regarde-moi, je vais partir

(title from Le Tres-Bas, Christian Bobin)

One month ago, exactly, I was in the air flying over the Atlantic Ocean, after arriving at Charles de Gaulle much too early and spilling coffee on my carefully planned “plane outfit”. Knowing that I was going to surprise Niamh and Megan and that dad would probably film the event and consequently upload the video to the internet, I had to look my best after an eight-hour transatlantic flight. My worries about airport immigration and overweight bags, and even my appearance, were quickly conquered, and when I passed through the glass double doors that led out to Arrivals and dad’s face, the five months I spent in Paris rapidly took their place at the back of my mind.

The next few days were a blur of ‘break a leg’, ‘congratulations’, and ‘welcome home’. After seeing Niamh and Megan in their recital (admittedly through a haze of jetlag), Niamh’s graduation came and went, with aunts and uncles coming and going, lots of delicious home-cooked meals out on the deck, and the warmth of family & friends that I’d missed for a long time. I didn’t miss the humidity of Bucks County, but summer nights surrounded by the people I love were lovely to come home to.

Studying abroad presented challenges in finding a job for the summer, especially as I’d wanted to go beyond the gated walls of the Lower Makefield Township pool, where I’ve spent the last seven summers as a lifeguard. It was hard to land interviews, however, when I informed potential employers of my transatlantic location. Apparently phone interviews are out of the question most of the time.

After two weeks of relaxing at home, I begrudgingly took the few hours the management at the pool had allotted me, and sat at the front gate swiping membership cards, quite upset that such an amazing five months had left me sweating profusely in the sun, my skin sticking to an imitation leather desk chair. And then, quite unexpectedly, an interview presented itself, and a week and a half later, I was driving into Philadelphia for my first day at Night Kitchen Interactive, a small design firm in Society Hill. I’m not sure how I got here or why I was chosen for this summer internship, but I feel lucky every day to be here. The office is amazing and the people at Night Kitchen are really interesting, smart, dynamic individuals. I’m doing research for an interactive exhibit at the University of Michigan Museum of Art, and I’ve already learned a lot. It can be dull to sit in front of a computer for eight hours a day, but I’m getting paid and I’m just happy to be gaining some experience.

After calculating gas prices and tallying up thirty-five dollars a day in parking fees, I decided to invest in a weekly train pass from SEPTA.

My daily morning commute takes about an hour and fifteen minutes, but taking the train and subway (the El) every day has brought to mind certain things I never thought I’d miss about la vie parisienne. The Philadelphia subway system doesn’t have that nutty warm smell that the metro stations emit. People chat on the train into work, and make phone calls without nervously glancing around. I’ve found myself averting my eyes multiple times as I walk to work, instead of greeting strangers with a friendly smile—no doubt evoking negativity.

This morning, the metro, a commuter-friendly, international publication featured a tiny article on Sarkozy’s visit to Israel, and the worship Carla Bruni receives from many Israelis. Had I been reading metro in Paris, Sarkozy would have been not only on the cover, but probably five other places as well.

I miss Paris. It’s not one specific aspect of life in France, but so many things that made up my experience there. The food played a large part of course, as did the people and the language, but even after learning how to behave in public spaces, the elusive nature of Parisians in public was something I came to appreciate. I’m sure summer tourism is in full swing over there—I’m glad I got to see the city as more of a local and was able take advantage of fewer crowds and free entry at many museums, something unheard of in the summer months.

As I take in Philadelphia on a daily basis now, I’ve really come to love this city, practically in my backyard. It could never be what Paris is, but I don’t know if anywhere in the world could compare. Still, the culture, food, and people of Philadelphia constantly surprise me; I’m just thankful that I can still lead a relatively metropolitan life (for the summer at least), and I hope that I’ll be fortunate enough to land in an international city at some point in my grown-up life.

And if that international city is Paris, I’ll be the luckiest grown-up in the world.

the wheels on the bus go round and round...

The tour buses have started rolling into town. Every day, buses from the Czech Republic, or Spain, or even Germany. When my friend Wil was in town, we debated hopping onto a EuroLines bus and going anywhere for a few days, but time got away from us.

Now that high tourist season has arrived, I think I'm beginning to reconcile with the fact that I'm going home. The metro is too hot, the lines at sandwich shops are too long, and there are too many cameras around.

