One Way

Abbaye St. Victor, not Morocco

Ticket, yeah. I didn't need one. I had originally wanted to go to Morocco this past weekend, but African unrest prevented that. So I decided to go to Geneva instead. A beautiful lake, a tour of CERN, what could be better?

Well, I couldn't find any housing in Geneva. At least nothing that would cost less than 50 euros a night. So I thought to myself "Hey, I have a Eurail Pass, I can take a day trip to Lyon, food capital of France, instead!"

Monument aux morts de l'Armée de l'Oriente et des terres lontaines, not Geneva

Chateau d'If, made famous by The Count of Monte Carlo, not Lyon

But I had to turn in papers Friday morning to validate my visa here (if I hadn't, I would never be able to come back to France), and then I misread the train schedule. It took me so long to find out what I was going to do. But I found out: I city-hopped between Aix and Marseille. And there was a lot of walking involved. I walked about 13 miles in Marseille alone, at least by my Google Map calculations. About halfway through, I realized there'd be no easy way out, that I'd have to walk back. So I walked back along the shore, back through the deserted streets and the crowded ones, back to the train station, where I got on a train heading to Aix.

Something in Septèmes

But it only took me half the way there. I got off by whim in Septèmes. I promenaded through this very non-touristy French town, walking about two-and-a-half more miles before getting on another train. Which I took to Gardanne; another random city on the Aix-Marseille SNCF (national French train) line. It's basically on the other side of the local mountain, Mount Saint-Victoire, except from this side Mr. Mountain's size is fairly evident, and looks more like a small range. There was a large aluminum factory there (in Gardanne), and everything was red. The dirt was red. There were red monuments marking the roads. That was about everything that was red. It also had a pretty pretty (as in fairly nice) main street, and centre ville was uncorrupted by autoroutes. And devoid of cars. And shops. And people. It was very relaxing. Then I went back to the train station...and went home. All this netted another three miles or so at least. I'd estimate a total of 20 miles walking. It was over 27 degrees (80 °F). That's 1600 degree-miles.

Aluminum Factory in Gardanne

French Fields

Saturday, I attended a pique nique (I refuse to translate that to English). It involved buying some bread and apples, taking a bus half an hour south to Les Milles, meeting my friends there, and walking half-an-hour uphill to his house. That walk bothered me more than the previous days (I blame the extra 5 degrees Farenheit), despite the marvelous countryside scenery. My friend Louis has a lot of foreign friends, and lots were present at the picnic. But it was a big teaser, as they're essentially all Spanish speakers (he studied abroad in Spain last year and is truly fluent in Spanish), and some of them don't even speak a word of French. There was a bit of a language barrier, at least for me.

As for my Sunday driver, I used my Eurail Pass once more and headed to Avignon, which roughly translates as "We have lots of flowers to be allergic to". My eyes were so bleary that I walked around blindly the whole day, snapping pictures on my camera to look at later. Alright, maybe my nose ran a little; I'd had the sense to start my allergy medicine regimen in full force the day before.
After writing this, I went to insert pictures into my blog and realized that I may not have been exaggerating. I failed to notice that my pictures were black, white, and green. Ah well.

See Below

So Avignon is famous for its Pont d'Avignon (Bridge of Avignon) and its Palais des Papes (Papal Palace), pictured above. But, as you can see, the Pont does not extend all the way across the Rhône. There is a very good reason for this:

The builders of the city of Avignon were mortal ennemies with their neighbors across the river.

Things used to get violent between the Avignonians and the inhabitants of this city, the Novaginians.

One day, sometime shortly after the year 1000 (if I remember the date correctly), the inhabitants of the two cities decided to reconcile their differences. As a gesture of goodwill, they agreed to build a bridge. However, upon finishing their half, the Avignoners noticed that their newfound "friends" had exhausted their funds partying on the other side of the river. When one Avignoni asked politely that the Novaginish complete their side, he was met with a drunken gurgle. Being understandably upset, the residents of Avignon dedicated their bridge to tourism and tried to shroud the back story in myth.

Palais des Papes

They would have you believe that the two cities never, in all of their history, considered any type of friendship, nor even armistice or truth. The ancient Avignonianiers, being the athletes that they were, could jump large distances. Much further than the wimpy Novaginarians could. So, in order to gain the tactical upper hand, the Avignonois constructed a bridge halfway across the water to a point where they could easily jump from the bridge to the far bank and invade enemy land.

