the grand finale.

i loved being a backpacker, but i have to admit the feeling was close to ecstasy when i stepped into the hotel i was meeting my mom at in barcelona. imagine going from an 8 bed mixed dorm room to a luxury hotel- air conditioning, huge beds, a bath tub, and a fluffy towel bigger than texas!

for those of you that didn't know, my mother met me in spain with her friend robyn to "make sure i got on that plane back to texas".

for the first time in the 4 months i was traveling... i rode in one of those tourist double-decker-convertible buses that tour the entire city. it was nice to get some sun and look at stuff, but 8 HOURS LATER mom and i looked at each other and at the exact same moment said, "i'm ready for this to be over." we were having sangria withdrawals!

my mad double-decker-convertible bus photo taking skills. (i got more pics like this than of the city.)

after 8 days of sun, sangria, tapas, and beautiful clothes it was time to head back to america.

(speaking of beautiful clothes, i would like to tell you about the time my mother almost killed me. it's 8:30pm the night before departure, "oh, erin! we have so many euros left over. go get you some clothes from that store you like hunny." she's referring to h&m, the best store ever that doesn't want to be in texas. which i don't know why not, but anyways. i couldn't get their fast enough. but i did, and i elbowed some bimbos who were taking too long to sift through the racks, and i succeded. and lived.)

after 22 hrs. of traveling (barcelona --> geneva --> nyc --> atlanta --> houston -->) i'm back.

damnit.

over the last 4 months i have the time of my life- i went to places i never dreamed i would, i met amazing people and made real friends i wont ever forget, i learned history, and i learned about me. and again i want to say thank you to my most amazing family and friends who have been there pre, during, and post. i am the luckiest girl in the world!!!

and now it is time for "then"!

but before it's the official end, i wanted to tell y'all some about my many (not funny at the time, but hilarious post-trauma) experiences on the european railways.

1- lisbon, portugal

it's our first full day out in lisbon, and i'm with a group of guys and we're heading to belem for those bomb pastries. the train leaves in 5 min. (and the man who told us this said it about 4 1/2 min ago.) i'm first to jump on the train and when my body is half way in i hear a loud "BEEP" and i'm smashed in the closing doors. i squeeze in and make eye contact with anthony, who is on the other side of the window, he runs. the whole group of guys i am with start running and attempt to pry open ever door possible on this train. all i can manage to do when i am alone on this train is raise my hands to my face ("home alone" style) and say "oh, no. oh, no. OH, NO!!!" i forgot to mention that i had no idea where we were, or where we were going. but then i remembered that i am brilliant and pushed a button on the door and they all opened!

2- lisbon, portugal (again)

the next day, on a train to sintra, phil wants to sit on the first car of the train. no big deal, train doesn't leave for 10 more min. as we are walking the length of the train, i say, "man, this really freaks me out. seeing that train right there that we need to be on- and we're not on it." what happens next? "BEEP!!!" engine starting and platform shaking. after we all stopped mid stride and stare at eachother with dumb looks on our faces, i run. again. me. on a train alone and watching these boys attempt to pry the doors open. once i can stop crying (from laughing) i push the button- ta da! i'm a hero.

3- lisbon, portugal (i know, what's the issue, erin?!)

this one is the worst.

i think i'm taking a 10:30pm overnight train to madrid, spain. i have plenty of time, i get a croissant, take a load off, pull out my ticket and.... again with the hands to the cheeks, "oh, no. oh, no. OH, NO!!!" the ticket i have in my hands is for the next night. and then it hit me- you're not in texas anymore, you're not even on the same continent anymore! it's 10:20pm now and i'm in an empty train station. i'm running with my massive backpack in circles around this station, 9 min... 8 min... i finally find an open ticket station, i explain the situation and am watching the man. i can't tell what he's doing, he's not talking, for all i knew he was playing the lotto and cutting his cuticles all at the same time... the clock is ticking, 7 min... 6 min... 5 min... at this point i close my eyes and begin to blackout. "SENORA!" like it's no big deal (and i owe him no big euros) he hands me a ticket for the current nights train that is leaving in 3 min. 1/2 an ambien later- and i'm in madrid!

