The stunning difference between traveling and touring lies in the hands of the compelling people whom we may be fortunate enough to stumble upon. A pure heart and inquiring mind are the only tools to find these people, they're everywhere, on the streets, in the subway, at the table next to you in the restaurant and in the hostel room above you. Just open your mouth. Or search
couchsurfing.org.
Michelle and I began our journey by staying with the lovely Gwen and her tea-loving mother and patient father in the suburban area of Paris. The first night I admitted I knew nothing about Paris and what it had to offer, except I was quite sure I wanted to see the catacombs. Gaynar sat up with me past midnight with maps sprawled all over the floor, and Gwen wrote directions in my little notebook. I felt thoroughly more prepared. We woke up to Gaynar's chirping, "Would you like some tea?" which I thankfully accepted every time. Dinner was spent discussing the ins and outs of easyjet.com, giggling about Gwen's English students, and other tidbits which necessarily become the topic of conversation after two glasses of wine.
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| adventurers |
Gwen's true feat in the first part of our adventure was the conquest of the Tour Eiffel. She patiently waited in the 3 mile long queue while we skipped off to see the Wall of Peace, then scuffled through the typical tourist corral, found the first available elevator which we sandwiched ourselves into, climbed a few flights of stairs, achieved the next round of elevator lottery, and supervised our enjoyment of the lights of Paris. After we lost a few toes from over-exhuberant tourists and decided to climb back down the Parisian Everest, Gwen realized we may not catch our last train. We ran wildly through the streets, up gorgeous marble stairs, around buildings I cannot name, glancing back quickly to see the sparkling Eiffel and dodging street performers, we finally arrived at the metro.
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| Give you one guess where this was taken.. |
Standing in line for the Catacombs introduced us to Milos & Martin, two guys who quickly asked us to guess where they were from. We asked for a clue, so they told us "hello" meant "ahoj". Michelle raised one eyebrow and smirked, "Pirate?" They frowned, confused. I started laughing. They both had rugby type figures, and if it wasn't a latin language, then, "Is it Slavic?" I said, hesitantly. Their frowns deepened and they exchanged vaguely annoyed looks. "Yes, we are from Slovakia," said Martin, the shorter one. Michelle then went into a rant about English being the only language learned in the States, which I thought almost as entertaining as her verbal battles with several Parisian store owners that day. The two Slovakians were born couchsurfers, and after being our ghost-bodyguards down in the Catacombs, followed us to the Louvre, where we promptly got lost. The Jaconde room will get you every time..
Abdelkar was a sweet CS Tunisian in Paris who met up with us just out of sheer...determination? Just joking. He sweetly put up with our lack of direction and planning to find a sweet little crêpe place with great music near the Notre Dame for us girls to devour some French food and cider. We laughed about Michelle's sunburn and learned a bit about life in Paris for a Tunisian. I unfortunately did not take a picture of his lovely smile, but I'm sure we'll meet again!
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| With the peach parfait |
Our last night in Paris included an early morning airport run, so we were lucky enough to snatch Youssef, a kind and talented Moroccan, off the last-minute-couch-request Paris group, who lived close to the airport (coincidentally). We lugged our suitcases up four flights of a winding circular staircase and sat for a few minutes before I realized I had misread the the directions. Michelle gave me a blood-curdling look which sent me running down the stairs again. We had picked up ingredients for a parfait dessert, and after introductions, began to put it together. He on the other hand, treated us to some of the world's best Spanish Chorizo sent from his mother, some wine, and a home-cooked Moroccan lamb gourmet feast. We sat happily, munching the splendor and chatting about...well. I don't quite remember. I just know that I want to go to Morocco...and I need to go herb-shopping! We popped off early at a godforsaken hour, and easily made our flight. Thank you, Youssef!
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| La Dolche Vita |
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"My God. She says the doors are closing.
Good.
Now I can sleep." -Pier |
On arriving in Milan, we had the day to kill before meeting Pier-Angelo. When we did meet at a shop near his house, we were shivering little drenched rats. He more or less picked us up, shook us off, petted our heads, and took us for a delicious meal and drinks. We were all instantly comfortable, teasing, joking, pushing each other off the sidewalk, you know, general 8th grader behavior. The following day, Pier began his (which we became accustomed to) "I have a beautiful plan" speech. Michelle and I exchanged glances. We were a bit startled by this sort of, "I'm your couchsurfer, therefore I make the decisions" attitude. So we compromised. We usually let Pier take the reins once in a while, especially when it came to food, but the girls had some prerequisites. Such as Lake Como. Actually I think that really was our only standing-ground moment...Maybe Pier really did instigate the entire weekend. He not only took us to parks, wined and dined us, he almost literally forced us to go down the most famous Milano street (I was tired!), gave me a piggy-back ride by the canal (see prior parenthesis), put up with our squabbling, gave us pats on the head when he thought we were being silly, gave Michelle a boost up onto the horse statue for a picture, and made sure we were constantly full of Italian goodness (by which I mean edibles). Pier was a patient, lovely, 5 star host, and I really do hope our paths cross again.
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| Playing with her fish soup |
Our first CS experience in Barcelona was re-meeting the lovely Anjana. I had met her in Toulouse for a drink at an Irish bar a couple weeks prior, and we discovered our traveling plans coincided. Newbies of Spain, she took us both by the hands, explained a few Spanish words like "volly" which was pronounced "bolly" (please correct my spelling, Anjana...), how Paella was a no-miss, and who this Goudi character really was. She also pointed out the tallest statue of Columbus. Her smiling face also won us a round of shots from the waiter. That's a win!
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| Las Ramblas |
We stayed at a superb hostel on Las Ramblas, but we did meet up with Xavier and Pilar one night. Xavier was a lovely chap, the only true Barcelonian we found who would talk to tourists, and he introduced us to the colorful Pilar. Her delightful self was spending the summer in Spain to escape New Orleans, and she provided some profound stories of learning from traveling. After having some Tapas, Fanta, & sangria, Xavier bounded off and the girls walked down the the port to enjoy some tasty sparkling blush wine.
Once again, I can't imagine traveling without this website and the effects its had on my view of "strangers". In Barcelona we also chatted with a Dutch guy on the metro, and ended up meeting him later in the middle of the locals' protest at Catalunya Place for some beers and conversation. As any good couchsurfer would say, "why not?"
"It is the lives we encounter that make life worth living". - Guy de Maupassant
The second vineyard was on land which had grown grapes for a millennium. Nearby were Roman ruins and the beautiful River Garonne, down by which were five century old tulips. We leaned on the stone wall, wondering how life in a wine chateau could truly touch reality.
