Artful Loafing: A Quest to Europe and South America

Reflections of an artful loafer, one year since passed

2006-09-10T01:43:00.000-03:00

It has been just over one year since I touched ground in Paris to embark upon my journey through the continents, two of them to be precise. I returned to the States on December 17 last year, though it feels as if I have been dreaming for the entirety of the nine months since passed. In a way, I have been dreaming. Or, perhaps, I wish that this were a dream. In that case, I could awaken and continue from where I left off, step outside of my apartment in Paris or Buenos Aires (either one, really) and think to myself, "how shall I color my day today?". But, alas, that is not the case. I have had to enter a world far more real than the one I was so fortunate to inhabit during my stint as an artful loafer. In short, I needed to pay "the bills." And I am proud to say that I am fully capable of functioning in the all too real world of bill payment. I have done it and I can do it. Now all I need to do is find where I fit in this bill-payers world. Quite frankly, I'd like to escape, once again, as soon as possible. From time to time, I find myself dreaming of the pigeons and the wayfarers in Place du Contrescarpe, Paris, the sun-drenched peaks of the Andes mountains on the high-altitude passageways between Chile and Argentina, and the warm calm of evenings in the one-bedroom apartment I shared in the fifth arondissement. So, the question is, if you find yourself daydreaming within a world you have deemed a dream to begin with, where are you?

Back in BA

2005-12-10T12:03:00.000-03:00

Why hello there... It feels like it has been quite some time. I apologize for the gap in time. Solo traveling has been a lot busier and more intense than I thought it would. I simply assumed that traveling on my own would give me oodles of free time to roam and pontificate the meaning of dew and the romping of guanacos, but alas no, that was not the truth for me. For me, traveling solo meant doing a whole lot of talkity talk talk with folks on my path, many of them Argentine, and most often in spanish. After the two weeks that have just passed before my eyes (and, by proxy, the rest of my body), I have emerged a far better spanish speaker than I thought was possible. I even acted as translator for a bunch of Israelis in a taxi cab way up north by Iguazu's absolutely magnificent waterfalls. From bicycle rides to hiking up the sierras to taxi cabs to hotel desks, bus rides, and restaurants, I did a whole lot of the talk, and managed to meet some of the finest folk a person could ever request, and perhaps even finer than that. The grand mix included a pretty boy and a female police officer from Hamburg, a bicycle riding Jerry Garcia look-alike on my way to the wineries, a pair of uber-Norwegian sisters, an Icelandic young'n with an extraordinary ability to drink massive amounts of alcohol (or at least by my standards), and a very generous sprinkling of Israelis (ranging from mild to extra-strength Israeli), and there were many a more. This segment of my journey, while perhaps the most daunting at first, was I think one of, if not the most rewarding of all segments. It asked me to find friends and create home spaces on the spot as backdrops frequently morphed, sometimes even within the same locale. I also managed to get back on the rafting horse (after the whole nail loss thing) and go rafting once again, this time on the much more spirited and rapid Rio Mendoza. And I made it back alive and in the same amount of pieces as I was before, that being one. From crossing the stark and gorgeous Andes to heading northward to the sierras of Cordoba, from laying low and relaxing at a ranch in sleepy Villa General Belgrano to heading way up north to see the gargantuan Iguazu Falls, stretching my legs even into Brazil for a day, I have now closed my two week chapter of solo travel and have arrived satisfied and safe in Buenos Aires, the starting point of my Argentine excursion.

On my bus ride back to BA, I befriended a small 10 year-old boy named Facundo from a suburb of Buenos Aires. He had been visiting family up north and was now heading home to pack for summer camp in the country. This was his first long bus ride alone. He offerred me a mint-flavored sucking candy, I gave him some of my water. I showed him the Adventures of Huck Finn, he showed me the three marbles that he kept in an old Colgate toothpaste box, even the big one with the dent in it. We laughed at the old folks snoring in the back of the bus and stared out of the windows with curiosity and perhaps even a bit of wonder as we passed through the variegated worlds of Argentina's massive stretches. We fell in and out of slumber for the remainder of the ride and, just like that, we became friends. His mind was stocked full with beginnings: the beginning of summer, the beginning of bus trips on his own, the beginning of summer camp in the country. Lingering in my mind, the conclusion of my solo travel time, the conclusion of my time in Argentina, the conclusion of my time abroad. And I felt calm, I felt satisfied, I felt happy. I imagined our bus a ship passing others through the night in silence and drifted into some of the most peaceful slumber I had had in days. I woke with the sun and saw Facundo rustling about with the anxiousness of any 10-year old boy on a 20-hour bus trip. We were but a few minutes away from home and it was clear that it was going to be a gorgeous blue sky day. Off the bus we went and left for our entirely separate paths, he to his dad standing attentively outside the bus, me to a cab back to my temporary apartment a few neighborhoods over. He's going to have a great summer at camp, I thought, and I think things are looking alright for me too.

See y'all in New York in a week.

Adieu to the penguins of Patagonia

2005-11-28T11:33:00.000-03:00

Fare thee well my oreo cookie-colored waddling friends. It was grand frollicking with you while I could. I have now gone to warmer parts of the continent and am far happier and rosy-colored than I have been in quite some time. I wish only good things to you and your kin and send my best to the members of the New York Zoological Society who are conducting research with you this summer; treat them well as they are like distant cousins to me and they don't know the patagonian way as well as you do. Oh dear penguins, or pinguinos as you are so lovingly referred to in these parts, waddle with care; be light of foot and always be mindful of the path before you, as it might change before your very eyes within but an instant's time. The days will pass and I will be crossing the Andes from Chile to Argentina, through the sun-baked trails of Mendoza, Cordoba, past the Jesuitic crypts and perhaps into the sub-tropical climes of Iguazu, where the waterfalls reign supreme. I will give my regards to the condors and take heed of their messages so when I visit you next, I will deliver you these ever regarded words of your northern kin. Only good things to you, only good things...

Aha!

2005-11-25T20:48:00.000-03:00

Hello there! I am very glad to say that I am back and typing after the annoying injury-related hiatus. A night or two ago, I shed my very large, white, finger-sized bandage while ostensibly tossing and turning in the middle of the night. I woke up and it was gone. At first I thought it was a miracle (it was the middle of the night when I discovered its disappearance, all things are possible at that cognitive stage of awakening) then I thought one of my hostel mates thought it would be funny to take it off, but then I realized that that isn't funny at all but rather inhumane, so at that moment, I resigned myself to the miracle and went back to sleep. Only later that evening did I discover the bandage on the side of my bunk bed.

