On board A.F. Chapman in Stockholm

So many unbelievable things have happened since Paris. Now I'm in beautiful Stockholm. Yesterday we witnessed the changing of the guard at the Palace on Galma Stan. It was fun but I have the feeling seeing it at Buckingham Palace would be more exciting. Then we walked around the old section - Vesterlangahan. We walked to the djurgarden to view the Wasa ship. This vessel sank after only 10 min. when waves caused it to heel suddenly. It was under water for 400 yrs. and raised in 1967 or so. After walking all day we were tired and just relaxed aboard the A.F. Chapman (our hostel!) and played cards and talked all evening. I spoke with John from Holland and Amy talked to "Harrison Ford". John was odd. He came to Stockholm for the purpose of working and to speak a made up language called "esperanto". Apparently there is an entire language and community that knows this. His eyes were intense in a scary way. I'm not too surprised he speaks esperanto. Today we had a great day. We left at 10 am for city hall which was built in 1911. It is where official events and receptions take place. The tour guide was a regal older woman. I liked listening to her. The hall was built in a baroque style on the water. The view from inside was beautiful. Then we went to Skansen, an outdoor zoo, park, village on djurgarden. Then to Llijevalch Museum to see the Munch exhibit. The pieces were very disturbing and difficult to look at with scenes of skeleton-looking faces and dark figures. Then to shopping for gloves and shampoo! Now we will cook dinner (we are allowed to use the kitchen here) and relax some more!

A Versailles kind of day

I'm in bed now reflecting on another amazing day in France.  We got up so late this morning - 11:30am and I couldn't believe we'd wasted the morning. We found a patisserie and bought some cheese and spinach bagettes and made our way toward the bus that would take us to....beautiful Versailles!
     Once the palace of Louis 14th, 16th and 18th and of Marie Antoinette this palace was the most ornate building I've ever visited: gold leaf-edged frames, rich-colored fabrics, story-telling tapestries, huge paintngs, momentos, impressive statues.  A true spectacle to behold.  I stood a little straighter in those immense rooms and took smaller, regal steps, imagining that this was my home. 
     The awesome inside of the palace was only to be matched by the spectacular grounds with its symmetrical hedge-bordered gardens and walking paths overhung with bowing trees.  Both Amy and I loved our day here and we really enjoyed each other's company. In this setting we were not interested in the overtures of two grounds keepers trying to get us to agree to meet them after work. It was just as well because Amy and I started to develop headaches and began feeling ill, Amy getting quite ill on the bus trip back.  We gave ourselves food poisoning we figured, but keeping those spinach and cheese bagettes for too long. So much for saving money!  Needless to say we got back and went straight to our room, leaving it only to attempt some phone calls.
     I called mom and let her know how I was and it was comforting to hear her voice - and the relief in her voice that my phone call brought.
     Good night, mom.

Just like the locals

I'm writing from a park in front of Notre Dame and near Point Neuf on a warm and sunny day. A cool breeze comes along every now an then and the combination keeps me glued to this spot.
     Today Amy and I walked through the Louvre! We were there only 2 hours when AMy said she needed to go back to the foyer to sleep. Of course I told her to go ahead I'd be fine but I really wanted to go with her just so I wouldn't have to face finding my way back to the hotel alone.  But here I am; I will now attempt to spend the day alone in a country in which I don't speak the language save "where is the toilet" and safely return "home" by 4pm. I'm scared but I know I can do it. I think I look like a local today. I've had 2 people come up to me asking me for directions. Je ne pas parl francais I stammered back. They got the point.
     Notre Dame is immense in size and structure. Imagine the foundation for this building were laid in 1000 BC!  In fact there is history wherever I look.  There were children playing all over the "face and hands"sculptures and they didn't seem to notice the history all around them. Not even a passing glance at the Dame. But they will grow up with a sense of belonging to a society with deep roots and a long history. How different from a child growing up in the U.S. where the whole entity is still referred to as 'an experiment in democracy'.  The U.S. is so young compared to Europe and Asia yet we dare to impose our impetuous will on the rest of the world.  I really don't know how the French people feel about Americans.  I just know that U.S. culture has crossed the Atlantic.  So far when I tell people my name is Pamela they say "ah, Pamela Ewing from Dallas".  They must be getting old reruns.  I laugh and smile and say "we, Pamela Ewing" and hope Pamela Ewing is a nice person on the show. 
     Later same day: Getting back to the Louvre - some paintings depicted such human sorrow I started to cry. Such deep emotion and suffering. I only wish I had written down the names of the paintings and artists. I feel so privileged to have seen them and it was kind of nice to take my time and ponder them alone. Being here is already effecting my outlook. I'm not sure how to explain it yet but I'm realizing I want to surround myself with examples of the beauty I am seeing.  I made it successfully back to the foyer by 3pm! I did it and am so proud of myself!
     In the evening we went to a real apartment in Paris (M Javel), home to real French people, namely Isabelle and Jean-Claude. Donna and Bernie took us there. First the 4 of us  joined Isabelle and Jean-Claude and others (Anni, Thierry and Charles-Henri) at the Place de la Concorde where there was a commemorative celebration (of what, I'm not sure). There was a musique and light show, fireworks and a video presentation. It was exciting to be part of the crowd sharing jubilation with real French people. Viva la France! 
     I felt akward not knowing French, though. Bernie (who used to be Donna's boyfriend) did not speak French either so he kept saying "hi, kiddo" to me, in sympathy.  After the celebration we went back to Isabelle and jean-Claude's apartment. They put about 15 bottles of different libations in the middle of a low, round table and people made their own drinks. Everyone was pleasant and smiled politely to me. Amy was engaged in several conversations at a time and I was jealous of her.  After about an hour I was anxious to go but of course, I tried not to let it show. I have got to learn more French! We've been invited to go out for dinner on Friday so I have a few days to learn some words. I'm nervous but it should be fun.  Thierry drove us home.     
     He has the most amazing eyes.