well... that's it. other than the pain-in-my-ass french and italian railway strikes. maybe it was a portugal thing.

why don't they have to get a job?

i'm thinking the lack of opposable thumbs.

the beginning of the end...

prague. the birthplace of pilsner beer and the wonderbra!

in this bohemian corner of the czech republic, beer is actually cheaper than water.

oh, great. [sarcastic font.]

well- my blonde ''girlfriend'' from berlin is in prague, too. and with her she has her even blonder little sister. we were a blonde-american-sister-sandwitch. after a few [unbelievably, vom-inducing disguisting] shots of absinth we head out to karlovy lane- the biggest and badassest club in central europe.

not.

read the fine print. 'the biggest and badassest club in CENTRAL europe.'

central europe is a term invented by the czech people. and it consists of the czech republic. and maybe austria. if they feel like it.

before we stepped on the dance floor, i was unaware that my blonde companions were serious hip hop dancers. like legit 'pop, lock, and drop it' music video kind of hip hop dancers.

now i know that many of you have seen me do my ''britney spears move''- and you know how amazing it is. for those of you that haven't, just think britney in her crack-head days swinging her hair around [before she cut it all off] while sticking her butt out. i know. so hot. and in my desperate attempt to keep up with these ladies when they would simultaneously bust out into these routine dance moves, i did 'the britney' over and over again. mixed with an occasional 'running man' or some 'roof raising'. i would give anything to see what that looked like. i was sore for the next two days.

some highlights of prague:

-the lennon wall [since the 1980s this wall has been filled with lennon inspired graffiti and beatles lyrics. the young czech people used the wall as a voice during the communist regime.]

-the bone cathedral [kutna hora. holds between 40-70,000 people. this chandelier is made of at least 1 of every bone found in the human body.]

-learning how to play 'shit-head' [don't worry, texas. i'll teach you.]

-the world's largest metranome [i'm sure you're thinking, ''what the what, erin!?'' but hear me out- after WW2, in the spot where the metranome is used to stand a massive statue of stalin. obviously, post velvet revolution, that sucker had to go. fast forward to the year 1996 and enter stage left.... michael jackson. MJ felt that something was missing here. so, he did what any normal human being would do and placed a gigantic [and inflatable] statue of himself in that exact spot. i would have accepted anything less. 2 years later- the metranome. why? no idea.]

i spent a lot of time in prague doing absolutly nothing. i was supposed to be thinking about ''what's next?''. but, being me, i found about 29 other things to think about. all of which were way more important. like, do i want to do my laundry today? or tomorrow? should i have a croissant for breakfast? or yogurt? one night i began talking to an older and wiser woman at the bar [to which my mother still thinks i'm referring to her as this ''older and wiser woman'' as an alias for herself.] and she asked me, ''what would you do if you knew you could not fail?''

my answers are out of control. but it's a start.

and thank god it's off to cesky krumlov so i can push that thought process to the side for a few weeks more weeks now.

oh, cesky my cesky!

this small city quickly crept up to the tope of my favorites list.

no starbucks.

no mcdonalds.

no h&m. [thank you, jesus.]

only minutes after our arrival rumors began floating around that this is the place where the movie ''hostel'' was filmed. [a horror about backpackers being tortured, raped, chopped into tiny bits. no big deal.] also that it was an old mental institution. and a hospital for lupus patients right before they died. either way- this place was creepy.

but this did not stop the good times from rollin'. no words or witty descriptions can do this justice.

the rafting pub crawl.

one afternoon- right at noon to be exact- we venture out on one of the most memorable experiences of our lives. we were driven in a van about 15 k outside of the 'village', dropped off with 2 rafts and told, ''don't die.'' the goal: hit as many bars going down the river as possible. and don't die.

the water proff ''bag'' went from being a premiership champion cup trophy thing for the mantel-pieces [australians... ], to a treasure chest, and then a time capsul with messages from the past to the future. but it wasn't quite the future yet, so we were screwed. we went down wild and crazy rapids. kinda. toughed it out in the freezing rain. and... nobody died!

