Here's a quick sidenote. Have you noticed the new elements that I added to our page? There's a box with links to our photo albums, so you don't have to navigate through the posts to find them. You can also chuckle at the temperatures we're still shivering through while you Pennsylvanians don your flip-flops and tank tops. Lastly, keep track of our approaching return home with the handy countdown box. (For some of you redheaded sisters out there, it's the ever-shrinking time you have left with items "borrowed" from my wardrobe.)
Questions, comments, concerns, discussion items?
19 April 2008
We interrupt this blog to bring you a very important… RANT.
This semester, for me, could go by any number of names. I'm just brainstorming, but here are a few ideas:
The Semester When Allie Learned to Clean Her Own Toilet
The Semester When Allie's Boyfriend Enjoyed Quiche, Tiepins, and Ballet
The Semester When Allie Ate As Many Pastries As Vegetables
The Semester When Allie Fell in Love With Amsterdam
The Semester When Allie Learned That Red Wine Gives Her Asian Flush
There are others, but let's not be excessive. I'll give you just one more:
The Semester When Allie Experienced Many Annoying Things
So, you already knew about the mouse. Which later became mice, when I caught one in the kitchen nibbling on a granola bar. But so as not to seem unappreciative, I've avoided telling you about a couple other things. Well, that sure backfired. Now it's all built up and I have to write a whole post of whining.
Let's make a numbered list.
1. The mice
2. A leak in my roof
3. A few perpetually broken lights
4. Food poisoning: round one
5. An outer ear infection, treated by a Dutch-speaking doctor
6. Food poisoning: round two
7. A canceled flight back from Barcelona, rerouted to Paris 5 hours later, ending with a $120 train ride back to Brussels
8. Recently, no heat in my apartment
9. And the real kicker… BEDBUGS
That's right, you heard it. Bedbugs are real, and they live in my room. When the sun goes down, the little rice-sized pests crawl out from the cracks in my wood floor and find their dinner. On me. I wake up with tiny bites forming trails along my shoulders, hands, and lower back.
Needless to say, I haven't been handling this latest problem calmly. On Thursday, I dragged Ceej back to my apartment after class to help with my makeshift debugging strategy. We vacuumed for hours. We sprayed an entire can of insecticide on my bed, floors, and baseboards. After that, we hauled my blankets, sheets, rug, and pajamas to the laundromat for an extremely hot washing. This turned my white sheets pink. It's almost like my papa's here.
I ended my de-pest-fest around 8 last night, ate dinner, and went to my computer to start writing a politics paper that's due on Monday. Before a single paragraph was written, two bedbugs crawled across my desk.
That was the breaking point. I cried, a lot. I called home and cried some more. I didn't want to be a grown up anymore.
Very little progress was made on my paper, and by 2 a.m. I knew that I wouldn't be able to go on the planned trip to Alsace this weekend. I sent Ceej an apologetic email, hoping that he would have enough fun with the rest of the CIEE group to not resent my abandoning him.
Today was a little better. I realized that if I wait until 5 a.m. to go to sleep, I only have to suffer through an hour or so of the bedbuggy darkness. When the sun comes up, they go back in hiding, and I can sleep peacefully for a few hours.
It's obviously a temporary solution. My European roommates have been incredibly helpful in calling our landlord and nagging him to hire an exterminator. I think that they have also sensed my need to get out of the house and toss back a few. Sonja invited me to go to a bar in our neighborhood with her and a semi-American friend.
We started with kir, my favorite, because it's so irresistible. But after that, we ordered a half bottle of white wine from Alsace. If I had to stay home to battle my bedbugs, I would at least be with Ceejay in spirit(s)*.
*I feel the need to admit that this post was born entirely of my wish to publish this really, really awful pun.
The Semester When Allie Learned to Clean Her Own Toilet
The Semester When Allie's Boyfriend Enjoyed Quiche, Tiepins, and Ballet
The Semester When Allie Ate As Many Pastries As Vegetables
The Semester When Allie Fell in Love With Amsterdam
The Semester When Allie Learned That Red Wine Gives Her Asian Flush
There are others, but let's not be excessive. I'll give you just one more:
The Semester When Allie Experienced Many Annoying Things
So, you already knew about the mouse. Which later became mice, when I caught one in the kitchen nibbling on a granola bar. But so as not to seem unappreciative, I've avoided telling you about a couple other things. Well, that sure backfired. Now it's all built up and I have to write a whole post of whining.
