Easter weekend was coming up, which meant my highly anticipated visit to Bradon in Groningen was coming up too! For my last day in Paris for a little bit, Kendra and I spent the day going to the Grande Mosquee of Paris, Musee du Moyen Age and more Chez Papa with our favorite frenchman! Then... off to Groningen... but first! PICTURES!
The tea room of the Mosquee was the real reason we went. Unfortunately, it was a super rainy day, so it wasn't as beautiful as it could have been. It still managed to be adorable, though!
The selection of pastries... I was drooling while the two elderly french ladies in front of us painstakingly picked out 20 for takeaway. Excruciating!
The covered sunroom side of the tearoom was warmer, but kinda... creepy feeling. We opted for an outside table, despite the rain.
Pastries were 2 E each, as was the cup of ABSOLUTELY AMAZING sweet mint tea. Honestly, one of the most surprising tastes yet it Paris. I wasn't expecting it to be so... fresh AND honey-like! Kendra laughed at my expression of completely-overwhelmed-with-beauty-and happiness.
Up close and personal with my baclava and ... swirly version of baclava? I honestly just got that cause it was the biggest pastry and they all cost the same.
Inside the actual Mosquee (which took us a while to find the real entrance) ... so surreal.
Look at Kendra inappropriately praying! Just kidding... I surprise-photographed her. There was a school group checking out the Mosquee as well (Yes... it is spelt with two e's, and it's pronounced mosk-ay here!). There was also an architecture sketching group spread all over the place. I wanted to be part of their class.
How is this place so GREEN already?
Beautiful!
Pretty Epic! After that, we debated some options of what to do with the rest of our day before dinner, and we decided upon the Musee du Moyen Age at Hotel Cluny because it was nearish, and sort of on the way to Chez Papa. No photos of inside, cause I was too busy learning stuff, but it was pretty epic. There was stuff in there over a 1000 years old! There was also a fridgedaire room that was excavated out of the ruins under the hotel that was so incredibly unexpected and HUGE! It was this GIANT room of whatever was there a bajillion years ago with columns that dated back to Christ times! Madness! There were also lots of pieces of art with circumcision in them, so we giggled a lot. We kept saying, "Oh, Jesus!" to express amazement, only to realize everything we were looking at had something to do with Jesus and we would feel rather inappropriate. The one time I thought to take pictures was in one room that was part of the original hotel... a little chapel of some kind that managed to survive through all the wars and madness and stay completely intact. It's pretty impressive.
After that we arranged with our frenchman friend, Michel, to meet up a little early for coffee before dinner. While at coffee a lady asked for directions and, since I've been to Chez Papa now 4 time, I was a little familiar with the area so I helped her out. Michel said, "That was really nice of you, a Parisian would never help her out." To which, I came to the realization, that THAT is why everyone asks me for directions. NOT because they believe I am Parisian, but because I'm so clearly not Parisian, I might try and help even if I'm not sure! We all laughed at my expense at this realization, and then continued laughing for the next couple of hours all the way into our dinner at Chez Papa. Dinner was amazing, as always. I didn't photograph any food! WHAT WAS I DOING? Well, laughing a lot. And trying to learn french from Michel who is so, so patient with us. We eventually all had to go to our various responsibilities that night, so we sadly parted ways. While laughing.
I frantically packed that night and then sat on Facebook for a good hour paranoid about the following morning with my 10 am train. I was told to be at the platform an hour early to claim my reservation. The lady who sold me my tickets before, is clearly a mean one. I get there an hour early, decide I should ask what's up at the ticket office, so I wait in like for fifteen minutes. I somehow ended up talking to the nicest, english-speaking ticket lady EVER! When I asked how I claimed my reservation she kindly informed me that I already had one and I didn't have to be there early. I asked if maybe she could check if there were any cheaper trains since I'd stood in line, and she happily told me there was one that would cost me 5 EURO, not 40 like the girl had told me was the only option before. The only catch? It left from charles Du Gaulle, not Gare du Nord. And not for two hours. There goes my day in Amsterdam! But I was so stoked, I happily exchanged my ticket with my refund going right back on my credit card. She offered to also exchange my return ticket, but I didn't want to get ahead of myself. She then excitedly told me that I could even use my eurail pass to get to the airport, so I wouldn't need to buy that ticket either! Here is where my misinterpretation comes in.
