And now a Toast.....to infinity and beyond

It has been two years since I have published a blog. Yes, I am still alive. Yes, I made is home if not a bit deflated from the events that took place summer 2010. I spent most of fall 2010 reverting back old insecurities. Should I be in the field I am in, why wasn't I am able to accomplish my goals I had set for myself- oh yes the self-pity flowed freely through my veins. However, I feel as if this descent into self-loathing was needed. Call it a three month pity party- it was needed for what happened December of 2011- when I was approached to open my own studio with a collection of artists. It was a profound moment for me as I looked back over 2010 and realized I needed something to put energy towards- because, and not for the first time since I had graduated in 2007, I was uncertain as to my pathway.  But enough of the dramatics because i went ahead and joined...and let me tell you-

it is KICK ASS.

I have been more creative and have received more opportunities than I ever could have imagined. I have moved forward with successes not only in my career but in my personal life as well- thanks to the people who have never given up on me, despite some of my less than flattering personality traits. I owe alot of karma to a lot of people.

So moving forward. Dude ...wine bar. It is time to look to new ventures that will serve as a further catalyst to my studio....and hellllooooo....wine bar. Doorways have opened, and if everything goes well,  come 2013 I will be typing from a seat in my own establishment instead of pirating the wireless at the java house. And so I propose a toast:

To the Past
May we not forget mistakes
let us learn from them least they be repeated

To the Present
May we be firm in our decisions and walk through open doors and take those chances
despite our failures, our fears and our doubts

To the Future
May it be bright, rewarding and above all a challenge
Let us rise to that challenge...because we can only try.

love

Susan

I feel so broken...I want to go home.....

Well maybe not the first but definately the second... Yes I am ready to go home.

It is the beginning of the end for the Epic Summer trip of 2010 and let me tell you - it has been interesting to say the least. From Trains, plains, and automobiles to robbery and high tension action and adventure- I feel like I have covered my bases with out considering the whole to be some sort of failure. I haven't blogged nearly enough but here is what ya'all missed

PARIS ROUND 2

Better this time thanks to some of Erika's good friends who were willing to play tour guide Barbie for a couple of days- We did the louve in 2 hours mostly due to the fact that both Erika and I couldn't quite rid our selves of the creepyness of the Egyption Section - which we made the mistake of visiting first. Instead of marveling at the greatness of an ancient empire- which I think curators were attempting to get across, it was well set up and nicely lit- we were distracted by internal quandries.. -

How many tombs do you think they raided to get these artifacts?

uh....where did the bodies go that were supposed to be in those egyptian coffins? ( we figured they were either somewhere in the basement or somewhere out in the desert...neither were great thoughts ) and of course

How many archeologists were cursed for all eternity due to grave robbing???

We made brief stops at the Jacque Louis David collection which was quite impressive - and of course the unavoidable Mona lisa ...a painting that in my opinion that is highly overrated and doesn't need the 20 foot space barrier and bullet proof glass.....This was prompltly followed by a an overpriced salad (we are talking 15 euro for a plate of greens I need a magnifine glass to eat...) and glass of wine at the Louve cafe. We consoled ourselves over the price by repeating a mantra of "when is the next time we are going to be able to have wine at the Louve" unfotunately each time this was brought up all I could think was "never because I don't think I could stomach paying for the experience twice" - Other highlights included R

iding "the whip" at a Parisian Carnival . Perks of this ride: - it was so high that we could see all of Paris lit up from every direction- downside: when Erika realized how high we were going she started to get nervous- to which I responded to by remarking its just like we're flying- to which Erika responded by shooting me a look of panic that read WHATTTT?? To which I thought 'oh crap wrong thing to say' To which Erika responded by latching to anything close to her and squeezing the life out of it and yelling 'I don't like this I don't like this'- To which I responded by saying 'but look we can see the top of the Effiel tower' to which Erika responded by cutting off the circulation of her fingers by gripping the support bars- It was an interesting ride....

Eating ice Cream at a Parlor at midnight which only played Michael Jackson's greatest hits-

Touring the Paris Opera House - for those fans out there this is where the story of Phantom of the Opera took place... sorry to say we saw no phantoms......

Eating some seriously fantastic Crepes- one of the benefits of touring Paris with people who live there is that you get to eat at places that don't normally attract tourists....

Touring Notre Dame and Finding what was left of the Pilgrims Chrurch: like a tower...it was dismantled for building supplies-

And finally having a picnic dinner on the lawn in front of an illuminated Effiel tower with a group of people from all over the word...as some commercials would say priceless-

BACK AT LUBECK

After our truimphant return to Lubeck- the days seem to go much faster. We popped in and out of Hamburg a couple of times, partook of the Lubeck Ratskeller- couragiously battled the heat in a land that does not believe of ice and began to reflect upon our time spent in Germany- Cathedrals seen, monuments visted, and Beer consumed..... Yes the over all consensus was Lubeck had treated us well.

Before we knew it the day arrived for Mom and her video camera to join us in our misadventures- The dyanmic switched from slightly buisness with bits of enjoyment to fullout tourist ( there is nothing like having your mother trail you through various cities narrating to an unseen party). Spending a couple of days revisiting our favorite haunts in Lubeck- We began to plot our escape from Germany. The descion was to head south- because well....why not? Flexibility has been our friend on this trip- and we felt that at the end of the day to continue along a similar approach would suit us best. Taking a series of train luggage (now laden with sourviners....damn those bags are heavy) we made our way to Manheim- a centralized location that would not only allow us to tour the cities of Speyer and Heidelburg but also put us in a convient position to continue on to Calais via Paris.

