Safe and Sound in Füssen!!!

Hey everyone, just wanted you all to know that I got in to Füssen okay, I tried to text a few of you but I think because of the mountains my signal wasn't coming in.

Today we visited both the castles, and they were super cool, despite the fact that it was a pretty foggy/rainy day. Will put up photos as soon as I got home. Met a Canadian at the hostel named Ornica,she was from the Yukon, but had studied at Acadia, and she gave us the scoop on getting a guided tour in Dachau.

Not really in a writing mood, but I just wanted everyone to know that I was safe and happy (if not dry).

Aus Wiedersen!!! (not sure if I spelt that right...) <---- No I didn't, it's Auf Wiedersehen (thanks A&U) (Nov.2/08)
xoxo

My Itinerary for the Upcoming Week: a.k.a Why I'll be M.I.A

Monday October 27th: Hop on the train at Kehl and travel for the 6 hours it will take us to get to Fuessen.

Tuesday October 28th: Visit Schloss Neuschwanstein and Hohenshwangau.
This is Schloss Neuschwanstein, "...inspiration for Disneyland's Sleeping Beauty Castle"



Wednesday October 29th: Travel 2 hours by train to Munich!!!!
Munich day trip:
Planning to see Marienplatz (center of Munich), Spielzeugmuseum (toy collection museum), Residenz (Palace of the Wittelsbachs), Asamkirche ("pint-sized...one of the most splendid Rococo churches in Bavaria..."), the Theatinerkirche (golden yellow towers and green copper domed church), and the Pinakothek museums (3 of em).

Thursday October 30th: Travel 2 hours to Munich (again), probably finish off seeing what we wanted to see in Munich, then head to Dachau for the rest of the day and visit the concentration camp there.

Friday October 31st: Return to Strasbourg from Fuessen.

PROJECT: PASTRY

I have hereby decided that I will taste every single different pastry made in the bakery by my apartment (it's called "KRETZ").




Yesterday I started with the "sablé de confiture".
It was pretty tasty, I'd rate it around around 3 finger lickin's out of 5.
It tasted like shortcake cookie with strawberry jam inside, and dusted on the top with icing sugar.
I will try another kind when I get back from Germany next week...

To Be Continued....

November something, 2008

Another pastry!!! But I don't remember it's name. We will call it Chocolate Strasbourg Hat, because it looks kind of like those big silly hats women used to wear here.

I was actually a little disappointed with Chocolate Strasbourg Hat, because it wasn't all that chocolatey. I'd give it 1.8 finger licks.


Valentine's Day, 2009
For Valentine's Day Robert, Catherine, George and I hit up a nearby patisserie for some sweets. This is my "fraisier", with checkered almond paste on the outside, and then strawberry-cream-truffliness on the inside. Quite tasty, I'd say 3.5 finger licks.

Maison Alsacien Outre-Foret

Last weekend I went on a trip to this museum that used to be an Alsacian farm house about an hour away from Strasbourg. The exhibition that year was focused on the daily lives of women during the past two hundred years.

It was pretty interesting, they covered things like the evolution of marriage (they first started out wearing black dresses, and it was the white veil that signified virginity, hence in photos no veil = preggo!!! sorry I shouldn't joke about that, they were basically publicly humiliated on their wedding day because everyone knew if they weren't wearing the veil...), the raising of children, the daily chores, the evolution of child birth, etc.

Anyway I wanted to show you guys my mad photography skills, bahaha so you could see what it was like!!! (I will be uploading all the photos from that day on Facebook if you want to see more!)
P.S Also so I don't mislead you, I don't think the b&w photo is of a couple getting married, I just liked her "bonnet" because its typical only of the Strasbourg/Alsace area. Pretty BA if you ask me.... (....it means "bad ass")

Shower Phobia

RUGBY WAS AWESOME!!! Went out to practice with the women's "Miss Rugby" team tonight and it was great. Everyone was kind of goofing off during touch which made me kind of mad (lots of throwing the ball away pointlessly or making suicide passes to empty space) but I think that mostly has to do with the fact that I hate touch in the first place, and it was raining, which is another thing I don't like.

