#misadventures

When you hear the words South of France your first thought is probably dollar signs on dollar signs. From luxury yachts to wine vineyards, the French Riviera evokes a certain level of opulence with which your wallet is not familiar.

Trust me, I understand. I was discouraged from even trying at first but I had been dying to visit the beautiful Azure Coast and was NOT going to let my pitiful bank account stop me. Where there is a will, there is a financially feasible way. The three biggest expenses within any trip is transportation, housing, and leisure. Even if you have no plans to go to the South of France, this guide will help you budget on any trip. 

Transportation

1. Getting There & Back

There’s an app called Rome2Riothat gives you the full play by play on the cost of going from point A to B by plane, trains, and other automobiles. It’s a great starting point. Once you’ve narrowed down your cheapest options, you can buy your tickets right from the site.

At this stage of my life, I value price over convenience. While an hour plane ride sounds lovely, 200 euros does not. I ended up finding a 15 euro Megabus to Marseille. Yes it was a grueling 11 hours…BUT luckily we chose an overnight bus. We left at 10pm and arrived to the beautiful sunny port city at 9am the next day. Not a bad way to wake up.

For the way back, I knew my patience for another 11 hour bus ride would be thin so I decided to spend a little more money on a faster route. I found another online app called KelBillet, where people can sell and buy unused train and bus tickets. It’s a very reliable app where vendors must be verified before posting their tickets to avoid scams. I found a girl desperately trying to sell her originally 70 euro train ticket for half the price. Winning!After traveling all week, a cheap 3 hour high speed train was perfect.

2. Local Transport

So you’re in your travel destination, HOW do you get around without paying crazy expensive taxi fares? No matter what city I travel to, I make use of two very important modes of transportation: the bus and my own damn two feet.

Let’s talk about buses. It’s become increasingly popular to use those Hop On, Hop Off tourist vehicles and while I see the appeal, they are just totally unnecessary. Why spend 40 euros to sight see when you can catch a local bus for 2 euros. It may seem scary but you will see more of the authentic, less touristy parts of town and you will become incredibly familiar with the city.

But the absolute BEST way to travel cheap is to walk. Crazy idea right? Most European cities are very pedestrian friendly. You can spend a day strolling leisurely from one historical monument to the next. You never know what you might stumble upon. A gorgeous field of lavenders, a quaint restaurant that sells regional cuisine, or a hip bar for when happy hour strikes. Walking around a city is the best way to feel within the city. So if you’re physically able and the weather permits, I highly recommend making it your main mode of transportation.

Side tip: I didn’t do this, but bike renting is another very popular option.

3. Short Distance Travel

While our main destination was Marseille, there where other small sea towns we wanted to visit only within an hour distance. We went to Cassis to visit the amazing Calanques (seen below). From Marseille it was very easy. Our hostel told us about a 30-minute shuttle that would take us there for a whopping ONE EURO! If you are ever in the Southeast of France I highly suggest you take the time to see this beautiful treasure. 

We visited the ancient city of Arles by using BlaBlacar.This ridesharing app is basically AirBnB for cars. You find someone that is going the same direction as you and you pitch in for gas. Depending on how far you are going, you can pay as little as 5 euros. It’s not only a great, cheap option, but it gives you a chance to converse with locals!

Housing

For the most part, I love using AirBnB. It’s becoming increasingly popular over the past few years and understandably so. Hostels are crowded and hotels lack personality. I always check this website first but if the prices aren’t to my liking then to Hostelworld.com I go. Honestly, I don’t love hostels. Sharing a room with 8 other 20-something strangers makes me feel like I’m at some drunk summer camp for adults. But its crazy affordable. And who knows, you might even meet some buddies to explore the city with. In general, all you need is a place to lay your head comfortably at night. My only requirements are that it has free breakfast and WiFi (: 

For the first few days, we stayed in a hostel but as funds were getting low we decided to take a less conventional route: Couchsurfing. If you’re not familiar, couch-surfing is when you stay at another person’s house for free. Yes, you heard me: FREE! How is this possible? What’s the catch?? Well, there isn’t any. There are some people in this world that feed off of being hospitable to strangers for the sake of cultural exchange. And ask for nothing in return but respect, trust, and a positive attitude. (Although, its nice to bring them a little something-something as a token of gratitude). 