SPEYER-

Our time spent here was brief as travel can be exhausting but we were able to visit the Pilgrims Church where I obtained another stamp in my Passport and grab and Ice Cream before heading back to our Hotel.

HEIDELBURG-

After a morning of leisure- we sauntered down to the train station to catch a tram to Heidelburg which was about 20 mintues down the tracks. Opting to walk we made our way through the older streets and up the side of the mountain to the Castle that over looks city. After a couple of beers- and some photo opps- we hit up the Christmas Shop (of course anyone who knows my mother understand there this particular stop really wasn't optional ), again grabbed some ice cream and made our way back to the hotel.

So...where do we three go from here ????

We have decided to bypass France; none of us being fluent in the language nor having the benefit of local tour guides made us less than enthusiastic about staying any length of time in Paris- so onto Calais where we will take a ferry across the English Channel to Dover (remember I am traveling with one person who doesn't fly and another person who refuses to go underground for extended period of time....which rules out the chunnel and easy jet). This route will allow us to take in the sight of the infamous white cliffs, while also putting us within a bus ride away of our destination of Canterbury. Here we will spend two nights before continueing on to London.

As we speak (read...Type???) We are currently traveling comfortably on the ICE service to Paris Est where we will transfer to Paris Nord and continue on to Calais....wish us luck.

Why the hell someone would want to go to Germany...don't worry this is a happy blog..

First and foremost I sincerely apologize for the lack of blogs...- I would like to say that life has been just so vastly busy, and exotic that I just couldn't find the time to collect my thoughts into such humble settings....HA- in reality, the truth lies somewhere in the midst of serious touring, beer drinking, world cup cheering craziness and (and I think mostly) an embarrassing new level of laziness, (apparently in regards to writing, I have embraced sloth is my favorite sin- not that I had a favorite deadly sin...well maybe gluttony if we are talking about coffee, ice cream, wine and/or cheese...but that is kind of disgusting...ok this parentheses have gotten a bit out of hand I will move on).

Now that I have had a chance to get my head on straight- in more ways the one- seriously picture little girl from the Exorcist...except with out the pea soup- I have started to enjoy my time in northern Germany. Which- yes I know you await anxiously - it is time for another edition of Susan's top 10 best list of Germany.



Before I begin I feel I should first set some sort of context for those not familiar with the Germanic state of Schleswig- Holstein. Before pictures of jolly men sporting lederhosen and buxom blond wenches touting pitchers of frothy cold beer dance through your heads (Oh the damage done by Milwaukee's German Fest- apparently this is more of a Bavarian style- yes I realize I am showing my complete ignorance of German culture- but to be fair I warned you in advance)- the stereotype is hardly accurate. Actually much of the population and architecture in Hanseatic cities have the tendency of being slightly depressing. I don't mean in a historic building becomes parking lot kind of way; it is more of a overwhelming black color palate, we were once bombed, and much of our history has been eviscerated in its wake, kind of way.

My apologizes to known readers of said heritage as no insult is intended but who can deny the undeniable affinity Germans have for the Macabre. Yes, even the churches contain such atmospheric sculptures as bleached skulls gracing the heads of angelic bodies and black coffin alters half opened to reveal the beaten body Christ in a position reminiscent of Vlad the impaler himself- rising at twilight ( side note, for those Nosferatu fans out there- definitely filmed in the salt warehouses here in Lubeck- remember this next time it comes up in pub trivia). Factor in the crowd of disillusioned pierced punk/emo youth which hangs out near the market square playing minor chords on flutes- so young, so angry- and it pretty much seals the deal. I am indeed, living in Goth Country. ( I have attached a video of that aforementioned pilgrims service - see A moment of consideration- at the bottom of this blog - it includes the alter I was talking about and the subtle sounds of the "traditional" pilgrims music...which I am not so sure about..sorry about the video being sideway)

(brownie points if you catch on to the clever double use of the word 'Goth' ...don't know what I mean LOOK IT UP).

However this being said, at the end of the day they enjoy their p's and q's just as much as any Miller High Life guzzling Midwesterner- bless their hearts- , so ultimately no complaints here.

Any way- short intro made long- I have narrowed down my top 10 of 'what have you' to sum up my full appreciation of the state of Schleswig-Holstein (the what/where/ huh about Schleswig-Holstein: it is a area found in north-west of Germany and was a the administrative seat of the Hanseatic league....ha and if you don't know what THAT means, it means I just beat your ass at German trivial pursuit, too late to look it up. I revel in your ignorance ....).

Susan's Top 10 list of 'What have you" in and about Schleswig- Holstein.



1) The rather sweet if not exceedingly creepy Marionette Puppet Theater and Museum in Lubeck. The rather unique museum contains not only an extensive collection of German marionettes but over 20,000 puppet related exhibits from around the globe. Minus the sou less eyes that seem to follow me everywhere- I found that I was both intrigued and inspired by the various forms I encountered. So much so I had to attend a performance of 'Don Carlos despite its dialogue being preformed in German. It is always interesting how theater of all kinds transcends the language barrier. I was regaled for an hour an half by the tale which contained romance, high adventure, random accordion playing, and explosions- without understanding one word- yes the very height of culture my dears. Include a marvelous chilled glass of white wine, and the evening was complete.

