(a weekend's worth)

In the interest of expediency, a selection of photos from the last couple of days in Santiago without much commentary:

Part of the Andes from the plane early Saturday morning. The mountains on the other side of the plane were more "majestic" so to speak, but I was more than impressed with my side of sunrise peaks.

First food in Chile, and first spending of Chilean Pesos. I went on a short walk Saturday evening before dark (which is early here, as it's winter) after 5 hours of blissful sleep under heavy blankets and all stretched out in a real bed. I went in the first place that looked warm and not too busy. I figured this way I could stumble through some rusty Spanish without feeling rushed. It was just the right place to stop--I had a chance to confess my green(go?)ness and ask for her suggestion. This is what she handed me--a hotdog buried in tomatoes and mashed avocado, with a little mayo on top. Oh, and that's pineapple juice she made for me right then--amazing juice seems par for the course here.

Obviously, if this is the land of fresh-squeezed juices and avocados as a standard condiment, I'm in the right place. :)

A couple of blocks from our hostel is the where the President (a lady named Michelle Bachelet) lives. It's the Palacio de la Moneda. Unlike the White House, there's access just up to and even into an inner court in the building--traffic runs just in front of the entrance.

Adjacent to the Palacio is this sign, reading, "Best justice, best country." Alright, then.

On the way up the cerro Santa Lucía, a hill peppered with interesting (and pretty European-looking) architecture, which affords some great views of the city and the surrounding mountains. There are peaceful sleeping dogs everywhere, too.

Another shot on the way up the hill. I love the Yellow so much I'm going to capitalize it.

Going directly from summer to mid-winter with no gradual autumn transition gave me an opportunity to appreciate the differences between summer and winter light in a new way. This sunny day had such a distinct atmosphere than a sunny day in July at home.

Challenge: find the Emilee!

No ordinary paint job.

Getting closer to one of Pablo Neruda's homes...

...with a Llama on the way! His house was right near another hill (that I haven't been up yet)--which has a zoo. There were, naturally, llamas to ride outside, face painters, and all sorts of kid-friendly vendors.

Mural outside Neruda's home. The text translates to, "...And it was at that age that poetry came looking for me. I don't know, don't know where it came from, from the winter or the river."

This residence is called "La Chascona," which is a Chilean term for "the messy-haired one." The property was designed as a secret hideaway for Neruda and his mistress/third wife, who had crazy hair. I really enjoyed the tour, and only regret that it seemed a bit rushed, since our otherwise-fantastic guide was ready to get home after the last tour. No other pictures, as they weren't allowed. But know that it was fascinating!

Well, that's it for now. Today was the beginning of orientation, which will last for the rest of the week. Not too much else to report, except that I'm happy to remember what it is I love about travel and the person that changes in context force me to be.

The Spanish is going well enough, and I'm eager to improve. On a funny note, the instructor for my Spanish course this week was a language assistant in France last year--it was fun to converse a bit with someone in Chile who recently returned from the same French school adventure as I did!

Buenas noches!

(chilly)

Just a quick word from the hostel in Santiago--after a whirlwind 3 weeks, I´ve hit the third continent, and officially entered Winter #2 of 3 for this calendar year! All I know so far is that it is, in fact, Winter, but sunny, and that the Andes I saw from the plane and the trip into town are seriously breathtaking!

Wish me luck as I try not to accidentally speak French to everyone!

I´m off to a nap before I go exploring--this trip was about 27 hours, but easier with my luggage checked and no train-loading to speak of :)

Bisous, besos, schoene Gruesse and much love!

(america)

Well, there you have it. After a 25 hour train ride, a happy weekend of parties in Berlin, and a 23 hour plane adventure, I've made it safe and sound at least as far as Atlanta. It's strange to be back, as expected, and I'm not even quite "back" yet--James is picking me up from Molly's apartment later this morning, which I'm at because my awesome old roommate came to get me when I didn't make my last flight. There will be more updates soon--there's even a play-by-play of my train ride that I'll be posting here soon, when I have my own computer up and running and am a bit more settled.

Coming home to a place that doesn't feel like home anymore is always strange, but a generally positive experience, all the same. Homesickness for a life in Europe that already seems so far away is setting in, but I'm enjoying the rediscovery of American pleasures I'd forgotten about: I could grab a sandwich at midnight, Molly poured me up a big glass of milk to drink with a Savannah pecan praline, there's air conditioning to combat the oppressive humidity, and I'm certainly excited about the series of giant reunion-hugs coming my way oh-so-soon.