but for some reason my boat wouldn't let me row. [believe it or not, i begged at one point. who? me?] so i sat there and played the role as the rafts 'dashboard ornament'. i started off as a pair of furry handcuffs and was quickly promoted to fuzzy dice because i chatted it up with some blonde locals who gave us all shots of their rum. the ultimate promotion: the hawaiian hula dancing lady. but i never got there because i quit caring.

at one point, while in a not so serious conversation, i mentioned how, ''y'all australians have about 37 different words for being drunk.'' these dudes got up to 49 in less than 10 min.

ex. pissed, mental, off my tits, off my face, slammed, bent, wrecked, swacked, hooched up, and of course... drunk.

i also made a quick stop in vienna, austria. the only thing i have to report back on from there is that i still don't like veggiemite and i took a shot where my mouth was lit on fire. with real fire. there were no ''don't try this at home'' signs hanging around. so if you're feeling stupid... call me.

attention!! let's make party!!!

(a painted part of the Berlin Wall = East Side Gallery)

So far, I think that Berlin is the most livable city in all of the EU. The nights, the days, the streets, the history, the style, the people... (all but one. more about that later.)

On our first night out we ended up at a squatter-art house-night club called Tacheles. What I mean by this is that after the Berlin Wall fell, a community of people (mainly artists) moved into this building and with time they eventually became the owners. Now it is an art space full of different galleries and their owners. At night a full bar opens up inside with different bands and headlining DJs. There was a full blown (with a complete brass section) latin salsa band playing. And I'm pretty positive that all of Spain was there as well. At one point they played Shakira's world cup song ("this ones for Africa... Namanamana heyhey") then some Spanish boys took off their shirts and got all Latin on top of a table.

(this is what the squatter nightclub/art gallery looks like with the lights on.)

I decided a long time ago that I was not going to write about the negative comments I get about where I am from. Believe me- it's happening. I'm usually pretty cool in these situations. Example of a standard conversation:
Not American: so your from Texas? So like, where's your gun and horse?
Me: out back. Tied up next to the Australians kangaroo and pet koala bear.

Gun loving, Bush loving, freedom fighting American. Yee haw.

Unfortunatly- Berlin is also where I had the worst part of my trip.
I'm standing there- minding my own business- and some dude I have never seen before in my life gets right in my face and says, "you're the dumbest girl I've ever looked at. Blonde American. I don't even need to hear you talk. I wish I had a tape recorder to play back all of the stupid things you have ever said."

WHAAAAAAT!?!?!?!?

I'm standing there, jaw dropped, and 3... 2.... 1.... Here come the water-works. (I'm sure the PMS/ German beer coctail I was rolling with didn't help either.) I cried like a baby. Like heavy breathing, nose dripping, voice cracking, shoulder shaking kind of crying. (I even called mama. Whose response was, "oh baby, you need to get your butt back to Texas.")

I was so upset- but what I was so upset over was the fact that I spend so much energy being not ignorant and being educated and trying to prove that not all Americans (or Texans) are dumb fucks! But this was the straw that broke the camels back. I was pissed at myself because I wanted to defeatedly crawl back home and tell everyone not to go to Europe because everyone everywhere hates Americans- which then keeps Americans at home, staying ignorant and hating the rest of the world, treat them with no respect, which keeps the rest of the world hating Americans. It's a vicious cycle!!!! (and really now, of all the cities you're going to be a hater in? Really??)

In the end, the person I feel the worst for in the whole situation is the poor guy who walked me back to the hostel and pat my back while I relished in my misery.

Cry baby.

Moving along...

The mayor of Berlin described the city as "poor but sexy". And ain't that the truth! It's not a beautiful, asthetically pleasing place- there are still areas in shambles from WW2 and messes left behind from the Soviets. But the people of Berlin have taken the landscape of the city and made it their canvas. Creativity is flowing here- there is street art, gorilla art, and wheat pasting around every corner. Some of it is trash- but when it's all mixed together it's a beautiful colage.


We went to an old bombed train station from the war. There are still shards of glass on the ground and broken windows, bricks laying all around- it's a breath taking mess. A sureal reminder of the destruction this place has seen. Now take a walk aroud the corner- the old guard towers have been turned into rockwalls, theirs a skate park, night clubs, and a beer garden full of people. It's an amazing juxtoposition of the lives that Berlin has lived.


