Getting Home

We sure didn't get to see much of Paris--the catacombs and a hospital, but that didn't change the fact that we had plane tickets leaving France early on Tuesday morning (Aug. 9).

We were up, showered, packed and waiting at the gate for the Metro to open at 5:30am. Teresa, pumped full of French pain killers and antibiotics, waved away my suggestion of an expensive cab ride to the airport and we braved the urine-smelling subway again.

The flight to Iceland was manageable and we easily bought bus tickets to the Blue Lagoon, the main reason I wanted to stop overnight in Reykjavik. This geothermal spa is just 20 minutes from the airport and 40 minutes from Reykjavik, making it one of Iceland's main tourist destinations.

Through the lava to the spa.

We ate the traditional Icelandic buffet for lunch. Looking back at this menu, I see that what I had taken for beef, had to have been Minke whale. I went back for seconds, so it must have been delicious.

(Un)dressed for the spa. 

She's putting on a brave face--still in a lot of pain.

The spa itself was amazing. The water is so heavy with minerals that you cannot see your hand six inches under the surface. And hot! You can move around to find the perfect temperature, but the places where the water is pumped in are nearly scalding.

Teresa found the water and the sunshine to be too much and relaxed just inside the building where she could still people watch. Unlike many people, I did not take my camera into the spa area, so you'll have to trust me that the people were very funny. One of the things this spa is known for is the mineral mud mask, which you can just scoop out of buckets at the side of the water, so many people were coated with a fine, silty white mud. We saw a lot of older people and a bunch of backpacking types. We also noticed many families with small children, which makes sense because children under 13 have free admission. The main age group missing: teenagers.

Another surprise, particularly after the racial diversity of London and (even more so) Paris, was the overwhelming lack of people of color.

 

Photo of a stranger taking a picture of her friend.

We stayed at a small guest house rather than a hotel. It had the most comfortable beds ever and blackout shades--a necessity in the far north in August. We took very refreshing naps and then ventured out to find something to eat. Reykjavik was clean and quaint. I really wish we had had more time to explore the downtown shops and wander around. We did find an upper-floor coffee house that served a decent veggie chili at 9:30pm.

Hallgrim's Church, just steps from our guesthouse

Sunna, our host, served a simple breakfast the next morning and then we were off to the airport for our loooong trip home. Here's how it broke down: seven hours to New York,  five scheduled hours at JFK airport, a 90 minute delay, six hours to Seattle, another hour (or more) wait for our luggage. We were supposed to arrive at Sea-Tac around 9:30; we didn't make it to our hotel in downtown Seattle until 1am. Longest day ever.

My son Nik drove up from Vancouver the next morning and we had lunch and made a quick visit to Pike Place Market before driving home.

The jet lag that I totally avoided on the east-bound trip, hit me hard when I got home. Still I was able to rally enough for this:

Portland State University Commencement, August 13

Où est l'hôpital?

Ah, Paris: city of lights, romance and magic.

Although I personally had had enough of Paris (city of dirt, smells, and incomprehension) the weekend before, I still stuck us on a plane to France on Saturday night. My original plan had us taking the EuroStar train, but I waited too long to get tickets and flying turned out to be more affordable. We got into Paris late that night, took the metro to the hotel and crashed. We didn't even eat a proper dinner.

Sticker on a window across from the hotel.

The next morning Teresa ordered us a French breakfast (coffee, orange juice and croissants) and we headed for the Catacombs. There was a line. It wrapped around the block. We waited for more than two and a half hours only to find out that half of the tour was closed (reason: incomprehensible). I paid for the audio tours in English anyway. I didn't want a repeat of my Louvre experience.

I've been to New Mexico's Carlsbad Caverns three times in my life. There is inevitably a group of people who decide to ignore the subterranean wonders and instead talk loudly while they power walk from the entrance to the exit.

It is the same for the Catacombs. The women in line behind us, who conversed (in English) using their outside voices as we waited for all those hours, didn't pause or hush once inside. I choose to let them pass; Teresa pushed to get farther ahead. It was inconsiderate to both the place and the other visitors.

The Catacombs were originally limestone quarries.

Stop! Here is the empire of the dead.

The collection of bones was massive. This was another place, like many of the museums, where no flash photography was allowed. The couple of pictures I took are nearly black. However, not everyone follows the rules; you can see many images here.