On the neither up nor down side, however--I'm not sure how I feel about arriving home and finding out that the pennies look different. Even though it feels like I might never have left at all, there are those little elements that reassure me that a great year in Europe isn't a figment of my imagination, after all.

But seriously, what's up with changing the pennies?

(recess)

It's recess, and I have a mission (given to me by Mathieu, age 8): When I go home to America, will I please say hello to Monsieur Obama for him?

Thomas doesn't ask me to do him favors for something he can do himself. He informed me he'll just say hi to Monsieur Obama in person, after I bring him to America with me in my carry-on.

I made no promises.

And apparently I'm famous in Rodez, at least in my students' eyes--Romain asked me today, "Are you also famous in your town in America?" Sorry to disappoint him, I said no. He looked bewildered by this revelation of my ordinariness.

Maybe I will bring a couple of them home in my carry-on, after all. Who doesn't need a travelling band of tiny French fans?

(au revoir & hola)

It has been a VERY long time since my last post, and for that I suppose I can't complain if it turns out no one is checking up on my blog anymore...but for those who still have hope, I'm back! I've got pictures from a weekend in Provence to share later, silly student stories, and eventually some long-awaited Ireland pictures (I'm waiting to get my copies of the rest of them before deciding what to put up).

All of that, however, is for another time. As it turns out, and rather suddenly (doesn't it always?), my year in Rodez is speeding to an end. I leave for Berlin to fly home in just over two weeks, and my roommate, Sandra, is heading home to Colombia tomorrow. It's officially time to start feeling bittersweet about leaving the little impermanent life I built up in Rodez, and definitely a time to be looking towards the next thing with excitement and trepidation-- something that is becoming a bit of an annual ritual with me.

So--the next thing. Believe it or not (even I'm still getting my head wrapped around it), I'm moving to...

CHILE

...in 6 weeks.

I just found out that I've been accepted as a volunteer through English Opens Doors, a Chilean/UN program that gets English speakers in the classrooms, interacting with the students and getting them excited about (as well as more competent in) speaking English. Yes, it sounds familiar because it is very similar to what I've been doing in Rodez this year. There are a few differences, however:

--I am only going to be able to stay for 4 months--meaning I'll be Stateside by Christmas.

--I'll be speaking Spanish instead of French.

--I'll live with a host family (yay!).

--I'll be working a whole lot more (a full work-week, which should be a cultural adjustment of its own after this year of vacations in France). :-P

I don't know where I'll be in Chile. They'll tell me the general area about two weeks before I leave, and then I'll find out more when I arrive at orientation in Santiago.

So that's the update. It's going to be a crazy six weeks and then a crazy four months after that, but I can't wait to dive into something so totally different. Oh, and let me clarify "a crazy six weeks." I will wrap up life in Rodez and move out of my apartment, then begin a 4-week period that will in which I will spend time in 4 countries: France, Germany, the US, and Chile. Whew! But as insane as all that will be, and as nervous as I'm getting, I am flabbergastedly pleased with this next step. Hurray for adventures!

In conclusion: Ack!!

(ferocious!)

As previously decided (see the post below), Thursday was a good day.

I love it when my lesson takes on a life of its own and connects that much more effectively with my little learners. I hadn't seen my CP class in about a month, what with their trips to the pool in late March and my 20-day Spring break (hey, now--I can see that eye-roll. Oh, fine, you're right--it is ridiculous.). The long hiatus plus the fact that six-year-olds don't tend to retain a whole lot when you only see them once per week freed me of any hesitation to hit the animal kingdom again with them.

Out came my animal picture cards. We'd just learned about "good," "bad," and "okay" talking about their vacations, and when I queried, "Are you ready to learn about animals?" I was met with a grinning and thumbs-upped "GOOD!" Well, I had to smile that at least they got the general idea of that one. So we moved on, but not before Maël urgently raised her hand (I expected her to ask if she could go to the bathroom) and announced, "Moi, j'aime tous les animaux sauf les plus féroces, parce qu'ils me font trop peur. Comment dit-on féroce en anglais?"

"I like all the animals except the most ferocious ones, because they're too scary. How do you say ferocious in English?"

I had planned to review the animal names and get the kids listening for words they recognized within more complex sentences by asking "Do you like lions/cows/etc?" But the kids were so electrified by this new word, ferocious! (pronounced with the exclamation point), that I went with that instead.

