Arab Spring...meets Spring Awakening?

Hello from the homeland and my favorite city in the world, Beirut.

Let me start off by thanking you for all the support and positive feedback, especially in regards to the last post. 

With a week off from school, I decided it was the perfect time to return to Lebanon (since I've already crossed the Atlantic) and visit family and friends that I haven't seen in four years. Here I am sitting in my grandmother's house, and I honestly can't wrap my mind around the present--partly because I can't believe that my grandmother has WiFi. 

This trip to Lebanon has been unlike any before. Since moving to the States twelve years ago, I have been back many times (including a trip in 2006 that resulted in evacuation from war). However, this visit is different. I don't know if it's because it comes after two months of being alone in Copenhagen, or because it's been four years since my last trip, but everything seems to have much more meaning. 

In the last post, I wrote about the seemingly intangible pursuit of happiness, and what it takes to be happy. In my state of nostalgic reflection, I came across a quote that really struck a cord.

“Happiness doesn't lie in conspicuous consumption and the relentless amassing of useless crap. Happiness lies in the person sitting beside you and your ability to talk to them. Happiness is clear-headed human interaction and empathy. Happiness is home. And home is not a house-home is a mythological conceit. It is a state of mind. A place of communion and unconditional love. It is where, when you cross its threshold, you finally feel at peace.” 

Now I have to disagree with the first line, because I know how I feel after the end-of-the-season sale at Mr. Porter, and I would definitely ascribe those feelings to the happiness that stems from anything Marc Jacobs. 

In all seriousness, the quote seemed to articulate everything I've been trying to express. These past few days, I have been happier than I can ever remember being. This isn't to say that I'm never happy in Peoria, but I'm talking about the genuine happiness that takes over you. You know, the kind where you're not doing anything at all, but you're at perfect ease; at peace. What an incredible feeling it is to be at peace with yourself, and everything around you!

I can sit for hours in my grandmother's kitchen completely content with no internet and no phone, just watching my aunts bicker and fight over who can make the better spinach pie. Or even better, an afternoon at a sidewalk cafe with the most bad-ass grandmother to walk this planet.

It is amazing what being surrounded by family can do! My decision to visit Beirut this week was pretty risky, seeing as though the night I landed the government resigned, never mind the fact that the Syrian uprising is taking place within a negligible distance. None of it matters. No war, no greedy politician, no religious uprising can take away the security that your family provides you with. However, it never fails to break my heart what a sad situation I find this country in. With the Syrian uprising quickly escalating, tensions can be felt well throughout Lebanon, and inflation has further diminished the "middle class." Regardless, it isn't my intention to give you a crash course in Middle Easter politics.

I guess I don't really know what my intentions are with this post...typical.

It's actually kind of funny, all throughout the week, I kept thinking of what I wanted to include in my post about Lebanon: My trip to the fisherman's village of Batroun, how spoiled I am by my family, and even my most daring act of rebellion yet (will be revealed shortly), but now that my trip is coming to a close...I have no idea what to write about. Really, I just want to write about how happy and lucky I am to have been able to spend time with family and friends; but I know how sappy, and out of character it sounds. Granted, I'm not really sure what my "in character" is these days.

My writer's block, if you will, can be attributed to a few things. First and foremost, the Lebanese culture is different from any you've ever known, and much of what I want to tell you, you simply won't understand. Not because it's beyond your realm of comprehension, but because you'll probably find us entirely lunatic.
Secondly, so much of my experience would get lost in translation...which is something I won't risk.

My relationship with this country, and in particular the city of Beirut, is one I can't express. Everything there is to know about me lies within this city's streets. I don't know...have you ever felt like something is so much a part of you, you can feel it in every heartbeat? That's Beirut to me (kind of like what New York is to Lady Gaga, just a lot less leather and a lot more...falafel?).  It's kind of ironic actually, because for being my favorite city in the world...this place has caused me more pain than anything else. With each visit, it becomes more difficult to leave my cousins, grandparents, aunts and uncles behind...and I feel like each time I leave, I leave a larger part of me here. The constant void I feel when I'm in Peoria suddenly disappears when I'm here, yet grows larger every time I leave.

Maybe some of you have experienced something similar? Maybe I'm just completely off my rocker?


Either way, I definitely have way more feelings than I am comfortable with.

The Pursuit of Happiness

Is it a constitutional right or a social construct?

I realize that my last blog post was well over a month ago, but it is justified. My intentions with this blog aren't to bore you with my day-to-day routine, but rather to use it as a sort of reflective journal, or pseudo-memoir, if you will. 

