Travel Partners

If you want to test the alchemy and strength of a relationship, friendship, or even just get to know the real version of someone (and yourself, for that matter), put down the Cosmo quiz and pick up a travel brochure. Then, take a vacation...anywhere. Explore the unknown, test the waters without the conventional routine of home and its safety, or running to your respective bases when things don't pan out perfectly; get away from the allotted time that being on a date permits… But do so with caution. When traveling with a partner, obstacles surface, assertiveness is tested, communication skills are tried, and personal space is invaded even more so than the French beaches of Normandy in WW2. The rawness of your character becomes evident. Whether you’ve been dating for two solid years, or two passionate months, makes no difference; in my case, it was a vague nine months.

Back in May, I met someone very unexpectedly (to put that into perspective, I met him while at the store buying Greek yogurt with my two cousins), and it blossomed into the parallels of a relationship. “They” say that that’s how it happens: when you’re not looking. We played the dating game and had a lot of fun doing so. He was different: he was the guy that brought me flowers on every single date (all fifty-something of them), that adored me, that all of my family said “Don’t let this one go.” But knowing that living abroad was on my immediate To-do list, and long-term relationships are not my hobby, I kept my guard up and commitment off the table; I was even told that I took on the "guy thinking role." I became even more obstinate in keeping my distance after identifying with the movie, 500 Days of Summer, where she quotes: "I like being on my own. I think relationships are messy and people’s feelings get hurt. Who needs it? We’re young, we live in one of the most beautiful cities in the world; might as well have fun while we can, and save the serious stuff for later.”

Fast-forward to present day and it’s evident that his persistence paid off (although he may debate this), despite my still unwillingness to commit, he is still very much in the picture. It’s a feat when I don’t completely write something (or someone) off. He was the first of my circle back home, to jump on a plane when he found out I had two weeks of winter vacation. The first week, we explored Lyon; the second week, we threw our plans to the wind to explore Corsica; the third week, we explored the benefits of some time a part.

There was a guidebook and map for all the places we went but I’ve yet to find a guidebook that teaches how to remain on the pedestal to someone whose image of you matters, while becoming bereft of all patience, and secretly hoping they’ll step in dog merde (abundantly spread throughout the sidewalks of France). As much difficulty as I had adjusting to living here, I don’t think I was properly prepared for living here with someone, and even more, traveling with them. I had learned to adapt to the solitary life style here, but when Trevor came to visit, he brought reminiscents of home with him. Strangely enough, I felt homesick all over again.

I know for a fact that I’m no piece of cake, myself; far from it at times! I’m stubborn. I like things my way, all while trying to appease the other person. I am an extrovert who needs alone time. I'm not one for PDA. I want the other person to be honest and open even though I sometimes refuse. I expect them to read my mind so I don’t have to admit that I have needs. I take some time to bounce back from an argument, time to process. I can be moody even when I’m not hungry, tired, or sick. I seem like my own hypocrisy, but aside from that, I’m practically perfect.

As T put it, the past three weeks were a series of highs and lows: When things were good, they were this-feels-like-how-it's-supposed-to-be-and-so-much-fun-type of good; but when they weren't so good, well, let's just say we both thought about throwing in the towel. I would love to say that I figured out an organized set of rules of how to make it work when traveling with someone and bypass the previous mistakes, but I didn’t. Like everything though, there were some key points that I took:

• Deep breaths.
• Timeouts. Then, coming back later when things aren't so heated.
• Trying to win an argument will result in the loss of respect.
• Chameleons should be left in the jungle and outside of relationships. When they're in a bad mood, it doesn't have to affect yours. Recognize it and release it … eventually they will, too... hopefully
• Ipods. To be specific, separate Ipods.
• I-statements. Take the blame out of communication. It sounds so cliché-therapy-like but it’s true.
• Listen. Truly listen. It's easy to become so defensive and concerned with what you'll counter with next, that everything they've said has gone completely unheard.