All this time, Teresa is not feeling well. She has an intermittent fever, as well as headache, and neck and back pain. We grabb a late lunch and head back to the hotel. At one point we come around a corner and get a surprise view of the Eiffel Tower. It would prove to be Teresa's only view.

The next morning Teresa barely made it down to the breakfast room before crawling back into bed where she tossed and turned. Her fever was higher and she had also vomited that night.

I don't take my kids to the doctor often. I figure that the treatment for most illness is rest and fluids. But in my mind (corroborated by Web MD), fever + vomiting + neck pain + young adult = meningitis. I asked at the front desk about an English-speaking doctor and was instead recommended to go around the corner to the hospital. It was so close that we had to call three times to get a taxi to come--the fare was just not worth the effort.

At the hospital they asked for Teresa's ID, but she didn't have to fill out any other paperwork before she was ushered into a waiting room. They seemed to move past meningitis pretty quickly and focused on her appendix. Over the course of many hours, she had the usual lab tests, plus an ultrasound, CT scan, and X-rays. They were friendly, thorough, and patient with our inadequate French and their inadequate English. At no point did any of the nurses or doctors exclaim "Sacré bleu! Trés mal!" so I figured that it was not life threatening.

Finally I was told that Teresa had a pulmonary infection in her right lung. She was prescribed pain meds and antibiotics and told that she could go. "But don't I pay anything?" I asked. The doctor looked aghast. "Non! Madame, this is FRANCE!"

We were at the hospital from 11am to 8pm, but with the dose of medication in her IV drip, Teresa was able to walk out of the hospital and down the street to our hotel. I ran out a bit later to a late-night pharmacy to fill her prescription and grab some takeout.

I woke her at four in the morning to head to the airport. Her two-day visit to Paris had resulted in a half day of sightseeing and the most unusual souvenir: a chest x-ray showing a shadow at the bottom of her lung.

Fast Train to Paris

We left our flats at 4:30am on Friday to take a quick tour of Paris. With the opening of the Channel Tunnel in 1994, it now takes about two hours to get from London to Paris.

I'd never been to Paris and I wasn't sure what to expect. We started with a visit to the Louvre, where we had just two hours, no guide and no audio tour. I was highly frustrated by not knowing what I was looking at (none of the plaques were translated) and decided about 90 minutes into the visit that a cup of coffee would be the most productive use of my remaining time. But I couldn't find my way out. All the signs led to the same place--a guard who told me that I had to go a different way. I walked through the same sculpture gallery three times before finally going UP a set of stairs that led to the steps DOWN and out. I may or may not have stood in a corner hyperventilating.

Winged Victory of Samotrace, circa 190 B.C.

8.5 million people visit the Louvre each year.

It felt like most of them were there on Friday.

The Mona Lisa is considerably

smaller than I had expected.

 

St. Mary Magdalene, 1510

Since the Da Vinci Code, 

Mary M. is more famous than ever.

We didn't have time to ascend the Eiffel Tower, but got to see the structure first-hand. Then we headed to a boat tour of the Seine.

George Clooney billboard. 

I don't think this counts as a celebrity sighting.

While some people headed back to London after the group dinner, I had elected to stay through the weekend. I got some sleep so I'd be ready to start Saturday with a trip to Versailles.

More in the next blog...

Money Matters

I'm not a saver; I'm a spender. But London is an expensive city. In a restaurant tonight, a bottle of Coke was listed at £2.95. At today's exchange rate, that's $4.75. (I mentioned that this was a good time to kick a Coke habit, and got some concerned looks.) It gets even worse when you realize that:

1. there are never free refills,
2. bread on the table will be charged to your bill unless you ask them to take it away, and
3. unless you specify "tap" water, you'll get bottled--and yes, there's a charge for that.

It's sometimes difficult to remember that the play money you're spending (look, the Queen!) is, in fact, directly connected to what is--or rather, what WAS--in your bank account back home.

Today I tried to stiff a street vendor out of 5p. That's 5 pence, and if you don't know, there are 100 pence to a pound (£). But a 5p coin looks remarkably like a dime. So I was just confused, not dishonest.

The British currency system was decimalized in 1971, making 100 pence to the pound. This is when they did away with the shilling. It used to be that twelve pence equaled a shilling, and there were twenty shillings to a pound. So, each pound had 240 pence (pennies). Confusing? Sure, but we Americans are still measuring things with twelve inches to a foot and 5280 feet to a mile!