Paris Day 2 in retrospect

We had breakfast in the foyer - cafe au lait served in large bowls along with french bread or bagette as they call it. Maybe this was the official continental breakfast and what I had experienced in the U.S. was only an approximation.  I quite enjoyed the Paris version more and was deteremined to keep up the cofee-in-a-bowl tradition when I returned home.
     After showers we ventured out again, this time to the Arc de Triumph. We took the wrong Metro and had difficulty finding our way for a bit but we arrived and were impressed. We could see all of Paris from the top of the structure. I imagined that drivers took their lives into their own hands by attempting to drive around it.  I'll never forget the image of 12 lanes of traffic merging into and out of this amazing rotary. The climb up was exhausting and I wondered, again, how I would survive 3 months carrying that overpacked pack waiting for me at the hotel. To me there were at least 20 flights of spiralling stairs but it's difficult to keep track of flights when spiralling upward.  From the top I was amazed to see that the Eiffel Tower was very close to there - or at least it appeared that way from the top.
     After that I lost $30f to commission at a banque that we had mistaken for an American Express bank.  I had tried to plan my money based on $20 per day so losing that many francs was upsetting - but I soon got over it.  The Champs Elysees will do that for you. Amy and I enjoyed conversation and more cafe at the Cafe Collert. We discussed personal goals. Amy decided she wants to work on being less impulsive while I want to work on saying No to guys who are interested in me but too aggressive (like Yousef the night before). I was really regretting our kiss.
     Later on we met Amy's friends (Donna, Bernie, Karen, Ellen and Taq) at the Eiffel Tower and had dinner in the Latin Quarter, sitting at an outdoor table. Donna had studied in Paris and was visiting the city at the same time as us so we had arranged this meeting before leaving Massachusetts.  I did see Ali and Joucef later that night and mustered up enough French to tell him "You are my friend only", after which he tried to kiss me, again.  Amy helped me add that I had a boyfriend (a lie), after which he said OK and walked away.   Ali hung back and said he hoped to see us again during our stay.
     After this splendid time with these new companions, Amy and I enjoyed 2 beers at the universite with 2 travellers we struck up a conversation with and then headed back to our hotel. We collapsed on the stairs inside the foyer in a pile of laughter at all we had experienced so far.  Perhaps the laughter was also culture shock or maybe it was just the beer. Either way we went to bed at 2:30am with smiles on our faces.

Living the journey one step at a time
The living of a journey becomes the telling of a story the second you begin sharing it, but where does that story really begin or end? Wouldn’t the initial recognition of your own internal, insistent voice telling you to ‘see the world’ count as the beginning? Wheels are set in motion by allowing yourself to consider going, by asking the question ‘what if’ and finally concluding ‘I can’. To me, these moments, along with the first, flushed-cheek excitement as tickets are purchased are as much a part of the adventure as deplaning in a foreign land. Likewise, the memories of precious moments lived in other times and places remain long after suitcases are returned to basements; memories immediately accessible by the power of recall. The places you had once only dreamed of seeing become part of you and their memory keeps the journey alive.