Let's make a numbered list.
1. The mice
2. A leak in my roof
3. A few perpetually broken lights
4. Food poisoning: round one
5. An outer ear infection, treated by a Dutch-speaking doctor
6. Food poisoning: round two
7. A canceled flight back from Barcelona, rerouted to Paris 5 hours later, ending with a $120 train ride back to Brussels
8. Recently, no heat in my apartment
9. And the real kicker… BEDBUGS
That's right, you heard it. Bedbugs are real, and they live in my room. When the sun goes down, the little rice-sized pests crawl out from the cracks in my wood floor and find their dinner. On me. I wake up with tiny bites forming trails along my shoulders, hands, and lower back.
Needless to say, I haven't been handling this latest problem calmly. On Thursday, I dragged Ceej back to my apartment after class to help with my makeshift debugging strategy. We vacuumed for hours. We sprayed an entire can of insecticide on my bed, floors, and baseboards. After that, we hauled my blankets, sheets, rug, and pajamas to the laundromat for an extremely hot washing. This turned my white sheets pink. It's almost like my papa's here.
I ended my de-pest-fest around 8 last night, ate dinner, and went to my computer to start writing a politics paper that's due on Monday. Before a single paragraph was written, two bedbugs crawled across my desk.
That was the breaking point. I cried, a lot. I called home and cried some more. I didn't want to be a grown up anymore.
Very little progress was made on my paper, and by 2 a.m. I knew that I wouldn't be able to go on the planned trip to Alsace this weekend. I sent Ceej an apologetic email, hoping that he would have enough fun with the rest of the CIEE group to not resent my abandoning him.
Today was a little better. I realized that if I wait until 5 a.m. to go to sleep, I only have to suffer through an hour or so of the bedbuggy darkness. When the sun comes up, they go back in hiding, and I can sleep peacefully for a few hours.
It's obviously a temporary solution. My European roommates have been incredibly helpful in calling our landlord and nagging him to hire an exterminator. I think that they have also sensed my need to get out of the house and toss back a few. Sonja invited me to go to a bar in our neighborhood with her and a semi-American friend.
We started with kir, my favorite, because it's so irresistible. But after that, we ordered a half bottle of white wine from Alsace. If I had to stay home to battle my bedbugs, I would at least be with Ceejay in spirit(s)*.
*I feel the need to admit that this post was born entirely of my wish to publish this really, really awful pun.
17 April 2008
Mishmash of posts
I know, I know. Not enough posts. It's not like I haven't been trying. There are several drafts of posts which I have started and abandoned. But I'll try to bang out one really long one (edit: that didn't happen). Here goes...
The How to Patronize the Arts post was where I planned to describe all the artistic things that we had seen. Now there are too many things to go into great detail, but I saw:
STOMP in Antwerp with Gino and his doctor and doctor's husband. We drove there, and it was quickly apparent that no one really knew where the theater was. Evidently they thought the theater would be big and obvious enough that if we just drove around Antwerp for a while we'd stumble upon it. Too bad we left really late and just barely made it there on time.
The great thing about STOMP was that no one in the audience has to speak or understand any certain language. A great deal of the humor was slapstick. The Flemings, the Wallons, and even the Americans in the theater could all chuckle when the member of the group designated to take the physical abuse got smacked in the head with a pipe.
After STOMP, we went for drink in a gaudy golden mall. A floating champagne bar in a gaudy golden mall, to be more precise. Now, Antwerp is quite well known for its fashion. I dressed to impress (or so I thought). Maybe the fact that a single glass of champagne cost 16 euros ($25) should have tipped me off. Let's just say I felt poor. But the champagne and passion fruit chocolate dessert were comforting.
I am so bad at getting these posts finished. My goal should be to write two short paragraphs and just post what I have—to follow up on things when the mood strikes.
My experience here has introduced me to new art forms that I never expected to enjoy. To fill you in on it all would take a sit-down, so I’ll focus on the big surprise. BALLET. It’s the macho man’s worst nightmare: a bunch of tall stick-figure women prancing around to classical music, occasionally jumping into the buff arms of prop-like men. All cinematic references to ballet that I can recall involve guys falling asleep due to boredom. I can tell you that last Sunday, this was certainly not the case for me.
