Germania. Or, living in a teeny tiny little village.

So I've been here in Germania with Lara for a week and a half. So far I love it. I can't believe I'm with Lara again, someone I thought I wouldn't see again for years (Judith, it's you next). It's like no time has passed - we just picked up right where we left off in January 2007, still drinking massive amounts of coffee, chatting about au pair life (general concensus - a great experience, but what the hell were we thinking?), and doing absolutely nothing. Great fun.

When I got here I had come at the most stressful time - 2 days before her sister's wedding. Her sister was officially married last year in a registry office but were having a church wedding this year. It also happened to be Nonno's birthday. I would link to how I spent Nonno's birthday last year, but that was a really bad time for me, so no linky (you can obviously search and discover it for yourself). Let's just say this was completely different. For a start, no drunkeness. I know. Me, not drunk at a wedding. Also, I was completely surrounded by people, and I was very happy.

The first two days I was in the thick of things decorating, helping out and generally trying not to be in the way. So much stress. The wedding itself was lovely. I got in trouble for taking a photo in the church, which apparently you're not allowed to do here because it's a sacred place and all that. That would annoy me if I got married and couldn't have photos of my wedding ceremony. But anyway. Then we went to the reception. I drove with Lara's grandpa who was really lovely - he slipped me 20 Euros as a "Welcome to Germany" present. "Do you smoke?" he asks me. "No." "Then buy yourself some chocolate." Will do!

Speaking of smoking, let me interrupt myself here to mention my worry for the next 6 months: everyone here smokes. Lara's boyfriend smokes, Lara's parents smoke. Lara doesn't smoke, but everyone we've been hanging around smokes. Apart from my dad, who I never see, I know only one person that smokes. Or at least, one person that smokes around me. A certain cousin (silly, silly boy) knows better than to exhale smoke in my vicinity. But suddenly smokers are everywhere and smoking around me, and I'm getting used to the smell. And everyone smokes over here. I was at a cafe, sitting outside trying to enjoy my coffee and my book with partially obscured vision from the smoke. I'll obviously have to get used to it, but it's just weird. (In 10 years time I'll be wrinkly and cancer riddled, but will have had a fantastic time :P)

So anyway, the wedding. First point of difference - they wear formal dresses. I had to borrow a dress from Lara's sister which only just fit. Had to be really careful about breathing. Tight. Could have passed in my pretty dress I'd bought for the ballet (trying to get maximum miles out of that one... also, Jenny, the moment I'm back we're going to another ballet), but a certain mother informed me on my last day in Rome that she hadn't sent the dress yet. Cue huge angry international fight. I spent my last day in Rome shopping like a mad woman trying to find something suitable to wear, only to find nothing. I also missed out on seeing the Ara Pacis and Museum of Augustus. Yes, my mother and I had words. Story of my life. (Really though, I should have known that I couldn't rely on her. It's only been 24 years of constant disappointment. But I keep thinking, this time will be different! She loves me so she'll do this for me...) But this dress was pretty, if a little tight (if a LOT tight) and anyway, it's not like anyone would be focusing on me so it would do for one night.

The reception was great and everything went off without a hitch. This lovely old Italian man kept making me dance, which would be fine, except they were doing proper dances, with steps. So I spent the whole time looking down at my feet. Good fun. Also made friends with a 12 year old girl named Vanessa. I seem to be a novelty with my whole inability to communicate. She was great fun though.

Now that the stress of the wedding is over I've had time to do other things, like exploring the town. While Lara was tutoring I decided that I would go with her into the town and spend the time exploring. Everyone looked at me like I was a crazy woman when I told them my plans. "But Sarah, Lara will be tutoring for 3 hours." "Yup." "But you can't spend 3 hours in Altena!" "No, it'll be fine." After half an hour of reassuring them that I could entertain myself, I set off with Lara. We got her her building where she tutors and she's like, "That's the main street. You can go up, you can go down. Enjoy."

