Aimee’s World Tour

On Sunday I hopped a three hour train from Poznan to Warsaw to visit Babcia Hanna and her friend Teddy.  Learn it now: Grandma = Babcia.

Unlike my last venture on public transport this train screamed Total legroom!!!  I managed a seat with no places in front and no one next to me.  It was heaven… that ride could have lasted 10 hours and it wouldn’t have mattered.

Babcia greeted me the moment I got off of my “wagon”.  She was just as I’d last seen her which was… crap… I have no idea… either high school or college.

Babcia Hanna – I’ve come to the conclusion that the last several days have been an attempt on my life.  The woman will not stop feeding me.  We have breakfast around 8 am and then head to Teddy’s apt. for breakfast around 10:30 am… followed by lunch at 1pm.  And then um… dinner at 4 pm and… supper at like… 6 or 7 pm.  I called in Portion Control but he was no match for Babcia Power. 

My first day I thought I might literally break her heart if I didn’t have another dill potato.  I’m dead serious.  I stared at the ball of carbs, smiled weakly and ate it up.

The first couple days I tried to think of ways to tell her I didn’t want to eat everything that was offered but honestly it’s extremely hard to get that message across.  As a guest in Poland you have to eat or… well no, you have to eat. 

So even though I tried to limit my portions, which wasn’t going to fly on the first day anyways, I’m afraid some serious damage has been done… say a few kilos. 

Polish breakfasts are fat and carbs, only slightly compensated for by veggies and juice.  White sourdough bread with butter AND cheese AND ham or kulbasa (sausage) with tomotoes and cucumbers are the norm.  Lunch is more like dinner… maybe turkey, dill potatoes, chicken, kapoosta (this cabbage thing), soup – whatever.  Dinner can be more of those sandwiches – it varies. 

I made the mistake of naming my favorite polish foods: nalishneekies, pierogies, – well let’s just stop there as those two are like the tastiest things on the planet… and give cinnabun and McD’s a run for their money in the nutrition dept.  Nalishneekies spelled phonetically are these polish pancakes, deep fried a la version Babcia, with either jam or cheese or fruit in the middle.  They are to die for.  And I might.   Pierogies you may be familiar with… basically a Polish ravioli but so much more… they can be boiled or fried and like nalishneekies can have an assortment of fillings from potato and cheese to mushroom and cabagge.  It’s hard to eat just 5. haha. Our second night of pierogies I ate but 3.  “I am superwoman…yes I am yes I am.”

Of course I’m going to enjoy the cuisine but I really have to be aware because if I go for a second helping, Babcia urges me to dump the entire plate or bowl onto my own.  I’ve learned to say Ja yestem ni ya zon-nah – I’m full.  No thank you wasn’t making a dent. 

So while the turkey and potatoes or kasha and barsch aren’t so bad, the surprise nalashnkee takes it over the top. Nalasheekies after every meal… I may have to start looking for new jeans.

(google the words… I’ve not the time to explain right now)

I’ll be back to finish!

 Aimeeschoo

(A fuller version has been hand written still to be submitted – same deal with China – aaahh!!) 

24 hour bus trip from Paris, through Germany to Poznan, POland.

Bus trip left me with two swollen ankles.  My first thought…it’s the lighting in my aunt’s house.  Second thought – don’t be a blood clot!  Third thought… call dr. auntie!!  Immediately shoved those suckers in cold water. 

Lesson learned… move those legs… even on the bus!

2 nights and one FULL day in Paris… I made the most of it….

3 hour Paris walking tour with bubbly Austrailian tour guide.  Most entertaining tour ever and FREE!  Also recommened by Lonely Planet.  Did anyone start humming Gilligan’s Island…?? 

Visited the outsides of Notre Dame and the Pantheon.  Danced next to the Moulin Rouge.  I hate to say it but the Moulin Rouge is TINY.  We were like… wait – that’s it? Needless to say they played the Moulin Rouge song featuring Christina Aguleria that had just come out when I visited France 9 years ago. 

Brutal experience dragging bags to bus station but I made it. 

TO BE ELABORATED.

My mother was actually excited about something I was excited about.  “Aimee, did you know Lyon is near the Alps?  You must go to Mt. Blanc.”  Honestly I can’t say if that’s a direct quote… it’s close.  She may have asked me if I wanted to eat oatmeal or if I had laundry to do.  But the jist of the message is this: Mt. Blanc is AMAZING.  And it was. 

