London, England

    London is magical place. It might have to do with the fact that hearing and understanding your own language after a month of feeling like an idiot is kind of magical. The moment I stepped off the plane I was smiling ear to ear. British accents make me giddy. On the train to our hostel I heard a stop called “Pickadilly,” how cute is that? 

    We stayed in this crazy cool youth hostel called “Wombats” and the sign looks like an old school broadway sign. I knew I would like it right off the bat. (Wombats has hostels in other cool places too, if you were looking for a hostel). I had this dream about my hostel bunk mates (because we were in a 6 bed mixed room) would be some dreamy foreigners and we (my bff Gabby) would frolic about London with them, then in couple years marry them and have a double wedding and stuff, nothing creepy at all. That didn’t happen. We only saw our female bunkmates for like 20 minutes total and they spoke Russian. 

So here’s a cool fact about hostels: 90% of them are made up of Australians. Okay that’s a falsified percentile because I’ve only stayed in one hostel in my life and it was probably only 40% Australians. The point is that I like Australians because they are fun and speak my language but we will pick back up on that when I talk about that later. 

Our hostel had a bar, rightly named “Wombar.” We sat down for probably 2 minutes and then guess who wonders up to us? 2 Australians. Would you look at that? One of them was a male stripper, kind of. I told him about the opportunities in America to dance for “Thunder Down Under” he didn’t seem very interested in it. Bummer. 

I can’t remember what day we did what because I’ve been a bad blogger so I am going to put them in the order that I remember them in:

Day 1ish:

   We went to the British Museum which is so packed full of everything you kind of feel like your brain is melting. There is this statue that claims to have a thorn from Jesus’s crown of thorn. Everything was the extreme version of itself. Being royalty seems like the best idea to have. You can tell people “Hey go find me Jesus’s thorn and make me an intricate case for it” and people will do it for you because you’re pretty much God to them. So I’ve decided that in my next life that’s what I’m going to be. 

(This supposedly has a thorn from Jesus's thorn of crowns)

   People say that English food is not great but those people didn’t choose the correct thing. Yes, they do serve baked beans with runny eggs and tomatoes and yes just looks like the worst of all food groups but there are beautiful things too. I had a chicken pie with mashed potatoes and it was a dream in my belly. We ate it at this pub across the street from the British Museum and it was decorated like Harry Potter’s favorite pub if he had one. My favorite part of the pub was the group of four old men who were obviously best friends and were catching up over lunch. They were just the happiest people I’ve seen over hear in Europe. I would call them jolly even. This is one of my favorite scenes of my entire trip, just happy people being so content with everything around them. 

     I think it was the first day that we went on the Jack the Ripper tour. I’ve never really known what he was about but I knew he was a London murderer mostly because of the TV show Penny Dreadful that I fell in love with in France.  Our tour guide was awesome. It’s his job to take people around and talk about a murderer every night and yet, he seemed so stoked on it. Which sounds creepy but it wasn’t. So this Jack the Ripper is a really uncool guy. (He was first nicknamed “Leather Apron”) There are 5 main murders that they believed was done by the same man. All of the victims were prostitutes. All of them were almost beheaded because this dude was so harsh whilst cutting their necks. Then he would gut them, literally. Sometimes he would steal a uterus or kidney or both. The last murder was really terrifying. She was just massacred. He made her into a puddle of human flesh in sort the form of a woman. They never caught this guy. He’s obviously dead now, but I still was creeped out. 

     We went out to the cool part of town and went to a bar that sign was a Mexican wrestler mask and I knew I would have a good time here. So here’s what happened: I drank too much. I may or may not have kissed a random British man after we talked about the Olympics because I guess that is my secret turn on? Talk to me about the Olympics, baby. I don’t remember if he was good looking. I know his shirt was black and white and that he was not from Cambridge. Is Cambridge a place? I thought it was a school? I have no idea. When in Europe, forget yourself and do something you would never do, right? Right. But seriously, we were like in a spotlight. I almost threw up in his mouth. So that’s cute. I think his name was Jonathan and I was disappointed that it wasn't very British. 

