the grrldetective's travels

2011-07-24T17:38:00.000-05:00

When I travel, I want to see as much as possible. When initially planning this trip, I'd hoped to take a day trip to either Prague or Budapest. However, after reading reviews of the trips, it sounded like most of the day was spent coming and going to and from the cities. Even if I tried to do the trip on my own, it would involve about six hours on a train. Instead, I decided on a river boat trip on the Danube to visit Melk.

In normal circumstances, I think this would have been an okay choice.

But they seem to be experiencing some sort of freakish cold spell at the moment. So very cold here in Vienna. It's winter weather where I'm from. Everyone here is wearing heavy coats and scarves and boots. And it's July!

Today was probably the coldest it's been since I've been here. And it rained nonstop. Not the best day to be on a boat.

Had the weather been nice, I think I would have been blown away by the scenery. As it was, I was shivering and trying to stay dry. Some of my photos with the low, heavy clouds are kind of cool looking. I'll appreicate them later, if I ever warm up.

We saw some old castles and big churches and lots and lots of trees.

I met a nice couple from St. Louis. I talked to them some and sat with them at the restaurant.  I had apricot crepes and they were delicious. Apricot is the main fruit in this area. It is also my favorite fruit, so it made me happy.

The monastary or Abbey, whatever it was called, was huge and quite impressive. I was disappointed that we were never in a location where I could get a picture of it from the outside. I bought some postcards though.

While on the boat, two people asked if I wanted them to take a picture of me with the scenery. I declined.  Very nice of them, but I don't have any interest in photos of myself.  I know I was here, I don't need proof.  And I'm looking like hell these days. My skin has totally freaked out on me. I want no visual memories of this.

After we returned to Vienna, I stopped at a bakery near my hotel and got three desserts.  The chocolatey cakey thing I got was delicious, the one I thought had strawberries wasn't very good at all. The apple strudel, I'm saving for the morning.

This being my last night, I wanted to buy a few things, but I've been told everything is closed on Sundays. I was hesitant to go back out in the rain, but did so for a bit. I found a shop open, just a little stand by the road. He didn't really have what I wanted, but I bought a shot glass anyway because I knew I'd be upset if I didn't add a Vienna shot glass to my collection. Maybe I can do some shopping at the airport.

I should get to Spain around 4:30 tomorrow. I went ahead and prebooked a ticket to visit La Sagrada Familia. I selected the latest possible hour, six, I believe it is. Hoping I can get checked in and out sightseeing by then. If not, at least I tried, I guess.

Now I guess I should pack up as much as I can and get some sleep. Haven't had much of that lately.

A palace, an art museum and a hot dog

2011-07-23T16:12:00.000-05:00

After spending yesterday at the Bon Jovi concert, I got back to sightseeing today. (I'll write about yesterday later, but I don't want to fall behind, so now I'm writing about today.)

I slept a little later than usual because I'd been up late the night before. Too excited to go to sleep after such a great concert.

I was in an especially good mood this morning. I was thinking about how my life may be a little strange, but it's pretty damn fun. I travel with a stuffed dog, I visit other countries to see my favorite band, I have friends in cities all over the world - and I've met a lot of them because of my favorite band. It's a good life. Not for everyone, but I like it.

Today my first stop was Schonbrunn Palace. I'd read that it rivals Versailles. It was impressive. I bought the ticket for the basic tour and that included an informative audio guide about the Habsburg family. What I enjoyed much more was wandering around the grounds and seeing the gardens. Beautiful!

I decided I wanted to walk to the top of the hill to take better pictures of the grounds and flowers. It was a steep hill, and I was painfully aware of how out of shape I am. Pretty sure I saw a few grandmas in heels making the same walk and they weren't breathing hard. But the walk was worth it, got some gorgeous photos (which I'll post later, after I edit my photos.) All that physical activity much have produced some endorphines because I was feeling really good by the time I got down the hill, like quite the badass considering I've done nothing but sit on my ass in front of the TV for the past month. I knew I could eat cake later in the day and not feel guilty.

After the palace, I decided to visit the Museum of Fine Arts. I wanted to see the Carravagios. I took the subway to get there, but got a little confused and walked an extra few blocks before I found the place. The have Carravagio's David and Goliath (at this moment, I'm not entirely sure that's the correct name, will have to double check.) They also have some work by Raffael and a few rooms of Reuben paintings. It's a nice collection. I left around the time they were closing.

My plan was to stop by Demel - a bakery and confectionary shop that used to provide sweets to the royal family. I thought I knew which way to go, based on my map. I am amazed by my extreme inability to read a map, especially considering how much I travel on my own. My biggest problem is that when I realize I'm going the wrong direction, I don't stop to figure out which way to go, I just keep walking, assuming I'm stuble upon the right direction. Usually I just get more and more lost. When I finally saw where I was on the map, I couldn't believe how far out of my intended way I ended up. (As soon as I typed that I realized that sort of sums up my life. A little too deep for right now.) It was so bad that I started to wonder if maybe I was having blackouts that cause me to lose time. I had to turn around and very carefully follow the map. I also ended up needing some assistance from google maps on my phone. Finally, I found Demel, and they were about to close, and I think I maybe ended up in the wrong part of the store. They didn't have the huge displays I'd read about. But they did have several delicious looking cakes from which to choose. I selected a mini Sacher torte and a slice of the Dobosh torte (thin layers of sponge cake with chocolate buttercream frosting, with a top layer of caramel).

I was going to buy a hot dog from the street vendor near my hotel, go to my room, have dinner and call it an early night. But I got lost again trying to get back to the hotel. So frustrating. Had to force myself to again carefully read the map, pay close attention to the street signs and not just walk off.

I eventually got back to the hotel, and got my hot dog (don't judge me, it's not like a regular American hot dog, it's spicy piece of sausage stuffed in soft yummy bread, filled with mustard and ketchup. It's so much better than what I get at home when I order a hot dog.) And I had the free beer in my mini bar to go along with the hot dog.

I have decided to take a trip tomorrow to see the valley along the Danube river. It includes a trip to Melk and Krem and boat ride. I've seen most of the things I wanted to see in the city and want to venture out some. I'd considered a day trip to Budapest, but I've read that mostly time spent traveling too and from Budapest, and not much time to actually see the city. So no Budapest this trip. But that gives me an excuse to visit this area again. Need to plan a trip that includes Budapest and Prague as well.

I've done so much walking lately and slept so little and am so tired, I would sort of be okay with staying close to the hotel tomorrow. Walking around some more and eating cake and drinking coffee. But I've spent the past month being lazy. I want to see as much as I can when I'm here. So the trip seems like a good idea. The very nice guy at the hotel - the Ambassador - said it's a nice trip. My only concern is that is the description of it being romantic, and I'm going alone. We'll see. And having a tour group should mean I don't spend a bunch of time wandering around lost.

The Kiss, The Albertina and cake

2011-07-21T18:32:00.001-05:00

(my apologies in advance, I can't run spell check at the moment because at the moment, spell check thinks it is German and marks everything as being misspelled. I will edit this at a later date.)

After going more than 24 hours without sleep, I assumed I'd sleep well and hard. But around 4 a.m., just four hours after I turned out the lights, I was wide awake. The sound of the rain woke me up, which is silly, considering I recently napped through a tornado that touched down about a mile away from my house. But it hasn't rained in Texas in months, the sound must have been so unfamiliar that it jolted me from my sleep.

I fell asleep again around 6 and then got up at 8. The rain slowed down a bit, but didn't stop. It was the kind of dark, cloudy, dreary weather that makes you want to curl up under a blanket with a book. But I didn't fly to Vienna to lay in bed and read a book. So a bit after ten, I ventured outside of the hotel.

On the top of my sightseeing list was the Belvedere, to see Gustave Klimt's The Kiss. I didn't even know the painting was in Vienna until I read about it in a guidebook the other day. According to google maps, the Belvedere is a little less than a half hour's walk away. Not usually a big deal, I like walking in cities. But with the rain, I found myself wishing I'd paid more attention to the tram map and schedule. Probably could have made the trip in about five minutes and avoided much of the rain.

It was a simple enough walk, but it was cold, and not just, I'm a wimp from Texas cold. People everywhere here are wearing heavy jackets and coats. And it's rainy and windy. My eyes were streaming and my nose was running. At one point during my walk, I began to panic, thinking I'd passed where I needed to be (to enter the area, you have to walk alongside the gardens for quite a bit, and I didn't realize that, thinking I'd passed the entrance because I knew the Belvedere complex must be on the other side of the fence I was walking along.) I utilitzed my international data roaming for a few seconds to check google maps and cleared everything up. Not sure how I lived without google maps, oh, wait, I know exactly how I lived, I was lost ALL THE TIME.

I wasn't sure what all was included in the Belvedere, but I bought the combo ticket that covered everything.

First goal was to locate the painting. Google maps didn't work for this. I went to the correct floor and in exactly the wrong direction (because I always forget to pick up the map when I buy my tickets, assuming I can pick up a map when I get inside the museum and it NEVER works out that way.) But then I found the painting and it was amazing. I really think my heart fluttered a bit when I saw it. It's has a wall to itself, in the middle of a room filled with Klimt's work. It's achingly romantic and yet still modest, the emotion captured by the positioning of the hands and the angle of their heads. The painting is large, and the texture of the gold stands out in a way that reproductions seen in books and postcards can't capture. I stayed in the room for a while, studying the painting, wanting to burn the image into my memory.

After I walked off, I had no interest in seeing other paintings, knowing that I was going to be disappointed with everything else. But I bought a combo ticket and I walked for a half hour in the cold rain, so I certainly wasn't going to leave after looking at one painting. Just a room or two over, I saw another picture of a couple, this one displaying bare skin, exposed genitals, it was crude, sexual and not at all romantic and seemed to produce the exact opposite feeling as The Kiss. I kept walking around looking at the art and was pleasantly surprised to see Courbet's Wounded Man. It's on the cover of a book I have about him.

I walked around the gardens of the Belvedere some. They're beautiful, but as I've said, it was cold and rainy. I rather stupidly started to sit down on a bench. Luckily, I jumped back up before completely sitting in a puddle of water.

I made a quick visit to the other museums on the grounds (wanted to get the most value out of my ticket) then got back to my hotel as quick as I could. I stopped on the way to buy some apple strudel, and then ate it in my room with a hot cup of coffee. Then I ventured back out into the rain to visit the Albertina.

On my way to the art museum, I bought an umbrella at a shop next to my hotel, and then the rain promptly stopped. Should have bought one earlier today.

The Albertina is filled with a big variety of art. The top floor is called Monet to Picasso, and includes what I understood to be a family's private collection. Wide range of work from some well known artists. Another floor was devoted to an artist named Max Weiler - large abstracts, some of different pencil textures. I found myself wishing I could share this with my students. Seeing it on my own, knowing there was no way I could ever explain this work to my kids in a way that they would understand left me feeling a little melancholy. Art needs to be seen to be fully experienced, seen in person, not in books or slides. It's not even that I thought it was great art, but I appreciated the experimental aspect, and the creativity involved. I want my students to understand there is a huge range of styles and techniques that fall under the category of visual art. Of course, some of the modern abstract art displayed in a few of the rooms looked less than impressive and I found myself wondering why the hell things like that end up displayed in museums. I've never been a big modern, abstract art fan. Paint splatters? Blocks of color? Or the canvas painted solid black? Yeah, dude, that's creative. Some of my favorite works of art were the contemporary pieces on the bottom floor, some beautiful, large detailed pencil drawings and some work with strong feminist themes. I was disappointed that they didn't sell postcards of any of these pieces and again, like the Belvedere, no photos allowed.

Here's an odd something - at the gift shop, the cashier spoke to me in French. I don't speak French well at all, but I understand a bit, and understood what she said. Just the typical, have a nice day sort of thing. And I answered with, "Merci," smiled, took my purchase and left. Is my desire to live in Paris so strong that people think I'm French? For a while, I was thinking it was my credit card, which has a picture of the Eiffel Tower, but later it dawned on me that I used cash to buy the postcards, so she didn't see my credit card, though I might have had it in my hand, about to use it, until I realized the total was less than five euros. Not sure. But it made me happy, made me feel kind of special, as if I have some sort of French vibe going on that other people notice. Yeah, I'm kind of silly like that.

Right after I left the Albertina I got a text from my friend, Terri, saying she'd arrived at the hotel. We made plans to meet up later for dinner (I had Hungarian goulash) and then cake (Sachertore, delicious) and coffee. I am so on board with this whole coffee and cake thing going on in Vienna.

And I love my hotel. My TV doesn't even work, but I still love this hotel. It is so uber sexy, modern, hip. Every time I get into the elevator, filled with it's dim blue light, I feel like a character in some edgy, independent film, taking place in New York or L.A., filled with beautiful, creative, dangerous people. I can hear the soundtrack, like Portishead or Interpol. I want to write a short story set in this hotel. Here's hoping the story solidifies within the next few days. Maybe if I just start writing about setting, I'll figure out what's happening in it.

But now I must sleep because tomorrow, I'm going to see Bon Jovi!

Getting to Vienna

2011-07-20T16:08:00.000-05:00

I still have posts from last summer that I typed up, but for some reason never posted on here. Oh well, maybe I'll do it eventually. But I find the best way to keep up is to post as I travel. However, these posts are probably not as edited as my normal posts would be... oh well. Here goes.
I'm typing this from Vienna.

I was pleased today as I was waiting at the airport because I wasn't going through the usual nervousness I tend to feel before big trips. Of course, I've been a nervous wreck but for the past few weeks, just thinking about this trip, moreso than usual. But at the airport, as I was waiting to board, I felt fine. Not scared, or nauseated or needing to pee every five minutes. I was fine. I think it helped that my cousin and her daughter took me to the airport. It's usually just me and the crazy voices in my head as I try to navigate the parking situation at DFW. On the ride to the airport, I had someone to talk to and as I talked about the trip I found that I was very excited about the trip. I mean it's Europe, it's visiting historical landmarks, viewing amazing art and it's three Bon Jovi concerts. It's kind of cool.

The flight from Dallas to London was okay. I watched movies the entire trip. Jane Eyre, which I'd wanted to see for a while. It was okay. I thought it was kind of dull at first. It did seem to focus a lot on the scenery and had sort of a mystical element to it, which made me think of it as a Wuthering Heights-ish Jane Eyre. The last part of the movie was kind of nice and romantic, but I've seen better versions of Jane Eyre - though I might have appreciated this more if I was watching on a normal size screen and not on an airplane. Also watched Just Go With It, the Adam Sandler and Jennifer Aniston movie. Very cute, I really liked it and I don't usually like that sort of movie. Then I tried to watch Limitless and didn't like it, so I changed the movie to Lincoln Lawyer, and I did like that. Also watched a few episodes of The Office and Big Bang Theory. However, I didn't sleep at all on the flight over here.

There was one issue on the flight. I noticed Coke Zero in the beverage cart, so when they asked what I wanted to drink, I said Coke Zero. The guy said, we don't have that, so I took Diet Coke instead. I was really annoyed though because I knew I'd seen it. Later, he comes by my seat and hands me a Coke Zero and says, "Usually we don't have this." I was already half way through my Diet Coke then, but saved the Coke Zero to have with breakfast. It was a Japanese can and it tasted different, though maybe that was my imagination.

I had an almost four hour layover at London Heathrow. I've been through that airport before, but very quickly. I've never spent much time there. I used to always fly in and out of Gatwick. This place was a madhouse. People everywhere. People just lying on the floor, sitting against the wall. I immediately felt clausterphobic and just wanted to find a space to sit and be away from this mass of people. I couldn't find anywhere to sit though. I kept walking through shopping areas, and maybe I did a little bit of shopping. There were a few things that I absolutely had to have. It's an airport, but it's still London. Can't be in London and not shop.

I finally found a hallway with a seat of almost chairs. I sat at the end and remained there until they posted a gate for my flight. I don't know what was going on with me, but I found myself in a really bad mood, just feeling all kinds of whiny and pathetic. There's too much happening at airports and it was so loud. They didn't post the gate number until an hour before take-off, which was only ten minutes before boarding. Then we get to the gate and have to ride a bus to the plane. That was another two hour flight.

I felt so exhausted by the time we landed.

But the Vienna airport was fairly simple to get through. Huge sigh of relief when I finally saw my purple suitcase in baggage claim. I took the airport-city train to the city center, then followed the signs to their subway/metro/underground train. Every time I bought a ticket and boarded another form of transportation it felt like a sense of accomplishment. Struggled a bit with one ticket machine, it asked for a pin number. I've never used a pin for my credit card, but I typed took a guess at a number I might use, and it worked!

After I got off the last train, I ended up at the Opera House, which I knew was near the hotel. But I must have gone the wrong direction. Did quite a bit of walking. One woman asked if I was interested in a concert ticket -- I've been traveling for a full day, look horrible, and a fancy concert is the last thing on my mind.

I finally found the hotel. It's so nice. I was trying to figure out what to say when I entered, some polite form of "do you speak English?" But I was greeted in English, one guy took my suitcase and offered me a drink as someone else checked me into the hotel. Everyone was so nice -- and at this point, I'm not looking like a very important client.

But now I feel okay. Hotel is nice, the area around it seems nice. Lots of places to visit, Bon Jovi on Friday. I'll be here for a few days before I'm back in the airport. The weather is a little chilly for me, and I noticed a lot of people wearing jackets, so it isn't just me. I love Europe, but I don't think I could ever handle the weather. I need my blistering heat during the summer months.

As I was walking around, in search of the hotel, I kept seeing the cafes and bakery places I'd read about. Can't wait to try some cakes! But tonight, I didn't go out, I needed to rest. Tomorrow, I'll have plenty of time to explore the area and sample desserts!

lady and the unicorn, lavender ice cream and a baguette

2010-06-30T20:55:00.005-05:00

This morning, I glanced at facebook one last time before leaving and noticed I had a message from Marion. She’d invited me to join her for lunch at 12:30. It was 12:21 when I saw the message. I was on my way out, I thought maybe it would be a busy place and they’d be waiting in line for a while, or maybe it will be one of those cafes where they’re sitting outside and I can just walk up and see her and join them without it being much of an issue. But as I rode the metro toward the location -- she said it was near the Franklin D. Roosevelt stop -- I realized it would be almost 1 by the time I got there, maybe later. What if it was a really nice place? They probably frown on unexpected guests showing up, a half hour into the meal. Have no desire to be the Texas bumpkin making a fool of herself at a nice Paris restaurant.

I ended up getting off the train at Chatelet and transferring to another train to take me to the St. Michel area (this is the Notre Dame area). I wanted to visit the Cluny museum -- the Museum of Middle Ages and Medieval art. Mostly I wanted to see the Lady and the Unicorn tapestries, which I’ve read about, but never seen.

Took me a while to find the place, mostly because of my inability to read a map. I wasn’t far from it, I just kept going the wrong direction. There are worse things than being lost in Paris though. I eventually found the place. It’s hard to miss -- a big, Gothic style mansion. But then I got confused once I was inside. I walked around the first floor and there was a sign pointing up to room 13 -- which holds the Lady and the Unicorn tapestries. But the area was blocked off for renovations and a sign said something about going to the ground floor for re-entrance. I tried to hang around a bit to follow other tourists but they were taking too long. I asked one man sitting there how to get to room 13 and he said, “It’s upstairs.” I knew that part, I didn’t know how to get upstairs but I said, “Okay, thank you.” At least that meant there was a way. I was afraid they were going to say the room was closed off and the tapestries were not on exhibit today or something like that.

I went back to the woman taking tickets and asked her how to get upstairs. She pointed to the doorway that had a “no entrance” sign on it. Maybe they just meant you weren’t supposed to enter there first? Or maybe they don’t normally allow people that way, but are at the moment because of the renovations work being done? Or maybe I just didn’t read the sign correctly, wouldn’t be the first time.

I went upstairs and saw several rooms full of tapestries and small sculptures and all sorts of medieval art. But I didn’t see the Lady and the Unicorn. I walked back and forth through the rooms. What was happening here? I spotted a sign that had a map of the rooms. On the rooms, they had drawn an arrow and pointed out which rooms to view and how to get to the Lady and the Unicorn. My problem was that I kept walking by the hallway and was confused by the standing screens in the hallway, thinking there was nothing beyond that. But according to this map, the hallway would take me where I wanted to go. Judging from the arrows and explanation on the sign, I must not have been the only confused person.

I walked down the hallway which led to a dark room. The woman sitting at the entrance glanced at me, but said nothing, so I guessed I was allowed in there. Then I turned and saw the massive tapestries. The room is dimly lit to preserve the work, I assume. Really beautiful pieces. I know nothing about how tapestries are made, but I assume it is quite difficult, especially pieces this detailed.

After the Cluny, I decided to find the Pantheon. I’ve often seen the dome from a distance, but have never been inside. It was nearby, but the maps make things seem much farther than they are. I took a few wrong turns, but eventually made my way to the Pantheon. The building is impressive, but there isn’t much inside. I went through the crypt and later wished I hadn’t. Between this and the crypt in St. Paul’s Cathedral, I think I’ve had my fill of tombs. This involved lots of tunnels and hallways. I quickly walked through it and left.

I consulted my map to figure out where I wanted to go next. The gardens and palace of Luxembourg looked close, so I tried to follow my map to find them. Dumb idea, I should have just looked in front of me.

I wandered through several streets, went into a few shops, tried on some dresses, none of which fit much to my disappointment. Had my heart set on a grey sundress made of t-shirt like material. But didn’t fit right in the chest area. Seems like all the cute clothes are made for flat chested girls, darn it. To cheer myself up about the dress not fitting, I bought myself a chocolate éclair. Because that’s going to help me fit into cute clothes, right? Surely all the extra walking I did burned off a few calories.

I got to the gardens and realized they were pretty much right in front of the Pantheon. Why was this not obvious on the map? Oh well, I enjoyed my lost wanderings.

The gardens are absolutely beautiful. At the moment they are full of purple flowers. I walked around some, decided I wanted to spend some time here and have some ice cream. The ice cream vendor outside of the gardens had a list of what looked like a few hundred flavors. I thought surely he couldn’t have all of them, but whatever people asked for, he seemed to find it. I was trying to decide what I wanted. I wanted two scoops and was thinking apricot and mango when I noticed a woman near me who had just bought her ice cream and it was the most beautiful shade of purple. I kept looking at the list of flavors. Rum raisin maybe? Didn’t see grape. There was a "violet" and "lavender" listed. Surely not. Finally, I just asked her what she’d bought.

“Violet,” she said.

“Really? What does it taste like?” I asked.

“The flower,” she said, laughing.

“Oh, okay,” I said. How unusual.

Then she asked if I wanted to taste it. I don’t think it belonged to her. She must have been holding it for someone else because she had a cup with ice cream in it that she was eating.

I thanked her but said that wasn’t necessary. Very nice, and no one had licked it yet, but I didn’t think the owner of the ice cream cone would appreciate a strange American taking the first lick.

When it was time to place my order, I asked for “violet” and the guy said, “Lavender?” I said okay. Maybe they were out of Violet or maybe that’s the same as lavender? I also got the apricot because I knew I’d like that.

I liked the ice cream, but as much as I use lavender soap and candles, I couldn’t help but feel that I’d gotten a mouth full of soap. It did smell nice though.

After I left the gardens of Luxembourg, I walked to the St. Germaine area. My guide book suggested that area, and there are lots of little shops, as well as vendor booths on the street with jewelry and clothes and shoes and food. In one of the clothing shops, I finally found a sundress, something sort of gauzy and flowing like all the dresses I see everyone around here wearing. It fit and it was on sale!

I was happy with my purchase. Now I was craving bread. I wanted a baguette and I wanted to find a place to sit and eat. I told myself I’d stop at the next Boulangerie (sp?) I was going to buy bread and something to drink. As soon as I told myself that, I saw one on the corner. I got the bread and a Coke Zero. This is going to come as a complete shock to anyone who knows me and what a caffeine addict I thought I was, but this is the first Coke I’ve had this entire trip. I’ve not even had coffee except for a few frappucinos at Starbucks in London. And I’ve not even missed it.

I was walking around, not sure where I was going to eat when I saw a sign pointing toward the D’Orsay. I’m familiar with that area, so I walked in that direction. I crossed the street with everyone else and realized I was walking right past the d’Orsay and across the bridge to the Louvre. Well, this is my favorite place in Paris.

I found a prime spot right next to a fountain in the gardens and I ate my bread and drank my Coke Zero. By now it was already around six-thirty. It was such a nice evening, I had no desire to leave. So I got out the book I’ve been reading, Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, and spent the next few hours reading and people watching.

I told myself before this trip that I was just going to relax, but today was probably the first time I've done this, I’ve been going nonstop from one place to the next. It was so nice just to sit there and read.

I had originally planned to take the train to Fontainebleau tomorrow morning. But now I think I may have seen enough royal residences. I think instead I’m going to wander around a bit, get something to eat and find a spot to enjoy the scenery because tomorrow is my last day in Paris. I’d rather not spend my last day worrying about train schedules and looking at old furniture.

Some art, a jail, two scoops of ice cream and a white chocolate eclair

2010-06-29T18:22:00.001-05:00

Started out the day at the Musee d’ Orsay. The place is going through a lot of renovation. I’m glad I’ve been there in the past because if this had been my first visit, I would be very disappointed. All the impressionist works have been moved downstairs. A lot of work isn’t on display right now. Everything is more crowded than normal. I didn’t stay there long.

I don’t like the art at the d’ Orsay as much as I like the art at the Louvre. Don’t get me wrong, they have some very nice pieces, and a lot more familiar pieces. Lots of work by Van Gogh, Monet, Renoir. But yesterday, I mentioned how much work I felt went into the paintings I saw in the Louvre, all those huge paintings, rendered as realistic as possible. That isn’t the case with impressionism. Impressionism is a completely different style. It’s painted more quickly, has an unfinished quality, smudges of paint left to give…. an impression. I do like the work, quite a bit, I just don’t like it in the same way I like the work in the Louvre. Most of the pieces in the d’ Orsay are fairly well-known, and many of the artists were quite successful during their lifetime, unlike the Louvre, which is filled with hundreds, probably thousands of pieces that most people will never see, that many people will walk right past and not even notice on a daily basis.

After I left the d’ Orsay, I had planned to walk to the St. Germain area -- I was followed a suggested plan in the Paris AAA Spiral Guide. But first I wanted to find the bookseller along the Seine who sells Babar prints. Every year, I look through these prints and want to buy one, but don’t This year, I packed an empty poster tube so that I could buy one. I realize I can probably buy Babar prints somewhere in the U.S., but I like the idea of having bought them alongside the Seine.

I kept walking along the river, looking for this seller. I kept walking by closed booths (according to my guidebook, they are called les bouquinistes). I worried that one of these closed booths was probably the one I was looking for. Maybe the guy wasn’t here anymore, maybe he couldn’t handle the heat. I’m thinking that might be why a lot were closed.

Finally, I found him. I bought two prints. I think they’re nothing more than pages out of the books, but now I have them. Not sure what I’m going to do with them, but every year I see them and want them and then later regret not getting them.

By now though, I was closer to the Notre Dame area than St. Germain. I decided to continue in that direction rather than walk back. I decided to visit the building called La Conciergerie. This was once a royal residence of some sort (the king‘s governor, I think, who later became the jailer), but it is better known as a prison, and Marie Antoinette’s final home. There really isn’t much to see inside. It’s a bit creepy. They’ve tried to recreate the rooms and have mannequins dressed as the jailers and prisoners. It was included on the museum pass, so I didn’t pay any extra to go inside. A lot of the places I wanted to see were closed today.

All the cafes in the area advertise Berthillons ice cream. This is supposed to be the best ice cream in Paris. I bought a single scoop of tiramisu flavored ice cream and sat down on a bench near Notre Dame to eat it. It’s delicious ice cream. Don’t know that I would call it the best I’ve ever had, but I liked it.

After some people watching, I walked over to the other island, St. Louis to wander around. During my sightseeing, I usually don’t go past Notre Dame, so I thought I should see a different area. Lots of cute little shops around there, selling jewelry and cookies and scarves. I bought a white chocolate éclair to save for later. Then I bought another ice cream cone. I’m on vacation. This time it was strawberry sorbet.

Walked into several little shops, just looking around. I decided on a mozzarella and tomato Panini for dinner. I considered finding a bench to sit on and eat, but then decided to start back for the hotel. I’d eat there. While I was waiting for my food, I saw a long line of young American students. I wanted to ask one of the adults what program she was with or what school. I want to do something like that. Then I noticed their name tags said People for People Ambassadors. Going to look into that program.

I was back in my room before dark again. I had my Panini and then my white chocolate éclair. My diet will begin when I return home.

Hoping to meet up with Marion at some point tomorrow.

Two more days here, then time to return home. Though, I’ll only be home for a few days before I leave for a week in New York (so maybe my diet won’t start for another week or so.)

Visiting the Louvre

2010-06-28T20:13:00.005-05:00

I usually get up early and try to get to the museums around the time they open. This morning, the alarm clock went off and I was still so tired and I thought, I’m just going to sleep in. My only plan for the day was to visit the Louvre. If I went early, then what would I do with the rest of the day?

I didn’t leave the hotel until almost noon. I went to the wrong entrance of the Louvre. I know there is a quicker way to get in, going in through the mall, but I must have gotten out on the wrong stop. It wasn’t much of a walk and the line looked long at first, but it moved quickly.

I’ve been to the Louvre a few times. I love this place. Filled with the most amazing paintings. I don’t just mean the Mona Lisa. My favorite rooms are found behind the Mona Lisa. If you ever visit, go see the Mona Lisa. Work your way through the crowd to see her up close, or as close as the barriers let you. Worth enduring the crowd to see her. But then, walk behind the wall where she hangs (she has her own climate-controlled wall, protected by bullet proof glass. Here you have the entrance to room 76 of the Denon wing. The rooms to the right and the left hold some of my favorite paintings. Granted they move sometimes, but tend to stay in this general area. My favorite is the Burial of Atala. Something about that painting is so beautiful. On this same wall -- at least on this visit -- is the huge painting of Napoleon’s coronation. In room 77, the Raft of the Medusa hangs, as well as the Delacroix that graced the cover of Coldplay’s recent CD. I spent a lot of time in these rooms, just soaking in the surroundings.

