and see the world. I’ve made a point to meet people and do what makes me happy. And is happiness like this attainable back home, or would one have to travel miles away to achieve it? Is this reality, or am I living in a vacation-like dreamworld? Will it suddenly hit me? Once school starts, will I lose it and feel homesick and stressed and like I’m completely lost?

I don’t know. All I’m sure of is that this seems too good to be true. I feel like I’ve lived an entire lifetime, and I’ve barely started. I can’t even fathom it getting better from here. But I’m happy and I’m not going to jinx myself. I’m going to live in the moment and enjoy every second of it.

---

And yesterday I ventured into London on my own and just disappeared from the earth for a while. I spent the afternoon in Hyde Park by the river and pretended I was a local. It was fabulous.

I slept in today, waking up for the first time without an alarm in nearly a month. It was much, much needed.

There weren't any orientations or activities planned today, so I went into London with a group of friends. We went to Camden and browsed the (relatively) cheap shops. Most of the stores sold things like second-hand clothing, old records, drug paraphanalia, used books, rare posters, etc. It was a cool area to spent the afternoon in.

We then took the tube to Hampstead Heath. The walk was long, but worth it. The weather was gorgeous and the view of London is unbeatable. Plus, we got to see a really huge table and chair.

All in all, it was a good day and I was glad that others are up for exploring the city like I am.

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One thing I've discovered is that drinking will be hard to escape. It's bizarre; even Middlesex promotes drinking. During our first orientation day, the dean welcomed us and encouraged us to come out to the student union for free drinks. And last night, the campus arranged for a bus to come and take us to a huge nightclub. The buses didn't return until 2:00 a.m. I don't think a U.S. school--no matter how liberal the institution--would sponsor an outing like that.

Anyway, tonight it's drinks for only a pound at The Beef and Barrell, a nearby pub. I chose to stay in, but the desicion wasn't easy. It seems like there's something going on every night, whether it's a large event or a party on campus. It's also hard not to feel like you're missing out, by opting to stay in. The truth is, I'd go broke really, really quickly if I went out every evening. Plus, I'd like to get a lot more out of this experience than simply enjoying the chance to drink legally.

London Calling

It's hard to believe that I've been here less than a week. Some of the friendships I've made so far are stronger than ones I have back home, and I feel like the people on our little campus (just one campus on many at a relatively large school) are like a close-knit group of friends.

Today I finished the last of many orientations. I've only got a few more things to do, like get a student ID and get my class schedule, and then I won't have anything scheduled until school starts next week. We ditched the Oktoberfest idea; partly because it would have been really expensive and partly because we want to spend time getting to know London.

I spent yesterday in the city and finished the day with a traditional afternoon tea. CEA and Middlesex are really enthusiastic about organizing events, and the students are enthusiastic in return and actually attend. On Friday, Middlesex has organized a night river cruise on the Thames, which should be good fun, and CEA has planned a number of big excursions, including overnight trips to Wales and York and daytrips to Bath, Stonehenge, and Stratford-upon-Avon.

I'm looking forward to meeting locals, in addition to international students. I want to get involved with the school newspaper, if they have one, and maybe some clubs. I'd also like to get a job, which would be a great way to meet people outside my social circle at Middlesex. I was riding on the Tube last night and saw an advertisement for a Not-for-Profit Fair, which is apparently the UK's biggest non-profit job recruitment event. That would be aiming a little higher than a job at a coffee shop, but with my Carter Center experience and especially if I consider staying here a year, I might have a chance. It's worth a shot, anyway.

So, in short, I'm having the time of my life. I'm meeting a diverse range of people, which will enable me to do a variety of things and not get stuck with one crowd--i.e. I can party with friends when I want to, and just as easily spend a quiet day at a museum with others. I want to get as much out of this experience as possible, and I feel confident that I'm on the right track.

In Paris, my father and brother visited the Dali Museum. Dad shared a Dali quote with me afterwards, and I loved it. It's very appropriate for what's going on in my life, I think: "Everything alters me, but nothing changes me."

The view from my window. The skyscrapers in the far, far distance are in The City, London's financial district. That's how far away we are. At least the weather's been nice.

Middlesex

I decided to stay in tonight, partly because I need a night in and partly due to the fact that I've got to be ready to leave the campus at 7:30 tomorrow for CEA orientation.

