A Little Bit of Travel

So I spent these last few weeks traveling again, but this time, I visited a few destinations that I have never been before. The first stop on this trip was Reykjavik, Iceland. To start with, I absolutely hate to fly. When I was much younger, the noises, the activity, and even the smell of the airport excited me. It meant that I was embarking on some grand adventure. However, with more travel, and namely, flying back from Madagascar while being sick, along with a string of luck with lost luggage, that excitement has slowly been replaced by dread. As soon as someone invents teleportation, sign me up!

Okay, back to Reykjavik. Arriving at the airport there, hopping in the passport control lane again felt pretty good. It has been a few years since I've had to present my passport, so another stamp was welcome. Shortly after, however, I didn't feel so welcome when my hunger forced me to pay about $13 for a bagel! Ouch, welcome to Iceland! I hopped on the shuttle bus at the airport for the 45 minute drive to the city. It was very early in the morning, so I wasn't able to see much, while also fighting jet lag. We finally arrived and I had to kill two hours before I could meet with the guy that had agreed to host me. I walked to the main center of all the activity and poked my head into a few churches, while contemplating if I really wanted to pay $25 for a basic breakfast this early into my trip. I thought that maybe my friend Skuli would know of something cheaper, so I refrained and waited until I could meet up with him. Skuli grew up in Reykjavik, so knows the city, and quickly informed me that Icelandic people are well-known for their love of hot dogs. I thought this was very weird, but after visiting a famous hot dog stand where Bill Clinton actually ate during his presidential visit, and tasting the offending hot dog, I have to admit that maybe the U.S. doesn't have anything on Reykjavik when it comes to great hot dogs (I realize this might be blasphemous to some people, but I must speak the truth).

Reykjavik is a cool city, right on the water, with a lot of activity going on most of the time. I stayed in an apartment right in the middle of all the activity, above the main street with all the bars, clubs, and restaurants. While I thought this was pretty cool at first, this later ended up being pretty annoying. After arriving at the apartment, I took a quick three-hour nap, and then embarked on a Northern Lights tour that I had signed up for earlier. The tour took us out on a boat and we chugged out to the outer edges of the bay to get away from the city lights and improve our chances of seeing aurora borealis. With the overcast and slightly drizzly weather, I knew our chances of seeing them were slim, but what I didn't know was how damn cold it would be out on that boat! Most passengers stayed inside and apparently were planning to run out when someone announced the presence of the Northern Lights. However, I wanted the full experience of being out on the boat, looking back at the city and coming to the realization that I was in Iceland. Therefore, I stayed out on the deck the whole time-- all 3.5 hours! I pretty much wore everything I had brought with me for my trip, but the wind cut right through everything and chilled me to the bone. The damn lights never showed up, but as I was sitting there freezing my butt off, I thought to myself how much cooler it would be to hike into interior Alaska, or even a remote part of Iceland at some other time, and see the aurora that way, without a flock of tourists and some guy on a megaphone reciting things I couldn't understand. So, even though I never saw them, I think it might be better this way for the next time when I experience their magic for myself!

After completely crashing out that night, I mistakenly missed another tour I had signed up for to see some of Iceland's national parks. It was probably for the best, as I really needed the rest and just wanted to hang out and have a lazy day, visiting cafes, eating some local food (other than hot dogs), and walking around exploring the area. It turned out to be a great day. I visited the Hallgrimskirkja Church, which is Reykjavik's main landmark. It was built over a period of 40 years, starting in the mid-1940s, and was inspired by the shapes and forms created when lava cools into basalt rock. It is a really beautiful, simple church. I actually was lucky enough to catch a young adult choir perform a concert there, which was really cool and a great way to spend a few afternoon hours. I also visited the Iceland National Museum, which provided me with lots of information on primitive Icelandic life, the changing times with the different controlling countries, and gave me a general idea of Icelandic identity.

