tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25343991172824943152024-03-13T11:47:06.362+01:00I see London, I see France...Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger73125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534399117282494315.post-8074300960461130842012-08-27T08:53:00.001+02:002012-08-27T09:25:34.445+02:00I Saw London, I Saw France<u>PHRASE OF THE DAY</u><br />
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<b>l'expression du jour: phrase of the day</b></div>
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OH MY GOD.</div>
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I FINALLY HAVE INTERNET AGAIN.</div>
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Well, UT internet, at least. This has been one of the most hectic, panicky, stressful, adulty weeks of my life. Chock full of foreclosure, new leases, vet bills, bank accounts, moving trucks, column writing, and laundry. I'm about sick of it. Stupid adulthood. Bein' all present.</div>
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In addition to the stress, this is also one of the saddest moments of my life.</div>
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Here I am. Sittin' in the library. Doin' the "Pooh think."</div>
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Think, think, think...</div>
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To say I have Writer's Block would be doing my Writer's Man-Crushing Boulder an injustice.</div>
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I don't know where to start. I don't know how to finish. I don't know how to start to finish or how to finish what I start. (And other more confusing variations of that.)</div>
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So to that I say "Oh bother" and move forward with Part 2 of my "goodbye" series with something I'm sure you were probably expecting.</div>
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I now present to you the <i>second</i> in a series of two, ladies and gentlemen:</div>
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<b>DAVID LETTERMAN'S 'TOP TEN' LIST</b></div>
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<b><i>"WORLD'S BEST STUDY ABROAD MOMENTS"</i></b></div>
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(in a similarly particular order)</div>
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<i><b>#10. Trust me, this is a shortcut.</b></i></div>
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Famous last words, right?</div>
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But, despite what pop culture would lead you to believe, every once in a while this statement garners some truth.</div>
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As you may well know (and if you don't I sincerely question your literacy), toward the end of my stay in France, I breached the northern US border and found myself some super awesome Canadians. </div>
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The only thing Dudley Do-Wrong with this situation was that, though we went to the same university, we did not live in the same residence. While I lived up in the somewhat sketchy student housing behind the faculté de lettres, my Canadians lived in an EXTRA nice apartment building down by the Promenade. About a 30 minute trek. (Or so I thought . . . )</div>
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So my first "thank you" goes out to Alan, a very friendly Irishman with wit to spare, for showing me the shortcut through some condo-y neighborhood, cutting about 10 minutes off the journey if you walk fast.</div>
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In fact, because of you, Alan, I even made it to the bus stop after I got a <a href="http://mollykessler.blogspot.com/2012/04/zip-zap-zop.html">text message</a> saying the bus to go zip-lining was leaving in 20 minutes, an unwelcome shock to a pajama-wearing co-ed, flopped haphazardly across her bed. Couldn't've done it without ya, buddy.</div>
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<b><i>#9. 42 across: father --> D_DDY</i></b></div>
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Okay, so "super-confession-time." This is something I was jokingly embarrassed to reveal pretty much up til right now.</div>
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Whenever my dad and I get bored, we like to have Sudoku battles.<br />
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No, it's exactly what you're thinking.</div>
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We print off sheets that we made ourselves in Microsoft Word, replicate the puzzle, and spar.</div>
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(They're double-sided for maximum paper efficiency.)</div>
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It was hilarious how easily I found these in my house.</div>
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While I was in France, he would mail me cards every month or so with folded up Sudokus and NY Times crosswords in them. Eventually the cards stopped, but the puzzles kept coming, oftentimes attached to a post-it with some variation of competitive trash talk because he knows how much better I am at Sudoku and tries to lift himself up by bringing others down.</div>
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My dad and I have a funny relationship. Oh wait, I misspelled awesome.</div>
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<i><b>#8. Misery loves company.</b></i></div>
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The weary traveler is often faced with a variety obstacles that he or she must hurdle to emerge unscathed and unbankrupt.</div>
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In my case, this involved spending a not-so-luxurious night or two in the all too purgatorious Geneva airport.</div>
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Now I could go on and on about how miserably miserable those nights were. I could tell you that the heat went out sometime around 2am, leaving us frozen to our places. I could tell you that I semiconsciously resolved that sleeping with my legs in the air was somehow most comfortable. I could tell you that a tile floor is, contrary to popular belief, not an adequate substitute for a Tempur-Pedic.</div>
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But if I told you all these things, I imagine it would encourage feelings similar to pity or pathetic sympathy. And that's not what I want you to feel.</div>
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Though I'm pretty sure the sandman stopped by and beat me with an ugly stick, that night really helped bond me and my Canadians together. Very almost literally. (You know, body heat and all.)</div>
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Don't get me wrong. I had a really bad case of sleep anger when</div>
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I woke up. You know when you're so sleepy that your anger is</div>
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magnified by like a thousand. It goes away. But it's real dramatic.</div>
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<i><b>#7. Erasmus</b></i></div>
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When I made the decision to study abroad, I didn't really do a whole lot of shopping around for different programs. I discovered pretty early on there was a program called ISEP that would give me the full immersion experience while still allowing me to keep my university scholarships. Being the Frugal Franny that I am, my initial and maintained response was "THAT. I WANT TO DO THAT."</div>
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What I didn't know was that the ISEP program operates from a distance. It was the neglectful parent I never had, supporting me by simply existing. They'll help you with anything you need help with, except not.</div>
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This is my impression of the ISEP program: "Hello. Welcome to France. Please don't email me at this email address anymore."</div>
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And, like, that's totally fine. For people who like feeling like they don't belong anywhere.</div>
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So this is where I'd like to thank the Erasmus program.</div>
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Even though I made the decision to spend <i>my</i> 9 months without any sort of guidance because I hate comfort and happiness, most of my friends were studying with the inter-Europe program Erasmus. There were soirées and outings, trips and adventures. All planned by Erasmus. For Erasmus.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Erasmus was a coddler. And to my satisfaction, a mollycoddler.</div>
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I was able to attend some of these events and met a lot of other students from all over Europe who were feeling similarly lost and purposeless.<br />
<br />
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(ISEP: thank you for being inexpensive. I suppose you deserve some recognition.)</div>
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<b><i>#6. Snaps for Elizabeth</i></b></div>
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Remember that <a href="http://mollykessler.blogspot.com/2012/04/slammin.html">poetry slam thing</a> I went to what seems like eons ago? Well, there's a second part to that story I never finished. A wonderful second part to that story. The best part of that story, if I may be so bold.</div>
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But first, let me refresh your memory.</div>
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So the poetry slam was truly a gathering of Nice's finest member states, some more memorable than others.</div>
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There was the bejeweled and bespectacled lady who seemed to be the only soldier in a laughing war, whose hair had reached that precarious point just past "long and flowy" and straight into "oh dear god her hair is <i>cat-lady long</i>."</div>
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There was the mustachioed baritone, the failed actor who most likely moonlights as a guidance counselor and most definitely feels his work simply isn't appreciated in his own time.</div>
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And last, but certainly not least, there was the barkeep, a seemingly ancient crone of a human, equal parts skeletal and generous. A free dusty glass for every poet.</div>
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But alas, this lovable band of heroes is not why this activity rose to the #6 spot on my TOP TEN list.</div>
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Despite my best efforts to experience new experiences as frequently as possible, I managed to remain hermitly bound to my dorm room instead of attending my 3rd and final slam before departing at the end of May.</div>
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I was sad.</div>
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Then, one night, after my friend Kendra's birthday dinner, I was chatting with Elizabeth, and we realized that we were <i>both</i> really sad we'd missed le slam.</div>
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Welp, SURPRISE! We decided to host one of our own! Just a lil ole thang.</div>
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So, in the middle of the night, in the middle of a birthday party, in the middle of Adrien's living room, we semi-circled ourselves on the floor and sacrificed our words to the culture gods. Because we are truly so fancy.</div>
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Several recitations, an epic African tale, and many bared emotions later, the night evolved into a very emotional love-fest. Elizabeth, in particular, took it upon herself to reenact that sad part at the end of F*R*I*E*N*D*S when Rachel takes everybody one by one and tells them how much she loves them and how much she's gonna miss them.</div>
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It was such a memorable night. I'll never forget it. (Because that's what memorable means.)</div>
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<br />
<i><b>#5. "Hello, My Name Is Grown Up"</b></i><br />
<br />
Hello, my name is Grown Up.<br />
It's so nice to meet you here<br />
At this Grown Up world convention<br />
After such a Grown Up year.<br />
<br />
I can't even express to you<br />
The Grown Up that's in store,<br />
For today's Official-Grown-Up-Day<br />
Three hundred fifty four.<br />
<br />
I've had to do some Grown Up things<br />
That I've heard Grown Ups do,<br />
So here in my most Grown Up voice<br />
I'll share a few with you.<br />
<br />
I moved into a country<br />
Where I didn't know a soul,<br />
Brand new responsibilities,<br />
A brand new Grown Up role.<br />
<br />
I got a Grown Up bank account,<br />
Not quite sure how that happened.<br />
I signed a 2-year phone contract<br />
That I was almost trapped in.<br />
<br />
I planned some trips to foreign lands,<br />
That part was pretty hard.<br />
I even somehow got my hands on<br />
A French Social Security card.<br />
<br />
And in my very Grown Up way,<br />
In perfect Grown up form,<br />
I'm still unsure, but there's a chance<br />
That I insured my dorm.<br />
<br />
And now I'm back in Tennessee<br />
After all this Grown Up change<br />
To tell you I'm a Grown Up,<br />
But it still feels really strange.<br />
<br />
<i><b>#4. Er Mer Gerd Blerg</b></i><br />
<br />
If you're reading this, then you know that I kept a blog while I was in France. I started it somewhat half-heartedly, as any study abroad blogger would care to admit. I knew I wanted to keep it up, but I feared it would soon die, alongside countless other study abroad blogs who perished before it.<br />
<br />
But I found the weekly, sometimes daily, detailed descriptioning of my life to be very cathartic. It helped me sort through my thoughts and . . . um . . . feelings . . . without being all sappy in a stupid pink journal.<br />
<br />
And, you know, the fact that other people wanted to read it too was simply an added bonus.<br />
<br />
So thank you, blog. With the risk of sounding Norman Bates-y, you were my most reliable "friend" last year. I could write anything to you, no matter how depressing, and you would somehow find a way to make it funny. And I suppose that's a good thing.<br />
<br />
<i><b>#3. A Close Call</b></i><br />
<br />
Dear Mme McAlpin,<br />
<br />
Thank you. Thank you so much. Not only are you my advisor back at UT (undoubtedly helping me with advisor-y stuff), but you were the one who convinced me to study abroad for the whole year instead of just a semester. *Not that I needed a whole lot of convincing . . .<br />
<br />
You told me I would've just started settling in in December, so going for the year made so much more sense. Being the youth that I am, I'm very well aware that I'm invincible. So I was pretty sure she was bluffing, or at least over-preparing me.<br />
<br />
No. Not at all.<br />
<br />
In fact, it took me about 2 months *more* than that to finally catch my breath and feel like I was actually, more or less, assimilating.<br />
<br />
(Yeah, I move slowly. Back up off me.)<br />
<br />
And I mean, I would've never even *met* my Canadians if I had left in December.<br />
<br />
Which brings me to #2 . . .<br />
<br />
<b><i>#2. The Butterfly Effect</i></b><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">butterfly effect (n.): the phenomenon whereby a small change at one place in a complex system can have large effects elsewhere, e.g., a butterfly flapping its wings in Rio de Janeiro might change the weather in Chicago.</span></div>
<br />
This is probably the scariest one when I think about it too much.<br />
<br />
You know my Canadians that I've told you so much about? Well, I almost didn't even meet *any* of them. In fact, I owe all of those really awesome friendships and memories to my horrible sleep schedule.<br />
<br />
Why? Well,<br />
<br />
In my first semester, I was in a Phonetics class with 3 of my Canadians. Didn't know them. Didn't really sit with them. Sort of scared of them. Social anxiety. Blegh.<br />
<br />
Anyway, one day I missed class. Because I didn't wake up to my alarm. Because my alarm has psychic powers and knew what was best for me.<br />
<br />
Nevertheless, I missed class. So I asked one of my Canadians to borrow her notes.<br />
<br />
And the rest is history.<br />
<br />
(I don't like thinking about the alternate reality where I *did* wake up for class. Surely that is the worst reality.)<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pFNW5xz4AU0/T4btkZCJOQI/AAAAAAAABqM/wVM6h_XZ3UE/s1600/527669_10150658352069926_708849925_9600998_1131218054_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pFNW5xz4AU0/T4btkZCJOQI/AAAAAAAABqM/wVM6h_XZ3UE/s320/527669_10150658352069926_708849925_9600998_1131218054_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Forever one of my favorites.</td></tr>
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<b><i>#1. . . is the loneliest number . . .</i></b><br />
<br />
Social norms are the worst.<br />
<br />
They really are.<br />
<br />
After living with myself pretty much my whole life, I've more or less figured me out. I am what you would call an extroverted introvert, ie. an introvert who works really hard to fool you into thinking she's extroverted.<br />
<br />
Why does she do this? She's not duplicitous. She doesn't hate you.<br />
<br />
She does this because society demonizes introversion. Consciously or unconsciously she knows that solitude is wrongitude. More friends equals more happiness.<br />
<br />
Now, I love people. I really do. I love being around them. I love talking to them. Blah bler blah.<br />
<br />
*BUT*<br />
<br />
The time I spent by myself in Europe, what I may have previously referred to as "the Dark Ages," was by far the most important part of my study abroad experience. Sure, at the time it sucked more than a dehydrated monkey with a crazy straw.<br />
<br />
Spending that much-needed and much-afforded time alone really helped me . . . uh . . . find myself? (Oh god, please pardon the cheese.)<br />
<br />
Solitude lets you think. Solitude lets you figure out just how weird your mind really is. Solitude might even make you start narrating your life in your head. But that's okay.<br />
<br />
There's definitely something to be said for the fact that a large portion of our greatest artists, writers, and musicians were more or less on the loopy side of introversion.<br />
<br />
Creativity flows organically. Which made blogging easier than a Monday crossword.<br />
<br />
I noticed things. I started seeing the "stuff" around me just a little bit differently.<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wqliZxYxgBI/UDcLSo9srsI/AAAAAAAACdo/GGQ5NDYCZbM/s1600/Blog+me11.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wqliZxYxgBI/UDcLSo9srsI/AAAAAAAACdo/GGQ5NDYCZbM/s320/Blog+me11.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Anyway. The point: isolation is good (to a certain degree). Loneliness is cathartic. And quality time with Molly is always fun.<br />
<br />
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-----------------------</div>
<br />
And now it's time to end this. Whatever "this" is.<br />
<br />
Maybe for you this was a way to keep up with me while I was gone.<br />
Maybe it was a nice healthy dose of internet procrastination.<br />
Maybe you're a little bit creepy and don't even really know me.<br />
Maybe it gave you a good laugh or two.<br />
Maybe you're secretly in love with me and want to stare at my face all the time.<br />
Maybe you stumbled upon this accidentally and you're panicking cos you can't find the close button, and now you're worried cos I'm totally reading you're mind.<br />
<br />
For me, it was all of these things. Yes, all of them.<br />
<br />
So whatever it was you were looking for when you took that daily afternoon creep on my very public life, I hope you found it.<br />
<br />
But for now I wish you well.<br />
<br />
I love you all.<br />
<br />
Surely this can't be the end.<br />
<br />
Shirley: "Oh, but it is."<br />
<br />
Amitiés :)</div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534399117282494315.post-32864869761318493392012-07-13T10:00:00.003+02:002012-08-05T01:21:11.855+02:00Life's Tough, Get a Helmet: Bottom Ten<u>PHRASE OF THE DAY</u><br />
<b>Près de la fin: close to the end</b><br />
<br />
Okay. Okay. Okay, so. Okay.<br />
<br />
So now that Governor's School is over, now that I've been back in the states for over a month, now that I've had some time to "reflect" and "recuperate," now that I've officially put this blog on the procrastination burner for about a week, I remind myself that it really is about time I wrapped this thing up.<br />
<br />
As I draw my blog to a close, many moons later than you probably would have expected, I knew I wanted to round it out with some sort of overarching conclusion. Something I had learned that I could feed to you as an intellectual after-dinner mint to cleanse your palette after a rather bittersweet 9-months. Some knowledgeable tidbit from an enlightened individual to her huddled masses of internet followers.<br />
<br />
But alas, I have yet to reach enlightenment. I'm still here. I'm still sort of the same as I was when I left. But I'd like to think I may have learned a thing or two along the way.<br />
<br />
So I decided to formulate a kind of "goodbye" series. A way to provide a semblance of summation for this motley mish mash of my memory melting pot.<br />
<br />
So here goes nothin'. I now present to you the first in a series of two, ladies and gentlemen:<br />
<br />
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<b>DAVID LETTERMAN'S '<strike>TOP</strike> BOTTOM TEN' LIST:</b></div>
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<b><i>"WORLD'S WORST STUDY ABROAD MOMENTS."</i></b></div>
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<br />
(in no particular order . . . )</div>
<br />
(Well, maybe we'll start with the lighter stuff. Ease our way into my inner turmoils and personal demons.)<br />
<br />
(so . . . in a slightly particular order . . . )<br />
<br />
<i><b>#10. "Which way did he go, George? Which way did he go?"</b></i><br />
<br />
If you've ever traveled with me--in any shape, form, or fashion--I mean, seriously, if we've ever been in transit together at all ever, then you probably saw #10 coming. I am the <i>worst</i> at following directions, road or otherwise. I <i>would</i> blame it on the fact that I just get super spacey whenever I'm in a car, but that creates a faux-ami (a false friend), leading you to believe I might have a good sense of spacial reasoning, and I simply do not.<br />
<br />
I know my parents were very concerned I would simply wander off into the sunset and lose my way straight through the Alps to a foreign land probably inhabited by some variation of the Dutch. And honestly I can't say I blame them. Knowing where I am in space stresses me out.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My parents had their reasons. Their wholly justified reasons.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
But I'm proud to say that I didn't once get unfixably misplaced. Yes, I frequently found myself gayly strolling down an unfamiliar street or two or five, but I always managed to wander dutifully back to the herd. How did I do it? I . . . I have no idea. Maps helped, for sure. And those weird mappy signs in London were equal parts necessary and incredible. (They were increcessary.)<br />
<br />
But, despite everything I've said, I found this strange lack of space-awareness to have created a very "happenstance-led" travel experience, as many of my more interesting adventures were caused by being just a little bit lost all of the time.<br />
<br />
<i><b>#9. "Alllll byyyyy myyyyseeeeeeelf"</b></i><br />
<br />
I am by no means the most adventurous and gregarious little social butterfly who requires social interaction and FRIENDS FRIENDS FRIENDS to keep herself from going completely and totally bonkers, <i>buuuuut</i> I would be remiss not to mention this in my "Bottom Ten" list. One of the hardest things about living in France was my living situation itself: no roommates. Kessler, party of one. So I was very much alone about 80% of the time.<br />
<br />
To quote one of the most poignant and poetic lyricists of our generation, Jason Derulo:<br />
<br />
"I'm solo, I'm ridin' solo,<br />
I'm ridin' solo, I'm ridin' solo, solo"<br />
<br />
But unlike Mr. Derulo, this solo setup was not for me. After having spent a year constantly surrounded by some of my best friends pretty much all the time at UT, it was definitely a shock to have so much time alone. Like, if I didn't want to see people all day, all I had to do was nothing, and poof, social interaction terminated. This had a tendency to morph into a moderately depressing dorm situation.<br />
<br />
My solution? Okay, so you know how Tom Hanks had that volleyball in the movie <i>Castaway</i>? (Bear with me.) So I developed an only slightly unhealthy habit of talking to myself. But, like, not just asking myself where I'd left my hairbrush or acknowledging that I was hungry. Liiiike, sometimes existential conversations, or going over potential social situations out loud for, I don't know, preparation maybe? But then also, uh, so I also had this full length mirror. (Bear with me.) And eventually I started . . . talking to myself. Like at my mirror self. Like my reflection.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't worry though. No one ever responded.</td></tr>
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<br />
This <i>was</i> where I did make some of my biggest self-discoveries. It only became a nuisance when I unconsciously mistook a public setting for the privacy of my bedroom and conversed with myself in the grocery store. On a scale from 1 to crazy, this did not help me make friends.<br />
<br />
<i><b>#8. "Terminator 4: Molly's MacBook Pro Goes '</b></i><i><b>Progue'"</b></i><br />
<br />
So in keeping with the whole "feeling scared and alone" theme I seem to have started, I should mention the communication crutch that the Internet becomes when you go overseas. Sort of like a reverse tumor. You become so dependent on your computer and the Internet as a very almost literal window to the outside world, you thrive on being able to keep up with friends and family back home.<br />
<br />
That being said, when the Internet is less than adequate, as it is in much of Europe (particularly dorm room 136 of bâtiment B of my residence hall), wifi signal is as precious and rare as a person who is at the same time French and obese.<br />
<br />
I think my computer started fearing my codependency, causing him to jump off my bed in attempted suicide in the fall (please overlook the obvious pun). Though we were able to revive him, the Internet connection never proved totally dependable. And it was maybe the most frustrating thing ever.<br />
<br />
<b><i>#7. "I am zee French. I am zee 'orreeble stereotype."</i></b><br />
<br />
Stop me if you've heard this one:<br />
<br />
<i>How do you kill a Frenchman?</i><br />
<i>Shoot 15 centimeters above his head, right in his superiority complex.</i><br />
<br />
Or what about this one:<br />
<br />
<i>After God created France, he thought it was the most beautiful country in the world. People were going to get jealous, so, to make things fair, he decided to create the French.</i><br />
<br />
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<br />
4 out of 5 dentists recommend maintaining a very wide margin between yourself and any Frenchman. But why? What has people thinking these individuals are such high-minded chain-smokers cursed with unfailing pride and stinky cheese?<br />
<br />
Well, like most stereotypes, it comes down to the minority, the ungrateful few who ruin it for the rest of us. (Except the smoking part. Literally everybody does that.) Because from my experience, French people are actually quite pleasant. Sure they're proud of their language and won't hesitate to correct you if you end a sentence with a preposition or say "We're going to war" instead of "We're going to the train station," but rarely is it in malice. So they're not as warm to new people and ideas as their Italian neighbors to the east, does that make them bad people? No. It doesn't.<br />
<br />
They're proud of their language, they're proud of their culture, and they're really proud of that cheese.<br />
<br />
Okay, so, yes, maybe I did have some rotten French experiences. Like the time the director of my residence hall snapped at me condescendingly for asking a second time (<i>for clarification</i>) if they had sheets for "rent" at the dorm. Or <a href="http://mollykessler.blogspot.com/2011/10/librarian.html">the time</a> my Sociolinguistics teacher (who was completely and totally insane) pulled me to the front of the class to pronounce something in English only to laugh mockingly back at the class saying "Well, that's not <i>Queen's English</i>." (No, it's not <i>Queen's English</i>, moron. It's American English. And this case study is from New York anyway! What is <i>wrong</i> with you?!) So much. So much was wrong with her.<br />
<br />
But I wouldn't call her the rule. Nor would I lie and say my dorm director was nasty to me for the whole year. These things happen. And they make life mind-numbingly difficult. C'est la vie, même en France.<br />
<br />
<i><b>#6. "Bla bla bluu bla bleubleubleu."</b></i><br />
<br />
Remaining for a moment in that vein of miscommunication and constant confusion, let me segue quite fluidly into the #6 difficulty: speaking French. Up until the moment the plane left the Niçois airport early the morning of May 26th, I struggled time and time again to achieve a seemingly unachievable level of fluency and competence in a language I foolishly thought I mastered back in high school.<br />
<br />
The funny thing about language and fluency is that the more you learn, the more you realize you don't actually know. (There's a chance this principle applies to life in general, but this is a travel blog, and those existential conversations will have to be researched elsewhere, or discussed in the privacy of your dorm room with your reflection. I reserve judgement.)<br />
<br />
But the fluency question is actually very important. And it caused me lots of grief. While, yes, I can express an idea using standard verbs and phrases, and if I can't think of a specific word I need I can usually find a way to "circumlocute" it. But when you're speaking French for extended periods of time, circumlocution becomes tedious, and you realize just how little you actually know.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rYRy7ugiK2Q/UAC3WZ4Z0YI/AAAAAAAACYU/Ta_qAHaVwxc/s1600/Top+Ten+Circumlocution.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rYRy7ugiK2Q/UAC3WZ4Z0YI/AAAAAAAACYU/Ta_qAHaVwxc/s320/Top+Ten+Circumlocution.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">True story.</td></tr>
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<br />
