Paris!

            I landed in Paris-Beauvais airport around 9:30 and looked around thinking, “So this is France.” Then I did a double take and thought, “Wait, where’s Paris?” It turned out that the ever-deceitful budget airline RyanAir would only fly to a remote airport in the French countryside, so I had to take a two hour bus trip to the city.  It wasn’t too bad though, because I caught some much-needed sleep on the bus. When I got there I decided not to take the subway and instead walk a few miles from the bus station on the southeast edge of the city to my hostel in the northern quarter. This was the start of a lot of walking I did throughout that day and night.

            And it’s a good thing I decided to walk, because within thirty minutes I happened upon

something interesting. It was a gigantic, ornate archway in the middle of the largest traffic rotary I’ve
ever seen. I later learned that this site was the famous Arc de Triumf. When I laid eyes on the Arc, my

Le Arc de Triumf!

immediate thought was, “I have to get there!” but, although there was a decent crowd of people under the Arc, I didn’t see any practical way to get there. So in true tourist fashion, I crossed the street. This was a bad idea. The street is about 100 feet across and, at midday, was pretty busy. Drivers all around me were honking and slamming on their brakes. It was reminiscent of the scene in Mulan where Grandma crosses the busy street holding the lucky cricket with one hand and covering her eyes with the other, while traffic veers and swerves around her. Thankfully, like Mulan's grandma, I made it across unharmed. There, I spent ten minutes observing the massive angel statues on each of the Arc’s four corners, and I took a pass on climbing the stairs to the top. As I was leaving, I found the tunnel that runs under the street (thank God!), which happened to lead in the direction I was headed.

            So I continued on my way, passing through a park where there were many children playing, a pond, and some interesting sculptures. The few parks I passed through were rather tranquil and attractive, like you’d imagine a Parisian park to be, minus perhaps the bouree-wearing artist composing an oil painting of his surroundings.

Jazz quartet on a Parisian street (video wouldn't upload)

            After another hour, I was within a couple blocks of my hostel. I couldn’t find it initially, but I was in no hurry, so I stopped for the most delicious cured ham sandwich of all time and then listened to a street band of four old timers play a few jazz standards. Delightful! I took a video of them playing “When It’s Sleepy Time Down South,” that features an elderly woman who must have been their backup dancer.

After a short search I found my hostel, where I met one of my two roommates, a man who looked like the Brazilian Ricky Gervais and spoke both English and Spanish rather slowly and softly. He soon left and I took a three-hour nap to restore my energy for the incredible amount of walking I was about to do. At dusk, I set off to conquer the big tourist attractions. First destination: the Louvre. 

Mesdames et Messieurs, Le Moulin Rouge!

On my way there (speaking of Mulan) I discovered that the infamous Moulin Rouge was only a few blocks from my hostel, but I didn’t venture inside. I had bigger fish to filet. After a downhill mile, I walked through the Louvre’s grand entranceway to the plaza that’s home to the museum’s iconic glass pyramids. When I arrived at the entrance to the Louvre’s interior, I was thrilled to find that, on a Wednesday at the end of November, there is virtually no crowd. Amazing! So I looked around the vast concourse where I was standing with no idea where to start. Eventually I figured I’d start at the top and work my way around, so I asked for directions to La Joconde, also known as The Mona Lisa.

Ancient Sculpture - The Louvre

            On my way to Mona’s quarters, I passed many ancient and medieval statues. After visiting the Prado in Madrid, the Uffizi in Florence, and the Louvre, these antique works of art begin to seem commonplace, impressive though they are. So many sculptors have made so many marble statues that to stop at each one and admire its ancient beauty is not worth it. However, some stand out among the rest. One such work caught my eye because it was the only black statue in a gallery full of white ones. I assume this guy felt pretty out of place, and he appeared

Angel Statue - The Louvre

frightened about something. Another captivating sculpture was of a huge headless seraph that appears to be taking flight from her perch at the top of one of the main staircases.
           Finally I made it to the Italian Renaissance paintings, where my mysterious mistress was waiting. I wasted no time, marching with purpose in the direction of the posted signs. And then there she was.

It was Louvre at first sight.

You’ve probably heard from anyone who’s been there that it’s impossible to get through the crowd around the Mona Lisa, but on this particular night, there was only one other guy in the room! And he was looking at the other paintings! Then he left! Amazing.

So for fifteen minutes, I was the only person in the world looking at the world's most famous work of art. It’s hard to describe, but there’s really something special about Mona. People comment on how plain the painting is, but few seem to contest its exalted reputation. On the surface it is a simple depiction of a woman posing in front of a dark landscape, but there is something deeper than that. It is in the slight smile, in her inviting yet penetrating eyes. She seems to know something that she’d be delighted to share with you – if only she wasn’t frozen on canvas. The way Di Vinci painted her, in soft light against that gloomy landscape, conveys such personality and curiosity. I could have stared at Mona for hours, simply because I wanted to know more.

The actual Mona Lisa! Wait, what's that face in the bottom right? Sweet Leonardo! That's me!

            But I had to see the rest of the museum, so I followed the signs once again, this time to find a different lovely lady, the Venus de Milo (don’t tell Mona!). At the time I didn’t know the history of this sculpture, which is thought to represent the Greek goddess Athena (Venus to the Romans), but apparently nobody knows its exact history. It was discovered on the Greek isle of Milo during the nineteenth century along with many other sculptures, all highly regarded. The sculptor is unknown, and the date is approximated to the first few centuries A.D. In any case, it’s a very lovely creation and I feel bad that she lost her arms (as does Blinkin, from Robin Hood, Men in Tights – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Be31ckmiF9A).

Venus de Milo - The Louvre

            No other work in the museum had the reputation of the Mona Lisa or the Venus de Milo, but there were many cool exhibits full of items from all over the ancient world. They say you can’t see the Louvre in one day, but after Venus de Milo, I didn’t stop moving other than to take pictures, and I traversed the entire building in two and a half hours. There was a collection of Egyptian artifacts, with angular sculptures of animals, gods, and people, carved mostly from red clay; a series of decorated coffins stacked like Russian nesting dolls; pieces of a once-whole fifty foot colossus; and hieroglyphics aplenty. One exhibit was dedicated to the ancient and medieval Middle East. There were many paintings and sculptures from the classic and renaissance artists. The bottom floor of the museum had been reconstructed to appear as part of the original Louvre palace. And alas there was one room for modern and contemporary art.

