Warning: No more posts like this, I can’t stand chronicling my exploits. I like writing to express, not to report, so expect nothing else. I’ll put pictures soon, some are just too good not to share.
Even now that the holidays are over, I still have no time to write. It’s not that school is busy, it’s just that time passes, and before I’ve realized it, two weeks have passed and the world wonders what I’m doing. Wait no more, for the light has come, and glory will soon be!
As I suspected, the week abroad (abroad from my French abroad) was on a scale that was far past measurable. The week passed too quickly, and I barely recovered from my bus ride haze to notice it waving. I did pick up some memories that I know will last a lifetime, the ones that you automatically store in the section of your mind reserved for your most precious and life-changing memories. Although, I must admit, that section is getting quite full, so I don’t know how much I can preserve, at least fully.
The 17 hour bus ride actually passed quite quickly. While I spent only a very small portion of it doing schoolwork, the rest was productive. About 5 hours into the ride, my French relative called me to set up my correspondence with my Czech relatives. Since my level of French is not high, and her level of English was not much better, we spent a good hour trying to understand each other and set up our plans. Finally, I talked to the guy sitting next to me, and he took the phone and handled everything. I was all set to take a train to a town to meet my family. The rest of the trip passed smoothly, and was spent sleeping a full night, and conversing with a French student and a Polish student on their way to Poland. If there’s one thing I can’t help but always notice, it’s that you can’t help but feel inadequate when a person has to speak your language, rather than theirs.
I arrived in Vienna (Wien, I soon found out) early in the morning, and I set out on my adventures. The first day, I spent my time walking around, seeing random landmarks marked on a map, because I didn’t have a clue as to what I was seeing. I visited the Belvedere to see Gustav Klimt’s masterpiece, The Kiss, along with the most famous church in Vienna, St. Stephen’s. I toured the opera house, and in the evening I sat outside the opera house and watched a live performance of the opera occurring inside on a big screen that have set up on the outside of the building. Of course, in between each of these visits to different places, I stopped for food and wound up eating 6 sausage hotdogs and plenty of apple strudel. The next day was much the same, at least as far as food goes, but I spent the day at Schonbrunn palace, Vienna’s equivalent of Versailles. While the palace grounds were smaller, I felt that this palace had much more to offer. In other words, a zoo. The Schonbrunn zoo, the first zoo in the world, was an amazing spectacle, full of every creature imaginable. An afternoon wasted there was no waste at all.
The next day, I travelled to Prague, the most beautiful city I’ve seen besides Paris. Its ancient architecture mixed with the new city piled on top was a great combination, and I’ve never seen such a pretty place at night. Of course, like with every place I visit, I had a list of necessary food that I had to eat, so I spent the day ranging from food shop to food shop in search of my next fix. Luckily, everything in Prague was much cheaper because of the absence of the euro. The first day, and the morning of the second, were spent sightseeing. From Charles Bridge to the Castle, I took it all in, and never enjoyed myself more.
On the second day in Prague, I was all set to meet with my long-lost family. Early in the afternoon, I set out on my journey, and two hours later after a small train ride and a car ride, I was in another car with my extended family on the way to their house in Dnesice, 100 km from Paris. Upon arrival, I was greeted with hospitality unbeknownst by most, and was given my favorite Czech dish, Dolky, although I’m not sure how to spell it. After that, I spent the next few hours communicating with Petr, his wife, and his son Petr. None of them spoke enough English for conversation, and I don’t speak Czech, so our communication relied mostly on hand motions and the few words we do know.
The next morning, my only full day with them, I was shown around the Czech Republic. I was taken to Plsen, home of the Pilsner beer factory, and once more I was treated like a king. They took me to the line of demarcation in Roxycany, where the American troops had met the Russian troops at the end of the second world war, and consequently where my grandmother and grandfather met, and then I was driven through the town where my grandmother grew up. It was strange, seeing the direct line of my heritage and ancestry, but it was gratifying, knowing that I do have a homeland. The rest of the day was spent eating in a restaurant and at pubs sharing a few beers with young Petr, as his friend translated conversation for us.
Unfortunately, the next day I had to leave, and I returned to Prague for a few hours before I headed back to Paris. The Czech Republic was wonderful. It was exactly what I needed to prepare myself for the last half of the semester. Seeing my extended family treat me as their own just reminded me how deep bonds can run. I was instantly accepted, just like I instantly accepted them. I felt like young Petr was my brother and that his parents cared about me, and it was surreal, knowing that I was finally completely safe, with someone to turn to if things exploded. It was a special privilege, being in a foreign country and meeting distant family, and yet feeling at home all at the same time.
The vacation was not over though, and it was sure to get more interesting. Upon my return to Paris, I immediately set out for the city, where I spent the next two days staying at the apartment of a friend of a friend. It’s the first time I’ve actually lived in Paris, and it was the most amazing living I’ve done. The first night was uneventful, but we cooked fajitas, and home-cooked food has never tasted quite as wonderful. The night was spent out, walking around and seeing other friends. The next morning though, was the important part.
We woke up at about 8 in the morning and immediately set out for the nearest market. After browsing through the market for about an hour and collecting a random assortment of food items for breakfast, we made it back to the apartment, eager to eat our breakfast of bread, cheese, sausage, pastries, chicken, vegetables and jams. After setting everything out, we commenced eating, and two hours later we were finished. It wasn’t due to the amount of food though, because there was not much, but the atmosphere of the meal. I was French for those two hours, savoring the time I was with my friends, and just really relaxing for the first time. Time passed, but I had no care in the world, and none of us were willing to break the passage. It was gratifying, and it was a release. A release from the stigma that eating is not a part of life, but an evil that must happen every few hours. That meals are just for eating. But I finally understood a part of French culture. The culture of enjoying your friends, the morning, and life in general.
After this two hour cathartic lesson, I spent the rest of the day in a haze, seeing the city for the first time. I spent the afternoon in the Marais, another famous section of Paris, and at the famous Parisian mosque (featured in Paris, Je t’aime), where I had amazing Moroccan pastries and mint tea in the mosque’s café. It was a morning that lasted all day.
At night, after cooking about 15 pounds of stir-fry and eating it all, we three dressed up and headed to a Paris nightclub for a Halloween adventure in the city. In my spiderman costume, not only did I feel completely normal in Paris, but I also felt strangely alive, like I was studying abroad and doing the memorable things that I would tell my children. Every French youth was yelling at me, and though I couldn’t see through the mask, the metro was full of “Speedermahn, Speedermahn!” It was fun, doing something Parisian. The night was long and the dancing intense, but we finally made it to bed around 5 am.
