From the Emerald Isle to the Sapphire Mountains

When we arrived at Heather’s on Wednesday we allowed ourselves time to catch up and relax. Anne was off on a teaching adventure in Italy, so we were sharing the house with a new roommate as well. Heather, amazing lady that she is, gave us her bed and took the couch. It was phenomenal to have a bed again. We spent the night watching "Wolverine" before retiring. After sleeping in a bit, we walked into town—we were used to it, after all—and stopped in at Krust to say hi to Brant, even if we had no money to buy anything. He was actually a lifesaver though, because he had 50 euros to give Dale for his bike. Hopefully he gets more use out of it now than it sounded like he was! Then we walked to USIT under the dry grey sky and did some printing, followed by a visit to the tax office on O’Connell Street with our papers. We didn’t have to wait long before seeing someone. The guy told us we could have our tax returns mailed to us in Canada, so we decided to shut down our bank account rather than doing it from abroad.

First, however, we stopped at USIT again because we had had trouble printing our tickets off—which turned out to be e-tickets. We didn’t regret it though, because it gave us a chance to say goodbye to Lisa, who was such a  great help this year. When our hugs were done, we realized we were an hour ahead, so we could still stop at the bank and shut down our account. We were able to do it from a different AIB than our usual bank with no problems, but did hand over 50 cents because we didn’t have quite enough money in the account to shut it down ($24.50). The lady behind the counter gave us no trouble and wished us a safe trip home.

For the evening we arranged a final Dublin night out. Heather, Dale, and I headed for one last night at O’Neill’s, where Sammy, Brant, and Dale’s work buddy Greg met up with us. I signed Sammy’s goodbye book there, once again wondering why I didn’t think to get one for myself. The temperature in the pub was uncomfortably high, so Heather, Brant, and I went to meet more friends at Harry’s on the Green. The pub-goers spilled all the way outside, but we ran into Simon and Camille who told us where we could find everyone else. Croatia and Brazil’s World Cup game was going on, so it took a little effort to hear Katie squealing, “You’re back!” and hear the greetings of Alison and the rest of the group. Dale, Greg, and Sammy met up with us as the match was ending, which wasn’t great timing because everyone was ready to move on to the next place, which was a club called Dandelion.

Simon somehow got us in free of charge, but it would be difficult to get Dale and his work gathering in since they were separate from us. They ended up at Sinnott’s. Heather had to work in the morning, so she gave me a hug after some time there, and warned me that she was going to wake me up to say goodbye at about six in the morning. Then I had to say goodbye to Katie, with promises to see her in Hawaii within the year, and an open invitation to anyone who wanted to come to Canada. Sammy and I left to find Dale’s group while Brant headed home. It turned out the pub was closed, so we were stuck sitting outside when we could have had more time with friends. I had a heartfelt chat with good ol’ Sammy, and cartooned a picture of the bouncers not letting us in for his book. Eventually Dale and everyone came out and we all said our final goodbyes.

Naturally, Dale had to stop at Zaytoons before we made it home, so in the interest of money, we shared a kebab. In Ireland, this means a pita stuffed with chicken, veggies, and a large quantity of mayo. As promised, Heather popped her head into the bedroom in the morning to say ’bye. I’m going to miss that girl! Then a jackhammer started pounding away outside the window, so Dale and I ended up awake earlier than planned. We had a full day ahead of us, however, so we got to it. I quickly wrote last week’s blog post, then we packed our bags and dragged them to the bus stop near Harold’s Cross Road. Neither of us were too pleased to be lugging bags around so soon. We had to make space on the bus for a buggy, which wasn’t easy, then hopped off and got the DART to Dalkey.

We waited a little while on the steps of Vincent and Rosaleen’s house until Rosaleen arrived with a shy Sennan. We didn’t have much time to catch up though. Dale and I had booked ourselves the kayaking trip to Dalkey Island I had wanted to do since last summer. Vincent drove us to Bullock Harbour, where we asked a lady sitting at a boat rental stand outside houses right on the pier if she knew where to meet the people from kayak.ie. She slyly replied, “On the internet?” Then smilingly told us the lady, Jenna, hadn’t arrived yet. It took a little time to extract ourselves from her repetitive but friendly advice. Before long we got to meet Jenna, who told us two other were coming along for the ride. When they didn’t show up we had a little lesson on kayaking, not including flipping the kayak back over, then headed into the ocean. There was a little sprinkling of rain as we made our way past the boats floating in the harbour and met the open ocean. Luckily for us, the sun soon broke through the clouds.

Our first stop was alongside the rocky Maiden’s Island, where supposedly some young girls had once gone picking flowers and were never seen again when the tide came in. The island was just poking out of the water, and was covered by Cormorants and Arctic Terns. The Cormorants were like big, dark-winged storks. Apparently they are one of the only birds in the world that don’t have oil on their wings. The Arctic Terns migrate every year from North to South pole, with their breeding ground on this island. The next, similarly rocky island we stopped at was Lamb Island. There were seals everywhere. Just as I remembered from going to Dalkey Island when I was nine, the seals were incredibly curious. A baby seal popped up right behind Dale’s kayak, sniffing it with its nose, then performing flips around us as its worried mother called it back with a loud groan. We backed off, heading at last to the biggest island. As we reached the crystal-clear shallow water, a spotted seal followed us. When we paused, it sniffed curiously at my paddle, then pushed it out of the water. When I had my chance I cautiously stoked the seal’s face. The wet fur felt quite a bit like the wetsuit I was wearing. I was able to pet it three times, with only the caution, “Just remember, it’s a wild animal.” It was funniest when the seal swam underneath me on its back, the big, round eyes staring up at me from underwater.