My favorite squatter community we passed by was of people who moved into old soviet tanks and trucks. When they left Berlin- they left their mess here and people turned it into their homes and are still lving there today.

Berlin does have a pretty budged up history. And I think they are cleaning up with class.

Another sureal part if my time their was on a walking tour and the guide led us on a windey route and we ended up in a courtyard of an apartment complex in a neighborhood. Turns out we were standing on the spot where hitler had comitted suicide. That was a "wow" moment.

Now just to keep things a little twisted, my blonde "girlfriend" (term was used many times this night to get rid of the never ending number of abrasive dutch boys) and I decided to go out on a '666-anti-pub crawl'. It started off normal, you know, flirting with the Irish bartender, drinking a beer, no big deal. Then it got WAK!

If you don't like bad words, don't look at this picture:


This was stamped on my wrist all night. And I think the guys in charge of this used sharpie like strength ink as a nasty trick. I couldn't get it off for days. Jerks.

My first gothic bar, ever. This is no numbers in montrose kind of goth bar. This is so gothic that the band Rammstein kicks it here for the "creative energy". Whatever you imagining- multiply it by one million. Upside down crosses, Marilyn Manson lookalikes (creepy contacts included), all dressed in black, head banging, rageing goths.

I couldn't stop smiling. Maybe smiling too much. And "chopped suey" by system of a down came on. And we danced!!!

And now I'm all kebebed out.

Definition of my choice for the title of this blog:

I've picked up a bit of translations from kicking it with English as a second, third, or forth language speakers on my adventure.

Attention! = Hey!
Arrange some drinks! = Get me a beer!
Let's make party! = WOOOO!!!!!

amsterdaaaaam!!!!

My first impression of Amsterdam was "WOW!!! This place is cute! People never talk about how cute this place is!"
Anxious and excited to get off the bus we drop our bags and................

"in bruges"

"if I'd grown up on a farm and was retarded, Bruges might impress me, but I didn't, so it doesn't."

-Ray

(if you haven't seen the movie- go see the movie.)

Automatically- wasn't even there for 15 min before I fell for the Flemish-est of Flemish jokes. I walk into an old locals cafe with a friend. I'm standing at the bar to order a coffe- and what to my wondering eyes does appear?? A euro on the ground!! Bend over... DAMMIT!!! As I slowly rise with my hand over my eyes I begin to hear the belly laughs from the table full of old men (majority of toothless). That sucker was glued to the floor. And I think those men just sit around and wait for that to happen.

Suprisingly enough, Bruges is not a quiet place. And whenever it rains the whole place smells like horse shit.

I went walking around the central part of this creepy city on my first night. Bruges really does have a live soundtrack. Just like the movie (which there is a possibility I might mention a lot). There are random violin and cello players in alleyways, giving a creepy echo effect, every few blocks. But the creepiest is the children standing on corners playing out of tune string instruments. They stare right at you with a blank expression on their face.

But this did not stop the realization of the one song I have heard in Europe over all others:

"I would walk 5,000 miles and I would walk 500 more just to be the man who walked... Something something blah"

The next morning I woke up with 2 british boys passed out on the floor of the room. They looked like chubby versions of the Jonas brothers. And stunk.

Belgium is known for a few things. Waffles.. French fries.. Chocolate.. Beer.. Christ's blood.. And In Bruges!

I had a waffel. Ehh...

I had some french fries, followed by some nasty looks. Ordering fries here comes with an option of about 15 sauces. I ordered the American. (que the nasty looks) "why go all the way to belgium to get american sauce?!" well excuse me, people! It says spicy and it's the only sauce not mayonaise based!!!

Good god I had chocolate. There us even a chocolate museum here- 'choco story' it's like an anthropological take on chocolate. With samples.

I had beer. 12% alcohol beer. Made by a monk!

I saw christ's blood. It's on a cloth, in a vile, protected by a preist. It's still red. Scientifically??.... Jus' sayin.

I went on an in Bruges tour.

