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james-winston · 4 years

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My dad died a few weeks ago and I thought I'd share a few of my favourite stories about him. Please feel free to re-tell these as, "my friend's dad..." - he was a great storyteller and would be thrilled at having an international audience.

[Also, as fun as it is to imagine your faces reading these without the warning, it's important to preface these stories by saying that he grew up in Northern Ireland during the troubles.]

• He was one of 14 children, 12 boys and 2 girls, and all the brothers look the same - broad, tall, dark haired, big Irish heads.

• Unlike most of his brothers he was quite shy and quiet, afraid of getting into trouble. His brothers knew this, so when the troubles began they kept him fairly out of it. My da was often lifted off the street by the British army or the RUC because, as I said, he looked almost identical to his brothers, who were very much NOT afraid of getting into trouble.

• He was once brought in for questioning in relation to something they thought his brothers had done, and he immediately told the police everything. He felt awful and told his brothers, who said, "Ah don't worry Gerry, we knew ye would tell, that’s why we always lie to ye."

• He moved to Dublin with one brother to find work. My da got work as a builder, and his brother got work robbing banks. He came home one night with about half a million punts (euros) and my da left Dublin the next day because he couldn't handle the stress of just knowing the money was in the flat.

• This is the same brother who "stumbled upon" a set of Canadian cheques and gave them to people all over the city to cash in, and he would give them a cut. (This was back in the 70's, so it was weeks before the cheques would bounce idk how it works. Also there was some legal loophole he exploited because he was eventually caught and released.) Anyway, in his first trial run he dressed my da up as a priest and sent him into a bank to cash the cheque so if it went wrong they wouldn't expect fraud. They accepted the cheque no problem, and then said, "That will take a few weeks to go through, do you need anything to tie you over Father?"

At which point my da panicked and said, "Aye, I -uh, I suppose a wee bit, just to uh-, just to get by."

My da asked for a small, reasonable amount and went back to his brother, whose eyes lit up like Mr. Krabs' and said if my da hadn't been so terrified, and so soaked through with sweat, he'd have had him in every bank in the country doing the same.

• The same brother again who gave my da money for an ice cream van, but, as you may have noticed, my da was a soft touch, and he went out of business OVER THE SUMMER, because he gave free ice cream to the children who couldn't afford it.

• His brothers tried to teach him how to fire a gun, just in case he ever needed it to protect himself, but he kept closing his eyes when he went to pull the trigger so they quickly shelved that idea.

• He dropped out of welder training but moved to London and pretended he was qualified anyway. On his first day he built a frame in the wrong dimensions, panicked, and moved back to Ireland. (We've all made a mistake at work that's left us making plans to leave the country let's be honest.)

• He did one gun run for his brothers in the seventies and threw up when he got home because again, he was terrified.

• Two of his brothers got the rota wrong, and robbed a bookies the night after they'd emptied the tills. As all Irish sons are, they were petrified of their mother's reaction, so they didn't tell her. My da, none the wiser, tells my granny, and she lights into the pair of them when they get back for being so stupid and how could they not know when the tills were being emptied?

• He adored his mother, and he and his brothers used to sit at her feet, even as grown men, having a drink by the fire. Not a wild story, but a nice one.

• He had a hell of an imagination and used to tell us all sorts of lies and ghost stories. Any time we were camping near the mountains he'd tell us about the banshee.

"Can you hear that? I think that’s her scream?"

My ma, also a wuss: "Naw it's the wind because we're halfway up a mountain facing the Atlantic Ocean.”

My da, a perpetual wind up: "Naw children, it's the banshee, my time could be up any minute now, I've heard her."

• As he got older, and after my parents divorced, his health declined and he went to live in a sort of assisted living place, where each resident had their own flat, but there was a shared communal space etc. Anyway, he had a quick eye for a quick temper, and didn't waste time writing fake letters from the landlords to certain tenants, explaining that they'd been barred from the communal area for inappropriate behaviour. He'd then sit back and watch them all kick off at each other and the receptionists demanding to know why they were barred. Little did they know my da had roped the receptionists into it.

• He once worked as a caretaker in a day centre for old people, and he would often "borrow" from the boss that he didn't like when he was cleaning her office. Nothing big, just her pens, her stapler, any nice biscuits. There is home video of us as children following him about and "borrowing from Marie."

• Another time he went for a walk with a brother who was, unbeknownst to him, on an MI5 watchlist, and whom the British Army were tailing, hoping he would lead them to his weapons stash. Anyway, off they go on their walk, which in Ireland just means taking the scenic route to a pub, where they sat over a few pints. The British army surveilling him have a brain wave and think they've been lead to the secret weapons, because why else would two 20-something Irishmen be in a pub in the early afternoon, and they begin a full raid, smoke bombs, guns, the lot. At which point my da is dragged through the back of the pub, and out a first floor window. Given that we've established his tendency to talk under pressure, when he asked his brother, "what the fuck was all that about?" His brother wisely responded, "haven't a clue Gerry."

• He once went to a dance with one of his brothers, who got very drunk and very offended by some other man. So drunk was he that he couldn't remember which man had said what, so my da told him, but asked him to leave it. So he did, and off the brother went home. Or so my da thought. Half an hour later the brother turns up with a shotgun and starts threatening this guy who'd said something. He fires the gun into the ground by his feet to scare him, but accidentally hits him in the foot, and runs away. Turns out, in the half hour it took for him to get his gun, he'd forgotten what the guy looked like again, and shot the wrong person. The brother and his victim became good friends in the following years. (I don't know how, and my da didn't either, he just said, "awk sure it was a mistake, there was no harm.")

This was a beige imitation of these stories, but I hope they provided some enjoyment. I spent many a happy year listening to these over and over again.

Congratulations on making it to 71 Gerry, we should be so lucky. 🇮🇪

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im-justso-bored · 4 years

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Week 3 of clown theories and analysis

S3E03 - Meetings Have Biscuits

OH BOY. what a lot to unpack here. so im gonna save that Scene™ for last because i’ll never get to everything else if i don’t. i’m actually having to rewatch while writing this review because honestly what even happened other than The Bus Scene™??

The Tuning Fork Kills - i’m not a big fan of these kills, they were so unrealistic lol everything else about this scene was gold though. V going back and forth between the maid and the baby was hilarious. im disappointed we couldn’t actually see V steal the baby. does V even know how to properly hold a baby lol

I Have All My Best Thoughts In The Bath - Such a Carolyn thing to do here lol idk about anyone else but when Eve came into the bathroom, i got so excited, you can just tell when she walks through the door that she’s back to her old self. also this might be an unpopular opinion but i like Mo. i saw some posts about how unusual it is that Eve trusts the Bitter Pill team so quickly but i think it’s less a matter of trust and more a matter of resources. both Bitter Pill and MI6 need something from the other and Eve surely can’t do it all herself. Also each group is invested with Kenny working at Bitter Pill and then of course, Carolyn being invested as his mother. i dont think either group is really happy about the arrangement but they’re working with it to achieve a common goal

I’m Not Ready - i love how Dasha just casually puts the baby in the trash and literally no one notices lol. I’m actually really surprised that V didn’t hop on the next flight to London after processing that Eve is alive. i guess that really shows just how much V actually feels when it comes to Eve that she LITERALLY HAS TO SORT OUT HER FEELINGS BEFORE SEEING EVE, she’s such a gay mess and im here for it

6 Million Euros - so im a little confused by how willing Konstantin was to loan Charles 6 million euro that he doesn’t have. it seems that they’re old friends based on their conversation about their families but it sill seems a bit strange to me how Konstantin agreed to give him the money. Also if V was tasked with killing Charles, wouldn’t Konstantin know this if he’s supposedly still working for The Twelve? so why go through the trouble of looking for the money if he was just going to die anyway? This makes me believe that Konstantin is working for someone else entirely. what do you guys think?

Roman Centurion - can we talk about how V is literally everyone who has ever gotten their heartbroken? she gets to London fully expecting to see Eve and instead of putting on La Villanelle, she decides to go for a “powerful” scent to show Eve just how much she’s moving up in the world and has “moved on”. she’s so dramatic 😂

Poland - Niko is moving further and further out of Eve’s life and as much as i want it to be Eve who is done with him, i’ll take it at this point because finally.

Who Doesn’t Answer Their Phone On A Stakeout?! - what a GREAT scene. Other than The Bus Scene™, i think this is my favorite scene of season 3 so far. This scene really brought me back to season 1 with the music, the tension, the coldness and calm with how V carried out the kill. 10/10. this is also my favorite kill of season 3 so far. everything about this scene was perfect. This scene was also a great tribute to Killing Eve: No Tomorrow! the tension was sooooo good, this scene actually gave me chills. like i was pretty confident that Carolyn wasn’t going to die but they had me second guessing myself. also the way Mo reached out for Carolyn and was so relieved when she opened her eyes! Both of their performances here was incredible. Especially when Carolyn went home. We’re seeing so many different sides of Carolyn this season and Fiona is nailing all of them!

I’m Wearing Power - I love Villanelle and Konstantin’s relationship so much, i totally thought V was going to say something about how Eve kissed her and Konstantin would be the disapproving best friend who has told her countless times to stay away from her “ex”. im really curious to see where Villanelle’s interest in finding her family stems from. she said that in order to have power, you need knowledge and that’s why she wants to find her family which i believe is partly true but i also think there’s another reason. we’ve seen her having more feelings this season like when she was empathizing with Felix and then when watching the news with the father and the baby. Maybe she wants to know what that feels like? To have someone so happy to see you again after thinking you were gone? maybe she saw herself as the baby? Her family thinks she’s dead and maybe she’s thinking she’ll get that same reaction when returning to them. if that’s the case, that will reunion will end badly for her. im excited to see how much episode 4 dives into this storyline.

Admit it, Eve. You Wish I Was Here - okay so this scene was just as gay as The Bus Scene™, if not more so. Eve went through so many emotions here. Confusion as to where the voice was coming from, realization when finding the bear, anger at the thought of V toying with her again, and then ending with just pure fucking longing and acceptance as she replayed the voice over and over again. she’s so gay and i’m so glad she’s finally giving into it

The Bus Scene™ - it’s been 18 hours and i still haven’t processed that this actually happened. we were all satisfied with them beating the shit out of each other but they really went above and beyond with this scene. everything about this scene was perfect. the way Villanelle walked up Eve just radiated confidence and big dyke energy and i think i speak for all of us when i say, Jodie could step on me and call me a piece of shit and i would thank her. Eve was ON SIGHT and I STAN. Eve’s reaction was absolutely perfect. I love just how completely she caught V off guard and got a couple of hits in before V regained her composure and ABSOLUTELY TOOK CONTROL OF EVE AND MANEUVERED HER AROUND THAT BUS WHILE SMILING. Like godDAMN, that was sexy, the power struggle between the two of them is just perfect. and the wAY V FUCKING HOPPED OVER THE SEATS AND SO EFFORTLESSLY STRADDLED EVE. i don’t think i’ve ever been more attracted to anything else. and in the midst of all of this, V had the audacity to say “Smell me, Eve”, i love how unpredictable she is because that sure as hell caught me off guard but at the same time, sexy as hell, only V could make something so outrageous sound so sexy. and the fact that Eve kissed her is sooo important. V was never going to do it first, not after Eve stabbed her and i’m so glad the decision was made to have Eve initiate the kiss. it wouldn’t mean as much to us as fans and to V if V were to do it first. I love how all of V’s confidence and “power” just evaporated when Eve kissed her, we stan a soft Villanelle! and the way they paused to look at each other before EVE HEADBUTTS HER WHICH IS JUST PERFECT. Everything about this scene is so in character for both of them. As outrageous as this scene may seem for anyone from the outside looking in, it was fucking perfect for these characters and everything we needed for a first kiss from them. i’m really excited to see them together again later in the season. i’m really curious to see how or if this changes the dynamic for them. look out for a fanfic about this soon, i think that’s the only way im going to be able to fully process this

OVERALL - i really enjoyed this episode, the tension was just perfect, the plot is picking up and really seems to be going somewhere which im really looking forward to. as of right now, this season could really go anywhere and im really excited to see how it all plays out. i cant believe that after next week we’ll be halfway through season 3, it’s all going by so fast! thanks for letting me rant!

#killing eve #killing eve spoilers #villaneve #villanelle #eve polastri #eve #killing eve season 3 #killing eve season 3 spoilers #eve x villanelle #jodie comer #sandra oh #fiona shaw #carolyn martens #killing eve 3x03 #the bus scene

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heartbreakgrill · 4 years

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Circles; Harry Styles Pt. 2

“Remember Frankie? From World History? She has a baby now,” you remarked, voice like lyrics over the rhythm of your white tennis shoes and Harry’s leather boots stepping in time on the concrete bike path.

Leaves occasionally fell, crunching under your feet, sticks and stones on the path being kicked or broken away. The fall wind blew gently, waving strands of your air in front of your face. You had decided against lipgloss, luckily because your hair was so unruly. Harry’s curls, a beautiful feature of his which you always admired, were flopping with each step. You found your eyes trailing from his cheek to his hair consistently, simply admiring. He didn’t catch on much, his own focus glancing between you and the ground beneath his feet.

Lunch had been wonderful. He took to you the local pub, where you sat in the corner, knees bumping against each other after every movement. You shared a basket of fries, ate your own sandwiches and drinks. You caught up on everything: Your studies in London, who your friends were these days, the last boy who broke your heart. He told you about Louis and Niall, and only a little of Liam and Zayn. He explained the sketchiness of his management, the stress of touring, but his excitement on stage. You admitted to have listened to his two albums the night before and told him Little Thins became a quick favorite. You told him about your plan to move to New York when you finished University in order to delve into the world of international journalism.

After lunch, you didn’t want to leave one another, lingering in front of the door, still chatting, when you remembered the local bike trails. (“Gosh, I haven’t been there in forever.” “Same here.”)

So, now, you were strolling along, hands in pockets and elbows bumping somewhat. He replied to your comment about a forgotten classmate with, “God, its strange to think about people we know having children. Were only 19.”

You shrugged, “That’s normal around here, I guess. People settle down straight away, let go of their dreams for simpler, easier things.”

“I could’ve done that,” Harry spoke with a whispery tone. “Sometimes I wish I would’ve.”

You didn’t want to poke and prod at a comment that could turn into something bigger and moved on. “You’ve got money. Be happy.” Of course, this was a joke.

Harry laughed, “Money cant buy happiness.”

“Oh, I’m sure it could buy mine.” He glanced at you inquisitively. “Well, Im constantly stressed in London because of work and school. Its stressful and exhausting paying for my apartment and class and food and life.”

Harry frowned somewhat, “That’s part of the reason I hate it sometimes. I’m so lucky and undeserving of all I get just because I can sing and I’m attractive. You work so hard for what you have and you still struggle. It’s unfair.”

You retrieved your hand from your pocket and pushed him lightly, “I’m just confused as to who said you were attractive.”

He blushed deeply, his eyes downcast and shy. Suddenly he met your eyes and shrugged his shoulders. “You did say I was cute.”

Your own cheeks quickly turned red. “I’m gonna avoid my problems.” Your pace quickened and you began to walk away from Harry.

He giggled, emitting a grin on your face, and walked fast. Harry reached out and grabbed you around the waste, spinning you around in his arms. You caught yourself on his shoulders, feeling his warm breath combat the cold on your cheeks. He grinned cheekily down at you, eyebrows raised.

“I didn’t lie,” you unashamedly spoke. “Ive always thought you were cute. Hell, the only reason I came to the bakery so much was because of you.”

“What about the muffins?” He mused.

“Harry, a girl gets sick of eating muffins every single Saturday for 2 years in a row.”

He chuckled, squeezing your waist gently. But, then, his eyes fell slightly, his lips molding into a frown. His grip loosened and he almost stepped back. But, he didn’t. “Do you wanna go on a date tomorrow? With me?”

“I’d really like it if you could get Niall’s number for me, but I guess you’ll do,” you whipped your head around in exclamation.

He scoffed, laughing loudly, before pulling you against his chest. You just stood there, hugging each other lightly, though you were shivering in the breeze. Soon after, he walked you home and even kissed your cheek prior to leaving. You giddily walked up to your bedroom, bare of much decoration because of your schooling situation. You closed the door and leant against like a heartsick teenager. You felt the same way you did two years ago, head over innocent heels for some stupid boy. You didn’t know if this would work, given your future career and his present one. You didn’t know what his favorite color was, but he did telll you his favorite way to drink tea. You didn’t know who his childhood cartoon crush was, but you knew that when he looked at you, your stomach was in flames.

You didn’t know what you would regret in the future, as no one does. So you decided to jump.

Harry had definitely gone on Pinterest.

When you opened your door (only knowing he would be arriving at the time he did because you spent the entire afternoon, night, and morning texting one another) you immediately smelled the sweet fragrance of men’s cologne. It was nice, slightly overwhelming, but nice nonetheless. He held a bouquet of red roses, your favorite because you told him you were a fan of cliches. He wore a jade green button-up, short-sleeve dress shirt. It was obviously new, given away by the fact that there were creases in his sleeves. (His favorite color was ocean blue, by the way, and yours was the color of his shirt.) In his other hand was a picnic basket, which he held up to you after he handed off the roses.

“It’s freezing outside, Harry,” you giggled whilst motioning him to step inside. He did, following you into the kitchen.

You set the roses up in a vase as he replied, “I know. But its okay because I have a really nice idea.”

“Okay, I trust you,” you spoke reassuringly. You turned towards him from your spot by the counter.

Harry’s eyes trailed over your figure, clad in a long-sleeve, ocean blue wrap top tucked into a pair of blue jeans which stopped just above your black ankle boots. Gold jewelry dangled above the neckline and from your ears, your hair tied up in a low messy bun which took too much effort. “You look lovely, by the way.”

“You, too,” you grinned, meeting his eyes. “Guess we both thought of impressing one another.”

“I went to three different stores to find this,” he spoke as you began to lead him back to the front door.

“Uh, me, too. Don’t act so special,” you grabbed your coat off the rack and slipped your arms through it. Harry laughed.

You bid farewell to your parents, who were watching television in the living room. They gushed over Harry, about to ask him a million questions when you said, “Dinner reservations, sorry, got to go!”

You grabbed his hand and pulled him out the door. You didn’t let go, and neither did he, but he had to in order to open your door. You hadn’t expected this and hesitantly slid into the passenger seat. “Thanks.” You told him once he started the car.

After a few moments of adjustable, comfortable silence, you piped up again, “So, where exactly are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

You arrived to a park two towns over after half an hour. It was massive, with lookout spots all over the hills. He parked in one with the trunk of his mum’s car facing out over the countryside. He opened your door for you, again, and led you to the back of the car.

“Okay, Ted Bundy,” you giggled lightly, walking ahead of him.

“Oh, please, I dont want to kill you,” he scoffed, popping the trunk. “At least not until the nights over.”

“Why not?” You held his eyes, not yet looking to the trunk.

He shrugged, “Because I have to get a goodnight kiss first.”

He left you stunned, cheeks red and eyes wide. Harry sat down in the trunk, leaning back against the pillows and blankets decorating the small space. You grinned at him, as he was awaiting your reaction. He leant a hand and helped you settle next to him. You both crossed your legs in order for him to set the picnic basket down. He shut the trunk, the heater cranked up and the radio playing.