Yes, I think that when May 30th rolls around, I'll be ready.

somewhere in-between.

Last night, I found one of my favorite places in Paris.

I met up with Amanda, a girl from my program, after a failed attempt at doing some final assignments before exams. She had been out with a classmate and her classmate's very affectionate French boyfriend (see: previous entry); I offered her some relief from the public making out, and we headed down to the quay along the Seine.
The weather during the past fifteen days has been absolutely sublime. It took a turn for the worse, however, as the week came to a close, and the thunderstorms and grey clouds rolled in during the day yesterday. By 10pm, the rain had ceased, the ground had dried a bit, and the crowds returned to their perches in parks, on bridges, and along the river, cheap bottles of wine in hand.

A man with a guitar, who I had seen last week when Wil visited, was singing "Dust in the Wind", and a crowd had started to gather up and down the steps. As the audience became more numerous, the man got more excited, and soon, he had everyone-- tourists, locals, old, young, musical, tone-deaf-- clapping and singing along to Oasis, The Beatles, and a whole laundry list of crowd-pleasers that I have since written down, for future reference.

As I sat there with Amanda, a bottle of red wine nestled between us on the concrete steps, I looked up to my left, and there was Notre Dame, illuminated in the inky blue sky. To my right, just over the bank and behind the large leafy tree, Shakespeare & Company had just closed its shutters (to the public, at least) for the night. And all around me, the spirit of Paris burst out.

A massive monument recognizable the world over, a dynamic and personal space I've come to know and love even more than before, and the people who can't help falling in love with Paris-- all of it was just too well-planned.

cynicism in the city of "love"

The success of my post-spring-break/pre-summer fitness routine owes a lot to the weather of late. We've had nothing less than 75 degrees, clear skies, and sun every day since Saturday. With a five day weekend beginning tomorrow, I couldn't be in a better mood.

My daily run takes me to Parc Monceau, which lies just inside the eighth arrondissment, at the border where the 8th and 17th meet. It's a beautiful park and I'm lucky to have something so convenient in which to run so close by.

In the winter months, on my usually twice-weekly jog, I found the park to be almost empty and even closed a few times. Now, the lawns have been awakened from their winter "repose" and are open to use for picnics, studying, and taking in the sun. It's been interesting to see how the general demeanor of my neighborhood has changed since spring arrived. There are the usual nannies texting on their cellphones as little white, blonde children in matching linen dresses run around the playground, and on weekends, the handsome dads and pregnant mothers take over for their nannies, eating sandwiches and offering their children juice boxes in the shade.

And then, there are the couples.

I'm not a cynic, and although I may at present have a biased perspective, I'll champion Cupid's cause 'til the very end. Paris has been known as not only the City of Light, but La Ville d'Amour too, and in the spring, this seems to apply not to the romantic cafes spilling out onto the sidewalks, or the Tour Eiffel lights on a warm night. The City of Love has become the City of Public Displays of Affection.

My daily run allows me the pleasure of observing each group of people on each bench I pass as I circulate the park's circumference. More often than not, the aforementioned green benches are taken over by tangled limbs and faces pressed close together, often not kissing at all, just touching. On the grass behind and before the benches, teenagers and middle-aged pairs alike lie supine, holding hands, or one's head in the other's lap. They whisper (I assume) sweet nothings into each other's hair, pressing their faces together all the while. Occasionally during the three-hour embrace, they tear themselves apart to smoke a cigarette, or fix each other's hair.

It actually makes me laugh.

The other day, I saw a group of five people, probably around 16 years of age. There were three girls and a couple, presumably all friends. The three girls stood patiently, not talking, as the couple passionately embraced to say yet another long goodbye until they smoked cigarettes with each other no more than three hours later. If I, even as a girlfriend myself, had to stand by while my friend made out with her boyfriend before parting for the afternoon, I wouldn't stand for it. And I certainly wouldn't impose such a thing on my friends.

