I see London . . .

PHRASE OF THE DAY
J'ai tué une araignée dans mon lit avec un coton-tige: I killed a spider in my bed with a q-tip.

It's been a whirlwind couple of weeks. My goodness.

Exams are over. Which means classes are over. Which means I'm a senior now. Which is frightening.

And I've been traveling around the continent like a fiend. Well, not so much a fiend as maybe a casual city hopper.

But nevertheless, it's about time I recounted some of my experiences with you.

We'll start . . . with London. (minus Harry Potter)

Yes, I went to London. I now say things like "ravishing" and "well nice" and "russet potatoes."

This looks familiar to you.

Day 1

I had an early flight out of Nice, arriving in London at about 11. Exhausted and somewhat disoriented, I managed to make it to my hostel in record time. Now, if you know me at all, which I suspect you do as you've no doubt spent countless hours this year reading every detail of my life from the 66 published posts, eagerly awaiting the next entry like that sad dog whose owner died and never came home and he just sits there, waiting--oh please, stop, you're embarrassing me--well, if you know me at all, then you'll know that I have the GPS tracking ability of a tree stump. And even then, I'm pretty sure tree stumps grow moss on the side facing south, so, in retrospect, that probably wasn't a clear metaphor.

But you'll be happy to know that I found my way in and around the London tube system with only a Level 1 difficulty. But I am not perfect. I think I was constantly just a little bit lost. And I managed.

The great thing about London is that they're prepared for people like me. And so, to remedy the hordes of squinting tourists pirouetting in the streets, they put up these maps all over the city! And the great part is: the map is always facing the way you're facing! It's like they knew I was coming. They knew. And they prepared accordingly. And I thank them wholeheartedly.

They know their world is backwards, yet they do nothing.

After checking into the hostel, I decided to visit my taxidermied neighbors in the Natural History Museum which was literally right next door because this was a fancy hostel in a wonderful neighborhood with good schools I'm sure. Unfortunately when I got there, I realized my camera had died before I got the chance to say goodbye. It was really inconsiderate of him.

So I snapped some shots with my phone. But who really wants to look at those anyway?

Just kidding. Of course you do.

I then returned to the hostel to charge my camera but realized all too soon that it is a mistake to lay down on a bed ever if you don't want to sleep.

Day 2

HARRY POTTER DAY!!

But since I woke up at 3 to the sounds of my bunkmates' drunken arrival and subsequent snorefest, I had quite a bit of time (and roommates) to kill before my 1 o'clock tour. So I went "downtown!"

I remember taking this picture. I thought to myself, "By the beard of Zeus! I got some double decker buses in the shot too! I am an awesome photographer. Really the greatest."

However, I soon realized that it was actually significantly more impressive to take a picture that didn't have a double decker bus in it. They are literally everywhere. And they photobomb like pros.

So I challenge you to a little entry-specific game: Count the Double Deckers. (Answer at the bottom)

See? Everywhere.

I also wandered around for about 30 minutes looking for the Piccadilly Circus. I . . . didn't really know what I was looking for. But I certainly didn't find anything that could arguably be called a "Circus." It confused me greatly.

(Turns out a "circus" is English-speak for a roundabout road thing. Far less exciting. Also an "arcade" isn't what you think, and "Debeers" is 100% non-alcoholic jewelry. Sneaky Brits.)

Dear Prince Harry,
I dubbed myself a Lady this week. Just sayin'.

Also apparently my hostel was located on the only street in all of Great Britain that I can't pronounce. I asked the metro guy if I could get a ticket to take me to "Gloooochesterrrrrr Road," and after a lot of seconds of repetition and eye squints and quizzical mouth twitching he responded with "Ohhh Glustah Road." I said yes even though I was pretty sure that was wrong.

Impossible. There were no pelicans.

Everything in England is just a little bit fancier.

[Unfortunately Day 2 ends here. To honor the Harry Potter experience, I will be giving it a post of its very own. I apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused you.]

Day 3

Unfortunate circumstance of the day: the Central Tube line was closed for maintenance. You know, the line that essentially connects all the other lines. This attempt to ruin my plans did not go unnoticed. But I persevered, taking most of the city-wide journey on foot. Which came back to haunt me by about 8 o'clock, or 12 hours of nonstop walking.