So I did. I ambled (my least favourite activity) and wandered through the town. There's really not that much to do, but it's absolutely gorgeous. I popped into every shop (all of which were closed for lunch when I first started wandering), stopped for coffee down one end of the street and again at the other end of the street and stretched it out for three hours. They were right though, there wasn't too much to do, but it was nice just to be there.

I really should learn some German though. I just smile and say, "Ja." I probably seem like the most simple person in the world.

Yesterday was great though - we went to my uni to meet up with someone from the international office. I'm looking forward to my language classes which start on the 7th, and the uni seems pretty alright. I'm not looking forward to my subjects though. I'm pretty limited in my options. A bit annoyed because last semester they had a Shakespeare in Film class and now it's not offered. And apparently they study 12 subjects per semester. Erm... I struggle with 4 subjects. We shall see how this goes...

MacDoogs and Sarah Reunion!

So I'm off to Bielefeld today to hang out with Nicole Mac. It's so weird because I haven't seen her since London and miss her terribly. Meanwhile, when we were in Australia sometimes several months would pass between us seeing each other, but here we've been in contact every few days (or everyday) and are constantly updating each other on everything.

We're only hanging out at her aunt's house tonight then tomorrow we're off to Berlin! Cannot wait. Everyone I've met on this trip has said that I have to go to Berlin because it's amazing. Nicole had been there for three weeks (I think?) before she went to hang out with family in Dresden and Bielefeld, and now she's going to show me, obviously beginning with a pub crawl. Of course.

And we're hoping to buy some leathers and hit a bondage club. Don't judge. Seriously though, there's apparently this club where you can't get in unless you're in full bondage gear. Hello? You tell me something like that and then I immediately have to go there.

So yeah. Watch this space. (Although, with my posting regularity you'll be watching for a loooooong time.)

Backtracking - Northumberland

So the theme of my trip so far seems to be visiting relatives completely buggered due to no sleep. I came to Cuneo to visit my Italian relatives with about 3 hours' sleep under my belt and I got to Morpeth after a dreadful night and 5 hours' sleep. What's the lesson we've all learnt about Sarah? She needs at least 10 hours of sleep otherwise she's a cranky bitch. Even more than her normal state of bitch. Therefore it's a lot.

So I get to Morpeth after catching a bus and a train. I changed at York, and just from driving through it I think I would love to go to that city. Next time (this whole trip has been a series of "next times"). Morpeth: I arrive at the station and a heap of people get off. I start worrying that I'm not going to see the rellies because I don't think I've seen pictures of them in years and wouldn't have a clue what they look like. My description of myself to them was, "I'll be the one with the massive backpack on, struggling to walk," but there are lots of people with backpacks getting of the train (although they seemed to be managing well enough). I hung back a bit so the crowds would disperse and eventually locked eyes with a couple of men and did that whole, "Derek?" enquiry you do just by mouthing and gesturing. It was my cousins Derek and Jim. Very exciting to have found them and met them. We got to Derek's place and the whole family was there. Nuts. And here's me looking and feeling like death.

So, a quick family tree breakdown:
My granddad (Nonno), had two brothers who died in WWII and didn't have any families, and two sisters, Jenny and Winnie. Derek is Jenny's son and Martin and Jim are Winnie's sons. I'd met Martin about five years ago when he came out to Australia with his son Aarin who was on a rugby trip.

So when I got to the house there was Auntie Winnie and her husband, Uncle Sid, Martin and his wife (name escapes me.... awkward), Jim's wife (again, name?) and Derek's wife Beryl. Then we're later joined by Derek's son Mark and his girlfriend Joanna. Beryl had cooked up a feast and we ate and drank and swapped stories.

