Goodbyes are never easy, and somehow it seems like they're harder to say to a city, because the city can't say it back. Still, I've been doing my best in these last few days before I have to leave Paris for the next chapter of my life. Freshman year officially ended on Friday, giving me a few days to wander without any worries about work to be done or obligations to be kept. Of course, that doesn't make leaving any easier.
I don't think I'm going to be able to find the words to sum up what these past nine months have meant to me. I've learned so much, both academically and personally, and the opportunity to start college in Paris is one that I will be eternally grateful for. Though it was at times difficult-- yes, even life in Paris has its downs-- I can't imagine having done anything differently, because every choice I made gave me the incredible year I experienced.
Don't cry, Paris (it's started to rain). After all, I'll return some day. I know there's no fountain I can throw a coin in to ensure it, but it'll be impossible to stay away for long. Besides, I still haven't seen all the Louvre; I guess I'll just have to come back to rediscover you.
Thank you, Paris. It's been unforgettable.
Katrina
Monday, May 16, 2016
Saturday, May 14, 2016
Spring Break: Nice, Genoa, Cinque Terre, Monaco, and Nice Again
Buckle up, this is gonna be a long one. As I procrastinate on packing up my room, I'm going through all the pictures I took over spring break, already missing the shining water and warm sun. Deciding against going up north to the Nordic countries for spring break was quite possibly the best decision I've made all year; I don't think I could've made it through two weeks of being cold after it just stopped being freezing in Paris. Instead, I spent two weeks (minus the days with strep throat; see previous post) laying on beaches and wandering with a mindset of relaxation.
The Saturday spring break started, I hopped on an eight AM train from Paris to Nice: travel time a little under six hours, napping through much of it. I stayed in Nice for three nights and immediately fell in love with the city; everyone was relaxed and friendly, and the weather was absolutely amazing. The second day I was there, I actually walked two towns over to Villefrance-sur-Mer with a girl I met at my hostel, and the view from the beach was absolutely stunning and definitely worth the 2+ hours it took to walk there (we took a train back).
Leaving the beautiful sun of Nice (though I know the pictures don't look like it), I hopped on a train to Genoa, Italy, where I stayed for two nights. Things I appreciate about hostels: very cheap way to travel. Things I don't appreciate about hostels: bunking in a room with people who snore like bears. Anyway, I digress. Genoa seems to have been built on a hill: you can't walk for more than ten feet without encountering an incline or decline unless you're walking right along the water, at the Old Port. Still, with all the hills, at least I earned the gelato I ate-- because when in Italy, it's always gelato o'clock.
Rolling out of bed bright and early to catch my train (well, trains plural, if you want to be specific) to Monterosso in the Cinque Terre, I noticed I felt under the weather, but thought nothing of it. Oh how wrong I was. My first day in Cinque Terre was absolutely beautiful: the sun was shining, there was a nice breeze, and the water was the bluest I had ever seen. The next few days, however, I was out of commission with strep throat-- see previous post for details. Luckily, I was cured by my last full day in Cinque Terre, which meant that I did in fact get to see all the towns, though I wasn't able to hike between them.
The conclusion I came to in my day wandering the Cinque Terre villages was that I absolutely have to return, ideally sometime in late June/early July so I can truly experience the beauty of what the towns have to offer. The day I had to explore was mildly overcast, but the towns were still absolutely stunning, tiny streets packed with stalls filled with everything you could imagine. I have just one complaint to file: according to the sign, there are 350 steps from the train station up to the town of Corniglia, the third Cinque Terre village. After careful counting, however, I discovered that there are, in fact, 383. Corniglia, you are a cruel taunt. Fix your signage. Apart from that, however, the villages were absolutely stunning.
While waiting for my train to take me all the way from Cinque Terre back to Nice for the last few days of my break, I ran into a girl who also had a large duffel backpack on. As it turned out, she was also going from Cinque Terre to Nice and staying there for a few nights; thus, a friendship was born. We ended up taking a day trip to Monaco from Nice for one of the days, which was super fun though killed my feet, because, though you may not know this, Monaco is also built entirely on a hill. And no, I did not gamble-- as it turns out, you have to pay fifteen euros just to be able to enter the casino, and I was not about to bet that I could earn back that fifteen euros on my mediocre poker skills. Still, wandering around Monaco was an amazing time.
My last two days I just spent laying on the beach in Nice. The sun was shining, the temperature was perfect, and I never wanted to leave, but alas, all good things must come to an end. Saturday night, after my final beach day, I packed up and left my hostel and boarded the train back to Paris, much more relaxed and much more sunburned than two weeks prior.
Katrina
The Saturday spring break started, I hopped on an eight AM train from Paris to Nice: travel time a little under six hours, napping through much of it. I stayed in Nice for three nights and immediately fell in love with the city; everyone was relaxed and friendly, and the weather was absolutely amazing. The second day I was there, I actually walked two towns over to Villefrance-sur-Mer with a girl I met at my hostel, and the view from the beach was absolutely stunning and definitely worth the 2+ hours it took to walk there (we took a train back).
