A Travellerspoint blog

When life gives you lemons, make lemonade

sunny 28 °C

I admit. I'm bad. It's been too long. I've had three drafts of blogs so far but I had to rewrite it all.
Isn't it amazing how you can sit and write and then one day, you look back and think, what was I thinking???
And so... I have edited the story of my life recently.

The week of June 6th, life gave me lemons.
Once again I headed to Italy - this time for the Venice Art Biennale. And while I was there, a stop in Milan.

I have to say, for three months, there was nothing but anticipation and longing to see one another again.
I felt the extreme highs of desire and the lows of having nothing in my hand to hold on to!

But still, I let myself feel. I let myself enjoy the affection I was getting despite the distance that was killing me and obviously not giving me anything of what I want and need.

Days before my stomach was turning and so nervous. I could barely eat, barely sleep.
I thought 'this time I have to say what I want and what things are looking like for me. Maybe consider a summer course in Italian?

The whole time - three months' time - he wasn't able to come, promised 'to make his way to me as soon as practicable' - how lawyer-like. Thinking I'm a client?

The day came. CDG to MXP. There I was. Nervous as if for an interview with no explanation why.
I arrived around noon just for a couple of hours for lunch before continuing to Venice.
Truth be told, I would have not gone otherwise. I was acting on principle of not going and I still believe I did the right thing.

After Venice, which was GREAT in every sense - culinary, culturally and socially, I headed to Milan. Again, nervous like crazy!

Four days in, I proposed an opera the coming Saturday night. I got a call in the afternoon, general talk and then "I got your email but I didn't understand". He told me he had plans to travel, that he told me this, and that he won't be here this weekend. I was at a shop, about to buy him a gift for his desk at work, just to say 'thanks' when this call came. Obviously I put down the idea and jetted out of the store.

We did mention a chance he might have to go and I said it would be alright, but he never mentioned it again, never confirmed or said anything so I figured the work trip might have been cancelled. Didn't mention one word.

My intestines were on a roller coaster ride that week. It's crazy. Same night we meet up for drinks - I am 1.5 hours late. Served him right. I waited three months. And the conversation began for reasons even now I don't understand. What the hell was going on? And it went from strange to bad to blunt to hurtful. The next day, after what seemed to be a clear admiration for one another but with a civil understanding of the situation, he tried to be gentle and kind and said "I hope you understand what I was trying to tell you last night". I didn't reply. I barely spoke that morning. Huh??? We parted but we didn't part. We said bye but what the hell was happening. It is so f&#$ing weird. F@#&.

That afternoon, I came back to get my bag after he called to see where I was. Something told me that even if he gets caught up with work and isn't going on this "work trip" as planned, I have to get my stuff out. ASAP. I texted him, said I was going to collect my things. I did and that was it. He called and called and called. I didn't pick up. Nothing. Two days later, before my flight, I rang once to do a reconciliation and a goodbye. He didn't pick up. I cried the whole flight home. And I cried myself to sleep. This was only one month ago.

So I get back to Paris and all I can resort to is work. My only escape. Still, waking up in the morning to perform my tasks - brush teeth, open the closet and stare into space, try a new blush just to change the look, put on some jewelry, figure out the shoes, grab something to drink and out the door. I couldn't do any of those. I was so confused and didn't understand anything. Nothing. All of a sudden everything you see in front of you is not what you see. You dont know what you're even looking at. It took a lot of effort but I drowned in endless work hours, meeting deadlines, showing progress, bringing results. Modestly speaking, I did an awesome job at the event I put together and it was a great, fulfilling success.

Looking back it was a big mistake. Better for it to have faded naturally into nothingness than meet up again, my trolley packed with clothes and anticipation.

And now, you won't believe it but I am sitting in a piazza in Milano, closing my first week here as an Italian student this month. Studying 3 hours in the morning and working the afternoons and taking in the city at night. Alone. You can't imagine how many people you meet having an aperitivo solo. Quite surprising. And well, this is Milan.

I've started an Italian course - intermediate, mind you! Everyday for three hours I indulge in a language that sounds like a song, like you're living in a movie. Absolute fantasy and mindscape from anything real. In the afternoons, I check into my cafes and sit to work, sometimes captured by my laptop screen, other times drifting away to people-watching and talking with fellow coffee-drinkers working remotely as well.
One of them is quite a lovely lady from Osaka who is studying Italian - speaks very very well - and with whom I had the chance to speak about life on the other side of world.

