This about sums it up. No, really. They can't all be gems people.
Members of the Tribe
SP:
Today Anna has decided to brave her tendency for seasickness so we can go to Murano. For those of you who don't know, Murano is the island famous for its glass. Most of the island can be divided into glass-blowing shops or shops that sell the glass objects. And these people can make ANYTHING. Mirrors, vases, bowls, lamps, figurines, frames, what-have-you.
Anyway, keeping in mind Anna's fondness for boats, this time we researched the trip. We asked the hotel staff which boat station to go to, we asked the station masters which was the fastest route, we looked at maps. We were ready. Fortune also smiled on us and granted us good weather. Passage from the main island to Murano was fast and not bumpy. Anna was thrilled.
Once on Murano, we looked around for an open glass-blowing studio. We found a nice one and promptly sat on the benches provided. Around the same time, a large tour group walked in. I have a confession to make: glass-blowing makes me nervous. There's no logical reason for it, but the room full of furnaces and liquid glass makes me twitchy. Add to that a large crowd of people walking to and fro... I was unamused. Anna loved the show, however; and I can't deny those men (and they were all men) were artists. We watched two lovely vases and a bowl take shape from colorful rods of glass.
After watching the glass making for about an hour, Anna and I decided we were hungry and hot. We might have been a good 50 feet from the furnaces but the heat generated from those added to the noon sun was just getting to be a bit much. In order to cool down a bit, we found a cute little cafe by the water. We sat down, ordered pasta dishes, and watched the crowd go by. This brings us to the title of the entry. Around this point in our trip, Anna and I started noticing that certain groups tended to be a bit more spontaneous than others. In particular, the Americans always seemed willing to jump into conversations with just about anyone on just about any topic. Spotting American tourists (or "Members of the Tribe") became a bit of a game for us. During lunch, an elderly couple sat at the table next to us. After it was determined that all four of us were American, we began trading travel stories. The couple was from Seattle, had spend years trekking around America, and was now meandering around Europe. They were avid travelers and had raised a couple of avid travelers as well. We discussed good gelato places we had found (not that we'd be able to give exact locations) and the thrills of getting lost in Venice's alleys.
After lunch, the couple said their good-byes and Anna and I set off to buy some glass souvenirs. Purchases in hand, we boat-taxied back to the main island for a quick nap.
Arising, we went in search of dinner. Wandering around we encountered a huge square full of families, what seemed to be art students, and people flocking to multiple restaurants. Figuring we'd hit a jackpot, we perused the menus and found a place that looked to have decent pizza. My lord. It wasn't decent. It was FANTASTIC! Nothing particularly special, but cheesy, tomato-y goodness. Before ordering, we also noticed a single woman sitting a table over. She was already eating so I asked how the food was. Once again, the Americans started chatting. Debbie (the lady) moved to share our table and told us how she was traveling around Italy staying at nunneries. That's right. She was vacationing WITH NUNS. Apparently it's a relatively cheap way to travel and (bonus) you get a lot of reading done thanks to no TVs. We caught Debbie up on the World Cup happenings, ate our pizza, and adjourned for gelato. Yum!
Anyway, keeping in mind Anna's fondness for boats, this time we researched the trip. We asked the hotel staff which boat station to go to, we asked the station masters which was the fastest route, we looked at maps. We were ready. Fortune also smiled on us and granted us good weather. Passage from the main island to Murano was fast and not bumpy. Anna was thrilled.
Once on Murano, we looked around for an open glass-blowing studio. We found a nice one and promptly sat on the benches provided. Around the same time, a large tour group walked in. I have a confession to make: glass-blowing makes me nervous. There's no logical reason for it, but the room full of furnaces and liquid glass makes me twitchy. Add to that a large crowd of people walking to and fro... I was unamused. Anna loved the show, however; and I can't deny those men (and they were all men) were artists. We watched two lovely vases and a bowl take shape from colorful rods of glass.
After lunch, the couple said their good-byes and Anna and I set off to buy some glass souvenirs. Purchases in hand, we boat-taxied back to the main island for a quick nap.
Not Lost, Just Really Confused
SP:
After a refreshing night's sleep, we got up and felt ready to conquer the world! Or, at least, our tiny part of it. Breakfast came first. I immediately made friends with the hotel's cat (affectionately dubbed Fat Louie, for no real reason) by bribing him with some of my salami. He loved the attention. I enjoyed seeing a cat.
The next adventure involved solving the question of the Vaporetto. It appears to run on a system similar to the SmarTrip Card. If you don't have one, you're supposed to immediately buy a ticket once you're on the boat. Can you imagine? The system is run on the Honor Code! The Venetians either have a lot of trust in their populace, or they are some of the most honorable people on Earth.
Once on the Vaporetto (and heading in the right direction), we went into the breach. By that, I mean we took on San Marco Plaza and its crowds. Luckily, it was early so the tourists weren't out in force. Also, uh... the rain helped. Oh! I forgot to mention. Anna and I broke down and bought bright yellow ponchos. We were tired of being wet, and at only 5 euro each, we couldn't pass that up. The Basilica was first. Unlike last time I saw this place, there is no entrance fee. But they get you on the inside. There, you have to pay to see everything. The Treasury, the Golden Wall, and the Horses stolen from Constantinople (more on those). I anted up for the Golden Wall. It's yet another example of beautiful, stolen works of Art with precious and semi-precious stones the size of my fist inlayed onto an Orthodox icon. After that, Anna and I walked up to the attic to look at icons, priest robes, and Bibles in the Basilica's "museum." This is also where they have the horses that used to be part of the Hippodrome (so says legend) before being brought back to Venice after the Fourth Crusade. A refresher: the Fourth Crusade is the one where Venetians helped attack the Christian city of Constaninople. These people made their living as merchants and, apparently, they "didn't realize" they were nowhere near the Holy Land. The Pope was not amused, but hey... when is he ever? The kicker in all of this is that Napoleon came along and took the horses back to France as souvenirs. Venice kicked up such a fuss, that France eventually gave them back. They complained the stolen horses WERE STOLEN!!! For more interesting Venetian stories, I recommend No Vulgar Hotel by Judith Martin.
After the Basilica, we aimlessly drifted about the Doge's Palace. I must explain. By this point, we hadn't really eaten since breakfast the day before. We were both having out of body experiences, probably due to lack of sugar. Also, a lot of those rooms in the Doge's Palace look alike. Either that, or we kept seeing the same rooms over and over again. Which is, of course, a real possibility.
