WWOOFing in France

For those of you who haven't heard of WWOOFing, the World Wide Organization for Organic Farming is this really cool organization that connects travelers with farms globally. Andrew and I decided at the beginning of the summer to take some time off and travel a bit and what better way to do that than living and working in local homes and towns. At first we wanted to go to Turkey, then that changed to Greece, and then we finally decided on France. It was at that point that I simply booked us some tickets to Europe and said, "what the hell, I'm committing."

For the past two weeks we've been in Cascais, Portugal visiting my Aunt Kathy who has been spending the past couple summers there. We spent most of our time touring the city and exploring the ins-and-out of Cascais, which is an adorable beach town not far out of Lisbon. One of the cool things about Portugal is that all of their museums are free. Needless to say, we took full advantage of that. Unfortunately, Andrew ended up getting pretty sick our last couple days, but luckily it was at my aunt's place and not at our first WWOOFing home. So he was able to sleep and rest and get well without the worry of being on someone else's time. 

From there Andrew and I headed east to Marseille, France. Andrew and I have just arrived in Serres, Southern France at our first WWOOFing host home. They are a lovely family of five who own a quaint bed and breakfast. For the past couple days we have been helping with cleaning and gardening in preparation for a group of visitors from Australia who are arriving Monday. The family we are staying with has been wonderful and has sought to really make us feel a part of their family. We eat meals together, regularly talk or politics and religion, and work side by side.

Emmanuel, our "host dad," is a mountain guide and has been planning hikes to take us on. In addition, Geraldine,  our "host mom," is taking us to visit Aix En Provence, one of the large neighboring villages. Where we are currently located is quite literally off the grid, as we are smack dab in the middle of the mountains near Grenoble. Our afternoon sunsets have been absolutely beautiful. 

Other than that life is pretty simple. We have been tasked with taking care of the horses, chickens, guinea pigs, rabbits, dogs and cats, and it has been entertaining to say the least. Sometimes we help with cooking and setting up the table/doing dishes. We have most afternoons off and simply enjoy the scenery by taking a walk, or reading our books on our outside patio. It's been real rough. 

Well, that's our update for now. We have two more host homes that we will be splitting our time between over the next couple months but I'll attempt to keep everyone posted as things progress this Fall. Au Revoir!

Is There a Place for Empathy in Politics?

Torture‘s Long Shadow‖ By Vladimir Bukovsky

Washington Post, Sunday, December 18, 2005; Page B01

One nasty morning Comrade Stalin discovered that his favorite pipe was missing. Naturally, he called in his henchman, Lavrenti Beria, and instructed him to find the pipe. A few hours later, Stalin found it in his desk and called off the search. ―But, Comrade Stalin,‖ stammered Beria, ―five suspects have already confessed to stealing it.‖

This joke, whispered among those who trusted each other when I was a kid in Moscow in the 1950s, is

perhaps the best contribution I can make to the current argument in Washington about legislation banning torture and inhumane treatment of suspected terrorists captured abroad. Now that President Bush has made a public show of endorsing Sen. John McCain‘s amendment, it would seem that the debate is ending. But that the debate occurred at all, and that prominent figures are willing to entertain the idea, is perplexing and alarming to me. I have seen what happens to a society that becomes enamored of such methods in its quest for greater security; it takes more than words and political compromise to beat back the impulse.This is a new debate for Americans, but there is no need for you to reinvent the wheel. Most nations can provide you with volumes on the subject. Indeed, with the exception of the Black Death, torture is the oldest scourge on our planet (hence there are so many conventions against it). Every Russian czar after Peter the Great solemnly abolished torture upon being enthroned, and every time his successor had to abolish it all over again. These czars were hardly bleeding-heart liberals, but long experience in the use of these ―interrogation practices in Russia had taught them that once condoned, torture will destroy their security apparatus. They understood that torture is the professional disease of any investigative machinery.

