According to Plan

I have a degree.
This particular thought dashes across my mind at least 3-5 times a day. It's not because five months after walking across the prestigious stage of the University of Idaho graduation ceremony I am still euphoric that I joined the 6.7% of the world with a college degree.
This thought usually crosses my mind when I am changing urinal cakes.
Urinal cakes.
Or when dealing with a customer whom I would like to send to time-out.
Because I work in the fast food industry.

Though my sweet Little Grandma has passed on to heaven, thus shrinking any chance this blog will be read by real humans by about half, I am using this blog to come out to the world.
Hello world!
Not only do I hold a college degree, I also hold two minimum-wage jobs and a humbled sense of self.

The plan was this:
1. Graduate!
2. Move to Alabama *cue banjo music*
3. Develop sweet southern drawl and enjoy the hospitality
4. Get dat money

The plan has gone more like this:
1. Graduate!
2.Move to Alabama *cue banjo music*
3. Use "y'all" way more than could be considered appropriate
4. Scrape...dat....money

Hello world! I am a (fairly) fresh college graduate, whose immediate post-graduation professional life is not going quite according to plan. This blog started two years ago in Spain as an online journal for my family to read about my fabulous adventures. Now, I'm using it as a therapeutic outlet to drum up the drama and turn my southern happenin's into...fabulous adventures.

Nobody cared....

I have a degree. But nobody seems to care right now. So Blanquita is back, y'all.


....I'm pretty sure that's how you spell "y'all."

Mommy & Me

About halfway through May, just as my ISA program in Sevilla ended, my mom's own flight to Europe landed in Brussels, Belgium.  She had seen my pictures, read my blog (some of them, anyway), and decided that all that plus Skype was just not enough Courtney time for her.  Thus began the best mother-daughter duo to hit Europe since the time we visited Belgium when I was six.  As it turned out, Mom and I are so popular that we were able to spend our days hopping around Europe and our nights with friends and family.  

Because of The-Event-That-Should-Not-Be-Named, during which time my camera would never be seen by my eyes again (blog post: Don't Mention the War), Dad was nice enough to send his camera with Mom so I could continue to illustrate my memories abroad with words and photos.  

Forewarning: My mom is a babe, but taken.  Sorry, boyz.

First Stop: Brussels, Belgium

Housing: The De Michelis Fam!

Activities: Talking, walking, resting, and eating.

Aunt Carrie and me :)

Aunt Carrie and I greeted my mom at the Brussels (not Charleroi--Mom flew by way of a real airline) with an obnoxiously bright WELCOME sign and lots of hugs.  My mom had some jet lag to recover from, so our first few days were rather restful.  It was wonderful to see Carrie, Nicola, and Julie again (Hey Julie! Next time don't be sick, huh?), enjoy more bomb pasta, and walk around their beautiful neighborhood. Our time was unfortunately too short with family, but we did manage to talk plenty over some excellent red wine.

Second Stop: Sevilla, Spain

Housing: Mama Rosa

Activities: All the touristy stuff, which can mainly be summed up by the following pictures...

Atop "The Mushroom," enjoying the view. 

Some things we discovered whilst strolling throughout the beautiful streets of Sevilla:

Plaza de España--look familiar? Then you've seen Star Wars Episode II.

a. Mom's ultra-cute wedges are completely inappropriate when walking constantly for seven hours every day.
b. The betchy Spanish shoe store ladies thought my mother's shoe size was amusing.  Every time I asked for a larger size (damn those American-European shoe size conversions!), we were met with a round of snickers and smirks.  So she did not invest in a pair of more comfortable shoes.
c. We share the same style of travel: walk around, have a drink. Look at stuff, have another drink. And so on.
d. Because Mom's feet hurt so much, this eventually turned into sitting, looking at stuff, and having several drinks at a time.

Cruzcampo with bendy straws in Matalascañas

The legendary heat of Sevilla really got cranking by our second day in Spain. This brought me back to the first few weeks in Sevilla, when Sarah and I nearly froze to death in Rosa's marble home. Then, I had thought that the heat-rejecting marble would keep out the heat in the hotter months.