Bejart is a famous ballet choreographer, one that Gino worked under for a time when he was younger. He revolutionized the scene in many ways. The prop-like man mentality that I mentioned really got to him. Whereas most people thought of men as too bulky or powerful to perform elegant dance, Bejart felt that men could dance the same moves with a different spin (no poor pun intended). Therefore he turned famous work completely on its head by reversing the gender roles. The ballet I attended with Gino, Peter (his doctor), and Peter’s husband was a marvelous example of Bejart’s work.
The dancers were gorgeous, and their bodies did incredible things. I found myself wondering how many years of training it took for them to achieve such a level of perfection. Each dance had a story to tell, ones which I found more satisfying to interpret myself as opposed to watching a play and having the characters express themselves aloud. The non-verbal communication through music and dance was tiring because my eyes wanted to catch every detail, every piece of the puzzle. It made me almost sleepy by intermission but, I think, for quite different reasons than my ballet going counterparts from TV and movies.
What surprised me most was how modern the dance often was. One character/dancer sometimes played the part of conducting the music. He was dressed in a suit, with no shirt, shoes, or (from what I could tell) underwear. Just pants and a jacket. His long hair bobbed around in a funny way because of the long uneven strides he took across the stage.
Also, the end piece was borderline pornographic. Ok, that is an exaggeration. But it was very clear that the main couple were air humping each other. Especially when the other couples watched, and subsequently mimicked their moves. Oh and the male laid on top of the female for half of the dance (no humping at that point).
Afterwards, Gino explained that when the dance was first done it was quite scandalous. The critics and Paris wrote that Bejart could have kept that in his bedroom where it belonged. He also explained the departure from traditional gender roles. For dinner, Peter took us to a nice hotel restaurant where I drank some kir as we waited for it to be 16:30 (when they start serving dinner). The asparagus and goat cheese dish was delicous.
We spoke mostly German, since my German is better than Peter’s husbands English. They told me about the trip they are taking to America this summer, and were excited to learn that I’ll be in DC when they visit. Gino later told me he’s jealous they get to visit me and he doesn’t. Peter is really taking advantage of the dollar to euro conversion rate. Gino should follow suit, I think.
Anyway we just had a dinner party, I’ll get online to post this now.
The How to Patronize the Arts post was where I planned to describe all the artistic things that we had seen. Now there are too many things to go into great detail, but I saw:
STOMP in Antwerp with Gino and his doctor and doctor's husband. We drove there, and it was quickly apparent that no one really knew where the theater was. Evidently they thought the theater would be big and obvious enough that if we just drove around Antwerp for a while we'd stumble upon it. Too bad we left really late and just barely made it there on time.
The great thing about STOMP was that no one in the audience has to speak or understand any certain language. A great deal of the humor was slapstick. The Flemings, the Wallons, and even the Americans in the theater could all chuckle when the member of the group designated to take the physical abuse got smacked in the head with a pipe.
After STOMP, we went for drink in a gaudy golden mall. A floating champagne bar in a gaudy golden mall, to be more precise. Now, Antwerp is quite well known for its fashion. I dressed to impress (or so I thought). Maybe the fact that a single glass of champagne cost 16 euros ($25) should have tipped me off. Let's just say I felt poor. But the champagne and passion fruit chocolate dessert were comforting.
I am so bad at getting these posts finished. My goal should be to write two short paragraphs and just post what I have—to follow up on things when the mood strikes.
My experience here has introduced me to new art forms that I never expected to enjoy. To fill you in on it all would take a sit-down, so I’ll focus on the big surprise. BALLET. It’s the macho man’s worst nightmare: a bunch of tall stick-figure women prancing around to classical music, occasionally jumping into the buff arms of prop-like men. All cinematic references to ballet that I can recall involve guys falling asleep due to boredom. I can tell you that last Sunday, this was certainly not the case for me.
Bejart is a famous ballet choreographer, one that Gino worked under for a time when he was younger. He revolutionized the scene in many ways. The prop-like man mentality that I mentioned really got to him. Whereas most people thought of men as too bulky or powerful to perform elegant dance, Bejart felt that men could dance the same moves with a different spin (no poor pun intended). Therefore he turned famous work completely on its head by reversing the gender roles. The ballet I attended with Gino, Peter (his doctor), and Peter’s husband was a marvelous example of Bejart’s work.
