OK People that are actually keeping up with this blog. Karen sent me the pics to upload and I saved them on my computer as random names! oops! She then sent me a list of captions with the numbers of the pics, well I no longer have the number of the pics and I have never been anywhere so I basically know nothing, and I think this is Notre Dame, but if it is not just keep those comments to yourself! No you can tell me, cuz I really need to know. Luv ya all Gayla
Gqylq; I hqve q comment for you; qnd thqtùs thqnk you so much! we're bqck in Frqnce (on q frustrqting French keyboqrd obviouysly= qnd i hqve qccess to the internet for the ti,e being; qnd youùre doing q greqt job1 iù, so thqnkful thqt zeùre qble to keep up this zqy fro, so fqr qzqy becquse you tqke the ti,e to be our personql webmistress1 Qnd thqtùs not qll )) you solve proble,s qt our house; you feed our cqts qnd turtles; you solve ,y overseqs phone qnd credit cqrd proble,s; qnd zell; everything1 iù, very fortunqte to nqve q zonderful friend like you: Thqnks qnd I love you! Kqren
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Too much Information!
7 June 2005
Bathing Beauty
Continuing in the category of more information than you wanted to know about me, I seldom take baths. Don’t get me wrong; I like them, but they simply take too long, so showers win by default. Tonight, in the little town of Breme, in an 1100-year-old Italian monastery, I took one of life’s great baths. The windows were open; the water was hot; and I had the time. Ahhhh….
Bathing Beauty
Continuing in the category of more information than you wanted to know about me, I seldom take baths. Don’t get me wrong; I like them, but they simply take too long, so showers win by default. Tonight, in the little town of Breme, in an 1100-year-old Italian monastery, I took one of life’s great baths. The windows were open; the water was hot; and I had the time. Ahhhh….
Too Much Stuff
6 June 2005
L’Enfer, c’est l’UTI
We believe that we have traveled fairly light on this trip. We only have one suitcase and one daypack each. And yet we are so spoiled, especially me. I have several items that require electricity with me: my laptop, my cell phone (which has yet to work), and the battery chargers (yes, plural) for the two digital cameras we have in tow. I considered these things necessities, but that’s not all: what about all the medicines I brought? My dailies include Zoloft (fodder for a whole ‘nuther blog entry), which makes me sleepy; thus I require another pill to keep me awake, and 3 different meds because my allergies are so bad right now. But let’s add a bladder infection to the mix, shall we? Fortunately, Kenny and Tara sent us with a huge number of anti-this and anti-that’s, so I was on an antibiotic within hours of the onset. We have other things with us that make our life on the road mighty comfortable: we have 100% deet to keep away the mosquitoes, which abound here in Breme, Italy, once evening begins to roll around; we have a rental car to facilitate our travels; we have toilet paper on a handy little roll. I look around and I see people who are living peaceful lives with very little. Contrast Madame Ria back in France, who has a wonderful home and is thankful for a washing machine (but I think, hmmm, no dryer); nobody, but nobody has a dishwasher; I’m frustrated by my lack of internet access (we did stay in an ultra-modern, tres chic, hotel in Lyon, but I had no time to figure out how to use the internet there since we were busy with the French Cukrowskis, and the next day we used up a couple of hours finding UPS to send home 4 boxes of souvenirs and other stuff [again, how spoiled are we?]). OK, end of sermon about stuff…But what about taking time to get to know people? When we arrived in Breme, a nice old man walked us to the Willits’ house, then to Giovanni’s to get the key (but he wasn’t home), and then to Flaviano’s, who was home. In this small town, everybody knows everybody; the old man was out in the piazza visiting with some other men (both young and old) when we found him in the first place (side note: I did notice that everywhere we go, men are gathered chatting, smoking, and hanging out, but the women aren’t. Perhaps they’re home watching soap operas and eating bon-bons, but I suspect they’re hanging up the clothes, watching the children, and cooking and cleaning). My point still begs to be made, however; we are so very busy in our lives in the U.S., rushing from place to place and from one event to another. I am committing myself to at least a somewhat simpler lifestyle upon our return home. And that’s my lesson from my urinary tract infection.