Almost everyday I'm asked why I chose to study abroad in Denmark; more often-than-not, I'm being asked by the locals themselves. As many of you know, I'm the ultimate pessimist. The glass has never, and will never be half full. Someone drank my water, and I'm pissed about it. Regardless, what attracted me the most to Denmark was it's reputation for being one of the happiest countries in the world. A few weeks into my journey, I decided to go on a cognitive adventure to find out if the Danes really are the happiest in the world. What made them the happiest? Is it the short days and cold climate? Or is it the fact that they pay 70% of their income in taxes? I'm going to go ahead and say none of the above. 

When I try to compare my experience in Denmark to my friends studying abroad in the western, warmer parts of Europe, there's a couple of differences. While many of them seem to be on an extended vacation (hell, many studying here in CPH are on an extended vacation), I am actually beginning to feel pretty integrated into the Danish "flo" of the week. Believe it or not, I don't drink every night, I have to study, and I have a routine much like I would have back home. At first, I was pretty upset with the reality behind my situation. I was expecting a spring break that would last all semester; however, a few months into my semester, I am not only beginning to accept my experience, but also embrace it. 

Here in Copenhagen, I have more time to think than I have ever had back home. Whether it's on the two and half hours I spend commuting into and out of the city every day, or the lonely nights in the countryside house I live in--all I do is think. I reflect on my experience here thus far, I am always drawing dichotomies between life here and life in Peoria, and I'm in a constant state of nostalgia. 

Here's where I'm going with this...although my experience here isn't exactly what I had pictured it to be, maybe it's what I needed it to be?

For the first time in a long time, I don't feel the constant pressure of having to please someone, and although I'm locked into my routine here...I'm liberated in everything I do. I don't have to check in with anyone every time I make a move, and I can go days without talking to anyone at home. With that comes a lot of time alone. Those of you who know me back home, know that my life is vacant of all solitude. That being said, at first I was terrified of the loneliness. Although I'd like to think of myself as pretty independent, I've always relied on someone else for a second opinion. It took me 20 years to learn how to do laundry, and I am just now starting cook for myself. Regardless, the moral of the story is that everyday I surprise myself a little more. When things go wrong, I only have myself to rely on. If I'm lost, I have to find my way home...with the few resource available.

Needless to say, all this thinking has me questioning the pursuit of happiness. What is it that we're after? Here I am in what is arguably one of the happiest countries in the world, and I don't know whether I'm genuinely happier, or just happy to be away from the systematic life waiting for me across the Atlantic. With confidence, I can assure you the Danes are by no means the happiest people on this planet. However, they are content with their lives, and have an incredible trust in their government, which is obviously lacking back in the red, white, and blue. At first I mistook this "contentness" with a lack of ambition. The entire society is structured around homogeneity. Each life has equal value, and there isn't a social hierarchy to climb. You work just as hard as your neighbor, you pay the same amount in taxes as your boss (if you have one), and you're not competing to be better or wealthier than the person sitting next to you on the train. In return, you have  free health care, your education is covered, and the government takes care of you in essentially every aspect of your life. To the narrow-minded, this may sound like extreme socialism, perhaps border-line communist. However, the people here possess a je ne sais quoi that could easily be mistaken for genuine happiness. 

Who knows, maybe they are the happiest people in the world? In my opinion (and I swear this isn't the cynic in me), I think the rest of us are just really miserable most of the time. 

Paradigms. Here's one for you: 

I just touched on the homogeneity present within Danish society; everyone's one the same page. On the other end of the spectrum lies America. Rooted in our history is the American Dream and diversity. We have social ladders that we have to climb, and everyone needs to know about it (refer to your Facebook). Obviously, I'm included.  

Our country was founded on the "Pursuit of Happiness," but maybe that's why it seems so intangible. Since our beggining, we've mistaken happiness with our desire to have houses larger than our neighbors, better grades than our classmates, and more money than we did a month ago. Even when we accomplish our "goals," we're still not satisfied--nothing is enough. Guilty of this myself, I truly am beginning to question what is it that we're after. I've spent the past five semesters doing everything I can to make myself the strongest candidate for medical school. Along with that, I lost all spontaneity and adopted a systematic approach to almost every aspect of my life. Arguably, all in the name of "happiness." You know, because if I get into med school I'll be happy, Right? 

Anyways, I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with this, but for the first time in my life I feel like I'm starting to actually develop as an intellectual, competent member of society. I do believe that everything happens for a reason. So maybe I'm not supposed to be out getting drunk every night, and maybe this time alone is what I need? I'm learning more about myself than I ever have before, and can see myself changing, both inside and out (thanks sugga daddy for spoiling me with pastries). 

I realize that after a month of not posting, you were hoping to read about sexcapades across Scandinavia. But this is the truth about my study abroad experience...and I'm okay with that. After all, I am studying abroad.

On another note, I will be posting about my adventures in Budapest and Vienna this week (more along the lines of sexcapades)...as soon as midterms are out of the way (yes, we have midterms). 