So... at the moment, I am sporting a nifty, very portable bandaid brand bandaid, which has since permitted me to do all sorts of things, like type, point at people, and twiddle my fingers in rhythmically accurate time (all very important tasks indeed).

So the past ten days have been quite eventful. I have traversed the massive Argentine land mass, greeting whales, penguins, cormorants, sea lions, and guanacos along the way. In addition to communing (or, at the very least, "ooh-ing," "aah -ing," and ogling) with the wildlife, I have been doing the hiking and (I dare to say it) outdoorsy thing these days (Scott, outdoorsy? Do those mix?). It is, however, a very Scott-is-still-wearing-sweaters-and-jeans-with-running-sneakers-while-hiking kind of deal. I am at present in the southermost city in the world, Ushuaia. It is rarely dark here. In fact, I haven't seen natural darkness yet while in this locale.

I do have many a story to tell, most particularly one of my more-kookified-than-I-could-ever-imagine thanksgiving extended evening into night into morning. Amalea left yesterday to do a volunteer program in Chile with sea otters and thus I was left to my own devices on Thanksgiving. I think I will need a bit of rest before I can fully describe the crazy, but it was quite the eve, quit the eve indeed.

Tomorrow, I fly to Santiago, Chile, officially beginning the Scott-flies-solo leg of the journey, taking me eastward by bus through northern Argentina on my way back to the apartment in Buenos Aires. I will be sure to elaborate on all things relevant. Until then, only good things to you all and belated Thanksgiving well wishes!

My apologies...

2005-11-15T19:44:00.000-03:00

It has been some time since my last entry. A few days ago, I sustained an injury to my right ring finger (my nail was partially taken off and had to be completely removed at the hospital) while on a rafting trip that has since put me in quite a bit of pain and partially out of commission, especially when it comes to typing (right now, I am handling the whole keyboard with my thankfully functional left hand, good 'ole lefty). Fortunately, the doctors at the hospital in El Bolson have been fantastic to me and all should be well. I have not let the pain stop me from enjoying this unbelievably beautiful rural hippie mountain town, rife with artesanal chocolate, ice cream, and beer and gorgeous views of the andes. I have been hiking almost every day since the incident, and while the loss has slowed me down, I am not letting it ruin the journey. I hope to be back up and typing (among other things, naturally) real soon, but I was told it'll take about three months before I have a complete nail again. Such is life. Nevertheless, I am having a great time and look forward to tomorrow eve as we embark upon a bus journey to Puerto Madryn, a whale watchin', penguin waddlin' kind of place, from what I have been told. So, that is indeed the deal. Best!

2005-11-08T17:29:00.000-03:00

A taste of Argentinean political sentiment... They love their dulce, their beef, and their kissy kissy, but they sure do not have love for the W.

2005-11-08T17:22:00.000-03:00

The two of us on the restricted grounds, capturing the esteem and curiosity of Argentinean youngsters and the disapproval of their nearby parents...

2005-11-08T17:19:00.000-03:00

Amalea, such a rebel she is...

2005-11-08T17:17:00.000-03:00

Ever see Muppetts Take Manhattan? Remember that scene where the gang is living in lockers at the train station? Well, this is kind of like that except with dead people. This is at the Recoleta Cemetery, where many a wealthy and prominent Argentinean have come to rest their esteemed bones.

2005-11-08T17:15:00.000-03:00

Buenos Aires Indeed

Kissy Kissy Kissy - Argentinean PDAs

2005-11-03T12:33:00.000-03:00

While Paris had its conical shrubbery and crepes as elements that defined the city's cultural identity and life force (yes, I think that shrubs and crepes are indeed that powerful), Buenos Aires has its dulce de leche (which is on just about everything you could imagine, it pops up every where in your food), beef, and kissy kissy kiss kiss. Oh, yeah, I should add dog poop (you knew it was coming). Definitely dog poop. But especially kissy kissy kiss kiss, all over the place. Everyone in Buenos Aires is in love, or at the very least pretending to be. And the porteño couples have established a united front of public displays of affection in locales everywhere. Perhaps it is because it is technically late spring early summer and, as we all know, this is the time for young chicks and roosters to find each other and blissfully unite for a series of swingin' eves at the coop, so to speak. All I know is that eveywhere I go, I am either in danger of stepping into doggy doo or another Argentinean makeout session and I must admit, I am not sure which one makes me more uncomfortable. Don't get me wrong, I am all about love. It's just that sometimes I like to promenade through pretty parks, fair grounds, pancho stands (pancho = hot dog, isn't that great?) tree-lined streets, or traffic-circles (yes, they've taken control of the traffic circles) without kissy kiss kiss in my path. But, alas, I will survive the porteño pdas and even the often poopified streets and still live to love this city for ever more, because the place has a solid spirit, perhaps even because of the poop and such. Who knows? Kissy kissy kiss kiss! Poop! (How old am I exactly?)

Accidentally deemed a rock star in Argentina...

2005-11-03T12:18:00.000-03:00

So yesterday I somehow stumbled into being declared a rock star in Argentina...well perhaps not in Argentina as a whole, but in the small set of offices of LADE airlines, the passenger service of the Argentinean Air Force that we will be flying the (hopefully) friendly skies with on our journey down to Patagonia and beyond. Now I had no intention of framing myself as a rock star, but one thing just led to another and suddenly I was the subject (presumably) of many a whisper and giggle in an office of primarily 20-something Argentinean females (the pain, the horror, the anguish). It all started when I sat down with a very nice, english-speaking Argentinean who elected to assist me with my travel needs. We talked, I told her about where I was going, where I had been, and the like. Aside from her belief that Argentina was multiple times larger than the United States ( Think Argentinean accent...now: "I know you have a big country, but Argentina is just so so big and there is so much to see here." Meanwhile, the United States is the third largest body in the world, both in geographical size and in population.), we were getting along in the dandiest of ways when she then asked me if I had ever been to Argentina before.

This is where it got a bit hairy. I told her yes, the truth, complete and pure, it even had a shimmer to it it was so clean. Then...then I said I was with a singing group at the time, also true, so very very true, I was in the game, the game of reality, a grand game. Then...then she said "ohhhh, a band."