No such luck.



Thankfully, Rosa handed us the A/C remote to our room (with very specific instructions for when and how to use it), so we were able to survive the 100°F nights.

Even so, after sweating profusely for three days, we were more than ready to board a Vueling flight to Gent and fall into the comforting arms of Nathalie.

Everyone's gotta see the cathedral.

Third (and final) stop: Gent, Belgium
Housing: Nathalie's house!
Activities: Copious amounts of catching up, eating, and touring the cities of Gent and Brugge.

Look at how attractive my international family is.

Nathalie and my neefs.

For those of you who haven't had the pleasure of knowing who Nathalie is, she stayed with my family as a Rotary exchange student when she was 18 years old.  Now, she lives in Gent with her two wonderful children Berend and Lowie, my neefs (cousins).  Now that I'm not two years old anymore, and my mom is no longer her mother figure, we are all besties.

Yeah, that's a medium.

Brugge is beautiful!  But, not as good as Gent.

Of course, all good things must come to an end sometime.  So at 5am we said a tired but very sad "See ya later," to Nathalie, hauled my mother and all her things off to the airport, and played Gin Rummy with Idaho potato cards until it was her time to go back to America.

Happy Mother's Day to the best mom I know!

Crash landing

I've been back in the United States of America for 23 days, and have yet to wrap up my End of Europe Extravaganza. That's because June has been even more eventful than my semester abroad.

It's funny, my parents worried about me constantly from January 10th all the way to the 8th of June, when I returned to my hometown in Idaho. Then they stopped. Who needs to worry about their kids when they're right in front of you? Well, that's when the real drama began.

First Day Back in My Real World

- Work out (oh, so this is what a gym looks like...riiiight.)
- Earn money ("Welcome to Napa!")
- Have some after-hours fun cruising around on the boat
- Be launched from boat (no but really, launched.)
- Be rescued by brother Nick
- Experience helicopter ride to St. Alphonsus Regional Medical Center

Nautique parking.

After Europe, I no longer have any shame.

It must have been all the leftover prayers from my time in Europe that saved us, because somehow we were all okay. I was the worst off, but five staples, two days, one fractured skull, a lacerated liver, and countless colorful bruises later, I was released from the hospital to take on the world again. With the aid of lots of painkillers. Which were nice.

Today was staple-remover day, and in two weeks I will once more be free to run, jump, roll down hills, and generally frolic around like I'm used to doing.

This is my excuse post.

Now that I'm back in the game of life, prescription drug-free, and with loads of time on my hands as I have few friends and fewer things I'm allowed to do (doctor's orders: no fun), I shall blog about the last weeks of my EuroTrip.

So stay tuned, Grandma...I mean, folks.

Now that these are out, I can wear sunglasses again!

Don't Mention the War

It's been over a month since my trip to Munich and Prague, and zero pictures, stories, or references have been made to the countries of Germany and the Czech Republic on Facebook, Blogger, Twitter, and whatever other forms of media the kids are using these days.

I wanted it that way. 

However, now that I have had appropriate time to process, heal, learn, and (somewhat) move on from the events that occurred between the dates of April 26th and May 3rd, I finally feel that I can open up to the blog.

You see, things happened on that trip.

Munich & Prague Plan

Thursday, 4/26: Fly RyanAir from Faro --> Munich (No, it's actually Memmingen) 

Friday, 4/27: Morning bus to Prague (by recommendation from Joe Di Lucca, "Dude, Prague is so sick.")

Saturday, 4/28: Play in Prague

Sunday, 4/29: Evening return bus to Munich

Monday, 4/30: Frolic around the May Day poles in Munich  

Tuesday, 5/1: See famous Neuschwanstein Castle in Munich

                      Fly Memmingen--> Faro

                      Bus to Sevilla

                      Finish homework and prepare for next day's classes

It all went fine until disaster struck.

I dearly wish I could post our pictures in order to prove that one of the most fun weekends of my life did indeed occur.  But because of the events that were to come, all I have to show for it is a postcard and one picture taken by Monica's lomo.  So I've improvised.

We'd practiced the May pole dance for weeks.

Prague is one of the most beautiful cities I've seen.  We drank Pilsner-Urquell and played cards while the sun set behind the city of Prague, had a fun night with Sarah, Matt and the crew, checked Bar Crawl in Prague off our bucket list, had another Local Night, and paddle boated the Vltava River in a swan.

To top it off, we stayed in such a nice hostel that I never once had fear of bed bugs, and breakfast was delicious.  If you stop by Mosaic House on your travels one day, ask for David at the bar and namedrop Idaho.  

Look at how much fun we're having!

Munich had the potential to be even better.

Monica and I explored the beer gardens of the city, which are basically giant grassy knolls with an area where you can buy massive liters of beer, play cards, and eat sausage, pretzels, and cheese sauce. In short, Munich was made for us.  We met my friend Hilary (Thetas around the world!) for drinks at the May Day festival and fell in love with all the beautiful men in lederhosen.  From there, we took a couple metros to meet Hilary's boyfriend and roommates in yet another beer garden.  We had a lovely traditional meal and nice conversation.

Around 1am, we parted ways at a big hill that bears such an uncanny resemblance to the one on Halo I's Blood Gulch (all the way to the side of the map, where those little cliff paths are, just before the blue base) that Monica and I had to check it out.

The following took place between 1:00am and 4:00am:

Just a map reference for my gamer friends.

"Bye friends! We're going to roll down the hill, so..."

"Hello, gaggle of 15-year-olds in lederhosen and pigtails--why yes, I'd love to be your best friend!"

"Where are my shoes?"

"The teenagers will help us find them!"

"Hey...where is my purse?  

...Where's your purse?"

"I'm staying here until it's light out and we can find them!"

"You can't sleep here."

"Hello, um, officer? So, we're in the middle of a park and our wallets, money, credit cards, and passports were stolen...no, I don't know where we are...can you pick us up?"

Look, a wild hedgehog!

"Hey random stranger, have you seen two purses?  No?  Um, thanks for the €1.30..."

"The police say they're not a taxi service."

"Look! A hedgehog!  Let's pet it!!"

"I shall name you Sonic, little hedgehog."

"So that guy over there has been pacing and watching us...he's now making a phone call...let's get out of the dark and deserted park, eh?"

"He's following us."

"Hey again police, so we're on the corner of Ausgang and Heigenslooten and there's a guy following us.  Can you pick us up?"

"Get in the taxi!"

"Really, you'll take us back to the hostel for free?!"

I have to recommend our hostel in Munich as well.  Although not quite up to par as far as cleanliness goes (eh, what's a little mold in the shower?), the staff is wonderful.  Specifically, my best friend Frenec at the front desk.  He's a Sim because he is always at the front desk, working.  Since he so kindly let me use hours and hours of the hostel phone and internet for free, I was able to make some necessary contact with my homeland.

The hours of 4:00am - 7:00am were spent on the phone with the U.S. embassy (guess what--it's a holiday) and my parents, cancelling passports and credit cards.

You know, I never thought I'd make a police report at a German police station.  Checking that one off the bucket list, because at 7:30am that's exactly what we did.  

I bet you don't have a picture like this.

Reported as Stolen

-Passport
-Camera (hence the illustrative creativity present in this post)

-Cash

-Credit cards

-Identification

-Czech pebbles

-Dignity

The rest of the day consisted of...

-Feeling terrible

-Kicking selves

-Finding access to money at the only Western Union open on a holiday

-Retracing steps

-Feeling worse

-Missing flight

-Detailing possible options for getting home at the internet café

-Returning to hostel, where Frenec tells us...

"Hey, I heard the good news.  Your stuff has been turned in!"

 What.

Not daring to believe him, we followed Frenec's printed-out instructions to a new police station.  We got to tour a new part of the city and meet the nice police officers near Hierschgarten (so that's where we were!), where our passports, credit cards, café discount cards, €0.05 stamp, wallet, and plastic H&M bag are all returned to us.

Two separate joggers found two separate piles of our items, by two separate trash cans.

Cameras, cash, the actual purses, and Monica's shoes and journal are still reported as missing.  So if you see a worn-out grey purse and beat-up black flats, call me or the Munich police immediately.  Our case is listed as Top Priority, I'm sure of it.