Until next time,

you know you love me.

xoxo,

AA 

Warming up my cold shoulder: the one month mark in CPH

Good morning, Upper-East Siders
Jk, most of you are in central IL

Last time we spoke, I was a bit hot-headed following an unsuccessful attempt at Copenhagen nightlife.
With my one month mark here in Copenhagen just around the corner, I'm happy to inform you that much has changed. Whether I want to admit it or not, I'm actually starting to settle relatively well here in the tundra.

Before I commence my emotionally-clouded memoir, let me clarify the delay in blogging.
If you read the last post, you are quite aware that things were not going as expected. So I took an oath of silence not to post until my attitude changed.

Triumph in Transportation & the first successful night out in CPH

After a few short weeks of cursing all that public transportation has to offer in Copenhagen, I am proud to say that I have mastered the art of transport...well, almost. But, I can get to class and back sans tears. Following this triumph, I decided it was time to give Copenhagen nightlife a second chance. Ironically enough, the first time my clan of minions (Chloe, Caitlin, and Shane) and I went out to the Drunken Flamingo where I traumatically payed 12 USD for a sad sad vodka tonic (refer to last post..still bitter), we actually met a Dane that invited us to a "semester-end" rager at the Copenhagen Business School the following Thursday. To sum it up shortly, I finally got to be the sloppy mess I was itching to be. Met a couple of Norwegians along the way, as well....interesting folks. The next day I actually managed to make it to class without pants on. You see, I've been wearing thermal compression pants underneath my clothes since it's cold as tits here. Well, in my potentially still-drunken state the next morning I forgot to put real pants on over the compression pants...and quite frankly, I LOVED IT. So liberating! My body has never felt a breeze down there before; quite rejuvenating, if you ask me.

Sugga Daddy's First

That Sunday, sugga daddy (my host dad, for future reference) spoiled me with a trip to Frederiksborg Slot in Hillerød (Refer to Facebook for fab pics of medieval castles & naked statues). Lucky to be his first "host child," my host dad has been taking me to museums each Sunday now! That night I also got to meet his daughter and grandchildren for dinner--phenom! It blows my mind how educated and cultured the people are on this side of the Atlantic. Don't get me wrong #USA4life, but all his grandchildren speak fluent English, something I find so remarkable! Like how many of you can fluently speak several languages? Anyways, this past Sunday, sugga daddy took me to a viking museum in Roskilde. Believe it or not, I'm a total sucker for history. So fascinating seeing the remains of ships used thousands of years ago. After a cup of coffee, he also took me to see the Little Mermaid. Although I loved seeing her (Ariel was always my favorite princess), I was kind of surprised at how anti-climactic she was. A bit of a tease, I suppose. Nevertheless, the harbor surrounding her was beautiful.

One of my favorite aspects about staying with sugga daddy has been getting to know his family. Last week his grandson and their dog stayed with us while the parents flew to Nice. I harnessed whatever culinary skills I possessed and made the best effing fajitas for them! Not going to lie, was incredibly impressed at what I'm capable of in the kitchen. Last night, we were invited to dinner again at his daughters, and I agreed to make a traditional Lebanese dish next Tuesday (wonder how fast I can ship kabobs from Beirut?)! 

So although the distance and commute blows, I am incredibly grateful for the experience I am having with my host family. I learn so much everyday, not only about the Danes, but about myself as well, and I'm not sure I would have been able to had I been placed in another arrangement.

Growing Pains: that time I turned down a threesome for Jutland

The slightest chance of  a Destiny's Child reunion at the Super Bowl prompted me to help organize an "American-esque" Super Bowl party for the Danes at Studenterhuset, a coffee-shop by day, nightclub/concert venue by night. It's also where I have been volunteering this semester as a bartender/barista. Regardless, the event was a successful drunken debauchery. However, while passing out shots (secretly fulfilled my dream of being a shot boy), I was bluntly asked if I would join in a threesome. Obviously, I didn't hesitate to say yes! Sadly, I had to turn down the menage-a-trois, for Jutland...aka provincial/rural Denmark...the following morning. I will admit, after I got over the initial shock and horror that someone actually found me attractive...actually, two people found me attractive; I was incredibly flattered! I mean, hell, there's plenty of this to go around...Nevertheless, I informed them that I would return and would be volunteering here until May. So, if the invitation was still open, I would gladly accept. When in Rome, right?

Speaking of Jutland, I ventured with my Human Health and Disease course to bumfuck nowhere for "core-course week." There, I had my first experience with European hostels/Scandinavian brothels. Nothing like being stranded in the boonies of Denmark without internet/access to the outside world--great bonding tool. Anxious to drink (naturally), was hoping to find a local bar in one of these towns. To no surprise, nightlife wasn't really on the agenda. Always one to make the best out every situation (obviously, kidding), I decided a bottle of wine from the local grocery would do. Here's the trick: drink the bottle in under an hour. Result? guaranteed to be the slop sauce of the party. well, "party." 

