So, I'm three weeks into my German course with one week to go. I can tell you that I've basically learnt... nothing. It's just so hard! We're not really learning vocabulary but grammar. Bitch please, I barely understand English grammar, let alone German grammar with all it's different cases (akkusativ, nominative, genativ und dativ) meaning you have to use a different sentence structure as well as change the article you're using, and while you're at it, only conjugate this verb and not this one, then throw the other one at the end of the sentence instead.... and all being taught to me IN GERMAN. English grammar is difficult taught in English. German grammar makes me want to cry when it's taught in German. And everyone else in the class seems to be progressing and moving forward, and I'm sitting there going, "Wait... no?"
So it's hard.
But I've made some good friends in these classes. And some good enemies. It's lots of fun. Actually, I'm sure I haven't made enemies because I'm sure that these people don't know how much I can't stand them. Seriously, it's painful. Most of all I can't stand the other Australian girl. I think I've mentioned her here before. You know the type, typical Melbourner. I'm going to assume upper-middle class. She's got that whole hippy thing going but you know it takes a fair bit of money to be able to sustain that lifestyle. Doesn't shave her underarms, constantly talking about how Australia is a cultural wasteland, that the whites killed the Aborigines (she probably has one of those plaques on her door saying, "We acknowledge that the ______ people are the original custodians of this land"... give it back then), and all this other stuff that I could have merely shrugged off indifferently.
Until Thursday.
Thursday I was planning a trip to Ikea. I needed a shower caddy. I wanted to play like Kim and call out, "Bretty!" everywhere, maybe even using a display toilet (JOKES!), following the arrows like the sheep that I am. I was going with my friend Mitch who wanted to buy a cheap rug for his room. We ran into the Aussie girl. We mentioned that we were going.
Aussie Girl (AG): I can't stand the fixation people have with Ikea. You buy a table and it breaks within 6 months.
Me: Yes, but the table only costs you $10 so you can go buy another one. (Also, I've never had any of my Ikea stuff break...)
AG: But don't you see?! This consumerist attitude is what I hate about our modern capitalist society. We buy cheaply only to have to replace it later and repeat the process, not caring about how it's effecting the environment or our impact...... (this went on for awhile)
(20 minutes later, after she finished her monologue. Managed to bite back retorts that her attitude is a very easy one to have if you've got money behind you, but some of us are students and can't afford to have a traditionally hand-made table that will last forever, and what an elitist attitude she has. Couldn't be bothered getting into a discussion about it.)
Me: I like my shopping without the ideology.
[Exeunt]
Gahr.
Then there's the girl that's in the army and is always talking about when she was stationed in Qatar, and how awesome the army is, and how she wants to buy a shisha (sp?) pipe. Argh. Everytime I'm around her I'm constantly having to zone her out. I cringe each time we walk past a Turkish shop and I see a shisha pipe in the window because I know that she will go, "Oh, they sell shisha here?! God, I love shisha. I really want to buy a pipe............ (goes on for the next fifty shops)." Seriously, we've been here a month. Buy one of your disgusting pipe things already.
God, I'm so bitchy. You're all very glad I'm over here and not around you.
Another thing that's got me really grr is that I was told back in August that I will be receiving $5000 scholarship money. HUZZAH! Praise Jeebus! And just in time because I had completely run out of money. I was going to have to start living on my Centrelink cash. Not fun. I was told I'd be paid within two weeks.
So, three weeks later I sent an email going, "Hi, not wanting to be a nag, but just wondering when the money will be sent through? I just wanted to book a couple of things. No rush though."
Translation: WHERE'S MY MONEY, BITCH???
A week later (seriously, WTF?) I get an email saying, "No worries. All scholarship money is going to be sent out after October 15th."
WHAT????
Erm. I want my money NOW (and I also want an Oompla Loompa, daddy. And a golden egg laying goose. NOW). Seriously, why the 15th? I have a week's vacation before starting this Friday until the 12th of uni, so I could have gone somewhere for a week. Instead I'm going nowhere. So cranks. And I can't even do any shopping. Seriously though, by October 15th it will have been 2 months since I was told I'd be getting the money within the next "two weeks".
Grrr.
I think it will be OK once actual uni starts. I've got my timetable worked out so that I have Mondays and Thursdays off. I wanted Mondays and Fridays off so I could have very long weekends and travel, but there's this class that I really wanted to do and it's only offered on Fridays. It's called "Slayer Studies." It better be what I think it's about. Apparently it's taught by this Australian professor and he's taught a class on vampires before, so I've got all my fingers and toes crossed for this one. Other classes I'm doing:
- Are you scared yet? British Horror
- Teaching English Literature
- Scottish Literature and Culture
- Literature into Film
- It was easier to write about the past
- Deutsch als Frendspeche
-Hanif Kureishi (I don't know how long I'll last in this class. I'm reading one of his books now in preparation and it's shit. I don't even hate it - I am so indifferent to this book which, to me, is worse than if I hated it or the characters in it. I just couldn't give a damn.)
So yeah. That's all. There's no travel posts because I haven't been travelling.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Just skip this one
As we all know, I am a world of lame. Back home I keep a diary of all the books I've read. Actually, being the nerd I am, I keep two diaries, one that just lists the books and the dates I've read them, the other for books that gave me such strong opinions, either negative or positive, that I need to share them with someone, and rather than bore everyone to death with me banging on about the books to them I write the thoughts in the diary. Don't get me wrong, unfortunately for everyone else I still bang on about these books to them, but I really get it off my chest in the diary.
What's this got to do with my travels? Really, nothing, except that I've read a few books so far and I don't have a diary to write the books into so I'm going to write them up here. So this post is really for me so I don't forget anything and it's really not interesting at all so skip skip skip!!
1. The Other Hand, Chris Cleave.
2. The Kite Runner, Khaled Hosseini.
3. Plain Truth, Jodie Picoult.
4. One for the Money, Janet Evanovich.
5. North and South, Elizabeth Gaskell.
6. Angels and Demons, Dan Brown.
7. Thousand Splendid Suns, Khaled Hosseini.
8. Eat, Pray, Love, Elizabeth Gilbert.
9. Twenties Girl, Sophie Kinsella.
10. PS. I Love You, Cecilia Ahern.
11. The Berlin Wall, Frederick Taylor.
12. Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist, Rachel Cohn & David Levithan.
