Everything I know about Chicago.

When I was in middle school my family drove through Chicago. 

“I think we’re near the apartment you grew up in,” my parents said. Actually one of them said it, they didn’t talk in unison. But I don’t remember which one specifically so I'm just using "my parents" in a general sense.

“Can we drive by it?” I asked. “Can we see it, just from the car? Just so I can imagine where I come from and what it was like where I lived as a baby?” 

“No.” my parents said.

Still not in unison.

Casting list: Portland airport

Girl in a mouse shirt and a black leather jacket.
That's me, but it's not really leather, just black plastic.

Woman at bag check.
The one who says "There are mice on your shirt" using the same tone of voice you'd use to tell someone your name.

Man who calls for backup when you set off the metal detector.
"Attention! We've got a woman in a leather jacket!" is probably some sort of airport code for "Look how cool this girl is!" but it's not really leather, just black plastic.

Woman who wipes your hands with a wet wipe after you set off the metal detector.
You set off the metal detector? No problem. Now that your hands are wet you're good to go.

10 million things in Portland: reading edition

I like Portland. Some people have never been. Visit Portland! Here are four of the ten million reasons you should.

Powell’s
I feel like most bookstores just have Moleskine notebooks. Powells is actually filled with books. It’s like a giant library where you can keep anything forever, you just have to pay a few dollars. AND they have Moleskine notebooks!

Reading Frenzy
Reading Frenzy is a supposedly great "zine" shop that I have been told to visit about thirty times. Then a few weeks ago someone told me they were out of business and then last week someone told me there was a Kickstarter to get them back in business. I'm sure they will go back in then out of business thirty times until one day my grandchildren are too busy teleporting and feeding asteroid bits to feral space cats to ever find out what a zine is. I hear they are amazing.

Central Library
My Multnomah County library card was the fifth library card I’d registered for in three years, and the process gets so much easier each time that I’m probably going start signing up for library cards on accident. I literally can’t find any books in this library. I don’t mean I can’t find the books I want, I meant I can’t find any objects that have a lot of printed pages bound together. There are several bathrooms and staircases. The library card was free.

The Bus
Reading on the bus seems like a great idea, but I usually ride the bus for such a short amount of time that I can only read about a page, and it takes a quarter of a page to remember what was going on when I was last reading. If you want to read on the bus for that length of time I recommend haikus, or one page of words you really love reading. Most people’s favorite word is their own name so my advice is the next time you wear a name tag, save it, and read it whenever you have a spare minute on the bus.

Guess my name

A few weeks ago I was in LA, being a young professional, eating Pop Chips, and taking a lot of cab rides. And the cab rides were sort of the worst.

I thought the very worst ride ended with my driver punching the dashboard when I told him I didn't have cash, then fumbling with a credit card machine while screaming "Get away from here, I don't accept your kind!" at a group of teenagers banging on the windows. But then it actually ended with my realizing I had given him the wrong address and was pretty lost, so I wandered around a while before standing in front of an out-of-business menorah store for a half hour because it seemed like the safest area.



My trick for deciding if something is dangerous is imagining how the worst-case scenario would look in the newspaper and "Girl Robbed Blind by Wrong Sort of Teenagers in Front of Out-Of-Business Menorah Store" sounds like a horrible newspaper headline so I knew I was safe. Also the capitalization is all wrong in that, I faked sick the day we had a headline capitalization test in middle school and never looked back. In French you only capitalize the first word which in my opinion makes it a strong contender for Best Language or Second best language, depending on how you capitalize and what your favorite language is.

That's a long way of saying that I was excited when my friend told me about a new sort of cab service where you sign up on your phone and it charges directly to your card. No cash involved! No finding one, they come to you! I won't tell you the name because I don't want to buzz-market it, but believe me, it is great. It is extremely fancy.

These cabs meet you wherever your smartphone is in less than five minutes. All black on the outside, all back on the inside, enough legroom for the lovechild of a spider and an octopus which also happens to be my new greatest fear. My driver was a composed man in his sixties wearing a driving cap - he ran through all the benefits of the service in what sounded to me like a fake accent. I was never going to spend another night alone in the dark trying to remember the story behind Hannukah and I was pretty excited.

