Emily. A Lady abroad.

First,if you don’t get the reference, you are dead to me. Go educate yourself.

You’re back? Great, me too.

I definitely made it back from France more than a year ago. I even stopped in Iceland on the way home. My mom met me in Reykjavik and we had a blast. I ate whale and puffin and reindeer and witnessed the midnight sun. It was really cool (not a pun because we were there during the warmest days of that year. There were a lot of sun burnt Icelandic people.)

I returned back to the Twin Cities and quickly adjusted back into real life. I was a nanny again and went back to my old retail stomping grounds. I was unemployed for two months before finding a temp job and then a real job in Vermont.

I packed my car (burned and a salted the earth) and made the 20 hour drive to the Green Mountain State. Truth be told, my dad did the driving but I’m pretty sure it still counts.

Fast forward to now, I’m sitting in my apartment enjoying a glass of wine recovering from a six-mile hike. I hike now! I’m outdoorsy-ish! I even had ringworm! (That’s something I should probably stop telling people.)

I work at a newspaper full-time exploring the wonders and majesty of small town life and government. I’m still awed by the mountains and I still don’t like maple syrup.

I’m not abroad but it is definitely a new adventure. 

Oradour-sur-Glane was and is a quiet little town 15 miles outside of Limoges. It is the site of a terrible massacre that took place nearly 70 years ago towards the end of World War II.

All the inhabitants of the town who had the misfortune of being home on June 10, 1944 were rounding up for an identity check and then subsequently gassed, shot and while many of them were still alive burned. 624 men, women and children died that day. Only six people survived, one woman and five men. 

The ruined city is impressive and devastating. The brick buildings remain as well as numerous rusted cars, bicycles and a baby carriage. It was a strange experience walking through the silent city. The buildings have been left as ruins but inside the grass is groomed. The neatly trimmed trees and grass are a weird juxtaposition against the jagged stone edges of the homes and stores that used to be.

There is no photography allowed inside the ruin city but I am not sure that anyone follows that rule. There is also a sign that says silence but it is almost unnecessary as there are no words needed inside the city. Small signs throughout give information as to what a building used to be or who lived there before.

The two most moving things in the city are the church,  the site of the murders of the women and children and a cemetery (which is still in use.) On the altar of the church there is a rusted relic of a baby carriage, a horrifying reminder of what happened in that place 70 years ago. In the cemetery there are grave stones just like any other French cemetery but there are also small plaques with entire families who perished in Oradour. At the end of the cemetery is a memorial to all that died there-babies, children, teenagers, adults, the elderly. No one was spared when the Nazis came.

Even thinking back on my visit I am moved to tears by the memorial. It is hard to imagine what could drive a person, let alone a group of people, to do such a thing. It was unsettling to walk through such a city knowing what had happened there but even more disturbing was the occasional smell of bonfire as someone in the nearby country must have been burning something that day.

As the wind brought the smell of fire from the country it also brought the laughter of children from the new Oradour-sur-Glane. Yes, a new city of the same name was built just a stones throw away from the ruin city. It is hard to understand why a government would decide to rebuild so close especially after talking with our host in Limoges. She told us that friends of hers grew up in that city and even in the 60's the people of the town did not feel right having parties or celebrating in the shadow of the old Oradour.

That is the feeling we had after our visit as well. What were we to do with the rest of our day? The weather was actually nice for once but the grief and sadness we felt wasn't something to just brush off the minute we left. Eventually the new city started to work to add more color and flowers and I imagine more happiness and lightness as well just as we all must do--never forget, remember but still live.

Limoges, a city of around 140,000 people in central France, really doesn't have a lot to do so the surprise on people's faces when I told them where I was headed was understandable. The city is known for its porcelain and enamel and stone houses but that was not what attracted me to the city.

A short bus ride from Limoges will take you to Oradour-sur-Glane, a memorial site of World War II that was left relatively untouched after the massacre that took place on June 10, 1944. More on this later.

Our trip to Limoges wasn't only about the war and we spent two rainy days wandering the city and getting to know our couchsurfing host who happened to be a reporter for the local news station. She was kind enough to take us on a tour of the station and let us watch the 7:00 p.m. news live from the control room. Even though I had nothing to do with the production it was still a stressful and exciting 30 minutes.

Warm Roman days turned in to cold Dutch days as my travels took me to Amsterdam. After a night in the airport, a bus ride back to France and a good night's sleep as I was back on a bus headed North.

Arriving just after King's Day and leaving just before Liberation Day we missed some of the biggest party days of the year but nonetheless we had an amazing time (hence AmsterDAM.)

We were introduced (or in my case reintroduced) to the city through a free walking tour led by one of the few Dutch tour guides. We saw all the big sights while trying to dodge the rain that would continue on and off for our entire stay. We visited the Anne Frank House, the Old Portuguese Synagogue and the Van Gogh Museum.

And even though Amsterdam is a gorgeous city with so much to see and do the most memorable part of the trip happened the last night at a Tapas restaurant with some old Norwegian men.

We had planned to have a relaxing meal and then wander the city a bit before calling it a night. We found a tapas restaurant not far from our hostel and decided to give it a try. The food was good as well as the service so far an uneventful meal. We had just asked for the check when a pair of older men sat down at the table next to us (not before breaking a plate from another table.) Then the two men turned to us and asked for recommendations for food, nothing out of the ordinary.

BUT when the waiter came to take their order they took our recommendations and then ordered a bottle of wine with FOUR glasses. Guess that means we have to stay a little longer we thought. Well, a little longer turned into their entire meal as we talked about all sorts of things. Even with their broken English they found things to talk to us about for around two hours. When they finished their meals they invited us to continue the evening but we had to politely decline because they were weird.