            The museum closed at nine o’clock, at which point I exited to the South. Walking down the courtyard, I looked out through a high arch and noticed a distant Ferris wheel designed in the shape of a snowflake. Then I looked left. And there she was – “she” this time referring to the Eiffel Tower – all lit up with a beacon of light beaming from the top, like a 'bat signal' for eager tourists. So I stopped to take a few pictures, then I thought to myself, “When’s the next time you’re gonna be in Paris?”

Start of my hike from the Louvre to the Eiffel Tower

            So I began walking, first in the direction of the giant snowflake, half a mile alongside a park that would have been quite beautiful in the daylight. When I got there, I considered going for a spin on the wheel but quickly thought otherwise. After a short rest, I fixated myself on the brilliant tower that was two miles away, and I continued my march. I went past a deserted outdoor market, over the River Seine on a very busy bridge, around a few Parisian neighborhoods, and finally found the plaza where the tower sits.

La Tour Eiffel

At night the thing is strung up from top to bottom with gold-colored lights.  About every ten minutes, these lights flash and crackle so brightly that epileptics should be warned before traveling to Paris. And apparently, at ten o’clock on a Wednesday night there is hardly a line to get in, much like the Louvre. Amazing! On the ascent, the elevator stopped halfway up before taking us to the top. The view of Paris at night was picturesque, and the wind was brutal. Surprisingly, there is no gift shop there, but there is a list of distances to major world cities, so I was able to see that I was approximately 5,849 kilometers (3743.36 miles) from home, judging by the distance to New York City. 

After ten minutes, I made my descent and started back for my hostel, initially in the wrong direction, but I realized my mistake before long and headed back in the right general direction. That was the start of a four- to five-mile hike back to my hostel.

At first, I was effectively lost, with only a vague sense of direction and a very empty stomach. I eventually stopped at the only place that was open, MacDonald’s, and in homage to Pulp Fiction ordered a “Royàl with cheese,” which I ate sitting on the curb outside. I then returned to my trek home and before long found a major road, matched my map with one of the city plans on the sidewalk, and charted the course to my hostel, which was still about two and a half miles away. It was already after midnight.

Along the way there, I passed a few drug dealers, who would yell to me “Cocaine!” and “Marijuana!” in their French accents, apparently able to identify me as an American tourist. One of them went as far as to follow me, saying “Come on, you wanna get high, right?” and even tried to put his hand on my shoulder. Instinctively, I threw my arm out to keep him at length, shot him a glare and said, “nope,” which thankfully stopped him. In any case, the guy didn’t look any more athletic than he was persuasive, so I could have outrun him if I needed to. I made it safely back to my hostel at 2:05am, according to the man working the desk.

As I drudged up three flights of stairs to my room, I thumped my tired, heavy feet on each creeky wooden step. I imagine that someone in my room could hear my approach growing louder and louder. When I made it to the fourth floor, my shoes tapped loudly and slowly across the hard wooden floor.   Tap.   Tap.   Tap.     Then I slid my key card in the door ­– Click – and turned the handle.

Click.

I opened the door, letting a sliver of light pour into the dark room, just wide enough to illuminate the face of the roommate I hadn’t met earlier. Instantly, he shot up and screeched, “AAAAAAHHH!!! AAAHH!!!” in a shrill tone befitting of a ghoul in a haunted house ride. It could have been a scene from a horror film.

But I was too tired to bat an eyelash. I simply said, “This is my room.” 

Hyperventilating, the man apologized, but with the terrifying way I approached the room, I couldn’t blame him for screeming.

The next morning, I found him downstairs and ate breakfast with him. He turned out to be a very nice British chap, and we joked about the startling way we’d made acquaintances the night before. He even gave me a plastic card with a map of Île de la Cité, the island in the River Seine where Notre Dame of Paris is found. Visiting the famous cathedral was my last objective before leaving Paris, thus completing the city’s trifecta of major attractions: the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, and Notre Dame.

I took the subway this time instead of walking, but I had to walk several blocks to the station and passed underneath a construction ladder en route. Keep that in mind when you read my next post.

            I got out at a station across the river from Île de la Cité. Just before I crossed the bridge, I was approached by an activist of some sort who had apparently taken a vow of silence. I don’t know what she was protesting or advocating, but she chased after me with a pen and a clipboard, smiling. Though I refused to oblige her with my signature, I couldn’t help but laugh, and she kept smiling. It was the strangest, most positive encounter I’ve ever had with a solicitor on the street – much more pleasant than my run-in with the drug dealer – and a moment I’ll never forget.

            When I got to the island, I discovered much more than just the cathedral, including a small park with a dock for boats, and many stone buildings that together resemble an 18^th century town.

View of the Eiffel Tower from the top of Notre Dame de Paris

At Notre Dame, I found an group that had just started its tour in English. I don’t know if it was supposed to be a free tour, but I jumped on board and even participated in a human-body demonstration that simulated the structural architecture of the cathedral. After the tour, I climbed the tower, strongly resisting the urge to shout “SANCTUARY! SANCTUARY!” in the vein of Quasi Modo. Outside on the balcony, I took a few pictures of the gargoyles with Paris as the backdrop.

I then went downstairs and observed the stained glass, the statues on the alter, and a miniature wooden model of the cathedral. I sat down in one of the pews and did something I don’t do often: prayed. As I breathed in, I thought about the world I was exploring and my life back in the US. As I breathed out, I thought about my self and the journey I was on, both geographically and personally.

When I left Notre Dame, it was drizzling, and I went across the street to order a spaghetti and chicken dish, with a banana-Nutella crepe for dessert. It was hands down the most satisfying crepe I’d ever taken.

At this point, it was nearing four o’clock and my train ride out of town was schedule for half past six, so I took the subway back to my hostel, got my things, and headed for the train station. I got there with time to spare, got my ticket, and waited for the train that would take me to Germany… so I thought.

Pardon the Delay

Faithful readers of Honoldblog – the esteemed log of my Spanish and European travels from the fall of 2011 – prepare to renew your faith! We're about to complete the journey.

First I must apologize for the nights you spent in early December of that year, hitting the refresh button on your email inbox and scouring your Facebook news feed, waiting, clinging, hoping for the Honoldblog about Paris. Sorry. But lemme tell you, it will have been worth the wait, 'cause some crazy shit happened in Paris and after Paris. The remaining installments will include: An Unexpected Swisst; Freiburg, Germany; Munich (RHCP Concert); Transit to Barça (Strasburg, France); Barcelona; Alicante Fairwell; and Going Home (conclusion).