IN THE FIRST CORNER (SE), COMING IN AT A WHOPPING 16 POUNDS FOR ENTRY, WE HAVE THE TOWER OF LONDON!

I'd give you some interesting historical facts that you could immediately forget, but I didn't pay to enter. Thus, I learned nothing. But look how pretty!

I am called the Monument.
Because Londoners are sooo creative.

London Bridge = underwhelming

Zee Globe Theatre!

HP bridge :)

Early [this] day, to the steps of St. Paul . . .

IIIIN THE SECOND CORNER (NE), COMING IN AT A WHOPPING 8 MILLION OBJECTS, THEY SAY HE'S CONTROVERSIAL BUT I SAY HE'S JUST OVERRATED, IT'S THE BRITISH MUSEUM!

I think whoever arranged this jewelry had a sense of humor.

By the time I got to the British Museum, my feet were already tuckering out. So I popped in on the mummies, then stopped for lunch, mostly to give my hands something to do while I sat for several moments. I realized I needed to plan my exploration of the museum carefully. So as to avoid prolonged foot travel. My lady feet bottoms were in no mood to wander aimlessly.

On my map it listed "Things to see if you only have an hour." Perfect.

What I didn't realize was that these 9 objects were located very strategically, ultimately forcing the victim to visit every corner of the museum, sometimes searching for several minutes for a teeny tiny African mask that couldn't possibly be the most important thing in the room. See above, re: "sneaky."

#1 of 9: A gift for all my linguist buddies.

In reality, this was the perfect way for me to tackle the museum. Not only did I get massive stairmaster exercise, but I was able to treat it like a puzzle. Like a scavenger hunt. Very Naional Treasure-y. Very fun. Well played, British Museum. Well played.

King's Cross! (HP . . . again.)

Dear Bobby with a Y from Indiana,

Thank you for capturing this moment. And for your patience. Third time's a charm, am I right? I will forever be in your debt.

Cordialement,

Molly with a Y from Tennessee

AND IN THE THIRD CORNER (NW), DON'T LET THE CUTENESS FOOL YOU, IT'S NOTTING HILL!

Notting Hill is tiny, quiet, and merry.

"Place where the riches of ages are stowed . . ."

I would have loved to explore Hyde Park a little longer, but I almost almost literally couldn't walk anymore. So to the hostel I marched.

Good night, Hyde park. Good night, mush.
Good night, old lady whispering "hush."

AND IN THE FOURTH AND FINAL CORNER (SW), COMING IN AT 8:30PM, ABLE TO SUBDUE HIS TUCKERED OUT OPPONENTS WITHOUT LIFTING A FINGER, IT'S MOLLY'S BED!

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Day 4

Pip pip. Cheerio.

Amitiés :)

[Answer: 16]

Pause for effect

Good morning, trolley people!

This post is coming to you as a precursor to the one I will hopefully be fleshing out later this evening.

It's a drumroll, if you will.

But today we are heading over to Cannes!

For what, you might ask?

Why for the Cannes Film Festival no less!

Gonna go rub noses with some famous people. Maybe take a few pictures. Who knows!

See you after I'm a star.

Amitiés :)

UPDATED: That's not the right idiom, is it? Something about "rub noses" sounds too invasive. Hmm.

UPDATED: Yeah it's "rub elbows."

UPDATED: Also maybe "rub shoulders?"

ONE O'CLOCK AND AAALL'S WAYULL

PHRASE OF THE DAY
J'ai mal aux pieds: My feet hurt.

Dear reader,

As this evening draws to a close (or rather, drew to a close about 3 hours ago), some facts are made very clear: namely, airplanes strangle ink pens and frame you "red-handed," lettuce leaves make fantastic bowls that you can eat, and this London blog won't be finished for several days.

I tried, you guys. I tried to finish it. But I didn't get very far for silly reasons. You know, like sleep. And an exam. And my plane leaves for Salzburg at 6:30. So in about 5.5 hours. And I won't be returning to Nice until Friday. Sooo . . . yeah.

But here's a picture to tide you over.

Auf wiedersehen.

Amitiés :)

London Calling

This will be short and to the point.

Sort of like a toothpick.

I'm leaving for London in T-4 hours.

And so I bid you adieu. As I trek off into the sunset (or sunrise, mind you).

To feast my wondering eyes on all things fish and chippy, Harry Potter, and backward driving.