I thanked her profusely, grabbed my backpack, grabbed a quick brekkie at a nearby cafe (6 E!), and hopped on the RER B to CDG (look at all them letters!). About half an hour later I joyfully hopped off the train and strolled up to CDG to check out my train details. Unfortunately, like every other RER train this one needed a validated ticket for exiting the platform. Which I did not have. I pulled out my eurail pass and stared at it for ten minutes, trying to figure out how it was supposed to help me pass this barrier. Meanwhile, everyone else on my train passes through effortlessly with little beeps of their tickets. I finally realize that something has gone wrong and I probably should have just shelled out the 9 euro for the RER ticket, but it's too late now, so I press the little help button by the turnstiles. 5000 times. Half an hour later, moved to tears I am still frantically pressing the stupid help button. I conclude it must not be working. I walk across the platform to the other help button. It makes a clicky sound! I press it -- nothing. I hold it and speak into the perforated plastic cover -- nothing. Fifteen minutes or so of repeat until this little french lady realizes that I am stuck and confesses that she too is stuck! We both continue to press the button and be frustrated. Finally I start crying, and she precedes to start patting my back nattering on in French and making tut tut sounds.
Finally, a third man joins our party, and after more frustration a gate of the turnstiles opens. We think it's for us so the man runs through -- only to have it close on half his body. He wrestles through it, which then brings about the idea for the lady, who squeezes through the little plastic door. She then beckons me to pass her my backpack and squeeze through. Another mob of ticket-wielding passengers in disembarking a train so it's now or never. I bite the bullet, trust this lady with my backpack which I toss over the barrier, squeeze through the panels (praying security doesn't now decide to answer our pleas), rip out a little bit of hair on the way, but break free into the CDG train terminal! Oh the drama.
Then I realize it's still and hour and a half till my train. I fool around on facebook for an hour, and then decide I should probably figure out my ticket. I talk to the guy at the counter who says it's all good for me to go on the train with my little reservation and validated eurail pass as long as I validate the ticket at one of the yellow boxes. I thank him and then precede to run around the terminal like a maniac looking for the STUPID YELLOW BOX! Unfortunately, the little machines where you can buy tickets are also yellow so I spent a very long time trying to figure out how to validate my ticket on one of these, likely looking like both and idiot and a maniac. Tears were shed. Finally I decided SCREW VALIDATION, because I needed to get to my train (ten minutes till departure!). I exit the sliding glass doors to the platform and... there is a little yellow box that says 'validate' on it. I laugh hysterically and shed some more tears, and attempt to validate the ticket, now deciding that if it didn't work, it wasn't 'meant to be'.
I get to the platform and the train is delayed. I make sure I'm on the right part of the platform so I can LEAP onto my train before it speeds away. The train comes, I excitedly find my seat and get all comfy, and then 20 MINUTES LATER it finally leaves. I am now realizing this is only my first major train, and that I have a connection to make in Brussels. I also have never taken a train before at this point, so I have no idea how to know when to get off. I still, also, don't trust I'm on the right train. Three hours of Death Cab for Cutie and watching the scenery go by, I arrive in Brussels. Yes, three hours. Know why? Because my five euro ticket is most certainly NOT a high speed train. I have five minutes to make my connection so I jump around looking possessed until I find a screen with all my platform info and... ha! This train is delayed ten minutes. I get to my platform which is STACKED with elderly brits. Their (also british) tour guide is informing them all that, "the next train may be a bit packed, because the earlier one was cancelled!". He is very cheerful, but you can see under the cheer that he is absolutely pissed. My keen actor abilities help me to see subtext, ya know.