Before we get started though, I must take a moment to address the nearly two years that have past since the Edinburgh post. Firstly, Edinburgh was unique in that I had four days and ample time in the Caledonian Backpackers Hostel to drink beer with Frenchmen, play pool with Spaniards, and write my blog post for you Americans. The rest of the Eurotrip was much more rapid-fire, and I didn't have time to write the whole prose. HOWEVER! As I traveled, I took notes on the events that transpired at each location, preparing for the day when I would once again pick up the old stone of the Honzblog and carry it the rest of the way to its rightful stead (which isn't a Ryan Air flight between Edinburgh and France). So what you read will not only be composed of the unfaded memories I have of my experience, but I won't miss a detail!

Of course, my initial plan was to finish the blog once I arrived home to the USA. But you know how things go. At first I just wanted settle in and didn't want to send my thoughts back overseas. Then it was the holidays, then I was back at school, then life just kept on happening and I never got around to dusting off the unfinished tale of my journey.

All Honoldblog metaphors aside, I'm finally in the right place (metaphorically speaking) to finish writing Honoldblog. When I arrived in Spain, it marked the start of the second half of my college career. Now, two years later, I'm at the start of my life as a college graduate, which is an equally exciting frontier to that of my Spanish and European travels and one that's even more rife with possibilities. Anyway, that's not what this blog is about, so if you wanna catch up, call me or something.

And now, with comparatively very little further ado, I give you Paris!

Well, I'm almost done writing it. In the meantime, here's a cool picture from the crepe capital to whet your appétit.

Edinburgh

I arrived at the Edinburgh airport around 3:30, while the sun was already getting pretty low in the sky and it was raining.  But luckily the good cheer was on display in the form of Christmas.  As I walked into the airport, the music, the lights, and whole sensation hit me, and suddenly the world me around felt like home.  It’s funny how Christmas does that.  Then when I ordered a coffee it came in a cup half the size of my head, and I realized I was in a place much more culturally similar to the US than Spain, where it’s hard to find a coffee half the size of my fist.

Caledonian Backpackers - Bar and Billiards Room

When I got to my hostel, I took a short nap before getting up and heading to the common room.  There I finished writing “November Montage”, with the social life of the hostel dwellers buzzing around me.  Caledonian Backpacker’s Hostel would turn out to be the greatest hostel I’ve ever stayed in, and I would recommend it to anybody who is traveling to Edinburgh.  They have spacious dorms as well as rooms for long-term residents, a movie room furnished with beanbags, a great poolroom, and an overall high standard.  What’s more is that much of my enjoyment of the city depended on the people I met there.  After I finished writing, I went to the supermarket and brought back food to cook, thus meeting the first of my temporary hostel friends at dinner.  There were a couple Spanish speakers at one table so I shot to impress with the ever classy “¿Está bien que me siente?” and got a “sí”, so I sat down and told my travel story in Spanish and in English.  By the end of my stay, I knew just about everybody in the hostel.

Later a group met in the common room and we went out to a few clubs.  The first was called Opium, a rock bar with a heavy attitude.  I was starting to learn that anybody who says "rock and roll is dead" hasn’t looked in Scotland.  They were playing everything from post-2000 pop rock hits, to the Offspring’s “The Kids Aren’t Alright”, to “Johnny B. Goode”.  And everybody was rocking their hearts out.  Next we went to a place called Banshee Labyrinth, a pub-club (plub) that was converted from an old prison without any change in the room configuration.  For that reason the place exists as quite the labyrinth, with three different bars and a few dance floors, some playing electro-pop and some playing that good old rock and roll.

Edinburgh Castle

The next day I decided to check out Edinburgh Castle, and stumbled upon a bit of luck in doing so.  My good luck began with the bad luck of a very lovely Nigerian girl, Fatima, who had dropped her gloves from the top of the castle.  As I was walking through the park below the castle, I said hello in passing and she responded likewise.  A second later I turned around when she said “Maybe you have good eyes and can help me find my gloves.  I’ve dropped them from up there.”  Well what do you know, I have twenty-twenty vision, so I helped her look.  Scanning the hillside and rummaging through the foliage alongside the path did not prove successful, except she offered me her free pass to the castle, saving me fourteen pounds, or about twenty-five dollars.  She only requested that I mail her back the pass, and there’s no way I could ebb that good flow of karma so of course I sent it out the next day.

View of the city and Loch Ness from Edinburgh Castle

The castle is a very pretty structure with many rocky terraces, a great view of the city, and a few informative displays on Scottish and British history.  After taking in all the views I could, I skipped the long line for the crown jewels exhibit in favor of the less popular prisoners of war display.  I learned a bit about the nature of Scottish war prisons throughout many years and many conflicts.  They had also preserved a few doors with age-old etchings made by early Americans.  Upon leaving the castle, I bought a shot glass and my new favorite wool “Scotland” hat.

Then I went into town.  Before too long I discovered an art gallery with a sign in front reading “Free Entrance, All Welcome” and I thought, “Why not?”   So I walked in to see what they had on display, which turned out to be some very artsy-fartsy modernist stuff.  One room stood out, with paint-spattered shirts hanging from molded clay hangers on grey walls that were arrayed with long malformed lumps, which curiously resembled human feces.  In the middle of the room, there was a TV playing a two-minute loop of a Scottish man talking to a stone cylinder with a smiley face on it.  I later discovered that the exhibit was supposed to represent learning something unusual and the process in which that thing becomes normal to us.  Go figure.

After walking through the grey poop room, I found what appeared to be a small cinema.  A girl who was working in there informed me that within ten minutes, they were going to begin a screening and discussion for a few local artists.  With nothing better to do at the time I once again thought, “Why not?”  So after grabbing a scotch and apple juice with a beer for later, I sat down for the screening.  They played three clips made by two video artists, the first of which was comprised of four awkwardly long sepia-toned still shots of an iMac computer with a cryptic poem open on its word processor, which was kind of weird.  The second was a pan shot of a park in Edinburgh that had been purposely rendered with computer glitches to appear like a moving series of watercolor brushstrokes, which was kind of cool.  The third was a sequence of shots where a nice pair of polished shoes walks up and crushes a strange Styrofoam object, which was kind of weird.