Am I scared? You betcha.

Am I still going?  Dadoy.

Am I to the point of having lived alone for so long that I'm conversing with myself? That's irrelevant.

See ya on the flip side.

Amitiés :)

Moving for Moving Pictures

WORD OF THE DAY
yaourt (pronounced yaoooorchhht): yogurt

Hey America.

It's me. Molly.

Just thought I'd let you know what I've been up to these past few precious hours.

Not much really.

Having some bouts of sleeplessness, but that happens.

But I, uh, I do have other news.

As of 0900 hours, I am officially on my way to London for a 3-day excursion this week! It is a precursor for my trip to Salzburg that will happen next week.

But, you guys. That's not even the best part. Wanna know what that is?

Well, like Austria, I'm also following a movie franchise to its homeland.

Can you guess which one?

Well I'll tell ya.

It's Harry Potter, y'all.

I'M GONNA GO ON THE HARRY POTTER TOUR!

Like of the sets and things of that awesome awesome nature!

Oh the movies. They move me. Very very literally.

So that's happening. And I could not be more excited. It is not humanly possible for me to be more excited than I am right now. If I were more excited I would explode. Or implode. Whichever is less bloody.

"Thought you ought to know . . ." (for you true Harry potter fans . . . )

Amitiés :)

Meow Meow Meow Meow

WORD OF THE DAY
le thon: tuna

Ladies and gentlemen, it's that time again. The time of the year when pillows go on vacation, leaving textbooks to fill the void for the huddled masses to rest their heads; when sleep dances ogre-like just out of reach, evading you like a coy yet oddly heavy-footed mistress; when the hours start to melt together til your life is just one big meal consisting of pasta noodles, raw vegetables, and nutella.

This is exam time.

For me I guess it's not too bad. I actually only have 3 exams over the 3-week exam period. Now if my math is right, that averages to approximately 1 exam per week. Which is high on the "Things That Are Extra Doable" list. Somewhere between "Cooking a meal for 1" and "Taking care of a cactus."

Extra doable. But some effort is involved. Apparently.

So that's my life right now. Exam study. Beach. Rain. Study study study. Grocery. Cook. Eat. Seinfeld. Sleep.

Welcome to my world. Please don't leave.

Oh, speaking of cook, so I'm pretty sure I ate cat food for dinner last night. This is not a joke.

I bought some canned tuna and canned salmon from the grocery (since I don't like cooking meat that hasn't been cooked already). But when I opened the salmon, it was not people food.

I scooped it out of the tin and plopped it on the plate. You guys, this was straight up Fancy Feast.

But, I mean, I ate it. It was only a little strange. Lies. It was extra weird.

And I'm pretty sure the tuna/paté aisle is the same as the pet food supplies. This was super unwise, grocery people. WAY too much overlap.

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Ugh I wish I had more to tell you. After being gone for so long from the blogosphere you would think I had tales of wonder and awe and adventure to recount, but, alas, I do not.

Exam #1 in T-minus 8 hours. Bring it on.

UPDATE: Oh! I just thought of a story. So last week my Canadians and I hit the town in hopes of attending quiz night at MaNolans. But, to our ultimate dismay, MaNolans is a très popular quiz night hotspot, and we were denied admittance on account'a there weren't no seats. This pub ain't big enough for the 8 of us.

But since no one remembered their pistols, challenging the other patrons to a duel for the specific purpose of commandeering a table seemed almost silly. So we left.

Later that night, as we were swimming around from one casual dive to another, we ran into some other exchange students we know. One of the girls I'd met back in December at the ice-skating birthday party, but I didn't know her very well. (Obviously we had become friends on Facebook. This should come as no surprise.) Her name is Yvonne, and she's from Ireland. While I was standing a little off to the side, she came up to me, and, looking a bit flustered, she said, "You don't know me. And I don't know you, but I feel like I know you." She then proceeded to tell me how much she loves reading my blog, how it feels like I'm rehashing her experience in Nice exactly! How it's one of the 3 things in the world that gives her belly-laughs!

You guys, I legitimately felt like a celebrity. It was so strange. Awesome, but a peculiar feeling.

So, Yvonne, this post is dedicated to you. Because that made my night, and my week. And, honestly, without that story, this post was crap.

So thanks, girl!