I lived an incredible adventure when I travelled throughout Europe with my roomate. I’ve had the perspective of time to reflect on that journey and consider why it was so impactful and why I now whole-heartedly encourage anyone contemplating such an adventure to go. What I’ve realized is this: in going and allowing the journey to reveal itself to me one step at a time I changed, becoming someone who learned to appreciate another sort of journey, the one that would continue, after I returned home. Each day is an adventure and my realization of this began in Europe.

This is first day of my European adventure.

After my grandmother died I inherited enough money to make a dream come true and I suppose I did what any 24 yr. old would do who had just inherited eight thousand dollars: I quit my job against the advice of my worried mother and went to Europe with my roommate. The decision to go wasn’t made overnight but it started with what at the time seemed like an unrealistic question - ‘what if’ - but after much consideration ended with an ecstatic conclusion - ‘I can’. Even considering going remains a treasured memory and to me, is where the journey began.

Before I knew it quitting my job and leaving my country to return to no plan whatsoever made complete sense. I purchased a Eurail Pass and an airline ticket and turned ‘I can’ into ‘I am’. "I’m going to Europe", I kept repeating to myself and anyone who’d listen. This was the first time in my life I felt like I was choosing my destiny, in effect, making a dream come true. How I wished my grandmother knew what her gift was enabling me to do.

With a money belt containing $2,500 hugging my waist, a Eurail Pass, a copy of Europe on Twenty Dollars-a-Day and one overpacked backpack in hand, I left Gloucester, MA in September knowing I wouldn’t be back until Christmas and completely unaware that an unrepeatable adventure was just beginning.

I didn’t anticipate the joy I’d feel when the moment arrived and we said goodbye to family an friends who had accompanied us to the airport. I was excited to be going but was unprepared for our reactions after loved-ones disappeared from view and we had passed behind doors for security inspection and baggage checks. Overcome by convulsive laughter that left our abdominal muscles sore and tears streaming down our cheeks we collapsed against a wall and howled, releasing last vestiges of nervousness and unexpressed joy, conscious that we were living the adventure that up until that very moment had been just a dream. There was no need to pinch ourselves - this was really happening.

A college graduate with a Bachelor of Arts degree in Theology, I had considered myself well-educated until the moment I looked around after deplaning at Charles De Gaulle Airport. I was surrounded by words I couldn't recognize, with no idea how to get to Paris. I wondered why I hadn’t better prepared. All I knew was that I couldn’t lose Amy, so with one hand holding fast to her backpack, I followed where she led while she maneuvered us to Paris. I concentrated on looking disinterested in my surroundings so as not to advertise that we were tourists, not considering that our backpacks were sure giveaways. I had anticipated landing safely in France but had not foreseen running smack into culture shock.

An airport shuttle, two trains and several subway stops later, we arrived in Paris to begin our search for a hostel, thankful that our travel book was written in English. The day quickly reached 80 degrees and I made a mental list of what items would be jettisoned from my backpack at the first opportunity. Weariness followed us like a third companion as we made our way from one hostel to another in search of a room and at each location Amy recited the phrase she had been rehearsing during the flight: "Avez-vous des chambres disponibles?"

I couldn’t recognize much of the replies other than non which I understood well enough to mean there were no rooms at the inns. Our first official café -au-laits revived us and, after getting our bearings, we discovered we were near another hostel listed in the guide book, the Centre International on the Rue de Bernadines, near the Latin Quarter. We sighed deep relief when we heard "oui" following Amy’s rehearsed phrase. We sat on our backpacks with backs against the wall and dozed intermittently as we waited for our key.

Two hours later our slumbers were interrupted by a soft clearing of the throat and a few "pardonnez mois". I was glad the desk clerk smiled at us in our present states and she led the way to our room and handed us the key. I managed a "merci" after she said something I hoped wasn’t too important and we stepped in. Two bunk beds, two Spanish-speaking girls from Barcelona and a washroom common to 12 travellers would be home for the next six days - and it felt so good to be home. Giving no thought to the safety of our packs, we slid into our narrow spaces and fell into oblivious sleep.

I almost hit my head on the ceiling when I woke up with a start to silence and darkness about seven hours later. The room was unfamiliar and for a few seconds I couldn’t pinpoint where I was. When I remembered, I thought for sure I had wasted my first night in Paris by sleeping through it. I was glad Amy heard me fumbling around in the dark and then, with lights finally lit, she, like me, hurriedly primped and beautified for our first venture out into the City of Lights.