Park where best scene of the movie takes place...

Postcard view of Bruges. Also the black sign to the left- the hotel they stayed at and the window where Ray jumps out to a boat in the chase scene.The morning I left I woke up with midget in my room. Real life. (if you've seen the movie, you know how weird this is.)

the U.K.razy!!!

I'm so excited I can't hardly see straight! I'm about to do something that ... millions of people have done- but now I get to do it!!

Check this: I'm on a bus, that is on a train, that is in a tunnel, that is under the English Channel! WHAT?!?!?Then the lady at passport control had to go and kill my buzz.

I was the last in line, she questioned me for 30 min. (which held the bus up-and all buses following- which then contributed to us arriving 21/2 hrs. late)

I was given a form to fill out before reaching the desk. My favorite question: occupation. Why not just ask me what I want to do with the rest of my life!?! With a deep breath and gigantic punch to my ego, I wrote 'unemployed'.
Big mistake.
Here's a brief portion of our conversation.pASSport control: unemployed??? You left your country in a recession to come spend money that will not benefit your economy?Me: (shakin' in my boots) umm... Yes ma'am.
pASSport: obviously you're not paying for this.
Me: actually... (cut off)
pASSport: you could be deported.
(DEPORTED??!?!??!!)
pASSport: do you know anyone in the UK?Me: yes!! Her name is Laura! She's in Edinburgh!
pASSport: and what does she do?
Me: she just graduated... And she's raising her son.
pASSport: so she's a housewife.
Me: don't you think that term is a little outdated?
another big mistake.

pASSport: I'm getting the impression here that you are going to Edinburg to work for this "Laura" (yes, she made quotation marks in the air with her chubby little British fingers) and raise her son.
Me: WHAT?!??! I have a degree from the University of Texas! Known to some as 'the Harvard of the south'!! Why would I want to raise a kid?!?!?(ok... maybe I didn't say all of that last part.)

After 25 min. I was granted 11 days in the UK. Sitting right next to the stamp in my passport- 11 days.

My first night in London I got to spend with a familiar face of a friend on his last night. The London night plays extreme tricks on people like me. First- it's so cold. Like Christmas morning cold. But it's August. Second- I still sware I saw foxes in the street. And best of all is third- creepers watching us through binoculars in white vans. None of this was true- except for the cold part.The next morning I had the pleasure of meeting my roommates at the hostel. Somehow I happened to wind up in a room full of boys from Texas! Unfortunately, they are those kinds of boys from Texas that you don't want the rest of the world to know about. TCU frat boys who (still) pop their collar, spit dip, and have a tendency to drink so much they fall asleep in bars. They somehow convinced me to go out with them one night- after an hour and a half I bailed and ended up sleeping for 15 hrs. (new personal record.)

London is so freaking big. My time there was basically a cluster of walking and looking at things that looked better in my imagination than in real life.Buckingham palace- tiny.
Tower of London- so small.
London bridge- are you kidding me?!?! It's a bridge that says 'London Bridge' on it.

But this, this is my favorite part of London:

A reminder for the rest of the world which way to look when crossing the street.
Then it was off to Scotland- where you can hear bagpipes everywhere. Seriously. Here in Edinburgh, there is the only statue (ever) of an angel playing the bagpipes.

This is also the birth place of the phrase "shit faced". Back in the day (pre-plumbing) people would throw their waste from a bucket out the window and yell something in French, that ironically sounds like "beware of the pop!!!". Being sober- one would step to the side and seek cover. Being drunky-one would look up and say "huh??"
And then... 'shit faced'.

Being a very short trip (remember the '11 days delima') I still had time to get lunch with Laura and her beautiful son that I am not staying in Scotland to raise for money, dance with the stinkiest Germans ever, and ride in a backwards car. By backwards car I mean I sat on the left and the car was moving on the left side of the road. The guy driving had a whole conversation with me in which I did not participate in, or pay attention to, because I was to busy freaking the f out.

Edinburgh is a beautiful city.


This is Arthur's Seat- which I found out was an active volcano when I was already on the top of it.

Next stop- the mother land- Ireland. (I know, technically not the UK. But their all over there together.)