I’ll be honest, I was VERY skeptical of this option. But here is the personal criteria I follow to ensure a safe experience.

1. I prefer to stay with other women my age. 
2. I only look at verified hosts with fully filled out profiles with at least 20 positive reviews. 
3. Be skeptical of hosts that are NOT selective of their guests. You don’t want someone that just lets anyone in their home. 
   

Using my personal criteria, I had a very positive couchsurfing experience. Our host was absolutely awesome, overwhelmingly generous, and gave us great advice on how best to spend our time in the city. Of course you can create your own criteria, but only do what is comfortable for you. 

Leisure Activities

This could arguably become the most expensive part of your trip but it’s also the one you have the most financial control. For vacation, I always take out cash and refrain from using my debit or credit cards. This allows me to stay in my budget as well as physically keep track of my spending.

1. Food and Drinks

If you follow my advice from housing, breakfast is already taken care of. But for lunch and dinner you have to be careful not to spend 20 euros per meal. Many restaurants in France do lunchtime deals where you can get a lot for a low price. My friend and I took serious advantage of this. Therefore dinner always became grab something small and inexpensive.

For drinks, you can utilize happy hour to the best of your ability but honestly you don’t always need to buy from the bar! It may feel classier to drink un verre du vin at a restaurant overlooking the sea but try just buying a bottle from a supermarket and drink it on the beach with your toes in the sand, watching the sunset over clear blue waves. It’s more memorable that way. 

2. Activities

They say the best things in life are free. Depending on the city, this may be easier said than done. But before you travel always look up a list of inexpensive or practically free activities. For larger cities you can use Timeout. But for smaller cities its best to just ask the locals for advice. Locals know best after all. 

_______________________________________________________________________

So there you have it. In conclusion, traveling on a budget is more feasible than you realize. All it takes is serious financial control and proper planning. Because of our extreme budgeting, we were able to see this…

and this, 

and this,  

and this. 

Happy Traveling! 

Have you ever been carried by a French firefighter to the hospital?

I have. 

Last week I was set to leave for Rome for 5 days with a friend. I was practically skipping with excitement days prior. I learned rudimentary italian on Duolingo, I watched the Lizzie McGuire Movie in preparation, and I fantasized about buttery noodles I can’t pronounce while practicing various poses for Instagram. I was ready! After being in wine and cheese France for 6 months, I couldn’t wait to get a taste of another culture. 

Seven hours before take off, I get on the bus to the airport. (I live really far away and had planned to meet my friend at her house beforehand).  As I’m still searching for a seat, the bus goes Herby Fully Loaded on me and totally throws me off balance. Before I know it I’m on the floor bleeding from my leg on a bus full of a people. No one offered to help me. Gotta love the french! 

I boogie-board the bus all the way to the train station. It’s 11pm and only the most precarious characters are around. My jeans and brand new white converses are now soaked in blood. *Cue nervous laughter* as I realize I look like the Walking Dead. So I limp-run through the platform in search of a bathroom. I finally find one not occupied by a homeless man but only to find out theres no toilet paper or paper towels. Parfait. 

Being the adult that I am, I call my daddy 6,000 miles away for advice. “ You should probably go to a hospital”, he suggests. Of course. Why on earth didn’t I think of that? 

I try to call 911 and then remember that 911 is an American emergency number. What’s the French emergency number. WHY on earth don’t I know this?!?! I’m a terrible expat. 