Is the BIRD ferocious?

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Is the LION ferocious?

"YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!"

Is the CAT ferocious?

"OOKAAAY!" (Their best approximation of "sometimes")

Who knows how many of the animals they'll remember. I've long resigned myself to the fact that my job with them has to be getting them excited about English and getting their brains hearing and imitating its sounds in preparation for next year. Thus, vocabulary retention is more of a happy byproduct than a primary goal.

I have a feeling one of the few words that might stick, though, is "ferocious!" During recess most of that class could be heard yelling "ferocious!" at each other and miming the scary animals. Of all the words for six-year-olds to know in a foreign language... Sure, someone will painstakingly re-teach them how to introduce themselves and remind them of the colors next Fall. But I like to think that I gave them "ferocious!" and imagine next year's English teacher chuckling curiously to him/herself upon hearing it proffered as proof of Maël's passion for the English language.

:)

(plus belle la vie)

I snatched the title of this post from a French soap opera that I've never seen and probably never will (it doesn't come on one of our three TV channels). I have, however, become familiar with the tones of passionate devotion in which most of my 11-year-old students pronounce it. These girls love this show, and it's rare to hear them talk about the most recent plot twist without at least one heavy, contagious sigh making its rounds among them. The show moves their souls.

This morning, I woke up before my alarm and feeling good--about the classes I'll teach soon, the tea I'm currently drinking, the sunshine brightening the apartment, the Skype date set for this afternoon... More than that, even, I'm up feeling chipper as I recall good conversations and reconnections from the last couple of weeks, excited about finding time to read good books, and yes, even feeling for the first time in a long while that I've got a couple of writing projects bumbling around up my sleeve.

There is, of course, plenty that could damper my morning spirit (what the hell I am going to do with my life after June, for example), but today it's not going to happen. I decided. To quote the illustrious George W., "I'm the decider" and I think I've made a very wise decision.

Nope, this morning I've decided to borrow the bright eyes and keen interest that my devoted students accord to the show whose title translates to "Life, more beautiful" with one adjustment--I'll appropriate their admirable fervor to my own life, more beautiful today for the good start it's off to.

(teaser)

I've been in a strange fog of adjustment since arriving in Rodez from Dublin early this morning. My body is certainly back in Aveyron, but my mind and (dare I say it) my heart are still in Ireland.

Seeing something new is always invigorating. Throw in spectacular natural beauty, good company, excellent timing, a small car, adventurous spirits, a couple hundred baby lambs, several pints and a dash of poetry--there's not much more you can ask of a Spring break.

I'm still in the process of managing the photos. Looking through them, I can hardly believe the week I just wound up. I'm completely knackered at the moment, so it's not the time for a giant picture or adventure re-cap. It is, however, the time for me to avow my strengthening attachment to the Irish poet W.B. Yeats (a rediscovery that began the night of the last post, when I devoured a borrowed anthology of his poetry waiting for the sunrise).

I didn't realize it, but that spark of connection to the poet fell in perfectly with my approaching trip, and my Irish experience was far richer for it. Our very first real stop, in fact, was Coole Park (click here)-- the setting for Yeats' poem The Wild Swans at Coole. I wouldn't have thought of stopping there on our way to Galway, but I lucked out having an astute Yeats-lover for a driver who did think of it and got us there. The serenity of the park and lake under a bright, dripping sky quietly astounded me, and set the pace for a week of frequent, soul-soothing and soul-stirring beauty. That said, it's no wonder the Irish have such a rich cultural heritage.

The Wild Swans at Coole

The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine-and-fifty swans.

The nineteenth autumn has come upon me
Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Under their clamorous wings.

I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All's changed since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.

Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold
Companionable streams or climb the aire;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.

But now they drift on the still water,
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake's edge or pool
Delight men's eyes when I awake some day
To find they have flown away.

W.B. Yeats

(nuit blanche)

I wrote a post a few years ago about Nuit Blanche--a night in Paris when the museums and cafés and metro stations stay open all night and the citizens stay out until dawn. The term literally means "white night," referring to the lack of darkness during the customarily universal down-time. It can also refer to what we know as an "all-nighter," that miserable institution of the remorseful college student scrambling to get that paper finished before morning.