Dale on Dalkey Island

Me, the tower, and Dalkey mainland in the background

Goats

When we pulled out kayaks onto the shore Jenna handed each of us a chocolate bar, then said she’d meet us back at the kayaks in twenty to thirty minutes. I had to take off my sandals, which were far too slippery to walk in. This meant I was occasionally walking on bunny poop, because they were everywhere, just like the seals. We had to be careful not to step in the countless holes. The temperature on the island was weirdly humid, the long grass very warm under my feet. We also had the whole island to ourselves. The first building we came upon was the ancient church. It was far smaller than I thought it was as a nine-year-old. I didn’t know back then that the English, defending against Napoleon, had replaced the altar with a fireplace. Next up was the tower they had also built. Unfortunately we couldn’t go inside this time, but I definitely heard something creepy moving around in there. Dale had made his way to the hundreds of screaming birds on the ocean-facing side of the island, so I headed that way, where we found the five horned goats that are usually too shy to come near people. They slowly assembled on the hilltop to watch us, which was a little unnerving given their horns. Lastly, Dale and I made our way to the barracks at the far end. This was actually much bigger than I had expected, with crumbling walls marking many different rooms, but the rusty rails for the guns still exactly as I had left them.

Me on the barracks' wall

Dalkey Island: worth every penny

Our time was starting to run out, so we walked back to the kayaks with a sunny and pretty view of Dalkey from across the jewel-bright grass and grey ocean. I smiled to think that this is where I fell in love with Ireland in the first place. The return journey was only slightly more difficult with the current against us. Reaching the harbour was strange because the water was much lower than before, making the stone pier tower over us. We had to carry the kayaks through mucky ground. After telling Jenna how much we had enjoyed our three hours together, we returned to Vincent and Rosaleen’s.

The family was busy setting up a concert in the pink church where we’d enjoyed our Christmas mass. With relief, Dale and I enjoyed an hour or so of garbage TV, then joined everyone for the string orchestra from Utah. The students played incredibly well, and both Dale and I thought their charismatic teacher looked very familiar. We got to see and say goodbye to Roisin and Sennan after the performance, squashing him with kisses and imaging what he will be like when he comes to Canada one day. Niall wished us well with hugs at his car. Fionnuala accompanied us to a chipper for dinner, then bought us drinks at Finnigan’s, the pub where every so often she had served Bono and The Edge. After walking through the dark streets of Dalkey back home, we weighed our luggage for our flight home the next day. Fionnuala tried to help me accept that I was going to have to leave items behind, which wasn’t an easy task and she deserves a thank you for her patience. Then we said goodbye to her and Vincent.

Early in the morning Rosaleen drove us to the bus that would take us to the airport. She unfortunately had to give us a little cash to pay for the trips. We thanked her for everything, and hopped onboard. When we reached the airport we found out my luggage was just under the weight requirement. Whew. We both slept on the flight to London, which then circled Heathrow for an hour. Luckily for us, most of the other passengers were headed to Vancouver, so the airport delayed that flight. After two shuttles, and Dale getting his bag slowly searched at security, we got onto the plane in time for departure.

To our surprise and disappointment we were seated in the middle of the middle aisle. This meant we were back to no sleep. The lady beside me liked to talk, but she was also pretty respectful about keeping it to meal pauses and bathroom breaks. But as the flight attendants kept feeding us, this was still fairly often. Not that I’m complaining about all the goodies. I did manage to get an hour of sleep in between watching “Thor: The Dark World” and “Ender’s Game.” Dale didn’t sleep at all. The sun followed us all the way to Vancouver, but below the clouds turned out to be a little bland.

Dom and Mum were waiting for us at the front of the line when we had collected our luggage and dragged it to the exits. We hugged over the railings, then headed for the car together. Dale couldn’t make it out of the airport without Tim Horton’s, so Mum picked some up for us as we went to pack the car. Naturally, we chatted enthusiastically the whole ride home. I was a little disappointed that the glorious mountains were hiding behind a thick layer of boring cloud. I’d been looking forward to that sight. Making up for this tremendously was Danielle waiting for us at home with sunomono and a red dragon roll from Gon Sushi. My mouth watered; it was just as amazing as I remembered. We stayed up until Canadian bedtime, which was a bit of a struggle, but we figured it would help us out in the end.

Our to-do list was very large for the next few days between seeing all the faces we had missed and getting ourselves settled. Danielle helped us to unpack most of our belongings in our new studio apartment. I remember that being small, but compared to Ireland I was wowed. I can spin around with my arms out and not hit anything! We surprised my little cousins at their house one night, bringing magical Blarney Stone souvenirs. Both stared when they opened the door, mouths open, as if they couldn’t even speak. We picked up Dale’s car from my uncle’s care. My uncle was disappointed we hadn’t called first because he had planned on having the boys wash it for us, which was really thoughtful. He had taken great care of it regardless, and a wash was more than we could ask for. Dale’s old friend Josh drove us around all that day to get forms from the bank, the insurance, and the car. The day before Dale got himself a cell phone, so he was able to apply for his first job today; a job where a friend of mine could even recommend him. We got to see some of our good friends for an evening of both tea and wine. It was a little sad to fill them in on the details of our move to the next town over, despite just getting back.