Now, one would think that such an advantage would be insurmountable, but the Avignonesque made one fatal error in their calculations: they did not build the bridge far enough out to return to on a windy day. So when they foolishly glided onto the enemy shore one afternoon, and were whipped soundly in battle, they attempted a hasty retreat. Their efforts were foiled by a strong gust of wind (one has to be fairly light to jump that far), and they were massacred.

Football Players

As time passed, technology advanced, and eventually a modern bridge was indeed built between the two cities. And, I am glad to say, whatever the original cause of enmity between the two cities was, they now take it out on each other in a semiannual soccer game (or football, but I don't think I've picked up any non American readers yet).

That's not to say that no hate remains...I believe the match is high stakes.

Extra Ball, Bonus Blog

The last few weeks, I've constantly been looking under my shoulder. I've been checking under the bed, in my closet. Tasting my food for poison, peering around corners, tiptoeing past closed doors, speaking in hushed tones. It is spring after all, and Allergies could be anywhere.

Allergies!!!!

My homestay's backyard

Well, now Allergies are here. So now I'm using invulnerability pills; we'll see how that keeps Them away.

I think I win some kind of reward for most improved in my classes; my professor complimented my grand strides out of the blue today (I decided to worry about intonation instead of grammar for a few sentences...multitasking is too hard).


Speaking of the color blue, I learned a cool French phrase using blue, other than "Sacré Bleu!" (which is not cool). It is : "J'ai une peur bleue que..." It literally translates as "I have a blue fear that..." and indicates that one's fear is stronger than just any ordinary, non-blue fear.

Finally, on the color blue: the sky is blue. And it's going to be 26°C Thursday. That's 78.8°F. Hot damn.

Reflections

And well, some other stuff first.

This weekend, I did not go on any grand majestic trips, though I did take a cooking class Friday. More importantly, I ate the food afterwards.

And Saturday, we took a program-sponsored trip to the Camargue and Les-Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, one of the few places in Europe wherein dwell the greater flamingo. The aptly named Camargue horse and Camargue bull also happen to live here, and apparently, as summer progresses, one finds famous mosquitoes as well.

While there, we discovered the Camargue is a marsh, and much colder than Aix. As in the high in Aix was 22 that day (above 70) , but with the clouds and wind kept me shivering in my sweater.

Beautiful Day

Camargue Horses are Always White

We went horseback riding. My steed was named Oclan (probably spelled wrong). He responded to the gentlest touch. However, he also liked to trot, not necessarily in the right direction, and especially when wading through mud. But only after walking really slowly and falling behind. Speaking of which, he was very concerned about the horse behind him, and kept turning to look, I assume to make sure that the other horse was still following him. If the other horse was taking a different path, he would try to turn and look more frequently. Somebody needs blinders. Despite all this, it was all very fun.

It's hard to shoot pictures from horseback

Pawing (Hoofing?) the ground

Then we went to a bullfight. Not a Spanish bullfight, mind you. I'm not up for that severe animal cruelty. Even this was a bit much, although our program director claimed that the bull was unhurt. Yeah right, even unharmed would be stretching it a little. Admittedly the bull is not killed, nor blatantly stabbed (although I strongly suspect that the ribbon on his back was a pin in his spine, poor guy). What a mean sport.

See how they run

There were six bulls in total. The rasateurs (not quite a toreador, since this isn't quite the same sport) would try to grab ribbons from the bulls' horns (there was only one bull at a time). Since they were wearing mini wolverine claws for this purpose, misses no doubt further injured the bull. After attempting to grab the ribbons, they would flee the arena by jumping over a barrier to escape the bull. Well, one rasateur was too slow, and a bull managed to maul him. I guess training kicked in, because the rasateur managed to remain in between the bull horns for about 5 seconds, but in disengaging, the bull level him and proceeded to run directly over him. That's a stomp carrying about a ton of weight. He played out the round though, despite this and a scratch from the horn that was no more than a few centimeters from his eye.

I have mixed feelings on the whole mauling affair, and bullfighting in general. (Basically I don't like it, but it's not my place to judge)

Sunday, I wandered about for free museum day in Aix, then went to "l'etrange Carnaval". I guess its Aix's version of Carnaval, but like Nice, it was very child-oriented. But no mean old ladies today. A few bands marched down Cours Mirabeau, then the children frolicked. They silly stringed (fil serpentin) each other, and threw confetti everywhere (I'm still finding confetti in my pockets). Then there was a grand parade, where the people marching down the Cours...threw more confetti at us.

