So, I've been pretty quiet since my France trip. My travel every 3 months plan took a bit of a hiatus after the holidays and during snowboarding season and then all of a sudden it was June. I don't know how that happened. I guess my workaholic ways seeped back in when I wasn't looking. Ugh. I blame my father. If only I was the begotten daughter of Rick Steves instead of a kind, successful business man. Then I wouldn't be in this "run your own business" mess. Next time.
Before my year slipped away from me, my plan was to spend more time with my family. I wanted to use my travel time to get back east and somehow bridge the 3000 mile gap between myself and everyone that looks like me. This was partially sparked by my trip home over Christmas where I attended my cousin Craig's wedding. Even though I had to break my "no panty hose" policy set 9 years ago as well as pair my halter dress with boots and a snowboarding jacket, it was a beautiful wedding and well worth the trip. Most importantly, I spent some time with family that I hadn't seen in years. I realized then that blood is thicker than water, genes are stronger then distance and Jameson trumps all.
It was at this wedding that I also learned about the Coleman Family Reunion. Actually, it may have been at this wedding that the Coleman Family Reunion was conceptualized. I don't know, I was talking to Jameson. Regardless, it was to take place during the summer of '09. Details to follow.
And they did.
The next couple of blog posts will detail my general confusion leading up to the reunion and then the reunion itself this weekend. It will all be written in good fun and with love for everyone organizing and attending. I hope that it is taken that way. If it is not, I hope it is read after I am back in California.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Thursday, October 2, 2008
A Thousand Words
Well, we made it back safe and sound. I can't thank my dad enough for planning such an amazing trip and helping me live out my life plan...or I should probably say helping to bring me to life. If you have any desire to travel and need a partner I highly recommend my dad as a companion. He will also make you a Celtic/Yankee savant at no extra charge. As for me, I'm not sure where my next trip will be (Costa Rica maybe? Any takers?) but you can rest assured that Rick Steves will be there.
For those of you that need proof I have uploaded my pictures and you can see them all HERE. For those of you that need proof but are short on time I posted a few below. For those of you who have read my blog, looked at the pictures, and are still trying to waste some time on a Friday afternoon...I'll see you on Facebook.
Eiffel Tower
Rodin Museum
Arc de Triomphe
Versailles
Sainte-Chapelle
Versailles Petit Trianon
Orsay
D-Day Memorial
Mont Saint-Michel
For those of you that need proof I have uploaded my pictures and you can see them all HERE. For those of you that need proof but are short on time I posted a few below. For those of you who have read my blog, looked at the pictures, and are still trying to waste some time on a Friday afternoon...I'll see you on Facebook.
Eiffel Tower
Rodin Museum
Arc de Triomphe
Versailles
Sainte-Chapelle
Versailles Petit Trianon
Orsay
D-Day Memorial
Mont Saint-Michel
Erin Go Bragh
One only needs to spend a couple days with my dad to be completely educated as to how the Irish have played key roles in all great things...ever. From the submarine (not the one with screen windows) to color photography, the Irish have had their hands in everything. He didn't mention it specifically but I bet there is a story somewhere of Paddy O'Shea being the first to fashion thin slices from a large loaf of bread. In fact, the only thing greater than being of Irish decent is being of Irish decent AND a New Yorker. Interestingly enough my father is both - the luck of the Irish!
So it made perfect sense that we would end our French vacation in Dinan. Dinan is located in Northeast Brittany. Brittany, and specifically Dinan, is part of the Celtic Nations so the residents identify themselves more with Celtic culture then French. Unfortunately I waited until this last stop to do my present shopping. This will explain the celtic trinity knots that some of you receive as gifts. The funny thing is, the alternatives were scarves and jewelery that were from Thailand. Small world.
Dinan is referenced as a small town but in comparison to where we have been it is a booming metropolis disguised with cobble stone streets. My favorite part was the majority of the buildings had overhanging second floors. Almost like Nags Head beach houses with the barely there lower level mushrooming into a giant house above. Except for the stilts...ok, actually nothing like Nags Head houses...I don't know why I thought of that...whatever, you get it, small first floor, giant second floor. Here's my point - historically they were taxed on the square feet of the ground floor so they built conservatively there and then expanded above. Genius! Clearly the work of great Irish minds. And clearly, based on they lyrical poetry of this past paragraph, the strong Irish mind diminishes with each generation away from the homeland. I need to go back and kiss that Blarney.