We never got to discuss much, but at least one audience member had the guts to ask about the fecal formations on the wall in the other room, to which the responsible artist seemed entirely oblivious.  That’s how I found out what the art was supposed to represents and how I decided that artsy hipsters have no common sense.  They can be just as creative as anybody else, but the art they make shows ZERO COMMON SENSE.  As evidence, I give you the fact that the same girl who made the iMac video had written a two-page essay entitled “When we know that we know that something isn’t what it is.”  The piece begins by questioning the nature of human perception and how it is our point of view that defines something as “art”, which makes some basic sense.  However it continues as a complaint that real artists are oppressed by the capitalist system.  If that artsy hipster girl had any common sense she would have known that she is oppressed as an artist by the fact that her artsy hipster friends are her only audience, save random walk-ins like myself.  I’m sorry if I’ve offended any of my less mainstream readers with these opinions.

Hero to Scotland and to the World,
Sir Sean Connery

After counting the art gallery as an interesting experience, I walked back up toward the castle, where they were soon having a Scottish pride event for the upcoming St. Andrew’s Day, which celebrates the patron saint of Scotland.  It began with a man’s explaining Scottish pride in a heavy brogue.  After hearing the tales of historical figures like Adam Smith and Andrew Carnegie, it was delightful to be reminded of another great Scot, Sir Sean Connery.  The event then concluded with the lighting of two flaming coats of arms and a fireworks display that was shot from the top of the castle.  There were also a few ice sculptures and luminaries on display.  It was all part of a very enchanting Scottish atmosphere.

Scottish pride fireworks -
        Edinburgh Castle

 That night, I just hung around in the hostel, shooting pool in the common room with a few guys from the hostel posse.  And the next day, to the relief of the word count in this blog entry, I only went out only once in the early afternoon to walk the streets and get to know the city better, spending the rest of my day playing pool again and chatting with the Caledonian Backpacker’s crowd.  That night, I went out with three French guys to a plub called The Hive that had one rock room and one nineties techno room.  There isn’t too much to tell here other than the unique dancing situation.  I was at full speed, pulling out moves such as the squiggly trance dance, the rapid-fire side skip, the skank, and of course the new school Russian kick dance.  But with the other people on the floor we were creating arm-over-shoulder circles and crack the whip lines, not to mention we were doing the Dosie-do.

My last day in Edinburgh was Tuesday, which I spent at first hanging out with the hostel crowd again, waiting on a message from my Alicante friend Blake.  Eventually I heard from him and we met up around eight o’clock along with his friend from home, Ryan.  We took a pint at a local music bar, and talked until twelve, when parted ways and went back to our respective abodes.

I made it back in time to catch a midnight snack in the kitchen with a few of my favorite hostel dwellers: Mike, an Italian guy who lived in North Carolina for seven years; Nicolas, one of the French guys; and Simon, an Australian fellow who has been traveling the world for six months and plans to continue three more.  We talked about various philosophies and things like cultural differences, eventually moving to the poolroom, and I slowly said good-bye to those I had met as they went off to sleep.  My flight was at seven o’clock the following morning, so I stayed awake through the night, catching a bus to the airport at four and sleeping in transit.  At the Edinburgh airport, I faded in and out of half-sleep while I pondered my next destination.  Paris.

November Montage

When we left off, my mom, Karen Honold, and I had just concluded a successful excursion to the beautiful city of Florence.  Momma Bear’s visit continued in Alicante until late that Friday night, and since then I have had a visit from the lovely Katherine Honold Righi and her partner in crime (and marriage), the ever-dashing Brandon P. Righi.  Then came my last week in Alicante, stressing out about finals, being sick, and saying goodbye to my amigos alicantinos.  As I write this I’m in the airport awaiting a flight to Edinburgh, which is the first stop on a two week Eurotrip.  So I have a few things to recount.

Part I – Mi Mamá en Alicante

We got back on Tuesday November 1^st, Día de Todos Los Santos (All Saint’s Day), and followed Spain’s example by declaring it a day of rest.  Upon arrival, Fer was back home from his October-long trip to Argentina, so I got say hello and introduce my mom to him.  And we were finally a full casa again.  That night, we made crepes from the recipe we got at the cooking school in Florence – or rather, Mom made the crepes and I did homework.  The dinner we had was nice way for my madre americana to meet Alicante.

Madre Enjoying the UA Foliage

On Wednesday we started the day by visiting the university.  Of course I'd been there many times, but my mother's appreciation of the campus made me appreciate it more in turn.  First of all there are are beautiful floral arrangements wherever you go, not to mention the palm trees.  There are also a lot of really cool fountains and sculptures, a display of several boulders, and a giant hand statue which is a symbol of the University.  And to top it off, the landscape and building architecture work together in a very pleasing way.

Later that day, we went to Avenida Maisonnave, a shopping center in central Alicante.  We had  bought a few unique watercolor paintings in Florence as gifts for Lis and Fer and were looking for frames.  We were unsuccessful, but Karen got to see El Corte Inglés, which is a department store with a distinct corporate monopoly in Spain.  In the center of Alicante, there are three Corte Ingleses, two of which have six floors and all of which consume most of their respective blocks.  Later that night we ate dinner at the apartment followed by a game of Scrabble in Spanglish with Masami, my awesome Japanese "compañera de casa".

On Top of
Castillo de Santa Barbara

Thursday, after I got back from class, we made the obligatory climb to the top of Castillo de Santa Barbara.  Although the walk would have been painless, Fer and Lis were nice enough to drive us there.  However they could not go up with us, because Renata was along for the ride and perros (dogs) have come into succession, after the Catholics, Napoleon’s Army, and Franco’s Fascist Forces as the castle’s current object to defend against.  In any case, I was once again able to show off the beauty of the view from atop this ancient structure.

After the castle, my mom and I were dropped off at the port, a part of the city I hadn’t previously explored.  That Thursday night was two days prior to the commencement of the Volvo Ocean Race, a sailboat regatta that started this year in Alicante.  The race will take six teams of professional sailors around the world in nine months.  By chance we ran into my friend Amy, who by the way happens to be good friends from Connecticut College with Gary Kaufman, a longtime Summit pal.  She was volunteering at the event and gave us the low down on what was about to go down between these maritime wind chasers.  There are six crews of fourteen seafarers, each with its own stylish vessel, and each comprised of an international crowd.  For example, the “American” boat only has two American sailors on it, one being the skipper, while the majority of the crew is British.  And all of the racers know each other, as those at the apex of ocean sailing are few.  After Alicante, the regatta will be stopping in Cape Town, South Africa; Abu Dhabi, Dubai; Sanya, China; Auckland, New Zealand; Itajai, Brazil; Miami, Florida; Lisbon, Portugal; Lorient, France; and finally Galway, Ireland.