13. Revolutionary Road, Richard Yates.
14. Something to Tell You, Hanif Kureishi (currently reading).
Numbers 8-14 I've read since getting to Germany. I have a lot of time for reading with my 2 and a bit hours of the day spent on trains. (It also helps that 3 of the books are chick lit and one is a YA novel.)
What's this got to do with my travels? Really, nothing, except that I've read a few books so far and I don't have a diary to write the books into so I'm going to write them up here. So this post is really for me so I don't forget anything and it's really not interesting at all so skip skip skip!!
1. The Other Hand, Chris Cleave.
2. The Kite Runner, Khaled Hosseini.
3. Plain Truth, Jodie Picoult.
4. One for the Money, Janet Evanovich.
5. North and South, Elizabeth Gaskell.
6. Angels and Demons, Dan Brown.
7. Thousand Splendid Suns, Khaled Hosseini.
8. Eat, Pray, Love, Elizabeth Gilbert.
9. Twenties Girl, Sophie Kinsella.
10. PS. I Love You, Cecilia Ahern.
11. The Berlin Wall, Frederick Taylor.
12. Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist, Rachel Cohn & David Levithan.
13. Revolutionary Road, Richard Yates.
14. Something to Tell You, Hanif Kureishi (currently reading).
Numbers 8-14 I've read since getting to Germany. I have a lot of time for reading with my 2 and a bit hours of the day spent on trains. (It also helps that 3 of the books are chick lit and one is a YA novel.)
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Shoot me.
Argh. Tomorrow I have to give a presentation on Australia with the other Australian girl there. Shoot me. Remember, I can't construct a sentence. I had my teacher help me. Here's what I'm going to say:
Viele Ureinwohner haben seit 40 000 jarhen in Australien gewohnt. Danach haben die Englaender Gefangene nach Australien gebracht.
In Australien essen wir Essen aus allen Laendern. Besonders Fleischauflauf, vegemite und Kaenguruhfleisch.
In Australien gibt es viele schoene Straende. In Sydney gibt es einen beruuhmten Strand er heisst Bondi. Fast gans Australien ist eine Wuuste.
Basically it translates to:
Many Aborigines lived in Australia for 40 000 years. Then the English brought prisoners.
In Australia we eat food from every country. In particular meat pies, vegemite and kangaroo meat. In Australia there are many beautiful beaches. In Sydney there is a famous beach called Bondi. Most of Australia is a desert.
Shoot me. That has got to be the most boring thing in the world. Vomit. And I can't think of anything else to say, or, I can think of lots of things to say but nothing I could say in German. Argh. Seriously, shoot me. I don't want to get up in front of anyone and say this crap. It's embarrassing.
Meanwhile, I met up with Katrin today for lunch. It was so good to see her again - nice to see someone from Newcastle, even if she is originally from Germany. We had a nice little whinge about how crap our history class was last year.
Having lunch with her again tomorrow.
Other news: being here is like being in high school again. I'd been hanging out with this group of American's this last week and there's all this in-fighting going on. I'm too old for this crap. I tend to not say anything, just agree with whoever's talking to me, then suddenly remember I need to go home. Now there's a great schism in the group. I'm so glad I'm living off campus so I have some space and my world isn't so insular. I think if I lived on campus and saw these people all the time it would probably my entire world.
As it is I'm seeing everyone all the effing time. It's hard being around these people so much. We have our classes, then we've had so many excursions. Bloody excursions. Although, they're calling them "Tutoriums" and as such, they're part of our language classes and they're mandatory, and we had to pay 65 Euro for it (grr argh grr), and it's pretty much like we're being babysat. On Saturday (yes, a Saturday. As in, MY Saturday. As in, MY WEEKEND) we had an excursion to Dortmund. We did a scavenger hunt. Shoot me. Then on Tuesday we went to Bochum and went to a musuem to have a tour of a recreated mine. Shoot me. Then yesterday we went to this place called Steinwache which was the gestapo headquarters for the area during the Third Reich. Could have and should have been really interesting. I'm sure it would have had I understood any German at all. And if the rooms weren't so tiny and airless and filled with 20 people (I'm sure the prisoners would have liked bigger, more air filled rooms also). Argh. Saturday we have another excursion, this one's to Cologne. I was really looking forward to seeing Cologne in my own time. You just know that they're going to suck the fun out of it. Shoot me.
I'll make a proper post soon, I promise.
Viele Ureinwohner haben seit 40 000 jarhen in Australien gewohnt. Danach haben die Englaender Gefangene nach Australien gebracht.
In Australien essen wir Essen aus allen Laendern. Besonders Fleischauflauf, vegemite und Kaenguruhfleisch.
In Australien gibt es viele schoene Straende. In Sydney gibt es einen beruuhmten Strand er heisst Bondi. Fast gans Australien ist eine Wuuste.
Basically it translates to:
Many Aborigines lived in Australia for 40 000 years. Then the English brought prisoners.
In Australia we eat food from every country. In particular meat pies, vegemite and kangaroo meat. In Australia there are many beautiful beaches. In Sydney there is a famous beach called Bondi. Most of Australia is a desert.
Shoot me. That has got to be the most boring thing in the world. Vomit. And I can't think of anything else to say, or, I can think of lots of things to say but nothing I could say in German. Argh. Seriously, shoot me. I don't want to get up in front of anyone and say this crap. It's embarrassing.
Meanwhile, I met up with Katrin today for lunch. It was so good to see her again - nice to see someone from Newcastle, even if she is originally from Germany. We had a nice little whinge about how crap our history class was last year.
Having lunch with her again tomorrow.
Other news: being here is like being in high school again. I'd been hanging out with this group of American's this last week and there's all this in-fighting going on. I'm too old for this crap. I tend to not say anything, just agree with whoever's talking to me, then suddenly remember I need to go home. Now there's a great schism in the group. I'm so glad I'm living off campus so I have some space and my world isn't so insular. I think if I lived on campus and saw these people all the time it would probably my entire world.
As it is I'm seeing everyone all the effing time. It's hard being around these people so much. We have our classes, then we've had so many excursions. Bloody excursions. Although, they're calling them "Tutoriums" and as such, they're part of our language classes and they're mandatory, and we had to pay 65 Euro for it (grr argh grr), and it's pretty much like we're being babysat. On Saturday (yes, a Saturday. As in, MY Saturday. As in, MY WEEKEND) we had an excursion to Dortmund. We did a scavenger hunt. Shoot me. Then on Tuesday we went to Bochum and went to a musuem to have a tour of a recreated mine. Shoot me. Then yesterday we went to this place called Steinwache which was the gestapo headquarters for the area during the Third Reich. Could have and should have been really interesting. I'm sure it would have had I understood any German at all. And if the rooms weren't so tiny and airless and filled with 20 people (I'm sure the prisoners would have liked bigger, more air filled rooms also). Argh. Saturday we have another excursion, this one's to Cologne. I was really looking forward to seeing Cologne in my own time. You just know that they're going to suck the fun out of it. Shoot me.