L’Enfer, c’est l’UTI
We believe that we have traveled fairly light on this trip. We only have one suitcase and one daypack each. And yet we are so spoiled, especially me. I have several items that require electricity with me: my laptop, my cell phone (which has yet to work), and the battery chargers (yes, plural) for the two digital cameras we have in tow. I considered these things necessities, but that’s not all: what about all the medicines I brought? My dailies include Zoloft (fodder for a whole ‘nuther blog entry), which makes me sleepy; thus I require another pill to keep me awake, and 3 different meds because my allergies are so bad right now. But let’s add a bladder infection to the mix, shall we? Fortunately, Kenny and Tara sent us with a huge number of anti-this and anti-that’s, so I was on an antibiotic within hours of the onset. We have other things with us that make our life on the road mighty comfortable: we have 100% deet to keep away the mosquitoes, which abound here in Breme, Italy, once evening begins to roll around; we have a rental car to facilitate our travels; we have toilet paper on a handy little roll. I look around and I see people who are living peaceful lives with very little. Contrast Madame Ria back in France, who has a wonderful home and is thankful for a washing machine (but I think, hmmm, no dryer); nobody, but nobody has a dishwasher; I’m frustrated by my lack of internet access (we did stay in an ultra-modern, tres chic, hotel in Lyon, but I had no time to figure out how to use the internet there since we were busy with the French Cukrowskis, and the next day we used up a couple of hours finding UPS to send home 4 boxes of souvenirs and other stuff [again, how spoiled are we?]). OK, end of sermon about stuff…But what about taking time to get to know people? When we arrived in Breme, a nice old man walked us to the Willits’ house, then to Giovanni’s to get the key (but he wasn’t home), and then to Flaviano’s, who was home. In this small town, everybody knows everybody; the old man was out in the piazza visiting with some other men (both young and old) when we found him in the first place (side note: I did notice that everywhere we go, men are gathered chatting, smoking, and hanging out, but the women aren’t. Perhaps they’re home watching soap operas and eating bon-bons, but I suspect they’re hanging up the clothes, watching the children, and cooking and cleaning). My point still begs to be made, however; we are so very busy in our lives in the U.S., rushing from place to place and from one event to another. I am committing myself to at least a somewhat simpler lifestyle upon our return home. And that’s my lesson from my urinary tract infection.
Monday, June 13, 2005
More Cukrowskis!
5 June 2005
Apparently all Cukrowskis are really nice people! We had an unusual day today, leaving Paris (actually Vaux sur Seine and the wonderful Cummings), we drove (OK, Ken drove) to Lyon to meet Celine, Georges, and Claudia Cukrowski, whom we met via the internet and e-mail. In February, Celine, who is almost exactly our Katie’s age, sent an e-mail saying “I Googled Cukrowski on the internet and you came up. Cukrowski is not a common name in France, either. I wonder if we’re related.” After having communicated off and on for the next couple of months, we have now met face to face! We chatted while walking around town, climbed over 1,000 steps up to a church and a breathtaking view, shared a delicious late meal together at a nice French restaurant in the old part of Lyon (that included frogs’ legs, which were delicious, no kidding), and all in all, enjoyed one another’s company. Ken and Georges have shared the Polish documents they have with one another and have discovered that their people come from nearby towns. Georges is now continuing the search through the church baptismal records, etc. to go back further. However, as he said, “Ken, if it turns out that we’re not related, it makes no difference to me!”
Apparently all Cukrowskis are really nice people! We had an unusual day today, leaving Paris (actually Vaux sur Seine and the wonderful Cummings), we drove (OK, Ken drove) to Lyon to meet Celine, Georges, and Claudia Cukrowski, whom we met via the internet and e-mail. In February, Celine, who is almost exactly our Katie’s age, sent an e-mail saying “I Googled Cukrowski on the internet and you came up. Cukrowski is not a common name in France, either. I wonder if we’re related.” After having communicated off and on for the next couple of months, we have now met face to face! We chatted while walking around town, climbed over 1,000 steps up to a church and a breathtaking view, shared a delicious late meal together at a nice French restaurant in the old part of Lyon (that included frogs’ legs, which were delicious, no kidding), and all in all, enjoyed one another’s company. Ken and Georges have shared the Polish documents they have with one another and have discovered that their people come from nearby towns. Georges is now continuing the search through the church baptismal records, etc. to go back further. However, as he said, “Ken, if it turns out that we’re not related, it makes no difference to me!”
Krista's Birthday
Ken has arrived, and all is right with the world.