Since then, I’ve been sitting in Jouy, doing schoolwork and relaxing. With one of my only finals past, and only a handful of simple assignments for the next few weeks, I have an open schedule. Tomorrow is Paris, for an exploration of a museum or the city. Friday, I start the best class HEC offers,
Wine Marketing. I spend the weekend learning about wine, how to taste, and how to sell it. It should be an interesting weekend. Saturday night, the international students are spending the night in Paris in a club, and then the week starts over. I was so relaxed by this weekend, that I’m not sure I want to travel anymore. I’m happy, and it only took me half of my trip to realize what it was that would make it permanent.
I don’t think I’ll be writing too often from now until the end. And certainly not like this. I don’t enjoy summing up my trip, I want to write about how I felt, to imbue you with a spirit of the rush that I feel. But I can’t. I can only give advice. The advice to come, to take whatever chance you have, and go to the place you’ve been most wanting to visit. The place where you think you’ll find happiness. Chances are, you’ll find it if you are willing to look for it. So please, make yourself happy, because I plan on doing nothing else.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Saturday, October 24, 2009
The Maturity
Written on a bus from Paris to Vienna, 5:56 p.m.
Warning: Due to my inability to write for the last few weeks, this post is extremely long. So, take your time, read the parts that interest you, and please understand that this is but a fraction of what I could say. I’ll write more often, but even then I can’t promise a lack of verbosity.
As time drips through my fingers, I’m finding it much harder to write. Not for lack of anything to say, though, but because the chance to sit and contemplate and record has not yet presented itself. However, as I sit in a bus, a mere two hours into my 17 hour ride, I find myself with not much to do, but plenty to say.
Two weekends ago I was in Brussels. Last weekend, London. This week, Vienna and Prague. Moving, moving, moving, and I miss the chance to sit still. It’s the thing I miss most, the ability to relax, to not move, to laze the day away because I have an endless supply of similar days ahead of me. Unfortunately, for the time being, they are all behind. With two months in, and only two short months to go (exactly), I have to take what I can get. I have to absorb Paris and Europe through every pore in my body, all day every day, because chances like mine are slim, rare, and meaningful, at least to me.
I miss other things too. The ability to cook my own food, beef jerky, Jell-O, the sunny weather, access to books I’ve been yearning to read. Most of all, I miss my family and friends. The Sundays I spend at home with my mom, relaxing after church, competing on Bejeweled, watching football, napping all day on the couch and enjoying each other’s company, even if we don’t talk. Or the nights and weekends with my best friends, spent doing nothing but sitting, watching movies or acting stupid just for the sake of satisfying our own inner children. I miss Andrew, Brett, Andrew, Steve, Curran, Emily, the girls, my gym, my life, and the ease with which I live it. I don’t want to go home though. If I could, I would just transfer them here, everything I miss, and integrate them with the new things, the new way of life, the darker weather, the drearier days, the wonders of each new city and each feeling associated with all of my wanderings.
Most of my sadness comes from nostalgia though. The way I remember things, no matter when they occurred, or even if they no longer exist. I want cartoons, a lazy afternoon playing with Legos or swimming in the bay. I want Christmas, the stress of finals but the knowledge that I’ll spend most of my studying time wasting days with my roommates, which in the end, is no waste at all. Cookies, Christmas films, Christmas music, a tree, the feeling of love and compassion. I miss the simplicity of life, and even though life was never simple after childhood, I still feel as if I had the connection. I miss someone to share my sadness with, my happiness, my triumphs, failures, and circular voyages. People with which to share myself, give myself, because after all, no man is an island.
Maybe this was the sort of change I was looking for. Not the type of change where I see the world in a different light, but maybe the realization that the light I see is the light I love. Maybe I’m setting my priorities straight, seeing what my life should be, and it has nothing to do with the money I make, the job I have, my career path, or what I own and what I’ve seen. It’s my relationships, the parts of me that belong to other people. The slice of my ego, my love, my heart that every person I know has a claim to. I’m not just me, I’m everyone, and this sojourn without myself, without others is ripping the preconceptions from me, and giving me what I’ve had all along.
I already am who I always was. I’ve struggled so hard to better myself, to change myself, change my personality, that I didn’t even realize that I don’t need to change, I just need to mature enough to understand myself. I’ve spent so much time fighting, thinking that if only I could cultivate my image how I wanted it to be, that I would be that person. That if I pretended not to be upset, then I wasn’t. That anger was a sign of weakness, that pain was for the stupid or the unknowing, that love didn’t exist, selfishness was the highest ideal, and ultimately that I was superior because of my thoughts. But I’m not that person. I’m normal. I exult, I pout, I cry, I laugh, I miss, I wish, and I love. Just like everyone else. Why can’t I ever just acknowledge how I feel, why must I try to feel how I thought I should?
When you sit on a bus, and you know you have a wonderful 14 hours ahead of you of inactivity, your mind has quite a bit of time to wander.
Brussels and London are by far my two favorite cities I’ve visited aside from Paris. The weekend in Brussels was spent eating chocolate, waffles, and chocolate waffles. The city itself is quite old, much like any European city, but for the first time, Brussels had a distinctly European feel. It was exactly how I imagined Europe. It was a quiet town, not too full of tourists, not too full of natives, and a wonderful place to live. The city centre was exactly that, a centre, and I felt as if each road pulled toward the square.
I was reminded of Venice as well. In Venice, St. Mark’s square is the apex of the city, the crown jewel, and the starting point of the city. It was the same with Brussels, with the square constituting the beginning of each crossroad into the surrounding countryside. Like an onion, each successive layer outside of the square was more rural, more relaxed, and in my eye, more European.
The first day I went to a few museums and the European Union headquarters, and spent the rest of the day walking and eating. I don’t really remember the sites though, because they weren’t important as compared with the insight. It was the most relaxed I’ve been in Europe, even more so than the black beaches of Santorini, or among the stunning history of Rome. An eternal rain plagued the city all weekend, but it felt natural, as if rain was how the days passed, and without it, time would have stopped.
