Author: Sara Mills

Giant backpack: check. Running shoes: check. Unfashionable but practical outfit: check. Determination to visit sites overrun by tourists: check. Rudimentary understanding of French: Nope. Here I am, one American tourist among the swarms of Americans from all over the country here in Paris, except that I speak French like an expert compared to these amateurs.* Paris is threatening thunderstorms every afternoon that I’m here, and every other conversation I hear is in English… ah, just like home.

On Monday morning, I walk to the Eiffel Tower and ride the elevator to the top. The views are magnificent. What all am I looking at? I’m not really sure – I’m too lazy to fight the other tourists to reach the informational sign that will tell me what I can see – but it looks great, right?

Is that a shirt tied over my shoulders like a pretentious New England tennis-playing snob you ask? Why yes. Yes it is. I have to put it somewhere, and somehow this seems less touristy than tying it around my waist. I will admit this does not make sense, at all. But does the universe make sense? Exactly.

I get some lunch and then walk to the Arc de Triomph, also the end of the Champs-Elysees. The Arc and the tree-lined boulevard are impressive, even surrounded by people.

I’m approaching mid-afternoon when I get tired of walking all day, so I head to the Luxembourg Gardens to relax for a bit. I think it miraculous that I’m able to find a chair. I’ve blown through four books already on this trip (the Crazy Rich Asians trilogy, which has left me wanting more) and pick out one more from my kindle’s collection. Baby ducks quack around me while a fountain dribbles water in front of me and a group of students sketch the fountain’s sculpture.

On Tuesday, I go to the Musee d’Orsay, one of my favorite museums in the world. The setting is an old train station decorated as Art Nouveau, and it has an Art Nouveau collection. It turns out the only art I really love comes from the 1850’s to WWI, with an emphasis on Art Nouveau and Impressionist-like paintings. And sculptures. This is the Musee d’Orsay. They also have incredible hot chocolate to sustain you through six hours of museum time.

Of course, I continue to eat as if I am eating for a whole French family. I had dinner Monday night at a place called Le Radis Beurre, where I was greeted with top-notch butter, bread, and small radishes sticking out of a “raised bed”-looking platter of bread crumbs. Beautiful. I finished with a rice pudding with salted caramel sauce on top, savoring every bite long after my stomach says it can’t handle ant more inputs. On Tuesday I ate razor clams (for the first time) and grilled octopus with peas and some kind of lightly herbal (pea?) mousse. I don’t even have room for dessert, which is tragic.

For my last day in Europe, I get tickets to Versailles, which I’ve somehow never visited in several trips through Paris. It is gorgeous, and also makes you understand why the French Revolution happened. In any case, I expected to be kind of sickened by excess the way I’ve been at similar castles built to show off a king’s money, but I have to admit I’m just impressed.

After walking through the palace, I step out to the gardens. I’m even more impressed. Lauren, I have a vision for our back yard…

Also, you may think those swans are beautiful- I’m here to tell you they are aggressive and bigger than you would think. While you’re admiring their beauty, they may try to eat you. Just ask the girls who were sitting in front of them with a bag of potato chips.

I’m now back at home in Denver, where summer has descended while I’ve been away. I have to admit, I’m happy to be home. I can go wherever I want, whenever I want, and I know how to get from one place to another. I can talk to almost everyone! I have a partner in crime in my roommate, I have friends, and I can call whoever I want, whenever I want. I love traveling, but I love even more that I am excited to come home.

*I may have been one of these amateurs just two days ago in Spain. The tables turn quickly.

A tour guide told me that 70% of people in San Sebastián are physically active. If this was available to you all over town for several hours at lunch and dinner each day, wouldn’t you have to be active too?

I arrived in San Sebastián late Thursday, from my first Spanish train that did not have food, so I ate vending machine trail mix between breakfast and 9:30pm (hot tip: trail mix here includes corn nuts, and they are so good!). I foolishly ate below my hostel that night, just some gazpacho and a little fish dish.

The next day I did a mega-tour with one local company, Urban Adventures: a hike, followed by a pintxo tour, and a bike tour. It was exhausting, but I saw a ton of the city and ate many pinxtos.

