France: Nice, Antibes, and Monaco

We woke up the morning after the World Cup Final in our stuffy airbnb. Surprisingly, we were not hungover, but every muscle in our bodies hurt and our voices were raspy from all of the intense dancing and cheering.

We packed and cleaned. Hannah and Jake were on their way to Brussels for a long layover before heading home to San Diego. I was just starting my trip. I hugged them goodbye and hopped on a mildly air conditioned train from Lyon to Nice and watched the beautiful, sunny French countryside pass by. The train was peaceful, but the 'air conditioning' felt like someone was barely exhaling warm breath on me. 

I arrived in Nice, on the southern coast of France, in the late evening. I walked out of the central train station and it was bustling, crowded, and hot as hell. My hostel was right across the street and I checked in. I planned to walk to the ocean that evening, about 2km roundtrip. But I was exhausted. I walked halfway down the promenade, bought some Turkish food from a street stand, shopped at H&M, and returned to my hostel for happy hour. I sipped cheap chilled red wine and chatted with mid-20s men and women from the U.S., Nigeria, Canada, and Korea. 

I was in an all-girl 8 person dorm room. I had the top bunk directly beneath the air conditioning unit. Which, would have been nice, except the hostel only gave out a sheet. When I attempted to sleep that night, I was so cold, even after dumping out my backpack at 2 am and putting on my fleece and socks, that I couldn't sleep. The poor night's sleep coupled with extreme heat, thousands of miles in travel, the previous day's heavy drinking, and a wet hair-AC combo, culminated into a nasty cold. I was not surprised I got sick, but annoyed. Out of stubbornness, I resolved that it would not slow me down in the slightest.

I had a breakfast of coffee and nutella toast at the hostel the next morning, and walked across the street to the train station. It cost me 15 bucks for a roundtrip train ticket to Monaco. The train took less than half an hour, but was packed. On the train, I chatted with a guy who was teaching an English camp for French kids and was trying to wrangle about 30 kids scattered up the car. I was flattered he thought I was French; he was flattered I thought he was British.

It was muggy and overcast in Monaco. The tiny country is settled in the steep Rivirean mountainside. I walked down the hill to the Monte Carlo. 

 

  

I fed a 5 euro bill into the slot machine, and pushed buttons until I steadily lost my money. Gambling's not for me.

I bought a surprisingly reasonably priced glass of red wine from the bar and sat in a fancy cushioned chair to sip it. I people watched British, Chinese, and German tourists for awhile.

The wine was delicious, but I remember feeling sooo sick here. 

Outside I felt better, the fresh air soothed most of my symptoms, except the sweating and fatigue. I decided I desperately needed spaghetti, the real European kind, and set out on a mission to satiate that need. It helped distract from my bizarre cold.

Monaco is tiny, and densely packed with millionaires. It is 0.78 sq. miles and has a population of under 40,000. (Fewer people than my hometown!) Over a third of the population of Monaco are millionaires. I walked the length of the entire country while I was there. It was not hard. I saw literally the entire 2 sq km of country while I felt like I was dying. And yet, I was craving spaghetti. I walked aimlessly east for awhile down the coast, and stumbled upon a tourist information center. "Bonjour. Je veux des spaghettis." I told the teenager manning the stand. He smiled and pulled out a map and circled a restaurant for me. "Merci!" I thanked him and was on my way. A short walk later I came across the restaurant he recommended, right along the beach. I ordered spaghetti pomodoro and drenched it in freshly grated parmesan. It tasted just like the spaghetti we used to have while we were in Germany: fat noodles, mildly sweet and tangy tomato sauce, perfectly soft cheese. I hadn't had that dish since the last time I had been in Europe, and it was just how I remembered.

I peacefully twirled my spaghetti against my spoon, savoring every bite, as dark storm clouds rolled in. Bite by bite, I kept twirling, even as the sky opened up and the thunder clapped. Other patrons rushed into the covered restaurant, irritated by the sudden storm. I was just finishing my food when the old Italian waiter came out to my table. "You should come inside now," he told me. By the time I finished paying, the storm had passed, and I walked out to the beach and soaked my feet in the clear Mediterranean water.

I then decided to hike to the top of the hill, to the castle, (with several stops on benches to catch my cold-weakened breath along the way). On the way, I passed a harbor full of yachts that were each larger than my entire apartment complex and contemplated what you could possibly do with such an absurd amount of space. 