A band...that dastardly dangerous and twisted noun, the noun that could mean oh so many things. It could mean a group of people of any kind, like band of brothers. It could mean a group of dorky brass, percussion and woodwind musicians with bad polyester costumes and plumes sticking out of their heads, like a marching band. It could mean an elastic, typically rubber harnessing tool, used for conventional purposes like holding pencils together as well as sadistic, recreational purposes like snapping your sister in the arm or shooting it at your third grade teacher (bad move, real bad), like a rubber band.

OR, or it could mean a group of instrumentalists-vocalists of questionable musical skill and sexual prowess, who "band" together (ah, a verb usage, so horribly versatile this word is) to perform for audiences with questionable (meaning, could go either way or all ways) listening skills and emotional stability, all for the purpose of exercising some kind of worship, most likely of the performers themselves, but perhaps, for the heady ones, Bacchus, the Roman god of wine (hmm, likely not).

Anyway, I seriously digress, the point is she said the word ¨band¨and I let it go. I thought it was harmless and technically it was a band, hmm... And then the word, that bloody, confusing word, spread, the spanish whispering began, and the giggles too, oh the giggles, the undeserved giggles. She asked me if I spoke spanish, I said ¨a bit¨and she then said ¨good.¨ I still don´t know what they were saying. Perhaps it was kind words like "oooh, cool" but in spanish, which could be "ooooh, muy bien," or "bueno," which is used ubitquitously by the way. Perhaps it was bad, like "he doesn´t look like someone who´d be in a band, too young looking or too short" or "he doesn´t have the right coiffant."

The point of this: I feel very bad about misleading a group of twenty something female airline agents into thinking that I was a rock musician and then having them smile and giggle in my direction as they looked at me for a short but nevertheless meaningful period of time. Hmm, strike that, I don´t feel bad at all about any of that, I actually think it´s fantastic. The point is: I am now known as a rock musician of questionable, if not inflated, success at Peru 435 in San Telmo, Buenos Aires, Argentina. You can find me there in my free time, which is technically all the time these days, oh loafing. Best.

2005-11-01T12:00:00.000-03:00

Well hello there! The elderly laptop is back in action with our newfound wifi cafe in sunny and warm Buenos Aires. To start things off, I thought I'd share a welcoming greeting we received on our first day in Italy (naturally in Venice).

2005-11-01T11:54:00.000-03:00

And now to Rome: For all our your Catholicized fashion needs, Rome sports a variety of upscale boutiques for the brides of "Christ" with that extra sense of style and pizazz...

2005-11-01T11:52:00.000-03:00

And don't forget the priests who want show the big daddy up above that they too can drop it like it's hot... In those robes, those beats they'd be droppin' would be hot indeed.

2005-11-01T11:47:00.000-03:00

In the name of all things holy and good, what on earth is going on here? While we were exploring our inner mountain goat, climbing up the extraordinarily steep hills and footpaths of Capri in Italy, we came upon this stuffed animal exhibition of sorts. Ideas anyone?

2005-11-01T11:45:00.000-03:00

Perhaps a more accurate portrayal of what Capri meant to us...perhaps not. Cue the stuffed animal crazy!

2005-11-01T11:21:00.000-03:00

Nice, France is perty, ain't it?

In Buenos Aires, alive and well!

2005-10-28T18:56:00.000-03:00

Greetings from the south ... the very, very, very south, that is. We touched down in Buenos Aires yesterday afternoon, moved into what will be our pad for the next six weeks, and did the necessary aimless and slightly awkard meandering that seems to come naturally after a two-prong 13.5 hour flight experience (sounds reasonable). We emerged from the walk more confused than anything else; we did the same exact thing when we arrived in Paris. We landed and got ourselves and our luggage to the Latin Quarter, exhausted mind you, signed the papers for our apartment by the square, tried to busy ourselves with setting up the place but then succumbed to the urge to wander without aim nor the mental capacity to understand any stimuli presented before our eyes. What justifies the Paris meandering is that it was our first time. The Buenos Aires affair, however, is simply a case of us being, you know, fools. So, we walked, we stared at the buildings, we quietly took in the images in an almost solemn way, and then resigned to the fact that we needed to go and sit in our apartment and essentially do nothing; something that I think is quite difficult for the both of us. Such is life after travel.

With all of that said, I have to say that I am thrilled to be in BA, alive and well. Alive and well refers both to the city and myself, that is. There was a bit of turbulence on the journey southward and while I am not usually a terribly nervous flier, I could not but help remembering the internet fatality statistics I had recently read (that was a bad move) for the Brazilian TAM airlines we used to get ourselves to BA. Again, I knew I should not have done that, but I couldn't resist the temptation to know how many people died and when. Simply stated, I am a bit of a jackass, but thankfully a member of the majority statistic of survivors of day-to-day air travel.

I love this city, in a really big way. I can't wait to share my photos, my stories, and the love with you all for the next set of weeks while I am here. This city has all of the spirit (and great food and pretty people) of Naples with the added set of extraordinary memories I have of its streets and people that I was so fortunate to receive with Pizmon a year and a half ago. Plus, there aren't nearly as many vespas with a vengeance on these streets as there were in Naples. In fact, I am not sure if I have seen one.

Instead, they have pretty public gardens with families of cats as permanent inhabitants and with leaf-bearing ants that have more work ethic and organizational skill than I have seen on the part of human citizens in most locales over the past two months. I remember seeing a whole string of two-lane ant traffic when I was in Uruguay a while back and being amazed both at how much they could carry and how long the work line was. I also remember standing right before the shore in Uruguay, staring at the ground to the bewilderment of most passersby, gah. But next time you are stepping through a green area, look out for the ants, it is a great spectacle indeed.

Also, after Rome, we were fortunate enough to have time to stay with Amalea's good friend Charlie, get some sun and some much-needed home cooking, and see gorgeous, vibrant Marseilles (I hope to post a picture or two of this time once I find some wireless for my elderly laptop). For the three or four days we were in Nice, it was all about preparing our minds and bodies for the big trip to the south. It was kind of like detox, but instead of methodone we had, you know, pasta, wine, X-files dvds, and sunny beach time (some of the finest of all times I might say, sunny beach time). Thanks for the hospitality Charles! All the best to you my good friend.

Anyway, I digress. To sum things up, it is phenomenal to be here in South America again, and specifically fantastic to be back in BA. More substantive stories to come!

Roman Rule # 1: To go to the bathroom, you must purchase an umbrella...