So, I'm at Middlesex. I really, really like it here. It's technically still in London, and close enough to be there within 20 minutes (via light rail) or, if you take the Tube, 45. It feels completely separate from the city, though, which is kind of nice. This area is packed with bars and little shops and cheap places to eat, and I haven't even begun to explore the university yet. Our dorms are nice, I'm friends with all of my flatmates, and there's lots to do simply on our little campus, such as visiting the student bar or going to the awesome gym.

I've already met so many people. I feel ten times more social and outgoing here than I do back home. Everyone is really friendly -- it's as if we realize that we're in a completely foreign country, and don't want to waste time or opportunities by being stuck up or shy.

A sampling of the friends I've made: Jen, who I bonded with immediately and spent the first two days with, is the life of the party and a good person to know, she's up for anything; Barry, one of the student assistants, is from Belfast and knows everyone on campus; Zeina, one of the student assistants, is another fun lady and has a job in PR organizing parties, she's taking Jen and I to a posh "MTV launch" party; Peter, my next-door neighbor, is very laid-back and cool--we have similar tastes in music and get along really well; Emily, who lives across the hall, shares so much in common with me--we're journalism majors, vegetarians, love the same books, have the same shoes and purse ... It's uncanny; Lydia and Nanda are from Barcelona and Portugal, respectively, and are enthusiatic about practicing their English and observing and participating in a completely different culture and lifestyle--I walked around London with them today and had a great time getting to know about some of the many cultural differences we have.

The lovely Jennifer Ringrose and me.

That's just a sampling. In just a few days, I feel like I've really bonded with many of the international Middlesex students. Emily, Peter and I are considering going to Germany next week during our three days off to celebrate Oktoberfest.

This is all so surreal. It makes me wonder if there is life out there like this, or if this is simply one long, unrealistic vacation, during which I haven't gotten a glimpse of "real life" in the places I've visited. Not sure if that made sense. Either way, I'm enjoying myself now. I'm so happy I decided to come over here.

No time

They've packed our schedules with orientation activities and social events, which have been pretty helpful and a great way to meet people. Anyway, it leaves no time to write emails or update my blog.

I promise an update soon. There are a million thoughts and emotions going on right now.

The basics: I'm back in London, at Middlesex. I've already made friends, and I'm really excited about the upcoming semester. My accommodations are much nicer than expected. I have my own room and bathroom, with shower. I even have an excellent view -- I'm on the top floor -- and I can see London's skyscrapers.

I did have time to upload my travel pictures to webshots. Paris coming soon.

For your viewing pleasure:

http://community.webshots.com/user/findingme-reg

Paris

So, my lack of entries should suggest that I'm having an amazing time, which is the case. Paris is amazing. I wondered whether I'd be let down a bit -- I have a tendency to set my expectations too high, and I've dreamt of Paris for years -- but this city has exceeded my expectations. It's just as beautiful and charming as everyone says, and I've had multiple occasions that I have to stop, take it all in, and nearly pinch myself to make sure it's not a dream.

Being with the family has been bittersweet. In a way, it's made me realize the benefits of solo travel, because going places seems like a struggle and, after doing whatever I want, I have to exercise much patience when we're compromising and figuring out plans. More so, however, it's been wonderful. If there was any time to make such an amazing trip, this seems like the perfect one. Rory and I are both old enough to appreciate it and be impacted by such an awesome opportunity, and my parents are at an age where their lives will be changing soon (kids moving out, etc.) and doing something like going to Paris is a huge, exciting milestone. Mom has even teared up at a few major landmarks, just because she's dreamed of visiting those places all her life.

Speaking of major landmarks, we've packed in a lot into a short period of time: the Eiffel Tower (a picnic on the lawn below, watching the tower lightshow -- a major highlight), the Louvre, Saint Chappelle, Notre Dame, the Rodin Museum, Champs d'Elysee (during night and day), the Arc de Triumph, Musee d'Orsay, various sights in Montmartre, etc., etc.

Rory and I went out last night to the Latin Quarter, the university part of town. We had a decadent three-course French meal, and I convinced him to join me at a bar afterwards. Mom and I had breakfast on the Champs at a sidewalk cafe this morning, and dad and I spent hours together at the Musee d'Orsay this afternoon. I've really appreciated the opportunity to spent one-on-one time with each of them; as of tomorrow, I won't be seeing the family until Christmas.