Finally, I made it to the top of the hill. It was charming. The stacked homes looked so lovely, and the view over the dense city-state was spectacular. The Mediterranean buildings poured out of the mountain side into the sea. And Monaco was so clean.

But oh my god, I felt so sick. I got to the top, mustered up the energy to take a halfhearted selfie, and trekked back down to the train station.

I was happy to be there! Just nauseous

Monaco was cool, but I am just really unimpressed by conspicuous consumption. Which, it seemed, was prevalent on every block I walked. There was so much dense, excessive wealth in that tiny country. Every other car was a lamborghini revving its engine and making sharp turns on the narrow streets.

I made it back to my hostel, inhaled a to-go pasta salad from the grocery store next door, chatted with a few hostel-mates, and did a desperately-needed load of laundry.

There was a laundromat behind the hostel, owned by an outgoing Nigerian. I looked ridiculous in my wet hair, jeans, and long sleeve tshirt, but they were the only clean clothes I had left. I chatted with him as he helped me buy soap and start the machines, as the instructions were all in French. When he found out I came to France for the World Cup he started cracking up, wiped the tears from his eyes, and high-fived me. "A white girl who likes football!" he laughed.

Shaynie was arriving that night from California and I promised to pick her up from the Nice airport. Due to multiple bad instructions, I messed up opportunities to take any of the three of the public transit options to the airport and ended up paying for an overpriced taxi. Shaynie arrived shortly after I did. We took an uber back to the hostel, and passed out immediately.

I felt so much better after Shaynie arrived. I was still sick, but having her around helped me feel calmer. I always want to prove to myself that I'm capable of traveling alone, but there is something so nice about sharing experiences with someone. Sometimes those experiences are mundane, stressful, tedious, or frustrating. But more frequently, they're thrilling, exciting, new, different, challenging, and wonderful. And being with Shaynie, one of my best friends of almost ten years, is so relaxing. Sometimes traveling with other people can be stressful. But Shaynie is so level-headed and reassuring and nice even when things go wrong, that it always calmed me down even when I got overwhelmed.

The next morning we showered, chugged cups of coffee in the hostel foyer, and left our backpacks behind in the hostel locker room for a morning in sweltering Nice. I made Shaynie stop by the bakery on the corner for savory pastries and espressos.

chaque jour, s’engager par amour du pain

We then walked to the Nice castle and back down again to catch some nice views.

Some of the World Cup games were in Nice!

There was a surprisingly long line to take this photo, which is at best an okay photo. We got delayed by repeat queue jumpers trying to perfect their photo. It's not a great photo, but it was hard earned, so I included it.

We thn walk to the beach that was covered in fat, smooth rocks and stuck our feet in the water to cool off.

We walked through the market in Nice and bought mini macarons, berries, and a satchel of lavender, all for under 4 euro.

We then took the tram a few stops, and found a fountain. Children and adults were splashing barefoot in the spray of the jets. It was a welcome reprieve from the sweltering heat.

The fountain also had a fancy water stand where you could refill water bottles for free. You could choose chilled or sparkling water. I am obsessed with this concept, and the support of reusable water bottle culture. Not only is it helping the environment, it's good for public health! It was important to stay hydrated during the relentless heatwave.

We picked up our backpacks from the hostel and hopped on the train west to Antibes. It was only 5 bucks and 20 minutes. We walked from the train station to our hostel, which was located 100m from the beach and right in the heart of the charming old town. When I asked the friendly native Antiban for a key to our room at check-in, he shrugged and said, "Eh, you don't need one." None of the doors in the hostel locked, but we never felt unsafe. 

the door jamming was the highest level of security

The hostel was filled with people looking for work to crew on a boat. Antibes is a large port city and the harbor is full of boats. Multiple businesses lined the streets advertising their assistance in securing crew work and there were businesses that advertised crew work. Two of the girls we shared a room with were British 20 year olds looking for crew work. Every morning they got up early, dressed in crew uniforms, and took their printed resumes with color headshots at top go to interviews. We also met two guys in the kitchen of the hostel who were also looking to do engineering work on boats.

Shaynie and I walked to the huge, hot square in the center of the old town in the late afternoon. Restaurants lined the perimeter and their chairs and tables spilled into the middle. We shopped around the menus outside the restaurants until we found one we liked. All the restaurants were pretty empty, but we were eating at 3 pm. Neither of us being huge foodies, this was one of the only restaurant meals we bought the whole trip. Fewer people spoke English here, so we stumbled through ordering our delicious raviolis au saumon in French. Luckily, the very tall local who took our order was very helpful and encouraging.