We were obviously in need of lunch. And a gelato. And a nap. All of which were had and in that order.
Post-nap we discovered that the rain had stopped. This was a great time to wander around our part of Venice- the area around the Salute Church. And wander we did. In a circle appparently. During our little Daniel Boone-esque adventure (and yes, walking through Venice's double-named, no-named, or un-mapped alleyways is a bit like exploring the vast wilderness with just your gut instict to guide the way), we happened upon a beautiful woodshop that made pieces of art that depicted Venetian landmarks while retaining the look of a jigsaw puzzle. They also made adorbale mobiles of sea creatures. We also found a maskshop with exquisite pieces. After buying some stuff from the woodshop and making careful note of the location of the maskshop, we wandered to dinner.
And by now you all know the routine... after dinner, we went to bed.
The next adventure involved solving the question of the Vaporetto. It appears to run on a system similar to the SmarTrip Card. If you don't have one, you're supposed to immediately buy a ticket once you're on the boat. Can you imagine? The system is run on the Honor Code! The Venetians either have a lot of trust in their populace, or they are some of the most honorable people on Earth.
After the Basilica, we aimlessly drifted about the Doge's Palace. I must explain. By this point, we hadn't really eaten since breakfast the day before. We were both having out of body experiences, probably due to lack of sugar. Also, a lot of those rooms in the Doge's Palace look alike. Either that, or we kept seeing the same rooms over and over again. Which is, of course, a real possibility.
Post-nap we discovered that the rain had stopped. This was a great time to wander around our part of Venice- the area around the Salute Church. And wander we did. In a circle appparently. During our little Daniel Boone-esque adventure (and yes, walking through Venice's double-named, no-named, or un-mapped alleyways is a bit like exploring the vast wilderness with just your gut instict to guide the way), we happened upon a beautiful woodshop that made pieces of art that depicted Venetian landmarks while retaining the look of a jigsaw puzzle. They also made adorbale mobiles of sea creatures. We also found a maskshop with exquisite pieces. After buying some stuff from the woodshop and making careful note of the location of the maskshop, we wandered to dinner.
And by now you all know the routine... after dinner, we went to bed.
The Revenge of the Forsaken Curse
AW:
Remember in Paris how we decided to sing the refrain "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" when we got lost in the Paris metro system? Well, apparently God didn't think that was funny and decided to teach us a lesson about pretending to be forsaken. All of those lessons took place in one day.
We left bright and early at 5:45 for Venice this morning and that was the high point of the day...With the exception of something that happened to Steph...
Instead of risking our lives in a cab (which has been strictly forbidden by the parents, the risking the lives part, not the riding in cabs, except those are usually synonymous) we took the Metro to Charles de Gaulle airport. The metro uses these little tickets for entry but you usually don't need them to exit the station. When we arrived to the airport, there were these gates we had to go through. Think turnstiles with two sliding plastic doors that open and you walk through. For some reason, neither of our tickets would work to let us out. Some poor French woman finally took pity on us and suggested we follow her out. She got through, Anna got through, and part of Steph got through...The sliding plastic doors shut between her and her backpack and she couldn't move. What did I do? Help? Heck no! I laughed like a loon! It was hysterical! Here's poor Steph straining forward trying to get undone, pulling with all her might and this gentleman behind her shoving as hard as he can... I totally expected her to go flying and skid across the floor. Why oh why did I forget to pull out my camera? Steph finally got free...I'm not sure how since my tears were blurring my vision at the time. (Lesson 1: Learn how to use your metro tickets you two imbeciles)
After a short hike we finally got in line at the airport to check-in. We got to the front of the line prepared ready to get our boarding passes and get on the plane. The hitch? As the woman checked us in she asked for our carry-on bags and we showed her our backpacks. She got this look on her face like we just kicked a puppy or had killed someone.. she was shocked and couldn't even speak. All we got was "..but...but...you...but...big...it's too big...you can't take those as carry on...weight too much..." and a shocked gasp. Really, they weight too much (a grand total of 20 pounds)? And by going under the plane the weight makes that much of a difference? Since our bags weighed the same amout we volunteered to put them on different sides of the plane, but that didn't work either so we had to check our bags and off we were to Venice. (Lesson 2: Read the instructions about baggage requirements you two knockheads)
As we arrived in Venice and were about to deboard the plane, everyone (and I do mean every single other person on the plane besides us) puts on the longsleeved shirts and rain coats. Did we think anything about this? Of course not! Then we proceed to step off the plane to get on the terminal to the bus and are promptly struck by freezing cold weather and rain. What the heck? This is summer! In Italy! Its suppose to be warmer than London and Paris! Guess not...and it really helped that everyone kept pointing to our now wet short sleeve shirt and pretending to shiver or rubbing their arms. Not helpful people! Yes, we can tell we're cold and wet! Thanks for the hints! And again, the day only gets better from here. (Lesson 3: Learn to check the weather before you travel you clueless and cold ones)
After reclaiming our very small 20 pound bags we proceed outside to the water bus, and proceed, and proceed. By the time we got to the water bus we were half-way to the islands. Before we move on, let's first mention that Anna gets seasick very easily. I once got seasick snokeling in Panama. Not on the boat, but bobbing up and down in the water. Really. Remember how I also mentioned it was cold and rainy? For some reason, ocean and choppy waters due to the weather didn't cross my mind until we got to the boat. Have I thanked you enough Mom and Dad for raising me away from water? Thank you Thank you Thank you! We step onto the dock to get on the boat. Is the dock anchored? Oh no, its a floating dock... I throw down my bag and immediately begin looking for my motion sickness pills (which you are suppose to take an hour before) at the same time the captain opens up the boat for everyone to get on. As everyone else is staring me down and stepping over me Steph went ahead on the boat to get us seats and hopefully one next to the window for me. I finally found my chewable pills, choked them down (even tough they are cherry flavored they are super gross), and jumped on the boat. Steph managed to snag me a window seat and I opened it up wide letting all the cold air in. The Italian gentleman in front of me turned around and asked to close the window (I think) and then pointed to the window. As I speak about two words of Italian I very politely pointed to the window and mimed breeze and throwing up in the plastic bag I now had in hand (sound effects inculded!). He very politely nodded his head and still sat in front of me. Not quite sure he got the message I might be using the plastic bag for something other than putting trash into... (Lesson 4: I will help you slightly in not making you sick but only for the benefit of the other passengers. You will still be forsaken for the remainder of the day but I don't see why others must suffer because of you)
The sign on the boat indicated that out stop, San Marco would be about the third stop...I guess the captain decided he wanted to go the other direction. About 5-6 stops and almost an hour later we arrived at out stop in the pouring down rain. At this point in time we knew we needed to find the bridge to the other side of the Grand Canal but we didn't have a map so we just started walking, and walking, and walking (it turns out we walked in numerous circles). About an hour later, now weighing about ten pounds more than we started at due to water log, we finally asked for directions to the hotel from a gondolier. He kind of looked at us and laughed and suggested we take a boat since it was raining and then walk to the bridge might take a little while. We finally found our way to the boat to cross to the Grand Canal. About 2 steps from where we were originally let off... We're just not going to discuss that anymore. That day is done and over with... (Lesson 5: I'll teach you two young'uns about being forsaken...Take this!)
