![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Ga*ked from ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rubrick
Aug. 9th, 2006 07:03 amI might be missing a couple, and I'm not sure that I actually managed to take the Underground in St Petersburg, though I definitely took the surface train there.
Ga*ked from
Aug. 9th, 2006 07:03 am
Your Travel Profile: |
You Are Very Well Traveled in the Northeastern United States (71%) |
You Are Well Traveled in the Midwestern United States (50%) |
You Are Well Traveled in the United Kingdom (50%) |
You Are Well Traveled in Southern Europe (47%) |
You Are Somewhat Well Traveled in Eastern Europe (40%) |
You Are Somewhat Well Traveled in the Western United States (37%) |
You Are Mostly Untraveled in Canada (20%) |
You Are Mostly Untraveled in Scandinavia (20%) |
You Are Mostly Untraveled in the Southern United States (15%) |
You Are Mostly Untraveled in Western Europe (14%) |
You Are Mostly Untraveled in Asia (8%) |
You Are Untraveled in Africa (0%) |
You Are Untraveled in Australia (0%) |
You Are Untraveled in Latin America (0%) |
You Are Untraveled in New Zealand (0%) |
You Are Untraveled in the Middle East (0%) |
(no subject)
May. 28th, 2003 07:47 pmMay be finished with an edit later (depending on internet time...)
I decided to try writing this entry by hand, first, so as to save time when it comes to typing it in. This means that I'm currently lying on the grass in a little park a stone's throw from Notre Dame. I can see a sliver of the cathedral between the leaves of the tree above me and the hedge that surrounds the park, when I look up. There are people lying and sitting all around the edge of the grass, most of them fairly young (except for the families, I'd say primarily between 25 and 35). Rsoes, michaelmas daisies, random green things, and two small English boys who are being terribly naughty and completely disregarding their parents. Actually, not naughty, just rambunctious.
When I first left the airport, it really felt as though I were back in England. The trees and hedgerows looked right, and the signs were vaguely the right shape. (Ooh. Really fat pigeons are now waddling along the path,looking remarkably like mourning doves. Or ring-necked doves. Or something.)
So far, nobody's tried talking to me in English unless I specifically start the conversation in English, so I count this as something of a triumph. Not that I've exchanged many words with anyone in the first place.
Right, I wanted to write about the plane journey, I guess. Nice easy check-in in L.A. (which I think I deserved, given the whole ticket hassle), since who flies to S.F. from the United Int'l terminal? OK, a few people, but there was no queue at all; most people weren't getting on the flight down south. Changing planes at SFO was highly amusing, because as soon as I approached the area that claimed to be the international terminal, I and another passenger got ushered aside, our passports and tickets checked, and then led through what was essentially a back entrance out of the airport. You know the type: concrete stairs and all. Turns out there was a tiny little room down there where we and a few others waited for a bus to take us over to the real international terminal.
During the flight I sat next to a woman named Nadine who was French but had been living in Santa Clara for about 12 years. She was going "home" for a few days (to somewhere near Avignon) because her grandmother had died. I watched Pipe Dreams (amusing but nothing high-quality), Evelyn (very well done, made me cry, and now I've got "The Parting Glass" stuck in my head; serves me right for knowing too many folk songs), and Two Weeks Notice (very funny, despite the reviews, plus Sandra Bullock's hot, though less so than she used to be; Hugh Grant is very pretty and does absolutely nothing for me). Don't you like my movie review style,girlwithjournal? Clearly I should write for you next year. :) The rest of the flight I read Anselm's book. It's being fun, per expectations.
(TBC... don't want to overrun lj's entry space.)
I decided to try writing this entry by hand, first, so as to save time when it comes to typing it in. This means that I'm currently lying on the grass in a little park a stone's throw from Notre Dame. I can see a sliver of the cathedral between the leaves of the tree above me and the hedge that surrounds the park, when I look up. There are people lying and sitting all around the edge of the grass, most of them fairly young (except for the families, I'd say primarily between 25 and 35). Rsoes, michaelmas daisies, random green things, and two small English boys who are being terribly naughty and completely disregarding their parents. Actually, not naughty, just rambunctious.
When I first left the airport, it really felt as though I were back in England. The trees and hedgerows looked right, and the signs were vaguely the right shape. (Ooh. Really fat pigeons are now waddling along the path,looking remarkably like mourning doves. Or ring-necked doves. Or something.)
So far, nobody's tried talking to me in English unless I specifically start the conversation in English, so I count this as something of a triumph. Not that I've exchanged many words with anyone in the first place.
Right, I wanted to write about the plane journey, I guess. Nice easy check-in in L.A. (which I think I deserved, given the whole ticket hassle), since who flies to S.F. from the United Int'l terminal? OK, a few people, but there was no queue at all; most people weren't getting on the flight down south. Changing planes at SFO was highly amusing, because as soon as I approached the area that claimed to be the international terminal, I and another passenger got ushered aside, our passports and tickets checked, and then led through what was essentially a back entrance out of the airport. You know the type: concrete stairs and all. Turns out there was a tiny little room down there where we and a few others waited for a bus to take us over to the real international terminal.
During the flight I sat next to a woman named Nadine who was French but had been living in Santa Clara for about 12 years. She was going "home" for a few days (to somewhere near Avignon) because her grandmother had died. I watched Pipe Dreams (amusing but nothing high-quality), Evelyn (very well done, made me cry, and now I've got "The Parting Glass" stuck in my head; serves me right for knowing too many folk songs), and Two Weeks Notice (very funny, despite the reviews, plus Sandra Bullock's hot, though less so than she used to be; Hugh Grant is very pretty and does absolutely nothing for me). Don't you like my movie review style,
girlwithjournal? Clearly I should write for you next year. :) The rest of the flight I read Anselm's book. It's being fun, per expectations.(TBC... don't want to overrun lj's entry space.)