We went for a short walk around the old town and checked out the views of the Mediterranean from the rampart walls surrounding the old port town. 

We couldn't resist the waves, so we changed into our suits and headed for the nearest beach. We swam for hours in the super salty Mediterranean. We passed most of the time floating in the warm water. We swam out to the entrance of the cove which had a series of large, submerged rocks we chilled on.

I love the water!

Eventually, we swam back to shore, pulled on half our clothes, and climbed to the top of the wall to watch the sunset.

Salt water and sun soaked, we walked back over to the main square. We sipped 3 euro glasses of wine, purchased using the last of the coins in our pockets, in the relaxing late evening dusk.

The next morning, we found a covered farmers market for breakfast. My coworker Julien sent me with a list of food I needed to eat while in France, and I did my best to eat my way through the list. We found one of the food items he recommended, socca, a chickpea pancake. It was 5 euro for a huge piece, made fresh in front of us. Shaynie and I split one and snacked on it while drinking espresso.

We spent the rest of our morning hiking along the wall that surrounds the town.

A lot of the walk was spent trying to harness the power of the intermittent breeze to cool off.

We ended up back in the main square and went to a bakery. We ordered the rest of the food on my coworker's list and the baker refilled our water bottles.

 pissaladière et pan bagnat

 On an aimless, self-guided walking tour of Antibes, we stumbled across the newer part of the town. It was a modern, bustling town with high-end shops on the streets and cars buzzing around. We considered walking out to the peninsula, but we certainly had gotten our steps in, so decided to head back to the old town, which we found to be so much more charming. Next stop, gelato.

 

 necessary

We ended our foot expedition on a narrow beach on the other side of the rampart. We stood, soaking our feet in the salty sea water, until it was time to catch the bus to the Nice airport.

We hopped on our short EasyJet flight to Geneva, Switzerland.

France: Lyon and the Women's World Cup Final

It had been 5 years since I had back to Europe, so I figured it was time to return; I had been feeling homesick for the continent I have called home twice. I left LAX the evening of the Fourth of July. I spent the morning doing 'Brunch and Binge' (breakfast and cartoons) with my roommates, and some last minute panicked packing (aka trying to squeeze too many shirts into a 35L backpack). In a weird parallel to my last international trip, a major earthquake struck. I had just bent over to pick something up when the P and S waves reached Westwood. It was the longest and waviest earthquake I've experienced to date, and lasted long enough for me and my roommates to convene in our kitchen, and place our hands on the walls to determine when the shaking had stopped. It was a magnitude 6.4, with an epicenter almost 150 miles from LA. It had multiple aftershocks over 4.0 and 5.0, but it turned out that the July 4th earthquake was just a foreshock to a massive 7.1 the next day (but I was already in France for that one).

The Norwegian flight was lovely, and I slept on and off on the plane and arrived at CDG airport the next afternoon. CDG is a massive airport, but I still had sufficient time to grab a sandwich and figure out where my train was. I had a short train layover at the Disneyland Paris station. The last time I was at Disneyland Paris was 14 years ago! Today, it was crowded and 1000 degrees.

#tbt

I arrived at the tail end of a record-breaking heat wave in Europe. As what would turn into a theme for the first half of my trip, I arrived at the Lyon train station damp, with a jet lag you couldn't sweat out. Lyon is the third largest city in France and is nestled at the confluence of two major rivers: the Rhône and the Saône. 

I was meeting up with one of my best friends from college, and previous international travel buddies, Hannah, and her friend from high school, Jake. They had spent the previous week in Lyon, exploring museums and attempting to stay cool. Hannah so kindly met me at the train station so that I would not have to find the airbnb in my jet lagged haze.

We took the metro to the airbnb. The public transit in Lyon is top notch. And Hannah was a transpo champ. She exclusively navigated the whole time we were in Lyon, which was so nice because it takes so much brain power to navigate a foreign transportation system. 

The airbnb was not in the city center, but was conveniently located right next multiple metro and tram stops. It was in a quiet, cute residential neighborhood. It was a tiny west-facing studio with no air conditioning. We were able to maintain the temperature inside at a cool 86 degrees Fahrenheit. We slept on top of the sheets every night under a pivoting fan on mattresses on the floor. 