I'm looking forward to our last evening together. I couldn't ask for a better trip. This last month-- now that it's beginning to sink in--has been absolutely unreal. I'm beyond lucky.

J'ai deux amours

I've arrived in Paris, and it's already exceeding my expectations, which were pretty high to begin with. First off, Paris is absolutely gorgeous. From the tree-lined streets filled with bustling sidewalk cafés, to the serene parks providing a place to relax, Paris is as beautiful and romantic as any description suggests. I've only been here a few hours; I have already fallen captive to the city's charm.

I found the hostel really quickly; the downstairs was full of young people eating breakfast and chatting. After I dropped off my bag, I wandered up a sidestreet and was immediately greeted by Sacre Coeur, even more picturesque than I could have imagined. From there, I wandered towards the center of the city, stopping in a café for coffee and pain au chocolat, to buy a newspaper, and reading in a nearby park, where I met a friendly South African. Now I'm ever-close to the Louvre; I can't even imagine how I'll feel when I reach it. I'll save actually going in the museum until my family arrives, but just being here is amazing enough.

It's a little premature, as I haven't really even seen Paris yet, but I'd say my favorite cities, in order, are:

Paris
Seville
Madrid
Toulouse
Barcelona
Bordeaux

Even so, the last--Bordeaux--was still a charming, wonderful place. The worst part of my trip occurred while I was in Barcelona, which may have had a negative impact on my impression of the city, but that had to do with the compounded stress of traveling alone, feeling lonely, and having no concept of the language whatsoever.

My family will arrive here in a matter of hours. I have no need to express how awesome it will be to see them. That means my first solo trip will have successfully ended. Now, in retrospect, I am extremely happy I decided to travel alone, am glad I made at least one close friend, and am really proud of myself.

I'm going to celebrate the end of my solo trip with lunch in a park followed by more aimless wandering. It may sound mundane, but la vie français is absolutely fabulous.

Very little time to write. I'm in the train station, about to depart for Paris. Madrid was amazing. I made friends with an Australian named Kate and we instantly bonded. I miss her already. Tomorrow, I will see my family. This is all beginning to seem surreal. I'm happy and grateful and, in retrospect, I wouldn't change a thing about my trip.

Better update later.

Bliss

Today was perfect and relaxing, and wouldn't have existed if I didn't travel alone. By the end of my trip, I've realized that deciding to do this solo was a good thing.

The Museo del Prado, sunbathing in the park, sangria and postcards at a shaded sidewalk cafe ... I had an amazing day, and I'm looking forward to celebrating my last night in Madrid.

What an experience. I have no clue what I did to deserve this, but I'm supremely grateful. I know this will impact my life -- I can't wait to see how.

There are so many thoughts and emotions running through my brain right now. For once, I can't even begin to find the words to express them.

Madrid has a perfect balance of urban life and culture and beautiful open green spaces. I love it. If it was an English-speaking city, there'd be a great likelihood that I would live here someday. Tomorrow's my last day here. I'm going to see Picasso's Guernica again. The first time I saw it, it was on temporary display at the High. Now, I get to revisit one of my favorite paintings at its home.

Madrid

I arrived in Madrid late this morning, and easily found my hostel. I can't check in until later this afternoon, so I wandered around the city for a bit.

First off, Madrid is huge. It's as modern and hip as London and, at a first glimpse, it looks like any major American city -- complete with Starbucks and Gap stores and McDonald's. However, once you begin to explore a bit and get off of the major streets, you soon discover ornate palaces, beautifully-maintained gardens, and charming sidewalk cafes. I saw all of the above within my first hour of exploring, without even planning to.

So, I decided to grab some lunch and a newspaper and sit in the shade of a park for a while. As I was strolling around the park, I came across a huge crowd. There was a movie being filmed -- unfortunately, I didn't recognize any of the actors or directors, they were all Spanish, I think -- and it looked like a big production based on the number of crew members and equipment being used. I stood back and watched for a while; they were filming a scene where a young man runs towards a young girl, sending the nearby pigeons into flight, and embraces her, twirling her around. I imagine it'd look very romantic on screen, but as soon as the shot was over, the two actors barely had anything to do with each other.

So, I'm in Madrid for tonight, tomorrow, and Saturday. I leave Saturday evening, and take an overnight train to Paris. That afternoon, I'll meet my family at our hostel. I can't wait.