"I LOVE this!" I said.

Without missing a beat he adjusted the rearview mirror so he could make eye contact.

"And we love you, Brooke."

Which brings me to the one bad thing about this cab service: apparently the drivers know your first name. And they're excited about it. I started alternating between pretending he knew my name because he was my professional chauffeur and trying to forget the whole thing had happened but switching back and forth between the two made me carsick. Luckily he kept the conversation going.

"It pays great, Mondays are the slowest but this Monday I still made $500."

"You're kidding!"

"Well, actually I made $450, but it's close to $500 and I thought it would be easier to just round up."

"Oh believe me," I said. "I tell lies like that all the time."

He laughed. "I like you, Brooke. You're my kind of girl."

At this point he realized the street he had been taking to my hotel was a dead end, and he started to turn around. But the best thing about paying for cabs with your phone is you can just suddenly yell "This is well within walking distance!" and jump out of the car when you want your ride to end. And I suddenly did.

And then when I got back to my hotel room I ate some more Pop Chips, because they're a delicious low-calorie snack.

he sees you when you're sleeping

On my flight home last weekend I sat next to a French scientist carrying a textbook titled Comment utilizer votre nouvelle iPad. She wasn’t interested in talking about France or Marseille, which was too bad. She was interested in talking about Grenoble being the birthplace of white coal, which was complicated and involved the evaporation of charcoal. She said she was in Portland for a “science meeting.” I asked her how it went.

“Oh, you know how science meetings are."

(I don’t.)

“Isn’t it unusual," she continued, "how you travel to the other side of the world for a science meeting, but you’re with the same people from Australia that you met while studying whales in Antarctica last summer?”

(Yes, a lot of things about that are unusual.)

After trying to get information about whales out of her for a while, we came back to seeing friends on her trip. I suggested that the world was small, and as a scientist she confirmed it.

“Yes, the world is small. But we are all so spread out.”

This last bit was especially true because she had unfolded her flight blanket out so far it covered one of my knees. I didn’t mind at all, actually I loved it, because the plane was freezing.

Yesterday the mail woman called me "hey little one"

More things I thought of while I was scanning: holding doors for people, the Olympics, socks.

Maximum train

Remember when you got really into Twister one weekend and wrote L and R on your shoes so you’d be faster, and then you felt dumb because they were your favorite shoes? I’m glad I’m not the only one who did that.

Living off the land

Landing in PDX is really, really beautiful. It looks exactly like the diorama from Shining Time Station. I tried to discretely take a picture but the man sitting next to me was a Shining Time Station hater and alerted the flight attendant. That's fine because it really wouldn't have looked as good in a photo.

I like getting in a small amount of trouble, like when the attendant at the hotel's continental breakfast catches my grandmother filling her pockets with oranges to eat later.

I DIDN'T like that the man kept glaring at me while we were landing and while we were taxiing, even though I gave him my most hopeful smile. He probably isn't getting enough Vitamin C.

three signs it's time to start packing

1. The other night when I went to lie down my bed broke in pieces.

2. After 10 months of consistently remembering to shut my blinds when I got dressed, I've started just mouthing "enjoy it while you can" to my neighbors when I forget.

3. My flight is in two days.

good luck and good luggage

Off my flight to LA (is this relevant?) All of the checked bags got lost/late/misrouted. I'd opted for a Hartmann Tweed duffel instead of a checked bag so the checked bag problem didn't concern me, but was feeling bad for everyone else on my flight since we'd already been delayed an hour, and LAX has that screening where they look at you naked instead of going through a metal detector, but for some reason you still have to take your belt off.



As I was walking away a white male (is this relevant) asked me "Hey do you know where our bags are?"

"No, I just have a carry-on." I shrugged my shoulder with my Hartmann Tweed on it and then, because I have a curiosity that rivals that of any cat I know (I know zero because I'm allergic to cats, is this relevant?) I asked, "Is there a problem with the bags?" As soon as the word "bags" was out of my mouth I knew the Minnesoootan accent had come out too strong but I soldiered on, "Did they get sent to the wrong place?"

"Well..." he said. "Well I've had a lot to drink."

