The Secret to a Happy Life.

Growing up, my wise old Dad always told me that I had a choice to be happy and I could opt in or I could opt out, nobody had any control over my happiness but me. Scrolling through my blog it is pretty clear that I choose to be happy with my family. Tonight I read this New York Times article. Sounds like If I keep up the relationships I have with my family and friends I have a pretty good life continuing ahead of me. Looking forward to savoring every moment of it. Check out the article and watch this video, it's well worth your time, and may very well help you find life long happiness.

To share a video that was posted in the comments and also worth your time... 

La Troisième Crise

The French language does not use the phrase, "I miss you ". Rather, one would say, "Tu me manques" which means, "you are missing from me".

Being a part of a big family is easy.
Being apart from a big family is hard. 

A scroll through my Facebook or Instagram pictures and it appears that I spend all of my time loving life and traveling around the world on my own. A quick skim through my blog and one would soon understand the love and connection I have to my family. If one were to even glimpse at my resume it is clear that I love working with children.

 And if someone found my many journals filled to the brim, they would find pages upon pages covered in stories about the highlights of  my travels, people who made me think, visions of my future, jokes that made me laugh, and so many thoughts about things that remind me of my family. The journals reflect me better than I can reflect myself, because the journals have no audience to cater to, no need for privacy settings or the permanency of the internet. When I was younger I had to watch out for a certain younger sister, but now we have many miles between us, and she has better things to worry about - like when one of these posts will be about her (Sorry Jay not quite yet).

While my timeline may seem like my life in Europe is all exploring mideval cities and hiking up breath taking mountains there is actually a lot more taking place. My first life crisis that came with living in the city Paris came within the first month. The crisis came along with the word city. I had never spent so much time confined within a series of cement structures. I needed an escape, the solution: Annecy.

The second crisis living in a city and being so far away from home was when I realized exactly HOW far away from home I was. I missed my family and just wanted some good New York style Pizza. I needed some comforts from home, the solution: one of my family's favorite movies.

The third crisis was slowly growing, the only crisis I actually predicted but could not prepare fo; missing all of my younger siblings, nieces, and nephew. The journal I brought along for this trip begins with me discussing how hard it was to say goodbye to my eleven year old sister and seven year old niece. I remember hugging both of them and crying, knowing neither one of them understood what it meant that I was leaving for so long or how far away I would be. And I knew that they would each have grown up so much in the short amount of time I was gone.

Last night while sitting in my room I could hear the baby in the apartment below me crying. Sobbing. Wailing at the top of their lungs for what seemed forever. It broke my heart and simultaneously healed it a little. This poor baby was so distraught.  Listening to the sounds coming from below my room I couldn't help but imagine myself  holding and soothing my young nieces and nephew so far across the Atlantic. Cuddling with them until they stoped crying and the tears turn to giggles again. The sound of a child's laughter and the embrace of their tiny bodies bursting with love are two things that are impossible to obtain when so far from home and everyone around you is a stranger. I paused my music and tuned into the crying baby.

It hasn't just been my young nieces and nephew that I have been missing, but the many kids in my family and life who play such a big role in making me feel whole. Working with children is how I plan on spending my career and without them I would have no direction or purpose. While living in Paris I have felt this growing void of something missing from my life (besides my mom's chocolate chip cookies).

Now, I have mentioned before that going to the grocery store in Paris has been quite traumatizing. The supermarket always seems to have some surprise or angry worker around the corner to tell you off in French. Today I took a chance at a new shopping opportunity, I went to the organic co-op down the street.

In the very tiny little store I began made my way around. While staring amazed at all of the different  types of honey that were offered, a woman began speaking to me in French. I want to take a moment to assure anyone reading that my interpretation of French has improved drastically from the beginning of my adventures in Paris. However, when I am caught off guard, I often wind up unintentionally giving the person a quizzical look and responding with "Oui". The women had motioned to her baby carriage while speaking and then she wondered off.

Had she just asked me to watch her baby? She just left me with her baby and walked away. I could have just snatched it up and ran. I was baffled. Not even sure if that was what she asked I figured I should stick around until she came back just in case someone actually did want to snatch her baby and run. I had an obligation to watch this stroller, I had to have said "Oui" to something. I pretended to be interested in the many varieties of organic and ethically responsible tea, coffee, and honey options. Of course I was left in the isle where there was nothing I actually wanted.

Their was a light blanket resting over the cover of the pram so the baby was not actually visible. I couldn't even admire the little child in there while I wondered if I was responsible for it or not. I couldn't even tell if there was a little baby in there. After a few moments, I heard a sound, I saw some movement, I could hear the soft coos of a baby beginning to stir.

She eventually came back and I figured I was safe to walk away. While looking at the different vegetable options I overheard her speaking softly to her baby. What caught my attention was that she sounded as if she was speaking English. She checked out and left. I was so distracted I picked up a bunch of carrots and ran to pay for my groceries (leaving without anything substantial to cook for dinner).

I had to chase this woman down and talk to her. Meeting fellow Americans is rare, meeting them in my neighborhood is unheard of. Waiting for the grocer to finish ringing me up I pictured this woman getting farther and farther away. How would I even know which direction to find her?