Then you have a few hundred other rooms full of paintings. I wandered around for hours. As I look at these pictures, I think about all the artists that contributed. Some that became famous, others who are forgotten, except that a piece of their work made it into the Louvre, centuries after it was created. I think of the time that must have gone into each piece, the agony and frustration. This work is not easy, not any of it. In order to create pieces like this, a person needs not only skill, but patience, and lots and lots of practice. This is what I try to tell my students, no one can just sit down and start drawing. It takes work, a lot of work to develop even a skill like this. Some of these paintings are so big, I wonder how the artist went about creating the piece.

I spent hours looking at the paintings. Then I quickly walked through the sculptures and some Egyptian and Greek pieces. I even walked through the Africa, Asia, Oceania and Americas area. I usually don’t bother with this. I understand that these pieces are all important and have their place in art and history. But I don’t know a lot about this stuff and don’t have any great desire to learn about this stuff. I think some of it looks neat. My favorite sections are the paintings. I also looked through Napoleon’s apartment, and ended up back in the French sculpture area. Made for some cute Snoopy photos.

The Vermeers were on display this time. I believe they were gone last year when I was here. There was a huge crowd of tourists around the pictures though. I stayed at the Louvre almost until it closed. Then I walked through the attached mall. Not all that different from any other mall, not of much interest to me. I wanted back outside.

I walked through the gardens outside the Louvre. -- Jardin des Tuileries, it’s called. I figured I should find something to eat at this point, since I’d not eaten all day. I decided on a scoop of lemon sorbet and a scoop of apricot sorbet. Then I just sat and enjoyed the scenery for a while.

I got out my sketchbook, but a blank page can be so intimidating. Easier for me to work with photos at home. I did a bit of sketching, but nothing too impressive. I’ve never done well with my attempts to draw buildings. People and animals are my thing. I wanted to sketch a part of the Louvre, but there are so many straight lines and angles. Not my thing. I sketched a statue instead. Maybe I’ll find a more inspiring subject tomorrow. It’s so much easier for me to paint than draw. But last week, I saw an exhibit at the British Museum on Renaissance Drawings, and it made me want to start doing more drawing. But “wanting” and “doing” are entirely different things.

The dark clouds hovering being the Louvre kept growing darker. I noticed lightning and decided I should make my way back to the hotel. Didn’t want to be stuck walking in a downpour.

It was around seven, and I was afraid the shops near my hotel would be closed,, so I decided to get food before I got on the metro. I bought a small baguette with goat cheese and vegetables on it (might sound odd, but it was so good.) I also got a chocolate pastry. I actually asked for the small one -- I’d already had the sorbet. But the guy pointed to the large one and I didn’t correct him.

When I got back to my street, I noticed most of the shops were open, but there was a long line outside my favorite, so I was glad I’d already bought my food. A couple of the places that have desserts looked like they were getting ready to close, but I probably could have walked in and bought.

I was used to everything shutting down by 5:30 in London. Paris is a very different city.

I was back to my room early -- well, it felt early, it was around 8. But not a lot to do at night when you’re alone in the city. Another big difference form London, where I was going out every night. This is okay though, gives me a chance to do some writing and reflecting and all that.

I checked my school email for the first time since school was out. I had an email from a student asking about some of her pictures that she left behind. I responded to let her know I'd found the pictures and put them in a safe place. I also mentioned that I was emailed her from Paris, that it was 1:35 and I hadn't adjusted to the time change yet. But the truth is, if I was at home and I didn't have to be at school the next day, I'd be wide awake at 3 a.m., as I am here, right now. So maybe I have adjusted, this is just my natural state. Not great for getting up and sightseeing. Oh well, I'll figure something out, I'm sure.

Also, I found out via facebook that one of my friends, Marion, is going to be in Paris this week, and is staying in a hotel fairly close to mine. This makes me happy because today as I sat by myself, I was bothered by how alone I was feeling in Paris. I usually meet people, but that hasn't happened yet. Granted, I've only been here a day. But everyone is in large groups, families, couples. It will be nice to see someone I know, someone I've not seen in a while.

Arriving in Paris

2010-06-27T20:00:00.000-05:00

(In Paris, so I have free wifi for the first time in a week or so. Don't have my London posts ready to put up here, but here's my first day in Paris.)

It’s been a few years since I took the train from London to Paris. Back then, the train left from Waterloo. Now it leaves from the very nice Kings Cross St. Pancras station. Everything was fine on the London end. I was even able to buy Paris metro tickets and the museum pass there in the station with my leftover pounds. The train ride was smooth. Got some reading done, ate my avocado salad sandwich that I bought at the Marks & Spencer in the train station.

The only slight issue I had was storing my suitcase once I got on the train. People had tossed their smaller pieces in the area reserved for big luggage. I stood there not knowing what to do, and the boy behind me. He looked about twenty, picked up my suitcase and stuffed it in the top shelf. “How is she going to get that down?” his girlfriend said. “I’ll get it down for her,” the boy said. It was way too high for me to reach it. Instead as I was leaving a very tall girl helped me, though I could see the boy at the back of the train and he waved to me, indicating he was on his way.

When we got to Paris and it was like going from nice lovely, civilized England, where you’re always politely reminded to “mind the gap” to some sort of horrible, chaotic madhouse. Good grief, I had a moment where I didn’t think I was going to survive getting on the metro. I am relieved to report that the only casualty was my hair clip.

Everyone was rushing to get on the train, and the doors closed before I could get on. I was not that concerned. There would be another train. A few girls near me were freaking out.

“At least we’ll be the first on the next train,” I say. But then the doors open again.

A woman on the train says to me, “Hurry, get on.” Well, okay. I try to toss my suitcase over the rather frighteningly wide gap -- which I might add, no one warns you about. I’m also lugging around this very heavy carry on that holds my computer and camera and used memory cards and signed Bon Jovi concert program -- everything of value. I hear something snap and fall. I shudder, frightened of what I’ve lost. I’m imagining my money belt having a freak accident and falling out of my loose shorts or passport falling to the ground. I look and see my hairclip -- it had been latched onto my belt loop -- hit the step area. No way am I going to reach down and get it, my luck everything in my carry on will fall out, or my suitcase will topple over. Man down, got to keep moving. I can get another hair clip. (Luckily I found a second one in my purse. This morning, I had both on my belt loop and remember thinking, I should put one somewhere else, just in case. Sometimes those psychic powers kick in a bit.)

I change trains at the next stop, and then get to the Nation stop. I’ve stayed at this hotel three times now, for three consecutive summers, so I’m familiar with the stop. I get to my exit and then I want to start crying because I see that the escalator isn’t moving and it’s a lot of damn stairs. I slowly struggle with the suitcase. Why the hell is it so heavy? And who’s dumbass idea was it to bring the bigger suitcase? Oh right, I can check bags for free on international flights and I wanted to have room to pack my purchases. I’m going to be here two weeks, bring the big suitcase. But damn, I’d not counted on having to haul this m-f-er up 80 something steps. I have to stop midway and fight back tears. At one point the suitcase nearly fell back and took me with it. I’m thinking this is the stupidest trip I’ve ever taken. I’m so miserable at this point, I’m hating my life thinking this is why I’m supposed to have a man, so that I’ll have someone to assist with the luggage. Not coming back to Paris again until I have a boyfriend to carry my suitcase or enough money to have someone pick me up at the airport or train station or wherever I arrive to carry my suitcase and drive me to my hotel. I was so upset, and I already had a massive bruise forming on my leg from the suitcase falling into me while I was getting on the tube in London. And it’s hot, and I’m wearing my sweatshirt because I was afraid it would be cold on the train and there was never time to stop and put it back in my suitcase. As if I need something else in the suitcase. I’m telling myself I’m never coming back to Paris again, I’m not going to travel anymore, this is not worth it. Then I start down Voltaire toward my hotel and I pass the bakery that I love so very much. Okay, this place isn’t so bad. I walk into the hotel and the manager is at the desk.

The moment I walk in, he says, “Welcome, back! How are you doing? How have you been? So glad to see you again. I’ve got you a room on the second floor with a balcony. Here’s a map, here’s the code for the internet, if you need anything at all let us know. I assume your name and information is all still the same, Ms. Holmes?”

I’m so very, very happy to be here and to be greeted like a welcome guest.

“Yes, it’s all the same,” I say.

“Then let me get the elevator for you. Any questions at all, just ask us, we’re here to assist you,” he says, holding open the elevator door.

Didn’t even ask for my credit card to cover incidentals.

And the room is wonderful. Clean and well-lit. The bed is huge and the balcony is overlooking the street, all the cafes and markets and apartments with their flowers in the window. Oh my god, I love Paris! All those things I told myself on the street, I’m over it.

It was around five when I got to my room. So nice to see that the time has changed on my phone. It never did that in London. In London, my phone was on east coast time for some reason. I was tempted to stay in my room for the rest of the day, but that seemed like a waste of an afternoon. I decided to go to the Eiffel Tower. I’ve never been to the top, so that was the plan. I rode the metro out to the stop nearest the tower, walked out to the tower, saw the long, long line and changed my mind. I really just don’t feel a strong need to go to the top of it. Especially if it means standing in line for hours. Maybe I’ll do it later this week, but if I don’t, not a big deal.

I walked around the area, taking in the surroundings. They had up a huge screen nearby where people were watching the Mexico v. Argentina game. From the Eiffel Tower I walked to the Arc de Triomphe. I’ve been to the top of that, which I was told was a better choice than the tower because from there, you can include the Eiffel Tower in your pictures. When you’re on the Eiffel Tower, you can’t see it, and that’s actually what distinguishes most Paris pictures.

I took some photos and walked down Champs Elysees. During my trip, the weather has gone from 50 something last weekend to mid-80s. I packed expecting chilly weather, a high of 68 according to the forecast, so I have a bunch of t-shirts, thinking I’d be wearing those under a sweatshirt the whole time I was here. Now I want my summer clothes. Wondering if I might have to do a bit of shopping this week. Nah, better not… unless I find a great deal.

On a night like tonight, I wish I was ten years younger, wearing a flimsy sundress and pretty sandals, enjoying a glass of wine and some bread with my friends or walking along the Seine with a handsome young man. Oh well, I guess I’ll just have to settle for the wine and bread and I think Jon Bon Jovi all last week was about all the man I can handle for now.

Milwaukee - Summerfest

2009-06-24T09:32:00.006-05:00

I was only home for a short while before I was getting ready to leave again. Not for Trent this time. This time I was going to Milwaukee to see Bon Jovi perform at Summerfest.

At the airport, I met a woman who was so excited about going to Summerfest. It's supposedly the biggest music festival in the country. I felt guilty for not being as excited. I was looking forward to Bon Jovi, but was ignorant with regard to the festival's history.

I got to the airport first. I had a while before my friends were going to get there, so I ordered breakfast from a place in the airport. The guy at the counter said Jon had arrived the day before, which sent the airport security into a tizzy.

I then went to baggage claim to wait for my friends. Terri got there next, then Missy and Pia. We rented a car and then went to the hotel.

As we were getting ready to go out, we started getting text messages from people about Michael Jackson being dead. I remember that we were trying to get the computer and internet service working before someone suggested we just turn on the TV to check the news. Right, TV, news.

We went out to eat once everyone got settled into their rooms.

I don't remember the name of the place we ended up eating. We took forever to decide, and then ended up at a place where the air conditioner wasn't working. A bit warm inside.

I avoid chain restaurants when I can and I always try, if at all possible, to eat the local specialty. And yet, in Milwaukee, where they are famous for beer and cheese, I ended up ordering a salad with French goat cheese and a Stella Artois to drink. So much for eating and drinking local. The food would improve as the trip went on.

We saw Bon Jovi that night. I think we were all sitting separately that night. I know I was alone. I'd not realized how large the amphitheater was, and was under the impression I had a much better seat than I did. After seeing so many Nine Inch Nails shows up close, it was bothersome to be so far away. I wish I would have done my research and gotten a better seat. It was still a good show, and Jon seemed in an especially good mood, even though he was having some sort of sound problems. At one point he mentioned the issue, not realizing his microphone was on. Oops.

After the show, we spent a long time searching for a place to buy food. We ended up at a convenience store, and loaded up on soda and Krispy Kreme donuts. This place would become one of our favorite spots and we would return the following night.

Pia left the next day for an event in Chicago. The rest of us returned to Summerfest to see Keith Urban perform. I knew his name, but was not familiar with his music. I'm not a big country music fan, but I enjoyed the show quite a bit. Very entertaining.

At some point during the trip, we stopped at a liquor store to get some essential supplies. I bought some small bottles of wine, trying to be more of wine drinker these days. But it was not good wine. One of my favorite comments though was Missy's, "Really? The 1.29 wine doesn't taste good? Imagine that." I left it in the room when we left, maybe the cleaning crew got some enjoyment out of it. One bottle wasn't even opened.

On the third day there, Terri dropped Missy and I off at the fairgrounds and she went to a dog show. KISS was performing that day, but we decided to skip that show and just explore the other areas of Summerfest.

We spent the day sampling the food -- I had my share of Wisconsin cheese products. I believe it was fried cheese curds that I had. Whatever it was, it was yummy. Also had some ice cream, a mountain of ice cream -- though I think I ended up wearing a significant portion of it.

Eventually we got us some Milwaukee brewed beer and did some people watching from our spot on the rocks bordering the lake. This is the site of what Terri calls the "Chicks on the Rocks" photos.

The other notable thing about this trip -- I flew Midwest Airlines on the way back to Dallas. If I could fly this airline all the time, I would. Very nice. But I think the only flight they have to Dallas is to and from Milwaukee. The best thing about the flight thought -- they serve fresh baked chocolate chip cookies. This is customer service! This is what other airlines are missing -- an attempt to make the customer comfortable and welcome.

Charlotte, North Carolina - more NIN

2009-06-12T09:36:00.006-05:00

I left New York City on Thursday. Flying to Charlotte, North Carolina, for, you guessed it, another Nine Inch Nails show that Friday. This was the last U.S. show of the Wave Goodbye tour. I was meeting up with Dawn, Cheryl and Mary for this show.

When I got to Charlotte it was raining. Pouring down rain. I took a cab to the hotel. At the hotel, the doorman came out to the cab to get my suitcase. He opened the door to the cab and jokingly asked why I'd brought the rain with me.

Dark clouds just follow me, I guess.

The hotel in Charlotte was very nice. They had Bath and Body products in the bathroom -- always a good sign, and it was the coconut and lime verbena scent (my summer scent). The hotel was located downtown, within walking distance of all kinds of eating establishments. After I settled into the room and let everyone know I was there -- I was the first there, the others were all driving -- decided to go out for food. Even though we were close to several places, it was still pouring down. I considered the healthy middle eastern pita place directly across the street, and then went further down the street and got a slice of pizza. I really like pizza. I could probably eat it every day and not ever get tired of it.

I was watching a playoff basketball game while waiting for my friends to get there. Once everyone was there, we returned to the pizza place and ended up spending several hours there. Pizza and beer and good friends. I don't have enough of those nights.

The next morning we got ready to go out to the concert. Again, I was attending the pre-show meet and greet. Dawn and I had done this in Indiana, but this would be Mary and Cheryl's first time to meet the band.

We stood in line for what seemed like a long time that day, probably because it was very hot. I told my friends that if Trent asked if we'd met before, I was going to deny it because I didn't want to seem like one of his creepy, stalker fans.

Of my friends, I was the last in line to get to the band. I had some photos from the New York/New Jersey shows printed to have the band members sign.

The photo of Justin was from the Jones Beach soundcheck, during which, Trent had teased him about his pink shirt.

I told him I liked the pink shirt, that it was very Gatsby of him to wear pink in Long Island, Gatsby wore a pink suit and he lived in Long Island. He said he appreciated the literary reference. I don't know much about a lot of things, but books, I know. Some books, at least, Gatsby being one of them.

And then Trent looks at me and says, "So we meet again." Didn't even give me the chance to deny it.

"It's my last show," I said quickly. "Last show I'll be at."

"What do you mean, last show? This isn't my last show. Won't I be seeing you in Austria next week?" he said.

"No, this is my last show," I insisted.

"You're not going to any of the European shows?" he asked.

I shook my head.

Then he pushed away the photo I'd set in front of him.

"If that's how you're going to be, forget you. Just go. Leave," he said, laughing.

And I'd like to say I was really cool, but I was most likely a giggling fool.

He smiled, shook his head, took back the photo and signed it and drew the NIN logo on it.

"I'm going to be in Paris just a few days after you play there," I said.

"What are you going to be doing in Paris?" he asked.

"Sightseeing, art museums, I'm an art teacher," I said.

"So, you're not going to be doing anything, right? You're not there for work, so you could change your plans?" he said.

"No, I made these plans before you announced the tour dates," I said.

"Sounds like some bad planning on your part," he said.

I wanted to say that if he'd not waited so long to announce the European tour dates maybe I could have worked something out, but I didn't say that.

"I have been all over the country to see you," I said.

"And me," Justin chimed in. At this point, the people in line behind me are probably not real happy with me, they're all just waiting.

"Just this country. I don't just play in this country. I'm going to be in a lot of other countries," Trent joked. "You could change your plans, you just won't."

"You're going to be in London when I'm in Paris, I did briefly consider making the trip to London, it's just a short trip on the train, but I'm going to be with a friend and I don't think she'd want to do that," I said.

"Oh, she sounds like a great friend," he said sarcastically.

I was quite amused at this point.

I think this is when he realized there were people in line waiting for him.

He took my hand again, said something about it being great to meet me and said that he'd be seeing me again.

Trent Reznor, my new best friend. This is one of those stories I'm going to be telling the rest of my life. When I'm a lonely old lady and the neighborhood kids have to deliver my groceries, I'm going to tell them this story.

While we were waiting for soundcheck, it began pouring down rain. We went from roasting in the sun that morning to being drenched that afternoon. My friends and I sought shelter in a covered area where they were getting ready to serve liquor -- but not until the show started.

During the show, my friends had tickets in the pit, but I watched from my reserved seat. After NIN, I met up with Dawn and Mary and we listened to Jane's Addiction from an area outside of the seating area. Not sure what you call that part of the venue -- the concession area, I suppose.

There was a man walking around offering twenty dollars for a wristband to get into the general admission pit. Mary sold him hers. I had to get some lotion out of my purse so they could get it off and then on the guy's wrist. He then very happily ran into the pit to see Jane's Addiction up close.

Leaving New York's never easy

2009-06-11T09:30:00.007-05:00

Dear New York City,
Here I am, getting ready to leave you again. Packing up my suitcase, making sure the liquids all fit in a little, clear plastic baggie. Going through the motions, being very practical, as is necessary in these circumstances. But there's a melancholy, always, a bittersweet awareness that part of me might be glad to be leaving you again.

I was a young, naive 21 year-old when we met. Had such high expectations of you. Yearned so much for you. Upon first sight, I felt as if you embraced me, I felt at home for the first time in my life. Something about the fast pace, the determination and even the lonliness that seemed to resonate with me. A city filled with strangers, crushed together in crowded city, bumping into each other on sidewalks, pressed against each other in trains and subways, and yet knowing nothing about each other. Having no desire to know anything about each other. All alone in a crowded room. This was a life to which I could relate.

But life happened, the story has been told many times, no need to rehash the details, point is, I left you, as much as I loved you. The time wasn't right, there were other things in my life that needed to be handled before I could be the person I needed to be with you.

I had every intention of coming back, coming back and staying. How could I leave? Not after what we'd had together. New York, you were the only one I ever loved.

But you changed, or maybe I changed, but whatever happened, whatever we had. We lost it.

I've been back many times over the years. I still love you, New York. But you disappoint me. Or, maybe I disappoint myself. I'll accept that maybe it isn't you. Maybe I just decided I wanted or needed different things, maybe my expectations are too high.

Every time I run back to you, I remember our first time together. I want that feeling back. Don't get me wrong, sometimes it's there. Every once in a while it returns, and that feeling of home is more than a memory, it's real and it's current again. But then it fades away and leaves me aching for something I can never have again.

I should have never left you that first time.

Now, every time I leave I feel like a small part of me remains, the part that had hope and dreams of being a part of this grand city. I can never turn back time.

Every time I get ready to leave again, I feel a little older and more bitter. What happened to the life we were going to have? Did it exist at all?

What once felt like excitement now feels weary. What once seemed intriguing now seems anxious. The smell of the streets bothers me, the piles of trash abound. The bathrooms are so small, the little grocery stores that charge twice as much for half the product leave me feeling frustrated.

I'm too old for this. Too alone for this. Surviving in a city such as this requires the type of social skills that completely elude me.

New York, you leave me feeling exasperated and confused. If this isn't what feels like home, then where? I'll be haunted by this thought on the plane. This perpetual quest for home. This imaginary sense of home. Maybe I'm searching for something that doesn't exist.

Good-bye, New York. I love you, but I'm leaving you. I wish I could explain this all to you, but glancing over this, I feel I'm rambling nonsense. I think sometimes I simply love the idea of you. This isn't your fault, this is the result of issues that I've yet to resolve.

I wish I was 21 again, embracing you for the first time. I'd never leave you again.

But I'm thirty-three, and I'm old and I'm tired, and this city, lovely city that you are, has no use for the old and the tired such as I.

My bags are packed, in a few minutes I'll hail a cab. As the plane takes off, I'll long for you. In a few weeks, I'll begin making plans to see you again, only to allow you to break my heart again.

Good-bye, New York.

Jones Beach, Nine Inch Nails and New York City

2009-06-07T23:09:00.016-05:00

I ended up with two tickets for the Jones Beach show. I bought the first one available a few minutes after they went on sale. Then later, I found a much better seat, so I bought that. The person who bought my extra ticket said she wanted to contribute to the fundraiser to meet the band, would I be interested in doing that with her? Meet the band again? well, okay...

But that meant I had to get out to Jones Beach much, much earlier than I'd planned.

When I first made these plans, I didn't consult my friend in NYC first. I didn't want to impose and just assume I could stay at her place because NIN happened to be playing in that area, so I went ahead and got a hotel room. After she found out I was going to be there, she told me to see if I could cancel the room. I cancelled everything except that first night because I knew she was going to be at work that day, and I needed to be on my way to the concert fairly early.

I took the train from NJ to NY Penn Station. My hotel was just a few blocks from NY Penn Station so I got there as quickly as I could, checked in, dropped off my suitcase. Then I walked back to Penn Station and got on a train to Long Island. This was another trip I'd never taken, I was following directions I'd printed online.

I've taken buses and trains and subways in London and Paris and Rome, and still, I find New York's system the most difficult to navigate. The signs and directions are not clear. The people are seldom helpful. I managed to get on the correct train, but I wasn't certain it was the right train. I asked the woman collecting tickets -- I showed her my directions and said, "I need to end up here." She said it was the correct train and told me which stop I needed.

At that stop, there was a bus that ran to the Jones Beach theater. The bus cost two dollars. I handed the driver a twenty and he said he didn't make change and they didn't take credit cards. Only exact change or metro cards. Normally, I would have a metro card, but I'd just gotten to the city and hadn't bought one yet. Annoyed, I turned to get off the bus; I'd seen cabs near the train stop. They'd take my cash. Another transit employee saw me get off the bus and said, "No, we don't turn away anyone. You can just pay double on the way back or maybe someone on the bus can make change for you."

I got to the venue around the same time the person I was meeting, Kiki, got there. She had driven in from Boston.

By now, they had this meet and greet situation much more organized. This wasn't like the endless line in Indiana. I'd brought a copy of the Fragile CD for Trent to sign. I asked the other band members to sign my ticket for the show.

Justin was very talkative. I said something about it was so nice of the band to do this. He said they weren't really doing that much, it was the fans providing the money. He said signing his name and talking to fans wasn't really a lot of work on his part. Such a nice guy.

I handed my CD to Trent, said hello, told him my name, shook his hand. And much to my surprise he says, "I've met you before, a few times, right?" Single greatest moment of my life -- which is a very, very sad reflection on my life, but whatever.
"Yeah, you have," I said.

"Where are you from? It's a different city every time I see you," he said.

"Dallas. I'm a school teacher, Friday was the last day of school and one of my best friends lives in New York City, so I'm here to visit her," I quickly explain. Not a lie, I'm going to be spending the next few days with her. Mostly though, I don't want him to think that I've put my life on hold to follow him around.

"Good to see you again. Enjoy the show," he says. I will, believe me, I will.

What shocked me is that he's been meeting a couple of hundred people every day of the tour since they started this charity fundraiser. Also, I'm not an especially memorable person -- and yes, I know all my friends reading this will say, oh, that's not true. But truth is, I'm pretty average looking. Nothing about me that really stands out in a crowd. For the most part, I've perfected the art of fading into the background because often, it makes life easier.

We attended the soundcheck, then got drinks and pizza. I needed to break my twenty so that I would have two dollars to take the bus back to the train after the show. All the items for sale at the concession stand were in increments of five. No one had any ones -- I asked at several of the registers.

I had a few coins and Kiki gave me some change and I thinks someone else provided some change. I ended up with a $1.80 in change.

My seat for this show was on the second row. A one point in the show, Trent walked out to the edge of the stage, and it was like he was right over me. And he looked so good that night, all dressed in black. However, I seemed to be squished between people not moving and taking up a lot of space -- large men on either side of me, along with some girl that sat there and whined through the whole show -- her feet hurt, she was cold, she'd spent the day at a baseball game and was tired. She was on the SECOND row and she was sitting at a NIN show. I sometimes get the impression that people near me think they can just push me out of the way. It's as if I'm invisible.

Also, two guys in front of me set up their bulky video equipment and didn't move all night, which meant they were blocking my view and more so my ability to take photos. Mostly, I was annoyed because they were so smug about taping the show. That's great, but if you're going to block my view, at least offer to share the recording, which they didn't. In fact, I saw a few people giving them money for a copy of the show. It was a very big deal that Trent allowed people to tape the shows, but I also think he made clear that you weren't supposed to be making money off the shows. (Including a photo to demonstrate how their large heads blocked my view.) I'm very short, so doesn't take much.

I left after the NIN performance and gave Kiki my seat for the Jane's Addiction performance. I told her that the people around me were trying to squeeze me out of my seat, so to be sure and hold her ground. The main reason I wanted to leave was because I didn't want to be on the train at midnight and also, I was so very cold. For a summer tour, I spent a lot of time shivering during these shows.

As I walked to the bus, I remembered I was short twenty cents. I asked the guy in line if he change for a five. He didn't have change but said he'd give me two dollars. He had dollar coins. I gave him my $1.80 in change. I think I found another dime to give him before I got off the bus.

The train back to the City took forever to get to the train station, delays of some sort. But the ride for the station to the city didn't feel as if it took nearly as long.

Walking from Penn Station to my hotel I was struck by how very safe the City felt. Maybe I was just floating on endorphins from the show and Trent remembering me. But I was in love with New York City that night.

The next morning I took a cab from my hotel to my friend's apartment. I spent the next four days with her. I always have so much fun when I'm there, whether it's drinking at the bar, or getting manicures, or just walking exploring the City. One day we walked from the apartment all the way to Times Square, where Missy works. That's the best way to see the city. At the end of the day, when Missy was at work, I decided to walk all the way back on my own. There's something very liberating about being able to walk from seventh street to fifty-ninth street and back again, without getting lost or terribly confused.

Another day, while Missy was at work, I went to a Broadway show. I got half price tickets at the stand in Times Square and saw Blithe Spirit, starring Angela Lansbury and Rupert Evert. I love that movie and thoroughly enjoyed the play. Afterwards, I got a slice of cheesecake and a slice of key lime pie from Juniors, which was right next to the theater. I was on vacation; I was not watching calories. With all the walking I did, I could afford a slice or two of cheesecake.

Holmdel, NJ - Nine Inch Nails

2009-06-06T09:35:00.009-05:00

Nothing like a week in NYC to shake off the dust of a long, rough school year.

Day after school was out, I was back on a plane to New Jersey. Nine Inch Nails was doing three consecutive shows in the NJ/NY area. I missed the first one because we had school on Friday. Another great thing about this trip is that it would allow me to visit friends and spend some time in New York City, one of my favorite cities.

I flew into Newark on Saturday morning. I got a room at the same hotel I'd stayed at when I went to Newark in February. From my experience, I've not noticed a big difference between the Newark airport hotels. Most of them provide free airport shuttles, that's what's important.

This flight from Dallas to Newark was early. The pilot made the announcement that it may be the first time in history that this has happened. I was already through the airport and the hotel shuttle by the time the plane had been scheduled to arrive. That made up for some of the horrible delays I've had on that route. I usually make the trip on a Friday night though, wonder if it's Saturday morning that makes the difference.

My first meal after settling into the hotel room was a very large slice of cannoli cake from the deli in the hotel. And a Diet Coke, of course.

One of the many things I like about the New York area is the transportation options. It's possible, and fairly simple, to get from one city to the next without needing a car at all. Getting to these two shows was going to involve quite a bit of use of the local transit systems.

When I was ready to go to the concert, I took the hotel shuttle back to the airport. From there I took the AirTrain to NJ Penn Station. From the hotel to NJ Penn Station I was traveling with a group of boys from France. They were speaking French and then one asked me if I spoke French because he noticed my Louvre purse. I told him I didn't speak any French at all and he said that was probably for the best. For a moment I found myself thinking I really should find myself a French boyfriend. Might make moving there a bit easier. At NJ Penn, the boys got on a train going toward NYC, and I got on one going the opposite direction. I'm usually going into NYC, so I was a little nervous about this. I ended up on a train surrounded by families with loud screaming kids. And I don't think anyone near me spoke English, and I couldn't find any clear signage. For much of the trip, I just hoped really hard that I was on the right train going the right direction because I had no idea. None of the stops we were making sounded familiar. I had a printout with directions, but the only place I knew for sure was my stop.

Was so happy when they announced the stop and it was the same as I what I had written in my notes. There I followed the crowd of people dressed in black wearing NIN shirts. Why hadn't I seen any of these people on the train?

There was an orange school bus there in a parking lot near the train. Everyone was getting on the bus, so I did, too. I'd read that the venue provided a free shuttle to and from the train stop. Traffic was awful, felt like it took forever to get to the venue. But once I got there, because I had a presale ticket, they let me right in, while everyone else stood in long, long lines.

There wasn't a general admission pit at this show, or it was a very small pit (I'm writing this months after the show) and I was on maybe the fifth row. I was close enough to get some very nice photos. This was one of my favorite shows. A very different setlist that what I'd seen before. The show started with Wish, followed by Last. Two of my favorite NIN songs. Way to start out with a bang. I think I took some of my best photos at this show. (The following night I'd be closer to the stage, in the second row, but almost too close for good photos.)