Fil Serpentin

Queen of Hearts

Bizarrely, the whole thing was Tim Burton themed for some reason. Floats from Nightmare Before Christmas, Corpse Bride, Batman, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, Alice in Wonderland, Edward Scissorhands (Hmmm, almost Johnny Depp themed). No idea why. But I did learn that the French call Edward Scissorhands "Edward aux mains d'argent", or "Edward with silver hands". That's bizarre, like "The Fighter" coming out here on March 9th or some such date three months after its USA release.

On to a few notes, seeing as I have but a month and a half remaining in Europe, here's a few thoughts.

My love affair with bread is weakening. I love bread here, and will miss it when I go home. But I no longer imagine myself being content eating a baguette everyday. That said, I essentially do eat some of a baguette every day, with the occasional exception due to traveling.

Streamers and Confetti (and buds on the trees!)

I can't spell traveling anymore. French would have me double the l. I use that word a lot; the misspelling is quite inconvenient. And speaking of linguistic idiosyncrasies, I find myself using "talk" instead of "speak", and "rest" instead of "stay", as well awkward English wordings, all because of my usage of French. I had a moment a few weeks ago where I was searching for a word to describe Black Swan, and had to stop and rethink my previous sentence over in English to arrive at "nerve-wracking". Which still isn't quite the sense I was going for, but my synapses aren't quite hooked up for perfect English at the moment.

The French have an awful sense of luck. It's fairly common knowledge that there's dog crap all over the streets of France. What isn't as frequently realized is that it's good luck to step in it with your left foot. Whoa, glad I found that out; that changes everything.

I had other thoughts, but no longer recall what they were. I may create more and more ethereal posts as my time here concludes and I have thoughts I want to record.

Ciao

"And Here We Have Some Off-Coloured Ravens"

Off-Coloured Raven

The London Rain finally caught up to me. It had been waiting for me in Marseille and Aix the whole time after all.

What are you doing Canary Wharf?

So there were no problems with Ryanair, it having got me to and from London, safe and sound. There was one downside to my return, however.

Well, I got up at 7 am, scarfed my free breakfast, and headed off to Finchley Road, where, despite being disoriented once again, I managed to wander straight to the bus stop, 5 minutes early for the 15 minute late bus. I took it the airport, where I stormed through security (for some reason, no one was going into one of the security checkpoint lines. Silly Brits). I got on my plane, and off I went.

Accursed Daylight Savings time. You may kick in 2 weeks later in Europe, but you still make 7 am feel too early (forgive me Mom).

I was just sitting at my table, minding my own business, eating my fish & chips, when the telly tells me that there's been rioting in Central London. That's absolutely ridiculous, says I. I was in Central London all day, and saw nary a sign of said rioting. Sure, the tube was unnecessarily crowded, but that's just because the boat race is sooo popular. Well, it would seem I'm near a riot each year, albeit further and further away. I wonder how next year's will be...

Oxford in the lead

After leaving behind my abstract wanderings of Canary Wharf, I zoomed by Tube across London to watch the boat race. I was rooting for Oxford, for no particular reason. Turns out Camden was favored, that's okay, because Oxford won by four lengths! For those of you who don't know what the boat race is, read the previous three sentences. Anyway, the race being completed, I crammed back into the Tube and headed to my hostel for dinner.

That morning, I climbed up the 311 steps of The Monument (to the Great Fire of London). Then I climbed back down, and toured (I suspect my choice of the word "tour" here comes from the French word for tower being "tour") the Tower of London. Much more impressive from the inside. This guy helped:

My favorite Beefeater

I think the most important thing I learned from him is that bad men do still exist, and "they're under your beds, children". The blog total is one of his gems as well. For some more, he's on Youtube (though this isn't my tour):

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DeiW_bWZ2Is

I had my room all to myself, so I slept well.

Afterward, I walked all along the Thames at sunset, and through the National Gallery.

Following our picnic, we went to the British Museum. Museum's don't get described, they get seen. It's free, like almost every other museum in London, so go there yourself. My one comment is that I found a single plaque incredibly interesting: it dealt with the Japanese conception of time changing speeds with the seasons. Time is so steady today, but that fluid perception holds a strong appeal for me. After promenading around, Simone left for something or other.