Three days in provincial Denmark was more than enough. I mean, I learned a lot in three days: 1) At some point in my life, I fell out of touch with ambitions of becoming a NASCAR driver 2) After visiting an IVF clinic and watching artificial insemination occur in real time, I have a new found appreciation & ownership of my sperm. yes, my sperm--such strong little guys! 3) I'm never going to be a candidate for the Real World, because I would actually murder the entire cast

"It's F***ing Cold, I get it. Stop Bitching." 

If I could send a letter to myself, that's probably what it would say, and I would probably spray it with Dolce & Gabbana's Light Blue, because it actually makes me weak in the knees. But, that's not where I'm going with this...Okay, how do I get over the cold? I actually feel like my balls are so far up my body, I'm basically sterile (which is probably not the worst news in the world). On the reals though, these Danish bitties are out in tights/leggings and basically nothing else? And I'm just like bitch, are your thighs made out of steel? So, in the name of public intoxication, i'm lacing up my boots and bracing the tundra yet again. Fingers crossed I don't fall asleep on the nightbus. Yes, that happened. Yes, it sucked. Yes, I missed my stop. No, it's not funny. 

When all else fails, book a trip to Amsterdam

...and Istanbul...and Berlin...and Prague...and Italy...and Spain

That's the beauty in living in Europe. Literally, everywhere you've ever wanted to go is just a hop & a skip away. Unfortunately, my bank account is still recovering from excessive retail therapy via Gilt Groupe and Mr. Porter during finals...and my birthday. But, I'm trying to live with as little "fucks given" as possible. So, booking my trips and hoping my bank doesn't drop me from the credit union. In my head, I'm just picturing myself drunk and dancing at some electro club in Berlin, or ripping a bowl at a "coffee shop" in Holland...and then I remember that somewhere in the near future I have to get into med school...and then I think of how I'm going to do it anyways. As you can see, I'm learning a lot here in Europe. Not only about the Danes but about myself. I've become incredibly independent and self-sufficient (humble brag, bite me), and I can't help but reflect...why the fuck have I been such an anal prick the last three years? As if i'm out to become a martyr of academics...for all I know I could be crowned St. Cullom Davis. There is SO MUCH more to life than a high GPA and the perfect resume.Without sounding like I'm sitting on Oprah's yellow couch, the experiences I'm going through, both internal and external, alongside the lessons I'm learning, make my accomplishments back home seem incredibly insignificant. Now, I don't know if I'm just really emotional and feeling a bit prophetic right now, but I'm hoping that I can return to the States with even fewer fucks than what I got on the plane with. Life is so much more enjoyable when you take that stick out of your ass..and I really hope some of my friends back home learn that soon (love you xoxo). But being the self-fulfilling prophecy that I am, I will more than likely still be holding down the lib weekdays & weeknights. 

For the meantime: I'm going to take a shot, put on some leather, throw up the deuces, and make this city my bitch.

You know you love me,

xoxo

Allen Abroad 

Copenhagen Confusion: the truth about my study abroad experience so far

Okay, I realize the blog is a little outdated, but rest assured it was intentional. With the eve of my first full week in Copenhagen around the corner, my feelings towards my experience thus far are still pretty ambiguous. Therefore, I decided that I would wait until the end of the week to share what Copenhagen has been like...just in case I happened to find some clarity along the way. Seven days later, and I'm not entirely sure I feel any differently.

So, as opposed to a day-to-day play-by-play of the week, here's what I've learned so far.

Public Transportation Sucks...EVERYWHERE.

The U.S.A is great at many things...public and mass transportation not being one of those. However, for a country like Denmark, which relies so heavily on public transportation...it is actually incredible how difficult it is to go anywhere. Here's the deal: when I registered to study abroad in Copenhagen, I was under the impression that I was studying abroad in Copenhagen...not an hour away. During my semesters at Bradley, I couldn't stop bitching about my 20 minute commute. Well, at least my car has seat warmers. My commute to Copenhagen works a little differently. I live in the northern most suburb of Copenhagen (Holte), which implies an hour long commute to and from the city..aka every morning for class. 

To get to class, I have to wake up at the ass crack of dawn to walk to the bus station. Once there, the bus takes me to the train station. From the train, I can walk to class. However, my entire day is dictated by the bus schedule (which also stops past midnight...weekends included). As a result, I have not been able to go out during the evenings because I can't miss the bus, or else I would have to walk or bike home. I realize that Copenhagen is a biking city, but I'm not built like a Dane...I'm more of a... Maltese....(get it?)...regardless, my nights have been incredibly uneventful. My typical day begins around 7 am...out of fear of being late to class, I usually take the earlier of my two options for the bus. I spend the majority of the day within the city either in class or searching for what is to become my favorite coffee shop, and trying to explore as much of Copenhagen as I can within the limitations of the buses' timetables. 