Six hours before take off and I am officially panicking. Because I’m in a train station in Nowhereville, France, I decide to (literally) hop on the train to the next more populated station. I get there to find it equally deserted. But that’s when Antoine the Firefighter saved found me. He calls an ambulance and it arrives in lightening speed. Antoine decides to board the ambulance like the gentleman he is. Antoine is cute. I’m in love with Antoine. He starts asking me all these personal questions, like where I live, what I do, and my phone number. Naturally I start flirting back until I realize he’s just filling out out my medical release form.

I’m wheeled into the ER, large suitcase in my lap, to find everyone and their mother and their mother’s mother waiting on a doctor. All I can think about is Rome. “How long is this going to take? I have a flight to catch!” Must. Have. BUTTERY NOODLES. My desperation earns me a seat at the front of line. I even cut a sick baby and woman that looks like the Crypt Keeper but scarier. 

Five hours before take off and I finally see a doctor. His name is Doogie Howser. Seriously how old was this kid? After clumsily applying anesthesia, Doogie administers six sloppy stitches to my shin. I can tell he’s as nervous as I am because his hand is shaking and he keeps asking the real doctor, “is this good?”. I’m too anxious to care because all I can think about is my flight and the fact that my white shoes are ruined. Mind you I am documenting this entire ordeal on Snapchat because I’m a millennial and thats just what we do. 

Four hours before take-off and I am unceremoniously released from the ER with a long list of prescriptions. I have no idea how I’m supposed to pick up said prescriptions considering its 2am and none of the pharmacies are open until after I leave for Rome. “Italy has pharmacies too” , says the sassy, disgruntled front desk lady. 

Three hours before take-off, I finally meet up with my friend at her house. The airport is 25-30 minutes away from her house but because we’re cheap we decide to take an hour long night bus for 2 euros instead of a 40 euro taxi. I don’t know what type of people I expected to be on the bus at 3am….but the sketch parade was in full force. Every stop the passengers are creepier than the last. They bus lights were dimmed, the rain came down hard, and the windows were so foggy we couldn’t even see the buildings. We clung to one another the whole 60 minutes. 

Ten minutes before take-off. The anesthesia is starting to wear off, I’ve thrown back some Ibuprofen, and I’m sitting window seat next to a priest. The meds kick in just in time for take off and I realize I haven’t slept in almost 24 hours. I knock out before the plane even leaves the ground. The End. 

What Did We Learn: 

- Don’t take public transportation by yourself after midnight. 

- Always know the emergency numbers in whatever country you’re in. 

- Ask more questions on the credentials of people operating on you (if need be).

- Trust french firefighters, especially if his name is Antoine. 

Brace yourselves. This is the story of how I made a slow descent into madness. 

I met the Maline* family the third day I arrived in France. I had already skyped the mother twice the week prior and had fallen in love with her vivacious spirit. Marie*, we will call her. She was warm and sunny. She had long auburn curls and an infectious smile. I could just tell she was the most popular mom in the neighborhood. She already had two babysitters, but she was looking for a live-in english tutor. She assured me that my  *sole* responsibility was to help them with their english homework and babysit them every now again. Weekends were completely mine and I received weekly pay on top of free housing, a phone, and money for transportation. Who would turn down a deal like that? 

The Warm Welcome

Three months ago, Marie picked up my mother and me from our hotel promptly at noon. Her energy was through the roof. She was excited to meet us and my energy quickly matched hers. Their home was something of Martha Stewart perfection. Every room was immaculate, carefully constructed to allude the perfect balance between elegance and modesty. 

Hugging the entire back of the house were 5 shuttered French doors, which on this first visit were completely open to allow in the sun’s natural light. In the backyard were two little boys, ages 6 and 9, bonding over soccer with their father. In the living room was the eldest daughter, age 12, intensely focused, practicing the drums for an upcoming recital. 