Once we’d learned everything we could about the race, we continued down the boardwalk, where there was many a spectacle to see.  In promotion of the event, the port had pretty much reached fairground status, with kids flopping around on top of a pool, inside giant inflatable plastic balls; several temporarily constructed clubs and bars named after sponsors; and a live band playing a sound check for a concert we didn’t stick around for.  But Mom and I enjoyed a mojito together while they warmed up.  Then walking down to a section of the dock where there was much less of a crowd, we took a minute to absorb a beautiful perspective of the castle at night.

That was the last night of my visit from Mom, so we went out to eat on the Esplanada, Alicante’s seaside strip, with the whole host family present - Fer, Lis, Masami, and me - and my mom!  Contented by pizza, paella, and sangria, we went back home, where we waited though the wee hours to bring Madre to the bus station for a 2:15 departure headed for Madrid’s Airport.  After the bus had been boarded, Fer, smoking his cigarette, and I, waving incessant good-byes up to the window, lingered at the station to see off another enchanting family visit.

Part II – The In Between Week

            The following week, though relaxing and pleasing, passed nondescriptly while I pondered the next approaching wave of family, coming in the form of Katherine and Brandon Righi.  At the end of this week, an Argentinian friend of Fer and Lis’s named Marcos arrived at our casa, an event that displaced Katherine and Brandon to a nearby hostel.  He stayed in Alicante, uttering facetious phrases in low, nasally Argentinian tones until he left for his home country that Wednesday.  He was returning to Argentina after nine years and six months in Spain.  Just thought I’d mention the guy.

Part III – The Righis Arrive

            My most precious big sister and most magnificent brother-in-law arrived at Alicante’s train station on Sunday, November 14^th.  I greeted them by playing a little trick: after saying I would meet them at the stairs, I hid behind a sign at the boarding platform, waited for them to walk past me, and approached nonchalantly.  I was walking in between them for a solid ten seconds before being noticed.  HaHA!  Then I was hugged.

            So that’s how we kicked things off.  That night, we walked around el barrio and down to the Mediterranean, where we soaked our feet and continued catching up.  Afterward we went to a favorite gelato shop.  As these two are currently studying Spanish, one of the goals of the trip was to improve their speaking skills, and the first of these lessons came with the ice cream.  “You should never accidentally add the ‘ñ’ to the word ‘cono’ [meaning cone],” I advised.  Brandon and I shared a laugh over the colloquial use of the “palabrota” that the word would become.  If you know how to type an ‘ñ’ I refer the reader to google.com/translate.  Or you can just guess.

            The days of this week went by fairly equally.  We would meet at 9am and go Mercado Cental to get breakfast pastries.  Then we'd take those pastries to a cafe on my street called Cafe Tonazzi and eat them with our morning coffee.  After my classes, I would meet Katherine and Brandon at a designated time, and we'd go walking through the city to find things to do.  Eventually we would decide to search out a tapas restaurant.

On Alicante's Public
Workout Equipment

            But there was some variation.  On Monday night we went to a restaurant that was one of several in a plaza that I hadn’t yet discovered.  The paella was pretty good but the sangria was mediocre.  Then we went to the Esplanada and tested out Alicante’s public work out equipment.  We also checked out Alicante's old strange trees.  Anyone I've asked hasn't been able to tell me the names of these trees, but they are massively wide and formed in such a way that vines fall from their branches and enter the dirt as roots.  Growing at various sites in Alicante, I'd guess there are about forty of them to discover throughout the town.

Nice Picture from
Parque de Tuna,
Alicante

            Tuesday, Katherine and Brandon discovered on their own two parks that sit on the side of the hill beneath Castillo de Santa Barbara, Parque del Agua and Parque de Tuna.  The castle included, this is probably the most scenic and naturally preserved part of the city.

            That night we ate at a restaurant in the Barrio called Calvin's.  I got a tapa favorite, patatas bravas (brave potatoes), while Katherine got a salad and Brandon ordered a random menu item that ended up being little sausage slices.  We also got a pitcher of their home brewed "cerveza tostada" (toasted beer).  While Spain general lacks in beer quality this was a very good brew, enough so that I shall declare it here: the best beer I had in Spain.  

            Wednesday, K+B once again made their own excursion while I was at school, this time to the ancient part of the city, Lucentum.  This was the name of Alicante under Rome, between the first century BC to the first century AD.  I never had the pleasure of discovering Lucentum on my own, but I heard from them that it is a very interesting and scenic part of town.  There arcaeologically preserved Roman ruins, set within the modern cityscape, as well as rich history to learn about.

Consumption of a
Chirimoya

            Wednesday night we ate at the hostel.  This is only an important detail because I was introduced to a fruit that I never knew existed call a "chirimoya" [cheery moya].  Found in the US only in California, the taste is a rough hybrid of coconut, pineapple, and mango flavors, and worth the effort it takes to spit out several seeds with every bite.  Anyone who finds themselves in Spain should be exposed to this exotic fruit.  Later we went to my apartment where Katherine and Brandon met Fer and Masami, and we played Spanish Scrabble, or as Spanish speakers call it, "eScrabble".  (They can't pronounce any "S+consonant" without an 'E' sound in front.)

            Anyway Thursday once again marked the end of a visit, and was once again topped off by climbing Castillo de Santa Barbara.  I'm running out of ways to describe this castle, but one thing we took note of was how the structure is carved into the rock scape of the mountaintop.  The walls and structures are literally carved into and built up from the natural formation.  Very unique.

            We then passed some time walking around the city and found one last tapas bar to eat at.  The sangria was pretty good but the paella was way too salty.  We then went for a second dinner with my host family, so that everybody would be able to properly meet each other and Katherine and Brandon could practice their Spanish.  Afterward, we went to a bar that my amigos and I hung out in every Thursday, called 9B Nove Nove.  So they met the majority of my Alicante gang, before heading to the bus station.  As I was lacking the energy to accompany them, we said goodbye and I went back to fall asleep, content with the events of my last of three visits from family.  I really do have an incredibly dedicated family, and the fact that they would all cross the ocean to visit my is easy to sleep on.