2) The Spice Museum in Hamburg- never a sight more motivational in regard to my own rather meager culinary skills. Master the art of spice and life will be kind to you my friends. Your adversaries will bow before your table and beg for your favor in exchange for a simple taste from the aromatic hearth. ...(something I aspire to so watch out for my new version of peas and cheese with a hint of pfeffer)

3) The Sirens Call of the Local Rowing Team in Lubeck- I have never really seen competitive rowing but the dedication of this particular team does make one stop...right about five every night, when a loud drum and heightened male voices fill the air. The sound always make me pause in my daily activities- begging me to come to the window, and watch as the city rowing team passing through the canal....that and lets face it, the prowess of German masculinity's revealed- HOT! wew I need to go get a fan.....is it warm in here??- EINS, ZWEI, DREI, VIER.......

4) Drinking a cold one in the local Rathaus in Bremen- ok it has been like 95 every day for the last three weeks...Germans do not believe in the use of ice or air conditioning.. basically nothing is really cold not even their ice cream-which is somehow strangely lukewarm. This unspoken boycott of the frigid is broken in only one area, as far as I can tell, and that is in regard to their beer. Never in my life have I tasted a beer as good as the one I had in the Rathaus in Bremen. They served this ambrosia in an frosty stoneware mug- and when I say frosty- dude I mean there was a definite layer of ice surrounding the exterior, and those first couple of swallows...yeah I had a moment ok- which promptly made me order another one-

5) Becks Brewery in Bremen - in the same breathe of that moment in the Rathaus - Becks brewery is not far behind. For the low price of 9.5 euro not only do you get a two and half hour tour, which you can schedule in English, you also receive for this low low price a large soft pretzel baguette and 4 rounds of any becks beer you ever want to try- including a fine selection from their regional brews called Haake Beck. You can even try a special brew that is not even distributed locally anymore - you can only drink it at the brewery. Having no serious feeling one way or the other about beer- Miller I blame this on you - I have to say I am a converted Becks fan.

6) Paul the Psychic Octopus and the World Cup Games- I have never watched soccer before and I regret it. Not only are the games kept to a reasonable time limit- they are fast paced, action packed, and competitive while also prompting positive sportsmanship. World Cup has shown me the error of my ways with its the month long festive atmosphere (as long as your favored team wins), cold beers, catchie fan tunes and a rumored psychic cephalopod mollusk. Germans do football right and until the NFL can come up with something better than Psychic Paul - I refuse to look back.

7) Cafe Niederegger - - Lubeck is widely known for their talent and skill with marzipan. Not only can you buy the traditional pig shape (personally I have no idea why the pig out of all creatures is the most popular shape for marzipan) but celebrity icons, the Eiffel tower, the statue of liberty, a variety of crustaceans... and much much more- also attached to this mecca for marzipan fans is their speciality ice cream vendor at which you can buy a cone of deliciousness for the low price .8o euro . Despite it lack of cold, the flavors are unforgettably- current fav- Pistachio quickly followed by walnut. ..so i stop once...ok twice a day, don't judge.

8) Random Marching Bands that have nothing to do with German Culture yet are promoted by Lubecks German Culture Committee and are vastly entertaining. - I don't really feel the need to expound much on this one other than there is something mind boggling about listening to A marching band surrounded by medieval aged buildings, dressed in traditional German costumes playing 'smoke on the water' followed by Abba's Dancing Queen. Huh....at the end of the day this had to make the list for sheer fact that where else can you say you've seen that.....

9) Cafe in the old monastery- overlooking the canal, our apartment and much of Lubeck is an old monastic building - which has been turned into a museum of archeology and contains a small wine cafe. Here you can find a peaceful place to sit and chat without sounds of city life- and by far one of my favorite places to chill with Erika after a long day.

10) Finding the connections to the Camino EVERYWHERE- I think one of my best moments was finding a Camino sticker attached to a street lamp down the road from the apartment- Since discovering the connection to the Camino trail, I have found St. James and his shell everywhere- It's kind of grown into a where's waldo type of deal- I even found the pilgrimage church in Hamburg AND they stamped my original Camino pilgrims passport with an official Camino stamp. It just goes to show what I have known all along, all roads lead to Santiago my friends. (Pictured here is the pilgrims road sign outside of St. Jakobi in Hamburg. Note that Santiago de Compostela is listed third from the top and it is 2500 km away)

A moment of Consideration.

It has now been a full week since I stepped off the plane in Hamburg. So where do the events that plagued my life last week leave me.....How do I cope with the loss of what was to be a summer of personal validation? Physical proof that I can anything if I challenge myself to take risks. Will I be able look at myself in the mirror everyday for the next month, even the next year and not regret my decision concerning the Camino? Did I give up to easily or allow fear to stop me from going after something I had dreamed about for years?

Not easy questions to tackle.

I spent the last week walking around the island. Visiting the local cathedrals, taking in the sights and sounds of the city streets- and exploring a history that I know nothing about. However fate seems to intervene when you need it the most- while walking around the city archives with Erika, we made a very strange discovery. Coming across a flyer marking pilgrims routes throughout Europe, we found that throughout my crazy journey- I never left the camino trail. Historically, Lubeck was a starting point for the Camino to Santiago de Compostela. The next stop, traditionally was Hamburg. ..huh..strange. From there - it was revealed that the pilgrims church sits right around the corner of our apartment- and furthermore the building which housed the pilgrims hostel is on our street. In fact this coming weekend there is to be an entire day reflecting up pilgrimage including traditional music, liturgy, and a blessing. Interesting.....

This put what I had considered on of my greatest failure's into far more positive perspective- which, at that point, I desperately needed. After reflecting a great deal on these revelations I came to several important conclusions....


