Vacation
The first few days of the trip were spent in full travel mode. I took those jet-lag pills, but I'm either too tired to notice them working or they didn't work. There was a trans-Atlantic flight to London. I actually did some sleeping since the entertainment system was on the fritz. In Heathrow, we hit up the yotel (probably pronounced like hotel, but I preferred the pronunciation that more closely mirrored the high pitched singing in the Alps). The yotel was the comforts of a cruise ship on dry land bathed in purple light. We were packed in like a can of those smelly fishes. As far as hotels connected to an airport go, the yotel is definitely the best (and only) one I've ever stayed in. From London, we flew to Barcelona. I have no idea what happened in Barcelona except that I vaguely recall some dinner, a hostel, a walk, and some attempts at Spanish that went nowhere. There was an Amazing Race-style event that C and I attempted at her urging. Somehow my train got walloped by her bus. I have to wonder if it was rigged.

To add to the international intrigue, my pocket was very nearly picked on the public transit system. Fortunately, I felt the shady fellow trying and failing to scratch my passport out of my pocket. It was pretty awkward and unnerving, but a good wake-up call.

Then came a new day with a lost lens cap and a train ride from Barcelona to Arles, France. I think the train ride in Norway spoiled me. There were some nice moments where green rolling hills dotted with country houses and towns were part of the vast landscape in front of the snow-capped Pyrenees, but there were also a fair number of industrial buildings with graffiti on their backsides. I mostly took to reading "The Yellow Jersey". The cover calls it the greatest cycling novel ever written. I'm afraid if that's true that I'm finished reading cycling novels.

That night, we lounged around our home for the week long enough to turn a leisurely dinner into a rush to get back to the train station to meet another reveler/traveler/our conversational sherpa. I ended up alone in the restaurant waiting for l'addition (the check) and alternately trying out half-remembered French phrases on my self and straining to hear the couple speaking at the nearest table. I may have napped too long today because as the clock rolled past bedtime, I got my second wind.