I decided to leave after NIN. It was late, I'd been traveling all day and I didn't want to be finding my way back to Newark at midnight.

There was a group of people waiting outside for the shuttle, at least that's what I thought they were doing. I don't think we were standing in the correct area because later, I noticed a school bus pulling up to the venue parking lot, and we were already near the street. Someone in the group called a cab and invited everyone there to join them. The cab was probably much nicer than the crowded school bus.

I started talking to a woman on the cab, and we kept talking on the train. She was from California. I mentioned some other shows I'd been to and she said she was surprised we'd not run into each other before. I assumed she was just another fan and I was showing her my photos and we were talking about the show. I'd mentioned that school had ended yesterday and that I was a teacher. She asked me about teaching. I asked her what she did and she said she said something about legal representation for the band. Oh, okay, not just a silly fan, she was there for work. I felt a little awkward and hoped that I didn't sound like the obsessed fangirl that I am. She stayed on the train, continuing to NYC. I made my way back to the airport to take the hotel shuttle.

Indiana - Nine Inch Nails, a tornado and the girl on the bathroom floor

2009-05-31T10:49:00.022-05:00

This was my first trip to Indiana. Years ago, I had a trip planned to Indiana that involved a World Basketball Event of some sort. But the trip ended up getting cancelled. I don't remember if I was ill, or chickened out, it being my first time to get on a plane since 9/11, or simply disappointed. I believe it was a combination of all those.

Now I fly all the time, my fears set aside, for the most part. This particular trip to Indiana was specifically for a Nine Inch Nails concert. When the tour schedule was released, I checked the Saturday dates, found that I could get a reasonably priced, fairly short (2.5 hours) flight to Indiana.

I got the flight and room well in advance. Before the concert tickets went on sale, Dawn decided that she could also attend the show. This was nice because it's always more fun traveling and going to shows with friends. She and her family would drive partway to visit family, then she would drive the rest of the way on her own. Having a car would also mean that we wouldn't have to rent one to get from the airport to Noblesville, where the show was located.

Shortly before this trip, Nine Inch Nails announced a fundraiser. For a donation of a specific amount, you could meet the band before the show. Well, I've met Trent for free before, in the Vegas airport in December. Spoke to him, got his autograph, all that. But this sounded like a worthy cause. If I'm going to fly all the way out to Indiana, may was well meet the band, right?

Pre-Show: Standing in line, soundcheck

We needed to get to the venue early because the people in charge of the fundraising activities still had a lot of logistics to work out.

We got there and checked in and got in line, only to realize we were in a wrong line, then we got in another line. We stood in line for a long time. It was very warm that day. I would be lying if I didn't say that I was beginning to wonder if this was all worth it. We stand in line for hours to get a quick autograph and picture? We could have spent this time sitting in the shade, having a drink, anything else.

They come by and write numbers on our hands, telling us that they're going to disperse the line for a bit so that the band can do soundcheck. When done, we'll get back in line.

For soundcheck, we filter into the venue. It seemed like so many of us when standing in a line, but not that many at all when in the venue. We didn't even fill the pit area.

Trent announced that they were going to play a few songs that weren't included in the show's setlist. He seemed very comfortable on stage, talking to the small group of people, very talkative and funny. His first attempt at singing Lights in the Sky, he stopped and said, "What the hell am I singing?" Two band members attempted to help him get the right pitch. Ilan played a few notes on the keyboard. "Okay," he said, "That didn't help at all."

Eventually, he figured it out, and the song sounded beautiful. I'd heard it once before in Austin, but the quiet song had seemed odd in the huge venue, overwhelmed by the crowd and didn't have enough of a stage presence to support the song. Too many people didn't expect the song and seemed to talk over it. Here, though, with Trent being so casual, and the fans all so eager to hear anything he had to say or sing, it sounded very nice.

After the soundcheck, I felt much better about the experience. Even if all we got was a two second meeting with the band, the soundcheck made standing in line worthwhile.

As we left the stage area, Dawn and I bought posters to have the other band members sign. I'd been worried because all I had was a photo for Trent to sign, nothing for the other guys in the band. Not sure why I didn't just have them sign my ticket.

When we returned to the line, it started to rain a bit, and our posters got wet, which caused the print to smear. Figures.

As we got closer to the band, I felt myself getting nervous, which was silly because, as I've said, I've met Trent before. He was unbelievably nice, even though I was some weirdo fangirl approaching him in baggage claim at the Vegas airport. We discussed this, and Dawn was going to be in line ahead of me, so I wouldn't freak out. But something happened before we got there and I ended up talking to Trent first.

He signed the photo I had, it was one I took of him at the Chula Vista show a few weeks earlier. Then he made a comment about the folder I was using to hold the photo. The front of the folder has a picture of a basset hound puppy, the back has multiple photos of puppies. It was twelve cents at Target and I bought a lot of them - they have different pictures of animals, I'm a school teacher and I need folders. The things is, I'd had the same folder in Vegas, and he'd commented on it.

When I asked if he remembered, he didn't say anything at first.

"The Vegas airport," I said. "You asked if I wanted you to sign it."

"Yeah, yeah, I remember," he said. I don't know if he really did or he was just being polite. But he then said, "Are you going to let me sign it this time?"

"Really, you want to sign my folder?" I said, amused.

"Sure."

"You should let him sign it, it's the second time he's asked," Dawn said.

I handed him the folder and he neatly signed his name across the puppy.

"That's going to be the next Nine Inch Nails logo," Trent said.

"Puppies are so nails," said Justin, who was sitting next to Trent.

A few minutes later, we got our picture taken with Trent, Justin and Ilan. What I took away from the experience was how nice everyone was, offering to hold our bags and posters and use our cameras to our specifications.

The Show and storm

Street Sweeper Social Club had already begun their performance. Dawn and I got a drink and pizza from the concession stand and sat at the picnic tables to eat, from there we could hear the opening band. We were in our seats before their set ended, all ready for Nine Inch Nails.

The show was great. I ended up going to quite a few shows and to some extent they sort of blur together. Some people can cite specifics about setlists and sound quality, etc. I'm not one of those people. I enjoy the show, quite a bit. But I don't know how many times certain songs have been played. I go to listen, watch, experience and enjoy. I can honestly say I've enjoyed each Nine Inch Nails performance, there was not one in which I left thinking, "oh, that was weak." Maybe that means I'm not skilled enough to differentiate between a good or bad sound experience, but whatever.

Of course, every show has something that stands out. For me, it was the weather that night. I was very much into the show when I started getting text messages from friends asking about the weather. They heard there was a tornado near Indianapolis. I responded that we were fine other than a bit of rain. After sending the message though, I looked back and realized we were surrounded by dark clouds. I would later realize that those who were sitting in the lawn were getting drenched from a downpour. From where I was sitting, or rather, standing, I had no idea.

During Hurt, I remember noticing people looking back toward the lawn. There were dark, angry crowds hovering over us, and hundreds of people holding us lighters. It was an impressive sight. The people sitting in the lawn, sitting through the storm, those were the die hard fans that night.

Post show

Jane's Addiction performed after Nine Inch Nails. I like Jane's Addiction, but a Nine Inch Nails show is exhausting, requires a lot of energy. After NIN, I tend to be too drained to sit through another performance. Dawn and I decided to take a break, pay a visit to the rest rooms. Leaving the covered area, we realized just how much it had been raining.

The grounds were very slippery, especially in the rest rooms. There was a drunk girl in line, talking, but not making any sense. She was barefoot and had her jeans rolled up. She said something about being lucky, maybe because we had on shoes? I have no idea. But as she was slurring her words, she slipped and landed on her butt. Several people helped her to her feet, and a few seconds later, she slipped again. She got up again, but must have been too drunk to feel any pain. It was such a bizarre thing to watch and my biggest fear was that I'd be the next person to slip as I walked through the slippery bathroom.

We sat through a few more minutes of Jane's Addiction then decided to head back to the room. We'd had a very long day and with the weather like it was, better to get out earlier rather than later.

We took the long way to get back to Indianapolis, mostly because the roads around there must have recently changed and weren't updated on the GPS. I later learned a lot of concert goers had this problem. We eventually made it back to the hotel, but decided to stop at a Denny's first, our only food that day being concession stand pizza.

While eating, Dawn said, "So what was up with that girl falling down in the bathroom?" My answer was uncontrolled laughter. Since then, just the mention of this poor girl busting her ass on the bathroom floor prompts laughter.

We slept in the next morning, the hotel was clearing up breakfast by the time I made it downstairs in search of food, I grabbed a few items of food, but missed the main spread. Again though, I was surprised by how nice the people were here. That night I'd gone in search of a place to buy water, and the guy at the front desk gave me some water bottles. In the hallways, I saw the woman who had been working downstairs and she was concerned that I didn't get enough to eat for breakfast. I told her I was fine and she told me that breakfast could close earlier the next day, so be sure to get there early. I didn't have the heart tell her that at this time the next day, I'd be in the classroom.

Chula Vista, Calif. - Nine Inch Nails

2009-05-16T19:17:00.004-05:00

Took a cab to the concert venue in Chula Vista. That was easy enough. I asked the cab driver about the drive back and was told there would be cabs available. Ha, ha...

Because Nine Inch Nails is not the headlining act, I'm having to get to shows earlier than I'd like. I enjoy Street Sweeper Social Club though, so it's okay.

Trent ran out on stage to sing Kick out the Jams with Street Sweeper Social Club. That was a surprise, and fun.

One thing that I very much remember about the night though is that it was cold. I took my sweatshirt with me, and felt a bit silly about it, but was so glad I had it as the night got colder. I was so cold. I had a front row seat in the reserved section. There was a general admission pit between the reserved section and the stage, but because the pit was lower than the stage and the seats, it didn't obscure my view at all.

I wanted to leave after Nine Inch Nails, mostly because I felt like I was going to freeze to death, but the woman sitting next to me persuaded me to stay for Jane's Addiction. In hindsight, I wish I'd not done that. Not because the show was bad, but rather because I couldn't get a cab after the show.

I asked a police officer where to go to find a cab and he directed me to an area, and I waited forever and no cabs showed up. I recognized a couple from my hotel and they were having the same problem. If I'd known where we were, we probably could have walked because I don't think we were more than about two miles from the hotel. But I'd never been to this place before.

I waited with this couple, and there were lots of other people running around trying to get a cab. We called cab companies and they were saying they didn't have enough cabs to accommodate people, but they'd send the first available.

After what felt like hours, we finally got a cab. After this drive, I was even more certain that we could have walked. It seemed like maybe four blocks. But oh well.

Got to the hotel and realized my room happened to be in the middle of a group of rooms for a family reunion. They were up all night! Really didn't like this hotel. I selected it based on proximity to the venue, but I'm used to staying at much nicer places. But this is part of why I don't like shows at amphitheaters. They're always out in the middle of nowhere, not near downtown and nice hotels. But these are the things I tolerate to see NIN.

I'd arranged for a shuttle to pick me up the next morning. I was sitting in the lobby when a long limo drove up. Wow. Is the band staying here? I thought oddly.

The driver walked into the lobby and said my name.

"I was expecting a van?" I said, worried.

He explained that he worked for the same company and lived in this area. They asked if he'd pick me up on the way to the airport. Okay, whatever. I rode to the airport in a limo. Full bar back there.

When we got to the airport, the driver told me to look around and wave and act like I was famous. Ah, yes, this is Southern California.

Lovely Southern California

2009-05-16T14:17:00.005-05:00

Flew into San Diego this morning. Planning to attend a Nine Inch Nails concert in Chula Vista tonight.

There is something so very nice about Southern California. The minute you step outside of the airport, everything just seems so much nicer. I felt the same way in Los Angeles. On the drive to the hotel, taking in the scenery, the hills and the water and the palm trees, makes me wish I could live here.

Though, I find myself wishing I could live every where that I visit. I wonder if I actually lived in these places, would I still like them, would I find a home I loved or would I despise them as much as I despise my dreary little grey house in Texas?

I'm in a hotel near the venue. Being that I'm only here for the day, I don't have any plans to do much sightseeing. And being that I'm alone on this trip, I've no plans to "go out" at night. Just here to have a weekend away from home and a night with Trent.

I needed the break. I've been in such a bad mood lately. The dreary weather, the Mavs getting nearly swept in the playoffs, general stress from school. Changing locations helps a bit, though I still find myself obsessing over things that happened at school.

Was pouring down rain when I left the house this morning. Was worried that I would be late getting to the airport. Then I was concerned because my flight was leaving out of the D terminal, which is for the most part, an international terminal. I was afraid I'd end up in security with a gazillion people ready to take international flights. But I parked at D terminal without any issues, plenty of places to park. Got into the terminal -- which is significantly nicer than the other terminals at DFW -- and there wasn't even a line to get through security. Maybe one or two people ahead of me. Was at my gate by 7:30, an hour before I was to board. I got a breakfast sandwich from Einstein Bagels -- egg, spinach, tomato and provolone. Yum.

It was an easy flight, only 2 and a half hours. We ended up landing ahead of schedule. Why does it seem to take so much longer to get from Dallas to Vegas? I swear the last time I went to Vegas it took at least three hours. Isn't San Diego further away?

Only bad thing is that I finished the book I was reading. Something called The Song Is You. Very stupid book, I do NOT recommend it. Will have a full review on my book review blog as soon as I get a chance. Anyway, waste of reading time. Now book is finished and I don't have anything to read on the way home. I meant to grab Life of Pi before I left. I thought I still had Dead in Dallas in my suitcase from my trip to New Orleans, but now I remember I removed it and put it in my basketball purse the other day (I was afraid I was going to get to the game too early.) Whatever the case, I don't have a book with me. Maybe I can buy something at the airport tomorrow before I leave. I hate doing that though, since I have so many books at home that I need to read, three or four that I've checked out from the library.

Maybe I could download a book and read it on my little computer... that's an idea. Just disable the wireless connection... maybe I'll look into that tonight.

Have I mentioned that I love hotel rooms? This particular hotel is not nearly as nice as what I've become accustomed to staying at, but the room itself is just fine. Big, clean room, mini-fridge and microwave. Lots of clean towels and soaps and gels. Free internet, HBO, Just Missed TV on Demand. I think one of my favorite things about hotel rooms is being able to watch TV in bed. I don't have a TV in my bedroom at home and don't plan on getting one -- otherwise, I would never get out of bed! -- but watching TV in bed is such a guilty indulgence for me. When I was in New Orleans two weekends ago, I watched a Golden Girls marathon until 4 a.m. I know, how lame is that, to go to New Orleans and spend the early morning hours watching Golden Girls? But it was so nice to crawl into bed after a full day of sightseeing and food and music, and just watch TV until I went to sleep.

And when I'm in hotel rooms, I can sit here and write or read or watch movies, without thinking about how I really should be cleaning house or mowing the yard or folding clothes or whatever other responsibilities accompany home ownership.

Okay, enough from me for now. Going to take a nap so that I'm not completely exhausted by the time the concert starts. The time difference is such that it feels like I got to California only an hour after leaving Texas, so it's nice that I still feel like I have a full day here. But at some point, later tonight, when I want to be wide awake, my body is going to be saying, "What the hell, it's really 2 a.m. and I've been up since 6 a.m. and haven't slept all damn week!" In an attempt to avoid that, going to try to nap now.

New Orleans - Jazzfest

2009-05-02T09:38:00.001-05:00

When I found out that Bon Jovi was going to be playing in New Orleans at Jazzfest, I felt like I had to go. Any excuse to get to New Orleans. And the ticket was a mere $40. When I bought the ticket, I assumed that a few of my friends would also be going. Sad to report that no one else wanted to go. So I was on my own for Jazzfest.

I decided to fly in on Saturday morning rather than Friday night to save a night on hotel costs. That was a mistake. I got to the hotel and they couldn't get me a room just yet. A few hours later, still no room. I was getting anxious. Bon Jovi was playing at 5 and it was already 3. I spent the entire time in Starbucks waiting for my room. Finally, I went to the front desk, told them I wanted to go out to Jazzfest and I'd just get my room later. I went into the luggage storage area to get my suitcase, informed the guy in charge that I was going to be changing clothes in there, if he could please watch the door for me. He did.

I didn't feel very put together, didn't feel at all organized. When I travel, I look forward to spending some downtime in my hotel room before I go out. But if I kept waiting for a room to be ready, I was going to miss Bon Jovi, the reason I was here.

I took the shuttle bus from the hotel to the park.

I thought it would be like Voodoo Fest, which I'd enjoyed quite a bit. But this was much more crowded. Lots more people. I got some food, a crawfish pie, some sweet potato fries, and then made my way to Bon Jovi. I was too late to get anywhere near the stage, so I just focused on finding a place where I could see and wasn't crushed by people.

The performance was good, but I've seen much better from Bon Jovi. The crowd didn't seem that into it. By then everyone just seemed drunk. They weren't playing to a crowd of their fans and it seemed to make a difference. Also the fact that they had to be done by seven and the sun was still up seemed very odd.

After the show I got more food, mango sorbet and strawberry shortcake. The line to get back on the shuttle took forever. Such a huge crowd. Again, so different from Voodoo Fest. Overall, Jazzfest was not one of my favorite experiences.

I was the hero in the line though, because I pulled out a package of antiseptic wipes and passed them around.

Here's where I should mention that this was the height of the swine flu hysteria. On the shuttle bus from the airport to the hotel, there was a man wearing a mask and that seemed to set the mood. Can't get too crazy, swine flu is out there.

On the up side though, on the Friday before I left, my school district announced they were closing for the week to sanitize the schools for swine flue, so I was able to extend my stay a few days.

Rather than return on Sunday, I was able to spend some time shopping and eating. I wandered down Magazine Street and did some window shopping. Walked through the Garden District and admired the big, beautiful houses. More window shopping, you might say. I want a house here. The more time I spend in this city, the more I know I want to live here. But when I move here, I want to be able to buy a big, beautiful house. It doesn't have to be a mansion, but I want something nice, not a crummy little house or apartment. I want something with history, something with character. Someday.

travel blog update

2009-04-11T12:36:00.002-05:00

This week I booked my flight and hotel for Paris. Leaving July 12, arriving July 13 and remaining until July 20. A full week in Paris. My friend Jodi is going with me. I'm so excited. Over the last few years, I've taken my trips to Europe alone, and I've enjoyed myself, but I think it will be nice to have someone with me, someone who enjoys much of the same things as me (she's also an art teacher).

Anyway, I am writing this now to let you know that within the next few weeks or so, I am going to attempt to make more of an effort to post some of my past trips -- including finishing my Paris trip from last summer. I know, only a year late, plus I've taken quite a few trips since then. I returned from Paris the day before school started, so I didn't have any time to sit down and type of my notes. Keep in mind, most of this has been written down -- but in long hand, in a journal. So if you are a follwer of this blog, I just wanted to warn you that the "updates" -- some almost a year old -- should be showing up soon. Hopefully. That's the plan for now. ... but I have lots of plans.

Destination - New Jersey

2009-02-21T10:07:00.015-06:00

My flight to New Jersey was scheduled to leave at 7:10. To get there in time, I would need to leave directly from school, no time to go home first. So I loaded up the car on Thursday night. I was still scrambling around the classroom, trying to make sure everything was ready for the sub after school. Left around 5. Thought that would give me plenty of time to get to the airport, it isn't like the airport is that far away.

Arrived at the airport right at 6. My flight was supposed to board at 6:40. Line at security was frighteningly long. An employee directed several of us to another gate, where the line wasn't as long. But while going through that line, someone shouts out something about a "drill!" and we were all instructed to drop everything and step away from the conveyor. Seriously, people, I don't have time for this.

Get to the gate. Grab something to eat from Au Bon Pain because I know I'm not going to get food on the plane. American is budget airline service at full price. I make one last trip to the bathroom at 6:35, return to the gate and discover the flight has been delayed until 7:50. Well, hell.

Finally we board the plane. Get into our seats and are then informed by the pilot that our "wheels up" time is still an hour and a half away. That's right. We are going to sit on the plane, not moving for an hour and a half. Good freaking grief.

It was 1 am by the time I got to New Jersey.

I'm in New Jersey to see Jon Bon Jovi. He's doing a fanclub show at a venue in his hometown of Sayreville, N.J. I'm not even in the fanclub, but my friend Missy is, so she bought a pair of tickets when they went on sale.

When I get to the hotel bar, Missy, Brandie and Terri have already spent quite a bit of time with the bartender, Alvin. We have a few more drinks before going to our rooms.

The next day we relocate to a hotel closer to the venue. Somewhere in New Jersey, but I don't know where. I travel alone so often and stress so much about keeping up with locations and transportation. On the rare occasion that someone else is in charge of all these things, I'm quite happy to just go where told. Missy and Terri planned all this out. I'm just paying my part and along for the ride.

The drive through New Jersey is not the most scenic of routes, especially in February when it's cold and everything is dead. Only for Jon would I be in New Jersey during winter.

On Saturday, we went to visit Bon Jovi landmarks. Those sights included Jon's childhood home, the place where he attended high school, a pizza place where the band discussed their work, the Stone Pony and Jon's current home.

We drove by these places in the "Jovi bus" as we began to call Missy's car. She has a personalized Jovi license plate. We imagined that the toll lady was probably annoyed at hearing us listening to tracks from Slippery When Wet. She probably wants to tell us they've made new music since then.

At one point in our trip we met up with Lisa and Paige. They found a spot across the river where we had a nice view of Jon's house. The trees being dead helped the view. There was also a child playing in the water with a traffic cone. Telling stories about this child would provide much entertainment later in the night. The cone was plenty odd, but also, why would a child be playing in the water when it was freezing outside?

And it was so very cold.

After our Bon Jovi field trip, we visited Atlantic City and had dinner at the Hard Rock Cafe. Jon was their signature artist at the time, so lots of posters of him around. We bought shirts and pins and we had a few drinks. We all lost some money in the slot machines before beginning our return trip.

Some things I remember about the drive back: they had convenience stores in the middle of the road -- like right in the middle of the interstate. Very odd, nothing like that around here. Here we exit to get to a convenience store, but these were right there. I was desperate for coffee. One place claimed to have a Starbucks, but it was closed. So disappointing.

There was a grocery store near our hotel where we bought supplies. Was excited to see a Dunkin' Donuts there, but even that was closed. What the heck, New Jersey?

The next day, Terri went to visit some friends, and the rest of us decided to visit Philadelphia.

We got lost at first, and saw much more of Camden, N.J., than anyone could ever possibly want to see. In Philadelphia, we found the Hard Rock Cafe. Another purple haze. There I saw Trent Reznor's busted keyboard. I didn't see Lily Rush anywhere, though I recognized a lot of the buildings I've seen during her investigations.

Because it gets dark so early, I didn't get any photos. And it was cold. Damn it was cold. I hate being cold.

The next day was the Bon Jovi concert. Another scenic route to get there. It was quite cold standing in line to get into the venue.

But once inside, everything was perfect. Missy and I got in there before our other friends. We secured a spot near a rail. Seeing Jon in such a small venue, hearing him chat witht he crowd and sing songs that he wrote years ago was such a wonderful experience. My favorite part of the night though was him singing songs from Destination Anywhere. Every Word was a Piece of My Heart is one of my favorite songs. There were a few tears when he sang that.

We enjoyed the show so much and we had so much fun. After the show, they gave everyone gift bags full of goodies: a tour program and button pins and a scarf and a tote bag. A few weeks later they mailed us a CD of the entire show.

After the show we went to Chili's, realizing we'd not eaten all day. We'd had a long day.

And the next day we all went our separate ways, making our sad return to the real world.

Las Vegas - meeting Trent, sleeping with Keanu

2008-12-13T12:11:00.010-06:00

Las Vegas was the last show of the Lights in the Sky tour. More importantly, it was on a Saturday, which meant I could go.

Got myself a very good ticket for the show on the day they went on sale. My flight was the least expensive I could get. It was a deal on Travelocity that included a hotel room. The flight and hotel combined was less than the flight alone directly from American Airlines. However, in the future, I'm going to be more selective about my flights because this was a painfully early fight out of Vegas on Sunday morning, after a very long Saturday night.

Also, before the trip, I ended up getting a good deal at Planet Hollywood, so I didn't even use the room included with the original package. Good thing, too, because Vegas had freakishly bad weather that weekend and I would not have wanted to do any walking outside to get from my hotel to the concert at Planet Hollywood.

Dawn was also flying into Vegas for the show. Her flight was earlier than mine, so she was waiting for me so we could take the shuttle together.

Because of the weather, the plane had to take a different route, which seemed to take longer and we flew over all kinds of scary looking, barren mountains. Kind of freaked me out.

I turned on my phone as we were landing. There was a message from Dawn. "I just met Trent!" I don't know exactly when this was sent, while I was in the air, I assume. She met Trent. During my travels, I've seen Robin, Josh and Allesandro, but never Trent -- except when he's on stage, of course. And for the record, I never really expected to meet him. After seeing these other guys, I started hoping, but I'm also the type who likes my fantasies to remain untouchable fantasies. Like there's always the fear that someone I adore will be a jerk in real life.

I tried to call her and got voice mail. I sent a message that was something along the lines of OMG!

She responds with, "He's still here, in baggage claim. Hurry up!"

Well, darn it, I'm still on the plane and it feels like it's taking forever for them to let us out.

I'm usually the sort to take my time getting off the plane, make sure I'm not in anyone's way and don't want to draw attention to myself as I attempt to remove my carry-on suitcase from the overhead bin. I've never moved that suitcase from the overhead so quickly or efficiently. None of the men near me even had time to step forward and offer assistance. I had it and I was out of that plane.

Again, my normal routine is to stop at the ladies room, touch up my lip gloss, powder the shiny spots on my face, run a comb through my hair. (I don't put on make-up before a plane trip. If I feel the need to wear it, I wait until I get to the hotel and can wash my face first.)

On this day, I didn't stop at the bathroom, even though I'd been on a plane for about three hours. I was afraid if I stopped that would be the minute or so that would make the difference between meeting Trent and not. I applied lip gloss as I was walking. No time for powder and remember, no makeup. I was wearing my ugly jeans and -- yeah, you guessed it -- a NIN shirt. All the times I've dressed up for shows, trying to look my best, and I'm about to meet Trent Reznor, looking like this?

I walked through the airport as quickly as possible, and then I had to take a train of some sort to get to baggage claim. I've never moved that fast in an airport. Somehow, without slowing down, I managed to removed the puppy folder holding the picture of Trent. I'd had it in the zip pocket of my suitcase so it wouldn't get wrinkled on the plane trip. The silver Sharpie was still in my purse.

I'm rushing toward the baggage claim area, and I see him. Looks just as I expect him to look. He's wearing a leather jacket, leaning against a big pile of luggage. He's right there. Well, what the hell am I going to do now?

I look around for Dawn.

"Is that him, right there?" I ask. She tells me it is indeed, Mr. Reznor. Someone I've never met, but have loved for oh so many years. Well, I can't just walk up to him. What if he yells for security or ignores me or oh I just can't do this.

"Do you think he'd mind if I just walked up to him and asked him to sign this?" I ask. I've got the picture in the folder in my Louvre tote bag, which I carry as a purse. Dawn got him to sign her ticket and he seemed fine with it.

I leave my suitcase and jacket with Dawn and then walk toward Trent.

He's talking to someone when I get there. His back is to me and he's very involved in this conversation. The guy he's talking to sees me. I make some look as in, do you think it would be okay and the guy sort of shrugs.

"Um, Trent," I finally say. He turns to me. Did I mention I'm wearing a NIN shirt. I'm such a dork. "I hate to be such a fangirl," I say quickly, "But I just flew in from Dallas for your show tonight, and " I wonder if the words were even coming out of my mouth. I was so nervous and shaking so much. I'm thinking it was awkwardly obvious.

He must have taken pity on me. He smiles and he takes my hand and says, "It's nice to meet you." Melting, I'm melting...

"Could you maybe sign this..." and before I can say picture, he sees the folder and says, "You want me to sign your puppies?"

"Oh no," I say, "There's a picture in here." I get out the picture. "I took it at the Oklahoma show." I explain.

He looks at it, nods, shows it to the guy he was talking to.

"Who is this guy?" he jokes.

"Oh, I don't know, he looks kind of familiar though, doesn't he?" I say. Did I actually say something that didn't involve drooling on myself? Wow. Go me.

Trent takes the Sharpie from me and signs the picture. As he's signing it, I'm standing there, still trembling and so I feel it's necessary to say, "I'm such a big fan, and I am shaking so bad right now." Because I don't want him to think that I don't realize I'm a shaking, blubbering fool. I want to get it out there that I am aware of how goofy I look right now.

I thank him for signing the picture and I start to walk away.

"Hey," he says after I've already taken a few steps away from him.

"I'll see you later tonight," he says.

Stupid, pathetic laughter from me.

"Oh, yeah, looking forward to it," I say and have to walk away quickly so as to not collapse in front of him.

And I've only been in Vegas for about fifteen minutes...

Dawn and I are giddy and we still have a full day in Sin City ahead of us.

We get to Planet Hollywood, check into our room. I lay down on the bed, look at the large picture near the bed. "Oh my god, that's Keanu Reeves." It's a large movie still from Speed. Then I step into the bathroom. Large picture of Keanu and Sandra from Speed. "We're in the Speed room!" I say, excitedly. This day just keeps getting better. We're surrounded by pictures of Keanu Reeves, along with memorabilia from the movie.

Planet Hollywood is connected to a mall, so we never had to leave the building. I love Vegas. I went to the Images of Nature gallery because I love the pictures and I bought some notecards. We had dinner at La Salsa. I had a pumpkin margarita.

I placed some bets on the night's NBA games. Then we got ready for the show.

Another awful opening act. The Bug, I believe it was called. In need of some Raid...

Dawn and I didn't have seats together, so we texted each other about how awful the opening act was and how weird some of the fans are. There was nice couple from LA sitting next to me. She joined in making fun of the odd fans.

Nine Inch Nails was superb. Bittersweet because it was the last of the Lights in the Sky tour. Trent said he was going to figure out a way to install the screens at home so he could watch porn on them. Ick! He said that Josh and Allesandro were leaving and that he was going to do one more tour then take a break for a while. Dude's been touring nonstop for years, he's due a break, though I doubt his break is going to last as long as he thinks it is. But as he said that night, "You never know."

After the show we went into a restaurant inside the casino and I had chicken and waffles. That seems like such a rockstar meal. I've always wanted to order that.

I collected the money I won from my bets. I won as much as I lost, so I broke even. We had a few drinks at a place called the Halo Bar. Then we went back to our room and *sigh* I fell sleep while gazing at Keanu Reeves. Life doesn't get much better than that.