It was late when I arrived, so we snacked on delicious French cheese, baguettes, and chilled white wine, and went to sleep. 

The next morning, we went straight to the local boulangerie Hannah and Jake had discovered during their week in Lyon. I spent months doing Duolingo French lessons on my bus commutes to and from work, but my French is still abysmal. Luckily, everyone I met in France was incredibly friendly, and people went out of their way to be helpful. Even during simple interactions, like attempting to order food from the bakery in French. 

Hannah coined the term 'panic eyes'. You start off confident with a 'bonjour!' And then you get a 'Bonjour! C'est une belle journée! Comment allez vous? J'espère que tu vas bien. Comment puis-je vous aider?' in return. And then your eyes get wide and you can't produce a single French word. Panic eyes. Jake's take on the issue was to just learn the phrase, "désolé, je suis américain" for whenever he didn't know the words.  

Even though the bakery cashier did not speak English, she smiled wide and patiently helped me through my transaction. When I asked for an espresso, she asked me "grand?" and widened her hands "ou petit?" and brought her hands closer together. "Un grand," I said emphatically. I offered her a handful of Euro coins and she plucked the appropriate denominations out of my palm. Everyone in Lyon was exceedingly friendly, helpful, and welcoming. Multiple time, we experienced people going out of their way to help us even if they didn't speak English. 

I also got a delicious chicken bagnat, a huge round sandwich with chicken, egg, tomato, mayo, seasonings. We ate outside on the quiet and peaceful city street.

We then walked through the local market on the block over. The stands were full of fresh produce and cheese. Walking around there made me very hungry.



We bought some bread, cheese, and wine from a local grocery story and dropped it off at our airbnb.

We then took the metro and a funicular to the top of the hill overlooking the city. There is a beautiful cathedral on top. The inside was cool and shaded and filled with gold. 

 

We admired the view from above the city. We could see the Saône river and the red roofs of the old town. We could see the FIFA Fan Center set up in one of the squares. When we were done sweating on top of the hill, we decided to walk down it and across the two rivers to get some food. 

I requested a riverside lunch, and Hannah and Jake obliged. There was not much open when we got hungry at 3:00 pm, but we found a restaurant near the water that served burgers and beers. 

   

Hannah also had the foresight to book us an electric bike tour of the city. I'm not usually a huge tour fan, but walk and bike tours are a great way to get a sense of a new a city! And they give a solid geographical orientation. The bikes were electric too, which was a plus in the heat. We only had to pedal at 10% effort, which was fantastic.


They even gave us really stylish hair nets and helmets!

We did a huge loop up the river and around a park and it was lovely. The tour guide was native to Lyon and took great pride in her city. This seemed to be a common theme; a lot of locals we met expressed deep pride and love for their city, which is so great. People at the bars, restaurants, and train stations would ask us: "are you here for the tournament?" and then would say, "thank you for coming to my city!" Lyon was truly lovely and I don't think I would have ever gone if it was not for the World Cup! The city also fully embraced the World Cup, which was so fun. All tram and metro stops had Women's World Cup player names next to them. We saw the stops for Wu Haiyan, Marta, Amandine Henry, and Carli Lloyd!

We ended the tour where we started an hour and a half later, after the start of the consolation game. We made a beeline for some gelato and water and walked by two overflowing bars trying to find a place to watch England versus Sweden. Third one was a charm!

and my bar was unfortunately closed

We found a standing table at a bar called Ninkasi. It was packed, but the big sliding glass doors were open, so we were comfortable near the edge. Although, it felt like we were in the first row at the movie theater looking straight up at the screen. We ordered beers. The fattest raindrops I've ever seen fell, in the sticky way it does when it's hot and humid.

There were large groups of people sitting by nationality. Naturally, groups of English and Swedish fans were there. But there were also groups of German and Mexican fans nearby us, who we chatted with. 

After the game, we headed back to the airbnb to snack on cheese and bread. One of my previous roommates, Lauren, texted me to meet up for a drink. She had won tickets to the final and was in France for an extra long weekend. She had been my roommate in LA for a little under a year when I lived in the Palms neighborhood. Hannah and Jake were down to venture out for one last evening activity. We took the tram in the muggy late evening to the main train station and met up with Lauren at a small Italian restaurant near her hotel. We got a drink and chatted, and discussed game strategy, the lineup, and the buzz that the tournament had gotten. We then metro'd back to the airbnb and fell asleep.