We finally arrive at the hotel about an hour and a half, almost 2 hours after we first started. We look like drowned rats, soaked to the bone. It actaully looks like we swum across the Grand Canal instead of taking a boat. To top off the day, the desk clerk looks up when we come in and simply states, "Oh, it is raining?" Just imagine the death glares that were given...
We went right up to the room, changed into dry clothes. Since it was 2 pm we decided to take a little nap. We woke up at 7am the next morning with God's lesson about not joking about being forsaken fresh in our minds.
Remember in Paris how we decided to sing the refrain "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" when we got lost in the Paris metro system? Well, apparently God didn't think that was funny and decided to teach us a lesson about pretending to be forsaken. All of those lessons took place in one day.
We left bright and early at 5:45 for Venice this morning and that was the high point of the day...With the exception of something that happened to Steph...
Instead of risking our lives in a cab (which has been strictly forbidden by the parents, the risking the lives part, not the riding in cabs, except those are usually synonymous) we took the Metro to Charles de Gaulle airport. The metro uses these little tickets for entry but you usually don't need them to exit the station. When we arrived to the airport, there were these gates we had to go through. Think turnstiles with two sliding plastic doors that open and you walk through. For some reason, neither of our tickets would work to let us out. Some poor French woman finally took pity on us and suggested we follow her out. She got through, Anna got through, and part of Steph got through...The sliding plastic doors shut between her and her backpack and she couldn't move. What did I do? Help? Heck no! I laughed like a loon! It was hysterical! Here's poor Steph straining forward trying to get undone, pulling with all her might and this gentleman behind her shoving as hard as he can... I totally expected her to go flying and skid across the floor. Why oh why did I forget to pull out my camera? Steph finally got free...I'm not sure how since my tears were blurring my vision at the time. (Lesson 1: Learn how to use your metro tickets you two imbeciles)
After a short hike we finally got in line at the airport to check-in. We got to the front of the line prepared ready to get our boarding passes and get on the plane. The hitch? As the woman checked us in she asked for our carry-on bags and we showed her our backpacks. She got this look on her face like we just kicked a puppy or had killed someone.. she was shocked and couldn't even speak. All we got was "..but...but...you...but...big...it's too big...you can't take those as carry on...weight too much..." and a shocked gasp. Really, they weight too much (a grand total of 20 pounds)? And by going under the plane the weight makes that much of a difference? Since our bags weighed the same amout we volunteered to put them on different sides of the plane, but that didn't work either so we had to check our bags and off we were to Venice. (Lesson 2: Read the instructions about baggage requirements you two knockheads)
As we arrived in Venice and were about to deboard the plane, everyone (and I do mean every single other person on the plane besides us) puts on the longsleeved shirts and rain coats. Did we think anything about this? Of course not! Then we proceed to step off the plane to get on the terminal to the bus and are promptly struck by freezing cold weather and rain. What the heck? This is summer! In Italy! Its suppose to be warmer than London and Paris! Guess not...and it really helped that everyone kept pointing to our now wet short sleeve shirt and pretending to shiver or rubbing their arms. Not helpful people! Yes, we can tell we're cold and wet! Thanks for the hints! And again, the day only gets better from here. (Lesson 3: Learn to check the weather before you travel you clueless and cold ones)
We finally arrive at the hotel about an hour and a half, almost 2 hours after we first started. We look like drowned rats, soaked to the bone. It actaully looks like we swum across the Grand Canal instead of taking a boat. To top off the day, the desk clerk looks up when we come in and simply states, "Oh, it is raining?" Just imagine the death glares that were given...
We went right up to the room, changed into dry clothes. Since it was 2 pm we decided to take a little nap. We woke up at 7am the next morning with God's lesson about not joking about being forsaken fresh in our minds.
To the parking lot... to the parking lot... to the parking lot
SP:
Unlike yesterday, today is tour day. We're once again hopping on a Viatour, only this time we're heading to Giverny and Versailles. Since this is a ten hour tour, Anna and I are once again forced to wake-up at the crack to dawn. Ok, not really... but when happy Algerians are honking their horns all night celebrating a tie, 6 am looks like butt-crack of dawn. The cold rain currently pouring from the skies is not improving our mood.
Having mastered the Paris Metro, Anna and I make it over to the tour office in no time. We're over an hour early, but we're there. As we sit and wait for our bus to arrive, we notice an Australian couple from our Lourve tour tearing past the office like they've got Hellhounds, or maybe rabid kangaroos, on their tails. We're astounded to see people we know in a city the size of Paris, but shrug it off. Ten minutes later, our chariot/bus arrives and we board. Immediately, we're greeted by a chorus of "Hey mates! Weren't you on our last tour?" It's our Aussie friends (the running ones)! Turns out, they're on this tour too!
Once everyone is on board, the main tour guide introduces himself. Jean-Louis reminds Anna of Martin Short's character from Father of the Bride. He reminds me of one of those snobby footmen one always sees in movies. Or Percy, the dog from Disney's Pocahontas. Yeah... that's what he reminds me of! Anyway, Jean-Louis introduces us to our driver (Jean-Luc) and our other tour guide (Maria). Jean-Louis immediately begins prattling about Paris, Giverny, Monet, and history. To be honest, this is what I think he prattled about. I fell asleep and didn't wake up until we pulled into the quaint little town that houses Monet's garden.