4 June 2005
Krista Lynn Cukrowski was born 12 years ago today in New Haven, Connecticut. She weighed in at 7 lbs. 11 oz. Today she is becoming a wonderful young Christian woman, 5’4”, 101 pounds of fun, a smart, interesting person to be around and talk with. Today she celebrated her birthday in Paris, France, sleeping in late, visiting the Arc de Triomphe, the Opera House, and the Eiffel Tower, eating baguettes with garlic “bour-snap” (boursin cheese that Katie and Krista have re-named), and picking up her dad at the Charles de Gaulle airport. Pretty cool birthday, eh?!!
4 June 2005
Krista Lynn Cukrowski was born 12 years ago today in New Haven, Connecticut. She weighed in at 7 lbs. 11 oz. Today she is becoming a wonderful young Christian woman, 5’4”, 101 pounds of fun, a smart, interesting person to be around and talk with. Today she celebrated her birthday in Paris, France, sleeping in late, visiting the Arc de Triomphe, the Opera House, and the Eiffel Tower, eating baguettes with garlic “bour-snap” (boursin cheese that Katie and Krista have re-named), and picking up her dad at the Charles de Gaulle airport. Pretty cool birthday, eh?!!
Sunday, June 05, 2005
Ahhh, France
This is the view from our window in Vaux sur Seine. This little town is peaceful and beautiful -- and yet close to the train to Paris:
Friday, June 03, 2005
The Night that Wouldn't End
2 June 2005
The Night That Wouldn’t End
I have a new theory about Jean Valjean in Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables. Maybe he wasn’t actually in prison for nearly twenty years; maybe it only seemed that long. At least that would properly characterize Krista’s feelings about our experience in trying to get home one night from Paris to our place in Vaux Sur Seine. We experienced some of Paris by night, not a lot, but enough to miss the last direct train from our metro station, St. Lazare. After checking with a young man who had to be Katie’s age but who was inexplicably working the night shift at the station’s information booth, we took his suggestion of Train 13 (its number was a dead giveaway, and yet we didn’t get it), the “direct” train (though we knew we had missed the last direct run). After waiting for it for a long time, we boarded and were surprised when shortly thereafter it stopped and didn’t start again. So we got off. And we waited for another train. And then we waited some more. And then the man who will forever be known as “the nice gray-haired man” told us correctly where to go, and we waited some more…and some more… and then we took the correct train to yet another station, the only place we could catch a bus home… and we waited for the bus…and it was really cold now as it was way past midnight… and then the bus came, and it was very comfortable, and my children slept, and it took us home safe and sound, tired and thankful.
The Night That Wouldn’t End
I have a new theory about Jean Valjean in Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables. Maybe he wasn’t actually in prison for nearly twenty years; maybe it only seemed that long. At least that would properly characterize Krista’s feelings about our experience in trying to get home one night from Paris to our place in Vaux Sur Seine. We experienced some of Paris by night, not a lot, but enough to miss the last direct train from our metro station, St. Lazare. After checking with a young man who had to be Katie’s age but who was inexplicably working the night shift at the station’s information booth, we took his suggestion of Train 13 (its number was a dead giveaway, and yet we didn’t get it), the “direct” train (though we knew we had missed the last direct run). After waiting for it for a long time, we boarded and were surprised when shortly thereafter it stopped and didn’t start again. So we got off. And we waited for another train. And then we waited some more. And then the man who will forever be known as “the nice gray-haired man” told us correctly where to go, and we waited some more…and some more… and then we took the correct train to yet another station, the only place we could catch a bus home… and we waited for the bus…and it was really cold now as it was way past midnight… and then the bus came, and it was very comfortable, and my children slept, and it took us home safe and sound, tired and thankful.