Tulsa - NIN

2008-11-22T12:08:00.010-06:00

I'd never been to Tulsa, which is odd considering how close I live to Oklahoma. When Nine Inch Nails announced their Tulsa show, I immediately made plans to go. It's less than an hour flight from Dallas, and a very inexpensive flight. Of course, I say inexpensive, and then a few days before the flight, I booked myself a one way ticket from Tulsa back to Dallas because my original flight (the cheapest flight) would mean staying in Tulsa until around five or six. I wasn't sure what I'd want to do with all that time in the city.

I got a very nice deal on a room at a hotel within walking distance of the venue. I'm under the impression it's one of the nicest, if not the nicest, hotels in Tulsa. One of my favorite things about the hotel though is that it provides a free hotel shuttle to and from the airport.

I happened to be the only non-pilot on the shuttle back to the hotel.

The driver must have asked about my plans, or maybe I just mentioned it. But he seemed very excited about Nine Inch Nails playing in Tulsa that night.

"Usually, we're all traveling to Dallas for the big shows, now everyone from Dallas is coming here for tonight's show," the driver said. He was a younger guy.

"I know a lot of people who drove up here. It's such a short flight though and I can't handle long road trips," I said.

One of the pilots, an older man, says, "You did something very rare, most people would say people that drove rather than who drove, which is correct."

"I worked as an editor for a news distribution service for nine years," I say.

"Oh, well, that explains that," he says. But he's thrown. He thought I was a kid, because I'm dressed in jeans and a tshirt and I'm here for a concert.

When I get there, I can't check into my room yet. I decided to get something to eat at the restaurant. I walk past the Starbucks on the way and I think I see Josh Freese, NIN's drummer, standing in line in there, but I'm not sure. I sit down at the restaurant and overhear a guy in another booth talking about seeing Josh in Starbucks, so I guess I was correct.

I sent my friend a text message telling her I'm at the same hotel as the band. Then I order myself some pancakes and they are delicious. I love pancakes.

The guy who saw Josh Freese is asking the waitress about Trent. Has she seen him? She says no, but he's here. She said he's in the top floor, the ones you have to have a special key to get into, otherwise she would walk around and try to find him.

And here's a story that I think my friends will appreciate: This same guy who is here for the concert and excited about seeing Josh and hoping to see Trent tells a story about how he was in Detroit for a Bon Jovi concert. He said he found out he was at the same hotel as Jon, so he stayed on the couch in the lobby all night hoping to get a glimpse of him. He said he never saw him and that he must have gone out a back door or secret exit. The woman with him says that maybe Jon found out there was a creepy fan waiting for him and snuck out. The waitress said she doesn't know anything about a secret exit.

I think it's cool that the band is at this hotel, but what are my chances of getting into the exclusive floor where they're staying.

After I eat, I go back to the front desk to check into my room.

"We're putting you on the club floor," the woman says, sounding excited. At the moment it doesn't mean anything to me. She explains that I have to use my key to get the elevator to go to my floor. Okay.

I get to my floor, walking down the hall, and someone opens one of the room doors to check his room number. It's Allesandro Cortini. Oh my god, I'm on the same floor as the band. I calmly walk past Allesandro and to my room, two rooms down.

Now I'm excited. What if Trent's in the room next to me? OMG!!!

I have to text and call all my friends, I think I even post about it on my blog. (This hotel has free wi-fi!)

I take my usual pre-show nap to quell the now expected headache.

It's so cold on this night. I stop at Starbucks before making the walk to the venue. I am so grateful for my thick purple scarf that Cate made me. It goes well with my black leather jacket, which alone would not provide enough warmth, but with my scarf, I'm warm and fashionable. And the purple stands out nicely in the sea of black waiting to get into the venue.

The BOK Center is a brand new venue and they do not seem prepared to deal with the NIN crowd. It's a bit of a clusterfuck trying to get in and to my ticket. But it's a nice enough place.

The people sitting next to me were very nice, a mother and daughter, both fans. Opening act was dreadful. It was three songs in before I realized they weren't even singing in English.

Nine Inch Nails was wonderful, as always. At this show, I had a better view of the light show, and it was quite impressive.

After the show, a group of people invited me to hang out with them, but I declined. They were young guys, probably college-aged, not really my type of people.

At the hotel, I keep finding reasons to go out into the hall, vending machine, ice, candy, etc. I'm hoping to run into Trent. But it doesn't happen.

The next morning -- remember, I got myself an earlier flight at the last minute so as to not spend extra time in Tulsa -- I notice the tour bus parked in front of the hotel. Oh no, what if Trent's here, and I'm leaving early and going to miss him? If I kept the later flight... But no, I go ahead and take my earlier flight.

I suspect that because of my last minute, one way flight, I have to go through extra security at the airport. Fun.

While sitting there waiting, I exchange text messages with my friend in New York. I'm so disappointed that I didn't meet Trent. "What if that was my one chance and I missed it?" I ask her. She responds with, "There will always be another chance." I think that she's just trying to make me feel better.

Greenville, South Carolina - NIN and friends

2008-11-01T12:06:00.008-05:00

Just a week after seeing Nine Inch Nails in New Orleans, I'm on my way to Greenville, South Carolina to see them again. This time though, I'm meeting up with Dawn, Cheryl, Missy, Terri and Pia. Some of us haven't seen each other since meeting up in New York City for Bon Jovi during the summer.

The flight from Dallas to Greenville was nearly empty. They didn't even bother with boarding by group numbers, they told we could all just board and pretty much sit wherever we wanted. It was an early flight, so they told us they'd let us sleep a bit and serve our drinks toward the end of the flight. Nearly empty flights are probably not good for business, but they certainly make the flight much more pleasant.

Terri picked me up at the airport. I travel alone so much, it's very nice to have friends to meet up with. Dawn would take me back to the airport the next day. It's a rare trip that I don't have to deal with any shuttles or taxis. (Though the hotel shuttle did take us to and from the concert venue, which was very nice.)

By the time I get there, Dawn and Cheryl are already in line to secure a spot in the pit. (And they ended up getting excellent spots on the rail.) The rest of us have reserved seats, so we went out for dinner first. We ate at a Mexican restaurant, Don Pablo's, maybe? Maybe On The Border. Can't remember at the moment. I do remember that Pia had never eaten fajitas before and she wasn't sure what to expect. It's a safe guess that we had a few margaritas.

Another thing I remember about the restaurant is that while I was there, my friend who lives in New York City called because she'd met someone who had a friend from the same town where I'd grown up. A little odd. Small world.

I really don't have a lot of information about Greenville. The night before the trip, I started to come down with a cold of some sort. I'd stayed late to clean up my classroom, and my throat was getting scratchy. I tried to ignore it, then went to the high school football game, which was a huge blowout. On Saturday, at the beginning of the day, I felt okay, but as the day wore on, not as much. My memories of this trip are a bit clouded by cold medicine that I took that weekend, and even more so from the illness that followed the next week.

We really didn't do any sightseeing in the city. I'm not that familiar with the city and am not sure what sights we'd go to see, had that been the goal.

We went to the concert that night. During the opening act, we remained in the hallway and Terri watched college football on one of the TV screens.

Because we couldn't buy more than two tickets each during the presale, I was having to sit by myself. Pia didn't decide to go to the show until the last minute, and she bought her ticket the day of the show. (And I believe her seat might have been better closer to the stage than mine, which was bought the day they went on sale. This seems to happen a lot, makes me wonder if buying tickets in advance is all that beneficial.)

I was starting to feel bad as I sat there waiting for the show to watch. I found some little red decongestants in my purse and took those, hoping they'd kick in quickly, and hoping they weren't expired. I tried to occupy myself by looking at other concert photos on my camera.

"You have some nice photos from past shows on there," the guy sitting next to me said.

"Was just deleting some blurry ones," I said.

The standout from this particular show was Reptile. I don't normally like that song. If I happen to be listening to Downward Spiral while driving in the car, I will skip over Reptile. I find the song offensive, and excessively misogynistic. But on that night, I really liked it. Trent seemed especially angry and into the song. Then again, maybe it was the cold medicine starting to kick in at that point in the show.

Another highlight of the show was Wretched. During Lights in the Sky, Trent would often perform the Frail, which leads people to believe he's going to continue with Wretched, but then he'd suddenly go into Closer, which is quite a surprise if you're not expecting it. This was my fifth show, and for me, it was a big surprise when he continued with Wretched, because by now I was expecting Closer. That was nice.

I enjoyed the show, and I enjoyed hanging out with my friends. I wish I'd not been getting sick around this time and I would have enjoyed the trip even more. I ended up sick for weeks afterward. I blame the germy teenagers I spend most of my days around.

That night we mixed appletinis in the room. Cheryl fell over and knocked over my glass. I showed my friends the photo of Trent that I was carrying around, explaining how he'd been near my seat in OKC before I got there. They all had a big laugh over the folder I was using to hold it. It was a twelve cent folder I found on clearance at Target, and it had a basset hound puppy on it. But really, what are the chances of running into Trent?

The next day I hung out with Dawn and Cheryl and we drove around the Greenville area to see if we could find anything exciting. We had some coffee at a cute little coffee shop. It must have been good coffee, because in my notes from this trip, I had it tagged coffee. But the notes, I put those together right after a trip, and sometimes it takes a year or so to actually write about the trip...

New Orleans - Voodoo Music Experience

2008-10-25T12:02:00.005-05:00

A few years ago, Voodoo Music Festival in New Orleans happened to fall on the weekend of my 30th birthday and on the night of that day, Nine Inch Nails was scheduled to perform. New Orleans is one of my favorite cities, Nine Inch Nails is one of my favorite bands, take into account Trent Reznor's connection to New Orleans and it's bound to be an amazing experience. And hitting the big 3-0 is traumatic for anyone, but I was on the verge of a breakdown.

I told my friend, who had recently moved to New York City to work for one of this country's major newspapers, that nothing less than Trent Reznor in New Orleans could get me through my 30th birthday. Conveniently, a friend of hers was in a band that was also playing in New Orleans, so she was on board with the trip.

We were making plans, a few months in advance. She was trying to figure out what days she could take off work. I was shopping at Kohls while we went over the details. A few hours later, I got a text message from her saying, "we better hold off on plans, not sure New Orleans will still be standing by October. That storm is huge." That storm was Katrina. The whole world knows what happened next.

Voodoo Fest didn't happen, or rather it was moved to Memphis and the show in New Orleans was a benefit show for relief workers. But there certainly weren't any tourists visiting the city that weekend, as the city was still trying to rebuild.

When I found out that Nine Inch Nails would be performing at Voodoo Fest again in 2008, I had to go. I'd not been to the city since the storm and I missed it something awful. And I wanted to see NIN in New Orleans. It's like needing to see Bon Jovi in New Jersey. It wouldn't be on my birthday, but rather a few days before, but nothing wrong with an early birthday gift to myself.

I took a late flight into the city the night before the show. I didn't want to be rushing the day of the show and I wanted to spend some time exploring the city before the show.

I got to the hotel very late that night. I'd considered visiting Bourbon Street and having a drink or two. But I was tired from having spent the day at school. I settled into my room, ordered some room service and watched TV in bed. If you read enough of my posts on my travel blog, you know that watching TV in bed is one of my guilty indulgences. No TV in the bedroom at home. It's something reserved for vacations.

Either I got an especially good dose of sleep or I was just anxious to be back in New Orleans. I got up much earlier than I normally would on a Saturday morning and ventured out into the city. My hotel was on Canal Street, near Decatur. I walked down Decatur to Cafe Du Monde for beignets and coffee for breakfast. I can't imagine a better breakfast can be had anywhere. (This is also a delicious late night snack, or mid-day treat.)

I took some photos of the cathedral at Jackson Square, and viewed the art hanging on the fence. Real artists, working at their craft.

During my frequent travelling, I began to develop a nasty habit of getting a headache as soon as I arrived in a city, or in cases like this, the morning after. I don't know if it's from a change in diet, too much time in planes and airports, or stress. But despite my pleasant morning, and my happiness at being in New Orleans, I could feel the headache starting. I decided to get back to my room and hope I could sleep off the headache before the night's concert.

On my way back to the hotel, I stopped at Central Grocery for a muffuletta. I wasn't hungry yet, but would eat this in my room.

I felt better after a nap and some food. I did save some of the muffuletta for after the show. The hotel had a shuttle to and from the Voodoo Fest. Very convenient.

I got the park in time to see part of the Old 97s show. Then I made my way to the main stage area. Lil Wayne was performing. If not for my students, I wouldn't know who Lil Wayne was, but I thought I should watch him, just to say I did. He was entertaining, but not really my kind of music. I believe the next act on that stage was Mars Volta. Again, really not my type of music. All their music sounded the same. It was like one song that just went on and on. Ghostland Observatory performed on a different stage, but I was able to watch them on the big screen near the main stage. At this point I was moving closer to the stage to be ready for NIN. I like Ghostland Observatory a lot. If you ever have a chance to see them, you should. The first time I saw them was at the Austin City Limits Music Festival. Didn't have a clue as to who they were, but thought they were awesome.

Nine Inch Nails was the last act of the night and, of course, they were amazing. Trent talked about how he was glad to be back home. The show was well worth the trip.

People who don't know better talk about how "scary" the NIN crowds are, but I was at the show alone, a festival type event, and didn't have any issues at all. Everyone around me was nice. We made fun of the drunk, annoying people. My hotel shuttle was easy to find after the show, and took me right back to my hotel. Before my hotel they made a stop at Bourbon Street for those who wanted to get out there. On the ride back to the hotel, there were two older women sitting behind me. (For all I know, they could have been around my age, but they looked older.) They were talking about Trent like they knew him, and singing along to the music on the bus. They were so obnoxious and I told myself that I really hoped I never became a sad, obnoxious fan like that. Here's hoping.

I'd like to tell you that I went out and partied after the show. But I didn't. Some people on the bus invited me to join them. I told them I'd try to meet up with them later, but I got to my room and decided to stay there. I've had my fill wild and drunken nights on Bourbon Street. Everyone needs to do that a few times in her life. But I don't need to do that anymore. Being a responsible single traveler, these are situations I avoid.

The next morning I had a huge breakfast at a restaurant near my hotel. I went to the French Market and did some shopping, some photos of angel from the cemetery, and pralines from Aunt Sally's. I did some more walking around the city, went by the art galleries, but it being Sunday most of them were closed. I visited Marie LaVue's House of Voodoo, wanting a reading, but am always disappointed because that place seems a little too touristy to me. Instead, I made my way to Bottom of the TeaCup and had a card reading. The woman told me that I'd had changes in my life. Okay, yeah, new job, new career. She also said I'd recently fallen in love. Nope. Wrong, very wrong. There wasn't anything revealing in the reading, it was a little disappointing. I still have it on cassette tape and think it might be interesting to get it out and see if there was something that's since happened, but I doubt it.

I got some more beignets to take home, and some coffee to drink while waiting for the airport shuttle. While I was at my hotel, waiting, I saw Robin Finck ride by on a bicycle. It took a while to realize who he was, simply because I wasn't expecting to see him. He's so tall though, with a very distinctive hairstyle, he's a bit difficult to miss.

Oklahoma City - Nine Inch Nails and an art museum

2008-08-15T12:00:00.014-05:00

After a week of "new teacher" training, I needed to get away. I started this week long training just a day after returning from a rather exhausting week in Paris. Not complaining, but I could have used a few more days of sleep. And this training, well, didn't feel all that useful. Now that I'm writing this, a year and a half after the fact, I can say with confidence that it wasn't especially useful. Classes and lectures and training cannot prepare a person for what happens inside the classroom. Interesting how they try to teach teachers in the exact way they tell us not to teach students. I think only experience prepares a teacher, and the way a teacher handles that experience is what makes for a skilled teacher. But this is not a blog about education, but rather travel.

The point I'm trying to make is that after five days of sitting and listening to lectures, I was ready to get away and be immersed in something not at all school related.

That morning, I listened to the superintendent talk about the school district. But that afternoon, I was on my way to Oklahoma City to see Nine Inch Nails. Oklahoma City is about a two and half hour drive from my house. It's an easy drive, I-35 all the way. I was little worried because it was raining that day, and it being a Friday, traffic in and out of the Dallas area gets very heavy.

I remember that for some reason I was on a Josh Groban kick that day. I'd just gotten a copy of one of his CDs at the library and he kept me company for much of the drive. I know that sounds odd because I was going to see Nine Inch Nails, but I tend to not want to hear the band I'm going to see on the day I'm going to see them. I don't want my concert experience to be influenced by the recorded music. I don't want to go into the show hoping or expecting them to play particular songs that I may have just heard on the CD. I want to get to the show and be ready to receive whatever the performer has for me. So no NIN on the road, but rather Josh Groban and some Patty Griffin, if I remember correctly.

I got nervous at one point because I ended up driving very slowly in a construction zone. A little panicky about time. But it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I was glad that I left right after school and didn't take my time, as I tend to do.

I kept passing by Braums. With each Braums I wanted ice cream a little bit more. Finally I took an exit leading to a Braums and got myself a pistachio almond malt.

"Do you like this flavor, it seems kind of gross?" asked the boy behind the counter.

Well, being that I just selected it out of the twenty or so other flavors on display, yeah, I think it's okay.

It provided quite the post show meal. Almonds provide protein, right? Dairy has health benefits. It's all good.

The hotel

My GPS decided to lose signal right about the time I was supposed to exit I-35. Really didn't need a GPS to tell me to drive I-35 for two and half hours, figured that part out of my own. Luckily, I could see the hotel from the interstate. Doesn't mean I knew how to get to the hotel, but I knew the general area.

I had to park in one area, a downtown parking garage, then take a skybridge to the hotel. Very fancy place. I selected the hotel because I was under the impression that it was connected to the concert venue. It was, sort of, but in a very complicated way. The whole block of building were connected, and then the concert was directly across the street, after walking through all these buildings. There were closer hotels that weren't connected, if that makes sense. But it was plenty close, easily within in walking distance.

I checked in, went to my room. Realized I still had a few hours before the show. I went to pick up my tickets. Being that I had a reserved seat, I didn't have any reason to stand in the long, long line outside of the venue. These would be people battling for position in the pit. I had a seat on the second row, on the side. My view would be just fine, without standing in line all day.

I got my ticket and returned to my room. The rain or the worry about getting to OKC in time had given me a headache, so I decided to take a quick nap.

This being a travel blog, let me offer a few observations I made on that trip about hotels. The nicer and more expensive the hotel, the less they provide. For example, a less expensive hotel will provide complimentary drinks in the room, free HBO, free wi-fi, a fridge for your own use. This place had water bottles, and signs that read they were 2.00 each. The wi-fi wasn't free, and the mini-fridge was stocked with a sensor that automatically charged you if you moved anything.
I'd brought a few cans of soda with me and thought I saw an empty spot in the fridge. I moved what I thought was an empty disk, placeholder type thing to place my soda there. But I soon realized it was not a "placeholder." It was labeled an "intimacy" kit. According to the outside of the container, it had two condoms, lubricant and obstetrical wipes - wtf? I quickly put it back, and was worried I'd be charged for it, but was too embarrassed to ask the front desk about it. I later saw a charge on my card for about seven dollars and have always wondered if that was what it was, though they should have noticed I put it back. If I'd known I was going to be charged for that, I would have kept the items. Or more importantly, I would have made sure they knew I put them back -- completely unused! No room for my soda. I filled my ice bucket and put the drinks in that.

The show

My plan had been to get to the show after the opening act. I admit to loving Trent Reznor much more than I should, but I am not a big fan of the bands he selects for opening acts. I know he's trying to give unknown bands a chance. Kudos to him for that, but still, not my thing. I don't even remember who the opening band was. They were on stage when I got there. I bought some water -- my head was still hurting some -- and walked around the venue a bit waiting for the opening band to end. Ever since I got sick during Queens of the Stone Age's opening stint for NIN, I've tried to be very selective about what bands I watch. No reason to aggravate or create more of a headache for a band I don't care about.

After the opening band left the stage, I went to my seat. Row B. A few people in my section were upset about us being so close to the side. Didn't bother me. Meant I was closer to Trent :) But I did see their point about missing the full effect of the light show. (However, during the next leg of the tour, they would begin the presale seats at the back of the venue, providing a more comprehensive view of the light show and people bitched about being so far away... it's a no win situation.) I was very happy with my seat.

Shortly after I sat down though, the guy next to me said, "You should have gotten here earlier, Trent Reznor was standing right in front of your seat during the opening act."

Of course he was. I was in the hall drinking a cup of water, and Trent was at my seat. Fate was trying to put us together, but I wanted to drink water instead! Yet another example of how the Universe doesn't like me very much. (**** After realizing how close I was to almost meeting Trent, and having similar seats at other shows, I began to carry around a silver Sharpie and an 8x10 of Trent, and taken at this particular show, in hopes of someday running into him before a show and getting it signed. If you keep reading this blog, you'll see how that fits in later.)

I loved being so close to the stage for that show. Took some nice photos. The girl next to me got my attention just in time to see Trent walk off to the side and take off his shirt.

There were several large security guards in front of us though. One joked about how they were watching us -- this directed to me and the girl next to me -- because it was always the people they least expected to cause trouble. Ha, ha. While they were so busy watching us though, someone jumped on stage and ran across it -- twice -- during one of the Ghosts songs. Finally someone from NIN's security pulled him off the stage. After the show, someone mentioned it to the venue's security staff. The guy said they thought it was someone who worked with the band running across the stage. Really?

Of the incident, Trent said to the audience that he'd forgotten how crazy Oklahoma could be.

Trent didn't say much else during the show. The music sounded good though. This was my second of the Lights in the Sky shows, and I felt that this lineup of musicians was significantly better than the With Teeth line up. I'm the first to admit, I go to the shows to see Trent, and don't pay a lot of attention to the other guys (sorry!), but the quality seemed much better. There were guys in the With Teeth lineup who I felt distracted from the show, one guy who was always running around flinging his guitar -- Aaron maybe? That's how much attention I paid to the other guys.

The girl next to me said she wanted copies of the photos I'd taken because she was having trouble with her camera. I told her I'd email them to her. But after the show she didn't provide me with her email address, and she seemed very caught up in talking to her boyfriend, so I walked off. Not my obligation to make sure she has access to my photos.

On my walk back to the hotel, I thought I'd try that skybridge that supposedly connects the venue to the hotel. Well, really it was the building directly across the street from the venue. All the doors were open. But I spent the next twenty or so minutes lost among hallways, elevators and stairs, all in this huge, empty, dimly conference building. A strange experience, especially when floating on adrenaline from a Nine Inch Nails show.

The thing about going to shows alone is that afterwards, I tend to just return to my room. I could attempt to do the social thing and network with other fans, but I'm very much a loner and not very trustworthy. And I like hanging out in nice hotel rooms, and this one was quite nice. I liked that I had a room on a very high floor with a view of the city.

The morning after - an art museum

The next morning, I wasn't in any rush to get home. All my previous trips to Oklahoma City had been rushed. This time I could stay as long as I liked. I went ahead and checked out of the room and took my things to the car.

I'd done some research before the trip, wanting to make the most of my time. I don't mind visiting a city just for a show, but I feel that once the trip is made, I need to take the time to explore the city if at all possible.

It was cloudy that morning, but perfect weather for exploring downtown. From the parking garage I walked to the Oklahoma City Art Museum. They had an exhibit called Roman Art From the Louvre. I'd been to the Louvre earlier that summer and it is one of my favorite places in the whole world, so I was looking forward to this exhibit. It was a very nice exhibit, and overall a very nice museum. I recommend it to anyone visiting Oklahoma City. Their collection includes some beautiful Chihuly glass work. Photos do not do this work justice, a viewer needs to walk through the room, in some cases under the glass, to get the full effect. Also, several rooms of abstract art. I enjoyed the museum quite a bit. And I loved their gift shop, bought several items for my classroom in there and later wished I'd bought more.

Initially, I'd planned to also visit the Oklahoma City National Memorial. However, by the time I left the art museum, there were dark clouds building in the sky. Oklahoma is well known for their tornadoes and I did not want to experience one first hand. I decided it was time to make my way home. I took my time getting back to the car. As is always the case when I visit a new city, I start wondering what it would be like to live in that city. Oklahoma City seems like a nice place, very nice, clean, walkable downtown area.

But I got in the car and started back to Texas. I could have sworn I heard sirens of some sort, worrisome, but I felt better the further away I got from the city and the brewing storm.

Paris wrap-up

2008-08-10T22:22:00.001-05:00

My trip began with a visit to a dead American rockstar, it ended with an American rockstar who sure as hell better have been near death...

In between the two I visited six art museums (Louvre, le 'Orangerie, Picasso Musee, Pompiedu Centre, d'Orsay and Rodin), the former residences of three artists (Picasso, Monet and Rodin), two former palaces (Louvre, Versailles), the final resting places of many famous Parisians, among them Chopin and Napoleon. I consumed something along the lines of eight pastries ( 2 chocolate eclairs, 1 pistachio eclair, three apricot tarts, something with chocolate chips, something with fresh strawberries), three baguettes, and two glasses of red wine and a gigantic Haagen Daz sundae. (Now do you understand why nothing tastes good after returning from Paris?) Nice thing is, I am fairly certain I walked enough to burn off any extra calories I may have consumed.

And added to my suitcase, I have a Venus de Milo coffee mug, a Louvre tote bag that will soon become my full-time purse, a French version of Mary Poppins on DVD that will not play on any DVD player that I own, a bunch of art books and a bottle of Chanel. Luckily, the hundreds of photos I took are stored on a few itty bitty memory cards.

Day 7 - part 2 of the long, sad journey home

2008-08-09T09:00:00.003-05:00

My trip wasn't supposed to be seven days long... damn, Reznor.

Ridiculously expensive shuttle picks me up at the hotel that morning. I get to the airport, check in, get through security. Was so very, very happy that I managed to get through with my bottle of Chanel. Idiot that I am, I didn't even think about needed to get through domestic security with that. I kept it hidden in the suitcase. Had they found it, I would have just dumped everything else in my little plastic bag to keep it. But they didn't even notice it.

This airport is horrible. No shopping areas, no restaurants. Nothing. Miserable.

The cheapest one way flight I could find was AirTran, with a stop in Atlanta. It's going to be a long day.

I remember now why I hate airports. Too much emotional energy left behind. Extreme happiness when people are reunited, the joy of going somewhere new, but worse, the sadness when separating, when knowing you might be seeing someone for the last time, when traveling to visit an ill or dying loved one. That energy remains here, in these airports, much like hospital waiting rooms.

I hear a small child crying, wailing as if his life is ending. He wants his brother. His brother is getting on a plane, going back to his dad. He's been with his mom and his little brother for the summer, but now he has to go back. Impossible to explain this to a child so small. For all he knows his big brother is leaving him forever. Divorce really sucks. Best way to avoid it? Never get married, never have children.

A guy asks if I went to some local school. He seems to think he knows me. No, not me. He can't possibly be trying to pick me up, I look terrible, eyes red and swollen, my skin's broken out, I'm exhausted.

Sitting here for what feels like hours. Watching the news. John Edwards has been caught cheating. Slimy bastard. And two Americans have been attacked and killed at the Olympics. Why was Beijing allowed to host the Olympics? All this about smog and bad air quality and well, isn't it difficult to get selected? These cities go through so much to be chosen. Now family members of one of the coaches were doing some sightseeing and ended up dead. Horrible.

I'm so ready to be home. Ready to get out of airports.

On the flight to Atlanta, a woman's iTouch ends up stolen. She said she put in the pocket in front of her and it disappeared. Not sure how that happened. She's very upset.

I am so sick of airplanes...

Atlanta airport is uneventful, as is the flight from Atlanta to Dallas. The plane is small but AirTran seems very efficient. Plane is on time, and they actually serve pretzels on their flights, which is more than one gets on American.

day 6 - the long, sad journey home home

2008-08-08T21:25:00.000-05:00

Make my walk from the hotel to the metro one last time. Tempted to stop at the pastry shop again, but I've used up all my cash. I have just enough to purchase a metro ticket to the airport. This way I don't have to deal with the hassle of buying a ticket at the window with my credit card. (My card doesn't work in the automated machines here, something about a chip in the card that America cards lack.)

Does always seem like by the time you start to feel comfortable in an area, it's time to leave. I know as I'm walking away though that I'll be back just as soon as possible.

The only thing that is keeping me from being extremely depressed about leaving is the idea that I'm going to be seeing Nine Inch Nails in Massachusettes in a few hours. (Some of you know how this story ends... )

Get to the airport and through security without much incident. I'm there with plenty of time to spare. I buy myself a bottle of Chanel perfume because it seems appropriate to buy it in Paris. I know I can buy the same product in the U.S., probably for less, but it isn't the same as having Chanel from Paris. And I bought it in the airport so that I can get through security with it. I bought Burberry when I was in London, so this will go with odd collection of expensive, international perfumes.

On the plane, the woman sitting across from me asks if I'll switch seats with her husband, who is a few rows back. I say, Of course, and make the switch. I end up sitting next to someone who doesn't speak English.

The movies are the same ones I saw on the trip to Seattle. Horton Hears a Who and something else I have no interest in watching.

I finish reading Breaking Dawn. This might be one of the worst books I've ever read. I am especially pissed off about having hauled this mamoth volume across the ocean with me. Being that the person next to me doesn't even speak English, I can't even share my immediate disappointment with anyone.

My plane lands in Boston. I purposely miss my connecting flight to Dallas. I'm going to stay overnight in a Boston suburb called Worchestor, then take an AirTran flight from Boston to Dallas in the morning. Why am I staying overnight in some place called Worchestor? Did I mention I'm going to see Nine Inch Nails? Got a room at the hotel right across the street from the venue.

Arranged for a shuttle van to pick me up at the airport. It's a little expensive, but my thinking was that after many hours on an international flight, I may not be clear-headed enough to manuever the public transportation system in a brand new city.

The drive takes forever. The shuttle driver wants to know my life story. I make up something about a boyfriend in Boston (you know the story, same one I always tell, makes life easier). He's meeting me at the hotel, we're going to the show together. Taking the shuttle because he wasn't sure when he would get off work. I get the impression that this older man would be very bothered by the idea of a woman traveling alone.

We get to the hotel, I tip the driver. I step inside. Oh, my god, I hate my life...

Posted all over the hotel are signs that say, "Tonight's NIN show has been cancelled." Shuttle driver is already gone, not enough time to get back to the airport to make my flight to Dallas. Oh my god this sucks.