Giverny looks like one of those places where American movie heroines move to "find themselves" and connect with "real" people (aka snog French men). It's tiny, quiet, and quite picturesque. Jean-Louis prceeds to ruin this atmosphere by setting out at a run, and challenging us to make it to the finish line (Monet's garden) within ten minutes of him. Many do not. Another thing is Jean-Louis constantly repeats his directions back to the bus. You know that song "Over the river and though the woods?" He's a lot like that. Every ten seconds he'd repeat his meandering instructions on how to get back to the bus and always insert "To the parking lot" at a minimum of twenty times. Despite all of this (maybe because of it?), Anna and I are still amazed when tourist continue to ask "Where do we meet?" and "How do we get there?"
Monet's garden is beautiful. It's not well structured, but the flowers are bright and create a profusion of colors. Actually, it looks exactly like an Impressionist painting. In the middle of this serenity, a Southerner belts at her daughter (whose across the water lily pond) "Hey, HEY! Stop! I wanna... I WANNA TAKE A PICTURE! There! No, back-up! BACK UP! No! I want the reflection!" Good lord, I thought Southerners were supposed to understand the concepts of genteel and appropriate behavior. Guess not.
Anna and I walk around the garden and Monet's house before heading to a poppy field (Canada's symbol for Armistice Day), where inspiration strikes. Out comes my Flip camera and out comes the iPhone. As I film the field, I play "Waltz of the Flowers"on my iPhone. It's beautiful. It's musical. It's nerdy.
After getting back on the bus (in the parking lot!), we're told that we are heading to lunch at a restuarant that used to be an 18th century mill. To Anna's endless delight, we were served poached salmon and chicken. Yes, there were some mashed potatoes, but those were few and far between. I liked the chicken. And the wine. And our dining party (the Aussies, another Aussie couple, an American couple, and two Spanish ladies). We had a great time swapping stories. The highlight, though, was once again brought to us by the Southern lady. While waiting in line with her teenage daughter for the bathroom, she practically tackles a good-looking waiter, and forces him to pose for a picture with her daughter. Said daughter is mortified. After Momma leaves, the rest of the ladies in line reassure the cringing girl that yes, it's embarassing now but in two days, that will be her most cherished photo of the trip. She looked a little brighter after that.
AW:
So the next stop was Versailles... I now totally understand why the royalty was depised and basically lynched. The place is ridiculous and not really in the good way. Pretty and opulent yes, but WAY overboard and WAY too much gold for my taste. Think Rococo on crack and E times 1000. That about explains Versailles... But, I get ahead of myself. Once we arrived in the parking lot at Versailles our first view was amazing, a huge parking lot with tons of policemen descending upon us... crap, I thought I hid that bridge from Giverny pretty well... oh well, I'm sure Mom and Dad are going to love this call...what, they ran past me? What? Oh, they're only arresting the immigrant selling Eiffel Toweres while his comrades run away laughing hysterically... Phew, for a moment there I thought I was going to have to give the bridge back... in addition to some jail time.
Okay, once we walked through the throngs of police arresting the ONE unarmed person (unless you count mini Eiffel Towers as weapons), we got to split our tour group into 2 since we had so many people. We luckily (maybe, but will explain soon) ended up with the other tour guide, Maria (we're pretty sure that was her name anyways) and not the Martin Short from Father of the Bride. So I basically already explained Verasilles, Rococo, gold, opulence, pictures of Louis XIV, pictures of Louis XIV, pictures of Louis XIV, pictures of Louis XIV, pictures of Louis XIV, pictures of Louis XIV, pictures of Louis XIV, Rococo, gold, Rococo, gold, pictures of Louis XIV, pictures of Louis XIV, pictures of Louis XIV, you get the idea... As we walked through the many, but small and very crowded rooms, our entire group kept having problems with the tour guide. The woman is a very skilled wizard. She can APPARATE!!!! Really!!! Literally, one moment she is right next to you and not even 2 seconds later she is two rooms away waving her umbrella at us. It wasn't just us not paying attention to where she was going, everyone is the group noted her wizardy ways. She seriously could move three rooms over in the matter of a second or two while the rest of us had to throw elbows to get two steps in front of us.
On a quick side note; I thought the French were suppose to be stylish. What was with all of the men taking their hair cues from Louis XIV? That hairstyle was so centuries ago... Really, we saw multiple guys with the Louis the XIV hair-do. And no, we didn't want to break our cameras so no photos were taken.
Back to our normally scheduled program: the gardens at Versailles. Gorgeous, huge, live music playing. These gardens steched out for kilometers (their word, not mine...) but we only had 30 minutes so we didn't get to see much, but what we did was amazing. After our quick your of the garden we headed back to the bus for our journey home.
We tried to find a French place for dinner that wouldn't bankrupt us and had something Anna would eat (so shoot me, I'm picky and meat makes me gag, especially uncooked, jiggly, or jello-y, as the French seem to prefer it, mmm... appetizing). However, as the majority of you know, Anna won't eat anything coming from an animal (this doesn't include eggs or God's gift to us: cheese), so that severely restricted what we could eat. We finally gave up on French cuisine (since we were also stuck in the middle of a torrential downpour) and headed to our favorite French restaurant only to find it wasn't open. I have no idea where we ate dinner and we went home early since it was going to be a very early morning.
Unlike yesterday, today is tour day. We're once again hopping on a Viatour, only this time we're heading to Giverny and Versailles. Since this is a ten hour tour, Anna and I are once again forced to wake-up at the crack to dawn. Ok, not really... but when happy Algerians are honking their horns all night celebrating a tie, 6 am looks like butt-crack of dawn. The cold rain currently pouring from the skies is not improving our mood.
Having mastered the Paris Metro, Anna and I make it over to the tour office in no time. We're over an hour early, but we're there. As we sit and wait for our bus to arrive, we notice an Australian couple from our Lourve tour tearing past the office like they've got Hellhounds, or maybe rabid kangaroos, on their tails. We're astounded to see people we know in a city the size of Paris, but shrug it off. Ten minutes later, our chariot/bus arrives and we board. Immediately, we're greeted by a chorus of "Hey mates! Weren't you on our last tour?" It's our Aussie friends (the running ones)! Turns out, they're on this tour too!