***By the way I totally did not take this picture, its from an abercrombie & fitch thing (all I did was google "shower locker rooms" okay??!). I just threw this in to get a rise out of Josh. Anyway I know they're yummy but I definately did not witness this, and I don't think they're rugby players anyway. Don't worry Josh, my locker room experience was purely of the female kind. Bahahah I'm so mean. Sorry, love. ***

Then after what seemed like foreeeeever of fucking touch we split up backs and forwards and got down to the dirty shit on the scrum machine, taking the ball into contact, and 4 foot fight (basically two teams fight each other tooth and nail for the ball in a square as big as someone's living room... a North American living room that is, because a French one would just be a never ending pile up).

All the girls were super nice, my playing level fit well with the team, and apparently the winters here are mild enough that the season runs into May (I'm dubious about this "mildness" business). Complications have arisen because I'm Canadian and registered with the Canadian Rugby Union (meaning it would cost like 1,500 euros to transfer me to the French Union), so we are attempting to fix me up with the Italian Union because then they can legitimately claim that I've never played before. Anyyywayy it's a long story, but I am hopeful.

At the end of practice I walked into the change room and girls were just standing around completely naked. This had been kind of unnexpected since I had thought that they would do their showering shit and then wrap them goods up in a towel, being the awkward North American that I am. I fixed my gaze on my cleats (on rereading this I realize at first glance this looks like the word "teats", but if you make a double take, you will discover that it is in fact the word "cleats") but was soon pulled into the conversation, and one of the girls was just standing there, completely butt naked in front of me, brushing her hair, and telling me a joke. I'm still mortified to think what would have happened if I had glanced down instead of fixing my eyes on her face with desperate determination.

P.S: There were definately no little cubicle walls in this shower room, it was the guns-blazing-all-the-way-because-I'm-damn-comfortable-with-my-body-BIATCH kind (and it had blue tiles, not white).

I even worked up the courage to go wash off my legs in the shower even though there were like 4 girls showering at the same time in there. To tell the truth after that initial shock I think I'm over it, I think I'll even bring my towel next time and a change of clothes - haHA! ... ooh good lord. I've never been naked in a room full of people before... (North Americans are stupid, why would you teach your kids to be embarassed about nudity around the same sex when we all have the same body parts anyway??? Mom-and-Dad-this-is-no-reflection-on-your-upbringing-of-me-more-of-a-critique-of-North-American-culture-in general).

Anyway PROPS to all of you who have been following the new "comments" rule!!! I loooves it.

On a rugby note, the 2nd rowing here is WACK, they want the left side lock to not only bind in on the left prop, but instead of binding to the lock beside them they have them bind onto the hooker?!!? I was like noooooo why are you ruining such a good thing...? (and by good thing I mean its hard enough to keep the front row happy as it is you frenchies, why are you making this more difficult?!?!?) .....
....But I'm sure it'll be fine.

Anyways I'm still covered in mud and such so I should probably shower (privately! yes!!!).

Also, glad I joined this team because guess where they're playing this weekend??? PARIS. For practically free I am going to see half of France (I won't get to walk around and take pictures mind you, but I can still say that I tasted my own blood mixed with mud in Dijon, or that I pinched some girl reaaaaal hard in Nice....WORTH it!!!).

Later gaters, I love France.

Bras Are Ridiculous

Was hand washing all my shit today because I have nothing left to wear tomorrow and realized while dancing and singing to Lady Gaga's "Just Dance" at the sink that bras are one of the most ridiculous contraptions ever.
Don't get me wrong, when they actually have breasts in them they look great, and even on a hangar they look good, but when they're all waterlogged, formless and floating around in my sink they just look completely absurd! (Handwashing was also a huge mistake because those babies soak up more water than a hung over student on a Sunday and you feel like you're ruining them if you try to wring them out...)