Technically my pilgrimage has remained open. I never officially closed it when I left St. Jean- I am still registered. Each morning I walk by the church of St. Jakobi and visit the carved relief of St. James- I haven't given up yet. Just because it may take sometime to reach Santiago de Compostela does not mean I won't. At heart I am still on my pilgrimage and this has kept me going. My pilgrims shell remains tied to my backpack and credencial du Peregrino is tucked into my pocket. The events of last week were simply part of my personal Camino.

There is a great book written by Phil Cousineau entitled "The Art of Pilgrimage: the Seekers Guide to Making Travel Sacred". I had found this guide a few years back and to this day it remains one of my favorite books. I highly recommend it for anyone who enjoys a good adventure away from home. It is one of those books which aides in putting life's unexpected events in perspective. Why am I bringing this up? There is one passage in particular that sticks out - after which I promise to returned to the 'light-hearted sarcasm and banter that tends to plague my blog'-

"For the pilgrim traveling a great distance and at great personal expense, the image of a path coiling into a labyrinth as the destination nears is a powerful one. Fear, sacrifice, confusion, betrayal, theft, even death are the invariables travelers are loathe to think about. The sheer physical exertion of the thousand-mile walk to a saint's tomb can evoke strong emotions of resentment and doubt; the loss of money, passport or a travel companion can threaten a long-planned journey. You may have been given wrong directions, or perhaps were deliberately entrapped by con artists. Your baggage may have been misdirected and not returned to you for a week. You may feel savaged with disappointments about the people whom you are fated to travel on a group pilgrimage. Unaccustomed loneliness, unfamiliar food, unexpectedly kitschy architecture at the shrine you have dreamed of visiting all your life- all of these disappoints can result in confusion, frustration, and chaos that have been symbolized for centuries in the the image of the labyrinth.
And yet, as Aldous Huxley has written, "Experience is not what happens to you, it is what you do with what happens to you".
Ask yourself what form your clew* will be as the the inevitable darkness and dismay descend on your journey. Patience, silence, trust and faith are venerable qualities of the pilgrim, but more important is the practice of them.
No one has ever escaped the shadowy corridors of a labyrinth without them"

and with that I too will move on and keep navigating my personal labyrinth. I accept the challenge of its twists and turns and look the path in front of me, not the obstacles and walls behind me.

Thank you everyone for your love and support - I couldn't have made it around that last corner without you. It was a doozy. All I can say is Ulteya! -move forward with courage my friends-

Bon Camino
Susan






***the word clue comes from the old word clew. (yes it is not a spelling error on my part - hard to believe) Clew was the name given to the gold thread in mythology that Ariadne gave to Theseus so he might find his way through and back from the heart of the Labyrinth.

Fuite la France: Le Fini-

My flight to Hamburg lasted one hour and 15 minutes but really it felt like seconds. It was the first hour of full sleep I had in the last three days (the 15 minutes was basically spent being plied with liqueur...thank you Lufthansa)-

It was now the evening of June 18th. Stepping off of the plane I had my first breath of German air (and yes while the air here is not that different than the air in France the key word here is that it is GERMAN, and personally I have always liked the way the word GERMAN rolls off of the tongue- a nice JA sound...I digress, moving on) from here on out it was going to be smooth sailing. I would hop a transport to Lubeck, meet up with Erika and all would be well. Unfortunately you would think I would have learned my lesson by now and immediately found some wood to knock on - crazy of me thinking such thoughts.

I walked over to the information who informed me that I had just missed the bus going to Lubeck but another would be arriving at 10:30 pm, meaning I would arrive at my destination around quarter to 12. However if I choose to use the train system the ride would only take me about 30 minutes. Well- after taking a gander at the train map there was no way in hell I was going to attempt navigating that mess of lines without someone who knew the language. Bus it was- buying my ticket I found a phone and after several unsuccessful attempts at using the German public phone system i finally connected with mom. Quickly explaining that i was in Hamburg- I told her my bus was to leave at 10:30 and I would be at the bus station at Lubeck around quater to 12- Erika could connect with me there- pass the word along. Hanging up I walked out to my stop and low and behold there was a bus already there with my bus number on it....except that the side of the bus said Hamburg - Keil. Double checking my ticket I discovered the wrong destination was written on my ticket...WHAT THE HELL.

REALLY ARE YOU KIDDING ME. COULD ANYTHING ELSE POSSIBLY GO WRONG. I GIVE UP. THE POWERS THAT BE HAVE WON. I AM NOT GOING ON THE FLIPPIN' CAMINO - CAN WE STOP ALREADY WITH THE MISADVENTURES!

Sigh.

Walking back to the information desk I turned in my ticket...for nothing. Apparently the information desk was all out of paper tickets for the bus. I would have to buy my ticket directly from the bus driver which meant I was not entirely sure what bus number i was to get on...- I was handed back my money and back to the bus stop I went.

Around 10:20 a bus pulled up in front of me. Walking up to the bus driver- I asked if the bus was heading toward Lubeck and....to my pleasant surprise the man spoke English. Germany was beginning to grow on me. Onto the bus I went and promptly at 10:30 we were off. Once again I fell asleep. Before I knew it the bus was pulling up for its final stop ( we had three stops in different towns before Lubeck). Ok I am now in the same postal code as someone I know! Now hopefully Erika would be waiting for me.....

Getting off of the bus I looked around. Empty. I walked around the entire building just to make sure she wasn't sitting somewhere. Nope. Sighing I sat down on the nearest bench. Now what- should I try to call mom back? German phones worked differently calling collect and my success rate was not good. Actually, I never did figure out exactly how I managed to connect to her back at the airport. Blind luck? A half and hour went by ...no she probably wasn't coming. ....

and that was about the time when Germany soccer team decided to lose their first world cup game.