For example, you know how to express movement. Different styles of movement, even. You can say "I go" and "I walk" and "I run" and "I jump," but you learn that there are actually different words in French to express "happily strolling without a place to be," "wandering around having ignorantly forgotten where you're supposed to be," "moseying along because you don't particularly care where you're supposed to be," and so on and so forth. But now you can only remember "je flâne" because it was the happy one, and your brain just gives up and explodes because there are simply too many verbs to describe too many individually precise things.<br />
<br />
In French there is always a right way to say something. The standard French abides by a nationally accepted set of standards and rules prescribed by oldish texts. Everyone follows these rules. This is why foreign French speakers are so easy to spot. This is why there's very little geographical deviation in the language. And this is why French is like skiing. It's easy to learn, but terribly difficult to master.<br />
<br />
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<b><i>#5. "Latent peer pressure"</i></b></div>
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This one is pretty self-explanatory. I would argue that 85% of my friends were smokers (the other 15% consisting almost exclusively of my Canadians and Elizabeth). And by smokers I mean chain smokers. Now I'm not a judgmental person, so I harbor no resentment toward these chimney-people, but I will say that I became uncomfortable with how comfortable I became around cigarette smoke.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JW_Da2Ba2dQ/UAGjEjDBM9I/AAAAAAAACZU/vU4GAT_Gkgk/s1600/Smoke.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JW_Da2Ba2dQ/UAGjEjDBM9I/AAAAAAAACZU/vU4GAT_Gkgk/s320/Smoke.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;">A picture of me and my friends at that cool café down the street.</td></tr>
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<br />
<i><b>#4. "[Insert sleazy indiscernible pick-up line here]"</b></i><br />
<br />
So I won't go into too much detail, as I'm not entirely sure who my audience includes, but let me just say that Nice (verrry specifically) has a big big problem. And, no, it doesn't have anything to do with more cowbell, though I don't doubt that would help. The problem is verbal harassment.<br />
<br />
If I can be serious just for a moment, I promise we'll get back to our regularly scheduled programming soon. But I feel like I can't sit here and talk about the hard times in Nice and ignore the city's rampant creeper problem. I honestly can't think of an instance when I left my dorm/campus area and didn't experience some sort of abuse because of my gender--whether it was an uncomfortable stare, a snide comment, a kissing noise, a blatant approach, casual pointing, a failed attempt at English shouting, or the less frequent but immensely more inappropriate physical contact.<br />
<br />
(One time we even had a guy honk his car horn then lick the window. That was weird.)<br />
<br />
But personal anecdotes aside, I don't see how this is an unaddressed issue. These men are in their 40s (more or less) preying on teenagers and a 20-something with no self-defense training who arms herself with a room key and a witty comeback delivered in English 30 minutes later.<br />
<br />
They pack in herds on the streets. Just sitting there. Doing literally nothing. I'm pretty sure most of them either don't have jobs or frequently choose not to do them. With their athletic pants, matching track jackets, and greased up hair spikes. It's a recipe for disaster.<br />
<br />
I can't offer a solution right now, and I don't know what that would be for the future. But I think the simple task of <i>acknowledging</i> that these men are crossing a very very clearly marked big ole red line is the first step to getting them to stop being so icky.<br />
<br />
I generally don't like feeling like I need boys around to protect me, but by the end of my stay in France, after having finally made a large handful of guy-friends, I will say I definitely felt safer.<br />
<br />
Thanks, guys.<br />
<br />
<i><b>#3. "One of these things is not like the other."</b></i><br />
<br />
So if you haven't already guessed, I thrive on being weird. (See above, re: "mirror.") It's actually the most fun pastime ever. In fact, I would argue vehemently that looking stupid and laughing about it is the most important thing a person can ever do. Even more than remembering to rewind the VHS before you put it back in the case.<br />
<br />
Much to my chagrin, however, this outlook on life was not shared in the Niçois community. Simply from an observational standpoint, I found the people of Nice to be very concerned with normalcy, excluding the select few that I would identify as public displays of actual crazy. The individuals I met and observed (particularly the girls) strove valiantly to be the same as everyone else--wore the same outfits, carried the same purses, donned the same haircuts, ate the same nothing, and just generally acted the same way. Sure, they were stylish. They were all stylish. Similarly.<br />
<br />
So I automatically felt tragically out of place with my bohemian skirts, clumsy demeanor, and involuntary Target Lady impressions. Something told me they would not be well received. Something was right.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Those French girls kind of look like Gene Simmons.<br />
French KISS!</td></tr>
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<br />
The university and residence hall felt like a high school I didn't go to but have seen portrayed countless times in the moving pictures. I felt judged every time I left my room for what I was wearing and my general "I-just-woke-up-and-then-someone-took-my-backpack-and-beat-me-with-it" appearance. I learned quickly that backpacks were for Americans and homeless people. In France they carry satchels. And by satchels I mean purses. Purses for everyone.<br />
<br />
I wouldn't say my personality was crushed. And I wouldn't say I changed much about myself to "fit in." But I dealt with the high school crap by sort of keeping quiet. It was dumb, I know.<br />
<br />
Oh god I was the emo kid.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">WAAHAHAAAH</td></tr>
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<br />
Thankfully, I eventually found the exchange students. This brings me to #2 . . .<br />
<br />
<i><b>#2. "I can be your friend, la la la."</b></i><br />
<br />
One purpose of studying abroad is to present you with challenges and obstacles that you probably wouldn't normally face back home. Right? Right. "<i>So, like, maybe I'll have to eat an octopus. Orrr maybe I'll get on the wrong bus and end up halfway across Belarus. Oh! Maybe a peculiar race of aliens that only speak in American idioms will attack, and I'll have to translate to save the planet!</i>"<br />
<br />
It never once crossed my mind that the act of making friends would be so utterly debilitating that when the alien race did show up, I was simply too exhausted to offer my assistance.<br />
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Finding and making friends has never been a big stress in my life. Not that it's always come easily to me, but, yeah, it's always sort of come pretty easily to me. I'm a likable person, what can I say? So the fact that I was struggling so much to find people with interests even remotely similar to my own was really really scary. And exponentially sadder.<br />
<br />
But I did eventually meet people. And by the witching hour the night before my final departure, I realized I was leaving some of my closest friends, many of whom I hadn't even met until March.<br />
<br />
So why did it take so freaking long for me to meet people? Lord knows I tried. I remember stepping forward to help that guy carry his suitcases up the hill back in August. I remember shoving my terror away and introducing myself to him. I remember blogging about it. And I remember that he never spoke to me again. Because he sucks.<br />
<br />
I'll admit the language was a barrier at first. But I wonder why people couldn't just love me because I was constantly adorably confused. I think a lot of people just thought I was stupid. Which, I suppose when you ask, "Hey, Chimène, what does <i>stuff</i> mean? I hear people saying that word a lot," there's very few directions you can go with that.<br />
<br />
But I regret nothing. Well, maybe that I wasn't better friends with Chimène. She was the one who loved me because I was always confused. Nevertheless, the time I spent traipsing about without any help or camaraderie really helped me grow up. But not in a bad way. In an "I-can-do-this-by-myself-but-still-acknowledge-that-that-street-cleaner-looks-like-that-weird-sucky-thing-from-the-Teletubbies" kind of way.<br />
<br />
<b><i>#1. "I'll never let go, Jack."</i></b><br />
<br />
A big part of growing up is learning to let go. To let go of sadness and anger, grudges and stereotypes. Now I <i>will</i> argue that sometimes letting go is very much the opposite of what you should do, especially when you swear up and down that you won't (*cough* Rose Dawson *cough*), but for me, in my journey toward enlightenment, I had to learn to let a few things fly away to oblivion.<br />
<br />
When I started studying abroad, I had simultaneously a very specific and a very nonspecific plan of how I thought the year would progress. I had seen pictures and heard stories of other students long before me who had traveled across Europe, explored new heights, frequented hostels and train stations alike. And I was completely convinced that this was how it was supposed to be done.<br />
<br />
Had I any clue how to do any of those things? No. Not a one.<br />
<br />
Had I any companions willing to do this for me? Nope. For most of my European stay, not a one.<br />
<br />
This realization became very clear very fast. Panic soon followed.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Maybe if I sit here motionless the universe will get confused<br />and spit me into nothingness. That'd be fun, right?</i></td></tr>
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<br />
I worried a lot about doing everything I could all the time, about whether or not I was traveling enough, about making sure I finished the year with NO REGRETS. That type of thinking can lend itself to a very unhappy existence. I was constantly a ball of stress, worried that I wasn't taking advantage of the time I had. I was in pre-regret mode, which is almost as bad as regret-mode, but without the sense of forced acceptance. And it was slowly eating me alive.<br />
<br />
If my life were a movie, I would give you a detailed description of the moment I realized that there is no shame in spending time alone. In fact it's something I would recommend to anyone who asked. The moment you become reliant on others to keep you from floating away into nothingness, you've relinquished your happiness to the whims and wills of other people. You've essentially given the house keys to your own happiness to everyone that isn't you, and then you ask yourself why you aren't happy.<br />
<br />
It's easy to be happy.<br />
<br />
But, alas, my life is not a movie (<a href="https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=1907411134185&set=a.1381791114013.2045298.1509000129&type=1&theater">no matter what Calvin says</a>), so I'll just tell you it was a process.<br />
<br />
Every study abroad experience is.<br />
<br />
Amitiés :)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534399117282494315.post-42446260293369598632012-06-14T21:16:00.000+02:002012-06-15T19:51:44.460+02:00I think I Cannes<u>PHRASE OF THE DAY</u><br />
<b>Oh mon dieu, c'est Zac Efron: Oh my god, it's Zac Efron.</b><br />
<br />
Toward the end of my stint in Europe, I was reminded how insignificant I am. Why Cannes't <i>I</i> get all gussied up and hair-sprayed and trot about as if the very skin under my feet were made of diamond-encrusted velveteen rabbit fur? Why Cannes't <i>I</i> hire someone to buy my clothes and then immediately sell them on ebay when I tire of them? Why Cannes't <i>I</i> be verbally harassed by manic hordes of screaming would-be photogs weeping my name through fistfuls of their own hair?<br />
<br />
Some people have all the luck.<br />
<br />
As you may have guessed, I am referring to the ever-celebrated annual Cannes Film Festival and the famous red carpet crawlers that emerge from their lives of bug-eyed sunglasses, oversized hats, and an unrelenting air of aggravated recognition to grace the common people with their presence.<br />
<br />
We wound up actually going to the festival twice: once with very little success, and once with torrential rain and gale force winds that nearly Mary Poppins-ed me straight out of the crowd and high above the riviera boardwalk.<br />
<br />
Our first team expedition to Cannes yielded the latter. And it was only sort of really miserable.<br />
<br />
We went to find celebrities out in the open, in their natural habitat (unless you argue that the red carpet is their natural habitat which would be a very valid argument), because there were no premieres to attend. Unfortunately, due to the weather, no one in their right mind should have been outside, let alone anyone famous.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wet.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So very wet.</td></tr>
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So we wandered around, carried by our whims and the winds, ultimately landing in a moderately expensive resto, drifting to the festival souvenir shop, and returning to the train almost as soon as we had arrived.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-A9g-FwWxxLE/T9joxGZBiJI/AAAAAAAACTU/eTx2uraRncw/s1600/532680_3959598077669_1636735264_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-A9g-FwWxxLE/T9joxGZBiJI/AAAAAAAACTU/eTx2uraRncw/s320/532680_3959598077669_1636735264_n.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I'm going to meet Johnny Depp, and he'll see<br />
my Helena Botham Carter bangs and my<br />
Sweeney Todd tights, and he'll fall madly<br />
in love with me." --Elizabeth</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zS0cLDXcBEc/T9jo0v52H1I/AAAAAAAACT0/R985xMO9gvM/s1600/556068_3959608877939_1007426800_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zS0cLDXcBEc/T9jo0v52H1I/AAAAAAAACT0/R985xMO9gvM/s320/556068_3959608877939_1007426800_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the benefits of an empty festival: prime pictures.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
So that was attempt number one. "Unsuccessful" only begins to describe it.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-o0abfYyulyc/T9jo1NYnBXI/AAAAAAAACT8/WM8PJTHQLkY/s1600/560032_4000575302074_128098795_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-o0abfYyulyc/T9jo1NYnBXI/AAAAAAAACT8/WM8PJTHQLkY/s320/560032_4000575302074_128098795_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">But we had fun. I am the master of turning crappy situations<br />
into wonderful adventures. Not sure what title that allots me.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
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Our second attempt at fame and fortune and everlasting life yielded a somewhat more positive result. I say "somewhat" because it was very different than I was expecting. (I suppose my expectations were slightly too high, and I take the blame for that. But this, this was sheer mania.)</div>
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<br /></div>
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The day started out already in better shape than the previous trip as the weather was sunny and we were headed to an actual movie premiere (for <i>The Paper Boy</i> I think?). So we were guaranteed some celebrity sightings, red carpet or not. Or so I thought.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Once we arrived at the red carpet, we found some standing room behind the marked barrier for fans and onlookers. Sure it was kind of far from the carpet itself, but I found the curb of the road and stood so I could see over the heads of the herd of people in front of me. <i>Perfect. Now I can see everything all the time. I am sooo smart</i>.</div>
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<br /></div>
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False. Not smart. Horribly unsmart. You see, what I didn't know was that crazy-manic-psycho-fan logic is very very opposite of all other logic. So instead of letting regular-sized people stand in the front of the giant step-ladder people, the step-ladder people monopolized all sight to be had. They climbed on these towers of obnoxious self-importance and essentially formed a blockade between myself and the beautiful people.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Some of the beautiful people present were Nicole Kidman, Zac Efron, John Cusack, Matthew McConaughey, Macy Gray, Heidi Klum, Antonio Banderas, and I may or may not have seen the northwest corner of John Legend's head. May or may not.</div>
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<br /></div>
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From where I was standing, the only way I knew someone famous was arriving was that I could see even <i>less</i> of nothing. You'd think it would be impossible to see less than nothing, <i>but</i> <i>I have seen it</i>.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-x1ikk4R_lrA/T9paIJ9NNXI/AAAAAAAACVs/Ck-M3jkBC94/s1600/DSCN5602.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-x1ikk4R_lrA/T9paIJ9NNXI/AAAAAAAACVs/Ck-M3jkBC94/s200/DSCN5602.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rH0ZO6MhroY/T9paJHgPUqI/AAAAAAAACV0/j21q2ftr3JQ/s1600/DSCN5605.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rH0ZO6MhroY/T9paJHgPUqI/AAAAAAAACV0/j21q2ftr3JQ/s200/DSCN5605.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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Left: no famous people, Right: OMIGOD FAMOUS SCREAM SCREEEAM</div>
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Elizabeth sneakily found herself atop one of the step ladders (<i>you SNEAKY Elizabeth</i>), so she was able to actually get photos, good or otherwise. So most of these photos are hers. I was content to photograph some could-be celebrity look-alikes. Like this security guard.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tV9sdPrvpFk/T9pa63ts4WI/AAAAAAAACWE/wCi0iwzYLnQ/s1600/DSCN5604.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tV9sdPrvpFk/T9pa63ts4WI/AAAAAAAACWE/wCi0iwzYLnQ/s200/DSCN5604.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Go6YkEDLkgQ/T9pa5wf-LbI/AAAAAAAACV8/WCp8N6PAmRI/s1600/Bo'sun_Blaming_Ragetti_and_Pintel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="187" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Go6YkEDLkgQ/T9pa5wf-LbI/AAAAAAAACV8/WCp8N6PAmRI/s200/Bo'sun_Blaming_Ragetti_and_Pintel.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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Isaac C. Singleton Jr. (or the "<i>TOO LONG!</i>" pirate from Pirates of the Caribbean)</div>
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I have circled the beautiful people in Elizabeth's photos, if you may have missed them, which really shouldn't happen, as their beauty conspicu-izes them.</div>
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<br /></div>
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</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GSvTxuxVoqQ/T9ozNaYeOTI/AAAAAAAACU8/jaD_rZFjLP4/s1600/546291_3985437443637_1766556120_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GSvTxuxVoqQ/T9ozNaYeOTI/AAAAAAAACU8/jaD_rZFjLP4/s320/546291_3985437443637_1766556120_n.jpg" width="306" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nicole Kidman</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7XI5BDL88no/T9ozOWHUPMI/AAAAAAAACVE/4xkZSkN5HwY/s1600/547482_3985439763695_930778024_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7XI5BDL88no/T9ozOWHUPMI/AAAAAAAACVE/4xkZSkN5HwY/s320/547482_3985439763695_930778024_n.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Macy Gray</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qyZQeX44gu4/T9ozPHWQvlI/AAAAAAAACVM/S-j0vYiomdU/s1600/564255_3985442363760_1048192453_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qyZQeX44gu4/T9ozPHWQvlI/AAAAAAAACVM/S-j0vYiomdU/s320/564255_3985442363760_1048192453_n.jpg" width="278" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zac Efron</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yyRlmGPlt3s/T9ozQXNBMaI/AAAAAAAACVU/_kjScshg0kA/s1600/575292_3985443763795_718766884_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yyRlmGPlt3s/T9ozQXNBMaI/AAAAAAAACVU/_kjScshg0kA/s320/575292_3985443763795_718766884_n.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heidi Klum</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ytsLvqMGmQQ/T9pb3cYMq7I/AAAAAAAACWM/FpJxM7qnJLA/s1600/DSCN5607.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ytsLvqMGmQQ/T9pb3cYMq7I/AAAAAAAACWM/FpJxM7qnJLA/s320/DSCN5607.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John Cusack, Matthew McConaughey, Nicole Kidman, ?,<br />
Zac Efron, ?, Macy Gray</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br />
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</div>
While we were trotting around town, we tried to trick people into thinking we were important. So Elizabeth, the fanciest of us all, put on her sunglasses, paired with her fancy dress and too high heels, and tried to walk . . . importantly. My wardrobe will always look not so much like a celebrity but rather more like a somewhat fashionable personal assistant, so I matched accordingly.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1bN2FT92He0/T9pcMf6EwPI/AAAAAAAACWU/FOgiT9j8u8k/s1600/DSCN5599.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1bN2FT92He0/T9pcMf6EwPI/AAAAAAAACWU/FOgiT9j8u8k/s320/DSCN5599.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tip #485 for being famous:<br />
Never hold your own umbrella.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
All in all, the experience was very fun, regardless of whether or not I had the opportunity to find Hugh Jackman and woo him. And we would live happily ever after.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6kI7S0YIOXE/T9jozYF73HI/AAAAAAAACTc/II0OkuVM1XI/s1600/532810_3985458884173_1145314356_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6kI7S0YIOXE/T9jozYF73HI/AAAAAAAACTc/II0OkuVM1XI/s320/532810_3985458884173_1145314356_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Please note the yachts. <br />
Dear beautiful people, you are not very good at hide and seek.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Amitiés :)</div>
<span id="goog_1431679045"></span><span id="goog_1431679046"></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534399117282494315.post-68065233922361171332012-06-05T01:59:00.002+02:002012-06-15T19:51:27.867+02:00Definition: "la" (n.): a note to follow "so"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<u>WORD OF THE DAY</u></div>
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<b>le paradis: heaven</b></div>
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While studying in a place like the south of France, there are 2 things I learned to be true. 1) Everything was beautiful all the time. 2) I felt nothing.</div>
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I knew I was surrounded by beauty, and I knew I should be appreciating just how freaking gorgeous everything really was. But for some reason, I could look at the oceanside view of Monaco from the vantage point of Princess Grace's palace towering overhead right before sunset, and I just couldn't see it.</div>
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<br /></div>
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For the longest time I was pretty convinced something was wrong with me. Surely I must have some mental defect or maybe an earwig infestation if I felt no sense of wonder and awe when the veins of evening sunlight tickled the water as it danced around my feet beneath the majestic shadow of the Negresco.</div>
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I realize now these were all meaningless mind nuggets.</div>
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Why the change of heart?</div>
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One word.</div>
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Salzburg.</div>
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About a week ago I returned from my 3-day Austrian expedition, and, friends, I felt something.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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If I had my way I would flee my life of remote controls and fish-shaped crackers and head for the Alpy hills of Austria, forever to live a life of hermitude with German-speaking mountain goats as my only source of companionship and my imagination as my only window to the outside world. In a heartbeat, I would.</div>
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The grassy Sound of Music fields juxtaposed with the towering grandeur of the Untersberg mountain provided the perfect setting for my final European excursion and let me know that the beauty confusion I'd been experiencing in the riviera wasn't my fault.</div>
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Ich belong in the mountains.</div>
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<i><b>Day 1</b></i></div>
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I flew into Salzburg atop a majestic eagle early in the morning and quickly realized I would experience slight language difficulties. As I don't speak German. Like not even a little bit.</div>
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At the hostel I met an Australian girl named Hannah who led me to the Festung Hohensalzburg, the fortress overlooking the city. There wasn't really anything super interesting within the fortress. A pretty standard fortress. But the surrounding views took my breath and sold it on ebay.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gxtue9uukgc/T8PEfFKaKJI/AAAAAAAACIs/Fs3uJ0dw5Aw/s1600/DSCN5285.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gxtue9uukgc/T8PEfFKaKJI/AAAAAAAACIs/Fs3uJ0dw5Aw/s200/DSCN5285.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-au09yMSWPdk/T8PE08aZT-I/AAAAAAAACI0/vqrvwVFe2MA/s1600/DSCN5296.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-au09yMSWPdk/T8PE08aZT-I/AAAAAAAACI0/vqrvwVFe2MA/s200/DSCN5296.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
That evening I attended the nightly 7 o'clock showing of <i>The Sound of Music</i> in my hostel. It was fantastic. And prepared me for the days ahead . . .<br />
<br />
<i><b>Day 2</b></i><br />
<br />
<i>Rain rain go away.</i><br />
<i>Come again another day.</i><br />
<i>Little Molly wants to play.</i><br />
<i>Rain rain go away.</i><br />
<br />
No? No, you're . . . you're gonna stay? Really? Even after I sang to you?<br />
<br />
Dear rain,<br />
You are an inconvenience to me.<br />
Sincerely, I'm invisible and I'm wet.<br />
<br />
Well despite the rain and severe overcast, I still managed to make it to my guided bus tour through Salzburg and the surrounding area. And yes. It was a <i>Sound of Music</i> tour. Did I forget to mention that?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5NwdE-6T4_4/T8PFsnopAgI/AAAAAAAACJE/qmnup1eYguE/s1600/DSCN5321.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5NwdE-6T4_4/T8PFsnopAgI/AAAAAAAACJE/qmnup1eYguE/s200/DSCN5321.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Liesl's WEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ksl03AjS8gU/T8PF-02lTGI/AAAAAAAACJM/UXgQa83Bg0w/s1600/DSCN5344.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ksl03AjS8gU/T8PF-02lTGI/AAAAAAAACJM/UXgQa83Bg0w/s320/DSCN5344.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's a testament to Salzburg's beauty when the horrific weather<br />
conditions don't completely ruin the vistas.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-scG0z0nMk0Y/T8PGT5WF8eI/AAAAAAAACJU/PVp9BdF3Ef0/s1600/DSCN5348.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-scG0z0nMk0Y/T8PGT5WF8eI/AAAAAAAACJU/PVp9BdF3Ef0/s320/DSCN5348.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was the church where Maria and Captain<br />
Von Trapp married in the movie. (In real life<br />
they married at the nunnery.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-V4hA642D0d4/T8PG0sCvu3I/AAAAAAAACJc/hDuLigoqKBo/s1600/DSCN5352.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-V4hA642D0d4/T8PG0sCvu3I/AAAAAAAACJc/hDuLigoqKBo/s200/DSCN5352.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-d6qczPPCBYY/T8PHmN1j5LI/AAAAAAAACJs/3Eo2hf0nh4k/s1600/DSCN5364.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-d6qczPPCBYY/T8PHmN1j5LI/AAAAAAAACJs/3Eo2hf0nh4k/s200/DSCN5364.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UnH1VYtBmKA/T8PHN0lmgmI/AAAAAAAACJk/-1rbNw3rb0E/s1600/DSCN5359.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UnH1VYtBmKA/T8PHN0lmgmI/AAAAAAAACJk/-1rbNw3rb0E/s320/DSCN5359.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-k__E9ZBdN_0/T8PH94syo-I/AAAAAAAACJ0/Klr_18ws0IE/s1600/DSCN5365.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-k__E9ZBdN_0/T8PH94syo-I/AAAAAAAACJ0/Klr_18ws0IE/s320/DSCN5365.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I am Kurt. God bless Kurt.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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So the bus tour was kind of a flop. (I was made aware of this fact before attending but was unsuccessful in my attempts to cancel the reservation.) It was cool to see the sights and go out as far as the church, but the views weren't great, due in part to the weather, but also because bus tours in general don't really lend themselves to being good sources of pictures and stopping and Molly fun. (Hence the rarity of pictures.)<br />
<br />
We did sing though. So that was extra enjoyable for me. Except the woman behind me was incredibly distracting. Either she was unbelievably tone-deaf or she's one of those people that thinks she can harmonize when she can't. Those people are the worst.<br />
<br />
After the tour, umbrella in tow, I headed for the Mirabell gardens to do some more <i>Sound of Music</i> sight-seeing. While I was there I happened to meet 2 girls from Canada (the same university as several of my Canadians) who were on the bus tour, and we ultimately joined forces to recreate scenes from the musical on location. This was probably the highest point of my life. Nothing will ever compete. (Sorry future husband and future wedding and future babies. Not gonna happen.)<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/aJ7E7kJlZMI?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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Mood. Feel free to sing along. Others will join in.</div>
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<br />
GAME TIME, ROUND 1: Can you spot the 5 differences between the photos grouped below?<br />