---

Before this trip, I had no concept of how huge and, at the same time, small Europe was. I hadn't a clear idea of how big the cities were, especially more obscure places like Seville, and I had literally no concept of how close everything was. It's amazing to me that I was in Seville just this morning, chatting with some hostellers, and now I'm in Madrid. The difference between the two is extreme.

I've taken so many pictures. I promise to post my favorites whenever I can.

Going to make this short. This morning, during breakfast, I met two female hostellers -- one from Australia and the other from New Zealand (who is living in London, go figure) -- who are traveling solo. Neither seemed particularly outgoing, but were both friendly enough once you spoke to them. I imagine that's how I must have appeared, too.

Anyway, the girl from Australia was spending two weeks in Spain alone, and a combined total of three months in Europe. She then was headed for two weeks in Mexico then a bit of sightseeing in the States, including New York and San Francisco. I asked her if traveling alone was hard and she told me she preferred it. "You can do whatever you want, whenever you want, there's loads of flexibility," she said, which is true. "It does get lonely though." I was glad to hear her say that. The New Zealander agreed, saying that you can have an amazing day and be overwhelmed by the fact that you're in such an amazing place, but still get really down by the early evening, when you've run out of energy and you'd just like to be with friends.

It was so good to know that I'm not the only one who feels that way. I am supremely grateful for this trip, and I'm learning invaluable things about the world, some of which I probably won't get a grasp on for quite some time. I wouldn't give up anything for this experience, and I'm beginning to see the benefits of doing this on my own.

One thing this trip has taught me is to appreciate myself. That may sound trivial, but for any of you who really know me, you know that's important. I'm literally forced to like myself and appreciate myself, as I'm my sole companion. And, honestly, it hasn't been that hard. I'm learning so much about myself, namely what I like and don't. For someone who's so accustomed to naturally yielding to others, this is extremely valuable.

Seville

So, I'm in Sevilla now and much, much happier. This place is gorgeous -- still a city, but much smaller and less intimidating than Barcelona. The hostel I'm staying at is in an alley off of a pedestrian-only shaded street filled with fashion boutiques, coffee shops, and tapas bars. I haven't been able to check into my room yet, but I already love the place because of its location (easy to find -- hooray!), free breakfast and internet, and the fact that the first guest I met spoke English. I already feel less lonely.

So, today I'll spend mostly getting an idea of what Sevilla is all about. Then I'll map out what big tourist spots I want to see tomorrow. I may visit the cathedral today; my guidebook says that Sevilla's cathedral is the third-largest in the world, behind St. Peter's Basilica in Rome and St. Paul's Cathedral in London. That means, after I visit this one, I will have been to two of the big three. I see a new goal awaiting me ...

It's amazing what a change of attitude can do. I feel a million times better, despite the fact that I haven't showered in well over 24 hours and barely slept on the train last night. (Actually, I'm picking up all sorts of backpacker's tricks ... For example: If you think you smell, go into a store and "sample" the perfume. Busy fast food restaurants like McDonalds don't have time to check if you're using the bathroom and not buying anything. Etc, etc.)

I've gone through three books already -- one, which I bought at a train station, I decided to leave behind because I didn't want to carry it with me. So, due to lack of luggage space and a sore back, I decided to buy one large paperback that will last me for the rest of my journey. I wound up getting Don Quixote. Haha. It should last: it's well over 1,000 pages long and it's hardly a quick read. I look rather intellectual toting it around, if nothing else. So far, I'm enjoying it, and it's giving me a deeper insight into Spain and her complex history.

Off to explore. Today feels like a breath of fresh air.

Losing Steam

I leave for Sevilla in about three hours, and I'm exhausted. I took the metro out to Montjuïc today, and trekked all the way to the castle at the top of the hill. The cable cars were out of service, so I walked. And, while 700 feet doesn't seem like that far (it's just over one-tenth of a mile), it's quite a climb in Spain's overbearing heat.

Anyway, it was worth it. The view was gorgeous and gave me some idea of how huge Barcelona really is. I've learned recently how my idea of populations and distances are so skewed. Even while reading about New Orleans -- a city I'm very familiar with -- I'm surprised at the numbers of people that live there.

After spending some time at the castle, I began the long walk down. I stopped in some of the beautiful gardens and parks, but couldn't fully enjoy them because of the sweltering heat. I got lost on my way back but, as usual, kept walking towards busier parts of town and eventually found a metro station.