“Were wasting so much gas,” you laughed, shedding your coat.

Harry took it from you, folded it, and set it on the folded down back seats. He took off his own, “Dont worry about it. I’m rich, remember?”

You tossed your head back with a loud laugh. The hours flew by from there on: He had made finger sandwiches, which you ate with liberation, and homemade lemonade packaged in a thermos. His mother helped him melt chocolate and cover strawberries in it. He had even made a mini cake at the bakery and packaged it all nicely for you two to share. You talked about everything you hadn’t already discussed: Music, books, television, his supporting act on tour, your favorite professors. You told him about your dumb job waitressing, about the lady who had tipped you one-hundred euros.

Once you were done, you helped him pack up the trash. He set the picnic basket in the front seat before shutting off the car. The sunroof was closed, but the stars were visible through it. He laid down on the blankets, head smushing the pillows. You sat there for a moment, feeling slightly awkward, before he motioned for you to lay down, too.

You cleared your throat, face hot and body stiff, before doing so. There were barely a few inches between you, but Harry made sure there were none. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and tugged you into him. You took the liberation to lean your head on his chest and lay your arm across his stomach. No words were exchanged, but they didn’t need to be. Everything that you could learn had probably already been said: Deeper stories, moments, could be exchanged later. A bond was now established and you already knew what was coming.

For now, you could only enjoy the moments that he was here: His hand in yours when he drove you home; hand in yours as you led him to the front door; lazily smiling down at you; a gentle, comforting hug; his eyes flickering between yours, your lips; his breath fanning closer until he stole his goodnight kiss.

“Guess you can kill me now.”

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newstfionline · 3 years

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Friday, February 5, 2021

Canada puts Proud Boys on terror list, cites active security threat (Reuters) Canada named the far-right Proud Boys a terrorist entity on Wednesday, saying it posed an active security threat and played a “pivotal role” in last month’s attack on the U.S. Capitol that left five people dead. Although the Proud Boys have never mounted an attack in Canada, Public Safety Minister Bill Blair said domestic intelligence forces had become increasingly worried about the group. The group’s assets can now be frozen by banks and financial institutions, and it is a crime for Canadians to knowingly deal with assets of a listed entity. Anyone belonging to the group can be blocked from entering Canada. The move underscored constitutional concerns about a Canadian government’s ability to designate a group as a terrorist entity, said Leah West, a national security professor at Ottawa’s Carleton University and former lawyer with the Canadian justice department. Designations are impossible to challenge beforehand and difficult to address afterward, especially given lawyers may be reluctant to provide counsel to members of a terrorist group, she said by phone.

US to cut off support for Saudi-led operations in Yemen amid humanitarian crisis (Guardian) The US has announced an end to its support for Saudi-led offensive operations in Yemen, citing the role the bombing campaign has had in creating the world’s worst humanitarian crisis. The announcement was made byJoe Biden during a visit to the state department, capping a whiplash fortnight of dramatic foreign policy changes since his 20 January inauguration. “This war has to end,” Biden said. “And to underscore our commitment, we’re ending all American support for offensive operations in the war in Yemen, including relevant arms sales.” The distancing of Washington from Riyadh is one of the most conspicuous reversals of Donald Trump’s agenda, but it also marks a break with the policies pursued by Barack Obama, who had backed the Saudi offensive in Yemen, although he later sought to impose constraints on its air war. The US will also freeze arms sales to Saudi Arabia, and name a special envoy to Yemen, to put more pressure on the Saudis, Emiratis and the Houthi forces they are fighting, to make a lasting peace agreement.

Capt. Tom’s legacy lives on (AP) The legacy of Capt. Tom Moore, the super fundraiser who died Tuesday of COVID-19, lives on in others. Capt. Tom, a World War II veteran recovering from a broken hip, set out to raise 1,000 pounds ($1,400) by walking 100 laps of his back garden before his 100th birthday last April. Three weeks later, he had raised 33 million pounds ($45 million) for Britain’s NHS after his quest cheered a nation in lockdown and triggered donations from around the world. But he also made a broader impact as his simple challenge—to do whatever you can to help others—persuaded the young it’s never too soon to start, and the old that it’s never too late. Take Margaret Payne, 90, who walked up the stairs in her home 282 times to raise 416,000 pounds for the NHS. Payne, from Ardvar in the Scottish Highlands, calculated that the feat was the equivalent of climbing 731 meters (2,398 feet), or the height of Suilven, one of Scotland’s best known mountains that she scaled when she was 15. And then there’s Tony Hudgell, a 5-year-old who lost both legs after being abused as a baby, set out to walk 10 kilometers (6.2 miles) and raise 500 pounds for the Evelina London Children’s Hospital. After completing the challenge in a series of daily walks he had attracted more than 1 million pounds of donations. “Captain Sir Tom inspired so many people to take on their own extraordinary challenges, from running marathons to swimming lakes, and he gave us all hope,” said Ellie Orton, chief executive of NHS Charities Together.

How a Bavarian supermarket is helping shoppers find love amid shutdown (The Local/Germany) Can you find love while shopping in Germany? For many, a supermarket may be just about the least likely place for a starry eyed encounter. An Edeka supermarket in the Bavarian town of Volkach, however, is trying to break through barriers amid the coronavirus crisis: every Friday evening has been set aside for “singles shopping.” Every Friday between 6 and 8pm, singles can grab a heart with a number on it at the entrance and stick it on their jacket. If they spot someone they fancy amid the shelves, they can opt to have that person’s number called out at the checkout. Those who are a bit more bashful can simply leave their phone number with a message. For this purpose, slips of paper are laid out on which the type of contact can be ticked off, such as: “I’d be happy to meet you for an orange juice in the fruit department.” “Nothing has taken off yet,” a butcher’s assistant told Bavarian news website Merkur amid a display of schnitzel and minced meat. “At least not here by the meat, but maybe in another department.”

Mountain heartbreak: Italy has deep snow, closed ski resorts (AP) The granite peaks that majestically encircle the northern Italian town of Cortina d’Ampezzo glimmer with one of the most prolific snowfalls in years, while the COVID-19 pandemic silences Italy’s winter resorts. Italy’s 2019-2020 ski season closed unexpectedly early last March, when the country became the first Western country pummeled by the pandemic. A new season has yet to launch, unlike in neighboring Switzerland, which in December allowed lifts to open with restrictions, or in Austria, where residents still can ski. France’s ski lifts remain closed at least through February. In Italy, the pandemic-related closures are a hit to an industry that generates 1.2 billion euros ($1.5 billion) in annual revenues and employs 5,000 permanent and 10,000 seasonal workers, according to the association of ski lift operators, ANEF. The association said last year’s early end to the season led to a 20% revenue decline and called the current season a total loss. Factoring in hotels, restaurants and other services, the ski industry generates 11 billion euros ( $13.2 billion) in annual revenues, but travel restrictions have kept activity near zero on top of the stilled lifts.

Twitter Unblocked Accounts That Criticized India’s Government. Now, Its Employees Are Being Threatened With Jail Time Unless It Blocks Them Again. (BuzzFeed News) India’s government has threatened to punish employees at Twitter with fines and jail terms of up to seven years for restoring hundreds of accounts it has ordered the company to block. Most accounts were critical of the country’s prime minister, Narendra Modi. On Monday, Twitter complied with the government’s order and prevented people in India from viewing more than 250 accounts belonging to activists, political commentators, a movie star, and the Caravan, an investigative news magazine. Most accounts had criticized Modi, India’s Hindu nationalist prime minister, and his government. But the company restored the accounts approximately six hours later after a Twitter lawyer met with IT ministry officials, and argued that the tweets and accounts constituted free speech and were newsworthy. India’s government disagreed. On Tuesday, the IT ministry sent a notice to Twitter, ordering it to block the accounts once again. It also threatened people who work at Twitter’s Indian arm with legal consequences, which could include a fine or a jail term of up to seven years. “This is really problematic,” said Nikhil Pahwa, editor of MediaNama, a technology policy website, and an internet activist. “I don’t see why the government of India should wade into this territory of trying to censor tweets when they have much bigger problems to deal with.”

Myanmar charges Suu Kyi, giving legal basis to detain her (AP) Police leveled their first formal charge against Myanmar’s Aung San Suu Kyi, her allies said Wednesday, accusing the ousted leader of possessing illegally imported walkie-talkies and giving the military authorities who staged a coup a legal reason to detain her for two weeks. The charge came to light two days after Suu Kyi was placed under house arrest and appeared to be an effort to lend a legal veneer to her detention, though the generals have previously kept her and others locked up for years. The military announced Monday that it would take power for one year—accusing Suu Kyi’s government of not investigating allegations of voter fraud in recent elections. Suu Kyi’s party swept that vote, and the military-backed party did poorly.

Myanmar blocks Facebook as resistance grows to coup (AP) Myanmar’s new military government has blocked access to Facebook as resistance to Monday’s coup surged amid calls for civil disobedience to protest the ousting of the elected civilian government and its leader Aung San Suu Kyi. Facebook is especially popular in Myanmar and the ousted government had commonly made public announcements on the social media site. Internet users said the disruption began late Wednesday night, and mobile service provider Telenor Myanmar confirmed in a statement that mobile operators and internet service providers in Myanmar had received a directive from the communications ministry to temporarily block Facebook. The political party ousted in Monday’s coup and other activists in Myanmar have called for a campaign of civil disobedience to oppose the takeover. In the vanguard are medical personnel, who have declared they won’t work for the military government and who are highly respected for their work during the coronavirus pandemic that is taxing the country’s dangerously inadequate health system. For a second night Wednesday, residents in Yangon engaged in “noise protests,” with people banging pots and pans and honking car horns under cover of darkness.

Japan’s population decline (Nikkei Asian Review) Japan’s population shrank by a record 420,000 people last year, government estimates show, as the coronavirus pandemic dealt a heavy blow to an influx of foreign workers that had helped offset the country’s ongoing natural population decline. The total fell for a 12th straight year, shattering the previous record of 329,000 set just a year earlier. The health ministry estimates Japan’s population at 125.57 million as of Jan. 1, based on confirmed data through July and estimates based on births, deaths and foreign arrival and departure data. The drop owes in large part to a 60% plunge in foreign arrivals that has kept the labor market tight even though the pandemic has slowed the economy and eliminated many jobs.

In Iraq’s ‘Dire’ Economy, Poverty Is Rising—And So Are Fears Of Instability (NPR) With the gold domes of the famed Kadhimiya shrine as a backdrop, nearby streets full of shops, markets and tea-sellers in Baghdad look bustling and vibrant, even at night. Tempting windows display sparkly clothes and cascades of candy in rainbow colors. But shopkeepers say no one has been buying much since Iraq devalued its dinar against the dollar last year. Around the world, economies have been crushed by the pandemic. The International Monetary Fund reported in October that most Mideast economies plunged into recession. But some places are especially vulnerable, among them Iraq. Its economy depends overwhelmingly on oil exports, and as travel halted and demand for fuel dwindled, government revenues tumbled along with oil prices. Government revenues plummeted by 47.5% in the first eight months of last year, the World Bank reports. With drastically less oil revenue, the government has been paying its salaries and pensions intermittently or not at all. Economists say Iraq’s poverty rate may have shot up from 20% in 2018 to 30% or more last year. To try to make it easier to pay those salaries, as well to encourage people to buy domestically instead of relying on imports, the government devalued the dinar against the dollar by about 20% in December. But as Iraq produces very little, people have little choice but to buy imported goods—which are only more expensive now. “Iraq’s economic situation can probably best be described as being dire,” says Ali al-Saffar of the International Energy Agency.

Beirut blast victims want the truth (AP) Days after a massive explosion ripped through Beirut’s port and disfigured the Lebanese capital, family members of some of the 211 people killed in the blast demanded an international probe. It was a swift vote of no confidence in the authorities’ ability to investigate one of the largest non-nuclear explosions in history and one of the nation’s most traumatic experiences. The skepticism was justified. Lebanon, a country wrought by political violence and assassinations, has a history of unfinished prosecutions and buried secrets. Six months after the Aug. 4 blast, the domestic investigation has been brought to a virtual halt by the same political and confessional rivalries that thwarted past attempts to uncover the truth in major crimes. Lebanon’s sectarian-based political factions have had a lock on power in the country for decades and have divvied up posts across the state among themselves. Though rivals, they have a common interest in preventing accountability. Aya Majzoub of Human Rights Watch said a U.N. fact-finding mission is needed. “We can’t rest our hope and faith on a broken system that has proven incredibly resilient. We can’t expect the very people who are implicated in these crimes and other big crimes in Lebanon to lead reform.”

In thrice-demolished village, a Mideast battle of wills (AP) It looks like the aftermath of a tornado. There are dirt plots where there used to be makeshift homes; tent poles stacked like firewood; fencing and scrap metal scattered across a desert valley greened by winter rain; a cold firepit and a pile of kitchen essentials where a cooking tent once stood. This is what remains of the herding community of Khirbet Humsu in the occupied West Bank, after Israeli forces demolished it for the third time in as many months. On Wednesday, just minutes after the army left, Palestinian residents were at work repairing their fences—hoping to gather their sheep before dark, knowing the army might return the next day. “We build it up and they tear it down,” said Waleed Abu al-Kbash as he stretched fencing between two posts. “Where am I supposed to go? I have a thousand head of sheep.” Khirbet Humsu, perched on the rolling highlands above the Jordan Valley, is part of the 60% of the West Bank known as Area C, which is under full Israeli military control as part of interim peace agreements from the 1990s. Israel planned to annex the Jordan Valley and other parts of the occupied West Bank last year after getting a green light from the Trump administration, but it put annexation on hold as part of a U.S.-brokered normalization agreement with the United Arab Emirates. It still maintains complete control over the territory, leaving Bedouin communities like the one at Khirbet Humsu at constant risk of displacement. Shepherds who rely on seasonal rains and scattered springs are also at the mercy of an arbitrary cycle of demolition and rebuilding.

Innovation (Bloomberg) South Korea returned to first place in the latest Bloomberg Innovation Index, while the U.S. dropped out of a top 10 that features a cluster of European countries. Korea regained the crown from Germany, which dropped to fourth place. The Asian nation has now topped the index for seven of the nine years that it’s been published. Singapore and Switzerland each moved up one spot to rank second and third.

#headlines #news

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aahsokaatano · 4 years

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ITALY????

Y’all I spent one whole week in Italy in 2017 and it was one of the most bizarre fucking weeks of my life

let’s break it down from the beginning

[under a read more for length]

So, fall of 2017 I was studying abroad in London. One of the classes I was taking was specifically for study abroad students, designed to get us engaging in the culture of London or whatever i dont really remember the class itself but my god do i remember the people i met in it

two in particular were these girls, also American. We shall call them Molly and Ally. They had quickly made friends with each other, and after one of the class trips into London, i was friendly with them as well. The “reading week” or fall break was coming up, and they mentioned that they were going to Italy and asked if I wanted to go. I had booked a short tour to Dover, but thought “oh my god Italy???? Fuck yes!” and so I bought my plane tickets then asked them where they had booked hotel rooms so that I could add myself to their itinerary

“Oh,” Molly said, “we haven’t, don’t worry about it”

Me, a seasoned traveler “?????? uh”

I bugged them about this for at LEAST a week and finally, about THREE DAYS from when we were supposed to leave, I just went ahead and booked an assortment of hostels and airbnbs for us in all the cities they wanted to go to and told them to pay me back later

they actually admitted afterwards that that had been a smart move on my part which like????? no SHIT its a smart move to have a plan where you’re gonna sleep every night while in a foreign country. god.

So, lets go through this day by day

Day 1 - London to Milan

we flew from London to Milan in the evening, getting there pretty late at night. and it was only once we were actually IN Italy that I learned that 1) none of us spoke Italian and 2) despite having grown up in two areas with large Hispanic populations, neither Molly or Ally spoke a lick of Spanish, which is close enough to Italian that you can kind of limp through a conversation of one if you know the other.

so, somehow, I ended up being our Italian translator for the week, armed with nothing but a translator website, a handful of Italian music terms, and the ability to roll my r’s fairly well for a white person. Literally, i figured out where the bus stop was outside of the airport because I saw the word “fermata” painted on the pavement and I knew that meant “long pause” in sheet music terms so I hazarded a guess it meant stop or similar in regular Italian

(sidenote I almost got in a fight with some random Italian dude on the bus because Molly was going on about how excited she was to try the pizza and I told her it wasn’t going to be the same because “the pizza you’re used to is an American invention” and he turned around and started going on about the tradition of pizza in Italy and I was like I just mean that American pizza is different from real Italian pizza i did not mean to offend i’m sorry!!!!!! anyways)

the bus dropped us in a square in the middle of Milan and we got out and i’m lookin at my airbnb app trying to figure out where we need to go and i said “okay we need to get a cab” and Molly and Ally are arguing about something and this RANDOM ASS DUDE walks up to us and is like “you need taxi?” and i said yes to he leads us back to his REGULAR ASS CAR, NOT A TAXI and tells us to get in, and for some unknown fucking reason I do and Molly and Ally follow me and shut up real fast because this is sketchy as fuck but the guy did take us to the airbnb without murdering us so thats a win i guess

The airbnb by the way was more like a mini hostel - it was this apartment where pretty much every room except the bathroom had been converted into a bedroom and so probably not entirely legal but whatever. whatever.

Day 2 - Milan to Venice

i woke up early the next morning and went to take a shower at the bathroom at the end of the hall and found out that the lights didn’t work. Whatever, I’m mostly blind without my glasses anyways so i just showered in the dark, no biggie

we had an early bus to catch from Milan to Venice, so we headed out to the bus station. I’ll be honest, I do not remember how we got there. I think we walked, because I ended up with a coffee at some point so I probably got it from some cafe on the way? But idk. I was so tired.

We get on the bus, I found two empty seats far away from Molly and Ally, and immediately stretched out and fell asleep.

Ally woke me a little later and said “c’mon, we’re here!”

I was confused as all hell because it had not been nearly long enough for us to get all the way to Venice, but I got off the bus and was greeted by Molly stretching her arms out and proclaiming “Welcome to Venice!” underneath a sign that said we were at the Verona bus station.

They did not believe me when I said Verona and Venice were two different places. “Venice has canals, Verona is where Romeo & Juliet is set. There are no canals in R&J, they’re two different places!” I literally had to pull out my phone, go to google maps, and zoom out until they could see that Venice was still several hours away before they believed me.

The bus driver almost didn’t let us back on but I was able to show him on the tickets that our end destination was, in fact, Venice.

Venice itself was pretty neat. We got to go on a gondola ride and I ate an entire pizza by myself at dinner lmao.

Day 3 - Venice to Florence

we took a train from Venice to Florence the next morning, and that’s when I discovered that Italian train stations have lovely little cafes with AMAZING coffee and really good pastries. The other two didn’t drink coffee but like, their loss. it was fantastic.

Florence was great, we found a little shop that sold really yummy gelato for only 1 Euro a scoop - Geletaria La Carraia. If you ever end up in Florence, definitely check it out!

We wandered around for a while, took a lot of pictures. There was some famous church that was undergoing some renovations, but as we walked up to it Molly gasped and said “I’ve climbed that in Assassin’s Creed!” which was pretty funny.

