I should be studying for art history...why do all of the italian artists from the proto renaissance through the renaissance sound exactly the same?

Anyway...here's what happened on Saturday and Sunday:

You might have read on the post I wrote on Sunday about how Angela, Liz, Laura, and Leslie decided to return on Saturday night to Paris, instead of the planned depart on Monday. So, we parted in Arles, and I went to Avignon, excited at the prospect of traveling by myself in a foreign country for two days by myself. I felt so independent while I waited for my train back to Avignon, felt perfectly content as I looked at the bright blue sky, and the warm air that smelled half fresh and half polluted, and both aromas seemed comforting. I waited at the platform for an hour and a half, before realizing I was waiting at the wrong one, and sprinted into the tunnel and barely made the train. Seriously, what is wrong with me and trains? I don't know. But I tried European skittles, and the grape ones are not grape. They are black currant. And they taste like crap. I like black currant juice, but bitter fruit candy? Not a good combo. Anyway...

Listened to Lump Sum (I have no idea what the footage is, but just play this song while you read), by Bon Iver. It is the perfect train riding song as it gets going and going. Mmm. Love it. I got to Avignon, went to the hostel I had heard about the day before, and found out that the reception desk didn't open until five, so I had about four hours to kill. I asked the lady at the hostel grocery store if there was somewhere to leave my backpack, and so I left it just behind the desk, which made me a bit nervous. Then I went and walked around the Palace of the Popes, and the top of the city on some rocks, and I listened to my sister Cami's songs, and started bawling when I was listening to Black Sheep. (Seriously email me if you want this song. And you want it. Seriously.) So I wrote her a post card while I sat at a cafe and payed too much for some red fruits tea because I was sitting in the square looking at the Palace of the Popes.

the city, and the tables of the cafe I drank at

I emailed a few people to let them know I was alive, and where I should have been if I wasn't where I was supposed to be at some time. Finally I went to the hostel, freaked out because I was afraid my backpack would have something stolen, but everything was there, and I got a dorm room for 12,40 euros. Can you believe that? So cheap. Including a pillow that was underneath a mattress cover, no sheet, and a ratskin blanket. Pretty depressing.

not as inviting as it looks...

I had the best view of the river though, and I took a million pictures of the view. I sat and read, and listened to music, and read more, and took more pictures, and watched a man look at me, and then look at the river, and then keep walking, look at the river again, turn around and walk past me again and look at the river. I knew it was only a matter of time before he said something to me, so I packed up and walked away. Why is it that creepy men think that young girls reading or writing want creepy boys to come up and talk to them? Beats me.

There was a spectacular sunset, and then when it was dark, I decided to be safe and stay in my room until the morning. I had accidentally bought tickets for 6:44 the next morning to go to a town called Isle-Sur-La-Sorgue, for the amazing Sunday market that takes place there. Because reception isn't open all the time, I left my backpack at reception the night before, and was planning to pick it back up at 5 on Sunday, when I would check in again and get another room. That is when I started freaking out. My backpack was just in a hallway in the back of reception, which was half reception, half bar, half restaurant, half hang out place, slash there was a door for limited access right next to where my back pack was! I did not feel okay with that. And the ratskin blanket was not warm, and I curled up in my bed, and heard the other girls shush each other when they saw the lump of blanket in the corner that was me when they turned on the light. It was a lonely night.

I woke up at 5:45 the next morning, grabbed my things, dressed in the nasty hostel bathroom, and did an early check out with the security man, and then walked through the town, seeing the early morning trucks cleaning the city, the few harmless homeless men sleeping or yelling, and arrived at the station in time to catch my train to the market. I arrived in the town at 7:10, thinking it would be like Portabello road with a really early start. I wandered around forever taking pictures, writing in my journal, and eating the cookies I had bought the night before for dinner. The market didn't really get going until about 10, and then it was crazy.

The whole town was built along little rivers, and there were water wheels, and the market went through several streets, around the church, and on bridges and near the water. It was really beautiful, and I might have had to go to the atm when I might have ran out of cash... I know I always tell you all what I buy because I'm so excited, but for my own reasons, I cannot disclose what I have bought until December 26th.

This town is also famous for its antiques, and I saw the most beautiful armoires in the antique stores. I was seriously stunned by how gorgeous they were, and am now ruined for the rest of my life.

I started freaking out about my backpack. I got the next train back to Avignon at about noon. I had walked through the market several times, and I wanted to go back to Paris as soon as possible.

And I felt terrible that I was missing sacrament meeting, after having not gone for differing reasons for the three weeks previous. I was feeling absolutely terrible. I spent an hour at the internet cafe, wrote a depressing blog post, and was freaking out about my backpack. I sat near the river by my hostel again, and read my Book of Mormon in French for about an hour and a half, praying that my backpack would still be there. I knew it had been stolen. I just knew it. My keys to my Paris apartment were in there, along with my eurail pass, and my train ticket home, and my metro pass, and things I had bought at the market, and my black skirt I love, and my book, and my passport, and my sketchbook and watercolors, and I just knew all of it was gone. I freaked out. And this is when I decided that I would never again travel alone. I can't handle myself freaking out. I didn't know I freaked out this much. I didn't know I relied on other people to help me not freak out. I promise I'm a great travel companion. I can figure things out, and I know how transportation works most of the time, and I know how to live out of a hostel, but for my own mental well-being, I don't think I can travel alone anymore. I need someone to tell me that I am freaking out and to settle down, because things will be okay.

My backpack was there. I got the same room. I got a bit of candy and some apple juice for dinner. I realized I hadn't eaten a square meal since Friday night when I had the best meal of my life. I had a bit of breakfast on Saturday, some skittles at the train station, half a roll of cookies for dinner, the other half for breakfast on Sunday, a gelato on Sunday when I was having a panic attack, and then half a bottle of apple juice and some haribo candies, which I finished on the train to Paris on Monday morning. That night was triumphant, as I repacked my backpack, talked to the sweetest Polish girl (Ewa! she reminded me so much of you!) who was traveling by herself, told her about Arles and about how my sister had lived in Poland, and how much I loved Krakow, and she was sweet, and she left her bag in our room when she showered, so I left mine in the room when I watched the sunset again and listened to this wonderful wonderful song by Josh Ritter. (It is thy type of song that is so happy, and not puky happy, like I'm happy, happy, and this is a cute song. Listen while you read the rest of this.) And the room wasn't full, so I got two ratskin blankets, and cozied into my sheetless bed.

I made it back to Paris perfectly fine, and if you looked at this post and only saw the pictures, you would have no idea the amount of (unnecessary) emotional anxiety that occurred in the midst of these calm pictures.