Amitiés :)

Punky Tunester

PHRASE OF THE DAY

la crête: mohawk

Look! Up in the sky! It's a bird! It's a plane! It's . . . no wait, it's just a plane. But it's also SUPERMOLLY! Because she's INSIDE the plane! (Because unlike most super heroes, Supermolly doesn't have the gift of flight, or speed, or invisible planes. And she'd thank you to stop bugging her about it. It's a terrible inconvenience.)

But perhaps Supermolly is also in the plane because she officially bought her ticket home! So the ticking time bomb has been set to 31 days and some hours. Supermolly can't remember exactly right now. But it's probably okay. I mean when do ticking time bombs go down to the final seconds anyway? That never happens.

D-DAY: May 26th

Destination: Nashville

Via: Madrid & Dallas

Time: 20 hours

All: smiles :)

Also, in keeping with the superhero theme, I've recently discovered I have an alterego, Molly Fessler, and she's a card-carrying member of the underground punk scene of Nice, France.

Let me explain.

On Thursday night, our plans to wreak havoc on the quiz night crowd at MaNolans quickly derailed, crashing uncontrollably into an uncharacteristically clean alleyway basement punk show. (Adrien had a friend who was playing drums in one of the bands.)

I'll start off by saying I thought I knew what punk was, and I was mistaken.

Punk is loud.

Punk is thumpy.

Punk is wrought with angst and sweaty mosh-pits.

In order to get in, we had to get a membership card. My card was made out to Molly Fessler. It's good for a year.

Emily and I quickly noticed how out of place we were. My dress was just a little too flowery and my hair a little too braidy for this cave of black-jeaned, purple-haired ruffians who probably wouldn't ever use a word like "ruffian" (or the French equivalent).

I was also expecting it to be a LOT more crowded than it was. Maybe 25 people tops at the beginning. But then I thought about it for a minute. How big could the punk scene in Nice POSSIBLY be? And then I looked around again and was shocked that there were actually 25 people there.

The first band to play (and ultimately the only one I saw) was pretty much exactly what I should have expected. Long-haired guitarist, slightly heftier bassist, and a crazy drummer who took his shirt off halfway through.

The only part of the show that I found tolerable was the one song where they yodeled. I don't know if that's typical for punk music, but I do love a good yodel.

In the small area right in front of the band, there formed a mosh-pit, shove-y and violent, as mosh-pits are wont to be. But I had a hard time focusing on the mosh-pit, as almost all of my attention was drawn elsewhere.

The mohawk.

More than a foot tall.

RED.

It defied social norms and physics.

I felt inspired. By the mohawk. And the Shakespirit that visits when I've been alone for too long.

Shall I compare thee to a mohawk?

Thou art more lovely and more permanent

Rough winds do shake hair buds not yet mohawked

And hair gel's lease hath all too short a date.

Sometime too hot the straightener doth press

And oft is his red complexion dimm'd

And every hair from hair sometime too stressed

By chance or having left too long untrimm'd

But thy eternal color shall not fade

Nor lose possession of that hair thou holdst

Nor shall Death Metal sag the precipice hair-sprayed

When in vertical lines to time thou growest:

So long as men can breathe, no breath will squash it

So long lives this, the mohawk in the mosh-pit.

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Though the mohawk made a fighting case, we did end up ditching the punky tunesters after the first set (leaving Adrien to support his drumming friend alone).

Then me, Emily, and her two French friends went to a gelateria, ate there, then to a café, ordered drinks, and sat outside, playing it super French.

It was very pleasant.

All in all a nice way to round out a somewhat unorthodox evening.

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Also, before going to the punk show, I met up at Emily's place for dinner and such. Our friend Agnes cut Em's bangs before we left.

Mustachioed friends are the best kind of friends.

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OH!

ALSO!

I just bought a plane ticket to go to SALZBURG!!! In AUSTRIA!!!!

Thanks to the wise guidance of a certain older sister, I was notified that there is a certain guided tour of the set and scenery from a certain famous musical concerning a certain Von Trapp family.

You guys . . . for 3 whole days after my exams, the hills will be alive with ME.

Get it.

So that will be coming later.

Until then, I will be soaking up these B-E-A-utiful riviera rays. Hoping to get a base tan. Hoping to circumvent melanoma. It's a delicate balance. And a crap-ton of sunscreen.

It's the home stretch. Let's do this.

Amitiés :)