We went to a museum that had made a bunch of models of some of Leonardo DaVinci’s inventions. We went to an art museum and stumbled across Michaelangelo’s David on accident, so that was the big “wtf” moment of the day. Also that night Molly decided to buy a bottle of wine to take home to a friend of her’s back in America, but realized after buying it that her backpack wasn’t big enough to cart it around for the rest of the week so I ended up carrying an entire fucking bottle of wine for the rest of the trip because I was the only one smart enough to bring a proper backpacking backpack and not just my school bag.

Also the hostel we were in had actual skeleton keys for their rooms and actual goddamn keyholes that one could clearly see through so i left the key in the lock all night AND hung my sweatshirt from the door handle so that no one could peek in at us

Day 4 - Florence to Pisa

once again, I woke up early, went into the bathroom attached to our room (the hostel had had a cancellation and so we ended up in a private room instead of a dorm style) and discovered that the lights didn’t work so I had a second shower in the dark

we took another train from Florence to Pisa, and there we ran into our only bit of bad weather

What’s the big draw in Pisa? The Leaning Tower, right?

What was the only day it rained, non-fucking-stop, the entire time we were in Italy? THE DAY WE WERE IN PISA

I got so soaked that I actually bought a new sweatshirt because the one I was wearing was DRIPPING

anyways, after we had taken several dumb touristy pictures and grabbed an early dinner at a nearby restaurant, we decided to head over to the room I had booked. The cheapest place I could find was a tiny cabin at a campground nearby. According to the map on my phone, it was a short walk away.

A solid hour later, we finally trudged up to the main office of the campground, shivering and soaked, and got the keys to our cabin. We set our stuff down, and Ally and Molly decided to go back out to the grocery store we had passed coming in. I waved them off and went to take a shower in the bathroom with fully functioning lights! hooray!

Day 5 - Pisa to Rome

another morning, another train station with excellent coffee. We got into Rome and, at this point, we were all so tired from travelling that I was finally able to take charge. up until this point, Molly had been railroading us, even sort of bullying Ally in the process, but now she was exhausted and I, through a combination of practice in functioning while dead on my feet, lots of travel experience, and Mom Friend Instincts, took the reins. We got to Rome and I said “we’re going to the church with the big hole in the roof (its a thing, look it up) and then we’re going to eat.... at this place around the corner and then we’re going to to go our hostel and check in”

they didn’t argue, and that’s a true testament to how fucking tired the two of them were, especially Molly, because she would argue about anything and everything given half a chance. We also went to the military museum that day, mostly because it was free and also air conditioned

(also while looking through my pictures of this trip i just discovered that i still have the picture i took of the Rome hostel FAQ page that had by the front desk, which i now remember i did because it had the wifi password on it and we weren’t in our room for 30 seconds before one of the other two asked what the wifi password was so, once again, i show that i am a very good traveler/travelling buddy)

Day 6 - Rome

so we had the next full day in Rome, and we got up early to get in line for the Vatican. I wanted to be there by 7am, Molly was like “it doesn’t even open until 9!” and we compromised at 8 and it was STILL an enormous line so i was like “see? this is why i wanted to get here early”

Oh, but before we went to the Vatican, i took a shower. IN. THE. DARK. BECAUSE ALL OF ITALY EXCEPT FOR PISA DECIDED THAT I DIDN’T DESERVE TO HAVE A SHOWER WHERE I DIDN’T HAVE TO FUMBLE AROUND BLINDLY LIKE AN ASSHOLE

ALSO on the way to the Vatican, I asked if the two of them had their passports. Ally said yes. Molly said yes, why?

And I had to then explain to Molly, a 20 year old RELIGIOUS STUDIES MAJOR, who was RAISED CATHOLIC and who had FAMILY IN THE CLERGY, that the Vatican, THE CENTER OF THE CATHOLIC CHURCH, is it’s own country.

she, again, did not believe me until i pulled it up on google for her

turned out that we didn’t need our passports stamped to enter the Vatican but still! still!!!!!

so it turned out that whatever day we were there on, the Sistine Chapel isn’t open that day, so we just walked through the cathedral and then headed out to the Colosseum and the ruins of the Senate behind it, both of which were very cool

Day 7 - Rome to Milan to London

we got up even EARLIER on our last day, I took another shower in the dark, and we rushed over to the Vatican, speedwalked through most of the museum, and finally got into the Sistine Chapel, which was absolutely breathtaking. Then we hauled ass back to the train station to catch our train back to Milan.

At this point in the trip, I was so fucking done with the two of them, but especially Molly. Ally was sweet and naive, but she was also willing to listen to new information. Molly was just a stubborn ass with a mean streak a mile wide and I was COMPLETELY done associating with her.

Luckily, since I had booked my flights separately, while we had flown into Milan on the same plane, I had a completely different flight back to London - to a different airport, even. They were going back to London City, but I was heading to London Gatwick. Both planes were set to depart around the same time, from two gates that were next to each other though, so i couldn’t really escape them until - uh oh! My flight was delayed.

Molly and Ally were fretting about it but i was like “it’s fine. it’s fine. I’ve been flying since i was literally 3 months old and I s o m e h o w know more Italian AND Spanish than the two of you combined, even though I would never say that I speak EITHER of those languages. Just go.”

The flight ended up being delayed like 5 hours due to mechanical issues. They finally just got another plane for us, and we finally took off from Milan. When we went over Paris, the captain, obviously feeling bad about the delay, made sure to tilt the plane in both directions so that everyone could see the Eiffel Tower lit up, it was really neat.

We finally got back to London at literally like 230 in the morning. The busses and some of the trains weren’t even running at that point - certainly not all the way out to the fancy little liberal arts college I was going to. I went up to some security guard at the airport and said “just tell me how close I can get to the University of Roehampton on the trains” and he told me to take the train to Black Friars so I got out there and there was a bus, but it was like 40 minutes out. It’s now pass 3am, I am exhausted after a long, weird week in Italy, I texted my dad and he said “just get an Uber i’ll pay for it”

The Uber driver was very nice and as soon as I got in he said “you look really cold! do you want the heat on?” i could have fucking kissed him. he was super nice. actually made sure that I was still texting my dad (i had mentioned it when I got in because I almost dropped my bag while trying to text and maneuver at the same time) every few minutes. offered to let me take and send a picture of him to my dad. otherwise didn’t really speak and just let the music play. I tipped him literally whatever was in my pocket at that time, i don’t remember how much it was, but it was at least 20% and probably more. Really great guy.

Random London Uber driver from 2017, you remain the best Uber driver and I love you

i finally crawled into my shitty little dorm bed at about 4am, exhausted and utterly bewildered by the past week

honestly??? I’m still bewildered by my week in Italy.

wtf even happened in all that mess.

#italy #venice #florence #rome #pisa #tales from the hill #chris #thebubbledragon

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loptgangandi · 4 years

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so! literally no one asked, but these last 3 weeks have been a hell of a ride let me TELL YOU

so happy mun-day now you get to hear all about it!! (with pictures, I’m not a monster)

here’s the cliffnotes version:

december week 1: simultaneously moved back into a place and took classes then moved out of that place while taking classes and planning a 2-day overland trip from sweden to madrid. took said trip.

december week 2: attended the unfccc climate conference COP25 in madrid, got kicked out for protesting in solidarity with indigenous ppl & kids, got let back into COP the next day & proceeded to go to more panels and also protests. no i did not see greta thunberg but she was there. I did not see harrison ford either. I did shake al gore’s hand tho.

december week 3: week #1 with my mom’s new twin one-eyed cyclops kitties (yes both of them), spent the week frantically writing 2400 words of nonsense that hopefully resolved themselves into two coherent enough papers to snag me a nice grade then took a 36-hour trip up to london to see my sister perform at her bitchin new job.

elaboration under the cut.

Hell Week (or) Why You Sometimes Should Fly to Climate Conferences

So, after the nonsense with The Roommate From Hell (reddit rant here), I moved out of my room at her place and back into the dorms (where I still had a lease through the end of December). That required a fair bit of effort, but I moved things bit by bit over the course of about a week, and it was manageable.

But I had to be out of the dorms and have the place clean by the time I left for the climate conference, which in itself was a whole lot of coordination. Wednesday the 4th of December was probably among the worst, most frustrating days I have ever had, and I desperately hope I never have to deal with that level of fuck this fuck you fuck me fuck everything for a very, very long time. Somehow -- by some miraculous act of the gods -- I pulled it out, and managed to get my stuff into my friend’s basement, my plants into another friend’s apartment, my bags packed, my room clean as a whistle, my self moved into my hostel, and to every damn class that week. My interrail tickets came the day I planned to leave -- it was a tight fit -- and I managed to book trains and busses from Uppsala to Madrid with half an hour to spare, and get on the first train (Uppsala to Stockholm) in good time.

The next 48 hours went like this:

Stockholm -> Copenhagen (by train): uneventful, but Copenhagen train station on a Friday night is a little dicey, especially when you’re dragging around a 45 lb suitcase and another 15 lbs on your back

Copenhagen -> Hamburg (by overnight FlixBus): Uneventful, and I was sitting by a window with no one sitting next to me, so I was able to doze a bit on the trip.

Hamburg -> Basel (by high-speed rail): This one I should have booked. The website said that a reservation was recommended, and I understand why. If I’d had a quiet cabin -- or even just a consistent seat for the whole 7-hour journey -- I’d have been able to get a decent night’s sleep. Instead, I kept having to move to give people their reserved seats, and didn’t get more than an hour of uninterrupted sleep.

Basil -> Olten (train): this one was a mistake

Olten -> Brienz (train): where the fuck am I

Brienz -> Lausanne (train): oh right yes that’s the direction I want to go yes good get on that one

Lausanne -> Geneva (train): oh thank fuck, I 100% know where I am and am back on track. Sunglasses & 30 hours without sleep is a Look.

Geneva: Spend 3 hours with my mom, put a week’s worth of clothes into a considerably smaller suitcase, eat dinner. meet mom’s new kittens, Saga and Luna

Geneva -> Lyon (bus): Get confused about which bus to get on, get told off by the bus driver we were trying to convince to let us on his bus, realized mom had been trying to put me on the wrong bus. Get on the right bus. Go to Lyon with bus driver who speaks no French or English, only Spanish.

Lyon -> Barcelona (night bus): Hell. Just. Absolute Hell Bus. Wanted To Die all night. Assigned to aisle seat just before the very back next to a very, very tall man who was quite polite but had no room for his legs. Behind us were two men, one of whom was loudly chewing gum until he took off his shoes and fell asleep, the other of whom snored like a gd bulldozer. Aisle seat and wailing baby a few rows down meant that my chances of sleeping comfortably were 0. I did manage to doze off a bit, but only because I was so strung out from not sleeping the night before. Eventually made it to Barcelona alive and lent my phone to the very nice lady with the wailing baby (plus like 5 other family members, none of whom had cell service).

Barcelona -> Madrid (train): Absolutely gorgeous train ride through the Spanish countryside that I really did want to stay awake to enjoy. Managed to do so until we got to an elevation where it was just thick, dense fog and I let myself fall asleep.

Madrid: I arrived at my hostel groggy, dazed, and in pain from two bad nights in a row. I considered a nap, but also considered that I’d need to wake up early the next morning and would need to fall asleep. Opted to try to set up my COP25 blog instead. Failed due to aforementioned grogginess. Walked to the corner to get some food and tried to pay for it with Swedish kronor, which didn’t work. Apologized, explained to the amused man that it had been a long weekend, paid him in Euros instead. Used the hostel’s dry sauna (!!!!), took a shower, and went to bed.

COP25 - The Old White Fuckening

So, listen, I’m not going to go into detail about COP. If you want to read about how much of a tonedeaf clusterfuck the negotiations were (as opposed to the really interesting, inspiring stuff happening in the side sessions), BBC has some good articles.

If you want to listen to some of the press conferences and plenaries, here they are. I especially recommend the ones by the Women’s Earth and Climate Caucus, Fridays for Future, and as many of the Indigenous Peoples’ statements as you can (most of them are in Spanish and/or Portuguese. Because the COP was supposed to be held in Chile, many of the registered Indigenous participants were from Amazonas because it was supposed to not be far to travel).

If you want to listen to some of the side events, the webcasts have been recorded here. Click the link, and then click “Join the event.” I again recommend the ones by Indigenous groups (if you can understand them -- we all had translation headphones in the sessions, but I don’t speak Spanish, so I can’t really go back and revisit them). Also, this "feminist attempt at connecting the dots” on “climate crisis, corporate power, and climate finance” and this one session from a Nigerian NGO and the government about One Health and the connection between climate change, disease, and other health risks -- and how badass Nigeria is at tackling them.

On the subject of tonedeafness, some absolute bullshit went down on Wednesday, December 11th.

Here is the article on BBC, but it’s a bit incomplete.

Here’s what happened.

COP25 2: The Old White Fuckeninger (Starring Military Police!)

So on Wednesday, December 11th, Greta Thunberg -- environmental wunderkind with truly glorious bitchface -- sat on a panel before a hall full of condescending adults in which she demanded accountability and immediate action from national leaders.

At the end of her speech, the delegation of Fridays for Future -- Greta’s own youth movement, which has become a global phenomenon -- stormed the stage. Representatives of Fridays for Future admitted that they knew what they were doing was against the rules, and they were ready to face the consequences: having their admission badges taken away (being “debadged”), and not being blacklisted from future UNFCCC events.

Neither of these things happened. Instead, UNFCCC praised the young activists, and let them keep their badges.

A few hours later, another activist group in attendance -- not an Indigenous one, a point that was raised by a young Native American man during the Fridays for Future press conference -- staged a sit-in outside the main hall where a large plenary meeting was scheduled. Said meeting was full of gimmicks, including a live call to the International Space Station so an astronaut could talk about the view of climate change from space.

I was going to attend the plenary. I joined the protest instead.

Admittedly, the decision was partly made for me by security. After pushing, shoving, and jostling the (mostly adult, heavily Indigenous, mostly PoC, heavily female, heavily Queer) protesters, as well as violently snatching their badges off their lanyards, security started herding them -- as well as anyone in proximity -- out into the open docking area outside the hall. One woman nearby, who hadn’t meant to join the protest and who had just been filming, tried to duck out of the group and got sternly told by a security guard “No. Keep going forward. No turning back.” A similar thing had happened to me -- I hadn’t made up my mind about joining the protest, because I didn’t have all the information -- but security made the decision, and in the end, I’ll always prefer to be with the people facing the police rather than those they’re protecting.

It was... furious. It was emotional. The leaders of the protest had us form a circle and turn our backs on security and the door. WoC -- many of whom were Indigenous -- led not just standard protest chants, but songs. Renewal songs, fight songs. The common theme was the intersection of environmental justice and femininity, queerness and suffering under colonization, anti-capitalism, anti-exploitation, and a call for colonizers to repay the colonized for all of the loss and damage already caused by climate change (climate reparations).

Eventually, UNFCCC made a decision. They decided to close the door on us. Security “escorted” us to the docking bay entrance, and the military police took over. Fortunately, none of them started anything. Obviously, none of the protesters did either. We made it back to the venue entrance eventually, but only those with journalist/media badges were allowed back in; the rest of us were not. Even people with Observer badges (like mine) who hadn’t been part of the protest weren’t being allowed in. But some people who were panelists, delegates, etc. came out to stand in solidarity with us.

Once it became clear that no more joint actions would be taking place, I went home, and waited to see whether the negotiators would be able to talk UNFCCC into letting us back in.

They did. Can you imagine the headlines? “UNFCCC Kicks Out Protesters, Bars Civil Society Observers From Climate Talks.”

Talk about going down like a lead balloon.

Which is about what the conference in general did. I was able to go back and get some more stuff out of it... including another big protest, this time led by Fridays for Future and sanctioned. It was so, so good. Many of the people from Wednesdays protest were also there, and while spirits weren’t exactly high, the emotions being expressed were more along the lines of determination and tenacity than fire and fury. Both are valid, and both have their place, and it was nice to have a balance -- especially at the end of the week, when we were all flat-out exhausted.

The Aftermath

And then I just didn’t stop moving. Saturday and Sunday I spent exploring Madrid and staying out late, Monday I flew back to Geneva from Madrid (because absolutely fuck Spanish busses and also absolutely FUCK FRANCE’s weeks-long general strike that I’m sure was for something very important. I’m sure. Because France never strikes over trivial things).

Tuesday-Friday was a takehome exam that I swear to god was more labor-intensive than my actual undergrad thesis, and Saturday-Sunday I flew to London to visit my sister at her new job as an actor in Shrek’s Adventure. Mom was supposed to go with me, but she has a slipped disk and sent me up alone. Which was nice -- my sister and I almost never hang out just the two of us. But that’s another thing I’ve been dealing with -- quite a bit of extra Stuff To Do that Mom Can’t Do because Back Hurty and there have been days when she literally could not move.

But now I am here! I still have work to do, and it’s holidays so there’s Holiday Stuff happening, but I’m hoping to get back to writing here in the next few days.

And if you’ve read all of this, you’re fucking incredible and I love u and here are some one-eyed black babie kitty gremlins for ur viewing pleasure.

<-Saga | Luna ->

They’ve got little bare patches on their tummies because bbies gotta be spayed

They got this tower two days ago and have learned to share, but the learning curve was steep

Saga doesn’t like cuddles but she likes pats and being in the vicinity of humans

Saga says hello

Pictured: Luna in my arms, Saga in Proximity

Luna stole my Spot!! >:C

If Saga steals something and then tells u to answer a riddle to get it back pls let me know. she does that sometimes. it’s very naughty.