Things that I found out: EVERYTHING NONNO EVER TOLD ME ABOUT HIMSELF IS A LIE. Remember that huge lie I found out about recently? Well, everything else was a lie too. I used to tease him and say he was like the guy from Big Fish, but at least the guy from Big Fish had a realistic basis for his stories. Nonno had made stuff up about how his parents met, saying that his dad was a tumbler in the circus and there was a huge storm so they had to stay overnight in this place and that's how he met Nonno's mum. Such a gorgeous story. SUCH A LIE!!! There was a bunch of other things, but that was the main one that annoyed me. Why lie for? Lies make baby Jesus cry. ;)

Anyway, it was so weird to see Auntie Winnie. I'd heard stories of her, and my grandmother practically hero worships her after her visit to Australia in the 70s, but it was weird to see her in the flesh. She looks exactly like Nonno, so much that it made me want to cry.

I really miss Nonno. He would have loved this reunion, or at least to know that I'd met all his family. It was his birthday yesterday. Gosh, I'm such a Debby downer!

So anyway, I was staying at Derek and Beryl's for a few days. The next day we set off for Alnwick Castle (pronounced "Annick"). Why? Because I'm a loser-child-nerd who wanted to see where part of Harry Potter was filmed. Lame. But awesome. They filmed the flying lessons in the courtyard there. So exciting. I got a bit of practice in ("UP!" - see? I'm a pro!), wandered around a little, checked the place out, decided not to see the gardens because it was ridiculously expensive, although I've seen pictures of the treehouse that's built there and it's pretty cool. We then went to a little fishing village called Seahouses and had the BEST fish and chips. So, so good. Although, I didn't get mine English style, which is with heaps of salt and vinegar all over the ships. Ergh.

Have I mentioned yet how gorgeous everything up in Northumbria is? It's absolutely adorable, all pretty country lanes and gorgeous old cottages. People there are called Geordies and have their own way of speaking (totally bought myself a phrasebook - still can't say anything but "Ay maan") and really thick accents. Too much fun.

Anyway, after Seahouses we drove around a bit more past lots of castles and such (still not castled out) and just had a very nice day.

The next day we went down to Durham to see where Nonno was born and grew up which was in a little mining town called Hetton-le-hole (funny moment where Derek pointed out the part that was Hetton, literally in a hole). I saw the street where he was born, the house where his mother lived when she died, and the house Nonno lived in when he was a bit older before moving to London. I still don't believe that Nonno actually had a life before I existed, that's just being ridiculous, but it was great in a weird way to see where Nonno was born and the places he lived. I know he wasn't very happy there, especially working in the mines, because he got out as soon as he could.

From there we went to Durham Cathedral which was absolutely stunning. Our experience was a little marred, however, by the fact that we decided to do a guided tour of the place. The woman who took our tour was like an old teacher, really strict and dull (that'll be me one day :P), and spent nearly an hour telling us about the history of the place. That's fine and all, but the information she gave us was kind of irrelevant. I realised about half an hour into her talk that she hadn't even gotten to the part of where they started to build the cathedral. You know it's gonna be a long day when that happens. Eventually she finished with her history and started to take us around the cathedral, pointing out some of the things you would miss, like the part where the roof is uneven, that sort of thing. (The reason for the imperfections - when the people building it realised that they were creating something perfect, they had to change it because only God is perfect... allegedly.)

Oh, and another cool point about Durham Cathedral - more Harry Potter scenes! The scene in the first movie where it's snowing and he's in the courtyard with Hedwig. Oh yeah.

We also drove through Newcastle, which seemed like a nice enough city, only it seems to want to be Sydney, what with it's Sydney Harbour Bridge. Dear Newcastles of the world: you are not Sydney, nor will you ever be so give up now. You're welcome.

The next day we went a-wandering through the town where Derek and Beryl live, Morpeth. Such a lovely town with it's own castle. A teeny tiny one, but still enough to make me jealous. Dural doesn't have it's own castle. And North Lambton SURE AS HELL doesn't have it's own castle. Please. Any building there would just get attacked by the child-hoodlums!!! Parkhill can be the castle of North Lambton. Or actually, now that I don't live there, it can't be. It has to fall to ruin.