The rest of the day was spent wandering aimlessly. I didn't have enough time or energy to go somewhere in specific, but I had too much time to just do nothing. I wound up window-shopping for most of the day, then spent the afternoon reading a newspaper in the park. I feel like I didn't do Barcelona justice -- after losing an entire day, I really didn't pack enough into the remaining ones. It's a beautiful city, and a very unique and intriguing one. I'd like to spend some time getting to know it better.

In addition to exhaustion, loneliness has hit me too. I'm desperate for communication; I want to have a conversation in English with someone, anyone. I talk to my parents each day, but it's for no more than ten minutes, at nearly a dollar per minute. Most of all, I don't want my feelings of loneliness to get in the way of my enjoyment. I realize how fortunate I am just to be here -- with or without anyone else -- and I need to appreciate the experience for that fact alone.

I guess part of my frustration is that I'm witnessing so many amazing things and feeling so many emotions at once. I have no release, no one to talk to. Sure, I post on here and I write in my journal, but after a certain point, that can't replace human contact.

I didn't feel this way in France. It may be because my trip had just begun, but I was at least able to communicate some. I'm so embarrassed and frustrated with my lack of Spanish comprehension. I don't like going to restaurants, I'm reluctant to go into stores, and I even hate saying "no hablo español." In France, I doled out "je ne parle pas français" every time I turned around.

I'm not complaining -- just expressing how I'm feeling. For a moment, I considered bypassing Madrid and heading to another city in France instead. However, I'm not going to because a) there are no direct train routes and thus I would wind up wasting precious time and money, b) hotel and hostel vacancies are hard to find, and c) I need to stick with it. If there's one thing that world travel has taught me, it's that you don't give up. If I had succumbed to my fears and nervousness before getting on a plane to see Alex in London, or if I gave into my anger and feelings of helplessness and returned home from the Middle East, or if I listened to my nagging worries and never went on this trip in the first place, I would have missed out on a great deal. My life would be very different, a lot less fulfilling, and I wouldn't be as strong as I am today. The more you push yourself, the more you can accomplish. And the more you accomplish, the more fulfilling life gets.

I think that advice was meant for myself. I need a little encouragement, someone telling me that everything is going to be okay. (Wow, this is becoming a bit therapeutic.) I need to remember that, despite how tough times may get, when this is all over, I'll look back on in favorably and grateful that I stayed the course.

Oh, and, I guess since this entry was about loneliness, this won't be that shameless: I´d honestly love any emails or comments or whatever. If you read this, and feel so inclined, just send me a short hello and let me know how you are. Trust me, I'll be happy to hear from you -- haha, it's not like I'm talking to anyone better.

Inspiration

So, the good thing about a really bad day is that the next one is always better. I woke up this morning and managed to snag the last vacancy in the hotel I'm staying at. The best part is that I didn't even have to switch rooms. The hotel also provides breakfast, so my day started out very well.

I then headed to one of the oldest parts of Barcelona. My walk started at the Arc de Triomf, a huge Modernist monument, and continued on through the Parc de la Citadella, which was absolutely gorgeous. I spent a good while in the park, watching people in boats, children playing, and couples holding hands. I considered going to the nearby zoo, but the admission fee convinced me to do otherwise. I walked into an old church which was open, and sat down in one of the pews for a brief moment of reflection. Suddenly the organs blared, everyone stood up, and the priest came in, singing. I had completely forgotten that it was Sunday and felt very uncomfortable standing there, sweating, in a backpacker's outfit. Regardless, I stayed for the opening songs and prayers and was really glad that I did. I've never been to a service in such an old church, and it felt extremely sacred.

Then, I left the park and wandered around the surrounding neighborhood. I was planning on looking at some small shops when I turned the corner to be greeted by the Picasso Museum. The museum is Barcelona's most famous and is home to more than 3,000 Picasso pieces, many donated by Picasso himself. I was thrilled to have stumbled upon it and ecstatic when I realized that it was the first Sunday of the month and everyone got in free.

The museum was amazing, and I could have spent all day there. I was immediately inspired, and began scribbling down thoughts furiously in my journal. Here are a few:

None of Picasso's earlier, more primitive pieces are either signed or dated. If they weren't donated by Picasso himself, they may have been lost forever. These paintings and sketches (mostly of generic landscapes and nude figures) aren't at all spectacular, but are important for that exact reason. They look like work that would be assigned in a beginner's art course. These works are invaluable because they provide a link to his past, and prove that even geniuses like Picasso have to begin somewhere.