Rosetta Stone, at the British Museum

I met up with a friend from Pitt, Simone, in Trafalgar Square Saturday morning. She was late, but I got to do some people watching. French tourists are hilarious. One French adolescent tried to climb atop this lion:

Big Lion

After failing, he asked two older French teens how they'd managed to do so. One demonstrated by jumping and twisting in midair to land elegantly on the lion's rump. After dismounting, the preteen tried to follow suit. Except he missed both the jumping and twisting parts, and just ran head-first into the lion.

Anyhow, after Simone showed, we watched the changing of the guard, then picnicked in St. James Park, outside the front of Buckingham Palace. The Queen thought this was a jolly good idea, so she joined us for tea. However, William and Kate did not pay us this respect. See if I invite them to my wedding.

I tried my best, but I woke the Germans up leaving in the morning.

I arrived in my hostel late Thursday night, technically Friday morning. No sooner had I begun putting my valuables into my locker, two German medical students who were backpacking through England barged in. It was their room too.

I decided I was too cheap to take the metro, and I wanted to actually see the streets of London, so I decided to walk from Finchley Road to my hostel. It was a forty minute walk, and at the beginning, I had no idea where I was going. By the time I remembered that I'd printed out directions, I had already been walking for ten minutes. Turns out I followed the directions to a T without having ever read them.

And now for my first experience with Ryanair. Well, it got me there. And I wasn't worried for a second.

London 

Everything is backwards in London. They drive on the left side of the road, silly Brits. And I sure could not figure out pedestrian traffic. Sometimes they kept left, sometimes they kept right. Escalators were always keep right, except to pass. Everything else involved me crashing into Londoners. Silly people.

Barcelona

Barcelona
Barthelonianth are nowhere near ath thilly ath Londonerth. Unfortunately, at least for me, Catalan is their primary language. So what little elementary Spanish I know just looked even more touristy. No hablo Catalàn.


Other than that,  I have two takes of Barcelona.

Take one: I didn't get enough out Barcelona.
I don't want to sound whiny, but I am whiny. Sorry.

Good First Day in Every Way

Columbus, pointing East

Everything started out well enough, despite the six hour bus ride: wondrous views of the Pyrénées, the high temperatures that induced me to remove my sweater (I knew better than to even bring my coat), a pleasant two hours wandering about, discovering La Rambla and les platges (I knew beaches in Spanish, but not in Catalan). Then a brief walking tour, which basically consisted of walking us to La Rambla and away from the beaches without giving us much information. Still good stuff though.

I didn't feel like going out that first night, so I just wandered around a people watched. Good stuff.

Ah, Mediterranean

 Second and Third Day, The Bad Take
The next morning, some of us went to the market and then lounged on the beach for an hour or so. Then things started going sour:

1. Our tour "guide" didn't know exactly where we were, and had difficulty leading us to the bus. At that point, I had figured out enough to know our location better than him. Strike one.
2. The bus driver drove in large, pointless circles at least twice, that served nothing other than needless time consumption. Strike two.
3. Our "guide" merely pointed to objects we drove past and named them. No history. No bus stops. Useless. Aggravating. Strike three.
4. Now, normally, being at strike three, he'd be out. But I really wanted to get to Park Güell, a UNESCO-listed site constructed by famous Barcelonian architect Antoni Gaudí. It was pretty far from the center of town, outside of walking distance, so I figured the bus tour would be a good way to get there. Unfortunately, steps 2 and 3 were repeatitive, so much to the point that I fell asleep on the tour briefly. Strike three point five.
5. We finally arrived at Park Güell, and were given a mere hour to explore it. The time shortage was due to the earlier inefficiencies. Anti-climactic. Strike four point five.

So, after whittling away the day, we returned to our hostel. Our tour "guide" had mentioned a Dali museum, and being a fan (of Dali, not him), I inquired further with him about it. He said he wasn't really sure of the location, and to ask at our hostel. I did, and was informed that it was two hours outside of the city by train, which I verified by internet. So naturally I ascribed this to our "guide" being useless.
Anyway, I was ready to go out for the night, but I was waiting for someone who was waiting for someone else. So we didn't get out until almost one am. Okay, it's Barcelona, that's what Spanish people do...
During that time, we managed to pick up some people in our group that I didn't particularly like. They have a word for that: loathing. Alright, I just won't be near them when we go out....
Somehow, these unwanted comrades commandeered our group and steered it into a bar at half past one. No one from the original group wanted to go to a bar; they all wanted to go clubbing. This was unbearable. I went back to the hostel for the night.

