5) North American restaurants. This might sound crazy, considering French food is amazing. But I missed free re-fills on soda. I missed restaurants that are open between 2pm until 7pm (if you are busy and you don’t find a restaurant before 2pm in small-town France, you’re screwed). And most of all, I missed not having to ask for the bill when I’m finished my meal.

4) English. I am a fairly articulate person, so being perceived as an incompetent moron is a little hard to take. It was very difficult, not being able to get my point across as well as I would have liked. I’m delighted that I’ve picked up some more French on my trip. Nevertheless, I nearly cried from relief when I boarded the Delta flight to realize all the flight attendants spoke perfect English.

3) My bed. It doesn’t matter if you’re staying in the nicest of hostels or a five-star hotel, nothing compares to one’s own bed. It was so nice to finally stretch out on a double bed and get some undisturbed sleep!

2) Reliable Internet. I had a horrible time finding internet in many parts of France. This was particularly problematic, considering my job was to blog/vlog about my trip. Additionally, I didn’t bring a cell phone with me – I used my computer to stay in contact with friends and family, and so without an internet connection I was completely isolated from my entire support system.

1) My friends and family. Travelling alone is … well, lonely. Especially if you’re in a country where English is rare (or rarer than you’re used to). Travelling in January  meant there were very few people at my hostels, and I was lucky if I could communicate with my fellow travellers, let alone make new friends!

Don’t get me wrong – I’m glad I went to France. I visited amazing new places, ate delicious new foods, and had a lot of fun. But as my Mom always says, “It’s nice to go away, but it’s always nicer to go home again.”

Thank you for following and commenting on this blog. This will be my last entry here, but you can follow my future adventures at http://www.jessicasheff.com

I missed all my connecting flights, I couldn’t get taxis to drive me in snowy weather, and I often got lost when I travelled by foot. It seems the only trouble-free travel I experienced was by train. Now that I’m an expert in French train-travel, I’m happy to be able to share my advice with you!

Step One: Buy a ticket. You can usually buy tickets over the internet from Canada (and even if you have a train pass, you’ll need to buy reservations before you leave for the high-speed trains). If you’re buying a ticket in France, you have two options: you can buy a ticket at a ticket booth, or you can use one of their automatic ticket machines. If your French isn’t very good, go with the machine because it has an English option.

Step Two:  Twenty minutes before your train departs, the platform number will appear on the departure board in the train station. Find your platform, and wait for your train (but be sure to listen to the announcements in case they switch platforms at the last minute).

Step Three: Punch your ticket at one of the little yellow machines.

Step Four: If you have a specific seat reserved, check the “Composition de train” sign to determine where your car will be along the platform. The train cars won’t necessarily be in numerical order, so you’ll want to know ahead of time where you’re supposed to be.

Step Five: Board your train, stow your luggage, and enjoy the ride. But be sure to pay attention so you don’t miss your stop!

While on my trip, I was surprised (and slightly delighted) to learn that several of those cliches were actually true:

1) Many French people really do wear berets! It’s true, I saw them with my own eyes. It was just like the musical sequence in the cartoon ‘Anastasia,’ where they sing “Paris Holds the Key to Your Heart.” Except actual French people who wear actual berets probably aren’t all great dancers. And none of them are cartoons.

2) They really do the double-kiss-on-the-cheek! Every time I sat in a cafe and I watched friends join a dinner party, they’d all greet each other with the double-kiss.

3) On a related note: French people love to make out. I saw more PDA on this trip alone than I’d seen in my entire life. In every city, consumed by amour, couples young and old would spontaneously make out in the street. Sometimes it was romantic … and sometimes it just made me uncomfortable!

4) The French love their dogs! I never believed that anybody would let people bring lapdogs into a restaurant, but it’s a common occurrence in France. Those little dogs go everywhere, from trains to restaurants. And they’re always dressed in fashionable doggy-sweaters. Of course, this means the streets are often hazardous for pedestrians, since it seems the French love their dogs more than they love to pick up their dogs’ poop.

So there you have it. They say ‘Don’t believe everything you read,’ but it seems I shouldn’t have been quite to skeptical.

What a day. I had a great time in France, but travelling back to Canada was an ordeal. I left my hostel early (6:30am) to ensure I arrived at the airport on time. I took the metro to the Gare du Nord and then the RER train to the airport. I made it with plenty of time to spare. I boarded my plane, and then – to my dismay – learned that we would be taking off an hour late due to de-icing.

I don’t know why my flights were booked so close together. I would have booked a direct flight with Air Canada, but I guess they needed to save money and so they went with a crappy airline. I was basically set up to fail. Even if my flight had arrived in Amsterdam with no problems, my connecting flight would have already started boarding before I arrived. Thus, with the slightest hiccup, I was screwed.