Our alarms were set early, but we had no trouble waking up; we were stoked and ready to go. We pulled on our USA t-shirts, stars and stripes knee socks, and soccer hats, packed our bags with sunscreen, and triple checked we had our World Cup Final Tickets. 

"I don't want to let myself believe we're going," I confessed, still convinced that something went wrong with my ticket purchase. Maybe the site I bought them from was fake, maybe my payment didn't go through, maybe FIFA resold my seats already, maybe the barcode wouldn't work. "I will believe it when I am sitting in my seat." 

Normally, I try my best to blend in when I'm abroad. I try to avoid reinforcing any 'Obnoxious American' stereotypes. In Europe, I usually do blend in as long as I don't open my mouth. But there was no hiding it today. We went full on, all-American, U - S - A in huge letters across our chests. And everyone was so awesome about it. 

We walked back to the nearby boulangerie for a breakfast of double espressos and pan aux chocolat. Every single person we passed smiled at us and enthusiastically wished us good luck. It was the coolest thing. As we were eating at a table on the sidewalk, multiple locals stopped to chat with us about where we were from, the tournament, the team, and their relatives in the U.S. It was so, so cool. 

I felt very welcomed the whole time I was in Lyon. Before I got there, I was worried that some locals may have felt like the World Cup imposed traffic and hordes of tourists on their city, but in my experience everyone was incredibly hospitable and seemed genuinely stoked to be hosting the Final. 

We then took the metro to an American Outlaws event. I had never heard of them before. They are an unofficial U.S. Soccer Fan Club. They rented out a giant bar and club near the main train station in the middle of Lyon. It was a fantastic venue. Americans of all ages started showing up in droves, decked out head to toe in red, white, and blue. Everyone was in such a good mood, and was incredibly friendly and outgoing. We quickly made a bunch of friends. 

Everyone was striking up conversations with everyone. Even though it quickly became shoulder-to-shoulder packed, the mood was very positive. A middle-aged couple was standing behind us in line for fries wearing Oregon Ducks hats. "Cool hat!" I told them, "My little brother is getting his Master's there!" They were incredibly enthusiastic about their university and love for Oregon and excited to chat. We talked to so many people of so many ages from so many parts of the country.

   

It was just before noon, but we ordered giant, cheap, cold beers and cheers'd. The bar was sunny and chill, but we decided to go explore the club in the back of the bar. The club was dark and cool (when we first got there) and a DJ was bumping hits. There were multiple photo stations with signs and giant posters of all of the players. We had a mini photo shoot. 

We were some of the first ones there, but it quickly became packed. Pretty soon, the dance floor became crowded. There was a conga line and a dance-off between someone in a Statue of Liberty costume and someone a bald eagle onesie. 

We danced hard. Everyone on the dance floor was full on shimmying and twirling and stamping their feet to the beat. On brand with our experience so far, there was no AC, so everyone was dripping sweat and the club quickly became humid and smelly. But no one really cared because everyone was in such a good mood. 

A group of girls from Michigan we met outside joined us in the club. They were outgoing, completely uninhibited, and so much fun. They spent hours tearing up the dance floor. “Where are you guys from?” one girl in the group asked me. “California!” I told her. “Ah,” she nodded. “Cali rolls deep.” She then went around offering an imaginary microphone to strangers to belt out the lyrics to the Britney Spears song that came on. 

The early afternoon progressed, and the energy levels in the room were high almost to the level of ecstatic. The head of the American Outlaws took over the mic to give an inspiring speech and to lead a few cheers. Everyone was screaming and chanting. There were multiple rounds of glitter cannons. I was directly in the way of one, and the huge glitter flakes glued themselves to my skin. I was still finding glitter two days later.

We then applied a layer of sunscreen, which really sealed the glitter flakes into our skin.

The preparty was SO much fun and got us all super psyched for the game. All the dancing, cheering, and drinking. It was such a huge party. 

Around 2:30 we decided to start to make our way to the stadium. I was incredibly impressed with the transportation. We took a tram to the stadium from right near the bar. There was an incredibly long line, but the security guards got everyone on trams efficiently and the line moved quickly. Everyone was very calm in line, and there was a small band playing songs to keep us entertained while we waited. It was a long, intimate tram ride with a bunch of sweaty strangers, but the mood was so positive. We met some friends in their 40s from New York on the tram who played in a pick-up adult soccer league together and decided to come to the games. They were very curious about why we were so covered in glitter.