I want to break down and cry, right there in the hotel lobby. There's another couple there who drove in from Quebec for the show.

The guy at the front desk tells me that pretty much everyone in the hotel tonight was there for the show, so I'll have lots of people to hang out with and share the misery. Yeah, I don't think so.

I spend most of the night in my room, crying. I finally go downstairs and get a pizza from the Pizzeria Uno connected to the hotel. I see another girl there all alone, wearing her NIN gear. If I was nicer, I'd offer to join her and we could talk about missing the show. But I want to be alone in my misery. As I'm waiting for my pizza, I begin talking to a couple of women. They offer me a ticket to the Rancid show just across the street. I tell them I'm not interested, but they insist on me taking it. I do, but don't attend. Maybe I should have, something to do. But that would have interrupted my crying fest alone in my room.

I don't know that I've ever felt this miserable. This is bringing up all the bad feelings I had while I was alone in Paris, pushing aside all the nice times I had in the city. Alone in this room, I hate everything about my life. I'm so tired of being alone. So tired of empty hotel rooms. And as miserable as I am right now, I know that returning home isn't going to make me feel any better at all. Alone in my house, that's what I have ahead of me. And the day after I return, I will be be beginning a brand new job, not having a clue as to what to expect of what to do.

This was a very bad night.

I ate my pizza, watching my NIN DVD, Beside You In Time, on my little DVD player. It just made me cry more. It wasn't like I wouldn't be seeing NIN again. In fact I had tickets to see them several more times within the next few weeks. But I'd been so ready to see them, so certain this was the Universe telling me to stop in Boston to see them because what were the chances of them playing just outside of Boston on the same night that I had a layover in Boston.

To hell with the Universe. Hating my life.

I was up at 4 a.m. The time difference messing with me. I went downstairs and checked email in the business center. There was Trent's apology. He said he was sick. He said, "I'll make it up to you, I promise." Really, Trent? I'm out a lot of money, and worse than that, I lost a day when I could have been at home sleeping, resting up to begin my new job.

The list I wrote in my journal that morning:

Need to buy a good case for my laptop so that I can travel with it. Free wi-fi everywhere I went (and if I'd checked email in Boston airport, would have known show was cancelled.)
Must stop packing/buying so many damn guidebooks. They take up too much room and I tend to not use them all that much when I'm on my trip.
Must learn to speak French
Must learn to use train system in Boston -- would have saved so much money
Must stop following bands around the damn country
Must stop loving Trent Reznor so much - these one-sided love affairs are going to ruin me, if they haven't already

And speaking of one sided love affairs... I seem to always end my trips in Europe missing Dirk. Probably because he's the most European person I know, but I always end up in Europe without him. Seeing places I know he's seen, wishing I could see those places with him.

Checking my email at the hotel, I see an email that Cate has sent that has photos of Dirk carrying the German flag at the opening ceremonies in Beijing. Dirk will be back in Dallas soon enough. Dirk is the only reason I still live in Texas...

day 5 - Giverny

2008-08-07T09:00:00.003-05:00

It is pouring down rain when I get up on what is to be my last full day in Paris.

I was planning to take the train to Vernon to see Monet's home and gardens in Giverny. Do I still go, even with all this rain? May as well, not like I can go tomorrow. Part of the reason I decided to go during the summer and not wait until spring break was because I wanted to see Monet's gardens and they are not open in March.

Besides, maybe it won't be raining in Giverny.

I get to the train station without any trouble at all. Find the ticket counter, purchase my round trip ticket. I find the train, show someone my ticket, he stamps it and I get on the train. That was way too simple. Must have done something wrong.

I have a seat to myself. My only awkward moment is when a Japanese family in front of me asks if they're going to the correct direction. This is right after the conductor has announced "Vernon," which is my stop. I'm anxious to get off the train, but want to help them. I read their email printout. I'm really not sure about any of this. I shrug, say I'm sorry, then rush off the train. I was afraid that while trying to decipher their directions, the train would move on while I was still on it.

From the train, I take a small bus to Giverny. From there, we walk to Monet's home and gardens. I just follow the crowd, they all seem to be going to the same place.

It's still raining. Not pouring, but raining steadily. I spend some time in the gift shop, hoping the rain will stop. Finally I go outside. Rain or not, I'm in Monet's gardens. Walking around his pond full of water lilies. The rain doesn't deter the beauty in front of me.

As I'm taking pictures of the water lilies, the rain stops and the suns breaks through the clouds. I take another set of pictures, this time with the sunshine. I think I took more than two hundred photos in the garden.
While at the garden, my leg begins to hurt rather badly. All that walking is taking its toll on my out of shape body. I decide against visiting the American museum in Giverny. I've seen plenty of Impressionist art this week. I make my way back to the bus stop to begin my journey back to Paris.

I stop at the pastry shop again and buy what I plan to eat for dinner. It's raining again. I'm back in my room by 3 pm. Plenty of time to go back out into the city, but I'm so tired. I've done a lot over the past few days. Spending so much time with oneself is exhausting, too much analyzing, reflecting can't be healthy for a person. I've gone through a series of up and down mood swings, had wonderful moments and lousy moments. All the while, trying to hold off my sore throat which wants so much to return.

I'm going to take a nap and enjoy the rain.

When I wake from my nap, I discover my cold/infection/mutant virus that has been haunting me for weeks has returned to my eye. Great, tomorrow I'm going to get on a plane with a red, oozing eye. I have to do something about this.

I get dressed and head for the pharmacy down the street. Everyone is standing outside, in the rain, watching the storm clouds. Everyone smiles, nods as I walk by. I sort of love feeling like part of the community, here. When I come back to Paris, I'm coming back to this hotel, this neighborhood. It may be far from touristy areas, but it's nice to get a taste of real Paris.

At the pharmacy, I ask for Visine. They don't have any. I tell the man I need something for the red in my eye. He goes to some back room, returns with a bottle of antibiotic drops. Probably the sort of thing that can't be bought over the counter in the U.S. (They were miracle drops, I used them and the eye issues almost immediately cleared up, wish I'd had these drops weeks earlier.)

On my way back to the hotel, I see a different pastry shop and decide to purchase a few items from there. This place seems a bit fancier than my usual place. I buy a pistachio eclair and some type of strawberry eclair like thing.

I get back to the room, binge on my pastries and watch TV and enjoy the storm raging outside. This is my rainy day in Paris, just like the painting... well, sort of. Life doesn't get much better than a nice hotel, a wide selection of delicious pastries for dinner and a large, cold bottle of Coke Zero.

I'm a little sad to be leaving, but very excited about seeing Nine Inch Nails just outside of Boston the next day. I'm usually so depressed at the end of a trip, but seeing Trent will alleviate that depression, make returning home more tolerable.

day 4 - Versailles

2008-08-06T09:00:00.004-05:00

I've decided to visit the Palace at Versailles today. I have to admit, I don't know a lot about Versailles, but it seems like everyone who visits Paris takes a trip out there. So that's what I'm going to do.

I leave my room early, wanting to get there when it opens and before the huge crowds.

On my walk to the metro I am delighted to see that the pastry shop has re-appeared. It has a big metal front that they close when they aren't open, completely hiding it's existence when not in operation. Almost magical the way it appears. I stop and get two pastries -- one with apricot fillng and another with chocolate chips. I put these away in my bag to have something to eat on the train trip to Versailles.

For all my excursions, I printed out very detailed metro maps, wanting to do as much as possible to avoid getting lost. But while on my metro ride, an announcement is made and everyone clears out of the car. What the hell is happening?

Something about construction or maintenance. Point being, my map is now useless. I am so feeling so unbelievably clueless right now.

But lucky for me, I ran into the kindest and most helpful metro employees. One couldn't speak English so he found someone who could. They found maps for me and redrew the routes I needed to get to Versaille. One person even walked me to the train stop because I must have looked especially confused. Don't believe everything you hear about rude French people. They found some very patient, nice people to employ at their metro stations.

I get to Versailles and follow the crowd to the Palace. It's big and imposing, with an ornate gold fence around it. The line to get in is sooo long. Someone makes an announcement that if you want to take an English language tour, you can get out of line and inside right away. Okay, fine, I'll do it.

I pay extra for the tour, but the tour doesn't start for another two hours or something like that. I'll walk around until then. This place is so confusing. I walk in at one point without handing anyone a ticket. So much for tight security. I'm not sure what I'm looking at in most rooms. I believe the audio guide was included with the ticket I bought, but the lines to get a guide are too long.

I feel like we're just being herded from room to room. At one point, I ended up behind a group of tall German boys and I find myself missing Dirk quite a bit. Wondering where he is right now, getting ready for the Olympics, probably already in China.

So many people with small children, loud, crying children. Why bring them to this place? I'm having trouble making sense of all I'm seeing, I sincerely doubt a small child can appreciate this.

I should have done more research before visiting.

The tour is nice though. It's a small group, and they allow us into rooms that the general public can't access. The information provides some context to the surroundings.

I then decide to walk further onto the grounds. They offer little trains and shuttles to get you from place to another, but I'm perfectly capable of walking. No need to rush this trip, I don't have any plans for the rest of the day.

I walk out to an area called Marie Antoinette's domain. It's like a fairy tale land. Cute little cottages and ponds. I read that she created this to provide her with an escape, a place where she could pretend to be a milk maid. Her own little pretend village. And of course, the people beheaded her for spending too much money and neglecting her people... maybe she spent a bit too much time in fairy tale land.

I do a lot of walking. And it is so hot. When I don't think I can handle anymore, I start the long walk back to the metro stop.

When I get on the train, I ask a couple if this is the train back to Paris. They say they think it is, then tell me the seat next to them is empty. I'm so glad to finally sit down.

I begin to talk to the couple. Probably the first conversation I've had with anyone in days. They're from Canada, Dave is a drama teacher and Peggy owns a vintage store. We make arrangements to meet up later that day for dinner.

I stop at the little pastry shop again -- so happy to see it. I buy a baguette type sandwich and another dessert pastry. This being a residential area, they don't speak English here and they seem concerned with me taking so long to select what I want. But pointint works well enough.

I get to the room, take a much needed shower and change into a pair of jeans. This will be the first time I've gone out for dinner in Paris. Peggy and Dave are waiting for me at the metro stop and we go to a cafe near their hotel. We have some wine and some food. It's all very good, I love the food in Paris.

We then decide to walk along Champs Ellysees, see the city at night. Peggy and I stop at the Haagen-Daz ice cream bar to get ice cream. I do think ice cream tastes better while strolling along an avenue in Paris.

Day 3 - Afternoon - Rodin Museum and Napoleon's Tomb

2008-08-05T14:00:00.009-05:00

After I leave the d'Orsay, I consult my map. I'll walk along the Seine for a bit. I could probably take a subway and get there quicker, but I'm not in any sort of a hurry. I want to see as much of this city as possible.

I purchase a bottle of water from a vendor selling bottle for a euro. Much more than I'd pay at a grocery store, but much less than what they charge inside a cafe or museum.

I'm feeling better about walking alone in Paris today. Seeing amazing art will have that effect on a person. I have a renewed appreciation for Impressionism after seeing some of the work from this morning. But at the same time there is sadness, longing for an old Paris, a time when these artists still worked in the city. I need a time machine for that, not a museum. Now all we have of that time are the paintings crowded onto the walls of a converted train station.

I follow my map to the best of my ability. For a while, I'm not sure I'm traveling in the correct direction. Was much relieved to finally see the entrance to the *Rodin Museum or rather Musee Rodin and Gardens. *Rodin Museum is located in Philadelphia.

This is all included on the museum pass. I visit the inside of the house first. (I believe there are two separate admissions, if you don't have the museum pass. You can pay just to see the gardens or both the gardens and the house.) Years ago, on my first trip to Paris, which was simply a day trip from London, I passed by the Rodin gardens while in a tour bus. It was pouring down rain that day and cold and we were in a hurry, so didn't even think of stopping. But I remember thinking it was beautiful and I was anxious to return. It was on my "must see" list for this trip.

This was the house where he lived at some point in his life. It holds much of his work, some smaller models, as well as a few large pieces. One room is devoted to women and includes his Eve. Another room holds figures embracing and entwined with each other, the centerpiece of the room is, of course, The Kiss. Very beautiful.

The gardens are even more beautiful and the large sculptures are located throughout the lush gardens. One area is devoted to the unfinished Gates of Hell. The Thinker is here, pondering among the roses. Several families have chosen this area to have a picnic.

Here's the point where all this beauty and love and hints of eroticism might be a bit much for me. This is a realm of life that means nothing to me. All this emotion, all these embraces, these kisses.

I've taken my pictures; I've seen the work; I bought some postcards in the gift shop. Now, let me cross the street and kill all these unfamiliar longings with a trip to the military museum.

In stark contrast to the Rodin gardens, you have, almost directly across the street, Les Invalides, a church and series of building devoted to French military history. Again, I should point out, this is included in the museum pass, so it doesn't cost me anything extra to enter this building. It's nearby, and I heard the Napoleon's tomb was impressive and something to see. A military museum is not something that I would go out of my way to visit.

I view the tomb and it is indeed impressive. Such an elaborate presentation for such a little man. Kidding, of course, in fact, I read something that he wasn't really as small as people claim. Though at this very moment, I'm not sure where I read that.

Since I'm already here, I decide to walk quickly through some parts of the musuem. My awareness of history is rather weak though, especially French history. I walk through the areas quickly. Not until the WWII section do I slow down. There's a photo of Hitler, smiling in front of the Eiffel Tower. The sight is nauseating. Imagine this monster capturing your city. When I think of Paris, I think of art and beauty and flowers and food. To think of that in the hands of Hitler is horrifying.

I read through some of the signs detailing the events of the war and invasion. General de Gaulle got in touch with Eisenhower and said, "We're fucked," or something like that. Eisenhower sent in the Second Armored Division and soon France was free. "This was a great example of international diplomacy" reads the panel. More like, this was an example of the U.S. and Great Britian saving your ass? For a moment, reading about this event, I'm proud to be an American. Not the same country or the same military that it was once. Can you imagine "General" Bush sweeping in to defeat an enemy? -- a real one, that had actually invaded someone and was presenting immediate harm. Not likely.

Being in this building, surrounded by artifacts of death and destruction, is weighing me down with negative energy.

I want out of here. The cobblestone walkway to get back onto the street is making my feet and legs ache something awful. I miss my Nike flipflops. I brought a brand new pair of shoes on this trip, something expensive and claiming to be designed for lots of walking. Whatever. My feet are covered with blisters.

I had originally considered visiting Montmartre on this afternoon. In my purse I have a walking tour that highlights the residences of several artists. But I'm not in the mood.

At the same time, I'm not exactly in the mood to return directly to my hotel room. So I'll walk around a bit. I pass by a statue of Churchill and another of Eisenhower. The streets in this area are named after the leaders who rescued this country during WWII.

I stroll down Avenue de Champs-Elysees. I'm in need of a pastry. When I was here years ago, I remember stopping for pasteries and hot chocolate. But even in the few years since I've been here, the area seems to have changed. Not quite as high-brow as I remember, catering more to the tourists, lots of cheap souvenior shops filled with junk.

I find a place to buy some pasteries and then make my way back to the subway stop. Now I'm ready to return to my hotel room.

But it's at the subway where I witness my first horrible Paris experience.

One stop before Nation, a blind man tries to get on the train. He's wildly swinging his cane. Several people attempt to assist him. I notice he says nothing to these people. He, along with a lot of other people, get off the train at Nation. I step back, wanting to avoid this man and the havok he's causing with his cane. Then next thing I know, there is a woman on the ground screaming. The man with the can knocked her feet out from under her and she landed on the ground, her purse and belongings flying. She's an older, British woman, probably around 60, looks like someone's grandmother. Her husband is beside her, and a younger French woman has gathered up the woman's purse and shopping bags and is assisting her to her feet.

But what strikes me as odd -- and I suspect this is the result of my Texas upbringing -- is that there were several able-bodied men around who simply walked around the woman on the ground. And no one attempted to stop the man who hit her with the cane. I feel conflicted, like I should do something because I saw it all happen. But good grief, I'm just a scrawny, ignorant American, shouldn't these men want to do something? Oh wait, I'm in France... We hear so much about French men and their prowess in the bedroom, but really, if you can't so much as assist an elderly woman knocked to the ground or make some attempt to aprhend her assailant, stay the hell away from my bedroom. I don't want a man to "take care of me" but I'd like for one to at least "protect" me -- there is a difference.

At most metro stops, there are several police officers around, and I think if I see one, I'll tell him what happened. But at this particular station, there isn't anyone around. I follow the man with the cane, he's walked down some stairs and is making quite a commotion. I can hear people yelling at him, because evidently he's hitting other people. But I realize there isn't anything I can do. I even wonder if the man is deaf -- but would a blind, deaf man be wandering the streets and using the metro on his own? I can't help but think this is all a scam of some sort.

Seeing this leaves me with a very bad feeling, as if that bad feeling that was building up throughtout the day has finally taken over. Right now, I don't love Paris. As I walk through the residential streets to get to my hotel, I feel overwhelmed by the stench of dog shit. I know these people love their dogs, but really must they leave their droppings all over the sidewalks?

I'm more than ready now to retire in my room and consume my Parisian pastries. Parisian pastries... okay, maybe I do still sort of love this city.

day 3 - Tuesday morning - d'Orsay Museum

2008-08-05T08:00:00.010-05:00

I get up early again on Tuesday. Planning to be in line when they open the doors to the Musee d'Orsay. I've never been to this museum before. There are people who claim it's better than the Louvre. It does have some more widely known art -- famous for it's impressionist paintings.

It's located right across the Seine from the Louvre. I walked past it yesterday, but didn't visit because it is closed on Mondays. If someone were to visit on a Wednesday, they could do both museums on the first day if they managed their time well. One in the morning, the other in the evening, and still stop by the L'Orangerie for a few minutes. (The museum pass will cover admission for all of these museums. I am a huge advocate of the Museum Pass.)

I plan out my route before leaving my hotel. There's a metro stop right outside of the d'Orsay, but there aren't any direct lines from Nation to this particular stop. I decide to take the same train that I used for the Louvre, but I'll get off at the Jardin des Tuileries stop, and walk through the garden and across the bridge to the d'Orsay. There are worse ways to spend a morning than walking through the gardens of Paris.

The pastry shop that I saw is still not there on Tuesday. I'm so confused. I know I didn't dream it.

The gardens are as nice as I imagined. I take the long way around though and walk past the Louvre. I do this because I am at least familiar with this path and while I don't mind wandering, I'd rather not get lost. How odd to see the Louvre so early in the morning, without any crowd at all. (It's closed on Tuesdays). The gardens are also empty. A stark contrast to what I saw yesterday. From the Louvre I can see the Arc, and I stop to take a photo.

I get to the d'Orsay before the doors open. There's already a bit of a line. I'm glad to see there is a separate line for museum pass holders, and it is a much shorter line. Behind me is a woman from Japan. She explains that she's in Paris for business, but was able to take some time off for sightseeing. She said she tried to visit the d'Orsay the day before, only to discover it was closed. Then she leaves, saying she'll be right back.

While she's gone, a huge tour group shows up and gets in line. There's a sign out front saying the museum is going to open fifteen minutes later than usual today. More time spent standing in line. The woman from earlier returns, cuts in front of the tour group and reclaims her place next to me, saying she's with me. Okay... She explains to me that she went to a cafe across the street for coffee and breakfast. Glad to have held your spot in line for you, could have asked if I wanted something, being that my mystery pastry shop has vanished.

The d'Orsay is lovely inside. It's a former train station with lots of natural light falling on the sculptures. These aren't especially famous sculptures, but nonetheless, the entryway is gorgeous, especially this early in the morning. Because they aren't famous sculptures, it's possible to walk right up to them.

I've read that one should go directly upstairs to see the collection of Impressionist paintings, but I decided to remain downstairs -- since I'm already here -- and view the rooms down here. I use Rick Steve's book as a guide.

After viewing the work in these rooms, I walk upstairs, where I see seveal Rodin sculptures, but not the impressionist paintings. Really should pay more attention. The sign pointing to the Impressionists was pointing to an elevator, not the stairs. This is a little confusing if you don't read signs carefully.

The Impressionists are on the 4th floor, I believe (am writing from memory right now, months old memory, my journal is in another room and I'm too lazy to go get it.)

In these rooms, you can find work from just about any Impressionist artist that you can think of: Cezanne, Pissaro, Renoir, Degas, Monet - this are four or five of the Rouen Cathedral paintings hanging here (same painting from the same angle at different times of the day -- I always use these paintings as examples when talking about the effects of color.) Whistler's Mother resides on this floor of the museum. There are also quite a few Van Gogh's hanging here - a self portrait, a portrait of Dr. Gatchet, Starry Night over the Rhone, and one of my favorites, The Church at Auvers. It's really nice to see these works in person after having seen them reproduced so many times in books. And they're all hanging together next to each other in these rooms.

As a viewer, I'm glad to have the opportunity to see all of this work in one place. But as an artist, I think it's a little sad that the paintings' lives have led to this point - battling for attention next to another masterpiece. Once upon a time, don't you think that each of these works held their own spot of triumph in someone's home. A place where they were most special piece. Now, they're just another great painting. They get a glance or two and then the viewer walks on to the next painting.

At the end of the Impressionist rooms, there is a hallways that holds a very large paintings by Toulouse-Lautrec. From this area, you can step outside onto a balcony overlooking the Seine, and providing a view of the Louvre across the river. They also serve drinks and snacks from a little cart. I've not eaten much on this entire trip, so I buy an overpriced bauguette with cheese and butter (I'm on vacation, okay?) and take my time eating that while enjoying the view.

Also, there is a rather fancy looking cafe inside, but I don't have any interest in eating there, my piece of bread suits me just fine. A mom and her son from Chicago, I think, sit next to me. We talk about the inflated prices for the drinks. She's trying to convince her son to wait until they leave the museum to get a drink. There are people charging 1 euro for bottled water along all the tourist-frequented streets. I mention that the night before I bought a large bottle of soda for much less than the small bottles they sell here. She said her son has probably had enough of the museum and shows me the coloring pages he has to try to keep him interested -- it's a scavenger hunt of some sort and they're trying to locate specifice pictures. A nice idea, and probably somewhat effective, but it makes me glad I can view the art without trying to keep a small child entertained.

I go back inside after I finish my food. Then I begin to explore some other rooms. Here are some paintings by Rousseau, Gaugin and Seurat. There's a darkened room that holds pastels.

My guide book says that I should have passed by Manet's Luncheon. The guide book is about two years old. The picture is gone, I'm certain I would have noticed it. I even backtrack through the area, just to make sure I didn't miss it. I assume it must be on tour somewhere.

I'm back downstairs, wandering around, making sure I've seen everything, and there I see Manet's Luncheon on the Grass. For some reason, it has been moved downstairs. Maybe because it's so big. Sometimes you see a well-known picture and are surprised by how small it is, but this painting is very large, and there is a large crowd around it. There's quite a history behind this picture. It was rejected from the Salon. People didn't understand the image, and with good reason. Why is the woman naked and the men in suits? And why such an unattractive woman? What the hell is going on here? Seeing it up close does provide a better understanding of the confusion.

There are several rooms of objects, but I don't find those of much interest. I like paintings, and to some extent, sculpture. There are several Rodins here, but I'm going to the Rodin museum later so I don't spent a lot of time at them.

After several hours here, I'm ready to leave. Next stop - Rodin museum, then Napolean's tomb.

But I'll end this blog post here and continue with the second half of the day later.

Day 2 - Part two - L' Orangerie, Picasso and Pompidou

2008-08-04T13:34:00.005-05:00

After exiting the Louvre, I walk through the Jardin des Tuileries. I'm struck by how beautiful everything is in this city. This is a place that cares about beauty and art and making their surroundings look nice. At least in the tourist areas.

The walk is nice, and there are several little cafes to stop at for a drink or snack. I probably should have done that. I tend to not eat when I'm on my own and then completely wear myself out, realizing at the end of the day that I've not had a thing to eat or drink despite spending all day walking.

The guy at the entrance of the L'Orangerie told me I needed to check my bag. I stood there at the bag check counter for a few minutes. Finally a woman appeared, I told her that I was instructed to check my bag, but first I needed to get my money and camera out. She looks at my bag and says, "This is your handbag?"

"Yes, my purse, it's all I've got," I said, annoyed that I've been told to check the bag, but not about to cause a scene and argue. She seems to share my annoyance though, she glares at the man who told me to check the bag.

"This is her handbag. She doesn't have to check her handbag," the woman says, handing it back to me.

"Thank you," I say and move on.

This museum is famous for having two rooms that house large panels of Monet's waterlilies. The waterlilies are indeed gorgeous. But a month earlier, I was at the Museum of Modern Art in New York, and they also have a room devoted to large panels of Monet's waterlilies. This isn't necessarily something you have to travel to Paris to see.

There isn't much else at the museum. A few Picassos and Cezannes. Certainly nothing very impressive compared to the Louvre or the d'Orsay, which I plan to visit on Tuesday. I don't understand how it is that I've seen the same Renoir -- the two girls at a piano -- at atleast three different museums. (I just now decided to look it up, according to the Met's site, there are at least five different canvases of this painting because Renoir kept trying to perfect the painting. Now this makes more sense. I've seen it at the Met, the L'Orangerie and on Tuesday I would see it again at the d'Orsay.)

I leave the L'Orangerie and decide to walk along the Seine, not entirely sure where I want to go next.

It's a gorgeous day out. I'm walking along the cobblestone streets of Paris, walking over their famous bridges, surrounded by beautiful architecture, passing by booksellers set up along the river. This city is beautiful. But it's right about now that I'm revisited by that feeling I had last night, alone watching Casablanca. We'll always have Paris, but there is no "we." It's just a moment and it passes quickly.

The thing is, when I'm inside the museums, I'm glad I'm alone. I'm glad to be able to spend as much time as I want gazing at paintings and walking in circles or rushing through rooms I don't find of interest. I like being able to pick and choose what I see and when I see it without having to worry about anyone else's interest.

For example, it's nice to not really have a clue as to where I'm going. I don't have to explain my plans to anyone because I don't have any plans at the moment. I'm just walking, taking in the scenery and I'll stop when I see something of interest.

I stop at a vendor's stand by the river. He has a collection of Babar prints. I want very much to buy a Babar print from France, with French text. But I worry that it won't travel well back to Texas, so I don't buy anything. Besides what am I going to do with a Babar print? And there are so many, I don't know how I would decide which one I want. I can probably order one online and have it safely shipped to my home if I really feel that I must have a Babar print. I guess there is just something special about being able to say I bought it along the Seine.

I get to Notre Dame and I walk through the church, which I've done before. (Last time I was here, they were broadcasting the Pope's funeral.) I'm more impressed with the outside of the building. I'd considered walking to the top of the church to see the gargoyles up close. But the line is outrageous. I don't want to spend that much time standing in line. And around this time, I'm feeling a bit sore from all the walking I've done and my bag keeps getting heavier -- though all it's holding is a coffee mug and tote bag and a few books and well, that might explain why it feels so heavy.

I get out my map and try to figure out the general direction of the Picasso Museum. I stroll through what I believe is the Latin Quarter (the area around Notre Dame) and the Jewish Quarter. I'm not sure I'm going the right direction but figure there are worse things than being lost in the streets of Paris. Eventually I do see a sign that says Picasso Museum. I follow that sign and walk until I find another and at one point am certain I've reached a dead end because there's just a big building here. Then notice that in the window of this building, there is a piece of paper held by a piece of scotch tape with an arrow and the words "Picasso Museum." Clearly I am not the only person who has been confused in this spot. I follow the direction of the arrow and keep walking.

Finally I reach my destination. The Picasso Museum is included on the Museum Pass so I can walk right in. It's a townhouse that holds the work that Picasso kept, which makes it an interesting assortment. His best known work resides in well-known museums, owned by collectors and the very wealthy. These were the items he displayed in his home. Several paintings and quite a few sculptures and photos are kept here. It's an interesting collection, but had the museum not been included in my museum pass, I probably would have skipped it and not felt any deep sense of loss.

I've been walking nonstop for most of the day. I realize I should probably sit down. Collapsing in the streets of Paris is not my idea of a good time.

I sit down on a bench in the gardens of the Picasso museum and get out my maps to try to figure out how I want to spend the rest of my day.

From the Picasso Museum, I head toward the Pompidou Centre. I'd not planned to visit this place -- not being a huge fan of modern art -- but it's open late and again, it's included on the museum pass so it won't cost me anything.

This is such an odd place. Very, very "modern." So out of place in Paris -- all glass and metal and obnoxious. People are just sitting around outside on the pavement. Stepping inside, it looks like a mall, with escalators and neon signs every where.

I take an escalator and then have to take a glass elevator up to the fourth or fifth floor -- where the art is kept. I really don't "get" a lot of the art. I like the Matisses and Chagalls and Miros. There are quite a few more Picassos. But there is also a lot of really strange paintings. An art teacher shouldn't say that. But really... some of this work, it's clearly more about personality and who they know or where they hung out and not necessary about talent or skill. Because anyone can throw paint on a canvas. The success comes in being able to convince someone else that the thrown paint is in fact art. Good for them, but not so exciting for me because I don't know the backstory. I just see the kind of work that I'd knock points from if one of my students tried to turn it in.

I've seen a lot today. I think it's okay to head back to the room. Again, I'm not exactly sure how I'm going to get back to my room, but somewhere around here, I'm bound to find a metro stop that will lead me back to Nation.

I see a sign pointing to Hotel DeVille. Hotel DeVille is on the same metro line I took that morning. That should work. I sit down with my map and someone next to me speaks to me, but I don't understand him. In English, he asks where I'm from. I say, Texas. Then I get up and walk away. I'm not trying to be rude, but I'm alone in a different country and don't want to take any chances. I'm disturbed to see that he's following me. "Do you live near New York or LA?" He asks. He isn't familiar with the U.S. "New York," I say, just to provide an answer, not wanting to elaborate. He stands there with me, walking alongside me.

"Are you going to the metro?" he asks.
"Yes," I am, I say, suddenly seeing the metro entrance for which I've been searching. I hope he doesn't say he's doing the same.

He says bye and walks on. I walk down the steps and get on the train. He was probably harmless, just another tourist with a map. But really he shouldn't have any trouble finding someone else to talk to, someone a bit more friendly and less paranoid.

