is the sound of me getting kicked in the chest by my good fortune. You know, the kind of good fortune that goes around kicking the asses of really lucky people. Like me. Because after a measly three weeks at home, I am back jetsetting (I actually prefer the term globetrotting as it just evokes feelings of cool, you know?) across the European continent. Its honestly absurd that I have been able to do things like this. So perhaps I should amend the sound to
Oof. Erg. Glphff. Ugh. Aaaaaaahhhhthpbt.
(kick in chest-> doubled over uppercut-> face-smother in dirt or mud depending on the humidity-> wind up punt in left side-> bodyspin hurl resulting in Wile E. Coyote-esque plummet from preposterous heights)
Yeah that seems more fitting.
But rather than listen as I explore the onomatopea of theoretical ass-kickings, Im sure youre more interested in my travels so far. Or you arent and you just accidentally entered this url and are disappointed to find its not the video of dancing cats you were expecting. Either way, Im thrilled to have your attention.
It all began during the clear, pre-dawn morning of July 7th. I say pre-dawn because my flight was leaving the ground as the sun rose; my journey to the airport began much earlier at the ripe still-night hour of 4 am. Anywho, I the first country I made it to was the stunning interior of the Cincinnati airport. I have given it this upgraded status because I felt there had to be some sort of genuine attraction there and that it was indeed the first leg of my journey because I was in this airport for a period longer than it takes to fly across the Atlantic Ocean. Gorgeous Cincinnati… airport… gate B8.
Blah blah blah he’s complaining about airports again, why am I even reading this blog? Walts stupid.
That hurts, reader. That really cuts me deep. I just want to, as always, give you more than just a story, a simple list of facts. I want you to feel with me. And I felt that the Cincinnati airport sucked. And was well worth complaining about. But we must persevere onward.
So after a layover-in-Cincinnati-length flight, I landed in Paris: the City of Lights. At this juncture I would like to make clear that whenever I write Paris I want you to read it as I think/say it: Pa-hree. As in I dont know any French but I can bastardize the language with my faux accent and pretend Im French by saying Pa-hree. Got it? Itll be fun.
Paris (Pa-hree) was every bit as beautiful as everyone had ever described it. The architecture and sheer ocular splendor of wandering the streets blew me away. Paris was the destination of choice because it was the then-current residence of my wonderful little sister pictured below with an apricot pastry:
So we, as a family, as the mighty Lengel clan, are traipsing around Europe to celebrate the family’s reunification after six months of separation. Here’s a quick photo tour of Paris (Pa-hree, remember?). By process of elimination, you can figure out much of what I did and did not do:
Ta da! Pretty neat I suppose.
Then it was off to Florence. (Lets take a pretentious timeout together and allow me to say that this was my second time in Florence and will be my third time in Rome in a single year. Wow) The road (track, rather) to Florence started off a little bumpy with us getting roughly 400 feet away from the train station before our engine broke down and delayed us a whopping five hours. My sister, at this point the poster child for grumpytown, decided to start a theoretical blog (which I endorse wholeheartedly) called exhaustion.com/disastertrain. How can I argue with that? Disaster train? Its brilliant! So we suffered our immense trial (psyche) and made it to Florence which then proceeded, as a united city, to jockey for the top spot of hottest place on earth. Here are some pictures (including the tragic world cup finale):
Still got it:
This morning we took a wonderful high speed train to Naples and connected to a splendid little town on the western coast.
Thusly, I type this out from Sorrento on the Amalfi Coast of Italy. This place is so head-over-heels the opposite of my travels earlier this year. Its beautiful and picturesque and (here’s where we diverge) resort-like and sprinkled with garden terraces and tiny fridges filled with uninsured-surgical-operations-priced beverages. The hotel we are staying at has as many stars as I have limbs! If I want a sandwich, all I have to do is find someone and ask them for a sandwich and BAM! a sandwich appears. Whahahahaaaaat? Have I stumbled into some sort of weird hedonistic Garden of Eden? Or am I just traveling on a budget slightly up from $8 a day? Tough to say.
This really turned into quite a doozy of an entry. I congratulate those of you who have made it this far. You are strong-willed and possess great (insert your adjective of choice here) .
I suppose Ill leave you with the anthem I woke up with in my head this morning. If you know it then go ahead and sing along.
This time baaaabyyyyyy Ill beeeeeeeeeee bullllllleeeeetttttttproof. (repeat indefinitely)
Also, this is the candelabra I was dreaming of: