Ants in the Pants, Bugs in the Bed

With my impending (temporary) expatriation drawing near, I have been meaning to make another blog entry as a "bon voyage" of sorts. Last week I would almost sit down to do it and then catch myself and decide to wait until just a day or two before departure so as to fully tap into my anxious and excited feelings. Now that I am living those last days, I can confirm expected emotional turmoil-- especially the former of the two emotions.

I entered this past weekend as calm as could be expected. I had my packing list, my visa in hand, and a 3-night reservation at a hostel in Toulouse. Life was good, if in a nervy, jumpy kind of way. My best friend brought her new boyfriend home from New Haven, so Ken and I spent Saturday evening with them, mostly reveling in 'embarrassing and hilarious things Nicole and Kristen did as children'. I got to say goodbye to another good friend who was in town that day as well.

Sunday, Ken and I searched far and wide and eventually found a great apple orchard. We spent the better part of an hour taking pictures of each other climbing rickety-looking ladders and picking the absolute biggest, roundest, most perfect apples we could find. The cider doughnuts weren't bad either! Making apple crisp wasn't even so much a decision as an instinctual reaction to this day.

It wasn't until Ken left at 9pm tonight that I forced myself to face the uncomfortable, itchy facts of my upcoming journey. At some point during the weekend I received an email from a language assistant who'd just arrived in France. The message was short and not so sweet: my hostel has bed bugs. Bad.

As a summer camp person, I am well aware of how much damage bed bugs can do. And there is no way I am getting them my first night in France. However, I have been given absolutely zero accommodation advice by the people I work for. "Communication" is not a strength of the French. So, in between my goodbyes and reunions this weekend, I have been frantically searching the internet. I spent tonight clicking away on every possible Expedia link and Trip Advisor review for the greater Toulouse region. My mother was forsaking sleep to make detailed index-card notes on every hotel in the area while my father would walk into my room every 5 minutes for an update. It was about as close to a madhouse as I've ever seen a house of only 3 people get. It wasn't until just before midnight that I found an extreme budget hotel (think Easyjet in hotel format) kinda sorta close to where I want to be. I booked along with 3 other girls from my program.

Right now, sitting on my comfy bed under my cozy comforter, I physically feel some of my stress leaving me. I am an anxious person, and this bed bug fiasco hasn't done much to help matters. In many ways, these pre-departure days are the toughest part about leaving, so I'm positive about my travel and finding good housing. I have 36 more hours to ready myself. I will be so ready! Ah-- now to watch an episode of How I Met Your Mother and sleep for longer than I have in the past 2 worried nights combined.

Wish me luck! And skype me: kristen.milano !

Time to Get Crazy

If there is one thing I've perfected over years of mounting responsibilities, it is my mind's on/off switch. I've become adept at leaving certain areas of my memory dark and shrouded until one day, voila!, the light goes on and the entire issue is so garishly bright it's all I can think about.

Thirty-six hours ago, I was sitting in a cramped waiting room with whitewashed walls accented by the occasional travel poster, "Versailles," "Arc de triomphe". I wasn't waiting to hear critical test results, but rather to hand in documents for my French visa. As I have a government job (teaching English) and I seem pretty innocent as a citizen, this visa is as straightforward as they come. Even so I was visibly shaking. Because this was the moment that light inside, that one that illuminates a huge banner screaming You better get ready, you're going to France soon! belatedly clicked on.

I applied over 8 months ago to the program and was accepted in early April, and sure I surfed some informational websites, sent in my necessary documents. But there would be plenty of time to ready myself in the future, right? So I didn't worry about it. Summer came with all its hysteria and hilarity on Lake George. Working an average of 15 hours a day didn't afford me time to take care of anything beyond the most basic needs of my life outside of camp. So my trip sat, like an unturned stone, so deep inside that I had no idea I even needed to dig it up. But in this waiting room, listening to a self-employed Iranian American argue her way into several business visas, I quickly digested that in 30 days I would be hopping a plane to Paris (via Iceland...) ready or not.

Excited? Ecstatic? Anticipating? Check for all three. Ready? Not.

So now comes the scramble. Insurance, luggage, travel plans, and most of all housing. That's right, I depart from Logan Int'l in barely one month and I have no idea where I will be living in Toulouse. I spent the better part of today emailing, messaging, and surfing. Thus far I've come up blank. I implore anyone who has contacts in Toulouse or any suggestions on the French housing sitch to email me! kristen.d.milano@gmail.com.

Even as all my latent worries come to a boil, I know this must be a good year. How can it not? My sister just (as in 4 hours ago) arrived at some beautiful and isolated island off the coast of Australia to begin her semester abroad. My boyfriend is currently buying a plane ticket to England for his first trip overseas. And I am going back to Toulouse, my favorite and quite possibly the most adorable city in the world, and meeting up with said boyfriend for a fall tour de l'Angleterre hosted by some amazing camp friends. All that's needed to perfect the situation is a downtown, furnished french apartment for a couple hundred euros a month.

Above, below: view of the Garonne river in Toulouse, day and night