That night, we visited a very famous bar in the city centre. Belgium, aside from its waffles and chocolates, is known for its beer. In this bar alone, over 250 types of beer were on tap or available in bottles, and overall, the bar had 2500 types of beer in its cellar. Ranging from the bland to the exotic, it was quite an experience. As a group, we bought many different flavors of beer, and proceeded to pass the bottles around, taking a swig and comparing. From coconut to mango to chocolate to berry, the flavors were strange and the tastes were delightful.
My favorite part of Brussels though was the food. I have never tasted a waffle as delicious as one freshly made, with a score of bananas, chocolate, and whipped cream on top. In fact, I don’t believe I’ve ever had a waffle decorated in such a manner. Belgian waffles though, pale in comparison with the real Belgian gem, chocolate. On every street, in most sections of town, there was a chocolate store every 30 feet, and each one contained its own special brand of chocolate. I ate truffles, flavored chocolate, alcoholic chocolate, sweet chocolate, nutty chocolate, and just plain chocolate, and still I couldn’t get enough. I was sad to leave, but I knew it was necessary. It was the first time in a long time that I went a day without any sort of protein intake. Body be damned, it was worth it.
London, in a sense, was the exact opposite of Belgium. The city itself, though not quite alive in the same way that Paris is, holds its own secrets, which unfortunately I didn’t have the time to discover. A friend warned me before I visited that many people prefer London or Paris, but not both. Unlike Paris, London is modern, an old city revitalized and given the touches of the new high-tech society. I found it exactly as described then. But it was wonderful.
I spent most of the weekend by myself, even though I travelled with friends. Due to a combination of our extremely late nights, and my characteristic ability to not only function on little sleep, but also to wake up extremely early with no prompting, I was off on my own well before my companions woke up. London is a big city, so a good majority of my time was spent walking from museum to museum, but with only myself to entertain, I was able to understand the city much better than if I had been surrounded by friends.
As a city, London is a very expensive place to live. While the food is cheaper than Paris, unfortunately the attractions are not, and based on my status as a student, I decided to take the free tour. All of London’s national museums are free, so aside from seeing the outside of some of the bigger tourist destinations, including Big Ben and The Parliament, Westminster Abbey, St. Paul’s Cathedral, the London Eye, and the London Tower, I spent my time in the Natural History Museum, the National Gallery, and the British Museum. I went to King’s Cross to see the famous Harry Potter platform, visited the original Magna Carta right next door at the British Library, and was able to see an extensive gallery of paintings by many master’s in the National Gallery.
It was strange, too, being once again in a country where English was the primary language. I no longer had the worry of not making myself understood. Strangely, I felt as if the British were my long lost brothers, separated at birth, but with a similar understanding of life. I guess it was the American in me reaching to the surface.
London was the opposite of Belgium in terms of food. In the UK, the food is hearty, meant for the working man. It’s full of meat, cheese, and potatoes, and everything I’ve loved about food. I gorged on steak pies, chicken pies, and fish and chips, and like Belgium, still I couldn’t get enough. I felt ready to work in the field, to labor over a farm, to plow a harvest. I also ate in the stereotypical English pub. The lighting was dim, the pub was old (formerly the site where Henry VIII denounced his marriage to Catherine), and the food was delicious. It was quite cold outside, so the mug of apple cider I had was especially fitting.
On Saturday night, we went to the Ministry of Sound, a very famous club in London’s centre. The boys snuck in for free, we managed to find free drinks, and after 4 hours of dancing and chatting, we finally retired to our beds. Only later did I find out that the club was well known over all of Europe, and is a must visit for any club-hopping fanatic.
In the two weeks that have passed, I’ve had the opportunity to explore Paris as well. I’ve yet to see all of the major tourist sites, but as soon as our school break is over, most of my time will be spent in the city itself, enjoying and relaxing and exploring and knowing. Even with two months, I don’t think I have the time.
Now, I’m off to Vienna and Prague, for the first time travelling by myself, which should be an experience unto itself. Truthfully, I’m scared to be by myself. I have yet to travel without a companion, and even if in the past I lost him for the day, I at least found myself with somebody to get dinner with in the evening. No doubt, another growing experience, I’ll finally be forced to take care of myself, to solve the problems without support, and to entertain my mind with only its own thoughts. However, if there was one place besides Paris I would like to be without others, it would be in Prague. My family is Czech, and I was raised with many Czech cultural ideals, so I’m looking forward to finding my heritage, and more importantly, meeting my Czech relatives. I’ll be able to compare my grandma’s Czech cooking with the cooking of Prague, and even though I know that Prague stands no chance, it will be nice to have a flavor of home, and a taste of what is to come at Christmas when I finally return to the U.S.
Warning: Due to my inability to write for the last few weeks, this post is extremely long. So, take your time, read the parts that interest you, and please understand that this is but a fraction of what I could say. I’ll write more often, but even then I can’t promise a lack of verbosity.
As time drips through my fingers, I’m finding it much harder to write. Not for lack of anything to say, though, but because the chance to sit and contemplate and record has not yet presented itself. However, as I sit in a bus, a mere two hours into my 17 hour ride, I find myself with not much to do, but plenty to say.
Two weekends ago I was in Brussels. Last weekend, London. This week, Vienna and Prague. Moving, moving, moving, and I miss the chance to sit still. It’s the thing I miss most, the ability to relax, to not move, to laze the day away because I have an endless supply of similar days ahead of me. Unfortunately, for the time being, they are all behind. With two months in, and only two short months to go (exactly), I have to take what I can get. I have to absorb Paris and Europe through every pore in my body, all day every day, because chances like mine are slim, rare, and meaningful, at least to me.
I miss other things too. The ability to cook my own food, beef jerky, Jell-O, the sunny weather, access to books I’ve been yearning to read. Most of all, I miss my family and friends. The Sundays I spend at home with my mom, relaxing after church, competing on Bejeweled, watching football, napping all day on the couch and enjoying each other’s company, even if we don’t talk. Or the nights and weekends with my best friends, spent doing nothing but sitting, watching movies or acting stupid just for the sake of satisfying our own inner children. I miss Andrew, Brett, Andrew, Steve, Curran, Emily, the girls, my gym, my life, and the ease with which I live it. I don’t want to go home though. If I could, I would just transfer them here, everything I miss, and integrate them with the new things, the new way of life, the darker weather, the drearier days, the wonders of each new city and each feeling associated with all of my wanderings.