2005-10-20T06:37:00.000-03:00

Sounds a bit odd, right? Well, those are the rules apparently. We arrived in Rome yesterday and the ground was already damp. We buzzed ourselves into the Pop Inn Hostel, expecting to receive both a confirmation of our reservation and a room, but it didn't exactly flow that way. Apparently, the "confirmation" email we received was more of a "confirmation that we do have space but will see how we feel when you get there" kind of email. Perhaps that chain of events embodies Roman Rule # 1: any transaction (let's say, a reservation for example) outside Rome is only deemed valid by the whim of a Roman. After our train-lagged faces dropped, I think the hostel proprietors took pity on us and set us up with a place to stay last night and the guarantee of a place for the remaining nights we have in Rome, so long as we paid them for all nights in full ... such is life in a major European city right before the weekend.

So we managed to survive the night in what is better described as a Spartan rather than a Roman hostel, naturally with a French name (naturally), and went immediately to our hostel of choice, the Pop Inn, this morning. We walked through the doors, greeted the hostess, and expected a room, namely our room, the one we reserved a few days before arriving in this city. The nice ladies took our passport, we signed a form, it all seemed right. When we finished the work, we sighed, she sighed, it was a moment, and then ... a bit of silence. I asked, "can we see our room now?" and, in surprised fashion, she said "your room is not ready yet, come back later, you can store your stuff in the locker over there, ciao." Gah!

So we put our stuff away and went out into the pouring rain with little more than a map, an empty tummy, and a full bladder. Most of Rome's sites are outdoor affairs. And, being the genius I am, I have no umbrella. And, it being Rome (or Europe for that matter), bathrooms are not free. And the Roman bathroom, wonderfully enough, only accepts specific amounts of change. Hooray! So, to find change and to relieve Amalea's bladder, we took refuge in the nearby train station, searching for an umbrella to access the bathroom.

In sum, not only must you do as the Romans do, you also have to do as the Romans wish, even if they don't vocalize it themselves. Which leads us to Roman Rule # 2 (or 3 I guess, but who is counting?): When in Rome, do as the Romans think you should do, and develop a sense of telepathy to support such mandated behavior.

Ehh, at least I am now sporting a snappy plaid 6Euro umbrella, not everyone can boast that these days. Rome!

The Many Faces of Napoli

2005-10-18T13:40:00.000-03:00

So Lea and I have made it to Naples and have spent either two or three days here so far (after a while, the days blend, even before that, the days of the week have lost some of their meaning). Unlike most of the cities we have visited thus far, we did not have to go out and "find" Naples. From the moment we arrived in the train station, Napoli was literally in our face in the form of the swarms of people that traversed the dimly lit, somewhat dingy streets, to the zooming motor scooter drivers that clearly never took a course on defensive driving, to the overzealous sidewalk salesmen, looking for the next sucker tourist to purchase their faux handbags or squeeze toys. The minute we walked outside the station, we had Napoli in our laps. But unlike more sedate cities, Napoli didn't merely sit quietly and purr; instead, it pounced and ran off only to come back with something unseemly in its mouth. The place has pizazz and cannot be pinned down, there is no doubt.

Napoli breathes and morphs right in front of you. I could walk down a street corner on a Sunday evening and feel the dark (sometimes uneasy) calm of the day's end, and by the next corner see a world of activity: youngsters in the street playing football, their older neighbors playing just 200 feet away from them, teenagers hanging out by a square, folks promenading the streets until late into the night. By the next evening, what was quiet before is now alive, what was vibrant has fallen silent. The place breathes, it has an ebb and flow of its own unlike all the cities we have found thus far on our journey (in this sense, it shares something special with New York).

In sum, this place is very very Italian...in a big way. Venice was gorgeous and certainly belongs to Italy, but Napoli is Italian, Italian, Italian. Its citizens, with their flare for the bombastic and exclamatory, its food, the cheese, tomato, the pastry, gelato, etc.

We have been lucky enough to see Pompeii and its fascinating, eery ruins (the area and most of its inhabitants were covered in ash in 79 CE or so after Vesuvius, which is right by, erupted). Because of the ash, much of the over 2000 year-old city was preserved.

Today we ventured off to the island of Capri, by far one of the most gorgeous locations I have visited. I cannot wait until I can access wireless for my laptop to post a picture or two of this locale. The island is set atop an enormous hill that views the coast of the Golf of Napoli. The vegetation is lush and there are gargantuan rock formations embedded in the expanse of sea.

We have a great comunity in our hostel. It's run in a very relaxed fashion and is located on the third floor (fourth floor in our understanding of levels, oh Europeans) of a very old and somewhat gritty (like most of them are here) buidling in the center of town. There's a large living room and a kitchen, where most people congregate when they are not sleeping, so the place is a bit of a social scene, yet still retains a sense of relaxation, which is key. The place is groovy, most of the staff we interact with are our age or younger and there's usually music or a movie playing in the background in the evening time.

I knew I was in a good place when I made it up all the flights with my huge bag and guitar and the staff member noticed my guitar and said, "we have two house guitars if you want to try those out too." I actually managed to jam a bit with a significantly better guitar player our first night in town, always a good learning experience.

So, that's Naples. We have a bit more to explore tomorrow, perhaps another island off the mainland, perhaps a museum, and then to Rome. Italy!

Abridged: The place has got moxie, in a big way. Napoli is gritty but still has its looks, you just need to wipe off the grit to get a better look. Pompeii = quite the beauty. Capri = stunning to say the least. Food great, hostel quite chill, and we are doing just dandy.

Note: I realize this post is both a bit long and a bit diary-like. I hope, though, that it isn't excessively detailed or boring. I usually prefer the singular story type post, but I felt that this was the best way to go for this special city. I have learned that when you are on the road, it is a bit more difficult to tell stories in the way that I did while I was in Paris. But, perhaps a story will emerge in the near future. Best!

New Friends from all around...

2005-10-15T04:42:00.000-03:00

Hello... So we are now in our Italian section of the three week whirlwind around Europe. We arrived in Venice late last night, strolled from the train station and were lucky enough to find a reasonable place to sleep and keep our stuff. From what we have been told, that it is not always easy. Budapest, surprisingly enough, was so far our most difficult city to find lodging.

Speaking of Budapest, I think it is the current winner of the "what exactly do you mean by that and why is that there?" prize for our journey. The city, while certainly beautiful, does not seem to mind its decaying state. Nor does Budapest really care to notice tourists as tourists. Instead, major attractions like Castle Hill and the Roman ruins within the Buda section (yes, Budapest is indeed separated into districts, two of which are called Buda and Pest, I love it) simply chill out, somewhat uncared for but still quite beautiful. Perhaps these sites are ever more beautiful because of the relaxed way in which they are cared for. Nevertheless, Budapest is not necessarily the king of all walking or tourist cities. The architecture and the natural coloring of the area is simply stunning. I hope to post some pictures soon enough, but it may take a bit of time. I hope to have a little picture story in a short while, I just need to find adequate wireless for my ailing laptop (it is an elderly one and has gone through some tough times these days on the road).

