Easter in Groningen and Designer Dessert!

I'm going to apologize ahead of time for the lack of photos, but I really didn't take my camera out of my backpack once in Groningen. I was too busy being overwhelmed and then spending time with the wonderful people. I did take some iPhone photos of a few fun sights on the first day but that was a total fluke. So much of my Groningen trip revolved around parties and food -- as dorms do, I would guess. I stayed in Bradon's dorm (with my own couch to sleep on!) and met loads of cool international student who I can now call my friends. 

The first night was pretty chill, I was so tired I don't remember much, but I do remember being so grateful for the couch-bed at the end of the night. The next morning we did some shopping in prep for Easter weekend (it was Good Friday) and then we headed out to the flower market (which Bradon had heard was a must-see). Little did we know, it was the biggest flower market in Holland (or, was it all of Europe?). All of Groningen was there (Including the boy I sat by on the train, ironically! I hid from him.), and then some. Here are a few crappy, walk-by photos i tried to grab in the madness. 

Looking pretty tame. Look at the cute buildings!

This was like... a weird automated music-box slash puppet show. So odd.

Flowers! EVERWHERE! At some point there were bunches of 50 tulips for 5 euro. I wish I had had a reason to buy them -- so beautiful.

See the guy in the blue shirt on stage in the background? That's who I was TRYING to photograph. This was the coolest thing ever. He was a dutch auctioneer, auctioning off flowers by the bucketful. Remember how funny I find the dutch language? Add light speed speech to that equation and you will understand my amusement.

There is a random look-out point/sitting area in the middle of the square so we climbed up and this was the view. The funny thing is, this is only one part of the market. It extends down the street, too, for quite some time, before turning into the produce market as well. It was pretty freakin' cool. 

The Good Friday evening Bradon and his group had a 'family dinner' which I got invited to. Two of the girls made most of the food, but everyone tried to bring something. Bradon and I baked a pretty epic cake. Everyone was happy and full by the end of the meal. We went out to some clubs that night which, despite being small, were still better outfitted than pretty much every Calgary club I've been to. There was a lot of glass on the ground though. I am starting to understand the importance of good shoes in Europe.

The next day was pretty relaxed, we did some egg colouring with a kit Bradon's mom had sent (SO MUCH FUN) and watched some goofy movies on netflix. I'm pretty sure we went to bed quite early. I recall laughing a lot this day.

Easter sunday we all went to the Sunday Afternoon Collective at the local warehouse club, Paradigm. In a nutshell: All-day rave from 2 pm till Midnight (actually, 3 am) where everyone is SO NICE and it's beautiful. My legs were so sore the next day from all that dancing, but it was definitely worth it. I swear, club dancing is the new workout regime for me. Alcohol was all priced by tokens, so you had to buy tokens at the coat check area. One token got you a shot or water or a balloon and 2 tokens got you a mixed drink or a beer. I thought the balloons thing was so cute, volleying them all over the dance floor brought about immense amounts of joy. I didn't realize that the balloons were actually used as receptacles for inhaling laughing gas until the next day when I was googling posts about the party. That shed a lot of light on the guys at the back with the compressed gas blowing up balloons. Originally I was like, "Jeez these people are too lazy to blow up their own balloons?!" But now it makes sense.

Anyways! We were dancing around at the rave till about midnight when we decided our bodies could handle it no more, and we wandered home. 

Next day my stuffy nose turned into a full-on sickness. I guess, dancing around with 100's of people in a smokey, poorly ventilated room for several hours can do that. Also, living in a dorm can probably do that too. I hope I didn't get absolutely everyone sick! Anyways, that put me out for basically the whole next day. We did go see the Hunger Games, though! AGAIN! This time with Dutch subtitles which, of course, are hilarious. I was pretty out of it the whole day due to my sickness and then I got feverish around night time when I was supposed to join Bradon on a skype call. I took some of Bradon's precious stash of Tylenol Cold and was konked right out for about 12 hours. 

Since I slept in so much, we basically had to get me ready to catch my train right away. Sad sad sad. It was such a short trip, but I made SO many friends. It also was short enough that I could really, really miss Bradon when I left. Boo! Anyways, said my goodbyes, somehow got looped into promising to come back for Queen's Day (More partying!) and Bradon walked me to the train station just on time for a quick goodbye, filled with tears on my end. I got my own little booth on the train because no one wanted to sit by the sick, blubbering girl. But there was this rather unnerving image for my whole ride. 

Phantom Foot! Anyways, it turns out bringing a wad of kleenex on trains is an excellent aversion tactic. Must try this out on the Metro!!! After a couple of hours and a less-stressful-than-the-first-time transfer in Amersfoort, I ended up in Amsterdam. I bought the exact same pastry I had had at that station the last time, but this time ate it a little more delicately. And in private. For some reason I forgot how trains work and I started panicking that my platform number wasn't on my ticket and I started doing the running-around-like-a-chicken-with-its-head-cut-off thing. Realization: I act really distressed, but never ask for help right away when I'm upset. It's like, "Look how stressed I am! Please come over and acknowledge me! ... No? Ok, I'll ask." Every! Time! So silly. Anyways, I started to ask about the train at the info desk and he immediately spouted a rehearsed shpeal about Thalys trains and their platform without even looking up. Not bad! So I followed his instructions and ended up here. 

