For whatever reason, right now when I try to type a title for my blog it is coming out in some sort of curly-looking language. I have no idea what that shit is. Good thing I didn´t have any good idea for a title anyway.

Kristen and I are in Madrid after a long couple of days of travel. On Tuesday, I went with Kristen to visit one of her English classes and it was really fun. Believe it or not, I get along pretty okay with French children. I sat in the back of the room in a shared desk with a boy named Hugo while Kristen sang songs and talked in French. I sort of, mostly understood what was going on. Then the kids, about 10-11 years old, asked me questions including, but not limited to, my favorite color, whether or not I play volleyball and my phone number. The same boy who asked me what my phone number was also yelled "I love you" as I walked out the door. So, if all else fails, I can bank on an 11 year old French boyfriend. Awesome.

That night we went to the train station to get tickets to go to Paris and Madrid, but apparently there was/is a train strike and according to the man who worked at the SNCF, it just didn´t work. So, we went ahead and went to Bayeux to meet the Normandy Scholars at the Moulin Morin and made some dinner of asperagus and potatoes and had a nice time. Kristen taught me this phrase in France, "il n'a pas arrive" meaning, "it didn't arrive" and I think that pretty much explains our entire/my entire experience in France thus far. People say this when either they are too lazy to do something or it really just doesn't work out. Either way, it is really irritating. Lucky for us, Francoise figured out how to get us a ride from Bayeux to a big enough city that we could catch a train to Paris, in hopes of making it to Madrid the next day (Thursday). The bus driver for the group took us to some town where we spent an hour with surprisingly helpful and friendly Frenchmen that figured out the ABSOLUTE most ridiculous way to get us to Madrid, the next day, that also some how circumvented said train strikes. Although the plan "worked" we'd have to spend the night in Paris at a pretty expensive hotel and wake up early the next morning to catch a train to some place called Irún. I'd like to explain this all in more detail, but I am at an internet cafe now and have about two minutes left of time. Therefore, I will make this quasi-interesting and leave you hanging.

Until, most likely, Granada, be good! Also, I have to mention that the song "Time after Time" is playing on the radio and it makes this all slightly more surreal. Okay, bye.