Making Out in Paris
1 June 2005
Making Out in Paris
Since Ken isn’t with me until Saturday, I must participate vicariously in the “Paris is for lovers” aura that permeates this city. Maybe the girls’ and my favorite spot is a little park just at the Eiffel-tower end (but far from there) of the Isle de la Cité. We sat there for close to two hours, I think, talking and resting, eating our snack of (what else?) bread and cheese, and watching people. We loved one little boy, just barely walking, who maybe burned more calories than I burn in a month by toddling across the width of the portion of the island he owned for a time, maybe twenty feet total, complete with gargantuan hills of around six inches and a dazzling mix of textures for his new-found feet. And we were frankly amazed at the couple who, standing the whole time, hands appropriately on one another’s backs and shoulders, were French-kissing when we arrived and who were French-kissing when we left. And we thought we were making out pretty well in Paris…
Making Out in Paris
Since Ken isn’t with me until Saturday, I must participate vicariously in the “Paris is for lovers” aura that permeates this city. Maybe the girls’ and my favorite spot is a little park just at the Eiffel-tower end (but far from there) of the Isle de la Cité. We sat there for close to two hours, I think, talking and resting, eating our snack of (what else?) bread and cheese, and watching people. We loved one little boy, just barely walking, who maybe burned more calories than I burn in a month by toddling across the width of the portion of the island he owned for a time, maybe twenty feet total, complete with gargantuan hills of around six inches and a dazzling mix of textures for his new-found feet. And we were frankly amazed at the couple who, standing the whole time, hands appropriately on one another’s backs and shoulders, were French-kissing when we arrived and who were French-kissing when we left. And we thought we were making out pretty well in Paris…
Le Musee D'Orsay
30 May 2005
Le Musee D'Orsay
When my family visited Paris when I was twelve years old and fifteen years old, we did not visit le Musée D’Orsay; I now know that we made a mistake. Having now visited it with almost-twelve and thirteen-and-a-half-year-old girls who adored this museum, I wish my siblings and I could have experienced this museum back in the 1970s. C’est vraiment magnifique. An old train station (think Grand Central converted into a stunning museum), it has mostly works from around the mid-1800s to around 1920, an art period that my children like very much and a style that is recognizably Paris. There was an incredible special temporary exhibit on the neo-impressionists, entire rooms filled with the works of Van Gogh, Degas, Sisley, Manet, Monet, etc. We played “I Spy” throughout the museum, finding unusual things like cats or mummies in paintings. Katie picked three sculptures as definitively “the best,” and I may have to agree with her choices. Her first two were of a weeping child and a different child being kissed by an angel. Her final choice is unusual for her:
horrified by all things immodest, she (unlike her mother) would never select a nude, but even she found one called “Le Cycliste” gorgeous and perfect. Just wait until she sees the David in a week or so.
Le Musee D'Orsay
When my family visited Paris when I was twelve years old and fifteen years old, we did not visit le Musée D’Orsay; I now know that we made a mistake. Having now visited it with almost-twelve and thirteen-and-a-half-year-old girls who adored this museum, I wish my siblings and I could have experienced this museum back in the 1970s. C’est vraiment magnifique. An old train station (think Grand Central converted into a stunning museum), it has mostly works from around the mid-1800s to around 1920, an art period that my children like very much and a style that is recognizably Paris. There was an incredible special temporary exhibit on the neo-impressionists, entire rooms filled with the works of Van Gogh, Degas, Sisley, Manet, Monet, etc. We played “I Spy” throughout the museum, finding unusual things like cats or mummies in paintings. Katie picked three sculptures as definitively “the best,” and I may have to agree with her choices. Her first two were of a weeping child and a different child being kissed by an angel. Her final choice is unusual for her:
horrified by all things immodest, she (unlike her mother) would never select a nude, but even she found one called “Le Cycliste” gorgeous and perfect. Just wait until she sees the David in a week or so.
Thursday, June 02, 2005
K2 on the Pont Neuf
K2 on the Pont Neuf before catching the Bateaux Mouches for a scinc tour of Paris on the Seine.
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
We're in Paris!
Saturday, May 28, 2005
Katie, Krista, and Karen have sat around the Toronto airport for around six hours this afternoon, and you know what? There are worse things. Let’s play the “direct comparisons to U.S.” game, shall we? This morning in DFW, the lines were long, and I honestly can’t think of anything that was actually running efficiently. We arrived in Canada, where the clean, efficient, gorgeous airport struck my children full in the face. They’re so used to inefficiency that they actually find organization disorienting and noticeable. Or how about the rude Dallas check-in employee who barked rudely at the Korean lady in front of us in line? Contrast the multi-cultural Toronto, where the first few minutes after landing, we had already talked to a Filipina woman and a Bulgarian woman (we made a sale for Thom’s book, KING’S RANSOM,; the woman was impressed that we could converse about King Boris and the Bulgarian Jews during WWII). We played on these moving sidewalks forever. Canada has been a blast, but we are ready to get on the plane to Paris!!!!!!
