My Tumultuous Relationship With... A Pair Of Skis

Facing a fear is never simple. You're scared shitless and all the scenes depicting everything that could possibly go wrong flash quickly through your mind. Palms get sweaty, stomach starts to ache, you begin to tremble. But at the same time, you're trying to get control of your body and mind. What I do is I talk to myself. "Come on, you can do this, nothing bad is going to happen, be strong, you're an ESTRELLA! Get with it! Get it together! Let's go."

I put on a pair of skis on Tuesday, half unwillingly. I tried skiing once because I wanted to try a new sport. I could sum up that experience with one word: catastrophy. I went with a group of about 30 students from my university, and half of us were beginners. I was the worst in that group, hands down. I just didn't get it. Coming from a tropical climate, let's just say that snow and I aren't exactly best buddies. I crashed and burned, literally. I crashed into a fence and had a bruise the size of a baseball on my arm for about a month.

Fast forward a year later and, ha! Don't you love life's surprises! I'm living in the Rhone-Alpes region of France, the French ski capital. I would even dare call it Europe's ski capital. There was no way I could NOT go skiing and live here. It would be a shame. Not to mention the amount of people that would KILL to go skiing in the Alps...me not going skiing while living an hour drive from the nearest ski resort would not be cool.

The first half an hour on skis was atrocious. I spent 27 of those minutes on my cold, wet butt. The other three were me attempting to get up. I wanted to throw in the towel soooo bad. Why would I want to subject myself to this? The view was so pretty from the ground, why get up? But with patience and perseverance, I managed to FINALLY learn how to ski. Jess the English assistant is an expert skiier and she dedicated the whole time we were there to teaching me to ski, and teaching me to love it and not give up. And I do now, I do love it! I can't wait to go back.

The Alps are absolutely breathtaking. My neck still hurts from looking up (or from falling so many times?). No pictures can do justice to their majesty. But I tried anyway! Here are a few.

Outside

I don't think there's anything in this world that brings me more joy, that fills my heart till it feels like it's going to BURST, that engages me as much as things created by Mother Nature. Sunshine, fresh flowers, snow-capped mountains, crystal-clear lakes, river rapids, vast green fields, sheep baaaaah-ing, crunchy leaves, muddy pits. Being outdoors really, really, really, really makes me happy.

This week, the sun decided to come out and make its spring debut. Up until then, it had been cold, rainy and gray. Everyone was locked up inside their warm 'n' toasty homes. Little by little, flowers started flourishing and trees sprouted spankin' new leaves. The grass got a little greener. My walks to my school became less depressing. And then all of a sudden, it was warm out, there was no need to layer on the clothes and coats and socks and scarves. All the students laid out on the quad to absorb the warm rays and there wasn't a single person sitting indoors in the cafes--they were all people watching on the tables outside, laughing and taking it easy. And finally, the kids came out to play. I had never seen kids playing outside in the six months I've been here till this week. What a difference a little bit of sunshine can make in the spirit of a town.

I'm going to make it a point to be outside more often. You know, the sun gives us Vitamin E and releases endorphins. Tomorrow, I will go skiing in the Alps. In the near future, I must go rock climbing outdoors. I can see the rock faces every time I look out my apartment window or take a train; it's such a tease.

3 countries, 2 weeks, 1 realization

I'm back from a brief blogging hiatus. As the headline to this blog foreshadows, lots of things have happened these past two weeks. I made it home to Florida in one piece after a grueling 27-hour journey and two missed flights. I experienced from a distance the blowing up of a suspect suitcase at the airport in Paris (which was the cause of my first missed flight). But it was all worth it to see my family whom I missed terribly.

While I was home, I realized that I have it good in FL. I had always taken for granted all the simple comforts of being home before living in France (having a clothes dryer, homemade food, Miami supermarkets with platanos verdes and yuca, air conditioning). I realized that I don't want to live far from my family. I'm missing so much of my younger sisters' lives and I want to be there for them. When my family came to pick me up in the airport, my youngest sister was looking at me like she couldn't remember my face. Like, "is that really you?" I don't want to be a stranger to my family! For this and many other reasons, I'm not going to renew my contract. I'm tired of exploring and I think I'm ready to settle down in one place.

My horrible experience flying to the States was completely redeemed on the way back to France. I, Miss Fabulous Girl with Connections in American Airlines, got to fly from Miami to Paris free on first class! Upon setting foot on the plane, the flight attendant kindly offered me a drink and a hot towel. Why thank you, darling.

As soon as I got home (to France) I threw a few things in a smaller suitcase because at 3 a.m., I was to get on a bus and go to Milan. The shoe and pursemaking students were going to a fashion expo and the other English assistant and I were invited to go along. Milan is more like French than Italian. The city wasn't all that great though--I think it's overhyped.

When I got home from Milan, I (again) threw a few things in a backpack because in the morning, I was getting picked up to spend the weekend in a chalet in the Vercors, the mountains nearest to here. We did a couple of hikes and explored some caves. It was amazing! I regretted not bringing my climbing gear when I saw a couple of climbers on a rock face. The cliffs and views are amazing in the Vercors!