Neuschwanstein Castle: We didn't see this.

Eventually, we made it home to Sevilla.  But not without the extensive cooperation of John and Veronica Martens, Andy and Susan Barry, Little Grandma, Aunt Carrie, Frenec, our kind taxi driver, and the internet café guy.  The only reasoning I can come up with for our incredible good fortune is that over the past five months, grandparents, family friends, and church pals have ended every correspondence with me with a, "praying for you!"  

So thank you all very, very much.

For visitors to Germany, it's common knowledge that you do not mention World War II.  For obvious reasons, you just "Don't mention the war."  Well, now that this story is out on the interwebs for anyone's viewing pleasure, it is the responsibility of those now "In the Know" to be kind citizens and not exploit that knowledge.  I've said it.  The story is out there.  Don't talk to me about it, ever.

All's well that ends well, especially with the unbelievable amount of good fortune we had.  But for heaven's sakes--whatever you do...

Just don't mention the war.

Photo credits: Photoshop and other people's pictures. Except the police report.  That one's a CBarry original.

Hasta Luego, Europa

Like most things in life, John Denver said it best:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KoPT5Mq1pzQ

In that 3.20 minute stirring live performance, you were supposed to pick out the lyric, all my bags are packed, I'm ready to go...

Because after taking 6 metros, feeding the bus station locker fifty-five €1 coins, lugging two massive cases up and down 8 flights of stairs in and out of various metro stations (where are the ADA elevator regulations when you need them? Oh...in America), and dragging them down one of Madrid's main roads to my hostel, I've completed my assessment on the copious amounts of stuff I probably don't need.

Please. I just want incredibly delicious oranges within easy reach forever.

Then made an emergency trip to the Chino store to get my Príncipe cookies, Melacoton y Uva juice, and a couple oranges.

Whatever doesn't fit in those guys will have to join everything else in the backpack.

Europe, it's been real. I'll reflect on you later, after I've pounded through the Principe cookies on the plane and I realize that I'm really, actually leaving you. Right now, it feels as though I should be getting my Visa and passport checked an inappropriate number of times in preparation for a routine RyanAir flight.

But that's a couple years down the road.  Next stop, Texas.

Ryan Air: An Exposé

I've mentioned a certain airline many times over the course of this semester, but never have I gone into satisfactory depth.  Now that I have finally booked the remainder of my European Adventure with said airline, I feel it's time to bring RyanAir to light.  It's time for the rest of the world to know the ins and outs of my best friend, worst enemy, and everything in-between.  Our relationship status over the course of this semester has gone from hot, to lukewarm, to freeze-your-toes-off-cold...then back to hot many, many times.

When RyanAir + Courtney = BFFs
Location: Online, typically on Cafe y Te's WiFi, on a sugar/caffeine-induced high.
Event: Purchasing tickets to go to other countries.
"Have you heard of Crete?"
"It's a €24 round trip...who cares? LET'S GO!"

When RyanAir + Courtney = Lukewarm Acquaintances
Location: Airport, prior to flight.
Event: Attempting to pass the "Bag-Fit Test" by shoving carry-on bag into the teensy-weensy and unyielding metal box.
"You have to fit your purse in that too.  No extra bags."
"I know, I know..."

It's not Brussels-(Charleroi); let's call it Destination: Middle of Nowhere

When RyanAir + Courtney = Unhealthy brother/sisterhood
Location: Visa check desk, security boarding gate, airplane.
Event: Getting passport and visa checked 6 times.
"Can I see your passport? Can I? Can I?"
"Me too! I wanna see it!! Where's your boarding pass? I wanna hold it in my haaaaand."
"Gimme! I wanna see it!!"





When RyanAir + Courtney = That Moment at a family holiday when That Relative does something awkward, but everyone looks away and pretends everthing is fine
Location: Standing-room-only cattle car bus.
Event: You know, if you parked the plane closer to the gate, we wouldn't have to take a bus to the plane...
"Hm, what's that now?  No, this is perfectly normal.  All the airlines are doing it.  I'm sure of it."