Don't even get me started on the travel zones...apparently the transportation pass I was provided with from DIS only covers my travels to and from school...If I get caught traveling outside those "zones," I get fined. 

On another note, my host family..well "family" is wonderful! I'm living alone with a retired physician named Claus. He's incredibly nice and open to suggestions since I'm his first host student. It's not your typical host family arrangement and it does make for a lot of awkward silence and mis-communication, but I'm actually really content with the system we have down. I have the independence I want, but also have dinner with him regularly throughout the week. He's a charming and cultured man, with many stories to learn from. More to come on that...

The Art of Layering: From Cardigans & Underwear to Food & Bedding:

The more...the merrier

Always a fan of layering, I made sure to arrive in Copenhagen with plenty of cardigans. However, here in Siberia...simple layering doesn't really cut it. From clothing to food: I. Just. Need. More. Let's start with the obvious: It's cold as tits. Since I've arrived, I have yet to go anywhere without my thermal bodysuit on underneath my outfits..which might I add, If anyone is interested in an instant saggy ass...nothing quite does the trick like a pair of Long Johns or Cuddl Duds.Also, in an attempt to stay remotely warm, I have resorted to layering socks. What better way to add to your laundry basket?? Anyways, the cold was to be expected...the lack of appetite was not. DO THE DANES GET HUNGRY?? WHERE IS TACO BELL? WHY DOES A MCDONALD'S BURGER COST 12 DOLLARS?? Many questions have yet to be answered...but seriously, I don't know how anyone stays alive around here.

Look, I'm obviously no stranger to skipping meals...it's actually one of my favorite past-times. But the food in Copenhagen, just like everything else, is incredibly expensive...Like I'm not about fork out seven dollars for a hot dog...JUST. NO. Anyways, where I'm going with this is here: my host dad thinks I'm a fat ass. I just can't pack down enough food at dinner...like all of a sudden my stomach became bottomless (which by the way, has always been one of my worst fears...like a one way ticket to ever-so-characterized love handles). Which reminds me, the actual Danish pastries are beyond delicious...taste like a bite of Jesus..so heavenly. 

Speaking of layering, here's a funny story for ya. My first night here in Denmark, the heater was broken in my room. I actually thought I was on an episode of Survivorman, where someone just dropped me off in the Arctic Tundra and told me to stay alive. Went to "sleep" that night in my thermal bodysuit, pajamas, sweats, and turned my North Face down coat into a comforter...wrapping it around my legs while using the bedding to swaddle my torso...yes, swaddle. Since I woke up the next morning..I'd say I was pretty successful at survival. Luckily, the heating issue was resolved faster than I could book a plane ticket back to Honduras. 

Copenhagen: I want to love you...but you're making it so hard.

Tired of spending the majority of my time at the home, I decided to go out last night. Here's the deal: since the buses shut down after midnight, my only way home would be to bike from the train station. So I said "F it," and biked to the train station. Aside from ripping my pants and upchucking outside the train station...oh and the cryotherapy treatment my face got..I figured the bus ride was doable...(emphasis on the DOT DOT DOT). Finally downtown, we started at Studenterhusert, or the student house, which is a coffee shop by day, pub by afternoon, and nightclub by night..obvi. There we had probably the best deal and the worst drinks of the night: 10 shots for 100 DKK, or 18 dollars. Well, the amount of liquor within the shot glasses was comparable to the amount you would find in a few eye drops...oh and not to mention the schnapps we ordered actually tasted like desth. Then we left in search of a club to dance at...well, none of us had realized that somewhere along the way, we ended up back in the States. Apparently, a drinking age of 18 still correlates to a minimum age of 21-23 to enter most nightclubs in downtown Copenhagen...which is awesome...My young age is actually haunting me everywhere I go...including Siberia. We then found a pseudo-nightclub called "The Drunken Flamingo," where I bought a 9 dollar vodka tonic (made with one shot of vodka, which I'm still bitter about). After a few failed attempts at dancing, we decided it was time to start our lengthy journeys back home. I caught the 2:30 train from downtown to my local train station. Then came time for the bike ride home...Apparently, I failed to realize that the way back was entirely uphill...and that the wind would be facing my direction. To no surprise, my lower half failed within the first few slopes. So, I did what anyone else would do...call a cab...just kidding (but I literally had to hold myself back). I got off my bike and walked it home...actually, the bike walked me home..like the little bitch I am... An hour later and I made it home. Beyond angry. I could not believe the lengths I had to go to in order to leave the house for a few hours on the weekend. 