And when the evening comes, I put this source of living with which I write on the side of the bed, get dressed and go out. You don't know where the evening will take you here. So far, it has been quite interesting. I have met more new people in one week than I have met other cities over longer periods. They aren't friends, but new acquaintances and kind people are a rare gem in any modern, individualistic-minded city. For a solo single girl residing here for 3 weeks, this is definitely the place to enjoy. It doesn't get any better than this.
Actually, it could but I'll take the good from what I get.

I went to see the famous Cenacolo at the Santa Maria delle Grazie yeterday. After ridiculously tight security and oxygen-less halls that make it seem you're wandering into a prison as opposed to a museum (super claustrophobic), I stood before the great Da Vinci. Seriously, I had tears in my eyes. It was amazing! The precision, the mind, the skill, the eye, the talent, the beauty. Really incredible and something I will remember for a long time. And today, the city museum of Milano.

My lemonade is lacking a bit of sugar. So I'll try to add some.
I have no idea what's in store. We never ever do. So I will leave it open for more to come...

Posted by enoura 00:44 Archived in Italy Tagged venice milan Comments (0)

'Everyone has his own Egypt to get out of'

sunny 25 °C

Well, Passover came and went just like every other year before it.

Last March, I was on the other side of the globe at the Southern Hemisphere with my Argentine family, reading the seder in a mix of Castellano and Hebrew, reciting the prayers on behalf of an entire family of 30 people, excited to be where I was but carrying a broken heart. This year, I was by the French countryside next to the picturesque home of Monet in Giverny, with friends and family surrounding me, reading the seder in French and Hebrew and feeling empowered and capable in so many ways.

But it wasn't a short route and there's still a way to go.
You know, in the Passover story are two of the most important lines in the before one gets to feast: "in every generation, man must regard himself as if he left Egypt...and for this reason we must praise, thank, glorify, bless.. He who brought us from despair to joy...from the dark to light, from slavery to redemption... Hallelujah".

I'm not a religious person but there's something in this holiday beyond time off work, stomach-twisting food and sea-parting legends (which I believe was simply a low-tide phenomenon). Philosophically speaking, Passover gives you a chance to liberate yourself. Doesn't matter where we live, what we believe in, or the realities we lead; we all have some kind of place to move from to higher ground. We all have an 'Egypt' to get out of, if you may. This 'walk out' of Egypt is really an important shift in things - and is actually far from negative. And now Spring is in full bloom, a season of revival, which only strengthens this point of view. And even more, it now also connects to those who celebrate Easter, marking resurrection and coming back to life, something renewed.

Every one has to liberate themselves from something, some kind of situation or reality or circumstance, and bring themselves to a state of freedom and a chance to make a choice. And there is always a choice.

It's been a long time since my last post but I've really come to understand so many things in the past three months alone. So much so, that one day, I looked in the mirror and found my first white hair, tucked deep underneath and between my curls, still hiding itself from coming to sight. My aunt said "eet eez eh sign ov weezdom". So be it. Hello wisdom.

My grandfather passed away last month at the age of 84. I heard the news during a meeting in the lobby of the Shangrila Palace. It was a short, quick battle for him but he was a strong man with a great history, having been refused entry to Israel twice and finally agreeing to recruit and serve in the British Army during the Mandate just to move - somehow, he never quite learned the English language very well except for telling me what the sign "OO" really meant on office doors ("Officers Only", merely bathrooms for 'officers only'). In the end, I think he was ready to go. A couple of nights after I got the news, I dreamt about both him and my dad; they were content. I took that as a sign and let it rest behind me.

To refresh, I took myself to art exhibits across town. I recently visited the Museum of Modern Art to see the "Van Dongen" exhibit, with a collection of paintings so brilliantly beautiful and detailed, I had tears of joy in my eyes. It was incredible to be able to look at an artist with such talent. I also saw an exhibition of the Dufy brothers whose paintings are a sheer marvel to look at and get lost in. I visited some gallery openings in St. Germain and picked up some interesting people along the way.

One of my 26 cousins just got engaged - which means Israel, in August, where the biggest heat waves of the year take place and the sun blazes eternally and the only thing you can eat are ices to keep you from melting or frying like an egg on the pavement. Obviously not my favorite season. Family always comes first to those of us made in the Mediterranean.