Part IV – The Final Countdown

            My last full weekend was fittingly typical, spent hanging out and doing the barrio thing until Sunday the 20^th, which I spent redrafting an essay, completing other final assignments, and playing the guitar.  It was the start of my last week in Alicante, and as my two-month classes were ending, it felt like a real finals week.  Granted, I would probably have more work during an average week at Ithaca College, after three months Spain had made me considerably lazy.  And I was sick.

            So I spent Monday at the University and at home, finishing assignments for my Spanish Grammar and Society classes, and playing the guitar.  Tuesday was the same, except I had to go and tutor eight-year-old Alvaro in English. This tutoring is something I have chosen to skip over in past entries, but I will include it when I write the final recap of my abroad experience.  Wednesday, when I got home from class, I went to the supermercado and bought the ingredients to make pumpkin pie.  After it was too late I realized I forgot the tin for the oven, but I still whipped up the crust and filling, leaving the second supermercado run and the baking process for the morning.

            It was very important that I make that pie because Thursday, as many of you already know, was Thanksgiving.  So after classes, our entire CC-CS group and a few traditional homemade food items hung out on campus in anticipation of the dinner that had been organized for our group.  I couldn’t think of a better way to give thanks to for the friendships that we'd made than to celebrate Thanksgiving together at the end of the program.  We talked about the good old times over turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, and various pies.  The pumpkin was a hit.  And to shock those of you at American collages, they served us several bottles of wine and pitchers of beer!  The dinner concluded with a slide show that recapped the entirety of the Spain experience, from our orientation, to our trips to Valencia and Granada, up to the very end.

            We then split for a second dinner with our host families and reconvened later, bringing the party to our favorite bar, 9B Nove Nove.  There, we didn’t not play beer pong until two o’clock.  Leaving Nove was the beginning of the final good-byes, as most of us had to return our phones after classes on Friday and couldn't be sure to see each other.  The deep sentiments and emotional hugs kept flowing from that point on.

            Since I was sick and still chose to go out Thursday night, my alarm failed to wake me Friday morning and I missed my two finals.  Oops.  Good thing my program director, Pepa, is a savior with a lot of sway in the Universidad de Alicante system, because I called her when I woke up, and when I got to school, my two exams were waiting for me to take in her office.

I then said my good-byes to the UA and CC-CS staff, returned my phone, and caught the bus home one last time.  That afternoon, I did some planning for my upcoming Euro-trip as well as some Christmas shopping.  I went back home for la ultima cena (last supper) with my host family before going out one last time to meet two thirds of the crew at Cien Montaditos, a restaurant that serves tiny sandwiches.  We sentimentalized and got along for a few final hours, then took the gang outside where the adios-ing took a good twenty minutes.  I went home around two o'clock to finish packing and catch some sleep before my flight the next morning when I was hit by a surprise, and not a pleasant one.

Fer knocked on my door at about 2:45am with a question, “¿En que día vuelves a Alicante?”

“El nueve,” I replied.

“No estaremos aquí, Mateo.”

“¿Que?”

What just happened is that I was informed, seven hours before my bus ride to the airport, that I would not be able to stay with my host family on the last night of my travels, as I had planned.  So in the middle of the night with no phone I was left to find a place to leave my luggage for two weeks and then stay on my last night in Europe.  $#!*.  After furiously packing the rest of my things, I was lucky to find a solution through Facebook.  From one friend, I got the number of another friend with an apartment and called her from the home phone.  I had to wake her up at four in the morning, but she was willing to help.  After finding the solution, I calmed down and was able to forgive Fer for the misunderstanding, so that story doesn't end on a sour note.  After a few hours of sleep, I ran through Alicante with a guitar in one hand and a rolling suitcase in the other, rang the buzzer to the apartment, dropped my things off, and ran home one last time.  I woke my family and we shared some of those sentimental adios-es that had lately been going around.  Then I grabbed my backpack and headed to the bus that would take me to the airport.  The start of my two-week excursion through Europe was set in motion.

Part V – Me Voy

            And I’m off.  As I write, “that” morning at the end of part four is actually this morning.  But now I’m in the common room at Caledonian Backpacker’s Hostel in Edinburgh, Scotland.  This is the first of six cities that I’ll be visiting in the next two weeks.  I leave Edinburgh for Paris early November 30^th, then taking the night train to Freiburg, Germany where I will arrive the morning of December 2^nd to visit a Summit friend, Shelby Smith (Whaddup!).  On December 4^th I'm taking a train to Munich, where on the 5^th I’m seeing my all time favorite band, the Red Hot Chili Peppers.  On the night of the 6^th I’m catching a train to Cannes, France, because in Florence we met the same couple twice, and they invited me to stay.  Then I’m going to be in Barcelona the day and night of the 8^th, leaving for Alicante some time on the 9^th.  Around one o’clock on December 10^th, I will be catching a flight out of Alicante one last time before connecting in Madrid and finally landing at New York JFK airport that night.

So goes the grand finale of my European experience.  I’ve never done anything quite like this in my life.  The nearest experience I can think of is my two weeks of wilderness backpacking in Philmont, New Mexico at age thirteen.  In order to harness that spirit for the journey, I will be wearing my Philmont belt every day and alternating between the same two pairs of pants.  But this is a different kind of wilderness, one of mixed cultures and a wide variety of experiences to take in.  At Philmont, I fed my soul from the fruits of a beautiful corner of nature.  In these next two weeks, I will be feeding my soul from an all-you-can-eat buffet of European culture.

Edinburgh at Christmas Time

Once I got aboard my Ryan Air flight in Alicante I was effectively in Scotland, but when I landed it was like the world had transformed.  You know that feeling when you take off a really heavy backpack and it seems like you don’t weigh anything?  That’s what it felt like landing in an English speaking country after three months of climbing the language barrier.  I would have jumped for joy at this liberating sensation, but at the time I was wearing a really heavy backpack.  I also suddenly found myself surrounded by Christmas.  Holiday images had started to appear in Alicante the past week, but in Edinburgh they have every hall decked, and I walked into the airport to the sound of Ella Fitzgerald sweetly warbling about roasted chestnuts.  And every street is lined with soft blue lighting in the shapes snowflakes and Christmas trees, while holly and Christmas figurines are on display in every storefront.  It’s also a bit cold in Scotland.