Picasso's range and versatility is amazing. From self portraits to his Blue Period to Cubism, I am amazed at what a talented and inspired person he was. It takes a lot to constantly reinvent oneself; I think that's the problem that faced, and continues to face, many of the world's greatest visionaries.

Did Picasso begin to view people as ugly, or complicated and beautiful? His Blue Period seemed to focus on the sadness and beauty hidden in people and in life, but his later abstract paintings--for which he is so well known--twist and distort people's images to comically hideous proportions. Yet, simultaneously, there is something inherently beautiful about these distorted visages ... something that captivated the entire world and made Picasso one of the greatest artists of all time.

Even though these abstract images are full of intrigue and a bizarre beauty, I couldn't help but wonder: What if Picasso offered to paint my portrait and it looked like this? Would I appreciate it for the masterpiece that it was, or be disgusted with my appearance? Probably the latter. I hope he had some understanding friends.

After the museum, I decided to head back to my hotel to cool down and relax for a while. While I was waiting for the subway, a man about my age sat down next to me and started to talk to me. He spoke a bit of English and explained that he was an art student. He preferred to sketch faces, and pulled out a notebook full of charcoal portraits. I was on an art high, and was glad that he shared his work with me. Then he asked if he could sketch my face.

This made me a bit uncomfortable, but I agreed anyway. After seeing Picasso's work and being so inspired, it seemed hypocritical to say no. So, I sat facing the young artist on the subway, while he quickly began to draw. He was extremely nice and made me relax through easy conversation. He got off at my stop and finished the sketch, which was actually pretty good. (I was happy that it didn't look like some of Picasso's!) I was honored to have my portrait be part of his vast collection -- full of young children, beautiful women, and old couples. Maybe he will become famous someday, too, and my portrait will be an example of his early works.

Thoughts en route

A bit more positive:

As I was sitting at the train station in Narbonne, a man began speaking to me in French. "Je ne parle pas français" is usually enough to end the conversation, but he was persistent. We stumbled through conversation and he seemed genuinely interested in why I would be traveling in a foreign country, alone, without knowing the language well. We awkwardly spoke in French and he learned that I was a student studying in London and heading to Barcelona on vacation. I learned that he was returning from two weeks of vacation and, while he was not looking forward to returning to work, he couldn't wait to see his family.

He asked me if I had family in France, or friends in Barcelona, and no matter how many times I replied "non," he couldn't seem to grasp the concept. He asked me how I could travel such a long way on my own without being able to understand hardly anything. When I couldn't find the words to answer him and could only attribute it to "bonne chance" for lack of a better answer, I was aware of how I must have appeared to him -- fearless, adventurous, maybe even a bit stupid. The thing is, I don't feel either overly confident or scared ... I just feel amazingly fortunate.

As I watch, from afar, the chaos and destruction unraveling in New Orleans, and witness the beauty and magnificence surrounding me, I am pained that the world can be so utterly bittersweet and unfair. I am growing more and more grateful each day and my resolve to make a difference in the world is growing stronger. I don't know how to yet, but hopefully by the end of this journey -- whenever that will be -- I will have found some direction.

All Fun and Games?

Apparently not.

Today was the day from hell. A bit of an exaggeration, maybe, but it was pretty awful. I woke up this morning at 5:00, walked through a dark and deserted Toulouse to get to the station by 6:00, boarded the correct train, and sat there. The train didn't move. The conductor came over the loudspeaker with some announcement about un problème and all of the passengers made various sighs and moans, leading me to believe it was some kind of issue out of our control. Eventually, nearly a half-hour later, the train left.

Of course, by the time I arrived in Narbonne, the train to Barcelona had already left the station. I finally talked my way into getting another train there, one that required another connection and had me arriving in Barcelona 8 hours later than originally planned. So, I figured I wasted most of a day, but the new train route -- which went along the emerald coastline and through mountains -- almost seemed worth it.

When I (finally) arrived in Barcelona I was lost. For some reason, probably because of the day's ordeals and the fact that I don´'t speak a word of Spanish, culture shock hit me pretty badly. I felt tired and confused and overwhelmed. It took me forever to find my way to the metro. Once I did, I got off at a station which is located in the middle of one of the city's largest streets. It was nearing sunset, and the sidewalks were jammed with people. I was more than a bit worried about being so packed in with all of my belongings, as I'd heard how bad petty crime is here. I just wanted to find my hostel. Fast.