Considering that so many of the European Union countries have adopted a single currency, the Euro (€), it makes me wonder why Britain hasn't made the switch. An article from July 14 in the Daily Mail, claims that "workers are £20 worse off than they would be if Britain joined the single currency, according to a European pay report out today." I think it's just a matter of time before Britain adopts the Euro and a person can travel all over Europe using the same currency.

Now, does anyone remember how many knuts to a galleon?

Arrival

On the plane...so excited!

London is huge. When you fly over the city, you see just how massive it is. And as you get closer to the runway, the plane flies over all these neighborhoods full of matching houses--but unlike in the States, where the cookie-cutter houses were built with particle board in the last 10 years, these houses in London are really old. Almost beyond understanding for your average American, who thinks 1776 is the start of history.

You can't help but be surrounded by real history here. The building that houses the Florida State University Study Center was built in the 1700s in the heart of a ritzy area now known for publishing houses and education. The British Museum (we'll be there on July 22nd!) is just a block down the street. Many things are within walking distance.

I met my roommates. I unpacked. (And I think I packed well, since I made sure that I could carry everything I brought at once, by myself.) I walked around the neighborhood. I had dinner. It was all fun, and exhausting.

Tomorrow we have a long day of class. I'll be presenting information about Xtranormal, together with two other women. Apparently we're now experts.

Here's Chick, checking out a bigger chicken 

in the Bloomsbury Square playground, close to our flat.

Train-ing Day

Today I caught the train from Vancouver, Washington to Tacoma. This was the first leg of my journey to London. From Tacoma, I took a bus to the Seattle airport, where I am now waiting for Icelandair Flight 680 to Reykjavik, Iceland.

It's been a long time since I took a train anywhere--over eleven years, in fact. Back in 2000, I took my family from Lawrence, Kansas to Victoria, British Columbia for a two-week vacation. Part of that trip was the gorgeous north-bound train ride from Seattle to Vancouver, BC.

Americans don't take the train much. Before I spent my senior year of high school in Finland, I don't think I'd been on a train at all, if you don't count the monorail at Disneyland and the railray at the Oregon Zoo. In Finland, riding the train was commonplace, cheap and easy. I rode all over the country--to visit friends, attend music festivals, camp. Since one of Rotary International's many rules for exchange students was "no driving," we all used the public transportation extensively. (The other Rotary rules--termed the Four D's--were no drinking, no dating, no drugs.)

I think the 1980s were sort of the dark ages for trains in the United States. Amtrak now is efficient and clean. There is free wi-fi on the train. I'd much rather take the train than the bus. (Though the bus driver today did chat me up and give me a butterscotch candy.)

The London multimedia students have been requested to bring a personal mascot to star in photos and videos. I don't think Chick is particularly impressed by the train, particularly considering that he probably came to the United States on a container ship from China.

London Calling

(Yes, I used the most obvious title ever. And now it's done.)

I leave for London in exactly a week. I drive north to Seattle, fly to Iceland, change planes, and fly to Heathrow, arriving around noon on July 14th. I'll be in London for a three-week, six-credit program offered by Florida State University. Then my kid comes and we'll spend another week exploring London, Paris and Iceland.

I'm a little stressed. A lot needs to happen in the next week. Today, for example, was the day I was getting my hair cut and colored. Until the stylist called in sick. Rescheduling is going to be problematic--the only days I don't have things going on are Sunday and Monday, days my stylist doesn't work.

Tomorrow is my oral exam for my Masters degree. I need to buy champagne and peach schnapps and practice making bellinis. There's really no other preparation I can do. "Oral exam" sounds scary--like "defending your dissertation." But everyone I know who has been through this process says that our orals are more like a one-hour conversation amongst friends. Our conversation topic: YA lit. So this can't be anything but fun. And we'll have bellinis and some sort of fabulous baked goods that I'm not providing. Awesome. I'm bringing a stack of books as examples of interesting YA book design, since that was the topic of my final paper.

I still need to buy a few things for the trip. I need to sew a backpack, since I couldn't find what I wanted, and make some pajama pants. I need to get my suitcase out of the closet and see if everything fits in it--and it weighs under 45 pounds.

I need to make 28 meals and freeze them for my family, so that they eat while I'm gone. Just kidding! I don't really cook; they're going to be on their own, like usual. They may not even notice I'm gone.

So wish me luck: I'm off to see the sights, meet new people, and learn some stuff. It's going to be crazy fun!