Is this relevant? He seemed to think he had answered my question. I wished him good luck.

"AND. GOOD. LUCKS. TO. YOU." he answered too loudly, with emphasis on every word.

After I finished thinking of vocabulary I can use instead of bag (luggage, suitcase, personal items) my Hartwman Tweed, my lucks and I walked toward my Los Angeles apartment where the luckiest girl in the world lives. Can I stockpile those lucks for later? Collect a few more unnessecary lucks and them go buy a lottery ticket or move to Ireland or whatever lucky people do? Ragin'.

you may already be a winner

So lately people have been celebrating their France-i-versaries. I'm never one to miss an opportunity to be two weeks late for something so here goes: a year and two weeks ago I showed up in Marseille, terrified of the sea, not fluent in French, and unaware that I had a penchant for rats and MacDo potatoes.

It still amazes me that I managed to move to the other side of the world, get a cell phone, sign a rent agreement, and find foods to eat. There were times when the internet didn't work and I couldn't call my sister at the time I said I would, when the metro shut down and I had to walk four hours, when the guy at the bad postcard office wouldn't sell me stamps because I was an American, the time I was sprinting through the alleys of Paris at 5:30 am with everything I own, but the point is - I kept myself alive for a year. Am I an adult?

the most complicated exercise routine in the world

I realized this morning that I've moved 13 times in the last six years. And each time I've transported my belongings using only two oversized suitcases and a vintage carry-on. On my last move, I had packing down to such a science that each of my checked bags weighed exactly 50 pounds, even though I didn't have a scale at home.

Here are some unsolicited packing tips from someone who moves more than twice a year:

Light things (aquarium lamp, running shoes) go in the largest suitcase. For some reason this suitcase is so big that unless you fill it with feathers it is going to be over 50 pounds.

Heavy things (haiku books, sweaters) go in the large suitcase. This suitcase is always packed so full that every little zipper prong is holding on for dear life.

VERY heavy things and valuables go in the non-rolling carry-on suitcase. The carry-on is the only bag without a weight limit, so I try to make it as heavy as possible. This makes for an exhausting trip through the airport, and a miserable time with security as they try to figure out why my carry-on contains hand weights, dried fruit, wet laundry, and an expensive camera. "Is this trip for business or pleasure?" they ask.

"I don't know." I was tired and flustered and barefoot, and I started rambling. "But I put the weights in the carry-on because they were too heavy for my checked bag. Same with the wet laundry. And the weights also help keep my camera dry."

"Too heavy?" He sprayed the weights with something that either tells him if they're explosive or just makes him look busy. "They're only ten pounds each."

"Five-pounds each." I clarified for some reason.

"Well, you'd better be doing a lot of reps."

I thanked him for the advice, took my 70-pound carry-on, and bench-pressed it all the way to my gate.

Welcome to meet you

Today I intentionally planned the worst day possible: I decided to change my address AND close my bank account, hoping it would turn into eight heinous hours of missing documents, complicated forms, rude customer service and long lines, and by the end of the day I would be screaming "Good riddance, France!" and I wouldn't be sad at all when I leave on Thursday.

But somehow, it only took a half hour? I still can't believe it.

And twenty minutes of that half hour was spent chatting with the woman who worked at the post office  - who showed me a collectible stamp set with her eight favorite places in France, and told me about all the places I hadn't been to. After I bought them she followed me over to the table where I was sticking them on postcards, and helped me decide who should get each one. Then she said "You know, I thought of a couple more things I want to tell you about Alsace," and after that she started explaining how the French postal system works (everything goes in a box, then they send it to people), and  showing off English phrases she knew (including the title of this post), and she told me that everyone in Marseille was going to miss me and that she loved Americans and that I was so great.

The people in line behind me had the kind of day I was expecting to have.



Then at the bank I handed in my forms and the man at the counter said "impeccable." and wished me a safe trip back to the US. That was it - nothing missing, no extra things to make copies of. No stories about Alsace or the postal system either, but I had met my daily quota so that's fine. I think I've finally mastered French paperwork, after eight months here. Just in time to leave. I've also started crying in a bank while my account was being closed. Check that off the bucket list. I don't know what's wrong with me.