Of course, that wasn't easy, either. In fact, it was impossible. I looked at various maps, walked up and down the main thoroughfare, and asked people for directions -- no one could find the street or had heard of the place where I was supposed to be staying. By this time, I was getting a bit panicked and was beyond frustrated. My solo adventure just seemed stupid and dangerous.

Finally, I decided to give up and book a room in one of the many overpriced hotels lining the street. I went in two different places, and they were completely booked. Finally, I found an available room, but for only one night, which means I'll have to search all over again tomorrow.

So, this trip took a turn for the worse. Hopefully, I´ll salvage the rest of my time in Barcelona starting tomorrow, bright and early.

*I actually had some insightful and uplifting things I was planning to post here that I had written on the train. Maybe later.

I think people can leave comments now ... maybe. Try, at least.

Overseas Crisis

Now that I'm getting a bit more confident and comfortable, my French seems to be improving. Or, at least, I'm able to convey what I need to say. Of course, I leave for Spain tomorrow and I'll have no hopes of communication. I will have no choice but to resort to finger-pointing and wild hand gestures.

---

The only English television station I get here is CNN, so I've been watching constant coverage of Katrina's aftermath. I cannot fathom how things spiraled out of control so quickly. I feel (I am) really detached at the moment, even though it's happening in the U.S. and in a city very close to my heart. The situation is abosultuely deplorable: people have died, are dying, and will continue to die; rescue workers are completely overwhelmed, and unsure how to handle the situation; and people seem to be in a complete panic, resorting to violence and chaos. Watching events on television, I can't believe that they are happening, right now, in the United States.

Maybe it's because I'm overseas, but it seems like America, the Great Superpower of the World, has seen it's glory days. Our money isn't worth much here, we're hated by many, the War in Iraq is seemingly endless, we can't seem to even handle a crisis in our own country, our gas prices are soaring and our economy is worsening. Suddenly, it seems like I escaped the country or something.

It's a bit hard to stop thinking about New Orleans and enjoy myself here. I feel ridiculously privileged and spoiled to be vacationing in France (France, for god's sake!) while so many people in my birthplace are suffering. Anyway, it's my last day here, so I'll try to relax and enjoy myself.

---

Tomorrow I leave for Barcelona. I wish I had a bit more time in Toulouse because I really like it here. A street nearby my hotel, rue de Taur, is exactly the kind of place I would love if I studied here. It's full of students, cheap places to eat, eclectic cafes, and endless bookstores. I passed another street yesterday which was lined with shops devoted to music: instruments, CDs and records, and cool little jazz hangouts. Everyone rides bikes here, everyone else walks, and there are plenty of parks and benches to relax in and enjoy the sunshine.

Nouvelle Orleans et Toulouse

Man, the disaster in New Orleans really makes me sad ... Not that I could do anything if I were in the States, but I feel completely helpless here. In fact, none of the television stations are in English, so I found out about the huge imapct of the disaster through interpreting a free newspaper someone handed me this morning.

This year was one of the first years in my entire life that I didn't visit New Orleans. Now, whenever I return, it will never be the same. Apparently, my parents are hosting a friend of a friend who evacuated in time -- it's not much, but I know it makes them feel better to know that they're doing something. New Orleans is close to all of us.

Anyway, in other news, I made it to Toulouse today. I'm getting a bit more comfortable with speaking in French, and was able to buy a train ticket today and get directions to my hostel without having to resort to frantic pointing and broken English. Of course my next destination is Spain, and I have virtually no hope of communicating there.

Toulouse is much bigger than I expected, with a population of over 300,000. It's a university town, and the streets are packed with people my age. I bought a Metro pass, so I should be able to get around fairly easily and see a lot while I'm here.

Observations: The French are much friendlier than we give them credit for; If you can navigate the subway in one major city, you can handle them all; Walking around like you know what you're doing is a good thing -- you don't get panicked and, eventually, you do find your way and do know what you're doing; People-watching really is fun, especially on a sidewalk patio with a good café.

Off to explore Toulouse. There's a laundromat near my hotel -- a sight for sore eyes. Backpacking isn't bad, but je ne suis pas très à la mode.