Anyways, finally we get on the train and I end up in what is probably the train-equivalent of the 'bitch seat' -- the little lonely one seat at the back by the noisy door to the cabin where the announcer guy sits. Now, it is worth noting that Bradon had told me I would need to be on the right half of the train because it would split at some point in my journey. I didn't realize he meant my very last train to Groningen, so for the entire journey I thought every single train I was on was going to break in half and I would be on a completely different route than planned. For the next four hours, since there was no way I could sleep, I read the entire book The Boy in the Striped Pajamas. I do not recommend holocaust books while worrying where your train is heading. It was a good book though. I cried. Surprise!
Finally, I end up in Amsterdam. Here, I think I'm home free. I have it in my head that Amsterdam is like a half hour away from Groningen and that I just have to hop onto this train that will be waiting there for me. NO! WRONG! I am starving at this point, so I grab an amazing pastry that vaguely resembles a danish (heh heh) and eat it in 30 seconds flat. I had two dutch girls gawk at me in full disgust. I got crumbs everywhere in my circle scarf, and then struggled to rid myself of them for the next 2 minutes. They continued to gawk. I just wanted to tell them I was Canadian so they would like me!
I try my hand at those yellow machines again to figure something else -- no. I go to information and ask how to get to Groningen. He says, "Platform 13b, via Amersfoort" to which I reply, "OMG THANKS SOOOO MUCH!" Ugh. I'm so embarrassing. I get on this train and end up sitting in a little booth with two ladies who bought a lot of hand cream and are each sharing the smells of ALL their finds which each other (and... by proximity, with me). A guy who seems my age is also sitting in our little group of seats. I immediately put headphones in and pretend to be asleep. The old ladies chat in dutch with the guy the whole train ride, which I struggle to keep from giggling at because DUTCH IS SOOOO FUNNY!!!!!! Really. I have never found a language so hilarious sounding! It doesn't sound real! Maybe I was just passed the point of no return with my sanity at this point, but all I wanted to do was giggle and mock. Mean mean girl.
So the whole train ride I'm panicking that THIS is the train that spits in half. The old ladies indicate they're getting off at a stop, so I stand up to let them past me into the aisle. One of the ladies trips and grabs out AT MY SCARF, which, reminder, is a circle so she CHOKES ME! And then she laughs at me when I have a shocked expression and pushes past me out of the train. I then turn music on my headphones and act real pissed for the next couple stops till our train terminates. In Amersfoort! Now I'm in a real panic, because, WHERE THE HELL IS AMERSFOORT? This platform also is not very, "Hi, I'm a city people actually live in"-esque either, so... after, let's say, 10 hours so far of random trains, this is not what I want to have to deal with. I frantically text Bradon, who is on his way into an exam. He tries to explain the system to me in as few characters as possible because we are both trying to conserve texts. I cry some more and get mad at Bradon for no particular reason and then ask a train conductor, in tears, which train I should be getting on. He tells me where to wait, and for what train, and then I sulk for twenty minutes while waiting for it.
FINALLY the train that has Groningen as it's destination arrives and... there are no seats left for me once I find the 2nd class cabin. I am feeling very indignant at this point. But I playing the part of brave backpacker so I stand strong for the next 45 minutes or so until a lovely old lady (sooo many old ladies!!) grabs my attention to give me her seat as she departs the train. Neener neener neener I think at the people who come onto the train at this point and have to STAND! MUAHAHA! I sit for the next 45 minutes or something on facebook (free wifi!) looking at goofy photos and feeling significantly cheered. 'Backpacking' brings out the brat in me.
Once the train arrives in Groningen all my random anger for Bradon is gone and I happily book it off the train, excitedly looking for that cute boy. When I track him down I do my best to make it a Love Actually-esque reunion. It's cute and stuff. Then we have to walk to the dorm, but I couldn't care less! Even though I could swear my foot arches were exploding.
That's all for now, because the fun stuff that happened in four days of Groningen would make this blog a little to much along the same length as The Boy in the Striped Pajamas. I'll write soon! I'm all sick in Paris right now so... what else am I going to do?! BISOUS! (X3 to be all dutch-like, ja?)