Instead of choosing a program in Spain or France or England...or anywhere below the Equator...I chose to study abroad in Denmark. Let me just pick the coldest and most expensive destination. I'm not going to pretend like I didn't know Copenhagen was expensive or that it wasn't going to be freezing...but the loneliness I'm feeling really took me by surprise. Let me tell you, I was beyond excited for this trip..Like, so excited that I didn't care if I would freeze or go broke..I couldn't wait to be away from home and all the stress I've dealt with everyday for the past three years. But now, I just feel cheated. The way I see it is your semester abroad (from what I've heard, at least) is supposed to be the most exciting, life-changing, happiest, and all the other horse shit I've been fed semester of your life. I know I'm being a bit glass half-empty, and I hate myself so much for it. This is the experience I have been waiting for since I can remember, and I feel like I'm watching it slip from my hands. I tried to catch it, but I had to walk my bike home for an hour. I can't discover anything about Copenhagen, because I don't know how to get home. I can't meet any Danes, because I don't know what time to catch the bus or if the destination is in my designated "traveling zone." I can't drink a beer with my new friends because I'll miss the bus after school. 

I just don't get it. I've had several friends do the same program and have the time of their lives. What am I doing wrong? 

For anyone who's studied abroad: Does it always start like this, or did I screw myself over? 

I guess I just want someone to tell me how to fix it or tell me that it's going to get better. 

you know you love me,

xoxo

lonely boy. 

p.s. I know I run the risk of sounding pathetic by posting this blog..I'm in a wonderful city, but so many obstacles stand in my way of enjoying it. Where's the fun I signed up for? I was expecting it...just like you were. 

Paris, you stole my heart...and all my money.

Sacre Coeur: Home is where the heart is

Our final day in Paris was incredibly special. Having seen the majority of what was originally on our list of "must-sees," Morgan and I were looking forward to picking up some friends studying abroad in London from the train station.After realizing that the train station was too far of a walk, Morgan and I decided to give public transportation a shot. Luck was on our side, we happened to catch the bus straight to Gare du Nord. The long-awaited arrival of  Lissy, Taryn, Rachel, and Carol was like a scene out of your favorite romantic comedy. They had given me the wrong arrival time, so they had been waiting for an hour at the train station by the time Morgan and I got there. Ironically, Morgan and I arrived to the train station an hour early...and decided to have a cafe au lait across the street. Once inside, we were searching all throughout the train station for four obvious tourists. Then I saw the most luscious ombre locks I had ever seen, and knew I was looking at Rachel. Sure enough, the rest of the girls were behind her. Running into my arms, I picked Rachel up and twirled in the middle of the train station (locking eye contact the whole time). Ok, that didn't happen, but I was incredibly excited to see some familiar faces. Morgan and I had created a tentative itinerary for their short day in Paris. Since we were already in the Eastern neighborhood, we figured a trip to Sacre Coeur and the Moulin Rouge were in order. After the a steep hike up Mont Martyrs, the view from the Sacre Coeur was well earned. You could see all of Paris East of the Seine. The beautiful buildings, cobblestone streets...couldn't help but imagine what Mont Martyr was like in the 19th century. Gypsies, prostitutes, and cigarette-clad artists and writers. However, what were once brothels now stand as kiosks selling I <3 Paris apparel. Walking back down, we ventured on our highly-anticipated visit to the Moulin Rouge. Think less tassels, and more sex shops. With a porno store at every corner, Pigalle was definitely my neighborhood. Nicole Kidman was not in sight, but a baguette was (equally attractive). After a quick dejuner, we decided to head back to the train station to see if we could catch the bus to the Tour Eiffel. 

Paris: The city of....mustard gas?

On our way back to Gare du Nord, we noticed screaming, yelling, and protesting in the distance. As we got closer, we realized that a well organized riot/protest (called Manifestation) was occurring in the heart of the neighborhood all the way to the end of the Rue Lafayette, blocking the train station. Our poor visitors from London (as well as ourselves) were scared shitless to say the least. It was surreal, roughly 15,000 people were marching and protesting the murder of three Kurdish women that occurred previously in the week. Little did we know, all public transportation above the metro was shut down for the day. After running into a lady cop (my favorite), she informed me that the only way to get around would be through the metro. Those of you who know me are familiar with my irrational fear of all things dirty. Hesitant at first, we were really left with no other choice. So the six of us and my lacking French headed towards the railway catacombs of Paris. To our surprise, the metro was much easier to use than we had imagined, and ended up using it the rest of the night. Making sure the girls had their purses well secured and had calmed down since the riots, I couldn't help but feel a bit paternal...kind of weird..but almost like the head of a pack of...wolves? Maybe?