Most of my sadness comes from nostalgia though. The way I remember things, no matter when they occurred, or even if they no longer exist. I want cartoons, a lazy afternoon playing with Legos or swimming in the bay. I want Christmas, the stress of finals but the knowledge that I’ll spend most of my studying time wasting days with my roommates, which in the end, is no waste at all. Cookies, Christmas films, Christmas music, a tree, the feeling of love and compassion. I miss the simplicity of life, and even though life was never simple after childhood, I still feel as if I had the connection. I miss someone to share my sadness with, my happiness, my triumphs, failures, and circular voyages. People with which to share myself, give myself, because after all, no man is an island.
Maybe this was the sort of change I was looking for. Not the type of change where I see the world in a different light, but maybe the realization that the light I see is the light I love. Maybe I’m setting my priorities straight, seeing what my life should be, and it has nothing to do with the money I make, the job I have, my career path, or what I own and what I’ve seen. It’s my relationships, the parts of me that belong to other people. The slice of my ego, my love, my heart that every person I know has a claim to. I’m not just me, I’m everyone, and this sojourn without myself, without others is ripping the preconceptions from me, and giving me what I’ve had all along.
I already am who I always was. I’ve struggled so hard to better myself, to change myself, change my personality, that I didn’t even realize that I don’t need to change, I just need to mature enough to understand myself. I’ve spent so much time fighting, thinking that if only I could cultivate my image how I wanted it to be, that I would be that person. That if I pretended not to be upset, then I wasn’t. That anger was a sign of weakness, that pain was for the stupid or the unknowing, that love didn’t exist, selfishness was the highest ideal, and ultimately that I was superior because of my thoughts. But I’m not that person. I’m normal. I exult, I pout, I cry, I laugh, I miss, I wish, and I love. Just like everyone else. Why can’t I ever just acknowledge how I feel, why must I try to feel how I thought I should?
When you sit on a bus, and you know you have a wonderful 14 hours ahead of you of inactivity, your mind has quite a bit of time to wander.
Brussels and London are by far my two favorite cities I’ve visited aside from Paris. The weekend in Brussels was spent eating chocolate, waffles, and chocolate waffles. The city itself is quite old, much like any European city, but for the first time, Brussels had a distinctly European feel. It was exactly how I imagined Europe. It was a quiet town, not too full of tourists, not too full of natives, and a wonderful place to live. The city centre was exactly that, a centre, and I felt as if each road pulled toward the square.
I was reminded of Venice as well. In Venice, St. Mark’s square is the apex of the city, the crown jewel, and the starting point of the city. It was the same with Brussels, with the square constituting the beginning of each crossroad into the surrounding countryside. Like an onion, each successive layer outside of the square was more rural, more relaxed, and in my eye, more European.
The first day I went to a few museums and the European Union headquarters, and spent the rest of the day walking and eating. I don’t really remember the sites though, because they weren’t important as compared with the insight. It was the most relaxed I’ve been in Europe, even more so than the black beaches of Santorini, or among the stunning history of Rome. An eternal rain plagued the city all weekend, but it felt natural, as if rain was how the days passed, and without it, time would have stopped.
That night, we visited a very famous bar in the city centre. Belgium, aside from its waffles and chocolates, is known for its beer. In this bar alone, over 250 types of beer were on tap or available in bottles, and overall, the bar had 2500 types of beer in its cellar. Ranging from the bland to the exotic, it was quite an experience. As a group, we bought many different flavors of beer, and proceeded to pass the bottles around, taking a swig and comparing. From coconut to mango to chocolate to berry, the flavors were strange and the tastes were delightful.
My favorite part of Brussels though was the food. I have never tasted a waffle as delicious as one freshly made, with a score of bananas, chocolate, and whipped cream on top. In fact, I don’t believe I’ve ever had a waffle decorated in such a manner. Belgian waffles though, pale in comparison with the real Belgian gem, chocolate. On every street, in most sections of town, there was a chocolate store every 30 feet, and each one contained its own special brand of chocolate. I ate truffles, flavored chocolate, alcoholic chocolate, sweet chocolate, nutty chocolate, and just plain chocolate, and still I couldn’t get enough. I was sad to leave, but I knew it was necessary. It was the first time in a long time that I went a day without any sort of protein intake. Body be damned, it was worth it.
London, in a sense, was the exact opposite of Belgium. The city itself, though not quite alive in the same way that Paris is, holds its own secrets, which unfortunately I didn’t have the time to discover. A friend warned me before I visited that many people prefer London or Paris, but not both. Unlike Paris, London is modern, an old city revitalized and given the touches of the new high-tech society. I found it exactly as described then. But it was wonderful.
I spent most of the weekend by myself, even though I travelled with friends. Due to a combination of our extremely late nights, and my characteristic ability to not only function on little sleep, but also to wake up extremely early with no prompting, I was off on my own well before my companions woke up. London is a big city, so a good majority of my time was spent walking from museum to museum, but with only myself to entertain, I was able to understand the city much better than if I had been surrounded by friends.
As a city, London is a very expensive place to live. While the food is cheaper than Paris, unfortunately the attractions are not, and based on my status as a student, I decided to take the free tour. All of London’s national museums are free, so aside from seeing the outside of some of the bigger tourist destinations, including Big Ben and The Parliament, Westminster Abbey, St. Paul’s Cathedral, the London Eye, and the London Tower, I spent my time in the Natural History Museum, the National Gallery, and the British Museum. I went to King’s Cross to see the famous Harry Potter platform, visited the original Magna Carta right next door at the British Library, and was able to see an extensive gallery of paintings by many master’s in the National Gallery.
It was strange, too, being once again in a country where English was the primary language. I no longer had the worry of not making myself understood. Strangely, I felt as if the British were my long lost brothers, separated at birth, but with a similar understanding of life. I guess it was the American in me reaching to the surface.
London was the opposite of Belgium in terms of food. In the UK, the food is hearty, meant for the working man. It’s full of meat, cheese, and potatoes, and everything I’ve loved about food. I gorged on steak pies, chicken pies, and fish and chips, and like Belgium, still I couldn’t get enough. I felt ready to work in the field, to labor over a farm, to plow a harvest. I also ate in the stereotypical English pub. The lighting was dim, the pub was old (formerly the site where Henry VIII denounced his marriage to Catherine), and the food was delicious. It was quite cold outside, so the mug of apple cider I had was especially fitting.