Sunday, May 29, 2005
L’enfer, c’est les autres
Church in Paris was a wonderful experience for me—and an exercise in patience for the girls. After having slept pretty well, but for too short of a time, on the plane, we were feeling fairly well adjusted to the time change when Alexandre Cumming, Yann and Rita Opsitch’s friend, picked us up at the airport. We were only a little bit late for church, and I was pleasantly surprised to see how diverse the crowd gathered there was. About half the church is African, maybe 1/4 of the folks are white French people, and the other 1/4 are a wide variety of ex-Americans, Belgians, and visitors (a guy from Houston is working in Paris for a month, etc.). The singing was very good, and the communion service was as good as those at Minter Lane, which is the highest compliment I can pay. The man, originally from somewhere in French-speaking Africa, who spoke about communion gave a clear, thoughtful, 3-point sermon about the value and purpose of participating communally in God’s plan, and I understood nearly every word out of his mouth. Clear=good. Then followed three other folks who prayed over the bread, the wine (which I was surprised to see was unfermented grape juice), and the offering, of which I understood little (one guy might well have been speaking wookiee). We sang some more, and then the one who was preaching got up and spoke for far too long (and thus begins the slanderous, probably libelous portion of my blog for today, so don’t take anything I say seriously, since this man is probably the nicest, best person in the world). Anyway, his words were far less distinct and far too fast, and, as I began to tire of struggling to understand French and as I became drowzy, he began to take on a sinister appearance. Not clear =creepy bad guy. Here was a person who could have starred in pretty much every French film as the businessman who smiles at every one, laughs at his own jokes (I certainly didn’t, since I didn’t understand them, but I noticed that nobody else laughed either), but who secretly has a collection of little boys in his basement. The end of the sermon couldn’t come quickly enough for me!
Ria
Ria is Alexandre’s mother, and she is wonderful. The consummate hostess, she anticipates one’s needs before one ever could get around to having any. Katie and Krista were blown away by the house at Vaux sur Seine. It’s a four-story house; the girls’ favorite parts are the low-ceilinged attic that houses the toys and bedmats of Ria’s grandchildren and the lush garden, with its cherry, apple, apricot, and hazelnut trees that provide a restful outdoor eating experience. She feeds us, packs us lunches, and tries to give my girls money for souvenirs. We try to stop her, but she says, “Would you like to be here in this big house always alone? Me neither! I’m glad for your company.” How kind.
Foreign Language Jokes
Ria comes originally from The Hague, Netherlands (I incorrectly originally posted that she was from Belgium -- my apologies, Madame Ria!), and she has some accented words that are different from the French I learned in school (perhaps my experiences will form another blog someday). I have learned from her several alternate pronunciations of things that L’Ecole Francais wouldn’t like, but that I like very much; one such expression is her version of moi, aussi (me, too); Ria says MO-shee. She pronounces most v sounds with an f; thus, she says “faire la FEH-selle” for faire la vaiselle (wash the dishes). When she first moved here, she offended many people, she said, by saying “vous this” and “vous that”; but her pronunciation of FOO caused people to think she was always going around calling everyone crazy or fou. Which reminds me of a joke Ken told me last week from Russia, his “only joke in Russian,” he pointed out. It took him 45 minutes to log onto the computer to check e-mail, it took 10 minutes between every “click” to do anything, and he kept getting cut off from me on the telephone. When he mentioned these things to the students, they understood immediately, of course, the infrastructural problems that Russia has; they quipped, “Yes, we call it the inter-nyet!”
Katie and the Place de la Concorde
There’s a sight gag in the movie French Kiss that has Meg Ryan continually missing seeing the Eiffel, even though it’s right there. For Katie, the scene would need to be modified to the Place de la Concorde. Tomorrow I will try my best for Katie to see its monuments. She slept in Alex’s car as he and his mother toured us around briefly on our way out to Vaux Sur Seine. Thus, she missed L’arc de triomphe, l’obelisque, the place where the guillotine was set up, and all the other cool things around there. Then, the next day, when we saw the Obelisque, etc. from the Bateaux Mouches, the touring boats that run up and down the Seine, even though Katie only fell asleep for five or ten minutes, she missed that part of Paris again!
Katie, Krista, and Karen have sat around the Toronto airport for around six hours this afternoon, and you know what? There are worse things. Let’s play the “direct comparisons to U.S.” game, shall we? This morning in DFW, the lines were long, and I honestly can’t think of anything that was actually running efficiently. We arrived in Canada, where the clean, efficient, gorgeous airport struck my children full in the face. They’re so used to inefficiency that they actually find organization disorienting and noticeable. Or how about the rude Dallas check-in employee who barked rudely at the Korean lady in front of us in line? Contrast the multi-cultural Toronto, where the first few minutes after landing, we had already talked to a Filipina woman and a Bulgarian woman (we made a sale for Thom’s book, KING’S RANSOM,; the woman was impressed that we could converse about King Boris and the Bulgarian Jews during WWII). We played on these moving sidewalks forever. Canada has been a blast, but we are ready to get on the plane to Paris!!!!!!