My last night in Reykjavik was a Friday night, and due to the fact that I had to start walking to the bus station at about 4:30 am Saturday morning to catch the shuttle bus to the airport, I tried to head to bed early. Yeah, that wasn’t about to happen. The awesome location of the apartment was not so awesome that night. To sum it up, I did not get one minute of sleep due to the blaring music and the Icelandic mayhem going on out on the streets below me. The clubs and bars were still hopping at 5 as I resigned myself to no sleep and starting walking to the station. Apparently those Icelandic youngsters know how to party.

I arrived in Paris at Charles de Gaul Airport and then had to figure out how to make my way into the city. After finally coming up with a plan, which I wasn't totally convinced would work, I set out for the city. I had pre-booked an apartment to stay at, but it wouldn't be ready for a few hours, and I had no idea what part of the city it was in. The office I stopped by when arriving at the airport had run out of Paris visitor maps, and therefore, I was on my way into this huge city, not knowing where I was headed or even what direction I needed to go. I made an executive decision to hop off the train at Gare du Nord, one of the main metro stations in the city, where trains also leave from. I felt like this was a "safe" option, figuring that maybe there were some tourist facilities around that might be able to help me out. Well, no such luck! After the flight and the train ride, I was feeling antsy to move, so I decided to just start walking. I walked out of the station and almost immediately felt like I was back in Kampala, Uganda! All of a sudden, I was the only white person I could see within a few blocks in any direction. There were African men selling all sorts of things out on the street, Senegalese, Nigerian, and Ghanese eateries, and nothing that looked remotely like the Paris I had envisioned! Without a map, I had no idea where I was, but began to feel like maybe I had made a mistake. What else was there to do but to keep on walking? So like a true adventurer, I kept putting one foot in front of the other and finally found a McDonalds; it's funny that I never go there in the States, but overseas, I always look forward to them because they provide free wifi! I bought a coffee (European coffee drives me nuts! It's more like a shot, rather than a cup; three sips if you're lucky),  connected to the internet, and found a map that showed my location. Finally! Wow, from the look of it, I couldn't have picked a better stop to have gotten off at, or a better direction to walk in! The apartment I had booked was only less than a block away, in the Montmartre neighborhood! Just like I had planned!

I got some food and then moved into the apartment that I would be staying at for the next few days. It was on the top floor of a building right next to the Sacre-Coeur, a really beautiful cathedral located high on a hill in a park overlooking much of Paris. The apartment was perfect! The lady that I rented it from was very sweet and we became friends quickly. She even left me a bottle of wine and a jar of Nutella as welcoming gifts- how did she know these are the keys to my heart? After getting situated and organized, I met my cousin Jessie down at the Eiffel Tower. For those that don't know Jessie, she is studying abroad in Paris at the moment and is thankfully fluent in French! It was great to see her and she showed me around Paris at night. We walked around a lot, caught up on the latest happenings in each other's lives, and had some dinner before calling it a night. We met up again the next morning and visited the Sacre-Couer, the markets around it (that's where the crepe binge began!), the Louvre (all the sections we could manage before our minds exploded from being overwhelmed!), the Cathedral of Notre Dame (we kept a lookout for the hunchback, but were unsuccessful in spotting him), and the Champs-Elysees, before ending up at the Christmas market! Why stop the crepe eating if we are celebrating Christmas? Now in the U.S., I am deadset on never starting to celebrate the Christmas season before Thanksgiving. However, when in Europe, you must do as the Euros do, which includes eating pastries every chance you get, and throwing back some vin chaud (mulled wine) at the Christmas market. This time, it also had Jessie and I contemplating going ice skating on the rink that had been constructed. However, after carefully examining the premises, we determined that the rink was not up to our usual standards (the one end of it had melted and essentially turned into a pool), and because we didn't want to develop any bad habits due to poor conditions, we had to pass. We did see one good sport go hurling himself uncontrollably into the swamp at the end of the rink and come out with some wet jeans, a soaked scarf, and a smile. Good for him!