I'll make a proper post soon, I promise.
Monday, September 7, 2009
First day of uni...
So today was my first day of my language classes. Well, actually tomorrow is the first day, but we had to go today for orientation stuff. And a language test - to see which class to place us in. Erm... I could save you some paper cos that thing is being handed back blank.
But first: a walk through my day, which will be somewhat typical of my days for the next four weeks.
So I got up at 5:55. That's a disgusting time. Unless I haven't gone to bed yet, that's not a time I want to be awake. But that will soon become my new wake up time. (I can already hear Bec saying, "Sarah, that's a sleep in!" No, Rebecca. No.) After showering, dressing and blowdrying I had just enough time to make my bed before I needed to hightail it to the train station, which is about a 15 minute walk away, downhill. Awesome. So I'm walking with my headphones and this little girl calls out, "Sarah!" I look down and there's this girl that Lara tutors who I met on Saturday. She's adorable, but how on earth she recognised me (she probably just saw this girl that looked like death and thought to herself, hey, I met someone who looks like death recently... Sarah!) and remembered my name is anyone's guess. I'm there saying hi and thinking, Crap! I'm sure she had a name! (It turns out her name is Jill. Lara told me this evening.) Then I kept on walking, ducked into a bakery to grab a brӧtchen then made it just in time for my 7:19 train. I paid the 10.50 Euro (ONE WAY! That's $20 ONE WAY!), then made it to Hagen (all the way sure I'd gotten on the wrong train) then changed to a train at Dortmund (all the way sure I'd gotten on the wrong train), then asked at the information counter which platform for the train to the uni, then got on the train, all the way sure I'd gotten on the wrong train.
Somewhere along the way, my neuroses got the better of me. Amongst all the "where is this train going??" thoughts, I suddenly started freaking out about meeting new people. No matter that this is something I've been doing every single day for the past 10 weeks, I came to the conclusion today that I didn't want to do it anymore. I'm so sick of being nice and friendly. It's not a natural state of being. At least not for me. So I had a bit of a panic and messaged my go-to people (and thank you, by the way, for dealing with my issues), then went to class. At first I was doing my don't-talk thing, but then I realised that I suck at not talking so I chatted with the people around me, who all spoke English.
Anyway, we had an orientation, were introduced to our teachers and international office people, then we had our test.
Yeah, I did not like this test. Why? Because part of the test was to ask the person next to us a series of questions, write their answers, then go around the class telling everyone. Yesterday, Lara and her mum taught me how to say some basic sentences: Meine name ist Sarah. Ich komme aus Australien. Ich bin vierundzwansig jahre alt. Ich wohne in Deutschland bei miner Freundin Lara. Yeah. So I could answer two of the questions for my partner. And then I had to say it out loud to the room. So I began with, "Ich spreche kein Deutsch," which I think Judith and Mariam taught me back in our Chicago days and it means that I can't speak German. Then I said my two sentences and said that's all I have. Guess which class I was placed in.
Anyway, we did a tour of the uni. It looks like a uni. As we were touring I got talking to some people. Met a nice girl from Georgia called Sammy. She's 21 and engaged. ENGAGED. Seriously. Everyone in the world is getting married, married, or having babies. And I'm still acting like a little kid, doing my student thing and refusing to settle down with one city, let alone one person. ARGH. Anyway, she was nice. There was one girl that I thought was stupid. She was listening into Sammy and I chatting, so I asked her a question. She answered in German. I told her I couldn't speak or understand German. She answered in German. Obviously, if you speak German only, I'm going to understand the whole speaking in German thing. But she was from America. Don't talk to me then, if you're going to be so rude. She asked me (in German), what I was doing at a German university if I don't speak German. I'm kind of over explaining that I've come here to see my friends, and doing an exchange was the most economical option, so I said, "Ich bin verrückt," which means, "I am crazy." Then she corrected me, saying it wasn't "verrückt" but something else. So I was worried because it's kind of my favourite word. When I got back home I asked Lara's family whether my sentence was right and they said it was. Long story short - I hate people.
Another person to add to my hate list - the man at the service desk at D-Bahn. Argh. Just, generally and arsehole. I'll sum him up with one sentence: I asked if I could pay for my ticket with credit and he tells me of course not, and in German he sneers, "It's Deutsche Bahn, not Deutsche Bank." You're a Deutsche Bastard. It was a legitimate freaking question.
Oh, and I got stung by a wasp. And a woman pushed in front of me when I was lining up to get my morning coffee. Do not push in front of me when I haven't had coffee yet. I'll death stare the crap out of you.
But first: a walk through my day, which will be somewhat typical of my days for the next four weeks.
So I got up at 5:55. That's a disgusting time. Unless I haven't gone to bed yet, that's not a time I want to be awake. But that will soon become my new wake up time. (I can already hear Bec saying, "Sarah, that's a sleep in!" No, Rebecca. No.) After showering, dressing and blowdrying I had just enough time to make my bed before I needed to hightail it to the train station, which is about a 15 minute walk away, downhill. Awesome. So I'm walking with my headphones and this little girl calls out, "Sarah!" I look down and there's this girl that Lara tutors who I met on Saturday. She's adorable, but how on earth she recognised me (she probably just saw this girl that looked like death and thought to herself, hey, I met someone who looks like death recently... Sarah!) and remembered my name is anyone's guess. I'm there saying hi and thinking, Crap! I'm sure she had a name! (It turns out her name is Jill. Lara told me this evening.) Then I kept on walking, ducked into a bakery to grab a brӧtchen then made it just in time for my 7:19 train. I paid the 10.50 Euro (ONE WAY! That's $20 ONE WAY!), then made it to Hagen (all the way sure I'd gotten on the wrong train) then changed to a train at Dortmund (all the way sure I'd gotten on the wrong train), then asked at the information counter which platform for the train to the uni, then got on the train, all the way sure I'd gotten on the wrong train.