While the to-do list is still unbelievably long, all the changes in my own life, and the lives of my friends and family has been fascinating and exciting to hear. I really can’t believe how much everyone has grown up. And I haven’t even seen half of them yet. I think I’m more excited for all their stories than for telling my own. The jet-lag hasn’t been bad, though I haven’t had much of an appetite and I generally crash by 10 or 11. Otherwise being home is the most natural thing in the world— except that both Dale and I have had moments in the car where we pause for a second to wonder which direction the traffic should be coming from. I’m not looking forward to learning stick—I will have to sell my car since there is no where to park it at our new place—but Dale was happy to be behind the wheel again. Today we were finally treated to a view of our mountains. They really are monstrous and beautiful. The layers make it look like we are tiny insects at the centre of a blooming blue tulip. It’s bizarre to see how spaced out the entire town is as well. The buildings in Ireland are much more interesting, even if they are packed together. But the space here is relaxing, the mountains home, and the familiar faces heartwarming. I may have had a more difficult year abroad than most people have, but that just means I won’t be taking any of it, especially home, for granted.

There and Back Again

When the sun finally rose we got up stiffly from the steps and, of course, went to the MacDonald’s. The MacDonald’s itself was open 24 hours, and we had been tempted to sleep in there, but they definitely kept the music unbearable loud for a reason. I got changed in the bathroom and brushed my teeth, not caring anymore that people would notice. We ate our pain au chocolat and cappuccinos while we figured out where the Eurolines office was. Or so we thought. We walked to the location to find a hotel in its place. So altered our search to see if the office had been moved, which it had. When we found the office, they said they were indeed for tickets, but not for Eurolines, and we would have go to another office behind the train station. Having slept there all night, we weren’t surprised when there was no office now, but after searching around the corner we found a bus station. Inside was the Eurolines office, where we had to wait for the opening hours, plus fifteen minutes since they were late. In desperation, we booked tickets to Nimes, France. It was close to Marseilles, so we weren’t that impressed with having to go there, but were really pleased to finally be getting out of Italy. We hoped that it would be easier to get around from France.

Basilica San Lorenzo in Florence

We found the Basilica of San Lorenzo, a red domed cathedral consecrated in the 1400s. We purchased our meals at a grocery store, then settled against the cathedral’s wall for the rest of the day. Both of us crashed on and off while the other read or people watched. It was nice to do nothing all day, and considering we had our backpacks, quite necessary. We refilled our water bottle at old pumps around the building so that we wouldn’t have to buy water. In the evening we grabbed paninis for dinner, then returned to the bus station where we barged onboard in order to get seats together. Then we started the usual interrupted sleep pattern.

By the time we reached France I realized I was covered in massive mosquito bites. I have never reacted so badly to them. My leg looked horrendous. When we arrived in Nimes it was to find beautiful sunshine and an open Eurolines office. The lady behind the counter only spoke French, and we were once again frustrated because she kept giving us ‘no’s. No, we could not get out of Nimes for two days. Now we were running out of time to get back to Ireland before our pass expired, and we definitely had to forget about meeting up with Sydnee and seeing a bunch of the cities we had hoped for. We found a MacDonald’s to use the wifi and get cleaned up, deciding at last to stay overnight and go straight to Brussels on Sunday. After organizing these tickets, with apologies in French, we found the Tourism Office.

The Coliseum in Nimes

In the Tourism Office we found out why we were having difficulties. It was a holiday weekend. The girl behind the counter immediately started making phones calls to the local hostels and hotels, finding everything booked or over a hundred euros per night. At last someone in the office told her there was a bed and breakfast just outside of town that usually accommodated students during the semester, and that they might be willing to take us. So after a phone call to the Myriam Tamanti, she successfully found us a home for 60 euros a night. We thanked her profusely for being so helpful and getting a cheaper price from the B&B, grabbed some groceries, and then hopped on the bus. Reaching Myriam Tamanti meant walking a ways down a quiet road in the blazing sun. When we reached the blue gate in a white wall, I had to press the call button and ask the name of the B&B since we were pretty sure they only spoke French. A welcoming older man came to the door to let us in, where we were surprised to find a pool in a lavish garden and a low-roofed brown rancher. I explained to our host that we don’t speak French, that we’re from Vancouver and not Quebec, what time we would be coming down for breakfast, and more. The struggle wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would be. He also showed us his bird sanctuary on the other side of the house, and we thought it was amusing that our host family in France had bird-related careers, while our host in Nimes loved birds as well.

The wonderful pool

Our room upstairs was dark wood, with a squashy bed and a desk. We stunk it up embarrassingly with the state of our socks. Almost immediately I went out to the pool and spent the afternoon relaxing, swimming, and reading. Dale stayed indoors where it was cool because he had caught himself a strong cold. When I was in the water the other host came out to greet me, a smiling grey-haired lady who obviously knew I wasn’t French because she immediately started making helpful gestures to accompany her conversation. I assured her that the pool was not cold in the slightest and thanked her for hosting us.

