Day whatever
Cosne d'Alliet... or something like that
April 5th
I took a stroll at night through the tiny village next to the chateau we are staying at. At times, all I could hear were my own steps and the distant traffic passing by on the road that barely touches this little town. Picturesque shingles and ill-lit streets would have made for prime photography but alas, my trusty camera is in the hands of someone else, probably in Paris or Frankfurt. Ronnie, a co-working counselor at the camp, pestered me by reminding me that I did not call the train station. If I was not busy at the time of the pestering during a skype call with my parents, I might have reminded him that I do not speak French.
Which reminds me - with the party details aside - last night, Ronnie and Lucas (also known as Ace and Naz) started my crash course in French. I would venture to say it was very productive, considering it was at four thirty in the morning. The following day consisted of me doing laundry and nearly everyone piling into a van and checking out a nearby village, only 15 kilometers away. Again, picturesque shingles and shutters and the works that make a small French village close to perfect. And a river runs through it. No, not the movie. It really does have a river that apparently comes to our smaller village but is only half the size of there.
This other village however has ruins of a castle. Four towers remain, its yellow and red stones standing guard above the town, still watching over it. Also, if you did not know, a lot of English words come from French. So when I asked our French camp director what a sign meant, I did not realize how stupid I could sound when I open my mouth. I asked “what does dunjon mean?” Now, you say it out loud to yourself. That's right. Dungeon. One point for me.
Today also included a successful skype call with my parents and some buddies in Lynchburg. Nothing makes you miss home more than talking to the people you love.
April 5th
I took a stroll at night through the tiny village next to the chateau we are staying at. At times, all I could hear were my own steps and the distant traffic passing by on the road that barely touches this little town. Picturesque shingles and ill-lit streets would have made for prime photography but alas, my trusty camera is in the hands of someone else, probably in Paris or Frankfurt. Ronnie, a co-working counselor at the camp, pestered me by reminding me that I did not call the train station. If I was not busy at the time of the pestering during a skype call with my parents, I might have reminded him that I do not speak French.
Which reminds me - with the party details aside - last night, Ronnie and Lucas (also known as Ace and Naz) started my crash course in French. I would venture to say it was very productive, considering it was at four thirty in the morning. The following day consisted of me doing laundry and nearly everyone piling into a van and checking out a nearby village, only 15 kilometers away. Again, picturesque shingles and shutters and the works that make a small French village close to perfect. And a river runs through it. No, not the movie. It really does have a river that apparently comes to our smaller village but is only half the size of there.
This other village however has ruins of a castle. Four towers remain, its yellow and red stones standing guard above the town, still watching over it. Also, if you did not know, a lot of English words come from French. So when I asked our French camp director what a sign meant, I did not realize how stupid I could sound when I open my mouth. I asked “what does dunjon mean?” Now, you say it out loud to yourself. That's right. Dungeon. One point for me.
Today also included a successful skype call with my parents and some buddies in Lynchburg. Nothing makes you miss home more than talking to the people you love.
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