So here I am the first night of my voyage through Western Europe, taking it easy, gathering my bearings, and getting around to some things I haven’t been able to make time for recently, such as blogging.  And I’m incredibly excited for what lies ahead.  I will be dropping blog updates at least once per destination while this saga continues, so you know the drill – read on.  Thanks for making it to the end of this most epic edition of Honold-blog, and a belated ‘Happy Thanksgiving’ to all!

Florence! (by Karen Honold, visiting writer)

   October 29 – While the snow began falling in Summit, Matt and I met in the airport in Florence, Italy.  It was the beginning of a very special adventure and week together far from home.  We had perfect weather for the entire stay in Florence - temperature during the day was in the low 70's and in the mid-50's at night.

   Unlike Newark Airport or JFK, there was only one place where Matt could enter the terminal, so it was easy to find him as he came striding through the exit!  It was so nice to see him after 2 months!  And as only Matt can say, it was the first time I had ever seen him in Italy!!

   Upon arrival in the city, we decided spur of the moment to try the Galleria dell’Accademia where Michelangelo’s David is displayed.  Before my departure, Fred had pointed out that the captives by Michelangelo were also amazing and that was true!  The talent in one person to accomplish so many different works of beautiful of art is humbling!   Matt and I approached the David three different times by walking past the Captives.  It made me so appreciative to be in Florence, the city that started the Renaissance.   One more Matt note -- as we were circling David from behind Matt said, "You can tell from this angle that he works out, because that thing... is sculpted."  He always has a comment to make me laugh!

   After seeing the David, we chose a 
restaurant with a view of the Duomo and 
enjoyed a nice Italian meal!  While 
waiting for dinner, we attempted to
imitate the fierce look in David’s eyes.  Matt did a much better job than I did!

   One of the many pleasures of Florence are the street performers.  The first night, we lingered in the Piazza di San Giovanni listening to a steel drum player who was truly inspiring.  The sounds of the drum in the plaza echoed in such an amazing way.  It was a spiritual experience.  Looking forward to the next day, after visiting the Uffizi, we saw some performers dressed to look like statues.  This one broke role to answer his cell phone.  And the street art is amazing, every day we passed chalk artists in varying degrees of completed works.

   October 30 - Early Sunday morning we braved the chill to visit the Uffizi.  What an amazing collection of art!  Statues, busts, oil paintings and so much religious art!  Some of our favorites were:

·       An unfinished DaVinci painting of Madonna and child, the scale of the painting was probably 10 feet high by 15 feet wide.  It is an incomplete masterpiece, but even the parts that were left unfinished invite you to use your creativity to fill in the blanks.

·       A portrait of a nude dwarf - two paintings back to back - one side was the front of the dwarf and the other was the back.  He appeared to be a fierce nude dwarf.  And rounding the second side his backside had us both laughing!

·       The ceilings on the top level were all painted elaborately with too many scenes to describe.  We have a post card as a record of what they looked like.

   We had a bite to eat on the rooftop of the Uffizi, listening to church bells ringing and sitting under a clear blue sky.  It was so relaxing and the food was amazing!  Did I mention the cappuccino in Florence? It is amazing pretty much anywhere you get one.  We had at least one per day, maybe two.  And the gelatto is amazing too!  So many flavors.  We also availed ourselves once per day of snacking on gelatto!

View from Plaza Michelangelo - Florence

Sunday night we went to the Church of San Miniato, at Diane Bakalar's recommendation.  They had a 5:30 Mass that was primarily chanting.  It was a beautiful church with three altars.  The Mass we went to was in the lower part of the church where the acoustics were amazing.  The walls and ceilings were probably at one point completely fresco-ed, however plaster repairs were done over time and part of the fresco is covered.  You can see why Italian restaurants like La Pastaria use that technique on their walls.  It is very authentic.   The Mass was almost mystical in that environment with lots of incense and with the chanting of about 10 monks/priests.  Definitely worth the climb up the hill!  On that same hill is a plaza called the Michelangelo Piaza.  It overlooks the city of Florence.  Matt and I got to be there before Mass, as the sun was setting, and afterwards when the sun was set.  The view was amazing both times!  

October 31 – Halloween - We climbed the Campanile, adjacent to the Duomo  - 414 steps to the top.  It was worth it!  We could see all of Florence to the countryside.  Afterwards we had a relaxing and rejuvenating breakfast on an open plaza sitting in the sun - and only one gypsy came by to beg for money!

Ponte Vecchio (old bridge) - Florence

    Lingering on the Ponte Vecchio in the mid-day sun, we took in the sights of glittering jewelry! Matt was wondering how much the Ponte Vecchio is worth.  Each shop has hundreds of pieces of jewelry that seemed to start at about 150 euro and go up to 11,006 euro (Matt wondered why the 6?).  Truly millions of euro we are sure. It was a nice morning! 

    We took a brief rest in the afternoon before meeting our group to go to an Italian cooking school and cook our dinner.  We prepared a four course dinner that consisted of an eggplant appetizer, a savory crepe (which they made gluten free for me), farmer's chicken and tiramisu (again gluten free for me).  It was a fun experience and we met some very nice people along the way!

Halloween Night - Florence

   After dinner we decided to check out the action that might be happening for Halloween.  There was not much going on, but we ended up in the square where we had our breakfast that morning listening to a trio - bass, guitar and violin - that were very entertaining.  Several people stopped by in their costumes while we were there.  It was a nice end to a full day of Florentine experiences.

    November 1 - Tuesday morning, our last day Florence.  We walked around part of the city we had not explored.  We found the central market, which was not open due to the holiday, but there were plenty of street vendors that were there!  It is amazing what you can buy from a street vendor in Florence.  Leather -- coats, shawls, boots, shoes, journals, belts; lots of scarves and hats, Florence style masks of all colors, shapes, sizes and decorations.  Of course, souvenirs galore!

   Back to the hotel to check out and get to the airport for a 1 pm flight to Alicante.   Arrivederci to Florence!

   Editor's note - Thanks Mom! For coming to visit and for writing this guest blog entry.  I hope everyone enjoyed the writing of my awesome momma.  We also spent four days in Alicante.  More to come.  Remain in tune.

Pomegranate

   So I translated the title for everybody.  In Spanish it would be "Granada", and this past weekend I took a bite.  I must say that I think this has been my favorite Spanish city so far.  I love Alicante, but I secretly wish I'd picked Granada to study in.  Don't tell anybody.