Day 2ish :

   The next day I was a bit hungover. By a bit I mean a lot. But did I let that stop me? No way. So onward I went. Where did I go? The Westminster Abbey. That place is neat and I feel like my explanation will do it no justice. So I will say this: British people like to bury people very close to their enemies. 

   We ate at another great place and ate even more great food and then we saw big ben! Oh I felt like I was watching Peter Pan. Nothing here seems real, they all seem like they are out of a scene in a movie. Probably because I’ve only seen them in movies but it makes it awe inducing. There’s just something about London in general that says “Marta there is something special here for you,” so I need to return there asap. 

    We went to the Wombar once again and played giant truth or dare Jenga which then turned into “What are the Odds” Jenga. This game is nuts. I hate doing things that make me feel weird when I can avoid it otherwise. But I ended up doing two things I would’ve never done but I reaped great benefits from it. I asked a group of strangers what the meaning of QTC or QRC or something with a Q in it. They turned out to be very stoked on the subject because it’s Australian and they were Australian and then they became part of the game. The other thing I did was poured myself a beer from somebody else's pitcher. I only reaped benefits from this, I got a free beer.

   Here’s the thing. I really loved my new Australian friends and our sexy Canadian friend that I may have not mentioned before. They were my favorite foreigners I met on my entire trip but we didn’t exchange anything but first names (Joe, Lauren, Dylan and my Canadian hottie friend Tyler) so I guess we’ll all just be long lost buddies across the world. So shout out to my Aussie (and Canadian) friends who are hugely muscular giant baby men afraid of the nice part of London. You guys made the night fantastic. (Is Sydney the safest place on Earth? Because they were significantly afraid and it was not scary at all). 

So the what I learned from this trip is: to have 5 hours to get to the airport (pointless story about missing flights) and that my next trip is going to have to be London and Ireland. In 2 years. I am saving up now. So get ready London, I’m coming back for you. 

My City Grenoble

This past weekend I stayed in Grenoble. It is kind of hard to do that when you have all these countries so close to you, you kind of want to go visit them. But I stayed in my quant little city of Grenoble. It's hard to feel a strong love for Grenoble since she tortures me so with her hot weather and the fact that I have school within her borders. (Anywhere you have school is not going to be your favorite place in the world, it's just a fact).
It's really hard to be alone here but not really alone. On Saturday I had nothing planned but my friends did so I had two choices: hang out with my host family while they cooked themselves a live next to their pool or go out and be by myself. I chose the latter of the two. (Baking next to the pool is not ideal for my skin)(Also have you met my sister Sarah? She would murder me for that).
So I did what I would've done in America, I saw an independent film. No, not in French because I don't really like to put myself in situations that are going to give me anxiety after realizing how little French I actually know. I saw a 2014 Sundance film called Indefinitely Polar Bear but the French decided to rename it Cool Daddy for some reason I am not aware of.  The movie was great! The feelings I had after, were not. It made me really homesick to do things I do at home in a different place. After the movie I went and read in the park where a brass band was playing. Things like a brass band playing in the park really puts things in perspective. I told myself to suck it up and enjoy the fact that I was in France, even if I felt lonely, I was still in GOD DAMN FRANCE! So I ate a very fresh calzone and I made myself stop being a stupid baby.
My friends and I found a great little bar in a park that serves sangria and has a cool old van in the midst of the bar. I can't remember the name because all French named things are very difficult to remember. On my way to this favorite bar I got hit on by a Ukrainian man. He didn't speak English and he proceeded to tell me about 13 times that he spoke 7 languages but he could never learn English. I told him I speak very little French. Did he care? No, he still decided to converse to me. Things that I picked up from our conversation: he was going to a Brazilian dance club, he had a daughter that was 19, he couldn't believe that I was 24, he really liked my shoes and dress, he thought I was pretty, he asked me about my tattoos, then he left. Although the whole conversation was very uncomfortable did you noticed how much I comprehended in French? That's kind of amazing.
On sunday I went to a magical place in the mountains of Vercors.
We first stopped in a small little town. I have come to realize that small little towns are sort of the very best thing in the world. We ate at this tiny little restaurant that an Italian lady owned and an Englishmen cooked for. I had the best fish and chips of my entire life. I was losing my mind over it. I am not a fan of tartar sauce but I am a fan of the tartar sauce that I had there. It was the absolute best.