Yes I knew this not because I had heard it on some radio or seen the latest news report on a t.v. Oh no...I was informed by the mass amounts of angry drunk Germans that suddenly and without warning filled the bus station. When I say angry I mean the the bottle smashing,- are you talking to me- what did you say about my mom- type of angry. Anything to pick a fight...keeping my head down and my mouth shut I felt it was pertinent to vacate the premises...I really hoped Erika was not wandering around in this mess. The days of stress finally had severely lowered my tolerance for these types of situations and I could feel my stomach start to clench once again. Flagging a taxi down, i simply said Best Western? He nodded and off we went. Less than five minutes later we were pulling into the Best Western Aquamarine Hotel. Ok, I would get a room, call home and figure out where the chain of 'telephone' broke down. Walking into my room I collapse onto the bed and took in the moment.

Somewhere on this island Erika had a nice safe apartment. This would be the last night I would have to spend alone. I wouldn't have to worry where I would sleep - or how I was going to get funds. Even if I didn't connect with her tonight - there would be no question in the morning. Calling mom- this time the tears that came were one's of relief. I found out that Erika wasn't sure which stop I was at, which bus I was on - where I would be dropped off. But to be honest I was happy she had not ventured out into the craziness that had over took the populace of Lubeck at the moment. After some futzing around with addresses and phone numbers, it was determined that Erika would walk to the hotel in the morning- in fact she was about a 15 minute walk away.

I slept. Finally. and in the morning around 9 a.m. there was a knock at my room. Opening the door there stood Erika.

Thank you God Thank you God Thank you God.

I was going to be ok.

Fuite la France: Partie quatre

The ride to the airport took around 30 minutes...and 45 euro. I was down to five Euro once again. Unlike the previous cab drivers- the taxi i jumped into was driven by a man who was of the same opinion I was... basically Paris blows. After an abbreviated version of what had happened to me in the last few days- he made me a deal. If traffic was good I would pay whatever the price was to get there- it would be under 45 euro. If the traffic was bad and the price went over 45, he would cap it at 45 because I was to be the last fare of the day- and he had to go towards the airport anyway. Finally something was going my way.

As it turned out my cab driver was an import to France - His home was originally near Madagascar but as a young man he had come to France for a short work period and never left. However, he stated emphatically as soon as his youngest son graduates college, he and his wife would be migrating far away from Paris.

Don't worry- he told me- things will work out for you. Look at the glass half full,- he said- you are not dead and you are in my cab. I am no cheat.

He had a point.

My cab driver had been in the taxi business in Paris for 18 years. He knew the streets, had his regulars to support his work and made sure that each fare he took on was given an honest price for the ride. Honest work brings good fortune, He told me. Some of the new young cab drivers are only out to make a fast buck. They want to work five hours but make a full wage. This is not good for business, it gives good taxi drivers a bad reputation.

An honest cab driver in Paris- I though guilty- is like.... and quickly stopped myself from completing that thought. I had found one and that was really all that mattered.

Dropping me off at Terminal 1 (apparently the Paris airport had separate buildings for each terminal. there are 3 which I found out. When questioned which one I wanted to go to I decided to go to the one that was closest....which turned out to be terminal 1) which fyi looks like a large concrete doughnut... I thanked the cab driver and paid him the full 45 euro even though in only cost 39- and rushed through the sliding glass doors. I took a deep sigh of relief. From here on out at least I would have a safe place to sleep. People have to stay overnight at airports all the time, they had security, post offices, restaurants, lots of public phones, free bathrooms which were regularly cleaned, showers and fingers crossed- hopefully a Western Union.

I quickly walked to the nearest payphone and called mom collect. I was at the airport. I was safe. I would check on a Western Union in the terminal , have mom send money to right there at the airport and with that money I was going to get the quickest flight I can to Hamburg, Germany. I had made my decision and to me it was more of a compromise. I wouldn't go home, I would stay in Europe, and maybe even help out Erika get what she needed to get done. Once in Germany I could really take stock of how the rest of the summer was to proceed but first thing first-I needed to get money.

There was indeed a western union in my terminal, right down the stairs in the post office. YES! Walking down the stairs- I quickly found the post office and check around for an address for mom to wire the money to. I wasn't turning up anything, but I did see that the closing time was 6 o'clock. It was around 3 ish, wonderful that would give me plenty of time to work with. Walking up to the front desk I asked the bored looking woman behind the counter what numbers I needed to direct a transfer- no numbers she replied ..just yours. Uh ok...maybe it was just a general transfer to Western Union. As I walked out, something made me turn back to her to double check the closing time of the post office- 6 o clock right? No...she held up 4 fingers....oh GOD 4 O'CLOCK??? That gave me a just one hour to get everything straightened out. Ok fine I would just have to work fast.

I found a payphone right next to the entrance of the post officer. Calling mom - I was ready for some good news......I should have known better. Given the timing of everything, the money would not make the four o clock deadline if sent from Wisconsin. But if Alex sent it from Ohio online there was a slim chance we would make it.

After some serious networking on the other end of the phone- all of which i had to over hear but could do nothing but chew on my nails- it appeared the money transfer would go through but it would take one hour.... I looked down at my watch, it was 3:10. NO NONO NONONONO! It had to be ready in under an hour. Whatever - I was going to make this work for me- I told mom I would call her back when i had the money. Jotting down the transfer number I went back to the woman at the desk and handed her my transfer number. Entering some numbers into the computer - she rattled off something in French.