And that's kind of my time in Northumberland with Derek and Beryl. Next time I go I'm definately going to Hadrian's Wall which we didn't have time to do. I did manage to get a ride in Derek's pride and joy, his MG. Very nice.

Reasons (make that, excuses) for my lack of postage

Yeah, this blog kind of died in the arse. I promise to make up for that. Actually, I don't promise that because I think I may have inherited my mum's talent of constantly disappointing. (What's that? Could Sarah possibly have had another fight with her mum from the other side of the world? Of course!)

Anyway, the problem I've been having is that I've really had no time to be writing about what I've been doing because I've been so busy doing it, or when I've had nothing to do and could write about stuff I've had no internet access or very little access to a computer. But there will be stuff in the next few days. I promise. (There she goes with that P word again!)

Hmmmmm...

So I'm off to Firenze tomorrow. I'm definately looking forward to it, what with the sheer boredom of the last few days - absolutely no disrespect to my cousins here, who've made me feel very at home... I've just felt quite suffocated. I haven't been able to do anything at all. I've really wanted to explore the gorgeous little town they live in but I haven't been able to. Today, the one chance I had to explore, we ended up having to go to the train station in Cuneo to buy my train tickets for tomorrow. That's fine, but for some reason it took all day. Seriously, the little glimpses I've had of this town have made me itch to go a-wandering, but I haven't been able to.

And it's such a gorgeous town. Yes, I'va said that already, but I mean it. It has to be seen. It's surrounded by mountains, in front of the apartment is a cute little church courtyard, the streets are like those from a 1950s Italian movie, cramped, discoloured walls (but pretty, discoloured walls), with flower pots on balconies...

Anyway, I arrived on Tuesday having had no sleep at all. No, that's a lie. I had an hour at the hostel, 45 mins on the plane from Paris to Milan, and about 45 minutes on the train from Milan to Torino. I feel like I've just been trying to catch up on sleep since then.

I'm currently staying with Nadia, my Nan's neice, her husband Ignazio, and her sons Andrea and Alessandro. Andrea is about 18/19 and Alessandro is 14. No one here speaks English. We've been communicating through hand gestures, Google Translate, an Italian-English dictionary and my ability to remember certain words that we were taught back in highschool and putting enough of them together to create some form of meaning. Good fun. I really did think I'd get by OK. I tend to understand my grandma when she speaks in Italian, but looking back, she tends to only speak sentences that I already know... Those two years of Italian that I did back in highschool have been no help to me whatsoever. I haven't once been able to ask, "Dov'è il Coloseo, per favore?" No, my one phrase we learnt that I've gotten maximum mileage out of has been, "Mi dispiace, ma non ho capito." But we've gotten through it all.

I've learnt a lot about "the scene" from my cousin Andrea (my term, not his). The other night we went out to Cuneo, the closest town, with a bunch of his friends. Basically what everyone does is walk up and down the corso saying, "Ciao" to people they know, not stopping to chat though. They keep walking, not a fast walk, more an amble. A meander, if you will. It is the most frustrating thing to have to do ever. Then they'll stop for a drink at a bar, which is essentially a cafe. They'll drink their drinks really quickly, then start back up on the walk, up and down the corso.

I think mostly I was frustrated because I hate walking slowly and without purpose and I was also incredibly tired and just wanted to go home (it was about midnight).