What I loved most about my surroundings were the decorative artifacts in every corner of the house. Congolese masks in the office, Russian dolls in the den, Japanese art above the oven. They were trying to make a statement, for sure. “Not only are we well traveled, but we fully embrace other cultures within our home!” Honestly I dug it.  It was a nice touch to an otherwise vanilla home. 

After having a 5 course meal complete with red wine AND Champagne, Marie asked me when I was planning to move home. HOME. Whether this was a result of broken english or not, I took this as a sign that she already saw me as one of the family. I looked over to my mother & had an Orphan Annie moment. 

I moved in a couple days later, believing fully that this was the best gift I could have received in my move.

I was wrong. 

The Red Flags 

The first couple weeks were great. I was adjusting well to my teaching job. The kids were well behaved (for the most part). Marie and I got into the habit of having late night talks after dinner before her husband came come (which was often super late). We would watch TV, laugh, discuss cultural differences & sometimes even share a glass of wine. It was a very relaxed environment. She even encouraged that I go out more.

“You’re young!”, she said. “Paris is a beautiful city. See it every chance you get. Make friends! Meet boys”.

(Looking back on it, these late night talks are what ultimately hurt us. At the end of the day, Marie was my employer. And sharing a glass of wine every night with your employer blurs quite a few lines of professionalism.) 

One day, Marie fired one of the babysitters and needed me to drive her kids to and from activities on Mondays and Thursdays. I would have been happy to do so…had the family had automatic vehicles. I had never driven a manual car in my life and I certainly didn’t want to put her kids in potential danger. Because I wanted so badly for this situation to work out, I decided to take driving lessons. I thought it would only take a couple classes…but it didn’t. STICK SHIFT IS HARD. I had to learn how to drive an automatic car, in french, in a country with completely different driving rules. And Those lessons were not only stressful but they were costly (about $90 per class), and the Malines didn’t help me with any of it. 

What’s worse is Marie came to the conclusion not to pay me the first couple of weeks until I had gotten my driving together. She somehow convinced me that this was okay. 

During a late night heart to heart she admitted that her last au pair quit after only two weeks. When I asked why, she said, “she told me my kids were horrible” and started to tear up. I hugged her and said “I can’t believe someone would say something like that!” But I should have known then. 

She was very particular about how I kept my room, which I thought was odd. She asked me to deep clean my room AND my bathroom every Saturday morning (sweep, vaccum, mop, dust, wash and iron my bedsheets etc). Sometimes I even came home to my things put in different places without my permission…

Toussaints Break finally came and Marie insisted I go on a trip somewhere. I decided to go to Barcelona & London with a friend. When I left, a smiling family of five was waving me a bon voyage. When I returned, a monster was at the front door. 

Where Everything Went Left

I got back on a Saturday evening from an amazing trip. I couldn’t wait to tell the kids of my adventures. When I rang the doorbell, Marie opened the door with contempt in her eyes. “I need to speak with you”, she spat. 

She led me into the kitchen and told. me. off. 

“Who do you think you are?!! This is not a hotel!! You can’t just come and go whenever you please!! The room wasn’t clean enough before you left!!! You told me you were coming back in the morning?? THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE. THIS IS A FAMILY, WE HAVE STRUCTURE AND YOU MUST ABIDE BY OUR RULES”

Let me first explain myself. Yes, I did return earlier than I had anticipated. BUT I had informed her of this change THREE days prior on the phone, which in my opinion is ample time. As far as my room not being “clean enough”…I call BS, because I spent a good 2.5 hours making sure that room was spotless. 

But she wasn’t yelling at me for those reasons. I knew it. She knew it. I saw through her. She was mad I went on vacation instead of there to help with the kids. Thats it. Just passive aggressive BS. 

It was clear she had been planning this speech for days. I stood there awkwardly, confused and upset, trying not to tear up in front of this woman and her whole entire family (including her in-laws who were visiting for the weekend). I haven’t been yelled at like that by another adult since I was probably 12. And thats exactly how I felt in that moment - like a child. No longer was I another adult in that house. And no longer did Marie treat me as such. 