The next day in Paris found me going out for a morning run to explore a little of the city. I hadn't eaten or really had anything to drink before heading out, but only planned to explore for 45 minutes or an hour. Well, a combination of feeling strong, an adventurous spirit, the immense amount of oxygen present as compared to the SLC mountains, and a general sense of being lost, my short run turned into a 2.5 hour run, probably covering something around 18 miles. It was fun because I felt great the whole time, but I definitely welcomed some breakfast and water at the end! During my run, I went back to the Louvre and Notre Dame (still no hunchback), crossed through a university campus, saw Paris police pull a car from the river and send down divers for some sort of recovery, and probably passed the Grand Palaise around 10 times in my attempt to find my way back to where I'd started. It was a fantastic run! Jessie and I met again for dinner before I went back to my apartment and prepared for the next part of my trip, Bayonne.

The original purpose of this trip was to explore the French Basque country, where my grandma's father came from. I had never been to anywhere near this region, so I was excited to see what it was like. Also, I was lucky in the fact that I have a friend who is from Bayonne and whom I could stay with while I delved into my roots. Guillaume met me at the Bayonne train station with his scooter. It was great to see him after 6 years. If there's one thing you need to know about Guillaume, he likes speed! He is a runner and he is fast! He originally stayed with my parents and me in Salt Lake, and then a week or two later, we met in San Francisco for a trail race. I posted an average time in the 50-mile race, while Guillaume won the half-marathon race (he won a trail race in Huntington Beach the next week, and since then, has posted one of the top 200 times in the 10K race in France). I hopped on the back of his scooter and we began weaving through traffic and leaning around roundabouts on the way back to his cool apartment. His apartment was typical Guillaume, with all sorts of bright colors and pictures of mountains covering the walls. Guillaume is one of those people that can't sit still for too long, so true to form, he brought me to the practice of the Bayonne running club, and before I knew it, I was running 400m repeats with the team! It was crazy how quickly I had arrived in Bayonne and then been incorporated into a running team, but here I was, huffing and puffing along with the rest of the "sprint" group. Needless to say, I slept well that night.

The next day included a bike ride along the coast to Anglet and Biarritz. Biarritz is a posh tourist destination on the coast, but since it was off-season, we didn't run into the crowd and commotion that summer brings. We had coffee on the beach, and then suddenly were faced with a setback. Guillaume's bike was rendered unusable after the rear derailleur snapped in half and the chain was bent. After an hour or two trying to improvise, Guillaume grabbed his bike and hopped on a bus to head back to his house. However, this is where things became interesting -- the bus driver would only allow one bike on the bus, and therefore, I had to ride the bike I was on back to Guillaume's apartment! It wasn't very far (maybe 15 miles), but I hadn't been paying really close attention on the way there, choosing to instead take in the coastal scenery. Despite an initial moment of concern, I found my groove and ended up making it back to his place without incident just as it was turning dark. Whew!

Again, the next day was filled with more activities, despite Guillaume having a big marathon race the next weekend that he was supposed to be resting up for. We ended up meeting up with another one of his friends and heading across the border to Spain, where we swam in the ocean, messed around on the beach, and climbed three sharp peaks in the Pyrenees Mountains, before taking a short break and climbing a fourth in the dark! It was really beautiful country and the mountains are pretty magnificent in the Pyrenees. Unlike the Alps, they are a younger mountain range, and as such, tend to be a little steeper and more jagged, as the natural erosion forces that smooth mountains over time haven't had as much time to work. It is also cool scaling a peak and being able to look down into two different countries -- the last time I did that was in Rwanda, where I climbed a volcano and actually stood in three countries at the same time!

To celebrate our grand climbing adventures, we went out for some food and drinks. It happened to be the night that the French  celebrate Le Beaujolais Nouveau. This involves drinking some really bad wine and commenting that it tastes of banana. There are some other things involved, but that's the most important part. Anyway, it was kind of fun and a great way to cap an epic day.