A word about pinxtos. They are small plates of food, some prepared in advance and on display and some by order in the kitchen. These are not the same as tapas in the south, but they have evolved to be similar. I would say it’s easy to assemble a meal of pinxtos but not as easy to get a full meal of tapas.

San Sebastián was also a popular vacation spot for 19th century Spanish royalty, and it’s easy to see why. There’s the shell-shaped bay that used to be the fishing port, with lush, green hills at each edge of the shell and behind the city.

The bay itself is calm no matter what is happening in the adjacent ocean. And just look at the color of that water. Then there’s the history of seafaring, shipbuilding, privateering/pirating which brought a lot of money here.

It’s just so beautiful- the landscape, the buildings, have I mentioned the food? So San Sebastián doesn’t try hard- it doesn’t have to. The tourist office is closed on Saturdays, and only some signs are even in Spanish. People are friendly, but the city isn’t tripping over itself to help you find things. My tours and google maps were a huge help here.

The climate is temperate rain forest- like Portland or Seattle. In two days I spent there, the sun only came out for one afternoon. People in the city exploded to the outdoors. Every outside table at every bar and cafe is taken, people stand outside popular pintxos spots, and gelato vendors are overrun. I took the same picture over and over again from different spots until the sun went down.

On Sunday morning, my train didn’t leave until 11am, and I woke up before 8. I walked along the beach again, to a sculpture at the end of the walkway that is meant to represent the past, present and future. You can stand beside and touch the sculpture for the present, but the past is on rocks off to the right, and the future is out of reach in front of you. Present doesn’t look like something I should touch, so I take a picture looking through it and release a single, full-breath “Ooooooommmmmmmm.”

Finally, I arrived in Malaga on Saturday the 20th! I hit up nearly all the major sites in the city in the afternoon, including my first tapas meal. The flowers here have richer colors than any flowers I’ve ever seen, so I gravitated toward the many gardens.

I now have all my train/bus tickets, all my lodging, and a train ticket back to Paris that should avoid the planned strikes. I’m not complaining- unpredictability is something I love about traveling, especially when I’ve been tightly wound. It reminds me that so much is out of my control no matter what I do, and more importantly, that I can thrive within this chaotic world if I only let go and accept it for what it is.

I’m in the world of tapas and paella, gazpacho, jamon iberico, sneakily delicious seafood. I’m also in a place where I get free tapas with each drink, so I’m drinking frequently. In Granada, I have vermut on recommendation from a friendly local who tries to chat with me while we both stand at the counter in the tapas bar at high lunchtime. I say try because he speaks very little English and I speak even less Spanish, but we find that we both speak a little French. He learns that I am from the center of the US, that my name is Sara, and that I’m on vacation through Strasbourg, Marseille, Malaga, Granada, San Sebastián, and Paris. I learn that vermut is a typical local drink, that his name is Antonio, and that San Sebastián is the most magnificent place in the world- after Granada, of course. Exchanging this limited information takes at least 15 minutes, but who cares- I’m waiting for jamon iberico and manchego to accompany my glass of gazpacho, and I could not be more thrilled. This is my absolute favorite summer meal. In fact, I have it at the same place for both lunch and dinner, if you can characterize my constant grazing as meals.

I took a nighttime walking tour of Granada neighborhoods, which I could never have navigated on my own. My tour mates included people from Costa Rica, Toronto, Italy, South Korea, and Taiwan, which I thought was super fun. We walked around the old Moorish neighborhood, then to a neighborhood of homes that are carved out of the Sacramonte hillside. Our guide calls them caves and they technically are, but these caves have multiple rooms and electricity. Officially, many of these homes don’t exist on the city’s plans, and the people who live here can’t afford to live elsewhere. But tourism is bringing them some income- I wonder how they feel about this.

The next day, I travel to Cordoba. This marks my fourth city in as many days, and my body wracked by so many consecutive days of travel anxiety gives out. Travel – at least in the way I’m doing it- is a lot of work. I also struggle to sleep the night before I need to catch a train or bus, and I’ve been moving every day for several days straight. On Tuesday, I hit my limit. I spent my morning on the public bus to the bus station in Granada, then on a luxe bus back to Malaga, so I can catch a train to Cordoba. After taking a taxi to my pension and finding lunch, all I want to do is collapse. I am arguing with myself.