On the plane ride over I sat next to a girl randomly who also happened to be from Texas, and grew up in a neighborhood not far from mine. Going through passport control the officer asked which one of us was the 'wildest one'. A little creeped out we just smiled, laughed a little, and continued on walking. Not knowing what that was about- I said "BTW, I'm Erin." and she was all like "No! I'm Erin!" omg. Now we know what that was all about!

People often ask me how I meet people when I am traveling alone. You take in a deep breath- tell yourself "you're amazing"- approach, and be charming. Occasionally it can be a complete failure and you get stuck in lame conversations with people who suck. In Dublin- total success. I met 2 loooovely ladies (1 from Texas!) and we had the most amazing time ever.

Our first night in Dublin was a Saturday- rightfully so we went on a pub crawl. Man... I'm telling ya... those Irish.

But now I'm beginning to question the progressive evolution of man. At one point in the night I kept feeling a small but sharp sting hit my back every few seconds. I look over and see some guy (Australian..) throwing skittles at me. I said "excuse me- I don't even know you and you're throwing skittles at me." his response "you're cute. Wanna skittle?" NO I DON'T WANT ANY OF YOUR STUPID SKITTLES!!!!

And like the champs we are- we were up at Guiness storehouse the next morning. This place was amazing- 7 stories high and has everything from the original lease for 9000 years, step by step brewing, the rules for a proper pour of Guiness, and a Guiness on the top floor with a 360 view of Dublin.


I know Guiness can be pretty intimidating- but I tried something that changed my life. However, the Irish find it to be rather blasphemous. Black current in the beer!! Makes it more lady like.

Then one of my favorite pastimes. Naps. But make it better- on a grassy knoll with a game of cricket in the sun at Trinity College. We then spoke for hours on life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. And took senior photos.


There's been this crazy rumor going around about something that I couldn't believe- but I've seen it with my own eyes.
Do you see anything wrong with this picture?


In Ireland (where bartenders get punched for pouring a Guiness wrong) on draft- next to Bulmers and Heineken- is Coor's Light. And the love the shit of that pee.

On a different topic- when I was a baby one of my mothers best friends attempted to teach me my first word. Over and over again "WHISKEEEY!!!!!" needless to say- I'm a whiskey girl. And a salivate when think about it- Jameson girl!

Everybody together now- WHISKEEEY!!!!


On our last afternoon in Dublin we saw a crazy drunk being crazy. I said, "That's the only crazy drunk I've seen in Ireland." to which I was given the reply "Obviously you didn't see how we looked on Saturday night." Hurts so good!!!!

paris! (no witty title necessary)

*disclaimer* a portion of photos refuse to rotate- tilting your head to the left a few times will be necessary to obtain a proper view.

I arrived in Paris oh so tired- but surprise! Guess who's here??? My favorite frenchie, Ines! And with her is our amigo Nate- from Texas! We took this group shot that I couldn't resist posting. God I love being a tourist.


The day that I decided to do a lot of stuff in Paris didn't begin with the smoothest morning. i filled up my water bottle- ran outside to catch up with the walking tour- took a sip of my water- it was boiling. i should have put a tea bag in it. that's how hot it was. then when we get to the first stop on the tour i look into my bag and a packet of butter has exploded all over it. (please don't ask me why there was a packet of butter inside of my purse.) it's everywhere- sunglasses, wallet, lip gloss, and even in the shutter of my camera. i don't want to talk about it too much, but i found some way too close to my eye later on in the afternoon.

things started to look up when i heard the story of the original FB. check it:
there was this king (who has a name- but i can't remember it) who was having a fiesta where he and all of his friends got super wasted. the king then had a `bloody brilliant` idea and summoned sculptors to make statues of all of his wastey friends. and then put them on this bridge.


how is this the original FB?
FB is the bridge.
and now i put this on the blog. because it's already on FB.