Giverny looks like one of those places where American movie heroines move to "find themselves" and connect with "real" people (aka snog French men). It's tiny, quiet, and quite picturesque. Jean-Louis prceeds to ruin this atmosphere by setting out at a run, and challenging us to make it to the finish line (Monet's garden) within ten minutes of him. Many do not. Another thing is Jean-Louis constantly repeats his directions back to the bus. You know that song "Over the river and though the woods?" He's a lot like that. Every ten seconds he'd repeat his meandering instructions on how to get back to the bus and always insert "To the parking lot" at a minimum of twenty times. Despite all of this (maybe because of it?), Anna and I are still amazed when tourist continue to ask "Where do we meet?" and "How do we get there?"
Anna and I walk around the garden and Monet's house before heading to a poppy field (Canada's symbol for Armistice Day), where inspiration strikes. Out comes my Flip camera and out comes the iPhone. As I film the field, I play "Waltz of the Flowers"on my iPhone. It's beautiful. It's musical. It's nerdy.
AW:
So the next stop was Versailles... I now totally understand why the royalty was depised and basically lynched. The place is ridiculous and not really in the good way. Pretty and opulent yes, but WAY overboard and WAY too much gold for my taste. Think Rococo on crack and E times 1000. That about explains Versailles... But, I get ahead of myself. Once we arrived in the parking lot at Versailles our first view was amazing, a huge parking lot with tons of policemen descending upon us... crap, I thought I hid that bridge from Giverny pretty well... oh well, I'm sure Mom and Dad are going to love this call...what, they ran past me? What? Oh, they're only arresting the immigrant selling Eiffel Toweres while his comrades run away laughing hysterically... Phew, for a moment there I thought I was going to have to give the bridge back... in addition to some jail time.
On a quick side note; I thought the French were suppose to be stylish. What was with all of the men taking their hair cues from Louis XIV? That hairstyle was so centuries ago... Really, we saw multiple guys with the Louis the XIV hair-do. And no, we didn't want to break our cameras so no photos were taken.
We tried to find a French place for dinner that wouldn't bankrupt us and had something Anna would eat (so shoot me, I'm picky and meat makes me gag, especially uncooked, jiggly, or jello-y, as the French seem to prefer it, mmm... appetizing). However, as the majority of you know, Anna won't eat anything coming from an animal (this doesn't include eggs or God's gift to us: cheese), so that severely restricted what we could eat. We finally gave up on French cuisine (since we were also stuck in the middle of a torrential downpour) and headed to our favorite French restaurant only to find it wasn't open. I have no idea where we ate dinner and we went home early since it was going to be a very early morning.
It's An Ugly Tower Anyway.
SP:
Today is sight-seeing day. Since there are no scheduled tours, we'll make one up for ourselves and visit all the famous Parisian landmarks. This requires skill. This requires planning. This requires a basic knowledge of French history and the metro systems. Anna and I have none of these things.
We start the day off by taking a quick jaunt over to the Moulin Rouge. It's barely 7:30 am, and this is not the best part of town (yes, it's the red light district). Upon finding the famous windmill, however, we are treated to a rare sight. A tour of 70+ year olds have made it to Moulin's last call and are now just exiting the premise. Dear Lord, I hope to be like them when I'm old and no longer care about being seen leaving a bar at dawn with no money but good memories! Remember kids: it's always better to be over the hill than under it!
After taking some quick pictures of the Moulin Rouge, we run across town to take some pictures of the Bastile. Sounds like an easy enough thing to accomplish. We get off the Metro at the Bastile stop. By all rights, we should be at/ near the Bastile. We get above ground, ready to behold the sight of a famous Parisian landmark and touchstone for a revolution, when... we don't see the Bastile. Ok, don't panic. We probably just need to cross the street and walk down a bit. Problem is, crossing the street in Paris is a bit of a gamble. Bill Bryson says it best.
The streetlight will be red, but there will be a clear "DO NOT WALK" sign flashing at us. The moment that gives us the go ahead, all the traffic lights seem to simultaneously turn green, and some of the world's most aggressive drivers come roaring towards us. Anna and I solve this problem... by crossing the street with parents pushing babies! No one would hit a little kid! WE'RE SAVED!
Anyway, we've finally crossed the street, but still no Bastile. OK, this is becoming frustrating. So, I whip out my trusty iPhone which carries the "Lonely Planet Paris" app (there's an app for that!!) and look up the Bastile. Here it is! Bastile.... historic meaning.... French symbol... oh. Huh. Apparently it burned down. In 1789. Our bad.
We quickly abandon our quest for pictures of the (now non-existant) Bastile and move on to the Notre Dame and Crypts. The Notre Dame is as beautiful as it's reported to be. Even more moving, a choir was recording inside the church and they performed a series of chants and hymns. With the organ going full blast, it was quite the experience. You could almost imagine yourself as a poor Parisian merchant praying to God for good crops, safe passage for your ships, and no plague. Definitely no plague. The crypts are across the square from the Notre Dame and, while not extensive, show how the Ile was built layer by layer. It's certainly worth a peak to see how Paris rose from a pre-Roman backwater to European Center of Everything.
At this point, we were hungry. Anna and I backtracked to the St. Paul metro stop and the Marais quarter in order to visit the best falafel place in Paris, in France, and maybe, the world. It was delicious! And smack in the middle of the old Jewish quarter (which is still a center for Central/Eastern European Jewish activity). It's called the L'As du Falafel. Go there, order the falafel special, and enjoy.
Next came the most stressful part of our day. We tried to get to the Musee d' Orsay from the St. Paul metro stop and (not so quickly) realised this would entail moving between the Metro and the RER intercity train system. As we struggled to figure out where we were, where we were going, and how to find a mode of public transit that would move us between the two, we started making jokes and crying out "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" Hey, it was fitting at the time. There were no maps, no help, and no helpful hints to guide us along our way. After some giggles about God forsaking us on the Paris metro, we finally made it to the Musee. The kicker? One of the museum's most famous pieces, the "Starry Night," was on loan... in San Francisco, CA. Just our luck we travel around the world to find that an important piece of art is around the world, in the OTHER DIRECTION. Bah.
It is now almost 5 pm, so Anna and I decide to head over to the Eiffel Tower to see it light up. Understand this: I googled when the tower lights up. It said that during the summer, it lights up starting at 7 pm. Wanting to see the Tower in all its splendour, we got there early and waited. And waited. And waited. And... waited. Over four hours we've waited. It's now after 9 and we haven't seen so much as a flicker. Finally, we asked one of the guys selling fake handbags what time the Tower lit up. He glances at his watch and says 10 pm. Well, hell! We've waited this long, we are going to see the lights go on. Of course, as we're waiting, we decided to move closer towards the Metro and away from the Eiffel Tower. As we do so, we narrowly escape two fights involving drunks and cheering Algerians (they tied England). The Eiffel Tower finally went off, and (despite the 5+ hour waiting time) was a beautiful sight to behold. Though it would have been better 4 hours earlier. Just saying.