 My thoughts were interrupted as the grocer said something in French. Caught off guard again, I looked at him puzzled and said, "pardon?" his response was a series of words strung together ending with "compote". Thank you high school French! I knew that one meant applesauce. I pulled it out of my bag and handed it back, there was an issue and he had to re-scan it. Again, and again, and again. Finally it worked and I was able to pay.

I ran out of the store so fast I didn't get a chance to close my wallet properly and dropped my receipt on the ground. The wind picked it up and I had to chase it down. I couldn't litter outside the entrance to the organic co-operative after all.  Walking down the street I was lucky to see her stopped outside of another store. I sped up to try and catch her.

I tapped her on the shoulder," Pardon, Vous parlez Anglais?" Turns out she's from the mid-west! Also turns out she had asked me if her baby carriage was in my way. When I answered "Oui" she wondered if I had actually understood what she said, just as I had wondered what she had actually said. She is sweet as they come and I may even have a babysitting gig lined up!

That should to fill that void that has been growing deep inside and resolve crisis number three. I usually spend the walk home from the grocery store sweating over whatever traumatizing incident took place. This time I walked home with an American neighbor, her beautiful baby girl, and her email address, wondering what crisis number four could possibly bring.

Train Time Machine

"Let us lay in the sun and count every beautiful thing we can see."- Neutral Milk Hotel

Before I was born my Mom and Dad lived together in Germany for about two years. Only a little older than I am now, they had the opportunity to travel around Europe and experience much of the culture with very few responsibilities. They learned to speak German, made some life long friends, and became seasoned travelers.

My Mom at the Tour D' Eiffel. Paris, France  

On occasion, they tell stories that begin with "When your Mom and I were living in Germany..." or "When Dad and I lived in Munich...". So for me, growing up my impressions of Europe were formed through my parents narrative. The images in my head were mere glimpses of those from the thick photo albums that hid in our basement among all the other books.  Under the thin plastic protective coverings, the yellowed pages of the albums held photo's with an orange date in the corner. Taken sometime before 1995 the albums were made up of pictures of my parents before they were parents. People I could only ever imagine

Casually, they point out places they have visited that they see in the scenes of the movies we watch. They randomly slip into conversation museums and villages that they refer to as "their favorite in the whole world" and I know that they are not using the term lightly. They are fortunate, and modest about their travels, and I always knew that someday I needed to see Europe the way that they did. Young, with few responsibilities, an open mind, and my whole life ahead of me.

Now that I am here and planning my adventures I email them constantly, asking for ideas of what to do and see. My Dad sends me back paragraphs and paragraphs of things to see with annotations on what he's seen, what he liked, and what I must not miss. My Mom sends me carefully planned charts of travel itineraries that she has created with links and detailed suggestions.

My Dad in Hallstaat, Austria

On day four of our spring break excursion my new friend Becca and I woke up early to catch a train from Barcelona to Carcasonne. We had to take two trains to get there and the second one was a much less commercialized line. After running to make sure we did not miss it, we wound up unintentionally sitting next to the older couple who we were across from on the first train. The wife, dressed all in rosy pink, wearing light blue eyeliner, and was sweet as could be.

On the first train she was very concerned that Becca was not aware her bag was on the ground. On the second train she was delighted to see us again, but disappointed this train was not as nice as the first. She tried to engage us in conversation, and we tried to reciprocate. She asked us where we were going. Or where we were from. I'm not really sure actually. The whole communication took place in a broken confusion of  an English, Catalonian, French, and Spanish mix of words. She was sad to see us depart the train when we did, or at least I think she was.

Visiting the Medieval city of Carcassonne, France 

Sitting on the train it hit me that we were riding through the south of France, watching the sun hit the rolling hills, and the farm fields fly past us. It was magical when we saw an assortment of horses and two white ones in particular began running, the wind flying through their hair. Talking about the friends we had met the night before who came from all around the globe, I realized we were living what I had dreamed of.

This is one of few chances we will have in our life to live without any serious responsibilities. To be living purely for the joy of learning and exploring in Europe the way I had always imagined it to be. Away from the major tourist ports we were truly appreciating the breath-taking land from the back country trains. I finally began to love France for what it really is.

Leaving Carcassonne we had to transfer trains in order to reach our off the grid, hotel pit stop in Soillac on our way to Sarlat. Upon finding seats for the two of us I felt like I had stepped into where my parents photo albums had left off in 1992. The train had definitely been running on this track since the '80's. There were curtains hanging from the windows! Not sleek shades that you could pull up and down. Curtains. Curtains that swayed when the train tracks turned.

Dan and I on the train. 

One stop before Souillac Dan started talking to us. Dan was a slightly less socially awkward version of my old pal from the Paris metro. He told us that he enjoyed giving compliments, but referred to compliments as giving a flower (donner un fleur). He arrive in France from the U.S. around the same time my parents arrived in Germany. Only he never left.

