My Summer Vacation
As many of you may know, on June the 12th, sarahlemon and I were married. We had a fantastic wedding, and many thanks to those who made it all the more special by sharing it with us. When we get our photos back from Duet, I will post them (or some of them, anyway) here.
Following the wedding, our trip to France! Five nights in Paris, le TGV to Nice, five nights there, a quick flight back to the city of lights, then one more night before the 23 hour trip home. We had an absolutely wonderful time. I took an absurd amount of photos, but I've managed to narrow it down to best hundred or so.
One of the best meals we had during the trip (and there were many, many excellent meals) was at a small Italian restaurant in Nice. Nice is very near the Italian border and has many outstanding italian restaurants. Shortly after we were seated, I excused myself to the restroom. As I am uncomfortable touching too much in a public toilet, I was careful to use scraps of toilet paper to operate the flushing mechanism, start and stop the water, unlock the door, etc. Pleased with my fastidiousness, I began to make my way back to the table, only to slam my head into the top of the bathroom door frame. I forgot and did not then see that there was a single step down just as one passes through the door. My left foot hanging now in mid-air, I fell to the left. In so doing, I provided the small metal cylinder which accepts the bolt that locks the door with the opportunity to gouge a significant chunk of flesh from my left temple, of which it took excellent advantage.
So now I'm standing in the only bathroom of a very nice restaurant, trying to regain my equilibrium while blood pours down the side of my face. Very few bathrooms in France have paper towels, shunning them in favor of the air dryer, which left me with naught but small bits of toilet paper with which to stem the tide of le sang issuing forth from my gaping head wound. On top of which, I am completely grossed out that the room from which I worked so diligently to isolate myself has managed to not only touch my head, but has inserted itself into my head.
"Un minute, s'il vous plait!" I say to the woman who wants to pee, trying to keep the sight of my GHW from ruining her appetite. Once I have finally managed to flush it with a little water, dry the surrounding flesh and cram enough TP around it to stop the blood from cascading down my cheek, I make my way back to my table as nonchalantly as possible (which, to be honest, was not very.) The waiter was kind enough to fetch me a very large bandaid, which he stuck on my head himself, and I was able to make it through dinner with a minimum of spectacle.
A bottle of wine later, we wandered back to le Grimaldi and managed to ask the clerk pour de l'antiseptique et des bands. He is in the process of finding these for us when the night manager walks by and completely loses his shit. He breaks out the REAL first aid kit, snaps on a rubber glove, warns me that it's going to hurt ("D'accord, monsieur. Merci beaucoup.") and proceeds to clean and bandage my wound. When I say "bandage", I mean it. He soaked a piece of something in antiseptique, then secured it to my head using an entire ace bandage. He tried to tell me that I needed stitches (though neither he nor the clerk knew the english for it, so they had to make little "sewing up my head" motions before I got it), but I was having none of it.
I have since healed up nicely.
Following the wedding, our trip to France! Five nights in Paris, le TGV to Nice, five nights there, a quick flight back to the city of lights, then one more night before the 23 hour trip home. We had an absolutely wonderful time. I took an absurd amount of photos, but I've managed to narrow it down to best hundred or so.
One of the best meals we had during the trip (and there were many, many excellent meals) was at a small Italian restaurant in Nice. Nice is very near the Italian border and has many outstanding italian restaurants. Shortly after we were seated, I excused myself to the restroom. As I am uncomfortable touching too much in a public toilet, I was careful to use scraps of toilet paper to operate the flushing mechanism, start and stop the water, unlock the door, etc. Pleased with my fastidiousness, I began to make my way back to the table, only to slam my head into the top of the bathroom door frame. I forgot and did not then see that there was a single step down just as one passes through the door. My left foot hanging now in mid-air, I fell to the left. In so doing, I provided the small metal cylinder which accepts the bolt that locks the door with the opportunity to gouge a significant chunk of flesh from my left temple, of which it took excellent advantage.
So now I'm standing in the only bathroom of a very nice restaurant, trying to regain my equilibrium while blood pours down the side of my face. Very few bathrooms in France have paper towels, shunning them in favor of the air dryer, which left me with naught but small bits of toilet paper with which to stem the tide of le sang issuing forth from my gaping head wound. On top of which, I am completely grossed out that the room from which I worked so diligently to isolate myself has managed to not only touch my head, but has inserted itself into my head.
"Un minute, s'il vous plait!" I say to the woman who wants to pee, trying to keep the sight of my GHW from ruining her appetite. Once I have finally managed to flush it with a little water, dry the surrounding flesh and cram enough TP around it to stop the blood from cascading down my cheek, I make my way back to my table as nonchalantly as possible (which, to be honest, was not very.) The waiter was kind enough to fetch me a very large bandaid, which he stuck on my head himself, and I was able to make it through dinner with a minimum of spectacle.
A bottle of wine later, we wandered back to le Grimaldi and managed to ask the clerk pour de l'antiseptique et des bands. He is in the process of finding these for us when the night manager walks by and completely loses his shit. He breaks out the REAL first aid kit, snaps on a rubber glove, warns me that it's going to hurt ("D'accord, monsieur. Merci beaucoup.") and proceeds to clean and bandage my wound. When I say "bandage", I mean it. He soaked a piece of something in antiseptique, then secured it to my head using an entire ace bandage. He tried to tell me that I needed stitches (though neither he nor the clerk knew the english for it, so they had to make little "sewing up my head" motions before I got it), but I was having none of it.
I have since healed up nicely.