We emerged from the hostel just after dusk, hungry and ready for our first adventure, meandering away from the hotel toward the Seine River. Checking the map as we went we headed toward the Université, then St. Michel. We could see on the map that Notre Dame would be somewhere in that direction, but were completely caught off guard when glancing up, we realized it was Notre Dame illuminated in the distance beyond the Seine. Its immensity and serene, Gothic beauty and complete unfamiliarity were overwhelming and neither of us could stop ourselves from crying and laughing and hugging right there along the Seine, a moment in time still cherished.

We hurried toward the glorious vision and spent the next two hours sitting in the Notre Dame square amazed we were actually there and trying to remember what the guidebook had told us about the cathedral. I remembered something about flying buttresses and rose windows but didn’t know exactly what to look for. Looking toward the top of the cathedral I imagined gargoyles surveying the city, especially one I had seen in my guide that was holding his face in his hands and giving Paris a perpetual raspberry. I couldn’t wait until we could climb the 387 stairs to the Gallerie des Chimères when I’d meet them all face to face. We remembered that the Celtic tribe, the Parisii, had once lived on the Ile de la Cité and gave the city its name.

We would have stayed there contentedly marveling all night had Ali and Joucef not started chatting with us. Not surprisingly two 24-year-olds gaping at Notre Dame at 8:30pm was some kind of Parisian invitation; nevertheless, we delighted in the attention and accents.

"Ah, Pamela Ewing" Ali responded, smiling, after I introduced myself. Evidently, reruns of Dallas were still playing on TV and my first name had preceded me. Tall, thin, dark-haired and dark-skinned, Ali was the first Muslim I’d ever met. Originally from Algeria he was a student who dreamed of moving to New York City to one day join his girlfriend. He knew broken English and told us of the brutal war that led to Algeria’s independence from France in 1962 and the subsequent exodus of French settlers. Part of a minority population he resented how Parisians looked down on Algerians. Despite resentment over the remaining problematic relations between France and Algeria, however, he possessed an abundance of joi d’vivre, serenading us and anyone who would listen with Algerian songs, acapella, while we shook our heads in amazement, delighted that all this was really happening.

Joucef was quiet but his easy laugh showed he enjoyed, and was probably used to, Ali’s performances. A natural-born Parisian, his ruddy, rough features softened when he smiled, the squint of his eyes that it caused making him look especially kind. He wouldn’t sing or speak much English, indicating with a wave of the hand and a quick ‘ne pas’ he didn’t do either very well. I watched how easily Amy conversed in French with both Ali and Joucef and was determined to learn some French while in Europe. Ali seemed content to converse with Amy in either English or French but I could tell Joucef wanted to talk to me, but couldn’t. Smiles and delayed laughter, after Amy would translate for me something spoken between them, were all we could share. I was glad that at least we had the language barrier in common.

After 11:00pm we decided we should head back to the hotel and were thrilled when Joucef and Ali offered to walk us back, as if the first day of our adventure wasn’t perfect enough. They led us through the Latin Quarter, one of the liveliest areas in Paris. Voices, laughter, foreign languages and Greek music converged, hovering all around, while deliciously pungent spices hung in the air and mingled with lingering perfumes and smoke from filterless French cigarettes.

There were so many people it seemed that the only things not in motion were the buildings themselves and the uneven road beneath our feet. I wondered if we wandered into some kind of street festival. Where there wasn’t a continuous procession of bright, unfamiliar fashions and animated faces absorbed in spirited conversations there were arms reaching right and left, exchanging francs for fresh gyros from overworked cooks who leaned out from open-air kitchens to survey the spectacle. Perhaps they were contemplating jumping out and abandoning their posts to join the cavalcade. We each purchased gyros and devoured them eagerly.

We followed the parade, matching stride and spirit. I was intoxicated by it all and it’s no surprise I let Joucef kiss me. I was head-over-heals in love - with Paris.

Just one day since leaving Gloucester, MA, home to courageous fishermen, persistent seagulls and refreshingly sea-scented air, I’d experienced my first case of culture shock; first glimpse of Notre Dame; and first foreign kiss. My adventure was already more marvelous than I had ever conceived. To come would be other firsts, which the journey would reveal one step at a time, just as it had here during my first day in Paris.

© Copyright 2004 by Pamela Hamilton