I realize I may be revealing myself to be so not a parisienne, but if being truly French means completely attaching oneself to a significant other from the age of fourteen, I'm content to have giggled at a quick kiss on the cheek at an eighth-grade dance.

les vacances, the second: prague, vienna, milan

Although a flat tire in the middle of Hungary seems like the worst thing that could ever possibly happen, and although it seemed that at the time, within fifteen minutes, we were back on the road. Who knew that a Czech student bus company would be so good with repairs?
We pulled into Prague slightly ahead of schedule, much to our surprise, and within half an hour, we were sitting at a McDonald's, gorging on value meals and catching up with Rob. We made our way back to his residence building, where the woman on duty who was about 80 million years old told us that there was no reservation for the night, only to find a sheet of paper right behind her that stated otherwise. She instructed us to pay the next day, then sent us on our way with our room key.
We didn't pay the next day, and as the secretary's office was closed all weekend, thought we'd get away with not paying at all. On Friday, we had plans to meet up with Justin Quinn, a professor at Charles University who did a semester of teaching at Villanova last year. He's an Irish ex-pat living and teaching in Prague, and went to Blackrock College in Dublin, meaning he probably played rugby against Dad. Coll and I had both taken a creative writing class with him, and after emailing to let him know we'd be visiting Prague, he offered to take us out for lunch at a "suitably disreputable Czech pub". We feasted on meat and potatoes, and were schooled in the art of Czech beer, enriched with vitamins.
It rained the entire time we were in Prague, until the moment we had to leave.
Rob did a great job of playing tour guide, and it was really nice to be playing the tourist for once, after being the tour guide so frequently with visitors coming to Paris. Although some of the history lessons were a little lost on me after a while, Prague is a beautiful city, despite the rain.
On Saturday morning, Coll and I found ourselves at a restaurant called Cafe Radost, where we feasted on a full vegetarian breakfast, complete with fruit salad. Any fresh fruits or vegetables were a treat at that point! That night, we paid the equivalent of $1.50 to see a performance of Mozart's Don Giovanni, which premiered in Prague, where Mozart was locked up until he finished writing the opera. The movie Amadeus was also filmed in Prague, so we got to see a lot of the buildings featured in the movie. The opera was great; at intermission, since our tickets only got us standing room, we scoped out empty seats and grabbed three together at the very front of the balcony. Delighted with ourselves, we took lots of photos of our VIP seats, only to be kicked out of them five minutes later by a very friendly (not), elderly Czech couple with tickets, who apparently had no problem showing up halfway through the performance.
After the opera ended, we searched the city for ice-cream and unfortunately ended up at McDonald's once again. We waited in line for about 20 minutes and had almost reached the register when a leggy blonde dressed in silver pushed her way to the front, and sat on the counter. Needless to say, neither we nor the group of large British men behind us were impressed. After canoodling with her American boyfriend/customer for about ten minutes, the manager kindly informed her that she would not be receiving her food unless she climbed down. She eventually did, but not without some really hilarious comments from the Brits.
Sunday saw the end of our time with Rob, and as we made our way downstairs with our duffel bags that just seemed to keep on getting heavier, we threw our room keys on the entryway desk and ran out the door, hoping to avoid having to pay altogether. The woman angrily tapped on the window and we made our way back inside, utterly disgusted that our plan had failed.
After paying and lunch at "Bohemia Bagel", we bid farewell to Rob and boarded yet another bus, which would take us to Vienna. Once we crossed the border, the bus was stopped by "border patrol", and although Coll's passport was underneath with her luggage, the police didn't seem to mind. Long live the E.U.

We checked into our hostel on Sunday night, and found ourselves pretty tired, so we relaxed with some beer and a game of Scrabble, during which I used all my letters and a Triple Word Score to become the Scrabble Queen, but only that once. Colleen's friend Will, who we had also hung out with in Budapest and Prague, managed to get a room in the same hostel, so we sat and chatted with him for a while before heading to bed.
The first order of business on Monday, as the sun streamed into our 8-bed dorm room, was to wander in search of flip-flops. Our limited baggage had limited our footwear options, as well as the fact that the constant rain had ruined Coll's shoes. Twenty minutes down the road, in classic European style, we found about 80 H&Ms, where cheap flip-flops & skirts were purchased and donned with glee.
Vienna was really beautiful. The weather was glorious and the buildings are absolutely magnificent, but I found myself a little bored by the time we had circled the Hapsburg Palace for the third time. We snacked on apple strudel in the afternoon, and eventually decided to buy a bottle of wine and settle in the park for an hour or two. It was really relaxing; I think by that point, our energy was running low. We bought some pasta in an effort to save money, and sort of made spaghetti carbonara, but the brand of ham we used had a distinct hot dog flavor, which sort of ruined the taste a bit.
We got up early the next morning so that we could get tickets to see the morning rehearsal of the famous Spanish Riding School, where Lipizzaner horses are trained to jump around and dance. We had to be quite pushy to purchase our tickets, much to the disgust of people in line around us. The rehearsal itself was decent, but we didn't stay for the full three hours, and went instead for a coffee at Cafe Central, where Trotsky hung out and apparently Hitler first started to write Mein Kampf. Lovely environment. After a failed attempt to find Beethoven's apartment, we grabbed lunch and then I visited the Fine Arts Museum while Coll went to an Architecture exhibit. Back at the hostel, we napped for three hours before eating weinerschnitzel at a little corner place down the street from where we stayed. Will left us for Italy, and Coll and I attempted another Scrabble game which was interrupted by a pompous French boy from Lyon. Amends were made when we met a really amusing Swedish girl. We chatted with her for a few hours, got some recommendations for our trip to Milan, and then collapsed into bed.