Gritting my teeth I ground out that I did not understand her, after all I had spoken to her in English before and she knew I didn't not understand french which I had told her not ten minutes ago- she replied in bored English 42 minutes till transfer is ready. I will make it right? I asked her - I close at 4 she stated. ...

According to my watch that left me a time frame of about 5 or 6 minutes extra. I was going make it. I went over to the hard yellow chairs outside of the post office door and began what felt to be a very long 42 minutes...about a half an hour later- I walked back up with my transfer number...16 minutes.....ok back in line...12 minutes...back in line....5 minutes...back in wait..what was she doing? SHE WAS CLOSING EARLY. She said 4 and it was still ten to- my transfer was just about to go through. I began to plead with her - please just 5 more minutes.

No I close at 4 she said.

But its only 3:50! she pointed to the post office clock which read 4 o'clock. There was no way she was going to help me. Once again the tears began to well up in my eyes, I was about to humiliate myself.

Terminal 2 she snapped out. What??

The post office in Terminal 2 does not close till 6. The tears in my eyes quickly dried and was replaced by rage. Homicidal images danced through my head as I imagined taking the stapler next to the counter and nailing my transfer number to her aorta. I could have avoided all of this waiting - I didn't have to have put my mom and my brother-in-law through the stress of rushing the money. I could have gone straight to terminal 2. Yes in that moment I realized I hate the Post Office Nazi with the passion of a fiery sun.

Breathe...go get your money I told myself- leaving the Post Office Nazi in my dust - I headed towards terminal 2...which was a 15 minute shuttle ride away. Ok onto the little shuttle I went. 15 minutes later I stepped off, checked my map for a destination and booked it across the terminal to the post office which was on the other side of the building. For those who are unfamilar with the Paris airport (which I feel I know now carry an inimate knowledge of) Terminal 2 is about the size of your average airport so it was not a simple trot down a hallway. 15 minutes of brisk walking later- it was now around 4:45 and I was standing in front of the Western Union ..Ok the money had to be ready.

Walking up to the ladies behind the desk - I handed the transfer number to a girl who looked like she would have serious issues if she walked through a metal detector. ...Grunting she tapped some numbers into the computer. And then squinted at the screen....now what? Speaking rapid french to the woman behind her I could only gather that she had screwed something up on the computer- the two of them entered a dialogue (none of which i could understand) in which there was much eye rolling, bickering and tapping on the computer. Finally I was asked to surrender my passport and state the answer to the security question. Done and Done.....over came my passport and more money than I had, had in what felt like years. It was going to be ok. I was going to get the hell out of France. YES! YES! YES!

Jumping back on the shuttle I headed back over to the concrete doughnut where Luftansa was based. I quickly secured a ticket for a soul ripping 560 euro for a 7 o' clock flight to Hamburg (yes if i had been through less in the last few days the price of an hour flight costing that much would have made me nauseous.. but apparently nothing could faze me anymore). Running over to the nearest trash can- I cleared my bag of all liquids, gels, and sharp pointed objects. I was not going to be able to check the backpack as baggage and it had to be in a certain weight. In to the trash went everything I could possibly get rid of including my sleeping mat- which i tried not to become upset about. Throwing the mat away meant there really would be no way I could go back to France and Spain this summer. However, I knew that deep down this is what i wanted to do, and had to do for myself. Steeling myself against the twinges of depression- I deftly tossed the mat into the trash bag.

A quick call to mom and through security to my gate, labeled 60-69 ( a specific one had yet to be assigned) I went. Throwing myself in the nearest chair I glanced at the flight bored...Hamburg...DELAYED.

Rolling my eyes- i came to the conclusion that somewhere along the line I had seriously pissed off some higher power- although wasn't adding a delayed flight on top of everything else overkill?? 30 minutes after the time I was supposed to be in the air- I was finally was ushered on board my plane- at this point this was the most relaxed I had been in days. I was leaving France- I leaned back into my seat and closed my eyes- Soon I would be with Erika- I would be able to get a clear head about my situation...all I had to do was connect with her somehow in Lubeck. After what I had been through, in my mind that would be the easy part......

Fuite la France: Partie Trois

I arrived in Paris around 8:40 the morning of the 18th. I had spent the last two hours dozing and waking up in a cold sweat thinking someone had stolen my camera case which contained the remainder of my money....I would not be able to receive anymore now until I obtained my passport. I had left the consulate post and their safety net, they would not be able to help me connivance the Paris wire transfers to give me anything with just a passport scan. I had to get that passport today. If it meant hysterics, sobbing and begging so be it. Unfortunately the possibility was still open that I would not qualify for an emergency passport- I had nothing to prove I was leaving the country in under to weeks.

Stepping off of the train I was engulfed in Paris rush hour. I was overwhelmed by the enormous train station, its crowd- and completely lost. The consulate woman said the embassy was easy to find - that it was a straight shot..... but out of which exit. I had no idea. I had never been this far into the city before and definitely not alone. Gritting my teeth I walked around the entire exterior of the station hoping that I would see an American flag somewhere- anything representing a United States presence. Nothing. I as going to have to ask for directions- and I knew the minute I opened my mouth I would be pegged as the obvious foreigner that i was. 6 people later who claimed they spoke no English... the sick feeling returned. Fine I as much as I hated to waste what little money I had...I would take a taxi.