#ooc tag #long post #if u read thru to the end there's kitties :3 #or you can just look at the kitties #it's not like I'll know #anywhere that's where I've been #I have literally Not Fucking Stopped for like a month

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joshuahyslop · 5 years

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EURO TOUR: JAN-FEB, 2019

Well, 22 days, 15 shows, 13 trains, 10 flights, 8 countries, a lot of Ubers, a couple Taxi’s and 1 rental car later and I’m back at home. This was another great tour but not without its challenges. I got to bring my good friend, Zachari Smith (zacharismith.com) on the road this time and that made a huge difference. Not only was it terrific fun to get to play the shows together, it also made the low moments seem not quite as low. Everything started off great. I flew to Montreal a few days before the start of the tour to rehearse with Zach. It went smoothly and it was wonderful to get to spend time with some of my dear friends in that city before hitting the road. SCOTLAND: We flew to the UK a few days later and started things off in Glasgow. We played in an underground club called Stereo. It was a good first show. There was a good crowd and it felt great to go from rehearsing to actually playing in front of people as a duo. ENGLAND: The next day we took a train to Manchester. We played in a lovely little spot called The Castle Hotel. Jet lag was hitting us pretty hard but we were able to nap before the show. We travelled to London the next morning and after arriving at the wrong hotel, walking with all our stuff to the right hotel, checking in, having a pint and grabbing dinner with friends, we played an incredibly fun show in a very full room at The Old Blue Last. FRANCE: The next morning we got up early and took the train from London to Paris. I remember feeling a little off when I’d gone to sleep the night before, but I assumed it was just the jet lag. We’d both started coughing on the train but I tried to chalk it up to the cold air. By the time we’d arrived at our hotel we knew something was wrong. We managed to grab some food and get back to the hotel room where we spent the next 34 hours sick in our beds. I don’t know if it was food poisoning or the flu, or some awful combination, but we were knocked down. Unfortunately, this meant we had to cancel our show in Paris. I felt (and still feel) horrible for having to cancel the show. I can’t wait to come back and make it up to everyone. When it happens, it’s going to be fantastic! THE NETHERLANDS: We were still feeling awful the next morning. We had to catch another early train and when we eventually arrived in Groningen we went straight to a Pharmacy where we bought everything we could think of. The show that night was in a beautiful old church called the Lutherse Kerk and it was sold out. I drank as much tea and hot water as I could, had what might’ve been a dangerous amount of Advil, cough drops, vitamin C and echinacea and then went ahead with the show. It was an amazing night even though we were feeling sick. The crowd was fantastic and the show went well. DENMARK: After a good night’s sleep we woke up to a much needed day off. We had a lot of travelling to do, but were thankful for no show that night. It was going to be a couple of trains to Amsterdam and a cab to the airport where we’d be catching a flight to Denmark. We were supposed to arrive in Copenhagen around 5pm. Unfortunately, while we were jumping from train to train, I managed to leave my backpack behind. It had my passport, my money and all my information in it. I panicked and ran up and down the train looking for someone who could help. I couldn’t find anyone and I was very close to giving up. Zach called the lost and found and explained the situation to them. Within the hour they’d located my bag and told me I could pick it up at Den Haag Centraal - about an hour train ride from Amsterdam Centraal, where we were. I left Zach with our gear, took the train to Den Haag, grabbed my bag, got on another train back to Amsterdam Centraal, ran with Zach to a cab, raced to the airport and promptly missed our flight to Copenhagen. We had to purchase another flight that would be leaving later that evening. We got to our hotel a little before midnight and crashed hard. The next day we played in a nice little spot called the Ideal Bar. It was a good show and I was glad to play it, but we were both feeling exhausted. NORWAY: We flew to Oslo the next day and took the train from the airport to downtown. The show was in another awesome bar called Krøsset. It went very well and I was so thankful for a smooth night. I got to see some old friends and get to bed before midnight. It was great. GERMANY: We flew to Zurich the next day, and were met at the airport by Zach’s friend, Timo. Zach booked all of the shows in Germany on this run so I was excited to see what was in store for us. We were playing in a cafe/barn in a small village called Wintersulgen right outside Heiligenberg. Timo drove us to his place in Airach for dinner before he drove us to the venue. We had two shows in two days at the cafe and we were happy to be in one place for a little while. Both nights were sold out and both nights went very well. After the show on the first night our host, Martin, took us outside in the snow to his own personal sauna. Between sauna sessions we had snacks and beer and finally felt relaxed. It was like pressing a giant reset button. SPAIN: Timo drove us back to the Zurich airport the next morning where we caught our flight to Madrid. I’d never been to Spain before and I was very excited to check it out. I had no idea what to expect from the venues or the crowds. We played in an underground cave called The Costello Club and we were blown away. The crowd was fantastic and were singing along to the songs! It was an amazing night. We travelled by train to Barcelona the next day where we played in another underground bar called Sidecar and had another amazing night. After the show I spent a long time chatting with people at the merch table. Two people gave me watercolour paintings they’d done of the album artwork from In Deepest Blue, and another woman told me she’s a photographer and she uses my music while she works. I felt so much support from the people at those two shows. I can’t wait until I can come back to Spain again. GERMANY (again): We flew to Frankfurt the next day and then took another train to the city of Erfurt. We had a series of house shows booked in Germany for the next week but, thankfully, we had the night off. We stayed with the hosts of the show in Erfurt. The next morning we picked up our rental car and then we got ready for the show. It was in an office building and they had professional lighting and sound. Zach opened on all the German shows and he did a fantastic job. We had a bit of an after party that night, which was a lot of fun, and then got some rest before heading out the next day. I’d never driven in Germany before but Zach had. He gave me a lot of much needed warnings and explanations before we hit the autobahn. There are long sections on the German highways were there is no speed limit. On average, most people drive between 130-140 km/h. There were many times when I was driving around 160 km/h and a car going over 200 km/h would come out of nowhere and just fly past us. It was crazy. We made it to Dresden and played in a beautiful place called the Castle Röhrsdorf. It was a full room and it went very well. It was the first show I’ve ever played where everything I said to the audience had to be translated (thanks again, Sarah!). We had a great time but were off again before we knew it. This time we drove to Ulm where we played another wonderful show. We had lots of great food before ending the night with a jam session, some absinthe and a little pear schnapps. We headed out the next morning and drove back to our friend Timo’s house. We were staying with him and playing in his village that night. It was another great show and we ended up staying out late connecting with the people there. We had a short drive the next day so we slept in as much as we could. After some coffee and breakfast we drove to Ravensburg for our last show. We were playing in a beautiful old farmhouse. There were over 70 people at the show and it was the best way to end the tour. Zach played a great set and then he and I had a fantastic time playing for everyone. We did two encores and hung out afterwards. We got to bed just before midnight and slept as much as we could before getting up at 3am to drive back to Frankfurt and catch our flights home. Thankfully, everything went smoothly. We drove through rain, snow and fog but managed to arrive on time at the right place with all of our luggage. This was another incredible tour. I’m so incredibly thankful to everyone who came out to the shows and to everyone who had a hand in making this tour possible. A special thank you to: Dan Fraser - my manager who helped organize all our travel arrangements and was always on call despite the crazy time difference, Nettwerk, CAA, Live Nation, Mojo Promotions, Mercury Wheels, Herman, Martin & Alex (and their sauna), Darius & Marion, Dave, Sarah, Arno, Monika, Timo & Sonja, Carmen, Gabi & Alex. And a very special thank you to my friend, Zachari Smith. Touring isn’t easy, but Zach is an absolute pro. He made a difficult job much easier and it was a pleasure to get to play with him, to hear him perform and to just hang out. He’s an amazing songwriter with a new album currently being released. Do yourself a favour and check it out on Spotify or Apple music! Thanks again, everyone. I’m back at home resting but I’m so excited for what’s to come. more soon, -joshua

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magnificentlangley-blog · 6 years

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Blessing in Disguise - Byron Langley

“So what are we saying about the Pub Crawl tonight? ‘Cause I’ll text the promoter now to sign us up and I think he’ll give us a discount then.” Your friend (Y/F/N) was looking at you expecting an answer. To take a break from the uni stress, you were visiting her in Madrid for the weekend, as she was on a semester abroad in the Spanish capital. The two of you were on your sightseeing tour and were discussing the plans for the night as you were strolling down Calle de Alcalá in the direction of the Puerta del Sol.

“I’m down for that. It was fun on Thursday and I mean if it sucks today we can just take the free shots in all the bars and then go off on our own, right?” In all honesty, you didn’t remember too much from the night you arrived as the two of you went out on a pub crawl as soon as you put away your bags and all included Sangría and shots definitely had taken a toll on you. They provided you with a crazy great night out, but also washed away about half of your memory from that adventure.

“Ok let me text him now then.” (Y/F/N) stopped to type for a second and as soon as she did the many tourists that were making their routes on the same sidewalk you were on ran into her, muttering swear words in various languages to her. “Ok done”, she said and was on her way again.

You two continued your path, (Y/F/N) pointing out some sights on the way without really being able to give any background as to why this was an important sighting. “So this is the Círculo de Bellas Artes, this is a theatre I think. Or a museum. Something like that. Anyway, it also has a rooftop bar here that gives you the best view of Gran Vía and the city center. I think it’s like 12 Euro or something to go up there, if you wanna do that?”

“Yeah that would be cool. But would you wanna go up now? Maybe we can go up there later and time it up with the sunset? Golden hour and that you know.” You suggested.

“I like the sound of that! And then we can get ready and head to the pregame meeting point.” (Y/F/N) smiled, proud of the plan you two had just come up with.

Happy with this, you decided to take a couple more photos. Most of the pictures you had taken on the trip so far were party selfies. Not quite the stuff you would be able to show your parents back home, as you were sure they would wanna see what you got up to on your weekend getaway. You reached for your back pocket, which was where you kept your phone, but couldn’t feel the familiar dent of it. You checked the front pockets of your jeans and the back pockets again, but they were all empty.

“Wait a second (Y/F/N)”, you stopped walked as panic started to wash over you. You normally never put your phone in your bag, but checked it anyways. Nothing. “I can’t find my phone! Shit!”

“What? No way, you must have it somewhere. Check your pockets again? Maybe the pockets of your jacket too?” (Y/F/N) looked worried by your panic too now.

Franticly you patted down all of the possible places you could put your phone but still were not able to find it. “Fuck! Do you think it’s been stolen? I didn’t notice anything!”

(Y/F/N) tried to keep calm, “I don’t think so. When was the last time you had it?”

You thought about that for a second. “When we were sitting in that café in the Parque de El Retiro, I was checking my Whatsapp.”

“Ok I don’t think anybody came close enough to you on the walk here to be able to take it from you. And nobody came up to our table apart from the waiter. Did you put it away after you used it? Or maybe you’ve left it on the table.”

“Shit. Yeah I think I must’ve left it on there, how did I not notice that?” You must’ve not notices your phone laying on the table next to all the menu’s and plant pots on the table. You remember the two of you were immersed in your conversation when you left the café. “If I left it there it’s gone now for sure. The café was packed.”

“Not necessarily,” (Y/F/N) tried to stay optimistic, “try calling yourself from my phone. Maybe we’re in luck.” She handed you her unlocked phone.

With shaking hands, you selected your own number and prayed that somebody would answer. And that they spoke English, as your Spanish wasn’t good at all.

“Hello?”, a deep voice answered after the fourth ring. Thank god they answered in English.

“Hi, oh my god. Eh, my name’s (Y/N) and I think you have my phone.”

“Oh yeah. It was on our table, so we thought we’d better hold on to it before anybody steals it.” They spoke perfect English, but the accent wasn’t British nor American, maybe he was Australian?

“Perfect! Are you still in Retiro? We can come and pick it up right now if you could wait there for like 10 minutes.” You said, as you started your way back to Retiro, (Y/F/N) silently celebrating next to you. You couldn’t believe the luck you had.

“Sure, no worries. We’ll be here a while anyways.”

“Thank you so much, see you soon!” You smiled as you ended the call.

(Y/F/N) beamed at you as you gave her her phone back. “Honestly what are the chances? You are so lucky!”

The two of you made your way back to the café near the pond in a fast pace. “I know, right? All the more reason to celebrate tonight!”

As you the pond and the café came into view another problem occurred to you as you stopped in your track. “Wait, how are we gonna know who has my phone though?”

(Y/F/N) looked at you judgingly, “They’re obviously sitting at our table, silly. It was a guy you talked to, right? I hope it’s a couple and we’re crashing their date.” She smirked, but the smile immediately vanished from her face as she saw who was sitting at the table the two of you were having a lunch at just half an hour ago. “No way. This is way better!”

You were surprised at her reaction. Who was sitting at the table? You couldn’t quite tell yet, as your view of the table was blocked by a big group of people. As soon as you saw the two guys though, you knew what (Y/F/N) had meant. These guys were smoking hot. One of them had dark-blond hair that was styled in somewhat of a quaff and was quite small in frame, but even though he was wearing sunglasses you could tell he had a really handsome face. The other one of the two, however, almost took your breath away. He was also wearing sunglasses, but he had chocolate-brown long-ish hair, perfectly plumb lips and broad shoulders with muscular arms visible in the yellow t-shirt he was wearing. He was quite positively the most beautiful person you had ever seen in your entire life. “Dibs on the taller one,” you whispered to your friend and approached the table before you could chicken out. “Excuse me, were you the ones that found my phone?”

You could feel your heart beating out of your chest in the second that the two guys just looked at you and nobody said anything. Thank God the smaller one quickly spoke up, saving you from your misery. “We sure did! Byron over here’s got it. I’m Joe by the way, nice to meet you two.” He introduced himself.

Byron reached into the pocket of the jacket that hung over his chair and handed you your phone, giving you the most adorable smile. You gratefully took your phone, relief washing over you. “I’m (Y/N) and this is (Y/F/N). Literally I can’t thank you guys enough. It was so stupid to leave my phone just laying around here but thank God you found it. I thought it was stolen for sure! I owe you big time. Can I buy you another coffee or something?” You suggested.

“I would love another coffee if you two would join us for it.” Byron, apparently, said cheekily. Dude, more than gladly. I’d join you for much more than that.

(Y/F/N) didn’t hesitate one bit and sat down next to Joe. “So you two don’t seem Spanish to me,” she started the conversation, “what brings you to Madrid?”

The four of you got along perfectly right away, your conversation never stopping in an awkward silence. Just like that, you spend over an hour talking and joking around together. It turned out the two guys came to Madrid from London for the weekend to explore the city. While Joe was British, you were right in your assumption that Byron, the one you talked to on the phone, was neither British, nor American, but in fact from South Africa. They had only arrived in the morning and didn’t really know their way around the city too well, they admitted.

“You know,” (Y/F/N) suggested, “I’ve been here for a couple of weeks now, so I know some good places. Are you planning on going out tonight? ‘Cause you should come do this Pub Crawl, they show you the best places and you get wasted for pretty little money. Plus, we are also going.”

Byron and Joe looked at each other and nodded in agreement. “Sounds like a plan,” Byron said, “(Y/N) hand me back that phone of yours, I’ll give you my number and you can text me all the details.” You did as he suggested and within seconds not only typed in his own number, but also called himself right away to “make sure he got it right” so that now he had your number as well. Sneaky bastard. Not that you minded too much though, or really at all.

After a while (Y/F/N) and you realized you’d have to leave for the rooftop bar sooner rather than later, if you wanted to catch the golden hour and sunset, so you said your goodbyes to Byron and Joe and were on your way. You were excited and nervous for the night out now, since it brought the possibility of getting with Byron with it. And you were determined this would happen. So turned out losing your phone was a blessing in disguise after all.

#byron langley #joe sugg #byron langley imagine #byron langley imagines #buttercream #buttercream imagine

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chrysaliseuro2018 · 6 years

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Noting Marzamemi

Easy and slow start in Syracuse. Georgio our cheerful and friendly host had said there was no rush for us to leave and we could have held on to the apartment for a bit longer into the day but time to move on.

We went virtually next door for breakfast and shared a couple of pastries ( there were only 4 on offer) in a tiny little cafe though there were seats outside but it had rained that morning so we just sat inside. Friendly lady running the joint.

We had arranged to meet Georgio at 11.30 and he duly rolled up we handed over the keys and were on our way. Apartment was a bit dark but a good size and we enjoyed it. Position excellent and free parking which saved 10 euros a night. Georgio a delight to meet too.

Our destination was Noto which we had not been able to get to 4 years before due to a shortage of time. It was really one of the must sees for this trip whereas Catania and Syracuse were slight afterthoughts at least for me though had proved to be very rewarding.

Only a 40 minute drive from Syracuse so we arrived about 1.00 found a park fairly easily in a side street at the top of town and went exploring. Noto is famed for having one of the most beautiful historic centres in Sicily particularly around the Walkway Vittorio Emmanuelle filled with baroque churches and palaces.

We quickly found it but were keen for lunch. A quick explore found that with a fair few tourists the decent lunch places were full so we settled on fresh takeaway rolls made before us in a little deli cafe. Liz’s favourite of tomato and mozzarella (tomatoes are the real McCoy here fresh as a daisy and red red not cool room orangey red). Salami, cheese and some spicy veggies in oil for me - excellent. We sat at a bench and downed them with a soft drink.

Now for town and the sights. Most of the sights seemed to be closed for visitors and we wondered if that was because it was Monday. Anyway we trooped along Corso Vittorio Emmanuelle and there were certainly some grand churches and buildings generally. However as we made our way along we both came to the same conclusion. We were whelmed by it but not overwhelmed. It felt almost a bit clinical, too clean. Lines of buildings a too symmetrical. It was “nice” but it wasn’t setting the pulse racing. We walked the length of the street and on through the gardens at the end which were nothing too special though the various little cafes and so on which might spark up at night were closed.

It wasn’t too hard to decide that we should keep going which was a shock to the system given this was our Number 1 destination for this trip. It may just have been a reelection of the resplendent architecture we had seen already particularly in Catania.

Anyway we pressed on and the next stop was within 30 mins - Marzamemi. This little fishing village had been recommended to us by Adelaide our B&B hostess in Catania. We immediately fell in love with it. Pretty small, fronting on to the sea. It seemed as if heavy rains had been through as one end of town which was where the port was had a street virtually submerged in water. We followed a couple of other cars through and not too deep. This turned out to be the quiet end of town at least from a tourist viewpoint.

We headed the other way to find a livelier (though on a small scale) centre. Quite a few restaurants and a small shopping area. We identified a little hotel on the main street parked up and they offered us a room for 50 euros. Great price and quite low for this time of year. However it was gone 4.00pm and perhaps they had a few vacancies.

Room was fine though was right on the front st so a bit noisy later we found. Still 50 euros a bargain. Having dumped the cases I set off to the nearby car park to park the car which was 10 euros overnight a bit of a shame but whatever. Street parking apparently not an option.

We set off to explore. First thing we noticed was the strong fishy smell. There used to be a tuna factory here which has now gone but they still process fish here in some way or other. We could see trays of what looked like salted fish. Next door to the processing centre was a sort of artisan food store. In a small warehouse set up with jars of everything from anchovies, jam to veggies in oil, cheese, biscuits, local wine and beers and much more. It was one of two outlets in town with the Italian tourists keen acquirers of these tasty tidbits it seemed.

We pressed on and a couple of very upmarket stores in town. One being O bags selling very stylish beach and fashion bags. We nearly bought a beach bag in Noto from the same store but a bit lumpy price wise and we are already running pretty close to our weight limits for next flight on Ryanair to London. I’ll pine for it though. The second shop (LAO) had very stylish jewellery, some dresses and watches as well as various house ornaments. Liz talked me into a watch which didn’t take much doing and shouldn’t trouble the weight constraints of Ryanair. Went back the following day and bought a second strap of different colour for it so two watches in one though inched marginally as a result towards the weight limits.

We continued on just looking at the various little shops and cafes. A lovely moment was on a small inland lake behind the main shopping area where there was a flock of flamingoes fossicking in the shallow water for whatever flamingoes eat. They were doing this by rapidly moving their legs back and fwd in the mud presumably to disturb bugs etc and then sticking their beaks in. In the late afternoon sun it really was a pretty sight.

After a quick change we headed for the lovely little city square. Old and quaint with sort of faded sandstone brick facades. One new building in one corner which had obviously slipped through the town planner’s net but it didn’t spoil the overall effect.

We found a bar/cafe in one corner and settled down for a beer and Aperol. Excellent local artisan beer for me. We people watched and chilled and pinched ourselves yet again. Thanks for the recommendation Adelaide most unlikely we would not have got here otherwise. We were so taken that I quickly nipped back and booked a second night at the hotel.