Last night Sandra and I enjoyed a different, and my personal favorite, take on nuit blanche. After an unexpectedly lovely evening with a couple other assistants, we moseyed home and somehow just ended up never going to sleep. Instead, we colored pictures, listened to music, watched the daylight savings kick in on the computer clock, read some borrowed Yeats, laughed about the preceding evening and made ridiculous jokes that could only resonate with minds alert beyond their usual boundaries. Then somehow it was 4:30 and it seemed only reasonable to wait for sunrise. The last hour of consciousness, between 5:30 and 6:30, was a bit zombie-fying, but we made it and marched up to one of the lookout spots in town (obvious advantage to living in a town on a hill) to wait for the sun. Best idea yet. I'm sure we looked a bit ridiculous to the couple of cars that passed us--two girls with their backs to the road, palms to ears, doing aerobic steps back and forth to keep warm. We stood there for an hour, until all the streetlights had switched off and the birds had simmered down, until the sleeping cat in the flower pot below us stretched awake and cows appeared on a near hillside to graze. Eventually we headed back home, trying not to feel unsettled by the awareness that our morning escapade was made possible by the fact that we are, in fact, all hurtling through space and spinning. By 7:30 we were quite ready for a hot chocolate, if less ready for bed than we'd anticipated :)

(camus)

"On voyage pendant des années sans trop savoir ce que l'on cherche, on erre dans le bruit, empêtré de désirs ou de repentirs et l'on parvient soudain dans l'un de ces deux ou trois lieux qui attendent chacun de nous en ce monde..." -- Albert Camus

"We travel for years without really knowing what we're looking for; we cast about in the noise, tangled up in desires or regrets and then suddenly, we find ourselves in one of the two or three places in this world that has been waiting for each of us..." --Albert Camus, my translation

I stumbled upon these lines by Camus today while walking up a street--isn't that lovely? To be met with written insight far from a library or even a book? A few friends and I took hold our Spring Saturday by piling into Gaston (the little Ford Fiesta) and heading off to traipse around the Tarn area, around an hour from Rodez. We started out with a really beautiful walk through Cordes sur Ciel, which is where we saw this quote of Camus' posted at the beginning of our ascent through the cluttered medieval town whose name means roughly, "Rocky Heights on the sky." Camus' words struck a "corde" with me (ahaha), and I couldn't wait to share them with my fellow traveling souls, so there they are. But of all the quotes and all the little French villages, this one was posted there because of the bit of quote that follows:

"...Le voyager qui, de la terasse de Cordes [sur Ciel], regarde la nuit d'été sait ainsi qu'il n'a pas besoin d'aller plus loin et que, s'il veut, la beauté ici, jour après jour, l'enlèvera à toute solitude."

"...The traveler who takes in the summer night from the terrace at Cordes [sur Ciel], knows then, that he need not go any further, and if he wants, the beauty here, day after day, will lift him out of all loneliness."

After that testimony, I don't suppose it's necessary for me to insist that it was certainly a spectacular place. But it was.

(oops)

I forgot one last Bristol picture. However, to fully appreciate that picture, you must first understand the wonder of aligot, a traditional dish from my region in France, Aveyron. Outside of Aveyron, people don't really know about aligot, but within the region, it enjoys celebrity status. Think cheesy mashed potatoes. Think reeeeeeeally cheesy mashed potatoes. Then make sure the cheese is a special regional cheese that only comes from a special variety of local cows, and multiply the amount of cheese you were thinking by 10. Add garlic. That's aligot. It is delicious.

If you look it up on google images, you'll often see people with a giant vat of it, spooning huge quantities of it as high as possible to show off the smooth, very elastic texture. Like this guy:

Now you are ready to appreciate the following photo of me and the tiny tub of aligot I carted to Bristol with me from Rodez. You might also like to note PAB's super-English apron in the background. Or the fact that my scarf is wrapped around my head (I don't remember why). This picture is just all-around great.

(strike fruit)

Guess who's on strike again today? You got it--the French teachers (and probably other professionals, but I can't keep up). What does this mean for me? It means a lovely sunny day off. What does this mean for you? It means the final installment of photos from my British adventures in February! Get ready for London and a couple moments from Bristol (the "home" base of the trip). Above is the only bit of sun I had during my whirlwind day trip to London. It happened as I arrived at Buckingham Palace, and had disappeared by the time I made my way into St. James' park. I can't complain, though--what with all the other sun we'd had for the rest of the trip, a rainy London day seemed fitting, even.