As soon as I arrived in Amsterdam, I bolted off the plane. I ran across the airport like I was a contestant in “The Amazing Race.” And when I arrived at my gate fifteen minutes before the flight was going to take off, those bastards from KLM told me they’d already cancelled my flight to Canada because they knew my flight from Paris was going to come in late. I watched as my plane took off.

They told me it was my own fault that I missed my connecting flight, so they would not bump me up to business class. I’m not sure how that was my fault – I wasn’t flying the plane from Paris. Nevertheless, they re-booked me on a flight to Minnesota and told me that it had already started to board so I’d better run.

I ran. I made it. But first I had to call my parents to tell them about the change in plans. I couldn’t have them arriving at the airport to pick me up, only to discover that I wasn’t on the flight! It’s bad enough that they had to drive all the way to Toronto to pick me up in the first place (but I guess booking me a flight from a city near my home was out of the question). Nope. The KLM people told me I didn’t have time to call them. If I didn’t get on that flight, I was on my own.

I started weeping as I was going through security. My parents would already have been in Toronto for two hours by the time I got to Minnesota, frantic with worry that I wasn’t on my original flight. There were probably ten people rushing me onto that flight, and none would let me make a phone call first. The security woman saw me crying and asked if I was okay. I said, “No. They are forcing me onto this flight against my will, and they won’t let me contact my family.”

Suddenly everything stopped. Suddenly the KLM people were more than willing to let me make a phone call. Their payphones wouldn’t work for me (since my North American credit card didn’t have a chip), so one of the employees even let me use his cell phone to call my mom. I gave her my new flight number, and got on the plane.

I arrived in Minnesota hours after I was supposed to have arrived in Toronto. Then I had to take a tiny airbus to Toronto, forcing back a claustrophobic fit the entire time. By the time I arrived in Toronto, it was after 10pm. My backpack came off the luggage carousel, with the front pocket almost ripped clean off. Thanks a lot, KLM/Air France/Delta/Northwest Airlines.

So today was the travel day from hell. It just goes to show: don’t skimp when you purchase your flights. I didn’t book my own flights; if I had, I would have booked with Air Canada. If I had taken a direct flight with Air Canada, I would have had no such problems. The airport employees and flight attendants would have been respectful, rather than acting like they were doing me favours in rectifying their own mistakes (and maybe “rectifying” is too strong a word). I will never fly with KLM/Delta/Air France again.

The drive home took about an hour, so it was after 11pm when I finally returned. I’d been travelling for almost 24 hours straight. What a HORRIBLE end to my trip.

I’ve tried (and failed) to find Shakespeare & Company twice in the past. This time, armed with an actual address rather than vague directions in broken English, I was victorious! Honestly, I don’t know how I had such a hard time – it was hiding in plain sight.

Shakespeare & Company is named after Sylvia Beach’s famous bookstore from the first half of the twentieth century. It was famous as a centre of English literature in Paris, as it was frequented by members of the Lost Generation (Hemingway, Fitzgerald, and Joyce, to name a few) and offered books that had been banned elsewhere (such as “Ulysses” and “Lady Chatterley’s Lover”).

Sylvia Beach’s store closed during the Second World War. A few years later, another English-language bookstore was opened on the rue de la Bucherie under the same name, which was frequented by members of the Beat generation. Essentially, Shakespeare & Company is one of the most important sites in the history of twentieth-century English literature, and I couldn’t wait to finally take a look.

It was everything I could want in a bookstore. Floor-to-ceiling books, crowded (but not too crowded), a variety of titles and subjects, old-fashioned library ladders … it was perfect. I didn’t stay long, but I did manage to pick up a Henry Miller book as a souvenir – they even stamped the inside cover with a “Shakespeare & Company” seal. I returned to my hostel in a happy daze, and if I never make it back to France I’ll be content that I walked in the footsteps of the Lost Generation.

I spent today – my 23rd birthday – in the beautiful city of Nice on the French riviera. I was right: it wasn’t beach weather, but it was still very nice outside. It’s the first birthday I’ve ever had where I didn’t have to deal with snow!

Today, along with some people I met at my hostel, I went to the Chateau du Nice, an old fortification on the top of a huge hill, of which all that’s left are ruins. It’s certainly turned into a nice park, though. There’s a great view of the city, a waterfall, and all sorts of restored towers.

Next, we had lunch in the Old Town. I ate a sampling of Nice specialities, including Ratatouille and a special bread called Socca. My favourite was a dish with fried breaded vegetables.

Then we split up, and I went to the Musee du Marc Chagall. It was a gorgeous museum, with several of his religious-themed worked on display. I even got a free audioguide with my ticket!

As day turned into night, I rode the enormous ferris wheel in the Place Messena and got a great view of the city lights. For dinner? My favourite festive candy, a candy apple. What a great birthday.