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1.<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QdU7SwTtbPU/T8qWBvuHIMI/AAAAAAAACQk/Of9RZP1pnjk/s1600/som1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="125" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QdU7SwTtbPU/T8qWBvuHIMI/AAAAAAAACQk/Of9RZP1pnjk/s200/som1.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OU4wDAbnBUY/T8PIW4qFPaI/AAAAAAAACJ8/KcuFnko1Plg/s1600/DSCN5368.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OU4wDAbnBUY/T8PIW4qFPaI/AAAAAAAACJ8/KcuFnko1Plg/s200/DSCN5368.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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2.<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wjyC0IKJJ4w/T8qWEczHviI/AAAAAAAACQ0/AwVpx1w81Yk/s1600/som7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="111" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wjyC0IKJJ4w/T8qWEczHviI/AAAAAAAACQ0/AwVpx1w81Yk/s200/som7.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YTwFt7Hh74g/T8PI9F4QlvI/AAAAAAAACKE/CGKcPCVpUKo/s1600/DSCN5371.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YTwFt7Hh74g/T8PI9F4QlvI/AAAAAAAACKE/CGKcPCVpUKo/s200/DSCN5371.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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3.<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vyK7OprSpK0/T8qWFhF41KI/AAAAAAAACQ8/9WaM8cbMCsI/s1600/maria.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="135" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vyK7OprSpK0/T8qWFhF41KI/AAAAAAAACQ8/9WaM8cbMCsI/s200/maria.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zmNk00Vjefc/T8PNZTu_B-I/AAAAAAAACLU/vxNMsI410rw/s1600/DSCN5395.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zmNk00Vjefc/T8PNZTu_B-I/AAAAAAAACLU/vxNMsI410rw/s200/DSCN5395.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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4.<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BKpVrCOw-ok/T8wR0KkFFxI/AAAAAAAACSc/peVYiNqc6NY/s1600/Karl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="126" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BKpVrCOw-ok/T8wR0KkFFxI/AAAAAAAACSc/peVYiNqc6NY/s200/Karl.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b2yM9uzcVPo/T8PLqC04h7I/AAAAAAAACK0/GfKaeX4AM4c/s1600/DSCN5388.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b2yM9uzcVPo/T8PLqC04h7I/AAAAAAAACK0/GfKaeX4AM4c/s200/DSCN5388.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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Ultimately we decided photos were not a sufficient log of the reenactments. I pushed for a bit of videography. I don't think you'll be disappointed.</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwNQbN-HsOZD5fl8wek24OYRKCq94nbKPtCumzlrK8MOvRL9bfVc2lAK3NXydEKmS_jmUvKIFarAWf6el6IIA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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From "Do Re Mi"</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9fB4VR_Zfv8/T8PJ7YKVV5I/AAAAAAAACKU/iXi3I8gd0sw/s1600/DSCN5379.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9fB4VR_Zfv8/T8PJ7YKVV5I/AAAAAAAACKU/iXi3I8gd0sw/s200/DSCN5379.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-N3vkxw5aQAg/T8PKV74w4iI/AAAAAAAACKc/W-3lftpeJyk/s1600/DSCN5383.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-N3vkxw5aQAg/T8PKV74w4iI/AAAAAAAACKc/W-3lftpeJyk/s200/DSCN5383.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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Right: to appease my freak obsession with VeggieTales.</div>
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This is the cemetery that the Hollywood set was based off of. Respect the graves, shmespect the graves.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sP4yr2hhCes/T8PLPepMqoI/AAAAAAAACKs/HxEwQjERX5k/s1600/DSCN5387.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sP4yr2hhCes/T8PLPepMqoI/AAAAAAAACKs/HxEwQjERX5k/s200/DSCN5387.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3LbWjbi5uY4/T8PMO1sQeGI/AAAAAAAACK8/IycXEdadPJ4/s1600/DSCN5390.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3LbWjbi5uY4/T8PMO1sQeGI/AAAAAAAACK8/IycXEdadPJ4/s200/DSCN5390.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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There are 49 churches in the main Salzburg area. This was the "main" one. The Dom I think? Look! It looks like the angels from the building behind are crowning the lady statue! Art!</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CPCxbXEiuxM/T8PKuLUpPQI/AAAAAAAACKk/7aKUBHVIGxs/s1600/DSCN5386.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CPCxbXEiuxM/T8PKuLUpPQI/AAAAAAAACKk/7aKUBHVIGxs/s200/DSCN5386.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hvsIUeUq-I4/T8PM_RKiAWI/AAAAAAAACLM/QyyfDqhItNM/s1600/DSCN5393.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hvsIUeUq-I4/T8PM_RKiAWI/AAAAAAAACLM/QyyfDqhItNM/s200/DSCN5393.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzUcmREZ_hAjXgWrPQmuM2d5LuPOs3RLwfqM5ZgAnwzE5SBUu9WXZTT5dR8-msu-AaA3LX_b9yYxv96jcTzVw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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"I Have Confidence" (with extra confidence)</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-12P_GMpVRj8/T8PNr3C_q8I/AAAAAAAACLc/f4yVEqFCg5k/s1600/DSCN5405.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-12P_GMpVRj8/T8PNr3C_q8I/AAAAAAAACLc/f4yVEqFCg5k/s200/DSCN5405.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxO6P-sOfBQHV47pY0ZtdoQRJAZrFgsrNAQRAujQG5E3iaqJ3cBDqxoFV3Og6v8TJMuZsa-j_brgfGRiLnRpQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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The Mozart bridge--aka. "Do Re Mi"</div>
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Then we "hiked" up a hill the the nunnery.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XF80m0KFQco/T8POhWGVKzI/AAAAAAAACLs/Xilmh7zSDBY/s1600/DSCN5415.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XF80m0KFQco/T8POhWGVKzI/AAAAAAAACLs/Xilmh7zSDBY/s200/DSCN5415.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7OWl588Gr2s/T8POHmA7s8I/AAAAAAAACLk/cgKvOxOZmrE/s1600/DSCN5414.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7OWl588Gr2s/T8POHmA7s8I/AAAAAAAACLk/cgKvOxOZmrE/s200/DSCN5414.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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Left: Sister Berthe, Right: Liesl</div>
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Later that night, after dinner and dodging the rain, I returned to the hostel, very satisfied with my ever-growing Canadian excursion repertoire.<br />
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<b><i>Day 3</i></b><br />
<br />
Hannah from Australia had told me about the bike tour she went on and how magical it was. So I decided to try it out, especially since the rain had stopped and the clouds were somewhat lifting.<br />
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Pros of the bike tour:<br />
-I lurv biking.<br />
-Cost efficient!<br />
-Nicer weather<br />
-Stopping for pictures<br />
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Cons of the bike tour:<br />
-Too awesome<br />
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Another pro of this tour was the fact that the group consisted only of myself, my adorable very Austrian tour guide, and a flight attendant from Fort Lauderdale who brought her pet dachshund Nefertiny. Nefertiny the clothing model. Whose closet is bigger and more lavish than my own.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LerCBWJyVbQ/T8PO1vzQutI/AAAAAAAACL0/8ZOKAYflQsM/s1600/DSCN5419.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LerCBWJyVbQ/T8PO1vzQutI/AAAAAAAACL0/8ZOKAYflQsM/s200/DSCN5419.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-w9KSlBj_WKY/T8PRKN9AzKI/AAAAAAAACMk/tx4Cz6K2L7c/s1600/DSCN5440.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-w9KSlBj_WKY/T8PRKN9AzKI/AAAAAAAACMk/tx4Cz6K2L7c/s200/DSCN5440.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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A delicate balance of precious and creepy. Nefertiny, you pull it off well.</div>
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I should also tell you how adorable my tour guide was. At one point when she was relaying history stuff to us she translated <i>1069 AD</i> as "One souzand sixty nine ahfta Jeesus." And it was adorable.</div>
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<div>
GAME TIME, ROUND 2: Can you spot the 5 differences between the photos grouped below?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
1.<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-u6tU6q2sdU0/T80yo1vKWiI/AAAAAAAACS8/6VoEJAwY6Dc/s1600/k09-04-05-74.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="136" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-u6tU6q2sdU0/T80yo1vKWiI/AAAAAAAACS8/6VoEJAwY6Dc/s200/k09-04-05-74.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_MY1AS1BxDw/T8PUqXwHxlI/AAAAAAAACNs/PsrV14fn4fo/s1600/DSCN5482.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_MY1AS1BxDw/T8PUqXwHxlI/AAAAAAAACNs/PsrV14fn4fo/s200/DSCN5482.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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2.<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VNzQbi49u1Q/T8wPCRzJrII/AAAAAAAACSE/lk9GjzL2oe0/s1600/sound-of-music-clothes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VNzQbi49u1Q/T8wPCRzJrII/AAAAAAAACSE/lk9GjzL2oe0/s200/sound-of-music-clothes.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Pmtpzu0XanI/T8PSQl43yHI/AAAAAAAACM8/hPmvDhCNt3Y/s1600/DSCN5446.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Pmtpzu0XanI/T8PSQl43yHI/AAAAAAAACM8/hPmvDhCNt3Y/s200/DSCN5446.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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3.<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DQFSXf2b4OM/T8wN75GFOMI/AAAAAAAACR8/hgQPFXNBBFk/s1600/the-sound-of-music-liesl-rolfe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DQFSXf2b4OM/T8wN75GFOMI/AAAAAAAACR8/hgQPFXNBBFk/s200/the-sound-of-music-liesl-rolfe.jpg" width="167" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uHH4Tp_C0cY/T8PTzicgwII/AAAAAAAACNc/JMEGrEe6eWM/s1600/DSCN5465.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uHH4Tp_C0cY/T8PTzicgwII/AAAAAAAACNc/JMEGrEe6eWM/s200/DSCN5465.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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4.<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8h2gISRJfxo/T8wMWyqDWuI/AAAAAAAACR0/eOtWpGOlayo/s1600/2906531625_c413227900.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="193" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8h2gISRJfxo/T8wMWyqDWuI/AAAAAAAACR0/eOtWpGOlayo/s200/2906531625_c413227900.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vCr8ZqrmMaE/T8PTbvyNotI/AAAAAAAACNU/BYDYsHKXJZA/s1600/DSCN5460.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vCr8ZqrmMaE/T8PTbvyNotI/AAAAAAAACNU/BYDYsHKXJZA/s200/DSCN5460.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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5.<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_6R8SwQSkvI/T80yTlVRXPI/AAAAAAAACS0/KIPZ8qbx7ns/s1600/sound-of-music-nazi-flag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="151" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_6R8SwQSkvI/T80yTlVRXPI/AAAAAAAACS0/KIPZ8qbx7ns/s200/sound-of-music-nazi-flag.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-B6Q50k3tRoE/T8PTAqK613I/AAAAAAAACNM/VCQdKIAObME/s1600/DSCN5457.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-B6Q50k3tRoE/T8PTAqK613I/AAAAAAAACNM/VCQdKIAObME/s200/DSCN5457.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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6.<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RYm4711ij9Q/T8qZ2HqHmqI/AAAAAAAACRc/M0JbOPh0WLk/s1600/branch-sound-of-music-2-alternate_525.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="145" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RYm4711ij9Q/T8qZ2HqHmqI/AAAAAAAACRc/M0JbOPh0WLk/s200/branch-sound-of-music-2-alternate_525.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-moy-TGwlTX8/T8PSkbbrJqI/AAAAAAAACNE/XGZGitmCe44/s1600/DSCN5454.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-moy-TGwlTX8/T8PSkbbrJqI/AAAAAAAACNE/XGZGitmCe44/s200/DSCN5454.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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That evening, following the guidance of crazy dog-lady Erica, I attended one of Salzburg's renown marionette shows, <i>The Magic Flute</i> or <i>Die Zauberhausenschlosseryagermanjenson</i> in German (or something like that).</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Kb6-iM_b3Fo/T8PVA7BNb4I/AAAAAAAACN0/bfAKgBETmg0/s1600/DSCN5485.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Kb6-iM_b3Fo/T8PVA7BNb4I/AAAAAAAACN0/bfAKgBETmg0/s200/DSCN5485.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-X3KNQboxtVA/T8PVY4o0ypI/AAAAAAAACN8/ziOoc30CYKo/s1600/DSCN5486.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-X3KNQboxtVA/T8PVY4o0ypI/AAAAAAAACN8/ziOoc30CYKo/s200/DSCN5486.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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<i><b>Day 4</b></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The weather decided to give me a break. The sky opened up, the air was crisp, and the mountains more glorious than I could ever describe. Friends, if I had been studying abroad in Salzburg, you can bet you'd never see me again. Unless of course you came and visited me in Salzburg. Because the implication is that I would be living their permanently. In case you didn't catch on.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
So since the weather was so amazing, I decided to climb back up to the nunnery and get a proper photo of the mountainy views.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yjZqOMw8eq0/T8qWHICuAEI/AAAAAAAACRE/ZHLEPFCmlIM/s1600/DSCN5492.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yjZqOMw8eq0/T8qWHICuAEI/AAAAAAAACRE/ZHLEPFCmlIM/s200/DSCN5492.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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Then I realized you could actually go inside the nunnery grounds themselves. So I did.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FlQlBXgkY7I/T8PWSo-RkgI/AAAAAAAACOM/dP0AQtNhznA/s1600/DSCN5497.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FlQlBXgkY7I/T8PWSo-RkgI/AAAAAAAACOM/dP0AQtNhznA/s200/DSCN5497.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aGD1ay88XrU/T8PWqA0-s0I/AAAAAAAACOU/ucyuYOByWT4/s1600/DSCN5500.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aGD1ay88XrU/T8PWqA0-s0I/AAAAAAAACOU/ucyuYOByWT4/s200/DSCN5500.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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I then moseyed around town for a bit.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ui3VYLxIMRQ/T8PXBpM5loI/AAAAAAAACOc/FLCm3tAb0DE/s1600/DSCN5507.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ui3VYLxIMRQ/T8PXBpM5loI/AAAAAAAACOc/FLCm3tAb0DE/s320/DSCN5507.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I found a Papageno statue from <i>The Magic Flute</i>!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7S9_ellPLCk/T8PXSM-HdyI/AAAAAAAACOk/qjMKPAqK92Q/s1600/DSCN5510.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7S9_ellPLCk/T8PXSM-HdyI/AAAAAAAACOk/qjMKPAqK92Q/s320/DSCN5510.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dear Detroit, We appreciate the thought, but<br />
you really didn't have to give us anything.<br />
So please, take it back.<br />
Sincerely, errbody</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
There's this store in Salzburg that sells these little ornately decorated eggshells. They are so pretty, and there are literally millions of them in this one shop.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--RazBbBpMes/T8PXtrJmLDI/AAAAAAAACOs/RRaZLW_eq9M/s1600/DSCN5511.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--RazBbBpMes/T8PXtrJmLDI/AAAAAAAACOs/RRaZLW_eq9M/s200/DSCN5511.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wzNqAlIfLs4/T8PYMY0Md8I/AAAAAAAACO0/gm_fwFDTWYo/s1600/DSCN5512.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wzNqAlIfLs4/T8PYMY0Md8I/AAAAAAAACO0/gm_fwFDTWYo/s200/DSCN5512.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oXdyeWeZHac/T8PYvxJBZ4I/AAAAAAAACO8/C-4bgU10MOo/s1600/DSCN5516.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oXdyeWeZHac/T8PYvxJBZ4I/AAAAAAAACO8/C-4bgU10MOo/s320/DSCN5516.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Traveler's tip: if you look like you know where you're going,<br />
you can get in pretty much anywhere.<br />
Fancy bathroom plank? Check.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
In the early afternoon I still had quite a bit of time to kill before my evening flight, so I decided to use the map my hostel gave me showing a pre-marked "easy" hike up one of the smaller mountainy hills and go exploring. After some confusion trying to find the entrance, I managed to get to the trail. But I will say I was never ever sure where I was because (and I will swear up and down) the map in my hands and the terrain under my feet were not the same thing. It was a map of lies.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QoVjFFs21Ds/T8PZROeAOSI/AAAAAAAACPE/4wyAISmRoxo/s1600/DSCN5520.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QoVjFFs21Ds/T8PZROeAOSI/AAAAAAAACPE/4wyAISmRoxo/s200/DSCN5520.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First stop, monastery.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s7CLlakzr2k/T8PZ6EldJ3I/AAAAAAAACPM/AC4vVOEn_Kk/s1600/DSCN5523.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s7CLlakzr2k/T8PZ6EldJ3I/AAAAAAAACPM/AC4vVOEn_Kk/s200/DSCN5523.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GZjCX_foxyg/T8Pa87Xs7vI/AAAAAAAACPc/s2aIh787BeQ/s1600/DSCN5549.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GZjCX_foxyg/T8Pa87Xs7vI/AAAAAAAACPc/s2aIh787BeQ/s200/DSCN5549.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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But, I mean, the views were impeccable when you could find them.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gr9h-3PvmY4/T8PbnfUn32I/AAAAAAAACPs/tCKYo9GeP9o/s1600/DSCN5562.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gr9h-3PvmY4/T8PbnfUn32I/AAAAAAAACPs/tCKYo9GeP9o/s200/DSCN5562.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7tnWjmfgYtk/T8PcV2cuCwI/AAAAAAAACP8/Wq5-LxjlxOQ/s1600/DSCN5564.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7tnWjmfgYtk/T8PcV2cuCwI/AAAAAAAACP8/Wq5-LxjlxOQ/s200/DSCN5564.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzXwp8vuZQZvvaobmvTEbv7OpklmZwPBBW99IG7-eR56tDjX5GNvJPuylK6GGAhTmB2ERPJsZ-8H0pvw7jigg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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AH LOF EHT.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Because I had nothing else to do, because I am a Kessler, and because I am secretly neurotic, I got to the airport 3 hours early, arriving at the check-in counter about 30 minutes before the people that work at the airport. Eh, whatever.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z_R8n1crTMo/T8PcwC5fIZI/AAAAAAAACQE/DC4GIt_pGoQ/s1600/DSCN5572.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z_R8n1crTMo/T8PcwC5fIZI/AAAAAAAACQE/DC4GIt_pGoQ/s320/DSCN5572.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Right next to the airport. One last ditch effort at keeping me here.<br />
Salzburg, you temptress you.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Amitiés :)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534399117282494315.post-69963760680434374382012-05-26T03:40:00.003+02:002012-05-26T03:45:49.476+02:00So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, goodbye<u>WORD OF THE DAY</u><br />
<b>Adieu, adieu, to yeu and yeu and yeu: Toodles.</b><br />
<br />
The time has come, the walrus said.<br />
<br />
In just a few short hours, I will be flying home.<br />
<br />
It was a sad departure. From my friends, I mean.<br />
<br />
But I've said my goodbyes. And my farewells. And my catch ya later, girlfrans.<br />
<br />
I am ready.<br />
<br />
(As seems obvious, I still have some blogging to do once I get home with Salzburg and Cannes and finishing thoughts and what not. So no need to worry. This isn't goodbye forever.)<br />
<br />
But I should go. As my suitcase is heavy. And so is my heart.<br />
<br />
Amities :)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534399117282494315.post-20534896592723967572012-05-24T23:52:00.000+02:002012-05-25T12:29:53.569+02:00Le Monde des Moldus<u>WORD OF THE DAY</u><br />
<b>une baguette magique: a wand</b><br />
<br />
"To our newcomers, welcome! To our old hands, welcome back! There is a time for speech making, but this is not it."<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
-Dumbledore</div>
<br />
Let us take a lesson from our dear old friend and jump right in.<br />
<br />
So last week I went to the Warner Bros. Harry Potter Studio Tour about 30 minutes outside London. You're probably saying to yourself, "Wow, that sounds like my dream last night." Well, you would be dead on. It was by far one of the coolest things I've done on this exchange.<br />
<br />
Basically, it's a tour of the studio where all 8 Harry Potter films were made--consisting of various sets, props, costumes, and characters, all combined to create a truly unique experience.<br />
<br />
Now, it wasn't too expensive, but I intended to get my money's worth. The guides said it took the average person about 3 hours to complete the whole tour. Friends, I was there for 6.5 hours. And in the end, I was "kicked out." In all honesty, I could have been there for 9. It was in the realm of possibility.<br />
<br />
You see, the way it worked was there were 5 or 6 different "segments," and once you had moved on to a new one you were banned from going back. That's why it took me so long. I would think "No, you know what, I'm not done with this yet. I really should stare at this for 20 more minutes." I call this the Rotating-Stuffed-Animal Effect. See, when I was little, I had about 9 billion stuffed animals, give or take a few.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-C7HvuOHTwxA/T79c237MK3I/AAAAAAAACFs/Pvo6aa-EJGA/s1600/Stuffed+animals.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-C7HvuOHTwxA/T79c237MK3I/AAAAAAAACFs/Pvo6aa-EJGA/s320/Stuffed+animals.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Apologies for the creepy Coraline eyes.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Everything about this scenario was amazing, until it came time for bed. You see, 9 billion companions is just excessive when you're trying to sleep. So my brilliant solution was to put the stuffed animals on a strict rotating schedule, so none ever felt left out.<br />
<br />
And that principle applies here as well. I didn't want to leave a room until I was sure I'd maximized its entertainment potential. Because . . . you know, if I forgot something . . . I'd feel bad . . . for the room. Shut up, it's logical.<br />
<br />
So I took my time. <i>So much </i>of my time, in fact, that my audio guide died before I reached the end. Which was a shame. They really should look into getting a stronger battery.<br />
<br />
Now, I suppose this post would probably work best as a photo montage of sorts. Let's get to it.<br />
<br />
It was quite the little journey to get to this fantastic attraction. I took a few metros then an above-ground train into unknown and personally uncharted territory to find a coach service that I was convinced didn't exist, and if it did I was sure I wouldn't find it. As will soon be obvious, I didn't have to look very hard.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sYFFTjvxLKw/T71Dc8FcS6I/AAAAAAAAB64/7vAueoQ6fXc/s1600/DSCN4893.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sYFFTjvxLKw/T71Dc8FcS6I/AAAAAAAAB64/7vAueoQ6fXc/s200/DSCN4893.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EkyIHfIzbr4/T71DtTHv0bI/AAAAAAAAB7A/KTmTYX69YPE/s1600/DSCN4894.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EkyIHfIzbr4/T71DtTHv0bI/AAAAAAAAB7A/KTmTYX69YPE/s200/DSCN4894.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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Left: the world's most obvious bus, Right: the pearly gates</div>
<br />
I'd arrived. It was literally in the middle of nowhere. If it hadn't had "Harry Potter" stamped across the front of it I would have passed right by thinking <i>"That is a strange creepy warehouse in the middle of this field. I bet a lot of murdering happens there."</i> And I would have been on my way. But thankfully for us, it did have the "Harry Potter" seal of approval, so I stopped off for a look-see.<br />
<br />
After receiving my audio guide and complementary souvenir guidebook, I was mere steps away from one of the coolest moviegoer experiences I'll ever have. (Well, until Salzburg, but we'll get to that later.)<br />
<br />
DISCLAIMER:<br />
I will be giving away some secrets in this post. I don't think it's worth calling this disclaimer a "spoiler alert," but I'm giving you fair warning. If you don't want to see how the invisibility cloak worked or know how they made Hagrid look so big, maybe skip on to the next post. There's also the possibility that it might be a little less humorous than you may be hoping. It's just that I take my nerdy Harry Potter infatuation very seriously. There is a time for jokes, and there is a time for learning really awesome stuff. This will be a post full of wonderful interesting things. I apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused you. Now, where was I . . .<br />
<br />
Ah yes.<br />
<br />
<b>Part 1: the Great Hall . . .</b><br />
<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WX1_x1klgjs/T71EbPQz9OI/AAAAAAAAB7Q/gKy6tmirzTQ/s1600/DSCN4908.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WX1_x1klgjs/T71EbPQz9OI/AAAAAAAAB7Q/gKy6tmirzTQ/s200/DSCN4908.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cb5Or9WErAI/T71ExCmzeeI/AAAAAAAAB7Y/TzOJyMl2oYw/s1600/DSCN4916.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cb5Or9WErAI/T71ExCmzeeI/AAAAAAAAB7Y/TzOJyMl2oYw/s200/DSCN4916.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
Did you know: the director of the first 2 films, Chris Columbus, encouraged the student actors to carve things into the tables. Not only did it help pass the time, but it authenticated the set. "It's like a real school!"<br />
<br />
Did you know: as is probably obvious, the ceiling of the Great Hall is computer-generated. But for the first film, the floating candles weren't. Individual candle-shaped tubes containing spirit oil were suspended by wires which were later digitally removed. Unfortunately, the heat from the flames burnt through the wires and the "candles" fell onto the tables. So no more of that. Spontaneously combusting students shouldn't be something you have to worry about.<br />
<br />
<b>Part 2: The large warehouse space . . .</b><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2XQq4tteIXU/T71FJ_2BFPI/AAAAAAAAB7g/AH-Npx11Dtc/s1600/DSCN4927.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2XQq4tteIXU/T71FJ_2BFPI/AAAAAAAAB7g/AH-Npx11Dtc/s320/DSCN4927.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yule Ball costumes and decorations</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Did you know: they actually covered the real great hall with silver decorations for the Yule Ball scene. 90 decorators. It took over a month.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lY7sqLn9oXE/T71IizqdQFI/AAAAAAAAB8Y/ltRwa9CMIGs/s1600/DSCN4956.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lY7sqLn9oXE/T71IizqdQFI/AAAAAAAAB8Y/ltRwa9CMIGs/s200/DSCN4956.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iUu1B_ijVX4/T71I4gFoVcI/AAAAAAAAB8g/_OLxtIzQTSI/s1600/DSCN4958.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iUu1B_ijVX4/T71I4gFoVcI/AAAAAAAAB8g/_OLxtIzQTSI/s200/DSCN4958.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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Left: all the famous wands, Right: the Mirror of Erised (and me!)</div>
<br />
Did you know: the wands were initially bejeweled and fancy, but J.K. Rowling wanted simple wooden wands that complemented their owners. Because she is fantastic.<br />
<br />
It was strange seeing the sets in real life because they were SO much tinier than I imagined. I suppose it's camera angles and such. Even looking at the pictures I took makes the spaces look larger than they did in real life. Odd. <i>I guess that's movie magic for ya</i>. Also I've heard the camera adds 10 square feet.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pZsBWcLrJlY/T71ILKEClBI/AAAAAAAAB8Q/sQsJmXWeMB8/s1600/DSCN4952.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pZsBWcLrJlY/T71ILKEClBI/AAAAAAAAB8Q/sQsJmXWeMB8/s200/DSCN4952.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y8FCfy8g_3k/T71JSbHyJtI/AAAAAAAAB8o/lXhEy7FmgZU/s1600/DSCN4963.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y8FCfy8g_3k/T71JSbHyJtI/AAAAAAAAB8o/lXhEy7FmgZU/s200/DSCN4963.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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Left: Gryffindor boy's dormitory, Right: Gryffindor common room</div>
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Did you know: the boys dormitory pictured on the left above was the same set used for all the films. Even the beds. The actors eventually had to curl up to keep their legs and feet from hanging over the ends during shooting.<br />
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Did you know: that furnace-looking thing in the foreground was used on the set of <i>Chocolat</i> prior to the first HP film.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-c-D0JbhTOXU/T71Jw4Ci_cI/AAAAAAAAB8w/h1_9iIUIIvA/s1600/DSCN4964.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-c-D0JbhTOXU/T71Jw4Ci_cI/AAAAAAAAB8w/h1_9iIUIIvA/s200/DSCN4964.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Pzym5whKTEA/T71MJ8gjLnI/AAAAAAAAB9g/ZD926VfVrMA/s1600/DSCN4980.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Pzym5whKTEA/T71MJ8gjLnI/AAAAAAAAB9g/ZD926VfVrMA/s200/DSCN4980.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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Left: Invisibility Cloak, Right: Leaky Cauldron</div>
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Did you know: that chair at the end of the hall is about 8" tall. Forced perspective!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zbGcEqUPeps/T71KJS1HoTI/AAAAAAAAB84/Cg1B1mN9IX0/s1600/DSCN4970.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zbGcEqUPeps/T71KJS1HoTI/AAAAAAAAB84/Cg1B1mN9IX0/s320/DSCN4970.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Um. That clock thing.</td></tr>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3GsBF6EH2as/T71LeMPTcCI/AAAAAAAAB9Q/oEAP-jTzryA/s1600/DSCN4974.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3GsBF6EH2as/T71LeMPTcCI/AAAAAAAAB9Q/oEAP-jTzryA/s200/DSCN4974.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1uW6hod6BoU/T71K4DBUSSI/AAAAAAAAB9I/2eXtOcu-Vfg/s1600/DSCN4973.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1uW6hod6BoU/T71K4DBUSSI/AAAAAAAAB9I/2eXtOcu-Vfg/s200/DSCN4973.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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Props that are already labeled for your pleasure and my convenience.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-v3qIcABwhyE/T71L0zqYIqI/AAAAAAAAB9Y/WeRm3qh2bzc/s1600/DSCN4978.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-v3qIcABwhyE/T71L0zqYIqI/AAAAAAAAB9Y/WeRm3qh2bzc/s320/DSCN4978.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More props!</td></tr>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-u16IKiLZm8w/T71M4OPnqrI/AAAAAAAAB90/lEDmr1nFZwQ/s1600/DSCN4986.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-u16IKiLZm8w/T71M4OPnqrI/AAAAAAAAB90/lEDmr1nFZwQ/s200/DSCN4986.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3Y31O6-XBWY/T71MjZgReAI/AAAAAAAAB9s/M3tOmn7bdf0/s1600/DSCN4984.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3Y31O6-XBWY/T71MjZgReAI/AAAAAAAAB9s/M3tOmn7bdf0/s200/DSCN4984.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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Left: Dumbledore's office, Right: cabinet of <i>individually-labeled</i> memory vials</div>