Anyway on a different note here is a picture of what my hair looks like now since my camera has run out of batteries and I haven't bothered to replace them. This was in a friend's room at the Gallia and we managed to pack like... twenty people in here. As you can see I am also classing it up North American style by drinking my wine straight from the bottle (screw cups, they just get dirty and break all the time...). I'd like to think that I gave these Germans/Russians/Slovaks/English/French students a positive example of what kind of people are to be found "on the other side of the pond" (classy and dainty bitches that's what).

Storm and Stiffness

I couldn't move this morning when I pathetically tried to wiggle out of bed. Last night I went out the the all men's rugby team practice that I was pissing my pants about last week and today I feel like someone tore out all the muscles in my body and inserted stiff elasto-plastic (the blue kind that people work out with while looking kind of silly...).

Practice was wiiiicked. But the coach was kind of giving me this, "And what is this vagina doing on my field???" look and told me there was also a girl's team in Illkirch (which is where the practices are held and is a maddening 45 mins away from my place by tram). Checked that out last night and will be attending a female or "feminine" as they say here, practice on Thursday. Anyway back to the men's practice.

It was actually so much fun. My hands were shaking as I tied up my cleats, but that went away after a few push-ups and sprints. I realized when we started ball handling that there were quite a few beginners in the crowd, which made me feel better until I realized that despite going out jogging three times last week, they were still alot fitter than me (duhr.).

I held my own when they split us up into forwards and backs, but when we started scrimmaging as a whole team again I kind of turned into a little bitch. I would ruck and stuff, but I admit that the idea of tackling one of those guys when they got to full speed took a little more kahunas than I had that night. Good news is that I did indeed touch the ball a few times, and took it into contact - which is why I hobbled home last night, but fear not, french tylenol ("doliprane"), ice stolen from the university restaurant, a cold shower and a night's sleep and my knee still resembled a knee (though a bit blue) this morning.

The coach dubiously explained how the playing system worked (I didn't know until last night that this was actually a competitive team other than the end-of-practice-scrimmages) and though I was super enthusiastic to get myself registered in case he decided to play me, I have since reconsidered the sanity of that idea.

Since the women's team at Illkirch got in touch with me about practice, I think I'll stick with them and just go to the men's monday's for a little extra practice (if they even have practice after the 3rd, I couldn't quite understand how they were going to have both practices and games on the same night... bloody language barrier and my own timidity...).

As you can tell by the length of this post I am practically shaking with glee. It's funny, you never really realise what's important to you until it's within your grasp and might be taken away (my frame of mind as we trecked through fields last week in a vain attempt to find the Graffenstaden).

I know some of you might not like this, but even the idea of having to choose between playing for the women's team or having weekends to travel is a bit of a no brainer. I know its awful that I choose to play rugby rather than take advantage of the traveling I came here for, but playing for a French team is such an opporunity for me. Plus, I mean, I'll still see the countryside on weekends (their playing schedule said one of the away games was in Dijon?!?!), and will still be going on my big trips during school breaks. I honestly can't afford to travel every weekend anyway (or every other weekend for that matter).

The biggest thing for though I guess, is that as much as it sounds horrible (start knocking on wood), I think at the back of my mind I always contend the possibility that someday I could get injured to the point that I might not be able to play anymore. Every season is one season I might not be able to play later. It's not like knitting, something you can always pick up or cast off depending on what your schedule is like, it's like this body of mine will give up on me one day, and when it does, I want to know that I took every opportunity to do what I loved, and I think that will make the loss that much more tolerable. This is all very melodramatic as I know plenty of middle aged ruggers that still give twenty year olds a run for their money... but I also know a handful of twenty year olds that might never play again.The "Storm" part of the title of this blog was because (...though I completely forgot and have now rendered this once integral part of the blog more of a sidenote...) last night I dreamt I was Storm from the X-Men, and it was wiiiicked because I had long flowy white hair and a tight white suit and lightninged the shit out of alot of bad guys... Hahaha anyway that's all folks.
Did I mention I still have an action figure of her when this was still her uniform? (X-Men animated series faithful 'til I die biatch)

Attention Blogger Readers! New Rule!!!