And the best part of the day - the woman at the post office asked where I was from and when I said the US she replied "Oh, but I thought your post cards were written in English, where did you learn to write in English so well?"

Come to the US with me, Post Office Woman, and I will show you my eight favorite places in America. They are all ice cream shops and animal shelters. I'm not sure if there's a collectible stamp set available.

looking for a low-budget time machine

My trip home is at least three times more exciting than yours, and I don't even know if there's an in-flight movie yet.

I got an email last month about some awesome new changes to my itinerary. What was previously a boring old Marseille-Paris-Atlanta-home flight has become a fascinating trip all over Europe that treated the laws of time as loose guidelines: several trips from Marseille to Paris in a row, an overnight stay in Germany, and no transatlantic flight. I called the airline and they gladly remedied the situation. Here is the solution they came up with:

A flight from Marseille to Paris, followed by three different flights from Paris to Atlanta, all at the exact same time, and then from Atlanta to home.

I am tough to please. I called the airline again, and the customer service agent looked up my schedule. "Ah, yes, this is what we call a 'residue.'" she explained. "Please be aware that you will need to catch all three flights to Atlanta at once, or your final flight will be cancelled and you will not get your luggage."

I'm usually pretty optimistic, but I have low expectations for my ability to fly on three different planes at the same time, and when I explained this to the agent she said she would see what she could do and hung up on me. The next two did the same thing. There could be a problem with their phone connection, or maybe they just love doing everything in threes, or maybe they just love doing everything in threes, or maybe they just love doing everything in threes.

you want to see crime?

PARISIAN WOMAN AT MY HOSTEL: So, where are you from?
ME: The United States.
PARISIAN: Cool, which one? California? Miami? New York City?
ME: Minnesota actually.
PARISIAN: Oh, is that by Florida?
ME: No it's by Canada.
PARISIAN: I don't know this, what else?
ME: It's by the Great Lakes.
PARISIAN: I don't know this, what else?
ME: I live near Minneapolis.
PARISIAN: I don't know this, what else?
ME: Well, I guess the next city is Chicago.
PARISIAN: OHHHH! You're from CHICAGO! Why didn't you say so?! City of crime, eh? Look out everyone!

half the legs, twice the personality.

It's pretty fun to go to four countries in a week, but it's got nothing on going home to my little apartment in a city where I never get lost and know all the good restaurants and bus schedules. While buying groceries today, a homeless man in front of me in line asked the cashier if he could just have something to eat, and she gave him a bag of rolls. A man accused me of stealing oranges at the market and I gave him the business. I saw a one-legged pigeon. The beach, the sun, the puddles of urine, it feels so good to be back in Marseille.

Is it a bad idea to tell the internet the name of the street I live on? Maybe it means I'll get some mail!

Anyway, here's a song about the street I live on. The best street in the world, ask anyone.



I love Marseille enough to be interested in French football, enough to recommend fish soup to my friends, and enough to get misty-eyed when I listen to this song. Do I love it enough to make slideshows with wild yellow letters? No, but bless this person who does. (This video has the whole song! Watch it eight times!!!)



lyrics
Aux quatre coins du monde, indiscutablement
On aime sa faconde et ses mille défauts charmants
Elle a la grâce brune des filles du midi
Il n'en existe qu'une, voilà pourquoi chez nous l'on dit :

On connaît dans chaque hémisphère
Notre Cane... Cane... Canebière
Et partout elle est populaire
Notre Cane... Cane... Canebière
Elle part du vieux port et sans effort
Coquin de sort, elle exagère
Elle finit au bout de la terre
Notre Cane... Cane... Canebière

Comment vous la décrire, son charme est sans pareil
Joyeuse elle s'étire comme un lézard au soleil
Internationale pour l'amour, Tron de l'air !
Elle est la capitale des marins de l'univers


five-second translation for my mom if she even reads this anymore:
In all four corners of the earth, without a doubt
Everyone adores her street-smarts and her thousand charming faults
She has the dark grace of a girl in the sun
There's nothing else like her, that's why around here we say

She's known in every hemisphere!
Our Cane... Cane.. Cane... CANEBIÈRE!
And she's popular everywheeeeeere!
Our Cane... Cane.. Cane... CANEBIÈRE!
She leaves the Vieux Port and then, with ease
She's kind of a rascal, she exaggerates and says
that she goes all the way to the end of the earth
Our Cane... Cane.. Cane... CANEBIÈRE!

