preview for tomorrow's post about saturday and sunday

I'm obsessed.

Friday:

view of Arles from the amphitheatre

I took the train down from Paris to Avignon. I missed the train on Thursday when four of my friends went because I woke up an hour after my train left, much to mine and Cami's confusion; (we had both set our alarms) and after having a wallet-loss freak out when I left my wallet at the ticket counter at the train station when I tried to get another train down to Avignon that day. Thankfully, they still had it, and all one hundred of my recently withdrawn euros were still there.

not embarrassed to say that I really love this picture.

I arrived in Avignon and remembered that the hotel my friends stayed at the night before was only a ten minute walk from the train station. I began to walk, following signs for city center, and historic center, and I walked along the river and could see the pope's palace from a distance. Later, I realized that the hotel was referring to the Avignon Centre station, and not the TGV (fast train) station, which was about a 45 minute or an hour walk to get to the hotel. It was a nice day, and the river looked beautiful. It kind of reminded me of Eugene, it was about the same width as the Willamette with similar plants along the shore.

Arles. And Leslie.

I got to the hotel, and talked to the man who speaks English there. I had told him the night before that I had missed the train, and to please ask my friends to come to the train station to wait for me there so we could finally meet up. He told me that my friends had left about an hour ago, and he didn't know where they were going, but he had given them the message. I thanked him, resigned myself to spending the weekend alone in Avignon, not the worst prospect, and went to the tourist information center to find the cheapest hostel possible.

i think i saw like four stores with dogs in the window like this. so cute, right?

Then I found an internet cafe, ended up calling dear Angela (one of the girls I was supposed to meet up with), and found out that they were catching a train in 15 minutes to go to Arles. "I will be there!" I told her, before dropping a euro in the internet man's hand and running out the door. I was wearing Cami's enormous and totally legit backpacking backpack, so it was heavy, and my skirt was coming up in the back as my pack thumped my back at every step. I was sprinting full out, and I knew there was no way that I could stop before I saw my friends. And they were there, waiting for me, and we didn't miss the train.

lovelies: liz, laura, angela, leslie

Arles is a really cute, beautiful town. It is where most of the windows are that I took pictures of in the post below. There is a colosseum type of amphitheatre thing where they still have bull fights. Apparently they have a type of bull fight where they don't kill the bulls. We didn't get to see one, but we did find out that in the middle ages, the whole amphitheatre was filled with houses and about 200 people lived there, and they used the walls for fortification. Crazy right? All the way until the seventeenth century.

(left) look at us. we've gotten so good at not looking like tourists. this is at the amphitheatre. extra points to anyone who can tell me what book leslie is reading? (right) Angela and I climbed over a railing to take this pic. We felt so h-core. Angela even insisted on putting on my backpack.

We drooled over tablecloths, and then I drooled over the crepe I had for lunch, with asparagus, and cheese and ham in it. It was an absolutely beautiful day, with wonderful blue skies, and fun friends, and lots and lots of jumping pictures I will spare you of.

(left) the cafe Van Gogh painted; (center) his painting; (right) the asian tour group admiring the previous two thing with us

That night, my dinner contended as possibly the best meal I have ever had in my entire life. Fish soup, a veal medallion, and some kind of chocolate souffle/cake.

i don't know why my camera doesn't like taking pictures in dark places...my soup was not orange.

I felt so bad about the veal, especially when I told my mother about it tonight, and she gave me the saddest face ever. It is the only time I have ever ordered veal, and probably the last. But it was probably the best meat I have ever tasted in my life. Tender and juicy and flavorful and wonderful sauce and a few vegetables. Good conversation, a bit of gossip, and without even any wine, we were in total euphoria as we tried not to embarrass ourselves by laughing too much. A man walked around with a guitar singing old, beautiful french songs, and I savored that meal like I have never savored anything. And I splurged. 26 euros. And the American woman next to me made it quite clear to the waiter that she must have the same dessert as I. Really, it was wonderful, and I watched her take a picture of her dessert as we walked out the door. We were content with everything that had ever been slightly amiss in our lives.

the chair in the corner of our hotel room

I shared a bed with Leslie, and she doesn't like to be touched, just to warn you. So I nuzzled my head into her shoulder a few times before Angela and Liz came and jumped into our bed, and Angela and I pretended to be puppies, and Laura talked in her cute baby voice, and Liz talked about how she would rather be a werewolf than a vampire. I agreed. We laughed until about one o'clock in the morning. And Leslie laid there with her arms by her sides.

I was totally going to do a blog post about my weekend!

maybe I still will, but instead, for the past two hours I have been working on my blog post for my photography class. I had such a hard time for the first time ever coming up with the writing part. I just wanted to take pictures of windows, not write anything about it. Also, if you looked at my assignment last week, where I didn't write a complete sentence, and wrote the same thing over and over again, I got a hundred percent on the writing part. Gooooood...anyway. Couldn't think of a way to specifically leave out text, so it gets a bit cheesy. Hope it's just more "sensory" than corny though.

I got this idea from my mom, who took TONS of pictures of windows on our last trip to France, Poland, Switzerland, Slovenia, Germany, etc. and then put some of them into one of those frames that is like a frame for about a dozen pictures. Anyway, I liked it, and I decided to do something similar...Here it is:

I like when people use windows as metaphors.

You know the metaphors I'm talking about. They include wonderful things like windows to people's hearts and souls;
windows of opportunity, and hope;
to goodness
and love
and friendship.

I wonder what the people inside of the windows would say
as they look out into the streets of Southern France,
scowling or laughing,
speaking or smoking or drinking coffee.

I wonder as my fingers itch to throw open their shudders
and find hope or love or beauty.
Maybe I would find a small room,
perhaps decorated similar to my hotel room I've already seen,
with a wooden table and chair,
and a vase full of fake sunflowers.

So, what do you think? I took most, if not all of those pictures in Arles. It took forEVer to line all of them up. More pictures to come...