On Saturday night, we went to the Ministry of Sound, a very famous club in London’s centre. The boys snuck in for free, we managed to find free drinks, and after 4 hours of dancing and chatting, we finally retired to our beds. Only later did I find out that the club was well known over all of Europe, and is a must visit for any club-hopping fanatic.
In the two weeks that have passed, I’ve had the opportunity to explore Paris as well. I’ve yet to see all of the major tourist sites, but as soon as our school break is over, most of my time will be spent in the city itself, enjoying and relaxing and exploring and knowing. Even with two months, I don’t think I have the time.
Now, I’m off to Vienna and Prague, for the first time travelling by myself, which should be an experience unto itself. Truthfully, I’m scared to be by myself. I have yet to travel without a companion, and even if in the past I lost him for the day, I at least found myself with somebody to get dinner with in the evening. No doubt, another growing experience, I’ll finally be forced to take care of myself, to solve the problems without support, and to entertain my mind with only its own thoughts. However, if there was one place besides Paris I would like to be without others, it would be in Prague. My family is Czech, and I was raised with many Czech cultural ideals, so I’m looking forward to finding my heritage, and more importantly, meeting my Czech relatives. I’ll be able to compare my grandma’s Czech cooking with the cooking of Prague, and even though I know that Prague stands no chance, it will be nice to have a flavor of home, and a taste of what is to come at Christmas when I finally return to the U.S.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Warning! This post is dreadfully unfinished. Without a clear focus, there was no end in sight.
I know, my dear avid readers, that you are expecting another wonderful insight into the workings of our universe. A metaphysical journey so intense, so euphoric, that suddenly life as you know it ceases to exist and you are you, ready for the fight and yearning for blood, willing to rip the throat out of any unfortunate soul that happens to cross your path and fire your soul. But today I disappoint.
Originally this blog began as the brother blog to my lifetime roommate's musings and complaints about an otherwise dreary existence (please visit http://www.pishowish.blogspot.com/). However, after soon realizing that Andrew had no intention of posting (until now) and I had no chance of developing a loyal readership, my writings evolved from the sad attempts to match his humor to an otherwise indecipherable babble.
Even now I'm stuck in limbo, a midway point between his crisp writing and my own ideas. I want to write my thoughts, but I also want everyone to realize how funny, attractive, and intellectually superior* I am when compared to my Rambo-esque rock of a roommate.
With his writings so awfully contradictory to my own, I shout to the world my own ambivalence and my own love for life, as evinced by my off-the-beaten-path response to his last post. I'm a full person, not just a tormented soul looking for love in my own loveless way. I laugh, I cry, I smile too much, I'm wracked with wonder, need, and hunger, and an ever-growing yearning for my humorless roommate. Even with our forced bonding over the last two years, our ups and downs, our fights, our resolutions, our Gauntlet Legends still-in-progress adventures, I find if I had a choice of people to take on a trip with me (granted I could ditch him if need be), he would be a top choice.
However, as our original plan was to out-perform each other in areas where neither of us succeed, I will continue to wage the war.
This weekend I drove to Munich. What was meant to be a nice, scenic 8-hour drive through the rolling foothills of the Alps to Germany, turned into a 12-hour extravaganza. By the time we arrived at our hotel (of which only I was supposed to be staying), it was almost morning. So, after a short ninja mission sneaking each of my friends into my room, we all crashed on the same bed, squished as sardines, and eagerly awaited morning.
Oktoberfest! A writhing mass of humanity all gathered for one purpose. That purpose, you ask? To drink? NO!! To party? NO!! Bratwurst? NO!! Camaraderie! Thousands upon thousands of potential friends, all ready to be met and to make stories with. At 10 in the morning, I was in a tent, sitting with strangers and enjoying the most delicious beer. It tasted more like love. By 10:30, the tent was chanting, a smoky haze had descended, and I was deep in conversation with my new German friends. Soon, we were all standing on the tables chanting German verses and singing as loudly as we could.
After a few hours of intense mingling, and smuggling giant mugs out of the tent, my fellow travelers and I retired to the fairgrounds, a wonderful earth-bound heaven of souvenirs, lieder-hosen, bratwurst, and grilled chicken. Within hours, I managed to eat my own bodyweight in food. Soon after, we retired to our hotel, out of energy and full of life.
The next day was spent exploring Munich. I visited more churches, and even though I am pretty tired of churches at this point, the German churches were very interesting. Many had been almost completely destroyed by WWII, and inside the vestibules of these magnificent cathedrals were pictures depicting the before, after, and restored pictures of each church. I can only imagine how devastating the war was to Europe.
The church visits were followed by a stroll through the English Gardens of Munich, a massive park complex, full of kite-flyers, dog-lovers, and naked people. It was strange to see naked men walking around, butt after a while, they became just a strange piece of scenic backdrop. The 8-hour drive home once again took 12 hours, full of high spirits, tired bodies, and enough caffeine to fuel an army. The perfect end to a perfect weekend.
I’m realizing that it is difficult to write as the semester progresses. Even now, I think about when I’ll have the time, and I draw a blank. Today, I visit the zoo, tomorrow, Montmartre, this weekend, Belgium, next weekend, London, the week after, Austria and the Czech Republic. Sprinkle in my minimal schoolwork, my socializing with the local students, and my explorations of Paris, and I’m positive that I need an extra day or two a week just to fit everything in. I’ve never been moving so quickly, nor so firmly. Really, I wonder if my body and mind can take it.
I’m not complaining though.
*As mentioned in http://www.pishowish.blogspot.com/, this fact was proven by an undeniably accurate online IQ test. I scored almost 3 points higher (2, in fact) on the multiple choice section. If there had been a oral comprehension or picture matching segment, I'm positive that I might have scored a similar score to him as well.
I know, my dear avid readers, that you are expecting another wonderful insight into the workings of our universe. A metaphysical journey so intense, so euphoric, that suddenly life as you know it ceases to exist and you are you, ready for the fight and yearning for blood, willing to rip the throat out of any unfortunate soul that happens to cross your path and fire your soul. But today I disappoint.
Originally this blog began as the brother blog to my lifetime roommate's musings and complaints about an otherwise dreary existence (please visit http://www.pishowish.blogspot.com/). However, after soon realizing that Andrew had no intention of posting (until now) and I had no chance of developing a loyal readership, my writings evolved from the sad attempts to match his humor to an otherwise indecipherable babble.