Somewhere along the way, my neuroses got the better of me. Amongst all the "where is this train going??" thoughts, I suddenly started freaking out about meeting new people. No matter that this is something I've been doing every single day for the past 10 weeks, I came to the conclusion today that I didn't want to do it anymore. I'm so sick of being nice and friendly. It's not a natural state of being. At least not for me. So I had a bit of a panic and messaged my go-to people (and thank you, by the way, for dealing with my issues), then went to class. At first I was doing my don't-talk thing, but then I realised that I suck at not talking so I chatted with the people around me, who all spoke English.
Anyway, we had an orientation, were introduced to our teachers and international office people, then we had our test.
Yeah, I did not like this test. Why? Because part of the test was to ask the person next to us a series of questions, write their answers, then go around the class telling everyone. Yesterday, Lara and her mum taught me how to say some basic sentences: Meine name ist Sarah. Ich komme aus Australien. Ich bin vierundzwansig jahre alt. Ich wohne in Deutschland bei miner Freundin Lara. Yeah. So I could answer two of the questions for my partner. And then I had to say it out loud to the room. So I began with, "Ich spreche kein Deutsch," which I think Judith and Mariam taught me back in our Chicago days and it means that I can't speak German. Then I said my two sentences and said that's all I have. Guess which class I was placed in.
Anyway, we did a tour of the uni. It looks like a uni. As we were touring I got talking to some people. Met a nice girl from Georgia called Sammy. She's 21 and engaged. ENGAGED. Seriously. Everyone in the world is getting married, married, or having babies. And I'm still acting like a little kid, doing my student thing and refusing to settle down with one city, let alone one person. ARGH. Anyway, she was nice. There was one girl that I thought was stupid. She was listening into Sammy and I chatting, so I asked her a question. She answered in German. I told her I couldn't speak or understand German. She answered in German. Obviously, if you speak German only, I'm going to understand the whole speaking in German thing. But she was from America. Don't talk to me then, if you're going to be so rude. She asked me (in German), what I was doing at a German university if I don't speak German. I'm kind of over explaining that I've come here to see my friends, and doing an exchange was the most economical option, so I said, "Ich bin verrückt," which means, "I am crazy." Then she corrected me, saying it wasn't "verrückt" but something else. So I was worried because it's kind of my favourite word. When I got back home I asked Lara's family whether my sentence was right and they said it was. Long story short - I hate people.
Another person to add to my hate list - the man at the service desk at D-Bahn. Argh. Just, generally and arsehole. I'll sum him up with one sentence: I asked if I could pay for my ticket with credit and he tells me of course not, and in German he sneers, "It's Deutsche Bahn, not Deutsche Bank." You're a Deutsche Bastard. It was a legitimate freaking question.
Oh, and I got stung by a wasp. And a woman pushed in front of me when I was lining up to get my morning coffee. Do not push in front of me when I haven't had coffee yet. I'll death stare the crap out of you.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Italian for Beginners, or, Where Sarah Had Many a Silent Disco
I have no idea who I've mentioned this to, or if I've even mentioned it before, but now you know, I tend to think that everything about me is common knowledge, when it turns out I forget to tell anyone anthing. Knowing me now, you probably wouldn't believe it but it's the absolute truth.
When I was little, around ten years old, I wanted to become a nun. Like, I really wanted to become a nun. I really liked our school nun, Sister Anna, and I thought Father Chris was great. I was in the school choir so we used to have a lot of dealings with them. I wasn't overly religious growing up. Every few years or so I think Dad would get the guilts and drag us to Christmas Eve or Easter Sunday mass, and I went to a Catholic school so we'd go to church a few times each term, plus I was in choir so we had a few other obligations. But that seemed irrelevant to me in becoming a nun. To me there was something about becoming a nun that seemed really worthy - dedicating your life to one goal, cloistered up or doing charitable works. The religious aspect seemed to be an after thought to me, but I have always loved the ritual aspect of a Catholic mass, the iconography, the songs...
Fast forward fifteen years and things are a little different, what with that whole "atheist" thing I have going now. And the fact that I've screamed down both Sister Anna and Father Chris on separate occasions for their family-meddling and general c-bombishness. Honestly, if there is an afterlife, it hurts me to think that I'm going to have to be spending mine in Hell with the two of them, although I'm sure it's big enough so I'll never have to see them. (And if I do I'll throw some fire and brimstone at them or something, get my posse to gang up on them.) BUT it still hasn't killed my love of nuns and priests because as a general rule, I think they get into it for really noble causes (or because they can't come to terms with the fact that they're gay...).
What does that incredibly long-winded story have to do with Italy? Hello? It's Italy! Do you know how many random nuns, brothers and priests are walking around? They're everywhere! There's even brothers that have that old fashioned monk hair - shaved on top and at the bottom but with that one-inch thick strip of hair running around their head - wearing old fashion monk robes. You're constantly catching glimpses of white collars on various men, and there's always groups of little (is there a height restriction for going into convents?) women running around in their grey habits, either with the obligatory stern, wrinkled face or the smooth, pious, benevolent face. I love that in a group of six little nuns rushing around (and they always rush) there'll be equal parts angry nun to sweet nun.
And on almost every corner there's some kind of Catholic shrine, be it a picture of a saint or the Holy family or a cross. I really do think it creates a sense of community - there's always a fresh bunch of flowers there and it's always taken care of. And it's just pretty.
So I've already mentioned that I began my Italian journey with my cousins in near Cuneo. My post about that might seem really whiney, but I do want to stress that I did enjoy my time there. It was just difficult with the language barrier and the fact that I'd spent the past month doing everything independently, answerable to no one, and suddenly I was having to ask for permission to go anywhere. It was hard to adjust. But it was a lovely place to be. In the mornings I would sit in their living room looking out at the mountains and the church courtyard down below, or I'd sit on their balcony overlooking all the rooftops. I read my book. A lot. I travelled two hours on the train to the closest beach with my cousin Andrea and his friends and got a dirty tan (which would only be added to during my time in Italy. Yuck). I ate lots of food. Lots. Of. Food. I saw ZEBRAS IN SOMEONE'S YARD. We were just driving by and I'm like, WTF is THAT?? They're like, zebras (and I could practically hear the "duh" formulating in their mind). You haven't seen a zebra before? Well, yes, but in the zoo, or on Discovery Channel. So yes. A zebra.