I'm still seeing Mr.Milan, my McDreamy I suppose. I have the stomach aches, the fast heartbeats when the phone rings, the excitement of seeing one another soon, but not in fall in love yet. Distance doesn't help but something much stronger is working here. My sense of intuition is breaking records even for me and I'm very careful. My bet is, thanks to life experience. I don't want to nose dive. I want to see the person before me and I want to choose right with the person I'll share my life with one day - someone I can accept and really love, and rely on to be there.

Today was Labor Day in Paris. People sold scented flowers on the corners of the streets to celebrate this day. Families lunched. Friends smoked the afternoon away, sipping on noisettes. Tourists licked kilos of ice cream. The sun shone. The city squares are coming to life, from Place Victor Hugo to Place des Vosges, the French have come back to life and nestle in every cafe in town after work. Exhibits are popping up, museums are open for wine and snacks, the great lawns of Luxembourg are lush and green and inviting. At Bagatelle, peacocks are looking to mate, flaunting their gorgeous feathers to ignorant females who seem to play hard-to-get better than us these days. It's really great to see it all. We ourselves stocked up on foreign papers and magazines, including my favorite New Yorker, and indulged in a long, brunch outdoors with friends and family. It was lovely.

Ironically enough, a four-hour plane ride away, was also the memorial day for the Holocaust in Israel - truly one of the heavy-hearted days after the country's official Memorial Day that is immediately, I mean literally hours later, followed by Independence Day celebrations. All interwined together. I guess people are always fighting for something, commemorating another. You have to be there to understand it. For the first time, in a long time, I found myself standing up to sing Israel's national anthem "HaTikva" (The Hope) with the crowd on television like a little kid (with the one white hair). If I can't be there, it's some sort of respect I can give and acknowledge to the few people I know who did survive and have incredible stories of perseverance and determination, from the pits of the shit to self-salvation.

Am going on a couple of trips in the next month - including Milan - I'm very excited really looking forward to a change of scenery and some fresh twists and can't wait to share. Cheers to a new week and safe travels whereever you go.

Posted by enoura 17:35 Archived in France Tagged france italy israel Comments (0)

Loverville: a tale of two cities

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times....

semi-overcast 4 °C

Confession: my return from Milan wasn't quite as smooth as it should have been. The day after I arrived, I get a txt inquiring whether I got home safely. I should've written when I got back but I didnt. I reply and ask if all is well. Nothing. The next day I send over a text. Nothing. Following day I call. It rings. Nothing. What's going on? After an hour I'm surprisingly on the edge for no real reason except for the lack of response. I don't remember how this shit goes anymore. "Even Sarkozy hez time to go to deh gym or to make eh phone-koll", my aunt said. She was right. How could I argue? What could I say in defense? Nothing.

We headed to Deauville for some fresh sea air. My mind was still somewhere else and it pissed me off that after all the stuff of the last 10 months I found myself involved in the same bullshit. I damn well should have learned by now. But for the first time ever, I freaked out and later understood why.

After hearty meals, retail therapy and long walks on the beach - oh yes, and sleeping the night like a Bedouin on the hotel floor by the door with the soft pillows and blanket under & around me as a result of poor sleep quality (snoring 20 cm from me is not someting I can ignore), we headed back to Paris. The clouds were tightly snuggled around the city skies.

Monday comes. New week, new opportunity, new perspective. After a motivational chat (no, not my aunt this time), I pick up the phone and try again. A voice says he'll call me back. He does. Claimed I disappeared as well and when I waved the text and call in my defense, he asked 'what call?' He was sleeping, never got a call. Okay, things have happened before. It could happen. But I havent decided whether I chose to believe it or not. The conversation was excellent by all means and included future plans and big kisses. The Italian way.

I have to say though that I've decided to take two steps back and one step forward onto a new path: relaxing and staying cool. It's not as easy at it sounds. This is a whole new ball game for me. I like but not in love (should I be?) I'm used to being spun around, flipped sideways, rolled inside out, captured by the heart and torn by miles of land and sea that I eventually give in to and cross to be with the one I love as I've done once before. And here I am. With "like". And rationality. And geographical distance between us that makes it safe terrain. And realistic worries I would have never considered one year earlier with someone else. When I'm with, I'm intellectually stimulated like wlith no other, intrigued and enjoying myself as I haven't in a very long time. Everything pauses completely. And when I'm back, I'm in my life. Maybe being madly love is not sane. So why does being realistic and simply liking someone feel uncomfortable? As if it's not enough, as if something more is supposed to be there. Why is it considered being in love when we feel our stomachs turning and twisting? It's a physical reaction but scientifically, it doesn't last. Am I making sense?