…And really, all it boils down to is communication skills. I’m pretty sure Oprah or Psychology Today magazine have some sort of guide to this on their website, making the self-help shelf of any bookstore, avoidable.

I am now under the firm belief that honeymoons should come before the wedding, because frankly, if you can successfully and happily make it through that trip together, the marriage will be a breeze. In any event, traveling with someone can be tough and that pedestal will come crashing out from underneath you (as Trevor even told me), but it’s a chance to see the real versions of each other, then hope that you’ll swim instead of sink.

C’est la vie.

Daily Gratitude:

• The 3 weeks ended on a good note
• With recent travel, replying to friends' emails and updates, hasn't been constant. They're still there, despite this. I'm lucky and I have great friends.
• McDonalds kids ice cream cone: cheap, perfect size, and a good Sunday afternoon treat.
• The hot shower that awaits me.

Winter Holiday, Week 2: Corsica

Whoever said that “getting there is half the fun,” obviously never took a flight to Corsica onboard Easy Jet airlines.

In my New Year’s resolution, I mentioned that there were a few specific places that I wanted to add pins to, on my “been there” world map (Portugal, Prague, Barcelona, Southern Italy, Greece, you get the point), but the rest of my travels, I would leave up to impulsivity. And thanks to that impulsivity (along with other plans that fell through), Trevor and I landed ourselves on the beautiful island of Corsica.

The original plan for the second week of my winter holiday was Venice, Italy. Then, when airline prices seemed to supersede the worth, we agreed on a train to Cinque Terre, Italy, with a pit-stop in Nice, France. (Are you starting to see the general theme? Preferred destination=South of Lyon=warmer temperatures=no snow!) When the woman at the train station regretfully told us that there was only one seat left on the train (which I highly doubt), we decided to brainstorm where we could vacation.

I only had two key standards for picking a destination:
1. It would allow me to leave my gloves behind.
2. Price of travel had to be modest.

We spent the better part of the evening on EasyJet.com, looked at where they fly to from Lyon, and tried to take both of our preferences into consideration, which cancelled out a few places. Thank goodness the small island in the Mediterranean wasn’t one of them. So, we booked our tickets, found a great deal on an apartment for the week, researched the sites and culture, then packed our bags.


Saturday morning, we set off to the airport and boarded our flight. With the heavy winds on the island, it turned into one of those experiences where you start making negotiations that if you just make it safely, you’ll promise to start going to Sunday mass (though, I’ve yet to follow through). An hour and an anxiety attack later, we bounced (yes, that’s right) onto the runway. Fortunately, the scenery replaced the EasyJet PTSD; the place was beautiful. I think it was warm, too, but I was so clammy from the flight that I couldn't distinguish which was which.

A 5 mile taxi ride that ended up being twenty-five minutes because of Sheep Gridlock in the road, dropped us near the local train station. From there, a 4 hour train ride to Adjaccaio, a city in the south east.

It was well worth it because we woke up in an apartment with this view:

After being up and out early to check out the town, we realized that it was too warm for jackets:
As we walked along this:

And walked by lots of little side streets that looked like secret passageways into the past:

Eventually coming to the Sunday Farmers' Market with more fresh produce than one could imagine; cases of cheese, dried out sausages (I think that's what they were) cut up to sample (Ask Trevor how they were, as I skipped them.), nuts, dried fruit, fresh fruit, raw lapin, but cooked chicken; pastries, pizza, and pretzels; jelly, spices, and tapenades; Wines and liqueurs to inebriate you, and handmade soaps to wash those sins away. You name it, and it was there, but if you still weren't satisfied, there was a huge self-serve candy vendor that also sold hula hoops. In one place, you could satiate your appetite, sample Corsican products, get tipsy, and test our your moves, all while on a sugar high.

We admired sites during the day...

Then sampled the nightlife and tested our luck at the casino (one time only).

And who could forget Napoleon?! It was, after all, his birthplace!

There were old libraries, the kind that you only see in movies...