Outdoor breakfast at the B&B

Walking towards the gardens—large goldfish and tuba-clad bands all around us

The Augustan garden

The next day, after we had rolled in some glorious sleep, we went downstairs for breakfast to find a whole kitchen unit outside by the pool. There was a circular table set up for us with croissant, homemade jams, and a selection of teas. The lady host came out to us and started asking questions such as, “Do you want milk? Would you like it hot or cold?” I answered, and Dale afterwards said, “How do you know so much?” I felt much more comfortable talking to our hosts than anyone else in France, and I found out that I was just lacking confidence before. I dragged Dale into Nimes for some sightseeing. I figured if we were stuck there anyways, we might as well make it worth while. He disagreed, and felt pretty lousy the whole time. Nimes is an incredibly bright city. The main walk from the train station is so white we were blinded. Along one side of the path is a long fountain of running water that people could just walk in instead of on the hot path. At the end of the walk is the Coliseum. I was surprised to find a French town with a Spanish atmosphere, and a still-in-use Roman coliseum. The big event was bull-fighting. There were markets and crowds all around the building, ridiculous hats for sale everywhere, and amusement park rides lining the streets. We continued on to the 18th Century gardens, where there was a restored Augustan mausoleum across the white expanse of ground. Off to the side there was a large pond with steps leading into the forested hills. When we climbed up, we found strategically built sitting spaces behind water falls. When this was done—and it didn’t take long—we returned to the B&B. I made straight for the pool, and Dale made straight for bed.

Inside the ruins of a mausoleum in the gardens

The waterfall cave

We had our lovely breakfast in the same place, then it was time to head into town and eventually catch our bus to Brussels. We spent the greater part of the 34 degree day lounging in the grass and watching families stroll through the ingenious fountain-path. Since everything was closed, we settled on half a foot-long sub for dinner, and the other half for breakfast. We knew we would have to change buses in Lyon, so we when we got to the station we were looking for the Barcelona to Lyon instead of the Nimes to Brussels. We met a young Mongolian guy who was looking for the same bus, so we chatted a bit while we waited. Dale and I had just been talking about how long his laptop has lasted, but how great it will be to go home and not have to share one anymore, when he sat on his backpack. “Do you think this okay for the laptop?” he asked. “No,” I answered. But we didn’t think much of it.

A bus with the right text on it showed up, the drivers swapped, then it shut the doors on us and drove away. Confused, we waited to see if another bus would show up. Our Mongolian friend wandered over to another Eurolines bus, but came back shaking his head. We waited until the bus we were supposed to be on should be departing, and still there was nothing. At last, I snatched the tickets from Dale and ran to the driver of the other Eurolines bus to ask if he was going to Lyon. In my haste, I’m pretty sure I spoke Frenglish to a Spanish man. It turns out that was the bus we needed, it just didn’t say Lyon anywhere on it. I ran back to the other, jerking my thumb over my shoulder so they’d know we had to go immediately.

It was with relief that we finally started our journey back to Dublin. After our bus change and a farewell to our friend, we were stuck with a screaming baby behind us and a fight breaking out between a thick black man and a little balding eastern European guy. Thank goodness the baby slept from 11pm to 6am. We still slept fitfully, and woke to an amazing thunder and lightening storm in Belgium. As I grabbed my backpack so I could run into a gas station and change into jeans, I noticed one of the zippered pockets was open. I knew I would never be so careless, so I checked it to see what was stolen. It was the wallet-belt that used to be Becca’s and that Heather had loaned me. I’m sure the thief thought they had hit the jackpot, but I never used the wallet. Nothing else was missing.

Colourful windmills in Brussels

We were almost drenched just getting off the bus in Brussels. We booked our tickets to London with no problems, and both breathed a sigh of relief. Then, to my delight, the rain subsided and the sun came out. We went for a small walk through what looked like a boring business district. Our days in Ireland had given me the habit of carrying around a collapsible umbrellas, so when the rain came on and off, we were prepared. Since there really wasn’t much to see within walking distance, we spent much of the day at the train station, but were happy to be sitting outside for the majority of that time. At one point we stopped in the station’s Starbucks to double check our plans only to find that the whole middle of the laptop screen is blank and broken. We didn’t even breakdown. So much had gone wrong by this point that we just rolled our eyes. It’s quite unpleasant to have to write a blog on a few inches at the side of the screen, but it could have been worse. We desperately needed the laptop to sort our issues in the earlier days. So Dale sipped his beverage, marked with the name, “Toe,” instead of “Dale,” and we laughed that his name was spelt “Bratbrook” on his bus ticket.

"Toe Bratbrook" in the sunny rain

Our overnight bus to London was full of interruptions. We had to get on the ferry, where we found cushioned leather benches to stretch out on, but I was freezing cold. Then the ferry was thirty minutes late in arriving at Dover. When we got back on the bus, border security wanted to check all of our belongings, so we had to get off again. Two hours behind schedule, we finally got on the road, passing the white cliffs of Dover along the way. We were very tired, but it was hard to get back to sleep after all that. Dale was just happy to have the border staff speaking in English. I was happy that they were so friendly. One of them asked Dale why he had chosen Ireland for his Visa, and while it was about two in the morning, Dale’s response, “My girlfriend,” got a laugh out of the guy.

London was another relief. We arrived almost directly at Buckingham Palace, so we booked our tickets to Ireland—it was the last day before our pass expired—and went to sit on the statue out front. It was so early in the morning that we were able to view the palace without any other tourists around. I tried to surreptitiously get changed right there, knowing full well that cameras were bound to be on me, but I ended up stuck with an arm out the neck of my shirt and feeling like a read idiot. I counted 105 windows on the palace front, and then we went for a long walk through St. James’ Park. We found a mercifully free to toilet in the park, where I enjoyed the absence of other women and managed to sort myself out as best I could. Dale kept saying, “Ah, London.” I think he loved it as much as last time, but more so because of the luxuries than because of the sights.