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Did you know: the set of Dumbledore's office was cleared out and used as the astronomy tower.<br />
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Did you know: the old books lining the walls of his office were actually just glorified British phone books covered in leather.<br />
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Did you know: that telescope in the back was one of the most expensive pieces ever created for the series, and you only ever see it in the background. That seems appropriate.<br />
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Did you know: just out of frame in the left photo is an uncomfortable Richard Harris Dumbledore creeping in the background from behind a column. It is not okay.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BzsYbVZ-YVs/T71NOHHSmcI/AAAAAAAAB98/7DrQuPGWepQ/s1600/DSCN5000.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BzsYbVZ-YVs/T71NOHHSmcI/AAAAAAAAB98/7DrQuPGWepQ/s200/DSCN5000.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ma4RjPl-3hA/T71N2AF94yI/AAAAAAAAB-M/ywKSBQUIYJQ/s1600/DSCN5006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ma4RjPl-3hA/T71N2AF94yI/AAAAAAAAB-M/ywKSBQUIYJQ/s200/DSCN5006.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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Left: Potions classroom, Right: Hagrid's hut</div>
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Did you know: of the hundreds of bottles lining the walls of the Potions classroom, some contained baked animal bones from a local butcher shop, some herbs and planty stuff, others strange things in goop.<br />
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Did you know: to make Hagrid appear much larger than the children, they built 2 different sets for his hut. One set was made smaller to make Hagrid appear larger, and one set was made larger to make the children appear smaller.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RzdOVR7aLLI/T71PVgJnvlI/AAAAAAAAB-0/-kk_Qwk67G0/s1600/DSCN5020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RzdOVR7aLLI/T71PVgJnvlI/AAAAAAAAB-0/-kk_Qwk67G0/s320/DSCN5020.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bellatrix's vault door: it actually moves!<br />
(the Chamber of Secrets snake door was also real)<br />
(so is magic)</td></tr>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-F8JYBcyt2z0/T71PoNy2oGI/AAAAAAAAB-8/mlE3Fq06aR8/s1600/DSCN5026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-F8JYBcyt2z0/T71PoNy2oGI/AAAAAAAAB-8/mlE3Fq06aR8/s200/DSCN5026.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VrHRFH5kUCg/T71QoB4qUmI/AAAAAAAAB_c/n1SqU2R1fy8/s1600/DSCN5043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VrHRFH5kUCg/T71QoB4qUmI/AAAAAAAAB_c/n1SqU2R1fy8/s200/DSCN5043.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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Left: the Burrow (my favorite), Right: Umbridge's office</div>
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Did you know: mechanisms in the burrow like the self-cleaning pot, the knitting needles, the iron, and the knife that cuts by itself, actually moved and worked without the help of CGI!<br />
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Did you know: the construction crew pushed and pulled support beams and wall units out of place with chains after the Burrow set was constructed to give it an off-kilter, crooked, Weasley-made look. (ie. there are no right angles)<br />
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Did you know: the Burrow is awesome.<br />
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Did you know: they had a kitty photo shoot for the decorative plates on Umbridge's walls. They got all the kittens from a shelter, photographed them in clothes, and then families came and adopted them. That is maybe the most precious thing in my entire blog.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nuVPL-vzKpI/T71QKZ3Xx4I/AAAAAAAAB_M/a36UoGHhe5A/s1600/DSCN5035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nuVPL-vzKpI/T71QKZ3Xx4I/AAAAAAAAB_M/a36UoGHhe5A/s200/DSCN5035.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QJG590_480g/T71P6Rfwj6I/AAAAAAAAB_E/-OiAUGh4m3A/s1600/DSCN5030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QJG590_480g/T71P6Rfwj6I/AAAAAAAAB_E/-OiAUGh4m3A/s200/DSCN5030.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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Left: <i>Magic is Might</i> statue, Right: Death Eater costumes (also Voldemort. meh.)</div>
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Did you know: the <i>Magic is Might </i>statue was carved out of foam and then painted. (I assume styrofoam. Not Nicole Kidman coffee foam. Did you know she likes to order foam from Starbucks? A cup of foam. Hollywood changes people.)<br />
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Did you know: Ralph Fiennes' nose was digitally removed and replaced with Voldemort's characteristic face slits. It wasn't just smushed down, as I was previously convinced.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MWd5rR_3hN8/T71Sv-ADBNI/AAAAAAAACAA/j7HuJzdu0dM/s1600/DSCN5047.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MWd5rR_3hN8/T71Sv-ADBNI/AAAAAAAACAA/j7HuJzdu0dM/s200/DSCN5047.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9L__tWE9jxA/T71TKa7EG2I/AAAAAAAACAI/23ICIPfQJNM/s1600/DSCN5048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9L__tWE9jxA/T71TKa7EG2I/AAAAAAAACAI/23ICIPfQJNM/s200/DSCN5048.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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Left: <i>The Quibbler</i>, Right: the <i>Daily Prophet</i></div>
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Did you know: the Graphics Department created 40 editions of the <i>Daily Prophet</i> and over 25,000 pages of <i>The Quibbler</i> with unique stories and headlines and puzzles just like a real newspaper. Why? I have no freaking clue.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9BYIxaBM79Y/T71TgCo9RBI/AAAAAAAACAQ/znIofrERqUI/s1600/DSCN5049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9BYIxaBM79Y/T71TgCo9RBI/AAAAAAAACAQ/znIofrERqUI/s200/DSCN5049.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ac3SAQmt4WU/T71UQIBTvOI/AAAAAAAACAg/SqVpzAUeARo/s1600/DSCN5051.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ac3SAQmt4WU/T71UQIBTvOI/AAAAAAAACAg/SqVpzAUeARo/s200/DSCN5051.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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Left: the Marauder's Map, Right: U-No-Poo</div>
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<b>Part 3: The Backlot . . .</b></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-b4A81zYi5lU/T71VRqAc61I/AAAAAAAACA4/IDg-zaru2C0/s1600/DSCN5057.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-b4A81zYi5lU/T71VRqAc61I/AAAAAAAACA4/IDg-zaru2C0/s200/DSCN5057.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1f_wkIp8z38/T71U889AsII/AAAAAAAACAw/mSUQn_WuNtc/s1600/DSCN5055.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1f_wkIp8z38/T71U889AsII/AAAAAAAACAw/mSUQn_WuNtc/s200/DSCN5055.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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The Knight Bus!</div>
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Did you know: the Knight Bus was created using parts from three vintage London double-deckers. <i>Ooooh my god! It's a double-decker! It almost looks like a triple-decker!</i><br />
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Did you know: some streets in London do not accommodate triple-decker buses because that is an outrageous request, so the movie people had to map out a route for the 22-foot monster to travel safely around the city.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_1TuhzLTzfg/T71WiHcZfHI/AAAAAAAACBI/GdyZh0Dj9R8/s1600/DSCN5062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_1TuhzLTzfg/T71WiHcZfHI/AAAAAAAACBI/GdyZh0Dj9R8/s200/DSCN5062.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BBDiZI7we2Q/T71WHUQQsDI/AAAAAAAACBA/pXDSX76IaRo/s1600/DSCN5060.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BBDiZI7we2Q/T71WHUQQsDI/AAAAAAAACBA/pXDSX76IaRo/s200/DSCN5060.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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Left: Number 4 Privet Drive, Right: the Riddle family gravestone</div>
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Did you know: Both of these were based on real places. That's called inspiration and probably shouldn't surprise you.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hc6L61H1vec/T71XjE278OI/AAAAAAAACBg/OgExh9hSz1w/s1600/DSCN5066.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hc6L61H1vec/T71XjE278OI/AAAAAAAACBg/OgExh9hSz1w/s200/DSCN5066.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6JRL6hENT3Y/T71YUnHIdjI/AAAAAAAACBw/JsZSqsfP-Cs/s1600/DSCN5069.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6JRL6hENT3Y/T71YUnHIdjI/AAAAAAAACBw/JsZSqsfP-Cs/s200/DSCN5069.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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Left: Godric's Hollow (Potter's house), Right: Hogwart's bridge</div>
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Did you know: this little segment of the bridge was the only part that was actually built. The rest was computer animated.<br />
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Op ed: though this bridge is kinda cool and provides for some interesting scenes in the movies, I can't help but feel a little jaded that it has become an iconic piece of Hogwarts. Since, you know, it is literarily nonexistent. A part of me accepts that it's Hollywood. It's Warner Brothers. Get over it. But that huge nerd chunk that I hold where my muscles should be desperately wants to attack somebody with <i>"Terabithia called! She wants her bridge back!"</i> But I show restraint.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vpRmjmyuePM/T71X6N1F-5I/AAAAAAAACBo/iPi2iuaFG0w/s1600/DSCN5067.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vpRmjmyuePM/T71X6N1F-5I/AAAAAAAACBo/iPi2iuaFG0w/s320/DSCN5067.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Giant Queen wizard's chess piece<br />
(some of these guys were mechanized to move as well)</td></tr>
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<b>Part 4: The Creature Shop . . .</b><br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JS6pVD20bRc/T71ZEupis7I/AAAAAAAACCA/Hcw-bVE0TDk/s1600/DSCN5077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JS6pVD20bRc/T71ZEupis7I/AAAAAAAACCA/Hcw-bVE0TDk/s200/DSCN5077.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fDlwL7c_RWM/T71YnqBcg6I/AAAAAAAACB4/xVdoP1Ax2xg/s1600/DSCN5071.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fDlwL7c_RWM/T71YnqBcg6I/AAAAAAAACB4/xVdoP1Ax2xg/s200/DSCN5071.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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Left: terrifying merlady face, Right: gaggles of goblins</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RXDITYYMbvE/T71cIXiWeCI/AAAAAAAACC8/ZOM3w5otB8s/s1600/DSCN5086.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RXDITYYMbvE/T71cIXiWeCI/AAAAAAAACC8/ZOM3w5otB8s/s200/DSCN5086.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IgiUyvH8J2E/T71ciXcw51I/AAAAAAAACDE/1eAUwDyyX4U/s1600/DSCN5087.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IgiUyvH8J2E/T71ciXcw51I/AAAAAAAACDE/1eAUwDyyX4U/s200/DSCN5087.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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Left: Basilisk skeleton, Right: Aragog</div>
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Did you know: though all the other spiders in the second film were CGI, because Aragog is relatively stationary the film team actually created the giant spider and operated him on set. He was 18-feet long, covered in yak hair, and required nearly 100 technicians to operate. Such a diva.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AJdDmVqayf8/T71dOf9cQvI/AAAAAAAACDU/V6tGRLJWFsk/s1600/DSCN5091.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AJdDmVqayf8/T71dOf9cQvI/AAAAAAAACDU/V6tGRLJWFsk/s200/DSCN5091.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XK-ZAoisnvM/T71c6dv_sCI/AAAAAAAACDM/nBfn6TtTHns/s1600/DSCN5088.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XK-ZAoisnvM/T71c6dv_sCI/AAAAAAAACDM/nBfn6TtTHns/s200/DSCN5088.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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Left: creepy Hagrid head, Right: BUCKBEAK :D</div>
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Did you know: another way they made Hagrid look larger was by putting this creepy head on a 7-foot tall man (not Robbie Coltrane) dressed as Hagrid. It moves too. Because it's terrifying.<br />
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Did you know: they built 3 life-size Buckbeaks (one sitting, one standing, and one rearing). They all move. And I want to cuddle with them.<br />
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<b>Part 5: Diagon Alley . . .</b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CWZZwNqKE50/T71d85e2qfI/AAAAAAAACDk/XzKwU4wQRe8/s1600/DSCN5093.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CWZZwNqKE50/T71d85e2qfI/AAAAAAAACDk/XzKwU4wQRe8/s320/DSCN5093.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Well . . . there it is.</td></tr>
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Did you know: many parts of Diagon Alley were redressed and used in the village of Hogsmeade.</div>
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Did you know: Ollivander's Wand Shop was stocked with over 17,000 individually labeled wand boxes. You might be asking yourself <i>"Why would that ever be necessary?"</i> Then I will scare you by reading your thoughts and responding "<i>Excess = Success. Idiot.</i>"</div>
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Did you notice: that it looks nothing like in the first movie.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dblO5gGEB50/T71eZnGOUZI/AAAAAAAACDs/8dARUq20d8U/s1600/DSCN5094.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dblO5gGEB50/T71eZnGOUZI/AAAAAAAACDs/8dARUq20d8U/s200/DSCN5094.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wrpvJboVd7M/T71gRSZo69I/AAAAAAAACEM/5Rmv86ml6dk/s1600/DSCN5101.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wrpvJboVd7M/T71gRSZo69I/AAAAAAAACEM/5Rmv86ml6dk/s200/DSCN5101.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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Left: Gringotts Bank, Right: Weasley Wizard Wheezes</div>
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<b>Part 6: Artistic adaptation . . .</b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7XMhIDizDxw/T71hEvJ0HgI/AAAAAAAACEc/VO_ORA_S3T0/s1600/DSCN5108.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7XMhIDizDxw/T71hEvJ0HgI/AAAAAAAACEc/VO_ORA_S3T0/s320/DSCN5108.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hogsmeade</td></tr>
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Okay, so the production crew also made these tiny models of the sets from the films as guides for the larger creations. Amy and Michael, I thought you might appreciate them for their architectural whooziwhatzits. Everyone else, I thought you might appreciate them because they are adorable.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S35AspuOF0w/T71hasLwagI/AAAAAAAACEk/mRAbppBAt58/s1600/DSCN5123.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S35AspuOF0w/T71hasLwagI/AAAAAAAACEk/mRAbppBAt58/s200/DSCN5123.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--aW1D9DwD9g/T71hwdHSdXI/AAAAAAAACEs/dMB66ovm_6c/s1600/DSCN5126.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--aW1D9DwD9g/T71hwdHSdXI/AAAAAAAACEs/dMB66ovm_6c/s200/DSCN5126.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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Left: the Burrow, Right: Ollivander's Wand Shop</div>
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<b>Part 7: The Hogwarts Castle . . .</b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lJ9A7MPexG0/T71iHEjGGnI/AAAAAAAACE0/h8Npuvdd12s/s1600/DSCN5132.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lJ9A7MPexG0/T71iHEjGGnI/AAAAAAAACE0/h8Npuvdd12s/s320/DSCN5132.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bum bum bum buuuum!!!!</td></tr>
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Did you know: this 1:24 scale model of the Hogwarts Castle was hand-sculpted by a team of 86 artists and crewmembers using miniature yet identical versions of the real courtyards and scenery from Alnwick Castle and Durham Cathedral where scenes from the film were shot.<br />
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Did you know: real gravel was used to recreate rockwork and boulders, and real plants for landscaping and trees.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wrYtgJFu09c/T71ibZPTtgI/AAAAAAAACE8/QeA0spo6kVY/s1600/DSCN5137.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wrYtgJFu09c/T71ibZPTtgI/AAAAAAAACE8/QeA0spo6kVY/s200/DSCN5137.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4gswEqbGV2g/T71jLZVcdCI/AAAAAAAACFM/wHe4ZVWTi_8/s1600/DSCN5147.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4gswEqbGV2g/T71jLZVcdCI/AAAAAAAACFM/wHe4ZVWTi_8/s200/DSCN5147.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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Did you know: more than 300 fiber optic lights were used to give the illusion of torches and lanterns flickering within the castle.<br />
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Did you know: the filmmakers would get swooping shots of the castle model and digitally mix it with the Scotland backdrop to create beautiful panoramas and painfully realistic dragon chase scenes.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AZrDYS6XMnU/T71jfnrLp_I/AAAAAAAACFU/71lzkO9sIEo/s1600/DSCN5151.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AZrDYS6XMnU/T71jfnrLp_I/AAAAAAAACFU/71lzkO9sIEo/s320/DSCN5151.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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And this is where I leave you. But I will end with this:</div>
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When they started working on the first film, the director asked Daniel Radcliffe, Rupert Grint, and Emma Watson to write what they imagined to be an autobiography of their characters' lives up to the present. Daniel came in with a very detailed, very insightful essay (approx. 15 pages). Emma came back with a very Hermione-esque paper (approx. 50 pages), also very detailed and insightful. Rupert, however, returned with nothing and was heavily criticized for not taking the process seriously.</div>
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"I am taking it seriously. I don't think Ron would finish it."</div>
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And that is why Ron is the best.</div>
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Amitiés :)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534399117282494315.post-15229338408767659202012-05-22T05:30:00.002+02:002012-05-22T14:51:11.864+02:00I see London . . .<u>PHRASE OF THE DAY</u><br />
<b>J'ai tué une araignée dans mon lit avec un coton-tige: I killed a spider in my bed with a q-tip.</b><br />
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It's been a whirlwind couple of weeks. My goodness.<br />
<br />
Exams are over. Which means classes are over. Which means I'm a senior now. Which is frightening.<br />
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And I've been traveling around the continent like a fiend. Well, not so much a fiend as maybe a casual city hopper.<br />
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But nevertheless, it's about time I recounted some of my experiences with you.<br />
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We'll start . . . with London. (minus Harry Potter)<br />
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Yes, I went to London. I now say things like "ravishing" and "well nice" and "russet potatoes."<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OHClhHGBceE/T7qMUMiTBNI/AAAAAAAAB0I/UX2d5lJhb5M/s1600/DSCN4816.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OHClhHGBceE/T7qMUMiTBNI/AAAAAAAAB0I/UX2d5lJhb5M/s320/DSCN4816.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This looks familiar to you.</td></tr>
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<i><b>Day 1</b></i><br />
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I had an early flight out of Nice, arriving in London at about 11. Exhausted and somewhat disoriented, I managed to make it to my hostel in record time. Now, if you know me at all, which I suspect you do as you've no doubt spent countless hours this year reading every detail of my life from the 66 published posts, eagerly awaiting the next entry like that sad dog whose owner died and never came home and he just sits there, waiting--oh please, stop, you're embarrassing me--well, if you know me at all, then you'll know that I have the GPS tracking ability of a tree stump. And even then, I'm pretty sure tree stumps grow moss on the side facing south, so, in retrospect, that probably wasn't a clear metaphor.<br />
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But you'll be happy to know that I found my way in and around the London tube system with only a Level 1 difficulty. But I am not perfect. I think I was constantly just a little bit lost. And I managed.<br />
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The great thing about London is that they're prepared for people like me. And so, to remedy the hordes of squinting tourists pirouetting in the streets, they put up these maps all over the city! And the great part is: the map is always facing the way you're facing! It's like they knew I was coming. They knew. And they prepared accordingly. And I thank them wholeheartedly.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WdoJ_rtJ90k/T7rkbHEUh7I/AAAAAAAAB2g/Go2sO2-LRSA/s1600/IMG-20120510-00074.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WdoJ_rtJ90k/T7rkbHEUh7I/AAAAAAAAB2g/Go2sO2-LRSA/s200/IMG-20120510-00074.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oMngxczDgtU/T7rkcXD-C5I/AAAAAAAAB2o/Irk59ublgeo/s1600/IMG-20120511-00083.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oMngxczDgtU/T7rkcXD-C5I/AAAAAAAAB2o/Irk59ublgeo/s200/IMG-20120511-00083.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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They know their world is backwards, yet they do nothing.</div>
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After checking into the hostel, I decided to visit my taxidermied neighbors in the Natural History Museum which was literally right next door because this was a fancy hostel in a wonderful neighborhood with good schools I'm sure. Unfortunately when I got there, I realized my camera had died before I got the chance to say goodbye. It was really inconsiderate of him.<br />
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So I snapped some shots with my phone. But who really wants to look at those anyway?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Z7y0DR708qE/T7rWUz-jghI/AAAAAAAAB0U/rTMsx8l-ymw/s1600/IMG-20120510-00069.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Z7y0DR708qE/T7rWUz-jghI/AAAAAAAAB0U/rTMsx8l-ymw/s320/IMG-20120510-00069.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just kidding. Of course you do.</td></tr>
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I then returned to the hostel to charge my camera but realized all too soon that it is a mistake to lay down on a bed ever if you don't want to sleep.<br />
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<i><b>Day 2</b></i><br />
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HARRY POTTER DAY!!<br />
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But since I woke up at 3 to the sounds of my bunkmates' drunken arrival and subsequent snorefest, I had quite a bit of time (and roommates) to kill before my 1 o'clock tour. So I went "downtown!"<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ATujAHWuHeQ/T7rYjOMPzGI/AAAAAAAAB0c/XN1Yy9BcrDQ/s1600/DSCN4813.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ATujAHWuHeQ/T7rYjOMPzGI/AAAAAAAAB0c/XN1Yy9BcrDQ/s320/DSCN4813.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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I remember taking this picture. I thought to myself, "By the beard of Zeus! I got some double decker buses in the shot too! I am an awesome photographer. Really the greatest."</div>
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However, I soon realized that it was actually significantly more impressive to take a picture that <i>didn't</i> have a double decker bus in it. They are literally everywhere. And they photobomb like pros.</div>
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So I challenge you to a little entry-specific game: Count the Double Deckers. (Answer at the bottom)</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eku9ofwO_IA/T7rY3qAGI9I/AAAAAAAAB0k/SfRTUcRrjTg/s1600/DSCN4824.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eku9ofwO_IA/T7rY3qAGI9I/AAAAAAAAB0k/SfRTUcRrjTg/s320/DSCN4824.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See? Everywhere.</td></tr>
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I also wandered around for about 30 minutes looking for the Piccadilly Circus. I . . . didn't really know what I was looking for. But I certainly didn't find anything that could arguably be called a "Circus." It confused me greatly.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hA8chJbo-bQ/T7rZG0IZ84I/AAAAAAAAB0s/Xp3wz3SXq-k/s1600/DSCN4831.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hA8chJbo-bQ/T7rZG0IZ84I/AAAAAAAAB0s/Xp3wz3SXq-k/s200/DSCN4831.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-02tfSJWT2bg/T7rZWf-uZcI/AAAAAAAAB00/uyV58ap1LGs/s1600/DSCN4832.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-02tfSJWT2bg/T7rZWf-uZcI/AAAAAAAAB00/uyV58ap1LGs/s200/DSCN4832.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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(Turns out a "circus" is English-speak for a roundabout road thing. Far less exciting. Also an "arcade" isn't what you think, and "Debeers" is 100% non-alcoholic jewelry. Sneaky Brits.)</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Qd9i1eVZcc8/T7raggyT-aI/AAAAAAAAB1M/wqWk-HSn39Q/s1600/DSCN4839.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Qd9i1eVZcc8/T7raggyT-aI/AAAAAAAAB1M/wqWk-HSn39Q/s320/DSCN4839.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-I7dmSveMqhg/T7rZvSEjOoI/AAAAAAAAB08/cFRwfdyjBvQ/s1600/DSCN4834.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-I7dmSveMqhg/T7rZvSEjOoI/AAAAAAAAB08/cFRwfdyjBvQ/s200/DSCN4834.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-u1nIM2_dH-k/T7raKCWwq8I/AAAAAAAAB1E/o9rWDYOZsKg/s1600/DSCN4845.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-u1nIM2_dH-k/T7raKCWwq8I/AAAAAAAAB1E/o9rWDYOZsKg/s200/DSCN4845.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-72OI5ZPIoXQ/T7raxrLcxvI/AAAAAAAAB1U/z0Tl7a26Mxo/s1600/DSCN4852.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-72OI5ZPIoXQ/T7raxrLcxvI/AAAAAAAAB1U/z0Tl7a26Mxo/s320/DSCN4852.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dear Prince Harry,<br />
I dubbed myself a Lady this week. Just sayin'.</td></tr>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hZgmENf9-Ik/T7rbCS-GtKI/AAAAAAAAB1c/5vk053TuW6k/s1600/DSCN4861.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hZgmENf9-Ik/T7rbCS-GtKI/AAAAAAAAB1c/5vk053TuW6k/s200/DSCN4861.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LFVLtsHAf-4/T7rbQaYsE6I/AAAAAAAAB1k/Fk8vGrrT4UE/s1600/DSCN4863.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LFVLtsHAf-4/T7rbQaYsE6I/AAAAAAAAB1k/Fk8vGrrT4UE/s200/DSCN4863.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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Also apparently my hostel was located on the only street in all of Great Britain that I can't pronounce. I asked the metro guy if I could get a ticket to take me to "<i>Gloooochesterrrrrr Road</i>," and after a lot of seconds of repetition and eye squints and quizzical mouth twitching he responded with "Ohhh <i>Glustah</i> Road." I said yes even though I was pretty sure that was wrong.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Wm_Fsz4IXhE/T7rby15ceXI/AAAAAAAAB1s/aBJjyRlXPz8/s1600/DSCN4871.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Wm_Fsz4IXhE/T7rby15ceXI/AAAAAAAAB1s/aBJjyRlXPz8/s200/DSCN4871.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mb_F4kabVe8/T7rcRnlqjpI/AAAAAAAAB10/gjNaxGDlSC0/s1600/DSCN4872.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mb_F4kabVe8/T7rcRnlqjpI/AAAAAAAAB10/gjNaxGDlSC0/s200/DSCN4872.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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Impossible. There were no pelicans.</div>
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Everything in England is just a little bit fancier.</div>
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[Unfortunately Day 2 ends here. To honor the Harry Potter experience, I will be giving it a post of its very own. I apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused you.]<br />
<br />
<b><i>Day 3</i></b><br />
<br />
Unfortunate circumstance of the day: the Central Tube line was closed for maintenance. You know, the line that essentially connects all the other lines. This attempt to ruin my plans did not go unnoticed. But I persevered, taking most of the city-wide journey on foot. Which came back to haunt me by about 8 o'clock, or 12 hours of nonstop walking.<br />
<br />
IN THE FIRST CORNER (SE), COMING IN AT A WHOPPING 16 POUNDS FOR ENTRY, WE HAVE THE TOWER OF LONDON!<br />
<br />
I'd give you some interesting historical facts that you could immediately forget, but I didn't pay to enter. Thus, I learned nothing. But look how pretty!<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rnwU3ANnRqE/T7roNSverWI/AAAAAAAAB20/hkA5-oT2Gg8/s1600/DSCN5159.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rnwU3ANnRqE/T7roNSverWI/AAAAAAAAB20/hkA5-oT2Gg8/s200/DSCN5159.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gLiR-AD--co/T7roje7wdHI/AAAAAAAAB28/aBfGShwNDlo/s1600/DSCN5188.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gLiR-AD--co/T7roje7wdHI/AAAAAAAAB28/aBfGShwNDlo/s200/DSCN5188.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Qsj1vcIFCls/T7roz19_O-I/AAAAAAAAB3E/Dc5rvz4NnR8/s1600/DSCN5163.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Qsj1vcIFCls/T7roz19_O-I/AAAAAAAAB3E/Dc5rvz4NnR8/s320/DSCN5163.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I am called the Monument.<br />