Even now I'm stuck in limbo, a midway point between his crisp writing and my own ideas. I want to write my thoughts, but I also want everyone to realize how funny, attractive, and intellectually superior* I am when compared to my Rambo-esque rock of a roommate.
With his writings so awfully contradictory to my own, I shout to the world my own ambivalence and my own love for life, as evinced by my off-the-beaten-path response to his last post. I'm a full person, not just a tormented soul looking for love in my own loveless way. I laugh, I cry, I smile too much, I'm wracked with wonder, need, and hunger, and an ever-growing yearning for my humorless roommate. Even with our forced bonding over the last two years, our ups and downs, our fights, our resolutions, our Gauntlet Legends still-in-progress adventures, I find if I had a choice of people to take on a trip with me (granted I could ditch him if need be), he would be a top choice.
However, as our original plan was to out-perform each other in areas where neither of us succeed, I will continue to wage the war.
This weekend I drove to Munich. What was meant to be a nice, scenic 8-hour drive through the rolling foothills of the Alps to Germany, turned into a 12-hour extravaganza. By the time we arrived at our hotel (of which only I was supposed to be staying), it was almost morning. So, after a short ninja mission sneaking each of my friends into my room, we all crashed on the same bed, squished as sardines, and eagerly awaited morning.
Oktoberfest! A writhing mass of humanity all gathered for one purpose. That purpose, you ask? To drink? NO!! To party? NO!! Bratwurst? NO!! Camaraderie! Thousands upon thousands of potential friends, all ready to be met and to make stories with. At 10 in the morning, I was in a tent, sitting with strangers and enjoying the most delicious beer. It tasted more like love. By 10:30, the tent was chanting, a smoky haze had descended, and I was deep in conversation with my new German friends. Soon, we were all standing on the tables chanting German verses and singing as loudly as we could.
After a few hours of intense mingling, and smuggling giant mugs out of the tent, my fellow travelers and I retired to the fairgrounds, a wonderful earth-bound heaven of souvenirs, lieder-hosen, bratwurst, and grilled chicken. Within hours, I managed to eat my own bodyweight in food. Soon after, we retired to our hotel, out of energy and full of life.
The next day was spent exploring Munich. I visited more churches, and even though I am pretty tired of churches at this point, the German churches were very interesting. Many had been almost completely destroyed by WWII, and inside the vestibules of these magnificent cathedrals were pictures depicting the before, after, and restored pictures of each church. I can only imagine how devastating the war was to Europe.
The church visits were followed by a stroll through the English Gardens of Munich, a massive park complex, full of kite-flyers, dog-lovers, and naked people. It was strange to see naked men walking around, butt after a while, they became just a strange piece of scenic backdrop. The 8-hour drive home once again took 12 hours, full of high spirits, tired bodies, and enough caffeine to fuel an army. The perfect end to a perfect weekend.
I’m realizing that it is difficult to write as the semester progresses. Even now, I think about when I’ll have the time, and I draw a blank. Today, I visit the zoo, tomorrow, Montmartre, this weekend, Belgium, next weekend, London, the week after, Austria and the Czech Republic. Sprinkle in my minimal schoolwork, my socializing with the local students, and my explorations of Paris, and I’m positive that I need an extra day or two a week just to fit everything in. I’ve never been moving so quickly, nor so firmly. Really, I wonder if my body and mind can take it.
I’m not complaining though.
*As mentioned in http://www.pishowish.blogspot.com/, this fact was proven by an undeniably accurate online IQ test. I scored almost 3 points higher (2, in fact) on the multiple choice section. If there had been a oral comprehension or picture matching segment, I'm positive that I might have scored a similar score to him as well.
Friday, October 2, 2009
The Ideal
Sometimes I wonder if anyone can really connect with the past. For years, every child is taught about humanity’s past, from her most gruesome wars to her sweetest achievements, but can you really understand it? I know that the Egyptians existed, or that the Romans controlled the known world for quite a long time, or even that World War II began 70 years ago, but I’m not sure if I accept it. As children, we digest these “facts”, these pasts, but I doubt if one person truly believes that they happened. It’s unfathomable. In Texas, the land I know was once traversed by men much as myself, with their everyday dreams and aspirations. Here in France, I’m attending school where barbaric Germanic tribes once lived. Except I don’t believe it. There is only me, the here and now, my thoughts, my wishes, my actions, and nothing else. These men never knew me, never knew that I would exist, and only I’m stuck with the unfortunate truth that I have to know them. Who cares if you once existed where I now walk?
When I’m dead, this world will no longer apply to me. But for now, it’s mine. What I think, feel, say is completely mine, and the way I interact with the world is the only correct way, at least for me. No one else’s world exists, and I won’t believe it if I hear it. Out of sight, out of mind. If I leave one room, it has vanished into nothingness until I call it forth again, ready to give it a place in my day. As it is with everyone, a virtual reality, a shimmering illusion. How can you not be inherently selfish if the only thing you know is yourself?
It’s funny though, these self doubts that plague your life. The nagging voice crying to you that you might be living your life wrong. Is it true? Am I approaching the problem from the wrong angle? Have I closed my eyes just enough so that I only see one path venturing into the darkness, so I believe it’s all that exists? It’s not wrong if it’s what I’m doing. If I know nothing else, then so be it, I’m where I am, where I should be, in the only place I could ever find.
Every misspoken word, every unhappy moment is not a misstep or a wrong turn. It’s the pathway. But even then, “pathway” is the alien, the anathema, the contradiction to what life is. There is no pathway, because that implies you are going somewhere. You’re already there, I’m already there, and we have been since we created this world for ourselves. It’s the ever-changing set of circumstances, a scene change with each word. A life at once fulfilled, complete, and yet nowhere near finished. Absolute zero, a lack of motion, infinity, total annihilation, all impossible.
Paris. I’m content, unfathomably happy, yet closed. The catch to spring the release is still missing, hiding in the city, and only more time will make it visible. How can one city truly be the ideal that is the wreathing mass of humanity? How can one city hold every dream, every hope, every need? If word got out that the city was an answer, it would cease to be. Beauty, full unbridled beauty, passion, regret, need, compete for air, for life.
I want to stay here.
When I’m dead, this world will no longer apply to me. But for now, it’s mine. What I think, feel, say is completely mine, and the way I interact with the world is the only correct way, at least for me. No one else’s world exists, and I won’t believe it if I hear it. Out of sight, out of mind. If I leave one room, it has vanished into nothingness until I call it forth again, ready to give it a place in my day. As it is with everyone, a virtual reality, a shimmering illusion. How can you not be inherently selfish if the only thing you know is yourself?