For my final school vacation I met up with a college friend in Rome. Normally he lives in New York but because of a law school trip to Vienna he happened to be in Europe for his spring break. Being a somewhat intelligent man, he decided to take advantage of the extra week and plan a Roman holiday and invite me to join. So after almost a year of not seeing each other we were to reunite in Rome and it would be glorious.

  We had gorgeous weather which made the miles and miles of walking we did each day pretty enjoyable. We only had a few days together before he left me in Rome so we tried to squeeze in as much of the city as possible. We visited the Colosseum (where there was almost no line,) the synagogue (with some intense security,)  visited a couple of churches, saw a tons of ruins and even went to the vacation two days before the canonization of Popes John Paul II and John XXIII (surprisingly we only had to wait in line about an hour.)

I was worried that speaking almost literally no Italian was going to be an issue but it wasn't a problem--instead by brain just decided to malfunction and wanted me to either use the little bit of Spanish I know or just revert to French. Oh silly languages, the things you do to my brain. I never did get the hang of saying grazie.

Spencer left Saturday morning and I was by my lonesome or so I thought. As it turned out, a Spanish teacher and her family were also in Rome for the April vacation so we ended up spending the day together walking around, eating gelato in a cannoli and watching a man walk around with a pig on his head (it would never become dinner, the teacher asked.)

After a great day with the teacher and her family, I was off to the airport for the evening as I am to cheap to pay for a hostel for six hours. I was prepared though and brought a sheet to keep myself warm and comfortable adjacent while trying to sleep at the airport. Surprisingly, it wasn't too bad and I actually did get some sleep before my flight back to France.

Has it already been nearly seven months? It feels like just yesterday that I arrived in Bethune and opened the door to what I thought might be the most depressing apartment on Earth.

Now, I am having trouble imaging leaving. I have already said goodbye to a few friends and students but tomorrow it's really the beginning of the end. In five days my work will be finished and I will be off on my last European vacation for the foreseeable future.

Last week, another assistant asked me if I would miss my students and without hesitation I said no and really believed it to be true. I am not so sure anymore.I am starting to realize how invested I have become in these kids' futures. I want them so badly to succeed at whatever they have planned and hope that I have helped them to do so.

A colleague told me the other day that a pair of senior girls I have been working with the entire year have really improved in English and that fills me with joy. 

The day finally arrived and the bestie landed in London. I met her at the airport and waited for what seemed like forever for her to come through the gates.

Arriving five minutes after her plane landed I was irrationally worried that she had already come through and was now wandering around the airport looking for me. I waited and looked for any sign of people that might look they were for Minnesota to be reassured that she hadn't come through those doors when I wasn't there. Looking to my left I noticed a man with a sign that bore a familiar name--turns out Minnesota musician Jeremy Messersmith was on the plane with bestie and so began our star-studded London sojourn.

Having both been to London with were able to skip most of the really touristy things but being the HP fans that we are we didn't want to miss our chance to take a tour of the Harry Potter studios. Needless to say, it was amazing and I think I took about 200 pictures! It was great.

  The following day went to Greenwich to walk around, visit the meridian and have some delicious pie and mash. During our stroll we noticed trailers everywhere and figured they must be filming a movie and then we saw the title Frankenstein.

And so began the following thought process: Isn't Daniel Radcliffe in that movie??? What if we see him? Hey, there is a old-timey looking carriage, let's go look at that. Wait, that's Daniel Radcliffe. We probably should't be standing here....Let's just not move until he walks away from us.

Don't believe me? BAM, proof.

The insanity continued and we ended up bumping into a dude went to high school with at the Tate Modern. It was a very weird day.

The following day on the tube and man got on the train and my brain began whirling--That man looks super familiar. Do I know him? I can't know him but why do I know him? Oh that's right you are in a British TV show I watch. Huzzah, now I will try to not stare at you as you proceed to sit across from me.

After a strenuous six weeks of work (that wasn't even six weeks because of a quick trip home) I was rewarded with (another) vacation. I really deserve it, working 12 hours a week is hard (just kidding, but I will gloat now because when I enter the real world I won't have this luxury.)

My other half made the trip across the Atlantic and we were reunited in London. We have planned to spend a week seeing the city, visiting my favorite Welsh friend and maybe a dorky excursion or two. We will then head to the most exciting city in France, aka Bethune, to spend a day relaxing before heading to Paris.

But of course, before all of this could happen I needed to collect my backpack from the airport in Lille. The day before my flight back to France it snowed (unbelievable, right?) The snow caused many flight delays and mine was included which means I was going to miss my connecting flight from New York to Brussels. I was lucky enough to get switched to a direct flight to Paris at no charge--unfortunately my bag didn't get the memo and went to Brussels (and then it went to Lyon and then to Lille where it patiently waited for me to pick it up.) 

I wasn't too jazzed that it couldn't be sent to me but a day later was much more preferable to the predicted three or four day delay. Reunited with my bag, I unpacked it only to repack it again.

By nature I am a worrier. There are many things that make me nervous but I have been fortunate enough in life to avoid most of the bad things and experience some really great things. 

Each time I have left the U.S., I have always been worried something bad would happen and I wouldn't be able to be there for/with my family. I have always tried to make sure to say goodbye to people who might not be there when I get home but that doesn't mean it makes it any easier when it happens.

I found out through Facebook that my grandma had died and then had to wait an agonizing two hours to talk to my mom. Needless to say, I was and am crushed--she was my Grandma Pat, the woman who cried at my band concerts, gave the best goose bumps and was really one of the best grandma's a girl could have. 

It's been weird and somewhat unreal the past few weeks. Some days have been better than others and tears have been shed all over Bethune but I have been lucky to have the support of all the assistants and teachers.