The dancers were gorgeous, and their bodies did incredible things. I found myself wondering how many years of training it took for them to achieve such a level of perfection. Each dance had a story to tell, ones which I found more satisfying to interpret myself as opposed to watching a play and having the characters express themselves aloud. The non-verbal communication through music and dance was tiring because my eyes wanted to catch every detail, every piece of the puzzle. It made me almost sleepy by intermission but, I think, for quite different reasons than my ballet going counterparts from TV and movies.
What surprised me most was how modern the dance often was. One character/dancer sometimes played the part of conducting the music. He was dressed in a suit, with no shirt, shoes, or (from what I could tell) underwear. Just pants and a jacket. His long hair bobbed around in a funny way because of the long uneven strides he took across the stage.
Also, the end piece was borderline pornographic. Ok, that is an exaggeration. But it was very clear that the main couple were air humping each other. Especially when the other couples watched, and subsequently mimicked their moves. Oh and the male laid on top of the female for half of the dance (no humping at that point).
Afterwards, Gino explained that when the dance was first done it was quite scandalous. The critics and Paris wrote that Bejart could have kept that in his bedroom where it belonged. He also explained the departure from traditional gender roles. For dinner, Peter took us to a nice hotel restaurant where I drank some kir as we waited for it to be 16:30 (when they start serving dinner). The asparagus and goat cheese dish was delicous.
We spoke mostly German, since my German is better than Peter’s husbands English. They told me about the trip they are taking to America this summer, and were excited to learn that I’ll be in DC when they visit. Gino later told me he’s jealous they get to visit me and he doesn’t. Peter is really taking advantage of the dollar to euro conversion rate. Gino should follow suit, I think.
Anyway we just had a dinner party, I’ll get online to post this now.
11 April 2008
The Royal Museums of Fine Arts of Belgium
We visited this massive museum on one of our first Saturdays in Brussels. It's comprised of two parts, the Museum of Ancient Art and the Museum of Modern Art, housed in a sumptuous building with 9ish floors. It's also right next to the chocolate square (Place du Grand Sablon), le Parc de Bruxelles, and a number of other museums, making it a truly Brussels-ey area.
Most of the old stuff doesn't do too much for me, but I do really love Hieronymus Bosch. He painted during the 15th and 16th centuries and is famous for his complex and bizarre depictions of demons, magical-looking creatures, and fantasy worlds. (A sort of Dante-esque hell.) Somehow, this is all supposed to make the viewer fearful of his own evil tendencies. I just think I'd like to have some of the animals as pets.
One other interesting painting from the same era is Landscape with the Fall of Icarus, by Pieter Bruegel the Elder. Icarus of course is the character from Greek mythology who got a little too flight-happy, disobeyed his father, and let his homemade wings melt in the sun. First check out the painting, then read this fantastic little poem by William Carlos Williams (one of my favorites):
(W.H. Auden has a somewhat different take on this painting in his poem "Musée des Beaux Arts.")
Oh wait! One more. Jacques-Louis David's The Death of Marat is the city's pride and joy. It was painted in Paris in 1793 during the Reign of Terror, the months of the French Revolution when the guillotine was busiest. It shows the liberal propagandist Marat murdered by Charlotte Corday, a moderate from Normandy who afterward ran through the streets waving her bloody weapon for all to see. Marat had a skin condition (possibly a symptom of celiac disease) that kept him lingering in the tub for hours every day, quite vulnerable to sneaky Corday. The painter, David, was chummy with Marat, and banged out this painting four months after the murder as a memorial and a political statement. But David was also chummy with Robespierre, a leader of the French Revolution who fell out of public favor when he began decapitating folks too ruthlessly. Robespierre was sent to the guillotine in 1794, and by that time David had already peaced out to Brussels, hoping to keep his tête intact. He took this painting with him, and after his death it was donated to the city.
Okay, so, on y va! Onto the modern stuff. During the 19th century, Belgian and Dutch artists dabbled in all sorts of movements, including realism, naturalism, impressionism, pointillism, post-impressionism, and symbolism. I don't feel like writing about those.
I'm more into the 20th century stuff, from surrealist painters like René Magritte and Salvador Dali. Brussels is home to The Empire of Lights, Magritte's tricky painting that makes you think hmm, something's fishy here.