I shouldn't have to run to a place where I'm not ready to be caught in the storm. But on the other, I want to be - that chemical surge of energy running through you is what makes you feel alive dammit. [Funny enough, Mr. Latin America shows up on my Skype screen now - no chemical surge there but annoyance and a bunch of question marks--> WTF??]

This is life in Loverville. A tale of two cities, Paris and Milan. Two completely different places, seemingly occuring in completely different time zones. Parallel to one another but absolutely nothing in common. An affair with different objects of affection. It is I and Paris playing games, yes and no, enticing me but something never really happening just yet (apart from de-Lille-icious flirtation) and then in Milan, it is a big village to me, another life. It is just he and I for hours on end - one who touches, feels and whom I enjoy thoroughly and absolutely in its own time when there. Which one prevails? Only time will tell.

It's all about the journey; not the destination. So, with two lovers (ok, if you dont count Lille) one double bed, and a list full of TO-DOs I venture into this crazy journey I call my life.

Some day, very soon, I will write from my new bed, in my new room, in my new apt that I will call home for a little while.

Posted by enoura 15:54 Archived in France Comments (0)

Milan - Take Two

The quest for the 'best of all possible worlds'

overcast 10 °C

I arrived Saturday morning - it was so foggy that the plane hovered over the city for 30 minutes in circles. At this point of things, after flying so long, all I did was keep on reading my book and hoping for the best. What else can you do? If only those dizzy turns weren't part of the ride. But that too, has passed.

For the first time in my life, I am unable to grasp what has come to me, to my hands and I am so cautious it is as if I am treading on quick sand, fire stones. It has been an incredible 4 days again. There is not one dull moment and I learn something almost on the hour. It's absolutely overwhelming to be able to be with someone for 13.5 hours straight, going from a stroll around town, gathering with the local crowds for a popular Milanese snack (name forgotten due to abnormal alcohol levels that night), riding a swing in the middle of a piazza, visiting a church in the evening to admire the art and then on and on drinks, dinner and more drinks and then a, party until 7am at a one of Milan's coolest gay spots "Plastic". Loved it! Dressed in jeans, a tank top and converse. Nothing fancy, no heels, nothing. Just ourselves. Dancing and struggling to pass through the crowd, back to back, shoulder to shoulder, and shamelessly, butt to butt. I entrusted myself. Frankly, I had a great time its almost unreal to me that something like that can be possible at all. And if that wasnt enough, we came home and sang to Bernstein's Candide. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Sunday - doing nothing but doing it together. It's something I admit I've forgotten about. Really can't put my finger on it, nor can I find the word. But it feels.

Yesterday I took myself to Museo del Novecento by recommendation and really enjoyed it. It's now open to the public for free - 4 floors of pure Italian art, from Cubism to Expressionist to Futuristic and sculptures, crafted with passion by Nigro, Licini, Boccioni, Sironi and Chirico amongst others. Wandering museums alone is always such a great pleasure - you get to sit and look into space or gaze into a photo for as long as you'd like. The second time around, it is amazing that somehow, even when Milan is in mid-day mid-week business ongoings, everything is still so quiet, laid back and relaxed. The only way to know that something is actually happening there is to go with the people who know. Otherwise, you'd never guess. Ever!

Last night, in closing of my visit we went to dinner at Victoria, a delicious (Italian, certo) restaurant with tall candelights, red velvet chairs, wine bottles nosing out of racks and out onto the diners, and art nouveau on the walls. And as I said before, never having one dull moment, he led me into Le Banque to a late 30s - 40+ scene on Monday nights. What really was a bank in the past is now home to a club with tall domes all around the entrance, marble flooring and spacious space for guests who come to do a different kind of business. Before we knew it, we're caught up in someone's birthday party with some medium-hi social profiles, the two of us naively sitting front row in Napoleonic chairs, drinking on marble tables and an Italian DJ singing pop, in Italiano, and simultaneously playing the piano. One drink turned to three; it was just a pity not to stay and see how things would develop.