Because Londoners are sooo creative.</td></tr>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PzOHaD3SmQw/T7rpTzxGK8I/AAAAAAAAB3U/Cig3bGIHqvE/s1600/DSCN5186.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PzOHaD3SmQw/T7rpTzxGK8I/AAAAAAAAB3U/Cig3bGIHqvE/s200/DSCN5186.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tgdFwxXwFyg/T7rpkZyfp4I/AAAAAAAAB3c/o5XVvsypoR8/s1600/DSCN5192.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tgdFwxXwFyg/T7rpkZyfp4I/AAAAAAAAB3c/o5XVvsypoR8/s200/DSCN5192.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Bg4spL_c-70/T7rpDOcHwII/AAAAAAAAB3M/3VEEEco-XEA/s1600/DSCN5169.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Bg4spL_c-70/T7rpDOcHwII/AAAAAAAAB3M/3VEEEco-XEA/s320/DSCN5169.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">London Bridge = underwhelming</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-z1xi2lH5_D4/T7rpyV6X6sI/AAAAAAAAB3k/yXoez3TkD-c/s1600/DSCN5207.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-z1xi2lH5_D4/T7rpyV6X6sI/AAAAAAAAB3k/yXoez3TkD-c/s320/DSCN5207.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zee Globe Theatre!</td></tr>
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HP bridge :)</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m7vhwIFLZdM/T7rqqT0P-rI/AAAAAAAAB38/aJMCePmDYtE/s1600/DSCN5223.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m7vhwIFLZdM/T7rqqT0P-rI/AAAAAAAAB38/aJMCePmDYtE/s320/DSCN5223.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Early [this] day, to the steps of St. Paul . . .</td></tr>
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<br />
IIIIN THE SECOND CORNER (NE), COMING IN AT A WHOPPING 8 MILLION OBJECTS, THEY SAY HE'S CONTROVERSIAL BUT I SAY HE'S JUST OVERRATED, IT'S THE BRITISH MUSEUM!<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9iQJ0hlLIqg/T7rq7SkYUVI/AAAAAAAAB4E/t21A46OtwmQ/s1600/DSCN5232.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9iQJ0hlLIqg/T7rq7SkYUVI/AAAAAAAAB4E/t21A46OtwmQ/s200/DSCN5232.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8zp8XgvhVEE/T7rrOm4yHPI/AAAAAAAAB4M/VkEBa9E7kNU/s1600/DSCN5233.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8zp8XgvhVEE/T7rrOm4yHPI/AAAAAAAAB4M/VkEBa9E7kNU/s200/DSCN5233.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
I think whoever arranged this jewelry had a sense of humor.</div>
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<br />
By the time I got to the British Museum, my feet were already tuckering out. So I popped in on the mummies, then stopped for lunch, mostly to give my hands something to do while I sat for several moments. I realized I needed to plan my exploration of the museum carefully. So as to avoid prolonged foot travel. My lady feet bottoms were in no mood to wander aimlessly.<br />
<br />
On my map it listed "Things to see if you only have an hour." Perfect.<br />
<br />
What I didn't realize was that these 9 objects were located very strategically, ultimately forcing the victim to visit every corner of the museum, sometimes searching for several minutes for a teeny tiny African mask that couldn't possibly be the most important thing in the room. See above, re: "sneaky."<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TT85oQMIh40/T7rsYIzv-iI/AAAAAAAAB4s/zUUIxDHhAGs/s1600/DSCN5238.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TT85oQMIh40/T7rsYIzv-iI/AAAAAAAAB4s/zUUIxDHhAGs/s320/DSCN5238.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">#1 of 9: A gift for all my linguist buddies.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
In reality, this was the perfect way for me to tackle the museum. Not only did I get massive stairmaster exercise, but I was able to treat it like a puzzle. Like a scavenger hunt. Very Naional Treasure-y. Very fun. Well played, British Museum. Well played.<br />
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King's Cross! (HP . . . again.)</div>
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Dear Bobby with a Y from Indiana,</div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Thank you for capturing this moment. And for your patience. Third time's a charm, am I right? I will forever be in your debt.</div>
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Cordialement,</div>
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Molly with a Y from Tennessee</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0ftunhE29Fo/T7rtOWlvThI/AAAAAAAAB5E/RktoPoXMH9c/s1600/DSCN5252.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0ftunhE29Fo/T7rtOWlvThI/AAAAAAAAB5E/RktoPoXMH9c/s320/DSCN5252.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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AND IN THE THIRD CORNER (NW), DON'T LET THE CUTENESS FOOL YOU, IT'S NOTTING HILL!<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jkWONhq0KNM/T7rtrVxgJaI/AAAAAAAAB5M/4URWX1SAXfA/s1600/DSCN5254.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jkWONhq0KNM/T7rtrVxgJaI/AAAAAAAAB5M/4URWX1SAXfA/s200/DSCN5254.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UjISDklSa-4/T7ruB0FB24I/AAAAAAAAB5U/yLhxxDDDWms/s1600/DSCN5258.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UjISDklSa-4/T7ruB0FB24I/AAAAAAAAB5U/yLhxxDDDWms/s200/DSCN5258.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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Notting Hill is tiny, quiet, and merry.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ofUt6lGCotQ/T7ruQtPe4gI/AAAAAAAAB5c/XELBMMUnhJs/s1600/DSCN5259.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ofUt6lGCotQ/T7ruQtPe4gI/AAAAAAAAB5c/XELBMMUnhJs/s320/DSCN5259.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Place where the riches of ages are stowed . . ."</td></tr>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0L1TQ_fUKyo/T7rurlHrkEI/AAAAAAAAB5s/iI0kbWfnyzQ/s1600/DSCN5268.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0L1TQ_fUKyo/T7rurlHrkEI/AAAAAAAAB5s/iI0kbWfnyzQ/s200/DSCN5268.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wZR4_WekYUY/T7ru8kPwCtI/AAAAAAAAB50/CxR6GbJVzkg/s1600/DSCN5272.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wZR4_WekYUY/T7ru8kPwCtI/AAAAAAAAB50/CxR6GbJVzkg/s200/DSCN5272.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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I would have loved to explore Hyde Park a little longer, but I almost almost literally couldn't walk anymore. So to the hostel I marched.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2KtPkD4da1o/T7sOhRiIS2I/AAAAAAAAB6s/thLGp93pBCE/s1600/DSCN5264.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2KtPkD4da1o/T7sOhRiIS2I/AAAAAAAAB6s/thLGp93pBCE/s320/DSCN5264.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Good night, Hyde park. Good night, mush.<br />
Good night, old lady whispering "hush."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
AND IN THE FOURTH AND FINAL CORNER (SW), COMING IN AT 8:30PM, ABLE TO SUBDUE HIS TUCKERED OUT OPPONENTS WITHOUT LIFTING A FINGER, IT'S MOLLY'S BED!<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
---------------------------</div>
<b><i>Day 4</i></b><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AFbFngWDeTE/T7r4ebj0UcI/AAAAAAAAB6Q/VCAbz4V9dBA/s1600/DSCN5277.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AFbFngWDeTE/T7r4ebj0UcI/AAAAAAAAB6Q/VCAbz4V9dBA/s320/DSCN5277.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pip pip. Cheerio.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Amitiés :)<br />
<br />
[Answer: 16]<br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534399117282494315.post-3158001976707573302012-05-20T08:58:00.000+02:002012-05-20T18:42:20.120+02:00Pause for effectGood morning, trolley people!<br />
<br />
This post is coming to you as a precursor to the one I will hopefully be fleshing out later this evening.<br />
<br />
It's a drumroll, if you will.<br />
<br />
But today we are heading over to Cannes!<br />
<br />
For what, you might ask?<br />
<br />
Why for the Cannes Film Festival no less!<br />
<br />
Gonna go rub noses with some famous people. Maybe take a few pictures. Who knows!<br />
<br />
See you after I'm a star.<br />
<br />
Amitiés :)<br />
<br />
UPDATED: That's not the right idiom, is it? Something about "rub noses" sounds too invasive. Hmm.<br />
<br />
UPDATED: Yeah it's "rub elbows."<br />
<br />
UPDATED: Also maybe "rub shoulders?"Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534399117282494315.post-26583032511150179442012-05-15T01:02:00.003+02:002012-05-15T01:02:47.272+02:00ONE O'CLOCK AND AAALL'S WAYULL<u>PHRASE OF THE DAY</u><br />
<b>J'ai mal aux pieds: My feet hurt.</b><br />
<br />
Dear reader,<br />
<br />
As this evening draws to a close (or rather, drew to a close about 3 hours ago), some facts are made very clear: namely, airplanes strangle ink pens and frame you "red-handed," lettuce leaves make fantastic bowls that you can eat, and this London blog won't be finished for several days.<br />
<br />
I tried, you guys. I tried to finish it. But I didn't get very far for silly reasons. You know, like sleep. And an exam. And my plane leaves for Salzburg at 6:30. So in about 5.5 hours. And I won't be returning to Nice until Friday. Sooo . . . yeah.<br />
<br />
But here's a picture to tide you over.<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LoKBtjgk9hw/T7GOO-fHoJI/AAAAAAAABz8/e1uTsnTtivY/s1600/DSCN5252.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LoKBtjgk9hw/T7GOO-fHoJI/AAAAAAAABz8/e1uTsnTtivY/s320/DSCN5252.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Auf wiedersehen.<br />
<br />
Amitiés :)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534399117282494315.post-65200352067524670772012-05-10T05:24:00.002+02:002012-05-10T05:24:27.405+02:00London CallingThis will be short and to the point.<br />
<br />
Sort of like a toothpick.<br />
<br />
I'm leaving for London in T-4 hours.<br />
<br />
And so I bid you adieu. As I trek off into the sunset (or sunrise, mind you).<br />
<br />
To feast my wondering eyes on all things fish and chippy, Harry Potter, and backward driving.<br />
<br />
Am I scared? You betcha.<br />
<br />
Am I still going? Dadoy.<br />
<br />
Am I to the point of having lived alone for so long that I'm conversing with myself? That's irrelevant.<br />
<br />
See ya on the flip side.<br />
<br />
Amitiés :)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534399117282494315.post-19395218022625496782012-05-05T10:09:00.000+02:002012-05-05T10:09:11.417+02:00Moving for Moving Pictures<u>WORD OF THE DAY</u><br />
<b>yaourt (pronounced <i>yaoooorchhht</i>): yogurt</b><br />
<br />
Hey America.<br />
<br />
It's me. Molly.<br />
<br />
Just thought I'd let you know what I've been up to these past few precious hours.<br />
<br />
Not much really.<br />
<br />
Having some bouts of sleeplessness, but that happens.<br />
<br />
But I, uh, I do have other news.<br />
<br />
As of 0900 hours, I am officially on my way to London for a 3-day excursion this week! It is a precursor for my trip to Salzburg that will happen next week.<br />
<br />
But, you guys. That's not even the best part. Wanna know what that is?<br />
<br />
Well, like Austria, I'm also following a movie franchise to its homeland.<br />
<br />
Can you guess which one?<br />
<br />
Well I'll tell ya.<br />
<br />
It's Harry Potter, y'all.<br />
<br />
I'M GONNA GO ON THE <a href="http://www.wbstudiotour.co.uk/">HARRY POTTER TOUR</a>!<br />
<br />
Like of the sets and things of that awesome awesome nature!<br />
<br />
Oh the movies. They move me. Very very literally.<br />
<br />
So that's happening. And I could not be more excited. It is not humanly possible for me to be more excited than I am right now. If I were more excited I would explode. Or implode. Whichever is less bloody.<br />
<br />
<i>"Thought you ought to know . . ."</i> (for you true Harry potter fans . . . )<br />
<br />
Amitiés :)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534399117282494315.post-61145812589570186322012-05-03T06:48:00.000+02:002012-05-03T16:13:02.398+02:00Meow Meow Meow Meow<u>WORD OF THE DAY</u><br />
<b>le thon: tuna</b><br />
<br />
Ladies and gentlemen, it's that time again. The time of the year when pillows go on vacation, leaving textbooks to fill the void for the huddled masses to rest their heads; when sleep dances ogre-like just out of reach, evading you like a coy yet oddly heavy-footed mistress; when the hours start to melt together til your life is just one big meal consisting of pasta noodles, raw vegetables, and nutella.<br />
<br />
This is exam time.<br />
<br />
For me I guess it's not too bad. I actually only have 3 exams over the 3-week exam period. Now if my math is right, that averages to approximately 1 exam per week. Which is high on the "Things That Are Extra Doable" list. Somewhere between "Cooking a meal for 1" and "Taking care of a cactus."<br />
<br />
Extra doable. But some effort is involved. Apparently.<br />
<br />
So that's my life right now. Exam study. Beach. Rain. Study study study. Grocery. Cook. Eat. Seinfeld. Sleep.<br />
<br />
Welcome to my world. Please don't leave.<br />
<br />
Oh, speaking of cook, so I'm pretty sure I ate cat food for dinner last night. This is not a joke.<br />
<br />
I bought some canned tuna and canned salmon from the grocery (since I don't like cooking meat that hasn't been cooked already). But when I opened the salmon, it was not people food.<br />
<br />
I scooped it out of the tin and plopped it on the plate. You guys, this was straight up Fancy Feast.<br />
<br />
But, I mean, I ate it. It was only a little strange. Lies. It was extra weird.<br />
<br />
And I'm pretty sure the tuna/paté aisle is the same as the pet food supplies. This was super unwise, grocery people. WAY too much overlap.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
---------------------------------</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Ugh I wish I had more to tell you. After being gone for so long from the blogosphere you would think I had tales of wonder and awe and adventure to recount, but, alas, I do not.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Exam #1 in T-minus 8 hours. Bring it on.<br />
<br />
UPDATE: Oh! I just thought of a story. So last week my Canadians and I hit the town in hopes of attending quiz night at MaNolans. But, to our ultimate dismay, MaNolans is a très popular quiz night hotspot, and we were denied admittance on account'a there weren't no seats. <i>This pub ain't big enough for the 8 of us.</i><br />
<br />
But since no one remembered their pistols, challenging the other patrons to a duel for the specific purpose of commandeering a table seemed almost silly. So we left.<br />
<br />
Later that night, as we were swimming around from one casual dive to another, we ran into some other exchange students we know. One of the girls I'd met back in December at the ice-skating birthday party, but I didn't know her very well. (Obviously we had become friends on Facebook. This should come as no surprise.) Her name is Yvonne, and she's from Ireland. While I was standing a little off to the side, she came up to me, and, looking a bit flustered, she said, "You don't know me. And I don't know you, but <i>I feel like I know you</i>." She then proceeded to tell me how much she loves reading my blog, how it feels like I'm rehashing her experience in Nice exactly! How it's one of the 3 things in the world that gives her belly-laughs!<br />
<br />
You guys, I legitimately felt like a celebrity. It was so strange. Awesome, but a peculiar feeling.<br />
<br />
So, Yvonne, this post is dedicated to you. Because that made my night, and my week. And, honestly, without that story, this post was crap.<br />
<br />
So thanks, girl!<br />
<br />
Amitiés :)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534399117282494315.post-67502014728710396662012-04-25T03:21:00.001+02:002012-04-25T14:55:59.827+02:00Punky Tunester<div>
<u>PHRASE OF THE DAY</u></div>
<div>
<b>la crête: mohawk</b></div>
<div>
<b><br /></b></div>
<div>
Look! Up in the sky! It's a bird! It's a plane! It's . . . no wait, it's just a plane. But it's also SUPERMOLLY! Because she's INSIDE the plane! (Because unlike most super heroes, Supermolly doesn't have the gift of flight, or speed, or invisible planes. And she'd thank you to stop bugging her about it. It's a terrible inconvenience.)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But perhaps Supermolly is also in the plane because she officially bought her ticket home! So the ticking time bomb has been set to 31 days and some hours. Supermolly can't remember exactly right now. But it's probably okay.<i> I mean when do ticking time bombs go down to the final seconds anyway?</i> That never happens.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
D-DAY: May 26th</div>
<div>
Destination: Nashville</div>
<div>
Via: Madrid & Dallas</div>
<div>
Time: 20 hours</div>
<div>
All: smiles :)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Also, in keeping with the superhero theme, I've recently discovered I have an alterego, Molly Fessler, and she's a card-carrying member of the underground punk scene of Nice, France.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Let me explain.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
On Thursday night, our plans to wreak havoc on the quiz night crowd at MaNolans quickly derailed, crashing uncontrollably into an uncharacteristically clean alleyway basement punk show. (Adrien had a friend who was playing drums in one of the bands.)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'll start off by saying I thought I knew what punk was, and I was mistaken.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Punk is loud.</div>
<div>
Punk is thumpy.</div>
<div>
Punk is wrought with angst and sweaty mosh-pits.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In order to get in, we had to get a membership card. My card was made out to Molly Fessler. It's good for a year.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Emily and I quickly noticed how out of place we were. My dress was just a little too flowery and my hair a little too braidy for this cave of black-jeaned, purple-haired ruffians who probably wouldn't ever use a word like "ruffian" (or the French equivalent).</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I was also expecting it to be a LOT more crowded than it was. Maybe 25 people tops at the beginning. But then I thought about it for a minute. <i>How big could the punk scene in Nice POSSIBLY be?</i> And then I looked around again and was shocked that there were actually 25 people there.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The first band to play (and ultimately the only one I saw) was pretty much exactly what I should have expected. Long-haired guitarist, slightly heftier bassist, and a crazy drummer who took his shirt off halfway through.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-w-q0SRb0BFk/T5cixnQW1BI/AAAAAAAABzk/zWxtdJklMbE/s1600/Punk+Rock.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-w-q0SRb0BFk/T5cixnQW1BI/AAAAAAAABzk/zWxtdJklMbE/s320/Punk+Rock.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The only part of the show that I found tolerable was the one song where they yodeled. I don't know if that's typical for punk music, but I do love a good yodel.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In the small area right in front of the band, there formed a mosh-pit, shove-y and violent, as mosh-pits are wont to be. But I had a hard time focusing on the mosh-pit, as almost all of my attention was drawn elsewhere.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The mohawk.</div>
<div>
More than a foot tall.</div>
<div>
RED.</div>
<div>
It defied social norms and physics.</div>
<div>
I felt inspired. By the mohawk. And the Shakespirit that visits when I've been alone for too long.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>Shall I compare thee to a mohawk?</i></div>
<div>
<i>Thou art more lovely and more permanent</i></div>
<div>
<i>Rough winds do shake hair buds not yet mohawked</i></div>
<div>
<i>And hair gel's lease hath all too short a date.</i></div>
<div>
<i>Sometime too hot the straightener doth press</i></div>
<div>
<i>And oft is his red complexion dimm'd</i></div>
<div>
<i>And every hair from hair sometime too stressed</i></div>
<div>
<i>By chance or having left too long untrimm'd</i></div>
<div>
<i>But thy eternal color shall not fade</i></div>
<div>
<i>Nor lose possession of that hair thou holdst</i></div>
<div>
<i>Nor shall Death Metal sag the precipice hair-sprayed</i></div>
<div>
<i>When in vertical lines to time thou growest:</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>So long as men can breathe, no breath will squash it</i></div>
<div>
<i>So long lives this, the mohawk in the mosh-pit.</i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
------------------------------</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Though the mohawk made a fighting case, we did end up ditching the punky tunesters after the first set (leaving Adrien to support his drumming friend alone).</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Then me, Emily, and her two French friends went to a gelateria, ate there, then to a café, ordered drinks, and sat outside, playing it super French.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It was very pleasant.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
All in all a nice way to round out a somewhat unorthodox evening.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
------------------------------</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Also, before going to the punk show, I met up at Emily's place for dinner and such. Our friend Agnes cut Em's bangs before we left.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8InNdtwZCSw/T5dPFeL6YVI/AAAAAAAABzs/RSf94R6n5Qk/s1600/IMG-20120419-00049.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8InNdtwZCSw/T5dPFeL6YVI/AAAAAAAABzs/RSf94R6n5Qk/s200/IMG-20120419-00049.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5xO1NY0BXgw/T5dPTgr2XQI/AAAAAAAABz0/4ZFuHBVBQDs/s1600/IMG-20120419-00051.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5xO1NY0BXgw/T5dPTgr2XQI/AAAAAAAABz0/4ZFuHBVBQDs/s200/IMG-20120419-00051.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Mustachioed friends are the best kind of friends.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
------------------------------</div>
<div>
OH!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
ALSO!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I just bought a plane ticket to go to SALZBURG!!! In AUSTRIA!!!!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Thanks to the wise guidance of a certain older sister, I was notified that there is a certain guided tour of the set and scenery from a certain famous musical concerning a certain Von Trapp family.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
You guys . . . for 3 whole days after my exams, the hills will be alive with ME.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Get it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So that will be coming later.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Until then, I will be soaking up these B-E-A-utiful riviera rays. Hoping to get a base tan. Hoping to circumvent melanoma. It's a delicate balance. And a crap-ton of sunscreen.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's the home stretch. Let's do this.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Amitiés :)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534399117282494315.post-87668944029872633572012-04-19T01:32:00.003+02:002012-04-19T03:26:43.951+02:00A Brief History of Time . . .<u>PHRASE OF THE DAY</u><br />
<b>mon coeur: my heart</b><br />
<br />
Wussup, internet people?<br />
<br />
I have fanTAStic news! I applied back in February for the Resident Counselor position at Governor's School for International Studies (which I attended back in high school), and I just found out yesterday that I GOT THE JOB!!! It's 5 weeks at the University of Memphis!<br />
<br />
I am so freaking excited! I figured this summer would be the best time for me to do it, because, after spending 9 months overseas, I will literally never be more prepared for the job than I am right now. It's international studies, guys. International.<br />
<br />
So yeah! Super excited. I might even go so far as to say super <i>duper</i> excited.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
--------------------------</div>
<br />
So this was the last week of classes, which is also super awesome. And even though it's only Wednesday, I can say "was the last week of classes" because I don't have class on Thursday <u>OR</u> Friday! So it's the start of our Reading Week before the 3 week exam period to follow. For me, though, even though I took 7 classes, I only have 3 exams! (Since my other classes already did all the testing and essay writing and brain exploding this week.)<br />
<br />
SO! Right now I'm a happier camper, a chipperer camper.<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">
--------------------------</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The past few days/week-ish, when I haven't been studying or writing essays or sleeping, I've spent some time hanging with my Canadians; lounging about, drinking balcony wine, and discussing theories of quantum physics and chaos theory mixed with a Sartre-influenced look at existentialism.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Most of the evenings end with joyous laughter and wonderful company, but one particular evening yielded something a little more substantial, a little more concrete, a lot more catchy.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Instead of <i>telling</i> you, why don't I just <i>show</i> you:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/qSe0b01Yyc4?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This song was totally improvised. The first time they sang it. Then about 17 tries later we got this little beauty.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So here's to Josh and Adrien. One day you'll be youtube famous, and I can say with an old-timey radio businessman voice "<i>This is where you got your start, see. Gonna be big big stars one day! Gonna get your own picture show!</i>"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That is my vision for the future.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">
--------------------------</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Since I've been fairly busy with school, not much else has happened. But I recently came across several pictures from my phone and camera that didn't ever make it to the blogosphere. Fortunately for you, I feel they're worth sharing.</div>
<div>
<br />
Fetch me my time turner!<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
We're about to get real nostalgic, y'all.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So when I first arrived in Nice, Helen and I explored a bit of the city, markets included. (<a href="http://mollykessler.blogspot.fr/2011/10/phrase-of-day-jai-la-tete-qui-tourne-im.html">Eat, Pray, Love</a>)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-p-__jCsp__M/T47fdD9OPgI/AAAAAAAABt8/2XJd9uoyq4c/s1600/DSCN2668.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-p-__jCsp__M/T47fdD9OPgI/AAAAAAAABt8/2XJd9uoyq4c/s200/DSCN2668.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9hubjc3bi1g/T47feq0XBjI/AAAAAAAABuE/XWjx7FvcA5M/s1600/noo-noo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="181" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9hubjc3bi1g/T47feq0XBjI/AAAAAAAABuE/XWjx7FvcA5M/s200/noo-noo.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I don't need to explain myself.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9kYw2atW1eM/T49KNtVWsAI/AAAAAAAABy0/1JNuL-IkeqI/s1600/DSCN2670.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9kYw2atW1eM/T49KNtVWsAI/AAAAAAAABy0/1JNuL-IkeqI/s320/DSCN2670.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He doesn't call it posing. He calls it standing with <i>STYLE</i>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PrDC4dJLTsE/T47g6_6ASUI/AAAAAAAABuU/hgLKpxo-nyc/s1600/DSCN2667.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PrDC4dJLTsE/T47g6_6ASUI/AAAAAAAABuU/hgLKpxo-nyc/s320/DSCN2667.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gringotts is in the building!<br />
Or. . . Gringotts <i>is the buiding</i>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Soon after arriving, classes started. Funny thing about the Fac. de Lettres, they don't have toilet seats. (<a href="http://mollykessler.blogspot.fr/2011/09/lost-in-translation.html">Lost in Translation</a>)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YNLG337sRzc/T47pNRiGjQI/AAAAAAAABuk/LMMBNS4dVzY/s1600/IMG-20111017-00012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YNLG337sRzc/T47pNRiGjQI/AAAAAAAABuk/LMMBNS4dVzY/s320/IMG-20111017-00012.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I feel like it's looking at me . . . angrily.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Remember that time I went crazy and killed an entire megalopolis of flies that had invaded my room uninvited? Though I risk you thinking this is gross, I just have to post this picture. (<a href="http://mollykessler.blogspot.fr/2011/10/fly.html">The Fly</a>)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_PJJsglidao/T47m1zgXXaI/AAAAAAAABuc/PEyKquT-XVI/s1600/DSCN3033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_PJJsglidao/T47m1zgXXaI/AAAAAAAABuc/PEyKquT-XVI/s320/DSCN3033.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After the massacre . . .</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Then there was the time I hiked all the way down a mountain in sandals cos I was looking for the bus stop. (<a href="http://mollykessler.blogspot.fr/2011/10/little-miss-sunshine.html">Little Miss Sunshine</a>)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mj-sFZzh05U/T47q2OzB9nI/AAAAAAAABus/aHiwsVBccZE/s1600/DSCN3008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mj-sFZzh05U/T47q2OzB9nI/AAAAAAAABus/aHiwsVBccZE/s320/DSCN3008.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was the English group that passed me. So much gear.<br />
I was well underprepared.</td></tr>
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Later Helen and I made our way to Cannes, a thoroughly underwhelming city with fancy wall art and big dreams, but that about covers it. Here is a more savory taste of the movie-themed art we encountered. (<a href="http://mollykessler.blogspot.fr/2011/10/creature-from-black-lagoon.html">Creature From the Black Lagoon</a>)</div>
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I got a wonderful care package from my friends back home. This is Prince Charmander. He kept me company during the quieter times.<br />
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Then there was that time in the amphitheater when the gods of theatrical excellence poured their golden water of thespianism upon my tender head. Turns out there are so many pictures I didn't publish. (<a href="http://mollykessler.blogspot.fr/2011/10/princess-diaries.html">The Princess Diaries</a>)</div>