Apart from sheer frustration and other adrenaline-related emotions, investigators and detectives in hot pursuit have enormous temptation to use force to break the will of their prey because they believe that, metaphorically speaking, they have a ―ticking bomb‖ case on their hands. But, much as a good hunter trains his hounds to bring the game to him rather than eating it, a good ruler has to restrain his henchmen from devouring the prey lest he be left empty-handed. Investigation is a subtle process, requiring patience and fine analytical ability, as well as a skill in cultivating one‘s sources. When torture is condoned, these rare talented people leave the service, having been outstripped by less gifted colleagues with their quick-fix methods, and the service itself degenerates into a playground for sadists. Thus, in its heyday, Joseph Stalin‘s notorious NKVD (the Soviet secret police) became nothing more than an army of butchers terrorizing the whole country but incapable of solving the simplest of crimes. And once the NKVD went into high gear, not even Stalin could stop it at will. He finally succeeded only by turning the fury of the NKVD against itself; he ordered his chief NKVD henchman, Nikolai Yezhov (Beria‘s predecessor), to be arrested together with his closest aides.

So, why would democratically elected leaders of the United States ever want to legalize what a succession of Russian monarchs strove to abolish? Why run the risk of unleashing a fury that even Stalin had problems controlling? Why would anyone try to ―improve intelligence-gathering capability‖ by destroying what was left of it? Frustration? Ineptitude? Ignorance? Or, has their friendship with a certain former KGB lieutenant colonel, V. Putin, rubbed off on the American leaders? I have no answer to these questions, but I do know that if Vice President Cheney is right and that some ―cruel, inhumane or degrading‖ (CID) treatment of captives is a necessary tool for winning the war on terrorism, then the war is lost already.

Even talking about the possibility of using CID treatment sends wrong signals and encourages base instincts in those who should be consistently delivered from temptation by their superiors. As someone who has been on the receiving end of the ―treatment‖ under discussion, let me tell you that trying to make a distinction between torture and CID techniques is ridiculous. Long gone are the days when a torturer needed the nasty-looking tools displayed in the Tower of London. A simple prison bed is deadly if you remove the mattress and force a prisoner to sleep on the iron frame night after night after night. Or how about the ―Chekist‘s handshake‖ so widely practiced under Stalin -- a firm squeeze of the victim‘s palm with a simple pencil inserted between his fingers? Very convenient, very simple. And how would you define leaving 2,000 inmates of a labor camp without dental service for months on end? Is it CID not to treat an excruciatingly painful toothache, or is it torture?

Now it appears that sleep deprivation is ―only‖ CID and used on Guantanamo Bay captives. Well, congratulations, comrades! It was exactly this method that the NKVD used to produce those spectacular confessions in Stalin‘s ―show trials‖ of the 1930s. The henchmen called it ―conveyer,‖ when a prisoner was interrogated nonstop for a week or 10 days without a wink of sleep. At the end, the victim would sign any confession without even understanding what he had signed.

I know from my own experience that interrogation is an intensely personal confrontation, a duel of wills. It is not about revealing some secrets or making confessions, it is about self-respect and human dignity. If I break, I will not be able to look into a mirror. But if I don‘t, my interrogator will suffer equally. Just try to control your emotions in the heat of that battle. This is precisely why torture occurs even when it is explicitly forbidden. Now, who is going to guarantee that even the most exact definition of CID is observed under such circumstances?

But if we cannot guarantee this, then how can you force your officers and your young people in the CIA to commit acts that will scar them forever? For scarred they will be, take my word for it.