But Andrea has been really good to me. He's taken me out trying to do things to alleviate the bordem. We went to the beach at Ventimiglia on Thursday which was a great day. It was hillarious how worried his mum was because I'm so white. She was in such a panic. Never fear - I pulled out my SPF 30 to alleviate her worries. So we set off at - wait for it - 7am on the train which took 2 hours. We then walked for another 45 minutes to the beach. We passed a lot of other beaches on the way but they were all pebble beaches which Andrea informed me are "Shit beach". Basically anything remotely crap is referred to as shit. Loves it. We went off-road, up this random, windy path, then suddenly there was sand. Perfetto. Such a great beach. Not really any waves, but it was nice to just cool off in the water because it was such a hot day. Or it would have been nice to. Basically, I got a piece of sand in my eye under my contact lense very early on in the day and for some reason being in the water aggrivated it? So frustrating. So I lay on the beach, slept, read, ate. Good times. I got a little sunburnt on my back, but nothing major because I was under the umbrella most of the day. It's so weird though how deep some people's tans were - Andrea's friend Mauro kept spraying oil on his back, which was coffee coloured by this stage. And there were so many people that colour. It seems to be the in thing.

Not much else to report on my stay here. I think it's just been hard after being able to essentially do my own thing for the last month and suddenly not be able to. But it's been so lovely meeting people I've spoken to online for such a long time, and I love meeting family. It'll be sad to leave them, but I'm excited to be getting the travelling part up and running again.

PS. It's one month exactly since I left. It feels like about 20 years. So much has been packed in.

Paris: the end of the affair

This post is a little weird because I've left commentary of the photos without actual photos... But you're welcome.

After 5ish hours' sleep the Lincoln girls and I headed off for the Eiffel Tower. I still hadn't seen it up close yet so I was very keen to see it. So we went, got out of the subway and wondered which way to go. How about heading in the direction of that big pointy thing? In our defence we couldn't see it with the buildings in our way. Shut up. But we did eventually find it and it was very exciting in that way that seeing anything iconic and so well known is exciting. I didn't go up it though because I am really lame. Seriously. I'd made the decision years ago not to go up after reading an essay by Barthes about not being able to see the Eiffel Tower when you're at the Eiffel Tower. Makes sense. I kind of figure that my favourite part of the Paris skyline is the Tower so there wouldn't be any point. Yes lame, but that's me.

After the Tower I parted ways with the girls and got my museum on because it was the first Sunday of the month and all museums are free - my kind of entry fee! So I hit up the Museè d'Orsay and the Museè l'Orangerie. Orsay was fabulous. So many beautiful works, plus it wasn't too big so you could see everything and spend as much time as you'd like doing so. The Orangerie was incredibly tiny. I only spent an hour in there because there wasn't much to see, but it's unmissable due to the two circular rooms with Monet's Waterlillies surrounding you.

I met back up with the girls at the hostel and we set of for the Montmartre district to see the Moulin Rouge windmill and check out the red light district. The Moulin Rouge looked a little too new... I don't know how to explain it. I just was expecting something a little older looking. But it was still cool. The redlight district was just funny. Erotic Supermarket, anyone? We tried to find a bar or something to hang out in but we were pretty tired so just went to the pub next to the Moulin Rouge. We bought a coke for 4.50 Euros. Yep, that's $9 for those playing along at home. And it wasn't even a schooner size - midi all the way. So we tried to make that drink last. And it wasn't even coke - it was pepsi!! We couldn't even say we were paying for the ambience - we were stuck between two tables of smokers and had a great view of the road. Oh yeah.

My final morning in Paris was spent quite morbidly (as seems to be a habit of mine) at the Père-Lachaise cemetery. Basically it's a huge cemetery where a lot of famous people are buried, possibly most famously Jim Morrison of The Doors (whose grave is quite non-descript and a little difficult to find).

I basically went to see the grave of Oscar Wilde:

I wasn't surprised by its ostentatiousness, but I was surprised by the lipstick marks all over it:

If those are girls' lips, they do realise that he was gay and (from what I've gained by reading some of his work) held women in contempt? But anyway, his grave had a lot of people around it. People just sitting there, maybe taking it all in? I have no idea. I snapped my photos, read what was written then moved on. Does that make me disrespectful? I have no idea. I don't know what I would have gotten out of just sitting and absorbing his grave. Sit and read one of his plays whilst basking in the grave instead? I dunno.