Buckingham Palace in the early morning

We grabbed lunch in a Tesco under Westminster Abbey, spending more sparingly than ever because we were down to our last twenty. We had lunch in the same park, watching the squirrels come right up to people’s hands. Then we hung out in Trafalgar Square, wandered a little in the National Art Gallery, and returned to the bus station. On the walk past the palace we noticed women in fancy queen-type clothing and stupid hats, and men wearing gold chains across the backs of their tuxes. I could have sworn one of them looked me up and down and said, “Iceland,“ to his friend. I must have been dressed too warmly, but I find it strange to make that remark when you’re wearing a suit. The line of fancy people extended all the way around along the side wall. Dale looked it up eventually and it sound like it was a duke’s birthday. It turns out we were also running on time that was still an hour ahead, so we ended waiting forever for our bus to Dublin. When it arrived and Dale saw that it read “Bus Eireann” on the front, he grinned with nostalgia. We were almost home.

Naps with a view in St. James' Park

The bus itself was almost deserted. Happily, we settled into our napping on and off. The ferry had much larger green leather benches this time, so Dale and I curled up side-by-side for better warmth than last time, and actually managed to sleep for a few hours. We had put some money on the credit card to cover breakfast, but knew at this point that my mom was giving me an early birthday present to keep up going. When we arrived in Dublin, which was sunny and deserted at that time of day, we were happy. We made it. We began the long trek to Heather’s, eating breakfast on the steps of a hotel where an incredibly friendly newspaper guy spotted Dale’s Red Hot Chilli Peppers sweater and exclaimed over it. We also paused for banana bread and coffee at an Insomnia shop. Then I called Heather at her front door and we practically fell inside when that lovely familiar face welcomed us back for our last four days.

Rollercoaster

The port at Marseille

The beach

We spent the greater part of Thursday wandering the streets of Marseille looking for a hostel. With our backpacks weighing us down and the streets all angled, it wasn’t a very pleasant experience. It turned out the Eurolines office was closed because it was a holiday, which also meant that everywhere we went was already booked. We eventually were sent to a cheap hotel, also booked, before a recently renovated hotel that had no guests yet and wanted 79 euros per night. It turns out we’re crazy. We thought it would be a good idea to spend a possibly uncomfortable night outside or at the train station. At least we’d have the full travelling experience! So we passed the mirror-roofed market armed with Subway sandwiches and made the long walk to the beach. The beach was by far the best part of the day. It was weird to see ladies with their boobs on display, but the sun was glorious when we had no where to be, and the water was practically warm. It certainly wasn’t freezing, like what we are used to at home. We risked leaving all of our belongings on the beach for a few minutes while we passed through the waves for a refreshing swim.

A place to read and nap

The port at night

Sadly, the beach closed at eight. We found a bench at the top of a nearby hill where Dale immediately had a nap and I read my book when I wasn’t staring at the ocean. As the sun went down I started to get cold, so we walked slowly back to the port, then to the train station. We found a spot on the expansive steps on which to settle down, hopefully for the night. I turned back to my book, but soon heard glass flying down the steps behind me. There were drunk African guys way at the top of the steps. Considering I couldn’t hear what they were saying I chose to ignore them, but minutes later another beer bottle came flying down the steps and sent shards pattering onto the backpacks we were resting against. As we were discussing what to do, I heard one of the guys yell, “I kill you! I kill you!” That was the last straw. Even if they were being ridiculous, I’m not dumb enough to hang around grown men who are either drunk or stupid enough to yell or act that way. This lead us into the train station. As we passed them on the steps I sang a Teagan and Sara song out loud and was reminded of the “Whistle a Happy Tune” song from “The King and I.” Drunk idiots don’t get to scare me.

The benches in the station were separated by bars so that we couldn’t lie down and could barely lean on each other. I was freezing cold. When we had our laptop out for just a second, trying to preserve the battery, some Italian kids came over and started harassing us to plug in their iPod. There was a piano nearby that inexperience players kept hammering away on until one teenager sat down and suddenly blew us all away. He ended up having a crown standing around him, including train staff, as he blazed through everything from classical, to jazz, to Coldplay. The Italian kids came back with explicit purpose of making irritating noises to “get back at us” for not letting them plug in their iPods, but we were so wowed by the piano that the kids were thrown for a loop and soon gave up.

Marseille in the morning

Then, at two in the morning, as we were struggling to sleep despite the cold, someone practically shouted, “Bonsoir!” in our faces. It was an arrogant security officer, wanting to see our tickets. When we figured out what he wanted I said, “We have Europasses.” As I reached for my purse he waved me away and said, “Fine.” I realized afterwards that I had accidentally saved us. He thought I meant Eurorail passes, meaning train tickets, rather than our Eurolines bus passes. The trains ran all night, but not the buses. The locked us in, almost the only people in the station apart from an old guy who thought it would be a good idea to sit right beside us. I realized then that the bathrooms had been locked down. We couldn’t leave, and I couldn’t get any relief, which meant I was stuck in horrible discomfort for the rest of the night. When six am rolled around I got Dale up and we left. I couldn’t stand being in the station a second longer.

The mirrored market (with no market today!)

It was just my luck that there was no where to eat that early in the morning. We hung around at the port and whiled away the time until the MacDonald’s in the train station would open. I hated making that walk back. We stopped at the Eurolines office, which turned out to be different from the booth in the station. The girl behind the counter asked us to come back at two pm because she didn’t know how to book our tickets. We decided to return to the recently renovated hotel afterwards, feeling that our night at the train station would make the cost of one night more bearable. The hotel was a little disorganized. We had to find an ATM before we could pay, then when I went for a nap Dale walked in with the hotel owner to show him how to get the hot water running. Otherwise the room was well worth it. We both showered then napped for two solid hours.