I'm being extra cautious because I keep waiting for something bad to happen because it isn't possible to take a trip like this without something bad happening. I just hope that whatever bad thing is something I can handle and not devastating. I wonder sometimes though if the anticipation isn't worse than the actual event. I ruin times I should be enjoying by expecting the enjoyment to end abruptly. Don't want to have too much fun, because then it will feel worse when the fun ends. This is sort of how I live every day of my life. You'd think being in Paris alone with a sore throat would be bad enough to satisfy my paranoia.

That night in the hotel room, while trying to get to sleep, I watched Two Days in Paris. I'm beginning to think this channel specifically caters to Americans visiting Paris.

Day 2 - part one - The Louvre

2008-08-04T08:45:00.005-05:00

I had no trouble getting up early for my first full day of exploring Paris. All that sleep must have paid off. I got up around 6 or 6:30. Louvre doesn't open until 9, so I don't want to leave too early.
On my walk to the metro, I'm disappointed that I can't find the pastry shop I saw the day before. I'd hoped to stop there for a quick breakfast to eat while waiting for the Louvre to open. Maybe it was on the other side of the hotel, I am taking a wide variety of cold medicine which could be playing all sorts of tricks on my mind.

The metro stop is at the mall attached to the Louvre. I follow the signs to the upside down pyramid and wait with the others. It's 8:45 when I get there, a bit of a line, but not at all horrible.

The people in line are from a variety of different countries. Quite a few people are posing in front of the pyramid for photos. The pyramid, if I remember correctly, played a prominent role in Dan Brown’s Da Vinci Code.

Here's my first encounter with rude French people. Not a direct encounter, but rather an observation. An employee of the museum steps outside to arrange the line barriers, a woman approaches him and asks for help, he very haughtily walks past her, acting exactly as you might imagine a stereotypical French person to act. Then the security person running bags through the x-ray machine acts especially put off to be there. It's first thing in the morning, the place just opened, so he really has no reason to be upset with the tourists, they've not done anything wrong. I mean, geez, he works in an art museum, how tough can his life be? He acts absolutely miserable and angry. Dude, if your job is so bad, get a new one, I'm sure there are plenty of people who would happily work at the Louvre. Very bad first impression to give to people just walking into the museum. People like that are the ones who give their countrymen a bad name. Wrong though that might be, this the is the man that people from all over the world are going to walk past on their first visit to Paris, and this is the impression they are going to get about Frenchmen. Rude, surly asses.

I get inside and go to the office that sells Museum passes. They sit you down at a counter, like banks used to have before they became so impersonal an automated. The man here is very pleasant. If he has a problem with his job of charging credit cards for museum passes and dealing with tourists all day, he doesn't show it. He even winks at me as I say thank you and leave.

Paintings

Once inside the museum, I first make my way to the Mona Lisa, stopping briefly at three other da Vincis on the way. I want to spend some time with her before the crowds get too big. I know that you're not supposed to use the flash, but everyone's doing it and the guards stand by, smiling, unconcerned, so I get in one flash photo. Only one. From what I've read she's so well protected a flash isn't going to do her any harm at all. I actually think the color shows up much better in the non-flash photos, it just takes a while to get one in which my hand is steady enough to get a clear photo. I'm able to get up close enough to the barrier that I can rest my arm on the rail to hold the camera steady long enough for a clear photo.

I could spend hours among the paintings and still not see everything.

I’ve never loved another person, but I have readily fallen in love with books and music and movies and paintings. On this particular morning, I find myself drawn to a painting I’ve never before seen. I keep returning to it, examining it, not wanting to leave it. A painting of a beautiful man on his knees, his arms wrapped around an apparently dead woman, wrapped in a white sheet. The image captures so many feelings, it’s romantic and sad and tragic and erotic all at once. I take a photo of the picture, making sure to include the artist so that I can find out more about the work later. (The artist is Girodet, the painting, Burial of Atala.) My art history education is shoddy, composed of bits and pieces I’ve collected from trips to museums and books and PBS shows. I’ve never taken an an art history class, yet had no trouble passing that part of the art educator exam. I’m not quite sure what that says about the exam or me.

I love the paintings that hang on the walls of the Louvre -- the paintings depicting scenes from history and religion and mythology. I feel comfortable here. This is more my style of painting. I’ve never been a fan of “modern” art, always felt out of place in my art classes. I wish I could have lived back then, I could have made a living painting like this. The way people painted before the invention of the camera. I wish I could have been one of the artists that lived in the Louvre and painted here. And then I realize that a woman back then would have never been allowed to work as a painter… sigh…

Standing here, absorbing this work, I wish there was a way I could share this feeling with my students – show them that art can be as interesting and exciting as a movie or video game… that art, when viewed from a certain angle can show you history and danger and fear and love and passion and sex. But people now, they need things to be so blatant and obvious and vulgar. They don’t have time for the subtleties, the seductive glances, the slight glimpses of flesh.

I’m starting to walk in circles, passing by work I’ve already seen. Time to move on to another part of the museum. There is too much to see to stay so long in one area.

Sculpture

I’m thoroughly annoyed with myself for not picking up a map and floor plan before entering the museum. I was so anxious to get in line and assumed there would be more maps inside. I was wrong.

I start to make my way back to the entrance to get a map – otherwise I’m going to waste a lot of time wandering around.

But before I get to the entrance, I visit Michelangelo’s Rebellious Slaves. They are prominently displayed, a map isn’t needed. They look so real, as if they’re about to burst out of the stone.

Then I decide to follow the signs to visit the Venus de Milo. She’s lovely, as always. Her perfect breasts and flat stomach, her sheet hanging loosely around her hips, just about to slip off – she’s got a look on her face that seems to say, “I’m so above this mess” as people mill around her snapping photos, as if she’s a supermodel at a magazine shoot.

I take photos from all angles because I have the time and can get up close to her. When I finally decide to walk away, I spot a young girl with her camera, trying to angle around everyone taller than her. I lightly put my hand on her shoulder and indicate that she can take my spot at the front. She seems pleased and I walk away feeling as if I’ve done some small good deed for the day.

Finally, I get my hands on a map. Then I decide to re-enter the museum from a different wing. The Richelieu wing – because I want to visit Napoleon’s apartments. So decadent and excessive. I don’t know how much of it is authentic and how much is a reproduction. I’m not up on my French history and my knowledge of Napoleon is limited to a sappy made for TV movie that I watched back in the 80s. I find myself wondering what kind of conversations Napoleon and Josephine had in these rooms – only to discover later that Napoleon and Josephine had divorced by the time he moved into the Louvre.

I quickly walk through some areas that don’t hold much interest for me – the decorative art, the Greek ceramics and Egyptian art. Also, while walking around and looking at some royal jewels of some sort, I heard an announcement about how an alarm had gone off and everyone needed to exit the building. But no one did, so I didn’t either. But it was around that time that I realized I’d been on my feet walking around non-stop for a solid two and a half hours. I’m beginning to think I’ve seen all that I can absorb in one building for now. I consider returning to the Renaissance paintings one more time before leaving, but the crowd at Winged Glory is massive and I would have to walk through them to get back to the paintings. I decide to stick with my original plan to leave. If I really feel the need to return, I can come back on Wednesday night, when they’re open late.

I want to stop at the gift shop before I leave, but can’t seem to find it. For some reason I think it will be located near the exit at the top of the pyramid. As I’m riding the escalator up the pyramid, I see the gift shop on the bottom floor. So I exit and then turn right around and re-enter, using my museum pass and make my way to the gift shop. Such a dummy sometimes.

In the gift shop, I buy a book for my friend’s sons and a tote bag and Venus de Milo coffee mug for myself and then I ride the escalator back to the pyramid exit.

View on my first night in Paris

2008-08-03T22:05:00.002-05:00

Here's a video clip I took on my first night in Paris. I don't usually use the video feature on my camera, but I couldn't really capture the image with a still photo, so I thought I would at least try to video it. Will have much more from Paris later, wanted to see if I knew how to post this first.

day 1 - A dead American rockstar and sparkling lights

2008-08-03T17:00:00.010-05:00

As silly as it may sound, one of the top things on my list was visiting Jim Morrison's grave. I know silly American tourist. But really, it's a must see sight for an American who loves her rocker bad boys. And I'm certainly not alone in my quest. I read somewhere that about 1.5 million people visit the site each year.

I know it isn't cool to like The Doors anymore. The hipsters are so much "deeper" and oh-so-very ironic. Whatever. I've never been especially "hip". I still like The Doors even if they aren't in fashion anymore.

I became a Doors fan when Oliver Stone made the movie. Didn't even know who The Doors were until then (I'm from the middle of no where small town Texas.) But during that time (before the movie was released when everyone was talking about it) I started listening to the music and reading everything I could find about Jim Morrison and I absolutely fell in love the music and this character that was Jim Morrison. It was years before I got around to seeing the movie (no movie theaters out where I lived) and recall not being that impressed by it when I finally saw it. But my love for The Doors stayed with me which made visiting this grave site important to me. It was the one thing on my to-do list that I didn't get around to on my last trip to Paris.

The cemetery where Morrison now resides, Pere Lachaise, was located only a few blocks from my hotel. This was convenient in that I didn't have the energy for the bigger, more crowded tourist sites, but a nice walk and visit to a quiet cemetery, I could handle. It was a slightly overcast day, the temperature perfect for a stroll through Paris. The area in which I was staying was a residential area, a bit away from the touristy sites.

By the time I reached the cemetery, around five, I had only an hour before it closed. This limited amount of time made me a little panicky, this place was huge and I have a tendency to get lost. I examined the map at the entrance, trying to find the quickest, most direct route. I know that there are several famous people buried here, but with only an hour, I had to prioritize. Morrison first, and then depending on the time, I'd decide where to go next.

Also, to provide some guidance, I had my Rick Steve's Paris guide, which included a hand drawn map of the cemetery along with written directions.

I wandered some, in awe of the surroundings, the tall trees and extravagant tombs and grave markers. Every time I passed by a sign with directions, I checked to make sure I was walking in the correct direction. I notice a few other people walking in the same general direction. Then I see a small crowd gathered near a grave. I have to walk around the path to get to that grave, but I realize once I'm there that this was the site for which I was searching.

It's a simple grave, sort of hidden behind a larger tomb. It's marked by a very plain headstone that reads, James Douglas Morrison, the dates of his birth and death which brings to mind how short his life was. Also on the headstone is the Greek inscription: ΚΑΤΑ ΤΟΝ ΔΑΙΜΟΝΑ ΕΑΥΤΟΥ which means "true to his own spirit."

There are flowers and candles on the grave site, a feather and a black and white photograph of Morrison that someone has left there.

Despite this place being the fourth most visited spot in Paris -- behind the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame and the Louvre -- it doesn't feel like a tourist site. Appropriately enough, it feels very much like a grave site, and I'm surprised by the deep sense of sadness that washes over me as I stand there looking at the grave. The other people around me seem to share the feeling, as everyone is silent, a few taking pictures, lost in our own thoughts.

Standing there, I think of all the time I've spent listening to his music and how I used say to my high school girl-friend that listening to The Doors was our equivalent of being inebriated. Lost in the music, an escape from our boring, small-town lives. I think of how these musicians never fully understand the impact their work has on others, they're too caught up in their own whirlwind existence. The myth of Jim Morrison embodied everything I love about rock music -- the turmoil and trouble, the sex and drugs, the tight leather pants, the intensity and passion in his words. I think of how he was brilliant and talented and beautiful and tormented and his life was so short. I'm now six years older than he was when his life ended. As these thoughts pass through my mind, I fight back the urge to cry. In this moment, in my mind, the myth becomes a man, a very young man.

I take some photos to serve as proof of my visit and then I walk on, feeling obligated to see the final resting spots of someone beside a dead American rockstar.

I examine my Rick Steve's guide and follow his directions to Chopin's grave. Another person who I learned about because of a movie -- Impromptu, starring Hugh Grant. Another sad life. The movie was about his romance with George Sands and I remember being deeply effected by his explanation of not being in his body anymore.

I glance at my phone to check the time and decide I don't have have time to venture off to the other side of the cemetery to find Oscar Wilde. Maybe I'll visit again later in the week. I'm tired and ready to head back to my hotel room. I'm walking toward the exit when I hear the cemetery employees announcing that the place is closing, at least, I assume that's what they are saying, they're speaking French and I don't understand French.

It's sprinkling just a bit as I walk back to my hotel.

I can't stop thinking about Morrison and his journey to Paris. He came to Paris to escape. As the story goes, he was trying to save himself, break free of the elements in his life that were tearing him apart. He wanted to blend in and have a "normal" life. He spent his days walking through the city, in love with the architecture. He performed with street musicians. But then he discovered that the demons from which he was running were not geographically based, they didn't stay behind, they were right there with him on the streets of Paris, inside the expensive hotel rooms, they were inside of him. And I think of how so many of us go through that on some level, the need to escape, travel across the world only to find that exactly what we were trying to run from is still right there with us. Our most frightening monsters don't stay in the closet at home. How naive we are to think that all we need to do is change locations.

On my way back to the hotel, I stop at a little grocery store and buy a large bottle of Coke Zero and water to keep in the fridge in my room. The cashier smiles and as he hands me my change, asks, "Italiana?" For a moment I consider saying, yes, because there seems to be less embarrassment in being Italian. But reluctantly I shake my head and say, "American." He says something I don't understand. I take my change, smile and say, thank you and leave. I'm embarrassed that I don't speak or even understand the language. Ignorant American.

I can't spend my first evening in Paris in my hotel room, that's just pathetic. I decide to mark off another "must see/do" item on my list. See the Eiffel Tower at night. I have no desire to climb to the top of the tower, and I've stood at the foot of it before. But after my first visit to Paris, everyone asked, "Did you see the Eiffel Tower lit up at night?" Um, no, I was only there during the day. According to the travel books, the best view of the city is atop the Arc de Triompe, so that's where I'm going.

The ticket machine at the metro stop won't take my credit card and it only accepts coins. I walk around until I find a person at the window who will sell me a carnet of ten metro tickets.

The metro is easy enough to use. I ride the train to the Charles de Gaulle stop, which is just outside of the Arc. The Arc and the Eiffel Tower behind it are the first things I see when I emerge from the metro.

I'm not prepared for how many steps I have to climb to get to the top of the Arc, and worse it's twisty. But the view is spectacular, completely worth the steps.

I stay there until the sky darkens and the city lights up. I begin talking to a family from California, a couple and their teenage son. We discuss what time we think the tower is supposed to light up. Right now it glows blue. At ten, right on the hour, it is suddenly covered with twinkling lights. Like sparkling diamonds. Gorgeous. (There's a video clip that I posted online in an earlier blog post.) This lasts for ten minutes, then we all start to make our way back down the stairs.

I buy some postcards at the gift shop, with the intention of mailing them from the Eiffel Tower's post office the next day. (But I didn't. That night I addressed them and wrote notes on them, but a month and a half after returning home, those postcards are still in the side pocket of my suitcase.)

I linger for a bit outside of the Arc, view the tomb of the unknown soldier, take in the lights. Then I make my way back to the room. It's eleven o'clock at night, and I'm walking alone down a Parisian street and feel completely safe. Maybe it's my Doberman Security whistle providing me with a false sense of security, but nonetheless, I'm content with my first night in the city.

I have already done the two main things I didn't get to do on my last trip -- visit Jim Morrison's grave and see the Eiffel Tower lit up at night.

When I get to my room, I watch an episode of MI5, it's in French, but it doesn't matter because I've seen it before and know what is happening without understanding the language they're speaking. Regardless of the country I'm visiting, I can always rely on the BBC to be showing something I want to watch. I wonder if the channel is called BBC France here.

Eventually, I turn off the TV and try to go to sleep, but can never sleep in the dark of a hotel room. I turn the TV back on. Casablanca is on, and it's in English, with French subtitles. How perfect. We'll always have Paris.

But that's when it hits me that I'm alone in Paris, a city for lovers. I'm alone in a hotel bed in Paris, watching Casablanca.

day 1 - part one, getting to Paris

2008-08-03T10:00:00.000-05:00

Day 1

It was Saturday, August 2, on the day I left.

I was so happy to have a direct flight from Dallas to Paris. Seems like everytime I travel to Europe, I end up with a layover either in a major city in the U.S. before crossing the ocean, or in London or Frankfurt in Europe.

I naively thought the plane would be filled with Dallas people, excited about traveling to Paris.

Instead, I was surrounded by French teenagers, on their way back home after spending part of their summer vacation in the deeply discounted USA. The guy sitting next to me was reading Hemingway's A Farewell to Arms, but English wasn't his first language. Maybe it was a school assignment.

Nine hour flight, and I don't think I said a word to him on the entire flight.

Usually, for long flights such as this, they show movies. Not the case this time because there was a problem with the video system. That's right, nine hours in a plane and no movies. Of course, it would have been the same movies I saw on the way to and from Seattle -- 21 and Horton Hears a Who, so not a big loss. Besides I had a big book to read. I picked up a copy of Breaking Dawn at midnight the night before. I read for most of the flight, got about half of the book read.

When the plane landed, it was Sunday, August 3, almost 10 a.m. Paris time.

I arrived at the airport armed with my directions for taking the train from the airport to the hotel. My hotel was near a major train station -- that was one of their selling points. Within minutes of all major sites via the metro.

Took quite a while to get to the train station, I just kept following the signs through the airport.

I had some trouble with the ticket machine for the train and started to walk off and find a ticket window, but one of the metro employees approached me and walked me through the ticket buying process. This would be the first of many metro/train employees to be very, very helpful and patient with my confusion on how to get from one place to another using the train system. Never once did they show any annoyance with this ignorant American. So much for the theory of the French being rude.

Manuevering the train system, even just off the plane, was easy enough. I had to switch trains once, but the train I needed was directly across from the one I got off. I got to my station, Nation, walked a few blocks down the street and there was my hotel.

When I checked in, the attendent at the front desk gave me a map and a book which featured walking tour suggestions that I could take on my own and a brochure with information about sightseeing tours and excursions. Everyone at this hotel was very, very nice. Further disproving the notion that the French are rude.

The room was small, but big enough. Very clean, with a small fridge and wardrobe to hang my clothes and a safe to keep my MP3 player secure. And the bed was so comfortable. After a nine hour flight, I decided to take a nap. I purposely planned this trip to be long enough that I didn't have to start sightseeing right away. Usually, I check in and get started, and have a miserable time on my first day.

It was Sunday, and on the first Sunday of the month, several museums have free admission. I'd considered visiting some of those places, but knowing they were also extra crowded and that I would have plenty of time later in the week -- I changed my mind. I was still suffering from a mutantlike cold I caught a few weeks earlier. I hoped the extra sleep would put me in a better condition for visiting exploring Paris later in the week.

Seattle

2008-07-31T17:49:00.008-05:00

I've wanted to visit Seattle for years. The Seattle music scene was big when I was in high school -- I was a huge Pearl Jam fan. Something about the place -- the scenery and the connection with the environment and all that. I've always wanted to take a big road trip up there, drive out to the places where Twin Peaks and Northern Exposure were filmed. Never have gotten around to making plans for a trip like that, though.

I have a list of cities that I want to visit, the two U.S. cities that have been at the top of my list for a while are San Francisco and Seattle. (I have a ten-year-old Seattle guidebook that is useless now.) When I saw that one of my favorite bands, Nine Inch Nails was going to be in Seattle this summer, it seemed like a good reason to visit for the weekend. **I'm not one of those crazy fans that travels everywhere following the band thinking someday Trent will love me. I know that he never will. Never. (NIN has a lot of those fans, and I don't want to be grouped in with them, which is why I feel the need to clarify this.) I'm perfectly okay with travelling to see the band and knowing that I will get nothing in return except a great show to watch. I was planning to go to Seattle this summer anyway, and I did choose this particular weekend because of NIN. I will admit that much.

When I made my plans, I didn't have a job secured for the fall. I thought this was going to be my only trip for the summer, so I just planned on a three day weekend. Well, I ended up with a job -- but I also ended up with a lousy cold of some sort the week before my trip, so I'm glad I didn't plan to stay for longer or arrive earlier.

The day before I left for the trip, my cold/sinus infection/mutant NYC virus settled in my eyes. I arrived at the airport with bloodshot eyes, looking horrible. The Visine worked for a while, but it eventually wears off.

I tried to sleep on the plane because I'd been up all night coughing, but wasn't very successful. The airline showed a movie on the way to Seattle -- which they don't do on the way to New York. The movie was 21, a story about some college kids that go to Vegas to count cards. It was okay, but a little melodramatic and silly.

I usually don't care all that much about hotels because I don't spend a lot of time in them, but being that I felt miserable, I wanted to nap before I did anything else. I was soooo glad I was at a nice hotel. It's called the Mediterranean Inn, located in the Queen Anne area. I highly recommend this place. My first day there, I stayed in the neighborhood, walked to a Indian restaurant for dinner to-go -- I thought spicy food would help my sinuses. I spent some time on the roof, where they have a gorgeous view of the city and the harbor.

The next day, I felt better. The first thing I did was walk to a natural health product store and bought some throat spray. It was expensive, but seemed to completely numb my throat, which was exactly what I wanted.

The Seattle Center was a block or two away from the hotel, so I decided to explore that area first. I walked past a group of kids already standing in line for the NIN show. Oh, the sad kids. I visited the Experience Music Project/Sci-Fi Museum and Hall of Fame. It's one ticket for both museums, and I was able to get the student rate of $12. It's usually $15, but in my hotel, there were brochures for $3 off, so even if I'd not gotten the student rate, it would only be $12.

I hate to admit this, but I wasn't that impressed with the music portion of the museum. There are a lot of interactive areas which are probably a lot of fun for kids, but not of any interest to me. The Sci-Fi section though -- wow. I think it's basically some rich guy's massive collection. It is so cool. Posters, action figures, books, scripts, costumes, a Storm Trooper and life-size replicas of ET and R2D2. Lots of items from Planet of the Apes and one of my favorite displays was the suit and boots worn by the Cat on Red Dwarf. I was impressed, but I know that I have friends who would have been drooling in there.

The funny thing is, I only recently realized I was a sci-fi fan. A guy friend made some comment about how there was a movie I'd really like, considering my sci-fi interest. I was like, "I'm not that into sci-fi." He was taken aback by what I'd said and then pointed out that I stayed up all night watching Twilight Zone and X-Files and collected comic books and I was like, "Oh, I guess I am into Sci-fi." As I was drifting through the museum, I realized that, yes, I do like this stuff quite a bit. Looking through the displays, one thing that stood out to me is that sci-fi is one of the few areas in which women are allowed to play strong roles. That could explain my interest to some extent -- certainly the case with comic books and X-Files.

Of course, I also think I have the throat spray to thank for enhancing my experience. I was walking down a dark, spiral staircase, surrounded by booming sci-fi theme music and I saw a large movie poster of Johnny Mnemonic and had my, "Oh, Keanu," moment and then thought, “This place is awesome." I kind of felt like I was floating through outer space. I thoroughly enjoyed the experience.

After the museum, I rode the monorail to downtown and walked to Pike Place Market from there. I watched the guys throwing fish. Didn't take any photos though because there was a huge crowd and it's difficult to catch the fish in flight. The Market was very busy and crowded and not all that different than any street fair or art festival. After walking around a bit, I decided to head back to the monorail.

I'd passed a place called the Chocolate Box and thought about stopping there for their advertised chocolate sundae, but instead stopped at a place called The Confectional and bought several chocolate cheesecake truffles. They were delicious, my favorite was the one with chili powder.

Back at the Seattle Center, I stopped by will call to pick up my ticket for the concert and then returned to my hotel to eat. I decided to walk out to the Olympic Sculpture Park. It's interesting, the way the art is installed to complement the environment. But it's also a little odd, which is so often the case with modern art. The scenery is so pretty, like almost abnormally pretty. Maybe I'm too much of a city girl to appreciate it. It seemed a little unnerving, so many flowers and the water. I took a few pictures, and then returned to the hotel to get ready for the concert.

The venue was located at the Seattle Center, so I waited until 7:30 to walk out there. The ticket said cameras not permitted -- but I wish I'd asked at the door because from what I've heard, they were okay with cameras. I could have run back to the hotel to get my camera. I was so close and could have gotten some very nice photos. Darn it.

The show was amazing. Performed all the old favorites and a lot of new songs, lots of Year Zero stuff, which sounded great. Amazing light show all kinds of fancy technology being used. Completely worth the trip to Seattle and suffering through my cold to be there. However, I did get really pissed off when the girls behind me started smoking, and then the people in front of me got out their weed. My throat did not need any more exposure to smoke. But other than that, the show was perfection. Well, actually, there were a few technical glitches -- it was the first show of the tour, but nothing that really affected the enjoyment of the show. At one point, the lights went out, and stayed out. Then we hear Trent say something about a "F*** up." and something along the lines of, "Someone was supposed to push a button and the lights were supposed to come on. As soon as we find that person and he pushes the button, we'll continue with the show. Thank you for waiting patiently."

The next day, I went to the airport after checking out of the hotel at noon. My flight wasn't until later, and I probably could have done some more sightseeing, but there wasn't anything else I felt strongly about seeing. I'd sort of hoped I could get on an earlier flight -- but that didn't happen.

The thing about Seattle is it's really nice and beautiful, but it's more about experiencing things, not just walking around looking at things. I felt that I might have gotten more out of it if I'd been with friends. I travel alone quite a bit, and it doesn't usually bother me, but that's probably because a lot of my traveling is focusing on visiting and viewing art and historical sights -- things that can easily be done alone. This trip though, I felt alone, and I don't usually feel like that. Maybe it was because I wasn't feeling well. It was a nice trip, I'm glad I went and now I can mark it off my list. And someday I'll go back and maybe do some more exploring.

(I usually break my posts up into subjects or days, but since this was such a short trip, I've made one very long post... hope that it isn't too difficult to read.)

Going to New York to see Bon Jovi

2008-07-21T23:06:00.002-05:00

July 10-11

(These are posted backwards on this blog for ease of reading, since I posted all entries on the same night and not as they happened.)

Thursday night as I packed my suitcase, I couldn’t help but feel giddy thinking about what the next few days held for me: Three Bon Jovi concerts in four days – shows in Central Park and Madison Square Garden. This is the sort of trip I’ve been dreaming about since I was in fifth grade and first fell in love with the band after hearing Slippery When Wet (1986).

In the horrible little town in which I was raised, my Jovi love was one of my many attributes which marked me as an outsider. Guys with long hair were “gay” and those electric guitars produced devil music. An idiot math teacher used to always make derogatory remarks about my Bon Jovi/New Jersey shirt because it was a “yankee shirt.” Whatever. F’em all, I drifted through school, apart from the other students, never quite “cool” enough and something of a pariah because, as my best friend told me, I acted, “too smart.” I kept myself content with daydreams of Jon riding up on his motorcycle and taking me away.

The lyrics of Keep the Faith sustained me through the darkest of my teenage years. When I went to college in the fall of '94, Crossroads, their greatest hits collection, was one of the first CDs I purchased. I think I had maybe five or six total at that time. I was slow to jump on the CD bandwagon.

My first opportunity to see the band was when they toured for These Days (1995). It was my first “rock” concert and it was so difficult to get tickets. You think Ticketmaster sucks now, imagine it back in ’95, before the internet, back before everyone had credit cards (at least I didn’t have one) and they only took cash – and the only way I knew to get cash was to write checks over the sales amount at Target, but even they had a $20 limit. Such an ordeal just to get two $20 lawn seats. But still, I was so happy to be there. It was the first time I'd driven into Dallas, and then I wrecked my car on the way home from the concert…

Then the band took a break, and I made my attempt to get through college and be a semi-responsible adult, not totally dependent on Jon. But saint that he is, he made a solo appearance the summer after I finished college. June of 1997, my whole life was falling apart. Didn’t know what I wanted to do or where I wanted to be or with who I wanted to be. I finally packed up my things and got in the car and started down I-10, with my new CD purchase in hand. I remember crying as I drove down that long, lonely road, listening to Jon sing about “Destination Anywhere” and thinking, after all these years, Jon Bon Jovi is all I’ve got, but dammit, in the end, he’s all I ever needed. He’s the only man in my life who hasn’t disappointed me.

I got over that disappointment, I wandered a bit, but eventually I got myself a job, I found a place to live. I made my foray into adulthood. But jobs suck and people are asses and apartments are dark and small. And then, as if he knew I needed him, Bon Jovi returned with Crush followed soon after with Bounce and then Have a Nice Day each one containing anthems about not putting up with the bullshit and going against what others expect and breaking free and doing your own thing – songs such as It’s My Life, Just Older, Everyday, Bounce, and Have a Nice Day. So many of my lunch breaks were spent inside my car, fuming over some crap dealt out by the bitches I had for bosses, listening to these CDs. I know each person interprets the lyrics differently, to suit their own situations, but to me, the songs sound like anthems for the independent woman struggling in times in which everyone is saying her way of life is the wrong choice. The gist of songs to me sound like “don’t let the man get you down.” I’m at a point in my life when everyone is telling me it’s time to get my act together, give up my silly dreams, toe the company line, settle down, get rid of the Camaro, grow-up and let go of my absurd ideas about being an independent woman, time to find a husband and start a family, etc. But I took comfort in Jon’s words -- “When the world gets in my face, I say, Have a Nice Day.”

Their most recent release, Lost Highway, doesn’t seem to have the same attitude, but that’s okay, because right before it was released, I left my soul-crushing corporate job. I was finally at a point in my life where I could enjoy the love songs and the mildy twangy songs. I was sitting in traffic one day, listening to the words of “Make a Memory” and I started crying hearing the line about the ringing phone, because I know too well what it feels like to be with someone when the phone rings and know that it’s someone on the line that isn’t supposed to know that I’m with that person. And even though I know I’ll never have need for one, I think “The Last Night” would make the perfect wedding song.

Best of all though, I finally found myself in a position where I could follow the band along parts of their Lost Highway. No job, and a decent severance package to supplement my savings account. They began their tour with ten nights in Newark. I didn’t know if they were even going to tour, so I made sure to get a ticket for their last night, which was conveniently on a Saturday. In that hotel I met some other fans who offered to let me share the car to the venue with them. A few months later, I met up with them in Vegas for another Bon Jovi show, then Dallas. And now, we're all heading back to the east coast to see them wrap up this tour that began in Newark.

I left Dallas on Friday morning with tickets in hand for Central Park on Saturday, and Madison Square Garden on Monday and Tuesday. Doesn’t get better than this.