Another difference that I found in Italy - bread and butter. Many of you will know that if forced to live on one thing for the rest of my life I would choose bread and butter. Oh, how I love bread and butter. So one day I was asked if I would like something to eat. "Pane con burro, per favore." Bread and butter, please. "Pane con burro??? BURRO?" "Errr.... si? Burro? Come si dici 'butter' in Italiano?" How do you say 'butter' in Italian? They told me I must be mistaken, but surely I couldn't have forgotten the word for my favourite bread topping! I ran to the dictionary and looked up butter, but there it was: burro. I pointed it to them, and they just shook their head and told me that butter on bread is disgusting, and proceeded to pour some olive oil instead. Possibly a sign that I could never live in Italy (although I do love bread and olive oil... just not when I want bread and butter!).
But I have decided that as soon as I come home next year (after starting uni the very next day) I'm going to restart Italian lessons. I love the language and I'd love to be able to communicate with my family members properly. It was frustrating not knowing anything there, but I feel like the language comes to me naturally, if that makes sense. Actually, I think I'd like to just be fluent in something. I'd like to get to the level in German where I can read this magazine called "Der Spiegel" which I used to look at in Borders and think, those articles look great. But I'd really like to pick up my Italian again. Actually, all these random languages running through my head is really annoying. I go to say, "Yes," to someone in German and my mind goes through Italian, Japanese and English before finally getting to "ja". How is it that I'm still getting random Japanese words running through?
From Cuneo I went to Florence for four nights. Florence was a little difficult for me because I found it quite lonely. My first three nights I was alone in my room so I didn't really meet anyone. I went to the cafeteria on my first night and started chatting to some randoms, but didn't feel like doing that on the other nights. Then on my last night there I finally get a roomie who was great and we hung out that night and went together to l'Academia the next day. She couldn't have gotten there earlier??
But apart from the loneliness, Florence was absolutely beautiful. Stinking hot though, but a good excuse to sample all the gelati. It's a tiny town so it's perfect for walking, and yet I still managed to get majorly lost one night. It was at the end of a very long day. I had done a tour of the local markets, sampled the olive oil, the formaggio (cheese), tried cheese with pear and orange jam on top (HEAVEN), tried various anti pasti and other things. So so good. Then I decided I should go to the Uffizi. The day before I had been told that I should reserve tickets but then saw it would cost an extra 4 Euros to book ahead. Screw that! I thought, I'm fine with lining up, so I'll keep my money, thank you very much. Yeah. I lined up for 4 HOURS. I'm not exaggerating. For an art gallery. Very important art, mind you, but still. 4 hours. But I'm pretty good at lining up. Basically I just grab my iPod, turn it to my dance playlist and have myself a silent disco. Great fun. I didn't really mind the first two and a half hours.
UNTIL SOME PEOPLE PUSHED IN FRONT OF ME.
Oooooh HEEEEEeell NO!
I looked at them for a bit, noticed the mother of the family in front of me looking at them too, made eye contact, gave each other the, "Did they just push in?" look, waited a couple of seconds, then pasted a smile on my face and asked in my politest voice, "Excuse me? Are you in the line?"
"Yes."
[Bigger smile] "Oh, OK. Because the line starts waaaaaaay back there."
"Oh, this is our last day. We can't wait that long."
[Smile gone] "Oh, OK. Except I don't care because I've been lining up for almost three hours."
"Oh, well then you can go in front of us."
"Oh really?? That's SO kind of you. Except, I CAN go in front of you because I'M SUPPOSED TO BE IN FRONT OF YOU. THREE HOURS IN FRONT OF YOU."
The mother was totally supporting me in this and telling them off too. Basically, they moved behind me, and the people behind me didn't care, so they got away with it. ARGH.
Now let's take a moment to talk about racial stereotypes, shall we? (We shall!)
Ok. So, when I was in Paris the two English girls I hung out with mentioned something about Germans and their inability to line up. I thought, that's just silly! I've never noticed my Germanian friends not being able to line up! But as soon as this couple pushed in, my friends' warning words flashed in my mind and I made a conscious effort to listen to the couple speaking. They were speaking German. Surely they were just terrible people, it had nothing to do with their Germanness! But alas, no. It seems to be a regular thing here. I've been here a couple of weeks now, lined up for several things, in several stores, and gotten incredibly pissed off at people ignoring any form of line and just walking up to the counter, in front of you, to the side of you, and just pushing in. As soon as I learn some German I'm going to learn how to tell people off (under my breath...).
So yes, they were one stereotype that was confirmed on that long line for the Uffizi. The other was about the inappropriate familial touching of the French.
So, the family in front of me (and I feel so bad about this because the mother totally had my back during the whole pushing-in saga of '09) confused me greatly. There was a woman in her forties, I'm assuming, a man also in his forties, and a teenaged boy and a teenaged girl. At first I thought, OK, a family. Easy. Then the older woman and girl started hugging. And the mum grabbed her arse several times, patted it, they kissed on the lips a fair bit. And I thought, OK, maybe the girl isn't in her teens and is older and this is a lesbian couple? Then the woman did the same thing with the boy, and the girl and the boy were very handsy, and the dad and the mum..... This was too confusing. I related this information to Mikey via text during the long four hours and he asked, "Are they French?"
Me: I think so.
Mikey: Then that's why - it's what they do.
Me: Really?
Mikey: Oh yes, the French are known for being all touchy feely with family.
Me: How do you know this?
Mikey: Arrested Development.
Me: Aaah, of course.
So those were my racial stereotypes.
I passed the rest of the time chatting to Mikey and hearing all the goss about work and the old Parkhill gang (oh Parkhill, how I miss thee! (the Parkhill group and good times, not the house and certain psycho housemates...)), and then after I hung up I only had a half hour longer to wait. Well done. Except then the guy in front of me in the line decided that NOW he would start chatting to pass the time. Where were you three and a half hours ago, huh?
So the gallery was great (full of incredibly important works of art, just as the guidebooks said), but I was buggered so couldn't really appreciate it as much as I'd like. I left and started walking back home. Only, the exit is on a different side to the entrance. And it turns out I can't read a map. And I also don't have any sense of direction, but still keep thinking it will kick in? Except it won't, because it doesn't exist in me. So I started heading in a direction, thinking any second now I would hit a landmark I would know (because Florence is basically only one square kilometre). I hit a landmark I thought I could find on the map, but when I finally asked someone for directions they let me know that, no, I was actually looking at the complete opposite side of the map to where I was. Oh, and I had actually wandered off the map. Of course. I got directions off a taxi driver and eventually made my way back. I had to buy $20 Maccas for dinner to make myself feel better, then proceeded to Skype with Nicole for ages having a good old whinge and gossip. It seemed to be a day for it.