We arrived in Milan on Wednesday afternoon, after a slightly delayed flight and some overpriced airport food. The sun continued to shine, and we found ourselves at Hotel ABC by 6:00-- slightly more expensive accommodation, but for our own room and a free breakfast, it was worth it. We were also lucky enough to stay right next to the Duomo, one of the main sights in the city.
We feasted on pizza and red wine, followed by gelato, and sat back in our chairs, marveling that we were finally in Italy. It was a great place to end our trip, as things felt more familiar.
We were up early the next morning, as we'd purchased train tickets to go to Verona for the day. Before arriving in Milan, many people had not had good things to say about the city, and for the real Italian "experience", we thought that buying a cheap train ticket was a good idea. On a recommendation from the ticket girl at the train station, Verona would be "very beautiful" so off we went.
And beautiful it was.
Somewhere between the two aperitivos, ancient buildings, and sunshine, we found exactly what we were looking for: a day of genuine Italian life. We strolled around, felt completely at ease to see whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted. As Verona is the famed setting for Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, the city reaps the benefits by claiming one of their buildings as her house, and the walls leading into the courtyard are covered in graffiti proclaiming all sorts of lovers' vows. I'd been to Verona before, just briefly, to see Carmen performed in the ancient arena, and a visit to Juliet's house then proved very different. It's since been cleaned up and renovated, and just wasn't the same.
We ate delicious pasta and pizza for dinner in one of the piazza, then wandered to the train station in search of a train back to Milan. Our tickets were open, so we could take whichever train we wanted, but apparently not the high-speed ones, as we were promptly kicked off our chosen locomotive into the Italian countryside. As a train zoomed past us on the platform, we feared we'd never see Hotel ABC again, but the next train was for us, and we got back to Milano Centrale in one piece. After a nerve-wracking, expensive cab ride back to the hotel, we climbed into foreign beds for the last time.

Our flights out of Milan weren't until the late afternoon on Friday, so we took some time to see more of the city before catching the shuttle to the "budget airport". It was another beautiful day, and although we had to make another dreaded trip to the ATM, soaking up the Italian sun with a delicious cafe latte in my belly was a really great feeling.
Colleen's flight left about an hour before mine, and RyanAir wouldn't let me check in at the same time as her, so we killed some time at Bergamo's only cafe before hugs goodbye. It's strange to think that in a matter of weeks, we'll both be back in America, hanging out like we always did, and not running around Europe, experiencing new things, new food, and new currency.

I was really glad to get back to Paris, even though the trip was fantastic; I wouldn't have traded it for the world. As I took the escalator up towards Rue de Naples, after a lengthy shuttle ride from Beauvais, outside the city, the air smelled different. I looked around, and the few people on the streets weren't wrapped up in woolly scarves for once.

Spring has arrived. I have very little time left here, and it's starting to scare me. I had thought about going to Nice for the weekend, as we have 5 days off starting on Thursday (just when I needed another break!), but Paris has so much to offer that I have yet to take advantage of. I can't say I'll hate to leave; I'll be glad to go home, of course, back to the comforts of being with my family and friends in Pennsylvania. But I'll sure miss Paris.

les vacances, the first: dublin, london, budapest

Well, I survived. On the shuttle from Milan's central train station to the airport yesterday, Colleen and I debriefed the past 12 days, laughing about currency exchange, flat tires, hostel experiences, and everything in-between. I think both of us are surprised that A.) We didn't kill each other, B.) Mini mishaps remained mini mishaps, and C.) We're now left with very little time to enjoy studying abroad.