The fact that the street is a girl makes it so obvious why I love this song. I have a thousand faults. I exaggerate TWO THOUSAND TIMES A DAY. And I love lizards. Oops, I forgot to translate the bit about the lizard, sorry. The point is, Marseille is so much like me I just want to give it a hug but I just showered so I'm going to think about it instead.

What can I say, I love things that are missin' parts.

Wanderlingness

Good news, I haven't run off to be a bat farmer in Kazikstan, or whatever it is people assume I'm doing when I'm gone for this long.

I have a two-week vacation, so I've been temporarily overcoming my bogging addiction by visiting Austrian hot dog stands, looking at Monets, playing Poker in German, getting lost in the Paris metro, making friends with ferrel and domesticated animals, and taking notes on the adorable things British people say. The other day a cashier in London said "thanks love" while handing me my change, and I thought "how could this be any more awesome?" And then I remembered I was buying Cadbury eggs. Game set match.

I'm going to wait until my wanderingness wears off, so I don't post three thousand photos in my enthusiasm. How will you satisfy your need for irrelevant tennis lingo until then? heaven only knows.

Keep your friends close, and strange French people closer

I've only been in France a few days and I've already made a ton of friends.

The bus driver who laughs at my misfortunes
On Saturday, I decided to take a bus to get to a building by a huge park. When I got on the bus, I asked the driver if it went to the park, and he said yes. I sat down and started watching all the buildings we passed, until we passed the park and I realized I had missed my stop. The driver smirked when I got off at the next stop, but I acted like this was the stop I had wanted all along.

Curses. So I got off the bus, crossed the street, and waited for the bus coming the other way. The buildings were not cute in this area. When the bus finally pulled up, it was the same driver, he had gone to the end of the route and turned around. And when I got back on, he laughed at me.

My own personal cheering section
While I was waiting at the wrong stop for the bus to come back, I showed a woman my map and explained where I wanted to go. She said I needed to get off at the park and walk through it, but said it was easy.

Back on the bus, I was pulled from my building-watching-induced trance when she yelled "Mademoiselle, this is your stop! There's the park!" A man behind her stood up and pointed, "It's on the left, on the other side of the street." and a little old lady with a poodle reminded me to be careful when I crossed. The woman said "Just go straight through the park and you'll be there." The little old lady was yelling "Go to the crosswalk and cross! The cars are coming fast and they won't see you!" and her poodle stood up straight and gave me a determined stare and slow nod that seemed to say "You can do this, Brooke. I know you can." Soon the whole bus was cheering me on from the windows as I walked toward the park. Thanks guys. I promise I won't let you down.

The ice cream vendor who knows best
I went to buy some ice cream today, and told the vendor I wanted strawberry. "Really? Strawberry?" I had never had someone selling me something question my choice, and didn't know what to say. So he continued "You know you could get strawberry-vanilla or strawberry-banana? That's twice as many flavors for the same price." I told him I was fine with just one flavor. And why is he selling flavors he can't stand behind? Giving people bad deals like that, one flavor for the same price as two. How does he sleep at night?

Anyway, after I tasted it I wished I'd gotten strawberry-vanilla. But now if I go back, I know he'll laugh at me. He and the bus driver should get together sometime.

I'll just pretend I've lost my voice for a year

I've only been in France a couple hours but visually I'm already really good at fitting it. On the plane from Paris there were six of us in the row, and the flight attendant asked all of the others in English what they wanted to drink. But when he got to me (window seat!) he switched to Et pour vous Madame? 

Of course, as soon as I start talking the jig is up. Yikes.

I'm in Marseille... pictures coming soon maybe? I'm too tired and confused to take any.

scene: miles over the Atlantic Ocean

Brooke: Are you from France?

French guy: Yes I am.

Brooke: Do they have M&Ms in France?

French guy: Yes.

Brooke: Oh thank goodness.