As promised, I will pick up where I last left off, which was in an apartment alone in Paris, moping over my lost goods. I would once more like to apologize for such a downer of a post and even more so for neglecting to follow up on a lighter note soon thereafter. So here I am with some exciting details of the many ways in which my two week vaca drastically improved from what was undoubtedly a low point in my life.

That night, Alex arrived in Paris with two of her friends from Florence and one of their friends from Barcelona. I was so happy to be reunited with Al that words cannot adequately explain it (NOTE: It was actually a miracle that Al and I were reunited at all, seeing as she realized after getting on a train to the Pisa airport that she had left her passport in her apartment, an incident that gave us the sneaking suspicion that our trip may have in fact been jinxed). After a very good night’s rest on our futon bed, Al and I headed to meet our rather eclectic land lady, Genevieve, at the Louvre café (which was not unlike an overpriced version of the food court at North Star Mall) for a quick bite to eat. At last, it was time for Al and I, two art history enthusiasts, to make our way into the Louvre itself. After a failed attempt at following a Rick Steves audio tour on Al’s iPhone, we decided to take matters into our own hands, eventually making our way to the Venus, Nike of Samothrace and of course, the Mona Lisa where we were fortunate enough to snap some great photos with a minimum number of our fellow tourists in the background. After leaving the Louvre, we decided to continue on our artistic voyage and head to the Musee d’Orsay, only to find out that it closed 5 minutes prior to our arrival. Dead set on not allowing this get us down, we forged forward and onward to the Eiffel Tower, making it just in time to see it light up as it does every hour on the hour during the evenings. Determined to look as American and touristy as possible, we took approximately 478 pics in front of the tower, both individual and couple shots, before heading back to our lovely little Parisian walk up to get dressed for dinner. And that about sums up our evening.

The next day, we planned to go to the Picasso museum near our apartment after grabbing coffee at a quaint little Parisian coffee shop called “Starbucks” (NOTE: French Starbucks do not, shockingly, serve oatmeal. They do, however, offer pre-made crepes as an exciting alternative). Therefore you can imaging our disappointment when we discovered that the Picasso museum will not be open to the public for another year. We then decided we should try Musee d’Orsday once more. Seeing as we actually made it into the museum the second time, we considered the event a success. After seeing some Cezanne. Van Gogh, etc. etc. and feeling as though our cultural capital was adequately expanded, we grabbed a bite to eat and made our way to Notre Dame with Kara and Amanda where we climbed the steps with great determination and vigor after being temporarily locked in the gift shop. After this, I made my way to a Parisian pharmacy where I successfully purchased two bags of syringes without a prescription, an exciting accomplishment to say the least. I then headed to a photo exhibit at the Bibliothèque nationale de France, highlighting authors who have been published by the now 100-year-old Gallimard publishing house (i.e., Simone de Beauvoir, Jean Paul Sartre, Jack Kerouac, Ernest Hemingway, etc.) before journeying home to prepare a fine French meal of brown rice, kidney beans, salsa, and guacamole. You can take the girl out of San Antonio, but you can’t take the San Antonio out of the girl, or so I’ve heard.

The following day it was time to migrate yet again. Destination: Aix en Provence, France. I will spare you the boring details of my trip to the airport, save for the part where a young lad with a disturbing number of facial piercings tried to convince me to get on the wrong train, sat next to me on the correct train, and ignited in me a panic attack so severe that I got off the train 8 stops prematurely out of a genuine fear that he was going to bomb the train. #Neurotic (NOTE: As of late, I have been unable to control my urge to use TweetSpeak in everyday life, so forgive me should I unnecessarily use hashtags as a means of expressing complex thoughts and deep emotions). Anywho, long story short, I found Kate at the airport and we endured the mildly terrifying turbulence of our short flight to Marseilles. Once we arrived in Aix, we headed to her “auberge,” picked up Gillis, and made our way to Samos’s, a little Mediterranean restaurant owned by the charming, mildly overweight and surprisingly sexy middle-aged Turkish man, Samos. After our meal, Samos invited us into his cellar for tea, which was only mildly strange and only temporarily frightening. Sadly, Samos spoke not a word of English and I not a word of French, but Kate and Gillis explained to me that Samos said I spoke with my eyes, an extremely romantic observation. The evening grew even more romantic when Samos refused to allow me to pay for my meal, leading me to believe that he misinterpreted the severe exhaustion in my eyes as some sort of mating call. But his generosity was flattering nonetheless.

The next day,  I went to class with the gals, where once again, my inability to speak even a word of French proved to be a bit of a complicating factor. That evening, we made a rather delicious batch of Ratatouille and quinoa. And that was that.

Aix day 3 began at the marché, which is an absolute utopia for a produce enthusiast such as myself … Granny Smith apples and dried figs coming out the wazoo. After the market, the girls went to class and feeling quite bold, I decided to go get a haircut. Seeing as language barriers seemed to be characterizing my stint in France, I should not have been surprised when the hairstylist did not know a single word of English. Despite the fact that this situation had all the makings for a horrid disaster, all turned out well and I am quite enjoying my new buzz cut. That night we went to a lovely little club, the name of which escapes me, where we danced the night away to fabulous French hits such as "Right Round" by Flo Rida. 

The next morning, I decided to go for a run, an activity in which I partake approximately once every 6-8 months. Fortunately, I survived and was able to make my way to Cezanne’s old studio, which was really cool and only a tad creepy (NOTE: two of his jackets are still hanging on the wall. I cannot help but wonder how much MSG is required for such preservation …) as well as the Musee Granet where I saw Picasso’s Woman with a balcony. That night, we went to a fondue party at Kate & Gillis’s school and engaged in some quality sisterly bonding. The next morning, I once again packed my bags and headed out like the bold and fearless traveler that I have become, thus ending the wild and crazy adventure that was my two week travel break.

Now I am back in the Copes, settled and mostly happy save for the fact that the sun is now setting by 3PM and I have most certainly developed a mild case of seasonal affective disorder as a result. Fay and Alan are in town, which was been a treat. Since their arrival, noteworthy Seeman family adventures have included seeing Explosions in the Sky at Vega, watching Fay and Alan dodge death about 76 times to date as they perpetually jaywalk in front of moving bicycles, and explaining to them the small but important difference between 2 and 3 zone klippekorts. We are now at the airport, about the board our flight to Stockholm where we will be staying for a day before heading to Helsinki, where the weather is predicted to be a pleasant 28 degrees. We are preparing to board so I sadly must bid you a ….

Farvel!

Ord af dagen: "sultende" = "starving" (As in, "Seeing fresh produce markets in Aix en Provence made me realize that I am in fact 'sultende' to death in the Copes" ... no offense to Netto.)