Beautiful Marseille from the cathedral

Marseille from the cathedral

Gold inside the cathedral

Since we were able to leave our backpacks behind, we picked up some groceries, got our Eurolines tickets, then spent the afternoon hiking to Notre Dame Cathedral on the mountain. The climb through the city was steep, but the view was spectacular. I kept slipping on the stones because they were so smooth from the hundreds of footsteps before me. The white cathedral itself was a pleasant surprise; the domed ceiling glowed with gold paint. As we walked a different route back down the hill we found a park that looked through some trees over the city and stopped for a baguette dinner. A passing Frenchman with his wife happily wished us, “Bon appetite!”

Notre Dame Cathedral on the mountain

We followed our nice picnic with a “historic walk” on the other side of the port. We had a Kriek Cerise at the local Irish pub, then were back at the hotel and crashing by ten o’clock. In the morning we had tea and biscuits in the hotel room, showered, filled up our giant water bottle at the tap, and checked out at 11. We had pain au chocolat in front of a fountain before going to the grocery store again. To our dismay, the store alarm went off as we were leaving with yesterday’s purchases. The only French word that came to my aid was, “Hier,” meaning, “Yesterday.” Somehow they were able to figure out that we had paid for everything without a receipt and even apologized to us.

The "breakfast" fountain

We went to the beach. Both of us got one swim in, and me one stomach burn, before noisy thunder clouds covered the sky in the late afternoon. We retreated to a Starbucks to try and sort out our bus plan, which has turned out to be very frustrating as not all buses go to the cities we hoped for. We had more sandwiches at the port, then returned to the station. We were unimpressed when a strangling fight broke out by us while we waited for the bus, but were able to board early and get seats to ourselves this time.

The bungalow

Dale couldn’t sleep. A man sat behind him who wanted Dale’s chair to be all the way up, so I was lucky enough to have a bit of a recline while he was stuck sitting upright in the aisle. The driver was rough too, talking on his phone, making wide turns off the road, and grinding the gears. We had a stop at a truck stop in the morning where I cheerfully said, “Bonjourno!” to the lady at the counter, and she seemed surprised for some reason. I guess she usually has to deal with grumpy drivers. When we arrived in Rome I was still wearing jeans, and the Eurolines office was closed. It was Sunday hours, with another holiday the next day. We had only arranged to stay at Plus Camping Village Roma for two nights. We took our metro and bus to the campground, not quite knowing what to expect. It turned out to be lovely. We had our own bungalow with a private washroom. We dropped off our stuff, went to the only place with food nearby, MacDonald’s, then stopped into the campground’s grocery store when it opened. We spent over 25 euros, so we received a free bottle of wine. Then we took the metro back into the city centre for a wander. The first thing I noticed was that the men blatantly stared at my legs. I remembered the staring from the last time I had been in Italy, but knowing about it didn’t make it any more comfortable.

Area Sacra (many stray cats!)

The Coliseum

Enjoying the tourist life

We strolled down small side streets with orange walls and colourful shutters. The street vendors were constantly calling for our attention, but I had eyes only for the ancient ruins scattered randomly through the city, and the restaurants with the little table-clothed bistro tables outside. We made it to the Coliseum as the evening light started turning everything gold. The stadium was immense. The pictures we took only encompassed the narrow curve rather than the longest side. We took a seat on a ledge in front of the building and ate another picnic lunch. Behind us was a couple taking their wedding photos. We got back to the bus stop late. We realized the bus wasn’t coming, and the one we hopped on wouldn’t take us the right direction. We got off on a deserted road and waited to flag down a cab. Luckily, it only cost us ten euros, and the driver understood, “Plus Camping Village Roma.”

Caught with the map

Pompeii

Dale at the baths

Considering Dale’s bad night on the bus, we crashed and had a hard time getting up in the morning. I was bent on going to Pompeii to see the city ruins preserved so well by Vesuvius’ volcanic eruption. We got started late and had to take a later train, which meant we were sitting outside long enough to see planes dropping the Italian colours in the sky, followed by a band performing right outside the train station. I was again unimpressed when random men started making kissing noises at me. I just don’t know how to respond, and it feels disgusting to have strangers eying me like that. The train itself was fine. At least for me; I couldn’t keep my eyes open. A second train and lunch later and I was ready for Pompeii. Dale, on the other hand, started to feel the heat.

Paint still in tact in the baths

Preserved victim

A shop

Stadium

As I was wandering from house to brothel—where there were depictions of services offered still on the walls— altar to shop, re-made vineyard to bath, stadium to theatre, Dale was trailing along behind me miserably. I was fascinated by the people who might have lived there, and tried hard to imagine what their last day must have been like. There were stray dogs willing to walk with us through the ruins, seeming very placid and content, and eventually very few people left. The lack of people gave an even greater sense of the desolation. I made sure we walked all the way to the Village of Mysteries, but even though we stayed until closing, we will still missed many of the buildings. It was far more enormous than I ever imagined. We got lucky on the way home, catching all the last trains and the metro. We had to walk for a good forty minutes without the bus though. This was the point when Dale realized he must have had heat stroke, because he didn’t mind the sketchy night-time, highway stroll. We went to reception as soon as we got in and purchased another night. We needed to organize our next leg still, and we still wanted to see Vatican City before leaving the next day.