I also saw the graves of Chopin:

Edith Piaf:

Balzac:

Proust:

I'm still kicking myself that I couldn't find Gertrude Stein's grave (I looked so hard! I wandered up so many rows of graves in the area my map said it would be), but I think my favourite grave of them all is that of Victor Noir. I remembered reading about him years ago - he was a filandering journalist and is apparently the only grave in the whole cemetery to show a full bodied statue of him. I don't know if you can make out in the pictures, but his top hat is off, his pants are unbuckled and his crotch is rubbed worn. Apparently rubbing it gives you luck or sexual prowess or something?

I met up with the Lincoln girls for lunch at the Orangerie museum. Well, we were supposed to eat near there but we really couldn't find anything. We walked up the Champs Elysees which is an expensive shopping street, saw the Arc de Triomphe, then went back to the hostel.

We wandered up and down the canal outside our hostel which had been turned into a makeshift "beach" for the summer. There rowboats you could hire, beach chairs, these great big floating barrel things that kids climbed into and tried to turn to get to the other side... kind of like a wheel in a hampster cage if that makes sense. There was also music playing in one part and suddenly all these middle-aged and older men and women got up and started to dance. Like, properly dance, with co-ordinated steps and things. It was so lovely.

There were even ladies sitting on the side like wallflowers waiting to be asked.

We went back to the hostel later on with our Canadian roomie and played Uno in the bar. We suddenly became the table to be at what with all our Uno playing going on. We were joined by a Canadian hell-bent on going to the Eiffel Tower, "right now. We'll see it lit up, it'll be fucking fantastic, eh," and a few more Canadians, a couple of Americans, and a guy from West Pymble staying in our room.

What a lovely way to end my perfect Paris trip! Oh, but wait. That's not actually how it ended.

I left at about 11 because I had to get up at 4:15 to get to my airport in the middle of nowhere and get my flight. I managed to fall asleep after midnight and was soon woken at about 1:30 by the girl above me snoring so loudly. Guess who was cranky? I finally gave up on any kind of sleep and was on my computer at about 3am when I heard the Aussie guy vomiting something relentless. Naaaaasty. At least, it was nasty when I thought he was vomiting in the sink or bin. When I realised he was vomiting in his bed I panicked a little. So did the girl in the bed underneath. Suddenly the whole room was awake, but not West Pymble, it would seem. He didn't seem to realise that he had thrown up, he was that wasted. He lay in it for awhile while one girl went downstairs to get some new sheets, then he moved his clothes on top of it... It was just a world of wrong. He was just staring into space a lot of the time too. I was there going, "I think you need a shower," while he would dazedly reply, "Yeah. Cool." The whole thing ended with a Korean girl getting up and yelling at us all for waking her (how she slept through the wretching is beyond me), the guy stripping the bed, grabbing his backpack and deciding to go (WTF???), and when we told him not to he replied with, "It's all cool," and left.

Most. Random. Night. Ever.

Paris When it Sizzles

I'm not at my computer right now (currently in Italy trying to type on the weirdest keyboard ever) so I'll repost this post with photos later. In the meantime, clicky clicky.

So after the walking tour, Anna, Jenny and I went back to the hostel, rested, then went out in search of some food. We went to a pizzeria (don't judge!) and had some yummy food and wine, then headed over to St. Germaine in search of some bars or clubs to go to. We'd been told St. Germaine was the place for it, so we got off at the metro and walked around. We were pretty disappointed to begin with as there was nothing in the direction we were headed, so we started on the backstreets which did not disappoint. All these little restaurants and bars, a couple with accordian players (accordianists?) and other musicians setting the mood. But we kept on, wanting to find the one that was right for us.

And did we find it!

On Rue Jacob we wandered past a little bar with a few people inside. We checked out the menu on the door, had a peek inside, then quickly went in. Forget the teapot cocktail craze. The cocktails were being served out of BABY BOTTLES. Baby. Bottles. It was awesome. Plus, the cocktails were named after cartoon characters (there was even a Marsupalami! Why am I the only one in the world who remembers that cartoon?), and you didn't just order your cocktail, you had to draw a representation of it.