We went through security and into the stadium. There was so much going on - a band, dancers, highlights reels. A lot of people were buzzing about wearing bright orange, even more were in some combination of red, white, and blue. 

Jake and Hannah indulged in my request for a mini photo shoot just outside the stadium.

If you can't tell, we're stoked as hell

I got the tickets by obsessively refreshing the FIFA ticket resale site for weeks. The seats weren’t together. Jake graciously offered to take the solo ticket. Hannah and my ticket were in the same row, but no one ever claimed the seat next to me so we were able to sit next to each other. We bought sandwiches and water bottle after water bottle, much to my dismay, because it was so hot and there were no drinking fountains.

LFG

The players came out, the national anthems played, and the first whistle blew.

The Dutch women earned their spot in the final. But the U.S. Women's team was clearly dominant. We went in to the game with the knowledge that the U.S. was incredibly likely to win. They had shot after beautiful shot on goal. The Dutch goalkeeper made some incredible saves. I loved watching Tobin Heath play. She set up play after beautiful play, making generous crosses to her teammates again and again. There were multiple corner kicks. None went in. Every time there was a shot on goal the whole crowd would begin to shout in anticipation, building up excitement. We would jump up from our folding seats, peeling the backs of our sweaty legs off the plastic seats. The ball would then ricochet, miss, or be blocked by the incredible Dutch goalkeeper and the crowd would "ahhh..." sigh disappointingly. 

At 45+ minutes, the score was still 0-0. Halftime went by quickly. Then, Alex Morgan was fouled in the box. Initially, the ref dismissed it. But upon reviewing the VAR, determined it to be a foul (fair call, Alex was cleated in the arm). Megan Rapinoe took the penalty kick and effortlessly sunk it into the back of the net. The crowd cheered loudly, but tentatively. A 1-0 lead is not a guarantee. And no one really wants to win off a VAR penalty kick.

Then, in the 69th minute, my favorite moment of the game. Rose Lavelle received a pass from Samantha Mewis near the midfield, dribbled all the way down, faked out a defender, and took a beautiful left footed shot toward the goal. Because of the way she ran so aggressively down the field, there was a moment right before she faked out the defender when you just knew it was going in, there was no way it wasn't. The ball went out of reach of the goalie and sunk into the back right corner of the net. It was perfect soccer. The stadium was raucous.

There were multiple more shots on goal. The ref gave a few minutes of overtime and the anticipation started to build in the stadium. Finally, the ref blew the whistle, confirming the win. Everyone cheered and cheered. The Americans around us were hugging and high fiving and grinning. The cheering quieted but persisted for a long time, even as the players exited the field and they set up the award stand.

The cheering persisted until they announced the FIFA president, Gianni Infantino. The crowd transitioned quickly from passive cheering to aggressive booing and whistling. Then the boos transitioned into a chant, the whole stadium starting chanting: "Equal pay! Equal pay!” 

They continued to go through the awards process while awkwardly grinning and not acknowledging the stands. 

Then French President Macron came out! That was super cool to see the French president.

They gave out awards, golden and silver boots, golden glove. They gave out the trophy and more glitter exploded from the sky and fireworks went off repeatedly in a circle on the inside of the stadium in a very close, loud, and heat-emitting way. The players made glitter angels on the stage. It was a chaotic and joyful celebration all around us. 

The Dutch team did a thank you lap around the field. Everyone cheered for them; I thought they played well and sportsmanlike. 

Then the U.S. team did a victory lap to Avicii's "Heaven". The crowd went crazy. Wearing flags as capes, the team walked around and waved to the crowd. 

The players then went over to the friends and family section. The players jumped up into the stands to hug and kiss their friends and family. 

We stayed through the whole awards ceremony, and then some, marveling in awe at the clearing stadium, trying to let it sink in that we were here.

We joined the departing crowd to meet Jake outside by the statue we had predetermined. It started to sprinkle, but it was a welcome reprieve from the heat. The exit was like a funnel, and the guards would periodically stop the flow of people entirely to let the exiting crowd dissipate slightly. There were so many people trying to leave. We finally made it out of the stadium and merged into the queue for our tram line.