The weekend seeing all the family in Dublin was a really nice way to start off my trip. It seems very long ago now, but the delicious meals and unbeatable family hospitality was a breath of fresh air before twelve days of running around. I arrived to Nana & Granddad on Thursday evening, and Matt got into Dublin on Saturday morning. I think he enjoyed meeting everyone and hanging around. We took a tour bus around Dublin on Saturday (and part of Sunday), did the obligatory Guinness Storehouse visit, and got treated like royalty until our departure on Monday morning. We managed to book flights that left within twenty minutes of each other, and even though we both flew to London, we ended up in different airports, so I had to say goodbye until I see Matt again in June.

I spent about 24 hours in London, and went straight from Heathrow to Sudbury to spend time with the Egan-Hanlon clan, who I didn't get to see last time around. Aforementioned overstuffed backpack had already been abandoned in favor of a wheely suitcase by this point, and as I got off to switch Tube lines, the zip on the suitcase opened and my clothes fell out onto the track, so a close eye had to be kept on it.
Paula made a delicious dinner, and I really enjoyed seeing the house, and Semiole, again. It's been four years since I was there, and Rosie and Aron are not the little cousins I remember from a few years ago!
After hoisting the suitcase onto the Tube, I spent the night in East London with Colleen (once again), and we went to her local pub for "quid night" before settling down to sleep. The next morning, I repacked once again, as the pesky suitcase was traded for a duffel bag. It turned out to be less than ideal for carrying around, but at least my clothes stayed inside!
Our flight to Budapest was on Tuesday afternoon, and Colleen had booked us an "easybus" to get from the center of the city out to Gatwick. We were a bit delayed and missed our reservation, but thankfully had no problem getting onto the next shuttle. Little did we know, we were in for a very nauseating, rough drive through the English countryside. The driver decided not to drive on a motorway until the last 10 minutes, and Coll and I were both green and holding our stomachs as we got off. We settled our nausea (sort of) with an English breakfast of Meditteranean flavor in the airport, before boarding and leaving for Budapest.

As well-traveled as we both are at this point in our lives, Budapest came as a surprise. Neither of us had been to Eastern Europe (a.k.a. behind-the-iron-curtain-at-one-time) before, and the metro station where we were dropped off by the airport shuttle was quite an eye-opener, to say the least. That being said, we enjoyed free public transportation each day we were there, as there seemed to be no ticket checks of any type in the land. Our hostel was amazing, the best I've ever been to. (Endorsement: www.lofthostel.hu) Upon arrival, we were branded with luminous orange wristbands, and told that if we decided to go Hungarian wine-tasting, we could just show that wristband to a cab driver, and we'd get home in one piece. You think I'm joking...
That night, Farci, the owner (affectionately known as "dad" to Coll and I) and some of his friends made goulash for everyone to try. It was a real treat, as we were tired and glad to eat for free. Colleen's friend Will, whom she met in London, happened to be traveling at the same time as we were, and so we coordinated plans and hung out together quite a bit. Although he didn't stay at The Loft with us, we did have two charming roommates from Miami, who farted in their sleep and thought that buying us drinks was a ticket to a relationship. After spending about an hour at a club in the basement of a building that looked like City Hall, Coll and I went back to our tenement building that housed The Loft.
The rain seemed magnetically attracted to us throughout our trip, so our trek around Buda (on one bank of the Danube) and Pest (on the other) on Tuesday and part of Wednesday was less enjoyable as a result. Tuesday, we wandered aimlessly around Pest and saw St. Stephen's Basilica, stopping for lots of coffee breaks. We then took the funicular up the side of a hill to get to the old medieval part of town, and the rain stopped for a little which was nice. I was doubled over laughing most of the time, because Colleen's shoes weren't particularly suited for the weather, and thus fell apart mid-trek. As we were closely examining the hole where her big toe poked through, a German man poked her toe with his umbrella while his wife simultaneously muttered, "Ah! Da Schuh is Kaput!" After crying from laughing so hard, we stopped for beer and the best french fries I've had in a while before climbing back down to Pest.
Before catching our bus to Prague on Wednesday afternoon, we packed up at The Loft, kissed "dad" goodbye (literally), and climbed up another high point in Buda, the Citadel. The sun shone, of course, as we were due to depart that day, but we enjoyed the view and bid goodbye to Budapest with sandwiches and more beer. After another scary but free ride on the metro, we loaded our duffel bags onto our backs and wandered around a Planetarium on the outskirts of town, where we were due to take the bus to Prague. Luckily, we found it and pulled out of Budapest on time. The bus ride was surprisingly comfortable, minus the lack of bathroom for the first hour. About 2 hours into the ride, as Coll found two empty seats and lay down to take a nap, a thump shook the entire coach, followed by a burning rubber sort of smell wafting through the vents. With nothing but the Hungarian countryside around us, we attempted to figure out what the Czech hostess was announcing, and with the help of a nice man across the aisle, found out that we were experiencing an Eastern European flat tire.