So it made perfect sense that we would end our French vacation in Dinan. Dinan is located in Northeast Brittany. Brittany, and specifically Dinan, is part of the Celtic Nations so the residents identify themselves more with Celtic culture then French. Unfortunately I waited until this last stop to do my present shopping. This will explain the celtic trinity knots that some of you receive as gifts. The funny thing is, the alternatives were scarves and jewelery that were from Thailand. Small world.
Dinan is referenced as a small town but in comparison to where we have been it is a booming metropolis disguised with cobble stone streets. My favorite part was the majority of the buildings had overhanging second floors. Almost like Nags Head beach houses with the barely there lower level mushrooming into a giant house above. Except for the stilts...ok, actually nothing like Nags Head houses...I don't know why I thought of that...whatever, you get it, small first floor, giant second floor. Here's my point - historically they were taxed on the square feet of the ground floor so they built conservatively there and then expanded above. Genius! Clearly the work of great Irish minds. And clearly, based on they lyrical poetry of this past paragraph, the strong Irish mind diminishes with each generation away from the homeland. I need to go back and kiss that Blarney.
Friday, September 26, 2008
I Heart Rick Steves
When it comes to guide books, I've always been a Lonely Planet girl. So I was a bit alarmed when my dad starting talking about this Rick Steves fellow prior to our trip. He spoke of him in such high regard that I started to feel as though I was going to be the third wheel. However, after using his guidebook I take it all back. Rick is thoughtful and realistic. His directions are spot on and he offers practical and economical advice. With Rick's help, my father was able to plan the perfect French adventure. And I have to admit that it was nice leaving everything up to the men for a change!
I'd like to fill you in on a few of the other places that we stayed in France. After leaving Paris we went to a small port town called Honfleur. Honfleur is picturesque to say the least. We were lucky (and by lucky I mean thanks Rick!) enough to land there during the weekend where they have a street market that overtakes the town. I was excited to shop until I realized that cheap French flea market stuff is very similar to cheap American flea market stuff. But I did pick up a few scarves that became a staple of my wardrobe for the remainder of the tip.
Next we headed west and stayed in a working farm house. This was hands down my favorite spot of the trip. Our hosts were warm and welcoming and although we couldn't speak the same language we got along just fine with smiles and giggles. The other guests of the house included a Canadian family and a retired couple from Iowa. We all shared the bond of Rick Steves.
We spent a lot of time talking to the couple from Iowa. At one point we were talking about how great our hosts were and how trusting and wonderful it was for them to open their home to us. I made some comment about how that would never happen in America. The husband corrected me and said that if they came to his town everyone would be very accommodating and would love to host them. I believed him. It's funny how easy it is to give small town America a hard time. Especially during election years where they are painted as ignorant, gun-toting, right-wing conservatives. The fact of the matter is these stereotypical, small town, Marine Corp vet, farmers spend their free time traveling the world and showing gratitude and kindness to everyone they come across. We may not share the same political values but we certianly share the same human values. And chances are they execute them more consistently than I. It hurt a bit to fall off my high horse but it was a necessary reminder. I'm not sure if I can attribute this lesson to Rick as well...but I will anyways - thanks Rick!
I'd like to fill you in on a few of the other places that we stayed in France. After leaving Paris we went to a small port town called Honfleur. Honfleur is picturesque to say the least. We were lucky (and by lucky I mean thanks Rick!) enough to land there during the weekend where they have a street market that overtakes the town. I was excited to shop until I realized that cheap French flea market stuff is very similar to cheap American flea market stuff. But I did pick up a few scarves that became a staple of my wardrobe for the remainder of the tip.
Next we headed west and stayed in a working farm house. This was hands down my favorite spot of the trip. Our hosts were warm and welcoming and although we couldn't speak the same language we got along just fine with smiles and giggles. The other guests of the house included a Canadian family and a retired couple from Iowa. We all shared the bond of Rick Steves.
We spent a lot of time talking to the couple from Iowa. At one point we were talking about how great our hosts were and how trusting and wonderful it was for them to open their home to us. I made some comment about how that would never happen in America. The husband corrected me and said that if they came to his town everyone would be very accommodating and would love to host them. I believed him. It's funny how easy it is to give small town America a hard time. Especially during election years where they are painted as ignorant, gun-toting, right-wing conservatives. The fact of the matter is these stereotypical, small town, Marine Corp vet, farmers spend their free time traveling the world and showing gratitude and kindness to everyone they come across. We may not share the same political values but we certianly share the same human values. And chances are they execute them more consistently than I. It hurt a bit to fall off my high horse but it was a necessary reminder. I'm not sure if I can attribute this lesson to Rick as well...but I will anyways - thanks Rick!
Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial
The Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial is a World War II memorial and cemetery honoring the American soldiers that died in Europe during the war. It is located in Normandy right on Omaha beach, the site of D-Day. Having grown up in D.C., I have been to countless war memorials and cemeteries. They are all beautiful, sad, and touching. So, although I was looking forward to visiting this memorial I wasn't expecting to be especially taken back. I was wrong.
Although the memorial is dedicated to the etire European fight during WWII the main focus is D-Day. When you first walk into the memorial there is a museum portion that is essentially a history lesson about the planning, execution, and results of D-Day. They have individual stories about soldiers that lost their lives during the invasion complete with letters home and interviews with their wives and children. I was really impressed with how thorough this portion was. They litterally took you through day-by-day, hour-by-hour. All the while there is a woman's voice reading off the names of the soldiers who lost their lives. It leaves a knot in your stomach and a lump in your throat.
After you leave the museum portion you walk out onto Omaha beach. The beach is peaceful and it's beauty rivals any other I have seen. Although you close your eyes and try, it's hard to imagine the battle that took place there June 6, 1944. After you walk across the beach you enter the cemetary portion. This section is reminiscent of Arlington National Cemetary in that it contains bright white tombstones against lush green grass. In this case, however, each tomb is either a cross or a star of david.
As I said before, I have been to memorials before. Even of this size and beauty. However, it was always easy to just be sad. To say, these people shouldn't have died. Whether it's the Holocaust Museum or the Vietnam Memorial, the emotions are pretty cut and dry. But this was different. It was confusing and pulled me in all directions. Am I a fan of war? No. Am I sad these 19 year old boys died? Yes. Did this day play a key role in bringing down Hitler? Yes. Would we have been able to any other way? I don't know. Did the death of these soldiers make the world a better place? I think so. So is it all worth it? Ah, I don't know! It's enough to drive you insane. Or at least me insane.
If you ever find yourself in Normandy set aside a few hours and spend some time here. If you don't find yourself in Normandy, set aside a few minutes to read about D-Day. You'll be glad you did...even if it drives you just a teentsy bit insane.
Although the memorial is dedicated to the etire European fight during WWII the main focus is D-Day. When you first walk into the memorial there is a museum portion that is essentially a history lesson about the planning, execution, and results of D-Day. They have individual stories about soldiers that lost their lives during the invasion complete with letters home and interviews with their wives and children. I was really impressed with how thorough this portion was. They litterally took you through day-by-day, hour-by-hour. All the while there is a woman's voice reading off the names of the soldiers who lost their lives. It leaves a knot in your stomach and a lump in your throat.
After you leave the museum portion you walk out onto Omaha beach. The beach is peaceful and it's beauty rivals any other I have seen. Although you close your eyes and try, it's hard to imagine the battle that took place there June 6, 1944. After you walk across the beach you enter the cemetary portion. This section is reminiscent of Arlington National Cemetary in that it contains bright white tombstones against lush green grass. In this case, however, each tomb is either a cross or a star of david.
As I said before, I have been to memorials before. Even of this size and beauty. However, it was always easy to just be sad. To say, these people shouldn't have died. Whether it's the Holocaust Museum or the Vietnam Memorial, the emotions are pretty cut and dry. But this was different. It was confusing and pulled me in all directions. Am I a fan of war? No. Am I sad these 19 year old boys died? Yes. Did this day play a key role in bringing down Hitler? Yes. Would we have been able to any other way? I don't know. Did the death of these soldiers make the world a better place? I think so. So is it all worth it? Ah, I don't know! It's enough to drive you insane. Or at least me insane.
If you ever find yourself in Normandy set aside a few hours and spend some time here. If you don't find yourself in Normandy, set aside a few minutes to read about D-Day. You'll be glad you did...even if it drives you just a teentsy bit insane.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
es mi cumpleaños catorce de noviembre
If you were to have asked me a week ago if I could speak spanish, I would have said no. I mean, I took it in high school but only seem to have retained the ability to tell people my birthday or ask them where I can find the library. So yes, just the important stuff. However, now every time I open my mouth to attempt French perfectly conjugated Spanish spills out. My dad, on the other hand, practiced level 1 French prior to our trip. He is now anxiously awaiting the opportunity to tell someone that he saw the girl/boy/man/woman running.
Despite our sloppy French and cluelessness everyone has been very accommodating and quite kind. Except for one angry shop owner who wouldn't let us eat our ice cream at his tables (ice cream is French for steamed vegetables). Other than him the general flow goes like this: We attempt French - We Fail at French - We ask if they speak English - They say "a little" - They continue in a use of the language that would make my AP English teacher Mr. Harris proud. Perhaps they have the same insecurity as I do with Spanish. Tomorrow I will ask someone when their birthday is.