“Sara, you are in a new city, in SPAIN. Who knows when you’ll be back here again. You need to go see everything!!”

My body responds calmly but resolutely. “Nope.”

“But the Mezquiza is right here! You can see it from this table.”

“Nope. And to show you I’m serious, I will make your nose start dripping.”

“Ugh, this is so gross. Can’t you just hold off until I’ve crushed Cordoba? I’m out of tissues.”

“Nope.”

So, I’ve instituted a napping policy for the rest of my trip. My life is real hard. I had two days in Cordoba and did see everything, from the old mosque expanded over time and then converted to a Catholic church to more beautiful gardens.

Next stop, San Sebastián!

On Saturday morning, I arrived at the train station 30 minutes before my train was scheduled to leave for Madrid. Except, there was no train to Madrid listed on the departures board. Upon asking around, I find out that this train isn’t running today because of strikes on the French railway system. An agent helps to reroute me, but I can’t make it to Malaga today after all- just to Madrid at midnight on a Saturday. This requires me to leave immediately for a town called Montpellier in France, I spend 7 hours there, then take a train to Barcelona, then to Madrid. What can I do? I get on the train to Montpellier, willing the train to move fast so I can get WiFi and figure out where I will sleep tonight.

I’m able to find WiFi in the Montpellier train station and book the second hotel I try in Madrid, not far from the train station. I find a random hotel concierge who is willing to store my backpack (for free) while I wander the streets of Montpellier, and I get an audio guide for a walking tour of the city. Goddamn, I am feeling resourceful.

Montpellier turns out to be lovely! The walking tour takes me all over the cute downtown, past lunchtime restaurants crammed with locals, and I have an excellent lunch with only a vague idea of what I ordered: two kinds of cheese, some kind of fish wrapped in a crepe-thin dough into a cigar shape and deep-fried, a fish spread that I wasn’t sure about at first but stuffed myself to finish, and a small salad. Also, two glasses of some local white wine. In the midst of this, I took only one picture: the ubiquitous Arc de Triomphe, built by Louis XIV to honor himself, of course.

Ok, two photos- also one of these cute wide and short water glasses I’ve seen at multiple restaurants now.

And now I’ve made it to my hotel in Madrid, leaving in the morning for Malaga. I hope this is the only big surprise of the trip!

On Tuesday, I wore half the clothes in my backpack to go to the train station in Strasbourg. It is chilly and overcast. I doze on the train, watching hazy forests, farmland, and villages roll by.

I awaken to sunshine and a white rock Mediterranean landscape pulling into Avignon. Vineyards and colorful wildflowers stretch for miles. Eventually the Mediterranean Sea emerges in the distance. Bonjour, Marseille!

I’m starting to think in French again, but am still not talking to many people. My French-thinking is at about the vocabulary level of a first grader. Luckily, I trust people to recommend good things to eat, even if I don’t know what they are until they come.

I don’t have many stories since I spend my days walking, reading, and occasionally trying to order food, understanding about 1/3 of what people try to say to me. But without further ado, here are some pictures of the beautiful places I visited in and around Marseille.

First stop: Aix-en-Provence. This is a small town about 30 minutes outside of Marseille by train, and it fancies itself to be as cultured as Paris. I appreciate that it is less crowded than Paris and also more sunny. I also note for the first time that other May tourists are all seniors and students- I’ve got a 20 year age gap in both directions. So, there is nobody to compare myself to and I can do what I want!

I find the market in Aix and want to buy everything. Look at these cute artichokes! I ultimately leave with a goat-brebis cheese, a string of cherry tomatoes, and some tiny strawberries, which I eat as I walk all over town.

Twenty minutes later, I have walked all over town. I spend the next few hours taking pictures, drinking espresso, visiting a great art museum, and lingering over a lunch of superb roast chicken.

The next day, I went to Nice. I don’t know what to say about it other than it is absolutely gorgeous. I got a satisfying sunburn from cruising up and down the long boardwalk and had some incredible lavender and rose-flavored gelatos. Did you know there is a term here for someone who is a master of ice creams? This may be me translating poorly, but I would rather believe this is true.