I have decided to make a new rule (and by new I mean "A" rule since there were none..) which is that whenever you peruse my blog, you have to comment on the latest one you've read. I don't want any life essays or anything, but just a happy face or a "Hi" so I know there are people actually out there reading this thing. That way I kind of know who's keeping up with it and though I won't change what I write, I might be more inclined to write about certain subjects, or tell stories I think those people might enjoy, etc. depending on the readers.

**** For those of you who don't know how to comment you: Scroll down to the bottom of the post. At the bottom of each post is the time the blog was posted, and "comments". Click the "comments" (which is in white writing I believe) and it will take you to the screen you can write your comments in!****

Rugby Misadventures Steeped in Bulgarian Schnapps

As I sit here typing the noise of the keys echo faintly in my head. My eyes seem to flick a little slower over the screen, and a pleasant pit of warmth sits in my belly. It's 11:43pm.

We left at 6:30, already half an hour late for the practice, before even having stepped outside the door. Hopping on the tram, 3 stops, connection, 7 stops (and half an hour later) and we're in Illkirch. I don't know where the fuck I am. Pierre asks a lady at the station in is his polite French accent where we could find the Albert Schweitzer Illkirch Graffentstaden. She points us in the wrong direction (but we didn't know that).

Twenty minutes later we're peering through a fence at an empty rugby pitch that's sitting in a military compound. Fifteen minutes later we're walking through the Illkirch campus, where none of the students seem to know where anything is. I feel like crying. I hadn't realized how important this had become for me. Luckily we found two teachers smoking by their car, and found out the pitch we were looking for was down the highway aways.

Ten minutes later we're on the side of some highway, shuffling through dead grass and dirt clumps and side stepping dog shit. It's starting to get dark out, and I wonder how we'll ever manage to get back home. We hop over a hill. Once again Pierre asks for directions. This time its a man smoking by his car (favorite French pastime?). The man points at the fields (not like, yay running through wildflowers fields, like, clumpy, furrowed, horror story farmer fields) and at the specs of light we can just make out through the trees... "un petit kilometre" he says.

Pierre and I set off through the field. Its harder to walk in than you'd think. Especially when it's dark out. Then its hop, up a hill in the underbrush, and we found ourselves in darkness by a stand of trees that ran the length of a small canal.

Following the canal (by this time it was 7:30pm), we made our way (in near darkness) towards a bridge. This bridge, however, had no pathway for people, so we walked along a granite pillar around two and a half feet wide to the other side, over the canal. Finally we saw the field and the lights.... but only soccer players. I wanted to kick something this time.

The ruggers came into view though the closer we got to the field, and after a confusing twenty minute walk around what turned out to be an enormous compound of different fields, we found the entrance to the pitch. Now it was 8pm, practice had been in full swing for two hours already.

Hopefully I scanned the fourty odd rugby players killing each other on the field (they were going at it HARD). Not one set of tits. Inwardly I was screaming. But at the same time I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. I was HERE.

Walking up to the sidelines where a few players sat, Pierre struck up conversation with one of the guys. He asked about practice times, how they had found the pitch (they definately ALL hadn't gone tramping through fields) and finally whether the team was "mixed", and for one of the first times in my life I wondered what would happen if they said "non". Bahahaha the guy actually had the nerve to ask me if I'd ever played before. I would obviously be some kind of maniac to willingly participate as the only female to this melee without any kind of previous experience (they really were having at one another out there, I could hear them crunching each other...made me want to poop my pants a bit).

THE ONLY GIRL OF FOURTY GUYS I MUST BE FUCKING CRAZY. I WILL NEVER SURVIVE, I CAN'T POSSIBLY KEEP UP... I'll be killed. Or worse! they'll all go easy on me. I'd rather have to nurse a few bruises than to pick up the pieces of my shattered pride and dignity every Monday. God, I'll have so much to prove. It's almost better there isn't another girl, because then I'd have to compete with her too (you never want to be the shittier player of the only two girls, that's like being picked last in gym class).

Anyway by this time was almost 9pm, and we decided to head home. We'd had been trapising across the country side for almost and hour and a half to find this bloody field.