I also did a Chianti region tour which consisted of us doing a wine tasting of red and white, learning about Chianti Classico wines and how to distinguish between them and proper Chianti regio wines (the black rooster on the label is how to make sure it's a Classico). We also tasted the different olive oils (oh my GOD, truffle oil! Soooo good) and balsamico. I wanted to buy everything, but at 20 Euros for 150ml of balsamico, I had to restrain myself to one of the cheaper bottles of wine. We then went to a vineyard, had a tour of the wine making process, then continued to drink and eat for the rest of the afternoon, followed by an hour and a half stop at San Gimignano where I had gelato at the world's number 1 gelateria (it had a sign and everything). Basically they're number one due to the crazy flavours they have. I had a cone with FOUR flavours (how do you decide???): limoncello (a yummy Italian lemon liquer - for those that have been, it's the one I keep going on about from my cousin's winery), fragola (strawberry - can never get enough of fragola), raspberry and thyme (ridiculously perfect), and champagne. YES, champagne. And it really did taste of it. And it tasted great. I also sampled someone's cinnamon which tasted like biting into a cinnamon bun.
That night I finally got a roomie and it was good fun hanging out with her. Before I left the next day we got up early and went to l'Academia to see the David before the crowds. There's not really much in l'Academia except for David, but it's worth the entrance fee and more. I was not expecting to be as impressed as I was. We just stood there circling him for ages until finally deciding that we should probably see some of the other things in the gallery. But unlike some other famous artworks, this one is definately not overrated. Everyone go see it!!
On my last night in Florence I also met a girl that seems to epitomise Australian close-mindedness. This is in no way confined to Australians, but it just seems that some of the Aussies I've met do it in a certain way... Here's the thing: isn't travelling supposed to broaden your mind? Aren't you supposed to see everything, try everything, do everything? We all know that when it comes to food, I have the blandest palate in the world. I pretty much hate any food that has flavour in it, and it frustrates me to no end, but while I've been travelling I've basically tried everything that's been offered to me, be that haggis, black pudding, weird seafood combinations, olives (even with my childhood trauma of olives) and other things that I've either surprisingly liked or have struggled to keep down. And we all know that in Australia, I hate going to Italian restaurants. Why? Because my Nonna can always make it better and for free. That's just how it is. But being overseas I (SOB!) haven't had my grandma around. So I've eaten Italian food in a lot of places. Especially in Italy (it's hard to escape it). And I've loved it. So when I met this girl on my last night I had to (literally) bite down on my lips to keep from saying something to her. Basically she was doing Bus-About Europe and was telling me how they were offered to go to a trattoria for a four course meal for 16 Euro, which she had agreed to until she found out the hostel was putting on a buffet for 7 Euro. Sounds fair enough. Then she proceeded to go on and on about how she doesn't want to pay so much money for Italian food. Erm... OK. Why? Because her mum used to be married to an Italian man who was apparently very fussy and she learnt to cook perfect Italian food, and her mum's food would be better than anything she ate over here, so why should she pay all this money for it?
Erm... because your mum isn't here, for one. And also, because your mum isn't even Italian. Oh my god. And I couldn't even say she's young or uneducated, because she was almost 26 and a primary school teacher (although, the primary teachers I've met have been kind of stupid... Jokes, Beau!). Seriously, WTF kind of attitude is that? It's frigging Italy. Also, she had arrived in Florence earlier that day, had done a walking tour with the bus-about guide, and was leaving in the morning to go to Milan because she'd “already seen everything in Florence.” Yet she was spending 3 days in Milan? Cos there's so much culture there, what with the shops and all. Oh my gosh, I hate people so much. And I couldn't even say, oh it's not her fault because she's from Queensland or something like that. No, she was from Melbourne, a more culturally enlightened city than Sydney. Allegedly. And she kept going on about the Italian food, and how Italian her mum is, and how she would make her friends eat when they came over. Keep biting that tongue, Sarah. The problem is that I've met so many people like that and I just want to smack them. I'm quite proud of myself for the restraint I've shown.
When I was little, around ten years old, I wanted to become a nun. Like, I really wanted to become a nun. I really liked our school nun, Sister Anna, and I thought Father Chris was great. I was in the school choir so we used to have a lot of dealings with them. I wasn't overly religious growing up. Every few years or so I think Dad would get the guilts and drag us to Christmas Eve or Easter Sunday mass, and I went to a Catholic school so we'd go to church a few times each term, plus I was in choir so we had a few other obligations. But that seemed irrelevant to me in becoming a nun. To me there was something about becoming a nun that seemed really worthy - dedicating your life to one goal, cloistered up or doing charitable works. The religious aspect seemed to be an after thought to me, but I have always loved the ritual aspect of a Catholic mass, the iconography, the songs...
Fast forward fifteen years and things are a little different, what with that whole "atheist" thing I have going now. And the fact that I've screamed down both Sister Anna and Father Chris on separate occasions for their family-meddling and general c-bombishness. Honestly, if there is an afterlife, it hurts me to think that I'm going to have to be spending mine in Hell with the two of them, although I'm sure it's big enough so I'll never have to see them. (And if I do I'll throw some fire and brimstone at them or something, get my posse to gang up on them.) BUT it still hasn't killed my love of nuns and priests because as a general rule, I think they get into it for really noble causes (or because they can't come to terms with the fact that they're gay...).
What does that incredibly long-winded story have to do with Italy? Hello? It's Italy! Do you know how many random nuns, brothers and priests are walking around? They're everywhere! There's even brothers that have that old fashioned monk hair - shaved on top and at the bottom but with that one-inch thick strip of hair running around their head - wearing old fashion monk robes. You're constantly catching glimpses of white collars on various men, and there's always groups of little (is there a height restriction for going into convents?) women running around in their grey habits, either with the obligatory stern, wrinkled face or the smooth, pious, benevolent face. I love that in a group of six little nuns rushing around (and they always rush) there'll be equal parts angry nun to sweet nun.
And on almost every corner there's some kind of Catholic shrine, be it a picture of a saint or the Holy family or a cross. I really do think it creates a sense of community - there's always a fresh bunch of flowers there and it's always taken care of. And it's just pretty.