And the cemeteries that surrounded our apartment that you wish were just in movies...

My favorite, by far, was finding an old church that had been converted into a ballet school (Does this count as going to church?)

Even the pets are more laidback in this place.

Then, at the tail end of our trip when it started to look like we were on the advent of a downpour, we took a vacation from our vacation...

A 3 hour busride South, to the cliffs of Bonifacio.

Which was even more breathtaking than Adjaccio. I would definitely love to revisit these beaches in the summer.

The week sped by and before we knew it, we were on a plane back to Lyon

After exploring all around Corsica and appreciating all it offered, I realized that it's a bit like Lyon, in no way at all. Even their French has an Italian spin on it. Ciao.

Gratitude:

• The flight back was far less eventful
• I got back to Lyon and the sun was out.
• My brother got a new job.. I'm really happy for him!
• I finally got to connect back with the real world, after a week without communication. I spent the better part of an hour on the phone with my parents, hearing about all the new renovations my dad is doing to his house and then laughing at how my mom ended up in the hospital, once again.

The Au Pair Winter Holiday, Week 1

In France, the middle of February is well known. An abundance of roses start to surface in florist shops, carefully crafted chocolate assortments are sold, suddenly you’ll see posters with red hearts and the word “love” plastered everywhere, restaurants in town formulate price-fixed couple’s menus, and the French being known for their amour, well, they leave town. While the French may be serious about being lovers, they are more serious about skiing during their winter holiday; and during the two weeks they have off beginning the same time as lent, skiing is exactly what they do.

There are two types of French people: Ones who take their vacation to the French Alps during the first week of vacation, and ones who take their vacation during the second week. My host-family went first. I decided to go the second week, except not to the mountains. With the fresh snow brought on by the storm before they left, I figured that our neighborhood would suffice as a perfectly adequate bunny-hill, if my desire for skiing suddenly emerged (It didn’t). So, I politely declined their invitation to join them in the Alps, and instead, agreed to watch over the house while trying to appear regretful about missing them, especially Cecile.

When the children are away, the au pair will play (And as I write this from my Corsican apartment, overlooking the Mediterranean in Adjaccio, I‘d say that I did it pretty well). However, the week they were gone, I took advantage of the calm atmosphere without kids or routine and set out to explore Lyon. That same week, my ____(insert definition for someone you’ve been dating for the last nine months but haven’t committed to the proverbial relationship title)___, Trevor arrived in Lyon. The plan was to relax a few days and discover the city’s charm before departing for vacation the second week, to somewhere that involved above-zero-temperatures… And that is exactly what we did.

Being that Lyon is the second largest metropolitan area in France (after Paris, of course), we were expecting a required week to see all of the sights. A good 3 days later, we had conquered the highlights of the city, and even some that weren’t mentioned in guidebooks.

The week that included:

Seeing all of the major sites, from Place de Bellecour, to Notre Dame de Fourviere...


There were date nights in the city that included seeing the new Valentine's Day movie in Voice Original...

And admiring the city's lights...

There was walking... lots and lots of walking...

And climbing up the hill to Fourviere, because the tram wasn't in service and well, what else did we have to do?!

Sneaking into museums... and then sneaking pictures inside of the museums

People watching and culture comparing...

And of course, snow... which actually formed some beautiful backdrops for photos.

There were good times, good laughs, and good company, that were followed by far-from-perfect situations and arguments as pungent as French cheese. But we conquered and by the end of the week, boarded a plane to Corsica (more on that trip, later). Trevor was able to see for himself, the setting of my new life and I was able to see that Lyon is actually, well, somewhat pleasant. It’s a far stretch from Parisian life and definitely not what I expected of a “metropolitan” city, but in respect, it has its ostentatious charm.

Gratitude:

• I'm sitting on an island that overlooks the Mediterranean
• The sun is out
• Everything ran smoothly the week that the host-family was away
• Traveling during the off-season
• My family... I miss them a lot.