My last full day in Marseille, I reserved an electric bike tour of the city and the seaside limestone cliffs nearby called the Calanques. Because I was the only person to book this tour, my wonderful guide Caroline can focus all her attention on me. It turns out Caroline has visited the US – and surprisingly, she went to Boulder! I’ve had a lot of trouble telling people here where I’m from, and it’s so nice to meet someone who has actually heard of Denver or Colorado.

In addition to being a genuine and fun human, Caroline is an excellent guide. She grew up in Marseille and knows both the history and the spots that will appeal to tourists. We ride early to the Jardin de Pharo for this great view of the old port:

From here, she shows me many quiet spots in Marseille en route to the Calanques as we wind through as many small lanes as possible. The electric bikes are magical. On one steep ascent, a bystander said in French after we passed:

“Oh the bikes are electric! I thought you were just very strong!”

When we reached the top, I said to Caroline in French, “But yes, we ARE very strong!”

“Ah, you understand!”

I DO understand! BOOM. Or… BOUM.*

I could probably write the rest of this in French**, but because I have a limited French- speaking following, I won’t. We rode to the literal end of the road, where I hiked to a spot between two Calanques where I could see the Mediterranean Sea on both sides.

The view you see below is where we ate lunch. For me, just a simple sandwich of goat cheese, prosciutto, and some greens to make me feel better about the whole situation.

From here, you can see me dressed like a total weirdo with the Sea behind me, and what may be my favorite cathedral I’ve ever seen, Notre Dame de la Garde. It is so bright and vibrantly colored inside!

You can see below the view from where I ate dinner. It’s a small area close to downtown, formerly a small fishermen’s cove, now a posh hangout. The bar next door sells bottles of wine and beer that you can take and drink with friends as you sit among the fishing boats.

And from here, I leave Marseille for Spain. Or so I think. Until the next episode!

*There is a 99% chance this makes no sense in French.

**False.

Part 1: Herrenburg, Germany

I stepped off the train in Herrenburg with anticipation tingling through my limbs. How long had it been since I saw Maura? I lived in her spare bedroom for a few months in 2005, and we became friends immediately. She has a ready warm smile and great sense of humor, and she is not afraid to say what she’s thinking. I left DC in 2009, and although we’ve kept in touch, I figure out that the last time we saw each other was the summer of 2011. Since then we’ve each lived in 3 different places with Maura now in Herrenburg, outside of Stuttgart, Germany. I emailed her out of the blue a couple months ago to see if I could visit her and her family on this trip, and now here I am, walking through a train station in a German town I hadn’t heard of before.

I walk through a tunnel under the tracks and then up a staircase at the station’s exit, wondering if I will recognize Maura. But there she is, sitting on a planter with her younger son. She sees me, we both beam, and we slow-motion run toward each other for a hug worthy of this years-long wait. It feels like no time has passed, even though our lives are so different than they were when we saw each other for regular Sunday night potluck dinners in DC.

For the next few days, I eat my weight in bread and take it easy. Maura and I catch up on news about mutual friends and where we are today, and I join activities with her husband Nico and their two sons. We fill in the gaps between who we were around 2009 and who we are in 2018. We both remember a decade-old conversation with another friend, Megan, when Maura was going through some tough times. She had said to me and Megan, “I just wish I had it together like you guys do.” Megan and I had exploded into laughter at the idea that we had it together.

“Do you think we will ever feel like we have it together?” I ask.

“I think we see now that life is messy, even for people who appear to ‘have it together.'”

On Father’s Day (a national, non-working holiday in Germany), Maura and I go to the local baths and test out all the pools while trying not to get too close to the many couples making out or the naked octogenarians. The pools have precise temperatures between 31 and 36 degrees Celsius, and the water is meant to have some beneficial effects. I will say, it was relaxing as hell. We both fell asleep on heated chairs in a warn windowed room looking at trees and flowers. When we get home from the baths, I immediately text Lauren about finding something similar in Denver. I could use access to 13 euros for total relaxation at home!

Also, this exists: a meat vending machine, in case you need an emergency meat run on a Sunday or holiday.