And this morning was time for 'a bientot'. A moment in this new venture that always makes me feel queasy and uneasy. I stayed until I had to go and left a little piece of me behind. Just a little one to start with. The last days have literally been a world parallel to this one which we call our collective life on earth, yet feeling like it has absolutely no connection whatsoever. I am unable (or unwilling?) to label what I'm feeling, thinking but it is something.

Ready to head back to Paris I go to the airport only to find out 1) the flight was cancelled and 2) I'd be very late if it wasn't and probably would've missed it as the attendant made sure to point out. Damn, trying to play with my luck subconsciously? I had the option to stay another day but thought it'd be smarter to go back to my life, 'cultivate my garden' if you'd like as Voltaire says, and tend to the things happening right now; and also, to respect the value of distance between two people and what good it can do, as it does. I am a believer in that.

I dont know which of the two would be the best of all possible worlds. I'm somewhat juggling between keeping the faith & trusting versus relying on past (and possibly still too recently bitter) experiences. Maybe the best of all possible worlds is exactly as it should be, as it is right now and that in itself is enough. I can argue with that but it's a claim that leaves a lot of room for thought.

Take two for two in Milan is now complete. Tomorrow I'm starting my week although it's already Wednesday but still, I'm going to see two apartments in the hopes that I can build a place for myself in the coming months until things are sorted out, make a home of some kind, and I need to make sure that I head back to the routine of daily work and duties. We must after all, cultivate our garden, do we not?

Posted by enoura 15:41 Archived in Italy Tagged victoria restaurant in italy del museo out milan nights novecento Comments (0)

This is just how it works

snow 0 °C

So my aunt asked me a question the other day: Why are you keeping a blog?, in her distinct Middle Eastern accent when she speaks English. And I just looked at her at shrugged. And again: No really, I dont understand; Why are you sharing your life with the world, with people who dont even know you? Vot eez deh point? Isn't it just like reading anything else; a book, an article, whatever. To me tho, this blog has turned into more than just a trip, it's also a metamorphosis. And sometimes we need a push to metamorphose into something else.

And again, two days ago, in the middle of a sushi dinner at a friend's place by Luxembourg Gardens, someone asked "Why keep a blog and why should I read it? Is there a point?" Note though, he is a kind of genius, literally and it is known that geniuses do not know how to communicate with people - should explain it. Still I did see his point. After all, it's just people entering in the middle of your life without ever knowing the beginning and probably never knowing how it all ends up, ultimately. But maybe the ending doesn't matter.

The last week of 2010 did some tying up of ends for me. Financially; no more debt! Professionally; I received a recommendation from my last employer without even asking for one but was warmly accepted. Things continuing to develop with my current work and that's making me happy. Romantically: mostly new adventures and a couple of hard-core realizations. The last year has been nothing short of amazing. Just last year I was sitting in my office, hours on end, no break, no lunch, and an inexplicable desire to get as much work done as possible, knowing that the moment I would leave and pursue this trip, things would happen. And I couldnt wait to get on the plane and fly away. Something would shift. I just knew it.

So back to France...one spontaenous, snowy morning in Paris, we decided to head to Gare du Nord and hop a train to Lille to see the Christmas village. It was 5 of us; 3 arrived on time; 2 missed it. Next train "one hour" which in France means "3 hours". We headed over to a little brasserie for hot chocolate and a croissant until then. We board the train, no ticket in hand but prepared to buy one on-the-go. That didnt happen. The train was so late, so packed, I dont think anyone bothered to think of checking. So we landed a free ride, albeit very late in the day. We arrive and behold; before us, a Christmas village. It's something you can't capture anywhere else in the world. After meeting up with friends, we headed over to the little wooden houses and lingered at each, buying pumpkin soup, then sipped hot wine, then came waffles and cookies. We were like kids at a carnival. We visited city hall, the beautiful Opera house and went on a scavenger hunt to find the beautiful people of Lille, the best places for beer, hidden restaurants and decadent boulangeries. I loved it. We fell in love with Bar Parallel. 2 beers, 2 cokes and 5 snacks later, it was time to go home. Little did we know that as we headed back to the station, TGV just decided to pass by the city and not actually wait a minute or two for passengers to board. I mean, luckily, I've learned not to get pissed off as I would've before this whole entire year... we got reimbursed for a free return whenever we wanted and checked out of there. It must have been -4 degrees and the only way to stay warm (in our case) was to eat - AGAIN. We headed back to the Bar Parallel and hooked up with some nice locals who showed us how to party until sunrise. Needless to say, we made it to the next day's train, only to be stuck 4 hours because a Thaly's in front of us broke down. No water, no cafeteria on-board open, no paper in the loos. Did I ever mention how the French also dont have the word 'service' in their cultural lexicon? Nothing. We just sat. And we laughed.