Buckingham Palace on a Wednesday in February when there wasn't even the changing of the Guard. I can't imagine how crowded it is under more tourist-friendly circumstances. I also think I'm glad I never had to live there. This was the first stop on my solo run-through of the capitol, which was squished into the few hours left open between the two three-hour bus rides from and to Bristol.

There is a lot of Queen Victoria all over the place. I think she looks especially intimidating here, with her back to the Palace and her face looking towards St. James' park.

St. James' park seemed like it must be really nice at times--and I did enjoy watching kids feed squirrels and teenagers bothering ducks. However, on a rainy day, with the pond drained, it left a bit to be desired, aesthetically speaking. For instance, there was an umbrella graveyard (and big pipes) where the pond normally is. I had to wonder, though, how on earth so many umbrellas get separated from their owners, and end up in a broken, silty pile. Do people not notice that their umbrellas are gone or something?

I spent the most time at Westminster Abbey--I am just such a sucker for an audio guide! This was also nearer the beginning of my day, so I had all sorts of illusions about having plenty of time to see everything I wanted (the list was already pretty pared down). It was worth the exorbitant time overage, though. I was fascinated by the strange melange of epochs in the small space. It reminded me of a very classy, historical flea-market table, crowded with artifacts and stories competing for visibility and and a spot in the collective memory.

Before seeing the sign that said no pictures, I got this guy chilling out on his elbow for eternity--I discovered that this was a fairly common position for these burial statues. Doesn't seem very comfortable to me, but maybe that ruffle under his chin helps out somehow.

Right after this photo, I saw the no photo sign. If you make it to London, I highly recommend checking the Abbey out so you can see the rest.

And here's Big Ben.

While scarfing down a hot dog along the Thames, I made my way to the reconstructed Globe Theatre and Shakespeare museum. It's only been there since the late 1990's, but I learned that it was reconstructed not only to the original specifications, but also using the original building methods. There are plays here during the summer, and the tour guide who showed it to us was an actress in the company that performs there. For some reason I can't upload my picture of the inside.

Practically next door to the Globe is the Tate Modern--it's an art museum in an old factory. Unfortunately, hitting up this fascinating collection coincided with the dreadful consciousness that I was running out of time before having to catch my bus. I limited myself to one exhibit on the surrealists, then had to rush back towards Victoria Station.

I did at least manage to plot a quick walk-through of Picadilly Circus on my way back to the station--it was quite bright, quite busy. That's about all I got to gather of it. All in all, the day in London was quite a success--I managed to cram in lots of sightseeing, but not so much that I couldn't enjoy the seeing of the sights (with the exception, perhaps, of Tate Modern). And, if I ever get back, there's still plenty I have left to see!

I don't have too many pictures from Bristol--D'yon and I did lots of wandering and visiting in what I have deemed the Baltimore of England. I enjoyed the town, but the main attraction there was definitely my hosts. D'yon and I generally have loads of fun together, as evidenced by this photo of us having fun with the Chinese masks in the children's corner of the Bristol Museum's exhibition.

This is looking up the street in down(up?)town Bristol. That's the university at the top, which is next to the museum where we found the masks and not far from D'yon's work, where we went for a lunchtime concert (curtesy of D'yon and PAB for my birthday!).

This is what you'll probably see if you google image Bristol--their suspension bridge. One day, while PAB was at work, D'yon and I took a long, winding walk along the river Avon to the base of the bridge, walked up and across, enjoyed views of the twilight city, and headed home for a homey dinner and Mario Kart Wii :)

Oh, and while in Bristol, I became acquainted with the pleasures of meat pies. Yum! Think chicken pot pie, but with all kinds of yummy fillings, on top of mashed potatoes and drowning in gravy. The English may have a reputation for bad food, but between meat pies and fish and chips, c'est pas mal. (That is a French compliment, meaning "it's not half bad.")

Not to mention that they've got the whole tea thing down. Tea is awesome, and scones with clotted cream are even more so. And yes, clotted cream sounds gross, but it is my theory that the grossness of the name is inversely proportional to its yumminess--which is good news for my scone!

So, in conclusion--England was great. Friends are great. Two-week vacations in February that allow you to combine the two: impeccable, as the French would say. Or perhaps, in the spirit of my vacation location, I should say: brilliant.

(cardiff)

I am slowly, slowly catching up to my February break pictures! Today it's the documentation of my trip to Cardiff, the capitol of Wales. It was only about 40 minutes from Bristol and made for an excellent day excursion.