My friend Katharina, who lives in Germany, traveled to Bayonne with some friends as well and we met up the following day. The last time we saw each other was in Salt Lake a few years ago, so it was great to see her. We all spent the day walking around Bayonne, exploring the old town, and then heading to another beach near Biarritz for some drinks and fun in the sun. We headed out later that night for some food and drinks and discussed plans for the next day.....

Bilbao. It's in Spain, in Spanish Basque country. Bilbao’s a revived city, as only 10 years ago, the place was a shell of a broken down, industrial shanty. Now, with a forward-thinking government official in charge of development, it is the envy of pretty much the whole region, Spain and France combined. It now is home to one of the world's Guggenheim Museums. We toured the museum, which houses an eclectic mix of paintings, sculptures, light exhibits, and other artistic creations. Well, although there were a few really interesting and cool pieces in the museum, I can tell you that I perhaps don't appreciate other forms of art like some people do. Many of those exhibits were just incredible to me-- incredible in that they were considered works of art and especially that they were being displayed in one of the most well-known art museums in the world! From hollow blocks being displayed in supposedly an interesting pattern, to paintings that look like kids in my past pre-school class colored outside the lines, I guess I can look on the bright side -- I might indeed have a world-class artist in me!

Bilbao is a really cool city, with lots of outdoor cafes along the river flowing through town. The walkway along the river was filled with runners, bikers, and everyone else just enjoying being outside in the fantastic weather. The old town is a maze of narrow streets, all closed to cars, making an ideal place to walk and meet up with friends for a night out. I absolutely love city centers that are closed to traffic! What better way to make a city walkable and bring about more activity than to focus it all in a small area where people can congregate without having to worry about cars. Outdoor bars, cafes, and restaurants reminded me of Las Ramblas in Barcelona. Spain has definitely figured this part out!

After bidding farewell to Katharina and friends, I used the following day, Sunday, to travel to Bagneres du Bigorre, where my great-grandfather came from. Bagneres is not the easiest place to get to, requiring at least 2-3 transfers by train and bus, but I can tell you this, it is absolutely beautiful! Situated at the base of the Pyrenees Mountains, and particularly Le Pic du Midi, which is home to the village of La Mongie and the Tourmalet ski resort, the town immediately reminded me of some of the beautiful mountain villages in Poland that I stayed in during my wolf research there. There is a simplicity of life there, evident from the older couple walking arm in arm up the path through the forest, or the woman out in the trees collecting mushrooms for the coming months, or the group of men gathered at the park, playing a raucous game of petanque (French bocce ball). I was astounded by all the parks and green spaces within this small town. The Adour River runs through the town and there happened to be a kayak competition going on this day, with people lining the river, watching their son or daughter float down the river, attempting to stay between the gates hanging from wires above the water. There was also a big rugby game going on (rugby is apparently bigger in France than soccer, and this is especially true for the Basque region), which half of the town seemed to be attending. Besides sitting in a few cafes and having some fabulous meals, I took a stroll up the mountain to get an overview of the city from above. I also visited the town's cathedral, the Church of St. Vincent. It is a beautiful cathedral, despite its modest size compared to many cathedrals in Europe, and it took me back in time, when possibly my great-grandfather was dragged there by his parents. Did he put up a fight, or did he resign himself to the inevitable? I don't have the answer, but it was awfully cool to think about and struck up some emotions that I hadn't expected.

The next day found me traveling back to Paris for a flight out the following day. I was able to meet up with Jessie one last time the morning of my flight. It was strange because we couldn’t find a pastry shop in Paris that was open, and it was 9:30 am! We both thought this was ridiculous, with Parisians loving their pastries. Nonetheless, we were able to find something near the train station before I hopped on the train to head to the airport. The impending day of travel back to SLC was looking over me.

I arrived back in SLC just before Thanksgiving and my Mom’s birthday. It is always much better to be with family during the holidays, and I am incredible grateful for the opportunities I’ve had and the wonderful family I have. I also hope that all of you had a nice Thanksgiving too. Until next time….