The restaurant next door looked good with tables and chairs outside so we booked for 8.00pm which was the earliest option. At 7.45 there was not a soul there (we have noticed the Italians like to eat quite late) though clearly they weren’t taking earlier bookings. One reason may have been that at 7.45 what looked like the effluent disposal truck rolled up, unleashed tubing which disappeared into the restaurant, cleared whatever it cleared and headed off by 7.55 ready for the first intake (or is that input) at 8.00. We had a birds eye view of all this form our seat next door.

We were a bit concerned that it might be a bit cool as a degree or two cooler than preferred but slipped a cardy on and Liz her leather jacket and all was good. By 8.30 the place was pretty full and buzzing with a few more tables being put out at the front for latecomers. Dinner was good I had some small red fish(name eludes) and Liz also can’t remember what she had a pasta from memory. The ambience obviously overcame us. A little walk around town at the end of the night and then we retired very happy with our choice.

Next day we breakfasted on some pastries at a little cafe next door. A croissant which was sort of permeated with jam and a pastry with fruit running through. Both yum. Liz was keen to get the beach so we headed for the car and drove out of town to a nearby beach. There was a little cafe bar and beach chairs for hire so Liz settled in. Sunny but a bit blowy. I fancied a drive so headed off along the beach road but not before setting up Narelle on maps fairly carefully. Without my trusty navigator I would have had to find my own way back.

The road runs virtually right beside the beach in the area so I headed west just taking in the scenery which in truth was nothing spectacular though a couple of lovely beach spots. I drove as far as Marina di Modica and on the way found where the car ferry goes to Malta. We could have come that way to Sicily possibly though they tend not to be any cheaper than flights and we didn’t want to take a car from Malta and leave it in Sicily with the added cost of that. I stopped at a pretty little place by the beach near MdM for an Arancini and soft drink and then headed back. All up probably had been a couple of hours with the stop. About 5/6 mins in received a call from Liz, the wind had become pretty strong and she was ready to head back. I put the foot down as I was still about 20 mins away, picked her up and we headed back to Marzamami.

A repeat of the previous day really. Went for a late afternoon stroll after showers. Bought my additional watch strap. Took photos. Soaked it all up. Forked out another 10 euros for the car park and then returned to the same little cafe bar for pre dinner drinks though this time we also had dinner there. This was followed by gelato from one of the little food stores/cafes.

Just a lovely little place Marzamemi. Off the beaten track. Quaint. Most enjoyable.

Next day proved a little trickier at settlement time. Liz headed downstairs to pay only to be confronted by a cost of 80 euros a night not the 50 we were advised. A protracted dispute ensued and clearly the young lady who had advised us either got it wrong, acted on a whim, exceeded her authority, was being mischievous or just decided to cut a deal on a slow day. We will never know. She was nowhere to be seen. It appeared that she was someone of authority as the receptionist at arrival time asked her what the price should be. Neither that receptionist nor the young lady were around.

They indicated that 50 euros was the price for a single and it clearly was as they showed Liz the books. However it was also clear at the time of booking that the two of us were going into the room as we were standing side by side. We also remembered the confirmation of price even the manner with which it was delivered - a slight twitch of the head. Liz was about to concede or suggest 50/50 when with a shrug of the shoulders the receptionist accepted the lower price and we headed off.

Left a bit of a nasty taste in the mouth not through our own doing and we wondered if the truth came out after we left or there were denials all round. Another little mental note get the confirmation in writing or reiterate the price clearly so there is no doubt. I kicked myself also for not reconfirming the price when I booked the second night rather than just assuming it would be the same. At least the issue might have come out earlier. Also, who knows, we might have checked other hotels for prices if the 80 was advised in the first place though probably unlikely. Anyway all part of the experience.

Still a great stop and thoroughly recommend Marzamemi. On to Modica.

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stevetervet · 3 years

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How do I love thee? England, let me count the ways.

There are moments in everyone’s life which you can look back on and remember exactly where you were and what you were doing. It only takes one sound, one image or even the mere thought and you are transported back in an instant.

For me, this happens every two years. It is called supporting England in a major international football tournament.

In 1996, I was only allowed to stay up for the first half of the semi-final against Germany. I went to bed having seen Stefan Kuntz cancel out Alan Shearer’s early goal but only found out the result on the following morning’s news bulletin.

Two years later, Richard Pugh and I were the lucky students in our Year 8 Art class to be sat near enough the radio so as to be able to follow the commentary of the group game against Tunisia. When Paul Scholes curled in the clincher, we passed messages down the line to our class-mates with silent fist pumps and the international sign language for ‘2-0.’

Michael Owen’s historic goal against Argentina and David Beckham’s subsequent dismissal, which preceded the dreaded penalties, had me listening through headphones on the bottom bunk - the full game this time. We deserved to go through and there were tears when David Batty became the latest to suffer infamy from 12 yards.

Fast forward to the World Cup in 2006 and I was stood in a giant fan park in Gelsenkirchen among 50,000 sunburnt Englishmen (seriously, Rachel would have been in a minority of less than 1% females). Many fans were so drunk they had passed out and didn’t witness any of the quarter-final against Portugal. The party atmosphere turned ugly the second Cristiano Ronaldo fired in the winning penalty and we realised the dream was over. Bus windows were smashed and we were lucky to make it back to the train station. Rooney’s stamp on Carvalho, Ronaldo’s wink as he was sent off... it was like red rag to a bull in that sun-baked German field.

By the time 2010 came around, we were married and had moved to Kent. An appalling performance against Algeria in the group saw England booed off by the many thousands who had paid good money to fly to South Africa. This time, Rooney criticised the fans live on air as he walked off the field. It was a new low under Fabio Capello and Germany easily sorted us out in the knockout stages.

Following Euro 2012 during our (first) year in Australia was almost impossible due to the time difference between Ukraine and Melbourne - but more of this later. Still, we sat through yet more penalty pain as the two Ashleys - Young and Cole - came up short against the Italians in another quarter-final which proved one step too far.

Heartbreak turned to anger in the following years as we were knocked out before even completing the group stage in Brazil 2014 and then somehow managed to plunge even more miserable depths by going out to Iceland - Iceland! - in the next Euros. By now we had stumbled upon the combination of watching the TV coverage but immediately switching to Radio 5 Live on the final whistle. Not only was the analysis more honest and insightful but you were kept abreast of developments in the stadium after the final whistle, for instance the terrifying scenes caused by charging Russian hooligans after we’d draw with them in Marseille. Mark Chapman’s anchorage and Chris Waddle’s rants would go on to become our regular soundtrack, especially on the nights England went out.

Ivy was three when Gareth Southgate led us to the World Cup semi-finals in 2018. Rachel was away the night we played Colombia and finally managed to win a penalty shootout. The match kicked off at 6pm, from memory, so most of my day was spent working to a strict schedule that had Ivy in bed and virtually asleep by 5.45 - much earlier than normal - so I could be in position downstairs from the national anthems. I managed to stifle my yells of delight when the shootout went our way but did remove my shirt, such was the shock. Ivy watched the highlights of Jordan Pickford’s heroics over breakfast the next morning and declared that was wanted to be a ‘lady goalkeeper’ when she grew up.

But, if truth be told, she didn’t really enjoy the experience of watching games in my company. My tendancy to leap around and shout at the key moments scared her - it’s pretty out of character, in fairness - and I had not even spoken to her about Euro 2020 in the build-up to the tournament which, once again, found us battling the time zones from Australia, now our permanent residence.

However, the last few weeks have been a shared experience unlike any other, and I’m sure millions up and down the UK - and many more ex-pats around the world, for a variety of reasons - could say the same.

The majority of England’s games kicked off at 5am (2000 BST); I set an early alarm, Rachel got up too and there was Ivy alongside us, wrapped in a dressing-gown, blanket or whatever she had dragged from her room at that hour of the night. She knew none of the players at the start of the tournament but was soon querying why Phil Foden had been left on the bench against Scotland. She was asking for Three Lions to be played after the Germany game, decided Harry Kane was her favourite player after his brace against Ukraine in Rome and chastised Declan Rice and Kalvin Phillips at times during the semi-final triumph over Denmark back at Wembley. All the time in her pyjamas with the sun still some way from rising over New South Wales.

As we approached the final, she knew the entire starting XI and wanted to know if Bukayo Saka would retain his place on the right against Italy. News of Foden’s injury did not go down well.

And so it was, in the wee small hours of my 36th birthday, I found myself behind the wheel of the only car on the streets of Albury at a 24-hour McDonald’s drive-through for breakfast supplies and extra strong coffee with 5 Live once again bringing the Wembley build-up to the far side of the world. At times like this, in moments like this, that vast distance back to London is evident more than ever, yet we felt very much connected to the team nurtured by Southgate and which conducts itself in a way which makes me proud to be English. It is the dignity and integrity of the players, as much as their performances, which has been heart-warming this past month.

What a ride it has been. I have looked forward so much to every early start, never wanted the journey to end, always wanted one more game, one more celebration, one more rendition of Sweet Caroline. A staggering 30 million people watched the final on the BBC and ITV combined; there are few sports teams around the globe that have such power to bring a nation together. The All Blacks and India’s cricket team, perhaps. Because, in these moments, as Luke Shaw sent us leaping off the sofa in the second minute, roaring and punching the air, as Leonardo Bonucci bundled in the equaliser which punctured the balloon of optimism, as we shuffled nearer the edge of our seats during extra-time but barely uttered a word to each other, we are not customers, we are not spectators, we are not even fans. We are England. This is us, and what happens in these moments is etched into our identity.

Not penalties, we agonised, not again. Ivy kept smiling and clapping during the final coin toss and stood holding her Euro 2020 colouring sheet as encourgament to the takers, pointing at the trophy. “I want Kane to have this,” she whispered.

But the script which has become so familiar in our lifetime was played out yet again; Rashford, Sancho and Saka the unfortunate three to miss their penalties. Why does it always have to end like this? Ivy cried too. Welcome to the club. This is England.

Because like all those tournaments listed above, we will never forget where we were on 12 July 2021, when England played in their first final for 55 years. It will be the next trip through that Macca’s drive-through, memories of setting Ivy’s ‘Gro Clock’ to wake her at 4.30am, the haunting images of a distraught Saka being comforted by Southgate which bring it flooding back.

Shame on those who racially abused the penalty missers in the hours after the game; so much unifying work done by Southgate and the squad felt like it had been undone. But when Ivy’s prayer at bedtime was for ‘Rashford, Sancho and Saka as they return to their families’ it brought a different sort of tear to the eye: absolute pride in the young men whose tenacity and humility on the biggest stage has inspired my little girl and so many others like her.

Following England is often gut-wrenching, occasionally exhilarating, always utterly unforgettable.

Football’s Coming Home? The feeling never went away.

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jobsearchtips02 · 4 years

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3.3 million look for United States jobless aid, almost 5 times previously high

FILE – In this March 17, 2020 file photo, people wait in line for assist with unemployment benefits at the One-Stop Career Center in Las Vegas. A record-high variety of individuals requested unemployment benefits recently as layoffs swallowed up the United States in the face of a near-total financial shutdown triggered by the coronavirus. The surge in weekly applications for advantages far went beyond the previous record embeded in 1982. less

FILE – In this March 17, 2020 file photo, people wait in line for help with welfare at the One-Stop Career Center in Las Vegas. A record-high number of individuals gotten welfare … more

Picture: John Locher, AP.

FILE – In this March 17, 2020 file photo, individuals wait in line for help with welfare at the One-Stop Profession Center in Las Vegas. A record-high number of people looked for welfare last week as layoffs swallowed up the United States in the face of a near-total financial shutdown triggered by the coronavirus. The rise in weekly applications for advantages far surpassed the previous record embeded in 1982. less

FILE – In this March 17, 2020 file picture, people wait in line for help with welfare at the One-Stop Profession Center in Las Vegas. A record-high number of people applied for unemployment benefits … more

Photo: John Locher, AP.

WASHINGTON (AP)– Nearly 3.3 million Americans obtained unemployment benefits last week– nearly 5 times the previous record set in 1982– amid a prevalent economic shutdown brought on by the coronavirus.

The rise in weekly applications was a stunning reflection of the damage the viral break out is causing on the economy. Filings for unemployment aid generally reflect the pace of layoffs.

Layoffs are sure to accelerate as the U.S. economy sinks into a recession. Earnings has collapsed at restaurants, hotels, cinema, fitness centers and airline companies. Auto sales are plunging, and vehicle makers have closed factories. Most such companies deal with loan payments and other fixed costs, so they’re cutting jobs to conserve cash.

As job losses mount, some financial experts say the country’s joblessness rate might approach 13%by May. By contrast, the highest unemployed rate throughout the Great Recession, which ended in 2009, was 10%.

” What seemed difficult simply two weeks ago is now truth,” said Nancy Vanden Houten, an economist at Oxford Economics, a consulting company. “The US economy will experience the biggest economic contraction on record with the most extreme surge in unemployment ever.”

The economic degeneration has been speedy.

In its report Thursday, the Labor Department said 3.283 million individuals obtained unemployment benefits last week, up from 282,000 throughout the previous week. Lots of people who have lost tasks in current weeks, however, have been not able to file for unemployment help since state sites and phone systems have been overwhelmed by a crush of candidates and have frozen up.

That logjam suggests that Thursday’s report actually understates the magnitude of job cuts recently. So does the truth that employees who are not on company payrolls– gig employees, free-lancers, the self-employed– aren’t currently qualified for unemployment benefits even though in most cases they’re no longer able to generate income.

With layoffs rising, a significant growth of welfare was included in an economic relief bill nearing final approval in Congress. One arrangement in the expense would offer an additional $600 a week on top of the joblessness aid that mentions provide. Another arrangement would provide 13 additional weeks of benefits beyond the six months of unemployed help that most states offer. The brand-new legislation would also extend unemployment benefits, for the very first time, to gig employees and others who are not on business payrolls.

Different legislation passed recently offers approximately $1 billion to states to improve their ability to process claims. That money will take time to be disbursed.

In the United States, the jump in applications for benefits is playing out in states across the country. In California, claims for joblessness advantages more than tripled last week to 187,000

Gov. Gavin Newsom stated 1 million claims for unemployment benefits had actually been filed in California considering that March13 A number of those applications were likely submitted this week, suggesting that next week’s report might show an even larger number of claims.

In Florida, Jessy Morancy of Hollywood was laid off last week from her task as a wheelchair attendant and client service representative at Fort Lauderdale Airport. Morancy, 29, called the state unemployment workplace on Monday to attempt to declare unemployment benefits however experienced just a taped message telling her to recall later.

She was also concerned that even a full unemployment benefit of $275 a week would be less than half of what she earned at her task and inadequate to attend to her children, ages 10 and 7.

” I’m still in a state of shock,” Morancy stated.

Even for those able to file a claim, the advantages will take time to kick in.

Intensifying the problem, many state companies that deal with unemployment claims are operating at traditionally low funding levels and staffing that are planned to manage a drip of claims. Just weeks back, the job market was in the strongest shape it had actually been in decades.

Kim Boldrini-Sen, 41, has likewise had a hard time to submit her claim. She has actually tried in 2 states: In Connecticut, where she works as an acupuncturist in a personal practice, and in New York, where she lives and has her own acupuncture organisation.

In Connecticut, she thought her application had actually been submitted.

In New York, the state’s website consistently crashed when she was midway through filling out her request.

” I’ve called at all hours of the day,” she said. “That’s been my life for a week, and I still can’t get through to anyone.”

On Wednesday, the New York City State Department of Labor tweeted, “If you have been not able to get through our phone and/or online system this week, please keep trying.”

” We are working as tough as we can to ensure that all benefits are paid and appreciate your patience,” the company said on Twitter.

Worldwide, the United Nations estimates that as much as 25 million jobs might be lost in the financial turmoil from the viral outbreak. That would surpass the 22 million that were lost throughout the 2008 global financial crisis.

In Europe, business are laying off workers at the fastest speed since 2009, according to studies of company supervisors. Official statistics for Europe that would reflect the outbreak’s impact are not yet out. But companies have actually been announcing tens of thousands of task cuts, both permanent and momentary. Significant automobile business like Fiat Chrysler and airline companies like Lufthansa are suspending the majority of their operations, putting 10s of thousands of workers on momentary leave, lots of with only a partial salary.

The unemployment rate in the 19 countries that utilize the euro was 7.3%at last count in January. It’s anticipated to increase toward 10%, depending on the duration of the break out, economic experts say. The rise in joblessness may not be as sharp as in the U.S. since it’s more difficult to fire employees in Europe, where numerous federal governments are supporting business economically to keep staff members on partially paid leave.

Ellen Zentner, a financial expert at Morgan Stanley, stated in a note to clients that 17 million tasks could be lost through May– two times the whole 8.7 million tasks that were lost in the Great Recession. She expects the unemployment rate to average 12.8%in the April-June quarter, which would be the greatest level since the 1930 s.

Still, Zentner likewise expects the economy to start recovering by the 2nd half of the year. However it will require time for things to return to something near to normal, she projects: The unemployment rate might still top 5%at the end of next year.

___

AP Writers Carlo Piovano in London, David Lieb in Jefferson City, Missouri, and Matthew Barakat in Falls Church, Viriginia, contributed to this report.

from Job Search Tips https://jobsearchtips.net/3-3-million-look-for-united-states-jobless-aid-almost-5-times-previously-high/

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apparitionism · 7 years

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Road 6

I thought this was finished a couple weeks ago. Like done, locked, and I was just doing the final copyedit… but it didn’t feel right. So I started a new draft, and here’s how it ended up. As I said to @beatricethecat2 , it’s ironic, or maybe just stupidly appropriate, that I had to back up and take another, um, route. Also my car was in the shop earlier this week, though I swear what was wrong with it was unrelated to any of the things in this story. Well, okay, not completely unrelated, given that it’s, you know, a car. And actually even less unrelated than that, now that I think about it, given that the problem was with the starter. Anyway, this is the end of the, ahem, road. (Sorry.) It started in part 1 and ran through part 2, part 3, part 4, and part 5. All the way to here.

Road 6

One year later

It’s a long walk to get away from a several-thousand-person tent city, if you want some true desert peace. It’s a walk that stretches, stretches long, when you aren’t following any footsteps, when you’re just walking toward silence, not sure of when you’ll find its fullness.

Myka likes to take this walk. This year, she’s particularly liked to take it, and she’s done so, every evening as night has faded the day, before the cars have demanded her attention.

She has breathed in the stillness, breathed it out, let the weight, and the wait, settle on her. She would not have believed, not years ago, not even a year ago, that the desert could sit this gentle—or rather, that its heaviness could sit to the side. Present, but a sleeping animal. Settled in for the night.

****

Helena had left Colorado Springs after far too few days, but she had said she would come back. She needed to work out precisely when, she said—she was not in fact a teacher, Myka learned; instead she somehow facilitated international movements of money—but she had promised she would. “If only for a long weekend to start,” she’d said, but she had promised.

Myka had let her simple happiness at the idea have its way.

She told herself later that the difficulty they had in working out that “precisely when” should have raised a flag. Should have. Didn’t, because Myka was listening to Helena’s voice on a telephone and wrapping herself up in it, wishing the body that voice belonged to were present to be wrapped up in as well. Helena proposed a date first, but Myka said, “No, that’s right before Labor Day weekend, and my dad and I are going to a car show down in Alamosa.”