Just in time to wait for forty-five minutes. I played Sneezies on my iPhone. 

I still don't know how you're supposed to figure out what train care to get on. I looked for numbers on the train, but this one didn't have them so I just kinda guessed and then followed the seat numbers till I found what I figured was my seat. No one was sitting in the joining seat so I set up comfort headquarters. I still didn't trust my choice though, so I didn't sleep. Just dribbled. Good thing too! Come Brussels these two meany men laughed at me, finger pointing and all, for being on the wrong train car. They also kicked me out of the seat without ceremony despite their being plenty of empty seats left on the train. Meany men. Just following this, the train stewardess (is that what they're called?) comes by to check tickets. I forgot to validate. I panic. I am in the wrong car. I panic more! She comes to me and I try to explain both with what little voice I have. She says it doesn't matter and moves on. I breathe a sigh of relief but then also cry for a while.

 I decide I'm going to find my rightful seat so I can chill a bit, so at the next stop I walk up through the cars guessing at what car is the right one based off of the number of the wrong car (according to meany mens' tickets). I find my seat, but someone is in it. I panic a little more, but start to ask if this seat is the one on my ticket. Tables are turned! HE panics, apologizes and gets up out of the seat, offering it to me. Then I feel really bad, because I understand his situation, and I feel really mean. In my defense I did not point and laugh. 

All is righted about 2/3 through the train ride. I sit down in my correct seat, with someone beside me in the other. It is a lot less comfy than my wrong seat before. I pretend I don't care, and precede to read my entire tourism book on France. The train ends up delayed a total of half an hour from, "children playing on the track" (I kid you not! They announced it!), and I finally arrive in Paris that Tuesday night JUST in time for all the grocery stores to be closed. Luckily, when I finally arrived back home, I have some uncooked pasta remaining, so I eat that with some tea for dinner, and promptly pass out.

Sick days follow.

Even though I was sick, I was still missing my friend Kendra, so we arranged to go to the Ralph Lauren Restaurant (swanky swank) in St. Germain and then check out the Montparnasse panoramic at night. Due to the crazy prices at this Ralph Lauren place, we were just getting dessert and coffee/hot chocolate for me.

Pictures! And, dinner first...

Look at how beautiful the strawberries are here! I mean, really! This was my dinner salad of strawberry, endive and blue cheese with some risotto. Home-made! 

I had a fun little experience while walking the two blocks or so from the metro station to the restaurant. Suddenly this man started running towards me, so I started running away, but then I felt conflicted: I didn't want to seem like I was assuming he was a thief and insult him! So I started more half-jogging and then realized he WAS running towards me so I started running again. It was weird, because the streets weren't empty, there were plenty of people around, why did he need me? So he starts yelling for my attention, and I try to politely brush him off. He starts speaking to me in english, so I'm more suspicious of him. I tell him to go away. He says something along the lines of, "Please come help me. My friend he needs... I DON'T WANT TO SEE ANYTHING!" That last comment freaked me right out because it came SO out of the blue, so I said, "I'm sorry. I am meeting someone right now." And I booked it out of there! I still have absolutely no idea what was going on. He didn't make any moves at my purse or anything... maybe he thought I was a prostitute! I was looking very cute that evening.

Met up with Kendra, stepped into the most charming courtyard EVER! All the waiters were of course delightful and spoke english -- which was nice after being out of practice with french. It felt like a luxury resort in a black and white movie, it was so cute! We ordered our drinks and dessert, I got the hot chocolate and a peanut butter and chocolate parfait with home-made banana ice cream. Kendra got a creme and the carrot cake. The drinks came with fresh caramel popcorn on the side -- heaven!

We scarfed our delicious things (42 euro combined!). Unfortunately being sick meant I had to discretely wipe my nose on occasion -- something I really didn't want to be doing in such a posh establishment. It also meant I couldn't fully enjoy the taste of this extremely pricey meal. The hot chocolate was good, but it didn't compare to the thick ooey, gooey goodness of Cafe De Flore (and it cost the same). It was a little more cocoa-y and less choco-y. I think it would have been amazing had I had a sense of smell. It also wasn't hot it was more warm...

Then we went atop Montparnasse! I suck at taking night time photos, so this is the Pompidou from a distance with a really long exposure and excited shakes. I had some that turned out better, but the 'better photo' didn't look as fun.

The tower, ah!

I am really stoked on this photo, too, because it could probably be used in some UFO forum somewhere. Photo cred: ME! Isn't that an amazing view though? It wasn't even that busy up top, and this was minutes before the breathtaking lights show. It was such a clear evening too, we could even see stars! Compared to the daytime visit to the top, I would say it was even more successful. We could see so far! We looked for the Arc la Defense, but it was hidden by... the rest of Defense. You could kind of see a white blob between some buildings but... alas.

After the tower experience, we went our separate ways at the Metro with Kendra, ironically, going to Amsterdam the next day. I got on the wrong metro and in my sick blur didn't realize till several stops down the line. I switched just in time to catch the last metro of the night, but I was still a grumpy lady when I got home. So much more to tell, but this blog entry is mighty long! Will try and write again soon!

Bisous!

The Road to Groningen: Drama drama drama....!

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?)