Happy New Year!

I brought in 2011 by donating a freshly-croched, awesomely-striped wool hat to a German river.

Perhaps it wasn't so much donated as much as it just accidently fell off my head as I looked up to watch fireworks in Konstanz, Germany.

I was with Carolin and her friends, minutes after midnight, in complete awe of the fireworks going off in virtually every direction from what seemed to be the entire young population of Konstanz. Cups of champagne lined the bridge we were standing on, sparklers came dangerously close to our noses as we waved them in each other's faces yelling HAPPY NEW YEAR, and everyone exchanged hugs.

Eyes wide with a smile that practically hurt my face, I was leaning back against the bridge with Carolin so as to observe the endless exploding lights better, when the New Year decided my head was quite warm enough and so tipped my hat into previously mentioned German river.

Ah, well. Figures. That's what I get for wearing the presents I make for people.

Several days later, I was watching Carolin recede further and further away from me as the train left the station and I made a heart with my fingers with a slight pout on my face as she waved goodbye and went out of sight, still wearing the baby-sized scarf I knitted her and still claiming to love it. I saw virtually no sun in Konstance until this moment, when it finally decided to grace my presence and illuminate the ride back to Heidelberg, a ride that consisted of The Black Forest, mountains, and a random castle, all cozily basking in the most stubbern and sassy of suns.

And voila, here I am. Back in France in my favorite cafe/bar where one might think a rainbow threw up on the chairs, walls and even the heaters. Big, chunky gray stones line the walls of the cafe, contrasting with all their might against the bright orange and blue chairs, bright yellow heaters, neon green walls with purple trimming and paintings just as colorful, as though they're trying to rebel against the plain wall they're mounted upon. Needless to say, I love this place.

Life has settled back into some semblance of a routine. My work schedule is different every day and changes every other week, but there are still patterns surrounding all of this that make for some kind of routine. Coming back at the end of my German adventure felt like coming home, and I'm basking in all the warm, cozy moments as much as I can, seeing as the weather is about as grouchy as I am when I haven't had chocolate in a long time (aka it's misty/raining/mucky/gross).

There's nothing quite like coming home to demand your bisous from a beautiful Catalan flatmate, who pretends to consider the request, only to practically knock you over from the force of the most exaggerately huge bisous you've received, ending with a resounding MUAH.

I also just received a box from home full of stationary full of all sorts of things to write with and on, and I spent the better part of the evening running around with the box which was half detroyed from my excitement in opening it, and just about everyone in the apartment complex knows I now have butterfly-lined stationary with envelopes of a really nice shade of green.

Most nights I eat at the cantine in the foyer, as I found I don't see my friends who live there nearly enough when I eat at home in my apartment just 7 minutes down the road. Sure, they might serve for dinner what they served at lunch, giving everything a slightly deflated air, but I'm surrounded by my favorite people, and constantly meeting new arrivals, too.

One of these newbies is Elisa from Spain. She recently arrived and will only be here for 3 months. You would think I was a native from the area by the way I jump around like an overly-caffeinated tour guide, telling her all the things she has to do and see before she leaves, and then deciding for us that we're going on a little hike after she finishes studying a day or two later.

I love meeting new people if only because you can then do something you've done a dozen times before, yet it's an entirely new experience. This was the case when I met Elisa in front of the Center of Applied Linguistics, conveniently located just a few minutes from a nice little hike to Fort Chaudanne. It's another slightly gloomy day, but we both enjoy this, as when you're visiting medieval stone forts, it's a bit like mixing macaroni with cheese instead of chocolate. It just goes.

Elisa teaches me a Spanish rain song as we climb the slippery log steps to the top of the hill, and I stumble among the words about as much as the logs, and enjoy myself immensely as I'm in my first week of semi-officially learning Spanish, and I understand, like, at least 2 words:

I present to you, the rain song!

Elisa wasn't actually dressed up in a bunny suit or anything, but it was a pleasant little tune when she sang it too.

We reached the top, and I realize once again why I love sharing things I love. It's one of the best feelings to watch someone discover something and be excited about it.

We were the only ones up on such a gloomy day, and it was perhaps due to this that we rebelled in the least rebellious way possible, which was to enter the fort, which has a gate normally closed across it with a sign that says something to the effect of "GO AWAY," but as this sign was pushed flat and helpless against the old stone wall, in we went.

Really, it was just a lot of rock piles and closed doors, but we found a tiny, abandonned tower and decided to have a bit of an adventure. It felt so "Secret Garden." Except for the really brightly colored, awkwardly placed GIANT BIRD:

What are you doing there, silly giant rainbow bird?

The world may never know.

Love,
Katie