“I’ve never been to a car show. Couldn’t I go with you?”

Myka considered that for a second, but she said, “Not quite yet on that with Dad. If that’s okay.”

“Of course it is.”

And it did seem okay—the temperature of Helena’s voice had not changed—so Myka said, though she had not planned to say it, “I’ll come to you instead. To make up for it. The next weekend after, what about that?” When Helena didn’t immediately say yes or no, Myka hadn’t thought anything of it. Anything. Anything at all. She went on, “If you’ve got something to do then, it’s all right. I understand.”

That had been followed by yet another pause. But then Helena said, “I don’t have anything to do. It’s a date on the calendar, isn’t it.” Before Myka could say anything, Helena went on, “So buy a plane ticket. Or I’ll buy one for you.”

“It doesn’t matter who buys,” Myka told her. “This won’t be the only planet ticket, so it doesn’t matter.” She’d felt a little silly, how fervent she must have sounded, but Helena’s “yes” in response seemed equally so.

And in the subsequent rush of information regarding arrivals and departures and fares and layovers and seat assignments, Helena’s pauses, and any significance they might have had, migrated to a noninstrumental holding space in Myka’s head. The instrumental spaces were busy anyway, working hard to redefine Myka as someone who told someone else, with regularity, about her days. Who heard about that someone else’s days. Who felt a little heart-leap at a particular ring on the telephone. Who marveled at the warmth of the voice that greeted her, the voice that always at some point asked, “And what sorts of cars did you fix today?”

Helena would learn about Escapes and Accords, Quests and Sonatas. Myka would in turn hear of dollars, euros, yen, rubles. Rupees, kroner. Dirhams—or darahim, Helena would sometimes say, the Arabic plural. Her voice would dip low, quiet. Anything to do with Morocco, she said soft. They both said soft.

On the day before Myka was to leave for London, right as she and Alicia and Manny were starting to get everything squared away to close up the shop, as Myka was asking them yet again “and you’re sure you’ve got everything under control? because I’m sure I could put this off, if I need to,” as Alicia was threatening “Manny’s still got that arm could probably pitch you halfway there and I’ll make him do it nevermind his rotator cuff,” Myka’s phone buzzed. A text. From Helena, and so the heart-leap.

“I can’t,” it read.

Six in the evening in Colorado was one in the morning in London. Myka texted back: “Can’t what? Sleep?”

She waited. No response.

And so she texted again: “Seriously, what can’t you do?”

No response.

Her thumbs shook a little as she typed, “Are you okay?”

It was one in the morning, but she called. No answer—and Helena’s phone wasn’t off; it rang and rang before going to voicemail. Myka left a worried message—“Please let me know you’re all right”—and waited. Nothing.

“What does this mean?” she asked Alicia. “Is it a brushoff? Am I supposed to not go?”

“How should I know what you’re supposed to do?”

“But what if that’s what it is? What if I go, and then that’s what it is?” What if what if what if.

“Then I bet they got planes fly this direction too. Remember, though, she stalked you.”

“You want me to stalk her? But how do I even—I mean what would I even do—”

“You know what? From now on my mouth is shut, ’cause I don’t want you to do nothing but leave me out of it.”

Myka said, “I don’t know what to do. What do I do? This is what I was afraid would happen.” But it wasn’t at all what she had been afraid would happen. Not at all. She was trying not to let herself settle into her immediate thought, that this was the least damaging way it could end, with her just not getting on a plane. The least damaging.

Alicia was taking off her gloves, paying far more careful attention to her manicure than to Myka. “What’d I just say? I look like your therapist? Your pastor? Maybe if I’m your sponsor I tell you to go to a meeting, but I don’t know which church basement hardcore stalkers anonymous meets in. You two are messed up. Do me and Manny both a favor and go find out if you keep being messed up together or what.”

And it was true: Alicia was not Myka’s therapist, or pastor, or thank god sponsor, because Myka thank god hadn’t needed a sponsor for anything, but thank god there wasn’t really any hardcore stalkers anonymous, because she might have gone to that meeting. That night, she might have gone.

But there was no meeting. So after a night that was probably always going to have been sleepless—but that Myka had never expected to be filled with unanswered texts and calls, with the anxiety of this incomprehension rising higher and higher—she went to the garage. Four in the morning, and she would have had to be at the airport in four hours. She got under the hood of a Ford Escort station wagon.

Manny had shown up at seven. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Myka told him. “Working on this Escort.”

“With the cracked insert, that one valve?”

“Yeah.”

“It beat up the piston bad as you thought?”

“Yeah.”

“You gonna fix it in half a hour?”

“Probably not.”

“Leave it for Bobby. Needs to try a job like that.” He paused. Tongued his lip. “You leaving straight from here?” Myka didn’t answer. “You got your stuff with you? In the truck?”

She shook her head.

“Better speed good on your way home then. To the airport too.” He handed her a full paper bag. “Don’t starve.” And Myka would have turned to go, but he was working on some more words. He put his hand on her shoulder. “Remember, some people. They don’t know what to say.”

That hand felt like a full-body embrace. So Myka responded, “I know what to say. I’m saying if Bobby blows that piston job, he’ll hear about it from me for the rest of his natural life. And so will you.”

Manny’s hand went to his hat. His full bottom lip curved up. “Yeah,” he said.

The trip was fourteen hours. Plane, layover, plane, layover. So much sitting. So much waiting. So little information about what she might be walking into. She went back through all the texts she and Helena had sent each other, since April, all the emails, tried to reconstruct all their phone conversations. Something was knocking at her, but she couldn’t isolate it. Couldn’t diagnose it.

On the last and longest flight, the one to London, she fell into and out of a doze, one in which she did the piston replacement over and over and over in her head, trying to send it telepathically to Bobby. The mangled piston wasn’t even the source of the problem, poor thing; the valve insert had cracked, come loose, and destroyed it… not the piston’s fault…

As she emerged from passport control at Heathrow, she searched the throng for dark hair, for familiar eyes. She was grateful that she could, for she knew plenty of people who couldn’t take too many bodies in a space anymore. Having to pay attention to that much movement, sorting out all the purposes behind all those strides and turns and gestures, meant no safety.

Myka was grateful. But she also knew plenty of people who had been fine—who had thought they knew where safety was—but then, after a while, weren’t. Didn’t.

All she’d done was fix cars, though. She tried to remind and convince herself of this, of the fact that what had happened to her was smaller than, and thus different from, what had happened to other people.

She sat down. Tried to manufacture some clarity on whether to go upstairs to the ticket counters and start getting herself back to Colorado.

But even as she sat there, her eyes still picking through the crowd, stopping briefly on any dark hair, on any wisp of a womanly body… even as she sat and looked and tried to decide, the knock began to resolve: “It’s a date on a calendar,” Helena had said.

The difference between what had happened to her and what had happened to other people. Other people in the service—but also, other people, such as Helena. Because what happened to Myka didn’t have anything to do with a date on a calendar. But what happened to Helena did.

The taxi ride was a blur in which she texted and called again and again—“I know, I know now, I didn’t understand before and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry”—and then she was standing on a front stoop, hammering on a door, and Helena had to be there, she had to be, because Myka didn’t know exactly when, during that taxi ride or at any point before, she had decided she could not tolerate the idea of never seeing Helena’s face again, never hearing her voice, but that decision had been made.

“I will not accept this,” she shouted. “You came to Colorado to show me that there were consequences—and now I’m here to show you the same thing. Open this door!”

Nothing. She sat down on the stoop, her back to the door. Exhausted, desolate. Thinking about the date on the calendar.

She might have fallen asleep, right there on the cold stone steps. Might have, because the door creaked behind her, and surely that was a dream. She stood up, though. Turned around. Saw a face just as hollowed as the one she’d grown accustomed to in Morocco, its cheekbones sharp enough to carve the air, its eyes dark with no spark.

Myka opened her duffel, took out the paper bag that she had not touched, through all of those fourteen travel hours. “Manny would’ve wanted me to give this to you,” she said. “If he saw you.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know.”

At the table in Helena’s kitchen, they shared the bag’s contents: a honey-mustard chicken sandwich, several strips of homemade beef jerky, and an apple. Three oatmeal cookies rounded out the strange breakfast, which, Myka was sure, had started its life intended to be Manny’s lunch. “He thinks he’s no good at baking,” Myka said, after she and Helena had each eaten a cookie.

“I disagree,” Helena said, and Myka handed her the third. Helena ate it fast, like an animal. Like she was afraid it would be taken away.

“Alicia and I do too,” Myka said. She watched Helena pick up the now-empty paper bag with spindly, spider-leg fingers and fold it flat. “I’ll leave if that’s what you want. If you really can’t do this. Because of what happened, or any other reason.”

“This isn’t what I can’t do. Well. Most likely it is, also, but it wasn’t what I meant.”

“Feel like telling me what?” Myka asked.

Helena sighed. “Can’t do, couldn’t do. Shouldn’t have done: look forward to this day. Of all days. I was hungering for your presence, wanting this day. But how could I? And then there was the possibility that you wouldn’t come. That you would decide you couldn’t.”

“Alicia said she was going to make Manny pitch me halfway here. I guess he sort of did that.”

Helena didn’t say anything.

“Wanting this day. I understand: that’s you betraying her. So you set me up to not show up, and I understand that too, so I could betray you, instead of you betraying her.” Myka wanted to add, with sarcasm, pretty high opinion of me you’ve got there, but she had no right to make that kind of accusation.

Helena still didn’t say anything.

“You should have told me. Yes, I should’ve figured it out sooner—a lot sooner. But you should have told me, so I wouldn’t have had to.”

“I couldn’t. Not on the telephone.” Right. I didn’t want to mediate it, she had said, of showing up in Colorado rather than using the phone. “And I thought—I suppose I did think I was better. Better able. To. Given even more time and therapy since a year ago, I thought. And a year ago, it wasn’t good, but it was better than this.”

“But a year ago you weren’t looking forward to it. To the day.” Helena dropped her head, and Myka said, to that hung head, “I don’t want to hurt you like this. Or make you hurt yourself like this. I’ll leave and come back tomorrow.” Then she added, “Or never, if that’s what you need,” because she would have to accept that. Front-stoop declaration aside, she would have to, and would, accept it. If that was what Helena needed, she would go back to Colorado and take herself apart, take out all the pieces that were coming to rely on Helena, and sell them for scrap.

Helena said, “Don’t be sweet to me. I was so cruel to you. Don’t be kind.”

“Right now it’s hard not to be. You’re an animal, and you’re starving and in pain. We all have instincts. We hand over our oatmeal cookies.” That got her no change in facial expression at all, as if all the dates on the calendar, the ones between those days in Morocco and now, had not passed at all. “Why’d you open the door?”

“What?”

“You didn’t have to open the door. I would’ve gone away eventually.”

Helena sat silent for a moment. Then she said, “Some instinct for self-preservation, I suppose. And I did feel, as a new weight, that there was only a door between us, rather than an ocean as usual.”

“And most of a continent.”

“And most of a continent,” Helena said.

Three or four days’ worth of newspapers sat in a haphazard pile at one corner of the table. Myka began aligning their corners, edges. “Why didn’t Leena check up on you?” she asked.

“She’s seeing to some business in France.”

“I would think she’d want to make sure you were okay. Today.”

“I told her I would be fine.”

“Were you lying?”

Helena grimaced. “No more than I was to you, when I said that you should buy a plane ticket.”

“She and I really need to coordinate. Make sure somebody’s around to bring you oatmeal cookies. Or maybe Manny can just throw them at you; he’s still got that arm.” Across most of a continent, and an ocean. “A table,” she said, as she squared the last section of newsprint. It wasn’t very satisfying.

“A table what?” Helena asked.

“Is between us. Will you let me fix that? You can say no. Today or any day, you can say yes or you can say no. It isn’t a test.”

“I’m so selfish.”

Everybody is, Myka might have told her. We’re animals, and we want to stop the pain. We have some weird ways of trying to—but that’s what we want. And in the end, whatever we do, it’s almost always going to be some betrayal. Somebody. Something.

What Myka did tell her was, “That doesn’t really answer my question.”

A slight eyebrow. “I thought it wasn’t a test.”

“Maybe of listening comprehension.”

“I’m selfish and tired,” Helena said, and was that the beginning of a smile?

“Me too. Both those things. That’s a long trip from Colorado.”

“Did you get no sleep at all? That’s my selfish fault as well.”

“Not just you. I was thinking about a car.”

And that was what got her a real smile at last. “Of course you were,” Helena said.

Myka stayed for her scheduled five days, but those days weren’t easy. That might have been entirely due to the near-disaster of the beginning. Then again something else might always have been lurking that would have tripped them up, no matter the date on the calendar. They had easy moments—a conversation would click perfectly, a touch would glide into silken intimacy—but they seemed at other times to be trying to grope their way backward to some version of tenderness they had felt before. Backward, not forward.

At the airport, at the end of those uneasy five days, they couldn’t seem to get the goodbye right. They couldn’t even get the goodbye kiss right. It was all bad aim and mismatched intentions.

Myka said a rueful “I keep telling you I’m terrible at everything but fixing cars.”

Helena frowned. “You are fishing for compliments,” she said. But then she quirked the corners of her lips upward. “Again.”

One little smile, one small word, and then they were getting a kiss, one only disguised as goodbye, very very right.

“We don’t start well, do we,” Myka said. “Ever.”

Helena shrugged. “We finish all right. I’d rather that than the reverse.”

“You know what I think the real problem was, this time?”

That made Helena’s smile fade. “I have a guess.”

“You’d be wrong.”

“All right, then. Tell me your theory.”

“We didn’t watch any sunsets. Five whole days and no sunsets.” Myka shook her head. “I don’t even know who we are anymore.”

That yielded yet another small smile, which in turn led to yet another embrace, one that didn’t bother pretending to be anything other than itself.

Myka eventually boarded a plane. But she and Helena never did quite get the goodbye right.

****

Myka has particularly liked to take this walk, this year, and not just because of the way her footsteps create a path to tranquility. She’s liked to take it because every night, Helena has followed those footsteps and met Myka at the end of them, often in the moonshadow of a dune.

“Assure me you asked no one for sunscreen,” Helena had said, the first night.

And Myka told her, “I am your property.”

Helena had made very clear how much she appreciated that. “My property tastes like sand,” she breathed into Myka’s mouth.

They leaned together against the dune’s concave slip face, against the cool top layer of sand, its heat already stolen back by the setting of the sun.

Tonight, Myka says, “Essaouira tomorrow.” Helena nods against her, a bit of grit and grate, sandy skin on sandy skin. Myka can’t see the difference between Helena’s arms, in the dusk, but she can feel it in their temperature: the radiant heat of the burnt left; the soft mineral cool of the right. “Are you ready for this to be over?”

“It’s been… intense.” Helena’s hands have found a strip of velcro on Myka’s vest, and now a slight, sharp rip, rip, rip echoes in the sliver of space between their bodies. Myka feels the press, just below her sternum, preceding each rip. Helena goes on, “But yes. I’m ready.”

“And has it given you what you wanted? What you needed?”

“I think so.”

****

Myka had not realized how much she had wanted—maybe even needed—to see Driss again, but to be reunited with him was a small miracle in itself.

The first story that tumbled out of him, as they sat in the truck together, had to do with his recent acquisition of Nike basketball shoes: “Airjordan!” he exclaimed, as if it really were just one word, and then, similarly, “Oldschool!” The second story (and that it came second made Myka laugh, then sigh) concerned the fact that he had fallen in love, but the family of the object of his affections happened to be unimpressed with the idea of a son-in-law with grease and oil under his fingernails, and so he and his intended would have to elope if there was to be any hope for their destined-to-be-epic romance, but her father seemed a vengeful sort, so they would need to elope to the very moon! And stay there! Myka told him there was a garage in Colorado—slightly closer than the moon, but probably beyond a vengeful father’s reach—where she could put in a good word for him, given that she owned the place.

She’d thought she was joking with him, but instead of laughing, he blinked at her. In disbelief? “Je suis propriétaire,” she assured him. “Vraiment!” I am the owner. Really!

It became clear that he had never seriously considered eloping to any place other than the moon—and possibly that he had not seriously considered eloping, or even marrying, at all. Yet he did with great seriousness begin practicing his extremely poor English on Myka and interrogating her about every aspect of life in the United States. The hip-hop is very good, she found herself assuring him in response to his anxious query, though she knew nothing of the sort.

“It, is, oldschool?” he asked, like she might be able to tell him there really was a Santa Claus after all.

She was pretty sure Alicia and Manny didn’t know or care much more about hip-hop than she herself did. She was also pretty sure that if Driss did come to the States, everyone was likely to receive a lot of education about a lot of things.

When Myka and Driss received a call for assistance, on the second day of the first two-day leg, Myka didn’t think anything of it; Driss was the one who said, “Peut-être ton p’tit fantôme et sa belle amie, comme l’autre fois?” Maybe your little ghost and her beautiful friend, like the other time?

Myka noted that he probably shouldn’t be attending quite so closely to other women’s beauty, given that he was involved in a destined-to-be-epic romance. He squinted at her and pointed out that Myka’s little ghost and that little ghost’s friend were in fact very beautiful, and how did romance affect the factual elements of this situation or any other?

She conceded the point.

The picture that greeted them as they approached the vehicle in distress was uncanny in its similarity to the one from two years ago—this black woman and this white woman, sitting in the sand, on the shade side of their 4x4. Time doesn’t move backward, Myka had to remind herself. There was a slight difference in that this time, a flat tire marred the visual. It was the only thing that did, for Driss was correct about the factual elements of this situation: Helena and Leena were, in fact, very beautiful.

“I’m just as glad you didn’t blow a shock again, even for the symmetry,” Myka called to Helena, “because I’d prefer the both of you stay in one piece. But how’d you manage to engineer it so we were closest?”

“Completely by chance,” Helena said. She smiled as Myka neared her, and there could have been no more acute a reminder that time did move in only one direction.

Myka said “I don’t believe you,” but she kissed Helena anyway. Driss made a high little ululation, clearly his version of a wolf-whistle. Myka told him, “Regardes la voiture, mec.” Look at the car—and she was unsure what she meant in English with that “mec.” Something like “you big-hearted oversharer.”

“Cette voiture-là? Pfft, ennuyeuse,” he said. The car there? Boring.

“Hm,” said Leena, “mais que penses-tu d’elles?” But what do you think of them? She waved her hands at Myka and Helena.

Driss nodded. “Interessantes. Très interessantes.” Interesting. Very interesting. Then, as if he were a film director, he called out, “Mais un peu de modestie s’il vous plaît! Sinon ce spectacle donnera à ce timide marocain une crise cardiaque!” But a little modesty, please! Otherwise this spectacle will give this shy Moroccan a heart attack!

Leena was at pains to explain that this spectacle did not even qualify as a spectacle where these two were concerned. Driss promptly faked a heart attack. Then he winked at Myka, a big-hearted I’ll deal with the tire, Romeo wink.

“It’s probably good that they both feel like they can make jokes,” Myka said to Helena.

“Probably. I suppose you should be pleased she isn’t talking about your machete. I’m not sure Driss would fully appreciate the humor.”