Which did I choose? Why, Princesse Sarah, of course.

Now, I don't know about you lot, but I haven't drunk out of a baby bottle since I was, well, 16? 17. Something like that. ;) But I thought there'd be nothing to it, after all, babies seem to have it down pat.

Meanwhile, it's really difficult to do. There's a real technique to it. But eventually I drank my 12 Euro cocktail. It's probably for the best that it took to long to drink so we could savour the $24 concoction. But it was worth every cent.

The next day Anna and I went to the Catacombes, which was a weird experience. Descend a billion stairs (spiral, of course), then walk through a bunch of dark tunnels until you get to... miniature towns carved in the rock? Then keep walking, and finally you get to the bones. And are there bones! It's just so creepy and macabre to think you're standing with millions of dead people, that someone has actually touched these bones to make patterns, that someone even thought that would be a good idea, that you've actually come to visit these dead people's bones, and that you're really very fascinated by it all.

So yeah, it's an odd experience.

After climbing a billion spiral staircases up (argh!), we decided to have a makeshift picnic lunch in the park.

So here's the thing with parks in Paris. The grass is there for show. You don't walk on it, sit on it, or anything else on it. You look at it, longingly, thinking, 'My, wouldn't it be lovely to eat our food whilst sitting on the grass,' while you're actually sitting on a park bench surrounded by homeless people, wishing the wasps would leave your ham alone!

But anyway...

That night the Louvre was free for under-26s after 6pm so I went there. I was already exhausted when I got there, so it wasn't really a good idea for me to be gazing at important works of art. But I still enjoyed it. I hit the famous ones first, just to get them out of the way (oh god, that sounds terrible to say. I only mean that I didn't want to forget to see them (imagine going to the Louvre and not seeing the Mona Lisa!)), then I was able to spend a bit more time looking at things that interested me.

Is it wrong that I only lasted about 2 hours in there? Seriously, I was so bloody tired. I missed the bottom and very top floors. Oops.

That night was good in my dorm. Had a beer with an American brother and sister, got talking to a guy from Ballarat ... who asked me whether I touched the bones in the Catacombes. Erm, a WORLD OF NO! Ew. They're bones. And not just bones, but they're the bones of people. Disrespectful much? Apparently he'd been trying to tug a femur out and stuff like that. The only excuse I can come up with for him is that he's young and he's from Ballarat. It doesn't exactly prepare you for what to do when faced with a pile of bones. Anyway, a few more randoms from the dorm: the guy from Edinburgh who sounded really English; the guy from Texas who came in speaking French to everyone, then when met with blank stares proceeded to inform us that he didn't want to speak English on this trip. Yeah, that's fine, for sure. You go with your bad self, and all that, but don't expect us non-French speakers to be able to speak to you. Anyway, he was hillarious - just really dry and rude to everyone. Especially the other Americans who were from Las Vegas, which really made him annoyed, what with Vegas being an ecological disaster. Because that was these kids' fault. Anyway, Edinburgh and I went to the bar downstairs and met up with Anna and her friend Nicki. Nicki had just flown in from New Zealand so we had a few drinks to welcome her in. Also made friends with some guys from Louisiana. I swear they were twins. Apparently not though.

So, you'll notice that people will be referred to as their place of origin from here on in because we all know how crap I am with names, and it was so much easier in my mind to just remember their hometowns.

Next day Pavel, one of my roomies, and Nicki, Anna and I went to Notre Dame Cathedral. We had a look inside, and it was absolutely gorgeous. Then we stood in line for an hour and a half in order to climb to the top. First, you climb a million stairs of a spiral staircase (they love these!), and oh, it's a deep burn. Those few months of the gym before I came over here helped, I'm sure, but then I had three weeks of eating stodgy food in the UK (delicious, stodgy food... mmmmm...) and not doing anything more hardcore than walking for the last three weeks, so I was huffing and puffing like an 80 year old chain-smoker with emphysema. Hot.