Really, the most difficult part of our trip has been locating a US/Europe electricity adaptor. Remember when I said I had 3 jobs? Well, I misspoke. My 4th job was to bring the electricity adapter. I obviously forgot. So the past few days have been spent trying to find one on the French countryside. At first it wasn't that urgent because I only needed to charge my phantom blackberry, but then my camera died followed by my fathers. Now, the race was on.
You have no idea how difficult it is to ask for a US/Europe electricity adapter in broken Fren-Span-Glish. Especially when the "Fren" is limited to "hello," "thank you," and "I saw the girl running." So you are left to hand gestures. I'd like you to turn to your neighbor and ask them, using only hand signals, for a plug...yup, that's what I came up with as well. Awkward. So after offending countless French store owners I resigned myself to the fact that the second half of our trip would be captured only in memories.
That is until I met Eric. Eric is an employee at a Hechinger type store. Hechinger's? What? Do they still exist? Welcome to 2008, Tara. I mean Lowe's or Home Depot. We stopped in there for one last ditch effort. That's where I found the adapter. We had been looking for so long that neither my dad or I believed that it would really work. So I turned to Eric for verification. He poulled out his sword (x-acto knife), opened the package and tested it with my US plug. It worked! I was so excited I grabbed a very alarmed Eric, hugged him, and gave him a big ol US/Europe kiss. No tongue.
Despite our sloppy French and cluelessness everyone has been very accommodating and quite kind. Except for one angry shop owner who wouldn't let us eat our ice cream at his tables (ice cream is French for steamed vegetables). Other than him the general flow goes like this: We attempt French - We Fail at French - We ask if they speak English - They say "a little" - They continue in a use of the language that would make my AP English teacher Mr. Harris proud. Perhaps they have the same insecurity as I do with Spanish. Tomorrow I will ask someone when their birthday is.
Really, the most difficult part of our trip has been locating a US/Europe electricity adaptor. Remember when I said I had 3 jobs? Well, I misspoke. My 4th job was to bring the electricity adapter. I obviously forgot. So the past few days have been spent trying to find one on the French countryside. At first it wasn't that urgent because I only needed to charge my phantom blackberry, but then my camera died followed by my fathers. Now, the race was on.
You have no idea how difficult it is to ask for a US/Europe electricity adapter in broken Fren-Span-Glish. Especially when the "Fren" is limited to "hello," "thank you," and "I saw the girl running." So you are left to hand gestures. I'd like you to turn to your neighbor and ask them, using only hand signals, for a plug...yup, that's what I came up with as well. Awkward. So after offending countless French store owners I resigned myself to the fact that the second half of our trip would be captured only in memories.
That is until I met Eric. Eric is an employee at a Hechinger type store. Hechinger's? What? Do they still exist? Welcome to 2008, Tara. I mean Lowe's or Home Depot. We stopped in there for one last ditch effort. That's where I found the adapter. We had been looking for so long that neither my dad or I believed that it would really work. So I turned to Eric for verification. He poulled out his sword (x-acto knife), opened the package and tested it with my US plug. It worked! I was so excited I grabbed a very alarmed Eric, hugged him, and gave him a big ol US/Europe kiss. No tongue.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
King of France vs. King of Pop
Ok, so let me bring you up to speed as to where I am. Our time in Paris was a whirlwind. We went to a ton of beautiful churches, the Orsay Museum, the Rodin Museum, Versailles, the Arc de Triumphe, the Eiffel Tower, and Monet's gardens. Here are some highlights:
- I'm not sure if I have ever seen a Van Gough in real life. If i have, I wasn't paying attention. His heavy and bold use of paint reaches out from the canvas and grabs you. Amazing.
- Versailles is beautiful and ridiculous. It is 7,600 acres of what happens when you have too much time, $, and power. The most shocking part of the trip was that in each 18th century decorated room there was a giant metallic balloon animal. Except for one room that contained a ceramic statue of Michael Jackson and his monkey. I'm serious. Google Jeff Koontz Versailles. I can't imagine that any of the Loui's would be happy about that. Who's bad?
- Water lilies are stunning.
- Dictators get stuff done. Not to make light of the pain they cause, but between Versailles and the Arc de Triumphe you really can't argue the fact that they are doers. If we could get a temporary moderate green thumbed dictator with a dislike for greedy investment bankers, I really think things would bet cleaned up quickly. Maybe we could even get that Sept. 11th memorial started.
- My dad is a fantastic tour guide, but he keeps trying to get me to wear his sweaters. Vests and full sleeved. I don't know if we should pick up some new glasses or if I should lay off the crepes.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)