It was true that it was now a joke: when Leena had joined Myka and Helena in Tangier, right before the driving teams were to claim their vehicles, Myka had said to Leena, as her first words after hello, “Now don’t disappoint me,” and Leena had known precisely what her own line was: “Did you bring your machete?”

“It isn’t a machete,” Myka said. A sentence she had certainly never expected to utter with a grin on her face.

“Oh well,” Leena said, “I guess I’ll have to find somebody else to track down this stray”—she nodded toward Helena—“when she wanders off into the desert.”

“Don’t you dare,” both Myka and Helena had said.

****

Tonight, Myka and Helena walk back together. Driss is waiting, and he gives Myka his customary tch-tch chide. “Les camions nous attendent.” The trucks are waiting for us. Then he says to Helena, “Ça va, petit fantôme?”

“Je suis fatiguée,” Helena tells him. “De conduire.” I’m tired. Of driving.

“Mais demain, aaaahh,” he says. “Demain la mer.” Tomorrow the sea.

****

They had met in Tangier, she and Helena, a day before the vehicles arrived. Because, Helena had said, when would Myka be inclined to go to Morocco again?

“Maybe every year again,” Myka had countered. “You don’t know.”

“Nor do you.”

So a day early, they went to the Fondouk Chejra, as Myka had never had time to do. They watched the weavers—rather, Helena watched the weavers. Myka watched Helena watch them: her slight twitch at each clack of the pedal that separated the threads of the warp, her little nostril-flare of an inhalation when the man on one side of the loom would slide-toss the spool of wool through those threads. The way her hands echoed, with barely perceptible finger movements, each catch of the spool by the man on the other side. And back again the other way, and back again: clack, toss, catch; clack, toss, catch; over and over, faster and faster.

Helena had stood here a year ago, most likely watching just like this, her body reacting involuntarily just like this, all these precious movements wasted, unobserved, as Myka waited for her under the hoods of cars, all unaware that she was waiting, unable to see beyond the next minute.

Myka said, “I want—” She stopped.

Helena turned away from the weavers. “What do you want?”

“I don’t mean it as a demand.” And she didn’t. Only as a want.

“What do you want?”

As a want, and as a plaint: “To spend more time with you.”

And in response, a dispensation. “I want that too.”

****

Under a truck in a tent city in the middle of the desert, Myka is replacing a broken exhaust hanger. These hangers, nothing more than rubber bands on steroids, play a disproportionately large part in the exhaust system. That system is based around the exhaust manifold, a large piece of cast iron whose job is to funnel hot exhaust away from the engine and into the pipes that convey it out of the car. The pipes are held up by the exhaust hangers—but if the hangers break, then the manifold has to support the entire system. And cast iron is strong and long-lasting, but it’s also very, very heavy. The manifold can barely hold up its own weight; give it more responsibility, and it will begin to crack.

As the cracks widen, the noises start. At first nothing more than clicks and whistles, little sounds that might be anything. Easy to ignore. Easy, for a while, to tolerate, even as those little sounds begin to gather together, to gain volume, to clamor for attention, but at last even accustomed ears have no choice but to recognize the roar for what it is: a herald of catastrophic failure.

Myka executes this small fix—broken rubber donut off, new one on. It rescues the manifold, but it’s only a temporary save. Heat will get it in the end, or rather, heat cycles will. Heat, cool, heat, cool, expand and contract. Everything that expands and contracts will eventually, inevitably break.

It might happen today; it might happen tomorrow. It’s impossible to know. Might as well stay on the road till it does.

****

When Helena had said, during a telephone conversation not long after Myka’s London trip, “What about the Gazelles,” Myka had responded, “What about them? I thought we decided they’re mythical.”

Helena huffed the start of a laugh. Then she asked, “Would you go back?

“Back? You mean back to working it every year?”

“Not necessarily every year. Just this next one.”

“You want me to go back to fixing cars in the desert.”

“Just for a little while.”

“Would you be driving around in that same desert?” Myka asked, with skepticism.

“Well. Yes.”

“But why? You didn’t seem to like it that much the first time. Even aside from the circumstances.”

“Well, Leena did, and I know she wants to try navigating it once more. But there is another reason.”

“Is there?” She had no idea what Helena was heading for.

“It’s what you said: we don’t start well.” Helena paused. “So I would like some closure.”

“Closure of what?” Myka asked, with rising panic, because if that were the end it would not be the least damaging, not at all, and Myka could feel that damage taking hold, right in her office, her phone at her ear. How could Helena say this kind of thing over the phone? Helena was hardly happy to say hello over the phone, so how could she—

Helena’s voice, its warmest version, took away all that panic: took it right away and replaced it with hope, as she said two very simple words: “The beginning.”

****

What can anyone give you that you don’t already have?

These lists. These lists, these things, and purposeful time to apprehend them.

Moroccan hip-hop artists that an auto mechanic considers oldschool. The polishes, paints, and protections that may be applied to fingernails. Statistics of minor-league pitchers. (Two no-hitters, pre–rotator cuff.) Techniques of navigation, and its oldest tools: moon, stars, sun. The setting of that sun. A scarf woven from all the colors of Essaouira. One imperfectly tied knot. A beginning, and that beginning’s end. The verb connecting I and you.

Tomorrow, the sea.

END

#bering and wells #warehouse 13 #fanfic #road #part 6 #au week #you know what took me the longest to write?#the description of the exhaust system #and it's still not quite right #anyway myka's trip was always going to be the largest set piece #but it refused for a while to come into correct focus #there was e.g. a version that included violence #and while i don't think that was entirely wrong #it wasn't entirely right either #and even if this version isn't entirely right #i think it's righter #thanks for indulging my attempt at this thing #in conclusion #i have listened to a lot of moroccan hip hop

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jaskiersbard · 7 years

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Trip to Disneyland Paris (27/08/17-29/08/17)

Okay, so let me start by saying that Disneyland Paris was AMAZING! It wasn’t my first time going – I went age four, age nine, and then age 15 on a French Immersion trip at school – but it was still amazing and magical, of course. I can’t recommend going enough.

I’m going to go into detail about just how awesome this trip was because I’m happy and need to share it. Under the cut for people who don’t want it on their dashes.

Getting there

So I went with my family from Sunday morning to this afternoon (Tuesday) – that’s my parents and my sister. We had to get up on Sunday morning at five in the morning to get dressed, washed and pack last minute things before our Uber arrived to take us to St. Pancras. The drive there was actually pretty cool because we got to see parts of London like Madam Tussauds and Kings Cross Station. We also saw the Grenfell tower from quite a close distance, and it was really poignant. I was a little stunned at seeing it for myself. I learnt that the Harry Potter series didn’t film at Kings Cross but at St. Pancras which is across the road because the latter station had more of a gothic feel whilst Kings Cross was originally a little bit of a dump (my dad’s words, not mine).

To get to Disneyland, we had to take the Eurostar from St. Pancras to Lilles Europe, and then we walked to a station ten minutes away that went from Lilles Flandres to Marne-la-Vallee – which is literally just outside the gates to the resort. There’s a bus station where you catch shuttle buses to the hotels; we were in the Vienna Dream Castle hotel, so we took a shuttlebus to drop our luggage off before going back to visit the park. By the time we got around to going into the park, it was about four in the afternoon (French time – we lost an hour going from England to France).

The Park

As you can imagine, getting into the park from the first gates takes some time; first you have to go through a baggage check area where your bag goes through a machine and you go through a metal detector. My dad set off alarms for having a watch and coins in his pocket, so they had to wave a wand-thing over his entire body and have him empty his pockets. Next, one you pass security, you have to walk up to where the actual Disney hotel is and you have to put your ticket in the machine to scan it – this lets you into the main park, and you’re free to roam!

Quick clarification on the layout of the park: it’s split into various areas. There’s Discoveyland, Fantasyland, Frontier-land, Adventureland, the main street…we weren’t there for long, so we didn’t get to see all of it, sadly.

Sunday in Disneyland Paris

When you first enter the actual park (as opposed to the Studio park), you come out onto a street full of shops; they sell the same things in every one, pretty much, but there are also restaurants too. If you walk straight up, you see Sleeping Beauty’s castle in the background – which, trust me, is a really amazing sight even in broad daylight.

My dad suggested that we take the train around the park to look around so that we knew the park areas, so we agreed – and the queue, guys, was insane. Let me tell you now, at Disneyland Paris you have to learn to either not let people push or you have to push yourself. People really don’t care for being polite, they just want to do things ASAP. We queued for the train for like an hour, being pushed by a seven year old and surrounded by screaming babies before getting on; we made it to two different stops before the ride stopped and the staff said they couldn’t run rides because of the parade. We decided, fuck it, and left the train to watch the parade.

We were late so we didn’t see a lot of the parade but we saw enough to appreciate it; my dad had a proper camera and got way better shots than I did on my phone, so I’ll have to see if I can share those soon. After the parade (I can’t even describe it, it was that amazing), we went to grab a drink and then decided we’d head out for some other rides.

Before the rides, my sister wanted to buy Minnie Mouse ears and I decided to get my BATB baseball cap because the sun was really bright and it covered my hair. We visited Sleeping Beauty’s castle, looking at the dragon underneath, and then headed off for Fantasy-land. We went on two rides in Fantasyland, on my sister’s request; the first was a little boat ride that took you around to look at mini-versions of scenes from famous fairy-tales. Ciara loved the Rapunzel one (Tangled is her favourite, she says) whereas I love the Beauty and the Beast one with Belle in her village. This would have been a lot more fun, had the ride not kept stopping (I think it was because people were struggling to climb in and out of moving boats). The second ride was a “junior train” based on Dumbo’s circus train, and that was fun whilst also being tame.

Then my mum had the wild and random idea of doing the “Star Wars” ride – by which she meant Hyperspace Mountain (I’m not sure if that’s the name – it was something like that). She was like, “Oh, I never do rollercoasters, I have to do it for the guys at work” so we were like “hm, okay, we already regret this but…”

THIS RIDE WAS TERRIFYING. Basically, you’re held in by those things you put over your shoulder and you go hurtling through the dark whilst stuff flashes and shoots, and you go really high before dropping all at once and upside and… By the end of it, my mum was sobbing with mascara running down her face, my dad was queasy and had to run to find a bench, and I was almost-certain that I had, in fact, shit my pants (I didn’t) whilst struggling to stand because the urge to vomit was too strong.

There’s a reason that ride is not for young children.

After this, we decided that we were going to take a break on the rides until the next day; we found out that at eleven each evening there was the Disney Illuminations show so we had to kill time before doing that. We ended up eating something at a food bar before wandering around and ending up in Frontierland – i.e. the wild west. My mum pissed about trying to find a cowboy hat whilst I checked out the cute plushes (I don’t care if I’m 19, the plushes were adorable). My mum ended up not buying a cowboy hat that evening because she was worried she’d look stupid (she did buy one later).

We settled down to watch the show at twenty-past-ten – and it was packed. People had literally sat and waited hours to claim the best positions, so we only got to see the upper bit from the side. I bought myself a glowing-night-sparkly-necklace-thing (you know how people wave those flickering lights about? Yeah, like that).

I’m going to talk about Disney Illuminations properly on the second night because we saw all of it on the second night, but it’s amazing in every sense of the word. It’s incredible. More on that later, however!

After the show, the park was closing – and the mad rush of 50, 000 (at least) people trying to push their way to the exit at once was terrifying. My dad and Ciara got separated from me and my mum several times. We somehow managed to fight our way all the way out and onto the first shuttlebus to get back to the hotel where we had a drink at the bar before going to bed.

Monday at Disneyland Paris

After we showered and had breakfast, we set off early again – it took ages, of course, to go through security and all that, but finally we were ready to go. We had established a day plan at Breakfast: head to Frontierland, start with Phantom Manner and work our way around.

Phantom Manor was a little bit of a wait but not too long; that was pretty fun – not terribly frightening when you’re my age and have been several times, but interesting nonetheless. My dad chickened out of going on the Thunder Mountain train, so me, my Mum and Ciara queued for just under an hour to go on that – we all agreed it was worth it, and we were all laughing and having fun by the end. It’s a ride where you’re on a train and hurtling around an abandoned mine, but it’s outside and you can get a little splashed (which, given the weather, was welcomed).

After this, my mum finally relented and bought a cowboy hat for herself; we had a go at the shooting range (Two euro a go) before getting more drinks and continuing on. Everyone wanted to try the new Pirates of the Caribbean ride, so we set off to find that, well aware that we’d probably have to queue for an hour.

And then, as I was walking past the lagoon, I saw Peter and Wendy from Peter Pan doing meet-and-greet.

I have wanted to meet Peter since I came to the park on the French immersion trip but I’ve never been able to. The line didn’t actually appear too long, so after bickering over it with my family I went to queue up alone; they waited in the shade, looking pissed as hell. My sister and dad left, in the end, while my mum waited to take a picture (begrudgingly, I might add).

I want to write about meeting Peter and Wendy in a separate post because I feel that it really deserves a separate post of its own.

After the meet-and-greet, my mum and I went to queue up for Pirates, and by this point my dad and sister were near the front so we were an hour behind. It was an okay ride, just log-flumes really, though apparently my sister and dad had a far more interesting experience because their ride stopped and ended up getting bumped repeatedly.

We met them afterwards, in the gift shop; by this time, we were all shattered, it was nearly four in the afternoon, and my sister kept begging to visit the restaurant “Annette’s” (a 50s styled diner). So we walked for half an hour, our feet killing us, all hot and sweaty and sticky, and got there – only to find that there was a queue just to be seated. It took another half an hour for us to be given a table, though after that the speed was pretty good.

My dad found an unattended bag in the men’s bathroom and had to tell security. The food was delicious, don’t get me wrong – but I ate far too much. I would have probably been fine, if not for the combination of the Coke float and the Cookie Dough Ice-cream sundae. (I got glutty, I know)

It was so bad that for the rest of the afternoon/evening I was a) constipated and b) had trapped wind. That sounds hilarious but it was in reality very painful.

We all did a bit of shopping, staying together for some of it and then splitting up for an hour before meeting at a bench facing the castle – it was 7:30 (I think?) and my dad and Ciara wanted to go back to the hotel to go to the bar; me and my mum wanted to stay for the Illumination show. In the end, we won out and we stayed – but we had to remain seated on that bench for three and a half hours. I darted off a few times to a) watch the Disney princesses dancing a short distance away (so did Ciara and my dad, to be honest), b) get a bottle of Coke and c) get popcorn. By the time I came back with popcorn, it was dark and it was impossible to get back to the bench without stepping on someone who was sitting down and waiting. After that, we had no choice but to stay at the bench.

In the end, it all paid off because we got an amazing view of the Disney Illuminations show!

Disney Illuminations

Starting at 11pm each night, it’s a show where clips of various Disney films and the like are projected onto Sleeping Beauty’s castle whilst music plays; there are also fireworks, fire bursts, water splashing/bursting…it’s amazing, well and truly.

I’m not sure I should be revealing the entire show on here because I saw it with no idea of what to expect, and it was amazing. I will tell you that there’s segments involving Mickey, The Lion King, The Little Mermaid, Finding Nemo, Pirates of the Caribbean, Beauty and the Beast (2017), Star Wars, Frozen and then a big finale. It’s about 20-30 minutes long. If you really want to watch it, then I’m sure it’s available on YouTube.

I will talk about the BATB section though because it made me tear up! I wrote a post in my notebook about why Belle is my favourite princess and why seeing Belle when I was little/growing up really impacted me (a girl who likes books? Dude, that’s me sold!) I loved the remake, perhaps more than the original in some ways, and besides that – seeing Emma Watson’s face projected on a Disney castle was a little too much for my overly-sensitive ass to handle, so I ended up crying during the whole thing (in a good way – it was beautiful).

Things I bought

I went with eight-five euro, and I have hardly any left because of how expensive everything is!

So the BATB cap I bought was €24.99 – I think I posted a picture earlier.

I bought the necklace lights which were €6 (I thought they were 10, so yay on that)

I bought a small Mickey plush for €17.99 – and he’s TINY. I dread to think what the massive over-sized ones cost.

Finally I bought a Limited Edition Beauty and the Beast pin for €13.99 – it’s a book with “Beauty and the Beast” written on the cover, and when you open it (like a locket), there’s a picture of Emma Watson as Belle inside.

All in all, I really enjoyed my holiday – I wish we could have stayed for longer but…alas, we booked pretty late. If we go again in the near future, I hope we book to go longer because there just wasn’t enough time for everything. :/

But other than that, I had fun! :D It was the break I feel I needed to get away from stuff, so hopefully in the future I’ll be a little more chilled about things.