On the Metro ride home, Fate decided to throw us a bone. As we exited at our stop, Anna wanted to know if I saw how muscular the arms on the train driver were. I admitted I had not, and less than subtily, we both turned around to gawk. Well, imagine our surprise when the driver not only caught us staring but also HONKED HIS METRO TRAIN HORN AT US!!!!! WIN!!!! Around this point, Anna claimed this guy as her future husband. Confidence restored, we walked back to the hotel... and went straight to bed.
Today is sight-seeing day. Since there are no scheduled tours, we'll make one up for ourselves and visit all the famous Parisian landmarks. This requires skill. This requires planning. This requires a basic knowledge of French history and the metro systems. Anna and I have none of these things.
We start the day off by taking a quick jaunt over to the Moulin Rouge. It's barely 7:30 am, and this is not the best part of town (yes, it's the red light district). Upon finding the famous windmill, however, we are treated to a rare sight. A tour of 70+ year olds have made it to Moulin's last call and are now just exiting the premise. Dear Lord, I hope to be like them when I'm old and no longer care about being seen leaving a bar at dawn with no money but good memories! Remember kids: it's always better to be over the hill than under it!After taking some quick pictures of the Moulin Rouge, we run across town to take some pictures of the Bastile. Sounds like an easy enough thing to accomplish. We get off the Metro at the Bastile stop. By all rights, we should be at/ near the Bastile. We get above ground, ready to behold the sight of a famous Parisian landmark and touchstone for a revolution, when... we don't see the Bastile. Ok, don't panic. We probably just need to cross the street and walk down a bit. Problem is, crossing the street in Paris is a bit of a gamble. Bill Bryson says it best.
"The problem is that the pedestrian crossing lights have been
designed with the clear purpose of leaving the foreign visitor
confused, humiliated, and, if all goes according to plan, dead."
The streetlight will be red, but there will be a clear "DO NOT WALK" sign flashing at us. The moment that gives us the go ahead, all the traffic lights seem to simultaneously turn green, and some of the world's most aggressive drivers come roaring towards us. Anna and I solve this problem... by crossing the street with parents pushing babies! No one would hit a little kid! WE'RE SAVED!
Anyway, we've finally crossed the street, but still no Bastile. OK, this is becoming frustrating. So, I whip out my trusty iPhone which carries the "Lonely Planet Paris" app (there's an app for that!!) and look up the Bastile. Here it is! Bastile.... historic meaning.... French symbol... oh. Huh. Apparently it burned down. In 1789. Our bad.
We quickly abandon our quest for pictures of the (now non-existant) Bastile and move on to the Notre Dame and Crypts. The Notre Dame is as beautiful as it's reported to be. Even more moving, a choir was recording inside the church and they performed a series of chants and hymns. With the organ going full blast, it was quite the experience. You could almost imagine yourself as a poor Parisian merchant praying to God for good crops, safe passage for your ships, and no plague. Definitely no plague. The crypts are across the square from the Notre Dame and, while not extensive, show how the Ile was built layer by layer. It's certainly worth a peak to see how Paris rose from a pre-Roman backwater to European Center of Everything.
At this point, we were hungry. Anna and I backtracked to the St. Paul metro stop and the Marais quarter in order to visit the best falafel place in Paris, in France, and maybe, the world. It was delicious! And smack in the middle of the old Jewish quarter (which is still a center for Central/Eastern European Jewish activity). It's called the L'As du Falafel. Go there, order the falafel special, and enjoy.Next came the most stressful part of our day. We tried to get to the Musee d' Orsay from the St. Paul metro stop and (not so quickly) realised this would entail moving between the Metro and the RER intercity train system. As we struggled to figure out where we were, where we were going, and how to find a mode of public transit that would move us between the two, we started making jokes and crying out "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" Hey, it was fitting at the time. There were no maps, no help, and no helpful hints to guide us along our way. After some giggles about God forsaking us on the Paris metro, we finally made it to the Musee. The kicker? One of the museum's most famous pieces, the "Starry Night," was on loan... in San Francisco, CA. Just our luck we travel around the world to find that an important piece of art is around the world, in the OTHER DIRECTION. Bah.
It is now almost 5 pm, so Anna and I decide to head over to the Eiffel Tower to see it light up. Understand this: I googled when the tower lights up. It said that during the summer, it lights up starting at 7 pm. Wanting to see the Tower in all its splendour, we got there early and waited. And waited. And waited. And... waited. Over four hours we've waited. It's now after 9 and we haven't seen so much as a flicker. Finally, we asked one of the guys selling fake handbags what time the Tower lit up. He glances at his watch and says 10 pm. Well, hell! We've waited this long, we are going to see the lights go on. Of course, as we're waiting, we decided to move closer towards the Metro and away from the Eiffel Tower. As we do so, we narrowly escape two fights involving drunks and cheering Algerians (they tied England). The Eiffel Tower finally went off, and (despite the 5+ hour waiting time) was a beautiful sight to behold. Though it would have been better 4 hours earlier. Just saying.On the Metro ride home, Fate decided to throw us a bone. As we exited at our stop, Anna wanted to know if I saw how muscular the arms on the train driver were. I admitted I had not, and less than subtily, we both turned around to gawk. Well, imagine our surprise when the driver not only caught us staring but also HONKED HIS METRO TRAIN HORN AT US!!!!! WIN!!!! Around this point, Anna claimed this guy as her future husband. Confidence restored, we walked back to the hotel... and went straight to bed.
Michigan Doesn't Have Hermaphrodites
SP:
Lest you think this blog will merely be used as tool to promote an "Americans know how it's done, the rest of the world is just plain weird" ideal, Anna and I are ready, willing, and frequently do make fun of other Americans (affectionately dubbed "Members of the Tribe"). A trip to the Louvre offered us a golden opportunity to demonstrate our equal opportunity mockery.