Anyways, after a morning full of adventure (well, not really adventure...more so us running away from the adventure) we had finally arrived to the Eiffel Tower. 

60 Euros. 

You could buy a dinner for 5 in the US, or 4 cappuccinos off the Champs-Elysses.

After a stroll down the Champs-Elysses, and the terrifying morning we had experienced...we were ready to take a piss. However, Paris is unique in that to take a leak you have to dish out at least 2 euros...and let's be real, ain't nobody got money for that. So we held it in. And held it in. And held it in...until I thought Taryn was going to pass out on the Champs-Elysses from some sort of urine poising. So we decided we would stop for coffee and hopefully use the restroom. Well, safe to say that was the most expensive (and relieving) piss I've ever taken. After a few cappuccinos and an argument with the waiter, it was time to head back to the train station. 

Paris, I just don't know what to say about you anymore.

Dropping the girls back off at the train station was more emotional than expected. It was such a tease being with friends from home. The more you can share this beautiful city with, the more enjoyable it is. At the end of the day, what's the city of romance for a lonely boy? On our way back to the hotel, Morgan and I decided to spend the rest of our euros on a bottle of wine and a slice...yes, one slice..of cheese (well worth it). The wine really helped take the edge off regarding tomorrow. This is it. Tomorrow I meet my host family, find my new home for the next semester, and start a life where no one knows who I am. It's kind of all I've ever wanted...you know, move somewhere far away, start a new life where no one knows your name (what do you think of Tony? I feel like I look like a Tony?). It's funny though, because once you finally get the opportunity to run away from everything that's ever bothered you, everything you've wanted to escape...all you can think about is the good you leave behind. The roller coaster of emotions I've been riding this past week keeps going through loops and turns of excitement, sadness, happiness, and nervousness; but, the one feeling that has been consistent is that of liberation. It's almost impossible not feel invincible with Paris as your playground. So glasses raised to a hopefully enjoyable and exciting journey, where before I make a new life, I can realize all the good within the one I already have...and who knows maybe find out who I am along the way. I've seen my fare share days of reincarnation, from Allen the skater boy (wannabe, really) to Allen the whale (high school was rough), all the way up to right now...who that is I don't know.

But for now, you can just refer to me as Allen Abroad.

xoxo, always. 

3 Meals, 3 Nights, 300 dollars

No, This isn't Expedia. It's Paris on a poor student's budget. 

The Great Migration

I realize I'm a bit behind, but I'm in Paris. Bite me. 

On Wednesday, the voyage across the pond began with a bus ride on the grey hound from the ever familiar student center to ORD's Terminal 3. The bus ride was an emotional one for me, and not just because the old lady in front of me smelled like moth balls and rubbing alcohol, but because I think I was experiencing my first wave of real feelings. You see, the one thing that has gotten me through semesters tarnished by genetics, physical chemistry, analytical chemistry, etc...was the hope of studying abroad. The opportunity to study abroad was what had motivated me to continue overloading my semesters, attending school throughout the summers and breaks, and missing just about every FrAt party on Fredonia. So when the time finally came, it was incredibly surreal. Like you've been planning for this trip that's never going to happen. Then it does. So, the Greyhound ended up being a spot of rather profound and reflective thought. I could already sense how much I was going to miss my family and friends in a few weeks by the lump that sat in the back of my throat throughout the entire bus ride (you know, the lump you feel when you're about open up the flood gates...or bawl your eyes out). Anyways, no need to bore you with my flight to CDG. It was transcontinental with plenty of sick children and bitter elderly. whatever. Once we had been picked up by our driver and taken to our charming hotel on Rue Pasquier right across the Madeleine, jet lag set in. So before any Mary-Kate and Ashley "Passport to Paris" activities, Morgan and I decided  a two-hour nap was in order. 

Lost in Paris...not as romantic as it sounds

Once we woke up, we decided to go for a "stroll" through Paris. The funny thing about Paris is most people have this idea that all the fabulous monuments and tourist hotpots are all conveniently located around the Eiffel Tower. False. With different neighborhoods in every corner, it took Morgan and I about 5 minutes to realize that we had no idea where we were. Like the north star, however, the Tour Eiffel guided us to the Champs-Elysses. We followed winding cobblestone roads, had a cafe au lait on the way, and finally found the emblem of Paris shining through the fog. It really was one of the most breathe-taking sites, and not just because the cold rain was making it hard to breath. After strolling around and taking pictures from every angle like any Seine-bound tourist should, we followed the illuminated roads of the Champs-Elysses back to the hotel. It only took an hour to realize we were walking in circles, but an hour later we stumbled onto the hotel. Once there Morgan and I decided it was time for our first meal. After having asked the hotel receptionist for his recommendation on a local favorite, we found ourselves at Le Madeleine C. An haute restaurant, charming, with one waiter and about 10 tables. After browsing the menu, we decided that from now on we would have to eat very strategically, making sure to stock up on the complimentary hotel breakfast. However, every euro cent was worth it. For our appetizer, Morgan and I shared a delicious plate of escargot, still boiling in its dish. Never have I tasted so much flavor. Next up was duck thigh and scalloped potatoes. It was like gates of heaven were in my mouth. As if it couldn't get any better, the creme brulee for dessert was quite possibly one of the best desserts I have ever tried. Mind you this meal was washed down with the most delicious, dry, sharp vin rouge de Bordeaux, and that made for a Bonne-Soire!