Here is a picture of the cutest little street in the cutest little town.

After we almost died 70 times due to plunging to our deaths whilst driving up the tiniest of roads that happened to be extremely curvilicious, we arrived to the Grotte de Choranche aka the coolest cave ever.

First of all the cave was probably 40 degrees. I almost cried in happiness to feel how cold it was. I haven't felt coldness in awhile and I just wanted to hunker down in that cave and wait out this impossible heat wave. 

Second of all this cave is wondrous. It's absolutely breathtaking. I have never been so influenced to become a writer of sci-fi in my life,  so I could have this cave as my setting. 

Borrowed this pic from my good Dal-Pal.

Earth! You astound me! I am really sad that we don't treat you as you should. Maybe if people realized you were magical and had things like this beautiful cave we would care for you more. Sorry dear! 

Needless to say it was a magical time with amazing people who I am going to miss seeing every day. EVERYTHING IS GOING TOO FAST NOW! I have 3 more weeks here. That's just nuts. Here's to more adventures.

Flamenco For My Love

Spain, I am in love with you. I want to be inside you more often. I went to Barcelona this weekend and I had the time of my life. 

I learned something weird about myself. Hearing Spanish is very comforting for me. I think it is because it is the second most heard language where I am from. 

The apartment we stayed in was amazing. It technically was not in Barcelona but a suburb of Barcelona. IT WAS GREAT! We were on the 17th floor and had a view of the Mediterranean sea. Sailboats were just sailing away. Beach goers were just being beach goers but more topless than I am used to. Not to mention we got a great breeze coming into our apartment. 

Night 1: It was a shit show to be honest. We were trying to go see a Flamenco show but things got complicated and stupid and we didn’t think we had tickets. Then we waited around the house for too long and we didn’t end up leaving until 1130pm. But we were in the European mind set thinking that it was no problem because things don’t even start to happen until 2 am anyways. Wrong. The train station was closed. Taxi’s? Nope. Not where we were. We called 3 times (at 20 cents a minute…) no Taxis were to be had. We met these musiciens who claimed there was a night bus. We were all for it because we were very ill prepared in the food department and all hungry like ravenous wolves. So yes, night buses. Or just buses in general in Spain are nuts. They drive crazy and don’t announce stops at all. There is no blinking light that says “next stop (insert name here).” We had no idea what was happening or where we were at all. I guess people just memorize that stuff in Spain? Anyways we did not get to where we wanted to go and we did not get food. We missed our returning stop and had to ask the bus driver to inform us when our stop was coming up. It was not quite the night we were hoping for. 

Day/Night 2: We beached all day long. Here’s what I learned: Spanish people love being topless way more than French people. Or it seems that way. I’m not an expert on the subject. There were definitely more topless women that topped. I mean it’s cool I guess. No body shaming goes on out here in Europe because people don’t give a shit what you are thinking about them, they just want to relax and be naked for fuck’s sake. If you were wondering, yes, I have seen probably every size shape and form of breast in the entire world. Most topless people have weird boobs. I think maybe all boobs are just weird to me except for my own. Who knows? (I feel like nipples would be easily sunburned, which is something I don’t think anyone in Europe cares about). Anyways beaches are great. 

New love life motto: FLAMENCO FOR MY LOVE. 