Part 2: Strasbourg, France

On Saturday afternoon, Maura and I drive to Strasbourg. This place has meaning for both of us: we each studied abroad here in college, though not together. It’s been 17 years since I set foot in Strasbourg, and I’ve been jealously guarding my sense of it as an idyllic place that launched my love for travel. I’m excited to return and nervous that it won’t live up to my sentimental memory-feelings. We drive into town on a beautiful sunny afternoon, ready for my heart to trip over itself with adoration and warm nostalgic memories.

“I don’t recognize anything,” Maura admits after a few minutes of silence.

I sadly agree. “It’s trippy to be here and have nothing feel familiar.”

We walk across covered bridges, through streets with timbered tall houses, to the famous cathedral. We have snacks at a cute timbered hotel-restaurant beside the famous Cathedral, the Maison Kammerzell.

It starts to dawn on me that my first experience of Strasbourg was significantly different than this will be, and that may be causing me some trouble in recalling memories. In college, I made strong efforts to spend as little money as possible- sometimes at the expense of worthwhile experiences. I agonized over every hostel, every meal, every coffee. I also spent only a few weekends here, the rest spent traveling all over Europe. Strasbourg may not feel that familiar because I wasn’t really here- and because my more mature confidence and a stable savings account fundamentally change how I travel.

Studying here in 2001, I lived with a wonderful host family. When I flew to Strasbourg from the US, I miscalculated my arrival time and showed up at their building door in a cold January rain, several hours before they were expecting me. Maura and I found the building where the apartment was- I wonder if they still live here, 17 years later. I feel a fleeting flicker of familiarity that leaves me feeling a little empty.

What I do remember are some important local dishes. Maura and I made a dinner reservation before we arrived at a place in the old town that served these dishes. I always say Strasbourg has the best of French and German in both food and beer, and my longing for choucroute and kirs reflects this. Choucroute is sauerkraut with 5-8 kinds of meat- a meal my 20 year old self could finish.

I gave it my best. This choucroute had 6 meats, a half potato (which I considered optional), and a mound of sauerkraut under all that meat you see. I made sure to eat all the best stuff first, and after that I finished about 2/3 of my dish. My 37 year old self is thrilled with my performance.

On Sunday morning, I feel anxious. Maura will be going home today, and I’m surprised that I’m not just anxious about saying farewell to her but also about being alone. I’ve traveled on my own plenty, but my mind conjures all sorts of reasons for worry:

• What if I don’t have a conversation with ANYone for 3 weeks?
• What if my luck finally runs out and something truly bad happens to me?
• What if the president tweets something irresponsible enough to make the world notably less safe while I’m abroad, like withdrawing from the Iran nuclear deal? (Check!)
• What if I hate staying in hostels? Am I too old for this?
• What if it stays cold and I have to keep wearing the same outfit every day that is approximately half the contents of my backpack?

I could go on, and I’m sure I will in future entries.

We go to the Orangerie, a beautiful park with a small zoo in the middle. Just as we visited my old home and routes on Saturday, this area is familiar to Maura. We also remark that the cloudy day is much more representative of our time here. I saw goats (!!!!!!), storks, monkeys, ducks… many random animals. The storks are kind of a regional bird of Alsace, the region where Strasbourg sits.

I tamp down my sadness as I say goodbye to Maura. I don’t know when I’ll see her again, but we are already making plans. I wait to see her car pull out, delaying the goodbye as long as possible.

As I walk back toward the downtown, I am desperately trying to turn everything I see into something familiar. Have I been on this corner before? Is THAT the patisserie where I used to get almond croissants every day around 4pm? I feel cut off from my previous experience in Strasbourg and from everyone I know who is not here.

I finally realize what I’m seeking so desperately. I want to feel what it was like to be 20 years old on a trip I now knew would have huge significance in my life. Before 9/11, in a world that felt safer, when I could hold the illusion that people can “have it together,” when my parents were both still alive and lived in my hometown, when I didn’t worry about student loans or getting a good job or adult responsibilities. I want to travel back in time for however long the gods will give me to feel lighter. I also realize this is impossible and it is keeping me from enjoying this charming town for what it is, today.