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Pretty soonish after that Helen and I made our way to Grasse, the perfume capital of the world (I think). But I never got around to posting anything about it since I scooted off to the UK and lost all interest in smelling good things. So here are some pictures. It was pleasant. Rainy but pleasant.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SYcQhrjfP_Y/T48udqio_8I/AAAAAAAABvk/M9uL2Lda4FQ/s1600/DSCN3303.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SYcQhrjfP_Y/T48udqio_8I/AAAAAAAABvk/M9uL2Lda4FQ/s320/DSCN3303.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tWOEQjQowEs/T48z_LUuWJI/AAAAAAAABwk/yR3amktLBKI/s1600/DSCN3295.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tWOEQjQowEs/T48z_LUuWJI/AAAAAAAABwk/yR3amktLBKI/s200/DSCN3295.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3XWTOSxtCco/T48vPnEmpNI/AAAAAAAABv0/GkSis76GwNc/s1600/DSCN3304.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3XWTOSxtCco/T48vPnEmpNI/AAAAAAAABv0/GkSis76GwNc/s200/DSCN3304.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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At our hostel in Dublin, the stairs were really obnoxious. (<a href="http://mollykessler.blogspot.fr/2011/11/holiday.html">The Holiday</a>)</div>
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Saint Paul de Vence had creepy future toilets that clean themselves. (<a href="http://mollykessler.blogspot.fr/2011/11/contagion.html">Contagion</a>)</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pgQueh5MD6Q/T48zCqKo02I/AAAAAAAABwU/kWG-vwBN0ig/s1600/IMG-20111105-00019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pgQueh5MD6Q/T48zCqKo02I/AAAAAAAABwU/kWG-vwBN0ig/s200/IMG-20111105-00019.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nre-FUEZ2N4/T48zEv16HhI/AAAAAAAABwc/5x5_dG6B9iY/s1600/IMG-20111105-00018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nre-FUEZ2N4/T48zEv16HhI/AAAAAAAABwc/5x5_dG6B9iY/s200/IMG-20111105-00018.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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I also started cooking really awesomely, trying my hand at some typical French cuisine or literally anything over pasta.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9IDbfJB3zjY/T484mRQV7bI/AAAAAAAABw0/V8l5P8VFUiw/s1600/DSCN3631.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9IDbfJB3zjY/T484mRQV7bI/AAAAAAAABw0/V8l5P8VFUiw/s320/DSCN3631.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">La Salade Niçoise</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Un Croque Monsieur (essentially)</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fancy pasta</td></tr>
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Remember when my mom and Amy came to visit over Christmas? While sitting in a train station, we spotted a man who had recently gotten hair plugs taken from the back of his head and moved to the top. So naturally I took a picture. (<a href="http://mollykessler.blogspot.fr/2012/01/passport-to-paris.html">Passport to Paris</a>)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bFPAFkQQGlw/T488dCnSWMI/AAAAAAAABxM/bPbNgkTbkUw/s1600/DSCN3898.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bFPAFkQQGlw/T488dCnSWMI/AAAAAAAABxM/bPbNgkTbkUw/s320/DSCN3898.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's called crop rotation, guys. Don't judge. This is science.</td></tr>
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The Geneva trashcans make a return appearance. (<a href="http://mollykessler.blogspot.fr/2012/02/willkommen-bienvenue-welcome.html">Willkommen, Bienvenue, Welcome</a>)<br />
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<i>"We're dirty and we don't wanna beee . . ."</i></div>
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Here's a secret: when I was having trouble finding people to travel with for spring break, in addition to asking around to see who else was traveling (which was probably the more reasonable of my actions) I also began crafting a PSA for myself. It was to be hosted by Sarah McLachlan, and it would feature Molly, the sad sad little exchange student suffering from bouts of cabin fever and loneliness. Though the PSA never reached completion, I did get about halfway finished before spring break plans were ultimately hatched with my Canadians. Let's just be happy it didn't come to this.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1V-Uh8sbh0A/T49ooLF1cBI/AAAAAAAABzc/X5yJ1AHRnVI/s1600/Blog+me19+(sad)2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1V-Uh8sbh0A/T49ooLF1cBI/AAAAAAAABzc/X5yJ1AHRnVI/s320/Blog+me19+(sad)2.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Now, you may be tempted to switch to another blog post,<br />and I know the majority of you will. Because who cares?<br />She's not your child, why should you care?</td></tr>
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At the flower battle, we felt like veritable queens with our giant floral arrangements. Niks must have a distant royal bloodline, cos she took to it real fast. (<a href="http://mollykessler.blogspot.fr/2012/02/happiness-is-warm-run.html">Happiness is a warm run</a>)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kTBDFVDaBV8/T48-6jvfZiI/AAAAAAAABxU/cbdQZESIAvM/s1600/DSCN4531.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kTBDFVDaBV8/T48-6jvfZiI/AAAAAAAABxU/cbdQZESIAvM/s320/DSCN4531.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Mooore grapes, fair Nikita?</i></td></tr>
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Our hostel in Lisbon was the cutest one yet. And their sense of humor was excellent. Very high brow. (<a href="http://mollykessler.blogspot.fr/2012/03/nao-falo-portugues.html">Não falo português</a>)<br />
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On the door of every locker</div>
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Some more from Cabo da Roca</div>
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Emily and I attempted to recreate a meal we had in Madrid. We were über successful. Round 2 is tomorrow night, y'all. (<a href="http://mollykessler.blogspot.fr/2012/03/no-hablo-ethpanol.html">No hablo ethpañol</a>)<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gOcx62qKicA/T49Lc0wnsmI/AAAAAAAABy8/E2UaezrsC3M/s1600/IMG-20120308-00033.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gOcx62qKicA/T49Lc0wnsmI/AAAAAAAABy8/E2UaezrsC3M/s320/IMG-20120308-00033.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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One day, a wrong turn down an unfamiliar street yielded more than I was prepared to handle.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EFUt4-ns_Ik/T49L5lWEYNI/AAAAAAAABzE/AnyrWun0kjs/s1600/IMG-20120310-00034.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EFUt4-ns_Ik/T49L5lWEYNI/AAAAAAAABzE/AnyrWun0kjs/s320/IMG-20120310-00034.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>There's a snake on my boot!</i></td></tr>
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These roller blading guys recently came out of hybernation, and they compete and do tricks on the promenade every single day. It's fun to watch while I'm running.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rcd1ozC-cAE/T49MrMjjBdI/AAAAAAAABzM/g5FVOtnlC3E/s1600/IMG-20120324-00039.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rcd1ozC-cAE/T49MrMjjBdI/AAAAAAAABzM/g5FVOtnlC3E/s320/IMG-20120324-00039.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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This morning when I came out of class, I noticed a door to my right. This door is not meant for thru-traffic, so there are signs all over it saying "Do not enter" "Don't open me" yadda yadda yadda. But there was one sign that caught my eye. It was super French.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TqksrLPQaFI/T49N30Qi7yI/AAAAAAAABzU/c5In1r5fc3s/s1600/IMG-20120418-00044.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TqksrLPQaFI/T49N30Qi7yI/AAAAAAAABzU/c5In1r5fc3s/s320/IMG-20120418-00044.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The emergency stairs are reserved strictly for one purpose.<br />
For smoking.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
(And there are ALWAYS people out there smoking during breaks. So you know the sign is working.)<br />
<br />
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--------------------------</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Well that was a fun little journey, wasn't it? I have a little over a month left here. And I'm starting to feel it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Here's to making it count.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Amitiés :)</div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534399117282494315.post-69259968221406112012-04-12T17:57:00.001+02:002012-04-12T18:48:30.450+02:00Zip Zap Zop<div>
<u>PHRASE OF THE DAY</u></div>
<div>
<b>I need a bike to avoid insanity: J'ai besoin d'un vélo pour eviter la folie.</b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
This past Saturday was a momentous occasion. It was, wands at the ready, officially the most fun I've had in Nice since I arrived. That's high praise, I know.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Okay so technically we weren't <i>in</i> Nice, but a 30 minute bus ride doesn't really count as traveling, so, for our purposes here, yes, the fun was had in Nice.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Let's take a look back, shall we?<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
For le mood</div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The day was April 7th. A Saturday morning. Early. I awoke, in a daze, unsure of my surroundings, as I had spent the night on Adrien's couch after a Canadian get-together the night before had stretched into the wee hours of the morning, inciting concern in my lovely Canadians' hearts and preventing them from thrusting a poor, defenseless, incredibly vulnerable American out into the merciless night where danger literally lurks in every shadowy alleyway lit only by a blinking "No Vacancy" sign and the heartbeat of a hooker's cigarette.</div>
<div>
<br />
After we said our good mornings and good byes, I returned to my domicile. If only for a moment.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
I received a text message that afternoon, "Zipline at 315. Come over asap." 8 minutes later, another message, "And when I mean asap, I mean in less than 20 minutes (last bus leaves then)."<br />
<br />
<i>What this message fails to mention is that I was, at that moment, sprawled haphazardly on my bed in my comfiest home clothes, no closer to the promenade than the train creeping out of the station, destination Ventimiglia.</i><br />
<br />
I threw on my sportiest clothes. Then turned to leave. But my key. She was gone. I knew I hadn't much time. I began thrashing about my room. Panic stricken. Heaving the clutter left and right, flailing my arms, bed sheets, and foodstuffs.<br />
7 minutes later, I was in the hall, door locked firmly behind me.<br />
<br />
And I ran.<br />
<br />
I ran all the way down to the promenade.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
---------------------------</div>
<br />
Okay, I'm film-noired out. You? Let us continue.<br />
<br />
So we took the bus about 30-40 minutes outside the "city," but, after some confusion, we got off 2 stops too late. Some were annoyed. I just found it hilarious. So we formed a single-file line, and backtracked our path, hugging the barrier to avoid oncoming traffic. This song was rightfully stuck in my head.<br />
<br />
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<br />
As was this one.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/83bmsluWHZc?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
But we finally got to our destination.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OQSTljYECmw/T4btaxBKV1I/AAAAAAAABp8/epIdzX6D9wI/s1600/560494_10150658351284926_708849925_9600981_1408421738_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OQSTljYECmw/T4btaxBKV1I/AAAAAAAABp8/epIdzX6D9wI/s200/560494_10150658351284926_708849925_9600981_1408421738_n.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KAce-kVGG3c/T4btg6LPcJI/AAAAAAAABqE/PtpimHAIPzs/s1600/398776_10150658351609926_708849925_9600985_1057033453_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KAce-kVGG3c/T4btg6LPcJI/AAAAAAAABqE/PtpimHAIPzs/s200/398776_10150658351609926_708849925_9600985_1057033453_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pFNW5xz4AU0/T4btkZCJOQI/AAAAAAAABqM/wVM6h_XZ3UE/s1600/527669_10150658352069926_708849925_9600998_1131218054_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pFNW5xz4AU0/T4btkZCJOQI/AAAAAAAABqM/wVM6h_XZ3UE/s320/527669_10150658352069926_708849925_9600998_1131218054_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
After a 2 kilometer bike ride down a dirt path, over the river and through the woods that reminded me nostalgically of Radnor Lake, through some giant mud puddles that reminded me of the Kilimanjaro Safari, we arrived.<br />
<br />
The ropes course.<br />
<br />
We dismounted our bikes and beheld the wondrous sight of rope ladders, cables, and carabiners, stretched across the canopy of trees looming overhead. It was glorious.<br />
<br />
After a brief instructional demonstration, we were left to our own devices and began ascending one by one up the rope ladder, for a level-2 difficulty day of fun.<br />
<br />
It was SO MUCH FUN. I can't even express it enough. I felt like a spider monkey, zipping through the trees, dangling from vines, swinging from platform to platform without a sense that we were a lot of meters above the ground.<br />
<br />
And it was great because it actually required that I use every ounce of strength I could muster and then a little bit more. I was challenged, but in a good way. A fun way.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kY9tcoFKmX0/T4b3GSftAuI/AAAAAAAABsI/STjRoD-V160/s1600/546266_10150658352714926_708849925_9601004_1596548715_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kY9tcoFKmX0/T4b3GSftAuI/AAAAAAAABsI/STjRoD-V160/s320/546266_10150658352714926_708849925_9601004_1596548715_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chas, this is a great picture of you, and Imma let you finish,<br />
but I don't know if you noticed us in the background.<br />
We're literally hanging out on the side of the wall.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
On one of the zip lines, the longest one that went over the river, Niks missed the landing platform and flew back down the line like a sad little pendulum. Nikita: the only one who had to get rescued by a professional.<br />
<br />
Speaking of rescuing people, I totally saved someone's life.<br />
<br />
There was one level where you had to go across a chasm using only vertical logs suspended by cables.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vkMEMc1NUHs/T4b1suitcxI/AAAAAAAABr4/uYI6PWz2FcA/s1600/Danger,+Will+Robinson.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vkMEMc1NUHs/T4b1suitcxI/AAAAAAAABr4/uYI6PWz2FcA/s200/Danger,+Will+Robinson.png" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Danger, Will Robinson</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Steph was in front of me. And her harness got tangled on the logs, and she couldn't move forward. So she tried returning to the platform, but her strength gave out. So you know what I did? I sprang into action, relocating my carabiner, and, crouching down, I literally lifted her to safety. Out of the air. I lifted her out of the air.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Oa3acCnVuJI/T4b2ZPpn14I/AAAAAAAABsA/-3sJ4KCTd10/s1600/Rescue.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Oa3acCnVuJI/T4b2ZPpn14I/AAAAAAAABsA/-3sJ4KCTd10/s320/Rescue.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">BABAM</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
But I'm no hero. All in a day's work, my friends. All in a day's work.<br />
<br />
When we were done, the exhaustion was palpable.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WwZ1vOxX0w8/T4b47jBdmZI/AAAAAAAABsQ/FsIr8KneN_E/s1600/561976_10150658352939926_708849925_9601007_605816085_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WwZ1vOxX0w8/T4b47jBdmZI/AAAAAAAABsQ/FsIr8KneN_E/s320/561976_10150658352939926_708849925_9601007_605816085_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
My muscles were Jello, my arms like spaghetti, and my extremities covered with bruises like a 2 week old banana. I looked like I had been physically assaulted. But I didn't care. I was in my happy place. And the bike ride back to the camp was so wonderful, I would have ridden all the way back to Nice if stealing other people's things wasn't a felony.<br />
<br />
I think Adrien summed it up best, on the ride back: "You know in French movies when they bike through the countryside? That's what this feels like."<br />
<br />
Yes, Adrien. It feels <i>exactly</i> like that.<br />
<br />
Amitiés :)<br />
<br />
UPDATE: Photos courtesy of Nikita.</div>
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534399117282494315.post-59041861679929256442012-04-09T19:46:00.001+02:002012-04-11T04:12:31.239+02:00Slammin'<u>WORD OF THE DAY</u><br />
<b>slam poetry: le slam</b><br />
<br />
My goodness what a busy bee I've been.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Busy busy busy.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But all for good things.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Since I usually reserve blogging for the evenings, I was forced to put it on the back burner this week, as almost every night was wrought with other fun things to do. Movies, poetry slams, rock climbing, Easter dinner, and "karaoke" kiiind of took precedence.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But I'm back to recount some of the wondrous wondrous things I've done.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This past Wednesday, the first of the month, there was another poetry slam at that little hole-in-the-wall place that I'd visited last month. I decided to go back, this time with Heather (from Arizona). We got there, we sat down, the only Anglophones in the room.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And then the intermission.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I decided, for the second round of poets, that I would sign up to recite something.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I said to myself, "Molly, you better slam that poetry." And I did.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I recited a poem (in English) by Sarah Kay called <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e3cBk8Qn-Rk">"B."</a> It's pretty much my favorite poem of all time ever. And even though most of the audience was French, and maybe some of them don't speak English even a little bit, I think they understood. (And I think maybe they didn't care when I skipped a sizable chunk in the middle cos I was focusing too hard on keeping the microphone steady in my trembling hands.)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This video was another one of the slam poets who performed. His was a little more slammy than mine. And still very powerful. (Sorry for the terrible cameramanship. It took me a few seconds to make it not sideways.)</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
(Toward the end I got scared that the guy at the door was giving me the stink-eye, so I hid the camera behind the man in front of me. Video quality is less than adequate.)</div>
<br />
<div>
As the final poets were performing, the emcee-like guy asked me if I had another poem to recite, and I said no, and he said "Well, that's a shame." So then I thought real hard, and I came up with one to perform, but it was too long for the time we had left. But it's probably for the best. "The Monster's Three Wishes" would have definitely ruined my cool mojo I had established with the first poem.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But it really was exhilarating. And I really want to go back next month.<br />
<br />
But probably not with "The Monster's Three Wishes."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Amitiés :)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534399117282494315.post-72071787878499919092012-04-01T18:53:00.001+02:002012-04-01T19:03:25.473+02:00Tuppence a Bag"I feel the wind blow through my hair<br />
I'm gonna be ready this time<br />
I'll buy a ticket to anywhere<br />
I'm gonna be ready this time.<br />
...<br />
Ready, ready, ready, ready,<br />
Ready to run."<br />
<br />
The Dixie Chicks help me express my feelings. And I have a lot of feelings.<br />
<br />
I've started up running again! 4 times this week! Babam!<br />
<br />
Yesterday while I was out scooting down the promenade, I happened upon this little old man standing off to the side under a tree. He was surrounded by birds. I looked up and saw that he had crumbs in his hands, and was feeding the birds! Out of his hands! So I went up to him and expressed my amusement, and you know what happened? I held a bird, y'all. A real bird. He gave me some of the feed and I held a bird.<br />
<br />
It's the little things.<br />
<br />
(But I definitely didn't touch my face until I got home. Bird flu is serious.)<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">------------------</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">So I'm sorry it's been so long since my last post, you guys. You should know, I get really really hermity when academic stressors pop up. Last week, in addition to not feeling 100%, I had quite a bit on my plate. Remember in my last entry when I talked about those essays I have to write by the end of the semester? Well, turns out I wrote 11 pages of one before realizing I was writing on the wrong topic. And it was the biggest bummer of my life.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Also yesterday we had a 4 hour essay test for that same class. Yes, you read that correctly. It was on a Saturday. And it was gross.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">But last night I went over to a friend's place a watched <i>Persepolis</i>, and tonight we're all meeting up again.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">So things are looking up.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">"Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times, when one only remembers to turn on the light."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Dumbledore helps me express my more pensive emotions.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Amitiés :)<br />
<br />
UPDATE: I want a companion, so I've sold all my possessions for turtle money.<br />
<br />
UPDATE: APRIL FOOLS!</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534399117282494315.post-18514833612217641852012-03-26T22:38:00.003+02:002012-03-27T01:40:51.297+02:00I'm still fighting it...by writing itSometimes essays and homework give me the skeevies. This is one of those times.<br />
<br />
Someday I'll look back on this moment in my life and think, "Huh. 35,000 characters x 2 = 70,000. 70,000 characters. I mean, what is that really, in the big scheme of things?"<br />
<br />
And then I'll pause for a moment.<br />
<br />
And then I'll heave a big sigh and realize these 2 essays were meaningless ventures. They didn't matter. I'm no better or worse because of them.<br />
<br />
And then I remember that it's not the future yet, and I still have to write them.<br />
<br />
And I cry.<br />
<br />
So there's only one thing left to do: a battle to the death. Two essays enter, two essays and a severely sleep-deprived college student leave.<br />
<br />
Amitiés :(<br />
<br />
. . . or whatever you say when you want to spear someone with a trident.<br />
<br />
UPDATE: This just in: It's 25,000-30,000 characters, y'all. Go Speed Racer, Go!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534399117282494315.post-66362572840518879902012-03-23T13:01:00.002+01:002012-03-23T13:14:22.471+01:00Party on, Garth.<u>PHRASE OF THE DAY</u><br />
<b>Je ne veux que danser: I only want to dance.</b><br />
<br />
Birthday week strikes again!<br />
<br />
Two days ago my mom celebrated a birthday back home, Adrien celebrated a birthday in Nice, and the spring season is now one year older and all the wiser. (Spring chose to forgo presents this year and instead funneled all efforts into making the riviera weather intoxicatingly beautiful. And my god has it worked.)<br />
<br />
Since I couldn't be home to spend the day with my mom, I joined up with some friends to congratulate Adrien on having thwarted death for exactly 21 years. We ordered pizza and lounged about for about 6 hours, and it was really just a fantastic evening.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: yellow;">HIGHLIGHT REEL:</span><br />
<br />
1. So I've decided to shoulder the daunting task of trying to make America sound really awesome in the international sphere by introducing my peers to a magical plethora of freedom fry topics. This, friends, is called "cultural integration." As an ambassador for America, I feel it's my civic duty to enlighten the international community to our most important achievements. So far we've thoroughly discussed the Grand Ole Opry, Oprah, and the One-Eyed-One-Horned-Flying-Purple-People-Eater. I'm well on my way to repairing our image, y'all.<br />
<br />
2. Unfortunately the topic of the Westboro Baptist Church <i>kept coming up</i>. Like 4 times. This was unintentional and frankly way too homophobic for my taste. But we all agreed to recognize that this church is in the minority. The super-minority. The most minoritiest interest group in existence. I think more people have been attacked by lawn flamingos.<br />
<br />
3. "YOU get to be a saint! YOU get to be a saint! YOU get to be a saint! EVERYBODY GETS TO BE A SAAAAINT!!" --Poprah<br />
<br />
4. For me, nights in with friends beat nights out with friends a million to one without question. No, a <a href="http://namedropping.files.wordpress.com/2010/01/peanuts1.jpg"><i>googolplex</i></a> to one. As Andy Samberg as Nicolas Cage would say, "That's high praise."<br />
<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">-------------------</div><br />
Then last night we all went out in celebration of our friend Jhordan's birthday. The evening was kind of short for me, as I wanted to catch the last bus home. But it was a good time.<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">-------------------</div><div><br />
</div><div>I'll have to come back later and tell you about my theatre class yesterday. It was entertaining.</div><div><br />
</div><div>But for now, I need to grocery. And then I need to essay. And then I need to beach.</div><div><br />
</div><div>So it may be a while . . .</div><div><br />
</div><div>Amitiés :)<br />
<br />
UPDATE: Yesterday I read on blogger that someone had searched for my blog using the keyword "pull the blanket over my head and make it go away." I'm confused that this happened. But I'm even more confused that it worked.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534399117282494315.post-82146288905497441242012-03-19T23:13:00.002+01:002012-03-20T01:14:13.449+01:00♬Oh aye-dee-di-dee-di-dee-di-dee-di-dee-di-dee-di♬<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #93c47d;">"In Dublin's fair city</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #93c47d;">Where girls are so pretty</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #93c47d;">I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #93c47d;">As she wheel'd her wheel barrow</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #93c47d;">Through streets broad and narrow</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #93c47d;">Crying cockles and mussels alive, alive-o!"</span><br />
<br />
Happy belated Saint Patrick's Day, y'all!<br />
<br />
Though I didn't make it to Dublin, as so many others did, Nice had no shortage of leprechaunical festivities. And you know what? There were Irish people there! Loads of them! So, yeah, I didn't go to Ireland. IRELAND CAME TO ME!<br />
<br />
Now I didn't actually end up getting to town until 9ish, and unbeknownst to me, and a little to my chagrin, others had been "celebrating" since well before 2 o'clock. But the first bit was really fun. Just hanging out and chatting with friends. That's more my thing.<br />
<br />
As the night wore on, one universal truth became very apparent. Namely, looking at photos and recounting stories always make nights out look so glamourous. But the reality of the situation is <i>always</i> quite the opposite.<br />
<br />
No matter how the evening starts, happy or sad, grouchy or glad, it always devolves into a mind-numbing wander-fest, in which no one can make a single solitary decision on where to go or what to do because no one has a clue what they're doing anyway.<br />
<br />
And everywhere you wander is either too full,<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JhfZRIHfxvI/T2elUsQwHKI/AAAAAAAABpc/ZSSwsmgWvI4/s1600/St.+Paddys1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JhfZRIHfxvI/T2elUsQwHKI/AAAAAAAABpc/ZSSwsmgWvI4/s320/St.+Paddys1.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"That is a terrible line."</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Too expensive,<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QzXGRT8qpuc/T2eqBPbgQxI/AAAAAAAABps/ZYCAvMLgCHw/s1600/St.+Paddys3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QzXGRT8qpuc/T2eqBPbgQxI/AAAAAAAABps/ZYCAvMLgCHw/s320/St.+Paddys3.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I've just remembered how cheap I am."</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
Or too sketchy.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GxohyxtHsM8/T2ele6Za_iI/AAAAAAAABpk/0s731FPIYNc/s1600/St.+Paddys2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GxohyxtHsM8/T2ele6Za_iI/AAAAAAAABpk/0s731FPIYNc/s320/St.+Paddys2.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"This place looks sketched."</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
And you soon realize all you really want is club soda and your bed.<br />
<br />
So you resolve to continue wandering. Partially in hopes of finding the holy grail of hangouts, partially out of sheer boredom, and partially in search of the friends you keep misplacing because your life is a horror movie and someone is definitely out to get you.<br />
<br />
And that's fine. Sure. If you like walking. Lucky for me, I do. So the hour-long trek back to my room was not wholly unsatisfying.<br />
<br />
So that was the evening out. And all the evenings out.<br />
<br />
Does this sound familiar to you?<br />
<br />
My guess is "good lord, yes."<br />
<br />
Amitiés :)<br />
<br />
UPDATED:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/0V0TPoQBQfQ?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534399117282494315.post-80735241499659947692012-03-16T07:28:00.005+01:002012-03-16T15:37:21.112+01:00Oh Canadaaa<u>PHRASE OF THE DAY</u><br />
<b>claquer les doigts: snap your fingers</b><br />
<br />
These past few weeks I've found myself in a strange new quarter of my Niçois experience. If my calculations are correct, I seem to have stumbled into an alternate universe inhabited almost exclusively by Canadians. And you know what? It's not half bad. (Before you get your panties in a bunch, yes, I still speak French a lot. Zheesh.)<br />
<br />
They've taken me under their proverbial wing of maple syrup and good sportsmanship, and I feel like I can just be myself. Whatever that is. And I'm pretty sure they think I'm super weird since I name my plants and can reference archipelagos in everyday conversation. But I think it's a good kind of weird.<br />
<br />
I've also been a wee bit sick these past few days with a cold and then a bout of dehydration and now some everlasting allergy-induced sniffles. But I'm getting better I think.<br />
<br />