Nice has been spectacular. I’ve definitely ended my trip on a high note. Tomorrow I’ll be returning to Paris, and then I’m returning home the next day. You know what they say: it’s always nice to go away, but it’s even better to go home.

Nice is a beautiful city. The sun wasn’t out when I arrived, but it was still fairly warm. The hostel is very close to the train station, so I was able to walk there in about ten minutes. First thing I noticed: there’s an orange tree in the courtyard outside the hostel. Apparently they’re okay to eat, although they don’t taste spectacular (I haven’t tried them, myself). I have a roommate at this hostel, a nice girl from Australia. Our room has its own balcony, so we’re pretty lucky.

I immediately went out to see the city. I walked along the famous Promenade, with a view of the sea. There’s a children’s fair in the park in that area, so I walked through that. I also did a bit of window shopping at Louis Vuitton, Cartier … you know, all the shops I’d regularly visit!

I walked all the way to the Chagall museum, but it closed twenty minutes after I arrived and they wouldn’t let me in. Thus, I had to walk all the way back. They light up the streets very nicely here, so at least I had something to look at. I had a quick dinner, and then returned to my hostel to get a bit of rest, and ended up chatting with my roommate for hours.

Tomorrow not much is supposed to be open (Sunday in France – what do you expect?), but I know it’s going to be a great day anyway. Why? BECAUSE TOMORROW IS MY 23rd BIRTHDAY!

I had every intention of doing some sightseeing today. I really did. I left the hostel first thing, took the bus/metro into town, and walked up the stairs from the metro station into what was supposed to be a great shopping area. I noticed the smell before I saw anything. It was awful! The whole area was run down and there were drunk people staggering about … I turned right back around and got back on the subway.

I decided to go to the Port, since that’s where the tourist information centre is. It was so crowded! I had a really hard time walking, trying to pay attention to the other people, guard my belongings from potential thieves, avoid the dog/bird poop and other street filth, and dodge motorcycles that were driving on the sidewalk. Not to mention the constant blaring of police sirens and construction work. It was basically a nightmare.

Thus, I returned to the beach not far from the hostel. It was very relaxing to just rest by the water and finish my book. I’d meant to stay for the entire sunset, but a creepy fellow sat down next to me and decided to become my best friend (even though I made it clear I didn’t speak French and I wasn’t really interested in having a miming competition) so I returned to my hostel. Oh well. I think my face is tanned. And tomorrow I’ll be leaving for Nice!

My train ride was peaceful, and I enjoyed watching the countryside get brighter and (I hoped) warmer. The scenery was exceptionally beautiful, with dramatic hill and valleys, that I got really excited to arrive in Marseille. The train stopped in Aix-en-Provence briefly, and based on Peter Mayle’s high praise in “A Year in Provence,” I was sorely tempted to stop and take a look around, but I resisted.

I can’t say I saw much of Marseille at first: from the train station, I took the metro and then a bus. Unfortunately, there was no indication as to which stops were which and I missed my stop. I’ll admit it – I had a mild breakdown in the street when we reached the end of the line and I was in the middle of nowhere – but I pulled it together and found the hostel on my own. Okay, that’s a lie. I asked a lot of people for directions in very poor French, and they were nice enough to point me in the right direction.

The hostel is great! It’s very open, with a lot of common space. It’s colourful and cheerful, with a bar and pool tables and an internet station (they also have free wifi, which makes my job much easier). My room is adorable, and once again it looks like I’ve got it all to myself. And the folks at the front desk are all really nice and great at giving directions. I love it here!

Once I settled in, I set out for the Sea! It’s only a five-minute walk from the hostel, so I managed to find it without any tears. I’d never seen the Mediterranean Sea before, and I was giggling with happiness when I finally set eyes upon it. Between the beautiful blue water, the palm trees, and the fact that I was wearing a sweater in lieu of my winter coat, I was in heaven.

I walked all along the coast (which took me more than a couple of hours) until I reached the Vieux Port. It was getting on into the evening by the time I reached the busy tourist area, and I was starving. I had a quick look around, stopped at a restaurant for a quick chicken dinner, and then hopped on the hotel to go back to my hostel. Hey, I’d been walking for HOURS. I was tired.

I’m going to spend the night resting so I have a lot of energy for tomorrow. I’m going to need it. Marseille is a huge city and I’ve only got one day to see it all!

Today was a little cold and snowy, so I can’t say I did a whole lot. I had a nice walk along the water, I had pizza for lunch, and then I visited the Palace de l’Isle, which used to be a prison and now is the museum of Annecy history (mostly with large signs explaining the history in French, so I didn’t get a whole lot out of it). Now I’m holed up in the hostel, putting off re-packing my backpack because I have to leave for the train station at 6am tomorrow.