4 taxis later...none of them new what I where I wanted to be taken. I unfortunately was not in the presence of mind to look up the word "embassy" in the mini french dictionary I had in my backpack. Finally I walked into the very glamorous looking hotel just across the street from the station. Going up to the concierge- I pleaded with him to look up and write down the address of the embassy...something I should have done prior to leaving the post in Bordeaux. Looking extremely annoyed, he begrudging did as I asked. ( In truth I think he didn't want to deal with a hysterical female, as once again I was near tears with frustration).

Taking the little slip of paper to the nearest taxi- I found myself speeding along with Paris traffic and 20 minutes later in front of the U.S embassy. Thank god- I had made it. It was all going to be ok.

Walking up to the officials at the gate I explained what I was doing there...the guard looked on the list and yes my name was indeed there. All right, so good so far. He filled out a yellow form that said UNITED STATES CITIZEN IN EMERGENCY SITUATION at the top. Ok good - they get I am in trouble. This is all very good. FINALLY.

He then pointed down the street- and said I had to drop off my things at number 18. ok. right ok down the street I walked to a large enclosed parking lot where I was handed a list of forms and searched. I was not allowed to take anything into the embassy for security reasons. Fine, whatever at least they would be locked up. Double checking that I had all my papers- from the handwritten numbers that I had taken down at st. jean- to the mass of paperwork from Bordeaux to the forms I had prepped for the day. Check, check ,check.

Back down the street I went to the original guard..glancing down at the paper that he, himself filled out he looked to see if my name was on the list...duh. Shockingly enough, it was.

Cool it Susan- stress brings out the worst in you. Don't piss anyone off here.

Through the gate i went, to another security point where I had to remove my watch and everything from my pockets...security reasons. Ok fine whatever. At this point I would rather be safe than sorry. Onward I went. ....To a couple of giggling women who appeared to be a few years younger than me. They had to be interns. One of them handed me a number and went on chatting with her friend..Um..ok.

Breaking into their conversation i curtly asked where exactly I was supposed to go or do with this number-

oh what are you here for - one of them asked-

My passport was stolen- oh they gave me the WRONG type of number. Handing me a new number they gestured to the doorway to the right. Cool necklaces one of the remarked as I walked by. Really ....awesome. Apparently the U.S. Paris embassy has been recruiting from Orange County. Ok now I was starting to get bitchy. Reel in the sarcasm a bit.

Through the door on the right I walked transported to what appeared a modernized version of Ellis Island. Over 70 percent of the crowded room was talking in a language other than English. Visas...I was in the same waiting room as those applying for visas. Well- that shouldn't be a problem as long as I can talk to somebody about my situation. Taking a seat I glanced around the room. Each wall contained 5-6 windows with full sheets of glass conversing them and little phones next to the window. Above each window was an electronic box flashing a ready number. Over a loud speaker numbers were methodically read off directing the holder to an assigned window....My number was C817....and we were somewhere between C 801 and B450. ....

I waited nervously organizing my papers- carefully paging through each one to make sure everything was in order for when my number would be called. An hour later the loudspeaker directed my number to station 16 .....Walking quickly up to window I picked up the phone.

What can I do for you a bored woman asked from behind the glass.

Uh...my passport was stolen? This was not what I expected at all. I had pictured a sit down with a consulate member much like Bordeaux. Why didn't they know who I was- the post had called ahead- my mother was supposed to fax my birth certificate- she said she had spoken on the phone with them... Why didn't they know who i was.. apparently they did, to them I was C 817......

Copy of Passport? Quickly I shoved the paper through the little slot at the bottom of the window. Form for New Passport? I flipped through my paperwork to find the sheets that the post in Bordeaux had helped me to fill out. Through the little slot it went.
Pictures?....pictures? Well the post said that the embassy would take care of that when I got there...
No pictures? Go get some, get a new number and get back in line........

WHAT! I didn't even know where to go for that - was I going to have to leave the embassy.

No- downstairs and take a right, there is a little booth. Make sure the pictures are good or we won't accept them. They cost 4 euro each.

Fine fine fine FINE....grabbing the paperwork the woman had shoved back through the slot I raced downstairs to the little photo machine.... Scanning the directions (Which were all in french) I quickly shoved the money into the slot and took the damn photos....8 euro poorer. I ran back up the stairs to the left where Orange County's Best were still chatting. One of them handed me a number which I quickly handed back reminding them I was here for a new passport I need one with a C not a B..- I grabbed my new number and went back to the chairs. C 820 not bad....

one hour later- My number was called. Back to window 16.

What can I do for you asked the woman behind the glass....

UH NEW PASSPORT

I handed her the required paperwork this time including the photos.

What happened to your old passport she asked.

IT WAS STOLEN FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.

Do you have a form for stolen passport?

Uh I have this police report stating it was stolen.

No, so you have the form for stolen passports?

NO why would I have one- nobody told me I needed one- I have been talking to consulate members for the last two days- I have been at this window before and NOBODY told me I needed this form. I don't even know where I should get this form.

Back came the paper work, along with it a new sheet. Fill this out, get a new number and get back in line.

THAT DID IT.

NO how about I fill this form out right here and you start processing my new passport.
She looked at me for a moment shrugged and said alright.

Huh...ok then. The form basically was the police report all over again. Where was it stolen? What were you doing at the time? What all was stolen? Have you made an attempt to recover it? YES YES YES ..Just GIVE ME MY PASSPORT.

Secondary identification? Um..No it was stolen too. Confused look from her end.

Look my mother has been calling this embassy- She was going to send money because I don't even think I have enough to pay for the damn passport at this point.

One second she says. Fine sure I just wait here because after all I HAVE NO WHERE TO GO.