When I relax and walk around, I find some places that feel familiar. I enter the university to find a restroom and immediately recognize hallways I walked down and a green, earthy atrium. I find the patisserie around 4pm and eat my croissant en amande in Place Kleber. I stumble upon a nightclub we visited, Le Salamandre, which I note doesn’t open until 11pm and then only on the weekends. I salute 20 year old Sara’s stamina and ability to dance with abandon, and then I keep walking. Below are some pictures of my Strasbourg: the Université Marc Bloch, view from any bridge over l’Ill, the Cathédrale, tarte flambée (essentially pizza with crust not much thicker than a crepe), and a war memorial at Place de la République.

As I pass the statue in the middle of Place Kléber for the last time, I wonder whether it will still be here in another 17 years. The world felt open and optimistic when I studied here; now it feels like it’s darkening. Maybe the world hasn’t actually changed, but 17 years of life experience has shown me more of what is here, changing my perspective. In any case, I miss my version of Strasbourg even before I’ve left.

I’ve arrived safely in Paris and spent my first day on vacation! It was a long day, and I will try sharing it through a list of statistics.

Hours between waking up in Denver on Monday and going to bed in Paris on Tuesday: 31

Time difference: 8 hours

Number of sleeping positions attempted on my flight: >5

Percentage of flight spent asleep: 0%

Legs of transit required to transport me from the airport to my hotel: 4

Outfits worn at some point in the day: 4

Sweat penetration level for all clothing worn: 60%

Value of my satisfaction from making it to my hotel, showering, napping, changing clothes, and finding a local street side cafe for lunch: Priceless

Number of espressos consumed: 1

Proportion of cafe patrons looking at phone instead of talking to someone: 0/20

Miles walked on Tuesday afternoon: 5

Number of times today I froze and couldn’t speak French before my nap: 1

Number of times I froze after my nap: 0!

Bridges crossed: 4

Number of major landmarks seen on my walk: 7 (Louvre, Tuileries gardens, Musée d’Orsay, Cathédrale Notre Dame, Tour d’Eiffel, Centre Georges Pompidou, Pont Neuf)

Cubic inches of cheese consumed: 6? 8? Check out my cheese “snack” below. That ended up being dinner.

Proportion of tourists taking flash photos of the inside of Notre Dame during a mass: 75%

Number of times today I worried about how many long-sleeved shirts I packed: 0

My happiness level: Exceptional

Thank you for checking out my blog! To properly document my trip, I am starting with my state of mind before I leave – in OCD neurosis. I’ve packed, and traveling in the age of smartphones is easier than it has ever been before. But I am currently driving myself crazy thinking of things I should have done/ need to do/ might have once heard some stranger did that was SUPER important for their trip. Here are conversations I’ve had this weekend:

Me (very worried): OMG I haven’t packed. I HAVE to set aside time to pack today.

Lauren (my roommate): You mean, you have to finish packing. Didn’t you start packing like a month ago and task yourself with getting things on a packing list?

Me: Maybe…*

*[I absolutely did put together a color-coded packing list a month ago. I also made a to-do list to secure the things I didn’t have, which I completed two weeks ago.]

Later in the day:

Me: I’m a little worried about packing for the weather in May. I packed a long sleeved shirt as a layer, a sweater, and another long sleeved shirt. I’m also bringing a puffy coat that folds up really small and my rain jacket. But right now the weather looks like it should be nice the whole time I’m there, and these things take up a lot of space. Maybe I should leave behind the sweater? Or the second long sleeved shirt? Or both?

Jenn: You know, I’m pretty sure you people in Europe sell clothes if you find that you need something.**

**[Wording modified to convey the appropriate level of sarcasm]

Before I started packing in earnest this weekend:

Lauren: So, have you decided whether you’re bringing a suitcase or a backpack?

Me: I think a suitcase is a better idea because it can handle rain and will limit what I bring with me. [10 minutes of pros and cons of suitcase v. backpack]. But I’m sentimentally attached to the backpack. [10 minutes of convincing myself that the backpack is the logical choice].

Lauren: [Quietly wondering why she lets a crazy person live in her basement]

All this neurosis aside, I’m hoping to learn to let things go a bit on this trip. My general itinerary includes Paris, Herrenburg (Germany), Marseille and Provence, Malaga/ Cordoba/ Granada, and San Sebastian. I want to walk around in the sun and be warm, and eat great food.

Off I go!