In 1971, while in Lefortovo prison in Moscow (the central KGB interrogation jail), I went on a hunger strike demanding a defense lawyer of my choice (the KGB wanted its trusted lawyer to be assigned instead). The moment was most inconvenient for my captors because my case was due in court, and they had no time to spare. So, to break me down, they started force-feeding me in a very unusual manner -- through my nostrils. About a dozen guards led me from my cell to the medical unit. There they straitjacketed me, tied me to a bed, and sat on my legs so that I would not jerk. The others held my

shoulders and my head while a doctor was pushing the feeding tube into my nostril. The feeding pipe was thick, thicker than my nostril, and would not go in. Blood came gushing out of

my nose and tears down my cheeks, but they kept pushing until the cartilages cracked. I guess I would have screamed if I could, but I could not with the pipe in my throat. I could breathe neither in nor out at first; I wheezed like a drowning man -- my lungs felt ready to burst. The doctor also seemed ready to burst into tears, but she kept shoving the pipe farther and farther down. Only when it reached my stomach could I resume breathing, carefully. Then she poured some slop through a funnel into the pipe that would choke me if it came back up. They held me down for another half-hour so that the liquid was absorbed by my stomach and could not be vomited back, and then began to pull the pipe out bit by bit. . . . Grrrr. There had just been time for everything to start healing during the night when they came back in the morning and did it all over again, for 10 days, when the guards could stand it no longer. As it happened, it was a Sunday and no bosses were around. They surrounded the doctor: ―Hey, listen, let him drink it straight from the bowl, let him sip it. It‘ll be quicker for you, too, you silly old fool.

The doctor was in tears: ―Do you think I want to go to jail because of you lot? No, I can‘t do that. . . . ― And so they stood over my body, cursing each other,

with bloody bubbles coming out of my nose. On the 12th day, the authorities surrendered; they had run out of time. I had gotten my lawyer, but neither the doctor nor those guards could ever look me in the eye again. Today, when the White House lawyers seem preoccupied with contriving a way to stem the flow of possible lawsuits from former detainees, I strongly recommend that they think about another flood of suits, from the men and women in your armed services or the CIA agents who have been or will be engaged in CID practices. Our rich experience in Russia has shown that many will become alcoholics or drug addicts, violent criminals or, at the very least, despotic and abusive fathers and mothers. If America‘s leaders want to hunt terrorists while transforming dictatorships into democracies, they must recognize that torture, which includes CID, has historically been an instrument of oppression -- not an instrument of investigation or of intelligence gathering. No country needs to invent how to ―legalize torture; the problem is rather how to stop it from happening. If it isn‘t stopped, torture will destroy your nation‘s important strategy to develop democracy in the Middle East. And if you cynically outsource torture to contractors and foreign agents, how can you possibly be surprised if an 18-year-old in the Middle East casts a jaundiced eye toward your reform efforts there? Finally, think what effect your attitude has on the rest of the world, particularly in the countries where torture is still common, such as Russia, and where its citizens are still trying to combat it. Mr. Putin will be the first to say: ―You see, even your vaunted American democracy cannot defend itself without resorting to

torture. . . . ― Off we go, back to the caves. 

Vladimir Bukovsky, who spent nearly 12 years in Soviet prisons, labor camps and psychiatric hospitals for nonviolent human rights activities, is the author of several books, including “To Build a Castle” and “Judgment in Moscow.” Now 63, he has lived primarily in Cambridge, England, since 1976.

Summing up my Semester

09:33

You can also watch it on youtube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6p8FcjetVSY&feature=youtu.be&noredirect=1

Shifting My Paradigm

From a western standpoint, there is not much known about Russian culture, politics, and society. Needless to say, over the past sixty years the relationship between Russia and the United States has been marked by competition and rivalry. Starting at the end of World War II and through the Cold War, the result of which being the U.S. and the Soviet Union as the two major superpowers, the dynamic between these two powers has been nothing more than cordial.  The relationship between Russia and the United States has not only had a global and economic effect but has also hindered the growth of these two societies on a communal level, as the stereotypes placed upon each culture by the other has been based in fear and contempt.

Throughout the Cold War the fear of communism and the ousting of it from within American society became the focus of domestic initiatives. The fear of communism became more than just an idea, it was an idea embodied by the Soviet Union- a massive enemy which was slowly gaining more and more political power.  Over the past year I have begun to notice the overall lack of knowledge that I had, and that many Americans do have, of Russia. I feel that many still associate Russia with the Soviet Union and that through an apathy of awareness and inability to understand, many Americans are still stuck in the psyche that was present thirty to forty years ago.