   This trip was coordinated by the lovely folks over at CC-CS, so at a complete headcount, we in the program were shuttled four and a half hours southwest into Andalusia, Spain's southernmost autonomous community.  Until we arrived, I didn't realize that the city would have such an Islamic cultural influence.  Everywhere you go there are storefronts full of hookahs and téterias full of tea (and hookahs), not to mention it has NYC easily beat for felafel per capita.  A few blocks from our hotel was a shopping district full of tiny stores selling tapestries, tea sets, statuettes, ornate boxes, and a whole host of trinkets that ring of Middle Eastern culture.  And there's la Alhambra, the old Islamic palace.

   The story is that from the years 711 to 1492, the Iberian Peninsula was called Al-andalus and it was ruled by the Muslim Caliphate, which came from North Africa.  On January 2nd, 1492, the Granada War ended when the city was surrendered back to the Catholic monarchs, marking the finalization of the Reconquista and the end of Al-andalus.  And yes, the year Spain became Spain, she accomplished what is perhaps still her greatest feat: giving Christopher Colombus the thumbs up.  So anyway Granada and its environs were under Islamic rule longer than any other part of the country, and the city's culture proves it.

Gardens at la Alhambra - Granada

   I mentioned la Alhambra, the Moorish citadel.  In Arabic, 'al hambra' means "the red one", as it is made of red clay bricks, though since it was built the color has faded to a dull shade of salmon.  Despite the salmon, la Alhambra is one of the most scenic sites I've yet to see in Spain.  It exists of many towers, courtyards, and gardens connected by stone pathways.  There is almost always a stunning vista of the Sierra Nevada mountains.  And the buildings are constructed with stars painted on the ceilings, prayers inscribed decoratively along the walls, and color patterns that utilize gold and silver leaf.  But I was most impressed by the gardens, where exotic foliage lines several patios that look out toward the mountains and pathways lead you past plain buildings, strange flowers, and long pools of water.  The pressurized fountains are a relatively recent addition, as are the tourists, and while both reduce the tranquility that I imagine once existed, they don't detract from the skillful make and upkeep of the gardens.  At times the walls and hedges made the area into something of a maze, and with new discoveries around every corner and through every green, growing archway, I felt like it was Lewis Carol who put me there.

   Then just around the time my feet felt like taking a break and my stomach felt like cradling a kebob, we left la Alhambra and went to the center of town to grab a bite.  Then we returned to the hotel for a much needed siesta before going to see two famous churches.  The first was Capilla Real (the Royal Chapel), which is no bigger than the average catholic church, though the interior is quite grand.  Past the "FOTOS NO" signs, you find yourself in the dimly lit main hall, set in blues and golds, and before a massive iron gate that stretches from ceiling to floor and wall to wall.  Through the gate, the lights from the alter make the place come more alive.  The alter piece, which also stretches from ceiling to floor, depicts in sculpture several scenes from the Bible, the most notable being the last stories to tell of John the Evangelist and John the Baptist, to whom the church is dedicated.  The Evangelist had his head chopped off, while the Baptist, rather ironically, was boiled in a big pot.  But the best decor in the chapel has to be the 500 year old sarcophagi of los reyes catolicos, Isabella I and Fernando I, the same couple of monarchs who gave Chris Columbus the go-ahead.  To see their tombs, one must get in line, walk down a set of stairs in front of the alter, look to the right, nod appreciatively, and continue back up the stairs.  In a separate room, they also have the king's sword and both crowns among several royal tomes and robes.  Isabella and Fernando had commissioned the church to be built in eleven years, a short amount of time considering the technology of the time and the intricacy of the work, though unfortunately it wasn't completed until the 20th century when the gift shop was added at the exit.

Behind the Alter - Catedral de Granada

   Next we went to Catedral de Grenada.  This cathedral, the second largest in Spain, blew me away and made me feel small.  White and gold overtones grace the architecture, which shoots up the open space to a ceiling in the sky.  Because of the situation of the pillars and the organ, the center is the only place you can see the entire room, giving the illusion from the perimeter that the place could go on and on.  All along the walls, there are some ten greatly impressive murals consisting of biblical sculpture and paintings.  The gilded alter piece is even taller, overlooking the pews as does the centuries old (still functioning) organ.  It is a very pensive environment, so I sat down on one of the pews for a good think. I thought, "Art and architecture today is simply not done with such patience these days," shortly before we got up to leave.

   Okay we're taking a quick detour.  As I write, I am on a flight from a layover in Germany headed to Florence, Italy, and I'm currently witnessing the Alps for the first time.  Looking ahead out the window, the foothills are backset by a range of enormous summits, some of which stand out tall among the rest, until they disappear into the clouds in the distance.  Each summit is snow capped, making me want to jump on my snowboard and conquer them all.  There are dark green valleys bearing empty roads and sparsely placed houses, between the blue and white stretches of peaks.  I see a series of lakes that rise in a staircase pattern up the side of a ridge, one of which is frozen and the largest of which is at the top with an elevated road winding around the side.  Julie Andrews and seven children are running around dressed in window drapes, singing jolly songs.  Just kidding.  I'm now reentering foothill territory, but I can still see the expansive range curve off into the distance and disappear into the horizon.  Pretty.

   Anyway, we went out for dinner that night at a traditional tapas restaurant, where they serve dishes at random family style, in rounds.  Each round costs two euros per person.  It's like playing an arcade game.  Then a group of us marched thirty minutes to a club that overlooks la Alhambra, which is quite beautifully lit at night.  The place had two stories, an open air patio on top, several laser lit dance floors, two bars, and probably some rest rooms.  There is no place quite like this in Alicante, and to boot, they varied slightly from the usual list of Spanish club songs.  [Side note - They literally play the same ten electro-pop songs in most bars and clubs in Spain.]  So it was a good time worth the walk.

   The next morning, I went with four amigos on one last téteria run for tea and kebobs before heading to the trinket shopping district.  There I bought a big yellow tapestry with elephants on it, so to the residents of 509 South Aurora: I hope you don't mind sharing the first floor living room with a herd of happy pachyderms.  Then at 3pm, we met in the hotel lobby and filed into the bus back to Alicante.  It had been an enchanting visit, and I hope to one day return to Granada, though hopefully for more than just one weekend.

   Legal disclaimer: When I first tried to upload this piece, it failed and erased itself to the half finished version, then my mom was here so I didn't make time to rewrite the entry until now.  For this reason, "this past weekend" really means two weekends ago, and the airplane scene is a recreation.  Hope you got a kick out of it anyway.  Stay tuned.