So I've already mentioned that I began my Italian journey with my cousins in near Cuneo. My post about that might seem really whiney, but I do want to stress that I did enjoy my time there. It was just difficult with the language barrier and the fact that I'd spent the past month doing everything independently, answerable to no one, and suddenly I was having to ask for permission to go anywhere. It was hard to adjust. But it was a lovely place to be. In the mornings I would sit in their living room looking out at the mountains and the church courtyard down below, or I'd sit on their balcony overlooking all the rooftops. I read my book. A lot. I travelled two hours on the train to the closest beach with my cousin Andrea and his friends and got a dirty tan (which would only be added to during my time in Italy. Yuck). I ate lots of food. Lots. Of. Food. I saw ZEBRAS IN SOMEONE'S YARD. We were just driving by and I'm like, WTF is THAT?? They're like, zebras (and I could practically hear the "duh" formulating in their mind). You haven't seen a zebra before? Well, yes, but in the zoo, or on Discovery Channel. So yes. A zebra.
Another difference that I found in Italy - bread and butter. Many of you will know that if forced to live on one thing for the rest of my life I would choose bread and butter. Oh, how I love bread and butter. So one day I was asked if I would like something to eat. "Pane con burro, per favore." Bread and butter, please. "Pane con burro??? BURRO?" "Errr.... si? Burro? Come si dici 'butter' in Italiano?" How do you say 'butter' in Italian? They told me I must be mistaken, but surely I couldn't have forgotten the word for my favourite bread topping! I ran to the dictionary and looked up butter, but there it was: burro. I pointed it to them, and they just shook their head and told me that butter on bread is disgusting, and proceeded to pour some olive oil instead. Possibly a sign that I could never live in Italy (although I do love bread and olive oil... just not when I want bread and butter!).
But I have decided that as soon as I come home next year (after starting uni the very next day) I'm going to restart Italian lessons. I love the language and I'd love to be able to communicate with my family members properly. It was frustrating not knowing anything there, but I feel like the language comes to me naturally, if that makes sense. Actually, I think I'd like to just be fluent in something. I'd like to get to the level in German where I can read this magazine called "Der Spiegel" which I used to look at in Borders and think, those articles look great. But I'd really like to pick up my Italian again. Actually, all these random languages running through my head is really annoying. I go to say, "Yes," to someone in German and my mind goes through Italian, Japanese and English before finally getting to "ja". How is it that I'm still getting random Japanese words running through?
From Cuneo I went to Florence for four nights. Florence was a little difficult for me because I found it quite lonely. My first three nights I was alone in my room so I didn't really meet anyone. I went to the cafeteria on my first night and started chatting to some randoms, but didn't feel like doing that on the other nights. Then on my last night there I finally get a roomie who was great and we hung out that night and went together to l'Academia the next day. She couldn't have gotten there earlier??
But apart from the loneliness, Florence was absolutely beautiful. Stinking hot though, but a good excuse to sample all the gelati. It's a tiny town so it's perfect for walking, and yet I still managed to get majorly lost one night. It was at the end of a very long day. I had done a tour of the local markets, sampled the olive oil, the formaggio (cheese), tried cheese with pear and orange jam on top (HEAVEN), tried various anti pasti and other things. So so good. Then I decided I should go to the Uffizi. The day before I had been told that I should reserve tickets but then saw it would cost an extra 4 Euros to book ahead. Screw that! I thought, I'm fine with lining up, so I'll keep my money, thank you very much. Yeah. I lined up for 4 HOURS. I'm not exaggerating. For an art gallery. Very important art, mind you, but still. 4 hours. But I'm pretty good at lining up. Basically I just grab my iPod, turn it to my dance playlist and have myself a silent disco. Great fun. I didn't really mind the first two and a half hours.
UNTIL SOME PEOPLE PUSHED IN FRONT OF ME.
Oooooh HEEEEEeell NO!
I looked at them for a bit, noticed the mother of the family in front of me looking at them too, made eye contact, gave each other the, "Did they just push in?" look, waited a couple of seconds, then pasted a smile on my face and asked in my politest voice, "Excuse me? Are you in the line?"
"Yes."
[Bigger smile] "Oh, OK. Because the line starts waaaaaaay back there."
"Oh, this is our last day. We can't wait that long."
[Smile gone] "Oh, OK. Except I don't care because I've been lining up for almost three hours."
"Oh, well then you can go in front of us."
"Oh really?? That's SO kind of you. Except, I CAN go in front of you because I'M SUPPOSED TO BE IN FRONT OF YOU. THREE HOURS IN FRONT OF YOU."
The mother was totally supporting me in this and telling them off too. Basically, they moved behind me, and the people behind me didn't care, so they got away with it. ARGH.
Now let's take a moment to talk about racial stereotypes, shall we? (We shall!)
Ok. So, when I was in Paris the two English girls I hung out with mentioned something about Germans and their inability to line up. I thought, that's just silly! I've never noticed my Germanian friends not being able to line up! But as soon as this couple pushed in, my friends' warning words flashed in my mind and I made a conscious effort to listen to the couple speaking. They were speaking German. Surely they were just terrible people, it had nothing to do with their Germanness! But alas, no. It seems to be a regular thing here. I've been here a couple of weeks now, lined up for several things, in several stores, and gotten incredibly pissed off at people ignoring any form of line and just walking up to the counter, in front of you, to the side of you, and just pushing in. As soon as I learn some German I'm going to learn how to tell people off (under my breath...).
So yes, they were one stereotype that was confirmed on that long line for the Uffizi. The other was about the inappropriate familial touching of the French.
So, the family in front of me (and I feel so bad about this because the mother totally had my back during the whole pushing-in saga of '09) confused me greatly. There was a woman in her forties, I'm assuming, a man also in his forties, and a teenaged boy and a teenaged girl. At first I thought, OK, a family. Easy. Then the older woman and girl started hugging. And the mum grabbed her arse several times, patted it, they kissed on the lips a fair bit. And I thought, OK, maybe the girl isn't in her teens and is older and this is a lesbian couple? Then the woman did the same thing with the boy, and the girl and the boy were very handsy, and the dad and the mum..... This was too confusing. I related this information to Mikey via text during the long four hours and he asked, "Are they French?"
Me: I think so.
Mikey: Then that's why - it's what they do.
Me: Really?
Mikey: Oh yes, the French are known for being all touchy feely with family.
Me: How do you know this?
Mikey: Arrested Development.
Me: Aaah, of course.
So those were my racial stereotypes.