And that's the past two weeks, in a nutshell. On Friday, my sister and cousin are coming to visit and that should be a whole other adventure!

strikes, strikes, STRIKES!

In case I had forgotten that I was living in France, I got a rude awakening this morning--literally. At about 9 a.m., I woke up to the loud rackets of whistles blowing, chants, screams and cheers. I looked out the window and saw a ton of students not in class. Why of course, there was a protest.

Like in no other country, I'm sure, protests are a part of everyday life in France. Whether participating in them or being affected by them--in a good or bad way--they just are. The students were protesting the laying off of 14 teachers at the school. The cuts would be made for the next school year. One of the cuts would be made in the English department. So they blocked off all the entrances to the schools with shopping carts, tables and chairs, and then took to the streets. The cops had to step in and block off the road in front of the school because the students weren't letting any cars go by. Classes are pretty full as it is--I don't see the point in the administration laying off such a large amount of teachers. And neither did the students.

The students have even gone as far as fighting for me and Jess, the other English assistant. I don't know if I mentioned that we are going to Milan with the students at the end of February for Fashion Week (they study shoemaking and pursemaking). Well apparently, one of the teachers taking the students on the trip thought that me and Jess should pay more than everyone else. And the students were not going to have any of that. So they all marched into the principal's office to protest. I haven't even ever met these students, as I'm not their assistant, but it was touching that they would fight for me without knowing me. It's all about the principle of the matter.

And tomorrow, I'm praying to God that I am not affected by strikes. I have a flight to catch from Paris to Miami tomorrow morning and one of the teachers just informed me that the air traffic controllers are on strike. NOT good!

My friend Jeanne told me that yesterday, all the hair salon workers were on strike in Grenoble. Isn't that the funniest thing ever? I laughed. So yea, sometimes the whole strikes thing gets a bit ridiculous. But it's good to see that the citizens of this country take to heart their freedom of speech and assembly. They really do have democracy here. Vive la France!

Stuck Between a Rock and a Hard Place

Time is ticking! From the moment I stepped foot off the plane in Europe, I've been doomingly (yes, I just made up that adverb) counting down the days till I would get back on that plane and go back where I came from. "This is so sad, I only have eight more months in France..." is what I remember thinking when I got on that first train. And now, mid February, I only have 3 more months left. Just 92 days, to be exact. And while this may seem like an eternity to some, it feels like with just the blink of an eye, five months just whizzed by and I didn't even notice.

By the end of this week, I need to decide if I want to renew my assistantship here. And I've been thinking about it. But everything is so circumstantial. I want to have a French roommate because my French has not really improved all that much this year. I would love to stay in France for another year, but I would like to live in a bigger city (anything but Paris). A city with good public transportation and more than three bars. A place where there's youth and charm and lots of green space. And I would like to be near the mountains. Grenoble would be the perfect fit, but the chances of me getting placed there are slim to none.

But if I do end up doing this again, what exactly am I expecting? Idealistically, I would love it if all of the great friends I made this year abroad would also stay, and we could all just continue this fairytale life we've been living. But that's not going to happen. If I stay here, everything will be different. Including myself.

However, going back to Florida and to my old job seems like a prison sentence. I want change. As much as I love status quo, and as apprehensive as I am about transition and modifying my life in a big way, in the end, I'm always happy experiencing new things.

I randomly started searching for journalism jobs in the States online the other day. I found this one job in north Georgia. The upside: the town's at the foot of the Appalachians, for a small weekly paper known for training young journalists. Rent is cheap. The downside: the population of the town was something like 4,000, and the median age was early 40s. But on the brightside, the town is 3 hours away from 4 or 5 metropolitan cities, including Atlanta and Nashville. Hmm...

I don't know what I want. I don't know where I'll end up. I've been watching too much "Sex and The City" and I feel a quarter-life crisis coming.

Birthday Abroad

Two is my lucky number. Last week, I turned 22. That's two twos, double the luck. I had two birthday parties and two memorable nights.

On the actual day of my birthday, I had all my friends from our little town over for dinner. We prepared some of my favorite dishes: a quiche Lorraine, red peppers glazed with sugar and almonds, baked fennel, a chocolate cake, a chocolate and pear pie, and an Italian dessert that literally translated means "chocolate salami." Which, by the way, reminds me that I should mention that my knowledge of the kitchen has exponentially expanded during these past couple of months in France. I've learned so many secret recipes, especially Italian ones, and feel as though I can accurately measure things by the eye now. When I get back to the States, I'll host one big dinner party and invite you all so that you can sample all these things! We also played beer pong and I realized that I'm a bit rusty...which only reinforces the fact that I'm no longer a college student, and that makes me slightly sad.

The weekend after my birthday, I was off to Grenoble with a couple of friends because there's nothing to do in Romans. After a full day of shopping, we had a get-together at my friend's place and tons of people showed up, both French and English speakers. My friend baked cupcakes and glazed them with homemade frosting, which really made my day because I love cupcakes!!! But they don't exist in France. And finally, we hit the streets and I was relieved to experience some sort of nightlife, which is nonexistent in Romans.