Inside the stadium

Giving a performance in the smaller theatre

The large theatre

Looming Vesuvius

Intact paintings in the Village of Mysteries

Gorgeous and spookishly deserted

The next day Dale still woke up miserable because the people in the adjoining bungalow had thrown an excessively loud party all night, even getting yelled at by the staff. The yelling didn’t really help, and the same is happened again the following night. I've never heard more childish, disrespectful, and not to mention racist reactions to the staff member who had to tell the teenagers to go to bed. Luckily Dale decided to do like I did and invest in some earplugs despite not liking them. I dragged Dale to the Vatican even if he was tired, where we sat amid the white pillars and simply in the massive circular courtyard. There was a free exhibit to the side of the chapel, where extremely old bibles were on display, including some of the first recorded letters. We didn’t actually go into the Sistine Chapel because of the heat, the massive line, and the cost, but we could admire the dome from the outside. I marvelled that the courtyard could be filled with people, along with the chapel, which can house 60,000. We had seen plenty of nuns and priests throughout Rome, but especially inside.

The Vatican

The Sistine Chapel

When we were finished we walked to nearby castle by the river, passing plenty of happy-seeming beggars along the way. One who zipped along beside me in a wheelchair yelled, “Bella! Bella! Bella! Bella!” at me about ten times before I realized he was trying to get my attention. It was very awkward to turn him away. Afterwards, we made our way to the campground early enough for a coupon-assisted dinner of lasagna and wine or beer at the restaurant. Then we finally got the laptop plugged in and decided where to go next. With hope, we planned to make a disgustingly long overnight trip to Brussels, stopping for four hours, then overnight it to Prague for only one day. If we were especially lucky we would be able to see Syd there. The rest of the trip looked like we’d spend all our nights on the bus and only one day in each city, with our bags. We wanted to go from Prague we go to Amsterdam, then London, then Dublin. Then after a few days, home!

Well, that did not happen. We trekked to the bus station early the next day to find an extremely unhelpful Eurolines worker who insisted in poor English that there were no buses for us to take out of Rome that day. She barely even looked at her computer. We struggled to find wifi access to look everything up ourselves, but it was an absurdly difficult process and every time we returned to her with a solution, she told us it wasn’t possible. Fighting frustration, we tried to come up with a different plan, as well as find food, which was another difficulty for some reason. At last we decided we had no choice but to shell out the 100 euros to take the train to Venice. Hours later we played games in the air-conditioned station and recovered our moods a little. Although, a random guy tried to help us get our tickets so he could ask for money, and reminded us of the other day when a girl had tried to do the same, but selected “Florence” instead of Venice on the machine. Luckily we were just browsing, so she didn’t get her chance to snatch the tickets.

We went for dinner in a kebab place where the man behind the counter ended up being the friendliest Italian we have met, actually having a conversation with us and asking where we were from and if we like Italy. He even offered to let us eat before paying since we’d need to go find an ATM, but Dale didn’t take him up on the offer and I stayed with our bags and food while he collected everything. Then we got on the train, first class because it only cost four euros more. Sadly the train attendant gave us poor information and we ended up missing our stop by a long shot. We found ourselves in Florence at midnight, having wasted the Venice money. As I tried to search for the right train before it could leave, I actually started to panic. I couldn’t believe we were having so much terrible luck. How could other people “wing it,” and for us it was Hell? Honestly, I thought it would be good for me to travel without set plans. Dale calmed me down with the surprising and obvious remark that Eurolines has departures from Florence, so we weren't just stuck in the middle of nowhere. I don’t trust it at all anymore, but we’ll see if we can recover.

Since we couldn’t find any hostels, we spent the night on some steps outside the train station. We slept in shifts, each of us getting maybe two hours total. At one point I was closing my eyes on and off so I didn’t have to look at the morning passengers going by when I noticed one lone man tiptoeing behind us. I watched him in my periphery until he realized I was blinking, not sleeping. He turned his move into a dump of change into the phone booths, eyeing me now and then. He was forced to collect his unused change and go back into the station. Later, when I was sitting on my backpack out of discomfort, he passed again, and I stared him down so he knew he had failed officially. I’m sure he would have had fun with a backpack of tampons and dirty socks. We don’t keep our valuables that unprotected. We got up at six and headed to the nearest MacDonald's, which we're thoroughly sick of by now, but which are so convenient. Besides, we only have about 200 euros left in our bank account. Things are rough at the moment, and I'm struggling to remain positive. I feel ungrateful, but being so stressed and uncomfortable saps the positive right out of a person.

Unlucky Travelling

On Friday Dale and I finished painting the bedroom, or at least got as far as we could before running out of paint, then turned to the trim and hallway to keep ourselves busy. When we finished the second coat on Monday it looked fresh and bright downstairs, which concluded our short and pleasant working life in France.

Saturday was Adrien’s eighth birthday. We woke to about ten kids running around the house and enjoying a Star Wars themed party. That night Alexis and Ami had invited their English neighbours, who had just arrived, to an aperitif. Aperitif is essentially appetisers and a catch-up. The older couple was fun to chat to, and wished us luck on our next adventures.

Hiking to the chapel

On Sunday it was France’s mother’s day, so Alexis got us all out of the house to finally hike up to the chapel and let Amy have a break. The day was half grey and half sunny as we hiked the proper route through the woods, followed by the yellow fields and the footpath to the cathedral on the hill. Dale ran on ahead, leaving Adrien and I to race after him, trying to stay hidden. Alièna picked a wide variety of colourful wild flowers for her maman. At the old chapel we paused for a snack, then the kids livened up and suggested a game of tag, the church’s door representing safety. They called the person who was “it” the “loup,” or the wolf. Afterwards we walked to a tiny old village that looked stuck in the 1800s, where baby ducks, chicks, and dogs, all wandered the roads together. Alièna had been hoping to see her friend’s horse, but we patted a different stocky black horse instead. Apparently that type of horse is typical to the region.