So, to the subject of the post, these past few days have given us more friends than we could have imagined. We were able to meet up with a great, diverse group of folks on the train ride from Prague to the 'Pest and actually wound up living with them in a quasi-apartment style hostel. It was great fun having a group of six friends to hang out with, made things feel like home. And, wonderfully enough, these friends specifically wanted to break the fast with me (they weren't fasting but they surely knew I was) over dinner two nights ago, which I thought was extraordinarily nice of them. When I said how I was touched by their gesture, they simply said that they were my international family and that it would be their pleasure. How cool is that? I think that alone ranks as one of my finer moments abroad. It represents a lot of good, it embodies a kind of fellow love that people tend to ignore or think long gone these days. It represents kindness, simply expressed and thoughtfully delivered.

So Budapest, in that sense, was incredible. Although, Yom Kippur was the main focus of my stay there and I do have a set of stories regarding that experience. I won't get to it all right now though, because I am in Venice. But I have to say that Hungarian Jews are quite the odd birds. The institutions won't go the way of egalitarianism (female participation) and still have separate seating, but there were folks taking cell phone pictures at Kol Nidre and taking calls during the morning services. Whoa... It certainly sounds like the community has moved and transformed without the institutions, it happens. While it wasn't home, I was glad to be in a shul for the holidays, and I actually was called up to participate at the smaller synagogue I attended on Yom Kippur day, crazy. I do what I can, I do what I can... It felt cool. Oh international connections.

Okay, I am quite done for now.

Abridged:

Paris = well-dressed thirty something career mother, Prague = Paris' younger pretty sister, Budapest = Paris and Prague's quirky, sometimes loud-mouthed, but altogether wonderful and wily grandmother.

Yom Kippur, so Hungarian this year, Yom Kippur.

Venice!

The journey continues...

2005-10-11T13:50:00.000-03:00

So...we are leaving Prague tomorrow for Budapest, where I will be spending Yom Kippur at the Great Hungarian Synagogue on Dohany street. It should be a hoot as the shul is supposed to be the second largest in the world. The second largest what exactly I do not know. I have pictures of inordinate amounts of German meat still to share. So far, the friendliest city we have met is definitively Prague. Prague is also the friendliest city to Americans. I'm not precisely sure why that is quite yet. I'll have to think this one over for a bit. I'm just happy I got to find peacocks AND peahens, what a world...what a wonderful world indeed.

Best!

Budapest...then Italy...onward!

2005-10-10T14:46:00.000-03:00

Dave and Scott in London...together!

2005-10-10T14:44:00.000-03:00

While Paris claimed the overzealous pigeons as its own, Prague somehow has peacocks hopping through bushes within its more green quarters... This peacock right here had a particularly welcoming attitude, much like many of the Czech people we have met...

2005-10-10T14:42:00.000-03:00

Prague...so beautiful right now...Prague

The caravan heads eastward...

2005-10-09T12:18:00.000-03:00

So we have officially started our journey towards the east of this fine and predominantly friendly land mass. We started things off with Munich ... well, actually, we really started this whole thing with me landing in Paris from London, immediately heading to our apartment, packing, eating, and rushing to the train station to see how we would get this journey afloat. Before I knew it, we were sailing, or railing if you will, towards Strassbourg, stopping in Munich for the day, Berlin for the day, and now Prague.

A few things I have learned thus far...

Germans love very big lawns. They do not feel the need to demonstrate their control over nature in the shaping of trees so much as they like to show it in the amount of meat products they can turn into linked cylinders.

It isn´t the greatest of all ideas to start singing the German national anthem in front of Berliners on the street. They are still a bit sensitive when it comes to their sense of nationalism. I should have been tipped off by the way their police dress these days. They look more like timid hall monitors than law officers, such a contrast from their uniforms of yore.

The same rule as with German nationalist song-singing applies to random outbursts of my very limited German vocabulary-namely, achtung liber, einsatzgrupen, lebensraum, blitzkrieg, and my personal favorite... Ich ben ein berliner, which is "I am a Jelly donut." Oh, JFK speech mishaps, so precious.

I do hope to post pictures as soon as I find an easy way to connect my personal computer to the web here in the east. And I hope to share some stories soon enough.

So...toodles from Prague.

Greetings and Farewell to London! And an adieu to Paris...

2005-10-06T07:35:00.000-03:00

I know, it's been a while since we last conversed. I apologize for the gap time. With the holidays in full gear and me being in London with the Davester, it was a bit difficult to check in with the blog. But, alas, I am here now!

London with Dave was simply phenomenal. I could not ask for a better Rosh Hashanah abroad. It was, however, very sad to leave Paris. The morning I left, it was dark and rainy in the city, much like the weather that Amalea and I experienced when we were lugging our oversized bags up hill to get to our apartment by the square. The parallel weather, though clearly cooincidental, resonated with me and (it being dark, rainy, and 7am) made me a bit nostalgic.

Luckily, as soon as I touched down in London, the skies were gorgeous and the sun was shining (odd, usually it's Paris that's the sunny sort and London the more foggy and gray). To see the powerful, free-roaming, and expansive greens of the United Kingdom was a much needed breath of fresh air from the Parisian controlled gardens and manicured shrubs. I was in serious need of grass suited for multipurpose use.

Dave and I were fortunate enough to spend the holidays with a wonderful community in North London. I have a few stories to tell when I get the chance as there were an inordinate amount of characters in residence. But, I'm in Dave's office at the moment and while it is a lovely office with lovely people, I feel it has placed a block on the creative parts of my brain that are quite mandatory for such tales. Cubicles and work spaces just don't give me the kind of inspiration that my Parisian square provided.

I know that in the coming days, I will not be able to write as often. Amalea and I begin our European excursion tonight. I reach Paris in the evening and we officially leave our apartment soon after that to board a train, likely to Germany.

I have been trying to make sense of my Paris experience; in a way, I would like to send a farewell to the city. But it's hard, real hard in fact. It's difficult to sum up a world that you carved for five weeks; a world that took me on as much as I took it on; a set of experiences that will set the tone for the months upcoming and perhaps, who knows, beyond.