I went to bed sending off positive vibes that the next morning would be a much more delightful experience. Well... The French will be French. It's 7:30am and all I can hear are those stupid horns being blown- the ones like in the world cup. I'm thinking- oh it must be the neighbors revenge. It's possible we were a little loud last night. They're making a point- lesson learned- can't last longer than 15 min. So naive. So wrong. 45 min later I go downstairs to see it's the janitorial staff of the hostel. And guess what? They were on strike! Surprise!! Not even French citizens- they didn't even speak French! And guess what they wanted... A free meal with every shift that they worked!!
Good. God.

Obviously I needed to get out of there mas rapido. I decided to play one of my favorite games- get lost for fun! And boy howdy did I. I also made it a point to stop by pere lachaise cemetary (which is beautiful)- at no later than 10:30am I turn the corner to Jim morrison's (of 'the doors') grave and I am welcomed by a cloud of pot smoke, shots of Bourbon, and a champagne toast to Jim himself. There was even a quite older couple crammed in there having a cheese and baguette picnic. On his actual grave there were a fee joints laid down and bottles of booze. I'm thinking: illegal. But a guard told me this happens everyday all day. There are even regulars who visit the grave at least once a week.



This night we went from being incredibly French to incredibly American. Well I was the only American... So Canadian and Australian. It began as a quiet evening eating a bomb baguette with stinky/yummy cheese and drinking red wine while sitting by the seine river. Just like the locals! And it ended with the most outrageous game of kings I've ever played.

In a nutshell- kings is a drinking card game. Each card has a rule to it. Ex- 6= chicks. So ladies drink. Or 3= me. And that person drinks. One of the best cards is the 'rule maker' card, this person gets to make a new rule. Ex- if you touch your hair you have to drink. Someone thought it would be fun to have 6 different new rule cards this night. So by the end of the night if you wanted (or needed) to drink, this is how it went:
1. Slap your face with your left hand
2. Make an animal sound
3. Drink
4. Stand up and curtsy
5. While curtsying say "thank you, wolfie."
(yes, there was a Canadian there named wolfie. Real life.)

The next day (eventually) I made the journey out to the catacombs. Forever away- in the 1700s-ish the French were running out if burial space with all of the plagues running around and killing people. So the remains of 6 million people were dug up and delivered at night by a full brigade of priests to this old rock quarry. So creepy.

See how creeped out I am?


I also went on a walk through Montmartre- home of the moulin rouge, many locations were 'amile' was filmed, and also once where Picasso and van gough used to live. Now home of the 'bobo'. A French term used which means the 'bohemian bourgeoisie'. The super rich and young something who wants to live the artists lifestyle. But with a lot of money. And not be an artist themselves. A term I believe is becoming relevant in ausin... hmmm...

The best of all paris was the night bike tour.
1. We got to ride bikes in Paris. (like the Parisian. And all other tourists.)
2. Paris at night is no words can describe beautiful. When the Eiffel tour sparkles, you can't help but go "ohh! ahh!"
3. Ended with a boat tour on the Seine.
4. Free wine on that boat.
5. The ride back to the garage after that free wine on the boat.

I hadn't ridden a bike in over a year- since that one time I thought it would be fun to ride 50 something miles in the Texas hill country. I started off a bit shaky- like stopping. But it was just like.. Riding a bike!


Cruzin' through the louvre at sunset.



I have to mention part of a conversation that I had with some Australians while in Paris.
Aussie question: Erin, I've been wanting to ask you this for a few days now- but I don't want to offend you. But I just can't take it anymore. (suspense) Do you have a 'Bubba' in your family???
To sum up the situation I simply described to her a scenario that likely occurs at my mothers family reunions.
Mama: Have you seen Bubba?
Me: Your Bubba? or Carl bubba? Or his kid Kyle bubba? Or my bubba?

Jaws dropped!

I've been thinking a lot about how things will be when I get back to Texas. Having this amazing experience and being the person that I want to be- I feel like I am confident to bring this all back to the 'real world'. Not saying that I want to go home- I'm just getting more and more excited/anxious to see how life will unfold!!

But somethings just don't change. Like how much people annoy me. I'm sitting on a bench in a park with 20 other open benches. And Right now at the very second I wrote that paragraph some asshole has to sit down right next to me and eat his lunch- smacking so hard I can't even see straight! Were you raised in a dang barn?!!?!