The old village

On Monday Amy offered to call the hostel we stayed in in France on our behalf because we had been charged twice for our stay. We even contacted our bank, who told us there was a charge on the chip reader, then a manual charge hours after we had left the hostel. In the end Amy decided Alexis should do the talking in case they were trying to pull one over on us and a true French accent would scare them. To our relief, the tactic worked. Our other issue was with the Eurolines website. We thought we had to book our first bus ticket before upgrading to the bus pass, but in the end we only booked a bus ticket and had to do the rest in person. Amy convinced the office over the phone to give us half of our money back, which was better than losing a full 60 euros. That night as I was showering the kitchen started leaking everywhere. It turned out the plumbers had not originally glued the pipes together well and they had come undone under the floor. Our luck wasn’t doing us any favours. Nevertheless, got to enjoy a dinner of savoury crepes, called galettes, followed by dessert crepe filled with sugar and lemon or nutella. The kids gave us big hugs to say goodbye as we washed the dishes one last time.

On Tuesday we said goodbye to the parents who had been our wonderful hosts. Alexis said, “Maybe see you in California!” where they are from, and Amy drove us to Toulouse, where we made it just in time to book our tickets before the two hour lunchbreak. We promised her a good review—a great one she will get!—and said goodbye. We bussed all day with baguettes from home. We arrived in Barcelona late to find that 360 Hostel was booked for the wrong dates. Thankfully they called around on our behalf and sent us to a hostel near Sagrada Familia. The bad new is they only said it was around there. Two hours and a breakdown later, in which I seriously considering sleeping outside, we finally found it. St. Jordi was a nice but noisy place, though we both crashed. Surprisingly, our late returning roommates were incredibly considerate and quiet.

Sagrada Familia at night

The next day we took our backpacks and walked all the way to the bus again to book our train tickets to Marseilles for that same day, eating nectarines along the way. Luckily there was room on the bus late that night, so we went to the market, getting lost along the way and more and more sore and exhausted. However, the market was worthwhile. We spent under 20 euros, our daily food goal, at the same market we went to with Danielle and Tank. We got dry and cold meat pockets and delicious strawberry coconut smoothies. For lunch we bought meat and cheese in a cone, a baguette that we ripped apart with our hands to eat chunks off, as well as a huge water bottle, two large cones of sweet fruit, and a box of chocolate chip cookies. We walked down La Ramblas to the beach, where we were kicked off the beach chairs because they cost 6 euros per person. We found a spot on the sand for our one towel, and stayed there reading and eating until the sky darkened ominously and even the vendors started to disappear. By the time we reached Barcelona’s Arc de Triomph we were met with a tropical rainstorm. Thanks to Ireland, I was equipped with an umbrella in my purse. Desperate for a toilet and some internet to book our Rome hostel, we ended up settling in the bus station, where we immediately booked the wrong dates for the hostel again. Dale couldn’t believe his idiocy. We were both exasperated, but there wasn’t much we could do about it since we had no where to charge the laptop, camera, or phones.

Before the weather turned

When the bus arrived that night we were ready for a nap, our shoulders aching from lugging our bags so far all day. But it didn’t look like luck was on our side once again. We were stuck at the back of the bus between a guy who reeked of smoke, and a bountiful lady who didn’t want to move her feet off of the third seat so Dale would have someplace to sit. We had bought ourselves neck pillows (and candy) just before departing, which was the only pitiful comfort we had for the trip. I managed to sleep, waking up at least once an hour, but Dale did not. The bus was constantly stopping to let people off and pass through toll booths. Dale had to keep pushing the big lady’s feet away from himself. Then, when we arrived in Marseilles, customs officers came on board with a dog and since Dale and I were stuck with the smeller the whole ride, we were pulled aside for questioning. Luckily the lady we spoke to could communicate in English, searched our bags, asked just a few questions, then let us go.

We stopped at the MacDonald’s in the station for some food, but were unable to find an outlet for the laptop. When we went to the Eurolines booth, the lady told us we needed to go to the actual office, which was closed. It looked like everything was closed for some kind of holiday, which meant that not only was our hostel booking in Rome wrong, there was no way for us to get there until Saturday anyways. I paid 50 cents to throw on the dress I wore yesterday and brush my teeth in the washroom, then we stepped outside. The sky was a nice blue, and I was wowed by the view of the cathedral on the mountain. With no camera, I was sad that we couldn’t capture it. With a little confused wandering, we finally set off in search of a tourism office, which was also closed, then found the ocean port. It was a long rectangle of clear blue water with hundreds of sailboats docked along the sides and a market with a mirrored covering in full tilt on our left. We sat for a while and just watched, remembering just how long Marseilles has been a port city. When we were ready, we tried another MacDonald’s, then found a Starbucks with internet and outlets. Needless to say, our food budget is already broken today. On the plus side, we managed to call our hostel in Rome and rearrange the dates. Now we have to find a hostel in Marseille for a few days so we don’t have to consider sleeping outside again, as well as keep our fingers crossed that there will actually be seats on the bus to Rome on Saturday. As soon as we can dump our belongings at a hostel I think we will be hitting the beach for some glorious nap time.