Okay, well, I wanted to give you more to read today, but I'm all tuckered out and I've only covered one museum! So check back soon for my thoughts on:
The Groeninge Museum
The Van Gogh Museum
The Rijksmuseum
The Mauritshuis
Le Louvre
Le Musée d'Orsay
Most of the old stuff doesn't do too much for me, but I do really love Hieronymus Bosch. He painted during the 15th and 16th centuries and is famous for his complex and bizarre depictions of demons, magical-looking creatures, and fantasy worlds. (A sort of Dante-esque hell.) Somehow, this is all supposed to make the viewer fearful of his own evil tendencies. I just think I'd like to have some of the animals as pets.
One other interesting painting from the same era is Landscape with the Fall of Icarus, by Pieter Bruegel the Elder. Icarus of course is the character from Greek mythology who got a little too flight-happy, disobeyed his father, and let his homemade wings melt in the sun. First check out the painting, then read this fantastic little poem by William Carlos Williams (one of my favorites):
According to Brueghel
when Icarus fell
it was spring
a farmer was ploughing
his field
the whole pageantry
of the year was
awake tingling
near
the edge of the sea
concerned
with itself
sweating in the sun
that melted
the wings' wax
unsignificantly
off the coast
there was
a splash quite unnoticed
this was
Icarus drowning
(W.H. Auden has a somewhat different take on this painting in his poem "Musée des Beaux Arts.")
Oh wait! One more. Jacques-Louis David's The Death of Marat is the city's pride and joy. It was painted in Paris in 1793 during the Reign of Terror, the months of the French Revolution when the guillotine was busiest. It shows the liberal propagandist Marat murdered by Charlotte Corday, a moderate from Normandy who afterward ran through the streets waving her bloody weapon for all to see. Marat had a skin condition (possibly a symptom of celiac disease) that kept him lingering in the tub for hours every day, quite vulnerable to sneaky Corday. The painter, David, was chummy with Marat, and banged out this painting four months after the murder as a memorial and a political statement. But David was also chummy with Robespierre, a leader of the French Revolution who fell out of public favor when he began decapitating folks too ruthlessly. Robespierre was sent to the guillotine in 1794, and by that time David had already peaced out to Brussels, hoping to keep his tête intact. He took this painting with him, and after his death it was donated to the city.
Okay, so, on y va! Onto the modern stuff. During the 19th century, Belgian and Dutch artists dabbled in all sorts of movements, including realism, naturalism, impressionism, pointillism, post-impressionism, and symbolism. I don't feel like writing about those.
I'm more into the 20th century stuff, from surrealist painters like René Magritte and Salvador Dali. Brussels is home to The Empire of Lights, Magritte's tricky painting that makes you think hmm, something's fishy here.
Okay, well, I wanted to give you more to read today, but I'm all tuckered out and I've only covered one museum! So check back soon for my thoughts on:
The Groeninge Museum
The Van Gogh Museum
The Rijksmuseum
The Mauritshuis
Le Louvre
Le Musée d'Orsay
09 April 2008
Amsterdam, Part II: Flowers, Art, and Other Pretty Things
Geez. This is no way to run a blog. Okay, so we went to Paris, where I made Ceej tote around my laptop all day for five days just hoping to find WiFi (French pronunciation: weefee) so that I could update. Well, no such luck. It was out of order at both places we tried! Then, of course, I got some sort of food poisoning (we'll blame it on the European restaurants' questionable hygiene practices), which stuck around for six lovely days. It was at its worst throughout our entire visit with Sandra, Tobias, and baby Anton in Germany. I can't say that I made the best first impression on them.
Since then, we've popped over to Barcelona for a weekend and started what will be a really annoying and exhausting month of school. (We have a bunch of papers due at the end of April, then a little chill time before our finals in mid-May.) But that's good news for you, since looming assignments call for procrastination at its best. That includes cooking extravagant and time-consuming dinners, keeping my room immaculate, and catching up on my blogging.
Alright, so, back to Amsterdam. What I love about this city is the same thing that I enjoyed so much when I visited New Orleans: art is everywhere. It is constantly evolving and growing in a community full of people who appreciate beauty and creativity in their everyday routines. As you already know, the Dutch get crafty with their bikes, making them visually appealing as well as practical. But they keep plenty of other pretty things around them as well.