Sunday, May 29, 2005
L’enfer, c’est les autres
Church in Paris was a wonderful experience for me—and an exercise in patience for the girls. After having slept pretty well, but for too short of a time, on the plane, we were feeling fairly well adjusted to the time change when Alexandre Cumming, Yann and Rita Opsitch’s friend, picked us up at the airport. We were only a little bit late for church, and I was pleasantly surprised to see how diverse the crowd gathered there was. About half the church is African, maybe 1/4 of the folks are white French people, and the other 1/4 are a wide variety of ex-Americans, Belgians, and visitors (a guy from Houston is working in Paris for a month, etc.). The singing was very good, and the communion service was as good as those at Minter Lane, which is the highest compliment I can pay. The man, originally from somewhere in French-speaking Africa, who spoke about communion gave a clear, thoughtful, 3-point sermon about the value and purpose of participating communally in God’s plan, and I understood nearly every word out of his mouth. Clear=good. Then followed three other folks who prayed over the bread, the wine (which I was surprised to see was unfermented grape juice), and the offering, of which I understood little (one guy might well have been speaking wookiee). We sang some more, and then the one who was preaching got up and spoke for far too long (and thus begins the slanderous, probably libelous portion of my blog for today, so don’t take anything I say seriously, since this man is probably the nicest, best person in the world). Anyway, his words were far less distinct and far too fast, and, as I began to tire of struggling to understand French and as I became drowzy, he began to take on a sinister appearance. Not clear =creepy bad guy. Here was a person who could have starred in pretty much every French film as the businessman who smiles at every one, laughs at his own jokes (I certainly didn’t, since I didn’t understand them, but I noticed that nobody else laughed either), but who secretly has a collection of little boys in his basement. The end of the sermon couldn’t come quickly enough for me!
Ria
Ria is Alexandre’s mother, and she is wonderful. The consummate hostess, she anticipates one’s needs before one ever could get around to having any. Katie and Krista were blown away by the house at Vaux sur Seine. It’s a four-story house; the girls’ favorite parts are the low-ceilinged attic that houses the toys and bedmats of Ria’s grandchildren and the lush garden, with its cherry, apple, apricot, and hazelnut trees that provide a restful outdoor eating experience. She feeds us, packs us lunches, and tries to give my girls money for souvenirs. We try to stop her, but she says, “Would you like to be here in this big house always alone? Me neither! I’m glad for your company.” How kind.
Foreign Language Jokes
Ria comes originally from The Hague, Netherlands (I incorrectly originally posted that she was from Belgium -- my apologies, Madame Ria!), and she has some accented words that are different from the French I learned in school (perhaps my experiences will form another blog someday). I have learned from her several alternate pronunciations of things that L’Ecole Francais wouldn’t like, but that I like very much; one such expression is her version of moi, aussi (me, too); Ria says MO-shee. She pronounces most v sounds with an f; thus, she says “faire la FEH-selle” for faire la vaiselle (wash the dishes). When she first moved here, she offended many people, she said, by saying “vous this” and “vous that”; but her pronunciation of FOO caused people to think she was always going around calling everyone crazy or fou. Which reminds me of a joke Ken told me last week from Russia, his “only joke in Russian,” he pointed out. It took him 45 minutes to log onto the computer to check e-mail, it took 10 minutes between every “click” to do anything, and he kept getting cut off from me on the telephone. When he mentioned these things to the students, they understood immediately, of course, the infrastructural problems that Russia has; they quipped, “Yes, we call it the inter-nyet!”
Katie and the Place de la Concorde
There’s a sight gag in the movie French Kiss that has Meg Ryan continually missing seeing the Eiffel, even though it’s right there. For Katie, the scene would need to be modified to the Place de la Concorde. Tomorrow I will try my best for Katie to see its monuments. She slept in Alex’s car as he and his mother toured us around briefly on our way out to Vaux Sur Seine. Thus, she missed L’arc de triomphe, l’obelisque, the place where the guillotine was set up, and all the other cool things around there. Then, the next day, when we saw the Obelisque, etc. from the Bateaux Mouches, the touring boats that run up and down the Seine, even though Katie only fell asleep for five or ten minutes, she missed that part of Paris again!
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