D'yon and I spent a good portion of our time touring around Cardiff Castle. It's a big complex of castleyness from several eras, walled in by ramparts that reminded me very much of the playmobile castle James and I used to play with.

On entering the compound from the street, "The Keep" is the first thing you see. It's built up for the safekeeping of prisoners, royalty, etc. Built up and surrounded by a moat, it was pretty secure. It's the oldest part of the castle that still exists (the first stronghold here was a Roman one). Note the benches--this is where D'yon and I enjoyed our picnics and sunshine, and where I took my coat off outside for the first time this year!

Inside the Keep. No longer the domain of the royals or their prisoners, on this day it was crawling with a very familiar specimen--black-clad, heavily-banged (hair) French high schoolers. I felt right at home ;)

Unlike home, however, the Keep's toilet system left a little something to be desired. Behold the hole that leads to the moat.

Behold D'yon, participating in one of our favorite activities--AUDIO GUIDES! As we observed that day, they're like a grown-up easter egg hung--where knowledge is your candy!

For instance, our trusty audio guides informed us that this building was transformed into a (and I quote) "Feudal Gothic Extravaganza!" Welsh Aristocracy used to live here, and made additions over the years--so you can see the combination of styles present in the architecture.

The inside of the "Feudal Gothic Extravaganza" lived up to its name. Re-done in the 19th century, it is insanely gaudy. Check out that fireplace.

Not yet convinced? This is the ceiling of one of the guest rooms.

More extravaganza--this is a giant "love spoon." We found it at the love spoon shop near the castle, where we learned about the Welsh tradition of young suitors carving symbolic spoons for their sweethearts. My favorite part is the dragon head.

On the other end of town is the Harbor, where we met these nice statue people and their dog. We also had a nice coffee and cake at a very French café to wind down before heading back under the bay to Bristol.

Oh, and one last discovery--I was born in the wrong epoch--castles have taught me that people used to be my height all the time! Check out the Emilee-sized door.

(sulyvain and lyme regis)

Today you get a peep into the day trip that PAB, D'yon, and I took to Lyme Regis during my winter break. Before diving in, however, you also get the cute kid story of the week:

Sulyvain (a weird name even in France) is 6. He's not actually one of my students, but he looks longingly into the room where I take half of his class twice a week for English time, and always proffers a shy " 'ello" before Carine calls him back. This week I arrived at his school (Fabié) a bit miffed at the previous behavior of a few of my fifth graders, and just in time to walk upstairs with the students as they came in from lunch/recess. In the echoing foyer, amidst a chorus of eager 'ellos vying for my response, I felt an earnest tug on my sleeve and a pat on my tummy. Sulyvain was looking up at me through his thick glasses and pronounced with a rather concerned expression, "Emilee, tu sais, j'aime bien quand tu fais le sourire"-- "Emilee, you know, I really like it when you smile." Upon his declaration, Sulyvain immediately fell in with the rest of his class to march upstairs with his line buddy, and I couldn't help but smile on the brink of the challenging class already awaiting me.

And now, ladies and gents, Lyme Regis. It's a small coast town on the English channel chock full of fossily cliffs (the reason the trip had been planned) which, like Bath, also happened to figure in Austen's Persuasion. PAB (that stands for, and is much easier to say than, Pierre-Alexandre Bourbon), D'yon, and I enjoyed a nice drive down from Bristol at the weekend, ready for fossil-hunting, picnicking, and enjoying the coast. Lyme Regis did not disappoint on any of those counts. As with the rest of the trip, we had uncanny weather-luck, putting "Southern France" to shame ;)

Bundly picnic! My gracious hosts D'yon and PAB.

We picked our way around this area for hours, breaking "stones" with our bare hands and occasionally finding fossils. Mostly we found fossil imprints, though.

This was our first fossil encounter of the day--can you see the giant shell imprint on this stone? It's been smoothed over by the tides.

There were lots of slippery, smooth moss-covered areas to walk across, like this one. I only stepped in a puddle once, at the end--thankfully!

My first (and best) real fossil discovery! A vertebrate of some kind.

Old roommates reunited after a productive day of intense fun-making.

I've still got pictures from Cardiff, London, and Bristol on the way--hopefully I'll get them all posted before I bring home lots more pictures from the Spring Break adventures in the works (hint--Paris and Dublin!). I know, I know. I work too hard here. How I'm managing to survive life with a two-week vacation every month and a half or so is beyond me, too ;)