Anyway, the reward is the beautiful views once you're there. Paris is absolutely gorgous. It's quite flat as apparently buildings aren't allowed to be built over seven stories. There are a couple of ugly high-rises from the 70s which they can't tear down due to aspestos, built before the law was passed. The low buildings though allow things like the Tour d'Eiffel to really stand out though. Is it wanky to refer to it as the Tour d'Eiffel? Am I one of those people that goes somewhere then affects an accent, dons the hat etc. for calling it that? Then from now on, it's the Eiffel Tower, all the way. And it's pronounced "car-donnay" too.

Anyway, so we're at the top of Notre Dame, chillin' with the gargoyles and such (unfortunately, they don't come to life and burst into song. LAME. Honestly, what's the point? Nor do they fight the forces of evil like the gargoyles in that late 90s cartoon that was on Saturday mornings. OK, now who's lame for thinking of this crap?). It's kind of like, "OK, got my photos, have admired the view, now what?" Now, you've got more stairs to climb because you're not at the complete top yet. Out comes Shirley again, huffing and puffing away (yup, Shirley. You can totally see her with a roll-your-own dangling off her curled bottom lip, stained, yellow fingers gripping onto your arm as she asks you to be a darl and find her BIC), then we get to the top...

And it's kind of the same, but higher? Awkward. I mean, don't get me wrong, it was a beautiful view, but it was the same view, now with burning calf muscles.

Anyway, for lunch we went to a crepe restaurant. Mmm yummy. I don't think I can ever get enough of banana and nutella crepes. So good. Better than the crepes though? The bathroom!!! Anna had gone in there to freshen up then came out and said we should really use the bathroom. Erm, how do you know whether I need to use the bathroom, young lady? Anyway, I needed to wash my hands before lunch so I went in and I'm still kicking myself for not taking video footage or something.

It was a DISCO TOILETTE!!! Seriously, there must have been motion sensors in there or something because as soon as you opened the door dance music starts playing and coloured lights start flashing through the room. So awesome. I'm thinking this should be the next thing in night-clubbery. Forget Night at the Roxbury with their inside-outside clubs, we should have clubs in the bathrooms and have the main rooms really sterile and white. Besides, certain people I know *coughRebeccacough* would spend most of their night in the bathroom anyway. ;) Love you long time!!! (Can't wait for mardi gras next year, by the way. I'll be back just in time.)

After that we went back to the hostel to rest before having a picnic dinner by the canal next to our hostel. It was really lovely and cheap. We had a few bottles of cheap rosè and made plans to go out that night to the Montmatre district, where Moulin Rouge is, in the hopes of finding some good bars or clubs. I went upstairs and recruited some people from my room, a couple of awesome English girls from Lincoln named Sarah and Maddy, then went to meet with the others downstairs. We were talking to some people who really discouraged us from going out for a big night due to the cost of drinks (10 euros for a voda and orange, that sort of thing), so we hoofed it a block to the dairy (I've totally been around Kiwis for too long - look at my new vocabulary!) and bought some cheap bottles of wine and beer. By this stage we had a pretty big group with us and we were all downstairs in the chill-out room having a great time. There were the Kiwis, Pavel the Russian, the Lincoln girls, the Louisianas, a few Aussies (Wollongong, Melbourne and some Bondis) and some guys from Bath. Then we were joined by Peter Andre, named thus because of his uncanny resemblance (I still can't see it - he didn't even have the six-pack). Peter Andre was from Texas and was the loudest, most obnoxious person you could meet. The Louisianas turned to us and asked if he was the reason people hate American tourists. Unfortunately, yes. Anyway, it was an awesome night. Got kind of too drunk, watched this shitty Brazillian "band" upstairs in the bar unable to find any key to sing in... good times.