Last semester I took a course titled Communism in America. One of the things that first interested me in the course was the concept of an idea. The power that an ideas has over people; whether through passion or fear the idea has the power to make people move. It fascinates me that communism caused an extreme amount of hysteria and fear in the states. The rejection of communism in the 1950s is unlike any other movement. The core values of communism and state control brought such an extreme terror to the American public and to see the power of an idea and the extremity to which people are willing to lives by or against absolutely fascinates me.  As such, during the course I learned a lot about Russian history and studied the beginning of Communism and began to see how for Americans it became synonymous with Russia today.

Today, not much is known about Russia. In general, I feel that most Americans have little knowledge to the extent of the history and tradition that is present within Russian culture. This is a culture that is full of art, philosophy, theology, and has been the breading ground for revolutionary ideas and people that have shaped the actions of the world. The extent of history to which is the foundation of Russian society absolutely astounds me; however, that history has often been judged by its Americans counterparts who claim superiority over the history of other nations.

Over the course of this semester I have begun to see the difference between generalizations and stereotypes. In that, everyone generalizes. It is a way for human beings to process what is going around them and it is ultimately inevitable. It is stereotypes though that hinder the growth of that process. They limit a person and their potential. I can say that after having spent nearly three months in Lithuania among student from all over eastern europe many of my stereotypes have been proven wrong- well what stereotypes I had considering my overall lack of knowledge in general.

While I have always been told that there is something beneficial to gain from a different culture, it is hard to accept that when every inherent action seems out of place. Simple actions such as smiling and laughing were seen as strange, and often got me strange looks in the streets. While this resulted in me trying not to smile or laugh out loud in a desire to "blend in," I began to see instead that it is these things make me seem weird that I actually appreciate most about myself and my home culture. It has been the recognition of the values I appreciate in different cultures that have also made me appreciate the things that I value from my own culture.

All this is to say that my week spent in Russia was by far one of the most amazing experiences. I know  I am extremely fortunate to have had the opportunity to learn about this culture first hand. It is a culture that is full of tradition and being from a society where many of its members proclaim that the American way is the only way, it was humbling to see the way in which tradition is embodied into everyday lives. Whether that be respect for elders, displayed through always offering your seat on the metro to an older person or a woman, or through the reverence of religion and law.

It is funny for me to contrast my week in Russia to my four months in Lithuania to years spent in the States. Take the politics of each of these nations: while Russia and Lithuania have historically and geographically been around the longest, they are still among the youngest democracies. Living in Lithuania I have seen this to be a nation striving for freedom and democracy. While the United States is only a mere 300 years old, it is seen as a guiding light for striving countries such as Lithuania. While talking with one of the members of the Liberal Party in Klaipeda, she described the United States as a "mother of democracy" for Lithuanian politics.  It is easy for me to forget the youth of Lithuanian politics, after all they only began an independent state for twenty years. Thus it makes sense that Lithuania is still only in the beginning stages of democracy. It is clear that they are striving for freedom but the system is simply unequipped. However, seeing that they look to the United States as an example gives me pride in my home country.

However, that is not to say that the United States is without fault. I think it is the inability of many Americans to be humble that is the falling point within our society. Today there is present an attitude of "manifest destiny," that it's my way or the highway, and it is this mentality that is patronizing to developing and striving countries. I can see the perseverance in the spirit of these nations. Americans are quick to judge without looking within our own culture for faults. I have seen this in the attitude toward Russia.  I think unawareness of the unknown produces fear. There is a fear of things we do not understand, and I believe that this has hindered the growth of relations between the United States and other nations.


In today's society Russia and China are considered among the top rivals to the United States, but that does not take away from the fact that there are people who live within those states. It is a reminder to us all when thinking about politics, internally and internationally, that states and parties are made up of people. I even noticed this within the presidential election. Republicans and democrats alike were criticizing each other for their beliefs and in many ways it was a shame to humanity. People transcend social groups and no matter what category they are thrown in they ultimately deserve respect and time to be understood and made important.