"It’s like trying to get on the 405 at rush hour,’’ Hannah joked. It was actually significantly easier than that because everyone was really calm and polite. Shout out to Jake for keeping the stress levels especially low. He kept being incredibly positive and being like, "the line's moving so quickly!" (it was not) and "this isn't as bad as I thought!" (it was). But his good attitude really helped diffuse the stress of being in a slowly-moving crowd. He kept cracking jokes the whole tram ride back, even though we were all still sweaty and crowded and contorted in odd positions trying to hold on to the ceiling loops. 

We went back to the American Outlaws event. We walked en masse in a group of Americans from the tram to the bar. The whole walk there, cars stopped at lights honked celebratorily at us. Multiple cars rolled down their windows to wave and shout “congratulations!” Strangers walking contraflow to the American horde high fived us as we passed and congratulated us. It was legitimately so cool and I felt like a rock star. Even though I was not a player, I felt very proud. I know I keep saying how positive it was, but the whole experience was really so positive. Everyone was so polite, and kind. All the French, the Dutch, the Americans. It was so great.

The bar was popping. It was starting to get dark, and it kept getting more crowded. We ordered beers and hung out outside, chatting with different groups of happy strangers. Every now and then the bar would erupt into a chant. Every other group had a bottle of champagne it seemed. Bottle after bottle of champagne was popped and sprayed over the crowded bar. It was served in a bougey ice bucket and we were starting to get tempted. 

"Let's see how much the champagne is!" Jake said. "I'd be willing to splurge on it!" Jake asked the bartender how much and the bartender replied. "Eighteen?! Hell yes!" Jake said and handed the bartender a 20 Euro bill. "Keep the change!" I was farther away, but I heard the bartender say something something sixteen. "Sixteen?" Jake asked. "You can still keep the change." 

"No, no," the bartender laughed. "You owe me sixty. The champagne is eighty." We started cracking up. "Oh, in that case, three beers please." The bartender laughed and gave Jake his 20 back and gave us the beers for free.

We had arrived at the after party exhausted and promised each other we'd just check it out and have one beer. "Do you guys want to check out the club before we go?" I asked. They agreed. The DJ was playing so many good songs so we started dancing. Then we ordered another round. 

"Just one more song!" we kept promising each other as we continued to dance. Everything hurt and we were exhausted from over 12 hours of drinking and dancing and cheering, but every subsequent song was a banger so we dutifully powered through. Miley Cyrus, Beyonce, Lizzo. 90s R&B and hip hop and classic rock. 

The DJ played "We Are the Champions" and everyone screamed the words in unison. Then, the DJ played the national anthem and everyone held up the posters of the players' faces, their flags, and  their glasses and sang along. 

The whole after party was incredibly emotionally powerful in such positive way. Everyone was giddy and grinning and giggling. People were cheering and high fiving and the energy was contagious. We kept dancing.

Finally, for some reason Yeah by Usher came on for a second time, so we took that as our cue and ran out of the club before another banger came on. We took the metro back to the airbnb and crashed hard. 

Soccer means a lot to me, and it meant so much to be at the Women's World Cup. And not only that, but it meant so much to be at the game to see my country win a World Cup Final. I truly think it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. When I write that out it sounds cheesy and melodramatic. But soccer has played a large role in my life, in pretty much every phase of my life. 

I played soccer all throughout my childhood. My siblings played soccer, too, growing up, and were both very good at it. My dad coached my team for years, and my mom took photos at games. My extended family had a tradition of playing a soccer game on Christmas Eve.

Saturdays were for soccer growing up. I can easily recall the smell of recently cut grass, freshly painted white lines, citrusy orange slices, and sickeningly sweet Capri Suns. I remember water misters and ice packs and camping chairs and the way cleats would clack on 1000 degree parking lot asphalt. I remember stinky socks and sweaty shinguards and perpetually looking for hair ties.

When we moved to Germany, I was co-captain of my 8th grade soccer team with my friend Luisa. We played tournaments against other international schools across the continent. (My German soccer vocabulary grew disproportionately strong to the rest of my German). In a Vienna tournament, we won the sportsmanship award (and came in dead last). 

When I was in 9th grade at MIS, I was one of two freshman on the Varsity soccer team (granted, as a benchwarmer). We took buses to play evening games in the shadow of the Alps. We played in Frankfurt and London twice. And my team was good: in 2006, we were the #4 Women's High School team in all of Europe. 

That's me, #9, reppin Mia Hamm

When we moved back to the U.S. I played for my high school Freshman and Junior Varsity team. 