Last week, just in time for year's end, I got a special visit from Milan before continuing to a week-long vacation in South America. We had a wonderful night, driving around Paris, last ones out a Parisian brasserie, drinks at a piano bar and a walk back to the hotel through the glorious Place Vendome. It was so beautiful. Inexplicably nice and with that, I had marked off another life-long fantasy of walking the streets of Paris with my hand laced around another and my lips locked approximately every 45 seconds while the art nouveau street lamps glared above us and the rain fell very slowly overhead, sprinkles slowly settling on the ground. Like the movies. The next morning, post 2.5 hours of sleep, he headed to the airport. I admit, it was hard for me and I didnt expect that. As soon as the door shut behind me, I felt that tug again. That difficulty in saying goodbye. I know exactly why - this isnt the place to share - but at least I know.

Thankfully the friend I ventured to Lille with called the same day, with yet another plan - Geneva. With the guys from Lille. I wasnt sure it was what I needed but I knew it'd be interesting and would keep my mind off things. We had a place to stay, plans to ski and a ride home. What else would I need? I packed a dress, some extra clothes and I hopped on a train with a friend. We arrived and yet again, an adventure. They were late - one hour late. Forgot to tell us they're actually that far from the center. There was no place to change. No normal place to eat. No place to shower. Nothing. And somehow I found myself in the middle of a mid East market and nowhere close to 'classic' Geneva. How did this happen? We hung out at a chinese restaurant until they arrived and when they did, I couldnt put a smile on my face as hard as I tried. But in an attempt to change things I headed over to a nice hotel and asked to use their 'water closets' and came out a different person by choice. We partied, we danced, we kissed, we sang and had a great time. Really. Was definitely one for the books. We didnt sleep until 7:30am and when we did, I was almost vertical, sleep-stting on a sofa in a 40 sq meter studio that had already housed a couple with two kids plus 3 single ladies. Yes - she forgot to mention that to us. Every single train the next day was completely full - I was obliged to buy a ticket for 19h41, 3.5 times the price of the outbound ticket. And whether it was immaturity, lack of sleep or simple disappointment I punished Geneva and myself and we didnt see anything of one another in broad daylight - I sat at Starbucks sipping on hot cocoa and noshing on muffins for 3.5 hours.

And back in Paris, 11 days now into the new year, I am on a serious search for a room, studio or 'studette' (something in between a room and a studio, whatever that means...). Far more challenging than I thought it'd be, but it is part of the journey. Bathrooms that consist of a free-standing shower alongside the "kitchen" cabinets, torn, filthy sofabeds known as "double beds", maid's room chambers from 1810 - dark, dreary, gloomy and dangerous to walk the planks on for fear one might fall right into the neighbor's lap downstairs, "8th floor - sans ascenseur" ads, scammers on Craigslist that go unattended and other such experiences. Something good will come out of this. It is time to move on and make a life.

The next trip to Milan might be soon - nothing confirmed yet. But I cant put a single egg in that basket right now. It still doesnt feel safe enough. I'm still trying to find out whether its better to a) be elephant-skinned, self-sufficient at all costs, roaming the world no matter what-who-when-where, OR b) trash the first approach, merely appear to be strong and open the blinds to vulnerability.

Every day you grow up a bit more, as much as you feel you've experienced in your life, and when you think you've seen a lot, heard all the lines, ate all the shit and told all the stories, you realize that you haven't yet. There's always something new. You're smart but not the smartest, you're experienced but not a pro, you have the mouth but dont always say things the right way, you're kind but many a time, a real sucker, you've got some dream or plan but but you left out a small piece of reality. That's just how it works!

Posted by enoura 15:54 Archived in France Tagged paris france new switzerland geneva eve year's lille tgv Comments (0)

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