Archive | November, 2011

Shuck ’em if you got ’em!

9 Nov

This is just a random photo of someone in an oyster costume, not in Urbanna. Which means there are MULTIPLE people in the world dressing as oysters. Wouldn't have seen that coming.

When we originally decided to take vacation in November, Alan and I had our sights set on Argentina.

Then I looked at a map. 

For someone who is a pretty good (and relatively seasoned) traveler, I have a horrific grasp of geography for places I’ve never visited. Hence why I expected Argentina to be a) Due South of Washington DC, and b) About a five hour flight from DC. When I realized the time commitment needed to arrive in Buenos Aires, it made me shudder.

I’ve traveled a lot for work this year – Boston, Chicago, LA, New York, London, Sydney and Melbourne – so the idea of flying somewhere didn’t actually sound like vacation to me. Fortunately, Alan’s easy going, so we agreed to scrap a longer haul and explore by car within a three hour radius of DC.

Which is how we found ourselves rolling out of bed at 5am Saturday to hit the road and aim for Urbanna, where the annual Oyster Festival was underway. (And where, apparently, the roads into town close at 9am on festival day, necessitating our ass-early departure.)

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I suppose seatbelts are a moot point.

7 Nov

I can’t believe I lived in DC for 14 years without taking the bus. I love it. It’s always an adventure.

Why, take Thursday morning, for example. I usually walk to work for the exercise (1.5 miles each way, thank you very much), but that morning I was running late. (Let me qualify that: when I say late, I mean, I might have arrived only 45 minutes before my co-workers, rather than a full hour. And because I’m OCD, it’s important to me that I get there an hour before anyone else. STEP AWAY FROM THE LEDGE.)

So Thursday morning I hopped the bus to save time. Now, I don’t know if it was the chilly weather, or if the bus had been delayed, or what – but the bus was PACKED. It was so full that half a dozen people were standing in front of the yellow line that says “stand behind this for your safety,” and lining the steps; my face was pressed against the windshield for at least three stops.

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I only parlez-français when it comes to champignons.

2 Nov

Our Learning Services team supports our offices around the world. I tell you this to explain why I was dialing Paris at 10am.

I thought I was calling someone who expected my call. We had a meeting invitation on our calendars, and I’d checked our corporate directory to ensure I had her direct line. But somehow, between trying to remember the international exchange code and entering her number, I managed to enter the general office number.

So I was surprised when she answered with a flowing sentence of French, beginning with the only word I understood: Bonjour. I responded with a Bonjour of my own, before switching to English in a “let’s drop this joke” kind of tone and said, “Hey! It’s Alison. Are you ready for me?”

Silence on the other end. Then, “Bonjour? Repetez, s’il vous plait…”

Which is when I realized it was NOT the person I was trying to reach. So, digging deep into my dusty mental reference drawer, I called upon the French I’d learned eight years ago when I briefly lived in France.

I strung together a sentence which – roughly translated – was intended to communicate the following: “Hi. My apologies. I speak little French. I am American. I am searching for Perrine. Is she there?”

The woman on the other end exclaimed like she finally understood me; then I was put on hold. After a brief delay, another woman answered. “Bonjour?”

Cautiously, I answered. “Perrine?”

Apparently not, because her response was a long sentence which left me stumped.

In my defense, even at the height of my French comprehension, I heavily relied on visual cues. The phone was always my enemy. Taking a deep breath, I had flashbacks of two other French phone calls from my past.

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