I passed the rest of the time chatting to Mikey and hearing all the goss about work and the old Parkhill gang (oh Parkhill, how I miss thee! (the Parkhill group and good times, not the house and certain psycho housemates...)), and then after I hung up I only had a half hour longer to wait. Well done. Except then the guy in front of me in the line decided that NOW he would start chatting to pass the time. Where were you three and a half hours ago, huh?
So the gallery was great (full of incredibly important works of art, just as the guidebooks said), but I was buggered so couldn't really appreciate it as much as I'd like. I left and started walking back home. Only, the exit is on a different side to the entrance. And it turns out I can't read a map. And I also don't have any sense of direction, but still keep thinking it will kick in? Except it won't, because it doesn't exist in me. So I started heading in a direction, thinking any second now I would hit a landmark I would know (because Florence is basically only one square kilometre). I hit a landmark I thought I could find on the map, but when I finally asked someone for directions they let me know that, no, I was actually looking at the complete opposite side of the map to where I was. Oh, and I had actually wandered off the map. Of course. I got directions off a taxi driver and eventually made my way back. I had to buy $20 Maccas for dinner to make myself feel better, then proceeded to Skype with Nicole for ages having a good old whinge and gossip. It seemed to be a day for it.
I also did a Chianti region tour which consisted of us doing a wine tasting of red and white, learning about Chianti Classico wines and how to distinguish between them and proper Chianti regio wines (the black rooster on the label is how to make sure it's a Classico). We also tasted the different olive oils (oh my GOD, truffle oil! Soooo good) and balsamico. I wanted to buy everything, but at 20 Euros for 150ml of balsamico, I had to restrain myself to one of the cheaper bottles of wine. We then went to a vineyard, had a tour of the wine making process, then continued to drink and eat for the rest of the afternoon, followed by an hour and a half stop at San Gimignano where I had gelato at the world's number 1 gelateria (it had a sign and everything). Basically they're number one due to the crazy flavours they have. I had a cone with FOUR flavours (how do you decide???): limoncello (a yummy Italian lemon liquer - for those that have been, it's the one I keep going on about from my cousin's winery), fragola (strawberry - can never get enough of fragola), raspberry and thyme (ridiculously perfect), and champagne. YES, champagne. And it really did taste of it. And it tasted great. I also sampled someone's cinnamon which tasted like biting into a cinnamon bun.
That night I finally got a roomie and it was good fun hanging out with her. Before I left the next day we got up early and went to l'Academia to see the David before the crowds. There's not really much in l'Academia except for David, but it's worth the entrance fee and more. I was not expecting to be as impressed as I was. We just stood there circling him for ages until finally deciding that we should probably see some of the other things in the gallery. But unlike some other famous artworks, this one is definately not overrated. Everyone go see it!!
On my last night in Florence I also met a girl that seems to epitomise Australian close-mindedness. This is in no way confined to Australians, but it just seems that some of the Aussies I've met do it in a certain way... Here's the thing: isn't travelling supposed to broaden your mind? Aren't you supposed to see everything, try everything, do everything? We all know that when it comes to food, I have the blandest palate in the world. I pretty much hate any food that has flavour in it, and it frustrates me to no end, but while I've been travelling I've basically tried everything that's been offered to me, be that haggis, black pudding, weird seafood combinations, olives (even with my childhood trauma of olives) and other things that I've either surprisingly liked or have struggled to keep down. And we all know that in Australia, I hate going to Italian restaurants. Why? Because my Nonna can always make it better and for free. That's just how it is. But being overseas I (SOB!) haven't had my grandma around. So I've eaten Italian food in a lot of places. Especially in Italy (it's hard to escape it). And I've loved it. So when I met this girl on my last night I had to (literally) bite down on my lips to keep from saying something to her. Basically she was doing Bus-About Europe and was telling me how they were offered to go to a trattoria for a four course meal for 16 Euro, which she had agreed to until she found out the hostel was putting on a buffet for 7 Euro. Sounds fair enough. Then she proceeded to go on and on about how she doesn't want to pay so much money for Italian food. Erm... OK. Why? Because her mum used to be married to an Italian man who was apparently very fussy and she learnt to cook perfect Italian food, and her mum's food would be better than anything she ate over here, so why should she pay all this money for it?
Erm... because your mum isn't here, for one. And also, because your mum isn't even Italian. Oh my god. And I couldn't even say she's young or uneducated, because she was almost 26 and a primary school teacher (although, the primary teachers I've met have been kind of stupid... Jokes, Beau!). Seriously, WTF kind of attitude is that? It's frigging Italy. Also, she had arrived in Florence earlier that day, had done a walking tour with the bus-about guide, and was leaving in the morning to go to Milan because she'd “already seen everything in Florence.” Yet she was spending 3 days in Milan? Cos there's so much culture there, what with the shops and all. Oh my gosh, I hate people so much. And I couldn't even say, oh it's not her fault because she's from Queensland or something like that. No, she was from Melbourne, a more culturally enlightened city than Sydney. Allegedly. And she kept going on about the Italian food, and how Italian her mum is, and how she would make her friends eat when they came over. Keep biting that tongue, Sarah. The problem is that I've met so many people like that and I just want to smack them. I'm quite proud of myself for the restraint I've shown.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Just a quick note about Berlin:
It is awesome.
Leaving tomorrow morning. Will write a full post then. Maybe (we all know my track record). But I just want to get a few notes down before I forget them:
Leaving tomorrow morning. Will write a full post then. Maybe (we all know my track record). But I just want to get a few notes down before I forget them:
- There's a restaurant Nicole and I have passed several times a day near our hostel by the (what else?) riverside called Riverside. Guess what song Nicole and I sing every single time. RIVERSIDE (mother f*****). Doot doot doot doot dootloot doot doot dootloot dootloot doot, doot, doot. We also dance as we go past. Oh, we are so rad.
- I bought a pair of shoes today which are way too cool for me. Seriously. I'm letting the shoes down. Germany is full of awesome sneakers and I want them all but don't want to make the sneakers look bad due to proximity to me.
- The other day I walked past a heavily pregnant dwarf/little person smoking. I figure, it's the least of their problems.
- The fact that you're allowed to drink on the street here. I'm not a fan. The one time I did it on a pub crawl on our first night I felt like I should have been on the streets of Mount Druitt.
- The graffiti here is awesome. As we all know, I love to rant on about graffiti (especially on historical sites), but it fits perfectly here and it's art.
- Nicole is the shit and I'm going to miss her. xx
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