Perigueux

Last night, I took the train from Paris south to Perigueux, the city I am placed in this year. 

The train ride through the French countryside was beautiful, and also smelly. I hate to confirm the stereotype that there is always a lingering smell of body odor in most enclosed spaces in France, but so far it has proved to be at least 60% true. I don't really mind, I hate showering as much as the next person, but I think we all know what happened to Jerry Seinfeld when he borrowed that B.O filled car. That smell will follow you around for DAYS. Luckily I don't have any street cred to worry about here. Yet. 

I was also (again) preoccupied with murderous thoughts toward my damn suitcase whilst on the metro to get to the train station. It continues to be a thorn in my side, and is really interfering with my ability to keep it real in my current nomadic situation. There was a reason nomads didn't carry 45 pound blaze orange duffel bags on wheels and I just learned it the hard way. The rolling suitcase I have is fine. But everybody, for the love of jebus please promise me you will never purchase a duffel bag on wheels. I got to Perigueux, checked into my hotel, and wandered the city that will be my home for the next few months. Being a fairly small town (30,000), it was pretty much a ghost town on a Sunday night. It's pretty adorable, though, with lots of cobblestone town squares, shops, cafes, and restaurants. I also found this place, of which I expect to be a frequent costumer:

Today I decided to switch hotels because I found one that was $20 cheaper per night, although unfortunately also in an apparently secret location across town (why I will spend $10 on a mojito the size of a juice glass but not $20 to preserve my sanity remains a mystery). I looked for that place for 2 hours, enlisting the help of multiple passerby who had never heard of it. I walked through the rain with my goddamn 80 pounds of luggage, and even accidentally rolled my large-and-in-charge suitcase through a pile of dog poop (it's everywhere). At first I was disgusted and annoyed, but then I looked down at the suitcase I hate so much, and gave it a look that said "that's what you get for being so annoying" and decided that karma was definitely at work here. Fortunately, due to the sudden rainstorm I rolled through enough puddles to allow me to convince myself that the dog poop is no longer present. Regardless, I won't be eating off the floor for awhile. We all have to make sacrifices sometimes. 

I asked again for directions, which this time led me about a mile down a different road and finally, up the steepest hill I've ever seen. I was starting to wonder why there were "private property" signs everywhere when an elderly lady and her dog emerged from her house and yelled at me to go away. I tried to ask where the hotel was and explained that I was simply lost, but then she started waving her cane at me and I didn't really want to find out how fierce that dog was. It probably weighed as much as Kate Middleton, so I know I could definitely kill it by sitting on it, but I didn't feel that being forced to kill a dog was the best way to start a the year in a new city. After two hours with all my luggage, up and down hills, through the rain and dog feces, I admitted defeat. On the way back, a man saw me struggling with the f-ing suitcase and offered me a ride to wherever I was going, but I declined on the off chance he turned out to be creepy. I really don't have the language skills to negotiate myself out of an abduction right now. A few months down the road, we'll see. 

After re-checking into my hotel, which was very confusing for the lady with whom I'd just checked out with two hours earlier, I went explore the Dorogne Riverwalk. It's very beautiful, full of old people out for walks together. I decided that if I want a chance at eating a home cooked french meal, I'll probably have to network around there. There's nothing wrong with cruising for elderly friends by the river, right? There's worse people you can pick up on the streets. Trust me (just kidding, mom). After school hours, the river path was filled up with groups high schoolers huddled together smoking cigarettes. I think this area might be the American small town social scene equivalent of a Wal Mart, only I didn't see anyone trying to pass off a mesh bag as a dress and everyone I saw was still in possession of all their teeth. The French always do everything just a LITTLE bit classier than we do. 

I am going to leave you with a picture of the bane of my existence and then I will promise not to discuss it anymore. Know that it's worse than it looks, and that as far as enemies go, I do realize I'm pretty lucky that mine does not have the ability to talk or move. Goodnight peeps.

Don't pretend you aren't jealous of that carpeting. 

J'arrive!

This has been a big year for me. I did three things from my list of Thing's I'd Never Do, which were a) to get twitter b) get involved with The Hunger Games, and c) have a blog. Also on the list: plan my life more than two days out, develop an interest in learning table manners and organizational habits, and stop making fun of Rachael Ray. I can't help it. Why is she always smiling? Didn't she become famous because of her connection to Oprah? If that's the case, she should really be crying in public more. And if she does,  I want to be the first to know. 