Up in the snowy Alps I was taken aback.  While Everest literally took my breath away with the altitude, the views of Mt. Blanc from the cable car were unlike anything I’d ever experienced.  Mama – you done good. 

Ideally my mama had intended a trip to Charmonix as a weekend trip amidst 3 months of nannying in France but sometimes things don’t work out.  I’m glad it was my stint with the family and not the mountain. 

Reading through Lonely Planet I discovered that not only could I take a cable car up the moutain but that I could actually take three in succession and end up with an Italian viewpoint.  This would cost a little more but I was dead set on it.

As for paragliding, eh, I didn’t really care one way or another about it.  If I did it I did it.  If I didn’t, whatever. 

I had caught the early train to Charmonix, intending to get there at approx. 1 pm.  Well I rolled in after 4 pm due to an unacceptable rookie travel error.  Got off the train at the wrong stop… I had been busy reading my Lonely Planet but I could have sworn that those 3 hours had been too quick.  IDIOT.  So I lunched for 3 hours while waiting for the next train heading to Charmonix.  It was actually quite pleasant and I had an amazing salad while fooling around with manual settings on my camera.

My first stop in Charmonix was La Maison…  Bascially it helps you organize anything sporty that you’d want to do.  And there’s a lot.  I decided I’d just ask about paragliding since I was there.  The cable car tickets would have to be bought at a different location.  I ended up walking out the door 110 Euros down and committed to a 9 am date with disaster for the following morning.  I couldn’t wait!

I was off to find a place to rest my head.  Unfortunatley the international youth hostel was outside the main town and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hit up the Vagabond, a british run hostel complete with pub and probably lots of obnoxious boys.  With the help of someone at the tourist office, I decided to suck it up the 40 Euros and get a hotel room of my own.  Now 40 Euros is just over $50 but when you’re traveling for long periods of time, you’ve gotta cut expenses.  Lodging in Lyon was 18 Euros a night.   It had to be.  My conscience slowly creeped around and steered me in the direction of the Vagabond… just thought I should check it out IN CASE.  A friendly Brit greeted me when I walked into the side door of the pub.  I kind of indicated that I was tired and didn’t want rowdy roommates.  When staying at a hostel you have to be ready for ANYTHING.  He assured me that the two guys in there seemed to be pretty lax, especially since they themselves had to get up early to do some climbing.  After a few minutes of deliberation I told him I’d take the room.  I was not disappointed.

I was quite pleased to ditch my pack.  Walking around with it for probably 2 hours as I tried to navigate my way around little Charmonix had made me rather weary.  I  had waaay too much stuff for 2 days but I knew I’d be in the mountains and that the temperatures could really drop.  And well I like to have choices…

Before paying for my lodging, I went into the main part of town (the kind britt let me leave my load behind the bar for the time being) in search of a payphone to cancel my 40 Euro dream paradise.  Then, to be safe, I invested in ear plugs, some powerade, and a surprisingly delicious sandwich.  No luck with an alarm clock.  I contemplated seeing a French movie but then told myself, A, you’re in the ALps, and B, there are no subtitles in this theater. 

I spent my evening chatting with the bartender, a guy named Ben who was my bunkmate and an avid climber, and a random paragliding junkie who had some excellent stories about the risks of G-force.   My other roommate klunked out early.  He was from… Sweden?  He had a huge blonde fro and a kind smile.    Certainly not the frat boy nightmares I had been hesitant to face.  Sometimes a girl just needs her sleep. 

I woke around 7 am, my mind set on getting over to the cable car office as soon as it opened at 8 am in order to avoid the long queues (a word non-American English speakers use instead of “lines.”  Also note, queue is french for “line”).  It was at the ticket window that I encountered one example of what might be considered a rude frenchman.  Woman actually.  She had not an ounce of patience and absolutley no desire to make herself clear.  I had been told I could buy tickets all the way through Italy.  She rudely told me I’d have to wait until 8:30 am to buy the cable car to the Herbonne portion.  She gestured to the building and said I could buy it “upstairs.”  So I kept myself busy with a breakfast croissant until 8:30 before going in search of this other office.  Turns out I would actually have to be up THE MOUNTAIN to buy the next leg of the journey.  I guess the moral of the story is that when you go upstairs in France, you are climbing a mountain?  I was slightly annoyed since now I had to hurry back to the hostel to lock up my things and then to another cable car station for my paragliding date.  