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| The beach-- covered in rocks |
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| The view from the old tower (yes, it was an overcast morning) |
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| It says it's a street, but I don't believe it... |
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| Apparently they like motorcycles in Italy |
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| The Old Port |
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| The old ship at the Old Port |
The conclusion I came to in my day wandering the Cinque Terre villages was that I absolutely have to return, ideally sometime in late June/early July so I can truly experience the beauty of what the towns have to offer. The day I had to explore was mildly overcast, but the towns were still absolutely stunning, tiny streets packed with stalls filled with everything you could imagine. I have just one complaint to file: according to the sign, there are 350 steps from the train station up to the town of Corniglia, the third Cinque Terre village. After careful counting, however, I discovered that there are, in fact, 383. Corniglia, you are a cruel taunt. Fix your signage. Apart from that, however, the villages were absolutely stunning.
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| Is this not the most beautiful view you've ever seen? |
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| And then it was overcast |
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| The main street in Vernazza |
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| The town of Vernazza |
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| The stormy seas |
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| One of the many switchbacks on the stairs up to Corniglia |
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| Look, I got someone to take a picture of me! (Yes, I am wearing an NYU shirt. It was the only one I had that had been unaffected by my illness) |
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| A church in Manarola |
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| Is this sunset even real? (Spoiler: yes) |
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| The seaside of Monaco |
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| Large city; small country |
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| The newfound friends I went exploring with |
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| It's a good thing you can't see my sunburns |
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| I still can't believe actual people live here |
Katrina
Wednesday, May 4, 2016
Strep Throat in Cinque Terre
I am in love with the European health care system.
Over spring break, I travelled from Nice to Genoa to Cinque Terre and back to Nice. Somewhere in the Nice-Genoa-Cinque Terre leg of the trip, however, I encountered a bacteria that decided it was going to latch onto my throat and not let go for dear life. Yes, dear readers, I woke up in my lovely hotel in the first day of my visit to the Cinque Terre with no energy and a sharp pain in my throat. Cut to the following day, when I couldn't swallow for fear of tiny knives appearing in my saliva to cut up my throat, and I decided that something had to be done.
Unable to figure out how to find a doctor in the tiny village of Monterosso al Mare without speaking a word of Italian, I went down to reception and asked the woman at the desk if she would call a doctor for me. I must have looked pretty pathetic, because she assured me everything would be taken care of, and I was sent back up to my room with a pot of tea, some cold cuts of ham, and some crackers. An hour later, there was a knock on my door.
In walks an old man with wispy grey hair, a polished walking stick, and a well-used leather bag. He was the epitome of the Italian doctors you would expect to see in movies in the 1940s, yet somehow he had just appeared in my hotel room. I did my best to explain the problem in as few words as possible, still not able to do much with my throat. The doctor then told me that most places in Italy, they don't do strep tests because the small towns don't have the technology. Instead, he grabbed his light and peered down my throat, made some vague, non-committal noises, and then informed me that I should start antibiotics right away.
I went down to reception with the doctor and was immediately informed by the hotel staff that they would be sending someone to pick up my prescriptions for me, because the kindness of strangers is endless. I did my best to thank everyone profusely while still not being able to speak, got some more tea, and went back upstairs to await the antibiotics.
Over the next few days, my throat slowly recovered, and I managed to get out and spend my last day in Cinque Terre exploring the villages. That's for another post, though; today, I want to end by saying that thanks to European health care, I paid a total of 52 euros for both the doctor visit and all the antibiotics I was prescribed. Europe doesn't leave you out to dry if you're sick in one of its countries. Not only that, but the kindness I experienced at my hotel in Cinque Terre truly gave me a sense of the kindness of strangers; when you're in dire straights, there will always be someone there to help you out.
Katrina
Over spring break, I travelled from Nice to Genoa to Cinque Terre and back to Nice. Somewhere in the Nice-Genoa-Cinque Terre leg of the trip, however, I encountered a bacteria that decided it was going to latch onto my throat and not let go for dear life. Yes, dear readers, I woke up in my lovely hotel in the first day of my visit to the Cinque Terre with no energy and a sharp pain in my throat. Cut to the following day, when I couldn't swallow for fear of tiny knives appearing in my saliva to cut up my throat, and I decided that something had to be done.
Unable to figure out how to find a doctor in the tiny village of Monterosso al Mare without speaking a word of Italian, I went down to reception and asked the woman at the desk if she would call a doctor for me. I must have looked pretty pathetic, because she assured me everything would be taken care of, and I was sent back up to my room with a pot of tea, some cold cuts of ham, and some crackers. An hour later, there was a knock on my door.
In walks an old man with wispy grey hair, a polished walking stick, and a well-used leather bag. He was the epitome of the Italian doctors you would expect to see in movies in the 1940s, yet somehow he had just appeared in my hotel room. I did my best to explain the problem in as few words as possible, still not able to do much with my throat. The doctor then told me that most places in Italy, they don't do strep tests because the small towns don't have the technology. Instead, he grabbed his light and peered down my throat, made some vague, non-committal noises, and then informed me that I should start antibiotics right away.
I went down to reception with the doctor and was immediately informed by the hotel staff that they would be sending someone to pick up my prescriptions for me, because the kindness of strangers is endless. I did my best to thank everyone profusely while still not being able to speak, got some more tea, and went back upstairs to await the antibiotics.
Over the next few days, my throat slowly recovered, and I managed to get out and spend my last day in Cinque Terre exploring the villages. That's for another post, though; today, I want to end by saying that thanks to European health care, I paid a total of 52 euros for both the doctor visit and all the antibiotics I was prescribed. Europe doesn't leave you out to dry if you're sick in one of its countries. Not only that, but the kindness I experienced at my hotel in Cinque Terre truly gave me a sense of the kindness of strangers; when you're in dire straights, there will always be someone there to help you out.
Katrina
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