But I digress. I always thought that people who blog were trying to do one of two things: prove to everyone that their life is more exciting than yours, or try to launch some kind of writing career. I think of them as the type of people who sing in karaoke bars hoping it will lead to becoming the next Mariah Carey. But have you seen Mariah Carey lately? She's still trying to pretend she can dress like it's 1992 and is married to someone who can't be bothered to tie his shoes in public. If we all had that lifestyle, think of the world we'd live in. But anyway, here I am. Blogging. I should know better than to ever think I'm too cool for something. My life is not together enough to allow me the ability to be judgemental. So here I am. I also want you to know that the title of my blog is an outright lie. I just wanted to bring an element of Jay-Z to this thing, maybe make it more exciting, but I am fairly certain that La France will present more than its fair share of problems for me in the near future. Don't think that I think I have it all figured out, because Kim Kardashian will probably learn to read before I figure out France. Just saying. 

I got to France yesterday, hauled all 80+ pounds of luggage on 3 separate trains up and down LOTS of stairs with no familiarity of how Paris metro, on 2 hours of sleep in 50 some hours. I still can't look at my luggage without having murderous thoughts and fantasies involving my luggage and cliffs and fires. I dropped my stuff off at the hotel and wandered around Paris for a few hours. Paris is wonderful. I have never seen such a beautiful city, every building looks like it hasn't been modified in years, and there is what I would guess to be a one-to-one cafe to resident ratio. It's amazing. I met some girls from my program who are also in Paris for dinner. They were great and it was nice to hang out with other people. Then I went home and slept for 15 hours. 15 hours! I can't get over it. That's a personal record, I've been thinking about it all 8 hours I've been awake today. 

This afternoon, at the bright hour of 3pm, I finally left the hotel and walked around. I was supposed to meet the girls from my program again at 5:30 for happy hour/ dinner, but unfortunately due to my inability to read an email completely, I went to the wrong place. I was a little late, too, so assumed maybe they had left for the restaurant area we went to last night in St Germain des Pres, and wandered for a few hours hoping to see them. I was also preoccupied with how great a beer would taste right about then, and maybe a conversation with a live person, but I'm not the type of girl to go to a bar alone. I don't really excel at small talk/meeting people and I REALLY don't excel at French, but found a nice looking bar advertising my two favorite words in the english dictionary : Happy Hour. I remembered what Rick Steves told me during our nights together this summer; he said if you are shy and not wanting to meet people while vacationing alone you will likely not have fun. He told me to get out of that comfort zone and talk to people you don't know, because that's the point of traveling, right? So I said "ok Rick, I'll do this for you". 

I walked past the bar about 5-7 times trying to work up the courage to sit down and order a drink, surely making the people sitting outside think I'm crazy. But it's all part of a strategy. When meeting new people, I like to force my future acquaintances to at least toss around the question of the likelihood me having special needs. That way, when they meet me, I have nowhere to go but up in terms of their perception of me. They'll realize my disability is not cognitive so much as it is extreme awkwardness. So, I went in and had a beer at the bar and talked to an English couple. I complained about the rain we had all day today and they told me to hush and try living in England. And then we talked about Harry Potter, always a default subject for me. It was glorious. If you're reading this and have never read Harry Potter, you really should get on that just in case you someday meet someone like me. Do it as a favor to me. Then I gave up on my friend finding mission and said to myself, "screw this, I'm going to buy a bottle of wine and start my blog". It was 8pm on a Friday night. I saw several small children whooping it up on my way home. They are cooler than me. I also hope that your Friday night, which starts soon, ends in a similarly exciting fashion. 

I would also like to give a shout out to my ipod, without whom I would surely be curled up on a french street with all my luggage crying like a small child. I downloaded apps for french maps and the metro, and it has saved me multiple times. You are probably thinking, maps are not new things, Katie. And I will tell you that having it on your ipod is so much better, because it looks to passerby that I am not making eye contact or watching the road because I am texting on my iphone and too cool for everyone around me, when I'm actually panic level orange and trying to figure out if I'm at least walking in the general direction of where I'm supposed to be heading. I am probably lost 80% of the time, but lucky for me, lost wandering is one of my favorite activities. All day I was thinking, "why don't I do this more?" Now I have goals. That's exciting. 

This was really long. Don't give up on me, I promise they won't all be this long.