I double layered my pants and triple layered my shirts in preparation for my plunge into the green Alps.  It turned out the lift was a little further than I thought and I found myself sweating up a steep road.  I arrived 15 minutes late which I feared could really cut my time short.  Christopher, pronounced in the most French way possible, quickly led me to the cable car and soon we were up on Brevaunt preparing for our jump.  It looked easy enough and I wasn’t the least bit frightened.  Not like when I had to muster every ounce of courage to go bungee jumping in Korea.  I still can’t believe I did that.  No, this was a nice gentle easy ride. 

more on lyon…. more people… more places…. more attempts at purchasing tickets…  more free breakfasts

The lovey Swedish Tina and me.

I WILL catch up and this post will be deleted.

 I visited Mt. Blanc, Lyon again, Paris and traveled via bus for 24 hours across Germany into Poznan, Poland.  Will probably get to Warsaw on Sunday after a day at the beach tom with my aunt, uncle and cousins.  Then Krakau and Auswitz and back to Poznan I believe.  Right now I’d love to just SLEEP. 

If I told you I was considering paragliding in the Alps, would you join me? Or report me? 

With its peak at just over 4000  meters, Mt. Blanc doesnt even reach the base of Everest but nonetheless this mountain should be amazing with you guessed it.. snow.  Blanc means white.  Snow is white… nevermind.

It’ll be just like the “Sound of Music.” Only colder… with a cable car,  a major lack of “do, re, me, fa, so’s” and absolutely no children.   And I guess Mt. Blanc borders italy and france, not Austria. But otherwise – exactly the same. 

At 40 Euros up round trip via cable car, I’m ready to do it, though the 90 Euro alternative of paragliding is tempting. 

And so I’m off to the train station and the office of tourism to try to make this happen.  It would be quite the way to finish off the 2nd of many visits to La France.  Unless of course I get smashed to bits on a cliff.  No worries about my body.  Wanted to donate it anyways. 

Lyon is lovely and I love it!

Before you think to yourselves, well what a shame, allow  me to tell you how much I adored the atmosphere of the villages and roads of the Bourgogne region.  And how they were worth the experience. 

I will never forget my runs along the fields of Laives. 

It all happened rather quickly.

The parents were home early from work on Saturday and I spent a lot of time cleaning and neatening up just so I was still getting work done. 

The family and myself had talked in the beginning of the week about me leaving early and the parents had offered to drive me to the airport the next weekend. 

I had just sat down at the computer when she snapped.

Not liking the fact that I was leaving and not understanding that our situation was a miscommunication of what was expected on both ends, she let me have it.  I stood my ground, clearly making myself known but never mean. 

 When I had spoken to her about leaving, she had said she understood and asked if I could stick around till the end of June to finish up the school year with the kids.  I told her of course though in my mind I was done with them.  I was originally supposed to remain with them until mid-August, having arrived on May 26th.

After a little more discussion, the father told me I could just leave and so I took him up on it.  The mom hit me with, “Well what time are you leaving?  You cannot miss the train.”  “I don’t know.  I kind of have to pack. Everything.” 

It’s impossible to recount the number of times she had rolled her eyes and made faces to her husband whenever I spoke.  I had now realized I’d be leaving four children behind. 

In truth I could have remained there had I really wanted to but my heart had already checked out.  I felt no connection to anyone except Mamie, the grandmother.   Nadine had said I could  leave the next day or Monday but I found that IMMEDIATELY would be just fine. 

I spent probably an hour or so shoving all my clothes and everything I owned into my 3 bags.  I was sweating big time by the time I dragged my luggage down the stairs. 

We were about halfway to the train station when I realized that my red wallet was under this table by my bed.  I didn’t feel stupid for leaving it because they had been rushing me to make the 7.21 pm train.  I also had a few things in the dryer. 

The ride to the train station the second time went much quicker because I had managed to grab some tomato juice to go with my wallet.  I felt very weak because I had not eaten any dinner and, as I had already indicated, I was sweating profusely in my sweatshirt and jeans and for some reason my back was aching. 

They bid me a good flight and I thanked them.  The exchange was short and to the point.  Then, without hesitation, I headed straight into the train station of Chalon, feeling nothing but free. 

I had no guilt, no thoughts of failure, no remorse.  I did not feel it necessary to justify my actions over and over to myself.  I had simply tried out a situation which I decided wasn’t what I wanted, accepted the fact that it wouldn’t work and moved on to the next step. I didn’t even cry. 

It was a relief to have left but at the same time I had gained a lot from my month with the Doux family.  I think what I enjoyed most was driving through the little streets of the villages that line the french countryside of the Bourgogne region.  And my beautiful white cows. 

C’est la vie mes amies.  Et ca n’est pas toujours facile.