One thing I know that I can say is thank you. It's odd, perhaps, to say thank you to an entire city, but I want to do just that, and perhaps that alone. Thanks Paris. Thanks for the shrubbery, the silly, the language, the facially challenged animals, the wine & pastry and, of course, the superb homemade cheese sandwiches.

Best!

2005-09-30T05:06:00.000-03:00

It's Dave! Again!

2005-09-30T05:05:00.000-03:00

Dave visits!

At the Zoo...err, menagerie

2005-09-27T08:14:00.000-03:00

I went to the menagerie at the Jardin des Plantes the other day and learned that while French folk love their gardens to be in perfect shape and order, they like to throw all sorts of different animals together in fairly unkept cages, perhaps for sadistic fun, perhaps because they know something that I do not (they likely know many things I do not, like French for instance, and how to turn a full sized tree into a rectangular Chia pet).

I digress … so I am at the menagerie, expecting to see mainly birds, and suddenly I’m in the company of llamas with facial problems, monkeys with a combination of anxiety disorder and perhaps depression, and the nicest camels I have met in my life. All at the same zoo, err…menagerie. By far and away, this was the moment on my trip where I most wanted to have a camera and did not…it's tough being a loafer.

Llamas with facial problems: you know how Napoleon Dynamite has that stare, partially because of an oversized overbite and partially because he’s Napoleon Dynamite? So I met Napoleon Dyamite’s cousin, in llama form I guess. For those unfamiliar with ND, I walked past a llama with the kind of facial expression that either said, “I smell something odd, was that you?” or “I apologize, I have a nerve disorder and I don’t mean to suggest that you smell like the most potent composite of foot odor I have ever encountered in my llama life.”

Monkeys with Issues: It’s true, sad and true. Amalea and I met a monkey who was having a very bad day. This monkey had his head buried in his legs, his legs propped up against the plexi-glass window, and a face that could bring tears to any sentient being within a 30m radius. Tough stuff…poor monkey.

Camels with moxie: Without exception, these were the nicest camels I have met in my life. They were living it up, getting close to the visitors by the cages, looking for people to pet them, handling social calls from other camels. These camels had the menagerie system down, they were in their groove, and I was happy to see some emotionally settled animals at the venue.

The menagerie liked to combine animals that I had never seen together, like monkeys and birds; and pigeons, ducks, geese, and hamsters. While there were pigeons throughout the entire park, eating other birds' food, giving guff to the flamingos (they were generally oblivious of everything though, and likely deserved the treatment, flamingos), and making the venue a generally stinky place, the barnyard animal section (the one with the ducks and hamsters) had the audacity to act as if these pigeons were placed in the park on purpose! There was a sign that described the pigeon's historic residence in Paris, the nerve!

If that weren’t enough, there were chickens and roosters on the loose, getting rowdy with the more docile animals and visitors (one came right up to me when I was sitting on a bench and looked at me as if I was in the wrong seat at the wrong time) and there was smelliness throughout the park; the place was in dire need of a good cleaning. The only employee I saw was the pleasant lady who took my money at the gate.

Yay, Paris menagerie.

2005-09-27T08:13:00.000-03:00

Another peak...

2005-09-27T08:12:00.000-03:00

A look at the Paris Opera House's reception room...

Scott's a dork, a music dork at the very least

2005-09-27T08:07:00.000-03:00

My typical approach to “getting” Paris (as much as an American New Yorker, primarily English-speaking, 22 year-old can “get” most anything) has been to find something I think is funny or absurd about the place and project it outward.

Last night, however, Amalea and I were lucky enough to score last minute (7Euro, partial visibility mind you) tickets to see Cossi fan Tutte at the Paris Garnier Opera house (the big one, supposed to be the house in which the “Phantom of the Opera” legend took place). Now, I can certainly be a music critic, but my weaknesses were exposed and my ability to find the funny or the absurd were melted into a puddle of goo last night at the opera. From the house's architectural styling and gesture; the brilliant, golden glow chandeliers; the ornate, gold-leafed detail of the walls and balconies; and the Chagall painting that spanned the entire ceiling, the Paris Opera house was extraordinary; a sight worthy of adoration.

And the performances, the performances were phenomenal. I’m going to stop myself now because I realize that most people aren’t exactly looking to read the writing of a music geek gushing over something they themselves cannot see nor hear. But I assure you, this music geek was oh so happy last night.

Abridged: Scott’s a bit of a sucker for great music of most if not all kinds. Scott had a good time, strike that, a real good time last night at the Paris Opera. You should all visit it sometime soon and make Scott listen to how much you liked it because you might have read this piece of writing in full.

2005-09-26T06:20:00.000-03:00

Steady...steady...wait for it...Jazz!!!

2005-09-26T06:17:00.000-03:00

"I am a fairly large man with a very small umbrella...on my head."

2005-09-26T06:16:00.000-03:00

"Ehhh, quoi?"

2005-09-26T06:15:00.000-03:00

I see you! Overzealous Asian tourists are the best.

2005-09-26T06:10:00.000-03:00

"I am a very, very French man."

I think loafing is making me a bit kooky…

2005-09-22T08:21:00.000-03:00

Loafing is a phenomenal pursuit; one that many do not get to experience in their lifetimes, and I am more than grateful to be granted this temporary privilege.

But in the past week or so, I feel my mind is drifting into some bizarre paths; the kind of roadways we know exist in our brain, but most occasions we’d just rather take the nearest service road to the expressway. You see, I'd take the expressway if I had to, but seeing that I am in loafing mode, why not take the scenic route? This is precisely what's getting me into kooky territory.

You may be wondering at this point, “what in God’s name is he talking about?”

Well, these days, four British girls talking amongst themselves remind me very much of pigeons cooing (last night at dinner, etc.), I have been personifying pigeons on a regular basis (as seen in the blog), and just earlier today I was convinced that Hannibal crossed the Alps into Russia (not even remotely possible, being that the Alps are part of France, Italy, and Switzerland, all nations nowhere even close to Russia).

No, I’m not destined for madness. I just think that I have a mild propensity toward the absurd and my first weeks of loafing are likely akin to the first bites into a swath of cotton candy; everything tastes oh so sugary and sweet, naturally leading to sugar high. But, I can only assume (or hope) that my loafing will mature.

But honestly, don’t you think that when British people talk to each other they sound like pigeons?

I’m going to go take a peak at the nearby synagogue in my ‘hood and perhaps de-kookify in the process.