Doing the Things You've Always Been Told Not To.

You know those off handed comments that are made to be funny? The ones that you don't really intend to follow through with? Well, I made one of those. It all started while a group of friends and I were hanging out at the local jazz club. Then it happened, "Wouldn't it be funny if we Hitch hike raced to Vilnius?!" And just like that, I was committed.

The goal of the race: 1) Make it to Vilnius faster than the other group. 2) Make it alive 3) Meet at Cathedral Square (center of Vilnius) 4) Win.

We began our saturday morning taking the bus out to the highway. We determined the best way to get picked up would be separating ourselves from each other along the highway. It was Hannah and I versus Julie and Bree. So there, on the side of the highway, we said our goodbyes. It was during that last long hug to Bree that images from Taken began to swarm my brain. Hitchhiking?! Was I crazy? This is one of those things you're warned not to do... well, I've never been one to heed warnings.

Hannah and I began to walk further down along the highway until we came to the next onramp.  We had been standing there, in the classic cardboard in hand and thumb up position, and within five minutes we were picked up! I was definitely expecting it to take at least a half hour or longer. It might have helped that we two clearly normal looking girls. The man who picked us up spoke a little english and he was nice to talk to. Through broken english he was able to tell us a little about his family which lives in Kaunas (a town half way to Vilnius), about his work in neighboring countries, and he asked us about school and our studies. Then he dropped us off near another onramp in Kaunas.

So we were back to the sign, and AGAIN within five minutes we had another ride! This man we found out was from Belarus but spoke no english at all. As we began driving we saw Bree and Julie on the road! We we're winning! The funny thing about Mr. Belarus was how particular he was about his CDs. Not only did he like to listen to a a specific song but on a specific CD- particularly number 18.

Upon arriving in Vilnius he said "autobus,"pointed to the bus stop, and dropped us off. So we had made it! Sort of. Hannah and I walked over to the bus stop and not having any idea which bus to talk I timidly asked one of the men standing there "koks autobusas vaziuoja i centra?" (which bus goes to the city center?). Somehow I don't think he understood what I was asking and just pointed to a bus number- one that didn't run on saturdays. Great. So instead of continuing in confusion we hopped on the first bus that came. Turns out it took us straight to the city center!

We had Won! Only winning really meant that we had to wait an hour for Julie and Bree to arrive.

After settling into our hostel we decided to go Bar hopping- only minus the bar and add kepta duana. Which for those of you who don't know what kepta duana is, its a delicious appetizer made from fried bread and cheese. Trust me- it is every ounce of deliciousness and more. While Kepta Duona Hopping we met some interesting people, among them were a couple of awesome Lithuanian guys who happily talked music, politics, and told us how we were pronouncing lithuanian wrong. It turned into quite an entertaining evening.

We woke up sunday morning and began our journey back out. Hitchhiking out of Vilnius turned out to be far more difficult that getting in. Julie and Bree got picked up first and then Hannah and I maybe fifteen minutes after. Our driver was the most silent man ever. The only word he said the entire time was "Kaunas," which was exactly where he took us. Upon getting dropped off in Kaunas we saw Bree and Julie walking ahead of us to the highway, just as a car stopped to pick us up.

So we get in the car with two younger lithuanian guys, and the first thing he says to us is "Beer?"  Oh dear, what had we just gotten into.... We begin driving only to have them blaring metal rock music, and them insisting we take some beer. Let it also be noted that it wasn't even One O' clock. Then Tadas, our new drunk friend, explained that they were going to stop and get the driver a drink because he wasn't drinking- thank god. Not going to lie, Hannah and I definitely contemplated getting out of the car then. However, we didn't. Bad life choice. So we continued our car ride, and upon them finding out that we were from the United States they began to chant "USA!" "USA!" "USA!" Yea, that happened.  Tadas kept asking us why we were going to Klaipeda, after about the fourth time of explaining I gave up. He was certainly quite the character. He kept insisting that we come with him... eeek! Luckily they had to take another exit off the highway so they dropped us off again. So long Tadas.