It’s funny though, these self doubts that plague your life. The nagging voice crying to you that you might be living your life wrong. Is it true? Am I approaching the problem from the wrong angle? Have I closed my eyes just enough so that I only see one path venturing into the darkness, so I believe it’s all that exists? It’s not wrong if it’s what I’m doing. If I know nothing else, then so be it, I’m where I am, where I should be, in the only place I could ever find.
Every misspoken word, every unhappy moment is not a misstep or a wrong turn. It’s the pathway. But even then, “pathway” is the alien, the anathema, the contradiction to what life is. There is no pathway, because that implies you are going somewhere. You’re already there, I’m already there, and we have been since we created this world for ourselves. It’s the ever-changing set of circumstances, a scene change with each word. A life at once fulfilled, complete, and yet nowhere near finished. Absolute zero, a lack of motion, infinity, total annihilation, all impossible.
Paris. I’m content, unfathomably happy, yet closed. The catch to spring the release is still missing, hiding in the city, and only more time will make it visible. How can one city truly be the ideal that is the wreathing mass of humanity? How can one city hold every dream, every hope, every need? If word got out that the city was an answer, it would cease to be. Beauty, full unbridled beauty, passion, regret, need, compete for air, for life.
I want to stay here.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
The Wanderings
I spent the weekend on-the-go. Saturday morning, I woke up and found my way to Montmartre, the true undercity of Paris. The place where artists, writers, bohemians, lovers, and searchers go. Walking around, seeing the world famous Moulin Rouge, the Sacre Coeur, the seedy sex shops, the cafes, I was at once relieved, and at once immediately at home. I feel as if I can’t even begin to really see the city until I’ve finished site-seeing. The Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe, Musee d’Orsay, all calling, needing to be seen before I can let go and find my true Paris.
I could spend a year just walking the streets, absorbing he ether of life, of fellow people, but real people.
On Sunday, I visited Giverny, the hometown of Claude Monet. His house and garden, largely kept the same as when he lived were beautiful. The garden itself was full of hundreds of blooming flowers, and the house full of blooming Japanese landscapes. I saw the bridge where he made his most famous impressionist paintings, as well as his lily pond that he is so renowned for. All in all, a wonderful excursion, a nice way to spend the day and reflect.
Tomorrow morning, I am heading to Paris to visit a museum. I haven’t decided yet which museum, but I feel the need to get away from people and spend a quiet morning with myself, recalibrating my mind.
I feel as if each day spent on campus is a waste of my study abroad experience, and I refuse to spend one second longer here than I must. My explorations start now, and school be damned.
A picture bound exercise for clarification:
I could spend a year just walking the streets, absorbing he ether of life, of fellow people, but real people.
On Sunday, I visited Giverny, the hometown of Claude Monet. His house and garden, largely kept the same as when he lived were beautiful. The garden itself was full of hundreds of blooming flowers, and the house full of blooming Japanese landscapes. I saw the bridge where he made his most famous impressionist paintings, as well as his lily pond that he is so renowned for. All in all, a wonderful excursion, a nice way to spend the day and reflect.
Tomorrow morning, I am heading to Paris to visit a museum. I haven’t decided yet which museum, but I feel the need to get away from people and spend a quiet morning with myself, recalibrating my mind.
I feel as if each day spent on campus is a waste of my study abroad experience, and I refuse to spend one second longer here than I must. My explorations start now, and school be damned.
A picture bound exercise for clarification:
Thursday, September 24, 2009
The Beauty
The following group of pictures sum up my exploits throughout Europe thus far. Unlike my nonsense, they express my journey much more eloquently than anything I could think to say. From Athens to Corfu to Rome to Venice, there isn't anything much better.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
The Inspiration
Warning: This post is full of nonsense, no substance, and no meaning. I hope you enjoy.
How significant is all of this, our world? I’ve been struggling with this same question for a while now, and I’m still no closer to a definitive answer. The answer’s a snake, a massive python that I must find, but I’m stuck searching with my hands in a murky swamp during the night, worrying about the possibility of being bitten. It’s frustrating. I have no flashlight, and I’m not even sure I’m in the right swamp, but I have no choice but to stumble on. I find myself convincing me that my life is but a single grass blade in the largest field. Is it really necessary that I find “success” for an otherwise normal existence? Or that I am the best in what I do, when so many others have and will come before and after? I have trouble connecting my daily actions with the insight into how they are really helping me. I feel as if my time is being sold for less than its worth, and all I’ve been given are IOUs to be redeemed at a yet-to-be-determined future date. Maybe the answer to life is to understand your unimportance, and accept it. My only chance is flying from my grasp, and instead I’m oblivious that the only right I need is being stripped from my being, but it’s by my own doing, as I sit dumbfounded, distracted, anaesthetized, broken from head to toe, immersed in a viscous fluid that has me pasted to the wall that I’m only more than happy to stare at while every star, sun, rainbow, supernova, fusion, every strand of music, hair, beach, meaning, is flashing behind my head, but my eyes are so close to the wall that I can’t even make out the vague shadow of the fireworks on display behind me, I’m only obsessed with a dirt spot that’s become my love, my passion, my understanding, and my universe. I need a titan to force my head away from the wall and to turn around, but it’s impossible because I am the titan and even now I divert my energies to the spot, which is never-moving and always changing to be whatever I think I need, if only to keep me distracted long enough to destroy all things.
It’s difficult to feel significant when you spend your time walking around a city such as Paris. Miles of roads, people, and buildings stretch in every direction, and without a sense of where you are going, it can be quite easy to find yourself lost. Sometimes though, that’s exactly what a person needs, a chance to escape.
Already I can feel the change, the freedom that comes from a city where time moves on its own, and no one questions why it doesn’t move faster. I spent last Saturday exploring the city, and throughout the entire day, I accomplished nothing of importance, which meant absolutely everything. I found a book, a croissant, a jazz band under the Eiffel Tower, a lost Parisian on the metro, a police officer who knew I was hopping trains, and a lifetime of freedom and space, and not once did I think about what I needed to do or what I needed to learn.