Five minutes later she returned with another lady. Susan she asks. Um yes that would be me. I spoke to your mother this morning- the woman said -Great.- She says you should have enough money to pay for the new passport and that she wants to talk to you after you get it. -Awesome- I will connect you to her after you do this. Pay at window 20 and have a seat your passport should be ready in about 30 minutes. Ok, fine.

Over to window 20 I went- 100 euro and change later- I was down to 50 euro. Back to the chairs. 30 minutes later I was called to window 18. This time a very bored gentlemen asks me to swear that all the passport information is correct so help you God. Yes GOD HELP ME ITS CORRECT . over comes the passport. Ok the man says you can go now. uh....wait. I said -I don't have any money, I have no where to go, I was robbed! What about connecting me with my mother? I ask. Um and who told you this the man snidely said.

Who told me that.....she never gave me a name.

Uh, a woman behind window 16? I replied weakly.

Well he laughed unless you can give me more information than that I can't help you.

Please I beg I don't know her name but my mother called this morning....

And who are you, I don't know who you are- he interrupted.

Um..looking down at my passport, I'm Susan Kamholz. He just sat there in smirked. Screw this- walking over to window 16 I cut in line and Following me behind the glass the man was not amused. Looking at the woman behind window 16 I asked her to go get the other woman who I had talked to earlier- startled she did what I asked. Now the man looked angry- and pulled the woman aside-

oh yeah I was screwing this up.......

The commotion behind the glass windows must have caught the attention of the other woman because over she came- oh she said looking at me- do you want to talk to your mother? YES.

And who is she- the man snapped-

oh her mother is wiring her money and needs to talk to her, the woman replied.

Well why did she say so- he spat. UH i am pretty sure I did mention something to that effect. Perhaps I was not articulate enough.

Go to window 19.

ok ...window 19. There is no window 19. There is a door with 19 over it. Do I wait for my number to be called? Do I go through the door and risk getting in trouble? I stood there completely at a loss of what to do....five minutes later my name was being broadcasted over the loud speak to go to window 19. Ok that must mean to go through the door. Opening the door I walked into a small room with a glass window and a phone. A different man behind the window asked for the phone number i wanted to call- ....my mind went blank...what was my home phone number- oh god I was so stressed out I couldn't remember the numbers....breathe. Taking the piece he slipped through the little slot i jotted down the first number that came to mind and slipped it back.... and was quickly handed it back. This isn't a number I can dial that man snapped out. Looking down I realized I had written all the numbers backwards...they weren't even in the right order. Ok I had to calm down. Breathe Breathe Breathe.

Final the right sequence came to me - and I slipped the paper back to him. One moment.

Finally the phone on my side of the room rang. Picking it up I tentatively said mom? and through the phone came her voice. It was my breaking point.

The tears that had been threatening all day long came streaming down my face and I could barely talk. I have my passport I managed to say. I am done. I want to come home. The dream of the Camino had been chipped away at little by little until it wasn't anything to chip at anymore. I didn't care about how long I had planned this, about all the work and planning, and people supporting me. I wanted the hell out of France. I wanted to see familiar faces. I wanted to hear my own language. I did not want to be alone anymore. I wanted to go home.

Wait- my mother said. Just take a deep breathe. If you come home now you will regret it.

I don't care get me out of here.

Wait- my mother said. Just breathe. It will be ok. If you come home now you will lose that confidence in yourself. I know you don't want to be alone anymore. You have options. If the Camino is out go to Erika. Go to Germany.

Breathe Breathe Breathe. Ok Ok Ok.

I don't care - just get me out of France. Alright.

First though I needed money. I had the passport but no funds to do anything constructive. Unfortunately mom would not be able to send money for another 4 hours because it was too early for the Western Union to be open in the States. 4 hours...I had to wait 4 hours to get money. I had 50 euro.....it will be ok I can wait 4 hours. The nearest Western Union was within walking distance. What I was going to do with myself until then was a mystery. The people at the embassy made it abundantly clear that they did not want me hanging around now that my business was concluded and they really could care less what my problems were- they were already plugged back into the machine that was spewing out passports and visa's in an efficient and impersonal manner. They had moved on. ok. I would wait.

Hanging up with mom - we agreed I would wait for the money at the Western Union and think about my options. I would make the decision after I had received the money. Walking up the street to the Western Union- I realized several things-

A) It was going to be a very long four hours.
B) I had no way to get a transfer number.
C) I was afraid to spend any money on food because I was paranoid that the transfer wouldn't work
D) none of the cafe owners wanted me or my backpack around their business. Not that I could afford to spend the money to patron them anyway.

For an hour and half I wandered up and down the street. The small walk ways were crowded with a mixture of tourists, homeless, and what looked to be gypsies. I was on edge- fearing that I would be pick pocketed. I couldn't afford that- financially nor mentally. My back ached and the effects of sleepless nights were starting to set in. I leaned against a pillar and closed my eyes. Yes I was truly in hell.

...but in the midst of all this I retained some iota of myself.

SCREW THIS. I HAVE HAD IT.

My temper soared to the surface breaking through my pathetic pity party.

I HATE FRANCE AND THE HELL IF I AM GOING TO STAY HERE ONE MORE NIGHT.

With a new found energy I briskly walked over to the nearest taxi determined to make them take me where I wanted to go. I had 50 euro to work with- and damn-it, I was going to make that money work for me.

Throwing my backpack into the seat- I curtly said "Paris airport- si vous plait-" And as I probably looked rather deranged at that point, the cab driver didn't argue. I had a destination- and come hell or high water (I had experience them both in the last 48 hours) I was going to get the hell out of dodge.