OH, Virginia!...........Is Jamestown still kickin' about? : France

"What a frightening thing is the human; a mass of gages, and dials, and registers. But we can read only a few; and those perhaps, not accurately."

Monday morning, I took the train to Strasbourg, marking the beginning the part of the trip where I wouldn't know a soul. I only officially confirmed a place to stay around 6:00 pm the night before, which I have to admit had my blood pulsing. I was worried that my last minute planning would catch up with me.

French trains are completely silent, like a cathedral. But while others meditate on their daily plans, I focus on the fields and flowers so quickly passing by. I brought books and promised myself I would read them, but really I love peeking through the trees and fields to see the homes of people I'll never know. As I love to explore the remote towns of France, which I've learned are best found by route of chance coursed with accident, I try to absorb as many of them as I can looking through the window. I sat perched by the window watching the most beautiful countryside pass me. 

There's something truly humbling about arriving in a city you don't know all by yourself. Everything seems exponentially more large and confusing. I arrived in Strasbourg and began trying to find the apartment on Rue Sainte Catherine I would be staying in. Upon arrival, I received a tour of my lodgings with one of the girls living in the apartment. The girl who's room I was staying in is a theatre student, so her room was full of bizarre costumes she was sewing by hand.

I set out to walk and explore the city of Strasbourg.

For dinner, I went to Au brasseurs, a brewery/restaurant which makes the specialty of the Alsace region, tarte flambée. I bought a baguette and wine to go along with dinner and took everything down by the river to have a picnic and watch boats go by. I saw baby ducks and spoke with a couple whose dogs were taking a swim.

my "picnic"... which turned out to be my meals for several days

When I returned to the apartment I was staying in, Capucine asked if I wanted to head to a bar to meet some friends of her's. I said of course! We arrived at an Irish pub and I met 8-10 of her friends, all incredibly nice. Mathilde....Mahil.... Ricardo...Simon....Capucine.... I have to admit it was very nerve wracking to meet such a large group of people and understand all of their french in a loud bar. 

One of the guys was british, and was excited to be able to speak english breifly. He asked me where I'm from, and when I told him Virginia he looked at me with a look of excitement and said "OH, Virginia!!!!!....... Is Jamestown still kickin' about?"

They asked me to join them for lunch the next day at Mathilde's apartment, as they would be cooking traditional french food. 

Tuesday 

One conversation we had the night before-when comparing and contrasting europeans and Americans -was the use of mayonnaise instead of ketchup. So, when I arrived at Mathilde's apartment the next day she made homemade mayonnaise and was excited for me to try. Mathilde made two quiches and a "cake." In French, un gateau is the word for a cake as we think of it, but the word cake in french means a savory dish which is basically the ingredients of a quiche but without a crust as all of it is mixed up together. We also had chocolate tarte for dessert followed by espresso and tea. 

The cat's name was Bolon like Bolognese sauce. 

One of the guys there brought Wild Boar patée made by hand by his grandfather from a wild pig he shot.

We sat and talked about the news, TV shows, and differences in accents and languages. We discussed the most recent episode of Game of Thrones, and how they were all confused by the "hold the door" to Hodor name change due to the translations of the subtitles.

I planned to go to Colmar, a town 30 minutes away by train, after the meal.
One of the guys, an Italian named Ricardo who was studying in Strasbourg, said that he had never been either. Since he had found 40$ at the bar we went to the night before (which he tried to return and the barkeeper said to keep it) he would accompany me.

Riccardo 

So I was off on the train with a smoking Italian who spoke French with an accent. 

He's afraid of crows and thinks they're the devil. Between my French with an American accent and his French with an Italian accent every sentence was a puzzle. But now I had a new friend and a journey to be had. 

We talked about our favorite movies, our favorite music, our greatest fears and our biggest frustrations. We talked about his ex girlfriend, a Dolce and Gabana model (I guess that happens when you're from Venice, Italy) and his parents' divorce.

In fact, we talked all day. He remarked on our differences.

I loved Colmar's orange flower bushes and thought it was so funny to see tourist groups marching with all their umbrellas in a line.
As you can imagine, he was most excited to see Colmar's "little Venice" area, named for his home.

the umbrella brigade

"remember you will die" 

We walked through beautiful Colmar and rode the train home. Back in Strasbourg, he insisted on cooking an authentic Italian meal with me. And so I had my first real Italian pasta. 

Fact: the Italians don't like to use garlic! I asked whether we were going to add it and he was appalled. Also, he put about 5 tablespoons of salt in the boiling water for the pasta. When I asked him why, he said that they do that to give it flavor. 

I loved meeting all of my new friends in Strasbourg, but I was ready for hiking in the Alps.