So there we were... again... only this time we were quite literally in the middle of nowhere. The funny thing was that all the cars who were passing us were ones that had already rejected us, twice. Then we hear a honk- It's Julie and Bree!! I see a quick glimpse of Julie waving as she goes whizzing by in a minivan.  So Hannah and I began to try the desperate an depressed look. It consisted of her sitting on the railing looking tired while I hung out my thumb and tried to catch a car. It worked!

So we get into the next car. He seems like a pretty normal guy who seems to speak english well. He seems content with just driving silently as well, which was appreciated after our last ride. So we're sitting there and we notice that our driver is getting a lot of phone calls. Also, that he has two cell phones.. weird. He tells us that he just got back from a business trip in Holland. Hannah recognized him also speaking German on the phone... then he says that he needs to give one of his friends/ co-worker something. So he pulls over the car. In the middle of nowhere. Then a car pulls off behind us, there are two men and a girl inside. All of a sudden our driver opens his trunk and hand them a couple of license plates.... uuuummmmm...... who is this dude? We can over hear him telling his friends that he picked up two hitchhikers. That's us. After finishing his cigarette, he gets back in the car and continues driving. Then I notice the radio, the types that old school policemen have, in the front of his car. Needless to say- I think our driver was an undercover cop.

After about an hour we got dropped off aaagaaaiiiinnnn. So we were back to the highway. Take Four.
luckily, after about ten minutes we get picked up by the sweetest old man. He was a native Lithuania, spoke a little English, and broken German. As soon as he found out that Hannah spoke German he was so excited and began telling us all about his daughter who is going to school right now and his wife. He offered us some of the mint tea he had in a thermos, and apples. He literally would have driven us to the doors of the dorms at school had we let him. The change of pace was definitely appreciated after our many rides that day.

Clearly we did not win the race back; however, ending in a tie gives us an excuse to do it again.

The nice thing about hitchhiking in Lithuania is that it's not taboo. It is legal and so easy to get picked up. It is great to be able to a)get a ride for free and b) be able to have a unique experience. It was cool to meet back up with Julie and Bree later and hear about their stories because we knew they would be so different from ours. It's a unique experience and you never know what you're going to get. Never once did I feel uncomfortable or in any amount of danger- Even drunk Tadas was just funny. So if you ever get the chance I say do it! You'll never know until you try.

The Network of Humanity

Well. I made it. Finally. It seems as though my journey hardly began and yet I look back and I feel as though I have been traveling forever- which three weeks spent with no knowledge of where to sleep each night can do. I look back on my backpacking experience and feel as though I have gained a wealth of knowledge about what kind of traveler I am. I know how much spontaneity I can handle- and that I get crabby when I haven't eaten.

More than that, I learned about myself in a new way. Traveling on my own challenged me to think outside of my comfort zone: because I didn't have one. I had to rely on the kindness of strangers and trust that everything was going to work out. If anything I gained the knowledge of believing in a network of human kindness.

Now, I am going to go off on a tangent now, but I promise I'll connect it in the end. Have you ever read The Two Towers, the second part of the Lord of The Rings trilogy by J.R.R. Tolkien? There is a part in the book where Sam is watching the Elephants, and in particular the Easterlings, or the men from the East. In the book one of the Easterlings falls down dead in front of Sam and whereby he begins to have an internal dialogue about the origin of the man. Was he innately Evil? Was he forced to participate in this war? Or did he choose to fight for Sauron by choice?  In addition, in the book For Whom the Bell Tolls by earnest Hemingway, the setting takes place in Spain during guerilla warfare and the main character wonders what the relationship with his "enemy" would be like had there been different circumstances. Very well his enemy could have been his friend. That under a different setting he could have been invited into his home for dinner, welcomed as a friend. I mention these books as there is  an innate human connection between us all. In instances such as war, it is easy for a man to overlook that connection and see a grander enemy than simply the man standing across from himself. I believe that society defines the differences between us as a wall in which cannot be crossed; however, I have come to see that it is our actions that define who we are.