I continued to play rec soccer throughout the rest of high school on a team that kicked ass. After school I would drive my Honda Civic to practice where I'd meet up with all my friends and we'd play until dusk. Our guy friends would come watch us play in games on Saturdays at the Promontory.

Not to brag, but we were all really good. Also, we had played together for years, so were really in sync. I don't remember how or why, but we were given the option to pick our own jerseys one year. And for some reason, we picked out pink jerseys, pink polka dot socks, and would wear pink ribbons in our hair. I loved it. Other teams wouldn't take us seriously at first because we looked so feminine and then we would kick their ass.

One summer I even became a licensed referee with my dad and brother. (It turns out referee-ing is not for me. I was not very good and also I got sick of being yelled at by parents without a sense of perspective during U-6 games, but I did learn a lot being on that side of the game).

I love playing soccer, but I also love watching soccer. It's such a fun sport. The university I went to was a huge soccer school. I looked forward to every fall when we would wear our yellow t-shirts, break into obscene organized chants, and frisbee tortillas onto the field in celebration.

I played intramural soccer all throughout college and graduate school.

ignore the wrong kind of football, this was part of my graduate IM team

I also LOVE the World Cup. Men's and Women's. Watching a good play or a good game, especially one with stakes, is so satisfying. I know FIFA has it's issues, but like John Oliver said in his 2014 segment, "FIFA is just appalling, and yet, … I am still so excited about the World Cup."

In 2006, we were living in Germany and my Dad got tickets to the games. We took sardine-packed U-Bahns to the Allianz Arena just north of Munich (an arena that looks like a marshmallow in a fishnet stocking btw). We saw Brazil versus Australia and Tunisia versus Saudi Arabia (some guy ran across the field at half time!).

I remember watching the 2010 World Cup both with friends and family the summer after I graduated high school. I especially remember the vuvuzelas and Shakira's Waka Waka. I was working in Isla Vista during the 2014 World Cup and I would go to Gio's on my lunch break to meet up with my friends and watch the game. My family and I watched the final from our tiny airbnb studio in Honolulu, Hawaii. I remember how loud we cheered when Mario Götze scored the stunning game winning goal in the 113th minute. I watched the 2018 Men's World Cup Final on a Sunday morning with my now-roommate at a museum in Westwood. 

And I especially love watching women's soccer. A lot of women around my age, especially those who played soccer growing up, remember the '99 Women's World Cup. I dressed up as Mia Hamm for Halloween. I picked her number, #9, for my jerseys when I could. Brandi Chastain ripping off her jersey after scoring the game winning penalty kick is such an iconic image. Multiple people I talked to spoke of it as an empowering and formative moment in their early lives. Who would have guessed 20 years later I would be watching the U.S. Women's National Team win their fourth World Cup?

I was living at home during the 2015 Women's World Cup, about to start graduate school at UCLA. I didn't have any money, but Hannah and I still seriously debated flying to Canada for the final. We, for some reason, decided not to go, and have always regretted missing Carli Lloyd's hat trick in the final. We talked to each other after that game and committed to going to the 2019 World Cup. And four years later, we executed on that commitment.

The U.S. Women's National Team is insanely good. They are internationally reputed and world renowned. The players are strong and talented. And notably, defiant in the face of sexism. It's incredibly empowering and inspiring. And it's so much fun to watch them play. I aspire to be that strong and badass.

 Soccer is so much fun. I loved playing. I loved the camaraderie, I loved working hard and feeling accomplished after a win, I loved the thrill of a good game. Soccer's surprisingly full of emotion. You work hard, you work together. It's empowering, it builds teamwork. I met a lot of friends through soccer. A love of soccer has connected me with so many people throughout my life. I've played countless pick up games with friends and fellow neighborhood kids. It kept me healthy and in shape for years, instilling a lifelong love for athletics, which has since evolved into a love for running. And it really is just so much fun!


I love soccer, both men's and women's. But there's something especially powerful about women's soccer for me, as a woman. I've been trying to think of how to explain why I love women's soccer. And I think the best explanation I can come up with it makes me feel badass to play like a girl. And I think that's why having such amazing athletic role models was so powerful: it was an example of being both a girl and being strong and talented at sports. I'm lucky to be alive now, where in the U.S. those things are increasingly widely accepted, especially in 2019 and in California. Women's soccer meant a lot to me growing up and it means a lot to me now.

So when the U.S. Women's team won their fourth World Cup in a multi-record breaking tournament, I might have maybe (definitely) teared up. But just a little.