Who said you can't see Paris in a day?

 With the short trip to Paris half-way over, we decided that today would be spent seeing as much of the city as possible. So we just walked. and walked. and walked. and walked...until we came crawling back to the hotel. Our first stop was the Place de La Concorde (pictures to follow, can't post them all...Internet too slow), beautiful as expected. After walking across the Seine we found ourselves at the Musee D'Orsay. I've always had an appreciation for art, but have never really been a painting enthusiast. You can keep Monet, if I can see McQueen was always my thought. Well, a significant amount of that changed today. It was absolutely surreal viewing original paintings by Van Gogh and Paul Signac. Oh, being single in Paris reaches an all time low when you enter the "Party Room" within the Musee D'Orsay that is exclusively reserved for wedding receptions and other fabulous events for Paris's wealthy. The Ballroom looks like it was once Marie Antoinette's dance spot (think less beheading, more taffeta and gold plated architecture). Nothing I type will do the paintings or sculptures justice, so onto the next spot: Notre Dame de Paris. Notre Dame was absolutely unreal. We were lucky enough to have visit during the 850th anniversary. Just incredible, inside I kept picturing Quasimodo hiding behind the bell tower, or Esmiralda outside doing a little Gypsy dance. I even said a little prayer inside the Cathedral.

After Notre Dame, we sat down for a glass of wine at one of the cutest brasseries in Paris. The waitress was sweet enough to let me use her iPad to "check-in," when I had asked if there was WiFi. We continued onto one of my favorite museums, Le Centre Pompidou. So avant-garde with the exposed tubing and pipework, the abstract fountains in front, and the undoubtedly hipster college students lounging outside, cigarette in hand (naturally). Following Le Centre Pompidou, we ventured to Bastille expecting more than we found, but nevertheless, it led us to the Arab Museum, which is obviously hits close to home. There we saw some incredible artifacts from the Holy Lands as well as incredible exhibitions about the current "Arab Spring." On our way back up the Seine we found Le Musee de Louvre. The pyramid was incredibly beautiful illuminating the park in front of the palace, especially withe the Tour Eiffel twinkling in the background. After our march around Paris, our feet decided it was time to call it a day. The night concluded at Chez Papa, a cute little restaurant with a young atmosphere and delicious food. Naturally, I ordered the escargot, duck, and creme brulee yet again. So with one day and night, and about 50 euros left, I think we'll be able to afford one more meal (hence the clever title).

Now in bed, writing from the hotel, can't help but feel a little like Hemingway as the reality of not returning home for five months starts to sink in. Haven't made it to Denmark yet and already feeling a bit home sick. You can't help but wish that your friends and family were here tasting the food and enjoying the sights with you.

Until next time,

tu sais tu m'aime
xoxo
Allen Abroad

(didn't bother checking for spelling/grammatical errors..too tired)

The Pilot

(You know, like the first episode of a TV series)

As a follower of all things Carrie Bradshaw, I have always wanted my own journal column. 

Since a New York newspaper is a bit out of my league, I figured a blog is second best.

As an incoming student at the Danish Institute of Study Abroad, I decided to start a blog dedicated towards sharing my experiences abroad with friends, family, and everyone else!

Luggage is packed, tickets are booked, and passport is ready!

Before beginning my semester in Copenhagen, my travel companion and good friend, Morgan,

and I have decided to treat ourselves to a three day trip to the city of lights...PARIS!

In my head I'm picturing something out of the Hills. I doubt I'll be riding on the back of a motorcycle with the Tour Eiffel in the background like Lauren, but I suppose a stroll down the Champs-Elysees isn't too far fetched. 

I have looked forward to this semester since my first day at Bradley University. However, the night before the trip, I am filled with a mixture of emotions. Excited, terrified, nervous, and ready. 

Sad to leave friends and family, but excited for the adventures that await.

So, on here I will chronicle my adventures and experiences, everything from living with a Danish host family to nights out in Copenhagen. 

Stay tuned, friends.

you know you love me,

xoxo

Allen Abroad.