While traveling I saw the kindness and compassion of strangers, whether letting us sleep on a floor, helping with directions, or just simply trying to do their best to understand english. I have also learned that no problem is too large to overcome. No matter what tomorrow is another day and your problems today will end with the beginning a new refreshing moment.

There is an illusion of permanence to pain and suffering. It is easy to think that our emotions control our experiences and that what we are feeling will last forever. That is simply not true. However, it is hard to reason with the mind when the problem at hand seems like too much to control. I speak of this because I know that culture shock is going to hit me. It will probably hit me harder than I am willing to accept. However, I know that when the home-sickness, cold weather, roommate problems, and homework overload begin to set in that I should invest in the things that matter. That I should invest in the people around me. Whether fellow study abroad students or the diverse community of students from other countries, I have been given a rare opportunity to share my experiences and learn from the experiences of those around me. There is no right way to adapt to culture; however, there are better ways and I believe that a one is by investing oneself fully in your environment.

So as I begin to settle into a new routine I have decide to be BRAVE. To not allow myself to hide in my room or make up excuses for not participating, I am going to be a risk taker. I am going to throw myself outside of my comfort zone, literally throw/hurl/ wildly shake myself out, because I do not want to miss an opportunity to learn from being uncomfortable. The funny thing about humans is that we often underestimate our own abilities. We say we can't, when in actuality we are fully capable but are simply afraid. I'm don't want to not be afraid, in fact I want to face my fears boldly and do exactly what it is I'm afraid of.

Also, Lithuania is great! And Norm says Hi.

France. Paris and Nice.

I think that every stereotype I have of french people has been broken while traveling through France. To begin we arrived in Paris and planned on only having about 14 hours to wander around before we caught a night train to southern France. The problems began though when we realized that Paris is so much larger than any other city we have been to. There is no central part of the city because everything is so spread out. As such, we had no idea where we had to go to catch our next train. So we just walked into one of the train stations and asked which one we had to get to to get to Nice. He said Gare de Lyon. So we figured we had little time before needing to get there so we might try to see the Eiffel tower. Which ended up being quite a walk, but completely worth it. It was so cool to see it and I had forgotten just how large and magnificent of a feet it was to complete.

So we headed off toward the Gare de Lyon only to find out upon our arrival that it wasn't the train station we were suppose to be at after all. Welp, that sucked. Luckily the one we did need to be at was only a bock or two away- only our train was leaving in about twenty minutes. So we headed back out to the next train station. However, we soon found out that to leave Paris on a night train required a reservation... we didn't have one. And the station was closing in an hour with no trains available for us to take. Turns out though that we were not the only one in this predicament. We met a girl named Sophia who also didn't have a reservation and missed her train. She was Awesome. Super quirky and funny and she wanted to know if she could hang out with us until the morning when we would all be heading back to the station. We figured we would just go out to the Canal and sit on a bench. When we were about to leave a korean woman who spoke very little english cam eup and asked if she could come with us. Why not? So it was the five of us, me, Destiny, Logan, Sophia and Mi'young all heading out toward the water at 1 am.

The funny part is that we just kept walking until we were stopped by this young group of kids who had been sitting by the water drinking drinking wine and hanging out. They could clearly tell how confused we were and a few of them spoke such great english that they invited us to sit down and hang out with them. Most of them were 21 &22 and were so much fun! They asked us where we were all from and what had happened, so we told them about being stranded in Paris. Then one of them Tomar, offered for us to sleep on his floor. Having five of us  and no place to sleep, we said sure!

I have realized while traveling that no matter what goes wrong it will all work out in the end. Even in the moments when I had no idea what we were going to do, I knew that tomorrow was a new day. That even if we stayed up the until 5am and caught another train, everything will work out. I have enough faith in humanity in believe that.