So here's a brief exposé of all the things I've done these past few days. They are few and far between, but they are varied.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">--------------------------</div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><b>#1: Trivia Night</b></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Last Thursday, I went out with Emily to an Irish pub by the port for the weekly trivia night. We met up with some friends there, and, though we arrived late and unfortunately missed round 1, our little team still came out #15 out of 45.<br />
<i>That'll do, pig. That'll do.</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I beasted the movie round. But like Seinfeld I usually "break even," and this time was no different. But, honestly, I didn't expect the music round to play music I listen to anyway. I'm just not <i>mainstream</i> enough. Eh, you win some, you lose some.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">--------------------------</div><div><i><b>#2: Marché en plein air</b></i></div><div><br />
</div><div>On Saturday, I invited Steph and Nikita to the outdoor food and flower market in the morning since neither of them had ever been, even after living in Nice for nearly 7 months! It was a B-E-A-utiful day outside, so we grabbed some fresh fruit, and headed to the beach for a picnic (pique-nique) with their friend Chas. It was truly a glorious day. We ate and basked in the sun like lizards for a few hours, tanning our faces and arms, as we were still wearing people clothes. (I made another pass at peeling a grapefruit, but tired halfway through eating it.)</div><div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s32JvAg4v6E/T2JuplDceXI/AAAAAAAABlM/YWXdpsCUvOw/s1600/DSCN4763.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s32JvAg4v6E/T2JuplDceXI/AAAAAAAABlM/YWXdpsCUvOw/s320/DSCN4763.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'd venture to guess this is not how Nikita expected to wake up.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">--------------------------</div><div><b><i>#3: SKIIIII</i></b></div><div><br />
</div><div>If you know me even a little bit, you'll know I adore the mountains. Not really the beach. Why I'm in Nice I have no idea. But much to my pleasant surprise, the mountains are literally RIGHT next door!</div><div><br />
</div><div>And what you also probably know about me is that I'm really not a sporty person. But, friends, I can ski. Unfortunately, apparently I'm a little afraid of heights, so I'll chalk up my refusal to attend the trip down the black diamond to this phobia and nothing else.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>I've only actually ever been skiing once before in my life, almost 4 years ago exactly. But it was as if I'd never left. Apparently skiing is a lot like riding a bike, but down an icy cold frictionless surface with no brakes and also no bike.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-plVhXcRTWzU/T2KiJfgUlhI/AAAAAAAABns/cPu7a3fdyt8/s1600/419078_366398270058898_100000661843432_1189647_1366737311_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-plVhXcRTWzU/T2KiJfgUlhI/AAAAAAAABns/cPu7a3fdyt8/s200/419078_366398270058898_100000661843432_1189647_1366737311_n.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Efva2sGBO2o/T2KiGUALHdI/AAAAAAAABnc/I01kMeyqcuw/s1600/428250_366398856725506_100000661843432_1189657_1270899297_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Efva2sGBO2o/T2KiGUALHdI/AAAAAAAABnc/I01kMeyqcuw/s200/428250_366398856725506_100000661843432_1189657_1270899297_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"We should bundle up. Surely it will be cold."</div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ADGYsmrb6rU/T2KiAZokv1I/AAAAAAAABnE/SVVyTBd_0Kc/s1600/424383_381526138531949_100000236970395_1438322_2079041424_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ADGYsmrb6rU/T2KiAZokv1I/AAAAAAAABnE/SVVyTBd_0Kc/s320/424383_381526138531949_100000236970395_1438322_2079041424_n.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Psych! It's not cold at all.<br />
And don't call me Shirley. . .</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-B7I3i_Mdz54/T2Kc18miJOI/AAAAAAAABlc/TrNAYoTqNPQ/s1600/DSCN4771.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-B7I3i_Mdz54/T2Kc18miJOI/AAAAAAAABlc/TrNAYoTqNPQ/s320/DSCN4771.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>About halfway through the day, we had a costume change, a few of us shedding most of our outer "ski" clothes, as the strange combination of the powdery white snow and riviera sunshine manifested itself in a way that significantly confused me.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EQc02j9Aq_g/T2KdTTZjOrI/AAAAAAAABlk/mwwNxYJL2wU/s1600/DSCN4774.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EQc02j9Aq_g/T2KdTTZjOrI/AAAAAAAABlk/mwwNxYJL2wU/s200/DSCN4774.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Mh4RGIN6w9o/T2KgAhwLSbI/AAAAAAAABmU/xkeTIzJeZ94/s1600/DSCN4786.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Mh4RGIN6w9o/T2KgAhwLSbI/AAAAAAAABmU/xkeTIzJeZ94/s200/DSCN4786.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dw9Kf3AtdCI/T2KdvAzbX4I/AAAAAAAABls/FF28O56OIu4/s1600/DSCN4776.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dw9Kf3AtdCI/T2KdvAzbX4I/AAAAAAAABls/FF28O56OIu4/s200/DSCN4776.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TjMH_e3V9u0/T2KeumozItI/AAAAAAAABl8/3jcp4Vb85ps/s1600/DSCN4780.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TjMH_e3V9u0/T2KeumozItI/AAAAAAAABl8/3jcp4Vb85ps/s200/DSCN4780.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TYp3SHJhaJ8/T2KeNI9Bp6I/AAAAAAAABl0/PWD740SF6rc/s1600/DSCN4777.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TYp3SHJhaJ8/T2KeNI9Bp6I/AAAAAAAABl0/PWD740SF6rc/s320/DSCN4777.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KsWpv4Hvq_Q/T2KfIs2oHeI/AAAAAAAABmE/j6R2H-uf4yo/s1600/DSCN4781.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KsWpv4Hvq_Q/T2KfIs2oHeI/AAAAAAAABmE/j6R2H-uf4yo/s200/DSCN4781.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GDvHvtYIr4k/T2Kh90c9BNI/AAAAAAAABm8/MSRXriGPkFc/s1600/427757_381526245198605_100000236970395_1438325_1735005313_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GDvHvtYIr4k/T2Kh90c9BNI/AAAAAAAABm8/MSRXriGPkFc/s200/427757_381526245198605_100000236970395_1438325_1735005313_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V0oaZDLnjrk/T2KggJ-ycHI/AAAAAAAABmc/DIUkgtqL1X4/s1600/DSCN4790.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V0oaZDLnjrk/T2KggJ-ycHI/AAAAAAAABmc/DIUkgtqL1X4/s320/DSCN4790.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hSL6rMknd-0/T2KfocVbewI/AAAAAAAABmM/o4Q4GHLLc5k/s1600/DSCN4785.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hSL6rMknd-0/T2KfocVbewI/AAAAAAAABmM/o4Q4GHLLc5k/s200/DSCN4785.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2J_HmwZofEo/T2KiBwnSkaI/AAAAAAAABnM/_h0m_66OMPQ/s1600/419251_366399653392093_100000661843432_1189673_731531431_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2J_HmwZofEo/T2KiBwnSkaI/AAAAAAAABnM/_h0m_66OMPQ/s200/419251_366399653392093_100000661843432_1189673_731531431_n.jpg" width="133" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Like the skiiers that fly . . .</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Pp9N9Y1xVfM/T2Kg5Q-SmbI/AAAAAAAABmk/Yl6xETkz_PA/s1600/DSCN4791.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Pp9N9Y1xVfM/T2Kg5Q-SmbI/AAAAAAAABmk/Yl6xETkz_PA/s200/DSCN4791.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CZFeqOWg4bY/T2Kh7T88ISI/AAAAAAAABm0/hS_Tpwkx95c/s1600/DSCN4792.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CZFeqOWg4bY/T2Kh7T88ISI/AAAAAAAABm0/hS_Tpwkx95c/s200/DSCN4792.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-czWUV59pxpA/T2KiHkWlcgI/AAAAAAAABng/N_4HznlpWnw/s1600/428038_368167636541240_100000440195262_1250192_445353067_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-czWUV59pxpA/T2KiHkWlcgI/AAAAAAAABng/N_4HznlpWnw/s320/428038_368167636541240_100000440195262_1250192_445353067_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This looks a lot more serene than it was. I was actually flying<br />
down the hill uncontrollably, arms flailing, poles flapping,<br />
finally coming to a stop near the bottom using the power of<br />
gravity, friction, and my butt. (cred: Elizabeth)</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--dxVDsad8I0/T2LN3yPcpNI/AAAAAAAABoE/vGG9p_VWToc/s1600/Ski.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--dxVDsad8I0/T2LN3yPcpNI/AAAAAAAABoE/vGG9p_VWToc/s320/Ski.png" width="320" /></a></div><div><br />
</div><div>I took this video post-wipe out. I truly am a force to be reckoned with.</div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dznwwMkja3IW5tW12jMBWNnD8s3Ah3YUDEWZvA5c2gWnYYic24IrrGuxG8B46IqzUMyWpyoX_JNI-z4guBE' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div><br />
</div><div>Did you hear that part about me jumping through a hoop? 'Cause that totally happened. Pinky swear.</div><div><br />
</div><div>About an hour before our bus was to depart, we discovered we were on what we assumed was the wrong side of the mountain. So we were forced to do our best to scale the mountain and traverse the blue paths (2nd level, suckers) as fast as we could. Long story short, I pizza wedged it the entire way down.</div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Y3w9DUE838g/T2LHQWQf7wI/AAAAAAAABn8/hHGxqeisKNE/s1600/Pizza+Wedge2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Y3w9DUE838g/T2LHQWQf7wI/AAAAAAAABn8/hHGxqeisKNE/s320/Pizza+Wedge2.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pizza wedge--the skiing equivalent to riding your brakes.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div><br />
</div><div>But it was a great time. Skiing, you should be in my life more often because I love you.</div><div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">--------------------------</div></div><div><b><i>#4: Le Slam</i></b></div><div><br />
</div><div>On Wednesday, I went with Emily and some new friends to this little hole-in-the-wall café/pub thing where there was supposed to be a poetry slam. It was so much cooler than I was expecting. Basically it was a cozy little room filled with middle-aged and older artsy French men and women who were laughing and drinking and actually being <i>joyful</i> for once. This was the first time I felt like I had found the place <i>where everybody knows your name, and they're always glad you came</i>. It was so chill. Anyone could read poetry, their own or a famous piece, a slam or a ballad, a monologue or a story. It was really open-ended.</div><div><br />
</div><div>2 of my friends actually got up and read something. (I didn't have anything prepared. But it happens once a month, and I really want to go back.)</div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hQsag2XHAv8/T2LaxHb2H1I/AAAAAAAABoM/aCC1pp9L5JM/s1600/DSCN4799.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hQsag2XHAv8/T2LaxHb2H1I/AAAAAAAABoM/aCC1pp9L5JM/s320/DSCN4799.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div><br />
</div><div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">--------------------------</div></div><div><br />
</div><div>But it is now the weekend. For me, anyway. Actually all my friends back home are gearing up to start their spring breaks, which is nostalgic to say the least. But, I mean, I guess I <i>am</i> already at the beach. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Spring Break 2012, here I come.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Amitiés :)</div></div><div><span id="goog_1551988091"></span><span id="goog_1551988092"></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534399117282494315.post-64697057721637228132012-03-13T17:30:00.001+01:002012-03-13T17:36:46.868+01:00AND IIIIIIIIEEEIIIIII WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOOUUUUUUUUU<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">At approximately 1300 hours on March 13th, 2012, our own Fuzz Lightyear was pronounced dead in his home. He is survived by his caretaker, Molly, and his sister, Eliza Wood.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GKv7iMqpEHA/T19y_KlzIOI/AAAAAAAABkA/UI988FAJunk/s1600/RIP+Fuzz.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GKv7iMqpEHA/T19y_KlzIOI/AAAAAAAABkA/UI988FAJunk/s320/RIP+Fuzz.png" width="320" /></a></div><br />
But we shall remember him as he was. Loved by many, adored by some, watered by one.<br />
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Here's to you, Fuzz Lightyear. You will never be forgotten.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fn4dB9pR3TY/T19zctS8RII/AAAAAAAABkI/MNBRN0oIUWQ/s1600/DSCN3609_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fn4dB9pR3TY/T19zctS8RII/AAAAAAAABkI/MNBRN0oIUWQ/s320/DSCN3609_2.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Amitiés :(</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534399117282494315.post-76173731245609794372012-03-11T21:55:00.004+01:002019-09-26T03:06:23.057+02:00No hablo ethpañol<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><i>«there and back again, an Iberian tale: part 2»</i></span><br />
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<b><i>Day 5</i></b><br />
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And so the saga continues, as night turns to day, we find our heroes pressing onward, to sights yet unseen (except the Madrid airport . . . we were literally just there).<br />
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So our afternoon flight to Madrid went smoothly. Everything in order. Made it to the hostel. A bit sterile for my taste, but better sterile than feral. Went for dinner. Em and I got some AMAZING veggie plates with goat cheese (which we attempted to replicate a few nights ago in her apartment with ferocious success).<br />
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Then that night Adrien and I went out "on the town" with a large group from the hostel. We ended up meeting 2 other students who were very friendly. And, you know, I'm all for meeting new people and chatting it up real nice and stuff, but in the back of my mind, and the front, and also both sides, I couldn't help but remember that part in HOSTEL when the 2 main characters made friends with 2 other people from their hostel, and then they got tortured and their eyeballs sucked out of their heads. (You know, it's probably best if I stop there.) Let's just say, 24 hours was <i><b>NOT</b></i> enough time to get over that trauma, and it was pretty much all I could think about.<br />
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<i><b>Day 6</b></i></div>
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Holy Toledo!</div>
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After meeting a French guy named Julien from the hostel the day before, we decided to throw caution to the wind, hop a bus, and join him in exploring the old Spanish capital of Toledo! Toledo is old-timey. Toledo is tranquil. Toledo is heavily armed with swords and battle axes.</div>
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Such a diva</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">HARPER, I FOUND ONE.</td></tr>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KALul3w0Q-8/T1plqn3XBaI/AAAAAAAABdY/GXfLHmDU-vg/s1600/DSCN4682.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KALul3w0Q-8/T1plqn3XBaI/AAAAAAAABdY/GXfLHmDU-vg/s200/DSCN4682.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DDnNXdV-4uI/T1pnT-tgKgI/AAAAAAAABdg/81xLqRunKDM/s1600/DSCN4692.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DDnNXdV-4uI/T1pnT-tgKgI/AAAAAAAABdg/81xLqRunKDM/s200/DSCN4692.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LcEjSBjMPkI/T1p__jpWCEI/AAAAAAAABfo/m32TceGHlAA/s1600/422888_10150588358364103_513109102_9040351_422527010_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LcEjSBjMPkI/T1p__jpWCEI/AAAAAAAABfo/m32TceGHlAA/s200/422888_10150588358364103_513109102_9040351_422527010_n.jpg" width="133" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZvbpJI_NHpQ/T1qABzzXxvI/AAAAAAAABfw/UD0QLJH3Qtc/s1600/423866_10150588358609103_513109102_9040352_410183718_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZvbpJI_NHpQ/T1qABzzXxvI/AAAAAAAABfw/UD0QLJH3Qtc/s200/423866_10150588358609103_513109102_9040352_410183718_n.jpg" width="132" /></a></div>
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The Knight Bus!! (cred: Emily)</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-n6-xwQQ5R8o/T1pqjTCaRYI/AAAAAAAABd4/ccorpsZ6f9s/s1600/422765_10150588359749103_513109102_9040361_1965198039_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-n6-xwQQ5R8o/T1pqjTCaRYI/AAAAAAAABd4/ccorpsZ6f9s/s200/422765_10150588359749103_513109102_9040361_1965198039_n.jpg" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(cred: Emily)</td></tr>
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Then we found a very nice overlook area with a swing set and reposed there for maybe half an hour.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RqA6n3O0-L8/T1qUQ4vujoI/AAAAAAAABgA/fmrJpaCAnRQ/s1600/423794_10150588357624103_513109102_9040347_1869613476_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RqA6n3O0-L8/T1qUQ4vujoI/AAAAAAAABgA/fmrJpaCAnRQ/s200/423794_10150588357624103_513109102_9040347_1869613476_n.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PgZ_5Hp8iHw/T1p5blGshKI/AAAAAAAABeY/kDWCBVIeY1A/s1600/DSCN4701.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PgZ_5Hp8iHw/T1p5blGshKI/AAAAAAAABeY/kDWCBVIeY1A/s200/DSCN4701.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gIWFZG3pzQo/T1p5kFgq39I/AAAAAAAABew/s6ozdsI8NwA/s1600/419996_10150588542659103_513109102_9040919_1674197504_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gIWFZG3pzQo/T1p5kFgq39I/AAAAAAAABew/s6ozdsI8NwA/s320/419996_10150588542659103_513109102_9040919_1674197504_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This picture makes me smile. (cred: Adrien)</td></tr>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ui2aDuW6EZs/T1p52SM3nkI/AAAAAAAABe4/YCkcQK7I9Wg/s1600/424822_10150593412169926_708849925_9357641_485915946_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ui2aDuW6EZs/T1p52SM3nkI/AAAAAAAABe4/YCkcQK7I9Wg/s200/424822_10150593412169926_708849925_9357641_485915946_n.jpg" width="150" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-viYTnnfn05U/T1p544gxYcI/AAAAAAAABfA/FItIiEusjHY/s1600/430155_10150588542884103_513109102_9040920_839464438_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-viYTnnfn05U/T1p544gxYcI/AAAAAAAABfA/FItIiEusjHY/s200/430155_10150588542884103_513109102_9040920_839464438_n.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
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(cred: Adrien)</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BcMo9grj9sQ/T10GtgytF8I/AAAAAAAABj4/8qE9BvWJhTQ/s1600/420113_10150597398844103_513109102_9069181_34298627_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BcMo9grj9sQ/T10GtgytF8I/AAAAAAAABj4/8qE9BvWJhTQ/s320/420113_10150597398844103_513109102_9069181_34298627_n.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(cred: Emily)</td></tr>
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(I'm stealing a lot of photos, y'all. Just bear with me.)</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They actually were doing pull ups.<br />
My angle is deceiving.</td></tr>
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So then that night, after bussing back to Madrid, we decided to attend a private flamenco show organized by our hostel. The guy came by at about 9 and led us to this run-down looking tavern thing. Let me paint a picture for you.</div>
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So you walk into this room. I don't think it was very big. I don't even really remember anything about it, what it looked like, what was in it. Probably things. But I couldn't tell you because all of my focus was immediately zeroed in on the large trap door in the middle of the floor.</div>
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"Yeah, the flamenco show is just down those steps."</div>
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<i>Sure it is, psycho killer. Sure it is.</i></div>
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We descended into the crypt. Like every other horror movie ever. And we soon found ourselves within the jaws of a nicely lit, yet slightly claustrophobic, cavernous cellar. There was a bar and a little stage and mannequin legs hanging from the ceiling.</div>
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<i>No, this is definitely normal.</i></div>
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But everyone just grabbed a stool and waited patiently for the show to start, completely unaware that this is exactly how <i>The Exorcist</i> started.</div>
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Once I accepted the fact that I wasn't going anywhere, I joined the others in making conversation with my seat-neighbors. Unlike the other 30 or so 20-somethings in the chamber, my seat-neighbor was a 60-something year old grandmother from Vancouver named Martha. She was quite fascinating. She told me about how the Olympics didn't actually have <i>that</i> much of an affect on traffic when they were in Vancouver.</div>
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(This has been <i>"Good Story, Marth"</i> with Martha from Vancouver.)</div>
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Then the flamenco show started. This is where it's gonna get a little tricky for me to describe. Because the show was so much more amazing than I had anticipated.</div>
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For those of you who may not be Spanishly well-versed, flamenco is a traditional Spanish dance, music, and song that originated in theee . . . . eeeighteenth century? We'll go with that. In the eighteenth century. Basically it's a very energetic spectacle with a LOT of emotion involved--usually performed by one or more dancers, a singer, and some guitar players.</div>
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The version we saw was a single female dancer, 2 flamenco guitarists, and a singer. And it was totally improvised; that's what got me. They would feel the music and move so fluidly with one another. I don't really know what I was feeling, but I was definitely feeling something. It was just unreal. And the setting, creepy-factor aside, was very intimate and pleasant once the show started.</div>
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Nikita actually managed to snag some photos during the set. I had significantly less forethought. Thanks, facebook.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Though I can't imagine they live like kings doing this for a<br />
living, I guarantee you they wouldn't be doing anything else.</td></tr>
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<i><b>Day 7</b></i></div>
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The next day we set out early-ish for a free guided tour around the Madridian hotspots.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gqfL7_y6LQA/T1uAmXIRdHI/AAAAAAAABgo/OTWSYlhsnAM/s1600/DSCN4727_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gqfL7_y6LQA/T1uAmXIRdHI/AAAAAAAABgo/OTWSYlhsnAM/s320/DSCN4727_2.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We started in Plaza Mayor.<br />
Or <i>Platha</i> Mayor as the Spaniards so adorably pronounce it.</td></tr>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Wm6mcBsgd5o/T1uEdSxfp5I/AAAAAAAABgw/3f-2QDGuTGk/s1600/DSCN4728.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Wm6mcBsgd5o/T1uEdSxfp5I/AAAAAAAABgw/3f-2QDGuTGk/s320/DSCN4728.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
So this statue has an interesting history. Apparently a few hundred years ago, Plaza Mayor was a foul mess of gut-wrenching odors, and no one could figure out why. They scrubbed the square clean and spotless, but, alas, the smell persisted. Then something history related that went way over my head happened, and some anarchists decided to bomb the middle of the square, ie. the statue. (Maybe in response to the stench?) When they did, hundreds of dead rotting corpsy birds were sprayed all over the plaza.<br />
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Basically, every year, when the winter months came around, birds would seek shelter from the cold inside the horse statue's mouth.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-igsG6rzsfYk/T1uzLb__nQI/AAAAAAAABiY/FqprqQ62ZM4/s1600/Bird1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-igsG6rzsfYk/T1uzLb__nQI/AAAAAAAABiY/FqprqQ62ZM4/s320/Bird1.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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They would crawl deep inside and come face to face with hundreds of years worth of friends, family, and distant ancestors all dead and rotting in unison in this Trojan Horse of a grave.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3vQQDzIUWXg/T1uzMPRkOFI/AAAAAAAABig/mC68tKymsIM/s1600/Bird2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3vQQDzIUWXg/T1uzMPRkOFI/AAAAAAAABig/mC68tKymsIM/s320/Bird2.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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Out of fear, they would try to escape, only to realize their wingspans were too wide to fit through the opening once more. Their fate had been determined the moment they stepped inside.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xHsRn7_MDig/T1vlr3g1sjI/AAAAAAAABjY/tz5YKkpPhpw/s1600/Bird3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xHsRn7_MDig/T1vlr3g1sjI/AAAAAAAABjY/tz5YKkpPhpw/s320/Bird3.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fellas, the way to a woman's heart is roof culture.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-D9O7hL6pTwQ/T1uKfuZT8RI/AAAAAAAABhg/d3Slmdi0_Sw/s1600/DSCN4732_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-D9O7hL6pTwQ/T1uKfuZT8RI/AAAAAAAABhg/d3Slmdi0_Sw/s320/DSCN4732_2.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Ian, our guide, taught Adrien the basics of flamenco.</div>
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"You pick the fruit! You taste the fruit! You do not like it!</div>
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You throw it away!"</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The bear and the tree--Madrid's symbol</td></tr>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kv2l-JpPtZ8/T1uOFSNH9FI/AAAAAAAABiA/W3Qw9LbydXk/s1600/DSCN4744_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kv2l-JpPtZ8/T1uOFSNH9FI/AAAAAAAABiA/W3Qw9LbydXk/s200/DSCN4744_2.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mTz-wiewjH0/T1uOs9bHUoI/AAAAAAAABiI/lsEH14qLF3c/s1600/DSCN4745_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mTz-wiewjH0/T1uOs9bHUoI/AAAAAAAABiI/lsEH14qLF3c/s200/DSCN4745_2.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-U_CjOvXtItc/T1uOu1LboLI/AAAAAAAABiQ/apb9jyVzhG0/s1600/420968_10150593432139926_708849925_9357817_1269112796_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-U_CjOvXtItc/T1uOu1LboLI/AAAAAAAABiQ/apb9jyVzhG0/s320/420968_10150593432139926_708849925_9357817_1269112796_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our three "Spanish kings." (cred: Nikita)<br />
Julien, Steph the "loser," and poor poor Adrien the "lame"</td></tr>
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<div>
Then, we headed back to the hostel, just completely exhausted from our three-hour tour <i>("a threeeee hour tour")</i>. Once back in the room, we chatted with Nicole from Australia for about 2 and a half hours while some of the girls slept the exhaustion away.</div>
<div>
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<div>
That night, we left to meet up with Emily's cousin from Ireland who works in Madrid for dinner. Our new friends Natsuki from Japan and Stephanie (number 2) from Quebec joined us.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
To get to the restaurant, a very crowded metro proved way too complicated, letting our inner tourists shine brightly and awkwardly. Basically there wasn't enough room in one metro car, so Adrien and I ran to another, getting there just in time. Once we finally got to our destination, we clambered out, looking around for the others, slightly overwhelmed and extremely confused. Then we saw them. They were stuck in the metro, sandwiched and unable to get off. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
At first I wasn't sure if maybe we got off at the wrong stop, so my legs and my head were caught in a battle of "get back on the metro!" and "don't do that, are you stupid!" All I remember was Emily's face, wide-eyed and panicked, as the metro slowly crept away toward its next destination.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
And then there were none.</div>
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<div>
We eventually got them back, and made our way to the Tapas restaurant where we spent a lovely evening sharing appetizer-like portions of Spain's finest delicacies (or so our waiter verily convinced me). It was <i>such</i> a fantastic experience. Instead of the typical "this is my food, don't look at it" restaurant mentality, it was so fun to pass the plates and share both the food and our time together.</div>
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<div>
<i><b>Day 8</b></i></div>
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<div>
We decided to hit up some of the museums, to add maybe a more cultured and sophisticated experience to our otherwise savage adventures. After trekking through a veritable sea of 70 year old women,</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-f0lAY0yBDXo/T1vfwQ72YjI/AAAAAAAABjA/qB-oCpcKMhk/s1600/DSCN4749_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-f0lAY0yBDXo/T1vfwQ72YjI/AAAAAAAABjA/qB-oCpcKMhk/s200/DSCN4749_2.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
we finally made it to the Prado.</div>
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<div>
Here's my opinion on the Prado. I'm glad it exists. I appreciate what it is. But I don't want to look at it. There are simply TOO MANY PORTRAITS. I started to get sleepy and cheerless.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mZYUmhTO1lc/T1vghM5VHGI/AAAAAAAABjI/d8uK6ygWJM4/s1600/426152_10150588579489103_513109102_9041018_1209173781_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mZYUmhTO1lc/T1vghM5VHGI/AAAAAAAABjI/d8uK6ygWJM4/s200/426152_10150588579489103_513109102_9041018_1209173781_n.jpg" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Belathketh (cred: Adrien)<br />
the Prado's only saving grace.</td></tr>
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<div>
We then went to the main park area to play "Where's Julien?" by the lake.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AQ41evqvr-A/T1vg5Wffj8I/AAAAAAAABjQ/HOoenTLz-e4/s1600/430538_10150588579664103_513109102_9041019_2059763779_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AQ41evqvr-A/T1vg5Wffj8I/AAAAAAAABjQ/HOoenTLz-e4/s320/430538_10150588579664103_513109102_9041019_2059763779_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(cred: Emily)</td></tr>
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<div>
Then it was off to the Reina Sofia (modern art), on the way spotting some guys from our tour and inviting them along.</div>
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<div>