#personal #disneyland #disney #Disneyland paris #pictures to come tomorrow

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the-eng-circle · 5 years

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#raglisurf #sex_lies_n_tapes #judges_complaints It's 20.12, 5:th of March 2019 and I have to "go offline" (out of money) - but I will come back and describe what todays hockey-judges CAN'T do in other contestants trousers/cages... see you! (A few minutes later..) I had a donation for yet another hour - so I decided to write an hour on what this picimage (Obelix - in Hockey-EM) will show for/in my own sub-si-diary-supported memory-book/-blog for this Thur's (my own) day/trip in/through Hell... IRA (SWE) - "MON-DAY" It started with "a shake on one of the lower decks" (there'as only the big 'n' balded ones go) and an "intrusion" like Hitchcock show as a grimreaping experience in the old film called "Psycho" (steam-shower-pic-image) that became a "struggle" of ropes, wicks and a matter if you make/swear an oath to the dew (all "e-dew-ca-tors" know what I mean) or NOT... (think "Mountain Dew" here, the pubsong by "The clancy Brothers" - like "Whiskey in The Jar"). It was 'explosive' several times - a "nuclear blast in an aquarium-tank" (or "a tomb that had NOT heared enough sound") can name the "incident" - at nights with more "K" than most american presidents ever seen before in their military riddik-oulus night-vision goggles ("...you know what they awoken"...) . I call it an "IRA-bombing" of something else than a simple garbage-bin... it was a whole room (ga-rage-sized) that exploded when that "terrorist" pushed his button a few times - INSIDE my own hand/skin and with the words "Loves nature is no more!" following the repeated clicks with my shoemaker-thumb... one wrathful reaction of many was started that year with intrusions followed after another. The-y didn't succeeded with their breaking of my mind, but a research of my "brain-pattern" and testing of Love's limits were repeatedly coming back to my mind. You can see it as the X-Men's research-facility in Rivendell, a "Bjorn" were trying to make one of his guys a new skeleton... "baptism in a fiery aquarium-tank" and "hell-raising" with a negative facial-plate is another. "Gay-pigs!" Al Pacino cried to them who invaded his bodybuilding with black arts (or red/yellow "ants"). That period was the first hellraiser-attack, I call it "Mon-day" ("Mo" is a fine sand, heathen or "immoral music"/crickets for a Mose) and a "bath of roses", Rosenbath, the name on the swedish parliament was no garden of roses or "a rosegarden" promised from any lovable creature - it was a "piraya-stew" or fish-rince and gum everywere. Anyone that "entered my domain" was a "Jesus-whore", a "sacrifical-moral victim", a "backstabber" that refused to fight myself like a man. Another Volbeat song - "Pool of Booze, Booze, Booza". In Sweden anti-psychiatry and anti-anti-psychiatry (regular psychiatry) was having a IRA-terror-cell and I accuse Bin-Beaff for the repeated attacks at my homeshelter, bed and showerroom - the steam was sometimes hot and the volume noone can have any complaints about, it should've been heard what that homo-devil was diminished into (a nob must have been evesdropping in my surrounding). "He" wanted me to write that the kingdom of Sweden was in a "psychi-o-cratic coupe de'tat" - but I responded (loudly) with that "he" has to declare that himself... "-"She"'s always a woman to me", as Billy Joel would sing it. After I left my "snowy-mountain nord" I had a terrible Tuesday - I arrived in Spain in May and there ETA did wait, just to eat myself up... I had to change tactics... ...more to come... now this internet-store closes... ETA (ESP) - "TU-ES-DAY" Now, it's the day after the above written... here I can describe what happened in Spain (northern, the Basque-region), during the period of nine months 2017-2018 (May-Feb). The most abstract pattern is that I was drying "pieces of sheets" outdoors, in a "revolving parasollic form" as the "tor(-k)-ken" and it's movements can be called when you hang them in a villa's backyard. For nine months I was moving around in San Sebastian.... for nothing... no law, no protection from UN and it's so called "human rights", living on €3.00 in donations per day. And with all that can be read in what I written about these harrasments towards a Finbull's headoffice... with which at three "winters" the so called "Hell on Earth" are awoken. I write this in my third "winter-time" now. "Political abusement" is another "socialistic term" for the intrusions to a man's mind/home/economy. "Throwing rocks" is yet another to a "Sauna-father" who's done this before - you have to "love yourself" as Justin B sings... don't enter the Bear's domain as a "Bi-bear"... that's NOT enough in the "Holy War" (which of course is FOR love - NOT against it/him...it's always a man...it's all about manhood and it's several generation-shifts). The woman can only become a "pro-miss" in these war-battles out in the world - the war isn't FOR(e) her as a woman at all. I'm now in my wo-mb-fight - and that is the worst of "mothers" and "pro-misses"...it's a catfight, a dragon-ring and a lot of demons "attached" to such a board-game. Being the "B-ord" and turning a 5-masteras you becomes, all by yourself in full storm is a lot of things, ropes, strops, sail-cloths, decks, cargo-chests, keelhauls for self-service to your own fathership and holding on to your reality-conception all the time - needs a few "spanish salutes" from the different "canon-decks"... ...it is "fighting natural attacks" - that doesn't belong to yourself even. You're attacked by a ghostship that belongs to another. To resurrect the fathership when it's no where to be found, is a REAL "Hell on Earth-experience". All there is to offer as your self-help when it's a time of a "regressed reality by fantasies" (science-fiction rules the world-culture) is "self- (or forced-) medication". You need to be able to "create"... ...and to be a "turner of tides" you need alot of "lone-time" in your lifehistory, been recreative and re-schooled yourself into do it again - with words... against your own life-wishes or "free will". You're unvoluntarily put into a hell-mode and under a "scientific experiment" - which is the safest way of killing a rival to a leading "ideology/religion". I went atleast 40 000 steps DOWNWARDS in Donostia/San Sebastian, like in a spiral-staircase - for no use... ...EXCEPT for that of forcing the intruder of my helmet deep down (and out) into a "nether region" where "he" belongs. Like on a gyproc-screw, you then turn around the "wall" and take your household/bags and start walking north/upwards again... hopefully to a more language-friendly region (like british isles for my school english to be more understood) where "rule by law" exists. THAT was on the other hand a BIG/HUGE dissapointment later, in London, Great Britain. ...I come back and write some about my third experience, the NMR (Nordic Resistance Movement) and their "doings" here in Italy later - I have to "earn" some more euros to be able to "write something off my back" - it's rare to be able to write nowadays... it's costly (in comparison to wifi and my ex-mobilephones on cafès for example) - I now pay €1.50/hour just to be able to create some of what happends in the "italian ditch-warfare". It's VERY costly when you need both nurishment to your bodyfunctions and the ability to continously write the sub-si-diary-support online. Bye for now! NMR (ITA) - "WED-NES-DAY" Yet another day, "Giovedi" or "Thursday" as the english language call this week-day. It's 7:th of March and today I tell-us a little bit of the time in the third region of this hell-ride ("down-and-up") on what I also call "my day", Thur's-day - I, who have the "judge's hammer" of my own geographical region... and it's not a carpenting-hammer ("he" always want to remind myself of his personal presence). After the "football-experience" in Lille (before I left it) and the soccer-interests in London I declared myself belong more to the icehockey-region opf the world - something I understand is created after the "ability" or desire to "kick the ball" in "no-man's land", where "freedom of speach" is said t exist, but no laws can protect you instead. On the icehockey-arena I'm a headjudge (with the crystal-bowl-visir, sheriff-jacket/-sweater and the armbands for the experience of a true pinocchio-suit/slaugther-room-experiences). As NMR (Nordic Resistance Movement - the racistic resisitance movement upnorth they say) hit myself I will be the goalkeeper, the one that keep his goals - or "the goal-guard-ner" in my own "pocket" so to say - a region where other demand to become domain-owners. I have my small little garden (not a promised "rosegarden" that either - referring to a song from the past) and my two unique "horns" that I never "let down"... ...they're two "flank-men" that never will be forgotten, the posters that now have expanded to 4 x A3-newsposters. The wind on the other hand, have greater wishes to "overthrow the truth" now and then - but that's a homo-lordship with an addiction to the blue ring of wind (an "insider" without a parenthood projects it towards myself). As a "goalie" you "scratch the surface" on what is needed to say - as a true DJ - and the "barfights" are NOT attached to any elephant-nose (listen to the song attached below) - there's a "knife" to behead intrue-doers in a goal-guard-ner's own goalgarden... a knife in size of a mountain in branded clubs like "Mont-Real" or amed that "hoe" as in the "Ko-Ho"-branded one. Here in Italy, nazis has made their presence as the ones that NOT wish myself re-appear up north (in the "collectively unconscienseness") - they say in their "political pamfletts" they wish to "paternalise and send home" foreigners or those who NOT swear allegience to their "king" in parties like Swedish Democrats (SD) - or something like that. It's a constant struggle to "counter-strike" the negativity in swed-ish, "teleporting" (use of a homo-cahannel somewhere), telepathy and telekinesis - the different ways of make/control one as a "Pinocchio-doll"/"Pajas-suit" or being possessed with a homolord's ("king" Herod's) "royal dress", mentioned in the bible's Newer Testament. It's supposed to redicule you outside... ...I, on the other hand, is the one making the humour in my "given" suit - just to put the dolls inside to sleep... or to "night-quarter" them as I mentioned up in London's "Steward's Consession". I love unconditionally my homo-enemies until Death do us part.... that is my mission/purpose, as being a Charon on Styx over to Death's Hades and being "driven" as/into becoming a "chariot of/in fire" in psychiatry. Added 8 of March 2019: I am ONE with my "cage", the-y have put in an videocamera, exchanged the original headjudge (myself) with a newbie who has to go for the judges-booth and look at that old VHS-hitmovie named Sex, Lies and Videotapes... over and over again. This inlay/post was a part of my "complaints" on/to todays "judges" (or to "headjudge" himself) who these modern days aren't that skilled. Like nightly house-interragations by conquistadors from dark ages (tries to collect "wood" are made as branches in size of Harry P's "witch-finger" is called "kvistar" in swedish) - but this door is pretty stubborn as Burger King called it in a humorous way on their "PULL"-sign on their entrance door. Don't pull "Rope" himself though (like in english rope-pulling in a "pig-ditch" as battersea once were), he is from asia and sumo-wrestling in yet another "ring" isn't new to aesir-divinities from upnorth (N-ord) - they herritage from asia. I will say I "landed" in psychiatry back in old dungeon and dragon-times.... avading slavery in the nether regions - slavery is a temptation the "dragon ring" once have made a trio create, in their "wonderous" mechanical patterns. The western astrology's dragon-lure is the scorpio-weakness - let's take the old Bullfighter (the cowboy starsign) from an "unexpected angle" - why not "over his own head" and that poision a scorpio has go towards your head - and are filled with what is knows as black arts - black illnesses included. It's hell geting out of it - I say "good luck to you", these "injections" is now the new threat to the Earths populations - one pattern is to "run it off"... but that is my "unique horn" fighting Capricorn's "aid" to his "black lamb" in psychiatry - and to force that intru-der ("in-truth-dies" in swe) out of my head, where he definitively is UN-invited... those within UN who are believers of "scientism" or "to cut" or "divide" as an UN-conscious (or broken) conscience is, when "-science" is their only/solely conviction/religion. All these above is my "complaints" to above mentioned "headjudge" - who think he's snable-camera is wanted in every cage/chest everywhere. How (except a depletion of psychiatry as the (soft) gingerbread ringformed sugercake remind myself of - one of grandmother's favourites to serve and protect with at the swedish feeka-table from old times, a "Mount Doom-memory" that it's possible to remake) I would fix this I don't know... ...but some "markings" made by Fraud-O and his ring ("crop-circles" for myself as being on my Viking-sleighride at cold war-times) will be his own fault as Professional or "Specialist-" Doctor in state governmental psychological warfares. Even on old Roman grounds... doing some "final acts" according to "a manual" or "usual routines" when a Rudolf is "going down". And he himself NOT being a "clown-believer" - but the "Incredible Houdini" in his own so rest-raining-jacket... under my ice skating rink level. Then in his "mirror-image-world" of his own man/mouse-af-fair in a "sockel", in a house's ground or under the "stairway/stepstool" from another mother (JK Rowling's "adoptive one" maybe). Over and out! 250 Kg Kaerlek/Love - Naken/Nude https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EHNcK7mglN4 LYRICS ENG I was iceskating beneath The Westbridge in belief that the ice was thick but so wasn't the case so I went down in a hole in the ice when I lay there and cried a dude came I cried to him "-Help me up!" but was not what he did. He undressed himself to nudity and jumped down into my "icy hole" And he said: -Oh, oh, it feels so good to be nude to swing the snable and "wag the dog" ...(more "transference" to come) LYRICS SWE Jag åkte skridskor under västerbron i tron att isen var tjock men det var den inte, så jag plumsa ner i en vak När jag låg där och skrek så kom en man Jag ropa "Hjälp mig opp!" men det gjorde inte han. Han klädde av sig naken och hoppa ner i vaken. Och sa: åh, åh vad det är skönt å va naken Svänga me snabeln och vicka pa baken En sommarkväll hade vårat gäng fest vid stadens simbassäng. Alla var glada, nakna och fulla. En del var faktiskt jättefulla. Men när vi tömde bassängen och fyllde på med isen för att kyla bärsen, ja då kom polisen. Och dom haffa miiig. Dom sa "Dig håller vi kvar, får vi höra ditt försvar?" jag sa: åh, åh vad det är skönt å va naken Svänga me snabeln och vicka på baken Jag åkte till Åland å handla sprit å då åkte jag dit i tullen Dom trodde visst jag var terrorist och letade långt upp i tarmen. Ett finger gick ju bra, men inte hela armen. Å dom hitta lite grann, så dom leta lite mer Så frågar dom varför jag står här och ler? Jag svara: åh, åh vad det är skönt å va naken Svänga me snabeln och vicka på baken åh, åh vad det ar skönt å va naken Svänga me snabeln och vicka på... Åhhh, åhh, åhhhhhh... Åh, åh vad det är skönt å va naken Svänga me snabeln och vicka på baken

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jaegerandmikeineurope · 5 years

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Travel to and Day One in Paris

Our final morning in London was quite uneventful, after a couple of full on days and with Mike coming down with a cold we just took it easy at the apartment, sleeping in a bit and taking our time with getting everything packed up. At 10.40am we were out the door and after two short tube rides we had arrived at the St Pancras International train station.

We went through security into the general waiting area where I used up the rest of our cash pounds buying us a lunch of mac & cheese, cokes and a chocolate chip cookie. We have been a picture of health this holiday.

Our train was called and we headed up for boarding. It was a struggle lifting up our heavy suitcases on the train, but we managed and got them safely tucked away in the racks and took our seats. The train ride went really quickly, only taking around 2 hours and 15 minutes. We spent the time either reading or watching the French countryside roll on by. It was cool to think about how we were travelling underground under the English Channel however in my head I was expecting to see the water just before we would plunge below.

It was not like that.

We arrived at the Paris Gare du Nord train station which was massive with hundreds of people coming and going. Following the signs, we made our way to the underground Metro station which was initially very confusing and we struggled to find our correct platform. However after 5 minutes of panicking searching we found it and hopped on our first train. A couple of stops later we made our connection onto a two-storey train which was very cool. We hopped off this train and made it to our accommodation.

Our accommodation is in a somewhat new area, meaning there is a mixture of traditional Paris buildings and “newer” designs. Our building is a little on the older side. Fortunately there is a lift in our building, meaning we Mike didn’t have to lug our suitcases up two flights of stairs. The apartment is a bit smaller than our London one, as it only consists of a bathroom, kitchen, bedroom and closet for the washing machine and dryer. It’s very quaint and will suit us perfectly for our time here but a few little updates/changes would have made us feel a bit more comfortable. The Airbnb host will hear all about my ideas when I write a review after I leave.

Upon arriving, we immediately got settled in the apartment and tried to put a load of washing on. After me sitting in front of the machine for about 15 minutes trying to use the Google translate app and trying to search for the instruction manual online for this ancient machine, I was having no luck. The button to turn on the machine was not sticking and was only working if I held the button down manually - which I was not about to do for an hour and a half cycle. I asked the Airbnb host, who lives below us, to come up and try to assist and she said she was on her way.

45 minutes later she graced us with her presence, she is an American woman who told us that she had never had issues with the machine before and tried to make a joke about if I was expecting her, and American woman, to know how to use a European washing machine, then I was mistaken. I didn’t find it funny, and thought that considering she owns the place, she should know how everything works within it. Nevertheless, we came up with a hack solution - taping a cork over the button to keep the pressure in place.

With the machine now running, Mike and I set off to try and find a grocery shop. It was after 8pm and the sun had only just gone down, which felt super weird as it made it seem like it was only early in the evening. We found a grocery nearby and picked up a few essentials and some gnocchi and neopolitana sauce for dinner. Back in our apartment we cooked dinner, had showers (where the hot water kept coming in and out) and put the finished washing in the dryer. Very fortunately, I found 50 euros wedged in between some metal inside the dryer - cha-ching! This certainly made up for the stressful day we had had. Once the dryer was finished we went to bed.

We woke up this morning around 7am and expected to have a somewhat quiet day given that Mike is struggling with a head cold and we wanted to take it easy after the rush of London. Instead we had one of our busiest days yet, and set a new record for the number of steps done in a day - 27,480 - while our other days have been more around the 20,000 mark.

We headed out the door this morning to begin our day with a walk along the Seine River to visit the Eiffel Tower. We arrived at the tower to see that the ground below it had changed quite dramatically from the time that I had last been here to see it. The base is now completely surrounded by a wall of glass or metal with security checkpoints to enter the area. Mike and I went through security and walked underneath the tower and saw that there wasn’t yet a huge crowd waiting to go up. It was a beautiful clear day so we decided to join the queue to go up to the top of the tower.

A short wait later and we were in the first lift to go up to the second level. The view was amazing and we could see all over Paris and the beautiful symmetry of the park that lies right next to the tower. After spending some time on the second level, we got in the next elevator up to the top. Again it was a wonderful view and we were able to spot some of the other iconic landmarks of Paris.

We finished up at the Eiffel Tower and decided to go for a walk around the large park that is next to the tower, we made our way past all the men trying to sell Eiffel Tower keychains who now hang out right outside the doors of the exit from the Eiffel Tower enclosure, and past all the scammers trying to get your email address. We walked to the end of the park and saw the École Militaire building which was covered in bullet holes from the war.

We then started walking through the streets in search of a Patisserie, which didn’t take us long to find. Mike got an eclair while I had a cream and strawberries matchstick - both of which were delicious. I, like my father before me, had ordered a cake that was difficult to eat without a plate and a fork. So Mike and I went back to the park to sit on a bench and eat our goodies. I managed to get cream and icing sugar everywhere but I ate my matchstick in pure bliss.

Mike and I next walked back towards the tower and to the other side of the river to visit the Palais de Chaillot. We admired the building with its large bronze statues and columns, before deciding to head off in the direction of the Arc de Triomphe.

We walked through the streets admiring all the beautiful old buildings and came to the Arc. We watched the many cars navigating the roundabout and felt so anxious witnessing all the near misses and the general chaos. We made our way through the underpass to get closer to the Arc and didn’t see much of a crowd so decided to head up to the top. We purchased our tickets and climbed up the seemingly never-ending spiral staircase and emerged into the museum foyer. After a brief look around we went to the top and were again impressed with another view of Paris. I think this one was my favourite perspective, being lower down you get to see more detail in all the buildings, and considering the Arc is the centrepoint where many streets shoot off from, it shows the geometric city blocks.

We climbed down another set of spiral stairs and had a bit of a rest at the bottom of the Arc, taking in all of the magnificent detail and the sheer size of the landmark. From here we decided to take a walk down the Champs Elysees and pop into a McDonalds for lunch where we would regroup and decide what we wanted to do for the rest of the day.

We had initially thought about heading back to the apartment to rest a bit, but this plan was quickly thrown out the window as we began discussing all the different things we wanted to do in Paris, so we decided to cram in a few more destinations before the day was out - the Pantheon and the Catacombs.

We walked down the Champs Elysees further and I got momentarily distracted by the Galeries Lafayette shopping centre where we stopped in for a moment before realising I should come back to do this rather than interrupt our afternoon mission. We continued down the street until basically the end where we hopped onto the Metro in the direction of the Pantheon.

The Pantheon was truly impressive, with it’s huge dome and gigantic columns. We purchased our tickets and headed inside where we were blown away by the scale of the building and the intricate paintings and marble details. We walked around for a while, and watched in the centre of the building this pendulum as it swung around. This was a recreation of an experiment conducted by physicist Léon Foucault in 1851 to prove that the Earth is in constant rotation.

We then headed below into the crypt where we walked past many tombs of iconic French people including Pierre and Marie Curie. The passage ways in the crypt were very cool, with their curved ceilings and circular design, we felt like we should be in a movie. We finished up at the Pantheon and headed out to walk to the catacombs.

We took a slight detour to the Luxembourg Gardens which were beautiful. There was a large fountain, beautiful flowers and so many perfect rows of trees. The Luxembourg Palace was another beautiful historic building that overlooked the garden. Mike and I walked through the gardens thinking that it would be great to come back here with a pastry to just sit and chill out.

We continued our walk to the catacombs and after about 20 minutes we arrived to our destination, only to see a massive queue out the door and a sign saying that the time estimate for the queue was about an hour long. It was now 5.30pm in the afternoon and we were feeling pretty zonked, so we decided to skip the wait for the catacombs and head home, and would instead come back to visit on another day.

We caught the metro train home, which felt like it took no time at all. Everything in Paris is so close together so the time between stops is only ever a couple of minutes. We headed back to our apartment where we have just been resting our feet and chilling out all evening, foregoing dinner and instead just having chocolate and ice cream.

I told you we’ve been a picture of health this holiday.

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