I think I need to find a Flamenco dancer and marry the shit out of them. That was by far the sexiest thing I have seen a man do. Their sweat was flying off their bodies and I wouldn’t have minded if it landed on me. I probably would’ve been stoked about it. And the women, they are bad asses. So much passion and attitude. I think Flamenco dancers are made to be Flamenco dancers. I don’t think that’s something you can just be trained on. I can’t explain it, it’s just amazing. (If I can’t marry a Flamenco dancer I will take a Flamenco guitarist. Dayum, that flamenco guitarist could PLAY. He even had a long thumbnail for strumming and I was all about that.) Also the food I ate was ridiculously amazing. I can’t even tell you what I ate but I ate it all and loved every single bite of it. 

After the Flamenco was the bar hopping/disco-tech. There’s this very touristy street called Les Ramblas and we were like “Hey we are tourists lets go there.” There were mostly annoying club promoters and weird people trying to sell us devices that made you sound like an annoying dog toy. Who the hell buys that? Idiots, that’s who. We followed these weird dudes who were loud/fun but they were old and lead us nowhere. So we did what we needed to. Went to an Irish pub and had Sangria and then went to a British pub and had MORE Sangria. It was delicious and we were ready to dance. So because Spain is a European country it was very European and the dance club we arrived at that was named Les Enfants (which means the children, weird name for a club). We were pretty much the only attendees and it was 1230am. But being in Europe we did what the Europeans do and Gave no Fucks and danced our asses off. We danced for a stupid long time. (Drank A LOT of drinks and got down to some Spanish tunes). We got sweaty. We got drunk. We had THE BEST TIME! People kissed. People twirled their dresses like a Flamenco dancer. Guess what time we went home. 5 am. The sun was coming up when I went to bed. I’ve never done that in my life. It was AWESOME. I also ate salt and vinegar chips with Nutella and it was amazing, I suggest everyone drink a lot of Sangria and try it. Some lucky jerks made out on the beach as the sun rose, it wasn’t me, or was it? I will never tell. 

SPAIN! LET’S MAKE BABIES TOGETHER!   

Marseille

I have been a really bad blogger. Just terrible. I just am trying to keep busy at all time. It may or may not have to do with the fact that I am living with strangers that I can’t really talk to without feeling like a big dumb idiot. It's really hard. I like to eat dinner with my host mother and then peace out for bed and FaceTime with my family. If anything I am doing them a favor. Who wants to hang out with an awkward American? I think nobody. 

So last weekend I went to a little big city called Marseille. Very cool place. Very crazy drivers. Like just absolutely nuts. Motorcycles and scooters are allowed to weave in and out of traffic. How is everyone not dead there? I don’t get it. And buses. Those things are just crazy. We got in a traffic jam made out of three busses and a weird tourist train. They are truly problem solvers over here. 

Marseille was great because it wasn’t Grenoble. Not that Grenoble is bad, but I explained before why it’s hard for me to really thrive there. We stayed at this crazy cool apartment that had about 6 little cockroach friends. It was a little frightening but we had a dude who stepped on those motherfuckers and killed half the population dead.

So in Marseille, a bunch of people live in these buildings made of cement and in the middle is kind of like the courtyard. It’s hard to explain. So just pretend you understand. The moral of the story: it is very echo-y. It was night. Me and my two best buds were discussing something half heartedly as we were halfway asleep and we hear this noise. We all hushed our voices, thinking maybe it was a person calling for help, but how wrong we were. It was the noise of a “petite mort” which means “little death” which is an orgasm. And this French woman was having the time of her life. She was a very happy camper. She orgasmed like an Ox. It was INSANE. And we heard it 4 more times throughout our stay. It was nuts! Just nuts. 

Honestly, we just needed Marseille so we didn’t go insane. We didn’t do anything truly spectacular except became better friends and met some Irish weirdos who told us we didn’t need school to learn French and then did a perverted tongue flick aka he was telling us that to learn French you need to do some oral sex? Wish it was that easy. 