First of all, they dig their fresh flowers. (HA! Get it?) This goes back hundreds of years. In the fifteenth century or so, they started importing tulips from Turkey, with prices for the rarest varieties climbing so high that there was eventually a devastating crash in the market. (Tulips in floral still lifes forever after symbolized the dangers of greed and speculation.) Well, they've got that all under control now, and Amsterdam is home to massive flower markets where you can buy all sorts of bulbs and blooms.
Flowers also pop up in most of the local art, like in the gold-leafed print I bought from this handsome lad…
And in much of the artwork in this itsy-bitsy gallery near the Anne Frank House. I spent lots of money here.
Another good place to see artlife is at the Dam Square, Amsterdam's equivalent of the Grand Place. People create elaborate costumes from all kinds of mixed media and then collect euros from tourists who want to photograph them. Well, Lucy and I shelled out plenty of coins at the Dam Square. We were especially excited to find a few artists just getting ready for the day. (See way more pictures of this and the rest of Amsterdam in my album.)
This is how you know that Amsterdam must have artistic skills running through its tap water: even the ugly stuff is pretty. Everywhere we turned, fantastic graffiti covered the walls.
Actually, I think it is very possible that the Dutch are naturally super artistic. The area of the Netherlands and northern Belgium was one of the two centers of European art for centuries (with the other being Italy). Some schools you may have heard of are the Flemish Primitives and the Dutch Masters… not to mention the Surrealists, the Art Nouveau movement, and the Amsterdam School of Architecture. Wowza.
We've had the chance to see an incredible amount of this art in museums around the Netherlands and Belgium. But it's nearly midnight here, and I'm hoping to drag myself out for a run tomorrow morning, so I'll stop for now. If you're very lucky, I'll write to you tomorrow about the museums we've seen. Cross your fingers, and bonne nuit!
Since then, we've popped over to Barcelona for a weekend and started what will be a really annoying and exhausting month of school. (We have a bunch of papers due at the end of April, then a little chill time before our finals in mid-May.) But that's good news for you, since looming assignments call for procrastination at its best. That includes cooking extravagant and time-consuming dinners, keeping my room immaculate, and catching up on my blogging.
Alright, so, back to Amsterdam. What I love about this city is the same thing that I enjoyed so much when I visited New Orleans: art is everywhere. It is constantly evolving and growing in a community full of people who appreciate beauty and creativity in their everyday routines. As you already know, the Dutch get crafty with their bikes, making them visually appealing as well as practical. But they keep plenty of other pretty things around them as well.
First of all, they dig their fresh flowers. (HA! Get it?) This goes back hundreds of years. In the fifteenth century or so, they started importing tulips from Turkey, with prices for the rarest varieties climbing so high that there was eventually a devastating crash in the market. (Tulips in floral still lifes forever after symbolized the dangers of greed and speculation.) Well, they've got that all under control now, and Amsterdam is home to massive flower markets where you can buy all sorts of bulbs and blooms.
Flowers also pop up in most of the local art, like in the gold-leafed print I bought from this handsome lad…
And in much of the artwork in this itsy-bitsy gallery near the Anne Frank House. I spent lots of money here.
Another good place to see artlife is at the Dam Square, Amsterdam's equivalent of the Grand Place. People create elaborate costumes from all kinds of mixed media and then collect euros from tourists who want to photograph them. Well, Lucy and I shelled out plenty of coins at the Dam Square. We were especially excited to find a few artists just getting ready for the day. (See way more pictures of this and the rest of Amsterdam in my album.)
This is how you know that Amsterdam must have artistic skills running through its tap water: even the ugly stuff is pretty. Everywhere we turned, fantastic graffiti covered the walls.
Actually, I think it is very possible that the Dutch are naturally super artistic. The area of the Netherlands and northern Belgium was one of the two centers of European art for centuries (with the other being Italy). Some schools you may have heard of are the Flemish Primitives and the Dutch Masters… not to mention the Surrealists, the Art Nouveau movement, and the Amsterdam School of Architecture. Wowza.
We've had the chance to see an incredible amount of this art in museums around the Netherlands and Belgium. But it's nearly midnight here, and I'm hoping to drag myself out for a run tomorrow morning, so I'll stop for now. If you're very lucky, I'll write to you tomorrow about the museums we've seen. Cross your fingers, and bonne nuit!
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