As if by some miracle, the plane from Dallas to Newark was not only on time, but also a half hour early. I was looking out the window, at a gorgeous view of midtown Manhattan thinking about how much I love New York when the person in the seat next to me threw up. So not everything was lovely…

I met up with the other Bon Jovi fans in Newark after my plane landed. Then I made my way into the City to stay with a friend. We went into a bar near her apartment for some drinks.

Sometimes it seems just about impossible for me to step into a bar without running into a drunk idiot. There was some guy there who was with a friend of a friend. Don’t have a clue as to what his name was. But I made the comment that I was in the city to see Bon Jovi and this drunk fool says, “Oh wow, like to look at you, you look really smart, and then you say something like that.” I ignored him the rest of the night and asked his friend to keep him away from me because he was annoying.

Saturday - Central Park

2008-07-21T23:04:00.000-05:00

July 12

On Saturday, I left to meet up with the other "Jovi girls", who were moving from their Newark hotel to their Manhattan location that morning. I started to walk to the subway station, but it was hot and I was already getting worn out, so I hailed a taxi.

The Indian taxi driver was talking about how bad the economy was and how impossible it was for anyone to find a job.

“Do you have a job?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m a school teacher,” I said.

“Oh, that’s a very good job for a woman,” he answered.

WTF? But I said nothing, no point in arguing with the person behind the wheel.

He told me that his daughter was a teacher in India and that she did very well, but he’d heard that teachers in New York didn’t make any money.

“Well, I live in Texas,” I said. “The pay is better there.” Though I don’t have a clue as to how much New York teachers make.

“Oh, you moved to Texas,” he said, nodding. “But I can tell, you’re still a New Yorker at heart.”

Okay, whatever… Once upon a time I would have taken that as a compliment. Not so much anymore. I wanted to ask, do I seem especially rude?

Getting to the park and through the line went surprisingly smooth. Granted it took about an hour to get through the line, but for the most part, they kept us moving. Security kindly chose to ignore our cameras - despite them being on the "banned items list". I was quite nervous about that before the show. What the hell was I going to do with my camera if I got to the front of the line and they said I couldn’t go in with it?

The weather was perfect for a day spent in the park. It wasn’t too hot or too cold. Actually, being that I get chilled anytime the temp drops below 80, I sort of wanted to put on my jacket by the end of the night, but didn’t because I realized I would look silly.

They started the show with Livin’ on a Prayer which immediately got the crowd – all 50,000 of them involved in the show. (From what I’ve read, about 46,000 were allowed into the Great Lawn and the rest were directed to “overflow” areas throughout the park where they could view the concert on a screen.) I was right in front of the stage -- with a few thousand people between me and the stage… but point being, I got in and don’t know what happened to the people who didn’t get inside.

The setlist consisted of the band’s greatest hits, which seemed most appropriate for this kind of setting. That list of hits also included the ballad Always, which I’d not heard in concert for a while. It sounded so beautiful, my eyes got all teary. It was just one of those perfect moments, nice weather, good friends, Central Park and Bon Jovi, “And I will love you, baby – Always.”

Getting out of the park was another story entirely. Everybody trying to leave at the same time. But we followed the crowd and made it out without losing anyone or any injuries, so I guess we did well.

And what better place to end a night of Bon Jovi than the Hard Rock Café?

MoMA, Central Park

2008-07-21T23:03:00.000-05:00

July 13, 2008

Sunday we all met up at the Museum of Modern Art. I wanted to see the Dali and Film exhibit. The exhibit included an impressive collection of his paintings and drawings, as well as the films on which he contributed, including Spellbound and a piece he did for Disney. One thing that struck me as odd – well, there’s a lot of odd in a Salvador Dali exhibit – but unexpectedly odd was the size of Persistence of Memory. It’s 9 ½ x 13, little, bitty as far as paintings go. I wonder if he had any idea when he painted that piece that someday it would be the one picture that everyone associated with him and surrealism. And looking through so much of his work, I wonder why that one piece has gained so much attention over his other work.

I usually end up visiting museums by myself, and I’m fine with that, but it was really nice to have people there with me to discuss the work we were viewing. Adds a new dimension to the art. I think, sometimes, that I spend so much of my life alone, I forget that having people to hang out with sometimes makes things more fun. Especially when you’re looking at a rather bizarre Dali painting, it helps to have someone there to say, “oh my gosh, look at that.”

We explored the next few floors of paintings, they have several Picassos, Matisses, Mondrians, Rousseau’s Sleeping Gypsy and a room that holds only Monet’s Waterlilies. I found some items I wanted to buy, but even on clearance, they were too expensive. Just couldn’t justify spending $35 for pen – but it was cool in that it looked like a paintbrush, perfect for an art teacher… And the stacks and stacks of art books are so seductive. But I have to remind myself that those books can be bought elsewhere for less expensive prices, and they would be a pain to haul back to Texas.

At this point, we all went our separate ways. I wasn’t sure where I was going to go, I walked around the corner and there was the NBA store, beckoning me to enter.

I bought a Dirk Nowitzki German Team tshirt and a Jason Terry action figure. Then I kept walking up Fifth Avenue to Central Park. Initially I was concerned with the large mass of people across the street, thinking it was a protest or demonstration, then I heard someone explain it was the line for iPhones at the Apple store. Wow.

I wandered through the park a bit just to kill time and take in the scenery. I’m usually here when it’s too cold to wander. The weather was nice on this day. I started back toward downtown. I wanted to get to an area near the New York Times building so that I could meet my friend there when she got off work. I had the building in my sight and was walking toward it, didn’t have an exact address. At some point though, I got distracted and the next thing I knew, I was at the Empire State Building. Oops. All these tall buildings with spiky towers look the same to this country girl. Fairly easy to get back to where I wanted to be. The comic book store I’d hoped to visit was closed though, which was disappointing, but not surprising. Everything in this city closes by 6 on Sunday. Instead, I found a coffee shop and stayed there until Missy got off work.

Monday - Bon Jovi at Madison Square Garden

2008-07-21T23:02:00.000-05:00

Monday I went into the city with Missy on her way to work. From there, I walked to my friends’ hotel so that we could get ready for the first of two nights of Bon Jovi at Madison Square Garden.

A group of women getting ready to see Bon Jovi, it’s reminiscent of teenagers primping for a big school dance – without the profound sense of disappointment at the end of the night.

We were all in different seats, scattered throughout the arena. I ended up sitting next to a startlingly attractive guy. He looked a bit like the lead singer of the Goo Goo Dolls. He made some comment about his friends bailing on him and none of them wanting to come to the show. I said most of my friends think I’m kind of silly for following around Bon Jovi. He was trying to be social. I probably seemed rude because, I was uncomfortable because, as I said, he was very attractive, and also, I don’t go to Bon Jovi shows to be social. Once the music starts – my focus is solely on Jon. This behavior could explain so much about my dating situation… I would have talked to the guy after the show, but he took off before the encore.

The show was awesome, the band played all the songs expected of them, plus Dry County and Always (which I’d heard the night before) and also, Hallelujah, which, oh my god was so beautiful. I’ve seen him perform that song on TV, but never live in concert. I love that man.

After the show, we went to a diner for drinks and food. I had a Corona and Missy W. (yes, I was spending time with two different Missys on this trip) and I shared a banana split and onion rings. Damn fine meal as far as I’m concerned. As I sit here in Texas with my Lean Cuisine for dinner, I find myself craving that meal.

The funniest part of the evening though, our waitress noticed the Bon Jovi shirts, and she asked if we’d seen the show. We said yes and she said she’d seen him on TV and, "Oh, he’s nice." Then she said, “I’m 70, so I’m too old for Bon Jovi, but when I was younger I went to see Tom Jones. I climbed over four rows of people and I fought my way to the front of the stage and then security stopped me right as I was about to touch him. All the other women were throwing their underwear, but I couldn’t because I was wearing slacks.” We should have taken a picture of this woman so that you could fully appreciate the story.

The best part about Monday though was that we knew we’d be going back the next night to do it again!

Tuesday - The Met and Bon Jovi at Madison Square Garden

2008-07-21T23:01:00.001-05:00

Tuesday I got up and went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I took the subway, but very carelessly got on the wrong train. The train I was on ended at 57th street. Well, I needed to be at 82nd street. I could have ridden the train back and switched trains at 42nd, but I get restless on trains. In fact, I sort of hate the New York subway because I feel like I never know where I’m going. I don’t have this trouble on subways in other cities.

I got out to see where I was, I thought I’d walk for a while and then find another subway station. But after I got to the surface, I realized I was near the Park, and the Museum is along the park. On Saturday, I’d walked from 57th to 72nd without any trouble, so I’d just walk along Central Park. Except that around 68th street, I realized I was on the wrong side of the park. I was on Central Park West and the museum is on Central Park East, and I knew that and I don’t know why I didn’t realize that until I’d walked so far. So I made my way through the park, but the thing is, you can’t just cross the park, the trails are curvy and winding and I wasn’t quite sure I was going the right way. So happy to finally glimpse Fifth Avenue. After after several days of nice weather, it was very, very hot that day when I was walking so much.

I’d transformed into a nasty sweat monster by the time I entered the museum.

The first exhibit I visited was the Superheroes Fashion and Fantasy. It’s sponsored by Armani and Conde Naste and some big name fashion house created fashion inspired by Superheroes. That aspect of the show is kind of weird and not all that cool. Maybe that's because I'm just not that into fashion. What I did like though was seeing the costumes worn by Tobey Maguire for Spiderman, Christopher Reeves’ Superman costume, Lyda Carter’s Wonder Woman suit and Michelle Pfiffer’s Catwoman suit. They even had the recent additions of Christian Bale’s Batman suit and Robert Downey Jr.’s Iron Man armor. One of the coolest displays though was the applications put on Rebecca Romin for her role as Mystique.

Another exhibit I visited was the J.M.W. Turner exhibit. Really beautiful collection of watercolors and oils. Made me want to get out my long ignored watercolor paints. I bought a DVD of the exhibit and can hopefully find a way to use that in school.

Then I spent some time in the paintings, visiting some of my favorites. On the way to New York, I read half of a book called Strapless, about John Singer Sargent and the scandal that accompanied Madame X. I wanted to see the picture again, now knowing the story behind it. I even bought a print of the painting, which conveniently happened to be on sale.

Despite my goof-up on the train earlier in the day, I had no trouble at all getting back to Times Square and to my friends’ hotel to get ready for another night of Bon Jovi.

This was the last show of the tour, which began back in November in Newark. Sad that it’s over, but I’m sure the guys are ready to spend some extended time at home. Tonight’s rarities included Livin’ in Sin and Blood on Blood. They ended the show with Livin on a Prayer, the same song they started the show with on Saturday. Full circle moment, my Bon Jovi marathon began and ended with Livin' on a Prayer.

Time to go home

2008-07-21T23:00:00.001-05:00

July 16 - 17

My Bon Jovi friends all went home the next day. I stayed in the city another day to hang out with my friends who live there. I came home on Thursday. Almost thought I wasn’t ever going to get out of Newark.

I had no trouble getting from the apartment to the airport.

When I checked in I saw that my flight was delayed a half hour. Then they announced that due to thunderstorms, we may be delayed some more. They went ahead and boarded the plane, only to inform us that due to weather, it would be 55 minutes before we could even get in line to leave. Oh my god. They said if anyone wants to leave, an agent will assist you off the plane. What did that mean? If I wanted to leave, would they put me up in a hotel for the night? (Of course, I didn’t have my clothes with me.) The guy next to me said, “Would you really want to stay over night in Newark?” Well, no, but it might be nicer than spending and extra two hours sitting on a plane.

Around ten, we finally left. We were supposed to land in Dallas at ten. I sat next to a very talkative guy. He was former Marine, on his way to Dallas to hang out with his brother for the weekend. He was nice and talking to him helped pass the time. He fell asleep after he drank his cocktail and that gave me the chance to finish the book I'd been reading.

It was after midnight by the time we got to Dallas. It was after one a.m. by the time I got my luggage and a shuttle to get me to the parking lot to pick up my car. And it was after 2 a.m. by the time I finally got home.

Glad to be home, but I brought back a sore throat. I don’t know if it’s from too much time on the plane or from screaming at the concert (I know I shouldn’t scream, but I got caught up in the moment) or just the pollution in New York or most likely a combination of everything. I just need to get well before Friday when I leave for Seattle. All this traveling seemed like a lot of fun when I was making my initial plans. But now I just feel exhausted.

Monday Morning - Getting to NYC

2007-12-15T14:00:00.000-06:00

December 10, 2007

My travel dilemma started the night before I left as I struggled with my empty suitcase. Before I could even decide what to pack, I needed to decide on a suitcase. I could fit the essentials into my carry-on, but not much else. I was on my way to New York City and while I didn't plan to do much shopping, if I did do any at all, I needed a way to get it home and if my one carry-on was already full, well, you see the problem here.

So around 2 a.m., I unpacked the carry-on and moved everything into the larger suitcase. Then I could toss all my face and hair products into the suitcase without dealing with the stupid travel size items and plastic baggies.

Airport security = keeping you safe from concealed tubes of gel lip gloss. The tightened security measures don't make me feel safer. In fact, I worry that people are so focused on oversized bottles of moisterizer and hand lotion that they're going to miss something that might actually cause harm.

It was four a.m. before I finished packing and got to bed. Not because I packed so much, but rather because I stopped midway through to paint my nails and then needed to let them dry and then I became overly concerned with what music I had stored on my MP3 player, you know, priorities.

I got up around seven, planning to leave at 8, thinking that would get me to the airport by 8:45 at the latest.

I thought I had given myself plenty of time to get to the airport, but I didn't take into account that I would be right in the middle of morning traffice, (how quickly we forget, I spent a good part of nine years of my life sitting in morning traffic) and I certainly hadn't factored in enough time for the cold, steady rain that started overnight.

My flight was supposed to board at 9:30. It was 9:05 when I approached the airport. I decided to forgo the remote parking lots, suck it up and park at the terminal, knowing it would be expensive, but it would be more costly to be standing in line at security when my plane was taking off.

I called the airlines when I was a few minutes away to find out my gate and I parked in the area closest to the presumed gate.

When I checked my bag and printed my boarding pass, I discovered my gate had changed from A21 to A39. I rushed through the airport, my plane scheduled to board in a just a few minutes. But when I get to the gate, they are boarding a plane bound for Colorado Springs. What? Around 9:45, we're told there is a delay – but they didn't know this a half hour ago, when that information might have been of benefit to me and saved me about $35 in parking and a whole lot of unnecessary stress thinking I was running late? Turns out the ice in Oklahoma was throwing everything off, I'm thinking the airline knew this much earlier in the day, being that the freeze hit in the early morning hours.

Damnit. The flight is delayed until 11:20 and the gate changes again, this time to A26. I think their goal is to keep us moving so we don't think about how delayed we are. I'm so sick of walking back and forth through this airport, but I'm glad I checked my luggage because that would have been a bitch to drag all over the airport.

Air travel keeps getting more unpleasant and uncomfortable and more expensive. I don't care that they don't serve their "hot meals" on the plane anymore, I usually skipped them anyway. But they could at least pass out snacks, peanuts or cookies or something pre-packaged. Instead they're selling one cookie for $3. At the grocery store I can buy a full bag of cookies for less than that. Can't they get together with some food companies and work out a deal? Wouldn't that be the ideal situation? Some good PR for the food company, "here try our new flavor of chips".

We got to our destination an hour later than expected. Then I had to wait for my suitcase and then on to the train station, only to find out that the train was experiencing delays.

I was beginning to feel like I was never going to get to New York. 4:30 read the clock at the train station. I'd originally planned on being in the city by 3:30, then making a quick trip to MoMA to see the Seurat exhibit before heading to the Mavericks game. But now I was worrying that I wouldn't even get to the city in time for the game. I kept thinking of my schedule that said tip-off was 6:30, forgetting that my schedule is in Central time, and in New York, my 6:30 is actually 7:30. Plenty of time.

One thing I love about traveling, especially traveling alone is meeting new people. I say traveling alone because if I was with a friend, I'd be content to talk to that friend. But when I'm alone and standing there waiting for a train, I'm more likely to talk to whoever is standing nearest me and looks safe. (I'm not a dummy, I don't talk to strange men.) On this particular day, there was an older woman (mid-60s maybe) standing by herself. I made some comment about the train delays. As we waited, I learned that she was from Seattle and had been traveling since 6 a.m. She was meeting four friends in the city, they were all traveling from a different location to meet up in a nice hotel in the city for a few days. She said they did this at least once a year. As I listened to her story I found myself hoping that my friends and I can follow their example someday. Girlfriends, they have to stick together and set aside the husbands and the kids and the jobs for a few days every once in a while. Sometimes I think we forget this.

I liked this woman, she had a young spirit and was well versed on sports, I mentioned going to the Mavs game and she said that the Sonics weren't very impressive and all they had was Durant and would probably be leaving the city soon. She told me that she could remember when the Sonics won the championship in 1979 and how that was the biggest thing to have ever happened in their city, and they've not won anything since.

She and I got split up getting on the train, a rude train employee jumped between us as we started to get on the train and shouted that people needed to use other entrances to get on. I started to backtrack to find her, but it looked as if she was having as much trouble finding a single seat on the train as I was, probably impossible to find two seats together.

I spoke to the woman again when we got off the train and we walked through Penn Station together. I pointed out the direction to a taxi stand for her and then started my walk to my friend's office.

An evening at the "world's most famous arena"

2007-12-15T13:00:00.000-06:00

December 10, 2007

By the time I got to my friend, Missy's office, I only had an hour or so before the game. I grabbed a bite to eat, threw on a bit of makeup and hung out in the newsroom for a while. I like newsrooms and the type of people who inhabit them. I miss that sort of atmosphere. But I don't miss working late nights and weekends.

Madison Square Garden is right next to Penn Station, so I pretty much retraced my steps. On my way back though, I walked down 7th rather than 8th Avenue.

A few years ago (July 2000), when my sister and I visited New York, we stayed at the New Yorker, on 8th Avenue, which is very close to MSG. During our stay, Bruce Springsteen was having his 10 night stand at the Garden. We were probably the only people in the hotel not there for the Springsteen concert. Every night on our way to and from the hotel, we would find ourselves in a crowd of Springsteen fans. I remember saying we should try to get tickets, just because it would be cool to attend an event at the Garden. But then I decided that the first time I went, I wanted it to be a Knicks game. This was back when the Knicks were still a team worth watching.

Back in the day, even those who weren't Knicks fans -- and most people weren't -- still respected the team. (An apt comparison might be the Dallas Cowboys in the NFL.) The Knicks have such a storied history, it's something of an atrocity that they have devolved into the laughing stock they are currently. Now the only remnants of their former greatness can be seen hanging high up in the rafters of the arena.

New York is a city that embraces and reveres basketball. For a basketball fan, a real fan, not the sort who only watches when "their" team is winning, Madison Square Garden still holds a certain appeal. It's basketball mecca, the same way I imagine a baseball fan wants to visit Wrigley.

Conveniently, the boyfriend and his team were going to be playing at Madison Square Garden, against the Knicks on the Monday after I finished my student teaching. I'd made a quick trip to the City in November and Missy suggested I come back after I finished school for a longer visit. The timing worked out. I could watch the Mavericks play at MSG and spend some time with my friends. No need to rush back home on this trip.

I met up with my friend, Dan, in front of a very large picture of the Knicks players. They look much more intimidating when painted on the side of the wall than when on the basketball court.

The guy at security told me I couldn't enter the building until I went back and put on a Knicks shirt. They would have lost a large portion of their crowd if that had been a real rule.

There were a lot of Mavericks shirts on display. I was hardly the only Dallas fan there. When they announced the Mavericks lineup, the team – Dirk especially – got a robust round of cheers.

Because of the aforementioned reverence for basketball, the city's disgust with their team is boldly apparent. With the mention of the coach, Isiah Thomas, the crowd immediately began to boo.

"Oh my gosh," I said, shocked by the reaction. I'd read about this happening, but hadn't realized it was this intense.

"I love New York," Dan said, amused by the boos.

I heard a man in front of me say to his young son – who is wearing a Nowitzki jersey – "they don't seem to like the coach very much, do they?"

As the Mavericks' quickly built a lead, the boos directed at the Knicks continued. At one point, the crowd began to chant "Fire Isiah" complete with a rhythmic clap. Also, anytime Eddy Curry's name was announced he received a strong round of boos. Not sure what happened to prompt that, but the woman sitting next to me referred to him as "lazy boy."

The Mavericks were clearly dominant during the game, leading by almost 20 points during most of the game. The big lead allowed the team to play loose. They were having fun with several fancy passes and acrobatic dunks. They were putting on show, knowing they were on display at the "world's most famous arena." The players understand the history associated with the arena and even though they weren't playing an especially formidable team, they knew they were in front of the toughest basketball fans in the world

Much to the pleasure of the crowd, so desperate for a sign of life from their team, the Knicks made a run near the end of the game, at one point coming within eight points. Maybe the Mavs were having too much fun, and Dirk was getting quite a bit of rest because of the early lead. Dallas put a stop to the surge and ended the game ten points ahead.

Near the end, while a player was shooting free throws, Dirk was walking around on the other side of the court, looking for me -- wanting to make sure I'd made it to the game. I would like to point out that unlike the Cowboys' doofus quarterback who gets rattled when his girlfriend is watching, Dirk does just fine – or better – when I'm in attendance. He scored 36 points. A nice performance to watch for my first game at the Garden.

The place feels old and historic -- not in a bad way, but certainly a contrast to the sparkling new, pristine American Airlines Center. The buzzer sounds like the type used in a high school gym and they don't have a microphone on the net, which makes the shots seem soft and easy -- and Jason Terry isn't called "the Jet" in this building.

We never saw Spike Lee at the game, but we did see Keri Russell, Vanessa Marcil and a guy from the Sopranos, as well as a few members of the Yankees and Mets. Dan had to explain who the baseball players were because I didn't have a clue.

After the game we took a cab back to the Village to meet up with Missy, who was no longer at work by the time the game ended, and we spent the rest of the evening drinking wine at a wine bar called In Vino.

Tuesday, Part 1 - 5th Avenue, Central Park

2007-12-15T12:00:00.000-06:00

December 11, 2007

Missy and I go out for coffee in the morning. That's something I like about New York and city living in general, being able to walk around the corner for coffee or a sandwich, down the block for pizza, or next door for a beer. I've never lived in a location where that's possible, though that may change soon, there are plans to build a shopping center of some sort across the street, very much within walking distance.

On our way back, at the front desk, Missy picks up a package – a box full of imported Spanish food. Here's one of my "ugly Texan" observations – as in, oh my god, this would never happen in Texas: I'm carrying the coffee and Missy has the box and we get to the door and are struggling to get it open. Because we're the only people there, right? No, there are two men, probably college students, in their mid-twenties, standing there watching us struggle with the door. Not only are they watching, they're standing aside, waiting for us to get through the door, not making any attempt to assist. It was the doorman who noticed what was happening and rushed over to hold open the door.

"Assholes," Missy says as we walk past the guys. Indeed.

Missy has to work today, so I ride into midtown with her. I want to do some shopping in the city – mostly window-shopping. 5th Avenue feels like New York to me, a New York that people like me can never afford, only glimpse.

I start my walk down 5th Avenue near St. Patrick's Cathedral. The huge, neo-Gothic church looks like something out of vampire novel, oddly situated near tall, corporate building and stores, and directly across from a statue of the god, Atlas.

I'm here to take in the sights, the luxury stores, adorned with holiday decorations. The crowds on the street don't bother me. One aspect of New York that I find appealing is the way anyone can blend into the crowd, everyone is going about their business, oblivious to those around them, despite the physical proximity. This type of scene befits my personality, which probably doesn't reflect well on my personality.

I stop by the "biggest Build-a-Bear Workshop store in the world" in hopes of finding a New York specific bear for my sister who collects bears. I purchase an already assembled small bear wearing an "I (heart) NY" shirt. I also buy a shirt for my tiger, Trent, as you can see from the photo I've included -->

I walk into the Lindt chocolatier simply because I know they pass out samples of their truffles, the one I get is dark chocolate peppermint. Yum. And then the NBA store!

I love this store, basketball heaven. I usually don't buy much, because any Mavericks items available can usually be found for the same price much closer to home. But I enjoy walking around the place, looking at everything, being surrounded by all things NBA. My favorite part of the visit though – while I'm looking through shirts, trying to find a Steve Nash shirt in a child size (because men's sizes are too large for me), I overhear the employees at the store talking to each other about the Knicks game the night before. "Well, consider yourself lucky for not watching," one tells the other. "Nowitzki killed us." And then the others chime in, "Nowitzki's amazing." "He's sick, man, he's sick. He's got that jump shot." "And he's seven foot! How does he do that?" I only smile. I like hearing complete strangers talk about how awesome he is.

After I leave the store, I see the signs for the Georges Seurat exhibit and then remember that MoMA is closed on Tuesdays. Dammit – the only museum not closed on Mondays.

Instead, I cross the street and make my way toward FAO Swartz because I like looking at their huge collection of stuffed animals.

Outside the store, some teenage boys approach me trying to sell candy to support their basketball team. My immediate response is, "no," without even listening to their story. I can't enjoy the store because I keep thinking of how rude I was to the boys. I think of the students I had in the classes where I did my student teaching and how angry it would make me if I were to find out someone treated them that way. After I leave the store I find the boys and buy two Twix bars.

Then I make my way to Central Park, which was my desired destination all along. This spot right near the Plaza. I've read too many books about old New York, watched too many movies in which the action takes place at the Plaza – scenes with Robert Redford or Cary Grant. I've been working on a novel for years, and in the beginning of the story, one of my characters lives in an apartment on Central Park South, and another character spends a lot of time at the Plaza, and there is a very pivotal scene at the park, within quick walking distance of both the Plaza and the apartment on Central Park South. I have my notebook and pen in my purse and I find an empty bench to take notes. Doing some location research makes me feel like I'm making some progress on my never-ending writing project. I buy some prints of the Park and 5th Avenue from a vendor at the Park. Maybe some of my photos will turn out well and I can hang them all together.

As I make my way back, I take some more photos of the Plaza. Three teenage girls asked me to take their photo in front of the fountain, but the camera they hand me had a dying battery. They asked if I would take their photo with my camera and email it to them, so I said I would, and I did.

As I walk back down 5th Avenue, I stop to visit the tree at Rockefeller Center. Around this time, it starts to rain, a very, very cold rain. This is a good sign that my stroll of midtown Manhattan needs to draw to a close. The rain continues as I make my way to the subway station.

Tuesday, part 2 - Lost in the City

2007-12-15T11:00:00.000-06:00

December 11, 2007 - evening

On my way to the subway, I notice that I have voice mail from Dan, wanting to know if I want to go out to dinner. I decide that I'll call him back when I get closer to the apartment and have some sort of time frame. Wise decision, considering that it ends up taking about an hour and a half for me to find my way back to the apartment.

This begins the story of how I got ridiculously lost in New York City. It isn't like I'm new to this city. I've spent plenty of time here, I've used the subways before, I know how to read a map. I do tend to get lost a lot, but I've always bragged that New York City is the one place where I've never gotten lost. So much for that...

First, I had a subway issue. I entered the subway station at 42nd and Broadway and much to my horror, there isn't a map anywhere to be found. How in the hell am I supposed to know what train to get on if there isn't a map? I have a map in my purse, but it's six years old and what if the subway routes have changed since then? Finally I find a map thumbtacked to the wall. But I don't see Union Square anywhere on the map. I do see Washington Square though, and for some idiotic reason, thought that was where I needed to go because the location seemed to be within walking distance of the apartment. Remember this moment, because it's going to be funny in a few more paragraphs. Makes me wonder if it wasn't some sort of psychic twinge that make me think Washington Square was my subway stop.

(Looking back, I honestly don't know how I made this mistake, and the following mistakes. I'm going to chalk this up to saying I was cold, and I'd been on my own in a somewhat unfamiliar setting and hadn't eaten anything except a Twix bar and I'd been walking quite a bit. And I was cold, right, I said that already, but the cold might have frozen a few brain cells.)

I ride the train to 34th street and get off, planning to get on a line that will take me to the stop at Washington Square. As I'm walking to this other train though, I glance at the map in my pocket and realize 14th street is also Union Square, though it didn't say that on the map in the station, not the thumbtacked one or the one at the platform. I could have stayed on the train I was on, that would have taken me to Union Square. I retrace my steps, get back on that train and realize immediately that I'm going the wrong direction. I'm back at 42nd Street. I then get on the train going the other direction, stay on it until 14th Street/Union Square. I'm set now, minor mishap, right? Got a little confused on the subway, not a big deal.

I glance at my map, but the place where I'm going is off to the edge of the map, the map ending one street from where I'm going, so I assume it won't be of much help and worse, I assume that I know where I'm going.

I need to be at 7th Street, Ave. B. Easy. New York is a grid, if you can count, you can find your way around this city, right? Ha, ha, ha. I start walking toward 7th street, --14th, 13th, 12th, 11, 10, 9, 8, Washington Mews, Washington Square, Waverly. What? What happened to 7th street? Oh my gosh. I've walked to and from the subway several times and this has never happened to me.

And look, there's the Washington Arch, in Washington Square Park. Nice, except that I am not supposed to be in this neighborhood. This is not the park that I usually walk through.

This is the funny part. I'm guessing that if I'd stuck to my original, incorrect plan of taking the subway to the Washington Square stop, I would have ended up somewhere around the area to which I accidentally walked. Ha, ha, except it wasn't very humorous at the time.

My first impulse is to call Missy or Dan and ask them what direction I should go. But how pathetic and helpless does that make me sound? I am 32 years old and I shouldn't have to call for help every time I get lost. If I want to keep claiming to be so damn independent, then maybe I need to act like it. I am determined to find my way back without asking anyone for help. Besides, this is like driving, once I get lost in an area, I never get lost there again. Next time I'm walking around here, I will know not to go this direction.

I keep thinking I'm going to find 7th street, but next thing I know, I'm on 3rd street. How did this happen? I went from 8th street to 3rd street? Good grief. I turn and start walking down the streets with names, but I keep passing unfamiliar names -- Thompson, Sullivan.

Finally I notice a map in front of one of the NYU buildings, which confirms that I've been walking in the wrong direction.

I walk back to the park, there are several emergency vehicles at the park now, with their lights flashing and some official looking people in uniforms standing around. Lovely, just like Law and Order, I probably walked past a crime scene earlier and didn't even know it. I get back to 8th street and start walking in the opposite direction. I have to be going the right direction now because I've tried every other possible direction and they've all been wrong.