When RyanAir + Courtney = Partners in Crime
Location: On airplane, seated and buckled.
Event: Drinking Stella illegally.
"It is not allowed to bring alcohol onto RyanAir flights...for me, it is not a problem, but don't let my colleagues see."
You know what, attractive German male flight attendant? You're cool.

When RyanAir + Courtney = Valiant Competitors
Location: In line at the gate of any RyanAir-supported airport.
Event: Passing the "Bag Fit Test."  This is why I even took my heavy coat to the Grand Canaries.  When I sit down on the plane and uncover the purse I've hidden in the coat oh-so-casually thrown over my arm, I have the sense of elation that only comes with Winning.

Shhh.....

"Ha-HA, RyanAir, I have 2 bags on your little aircraft!"

When RyanAir + Courtney = Mortal Enemies
Location: In line at the RyanAir-infiltrated Charleroi airport security.
Event: Having to check the carry-on because the wheels on my mom's teeny-little suitcase are a teeny-bit too large for the Box Fit Test of Death.
"That will be 60 euro.  Go wait in three separate lines to check the bag, pay, and collect your passport."

When RyanAir + Courtney = It's Complicated

Location: Destination.

Event: The passengers clap, music plays, and a cheerful woman's pre-recorded accent comes on the PA system..."Congratulations! You've just arrived in yet another on-time flight onboard RyanAir..."
Let's just ignore the fact that we're clapping because the plane landed, shall we?

Monica, Maddy, and I are in the midst of our post-study abroad program travel plans.  Nearly all of our flights are through RyanAir, because despite of all the aforementioned issues that may lie between us, RyanAir is still maintains the least expensive and most attractive website around.  So here's to another round of trips with Europe's cheapest airline.  But please, if you must raise a glass--make sure you brought your own non-alcoholic beverage aboard, because a 6-oz can of Coca-Cola costs about €4.

¡Salud!

Eating Clichés

Apologies for the formatting...iPhone blogger technology isn't quite up to par yet.

The day began at 4am in Paris. Monica, Maddy, and I stumbled out of our creaky hostel mattress beds, packed our stuff as quietly as possible so as to not wake our roommate (you try shoving airplane-approved liquid plastic baggies in a backpack without disturbing the peace), and hopped on the airport shuttle.


Breakfast: leftover baguettes from the downtown bread lady.

EasyJet landed us safely in the Italian town of Pisa. You may have heard of it...they have a famous tower with some faulty foundation work. Well. We had several hours to kill, so we spent them with the hundreds of other tourists, taking the exact same pictures as they did. Okay, the same photos, with the exception that we were unshowered and dressed poorly. But hey--YOPO*.

While acting like 5-year-olds, we met a wonderful kind stranger who once was in a similar position we are in. She traveled 35 years ago for 8 months...on $10/day. She handed us €20 for "coffee money," saying she wished someone had done that for her back then.




We weren't about to go against her wishes, so:


Lunch: Cappuccinos and pizza (not at the same time), just down the street from the tower.



From there, it was time to hop on RyanAir's flight to Crete.

Crete: a Greek island in the Mediterranean. Commonly mistaken for Athens, which does indeed harbor rioters. However, Crete is a happy place full of tourists and marvelous beaches.

Dinner: The Best Gyros Ever with a side of Coke. Total cost per person: €3.30

Don't get me wrong, I loved Paris...but I couldn't even sneeze at the copious amounts of pollen drifting through the air without paying €5 first. Right now, we are about to pass out from pure exhaustion (let's just say the bus from the airport wasn't exactly a direct line) in our little baby apartment-hostel. We have a pool, a balcony, kitchenette, sheets, towels, outlets that work, and a TV at this place we will call home for 6 days. All for €8 per day, which, if you don't think about the exchange rate...sounds a lot like $8!

Today began with baguettes in Paris, pogo'd over for pizza in Pisa, and ended with gyros in Greece. On the menu front, it truly can't get more stereotypical than that.

Today was a good day.

*YOPO-- You Only Pisa Once. Really though, because there's actually nothing much to Pisa except the tower.