School has started though, and once again the battle between work and life has commenced. It’s a natural tendency to feel overwhelmed when suddenly you have assignments, but I feel as if now, things are a bit less pressing. Unlike many international students, I have classes every day, which means my weekends are only the normal length. I’m terrified that I won’t be able to visit even a fraction of the places I would have liked to see, if only for time constraint. As a beginner to my travels though, I will spend the weekend in Paris, exploring and learning as I go. I only have to survive a few more simple classes until then.
The school itself is very nice. It’s located in the countryside in a very small town, but even though it’s a bit out of the way, I am excited to experience my very first fall. The trees are changing colors and the temperature is dropping, but everyone is beaming and we are alright. Drinking is heavily encouraged here, mainly due to the fact that there is no supervision on campus and nothing else to do in town, but it really does bring everyone together. I spend every waking hour socializing, and I anxiously grasp every minute I have to relax because it’s rare that I shift my gears to a lower setting.
In the upcoming weeks, I hope to visit more of Europe. Brussels, Prague, Vienna, Amsterdam, London, Luxembourg, Geneva, Munich, and Madrid are all on the list, but I don’t think I have the time for everything. Between travels and exploring my Paris, I barely have time for school.
Everyone is wonderfully beautiful here, both mentally and physically, international and French. It might be that I’m merely intoxicated with being in France, but I have not found any person that doesn’t positively contribute to my life. I’ve found friends from France, Brazil, Japan, China, England, Scotland, Sweden, Russia, Canada, and other states around the U.S. With so many nationalities in one place, a flavor distinctly different from what I’ve experienced is created. I’ve learned as many things about the French as I have about any other country, but I find that I don’t mind. Studying abroad is a brilliant opportunity for meeting the world and putting a toe in the water without fear of drowning.
I’m not sure what’s to come now that I’m settled, but I think it is unlikely that anything will slow down. If anything, I’ve found a clear lane with no roadblocks, and I’m preparing to floor the accelerator, with no intention of stopping, but only the desire to see, and to hear, and to touch as I pass by. There’s no need to fill my gas tank, since the sun, the stars, and Paris are all that I need.
How significant is all of this, our world? I’ve been struggling with this same question for a while now, and I’m still no closer to a definitive answer. The answer’s a snake, a massive python that I must find, but I’m stuck searching with my hands in a murky swamp during the night, worrying about the possibility of being bitten. It’s frustrating. I have no flashlight, and I’m not even sure I’m in the right swamp, but I have no choice but to stumble on. I find myself convincing me that my life is but a single grass blade in the largest field. Is it really necessary that I find “success” for an otherwise normal existence? Or that I am the best in what I do, when so many others have and will come before and after? I have trouble connecting my daily actions with the insight into how they are really helping me. I feel as if my time is being sold for less than its worth, and all I’ve been given are IOUs to be redeemed at a yet-to-be-determined future date. Maybe the answer to life is to understand your unimportance, and accept it. My only chance is flying from my grasp, and instead I’m oblivious that the only right I need is being stripped from my being, but it’s by my own doing, as I sit dumbfounded, distracted, anaesthetized, broken from head to toe, immersed in a viscous fluid that has me pasted to the wall that I’m only more than happy to stare at while every star, sun, rainbow, supernova, fusion, every strand of music, hair, beach, meaning, is flashing behind my head, but my eyes are so close to the wall that I can’t even make out the vague shadow of the fireworks on display behind me, I’m only obsessed with a dirt spot that’s become my love, my passion, my understanding, and my universe. I need a titan to force my head away from the wall and to turn around, but it’s impossible because I am the titan and even now I divert my energies to the spot, which is never-moving and always changing to be whatever I think I need, if only to keep me distracted long enough to destroy all things.
It’s difficult to feel significant when you spend your time walking around a city such as Paris. Miles of roads, people, and buildings stretch in every direction, and without a sense of where you are going, it can be quite easy to find yourself lost. Sometimes though, that’s exactly what a person needs, a chance to escape.
Already I can feel the change, the freedom that comes from a city where time moves on its own, and no one questions why it doesn’t move faster. I spent last Saturday exploring the city, and throughout the entire day, I accomplished nothing of importance, which meant absolutely everything. I found a book, a croissant, a jazz band under the Eiffel Tower, a lost Parisian on the metro, a police officer who knew I was hopping trains, and a lifetime of freedom and space, and not once did I think about what I needed to do or what I needed to learn.
School has started though, and once again the battle between work and life has commenced. It’s a natural tendency to feel overwhelmed when suddenly you have assignments, but I feel as if now, things are a bit less pressing. Unlike many international students, I have classes every day, which means my weekends are only the normal length. I’m terrified that I won’t be able to visit even a fraction of the places I would have liked to see, if only for time constraint. As a beginner to my travels though, I will spend the weekend in Paris, exploring and learning as I go. I only have to survive a few more simple classes until then.
The school itself is very nice. It’s located in the countryside in a very small town, but even though it’s a bit out of the way, I am excited to experience my very first fall. The trees are changing colors and the temperature is dropping, but everyone is beaming and we are alright. Drinking is heavily encouraged here, mainly due to the fact that there is no supervision on campus and nothing else to do in town, but it really does bring everyone together. I spend every waking hour socializing, and I anxiously grasp every minute I have to relax because it’s rare that I shift my gears to a lower setting.
In the upcoming weeks, I hope to visit more of Europe. Brussels, Prague, Vienna, Amsterdam, London, Luxembourg, Geneva, Munich, and Madrid are all on the list, but I don’t think I have the time for everything. Between travels and exploring my Paris, I barely have time for school.
Everyone is wonderfully beautiful here, both mentally and physically, international and French. It might be that I’m merely intoxicated with being in France, but I have not found any person that doesn’t positively contribute to my life. I’ve found friends from France, Brazil, Japan, China, England, Scotland, Sweden, Russia, Canada, and other states around the U.S. With so many nationalities in one place, a flavor distinctly different from what I’ve experienced is created. I’ve learned as many things about the French as I have about any other country, but I find that I don’t mind. Studying abroad is a brilliant opportunity for meeting the world and putting a toe in the water without fear of drowning.
I’m not sure what’s to come now that I’m settled, but I think it is unlikely that anything will slow down. If anything, I’ve found a clear lane with no roadblocks, and I’m preparing to floor the accelerator, with no intention of stopping, but only the desire to see, and to hear, and to touch as I pass by. There’s no need to fill my gas tank, since the sun, the stars, and Paris are all that I need.
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