I received a ton of presents, more than my last birthday and Christmas combined. And they all came from people I've known only since October or later. They weren't just any kind of presents--thought was put into each of them and that made me feel very special. I now own a couple of full-color books on France and this region, a French recipe book for chocolate addicts, slippers so that I'm not walking around barefoot all the time and stepping on shards of glass, the Spiceworld DVD in French, a pretty, colorful necklace stand, a 250-piece kid's puzzle of Europe, and many more.

My 21st year has definitely been my best so far. In the year of 2007, I legally had a drink (or two...or a few dozen), earned a college degree, gained some experience in my field through the internship I did over the summer, explored the South (of the US) and a bit of the Appalachians, discovered my love for rock climbing, moved to a foreign country, traveled around Europe, made friends from around the world, pierced my nose (it closed up already though, but it was pretty rebellious for a girl like me!), had a few romantic escapades, and so much more. 22 has a lot to live up to!

...And Then Things Got a Little Weird

While at the Vatican the next day, I received five phone calls, two voice mails and a text message. The man was getting impatient and I was getting cold feet. What was I supposed to do? Indulge in this foreign less-than-24-hours romance with the man that claims I am his soulmate (WOAH...) or blow him off knowing nothing would come of it?

I called him back with the pretext that I was in a church and couldn't talk on the phone and in less than an hour, he met me by one of the big fountains in St. Peter's Square, motorcycle helmet in hand. He immediately went in for a kiss and I turned to give him my cheek, and he was a bit surprised. He tells me he came on his bike which only had room for two, but there was no way I was going to hop on his bike with him so he can drive me to a far, remote place and lock me up forever, so I asked Desiree to stay with me.

As we strolled through the freezing Roman streets, I mentioned my hands were cold since I had lost a glove the night before, and we stopped at a street vendor's store ( consisting of a blanket laid out on a sidewalk with what is most likely to be stolen merchandise) where he bought me a pair of gloves. The more we walked, the more my feet throbbed and the more we steered out of the city center and into shady, not-so-glitzy neighborhoods. He wanted to show me the restaurant where he worked in case I ever needed to find him. Mind you, the restaurant was closed and he knew it! I thought we were going to eat there and I was starving. After this pointless trip to his closed restaurant, I suggested we get back to the center since I didn't feel very safe. Of course, he assured me that he was a nice guy and wouldn't harm me, but I found that hard to believe as he had me in a near head lock as those very words were coming out of his mouth.

The more this awkward date went on, the more I wanted it to end. The man wouldn't let go of me. At all times, there had to be some body contact, whethe it was gripping my hand so tight the blood wasn't circulating, or putting his arm around me so roughly I felt he was about to tackle me. While on the metro, I stared forward and I could feel him staring at me (he was sitting next to me). I looked at the reflection on the glass in front of me to confirm, and yes indeed, he was staring with dreamy eyes thinking of god knows what with a silly smile on his face. I asked him to please stop staring at me, and he said he couldn't take his eyes off of me. He never wanted to forget my face. He kept trying to kiss me and I continued to turn my head. I told him I only let him kiss me the night before because it was New Year's Eve. Special occasions call for exceptions.

By the time we got back to Rome center, I was desperately searching for excuses in my head to end this. And he was searching for words to express his undying love for me, a girl he hasn't even bothered to ask what she's doing in Rome, where she lives, or what her favorite color is. Whenever he opened his mouth, it was either to talk about his strong feelings or to put a cigarette in his mouth. Some of the things he told me included (roughly translated by me from Italian into English):
1) "But why do I need to know anything about you? All I need to do is look into your eyes and I know everything there is to know."
2) "I love you. I love you. I love you." (at normal voice level, in whispers, or just mouthing it out with no sound.)
3) "My heart is beating 1,235,843 times per second at the sight of you. I love you."
4) "You don't believe how much I love you? Do you want me to shout it to all the streets of Rome so that I can prove it to you? Because I can do that, if you want."
5) "I really don't want you to forget how much I love you. I want to write it on a piece of paper for you to take with you back to France so that when you look at it, you remember."
6) "So why is it that you won't just move to Rome and live with me? You have my love, that's all you need."
And the list goes on......

Now just imagine if you were in my shoes. What would you do? I couldn't take advantage of this man's feelings for me. I had already planned to at least get dinner out of this, but even that was too much. I agreed to a cup of coffee and that's it. I would then go home with the excuse that my feet really hurt and that I wasn't hungry at all for dinner (the latter being a big fat lie). And after coffee, I had to break it to him. I didn't love him. He was too much to handle. I wasn't moving to Rome to marry him. And that I was sorry I couldn't reciprocate his feelings for me.

He took a few steps back, took out a cigarette, lit it up, puffed anxiously, and cried. Yes, cried. I heard sniffles, and I couldn't believe it till I turned around and saw with my own eyes.

Franco wasn't the same person as yesterday. On the last day of 2007, he was mysterious, romantic, enticing, attractive... but on this first day of 2008, in broad daylight, we was overbearing, emotional, obsessive, posessive, scary. Perhaps there was some sort of shift in the universe while we were asleep. However, I must say that this was one hell of a way to ring in the new year.