(no subject)
Home after three weeks in Brittany, France. We had visited Brittany back in '15, and for the record, it still is lovely. The Breton spirit is excellent. While the area is part of France, the Bretons don't consider themselves French. There are all sorts of cute sayings that basically boil down to "We are Breton first and French maybe third or fourth or whatever." Ermine spots everywhere. Lots of BRZ libre graffitti.
Apparently, I look like a German to the French. On our various past trips to France, we got "Vous etre Allemande?" a lot. (Aside: I tried to verify that I was using the correct form of "etre," and Google translate only uses the informal "tu" to create its sentences. What is the world coming to? And I'm still too tired to care enough to drag out a book to verify the conjugation.) This was not a compliment in the past. However, this time, I realized that part of this seemed to be because I do not dye my hair and I do not wear fashionable clothing or shoes. Plus, I towered over most of the women of most age groups. It was surprising that my sweetheart was also dubbed German. He of the narrow face, reddish beard, and, yes, mostly bald head. Much was made clearer when we ran into large groups of German-speaking folks trudging up the Menez (think large hills). My horrible flat American accent just got worse at the trip progressed, but I could make myself understood. The Bretons were very patient. Give it another five or so years, I'd be happy to go back, but there's still the easternmost bit of France we haven't visited yet that would make a better trip.
For me, it was a difficult trip, physically. I got onto the plane with an infected insect bite that went wild during the flight there. The WBH took one look at my leg and insisted we go to a hospital. Can't wait to see what that bill will look like. Not an infection, at least not according to the nice intern, but probably some sort of fungus thing. These days, that's almost more frightening. I had sprays and creams to use until it healed up, which was about a week...just in time for the horrible beds and the car that was not proportioned for someone of my height and dimensions to seize up my back and neck. Yeah, that was really not much fun. And the whole thing ended with a massive allergic reaction to many bites that the mosquitoes left all over my arms, legs, and back in one night of feeding abandon. The local pharmacists were very helpful. I almost wish I could have filmed the various reactions, which went from bugged eyes to a tiny headshake. Various sorts of anti-itch and anti-histamine creams later, my poor arms look like I'm carrying some sort of plague.
The icing on the cake was the FUBAR trip home. Part of it was my fault. I'd gotten confused when I booked our last night at CDG and got a hotel over by Roissy, not CDG. Money fixed that. The weather helped screw the last bit. Our flight from CDG to DUB was delayed by weather and aircraft backup at DUB. We missed our flight and all the connections were overbooked. Aer Lingus made it as right as they could by putting us up in a very nice hotel and giving us vouchers for dinner and breakfast. Our flight was to leave at 6:30, so breakfast was a sack of misc stuff the hotel threw together to make a sort of meal. Still, it was kind of them to have it ready for us at just past 3AM. FWIW, LHR is still my least favorite airport ever. Security twice. At least no special pat down for me this time. The plane had not one, not two, but three squalling infants who never let up for eleven hours. Dear airlines, I would pay extra for a guaranteed no infant flight. When I mentioned my hoped-for next trip, the WBH gave me the glare from hell. Maybe I'd better find someone else to go to Germany with me next year.
Cross-posted from dreamwidth.org
Apparently, I look like a German to the French. On our various past trips to France, we got "Vous etre Allemande?" a lot. (Aside: I tried to verify that I was using the correct form of "etre," and Google translate only uses the informal "tu" to create its sentences. What is the world coming to? And I'm still too tired to care enough to drag out a book to verify the conjugation.) This was not a compliment in the past. However, this time, I realized that part of this seemed to be because I do not dye my hair and I do not wear fashionable clothing or shoes. Plus, I towered over most of the women of most age groups. It was surprising that my sweetheart was also dubbed German. He of the narrow face, reddish beard, and, yes, mostly bald head. Much was made clearer when we ran into large groups of German-speaking folks trudging up the Menez (think large hills). My horrible flat American accent just got worse at the trip progressed, but I could make myself understood. The Bretons were very patient. Give it another five or so years, I'd be happy to go back, but there's still the easternmost bit of France we haven't visited yet that would make a better trip.
For me, it was a difficult trip, physically. I got onto the plane with an infected insect bite that went wild during the flight there. The WBH took one look at my leg and insisted we go to a hospital. Can't wait to see what that bill will look like. Not an infection, at least not according to the nice intern, but probably some sort of fungus thing. These days, that's almost more frightening. I had sprays and creams to use until it healed up, which was about a week...just in time for the horrible beds and the car that was not proportioned for someone of my height and dimensions to seize up my back and neck. Yeah, that was really not much fun. And the whole thing ended with a massive allergic reaction to many bites that the mosquitoes left all over my arms, legs, and back in one night of feeding abandon. The local pharmacists were very helpful. I almost wish I could have filmed the various reactions, which went from bugged eyes to a tiny headshake. Various sorts of anti-itch and anti-histamine creams later, my poor arms look like I'm carrying some sort of plague.
The icing on the cake was the FUBAR trip home. Part of it was my fault. I'd gotten confused when I booked our last night at CDG and got a hotel over by Roissy, not CDG. Money fixed that. The weather helped screw the last bit. Our flight from CDG to DUB was delayed by weather and aircraft backup at DUB. We missed our flight and all the connections were overbooked. Aer Lingus made it as right as they could by putting us up in a very nice hotel and giving us vouchers for dinner and breakfast. Our flight was to leave at 6:30, so breakfast was a sack of misc stuff the hotel threw together to make a sort of meal. Still, it was kind of them to have it ready for us at just past 3AM. FWIW, LHR is still my least favorite airport ever. Security twice. At least no special pat down for me this time. The plane had not one, not two, but three squalling infants who never let up for eleven hours. Dear airlines, I would pay extra for a guaranteed no infant flight. When I mentioned my hoped-for next trip, the WBH gave me the glare from hell. Maybe I'd better find someone else to go to Germany with me next year.
Cross-posted from dreamwidth.org