Finally we got home - don't worry, I'm getting to the Schnapps part, it's getting worse, I think its starting to really hit me...but at least I can still type okay. Then after a twenty minute committee with Pierre, Ben and Yugo, we decided to make pasta for dinner, seeing as the residential restaurant had just finished closing.

Long story short we brought Ruti (a Slovakian girl on Ben's floor) her pot back that we had borrowed to make the pasta, and she thought she smelled vodka, so Yugo went upstairs and brought down Bulgarian moonshine "mirabelle" Schnapps, and we all had a few goes at it. I would have built this part up more except its getting late and the Schnapps is starting to take hold - and I plan on being firmly asleep by the time it hits me fully.
Goodnight.


Sidenote:
Getting ready for rugby today, I hadn't realized how difficult it is to go to that first practice, especially when I expected most of them to be guys. The biggest thing is the pretty debate. You have to be pretty (because though it is sad, pretty people make friends easier), but not too pretty (because you don't want them thinking you're a girly girl), so somehow you have to vascillate between being pretty enough that they're willing to accept you, but not so pretty that they think you're trying to pick up on the side. Anyway I decided to wear the mascara, and hesitated, but decided it was best to shave the legs - both in terms of courtesy, but also to give myself courage (confidence = not constantly worrying that you're a hairy bitch).
Anyway, 'nuff said.

My Culinary Amazingness and Why I Love France...

Last night I made my first legitimate home made meal in residence. Pasta with bolognaise sauce and fried snow peas. This doesn't seem like a big deal until you come to realize that my only cooking implement is a small, 1L Ikea pot, which renders this act a juggling feat of fantasticness. Also added to my afore mentioned amazingness is the fact that the kitchen is a floor below me (the one on my floor is broken except for the microwave...). So just to make you understand how hard this is I will describe the ordeal:
1) In room scoop some "tartine" (aka butter) into the pot. Place cut up snow peas in the cover of the pot. Place dried pasta in bowl. Balance one on top of the other while locking the door.
2) Warm the butter in the pot, fry the snow peas. Shake into bowl. Let pot cool, then fill with water and begin to boil. Take bowl with snow peas upstairs because you forgot a spoon to stir the pasta.
3) Cook pasta, refill pot a little bit because its a teeny little thing and the pasta is poking out of the water. Keep cooking, stirring occasionally.
4) Bring drained pasta upstairs and set on radiator. Pour in snowpeas and bolognaise sauce - which are reheated by the freshly cooked pasta. Pour mix back into the snowpea bowl and consume heartily, with fierce pride.Reason why I love France:
Was walking through downtown Strasbourg yesterday with a few friends, and as we were walking to the grocery store we could hear all these drums. Had a peekaroo around the corner and realised that because it was La Journee du patrimoine des reserves what must have been 10 different companies were all marching down the street one after the other, playing their drums and tubas and marching. The music was so jaunty all I wanted to do was hop in alongside them and march to wherever they were going. Here's a vid.

It was so exciting because as I was filming it they were just playing the drums, and then they all picked up their instruments and I actually started jumping up and down with excitement, forgetting that I was trying to catch it all film.....

Mermaids??? In Strasbourg???

I was walking back from class with one of the girls from the Strasbourg program when we both stopped mid-conversation and said, "Do you hear that???".

We'd been walking along chatting, completely ignoring the fact that we had our own soundtrack playing in the background. Of course, as soon as we realized that soundtracks don't exist in real life it stopped. If it had been night time I would have freaked out, but being the middle of the day we just twittered a little nervously about the Truman Show and laughed it off.

The music started again and Emily turned to me and said, "Let's follow it!". So off we went, trying to find the source of this music that was hanging in the air. It was so strange too, because it sounded like music that you hear underwater, eerie, muted and echoing. If we had been by the ocean, I would have half-jokingly said it was mermaids (only half).

We never found where the music was coming from, though the rational part of me surmised that there is some kind of symphonic orchestra that plays on campus in one of the buildings, and that the underwater sound was because it was being played inside (rather loudly, because we heard it across campus).

..... I'd rather believe it was mermaids.