Une Semaine

I don't know if you have heard but there is a RIDICULOUS heat wave in Europe. Like sure, Utah is hot but try having it be 100 degrees and 50% humidity, not only that but add in the fact that mostly nowhere has air conditioning. I found a weird mall that has air conditioning that a bum sleeps outside of and I just sometimes go in there and stand for a minute.

Here's a fact: It is really super fucking hard to be in a tiny classroom with 25 people when it is a million degrees and try to learn French. LIKE REALLY HARD. I almost pass out every day. I don't know if I am passing out or falling asleep, a little of both probably. I am really grateful that this first week I had an amazing professor. Yes, she makes fun of us in French and most of us don't realize it, but man, she is amazing. Her name is Roselyn and she is the cutest French woman who wore the same white pants every day to class. I can't really explain how awesome she is. I want to abduct her and bring her to America.

So CUEF (The school I go to (I think it might be just a program, I honestly don't really know)), it's an interesting place. The first day we didn't have power. The toilets on our level don't have seat covers. (Don't worry we found a good bathroom, you get your own little room, it's also unisex which is really awkward). Half of CUEF is actually pretty nice and not a million degrees, but is our class located in that part? No. No we are not. We are located in the ghetto part. But next week starts our first real week of school so maybe it will change.

So it's been super hard these first couple days. I can barely act normal in front of strangers in English, and I am way worse in French. My host mom kissed me on both cheeks like how the French do, and I was not good at it and it became really awkward. We connected with Shania Twain that was playing on the radio. I think she was listening to the American radio for me, which is really sweet. Then I met her cats, Pitu and something that sounds like Cheveux but I am pretty sure it's not Cheveux because that means hair. They are adorable and nice and today Pitu caught a mouse and brought it in the house, it was cute and gross. I have been having a really hard time with connecting with my host family because they talk really fast but they are really trying to slow it down. Tonight was a good night. We were teaching each other our languages and they really adored my Utah book I gave them. I think it might've helped that we had wine. Terry helps me say things correctly and at first I was really offended by it but I really want to be able to communicate so now I appreciate it. Slowly but surely we are starting to get comfortable with each other.

Other things? I have eaten a lot of things that are bad for me but for some reason I think in my brain that they can't be worse than American food. Pan du Chocolat is my JAM! It's chocolate wrapped in bread. It is amazing and I ate 2 today.

Weird thing: There are like a billion homeless people or people who dress like they are homeless but they kind of look like hippies and they have like 3 dogs each and they are all over the city of Grenoble. It's strange. I want to touch their dogs but then I might have to give them money. And I don't want that.

Things are getting better. I am slowly getting used to odd things that happen here. I am really getting better at speaking French every day.

au revoir!

The scariest part about leaving for 7 weeks is the thought that you are not going to be missed. It's kind of nice to think that someone's world is shattered because you are not present.
(Sometimes I imagine someone has a major "Marta Crush" on me (love from afar) and they are going to notice that I am not there because I am so beautiful and I light up their ENTIRE LIFE. (Kind of like SPN (only some people will understand this but they know the deep feelings I have for the stranger))).

I am definitely pretending that everyone I come in contact with live's change because I am the incredible. Truth is: there is probably like 5 people that will really miss me and they are related to me. But guess what! My family is made up of the most kick ass people in the entire world! Like they gave me little presents for every step on my journey including a Hanson fix. (I will post these when I am allowed to open them) Needless to say I started bawling and I feel like bawling right now writing about it because my sisters are so fucking amazing. This is why leaving for 7 weeks is going to be really difficult for me. It really deeply bugs when people say "Marta 7 weeks isn't even that long" It is fucking long for me, JERKS.