The next day, I decided to visit the Picasso Museum in lieu of the Dali Museum. It was good, but not mind-blowing or anything. Then, with about twenty minutes until the rendezvous time for our departure, I discovered a Dali exhibit in Central Barcelona. So our hostel was pretty poor as well (they didn't even provide sheets for warmth). But no redemption for our "guide": moments later I discovered that the Cathedral he had claimed you had to pay to get in had free entrance at certain hours. Which had ended about a half hour before I realized this.

Wasted two days.

Park Güell

Second and Third Day, The Good Take
 Admittedly, the tour guide and driver were incompetent. But I did enjoy the beach. And, although they did so inefficiently, they did eventually drive us past nearly all the major sites, including Olympic Village and much more Gaudí architecture, including the incomplete Sagrada Família, a massive basilica that has been under construction for 130 years, and still has 10 to 15 years to go. We even got to get out and walk around the Sagrada and a vista of Barcelona, in addition to Park Güell.

Sagrada Família

Then, dinner was delicious. I sought out and found some seafood in Barcelonita, one of Barcelona's harbor areas. Let me reiterate: my paella was delicious. It consisted of rice, peas, mussels, clams, crayfish, lemon, squid ink, squid, and some other unidentifiable seafood. I ate an entire pan of it, before heading out again later for tapas, which were also quite good. They did not rival my epic paella. Delicious.

I should not dismiss the Picasso Museum so lightly. It was very good, and provided an interesting look at Picasso's development. Who would've guessed that he started out painting normal-looking objects? I actually really liked his youthful paintings. Which made me realize what a grip of artistry he needed to convey images through cubism, even if I find cubism terribly uninteresting. Good thing there wasn't much of it in the museum.

Finally, I was in Barcelona with friends. I'm in Europe. I won't complain.

It's Been a While

Bonjour (or Bon Soir, or Bon Matin),

Wine vats

I haven't written a word in three weeks now. And, fortunately, it's not because I don't have anything to say. It's because, unfortunately, I have no time to say it.

So where was I? I just got back from Denmark and Germany?? That's a lifetime ago. This blog post will most certainly not be catching you up to today. No sir. Consider it part of a series. That said:

Wine, Nice, and Monaco

Wine shop

Wine - No, wine is not a place. It's a wine tasting. I just figured that I should mention that I went on not one, but two. I wish I could claim to be an expert on wine, but I'm not. But I know how to look like one now, and I know some various tidbits on wine. Or knew, they're fading fast. Something about viscosity and sugar and glucose and shelf life.

Nice

Nice - The day after the first wine tasting (4 March), we headed West. By bus. For those who do not know, Nice is the reason I decided to study in Southern France. Well, as it turns out, the Côte d'Azur really does have a different climate than Aix. It was warm in Nice. It was walk-around-in-a-tee-shirt-and-eat-ice-cream-and-chill-on-the-beach-but-don't-go-in-the-water-because-the-Mediterranean's-still-cold warm. So, I decided to take off my sweater. Then, while wandering around the backstreets of Vielle Nice (Old Nice), I bought some delicious ice cream (Rosemary and Lavender, surprisingly good). We wandered up to the modern art museum because it was free and recommended, but aside from the wonderful view of the city, it was fairly boring, so we trekked back down to sea level. Then, because of the temperature, I decided to chill out on the beach. But I didn't go in the water; the Mediterranean was still cold.

Oldest intact tbone in the world

While I was in Nice, they held La Bataille des Fleurs as part of pre-Lent celebrations. That means I went and watched a parade wherein the women dressed in flowers on floats wrapped in flowers threw flowers to spectators holding flowers. Everyone was so happy. People caught flowers and gave them away. Little kids ran around silly-stringing anyone less than 6 feet tall (it's no fun if they don't hit people in the face), and no one reacted negatively. Well, almost. Apparently, passive-aggressive old ladies take offense to silly string, because when the people on the floats tried to throw flowers to six-year-olds, the selfish women would cacklingly steal their bouquets and strut triumphantly away.  

I only caught green flowers. I mean, green is my favorite color and all, but when the flower matches the stem, hey, kinda boring, you know? 