This museum was a bajillion times more interesting than the Prado. And we saw <i><a href="http://dp.mariottini.free.fr/weekend/madrid/photo/guernica.jpg">GUERNICA</a></i> by Picasso (@McCall, Sam, and Dejong). It was very impressive.</div>
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So basically,</div>
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<div>
<b>Prado : Reina Sofia :: Louvre : Musée d'Orsay :: Uffizi : Bargello</b></div>
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<b><br />
</b></div>
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Q.E.D.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lvxA-zCobbg/T1vn_G1DNWI/AAAAAAAABjg/JlB6WzymoSI/s1600/420513_10150588579929103_513109102_9041021_982387628_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lvxA-zCobbg/T1vn_G1DNWI/AAAAAAAABjg/JlB6WzymoSI/s320/420513_10150588579929103_513109102_9041021_982387628_n.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blurry. It probably didn't get switched<br />
off manual . . . Adrien.</td></tr>
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<div>
That night I couldn't sleep. We had a new roommate. And this roommate was raised by foghorns. It was a real-life orchestra of snoring; at one point I swear 3 people were going at it, creating an uncomfortable chordlike harmony. A snore chord.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uvk0Z5wyQmo/T1voy3mJcBI/AAAAAAAABjo/S-i-0dsaeR8/s1600/Snoring!.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uvk0Z5wyQmo/T1voy3mJcBI/AAAAAAAABjo/S-i-0dsaeR8/s320/Snoring!.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was forced to sleep with my arms stretched over my head to<br />
better squish the blankets into my ears. For several reasons,<br />
this did not help.</td></tr>
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Then Natsuki started mumbling Japanese. And I cried little invisible tears til I fell back asleep.</div>
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<i><b>Day 9</b></i></div>
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After Adrien left for his earlier flight, we spent our last day in Madrid wandering around in a groggy half-sleep, collectively prepared to just go home. So we shopped a little, and, if you know me even a little bit, you'll know that shopping is just not my thing. Never has been. I guess I'll just never understand how you can go into a store, try a bunch of things on, not buy anything, and still think you're having fun. But, I guess everybody's got a thing.<br />
<br />
And we prevailed. A little worn and weary, but definitely ready to hit the road.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JsRpd0vif2k/T10Ag5xgAOI/AAAAAAAABjw/SbS2PP-uDII/s1600/DSCN4759.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JsRpd0vif2k/T10Ag5xgAOI/AAAAAAAABjw/SbS2PP-uDII/s200/DSCN4759.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">People in Madrid are slightly<br />
unhinged.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
However, the adventure was not over. We were running a little behind as we set out on the trek to the stop where we would catch the bus to get to the airport. So Nikita and I, not charged with lugging the communal suitcase, sped ahead a little, somewhat unknowingly. After a bit we realized Emily and Steph were no longer with us. So we waited.<br />
<br />
Where were they?<br />
<br />
After a few minutes, we saw them power-walking toward us with tense, huffy, exasperated looks on their faces. Apparently while they were walking, a woman had reached her hand in Emily's backpack and snatched her wallet. Thankfully, Steph saw it happen and sounded the "alarm."<br />
<br />
Little did this woman know, Em is fierce. She immediately dropped her bags and took off after her, adrenaline pumping, blood boiling. She raced over to the woman who was fumbling with a clasp on the wallet, snatched it back with a powerful "THAT'S MINE," and walked pointedly in the other direction. You go, girl. You go.<br />
<br />
We then spent another unseemly night in the Geneva airport. I don't like how comfortable I was walking through the terminal with no shoes and a toothbrush dangling from my mouth. Geneva airport, I need to take two steps back and reevaluate our relationship.<br />
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<i><b>Day 10</b></i></div>
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<div>
After our upgrade to the homemade red chair beds, the night was slightly less sleepless than 240ish hours prior. We awoke to the sound of a rooster snoring, so we picked ourselves up and crawled to the gate, where I peeled and devoured a grapefruit I'd been carrying with me since I left Nice 10 days ago.</div>
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All in all, this trip was an amazing time with some really great friends. As a relatively first-time group traveler, the experience was so different from any of my more solitary vacations. Although it took us a million years to make any decisions, once we did, I was pretty much guaranteed a good time.</div>
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<br /></div>
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So thanks, you guys. I'm so glad I came with you.</div>
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And thank you Lisbians and Madruids. You guys are weird.</div>
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Amitiés :)</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534399117282494315.post-41461535614141931332012-03-07T20:00:00.005+01:002012-03-08T02:21:48.833+01:00Não falo português<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i>«there and back again, an Iberian tale: part 1»</i></span><br />
<br />
I don't speak Portuguese. I don't.<br />
<br />
Okay so I do a little. But it's definitely less than sub-par. It's sub-sub-par. Six feet under par, if you will.<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Now, I don't know how this rumor started, but, for reasons beyond my comprehension, others began expecting this skill from me as our sole means of communication while traveling around Portugal. And you know what happens when you make assumptions? Umps will shun you. Or . . . something like that.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Okay so I <i>might</i> have said I studied Portuguese a little. But you can't hold that against me. I say a lotta things.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Regardless, we made our way to Lisbon (or Lisboa, em português--pronounced *Leezhbooowah*) completely and totally reliant on my ability to speak the language. Which was foolish, if you ask me.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">---------------------</div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><b>Day 1</b></i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">We met up at the airport that evening for our short flight into Geneva. By "we" I'm obviously referring to myself, Adrien, Emily, Nikita, and Stephanie. Aka: 4 Canadians and an American. Aka: 4 weddings and a funeral, as I so self-deprecatingly referenced.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Unfortunately, our flight to Madrid didn't leave until the following morning, and we were barred from entering the terminal. Thus begins the tale of how I learned to stop worrying and love my inner hobo.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">That night. Oh that night.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">It was, quite possibly, one of the most unpleasant evenings I've ever experienced. On par with that full-body sunburn I got that summer I learned what "reapplication" meant.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Because we had no home, one of the security guards took us by the hand and led us to a "secret" little nook next to a severely underachieving heating unit where we set up camp for the night.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding-bottom: 6px; padding-left: 6px; padding-right: 6px; padding-top: 6px; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AaOg2bkBaoA/T1VJn0aNHfI/AAAAAAAABTc/9LpYipVGx3s/s1600/tumblr_lzyw88zapZ1r2gcwso1_500.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AaOg2bkBaoA/T1VJn0aNHfI/AAAAAAAABTc/9LpYipVGx3s/s320/tumblr_lzyw88zapZ1r2gcwso1_500.png" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">We make for a very pitiful looking heap o' people.</div></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">At around midnight or so, I imagine, the lights in the airport dimmed. At the same time, I'm fairly certain, the heat was turned off. Save for this lowly heating unit. After waking up <u>several</u> times from the icy hypothermic fever I was surely contracting, I decided to attempt to squeeze my entire body between Nikita and Emily's feet on either side of me to flatten myself against this god-given heater and salvage any excess warmth I could. Unfortunately the space provided was not 5'8", and I quickly became uncomfortably aware of my legs and how I had no idea where to put them. My semiconscious resolution? To stick them in the air.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ln7zuf-cZO0/T1VJqq0liVI/AAAAAAAABTk/ImkScdwbaao/s1600/Spain:Portugal.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ln7zuf-cZO0/T1VJqq0liVI/AAAAAAAABTk/ImkScdwbaao/s320/Spain:Portugal.png" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">. . . and I did. We would all reshift every 20 minutes or so, finally waking up at 3:30ish, feeling a little defeated and a lot delusional. But these things bond people, whether you like it or not.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">---------------------</div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><b>Day 2</b></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The flight to Madrid, the following 7 hours in the airport, and finally the flight to Lisbon are all kind of a blur.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I remember the view from my window.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding-bottom: 6px; padding-left: 6px; padding-right: 6px; padding-top: 6px; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZzpVNqXV32o/T1VXqtfN2OI/AAAAAAAABTs/kKcvbndd4QE/s1600/IMG-20120225-00030_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZzpVNqXV32o/T1VXqtfN2OI/AAAAAAAABTs/kKcvbndd4QE/s320/IMG-20120225-00030_2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">My phone doesn't do this justice. It was the most beautiful view</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I'd ever seen. Or the sleep was "clouding" my eyes. Whichever.</div></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I also remember when we landed in Madrid, the woman in front of Adrien and me introduced herself, saying she had a sister who lived in Nashville. (I must have said something about Nashville. Not sure. I say a lotta things.) I told her I had visited Geneva during the super-massive-Russian-style cold front. And, with her thick Kentucky accent, she responded, "Aw, darlin'. Bless yer heart."</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I got a lot of "<i>Bless yer heart</i> southern sass" after that from my dear sweet Canadians. Though contextually it never really worked. But I'm not vengeful. What's that? You think I'm lying? I don't know what you're talking aboot.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Then we played some cards. I think we ate too. It's a sleepy memory mish mash.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Once we finally made it to our <a href="http://www.goodnighthostel.com/index.php?menu=1">hostel</a>, we crash landed on our respective beds, "doin' a curl up" as Emily put it since "cuddling" usually implies more than one person, pulling the IKEA duvets close to our hearts and snoozin' til after dinner.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">(And, yes, just in case you were wondering, the hostel <i>is</i> as cute as it looks on the website. Greatest, coziest, most adorable hostel ever.)</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">After curling up, we decided to go out and find a café to get some warm drinks before bed.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding-bottom: 6px; padding-left: 6px; padding-right: 6px; padding-top: 6px; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DUADEY4Hp2U/T1VwuAyXL1I/AAAAAAAABT0/__swIGwhXKA/s1600/425350_10150593204909926_708849925_9356188_1549821766_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DUADEY4Hp2U/T1VwuAyXL1I/AAAAAAAABT0/__swIGwhXKA/s320/425350_10150593204909926_708849925_9356188_1549821766_n.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The post-sleep/pre-sleep look suits us very well. (cred: Nikita)</div></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">---------------------</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><b>Day 3</b></i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Day 3 we awoke early to the wonderful surprise of freshly homemade breakfast. Really delicious, exceptionally flat pancakes. Or . . . really delicious, exceptionally thick crèpes. I'm not really sure. Pancrèpes. We'll go with that. Nevertheless they were very tasty.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Then, fun was just a severely overcrowded bus ride away. We first went west to the Monastery of Belém.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LX--8g1OlQY/T1XPs1u3j-I/AAAAAAAABVM/bVV8GD4rWAI/s1600/DSCN4551.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LX--8g1OlQY/T1XPs1u3j-I/AAAAAAAABVM/bVV8GD4rWAI/s200/DSCN4551.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VXfM-5ZV0lE/T1YsUjQOzTI/AAAAAAAABVU/LvWuc2dSgOM/s1600/DSCN4553.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VXfM-5ZV0lE/T1YsUjQOzTI/AAAAAAAABVU/LvWuc2dSgOM/s200/DSCN4553.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-t7i_uGv66Hk/T1ZTNQOEvqI/AAAAAAAABXE/V34BU0ZFCss/s1600/421107_10150588174144103_513109102_9039644_848366497_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-t7i_uGv66Hk/T1ZTNQOEvqI/AAAAAAAABXE/V34BU0ZFCss/s320/421107_10150588174144103_513109102_9039644_848366497_n.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Too cool? No, too sunny. (cred: Emily)</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kEXoZS_YVsM/T1Ys0bamxDI/AAAAAAAABVc/kUWhSqNdn2w/s1600/DSCN4556.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kEXoZS_YVsM/T1Ys0bamxDI/AAAAAAAABVc/kUWhSqNdn2w/s200/DSCN4556.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ip8MlZYZ7i4/T1YtZZsj2dI/AAAAAAAABVk/F3tkR6O3jF0/s1600/DSCN4566.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ip8MlZYZ7i4/T1YtZZsj2dI/AAAAAAAABVk/F3tkR6O3jF0/s200/DSCN4566.JPG" width="150" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dluOTp_zvd4/T1Y6pjurO1I/AAAAAAAABW0/JDLeUY-Lbt0/s1600/DSCN4560.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dluOTp_zvd4/T1Y6pjurO1I/AAAAAAAABW0/JDLeUY-Lbt0/s320/DSCN4560.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1jyEMGwyq50/T1Zl1qjFNEI/AAAAAAAABXs/o1FvKMOINDk/s1600/64928_10150588174619103_513109102_9039651_1166760243_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1jyEMGwyq50/T1Zl1qjFNEI/AAAAAAAABXs/o1FvKMOINDk/s200/64928_10150588174619103_513109102_9039651_1166760243_n.jpg" width="133" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iJJdnOy7R0U/T1YuMHHwvLI/AAAAAAAABVs/4MFoWzXD4JE/s1600/DSCN4570.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iJJdnOy7R0U/T1YuMHHwvLI/AAAAAAAABVs/4MFoWzXD4JE/s200/DSCN4570.JPG" width="150" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0eg-8ZriCzo/T1ZTxPJ6TtI/AAAAAAAABXM/StR0mNHwie8/s1600/423514_10150588174794103_513109102_9039654_1593500355_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0eg-8ZriCzo/T1ZTxPJ6TtI/AAAAAAAABXM/StR0mNHwie8/s320/423514_10150588174794103_513109102_9039654_1593500355_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(cred: Adrien)</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DCb8yq7YpJk/T1YwKAVSBII/AAAAAAAABV8/SknUp8hnW9U/s1600/DSCN4573.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DCb8yq7YpJk/T1YwKAVSBII/AAAAAAAABV8/SknUp8hnW9U/s200/DSCN4573.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lIzEFJTeHzo/T1YvIJtX71I/AAAAAAAABV0/WG2Q8dNH1jM/s1600/DSCN4572.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lIzEFJTeHzo/T1YvIJtX71I/AAAAAAAABV0/WG2Q8dNH1jM/s200/DSCN4572.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">What do monks, wild horses, and the Dixie Chicks have in common?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>They all need wide open spaces.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Q1JZgI1pQo0/T1ZWBXFs11I/AAAAAAAABXk/6akiPtSymS8/s1600/420802_10150588175064103_513109102_9039657_1515045757_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Q1JZgI1pQo0/T1ZWBXFs11I/AAAAAAAABXk/6akiPtSymS8/s320/420802_10150588175064103_513109102_9039657_1515045757_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Echo</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> Echo </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Echo </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Echo</span><br />
(cred: Emily)</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-S73N8YPFOlI/T1YwoAFEZVI/AAAAAAAABWE/LQi9zGGdhkQ/s1600/DSCN4576.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-S73N8YPFOlI/T1YwoAFEZVI/AAAAAAAABWE/LQi9zGGdhkQ/s320/DSCN4576.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"When someone says 'Don't jump!' it makes<br />
me really want to jump."</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div><br />
</div><div>Then as we were leaving the monastery, we passed this guy, and, after collectively pausing for a double-take, Nikita raced back, grabbed the stranger, and propositioned a photograph. </div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NjUEUorC5P0/T1YxGKdIi8I/AAAAAAAABWM/xBT1sGuXkbA/s1600/DSCN4579.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NjUEUorC5P0/T1YxGKdIi8I/AAAAAAAABWM/xBT1sGuXkbA/s320/DSCN4579.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eerie, eh?<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After the monastery we moseyed on over to one of the most celebrated hotspots in all of Portugal: Pasteis de Belém. It's a pastry shop known for, you guessed it (but probably not), pasteis de belém--a wholly sinful combination of (powdered) sugar, (cinnamon) spice, and everything nice. It sort of resembles a baby quiche that got mugged. It doesn't look appetizing. I would not have looked in the window and thought, "THAT. THAT IS WHAT I WANT IN MY STOMACH." But, friends, I would have missed out. Flaky on the outside. Mush on the inside. My dreams realized. And only 3 people know the recipe. If that doesn't make this awesome, I don't know what does.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-genlyexm9Ho/T1ZV1dgt1EI/AAAAAAAABXc/nh58g9U2Xek/s1600/64911_10150588175519103_513109102_9039659_96605059_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-genlyexm9Ho/T1ZV1dgt1EI/AAAAAAAABXc/nh58g9U2Xek/s320/64911_10150588175519103_513109102_9039659_96605059_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Zees ees my keetchen! Zees ees my pastry!"<br />
(He's probably Portuguese, but I think the accent suits him.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4Abq4DV86Ds/T1ZUG_y8mwI/AAAAAAAABXU/fP3F0v3aTy4/s1600/421142_10150588175869103_513109102_9039661_193274438_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4Abq4DV86Ds/T1ZUG_y8mwI/AAAAAAAABXU/fP3F0v3aTy4/s320/421142_10150588175869103_513109102_9039661_193274438_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And we eat our pasteis. And we die happy people. (cred: Emily)</td></tr>
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</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-50gGvpNNJEc/T1Yy-aZVYQI/AAAAAAAABWc/gCLjPeB2xNs/s1600/DSCN4581.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-50gGvpNNJEc/T1Yy-aZVYQI/AAAAAAAABWc/gCLjPeB2xNs/s320/DSCN4581.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I tried to get a before picture.<br />
There just simply wasn't enough time.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pKAI8AUqUu0/T1Yz1Op5N1I/AAAAAAAABWk/1nuwMBGEoYM/s1600/DSCN4582.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pKAI8AUqUu0/T1Yz1Op5N1I/AAAAAAAABWk/1nuwMBGEoYM/s320/DSCN4582.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the 7 gastronomic wonders of Portugal! Booyah.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
After sufficiently and satisfyingly stuffing our faces, we took the metro all the way to the other side of Lisbon. The east side. The MODERN side.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RPqxpQ4FnoU/T1a588FYL5I/AAAAAAAABYE/NZrseXg7grc/s1600/DSCN4585.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RPqxpQ4FnoU/T1a588FYL5I/AAAAAAAABYE/NZrseXg7grc/s200/DSCN4585.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-blWQEmcLODM/T1a6AwA0E_I/AAAAAAAABYM/wm_0ZkGMyng/s1600/421782_10150593256049926_708849925_9356503_604261129_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-blWQEmcLODM/T1a6AwA0E_I/AAAAAAAABYM/wm_0ZkGMyng/s200/421782_10150593256049926_708849925_9356503_604261129_n.jpg" width="150" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5-P5OrroPT4/T1a6EMiEYII/AAAAAAAABYU/lYvR8udTIY4/s1600/420781_10150588177614103_513109102_9039672_1222430993_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5-P5OrroPT4/T1a6EMiEYII/AAAAAAAABYU/lYvR8udTIY4/s200/420781_10150588177614103_513109102_9039672_1222430993_n.jpg" width="133" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-t-VJOBH6URA/T1a6HkWZs6I/AAAAAAAABYc/GSdw7wxRV4w/s1600/430589_10150588178074103_513109102_9039673_118559491_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-t-VJOBH6URA/T1a6HkWZs6I/AAAAAAAABYc/GSdw7wxRV4w/s200/430589_10150588178074103_513109102_9039673_118559491_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Subway art (cred: Emily)</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kISkUjWZ49g/T1a7O9jp7BI/AAAAAAAABYk/5azNGwWahjY/s1600/DSCN4588.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kISkUjWZ49g/T1a7O9jp7BI/AAAAAAAABYk/5azNGwWahjY/s200/DSCN4588.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OoLp3oTOvCs/T1a797bgylI/AAAAAAAABYs/GMRdf_-EKn0/s1600/DSCN4591.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OoLp3oTOvCs/T1a797bgylI/AAAAAAAABYs/GMRdf_-EKn0/s200/DSCN4591.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">To the aquarium!</div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XW_UG-IprQ8/T1a8_tu8jLI/AAAAAAAABY0/yMoqug8yqps/s1600/DSCN4592.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XW_UG-IprQ8/T1a8_tu8jLI/AAAAAAAABY0/yMoqug8yqps/s320/DSCN4592.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This guy was on a surprise date with his<br />
girlfriend, and it was precious.</td></tr>
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</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yBdyZVfFRok/T1a9BzA0TII/AAAAAAAABY8/_iH0XwiF2vc/s1600/423570_10150588247499103_513109102_9039908_1690044660_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yBdyZVfFRok/T1a9BzA0TII/AAAAAAAABY8/_iH0XwiF2vc/s320/423570_10150588247499103_513109102_9039908_1690044660_n.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We discuss the issues. The fishues, if you will.<br />
(cred: Emily)</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Then we returned to the hostel, ate a homemade meal at a real-life dinner table, and spent the rest of the night chatting with some Polish guys in the common room. Polish people <i>really</i> like to talk about their depressing Polish ancestors. Emily and I were fed an unwarranted yet harrowing tale of pain and suffering, and now I feel bad.<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">---------------------</div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><i><b>Day 4</b></i><br />
<br />
Cabo da Roca! The westernmost point of Europe! The air was crisp. The cliffs were breathtaking. The bus ride was a nausea-inducing mix of winding roads and a backwards seat.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-81bor4adc10/T1dYRrxO1VI/AAAAAAAABZM/b1x3f74EoRk/s1600/DSCN4614.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-81bor4adc10/T1dYRrxO1VI/AAAAAAAABZM/b1x3f74EoRk/s320/DSCN4614.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gd_t5lc2COM/T1dYhEt_HkI/AAAAAAAABZc/5eAAIvdDaQw/s1600/DSCN4599.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gd_t5lc2COM/T1dYhEt_HkI/AAAAAAAABZc/5eAAIvdDaQw/s200/DSCN4599.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bCpa4XcaNN8/T1dYogO8dyI/AAAAAAAABZk/ZaV_o9upiBE/s1600/DSCN4601.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bCpa4XcaNN8/T1dYogO8dyI/AAAAAAAABZk/ZaV_o9upiBE/s200/DSCN4601.JPG" width="150" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gU0i4oppo8c/T1dYNWpsW-I/AAAAAAAABZE/Sx46F4aSpds/s1600/DSCN4604.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gU0i4oppo8c/T1dYNWpsW-I/AAAAAAAABZE/Sx46F4aSpds/s200/DSCN4604.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zY7f7BLT3oI/T1dYx9w2TbI/AAAAAAAABZs/SbBmXnXPbrE/s1600/DSCN4610.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zY7f7BLT3oI/T1dYx9w2TbI/AAAAAAAABZs/SbBmXnXPbrE/s200/DSCN4610.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OAPsxoUpOjQ/T1dYzngrpwI/AAAAAAAABZ0/kSceoG3qIS0/s1600/tumblr_m02q0ybwsY1r2gcwso1_500.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OAPsxoUpOjQ/T1dYzngrpwI/AAAAAAAABZ0/kSceoG3qIS0/s200/tumblr_m02q0ybwsY1r2gcwso1_500.png" width="200" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ECJ4NbUeN04/T1dY4jCzSlI/AAAAAAAABZ8/95EP0JtNAeM/s1600/DSCN4613.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ECJ4NbUeN04/T1dY4jCzSlI/AAAAAAAABZ8/95EP0JtNAeM/s200/DSCN4613.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HLXraaK_RHQ/T1dZA4ryS-I/AAAAAAAABaE/uHcWr95uCWE/s1600/DSCN4617.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HLXraaK_RHQ/T1dZA4ryS-I/AAAAAAAABaE/uHcWr95uCWE/s200/DSCN4617.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TQlyjwNqcks/T1daQlBDs9I/AAAAAAAABaM/_YXA9wOcybo/s1600/420720_10150593310174926_708849925_9356914_70771217_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TQlyjwNqcks/T1daQlBDs9I/AAAAAAAABaM/_YXA9wOcybo/s200/420720_10150593310174926_708849925_9356914_70771217_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-s5P4_wVoS9w/T1daT16gjcI/AAAAAAAABaU/NU-UD5u1Stc/s320/417738_10150593368219926_708849925_9357340_2088560131_n.jpg" width="320" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lFa1aihJVzc/T1dbNY08pnI/AAAAAAAABac/NRehFbmZQd4/s1600/DSCN4624.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lFa1aihJVzc/T1dbNY08pnI/AAAAAAAABac/NRehFbmZQd4/s200/DSCN4624.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dOYmJ7X-Pmg/T1dbTK5zpkI/AAAAAAAABak/3cgdKp2q4Ls/s1600/DSCN4619.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dOYmJ7X-Pmg/T1dbTK5zpkI/AAAAAAAABak/3cgdKp2q4Ls/s200/DSCN4619.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">To the east and to the west</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IXm19awUDQA/T1e_WbroCXI/AAAAAAAABcA/eDEPI07rD5s/s1600/DSCN4636.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IXm19awUDQA/T1e_WbroCXI/AAAAAAAABcA/eDEPI07rD5s/s320/DSCN4636.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-D_FPsgI_z1A/T1dbXRgOqPI/AAAAAAAABas/FiIS5lsvWHQ/s1600/DSCN4628.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-D_FPsgI_z1A/T1dbXRgOqPI/AAAAAAAABas/FiIS5lsvWHQ/s200/DSCN4628.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Tgyo_HEV_Xs/T1dbf_7NRZI/AAAAAAAABa0/msYxp-Rb4O0/s1600/DSCN4633.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Tgyo_HEV_Xs/T1dbf_7NRZI/AAAAAAAABa0/msYxp-Rb4O0/s200/DSCN4633.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1lzeiI6nuVA/T1dbnhQKsWI/AAAAAAAABa8/JwD8GBmHbhM/s1600/DSCN4643.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1lzeiI6nuVA/T1dbnhQKsWI/AAAAAAAABa8/JwD8GBmHbhM/s200/DSCN4643.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tZe6ziyIKL4/T1dbtMtnJ-I/AAAAAAAABbI/tMAZ6MC_37g/s1600/DSCN4644.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tZe6ziyIKL4/T1dbtMtnJ-I/AAAAAAAABbI/tMAZ6MC_37g/s200/DSCN4644.JPG" width="150" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Then we got adventurous and hiked a ways down toward-ish the water. The first picture is the view back up the hill from where we were (circled in the second). Steph's shoes were less than adequate for treacherous rock hopping, so she stayed at the top and snagged picture number three.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0zg5-4ye8M4/T1db2Q2OLLI/AAAAAAAABbQ/WF_9efC5ihc/s1600/DSCN4639.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0zg5-4ye8M4/T1db2Q2OLLI/AAAAAAAABbQ/WF_9efC5ihc/s200/DSCN4639.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-38MKrDd0UgY/T1djCPmZYnI/AAAAAAAABbg/Gmpo9AaRuZw/s1600/DSCN4619_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-38MKrDd0UgY/T1djCPmZYnI/AAAAAAAABbg/Gmpo9AaRuZw/s200/DSCN4619_2.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KZFGddga608/T1dcG0BPX2I/AAAAAAAABbY/teMbPhqB20s/s320/419373_10150661881257969_515352968_9122332_1657513774_n.jpg" width="320" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After "Cabo" we went for dinner, and returned to the hostel a little early. So we decided to utilize the hostel's awesome media room to watch a movie before bed.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now I'm not too picky when it comes to movies. I'll pretty much watch whatever. Most of the time I draw the line at horror, but sometimes when you're in a group that wants to watch a horror movie, you just have to go with it. Nobody likes a stick-in-the-mud.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Friends, Romans, Countrymen, Laura--lend me your ears! DO NOT WATCH <u>HOSTEL</u> IN A HOSTEL. THIS IS A TERRIBLE DECISION AND YOU WILL REGRET IT FOREVER.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4_4pm8FZf24/T1euig3UccI/AAAAAAAABbo/7SqBXZ3Hxfs/s1600/Hostel1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4_4pm8FZf24/T1euig3UccI/AAAAAAAABbo/7SqBXZ3Hxfs/s320/Hostel1.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EJtOp0VYpLA/T1eukr4z4SI/AAAAAAAABbw/PTpfvlGItiE/s1600/Hostel2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EJtOp0VYpLA/T1eukr4z4SI/AAAAAAAABbw/PTpfvlGItiE/s320/Hostel2.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1IyX8UhBAeU/T1eumZUlQbI/AAAAAAAABb4/NQgDnKmf-mI/s1600/Hostel3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1IyX8UhBAeU/T1eumZUlQbI/AAAAAAAABb4/NQgDnKmf-mI/s320/Hostel3.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But I made it all the way through. Mostly from behind the pillow. Because I was NOT walking back to the room by myself.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Amitiés :)</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534399117282494315.post-64583449211292956322012-03-05T08:56:00.000+01:002012-03-05T08:56:54.625+01:00Je flâneEep!<div><br />
</div><div>Back in Nice, I am.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Very quiet, my room is.</div><div><br />
</div><div>A little too quiet.</div><div><br />
</div><div>After spending 9ish days traveling around Spain and Portugal with some really fantastic people, you can't help but feel a little blah.</div><div><br />
</div><div>But I must regain my composure, for I have a test in about an hour. Learning never ceases. But one day standardized testing will. And I will dance.</div><div><br />
</div><div>May the force be with you.</div><div><br />
</div><div>And also with you.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Amitiés :)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0