The day began modestly enough with the two of us scrambling to make it to our tour group's meeting point before the 8:30 am arrival time. The voucher said to be there at that time for a prompt 8:45 departure. Nevermind that it's now 9:15 and we're still sitting outside in the cold. The tour operator informs us that we're missing some members. We say leave 'em. Ok, we say it quietly, and to ourselves. No one hears our discontented mutterings lest WE seem uncharitable. Or cranky. Or rude.
Finally, the tour gets underway as we're introduced to our tour guide, Isabella. Isabella earns our respect, and hearts, immediately by responding to a participant's comment that a passing group of rowdy (read: loud) children are just children with a vehement, only-the-Parisians-could-be-so-severe, "Gnomes!" We like Isabella. We like her a lot!
Into the Louvre we go, where Isabella promises not only to show us great works of art, but also a McDonalds and a Starbucks! She's not kidding either. While not actually IN the Louvre, they are situated in the shopping mall attached to the Louvre. Our tour's collection of Aussies, Kiwis, Japanese, and other nationalities start eyeballing the Americans with a pitying look, as if to say "Wow, you guys just can't help yourselves, can you?" But in our defense, French authorities obviously had to ok the leasing of rental space to these companies, and what the hell is a shopping mall doing attached to the Louvre anyway?
The tour was really just a highlights tour, with the boldly stated goal of showing us the key pieces to the Louvre's vast collection. This meant we got to see the Wing'd Victory (wow... the wolves really went to town on the poor Parthenon, huh?), Venus di Milo, and a painting that almost inspired me to scream "Hey! That's the cover art to Coldplay's Viva la Vida! I know that one!" à la any less-than-cultured American. We were also treated to the Mona Lisa and the crowds in front of the Mona Lisa. The poor thing sits on a wall all by it's lonesome, which really just makes it seem smaller than it is. Which is why tourists always seem to claim it's the size of a postage stamp (it's not) and the resulting crowd is ridiculous (it is).
But the best moment of the tour was inspired by a relatively lesser known work of art. By this time we had noted the presence of a couple in our little group. Touring the Louvre was obviously not the guy's Thing, and he was there with the expressed purposed of pleasing his girlfriend. He just looked like he was dying for a beer, and maybe, just maybe, a match. No Louvre = no duty, right? Anyway, Isabella brings us to a statue that she claims has the best bum in the museum. Lying there in sculpted glory, is the most beautiful woman one could imagine.
This was clearly Aphrodite, or at the very least Helen of Troy. Someone who deserved to be worshipped on grounds of beauty alone. Isabella then said this demi-goddess was also the biggest surpise. Indeed. For when you walked to the other side of the prone form, the onlooker was greeted with... well, something that decided belonged to a male. Isabella then informed us this was Hermaphroditus. Well, we all tittered at our mistake and went to walk away. All except for the Boyfriend. He was agog. You could practically see the computer screen saying "Does Not Commute." He said as much to Girlfriend. The obviously more cultured of the two, she (and Anna) jumped in to explain that 1.) yes, this was a real condition, 2.) yes, it still happened. Boyfriend obviously thought some kind of joke was being played. Perhaps Ashton Kutcher was about to run out and yell "PUNKED!" At this point, Girlfriend (with more than a little bit of scorn) asks how he didn't learn this in college. In complete deadpan, Boyfriend announces "Michigan doesn't have hermaphrodites." Since neither Girlfriend, Anna, nor I can refute this statement, we decided to drop the whole issue. You might not be correct Boyfriend, but well played, sir!
AW:
We decided to abandon the area around the Louvre for lunch seeing as it was overrun so we headed down through the Tuilleries towards the Champs Elysee. Gorgeous gardens, lots of REALLY FAT pigeons. They actually had trouble getting off of the ground (the pigeons obviously, not the garderns); we only laughed a little...I can't even describe the size of these mutant pigeons, they're about the same size as those freakishly sized ravens at the Tower of London. Okay, enough about the pigeons that you don't care about. We found a little restaurant in the Tuilleries and decided to eat there so we could continue to mock the pigeons.
After our lunch we decided to wander down the Champs Elysee to find La Duree, yet another Eleanor recommendation, for macaroons. We took several detours (stupid signs pointing us in the wrong directions!) Once we found our way back to the Champs Elysee, following the road that dead ends into the Arc de Triomph, we found the macaroon mecca, La Duree, after a short visit the the local bank to empty our accounts. But luckily enough, at the bank, (BNP Paribus on the Champs Elysee) Steph found her husband! Unfortunately, I didn't get a glimpse as I was trying to explain in poorly broken French ( a language I obviously don't speak) and then kindergarten English, that I wanted to know how much cash I could withdraw from an ATM in one day. As I was doing this, Steph spotted her future husband at his desk in the bank: tall, blonde, Gallic perfection!!!! In addition, he wore a suit, quite well from my understanding since I didn't get a glimpse. We figured it would be too obvious if I went back into the bank to get a look (not at all like the obvious look we gave my future husband but he happened to notice us looking, we'll get into that later...). So I had to hold Steph off from crossing the street to Tiffany's, purchasing rings, and returning to propose. I didn't think Papa and Mama Pappas would have approved of me letting Steph propose to the first good-looking guy she finds on the trip. I mean, we still have seven or eight weeks to go and we do know where he works, we can always return. We thought she should keep her options open. Plus, Papa Pappas might have already promised multiple goats for Steph in Greece and it would look bad to break the contract...
Okay, back to La Duree. As Eleanor had promised, we didn't eat at the actual restaurant as we would have had to sell our firstborns in order to even get a table, we went inside an waited in the long line dedicated to the most delicious looking conconctions ever known to man. We were drooling so much we forgot to take pictures to share with everyone else. Sorry. So these macaroons come in a mulitude of different flavors, vanilla, chocolate, coffe, caramel, mint, pistachio, rose, orange blossom, blackcurrent violet, raspberry, cherry, and much more. These are buttery, flakey, cookies about the size of silver dollars that sandwich a filling of the same flavor...absolutely delicious!
With our stash secured, we continued our walk down the Champs Elysee towards the Arc to discover we would be risking our lives in attempting to cross the traffice circle in order to reach the bottom of the Arc de Triomphe so we were both satisfied with looking at it from across the street from the relative safety of the curb. We decided to wander a bit and just wandered around the streets of Paris for awhile. When we decided our feet hurt a little too much for even our comfort, we found the closest Metro station and went back to the Hostel for a nap.