After that awkwardness, they all went out for a celebratory dinner with the grandparents. Since the in-laws were staying in my room, I was sent to sleep in the attic. I wish I was kidding. 

This Woman Crazy 

From that moment on, our relationship was strained. I tried to have several conversations to make amends because I wanted it all to work out. And I can tell she was visibly trying too. But that one conversation ruined everything. She continued to just give me more chores that were not discussed when I interviewed. I did their grocery shopping, their laundry, I cooked. I woke the kids up in the morning, helped them get dressed, did their homework. In short, I became the Help. And from that point on everything I did was wrong. EVERY night, she would come home and have something to say about something. Some times they were valid, most times they were straight up petty and contradictory. 

“ Why did you wake the boys at 7:18, they must be up at 7:15! I don’t like the way you load the dishwasher. The french doors should be closed before 6pm. You forgot to set the dessert spoons on the table.Lara’s english is still terrible, you must not be doing a good job. You forgot to mop behind the dresser.My children don’t eat meat at night. Why did the children not eat the chicken I prepared for dinner? Can you make a tuna tart for lunch? What do you mean you don’t know how…I thought you said you could cook? Did you lie about everything? Whats wrong with you? ”

Also, being an au-pair just all around sucks. You are not a glorified babysitter…you are their substitute mother. A typical day went like this:

• 6:30am wake up, get dressed. Open all the french doors for some reason this was always such a task. Make breakfast and set the table.
  
• 7:15 wake up the boys and help them get dressed. (When said kids are 6 and 9 years old this is easily the most exhausting part of your day.)
  
• 8:15take them to school 
  
• 9:30am - 3:00pm Go to my own school because I’m a teacher, remember?
  
• 4:30 pick the boys up from school
  
• 5:00 snack time
  
• 5:15 help them with homework
  
• 5:45 start the laundry/ play games with the kids
  
• 6:30 start cooking/ make sure the kids take their shower
  
• 7:15dinner
  
• 7:45 send them to bed, and read a bedtime story
  
• 8:15 finish laundry, fold clothes 
  
• 9:00 the time Marie would come home and have a long list of things she felt I did terribly and I would pretend to listen and/or care
  
• 9:30pm …..
  

I had to get out of there, ya’ll. I wasn’t sleeping well. I was resentful and mean. I was living with an emotional terrorist. I felt constantly uncomfortable and uneasy. You shouldn’t feel uncomfortable where you lay your head at night. I wasn’t enjoying my abroad experience that way. On top of that, the kids were super rude and disrespectful. I got hit, spit on, and slapped too many times to count. But what do you expect from children who have had 8 nannies and barely see their parents during the week?

In late November, I told Marie that I was unhappy with the job and wanted to leave. She seemed just as enthusiastic at the proposition as I was. She begged me to stay until Winter Break however, because she couldn’t find a replacement. Being the overly nice person I am, I agreed. A couple days later she texted me, TEXTED me, to be out of the house by the end of the week. 

Thus began my mad, mad dash to find housing…which I will blog about at a later date. But just know that was the most stressful situation of my life and I didn’t actually find a place to live until one week after I had moved out of the Maline household and only one day before I left for the US for Christmas. 

Conclusion

I would never recommend au-pairing to anyone. I agree that I unfortunately got stuck with a bad family situation. But even so, au-pairing is exploitation. These families are taking in young girls typically ages 18-25 that don’t speak their language very well and are paying them terribly. If you’re 18-25 you should spend your time abroad…having fun! Not being someone’s play-mother. Like Marie ironically once told me, “You’re young! Paris is a beautiful city. See it every chance you get. Make friends! Meet boys”.

So I’m gonna do just that. 

Pierce the Veil added Kissing in Cars to their setlist and that makes me very emotional