To be continued.

15 days, 6 countries, & 1 very small backpack

Packing for spring break has never been this challenging or amusing in my whole life.
I just don't know how this is going to work. I'm really hoping Aer Lingus doesn't mind a very large handbag as a personal item!

I just want to quickly check in before jetting off until the 2nd of May...

I did 9 euros worth of laundry today, painted my nails and they look horrendous, and now I'm about to go and make myself a lunch out of all the food left in my refrigerator. I still need to put minutes on my phone and get out some cash to have on hand, ready to exchange into whatever foreign currency I happen upon.

Although Colleen and I have still not booked hostels for either Vienna or Milan, I hope we can do so either when I see her in London on Monday/Tuesday, or while we're in a hostel elsewhere.
She and her parents are in town so it's been crazy knowing that we'll have seen each other twice in our respective cities.

Ok ok I guess I'll write a bit-- Niamh's visit was really really great. Apart from overpacking a massive suitcase to haul from my foyer to our hotel on the other side of town, we had a great time. She was happy enough to go off on her own when I had classes (I had no problem skipping a few as well...) and we ate some delicious food, including L'Entrecote, a veritable Parisian institution with crowded tables, enigmatic steak sauce, and no menu. Our hotel was comfortable but certainly not luxurious-- I suppose if 53 euros a night can get you comfort in the heart of Paris, we didn't do too badly! Unfortunately I had quite a few tests and assignments due the week she was here, but I managed and we had a really great time. In between getting asked if we were twins, running around Rue Mouffetard, and eating entire fish still on the bone, we took some great pics and just generally enjoyed both being so in love with this city.

"It's bad that we're here together. I get enough compliments as it is, senorita!"

Mum's visit was quite different, as it started out on a train from Paris to the countryside last Thursday. The combination of fresh air, cows, lavender, and a comfy bed made my two nights in Beaufort absolute heaven. I also got a homecooked meal, with ingredients bought hours earlier at the market. I got my cough checked out at the doctor, filled myself with homeopathic medicine, and by the time we sprinted to catch our eternally-prompt TGV to Paris on Saturday, after a chaotic rental-car drop-off, I felt really refreshed and ready to spend the weekend back in the city. We stayed in a great area, smack between the Marais and the Bastille quarters. The weather was decent, meaning the rain was patchy, so we ate some great meals, did some boutique-browsing, ran into our old friend Sofia Coppola on the Ile St. Louis, and shopped at the Bastille market on Sunday morning. After a bottle of Spanish wine and tapas on Sunday night, we conversed with an Argentinian, Philippe, who was, we concluded, completely full of shit, but works with fashion photographers for French Vogue. He called me two nights ago to go and get a drink, but Colleen was in town so I'll have to save that little rendez-vous for after les vacances.

Les Blanchardieres in Beaufort.. just what I needed.

At the market, with the Bastille in the background

I was sad to see Mum leave on Monday morning, but I've been completely recharged and am now ready to take on this last month-and-a-bit of la vie parisienne, as well as 5 other countries, before Philadelphia and I catch up.

The sky has been blue every morning this week, the trees are budding and blossoming, the flowerbeds are planted in the Jardin du Luxembourg, and I think it's going to be harder to leave than I once thought after all.



So, if I survive budget-airline flights, 7-hour bus rides, and the languages of Eastern Europe, I'll be back on the 2nd of May. A bientôt!