After our nap we headed out for dinner in the opposie direction from the night before and once again became convinced that in order to eat French food for dinner we would have to take out more student loans in order to pay for dinner, so we ate Italian, again. The place was good, not as good as Renato's. The enjoyment of the evening was capped off by the fact that France was playing Mexico in the World Cup. The entire restaurant was turned to watch the massacre unfold. We were definitely rooting for the French... however, they didn't live up to expectations. I must say, the French took the loss, and the subsequent knowledge that they wouldn't advance, much better than we thought. Thank the good baby Jesus that we weren't in England when they tied Algeria 0-0, talk about not taking it well...
Isabella's Top 5 Quotes:
5. And here, we have the best bum in the entire museum.
4. While you take a toilet break, I'll go get the tickets. I'll be back... or not.
3. Napoleon was very fond of traveling. Especially with his army. And he liked to bring back souvenirs.
2. -They're just children
- GNOMES!
1. (about Louvre security) If you have knives, guns, bombs... put them in your pocket. They check the bag, not the person.
That last one turned out to be quite true.
Lest you think this blog will merely be used as tool to promote an "Americans know how it's done, the rest of the world is just plain weird" ideal, Anna and I are ready, willing, and frequently do make fun of other Americans (affectionately dubbed "Members of the Tribe"). A trip to the Louvre offered us a golden opportunity to demonstrate our equal opportunity mockery.
Finally, the tour gets underway as we're introduced to our tour guide, Isabella. Isabella earns our respect, and hearts, immediately by responding to a participant's comment that a passing group of rowdy (read: loud) children are just children with a vehement, only-the-Parisians-could-be-so-severe, "Gnomes!" We like Isabella. We like her a lot!
Into the Louvre we go, where Isabella promises not only to show us great works of art, but also a McDonalds and a Starbucks! She's not kidding either. While not actually IN the Louvre, they are situated in the shopping mall attached to the Louvre. Our tour's collection of Aussies, Kiwis, Japanese, and other nationalities start eyeballing the Americans with a pitying look, as if to say "Wow, you guys just can't help yourselves, can you?" But in our defense, French authorities obviously had to ok the leasing of rental space to these companies, and what the hell is a shopping mall doing attached to the Louvre anyway?
The tour was really just a highlights tour, with the boldly stated goal of showing us the key pieces to the Louvre's vast collection. This meant we got to see the Wing'd Victory (wow... the wolves really went to town on the poor Parthenon, huh?), Venus di Milo, and a painting that almost inspired me to scream "Hey! That's the cover art to Coldplay's Viva la Vida! I know that one!" à la any less-than-cultured American. We were also treated to the Mona Lisa and the crowds in front of the Mona Lisa. The poor thing sits on a wall all by it's lonesome, which really just makes it seem smaller than it is. Which is why tourists always seem to claim it's the size of a postage stamp (it's not) and the resulting crowd is ridiculous (it is).
But the best moment of the tour was inspired by a relatively lesser known work of art. By this time we had noted the presence of a couple in our little group. Touring the Louvre was obviously not the guy's Thing, and he was there with the expressed purposed of pleasing his girlfriend. He just looked like he was dying for a beer, and maybe, just maybe, a match. No Louvre = no duty, right? Anyway, Isabella brings us to a statue that she claims has the best bum in the museum. Lying there in sculpted glory, is the most beautiful woman one could imagine.
This was clearly Aphrodite, or at the very least Helen of Troy. Someone who deserved to be worshipped on grounds of beauty alone. Isabella then said this demi-goddess was also the biggest surpise. Indeed. For when you walked to the other side of the prone form, the onlooker was greeted with... well, something that decided belonged to a male. Isabella then informed us this was Hermaphroditus. Well, we all tittered at our mistake and went to walk away. All except for the Boyfriend. He was agog. You could practically see the computer screen saying "Does Not Commute." He said as much to Girlfriend. The obviously more cultured of the two, she (and Anna) jumped in to explain that 1.) yes, this was a real condition, 2.) yes, it still happened. Boyfriend obviously thought some kind of joke was being played. Perhaps Ashton Kutcher was about to run out and yell "PUNKED!" At this point, Girlfriend (with more than a little bit of scorn) asks how he didn't learn this in college. In complete deadpan, Boyfriend announces "Michigan doesn't have hermaphrodites." Since neither Girlfriend, Anna, nor I can refute this statement, we decided to drop the whole issue. You might not be correct Boyfriend, but well played, sir!AW:
We decided to abandon the area around the Louvre for lunch seeing as it was overrun so we headed down through the Tuilleries towards the Champs Elysee. Gorgeous gardens, lots of REALLY FAT pigeons. They actually had trouble getting off of the ground (the pigeons obviously, not the garderns); we only laughed a little...I can't even describe the size of these mutant pigeons, they're about the same size as those freakishly sized ravens at the Tower of London. Okay, enough about the pigeons that you don't care about. We found a little restaurant in the Tuilleries and decided to eat there so we could continue to mock the pigeons.
With our stash secured, we continued our walk down the Champs Elysee towards the Arc to discover we would be risking our lives in attempting to cross the traffice circle in order to reach the bottom of the Arc de Triomphe so we were both satisfied with looking at it from across the street from the relative safety of the curb. We decided to wander a bit and just wandered around the streets of Paris for awhile. When we decided our feet hurt a little too much for even our comfort, we found the closest Metro station and went back to the Hostel for a nap.After our nap we headed out for dinner in the opposie direction from the night before and once again became convinced that in order to eat French food for dinner we would have to take out more student loans in order to pay for dinner, so we ate Italian, again. The place was good, not as good as Renato's. The enjoyment of the evening was capped off by the fact that France was playing Mexico in the World Cup. The entire restaurant was turned to watch the massacre unfold. We were definitely rooting for the French... however, they didn't live up to expectations. I must say, the French took the loss, and the subsequent knowledge that they wouldn't advance, much better than we thought. Thank the good baby Jesus that we weren't in England when they tied Algeria 0-0, talk about not taking it well...
Isabella's Top 5 Quotes:
5. And here, we have the best bum in the entire museum.
4. While you take a toilet break, I'll go get the tickets. I'll be back... or not.
3. Napoleon was very fond of traveling. Especially with his army. And he liked to bring back souvenirs.
2. -They're just children
- GNOMES!
1. (about Louvre security) If you have knives, guns, bombs... put them in your pocket. They check the bag, not the person.
That last one turned out to be quite true.
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