Walking out of the train station our hotel was located at the other end of the parking lot. The moment we walked through the doors was a continuation of decorations from the end of the twentieth century. Upon entering our room we began laughing and questioning if the train was a time machine taking us back to the '90's. The bedspread, the potpourri, the wallpaper in the closet, and the telephone with a spiral cord plugged into the wall. However, there were fresh daffodils on the table, those were definitely placed there that morning.

Listening to the forgotten sound of the dial tone
while waiting for the shower to warm up.
Notice the candle in the hotel?

My adventures through Europe so far are everything I expected plus everything I could never have expected. I am able to see the places I have only heard about in my parents stories, and see sites I will some day be able to tell my kids about. The more I travel the longer my list becomes of places I want to visit and the things I want to do. Through living on my own in this country I am getting to know my parents before they were parents. I am experiencing one of the major parts of their lives that I was never a part of.  I am finding joy in seeing things so far from home and knowing they are the favorite places of the two people I love the most. And best of all, I get to revisit the '90's, a great decade for wall paper and hotel blankets!

The Rules of the Game

 "Normality is a paved road. It's comfortable to walk, but no

flowers grow on it. " - Vincent VanGogh

Questioning Montserrat.

My new friend Becca and I have now spent seven weeks together, experiencing new cultures, and dissecting each element of life piece by piece. In this time we have learned a lot about each other. Especially the general roommate habits and characteristics such as our eating and cleanliness habits, how long it take each other to get ready, and when to agree to disagree. We have a lot that we differ on, but I think we have more we see eye to eye on.
On day two of our big spring break excursion, we made our first travel mate. He was quick to observe that in very few of our stories do we refer to ourselves as "I". Something that is also evident in our blogs, in the first draft of this post I used the word "Our" twenty-one times and the word "we" forty. Since most of our experiences are together and the only time we seem to spend apart is when one of us is in class or in the bathroom, we have swiftly become one.
We spend a lot of time discussing the morals and reasoning behind the things we are witnessing We consider everything from every angle. We consider why Parisians act the way they do on the metro to whether aquariums should exist or not. We also bicker about if sharing hair brushes is as unsanitary as not washing hands. Becca is a vegan and an advocate for animals lives and I feel very strongly about protecting the environment through creating the least amount of waste. These are often key factors for our debates and we can sit at the dinner table for hours trying not to lose the contest, all while denying it's nothing more than conversation.   

Observing Montserrat.

Like any relationship we have differences and flaws. The better friends we become the easier it becomes to snap at each other when we are hungry, tired, late, or lost. I recently read an interesting New York Times opinion article about friendships between women, and how they rely on each other as a primary support system in a way that can be tracked across cultures throughout history. Throughout the story I couldn't help but think of the friendship that is growing between Becca and I. We share a bedroom, we grocery shop, cook, and eat most meals together. We compare our upbringings and enthusiastically look forward to the rest of our lives. We travel together, laugh together, and are experiencing a whole new part of the world together.

Admiring Parc Guell with inappropriately friendly new friends. 

Living abroad together we are each others primary support systems. We have no other close family or friends to spend time with and thus have become very dependent on each other. While I am thankful for Becca's company and her holding the position of the honorary French translator and hostel-booker, I also quickly get frusturated when she leaves things all over the place and causes us to arrive at a train station too close to the departure time (even though we haven't missed a train...yet). And I wouldn't even have to ask to know that she gets equally fed up with my constant complaining and persistent urge where I feel obligated to share every random thought pops into my head. Yet, we are in quite a unique situation. At home we would usually have other people who we are close to in order to diversify our human interactions, but in Europe it is just us. For the next three months we are stuck together; in a bedroom, a classroom, and on trips that we have planned whether we like each other or not. So being angry at one another for extended periods of time is not an opportunity that either of us has the luxury of.

Appreciating what is untouched by man. 

So we have created a list and titled it, "The Rules of the Game". It is a list of guidelines we have set for ourselves in order to prevent arguments and to get the most out of whatever we are experiencing. I don't plan on sharing the full list with you because first of all it is a work in progress and second of all the rules apply to us and not you so don't be nosy! Nonetheless, I will share our most important rule: Off The Grid. We have hastily learned the tourist scene is absolutely not for us. We have made a pact not to visit the top sites on TripAdvisor, but the ones nobody has written about at all. Maybe we will write our own hipster-hidden-gems-blogs for other travelers out there like us, to stumble upon some day, and dream about our travel lives. Where they can read about our discovered spaces and places where we have adventures and our interesting travel mates such as Armin (the half-Persian, half-Turkish, Australian,who lived in Japan for six months during high school, then foraged berries as a chef at a top rated restaurant for six years, then up and quit that job and 24 hours later had bought a ticket to Spain for three weeks) or even Tokaka (our middle aged hostel roomate from Tokyo who just spent 24 hours traveling to Spain with an intricate bedtime regimine and has a serious sized planned packet of sights she'd like to see) and especially Anna and Sophie (our German and Finnish counterpart pals who we ate Tapas with and had a lively discussion on German and American politics, history, and patriotism), Or maybe you can just peruse the pictures and decide if you think "Off The Grid" is a good rule or not.