Oh, it has come to my attention that I owe the blog a story about Magda, the foul-mouthed Pole (I thought I was going to get away without telling it, but there have been requests that could get ugly if I don’t oblige.) I'll likely get to it sometime soon (could I be any more vague?).

Best!

2005-09-22T08:19:00.000-03:00

A Pretty Parisian Flower to cleanse the palatte from one post to the next...

Say Nazi Five Times Fast!

2005-09-22T08:16:00.000-03:00

It’s easy, ain’t it? Maybe even a little too easy? I think it may have been a bit too easy for me last night over dinner with four of my favorite British folks and a newfound Swiss friend of mine named Stefan.

Amalea and I had dinner with our new friends at the Couscouserie (yes, they specialize in couscous and go by the name of “Le Couscouserie”) across the street from our apartment. We were all enjoying pleasant conversation, indulging in our couscous and such, and I happened to mention Nazis in passing (like you do) and noticed a change in face from my Swiss friend.

I was curious. So I let it slide for a minute or two and then thought that I’d throw a line out again, just to see if the first was a fluke. So somehow, I mentioned the IBM-Nazi connection and that related book that is in every store I enter (there was a reason why I mentioned it, I promise), and I got the same reaction. So instead of avoiding it, I was curious and thought I’d mention Nazis a couple more times (you know, just in passing and all, it’s easier than you think). I know, I’m a bit of a jackass, but I was too curious to let it go.

In the end, I knew the mentioning indeed made my friend uncomfortable (and I stopped) and I realized that these specific ties to the past are not broken, not even sixty years beyond the fact, and perhaps will not be broken for a much longer time to come. I think Jewish folk speak freely of these sensitive events in jest or humor because of the overwhelming emotional ties that are still being transmitted through the generations. The emotions, I think, are so intense that humor is used as a method of signification, reflecting upon something through means other than direct confrontation.

As victim or relative of victim, it is possible to signify. But is the same possible for the perpetrator or relative of perpetrator? I don’t know. How many children or grand children of white supremacists do you hear telling jokes about their Grandmaster grand daddy? Not too many.

So I learned a few things, thankfully without any unfortunate consequences: the past resonates with us for much longer than I had considered at the time, and that different folks have individual methods of coping and understanding themselves and their families through the lens of the past, perhaps depending on one’s understood relationship to the past (perhaps not). Though this is a bit heavy, I think this too is a central part of my loafing project.

The Abridged Version of My Post: Hooray for pluralism! Boo to totalitarianism! Nazi Nazi Nazi Nazi Nazi (very very fast)!

2005-09-21T07:11:00.000-03:00

While New York preferred to tear down the architectural masterpiece that once was Penn Station to erect a towering mass of commercial office space (hooray for Penn Plaza! helping NY commuters feel like rats since 196x), Francois Mitterand and the French decided it'd be best to hang on to their Gare d'Orsay and better turn it into an art museum. Darn... How many years 'til Penn moves to the post office? Hope I'll have the eyesight to see it.

oh, btw

2005-09-21T07:04:00.000-03:00

Oh, by the way, that pic is from inside the Notre Dame Cathedral. Sorry for assuming...

2005-09-21T07:00:00.000-03:00

I guess that when a Jew from New York walks into the central institution of French Catholicism of the past 900 years or so, he sees funny things. All in all, though, it was groovy hanging out with the Christ-lovers for the hour.

2005-09-21T06:57:00.000-03:00

The manicured shrubbery madness continues! Apparently, the French love their shrubs contained and conical. What can you do?

2005-09-18T17:27:00.000-03:00

The Fire Show. Crazy, right?

Fire is cooler than we are

2005-09-18T17:22:00.000-03:00

Last night, Amalea and I decided to go out to the equivalent of the Bronx of Paris and watch a fireworks show by the same group that lit up the Eiffel tower at the coming of the millennium. The metro we rode to the show was so tightly packed that a Japanese and a Czech man were convinced that I was French, and thus decided to converse in English with each other yet in French with me. It must have been the heat. Most of my answers were “ehh, oui!” when most of what I was thinking was “ehh, qoui?.” (sp?)

A sea of people descended onto the grounds of the closest thing to Central Park that I have seen in Paris as of yet. Naturally, it being Paris, the lawn of this “park” was trimmed down to the point that you questioned its consistency (was this grass or perhaps a French-developed synthetic substance that removed the scratchy qualities of Astroturf but could still be controlled at all times? But then, I don't know, French development as a concept sounded funny. Oh France, just let your gardens/grass grow, give it a shot).

I digress. Anyway, there must have been tens of thousands of people to see this event. It was essentially an outdoor pyrotechnic opera; a combination of fire, fireworks, acrobatics, and live music. The theme of the event was, quite simply, destruction and rebirth, but mainly destruction.

Artists on stage would be playing instruments (much like someone would play drums or the cello) upon which bursting flames of fire would emit from a series of pipes spread out as far as hundreds of feet away, spanning across the enormous stage. A staged building was destroyed, bursting into fireworks and flames, and the artists even reenacted the likes of a failed American Apollo mission, which somehow led to what I think was the destruction of the world.

The final act of the performance was a rhythmically (impeccably) timed fireworks show that would put Grucci to shame. It was extraordinary; the sky was filled with streams of light and expertly chosen, understated color.

So, by now, you may be thinking, as I thought on the metro, “ehh…quoi?” I understand, it sounds loopy, which it was. But, for those of you who know me well, there is a side of me that thrives on the destructive. So I had a great time. It really made me feel, which is what I think good art should do (as Amalea aptly pointed out on the ride home).

So my conclusion(s): fire is cool. Really cool, in fact. And the French gardening community needs to take a deep breath and put the lawn mower and shrub cutters away for a few.

2005-09-18T17:20:00.000-03:00

I tried to inform the lady of the building that there was an oversized daisy growing on top of (and, frankly, taking over) her best window, but she would have none of it. It seems that she and the daisy had their own special future to plow.

2005-09-18T17:16:00.000-03:00

WANTED: Last seen at Place du Contrescarpe and Rue Mouffetard. Could likely be armed (with gusto, at the very least) and dangerous. Beware of unwanted buggery and watch your step late at night; she could be on your tail.

2005-09-15T08:02:00.000-03:00

I can cook! (Kind of...) This is photographic proof that Scott Olster is indeed capable of transforming food stuffs into lunch. Oh blessed cheese sandwich, my stepping stone to gastronomic domination. Or perhaps not...