I am so relieved when I finally reach the numbered avenues. Soon enough I start seeing familiar places. But by the time I get to the apartment, it's too late for dinner, it's time for Dan to go to work.

Later I look at my map and see exactly where I went wrong. I could have saved myself so much time if I would have stopped and looked at the map.

Dan goes to work and I stay at the apartment and watch Bones and House, after all the moving I'd done earlier in the day, I need to sit still for a while. When Missy gets off work, I meet up with her at the bar, which is where Dan works.

I remember saying after we left the bar that I'd drank just enough that I felt really good, but not so much that I felt at all drunk. It's rare to achieve that sort of alcoholic balance.

Back at the apartment, Missy puts together a Spanish feast with items from the box she received earlier in the day. Excellent way to end the day.

Wednesday -- hug mug, Juno and sushi

2007-12-15T10:00:00.000-06:00

December 12, 2007

Missy had Wednesday off. We went out for coffee first thing in the morning, then she had to run some errands.

We decided to go see a movie that night. On the way to the movie we stop at Max Brenner's for hot chocolate. Missy has a chocolate martini of some sort and I order spicy Mexican hot chocolate, which is served in a "hug mug." When the waitress put the mug in front of me, I must have looked at it oddly, because I didn't have a clue as to how I was supposed to use it.

"It's a hug mug," she says, with a straight face, which must be a skill in itself. "You use both hands."

Hmmm, interesting. "I just don't know that I want to get that intimate with my hot chocolate," I say to Missy, which is funny because, well, if you know me – and Missy knows me pretty well – then you know why that's a funny comment.

"But I think that's the idea," Missy says.

"You’re probably right," I say, pointing to a poster that says something about a chocolate love story.

Despite the awkwardness at trying to drink it, the chocolate is wonderful, and since then I've been trying to replicate it with various mixtures of cocoa and chili powder. If anyone has any suggestions, send them my way.

For the movie, we decided on Juno. I pored over the Village Voice, hoping to find something that I could only watch in New York. I was thinking of how there are always movies mentioned that are opening only in NY and LA. I wanted one of those, but everything I found, I knew was also playing in Dallas. I guess that's been the case for a while with the Magnolia, Innwood, and Angelika.

We went with Juno because we wanted something funny. And it was funny, but I'm glad I saw it before everyone started claiming it was the "best movie ever." The dialogue is clever, but not so much that it's annoying. Also, I can't help but be bothered by the idea that yet again, unplanned pregnancy, this time involving a teenager, is being glorified. I don't expect the movie to be a Public Service Announcement, but a little more emphasis on, "wow, you made a huge mistake when you had unprotected sex" would have been nice. Like the part when the receptionist at the clinic offers Juno a condom, maybe a comment about, "if someone would have given me one of those a few months ago maybe I wouldn't be in the situation" instead of being offended about it. Plus, I thought the ending was stupid, the part where Juno has her "epiphany", lame, but I won't go into that right now, in case you haven't seen the movie yet and want to watch it.

After the movie, we have dinner at a sushi restaurant. The only time I eat sushi is when I'm with Missy. I don't know anyone else who likes it, and the one thing I cannot do on my own is go to a restaurant. I bought it once at a grocery store and threw it out because it smelled so bad. But the few times I've had sushi, I loved it. I start to crave it just thinking about it. I wonder if I can order takeout from the sushi place down the street?

We end up back at the bar at the end of the night and closed the place down. Much of what I wrote about in my other blog about the bar scene took place on this particular night. There seemed to be a lot of alchol flowing that night. I wasn't drinking that much though, or what I was drinking wasn't having much of an effect on me.

Thursday - Ice, art and gorgonzola sauce

2007-12-15T09:00:00.000-06:00

December 13, 2007

Woke up to the sound of ice hitting the air conditioner in my room. I didn't recognize the sound at first, it not being a sound with which I am at all familiar. As I lay there, at first I thought someone was in the room. I was in the guest room, there could be something stored in there that was needed. But the sound is behind my head and wouldn't I have noticed someone entering the room? I open my eyes and see that there is no one in the room, not even the cat, who would have been my next guess. As I gradually exit my nocturnal state, I begin to realize that the sound is coming from outside the window. I'm a little slow in the mornings.

Knowing that everyone in the apartment will sleep through the morning, I have lunch with someone else I know who happens to be in the city this week.

After lunch, I return to the apartment to discover that my friends aren't ready to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. They live here and can go whenever they want. But I'm an art teacher and I shouldn't spend this much time in NYC without visiting at least one art museum.

Missy provides me with directions and the reminder that if I'm lost, it's okay to ask someone for directions or consult the map I have in my purse. (How sad is it that I need to be told this?) Good advice though, the weather is too nasty outside to waste time wandering around.

Steady, little drops of icy water fall on me as I walk to the subway. I suppose sleet is a more accurate description for what I'm walking through. Don't bitch about the weather, I tell myself, this is all part of the New York experience. Next time I start thinking I want to live in New York City, I need to remember this slush on the ground.

Because of the weather, this walk feels like it takes me forever, and because of my last attempt to maneuver this part of the city on my own, I'm worried that I'll get lost again. Every time I get under a storefront of some sort, I consult my map to make sure I'm still going in the correct direction. The map is not holding up so well in the rain, I don't know of a way to keep the rain out of my purse.

I don't have an umbrella and my knit hat is absorbing water, as are my leather gloves and I step in a puddle and learn that imitation Uggs are not water-resistant. (I didn't think they were, but I didn't think the puddle was that deep.)

So happy to reach the subway station. I know exactly which train I need to take this time, though I ask someone standing near me for confirmation. I'm traveling from 14th to 86th street and I welcome the chance to sit for a while, take off my wet hat and gloves.

When I get off the subway at 86th, my immediate fear is that I'm going to start off in the wrong direction again. Even though it's only about 2:30, the sky is dark and grey. I don't have time to get lost in this, the museum closes at 5:30. I mentally steel myself to remain calm, stay focused, don't wander.

I walk to 82nd Street, then turn, walk a block, check my map and see that I've turned the wrong direction. I should be at Park and I'm not. Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic. Turn around and walk the other direction. Ah, yes, here's Park Avenue. Wow.

Even on this gloomy day, the view of some of the most expensive real estate in the world is stunning. Easy to imagine this as the area Edith Wharton once called home. I'd like to get out my camera, but it's in the one zippered area of my purse, I'd have to remove my gloves and I don't want to do that.

The museum is within view. Nice to get out of the rain. I make a mental note to buy an umbrella at the gift shop before I start my jaunt back. Very easy to get lost in this museum, I start out in the Egyptian art section, but quickly orient myself, making note of my limited time, and start seeking out the specific exhibits I want to see. I've typed up a list and it is still slightly readable, despite the water damage.

First, I locate the Gates of Paradise exhibit. While in Florence over the summer, I visited the baptistery where the doors were originally displayed – not realizing at the time that the doors I viewed were replicas. What I see at the museum though are the originals. Gorgeous.

Then I visit the Age of Rembrandt exhibit, which includes several Rembrandts, along with other Dutch artists of that time period. My students learned about Rembrandt while working on their self-portraits this semester. I won't ever see those students again, but still I think of them while I'll walking through the exhibit.

Then I walk through the European painting areas. When I approach this area, the first thing I see are two of my favorite paintings (from my younger, and still intrigued by romantic ideas days) – The Swing and The Storm by Pierre-Auguste Cot. This section of the museum seems to have rooms of Monets, Renoirs, and Van Goghs and so much more. I don’t have time to take it all in because I want to see as much as I can in a short amount of time. I'll have plenty of opportunities to return.

Shortly before 4:30, I make my way to the Christmas tree with the Neapolitan Baroque Creche figures. (I may not buy into the religious aspects of the holiday, but I’m a sucker for well-crafted angel ornaments, and this tree excels in that category.) I watch their lighting ceremony, accompanied by traditional holiday music. The children in the crowd are in awe, and for a moment I'm achingly aware of being the only person alone, surrounded by all these families. This holiday bullshit has that effect on me. Just a few moments earlier I'd been glad that I was on my own and able to ramble through the musuem as I pleased, without worrying about any else's interest. Oh, well, no time to dwell, less than an hour before they clear the place, how do I want to spend my last few minutes here?

I quickly walk through the Abstract Expressionist Drawings exhibit and remember that I think abstract art, in large doses, is often a bunch of crap. I like the idea of abstract art as a way to encourage students to be creative and expressive. But at the same time, I don't think Jackson Pollock exhibited any sort of genius for throwing paint on a canvas. Who can't throw some paint on a canvas? Then I walk through the modern section. They have several works by Picasso, including my favorite, Girl Reading, and they have a few very nice paintings by Georgia O'Keeffe.

I spend a few minutes in the sculpture court on my way to the gift shop near the museum's entrance. I buy an umbrella, put on my still damp gloves and hat and brace myself for re-entering the lousy weather. It's around 5:30, but the sky is dark enough that it could be the middle of the night.

This time I have no trouble getting back to the apartment. See what I mean about getting lost? You do it once, and you'll know never to take that route again. The umbrella makes the walk less miserable, but the overpriced souvenir does bend back once. Could have bought an umbrella as any one of the shops on the way for a fraction of what this one cost.

I change into dry clothes at the apartment and then we go out for a decadent Italian dinner at In Vino. I say decadent because I ordered gnocchi bianchi, which had a gorgonzola sauce with walnuts that tasted absolutely sinful. I have no shame, I take the bread left over in our bread bowl and use it to sop up the left over sauce in my bowl. Divine.

After dinner, Missy and I attend a comedy show, called The Shark Show. Then we return to In Vino, where Dan has been drinking wine since dinner. I want coffee, but there is none to be had here. Since this bar is closing, we go on to another wine bar. Still no coffee available. Seriously, is Starbucks the only place in this city where a person can buy coffee in the evening? Maybe around here, since people don't have to drive home, the bars don't feel a need to keep hot coffee available. I had no idea that my coffee addiction would be so difficult to sustain. Instead, we opt for chocolate cake with honey and mint ice cream. Cake always makes me happy.

Return to big D

2007-12-15T08:00:00.000-06:00

December 14, 2007

My last day in the City and it's the first time I've seen the sun, but it's still cold. Missy and I walk through the park and go to a real coffee house (as opposed to the deli around the corner) for our morning coffee. I get a large espresso and it feels like the most amazing jolt of caffeine I've ever experienced. But that might be the result of me craving coffee since the night before.

Returning home always fills me with dread. Back to the real world.

On the plane trip back, I try to read a book called Season of the Witch. It sounded great, but it's dreadful. I'm furious with myself for packing my other book in my suitcase. Being that I'm on this plane for three hours, I skim through the book, horrified that the guy sitting next to me might glance over and notice the explicit sex on the pages.

The weather in Dallas is horrible. Welcome home -- rush hour traffic on Friday afternoon, in the pouring rain. I am officially back in the real world.

travel map

2007-08-12T00:25:00.000-05:00

Day 1 - Rome - wandering around the city in search of the Colloseum

2007-07-25T17:48:00.000-05:00

My first thought upon landing in Rome is that this city is hot. The past summer of rain in Texas might have damaged my heat tolerance because immediately I find myself thinking maybe I should have stayed in Texas. I might melt in this heat.

Since I am only here for four days, I don't have time to rest. I got to Rome around 10 am, and I needed to start my sightseeing as soon as I got checked into the hotel. I’m glad they allowed me to check in as soon as I arrived and didn’t make me wait until 2 or 3, as some places do.

My first day there, my plan was to visit the "ancient Rome" sites - the Colloseum, Forum area. I asked the woman at the front desk of my hotel for the best way to get to the Colloseum. She hands me a map, tells me to get on the metro and ride to the Spanga stop, and start walking from there. She circled several areas with major sites and said I'd see all this along the way. After some time spent walking around, I figured out that everything in Rome is within walking distance of each other. The problem is, the maps are confusing because they tend to not list every road, and I had trouble finding street signs.

Anyway, I follow her advice, take the subway to Spanga, which stops right next to the Spanish Steps. One of the first things I see is the Keats Shelley Memorial House. Keats and Shelley came to Rome for the weather and a cure for consumption and they both died in this country, Keats in the house in front of me, Shelley drowned off the Tuscan coast. This area is considered the "English ghetto", because during the heyday of the "Grand Tour" English and American students tended to live in this area, and from what I've read, the area is still popular among foreign students.

I start walking in what I assume to be the general direction of the Colloseum. As I'm walking I pass the Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon, the Fountain of Four Rivers in Piazza Novana. Around every corner there is another church or statue or obelisk. I'm sort of accidentally walking past all these amazing sites. But each time I consult the map, I realize I'm further away from the Colloseum. At one point, I see this large circular building and think that must be it, so I walk toward it, but the closer I get, the more I realize this is not the Colloseum. I've reached Vatican City and the big circular building is called Castel Sant Angelo, and was once the Pope's fortress. I am nowhere near the Colloseum. I take some pictures then buy myself a ticket for the Hop On Hop Off bus and ride it until I get to the Colloseum because I'm tired of trying to find my way on my own.

With the Colloseum in sight, I decided to visit the Roman Forum first and an area called Capitoline Hill so that I could see Piazza del Campidoglio - the town square designed by Michelangelo. I decided against visiting the museums in that area because while I realize the importance of Roman history, I'm much more interested in the art, not ancient artifacts. There are only so many ruins a person can look at before they all start to look the same. I took some photos of the square, then filled up my water bottle at the Forum. Something I love about Rome is the free water fountains all over the city. It reminds me of being a kid and drinking from the water hose in the yard. My favorite fountains are the ones that require you to walk onto the steps inside the fountain, there's always that slight danger that you're going to lose your balance and fall in and make an ass of yourself in front of a hundred or so strangers...

Anyway, stood in line at the Colloseum. Ended up getting out of line and paying a few euros extra for a tour. Everyone knows what the Colloseum looks like. That place is huge. Very impressive to walk around inside and learn about the things that happened there. What a gruesome history. Did you know the word "arena" means sand? And sand covered the floor of the building to absorb all the blood that was spilled. The stench of death was so strong that people who worked for the facility would walk around straying heavy perfume. Events were free, and lasted all day, usually sponsored by some sort of government entity in an attempt to win the people's favor. It was all propoganda. People sat according to social class. The wealthiest had the best seats, the lower class was in the nose bleed seats, in bleachers. What remains now of the Colloseum is the skeleton of the structure. Once Christianity took over, it became regarded as inappropriate to watch people and animals die for entertainment purposes. People began to strip the building of its materials to use it for churches. That would explain the holes apparent in the walls.

By now though, I was very, very hot and tired from having spent a significant part of the day wandering around Rome - not to mention that I started my sightseeing right after a fourteen hour trip that started in Dallas. I got back on the bus, rode around for a while looking at the sights. Viewing Rome from the open top of double decker bus was much more pleasant and less frustrating that walking around lost with a confusing map in hand.

After I got off the bus, I ended up lost trying to find my way back to the metro stop. I've never in my life been so lost while walking -- while driving, yes, many times -- but usually I'm very adequate at finding my way on foot. Rome was a different story. I bought some ice cream and sat down near the Trevi Fountain to absorb my surroundings. The ice cream was wonderful - coconut flavored gelato. I didn't even care that I was lost.

Here's some random trivia that only me and about three other people that I know might care about: Bon Jovi's video for "Thank You for Loving Me" was filmed at the Trevi Fountain. When I saw the fountain, that was my first thought. Anyone who knows me knows that I love Bon Jovi more than just about anything in the world, so it was nice to think of Jon being right there. But imagine the mad house it must have been clearing the area and trying to film. It's more crowded than I expected, not by people (I expected the crowds of people, of which there are plenty), but rather by other structures, it's surrounded by tall buildings. I expected more of an open space around it. You turn a corner and there it is, sort of hidden behind other buildings.

When I finally got back to the metro and to the stop near my hotel, I ended up lost again. This was becoming ridiculous. There are few things I hate more than being lost, particularly in a city, where I don't even speak the language. The metro stop had seemed easy enough to get to from my hotel, and I wasn't thinking clearly on my way back, walking based on false memory. I spent the next hour or so asking for directions in very weak Italian to people who couldn't speak English at all. In the touristy areas everyone speaks English, but my hotel was in a residential area outside the city center.

I drew a little map and took very precise notes on the walk from the hotel to the metro to avoid being lost the next day.

Day 2 - Vatican - art and churches

2007-07-25T17:47:00.000-05:00

I went to the Vatican my second day there. The first day was devoted to ruins. My second day was going to focus on art and I was looking forward to that. I arrived at the Vatican Museum a half hour before it opened and the line wrapped around the building and down the block. Evidently you're supposed to get there hours before it opens. I was approached by an American college girl who said they offered a tour of the Vatican and it would allow you to skip the line and then skip the line to St. Peter's Basilica. I paid the extra money and was inside in a few minutes.

The highlight of the Vatican is, of course, the Sistine Chapel. I wish I could have just sat there and reflected on the view, without a few hundred people around. While I thoroughly enjoyed seeing that, part of me was disappointed about the set up, because the place is packed, it's hot and everyone is pushing against each other and the guards are very loudly "shushing" people -- because it's a "place of worship" so no one is allowed to talk and they're shouting "no pictures." It certainly seemed like the people making the most noise inside the chapel are the guards, doing their best to show that they are in charge. (Yes, I do have authority issues.) Oh, and I did sneak a picture, I didn't use a flash and wasn't even looking at where I was aiming the camera, which is why you might notice the most famous part of the ceiling seems to be blocked by someone's head in my photo.

From the Sistine Chapel, the tour continued to St. Peter's Basilica, which is next door to the Sistine Chapel. Michelangelo's Pieta is there. Pieta is kept behind thick, bullet proof glass because years ago, a crazy person attacked it with a hammer. Pieces of the sculpture went flying every where and people grabbed up the pieces as souveniers. Later, the Pope asked that people return the pieces and in what is considered something of a miracle, all the pieces were returned. I think the first research paper I ever had to write on a piece of art was on Michelangelo's Pieta. It wasn’t a very extensive paper. I was probably in middle school at the time. It wasn't even about the history of the piece, but rather the dimensions. Technically, Mary is way too big to be realistic. Michelangelo had to create her this way in order to support the figure of Jesus. But if she were a real person, she would be towering over Jesus and have an abnormally thick lower body.

Here's a silly story about me -- when I was a kid, like in kindergarten and couldn't really read yet, but thought I could, I got very excited while scanning a newspaper because I found my name and thought it was a story about me. Keep in mind that my name was one of the only words I could read at the time, and I didn't really find my name, what I found was my name within the name “Michelangelo”. It was a story about a museum or something like that, and Michelangelo was mentioned. My aunt had to explain to me that he was an artist and because even at that age, I had already decided I wanted to be an artist, I became obsessed with him. I was five; I was a very weird kid. But part of what made this trip so special for me was that I was able to finally see all the work that I'd been fixated on when I was a goofy five year old.

While standing in line at the Vatican, I met a guy from Cleveland who was traveling alone. He said he didn't have any set plans for the rest of the day and I told him that I was planning on visiting some churches that housed works of art that I wanted to see. He decided to accompany me. By the end of the day, after walking many miles on cobblestone streets in the oppressive heat, and after about twelve churches, I think he probably regretted the decision. But I thought all the walking and heat was completely worthwhile because inside some of these deceptively simple looking churches, there's work by Bernini and Caravaggio and Raphael. It's overwhelming, very much a sensory overload.

At the end of the day, we had dinner in the Campo de' Fiori area. I had what might have been the best margherita pizza ever. It was huge and I ate the entire thing myself, because I figured after all the walking I did, surely I burned enough calories to negate the effects of the pizza.

On the walk back to the metro stop, we followed Rick Steves' night walk through Rome. Even though it was around 8 p.m., it wasn't at all dark yet, and the sights were not yet lit up. The walk included many of the sights that I'd seen the day before. But this time I was not wandering around lost and alone in search of the Colloseum, so I could actually take the time to enjoy them.

Day 3 - bus trip to Florence

2007-07-25T17:46:00.000-05:00

The next day I took a bus trip to Florence. It was a day trip that I signed up for with a travel agency. I figured that would be easier and less expensive than me trying to take the trip on my own via the train. I was on the bus with a bunch of older people, a few families with younger teenage kids. But the older people were hilarious, very young at heart, and I enjoyed hanging out with them. The first thing we saw was Michelangelo's David, which was the reason I wanted to go to Florence in the first place. Words like "amazing" seem inadequate. The parts of the work that impress me the most are the elements like the veins in the arms. But again, no photos allowed, and there were two security guards there shouting at people trying to sneak photos. I've included a photo of David - not one that I took - so that you can see what he looks like, in case you don't already know.

After we saw David, we went to the big cathedral in the city and then to the city square where several sculptures are on display, including a replica of David. We had lunch, which was included with the tour, but I wasn't impressed with the meal. It started with spaghetti, which tasted just fine. But the main course was beef, mashed potatoes and peas. Peas might be my least favorite food in the whole entire world. We were served ice cream covered with chocolate for dessert. I would have been fine with ice cream.

We had some free time after lunch, and a lot of people wanted to do some shopping. Evidentially Florence is known for its leather goods. I’m trying to stay away from leather goods. I’m keeping what I have, not about to give up my leather jacket, but trying not to buy any new leather products. I didn’t want to shop. I wanted to find Michelangelo's tomb.

I'm standing there with my map and guidebook, wishing I'd planned for my free time better. Anytime I feel rushed, I lose my sense of direction. I'm having a terrible time trying to figure out where I am and where I want to be and some guy stops to ask if I need help. And me, replying as if I'm in a store, say, "no, I'm just looking." He's like, well, I'm a local and I can show you around. Me: Really, that's not necessary, I only have about an hour. Him: Are you American? I love talking to Americans. Let me take you around the corner to buy you some ice cream. It's the best ice cream in Florence. I'm offering you my company. Me: Um, no, that's okay. Nice meeting you and all, but I'm just going to walk down the street this way now, and you keep going that direction ....

Then, as I quickly walk away, I look up and realize that the church directly in front of me is the same one on the page in my guidebook, the one that houses Michelangelo's tomb.

Day 4 - Borghese Art Gallery, St. Peter's in Chains

2007-07-25T17:45:00.000-05:00

On my fourth day in Rome, I had reservations to visit the Borghese Gallery. It's the private art collection of an insanely wealthy family. At one point they even had a pope in the family, which in Rome is royalty. I’m told that fans of the Bachelor will recognize that name. I guess one of the guys on the show was descendant of this family. A pope and a Bachelor, anyway…

It's a small gallery, but pretty much everything there is some spectacular work of art, several Bernini sculptures - Apollo and Daphne; The Rape of Proserpine - as well as a few of his paintings, and one room of work done by Caravaggio and Titian's Sacred and the Profane Love. Again, no pictures allowed inside, which is why I've hyperlinked the names of the work.

After the art gallery, I sat down on a bench in the surrounding park - the Villa Borghese area -and went through my guide book to decide what I wanted to see that I'd not seen yet. It was around lunch and pretty much everything in Rome closes from noon to three for siesta. I decided to remain on the park bench for a while. After a few days in Rome, I learned that shade is a difficult thing to find, and when you have it you need to savor it. I caught up in my journal, writing about my thoughts on Rome and what I'd seen over the past three days.

I returned to the Colloseum area to visit the St. Peter's in Chains church. This church has on display the chains that held Peter. But the reason I wanted to visit this church was to see Michelangelo's Moses. It's part of a tomb he was working on before he died, but never finished.

Then I took some more pictures of the Colloseum and refilled my water bottle at the Forum one last time and headed back to the hotel. I bought some amaretto gelato on the walk back to the hotel.

It was around 6:30 at this time. I went back to the hotel and showered. Then I decided to go out for a nice dinner around 8 pm (most restaurants don't open for dinner until 7pm at the earliest). It was my last night in the city and I went to a restaurant near the hotel and had pizza again, along with some wine. I met a very nice family from Manchester. I spent hours talking to them. We mostly discussed American and British politics, the idiot that is president and his quagmire in the middle east. Their son asked me what music was considered big in the U.S. right now, and all I could think of was Justin Timberlake. JT's so last year, isn't he?

That night, in my hotel room, I watched a Ricky Martin concert on MTV Italia. Monday morning, I left the hotel at 4 am, or rather I was supposed to leave at that time, my cab driver was 20 minutes late. And that concluded my visit to Rome.

Leaving Dallas, flying to Rome

2007-07-25T17:44:00.000-05:00

Traveling to Europe is such a beat down. Even in a plane it takes forever to cross the ocean. And airline travel gets more and more unpleasant, which the price to travel continues to rise. The food is bad and the seats are crowded. You have to follow a bunch of rules like a child in a classroom. Sit here, don’t move, wear your seat belt, don’t hold your bag in your lap. The whole time I’m thinking, I paid for this? This tasteless blob of pasta, this is the best you can serve after all you charge to fly this thing?

Of course, unpleasant travel seems to be the norm when booking via travelocity because you are getting the best deal, which means a few connecting flights and the seats on the plane that no one else wanted. I usually fly American, but a flight on American would have added another three hundred or so dollars to the cost and I’m trying to stay within a budget.

I get to the airport and the remote lots are full, as is the North Express lot, which meant having to drive through the airport to get to the South Express lot, which luckily did have spaces. Really didn’t want to pay $20 a day to park at the terminal.

I get inside the terminal and end up standing in line for an hour to check in. I am only carrying on a small suitcase. I thought I could use a self checkin kiosk, but the machine wouldn’t allow it, maybe because I was traveling internationally.

My little hair clip set off the metal detectors at DFW. I took it off and they put it through the scanner and I walked through the metal detector without issue. They handed my clip back to me and I clipped it onto my shirt, not having time to pull my hair up again because my flight was already boarding. As I handed my boarding pass to the flight attendant, I realized I’d lost my clip. Five days without a hair clip, this trip wasn’t starting well. I usually carry extras in my purse, because it is that big of a deal to me, but I switched purses for the trip.

On my flight from Dallas to DC, I learned that the woman sitting next to me was on her way to Hamburg with her mother, but had previously lived in Rome. She met her husband while living in Italy. She explained to me that she has a tendency to frequently recreate herself. She’s an artist and a writer. She described her method as working really hard at one job for a while, then taking about eight months off to reinvent herself. She’d been in Italy housesitting for someone. She told me about a publication where people advertise for house sitters. Sounds like something to investigate for my future summers off.

While waiting in the DC airport, I spotted a shiny new penny. I hesitated at picking it up, because I remembered how Caroline used to scold me for picking up pennies, not paying attention as to whether they were heads or tails up. This particular penny was heads up, so I should be safe.

On the flight from DC to Rome, I was annoyed to see that I’d be sitting in the second or third seat of a row. But as I approached my seat, a woman told me that she and her daughter were in different seats and since I was flying alone would I be willing to switch with her daughter. I said of course. And luckily, the seat I ended up with was an aisle seat, with extra legroom. Maybe the penny worked.

Classic Angel moment that I share for your amusement: After the plane landed in Rome, I took my carry-on suitcase down from the overhead compartment to put my DVD player inside. As I'm getting ready to leave, the man in the seat behind me points out that my suitcase isn't zipped. My attempts at being so cautious, and I'm about to walk off with an unzipped suitcase. Then I look at the suitcase -- not only is it unzipped but my ever so hot and sexy beige cotton VS bra is peeking out the side of the suitcase. It may be the most boring looking bra in the world, but it is also the most comfortable. I sigh, push the bra back inside the suitcase and zip it up. That's me, bringing sexy back.

planning for the trip

2007-07-25T16:29:00.000-05:00

After a day spent on the computer filling out online job applications for schools, I then turned my attention to travel. I’d pretty much resigned myself to the idea that I wouldn’t be doing any international travel this summer. That was disappointing because every year since getting my passport, I’ve made at least one trip out of the country and it was a trend I wanted to continue. I was 28 years old before I crossed the ocean, so I have a lot of catching up to do. A big world to discover.

But this summer, I'm in an odd situation, a lot of time off and some extra cash, but an uncertain employment future. Quite realistically, I might be without a steady income until the beginning of next year. The practical side of me said I should consider doing some domestic traveling. That wouldn’t be as expensive and there are still a few cities in the U.S. that I haven’t seen.

However, after some research, I realized that traveling alone, even within the U.S. was going to be expensive. Did I really want to use my summer going to San Francisco? I could do that on a weekend in the fall, and it would probably cost significantly less that traveling in July.

The next morning, while in the shower of all places, a voice inside my head said, “go to Rome for three days.” It was that simple. I don’t know what prompted the thought, but it remained with me. While spending a month in Italy might be out of the question, I might still be able to afford a short trip to Rome. I’ve been to London and Paris, Rome seemed to be the next logical destination.

I examined my financial situation to figure up my budget and then spent a few more hours on travel websites, in search of a trip to Rome.

I decided on four days, one that would be spent taking a day trip to Florence. After booking my flight and hotel (a combined package at Travelocity) I spent the next month reading everything I could find about Rome, I set up a wishlist on Tivo to record everything about Rome and I spent many hours on the internet collecting information about Rome. This was the most prepared I’ve ever been for a trip.

Books I read:

Vittorio by Anne Rice (a vampire in Florence)
Eat, Pray, Love (only the portion about eating in Rome)
A Literary Companion to Rome
Michelangelo and the Pope's Ceiling

Guide books:
AAA Spiral Guide - Rome
AAA Spiral Guide - Florence
Rick Steve's Rome 2007
Rick Steve's Florence and Tuscany
DK Eyewitness Top 10 Rome
City Walks: Rome

Language CDs:
Pimsleur's Italian - The short course
Living Language - In-flight Italian

DVDs:
Globe Trekker's City Guide - Rome
Roman Holiday

TV:
Samantha Brown's Passport to Europe - Rome
A show on the History Channel about the Rome

... and of course, the episode of Angel when he and Spike travel to Rome to fight the Eternal and attempt to win back Buffy, who is quite happily invovled with the Eternal.

a travel blog for the grrl detective

2007-07-25T15:23:00.000-05:00

In my perpetual quest to expand the grrl detective brand, I've now decided to start a blog about travelling. Actually, the only reason I wanted to do this is to create a nifty write-up of my latest trip - something for my friends to use that will allow me to include photos. Including photos on my myspace blog is too much of a hassle. But I'm sure that I will eventually think of other travel related things to write, or maybe I can post some stories about my past travels. To begin with, I'm just going to write about my trip to Rome.