Monaco -  We arrived in Monaco later that day (too short Nice, too short). For those who don't know, Monaco is an independent principality. It operates by its own system which means: no taxes. I believe it's the richest country in the world. Oddly, Paris is still more expensive for basic necessities. Turns out, Monaco is also a police state, at least according to my definition. Our program told us that there was one police officer for every two people. That would be true, except there's 515 officers for 32,000 people. Still tops the world in popo per person.

Monte Carlo

That night (still 5 March, see why it's so difficult to write all this?) I went to Monte Carlo. Alas, I could not bring myself to bid, because I refused to play roulette, and black jack's minimum bet was 25 euros. Too rich for my blood. I'm saving up for my 2000 euro purple hat thanks.

The next day, we went up to the prince's palace and watched the changing of the guard and just looked at Monaco in general. Very pretty. But on the way there, we stumbled across a dog racing an obstacle course. I'd never seen one in person; I could get into it. It's a sport that draws you in. Goodbye Monaco. Returning to Aix, we stopped off in Eze, near Grasses, where perfume is manufactured. I don't think they successfully convinced any guys to buy perfume during the factory tour, despite their best efforts. Though my hands smelled quite good for the rest of the day.

SCHOLARLY INTERLUDE
I thought I had a presentation that Monday, so I spent an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out exactly what was going on in Libya, in French. Well, it turns out that someone who wasn't really supposed to be presenting the news stole my presentation, so I got shafted. Two presentations on consecutive days the next week.

The Mediterranean

Strasbourg, City of Storks and Swans

Stork

Swan

Waterfowl galore. But that meant rivers everywhere. It was very pretty.

Oh, wait, some background. Strasbourg was my first solo trip. I just took a train up to Strasbourg overnight using tickets I'd reserved with my Eurail pass, or at least that was the plan. When I went to get onto the train, I discovered my car was missing. Whoops.


So I asked the conductor what I should do. He groaned and sent me to talk to someone else.


I was finally told to get onto one of the other cars and just find a couchette. But more stress to come.

Remnants of Strasbourg's battlements

Strasbourg's Cathedral. Original.

As we (the 4 other people who shared my cabin and I) were sleeping, about 5/8 through the 7 hour ride, one of the conductors came in and asked us all our final destinations. One poor guy was heading to Dijon and discovered that for whatever reason, this particular train was not stopping there, so he sprinted off in a mad rush. A few stops later, two more people got off, having reached their destination I assume. That left me and one other man, who kept concernedly asking me whether or not I was getting off. He kept muttering because he was hovering in between sleep and wakefulness, and so was very hard to comprehend. I naturally assumed that he knew something I didn't, but I stayed on the train anyway. Eventually I figured out that he thought I was the Dijon-bound homme, but not before an unnecessary amount of 4 am worrying. Good trip so far. But I think it would have been worse if I'd had to comfort someone.

Walk by the Water

Strasbourg is located in Alsace, which is in Northeastern France, very near the German border. It has in fact changed hands between Germany in France very frequently, and a different style of architecture than our clay buildings of Southern France. I appreciate the difference, and like it better aesthetically, but less ambiantly (Yes Dad, I'm making up words throughout this post. Deal with it). 

Rhea

I wandered along side the rivers and up to Le Parc de L'Orangerie. However, I did not see any trees that I recognized as orange trees, although I found a bush that sort of smelled like one. I did, however, find more wild storks (cigognes) than I'd ever seen. There were a lot, and I'd never seen one before. There was also a free zoo. I was pleasantly surprised. It made up for me having to lug my backpack with me.

Wallaby

At this point, I sent my friend living in Strasbourg a text asking her when she wanted to meet up. While waiting for a response, I grew tired, and so checked into my hostel for a mid-afternoon nap. Refreshing. When I woke up, three hours after sending the text, she still hadn't responded, so I decided to call her. No answer. The call didn't go through. The text didn't go through. Apparently, she equally failed to get in contact with me. Our phones had a French Feud. Anyway, through the marvel of the purchase of an internet card and social networking (I suppose email would have worked as well), I was able to leave her a message with a time and a meeting place. And that worked out somehow. She showed me around town, but 'twas I who discovered the guy in the street playing speed chess. 


I lost.

Losing
I'm sorry Pitt lost guys. Since coming to Pitt, they're 0-4 in post-season games I don't watch, and 5-2 in games I do watch.