2005-09-15T07:53:00.000-03:00

Amalea thought that I should include a picture of myself actually in Paris on the blog. So here it is: though I do look slightly dead, don't fear, I'm alive and well. Best.

2005-09-15T07:49:00.000-03:00

The square from which we write... Notice the pigeon: that pigeon is one of many; part of a clan or a posse if you will. Parisian pigeons are among the pushiest, most shameless, raggedy rat-birds I have met thus far. New York pigeons pale in comparison to the Parisian pigeon. Indeed, Parisian pigeons are the true winged hustlers of the world. Beware...

An Upcoming Attraction, so to speak...

2005-09-14T16:43:00.000-03:00

So I have a story to tell, but it's almost 10pm here and I think I'll save it for tomorrow. But it's about Magda, the foul-mouthed Pole, a new friend we met at one of Paris's more famous bakeries.

Best!

2005-09-14T16:41:00.000-03:00

As the weather by the Louvre turned frightful, Amalea's newfound sense of spirituality proved quite useful (I stole her umbrello too...)

A First Performance in Paris

2005-09-13T05:58:00.000-03:00

So my first performance in Paris was not exactly as I expected it to be. The other night, Amalea and I were making dinner and realized that we could use a baguette for the meal. I decided I'd walk to our usual square to get the goods and promptly return (I was quite the hungry Scott that evening.).

I walk past the square right by our apartment and I notice a fellow dressed up in a 19th century style explorer's outfit (the white suit, hat, and all). Naturally, he has a parrot puppet in his right hand and is dancing to a goofy tune trying to capture the attention of the surrounding cafe goers, at this point to no avail.

I try to avoid the quack and get to my bread as quickly as possible. As I am leaving the boulangerie, bread in hand, something must have captured my attention (it surely wasn't the explorer, maybe it was the creperie next door, or just the enormous mass of folks that gather into this area on a sunday night, so odd). I walk past the explorer with my bread and his parrot starts chomping at my food! The crowd erupts in laughter (he finally got some laughs, good for him) and I, somewhat embarassed, get to the apartment somewhat confused.

So that's the first perf of the journey. Not as I expected, but alright in the end. Ehh, atleast I got some laughs (technically, I was the laugh, eh well)...

An Explosion of Diversity: 1st Day at School

2005-09-13T05:45:00.000-03:00

Yesterday was my first day of language classes. Class was, as expected, an overwhelming first day of french language immersion. I'm assuming it'll become less intense for me as the days go by (as immersion programs usually go).

What was extraordinary about yesterday was the people I spent time with over the course of the day. Yesterday consisted of sightseeing and bookshopping with a Bulgarian girl, an Israeli boy, and a German boy, class with a Japanese girl, a Palestinian man, and an English girl, and later that night Amalea and I went for a drink with a German boy and his Serbian (but now lives in Italy) friend.

I don't think I've been exposed to so many people from different backgrounds in such a short span of time as I was yesterday. It was both phenomenal and exhausting. I had to go from being consistently social with one person (namely, Amalea) to being social with many more than one, in addition to having the newfound worry about the language barrier. (It seems, however, that English is the linguistic meeting place these days, so Amalea and I had it quite easy. I'm assuming that most of us aren't necessarily surprised by that.)

By the close of the evening, I collapsed on my bed and went to sleep.

I think that loafing is not what I thought it would be at all. It's actually damn tiring, though enjoyable nonetheless...

2005-09-10T15:10:00.000-03:00

A look towards the lily pond...

2005-09-10T15:09:00.000-03:00

Monet Gardens

A Rainy but Fruitful Day in the City

2005-09-10T14:54:00.000-03:00

Amalea and I have discovered that of all colors of the rainbow, red is the definitive color of this city. All of the surrounding areas (mainly building faces and bridges) lack the singular vibrancy of the color red yet could benefit greatly from its contribution. So the question is how to get the red into the scene? Silly question, ehh? Naturally, with people! We (Amalea and I) have committed to put more red in the city. I hope to have a slide show in the near future on the blog to detail this infiltration.

Today we visited the Louvre as it was a rainy day. The Louvre is quite large and, being formally a royal palace, quite gorgeous. I have a problem with taking pictures in museums, so I have no photos to share, but I guess if you picture a very pretty museum and go to anywhere on the web, you'll be sure to see images of both the buildings and the art works contained therein (the Louvre is fairly universal on the web I'd imagine).

I do, however, have some shots to share of the Monet Gardens that we visited yesterday. It was a beautiful day, both yesterday and today. As classes start, I'll have more story stories to tell.

Toodles...

2005-09-09T15:40:00.000-03:00

A look through our apartment window...

2005-09-09T15:37:00.000-03:00

As we walk and feel the city out...

Another Solid Day in France

2005-09-09T15:30:00.000-03:00

I have successfully found free wireless internet in a public square a step or two from my apartment, so I'll be able to communicate much more easily by internet than I anticipated, which is great. Today was another beautiful day. While the past two days, Amalea and I have mainly been on foot in Paris, today we decided to train to Giverny and see the Maison du Claude Monet and his famous gardens (sight of the lily pond he made so very famous in his work). The day was perfect for such an excursion and the sights were exquisite. I'll post photos shortly.

Our experience in Paris has been phenomenal thus far and I intend to elaborate more on the concept of loafing and what I intend to do with it as soon as I truly start to loaf. I feel that these past few days have been far too intense to be considered loafing. Perhaps I have been engaging in extreme loafing in that we have been walking many miles every day seeing the city and feeling its pulse. To commit to loafing artfully is difficult, I know, but I'll try to examine further what I'll take for me to make the grade in that respect. Wish me luck!

2005-09-08T15:34:00.000-03:00

Amalea asleep on our couch! She's so cute...

All is Good from Paris!

2005-09-08T15:26:00.000-03:00

This is my first post, so I feel that I am allowed to be somewhat general, or at least I think so. Essentially, all is well from Paris (good news, ehh?). Amalea and I have landed safely and have thorougly enjoyed the past few days walking (somewhat excessively) around this gorgeous metropolis. Our apartment is perfect for our needs and in a most beautiful neighborhood (the Latin Quarter for those familiar). I'll provide more updates and stories when they come. I wish you all great things and look forward to emails! My address is 72 Cardinal du Lemoine so feel free to write.

Best to you all!

Scott

2005-08-28T20:08:00.000-03:00

Scott as a larger boy

2005-08-28T20:04:00.000-03:00

Scott as a boy - Freedom of Choice Indeed!