So I am writing this at the airport because I'm bored. Let me tell you about my day:
I had to buy my host family aka ma famille d'accueil something and I decided on honey because HELLO, beehive state guys, it makes sense. I also bought them a cool desert photography book because France does not have any deserts and Utah has some BAD ASS ones. It was very well thought out and I am a great host daughter.

THEN! I was like: Crap bags! I need socks. Because I bought a pack of socks like 2 weeks ago and they are already lost in laundry land. (Weird fact: my host mother is going to be doing my laundry, that's weird. I have been doing my own laundry since I was like 8). So I was quickly zipping up my luggage because we were going to go to the airport right after our sock run and guess what happened? MY GOD DAMN LUGGAGE ZIPPER BROKE! My luggage was not even stuffed that full. It was ludicrous.

SO! we ran into Target Bought socks and new luggage. Ran outside and literally broke open my shitty ass luggage and threw it in the new one (I was kind of glad to get a slightly bigger luggage because then I didn't  have to carry a useless carryon full of stuff that wouldn't fit in my previous stupid luggage).  We did it right in front of Target. Here's a commenters comment: "Last minute packing?" DUH yes. We are literally standing in front of Target throwing my shit (that was oh so organized) into my new luggage (Now so unorganized).

(So god damn organized)

Here's my theory: All this chaos is happening because it's getting out of the way. It's going to be all calm and collected when I arrive in a new country. Yes. That is going to happen. Yes. Yes. Yes.

THEN, something weird happened with my ticket and I almost cried because when I get around my family I feel like I can cry because they will still love me and Rebekah thinks I have a cute cry face. It's all okay though. They just offered me a direct flight but you know what sounds like the worst? Being on a plane for 13 hours. So yeah, I stuck with the layover. (I'm considering both getting buzzed and getting my nails done in the JFK airport).

Here are some people who will miss me slightly less than my family:

avant l'aventure

Perhaps you know, perhaps you don't know, the fact is that I am about to take a very large trip to Grenoble, France. France is very far away. VERY far away. A world away! Well not actually a world away because wouldn't a world away just put you back to where you are in the first place? THINK ABOUT IT. So Grenoble is a half a world away. Here's a picture:

Here's the deal, I am an adult baby lady. I am scared shitless. Seriously, when people say "scared shitless" they mean it. All the shit inside your body evacuates due to nervousness. That's my case. I am running on nothing all up in here. "Why are you scared, Marta?" 

1. I am living with a family that is not allowed to speak English to me. "Je ne sait pas" (I don't know) and "Comment dit on?" (How do you say?) Are going to be phrases that is going to be exiting my mouth A LOT.  So yeah, I am going to sound like a five year old. 

2. I really like my family and I have never been away from them for more than a week. As I mentioned before, I am an adult baby lady, and everyone in my family takes care of me. So this trip is going to be a real eye opener. So yes I am going to miss them. 

Don't get me wrong there is also the excitement bundled up in all the emotions I feel. I am going to a place where history dates back 2000 years! That's just ludicrous! That's like fifteen years after Jesus! My brain is going to be so full of knowledge about old stuff! 

The south of France is known for what? WINE! Awe yes! Wine. I plan on becoming a lover of wine. Do they drink wine for lunch? I don't know yet but the French seem like lunch wine drinkers. AWESOME. 

I have been eating a lot of croissants to prepare for the cuisine. I don't really know about French cuisine, the restaurants that sell French food are expensive. I know France has croissants and escargot, someone told me they taste like garlic mushrooms, I am down for that. I am going to eat ALL the foods and drink ALL the drinks. What if I come home and I am not satisfied by anything American again!? I might just have to find someone to marry me and move there. Just kidding, revert back to me loving my family too much. 

So here's the deal: 

Follow this blog if you want the sweet details of my trip and adventures and my struggles and all the fun stuff. Some of the things that I plan on doing on this blog are: people watch and write about their lives that I have made up in my head, fill it with cool pictures of me in places,  take pictures of good food that I have eaten. IT'S GOING TO BE GREAT!